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Title: Love and Freindship [sic]

Author: Jane Austen

Release date: February 1, 1998 [eBook #1212]
Most recently updated: October 29, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1212

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE AND
FREINDSHIP [SIC] ***

LOVE & FREINDSHIP
AND

O T H E R E A R LY W O R K S
A Collection of Juvenile Writings

By Jane Austen

CONTENTS

LOVE AND FREINDSHIP
LETTER the FIRST From ISABEL to LAURA
LETTER 2nd LAURA to ISABEL
LETTER 3rd LAURA to MARIANNE
LETTER 4th Laura to MARIANNE
LETTER 5th LAURA to MARIANNE
LETTER 6th LAURA to MARIANNE
LETTER 7th LAURA to MARIANNE
LETTER 8th LAURA to MARIANNE, in continuation
LETTER the 9th From the same to the same
LETTER 10th LAURA in continuation
LETTER 11th LAURA in continuation
LETTER the 12th LAURA in continuation
LETTER the 13th LAURA in continuation
LETTER the 14th LAURA in continuation
LETTER the 15th LAURA in continuation.

AN UNFINISHED NOVEL IN LETTERS
LESLEY CASTLE
LETTER the FIRST is from Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss
CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL
LETTER the SECOND From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY
in answer.
LETTER the THIRD From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss C.
LUTTERELL

LETTER the FOURTH From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY
LETTER the FIFTH Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE
LUTTERELL
LETTER the SIXTH LADY LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE
LUTTERELL
LETTER the SEVENTH From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M.
LESLEY
LETTER the EIGHTH Miss LUTTERELL to Mrs MARLOWE
LETTER the NINTH Mrs MARLOWE to Miss LUTTERELL
LETTER the TENTH From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss
CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL

THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND

A COLLECTION OF LETTERS
To Miss COOPER
LETTER the FIRST From a MOTHER to her FREIND.
LETTER the SECOND From a YOUNG LADY crossed in Love to her
freind
LETTER the THIRD From a YOUNG LADY in distressed Circumstances
to her freind
LETTER the FOURTH From a YOUNG LADY rather impertinent to her
freind
LETTER the FIFTH From a YOUNG LADY very much in love to her
Freind

THE FEMALE PHILOSOPHER

THE FIRST ACT OF A COMEDY

A LETTER from a YOUNG LADY, whose feelings being too strong
A TOUR THROUGH WALES—in a LETTER from a YOUNG LADY—

A TALE.

LOVE AND FREINDSHIP

TO MADAME LA COMTESSE DE FEUILLIDE THIS NOVEL IS
INSCRIBED BY HER OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT THE AUTHOR.

“Deceived in Freindship and Betrayed in Love.”

LETTER the FIRST
From ISABEL to LAURA

How often, in answer to my repeated intreaties that you would give my
Daughter a regular detail of the Misfortunes and Adventures of your Life,
have you said “No, my freind never will I comply with your request till I
may be no longer in Danger of again experiencing such dreadful ones.”
Surely that time is now at hand. You are this day 55. If a woman may
ever be said to be in safety from the determined Perseverance of
disagreeable Lovers and the cruel Persecutions of obstinate Fathers, surely
it must be at such a time of Life.

Isabel

LETTER 2nd
LAURA to ISABEL

Altho’ I cannot agree with you in supposing that I shall never again be
exposed to Misfortunes as unmerited as those I have already experienced,
yet to avoid the imputation of Obstinacy or ill-nature, I will gratify the
curiosity of your daughter; and may the fortitude with which I have suffered
the many afflictions of my past Life, prove to her a useful lesson for the
support of those which may befall her in her own.

Laura

LETTER 3rd
LAURA to MARIANNE

As the Daughter of my most intimate freind I think you entitled to that
knowledge of my unhappy story, which your Mother has so often solicited
me to give you.
My Father was a native of Ireland and an inhabitant of Wales; my Mother
was the natural Daughter of a Scotch Peer by an italian Opera-girl—I was
born in Spain and received my Education at a Convent in France.
When I had reached my eighteenth Year I was recalled by my Parents to
my paternal roof in Wales. Our mansion was situated in one of the most
romantic parts of the Vale of Uske. Tho’ my Charms are now considerably
softened and somewhat impaired by the Misfortunes I have undergone, I
was once beautiful. But lovely as I was the Graces of my Person were the
least of my Perfections. Of every accomplishment accustomary to my sex, I
was Mistress. When in the Convent, my progress had always exceeded my
instructions, my Acquirements had been wonderfull for my age, and I had
shortly surpassed my Masters.
In my Mind, every Virtue that could adorn it was centered; it was the
Rendez-vous of every good Quality and of every noble sentiment.
A sensibility too tremblingly alive to every affliction of my Freinds, my
Acquaintance and particularly to every affliction of my own, was my only
fault, if a fault it could be called. Alas! how altered now! Tho’ indeed my
own Misfortunes do not make less impression on me than they ever did, yet
now I never feel for those of an other. My accomplishments too, begin to
fade—I can neither sing so well nor Dance so gracefully as I once did—and
I have entirely forgot the Minuet Dela Cour.

Adeiu.
Laura.

LETTER 4th
LAURA to MARIANNE

Our neighbourhood was small, for it consisted only of your Mother. She
may probably have already told you that being left by her Parents in
indigent Circumstances she had retired into Wales on eoconomical motives.
There it was our freindship first commenced. Isobel was then one and
twenty. Tho’ pleasing both in her Person and Manners (between ourselves)
she never possessed the hundredth part of my Beauty or Accomplishments.
Isabel had seen the World. She had passed 2 Years at one of the first
Boarding-schools in London; had spent a fortnight in Bath and had supped
one night in Southampton.
“Beware my Laura (she would often say) Beware of the insipid Vanities
and idle Dissipations of the Metropolis of England; Beware of the
unmeaning Luxuries of Bath and of the stinking fish of Southampton.”
“Alas! (exclaimed I) how am I to avoid those evils I shall never be
exposed to? What probability is there of my ever tasting the Dissipations of
London, the Luxuries of Bath, or the stinking Fish of Southampton? I who
am doomed to waste my Days of Youth and Beauty in an humble Cottage in
the Vale of Uske.”
Ah! little did I then think I was ordained so soon to quit that humble
Cottage for the Deceitfull Pleasures of the World.

Adeiu.
Laura.

LETTER 5th
LAURA to MARIANNE

One Evening in December as my Father, my Mother and myself, were
arranged in social converse round our Fireside, we were on a sudden greatly
astonished, by hearing a violent knocking on the outward door of our rustic
Cot.
My Father started—“What noise is that,” (said he.) “It sounds like a loud
rapping at the door”—(replied my Mother.) “it does indeed.” (cried I.) “I
am of your opinion; (said my Father) it certainly does appear to proceed
from some uncommon violence exerted against our unoffending door.”
“Yes (exclaimed I) I cannot help thinking it must be somebody who knocks
for admittance.”
“That is another point (replied he;) We must not pretend to determine on
what motive the person may knock—tho’ that someone does rap at the door,
I am partly convinced.”
Here, a 2d tremendous rap interrupted my Father in his speech, and
somewhat alarmed my Mother and me.
“Had we better not go and see who it is? (said she) the servants are out.”
“I think we had.” (replied I.) “Certainly, (added my Father) by all means.”
“Shall we go now?” (said my Mother,) “The sooner the better.” (answered
he.) “Oh! let no time be lost” (cried I.)
A third more violent Rap than ever again assaulted our ears. “I am certain
there is somebody knocking at the Door.” (said my Mother.) “I think there
must,” (replied my Father) “I fancy the servants are returned; (said I) I think
I hear Mary going to the Door.” “I’m glad of it (cried my Father) for I long
to know who it is.”
I was right in my conjecture; for Mary instantly entering the Room,
informed us that a young Gentleman and his Servant were at the door, who

had lossed their way, were very cold and begged leave to warm themselves
by our fire.
“Won’t you admit them?” (said I.) “You have no objection, my Dear?”
(said my Father.) “None in the World.” (replied my Mother.)
Mary, without waiting for any further commands immediately left the
room and quickly returned introducing the most beauteous and amiable
Youth, I had ever beheld. The servant she kept to herself.
My natural sensibility had already been greatly affected by the sufferings
of the unfortunate stranger and no sooner did I first behold him, than I felt
that on him the happiness or Misery of my future Life must depend.

Adeiu.
Laura.

LETTER 6th
LAURA to MARIANNE

The noble Youth informed us that his name was Lindsay—for particular
reasons however I shall conceal it under that of Talbot. He told us that he
was the son of an English Baronet, that his Mother had been for many years
no more and that he had a Sister of the middle size. “My Father (he
continued) is a mean and mercenary wretch—it is only to such particular
freinds as this Dear Party that I would thus betray his failings. Your Virtues
my amiable Polydore (addressing himself to my father) yours Dear Claudia
and yours my Charming Laura call on me to repose in you, my confidence.”
We bowed. “My Father seduced by the false glare of Fortune and the
Deluding Pomp of Title, insisted on my giving my hand to Lady Dorothea.
No never exclaimed I. Lady Dorothea is lovely and Engaging; I prefer no
woman to her; but know Sir, that I scorn to marry her in compliance with
your Wishes. No! Never shall it be said that I obliged my Father.”
We all admired the noble Manliness of his reply. He continued.
“Sir Edward was surprised; he had perhaps little expected to meet with so
spirited an opposition to his will. “Where, Edward in the name of wonder
(said he) did you pick up this unmeaning gibberish? You have been
studying Novels I suspect.” I scorned to answer: it would have been beneath
my dignity. I mounted my Horse and followed by my faithful William set
forth for my Aunts.”
“My Father’s house is situated in Bedfordshire, my Aunt’s in Middlesex,
and tho’ I flatter myself with being a tolerable proficient in Geography, I
know not how it happened, but I found myself entering this beautifull Vale
which I find is in South Wales, when I had expected to have reached my
Aunts.”
“After having wandered some time on the Banks of the Uske without
knowing which way to go, I began to lament my cruel Destiny in the

bitterest and most pathetic Manner. It was now perfectly dark, not a single
star was there to direct my steps, and I know not what might have befallen
me had I not at length discerned thro’ the solemn Gloom that surrounded
me a distant light, which as I approached it, I discovered to be the chearfull
Blaze of your fire. Impelled by the combination of Misfortunes under which
I laboured, namely Fear, Cold and Hunger I hesitated not to ask admittance
which at length I have gained; and now my Adorable Laura (continued he
taking my Hand) when may I hope to receive that reward of all the painfull
sufferings I have undergone during the course of my attachment to you, to
which I have ever aspired. Oh! when will you reward me with Yourself?”
“This instant, Dear and Amiable Edward.” (replied I.). We were
immediately united by my Father, who tho’ he had never taken orders had
been bred to the Church.

Adeiu.
Laura.

LETTER 7th
LAURA to MARIANNE

We remained but a few days after our Marriage, in the Vale of Uske.
After taking an affecting Farewell of my Father, my Mother and my Isabel,
I accompanied Edward to his Aunt’s in Middlesex. Philippa received us
both with every expression of affectionate Love. My arrival was indeed a
most agreable surprise to her as she had not only been totally ignorant of
my Marriage with her Nephew, but had never even had the slightest idea of
there being such a person in the World.
Augusta, the sister of Edward was on a visit to her when we arrived. I
found her exactly what her Brother had described her to be—of the middle
size. She received me with equal surprise though not with equal Cordiality,
as Philippa. There was a disagreable coldness and Forbidding Reserve in
her reception of me which was equally distressing and Unexpected. None of
that interesting Sensibility or amiable simpathy in her manners and Address
to me when we first met which should have distinguished our introduction
to each other. Her Language was neither warm, nor affectionate, her
expressions of regard were neither animated nor cordial; her arms were not
opened to receive me to her Heart, tho’ my own were extended to press her
to mine.
A short Conversation between Augusta and her Brother, which I
accidentally overheard encreased my dislike to her, and convinced me that
her Heart was no more formed for the soft ties of Love than for the
endearing intercourse of Freindship.
“But do you think that my Father will ever be reconciled to this
imprudent connection?” (said Augusta.)
“Augusta (replied the noble Youth) I thought you had a better opinion of
me, than to imagine I would so abjectly degrade myself as to consider my
Father’s Concurrence in any of my affairs, either of Consequence or

concern to me. Tell me Augusta with sincerity; did you ever know me
consult his inclinations or follow his Advice in the least trifling Particular
since the age of fifteen?”
“Edward (replied she) you are surely too diffident in your own praise.
Since you were fifteen only! My Dear Brother since you were five years
old, I entirely acquit you of ever having willingly contributed to the
satisfaction of your Father. But still I am not without apprehensions of your
being shortly obliged to degrade yourself in your own eyes by seeking a
support for your wife in the Generosity of Sir Edward.”
“Never, never Augusta will I so demean myself. (said Edward). Support!
What support will Laura want which she can receive from him?”
“Only those very insignificant ones of Victuals and Drink.” (answered
she.)
“Victuals and Drink! (replied my Husband in a most nobly contemptuous
Manner) and dost thou then imagine that there is no other support for an
exalted mind (such as is my Laura’s) than the mean and indelicate
employment of Eating and Drinking?”
“None that I know of, so efficacious.” (returned Augusta).
“And did you then never feel the pleasing Pangs of Love, Augusta?
(replied my Edward). Does it appear impossible to your vile and corrupted
Palate, to exist on Love? Can you not conceive the Luxury of living in
every distress that Poverty can inflict, with the object of your tenderest
affection?”
“You are too ridiculous (said Augusta) to argue with; perhaps however
you may in time be convinced that...”
Here I was prevented from hearing the remainder of her speech, by the
appearance of a very Handsome young Woman, who was ushured into the
Room at the Door of which I had been listening. On hearing her announced
by the Name of “Lady Dorothea,” I instantly quitted my Post and followed
her into the Parlour, for I well remembered that she was the Lady, proposed
as a Wife for my Edward by the Cruel and Unrelenting Baronet.
Altho’ Lady Dorothea’s visit was nominally to Philippa and Augusta, yet
I have some reason to imagine that (acquainted with the Marriage and
arrival of Edward) to see me was a principal motive to it.

I soon perceived that tho’ Lovely and Elegant in her Person and tho’ Easy
and Polite in her Address, she was of that inferior order of Beings with
regard to Delicate Feeling, tender Sentiments, and refined Sensibility, of
which Augusta was one.
She staid but half an hour and neither in the Course of her Visit, confided
to me any of her secret thoughts, nor requested me to confide in her, any of
Mine. You will easily imagine therefore my Dear Marianne that I could not
feel any ardent affection or very sincere Attachment for Lady Dorothea.

Adeiu.
Laura.

LETTER 8th
LAURA to MARIANNE, in continuation

Lady Dorothea had not left us long before another visitor as unexpected a
one as her Ladyship, was announced. It was Sir Edward, who informed by
Augusta of her Brother’s marriage, came doubtless to reproach him for
having dared to unite himself to me without his Knowledge. But Edward
foreseeing his design, approached him with heroic fortitude as soon as he
entered the Room, and addressed him in the following Manner.
“Sir Edward, I know the motive of your Journey here—You come with
the base Design of reproaching me for having entered into an indissoluble
engagement with my Laura without your Consent. But Sir, I glory in the
Act—. It is my greatest boast that I have incurred the displeasure of my
Father!”
So saying, he took my hand and whilst Sir Edward, Philippa, and
Augusta were doubtless reflecting with admiration on his undaunted
Bravery, led me from the Parlour to his Father’s Carriage which yet
remained at the Door and in which we were instantly conveyed from the
pursuit of Sir Edward.
The Postilions had at first received orders only to take the London road;
as soon as we had sufficiently reflected However, we ordered them to Drive
to M——. the seat of Edward’s most particular freind, which was but a few
miles distant.
At M——. we arrived in a few hours; and on sending in our names were
immediately admitted to Sophia, the Wife of Edward’s freind. After having
been deprived during the course of 3 weeks of a real freind (for such I term
your Mother) imagine my transports at beholding one, most truly worthy of
the Name. Sophia was rather above the middle size; most elegantly formed.
A soft languor spread over her lovely features, but increased their Beauty—.
It was the Charectarestic of her Mind—. She was all sensibility and Feeling.

We flew into each others arms and after having exchanged vows of mutual
Freindship for the rest of our Lives, instantly unfolded to each other the
most inward secrets of our Hearts—. We were interrupted in the delightfull
Employment by the entrance of Augustus, (Edward’s freind) who was just
returned from a solitary ramble.
Never did I see such an affecting Scene as was the meeting of Edward
and Augustus.
“My Life! my Soul!” (exclaimed the former) “My adorable angel!”
(replied the latter) as they flew into each other’s arms. It was too pathetic
for the feelings of Sophia and myself—We fainted alternately on a sofa.

Adeiu
Laura.

LETTER the 9th
From the same to the same

Towards the close of the day we received the following Letter from
Philippa.
“Sir Edward is greatly incensed by your abrupt departure; he has taken
back Augusta to Bedfordshire. Much as I wish to enjoy again your
charming society, I cannot determine to snatch you from that, of such dear
and deserving Freinds—When your Visit to them is terminated, I trust you
will return to the arms of your”

“Philippa.”

We returned a suitable answer to this affectionate Note and after thanking
her for her kind invitation assured her that we would certainly avail
ourselves of it, whenever we might have no other place to go to. Tho’
certainly nothing could to any reasonable Being, have appeared more
satisfactory, than so gratefull a reply to her invitation, yet I know not how it
was, but she was certainly capricious enough to be displeased with our
behaviour and in a few weeks after, either to revenge our Conduct, or
releive her own solitude, married a young and illiterate Fortune-hunter. This
imprudent step (tho’ we were sensible that it would probably deprive us of
that fortune which Philippa had ever taught us to expect) could not on our
own accounts, excite from our exalted minds a single sigh; yet fearfull lest
it might prove a source of endless misery to the deluded Bride, our
trembling Sensibility was greatly affected when we were first informed of
the Event. The affectionate Entreaties of Augustus and Sophia that we
would for ever consider their House as our Home, easily prevailed on us to
determine never more to leave them. In the society of my Edward and this
Amiable Pair, I passed the happiest moments of my Life; Our time was

most delightfully spent, in mutual Protestations of Freindship, and in vows
of unalterable Love, in which we were secure from being interrupted, by
intruding and disagreable Visitors, as Augustus and Sophia had on their first
Entrance in the Neighbourhood, taken due care to inform the surrounding
Families, that as their happiness centered wholly in themselves, they wished
for no other society. But alas! my Dear Marianne such Happiness as I then
enjoyed was too perfect to be lasting. A most severe and unexpected Blow
at once destroyed every sensation of Pleasure. Convinced as you must be
from what I have already told you concerning Augustus and Sophia, that
there never were a happier Couple, I need not I imagine, inform you that
their union had been contrary to the inclinations of their Cruel and
Mercenery Parents; who had vainly endeavoured with obstinate
Perseverance to force them into a Marriage with those whom they had ever
abhorred; but with a Heroic Fortitude worthy to be related and admired,
they had both, constantly refused to submit to such despotic Power.
After having so nobly disentangled themselves from the shackles of
Parental Authority, by a Clandestine Marriage, they were determined never
to forfeit the good opinion they had gained in the World, in so doing, by
accepting any proposals of reconciliation that might be offered them by
their Fathers—to this farther tryal of their noble independance however
they never were exposed.
They had been married but a few months when our visit to them
commenced during which time they had been amply supported by a
considerable sum of money which Augustus had gracefully purloined from
his unworthy father’s Escritoire, a few days before his union with Sophia.
By our arrival their Expenses were considerably encreased tho’ their
means for supplying them were then nearly exhausted. But they, Exalted
Creatures! scorned to reflect a moment on their pecuniary Distresses and
would have blushed at the idea of paying their Debts.—Alas! what was
their Reward for such disinterested Behaviour! The beautifull Augustus was
arrested and we were all undone. Such perfidious Treachery in the merciless
perpetrators of the Deed will shock your gentle nature Dearest Marianne as
much as it then affected the Delicate sensibility of Edward, Sophia, your
Laura, and of Augustus himself. To compleat such unparalelled Barbarity
we were informed that an Execution in the House would shortly take place.
Ah! what could we do but what we did! We sighed and fainted on the sofa.

