THE MEMOIRS OF HARRIETTE WILSON
WRITTEN BY HERSELF
VOLUME ONE
LONDON
EVELEIGH NASH
FAWSIDE HOUSE
1909
[Illustration: Harriette Wilson]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME ONE
HARRIETTE WILSON _Frontispiece_
GEORGE, SIXTH DUKE OF ARGYLE
*FREDERICK BYNG ("POODLE BYNG")
*LORD HERTFORD
AMY--SISTER OF HARRIETTE WILSON
N.B.-The illustrations marked with an asterisk (*) are reproduced,
facsimile, from the famous Deighton portraits
NOTE REGARDING HARRIETTE WILSON
_Harriette Wilson, the daughter of John and Amelia Dubochet, was born
in London on February_ 22, 1786. _Her birth is recorded in the Parish
Register of St. George, Hanover Square, and her father's name appears in
the List of Rate Payers _(1786)_ as residing at _2_ Carrington Street,
Mayfair. The house still exists, and its external structure seems to
have been unaltered since the time it was built._
_In old peerage volumes Dubochet, whose daughter Sophia married the
second Lord Berwick, is vaguely described as M. Dubochet of Switzerland,
but there is good reason for assuming that he was a clockmaker. The
article on Harriette Wilson in the Dictionary of National Biography
states that she was born about_ 1789, _that her father kept a small shop
in Mayfair, and that she flourished between the years_ 1810 _and_ 1825.
_There can be no question, however, that she was on terms of intimacy,
about_ 1805, _with the sixth Duke of Argyle, and that in the following
year she became the mistress of John, afterwards Viscount, Ponsonby,
a handsome man of whom George IV. was jealous on account of Lady
Conyngham. Ponsonby succeeded as Baron on November_ 5, 1806, _and, as
related in the Memoirs, he met Harriette a few weeks before his father's
death._
_The Memoirs were first published in_ 1825 _by John Joseph Stockdale,
who issued them in paper cover parts, and so great was the demand that a
barrier had to be erected in Stockdale's shop to regulate the crowd that
came to buy. Thirty editions are said to have been sold in one year,
and the work was also pirated by T. Douglas, E. Thomas, and others. The
present edition is reprinted from the original paper cover parts._
_The Duke of Wellington, the Marquis of Worcester, Lord Alvanley,
"Poodle" Byng, Beau Brummell, "King" Allen, Lord Yarmouth (Thackeray's
Marquis of Steyne), and the third Duke of Leinster, were among the
numerous men of rank and fashion who came to Harriette's house, and what
is really valuable in her book is the almost photographic fidelity with
which she reproduces the conversations and traits of her visitors. She
observed the men of her "salon" as only a clever woman can, and, because
of this, the Memoirs are lifted from worthlessness and form a most
interesting addition to the society chronicles of the time. Sir Walter
Scott in his Journal, December_ 9, 1825, _writes as follows about the
Memoirs and Harriette:_
"_... there is some good retailing of conversations, in which the style
of the speaker, so far as known to me, is exactly imitated.... Some one
asked Lord A----y, himself very sorrily handled from time to time, if
Harriette Wilson had been pretty correct on the whole. 'Why, faith,' he
replied, 'I believe so....'" "I think," proceeds Sir Walter, "I once
supped in her company more than twenty years since at Mat Lewis's,
where the company, as the Duke said to Lucio, chanced to be 'fairer than
honest.' She was far from beautiful ... but a smart saucy girl, with
good eyes and dark hair, and the manners of a wild schoolboy."_
_After 1825 very little is known of Harriette Wilson beyond the fact
that she lived abroad and married a Colonel Rochfort, with whom she
resided for a time at_ 111 _Rue du Faubourg St. Honoré, Paris._
_E.N._
CHAPTER I
I shall not say why and how I became, at the age of fifteen, the
mistress of the Earl of Craven. Whether it was love, or the severity of
my father, the depravity of my own heart, or the winning arts of the
noble lord, which induced me to leave my paternal roof and place myself
under his protection, does not now much signify; or, if it does, I am
not in the humour to gratify curiosity in this matter.
