OF A PART OF MY LIFE THAT HAD BEEN BETTER SPENT OTHERWISE THAN IT WAS.
Now after that which I had heard from my lady, I had but one desire,
and this was, to leave the place so soon as I conveniently might. With
this purpose, then, I waited upon my lord, and acquainted him of my
determination, wherewith he professed himself very much grieved. But
perceiving from my countenance, without doubt, that Madam Heliodora
had undeceived me, and released me from the tangle that he had drawn
around me, and seeing also the turmoil of spirit into the which her
action had thrown me, he made no further attempt to detain me at St
Thomas, nor was any question made touching my sudden departing. And on
my part, also, I said naught of the hopes he had given me, since now,
at last, I perceived that ’twas all done in so delicate and artful a
manner as he could have denied with all appearance of truth any design
to turn my thoughts towards my lady his daughter. But Mr Marigny wan’t
so silent, for he was very greatly astonished to learn that I was
about departing that very day, following the counsel of Madam
Heliodora. And this I was concerned to do in the exactest manner
possible, from the shame and remorse I felt in regard of my conduct
towards her, for this I repeat, as I have hereinbefore showed you,
that my folly an’t in no wise to be laid to the charge of that most
noble and virtuous lady (as certain base persons have falsely
alleged), but solely to my own presumption, and the statecraft of my
lord marquis her father.
Mr Marigny being, as I said, mighty astonished at my decision, could
not forbear questioning me thereupon, and so arrived at a tolerable
knowledge of the whole matter. Still, although mightily diverted to
hear of my presumption and its rebuff, he was good enough to restrain
his mirth in my presence, though I can’t but believe that he hinted
the affair to his fellows, and especially to Colonel Laborde, for when
these gentlemen came to take their leaves of me, there was in their
manners a certain sourness and contemptuous pity, such as my sore
heart found it hard to brook. Nevertheless, I did bid them farewell
with great ceremony, and likewise my lady and Mad. de Chesnac, and so
departed, my lord sending me in his own barge, with Mr Marigny bearing
a letter from his lordship commending me to the agent at Fort St
George in Maderas. And of his lordship I took my leave with great
respect, esteeming him to be at once the stoutest soldier and the most
ambitious person that I had ever met.
The Dutch fleet being still absent since my lord’s defeat on’t, our
voyage, lasting but for two hours or so, passed without any event
worthy of remark, nor might I even spend it in melancholical and
remorseful thought, since Mr Marigny was with me, and must have
continued discoursing had he been attending upon me to the scaffold.
And so droll and merry was he, that I even could not forbear laughing
at some of his conceits (though I would not suffer him to press me on
that point of my ill-starred pretension to my lady’s hand), but so at
last we reached Maderas, whither Mr Marigny had come more than once
with letters from my lord marquis, and were hospitably received by the
agent, when my letter of commendation had been delivered. One of the
council offering Mr Marigny a lodging for the night, he returned back
to St Thomas the next day, bearing divers letters and gifts for my
lord from the agent, and it seemed to me that I was now done with the
French, and should be like to hear no more, so long as I lived,
concerning that city and its garrison. But in this, as you will
afterwards perceive, I did err.
Now I, being left at Fort St George for to await the coming of some
ship that might carry me to Surat, had no better to do than to walk
abroad and divert myself with looking at the town. And this is a place
of good force, dwelt in both by Moors and Gentues, and also by that
people called _Parseys_, that are more industrious and successful in
their business than either of ’em. The place is far better ordered,
according to our notions, than Surat, the streets being straight, and
kept always sweet and clean. The fort is also strong and well provided
with soldiers, both Europe men and Indosthans, though without any
artillery, since the merchants an’t allowed even a cannon or two for
the firing a salute. But with such magnificence do the Company’s
servants go here, as it quite exceeds that at Surat, and this because
they are resolved in everything to show themselves to the Indians at
least as great as the chief officers of the King of Gulconda, whom he
sends often enough for to plague ’em. And all this I observed with
some pleasure, being concerned always to note the situation of his
majesty’s subjects in these parts, and the usage they meet with from
the Indians.