Adeiu
Laura.

LETTER 10th
LAURA in continuation

When we were somewhat recovered from the overpowering Effusions of
our grief, Edward desired that we would consider what was the most
prudent step to be taken in our unhappy situation while he repaired to his
imprisoned freind to lament over his misfortunes. We promised that we
would, and he set forwards on his journey to Town. During his absence we
faithfully complied with his Desire and after the most mature Deliberation,
at length agreed that the best thing we could do was to leave the House; of
which we every moment expected the officers of Justice to take possession.
We waited therefore with the greatest impatience, for the return of Edward
in order to impart to him the result of our Deliberations. But no Edward
appeared. In vain did we count the tedious moments of his absence—in vain
did we weep—in vain even did we sigh—no Edward returned—. This was
too cruel, too unexpected a Blow to our Gentle Sensibility—we could not
support it—we could only faint. At length collecting all the Resolution I
was Mistress of, I arose and after packing up some necessary apparel for
Sophia and myself, I dragged her to a Carriage I had ordered and we
instantly set out for London. As the Habitation of Augustus was within
twelve miles of Town, it was not long e’er we arrived there, and no sooner
had we entered Holboun than letting down one of the Front Glasses I
enquired of every decent-looking Person that we passed “If they had seen
my Edward?”
But as we drove too rapidly to allow them to answer my repeated
Enquiries, I gained little, or indeed, no information concerning him. “Where
am I to drive?” said the Postilion. “To Newgate Gentle Youth (replied I), to
see Augustus.” “Oh! no, no, (exclaimed Sophia) I cannot go to Newgate; I
shall not be able to support the sight of my Augustus in so cruel a
confinement—my feelings are sufficiently shocked by the recital, of his

Distress, but to behold it will overpower my Sensibility.” As I perfectly
agreed with her in the Justice of her Sentiments the Postilion was instantly
directed to return into the Country. You may perhaps have been somewhat
surprised my Dearest Marianne, that in the Distress I then endured, destitute
of any support, and unprovided with any Habitation, I should never once
have remembered my Father and Mother or my paternal Cottage in the Vale
of Uske. To account for this seeming forgetfullness I must inform you of a
trifling circumstance concerning them which I have as yet never mentioned.
The death of my Parents a few weeks after my Departure, is the
circumstance I allude to. By their decease I became the lawfull Inheritress
of their House and Fortune. But alas! the House had never been their own
and their Fortune had only been an Annuity on their own Lives. Such is the
Depravity of the World! To your Mother I should have returned with
Pleasure, should have been happy to have introduced to her, my charming
Sophia and should with Chearfullness have passed the remainder of my Life
in their dear Society in the Vale of Uske, had not one obstacle to the
execution of so agreable a scheme, intervened; which was the Marriage and
Removal of your Mother to a distant part of Ireland.

Adeiu.
Laura.

LETTER 11th
LAURA in continuation

“I have a Relation in Scotland (said Sophia to me as we left London) who
I am certain would not hesitate in receiving me.” “Shall I order the Boy to
drive there?” said I—but instantly recollecting myself, exclaimed, “Alas I
fear it will be too long a Journey for the Horses.” Unwilling however to act
only from my own inadequate Knowledge of the Strength and Abilities of
Horses, I consulted the Postilion, who was entirely of my Opinion
concerning the Affair. We therefore determined to change Horses at the next
Town and to travel Post the remainder of the Journey—. When we arrived
at the last Inn we were to stop at, which was but a few miles from the
House of Sophia’s Relation, unwilling to intrude our Society on him
unexpected and unthought of, we wrote a very elegant and well penned
Note to him containing an account of our Destitute and melancholy
Situation, and of our intention to spend some months with him in Scotland.
As soon as we had dispatched this Letter, we immediately prepared to
follow it in person and were stepping into the Carriage for that Purpose
when our attention was attracted by the Entrance of a coroneted Coach and
4 into the Inn-yard. A Gentleman considerably advanced in years descended
from it. At his first Appearance my Sensibility was wonderfully affected
and e’er I had gazed at him a 2d time, an instinctive sympathy whispered to
my Heart, that he was my Grandfather. Convinced that I could not be
mistaken in my conjecture I instantly sprang from the Carriage I had just
entered, and following the Venerable Stranger into the Room he had been
shewn to, I threw myself on my knees before him and besought him to
acknowledge me as his Grand Child. He started, and having attentively
examined my features, raised me from the Ground and throwing his
Grandfatherly arms around my Neck, exclaimed, “Acknowledge thee! Yes
dear resemblance of my Laurina and Laurina’s Daughter, sweet image of

my Claudia and my Claudia’s Mother, I do acknowledge thee as the
Daughter of the one and the Grandaughter of the other.” While he was thus
tenderly embracing me, Sophia astonished at my precipitate Departure,
entered the Room in search of me. No sooner had she caught the eye of the
venerable Peer, than he exclaimed with every mark of Astonishment
—“Another Grandaughter! Yes, yes, I see you are the Daughter of my
Laurina’s eldest Girl; your resemblance to the beauteous Matilda
sufficiently proclaims it. “Oh! replied Sophia, when I first beheld you the
instinct of Nature whispered me that we were in some degree related—But
whether Grandfathers, or Grandmothers, I could not pretend to determine.”
He folded her in his arms, and whilst they were tenderly embracing, the
Door of the Apartment opened and a most beautifull young Man appeared.
On perceiving him Lord St. Clair started and retreating back a few paces,
with uplifted Hands, said, “Another Grand-child! What an unexpected
Happiness is this! to discover in the space of 3 minutes, as many of my
Descendants! This I am certain is Philander the son of my Laurina’s 3d girl
the amiable Bertha; there wants now but the presence of Gustavus to
compleat the Union of my Laurina’s Grand-Children.”
“And here he is; (said a Gracefull Youth who that instant entered the
room) here is the Gustavus you desire to see. I am the son of Agatha your
Laurina’s 4th and youngest Daughter,” “I see you are indeed; replied Lord
St. Clair—But tell me (continued he looking fearfully towards the Door)
tell me, have I any other Grand-children in the House.” “None my Lord.”
“Then I will provide for you all without farther delay—Here are 4
Banknotes of 50£ each—Take them and remember I have done the Duty of
a Grandfather.” He instantly left the Room and immediately afterwards the
House.

Adeiu.
Laura.

LETTER the 12th
LAURA in continuation

You may imagine how greatly we were surprised by the sudden departure
of Lord St Clair. “Ignoble Grand-sire!” exclaimed Sophia. “Unworthy
Grandfather!” said I, and instantly fainted in each other’s arms. How long
we remained in this situation I know not; but when we recovered we found
ourselves alone, without either Gustavus, Philander, or the Banknotes. As
we were deploring our unhappy fate, the Door of the Apartment opened and
“Macdonald” was announced. He was Sophia’s cousin. The haste with
which he came to our releif so soon after the receipt of our Note, spoke so
greatly in his favour that I hesitated not to pronounce him at first sight, a
tender and simpathetic Freind. Alas! he little deserved the name—for
though he told us that he was much concerned at our Misfortunes, yet by his
own account it appeared that the perusal of them, had neither drawn from
him a single sigh, nor induced him to bestow one curse on our vindictive
stars—. He told Sophia that his Daughter depended on her returning with
him to Macdonald-Hall, and that as his Cousin’s freind he should be happy
to see me there also. To Macdonald-Hall, therefore we went, and were
received with great kindness by Janetta the Daughter of Macdonald, and the
Mistress of the Mansion. Janetta was then only fifteen; naturally well
disposed, endowed with a susceptible Heart, and a simpathetic Disposition,
she might, had these amiable qualities been properly encouraged, have been
an ornament to human Nature; but unfortunately her Father possessed not a
soul sufficiently exalted to admire so promising a Disposition, and had
endeavoured by every means on his power to prevent it encreasing with her
Years. He had actually so far extinguished the natural noble Sensibility of
her Heart, as to prevail on her to accept an offer from a young Man of his
Recommendation. They were to be married in a few months, and Graham,
was in the House when we arrived. We soon saw through his character. He

was just such a Man as one might have expected to be the choice of
Macdonald. They said he was Sensible, well-informed, and Agreable; we
did not pretend to Judge of such trifles, but as we were convinced he had no
soul, that he had never read the sorrows of Werter, and that his Hair bore
not the least resemblance to auburn, we were certain that Janetta could feel
no affection for him, or at least that she ought to feel none. The very
circumstance of his being her father’s choice too, was so much in his
disfavour, that had he been deserving her, in every other respect yet that of
itself ought to have been a sufficient reason in the Eyes of Janetta for
rejecting him. These considerations we were determined to represent to her
in their proper light and doubted not of meeting with the desired success
from one naturally so well disposed; whose errors in the affair had only
arisen from a want of proper confidence in her own opinion, and a suitable
contempt of her father’s. We found her indeed all that our warmest wishes
could have hoped for; we had no difficulty to convince her that it was
impossible she could love Graham, or that it was her Duty to disobey her
Father; the only thing at which she rather seemed to hesitate was our
assertion that she must be attached to some other Person. For some time,
she persevered in declaring that she knew no other young man for whom
she had the the smallest Affection; but upon explaining the impossibility of
such a thing she said that she beleived she did like Captain M’Kenrie better
than any one she knew besides. This confession satisfied us and after
having enumerated the good Qualities of M’Kenrie and assured her that she
was violently in love with him, we desired to know whether he had ever in
any wise declared his affection to her.
“So far from having ever declared it, I have no reason to imagine that he
has ever felt any for me.” said Janetta. “That he certainly adores you
(replied Sophia) there can be no doubt—. The Attachment must be
reciprocal. Did he never gaze on you with admiration—tenderly press your
hand—drop an involantary tear—and leave the room abruptly?” “Never
(replied she) that I remember—he has always left the room indeed when his
visit has been ended, but has never gone away particularly abruptly or
without making a bow.” Indeed my Love (said I) you must be mistaken—
for it is absolutely impossible that he should ever have left you but with
Confusion, Despair, and Precipitation. Consider but for a moment Janetta,
and you must be convinced how absurd it is to suppose that he could ever
make a Bow, or behave like any other Person.” Having settled this Point to

our satisfaction, the next we took into consideration was, to determine in
what manner we should inform M’Kenrie of the favourable Opinion Janetta
entertained of him.... We at length agreed to acquaint him with it by an
anonymous Letter which Sophia drew up in the following manner.
“Oh! happy Lover of the beautifull Janetta, oh! amiable Possessor of her
Heart whose hand is destined to another, why do you thus delay a
confession of your attachment to the amiable Object of it? Oh! consider that
a few weeks will at once put an end to every flattering Hope that you may
now entertain, by uniting the unfortunate Victim of her father’s Cruelty to
the execrable and detested Graham.”
“Alas! why do you thus so cruelly connive at the projected Misery of her
and of yourself by delaying to communicate that scheme which had
doubtless long possessed your imagination? A secret Union will at once
secure the felicity of both.”
The amiable M’Kenrie, whose modesty as he afterwards assured us had
been the only reason of his having so long concealed the violence of his
affection for Janetta, on receiving this Billet flew on the wings of Love to
Macdonald-Hall, and so powerfully pleaded his Attachment to her who
inspired it, that after a few more private interveiws, Sophia and I
experienced the satisfaction of seeing them depart for Gretna-Green, which
they chose for the celebration of their Nuptials, in preference to any other
place although it was at a considerable distance from Macdonald-Hall.

Adeiu
Laura.

LETTER the 13th
LAURA in continuation

They had been gone nearly a couple of Hours, before either Macdonald
or Graham had entertained any suspicion of the affair. And they might not
even then have suspected it, but for the following little Accident. Sophia
happening one day to open a private Drawer in Macdonald’s Library with
one of her own keys, discovered that it was the Place where he kept his
Papers of consequence and amongst them some bank notes of considerable
amount. This discovery she imparted to me; and having agreed together that
it would be a proper treatment of so vile a Wretch as Macdonald to deprive
him of money, perhaps dishonestly gained, it was determined that the next
time we should either of us happen to go that way, we would take one or
more of the Bank notes from the drawer. This well meant Plan we had often
successfully put in Execution; but alas! on the very day of Janetta’s Escape,
as Sophia was majestically removing the 5th Bank-note from the Drawer to
her own purse, she was suddenly most impertinently interrupted in her
employment by the entrance of Macdonald himself, in a most abrupt and
precipitate Manner. Sophia (who though naturally all winning sweetness
could when occasions demanded it call forth the Dignity of her sex)
instantly put on a most forbidding look, and darting an angry frown on the
undaunted culprit, demanded in a haughty tone of voice “Wherefore her
retirement was thus insolently broken in on?” The unblushing Macdonald,
without even endeavouring to exculpate himself from the crime he was
charged with, meanly endeavoured to reproach Sophia with ignobly
defrauding him of his money... The dignity of Sophia was wounded;
“Wretch (exclaimed she, hastily replacing the Bank-note in the Drawer)
how darest thou to accuse me of an Act, of which the bare idea makes me
blush?” The base wretch was still unconvinced and continued to upbraid the
justly-offended Sophia in such opprobious Language, that at length he so

greatly provoked the gentle sweetness of her Nature, as to induce her to
revenge herself on him by informing him of Janetta’s Elopement, and of the
active Part we had both taken in the affair. At this period of their Quarrel I
entered the Library and was as you may imagine equally offended as Sophia
at the ill-grounded accusations of the malevolent and contemptible
Macdonald. “Base Miscreant! (cried I) how canst thou thus undauntedly
endeavour to sully the spotless reputation of such bright Excellence? Why
dost thou not suspect my innocence as soon?” “Be satisfied Madam (replied
he) I do suspect it, and therefore must desire that you will both leave this
House in less than half an hour.”
“We shall go willingly; (answered Sophia) our hearts have long detested
thee, and nothing but our freindship for thy Daughter could have induced us
to remain so long beneath thy roof.”
“Your Freindship for my Daughter has indeed been most powerfully
exerted by throwing her into the arms of an unprincipled Fortune-hunter.”
(replied he)
“Yes, (exclaimed I) amidst every misfortune, it will afford us some
consolation to reflect that by this one act of Freindship to Janetta, we have
amply discharged every obligation that we have received from her father.”
“It must indeed be a most gratefull reflection, to your exalted minds.”
(said he.)
As soon as we had packed up our wardrobe and valuables, we left
Macdonald Hall, and after having walked about a mile and a half we sate
down by the side of a clear limpid stream to refresh our exhausted limbs.
The place was suited to meditation. A grove of full-grown Elms sheltered us
from the East—. A Bed of full-grown Nettles from the West—. Before us
ran the murmuring brook and behind us ran the turn-pike road. We were in a
mood for contemplation and in a Disposition to enjoy so beautifull a spot. A
mutual silence which had for some time reigned between us, was at length
broke by my exclaiming—“What a lovely scene! Alas why are not Edward
and Augustus here to enjoy its Beauties with us?”
“Ah! my beloved Laura (cried Sophia) for pity’s sake forbear recalling to
my remembrance the unhappy situation of my imprisoned Husband. Alas,
what would I not give to learn the fate of my Augustus! to know if he is still
in Newgate, or if he is yet hung. But never shall I be able so far to conquer
my tender sensibility as to enquire after him. Oh! do not I beseech you ever

let me again hear you repeat his beloved name—. It affects me too deeply
—. I cannot bear to hear him mentioned it wounds my feelings.”
“Excuse me my Sophia for having thus unwillingly offended you—”
replied I—and then changing the conversation, desired her to admire the
noble Grandeur of the Elms which sheltered us from the Eastern Zephyr.
“Alas! my Laura (returned she) avoid so melancholy a subject, I intreat you.
Do not again wound my Sensibility by observations on those elms. They
remind me of Augustus. He was like them, tall, magestic—he possessed
that noble grandeur which you admire in them.”
I was silent, fearfull lest I might any more unwillingly distress her by
fixing on any other subject of conversation which might again remind her
of Augustus.
“Why do you not speak my Laura? (said she after a short pause) “I
cannot support this silence you must not leave me to my own reflections;
they ever recur to Augustus.”
“What a beautifull sky! (said I) How charmingly is the azure varied by
those delicate streaks of white!”
“Oh! my Laura (replied she hastily withdrawing her Eyes from a
momentary glance at the sky) do not thus distress me by calling my
Attention to an object which so cruelly reminds me of my Augustus’s blue
sattin waistcoat striped in white! In pity to your unhappy freind avoid a
subject so distressing.” What could I do? The feelings of Sophia were at
that time so exquisite, and the tenderness she felt for Augustus so poignant
that I had not power to start any other topic, justly fearing that it might in
some unforseen manner again awaken all her sensibility by directing her
thoughts to her Husband. Yet to be silent would be cruel; she had intreated
me to talk.
From this Dilemma I was most fortunately releived by an accident truly
apropos; it was the lucky overturning of a Gentleman’s Phaeton, on the road
which ran murmuring behind us. It was a most fortunate accident as it
diverted the attention of Sophia from the melancholy reflections which she
had been before indulging. We instantly quitted our seats and ran to the
rescue of those who but a few moments before had been in so elevated a
situation as a fashionably high Phaeton, but who were now laid low and
sprawling in the Dust. “What an ample subject for reflection on the
uncertain Enjoyments of this World, would not that Phaeton and the Life of

Cardinal Wolsey afford a thinking Mind!” said I to Sophia as we were
hastening to the field of Action.
She had not time to answer me, for every thought was now engaged by
the horrid spectacle before us. Two Gentlemen most elegantly attired but
weltering in their blood was what first struck our Eyes—we approached—
they were Edward and Augustus—. Yes dearest Marianne they were our
Husbands. Sophia shreiked and fainted on the ground—I screamed and
instantly ran mad—. We remained thus mutually deprived of our senses,
some minutes, and on regaining them were deprived of them again. For an
Hour and a Quarter did we continue in this unfortunate situation—Sophia
fainting every moment and I running mad as often. At length a groan from
the hapless Edward (who alone retained any share of life) restored us to
ourselves. Had we indeed before imagined that either of them lived, we
should have been more sparing of our Greif—but as we had supposed when
we first beheld them that they were no more, we knew that nothing could
remain to be done but what we were about. No sooner did we therefore hear
my Edward’s groan than postponing our lamentations for the present, we
hastily ran to the Dear Youth and kneeling on each side of him implored
him not to die—. “Laura (said He fixing his now languid Eyes on me) I fear
I have been overturned.”
I was overjoyed to find him yet sensible.
“Oh! tell me Edward (said I) tell me I beseech you before you die, what
has befallen you since that unhappy Day in which Augustus was arrested
and we were separated—”
“I will” (said he) and instantly fetching a deep sigh, Expired—. Sophia
immediately sank again into a swoon—. My greif was more audible. My
Voice faltered, My Eyes assumed a vacant stare, my face became as pale as
Death, and my senses were considerably impaired—.
“Talk not to me of Phaetons (said I, raving in a frantic, incoherent
manner)—Give me a violin—. I’ll play to him and sooth him in his
melancholy Hours—Beware ye gentle Nymphs of Cupid’s Thunderbolts,
avoid the piercing shafts of Jupiter—Look at that grove of Firs—I see a Leg
of Mutton—They told me Edward was not Dead; but they deceived me—
they took him for a cucumber—” Thus I continued wildly exclaiming on
my Edward’s Death—. For two Hours did I rave thus madly and should not
then have left off, as I was not in the least fatigued, had not Sophia who was

just recovered from her swoon, intreated me to consider that Night was now
approaching and that the Damps began to fall. “And whither shall we go
(said I) to shelter us from either?” “To that white Cottage.” (replied she
pointing to a neat Building which rose up amidst the grove of Elms and
which I had not before observed—) I agreed and we instantly walked to it—
we knocked at the door—it was opened by an old woman; on being
requested to afford us a Night’s Lodging, she informed us that her House
was but small, that she had only two Bedrooms, but that However we
should be wellcome to one of them. We were satisfied and followed the
good woman into the House where we were greatly cheered by the sight of
a comfortable fire—. She was a widow and had only one Daughter, who
was then just seventeen—One of the best of ages; but alas! she was very
plain and her name was Bridget..... Nothing therfore could be expected
from her—she could not be supposed to possess either exalted Ideas,
Delicate Feelings or refined Sensibilities—. She was nothing more than a
mere good-tempered, civil and obliging young woman; as such we could
scarcely dislike here—she was only an Object of Contempt—.

