LETTER the FIRST
From a MOTHER to her FREIND.
My Children begin now to claim all my attention in different Manner
from that in which they have been used to receive it, as they are now
arrived at that age when it is necessary for them in some measure to
become conversant with the World, My Augusta is 17 and her sister
scarcely a twelvemonth younger. I flatter myself that their education
has been such as will not disgrace their appearance in the World, and
that _they_ will not disgrace their Education I have every reason to
beleive. Indeed they are sweet Girls—. Sensible yet
unaffected—Accomplished yet Easy—. Lively yet Gentle—. As their
progress in every thing they have learnt has been always the same, I am
willing to forget the difference of age, and to introduce them together
into Public. This very Evening is fixed on as their first _entrée_ into
Life, as we are to drink tea with Mrs Cope and her Daughter. I am glad
that we are to meet no one, for my Girls sake, as it would be awkward
for them to enter too wide a Circle on the very first day. But we shall
proceed by degrees.—Tomorrow Mr Stanly’s family will drink tea with us,
and perhaps the Miss Phillips’s will meet them. On Tuesday we shall pay
Morning Visits—On Wednesday we are to dine at Westbrook. On Thursday we
have Company at home. On Friday we are to be at a Private Concert at
Sir John Wynna’s—and on Saturday we expect Miss Dawson to call in the
Morning—which will complete my Daughters Introduction into Life. How
they will bear so much dissipation I cannot imagine; of their spirits I
have no fear, I only dread their health.
This mighty affair is now happily over, and my Girls _are out_. As the
moment approached for our departure, you can have no idea how the sweet
Creatures trembled with fear and expectation. Before the Carriage drove
to the door, I called them into my dressing-room, and as soon as they
were seated thus addressed them. “My dear Girls the moment is now
arrived when I am to reap the rewards of all my Anxieties and Labours
towards you during your Education. You are this Evening to enter a
World in which you will meet with many wonderfull Things; Yet let me
warn you against suffering yourselves to be meanly swayed by the
Follies and Vices of others, for beleive me my beloved Children that if
you do—I shall be very sorry for it.” They both assured me that they
would ever remember my advice with Gratitude, and follow it with
attention; That they were prepared to find a World full of things to
amaze and to shock them: but that they trusted their behaviour would
never give me reason to repent the Watchful Care with which I had
presided over their infancy and formed their Minds—” “With such
expectations and such intentions (cried I) I can have nothing to fear
from you—and can chearfully conduct you to Mrs Cope’s without a fear of
your being seduced by her Example, or contaminated by her Follies.
Come, then my Children (added I) the Carriage is driving to the door,
and I will not a moment delay the happiness you are so impatient to
enjoy.” When we arrived at Warleigh, poor Augusta could scarcely
breathe, while Margaret was all Life and Rapture. “The long-expected
Moment is now arrived (said she) and we shall soon be in the World.”—In
a few Moments we were in Mrs Cope’s parlour, where with her daughter
she sate ready to receive us. I observed with delight the impression my
Children made on them—. They were indeed two sweet, elegant-looking
Girls, and tho’ somewhat abashed from the peculiarity of their
situation, yet there was an ease in their Manners and address which
could not fail of pleasing—. Imagine my dear Madam how delighted I must
have been in beholding as I did, how attentively they observed every
object they saw, how disgusted with some Things, how enchanted with
others, how astonished at all! On the whole however they returned in
raptures with the World, its Inhabitants, and Manners.
Yrs Ever—A. F.
LETTER the SECOND
From a YOUNG LADY crossed in Love to her freind
Why should this last disappointment hang so heavily on my spirits? Why
should I feel it more, why should it wound me deeper than those I have
experienced before? Can it be that I have a greater affection for
Willoughby than I had for his amiable predecessors? Or is it that our
feelings become more acute from being often wounded? I must suppose my
dear Belle that this is the Case, since I am not conscious of being
more sincerely attached to Willoughby than I was to Neville, Fitzowen,
or either of the Crawfords, for all of whom I once felt the most
lasting affection that ever warmed a Woman’s heart. Tell me then dear
Belle why I still sigh when I think of the faithless Edward, or why I
weep when I behold his Bride, for too surely this is the case—. My
Freinds are all alarmed for me; They fear my declining health; they
lament my want of spirits; they dread the effects of both. In hopes of
releiving my melancholy, by directing my thoughts to other objects,
they have invited several of their freinds to spend the Christmas with
us. Lady Bridget Darkwood and her sister-in-law, Miss Jane are expected
on Friday; and Colonel Seaton’s family will be with us next week. This
is all most kindly meant by my Uncle and Cousins; but what can the
presence of a dozen indefferent people do to me, but weary and distress
me—. I will not finish my Letter till some of our Visitors are arrived.
