 26. It is happy for me if my actions have stood so much in my favour as to make any return for the obligations which I feel I want words to express. Alas, what would have become of me without the friendly, the paternal admonitions of my kind self? Spare me not, tell me all my faults, for notwithstanding your partiality I find them numerous. I feel the necessity of having those admonitions often enforced, and am apprehensive I shall grow troublesome to you. Till then, my friend, allow me to have recourse to him on any important occasion, or what may appear so to me. Surely an implicit observance of his precepts will be the least return I can make for his disinterested interposition in my favour, and thus, as it were, stepping in between me and ruin. Believe me, my heart overflows with a grateful sense of these unmerited benefits, and feels the strongest resolution to persevere in the paths of rectitude so kindly pointed out to me by the hand of heaven. I experience a sincere affliction that the renunciation of part of my future subsistence should not have had the desired effect, but none that I have parted with it. My husband is young and blessed with a most excellent constitution, which even his irregularities have not injured. I am young likewise, but of a more delicate frame, which the repeated hurries I have for many months past lived, joined to a variety of other causes from anxieties and inquietude of mind, have not a little impaired, so that I have not a remote idea of living to want what I have already bestowed or may hereafter resign for the benefit of my husband's creditors. Yet in this, as well as everything else, I will submit to your more enlightened judgment and abide most cheerfully by your decision. Would to heaven, sir William would listen to such an advisor? Yet might retrieve his affairs. We yet might be happy. But alas, he will not suffer his reason to have any sway over his actions. He hurries on to ruin with hasty strides, nor ever casts one look behind. The perturbation these sad reflections create in my bosom will apologize to my worthy guide for the abruptness of this conclusion, as well as the incorrectness of the whole. May heaven reward you, praise your ever-grateful Julia Stanley. END OF LETTER XXVI. LETTERS 27 AND 28 OF THIS SILF. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Céline Mejour. THE SILF by Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. To Miss Grenville. I feel easier in my mind, my dearest Louisa, since I have established a sort of correspondence with the SILF. I can now, when any intricate circumstance arises, which your distance may disable you from being serviceable in, have an almost immediate assistance in, or at least the concurrence of, my SILF, my guardian angel. In a letter I received from him the other day he told me, that time might come when he should lose his influence over me. However remote the period, as there was a possibility of his living to see it, the idea filled his mind with sorrow. The only method his SILF could divine of still possessing the privilege of superintending my concerns would be to have some pledge from me. He flattered himself I should not scruple to indulge this only weakness of humanity he discovered, since I might rest assured he had it neither in his will or inclination to make an ill use of my condescension. The rest of the letter contained advice as usual. I only made this extract to tell you my determination on this head. I think to send a little locket with my hair in it. The design I have formed in my mind and, when it is completed, will describe it to you. I have seriously reflected on what I had written to you in my last concerning Miss Finch and, let me not practice disingenuity to my beloved sister, the Barrington-Hausen. Miss Finch called on me yesterday morning. She brought her work. I am come, said she, to spend some hours with you. I wish, returned I, you would enlarge your plan and make it the whole day. With all my heart, she replied, if you are to be alone, for I wish to have a good deal of chat with you, and hope we shall have no male impertinence break in upon our little female t-t-t. I knew Sir William was out for the day and gave orders I should not be at home to anyone. As soon as we were quite by ourselves, Lord, said she, I was monstrously flurried coming hither, for I met Montague in the park and could hardly get clear of him. I was fearful he would follow me here. As she first mentioned him, I thought it gave me a kind of right to ask her some questions concerning that gentleman and the occasion of her rupture with him. She answered me very candidly. To tell you the truth, my dear Lady Stanley, it is but lately I had much idea that it was necessary to love one's husband in order to be happy in marriage. He astonished me, I cried. Nay, but hear me. Reflect how we young women who are born in the air of the court are bred. Our heads failed with nothing but pleasure. Let the means of procuring it be almost what you will. We marry, but without any notion of its being an union for life, only a few years, and then we make a second choice. But I have lately thought otherwise, and in consequence of these my more serious reflections am convinced Colonel Montague and I might make a fashionable couple, but never a happy one. I used to laugh at his gayities and foolishly thought myself flattered by the attentions of a man whom half my sex had found dangerous. But I never loved him, that I am now more convinced of than ever, and as to reforming his morals, oh, it would not be worth the pains if the thing was possible. Let the women be ever so exemplary, their conduct will have no influence over these professed rakes. These rakes upon principle, as that iniquitous Lord Chesterfield has taught our youth to be. Only look at yourself. I do not mean to flatter you. What effect has your mildness, your thousand and ten thousand good qualities, for I will not pretend to enumerate them, had over the mind of your husband? None. On my conscience I believe it has only made him worse, as he knew he never should be censured by such a pattern of meekness. And what chance should such a one as I have with one of these modern husbands? I fear me I should become a modern wife. I think I am not vain glorious when I say I have not a bad heart and am ambitious of emulating a good example. On these considerations alone I resolve to give the Colonel his dismission. He pretended to be much hurt by my determination, but I really believe the loss of my fortune is his greatest disappointment as I find he has too if not more mistresses to console him. It would hardly be fair, said I, after your candid declaration to call any part in question, or else I should be tempted to ask you if you had really no other motive for your rejection of the Colonel's suit. You scrutinize pretty closely, returned Miss Finch, blushing, but I will make no concealments. I have a man in my eye with whom I think the longer the union lasted the happier I, at least, should be. Do I know the happy man? Indeed you do, and one of some consequence, too. It cannot be Lord Bidolf. Lord Bidolf? No, indeed. Not Lord Bidolf, I assure your ladyship, though he has a title, but not an English one. To you, my dear Louisa, I use no reserve. I felt a sickishness and chill all over me, but recovering instantly, or rather I fear, desirous of appearing unaffected by what she said, I immediately rejoined. So then I may wish the Baron joy of his conquest, a faint smile which barely concealed my anguish accompanied my speech. Why should I be ashamed of saying I think the Baron the most amable man in the world, though it is but lately I have allowed his superior merit the preference? Indeed, I did not know so much of him as within these few weeks I have had opportunity. He is certainly very amiable, said I. But don't you think it very close? I felt ill. I believe I must open the window for a little air. Pursue your panagery, my dear Miss Finch. I was rather overcome by the warmth of the day. I am better now. Pray, proceed. Well then, it is not because he is handsome that I give him this preference, for I do not know whether Montague has not a finer person. Observe, I make this a doubt, for I think those marks of the smallpox give an additional expression to his features. What say you? I am no competent judge, I answered. But in my opinion, those who do most justice to Baron Tonhausen will forget or overlook the graces of his person, in the contemplation of the more estimable, because more permanent beauties of his mind. What an elegant panagiarist you are. In three words you have comprised his eulogium, which I should have spent hours about, and not so completed at last. But the opportunity I hinted at having had of late, of discovering more of the Baron's character, is this. I was one day walking in the park with some ladies. The Baron joined us. A well-looking old man, but meanly dressed, met us. He fixed his eyes on Tonhausen. He started then, clasping his hands together, exclaimed with eagerness, It is. It must be he. Oh, sir, O thou best of men! My good friend, said the Baron, while his face was crimson over. My good friend, I am glad to see you in health, but be more moderate. I never before thought him handsome, but such a look of benevolence accompanied his soft accents that I fancied him something more than mortal. Pardon my two lively expressions, the old man answered. But gratitude, O for such benefits! You sir may and have a right to command my lips. But my eyes, my eyes will bear testimony. His voice was now almost choked with sobs and the tears flowed plentifully. I was extremely moved at this scene and had likewise a little female curiosity excited to develop this mystery. I saw the Baron wish to conceal his own and the old man's emotions so walked a little aside with him. I took that opportunity of whispering my servant to find out if possible where this man came from and discover the state of this adventure. The ladies and myself naturally were chatting on this subject when the Baron rejoined our party. Poor fellow, said he, he is so full of gratitude for my having rendered a slight piece of service to his family and fancies he owes every blessing in life to me for having placed two or three of his children out in the world. We were unanimous in praising the generosity of the Baron and were making some hard reflections on the infrequency of such examples among the affluent when Montague came up. He begged to know on whom we were so severe. I told him in three words and pointed to the object of the Baron's bounty. He looked a little chagrined which I attributed to my commendations of this late instance of worth as I believe I expressed myself with that generous warmth which a benevolent action excites an abreast capable of feeling and wishing to emulate such patterns. After my return home my servant told me he had followed the old man to his lodgings which were in an obscure part of the town where he saw him received by a woman nearly his own age, a beautiful girl of eighteen and two little boys. James who really is an adroit fellow farther said that by way of introduction he told them to whom he was servant, that his lady was attached to their interest from something the Baron had mentioned concerning them and had in earnest of her future intention sent them a half guinea. At the name of the Baron the old folks lifted up their hands and blessed him. The girl blushed and cast down her eyes. And said James. I thought my lady she seemed to pray for him with greater fervor than the rest. He is the noblest of men, echoed the old pair. He is indeed, sighed the young girl. My heart my lady ran over at my eyes to see the thankfulness of these four people. They begged me to make their grateful acknowledgments to your ladyship for your bounty and hoped the worthy Baron would convince you it was not thrown away on base or forgetful folks. James was not farther inquisitive about their affairs judging very properly that I should choose to make some inquiries myself. The next day I happened to meet the Baron at your house. I hinted to him how much my curiosity had been excited by the adventure in the park. He made very light of it, saying his services were only common ones. But that the object having had a tolerable education, his expressions were rather adapted to his own feelings than to the merit of the benefit. Ah, Baron I cried. There is more in this affair than you think proper to communicate. I shall not cease persecuting you till you let me a little more into it. I feel myself interested, and you must oblige me with a recital of the circumstances, for which purpose I will set you down in my vis-à-vis. Are you not aware, my dear Miss Finch, of the pain you will