The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless
by Eliza Fowler Haywood · English · Gutenberg #46346 · 1,298,288 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless
Author: Eliza Fowler Haywood
Release date: July 21, 2014 [eBook #46346]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HISTORY OF MISS BETSY THOUGHTLESS ***
Transcriber's Note: Italics are indicated by _underscores_.
THE HISTORY OF
MISS BETSY
THOUGHTLESS
ELIZA HAYWOOD
CONTENTS
Volume the First
Chapter I 3
Chapter II 7
Chapter III 14
Chapter IV 20
Chapter V 26
Chapter VI 31
Chapter VII 35
Chapter VIII 41
Chapter IX 49
Chapter X 56
Chapter XI 61
Chapter XII 67
Chapter XIII 75
Chapter XIV 82
Chapter XV 93
Chapter XVI 100
Chapter XVII 106
Chapter XVIII 114
Chapter XIX 121
Chapter XX 127
Chapter XXI 134
Chapter XXII 139
Chapter XXIII 145
Volume the Second
Chapter I 153
Chapter II 159
Chapter III 165
Chapter IV 173
Chapter V 180
Chapter VI 185
Chapter VII 190
Chapter VIII 194
Chapter IX 200
Chapter X 206
Chapter XI 213
Chapter XII 219
Chapter XIII 223
Chapter XIV 229
Chapter XV 236
Chapter XVI 242
Chapter XVII 250
Chapter XVIII 257
Chapter XIX 264
Chapter XX 269
Chapter XXI 275
Chapter XXII 283
Chapter XXIII 289
Volume the Third
Chapter I 299
Chapter II 305
Chapter III 312
Chapter IV 318
Chapter V 324
Chapter VI 331
Chapter VII 339
Chapter VIII 345
Chapter IX 351
Chapter X 358
Chapter XI 363
Chapter XII 369
Chapter XIII 374
Chapter XIV 379
Chapter XV 386
Chapter XVI 395
Chapter XVII 401
Chapter XVIII 406
Chapter XIX 414
Chapter XX 421
Chapter XXI 427
Chapter XXII 432
Volume the Fourth
Chapter I 441
Chapter II 445
Chapter III 450
Chapter IV 455
Chapter V 460
Chapter VI 465
Chapter VII 472
Chapter VIII 476
Chapter IX 480
Chapter X 487
Chapter XI 494
Chapter XII 500
Chapter XIII 506
Chapter XIV 514
Chapter XV 521
Chapter XVI 529
Chapter XVII 537
Chapter XVIII 544
Chapter XIX 552
Chapter XX 559
Chapter XXI 564
Chapter XXII 573
Chapter XXIII 578
Chapter XXIV 586
VOLUME THE FIRST
CHAPTER I
_Gives the reader room to guess at what is to ensue, though ten to one
but he finds himself deceived_
It was always my opinion, that fewer women were undone by love than
vanity; and that those mistakes the sex are sometimes guilty of,
proceed, for the most part, rather from inadvertency, than a vicious
inclination. The ladies, however, I am sorry to observe, are apt to make
too little allowances to each other on this score, and seem better
pleased with an occasion to condemn than to excuse; and it is not above
one, in a greater number than I will presume to mention, who, while she
passes the severest censure on the conduct of her friend, will be at the
trouble of taking a retrospect on her own. There are some who behold,
with indignation and contempt, those errors in others, which, unhappily,
they are every day falling into themselves; and as the want of due
consideration occasions the guilt, so the want of due consideration also
occasions the scandal: and there would be much less room either for the
one or the other, were some part of that time which is wasted at the
toilette, in consulting what dress is most becoming to the face,
employed in examining the heart, and what actions are most becoming of
the character.
Betsy Thoughtless was the only daughter of a gentleman of good family
and fortune in L----e, where he constantly resided, scarce ever going to
London, and contented himself with such diversions as the country
afforded. On the death of his wife, he sent his little favourite, then
about ten years old, to a boarding-school, the governess of which had
the reputation of a woman of great good sense, fine breeding, and every
way qualified for the well-forming of the minds of those young persons
who were entrusted to her care.
The old gentleman was so well pleased with having placed his daughter
where she was so likely to improve in all the accomplishments befitting
her sex, that he never suffered her to come home, even at breaking-up
times, when most of the other young ladies did so: but as the school was
not above seven or eight miles from his seat, he seldom failed calling
to see her once or twice a week.
Miss Betsy, who had a great deal of good-nature, and somewhat extremely
engaging in her manner of behaviour, soon gained the affection not only
of the governess, but of all the young ladies; but as girls, as well as
women, have their favourites, to whom they may communicate their little
secrets, there was one who above all the others was distinguished by
her. Miss Forward, for so she was called, was also very fond of Miss
Betsy. This intimacy beginning but in trivial things, and such as suited
their age, continued as they advanced nearer to maturity. Miss Forward,
however, had two years the advantage of her friend, yet did not disdain
to make her the confidante of a kind of amorous intrigue she had entered
into with a young lad, called Master Sparkish, the son of a neighbouring
gentleman: he had fallen in love with her at church, and had taken all
opportunities to convince her of his passion; she, proud of being looked
upon as a woman, encouraged it. Frequent letters passed between them,
for she never failed to answer those she received from him, both which
were shewn to Miss Betsy; and this gave her an early light into the art
and mystery of courtship, and consequently a relish for admiration. The
young lover calling his mistress angel and goddess, made her long to be
in her teens, that she might have the same things said to her.
This correspondence being by some accident discovered, the governess
found it behoved her to keep a strict eye upon Miss Forward: all the
servants were examined concerning the conveying any letters, either to
or from her: but none of them knew any thing of the matter; it was a
secret to all but Miss Betsy, who kept it inviolably. It is fit,
however, the reader should not remain in ignorance.
Master Sparkish had read the story of Pyramus and Thisbe; he told his
mistress of it, and in imitation of those lovers of antiquity, stuck his
letters into a little crevice he found in the garden-wall, whence she
pulled them out every day, and returned her answers by the same friendly
breach, which he very gallantly told her in one of his epistles, had
been made by the God of Love himself, in order to favour his suit: so
that all the governess's circumspection could not hinder this amour from
going on without interruption; and could they have contented themselves
with barely writing to each other, they might probably have done so till
they both had been weary: but though I will not pretend to say that
either of them had any thing in their inclinations that was not
perfectly consistent with innocence, yet it is certain they both
languished for a nearer conversation, which the fertile brain of Miss
Forward at last brought about.
She pretended, one Sunday in the afternoon, to have so violent a pain in
her head, that she could not go to church; Miss Betsy begged leave to
stay and keep her company, and told the governess she would read a
sermon or some other good book to her: the good old gentlewoman, little
suspecting the plot concerted between them, readily consented.
Nobody being left in the house but themselves, and one maid-servant,
young Sparkish, who had previous notice at what hour to come, was let in
at the garden-door, the key being always in it. Miss Betsy left the
lovers in an arbour, and went into the kitchen, telling the maid she had
read Miss Forward to sleep, and hoped she would be better when she
waked. She amused the wench with one little chat or other, till she
thought divine service was near over, then returned into the garden to
give her friends warning it was time to separate.
They had after this many private interviews, through the contrivance and
assistance of Miss Betsy; who, quite charmed with being made the
confidante of a person older than herself, set all her wits to work to
render herself worthy of the trust reposed in her. Sometimes she made
pretences of going to the milliner, the mantua-maker, or to buy
something in town, and begged leave that Miss Forward should accompany
her; saying, she wanted her choice in what she was to purchase. Sparkish
was always made acquainted when they were to go out, and never failed to
give them a meeting.
Miss Forward had a great deal of the coquette in her nature; she knew
how to play at fast-and-loose with her lover; and, young as she was,
took a pride in mingling pain with the pleasure she bestowed. Miss Betsy
was a witness of all the airs the other gave herself on this occasion,
and the artifices she made use of, in order to secure the continuance of
his addresses: so that, thus early initiated into the mystery of
courtship, it is not to be wondered at, that when she came to the
practice, she was so little at a loss.
This intercourse, however, lasted but a small time; their meetings were
too frequent, and too little circumspection used in them not to be
liable to discovery. The governess was informed that, in spite of all
her care, the young folks had been too cunning for her: on which she
went to the father of Sparkish, acquainted him with what she knew of the
affair, and intreated he would lay his commands on his son to refrain
all conversation with any of the ladies under her tuition. The old
gentleman flew into a violent passion on hearing his son had already
begun to think of love; he called for him, and after having rated his
youthful folly in the severest manner, charged him to relate the whole
truth of what had passed between him and the young lady mentioned by the
governess. The poor lad was terrified beyond measure at his father's
anger, and confessed every particular of his meetings with Miss Forward
and her companion; and thus Miss Betsy's share of the contrivance was
brought to light, and drew on her a reprimand equally severe with that
Miss Forward had received. The careful governess would not entirely
depend on the assurance the father of Sparkish had given her, and
resolved to trust neither of the ladies out of her sight, while that
young gentleman remained so near them, which she knew would be but a
short time, he having finished his school-learning, and was soon to go
to the university. To prevent also any future strategems being laid
between Miss Betsy and Miss Forward, she took care to keep them from
ever being alone together, which was a very great mortification to them:
but a sudden turn soon after happened in the affairs of Miss Betsy,
which put all I have been relating entirely out of her head.
CHAPTER II
_Shews Miss Betsy in a new scene of life, and the frequent opportunities
she had of putting in practice those lessons she was beginning to
receive from her young instructress at the boarding-school_
Though it is certainly necessary to inculcate into young girls all
imaginable precaution in regard to their behaviour towards those of
another sex, yet I know not if it is not an error to dwell too much upon
that topick. Miss Betsy might, possibly, have sooner forgot the little
artifices she had seen practised by Miss Forward, if her governess, by
too strenuously endeavouring to convince her how unbecoming they were,
had not reminded her of them: besides, the good old gentlewoman was far
stricken in years; time had set his iron fingers on her cheeks, had left
his cruel marks on every feature of her face, and she had little remains
of having ever been capable of exciting those inclinations she so much
condemned; so that what she said seemed to Miss Betsy as spoke out of
envy, or to shew her authority, rather than the real dictates of truth.
I have often remarked, that reproofs from the old and ugly have much
less efficacy than when given by persons less advanced in years, and who
may be supposed not altogether past sensibility themselves of the
gaieties they advise others to avoid.
Though all the old gentlewoman said, could not persuade Miss Betsy there
was any harm in Miss Forward's behaviour towards young Sparkish, yet she
had the complaisance to listen to her with all the attention the other
could expect or desire from her.
She was, indeed, as yet too young to consider of the justice of the
other's reasoning; and her future conduct shewed, also, she was not of a
humour to give herself much pains in examining, or weighing in the
balance of judgment, the merit of the arguments she heard urged, whether
for or against any point whatsoever. She had a great deal of wit, but
was too volative for reflection; and as a ship without sufficient
ballast is tossed about at the pleasure of every wind that blows, so was
she hurried through the ocean of life, just as each predominant passion
directed.
But I will not anticipate that gratification which ought to be the
reward of a long curiosity. The reader, if he has patience to go through
the following pages, will see into the secret springs which set this
fair machine in motion, and produced many actions which were ascribed,
by the ill-judging and malicious world, to causes very different from
the real ones.
All this, I say, will be revealed in time; but it would be as absurd in
a writer to rush all at once into the catastrophe of the adventures he
would relate, as it would be impracticable in a traveller to reach the
end of a long journey, without sometimes stopping at the inns in his way
to it. To proceed, therefore, gradually with my history.
The father of Miss Betsy was a very worthy, honest, and good-natured
man, but somewhat too indolent; and, by depending too much on the
fidelity of those he entrusted with the management of his affairs, had
been for several years involved in a law-suit; and, to his misfortune,
the aversion he had to business rendered him also incapable of
extricating himself from it; and the decision was spun out to a much
greater length than it need to have been, could he have been prevailed
upon to have attended in person the several courts of justice the cause
had been carried through by his more industrious adversary. The
exorbitant bills, however, which his lawyers were continually drawing
upon him, joining with the pressing remonstrances of his friends, at
last rouzed him from that inactivity of mind which had already cost him
so dear, and determined him not only to take a journey to London, but
likewise not to return home, till he had seen a final end put to this
perplexing affair.
Before his departure, he went to the boarding-school, to take his leave
of his beloved Betsy, and renew the charge he had frequently given the
governess concerning her education; adding, in a mournful accent, that
it would be a long time before he saw her again.
These words, as it proved, had somewhat of prophetick in them. On his
arrival in London, he found his cause in so perplexed and entangled a
situation, as gave him little hopes of ever bringing it to a favourable
issue. The vexation and fatigue he underwent on this account, joined
with the closeness of the town air, which had never agreed with his
constitution even in his younger years, soon threw him into that sort of
consumption which goes by the name of a galloping one, and, they say, is
the most difficult of any to be removed. He died in about three months,
without being able to do any great matters concerning the affair which
had drawn him from his peaceful home, and according to all probability
hastened his fate. Being perfectly sensible, and convinced of his
approaching dissolution, he made his will, bequeathing the bulk of his
estate to him whose right it was, (his eldest son) then upon his travels
through the greatest part of Europe; all his personals, which were very
considerable in the Bank, and other public funds, he ordered should be
equally divided between Francis his second son, (at that time a student
at Oxford) and Miss Betsy; constituting, at the same time, as trustees
to the said testament, Sir Ralph Trusty, his near neighbour in the
country, and Mr. Goodman, a wealthy merchant in the city of London; both
of them gentlemen of unquestionable integrity, and with whom he had
preserved a long and uninterrupted friendship.
On the arrival of this melancholy news, Miss Betsy felt as much grief as
it was possible for a heart so young and gay as hers to be capable of;
but a little time, for the most part, serves to obliterate the memory of
misfortunes of this nature, even in persons of a riper age; and had Miss
Betsy been more afflicted than she was, something happened soon after
which would have very much contributed to her consolation.
Mr. Goodman having lived without marrying till he had reached an age
which one should have imagined would have prevented him from thinking of
it at all, at last took it into his head to become a husband. The person
he made choice of was called Lady Mellasin, relict of a baronet, who
having little or no estate, had accepted of a small employment about the
court, in which post he died, leaving her ladyship one daughter, named
Flora, in a very destitute condition. Goodman, however, had wealth
enough for both, and consulted no other interest than that of his heart.
As for the lady, the motive on which she had consented to be his wife
may easily be guessed; and when once made so, gained such an absolute
ascendancy over him, that whatever she declared as her will, with him
had the force of a law. She had an aversion to the city; he immediately
took a house of her chusing at St. James's, inconvenient as it was for
his business. Whatever servants she disapproved, though of ever so long
standing, and of the most approved fidelity, were discharged, and
others, more agreeable to her, put in their places. In fine, nothing she
desired was denied; he considered her as an oracle of wit and wisdom,
and thought it would be an unpardonable arrogance to attempt to set his
reason against hers.
This lady was no sooner informed of the trust imposed in him, than she
told him, she thought it would be highly proper for Miss Betsy to be
sent for from the school, and boarded with them, not only as her
daughter would be a fine companion for that young orphan, they being
much of the same age, and she herself was more capable of improving her
mind than any governess of a school could be supposed to be; but that,
also, having her under her own eye, he would be more able to discharge
his duty towards her as a guardian, than if she were at the distance of
near an hundred miles.
There was something in this proposal which had, indeed, the face of a
great deal of good-nature and consideration for Miss Betsy, at least it
seemed highly so to Mr. Goodman; but as Sir Ralph Trusty was joined with
him in the guardianship of that young beauty, and was at that time in
London, he thought it proper to consult him on the occasion; which
having done, and finding no objection on the part of the other, Lady
Mellasin, to shew her great complaisance to the daughter of her
husband's deceased friend, sent her own woman to bring her from the
boarding-school, and attend her up to London.
Miss Betsy had never seen this great metropolis; but had heard so much
of the gay manner in which the genteel part of the world passed their
time in it, that she was quite transported at being told she was to be
removed thither. Mrs. Prinks (for so Lady Mellasin's woman was called)
did not fail to heighten her ideas of the pleasures of the place to
which she was going, nor to magnify the goodness of her lady, in taking
her under her care, with the most extravagant encomiums: it is not,
therefore, to be wondered at, that neither the tears of the good
governess, who truly loved her, nor those of her dear Miss Forward, nor
of any of those she left behind, could give her any more than a
momentary regret to a heart so possessed with the expectations of going
to receive every thing with which youth is liable to be enchanted. She
promised, however, to keep up a correspondence by letters; which she
did, till things, that seemed to her of much more importance, put her
L----e acquaintance entirely out of her head.
She was met at the inn where the stage put up, by Mr. Goodman, in his
own coach, accompanied by Miss Flora: the good old gentleman embraced
her with the utmost tenderness, and assured her that nothing in his
power, or in that of his family, would be wanting to compensate, as much
as possible, the loss she had sustained by the death of her parents. The
young lady also said many obliging things to her; and they seemed highly
taken with each other at this first interview, which gave the honest
heart of Goodman an infinite satisfaction.
The reception given her by Lady Mellasin, when brought home, and
presented to her by her husband, was conformable to what Mrs. Prinks had
made her expect; that lady omitting nothing to make her certain of being
always treated by her with the same affection as her own daughter.
Sir Ralph Trusty, on being informed his young charge was come to town,
came the next day to Mr. Goodman's to visit her: his lady accompanied
him. There had been a great intimacy and friendship between her and the
mother of Miss Betsy, and she could not hold in her arms the child of a
person so dear to her without letting fall some tears, which were looked
upon by the company as the tribute due to the memory of the dead. The
conjecture, in part, might be true, but the flow proceeded from the
mixture of another motive, not suspected--that of compassion for the
living. This lady was a woman of great prudence, piety, and virtue: she
had heard many things relating to the conduct of Lady Mellasin, which
made her think her a very unfit person to have the care of youth,
especially those of her own sex. She had been extremely troubled when
Sir Ralph told her that Miss Betsy was sent for from the country to live
under such tuition, and would have fain opposed it, could she have done
so without danger of creating a misunderstanding between him and Mr.
Goodman, well knowing the bigotted respect the latter had for his wife,
and how unwilling he would be to do any thing that had the least
tendency to thwart her inclinations. She communicated her sentiments,
however, on this occasion, to no person in the world, not even to her
own husband; but resolved, within herself, to take all the opportunities
that fell in her way, of giving Miss Betsy such instructions as she
thought necessary for her behaviour in general, and especially towards
the family in which it was her lot to be placed.
Miss Betsy was now just entering into her fourteenth year, a nice and
delicate time in persons of her sex; since it is then they are most apt
to take the bent of impression, which, according as it is well or ill
directed, makes or mars the future prospect of their lives. She was
tall, well-shaped, and perfectly amiable, without being what is called a
compleat beauty; and as she wanted nothing to render her liable to the
greatest temptations, so she stood in need of the surest arms for her
defence against them.
But while this worthy lady was full of cares for the well doing of a
young creature who appeared so deserving of regard, Miss Betsy thought
she had the highest reason to be satisfied with her situation; and how,
indeed, could it be otherwise? Lady Mellasin kept a great deal of
company; she received visits every morning, from ten to one o'clock,
from the most gay and polite of both sexes; all the news of the town was
talked on at her levee, and it seldom happened that some party of
pleasure was not formed for the ensuing evening, in all which Miss Betsy
and Miss Flora had their share.
Never did the mistress of a private family indulge herself, and those
about her, with such a continual round of publick diversions! The court,
the play, the ball, and opera, with giving and receiving visits,
engrossed all the time that could be spared from the toilette. It
cannot, therefore, seem strange that Miss Betsy, to whom all these
things were entirely new, should have her head turned with the
promiscuous enjoyment, and the very power of reflection lost amidst the
giddy whirl; nor that it should be so long before she could recover it
enough to see the little true felicity of such a course of life.