Adeiu
Laura.

LETTER the 14th
LAURA in continuation

Arm yourself my amiable young Freind with all the philosophy you are
Mistress of; summon up all the fortitude you possess, for alas! in the
perusal of the following Pages your sensibility will be most severely tried.
Ah! what were the misfortunes I had before experienced and which I have
already related to you, to the one I am now going to inform you of. The
Death of my Father and my Mother and my Husband though almost more
than my gentle Nature could support, were trifles in comparison to the
misfortune I am now proceeding to relate. The morning after our arrival at
the Cottage, Sophia complained of a violent pain in her delicate limbs,
accompanied with a disagreable Head-ake. She attributed it to a cold caught
by her continued faintings in the open air as the Dew was falling the
Evening before. This I feared was but too probably the case; since how
could it be otherwise accounted for that I should have escaped the same
indisposition, but by supposing that the bodily Exertions I had undergone in
my repeated fits of frenzy had so effectually circulated and warmed my
Blood as to make me proof against the chilling Damps of Night, whereas,
Sophia lying totally inactive on the ground must have been exposed to all
their severity. I was most seriously alarmed by her illness which trifling as
it may appear to you, a certain instinctive sensibility whispered me, would
in the End be fatal to her.
Alas! my fears were but too fully justified; she grew gradually worse—
and I daily became more alarmed for her. At length she was obliged to
confine herself solely to the Bed allotted us by our worthy Landlady—. Her
disorder turned to a galloping Consumption and in a few days carried her
off. Amidst all my Lamentations for her (and violent you may suppose they
were) I yet received some consolation in the reflection of my having paid
every attention to her, that could be offered, in her illness. I had wept over

her every Day—had bathed her sweet face with my tears and had pressed
her fair Hands continually in mine—. “My beloved Laura (said she to me a
few Hours before she died) take warning from my unhappy End and avoid
the imprudent conduct which had occasioned it... Beware of fainting-fits...
Though at the time they may be refreshing and agreable yet beleive me they
will in the end, if too often repeated and at improper seasons, prove
destructive to your Constitution... My fate will teach you this.. I die a
Martyr to my greif for the loss of Augustus.. One fatal swoon has cost me
my Life.. Beware of swoons Dear Laura.... A frenzy fit is not one quarter so
pernicious; it is an exercise to the Body and if not too violent, is I dare say
conducive to Health in its consequences—Run mad as often as you chuse;
but do not faint—”
These were the last words she ever addressed to me.. It was her dieing
Advice to her afflicted Laura, who has ever most faithfully adhered to it.
After having attended my lamented freind to her Early Grave, I
immediately (tho’ late at night) left the detested Village in which she died,
and near which had expired my Husband and Augustus. I had not walked
many yards from it before I was overtaken by a stage-coach, in which I
instantly took a place, determined to proceed in it to Edinburgh, where I
hoped to find some kind some pitying Freind who would receive and
comfort me in my afflictions.
It was so dark when I entered the Coach that I could not distinguish the
Number of my Fellow-travellers; I could only perceive that they were
many. Regardless however of anything concerning them, I gave myself up
to my own sad Reflections. A general silence prevailed—A silence, which
was by nothing interrupted but by the loud and repeated snores of one of the
Party.
“What an illiterate villain must that man be! (thought I to myself) What a
total want of delicate refinement must he have, who can thus shock our
senses by such a brutal noise! He must I am certain be capable of every bad
action! There is no crime too black for such a Character!” Thus reasoned I
within myself, and doubtless such were the reflections of my fellow
travellers.
At length, returning Day enabled me to behold the unprincipled
Scoundrel who had so violently disturbed my feelings. It was Sir Edward
the father of my Deceased Husband. By his side sate Augusta, and on the

same seat with me were your Mother and Lady Dorothea. Imagine my
surprise at finding myself thus seated amongst my old Acquaintance. Great
as was my astonishment, it was yet increased, when on looking out of
Windows, I beheld the Husband of Philippa, with Philippa by his side, on
the Coachbox and when on looking behind I beheld, Philander and
Gustavus in the Basket. “Oh! Heavens, (exclaimed I) is it possible that I
should so unexpectedly be surrounded by my nearest Relations and
Connections?” These words roused the rest of the Party, and every eye was
directed to the corner in which I sat. “Oh! my Isabel (continued I throwing
myself across Lady Dorothea into her arms) receive once more to your
Bosom the unfortunate Laura. Alas! when we last parted in the Vale of Usk,
I was happy in being united to the best of Edwards; I had then a Father and
a Mother, and had never known misfortunes—But now deprived of every
freind but you—”
“What! (interrupted Augusta) is my Brother dead then? Tell us I intreat
you what is become of him?” “Yes, cold and insensible Nymph, (replied I)
that luckless swain your Brother, is no more, and you may now glory in
being the Heiress of Sir Edward’s fortune.”
Although I had always despised her from the Day I had overheard her
conversation with my Edward, yet in civility I complied with hers and Sir
Edward’s intreaties that I would inform them of the whole melancholy
affair. They were greatly shocked—even the obdurate Heart of Sir Edward
and the insensible one of Augusta, were touched with sorrow, by the
unhappy tale. At the request of your Mother I related to them every other
misfortune which had befallen me since we parted. Of the imprisonment of
Augustus and the absence of Edward—of our arrival in Scotland—of our
unexpected Meeting with our Grand-father and our cousins—of our visit to
Macdonald-Hall—of the singular service we there performed towards
Janetta—of her Fathers ingratitude for it.. of his inhuman Behaviour,
unaccountable suspicions, and barbarous treatment of us, in obliging us to
leave the House.. of our lamentations on the loss of Edward and Augustus
and finally of the melancholy Death of my beloved Companion.
Pity and surprise were strongly depictured in your Mother’s countenance,
during the whole of my narration, but I am sorry to say, that to the eternal
reproach of her sensibility, the latter infinitely predominated. Nay, faultless
as my conduct had certainly been during the whole course of my late

misfortunes and adventures, she pretended to find fault with my behaviour
in many of the situations in which I had been placed. As I was sensible
myself, that I had always behaved in a manner which reflected Honour on
my Feelings and Refinement, I paid little attention to what she said, and
desired her to satisfy my Curiosity by informing me how she came there,
instead of wounding my spotless reputation with unjustifiable Reproaches.
As soon as she had complyed with my wishes in this particular and had
given me an accurate detail of every thing that had befallen her since our
separation (the particulars of which if you are not already acquainted with,
your Mother will give you) I applied to Augusta for the same information
respecting herself, Sir Edward and Lady Dorothea.
She told me that having a considerable taste for the Beauties of Nature,
her curiosity to behold the delightful scenes it exhibited in that part of the
World had been so much raised by Gilpin’s Tour to the Highlands, that she
had prevailed on her Father to undertake a Tour to Scotland and had
persuaded Lady Dorothea to accompany them. That they had arrived at
Edinburgh a few Days before and from thence had made daily Excursions
into the Country around in the Stage Coach they were then in, from one of
which Excursions they were at that time returning. My next enquiries were
concerning Philippa and her Husband, the latter of whom I learned having
spent all her fortune, had recourse for subsistence to the talent in which, he
had always most excelled, namely, Driving, and that having sold every
thing which belonged to them except their Coach, had converted it into a
Stage and in order to be removed from any of his former Acquaintance, had
driven it to Edinburgh from whence he went to Sterling every other Day.
That Philippa still retaining her affection for her ungratefull Husband, had
followed him to Scotland and generally accompanied him in his little
Excursions to Sterling. “It has only been to throw a little money into their
Pockets (continued Augusta) that my Father has always travelled in their
Coach to veiw the beauties of the Country since our arrival in Scotland—
for it would certainly have been much more agreable to us, to visit the
Highlands in a Postchaise than merely to travel from Edinburgh to Sterling
and from Sterling to Edinburgh every other Day in a crowded and
uncomfortable Stage.” I perfectly agreed with her in her sentiments on the
affair, and secretly blamed Sir Edward for thus sacrificing his Daughter’s
Pleasure for the sake of a ridiculous old woman whose folly in marrying so
young a man ought to be punished. His Behaviour however was entirely of

a peice with his general Character; for what could be expected from a man
who possessed not the smallest atom of Sensibility, who scarcely knew the
meaning of simpathy, and who actually snored—.

Adeiu
Laura.

LETTER the 15th
LAURA in continuation.

When we arrived at the town where we were to Breakfast, I was
determined to speak with Philander and Gustavus, and to that purpose as
soon as I left the Carriage, I went to the Basket and tenderly enquired after
their Health, expressing my fears of the uneasiness of their situation. At first
they seemed rather confused at my appearance dreading no doubt that I
might call them to account for the money which our Grandfather had left
me and which they had unjustly deprived me of, but finding that I
mentioned nothing of the Matter, they desired me to step into the Basket as
we might there converse with greater ease. Accordingly I entered and whilst
the rest of the party were devouring green tea and buttered toast, we feasted
ourselves in a more refined and sentimental Manner by a confidential
Conversation. I informed them of every thing which had befallen me during
the course of my life, and at my request they related to me every incident of
theirs.
“We are the sons as you already know, of the two youngest Daughters
which Lord St Clair had by Laurina an italian opera girl. Our mothers could
neither of them exactly ascertain who were our Father, though it is generally
beleived that Philander, is the son of one Philip Jones a Bricklayer and that
my Father was one Gregory Staves a Staymaker of Edinburgh. This is
however of little consequence for as our Mothers were certainly never
married to either of them it reflects no Dishonour on our Blood, which is of
a most ancient and unpolluted kind. Bertha (the Mother of Philander) and
Agatha (my own Mother) always lived together. They were neither of them
very rich; their united fortunes had originally amounted to nine thousand
Pounds, but as they had always lived on the principal of it, when we were
fifteen it was diminished to nine Hundred. This nine Hundred they always
kept in a Drawer in one of the Tables which stood in our common sitting

Parlour, for the convenience of having it always at Hand. Whether it was
from this circumstance, of its being easily taken, or from a wish of being
independant, or from an excess of sensibility (for which we were always
remarkable) I cannot now determine, but certain it is that when we had
reached our 15th year, we took the nine Hundred Pounds and ran away.
Having obtained this prize we were determined to manage it with economy
and not to spend it either with folly or Extravagance. To this purpose we
therefore divided it into nine parcels, one of which we devoted to Victuals,
the 2d to Drink, the 3d to Housekeeping, the 4th to Carriages, the 5th to
Horses, the 6th to Servants, the 7th to Amusements, the 8th to Cloathes and
the 9th to Silver Buckles. Having thus arranged our Expences for two
months (for we expected to make the nine Hundred Pounds last as long) we
hastened to London and had the good luck to spend it in 7 weeks and a Day
which was 6 Days sooner than we had intended. As soon as we had thus
happily disencumbered ourselves from the weight of so much money, we
began to think of returning to our Mothers, but accidentally hearing that
they were both starved to Death, we gave over the design and determined to
engage ourselves to some strolling Company of Players, as we had always a
turn for the Stage. Accordingly we offered our services to one and were
accepted; our Company was indeed rather small, as it consisted only of the
Manager his wife and ourselves, but there were fewer to pay and the only
inconvenience attending it was the Scarcity of Plays which for want of
People to fill the Characters, we could perform. We did not mind trifles
however—. One of our most admired Performances was Macbeth, in which
we were truly great. The Manager always played Banquo himself, his Wife
my Lady Macbeth. I did the Three Witches and Philander acted all the rest.
To say the truth this tragedy was not only the Best, but the only Play that we
ever performed; and after having acted it all over England, and Wales, we
came to Scotland to exhibit it over the remainder of Great Britain. We
happened to be quartered in that very Town, where you came and met your
Grandfather—. We were in the Inn-yard when his Carriage entered and
perceiving by the arms to whom it belonged, and knowing that Lord St
Clair was our Grandfather, we agreed to endeavour to get something from
him by discovering the Relationship—. You know how well it succeeded—.
Having obtained the two Hundred Pounds, we instantly left the Town,
leaving our Manager and his Wife to act Macbeth by themselves, and took
the road to Sterling, where we spent our little fortune with great eclat. We

are now returning to Edinburgh in order to get some preferment in the
Acting way; and such my Dear Cousin is our History.”
I thanked the amiable Youth for his entertaining narration, and after
expressing my wishes for their Welfare and Happiness, left them in their
little Habitation and returned to my other Freinds who impatiently expected
me.
My adventures are now drawing to a close my dearest Marianne; at least
for the present.
When we arrived at Edinburgh Sir Edward told me that as the Widow of
his son, he desired I would accept from his Hands of four Hundred a year. I
graciously promised that I would, but could not help observing that the
unsimpathetic Baronet offered it more on account of my being the Widow
of Edward than in being the refined and amiable Laura.
I took up my Residence in a Romantic Village in the Highlands of
Scotland where I have ever since continued, and where I can uninterrupted
by unmeaning Visits, indulge in a melancholy solitude, my unceasing
Lamentations for the Death of my Father, my Mother, my Husband and my
Freind.
Augusta has been for several years united to Graham the Man of all
others most suited to her; she became acquainted with him during her stay
in Scotland.
Sir Edward in hopes of gaining an Heir to his Title and Estate, at the
same time married Lady Dorothea—. His wishes have been answered.
Philander and Gustavus, after having raised their reputation by their
Performances in the Theatrical Line at Edinburgh, removed to Covent
Garden, where they still exhibit under the assumed names of Luvis and
Quick.
Philippa has long paid the Debt of Nature, Her Husband however still
continues to drive the Stage-Coach from Edinburgh to Sterling:—

Adeiu my Dearest Marianne.
Laura.

Finis

June 13th 1790.

LESLEY CASTLE
AN UNFINISHED NOVEL IN LETTERS

To HENRY THOMAS AUSTEN Esqre.

Sir
I am now availing myself of the Liberty you have frequently honoured
me with of dedicating one of my Novels to you. That it is unfinished, I
greive; yet fear that from me, it will always remain so; that as far as it is
carried, it should be so trifling and so unworthy of you, is another concern
to your obliged humble

Servant
The Author

Messrs Demand and Co—please to pay Jane Austen Spinster the sum of
one hundred guineas on account of your Humble Servant.

H. T. Austen

£105. 0. 0.

LESLEY CASTLE

LETTER the FIRST is from
Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE
LUTTERELL

Lesley Castle Janry 3rd—1792.
My Brother has just left us. “Matilda (said he at parting) you and
Margaret will I am certain take all the care of my dear little one, that she
might have received from an indulgent, and affectionate and amiable
Mother.” Tears rolled down his cheeks as he spoke these words—the
remembrance of her, who had so wantonly disgraced the Maternal character
and so openly violated the conjugal Duties, prevented his adding anything
farther; he embraced his sweet Child and after saluting Matilda and Me
hastily broke from us and seating himself in his Chaise, pursued the road to
Aberdeen. Never was there a better young Man! Ah! how little did he
deserve the misfortunes he has experienced in the Marriage state. So good a
Husband to so bad a Wife! for you know my dear Charlotte that the
Worthless Louisa left him, her Child and reputation a few weeks ago in
company with Danvers and dishonour. Never was there a sweeter face, a
finer form, or a less amiable Heart than Louisa owned! Her child already
possesses the personal Charms of her unhappy Mother! May she inherit
from her Father all his mental ones! Lesley is at present but five and twenty,
and has already given himself up to melancholy and Despair; what a
difference between him and his Father! Sir George is 57 and still remains
the Beau, the flighty stripling, the gay Lad, and sprightly Youngster, that his
Son was really about five years back, and that he has affected to appear ever
since my remembrance. While our father is fluttering about the streets of
London, gay, dissipated, and Thoughtless at the age of 57, Matilda and I
continue secluded from Mankind in our old and Mouldering Castle, which
is situated two miles from Perth on a bold projecting Rock, and commands

an extensive veiw of the Town and its delightful Environs. But tho’ retired
from almost all the World, (for we visit no one but the M’Leods, The
M’Kenzies, the M’Phersons, the M’Cartneys, the M’Donalds, The
M’kinnons, the M’lellans, the M’kays, the Macbeths and the Macduffs) we
are neither dull nor unhappy; on the contrary there never were two more
lively, more agreable or more witty girls, than we are; not an hour in the
Day hangs heavy on our Hands. We read, we work, we walk, and when
fatigued with these Employments releive our spirits, either by a lively song,
a graceful Dance, or by some smart bon-mot, and witty repartee. We are
handsome my dear Charlotte, very handsome and the greatest of our
Perfections is, that we are entirely insensible of them ourselves. But why do
I thus dwell on myself! Let me rather repeat the praise of our dear little
Neice the innocent Louisa, who is at present sweetly smiling in a gentle
Nap, as she reposes on the sofa. The dear Creature is just turned of two
years old; as handsome as tho’ 2 and 20, as sensible as tho’ 2 and 30, and as
prudent as tho’ 2 and 40. To convince you of this, I must inform you that
she has a very fine complexion and very pretty features, that she already
knows the two first letters in the Alphabet, and that she never tears her
frocks—. If I have not now convinced you of her Beauty, Sense and
Prudence, I have nothing more to urge in support of my assertion, and you
will therefore have no way of deciding the Affair but by coming to Lesley-
Castle, and by a personal acquaintance with Louisa, determine for yourself.
Ah! my dear Freind, how happy should I be to see you within these
venerable Walls! It is now four years since my removal from School has
separated me from you; that two such tender Hearts, so closely linked
together by the ties of simpathy and Freindship, should be so widely
removed from each other, is vastly moving. I live in Perthshire, You in
Sussex. We might meet in London, were my Father disposed to carry me
there, and were your Mother to be there at the same time. We might meet at
Bath, at Tunbridge, or anywhere else indeed, could we but be at the same
place together. We have only to hope that such a period may arrive. My
Father does not return to us till Autumn; my Brother will leave Scotland in
a few Days; he is impatient to travel. Mistaken Youth! He vainly flatters
himself that change of Air will heal the Wounds of a broken Heart! You will
join with me I am certain my dear Charlotte, in prayers for the recovery of
the unhappy Lesley’s peace of Mind, which must ever be essential to that of
your sincere freind

M. Lesley.

LETTER the SECOND
From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY in
answer.