But when once I had completed my survey of the fort and city, I found
time heavy on my hands, and having naught else to do, fell into a
state of great melancholy and weariness, brooding continually over my
hopeless love and its ending. And although I was very sensible of my
own folly in entertaining such a passion, and cursed it in my mind,
yet did I, as many, I believe, are wont to do, attribute to the
fancied misdeeds of others that which was my own fault, blaming not
only my lord, but also Madam Heliodora, and even Mad. de Chesnac and
Mr Marigny, and in especial Colonel Laborde, because, as I suppose,
they had not cared to warn me and so preserve me from my foolishness.
And all this did breed in me a certain heaviness and disease that was
near leading me to madness, so that I did forswear all confidence in
my fellow-creatures, and determined to live henceforth by myself
alone, untouched by the joys and pains of other men. I am thankful to
remember that even at this time I had grace enough to exempt my father
from this general condemnation, and to resolve still to use all means
in my power for to carry out that purpose wherein he had sent me to
the Indies--viz., the releasing the Ellswether estate from its
burdens, that so Sir Harry might enjoy in his old age that easiness of
fortune which he deserved. But with respect to marriage with Dorothy,
or return to England, I put the thoughts of these from me with a sort
of sick scorn, if I may so speak. For I won’t deny that I seemed to
myself to be a very virtuous and well-deserving person, that a cruel
fate had led into divers misfortunes, such as he must needs rise
superior to ’em, though they galled him sorely. And that I might do
this, it was evident to me that I must give myself up altogether to
business, lest otherwise the memory of my trouble should drive me mad.
And that I might the better do this, I begged the agent at the fort to
appoint me some work until there should come some means for me to
return to Surat, which he did with a very good will, so that I gained
much experience in that two months I did spend at Maderas. In my
leisure time, moreover, not desiring to have opportunity for thought,
I applied myself to the study of the Portuguese, finding an old
Portugal trader willing to instruct me therein, and so made good
progress. And all this diligence pleased the agent so well (he not
knowing of that secret spur that did drive me on to work continually,
and yet made all my labour to seem but as fruitless toil), that he
much commended me, and desired mightily to have me with him instead of
at Surat. But it wan’t for me to linger at Maderas when my place was
elsewhere, and because no ship touched at the place convenient for me
to embark therein, I did embrace with joy the occasion offered me by
the setting out of a _caphalay_ bound for Bombaim, and headed by my
friend the old Portugal trader, to return to Surat, he inviting me to
bear him company.
Now in this journey we must needs pass through all the kingdom of
Gulconda and also that of Visiapour, in both whereof the kings and
ruling men are Moors, and mighty suspicious and jealous of all Europe
men, and for this cause we adopted the Indian habit for our travels,
that so we might go on our way with less remark. And all this journey,
by God’s good providence, we did perform and accomplish in safety,
visiting divers places of note and seeing many strange things, which
it would be tedious to set down at length. And at Bombaim I bid
farewell to my ancient friend the Portugal, thanking him for his
kindness towards me and the many things he had taught me in his
ingenious discourse, and made myself known to the President of the
Council at Bombaim. And by good luck there chanced to be lying in the
port just at that time the Company’s _baloon_ from Surat, that was
come for to bring an advice from the Council there, so as I was able
to be sent on at once to my old factory. And when we were come to
Surat, I went on shore immediately, being still in my Moorish habit,
and with great _mustachios_, such as the Moguls use to wear, and did
seek Mr Martin in his former room. But I found there a gentleman newly
arrived from England, that advised me that Mr Martin was now made
Accountant, and showed himself very curious to know what I desired
with him. But not choosing to gratify this inquisitive temper, I
sought the Accountant’s chamber, and found there Mr Martin established
in great state and some luxury. And seeing me, he took me for some
Arabian or Persian visitor of quality, and speaking in Persian,
desired to know how he might serve me, but I regarding him
steadfastly, the truth brake into his mind, and he leaped up and
seized me joyfully by the hand.
“My dear Ned,” quoth he, “_the longest day hath his end_, and I was
ever sure I should see you again, though Mr Secretary, and that
evil-conditioned cub of his, Mr Spender, hath often scoffed at my
security. But _without hope the heart would break_, and so it had been
with me, my dear lad, had I believed you truly to be turned Papist and
gone to the Brasils. Wherefore I have always declared that you wan’t
either dead or recanted, but were honourably and Christianly employed
wherever you were, and now here you are for to confirm my words. But
truly you are grown from a boy into a man since last I saw you.”