Friday Evening Lady Bridget came this morning, and with her, her sweet
sister Miss Jane—. Although I have been acquainted with this charming
Woman above fifteen Years, yet I never before observed how lovely she
is. She is now about 35, and in spite of sickness, sorrow and Time is
more blooming than I ever saw a Girl of 17. I was delighted with her,
the moment she entered the house, and she appeared equally pleased with
me, attaching herself to me during the remainder of the day. There is
something so sweet, so mild in her Countenance, that she seems more
than Mortal. Her Conversation is as bewitching as her appearance; I
could not help telling her how much she engaged my admiration—. “Oh!
Miss Jane (said I)—and stopped from an inability at the moment of
expressing myself as I could wish—Oh! Miss Jane—(I repeated)—I could
not think of words to suit my feelings—She seemed waiting for my
speech—. I was confused—distressed—my thoughts were bewildered—and I
could only add—“How do you do?” She saw and felt for my Embarrassment
and with admirable presence of mind releived me from it by saying—“My
dear Sophia be not uneasy at having exposed yourself—I will turn the
Conversation without appearing to notice it. “Oh! how I loved her for
her kindness!” Do you ride as much as you used to do?” said she—. “I am
advised to ride by my Physician. We have delightful Rides round us, I
have a Charming horse, am uncommonly fond of the Amusement, replied I
quite recovered from my Confusion, and in short I ride a great deal.”
“You are in the right my Love,” said she. Then repeating the following
line which was an extempore and equally adapted to recommend both
Riding and Candour—
“Ride where you may, Be Candid where you can,” she added,” _I_ rode
once, but it is many years ago—She spoke this in so low and tremulous a
Voice, that I was silent—. Struck with her Manner of speaking I could
make no reply. “I have not ridden, continued she fixing her Eyes on my
face, since I was married.” I was never so surprised—“Married, Ma’am!”
I repeated. “You may well wear that look of astonishment, said she,
since what I have said must appear improbable to you—Yet nothing is
more true than that I once was married.”
“Then why are you called Miss Jane?”
“I married, my Sophia without the consent or knowledge of my father the
late Admiral Annesley. It was therefore necessary to keep the secret
from him and from every one, till some fortunate opportunity might
offer of revealing it—. Such an opportunity alas! was but too soon
given in the death of my dear Capt. Dashwood—Pardon these tears,
continued Miss Jane wiping her Eyes, I owe them to my Husband’s memory.
He fell my Sophia, while fighting for his Country in America after a
most happy Union of seven years—. My Children, two sweet Boys and a
Girl, who had constantly resided with my Father and me, passing with
him and with every one as the Children of a Brother (tho’ I had ever
been an only Child) had as yet been the comforts of my Life. But no
sooner had I lossed my Henry, than these sweet Creatures fell sick and
died—. Conceive dear Sophia what my feelings must have been when as an
Aunt I attended my Children to their early Grave—. My Father did not
survive them many weeks—He died, poor Good old man, happily ignorant to
his last hour of my Marriage.”
“But did not you own it, and assume his name at your husband’s death?”
“No; I could not bring myself to do it; more especially when in my
Children I lost all inducement for doing it. Lady Bridget, and yourself
are the only persons who are in the knowledge of my having ever been
either Wife or Mother. As I could not Prevail on myself to take the
name of Dashwood (a name which after my Henry’s death I could never
hear without emotion) and as I was conscious of having no right to that
of Annesley, I dropt all thoughts of either, and have made it a point
of bearing only my Christian one since my Father’s death.” She
paused—“Oh! my dear Miss Jane (said I) how infinitely am I obliged to
you for so entertaining a story! You cannot think how it has diverted
me! But have you quite done?”