Glenford Febry 12
I have a thousand excuses to beg for having so long delayed thanking you
my dear Peggy for your agreable Letter, which beleive me I should not have
deferred doing, had not every moment of my time during the last five weeks
been so fully employed in the necessary arrangements for my sisters
wedding, as to allow me no time to devote either to you or myself. And now
what provokes me more than anything else is that the Match is broke off,
and all my Labour thrown away. Imagine how great the Dissapointment
must be to me, when you consider that after having laboured both by Night
and by Day, in order to get the Wedding dinner ready by the time appointed,
after having roasted Beef, Broiled Mutton, and Stewed Soup enough to last
the new-married Couple through the Honey-moon, I had the mortification
of finding that I had been Roasting, Broiling and Stewing both the Meat and
Myself to no purpose. Indeed my dear Freind, I never remember suffering
any vexation equal to what I experienced on last Monday when my sister
came running to me in the store-room with her face as White as a Whipt
syllabub, and told me that Hervey had been thrown from his Horse, had
fractured his Scull and was pronounced by his surgeon to be in the most
emminent Danger. “Good God! (said I) you dont say so? Why what in the
name of Heaven will become of all the Victuals! We shall never be able to
eat it while it is good. However, we’ll call in the Surgeon to help us. I shall
be able to manage the Sir-loin myself, my Mother will eat the soup, and
You and the Doctor must finish the rest.” Here I was interrupted, by seeing
my poor Sister fall down to appearance Lifeless upon one of the Chests,
where we keep our Table linen. I immediately called my Mother and the

Maids, and at last we brought her to herself again; as soon as ever she was
sensible, she expressed a determination of going instantly to Henry, and was
so wildly bent on this Scheme, that we had the greatest Difficulty in the
World to prevent her putting it in execution; at last however more by Force
than Entreaty we prevailed on her to go into her room; we laid her upon the
Bed, and she continued for some Hours in the most dreadful Convulsions.
My Mother and I continued in the room with her, and when any intervals of
tolerable Composure in Eloisa would allow us, we joined in heartfelt
lamentations on the dreadful Waste in our provisions which this Event must
occasion, and in concerting some plan for getting rid of them. We agreed
that the best thing we could do was to begin eating them immediately, and
accordingly we ordered up the cold Ham and Fowls, and instantly began
our Devouring Plan on them with great Alacrity. We would have persuaded
Eloisa to have taken a Wing of a Chicken, but she would not be persuaded.
She was however much quieter than she had been; the convulsions she had
before suffered having given way to an almost perfect Insensibility. We
endeavoured to rouse her by every means in our power, but to no purpose. I
talked to her of Henry. “Dear Eloisa (said I) there’s no occasion for your
crying so much about such a trifle. (for I was willing to make light of it in
order to comfort her) I beg you would not mind it—You see it does not vex
me in the least; though perhaps I may suffer most from it after all; for I shall
not only be obliged to eat up all the Victuals I have dressed already, but
must if Henry should recover (which however is not very likely) dress as
much for you again; or should he die (as I suppose he will) I shall still have
to prepare a Dinner for you whenever you marry any one else. So you see
that tho’ perhaps for the present it may afflict you to think of Henry’s
sufferings, Yet I dare say he’ll die soon, and then his pain will be over and
you will be easy, whereas my Trouble will last much longer for work as
hard as I may, I am certain that the pantry cannot be cleared in less than a
fortnight.” Thus I did all in my power to console her, but without any effect,
and at last as I saw that she did not seem to listen to me, I said no more, but
leaving her with my Mother I took down the remains of The Ham and
Chicken, and sent William to ask how Henry did. He was not expected to
live many Hours; he died the same day. We took all possible care to break
the melancholy Event to Eloisa in the tenderest manner; yet in spite of
every precaution, her sufferings on hearing it were too violent for her
reason, and she continued for many hours in a high Delirium. She is still

extremely ill, and her Physicians are greatly afraid of her going into a
Decline. We are therefore preparing for Bristol, where we mean to be in the
course of the next week. And now my dear Margaret let me talk a little of
your affairs; and in the first place I must inform you that it is confidently
reported, your Father is going to be married; I am very unwilling to beleive
so unpleasing a report, and at the same time cannot wholly discredit it. I
have written to my freind Susan Fitzgerald, for information concerning it,
which as she is at present in Town, she will be very able to give me. I know
not who is the Lady. I think your Brother is extremely right in the resolution
he has taken of travelling, as it will perhaps contribute to obliterate from his
remembrance, those disagreable Events, which have lately so much
afflicted him—I am happy to find that tho’ secluded from all the World,
neither you nor Matilda are dull or unhappy—that you may never know
what it is to, be either is the wish of your sincerely affectionate

C.L.

P. S. I have this instant received an answer from my freind Susan, which I
enclose to you, and on which you will make your own reflections.
The enclosed LETTER
My dear CHARLOTTE
You could not have applied for information concerning the report of Sir
George Lesleys Marriage, to any one better able to give it you than I am. Sir
George is certainly married; I was myself present at the Ceremony, which
you will not be surprised at when I subscribe myself your

Affectionate
Susan Lesley

LETTER the THIRD
From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss C.
LUTTERELL

Lesley Castle February the 16th
I have made my own reflections on the letter you enclosed to me, my
Dear Charlotte and I will now tell you what those reflections were. I
reflected that if by this second Marriage Sir George should have a second
family, our fortunes must be considerably diminushed—that if his Wife
should be of an extravagant turn, she would encourage him to persevere in
that gay and Dissipated way of Life to which little encouragement would be
necessary, and which has I fear already proved but too detrimental to his
health and fortune—that she would now become Mistress of those Jewels
which once adorned our Mother, and which Sir George had always
promised us—that if they did not come into Perthshire I should not be able
to gratify my curiosity of beholding my Mother-in-law and that if they did,
Matilda would no longer sit at the head of her Father’s table—. These my
dear Charlotte were the melancholy reflections which crowded into my
imagination after perusing Susan’s letter to you, and which instantly
occurred to Matilda when she had perused it likewise. The same ideas, the
same fears, immediately occupied her Mind, and I know not which
reflection distressed her most, whether the probable Diminution of our
Fortunes, or her own Consequence. We both wish very much to know
whether Lady Lesley is handsome and what is your opinion of her; as you
honour her with the appellation of your freind, we flatter ourselves that she
must be amiable. My Brother is already in Paris. He intends to quit it in a
few Days, and to begin his route to Italy. He writes in a most chearfull
manner, says that the air of France has greatly recovered both his Health
and Spirits; that he has now entirely ceased to think of Louisa with any

degree either of Pity or Affection, that he even feels himself obliged to her
for her Elopement, as he thinks it very good fun to be single again. By this,
you may perceive that he has entirely regained that chearful Gaiety, and
sprightly Wit, for which he was once so remarkable. When he first became
acquainted with Louisa which was little more than three years ago, he was
one of the most lively, the most agreable young Men of the age—. I beleive
you never yet heard the particulars of his first acquaintance with her. It
commenced at our cousin Colonel Drummond’s; at whose house in
Cumberland he spent the Christmas, in which he attained the age of two and
twenty. Louisa Burton was the Daughter of a distant Relation of Mrs.
Drummond, who dieing a few Months before in extreme poverty, left his
only Child then about eighteen to the protection of any of his Relations who
would protect her. Mrs. Drummond was the only one who found herself so
disposed—Louisa was therefore removed from a miserable Cottage in
Yorkshire to an elegant Mansion in Cumberland, and from every pecuniary
Distress that Poverty could inflict, to every elegant Enjoyment that Money
could purchase—. Louisa was naturally ill-tempered and Cunning; but she
had been taught to disguise her real Disposition, under the appearance of
insinuating Sweetness, by a father who but too well knew, that to be
married, would be the only chance she would have of not being starved, and
who flattered himself that with such an extroidinary share of personal
beauty, joined to a gentleness of Manners, and an engaging address, she
might stand a good chance of pleasing some young Man who might afford
to marry a girl without a Shilling. Louisa perfectly entered into her father’s
schemes and was determined to forward them with all her care and
attention. By dint of Perseverance and Application, she had at length so
thoroughly disguised her natural disposition under the mask of Innocence,
and Softness, as to impose upon every one who had not by a long and
constant intimacy with her discovered her real Character. Such was Louisa
when the hapless Lesley first beheld her at Drummond-house. His heart
which (to use your favourite comparison) was as delicate as sweet and as
tender as a Whipt-syllabub, could not resist her attractions. In a very few
Days, he was falling in love, shortly after actually fell, and before he had
known her a Month, he had married her. My Father was at first highly
displeased at so hasty and imprudent a connection; but when he found that
they did not mind it, he soon became perfectly reconciled to the match. The
Estate near Aberdeen which my brother possesses by the bounty of his great

Uncle independant of Sir George, was entirely sufficient to support him and
my Sister in Elegance and Ease. For the first twelvemonth, no one could be
happier than Lesley, and no one more amiable to appearance than Louisa,
and so plausibly did she act and so cautiously behave that tho’ Matilda and I
often spent several weeks together with them, yet we neither of us had any
suspicion of her real Disposition. After the birth of Louisa however, which
one would have thought would have strengthened her regard for Lesley, the
mask she had so long supported was by degrees thrown aside, and as
probably she then thought herself secure in the affection of her Husband
(which did indeed appear if possible augmented by the birth of his Child)
she seemed to take no pains to prevent that affection from ever
diminushing. Our visits therefore to Dunbeath, were now less frequent and
by far less agreable than they used to be. Our absence was however never
either mentioned or lamented by Louisa who in the society of young
Danvers with whom she became acquainted at Aberdeen (he was at one of
the Universities there,) felt infinitely happier than in that of Matilda and
your freind, tho’ there certainly never were pleasanter girls than we are. You
know the sad end of all Lesleys connubial happiness; I will not repeat it—.
Adeiu my dear Charlotte; although I have not yet mentioned anything of the
matter, I hope you will do me the justice to beleive that I think and feel, a
great deal for your Sisters affliction. I do not doubt but that the healthy air
of the Bristol downs will intirely remove it, by erasing from her Mind the
remembrance of Henry. I am my dear Charlotte yrs ever

M. L.

LETTER the FOURTH
From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY

Bristol February 27th
My Dear Peggy
I have but just received your letter, which being directed to Sussex while
I was at Bristol was obliged to be forwarded to me here, and from some
unaccountable Delay, has but this instant reached me—. I return you many
thanks for the account it contains of Lesley’s acquaintance, Love and
Marriage with Louisa, which has not the less entertained me for having
often been repeated to me before.
I have the satisfaction of informing you that we have every reason to
imagine our pantry is by this time nearly cleared, as we left Particular
orders with the servants to eat as hard as they possibly could, and to call in
a couple of Chairwomen to assist them. We brought a cold Pigeon pye, a
cold turkey, a cold tongue, and half a dozen Jellies with us, which we were
lucky enough with the help of our Landlady, her husband, and their three
children, to get rid of, in less than two days after our arrival. Poor Eloisa is
still so very indifferent both in Health and Spirits, that I very much fear, the
air of the Bristol downs, healthy as it is, has not been able to drive poor
Henry from her remembrance.
You ask me whether your new Mother in law is handsome and amiable—
I will now give you an exact description of her bodily and mental charms.
She is short, and extremely well made; is naturally pale, but rouges a good
deal; has fine eyes, and fine teeth, as she will take care to let you know as
soon as she sees you, and is altogether very pretty. She is remarkably good-
tempered when she has her own way, and very lively when she is not out of
humour. She is naturally extravagant and not very affected; she never reads
anything but the letters she receives from me, and never writes anything but
her answers to them. She plays, sings and Dances, but has no taste for

either, and excells in none, tho’ she says she is passionately fond of all.
Perhaps you may flatter me so far as to be surprised that one of whom I
speak with so little affection should be my particular freind; but to tell you
the truth, our freindship arose rather from Caprice on her side than Esteem
on mine. We spent two or three days together with a Lady in Berkshire with
whom we both happened to be connected—. During our visit, the Weather
being remarkably bad, and our party particularly stupid, she was so good as
to conceive a violent partiality for me, which very soon settled in a
downright Freindship and ended in an established correspondence. She is
probably by this time as tired of me, as I am of her; but as she is too Polite
and I am too civil to say so, our letters are still as frequent and affectionate
as ever, and our Attachment as firm and sincere as when it first commenced.
As she had a great taste for the pleasures of London, and of
Brighthelmstone, she will I dare say find some difficulty in prevailing on
herself even to satisfy the curiosity I dare say she feels of beholding you, at
the expence of quitting those favourite haunts of Dissipation, for the
melancholy tho’ venerable gloom of the castle you inhabit. Perhaps
however if she finds her health impaired by too much amusement, she may
acquire fortitude sufficient to undertake a Journey to Scotland in the hope of
its Proving at least beneficial to her health, if not conducive to her
happiness. Your fears I am sorry to say, concerning your father’s
extravagance, your own fortunes, your Mothers Jewels and your Sister’s
consequence, I should suppose are but too well founded. My freind herself
has four thousand pounds, and will probably spend nearly as much every
year in Dress and Public places, if she can get it—she will certainly not
endeavour to reclaim Sir George from the manner of living to which he has
been so long accustomed, and there is therefore some reason to fear that
you will be very well off, if you get any fortune at all. The Jewels I should
imagine too will undoubtedly be hers, and there is too much reason to think
that she will preside at her Husbands table in preference to his Daughter.
But as so melancholy a subject must necessarily extremely distress you, I
will no longer dwell on it—.
Eloisa’s indisposition has brought us to Bristol at so unfashionable a
season of the year, that we have actually seen but one genteel family since
we came. Mr and Mrs Marlowe are very agreable people; the ill health of
their little boy occasioned their arrival here; you may imagine that being the
only family with whom we can converse, we are of course on a footing of

intimacy with them; we see them indeed almost every day, and dined with
them yesterday. We spent a very pleasant Day, and had a very good Dinner,
tho’ to be sure the Veal was terribly underdone, and the Curry had no
seasoning. I could not help wishing all dinner-time that I had been at the
dressing it—. A brother of Mrs Marlowe, Mr Cleveland is with them at
present; he is a good-looking young Man, and seems to have a good deal to
say for himself. I tell Eloisa that she should set her cap at him, but she does
not at all seem to relish the proposal. I should like to see the girl married
and Cleveland has a very good estate. Perhaps you may wonder that I do
not consider myself as well as my Sister in my matrimonial Projects; but to
tell you the truth I never wish to act a more principal part at a Wedding than
the superintending and directing the Dinner, and therefore while I can get
any of my acquaintance to marry for me, I shall never think of doing it
myself, as I very much suspect that I should not have so much time for
dressing my own Wedding-dinner, as for dressing that of my freinds.

Yours sincerely
C. L.

LETTER the FIFTH
Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE
LUTTERELL

Lesley-Castle March 18th
On the same day that I received your last kind letter, Matilda received
one from Sir George which was dated from Edinburgh, and informed us
that he should do himself the pleasure of introducing Lady Lesley to us on
the following evening. This as you may suppose considerably surprised us,
particularly as your account of her Ladyship had given us reason to imagine
there was little chance of her visiting Scotland at a time that London must
be so gay. As it was our business however to be delighted at such a mark of
condescension as a visit from Sir George and Lady Lesley, we prepared to
return them an answer expressive of the happiness we enjoyed in
expectation of such a Blessing, when luckily recollecting that as they were
to reach the Castle the next Evening, it would be impossible for my father
to receive it before he left Edinburgh, we contented ourselves with leaving
them to suppose that we were as happy as we ought to be. At nine in the
Evening on the following day, they came, accompanied by one of Lady
Lesleys brothers. Her Ladyship perfectly answers the description you sent
me of her, except that I do not think her so pretty as you seem to consider
her. She has not a bad face, but there is something so extremely unmajestic
in her little diminutive figure, as to render her in comparison with the
elegant height of Matilda and Myself, an insignificant Dwarf. Her curiosity
to see us (which must have been great to bring her more than four hundred
miles) being now perfectly gratified, she already begins to mention their
return to town, and has desired us to accompany her. We cannot refuse her
request since it is seconded by the commands of our Father, and thirded by
the entreaties of Mr. Fitzgerald who is certainly one of the most pleasing

young Men, I ever beheld. It is not yet determined when we are to go, but
when ever we do we shall certainly take our little Louisa with us. Adeiu my
dear Charlotte; Matilda unites in best wishes to you, and Eloisa, with yours
ever

M. L.

LETTER the SIXTH
LADY LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE
LUTTERELL

Lesley-Castle March 20th
We arrived here my sweet Freind about a fortnight ago, and I already
heartily repent that I ever left our charming House in Portman-square for
such a dismal old weather-beaten Castle as this. You can form no idea
sufficiently hideous, of its dungeon-like form. It is actually perched upon a
Rock to appearance so totally inaccessible, that I expected to have been
pulled up by a rope; and sincerely repented having gratified my curiosity to
behold my Daughters at the expence of being obliged to enter their prison in
so dangerous and ridiculous a manner. But as soon as I once found myself
safely arrived in the inside of this tremendous building, I comforted myself
with the hope of having my spirits revived, by the sight of two beautifull
girls, such as the Miss Lesleys had been represented to me, at Edinburgh.
But here again, I met with nothing but Disappointment and Surprise.
Matilda and Margaret Lesley are two great, tall, out of the way, over-grown,
girls, just of a proper size to inhabit a Castle almost as large in comparison
as themselves. I wish my dear Charlotte that you could but behold these
Scotch giants; I am sure they would frighten you out of your wits. They will
do very well as foils to myself, so I have invited them to accompany me to
London where I hope to be in the course of a fortnight. Besides these two
fair Damsels, I found a little humoured Brat here who I beleive is some
relation to them, they told me who she was, and gave me a long rigmerole
story of her father and a Miss Somebody which I have entirely forgot. I hate
scandal and detest Children. I have been plagued ever since I came here
with tiresome visits from a parcel of Scotch wretches, with terrible hard-
names; they were so civil, gave me so many invitations, and talked of

coming again so soon, that I could not help affronting them. I suppose I
shall not see them any more, and yet as a family party we are so stupid, that
I do not know what to do with myself. These girls have no Music, but
Scotch airs, no Drawings but Scotch Mountains, and no Books but Scotch
Poems—and I hate everything Scotch. In general I can spend half the Day
at my toilett with a great deal of pleasure, but why should I dress here, since
there is not a creature in the House whom I have any wish to please. I have
just had a conversation with my Brother in which he has greatly offended
me, and which as I have nothing more entertaining to send you I will gave
you the particulars of. You must know that I have for these 4 or 5 Days past
strongly suspected William of entertaining a partiality to my eldest
Daughter. I own indeed that had I been inclined to fall in love with any
woman, I should not have made choice of Matilda Lesley for the object of
my passion; for there is nothing I hate so much as a tall Woman: but
however there is no accounting for some men’s taste and as William is
himself nearly six feet high, it is not wonderful that he should be partial to
that height. Now as I have a very great affection for my Brother and should
be extremely sorry to see him unhappy, which I suppose he means to be if
he cannot marry Matilda, as moreover I know that his circumstances will
not allow him to marry any one without a fortune, and that Matilda’s is
entirely dependant on her Father, who will neither have his own inclination
nor my permission to give her anything at present, I thought it would be
doing a good-natured action by my Brother to let him know as much, in
order that he might choose for himself, whether to conquer his passion, or
Love and Despair. Accordingly finding myself this Morning alone with him
in one of the horrid old rooms of this Castle, I opened the cause to him in
the following Manner.
“Well my dear William what do you think of these girls? for my part, I do
not find them so plain as I expected: but perhaps you may think me partial
to the Daughters of my Husband and perhaps you are right—They are
indeed so very like Sir George that it is natural to think”—
“My Dear Susan (cried he in a tone of the greatest amazement) You do
not really think they bear the least resemblance to their Father! He is so
very plain!—but I beg your pardon—I had entirely forgotten to whom I was
speaking—”

“Oh! pray dont mind me; (replied I) every one knows Sir George is
horribly ugly, and I assure you I always thought him a fright.”
“You surprise me extremely (answered William) by what you say both
with respect to Sir George and his Daughters. You cannot think your
Husband so deficient in personal Charms as you speak of, nor can you
surely see any resemblance between him and the Miss Lesleys who are in
my opinion perfectly unlike him and perfectly Handsome.”
“If that is your opinion with regard to the girls it certainly is no proof of
their Fathers beauty, for if they are perfectly unlike him and very handsome
at the same time, it is natural to suppose that he is very plain.”
“By no means, (said he) for what may be pretty in a Woman, may be very
unpleasing in a Man.”
“But you yourself (replied I) but a few minutes ago allowed him to be
very plain.”
“Men are no Judges of Beauty in their own Sex.” (said he).
“Neither Men nor Women can think Sir George tolerable.”
“Well, well, (said he) we will not dispute about his Beauty, but your
opinion of his Daughters is surely very singular, for if I understood you
right, you said you did not find them so plain as you expected to do!”
“Why, do you find them plainer then?” (said I).
“I can scarcely beleive you to be serious (returned he) when you speak of
their persons in so extroidinary a Manner. Do not you think the Miss
Lesleys are two very handsome young Women?”
“Lord! No! (cried I) I think them terribly plain!”
“Plain! (replied He) My dear Susan, you cannot really think so! Why
what single Feature in the face of either of them, can you possibly find fault
with?”
“Oh! trust me for that; (replied I). Come I will begin with the eldest—
with Matilda. Shall I, William?” (I looked as cunning as I could when I said
it, in order to shame him).
“They are so much alike (said he) that I should suppose the faults of one,
would be the faults of both.”
“Well, then, in the first place; they are both so horribly tall!”
“They are taller than you are indeed.” (said he with a saucy smile.)

