 L. IX. PART I. My dearest child, the task you set your father is a heavy one, but I cheerfully comply with any request of my Julius. However, before I enter upon it, let me say a little to you. Are you happy, my child? Do you find the world such as you thought it while it was unknown to you? Do the pleasures you enjoy present to you with an equivalent for your renunciation of a fond father and tender sister? Is there affection amply repaid by the love of your husband? All these, and a thousand other equally important questions, I long to put to my beloved. I wish to know the true state of your heart. I then should be able to judge whether or not I ought to mourn or rejoice in this separation from you. Believe me, Julia, I am not so selfish to wish you here merely to augment my narrow circle of felicity, if you can convince me you are happier where you are. But can all the bustle, the confusion you describe, be productive of happiness to a young girl, born and educated in the lap of peaceful retirement? The novelty may strike your mind, and for a while you may think yourself happy, because you are amused, and have not time to define what your reflections are but in the sober hour, when the stillness reigns and the soul unbends itself from the fatigues of the day. What judgment then does cool reason form? Are you satisfied? Are your slumbers peaceful and calm? Do you ever sigh after the shades of Woodley and your rural friends? Answer these questions fairly and candidly, my Julia, prove to me you are happy and your heart as good and innocent as ever, and I shall descend to the silent tomb with peaceful smiles. Perhaps the resolution I formed of retiring from a world in which I had met with disgust was too hastily concluded on. But be that as it may, it was sacred, and as such I have and will keep it. I lost my confidence in mankind, and I could find no one whose virtues could redeem it. Many years have elapsed since, and the manners and customs changed so frequently that I should be a total stranger among the inhabitants of this present age. You have heard me say I was married before I had the happiness of being united to your amiable mother. I shall begin my narrative from the commencement of that union, only promising that I was the son of the younger branch of a noble family whose name I bear. I inherited the blood, but very little more, of my ancestors. However, a taste for pleasure, and an indulgence of some of the then fashionable follies, which in all ages and all times are too prevalent, conspired to make my little fortune still more contracted. Thus situated I became acquainted with the young lady of a large fortune. My figure and address won her heart. Her person was agreeable, and although I might not be what the word calls in love, I certainly was attached to her. Knowing the inferiority of my fortune, I could not presume to offer her my hand, even after I was convinced she wished I should. But some circumstances arising which brought us more intimately acquainted, at length conquered my scruples, and without consulting any other guide than her passions, we married. My finances are now extremely straightened, although for my wife was eras of upwards of thirty thousand pounds, yet till she came of age, I could reap no advantage of it, and to that period she wanted near four years. We were both fond of pleasure, and foolishly lived as if we were in actual possession of double that income. I found myself deeply involved, but the time drew near that was to set all to rights, and I had prevailed on my wife to consent to a retrenchment. We had formed a plan of retiring for some time in the country to look after her estate, and by the way of taking a polite leave of our friends, or rather acquaintance for, when they were put to the test, I found them undeserving of that appellation. By the way, I say, of quitting the town with a claw, my wife proposed giving an elegant entertainment on her birthday, which was on the twenty-fourth of December. Christmas Day fell that year upon a Monday. Unwilling to protract this day of joy till Tuesday, my wife desired to anticipate her natal festival, and accordingly Saturday was appointed. She had set my heart on dancing in the evening, and was extremely mortified on finding an extreme pain in her ankle, which she attributed to a strain. It was so violent during dinner time that she was constrained to leave the table. A lady, who retired with her, told her the surest remedy for a strain was to plunge the leg in cold water and would procure instant relief. Impatient of the disappointment and anguish, she too fatally consented. I knew nothing of what was doing in my wife's dressing room, till my attention was roused by repeated cries. Terribly alarmed, I flew thither, and found her in agonies of death. Good God! What was my distraction at that moment? I then recollected that she often told me, of all her family being subject to the gout at a very early age. Every medical assistance was procured, with all speed. The physician, however, gave but small hopes, unless the disorder could be removed from her head and stomach, which she had had attacked with the greatest violence. How was all our mirth in one sad moment overthrown? The day, which had risen with smiles, now promised to set in tears. In the few lucid intervals which my unhappy wife could be said to have, she instantly prayed to live till she could secure her fortune to my life, which could be done no other way than making her well, since having no children, the estate, should she die before she came of age, or even then, without a bequest, would devolve upon a cousin, with whose family we had preserved no intimacy, owing to the illiberal reflections part of them had cast on my wife, for marrying a man without an answerable fortune. My being allied to a noble family was no recommendation to those who had acquired their wealth by trade, and were possessed of the most sordid principles. I would not listen to the persuasion of my friends, who urged me to get writings executed to which my wife might set her hand. Such measures appeared to me both selfish and cruel, or rather my mind was too much absorbed in my present deflection to pay any attention to my future security. In her greatest agonies and most severe proxisms, she knew and acknowledged her obligations to me, for the unremitted kindness I had shown her during our union. Oh, my God! she would exclaim. Oh, my God! let me but live to reward him. I ask not length of years. Though in the bloom of life, I submit with cheerful resignation to thy will. My God! I ask not length of days. I only petition for a few short hours of sense and recollection, that I may, by the disposition of my affairs, remove all other distress from the bosom of my beloved husband, save what he will feel on this separation. Dear soul, she prayed in vain. Nay, I doubt her apprehension and tears, lest she should die, increase the agonies of her body and mind. Unknown to me, a gentleman, by the request of my dying wife, drew up a deed. The paper lay on the bed. She meant to sign it as soon as the clock struck twelve. Till within a few minutes of that time, she continued tolerably calm, and her head perfectly clear. She flattered herself and endeavored to convince us she would recover. But alas! this was only a little gleam of hope, to sink us deeper in despair. Her pain returned with redoubled violence from this short recess, and her senses never again resumed their seat. She suffered the most excruciating agonies till two in the morning, then winged her flight to heaven, leaving me the most forlorn and disconsolent of men. I continued in a state of stoop of faction for several days, till my friends roused me by asking what course I meant to pursue. I had the whole world before me, and saw myself as it were, totally detached from any part of it. My own relations I had disobliged, by marrying the daughter of a tradesman. They were, no doubt, glad of an excuse, to rid themselves of an indignant person, who might reflect dishonor on their nobility. Of them I had no hopes. I had as little probability of success in my application to the friends of my late wife, yet I thought, in justice, they should not refuse to make some allowances for the expenses our manner of living had brought on me, as they well knew they were occasioned by my compliance with her taste, at least so far as to discharge some of my debts. I waited on Mr. Maynard, the father of the lady, who now possessed the estate, to lay before him the situation of my affairs. He would hardly hear me out with patience. He upbraided me with stealing and eras, and with meanly taking every method of obliging a dying woman to injure her relations. In short, his behavior was rude, unmanly, and indecent. I scorned to hold converse with so sordid a wretch, and was leaving his house with the utmost displeasure, when his daughter slipped out of the room. She begged me, with many tears, not to impute her father's incivility to her, wished the time was come when she should be her own mistress, but hoped she should be able to bring her father to some terms of accommodation, and assured me she would use all her influence with him to induce him to do me justice. Her influence over the mind of such a man as her father had liked to have little weight, as it proved. She used all