THE SYLPH
By
GEORGIANA
DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE
"Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your chief give ear,
Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Demons, hear!
Ye know the spheres, and various tasks assign'd
By laws eternal to th'aërial kind:
Some in the fields of purest æther play,
And bask, and whiten, in the blaze of day;
Some guide the course of wand'ring orbs on high,
Or roll the planets thro' the boundless sky:
Our humbler province is to tend the Fair,
Not a less pleasing, nor less glorious care."
POPE's Rape of the Lock.
Contents
VOLUME I
LETTER I.
TO LORD BIDDULPH.
It is a certain sign of a man's cause being bad, when he is obliged to quote precedents in the follies of others, to excuse his own. You see I give up my cause at once. I am convinced I have done a silly thing, and yet I can produce thousands who daily do the same with, perhaps, not so good a motive as myself. In short, not to puzzle you too much, which I know is extremely irksome to a man who loves to have every thing as clear as a proposition in Euclid; your friend (now don't laugh) is married. "Married!" Aye, why not? don't every body marry? those who have estates, to have heirs of their own; and those who have nothing, to get something; so, according to my system, every body marries. Then why that stare of astonishment? that look of unbelief? Yes, thou infidel, I am married, and to such a woman! though, notwithstanding her beauty and other accomplishments, I shall be half afraid to present her in the world, she's such a rustic! one of your sylvan deities. But I was mad for her. "So you have been for half the women in town." Very true, my Lord, so I have, till I either gained them, or saw others whose image obliterated theirs. You well know, love with me has ever been a laughing God, "Rosy lips and cherub smiles," none of its black despairing looks have I experienced.
What will the world say? How will some exult that I am at last taken in! What, the gay seducive Stanley shackled!
But, I apprehend, your Lordship will wish to be informed how the "smiling mischief" seized me. Well, you shall have the full and true particulars of the matter how, the time when, and place where. I must, however, look back. Perhaps I have been too precipitate—I might possibly have gained the charming maid at a less expense than "adamantine everlasting chains."—But the bare idea of losing her made every former resolution of never being enslaved appear as nothing.—Her looks "would warm the cool bosom of age," and tempt an Anchorite to sin.
I could have informed you in a much better method, and have led you on through a flowery path; but as all my elaborate sketches must have ended in this disastrous truth, I am married, I thought it quite as well to let you into that important secret at once. As I have divided my discourse under three heads, I will, according to some able preachers, begin with the first.
I left you as you may remember (though perhaps the burgundy might have washed away your powers of recollection) pretty early one morning at the Thatched-house, to proceed as far as Wales to visit Lord G——. I did not find so much sport as I expected in his Lordship's grounds; and within doors, two old-fashioned maiden sisters did not promise such as is suited to my taste, and therefore pretended letters from town, which required my attendance, and in consequence made my conge and departed. On my journey—as I had no immediate business any where, save that which has ever been my sole employ, amusement—I resolved to make little deviations from the right road, and like a sentimental traveller pick up what I could find in my way conducive to the chief end of my life. I stopped at a pleasant village some distance from Abergavenny, where I rested some time, making little excursive progressions round the country. Rambling over the cloud-capt mountains one morning—a morning big with the fate of moor-game and your friend—from the ridge of a precipice I beheld, to me, the most delicious game in the hospitable globe, a brace of females, unattended, and, by the stile of their dress, though far removed from the vulgar, yet such as did not bespeak them of our world.—I drew out my glass to take a nearer ken, when such beauties shot from one in particular, that fired my soul, and ran thrilling through every vein. That instant they turned from me, and seemed to be bending their foot-steps far away. Mad with the wish of a nearer view, and fearful of losing sight of them, I hastily strove to descend. My eyes still fixed on my lovely object, I paid no regard to my situation, and, while my thoughts and every faculty were absorbed in this pleasing idea, scrambled over rocks and precipices fearless of consequences; which however might have concluded rather unfortunately, and spoiled me for adventure; for, without the least warning, which is often the case, a piece of earth gave way, and down my worship rolled to the bottom. The height from whence I had fallen, and the rough encounters I had met with, stunned me for some time, but when I came to my recollection, I was charmed to see my beautiful girls running towards me. They had seen my fall, and, from my lying still, concluded I was killed; they expressed great joy on hearing me speak, and most obligingly endeavored to assist me in rising, but their united efforts were in vain; my leg was broken. This was a great shock to us all. In the sweetest accents they condoled me on my misfortune, and offered every assistance and consolation in their power. To a genius so enterprizing as myself, any accident which furthered my wishes of making an acquaintance with the object I had been pursuing, appeared trivial, when the advantages presented themselves to my view. I sat therefore like Patience on a monument, and bore my misfortune with a stoical philosophy. I wanted much to discover who they were, as their appearance was rather equivocal, and might have pronounced them belonging to any station in life. Their dress was exactly the same: white jackets and petticoats, with light green ribbands, &c. I asked some questions, which I hoped would lead to the point I wished to be informed in: their answers were polite, but not satisfactory; though I cannot say they were wholly evasive, as they seemed artlessly innocent; or, if at all reserved, it was the reserve which native modesty teaches. One of them said, I was in great need of instant assistance; and she had interest enough to procure some from an house not very distant from us: on which, they were both going. I entreated the younger one to stay, as I should be the most wretched of all mortals if left to myself. "We go," said she, "in order to relieve that wretchedness." I fixed my eyes on her with the most tender languor I could assume; and, sighing, told her, "it was in her power alone to give me ease, since she was the cause of my pain: her charms had dazzled my eyes, and occasioned that false step which had brought me sooner than I expected at her feet." She smiled, and answered, "then it was doubly incumbent on her to be as quick as possible in procuring me every accommodation necessary." At that instant they spied a herdsman, not far off. They called aloud, and talking with him some little time, without saying a word further to me, tripped away like two fairies.
In a little time a person, who had the appearance of a gentleman, approached, with three other servants, who carried a gate, on which was laid a feather-bed. He addressed me with the utmost politeness, and assisted to place me on this litter, and begged to have the honour of attending me to his house. I returned his civilities with the same politeness, and was carried to a very good-looking house on the side of a wood, and placed on a bed in a room handsomely furnished. A surgeon came a few hours after. The fracture was reduced; and as I was ordered to be kept extremely quiet, every one left the room, except my kind host, who sat silently by the bed-side. This was certainly genuine hospitality, for I was wholly unknown, as you may suppose: however, my figure, being that of a gentleman, and my distressed situation, were sufficient recommendations.