Among the many topicks with which this brilliant society entertained
each other, it may easily be supposed that love and gallantry were not
excluded. Lady Mellasin, though turned of forty, had her fine things
said to her; but both heaven and earth were ransacked for comparisons in
favour of the beauty of Miss Flora and Miss Betsy: but as there was
nothing particular in these kind of addresses, intended only to shew the
wit of those who made them, these young ladies answered them only with
raillery, in which art Miss Betsy soon learned to excel. She had the
glory, however, of being the first who excited a real passion in the
heart of any of those who visited Lady Mellasin; though, being
accustomed to hear declarations which had the appearance of love, yet
were really no more than words of course, and made indiscriminately to
every fine woman, she would not presently persuade herself that this was
more serious.
The first victim of her charms was the only son of a very rich alderman;
and having a fortune left him by a relation, independent of his father,
who was the greatest miser in the world, he was furnished with the means
of mingling with the _beau monde_, and of making one at every diversion
that was proposed.
He had fancied Miss Flora a mighty fine creature, before he saw Miss
Betsy; but the imaginary flame he had for her was soon converted into a
sincere one for the other. He truly loved her, and was almost distracted
at the little credit she gave to his professions. His perseverance, his
tremblings whenever he approached her, his transports on seeing her, his
anxieties at taking leave, so different from what she had observed in
any other of those who had pretended to lift themselves under the banner
of her charms, at length convincing her of the conquest she had made,
awakened in her breast that vanity so natural to a youthful mind. She
exulted, she plumed herself, she used him ill and well by turns, taking
an equal pleasure in raising or depressing his hopes; and, in spite of
her good-nature, felt no satisfaction superior to that of the
consciousness of a power of giving pain to the man who loved her: but
with how great a mortification this short-lived triumph was succeeded,
the reader shall presently be made sensible.
CHAPTER III
_Affords matter of condolence, or raillery, according to the humour the
reader happens to be in for either_
We often see, that the less encouragement is given to the lover's suit,
with the more warmth and eagerness he prosecutes it; and many people are
apt to ascribe this hopeless perseverance to an odd perverseness in the
very nature of love; but, for my part, I rather take it to proceed from
an ambition of surmounting difficulties: it is not, however, my province
to enter into any discussion of so nice a point; I deal only in matters
of fact, and shall not meddle with definition.
It was not till after Miss Betsy had reason to believe she had engaged
the heart of her lover too far for him to recal it, that she began to
take a pride in tormenting. While she looked on his addresses as of a
piece with those who called themselves her admirers, she had treated him
in that manner which she thought would most conduce to make him really
so; but no sooner did she perceive, by the tokens before mentioned, that
his passion was of the most serious nature, than she behaved to him in a
fashion quite the reverse, especially before company; for as she had not
the least affection, or even a liking towards him, his submissive
deportment under the most cold, sometimes contemptuous, carriage, could
afford her no other satisfaction, than, as she fancied, it shewed the
power of her beauty, and piqued those ladies of her acquaintance, who
could not boast of such an implicit resignation and patient suffering
from their lovers; in particular, Miss Flora, who she could not forbear
imagining looked very grave on the occasion. What foundation there was
for a conjecture of this nature was nevertheless undiscoverable till a
long time after.
As this courtship was no secret to any of the family, Mr. Goodman
thought himself obliged, both as the guardian of Miss Betsy, and the
friend of Alderman Saving, (for so the father of this young enamorato
was called) to enquire upon what footing it stood. He thought, that if
the old man knew and approved of his son's inclinations, he would have
mentioned the affair to him, as they frequently saw each other; and it
seemed to him neither for the interest nor reputation of his fair
charge, to receive the clandestine addresses of any man whatsoever. She
had a handsome fortune of her own, and he thought that, and her personal
accomplishments, sufficiently entitled her to as good a match as Mr.
Saving; but then he knew the sordid nature of the alderman, and that all
the merits of Miss Betsy would add nothing in the balance, if her money
was found too light to poise against the sums his son would be possessed
of. This being the case, he doubted not but that he was kept in
ignorance of the young man's intentions; and, fearing the matter might
be carried too far, resolved either to put a stop to it at once, or
permit it to go on, on such terms as should free him from all censure
from the one or the other party.
On talking seriously to the lover, he soon found the suggestions he had
entertained had not deceived him. Young Saving frankly confessed, that
his father had other views for him; but added, that if he could prevail
on the young lady to marry him, he did not despair but that when the
thing was once done, and past recal, the alderman would by degrees
receive them into favour. 'You know, Sir,' said he, 'that he has no
child but me, nor any kindred for whom he has the least regard; and it
cannot be supposed he would utterly discard me for following my
inclinations in this point, especially as they are in favour of the most
amiable and deserving of her sex.'
He said much more on this head, but it had no weight with the merchant;
he answered, that if the alderman was of his way of thinking, all the
flattering hopes his passion suggested to him on that score, might be
realized; but that, according to the disposition he knew him to be of,
he saw but little room to think he would forgive a step of this kind.
'Therefore,' continued he, 'I cannot allow this love-affair to be
prosecuted any farther, and must desire you will desist visiting at my
house, till you have either conquered this inclination, or Miss Betsy is
otherwise disposed of.'
This was a cruel sentence for the truly affectionate Saving; but he
found it in vain to solicit a repeal of it, and all he could obtain
from him, was a promise to say nothing of what had passed to the
alderman.
Mr. Goodman would have thought he had but half compleated his duty, had
he neglected to sound the inclination of Miss Betsy on this account; and
in order to come more easily at the truth, he began with talking to her
in a manner which might make her look on him rather as a favourer of Mr.
Saving's pretensions than the contrary, and was extremely glad to find,
by her replies, how indifferent that young lover was to her. He then
acquainted her with the resolution he had taken, and the discourse he
had just had with him; and, to keep her from ever after encouraging the
addresses of any man, without being authorized by the consent of friends
on both sides, represented in the most pathetick terms he was able, the
danger to which a private correspondence renders a young woman liable.
She seemed convinced of the truth of what he said, and promised to
follow, in the strictest manner, his advice.
Whether she thought herself, in reality, so much obliged to the conduct
of her guardian in this, I will not take upon me to say; for though she
was not charmed with the person of Mr. Saving, it is certain she took an
infinite pleasure in the assiduities of his passion: it is, therefore,
highly probable, that she might imagine he meddled in this affair more
than he had any occasion to have done. She had, however, but little time
for reflection on her guardian's behaviour, an accident happening, which
shewed her own to her in a light very different from what she had ever
seen it.
Lady Mellasin had a ball at her house; there was a great deal of
company, among whom was a gentleman named Gayland: he was a man of
family--had a large estate--sung, danced, spoke French, dressed
well--frequent successes among the women had rendered him extremely
vain, and as he had too great an admiration for his own person to be
possessed of any great share of it for that of any other, he enjoyed the
pleasures of love, without being sensible of the pains. This darling of
the fair it was, that Miss Betsy picked out to treat with the most
peculiar marks of esteem, whenever she had a mind to give umbrage to
poor Saving; much had that faithful lover suffered on the account of
this fop; but the fair inflictor of his torments was punished for her
insensibility and ingratitude, by a way her inexperience of the world,
and the temper of mankind in general, had made her far from
apprehending.
While the company were employed, some in dancing, and others in
particular conversation, the beau found an opportunity to slip into Miss
Betsy's hand a little billet, saying to her at the same time, 'You have
got my heart, and this little bit of paper will convey to you the
sentiments it is inspired with in your favour.' She, imagining it was
either a sonnet or epistle, in praise of her beauty, received it with a
smile, and put it in her pocket. After every body had taken leave, and
she was retired to her chamber, she examined it, and found, to her great
astonishment, the contents as follows--
'Dear Miss,
I must either be the most ungrateful, or most consumedly dull
fellow upon earth, not to have returned the advances you have been
so kind to make me, had the least opportunity offered for my doing
so; but Lady Mellasin, her daughter, the fool Saving, or some
impertinent creature or other, has always been in the way, so that
there was not a possibility of giving you even the least earnest of
love: but, my dear, I have found out a way to pay you the whole sum
with interest; which is this--you must invent some excuse for going
out alone, and let me know by a billet, directed for me at White's,
the exact hour, and I will wait for you at the corner of the street
in a hackney-coach, the window drawn up, and whirl you to a pretty
snug place I know of, where we may pass a delicious hour or two
without a soul to interrupt our pleasures. Let me find a line from
you to-morrow, if you can any way contrive it, being impatient to
convince you how much I am, my dear creature, yours, &c. &c.
J. GAYLAND.'
Impossible it is to express the mingled emotions of shame, surprize, and
indignation, which filled the breast of Miss Betsy, on reading this bold
invitation; she threw the letter on the ground, she stamped upon it, she
spurned it, and would have treated the author in the same manner, had he
been present; but the first transports of so just a resentment being
over, a consciousness of having, by a too free behaviour towards him,
emboldened him to take this liberty, involved her in the utmost
confusion, and she was little less enraged with herself, than she had
reason to be with him. She could have tore out her very eyes for having
affected to look kindly upon a wretch who durst presume so far on her
supposed affection; and though she spared those pretty twinklers that
violence, she half drowned their lustre in a deluge of tears. Never was
a night passed in more cruel anxieties than what she sustained; both
from the affront she had received, and the reflection that it was
chiefly the folly of her own conduct which had brought it on her; and
what greatly added to her vexation, was the uncertainty how it would
best become her to act on an occasion which appeared so extraordinary to
her. She had no friend whom she thought it proper to consult; she was
ashamed to relate the story to any of the discreet and serious part of
her acquaintance; she feared their reproofs for having counterfeited a
tenderness for a man, which she was now sensible she ought, if it had
been real, rather to have concealed with the utmost care both from him
and all the world; and as for Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora, though their
conduct inspired her not with any manner of awe, yet she thought she saw
something in those ladies which did not promise much sincerity, and
shewed as if they would rather turn her complaints into ridicule, than
afford her that cordial and friendly advice she stood in need of.
These were the reasons which determined her to keep the whole thing a
secret from every one. At first she was tempted to write to Gayland, and
testify her disdain of his presumption in terms which should convince
him how grossly his vanity had imposed upon him; but she afterwards
considered that a letter from her was doing him too much honour, and
though ever so reproachful, might draw another from him, either to
excuse and beg pardon for the temerity of the former, or possibly to
affront her a second time, by defending it, and repeating his request.
She despised and hated him too much to engage in a correspondence with
him of any kind, and therefore resolved, as it was certainly most
prudent, not to let him have any thing under her hand, but when next she
saw him to shew her resentment by such ways as occasion should permit.
He came not to Mr. Goodman's, however, for three days, possibly waiting
that time for a letter from Miss Betsy; but on the fourth he appeared at
Lady Mellasin's tea-table. There were, besides the family, several
others present, so that he had not an opportunity of speaking in private
to Miss Betsy; but the looks she gave him, so different from all he had
ever seen her assume towards him, might have shewn any man, not blinded
with his vanity, how much she was offended: but he imagining her
ill-humour proceeded only from the want of means to send to him, came
again the next day, and happening to find her alone in the parlour,
'What, my dear,' said he, taking her in a free manner by the hand, 'have
you been so closely watched by your guardian and guardianesses here,
that no kind moment offered for you to answer the devoirs of your
humble servant?'--'The surest guardians of my fame and peace,' replied
she, snatching her hand away, 'is the little share of understanding, I
am mistress of, which I hope will always be sufficient to defend my
honour in more dangerous attacks, than the rude impertinences of an idle
coxcomb.'
These words, and the air with which they were spoke, one would think
should have struck with confusion the person to whom they were directed:
but Gayland was not so easily put out of countenance; and, looking her
full in the face--'Ah, child!' cried he, 'sure you are not in your right
senses today! "Understanding--impertinences--idle coxcomb!" Very
pleasant, i'faith! but, upon my soul, if you think these airs become
you, you are the most mistaken woman in the world!'--'It may be so,'
cried she, ready to burst with inward spite at his insolence; 'but I
should be yet more mistaken if I were capable of thinking a wretch like
you worthy of any thing but contempt.' With these words she flung out of
the room, and he pursued her with a horse-laugh, till she was out of
hearing, and then went into the dining room, where he found Lady
Mellasin, and several who had come to visit her.
Miss Betsy, who had gone directly to her own chamber, sent to excuse
coming down to tea, pretending a violent headache, nor would be
prevailed upon to join the company till she heard Gayland had taken his
leave, which he did much sooner than usual, being probably a good deal
disconcerted at the shock his vanity had received.
CHAPTER IV
_Verifies the old proverb, that one affliction treads upon the heels of
another_
As Miss Betsy was prevented from discovering to any one the impudent
attempt Gayland had made on her virtue, by the shame of having
emboldened him to it by too unreserved a behaviour; so also the shame of
the disappointment and rebuff he had received from her, kept him from
saying any thing of what had passed between them; and this resolution on
both sides rendered it very difficult for either of them to behave to
the other, so as not to give some suspicion. Betsy could not always
avoid seeing him when he came to Lady Mellasin's, for he would not all
at once desist his visits for two reasons; first, because it might give
occasion for an enquiry into the cause; and, secondly, because Miss
Betsy would plume herself on the occasion, as having, by her scorn,
triumphed over his audacity, and drove him from the field of battle. He
therefore resolved to continue his visits for some time; and to pique
her, as he imagined, directed all the fine things his common-place-book
was well stored with, to Miss Flora, leaving the other wholly neglected.
But here he was little less deceived than he had been before in the
sentiments of that young lady; the hatred his late behaviour had given
her, and the utter detestation it had excited in her towards him, had
for a time extinguished that vanity so almost inseparable from youth,
especially when accompanied with beauty; and she rather rejoiced, than
the contrary, to see him affect to be so much taken up with Miss Flora,
that he could scarce say the least complaisant thing to her, as it freed
her from the necessity of returning it in some measure. Her good sense
had now scope to operate; she saw, as in a mirror, her own late follies
in those of Miss Flora, who swelled with all the pride of flattered
vanity on this new imaginary conquest over the heart of the accomplished
Gayland, as he was generally esteemed, and perceived the errors of such
a way of thinking and acting in so clear a light, as, had it continued,
would doubtless have spared her those anxieties her relapse from it
afterwards occasioned.
In these serious reflections let us leave her for a time, to see in what
situation Mr. Saving was, after being denied access to his mistress. As
it was impossible for a heart to be more truly sincere and affectionate,
he was far from being able to make any efforts for the banishing Miss
Betsy's image thence; on the contrary, he thought of nothing but how to
continue a correspondence with her, and endeavour, by all the means in
his power, to engage her to a private interview. As his flame was pure
and respectful, he was some days debating within himself how to proceed,
so as not to let her think he had desisted from his pretensions, or to
continue them in a manner at which she should not be offended. Love,
when real, seldom fails of inspiring the breast that harbours it with an
equal share of timidity; he trembled whenever he thought of soliciting
such a meeting; yet, without it, how could he hope to retain any place
in her memory, much less make any progress in gaining her affection! At
length, however, he assumed enough courage to write to her, and by a
bribe to one of the servants, got his letter delivered to her, fearing
if he had it sent by the post, or any publick way to the house, it would
be intercepted by the caution he found Mr. Goodman had resolved to
observe in this point.
Miss Betsy knowing his hand by the superscription, was a little
surprized, as perhaps having never thought of him since they parted, but
opened it without the least emotion either of pain or pleasure: she knew
him too well to be under any apprehensions of being treated by him as
she had been by Gayland, and was too little sensible of his merit to
feel the least impatience for examining the dictates of his affection;
yet, indifferent as she was, she could not forbear being touched on
reading these lines--
'Most adored of your sex,
I doubt not but you are acquainted with Mr. Goodman's behaviour to
me; but, oh! I fear you are too insensible of the agonies in which
my soul labours through his cruel caution. Dreadful is the loss of
sight, yet what is sight to me, when it presents not you! Though I
saw you regardless of my ardent passion, yet still I saw you--and
while I did so, could not be wholly wretched! What have I not
endured since deprived of that only joy for which I wish to live!
Had it not been improper for me to have been seen near Mr.
Goodman's house, after having been forbid entrance to it, I should
have dwelt for ever in your street, in hope of sometimes getting a
glimpse of you from one or other of the windows: this I thought
would be taken notice of, and might offend you; but darkness freed
me from these apprehensions, and gave me the consolation of
breathing in the same air with you. Soon as I thought all watchful
eyes were closed, I flew to the place, which, wherever my body is,
contains my heart and all it's faculties. I pleased myself with
looking on the roof that covers you, and invoked every star to
present me to you in your sleep, in a form more agreeable than I
can hope I ever appeared in to your waking fancy. Thus I have
passed each night; and when the morning dawned, unwillingly retired
to take that rest which nature more especially demands, when heavy
melancholy oppresses the heart. I slept--but how? Distracting
images swam in my tormented brain, and waked me with horrors
inconceivable. Equally lost to business, as to all social commerce,
I fly mankind; and, like some discontented ghost, seek out the most
solitary walks, and lonely shades, to pour forth my complaints. O
Miss Betsy! I cannot live, if longer denied the sight of you! In
pity to my sufferings, permit me yet once more to speak to you,
even though it be to take a last farewel. I have made a little kind
of interest with the woman at the habit-shop in Covent Garden,
where I know you sometimes go; I dread to intreat you would call
there to-morrow; yet, if you are so divinely good, be assured I
shall entertain no presuming hopes on the condescension you shall
be pleased to make me, but acknowledge it as the mere effect of
that compassion which is inherent to a generous mind. Alas! I must
be much more worthy than I can yet pretend to be, before I dare
flatter myself with owing any thing to a more soft emotion, than
that I have mentioned. Accuse me not, therefore, of too much
boldness in this petition, but grant to my despair what you would
deny to the love of your most faithful, and everlasting slave,
H. SAVING.
P. S. The favour of one line, to let me know whether I may expect
the blessing I implore, will add to the bounty of it. The same hand
that brings you this, will also deliver your commands to yours as
above.'
Miss Betsy read this letter several times, and, the oftener she did so,
the more she saw into the soul of him that sent it. How wide the
difference between this and that she received from Gayland! 'Tis true,
they both desired a meeting, each made the same request; but the manner
in which the former was asked, and the end proposed by the grant of it,
she easily perceived were as distant as heaven and hell. She called to
mind the great respect he had always treated her with; she was convinced
both of his honour and sincerity, and thought something was due from her
on that account. In fine, after deliberating a little within herself,
she resolved to write to him in these terms--
'Sir,
Though it is my fixed determination to encourage the addresses of
no man whatever, without the approbation of my guardians, yet I
think myself too much obliged to the affection you have expressed
for me, to refuse you a favour of so trifling a nature as that you
have taken the pains to ask. I will be at the place you mention
to-morrow, some time in the forenoon; but desire you will expect
nothing from it but a last farewel, which you have promised to be
contented with. Till then, adieu.'
After finishing this little billet, she called the maid, whom Saving had
made his confidante, into the chamber, and asked her, when she expected
he would come for an answer. To which the other replied, that he had
appointed her to meet him at the corner of the street very early in the
morning, before any of the windows were open. 'Well, then,' said Miss
Betsy, smiling, and putting the letter into her hands, 'give him this. I
do it for your sake, Nanny; for, I suppose, you will have a double fee
on the delivery.'--'The gentleman is too much in love,' answered she,
'not to be grateful.'
