ARABELLA'S fortune became a temptation to a man of quality to make his
addresses to her: his title an inducement with her to approve of him.
Brothers and sisters, when they are not friends, are generally the
sharpest enemies to each other. He thought too much was done for in the
settlements. She thought not enough. And for some years past, they have
so heartily hated each other, that if either know a joy, it is in being
told of some new misfortune or displeasure that happens to the other.
Indeed, before they came to an open rupture, they were continually
loading each other, by way of exonerating themselves (to the additional
disquiet of the whole family) with the principal guilt of their
implacable behaviour and sordid cruelty to their admirable sister.--May
the reports that are spread of this lady's farther unhappiness from her
lord's free life; a fault she justly thought so odious in Mr. Lovelace
(though that would not have been an insuperable objection with her to his
addresses); and of his public slights and contempt of her, and even
sometimes of his personal abuses, which are said to be owing to her
impatient spirit, and violent passions; be utterly groundless--For, what
a heart must that be, which would wish she might be as great a torment
to herself, as she had aimed to be to her sister? Especially as she
regrets to this hour, and declares that she shall to the last of her
life, her cruel treatment of that sister; and (as well as her brother) is
but too ready to attribute to that her own unhappiness.
Mr. ANTONY and Mr. JOHN HARLOWE are still (at the writing of this)
living: but often declare, that, with their beloved niece, they lost all
the joy of their lives: and lament, without reserve, in all companies,
the unnatural part they were induced to take against her.
Mr. SOLMES is also still living, if a man of his cast may be said to
live; for his general behaviour and sordid manners are such as justify
the aversion the excellent lady had to him. He has moreover found his
addresses rejected by several women of far inferior fortunes (great as
his own are) to those of the lady to whom he was encouraged to aspire.
Mr. MOWBRAY and Mr. TOURVILLE having lost the man in whose conversation
they so much delighted; shocked and awakened by the several unhappy
catastrophes before their eyes; and having always rather ductile and
dictating hearts; took their friend Belford's advice: converted the
remainder of their fortunes into annuities for life; and retired, the one
into Yorkshire, the other into Nottinghamshire, of which counties they
are natives: their friend Belford managing their concerns for them, and
corresponding with them, and having more and more hopes, every time he
sees them, (which is once or twice a year, when they come to town,) that
they will become more and more worthy of their names and families.
As those sisters in iniquity, SALLY MARTIN and POLLY HORTON, had
abilities and education superior to what creatures of their cast
generally can boast of; and as their histories are no where given in the
preceding papers, in which they are frequently mentioned; it cannot fail
of gratifying the reader's curiosity, as well as answering the good ends
designed by the publication of this work, to give a brief account of
their parentage, and manner of training-up, preparative to the vile
courses they fell into, and of what became of them, after the dreadful
exit of the infamous Sinclair.
SALLY MARTIN was the daughter of a substantial mercer at the court-end
of the town; to whom her mother, a grocer's daughter in the city, brought
a handsome fortune; and both having a gay turn, and being fond of the
fashions which it was their business to promote; and which the wives and
daughters of the uppermost tradesmen (especially in that quarter of the
town) generally affect to follow; it was no wonder that they brought up
their daughter accordingly: nor that she, who was a very sprightly and
ready-witted girl, and reckoned very pretty and very genteel, should
every year improve upon such examples.
She early found herself mistress of herself. All she did was right: all
she said was admired. Early, very early, did she dismiss blushes from
her cheek. She could not blush, because she could not doubt: and
silence, whatever was the subject, was as much a stranger to her as
diffidence.
She never was left out of any party of pleasure after she had passed her
ninth year; and, in honour of her prattling vein, was considered as a
principal person in the frequent treats and entertainments which her
parents, fond of luxurious living, gave with a view to increase their
acquaintance for the sake of their business; not duly reflecting, that
the part they suffered her to take in what made for their interest, would
probably be a mean to quicken their appetites, and ruin the morals of
their daughter, for whose sake, as an only child, they were solicitous to
obtain wealth.
The CHILD so much a woman, what must the WOMAN be?