“I have only to add my dear Sophia, that my Henry’s elder Brother
dieing about the same time, Lady Bridget became a Widow like myself,
and as we had always loved each other in idea from the high Character
in which we had ever been spoken of, though we had never met, we
determined to live together. We wrote to one another on the same
subject by the same post, so exactly did our feeling and our actions
coincide! We both eagerly embraced the proposals we gave and received
of becoming one family, and have from that time lived together in the
greatest affection.”
“And is this all? said I, I hope you have not done.”
“Indeed I have; and did you ever hear a story more pathetic?”
“I never did—and it is for that reason it pleases me so much, for when
one is unhappy nothing is so delightful to one’s sensations as to hear
of equal misery.”
“Ah! but my Sophia why _are you_ unhappy?”
“Have you not heard Madam of Willoughby’s Marriage?”
“But my love why lament _his_ perfidy, when you bore so well that of
many young Men before?”
“Ah! Madam, I was used to it then, but when Willoughby broke his
Engagements I had not been dissapointed for half a year.”
“Poor Girl!” said Miss Jane.
LETTER the THIRD
From a YOUNG LADY in distressed Circumstances to her freind
A few days ago I was at a private Ball given by Mr Ashburnham. As my
Mother never goes out she entrusted me to the care of Lady Greville who
did me the honour of calling for me in her way and of allowing me to
sit forwards, which is a favour about which I am very indifferent
especially as I know it is considered as confering a great obligation
on me “So Miss Maria (said her Ladyship as she saw me advancing to the
door of the Carriage) you seem very smart to night—_My_ poor Girls will
appear quite to disadvantage by _you_—I only hope your Mother may not
have distressed herself to set _you_ off. Have you got a new Gown on?”
“Yes Ma’am.” replied I with as much indifference as I could assume.
“Aye, and a fine one too I think—(feeling it, as by her permission I
seated myself by her) I dare say it is all very smart—But I must own,
for you know I always speak my mind, that I think it was quite a
needless piece of expence—Why could not you have worn your old striped
one? It is not my way to find fault with People because they are poor,
for I always think that they are more to be despised and pitied than
blamed for it, especially if they cannot help it, but at the same time
I must say that in my opinion your old striped Gown would have been
quite fine enough for its Wearer—for to tell you the truth (I always
speak my mind) I am very much afraid that one half of the people in the
room will not know whether you have a Gown on or not—But I suppose you
intend to make your fortune to night—. Well, the sooner the better; and
I wish you success.”
“Indeed Ma’am I have no such intention—”
“Who ever heard a young Lady own that she was a Fortune-hunter?” Miss
Greville laughed but I am sure Ellen felt for me.
“Was your Mother gone to bed before you left her?” said her Ladyship.
“Dear Ma’am, said Ellen it is but nine o’clock.”
“True Ellen, but Candles cost money, and Mrs Williams is too wise to be
extravagant.”
“She was just sitting down to supper Ma’am.”
“And what had she got for supper?” “I did not observe.” “Bread and
Cheese I suppose.” “I should never wish for a better supper.” said
Ellen. “You have never any reason replied her Mother, as a better is
always provided for you.” Miss Greville laughed excessively, as she
constantly does at her Mother’s wit.
