sincere and honest; they have the politeness of the French without their
levity. Their peasantry and mechanics are the most industrious set of
people I have ever seen, and so honest, that it is as safe in the
evening and night in the streets as in the houses. We hear of no duels,
murders, or robberies; nor any of those dreadful vices which prevail so
much in England, or of those barbarous diversions which please the mob
in our country. We never hear of a boxing match for money; nor do they
fight cocks, or bait bulls; so that they appear to be a mild people.
The land is fruitful and well cultivated, and the climate, I am
informed, very wholesome; I only regret the year being so far advanced,
that I shall not see half the beauties of the country on that account.
We are going this afternoon to a village in the neighbourhood of this
place. Annette has just now left the room, after shewing me her writing,
which her young master had praised. But why do not you lay aside your
work for an hour, and write an answer to William? or we shall not be
good friends.
CHARLES.
LETTER XXVI.
WILLIAM _to_ EMILIA.
Your brother mentioned, in his last letter, that we were going to take a
walk; the weather was very fine when we set out, but the sky looking a
little cloudy, I proposed to your brother to go in the schuit. How, said
he, are you afraid of a little rain, we have no clothes on that can be
spoiled? Let us not guard against every trifling inconvenience: and so
we went on. When we reached the village, which was rather a long walk,
we went into a coffee-house to drink tea to refresh ourselves.
While your brother was reading the newspaper I walked in the garden, and
saw, in a disorderly company, a young man, a distant relation of my
mother’s, whose father the other day had dined in company with your
brother. We both of us then observed his melancholy countenance, and my
mother hinted to us, that she feared his son’s disobedience was breaking
his father’s heart. I was alarmed at seeing him in such company, and
enquired of the landlord how long he had been there. Four days, answered
he, and during that time, he has spent fifty five guilders with the
companions you see. He has given me a bill for the money, signed by Mr.
H—— at the Hague, which I am to receive next Monday. This speech made me
very uneasy, for I perceived by it he had altered his name. The landlord
called him Mr. S——; and I knew his name to be Van Landbergen, and this
made me suspect that the bill might be forged.
I ran to your brother and acquainted him with the circumstance. It may
fairly be inferred, answered he, that as he has taken a false name, he
may also have been guilty of forgery. Such a shameful action will bring
the old man to his grave; but we must try to prevent it, let us send for
the landlord; and he rang bell. He soon entered, and your brother thus
addressed him: “I hear, Sir, you have a bill drawn on Mr. H——, payable
next Monday; I will give you the money for it, as I have some accounts
to settle with that gentleman, but you must give me your receipt, and
mention that it was for Mr. S——.” The landlord was glad to get his money
without the trouble of going for it, and immediately wrote the receipt
and received the money; he then left the room, and we had the following
conversation.
CHARLES.
You think that this bill may be forged, and so do I; and if it should
really prove that we are right in our conjectures, what would be the lot
of young Van Landbergen, a shameful flight, or scandalous punishment;
either of which would grievously have afflicted his innocent parent. We
must one day give an account of what heaven has intrusted to us, and
what would my account be, if I could only say, I had the means in my
hands to save a good man from a misfortune which might have fatal
consequences, and I chose rather to spend my money in useless diversions
and selfish pleasures. If the bill is good, I shall be no loser; if not,
it will be a source of perpetual satisfaction to think that I delivered
a good father from the shame his ungrateful son would have entailed on
him.
WILLIAM.
What an example! There are many, I know, that may possibly, this very
evening, lose above fifty guilders at billiards or some other game, who
yet would call your act of benevolence madness.
CHARLES.
That is their business, my friend.
WILLIAM.
But, if you present the bill to Mr. H——, will not the forgery be made
equally public?
CHARLES.
That is not my design: it is to young Landbergen himself that we must
present it. You have often wished me to be acquainted with him; now this
bill, if it is not a good one, will give me an opportunity of
introducing myself to him in the light of a friend.
We requested the landlord to bring him into our private room, and he
came accordingly, not knowing who sent for him. As soon as he saw me, he
seemed disconcerted, which we did not notice and your brother civilly
asked him to sit down, and the following conversation ensued.
CHARLES.
It gives me particular pleasure to meet with the son of worthy Mr. Van
Landbergen, with whom I dined last week at Mrs. D——’s house; and you
will, I hope, pardon me, if I embrace this opportunity of commencing an
acquaintance with his son.