At fifteen or sixteen, she affected, both in dress and manners, to ape
such of the quality as were most apish. The richest silks in her
father's shop were not too rich for her. At all public diversions, she
was the leader, instead of the led, of all her female kindred and
acquaintances, though they were a third older than herself. She would
bustle herself into a place, and make room for her more bashful
companions, through the frowns of the first possessors, at a crowded
theatre, leaving every one near her amazed at her self-consequence,
wondering she had no servant to keep place for her; whisperingly
inquiring who she was; and then sitting down admiring her fortitude.
She officiously made herself of consequence to the most noted players;
who, as one of their patronesses, applied to her for her interest on
their benefit-nights. She knew the christian, as well as sur name of
every pretty fellow who frequented public places; and affected to speak
of them by the former.
Those who had not obeyed the call her eyes always made upon all of them
for notice at her entrance, or before she took her seat, were spoken of
with haughtiness, as, Jacks, or Toms; while her favourites, with an
affectedly-endearing familiarity, and a prettiness of accent, were
Jackeys and Tommys; and if they stood very high in her graces, dear
devils, and agreeable toads.
She sat in judgment, and an inexorable judge she was upon the actions
and conduct of every man and woman of quality and fashion, as they became
the subjects of conversation. She was deeply learned in the scandalous
chronicle: she made every character, every praise, and every censure,
serve to exalt herself. She should scorn to do so or so!--or, That was
ever her way; and Just what she did, or liked to do; and judging herself
by the vileness of the most vile of her sex, she wiped her mouth, and sat
down satisfied with her own virtue.
She had her chair to attend her wherever she went, and found people among
her betters, as her pride stooped to call some of the most insignificant
people in the world, to encourage her visits.
She was practised in all the arts of the card-table: a true Spartan girl;
and had even courage, occasionally, to wrangle off a detection. Late
hours (turning night into day, and day into night) were the almost
unavoidable consequences of her frequent play. Her parents pleased
themselves that their Sally had a charming constitution: and, as long as
she suffered not in her health, they were regardless of her morals.
The needle she hated: and made the constant subjects of her ridicule the
fine works that used to employ, and keep out of idleness, luxury, and
extravagance, and at home (were they to have been of no other service)
the women of the last age, when there were no Vauxhalls, Ranelaghs,
Marybones, and such-like places of diversion, to dress out for, and gad
after.
And as to family-management, her parents had not required any knowledge
of that sort from her; and she considered it as a qualification only
necessary for hirelings, and the low-born, and as utterly unworthy of the
attention of a modern fine lady.
Although her father had great business, yet, living in so high and
expensive a way, he pretended not to give her a fortune answerable to it.
Neither he nor his wife having set out with any notion of frugality could
think of retrenching. Nor did their daughter desire that they should
retrench. They thought glare or ostentation reputable. They called it
living genteely. And as they lifted their heads above their neighbours,
they supposed their credit concerned to go forward rather than backward
in outward appearances. They flattered themselves, and they flattered
their girl, and she was entirely of their opinion, that she had charms
and wit enough to attract some man of rank; of fortune at least: and yet
this daughter of a mercer-father and grocer-mother could not bear the
thoughts of a creeping cit; encouraging herself with the few instances
(comcommon ones, of girls much inferior to herself in station, talents,
education, and even fortune, who had succeeded--as she doubted not to
succeed. Handsome settlements, and a chariot, that tempting gewgaw to
the vanity of the middling class of females, were the least that she
proposed to herself. But all this while, neither her parents nor herself
considered that she had appetites indulged to struggle with, and a turn
of education given her, as well as a warm constitution, unguarded by
sound principles, and unbenefitted by example, which made her much better
qualified for a mistress than a wife.
Her twentieth year, to her own equal wonder and regret, passed over her
head, and she had not one offer that her pride would permit her to accept
of. A girl from fifteen to eighteen, her beauty then beginning to
blossom, will, as a new thing, attract the eyes of men: but if she make
her face cheap at public places, she will find, that new faces will draw
more attention than fine faces constantly seen. Policy, therefore, if
nothing else were considered, would induce a young beauty, if she could
tame her vanity, just to show herself, and to be talked of, and then
withdrawing, as if from discretion, (and discreet it will be to do so,)
expect to be sought after, rather than to be thought to seek for; only
reviving now-and-then the memory of herself, at the public places in
turn, if she find herself likely to be forgotten; and then she will be
new again. But this observation ought young ladies always to have in
their heads, that they can hardly ever expect to gratify their vanity,
and at the same time gain the admiration of men worthy of making partners
for life. They may, in short, have many admirers at public places, but
not one lover.