Miss Betsy passed the remainder of that day, and the ensuing night, with
that tranquillity which is inseparable from a mind unincumbered with
passion; but the next morning, remembering her promise, while Lady
Mellasin and Miss Flora were engaged with the beaux and belles at their
levee, she slipped out, and taking a chair at the end of the street,
went to the milliner's according to appointment. She doubted not but the
impatience of her lover would have brought him there long before her,
and was very much amazed to find herself the first comer. She knew not,
however, but some extraordinary accident, unforeseen by him, might have
happened to detain him longer than he expected; and from the whole
course of his past behaviour, could find no shadow of reason to suspect
him of a wilful remissness. She sat down in the shop, and amused herself
with talking to the woman on the new modes of dress, and such like
ordinary matters; but made not the least mention of the motive which had
brought her there that morning: and the other, not knowing whether it
would be proper to take any notice, was also silent on that occasion;
but Miss Betsy observed she often turned her head towards the window,
and ran to the door, looking up and down the street, as if she expected
somebody who was not yet come.
Miss Betsy could not forbear being shocked at a disappointment, which
was the last thing in the world she could have apprehended. She had,
notwithstanding, the patience to wait from a little past eleven till
near two o'clock, expecting, during every moment of that time, that he
would either come or send some excuse for not doing so; but finding he
did neither, and that it was near the hour in which Mr. Goodman usually
dined, she took her leave of the woman, and went home full of
agitations.
The maid, who was in the secret, happening to open the door, and Miss
Betsy looking around and perceiving there was nobody in hearing, said to
hear, 'Nanny, are you sure you delivered my letter safe into Mr.
Saving's hand?'--'Sure, Miss!' cried the wench, 'yes, as sure as I am
alive; and he gave me a good Queen Anne's guinea for my trouble. I have
not had time since to put it up,' continued she, taking it out of her
bosom; 'here it is.'--'Well, then, what did he say on receiving it?'
said Miss Betsy. 'I never saw a man so transported,' replied she; 'he
put it to his mouth, and kissed it with such an eagerness, I thought he
would have devoured it.' Miss Betsy asked no farther questions, but went
up to her chamber to pull off her hood, not being able to know how she
ought to judge of this adventure.
She was soon called down to dinner; but her mind was too much perplexed
to suffer her to eat much.
She was extremely uneasy the whole day for an explanation of what at
present seemed so mysterious, and this gave her little less pain than
perhaps she would have felt had she been possessed with an equal share
of love; but in the evening her natural vivacity got the better, and not
doubting but the next morning she should receive a letter with a full
eclaircissement of this affair, she enjoyed the same sweet repose as if
nothing had happened to ruffle her temper.
The morning came, but brought no billet from that once obsequious lover:
the next, and three or four succeeding ones, were barren of the fruit
she so much expected. What judgment could she form of an event so odd?
She could not bring herself to think Saving had taken pains to procure a
rendezvous with her, on purpose to disappoint and affront her; and was
not able to conceive any probable means by which he could be prevented
from writing to her. Death only, she thought, could be an excuse for
him, and had that happened she should have heard of it. Sometimes she
fancied that the maid had been treacherous; but when she considered she
could get nothing by being so, and that it was, on the contrary, rather
her interest to be sincere, she rejected that supposition. The various
conjectures, which by turns came into her head, rendered her, however,
excessively disturbed, and in a situation which deserved some share of
pity, had not her pride kept her from revealing the discontent, or the
motives of it, to any one person in the world.
CHAPTER V
_Contains nothing very extraordinary, yet such things as are highly
proper to be known_
I think it is generally allowed that there are few emotions of the mind
more uneasy than suspense. Not the extreme youth of Miss Betsy, not all
her natural cheerfulness, nor her perfect indifference for the son of
Alderman Saving, could enable her to throw off the vexation in which his
late behaviour had involved her: had the motive been the most mortifying
of any that could be imagined to her vanity, pride and resentment would
then have come to her assistance; she would have despised the author of
the insult, and in time have forgot the insult itself; but the
uncertainty in what manner she ought to think of the man, and this last
action of his, made both dwell much longer on her mind than otherwise
they would have done. As the poet truly says--
'When puzzling doubts the anxious bosom seize,
To know the worst, is some degree of ease.'
This is a maxim which will hold good, even when the strongest and most
violent passions operate; but Miss Betsy was possessed of no more than a
bare curiosity, which as she had as yet no other sensation that demanded
gratification, was sufficiently painful to her.
It was about ten or twelve days that she continued to labour under this
dilemma; but, at the expiration of that time, was partly relieved from
it by the following means.
Mr. Goodman, happening to meet Alderman Saving, with whom he had great
business, upon Change, desired he would accompany him to an adjacent
tavern; to which the other complied, but with an air much more grave and
reserved than he was accustomed to put on with a person whom he had
known for a great number of years, and was concerned with in some
affairs of traffick, they went together to the Ship Tavern.
After having ended what they had to say to each other upon
business--'Mr. Goodman,' said the alderman, 'we have long been friends;
I always thought you an honest, fair-dealing man, and am therefore very
much surprized you should go about to put upon me in the manner you have
lately done.'--'Put upon you, Sir!' cried the merchant; 'I know not what
you mean; and am very certain I never did any thing that might call in
question my integrity, either to you or to any one else.'--'It was great
integrity, indeed!' resumed the alderman, with a sneer, 'to endeavour to
draw my only son into a clandestine marriage with the girl you have at
your house.' Mr. Goodman was astonished, as well he might, at this
accusation; and perceiving, by some other words that the alderman let
fall, that he was well acquainted with the love young Saving had
professed for Miss Betsy, frankly related to him all that he knew of the
courtship, and the method he had taken to put a stop to it. 'That was
not enough, Sir,' cried the alderman, hastily; 'you should have told me
of it. Do you think young folks, like them, would have regarded your
forbidding? No, no! I'll warrant you they would have found some way or
other to come together before now; and the boy might have been ruined,
if I had not been informed by other hands how things were carried on,
and put it out of the power of any of you to impose upon me. The girl
may spread her nets to catch some other woodcock, if she can. Thanks to
Heaven, and my own prudence, my son is far enough out of her reach!'
Mr. Goodman, though one of the best-natured men in the world, could not
keep himself from being a little ruffled at the alderman's discourse;
and told him, that though he had been far from encouraging Mr. Saving's
inclinations, and should always think it the duty of a son to consult
his father in every thing he did, especially in so material a point as
that of marriage, yet he saw no reason for treating Miss Betsy with
contempt, as she was of a good family, had a very pretty fortune of her
own, and suitable accomplishments.
'You take a great deal of pains to set her off,' said the alderman; 'and
since you married a court-lady not worth a groat, have got all the
romantick idle notions of the other end of the town as finely as if you
had been bred there. A good family!--Very pleasant, i'faith. Will a good
family go to market? Will it buy a joint of mutton at the butcher's, or
a pretty gown at the mercer's?--Then, a pretty fortune! you say--Enough,
it may be, to squander away at cards or masquerades for a month or two.
She has suitable accomplishments too!--Yes, indeed, they are suitable
ones, I believe!--I suppose she can sing, dance, and jabber a little
French; but I'll be hanged if she knows how to make a pye, or a pudding,
or to teach her maid to do it!'
The reflection on Lady Mellasin, in the beginning of this speech, so
much incensed Mr. Goodman, that he could scarce attend to the latter
part of it: he forbore interrupting him, however; but, as soon as he had
done speaking, replied in terms which shewed his resentment. In fine,
such hot words passed between them, as, had they been younger men, might
have produced worse consequence; but the spirit of both being equally
evaporated in mutual reproaches, they grew more calm, and at last talked
themselves into as good harmony as ever. Mr. Goodman said he was sorry
that he had been prevailed upon, by the young man's intreaties, to keep
his courtship to Miss Betsy a secret; and the alderman begged pardon, in
his turn, for having said any thing disrespectful of Lady Mellasin.
On this they shook hands; another half-pint of sherry was called for;
and, before they parted, the alderman acquainted Mr. Goodman, that to
prevent entirely all future correspondence between his son and Miss
Betsy, he had sent him to Holland some days ago, without letting him
know any thing of his intentions till every thing was ready for his
embarkation. 'I sent,' said he, 'the night before he was to go, his
portmanteau, and what other luggage I thought he would have occasion
for, to the inn where the Harwich stage puts up; and, making him be
called up very early in the morning, told him he must go a little way
out of town with me upon extraordinary business. He seemed very
unwilling; said he had appointed that morning to meet a gentleman, and
begged I would delay the journey to the next day, or even till the
afternoon. What caused this backwardness I cannot imagine, for I think
it was impossible he could know my designs on this score; but, whatever
was in his head, I took care to disappoint it. I listened to none of his
excuses, nor trusted him out of my sight; but forced him to go with me
to the coach, in which I had secured a couple of places. He was horribly
shocked when he found where he was going, and would fain have persuaded
me to repeal his banishment, as he called it. I laughed in my sleeve;
but took no notice of the real motive I had for sending him away, and
told him there was an absolute necessity for his departure; that I had a
business of the greatest importance at Rotterdam, in which I could trust
nobody but himself to negociate; and that he would find, in his trunk,
letters, and other papers, which would instruct him how to act.
'In fine,' continued the alderman, 'I went with him aboard, staid with
him till they were ready to weigh anchor, then returned, and stood on
the beach till the ship sailed quite out of sight; so that if my
gentleman had a thought of writing to his mistress, he had not the least
opportunity for it.' He added, that he did not altogether deceive his
son, having, indeed, some affairs to transact at Rotterdam, though they
were not of the mighty consequence he had pretended; but which he had,
by a private letter to his agent there, ordered should be made appear as
intricate and perplexing as possible, that the young gentleman's return
might be delayed as long as there was any plausible excuse for detaining
him, without his seeing through the reason of it.
Mr. Goodman praised the alderman's discretion in the whole conduct of
this business; and, to atone for having been prevailed upon to keep
young Saving's secret from him, offered to make interest with a friend
he had at the post-office, to stop any letter that should be directed to
Miss Betsy Thoughtless, by the way of Holland: 'By which means,' said
he, 'all communication between the young people will soon be put an end
to; he will grow weary of writing letters when he receives no answers;
and she of thinking of him as a lover, when she finds he ceases to tell
her he is so.'
The alderman was ready to hug his old friend for this proposal, which,
it is certain, he made in the sincerity of his heart; for they no sooner
parted, then he went to the office, and fulfilled his promise.
When he came home, in order to hinder Miss Betsy from expecting to hear
any thing more of Mr. Saving, he told her he had been treated by the
alderman pretty roughly, on account of the encouragement that had been
given in his house to the amorous addresses which had been made to her
by his son: 'And,' added he, 'the old man is so incensed against him,
for having a thought of that kind in your favour, that he has sent him
beyond sea--I know not to what part: but, it seems, he is never to come
back, till he has given full assurance the liking he has for you is
utterly worn off.'
'He might have spared himself the pains,' said Miss Betsy, blushing
with disdain, 'his son could have informed him how little I was
inclinable to listen to any thing he said, on the score of love; and I
myself, if he had asked me the question, would have given him the
strongest assurances that words could form, that if ever I changed my
condition, (which Heaven knows I am far from thinking on as yet) I
should never be prevailed upon to do it by any merits his son was
possessed of.'
Mr. Goodman congratulated her on the indifference she expressed; and
told her, he hoped she would always continue in the same humour, till an
offer which promised more satisfaction in marriage should happen to be
made.
Nothing more was said on this head; but Miss Betsy, upon ruminating on
what Mr. Goodman had related, easily imagined, that the day in which he
had been sent away, was the same on which he had appointed to meet her,
and therefore excused his not coming as a thing unavoidable; yet, as she
knew not the precaution his father had taken, was not so ready to
forgive him for not sending a line to prevent her waiting so long for
him at the habit-shop. She could not, however, when she reflected on the
whole tenor of his deportment to her, think it possible he should all at
once become guilty of wilfully omitting what even common good manners
and decency required. She soon grew weary, however, of troubling herself
about the matter; and a very few days served to make her lose even the
memory of it.
CHAPTER VI
_May be of some service to the ladies, especially the younger sort, if
well attended to_
Miss Betsy had now no person that professed a serious passion for her;
but, as she had yet never seen the man capable of inspiring her with the
least emotions of tenderness, she was quite easy as to that point, and
wished nothing beyond what she enjoyed, the pleasure of being told she
was very handsome, and gallanted about by a great number of those who go
by the name of very pretty fellows. Pleased with the praise, she
regarded not the condition or merits of the praised, and suffered
herself to be treated, presented, and squired about to all publick
places, either by the rake, the man of honour, the wit, or the fool, the
married as well as the unmarried, without distinction, and just as
either fell in her way.
Such a conduct as this could not fail of laying her open to the censure
of malicious tongues: the agreeableness of her person, her wit, and the
many accomplishments she was mistress of, made her envied and hated,
even by those who professed the greatest friendship for her. Several
there were who, though they could scarce support the vexation it gave
them to see her so much preferred to themselves, yet chose to be as much
with her as possible, in the cruel hope of finding some fresh manner
wherewith to blast her reputation.
Certain it is, that though she was as far removed as innocence itself
from all intent or wish of committing a real ill, yet she paid too
little regard to the appearances of it, and said and did many things
which the actually criminal would be more cautious to avoid. Hurried by
an excess of vanity, and that love of pleasure so natural to youth, she
indulged herself in liberties, of which she foresaw not the
consequences.
Lady Trusty, who sincerely loved her, both for her own sake, and that of
her deceased mother, came more often to Mr. Goodman's than otherwise she
would have done, on purpose to observe the behaviour of Miss Betsy: she
had heard some accounts, which gave her great dissatisfaction; but, as
she was a woman of penetration, she easily perceived, that plain reproof
was not the way to prevail on her to reclaim the errors of her conduct;
that she must be insensibly weaned from what at present she took so much
delight in, and brought into a different manner of living, by ways which
should rather seem to flatter than check her vanity. She therefore
earnestly wished to get her down with her into L----e, where she was
soon going herself; but knew not how to ask her without making the same
invitation to Miss Flora, whose company she no way desired, and whose
example, she was sensible, had very much contributed to give Miss Betsy
that air of levity, which rendered her good sense almost useless to her.
This worthy lady happening to find her alone one day, (a thing not very
usual) she asked, by way of sounding her inclination, if she would not
be glad to see L----e again; to which she replied, that there were many
people for whom she had a very great respect; but the journey was too
long to be taken merely on the score of making a short visit; for she
owned she did not like the country well enough to continue in it for any
length of time.
Lady Trusty would fain have persuaded her into a better opinion of the
place she was born in, and which most of her family had passed the
greatest part of their lives in; but Miss Betsy was not to be argued
into any tolerable ideas of it, and plainly told her ladyship, that what
she called a happy tranquil manner of spending one's days, seemed to her
little better than being buried alive.
From declaring her aversion to a country life, she ran into such
extravagant encomiums on those various amusements which London every day
presented, that Lady Trusty perceived it would not be without great
difficulty she would be brought to a more just way of thinking; she
concealed, however, as much as possible, the concern it gave her to hear
her express herself in this manner; contenting herself with saying,
calmly, that London was indeed a very agreeable place to live in,
especially for young people, and the pleasures it afforded were very
elegant; 'But then,' said she, 'the too frequent repetition of them may
so much engross the mind as to take it off from other objects, which
ought to have their share in it. Besides,' continued she, 'there are but
too frequent proofs that an innate principle of virtue is not always a
sufficient guard against the many snares laid for it, under the shew of
innocent pleasures, by wicked and designing persons of both sexes; nor
can it be esteemed prudence to run one's self into dangers merely to
shew our strength in overcoming them: nor, perhaps, would even the
victory turn always to our glory; the world is censorious, and seldom
ready to put the best construction on things; so that reputation may
suffer, though virtue triumphs.'
Miss Betsy listened to all this with a good deal of attention; the
impudent attempt Gayland had made on her came fresh into her mind, and
made this lady's remonstrances sink the deeper into it. The power of
reflection being a little awakened in her, some freedoms also, not
altogether consistent with strict modesty, which others had offered to
her, convinced her of the error of maintaining too little reserve; she
thanked her kind adviser, and promised to observe the precepts she had
given.
Lady Trusty, finding this good effect of what she had said, ventured to
proceed so far as to give some hints that the conduct of Miss Flora had
been far from blameless; 'And therefore,' pursued she, 'I should be
glad, methinks, to see you separated from that young lady, though it
were but for a small time;' and then gave her to understand how great a
pleasure it would be to her to get her down with her to L----e, if it
could be any way contrived that she should go without Miss Flora.
'As I have been so long from home,' said she, 'I know I shall have all
the gentry round the country to welcome me at my return; and if you
should find the company less polite than those you leave behind, it will
at least diversify the scene, and render the entertainments of London
new to you a second time, when you come back.'
Miss Betsy found in herself a strong inclination to comply with this
proposal; and told Lady Trusty, she should think herself happy in
passing the whole summer with her; and as to Miss Flora, the same offer
might be made to her without any danger of her accepting it. 'I am not
of your opinion,' said the other: 'the girl has no fortune, but what Mr.
Goodman shall be pleased to give her, which cannot be very considerable,
as he has a nephew in the East Indies whom he is extremely fond of, and
will make his heir. Lady Mellasin would, therefore, catch at the
opportunity of sending her daughter to a place where there are so many
gentlemen of estates, among whom she might have a better chance for
getting a husband than she can have in London, where her character would
scarce entitle her to such a hope. I will, however,' pursued she, 'run
the risque, and chuse rather to have a guest whose company I do not so
well approve of, than be deprived of one I so much value.'
Miss Betsy testified the sense she had of her ladyship's goodness in the
most grateful and obliging terms; and Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora
coming home soon after, Lady Trusty said she was come on purpose to ask
permission for Miss Flora and Miss Betsy to pass two or three months
with her down in L----e.
Lady Mellasin, as the other had imagined, seemed extremely pleased with
the invitation; and told her, she did her daughter a great deal of
honour, and she would take care things should be prepared for both the
young ladies to attend her on her setting out. Lady Trusty then told her
she had fixed the day for it, which was about a fortnight after this
conversation; and some other matters relating to the journey being
regulated, took her leave, highly pleased with the thoughts of getting
Miss Betsy to a place, where she should have an opportunity of using her
utmost endeavours to improve the good she found in her disposition, and
of weaning her, by degrees, from any ill habits she might have
contracted in that Babel of mixed company she was accustomed to at Lady
Mellasin's.
CHAPTER VII
_Is a medley of various particulars, which pave the way for matters of
more consequence_
Miss Flora had now nothing in her head but the many hearts she expected
to captivate when she should arrive in L----e; and Lady Mellasin, who
soothed her in all her vanities, resolved to spare nothing which she
imagined would contribute to that purpose. Miss Betsy, who had the same
ambition, though for different ends, made it also pretty much her study
to set off, to the best advantage, the charms she had received from
nature. The important article of dress now engrossed the whole
conversation of these ladies. The day after that in which Lady Trusty
had made the invitation to the two young ones, Lady Mellasin went with
them to the mercer's to buy some silks; she pitched on a very genteel
new-fashioned pattern for her daughter, but chose one for Miss Betsy
which, though rich, seemed to her not well fancied; she testified her
disapprobation, but Lady Mellasin said so much in the praise of it, and
the mercer, either to please her, or because he was desirous of getting
it sold, assured Miss Betsy that it was admired by every body; that it
was the newest thing he had in his shop, and had already sold several
pieces to ladies of the first quality. All this did not argue Miss Betsy
into a liking of it; yet between them she was over-persuaded to have it.
When these purchases were made, they went home, only stopping at the
mantua-maker's in their way, to order her to come that afternoon: Lady
Mellasin did no more than set them down, and then went in the coach to
make a visit.
The young ladies fell to reviewing their silks; but Miss Betsy was no
way satisfied with hers: the more she looked upon it, the worse it
appeared to her. 'I shall never wear it with any pleasure,' said she; 'I
wish the man had it in his shop again, for I think it quite ugly.' Miss
Flora told her, that she wondered at her; that the thing was perfectly
handsome, and that my lady's judgment was never before called in
question. 'That may be,' replied Miss Betsy; 'but certainly every one
ought to please their own fancy in the choice of their cloaths: for my
part, I shall never endure to see myself in it.'--'Not when their fancy
happens to differ from that of those who know better than themselves
what is fit for them,' cried Miss Flora; 'and, besides, have the power
over them.' She spoke this with so much pertness, that Miss Betsy, had
had a violent spirit, was highly provoked. 'Power over them!' cried she,
'I do not know what you mean, Miss Flora; Mr. Goodman is one of my
guardians, indeed; but I don't know why that should entitle his lady to
direct me in what I shall wear.'