“Nay, sir,” says I, “by my own feelings I might be grown from a man
into the Wandering Jew.”
“Ned,” says Mr Martin, looking me straight in the face, “you have been
in trouble, and that other than the Inquisition’s. What is’t, lad? Is
it wine, or women, or dice? for ’tis these three are the common curses
of our young gentlemen here as in England.”
“Sir,” says I, “you have hit it, and yet not altogether, for ’tis a
woman that hath brought me to this pass, and yet not as you imagine
it, for I pretended to her hand in an honourable manner, and she used
me better than I deserved. ’Twas my situation and hers made my
pretensions dishonourable.”
“Tush!” says he; “_dishonourable honour_, what is this? Or do you
prefer your doings to be named _honourable dishonour_? Riddle me no
riddles, Ned. _Many stumble at a straw and leap over a blocke_, and I
fear lest your honour have brought you perilous near to dishonour. But
tell me your tale, and let me hear of your hairbreadth ’scapes and
most disastrous chances, and I’ll help you in so far as my conscience
will suffer me. Who is the female you speak of, and how hath she
brought you into trouble?”
But this seeming to me to reflect somewhat upon Madam Heliodora, whose
name and reputation I must ever hold sacred, I made haste to tell Mr
Martin with some heat all my history, which he had picked up wrong
from my first words, and he listened with prodigious attention,
nodding and wagging his head at times, but saying little.
“Ah, Ned, Ned!” quoth he at last, “I would we had never sent you to
Goa, and yet, as the proverb saith, _Bought wit is best_. Perhaps ’tis
these very trials that are to make a man of you in time.”
“Nay, sir, when am I to be a man if not now?” asked I.
“Now? when you are still slighting your solemn engagement with your
cousin, and all for the sake of a presumptuous passion that sprung up
in a week?” said he. “When you are treasuring all manner of spite
against this French lady and her friends for their share in your
undoing, and even against that nobleman to whom she is betrothed, that
never injured you, save unwittingly by the fact of his living at all?
No, lad, I shan’t account you a man until you show yourself one. When
you award blame to yourself instead of to these other persons, and are
ready to atone, so far as may be, for your fault, then I shall esteem
you a man, and worthy to win a woman’s love.”
I was silent from very shame, for Mr Martin had read my thoughts
better than I myself, and they looked black enough when he uttered
them aloud. He laid his hand upon my shoulder kindly--
“I spake lightly at my first seeing you, Ned, calling you a man grown.
This you an’t yet, but I hope to see you one. There is much for you to
learn yet, and it may be to suffer, but _He runneth far, that never
turneth againe_.”
Thus did this good man gently admonish me, with all imaginable
kindness, at a time when (God knows), I needed both counsel and
admonition only too much. For, when working hours was over, and Mr
Martin would fain have carried me to his own lodging, there to tarry
until my own former chamber could be prepared for me, there come one
from his honour the President (to whom Mr Martin had sent intelligence
of my return), desiring me to consider myself as suspended from the
Company’s service until such time as the Council might sit upon my
case, and deliberate whether I was to be restored to my room or not.
And this seemed to me but a piece of formality, though a strange one;
but Mr Martin looked grave thereat, and showed himself more concerned
than I had looked for. Howbeit, he found me a lodging in one of the
guest-chambers for that night, and did also send back to me my old
servant Loll Duss, whom he had kept all this while in his own service
for his faithfulness to me. And at supper I had the honour to make the
acquaintance of divers of the gentlemen that were arrived in the
factory since I had left Surat, and likewise to present myself afresh
to the knowledge of those that I had seen before. The President I did
but salute in passing him, and likewise Mr Secretary, that sat at his
honour’s table, and possessed his ear. One or two persons among those
present (and notably Mr Spender), showed themselves somewhat cold
towards me, but the greater part, following the lead of Mr Martin, did
discourse with me very agreeably, and were mighty desirous to hear of
my adventures.
