_Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_
_London, Grosvenor-Street_
Must I be silent? Must I not tell my Louisa how infinitely her candor
and justice delight me? With the voice of a warning angel she bids me
enquire, examine my heart, and resolve. I think I have resolved; and
from reasons which I believe are not to be overcome. Yet I will confess
my opinion, strong as it is, receives violent attacks; as, Louisa, you
will be convinced, when you have read the whole of this letter.
My friend cautions me against being partial, even in favour of her
brother. Such a friend is indeed worthy to advise, and I will remember
her precepts. This brother may be a degenerate scion from a noble
stock: yet I can hardly think the thing possible. That he may have
fallen into many of the mistakes, common to the world in which he has
lived, is indeed most likely. But the very qualities which you describe
in him speak an active and perhaps a dignified nature.
We have duties to fulfil. Few opportunities present themselves to a
woman, educated and restrained as women unfortunately are, of
performing any thing eminently good. One of our most frequent and
obvious tasks seems to be that of restoring a great mind, misled by
error, to its proper rank. If the mind of Clifton should be such, shall
I cowardly decline what I believe it to be incumbent on me to perform?
Let him be only such as I expect, and let me be fortunate enough to
gain his affections, and you shall see, Louisa, whether trifles shall
make me desist.
What high proofs of courage, perseverance, and of suffering, do men
continually give! And shall we wholly renounce the dignity of
emulation, and willingly sign the unjust decree of prejudice, that mind
likewise has its sex, and that women are destitute of energy and
fortitude?
But Frank Henley!--Let me not hide a thought from my Louisa. He is
indeed worthy of being loved, every day more worthy. I have a new story
to tell, which will be more effectual praise than any words of mine.
Like you I am persuaded he has some affection for me. I am not
insensible to his worth and virtues: I ought not to be. Were I to
indulge the reveries into which I could easily fall, I might be as much
misled by passion as others, who are so ready to complain and pity
themselves for being in love. But a wakeful sense of the consequences
is my safeguard. It cannot be. I should render my father, my relations,
and friends, miserable. I should set a bad example to my sex. I, who am
at shewing them mind is superior to sex.
Such are the thoughts that protect me from the danger. His mental
excellence perhaps I love as truly as heart could wish. But, as the
lover who is to be the husband, no! I will not suffer my thoughts to
glance in that direction. I might, but I will not. Nothing but a
conviction that my principles are wrong shall ever make me; and that
conviction I hold to be impossible.
Do not imagine I am guilty of the mistake of supposing myself his
superior. Far the reverse. The tale which I am now about to relate will
inform you better of the true state of my feelings.
You must know, my dear, that on our arrival in town, Sir Arthur, with
my help, prevailed on Frank Henley to accept a twenty pound bill, that
he might have the means of gratifying his inclinations, and enjoying
the pleasures which at his age it is natural he should wish to enjoy.
These means I had but too good reason to be convinced had been denied
him by his father, which I suspected to be, and am now satisfied was,
the true reason that Frank refused to attend us on our journey.
The youth has quite pride enough, my dear: he is desirous to confer,
but not to accept obligations; is ready enough to give, but not to
receive. As if he had not only a right to monopolize virtue, but to be
exempt from the wants which are common to all, and to supply which men
form themselves into societies. He seems to shrink with exquisite pain
from the acceptance of money. However I was determined to conquer, and
conquer I did. Nor can I say, considering them as I do, that I was
sorry to offend the false feelings even of Frank Henley, for whom I
have an infinite esteem.
After receiving this present, he accompanied me two or three times to
those public places to which crowns and half guineas gain admittance;
and, as you may imagine, was far from appearing insensible of the
powers of poetry and music. Suddenly however he refused to be any more
of such parties, for which I own I could divine no reason. I knew he
had been educated in habits of oeconomy, and therefore could not
suppose, generous though I knew him to be, that he had squandered away
his pocket-money in so short a time. I endeavoured both to rally and to
reason, but in vain; he was positive even to obstinacy; and I rightly
conjectured there must be some cause for it which I had not discovered.
You have heard me speak, I believe, my dear, of Mrs. Clarke, as of a
careful good woman, and a great favourite with my dear mamma, when
living. She was then our housekeeper in the country, but has lately
been left in the town house; because the furniture is too valuable to
be entrusted to a less attentive person. This Mrs. Clarke had a sister
whose name was Webb, and who left a son and a daughter, who are both
married. The son, as you will soon hear, has been a wild and graceless
fellow; but the daughter is one of the most agreeable and engaging
young creatures I think I ever saw.