Mr. Goodman, who happened to be looking over some papers in a little
closet he had within his parlour, hearing part of this dispute, and
finding it was like to grow pretty warm, came out, in hopes of
moderating it. On hearing Miss Betsy's complaint, he desired to see the
silk; which being shewn him, 'I do not pretend,' said he, 'to much
understanding in these things; but, methinks, it is very handsome.'--'It
would do well enough for winter, Sir,' replied Miss Betsy; 'but it is
too hot and heavy for summer; besides, it is so thick and clumsy, it
would make me look as big again as I am: I'll not wear it, I am
resolved, in the country, whatever I do when I come to town, in the dark
weather.'
'Well,' said Mr. Goodman, 'I will speak to my lady to get it changed for
something else.'--'Indeed, Sir,' cried Miss Flora, 'I am sure my mamma
will do no such thing, and take it very ill to hear it proposed.'--'You
need not put yourself in any heat,' replied Miss Betsy; 'I don't desire
she should be troubled any farther about it--but, Sir,' continued she,
turning to Mr. Goodman, 'I think I am now at an age capable of chusing
for myself, in the article of dress; and as it has been settled between
you and Sir Ralph Trusty, that, out of the income of my fortune, thirty
pounds a year should be allowed for my board, twenty pounds for my
pocket expences, and fifty for my cloaths, I think I ought to have the
two latter entirely at my own disposal, and to lay it out as I think
fit, and not be obliged, like a charity-child, to wear whatever livery
my benefactor shall be pleased to order.' She spoke this with so much
spleen, that Mr. Goodman was a little nettled at it, and told her, that
what his wife had done was out of kindness and good-will; which since
she did not take as it was meant, she should have her money to do with
as she would.
'That is all I desire,' answered she, 'therefore be pleased to let me
have twenty guineas now, or, if there does not remain so much in your
hands, I will ask Sir Ralph to advance it, and you may return it to him
when you settle accounts.'--'No, no,' cried the merchant hastily, 'I see
no reason to trouble my good friend, Sir Ralph, on such a frivolous
matter. You shall have the sum you mention, Miss Betsy, whether so much
remains out of the hundred pounds a year set apart for your subsistence,
or not, as I can but deduct it out of the next payment: but I would have
you manage with discretion, for you may depend, that the surplus of what
was at first agreed upon, shall not be broke into, but laid up to
increase your fortune; which, by the time you come of age, I hope will
be pretty handsomely improved.'
Miss Betsy then assured him, that she doubted not of his zeal for her
interest, and hoped she had not offended him in any thing she had said.
'No, no,' replied he, 'I always make allowances for the little
impatiences of persons of your sex and age, especially where dress is
concerned.' In speaking these words, he opened his bureau, and took out
twenty guineas, which he immediately gave her, making her first sign a
memorandum of it. Miss Flora was all on fire to have offered something
in opposition to this, but durst not do it; and the mantua-maker that
instant coming in, she went up stairs with her into her chamber, leaving
Miss Betsy and Mr. Goodman together; the former of whom, being eager to
go about what she intended, ordered a hackney-coach to be called, and
taking the silk with her, went directly to the shop where it was bought.
The mercer at first seemed unwilling to take it again; but on her
telling him she would always make use of him for every thing she wanted
in his way, and would then buy two suits of him, he at last consented.
As she was extremely curious in everything relating to her shape, she
made choice of a pink-coloured French lustring, to the end, that the
plaits lying flat, she would shew the beauty of her waist to more
advantage; and to atone for the slightness of the silk, purchased as
much of it as would flounce the sleeves and the petticoat from top to
bottom; she made the mercer also cut off a sufficient quantity of a rich
green Venetian sattin, to make her a riding-habit; and as she came home
bought a silver trimming for it of Point D'Espagne: all which, with the
silk she disliked in exchange, did not amount to the money she had
received from Mr. Goodman.
On her return, she asked the footman, who opened the door, if the
mantua-maker was gone; but he not being able to inform her, she ran
hastily up stairs, to Miss Flora's chamber, which, indeed, was also her
own, for they lay together: she was about to bounce in, but found that
the door was locked, and the key taken out on the inside. This very much
surprized her, especially as she thought she had heard Miss Flora's
voice, as she was at the top of the stair-case; wanting, therefore, to
be satisfied who was with her, she went as softly as she could into Lady
Mellasin's dressing-room, which was parted from the chamber but by a
slight wainscot; she put her ear close to the pannel, in order to
discover the voices of them who spoke, and found, by some light that
came through a crack or flaw in the boards, her eyes, as well as ears,
contributed to a discovery she little expected. In fine, she plainly
perceived Miss Flora and a man rise off the bed: she could not at first
discern who he was; but, on his returning to go out of the room, knew
him to be no other than Gayland. They went out of the chamber together
as gently as they could; and though Miss Betsy might, by taking three
steps, have met them in the passage, and have had an opportunity of
revenging herself on Miss Flora for the late airs she had given herself,
by shewing how near she was to the scene of infamy she had been acting,
yet the shock she felt herself, on being witness of it, kept her
immoveable for some time; and she suffered them to depart without the
mortification of thinking any one knew of their being together in the
manner they were.
This young lady, who though, as I have already taken notice, was of too
volatile and gay a disposition, hated any thing that had the least
tincture of indecency, was so much disconcerted at the discovery she had
made, that she had not power to stir from the place she was in, much
less to resolve how to behave in this affair; that is, whether it would
be best, or not, to let Miss Flora know she was in the secret of her
shame, or to suffer her to think herself secure.
She was however, beginning to meditate on this point, when she heard
Miss Flora come up stairs, calling at every step, 'Miss Betsy! Miss
Betsy! where are you?' Gayland was gone; and his young mistress being
told Miss Betsy was come home, guessed it was she who had given an
interruption to their pleasures, by coming to the door; she, therefore,
as she could not imagine her so perfectly convinced, contrived to
disguise the whole, and worst of the truth, by revealing a part of it;
and as soon as she had found her, 'Lord, Miss Betsy!' cried she, with
an unparalleled assurance, 'where have you been? how do you think I have
been served by that cursed toad Gayland? He came up into our chamber,
where the mantua-maker and I were, and as soon as she was gone, locked
the door, and began to kiss and touze me so, that I protest I was
frighted almost out of my wits. The devil meant no harm, though, I
believe, for I got rid of him easy enough; but I wish you had rapped
heartily at the door, and obliged him to open it, that we both might
have rated him for his impudence!--'Some people have a great deal of
impudence, indeed,' replied Miss Betsy, astonished at her manner of
bearing it off. 'Aye, so they have, my dear,' rejoined the other, with a
careless air; 'but, pr'ythee, where have you been rambling by
yourself?'--'No farther than Bedford Street,' answered Miss Betsy; 'you
may see on what errand,' continued she, pointing to the silks which she
had laid down on a chair. Miss Flora presently ran to the bundle,
examined what it contained, and either being in a better humour, or
affecting to be so, than when they talked on this head in the parlour,
testified no disapprobation of what she had done; but, on the contrary,
talked to her in such soft obliging terms, that Miss Betsy, who had a
great deal of good-nature, when not provoked by any thing that seemed an
affront to herself, could not find in her heart to say any thing to give
her confusion.
When Lady Mellasin came home, and was informed how Miss Betsy had
behaved, in relation to the silk, she at first put on an air full of
resentment: but finding the other wanted neither wit nor spirit to
defend her own cause, and not caring to break with her, especially as
her daughter was going with her to L----e, soon grew more moderate; and,
at length, affected to think no more of it. Certain it is, however, that
this affair, silly as it was, and, as one would think, insignificant in
itself, lay broiling in the minds of both mother and daughter; and they
waited only for an opportunity of venting their spite, in such a manner
as should not make them appear to have the least tincture of so foul and
mean a passion; but as neither of them were capable of a sincere
friendship, and had no real regard for any one besides themselves, their
displeasure was of little consequence.
Preparations for the journey of the young ladies seemed, for the
present, to employ all their thoughts, and diligence enough was used to
get every thing ready against the time prefixed, which wanted but three
days of being expired, when an unforeseen accident put an entire stop to
it.
Miss Betsy received a letter from her brother, Mr. Francis Thoughtless,
accompanied with another to Mr. Goodman, acquainting them, that he had
obtained leave from the head of the college to pass a month in London;
that he should set out from Oxford in two days, and hoped to enjoy the
satisfaction of being with them in twelve hours after this letter. What
could she now do? it would have been a sin, not only against natural
affection, but against the rules of common good manners, to have left
the town, either on the news of his arrival, or immediately after it:
nor could Lady Trusty expect, or desire she should entertain a thought
of doing so; she was too wise and too good not to consider the interest
of families very much depended on the strict union among the branches of
it, and that the natural affection between brothers and sisters could
not be too much cultivated. Far, therefore, from insisting on the
promise Miss Betsy had made of going with her into the country, she
congratulated her on the happy disappointment; and told her, that she
should receive her with a double satisfaction, if, after Mr. Francis
returned to Oxford, she would come and pass what then remained of the
summer-season with her. This Miss Betsy assured her ladyship she would
do; so that, according to all appearance, the benefits she might have
received, by being under the eye of so excellent an instructress were
but delayed, not lost.
CHAPTER VIII
_Relates how, by a concurrence of odd circumstances, Miss Betsy was
brought pretty near the crisis of her fate, and the means by which she
escaped_
Mr. Francis Thoughtless arrived in town the very evening before the day
in which Sir Ralph Trusty and his lady were to set out for L----e. They
had not seen this young gentleman since the melancholy occasion of his
father's funeral, and would have been glad to have spent some time with
him, but could no way put off their journey, as word was sent of the day
in which they expected to be at home; Sir Ralph knew very well that a
great number of his tenants and friends would meet them on the road, and
a letter would not reach them soon enough to prevent them from being
disappointed: they supped with him, however, at Mr. Goodman's, who would
not permit him to have any other home than his house during his stay in
town. Lady Trusty, on taking leave of Miss Betsy, said to her, she hoped
she would remember her promise when her brother was returned to Oxford;
on which, she replied, that she could not be so much an enemy to her own
happiness as to fail.
Miss Betsy and this brother had always been extremely fond of each
other; and the length of time they had been asunder, and the improvement
which that time had made in both, heightened their mutual satisfaction
in meeting.
All that troubled Miss Betsy now was, that her brother happened to come
to London at a season of the year in which he could not receive the
least satisfaction: the king was gone to Hanover, all the foreign
ministers, and great part of the nobility attended him; and the rest
were retired to their country seats; so that an entire stop was put to
all publick diversions worth seeing. There were no plays, no operas, no
masquerades, no balls, no publick shews, except at the Little Theatre in
the Hay Market, then known by the name of F----g's scandal shop, because
he frequently exhibited there certain drolls, or, more properly,
invectives against the ministry; in doing which it appears extremely
probably that he had two views; the one to get money, which he very much
wanted, from such as delighted in low humour, and could not distinguish
true satire from scurrility; and the other, in the hope of having some
post given him by those whom he had abused, in order to silence his
dramatick talent. But it is not my business to point out either the
merit of that gentleman's performances, or the motives he had for
writing them, as the town is perfectly acquainted both with his
abilities and success; and has since seen him, with astonishment,
wriggle himself into favour, by pretending to cajole those he had not
the power to intimidate.
But though there were none of the diversions I have mentioned, nor
Ranelagh at that time thought of, nor Vauxhall, Marybone, nor Cuper's
Gardens, in the repute they since have been, the young gentleman found
sufficient to entertain him: empty as the town was, Lady Mellasin was
not without company, who made frequent parties of pleasure; and when
nothing else was to be found for recreation, cards filled up the void.
Nothing, material enough to be inserted in this history, happened to
Miss Betsy during the time her brother stayed; till one evening, as the
family were sitting together, some discourse concerning Oxford coming on
the tapis, Mr. Francis spoke so largely in the praise of the
wholesomeness of the air, the many fine walks and gardens with which the
place abounded, and the good company which were continually resorting to
it, that Miss Betsy cried out, she longed to see it--Miss Flora said the
same.
On this the young gentleman gave them an invitation to go down with him
when he went; saying, they never could go at a better time, as both the
assizes and races were to be in about a month. Miss Betsy said, such a
jaunt would vastly delight her. Miss Flora echoed her approbation; and
added, she wished my lady would consent. 'I have no objection to make to
it,' replied Lady Mellasin, 'as you will have a conductor who, I know,
will be very careful of you.' Mr. Goodman's consent was also asked, for
the sake of form, though every one knew the opinion of his wife was, of
itself, a sufficient sanction.
Though it is highly probable that Miss Betsy was much better pleased
with this journey than she would have been with that to L----e, yet she
thought herself obliged, both in gratitude and good manners, to write to
Lady Trusty, and make the best excuse she could for her breach of
promise; which she did in these terms.
'To Lady Trusty
Most dear and honoured madam,
My brother Frank being extremely desirous of shewing Miss Flora and
myself the curiosities of Oxford, has obtained leave from Mr.
Goodman, and Lady Mellasin, for us to accompany him to that place.
I am afraid the season will be too far advanced to take a journey
to L----e at our return; therefore flatter myself your ladyship will
pardon the indispensible necessity I am under of deferring, till
next spring, the happiness I proposed in waiting on you. All here
present my worthy guardian, and your ladyship, with their best
respects. I beg mine may be equally acceptable, and that you will
always continue to favour with your good wishes, her, who is, with
the most perfect esteem, Madam, your ladyship's most obliged, and
most obedient servant,
E. THOUGHTLESS.'
The time for the young gentleman's departure being arrived, they went
together in the stage, accompanied by a footman of Mr. Goodman's, whom
Lady Mellasin would needs send with them, in order to give the young
ladies an air of dignity.
They found, on their arrival at that justly-celebrated seat of learning,
that Mr. Francis had given no greater eulogiums on it than it merited:
they were charmed with the fine library, the museum, the magnificence of
the halls belonging to the various colleges, the physick-garden, and
other curious walks; but that which, above all the rest, gave the most
satisfaction to Miss Betsy, as well as to her companion, was that
respectful gallantry with which they found themselves treated by the
gentlemen of the university. Mr. Francis was extremely beloved amongst
them, on account of his affability, politeness, and good-humour, and
they seemed glad of an opportunity of shewing the regard they had for
the brother, by paying all manner of civilities to the sister: he gave
the ladies an elegant entertainment at his own rooms, to which also some
of those with whom he was the most intimate were invited. All these
thought themselves bound to return the same compliment: the company of
every one present was desired at their respective apartments; and as
each of these gentlemen had, besides, other particular friends of their
own, whom they wished to oblige, the number of guests was still
increased at every feast.
By this means, Miss Betsy and Miss Flora soon acquired a very large
acquaintance; and as, through the care of Mr. Francis, they were lodged
in one of the best and most reputable houses in town, their families
known, and themselves were young ladies who knew how to behave, as well
as dress, and receive company in the most elegant and polite manner,
every one was proud of a pretence for visiting them.
The respect paid to them would, doubtless, have every day increased
during the whole time they should have thought proper to continue in
Oxford, and on quitting it, have left behind them the highest idea of
their merit, if, by one inconsiderate action, they had not at once
forfeited the esteem they had gained, and rendered themselves the
subjects of ridicule, even to those who before had regarded them with
veneration.
They were walking out one day, about an hour or two before the time in
which they usually dined, into the park, where they were met by a
gentleman-commoner and a young student, both of whom they had been in
company with at most of the entertainments before mentioned. The sparks
begged leave to attend them, which was readily granted: they walked all
together for some time; but the weather being very warm, the
gentleman-commoner took an occasion to remind the ladies how much their
beauties would be in danger of suffering from the immoderate rays of
Phoebus; and proposed going to some gardens full of the most beautiful
alcoves and arbours, so shaded over that the sun, even in his meridian
force, could, at the most, but glimmer through the delightful gloom; he
painted the pleasures of the place, to which he was desirous of leading
them, with so romantick an energy, that they immediately, and without
the least scruple or hesitation, consented to be conducted thither.
This was a condescension which he who asked it, scarce expected would be
granted; and, on finding it so easily obtained, began to form some
conjectures no way to the advantage of those ladies reputations. It is
certain, indeed, that as he professed a friendship for the brother, he
ought not, in strict honour, to have proposed any thing to the sister
which would be unbecoming her to agree to; but he was young, gay to an
excess, and in what he said or did took not always consideration for his
guide.
They went on laughing, till they came to the place he mentioned, where
the gentlemen, having shewed their faire companions into the gardens, in
which were, indeed, several recesses, no less dark than had been
described: on entering one of them, Miss Betsy cried, 'Bless me! this is
fit for nothing but for people to do what they are ashamed of in the
light.'--'The fitter then, Madam,' replied the gentleman-commoner, 'to
encourage a lover, who, perhaps, has suffered more through his own
timidity than the cruelty of the object he adores.' He accompanied these
words with a seizure of both her hands, and two or three kisses on her
lips. The young student was no less free with Miss Flora: but neither of
these ladies gave themselves the trouble to reflect what consequences
might possibly attend a prelude of this nature, and repulsed the
liberties they took in such a manner as made the offenders imagine they
had not sinned beyond a pardon.
They would not, however, be prevailed upon to stay, or even to sit down
in that darksome recess, but went into a house, where they were shewn
into a very pleasant room which commanded the whole prospect of the
garden, and was sufficiently shaded from the sun by jessamine and
honeysuckles, which grew against the window: here wine, cakes, jellies,
and such like things, being brought, the conversation was extremely
lively, and full of gallantry, without the least mixture of indecency.
The gentlemen exerted all their wit and eloquence, to persuade the
ladies not to go home in the heat of the day; but take up with such
entertainment as the place they were in was able to present them with.
Neither of them made any objection, except that, having said they should
dine at home, the family would wait in expectation of their coming: but
this difficulty was easily got over; the footman, who had attended Miss
Betsy and Miss Flora, in their morning's walk, was in the house, and
might be sent to acquaint the people that they were not to expect them.
As they were neither displeased with the company, nor place they were
in, they needed not abundance of persuasions; and the servant was
immediately dispatched. The gentlemen went out of the room, to give
orders for having something prepared, but staid not two minutes; and on
their return, omitted nothing that might keep up the good-humour and
sprightliness of their fair companions.
Persons of so gay and volatile a disposition as these four, could not
content themselves with sitting still, and barely talking; every limb
must be in motion, every faculty employed. The gentleman-commoner took
Miss Betsy's hand, and led her some steps of a minuet, then fell into a
rigadoon, then into the louvre, and so ran through all the
school-dances, without regularly beginning or ending any one of them, or
of the tunes he sung; the young student was not less alert with Miss
Flora; so that, between singing, dancing, and laughing, they all grew
extremely warm. Miss Betsy ran to a window to take breath, and get a
little air; her partner followed, and taking up her fan, which lay on a
table, employed it with a great deal of dexterity, to assist the wind
that came in at the casement for her refreshment. 'Heavens!' cried he,
'how divinely lovely do you now appear! the goddess of the spring, nor
Venus's self, was ever painted half so beautiful! What eyes! what a
mouth! and what a shape!' continued he, surveying her, as it were, from
head to foot, 'How exquisitely turned! How taper! how slender! I don't
believe you measure half a yard round the waist.' In speaking these
words, he put his handkerchief about her waist; after which he tied it
round his head, repeating these lines of Mr. Waller's--
'That which her slender waist confin'd
Shall now my joyful temples bind;
No monarch but would give his crown,
His arms might do what this has done.'
