_From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle._
So so! Ethusiasm has her votaries, I find, even at Heathcot! Let me
see: you say in your last, “my father entirely agrees with you, my dear
Rachel, that Miss Howard is nor an object for the libertine’s rude
gaze, nor for the assaults of an unfeeling world.” “You have not been
more generous than discriminating, &c.” Mr. Sedley, too; well, what
does Mr. Sedley think of this girl? Why, that “the casket is worthy of
the pure gem it incloses;” and then comes the _sober_ praise of Lucy
Hardcastle, “Mary Howard is nature’s master-piece.” I am satisfied,
and leave you to decide on my talents for hyperbole. Did I not tell
you that I was describing _something_ more worthy of my pen than
beauty?--but I will spare you.
I suppose Eliza, sends you the parish news. Has she informed Mary of
the direful effects which the death of Mrs. Snughead, and the recent
advice of the good health and expected arrival of her son and heir
have produced on her _inconsolable_ husband? In spite of his _strait
lacings_ the gout found its way to his stomach, and he has had a very
narrow escape. He has been advised to go to Bath; and we have got a
curate, who will correct me in my late idle habit of breaking the
Sabbath; for he is, I am told, a very ingenious and worthy young man.
Mrs. Warner in a walk with Mrs. Allen has unburdened her mind, and
in her own words “she is out of all patience” to see her lady making
herself miserable _for nothing_. “Her spirits were low enough before,
for she had been well humbled, about Miss Mary,” continued Warner,
“and now she is quite broken hearted, poor soul! This marriage, Mrs.
Allen, will be the first nail in my poor lady’s coffin.” “Why should
you think so?” observed Mrs. Allen. “His brother is pleased with the
lady he has chosen, and all will be well.” “This is what I tell her,
Madam,” replied the honest woman, “and besides that, I have ventured to
say, that Mr. Flamall will not dare to tutor the young gentleman, now
he is married and master of himself, as one may say, as he did here,
and my lady acknowledged that was a comfort to her, although she could
not see him. There is the rub, Madam; she doats upon this young man,
and between ourselves it is a great pity; for notwithstanding he is a
very fine looking young gentleman, and a sweet tempered one to boot,
yet there are, as I say, those as good, who want her money more than
he does; for she tells me, he will have every shilling of Mr. Oliver’s
fortune, and that he has already given him a fine plantation, and I
know not how many poor negroes. A good deed for them, poor souls! for
Mr. Philip is a tender-hearted man.” “It was, however, wrong to enter
into an engagement of this sort, without consulting his friends,”
observed Mrs. Allen; “and still worse, not to confess his marriage
before he quitted his family.” “To be sure it was,” answered she, “but
if you knew the temper of his uncle, it would not surprise you. He
contrived to be master here, though every one feared and hated him.”
“Not Miss Flint,” said Mrs. Allen, smiling: “I have been told he was
a favourite with her.” “So have I an hundred times,” replied Warner;
“but her love was worn out, before I came to the hall, and that is
nine years ago. No, no: it was always clear to me how he managed to
keep his footing here. Whenever any dispute arose, and there was no
lack of them, he used to threaten to take away Philip from the hall
and carry him to America or France; and my Lady knowing he could do
as he pleased with his poor dejected sister, was always afraid that
he would take from her this darling and comfort of her life. I am no
fool, Madam; and I can assure you that the world has been much mistaken
in regard to Miss Flint’s liking Mr. Flamall. She loves nothing, nor
any one on earth but her brother Philip. This very morning she cried
as though her heart was breaking; and said, all was lost to her. ‘Why,
my dear Madam,’ said I, ‘you grieve more than his mother does; she
hopes to see him again, and why should you despair?’ She shook her
head and said, ‘you know not, Warner, what I suffer.’ Poor soul! I do
know; but her fretting will never cure her grievance; and after all;
you will acknowledge, Madam, that her complaint does not shorten life.
To be sure, the unlucky blow she received when getting to her room, in
the confusion which followed Miss Howard’s fainting, has not mended
matters; but time and patience may; and if she would be governed by
me, and leave off that pernicious rum and water, she might get better;
but between ourselves she yields more and more to the habit, and that
only inflames the wound, and she suffers what would kill a horse.” “She
is happy at least in having so faithful a domestic as yourself near
her,” observed Mrs. Allen. “I believe she thinks so,” answered the good
creature, “for although she is an odd woman, and commonly thought a
very bad tempered one, I have found her generous to me. She has been
a disappointed woman too that is certain; but I soon discovered that
she knew who did their duty; and as I faithfully performed mine in the
hope of being approved by a master, who knows no distinctions with his
servants. I have neither feared her nor flattered her; my character
will always support me; for I never lived but at the hall and with one
other family, where I am sure of favour whenever I ask it. Sixteen
years spent with lady Grenville will get me a place any hour of the
day, though she is in her grave.” Warner yielded to her gratitude and
affection, and the conversation, finished with the character of this
lady. Adieu my friend! my sister! judge of my affection by that which
thou cherishest for thy