This method of writing to you from time to time, without any hopes of an
answer, affords me, I own, some ease and satisfaction in the ‘midst of
my disquiet, as it in some degree lightens the burthen of affliction:
but it is at best a very imperfect enjoyment of friendship, because it
admits of no return of confidence and good counsel--I would give the
whole world to have your company for a single day--I am heartily
tired of this itinerant way of life. I am quite dizzy with a perpetual
succession of objects--Besides it is impossible to travel such a
length of way, without being exposed to inconveniencies, dangers, and
disagreeable accidents, which prove very grievous to a poor creature of
weak nerves like me, and make me pay very dear for the gratification of
my curiosity.
Nature never intended me for the busy world--I long for repose and
solitude, where I can enjoy that disinterested friendship which is not
to be found among crouds, and indulge those pleasing reveries that shun
the hurry and tumult of fashionable society--Unexperienced as I am in
the commerce of life, I have seen enough to give me a disgust to the
generality of those who carry it on--There is such malice, treachery,
and dissimulation, even among professed friends and intimate companions,
as cannot fail to strike a virtuous mind with horror; and when Vice
quits the stage for a moment, her place is immediately occupied by
Folly, which is often too serious to excite any thing but compassion.
Perhaps I ought to be silent on the foibles of my poor aunt; but with
you, my dear Willis, I have no secrets; and, truly, her weaknesses are
such as cannot be concealed. Since the first moment we arrived at Bath,
she has been employed constantly in spreading nets for the other sex;
and, at length, she has caught a superannuated lieutenant, who is in a
fair way to make her change her name--My uncle and my brother seem to
have no objection to this extraordinary match, which, I make no doubt,
will afford abundance of matter for conversation and mirth; for my part,
I am too sensible of my own weaknesses, to be diverted with those of
other people--At present, I have something at heart that employs my
whole attention, and keeps my mind in the utmost terror and suspence.
Yesterday in the forenoon, as I stood with my brother at the parlour
window of an inn, where we had lodged, a person passed a horseback, whom
(gracious Heaven!) I instantly discovered to be Wilson! He wore a white
riding-coat, with the cape buttoned up to his chin; looking remarkably
pale, and passed at a round trot, without seeming to observe us--Indeed,
he could not see us; for there was a blind that concealed us from the
view. You may guess how I was affected at this apparition. The light
forsook my eyes; and I was seized with such a palpitation and trembling,
that I could not stand. I sat down upon a couch, and strove to compose
myself, that my brother might not perceive my agitation; but it was
impossible to escape his prying eyes--He had observed the object that
alarmed me; and, doubtless, knew him at the first glance--He now looked
at me with a stern countenance; then he ran out into the street, to see
what road the unfortunate horseman had taken--He afterwards dispatched
his man for further intelligence, and seemed to meditate some violent
design. My uncle, being out of order, we remained another night at the
inn; and all day long Jery acted the part of an indefatigable spy upon
my conduct--He watched my very looks with such eagerness of attention,
as if he would have penetrated into the utmost recesses of my
heart--This may be owing to his regard for my honour, if it is not the
effect of his own pride; but he is so hot, and violent, and unrelenting,
that the sight of him alone throws me into a flutter; and really it
will not be in my power to afford him any share of my affection, if he
persists in persecuting me at this rate. I am afraid he has formed some
scheme of vengeance, which will make me completely wretched! I am afraid
he suspects some collusion from this appearance of Wilson.--Good God!
did he really appear? or was it only a phantom, a pale spectre to
apprise me of his death.
O Letty, what shall I do?--where shall I turn for advice and
consolation? shall I implore the protection of my uncle, who has been
always kind and compassionate.--This must be my last resource.--I dread
the thoughts of making him uneasy; and would rather suffer a thousand
deaths than live the cause of dissension in the family.--I cannot
conceive the meaning of Wilson’s coming hither:--perhaps, it was in
quest of us, in order to disclose his real name and situation:--but
wherefore pass without staying to make the least enquiry?--My dear
Willis, I am lost in conjecture. I have not closed an eye since I saw
him.--All night long have I been tossed about from one imagination to
another. The reflection finds no resting place.--I have prayed, and
sighed, and wept plentifully.--If this terrible suspence continues much
longer, I shall have another fit of illness, and then the whole family
will be in confusion--If it was consistent with the wise purposes
of Providence, would I were in my grave--But it is my duty to be
resigned.--My dearest Letty, excuse my weakness--excuse these blots--my
tears fall so fast that I cannot keep the paper dry--yet I ought
to consider that I have as yet no cause to despair but I am such a
faint-hearted timorous creature!
Thank God, my uncle is much better than he was yesterday. He is resolved
to pursue our journey strait to Wales.--I hope we shall take Gloucester
in our way--that hope chears my poor heart I shall once more embrace my
best beloved Willis, and pour all my griefs into her friendly bosom.--0
heaven! is it possible that such happiness is reserved for
The dejected and forlorn LYDIA MELFORD Oct. 4.
To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, Bart. of Jesus college, Oxon.