her eloquence in my favor, which only served to instigate him against me. He sent a very rude and abrupt message to me, to deliver up several articles of household furniture and other things, which had belonged to my wife, which, however, I had refused to do, unless I was honored with the order of Miss Maynard. Her father could not prevail on her to make the requisition, and enraged at my insolence and her obstancy. As he politely styled our behavior, he swore he would be revenged. In order to make his words good, he went severally to each of the tradespeople to whom I was indebted, and collecting the sums, prevailed on them to make over the debts to him, thereby becoming the sole creditor, and how merciful I should find him, I leave you to judge from the motive by which he acted. In a few days there was an execution in my house, and I was conveyed to the king's bench. At first I took the resolution of continuing there contentedly, till either my cruel creditor should relent, or that an act of grace should take place. A prison, however, is dreadful to a free mind, and I solicited those who had in the days of my prosperity professed a friendship for me. Some few afforded me a temporary relief, but dealt with a scanty hand, others disclaimed me, none would bail me, or undertake my cause. Many, who had contributed to my extravagance, now condemned me for launching into expenses beyond my income, and those who refused their assistance, thought they had a right to censure my conduct. Thus did I find myself deserted and neglected by the whole world, and was early taught how little independence we ought to place on the goods of it. When I had been an inmate of the house of bondage some few weeks, I received a note from Miss Maynard. She deplored, in the most pathetic terms, the steps her father had taken, which she had never discovered till that morning, and entreated my acceptance of a trifle to render my confinement less intolerable. And if I should devise any methods, wherein she could be serviceable, she should think herself most happy. There was such a delicacy and nobleness of soul that ran through the whole of this little billet, as at the same time that it showed me the rider in the most amiable light, gave birth to the lifeless gratitude in my bosom. I had, till this moment, considered her only as the daughter of Mr. Maynard, as one whose mind was informed by the same principles as his own. I now beheld her in another view. I looked on her only in her relation to my late wife, whose virtues she inherited with her fortune. I felt a veneration for the generosity of a young girl, who, from the narrow sentiments of her father, could not be mistress of any large sum. And yet she had, in the politest manner, making it a favour done to herself, obliged me to accept a twenty-pound note. I had a thousand conflicts with myself, whether I should keep or return it. Nothing but my fear of giving her pain could have decided it. I recollected the tears she shed the last time I saw her, unreading over her note again. I discovered the paper blistered in several places. To all this, let me add, her image seemed to stand confessed before me. Her person, which I had hardly ever thought about, now was present to my imagination. It lost nothing by never having been the subject of my attention before. I sat ruminating on the picture I had been drawing in my mind, till becoming perfectly enthusiastic in my ideas. I started up, and clasping my hands together. Why, I exclaimed aloud, why have I not twenty thousand pounds to bestow on this adorable creature? The sound of my voice brought me to myself, and I instantly recollected I ought to make some acknowledgment to my fair benefactress. I found the task a difficult one. After writing and rejecting several, I at last was resolved to send the first I had attempted. Knowing that, though less studied, it certainly was the genuine effusions of my heart. After saying all my gratitude dictated, I told her that next to her society I should price her correspondence above everything in this world, but that I beg she would not let compassion for an unfortunate man lead her into any inconveniences, but be guided entirely by her own discretion. I would, in the meantime, entreat her to send me a few books. The subject I left to her, they being her taste, would be the strongest recommendation. Perhaps I said more than I ought to have done, although at that time I thought I fell infinitely short of what I might have said. And yet I take God to witness. I did not mean to engage her affection, and no thing was less from my intention than basely to practice on her passions. In one of her letters she asked me if my debts were discharged, what would be my dependence or scheme of life. I freely answered, my dependence would be either to get a small place or else serve my king in the war now nearly breaking out, which rather suited the activity of my disposition. She has since told me she shed floods of tears over that expression, the activity of my disposition. She drew in her imagination the most affecting picture of a man, in the bloom and vigor of life, excluded from the common benefits of his fellow-creatures, by the merciless capacity of an inhuman creditor. The effect of this melancholy representation had on her mind, while pity endeared the object of it to her, made her take the resolution of again addressing her father on my behalf. He accused her of ingratitude, and thus repain his care for her welfare. Hurt by the many harsh things he said, she told him the possession of ten times the estate could convey no pleasure to her bosom, while it was tortured with the idea that he, who had the best right to it, was secluded from every comfort of life, and that, whenever it should be in her power, she would not fail to make every reparation she could, for the violence offered to an innocent injured man. This brought down her father's heaviest displeasure. He reviled her in the grossest terms. Asserted, she had been fascinated by me, as her ridiculous cousin had been before, but that he would take care his family should not run the risk of being again beggared by such a spend-thrift, and that he should use such precautions as to frustrate any scheme I might form of seducing her from her duty. She sought to exculpate me from the charges her father had brought against me, but he paid no regard to her as severations, and remained deaf and inexorable to all her entreaties. When I learnt this, I wrote to Miss Maynard, in treating her for her own sake, to resign an unhappy man to his evil destiny. I begged her to believe I had sufficient resolution to support confinement, or any other ill, but that it was an aggravation to my sufferings, which to sustain was very difficult, to find her zeal for me had drawn on her the ill usage of her father. I further requested she would never again mention me to him, and if possible, never think of me if those thoughts were productive of the least disquiet to her. I likewise mentioned my hearing and act of grace would soon release me from my bonds, and then I was determined to offer myself a volunteer in the service, where perhaps I might find a cannonball my best friend. A life so different to what I had been used to, brought on a disorder, which the agitation of my spirits increased so much as to reduce me almost to the gates of death. An old female servant of Miss Maynard's paid me a visit, bringing me some little nutritive delicacies, which her kind mistress thought would be serviceable to me. Shocked at the deplorable spectacle I made, for I began to neglect my appearance, which a man is apt to do when not at peace with himself. Shocked, I say, she represented me in such a light to her lady, as filled her gentle soul with the utmost terror for my safety. Guided alone by the partiality she honored me with, she formed the resolution of coming to see me. She, however, gave me half an hour's notice of her intention. I employed the intermediate time in putting myself into a condition of receiving her with more decency. The little exertion I made had nearly exhausted my remaining strength, and I was more dead than alive, when the trembling, pale, and tottering guest made her approach in the house of woe. We could neither of us speak for some time. The benevolence of her heart had supported her during her journey thither, but now the native modesty of her sex seemed to point out the impropriety of visiting a man, unsolicited, in prison. Weak as I was, I saw the necessity of encouraging the drooping spirits of my fair visitor. I paid her my grateful acknowledgments for her inestimable goodness. She begged me to be silent on that head, as it brought reflection she could ill support. In obedience to her, I gave the conversation another turn, but still I could not help reverting to the old subject. She then stopped me by asking, what was there so extraordinary in her conduct, and whether, in her situation, would not I have done as much for her? Oh, yes, I cried with eagerness, that I should, and ten times more. I instantly felt the impropriety of my speech. Then I have been strangely deficient, said she, looking at me with a gentle smile. I ask a thousand pardons, said I, for the abruptness of my expression. I meant to evince my value for you, and my sense of what I thought you deserved. You must