Young Landbergen bowed in great confusion, with his eyes cast down,
twisting his hat round upon his hand.
Charles seemed not to observe his confusion, pulled the bell to order a
bottle of wine, and the conversation continued.
CHARLES.
Your father is a worthy sensible man, Sir. What a happiness it is to
have such a father.
LANDBERGEN.
A great happiness, Sir.
WILLIAM.
You are going, no doubt, to the Hague this evening, Mr. Landbergen; we
may all go together, if it is agreeable to you.
CHARLES.
It would give us particular pleasure, as we intend calling on your
father.
LANDBERGEN.
I am waiting here for a friend, so that it will be late before I can
go—otherwise——
WILLIAM.
Then we shall be deprived of the pleasure of your company, for we
promised to be home early, and our design was to call and inform my
mother that we intend to sup with your father.
CHARLES.
Can you inform me, Sir, where Mr. H—— lives; I have a small bill drawn
on him by a Mr. S——: I received it from the landlord.
Landbergen looked pale at this question, and without seeming to hear
him, started up and looked out of the window.
LANDBERGEN.
I fear we shall have heavy rain this evening.
CHARLES.
I do not think so, the sky looks very clear.
He then took the bill out of his pocket-book, casting a look at the same
time full of humanity at Landbergen. The culprit’s confusion was now
very great, the bill he instantly knew, and every limb shook at the
sight. Your brother offered him a glass of wine, but he let it fall, and
was going hastily to leave the room. Charles, who was now fully
convinced of his guilt, caught him by the hand in a friendly manner. No,
Sir, you must not leave us, the sight of this bill seems to have raised
a strange perturbation in your mind. Open your heart to me, I respect
your father, and wish to esteem you.
LANDBERGEN.
I can say nothing, Sir, I will write to you in the morning.
CHARLES.
No, Sir, it is imprudent to write what we dare not or will not say.
LANDBERGEN.
That signature—but I beg you will permit me to go.
CHARLES.
Shall we tear off the signature? Yes I will on condition you return with
me to your father.
LANDBERGEN.
What generosity! No, Sir, preserve the signature, though not with the
hope of payment. I am guilty. I must fly from my country—comfort my
father.
CHARLES.
You fly—you who ask me to comfort your father. No, that single speech
makes me your friend. Come with me to your father, and I shall deem
myself happy in having met with you.
LANDBERGEN.
How shall I hide my shame from you?
CHARLES.
Why should you attempt to hide it? it is the surest sign of goodness to
be ashamed of our errors. You consent, then; you will go with us.
LANDBERGEN.
Yes—you overcome me. I am under the greatest obligations to you; but
what shall I say to my father?
CHARLES.
Your father is good—he loves you.
LANDBERGEN.
You do not know all, Sir: it is now four days since I left home, and——
No, I cannot, I dare not say more.
CHARLES.
Be not afraid to open your whole heart to me; repentance expiates every
fault; your earthly as well as your heavenly father will forgive you.
LANDBERGEN.
You will despise me, Sir.
CHARLES.
No; any one who goes astray, and returns again to virtue, merits our
respect.
LANDBERGEN.
Will you retain any regard for me, when I tell you, that on leaving my
father I stole a small sum he had saved, in order to try my fortune at
cards; I had already lost a great deal of money with the same people,
whom I now wished to play with again.
CHARLES.
Yes, certainly; you weep; those tears do you honour; your heart is not
bad, but it has been too weak to resist the allurements of vice in bad
company.
LANDBERGEN.
Yes, I have acted a base part, and by neglecting my duty, have lost an
eligible employment. And yet I never deliberately did wrong. I have
always intended to reform for I hated myself when I thought a moment;
and shunned my father’s eyes as if I dreaded they would dart death on
me. I frequently ran out, to avoid thought, and forget remorse, at the
gaming-table. Nay, even when I have only gone to take a walk, and
determined not to spend any money, or lose my time, the sight of one of
my companions, a single word, banished all my good resolutions, and I
followed him wherever he chose to lead me.
CHARLES.
