then went with impatience to see his little daughter, over whom he shed
many tears, as Mr Selvyn afterwards informed me; telling it that it was
a constant memorial of the greatest misfortune of his life, and could
never afford him a pleasure that was not mingled with the deepest
affliction.
'Mrs Selvyn had lain in about six weeks before I went to her, the child
she brought into the world lived but a few months; upon its death, at
Lord Peyton's desire, they took you from nurse, and pretending you their
own, privately buried their child, who was likewise nursed abroad. Mr
Selvyn was a merchant, but had never been successful, his wife died when
you were about three years old. Having no children to provide for, and
not being fond of trade, he was desirous of retiring into the country.
Lord Peyton to facilitate the gratification of his wish, procured him a
small sinecure; gave into his possession three thousand pounds, which he
secured to you; and allowed him a hundred a year for the trouble of your
education; with an unlimited commission to call on him for any sums he
should want.
'The constant sense of my guilt, the continual regret at having by my
own ill conduct forfeited the happiness which every action of Lord
Peyton's proved that his wife might reasonably expect, fixed a degree of
melancholy on my mind, which no time has been able to conquer. I lived
with my father till his death, which happened not many years ago; at his
decease, I found myself mistress of a large fortune, which enabled me to
support the rank I had always enjoyed. Though Lord Peyton had provided
sufficiently for Mr Selvyn's and your convenience, yet I constantly sent
him a yearly present; till no longer able to deny myself the pleasure of
seeing my dear child, I prevailed on him to remove to London and to fix
in the same street with me, taking care to supply all that was requisite
to enable him to appear there genteelly. You know with what appearance
of accident I first cultivated a friendship with you, but you cannot
imagine with how much difficulty I concealed the tenderness of a mother
under the ceremonies of an acquaintance.
'Of late I have enjoyed a more easy state of mind: I have sometimes been
inclined to flatter myself that your uncommon merit, and the great
comfort I have received in your society, are signs that Heaven has
forgiven my offence and accepted my penitence, which has been sincere
and long, as an atonement for my crime; in which blessed hope I shall, I
trust, meet death without terror, and submit, my dear daughter, whenever
I am called hence, in full confidence to that Power whose mercy is over
all his works. I ought to add a few words about your dear father, who
seemed to think my extreme regular conduct and the punishment I had
inflicted on myself, such an extenuation of my weakness that he ever
behaved to me with the tenderest respect, I might almost say reverence,
and till his death gave me every proof of the purest and the strongest
friendship. By consent we avoided each other's presence for three years,
by which time we hoped the violence of our mutual passion would be
abated. He spent the greatest part of it abroad; and at the end of that
period we met with the sincerer joy, from finding we were not deceived
in our hopes. Our attachment was settled into the tenderest friendship;
we forbore even the mention of your name, as it must have reminded us of
our crime; and if Lord Peyton wanted to communicate any thing concerning
you, he did it by letter; avoiding with the extremest delicacy ever to
take notice that any such letters had passed between us; and even in
them he consulted about his child, in the style of a man who was writing
to a person that had no other connection with it than what her
friendship for him must naturally occasion, in a point where he was
interested by the tenderest ties of the most extreme paternal love.
'I have often with pleasure heard you mention his great fondness for you
in your childhood, when he visited at your father's; your growing years
increased it, though it obliged him to suppress the appearance of an
affection which you would have thought improper. I need not tell you
that I had the misfortune to lose this worthiest of friends, about half
a year before you came to London, which determined me to send for you,
that I might receive all the consolation the world could give me, and
see the inheritor of her dear father's virtues. While he lived I dared
not have taken the same step; your presence would have been too painful
a testimony against me, and continually reminded my lord of a weakness
which I hope time had almost effaced from his remembrance.'