put me to in resounding my own praise? What can be more perplexing to a modest man? A truce with your modesty in this instance, I replied. Be just to yourself and generously indulgent to me. He bowed and promised to gratify my desire. When we were seated, I will now obey you, madam, said the Baron. A young fellow who was the lover of the daughter to the old man you saw yesterday was invagled by some soldiers to enlist in Colonel Montague's regiment. The present times are so critical that the idea of a soldier's life is full of terror in the breast of a tender female. Nancy Johnson was in a state of distraction, which the consciousness of her being rather too severe in a late dispute with her lover served to heighten as she fancied herself the cause of his resolution. Being a fine young man of six feet, he was too eligible an object for the Colonel to wish to part from. Great intercession, however, was made but to no effect, for he was ordered to join the regiment. You must conceive the distress of the whole family. The poor girl broken-hearted. Her parents hanging over her in anguish and ardent to restore the peace of mind of their darling, forming the determination of coming up to town to solicit his discharge from the Colonel. By accident I became equated with their distressed situation, and from my intimacy with Montague procured them the blessing they sought for. I have provided him with a small place and made a trifling addition to her portion. They are shortly to be married, and of course I hope happy. And now, madam, he continued, I have acquitted myself of my engagement to you. I thanked him for his recital and said, I doubted not his pleasure was near as great as theirs, for to a mind like his a benevolent action must carry a great reward with it. Happiness and pleasure, he answered, are both comparative in some degree, and to feel them in their most exquisite sense must be after having been deprived of them for a long time. We see ourselves possessed of them when hope had forsaken us. When the happiness of man depends on relative objects, he will be frequently liable to disappointment. I have found it so. I have seen every prop on which I had built my schemes of felicity sink one after the other. No other resource was then left but to endeavor to form that happiness in others, which fate had forever prevented my enjoying. And when I succeed I feel a pleasure which for a moment prevents obtruding thoughts from rankling in my bosom. But I ask your pardon, I am too serious. Though my tata-tates with the ladies are usually so. I told him such reflections as his conversation gave rise to excited more heartfelt pleasure than the broadest smirth could ever bestow. That I too was serious, and I hoped should be a better woman as long as I lived from the resolution I had formed of attending for the future to the happiness of others more than I had done. Here our conversation ended for we arrived at his house. I went home full of the idea of the Baron and his recital, which though I gave him credit for I did not implicitly believe, at least as to circumstance, though I might to substance. I was kept waking the whole night in comparing the several parts of the barons and James's accounts. In short, the more I ruminated the more I was convinced there was more in it than the Baron had revealed, and Montague, being an actor in the play, did not a little contribute to my desire of peeping behind the curtain and having the whole drama before me. Accordingly, as soon as I had breakfasted I ordered my carriage and took James for my guide. When we came to the end of the street I got out and a way I tramped to Johnson's lodgings. I made James go up first and apprised them of my coming and out of the goodness of his heart in order to relieve their minds from the perplexity which in superiority always excites, James told them I was the best lady in the world and might for charity pass for the Baron's sister. I heard this as I ascended the staircase, but when I entered I was really struck with the figure of the young girl. Divested of all ornament without the aid of dress or any external advantage I think I never beheld a more beautiful object. I apologised for the abruptness of my appearance amongst them, but added I doubted not as a friend of the barons and an encourager of merit I should not be unwelcome. I begged them to go on with their several employments. They received me with that kind of embarrassment which is usual with people's circumstances they are, who fancy themselves under obligations to the affluent for treating them with common civility. That they might recover their spirits I addressed myself to the two little boys and emptied my pockets to amuse them. I told the good old pair what the Baron had related to me, but fairly I added I did not believe he had told me all the truth which I attributed to his delicacy. Oh! said the young girl, with the best and most noble of minds the Baron possesses the greatest delicacy, but I need not tell you so. You, madam, I doubt not are acquainted with his excellencies, and may he in you receive his earthly reward for the good he has done to us. Oh, madam, he has saved me both soul and body, but for him I had been the most undone of all creatures. Sure he was our better angel, sent down to stand between us and destruction. Wonder not, madam, said the father, at the lively expressions of my child. Gratitude is the best master of eloquence. She feels, madam, we all feel the force of the advantages we derive from that worthy man. Good God! What had been our situation at this moment had we not owed our deliverance to the Baron? I am not, said I, entirely acquainted with the whole of your story. The Baron I am certain concealed great part, but I should be happy to hear the particulars. The old man assured me he had a pleasure in resetting a tale which reflected so much honor on the Baron, and let me, said he, in the pride of my heart, let me add no disgrace on me or mine. For, madam, poverty in the eye of the right judging is no disgrace. Heaven is my witness, I never repined at my lowly station, till by that I was deprived of the means of rescuing my beloved family from their distress. But what would riches have availed me had the evil befallen me from which that God like man extricated us? Oh, madam, the wealth of words could not have conveyed one ray of comfort to my heart if I could not have looked all round my family and said, Though we are poor, we are virtuous my children. It would be impertinent to trouble you, madam, with a prolix account of my parentage and family. I was once master of a little charity school, but by unavoidable misfortunes I lost it. My eldest daughter, who sits there, was tenderly beloved by a young man in our village whose virtues would have reflected honor on the most elevated character. She did ample justice to his merit. We looked forward to the happy hour that was to render our child's soul, and had formed a thousand little schemes of rational delight to enliven our evening of life. In one short moment the son of our joy was overcast and promised to set in lasting night. On a fatal day my Nancy was seen by a gentleman in the army who was down on a visit to a neighboring squire, my landlord. Her figure attracted his notice and he followed her to our peaceful dwelling. Her mother and I were absent with a sick relation and her protector was out at work with a farmer at some distance. He obtruded himself into our house and begged a draft of ale. My daughter, whose innocence suspected no ale, freely gave him a mug of which he just sipped. Then putting it down swore he would next taste the nectar of her lips. She repelled his boldness with all her strength, which, however, would have availed her but little, had not our next-door neighbor seeing a fine-looking man follow her in harbored a suspicion that all was not right and took an opportunity of coming in to borrow something. Nancy was happy to see her and begged her to stay till our return pretending she could not procure her what she wanted till then. Finding himself disappointed, Colonel Montague, I suppose madam you know him, went away when Nancy informed our neighbor of his proceedings. She had hardly recovered herself from her perturbation when we came home. I felt myself exceedingly alarmed on her account, more particularly as I learnt the Colonel was a man of intrigue and proposed staying some time in the country. I resolved never to leave my daughter at home by herself or suffer her to go out without her intended husband. But the diligence of a fond father was too easily eluded by the subtleties of an enterprising man who spared neither time nor money to compass his allotable schemes. By presence he corrupted that neighbor whose time the interposition had preserved my child in violate. From the friendship she had expressed for us we placed the utmost confidence in her and next to ourselves entrusted her with the future welfare of our daughter. When the outposts are corrupted what fort can remain unendangered. It is, I believe, a received opinion that more women are seduced from the path of virtue by their own sex than by ours. Here it is that the unlimited faith they are apt to put in their own sex weakens the barriers of virtue and renders them less powerful against the attacks of the men or that suspecting no sinister view they throw off their guard. It is certain that an artful and vicious woman is infinitely a more to be dreaded companion than the most abandoned libertine. This false friend used from time to time to administer the poison of flattery to the tender unsuspicious daughter of innocence. But female is free from the seeds of vanity. And unfortunately this bad woman was but too well versed in this destructive art. She continually was introducing instances of handsome girls who had made their fortunes merely from that circumstance. That to be sure the young man her sweetheart had merit. But what a pity a person like hers should be lost to the world. That she believed the Colonel to be too much a man of honor to seduce a young woman though he might like to divert himself with them. What a fine opportunity it would be to raise her family like Pamela Andrews and accordingly placed in the hands of my child those pernicious volumes. Ah, madam, what wonder such artifices should prevail over the ignorant mind of a young rustic. Alas, they sunk too deep. Nancy first learned to dis relish the honest, artless effusions of her first lover's heart. His language was insipid after the luscious speeches and ardent but dishonorable warmth of Mr. B. Blank in the books before mentioned. Taught to despise simplicity she was easily led to suffer their Colonel to plead for pardon for his late boldness. My poor girl's head was now completely turned to see such an accomplished man kneeling at her feet suing for forgiveness and using the most refined expressions and elevating her to a goddess that he may debase her to the lowest dregs of humankind. Oh, madam, what have not such wretches to answer for? The Colonel's professions, however, at present were all within the bounds of honor. A man never scruples to make engagements which he never purposes to fulfill and which he takes care no one shall ever be able to claim. He was very profuse of promises judging at the most likely method of triumphing over her virtue by appearing to respect it. Things were proceeding thus when finding the Colonel's continued stay in our neighborhood I became anxious to conclude my daughter's union hoping that when he should see her married he would entirely lay his schemes aside, for by his hovering about our village I could not remain satisfied or prevent disagreeable apprehensions arising. My daughter was too artless to frame any excuse to protect her wedding and equally so not to discover, by her confusion, that her sentiments were changed. My intended son-in-law saw too clearly that change. Perhaps he had heard more than I had. He made rather a too sharp observation on the alteration in his mistress's features. Duty and respect kept her silent to me, but to him she made an acrimonious reply. He had been that day at market and had taken a two-free draft of ale. His spirits had been elevated by my information that I would that evening fix his wedding-day. The damp on my daughter's brow had therefore a greater effect on him. He could not broke her reply, and his answer to it was a sarcastic reflection on those women who were undone by the red coats. This touched too nearly, and after darting a look of the most ineffable contempt on him Nancy declared whatever might be the consequence she would never give her hand to a man who had dared to treat her on the eve of her marriage with such unexampled insolence. So saying