BOOK VII.

Chapter i.

_A very short chapter, and consequently requiring no preface._

Mrs. Bennet having fastened the door, and both the ladies having taken

their places, she once or twice offered to speak, when passion stopt

her utterance; and, after a minute’s silence, she burst into a flood of

tears. Upon which Amelia, expressing the utmost tenderness for her, as

well by her look as by her accent, cried, “What can be the reason, dear

madam, of all this emotion?” “O, Mrs. Booth!” answered she, “I find I

have undertaken what I am not able to perform. You would not wonder at

my emotion if you knew you had an adulteress and a murderer now standing

before you.”

Amelia turned pale as death at these words, which Mrs. Bennet observing,

collected all the force she was able, and, a little composing her

countenance, cried, “I see, madam, I have terrified you with such

dreadful words; but I hope you will not think me guilty of these

crimes in the blackest degree.” “Guilty!” cries Amelia. “O Heavens!” “I

believe, indeed, your candour,” continued Mrs. Bennet, “will be readier

to acquit me than I am to acquit myself. Indiscretion, at least, the

highest, most unpardonable indiscretion, I shall always lay to ray own

charge: and, when I reflect on the fatal consequences, I can never,

never forgive myself.” Here she again began to lament in so bitter

a manner, that Amelia endeavoured, as much as she could (for she was

herself greatly shocked), to soothe and comfort her; telling her that,

if indiscretion was her highest crime, the unhappy consequences made

her rather an unfortunate than a guilty person; and concluded by

saying--“Indeed, madam, you have raised my curiosity to the highest

pitch, and I beg you will proceed with your story.”

Mrs. Bennet then seemed a second time going to begin her relation,

when she cried out, “I would, if possible, tire you with no more of my

unfortunate life than just with that part which leads to a catastrophe

in which I think you may yourself be interested; but I protest I am at a

loss where to begin.”

“Begin wherever you please, dear madam,” cries Amelia; “but I beg you

will consider my impatience.” “I do consider it,” answered Mrs. Bennet;

“and therefore would begin with that part of my story which leads

directly to what concerns yourself; for how, indeed, should my life

produce anything worthy your notice?” “Do not say so, madam,” cries

Amelia; “I assure you I have long suspected there were some very

remarkable incidents in your life, and have only wanted an opportunity

to impart to you my desire of hearing them: I beg, therefore, you would

make no more apologies.” “I will not, madam,” cries Mrs. Bennet, “and

yet I would avoid anything trivial; though, indeed, in stories of

distress, especially where love is concerned, many little incidents

may appear trivial to those who have never felt the passion, which, to

delicate minds, are the most interesting part of the whole.” “Nay, but,

dear madam,” cries Amelia, “this is all preface.”

“Well, madam,” answered Mrs. Bennet, “I will consider your impatience.”

She then rallied all her spirits in the best manner she could, and began

as is written in the next chapter.

And here possibly the reader will blame Mrs. Bennet for taking her story

so far back, and relating so much of her life in which Amelia had no

concern; but, in truth, she was desirous of inculcating a good opinion

of herself, from recounting those transactions where her conduct was

unexceptionable, before she came to the more dangerous and suspicious

part of her character. This I really suppose to have been her intention;

for to sacrifice the time and patience of Amelia at such a season to the

mere love of talking of herself would have been as unpardonable in

her as the bearing it was in Amelia a proof of the most perfect good

breeding.

Chapter ii.

_The beginning of Mrs. Bennet’s history._

“I was the younger of two daughters of a clergyman in Essex; of one in

whose praise if I should indulge my fond heart in speaking, I think my

invention could not outgo the reality. He was indeed well worthy of the

cloth he wore; and that, I think, is the highest character a man can

obtain.

“During the first part of my life, even till I reached my sixteenth

year, I can recollect nothing to relate to you. All was one long serene

day, in looking back upon which, as when we cast our eyes on a calm

sea, no object arises to my view. All appears one scene of happiness and

tranquillity.

“On the day, then, when I became sixteen years old, must I begin my

history; for on that day I first tasted the bitterness of sorrow.

“My father, besides those prescribed by our religion, kept five

festivals every year. These were on his wedding-day, and on the birthday

of each of his little family; on these occasions he used to invite two

or three neighbours to his house, and to indulge himself, as he said, in

great excess; for so he called drinking a pint of very small punch; and,

indeed, it might appear excess to one who on other days rarely tasted

any liquor stronger than small beer.

“Upon my unfortunate birthday, then, when we were all in a high degree

of mirth, my mother having left the room after dinner, and staying away

pretty long, my father sent me to see for her. I went according to his

orders; but, though I searched the whole house and called after her

without doors, I could neither see nor hear her. I was a little alarmed

at this (though far from suspecting any great mischief had befallen

her), and ran back to acquaint my father, who answered coolly (for he

was a man of the calmest temper), ‘Very well, my dear, I suppose she is

not gone far, and will be here immediately.’ Half an hour or more past

after this, when, she not returning, my father himself expressed some

surprize at her stay; declaring it must be some matter of importance

which could detain her at that time from her company. His surprize

now encreased every minute, and he began to grow uneasy, and to shew

sufficient symptoms in his countenance of what he felt within. He then

despatched the servant-maid to enquire after her mistress in the parish,

but waited not her return; for she was scarce gone out of doors before

he begged leave of his guests to go himself on the same errand. The

company now all broke up, and attended my father, all endeavouring to

give him hopes that no mischief had happened. They searched the whole

parish, but in vain; they could neither see my mother, nor hear any news

of her. My father returned home in a state little short of distraction.

His friends in vain attempted to administer either advice or comfort; he

threw himself on the floor in the most bitter agonies of despair.

“Whilst he lay in this condition, my sister and myself lying by him, all

equally, I believe, and completely miserable, our old servant-maid came

into the room and cried out, her mind misgave her that she knew where

her mistress was. Upon these words, my father sprung from the floor,

and asked her eagerly, where? But oh! Mrs. Booth, how can I describe the

particulars of a scene to you, the remembrance of which chills my blood

with horror, and which the agonies of my mind, when it past, made all a

scene of confusion! The fact then in short was this: my mother, who was

a most indulgent mistress to one servant, which was all we kept, was

unwilling, I suppose, to disturb her at her dinner, and therefore went

herself to fill her tea-kettle at a well, into which, stretching herself

too far, as we imagine, the water then being very low, she fell with the

tea-kettle in her hand. The missing this gave the poor old wretch the

first hint of her suspicion, which, upon examination, was found to be

too well grounded.

“What we all suffered on this occasion may more easily be felt than

described.”----“It may indeed,” answered Amelia, “and I am so sensible of

it, that, unless you have a mind to see me faint before your face, I

beg you will order me something; a glass of water, if you please. “Mrs.

Bennet immediately complied with her friend’s request; a glass of water

was brought, and some hartshorn drops infused into it; which Amelia

having drank off, declared she found herself much better; and then Mrs.

Bennet proceeded thus:--“I will not dwell on a scene which I see hath

already so much affected your tender heart, and which is as disagreeable

to me to relate as it can be to you to hear. I will therefore only

mention to you the behaviour of my father on this occasion, which was

indeed becoming a philosopher and a Christian divine. On the day after

my mother’s funeral he sent for my sister and myself into his room,

where, after many caresses and every demonstration of fatherly

tenderness as well in silence as in words, he began to exhort us to bear

with patience the great calamity that had befallen us; saying, ‘That as

every human accident, how terrible soever, must happen to us by divine

permission at least, a due sense of our duty to our great Creator must

teach us an absolute submission to his will. Not only religion, but

common sense, must teach us this; for oh! my dear children,’ cries he,

‘how vain is all resistance, all repining! could tears wash back again

my angel from the grave, I should drain all the juices of my body

through my eyes; but oh, could we fill up that cursed well with our

tears, how fruitless would be all our sorrow!’--I think I repeat you

his very words; for the impression they made on me is never to be

obliterated. He then proceeded to comfort us with the chearful thought

that the loss was entirely our own, and that my mother was greatly a

gainer by the accident which we lamented. ‘I have a wife,’ cries he,

‘my children, and you have a mother, now amongst the heavenly choir;

how selfish therefore is all our grief! how cruel to her are all our

wishes!’ In this manner he talked to us near half an hour, though I must

frankly own to you his arguments had not the immediate good effect on us

which they deserved, for we retired from him very little the better for

his exhortations; however, they became every day more and more forcible

upon our recollection; indeed, they were greatly strengthened by his

example; for in this, as in all other instances, he practised the

doctrines which he taught. From this day he never mentioned my mother

more, and soon after recovered his usual chearfulness in public; though

I have reason to think he paid many a bitter sigh in private to that

remembrance which neither philosophy nor Christianity could expunge.

“My father’s advice, enforced by his example, together with the kindness

of some of our friends, assisted by that ablest of all the mental

physicians, Time, in a few months pretty well restored my tranquillity,

when fortune made a second attack on my quiet. My sister, whom I dearly

loved, and who as warmly returned my affection, had fallen into an

ill state of health some time before the fatal accident which I have

related. She was indeed at that time so much better, that we had great

hopes of her perfect recovery; but the disorders of her mind on that

dreadful occasion so affected her body, that she presently relapsed to

her former declining state, and thence grew continually worse and worse,

till, after a decay of near seven months, she followed my poor mother to

the grave.

“I will not tire you, dear madam, with repetitions of grief; I will only

mention two observations which have occurred to me from reflections

on the two losses I have mentioned. The first is, that a mind once

violently hurt grows, as it were, callous to any future impressions of

grief, and is never capable of feeling the same pangs a second time. The

other observation is, that the arrows of fortune, as well as all others,

derive their force from the velocity with which they are discharged;

for, when they approach you by slow and perceptible degrees, they have

but very little power to do you mischief.

“The truth of these observations I experienced, not only in my own

heart, but in the behaviour of my father, whose philosophy seemed to

gain a complete triumph over this latter calamity.

“Our family was now reduced to two, and my father grew extremely fond of

me, as if he had now conferred an entire stock of affection on me, that

had before been divided. His words, indeed, testified no less, for

he daily called me his only darling, his whole comfort, his all. He

committed the whole charge of his house to my care, and gave me the name

of his little housekeeper, an appellation of which I was then as proud

as any minister of state can be of his titles. But, though I was very

industrious in the discharge of my occupation, I did not, however,

neglect my studies, in which I had made so great a proficiency, that I

was become a pretty good mistress of the Latin language, and had made

some progress in the Greek. I believe, madam, I have formerly acquainted

you, that learning was the chief estate I inherited of my father, in

which he had instructed me from my earliest youth.