Sally Martin knew nothing of this doctrine. Her beauty was in its bloom,
and yet she found herself neglected. 'Sally Martin, the mercer's
daughter: she never fails being here;' was the answer, and the
accompanying observation, made to every questioner, Who is that lady?
At last, her destiny approached. It was at a masquerade that she first
saw the gay, the handsome Lovelace, who was just returned from his
travels. She was immediately struck with his figure, and with the
brilliant things that she heard fall from his lips as he happened to sit
near her. He, who was not then looking out for a wife, was taken with
Sally's smartness, and with an air that at the same time showed her to be
equally genteel and self-significant; and signs of approbation mutually
passing, he found no difficulty in acquainting himself where to visit her
next day. And yet it was some mortification to a person of her
self-consequence, and gay appearance, to submit to be known by so fine a
young gentleman as no more than a mercer's daughter. So natural is it
for a girl brought up as Sally was, to be occasionally ashamed of those
whose folly had set her above herself.
But whatever it might be to Sally, it was no disappointment to Mr.
Lovelace, to find his mistress of no higher degree; because he hoped to
reduce her soon to the lowest condition that an unhappy woman can fall
into.
But when Miss Martin had informed herself that her lover was the nephew
and presumptive heir of Lord M. she thought him the very man for whom she
had been so long and so impatiently looking out; and for whom it was
worth her while to spread her toils. And here it may not be amiss to
observe, that it is very probable that Mr. Lovelace had Sally Martin in
his thoughts, and perhaps two or three more whose hopes of marriage from
him had led them to their ruin, when he drew the following whimsical
picture, in a letter to his friend Belford, not inserted in the preceding
collection:
'Methinks,' says he, 'I see a young couple in courtship, having each a
design upon the other: the girl plays off: she is very happy as she is:
she cannot be happier: she will not change her single state: the man, I
will suppose, is one who does not confess, that he desires not that she
should: she holds ready a net under her apron; he another under his coat;
each intending to throw it over the other's neck; she over his, when her
pride is gratified, and she thinks she can be sure of him; he over her's,
when the watched-for yielding moment has carried consent too far. And
suppose he happens to be the more dexterous of the two, and whips his net
over her, before she can cast her's over him; how, I would fain know, can
she cast her's over him; how, I would fain know, can she be justly
entitled to cry out upon cruelty, barbarity, deception, sacrifices, and
all the rest of the exclamatory nonsense, with which the pretty fools, in
such a case, are wont to din the ears of their conquerors? Is it not
just, thinkest thou, when she makes her appeal to gods and men, that both
gods and men should laugh at her, and hitting her in the teeth with her
own felonious intentions, bid her sit down patiently under her deserved
disappointment?'
In short, Sally's parents, as well as herself, encouraged Mr. Lovelace's
visits. They thought they might trust to a discretion in her which she
herself was too wise to doubt. Pride they knew she had; and that, in
these cases, is often called discretion.--Lord help the sex, says
Lovelace, if they had not pride!--Nor did they suspect danger from that
specious air of sincerity, and gentleness of manners, which he could
assume or lay aside whenever he pleased.
The second masquerade, which was no more than their third meeting abroad,
completed her ruin, from so practised, though so young a deceiver; and
that before she well knew she was in danger; for, having prevailed on her
to go off with him about twelve o'clock to his aunt Forbes's, a lady of
honour and fortune, to whom he had given reason to expect her future
niece, [the only hint of marriage he ever gave her,] he carried her off
to the house of the wicked woman, who bears the name of Sinclair in these
papers; and there, by promises, which she understood in the favourable
sense, (for where a woman loves she seldom doubts enough for her safety,)
obtained an easy conquest over a virtue that was little more than
nominal.