'O fie upon it!' said Miss Betsy, laughing, and snatching it from his
head, 'this poetry is stale; I should rather have expected from an
Oxonian some fine thing of his own extempore, on this occasion, which,
perhaps, I might have been vain enough to have got printed in the
monthly magazine.'
'Ah, Madam!' replied he, looking on her with dying languishments, 'where
the heart is deeply affected, the brain seldom produces any thing but
incongruous ideas. Had Sacharissa been mistress of the charms you are,
or had Waller loved like me, he had been less capable of writing in the
manner he did.'
The student perceiving his friend was entering into a particular
conversation with Miss Betsy, found means to draw Miss Flora out of the
room, and left them together, though this young lady afterwards
protested she called to Miss Betsy to follow; but if she did it was in
such a low voice that the other did not hear her, and continued her
pleasantry, raillying the gentleman-commoner on every thing he said,
till he finding the opportunity he had of being revenged, soon turned
his humble adoration into an air more free and natural to him. As she
was opening her mouth to utter some sarcasm or other, he catched her in
his arms, and began to kiss her with so much warmth and eagerness that
surprized her; she struggled to get loose, and called Miss Flora, not
knowing she was gone, to come to her assistance. The efforts she made at
first to oblige him to desist, were not, however, quite so strenuous as
they ought to have been on such an occasion; but finding he was about to
proceed to greater liberties than any man before had ever taken with
her, she collected all her strength, and broke from him; when looking
round the room, and seeing nobody there, 'Bless me,' cried she, 'what is
the meaning of all this! Where are our friends!'--'They are gone,' said
he, 'to pay the debt which love and youth, and beauty challenge; let us
not be remiss, nor waste the precious moments in idle scruples. Come, my
angel!' pursued he, endeavouring to get her once more into his arms,
'make me the happiest of mankind, and be as divinely good as you are
fair.'
'I do not understand you, Sir,' replied she; 'but neither desire, nor
will stay to hear, an explanation.' She spoke this with somewhat of an
haughty air, and was making towards the door, but he was far from being
intimidated; and, instead of suffering her to pass, he seized her a
little roughly with one hand, and with the other made fast the door.
'Come, come, my dear creature,' cried he, 'no more resistance; you see
you are in my power, and the very name of being so is sufficient to
absolve you to yourself, for any act of kindness you may bestow upon me;
be generous, then, and be assured it shall be an inviolable secret.'
She was about to say something, but he stopped her mouth with kisses,
and forced her to sit down in a chair; where, holding her fast, her ruin
had certainly been compleated, if a loud knocking at the door had not
prevented him from prosecuting his design.
This was the brother of Miss Betsy, who having been at her lodgings, on
his coming from thence met the footman, who had been sent to acquaint
the family the ladies would not dine at home; he asked where his sister
was, and, the fellow having told him, came directly to the place. A
waiter of the house shewed him to the room: on finding it locked he was
strangely amazed; and both knocked and called to have it opened, with a
great deal of vehemence.
This gentleman-commoner knowing his voice, was shocked to the last
degree, but quitted that instant his intended prey, and let him enter.
Mr. Francis, on coming in, knew not what to think; he saw the gentleman
in great disorder, and his sister in much more. 'What is the meaning of
this?' said he. 'Sister, how came you here?'--'Ask me no questions at
present,' replied she, scarce able to speak, so strangely had her late
fright seized on her spirits; 'but see me safe from this cursed house,
and that worst of men.' Her speaking in this manner made Mr. Francis
apprehend the whole, and perhaps more than the truth. 'How, Sir,' said
he, darting a furious look at the gentleman-commoner, 'what is it I
hear?--Have you dared to--' 'Whatever I have dared to,' interrupted the
other, 'I am capable of defending.'--'It is well,' rejoined the brother
of Miss Betsy, 'perhaps I may put you to the trial: but this is not a
time or place.' He then took hold of his sister's hand, and led her down
stairs: as they were going out, Miss Betsy stopping a little to adjust
her dress, which was strangely disordered, she bethought herself of Miss
Flora; who, though she was very angry with, she did not chuse to leave
behind at the mercy of such rakes, as she had reason to think those were
whom she had been in company with. Just as she was desiring of her
brother to send a waiter in search of that young lady, they saw her
coming out of the garden, led by the young student who, as soon as he
beheld Mr. Francis, cried, 'Ha! Frank, how came you here? you look out
of humour.'--'How I came here, it matters not,' replied he sullenly;
'and as to my being out of humour, perhaps you may know better than I
yet do what cause I have for being so.'
He waited for no answer to these words; but conducted his sister out of
the house as hastily as he could: Miss Flora followed, after having
taken leave of her companion in what manner she thought proper.
On their coming home, Miss Betsy related to her brother, as far as her
modesty would permit, all the particulars of the adventure, and ended
with saying, that sure it was Heaven alone that gave her strength to
prevent the perpetration of the villain's intentions. Mr. Francis, all
the time she was speaking, bit his lips, and shewed great tokens of an
extraordinary disturbance in his mind; but offered not the least
interruption. When he perceived she had done, 'Well, sister,' said he,
'I shall hear what he has to say, and will endeavour to oblige him to
ask your pardon.' And soon after took his leave.
Miss Betsy did not very well comprehend his meaning in these words; and
was, indeed, still in too much confusion to consider on any thing; but
what the consequences were of this transaction, the reader will
presently be informed of.
CHAPTER IX
_Contains such things as might be reasonably expected, after the
preceding adventure_
When in any thing irregular, and liable to censure, more persons than
one are concerned, how natural is it for each to accuse the other; and
it often happens, in this case, that the greatest part of the blame
falls on the least culpable.
After Mr. Francis had left the ladies, in order to be more fully
convinced in this matter, and to take such measures as he thought would
best become him for the reparation of the affront offered to the honour
of his family, Miss Flora began to reproach Miss Betsy for having
related any thing of what had passed to her brother: 'By your own
account,' said she, 'no harm was done to you: but some people love to
make a bustle about nothing.'--'And some people,' replied Miss Betsy,
tartly, 'love nothing but the gratification of their own passions; and
having no sense of virtue and modesty themselves, can have no regard to
that of another.'--'What do you mean, Miss?' cried the other, with a
pert air. 'My meaning is pretty plain,' rejoined Miss Betsy: 'but since
you affect so much ignorance, I must tell you, that the expectations of
a second edition of the same work Mr. Gayland had helped you to compose,
though from another quarter, tempted you to sneak out of the room, and
leave your friend in danger of falling a sacrifice to what her soul most
detests and scorns.' These words stung Miss Flora to the quick; her face
was in an instant covered with a scarlet blush, and every feature
betrayed the confusion of her mind: but recovering herself from it much
sooner than most others of her age could have done; 'Good lack,' cried
she, 'I fancy you are setting up for a prude: but, pray, how came Mr.
Gayland into your head?--What! because I told you he innocently romped
with me one day in the chamber, are you so censorious as to infer any
thing criminal passed between us?'--'Whatever I infer,' replied Miss
Betsy, disdainfully, 'I have better vouchers for the truth of, than your
report; and would advise you, when you go home, to get the chink in the
pannel of the wainscot of my lady's dressing room stopped up, or your
next rendezvous with that gentleman may possibly have witnesses of more
ill-nature than myself.'--'That can scarcely be,' said Miss Flora, ready
to burst with vexation: 'but don't think I value your little malice; you
are only angry because he slighted the advances you made him, and took
all opportunities to shew how much his heart and judgment gave the
preferences to me.' These words so piqued the vanity of Miss Betsy,
that, not able to bear she should continue in the imagination of being
better liked than herself, though even by the man she hated, told her
the solicitations he had made to her, the letter she had received from
him, and the rebuff she had given him upon it; 'So that,' pursued she,
'it was not till after he found there was no hope of gaining me, that he
carried his devoirs to you.'
Miss Flora was more nettled at this eclaircissement than she was at the
discovery she now perceived the other had made of her intrigue: she
pretended, however, not to believe a word of what she had said; but
willing to evade all farther discourse on that head, returned to the
adventure they had just gone through with the Oxonians. 'Never expect,'
said she, 'to pass it upon any one of common sense, that if you had not
a mind to have been alone with that terrible man, as you now describe
him, you would have staid in the room after I was gone, and called to
you to follow.'
It was in vain that Miss Betsy denied she either heard her speak, or
knew any thing of her departure, till some time after she was gone, and
the gentleman-commoner began to use her with such familiarities as
convinced her he was sensible no witnesses were present. This, though no
more than truth, was of no consequence to her justification, to one
determined to believe the worst, or at least seem to do so: Miss Flora
treated with contempt all she said on this score, derided her
imprecations; and, to mortify her the more, said to her, in a taunting
manner, 'Come, come, Miss Betsy, it is a folly to think to impose upon
the world by such shallow artifices. What your inclinations are, is
evident enough: any one may see, that if it had not been for your
brother's unseasonable interruption, nobody would ever have heard a
word of these insults you so heavily complain of.'
Poor Miss Betsy could not refrain letting fall some tears at so unjust
and cruel an inuendo: but the greatness of her spirit enabled her in a
few moments to overcome the shock it had given her; she returned
reproaches with reproaches; and, as she had infinitely more of truth and
reason on her side, had also much the better in this combat of tongues:
nevertheless the other would not give out; she upbraided and exaggerated
with the most malicious comments on it every little indiscretion Miss
Betsy had been guilty of, repeating every censure which she had heard
the ill-natured part of the world pass on her conduct, and added many
more, the invention of her own fertile brain.
Some ladies they had made acquaintance with in town coming to visit
them, put an end to the debate; but neither being able presently to
forget the bitter reflections cast on her by the other, both remained
extremely sullen the whole night; and their mutual ill-humour might
possibly have lasted much longer, but for an accident more material,
which took off their attention, as it might have produced much worse
consequences than any quarrel between themselves could be attended with.
It happened in this manner.
The brother of Miss Betsy was of a fiery disposition; and though those
who were entrusted with the care of his education were not wanting in
their pains to correct this propensity, which they thought would be the
more unbecoming in him, as he was intended for the pulpit, yet did not
their endeavours for that purpose meet with all the success they wished.
Nature may be moderated, but never can be wholly changed: the seeds of
wrath still remained in his soul; nor could the rudiments that had been
given him be sufficient to hinder them from springing into action, when
urged by any provocation. The treatment his sister had received from the
gentleman-commoner, seemed to him so justifiable a one, that he thought
he ought not, without great submissions on the part of the transgresser,
to be prevailed upon to put up with it.
The first step he took was to sound the young student, as to what he
knew relating to the affair; who freely told him, as Miss Betsy had
done, where they met the ladies, and the manner in which they went into
the house; protesting, that neither himself, nor (according to the best
of his belief) the gentleman-commoner, had at that time any designs in
view but mere complaisance and gallantry.
'How then, came you to separate yourselves?' cried Mr. Francis, with
some earnestness. 'That also was accidental,' replied the other; 'your
sister's companion telling me she liked the garden better than the room
we were in, I thought I could do no less than attend her thither. I
confess I did not consult whether those we left behind had any
inclination to follow us or not.'
The air with which he spoke of this part of the adventure, had something
in it which did not give Mr. Francis the most favourable idea of Miss
Flora's conduct; but that not much concerning him, and finding nothing
wherewith he could justly reproach the student, he soon after quitted
him, and went to the gentleman-commoner, having been told he might find
him in his rooms.
Had any one been witness of the manner in which these two accosted each
other, they would not have been at a loss to guess what would ensue; the
brother of Miss Betsy came with a mind full of resentment, and
determined to repair the affront which had been offered to him in the
person of a sister, who was very dear to him, by calling the other to a
severe account for what he had done. The gentleman-commoner was
descended of a noble family, and had an estate to support the dignity of
his birth, and was too much puffed up and insolent on the smiles of
fortune: he was conscious the affront he had given demanded
satisfaction, and neither doubted of the errand on which Mr. Francis was
come, nor wondered at it; but could not bring himself to acknowledge he
had done amiss, nor think of making any excuse for his behaviour. Guilt,
in a proud heart, is generally accompanied with a sullen obstinacy; for,
as the poet says--
'Forgiveness to the injur'd does belong;
But they ne'er pardon who have done the wrong.'
He therefore received the interrogatories Mr. Francis was beginning to
make, with an air rather indignant than complying; which the other not
being able to brook, such hot words arose between them as could not but
occasion a challenge, which was given by Mr. Francis. The appointment to
meet was the next morning at six o'clock; and the place, that very field
in which the gentleman-commoner and his friend had so unluckily happened
to meet the ladies in their morning's walk.
Neither of them wanted courage, nor communicated their rendezvous to any
one person, in hopes of being disappointed without danger of their
honour; but each being equally animated with the ambition of humbling
the arrogance of the other, both were secret as to the business, and no
less punctual as to the time.
The agreement between them was sword and pistol; which both having
provided themselves with, they no sooner came within a proper distance,
than they discharged at each other the first course of this fatal
entertainment: that of the gentleman-commoner was so well aimed, that
one of the bullets lodged in the shoulder, and the other grazing on the
fleshy part of the arm of his antagonist, put him into a great deal of
pain. But these wounds rather increased than diminished the fury he was
possessed of: he instantly drew his sword, and ran at the other with so
well-directed a force, that his weapon entered three inches deep into
the right-side of the gentleman-commoner. Both of them received several
other hurts, yet still both continued the fight with equal vehemence;
nor would either of them, in all probability, have receded, till one or
other of them had lain dead upon the place, if some countrymen, who by
accident were passing that way, had not, with their clubs, beat down the
swords of both, and carried the owners of them, by mere force, into the
village they were going to; where they were no sooner entered, than
several people who knew them, seeing them pass by in this manner,
covered all over with their own blood, and guarded by a pack of
rusticks, ran out to enquire what had happened; which being informed of,
they took them out of the hands of these men, and provided proper
apartments for them.
By this time they were both extremely faint through the anguish of their
wounds, and the great effusion of blood that had issued from them.
Surgeons were immediately sent for; who, on examining their hurts,
pronounced none of them to be mortal, yet such as would require some
time for cure.
Mr. Francis suffered extreme torture in having the bullet extracted from
his shoulder; yet, notwithstanding that, and the weak condition he was
in, he made a servant support him in his bed while he scrawled out these
few lines to his sister; which, as soon as finished, were carried to her
by the same person.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
My dear sister,
I have endangered my life, and am now confined to my bed by the
wounds I have received, in endeavouring to revenge your quarrel: do
not think I tell you this by way of reproach; for, I assure you,
would the circumstances of the affair have permitted it to have
been concealed, you never should have known it.
I should be glad to see you; but think it not proper that you
should come to me, till I hear what is said concerning this matter.
I shall send to you every day: and that you will be perfectly easy,
is the earnest request of, dear Betsy, your most-affectionate
brother, and humble servant,
F. THOUGHTLESS.'
The young ladies were that morning at breakfast in the parlour, with the
gentlewoman of the house, when the maid came running in, and told her
mistress she had heard, in a shop where she had been, of a sad accident
that had just happened: 'Two gentlemen,' cried she, 'of the university,
have been fighting, and almost killed one another; and they say,'
continued she, 'it was about a young lady that one of them attempted to
ravish.'
Miss Betsy and Miss Flora, at this intelligence, looked at each other
with a good deal of confusion, already beginning to suspect who the
persons were, and how deeply themselves (one of them especially) were
interested in this misfortune. The gentlewoman asked her servant if she
knew the names of those who fought. 'No, Madam,' answered she, 'I could
not learn that as yet: but the people in the street are all talking of
it; and I doubt not but I shall hear the whole story the next time I go
out.'
The good gentlewoman, little imagining how much her guests were
concerned in what she spoke, could not now forbear lamenting the
ungovernableness of youth; the heedless levities of the one sex, and the
mad-brained passions of the other. The persons to whom she directed this
discourse, would not, at another time, have given much ear to it, or
perhaps have replied to it with raillery: but the occasion of it now put
both of them in too serious a temper to offer any interruption; and she
was still going on, inveighing against the follies and vices of the age,
when Miss Betsy received the above letter from her brother, which
confirmed all those alarming conjectures the maid's report raised in her
mind.
The mistress of the house perceiving the young man who brought the
letter came upon business to the ladies, had the good-manners to leave
the room, that they might talk with the greater freedom. Miss Betsy
asked a thousand questions; but he was able to inform her of no farther
particulars than what the letter contained.
The moment he was gone, she ran up to her chamber, threw herself upon
the bed, and in a flood of tears gave a loose to the most poignant
vexation she had ever yet experienced. Miss Flora followed; and, seeing
her in this condition, thought she could do no less, in decency, than
contribute everything in her power for her consolation.
By the behaviour of this young lady in other respects, however, the
reader will easily perceive it was more through policy than real
good-nature, she treated her afflicted companion with the tenderness she
did now: she knew that it was not by an open quarrel with Miss Betsy she
could wreak any part of the spite she had conceived against her; and was
therefore glad to lay hold of this opportunity to be reconciled.
'I was afraid, my dear,' said she, 'that it would come to this, and that
put me in so great a passion with you yesterday, for telling Mr. Francis
any thing of the matter: the men are such creatures, that there is no
trusting them with any thing. But come,' continued she, kissing her
cheek, 'don't grieve and torment yourself in this manner; you find there
is no danger of death on either side; and as for the rest, it will all
blow off in time.' Miss Betsy said little to this; the sudden passion of
her soul must have it's vent; but, when that was over, she began to
listen to the voice of comfort, and by degrees to resume her natural
vivacity, not foreseeing that this unhappy adventure would lay her under
mortifications which, to a person of her spirit, were very difficult to
be borne.
CHAPTER X
_Gives the catastrophe of the Oxford ramble, and in what manner the
young ladies returned to London_
If the wounds Mr. Francis had received, had been all the misfortune
attending Miss Betsy in this adventure, it is probable, that as she
every day heard he was in a fair way of recovery, the first gust of
passion would have been all she had sustained; but she soon found other
consequences arising from it, which were no less afflicting, and more
galling to her pride.
The quarrel between the two young gentlemen, and the occasion of it, was
presently blazed over the whole town: it spread like wild fire; every
one made their several comments upon it; and few there were who
endeavoured to find any excuse for the share Miss Betsy and Miss Flora
had in it.
The ladies of Oxford are commonly more than ordinarily circumspect in
their behaviour; as indeed, it behoves them to be, in a place where
there are such a number of young gentlemen, many of whom pursue pleasure
more than study, and scruple nothing for the gratification of their
desires. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at, that being from their
infancy trained up in the most strict reserve, and accustomed to be upon
their guard against even the most distant approaches of the other sex,
they should be apt to pass the severest censures on a conduct, which
they had been always taught to look upon as the sure destruction of
reputation, and frequently fatal to innocence and virtue.
This being pretty generally the characteristick of those ladies who were
of any distinction in Oxford, Miss Betsy and Miss Flora immediately
found, that while they continued there, they must either be content to
sit at home alone, or converse only with such as were as disagreeable to
them, as they had now rendered themselves to those of a more unblemished
fame.
They had received several visits, all of which they had not yet had time
or leisure to return; but now going to pay the debt, which complaisance
demanded from them, they were denied access at every place they went to;
all the persons were either abroad or indisposed: but the manner in
which these answers were given, easily convinced Miss Betsy and Miss
Flora that they were no more than mere pretences to avoid seeing them.
In the publick walks, and in passing through the streets, they saw
themselves shunned even to a degree of rudeness: those of their
acquaintance, who were obliged to meet them, looked another way, and
went hastily on without vouchsafing a salute.
This was the treatment their late unhappy adventure drew on them from
those of their own sex; nor did those of the other seem to behave to
them with greater tenderness or respect, especially the younger
students, who all, having got the story, thought they had a fine
opportunity of exercising their poetick talents: satires and lampoons
flew about like hail. Many of these anonymous compositions were directed
to Miss Betsy, and thrown over the rails into the area of the house
where she lodged; others were sung under the windows by persons in
disguise, and copies of them handed about throughout the whole town, to
the great propagation of scandal, and the sneering faculty.