After lying some time in a silent state, I ventured to breathe out my grateful acknowledgements; but Mr. Grenville stopped me short, nor would suffer me to say one word that might tend to agitate my spirits. I told him, I thought it absolutely necessary to inform him who I was, as the event of my accident was uncertain. I therefore gave a concise account of myself. He desired to know if I had any friend to whom I would wish to communicate my situation. I begged him to send to the village I had left that morning for my servant, as I should be glad of his attendance. Being an adroit fellow, I judged he might be of service to me in gaining some intelligence about the damsels in question: but I was very near never wanting him again; for, a fever coming on, I was for some days hovering over the grave. A good constitution at last got the better, and I had nothing to combat but my broken limb, which was in a fair way. I had a most excellent nurse, a house-keeper in the family. My own servant likewise waited on me. Mr. Grenville spent a part of every day with me; and his agreeable conversation, though rather too grave for a fellow of my fire, afforded me great comfort during my confinement: yet still something was wanting, till I could hear news of my charming wood-nymphs.
One morning I strove to make my old nurse talk, and endeavoured to draw her out; she seemed a little shy. I asked her a number of questions about my generous entertainer; she rung a peal in his praise. I then asked if there were any pretty girls in the neighbourhood, as I was a great admirer of beauty. She laughed, and told me not to let my thoughts wander that way yet a while; I was yet too weak. "Not to talk of beauty, my old girl," said I. "Aye, aye," she answered, "but you look as if talking would not content you." I then told her, I had seen the loveliest girl in the world among the Welsh mountains, not far from hence, who I found was acquainted with this family, and I would reward her handsomely if she could procure me an interview with her, when she should judge I was able to talk of love in a proper style. I then described the girls I had seen, and freely confessed the impression one of them had made on me. "As sure as you are alive," said the old cat, "it was my daughter you saw." "Your daughter!" I exclaimed, "is it possible for your daughter to be such an angel?" "Good lack! why not? What, because I am poor, and a servant, my daughter is not to be flesh and blood."
"By heaven! but she is," said I, "and such flesh and blood, that I would give a thousand pounds to take her to town with me. What say you, mother; will you let me see her?" "I cannot tell," said she, shaking her head: "To be sure my girl is handsome, and might make her fortune in town; for she's as virtuous as she's poor." "I promise you," said I, "if she is not foolish enough to be too scrupulous about one, I will take care to remove the other. But, when shall I see her?" "Lord! you must not be in such a hurry: all in good time." With this assurance, and these hopes, I was constrained to remain satisfied for some time: though the old wench every now and then would flatter my passions by extolling the charms of her daughter; and above all, commending her sweet compliant disposition; a circumstance I thought in my favour, as it would render my conquest less arduous. I occasionally asked her of the family whom she served. She seemed rather reserved on this subject, though copious enough on any other. She informed me, however, that Mr. Grenville had two daughters; but no more to be compared with her's, than she was; and that, as soon as I was able to quit my bed-chamber, they would be introduced to me.
As my strength increased, my talkative nurse grew more eloquent in the praises of her child; and by those praises inflamed my passion to the highest pitch. I thought every day an age till I again beheld her; resolving to begin my attack as soon as possible, and indulging the idea, that my task would, through the intervention of the mother, be carried on with great facility. Thus I wiled away the time when I was left to myself. Yet, notwithstanding I recovered most amazingly fast considering my accident, I thought the confinement plaguy tedious, and was heartily glad when my surgeon gave me permission to be conveyed into a dressing-room. On the second day of my emigration from my bed-chamber, Mr. Grenville informed me he would bring me acquainted with the rest of his family. I assured him I should receive such an indulgence as a mark of his unexampled politeness and humanity, and should endeavor to be grateful for such favour. I now attained the height of my wishes; and at the same time sustained a sensible and mortifying disappointment: for, in the afternoon, Mr. Grenville entered the room, and in either hand one of the lovely girls I had seen, and who were the primary cause of my accident. I attained the summit of my wishes in again beholding my charmer; but when she was introduced under the character of daughter to my host, my fond hopes were instantly crushed. How could I be such a villain as to attempt the seduction of the daughter of a man to whom I was bound by so many ties? This reflection damped the joy which flushed in my face when I first saw her. I paid my compliments to the fair sisters with an embarrassment in my air not usual to a man of the world; but which, however, was not perceptible to my innocent companions. They talked over my adventure, and congratulated my recovery with so much good-nature as endeared them both to me, at the same time that I inwardly cursed the charms that enslaved me. Upon the whole, I do not know whether pain or pleasure was predominant through the course of the day; but I found I loved her more and more every moment. Uncertain what my resolves or intentions were, I took my leave of them, and returned to my room with matter for reflection sufficient to keep me waking the best part of the night. My old tabby did not administer a sleeping potion to me, by the conversation I had with her afterwards on the subject in debate.
"Well, Sir," she asked, "how do you like my master's daughters?" "Not so well as I should your daughter, I can tell you. What the devil did you mean by your cursed long harangues about her beauty, when you knew all the while she was not attainable?" "Why not? she is disengaged; is of a family and rank in life to do any man credit; and you are enamoured of her." "True; but I have no inclination to marry."
"And you cannot
"Your sagacity happens to be right in your conjecture."
"But you would have had no scruples of conscience in your design on my daughter."
"Not much, I confess; money well applied would have silenced the world, and I should have left it to her and your prudence to have done the rest."
"And do you suppose, Sir," said she, "that the honour of my daughter is not as valuable to me, because I am placed so much below you, as that of the daughter of the first man in the world? Had this been my child, and, by the various artifices you might have put in practice, you had triumphed over her virtue, do you suppose, I say, a little paltry dross would have been a recompence? No, sir, know me better than to believe any worldly advantages would have silenced my wrongs. My child, thank heaven, is virtuous, and far removed from the danger of meeting with such as I am sorry to find you are; one, who would basely rob the poor of the only privilege they possess, that of being innocent, while you cowardly shrink at the idea of attacking a woman, who, in the eye of a venal world, has a sufficient fortune to varnish over the loss of reputation. I confess I knew not the depravity of your heart, till the other day, I by accident heard part of a conversation between you and your servant; before that, I freely own, though I thought you not so strict in your morals as I hoped, yet I flattered myself your principles were not corrupted, but imputed the warmth of your expressions to youth, and a life unclouded by misfortune. I further own, I was delighted with the impression which my young lady had made on you. I fancied your passion disinterested, because you knew not her situation in life; but now I know you too well to suffer her to entertain a partiality for one whose sentiments are unworthy a man of honour, and who can never esteem virtue though in her loveliest form."