she left the room. I was sorry matters had gone so far and wished to reconcile the pair, but both were too haughty to yield to the intercessions I made, and he loved us with a fixed resolution of making her repent, as he said. As is too common in such cases the public house seemed the properest asylum for the disappointed lover. He there met with a recruiting sergeant of the colonels who, we since find, was sent on purpose to our village to get Nancy's future husband out of the way. The bait unhappily took, and before morning he was enlisted in the king's service. His father and mother half-distracted ran to our house to learn the cause of this rash action in their son. Nancy, whose virtuous attachment to her former lover had only been lulled to sleep, now felt at rouse with redoubled violence. She pictured to herself the dangers he was now going to encounter and accused herself with being the cause. Judging of the influence she had over the colonel she flew into his presence. She begged, she conjured him to give the precipitate young soldier his discharge. He told her he could freely grant anything to her petition, but that it was too much his interest to remove the only obstacle to his happiness out of the way for him to be able to comply with her request. However, continued he, taking her hand, my Nancy has it in her power to preserve the young man. Oh! cried she. How freely would I exert that power? Be mine this moment, said he, and I will promise on my honor to discharge him. By that sacred word, said Nancy, I beg you, sir, to reflect on the cruelty of your conduct to me. What generous professions you have made voluntarily to me! How sincerely have you promised me your friendship! And does all this end in a design to render me the most criminal of beings? My angel! cried the colonel, throwing his arms round her waist and pressing her hand to his lips. Give not so harsh a name to my intentions. No disgrace shall befall you, you are a sensible girl, and I need not, I am sure, tell you, that circumstance as I am in life it would be utterly impossible to marry you. I adore you, you know it. Do not then play the sex upon me and treat me with rigor, because I have candidly confessed I cannot live without you. Consent to bestow on me the possession of your charming person, and I will hide your lovely blushes in my fond bosom, while you shall whisper to my enraptured ear that I shall still have the delightful privilege of an husband, and will Parker shall bear the name. This little delicious private treaty shall be known only to ourselves. Speak, my angel, or rather let me read your willingness in your lovely eyes. If I have been silent, sir, said my poor girl, believe me, it is the horror which I feel at your proposal which struck me dumb. But thus called upon let me say I bless heaven for having allowed me to see your cloven foot while yet I can be out of its reach. You may wound me to the soul and no longer able to conceal her tears. You have most sorely wounded me through the side of William, but I will never consent to enlarge him at the price of my honor. We are poor people. He has not had the advantages of education as you have had. But lowly as his mind is, I am convinced he would first die before I should suffer for his sake. Permit me, sir, to leave you deeply affected with the disappointments I have sustained, and more so that in part I have brought them on myself. Luckily at this moment a servant came in with a letter. You are now engaged, sir, she added, striving to hide her distress from the man. Stay, young woman, said the Colonel. I have something more to say to you on this head. I thank you, sir, said she, curtsying. But I will take the liberty of sending my father to hear what further you may have to say on this subject. He endeavored to detain her, but she took this opportunity of escaping. On her return she threw her arms round her mother's neck unable to speak for sobs. Good God! What were our feelings on seeing her distress, dying to hear yet dreading to inquire? My wife folded her speechless child to her bosom, and in all the agony of despair besought her to explain this mournful silence. Nancy slid from her mother's encircling arms and sunk upon her knees hiding her face in her lap. At last she sobbed out, she was undone for ever. Her William would be hurried away and the Colonel was the basest of men. These broken sentences served but to add to our distraction. We urged a full account. But it was a long time before we could learn the whole particulars. The poor girl now made a full recital of all her folly in having listened so long to the artful addresses of Colonel Montague and the no less artful persuasions of her profiteous neighbor and concluded by imploring our forgiveness. It would have been the height of cruelty to have added to the already deeply wounded Nancy. We assured her of our pardon and spoke all the comfortable things we could devise. She grew tolerably calm and we talked composedly of applying to some persons whom we hoped might assist us. Just at this juncture a confused noise made us run to the door when we beheld some soldiers marching and dragging with them the unfortunate William loaded with irons and handcuffed. On my hastily demanding why he was thus treated like a felon the sergeant answered he had been detected in an attempt to dessert, but that he would be tried to-morrow and might escape with five hundred lashes. But if he did not mend his manners for the future he would be shot as all such cowardly dogs ought to be and added they were on the march to the regiment. Figure to yourself, madam, what was now the situation of poor Nancy? Imagine nation can hardly picture so distressed an object. A heavy stupor seemed to take entire possession of all her faculties. Unless strongly urged she never opened her lips and then only to breathe out the most heart-piercing complaints. As the morning she appeared inclinable to doze and her mother left her bedside and went to her own. When we rose my wife's first business was to go and see how her child fared, but what was her grief and astonishment to find the bed cold and her darling fled? The small scrap of paper containing these few distracted words was all the information we could gain. My dearest father and mother make no inquiry after the most forlorn of all wretches. I am undeserving of your least regard. I fear I have forfeited that of heaven. Yet pray for me. I am myself unable as I shall prove myself unworthy. I am in despair. What that despair may lead to I dare not tell. I dare hardly think. Farewell. May my brothers and sisters repay you the tenderness which has been thrown away on A. Johnson. My wife's shrieks reached my affrighted ears. I flew to her and felt a thousand conflicting passions while I read the dreadful scroll. We ran about the yard and little field every moment terrified with the idea of seeing our beloved child's corpse. For what other interpretation could we put on the alarming notice we had received but that to destroy herself was her intention? All our inquiry failed. I then formed the resolution of going up to London as I heard the regiment was ordered to quarters near town and hoped there. After a fruitless search of some days, our strength and what little money we had collected nearly exhausted, it pleased the mercy of heaven to raise us up a friend, one who like an angel bestowed every comfort upon us. In short all comforts in one, our dear wanderer restored her to us pure and undefiled and obtained us the felicity of looking forward to better days. But I will pursue my long detail with some method and follow my poor distressed daughter through all the sad variety of woe she was doomed to encounter. She told us that as soon as her mother had left her room, she rose and dressed herself, wrote the little melancholy note, then stole softly out of the house resolving to follow the regiment and to preserve her lover by resigning herself to the base wishes of the Colonel, that she had taken the gloomy resolution of destroying herself as soon as his discharge was signed as she could not support the idea of living in infamy. Without money she followed them at a painful distance on foot and sustained herself from the springs and a few berries. She arrived at the market town where they were to take up their quarters and the first news that struck her ear was that a fine young fellow was just then receiving part of five hundred lashes for desertion. Her trembling limbs just bore her to the dreadful scene. She saw the back of her William streaming with blood. She heard his agonizing groans. She saw, she heard no more. She sunk insensible on the ground. The compassion of the crowd around her soon too soon restored her to a sense of her distress. The object of it was at this moment taken from the Halberts and was conveying a way to have such applications to his lacerated back as should preserve his life to a renewal of his torture. He was led by the spot where my child was supported. He instantly knew her. Oh, Nancy, he cried. What do I see? A wretch, she exclaimed, but one who will do you justice. Should my death have prevented this freely would I have submitted to the most painful. Yes, my William, I would have died to have released you from those bonds and the exquisite torture I have been witness to, but the cruel colonel is deaf to entreaty. Nothing but my everlasting ruin can preserve you. Yet you shall be preserved. And heaven will, I hope, have that mercy upon my poor soul, which this basest of men will not show. The wretches who had the care of poor William hurried him away, nor would suffer him to speak. Nancy strove to run after them but fell a second time through weakness and distress of mind. Heaven sent among the spectators that best of men, the noble minded baron. Averse to such scenes of cruel discipline he came that way by accident, struck with the appearance of my frantic daughter he stopped to make some inquiry. He stayed till the crowd had dispersed and then addressed himself to this forlorn victim of woe. Despair had rendered her wholly unreserved and she related in few words the unhappy resolution she was obliged to take to secure her lover from a repetition of his sufferings. If I will devote myself to infamy to Colonel Montague, said she, my dear William will be released. Hard as the terms are I cannot refuse. See, see! She screamed out, how the blood runs. Oh, stop, thy barbarous hand! She raved and then fell into a fit again. The good baron entreated some people who were near to take care of her. They removed the distracted creature to a house in the town where some comfortable things were given her by an apothecary which the care of the baron provided. By his indefatigable industry the baron discovered the basest collusion between the Colonel and Sergeant that by the instigation of the former the latter had been tampering with the young recruit about procuring his discharge for a sum of money which he being at that time unable to advance the Sergeant was to connive at his escape and receive the stipulated reward by installments. This infamous league was contrived to have a plea for tormenting poor William hoping by that means to affect the ruin of Nancy. The whole of this black transaction being unraveled the baron went to Colonel Montague to whom he talked in pretty severe terms. The Colonel at first was very warm and wanted much to decide the affair as he said in an honorable way. The baron replied, it was too dishonorable a piece of business to be thus decided that he went on sure grounds that he would prosecute the Sergeant for willful and corrupt perjury and how honourably it would sound that the Colonel of the Regiment had conspired with such a fellow to procure an innocent man so ignominious a punishment. As this was not an affair of common gallantry the Colonel was fearful of the exposure of it therefore to hush it up signed the discharge remitted the remaining inflection of discipline and gave a note of two hundred pounds for the young people to begin the world with. The baron generously added the same sum. I had heard my daughter was near town, the circumstances of her distress were aggravated in the accounts I had received. Providence in pity to my age and infirmities at last brought us together. I advertised her in the papers and our guardian angel used such means to discover my lodgings as had the desired effect. My children are now happy, they were married last week. Your generous protector gave Nancy to her faithful William. We propose leaving this place soon and shall finish our days in praying for the happiness of our benefactor. You will suppose, continued Miss Finch, my dear Lady Stanley, how much I was affected with this little narrative. I left the good