He found it not difficult to induce her to proceed in the guilty
commerce, till the effects of it became to apparent to be hid. Her
parents then (in the first fury of their disappointment, and vexation for
being deprived of all hopes of such a son-in-law) turned her out of
doors.
Her disgrace thus published, she became hardened; and, protected by her
seducer, whose favourite mistress she then was, she was so incensed
against her parents for an indignity so little suiting with her pride,
and the head they had always given her, that she refused to return to
them, when, repenting of their passionate treatment of her, they would
have been reconciled to her: and, becoming the favourite daughter of her
mother Sinclair, at the persuasions of that abandoned woman she practised
to bring on an abortion, which she effected, though she was so far gone
that it had like to have cost her her life.
Thus, unchastity her first crime, murder her next, her conscience became
seared; and, young as she was, and fond of her deceiver, soon grew
indelicate enough, having so thorough-paced a school-mistress, to do all
she could to promote the pleasures of the man who had ruined her;
scrupling not, with a spirit truly diabolical, to endeavour to draw in
others to follow her example. And it is hardly to be believed what
mischiefs of this sort she was the means of effecting; woman confiding in
and daring woman; and she a creature of specious appearance, and great
art.
A still viler wickedness, if possible, remains to be said of Sally
Martin.
Her father dying, her mother, in hopes to reclaim her, as she called it,
proposed her to quit the house of the infamous Sinclair, and to retire
with her into the country, where her disgrace, and her then wicked way of
life, would not be known; and there so to live as to save appearances;
the only virtue she had ever taught her; besides that of endeavouring
rather to delude than be deluded.
To this Sally consented; but with no other intention, as she often owned,
(and gloried in it,) than to cheat her mother of the greatest part of her
substance, in revenge for consenting to her being turned out of doors
long before, and by way of reprisal for having persuaded her father, as
she would have it, to cut her off, in his last will, from any share in
his fortune.
This unnatural wickedness, in half a year's time, she brought about; and
then the serpent retired to her obscene den with her spoils, laughing at
what she had done; even after it had broken her mother's heart, as it did
in a few months' time: a severe, but just punishment for the unprincipled
education she had given her.
It ought to be added, that this was an iniquity of which neither Mr.
Lovelace, nor any of his friends, could bear to hear her boast; and
always checked her for it whenever she did; condemning it with one voice.
And it is certain that this, and other instances of her complicated
wickedness, turned early Lovelace's heart against her; and, had she not
been subservient to him in his other pursuits, he would not have endured
her: for, speaking of her, he would say, Let not any one reproach us,
Jack: there is no wickedness like the wickedness of a woman.*
* Eccles. xxv. 19.
A bad education was the preparative, it must be confessed; and for this
Sally Martin had reason to thank her parents; as they had reason to thank
themselves for what followed: but, had she not met with a Lovelace, she
had avoided a Sinclair; and might have gone on at the common rate of
wives so educated, and been the mother of children turned out to take
their chance in the world, as she was; so many lumps of soft wax, fit to
take any impression that the first accidents gave them; neither happy,
nor making happy; every thing but useful, and well off, if not extremely
miserable.
POLLY HORTON was the daughter of a gentlewoman, well descended; whose
husband, a man of family and of honour, was a Captain in the Guards.
He died when Polly was about nine years of age, leaving her to the care
of her mother, a lively young lady of about twenty-six; with a genteel
provision for both.
Her mother was extremely fond of her Polly; but had it not in herself to
manifest the true, the genuine fondness of a parent, by a strict and
guarded education; dressing out, and visiting, and being visited by the
gay of her own sex, and casting her eye abroad, as one very ready to try
her fortune again in the married state.
This induced those airs, and a love to those diversions, which make a
young widow, of so lively a turn, the unfittest tutoress in the world,
even to her own daughter.