The only means to conquer this weakness, is resolutely to determine to
employ yourself, and never to allow your imagination to dwell on scenes
which are likely to inflame it. You were formerly fond of reading, I
hear, and have made some progress in music; return to those rational
employments; visit us when you have finished your daily task; we have
got some new music. I have sometimes heard my tutor advise a young man,
who, like yourself, had a good heart, to frequent the company of modest
women; there are many young ladies at the Hague who will be glad of your
company if you act with propriety: and their society will make you feel
disgust when you mix with young people who have lost the charm of
innocence.
LANDBERGEN.
But can this ever wash out the stain of a false signature?
CHARLES.
Undoubtedly it may; forget this signature, as I shall.
(Saying so, he tore the note.)
See there the small offering which I make to your repentance and return
to virtue. Your father knows nothing of this: let us conceal it from
him.
Landbergen embraced his young benefactor. We both observed that he was
very much moved: he grasped Charles’s hand, and could only say, I owe my
preservation, my peace, to you.
Had you seen, at this moment, your brother, Miss Emilia, you would have
been delighted. The most heart-felt satisfaction seemed painted on his
countenance. We then left the house, and during our walk home, we
endeavoured in vain to raise Landbergen’s spirits; he appeared oppressed
by a sense of his fault.
We found the old gentleman his father at home: he received us with the
highest satisfaction, and was struck with astonishment to see his son
enter with us. He viewed him with tears in his eyes, exclaiming, What my
son!—Your brother caught hold of each of their hands, and joining them
together, whispered the father, “Forgive your son, he is truly
penitent.” The son could not speak, he sighed, and his tears fell on his
father’s hand. The father also was speechless; but soon recollecting
himself, he said, how shall I interpret this deep concern! heaven grant
it may be sincere! It is sincere, exclaimed the son, eagerly; see the
gentleman to whom I am indebted for all this. He has saved me from
shame, and raised me from meanness, by his noble generosity. I earnestly
wish to distinguish myself by acting properly: speak, Mr. Grandison, my
father may know all.—Your father does know all, since he knows you
repent. We are both young, we have still a character to obtain in the
world; let us struggle for a good one. Let all disagreeable reflections
be now laid aside. You shall hear, said he, taking down young
Landbergen’s violin, how well I can play a Dutch tune.
Farewell; believe me respectfully yours.
WILLIAM.
LETTER XXVII.
EMILIA _to_ WILLIAM.
My brother reproved me in his last, for not having answered your letter.
I will now write a long one to make amends; and, following your example,
tell you minutely what I have been doing since my brother left me. My
mother has allowed me a new amusement, which I hope you and Charles will
have a share in when you return. It is a weekly concert, which our music
master directs at the different houses of a select number of his
scholars. He thinks, and my mother agrees with him, that it will very
much improve us all.
The daughter of the Earl of B—, who is one of the party, has rendered
herself very contemptible by her pride on this occasion. But first I
must tell you, that the music master had introduced, as one of his best
scholars, the daughter of an apothecary. Haughty Lady Jane shewed great
displeasure when she saw her enter. The beauty and pleasing manners of
that young lady was nothing in her eyes; she was neither rich, nor of a
good family; that was sufficient to excite her contempt. Miss G. the
young lady in question, is really a very fine girl; educated by her
mother, she has received the most useful instruction; there was a modest
dignity in her manners, the very contrast of Lady Jane’s haughty
affected air. There was the same contrast in their clothes, the latter
had on a profusion of costly finery, huddled together according to the
fashion; but the former was dressed in the simplest style; it did not
make you suppose she was rich, but it was so well calculated to make her
person appear to advantage, that you quickly perceived her sense and
taste. Lady Jane snuffed up her nose as we sometimes see people do when
they are afraid of smelling something disagreeable. Heaven! said she to
me, what does that creature do here; I think I smell drugs. Having said
so, she took out her lavender water bottle: I pretended not to hear, and
turned to Miss B. with whom I chatted a little. This, perhaps, was not
very polite, but I could not help it, for I despise such foolish pride.
Lady Jane afterwards played an air on the harpsichord, and accompanied
it with her voice in a very imperfect manner. Soon after it was Miss
G——’s turn, and she sung, with great expression, a favourite song: her
voice is really a very fine one, and every one seemed delighted with her
performance. Envy at first was painted on Lady Jane’s countenance: but
it did not stop here, for she made an excuse to withdraw with me. And we
had the following conversation.
LADY JANE.