"Upon my soul! mother," cried I, (affecting an air of gaiety in my manner, which was foreign to my heart, for I was cursedly chagrined), "you have really a fine talent for preaching; why what a delectable sermon have you delivered against simple fornication. But come, come, we must not be enemies. I assure you, with the utmost sincerity, I am not the sad dog you think me. I honour and revere virtue even in you, who, you must be sensible, are rather too advanced in life for a Venus, though I doubt not in your youth you made many a Welsh heart dance without a harp. Come, I see you are not so angry as you were. Have a little compassion on a poor young fellow, who cannot, if he wishes it, run away from your frowns. I am tied by the leg, you know, my old girl. But to tell you the serious truth, the cause of the air of dissatisfaction which I wore, was, my apprehension of not having merit to gain the only woman that ever made any impression on my heart; and likewise my fears of your not being my friend, from the ludicrous manner in which I had before treated this affair."—I added some more prevailing arguments, and solemnly attested heaven to witness my innocence of actual seduction, though I had, I confessed with blushes, indulged in a few fashionable pleasures, which, though they might be stiled crimes among the Welsh-mountains, were nothing in our world. In short, I omitted nothing (as you will suppose by the lyes I already told of my innocence of actual seduction, and such stuff—) that I thought conducive to the conciliating her good opinion, or at least a better than she seemed to have at present.
When I argued the matter over in my own mind, I knew not on what to determine. Reflection never agreed with me: I hate it confoundedly—It brings with it a consumed long string of past transactions, that bore me to death, and is worse than a fit of the hypochondriac. I endeavored to lose my disagreeable companion in the arms of sleep; but the devil a bit: the idea of the raptures I should taste in those of my lovely Julia's, drove the drowsy God from my eye-lids—yet my pleasurable sensations were damped by the enormous purchase I must in all probability pay for such a delightful privilege: after examining the business every way, I concluded it as I do most things which require mature deliberation, left it to work its way in the best manner it could, and making chance, the first link in the chain of causes, ruler of my fate.
I now saw my Julia daily, and the encrease of passion was the consequence of every interview. You have often told me I was a fellow of no speculation or thought: I presume to say, that in the point in question, though you may conceive me running hand over head to destruction, I have shewn a great deal of fore-thought; and that the step I have taken is an infallible proof of it. Charming as both you and I think the lady Betty's and lady Bridget's, and faith have found them too, I believe neither you nor I ever intended to take any one of them for better, for worse; yet we have never made any resolution against entering into the pale of matrimony. Now though I like a little badinage, and sometimes something more, with a married woman—I would much rather that my wife, like Cæsar's, should not be suspected: where then is it so likely to meet with a woman of real virtue as in the lap of innocence? The women of our world marry, that they may have the greater privilege for leading dissipated lives. Knowing them so well as I do, I could have no chance of happiness with one of their class—and yet one must one time or other "settle soberly and raise a brood."—And why not now, while every artery beats rapidly, and nature is alive?
However, it does not signify bringing this argument, or that, to justify my procedure; I could not act otherwise than I have done. I was mad, absolutely dying for her. By heaven! I never saw so many beauties under one form. There is not a limb or feature which I have not adored in as many different women; here, they are all assembled with the greatest harmony: and yet she wants the polish of the world: a je ne sçai quoi, a tout ensemble, which nothing but mixing with people of fashion can give: but, as she is extremely docile, I have hopes that she will not disgrace the name of Stanley.
Shall I whisper you a secret—but publish it not in the streets of Askalon—I could almost wish my whole life had passed in the same innocent tranquil manner it has now for several weeks. No tumultuous thoughts, which, as they are too often excited by licentious excess, must be lost and drowned in wine. No cursed qualms of conscience, which will appall the most hardy of us, when nature sickens after the fatigue of a debauch. Here all is peaceful, because all is innocent: and yet what voluptuary can figure a higher joy than I at present experience in the possession of the most lovely of her sex, who thinks it her duty to contribute to my pleasure, and whose every thought I can read in her expressive countenance? Oh! that I may ever see her with the same eyes I do at this moment! Why cannot I renounce a world, the ways of which I have seen and despise from my soul? What attachments have I to it, guilty ones excepted? Ought I to continue them, when I have sworn—Oh! Christ! what is come to me now? can a virtuous connexion with the sex work miracles? but you cannot inform me—having never made such: and who the devil can, till they marry—and then it is too late: the die is cast.
I hope you will thank me for making you my confidant—and, what is more, writing you so enormous a long letter. Most likely I shall enhance your obligation by continuing my correspondence, as I do not know when I shall quit, what appears to me, my earthly paradise. Whether you will congratulate me from your heart I know not, because you may possibly imagine, from some virtuous emanations which have burst forth in the course of this epistle, that you shall lose your old companion. No, no,
Your lordship's devoted,
W. STANLEY.
LETTER II.
TO THE SAME.
What a restless discontented animal is man! Even in Paradise unblest. Do you know I am, though surrounded with felicity, languishing for sin and sea-coal in your regions. I shall be vapoured to death if I stay here much longer. Here is nothing to exercise the bright genius with which I am endued: all one calm sunshine;
"And days of peace do still succeed
To nights of calm repose."
How unfit to charm a soul like mine! I, who love every thing that the moderns call pleasure. I must be amongst you, and that presently. My Julia, I am certain, will make no resistance to my will. Faith! she is the wife for me. Mild, passive, duteous, and innocent: I may lead my life just as I please; and she, dear creature! will have no idea but that I am a very good husband!
"And when I am weary of wandering all day,
To thee, my delight, in the evening I, come."
I did intend, when first I began my correspondence with your lordship, to have informed you of the whole process of this affair; but, upon my soul, you must excuse me. From being idle, I am become perfectly indolent;—besides, it is unfashionable to talk so much of one's wife. I shall only say, I endeavoured, by all those little attentions which are so easily assumed by us, to gain her affections,—and at the same time, to make sure work, declared myself in form to her father.
One day, when I could hobble about, I took occasion to say to Mr. Grenville, that I was meditating a return for his civilities, which was no other than running away with his daughter Julia: that, in the whole course of my life, I had never seen a woman whom I thought so capable of making me happy; and that, were my proposals acceptable to him and her, it would be my highest felicity to render her situation such. I saw the old man was inwardly pleased.—In very polite terms he assured me, he should have no objection to such an alliance, if Julia's heart made none; that although, for very particular reasons, he had quarreled with the world, he did not wish to seclude his children from partaking of its pleasures. He owned, he thought Julia seemed to have an inclination to see more of it than he had had an opportunity of shewing her; and that, as he had for ever renounced it, there was no protector, after a father, so proper as a husband. He then paid me some compliments, which perhaps, had his acquaintance been of as long standing as yours and mine, he might have thought rather above my desert: but he knows no more of me than he has heard from me,—and the devil is in it, if a man won't speak well of himself when he has an opportunity.