Now the next day, when the Council sat, I was summoned before them for
to give account of myself, and quickly perceived that ’twas well for
me that I had Mr Martin for my helper, since Mr President was
prodigiously evil affected towards me. I could not forbear crediting
some of this ill-will of his to Mr Spender, that was present for to
assist Mr Secretary, so that they two had plenty of chances to turn
his honour against me, but I would not forget myself so far as to
declare my belief before the Council. And indeed, now that I am come
to consider the matter calmly, I can’t but perceive that there was
nothing extraordinary in all this precaution, if they believed the
tales they had heard touching me, for it was hinted (I don’t know by
whom), that I was escaped from the Inquisition by denying my faith and
betraying the Company’s secrets. On the contrary part was there at
present only my bare word, and I can’t be surprised that the Council
hesitated to believe so singular and monstrous a tale, the like of
which had scarce ever been heard before, either in England or the
Indies.
But at that time I was extreme hot and indignant that some proof of my
story was demanded, beyond my own word, and I might have gone on to
have grievously damaged my own cause by my intemperate words, had not
my good friend Mr Martin once more come to my help. For this excellent
man offered immediately to be bound for me, and to answer for my
conversation and general trustworthiness until Captain Freeman should
be returned from his voyage into Bengall, when he with his ship’s crew
might testify to the truth of my relation. And this the Council did
accept, and further allowed Mr Martin to use me in the business under
his own eye, he seeing to’t that the Company took no damage. And this
decided, we returned to Mr Martin’s lodging, where I threw myself in
anger into a great chair.
“Sure, sir,” says I, “I’m worse off, now that my word is doubted, than
even that king I have once heard you speak on, for I have lost all,
and honour beside.”
“Nay,” says he, “your honour can’t be took from you, without you allow
it. Do you be careful to keep it safe.”
“But how to withstand the power of slander?” I asked.
“I’ll allow,” says he, “that the accusation as to the manner of your
escape comes as from an enemy, for _Malice never speaks well_. But for
the rest, ’tis but a reasonable precaution, and I will see to’t that
when Captain Freeman is returned to prove your honesty, this time
shall be credited to you as a part of your service. You have in me,
Ned, _a friend in court_, and he, saith the proverb, _is worth a penny
in purse_. So be of good cheer, remembering that _As a man is
friended, so the law is ended_.”
Having received this assurance, I found my heart something lighter,
and I went to work with such zest as delighted Mr Martin, though he
knew not, as I supposed, that ’twas chiefly done that I might have no
leisure left for thought. I took much advantage from his ripe
experience and long knowledge of the Eastern trade, and he was wont to
tell me, laughing, that I bid fair to be as keen a merchant as
himself. Having some knowledge of French, I was often sent to carry
through any needful business with the gentlemen at the French Factory,
whom I found very agreeable, but more of merchants and less of
soldiers than those I had seen at St Thomas. I had heard from Mr
Martin and others that they wan’t well liked among us, being regarded
as interlopers, and also because they had assisted Sevi Gi with fusees
and powder on his second coming hither in the year 1669-70, when again
our poor Englishmen were shut up in the Factory, which they defended
with great obstinacy, and so beat him off. And beside this also, the
French suffered the Morattys to march through their factory to attack
part of the town and a certain Prince of Tartary that had his lodging
there, which put them in very ill odour both with the Moguls and with
us, but for this they cared little, being set upon an alliance with
Sevi Gi, after the design conceived by my lord Marquis of Tourvel.
Now after I had been near six months back at Surat, there come one day
a message saying that the Boscobel had cast anchor in Swally Road, and
an _hackery_ was sent at once for to fetch Captain Freeman to be
examined by the Council touching my matter, without any speech had
betwixt us. And he, though greatly astonished to hear of my safety and
return, did so stoutly declare me to have escaped from imminent peril
and death at Goa, and that not by recantation, but by God’s working
with him and his crew, that the Council became convinced, and sending
a messenger to summon me to their presence, informed me that I was
restored to my place in the Company’s service. But this wan’t all I
demanded, for I should by rights, without that journey of mine to Goa
on the Company’s occasions, and all that followed it, have been by now
a senior factor, with the hope to become a full merchant in two years
or so. And this I had often spoken of with Mr Martin, and did now
again, both with him and with my other good friend, Captain Freeman,
until Mr Martin declared that something must be done, and offered to
undertake the matter for me. Having then in his hands all my savings,
which had been much increased by his care during my absence, he
demanded of the Council that I should be permitted to enter into the
bond of £1000 that is required of a factor, and be placed in the same
situation as I should naturally have held had all gone well, receiving
also pay for all the time of my absence.