folks with my heart filled with resentment against Montague and complacency towards Tonhausen. You will believe I did not hesitate long about the dismission of the former, and my frequent conversations on this head with the latter has made him a very favorable interest in my bosom. Not that I have the vanity to think he possesses any predilection in my favor, but till I see a man I like as well as him I will not receive the addresses of anyone. We joined in our commendation of the generous baron. The manner in which he disclaimed all praise, Miss Finch said, served only to render him still more praiseworthy. He begged her to keep this little affair a secret and particularly for me. I asked Miss Finch why he should make that request. I know not indeed, she answered, except that, knowing I was more intimate with you than anyone beside, he might mention your name by way of enforcing the restriction. Soon after this Miss Finch took leave. Oh, Louisa, dare I, even to your indulgent bosom, confide my secret thoughts? How did I lament not being in the park the day of this adventure? I might then have been the envied confidant of the amiable townhousen. They have had frequent conversations and consequence. The softness which the melancholy detail gave to Miss Finch's looks and expressions have deeply impressed the mind of the baron. Should I have shown less sensibility? I have indeed rather sought to conceal the tenderness of my soul. I have been constrained to do so. Miss Finch has given hers full scope and has riveted the chain which her beauty and accomplishments first forged. But what am I doing? Oh, my sister, chide me for thus giving loose to such expressions. How much am I to blame? How infinitely more prudent is the baron? He begged that I, of all persons, should not know his generosity. Heavens, what an idea does that give birth to? He has seen. Oh, Louisa, what will become of me if he should have discovered the struggles of my soul? If he should have searched into the recesses of my heart and developed the thin veil I spread over the feelings I have labored incessantly to overcome, he then perhaps wished to conceal his excellencies from me lest I should be too partial to them. I ought then to copy his discretion. I will do so. Yes, Louisa, I will drive his image from my bosom. I ought. I know it would be my interest to wish him married to Miss Finch or anyone that would make him happy. I am culpable in harboring the remotest desire of his preserving his attachment to me. He has had virtue enough to conquer so improper an attachment, and if improper in him, how infinitely more so in me? But I will dwell no longer on this forbidden subject. Let me set bounds to my pen, as an earnest that I most truly mean to do so to my thoughts. Think what an enormous packet I shall send you. Preserve your affection for me, my dearest sister, and trust to my severations you shall have no cause to blush for, Julia Stanley. Letter 28 To Miss Grenville. This morning I dispatched to Anderson's coffee-house the most elegant locket in hair that you ever saw. May I be permitted to say thus much when the design was all my own? Yet, why not give myself praise when I can? The locket is in the form and size of the bracelet I sent you, the device and altar on which is inscribed these words, to gratitude an elegant figure of a woman making an offering on her knees and a winged cherub bearing the incense to heaven. A narrow plate of hair about the breadth of penny-ribbon is fastened on each side the locket near the top by three diamonds and united with a bow of diamonds by which it may hang to a ribbon. I assure you it is exceedingly pretty. I hope the self will approve of it. I forget to tell you, as the hair was taken from my head by your dear hand before I married, I took the fancy of putting the initials JG instead of JS. It was a whim that seized me, because the hair did never belong to JS. Adieu, Julia. End of Letters 27 and 28. Letter 29 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. The Sylph by Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. Letter 29. From the Sylph to Lady Stanley, will my amiable charge be ever thus increasing my veneration, my almost adoration of her perfections? Yes, Julia, still pursue these methods, and my whole life will be too confined a period to render you my acknowledgments. Its best services have and ever shall be devoted to your advantage. I have no other business, and I am sure no other pleasure in this world than to watch over your interest. And if I should at any time be so fortunate as to have procured you the smallest share of felicity or saved you from the minutest inquiritude, I shall feel myself amply repaid, repaid, where have I learnt so cold an expression? From the earth born sons of clay, I shall feel a bliss beyond the sensation of a mortal. None but a mind delicate as your own can form an idea of the sentimental joy I experienced on seeing the letters J.G. on the most elegant of devices, an emblem of that lovely giver. There was a purity of chasteness of thought in the design which can only be conceived. All expression would be faint, even my Julia can hardly define it. Wonder not at my boundless partiality to you? You know not, you see not, yourself. As I know and see you, I pierce through the recesses of your soul. Each fold expands itself to my eye. The struggles of your mind are open to my view. I see how nobly your virtue towers over the involuntary tribute you pay to concealed merit, but be not uneasy. Feel not humiliated that the secret of your mind is discovered to me. Heaven sees our thoughts and reads our hearts. We know it, but feel no restraint therefrom. Consider me as heaven's agent and be not dismayed at the idea of having a window in your breast, which only the sincerest, the most disinterested of your friends is allowed the privilege of looking through it. Adieu, may the blessed above thy only superiors guard you from ill, so praise your silt. End of letter 29. Letter 30 of the Silt. This is the LibriVox recording. Our LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Céline Major. The Silt by Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. Letter 30 to the Silt. Though encouraged by the commendations of myself, I tremble when you tell me the most retired secrets of my soul are open to your view. You say you have seen its struggles. Oh, that you alone have seen them. Could I be assured that one other is yet a stranger to those struggles I should feel no more humiliated, though that word is not sufficiently strong to express my meaning, than I do in my confessions to heaven? Because I am taught to believe that our thoughts are involuntary and that we are not answerable for them unless they tend to excite us to evil actions. Mine, thank God, have done me no other mischief than robbing me of that repose which perhaps, had I been blessed with insensibility, might have been my portion. But a very large share of insensibility must have been dealt out to me to have guarded me from my sense of merit in one person and my feeling no affliction at the want of it in another, that other, too, with whose fate mine is unavoidably connected. I must do myself that justice to say my heart would have remained fixed with my hand had my husband remained the same. Had he known no change my affections would have centered in him. That is, I should have passed through life a dubious and observant partner of his cares and pleasures. When I married I had never loved any but my own relations. Indeed I had seen no one to love. The language and its emotions were equally strangers to my ears or heart. Sir William Stanley was the first man who used the one and consequently in a bosom so young and inexperienced as mine created the other. He told me he loved. I blushed and felt confused. Finally I construed these indications of self-love into an attachment for him. Although this bore but a small relation to love, yet in a breast were virtue and a natural tenderness resided, it would have been sufficient to have guarded my heart from receiving any other impression. He did so till repeated slights and irregularities on one hand and on the other all the virtues and graces that can adorn and beautify the mind raised a conflict in my bosom that has destroyed my peace and hurt my constitution. I have a beloved sister who deserves all the affection I bear her. From her I have concealed nothing. She has read every secret of my heart, for when I wrote to her reserve was banished from my pen. This unfortunate predilection which believe me I have from the first combatted with all my force has given my Louisa, who has the tenderest soul the utmost uneasiness. I have very lately assured her my resolves to conquer this fatal attachment are fixed and permanent. I doubt, and she thinks perhaps, I have too often indulged myself in dwelling upon the dangerous subject in my frequent letters. I have given my word I will mention him no more. Oh, myself! How has he risen in my esteem from a recent story I have heard of him? How hard is my fate! You can read my thoughts so that to endeavor to soften the expression would be needless, that I am constrained to obey the man I can neither love nor honor, and alas love the man who is not nor can be anything to me. I have vowed to my sister, myself, and now to you that however hardly treated yet virtue and rectitude shall be my guide. I irrigate no great merit to myself and still preserving myself untainted in this vortex of folly and vice. No one falls all at once, and I have no temptation to do so. The man I esteem above all others is superior to all others. His manners refined, generous, virtuous, humane. Oh, when shall I fill the catalog of his excellent qualities? He pays a deference to me at least used to do because I was not tinctured with the licentious fashion of the times. He would lose that esteem for me were I to act without decency and discretion, and I hope I know enough of my heart to say I should no longer feel an attachment for him did he countenance vice. Alas! What is to be inferred from this, but that I shall carry this fatal preference with me to the grave? Let me however descend to it without bringing disgrace on myself, sorrow on my beloved relations, and repentance on myself for having thrown away his counsels on an ingrate, and I will peacefully retire it from a world for whose pleasures I have very little taste. Adieu, Julia Stanley. End of Letter 30. Letter 31 of the SILF. 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 Devora Allen. The SILF by Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. Letter 31 to Lady Stanley. My dearest sister, it is with an infinite pleasure I receive your promise of no longer indulging your pen with a subject which has too much engaged your thoughts of late. A pleasure heightened by the assurance that your silence in future shall be an earnest of banishing an image from your idea, which I cannot but own from the picture you have drawn, is very amiable, and for that reason very dangerous. I will, my Julia, emulate your example. This shall be the last letter that treats on this to be forbidden theme. Permit me therefore to make some comment on your long letter. Sure never two people were more strongly contrasted than the Baron and the Colonel. The one seems the kindly sun, cherishing the tender herbage of the field. The other, the blasting mildew, breathing its pestiferous venom over every beautiful plant and flower. However, do you, my love, only regard them as virtue and vice personified. Look on them as patterns and examples. View them in no other light, for in no other can they be of any advantage to you. You are extremely reprehensible. I hope and believe I shall never have occasion to use such harsh language again in your strictures on the supposed change in the Baron's sentiments. You absolutely seem to regret, if not express anger, that he has had virtue sufficient to resist the violence of an improper attachment. The efforts he has made and my partiality for you supposes them not to have been easily made ought to convince you the conquest over ourselves is possible, though oftentimes difficult. It is, I believe, and I may say I am certain from my own experience, a very mistaken notion that we nourish our afflictions by keeping them to ourselves. I said I know so experimentally. While I indulged myself, and your tenderness induced you to do the same, in lamenting in the most pathetic language the perfidy of Mr. Montgomery and Emily Wingrove, I increased the wounds which that perfidy occasioned. But when I took the resolution of never mentioning their names, or ever suffering myself to dwell on former scenes, burning every letter I had received from either, though these efforts