“Nay, (said I), I know nothing of that.”
“Well, but (he continued) tho’ they may be above the common size, their
figures are perfectly elegant; and as to their faces, their Eyes are beautifull.”
“I never can think such tremendous, knock-me-down figures in the least
degree elegant, and as for their eyes, they are so tall that I never could strain
my neck enough to look at them.”
“Nay, (replied he) I know not whether you may not be in the right in not
attempting it, for perhaps they might dazzle you with their Lustre.”
“Oh! Certainly. (said I, with the greatest complacency, for I assure you
my dearest Charlotte I was not in the least offended tho’ by what followed,
one would suppose that William was conscious of having given me just
cause to be so, for coming up to me and taking my hand, he said) “You
must not look so grave Susan; you will make me fear I have offended you!”
“Offended me! Dear Brother, how came such a thought in your head!
(returned I) No really! I assure you that I am not in the least surprised at
your being so warm an advocate for the Beauty of these girls.”—
“Well, but (interrupted William) remember that we have not yet
concluded our dispute concerning them. What fault do you find with their
complexion?”
“They are so horridly pale.”
“They have always a little colour, and after any exercise it is considerably
heightened.”
“Yes, but if there should ever happen to be any rain in this part of the
world, they will never be able raise more than their common stock—except
indeed they amuse themselves with running up and Down these horrid old
galleries and Antichambers.”
“Well, (replied my Brother in a tone of vexation, and glancing an
impertinent look at me) if they have but little colour, at least, it is all their
own.”
This was too much my dear Charlotte, for I am certain that he had the
impudence by that look, of pretending to suspect the reality of mine. But
you I am sure will vindicate my character whenever you may hear it so
cruelly aspersed, for you can witness how often I have protested against
wearing Rouge, and how much I always told you I disliked it. And I assure
you that my opinions are still the same.—. Well, not bearing to be so

suspected by my Brother, I left the room immediately, and have been ever
since in my own Dressing-room writing to you. What a long letter have I
made of it! But you must not expect to receive such from me when I get to
Town; for it is only at Lesley castle, that one has time to write even to a
Charlotte Lutterell.—. I was so much vexed by William’s glance, that I
could not summon Patience enough, to stay and give him that advice
respecting his attachment to Matilda which had first induced me from pure
Love to him to begin the conversation; and I am now so thoroughly
convinced by it, of his violent passion for her, that I am certain he would
never hear reason on the subject, and I shall there fore give myself no more
trouble either about him or his favourite. Adeiu my dear girl—

Yrs affectionately Susan L.

LETTER the SEVENTH
From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY

Bristol the 27th of March
I have received Letters from you and your Mother-in-law within this
week which have greatly entertained me, as I find by them that you are both
downright jealous of each others Beauty. It is very odd that two pretty
Women tho’ actually Mother and Daughter cannot be in the same House
without falling out about their faces. Do be convinced that you are both
perfectly handsome and say no more of the Matter. I suppose this letter
must be directed to Portman Square where probably (great as is your
affection for Lesley Castle) you will not be sorry to find yourself. In spite of
all that people may say about Green fields and the Country I was always of
opinion that London and its amusements must be very agreable for a while,
and should be very happy could my Mother’s income allow her to jockey us
into its Public-places, during Winter. I always longed particularly to go to
Vaux-hall, to see whether the cold Beef there is cut so thin as it is reported,
for I have a sly suspicion that few people understand the art of cutting a
slice of cold Beef so well as I do: nay it would be hard if I did not know
something of the Matter, for it was a part of my Education that I took by far
the most pains with. Mama always found me her best scholar, tho’ when
Papa was alive Eloisa was his. Never to be sure were there two more
different Dispositions in the World. We both loved Reading. She preferred
Histories, and I Receipts. She loved drawing, Pictures, and I drawing
Pullets. No one could sing a better song than she, and no one make a better
Pye than I.—And so it has always continued since we have been no longer
children. The only difference is that all disputes on the superior excellence
of our Employments then so frequent are now no more. We have for many
years entered into an agreement always to admire each other’s works; I
never fail listening to her Music, and she is as constant in eating my pies.

Such at least was the case till Henry Hervey made his appearance in Sussex.
Before the arrival of his Aunt in our neighbourhood where she established
herself you know about a twelvemonth ago, his visits to her had been at
stated times, and of equal and settled Duration; but on her removal to the
Hall which is within a walk from our House, they became both more
frequent and longer. This as you may suppose could not be pleasing to Mrs
Diana who is a professed enemy to everything which is not directed by
Decorum and Formality, or which bears the least resemblance to Ease and
Good-breeding. Nay so great was her aversion to her Nephews behaviour
that I have often heard her give such hints of it before his face that had not
Henry at such times been engaged in conversation with Eloisa, they must
have caught his Attention and have very much distressed him. The
alteration in my Sisters behaviour which I have before hinted at, now took
place. The Agreement we had entered into of admiring each others
productions she no longer seemed to regard, and tho’ I constantly applauded
even every Country-dance, she played, yet not even a pidgeon-pye of my
making could obtain from her a single word of approbation. This was
certainly enough to put any one in a Passion; however, I was as cool as a
cream-cheese and having formed my plan and concerted a scheme of
Revenge, I was determined to let her have her own way and not even to
make her a single reproach. My scheme was to treat her as she treated me,
and tho’ she might even draw my own Picture or play Malbrook (which is
the only tune I ever really liked) not to say so much as “Thank you Eloisa;”
tho’ I had for many years constantly hollowed whenever she played, Bravo,
Bravissimo, her, Da capo, allegretto con expressione, and Poco presto with
many other such outlandish words, all of them as Eloisa told me expressive
of my Admiration; and so indeed I suppose they are, as I see some of them
in every Page of every Music book, being the sentiments I imagine of the
composer.
I executed my Plan with great Punctuality. I can not say success, for alas!
my silence while she played seemed not in the least to displease her; on the
contrary she actually said to me one day “Well Charlotte, I am very glad to
find that you have at last left off that ridiculous custom of applauding my
Execution on the Harpsichord till you made my head ake, and yourself
hoarse. I feel very much obliged to you for keeping your admiration to
yourself.” I never shall forget the very witty answer I made to this speech.
“Eloisa (said I) I beg you would be quite at your Ease with respect to all

such fears in future, for be assured that I shall always keep my admiration
to myself and my own pursuits and never extend it to yours.” This was the
only very severe thing I ever said in my Life; not but that I have often felt
myself extremely satirical but it was the only time I ever made my feelings
public.
I suppose there never were two Young people who had a greater affection
for each other than Henry and Eloisa; no, the Love of your Brother for Miss
Burton could not be so strong tho’ it might be more violent. You may
imagine therefore how provoked my Sister must have been to have him
play her such a trick. Poor girl! she still laments his Death with
undiminished constancy, notwithstanding he has been dead more than six
weeks; but some People mind such things more than others. The ill state of
Health into which his loss has thrown her makes her so weak, and so unable
to support the least exertion, that she has been in tears all this Morning
merely from having taken leave of Mrs. Marlowe who with her Husband,
Brother and Child are to leave Bristol this morning. I am sorry to have them
go because they are the only family with whom we have here any
acquaintance, but I never thought of crying; to be sure Eloisa and Mrs
Marlowe have always been more together than with me, and have therefore
contracted a kind of affection for each other, which does not make Tears so
inexcusable in them as they would be in me. The Marlowes are going to
Town; Cliveland accompanies them; as neither Eloisa nor I could catch him
I hope you or Matilda may have better Luck. I know not when we shall
leave Bristol, Eloisa’s spirits are so low that she is very averse to moving,
and yet is certainly by no means mended by her residence here. A week or
two will I hope determine our Measures—in the mean time believe me

and etc—and etc—Charlotte Lutterell.

LETTER the EIGHTH
Miss LUTTERELL to Mrs MARLOWE

Bristol April 4th
I feel myself greatly obliged to you my dear Emma for such a mark of
your affection as I flatter myself was conveyed in the proposal you made
me of our Corresponding; I assure you that it will be a great releif to me to
write to you and as long as my Health and Spirits will allow me, you will
find me a very constant correspondent; I will not say an entertaining one,
for you know my situation suffciently not to be ignorant that in me Mirth
would be improper and I know my own Heart too well not to be sensible
that it would be unnatural. You must not expect news for we see no one
with whom we are in the least acquainted, or in whose proceedings we have
any Interest. You must not expect scandal for by the same rule we are
equally debarred either from hearing or inventing it.—You must expect
from me nothing but the melancholy effusions of a broken Heart which is
ever reverting to the Happiness it once enjoyed and which ill supports its
present wretchedness. The Possibility of being able to write, to speak, to
you of my lost Henry will be a luxury to me, and your goodness will not I
know refuse to read what it will so much releive my Heart to write. I once
thought that to have what is in general called a Freind (I mean one of my
own sex to whom I might speak with less reserve than to any other person)
independant of my sister would never be an object of my wishes, but how
much was I mistaken! Charlotte is too much engrossed by two confidential
correspondents of that sort, to supply the place of one to me, and I hope you
will not think me girlishly romantic, when I say that to have some kind and
compassionate Freind who might listen to my sorrows without
endeavouring to console me was what I had for some time wished for, when
our acquaintance with you, the intimacy which followed it and the
particular affectionate attention you paid me almost from the first, caused

me to entertain the flattering Idea of those attentions being improved on a
closer acquaintance into a Freindship which, if you were what my wishes
formed you would be the greatest Happiness I could be capable of enjoying.
To find that such Hopes are realised is a satisfaction indeed, a satisfaction
which is now almost the only one I can ever experience.—I feel myself so
languid that I am sure were you with me you would oblige me to leave off
writing, and I cannot give you a greater proof of my affection for you than
by acting, as I know you would wish me to do, whether Absent or Present. I
am my dear Emmas sincere freind

E. L.

LETTER the NINTH
Mrs MARLOWE to Miss LUTTERELL

Grosvenor Street, April 10th
Need I say my dear Eloisa how wellcome your letter was to me I cannot
give a greater proof of the pleasure I received from it, or of the Desire I feel
that our Correspondence may be regular and frequent than by setting you so
good an example as I now do in answering it before the end of the week—.
But do not imagine that I claim any merit in being so punctual; on the
contrary I assure you, that it is a far greater Gratification to me to write to
you, than to spend the Evening either at a Concert or a Ball. Mr Marlowe is
so desirous of my appearing at some of the Public places every evening that
I do not like to refuse him, but at the same time so much wish to remain at
Home, that independant of the Pleasure I experience in devoting any
portion of my Time to my Dear Eloisa, yet the Liberty I claim from having
a letter to write of spending an Evening at home with my little Boy, you
know me well enough to be sensible, will of itself be a sufficient
Inducement (if one is necessary) to my maintaining with Pleasure a
Correspondence with you. As to the subject of your letters to me, whether
grave or merry, if they concern you they must be equally interesting to me;
not but that I think the melancholy Indulgence of your own sorrows by
repeating them and dwelling on them to me, will only encourage and
increase them, and that it will be more prudent in you to avoid so sad a
subject; but yet knowing as I do what a soothing and melancholy Pleasure it
must afford you, I cannot prevail on myself to deny you so great an
Indulgence, and will only insist on your not expecting me to encourage you
in it, by my own letters; on the contrary I intend to fill them with such lively
Wit and enlivening Humour as shall even provoke a smile in the sweet but
sorrowfull countenance of my Eloisa.

In the first place you are to learn that I have met your sisters three freinds
Lady Lesley and her Daughters, twice in Public since I have been here. I
know you will be impatient to hear my opinion of the Beauty of three
Ladies of whom you have heard so much. Now, as you are too ill and too
unhappy to be vain, I think I may venture to inform you that I like none of
their faces so well as I do your own. Yet they are all handsome—Lady
Lesley indeed I have seen before; her Daughters I beleive would in general
be said to have a finer face than her Ladyship, and yet what with the charms
of a Blooming complexion, a little Affectation and a great deal of small-
talk, (in each of which she is superior to the young Ladies) she will I dare
say gain herself as many admirers as the more regular features of Matilda,
and Margaret. I am sure you will agree with me in saying that they can none
of them be of a proper size for real Beauty, when you know that two of
them are taller and the other shorter than ourselves. In spite of this Defect
(or rather by reason of it) there is something very noble and majestic in the
figures of the Miss Lesleys, and something agreably lively in the
appearance of their pretty little Mother-in-law. But tho’ one may be majestic
and the other lively, yet the faces of neither possess that Bewitching
sweetness of my Eloisas, which her present languor is so far from
diminushing. What would my Husband and Brother say of us, if they knew
all the fine things I have been saying to you in this letter. It is very hard that
a pretty woman is never to be told she is so by any one of her own sex
without that person’s being suspected to be either her determined Enemy, or
her professed Toad-eater. How much more amiable are women in that
particular! One man may say forty civil things to another without our
supposing that he is ever paid for it, and provided he does his Duty by our
sex, we care not how Polite he is to his own.
Mrs Lutterell will be so good as to accept my compliments, Charlotte,
my Love, and Eloisa the best wishes for the recovery of her Health and
Spirits that can be offered by her affectionate Freind

E. Marlowe.

I am afraid this letter will be but a poor specimen of my Powers in the
witty way; and your opinion of them will not be greatly increased when I
assure you that I have been as entertaining as I possibly could.

LETTER the TENTH
From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss
CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL

Portman Square April 13th
MY DEAR CHARLOTTE
We left Lesley-Castle on the 28th of last Month, and arrived safely in
London after a Journey of seven Days; I had the pleasure of finding your
Letter here waiting my Arrival, for which you have my grateful Thanks. Ah!
my dear Freind I every day more regret the serene and tranquil Pleasures of
the Castle we have left, in exchange for the uncertain and unequal
Amusements of this vaunted City. Not that I will pretend to assert that these
uncertain and unequal Amusements are in the least Degree unpleasing to
me; on the contrary I enjoy them extremely and should enjoy them even
more, were I not certain that every appearance I make in Public but rivetts
the Chains of those unhappy Beings whose Passion it is impossible not to
pity, tho’ it is out of my power to return. In short my Dear Charlotte it is my
sensibility for the sufferings of so many amiable young Men, my Dislike of
the extreme admiration I meet with, and my aversion to being so celebrated
both in Public, in Private, in Papers, and in Printshops, that are the reasons
why I cannot more fully enjoy, the Amusements so various and pleasing of
London. How often have I wished that I possessed as little Personal Beauty
as you do; that my figure were as inelegant; my face as unlovely; and my
appearance as unpleasing as yours! But ah! what little chance is there of so
desirable an Event; I have had the small-pox, and must therefore submit to
my unhappy fate.
I am now going to intrust you my dear Charlotte with a secret which has
long disturbed the tranquility of my days, and which is of a kind to require
the most inviolable Secrecy from you. Last Monday se’night Matilda and I

accompanied Lady Lesley to a Rout at the Honourable Mrs Kickabout’s; we
were escorted by Mr Fitzgerald who is a very amiable young Man in the
main, tho’ perhaps a little singular in his Taste—He is in love with Matilda
—. We had scarcely paid our Compliments to the Lady of the House and
curtseyed to half a score different people when my Attention was attracted
by the appearance of a Young Man the most lovely of his Sex, who at that
moment entered the Room with another Gentleman and Lady. From the first
moment I beheld him, I was certain that on him depended the future
Happiness of my Life. Imagine my surprise when he was introduced to me
by the name of Cleveland—I instantly recognised him as the Brother of Mrs
Marlowe, and the acquaintance of my Charlotte at Bristol. Mr and Mrs M.
were the gentleman and Lady who accompanied him. (You do not think Mrs
Marlowe handsome?) The elegant address of Mr Cleveland, his polished
Manners and Delightful Bow, at once confirmed my attachment. He did not
speak; but I can imagine everything he would have said, had he opened his
Mouth. I can picture to myself the cultivated Understanding, the Noble
sentiments, and elegant Language which would have shone so conspicuous
in the conversation of Mr Cleveland. The approach of Sir James Gower
(one of my too numerous admirers) prevented the Discovery of any such
Powers, by putting an end to a Conversation we had never commenced, and
by attracting my attention to himself. But oh! how inferior are the
accomplishments of Sir James to those of his so greatly envied Rival! Sir
James is one of the most frequent of our Visitors, and is almost always of
our Parties. We have since often met Mr and Mrs Marlowe but no
Cleveland—he is always engaged some where else. Mrs Marlowe fatigues
me to Death every time I see her by her tiresome Conversations about you
and Eloisa. She is so stupid! I live in the hope of seeing her irrisistable
Brother to night, as we are going to Lady Flambeaus, who is I know
intimate with the Marlowes. Our party will be Lady Lesley, Matilda,
Fitzgerald, Sir James Gower, and myself. We see little of Sir George, who is
almost always at the gaming-table. Ah! my poor Fortune where art thou by
this time? We see more of Lady L. who always makes her appearance
(highly rouged) at Dinner-time. Alas! what Delightful Jewels will she be
decked in this evening at Lady Flambeau’s! Yet I wonder how she can
herself delight in wearing them; surely she must be sensible of the
ridiculous impropriety of loading her little diminutive figure with such
superfluous ornaments; is it possible that she can not know how greatly

superior an elegant simplicity is to the most studied apparel? Would she but
Present them to Matilda and me, how greatly should we be obliged to her,
How becoming would Diamonds be on our fine majestic figures! And how
surprising it is that such an Idea should never have occurred to her. I am
sure if I have reflected in this manner once, I have fifty times. Whenever I
see Lady Lesley dressed in them such reflections immediately come across
me. My own Mother’s Jewels too! But I will say no more on so melancholy
a subject—let me entertain you with something more pleasing—Matilda
had a letter this morning from Lesley, by which we have the pleasure of
finding that he is at Naples has turned Roman-Catholic, obtained one of the
Pope’s Bulls for annulling his 1st Marriage and has since actually married a
Neapolitan Lady of great Rank and Fortune. He tells us moreover that much
the same sort of affair has befallen his first wife the worthless Louisa who is
likewise at Naples had turned Roman-catholic, and is soon to be married to
a Neapolitan Nobleman of great and Distinguished merit. He says, that they
are at present very good Freinds, have quite forgiven all past errors and
intend in future to be very good Neighbours. He invites Matilda and me to
pay him a visit to Italy and to bring him his little Louisa whom both her
Mother, Step-mother, and himself are equally desirous of beholding. As to
our accepting his invitation, it is at Present very uncertain; Lady Lesley
advises us to go without loss of time; Fitzgerald offers to escort us there,
but Matilda has some doubts of the Propriety of such a scheme—she owns
it would be very agreable. I am certain she likes the Fellow. My Father
desires us not to be in a hurry, as perhaps if we wait a few months both he
and Lady Lesley will do themselves the pleasure of attending us. Lady
Lesley says no, that nothing will ever tempt her to forego the Amusements
of Brighthelmstone for a Journey to Italy merely to see our Brother. “No
(says the disagreable Woman) I have once in my life been fool enough to
travel I dont know how many hundred Miles to see two of the Family, and I
found it did not answer, so Deuce take me, if ever I am so foolish again.” So
says her Ladyship, but Sir George still Perseveres in saying that perhaps in
a month or two, they may accompany us.