excuse my method. I have been long unused to the association of human beings, at least such as resemble you. You have already conferred more favors than I could merit at your hands. Miss Maynard seemed disconcerted. She looked grave. It is a sign you think so, said she, in a tone of voice that showed she was peaked. As you have taken such pains to explain away an involuntary compliment, but I have already exceeded the bounds, I prescribed to myself in this visit. It is time to leave you. I felt abashed, and found myself incapable of saying anything to clear myself from the imputation of insensibility or ingratitude, without betraying the tenderness which I really possessed for her, yet which I thought, circumstance as I was, would be ungenerous to the last degree to discover, as it would be tacitly lane-claimed to hers. The common rules of politeness, however, called on me to say something. I respectfully took her hand, which trembled as much as mine. Dear Miss Maynard, said I, how shall I thank you for the pleasure your company has conveyed to my bosom? Even then thinking I had said too much, especially as I, by an involuntary impulse, found my fingers compress hers, I added, I plainly see the impropriety of asking you to renew your goodness. I must not be selfish, or urge you to take any step for which you may hear after condemn yourself. I find, sir, she replied, your prudence is greater than mine. I need never apprehend danger from such a monitor. Don't mistake me, said I, with a sigh I could not repress. I doubt I have, returned she, but I will endeavour to develop your character. Perhaps if I do not find myself quite perfect, I may run the risk of taking another lesson, unless you should tell me it is imprudent. So saying she left me. There was rather an affectation of gaiety in her last speech, which would have offended me, had I not seen it was only put on to conceal her real feelings from a man, who seemed oddly insensible to her invaluable perfections both of mind and body. Yet how was I to act? I loved her with the utmost purity, and yet fervor. My heart chide me for throwing cold water on the tenderness of this amiable girl. But my reason told me I should be a villain to strive to gain her affections in such a situation as I was. Had I been lord of the universe, I would have shared it with my Maria. You will ask, how I could so easily forget the loneness of my fortune and my connection with her cousin. I answer, the case was widely different. I then made a figure in life equal to my birth, though my circumstances were contracted. Now I was poor and in prison. Then I listened only to my passions. Now reason and prudence had some sway with me. My love for my late wife was the love of a boy. My attachment to Maria, the sentiments of a man, a man visited by, and pray to, misfortune. On reflection I found I loved her to the greatest height. After passing a sleepless night of anguish, I came to the resolution of exculpating myself from the charge of insensibility, though at the expense of losing sight of her I loved forever. I wrote her a letter, wherein I freely confessed the danger I apprehended from the renewal of her visit. I opened my whole soul before her, but at the same time told her I laid no claim to any more from her than compassion, showed her the rack of constraint I put on myself, to conceal the emotions of my heart, lest the generosity of hers might involve her in a too strong partiality for so abject a wretch. I hoped she would do me the justice to believe that as no man ever loved more, so no one on earth could have her interest more at heart than myself, since to those sentiments I sacrificed everything dear to me. Good God! What tears did this letter cost me? I sometimes condemned myself and thought it false generosity. Why should I, said I to myself, why should I thus cast happiness away from two, who seem form to constitute all the world to each other? How rigorous are thy mandates! Oh virtue! How severe thy decree! And oh how much do I feel in obeying thee! No sooner was the letter gone than I repented the step I had pursued. I called myself ungrateful to the bounty of heaven, who thus, as it were, had inspired the most lovely of women with an inclination to relieve my distress and had likewise put the means in her hands. These cogitations contributed neither to establish my health or compose my spirits. I had no return to my letter, indeed I had not urged one. Several days passed in a state of mind which can only be known to those who have experienced the same. At last a packet was brought me. It contained an Ensign's commission in a regiment going to Germany, and a paper sealed up, on which was written. It is the request of M.M. that Mr. Granveld has not opened this till he has crossed the seas. There was another paper folded in the form of a letter, but not sealed. That I hastily opened, and found it contained only a few words, and a bank-bill of a hundred pounds. The contents were as follow. True love knows not the nice distinctions you have made, at least if I may be allowed to judge from my own feelings. I think it does not. I may, however, be mistaken, but the error is too pleasing to be relinquished, and I would much rather indulge it than listen at present to the cold prudential arguments which a too refined and ill-placed generosity points out. When you arrive at the place of your destination, you may gain a farther knowledge of a heart, capable at the same time of the tenderest partiality, and affirm resolution of conquering it. Every word of this billet was a dagger to my soul. I then ceased not to accuse myself of ingratitude to the loveliest of women, as guilty of false pride instead of generosity. If she placed her happiness in my society, why should I deprive her of it? As she said my sentiments were too refined. I asked myself if it would not have been my supreme delight to have raised her from the dregs of the people to share the most exalted situation with me. Why should I then think less highly of her attachment, of which I had received such proofs, than I was convinced mine was capable of? For the future I was determined to sacrifice these nice punctilios which were ever opposing my felicity, and that of an amiable woman, who clearly and repeatedly told me, by her looks, actions, and a thousand little nameless attentions I could not mistake, that her whole happiness depended on me. I thought nothing could convince her more thoroughly of my wish of being obliged to her, than the acceptance of her bounty. I made no longer any hesitation about it. That very day I was released from my long confinement by the Graysack, to the utter mortification of my old prosecutor. I drove immediately to some lodgings I had provided in the Strand, from whence I instantly dispatched to Billet-Dew to Maria, in which I said these words. The first moment of liberty I devote to the lovely Maria, who has my heart a slave. I am convert to your assertion, that love makes distinctions. Otherwise, could I support the reflection, and all I am worth in the world I owe to you? But to you the world owes all the charms it has in my eyes. We will not, however, talk of debtor and creditor, but permit me to make up in adoration what I want in wealth. Fortune attends the brave. I will therefore flatter myself with returning laden with the spoils of the enemy, and in such a situation that you may openly indulge the partiality which makes the happiness of my life, without being put to the blush by sorted relations. I shall obey your mandates the more cheerfully, as I think I am perfectly acquainted with every perfection of your heart. Judge then how I must value it. Before I quit England, I shall petition for the honour of kissing your hand, but how shall I bid you adieu? The time now drew nigh when I was to take leave of my native land, and what was dear to me, my Maria, I was too affected to utter a word. Her soul had more heroic greatness. Go, said she, pursue the paths of glory, have confidence in providence, and never distrust me. I have already experienced some hazards on your account, but perhaps my father may be easier in his mind when he is assured you have left England. I pressed her to explain herself. She did so by informing me. Her father suspected her attachment, and to prevent any ill consequence arising had proposed a gentleman to her for a husband, whom she had rejected with firmness. No artifice or ill-usage, continued she, shall make any change in my resolution. But I shall say no more. The packet will more thoroughly convince you of what I am capable. Good God! said I, in an agony. Why should your tenderness be incompatible with your duty? I do not think it, she answered. It is my duty to do justice, and I do no more, by seeking to restore you to your own. We settled the mode of our future correspondence, and I tore myself from the only one I loved on earth. When I joined the regiment I availed myself of the privilege given me to inspect the papers. Oh, how was my love, esteem, and admiration increased? The contents were written at a time when she thought me insensible, or at least too scrupulous. She made a solemn vow never to marry, but as soon as she came of age, to divide the estate with me, making over the remainder to any children I might have. But the whole was couched in terms of such delicate