“The kindness of this good man had at length wiped off the remembrance

of all losses; and I during two years led a life of great tranquillity,

I think I might almost say of perfect happiness.

“I was now in the nineteenth year of my age, when my father’s good

fortune removed us from the county of Essex into Hampshire, where a

living was conferred on him by one of his old school-fellows, of twice

the value of what he was before possessed of.

“His predecessor in this new living had died in very indifferent

circumstances, and had left behind him a widow with two small children.

My father, therefore, who, with great economy, had a most generous soul,

bought the whole furniture of the parsonage-house at a very high

price; some of it, indeed, he would have wanted; for, though our little

habitation in Essex was most completely furnished, yet it bore no

proportion to the largeness of that house in which he was now to dwell.

“His motive, however, to the purchase was, I am convinced, solely

generosity; which appeared sufficiently by the price he gave, and may

be farther inforced by the kindness he shewed the widow in another

instance; for he assigned her an apartment for the use of herself and

her little family, which, he told her, she was welcome to enjoy as long

as it suited her conveniency.

“As this widow was very young, and generally thought to be tolerably

pretty, though I own she had a cast with her eyes which I never liked,

my father, you may suppose, acted from a less noble principle than I

have hinted; but I must in justice acquit him, for these kind offers

were made her before ever he had seen her face; and I have the greatest

reason to think that, for a long time after he had seen her, he beheld

her with much indifference.

“This act of my father’s gave me, when I first heard it, great

satisfaction; for I may at least, with the modesty of the ancient

philosophers, call myself a lover of generosity, but when I became

acquainted with the widow I was still more delighted with what my father

had done; for though I could not agree with those who thought her a

consummate beauty, I must allow that she was very fully possessed of the

power of making herself agreeable; and this power she exerted with so

much success, with such indefatigable industry to oblige, that within

three months I became in the highest manner pleased with my new

acquaintance, and had contracted the most sincere friendship for her.

“But, if I was so pleased with the widow, my father was by this time

enamoured of her. She had, indeed, by the most artful conduct in the

world, so insinuated herself into his favour, so entirely infatuated

him, that he never shewed the least marks of chearfulness in her

absence, and could, in truth, scarce bear that she should be out of his

sight.

“She had managed this matter so well (O, she is the most artful of

women!) that my father’s heart was gone before I ever suspected it

was in danger. The discovery you may easily believe, madam, was not

pleasing. The name of a mother-in-law sounded dreadful in my ears; nor

could I bear the thought of parting again with a share in those dear

affections, of which I had purchased the whole by the loss of a beloved

mother and sister.

“In the first hurry and disorder of my mind on this occasion I committed

a crime of the highest kind against all the laws of prudence and

discretion. I took the young lady herself very roundly to task, treated

her designs on my father as little better than a design to commit a

theft, and in my passion, I believe, said she might be ashamed to think

of marrying a man old enough to be her grandfather; for so in reality he

almost was.

“The lady on this occasion acted finely the part of a hypocrite. She

affected to be highly affronted at my unjust suspicions, as she called

them; and proceeded to such asseverations of her innocence, that she

almost brought me to discredit the evidence of my own eyes and ears.

“My father, however, acted much more honestly, for he fell the next day

into a more violent passion with me than I had ever seen him in before,

and asked me whether I intended to return his paternal fondness by

assuming the right of controlling his inclinations? with more of the

like kind, which fully convinced me what had passed between him and the

lady, and how little I had injured her in my suspicions.

“Hitherto, I frankly own, my aversion to this match had been principally

on my own account; for I had no ill opinion of the woman, though I

thought neither her circumstances nor my father’s age promised any

kind of felicity from such an union; but now I learnt some particulars,

which, had not our quarrel become public in the parish, I should perhaps

have never known. In short, I was Informed that this gentle obliging

creature, as she had at first appeared to me, had the spirit of a

tigress, and was by many believed to have broken the heart of her first

husband.

“The truth of this matter being confirmed to me upon examination, I

resolved not to suppress it. On this occasion fortune seemed to favour

me, by giving me a speedy opportunity of seeing my father alone and in

good humour. He now first began to open his intended marriage, telling

me that he had formerly had some religious objections to bigamy, but he

had very fully considered the matter, and had satisfied himself of its

legality. He then faithfully promised me that no second marriage should

in the least impair his affection for me; and concluded with the highest

eulogiums on the goodness of the widow, protesting that it was her

virtues and not her person with which he was enamoured.

“I now fell upon my knees before him, and bathing his hand in my tears,

which flowed very plentifully from my eyes, acquainted him with all I

had heard, and was so very imprudent, I might almost say so cruel, to

disclose the author of my information.

“My father heard me without any indication of passion, and answered

coldly, that if there was any proof of such facts he should decline any

further thoughts of this match: ‘But, child,’ said he, ‘though I am far

from suspecting the truth of what you tell me, as far as regards your

knowledge, yet you know the inclination of the world to slander.’

However, before we parted he promised to make a proper enquiry into

what I had told him.--But I ask your pardon, dear madam, I am running

minutely into those particulars of my life in which you have not the

least concern.”

Amelia stopt her friend short in her apology; and though, perhaps, she

thought her impertinent enough, yet (such was her good breeding) she

gave her many assurances of a curiosity to know every incident of her

life which she could remember; after which Mrs. Bennet proceeded as in

the next chapter.

Chapter iii.

_Continuation of Mrs. Bennet’s story._

“I think, madam,” said Mrs. Bennet, “I told you my father promised me

to enquire farther into the affair, but he had hardly time to keep his

word; for we separated pretty late in the evening and early the next

morning he was married to the widow.

“But, though he gave no credit to my information, I had sufficient

reason to think he did not forget it, by the resentment which he soon

discovered to both the persons whom I had named as my informers.

“Nor was it long before I had good cause to believe that my father’s new

wife was perfectly well acquainted with the good opinion I had of her,

not only from her usage of me, but from certain hints which she threw

forth with an air of triumph. One day, particularly, I remember she said

to my father, upon his mentioning his age, ‘O, my dear! I hope you have

many years yet to live! unless, indeed, I should be so cruel as to

break your heart’ She spoke these words looking me full in the face, and

accompanied them with a sneer in which the highest malice was visible,

under a thin covering of affected pleasantry.

“I will not entertain you, madam, with anything so common as the cruel

usage of a step-mother; nor of what affected me much more, the unkind

behaviour of a father under such an influence. It shall suffice only to

tell you that I had the mortification to perceive the gradual and

daily decrease of my father’s affection. His smiles were converted into

frowns; the tender appellations of child and dear were exchanged for

plain Molly, that girl, that creature, and sometimes much harder names.

I was at first turned all at once into a cypher, and at last seemed to

be considered as a nuisance in the family.

“Thus altered was the man of whom I gave you such a character at

the entrance on my story; but, alas! he no longer acted from his own

excellent disposition, but was in everything governed and directed by

my mother-in-law. In fact, whenever there is great disparity of years

between husband and wife, the younger is, I believe, always possessed

of absolute power over the elder; for superstition itself is a less firm

support of absolute power than dotage.

“But, though his wife was so entirely mistress of my father’s will that

she could make him use me ill, she could not so perfectly subdue his

understanding as to prevent him from being conscious of such ill-usage;

and from this consciousness, he began inveterately to hate me. Of this

hatred he gave me numberless instances, and I protest to you I know not

any other reason for it than what I have assigned; and the cause, as

experience hath convinced me, is adequate to the effect.

“While I was in this wretched situation, my father’s unkindness having

almost broken ray heart, he came one day into my room with more anger in

his countenance than I had ever seen, and, after bitterly upbraiding me

with my undutiful behaviour both to himself and his worthy consort, he

bid me pack up my alls, and immediately prepare to quit his house; at

the same time gave me a letter, and told me that would acquaint me where

I might find a home; adding that he doubted not but I expected, and had

indeed solicited, the invitation; and left me with a declaration that he

would have no spies in his family.

“The letter, I found on opening it, was from my father’s own sister;

but before I mention the contents I will give you a short sketch of her

character, as it was somewhat particular. Her personal charms were not

great; for she was very tall, very thin, and very homely. Of the

defect of her beauty she was, perhaps, sensible; her vanity, therefore,

retreated into her mind, where there is no looking-glass, and

consequently where we can flatter ourselves with discovering almost

whatever beauties we please. This is an encouraging circumstance; and

yet I have observed, dear Mrs. Booth, that few women ever seek these

comforts from within till they are driven to it by despair of finding

any food for their vanity from without. Indeed, I believe the first wish

of our whole sex is to be handsome.”

Here both the ladies fixed their eyes on the glass, and both smiled.

“My aunt, however,” continued Mrs. Bennet, “from despair of gaining any

applause this way, had applied herself entirely to the contemplation of

her understanding, and had improved this to such a pitch, that at the

age of fifty, at which she was now arrived, she had contracted a hearty

contempt for much the greater part of both sexes; for the women, as

being idiots, and for the men, as the admirers of idiots. That word, and

fool, were almost constantly in her mouth, and were bestowed with great

liberality among all her acquaintance.

“This lady had spent one day only at my father’s house in near two

years; it was about a month before his second marriage. At her departure

she took occasion to whisper me her opinion of the widow, whom she

called a pretty idiot, and wondered how her brother could bear such

company under his roof; for neither she nor I had at that time any

suspicion of what afterwards happened.

“The letter which my father had just received, and which was the first

she had sent him since his marriage, was of such a nature that I should

be unjust if I blamed him for being offended; fool and idiot were both

plentifully bestowed in it as well on himself as on his wife. But what,

perhaps, had principally offended him was that part which related to

me; for, after much panegyric on my understanding, and saying he was

unworthy of such a daughter, she considered his match not only as the

highest indiscretion as it related to himself, but as a downright act

of injustice to me. One expression in it I shall never forget. ‘You have

placed,’ said she, ‘a woman above your daughter, who, in understanding,

the only valuable gift of nature, is the lowest in the whole class of

pretty idiots.’ After much more of this kind, it concluded with inviting

me to her house.

“I can truly say that when I had read the letter I entirely forgave my

father’s suspicion that I had made some complaints to my aunt of his

behaviour; for, though I was indeed innocent, there was surely colour

enough to suspect the contrary.

“Though I had never been greatly attached to my aunt, nor indeed had

she formerly given me any reason for such an attachment, yet I was well

enough pleased with her present invitation. To say the truth, I led so

wretched a life where I then was, that it was impossible not to be a

gainer by any exchange.

“I could not, however, bear the thoughts of leaving my father with

an impression on his mind against me which I did not deserve. I

endeavoured, therefore, to remove all his suspicion of my having

complained to my aunt by the most earnest asseverations of my innocence;

but they were all to no purpose. All my tears, all my vows, and all

my entreaties were fruitless. My new mother, indeed, appeared to be

my advocate; but she acted her part very poorly, and, far from

counterfeiting any desire of succeeding in my suit, she could not

conceal the excessive joy which she felt on the occasion.