Never, certainly, did pride and vanity meet with a more severe
humiliation, than what these witticisms inflicted on those who, by their
inconsiderate behaviour, had laid themselves open to them. Neither the
assurance of Miss Flora, nor the great spirit of Miss Betsy, could
enable them to stand the shock of those continual affronts which every
day presented them with. They dreaded to expose themselves to fresh
insults, if they stirred out of the doors; and at home they were
persecuted with the unwearied remonstrances of their grave landlady: so
that their condition was truly pitiable.
Both of them were equally impatient to get out of a place where they
found their company was held in so little estimation: but Miss Betsy
thought her brother would not take it well, should she go to London and
leave him in the condition he then was. Miss Flora's importunities,
however, joined to the new occasions she every day had for increasing
her discontent on staying, got the better of her apprehensions; and she
wrote to her brother in the following terms.
'To Mr. Francis Thoughtless.
Dear Brother,
Though I am not, to my great affliction, permitted to see you, or
to offer that assistance which might be expected from a sister in
your present situation; yet I cannot, without the extremest regret,
resolve to quit Oxford before you are perfectly recovered of those
hurts you have received on my account. However, as by your judging
it improper for me to come to you, I cannot suppose you are wholly
unacquainted with the severe usage lately given me, and must look
on every affront offered to me as an indignity to you. I am apt to
flatter myself you will not be offended, that I wish to remove from
a place where innocence is no defence against scandal, and the shew
of virtue more considered than the reality.
Nevertheless, I shall determine nothing till I hear your
sentiments; which, if I find conformable to mine, shall set out for
London with all possible expedition. I would very fain see you
before I go; and, if you consent, will come to you so muffled up as
not to be known by any who may happen to meet me. I shall expect
your answer with the utmost impatience; being, my dear brother, by
friendship, as well as blood, most affectionately yours,
E. THOUGHTLESS.'
When this letter was dispatched, Miss Flora made use of all the
arguments she was mistress of, in order to persuade Miss Betsy to go for
London, even in case her brother should not be altogether so willing for
it as she wished he would. Miss Betsy, though no less eager than herself
to be out of a place she now so much detested, would not be prevailed
upon to promise any thing on this score; but persisted in her resolution
of being wholly directed how to proceed, by the answer she should
receive from Mr. Francis.
Miss Flora was so fretted at this perverseness, as she called it, that
she told her, in a very great pet, that she might stay if she pleased,
and be the laughing-stock of the town; but, for her own part, she had
more spirit, and would be gone the next day. Miss Betsy coolly replied,
that if she thought proper to do so, she was doubtless at liberty; but
believed Mr. Goodman, and even Lady Mellasin herself, would look on such
a behaviour as neither consistent with generosity nor common
good-manners.
It is, indeed, scarce possible, that the other had the least intention
to do as she had said, though she still continued to threaten it, in the
most positive and peremptory terms; and this, if we consider the temper
of both these young ladies, we may reasonably suppose, might have
occasioned a second quarrel between them, if the servant, whom Mr.
Francis always sent to his sister, had not that instant come in, and put
an end to the dispute, by delivering a letter to Miss Betsy; which she
hastily opening, found it contained these lines.
'To Miss Thoughtless.
My dear sister,
It is with an inexpressible satisfaction that I find your own
inclinations have anticipated the request I was just about to make
you. I do assure you, the moment I received your letter, I was
going to write, in order to persuade you to do the very thing you
seem to desire. Oxford is, indeed, a very censorious place: I have
always observed it to be so; and have frequently told the ladies,
between jest and earnest, that I thought it was a town of the most
scandal, and least sin, of any in the world. I am pretty confident
some of those who pretend to give themselves airs concerning you
and Miss Flora, are as perfectly convinced of your innocence as I
myself am: yet, after all that has happened, I would not have you
think of staying; and the sooner you depart the better. You need be
under no apprehensions on account of my wounds: those I received
from the sword of my antagonist are in a manner healed; and that
with the pistol-shot in my shoulder is in as fine a way as can be
expected in so short a time. Those I had the fortune to give him,
are in a yet better condition; so that I believe, if it was not for
the over-caution of our surgeon, we might both quit our rooms
to-morrow. I hear that our grave superiors have had some
consultations on our duel, and that there is a talk of our being
both expelled: but, for my part, I shall certainly save them the
trouble, and quit the university of my own accord, as soon as my
recovery is compleated. My genius is by no means adapted to the
study of divinity: I think the care of my own soul more than
sufficient for me, without taking upon me the charge of a whole
parish; you may, therefore, expect to see me shortly at London, as
it is highly necessary I should consult Mr. Goodman concerning my
future settlement in the world. I should be extremely glad of a
visit from you before you leave Oxford; more especially as I have
something of moment to say to you, which I do not chuse to
communicate by letter; but cannot think it at all proper, for
particular reasons, that you should come to me, some or other of
the gentlemen being perpetually dropping into my chamber; and it is
impossible for you to disguise yourself so as not to be
distinguished by young fellows, whose curiosity would be the more
excited by your endeavours to conceal yourself. As this might
revive the discourse of an affair which I could wish might be
buried in an eternal oblivion, must desire you will defer the
satisfaction you propose to give me till we meet at London; to
which I wish you, and your fair companion, a safe and pleasant
journey. I am, with the greatest tenderness, my dear sister, your
affectionate brother,'
F. THOUGHTLESS.'
The receipt of this letter gave an infinity of contentment to Miss
Betsy; she had made the offer of going to take her leave of him, chiefly
with the view of keeping him from suspecting she wanted natural
affection; and was no less pleased with his refusing the request she
made him on that account, than she was with his so readily agreeing to
her returning to London. Miss Flora was equally delighted: they sent
their footman that instant to take places in the stagecoach; and early
the next morning set out from a place, which, on their entering into it,
they did not imagine they should quit either so soon, or with so little
regret.
CHAPTER XI
_Lays a foundation for many events to be produced by time, and waited
for with patience_
Miss Betsy and Miss Flora, on their coming home, were in some perplexity
how to relate the story of their Oxford adventure to Lady Mellasin and
Mr. Goodman; and it is very likely they would have thought it proper to
have kept it a secret, if the unlucky duel between Mr. Francis and the
gentleman-commoner, which they were sensible would be a known thing, had
not rendered the concealment of the whole utterly impracticable.
As there was no remedy, Miss Flora took it upon her to lay open the
matter to her mamma; which she did with so much artifice, that if that
lady had been as austere, as she was really the reverse, she could not
have found much to condemn, either in the conduct of her daughter or
Miss Betsy: as to Mr. Goodman, he left the whole management of the young
ladies, in these particulars, entirely to his wife, so said little to
them on the score of the adventure; but was extremely concerned for the
part Mr. Francis had in it, as he supposed it was chiefly owing to that
unlucky incident, that he had taken a resolution to leave the college;
and he very well knew, that a certain nobleman, who was a distant
relation of his family, and godfather to Mr. Francis, had always
promised to bestow a large benefice in his gift upon him, as soon as he
should have compleated his studies.
This honest guardian thought he should be wanting in the duty of the
trust reposed in him, to suffer his charge to throw away that fine
prospect in his view, if by any means he could prevent him from taking
so rash and inconsiderate a step; and as to his being expelled, he
doubted not, but between him and Sir Ralph, interest might be made to
the heads of the university, to get the affair of the duel passed over.
The greatest difficulty he had to apprehend, in compassing this point,
was from the young gentleman himself, who he had observed was of a
temper somewhat obstinate, and tenacious of his own opinion; resolving,
however, to try all means possible, he wrote immediately to him,
representing to him, in the strongest and most pathetick terms he was
master of, the vast advantages the clergy enjoyed, the respect they had
from all degrees of people; and endeavoured to convince him that there
was no avocation whatever, by which a younger brother might so easily
advance his fortune, and do honour to his family.
He also sent a letter to Sir Ralph Trusty, acquainting him with the
whole story, and earnestly requesting that he would write to Mr.
Francis, and omit nothing that might engage him to desist from doing a
thing so contrary to his interest, and the intention of his deceased
father, as what he now had thoughts of doing was manifestly so. These
efforts, by both the guardians, were often repeated, but without the
least success; the young gentleman found arguments to oppose against
theirs, which neither of them could deny to have weight, particularly
that of his having no call to take upon him holy orders. During these
debates, in which Miss Betsy gave herself no manner of concern, she
received a letter from her brother, containing these lines.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
My dear sister,
Though I flatter myself all my letters afford you some sort of
satisfaction, yet by what little judgment I have been able to form
of the temper of your sex, have reason to believe, this I now send
will meet a double portion of welcome from you. It brings a
confirmation of your beauty's power; the intelligence of a new
conquest; the offer of a heart, which, if you will trust a
brother's recommendation, is well deserving your acceptance: but,
that I may not seem to speak in riddles, you may remember that the
first time I had the pleasure of entertaining you at my rooms, a
gentleman called Trueworth was with us, and that the next day when
you dined with that person, who afterwards treated you with such
unbecoming liberties, he made one of the company; since then you
could not see him, as he was obliged to go to his seat, which is
about thirty miles off, on an extraordinary occasion, and returned
not till the day after you left this town. He seemed more than
ordinarily affected on my telling him what had happened on your
account; and, after pausing a little, "How unhappy was I," said he,
"to be absent! had I been here there would have been no need for
the brother of Miss Betsy to have exposed his life to the sword of
an injurious antagonist, or his character to the censure of the
university. I would have taken upon myself to have revenged the
quarrel of that amiable lady, and either have severely chastised
the insolence of the aggressor, or lost the best part of my blood
in the attempt!" I was very much surprized at these words, as well
as the emphasis with which they were delivered; but, recovering
myself as soon as I could, "We are extremely obliged to you, Sir,"
said I; "but I know not if such a mistaken generosity might not
have been fatal to the reputation of us both. What would the world
have said of me to have been tamely passive, and suffer another to
revenge the affront offered to my sister? What would they have
thought of her, on finding her honour vindicated by one who had no
concern in it?"--"No concern!" cried he, with the utmost eagerness;
"yes, I have a concern, more deep, more strong, than that of
father, brother, or all the ties of blood could give; and that you
had before now have been convinced of it, had I not been so
suddenly and so unfortunately called hence."
Perceiving I looked very much confounded, as well I might, "Ah,
Frank!" cried he, "I love your charming sister; my friends have,
for these six months past, been teazing me to think of marriage,
and several proposals have been made to me on that score; but never
till I saw the amiable Miss Betsy, did I behold the face for whom I
would exchange my liberty: in fine, 'tis she, and only she, can
make me blest; and I returned to Oxford full of the hopes of an
opportunity to lay my heart, my person, and my fortune, at her
feet."
It would require a volume, instead of a letter, to repeat half the
tender and passionate expressions he uttered in your favour. What I
have already said is enough to give you a specimen of the rest. I
shall only add, that being impatient to begin the attack he is
determined to make upon your heart, he is preparing to follow you
to London with all possible expedition. I once had thoughts of
accompanying him, but have since thought it proper to have Sir
Ralph Trusty's advice in something I have a mind to do, and for
that purpose shall take a journey into L----e, as soon as I receive
remittances from Mr. Goodman, to pay off some trifling debts I
have contracted here, and defray my travelling expences; so that if
things happen as I wish they may, my friend's passion will have
made a considerable progress before I see you.
Indeed, my dear sister, if you have not already seen a man whose
person you like better, you can never have an offer that promises
more felicity: he left the college soon after I came into it,
beloved and respected by all that knew him, for his discreet
behaviour, humanity, and affability; he went afterwards on his
travels, and brought home with him all the accomplishments of the
several countries he had been in, without being the least tainted
with the vices or fopperies of any of them; he has a much larger
estate than your fortune could expect, unincumbered with debts,
mortgages, or poor relations; his family is ancient, and, by the
mother's side, honourable; but, above all, he has sense, honour,
and good-nature--rare qualities, which, in my opinion, cannot fail
of making him an excellent husband, whenever he comes to be such.
But I shall leave him to plead his own cause, and you to follow
your own inclinations. I am, with the most unfeigned good wishes,
my dear sister, your affectionate brother, and humble servant,
F. THOUGHTLESS.
P.S. Mr. Trueworth knows nothing of my writing to you in his
behalf; so you are at liberty to receive him as you shall think
proper.'
Miss Betsy required no less a cordial than this to revive her spirits,
pretty much depressed since her ill usage at Oxford.
She had not time, however, to indulge the pleasure of reflecting on this
new triumph, on her first receiving the news of it. Lady Mellasin had
set that evening apart to make a grand visit to a person of her
acquaintance, who was just married; the young ladies were to accompany
her, and Miss Betsy was in the midst of the hurry of dressing when the
post brought the letter, so she only looked it carelessly over, and
locked it in her cabinet till she should have more leisure for the
examination. They were all ready; the coach with the best hammer-cloth
and harnesses was at the door, and only waited while Mrs. Prinks was
drawing on her lady's gloves, which happened to be a little too tight.
In this unlucky instant one of the footmen came running into the
parlour, and told Lady Mellasin that there was a very ill-looking woman
at the door, who enquired for her ladyship, and that she must needs
speak with her, and that she had a letter to deliver, which she would
give into nobody's hand but her own. Lady Mellasin seemed a little angry
at the insolence and folly of the creature, as she then termed it; but
ordered she should be shewed into the back-parlour: they were not above
five minutes together before the woman went away, and Lady Mellasin
returned to the room where Miss Betsy and Miss Flora were waiting for
her. A confusion not to be described sat on every feature in her face;
she looked pale, she trembled; and having told the young ladies
something had happened which prevented her going where she intended,
flew up into her dressing-room, followed by Mrs. Prinks, who appeared
very much alarmed at seeing her ladyship in this disorder.
Miss Betsy and Miss Flora were also surprized; and doubtless had their
own conjectures upon this sudden turn. It is not likely, however, that
either of them, especially Miss Betsy, could hit upon the right: but,
whatever their thoughts were, they communicated them not to each other,
and seemed only intent on considering in what manner they should dispose
of themselves that evening, it not being proper they should make the
visit above-mentioned without her ladyship. As they were discoursing on
this head, Mrs. Prinks came down; and, having ordered the coach to be
put up, and sent a footman to call a hack, ran up stairs again in a
great hurry to her lady.
In less time than could almost be imagined, they both came down: Lady
Mellasin had pulled off her rich apparel, and mobbed herself up in a
cloak and hood, that little of her face, and nothing of her air, could
be distinguished; the two young ladies stared, and were confounded at
the metamorphosis. 'Is your ladyship going out in that dress?' cried
Miss Flora; but Miss Betsy said nothing. 'Aye, child,' replied the lady,
somewhat faltering in her speech, 'a poor relation, who they say is
dying, has sent to beg to see me.' She said no more, the hackney-coach
was come, her ladyship and Mrs. Prinks stepped hastily into it; the
latter, in doing so, telling the coachman in so low a voice as nobody
but himself could hear, to what place he was to drive.
After they were gone, Miss Flora proposed walking in the Park; but Miss
Betsy did not happen to be in a humour to go either there or any where
else at that time; on which the other told her she had got the spleen:
'But,' said she, 'I am resolved not to be infected with it, so you must
not take it ill, if I leave you alone for a few hours; for I should
think it a sin against common sense to sit moping at home without
shewing myself to any one soul in the world, after having taken all
this pains in dressing.' Miss Betsy assured her, as she might do with a
great deal of sincerity, that she should not at all be displeased to be
entirely free from any company whatsoever, for the whole evening; and to
prove the truth of what she said, gave orders that instant to be denied
to whoever should come to visit her. 'Well,' cried Miss Flora, laughing,
'I shall give your compliments, however, where I am going;' and then
mentioned the names of some persons she had just then taken into her
head to visit. 'As you please for that,' replied Miss Betsy, with the
same gay air; 'but don't tell them it is because I am eaten up with the
vapours, that I chuse to stay at home rather than carry my compliments
in person; for if ever I find out,' continued she, 'that you are so
mischievous, I shall contrive some way or other to be revenged on you.'
They talked to each other in this pleasant manner, till a chair Miss
Flora had sent for was brought into the hall, in which she seated
herself for her intended ramble, and Miss Betsy went into her chamber,
where how she was amused will presently be shewn.
CHAPTER XII
_Is little more than a continuance of the former_
Miss Betsy had no sooner disengaged herself from the incumbrance of a
formal dress, and put on one more light and easy, _al fresco_, as the
Spaniards phrase it, than she began to give her brother's letter a more
serious and attentive perusal, than she had the opportunity of doing
before.
She was charmed and elated with the description Mr. Francis had told
her, she had inspired in the breast of his friend: she called to her
mind the idea of those persons who were present at the entertainments he
mentioned, and easily recalled which was most likely to be the lover,
though she remembered not the name; she very well now remembered there
was one that seemed both times to regard her with glances, which had
somewhat peculiar in them, and which then she had interpreted as the
certain indications of feeling something in his heart of the nature her
brother had described; but not seeing him afterwards, nor hearing any
mention made of him, at least that she took notice of, the imagination
went out of her head.
This account of him, however, brought to her memory every thing she had
observed concerning him, and was very well convinced she had seen
nothing, either in his person or deportment, that was not perfectly
agreeable; yet, not withstanding all this, and the high encomiums given
of him by a brother, who she knew would not deceive her, she was a
little vexed to find herself pressed by one so dear and so nearly
related to her, to think of him as a man she ever intended to marry: she
thought she could be pleased to have such a lover, but could not bring
herself to be content that he ever should be a husband. She had too
much good sense not to know it suited not with the condition of wife to
indulge herself in the gaieties she at present did; which though
innocent, and, as she thought, becoming enough in the present state she
now was, might not be altogether pleasing to one who, if he so thought
proper, had the power of restraining them. In fine, she looked upon a
serious behaviour as unsuitable to one of her years; and therefore
resolved not to enter into a condition which demanded some share of it,
at least for a long time; that is, when she should be grown weary of the
admiration, flatteries, and addresses of the men, and no longer find any
pleasure in seeing herself preferred before all the women of her
acquaintance.
Though it is certain that few young handsome ladies are without some
share of the vanity here described, yet it is to be hoped there are not
many who are possessed of it in that immoderate degree Miss Betsy was.
It is, however, for the sake of those who are so, that these pages are
wrote, to the end they may use their utmost endeavours to correct that
error, as they will find it so fatal to the happiness of one who had
scarce any other blameable propensity in her whole composition.
This young lady was full of meditation on her new conquest, and the
manner in which she should receive the victim, who was so shortly to
prostrate himself at the shrine of her beauty, when she heard somebody
run hastily up stairs, and go into Lady Mellasin's dressing-room, which
being adjacent, as has been already taken notice of on a very remarkable
occasion, she stepped out of the chamber to see who was there, and found
Mrs. Prinks very busy at a cabinet, where her ladyship's jewels were
always kept: 'So, Mrs. Prinks,' said she, 'is my lady come home?'--'No,
Miss,' replied the other; 'her ladyship is certainly the most
compassionate best woman in the world: her cousin is very bad indeed,
and she has sent me for a bottle of reviving drops, which I am going
back to carry.' With these words she shuffled something into her pocket,
and having locked the cabinet again, went out of the room saying--'Your
servant, Miss Betsy; I cannot stay, for life's at stake.'
This put Miss Betsy in the greatest consternation imaginable: she knew
Lady Mellasin could have no drops in that cabinet, unless they were
contained in a phial of no larger circumference than a thimble, the
drawers of it being very shallow, and made only to hold rings, croceats,
necklaces, and such other flat trinkets: she thought there was something
very odd and extraordinary in the whole affair. A strange woman coming
in so abrupt a manner, her refusing to give the letter to any one but
Lady Mellasin herself, her ladyship's confusion at the receipt of it,
her disguising herself, and going out with Prinks in that violent hurry,
the latter being sent home, her taking something out of the casket, and
her going back again; all these incidents, I say, when put together,
denoted something of a mystery not easily penetrated into.