I do not doubt, Miss Grandison, but you are of my opinion, that this
girl is not fit company for us.
EMILIA.
You have, perhaps, some reason for saying so; for my part, I do not know
why she may not be one of the party.
LADY JANE.
We are all persons of rank, and the daughter of a peer of the realm
cannot be on an equality with a poor apothecary’s daughter.
EMILIA.
I am not the daughter of a peer, of course have not been taught to make
this difference.
LADY JANE.
You are the daughter of a baronet, and a man of consequence.
EMILIA.
My father has taught me that virtue is the best nobility. The young lady
of whom you are speaking, is allowed to be a very amiable good girl.
LADY JANE.
That may be, I have nothing to say against her character; but I repeat
it, her father is an apothecary—her grandfather was an apothecary, and
her—
EMILIA.
If you run on thus, Lady Jane, to the first of all our fathers, you will
find that she is nearly related to you and me.
LADY JANE.
To you and me!
EMILIA.
Yes, certainly, you must allow that we are all sprung from the same
father.
LADY JANE.
That is true, but let us talk seriously.
EMILIA.
I speak as seriously as I can.
LADY JANE.
It is not proper that a girl who has no fortune should force herself
into the company of people of rank.
EMILIA.
Our company is not expensive, and she did not force herself; on the
contrary her musical talents make her an acquisition to the concert.
LADY JANE.
But look at her dress.
EMILIA.
Her dress is certainly not rich, but neat and elegant. You may yourself
perceive that she has good sense and taste, by the choice of her
clothes; without servilely following the fashion, she avoids
singularity. She is besides a very fine girl. Thus God, who gives riches
to some, gives to others natural endowments, which many would purchase
at a high price; all come from the same benevolent Being, in whose sight
virtue only exalts a weak mortal.
LADY JANE.
Miss Grandison appears to be preaching a sermon.
EMILIA.
Forgive me if I do not coincide in opinion with you; my heart is too
sincere to dissemble.
LADY JANE.
I shall not dispute about her natural gifts, but I say once more, that a
girl who has no fortune ought not to be put on a par with people of rank
and fashion.
EMILIA.
It would be very unfortunate that a girl, who had received a good
education, should be deprived of every innocent pleasure because she has
no fortune. I for my part would rather endeavour to contribute something
to afford her the means to——
LADY JANE, _hastily_.
Indeed you make me laugh. This is something rare, but that would not
preserve her from the contempt which poverty brings with it.
EMILIA.
The contempt which poverty brings with it, say you! you astonish me.
They must certainly be very unfeeling who can shew any contempt for a
well educated person in low circumstances. Such a one I think deserves
to be despised.
LADY JANE.
The world thinks otherwise, and I cannot mend the world.
EMILIA.
The world then is very mean and selfish. I hope I never shall despise
any one who is not vicious, and even those I have been taught to pity
rather than blame.
LADY JANE.
You are _very_ good; but since we must submit to the general opinion,
shall I desire the music master to inform the girl, whom we are speaking
of, not to let us see her again in our company—or I shall decline
coming.
EMILIA.
You may do as you please; but you must allow me to tell him that I do
not concur with you.—I then made her a cool curtsy and withdrew.
She wrote to the music master; but all the rest of the company insisted
that he should not comply with such an unreasonable request, and deprive
us of our best performer, who was in every respect a desirable
companion. My mother took particular notice of the young lady in order
to give her consequence, and told me, after she was gone, that she had
not for a long time seen so modest and well educated a girl.
So ended this foolish affair. My mother and I had a long conversation on
the subject; I have not now time to repeat it, but she animadverted very
severely on that foolish pride that makes people neglect to attain the
real personal consequence which can only arise from virtue, and value
themselves on the accidental advantages of birth, riches and external
ornaments, which do not constitute the pre-eminence of a rational being.
These cannot follow them to the grave. Farewell. Remember me in the
kindest manner to your mother and little Annette.
EMILIA.
P. S. I opened this letter again to enclose a few lines to my brother.
Emilia is a good girl, perhaps, he will say; I am sure I wish to appear
so in his eyes.
LETTER XXVIII.
EMILIA _to_ CHARLES.