“Well, madam, the next day I departed for my aunt’s, where, after a long

journey of forty miles, I arrived, without having once broke my fast on

the road; for grief is as capable as food of filling the stomach, and I

had too much of the former to admit any of the latter. The fatigue of

my journey, and the agitation of my mind, joined to my fasting,

so overpowered my spirits, that when I was taken from my horse I

immediately fainted away in the arms of the man who helped me from

my saddle. My aunt expressed great astonishment at seeing me in this

condition, with my eyes almost swollen out of my head with tears; but

my father’s letter, which I delivered her soon after I came to myself,

pretty well, I believe, cured her surprize. She often smiled with a

mixture of contempt and anger while she was reading it; and, having

pronounced her brother to be a fool, she turned to me, and, with as much

affability as possible (for she is no great mistress of affability),

said, ‘Don’t be uneasy, dear Molly, for you are come to the house of a

friend--of one who hath sense enough to discern the author of all the

mischief: depend upon it, child, I will, ere long, make some people

ashamed of their folly.’ This kind reception gave me some comfort, my

aunt assuring me that she would convince him how unjustly he had accused

me of having made any complaints to her. A paper war was now begun

between these two, which not only fixed an irreconcileable hatred

between them, but confirmed my father’s displeasure against me; and, in

the end, I believe, did me no service with my aunt; for I was

considered by both as the cause of their dissension, though, in fact,

my stepmother, who very well knew the affection my aunt had for her,

had long since done her business with my father; and as for my aunt’s

affection towards him, it had been abating several years, from

an apprehension that he did not pay sufficient deference to her

understanding.

“I had lived about half a year with my aunt when I heard of my

stepmother’s being delivered of a boy, and the great joy my father

expressed on that occasion; but, poor man, he lived not long to enjoy

his happiness; for within a month afterwards I had the melancholy news

of his death.

“Notwithstanding all the disobligations I had lately received from him,

I was sincerely afflicted at my loss of him. All his kindness to me in

my infancy, all his kindness to me while I was growing up, recurred

to my memory, raised a thousand tender, melancholy ideas, and totally

obliterated all thoughts of his latter behaviour, for which I made also

every allowance and every excuse in my power.

“But what may perhaps appear more extraordinary, my aunt began soon to

speak of him with concern. She said he had some understanding formerly,

though his passion for that vile woman had, in a great measure, obscured

it; and one day, when she was in an ill-humour with me, she had the

cruelty to throw out a hint that she had never quarrelled with her

brother if it had not been on my account.” My father, during his life,

had allowed my aunt very handsomely for my board; for generosity was too

deeply riveted in his nature to be plucked out by all the power of his

wife. So far, however, she prevailed, that, though he died possessed of

upwards of L2000, he left me no more than L100, which, as he expressed

in his will, was to set me up in some business, if I had the grace to

take to any.

“Hitherto my aunt had in general treated me with some degree of

affection; but her behaviour began now to be changed. She soon took an

opportunity of giving me to understand that her fortune was insufficient

to keep me; and, as I could not live on the interest of my own, it was

high time for me to consider about going into the world. She added, that

her brother having mentioned my setting up in some business in his will

was very foolish; that I had been bred to nothing; and, besides, that

the sum was too trifling to set me up in any way of reputation; she

desired me therefore to think of immediately going into service.

“This advice was perhaps right enough; and I told her I was very ready

to do as she directed me, but I was at that time in an ill state of

health; I desired her therefore to let me stay with her till my legacy,

which was not to be paid till a year after my father’s death, was due;

and I then promised to satisfy her for my board, to which she readily

consented.

“And now, madam,” said Mrs. Bennet, sighing, “I am going to open to you

those matters which lead directly to that great catastrophe of my life

which hath occasioned my giving you this trouble, and of trying your

patience in this manner.”

Amelia, notwithstanding her impatience, made a very civil answer to

this; and then Mrs. Bennet proceeded to relate what is written in the

next chapter.

Chapter iv.

_Further continuation._

“The curate of the parish where my aunt dwelt was a young fellow of

about four-and-twenty. He had been left an orphan in his infancy, and

entirely unprovided for, when an uncle had the goodness to take care

of his education, both at school and at the university. As the young

gentleman was intended for the church, his uncle, though he had two

daughters of his own, and no very large fortune, purchased for him the

next presentation of a living of near L200 a-year. The incumbent, at the

time of the purchase, was under the age of sixty, and in apparent good

health; notwithstanding which, he died soon after the bargain, and long

before the nephew was capable of orders; so that the uncle was obliged

to give the living to a clergyman, to hold it till the young man came of

proper age.

“The young gentleman had not attained his proper age of taking orders

when he had the misfortune to lose his uncle and only friend, who,

thinking he had sufficiently provided for his nephew by the purchase of

the living, considered him no farther in his will, but divided all

the fortune of which he died possessed between his two daughters;

recommending it to them, however, on his deathbed, to assist their

cousin with money sufficient to keep him at the university till he

should be capable of ordination.

“But, as no appointment of this kind was in the will, the young ladies,

who received about each, thought proper to disregard the last words of

their father; for, besides that both of them were extremely tenacious

of their money, they were great enemies to their cousin, on account of

their father’s kindness to him; and thought proper to let him know that

they thought he had robbed them of too much already.

“The poor young fellow was now greatly distrest; for he had yet above a

year to stay at the university, without any visible means of sustaining

himself there.

“In this distress, however, he met with a friend, who had the good

nature to lend him the sum of twenty pounds, for which he only accepted

his bond for forty, and which was to be paid within a year after his

being possessed of his living; that is, within a year after his becoming

qualified to hold it.

“With this small sum thus hardly obtained the poor gentleman made a

shift to struggle with all difficulties till he became of due age to

take upon himself the character of a deacon. He then repaired to that

clergyman to whom his uncle had given the living upon the conditions

above mentioned, to procure a title to ordination; but this, to his

great surprize and mortification, was absolutely refused him.

“The immediate disappointment did not hurt him so much as the conclusion

he drew from it; for he could have but little hopes that the man who

could have the cruelty to refuse him a title would vouchsafe afterwards

to deliver up to him a living of so considerable a value; nor was it

long before this worthy incumbent told him plainly that he valued his

uncle’s favours at too high a rate to part with them to any one; nay,

he pretended scruples of conscience, and said that, if he had made any

slight promises, which he did not now well remember, they were wicked

and void; that he looked upon himself as married to his parish, and he

could no more give it up than he could give up his wife without sin.

“The poor young fellow was now obliged to seek farther for a title,

which, at length, he obtained from the rector of the parish where my

aunt lived.

“He had not long been settled in the curacy before an intimate

acquaintance grew between him and my aunt; for she was a great admirer

of the clergy, and used frequently to say they were the only conversible

creatures in the country.

“The first time she was in this gentleman’s company was at a neighbour’s

christening, where she stood godmother. Here she displayed her whole

little stock of knowledge, in order to captivate Mr. Bennet (I suppose,

madam, you already guess that to have been his name), and before they

parted gave him a very strong invitation to her house.

“Not a word passed at this christening between Mr. Bennet and myself,

but our eyes were not unemployed. Here, madam, I first felt a pleasing

kind of confusion, which I know not how to describe. I felt a kind of

uneasiness, yet did not wish to be without it. I longed to be alone,

yet dreaded the hour of parting. I could not keep my eyes off from the

object which caused my confusion, and which I was at once afraid of and

enamoured with. But why do I attempt to describe my situation to one who

must, I am sure, have felt the same?”

Amelia smiled, and Mrs. Bennet went on thus: “O, Mrs. Booth! had you

seen the person of whom I am now speaking, you would not condemn the

suddenness of my love. Nay, indeed, I had seen him there before, though

this was the first time I had ever heard the music of his voice. Oh! it

was the sweetest that was ever heard.

“Mr. Bennet came to visit my aunt the very next day. She imputed this

respectful haste to the powerful charms of her understanding, and

resolved to lose no opportunity in improving the opinion which she

imagined he had conceived of her. She became by this desire quite

ridiculous, and ran into absurdities and a gallimatia scarce credible.

“Mr. Bennet, as I afterwards found, saw her in the same light with

myself; but, as he was a very sensible and well-bred man, he so well

concealed his opinion from us both, that I was almost angry, and she

was pleased even to raptures, declaring herself charmed with his

understanding, though, indeed, he had said very little; but I believe he

heard himself into her good opinion, while he gazed himself into love.

“The two first visits which Mr. Bennet made to my aunt, though I was in

the room all the time, I never spoke a word; but on the third, on some

argument which arose between them, Mr. Bennet referred himself to me.

I took his side of the question, as indeed I must to have done justice,

and repeated two or three words of Latin. My aunt reddened at this, and

exprest great disdain of my opinion, declaring she was astonished that

a man of Mr. Bennet’s understanding could appeal to the judgment of a

silly girl; ‘Is she,’ said my aunt, bridling herself, ‘fit to decide

between us?’ Mr. Bennet spoke very favourably of what I had said;

upon which my aunt burst almost into a rage, treated me with downright

scurrility, called me conceited fool, abused my poor father for having

taught me Latin, which, she said, had made me a downright coxcomb, and

made me prefer myself to those who were a hundred times my superiors in

knowledge. She then fell foul on the learned languages, declared they

were totally useless, and concluded that she had read all that was worth

reading, though, she thanked heaven, she understood no language but her

own.

“Before the end of this visit Mr. Bennet reconciled himself very well to

my aunt, which, indeed, was no difficult task for him to accomplish;

but from that hour she conceived a hatred and rancour towards me which I

could never appease.

“My aunt had, from my first coming into her house, expressed great

dislike to my learning. In plain truth, she envied me that advantage.

This envy I had long ago discovered, and had taken great pains to

smother it, carefully avoiding ever to mention a Latin word in her

presence, and always submitting to her authority; for indeed I despised

her ignorance too much to dispute with her. By these means I had pretty

well succeeded, and we lived tolerably together; but the affront paid to

her understanding by Mr. Bennet in my favour was an injury never to

be forgiven to me. She took me severely to task that very evening, and

reminded me of going to service in such earnest terms as almost amounted

to literally turning me out of doors; advising me, in the most insulting

manner, to keep my Latin to myself, which she said was useless to any

one, but ridiculous when pretended to by a servant.