Mrs. Horton herself having had an early turn to music, and that sort of
reading which is but an earlier debauchery for young minds, preparative
to the grosser at riper years; to wit, romances and novels, songs and
plays, and those without distinction, moral or immoral, she indulged her
daughter in the same taste; and at those hours, when they could not take
part in the more active and lively amusements and kill-times, as some
call them, used to employ Miss to read to her, happy enough, in her own
imagination, that while she was diverting her own ears, and sometimes, as
the piece was, corrupting her own heart, and her child's too, she was
teaching Miss to read, and improve her mind; for it was the boast of
every tea-table half-hour, That Miss Horton, in propriety, accent, and
emphasis, surpassed all the young ladies her age; and, at other times,
complimenting the pleased mother--Bless me, Madam, with what a surprising
grace Miss Horton reads!--she enters into the very spirit of her subject
--this she could have from nobody but you! An intended praise; but, as
the subjects were, would have been a severe satire in the mouth of an
enemy!--While the fond, the inconsiderate mother, with a delighted air,
would cry, Why, I cannot but say, Miss Horton does credit to her
tutoress! And then a Come hither, my best Love! and, with a kiss of
approbation, What a pleasure to your dear papa, had he lived to see your
improvements, my Charmer! Concluding with a sigh of satisfaction, her
eyes turning round upon the circle, to take in all the silent applauses
of theirs! But little though the fond, the foolish mother, what the
plant would be, which was springing up from these seeds! Little imagined
she, that her own ruin, as well as her child's, was to be the consequence
of this fine education; and that, in the same ill-fated hour, the honour
of both mother and daughter was to become a sacrifice to the intriguing
invader.
This, the laughing girl, when abandoned to her evil destiny, and in
company with her sister Sally, and others, each recounting their
settings-out, their progress, and their fall, frequently related to be
her education and manner of training-up.
This, and to see a succession of humble servants buzzing about a mother,
who took too much pride in addresses of that kind, what a beginning, what
an example, to a constitution of tinder, so prepared to receive the spark
struck, from the steely forehead and flinty heart of such a libertine as
at last it was their fortune to be encountered by!
In short, as Miss grew up under the influences of such a directress, and
of books so light and frothy, with the inflaming additions of music,
concerts, operas, plays, assemblies, balls, and the rest of the rabble of
amusements of modern life, it is no wonder that, like early fruit, she
was soon ripened to the hand of the insidious gatherer.
At fifteen, she owned she was ready to fancy herself the heroine of every
novel and of every comedy she read, so well did she enter into the spirit
of her subject; she glowed to become the object of some hero's flame; and
perfectly longed to begin an intrigue, and even to be run away with by
some enterprising lover: yet had neither confinement nor check to
apprehend from her indiscreet mother, which she thought absolutely
necessary to constitute a Parthenissa!
Nevertheless, with all these fine modern qualities, did she complete her
nineteenth year, before she met with any address of consequence; one half
of her admirers being afraid, because of her gay turn, and but middling
fortune, to make serious applications for her favour; while others were
kept at a distance, by the superior airs she assumed; and a third sort,
not sufficiently penetrating the foibles either of mother or daughter,
were kept off by the supposed watchful care of the former.
But when the man of intrepidity and intrigue was found, never was heroine
so soon subdued, never goddess so easily stript of her celestials! For,
at the opera, a diversion at which neither she nor her mother ever missed
to be present, she beheld the specious Lovelace--beheld him invested with
all the airs of heroic insult, resenting a slight affront offered to his
Sally Martin by two gentlemen who had known her in her more hopeful
state, one of whom Mr. Lovelace obliged to sneak away with a broken head,
given with the pummel of his sword, the other with a bloody nose; neither
of them well supporting that readiness of offence, which, it seems, was a
part of their known character to be guilty of.
The gallantry of this action drawing every by-stander on the side of the
hero, O the brave man! cried Polly Horton, aloud, to her mother, in a
kind of rapture, How needful the protection of the brave to the fair!
with a softness in her voice, which she had taught herself, to suit her
fancied high condition of life.
A speech so much in his favour, could not but take the notice of a man
who was but too sensible of the advantages which his fine person, and
noble air, gave him over the gentler hearts, who was always watching
every female eye, and who had his ear continually turned to every
affected voice; for that was one of his indications of a proper subject
to be attempted--Affectation of every sort, he used to say, is a certain
sign of a wrong turned head; of a faulty judgment; and upon such a basis
I seldom build in vain.