It was some time before I could bring myself to the pious resolution of marrying.—I was extremely desirous of practising a few manœuvres first, just to try the strength of the citadel;—but madam house-keeper would have blown me up. "You are in love with my master's daughter," said she, one day, to me; "if you make honourable proposals, I have not a doubt but they will be accepted;—if I find you endeavouring to gain her heart in a clandestine manner,—remember you are in my power. My faithful services in this family have given me some influence, and I will certainly use it for their advantage. The best and loveliest of her sex shall not be left a prey to the artful insinuating practices of a man too well versed in the science of deceit. Marry her; she will do you honour in this world, and by her virtues ensure your happiness in the next."
I took the old matron's advice, as it so perfectly accorded with my own wishes. The gentle Julia made no objection.—Vanity apart, I certainly have some attractions; especially in the eyes of an innocent young creature, who yet never saw a reasonable being besides her father; and who had likewise a secret inclination to know a little how things go in the world. I shall very soon gratify her wish, by taking her to London.—I am sick to death of the constant routine of circumstances here—the same to-day, to-morrow, and forever. Your mere good kind of people are really very insipid sort of folks; and as such totally unsuited to my taste. I shall therefore leave them to their pious meditations in a short time, and whirl my little Julia into the giddy circle, where alone true joy is to be met with.
I shall not invite her sister to accompany her; as I have an invincible dislike to the idea of marrying a whole family. Besides, sisters sometimes are more quick-sighted than wives: and I begin to think (though from whence she has gained her knowledge I know not, I hope honestly!) that Louisa is mistress of more penetration than my rib.—She is more serious, consequently more observing and attentive.
Sylph is fixed on.—Our suite will be a Welsh fille de chambre, yclep'd Winifred, and an old male domestick, who at present acts in capacity of groom to me, and who I foresee will soon be the butt of my whole house;—as he is chiefly composed of Welsh materials, I conclude we shall have fine work with him among our beaux d'esprits of the motley tribe.—I shall leave Taffy to work his way as he can. Let every one fight their own battles I say.—I hate to interfere in any kind of business. I burn with impatience to greet you and the rest of your confederates. Assure them of my best wishes.—I was going to say services,—but alas! I am not my own master! I am married. After that, may I venture to conclude myself your's?
W. STANLEY.
LETTER III.
TO Miss GRENVILLE.
How strange does it seem, my dearest Louisa, to address you at this distance! What is it that has supported me through this long journey, and given me strength to combat with all the softer feelings; to quit a respectable parent and a beloved sister; to leave such dear and tender relations, and accompany a man to whom four months since I was wholly a stranger! I am a wretched reasoner at best.—I am therefore at a loss to unravel this mystery. It is true, it became my duty to follow my husband; but that a duty so newly entered into should supersede all others is certainly strange. You will say, you wonder these thoughts did not arise sooner;—they did, my dear; but the continual agitation of my spirits since I married, prevented my paying any attention to them. Perhaps, those who have been accustomed to the bustles of the world would laugh at my talking of the agitation of spirits in the course of an affair which was carried on with the most methodical exactness; but then it is their being accustomed to bustles, which could insure their composure on such an important occasion. I am young and inexperienced—and what is worst of all, a perfect stranger to the disposition of Sir William. He may be a very good sort of man; yet he may have some faults, which are at present unknown to me.—I am resolved, however, to be as indulgent to them as possible, should I discover any.—And as for my own, I will strive to conceal them, under an implicit obedience to his will and pleasure.
As to giving you an account of this hurrying place, it is totally out of my power. I made Sir William laugh very heartily several times at my ignorance. We came into town at a place called Piccadilly, where there was such a croud of carriages of all sorts, that I was perfectly astonished, and absolutely frightened. I begged Sir William would order the drivers to stop till they were gone by.—This intreaty threw him almost into a convulsion of laughter at my simplicity; but I was still more amazed, when he told
I have not yet seen any thing, as there is a ceremony to be observed among people of rank in this place. No married lady can appear in public till she has been properly introduced to their majesties. Alas! what will become of me upon an occasion so singular!—Sir William has been so obliging as to bespeak the protection of a lady, who is perfect mistress of the etiquettes of courts. She will pay me a visit previous to my introduction; and under her tuition, I am told, I have nothing to fear. All my hopes are, that I may acquit myself so as to gain the approbation of my husband. Husband! what a sound has that, when pronounced by a girl barely seventeen,—and one whose knowledge of the world is merely speculative;—one, who, born and bred in obscurity, is equally unacquainted with men and manners.—I have often revolved in my mind what could be the inducement of my father's total seclusion from the world; for what little hints I (and you, whose penetration is deeper than mine) could gather, have only served to convince us, he must have been extremely ill treated by it, to have been constrained to make a vow never again to enter into it,—and in my mind the very forming of a vow looks as if he had loved it to excess, and therefore made his retreat from it more solemn than a bare resolution, lest he might, from a change of circumstances or sentiments, again be seduced by its attractions, and by which he had suffered so much.
Do you know, I have formed the wish of knowing some of those incidents in his history which have governed his actions? will you, my dear Louisa, hint this to him? He may, by such a communication, be very serviceable to me, who am such a novice.
I foresee I shall stand in need of instructors; otherwise I shall make but an indifferent figure in the drama. Every thing, and every body, makes an appearance so widely opposite to my former notions, that I find myself every moment at a loss, and know not to whom to apply for information. I am apprehensive I shall tire Sir William to death with my interrogatories; besides, he gave me much such a hint as I gave Win, not to betray my ignorance to every person I met with; and yet, without asking questions, I shall never attain the knowledge of some things which to me appear extremely singular. The ideas I possessed while among the mountains seem intirely useless to me here. Nay, I begin to think, I might as well have learnt nothing; and that the time and expence which were bestowed on my education were all lost, since I even do not know how to walk a minuet properly. Would you believe it? Sir William has engaged a dancing-master to put me into a genteel and polite method of acquitting myself with propriety on the important circumstance of moving about a room gracefully. Shall I own I felt myself mortified when he made the proposition? I could even have shed tears at the humiliating figure I made in my own eyes; however, I had resolution to overcome such an appearance of weakness, and turned it off with a smile, saying, "I thought I had not stood in need of any accomplishments, since I had had sufficient to gain his affections." I believe he saw I was hurt, and therefore took some pains to re-assure me. He told me, "that though my person was faultless, yet, from my seclusion from it, I wanted an air of the world. He himself saw nothing but perfection in me; but he wished those, who were not blinded by passion, should think me not only the most beautiful, but likewise the most polished woman at court." Is there not a little vanity in this, Louisa? But Sir William is, I find, a man of the world; and it is my duty to comply with every thing he judges proper, to make me what he chuses.