Now when Mr Martin had told me what he had asked, I cried out in
amazement at this monstrous demand, but he smiling said that a man
ought always to ask twice as much as he hoped to receive, for then
there was some chance of his getting the half. And capping this, as
was his wont, with the proverb, _’Tis good riding at two anchors, men
have told; for if the one faile, the other may hold_, he disarmed my
opposition and maintained his point. And the Council demurring to his
proposition, as he had expected, though the President, Mr Secretary
not being beside him to poison his ear, did not show himself so averse
from it as might have been looked for, Mr Martin did argue the matter
with ’em, so that at last they came to an agreement. By this
instrument I stood to receive only the pay of a writer for the past
six months since my return, and none at all for the time of my
absence, after my falling into the hands of the Inquisition, but I was
to be made at once a senior factor, and after serving my three years
in that situation, was to receive promotion in due course. In the
arranging this equitable settlement Mr Martin gave himself no small
pains, and was very eager about it until all was agreed, and the
record thereof sent home to be approved by the Committee in London.
But when this was all done, there come upon me a strange restlessness
and misanthropy, so that I would fain have fled into the wilderness,
to be away from all men, and yet I must needs labour continually for
to keep myself from thinking. And Mr Martin, seeing this, cast about
for some means to relieve me, but found none at first. But at length,
perceiving that the ceremony and sociableness of the life in the
Factory was very displeasing to me, he spake to Mr President in my
behalf, and gat me appointed to a post in our house at Amidavat.[100]
Now this is a town that lies some way inland from Surat, on the road
to the emperor’s great city of Agra, and a place of some importance.
And sending me here, where there was but two or three white men beside
myself, he trusted I should find the solitude I desired, for ’tis a
strange thing in the Indies that when you are once become accustomed
to the native Indosthans around you, you heed their presence little
more than if they were dogs or cats.
I went, then, to Amidavat, being grateful to my good friend for his
kindness, but guessing little of his sorrow on parting with me, that
was like a son to him. “_He must needs goe that the devill drives_,
Ned,” says he to me, with the water standing in his eyes, the while he
bid me farewell; “and I fear lest the devil had driven you into some
harm, had you abode here. At Amidavat, whither you go, there is more
hard work, and less chance of evil companions, but you may come to
ruin even there, if you will let the devil drive you, instead of
yourself driving him away.”
Now I don’t purpose to describe particularly the three years that I
did spend at Amidavat, for although, through the goodness of God, I
did not come to ruin, yet I approached tolerably near thereto, falling
under the assault of such temptations as everywhere await a young man
when he hath some time of his own, and little hope nor fixed faith for
to guide him past ’em. It seemed to me that my life was ended, or at
least all the happiness on’t, before it was well begun, and that I had
naught to which to look forward, and this bred in me such a coldness
and deadness of spirit as made me do ill because I had no care to do
well. And yet, although in these three years I did many things the
recollection whereof now makes me sorry, and many also whereof I am
now ashamed, it is false to say that I behaved myself unfaithfully
towards my employers, or that I was at all slack as regarded business.
For with respect to the first, the confidence wherewith I was
afterwards honoured by the Committee is a sufficient answer, and for
the second, that my own wealth grew in a surprising manner. To heap up
money, that I might fulfil my father’s desire, was now my only
endeavour, and ’twas to fill up the hours when I could not well be
making money, that I resorted to those pursuits whereto I have
alluded. And moreover, for my credit’s sake, I must say also this,
that even in my most desponding and careless hours, the recollection
of Madam Heliodora and her last words to me would come back into my
mind, and this remembrance did hold me back from some sins that I
might otherwise have committed.