tenderness as drew floods of tears from my eyes, and riveted my soul more firmly to her. I instantly wrote to her, and concealed not a thought or sentiment of my heart. That alone dictated every line. In the letter she returned she sent me her picture in a locket, and on the reverse a device with her hair. This was an inestimable present to me. It was my sole employ while off duty, to gaze on the lovely resemblance of the fairest of women. For some months our correspondence was uninterrupted. However, six weeks had now passed since I expected a letter. Love is industrious in tormenting itself. I formed ten thousand dreadful images in my own mind, and sunk into despair from each. I wrote letter after letter, but had still no return. I had no other correspondent in England. Distraction seized me. She is dead, I cried to myself. She is dead. I have nothing to do but to follow her. At last I wrote to a gentleman who lived in the neighborhood of Mr. Maynard, conjuring him in the most affecting terms, to inform me of what I yet dreaded to be told. I waited with the dining patience till the males arrived. A letter was brought to me from this gentleman. He said, Mr. Maynard's family had left Elle some time. They purport going abroad, but he believed they had retired to some part of Essex. There had a report prevailed of Miss Maynard's being married, but if true it was since they had left Elle. The news was not very likely to clear or calm my doubts. What could I think? My reflections only served to awaken my grief. I continued two years making every inquiry, but never received the least satisfactory account. A pray to the most heartfelt affliction, life became insupportable to me. Was she married? I revolved in my mind all the hardship she must have endured before she would be prefailed on to falsify her own vows to me, which were registered in heaven. Had death ended her distress. I was convinced it had been hastened by the severity of an unnatural father. Which soever way I turned my thoughts, the most excruciating reflections presented themselves, and in each I saw her sufferings alone. END OF LETTER IX. PART II In this frame of mind I rejoiced to hear we were soon to have a battle, which would in all probability be decisive. I was now raised to the rank of Captain Lieutenant. A battalion of our regiment was appointed to a most dangerous post. It was to gain a pass through a narrow defile, and to convey some heavy artillery to cover a party of soldiers, who were the flower of the troops, to endeavor to flank the enemy. I was mortified to find I was not named for this service. I spoke of it to the Captain, who honored me with his friendship. It was my care for you, Grenville, said he, which prevented your name being enrolled. I wish for the sakes of so many brave fellows this maneuver could have been avoided. It will be next to a miracle if we succeed, but success must be won with the lives of many. The first squadron must look on themselves as a sacrifice. Permit me, then, said I, to head that squadron. I will do my duty to support my charge, but if I fall I shall bless the blow which rids me of an existence intolerable to me. You are a young man, Grenville, replied the Captain. You may experience a change in life, which will repay you for the adversities you at present complain of. I would have you courageous and defy dangers, but not madly rush on them. That is to be despairing, not brave, and consequently displeasing to the deity, who appoints us our task, and rewards us according to our acquittal of our duty. The severest winter is followed often times by the most blooming spring. It is true, said I, but when will spring visit the mouldy nern? Ah, when will it dawn on the gloom of the grave? Will you, however, allow me to offer an exchange with the commanding officer? My Captain consented, and the Lieutenant was very glad to exchange his post, for one of equal honour but greater security. I was sitting in my tent the evening of the important day, ruminating on the past events of my life, and then naturally fell into reflections of what, in all probability, would be the consequence of the moral's attack. We looked on ourselves as devoted men, and though, I dare say, not one of the whole core was tired of his life, yet they all expressed the utmost eagerness to be employed. Death was the ultimate wish of my soul. I shall, before tomorrow's sun goes down, said I, addressing myself to the resemblance of my Maria, I shall, most lovely of women, be reunited to thee. Or, if yet thy sufferings have not ended thy precious life, I shall yet know where thou art, and be permitted, perhaps, to hover over thee, to guide thy footsteps, and conduct thee to those realms of light, whose joys will be incomplete without thee. With these rhapsodies I was amusing my mind, when a sergeant entered, and acquainted me, there was without, a young man inquiring for me, who said he must be admitted, having letters of the greatest importance from England. My heart beat high against my breast, my inspiration drew thick and difficult, I could hardly articulate these words. For God's sake, let me see him. Support me, O God, what is it I am going to hear? A cold sweat bedewed my face, and an universal tremor possessed my whole frame. A young gentleman, wrapped up in a hussar cloak, made his appearance. Is this Lieutenant Grenville? I bowed, I am told, sir, said I, in a tremulous voice, you have letters from England. Relieve my doubts, I beseech you. Here, sir, is one, said the youth, extending his hand, and trembled exceedingly. I hastily snatched it, ready to devour the contents. What was my agitation, when I read these words? If, after a silence of two long years, your Maria is still dear to you, you will rejoice to hear she still lives for you alone. If her presence is wished for by you, you will rejoice on finding her at no great distance from you. But, if you love with a tenderness she does, how great, how ecstatic, will be your felicity, to raise your eyes and fix them on hers. The paper dropped from my invert hand, while I raised my eyes and beheld. Oh, my God, under the disguise of a young officer, my beloved, my faithful, long lost Maria! Great God, I cried, in a transport of joy, clasping my hands together, have then my prayers been heard. Do I again behold her? But my situation occurred to my imagination. The dangers which I had unnecessarily engaged myself in for the morrow, her disguise, the unprotected state in which I should leave her, in a camp where too much licentuous reigned. All these ideas took instant possession of my mind, and dampened the rising joy her loved presence had at first excited. The agonizing pangs which seized me are past exception. Oh, my God! I exclaimed in the bitterness of soul, why did we thus meet? Better! Oh, how much better would it have been, that my eyes had closed in death, than to see all they adored thus exposed to the horrid misery and carnage of destructive war! The conflict became too powerful, and in all the energy of woe I threw myself on the ground. Poor Maria flung herself on a seat, and covered her face in her great coat. Audible sobs burst from her bosom. I saw the convulsive heavings, and the sight was as daggers to me. I crawled on my knees to her, and bending over her. Oh, my Maria, said I, these pangs I feel for you. Speak to me, my only love, if possible, ease my sufferings by thy heavenly welcome voice. She uttered not a word. I sought to find her hand. She pushed me gently from her, then rising. Come, thou companion of my tedious and painful travel, come, my faithful Anna, said she to one I had not taken notice of, who stood in the entrance of the tent. Let us be gone. Here we are unwelcome visitors. It is thus, continued she, lifting her hands to heaven, it is thus I am received. Adieu, Granville. My love has still pursued you with unremitting constancy, but it shall be your torment no longer. I will no longer tax your compassion for a fond wretch, who perhaps deserves the scorn she meets. She was leaving the tent. I was immovably rooted to the ground while she spake. I caught her by the coat. Oh, leave me not, dearest of women. Leave me not. You know not the love and distress which tear this wretched bosom by turns. Endure me not by doubting the first, and if you knew the latter, you would find me an object entitled to your utmost pity. Oh, that my heart was laid open to your view. Then you would see it had wasted with anguish on the supposition of your death. Yes, Maria, I thought you dead. I had a too exalted idea of your worth to assign any cause. I never called you cruel or doubted your faith. Your memory lived in my fond breast, such as my tenderness painted you. But you can think meanly of me, and put the utmost ungenerous construction on the severest affliction that ever tore the heart of man. Oh, my Granville, said she, raising me. How have I been ungenerous? Is the reunification of my country, relations, and even sex a proof of want of generosity? Will you never know, or knowing, understand me? I believe you have suffered, greatly suffered. Your pallid countenance too plainly evinces it. But we shall now, with the blessings of heaven, soon see an end to them. A few months will make me mistress of my fortune. In the meantime I will live with my faithful Hannah retired. Only now and