Miss Selvyn was extremely affected with the perusal of this paper; she
was frequently interrupted by her tears; grieved to the heart to think
of how much uneasiness she had been the cause. As soon as she had
concluded it, she threw herself on her knees at Lady Emilia's bedside,
and taking one of her hands, which she bathed with her tears, 'Is it
possible then,' said she, 'that I have thus long been ignorant of the
best of parents? And must I lose you when so lately found? Oh! my dear
mother, how much pleasure have I lost by not knowing that I might call
you by that endearing name! What an example of virtue have you set me!
How noble your resolution! How uniform and constant your penitence!
Blest you must be supremely by him who loveth the contrite heart; and
you and my father I doubt not will enjoy eternal felicity together,
united never more to part. Oh! may your afflicted daughter be received
into the same place, and partake of your happiness; may she behold your
piety rewarded, and admire in you the blessed fruits of timely
repentance; a repentance so immediately succeeding the offence, that
your soul could not have received the black impression!'
'Can you, who have never erred,' said Lady Emilia, 'see my offence in so
fair a light? What may I not then hope from infinite mercy? I do hope;
it would be criminal to doubt, when such consolatory promises appear in
almost every page of holy writ. With pleasure I go where I am called,
for I leave my child safe in the Divine Protection, and her own virtue;
I leave her, I hope, to a happy life, and a far more happy death; when
joys immortal will bless her through all eternity. I have now, my love,
discharged the burden from my mind; not many hours of life remain, let
me not pass them in caressing my dear daughter, which, though most
pleasing to my fond heart, can end only in making me regret the loss of
a world which will soon pass from my sight. Let me spend this hour, as I
hope to do those that will succeed it through all eternity. Join with me
in prayers to, and praises of, him in whom consists all our lasting
happiness.'
Miss Selvyn sent for the minister of the parish at Lady Emilia's desire,
and the remainder of her life passed in religious exercises. She expired
without a groan, in the midst of a fervent prayer, as if her soul was
impatient to take its flight into the presence of him whom she was
addressing with so much ardour.
Miss Selvyn's affliction was at first extreme, but when she reflected on
her mother's well-spent life, and most happy death, it much abated the
excess of her grief. By that lady's will, she found herself heir to
twelve thousand pounds, and all her personal estate. She had been
charmed with the account Lady Mary Jones had sent her of this society,
and wished to increase her acquaintance with that lady, and therefore
offered, if proper, to make her a short visit, as soon as her necessary
affairs were settled. This met with the most welcome reception, and she
came hither as a visitor. Her stay was gradually prolonged for near two
months; when having reason, from the great regard shewn her, to think
she should be no disagreeable addition, she asked leave to join her
fortune to the common stock, and to fix entirely with them. Nothing
could be more agreeable to the other three ladies than this offer, and
with extreme satisfaction she settled here.
Upon this increase of income it was that my friends established the
community of indigent gentlewomen, which gave you so much pleasure.
Lamont was much struck with the conduct of Lady Emilia; she had shewn,
he said, a degree of delicacy and prudence which exceeded what he had a
notion of; he never met with a woman who foresaw the little chance she
had for happiness in marrying a man who could have no inducement to make
her his wife but a nice, often a too nice, sense of honour; and who
certainly could have no great opinion of her virtue. The folly of both
men and women in these late unions was the subject of our conversation
till we separated. In the afternoon the ladies asked us to accompany
them to the house they had just taken for the new community, to which
they were obliged to go that day, as they had set several persons to
work there. They keep a post-coach and post-chaise, which with the help
of ours, were sufficient to accommodate us all. A short time brought us
to the house, a very old and formerly a very fine mansion, but now much
fallen to decay. The outside is greatly out of repair, but the building
seems strong. The inside is in a manner totally unfurnished; for though
it is not empty, yet the rats and mice have made such considerable
depredations on what time had before reduced to a very tattered
condition that the melancholy remains can be reckoned little better than
lumber.