Monsieur Fierville pays me great compliments. "Who is he?" you will ask. Why my dancing-master, my dear. I am likewise to take some lessons on the harpsichord, as Sir William finds great fault with my fingering, and thinks I want taste in singing. I always looked on taste as genuine and inherent to ourselves; but here, taste is to be acquired; and what is infinitely more astonishing still, it is variable. So, though I may dance and sing in taste now, a few months hence I may have another method to learn, which will be the taste then. It is a fine time for teachers, when scholars are never taught. We used to think, to be made perfect mistress of any thing was sufficient; but in this world it is very different; you have a fresh lesson to learn every winter. As a proof, they had last winter one of the first singers in the world at the opera-house; this winter they had one who surpassed her. This assertion you and I should think nonsense, since, according to our ideas, nothing can exceed perfection: the next who comes over will be superior to all others that ever arrived. The reason is, every one has a different mode of singing; a taste of their own, which by arbitrary custom is for that cause to be the taste of the whole town. These things appear incomprehensible to me; but I suppose use will reconcile me to them, as it does others, by whom they must once have been thought strange.
I think I can discover Sir William Stanley has great pride, that is, he is a slave to fashion. He is ambitious of being a leading man. His house, his equipage, and wife—in short, every thing which belongs to him must be admired; and I can see, he is not a little flattered when they meet with approbation, although from persons of whose taste and knowledge of life he has not the most exalted idea.
It would look very ungrateful in me, if I was to make any complaints against my situation; and yet would it not be more so to my father and you, if I was not to say, I was happier whilst with you? I certainly was. I will do Sir William the justice to say, he contributed to make my last two months residence very pleasant. He was the first lover I ever had, at least the first that ever told me he loved. The distinction he paid me certainly made some impression on my heart. Every female has a little vanity; but I must enlarge my stock before I can have a proper confidence in myself in this place.
My singing-master has just been announced. He is a very great man in his way, so I must not make him wait; besides, my letter is already a pretty reasonable length. Adieu, my dearest sister! say every thing duteous and affectionate for me to my father; and tell yourself that I am ever your's,
JULIA STANLEY.
LETTER IV.
TO Colonel MONTAGUE.
Dear JACK,
I was yesterday introduced to the loveliest woman in the universe; Stanley's wife. Yes, that happy dog is still the favourite of Fortune. How does he triumph over me on every occasion! If he had a soul of worth, what a treasure would he possess in such an angel! but he will soon grow tired even of her. What immense pains did he take to supplant me in the affections of Lucy Gardner, though he has since sworn to you and many others he proposed no other advantage to himself than rivaling me, and conquering her prejudices in my favour. He thinks I have forgot all this, because I did not call him to an account for his ungenerous conduct, and because I still style him my friend; but let him have a care; my revenge only slept till a proper opportunity called it forth. As to retaliating, by endeavouring to obtain any of his mistresses, that was too trivial a satisfaction for me, as he is too
Lady Stanley is extremely observant of her husband at present, because he is the only man who has paid her attention; but when she finds she is the only woman who is distinguished by his indifference, which will soon be the case, she will likewise see, and be grateful for, the assiduities paid her by other men. One of the first of those I intend to be. I shall not let you into the plan of operations at present; besides, it is impossible, till I know more of my ground, to mark out any scheme. Chance often performs that for us, which the most judicious reflection cannot bring about; and I have the whole campaign before me.
I think myself pretty well acquainted with the failings and weak parts in Stanley; and you may assure yourself I shall avail myself of them. I do not want penetration; and doubt not, from the free access which I have gained in the family, but I shall soon be master of the ruling passion of her ladyship. She is, as yet, a total stranger to the world; her character is not yet established; she cannot know herself. She only knows she is handsome; that secret, I presume, Nature has informed her of. Her husband has confirmed it, and she liked him because she found in him a coincidence of opinion. But all that rapturous nonsense will, and must soon, have an end. As to the beauties of mind, he has no more idea of them, than we have of a sixth sense; what he knows not, he cannot admire. She will soon find herself neglected; but at the same time she will find the loss of a husband's praises amply supplied by the devoirs of a hundred, all equal, and many superior to him. At first, she may be uneasy; but repeated flattery will soon console her; and the man who can touch her heart, needs fear nothing. Every thing else, as Lord Chesterfield justly observes, will then follow of course. By which assertion, whatever the world may think, he certainly pays a great compliment to the fair sex. Men may be rendered vicious by a thousand methods; but there is only one way to subdue women.
Whom do you think he has introduced as chaperons to his wife? Lady Besford, and Lady Anne Parker. Do not you admire his choice? Oh! they will be charming associates for her! But I have nothing to say against it, as I think their counsels will further my schemes. Lady Besford might not be so much amiss; but Lady Anne! think of her, with whom he is belied if he has not had an affair. What madness! It is like him, however. Let him then take the consequences of his folly; and such clever fellows as you and I the advantage of them. Adieu, dear Jack! I shall see you, I hope, as soon as you come to town. I shall want you in a scheme I have in my head, but which I do not think proper to trust to paper. Your's,
BIDDULPH.
LETTER V.
TO Lady STANLEY.
I have lost you, my Julia; and who shall supply your loss? How much am I alone! and yet, if you are happy, I must and will be satisfied. I should, however, be infinitely more so, if you had any companion to guide your footsteps through the devious path of life: I wish you some experienced director. Have you not yet made an acquaintance which may be useful to you? Though you are prevented appearing in public, yet I think it should have been Sir William's first care to provide you with some agreeable sensible female friend one who may love you as well as your Louisa, and may, by having lived in the world, have it more in her power to be of service to you.
My father misses you as much as I do: I will not repeat all he says, lest you should think he repents of his complying with Sir William's importunity. Write to us very often, and tell us you are happy; that will be the only consolation we can receive in your absence. Oh, this vow! It binds my father to this spot. Not that I wish to enter into the world. I doubt faithlessness and insincerity are very prevalent there, since they could find their way among our mountains. But let me not overcloud your sunshine. I was, you know, always of a serious turn. May no accident make you so, since your natural disposition is chearfulness itself!
I read your letter to my father; he seemed pleased at your wish of being acquainted with the incidents of his life: he will enter on the task very soon. There is nothing, he says, which can, from the nature of things, be a guide to you in your passage through the world, any farther than not placing too much confidence in the prospect of felicity, with which you see yourself surrounded; but always to keep in mind, we are but in a state of probation here, and consequently but for a short time: that, as our happiness is liable to change, we ought not to prize the possession so much as to render ourselves miserable when that change comes; neither, when we are oppressed with the rod of affliction, should we sink into despair, as we are certain our woe, like ourselves, is mortal. Receive the blessing of our only parent, joined with the affectionate love of a tender sister. Adieu!
LOUISA GRENVILLE
LETTER VI.
To JAMES SPENCER, Esq.