Now while speaking of Madam Heliodora, I must not omit to set down a
matter that did cause me much concern--viz., that about the end of the
year 1674 news reached us at Amidavat that St Thomas was fallen at
last into the hands of the Dutch, but with such credit to the besieged
that ’twas permitted ’em to march out with all the honours of war, and
to proceed whither they would. And upon this certain of them did
repair to the vicinage of Gingee, in the kingdom of Visiapour, where
they had obtained a grant of land from the king of the place, and did
set up there a town called Phoolcherry.[101] Others of them came to
Surat, to their own factory there, but on enquiring of ’em concerning
my lord marquis and his household, I learned that he had been summoned
back to France, and was departed thither, but whether upon a sealed
letter or not I can’t tell, and with him his family. And for this I
was much grieved, both for the failure of so great and fair-seeming an
enterprise, and also that Madam Heliodora was now so far removed from
me.
Now about six months before my time at Amidavat was expired, there
come to me such a piece of news as might well have caused me to repent
of my evil deeds and resolve to lead a better life, but God suffered
me to go on still in my ungrateful courses, that my punishment might
be the more grievous when it came. For I received a great packet of
letters from England, some of ’em wrote a year and a half, and others
but nine months ago (the first sort having been delayed on the high
seas owing to some mischance that befell the vessel carrying ’em), but
the burden of them all was the same, for they brought me the news that
my father was dead. And this, as you may suppose, came upon me
prodigious sharp and sudden in the midst of my toiling and sparing for
to gather together the moneys that my father had looked for, but the
more so by reason of this--viz., that I had had no letters wrote from
Ellswether since I sent that one from St Thomas, boasting of my
presumptuous hopes, nor in my own letters had I been able to bring
myself to explain and describe the destruction of these hopes, but had
wrote of indifferent matters without so much as making mention of ’em,
although I had feared that my father would be sore troubled touching
me. I had intended at some time in the future, when the pain of my
rejection was less poignant, to write and declare to him the whole
affair, and my present situation, but this was now removed out of my
power by death.
The letter earliest in time was wrote by my cousin Dorothy:--
Sir,--I had not trobl’d You wit. ys. my poore Hand, weare itt not
for ye mornfull Accident yt. ’tis fitter forr mee yn. for an Other to
mak knowen too You. Yr. honred. Father, Syr _Harry Carrlion_, is no
moer, hauing departed out of ys. Lyfe ye 10th Daie of ys. last Moneth.
Wee being wth. him continuelly had observ’d a grate Chaunge in hys
Condicons of late, noting yt. hee was become strangely gentle &
quiett, sighg. often too Hym Selfe in his slow Walkyng in ye Garrden
on his Crotches. Allsoe since yr. Letters was arriv’d, yt. weare wrote
at _St Thomas_, it seem’d too us yt. Sirr _Harry_ did desire to write
to You, getting out oftimes Penn & Paper, & prepareg. too beginn, bot
nevr. beginning. And I asking if it shd. pleas hym yt. I writ forr
hym, hee saith No, for yt. he shd. see You before Long. And ys.
Asssurc. growing vpon Him, he was wont to spend moch Tyme in ye Arbour
at ye End of ye Fir Walke, yt. lookes over ye Rode, watching agst.
Your Comming. Being becom at last soe feable as he myght not leaue ye
House, he satt all Day beside ye Windowe lookyng on ye Aproch, saying
yt. he beleeu’d You was coming. Yn. alsoe, wn. he was seis’d wit. a
Retorn of yt. old Disorder yt. had plag’d hym in his Campayns of
_Germany_, he desir’d mee to sett open ye Dore of ye Chambre, soe yt.
hee might heere You mountg. ye Staires. And I, seeing yt. he was not
long for ys. Werld, did ask of hym some Message for You, for Feare
least You shd. not be in Time to see hym. And hee, giuing mee his
Blessing most swetely & fatherly, dyd sende ye same to You allso,
bidding You (said he), bee a brave & honrable Man, & shew yr. Silf
worthie.… Now on ye last Daie of his Lyfe, hee wander’d sore in his
Mynde, spekyng as if too ye late Kynge & to Others yt. bee now dead.
Bot at last, sitting upp & speaking veray loud & strong, “_Nedd_ is
com,” saith he; “I heare hym on ye Staire.” And wee, looking yt. Way
yt. he pointed, sawe no One, bot returning too hym, found him falln
back deade, all ye Chambre & Bedd being still hong wit. Blacke, as
alwaies since yr. Moder dy’d.