I have need of your advice, dear brother. You know that my mother
designed some months ago to let me have a waiting maid, and she has ever
since been enquiring among her acquaintance for a proper one; and she
hired one last week who had been particularly recommended to her. But
this is not all; I discovered Charles, before she had been with me two
days, that she was very unhappy, and I perceived when she was dressing
me that she had been weeping. This affected me very much; I attempted to
comfort her and find out the cause of her grief, and at last I
discovered it. Why Lucy, said I, do you cry so much; tell me the reason,
my good girl? consider me not as your mistress, but as your friend;
perhaps I may be able to alleviate your sorrows. She could not speak,
and pressed my hand in which I was holding her’s; in short, my pity for
her, or as she expressed it, my goodness, gave her courage, and she told
me that the lady who recommended her had concealed her real name. Her
father had been a naval officer, and that her mother, by his death, was
reduced to extreme poverty. She added, that she was now afflicted with a
lingering illness without any means of support; and that to be enabled
to assist her she determined to go to service, and was accordingly
recommended to me by the lady who had assisted her mother. You may
imagine what I felt, and I exclaimed, I will go directly to my mother,
she is very compassionate. Poor Lucy held me back; for heaven’s sake do
not do it! keep my secret. Let me serve you; let me have the
satisfaction of finding a friend in a mistress, for what will become of
me if I leave you? My mother made me promise not to mention my name; and
she will never forgive me if I make her distress public.—I was at a loss
what to resolve on, at last I said, I will keep your secret provided you
live with me as a sister. But Charles, have I done right in keeping a
secret from my mother? I wish I had not made the promise; yet on the
contrary I must have parted with this good girl; but I considered again,
I ought not to think of myself, I ought to persuade my mother to assist
her. Dear Charles will you send me your advice, I shall not be easy till
I hear from you, pray write soon. Do not mention this affair even to
William.
Fly swiftly a few weeks, and bring my dear Charles to us! In the course
of a month we expect to see you. My mother had several times tears in
her eyes when she read William’s account of you: how happy are we when
our parents are satisfied with us! God certainly loves you Charles,
because your parents do. And you would see that I love you if you could
read my heart. Farewell my dear brother.
EMILIA.
P. S. Charles I must tell you something.—No, I will not, you like so
much to surprise others, for once you shall be surprised yourself.
LETTER XXIX.
CHARLES _to_ EMILIA.
Dear Sister,
You must not keep the unfortunate young lady who has entered into your
service, you must let her go back to comfort her afflicted mother.
Emilia is much too tender and humane to bear with the attendance of an
equal to gratify herself. You know my mother’s goodness; excuse me, but
I must say that your sensibility was ill placed when you promised to
conceal the matter from her. She who formed your heart to virtue is
better able to advise you than I am. Her liberality will provide for
that unfortunate girl some other means of supporting her mother than
that of being your waiting maid. Nay, what an honour would it be for my
Emilia to do without one, and give her wages to a sick widow. My sister
knows well enough how to dress herself, and such a pleasing reflection
would render her little troubles sweet. Let the mean spirited Lady Jane
glory in having useless servants, Emilia Grandison will find more
satisfaction in waiting on herself to be able to do more good. Delay not
a moment my dear. Now, without any loss of time, you must mention every
circumstance to my mother; how much would it distress you if the girl’s
parent was to die without your being able to effect your humane design.
But what surprise do you speak of, in the postscript of your letter? By
whom, by what, shall I be surprised? I shall play you a trick for this.
However, I remain yours affectionately,
CHARLES.
LETTER XXX.
WILLIAM _to_ EMILIA.
A letter from Emilia—from the sister of my friend Charles—what a
pleasure! you are indeed an amiable girl—how far do you outshine the
haughty Lady Jane! Do not frown at the comparison or suppose that I mean
to flatter you, for your brother bestowed the warmest praises on your
behaviour. But perhaps our conversation may entertain you.
CHARLES.
How glad I am that my sister has imbibed such just notions; I am proud
of my sister.
WILLIAM.
You have reason to be so, she deserves to be esteemed; too many young
ladies think like Lady Jane, and satisfied with a distinguished rank, do
not seek to obtain real excellence, by improving their minds.
CHARLES.
I acknowledge it, but you must have observed that nothing is more
humiliating than pride; the respect that is paid to a proud person is
only a mere compliment, or done through interested motives, which
degrade the person who pays it. It is a mere farce to bow to a being we
despise.
WILLIAM.