It is high time, my dear Spencer, to account to you for the whimsical journey, as you called it, which your friend undertook so suddenly. I meant not to keep that, or even my motives for it, a secret from you. The esteem you have ever shewn me merited my most unlimited confidence.
You said, you thought I must have some other view than merely to visit the ruins of a paternal estate, lost to me by the extravagant folly of my poor father. You said true; I had indeed some other view; but alas! how blasted is that view! Long had my heart cherished the fondest attachment for the loveliest and best of human beings, who inhabited the mountains, which once my father owned. My fortune was too circumscribed to disclose my flame; but I secretly indulged it, from the remote hope of having it one day in my power to receive her hand without blushing at my inferiority in point of wealth. These thoughts, these wishes, have supported me through an absence of two years from my native land, and all that made my native land dear to me.
Her loved idea heightened every joy I received, and softened every care. I knew I possessed her esteem; but I never, from the first of my acquaintance, gave the least hint of what I felt for, or hoped from, her. I should have thought myself base in the highest degree, to have made an interest in her bosom, which I had nothing to support on my side but the sanguine wishes of
I could run any lengths in praising one so dear to me; but he was equally so to you, and you are fully acquainted with my sentiments on this head; besides, I have something more to the purpose at present to communicate to you.
All the satisfaction I ever expected from the acquisition of fortune was, to share it with my love. Nothing but that hope and prospect could have enabled me to sustain the death of my friend. In the bosom of my Julia I fondly hoped to experience those calm delights which his loss deprived me of for some time. Alas! that long-indulged hope is sunk in despair! Oh! my Spencer! she's lost, lost to me for ever! Yet what right had I to think she would not be seen, and, being seen, admired, loved, and courted? But, from the singularity of her father's disposition, who had vowed never to mix in the world;—a disappointment of the tenderest kind which her elder sister had met with, and the almost monastic seclusion from society in which she lived, joined to her extreme youth, being but seventeen the day I left you in London: all these circumstances, I say, concurred once to authorize my fond hopes,—and these hopes have nursed my despair. Oh! I knew not how much I loved her, till I saw her snatched from me for ever. A few months sooner, and I might have pleaded some merit with the lovely maid from my long and unremitted attachment. My passion was interwoven with my existence,—with that it grew, and with that only will expire.
"My dear-lov'd Julia! from my youth began
The tender flame, and ripen'd in the man;
My dear-lov'd Julia! to my latest age,
No other vows shall e'er my heart engage."
Full of the fond ideas which seemed a part of myself, I flew down to Woodley-vale, to reap the long-expected harvest of my hopes.—Good God! what was the fatal news I learnt on my arrival! Alas! she knew not of my love and constancy;—she had a few weeks before given her hand, and no doubt her heart, to Sir William Stanley, with whom an accident had brought her acquainted. I will not enlarge upon what were my feelings on this occasion.—Words would be too faint a vehicle to express the anguish of my soul. You, who know the tenderness of my disposition, must judge for me.
Yesterday I saw the dear angel, from the inn from whence I am writing; she and her happy husband stopped here for fresh horses. I had a full view of her beauteous face. Ah! how much has two years improved each charm in her lovely person! lovely and charming, but not for me. I kept myself concealed from her—I could hardly support the sight of her at a distance; my emotions were more violent than you can conceive. Her dress became her the best in the world; a riding habit of stone-coloured cloth, lined with rose-colour, and frogs of the same—the collar of her shirt was open at the neck, and discovered her lovely ivory throat. Her hair was in a little disorder, which, with her hat, served to contribute to, and heighten, the almost irresistible charms of her features. There was a pensiveness in her manner, which rendered her figure more interesting and touching than usual. I thought I discovered the traces of a tear on her cheek. She had just parted with her father and sister; and, had she shewn less concern, I should not have been so satisfied with her. I gazed till my eye-balls ached; but, when the chaise drove from the door—oh! what then became of me! "She's gone! she's gone!" I exclaimed aloud, wringing my hands, "and never knew how much I loved her!" I was almost in a state of madness for some hours—at last, my storm of grief and despair a little subsided, and I, by degrees, became calm and more resigned to my ill fate. I took the resolution, which I shall put in execution as soon as possible, to leave England. I will retire to the remaining part of my Frederic's family—and, in their friendship, seek to forget the pangs which an habitual tenderness has brought upon me.
You, who are at ease, may have it in your power to convey some small satisfaction to my wounded breast. But why do I say small satisfaction? To me it will be the highest to hear that my Julia is happy. Do you then, my dear Spencer, enquire, among your acquaintance, the character of this Sir William Stanley. His figure is genteel, nay, rather handsome; yet he does not look the man I could wish for her. I did not discover that look of tenderness, that soft impassioned glance, which virtuous love excites; but you will not expect a favourable picture from a rival's pen.
I mentioned a disappointment which the sister of my Julia had sustained: it was just before I left England. While on a visit at Abergavenny, she became acquainted with a young gentleman of fortune, who, after taking some pains to render himself agreeable, had the satisfaction of gaining the affections of one of the most amiable girls in the world. She is all that a woman can be, except being my Julia. Louisa was at that time extremely attached to a lady in the same house with her, who was by no means a favourite with her lover. They used frequently to have little arguments concerning her. He would not allow her any merit. Louisa fancied she saw her own image reflected in the bosom of her friend. She is warm in her attachments. Her zeal for her friend at last awakened a curiosity in her lover, to view her with more scrutiny. He had been accustomed to pay an implicit obedience to Louisa's opinion; he fancied he was still acquiescing only in that opinion when he began to discover she was handsome, and to find some farther beauties which Louisa had not painted in so favourable a light as he now saw them. In short, what at first was only a compliment to his mistress, now seemed the due of the other. He thought Louisa had hardly done her justice; and in seeking to repair that fault, he injured the woman who doated on him. Love, which in some cases is blind, is in others extremely quick-sighted. Louisa saw a change in his behaviour—a studied civility—an apprehension of not appearing sufficiently assiduous—frequent expressions of fearing to offend—and all those mean arts and subterfuges which a man uses, who wants to put in a woman's power to break with him, that he may basely shelter himself behind, what he styles, her cruelty. Wounded to the soul with the duplicity of his conduct, she, one day, insisted on knowing the motives which induced him to act in so disingenuous a manner by her. At first his answers were evasive; but she peremptorily urged an explicit satisfaction. She told him, the most unfavourable certainty would be happiness to what she now felt, and that certainty she now called on him in justice to grant her. He then began by palliating the fatal inconstancy of his affections, by the encomiums which she had bestowed on her friend; that his love for her had induced him to love those dear to her; and some unhappy circumstances had arisen, which had bound him to her friend, beyond his power or inclination to break through. This disappointment, in so early a part of Louisa's life, has given a tenderness to her whole frame, which is of advantage to most women, and her in particular. She has, I question not, long since beheld this unworthy wretch in the light he truly deserved; yet, no doubt, it was not till she had suffered many pangs. The heart will not recover its usual tone in a short time, that has long been racked with the agonies of love; and even when we fancy ourselves quite recovered, there is an aching void, which still reminds us of former anguish.