cost me floods of tears and many sleepless nights. Yet in time my reflections lost much of their poignancy, and I chiefly attribute it to my steady adherence to my laudable resolution. He deserved not my tenderness, even if only because he was married to another. This is the first time I have suffered my pen to write his name since that determination, nor does he now ever mix with my thoughts unless by chance, and then, quite as an indifferent person. I have recalled his idea for no other reason than to convince you that, although painful, yet self-conquest is attainable. You will not think I am in dude with less sensibility than you are, and I had long been authorized to indulge my attachment to this ingrate, and had long been cruelly deceived into a belief that his regard was equal to mine. While from the first, you could have no hope to lead you on by flowery footsteps to the confines of disappointment and despair, for to those goals does that fallacious phantom too frequently lead. You envy Miss Finch the distinction which accident induced the baron to pay her by making her his confidant. Had you been on the spot, it is possible you might have shared his confidence. But believe me, I am thankful to heaven that chance threw you not in his way. With your natural tenderness and your unhappy predilection, I tremble for what might have been the consequence of frequent conversations in which pity and compassion bore so large a share as perhaps might have superseded every other consideration. I wish from my soul, and I hope my Julia will soon join my wish, that the baron may be in earnest in his attention to Miss Finch. I wish to have him married, that his engagements may increase and prevent your seeing him so often as you now do, for undoubtedly your difficulty will be greater. But consider, my dear Julia, your triumph will be greater likewise. It is sometimes harder to turn one's eyes from a pleasing object than one's thoughts. Yet there is nothing which may not be achieved by resolution and perseverance, both of which I question not, my beloved will exert. If it be but to lighten the oppressed mind of her faithful, Louisa Grenville. End of Letter 31. Letter 32 of the SILF. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recorded by Céline Mejour. The SILF by Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. Letter 32 to the SILF. Will my kind guardian candidly inform me if he thinks I may comply with the desire of Sir William in going next Thursday to the masquerade at the Pantheon? Without your previous advice I would not willingly consent. Is it a diversion of which I may participate without danger? Though I doubt there is hardly decency enough left in this part of the world that that vice need wear a mask, yet do not people give a greater scope to their licentious inclinations while under that veil? However, if you think I may venture with safety I will indulge my husband, who seems to have set his mind on my accompanying his party thither. Miss Finch has promised to go if I go, and as she has been often to those motley meetings assures me she will take care of me. Sir William does not know of my application to that lady, but I did so merely to gain time to inform you that I might have your sanction or be justified by your advising the contrary, either to accept or reject the invitation. I am ever your obliged, J.S. of letter thirty-two. Letter thirty-three of the SILF. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The SILF by Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. Letter thirty-three from the SILF. When the face is masked, the mind is uncovered. From the conduct and language of those who frequent masquerades be made judge of the principles of their souls. A modest woman will blush in the dark, and a man of honor would scorn to use expressions while behind a visor, which you would not openly avow in the face of day. A masquerade is then the criterion by which you should form your opinion of people. And as I believe I have before observed to my Julia that female companions are either the safest or most dangerous of any. You may make this trial whether Ms. F is or is not one in whom you may confide. When I say confide, I would not be understood that you should place an unlimited confidence in her. There is no occasion to lay our hearts bare to the inspection of all our intimates. We should lessen the compliment we mean to pay to our particular friends by destroying that distinguishing mark. But you want a female companion. Indeed, for your sake I should wish you one older than Ms. F, a married woman, yet unless she was very prudent you had better be the leader than the lead. Therefore upon the whole perhaps it is as well as it is. I shall never enough admire your amiable condescension in asking in a manner my permission to go to the pantheon and at the same time I feel the delicacy of your situation and the effect it must have on a woman of your exquisite sensibility to be constrained to appeal to another in an article where in her husband ought to be the properest guide unhappily for you. So William will find so many engagements that the protection of his wife must be left either to her own discretion or to strangers. But yourself, my Julia, will never desert you. You request my leave to go thither. I freely grant that and even more than you desire I will meet my charge among the motley group. I do not demand a description of your dress for oh what disguise can conceal you from him whose heart only vibrates in union with yours. I will not inform you how I shall be happy to that night, as I have not a doubt, but that I shall soon be discovered by you, though I shall be invisible to all beside. Only you will see me and I of course shall only see you, you who are all and everything in this world, to your faithful attendant self. End of letter 33. Letter 34 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. The Sylph by Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. Letter 34. To the Sylph. Will you ever thus be adding to my weight of obligation? Yes, my Sylph. Be still thus kind, thus indulgent, and be assured your benevolence shall be repaid by my steady adherence to your virtuous counsel. Adieu. Thursday is eagerly wished for by yours. J.S. End of letter 34. Letters 35 and 36 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. Recorded by Sylin Majore. The Sylph by Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. Letter 35. To Miss Grenville. Enclosed, my Louisa, you will find some letters which have passed between the Sylph and your Julia. I have sent them to inform you of my being present at a masquerade in compliance with the taste of Sir William, who was very desirous of my exhibiting myself there. As he has of late never intimated an inclination to have me in any of his parties till this whim seized him I thought it would not become me to refuse my consent. You will find, however, I was not so dutiful a wife as to pay an implicit obedience to his mandate without taking the concurrence of my guardian angel on the subject. My dear, you must be first circumcised as I am, which have not forbid, before you can form an idea of the satisfaction I felt on the assurances of myself being present. No words can convey it to you. It seemed as if I was going to enjoy the ultimate wish of my heart. As to my dress, I told Sir William I would leave the choice of it to him, not doubting in matters of elegant taste he would be far superior to me. I made him this compliment as I have been long convinced he has no other pleasure in possessing me than what is excited by the admiration which other people bestow on me. Nay, he has said, unless he heard everybody say his wife was one of the handsomest women at court, he would never suffer her to appear there or anywhere else. That I might do credit to his taste I was to be most superbly brilliant and Sir William desired to see my jewels. He objected to their manner of being set though they were quite new done when he married. But now these were detestable, horridly utre, and so barbarously antique that I could only appear as Rembrandt's wife or some such relic of ancient history. As I had promised to be guided by him I acquiesced in what I thought a very unnecessary expense, but was much laughed at when I expressed my amazement at the jewelers saying the setting would come to about two hundred pounds. This is well worthwhile for an evening's amusement, for they are now in such whimsical forms that they will be scarce fit for any other purpose. And, oh my Louisa, do you not think I was cut to the soul when I had this painful reflection to make that many honest and industrious tradesmen are every day donening for their lawful demands while we are thus throwing away hundreds after hundreds without affording the least heartfelt satisfaction? Well, at last my dress was completed, but what character I assumed I know not, unless I was the epitome of the folly of this world. I thought myself only an agent to support all the frippery and finery of Tavistock Street, but however I received many compliments on the figure I made, and some people of the first fashion pronounced me to be quite the thing. They say one may believe the women when they praise one of their own sex, and Miss Finch said I had contrived to heighten and improve every charm with which nature hadn't doubted me. Sir William seemed to tread on air to see and hear the commendations which were lavished on me from all sides. To a man of his taste I am no more than any fashionable piece of furniture or new equipage, or what will come nearer our idea of things, a beautiful prospect, which a man fancies he shall never be tired of beholding, and therefore builds himself an house within view of it. By that time he is fixed, he hardly remembers what was his motive, nor ever feels any pleasure but in pointing out its various perfections to his guests. His vanity is a while gratified, but even that soon loses its goo, and he wonders how others can be pleased with objects now grown familiar and consequently indifferent to him. But I am running quite out of the course. Suppose me now dressed and mingling with a fantastic group of all kinds of forms and figures, striving to disengage my eyes from the throng to single out myself. Our usual party was there, Miss Finch, Lady Barton, a distant relation of hers, the Baron, Lord Bidolf, and some others. But it was impossible to keep long together. Sometimes I found myself with one, then they were gone, and I was data-tight with somebody else. For a good while I observed a mask who looked like a fortune teller following me about particularly when the Baron and Miss Finch were with me. I thought I must say something so I asked him if he would tell me my fortune. Go into the next room, said he in a whisper, and you shall see one more learned in the occult science than you think, but I shall say no more while you are surrounded with so many observers. Nothing is so easy as to get away from your company in a crowd. I slipped from them and went into a room which was nearly empty and still followed by the conjurer. I seated myself on a sofa and just turned my head round when I perceived the most elegant creature that imagination can form placed by me. I started half breathless with surprise. Be not alarmed, my Julia, said the phantom for such I at first thought it. Be not alarmed at the appearance of yourself. He took my hand in his and pressing it gently speaking all the while in a soft kind of whisper. Does my amiable charge repent her condescension in teaching me to believe she would be pleased to see her faithful adherent? I begged him to attribute my tremor to the hurry of spirits so new a scene excited and in part to the pleasure his presence afforded me. But before I proceed I will describe his dress. His figure in itself seems the most perfect I ever saw. The finest harmony of shape. A waistcoat and britches of silver tissue exactly fitted to his body. Buskins of the same, fringed, etc. A blue silk mantle depending from one shoulder to which it was secured by a diamond epaulette falling in beautiful folds upon the ground. This robe was starred all over with plated silver which had a most brilliant effect. On each shoulder was placed a transparent wing of painted gauze which looked like peacock feathers. A cap, suitable to the whole dress which was certainly the most elegant and best contrived that can be imagined. I gazed on him with the most perfect admiration. Ah, how I longed to see his face which the envious mask concealed. His hair hung in sport of ringlets and just carelessly restrained from wandering too far by a white ribbon. In more the most luxuriant fancy could hardly create a more captivating object. When my astonishment a