then let me have the consolation of seeing you, and hearing from your lips a confirmation that I have not forfeited your affection. I said all that my heart dictated, to reassure my lovely heroic Maria, and calm her griefs. I made her take some refreshment, and as the night was now far spent, and we yet had much to say, we agreed to pass it in the tent. My Maria began to make me a little detail of all that had happened. She painted out the persecutions of her father in the liveliest colors, the many artifices he used to weaken her attachment to me, the feigning me in constant, and, when he found her opinion of my faith too firmly rooted, he procured a certificate of my death. As she was then released from her engagement, he more strongly urged her to marry, but she has resolutely refused. On his being one day more than commonly urgent, she knelt down and said, in the most solemn manner, Thou knowest, O God, had it pleased thee to have continued him I doted on in this life, that I was bound, by the most powerful asservations, to be his and only his. Hear me now, O God, while I swear still to be wedded to his memory. In thy eye I was his wife. I attest thee to witness, that I will never be any other. In his grave shall all my tenderness be buried, and with him shall it rise to heaven. Her father became outrageous and swore, if she would not give him a son, he would give her a mother, and in consequence married the housekeeper, a woman sorted as himself and whose principles and sentiments were as low as her birth. The faithful Hannah had been discharged some time before on finding out she aided our correspondence. My letters had been for a long time intercepted. Maria, one day, without the least notice, was taken out of her chamber and conveyed to a small house in the hundreds of Essex, to some relations of her new mother's in hopes, as she found, that grief and the unhealthiness of the place might make an end of her before she came of age. After a series of ill-usage and misfortunes, she at length was so fortunate as to make her escape. She wrote to Hannah, who came instantly to her. From her she learned I was still living. She then formed the resolution of coming over to Germany, dreading again falling into the hands of her cruel parent. The plan was soon fixed on and put in execution. To avoid the dangers of traveling they agreed to put on men's clothes, and Maria, to ensure her safety, dressed herself like an English officer charged with dispatches to the British army. While she was proceeding in her narrative, I heard the drumbeat to arms. I started, in turn, pale. Maria hastily demanded the cause of this alternation. I informed her, we are going to prepare for battle. And what O is to become of you? O Maria, the service I am going on is hazardous to the last degree. I shall follow the sacrifice, but what will become of you? Die with you, said she, firmly rising and drawing her sword. When I raise my arm, continued she, who will know it is a woman's? Nature has stamped me with that sex, but my soul shirks not at danger. In what am I different from the Romans, or even from some of the ancient Britons? They could lose their lives for less cause than what I see before me. As I am firmly resolved not to outlive you, so I am equally determined to share your fate. You are certainly desirous my sex should remain concealed. I wish the same, and believe me, no womanish weakness on my part shall betray it. Tell your commander I am a volunteer under your direction, and assure yourself you will find me possessed of sufficient courage to bear any and everything for your sake. I forbore not to paint out the horrors of war in the most dreadful colors. I shudder at them, said she, but I am not intimidated. In short, all my arguments were in vain. She vowed she would follow me. Either you love me, Granville, or you love me not. If the first, you cannot refuse me the privilege of dying with you. If the last sad fate should be mine, the sooner I lose my life the better. While I was yet using diswasives, the captain entered my tent. Come, Granville, said he, make preparations, my good lad. There will be hot work today for us all. I would have chosen a less dangerous situation for you, but this was your own desire. However, I hope heaven will spare you. I could have almost wished I had not been so precipitant, as here is a young volunteer who will accompany me. So young and courageous, said the captain, advancing towards my Maria. I am sure, by your looks, you have never seen service. But I have gone through great danger, sir, she answered, blushing. And with so brave an officer as Lieutenant Granville, I shall not be fearful of meeting even death. Well said, my little hero, rejoined he, only that as a volunteer you have a right to choose your commander. I should be happy to have the bringing you into the field myself. Let us, however, as this may be the last time we meet on earth, drink one glass to our success. Granville, you can furnish us. We soon then bid each other a solemn adieu. I prevailed on Maria and Port Hanna, who was almost dead with fares, to lie down on my pallet bed, if possible, to procure a little rest. I retired to the outside of the tent, and kneeling down, put up the most fervent prayers to heaven that the heart of a man could frame. I then threw myself on some baggage, and slept with some composure till the second drumbeat. Hanna hung around her mistress, but such was her respect and deference that she opened not her lips. We began our march, my brave heroine close at my side, with all the stillness possible. We gained a narrow part of the wood, where we wanted to make good our paths, but here, either by the treachery of our own people, or the vigilance of our enemy, our scheme was entirely defeated. We marched on without opposition, and flushed with the appearance of success. We went boldly on, till too far advanced to make a retreat. We found ourselves surrounded by a party of the enemy's troops. We did all in our power to recover our advantage, and lost several men in our defense. Numbers, however, at last prevailed, and those who were not left dead on the field were made prisoners, among whom were my Maria and myself. I was wounded in the side and in the right arm. She providentially escaped unhurt. We were conveyed to the camp of the enemy, where I was received with the respect that one brave man shows another. I was put into the hospital, where my faithful Maria attended me with the utmost diligence and tenderness. When the event of this day's disaster was carried to the British camp, it struck a damp on all. But poor Hannah, in a frenzy of distress, ran about, wringing her hands, proclaiming her sex and that of the supposed volunteer, and entreating the captain to use his interest to procure our release. She gave him a brief detail of our adventures, and conducted by extolling the character of her beloved mistress. The captain, who had at that time a great regard for me, was touched at the distressful story, and made a report to the commander-in-chief, who, after getting the better of the enemy in an engagement, proposed an exchange of prisoners, which being agreed to, and I being able to bear the removal, we were once more at liberty. I was conveyed to a small town near our encampment, where my dear Maria and old Hannah lay aside their great Hussar cloaks, which they would never be prevailed on to put off, and resume their petticoats. This adventure caused much conversation in the camp, and all the officers were desirous of beholding so martial a female. But, notwithstanding the extraordinary step she had been induced to take, Miss Maynard possessed all the valued delicacy of her sex in a very eminent degree, and therefore kept very recluse, devoting herself entirely to her attendance on me. Fearful that her reputation might suffer, now her sex was known, I urged her to complete my happiness by consenting to our marriage. She, at first, made some difficulties, which I presently obviated, and the chaplain of the regimen performed the ceremony, my captain acting as her father, and as he said, bestowing on me the greatest blessing a man could deserve. I was now the happiest of all earthly creatures, nor did I feel the least allay, but in some times, on returning from duty in the field, finding my Maria uncommonly grave. On inquiry she used to attribute it to my absence, and indeed her melancholy would wear off, and she would resume all her wanted cheerfulness. About three months after our marriage, my dear wife was seized with the smallpox, which then raged in the town. I was almost distracted with my apprehensions, her life was in eminent danger. I delivered myself up to the most gloomy presages. How I am marked out for misfortune, said I, I am destined to lose both my wives on the eve of their coming of age. Her disorder was attended with some of the most alarming symptoms. At length it pleased heaven to hear my prayers, and a favourable crisis presented itself. With joy I made a sacrifice of her beauty, happy in still possessing the mental perfections of this most excellent of women. The fear of losing her had endeared her so much, the more to me, that every mark of her distemper reminding me of my danger served to render her more valuable in my eyes. My caresses and tenderness were redoubled, and the loss of