I resided on the Marine Parade at Brighton, and I remember that Lord
Craven used to draw cocoa trees, and his fellows as he called them,
on the best vellum paper for my amusement. "Here stood the enemy," he
would say, "and here, my love, are my fellows. There the cocoa trees,
&c." It was, in fact, a dead bore. All these cocoa trees and fellows,
at past eleven o'clock at night, could have no peculiar interest for a
child like myself, so lately in the habit of retiring early to rest.
One night, I recollect, I fell asleep; and, as I often dream, I said
yawning, and half awake, "O Lord! O Lord! Craven has got me into the
West Indies again." In short I soon found that I had made but a bad
speculation, by going from my father to Lord Craven. I was even more
afraid of the latter than I had been of the former. Not that there was
any particular harm in the man beyond his cocoa trees; but we never
suited nor understood each other.
I was not depraved enough to determine immediately on a new choice, and
yet I often thought about it. How indeed could I do otherwise, when
the Honourable Frederick Lamb was my constant visitor, and talked to me
of nothing else? However, in justice to myself, I must declare that the
idea of the possibility of deceiving Lord Craven while I was under his
roof, never once entered into my head. Frederick was then very handsome,
and certainly tried with all his soul and with all his strength, to
convince me that constancy to Lord Craven was the greatest nonsense in
the world. I firmly believe that Frederick Lamb sincerely loved me, and
deeply regretted that he had no fortune to invite me to share with him.
Lord Melbourne, his father, was a good man. Not one of your stiff-laced,
moralising fathers, who preach chastity and forbearance to their
children. Quite the contrary, he congratulated his son on the lucky
circumstance of his friend Craven having such a fine girl with him.
"No such thing," answered Frederick Lamb, "I am unsuccessful there.
Harriette will have nothing at all to do with me."
"Nonsense!" rejoined Melbourne, in great surprise, "I never heard
anything half so ridiculous in all my life. The girl must be mad! She
looks mad. I thought so the other day, when I met her galloping about,
with her feathers blowing, and her thick dark hair about her ears.
"I'll speak to Harriette for you," added his lordship, after a long
pause, and then continued repeating to himself, in an undertone, "not
have my son indeed! Six feet high! A fine, straight, handsome, noble
young fellow! I wonder what she would have!"
In truth, I scarcely knew myself; but something I determined on:
so miserably tired was I of Craven, and his cocoa trees, and his
sailing-boats, and his ugly, cotton nightcap.
"Surely," I would say, "all men do not wear those shocking nightcaps;
else all women's illusions had been destroyed on the first night of
their marriage!" I wonder, thought I, what sort of a nightcap the
Prince of Wales wears? Then I went on to wonder whether the Prince
of Wales would think me as beautiful as Frederick Lamb did? Next I
reflected that Frederick Lamb was younger than the Prince; but then
again, a Prince of Wales!
I was undecided: my heart began to soften. I thought of my dear mother
and I wished I had never left her. It was too late, however, now. My
father would not suffer me to return, and, as to passing my life, or
any more of it, with Craven, cotton night-cap and all, it was death! He
never once made me laugh, nor said anything to please me.
Thus musing, I listlessly turned over my writing book, half in the
humour to address the Prince of Wales! A sheet of paper, covered with
Lord Craven's cocoa trees, decided me, and I wrote the following letter,
which I addressed to the Prince.
"BRIGHTON
"I am told that I am very beautiful, so perhaps you would
like to see me; and I wish that, since so many are disposed to
love me, one, for in the humility of my heart I should be quite
satisfied with one, would be at the pains to make me love him. In
the meantime, this is all very dull work, Sir, and worse even than
being at home with my father: so, if you pity me, and believe you
could make me in love with you, write to me, and direct to the post
office here."
By return of post, I received an answer nearly to this effect: I believe
from Colonel Thomas.
"Miss Wilson's letter has been received by the noble
individual to whom it was addressed. If Miss Wilson will come to
town, she may have an interview, by directing her letter as before."