He instantly resolved to be acquainted with a young creature, who seemed
so strongly prejudiced in his favour. Never man had a readier invention
for all sorts of mischief. He gave his Sally her cue. He called her
sister in their hearing; and Sally, whisperingly, gave the young lady and
her mother, in her own way, the particulars of the affront she had
received; making herself an angel of light, to cast the brighter ray upon
the character of her heroic brother. She particularly praised his known
and approved courage; and mingled with her praises of him such
circumstances relating to his birth, his fortune, and endowments, as left
him nothing to do but to fall in love with the enamoured Polly.
Mr. Lovelace presently saw what turn to give his professions. So brave a
man, yet of manners so gentle! hit the young lady's taste: nor could she
suspect the heart that such an aspect covered. This was the man! the
very man! she whispered to her mother. And, when the opera was over, his
servant procuring a coach, he undertook, with his specious sister, to set
them down at their own lodgings, though situated a quite different way
from his: and there were they prevailed upon to alight, and partake of a
slight repast.
Sally pressed them to return the favour to her at her aunt Forbes's, and
hoped it would be before her brother went to his own seat.
They promised her, and named their evening.
A splendid entertainment was provided. The guests came, having in the
interim found all that was said of his name, and family, and fortune to
be true. Persons of so little strictness in their own morals, took it
not into their heads to be very inquisitive after his.
Music and dancing had their share in the entertainment. These opened
their hearts, already half opened by love: The aunt Forbes, and the
lover's sister, kept them open by their own example. The hero sung,
vowed, promised. Their gratitude was moved, their delights were
augmented, their hopes increased, their confidence was engaged, all their
appetites up in arms; the rich wines co-operating, beat quite off their
guard, and not thought enough remaining for so much as suspicion--Miss,
detached from her mother by Sally, soon fell a sacrifice to the
successful intriguer.
The widow herself, half intoxicated, and raised as she was with artful
mixtures, and inflamed by love, unexpectedly tendered by one of the
libertines, his constant companions, (to whom an opportunity was
contrived to be given to be alone with her, and that closely followed by
importunity, fell into her daughter's error. The consequences of which,
in length of time, becoming apparent, grief, shame, remorse, seized her
heart, (her own indiscretion not allowing her to arraign her daughter's,)
and she survived not her delivery, leaving Polly with child likewise;
who, when delivered, being too fond of the gay deluder to renounce his
company, even when she found herself deluded, fell into a course of
extravagance and dissoluteness; ran through her fortune in a very little
time, and, as an high preferment, at last, with Sally, was admitted a
quarter partner with the detestable Sinclair.
All that is necessary to add to the history of these unhappy women, will
be comprised in a very little compass.
After the death of the profligate Sinclair, they kept on the infamous
trade with too much success; till an accident happened in the house--a
gentleman of family killed in it in a fray, contending with another for
a new-vamped face. Sally was accused of holding the gentleman's arm,
while his more-favoured adversary ran him through the heart, and then
made off. And she being tried for her life narrowly escaped.
This accident obliged them to break up house-keeping; and not having been
frugal enough of their ill-gotten gains, (lavishing upon one what they
got by another,) they were compelled, for subsistence sake, to enter
themselves as under-managers at such another house as their own had been.
In which service, soon after, Sally died of a fever and surfeit got by a
debauch; and the other, about a month after, by a violent cold,
occasioned through carelessness in a salivation.
Happier scenes open for the remaining characters; for it might be
descending too low to mention the untimely ends of Dorcas, and of
William, Mr. Lovelace's wicked servant; and the pining and consumptive
one's of Betty Barnes and Joseph Leman, unmarried both, and in less than
a year after the happy death of their excellent young lady.
The good Mrs. NORTON passed the small remainder of her life, as happily
as she wished, in her beloved foster-daughter's dairy-house, as it used
to be called: as she wished, we repeat; for she had too strong
aspirations after another life, to be greatly attached to this.
She laid out the greatest part of her time in doing good by her advice,
and by the prudent management of the fund committed to her direction.