charms, which could not make her more engaging to her husband, gave my Maria no concern. Our fears, however, were again alarmed on Hannah's account. That good and faithful domestic caught the infection. Her fears and attention on her beloved mistress had injured her constitution before this baleful distemper seized her. She fell a sacrifice to it. Maria wept over the remains of one who had rendered herself worthy of the utmost consideration. It was a long time before she could recover her spirits. When the remembrance of her loss had a little worn off, we passed our time very agreeably. And I, one day, remarking the smiles I always found on my Maria's face, pressed to know the melancholy which had formerly given me so much uneasiness. I may now, said she, resolve your question. Without any hazard, the cause is now entirely removed. You know there was a time when I was thought handsome. I never wished to appear so in any other eyes than yours. Unfortunately, another thought so, and took such measures to make me sensible of the impression my beauty had made as rendered me truly miserable. Since I am as dear to you as ever, I am happy in having lost charms that were fated to inspire an impetuous passion in one, who, but for me, might have still continued your friend. I asked no more. I was convinced she meant the captain, who had sought to do me some ill offices, but which I did not resent, as I purposed quitting the army at the end of the campaign. By her desire I took no notice of his profidity, only by avoiding every opportunity of being in his company. One day, about a fortnight after Maria came of age, I was looking over some English newspapers, which a brother officer had lent me to read, in which I saw this extraordinary paragraph. Last week I was interred the body of Miss Maria Maynard, daughter of James Maynard Esquire, of El, in Bedfordshire, age twenty years, ten months, and a fortnight. Had she lived till she attained the full age of twenty one, she would have been possessed of an estate worth upwards of forty thousand pounds, which now comes to her father, the above mentioned James Maynard Esquire. By a whimsical and remarkable desire of the deceased, a large quantity of quick lime was put into the coffin. This piece of intelligence filled us with astonishment. As we could not conceive what end it was likely to answer. But, on my looking up to Maria, by way of gathering some light from her opinion, and seeing not only the whole form of her face, but the entire cast of her countenance changed. It immediately struck into my mind, that it would be a difficult matter to prove her identity, especially as by the death of Hannah we had lost our only witness. This may appear very trivial circumstance to most people. But, when we consider what kind of man we had to deal with, it will wear a more serious aspect. It was plain he would go to very great lengths to secure the estate, since he had taken such extraordinary measures to obtain it. He had likewise another motive, for by his second marriage he had a son. It is well known that the property of quick lime is to destroy the features in a very short space, by which means, should we insist on the bodies being taken up, no doubt he had used the precaution of getting a supposititious one. And, in all probability, the quality of the lime would have lifted very difficult to ascertain the likeness after such methods being used to destroy it. We had certainly some reason for our apprehensions that the father would disown his child, when it was so much his interest to support his own ascitation of her death, and when he had gone so far as to actually make a sham funeral, and above all, when no one who had been formerly acquainted with could possibly know her again, so he was she altered both in voice and features. However, the only step we could take was to set off for England with all expedition, which accordingly we did. I wrote to Mr. Maynard a letter, in which I enclosed one from his daughter. He did not deign to return any answer. I then consulted some able lawyers. They made not the least out of my recovering my wife's fortune as soon as I proved their identity. That I could have told them, but the difficulty arose how I should do it. None of the officers were in England, who had seen her both before and after the smallpox, and whose evidence might not have been useful. Talking over the affair to an old gentleman, who had been acquainted with my first wise father, and who likewise knew Maria. I have not a doubt, said he, but this lady is the daughter of old Maynard, because you both tell me so, otherwise I could never have believed it. But I do not well know what all this dispute is about. I always understood you was to inherit your estate from your first wife. She lived till she became of age. Did she not? According to law, said I, she certainly did. She died that very day, but she could not make a will. I am strangely misinformed, replied he, if you had not a right to it from that moment. But what say the writings? Those I never saw, returned I, as I married without the consent of my wife's relations. I had no claim to demand the side of them, and as she died before she could call them hers, I had no opportunity. Then you have been wronged, take my word for it. I assert that her fortune was hers on the day of marriage, unconditionally. I advise you to go to law with the old rogue. I beg your pardon, madam, for calling your father so. Go to law with him for the recovery of your first wife's estate, and let him thank heaven his daughter is so well provided for. This was happy news for us. I changed my plan, and brought an action against him for detaining my property. In short, after many hearings and appeals, I had the satisfaction of casting him. But I became father to your sister and yourself before the cause was determined. We were driven to the utmost straits while it was in agitation. At last, however, right prevailed, and I was put in possession of an estate I had unjustly been kept out of many years. Now I thought myself perfectly happy. Fortune, said I, is at length tired of persecuting me, and I have before me the most felitious prospect. Alas, how short-sighted is man! In the midst of my promised scene of permanent delight, the most dreadful of misfortunes overtook me. My beloved Maria fell into the most violent disorder after having been delivered of a dead child. Good God! What was my situation? To be reduced to pray for the death of her who made up my whole scheme of happiness! Dear, dear Maria, thy image still lives in my remembrance, that seeks thee still in many a former scene, seeks thy fair form, thy lovely beaming eyes, thy pleasing confers, by gay lively scents, inspired, whose moral wisdom mildly shone, without the toil of art and virtue glowed, in all her smiles without forbidding pride. Oh, my Julia! Such was thy mother! My heart has never tasted happiness since her lamented death, yet I cease not to thank heaven for the blessings it has given me in thee and my Luisa. May I see you both happy in a world that, to me, has lost its charms. The death of my Maria seemed to detach me from all society. I had been met with too many bad people in it to have any regard for it, and now the only chain that held me was broken. I retired hither, and in my first proxisms of grief, vowed never to quit this recluse spot, where, for the first years of your infancy, I brooded my misfortunes, till I became habituated and annured to melancholy. I was always happy when either you or your sister had an opportunity of seeing a little world. Perhaps my vow was a rash one, but it is sacred. As your inclination was not of a retired turn, I consented to a marriage, which I hope will be conducive to your felicity. Heaven grant it may. Oh, most gracious Providence, let me not be so crust as to see my children unhappy. I feel I could not support such an afflicting stroke, but I will not participate in evil I continually pray to heaven to avert. Adieu, my child, may you meet with no accident or misfortune to make you out of love with the world. Thy tender and affectionate father. I have just perused my father's long packet. I shall not, however, comment upon it, till I have opened my whole mind to you in a more particular manner than I yet have done. The first part of my father's letter has given me much concern by awakening some doubts which I knew not subsisted in my bosom. He asks such questions relative to my real state of happiness as distress me to answer. I have examined my most inward thoughts. Shall I tell you, my Louisa, the examination does not satisfy me. I believe in this life and particularly in this town we must not search too deeply. To be happy we must take both persons and things as we in general find them without scrutinizing too closely. The researches are not attended with that pleasure we would wish to find. The mind may be amused or more properly speaking employed so as not to give it leisure to think, and I fancy the people in this part of the world as team reflection and evil and therefore keep continually hurrying from place to place to leave no room or time for it. For my own part I sometimes feel some little compunction of mind from the dissipated life I lead and wish I had been cast in a less tumultuous scene. I even sometimes venture to propose to Sir William a