little subsided I found utterance. How is it possible I should be so great a favorite of fortune as to interest you in my welfare? We have each our task allotted us, he answered, from the beginning of the world and it was my happy privilege to watch over your destiny. I speak to you as a man, said I, but you only answer as a self. Believe me, he replied, it is the safest character I can assume. I must divest myself of my feelings as a man or I should be too much enamored to be serviceable to you. I shut my eyes to the beauties of your person which excites tumultuous raptures in the chastest bosom and only allow myself the free contemplation of your interior perfections. There your virtue secures me and renders my attachment as pure as your own pure breast. I could not, however, resist this opportunity of paying my personal devoir to you and yet I feel too sensibly I shall be a sufferer for my indulgence. But I will never forget that I am placed over you as your guardian angel and protector and that my sole business on earth is to secure you from the wiles and snares which are daily practiced against youth and beauty. What does my excellent pupil say? Does she still cheerfully submit herself to my guidance? While he spoke this he had again taken my hand and pressed it with rapture to his bosom which beating with violence I own caused no small emotion in mine. I gently withdrew my hand and said with as composed a voice as I could command, yes, myself, I do most readily resign myself to your protection and shall never feel a wish to put any restriction on it while I am unable to judge of you from your own criterion, while virtue presides over your lessons, while your instructions are calculated to make me a good and respectable character I can form no wish to depart from them. He felt the delicacy of the reproof and sighing said, Let me never depart from that sacred character. Let me still remember I am yourself, but I believe I have before said a time may come when you will no longer stand in need of my interposition. Shall I own to you? I sicken at the idea of my being useless to you. The time can never arrive in which you will not be serviceable to me or at least when I shall not be inclined to ask and follow your advice. Amiable Julia, may I venture to ask you this question? If fate should ever put it in your power to make a second choice, would you consult yourself? Hear me, cried I, while I give you my hand on it and attest heaven to witness my vow, that if I should have the fate which may that heaven avert to outlive Sir William I will abide by your decision. Neither my hand nor affection shall be disposed of, without your concurrence. My obligations to you are unbounded. My confidence in you shall likewise be the same. I can make no other return than to resign myself solely to your guidance in that and every other concern of moment to me. Are you aware of what you have said, ladies Stanley? It is past recall, I answered, and if the vow could return again into my bosom it should only be to issue thence more strongly ratified. Oh, cried he, clasping his hands together. Oh thou merciful father, make me but worthy of this amiable and most excellent of all thy creatures' confidence. None but the most accursed of villains could abuse such goodness. The blameless purity and innocent simplicity of your heart would make a convert of a libertine. Alas, said I, that I fear is impossible, but how infinitely happy should I be if my utmost efforts could work the least reformation in my husband? Could I but prevail on him to quit this destructive place and retire into the peaceful country? I should esteem myself a fortunate woman. And could you really quit these gay scenes, nor cast one longing lingering look behind? Yes, I replied with vivacity, nor even cast a thought on what I had left behind. Would no one be remembered with a tender regret? Would yourself be entirely forgotten? Myself, I answered, is possessed of the power of omnipresence. He would still be with me wherever I went, and would no other ever be thought of. You blush, Lady Stanley, the face is the needle which points to the polar star, the heart. From that information may I not conclude someone whom you would leave behind would mix with your ideas in your retirement, and that even in solitude you would not be alone. I felt my cheeks glow while he spoke, but as I was a mask I did not suppose the self could discover the emotion his discourse caused. Since, said I in a faltering voice, you are capable of reading my heart, it is unnecessary to declare its sentiments to you, but it would be my purpose, in retirement, to obliterate every idea which might conduce to rub my mind apiece. I should endeavor to reform as well as my husband, and if he would oblige me by such a compliance to my will, I should think I could do no less than seek to amuse him and should indeed devote my whole time and study to that purpose. You may think I probe too deep, but it is not your desire of retirement stronger since you have conceived the idea of the barons entertaining a penchant for Miss Finch than it has been here to fore. I sighed. Indeed you do probe very deep, and the pain you cause is exquisite, but I know it is your friendly concern for me, and it proves how needful it is to apply some remedy for the wound, the examination of which is so acute. Instruct me, ought I to wish him married? Should I be happier if he is so? And if he married Miss Finch, should I not be as much exposed to danger as at present for his amiable qualities are more of the domestic kind? I hardly know how to answer these interrogatories, nor am I a judge of the heart and inclinations of the baron, only thus much. If you have ever had any cause to believe him impressed with your idea, I cannot suppose it possible for Miss Finch or any other woman to obliterate that idea. But the heart of man is deceitful above all things. For the sake of your interest I wish Sir William would adopt your plan, though I have my doubts that his affairs are not in the power of any economy to arrange, and this consideration urges me to enforce what I have before advised that you do not surrender up any farther part of your jointure as that may too soon be your sole support. And I have seen a recent proof of what means subterfuges some men are necessitated to fly to in order to extricate themselves for a little time. But the room fails. Our conversation may be noticed, and in this age of dissipation and licentiousness, to escape censure we must not stray within the limits of impropriety. You having been so long tatatate with any character will be observed. Adieu, therefore, for the present. See, Miss Finch is approaching. I turned my eye towards the door. The sill froze. I did the same. He pressed my hand on his quitting it. I cast my eye round, but I saw him no more. How he escaped my view, I know not. Miss Finch by this time bustled through the crowd and asked me where I had been and whether I had seen the Baron whom she had dispatched to seek after me. The Baron then, coming up, rallied me for hiding myself from the party and losing a share of merriment which had been occasioned by two whimsical masks making themselves very ridiculous to entertain the company. I assured them I had not quitted that place after I missed them in the great room, but, however, adding that I had determined to wait there till some of the party joined me as I had not courage to venture a tour of the rooms by myself. To be sure all this account was not strictly true, but I was obliged to make some excuse for my behavior which otherwise might have caused some suspicion. They willingly accompanied me through every room, but my eyes could nowhere fix on the object they were in search of and, therefore, returned from their survey dissatisfied. I complained of fatigue which was really true for I had no pleasure in the hurry and confusion of the multitude and it grew late. I shall frighten you, Louisa, by telling you the hour, but we did not go till twelve at night. I soon met with Sir William and on my expressing an inclination to retire to my great astonishment, instead of censuring, he commended my resolution and hastened to the door to procure my carriage. When you proceed, my dear Louisa, you will wonder at my being able to pursue in so methodical a manner this little narrative, but I have taken some time to let my thoughts subside that I might not anticipate any circumstance of an event that may be productive of very serious consequences. Well then, pleased as I was with Sir William's ready compliance with my request of returning, suppose me seated in my chair and giving way to some hopes that he would yet see his errors and some method be pitched on to relieve all. He was ready to hand me out of the chair and led me upstairs into my dressing room. I had taken off my mask as it was very warm. He still kept his on and talked in the same kind of voice he practiced at the masquerade. He paid me the most profuse compliments on the beauty of my dress and throwing his arms round to my waist congratulated himself on possessing such an angel. At the same time, kissing my face and bosom was such a strange kind of eagerness as made me suppose he was intoxicated. And under that idea, being very desirous of disengaging myself from his arms, I struggled to get away from him. He pressed me to go to bed, and in short his behavior was unaccountable. At last, on my persisting to entreat him to let me go, he blew out one of the candles. I then used all my force and burst from him, and at that instant his mask gave way. And in the dress of my husband, O Louisa judge if you can of my terror, I beheld that villain Lord Bidolf. Curse on my folly, cried he, that I could not restrain my raptures till I had you secure. Thou most insolent of wretches, said I, throwing the most contemptuous looks at him. How dared you assume the dress of my husband to treat me with such indignity? While I spoke I rang the bell with some violence. He attempted to make some apology for his indiscretion, urging the force of his passion, the power of my charms, and such stuff. I stopped him short by telling him the only apology I should accept would be his instantly quitting the house and never insulting me again with his presence. With a most malignant sneer on his countenance, he said, I might indeed have supposed my caresses were disagreeable when offered under the character of an husband. I had been more blessed, at least better received had I worn the dress of the Baron. All men, Lady Stanley, are not so blind as Sir William. I felt myself ready to expire with confusion and anger at his base insinuation. Your hint, said I, is as void of truth as you are of honour. I despise both equally, but would advise you to be cautious how you dare traduce characters so opposite to your own. By this time a servant came in, and the hateful wretch walked off, insolently wishing me a good repose and humming an Italian air though it was visible what Chagrin was painted on his face. Preston came into the room to assist me in undressing. She is by no means a favourite of mine, and as I was extremely fatigued and unable to sit up, I did not choose to leave my door open till Sir William came home, nor did I care to trust her with the key. I asked for Winifred. She told me she had been in bed some hours. Let her be called then, said I. Can't I do what your ladyship wants? No, I choose to have wind sit with me. I will attend your ladyship if you please. It would give me more pleasure if you would obey then dispute my orders. I was vexed to the soul and spoke with a peevishness unusual to me. She went out of the room muttering to herself. I locked the door, terrified lest that monster had concealed himself somewhere in the house, nor would I open it till I heard Win speak. Poor girl! She got up with all the cheerfulness in the world and sat by my bedside till morning, Sir William not returning the whole night. My fatigue and the perturbation of mind I labored under, together with the total deprivation of sleep contribute to make me extremely ill. But how shall I describe to you, my dear Louisa, the horror which the reflection of this adventure excited in me? Though I had, by the mercy of heaven escaped the danger, yet the apprehension it left on my mind is not to be told, and then the tacit apprehension which the base stretched through on my character, by daring to say he had been more welcome under another appearance, struck so forcibly on my heart that I thought I should expire from the fears of his traducing my fame, for what might I not expect from such a consummate villain who had so recently proved to what enormous lengths he would go to accomplish his purposes? The blessing of having frustrated his