“The next visit Mr. Bennet made at our house I was not suffered to be

present. This was much the shortest of all his visits; and when he went

away he left my aunt in a worse humour than ever I had seen her. The

whole was discharged on me in the usual manner, by upbraiding me with

my learning, conceit, and poverty; reminding me of obligations, and

insisting on my going immediately to service. With all this I was

greatly pleased, as it assured me that Mr. Bennet had said something to

her in my favour; and I would have purchased a kind expression of his at

almost any price.

“I should scarce, however, have been so sanguine as to draw this

conclusion, had I not received some hints that I had not unhappily

placed my affections on a man who made me no return; for, though he

had scarce addressed a dozen sentences to me (for, indeed, he had no

opportunity), yet his eyes had revealed certain secrets to mine with

which I was not displeased.

“I remained, however, in a state of anxiety near a month; sometimes

pleasing myself with thinking Mr. Bennet’s heart was in the same

situation with my own; sometimes doubting that my wishes had flattered

and deceived me, and not in the least questioning that my aunt was my

rival; for I thought no woman could be proof against the charms that

had subdued me. Indeed, Mrs. Booth, he was a charming young fellow; I

must--I must pay this tribute to his memory. O, gracious Heaven! why,

why did I ever see him? why was I doomed to such misery?” Here she burst

into a flood of tears, and remained incapable of speech for some time;

during which the gentle Amelia endeavoured all she could to soothe her,

and gave sufficient marks of sympathizing in the tender affliction of

her friend.

Mrs. Bennet, at length, recovered her spirits, and proceeded, as in the

next chapter.

Chapter v.

_The story of Mrs. Bennet continued._

I scarce know where I left off--Oh! I was, I think, telling you that I

esteemed my aunt as my rival; and it is not easy to conceive a greater

degree of detestation than I had for her; and what may, perhaps,

appear strange, as she daily grew more and more civil to me, my hatred

encreased with her civility; for I imputed it all to her triumph over

me, and to her having secured, beyond all apprehension, the heart I

longed for.

“How was I surprized when, one day, with as much good-humour as she was

mistress of (for her countenance was not very pleasing), she asked me

how I liked Mr. Bennet? The question, you will believe, madam, threw me

into great confusion, which she plainly perceived, and, without waiting

for my answer, told me she was very well satisfied, for that it did not

require her discernment to read my thoughts in my countenance. ‘Well,

child,’ she said, ‘I have suspected this a great while, and I believe it

will please you to know that I yesterday made the same discovery in your

lover.’ This, I confess to you, was more than I could well bear, and

I begged her to say no more to me at that time on that subject. ‘Nay,

child,’ answered she, ‘I must tell you all, or I should not act a

friendly part. Mr. Bennet, I am convinced, hath a passion for you; but

it is a passion which, I think, you should not encourage. For, to be

plain with you, I fear he is in love with your person only. Now this

is a love, child, which cannot produce that rational happiness which a

woman of sense ought to expect.’ In short, she ran on with a great deal

of stuff about rational happiness, and women of sense, and concluded

with assuring me that, after the strictest scrutiny, she could not find

that Mr. Bennet had an adequate opinion of my understanding; upon which

she vouchsafed to make me many compliments, but mixed with several

sarcasms concerning my learning.

“I hope, madam, however,” said she to Amelia, “you have not so bad an

opinion of my capacity as to imagine me dull enough to be offended with

Mr. Bennet’s sentiments, for which I presently knew so well to account.

I was, indeed, charmed with his ingenuity, who had discovered, perhaps,

the only way of reconciling my aunt to those inclinations which I now

assured myself he had for me.

“I was not long left to support my hopes by my sagacity. He soon found

an opportunity of declaring his passion. He did this in so forcible

though gentle a manner, with such a profusion of fervency and tenderness

at once, that his love, like a torrent, bore everything before it; and

I am almost ashamed to own to you how very soon he prevailed upon me

to--to--in short, to be an honest woman, and to confess to him the plain

truth.

“When we were upon a good footing together he gave me a long relation

of what had past at several interviews with my aunt, at which I had

not been present. He said he had discovered that, as she valued herself

chiefly on her understanding, so she was extremely jealous of mine,

and hated me on account of my learning. That, as he had loved me

passionately from his first seeing me, and had thought of nothing from

that time but of throwing himself at my feet, he saw no way so open to

propitiate my aunt as that which he had taken by commending my beauty,

a perfection to which she had long resigned all claim, at the expense of

my understanding, in which he lamented my deficiency to a degree almost

of ridicule. This he imputed chiefly to my learning; on this occasion he

advanced a sentiment which so pleased my aunt that she thought proper to

make it her own; for I heard it afterwards more than once from her own

mouth. Learning, he said, had the same effect on the mind that strong

liquors have on the constitution; both tending to eradicate all our

natural fire and energy. His flattery had made such a dupe of my aunt

that she assented, without the least suspicion of his sincerity, to

all he said; so sure is vanity to weaken every fortress of the

understanding, and to betray us to every attack of the enemy.

“You will believe, madam, that I readily forgave him all he had said,

not only from that motive which I have mentioned, but as I was assured

he had spoke the reverse of his real sentiments. I was not, however,

quite so well pleased with my aunt, who began to treat me as if I was

really an idiot. Her contempt, I own, a little piqued me; and I could

not help often expressing my resentment, when we were alone together,

to Mr. Bennet, who never failed to gratify me by making her conceit

the subject of his wit; a talent which he possessed in the most

extraordinary degree.

“This proved of very fatal consequence; for one day, while we were

enjoying my aunt in a very thick arbour in the garden, she stole upon us

unobserved, and overheard our whole conversation. I wish, my dear, you

understood Latin, that I might repeat you a sentence in which the rage

of a tigress that hath lost her young is described. No English poet,

as I remember, hath come up to it; nor am I myself equal to the

undertaking. She burst in upon us, open-mouthed, and after discharging

every abusive word almost, in the only language she understood, on poor

Mr. Bennet, turned us both out of doors, declaring she would send my

rags after me, but would never more permit me to set my foot within her

threshold.

“Consider, dear madam, to what a wretched condition we were now reduced.

I had not yet received the small legacy left me by my father; nor was

Mr. Bennet master of five pounds in the whole world.

“In this situation, the man I doated on to distraction had but little

difficulty to persuade me to a proposal which, indeed, I thought

generous in him to make, as it seemed to proceed from that tenderness

for my reputation to which he ascribed it; indeed, it could proceed from

no motive with which I should have been displeased. In a word, within

two days we were man and wife.

“Mr. Bennet now declared himself the happiest of men; and, for my part,

I sincerely declared I envied no woman upon earth. How little, alas! did

I then know or suspect the price I was to pay for all my joys! A match

of real love is, indeed, truly paradise; and such perfect happiness

seems to be the forbidden fruit to mortals, which we are to lament

having tasted during the rest of our lives.

“The first uneasiness which attacked us after our marriage was on my

aunt’s account. It was very disagreeable to live under the nose of so

near a relation, who did not acknowledge us, but on the contrary, was

ever doing us all the ill turns in her power, and making a party against

us in the parish, which is always easy enough to do amongst the vulgar

against persons who are their superiors in rank, and, at the same time,

their inferiors in fortune. This made Mr. Bennet think of procuring an

exchange, in which intention he was soon after confirmed by the arrival

of the rector. It was the rector’s custom to spend three months every

year at his living, for which purpose he reserved an apartment in

his parsonage-house, which was full large enough for two such little

families as then occupied it. We at first promised ourselves some little

convenience from his boarding with us; and Mr. Bennet began to lay aside

his thoughts of leaving his curacy, at least for some time. But these

golden ideas presently vanished; for, though we both used our utmost

endeavours to please him, we soon found the impossibility of succeeding.

He was, indeed, to give you his character in a word, the most peevish

of mortals. This temper, notwithstanding that he was both a good and

a pious man, made his company so insufferable that nothing could

compensate it. If his breakfast was not ready to a moment--if a dish of

meat was too much or too little done--in short, if anything failed of

exactly hitting his taste, he was sure to be out of humour all that

day, so that, indeed, he was scarce ever in a good temper a whole day

together; for fortune seems to take a delight in thwarting this kind of

disposition, to which human life, with its many crosses and accidents,

is, in truth, by no means fitted.

“Mr. Bennet was now, by my desire as well as his own, determined to

quit the parish; but when he attempted to get an exchange, he found it

a matter of more difficulty than he had apprehended; for the rector’s

temper was so well known among the neighbouring clergy, that none of

them could be brought to think of spending three months in a year with

him.

“After many fruitless enquiries, Mr. Bennet thought best to remove to

London, the great mart of all affairs, ecclesiastical and civil. This

project greatly pleased him, and he resolved, without more delay, to

take his leave of the rector, which he did in the most friendly manner

possible, and preached his farewell sermon; nor was there a dry eye

in the church, except among the few, whom my aunt, who remained still

inexorable, had prevailed upon to hate us without any cause.

“To London we came, and took up our lodging the first night at the inn

where the stage-coach set us down: the next morning my husband went out

early on his business, and returned with the good news of having heard

of a curacy, and of having equipped himself with a lodging in

the neighbourhood of a worthy peer, ‘who,’ said he, ‘was my

fellow-collegiate; and, what is more, I have a direction to a person who

will advance your legacy at a very reasonable rate.’

“This last particular was extremely agreeable to me, for our last guinea

was now broached; and the rector had lent my husband ten pounds to pay

his debts in the country, for, with all his peevishness, he was a good

and a generous man, and had, indeed, so many valuable qualities, that I

lamented his temper, after I knew him thoroughly, as much on his account

as on my own.

“We now quitted the inn and went to our lodgings, where my husband

having placed me in safety, as he said, he went about the business of

the legacy with good assurance of success.

“My husband returned elated with his success, the person to whom he

applied having undertaken to advance the legacy, which he fulfilled

as soon as the proper enquiries could be made, and proper instruments

prepared for that purpose.

“This, however, took up so much time, that, as our fund was so very

low, we were reduced to some distress, and obliged to live extremely

penurious; nor would all do without my taking a most disagreeable way of

procuring money by pawning one of my gowns.

“Mr. Bennet was now settled in a curacy in town, greatly to his

satisfaction, and our affairs seemed to have a prosperous aspect, when

he came home to me one morning in much apparent disorder, looking as

pale as death, and begged me by some means or other to get him a dram,

for that he was taken with a sudden faintness and lowness of spirits.

“Frighted as I was, I immediately ran downstairs, and procured some rum

of the mistress of the house; the first time, indeed, I ever knew him

drink any. When he came to himself he begged me not to be alarmed, for

it was no distemper, but something that had vexed him, which had caused

his disorder, which he had now perfectly recovered.