Adeiu my Dear Charlotte
Yrs faithful Margaret Lesley.

THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND

FROM
THE REIGN OF HENRY THE 4TH
TO
THE DEATH OF CHARLES THE 1ST
BY A PARTIAL, PREJUDICED, AND IGNORANT HISTORIAN.

To Miss Austen, eldest daughter of the Rev. George Austen, this work is
inscribed with all due respect by

THE AUTHOR.

N.B. There will be very few Dates in this History.

THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND

HENRY the 4th

Henry the 4th ascended the throne of England much to his own
satisfaction in the year 1399, after having prevailed on his cousin and
predecessor Richard the 2nd, to resign it to him, and to retire for the rest of
his life to Pomfret Castle, where he happened to be murdered. It is to be
supposed that Henry was married, since he had certainly four sons, but it is
not in my power to inform the Reader who was his wife. Be this as it may,
he did not live for ever, but falling ill, his son the Prince of Wales came and
took away the crown; whereupon the King made a long speech, for which I
must refer the Reader to Shakespear’s Plays, and the Prince made a still
longer. Things being thus settled between them the King died, and was
succeeded by his son Henry who had previously beat Sir William
Gascoigne.

HENRY the 5th

This Prince after he succeeded to the throne grew quite reformed and
amiable, forsaking all his dissipated companions, and never thrashing Sir
William again. During his reign, Lord Cobham was burnt alive, but I forget
what for. His Majesty then turned his thoughts to France, where he went
and fought the famous Battle of Agincourt. He afterwards married the
King’s daughter Catherine, a very agreable woman by Shakespear’s
account. In spite of all this however he died, and was succeeded by his son
Henry.

HENRY the 6th

I cannot say much for this Monarch’s sense. Nor would I if I could, for he
was a Lancastrian. I suppose you know all about the Wars between him and
the Duke of York who was of the right side; if you do not, you had better
read some other History, for I shall not be very diffuse in this, meaning by it

only to vent my spleen against, and shew my Hatred to all those people
whose parties or principles do not suit with mine, and not to give
information. This King married Margaret of Anjou, a Woman whose
distresses and misfortunes were so great as almost to make me who hate
her, pity her. It was in this reign that Joan of Arc lived and made such a row
among the English. They should not have burnt her—but they did. There
were several Battles between the Yorkists and Lancastrians, in which the
former (as they ought) usually conquered. At length they were entirely
overcome; The King was murdered—The Queen was sent home—and
Edward the 4th ascended the Throne.

EDWARD the 4th

This Monarch was famous only for his Beauty and his Courage, of which
the Picture we have here given of him, and his undaunted Behaviour in
marrying one Woman while he was engaged to another, are sufficient
proofs. His Wife was Elizabeth Woodville, a Widow who, poor Woman!
was afterwards confined in a Convent by that Monster of Iniquity and
Avarice Henry the 7th. One of Edward’s Mistresses was Jane Shore, who
has had a play written about her, but it is a tragedy and therefore not worth
reading. Having performed all these noble actions, his Majesty died, and
was succeeded by his son.

EDWARD the 5th

This unfortunate Prince lived so little a while that nobody had him to
draw his picture. He was murdered by his Uncle’s Contrivance, whose
name was Richard the 3rd.

RICHARD the 3rd

The Character of this Prince has been in general very severely treated by
Historians, but as he was a York, I am rather inclined to suppose him a very
respectable Man. It has indeed been confidently asserted that he killed his
two Nephews and his Wife, but it has also been declared that he did not kill
his two Nephews, which I am inclined to beleive true; and if this is the case,
it may also be affirmed that he did not kill his Wife, for if Perkin Warbeck
was really the Duke of York, why might not Lambert Simnel be the Widow

of Richard. Whether innocent or guilty, he did not reign long in peace, for
Henry Tudor E. of Richmond as great a villain as ever lived, made a great
fuss about getting the Crown and having killed the King at the battle of
Bosworth, he succeeded to it.

HENRY the 7th

This Monarch soon after his accession married the Princess Elizabeth of
York, by which alliance he plainly proved that he thought his own right
inferior to hers, tho’ he pretended to the contrary. By this Marriage he had
two sons and two daughters, the elder of which Daughters was married to
the King of Scotland and had the happiness of being grandmother to one of
the first Characters in the World. But of her, I shall have occasion to speak
more at large in future. The youngest, Mary, married first the King of
France and secondly the D. of Suffolk, by whom she had one daughter,
afterwards the Mother of Lady Jane Grey, who tho’ inferior to her lovely
Cousin the Queen of Scots, was yet an amiable young woman and famous
for reading Greek while other people were hunting. It was in the reign of
Henry the 7th that Perkin Warbeck and Lambert Simnel before mentioned
made their appearance, the former of whom was set in the stocks, took
shelter in Beaulieu Abbey, and was beheaded with the Earl of Warwick, and
the latter was taken into the Kings kitchen. His Majesty died and was
succeeded by his son Henry whose only merit was his not being quite so
bad as his daughter Elizabeth.

HENRY the 8th

It would be an affront to my Readers were I to suppose that they were not
as well acquainted with the particulars of this King’s reign as I am myself.
It will therefore be saving them the task of reading again what they have
read before, and myself the trouble of writing what I do not perfectly
recollect, by giving only a slight sketch of the principal Events which
marked his reign. Among these may be ranked Cardinal Wolsey’s telling the
father Abbott of Leicester Abbey that “he was come to lay his bones among
them,” the reformation in Religion and the King’s riding through the streets
of London with Anna Bullen. It is however but Justice, and my Duty to
declare that this amiable Woman was entirely innocent of the Crimes with
which she was accused, and of which her Beauty, her Elegance, and her

Sprightliness were sufficient proofs, not to mention her solemn
Protestations of Innocence, the weakness of the Charges against her, and the
King’s Character; all of which add some confirmation, tho’ perhaps but
slight ones when in comparison with those before alledged in her favour.
Tho’ I do not profess giving many dates, yet as I think it proper to give
some and shall of course make choice of those which it is most necessary
for the Reader to know, I think it right to inform him that her letter to the
King was dated on the 6th of May. The Crimes and Cruelties of this Prince,
were too numerous to be mentioned, (as this history I trust has fully
shown;) and nothing can be said in his vindication, but that his abolishing
Religious Houses and leaving them to the ruinous depredations of time has
been of infinite use to the landscape of England in general, which probably
was a principal motive for his doing it, since otherwise why should a Man
who was of no Religion himself be at so much trouble to abolish one which
had for ages been established in the Kingdom. His Majesty’s 5th Wife was
the Duke of Norfolk’s Neice who, tho’ universally acquitted of the crimes
for which she was beheaded, has been by many people supposed to have led
an abandoned life before her Marriage—of this however I have many
doubts, since she was a relation of that noble Duke of Norfolk who was so
warm in the Queen of Scotland’s cause, and who at last fell a victim to it.
The Kings last wife contrived to survive him, but with difficulty effected it.
He was succeeded by his only son Edward.

EDWARD the 6th

As this prince was only nine years old at the time of his Father’s death,
he was considered by many people as too young to govern, and the late
King happening to be of the same opinion, his mother’s Brother the Duke of
Somerset was chosen Protector of the realm during his minority. This Man
was on the whole of a very amiable Character, and is somewhat of a
favourite with me, tho’ I would by no means pretend to affirm that he was
equal to those first of Men Robert Earl of Essex, Delamere, or Gilpin. He
was beheaded, of which he might with reason have been proud, had he
known that such was the death of Mary Queen of Scotland; but as it was
impossible that he should be conscious of what had never happened, it does
not appear that he felt particularly delighted with the manner of it. After his
decease the Duke of Northumberland had the care of the King and the

Kingdom, and performed his trust of both so well that the King died and the
Kingdom was left to his daughter in law the Lady Jane Grey, who has been
already mentioned as reading Greek. Whether she really understood that
language or whether such a study proceeded only from an excess of vanity
for which I beleive she was always rather remarkable, is uncertain.
Whatever might be the cause, she preserved the same appearance of
knowledge, and contempt of what was generally esteemed pleasure, during
the whole of her life, for she declared herself displeased with being
appointed Queen, and while conducting to the scaffold, she wrote a
sentence in Latin and another in Greek on seeing the dead Body of her
Husband accidentally passing that way.

MARY

This woman had the good luck of being advanced to the throne of
England, in spite of the superior pretensions, Merit, and Beauty of her
Cousins Mary Queen of Scotland and Jane Grey. Nor can I pity the
Kingdom for the misfortunes they experienced during her Reign, since they
fully deserved them, for having allowed her to succeed her Brother—which
was a double peice of folly, since they might have foreseen that as she died
without children, she would be succeeded by that disgrace to humanity, that
pest of society, Elizabeth. Many were the people who fell martyrs to the
protestant Religion during her reign; I suppose not fewer than a dozen. She
married Philip King of Spain who in her sister’s reign was famous for
building Armadas. She died without issue, and then the dreadful moment
came in which the destroyer of all comfort, the deceitful Betrayer of trust
reposed in her, and the Murderess of her Cousin succeeded to the Throne.
——

ELIZABETH

It was the peculiar misfortune of this Woman to have bad Ministers—
Since wicked as she herself was, she could not have committed such
extensive mischeif, had not these vile and abandoned Men connived at, and
encouraged her in her Crimes. I know that it has by many people been
asserted and beleived that Lord Burleigh, Sir Francis Walsingham, and the
rest of those who filled the cheif offices of State were deserving,
experienced, and able Ministers. But oh! how blinded such writers and such

Readers must be to true Merit, to Merit despised, neglected and defamed, if
they can persist in such opinions when they reflect that these men, these
boasted men were such scandals to their Country and their sex as to allow
and assist their Queen in confining for the space of nineteen years, a Woman
who if the claims of Relationship and Merit were of no avail, yet as a
Queen and as one who condescended to place confidence in her, had every
reason to expect assistance and protection; and at length in allowing
Elizabeth to bring this amiable Woman to an untimely, unmerited, and
scandalous Death. Can any one if he reflects but for a moment on this blot,
this everlasting blot upon their understanding and their Character, allow any
praise to Lord Burleigh or Sir Francis Walsingham? Oh! what must this
bewitching Princess whose only freind was then the Duke of Norfolk, and
whose only ones now Mr Whitaker, Mrs Lefroy, Mrs Knight and myself,
who was abandoned by her son, confined by her Cousin, abused,
reproached and vilified by all, what must not her most noble mind have
suffered when informed that Elizabeth had given orders for her Death! Yet
she bore it with a most unshaken fortitude, firm in her mind; constant in her
Religion; and prepared herself to meet the cruel fate to which she was
doomed, with a magnanimity that would alone proceed from conscious
Innocence. And yet could you Reader have beleived it possible that some
hardened and zealous Protestants have even abused her for that
steadfastness in the Catholic Religion which reflected on her so much
credit? But this is a striking proof of their narrow souls and prejudiced
Judgements who accuse her. She was executed in the Great Hall at
Fortheringay Castle (sacred Place!) on Wednesday the 8th of February 1586
—to the everlasting Reproach of Elizabeth, her Ministers, and of England in
general. It may not be unnecessary before I entirely conclude my account of
this ill-fated Queen, to observe that she had been accused of several crimes
during the time of her reigning in Scotland, of which I now most seriously
do assure my Reader that she was entirely innocent; having never been
guilty of anything more than Imprudencies into which she was betrayed by
the openness of her Heart, her Youth, and her Education. Having I trust by
this assurance entirely done away every Suspicion and every doubt which
might have arisen in the Reader’s mind, from what other Historians have
written of her, I shall proceed to mention the remaining Events that marked
Elizabeth’s reign. It was about this time that Sir Francis Drake the first
English Navigator who sailed round the World, lived, to be the ornament of

his Country and his profession. Yet great as he was, and justly celebrated as
a sailor, I cannot help foreseeing that he will be equalled in this or the next
Century by one who tho’ now but young, already promises to answer all the
ardent and sanguine expectations of his Relations and Freinds, amongst
whom I may class the amiable Lady to whom this work is dedicated, and
my no less amiable self.
Though of a different profession, and shining in a different sphere of
Life, yet equally conspicuous in the Character of an Earl, as Drake was in
that of a Sailor, was Robert Devereux Lord Essex. This unfortunate young
Man was not unlike in character to that equally unfortunate one Frederic
Delamere. The simile may be carried still farther, and Elizabeth the torment
of Essex may be compared to the Emmeline of Delamere. It would be
endless to recount the misfortunes of this noble and gallant Earl. It is
sufficient to say that he was beheaded on the 25th of Feb, after having been
Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, after having clapped his hand on his sword, and
after performing many other services to his Country. Elizabeth did not long
survive his loss, and died so miserable that were it not an injury to the
memory of Mary I should pity her.

JAMES the 1st

Though this King had some faults, among which and as the most
principal, was his allowing his Mother’s death, yet considered on the whole
I cannot help liking him. He married Anne of Denmark, and had several
Children; fortunately for him his eldest son Prince Henry died before his
father or he might have experienced the evils which befell his unfortunate
Brother.
As I am myself partial to the roman catholic religion, it is with infinite
regret that I am obliged to blame the Behaviour of any Member of it: yet
Truth being I think very excusable in an Historian, I am necessitated to say
that in this reign the roman Catholics of England did not behave like
Gentlemen to the protestants. Their Behaviour indeed to the Royal Family
and both Houses of Parliament might justly be considered by them as very
uncivil, and even Sir Henry Percy tho’ certainly the best bred man of the
party, had none of that general politeness which is so universally pleasing,
as his attentions were entirely confined to Lord Mounteagle.

Sir Walter Raleigh flourished in this and the preceeding reign, and is by
many people held in great veneration and respect—But as he was an enemy
of the noble Essex, I have nothing to say in praise of him, and must refer all
those who may wish to be acquainted with the particulars of his life, to Mr
Sheridan’s play of the Critic, where they will find many interesting
anecdotes as well of him as of his friend Sir Christopher Hatton.—His
Majesty was of that amiable disposition which inclines to Freindship, and in
such points was possessed of a keener penetration in discovering Merit than
many other people. I once heard an excellent Sharade on a Carpet, of which
the subject I am now on reminds me, and as I think it may afford my
Readers some amusement to find it out, I shall here take the liberty of
presenting it to them.

SHARADE

My first is what my second was to King James the 1st, and you tread on
my whole.
The principal favourites of his Majesty were Car, who was afterwards
created Earl of Somerset and whose name perhaps may have some share in
the above mentioned Sharade, and George Villiers afterwards Duke of
Buckingham. On his Majesty’s death he was succeeded by his son Charles.

CHARLES the 1st

This amiable Monarch seems born to have suffered misfortunes equal to
those of his lovely Grandmother; misfortunes which he could not deserve
since he was her descendant. Never certainly were there before so many
detestable Characters at one time in England as in this Period of its History;
never were amiable men so scarce. The number of them throughout the
whole Kingdom amounting only to five, besides the inhabitants of Oxford
who were always loyal to their King and faithful to his interests. The names
of this noble five who never forgot the duty of the subject, or swerved from
their attachment to his Majesty, were as follows—The King himself, ever
stedfast in his own support—Archbishop Laud, Earl of Strafford, Viscount
Faulkland and Duke of Ormond, who were scarcely less strenuous or
zealous in the cause. While the villains of the time would make too long a
list to be written or read; I shall therefore content myself with mentioning

the leaders of the Gang. Cromwell, Fairfax, Hampden, and Pym may be
considered as the original Causers of all the disturbances, Distresses, and
Civil Wars in which England for many years was embroiled. In this reign as
well as in that of Elizabeth, I am obliged in spite of my attachment to the
Scotch, to consider them as equally guilty with the generality of the
English, since they dared to think differently from their Sovereign, to forget
the Adoration which as Stuarts it was their Duty to pay them, to rebel
against, dethrone and imprison the unfortunate Mary; to oppose, to deceive,
and to sell the no less unfortunate Charles. The Events of this Monarch’s
reign are too numerous for my pen, and indeed the recital of any Events
(except what I make myself) is uninteresting to me; my principal reason for
undertaking the History of England being to Prove the innocence of the
Queen of Scotland, which I flatter myself with having effectually done, and
to abuse Elizabeth, tho’ I am rather fearful of having fallen short in the
latter part of my scheme.—As therefore it is not my intention to give any
particular account of the distresses into which this King was involved
through the misconduct and Cruelty of his Parliament, I shall satisfy myself
with vindicating him from the Reproach of Arbitrary and tyrannical
Government with which he has often been charged. This, I feel, is not
difficult to be done, for with one argument I am certain of satisfying every
sensible and well disposed person whose opinions have been properly
guided by a good Education—and this Argument is that he was a STUART.

FINIS

Saturday Nov: 26th 1791.

A COLLECTION OF LETTERS

To Miss COOPER

COUSIN
Conscious of the Charming Character which in every Country, and every
Clime in Christendom is Cried, Concerning you, with Caution and Care I
Commend to your Charitable Criticism this Clever Collection of Curious
Comments, which have been Carefully Culled, Collected and Classed by
your Comical Cousin

The Author

A COLLECTION OF LETTERS

LETTER the FIRST
From a MOTHER to her FREIND.

My Children begin now to claim all my attention in different Manner
from that in which they have been used to receive it, as they are now
arrived at that age when it is necessary for them in some measure to become
conversant with the World, My Augusta is 17 and her sister scarcely a
twelvemonth younger. I flatter myself that their education has been such as
will not disgrace their appearance in the World, and that they will not
disgrace their Education I have every reason to beleive. Indeed they are
sweet Girls—. Sensible yet unaffected—Accomplished yet Easy—. Lively
yet Gentle—. As their progress in every thing they have learnt has been
always the same, I am willing to forget the difference of age, and to
introduce them together into Public. This very Evening is fixed on as their
first entrée into Life, as we are to drink tea with Mrs Cope and her
Daughter. I am glad that we are to meet no one, for my Girls sake, as it
would be awkward for them to enter too wide a Circle on the very first day.
But we shall proceed by degrees.—Tomorrow Mr Stanly’s family will drink
tea with us, and perhaps the Miss Phillips’s will meet them. On Tuesday we
shall pay Morning Visits—On Wednesday we are to dine at Westbrook. On
Thursday we have Company at home. On Friday we are to be at a Private
Concert at Sir John Wynna’s—and on Saturday we expect Miss Dawson to
call in the Morning—which will complete my Daughters Introduction into
Life. How they will bear so much dissipation I cannot imagine; of their
spirits I have no fear, I only dread their health.

This mighty affair is now happily over, and my Girls are out. As the
moment approached for our departure, you can have no idea how the sweet

Creatures trembled with fear and expectation. Before the Carriage drove to
the door, I called them into my dressing-room, and as soon as they were
seated thus addressed them. “My dear Girls the moment is now arrived
when I am to reap the rewards of all my Anxieties and Labours towards you
during your Education. You are this Evening to enter a World in which you
will meet with many wonderfull Things; Yet let me warn you against
suffering yourselves to be meanly swayed by the Follies and Vices of
others, for beleive me my beloved Children that if you do—I shall be very
sorry for it.” They both assured me that they would ever remember my
advice with Gratitude, and follow it with attention; That they were prepared
to find a World full of things to amaze and to shock them: but that they
trusted their behaviour would never give me reason to repent the Watchful
Care with which I had presided over their infancy and formed their Minds
—” “With such expectations and such intentions (cried I) I can have
nothing to fear from you—and can chearfully conduct you to Mrs Cope’s
without a fear of your being seduced by her Example, or contaminated by
her Follies. Come, then my Children (added I) the Carriage is driving to the
door, and I will not a moment delay the happiness you are so impatient to
enjoy.” When we arrived at Warleigh, poor Augusta could scarcely breathe,
while Margaret was all Life and Rapture. “The long-expected Moment is
now arrived (said she) and we shall soon be in the World.”—In a few
Moments we were in Mrs Cope’s parlour, where with her daughter she sate
ready to receive us. I observed with delight the impression my Children
made on them—. They were indeed two sweet, elegant-looking Girls, and
tho’ somewhat abashed from the peculiarity of their situation, yet there was
an ease in their Manners and address which could not fail of pleasing—.
Imagine my dear Madam how delighted I must have been in beholding as I
did, how attentively they observed every object they saw, how disgusted
with some Things, how enchanted with others, how astonished at all! On
the whole however they returned in raptures with the World, its Inhabitants,
and Manners.