Miss Betsy, however, was not of a disposition to think too much, or too
deeply, on those things which the most nearly concerned herself, much
less on such as related entirely to other people; and Miss Flora coming
home soon after, and relating what conversation had passed in the visits
she had been making, and the dresses the several ladies had on, and such
other trifling matters, diverted the other from those serious
reflections, which might otherwise, perhaps, have lasted somewhat
longer.
When Miss Flora was undressed, they went down together into the parlour,
where they found Mr. Goodman extremely uneasy, that Lady Mellasin was
not come home. He had been told in what manner she went out, and it now
being grown dark, he was frighted lest any ill accident should befal
her, as she had no man-servant, nor any one with her but her woman,
whom, he said, he could not look on as a sufficient guard for a lady of
quality, against those insults, which night, and the libertinism of the
age, frequently produced.
This tender husband asked the young ladies a thousand questions,
concerning the possibility of guessing to whom, and to what part of the
town, she was gone, in order that he might go himself, or send a servant
to conduct her safely home: but neither of them were able to inform him
any thing farther than what has already been related; that she had been
sent for to a sick relation, who, as it appeared to them, had been very
pressing to engage her ladyship to that charitable office.
Mr. Goodman then began to endeavour to recollect the names, and places
of abode, of all those he had ever heard her say were of her kindred,
for she had never suffered any of them to come to the house, under
pretence that some of them had not behaved well, and that others being
fallen to decay, and poor, might expect favours from her, and that she
would suffer nobody belonging to her to be burdensome to him.
He was, notwithstanding, about to send his men in search of his beloved
lady, though he knew not where to direct them to go, when she and Mrs.
Prinks came home: he received her with all the transports a man of his
years could be capable of, but gently chid her for the little care she
had taken of herself, and looking on her, as Mrs. Prinks was pulling off
her hood, 'Bless me, my dear,' said he, 'what was your fancy for going
out in such a dress?'--'My cousin,' replied she, 'is in very wretched
circumstances, lives in a little mean lodging, and, besides, owes money;
if I had gone any thing like myself, the people of the house might have
expected great things from me. I am very compassionate, indeed, to every
one under misfortunes; but will never squander Mr. Goodman's money for
their relief.'
'I know thou art all goodness,' said the old gentleman, kissing her with
the utmost tenderness: 'but something,' continued he, 'methinks, might be
spared.'--'Leave it to me, Mr. Goodman,' answered she; 'I know best;
they have not deserved it from me.' She then told a long story, how kind
she had been to this cousin, and some others of her kindred, in her
first husband's time, and gave some instances of the ill use they had
made of her bounties. All she said had so much the appearance of truth,
that even Miss Betsy, who was far from having a high opinion of her
sincerity, believed it, and thought no farther of what had passed; she
had, indeed, in a short time, sufficient businesses of her own to take
up all her mind.
Mr. Goodman, the very next day, brought home a very agreeable young
gentleman to dine with him; who, though he paid an extraordinary respect
to Lady Mellasin, and treated her daughter with the utmost complaisance,
yet in the compliments he paid to Miss Betsy, there was something which
seemed to tell her she had inspired him with a passion more tender than
bare respect, and more sincere than common complaisance.
She had very penetrating eyes this way, and never made a conquest
without knowing she did so; she was not, therefore, wanting in all those
little artifices she had but too much made her study, in order to fix
the impression she had given this stranger as indelible as possible:
this she had a very good opportunity for doing; he staid the whole
afternoon, drank tea with the ladies, and left them not till a crowd of
company coming in, he thought good manners obliged him to retire.
Miss Betsy was filled with the most impatient curiosity to know the name
and character of this person, whom she had already set down in her mind
as a new adorer: she asked Miss Flora, when they were going to bed, as
if it were a matter of indifference to her, and merely for the sake of
chat, who that gentleman was who had dined with them, and made so long
a visit; but that young lady had never seen him before, and was as
ignorant of every thing concerning him as herself.
Miss Betsy, however, lost no part of her repose that night, on this
account, as she doubted not but she should very soon be informed by
himself of all she wished to know: she was but just out of bed the next
morning, when a maid-servant came into the chamber and delivered a
letter to her, which she told her was brought by a porter, who waited
for an answer.
Miss Betsy's heart fluttered at the mention of a letter, flattering
herself it came from the person who at present engrossed her thoughts;
but on taking it from the maid, found a woman's hand on the
superscription, and one perfectly known to her, though at that instant
she could not recollect to whom it belonged: she was a good deal
surprized, when, on breaking the seal, she found it came from Miss
Forward, with whom, as well as the best of the boarding-school ladies,
she had ceased all correspondence for many months. The contents were
these.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Dear Miss Betsy,
Though, since I had the pleasure of seeing or hearing from you, so
many accidents and odd turns of fortune have happened to me, as
might very well engross my whole attention, yet I cannot be so far
forgetful of our former friendship as to be in the same town with
you, without letting you know, and desiring to see you. Were there
a possibility of my waiting on you, I certainly should have made
you the first visit; but, alas! at present there is not. Oh, Miss
Betsy! I have strange things to tell you; things fit only to be
trusted to a person whose generosity and good-nature I have
experienced. If, therefore, you are so good to come, I must intreat
you will bring no companion with you, and also that you will allow
me that favour the first leisure hour, because I am in some hopes
of returning to L----e in a short time. Please to enquire for the
house of one Mrs. Nightshade, in Chick Lane, near Smithfield; where
you will find her who, in spite of time, absence, and a thousand
perplexing circumstances, is, with the most tender regard, my dear
Miss Betsy, your very sincere, though unfortunate friend,
A. FORWARD.
P.S. Be so good to let me know, by a line, whether I may flatter
myself with the hopes of seeing you, and at what time.'
Though Miss Betsy, through the hurry of her own affairs, had neglected
writing to this young lady for a considerable time, yet she was
extremely pleased at hearing from her: she could not imagine, however,
what strange turns of fortune they were she mentioned in her letter, and
which she supposed had brought her to London. Equally impatient to
satisfy her curiosity in this point, as to see a person with whom she
had contracted her first friendship, she took pen and paper, and
immediately wrote this answer.
'To Miss Forward.
Dear Miss Forward,
The satisfaction of hearing you were so near me would be compleat,
were it not allayed by the hints you give, that some accidents, not
altogether pleasing, had occasioned it. I long to hear what has
happened to you since last we saw each other, and will not fail to
wait on you this afternoon. I know nothing of the part of the town
you are in, but suppose a hackney coach will be able to find it's
way. I will detain your messenger no longer than to tell you that I
am, with the most perfect amity, dear Miss Forward, your very
affectionate friend, and humble servant,
E. THOUGHTLESS.'
Miss Flora had not been present when the maid delivered the letter to
Miss Betsy; but coming into the chamber just as she had finished, and
was sealing up the answer to it, 'So,' said she, 'have I catched you?
Pray what new lover have you been writing to this morning?' It was in
vain that Miss Betsy told her she never had yet seen the man she thought
worthy of a letter from her on the score of love: the other persisted in
her asseverations; and Miss Betsy, to silence her raillery, was obliged
to shew her some part of the letter she had received from Miss Forward.
It being near breakfast-time they went down together into the parlour,
and as they were drinking their coffee, 'Well, pretty lady,' said Mr.
Goodman to Miss Betsy, with a smile, 'how did you like the gentleman
that dined here yesterday?' This question so much surprized her that she
could not help blushing. 'Like him, Sir!' replied she, 'I did not take
any notice of him. I remember a stranger was here, and staid a good
while, and that is all; for I neither observed any thing he said or did,
or thought on him since.'--'The agreeable confusion,' cried Mr. Goodman,
gaily, 'you are in at my mentioning him, makes me believe you remarked
him more than you are willing to acknowledge, and I am very glad of it:
you do him but justice, I assure you; for he is very much in love with
you.'
'Lord, Sir!' said Miss Betsy, blushing still more, 'I cannot imagine
what makes you talk so; I don't suppose the man thinks of me any more
than I do of him.'--'That may be,' rejoined he, laughing outright. Lady
Mellasin then took up the word, and told her husband he was very merry
this morning. 'Aye,' said he, 'the hurry of spirits I have put poor Miss
Betsy in has made me so; for I can assure you the thing is very serious:
but,' continued he, 'you shall know the whole of it.'
He then proceeded to inform them, that the person he had been speaking
of was the son of one who had formerly been a merchant; but who, having
acquired a large fortune by his industry, had for several years past
left off business, and lived mostly in the country; that the young
gentleman had seen Miss Betsy at St. Paul's Rehearsal, when they were
all there to hear the musick; that the next day after, he had come to
him at a coffee-house, which it was known he frequented, and after
asking many questions concerning Miss Betsy, and hearing she was not
engaged, declared he was very much charmed with her, and entreated his
permission, as being her guardian, to make his addresses to her. Mr.
Goodman remembered the affront he had received from Alderman Saving on a
like occasion, and was determined not to lay himself open to the same
from Mr. Staple, (for so he was called) and plainly told the young lover
that he would encourage nothing of that sort without the approbation of
his father; that after this he had a meeting with the old gentleman, who
being fully satisfied by him of Miss Betsy's family, fortune, and
character, had no objections to make against his son's inclination.
'Having this sanction,' continued Mr. Goodman, 'and believing it may be
a very proper match for both of you, I brought him home with me to
dinner yesterday; and should be glad to know how far you think you can
approve of the offer, before I give him my consent to make it.'
'I have already told you, Sir,' replied Miss Betsy, 'that I took but
little notice of the gentleman; or if I had, should never have asked
myself the question, whether I could like him or not; for, as to
marriage, I do assure you, Sir, it is a thing that has never yet
entered into my head.'--'Nay, as to that,' returned he, 'it is time
enough, indeed. A good husband, however, can never come unseasonably. I
shall tell him he may visit you; and leave you to answer the addresses
according to the dictates of your heart.'
Miss Betsy neither opposed nor gave consent to what her guardian said on
this score; but her not refusing seemed to him a sufficient grant: so
there passed nothing more, except some little pleasantries usual on such
subjects.
CHAPTER XIII
_Contains some part of the history of Miss Forward's adventures, from
the time of her leaving the boarding-school, as related by herself to
Miss Betsy_
Miss Betsy had now her head, though not her heart, full of the two new
conquests she had made: Mr. Trueworth was strongly recommended by her
brother, Mr. Staple by her guardian; yet all the ideas she had of either
of them, served only to excite in her the pleasing imagination, how,
when they both came to address her, she should play the one against the
other, and give herself a constant round of diversion, by their
alternate contentment or disquiet. 'As the barometer,' said she to
herself, 'is governed by the weather, so is the man in love governed by
the woman he admires: he is a mere machine--acts nothing of himself--has
no will or power of his own, but is lifted up or depressed, just as the
charmer of his heart is in the humour. I wish,' continued she, 'I knew
what day these poor creatures would come--though it is no matter--I have
got, it seems, possession of their hearts, and their eyes will find
graces in me, let me appear in what shape soever.'
These contemplations, however, enchanting as they were to her vanity,
did not render her forgetful of the promise she had made Miss Forward;
and as soon as dinner was over, she ordered a hackney-coach to be
called, and went to the place Miss Forward's letter had directed.
It is scarce possible for any one to be more surprized than she was, on
entering the house of Mrs. Nightshade. The father of Miss Forward was a
gentleman of a large estate, and of great consideration in the county
where he lived, and she expected to have seen his daughter in lodgings
suitable to her birth and fortune; instead of which, she found herself
conducted by an old ill-looked mean woman, who gave her to understand
she was the mistress of the house, up two pair of stairs, so narrow that
she was obliged to hold her hoop quite under her arm, in order to gain
the steep and almost perpendicular ascent: she was then shewed into a
dirty little chamber, where, on a wretched bed, Miss Forward lay, in a
most melancholy and dejected posture. 'Here is a lady wants you,' said
the hag, who ushered in Miss Betsy. These words, and the opening of the
door, made Miss Forward start from the bed to receive her visitor in the
best manner she could: she saluted, she embraced her, with all the
demonstrations of joy and affection; but Miss Betsy was so confounded at
the appearance of every thing about her, that she was almost incapable
of returning her caresses.
Miss Forward easily perceived the confusion her friend was in; and
having led her to a chair, and seated herself near her, 'My dear Miss
Betsy,' said she, 'I do not wonder you are alarmed at finding me in a
condition so different from what you might have expected: my letter,
indeed, gave you a hint of some misfortunes that had befallen me; but I
forbore letting you know of what nature they were, because the facts,
without the circumstances, which would have been too long to communicate
by writing, might have made me appear more criminal than I flatter
myself you will think I really am, when you shall be told the whole of
my unhappy story.'
Miss Betsy then assured her she should take a friendly part in every
thing that had happened to her, and that nothing could oblige her more
than the confidence she mentioned: on which the other taking her by the
hand, and letting fall some tears, said, 'O Miss Betsy! Miss Betsy! I
have suffered much; and if you find a great deal to blame me for, you
will find yet much more to pity.' Then, after having paused a little, as
if to recollect the passages she was about to relate, began in this
manner.
'You must remember,' said she, 'that when you left us to go for London,
I was strictly watched and confined, on account of my innocent
correspondence with Mr. Sparkish; but that young gentleman being sent to
the university soon after, I had the same liberty as ever, and as much
as any young lady in the school. The tutoress who was with us in your
time, being in an ill state of health, went away, and one Mademoiselle
Grenouille, a French woman, was put in her place: the governess had a
high opinion of her, not only on the score of the character she had of
her, but also for the gravity of her behaviour. But as demure, however,
as she affected to be before her, she could be as merry and facetious as
ourselves when out of her sight, as you will soon perceive by what I
have to tell you.
'Whenever any of us took an evening's walk, this was the person to whose
care we were entrusted, the governess growing every day more infirm, and
indeed unable to attend us.
'It was towards the close of a very hot day, that myself, and two more,
went with Mademoiselle Grenouille, to take a little air in the lane, at
the back side of the great road that leads up to Lord ----'s fine seat.
We were about in the middle of the lane, when we heard the sound of
French horns, double curtalls, and other instruments of wind-musick:
Mademoiselle at this could not restrain the natural alertness of her
country, but went dancing on till we came very near those that played.
'You must know, my dear Miss Betsy,' continued she, 'that my Lord ----'s
park-wall reaches to the bottom of this lane, and has a little gate into
it: having, it seems, some company with him, he had ordered two tents to
be erected in that part of the park; the one for himself and friends,
the other for the musick, who sounded the instruments to the healths
that were toasted; but this we being ignorant of, and delighted with the
harmony, wandered on till we came close to the little gate I mentioned,
and there stood still listening to it. Some one or other of the
gentlemen saw us, and said to the others, "We have eve's-droppers!" On
which they quitted their seats, and ran to the gate. On seeing them all
approach, we would have drawn back, but they were too quick for us; the
gate was instantly thrown open, and six or seven gentlemen, of whom my
lord was one, rushed out upon us. Perceiving we endeavoured to escape
them, they catched hold of us--"Nay, ladies," said one of them, "you
must not think to avoid paying the piper, after having heard his
musick."
'Mademoiselle, on this, addressed herself to my Lord ----, with as much
formality as she could assume, and told him we were young ladies of
distinction, who were placed at a boarding-school just by, and at
present were under her care; so begged no rudeness might be offered. His
lordship protested, on his honour, none should; but insisted on our
coming into the park, and drinking one glass of whatever wine we
pleased; upon which--"What say you, ladies?" cried Mademoiselle; "I
believe we may depend on his lordship's protection." None of us opposed
the motion, as being as glad to accept it as herself. In a word, we went
in, and were conducted to the tent in the midst of which were placed
bottles, glasses, jellies, sweetmeats, pickles, and I know not what
other things, to regale and quicken the appetite. Servants, who
attended, cooled the glasses out of a silver fountain, on a little
pedestal at one end of the tent, and filled every one a glass with what
each of us chose. One of the company perceiving our conductress was a
French woman, talked to her in her own language, and led her a minuet
around the table; and, in the mean time, the others took the opportunity
of entertaining us: he that had hold of me, so plied me with kisses and
embraces, that I scarce knew where I was. Oh! the differences between
his caresses and the boyish insipid salutes of Master Sparkish! The
others, I suppose, were served with the same agreeable robustness I was;
but I had not the power of observing them, any more than, as I
afterwards found, they had of me.
'In short, never were poor innocent girls so pressed, so kissed; every
thing but the dernier undoing deed, and that there was no opportunity of
compleating, every one of us, our tutoress not excepted, I am certain
experienced.'
'Heavens!' cried Miss Betsy, interrupting her, 'how I envied your
happiness a moment since, and how I tremble for you now!'
'O Miss Betsy,' replied Miss Forward, 'every thing would have been done
in that forgetful hour; but, as I have already said, there was not an
opportunity. My lover, notwithstanding, (for so I must call him) would
not let me get out of his arms, till I had told him my name, and by what
means he should convey a letter to me. I affected to make a scruple of
granting this request, though, Heaven knows, I was but too well pleased
at his grasping me still faster, in order to compel me to it. I then
gave him my name; and told him, that if he would needs write, I knew no
other way by which he might be sure of my receiving his letter, but by
slipping it into my hand as I was coming out of church, which he might
easily do, there being always a great concourse of people about the
door: on this he gave me a salute, the warmth of which I never shall
forget, and then suffered me to depart with my companions; who, if they
were not quite so much engaged as myself, had yet enough to make them
remember this night's ramble.
'The tutoress knew well enough how to excuse our staying out so much
longer than usual; and neither the governess, nor any one in the
family, except ourselves, knew any thing of what had passed. I cannot
say but my head ran extremely on this adventure. I heartily wished my
pretty fellow might keep his word in writing to me, and was forming a
thousand projects how to keep up a correspondence with him. I don't tell
you I was what they call in love; but certainly I was very near it, and
longed much more for Sunday than ever I had done for a new gown. At
last, the wished-for day arrived--my gentleman was punctual--he came
close to me in the church-porch--I held my hand in a careless manner,
with my handkerchief in it behind me, and presently found something put
into it, which I hastily conveyed into my pocket; and, on coming home,
found a little three-cornered billet, containing these lines.
"To the charming Miss Forward.
Most lovely of your sex,
I have not slept since I saw you--so deep an impression has your
beauty made on my heart, that I find I cannot live without you; nor
even die in peace if you vouchsafe not my last breath to issue at
your feet. In pity, then, to the sufferings you occasion, grant me
a second interview, though it be only to kill me with your frowns.
I am too much a stranger in these parts to contrive the means; be,
therefore, so divinely good to do it for me, else expect to see me
carried by your door a bleeding deathless corpse--the victim of
your cruelty, instead of your compassion to your most grateful
adorer, and everlasting slave,
R. WILDLY."
'In a postscript to this,' pursued Miss Forward, 'he told me that he
would be in the church-porch in the afternoon, hoping to receive my
answer by the same means I had directed him to convey to me the dictates
of his heart.
'I read this letter over and over, as you may easily guess, by my
remembering the contents of it so perfectly; but it is impossible for me
to express the perplexity I was in how to reply to it. I do not mean how
to excuse myself from granting the interview he so passionately
requested; for that, perhaps, I wished for with as much impatience as he
could do; but I was distracted at not being able to contrive any
practicable method for our meeting.
'O Miss Betsy, how did I long for you, or such a friend as you, to
assist me in this dilemma! But there was not one person in the whole
house I dared trust with such a secret: I could not eat a bit of dinner,
nor scarce speak a word to any body, so much were my thoughts taken up
with what I should do. I was resolved to see him, and hear what he had
to say, whatever should be the consequence: at last I hit upon a way,
dangerous indeed in every respect, and shameful in a girl of my
condition; yet, as there was no other, the frenzy I was possessed of,
compelled me to have recourse to it.