I shall not be in town these ten days at least, as I find I can be serviceable to a poor man in this neighbourhood, whom I believe to be an object worthy attention. Write me,
HENRY WOODLEY.
LETTER VII.
TO HENRY WOODLEY, Esq.
No, my dear Harry, I can never consent to your burying yourself abroad; but I will not say all I could on that subject till we meet. I think, I shall then be able to offer you some very powerful reasons, that you will esteem sufficient to induce you to remain in your native land.—I have a scheme in my head, but which I shall not communicate at present.
Sir William Stanley is quite a man of fashion.—Do you know enough of the world to understand all that title comprehends? If you do, you will sincerely regret your Julia is married to a man of fashion. His passions are the rule and guide of his actions. To what mischiefs is a young creature exposed in this town, circumstanced as Lady Stanley is—without a friend or relation with her to point out the artful and designing wretch, who means to make a prey of her innocence and inexperience of life!
The most unsafe and critical situation for a woman, is to be young, handsome, and married to a man of fashion; these are thought to be lawful prey to the specious of our sex. As a man of fashion, Sir William Stanley would blush to be found too attentive to his wife;—he will leave her to seek what companions chance may throw in her way, while he is associating with rakes of quality, and glorying in those scenes in which to be discovered he should really blush. I am told he is fond of deep play—attaches himself to women of bad character, and seeks to establish an opinion, that he is quite the ton in every thing. I tremble for your Julia.—Her beauty, if she had no other merit, making her fashionable, will induce some of those wretches, who are ever upon the watch to ensnare the innocent, to practice their diabolical artifices to poison her mind. She will soon see herself neglected by her husband,—and that will be the signal for them to begin their attack.—She is totally unhackneyed in the ways of men, and consequently can form no idea of the extreme depravity of their hearts. May the innate virtue of her mind be her guide and support!—but to escape with honour and reputation will be a difficult task. I must see you, Harry. I have something in my mind. I have seen more of the world than you have.—For a whole year I was witness of the disorder of this great town, and, with blushes I write, have too frequently joined in some of its extravagances and follies; but, thank heaven! my eyes were opened before my morals became corrupt, or my fortune and constitution impaired.—Your virtue and my Frederic's confirmed me in the road I was then desirous of pursuing,—and I am now convinced I shall never deviate from the path of rectitude.
I expect you in town with all the impatience of a friend zealous for your happiness and advantage: but I wish not to interfere with any charitable or virtuous employment.—When you have finished your affairs, remember your faithful
J. SPENCER.
LETTER VIII.
TO Miss GRENVILLE.
Surrounded with mantua-makers, milliners, and hair-dressers, I blush to say I have hardly time to bestow on my dear Louisa. What a continual bustle do I live in, without having literally any thing to do! All these wonderful preparations are making for my appearance at court; and, in consequence of that, my visiting all the places of public amusement. I foresee my head will be turned with this whirl of folly, I am inclined to call it, in contradiction to the opinion of mankind.—If the people I am among are of any character at all, I may comprise it in few words: to me they seem to be running about all the morning, and throwing away time, in concerting measures to throw away more in the evening. Then, as to dress, to give an idea of that, I must reverse the line of an old song.
"What was our shame, is now our pride."
I have had a thousand patterns of silks brought me to make choice, and such colours as yet never appeared in a rainbow. A very elegant man, one of Sir William's friends I thought, was introduced to me the other morning.—I was preparing to receive him as a visitor; when taking out his pocket-book, he begged I would do him the honour to inspect some of the most fashionable patterns, and of the newest taste. He gave me a list of their names as he laid them on the cuff of his coat. This you perhaps will think unnecessary; and that, as colours affect the visual orb the same in different people, I might have been capable of distinguishing blue from red, and so on; but the case is quite otherwise; there are no such colours now. "This your ladyship will find extremely becoming,—it is la cheveaux de la Regne;—but the colour de puce is esteemed before it, and mixed with d'Artois, forms the most elegant assemblage in the world; the Pont sang is immensely rich; but to suit your ladyship's complexion, I would rather recommend the feuile mort, or la noysette." Fifty others, equally unintelligible, he ran off with the utmost facility. I thought, however, so important a point should be determined by wiser heads than mine;—therefore requested him to leave them with me, as I expelled some ladies on whose taste I had great reliance. As I cannot be supposed from the nature of things to judge for myself with any propriety, I shall leave the choice of my cloaths to Lady Besford and Lady Anne Parker, two ladies who have visited me, and are to be my protectors in public.
I was extremely shocked, when I sent for a mantua-maker, to find a man was to perform that office. I even refused a long time to admit him near me—and thinking myself perfectly safe that I should have him on my side, appealed to Sir William. He laughed at my ridiculous scruples, as he called them, and farther told me, "custom justified every thing; nothing was indecent or otherwise, but as it was the ton." I was silent, but neither satisfied or pleased,—and submitted, I believe, with but an ill grace.
Lady Besford was so extremely polite to interest herself in every thing concerning my making a fashionable appearance, and procured for me a French frizeur of the last importation, who dressed hair to a miracle, au dernier gout. I believe, Louisa, I must send you a dictionary of polite phrases, or you will be much at a loss, notwithstanding you have a pretty competent knowledge of the French tongue. I blush twenty times a day at my own stupidity,—and then Sir William tells me, "it is so immensely bore to blush;" which makes me blush ten times more, because I don't understand what he means by that expression, and I am afraid to discover my ignorance; and he has not patience to explain every ambiguous word he uses, but cries, shrugging up his shoulders, ah! quel savage! and then composes his ruffled spirits by humming an Italian air.
Well, but I must tell you what my dress was, in which I was presented. My gown was a silver tissue, trimmed with silver net, and tied up with roses, as large as life, I was going to say. Indeed it was very beautiful, and so it ought, for it came to a most enormous sum. My jewels are magnifique, and in immense quantities. Do you know, I could not find out half their purposes, or what I should do with them; for such things I never saw. What should poor Win and I have done by ourselves?—Lady Besford talked of sending her woman to assist me in dressing.—I told her I had a servant, to whom I had been accustomed for a long time.—"Ah! for heaven's sake, my dear creature!" exclaimed my husband, "don't mention the tramontane. She might do tolerably well for the Welsh mountains, but she will cut a
Yesterday morning the grand task of my decoration was to commence. Ah! good Lord! I can hardly recollect particulars.—I am morally convinced my father would have been looking for his Julia, had he seen me;—and would have spent much time before he discovered me in the midst of feathers, flowers, and a thousand gew-gaws beside, too many to enumerate. I will, if I can, describe my head for your edification, as it appeared to me when Monsieur permitted me to view myself in the glass. I was absolutely ready to run from it with fright, like poor Acteon when he had suffered the displeasure of Diana; and, like him, was in danger of running my new-acquired ornaments against every thing in my way.