Yrs Ever—A. F.

LETTER the SECOND
From a YOUNG LADY crossed in Love to her freind

Why should this last disappointment hang so heavily on my spirits? Why
should I feel it more, why should it wound me deeper than those I have
experienced before? Can it be that I have a greater affection for Willoughby
than I had for his amiable predecessors? Or is it that our feelings become
more acute from being often wounded? I must suppose my dear Belle that
this is the Case, since I am not conscious of being more sincerely attached
to Willoughby than I was to Neville, Fitzowen, or either of the Crawfords,
for all of whom I once felt the most lasting affection that ever warmed a
Woman’s heart. Tell me then dear Belle why I still sigh when I think of the
faithless Edward, or why I weep when I behold his Bride, for too surely this
is the case—. My Freinds are all alarmed for me; They fear my declining
health; they lament my want of spirits; they dread the effects of both. In
hopes of releiving my melancholy, by directing my thoughts to other
objects, they have invited several of their freinds to spend the Christmas
with us. Lady Bridget Darkwood and her sister-in-law, Miss Jane are
expected on Friday; and Colonel Seaton’s family will be with us next week.
This is all most kindly meant by my Uncle and Cousins; but what can the
presence of a dozen indefferent people do to me, but weary and distress me
—. I will not finish my Letter till some of our Visitors are arrived.

Friday Evening Lady Bridget came this morning, and with her, her sweet
sister Miss Jane—. Although I have been acquainted with this charming
Woman above fifteen Years, yet I never before observed how lovely she is.
She is now about 35, and in spite of sickness, sorrow and Time is more
blooming than I ever saw a Girl of 17. I was delighted with her, the moment

she entered the house, and she appeared equally pleased with me, attaching
herself to me during the remainder of the day. There is something so sweet,
so mild in her Countenance, that she seems more than Mortal. Her
Conversation is as bewitching as her appearance; I could not help telling
her how much she engaged my admiration—. “Oh! Miss Jane (said I)—and
stopped from an inability at the moment of expressing myself as I could
wish—Oh! Miss Jane—(I repeated)—I could not think of words to suit my
feelings—She seemed waiting for my speech—. I was confused—distressed
—my thoughts were bewildered—and I could only add—“How do you
do?” She saw and felt for my Embarrassment and with admirable presence
of mind releived me from it by saying—“My dear Sophia be not uneasy at
having exposed yourself—I will turn the Conversation without appearing to
notice it. “Oh! how I loved her for her kindness!” Do you ride as much as
you used to do?” said she—. “I am advised to ride by my Physician. We
have delightful Rides round us, I have a Charming horse, am uncommonly
fond of the Amusement, replied I quite recovered from my Confusion, and
in short I ride a great deal.” “You are in the right my Love,” said she. Then
repeating the following line which was an extempore and equally adapted to
recommend both Riding and Candour—
“Ride where you may, Be Candid where you can,” she added,” I rode
once, but it is many years ago—She spoke this in so low and tremulous a
Voice, that I was silent—. Struck with her Manner of speaking I could make
no reply. “I have not ridden, continued she fixing her Eyes on my face,
since I was married.” I was never so surprised—“Married, Ma’am!” I
repeated. “You may well wear that look of astonishment, said she, since
what I have said must appear improbable to you—Yet nothing is more true
than that I once was married.”
“Then why are you called Miss Jane?”
“I married, my Sophia without the consent or knowledge of my father the
late Admiral Annesley. It was therefore necessary to keep the secret from
him and from every one, till some fortunate opportunity might offer of
revealing it—. Such an opportunity alas! was but too soon given in the
death of my dear Capt. Dashwood—Pardon these tears, continued Miss
Jane wiping her Eyes, I owe them to my Husband’s memory. He fell my
Sophia, while fighting for his Country in America after a most happy Union
of seven years—. My Children, two sweet Boys and a Girl, who had

constantly resided with my Father and me, passing with him and with every
one as the Children of a Brother (tho’ I had ever been an only Child) had as
yet been the comforts of my Life. But no sooner had I lossed my Henry,
than these sweet Creatures fell sick and died—. Conceive dear Sophia what
my feelings must have been when as an Aunt I attended my Children to
their early Grave—. My Father did not survive them many weeks—He
died, poor Good old man, happily ignorant to his last hour of my Marriage.”
“But did not you own it, and assume his name at your husband’s death?”
“No; I could not bring myself to do it; more especially when in my
Children I lost all inducement for doing it. Lady Bridget, and yourself are
the only persons who are in the knowledge of my having ever been either
Wife or Mother. As I could not Prevail on myself to take the name of
Dashwood (a name which after my Henry’s death I could never hear
without emotion) and as I was conscious of having no right to that of
Annesley, I dropt all thoughts of either, and have made it a point of bearing
only my Christian one since my Father’s death.” She paused—“Oh! my
dear Miss Jane (said I) how infinitely am I obliged to you for so
entertaining a story! You cannot think how it has diverted me! But have you
quite done?”
“I have only to add my dear Sophia, that my Henry’s elder Brother dieing
about the same time, Lady Bridget became a Widow like myself, and as we
had always loved each other in idea from the high Character in which we
had ever been spoken of, though we had never met, we determined to live
together. We wrote to one another on the same subject by the same post, so
exactly did our feeling and our actions coincide! We both eagerly embraced
the proposals we gave and received of becoming one family, and have from
that time lived together in the greatest affection.”
“And is this all? said I, I hope you have not done.”
“Indeed I have; and did you ever hear a story more pathetic?”
“I never did—and it is for that reason it pleases me so much, for when
one is unhappy nothing is so delightful to one’s sensations as to hear of
equal misery.”
“Ah! but my Sophia why are you unhappy?”
“Have you not heard Madam of Willoughby’s Marriage?”

“But my love why lament his perfidy, when you bore so well that of
many young Men before?”
“Ah! Madam, I was used to it then, but when Willoughby broke his
Engagements I had not been dissapointed for half a year.”
“Poor Girl!” said Miss Jane.

LETTER the THIRD
From a YOUNG LADY in distressed Circumstances
to her freind

A few days ago I was at a private Ball given by Mr Ashburnham. As my
Mother never goes out she entrusted me to the care of Lady Greville who
did me the honour of calling for me in her way and of allowing me to sit
forwards, which is a favour about which I am very indifferent especially as
I know it is considered as confering a great obligation on me “So Miss
Maria (said her Ladyship as she saw me advancing to the door of the
Carriage) you seem very smart to night—My poor Girls will appear quite to
disadvantage by you—I only hope your Mother may not have distressed
herself to set you off. Have you got a new Gown on?”
“Yes Ma’am.” replied I with as much indifference as I could assume.
“Aye, and a fine one too I think—(feeling it, as by her permission I
seated myself by her) I dare say it is all very smart—But I must own, for
you know I always speak my mind, that I think it was quite a needless piece
of expence—Why could not you have worn your old striped one? It is not
my way to find fault with People because they are poor, for I always think
that they are more to be despised and pitied than blamed for it, especially if
they cannot help it, but at the same time I must say that in my opinion your
old striped Gown would have been quite fine enough for its Wearer—for to
tell you the truth (I always speak my mind) I am very much afraid that one
half of the people in the room will not know whether you have a Gown on
or not—But I suppose you intend to make your fortune to night—. Well, the
sooner the better; and I wish you success.”
“Indeed Ma’am I have no such intention—”
“Who ever heard a young Lady own that she was a Fortune-hunter?”
Miss Greville laughed but I am sure Ellen felt for me.

“Was your Mother gone to bed before you left her?” said her Ladyship.
“Dear Ma’am, said Ellen it is but nine o’clock.”
“True Ellen, but Candles cost money, and Mrs Williams is too wise to be
extravagant.”
“She was just sitting down to supper Ma’am.”
“And what had she got for supper?” “I did not observe.” “Bread and
Cheese I suppose.” “I should never wish for a better supper.” said Ellen.
“You have never any reason replied her Mother, as a better is always
provided for you.” Miss Greville laughed excessively, as she constantly
does at her Mother’s wit.
Such is the humiliating Situation in which I am forced to appear while
riding in her Ladyship’s Coach—I dare not be impertinent, as my Mother is
always admonishing me to be humble and patient if I wish to make my way
in the world. She insists on my accepting every invitation of Lady Greville,
or you may be certain that I would never enter either her House, or her
Coach with the disagreable certainty I always have of being abused for my
Poverty while I am in them.—When we arrived at Ashburnham, it was
nearly ten o’clock, which was an hour and a half later than we were desired
to be there; but Lady Greville is too fashionable (or fancies herself to be so)
to be punctual. The Dancing however was not begun as they waited for
Miss Greville. I had not been long in the room before I was engaged to
dance by Mr Bernard, but just as we were going to stand up, he recollected
that his Servant had got his white Gloves, and immediately ran out to fetch
them. In the mean time the Dancing began and Lady Greville in passing to
another room went exactly before me—She saw me and instantly stopping,
said to me though there were several people close to us,
“Hey day, Miss Maria! What cannot you get a partner? Poor Young Lady!
I am afraid your new Gown was put on for nothing. But do not despair;
perhaps you may get a hop before the Evening is over.” So saying, she
passed on without hearing my repeated assurance of being engaged, and
leaving me very much provoked at being so exposed before every one—Mr
Bernard however soon returned and by coming to me the moment he
entered the room, and leading me to the Dancers my Character I hope was
cleared from the imputation Lady Greville had thrown on it, in the eyes of
all the old Ladies who had heard her speech. I soon forgot all my vexations
in the pleasure of dancing and of having the most agreable partner in the

room. As he is moreover heir to a very large Estate I could see that Lady
Greville did not look very well pleased when she found who had been his
Choice—She was determined to mortify me, and accordingly when we
were sitting down between the dances, she came to me with more than her
usual insulting importance attended by Miss Mason and said loud enough to
be heard by half the people in the room, “Pray Miss Maria in what way of
business was your Grandfather? for Miss Mason and I cannot agree whether
he was a Grocer or a Bookbinder.” I saw that she wanted to mortify me, and
was resolved if I possibly could to Prevent her seeing that her scheme
succeeded. “Neither Madam; he was a Wine Merchant.” “Aye, I knew he
was in some such low way—He broke did not he?” “I beleive not Ma’am.”
“Did not he abscond?” “I never heard that he did.” “At least he died
insolvent?” “I was never told so before.” “Why, was not your Father as
poor as a Rat” “I fancy not.” “Was not he in the Kings Bench once?” “I
never saw him there.” She gave me such a look, and turned away in a great
passion; while I was half delighted with myself for my impertinence, and
half afraid of being thought too saucy. As Lady Greville was extremely
angry with me, she took no further notice of me all the Evening, and indeed
had I been in favour I should have been equally neglected, as she was got
into a Party of great folks and she never speaks to me when she can to
anyone else. Miss Greville was with her Mother’s party at supper, but Ellen
preferred staying with the Bernards and me. We had a very pleasant Dance
and as Lady G—slept all the way home, I had a very comfortable ride.
The next day while we were at dinner Lady Greville’s Coach stopped at
the door, for that is the time of day she generally contrives it should. She
sent in a message by the servant to say that “she should not get out but that
Miss Maria must come to the Coach-door, as she wanted to speak to her,
and that she must make haste and come immediately—” “What an
impertinent Message Mama!” said I—“Go Maria—” replied she—
Accordingly I went and was obliged to stand there at her Ladyships
pleasure though the Wind was extremely high and very cold.
“Why I think Miss Maria you are not quite so smart as you were last
night—But I did not come to examine your dress, but to tell you that you
may dine with us the day after tomorrow—Not tomorrow, remember, do not
come tomorrow, for we expect Lord and Lady Clermont and Sir Thomas
Stanley’s family—There will be no occasion for your being very fine for I
shant send the Carriage—If it rains you may take an umbrella—” I could

hardly help laughing at hearing her give me leave to keep myself dry
—“And pray remember to be in time, for I shant wait—I hate my Victuals
over-done—But you need not come before the time—How does your
Mother do? She is at dinner is not she?” “Yes Ma’am we were in the middle
of dinner when your Ladyship came.” “I am afraid you find it very cold
Maria.” said Ellen. “Yes, it is an horrible East wind—said her Mother—I
assure you I can hardly bear the window down—But you are used to be
blown about by the wind Miss Maria and that is what has made your
Complexion so rudely and coarse. You young Ladies who cannot often ride
in a Carriage never mind what weather you trudge in, or how the wind
shews your legs. I would not have my Girls stand out of doors as you do in
such a day as this. But some sort of people have no feelings either of cold or
Delicacy—Well, remember that we shall expect you on Thursday at 5
o’clock—You must tell your Maid to come for you at night—There will be
no Moon—and you will have an horrid walk home—My compts to Your
Mother—I am afraid your dinner will be cold—Drive on—” And away she
went, leaving me in a great passion with her as she always does.

Maria Williams.

LETTER the FOURTH
From a YOUNG LADY rather impertinent to her
freind

We dined yesterday with Mr Evelyn where we were introduced to a very
agreable looking Girl his Cousin. I was extremely pleased with her
appearance, for added to the charms of an engaging face, her manner and
voice had something peculiarly interesting in them. So much so, that they
inspired me with a great curiosity to know the history of her Life, who were
her Parents, where she came from, and what had befallen her, for it was
then only known that she was a relation of Mr Evelyn, and that her name
was Grenville. In the evening a favourable opportunity offered to me of
attempting at least to know what I wished to know, for every one played at
Cards but Mrs Evelyn, My Mother, Dr Drayton, Miss Grenville and myself,
and as the two former were engaged in a whispering Conversation, and the
Doctor fell asleep, we were of necessity obliged to entertain each other.
This was what I wished and being determined not to remain in ignorance
for want of asking, I began the Conversation in the following Manner.
“Have you been long in Essex Ma’am?”
“I arrived on Tuesday.”
“You came from Derbyshire?”
“No, Ma’am! appearing surprised at my question, from Suffolk.” You
will think this a good dash of mine my dear Mary, but you know that I am
not wanting for Impudence when I have any end in veiw. “Are you pleased
with the Country Miss Grenville? Do you find it equal to the one you have
left?”
“Much superior Ma’am in point of Beauty.” She sighed. I longed to know
for why.

“But the face of any Country however beautiful said I, can be but a poor
consolation for the loss of one’s dearest Freinds.” She shook her head, as if
she felt the truth of what I said. My Curiosity was so much raised, that I
was resolved at any rate to satisfy it.
“You regret having left Suffolk then Miss Grenville?” “Indeed I do.”
“You were born there I suppose?” “Yes Ma’am I was and passed many
happy years there—”
“That is a great comfort—said I—I hope Ma’am that you never spent any
unhappy one’s there.”
“Perfect Felicity is not the property of Mortals, and no one has a right to
expect uninterrupted Happiness.—Some Misfortunes I have certainly met
with.”
“What Misfortunes dear Ma’am? replied I, burning with impatience to
know every thing. “None Ma’am I hope that have been the effect of any
wilfull fault in me.” “I dare say not Ma’am, and have no doubt but that any
sufferings you may have experienced could arise only from the cruelties of
Relations or the Errors of Freinds.” She sighed—“You seem unhappy my
dear Miss Grenville—Is it in my power to soften your Misfortunes?” “Your
power Ma’am replied she extremely surprised; it is in no ones power to
make me happy.” She pronounced these words in so mournfull and solemn
an accent, that for some time I had not courage to reply. I was actually
silenced. I recovered myself however in a few moments and looking at her
with all the affection I could, “My dear Miss Grenville said I, you appear
extremely young—and may probably stand in need of some one’s advice
whose regard for you, joined to superior Age, perhaps superior Judgement
might authorise her to give it. I am that person, and I now challenge you to
accept the offer I make you of my Confidence and Freindship, in return to
which I shall only ask for yours—”
“You are extremely obliging Ma’am—said she—and I am highly
flattered by your attention to me—But I am in no difficulty, no doubt, no
uncertainty of situation in which any advice can be wanted. Whenever I am
however continued she brightening into a complaisant smile, I shall know
where to apply.”
I bowed, but felt a good deal mortified by such a repulse; still however I
had not given up my point. I found that by the appearance of sentiment and
Freindship nothing was to be gained and determined therefore to renew my

attacks by Questions and suppositions. “Do you intend staying long in this
part of England Miss Grenville?”
“Yes Ma’am, some time I beleive.”
“But how will Mr and Mrs Grenville bear your absence?”
“They are neither of them alive Ma’am.” This was an answer I did not
expect—I was quite silenced, and never felt so awkward in my Life—.

LETTER the FIFTH
From a YOUNG LADY very much in love to her
Freind

My Uncle gets more stingy, my Aunt more particular, and I more in love
every day. What shall we all be at this rate by the end of the year! I had this
morning the happiness of receiving the following Letter from my dear
Musgrove.

Sackville St: Janry 7th

It is a month to day since I first beheld my lovely Henrietta, and the
sacred anniversary must and shall be kept in a manner becoming the day—
by writing to her. Never shall I forget the moment when her Beauties first
broke on my sight—No time as you well know can erase it from my
Memory. It was at Lady Scudamores. Happy Lady Scudamore to live within
a mile of the divine Henrietta! When the lovely Creature first entered the
room, oh! what were my sensations? The sight of you was like the sight ofa
wonderful fine Thing. I started—I gazed at her with admiration—She
appeared every moment more Charming, and the unfortunate Musgrove
became a captive to your Charms before I had time to look about me. Yes
Madam, I had the happiness of adoring you, an happiness for which I
cannot be too grateful. “What said he to himself is Musgrove allowed to die
for Henrietta? Enviable Mortal! and may he pine for her who is the object
of universal admiration, who is adored by a Colonel, and toasted by a
Baronet! Adorable Henrietta how beautiful you are! I declare you are quite
divine! You are more than Mortal. You are an Angel. You are Venus herself.
In short Madam you are the prettiest Girl I ever saw in my Life—and her
Beauty is encreased in her Musgroves Eyes, by permitting him to love her
and allowing me to hope. And ah! Angelic Miss Henrietta Heaven is my

witness how ardently I do hope for the death of your villanous Uncle and
his abandoned Wife, since my fair one will not consent to be mine till their
decease has placed her in affluence above what my fortune can procure—.
Though it is an improvable Estate—. Cruel Henrietta to persist in such a
resolution! I am at Present with my sister where I mean to continue till my
own house which tho’ an excellent one is at Present somewhat out of repair,
is ready to receive me. Amiable princess of my Heart farewell—Of that
Heart which trembles while it signs itself Your most ardent Admirer and
devoted humble servt.

T. Musgrove.

There is a pattern for a Love-letter Matilda! Did you ever read such a
master-piece of Writing? Such sense, such sentiment, such purity of
Thought, such flow of Language and such unfeigned Love in one sheet?
No, never I can answer for it, since a Musgrove is not to be met with by
every Girl. Oh! how I long to be with him! I intend to send him the
following in answer to his Letter tomorrow.
My dearest Musgrove—. Words cannot express how happy your Letter
made me; I thought I should have cried for joy, for I love you better than
any body in the World. I think you the most amiable, and the handsomest
Man in England, and so to be sure you are. I never read so sweet a Letter in
my Life. Do write me another just like it, and tell me you are in love with
me in every other line. I quite die to see you. How shall we manage to see
one another? for we are so much in love that we cannot live asunder. Oh!
my dear Musgrove you cannot think how impatiently I wait for the death of
my Uncle and Aunt—If they will not Die soon, I beleive I shall run mad, for
I get more in love with you every day of my Life.
How happy your Sister is to enjoy the pleasure of your Company in her
house, and how happy every body in London must be because you are
there. I hope you will be so kind as to write to me again soon, for I never
read such sweet Letters as yours. I am my dearest Musgrove most truly and
faithfully yours for ever and ever

Henrietta Halton.