'You must remember, my dear Miss Betsy,' continued she, with a deep
sigh, 'the little door at the farther end of the garden, where, by your
kind contrivance, young Sparkish was introduced: it was at this door I
determined to meet Mr. Wildly. This, you may be sure, could not be done
by day without a discovery, some one or other being continually running
into the garden: I therefore fixed the rendezvous at night, at an hour
when I was positive all the family would be in bed; and ordered it in
this manner.
'Chance aided my ill genius in my undoing; I lay at that time alone;
Miss Bab, who used to be my bedfellow, was gone home for a fortnight, on
account of a great wedding in their family; and I thought I could easily
slip down stairs, when every body was asleep, and go through the
kitchen, from which, you know, there is a passage into the garden. I
took no care for any thing, but to prevent the disappointment of my
design; for I apprehended nothing of ill from a man who adored me, and
of whose will and actions I foolishly imagined I had the sole command.
'The settling this matter in my mind engrossed all my thoughts, till the
bell began to ring for divine service; and I had only time to write
these lines in answer to his billet.
"To Mr. Wildly.
Sir,
I have always been told it was highly criminal in a young maid,
like me, to listen to the addresses of any man, without receiving
the permission of her parents for so doing; yet I hope I shall
stand excused, both to them and you, if I confess I am willing to
be the first to hear what so nearly concerns myself. I have but one
way of speaking to you; and, if your love be as sincere and fervent
as you pretend, you will not think it too much to wait between the
hours of eleven and twelve this night, at a green door in the wall
which encompasses our garden, at the farther end of the lane,
leading to that part of Lord ----'s park, where we first saw each
other. You will find me, if no cross accident intervenes, at the
time and place I mentioned: but impute this condescension to no
other motive than that compassion you implore. I flatter myself
your intentions are honourable; and, in that belief, am, Sir, your
humble servant,
A. FORWARD."'
Miss Betsy, during the repetition of this letter, and some time before,
shook her head, and shewed great tokens of surprize and disapprobation:
but offering no interruption, the other went on in her discourse in this
manner.
'I protest to you, my dear Miss Betsy,' said she, 'that I had nothing in
view by this letter but to secure him to me as a lover. I never had
reason to repent of the private correspondence I carried on with Mr.
Sparkish; nor knew it was in the nature of man to take advantage of a
maid's simplicity: but I will not protract the narrative I promised, by
any needless particulars. Every thing happened but too fortunately,
alas! according to my wish: I found Mr. Wildly in the church-porch, gave
him the fatal billet, unperceived by any one. Night came on--all the
family were gone to their repose--and I, unseen, unheard, and
unsuspected, quitted my chamber; and, taking the route I told you of,
opened the garden-door, where, it seems, the person I expected had
waited above half an hour.
'His first salutations were the most humble, and withal the most
endearing, that could be. "My angel," said he, "how heavenly good you
are! Permit me thus to thank you." With these words he threw himself on
his knees, and taking one of my hands, kissed it with the extremest
tenderness. But, oh! let no young woman depend on the first professions
of her lover; nor in her own power of keeping him at a proper distance!'
Here a sudden gush of tears prevented her, for some minutes, from
prosecuting her discourse; and Miss Betsy found herself obliged to treat
her with more tenderness than, in her own mind, she thought the nature
of her case deserved.
CHAPTER XIV
_Concludes Miss Forward's narrative, and relates some farther
particulars of Miss Betsy's behaviour, on hearing a detail she so little
expected_
How sweet are the consolations of a sincere friend! How greatly do they
alleviate the severest of misfortunes!--Miss Forward soon dried up her
tears, on a soft commiseration she saw they excited in Miss Betsy; and
stifling, as well as she could, the rising sighs with which her bosom
heaved at the remembrance of what she was going to relate, resumed her
mournful story in these terms.
'You may very well suppose,' said she, 'that the garden-door was not a
proper place to entertain my lover in: good manners forbade me to use
him in so coarse a manner; besides, late as it was, some passenger might
happen to come that way; I therefore led him into the arbour at the end
of the terrace, where we sat down together on that broad bench under the
arch, where you so often used to loll, and call it your throne of state.
Never was there a finer night; the moon, and her attendant stars, shone
with uncommon brightness; the air was all serene, the boisterous winds
were all locked in their caverns, and only gentle zephyrs, with their
fanning wings, wafted a thousand odours from the neighbouring plants,
perfuming all around. It was an enchanting scene! Nature herself seemed
to conspire my ruin, and contributed all in her power to lull my mind
into a soft forgetfulness of what I owed myself--my fame--my
fortune--and my family.
'I was beginning to tell him how sensible I was, that to admit him in
this manner was against all the rules of decency and decorum, and that I
hoped he would not abuse the good opinion I had of him, nor entertain
the worse of me for my so readily complying with his request, and
such-like stuff: to which he gave little ear, and only answered me with
protestations of the most violent passion that ever was; swore that I
had more charms than my whole sex besides could boast of; that I was an
angel!--a goddess!--that I was nature's whole perfection in one piece!
then, looking on me with the most tender languishments, he repeated
these lines in a kind of extasy--
"In forming thee, Heav'n took unusual care;
Like it's own beauty it design'd thee fair,
And copied from the best-lov'd angel there."
'The answers I made to these romantick encomiums were silly enough, I
believe, and such as encouraged him to think I was too well pleased to
be much offended at any thing he did. He kissed, he clasped me to his
bosom, still silencing my rebukes, by telling me how handsome I was, and
how much he loved me; and that, as opportunities of speaking to me were
so difficult to be obtained, I must not think him too presuming if he
made the most of this.
'What could I do!--How resist his pressures! The maid having put me to
bed that night, as usual, I had no time to dress myself again after I
got up; so was in the most loose dishabille that can be imagined. His
strength was far superior to mine; there was no creature to come to my
assistance; the time, the place, all joined to aid his wishes; and, with
the bitterest regret and shame, I now confess, my own fond heart too
much consented.
'In a word, my dear Miss Betsy, from one liberty he proceeded to
another; till, at last, there was nothing left for him to ask, or me to
grant!'
These last words were accompanied with a second flood of tears, which
streamed in such abundance down her cheeks, that Miss Betsy was
extremely moved: her good-nature made her pity the distress, though her
virtue and understanding taught her to detest and despise the ill
conduct which occasioned it; she wept and sighed in concert with her
afflicted friend, and omitted nothing that she thought might contribute
to assuage her sorrows.
Miss Forward was charmed with the generosity of Miss Betsy, and composed
herself as much as possible to make those acknowledgements it merited
from her; and then proceeded to gratify her curiosity with that part of
her adventures which yet remained untold.
'Whenever I recollect,' resumed she, 'how strangely, how suddenly, how
almost unsolicited, I yielded up my honour, some lines, which I
remember to have read somewhere, come into my mind, and seem, methinks,
perfectly adapted to my circumstances. They are these--
"Pleas'd with destruction, proud to be undone,
With open arms I to my ruin run,
And sought the mischiefs I was bid to shun:
Tempted that shame a virgin ought to dread,
And had not the excuse of being betray'd."
'Alas! I see my folly now--my madness! But was blind to it too long. I
upbraided not my undoer; I remonstrated not to him any of the ill
consequences that might possibly attend this transaction; nor mentioned
one word concerning how incumbent it was on him to repair the injury he
had done me by marriage. Sure never was there so infatuated a wretch!
Morning began to break in upon us; and the pang of being obliged to
part, and the means of meeting again, now took up all my thoughts.
Letting him in at midnight was very dangerous, as old Nurse Winter, who,
you know, is very vapourish, often fancies she hears noises in the
house, and rises to see if all the doors and windows are fast: besides,
Mr. Wildly told me it was highly inconvenient for him, being obliged to
make a friend of my Lord ----'s porter to fit it up for him.
'I was almost at my wit's end; till he recovered me, by saying he
believed there might be a more easy way for our intercourse than this
nocturnal rendezvous. "Oh, what is that!" cried I, earnestly. "The
French woman," replied he, "who lives here, is good-natured, and of a
very amorous complexion; at least, Sir John Shuffle, who toyed with her
in my lord's park, tells me she is so. But," continued he, "I dare take
his word: he knows your sex perfectly; and, I dare answer, if you will
get her to go abroad with you, the consequence will be agreeable to us
all."
'"What," said I, "would you have me make her my confidante?" "Not
altogether so," said he; "at least, not till you are upon even terms
with her; I mean, till you have secret for secret."
'"How can that be?" demanded I. "Leave that to me," said he; "do you only
get her out to-morrow a walking: let me know, what time you think you
can best do it, and Sir John and I will meet you as if by chance." I
told him I would undertake to do it if the weather were fair, and that
they might meet us going towards the town; but it must be past five,
after she had given her French lesson to the ladies. This being agreed
upon, we parted, though not without the extremest reluctance; at least,
I am sure, on my side it was sincerely so. I then went back with the
same precaution I had gone out; locked all the doors softly, and got
into my chamber before any of the family were stirring.
'I was more than ordinarily civil to Mademoiselle all the next day; I
said every thing I could think on to flatter her: and, having got an
opportunity of speaking to her alone, "Dear Mademoiselle," said I, in a
wheedling tone, "I have a great favour to beg of you."--"What is that,
Miss?" replied she. "Any thing in my power you may command." I then told
her I had got a whim in my head for a new tippet, and that I wanted her
fancy in the choice of the colours. "With all my heart," said she; "and
when we go out a walking this evening, we can call at the milliner's,
and buy the ribbands."--"That will not do," cried I; "I would not have
any of the ladies know any thing of the matter till I have made it, and
got it on; so nobody must go with us."--"Well, well," answered she, "it
shall be so; but I must tell the governess. I know she will not be
against humouring you in such a little fancy, and will send the other
tutoress, or Nurse Winter, to wait upon the other ladies." I told her
she was very good, but enjoined her to beg the governess to keep it as a
secret; for my tippet would be mighty pretty, and I wanted to surprize
them with the sight of it.
'The governess, however, was so kind as to let us go somewhat before the
time we expected, in order to prevent any one from offering to accompany
us: but, early as it was, the two gentlemen were on the road. They
accosted us with a great deal of complaisance: "What, my Diana of the
forest!" said Sir John to Mademoiselle, "am I so fortunate to see you
once again?" What reply she made I do not know, being speaking to Wildly
at the same time; but he also, by my instigations, made his chief court
to Mademoiselle, and both of them joined to intreat she would permit
them to lead her to some house of entertainment: her refusals were very
faint, and, perceiving by my look, that I was not very averse, "What
shall we do, Miss?" said she to me; "there is no getting rid of these
men. Shall we venture to go with them? It is but a frolick."--"I am
under your direction, Mademoiselle; but I see no harm in it; as, to be
sure," replied I, "they are gentlemen of honour."
'In fine, we went into the first house that had the prospect of
affording us an agreeable reception. It is not to be doubted but we were
treated with the best the place we were in could supply; Sir John
declared the most flaming passion for Mademoiselle, and engrossed her
so much to himself, that Wildly had the liberty of addressing me,
without letting her see his choice gave me the preference.
'Sir John, after using Mademoiselle with some freedoms, which I could
perceive she did not greatly resent, told her, there was an exceeding
fine picture in the next room; and asked her to go and look upon it. "O
yes!" replied she, "I am extravagantly fond of painting.--Are you not,
Miss?" continued she to me with a careless air. "No," said I, "I had
rather stay here, and look out of the window: but I would not hinder
this gentleman," meaning Mr. Wildly; who replied, "I have seen it
already, so will stay and keep you company."
'I believe, indeed, we might have spared ourselves the trouble of these
last speeches, for our companions seemed as little to expect as to
desire we should follow them; but ran laughing, jumping, and skipping,
out of the room, utterly regardless of those they left behind.
'Thus, you see, my dear Miss Betsy,' continued she, 'Wildly had, a
second time, the opportunity of triumphing over the weakness of your
unhappy friend. Oh! had it been the last, perhaps I had not been the
wretch I am: but, alas! my folly ceased not here; I loved, and every
interview made him still dearer to me.
'On Mademoiselle's return, we began to talk of going home: "Bless me,"
cried I, "it is now too late to go into town. What excuse shall we make
to the governess for not having bought the ribbands?"--"I have already
contrived that," replied she; "I will tell her, that the woman had none
but ugly old-fashioned things, and expects a fresh parcel from London in
two or three days."--"Oh, that is rare," cried I; "that will be a
charming pretence for our coming out again."--"And a charming
opportunity for our meeting you again," said Sir John Shuffle. "If you
have any inclination to lay hold of it," rejoined Mademoiselle. "And you
have courage to venture," cried he. "You see we are no cowards,"
answered she briskly. "Well, then, name your day," said Wildly; "if Sir
John accepts the challenge, I will be his second: but I am afraid it
cannot be till after Thursday, because my lord talks of going back to
----, and we cannot be back in less than three days."
'Friday, therefore, was the day agreed upon; and we all four were
punctual to the appointment. I shall not trouble you with the
particulars of our conversation in this or any other of the meetings we
had together; only tell you, that by the contrivance of one or other of
us, we found means of coming together once or twice every week, during
the whole time these gentlemen staid in the country, which was upwards
of two months.
'On taking leave, I pressed Wildly to write to me under cover of
Mademoiselle Grenouille, which he promised to do, and I was silly enough
to expect. Many posts arriving, without bringing any letter, I was sadly
disappointed, and could not forbear expressing my concern to
Mademoiselle, who only laughed at me, and told me, I as yet knew nothing
of the world, nor the temper of mankind; that a transient acquaintance,
such as ours had been with these gentlemen, ought to be forgot as soon
as over; that there was no great probability we should ever see one
another again; and it would be only a folly to keep up a correspondence
by letters; and added, that by this time, they were, doubtless, entered
into other engagements. "And so might we too," said she, "if the place
and fashion we live in did not prevent us."
'I found by this, and some other speeches of the like nature, that it
was the sex, not the person, she regarded. I could not, however, be of
her way of thinking. I really loved Mr. Wildly, and would have given the
world, had I been mistress of it, to have seen him again; but, as she
said, indeed, there was no probability of my doing so; and therefore I
attempted, through her persuasions, to make a virtue of necessity, and
forget both him and all that passed between us. I should in the end,
perhaps, have accomplished this point; but, oh! I had a remembrancer
within, which I did not presently know of. In fine, I had but too much
reason to believe I was pregnant; a thing which, though a natural
consequence of the folly I had been guilty of, never once entered my
head.
'Mademoiselle Grenouille seemed now terribly alarmed, on my
communicating to her my suspicions on this score: she cried 'twas very
unlucky!--then paused, and asked what I would do, if it should really be
as I feared. I replied, that I knew not what course to take, for if my
father should know it I was utterly undone: I added, that he was a very
austere man; and, besides, I had a mother-in-law, who would not fail to
say every thing she could to incense him against me.
'"I see no recourse you have, then," said she, "but by taking physick to
cause an abortion. You must pretend you are a little disordered, and
send for an apothecary; the sooner the better, for if it should become
visible, all would infallibly be known, and we should both be ruined."
'I was not so weak as not to see, that if any discovery were made, her
share in the intrigue must come out, and she would be directly turned
out of doors; and that, whatever concern she pretended for me, it was
chiefly on her own account: however, as I saw no other remedy, was
resolved to take her advice.
'Thus, by having been guilty of one crime, I was ensnared to commit
another of a yet fouler kind: one was the error of nature, this an
offence against nature. The black design, however, succeeded not: I took
potion after potion, yet still retained the token of my shame; which at
length became too perspicuous for me to hope it would not be taken
notice of by all who saw me.
'I was almost distracted, and Mademoiselle Grenouille little less so. I
was one day alone in my chamber, pondering on my wretched state, and
venting some part of the anguish of my mind in tears, when she came in;
"What avails all this whimpering?" said she; "you do but hasten what you
would wish to avoid. The governess already perceives you are strangely
altered; she thinks you are either in a bad state of health, or some way
disordered in your mind, and talks of writing to your father to send for
you home." "Oh Heaven!" cried I. "Home, did you say?--No; I will never
go home! The grave is not so hateful to me, nor death so terrible, as my
father's presence."--"I pity you from my soul," said she: "but what can
you do? There will be no staying for you here, after your condition is
once known, and it cannot be concealed much longer." These words, the
truth of which I was very well convinced of, drove me into the last
despair: I raved, I tore my hair, I swore to poison, drown, or stab
myself, rather than live to have my shame exposed to the severity of my
father, and reproaches of my kindred.'
'"Come, come," resumed she, "there is no need of such desperate remedies;
you had better go to London, and have recourse to Wildly: who knows, as
you are a gentleman's daughter, and will have a fortune, but you may
persuade him to marry you? If not, you can oblige him to take care of
you in your lying-in, and to keep the child: and when you are once got
rid of your burden, some excuse or other may be found for your
elopement."
'"But how shall I get to London?" resumed I; "how find out my undoer in a
place I know nothing of, nor ever have been at? Of whom shall I enquire?
I am ignorant of what family he is, or even where he lives."--"As to
that," replied she, "I will undertake to inform myself of every thing
necessary for you to know; and, if you resolve to go, I will set about
it directly." I then told her, I would do any thing rather than be
exposed; on which she bid me assume as chearful a countenance as I
could, and depend on her bringing me some intelligence of Wildly before
I slept.
'The method she took to make good her promise was, it seems, to send a
person whom she could confide in to the seat of Lord ----, to enquire
among the servants, where Mr. Wildly, who had lately been a guest there,
might be found. She told me that the answer they gave the man was, that
they knew not where he lodged, but that he might be heard of at any of
the coffee-houses about St. James's. As I was altogether a stranger in
London, this information gave me but little satisfaction; but
Mademoiselle Grenouille, whose interest it was to hurry me away, assured
me that she knew that part of the town perfectly well, having lived
there several months on her first arrival in England--that there were
several great coffee-houses there, frequented by all the gentlemen of
fashion, and that nothing would be more easy than to find Mr. Wildly at
one or other of them. My heart, however, shuddered at the thoughts of
this enterprize; yet her persuasions, joined to the terrors I was in of
being exposed, and the certainty that a discovery of my condition was
inevitable, made me resolve to undertake it.
'Nothing now remained but the means how I should get away, so as to
avoid the pursuit which might, doubtless, be made after me; which, after
some consultation, was thus contrived and executed.
'A flying-coach set out from H---- every Monday at two o'clock in the
morning; Mademoiselle Grenouille engaged the same man who had enquired
at Lord ----'s for Mr. Wildly, to secure a place for me in it. The
Sunday before I was to go, I pretended indisposition to avoid going to
church: I passed that time in packing up the best of my things in a
large bundle; for I had no opportunity of taking a box or trunk with me.
My greatest difficulty was how to get out of bed from Miss Bab, who
still lay with me; I thought, however, that if she happened to awake
while I was rising, I would tell her I was not very well, and was only
going into the next room, to open the window for a little air: but I
stood in no need of this precaution, she was in a sound sleep, and I
left my bed, put on the cloaths I was to travel in, and stole out of the
room, without her perceiving any thing of the matter. I went out by the
same way by which I had fulfilled my first fatal appointment with Mr.
Wildly. At a little distance from the garden-door, I found the friend of
Mademoiselle Grenouille, who waited for me with a horse and pillion; he
took my bundle before, and me behind him, and then we made the best of
our way towards H----, where we arrived time enough for the coach. I
alighted at the door of the inn, and he rode off directly to avoid being
seen by any body, who might describe him, in case an enquiry should be
made.
'I will not trouble you with the particulars of my journey, nor how I
was amazed on entering this great metropolis; I shall only tell you,
that it being dark when we came in, I lay that night at the inn, and the
next morning, following the directions Mademoiselle Grenouille had given
me, took a hackney-coach, and ordered the man to drive into any of the
streets about St. James's, and stop at the first
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