“He then told me the whole affair. He had hitherto deferred paying

a visit to the lord whom I mentioned to have been formerly his

fellow-collegiate, and was now his neighbour, till he could put himself

in decent rigging. He had now purchased a new cassock, hat, and wig, and

went to pay his respects to his old acquaintance, who had received from

him many civilities and assistances in his learning at the university,

and had promised to return them fourfold hereafter.

“It was not without some difficulty that Mr. Bennet got into the

antechamber. Here he waited, or as the phrase is, cooled his heels, for

above an hour before he saw his lordship; nor had he seen him then but

by an accident; for my lord was going out when he casually intercepted

him in his passage to his chariot. He approached to salute him with some

familiarity, though with respect, depending on his former intimacy, when

my lord, stepping short, very gravely told him he had not the pleasure

of knowing him. How! my lord, said he, can you have so soon forgot your

old acquaintance Tom Bennet? O, Mr. Bennet! cries his lordship, with

much reserve, is it you? you will pardon my memory. I am glad to see

you, Mr. Bennet, but you must excuse me at present, for I am in very

great haste. He then broke from him, and without more ceremony, or any

further invitation, went directly into his chariot.

“This cold reception from a person for whom my husband had a real

friendship, and from whom he had great reason to expect a very warm

return of affection, so affected the poor man, that it caused all those

symptoms which I have mentioned before.

“Though this incident produced no material consequence, I could not pass

it over in silence, as, of all the misfortunes which ever befel him, it

affected my husband the most. I need not, however, to a woman of your

delicacy, make any comments on a behaviour which, though I believe it is

very common, is, nevertheless, cruel and base beyond description, and is

diametrically opposite to true honour as well as to goodness.

“To relieve the uneasiness which my husband felt on account of his false

friend, I prevailed with him to go every night, almost for a fortnight

together, to the play; a diversion of which he was greatly fond, and

from which he did not think his being a clergyman excluded him; indeed,

it is very well if those austere persons who would be inclined to

censure him on this head have themselves no greater sins to answer for.

“From this time, during three months, we past our time very agreeably,

a little too agreeably perhaps for our circumstances; for, however

innocent diversions may be in other respects, they must be owned to

be expensive. When you consider then, madam, that our income from the

curacy was less than forty pounds a year, and that, after payment of the

debt to the rector, and another to my aunt, with the costs in law which

she had occasioned by suing for it, my legacy was reduced to less than

seventy pounds, you will not wonder that, in diversions, cloaths, and

the common expenses of life, we had almost consumed our whole stock.

“The inconsiderate manner in which we had lived for some time will, I

doubt not, appear to you to want some excuse; but I have none to make

for it. Two things, however, now happened, which occasioned much serious

reflexion to Mr. Bennet; the one was, that I grew near my time; the

other, that he now received a letter from Oxford, demanding the debt

of forty pounds which I mentioned to you before. The former of these

he made a pretence of obtaining a delay for the payment of the latter,

promising, in two months, to pay off half the debt, by which means he

obtained a forbearance during that time.

“I was now delivered of a son, a matter which should in reality have

encreased our concern, but, on the contrary, it gave us great pleasure;

greater indeed could not have been conceived at the birth of an heir

to the most plentiful estate: so entirely thoughtless were we, and so

little forecast had we of those many evils and distresses to which we

had rendered a human creature, and one so dear to us, liable. The day

of a christening is, in all families, I believe, a day of jubilee and

rejoicing; and yet, if we consider the interest of that little wretch

who is the occasion, how very little reason would the most sanguine

persons have for their joy!

“But, though our eyes were too weak to look forward, for the sake of

our child, we could not be blinded to those dangers that immediately

threatened ourselves. Mr. Bennet, at the expiration of the two months,

received a second letter from Oxford, in a very peremptory stile, and

threatening a suit without any farther delay. This alarmed us in the

strongest manner; and my husband, to secure his liberty, was advised for

a while to shelter himself in the verge of the court.

“And, now, madam, I am entering on that scene which directly leads to

all my misery.”--Here she stopped, and wiped her eyes; and then, begging

Amelia to excuse her for a few minutes, ran hastily out of the room,

leaving Amelia by herself, while she refreshed her spirits with a

cordial to enable her to relate what follows in the next chapter.

Chapter vi.

_Farther continued._

Mrs. Bennet, returning into the room, made a short apology for her

absence, and then proceeded in these words:

“We now left our lodging, and took a second floor in that very house

where you now are, to which we were recommended by the woman where we

had before lodged, for the mistresses of both houses were acquainted;

and, indeed, we had been all at the play together. To this new lodging

then (such was our wretched destiny) we immediately repaired, and were

received by Mrs. Ellison (how can I bear the sound of that detested

name?) with much civility; she took care, however, during the first

fortnight of our residence, to wait upon us every Monday morning for her

rent; such being, it seems, the custom of this place, which, as it was

inhabited chiefly by persons in debt, is not the region of credit.

“My husband, by the singular goodness of the rector, who greatly

compassionated his case, was enabled to continue in his curacy, though

he could only do the duty on Sundays. He was, however, sometimes obliged

to furnish a person to officiate at his expence; so that our income was

very scanty, and the poor little remainder of the legacy being almost

spent, we were reduced to some difficulties, and, what was worse, saw

still a prospect of greater before our eyes.

“Under these circumstances, how agreeable to poor Mr. Bennet must have

been the behaviour of Mrs. Ellison, who, when he carried her her rent on

the usual day, told him, with a benevolent smile, that he needed not to

give himself the trouble of such exact punctuality. She added that,

if it was at any time inconvenient to him, he might pay her when he

pleased. ‘To say the truth,’ says she, ‘I never was so much pleased

with any lodgers in my life; I am convinced, Mr. Bennet, you are a very

worthy man, and you are a very happy one too; for you have the prettiest

wife and the prettiest child I ever saw’ These, dear madam, were the

words she was pleased to make use of: and I am sure she behaved to me

with such an appearance of friendship and affection, that, as I could

not perceive any possible views of interest which she could have in her

professions, I easily believed them real.

“There lodged in the same house--O, Mrs. Booth! the blood runs cold to

my heart, and should run cold to yours, when I name him--there lodged in

the same house a lord--the lord, indeed, whom I have since seen in your

company. This lord, Mrs. Ellison told me, had taken a great fancy to my

little Charley. Fool that I was, and blinded by my own passion, which

made me conceive that an infant, not three months old, could be really

the object of affection to any besides a parent, and more especially to

a gay young fellow! But, if I was silly in being deceived, how wicked

was the wretch who deceived me--who used such art, and employed such

pains, such incredible pains, to deceive me! He acted the part of a

nurse to my little infant; he danced it, he lulled it, he kissed it;

declared it was the very picture of a nephew of his--his favourite

sister’s child; and said so many kind and fond things of its beauty,

that I myself, though, I believe, one of the tenderest and fondest of

mothers, scarce carried my own ideas of my little darling’s perfection

beyond the compliments which he paid it.

“My lord, however, perhaps from modesty, before my face, fell far short

of what Mrs. Ellison reported from him. And now, when she found

the impression which was made on me by these means, she took every

opportunity of insinuating to me his lordship’s many virtues, his great

goodness to his sister’s children in particular; nor did she fail to

drop some hints which gave me the most simple and groundless hopes of

strange consequences from his fondness to my Charley.

“When, by these means, which, simple as they may appear, were, perhaps,

the most artful, my lord had gained something more, I think, than my

esteem, he took the surest method to confirm himself in my affection.

This was, by professing the highest friendship for my husband; for, as

to myself, I do assure you he never shewed me more than common respect;

and I hope you will believe I should have immediately startled and

flown off if he had. Poor I accounted for all the friendship which he

expressed for my husband, and all the fondness which he shewed to my

boy, from the great prettiness of the one and the great merit of the

other; foolishly conceiving that others saw with my eyes and felt with

my heart. Little did I dream that my own unfortunate person was the

fountain of all this lord’s goodness, and was the intended price of it.

“One evening, as I was drinking tea with Mrs. Ellison by my lord’s fire

(a liberty which she never scrupled taking when he was gone out),

my little Charley, now about half a year old, sitting in her lap, my

lord--accidentally, no doubt, indeed I then thought it so--came in. I

was confounded, and offered to go; but my lord declared, if he disturbed

Mrs. Ellison’s company, as he phrased it, he would himself leave the

room. When I was thus prevailed on to keep my seat, my lord immediately

took my little baby into his lap, and gave it some tea there, not a

little at the expense of his embroidery; for he was very richly drest;

indeed, he was as fine a figure as perhaps ever was seen. His behaviour

on this occasion gave me many ideas in his favour. I thought he

discovered good sense, good nature, condescension, and other good

qualities, by the fondness he shewed to my child, and the contempt he

seemed to express for his finery, which so greatly became him; for I

cannot deny but that he was the handsomest and genteelest person in the

world, though such considerations advanced him not a step in my favour.

“My husband now returned from church (for this happened on a Sunday),

and was, by my lord’s particular desire, ushered into the room. My lord

received him with the utmost politeness, and with many professions

of esteem, which, he said, he had conceived from Mrs. Ellison’s

representations of his merit. He then proceeded to mention the living

which was detained from my husband, of which Mrs. Ellison had likewise

informed him; and said, he thought it would be no difficult matter to

obtain a restoration of it by the authority of the bishop, who was his

particular friend, and to whom he would take an immediate opportunity

of mentioning it. This, at last, he determined to do the very next day,

when he invited us both to dinner, where we were to be acquainted with

his lordship’s success.

“My lord now insisted on my husband’s staying supper with him, without

taking any notice of me; but Mrs. Ellison declared he should not part

man and wife, and that she herself would stay with me. The motion

was too agreeable to me to be rejected; and, except the little time I

retired to put my child to bed, we spent together the most agreeable

evening imaginable; nor was it, I believe, easy to decide whether Mr.

Bennet or myself were most delighted with his lordship and Mrs. Ellison;

but this, I assure you, the generosity of the one, and the extreme

civility and kindness of the other, were the subjects of our

conversation all the ensuing night, during which we neither of us closed

our eyes.