The last inhabitant of this house we were informed was an old miser
whose passion for accumulating wealth reduced him into almost as
unfortunate a state as Midas, who, according to the fable, having
obtained the long-desired power of turning every thing he touched to
gold, was starved by the immediate transmutation of all food into that
metal the instant it touched his lips. The late possessor of the house I
am speaking of, when he was about fifty years old, turned away every
servant but an old woman, who if she was not honest, was at least too
weak to be able to put any dishonesty in practice. When he was about
threescore, she died, and he never could venture to let any one supply
her place. He fortified every door and window with such bars of iron
that his house might have resisted the forcible attack of a whole army.
Night and day growled before his inhospitable door a furious Dutch
mastiff, whose natural ferocity was so increased by continual hunger,
for his master fed him most sparingly, that no stranger could have
entered the yard with impunity.
Every time this churlish beast barked, the old gentleman, with terror
and dismay in his countenance, and quaking limbs, ran to the only window
he ever ventured to unbar, to see what danger threatened him; nor could
the sight of a barefoot child, or a decrepit old woman, immediately
dispel his fears. As timorous as Falstaff, his imagination first
multiplied and then clothed them in buckram; and his panic ceased not
till they were out of view.
This wretched man upon the death of his only servant, agreed with an old
woman to buy food for him, and bring it to the well defended door of his
yard; where informing him of her arrival by a signal agreed upon between
them, he ventured out of his house to receive it from her; and dressed
it himself; till worn out by anxiety of mind he grew too weak to perform
that office and ordered the woman to bring it ready prepared; this
continued for a little time, till at last he appeared no more at his
gate. After the old woman had knocked three days in vain, the
neighbourhood began to think it necessary to take some measures
thereupon; but not choosing to run the hazard of breaking open the
house, they sent to the old gentleman's nephew, whose father had been
suffered to languish in extreme poverty many years before his death; nor
was the son in much better condition; but he had acquainted some of the
neighbours with the place of his abode in hopes of the event which now
induced them to send for him.
As soon as he arrived, he prepared to force his way into the house, but
it was found so impracticable that at length they were obliged to untile
part of the roof, from whence a person descended, and opened the door to
those who did not choose so dangerous an entrance as that through which
he had passed.
They found the old man dead on a great chest which contained his money,
as if he had been desirous to take possession even in death.
His nephew was just of age, and having till then been exposed to all the
evils of poverty, was almost distracted with joy at the sudden
acquisition of a large fortune. He scarcely could be prevailed with to
stay long enough in this house to pay the last duties to an uncle who
had no right to anything more from him than just the decent ceremonies;
and without giving himself time to look over his estate, hastened to
London.
He hired a magnificent house in Grosvenor Square; bespoke the most
elegant equipages; bought the finest set of horses he could hear of at
double their real value; and launched into every expense the town
afforded him. He soon became one of the most constant frequenters of
Whites; kept several running horses; distinguished himself at Newmarket,
and had the honour of playing deeper, and betting with more spirit, than
any other young man of his age. There was not an occurrence in his life
about which he had not some wager depending. The wind could not change
or a shower fall without his either losing or gaining by it. He had not
a dog or cat in his house on whose life he had not bought or sold an
annuity. By these ingenious methods in one year was circulated through
the kingdom the ready money which his uncle had been half his life
starving himself and family to accumulate. The second year obliged him
to mortgage great part of his land, and the third saw him reduced to
sell a considerable portion of his estate, of which this house and the
land belonging to it made a part.
