[* Pulaski was killed at the siege of Savannah, in 1779.]
Death, in snatching him from me, bereaved me of my last consolation.
I fought for the United States of America, until the happy peace which
ensured their independence. M. de C***, who had served along with me,
and who was attached to the _corps_ commanded by the Marquis de la
Fayette--- M. de C*** gave me letters of recommendation, to his friends
in Paris, and this capital I have chosen for my retreat in the meridian
of life, from the bustle of politics, and the clangor of arms.
Having informed my sisters, of the place of my residence, they collected
the small remains of my fortune, formerly immense, and hastened to
solace me after the distressing scenes I had unfortunately witnessed.
* * * * * * * * * *
The affecting history of the Baron Lovzinski, which he relates to a
friend, breaks off, without giving any account of Dorliska, his darling
daughter, whom the Russians carried off, in one of their engagements
with Pulaski. It appears, from more recent accounts, given by an
acquaintance of the Baron’s, that she fell into the hands of Count
Gorlitz, a German Nobleman, who placed her in a suitable seminary, where
she acquired every necessary accomplishment, and was by accident
restored to her father, and united to a branch of a very distinguished
family.
* * * * *
_The candid acknowledgment of an Old Batchelor._
I am that insulated being called an Old Batchelor. A creature wearisome
to myself and beloved by no one, I have spent the noon of my days in a
single state, from the dread of incurring the expences incident to a
married life with a woman who had nothing, and now surely do I repent
that I had not generosity enough to overlook this consideration in
favour of a charming girl that I truly loved, and who wanted nothing but
fortune to recommend her. I was formerly clerk to her father, then a
mechanic of great respectability, but some years after greatly reduced
by the unfortunate turn of affairs in his business, incidents to many.
When he failed, I was settled in the world, and might have saved his
amiable girl from many a year of fatigue and distress into which their
poverty immersed them. But with _sang froid_, for which I now detest
myself, I then stood aloof, tore my thoughts from the sweet Eliza, and
driving forward into the heart of the city, determined to lose myself in
the recesses of counting-houses, and the accumulation of money. Thus
avoiding all the plagues and expences of a family, for which I deemed
the society of an elegant and affectionate woman by no means an
equivalent. Alas! I now see how I miscalculated; how much such a
partnership would have been for my advantage in the long run. I now put
the mutual participation of pleasure and pain, the endearments of our
children, that flattering interest which Eliza would have taken in me
(for whom by the way nobody now cares a straw,) I put all these on the
credit side of the ledger, and find in the opposite page, only such a
portion of expences as I have actually brought upon myself, by being
drawn in to give tavern dinners, and a thousand other extravagancies
that young men know not how to avoid. You will easily see, when a just
account is made out, what I have gained, or rather what I have lost.
Instead of the bright hearth and smiling faces of my family, instead of
sitting down in the midst of beings who owe life to me, and portioning
out their little meal with the delicious sensations of a father, I take
my solitary chop at a coffee-house and afterwards saunter to the
theatre, where venal beauty spreads her net and I am caught! Alas! here
is no mind, here is no modesty to make sentiment interesting. After
having seen a public entertainment with Eliza, with what delight might
we have passed the remainder of the evening. Her taste and sensibility
would have made us live the hours over again with additional pleasure.
Her bosom would have been my harbour in the storms of life, and there I
should have found resources from _ennui_ in the calm season of
prosperity. In the day of sickness her voice could have whispered
comfort, and in my dying hour the pure invocations of my children might
have availed me at the throne of grace. What a sad reckoner have I been,
I am now as grey as a badger, and have not a single relative in the
world. I have long retired from business, but my fortune brings me no
enjoyment, my dog leads nearly as rational a life: I eat and drink and
sleep alternately as he does, for I now fear to become the prey of some
indigent dame, who would overlook my grey hairs and infirmities in
consideration of coming in for a third of my wealth, and therefore avoid
much commerce with the sex, from which, though I might once have derived
happiness, I can now only expect trick, or at best ridicule. But what
can a man do who has let avarice run away with him in his youth, when
all the social affections should have been at their out-posts to prevent
it? All that remains for such a man (after the example of a culprit
going to execution) is to warn the multitude how they fall into this
error. To assure them that the good which is not participated is not
half enjoyed, and that those who abandon a young woman from motives like
mine, as they do not deserve happiness so they never will obtain it. And
moreover, if you print this, pause to add, that an equal mixture of love
and prudence forms the only, and most delicious conserve they will have
the faculty of relishing all their life long. Either, taken separately,
is prejudicial; one being too austere, and the other too sweet. They
must be blended to render them happily effective, and if any persons
have skill enough to make up the composition after my recipe, I shall
not have bemoaned myself, nor you have inserted this in vain.