“The next day at dinner my lord acquainted us that he had prevailed with

the bishop to write to the clergyman in the country; indeed, he told us

that he had engaged the bishop to be very warm in our interest, and

had not the least doubt of success. This threw us both into a flow of

spirits; and in the afternoon Mr. Bennet, at Mrs. Ellison’s request,

which was seconded by his lordship, related the history of our lives

from our first acquaintance. My lord seemed much affected with some

tender scenes, which, as no man could better feel, so none could better

describe, than my husband. When he had finished, my lord begged pardon

for mentioning an occurrence which gave him such a particular concern,

as it had disturbed that delicious state of happiness in which we had

lived at our former lodging. ‘It would be ungenerous,’ said he,

‘to rejoice at an accident which, though it brought me fortunately

acquainted with two of the most agreeable people in the world, was yet

at the expense of your mutual felicity. The circumstance, I mean, is

your debt at Oxford; pray, how doth that stand? I am resolved it shall

never disturb your happiness hereafter.’ At these words the tears burst

from my poor husband’s eyes; and, in an ecstasy of gratitude, he cried

out, ‘Your lordship overcomes me with generosity. If you go on in this

manner, both my wife’s gratitude and mine must be bankrupt’ He then

acquainted my lord with the exact state of the case, and received

assurances from him that the debt should never trouble him. My husband

was again breaking out into the warmest expressions of gratitude, but my

lord stopt him short, saying, ‘If you have any obligation, it is to my

little Charley here, from whose little innocent smiles I have received

more than the value of this trifling debt in pleasure.’ I forgot to tell

you that, when I offered to leave the room after dinner upon my child’s

account, my lord would not suffer me, but ordered the child to be

brought to me. He now took it out of my arms, placed it upon his own

knee, and fed it with some fruit from the dessert. In short, it would

be more tedious to you than to myself to relate the thousand little

tendernesses he shewed to the child. He gave it many baubles; amongst

the rest was a coral worth at least three pounds; and, when my husband

was confined near a fortnight to his chamber with a cold, he visited

the child every day (for to this infant’s account were all the visits

placed), and seldom failed of accompanying his visit with a present to

the little thing.

“Here, Mrs. Booth, I cannot help mentioning a doubt which hath often

arisen in my mind since I have been enough mistress of myself to reflect

on this horrid train which was laid to blow up my innocence. Wicked

and barbarous it was to the highest degree without any question; but my

doubt is, whether the art or folly of it be the more conspicuous; for,

however delicate and refined the art must be allowed to have been, the

folly, I think, must upon a fair examination appear no less astonishing:

for to lay all considerations of cruelty and crime out of the case, what

a foolish bargain doth the man make for himself who purchases so poor a

pleasure at so high a price!

“We had lived near three weeks with as much freedom as if we had been

all of the same family, when, one afternoon, my lord proposed to my

husband to ride down himself to solicit the surrender; for he said the

bishop had received an unsatisfactory answer from the parson, and had

writ a second letter more pressing, which his lordship now promised us

to strengthen by one of his own that my husband was to carry with him.

Mr. Bennet agreed to this proposal with great thankfulness, and the next

day was appointed for his journey. The distance was near seventy miles.

“My husband set out on his journey, and he had scarce left me before

Mrs. Ellison came into my room, and endeavoured to comfort me in his

absence; to say the truth, though he was to be from me but a few

days, and the purpose of his going was to fix our happiness on a sound

foundation for all our future days, I could scarce support my spirits

under this first separation. But though I then thought Mrs. Ellison’s

intentions to be most kind and friendly, yet the means she used were

utterly ineffectual, and appeared to me injudicious. Instead of soothing

my uneasiness, which is always the first physic to be given to grief,

she rallied me upon it, and began to talk in a very unusual stile of

gaiety, in which she treated conjugal love with much ridicule.

“I gave her to understand that she displeased me by this discourse; but

she soon found means to give such a turn to it as made a merit of all

she had said. And now, when she had worked me into a good humour, she

made a proposal to me which I at first rejected--but at last fatally,

too fatally, suffered myself to be over-persuaded. This was to go to

a masquerade at Ranelagh, for which my lord had furnished her with

tickets.”

At these words Amelia turned pale as death, and hastily begged her

friend to give her a glass of water, some air, or anything. Mrs. Bennet,

having thrown open the window, and procured the water, which prevented

Amelia from fainting, looked at her with much tenderness, and cried, “I

do not wonder, my dear madam, that you are affected with my mentioning

that fatal masquerade; since I firmly believe the same ruin was intended

for you at the same place; the apprehension of which occasioned the

letter I sent you this morning, and all the trial of your patience which

I have made since.”

Amelia gave her a tender embrace, with many expressions of the warmest

gratitude; assured her she had pretty well recovered her spirits, and

begged her to continue her story, which Mrs. Bennet then did. However,

as our readers may likewise be glad to recover their spirits also, we

shall here put an end to this chapter.

Chapter vii.

_The story farther continued._

Mrs. Bennet proceeded thus:

“I was at length prevailed on to accompany Mrs. Ellison to the

masquerade. Here, I must confess, the pleasantness of the place, the

variety of the dresses, and the novelty of the thing, gave me much

delight, and raised my fancy to the highest pitch. As I was entirely

void of all suspicion, my mind threw off all reserve, and pleasure only

filled my thoughts. Innocence, it is true, possessed my heart; but it

was innocence unguarded, intoxicated with foolish desires, and liable

to every temptation. During the first two hours we had many trifling

adventures not worth remembering. At length my lord joined us, and

continued with me all the evening; and we danced several dances

together.

“I need not, I believe, tell you, madam, how engaging his conversation

is. I wish I could with truth say I was not pleased with it; or, at

least, that I had a right to be pleased with it. But I will disguise

nothing from you. I now began to discover that he had some affection

for me, but he had already too firm a footing in my esteem to make the

discovery shocking. I will--I will own the truth; I was delighted with

perceiving a passion in him, which I was not unwilling to think he had

had from the beginning, and to derive his having concealed it so long

from his awe of my virtue, and his respect to my understanding. I assure

you, madam, at the same time, my intentions were never to exceed the

bounds of innocence. I was charmed with the delicacy of his passion;

and, in the foolish thoughtless turn of mind in which I then was, I

fancied I might give some very distant encouragement to such a passion

in such a man with the utmost safety--that I might indulge my vanity and

interest at once, without being guilty of the least injury.

“I know Mrs. Booth will condemn all these thoughts, and I condemn them

no less myself; for it is now my stedfast opinion that the woman who

gives up the least outwork of her virtue doth, in that very moment,

betray the citadel.

“About two o’clock we returned home, and found a very handsome collation

provided for us. I was asked to partake of it, and I did not, I could

not refuse. I was not, however, entirely void of all suspicion, and I

made many resolutions; one of which was, not to drink a drop more than

my usual stint. This was, at the utmost, little more than half a pint of

small punch.

“I adhered strictly to my quantity; but in the quality I am convinced I

was deceived; for before I left the room I found my head giddy. What the

villain gave me I know not; but, besides being intoxicated, I perceived

effects from it which are not to be described.

“Here, madam, I must draw a curtain over the residue of that fatal

night. Let it suffice that it involved me in the most dreadful ruin;

a ruin to which I can truly say I never consented, and of which I was

scarce conscious when the villanous man avowed it to my face in the

morning.

“Thus I have deduced my story to the most horrid period; happy had I

been had this been the period of my life, but I was reserved for greater

miseries; but before I enter on them I will mention something very

remarkable, with which I was now acquainted, and that will shew there

was nothing of accident which had befallen me, but that all was the

effect of a long, regular, premeditated design.

“You may remember, madam, I told you that we were recommended to Mrs.

Ellison by the woman at whose house we had before lodged. This woman, it

seems, was one of my lord’s pimps, and had before introduced me to his

lordship’s notice.

“You are to know then, madam, that this villain, this lord, now confest

to me that he had first seen me in the gallery at the oratorio, whither

I had gone with tickets with which the woman where I first lodged had

presented me, and which were, it seems, purchased by my lord. Here I

first met the vile betrayer, who was disguised in a rug coat and a patch

upon his face.”

At these words Amelia cried, “O, gracious heavens!” and fell back in her

chair. Mrs. Bennet, with proper applications, brought her back to life;

and then Amelia acquainted her that she herself had first seen the same

person in the same place, and in the same disguise. “O, Mrs. Bennet!”

cried she, “how am I indebted to you! what words, what thanks, what

actions can demonstrate the gratitude of my sentiments! I look upon

you, and always shall look upon you, as my preserver from the brink of a

precipice, from which I was falling into the same ruin which you have so

generously, so kindly, and so nobly disclosed for my sake.”

Here the two ladies compared notes; and it appeared that his lordship’s

behaviour at the oratorio had been alike to both; that he had made use

of the very same words, the very same actions to Amelia, which he had

practised over before on poor unfortunate Mrs. Bennet. It may, perhaps,

be thought strange that neither of them could afterwards recollect him;

but so it was. And, indeed, if we consider the force of disguise,

the very short time that either of them was with him at this first

interview, and the very little curiosity that must have been supposed in

the minds of the ladies, together with the amusement in which they were

then engaged, all wonder will, I apprehend, cease. Amelia, however, now

declared she remembered his voice and features perfectly well, and was

thoroughly satisfied he was the same person. She then accounted for his

not having visited in the afternoon, according to his promise, from her

declared resolutions to Mrs. Ellison not to see him. She now burst forth

into some very satirical invectives against that lady, and declared she

had the art, as well as the wickedness, of the devil himself.

Many congratulations now past from Mrs. Bennet to Amelia, which were

returned with the most hearty acknowledgments from that lady. But,

instead of filling our paper with these, we shall pursue Mrs. Bennet’s

story, which she resumed as we shall find in the next chapter.

Chapter viii.

_Further continuation._

“No sooner,” said Mrs. Bennet, continuing her story, “was my lord

departed, than Mrs. Ellison came to me. She behaved in such a manner,

when she became acquainted with what had past, that, though I was at

first satisfied of her guilt, she began to stagger my opinion, and at

length prevailed upon me entirely to acquit her. She raved like a mad

woman against my lord, swore he should not stay a moment in her house,

and that she would never speak to him more. In short, had she been the

most innocent woman in the world, she could not have spoke nor acted any

otherwise, nor could she have vented more wrath and indignation against

the betrayer.

“That part of her denunciation of vengeance which concerned my lord’s

leaving the house she vowed should be executed immediately; but then,

seeming to recollect herself, she said, ‘Consider, my dear child, it

is for your sake alone I speak; will not such a proceeding give some

suspicion to your husband?’ I answered, that I valued not that; that I

was resolved to inform my husband of all the moment I saw him; with many

expressions of detestation of myself and an indifference for life and

for everything else.

“Mrs. Ellison, however, found means to soothe me, and to satisfy me

with my own innocence, a point in which, I believe, we are all easily

convinced. In short, I was persuaded to acquit both myself and her, to

lay the whole guilt upon my lord, and to resolve to conceal it from my

husband.

“That whole day I confined myself to my chamber and saw no person

but Mrs. Ellison. I was, indeed, ashamed to look any one in the face.

Happily for me, my lord went into the country without attempting to come

near me, for I believe his sight would have driven me to madness.