scheme of spending a little more time at home, telling him it will be more for our advantage with respect to our health as the repeated hurries in which we are engaged must in future be hurtful to us. He laughs at my sober plan. Nothing, he says, is so serviceable to the body as unbending the mind as to the rest my notions are owing to the prejudices of education but that in time he hopes my rusticity will yield to the tongue. For God's sake, he continues, make yourself ready, you know you are to be at the opera or somewhere or other. So away goes reflection and we are whirled away in the stream of dissipation with the rest of the world. This seems a very sufficient reason for everything we do. The rest of the world does so. That's quite enough. But does it convey to the heart that inward secret pleasure which increases on reflection? Too sure it does not. However, it has been my invariable plan from which I have not nor do I intend to recede to be governed in these matters by the will of my husband. He is some years older than me and has had great experience in life. It shall be my care to preserve my health and morals. In the rest, he must be my guide. My mind is not at the same time quite at ease. I foresee I shall have some things to communicate to you which I shall be unwilling should meet my father's eye. Perhaps the world is altered since he resided in it and from the novelty to him the present modes may not meet his approbation. I would wish carefully to conceal everything from him which might give him pain and which is not in his remedy. To you, my Louisa, I shall ever use the most unbounded confidence. I may sometimes tell you I am dissatisfied, but when I do so it will not be so much out of a desire of complaint as to induce you to give me your advice. Ah, you would be ten times fitter to live in the world than I. Your solidity and excellent judgment would point out the proper path and how far you might stray in it unhurt, while my vivacity impels me to follow the gay multitude, and when I look back, I am astonished to behold the progress I have made. But I will accustom myself to relate every circumstance to you, though they may in themselves be trivial, yet I know your affection to me will find them interesting. Your good sense will point out to you what part of our correspondence will be fit for my father's ear. I mention to you two ladies to whose protection and countenance I have been introduced by Sir William. I do not like either of them, and wish it had suited him to have procured me intimates more adapted to my sentiments. And now we are upon this subject, I must say, I should have been better pleased with my husband if he had proposed your coming to town with me. He may have a high opinion of my integrity and discretion, but he ought in my mind to have reflected how very young I was, and he scruples not frequently to say how totally unlearned in polite life. Should I not then have a real protector and friend? I do not mention my early years by way of begging an excuse for any impropriety of conduct, far from it. There is no age in which we do not know right from wrong, nor is extreme youth an extenuation of guilt, but there is a time of life which wants attention and should not be left too much to its own guidance. With the best propensities in the world, we may be led either by the force of example, or real want of judgment, too far in the flowery path of pleasure. Every scene I engage in has the charm of novelty to recommend it. I see all to whom I am introduced do the same. Besides, I am following the taste of Sir William. But I am, if I may be allowed to say so, too artless. Perhaps what I think is his inclination may be only to make trial of my natural disposition. Though he may choose to live in the highest tone, he may secretly wish his wife a more retired turn. How then shall I act? I do everything with a cheerful countenance, but that proceeds from my desire of pleasing him. I accommodate myself to what I think his taste, but owing to my ignorance of mankind I may be defeating my own purpose. I once slightly hinted as much to Lady Bessford. She burst out into a fit of laughter at my duty as principles. I supposed I was wrong by exciting her mirth. This is not the method of reforming me for my errors, but thus I am in general treated. It reminds me of a character in the spectator who, being very beautiful, was kept in perfect ignorance of everything, and who, when she made any inquiry in order to gain knowledge, was always put by with, you are too handsome to trouble yourself about such things. This, according to the present fashion, may be polite, but I am sure it is neither friendly nor satisfactory. Her ladyship the other day showed me a very beautiful young woman, Lady T. She is going to be separated from her husband, said she. On my expressing my surprise, shah, there is nothing surprising in those things, she added. It is customary in this world to break through stone walls to get together this year, and break a commandment the next to get us under. But with regard to her ladyship, I do not know that she has been imprudent. The cause of their disagreement proceeds from a propensity she has for gaming, and my lord has resolved not to be any longer answerable for her debts, having more of that sort on his own hands than he can well discharge. Thus she favors me with sketches of the people of fashion. Alas, Louisa, are these people to make companions of? They may for want of better be acquaintance, but never can be friends. By her account there is not a happy couple that frequents St. James. Happiness in her estimate is not an article in the married state. Are you not happy? I asked one day. Happy? Why yes, probably I am. But you do not suppose my happiness proceeds from my being married any further than that state allowing greater latitude and freedom than the single? I enjoy title, rank, and liberty by bearing Lord Bedford's name. We do not disagree because we very seldom meet. He pursues his pleasures one way, I seek mine another, and our dispositions being very opposite they are sure never to interfere with each other. I am, I give you my word, a very unexceptionable wife, and can say what few women of quality would be able to do that spoke truth that I never indulged myself in the least liberty with other men till I had secured my Lord a lawful heir. I felt all horror and astonishment. She saw the emotion she excited. Come, don't be prudish, said she. My conduct in the eye of the world is irreproachable. My Lord kept a mistress from the first moment of his marriage. What law allows those privileges to a man and excludes a woman from enjoying the same? Marriage now is a necessary kind of barter and an alliance of families. The heart is not consulted. Or, if that should sometimes bring a pair together, judgment being left far behind loves seldom last long. In former times a poor foolish woman might languish out her life in sighs and tears for the infidelity of her husband. Thank heaven they are now wiser, but then they should be prudent. I extremely condemn those who are enslaved by their passions and bring a public disgrace on their families by suffering themselves to be detected. Such earn justly are scorn and ridicule, and you may observe they are not taken notice of by anybody. There is a decency to be observed in our amours, and I shall be very ready to offer you advice as you are young and inexperienced. One thing let me tell you. Never admit your chitchat's bail to an unlimited familiarity. They are first suspected. Never take notice of your favourite before other people. There are a thousand ways to make yourself amends in secret for that little but necessary sacrifice in public. Nothing, said I, but the conviction that you are only bantering me should have induced me to be wrong, but be assured, madam, such discourses are extremely disagreeable to me. You are a child, said she, in these matters. I am not, therefore, angry or surprised, but when you find all the world like myself you will cease your astonishment. Would to heaven, cried I, I had never come into such a depraved world. How much better had it been to have continued ignorance and innocence in the retirement in which I was bred? However, I hope with the seeds of virtue which I imbibed in my infancy I shall be able to go through life with honour to my family and integrity to myself. I mean never to engage in any kind of amour, so shall never stand in need of your ladyship's advice, which I must say I cannot think Sir William would thank you for, or can have the least idea you would offer. She assured me Sir William knew too much of the effect, or even wish, his wife to be different from most women who composed it, but that she had nothing further to say. I might some time hence want a confidant and I should not be unfortunate if I met with no worse than her who had ever conducted herself with prudence and discretion. I then said, I had married Sir William because I preferred him, and that my sentiments would not alter. If you can answer for your best friend, you have a greater knowledge or at least a greater confidence in yourself than most people have. As to your preference of Sir William, I own I am inclined to laugh at your so prettily deceiving yourself. Pray how many men had you seen and been addressed by before your