Having lived an exemplary life from her youth upwards; and seen her son
happily settled in the world; she departed with ease and calmness,
without pang or agony, like a tired traveller, falling into a sweet
slumber: her last words expressing her hope of being restored to the
child of her bosom; and to her own excellent father and mother, to whose
care and pains she owed that good education to which she was indebted for
all her other blessings.
The poor's fund, which was committed to her care, she resigned a week
before her death, into the hands of Mrs. Hickman, according the direction
of the will, and all the accounts and disbursements with it; which she
had kept with such an exactness, that the lady declares, that she will
follow her method, and only wishes to discharge the trust as well.
Miss HOWE was not to be persuaded to quit her mourning for her dear
friend, until six months were fully expired: and then she made Mr.
HICKMAN one of the happiest men in the world. A woman of her fine sense
and understanding, married to a man of virtue and good-nature, (who had
no past capital errors to reflect upon, and to abate his joys, and whose
behaviour to Mrs. Hickman is as affectionate as it was respectful to Miss
Howe,) could not do otherwise. They are already blessed with two fine
children; a daughter, to whom, by joint consent, they have given the name
of her beloved friend; an a son, who bears that of his father.
She has allotted to Mr. Hickman, who takes delight in doing good, (and
that as much for its own sake, as to oblige her,) his part of the
management of the poor's fund; to be accountable for it, as she
pleasantly says, to her. She has appropriated every Thursday morning for
her part of that management; and takes so much delight in the task, that
she declares it to be one of the most agreeable of her amusements. And
the more agreeable, as she teaches every one whom she benefits, to bless
the memory of her departed friend; to whom she attributes the merit of
all her own charities, as well as the honour of those which she dispenses
in pursuance of her will.
She has declared, That this fund shall never fail while she lives. She
has even engaged her mother to contribute annually to it. And Mr.
Hickman has appropriated twenty pounds a year to the same. In
consideration of which she allows him to recommend four objects yearly to
partake of it.--Allows, is her style; for she assumes the whole
prerogative of dispensing this charity; the only prerogative she does or
has occasion to assume. In every other case, there is but one will
between them; and that is generally his or her's, as either speaks first,
upon any subject, be it what it will. MRS. HICKMAN, she sometimes as
pleasantly as generously tells him, must not quite forget that she was
once MISS HOWE, because if he had not loved her as such, and with all her
foibles, she had never been MRS. HICKMAN. Nevertheless she seriously, on
all occasions, and that to others as well as to himself, confesses that
she owes him unreturnable obligations for his patience with her in HER
day, and for his generous behaviour to her in HIS.
And still more the highly does she esteem and love him, as she reflects
upon his past kindness to her beloved friend; and on that dear friend's
good opinion of him. Nor is it less grateful to her, that the worthy
man joins most sincerely with her in all those respectful and
affectionate recollections, which make the memory of the departed
precious to survivors.
Mr. BELFORD was not so destitute of humanity and affection, as to be
unconcerned at the unhappy fate of his most intimate friend. But when
he reflects upon the untimely ends of several of his companions, but just
mentioned in the preceding history*--On the shocking despondency and
death of his poor friend Belton--On the signal justice which overtook the
wicked Tomlinson--On the dreadful exit of the infamous Sinclair--On the
deep remorses of his more valued friend--And, on the other hand, on the
example set him by the most excellent of her sex--and on her blessed
preparation, and happy departure--And when he considers, as he often does
with awe and terror, that his wicked habits were so rooted in his
depraved heart, that all these warnings, and this lovely example, seemed
to be but necessary to enable him to subdue them, and to reform; and that
such awakening-calls are hardly ever afforded to men of his cast, or (if
they are) but seldom attended the full vigour of constitution:--When he
reflects upon all these things, he adores the Mercy, which through these
calls has snatched him as a brand out of the fire: and thinks himself
obliged to make it his endeavours to find out, and to reform, any of
those who may have been endangered by his means; as well as to repair, to
the utmost of his power, any damage or mischiefs which he may have
occasioned to others.
* See Letters XLI. and LVII. of this volume.
