_Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_
_London, Grosvenor-Street_
I have had a strong contest, my dear, with our favourite youth, to
overcome what I believe I have convinced him is prejudice; and I hope
he is cured of false delicacy, for the future. He is to go with us to
France, and is no longer under the necessity of abstaining from
innocent and instructive amusements, because he is possessed of
sensibility and a high respect for virtue. But he had no sooner
accepted this supply than away he was gone to his convert. This I
suspected. For which reason I had previously dispatched Mrs. Clarke to
visit her nephew. The good woman could not be prevailed on to receive
any money for his relief; urging that she was very capable of supplying
him herself. That being so, I did not choose violently to contest the
matter with her; as I do not wish to encourage the most distant
approaches to a spirit of avarice. I only told her it would be unjust
should she ever want money, for useful and virtuous purposes, if she
did not apply to me: and she with much good sense answered she thought
as I did, and would certainly act accordingly. She is a very worthy
woman.
She was with her nephew when Frank came in; and the scene, as described
by her, was affecting. The poor culprit had been repeating all his
obligations to the generous Frank, praising his bravery, and dwelling,
with a degree of conviction which gave Mrs. Clarke great pleasure, on
the effects of goodness; since it could render a man so undaunted, so
forgiving, so humane, and so much as he said like a saint. You know, my
dear, that saint, in the language of such people, does not mean an
impostor, who pretends to carry burning coals in his hands, drive rusty
nails into his legs, adore a morsel of rotten wood, or decayed bone,
and pretend to work miracles, or preach exclusive doctrines of faith
and salvation. A saint with them is a person more perfect, in the
discharge of the highest moral duties, than they believe any other
earthly being to be. Let us accept their definition, and enroll the
name of Frank Henley in our calendar.
Frank was disappointed, and in some measure displeased, that any person
should offer his reformed friend, as from the best of motives he called
him, money but himself; and the reason he gave was not without its
force. This is a memorable epocha in the life of a mistaken man, said
he; and no means, which can move his mind to a better performance of
his duties than he has hitherto attempted, should be left untried. It
is but natural that he should think more of me than of most other
persons: ['I can think of no one else!' Exclaimed the poor fellow, with
enthusiasm.] and, the more cause he shall have to remember me with
affection, the more weight will the reasons have with him which I have
urged.
The culprit acknowledged that, from ill advice, vicious example, and
violent passions, he had become very wicked. But, said he, I must be
wicked indeed if I could ever forget what this gentleman has said, and
done, to save my family from shame and ruin, and me from destruction
and death.
There is the greater reason to hope, because Mrs. Clarke says that he
has been what is called well educated, his station in life considered:
and indeed of this I imagine she herself had taken care.
Peggy came in, and by her excess of gratitude, and which is better of
admiration for her hero, she drove the over delicate Frank away. This
is one of his defects, for which we must endeavour to find a remedy.
Men are not exposed to the fulsome praise which we unmarried females
are calmly obliged to hear, or be continually at war; or Frank would be
more patient. Indeed he ought to be; because, in this instance, the
praises he receives are the effusions of persons who had never before
seen virtue exert herself with so much ardour.
Though the nephew be not an old or hardened offender, he has committed
some depredations of the consequences of which, were they proved upon
him, he himself is ignorant. His accomplice has discovered his retreat;
another more private lodging has therefore been taken for him, to which
he is to remove with all possible caution. And when he is sufficiently
recovered, which Mrs. Clarke tells me will be soon, he is then to
depart for the continent and work at his trade, which is that of a
cabinet-maker. English workmen are in high esteem abroad, and he will
easily find employment. He is more than reconciled to labour, he is
eager to begin; and, as it appears, does not want activity of mind; of
which the dangerous expedients to which he resorted are some proof.
So much for the history of a highwayman; which I think is at least as
deserving of remembrance as that of many other depredators.
I have been making some efforts to decide the question, not of love,
but, of duty. Love must not be permitted, till duty shall be known. I
have not satisfied myself so well as I could wish, yet my former
reasons seem invincible. Ought my father and my family to be offended?
Ought I to set an example that might be pernicious? Is it most probable
that by opposing I should correct or increase the world's mistakes? The
path before me is direct and plain; ought I to deviate?