“The next day I told Mrs. Ellison that I was resolved to leave her

lodgings the moment my lord came to town; not on her account (for I

really inclined to think her innocent), but on my lord’s, whose face I

was resolved, if possible, never more to behold. She told me I had no

reason to quit her house on that score, for that my lord himself had

left her lodgings that morning in resentment, she believed, of the

abuses Which she had cast on him the day before.

“This confirmed me in the opinion of her innocence; nor hath she from

that day to this, till my acquaintance with you, madam, done anything

to forfeit my opinion. On the contrary, I owe her many good offices;

amongst the rest, I have an annuity of one hundred and fifty pounds

a-year from my lord, which I know was owing to her solicitations, for

she is not void of generosity or good-nature; though by what I have

lately seen, I am convinced she was the cause of my ruin, and hath

endeavoured to lay the same snares for you.

“But to return to my melancholy story. My husband returned at the

appointed time; and I met him with an agitation of mind not to be

described. Perhaps the fatigue which he had undergone in his journey,

and his dissatisfaction at his ill success, prevented his taking

notice of what I feared was too visible. All his hopes were entirely

frustrated; the clergyman had not received the bishop’s letter, and as

to my lord’s he treated it with derision and contempt. Tired as he

was, Mr. Bennet would not sit down till he had enquired for my lord,

intending to go and pay his compliments. Poor man! he little suspected

that he had deceived him, as I have since known, concerning the bishop;

much less did he suspect any other injury. But the lord--the villain was

gone out of town, so that he was forced to postpone all his gratitude.

“Mr. Bennet returned to town late on the Saturday night, nevertheless he

performed his duty at church the next day, but I refused to go with him.

This, I think, was the first refusal I was guilty of since our marriage;

but I was become so miserable, that his presence, which had been the

source of all my happiness, was become my bane. I will not say I hated

to see him, but I can say I was ashamed, indeed afraid, to look him in

the face. I was conscious of I knew not what--guilt I hope it cannot be

called.”

“I hope not, nay, I think not,” cries Amelia.

“My husband,” continued Mrs. Bennet, “perceived my dissatisfaction, and

imputed it to his ill-success in the country. I was pleased with this

self-delusion, and yet, when I fairly compute the agonies I suffered at

his endeavours to comfort me on that head, I paid most severely for it.

O, my dear Mrs. Booth! happy is the deceived party between true lovers,

and wretched indeed is the author of the deceit!

“In this wretched condition I passed a whole week, the most miserable I

think of my whole life, endeavouring to humour my husband’s delusion and

to conceal my own tortures; but I had reason to fear I could not succeed

long, for on the Saturday night I perceived a visible alteration in

his behaviour to me. He went to bed in an apparent ill-humour, turned

sullenly from me, and if I offered at any endearments he gave me only

peevish answers.

“After a restless turbulent night, he rose early on Sunday morning and

walked down-stairs. I expected his return to breakfast, but was soon

informed by the maid that he was gone forth, and that it was no more

than seven o’clock. All this you may believe, madam, alarmed me. I saw

plainly he had discovered the fatal secret, though by what means I

could not divine. The state of my mind was very little short of madness.

Sometimes I thought of running away from my injured husband, and

sometimes of putting an end to my life.

“In the midst of such perturbations I spent the day. My husband returned

in the evening. O, Heavens! can I describe what followed?--It is

impossible! I shall sink under the relation. He entered the room with a

face as white as a sheet, his lips trembling and his eyes red as coals

of fire starting as it were from his head.--‘Molly,’ cries he, throwing

himself into his chair, ‘are you well?’ ‘Good Heavens!’ says I, ‘what’s

the matter?--Indeed I can’t say I am well.’ ‘No!’ says he, starting from

his chair, ‘false monster, you have betrayed me, destroyed me, you have

ruined your husband!’ Then looking like a fury, he snatched off a large

book from the table, and, with the malice of a madman, threw it at my

head and knocked me down backwards. He then caught me up in his arms and

kissed me with most extravagant tenderness; then, looking me stedfastly

in the face for several moments, the tears gushed in a torrent from

his eyes, and with his utmost violence he threw me again on the floor,

kicked me, stamped upon me. I believe, indeed, his intent was to kill

me, and I believe he thought he had accomplished it.

“I lay on the ground for some minutes, I believe, deprived of my senses.

When I recovered myself I found my husband lying by my side on his

face, and the blood running from him. It seems, when he thought he had

despatched me, he ran his head with all his force against a chest of

drawers which stood in the room, and gave himself a dreadful wound in

his head.

“I can truly say I felt not the least resentment for the usage I had

received; I thought I deserved it all; though, indeed, I little guessed

what he had suffered from me. I now used the most earnest entreaties to

him to compose himself; and endeavoured, with my feeble arms, to raise

him from the ground. At length he broke from me, and, springing from

the ground, flung himself into a chair, when, looking wildly at me, he

cried--‘Go from me, Molly. I beseech you, leave me. I would not kill

you.’--He then discovered to me--O Mrs. Booth! can you not guess it?--I

was indeed polluted by the villain--I had infected my husband.--O

heavens! why do I live to relate anything so horrid--I will not, I

cannot yet survive it. I cannot forgive myself. Heaven cannot forgive

me!”

Here she became inarticulate with the violence of her grief, and fell

presently into such agonies, that the frighted Amelia began to call

aloud for some assistance. Upon this a maid-servant came up, who, seeing

her mistress in a violent convulsion fit, presently screamed out she

was dead. Upon which one of the other sex made his appearance: and who

should this be but the honest serjeant? whose countenance soon made

it evident that, though a soldier, and a brave one too, he was not the

least concerned of all the company on this occasion.

The reader, if he hath been acquainted with scenes of this kind, very

well knows that Mrs. Bennet, in the usual time, returned again to the

possession of her voice: the first use of which she made was to express

her astonishment at the presence of the serjeant, and, with a frantic

air, to enquire who he was.

The maid, concluding that her mistress was not yet returned to her

senses, answered, “Why, ‘tis my master, madam. Heaven preserve your

senses, madam!--Lord, sir, my mistress must be very bad not to know

you!”

What Atkinson thought at this instant, I will not say; but certain it

is he looked not over-wise. He attempted twice to take hold of Mrs.

Bennet’s hand, but she withdrew it hastily, and presently after, rising

up from her chair, she declared herself pretty well again, and desired

Atkinson and the maid to withdraw. Both of whom presently obeyed: the

serjeant appearing by his countenance to want comfort almost as much as

the lady did to whose assistance he had been summoned,

It is a good maxim to trust a person entirely or not at all; for a

secret is often innocently blabbed out by those who know but half of

it. Certain it is that the maid’s speech communicated a suspicion to

the mind of Amelia which the behaviour of the serjeant did not tend

to remove: what that is, the sagacious readers may likewise probably

suggest to themselves; if not, they must wait our time for disclosing

it. We shall now resume the history of Mrs. Bennet, who, after many

apologies, proceeded to the matters in the next chapter.

Chapter ix.

_The conclusion of Mrs. Bennet’s history._

“When I became sensible,” cries Mrs. Bennet, “of the injury I had done

my husband, I threw myself at his feet, and embracing his knees, while I

bathed them with my tears, I begged a patient hearing, declaring, if

he was not satisfied with what I should say, I would become a willing

victim of his resentment, I said, and I said truly, that, if I owed my

death that instant to his hands, I should have no other terrour but of

the fatal consequence which it might produce to himself.

“He seemed a little pacified, and bid me say whatever I pleased.

“I then gave him a faithful relation of all that had happened. He

heard me with great attention, and at the conclusion cried, with a deep

sigh--‘O Molly! I believe it all.--You must have been betrayed as you

tell me; you could not be guilty of such baseness, such cruelty, such

ingratitude.’ He then--O! it is impossible to describe his behaviour--he

exprest such kindness, such tenderness, such concern for the manner in

which he had used me--I cannot dwell on this scene--I shall relapse--you

must excuse me.”

Amelia begged her to omit anything which so affected her; and she

proceeded thus: “My husband, who was more convinced than I was of Mrs.

Ellison’s guilt, declared he would not sleep that night in her house. He

then went out to see for a lodging; he gave me all the money he had, and

left me to pay her bill, and put up the cloaths, telling me, if I had

not money enough, I might leave the cloaths as a pledge; but he vowed he

could not answer for himself if he saw the face of Mrs. Ellison.

“Words cannot scarce express the behaviour of that artful woman, it

was so kind and so generous. She said, she did not blame my husband’s

resentment, nor could she expect any other, but that he and all the

world should censure her--that she hated her house almost as much as

we did, and detested her cousin, if possible, more. In fine, she said I

might leave my cloaths there that evening, but that she would send them

to us the next morning; that she scorned the thought of detaining them;

and as for the paultry debt, we might pay her whenever we pleased; for,

to do her justice, with all her vices, she hath some good in her.”

“Some good in her, indeed!” cried Amelia, with great indignation.

“We were scarce settled in our new lodgings,” continued Mrs. Bennet,

“when my husband began to complain of a pain in his inside. He told

me he feared he had done himself some injury in his rage, and burst

something within him. As to the odious--I cannot bear the thought,

the great skill of his surgeon soon entirely cured him; but his other

complaint, instead of yielding to any application, grew still worse and

worse, nor ever ended till it brought him to his grave.

“O Mrs. Booth! could I have been certain that I had occasioned this,

however innocently I had occasioned it, I could never have survived it;

but the surgeon who opened him after his death assured me that he died

of what they called a polypus in his heart, and that nothing which had

happened on account of me was in the least the occasion of it.

“I have, however, related the affair truly to you. The first complaint

I ever heard of the kind was within a day or two after we left Mrs.

Ellison’s; and this complaint remained till his death, which might

induce him perhaps to attribute his death to another cause; but the

surgeon, who is a man of the highest eminence, hath always declared the

contrary to me, with the most positive certainty; and this opinion hath

been my only comfort.

“When my husband died, which was about ten weeks after we quitted Mrs.

Ellison’s, of whom I had then a different opinion from what I have now,

I was left in the most wretched condition imaginable. I believe, madam,

she shewed you my letter. Indeed, she did everything for me at that time

which I could have expected from the best of friends, She supplied me

with money from her own pocket, by which means I was preserved from a

distress in which I must have otherwise inevitably perished.

“Her kindness to me in this season of distress prevailed on me to return

again to her house. Why, indeed, should I have refused an offer so very

convenient for me to accept, and which seemed so generous in her to

make? Here I lived a very retired life with my little babe, seeing no

company but Mrs. Ellison herself for a full quarter of a year. At

last Mrs. Ellison brought me a parchment from my lord, in which he had

settled upon me, at her instance, as she told me, and as I believe it

was, an annuity of one hundred and fifty pounds a-year. This was, I

think, the very first time she had mentioned his hateful name to me

since my return to her house. And she now prevailed upon me, though I

assure you not without some difficulty, to suffer him to execute the

deed in my presence.