I could not help observing the various fate of this mansion, originally
the seat of ancient hospitality; then falling into the hands of a miser
who had not spirit to enjoy it, nor sense enough to see that he was
impairing so valuable a part of his possessions by grudging the
necessary expenses of repairs; from him devolving to a young coxcomb who
by neglect let it sink into ruin and was spending in extravagance what
he inherited from avarice; as if one vice was to pay the debt to society
which the other had incurred; and now it was purchased to be the seat of
charity and benevolence. How directly were we led to admire the superior
sense, as well as transcendent virtue of these ladies, when we compared
the use they made of money with that to which the two late possessors
had appropriated it! While we were in doubt which most to blame, he who
had heaped it up without comfort, in sordid inhumanity, or he who
squandered it in the gratification of gayer vices. Equally strangers to
beneficence, self-indulgence was their sole view; alike criminal, though
not equally unfashionable, one endeavoured to starve, the other to
corrupt mankind; while the new owners of this house had no other view
than to convenience and to reform all who came within their influence,
themselves enjoying in a supreme degree the happiness they dispersed
around them.
It was pleasing to see numbers at work to repair the building and
cultivate the garden and to observe that at length from this
inhospitable mansion, 'health to himself, and to his children bread, the
labourer bears.' Within it were all the biggest schoolgirls, with one of
their mistresses to direct them in mending such furniture as was not
quite destroyed; and I was pleased to see with how much art they
repaired the decays of time, in things which well deserved better care,
having once been the richest part of the furniture belonging to the
opulent possessors.
On our way home we called at a clergyman's house, which was placed in
the finest situation imaginable and where we beheld that profusion of
comforts which sense and economy will enable the possessors of narrow
fortunes to enjoy. This gentleman and his wife have but a small living
and still less paternal estate, but the neatness, prettiness and
convenience of their habitation were enough to put one out of humour
with riches, and I should certainly have breathed forth Agar's prayer
with great ardour if I had not been stopped in the beginning by
considering how great a blessing wealth may be when properly employed,
of which I had then such hourly proof.
At our return to Millenium Hall we found some of the neighbouring
society who were come to share the evening's concert and sup with us.
But at ten o'clock they departed, which I understood was somewhat later
than usual, but they conformed to the alteration of hours our arrival
had occasioned.
The next day being very hot, we were asked to breakfast in a delightful
arbour in the flower garden. The morning dew, which still refreshed the
flowers, increased their fragrance to as great an excess of sweetness as
the senses could support. Till I went to this house, I knew not half the
charms of the country. Few people have the art of making the most of
nature's bounty; these ladies are epicures in rural pleasures and enjoy
them in the utmost excess to which they can be carried. All that romance
ever represented in the plains of Arcadia are much inferior to the
charms of Millenium Hall, except the want of shepherds be judged a
deficiency that nothing else can compensate; there indeed they fall
short of what romantic writers represent, and have formed a female
Arcadia.
After breakfast all the ladies left us except Mrs Maynard. We were so
charmed with the spot we were in that we agreed to remain there and I
called on my cousin to continue the task she had undertaken, which she
did in the following manner.
THE HISTORY OF Miss TRENTHAM
Miss Trentham never knew the blessing of a mother's care, hers died the
same month which gave her daughter birth; and Mr Trentham survived his
wife but eight years. He left his little girl eleven thousand pounds,
recommending both her person and fortune to his mother, Mrs Alworth.
Mrs Alworth was an old lady of good sense and merit. She had felt the
most melancholy, but not unusual effect of long life, having outlived
all her children. This misfortune she alleviated in the best manner she
was able, by receiving her grandchildren into her family. Her son by her
second husband left behind him a boy and girl, the former at the time I
speak of about eleven years old, the latter ten. Her daughter had
married Mr Denham and at her death left two girls. Mr Denham entering
into wedlock a second time, very willingly complied with Mrs Alworth's
desire of having his two daughters. The eldest of these was twelve years
old, the youngest eleven.