evil design could hardly call my tears. I thought I heard him each moment, and the agitation of my mind operated so violently on my frame that my bed actually shook under me. Win suffered extremely from her fears of my being dangerously ill and wanted to have my leave to send for a physician, but I too well knew it was not in the power of medicine to administer relief to my feelings, and after telling her I was much better, begged her not to quit my room at any rate. About eleven I rose, so weak and dispirited that I could hardly support myself. Soon after I heard Sir William's voice. I had scarce strength left to speak to him. He looked pale and forlorn. I had had a conflict within myself whether I should relate the behaviour of Lord Bidolf to my husband, lest the consequences should be fatal, but my spirits were so totally exhausted that I could not articulate a sentence without tears. What is the matter, Julia, with you? Said he, taking my hand. You seem fatigued to death. What a poor rake you are! I have had something more than fatigue to discompose me, answered I, sobbing. And I think I have some reproaches to make you for not attending me home as you promised. Why, Lord Bidolf promised to see you home. I saw him afterwards, and he told me he left you at your own house. Lord Bidolf, said I with the most scornful air, and did he tell you likewise of the insolence of his behaviour? Perhaps he promised you too that he would insult me in my own house. Hey, day, Julia, what's in the wind now? Lord Bidolf, insult you. Pray let me into the whole of this affair. I then related the particulars of his imprudent conduct and what I conceived his design to be, together with the repulse I had given him. Sir William seemed extremely chagrined, and said he should talk in a serious manner on the occasion to Lord Bidolf. And if his answers were not satisfactory, he should lie under the necessity of calling him to account in the field. Terrified, lest death should be the consequence of a quarrel between this infamous Lord and my husband, I conjured Sir William not to take any notice of the affair, any otherwise than to give up his acquaintance. A circumstance much wished for by me as I have great reason to believe, Sir William's passion for play was excited by his intimacy with him. And perhaps may have led him to all the enormities he has too readily and too rapidly plunged himself into. He made no scruple to assure me that he should find no difficulty in relinquishing the acquaintance, and joined with me that a silent contempt would be the most cutting reproof to a man of his caste. On my part, I am resolved my door shall never grant him access again, and if Sir William should entirely break with him, which, after this atrocious behavior I think he must, I may be very happy that I have been the instrument since I have had such an escape. But still, Louisa, the innuendo of Lord Bidolf disturbs my peace. How shall I quiet my apprehensions? Does he dare scrutinize my conduct and harbour suspicions of my predilection for a certain unfortunate? Bass, as is his soul, he cannot entertain an idea of the purity of a virtuous attachment. Ah, that speech of his has sunk deep in my memory. No time will efface it. When I have been struggling too. Yes, Louisa, when I have been combating this fatal, but what am I doing? Why do I use these interdicted expressions? I have done. Alas, what has become of my boasting? If I cannot prescribe rules to a pen which I can in one moment throw into the fire, how shall I restrain the secret murmurings of my mind, whose thoughts I can with difficulty silence or even control? Adieu, yours more than her own, Julia Stanley. Letter 36 To Miss Grenville Alas, Louisa, fresh difficulties arise every day. And every day I find an exertion of my spirits more necessary and myself less able to exert them. Sir William told me this morning that he had lost frequent sums to Lord Bidolf. It wounds my soul to write his detested name. And since it was prudent to give up the acquaintance, it became highly incumbent on him to discharge these play debts, for which purpose he must have recourse to me, and apprehended he should find no difficulty as I had expressed my wish of his breaking immediately with his lordship. This was only the prelude to a proposal of my resignation of my marriage articles. My ready compliance with his former demands emboldened him to be urgent with me on this occasion. At first I made some scruples, alleging the necessity there was of keeping something by us for a future day as I had too much reason to apprehend that what I could call my own would be all we should have to support us. This remonstrance of mine, however, just threw Sir William into a rage. He paced about the room like a madman. Swore that his difficulties proceeded from my damned prudery, and that I should extricate him or abide by the consequences. In short, Louisa, he appeared in a light entirely new to me. I was almost petrified with terror and absolutely thought once he would beat me, for he came up to me with such fierce looks and seized me by the arm, which he actually bruised with his grasp, and, bad me at my peril, refused to surrender the writings to him. After giving me a violent shake, he pushed me from him with such force that I fell down, unable to support myself, from the trembling with which my whole frame was possessed. Don't think to practice any of the cursed arts of your sex upon me. Don't pretend to throw yourself into fits. I scorn your imputation, Sir William, said I, half fainting and breathless, nor shall I make any resistance or opposition to your leaving me a beggar. I have now reason to believe I shall not live to want what you are determined to force from me, as these violent methods will soon deprive me of my existence, even if you would withhold the murderous knife. Come! None of your damned whining! Let me have the papers, and let us not think any more about it. He offered to raise me. I want not your assistance, said I. Oh! You are sulky, are you? But I shall let you know, madam, these heirs will not do with me. I had seated myself on a chair, and leaned my elbow on a table supporting my head with my hand. He snatched my hand away from my face while he was making the last speech. What the devil! Am I to wait all day for the papers? Where are the keys? Take them, said I, drawing them from my pocket. Do what you will, provided you leave me to myself. Damn to sex! cried he. Wives or mistresses by heaven, you are all alike. So saying he went out of the room and opening my bureau, possessed himself of the parchment so much desired by him. I have not seen him since, and now it is past eleven. What a fate is mine! However, I have no more to give up, so he cannot storm at or threaten me again, since I am now a beggar as well as himself. I shall sit about an hour longer, and then I shall fasten my door for the night, and I hope he will not insist on my opening it for him. I make wind-lie in a little bed in a closet within my room. She is the only domestic I can place the least confidence in. She sees my eyes are red with weeping. She sheds tears, but asks no questions. Farewell, my dearest Louisa. Pity the sufferings of thy sister, who feels every woe augmented by the grief she causes in your sympathizing breast. Adieu. Adieu. J.S. End of Letters 35 and 36 Letter 37 of the SILF This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The SILF by Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. Letter 37 From the SILF I find my admonitions have failed, and my Julia has relinquished all her future dependents. Did you not promise an implicit obedience to my advice? How comes it, then, that your husband triumphs in having the power of still visiting the gaming tables, embedding with the utmost a-claw? Settlements, as the late Lord Hardwick used to say, are the foolishest bonds in nature, since there never yet was a woman who might not be kissed or kicked out of it, which of those methods Sir William has adopted I know not. But it is plain it was a successful one. I pity you, my Julia, I grieve for you, and much fear now Sir William has lost all her strength. He will lose the appearance of it likewise. What resource will he pursue next? Be on your guard, my most amiable friend, my foresight deceives me, for your danger is great. When a man can once lose his humanity so far as to deprive his wife of the means of subsisting herself, I much, very much fear he will so effectually lose his honor likewise as to make a property of hers. May I judge too severely. May Sir William be an exception to my rule, and oh may you, the fairest work of heaven, be equally its care that you end of letter 37. By Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. Letter 38. To the self. Alas, I look for comfort when I open my kind self's letters, yet in this before me you only point out the shores and quicksands, but hold not out your sustaining hand to guide me through the devious path. I have disobeyed your behest, but you know not how I have been urged and my pain's soul cannot support the repetition. I will ever be implicit in my obedience to you as far as I am concerned only. As to this particular point, you would not have had me disobeyed my husband, I am sure. Indeed, I could do no other than I did. If he should make an ill use of the sums raised, I am not answerable for it, but if he had been driven to any fatal exigence through my refusal, my wretchedness would have been more exquisite than it now is, which I think would have exceeded what I could have supported. Something is in agitation now, but what I am totally a stranger to. I have just heard from one of my servants that Mr. Stanley, an uncle of Sir Williams, is expected in town. Would to heaven he may have the will and power to extricate us, but I hear he is of a most morose temper and was never on good terms with his nephew. The dangers you hint at, I hope and pray without ceasing to heaven to be delivered from. Oh, that Sir William would permit me to return to my dear father and sister. In their kind embraces I should lose the remembrance of the tempests I have undergone. Like the poor shipwrecked mariner, I should hail the friendly port and never, never trust the deceitful ocean more. But ah, how fruitless this wish! Here I am doomed to stay a wretch undone. Adieu, J.S. End of letter 38 Letter 39 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. Recorded by Céline Majore. The Sylph by Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. Letter 39 To Miss Grenville The Baron called here this morning. Don't be angry with me, my dearest Louisa, for mentioning his name. This will indeed be the last time. Never more will thy sister behold him. He is gone. Yes, Louisa. I shall never see him again. But will his looks, his size, and tears be forgotten? Oh, never, never! He came to bid me adieu. Could I but leave you happy? He cried in scarce articulate accents. Was I but blessed with the remote hope of your having your merit rewarded in this world? I should quit you with less regret and anguish. Oh, Lady Stanley, best of women! I mean not to lay claim to your gratitude. Far be such an idea for my soul. But for your sake I leave the kingdom. For mine, I exclaimed, clasping my hands wildly together, hardly knowing what I said or did. What! Leave me! Leave the kingdom for my sake! Oh, my God! What advantage can accrue to me by losing? I could not proceed. My voice failed me, and I remained at the petrified statue of despair. Lady Stanley, said he with an assumed calmness, be composed and hear me. In an age like this, where the examples of vice are so many and so prevalent, though a woman is chased as the icicle that hangs on Diana's temple, still she will be suspected, and was the son never to look upon her yet she would be tainted by the envenomed breath of slander. Lady Anne Parker has dared in a public company to say that the most virtuous and lovely of her sex will speedily find consolation for the infidelity of her husband by making reprisals. Herma Levolence has further induced her to point her finger to one who adores all the virtues with which heaven first endued woman in your form. A voluntary banishment on my side may wipe off this transient eclipse of the fairest and most amiable character in the world, and the beauties of it shine forth with greater luster, like the diamond, which can only be sullied by the breath, and which evaporates in an instant and beams with fresh brilliancy. I would not wish you to look into my heart, added he with a softened voice, lest your compassion might affect you too much. Yet you know not, you never can know what I have suffered and must forever suffer. Condemned alas, whole ages to deplore, and image charms I must