For Consolacon, Sir, wt. can I offer You in ye Losse of soch a Part.,
bot too remember yt. hee departed full of ye greatest Lov & Kindness
toward You, & is now, without Doubt, tho’ abst. from Us, yet happily
prest. wit. yr. dere Mother & all ye Blest? You haue ye Praiers of yr.
poore Cosin in ys. sadd Afflicktion.
Understand mee, Sir, to remayn yr. faithfull Servt.,
D. Brandon.
With this come two letters from my father’s attorney, Mr Sternhold,
the first wrote not long after my cousin’s, and confirming her
narration, adding also that they had buried my father in the church at
Ellswether beside my mother, and that many persons of quality in the
neighbourhood had followed in the funeral with great respect. The
second was wrote eight or nine months later, and contained a full
relation of the posture of my father’s affairs, and the condition of
the estate. And after this come a piece that did bring the water to my
eyes, for to see the sadness and perplexity that I had brought upon
that my good father, although that which followed drew me back again
to my former state of hardness and despondency.
As often (writ Mr Sternhold) as I was admitted of late to the Presence
of your Honour’s Father, my esteem’d Patron, I perceiv’d that he was
desirous to draw up some Instrument or Deede that might have a binding
Effect, and by certain Words that he once let drop I saw that he
wish’d to make some Provision for Mrs _Brandon_, his Ward. Being of
Opinnion (doubtless on the best Authority), that you, Sir, were minded
to set aside your Contract enter’d into with that Lady, Sir _Harry_
desir’d to secure to her some Maintenance that should not be dependent
upon your Honour’s Generositie, since this should doubtless be
disagreeable to her. ’Twas the Impossibility of laying any further
Burthen on the Estate that convinc’d him that he could not do this,
and I fear it added some Sorrow to his last dayes, tho’ I believe that
he need not have troubl’d him Selfe with Regard to this yong
Gentlewoman. For to you, honour’d Sir, I may say with all Discretion,
that during my late mournfull Vizitts at _Ellswether_, I have grown
more and more sensible of the Perfections of Mrs _Brandon_, who is now
growne into such splendour of Form and such surpassing Loveliness of
Countenance as to be without any Equall, and that others are affected
like My selfe, and to more Purpose. Tho’ no Fortune, the young Lady
hath, by Reason of her Beauty and her Witt, as many Lovers as she can
well intertain. Among ’em is my young Lord _Harmarthwaite_ him Selfe,
who, with my Lady his Mother, vizited upon me the t’other Day, and
sent, thro’ me, as her nearest Guardian, a most handsome Compliment to
Mrs _Brandon_. His Lordshipp declar’d himselfe willing to espouse her
without a Peny, nay, my Lady assur’d me he would wed her in her Smock
if need were, and be proud at that. My Lady shew’d herself as well
enclin’d to the Match as her Sonn, saying that she should be proud to
receive into her Family a Lady of whose Parts and Prudence she had
heard so much, whispering me allso that she would make Interest, thro’
my Lord _Harrington_ her Bro., with his Ma’tie to revive the Barony of
_Brandon_ in Favour of my Lord and Mrs _Dorothy_, so leving a fine
Inheritance to their Children. But this Proposition of Marriage Mrs
_Brandon_ declin’d, as she hath done all other, tho’ I felt it my Duty
to counsell her to entertayn this one. Some says upon this Matter that
she is aiming at my Lord Duke of _London_ (Son to your Honour’s
ancient Patron), who greatly commended both her Figure and her Dancing
at the great Ball danc’d at _Belfort_ Castle some Time since, and some
that her Heart is given to a certain Gentleman at present in Forrayn
Parts, that shall be nameless.
“Alack, poor little Doll!” quoth I, when I had read this, “thou art
well enough, in truth, but not for him that hath loved Madam Heliodora
de Tourvel. Thy English ways should show poor indeed beside her
languorous grace. Make thy choice while ’tis in thy power. Thy lordly
servant[102] shall suit thee better than thy poor cousin.”
Thus you shall see how despitefully I used this jewel, for the which I
had afterwards willingly given all I possessed, if I might thereby
gain it. Such poor blind creatures are we mortals, that cast aside the
diamond in our path for the glowing bubble that Fortune holds beyond
our reach!