These children had lived with the old lady some years, when she took
home Harriot Trentham. As their grandmother was rich, there had been a
strong contention among them for her favour, and they could not without
great disgust see another rival brought to the house. Harriot was
extremely handsome and engaging. The natural sweetness of her temper
rendered her complying and observant; but having been bred under the
care of a sensible and indulgent father, she had never been taught the
little arts of behaviour which mothers too commonly inculcate with so
much care that children are as void of simplicity at eight as at eight
and twenty years old. The first thing a girl is taught is to hide her
sentiments, to contradict the thoughts of her heart, and tell all the
civil lies which custom has sanctified, with as much affectation and
conceit as her mother; and when she has acquired all the folly and
impertinence of a riper age, and apes the woman more ungracefully than a
monkey does a fine gentleman, the parents congratulate themselves with
the extremest complacency on the charming education they have given
their daughter.
Harriot had been taught no such lessons. Her father had a strong dislike
to prematurity, and feared that communication with the world would too
soon teach her art and disguise, the last things he would have chosen to
anticipate.
By teaching her humanity, he initiated her into civility of manners. She
had learnt that to give pain was immoral; and could no more have borne
to have shocked any person's mind than to have racked his body. Any
thought therefore that could hurt she suppressed as an indispensable
duty, and to please by her actions and not offend by her words was an
essential part of the religion in which she was educated: but in every
thing whereby no one could suffer she was innocence and simplicity
itself; and in her nature shone pure and uncorrupted either by natural
or acquired vices.
Mrs Alworth, though fond of all her grandchildren, could not conquer a
degree of partiality for Harriot, whose attractions, both personal and
mental, were very superior to those of her cousins. Her beauty secured
her the particular attention of all strangers, she gained their favour
at first sight, and secured it by her amiable disposition when they
became more acquainted with her.
Envy is one of the first passions that appears in the human mind. Had
Miss Alworth and the Miss Denhams been much younger, Harriot would not
have passed unenvied. Every day increased their dislike to her as she
grew daily more beloved by others, and they let no opportunity escape of
making her feel the effects of their little malice. Their hatred to her
produced a union among themselves; for the first time they found
something in which they all agreed. They were continually laying little
plots to lessen her in their grandmother's opinion; frequent were the
accusations against her, but her innocence always triumphed though it
never discouraged them from repeating the same unsuccessful attempts.
Mrs Alworth was extremely fond of them all, but yet she saw through
their malice and their behaviour only served to endear Harriot the more,
who defended herself without anger and retained no rancour in her mind.
Free from resentment or suspicion she was ever open to their arts, and
experience did not teach her to be on her guard against them, which
often occasioned their having appearances on their side, and might have
raised prejudices against her in Mrs Alworth's mind had she not found a
defender in Master Alworth, who alone of all her cousins was free from
envy. He was naturally of an honest and sweet disposition, and being
fond of Harriot, for beauty has charms for all ages, felt great
indignation at the treatment she received and would often express a
resentment from which she was wholly free. Mrs Alworth's great fondness
for her grandson and strong prejudices against schools, from a belief
that boys acquire there more vice than learning, had determined on a
private education. She therefore provided a tutor for him before he was
seven years old; a man of learning and sense, with a great deal of
religion and good humour and who was very attentive to the employment
for which he had been chosen.
Master Alworth, by being thus kept at home, had frequent opportunities
of observing the malice of his sister and Miss Denham against Harriot
and never failed exposing their practices to his grandmother; who from
thence learnt to suspect their reports about things which passed in his
absence and consequently could not be cleared up by him. His fondness
for Harriot soon made him beloved by her, and as she found little
pleasure in the society of her other cousins, she sought his company,
but as he was much engaged by his studies she seldom found him at
leisure to play. The tutor, greatly delighted with her, tried to awaken
in her mind a desire of improvement and found it an easy task; she was
inclined to learn and capable of doing it with great quickness. Mrs
Alworth readily entered into the good man's views, and was pleased with
the eagerness of Harriot's application. Master Alworth was far enough
advanced in learning to assist his favourite, and from him she received
instruction with double pleasure and more easily comprehended his
explanations than those of their tutor, who found it difficult to divest
himself sufficiently of scientific terms, which greatly retard the
increase of knowledge in a youthful mind.