behold no more. I sat motionless during his speech, but finding him silent and I believe from his emotions unable to proceed. Behold, cried I, with what a composed resignation I submit to my fate. I hoped I had been too inconsiderable to have excited the tongue of slander or fix its sting in my bosom. But may you, my friend, regain your peace and happiness in your native country? My native country, exclaimed he. What is my native country, what the whole globe itself, to that spot which contains all? But I will say no more. I dare not trust myself, I must not. Oh Julia, forgive me, adieu, forever. I had no voice to detain him. I severed him to quit the room and my eyes lost sight of him. Forever. I remained with my eyes stupidly fixed on the door. Oh Louisa, dare I tell you, my soul seemed to follow him, and all my sufferings have been trivial to this. To be esteemed by him, to be worthy his regard, and read his approbation in his speaking eyes. This was my support. This sustained me, nor suffered my feet to strike against the stone in this disfigured path of destruction. He was my polar star. But he is gone, and knows not how much I loved him. I knew it not myself, else how could I promise never to speak, never to think of him again. But whence these wild expressions? Oh pardon the effusions of frenetic fancy. I know not what I have said. I am lost. Lost. J.S. End of letter 39 Letter 40 Come congratulate me, my dear Jack, on having beaten the Baron out of the pit. He is off, my boy, and now I may play a safer game. For between ourselves I have as much inclination to sleep in a whole skin, as somebody else you and I know of. I have really been more successful than I could have flattered myself I should be. But the devil still stands my friend, which is but grateful to be sure, as the devil is in it if one good turn does not deserve another, and I have helped his sable divinity to many a good job in my day. The summit of my wishes was to remove this troublesome fellow. But he has taken himself clean out of the kingdom, lest the fame of his Dilsenia should suffer in the morning post. He, if any man could, would not scruple-drubbing the hydra of Scandal. But then the stain would still remain where the blot had been made. I think you will be glad that he has punished at any rate, for his impertinent interferences in your late affair with the recruits sweetheart. These delicate minds are ever contriving their own misery, and from their exquisite sensibility find out the method of refining on torture. Thus in a fit of heroics he has banished himself from the only woman he loves, and who in a short time, unless my ammunition fails, or my mind springs, too soon he might have a chance of being happy with, was he cast in mortal mold. But I take it he is one of that sorts, which Madame Savine called a pumpkin fried in snow, or engendered between a Lapland sailor and a mermaid on the icy plains of Greenland. Even the charms of Julia can but just warm him. He does not burn like me. The consuming fire of Aetna writes not in his veins, or he would have lost all consideration but that of the completion of his whims. Mine have become ten times more eager from the resistance I have met with. Fool that I was not to be able to keep a reign over my transports till I had extinguished the lights. But to see her before me, my pulse beating with tumultuous passion, and my villainous fancy anticipating the tempting scene, all conspired to give such spirit to my caresses as ill-suited with the character I assumed of an indifferent husband. Like Callista of old, she soon discovered the God under the semblance of Diana. Heavens, how she fired up and liked the leopard, appeared more beautyous when heightened by anger. But in vain my pretty trembler, in vain you struggle in the toils. Thy price is paid, and thou wilt soon be mine. Stanley has lost everything to me but his property and his wife's person, and though perhaps he shall make a few wry faces, he must adjust that bitter pill. He has obliged her to give up all her jointure, so she has now no dependence. What a fool he is, but he has ever been so. The most palpable cheat passes on him, and though he is morally certain, that to play and to lose is one and the same thing, yet nothing can cure his cursed itch of gaming. Notwithstanding all the remonstrances I have made, and the dissuasives I have daily used, he has bent upon his own destruction, and since that is plainly the case, why may not I, and a few clever fellows like myself, take advantage of his egregious folly. It was but yesterday I met him. I am most consumedly the flat key bit off, said he. But I know not what to do with myself. For God's sake, let us have a little touch at Billiard's piquette or something to drive the devil melancholy out of my citadel, touching his bosom. For by my soul I believe I shall make a way with myself, if left to my own agreeable meditations. As usual I advised him to reflect how much luck had run against him, and begged him to be cautious, that I positively had no pleasure in playing with one who never turned a game. But I should look out for someone who understood Billiard's well enough to be my conqueror. What the devil! cried he. You think me a novice? Come, come! I will convince you to your sorrow, I know something of the game. I'll bet you five hundred bit off, that I pocket your ball in five minutes. You can't beat me, said I. I will give you three. I'll be damned if I accept three. No, no, let us play on the square. So to it we went, and as usual attended. The more he loses, the more impetuous and eager he is to play. There will be a confounded bustle soon, his uncle old Stanley is coming up to town, and disposing of his wife's jointure, part of which was conducted with an estate of square toes, the affair has consequently reached his ears, and he is all fury upon the occasion. I believe there has been a little chicanery practice between Sir William and his lawyer, which will prove but an ugly business. However, thanks to my foresight in these matters, I am out of the scrape. But I can see the baronet is cursedly off the hooks, from the idea of its transpiring, and had rather see the devil than the dawn. He has burnt his fingers and smarts till he roars again. Adieu, dear Jack. Remember thy old friend, the Dolf. To Ms. Grenville me a visit. She took no notice of the dejection of my countenance, which I am convinced was but too visible. But, putting on a cheerful air, though I thought she too looked melancholy when she first came in. I am come to tell you, my dear Lady Stanley, said she, that you must go to Lady D. Blanks route this evening. You know you are engaged, and I design you for my chaperone. Excuse me, my dear, returned I. I cannot think of going thither, and was just going to send a card to that purpose. Lady Stanley, she replied, you must go indeed. I have a very particular reason for urging you to make your appearance there. And I have as particular a reason, said I, turning away my head to conceal a tear that would unbidden start in my eye, to prevent my going there or anywhere else at present. Her eyes were moistened, when taking my hand in hers, and looking up in my face with the utmost friendliness. My amiable Lady Stanley, it grieves my soul to think any of the licentious wretches in this town should dare spurs such excellence as yours. But that infamous creature Lady Anne said last night, in the coffee-room at the opera, that she had heard Lady Stanley took to heart, was her expression, the departure of Barrington Housen, and that she and Miss Finch had quarreled about their gallant. Believe me, I could sooner have lost the power of speech than have communicated so disagreeable a piece of intelligence to you, but that I think it highly incumbent on you by appearing with cheerfulness in public with me to frustrate the malevolence of that spiteful woman as much as we both can. What have I done to that vile woman, said I, giving a loose to my tears. In what have I injured her that she should thus seek to blacken my name? Dared to be virtuous while she is infamous, answered Miss Finch. But, however, my dear Lady Stanley, you perceive the necessity of contradicting her assertion of our having quarreled on any account, and nothing can so effectually do it as our appearing together in good spirits. Mine, cried I, are broken entirely. I have no wish to wear the semblance of pleasure while my heart is bowed down with woe. But we must do disagreeable things sometimes to keep up appearances. That vile woman, as you justly call her, would be happy to have it in her power to spread her calumny. We may in part prevent it. Besides, I promise the Baron I would not let you sit moping at home, but draw you out into company, at the same time giving you as much of mine as I could and as I found agreeable to you. I beg you to be assured, my dear, that the company of no one can be more so than yours, and as I have no doubts of your sincere wish for my welfare, I will readily submit myself to your discretion. But how shall I be able to confront that infamous Lady Anne who will most probably be there? Never mind her. Let conscious merit support you. Reflect on your own worth, nor cast one thought on such a wretch. I will dine with you and in the evening we will prepare for this visit. I made no inquiry why the Baron recommended me so strongly to Ms. Finch. I thought such inquiry might lead us farther than was prudent. Besides, I knew Ms. Finch had a tawnder for him and therefore through the course of the day I never mentioned his name. Ms. Finch was equally delicate as myself. Our discourse then naturally fell on indifferent subjects, and I found I grew towards the evening much more composed than I had been for some time. The party was large, but to avoid conversation as much as possible I sat down to a quadril table with Ms. Finch, and encouraged by her looks and smiles which I believed the good girl forced into her countenance to give me spirits, I got through the evening tolerably well. The next morning I walked with my friend into the park. I never dine out, as I would wish always to be at home at mealtimes, lest Sir William should choose to give me his company, but that is very seldom the case. And as to the evenings I never see him, as he does not come home till three or four in the morning and often stays out the whole night. We have, of course, separate apartments. And you, my beloved, would to God I could fly into your arms and there forget my sorrows. Yours, most affectionately, J.S. END OF LETTER 41 Lord Bidolf owes me some heavy grudge. Everything goes against me. Old Stanley is rubbed through a damned fit of the gout. Oh, that I could kill him with a wish. I then should be a free man again. You see, I make no scruple of applying to you, relying firmly on your professions of friendship. And assure yourself I shall be most happy in subscribing to any terms you may propose for your own security. For fourteen thousand six hundred pounds I must have by Friday, if I pawn my soul twenty times for the sum. If you don't assist me, I have but one other method. You understand me, though I should be unwilling to be driven to such a procedure. But I am, except my hopes in you, all despair. END OF LETTER 42 LETTER 43 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Silph by Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. Letter 43. From George Bertinell to William Stanley. ENCLOSED IN THE FORGOWING To Sir William Stanley. Sir, I am extremely concerned and is equally surprised to find by my lawyer that the Pemberton estate was not yours to dispose of. He tells me it is, after the death of your wife, the sole property of your uncle, Mr. Dawson, who is Mr. Stanley's lawyer, having clearly proved it to him by the deeds which he swears he is possessed of. How, then, Sir William, am I to reconcile this intelligence with the transactions between us? I have paid into your hands the sum of 14,600 pounds, and, I am sorry to write so harshly, have received a forged deed of conveyance. Mr. Dawson has assured Stevens, my lawyer, that his client never signed that conveyance. I should be very unwilling to bring you, or any gentleman, into such a dilemma, but you may suppose I should be as sorry to lose such a sum for nothing, nor, indeed, could I consent to injure my errors by such a negligence. I hope it will suit you to replace the above sum in the hands of my banker, and I will not hesitate to conceal the writings now in my possession, but the money must be paid by Friday next. You will reflect on this maturely, as you must know in what predicament you at present stand, and what must be the consequence of such an affair coming under the cognizance of the law. I remain, Sir, your humble servant.