I hope he will like my answer; it is as good a one as I can write though
nothing to his; Indeed I had always heard what a dab he was at a Love-
letter. I saw him you know for the first time at Lady Scudamores—And
when I saw her Ladyship afterwards she asked me how I liked her Cousin
Musgrove?
“Why upon my word said I, I think he is a very handsome young Man.”
“I am glad you think so replied she, for he is distractedly in love with
you.”
“Law! Lady Scudamore said I, how can you talk so ridiculously?”
“Nay, t’is very true answered she, I assure you, for he was in love with
you from the first moment he beheld you.”
“I wish it may be true said I, for that is the only kind of love I would give
a farthing for—There is some sense in being in love at first sight.”
“Well, I give you Joy of your conquest, replied Lady Scudamore, and I
beleive it to have been a very complete one; I am sure it is not a
contemptible one, for my Cousin is a charming young fellow, has seen a
great deal of the World, and writes the best Love-letters I ever read.”
This made me very happy, and I was excessively pleased with my
conquest. However, I thought it was proper to give myself a few Airs—so I
said to her—
“This is all very pretty Lady Scudamore, but you know that we young
Ladies who are Heiresses must not throw ourselves away upon Men who
have no fortune at all.”
“My dear Miss Halton said she, I am as much convinced of that as you
can be, and I do assure you that I should be the last person to encourage
your marrying anyone who had not some pretensions to expect a fortune
with you. Mr Musgrove is so far from being poor that he has an estate of
several hundreds an year which is capable of great Improvement, and an
excellent House, though at Present it is not quite in repair.”
“If that is the case replied I, I have nothing more to say against him, and
if as you say he is an informed young Man and can write a good Love-
letter, I am sure I have no reason to find fault with him for admiring me,
tho’ perhaps I may not marry him for all that Lady Scudamore.”
“You are certainly under no obligation to marry him answered her
Ladyship, except that which love himself will dictate to you, for if I am not

greatly mistaken you are at this very moment unknown to yourself,
cherishing a most tender affection for him.”
“Law, Lady Scudamore replied I blushing how can you think of such a
thing?”
“Because every look, every word betrays it, answered she; Come my dear
Henrietta, consider me as a freind, and be sincere with me—Do not you
prefer Mr Musgrove to any man of your acquaintance?”
“Pray do not ask me such questions Lady Scudamore, said I turning away
my head, for it is not fit for me to answer them.”
“Nay my Love replied she, now you confirm my suspicions. But why
Henrietta should you be ashamed to own a well-placed Love, or why refuse
to confide in me?”
“I am not ashamed to own it; said I taking Courage. I do not refuse to
confide in you or blush to say that I do love your cousin Mr Musgrove, that
I am sincerely attached to him, for it is no disgrace to love a handsome
Man. If he were plain indeed I might have had reason to be ashamed of a
passion which must have been mean since the object would have been
unworthy. But with such a figure and face, and such beautiful hair as your
Cousin has, why should I blush to own that such superior merit has made an
impression on me.”
“My sweet Girl (said Lady Scudamore embracing me with great
affection) what a delicate way of thinking you have in these matters, and
what a quick discernment for one of your years! Oh! how I honour you for
such Noble Sentiments!”
“Do you Ma’am said I; You are vastly obliging. But pray Lady
Scudamore did your Cousin himself tell you of his affection for me I shall
like him the better if he did, for what is a Lover without a Confidante?”
“Oh! my Love replied she, you were born for each other. Every word you
say more deeply convinces me that your Minds are actuated by the invisible
power of simpathy, for your opinions and sentiments so exactly coincide.
Nay, the colour of your Hair is not very different. Yes my dear Girl, the
poor despairing Musgrove did reveal to me the story of his Love—. Nor
was I surprised at it—I know not how it was, but I had a kind of
presentiment that he would be in love with you.”
“Well, but how did he break it to you?”

“It was not till after supper. We were sitting round the fire together
talking on indifferent subjects, though to say the truth the Conversation was
cheifly on my side for he was thoughtful and silent, when on a sudden he
interrupted me in the midst of something I was saying, by exclaiming in a
most Theatrical tone—
Yes I’m in love I feel it now And Henrietta Halton has undone me
“Oh! What a sweet way replied I, of declaring his Passion! To make such
a couple of charming lines about me! What a pity it is that they are not in
rhime!”
“I am very glad you like it answered she; To be sure there was a great
deal of Taste in it. And are you in love with her, Cousin? said I. I am very
sorry for it, for unexceptionable as you are in every respect, with a pretty
Estate capable of Great improvements, and an excellent House tho’
somewhat out of repair, yet who can hope to aspire with success to the
adorable Henrietta who has had an offer from a Colonel and been toasted by
a Baronet”—“That I have—” cried I. Lady Scudamore continued. “Ah dear
Cousin replied he, I am so well convinced of the little Chance I can have of
winning her who is adored by thousands, that I need no assurances of yours
to make me more thoroughly so. Yet surely neither you or the fair Henrietta
herself will deny me the exquisite Gratification of dieing for her, of falling a
victim to her Charms. And when I am dead”—continued her—
“Oh Lady Scudamore, said I wiping my eyes, that such a sweet Creature
should talk of dieing!”
“It is an affecting Circumstance indeed, replied Lady Scudamore.”
“When I am dead said he, let me be carried and lain at her feet, and perhaps
she may not disdain to drop a pitying tear on my poor remains.”
“Dear Lady Scudamore interrupted I, say no more on this affecting
subject. I cannot bear it.”
“Oh! how I admire the sweet sensibility of your Soul, and as I would not
for Worlds wound it too deeply, I will be silent.”
“Pray go on.” said I. She did so.
“And then added he, Ah! Cousin imagine what my transports will be
when I feel the dear precious drops trickle on my face! Who would not die
to haste such extacy! And when I am interred, may the divine Henrietta
bless some happier Youth with her affection, May he be as tenderly attached

to her as the hapless Musgrove and while he crumbles to dust, May they
live an example of Felicity in the Conjugal state!”
Did you ever hear any thing so pathetic? What a charming wish, to be
lain at my feet when he was dead! Oh! what an exalted mind he must have
to be capable of such a wish! Lady Scudamore went on.
“Ah! my dear Cousin replied I to him, such noble behaviour as this, must
melt the heart of any woman however obdurate it may naturally be; and
could the divine Henrietta but hear your generous wishes for her happiness,
all gentle as is her mind, I have not a doubt but that she would pity your
affection and endeavour to return it.” “Oh! Cousin answered he, do not
endeavour to raise my hopes by such flattering assurances. No, I cannot
hope to please this angel of a Woman, and the only thing which remains for
me to do, is to die.” “True Love is ever desponding replied I, but I my dear
Tom will give you even greater hopes of conquering this fair one’s heart,
than I have yet given you, by assuring you that I watched her with the
strictest attention during the whole day, and could plainly discover that she
cherishes in her bosom though unknown to herself, a most tender affection
for you.”
“Dear Lady Scudamore cried I, This is more than I ever knew!”
“Did not I say that it was unknown to yourself? I did not, continued I to
him, encourage you by saying this at first, that surprise might render the
pleasure still Greater.” “No Cousin replied he in a languid voice, nothing
will convince me that I can have touched the heart of Henrietta Halton, and
if you are deceived yourself, do not attempt deceiving me.” “In short my
Love it was the work of some hours for me to Persuade the poor despairing
Youth that you had really a preference for him; but when at last he could no
longer deny the force of my arguments, or discredit what I told him, his
transports, his Raptures, his Extacies are beyond my power to describe.”
“Oh! the dear Creature, cried I, how passionately he loves me! But dear
Lady Scudamore did you tell him that I was totally dependant on my Uncle
and Aunt?”
“Yes, I told him every thing.”
“And what did he say.”
“He exclaimed with virulence against Uncles and Aunts; Accused the
laws of England for allowing them to Possess their Estates when wanted by

their Nephews or Neices, and wished he were in the House of Commons,
that he might reform the Legislature, and rectify all its abuses.”
“Oh! the sweet Man! What a spirit he has!” said I.
“He could not flatter himself he added, that the adorable Henrietta would
condescend for his sake to resign those Luxuries and that splendor to which
she had been used, and accept only in exchange the Comforts and
Elegancies which his limited Income could afford her, even supposing that
his house were in Readiness to receive her. I told him that it could not be
expected that she would; it would be doing her an injustice to suppose her
capable of giving up the power she now possesses and so nobly uses of
doing such extensive Good to the poorer part of her fellow Creatures,
merely for the gratification of you and herself.”
“To be sure said I, I am very Charitable every now and then. And what
did Mr Musgrove say to this?”
“He replied that he was under a melancholy necessity of owning the truth
of what I said, and that therefore if he should be the happy Creature
destined to be the Husband of the Beautiful Henrietta he must bring himself
to wait, however impatiently, for the fortunate day, when she might be freed
from the power of worthless Relations and able to bestow herself on him.”
What a noble Creature he is! Oh! Matilda what a fortunate one I am, who
am to be his Wife! My Aunt is calling me to come and make the pies, so
adeiu my dear freind, and beleive me yours etc—

H. Halton.

Finis.

SCRAPS

To Miss FANNY CATHERINE AUSTEN

MY DEAR NEICE
As I am prevented by the great distance between Rowling and Steventon
from superintending your Education myself, the care of which will probably
on that account devolve on your Father and Mother, I think it is my
particular Duty to Prevent your feeling as much as possible the want of my
personal instructions, by addressing to you on paper my Opinions and
Admonitions on the conduct of Young Women, which you will find
expressed in the following pages.—

I am my dear Neice
Your affectionate Aunt
The Author.

THE FEMALE PHILOSOPHER

A LETTER
MY DEAR LOUISA
Your friend Mr Millar called upon us yesterday in his way to Bath,
whither he is going for his health; two of his daughters were with him, but
the eldest and the three Boys are with their Mother in Sussex. Though you
have often told me that Miss Millar was remarkably handsome, you never
mentioned anything of her Sisters’ beauty; yet they are certainly extremely
pretty. I’ll give you their description.—Julia is eighteen; with a countenance
in which Modesty, Sense and Dignity are happily blended, she has a form
which at once presents you with Grace, Elegance and Symmetry. Charlotte
who is just sixteen is shorter than her Sister, and though her figure cannot
boast the easy dignity of Julia’s, yet it has a pleasing plumpness which is in
a different way as estimable. She is fair and her face is expressive
sometimes of softness the most bewitching, and at others of Vivacity the
most striking. She appears to have infinite Wit and a good humour
unalterable; her conversation during the half hour they set with us, was
replete with humourous sallies, Bonmots and repartees; while the sensible,
the amiable Julia uttered sentiments of Morality worthy of a heart like her
own. Mr Millar appeared to answer the character I had always received of
him. My Father met him with that look of Love, that social Shake, and
cordial kiss which marked his gladness at beholding an old and valued
freind from whom thro’ various circumstances he had been separated nearly
twenty years. Mr Millar observed (and very justly too) that many events had
befallen each during that interval of time, which gave occasion to the lovely
Julia for making most sensible reflections on the many changes in their
situation which so long a period had occasioned, on the advantages of
some, and the disadvantages of others. From this subject she made a short
digression to the instability of human pleasures and the uncertainty of their

duration, which led her to observe that all earthly Joys must be imperfect.
She was proceeding to illustrate this doctrine by examples from the Lives of
great Men when the Carriage came to the Door and the amiable Moralist
with her Father and Sister was obliged to depart; but not without a promise
of spending five or six months with us on their return. We of course
mentioned you, and I assure you that ample Justice was done to your Merits
by all. “Louisa Clarke (said I) is in general a very pleasant Girl, yet
sometimes her good humour is clouded by Peevishness, Envy and Spite.
She neither wants Understanding or is without some pretensions to Beauty,
but these are so very trifling, that the value she sets on her personal charms,
and the adoration she expects them to be offered are at once a striking
example of her vanity, her pride, and her folly.” So said I, and to my
opinion everyone added weight by the concurrence of their own.

Your affectionate
Arabella Smythe.

THE FIRST ACT OF A COMEDY

Characters

Popgun Maria
Charles Pistolletta
Postilion Hostess
Chorus of ploughboys Cook
and and
Strephon Chloe

SCENE—AN INN

Enter Hostess, Charles, Maria, and Cook.

Hostess to Maria
If the gentry in the Lion should want beds, shew them number 9.
Maria
Yes Mistress.—exit Maria
Hostess to Cook
If their Honours in the Moon ask for the bill of fare, give it them.
Cook
I will, I will. exit Cook.
Hostess to Charles
If their Ladyships in the Sun ring their Bell—answer it.
Charles
Yes Madam. exeunt Severally.

SCENE CHANGES TO THE MOON, and discovers Popgun and Pistoletta.

Pistoletta
Pray papa how far is it to London?
Popgun
My Girl, my Darling, my favourite of all my Children, who art the picture
of thy poor Mother who died two months ago, with whom I am going to
Town to marry to Strephon, and to whom I mean to bequeath my whole
Estate, it wants seven Miles.

SCENE CHANGES TO THE SUN—

Enter Chloe and a chorus of ploughboys.

Chloe
Where am I? At Hounslow.—Where go I? To London—. What to do? To be
married—. Unto whom? Unto Strephon. Who is he? A Youth. Then I will
sing a song.

SONG

I go to Town
And when I come down,
I shall be married to Streephon.*
And that to me will be fun.
[* Note the two e’s]

Chorus

Be fun, be fun, be fun,
And that to me will be fun.

Enter Cook—

Cook
Here is the bill of fare.
Chloe reads
2 Ducks, a leg of beef, a stinking partridge, and a tart.—I will have the leg
of beef and the partridge.

Exit Cook.
And now I will sing another song.

SONG

I am going to have my dinner,
After which I shan’t be thinner,
I wish I had here Strephon
For he would carve the partridge if it should be a tough one.

Chorus

Tough one, tough one, tough one
For he would carve the partridge if it
Should be a tough one.

Exit Chloe and Chorus.—

SCENE CHANGES TO THE INSIDE OF THE LION.

Enter Strephon and Postilion.

Streph:)
You drove me from Staines to this place, from whence I mean to go to
Town to marry Chloe. How much is your due?
Post:
Eighteen pence.
Streph:
Alas, my freind, I have but a bad guinea with which I mean to support
myself in Town. But I will pawn to you an undirected Letter that I received
from Chloe.
Post:
Sir, I accept your offer.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

A LETTER from a YOUNG LADY, whose feelings
being too strong for her Judgement led her into the
commission of Errors which her Heart disapproved.
Many have been the cares and vicissitudes of my past life, my beloved
Ellinor, and the only consolation I feel for their bitterness is that on a close
examination of my conduct, I am convinced that I have strictly deserved
them. I murdered my father at a very early period of my Life, I have since
murdered my Mother, and I am now going to murder my Sister. I have
changed my religion so often that at present I have not an idea of any left. I
have been a perjured witness in every public tryal for these last twelve
years; and I have forged my own Will. In short there is scarcely a crime that
I have not committed—But I am now going to reform. Colonel Martin of
the Horse guards has paid his Addresses to me, and we are to be married in
a few days. As there is something singular in our Courtship, I will give you
an account of it. Colonel Martin is the second son of the late Sir John
Martin who died immensely rich, but bequeathing only one hundred
thousand pound apeice to his three younger Children, left the bulk of his
fortune, about eight Million to the present Sir Thomas. Upon his small
pittance the Colonel lived tolerably contented for nearly four months when
he took it into his head to determine on getting the whole of his eldest
Brother’s Estate. A new will was forged and the Colonel produced it in
Court—but nobody would swear to it’s being the right will except himself,
and he had sworn so much that Nobody beleived him. At that moment I
happened to be passing by the door of the Court, and was beckoned in by
the Judge who told the Colonel that I was a Lady ready to witness anything
for the cause of Justice, and advised him to apply to me. In short the Affair
was soon adjusted. The Colonel and I swore to its’ being the right will, and
Sir Thomas has been obliged to resign all his illgotten wealth. The Colonel
in gratitude waited on me the next day with an offer of his hand—. I am
now going to murder my Sister.

Yours Ever,
Anna Parker.

A TOUR THROUGH WALES—
in a LETTER from a YOUNG LADY—

MY DEAR CLARA
I have been so long on the ramble that I have not till now had it in my
power to thank you for your Letter—. We left our dear home on last
Monday month; and proceeded on our tour through Wales, which is a
principality contiguous to England and gives the title to the Prince of Wales.
We travelled on horseback by preference. My Mother rode upon our little
poney and Fanny and I walked by her side or rather ran, for my Mother is
so fond of riding fast that she galloped all the way. You may be sure that we
were in a fine perspiration when we came to our place of resting. Fanny has
taken a great many Drawings of the Country, which are very beautiful, tho’
perhaps not such exact resemblances as might be wished, from their being
taken as she ran along. It would astonish you to see all the Shoes we wore
out in our Tour. We determined to take a good Stock with us and therefore
each took a pair of our own besides those we set off in. However we were
obliged to have them both capped and heelpeiced at Carmarthen, and at last
when they were quite gone, Mama was so kind as to lend us a pair of blue
Sattin Slippers, of which we each took one and hopped home from Hereford
delightfully—

I am your ever affectionate
Elizabeth Johnson.

A TALE.

A Gentleman whose family name I shall conceal, bought a small Cottage
in Pembrokeshire about two years ago. This daring Action was suggested to
him by his elder Brother who promised to furnish two rooms and a Closet
for him, provided he would take a small house near the borders of an
extensive Forest, and about three Miles from the Sea. Wilhelminus gladly
accepted the offer and continued for some time searching after such a
retreat when he was one morning agreably releived from his suspence by
reading this advertisement in a Newspaper.

TO BE LETT

A Neat Cottage on the borders of an extensive forest and about three Miles
from the Sea. It is ready furnished except two rooms and a Closet.
The delighted Wilhelminus posted away immediately to his brother, and
shewed him the advertisement. Robertus congratulated him and sent him in
his Carriage to take possession of the Cottage. After travelling for three
days and six nights without stopping, they arrived at the Forest and
following a track which led by it’s side down a steep Hill over which ten
Rivulets meandered, they reached the Cottage in half an hour. Wilhelminus
alighted, and after knocking for some time without receiving any answer or
hearing any one stir within, he opened the door which was fastened only by
a wooden latch and entered a small room, which he immediately perceived
to be one of the two that were unfurnished—From thence he proceeded into
a Closet equally bare. A pair of stairs that went out of it led him into a room
above, no less destitute, and these apartments he found composed the whole
of the House. He was by no means displeased with this discovery, as he had
the comfort of reflecting that he should not be obliged to lay out anything
on furniture himself—. He returned immediately to his Brother, who took
him the next day to every Shop in Town, and bought what ever was

requisite to furnish the two rooms and the Closet, In a few days everything
was completed, and Wilhelminus returned to take possession of his Cottage.
Robertus accompanied him, with his Lady the amiable Cecilia and her two
lovely Sisters Arabella and Marina to whom Wilhelminus was tenderly
attached, and a large number of Attendants.—An ordinary Genius might
probably have been embarrassed, in endeavouring to accomodate so large a
party, but Wilhelminus with admirable presence of mind gave orders for the
immediate erection of two noble Tents in an open spot in the Forest
adjoining to the house. Their Construction was both simple and elegant—A
couple of old blankets, each supported by four sticks, gave a striking proof
of that taste for architecture and that happy ease in overcoming difficulties
which were some of Wilhelminus’s most striking Virtues.

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