acquaintance with Sir William. Very few I fancy that were likely to make an impression on your heart, or that could be put into a competition with him as a person. So because you thought Sir William Stanley a handsome man and Jen Taylor in his dress than the bores you had been accustomed to see, and to which his being passionately enamored of you, you directly conclude you have given him the preference to all other men and that your heart is devoted to him alone. You may think so. Nay, I dare say you do think so. But believe me a time may come that you may possibly likewise imagine as Sir William was so much in love that you will be forever possessed of his heart. It is almost a pity to overturn so pretty a system. But take my word for it, Lady Stanley, Sir William will soon teach you another lesson. He will soon convince you the matrimonial shackles are not binding enough to abridge him of the fashionable enjoyments of life, and that when he married he did which as a man of the world he is entitled to partake of because love was the principal ingredient and main spring of your engagement. That love may not last forever. He is of a gay disposition and his taste must be fed with variety. I cannot imagine, I rejoined interrupting her ladyship. I cannot imagine what ended is to answer that you seem desirous of planting discord between my husband and me. I do not use on him as, according to your principles, his being married would be no obstacle to that view. Whatever may be the failings of Sir William as his wife it is my duty not to resent them and my interest not to see them. I shall not thank your ladyship for opening my eyes or seeking to develop my sentiments respecting the preference I have showed him any more than he has obliged to you for seeking to corrupt the morals of a woman whom he should be. I hope to preserve that and my own untainted even in this nursery of vice and folly. I fancy Sir William little thought what instructions you would give when he begged your protection. I am however indebted to you for putting me on my guard and be assured I shall be careful to act with all the discretion and prudence you yourself would wish me. Some company coming in put an end to our conversation. I need to be very shy of her ladyship in future. Good God! Are all the world as she calls the circle of her acquaintance like herself? If so, how dreadful to be cast in such a lot. But I will still hope detraction is among the catalog of her failings and that she views the world with jaundice's eyes. As to the male acquaintance of Sir William I cannot say they are higher in my estimation than the other sex. Is it because I am young and ignorant that they, one and all, take the liberty of almost making love to me? Lord Bidolf in particular I dislike and yet he is Sir William's most approved friend. Colonel Montague is another who is eternally here. The only unexceptionable one is a foreign gentleman Baron Taunhausen. There is a modest diffidence in his address which interests one much in his favor. I declare the only blush I have seen since I left Wales was on his cheek when he was introduced. I fancy he is as little-acquainted with the vicious manners of the court as myself as he seemed under some confusion on his first conversation. He is but newly known to Sir William, but being a man of rank and politely received in the Beaumont he is a welcome visitor at our house. But though he comes often he is not obtrusive like the rest. They will never let me be at quiet, for ever proposing this or the other scheme which I observed before I comply with more out of conformity to the will of Sir William than to my own taste. Not that I would have you suppose I do not like any of the public places I frequent. I am charmed at the opera and receive a very high and I think rational delight at a good play. I am far from being an enemy to pleasure but then I wish to have it under some degree of subordination. Let it be the amusement, not the business of life. Lord Bidolf is what Lady Bessford styles, my chitchat's bail. That is, he takes upon him the task of attending me to public places, calling my chair, handing me refreshments and such like. But I assure you I do not approve of him in the least. And Lady Bessford may be assured I shall at least follow her kind advice in this particular not to admit him to familiarities. Though his lordship seems ready enough to avail himself of all opportunities of being infinitely more assiduous than I wish him. Was this letter to meet the eye of my father, I doubt he would repent his ready acquiescence to my marriage. He would not think the scenes in which I am involved an equivalent for the calm joys I left in the mountains. And was he to know that Sir William and I have not met these three days but at meals and then surrounded with company. He would not think the tenderness of a husband a recompense for the loss of a father's and sister's affection. I do not however do well to complain. I have no just reasons and it is a weakness to be uneasy without a cause. Adieu then, my Louisa. Be assured my heart shall never know a change either in its virtuous principles or in its tender love to you. I might have been happy superlatively so with Sir William in a desert, but in this veil of vice it is impossible unless one can adapt one's sentiments to the well of those one is among. I will be everything I can without forgetting to be what I ought in order to merit the affection you have ever showed to your faithful Julia Stanley. End of letter 10. Letter 11 of the Sylph. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Devorah Allen. The Sylph. By Georgiana Cavendish. Duchess of Devonshire. Letter 11. To Lady Stanley. Three days, my Julia, and never met but at meals. Good God! To what can this strange behavior be owing? You say you tell me every circumstance. Have you had any disagreement? And is this the method your husband takes to show his resentment? Ah, Julia. My father? Do you think I would precipitate him with sorrow to the grave? Or at least wound his reverend bosom with such anguish? No, Julia. I will burst my heart in silence but never tell my grief. Alas, my sister, friend of my soul, why are we separated? The loss of your loved society I would sacrifice. Could I but hear you were happy? But can you be so among such wretches? Yet be comforted, my Julia. Have confidence in the rectitude of your own actions and thoughts. But above all, petition heaven to support you in all trials. Be assured, while you have the protection of the Almighty, these impious, vile wretches will not cannot prevail against you. Your virtue will shine out more conspicuously while surrounded with their vices. That horrid Lady Besford, I am sure you feel all the detestation you ought for such a character. As you become acquainted with other people, and they cannot be all so bad, you may take an opportunity of shaking her off. Dear creature, how art thou beset? Surely Sir William is very thoughtless. With his experience he ought to have known how improper such a woman was for the protector of his wife. And why must this Lord, what's his odious name? Why is he to be your escort? Is it not the husband's province to guard and defend your wife? What a world are you cast in? I find poor Wynn has written to her Aunt Bailey and complains heavily of her situation. She says Griffith is still more discontented than herself since he is the jest of all the other servants. They both wish themselves at home again. She likewise tells Mrs. Bailey that she is not fit to dress you according to the fashion and gives a whimsical account of the many different things you put on and pull off when you are dressed. If she is of no use to you I wish she would send her back before her morals are corrupted. Consider she has not had the advantage of education as you have had and being without those resources within may the more easily fall to a prey to some insidious betrayer. For no doubt in such a place clowns as well can act the rake as those in higher sphere. Let her return then if she is willing as innocent and artless as she left us. Oh, that I could enlarge that wish. I should have been glad had you had Mrs. Bailey with you. She might have been of some service to you. Her long residence in our family would have given her some weight in yours which I doubt is sadly managed by Wynn's account. The servants are disorderly negligent. Don't you think of going into the country? Spring comes forward very fast and next month is the fairest of the year. Would to heaven you were here. I long ardently for your company and rather than forgo it would almost consent to share it with the dissipated tribe you are obliged to associate with. But that privilege is not allowed me. I could not leave my father. Nay, I must further say I should have too much pride to come unasked and you know Sir William never gave me an invitation. I shed tears over the latter part of your letter where you say I could be happy superlatively so with Sir William in a desert. But here it is impossible. Whatever he may think he would be happy too. At least he appeared so while with us. Oh that he could have been satisfied with our calm joys which mend the heart and left those false delusive ones which corrupt and vitiated. Dearest Julia adieu. Believe me you are faithful Luisa Grenville. End of letter 11.