Monsieur alighted from his chariot about eleven o'clock, and was immediately announced by Griffith, who, poor soul! stared as if he thought him one of the finest men in the world. He was attended by a servant, who brought in two very large caravan boxes, and a number of other things. Monsieur then prepared to begin his operations.—Sir William was at that time in my dressing-room. He begged, for God's sake! "that Monsieur would be so kind as to exert his abilities, as every thing depended on the just impression my figure made."—Monsieur bowed and shrugged, just like an overgrown monkey. In a moment I was overwhelmed with a cloud of powder. "What are you doing? I do not mean to be powdered," I said. "Not powdered!" repeated Sir William; "why you would not be so barbarous as to appear without—it positively is not decent."
"I thought," answered I, "you used to admire the colour of my hair—how often have you praised its glossy hue! and called me your nut-brown maid!"
"Pho! pho!" said he, blushing, perhaps lest he should be suspected of tenderness, as that is very vulgar, "I can bear to see a woman without powder in summer; but now the case is otherwise. Monsieur knows what he is about. Don't interrupt or dictate to him. I am going to dress. Adieu, ma charmante!"
With a determination of being passive, I sat down under his hands—often, I confess, wondering what kind of being I should be in my metamorphosis,—and rather impatient of the length of time, to say nothing of the pain I felt under the pulling and frizing, and rubbing in the exquisitely-scented pomade de Venus. At length the words, "vous êtes finis, madame, au dernier gout," were pronounced; and I rose with precaution, lest I should discompose my new-built fabrick, and to give a glance at myself in the glass;—but where, or in what language, shall I ever find words to express my astonishment at the figure which presented itself to my eyes! what with curls, flowers, ribbands, feathers, lace, jewels, fruit, and ten thousand other things, my head was at least from one side to the other full half an ell wide, and from the lowest curl that lay on my shoulder, up to the top, I am sure I am within compass, if I say three quarters of a yard high; besides six enormous large feathers, black, white, and pink, that reminded me of the plumes which nodded on the immense casque in the castle of Otranto. "Good God!" I exclaimed, "I can never bear this." The man assured me I was dressed quite in taste. "Let me be dressed as I will," I answered, "I must and will be altered. I would not thus expose myself, for the universe." Saying which, I began pulling down some of the prodigious and monstrous fabrick.—The dresser of the actresses exclaimed loudly, and the frizeur remonstrated. However, I was inflexible: but, to stop the volubility of the Frenchman's tongue, I inquired how much I was indebted to him for making me a monster. A mere trifle! Half a guinea the dressing, and for the feathers, pins, wool, false curls, chignion, toque, pomades, flowers, wax-fruit, ribband, &c. &c. &c. he believes about four guineas would be the difference. I was almost petrified with astonishment. When I recovered the power of utterance, I told him, "I thought at least he should have informed me what he was about before he ran me to so much expense; three-fourths of the things were useless, as I would not by any means appear in them." "It was the same to him," he said, "they were now my property. He had run the risk of disobliging the Duchess of D——, by giving me the preference of the finest bundles of radishes that had yet come over; but this it was to degrade himself by dressing commoners. Lady Besford had intreated this favour from him; but he must say, he had never been so ill-treated since his arrival in this kingdom." In short, he flew out of the room in a great rage, leaving me in the utmost disorder. I begged Mrs. Freeman (so her ladyship's woman is called) to assist me a little in undoing what the impertinent Frenchman had taken such immense pains to effect. I had sacrificed half a bushel of trumpery, when Lady Besford was ushered into my dressing-room. "Lord bless me! my dear Lady Stanley, what still dishabillé? I thought you had been ready, and waiting for me." I began, by way of apology, to inform her ladyship of Monsieur's insolence. She looked serious, and said, "I am sorry you offended him; I fear he will represent you at her grace's ruelle, and you will be the jest of the whole court. Indeed, this is a sad affair. He is the first man in his walk of life." "And if he was the last," I rejoined, "it would be the better; however, I beg your ladyship's pardon for not being ready. I shall not detain you many minutes."
My dear Louisa, you will laugh when I tell you, that poor Winifred, who was reduced to be my gentlewoman's gentlewoman, broke two laces in endeavouring to draw my new French stays close. You know I am naturally small at bottom. But now you might literally span me. You never saw such a doll. Then, they are so intolerably wide across the breast, that my arms are absolutely sore with them; and my sides so pinched!—But it is the ton; and pride feels no pain. It is with these sentiments the ladies of the present age heal their wounds; to be admired, is a sufficient balsam.
Sir William had met with the affronted Frenchman, and, like Lady Besford, was full of apprehensions lest he should expose me; for my part, I was glad to be from under his hands at any rate; and feared nothing when he was gone; only still vexed at the strange figure I made. My husband freely condemned my behaviour as extremely absurd; and, on my saying I would have something to cover, or at least shade, my neck, for that I thought it hardly decent to have that intirely bare, while one's head was loaded with superfluities; he exclaimed to Lady Besford, clapping his hands together, "Oh! God! this ridiculous girl will be an eternal disgrace to me!" I thought this speech very cutting. I could not restrain a tear from starting. "I hope not, Sir William," said I; "but, lest I should, I will stay at home till I have properly learnt to submit to insult and absurdity without emotion." My manner made him ashamed; he took my hand, and, kissing it, begged my pardon, and added, "My dear creature, I want you to be admired by the whole world; and, in compliance with the taste of the world, we must submit to some things, which, from their novelty, we may think absurd; but use will reconcile them to you." Lady Besford encouraged me; and I was prevailed on to go, though very much out of spirits. I must break off here, for the present. This letter has been the work of some days already. Adieu!
IN CONTINUATION
My apprehensions increased each moment that brought us near St. James's: but there was nothing for it; so I endeavoured all in my power to argue myself into a serenity of mind,
"You was never more mistaken. I never had more reason to be proud of any part of my family. The circle rang with your praises. But you must not expect tenderness in public, my love; if you meet with it in private, you will have no cause of complaint."
This will give you but a strange idea of the world I am in, Louisa. I do not above half like it, and think a ramble, arm in arm with you upon our native mountains, worth it all. However, my lot is drawn; and, perhaps, as times and husbands go, I have no cause of complaint.