Such is the humiliating Situation in which I am forced to appear while
riding in her Ladyship’s Coach—I dare not be impertinent, as my Mother
is always admonishing me to be humble and patient if I wish to make my
way in the world. She insists on my accepting every invitation of Lady
Greville, or you may be certain that I would never enter either her
House, or her Coach with the disagreable certainty I always have of
being abused for my Poverty while I am in them.—When we arrived at
Ashburnham, it was nearly ten o’clock, which was an hour and a half
later than we were desired to be there; but Lady Greville is too
fashionable (or fancies herself to be so) to be punctual. The Dancing
however was not begun as they waited for Miss Greville. I had not been
long in the room before I was engaged to dance by Mr Bernard, but just
as we were going to stand up, he recollected that his Servant had got
his white Gloves, and immediately ran out to fetch them. In the mean
time the Dancing began and Lady Greville in passing to another room
went exactly before me—She saw me and instantly stopping, said to me
though there were several people close to us,
“Hey day, Miss Maria! What cannot you get a partner? Poor Young Lady! I
am afraid your new Gown was put on for nothing. But do not despair;
perhaps you may get a hop before the Evening is over.” So saying, she
passed on without hearing my repeated assurance of being engaged, and
leaving me very much provoked at being so exposed before every one—Mr
Bernard however soon returned and by coming to me the moment he entered
the room, and leading me to the Dancers my Character I hope was cleared
from the imputation Lady Greville had thrown on it, in the eyes of all
the old Ladies who had heard her speech. I soon forgot all my vexations
in the pleasure of dancing and of having the most agreable partner in
the room. As he is moreover heir to a very large Estate I could see
that Lady Greville did not look very well pleased when she found who
had been his Choice—She was determined to mortify me, and accordingly
when we were sitting down between the dances, she came to me with
_more_ than her usual insulting importance attended by Miss Mason and
said loud enough to be heard by half the people in the room, “Pray Miss
Maria in what way of business was your Grandfather? for Miss Mason and
I cannot agree whether he was a Grocer or a Bookbinder.” I saw that she
wanted to mortify me, and was resolved if I possibly could to Prevent
her seeing that her scheme succeeded. “Neither Madam; he was a Wine
Merchant.” “Aye, I knew he was in some such low way—He broke did not
he?” “I beleive not Ma’am.” “Did not he abscond?” “I never heard that
he did.” “At least he died insolvent?” “I was never told so before.”
“Why, was not your _Father_ as poor as a Rat” “I fancy not.” “Was not
he in the Kings Bench once?” “I never saw him there.” She gave me
_such_ a look, and turned away in a great passion; while I was half
delighted with myself for my impertinence, and half afraid of being
thought too saucy. As Lady Greville was extremely angry with me, she
took no further notice of me all the Evening, and indeed had I been in
favour I should have been equally neglected, as she was got into a
Party of great folks and she never speaks to me when she can to anyone
else. Miss Greville was with her Mother’s party at supper, but Ellen
preferred staying with the Bernards and me. We had a very pleasant
Dance and as Lady G—slept all the way home, I had a very comfortable
ride.
The next day while we were at dinner Lady Greville’s Coach stopped at
the door, for that is the time of day she generally contrives it
should. She sent in a message by the servant to say that “she should
not get out but that Miss Maria must come to the Coach-door, as she
wanted to speak to her, and that she must make haste and come
immediately—” “What an impertinent Message Mama!” said I—“Go Maria—”
replied she—Accordingly I went and was obliged to stand there at her
Ladyships pleasure though the Wind was extremely high and very cold.
“Why I think Miss Maria you are not quite so smart as you were last
night—But I did not come to examine your dress, but to tell you that
you may dine with us the day after tomorrow—Not tomorrow, remember, do
not come tomorrow, for we expect Lord and Lady Clermont and Sir Thomas
Stanley’s family—There will be no occasion for your being very fine for
I shant send the Carriage—If it rains you may take an umbrella—” I
could hardly help laughing at hearing her give me leave to keep myself
dry—“And pray remember to be in time, for I shant wait—I hate my
Victuals over-done—But you need not come before the time—How does your
Mother do? She is at dinner is not she?” “Yes Ma’am we were in the
middle of dinner when your Ladyship came.” “I am afraid you find it
very cold Maria.” said Ellen. “Yes, it is an horrible East wind—said
her Mother—I assure you I can hardly bear the window down—But you are
used to be blown about by the wind Miss Maria and that is what has made
your Complexion so rudely and coarse. You young Ladies who cannot often
ride in a Carriage never mind what weather you trudge in, or how the
wind shews your legs. I would not have my Girls stand out of doors as
you do in such a day as this. But some sort of people have no feelings
either of cold or Delicacy—Well, remember that we shall expect you on
Thursday at 5 o’clock—You must tell your Maid to come for you at
night—There will be no Moon—and you will have an horrid walk home—My
compts to Your Mother—I am afraid your dinner will be cold—Drive on—”
And away she went, leaving me in a great passion with her as she always
does.