With regard to the trust with which he was honoured by the inimitable
lady, he had the pleasure of acquitting himself of it in a very few
months, to every body's satisfaction; even to that of the unhappy family;
who sent him their thanks on the occasion. Nor was he, at delivering up
his accounts, contented without resigning the legacy bequeathed to him,
to the uses of the will. So that the poor's fund, as it is called, is
become a very considerable sum: and will be a lasting bank for relief of
objects who best deserve relief.
There was but one earthly blessing which remained for Mr. Belford to wish
for, in order, morally speaking, to secure to him all his other
blessings; and that was, the greatest of all worldly ones, a virtuous and
prudent wife. So free a liver as he had been, he did not think that he
could be worthy of such a one, till, upon an impartial examination of
himself, he found the pleasure he had in his new resolutions so great,
and his abhorrence of his former courses so sincere, that he was the less
apprehensive of a deviation.
Upon this presumption, having also kept in his mind some encouraging
hints from Mr. Lovelace; and having been so happy as to have it in his
power to oblige Lord M. and that whole noble family, by some services
grateful to them (the request for which from his unhappy friend was
brought over, among other papers, with the dead body, by De la Tour); he
besought that nobleman's leave to make his addresses to Miss CHARLOTTE
MONTAGUE, the eldest of his Lordship's two nieces: and making at the same
time such proposals of settlements as were not objected to, his Lordship
was pleased to use his powerful interest in his favour. And his worthy
niece having no engagement, she had the goodness to honour Mr. Belford
with her hand; and thereby made him as completely happy as a man can be,
who has enormities to reflect upon, which are out of his power to atone
for, by reason of the death of some of the injured parties, and the
irreclaimableness of others.
'Happy is the man who, in the time of health and strength, sees and
reforms the error of his ways!--But how much more happy is he, who has no
capital and wilful errors to repent of!--How unmixed and sincere must the
joys of such a one come to him!'
Lord M. added bountifully in his life-time, as did also the two ladies
his sisters, to the fortune of their worthy niece. And as Mr. Belford
had been blessed with a son by her, his Lordship at his death [which
happened just three years after the untimely one of his unhappy nephew]
was pleased to devise to that son, and to his descendents for ever (and
in case of his death unmarried, to any other children of his niece) his
Hertfordshire estate, (designed for Mr. Lovelace,) which he made up to
the value of a moiety of his real estates; bequeathing also a moiety
of his personal to the same lady.
Miss PATTY MONTAGUE, a fine young lady [to whom her noble uncle, at his
death, devised the other moiety of his real and personal estates,
including his seat in Berkshire] lives at present with her excellent
sister, Mrs. Belford; to whom she removed upon Lord M.'s death: but, in
all probability, will soon be the lady of a worthy baronet, of ancient
family, fine qualities, and ample fortunes, just returned from his
travels, with a character superior to the very good one he set out with:
a case that very seldom happens, although the end of travel is
improvement.
Colonel MORDEN, who, with so many virtues and accomplishments, cannot be
unhappy, in several letters to the executor, with whom he corresponds
from Florence, [having, since his unhappy affair with Mr. Lovelace
changed his purpose of coming so soon to reside in England as he had
intended,] declares, That although he thought himself obliged either to
accept of what he took to be a challenge, as such; or tamely to
acknowledge, that he gave up all resentment of his cousin's wrongs; and
in a manner to beg pardon for having spoken freely of Mr. Lovelace behind
his back; and although at the time he owns he was not sorry to be called
upon, as he was, to take either the one course or the other; yet now,
coolly reflecting upon his beloved cousin's reasonings against duelling;
and upon the price it had too probably cost the unhappy man; he wishes he
had more fully considered those words in his cousin's posthumous letter--
'If God will allow him time for repentance, why should you deny it him?'*
* Several worthy persons have wished, that the heinous practice of
duelling had been more forcibly discouraged, by way of note, at the
conclusion of a work designed to recommend the highest and most important
doctrines of christianity. It is humbly presumed, that these persons
have not sufficiently attended to what is already done on that subject in
Vol. II. Letter XII. and in this volume, Letter XVI. XLIII. XLIV. and
XLV.
To conclude--The worthy widow Lovick continues to live with Mr. Belford;
and, by her prudent behaviour, piety, and usefulness, has endeared
herself to her lady, and to the whole family.