In vain I fear should I plead his extraordinary merit. Would the plea
remove the load of affliction with which I should overwhelm those who
love me best? At present they think well, nay highly of me. I sometimes
have the power to influence them to good. What power shall I have when
they imagine I have disgraced both myself and them?
Who ever saw those treated with esteem who are themselves supposed to
be the slaves of passion? And could the world possibly be persuaded
that a marriage between me and the son of my father's steward could
ever originate, on my part, in honourable motives?
Ought I to forget the influence of example? Where is the young lady,
being desirous to marry an adventurer, or one whose mind might be as
mean as his origin, who would not suppose her favourite more than the
equal of Frank? For is not the power of discrimination lost, when the
passions are indulged? And ought my name to be cited? Ought they to be
encouraged by any act of mine?
Yet the opposing arguments are far from feeble. His feelings are too
strong to be concealed. Perhaps the only weakness I can think him
capable of is that of loving me. For if love be contradictory to
reason, it is a weakness; but should he answer that love and reason are
in this instance united, we must come to proofs. That he loves is too
visible to admit of doubt. I have seen the word trembling as it were on
his tongue. I am almost certain that a silly thing which I said, with a
very different intention, would have produced an avowal of his passion,
had I not added something to prevent it, and hurried away.
Well then! Am I certain I am guilty of no injustice to him? And why
ought I not to be as just to him as to any other being on earth? Who
would be more just to me? Who would be more tender, more faithful, more
affectionate?
I know not whether I ought to shrink from the vanity which seems
annexed to the idea, for I know not whether it be vanity, but I cannot
sometimes help asking myself whether the good that might result from
the union of two strong minds, mutually determined to exert their
powers for the welfare of society, be not a reason superior even to all
those I have enumerated.
If this be so, and if our minds really possess the strength which I am
so ready to suppose, I then know not what answer to give. I reject the
affectation of under estimating myself, purposely that I may be called
a modest humble young lady. Humility I am persuaded, though not so
common, is as much a vice as pride. But, while avoiding one extreme, I
must take care not to be guilty of another. The question is
embarrassing; but I must not by delay suffer embarrassment to increase.
With respect to your brother, I can at present conclude nothing, and
can conjecture but little. The idea which has oftenest occurred, and
which I have before mentioned, is the infinite pleasure of seeing an
active mind in the full possession of its powers; and of being
instrumental in restoring that which mistake may have injured, or in
part destroyed. It seems a duty pointed out to me; attended perhaps
with difficulty, and it may be with danger; but these increase its
force. And if so, here is another argument to add to the heaviest
scale.
Yes. It must be thus. The more I examine, and while I am writing
perhaps I examine the best, the more I am confirmed in my former
decision.
Pity for Frank ought not to be listened to. It is always a false
motive, unless supported by justice. Frank will never condescend to
endeavour to incite compassion; it is not in his character. He will
rather assert his claims, for so he ought. I do not mean that a
complaint will never escape him. The best of us are not always so
perfectly master of our thoughts as never to be inconsistent. But his
system will not be to win that by intercession which he could not
obtain by fair and honourable barter. The moment I have entirely
satisfied and convinced myself, I have no doubt of inducing him to
behave as nobly on this as he has done on every other trying occasion.
And now, my dear Louisa, for the present farewel. I do not suppose I
shall write again, except a line to inform you of our safe arrival
after having crossed the channel, till we come to Paris. I expect to be
amused by the journey. Though I cannot but own I think that, as far as
amusement was concerned, the good ladies under the reign of the Tudors,
who travelled twenty miles a day, on a strong horse and a pillion, that
is when summer made the roads passable, had much better opportunities
for observation than we, who, shut up in our carriages, with blinds to
keep out the dust, gallop further in two days and two nights than they
could do in a month. This hasty travelling, when haste is necessary, is
a great convenience. But nothing, except the inordinate ardour of the
mind to enjoy, could induce people on a journey of pleasure to hurry,
as they do, through villages, towns, and counties, pass unnoticed the
most magnificent buildings, and the most delightful prospects that
forests, rivers, and mountains can afford, and wilfully exclude
themselves from all the riches of nature. To look about us, while thus
surrounded, seems to be a very natural wish. And if so, a portable
closet, or rather a flying watch-box, is but a blundering contrivance.
You know your Anna: her busy brain will be meddling. And perhaps she
trusts too much to the pardoning affection of friendship.
Once again, adieu.
Yours ever and ever,