Maria Williams.
LETTER the FOURTH
From a YOUNG LADY rather impertinent to her freind
We dined yesterday with Mr Evelyn where we were introduced to a very
agreable looking Girl his Cousin. I was extremely pleased with her
appearance, for added to the charms of an engaging face, her manner and
voice had something peculiarly interesting in them. So much so, that
they inspired me with a great curiosity to know the history of her
Life, who were her Parents, where she came from, and what had befallen
her, for it was then only known that she was a relation of Mr Evelyn,
and that her name was Grenville. In the evening a favourable
opportunity offered to me of attempting at least to know what I wished
to know, for every one played at Cards but Mrs Evelyn, My Mother, Dr
Drayton, Miss Grenville and myself, and as the two former were engaged
in a whispering Conversation, and the Doctor fell asleep, we were of
necessity obliged to entertain each other. This was what I wished and
being determined not to remain in ignorance for want of asking, I began
the Conversation in the following Manner.
“Have you been long in Essex Ma’am?”
“I arrived on Tuesday.”
“You came from Derbyshire?”
“No, Ma’am! appearing surprised at my question, from Suffolk.” You will
think this a good dash of mine my dear Mary, but you know that I am not
wanting for Impudence when I have any end in veiw. “Are you pleased
with the Country Miss Grenville? Do you find it equal to the one you
have left?”
“Much superior Ma’am in point of Beauty.” She sighed. I longed to know
for why.
“But the face of any Country however beautiful said I, can be but a
poor consolation for the loss of one’s dearest Freinds.” She shook her
head, as if she felt the truth of what I said. My Curiosity was so much
raised, that I was resolved at any rate to satisfy it.
“You regret having left Suffolk then Miss Grenville?” “Indeed I do.”
“You were born there I suppose?” “Yes Ma’am I was and passed many happy
years there—”
“That is a great comfort—said I—I hope Ma’am that you never spent any
_un_happy one’s there.”
“Perfect Felicity is not the property of Mortals, and no one has a
right to expect uninterrupted Happiness.—_Some_ Misfortunes I have
certainly met with.”
“_What_ Misfortunes dear Ma’am? replied I, burning with impatience to
know every thing. “_None_ Ma’am I hope that have been the effect of any
wilfull fault in me.” “I dare say not Ma’am, and have no doubt but that
any sufferings you may have experienced could arise only from the
cruelties of Relations or the Errors of Freinds.” She sighed—“You seem
unhappy my dear Miss Grenville—Is it in my power to soften your
Misfortunes?” “_Your_ power Ma’am replied she extremely surprised; it
is in _no ones_ power to make me happy.” She pronounced these words in
so mournfull and solemn an accent, that for some time I had not courage
to reply. I was actually silenced. I recovered myself however in a few
moments and looking at her with all the affection I could, “My dear
Miss Grenville said I, you appear extremely young—and may probably
stand in need of some one’s advice whose regard for you, joined to
superior Age, perhaps superior Judgement might authorise her to give
it. I am that person, and I now challenge you to accept the offer I
make you of my Confidence and Freindship, in return to which I shall
only ask for yours—”
“You are extremely obliging Ma’am—said she—and I am highly flattered by
your attention to me—But I am in no difficulty, no doubt, no
uncertainty of situation in which any advice can be wanted. Whenever I
am however continued she brightening into a complaisant smile, I shall
know where to apply.”
I bowed, but felt a good deal mortified by such a repulse; still
however I had not given up my point. I found that by the appearance of
sentiment and Freindship nothing was to be gained and determined
therefore to renew my attacks by Questions and suppositions. “Do you
intend staying long in this part of England Miss Grenville?”
“Yes Ma’am, some time I beleive.”
“But how will Mr and Mrs Grenville bear your absence?”
“They are neither of them alive Ma’am.” This was an answer I did not
expect—I was quite silenced, and never felt so awkward in my Life—.
LETTER the FIFTH
From a YOUNG LADY very much in love to her Freind
My Uncle gets more stingy, my Aunt more particular, and I more in love
every day. What shall we all be at this rate by the end of the year! I
had this morning the happiness of receiving the following Letter from
my dear Musgrove.