Yesterday my good Mrs. Clarke and her niece were shut up together in
close conversation for a considerable time; and I perceived that their
cheeks were swelled, their eyes red, and that they had been crying
violently. I almost revere Mrs. Clarke as my mother, because of the
excellence of her heart and the soundness of her understanding. I
therefore could not forbear earnestly enquiring whether it were
possible for me to remove her cause of grief; for grieved, I told her,
I could plainly perceive she was. She burst into tears again on my
questioning her, and endeavoured to express feelings that were too big
for utterance. Turning to her niece she said--'I must inform my dear
young lady.' 'For God's sake don't! For the Lord's sake don't!' cried
the terrified creature. 'I must,' replied the aunt. 'It is proper.' 'He
will have no mercy shewn him! He will be hanged!' exclaimed the other,
in an agony. 'You do not know this lady,' said the aunt. 'Indeed she
does not,' added I, 'if she supposes I would have any creature upon
earth hanged.' 'Retire, Peggy,' said the aunt, 'while I relate the
vile, the dreadful tale.' 'No, no! For mercy's sake no!' replied the
niece. 'I must stay, and beg, and pray, and down on my knees for my
brother! He is a wild and a wicked young man, but he is my brother.'
'Pray let her stay,' said I to the aunt. 'And fear nothing, my
kind-hearted Peggy. Be assured I will not hurt a hair of your brother's
head. I will do him good if I can, but no injury.' 'The God of Heaven
bless and reward your angelic ladyship!' cried the half frantic
grateful Peggy.
Mrs. Clarke attempted to begin her story. She was almost suffocated. I
never heard so heart-rending a groan as she gave, when she came to the
fatal sentence! Would you believe it, Louisa? This nephew of the worthy
Mrs. Clarke, this brother of the good Peggy, is the very highwayman who
shot Frank Henley!
His benevolent aunt has been with him, for he is still under the
surgeon's hands; and he has confessed to her [I am angry with myself,
Louisa, to find I wonder at it] he has confessed that the brave, the
humane, the noble-minded Frank has visited him several times, and has
set the folly of his wicked pursuits in so true and so strong a light,
that the man protests, with the utmost vehemence, if he can but escape
punishment for the faults he has committed, he will sooner perish than
again be guilty of his former crimes.
The first time Frank visited him he gave the poor wretch a guinea; and
went himself in search of another lodging for him, as well to remove
him from the knowledge of his wicked companions as to protect him from
the forty pound hunters. The man wants to escape over to the continent;
and appears to be so sincere, in his resolves of reformation, that
Frank has undertaken to furnish him with the means.
You cannot imagine, Louisa, the heart-felt praises which the worthy
Mrs. Clarke bestowed on the youth. And Peggy said that she hoped she
should some time or another live to see him, that she might fall down
and kiss his footsteps! But, added she, with great ardor, I find indeed
there are very good men in the world!
Still there appeared something enigmatical to me, between Frank and the
money account. I could not conceive how he should want the means
immediately to furnish such a sum as would have been sufficient for the
poor fugitive. And this again reminded me how assiduously Frank had
lately avoided every occasion of expence.
While we were in the midst of our discourse, who should enter the room
but Frank! Never was I present at such a scene!--'Good God Almighty!'
exclaimed Peggy, the moment she saw him. 'This is he! This is the very
blessed, dear gentleman, that saved my poor Harry from those terrible
jailors.'
'Is it possible?' cried Mrs. Clarke.
'It is, it is he! He himself!' said the full-hearted Peggy, falling
down on her knees, and catching the flap of his coat, which she kissed
with inconceivable enthusiasm.
Poor Frank did not know which way to look. Good deeds are so uncommon,
and so much the cause of surprise, that virtue blushes at being
detected almost as deeply as vice. I knew Frank had a noble heart; and
I own, Louisa, I was not much amazed when Peggy, with abundance of kind
expressions and a flow of simple eloquence, related the manner in which
Frank had saved her husband from the bailiffs, by paying a debt which
with costs amounted to upward of eighteen pounds.
I did not however forbear severely to reprove myself, for having dared
so much as to imagine that a youth with such high virtues could not, in
a city like London, find opportunities of expending so small a sum as
twenty pounds in acts of benevolence. I ought at least to have supposed
the thing probable; yet it never once entered my mind.
The thanks, blessings, and prayers of Peggy were endless. Finding him
not only to be what she knew, the man who relieved her from the most
poignant distress, but likewise the vanquisher and the saviour of her
brother, she said and protested she was sure there was not such another
angel upon earth! She was sure there was not! Frank was ashamed of and
almost offended at her incessant praise. It was so natural and so
proper for him to act as he did, that he is surprised to find it can be
matter of wonder.
I must insist however upon seeing him reimbursed; and I persuade myself
there is one thought which will make him submit to it quietly. I have
but to remind him that the good of others requires that men, who so
well know the use of it, should never be without money.
Adieu. I have not time to write more at present.--Yet I must, for I
ought to add, that, though I thought myself so fully convinced when I
began this letter, concerning Frank and the only right mode of acting,
doubts have several times intruded themselves upon me, while I have
been writing. I will think when the fancy is not so busy as at present;
and when I have thought do not fear my resolution.
Ever most affectionately yours,