“I will not describe our interview--I am not able to describe it, and I

have often wondered how I found spirits to support it. This I will say

for him, that, if he was not a real penitent, no man alive could act the

part better.

“Beside resentment, I had another motive of my backwardness to agree

to such a meeting; and this was--fear. I apprehended, and surely not

without reason, that the annuity was rather meant as a bribe than a

recompence, and that further designs were laid against my innocence; but

in this I found myself happily deceived; for neither then, nor at any

time since, have I ever had the least solicitation of that kind. Nor,

indeed, have I seen the least occasion to think my lord had any such

desires.

“Good heavens! what are these men? what is this appetite which must have

novelty and resistance for its provocatives, and which is delighted with

us no longer than while we may be considered in the light of enemies?”

“I thank you, madam,” cries Amelia, “for relieving me from my fears on

your account; I trembled at the consequence of this second acquaintance

with such a man, and in such a situation.”

“I assure you, madam, I was in no danger,” returned Mrs. Bennet;

“for, besides that I think I could have pretty well relied on my own

resolution, I have heard since, at St Edmundsbury, from an intimate

acquaintance of my lord’s, who was an entire stranger to my affairs,

that the highest degree of inconstancy is his character; and that few of

his numberless mistresses have ever received a second visit from him.

“Well, madam,” continued she, “I think I have little more to trouble you

with; unless I should relate to you my long ill state of health, from

which I am lately, I thank Heaven, recovered; or unless I should mention

to you the most grievous accident that ever befel me, the loss of my

poor dear Charley.” Here she made a full stop, and the tears ran down

into her bosom.

Amelia was silent a few minutes, while she gave the lady time to vent

her passion; after which she began to pour forth a vast profusion of

acknowledgments for the trouble she had taken in relating her history,

but chiefly for the motive which had induced her to it, and for the kind

warning which she had given her by the little note which Mrs. Bennet had

sent her that morning.

“Yes, madam,” cries Mrs. Bennet, “I am convinced, by what I have lately

seen, that you are the destined sacrifice to this wicked lord; and that

Mrs. Ellison, whom I no longer doubt to have been the instrument of my

ruin, intended to betray you in the same manner. The day I met my lord

in your apartment I began to entertain some suspicions, and I took Mrs.

Ellison very roundly to task upon them; her behaviour, notwithstanding

many asseverations to the contrary, convinced me I was right; and I

intended, more than once, to speak to you, but could not; till last

night the mention of the masquerade determined me to delay it no longer.

I therefore sent you that note this morning, and am glad you so luckily

discovered the writer, as it hath given me this opportunity of easing my

mind, and of honestly shewing you how unworthy I am of your friendship,

at the same time that I so earnestly desire it.”

Chapter x.

_Being the last chapter of the seventh book._

Amelia did not fail to make proper compliments to Mrs. Bennet on the

conclusion of her speech in the last chapter. She told her that, from

the first moment of her acquaintance, she had the strongest inclination

to her friendship, and that her desires of that kind were much increased

by hearing her story. “Indeed, madam,” says she, “you are much too

severe a judge on yourself; for they must have very little candour, in

my opinion, who look upon your case with any severe eye. To me, I assure

you, you appear highly the object of compassion; and I shall always

esteem you as an innocent and an unfortunate woman.”

Amelia would then have taken her leave, but Mrs. Bennet so strongly

pressed her to stay to breakfast, that at length she complied; indeed,

she had fasted so long, and her gentle spirits had been so agitated with

variety of passions, that nature very strongly seconded Mrs. Bennet’s

motion.

Whilst the maid was preparing the tea-equipage, Amelia, with a little

slyness in her countenance, asked Mrs. Bennet if serjeant Atkinson did

not lodge in the same house with her? The other reddened so extremely

at the question, repeated the serjeant’s name with such hesitation, and

behaved so aukwardly, that Amelia wanted no further confirmation of her

suspicions. She would not, however, declare them abruptly to the other,

but began a dissertation on the serjeant’s virtues; and, after observing

the great concern which he had manifested when Mrs. Bennet was in her

fit, concluded with saying she believed the serjeant would make the best

husband in the world, for that he had great tenderness of heart and

a gentleness of manners not often to be found in any man, and much

seldomer in persons of his rank.

“And why not in his rank?” said Mrs. Bennet. “Indeed, Mrs. Booth, we

rob the lower order of mankind of their due. I do not deny the force and

power of education; but, when we consider how very injudicious is the

education of the better sort in general, how little they are instructed

in the practice of virtue, we shall not expect to find the heart

much improved by it. And even as to the head, how very slightly do we

commonly find it improved by what is called a genteel education! I

have myself, I think, seen instances of as great goodness, and as great

understanding too, among the lower sort of people as among the higher.

Let us compare your serjeant, now, with the lord who hath been the

subject of conversation; on which side would an impartial judge decide

the balance to incline?”

“How monstrous then,” cries Amelia, “is the opinion of those who

consider our matching ourselves the least below us in degree as a kind

of contamination!”

“A most absurd and preposterous sentiment,” answered Mrs. Bennet warmly;

“how abhorrent from justice, from common sense, and from humanity--but

how extremely incongruous with a religion which professes to know no

difference of degree, but ranks all mankind on the footing of brethren!

Of all kinds of pride, there is none so unchristian as that of station;

in reality, there is none so contemptible. Contempt, indeed, may be

said to be its own object; for my own part, I know none so despicable as

those who despise others.”

“I do assure you,” said Amelia, “you speak my own sentiments. I give you

my word, I should not be ashamed of being the wife of an honest man in

any station.--Nor if I had been much higher than I was, should I have

thought myself degraded by calling our honest serjeant my husband.”

“Since you have made this declaration,” cries Mrs. Bennet, “I am sure

you will not be offended at a secret I am going to mention to you.”

“Indeed, my dear,” answered Amelia, smiling, “I wonder rather you have

concealed it so long; especially after the many hints I have given you.”

“Nay, pardon me, madam,” replied the other; “I do not remember any such

hints; and, perhaps, you do not even guess what I am going to say.

My secret is this; that no woman ever had so sincere, so passionate a

lover, as you have had in the serjeant.”

“I a lover in the serjeant!--I!” cries Amelia, a little surprized.

“Have patience,” answered the other;--“I say, you, my dear. As much

surprized as you appear, I tell you no more than the truth; and yet it

is a truth you could hardly expect to hear from me, especially with so

much good-humour; since I will honestly confess to you.--But what need

have I to confess what I know you guess already?--Tell me now sincerely,

don’t you guess?”

“I guess, indeed, and hope,” said she, “that he is your husband.”

“He is, indeed, my husband,” cries the other; “and I am most happy in

your approbation. In honest truth, you ought to approve my choice; since

you was every way the occasion of my making it. What you said of him

very greatly recommended him to my opinion; but he endeared himself to

me most by what he said of you. In short, I have discovered that he hath

always loved you with such a faithful, honest, noble, generous passion,

that I was consequently convinced his mind must possess all the

ingredients of such a passion; and what are these but true honour,

goodness, modesty, bravery, tenderness, and, in a word, every human

virtue?--Forgive me, my dear; but I was uneasy till I became myself the

object of such a passion.”

“And do you really think,” said Amelia, smiling, “that I shall forgive

you robbing me of such a lover? or, supposing what you banter me with

was true, do you really imagine you could change such a passion?”

“No, my dear,” answered the other; “I only hope I have changed the

object; for be assured, there is no greater vulgar error than that it

is impossible for a man who loves one woman ever to love another. On the

contrary, it is certain that a man who can love one woman so well at a

distance will love another better that is nearer to him. Indeed, I have

heard one of the best husbands in the world declare, in the presence

of his wife, that he had always loved a princess with adoration. These

passions, which reside only in very amorous and very delicate minds,

feed only on the delicacies there growing; and leave all the substantial

food, and enough of the delicacy too, for the wife.”

The tea being now ready, Mrs. Bennet, or, if you please, for the future,

Mrs. Atkinson, proposed to call in her husband; but Amelia objected. She

said she should be glad to see him any other time, but was then in

the utmost hurry, as she had been three hours absent from all she most

loved. However, she had scarce drank a dish of tea before she changed

her mind; and, saying she would not part man and wife, desired Mr.

Atkinson might appear.

The maid answered that her master was not at home; which words she had

scarce spoken, when he knocked hastily at the door, and immediately came

running into the room, all pale and breathless, and, addressing himself

to Amelia, cried out, “I am sorry, my dear lady, to bring you ill news;

but Captain Booth”--“What! what!” cries Amelia, dropping the tea-cup

from her hand, “is anything the matter with him?”--“Don’t be frightened,

my dear lady,” said the serjeant: “he is in very good health; but a

misfortune hath happened.”--“Are my children well?” said Amelia.--“O,

very well,” answered the serjeant. “Pray, madam, don’t be frightened; I

hope it will signify nothing--he is arrested, but I hope to get him out

of their damned hands immediately.” “Where is he?” cries Amelia; “I will

go to him this instant!” “He begs you will not,” answered the serjeant.

“I have sent his lawyer to him, and am going back with Mrs. Ellison this

moment; but I beg your ladyship, for his sake, and for your own sake,

not to go.” “Mrs. Ellison! what is Mrs. Ellison to do?” cries Amelia:

“I must and will go.” Mrs. Atkinson then interposed, and begged that

she would not hurry her spirits, but compose herself, and go home to

her children, whither she would attend her. She comforted her with the

thoughts that the captain was in no immediate danger; that she could go

to him when she would; and desired her to let the serjeant return with

Mrs. Ellison, saying she might be of service, and that there was much

wisdom, and no kind of shame, in making use of bad people on certain

occasions.

“And who,” cries Amelia, a little come to herself, “hath done this

barbarous action?”

“One I am ashamed to name,” cries the serjeant; “indeed I had always a

very different opinion of him: I could not have believed anything but my

own ears and eyes; but Dr Harrison is the man who hath done the deed.”

“Dr Harrison!” cries Amelia. “Well, then, there is an end of all

goodness in the world. I will never have a good opinion of any human

being more.”

The serjeant begged that he might not be detained from the captain; and

that, if Amelia pleased to go home, he would wait upon her. But she

did not chuse to see Mrs. Ellison at this time; and, after a little

consideration, she resolved to stay where she was; and Mrs. Atkinson

agreed to go and fetch her children to her, it being not many doors

distant.

The serjeant then departed; Amelia, in her confusion, never having once

thought of wishing him joy on his marriage.