I answered this note directly, addressing my letter to the Prince of
Wales.
"SIR,--To travel fifty-two miles this bad weather, merely to
see a man, with only the given number of legs, arms, fingers, &c.,
would, you must admit, be madness in a girl like myself, surrounded
by humble admirers who are ever ready to travel any distance for
the honour of kissing the tip of her little finger; but, if you can
prove to me that you are one bit better than any man who may be
ready to attend my bidding, I'll e'en start for London directly.
So, if you can do anything better in the way of pleasing a lady
than ordinary men, write directly: if not, adieu, Monsieur le
Prince."
It was necessary to put this letter into the post office myself, as
Lord Craven's black footman would have been somewhat surprised at
its address. Crossing the Steyne I met Lord Melbourne, who joined me
immediately.
"Where is Craven?" said his lordship, shaking hands with me.
"Attending to his military duties at Lewes, my lord."
"And where's my son Fred?" asked his lordship.
"I am not your son's keeper, my lord," said I.
"No! By the bye," inquired his lordship, "how is this? I wanted to call
upon you about it. I never heard of such a thing in the whole course
of my life! What the devil can you possibly have to say against my son
Fred?"
"Good heavens! my lord, you frighten me! I never recollect to have said
a single word against your son, as long as I have lived. Why should I?"
"Why, indeed!" said Lord Melbourne. "And, since there is nothing to be
said against him, what excuse can you make for using him so ill?"
"I don't understand you one bit, my lord." The very idea of a father put
me in a tremble.
"Why," said Lord Melbourne, "did you not turn the poor boy out of your
house as soon as it was dark, although Craven was in town, and there was
not the shadow of an excuse for such treatment?"
At this moment, and before I could recover from my surprise at the
tenderness of some parents, Frederick Lamb, who was almost my shadow,
joined us.
"Fred, my boy," said Lord Melbourne, "I'll leave you two together, and
I fancy you'll find Miss Wilson more reasonable." He touched his hat to
me, as he entered the little gate of the Pavilion, where we had remained
stationary from the moment his lordship had accosted me.
Frederick Lamb laughed long, loud, and heartily, at his father's
interference. So did I, the moment he was safely out of sight, and then
I told him of my answer to the Prince's letter, at which he laughed
still more. He was charmed with me, for refusing His Royal Highness.
"Not," said Frederick, "that he is not as handsome and graceful a man as
any in England; but I hate the weakness of a woman who knows not how to
refuse a prince, merely because he is a prince."
"It is something, too, to be of royal blood," answered I frankly; "and
something more to be accomplished: but this posting after a man! I
wonder what he could mean by it!"
Frederick Lamb now began to plead his own cause.
"I must soon join my regiment in Yorkshire," said he: he was, at that
time aide-de-camp to General Mackenzie: "God knows when we may meet
again! I am sure you will not long continue with Lord Craven. I foresee
what will happen, and yet, when it does, I think I shall go mad!"
For my part I felt flattered and obliged by the affection Frederick Lamb
evinced towards me; but I was still not in love with him.
At length, the time arrived when poor Frederick Lamb could delay his
departure from Brighton no longer. On the eve of it he begged to be
allowed to introduce his brother William to me.
"What for?" said I.
"That he may let me know how you behave," answered Frederick Lamb.
"And if I fall in love with him?" I inquired.
"I am sure you won't," replied Fred. "Not because my brother William is
not likeable; on the contrary, William is much handsomer than I am; but
he will not love you as I have done and do still, and you are too good
to forget me entirely."
Our parting scene was rather tender. For the last ten days, Lord Craven
being absent, we had scarcely been separated an hour during the whole
day. I had begun to feel the force of habit, and Frederick Lamb really
respected me, for the perseverance with which I had resisted his urgent
wishes, when he would have had me deceive Lord Craven. He had ceased to
torment me with such wild fits of passion as had at first frightened me,
and by these means he had obtained much more of my confidence.
Two days after his departure for Hull, in Yorkshire, Lord Craven
returned to Brighton, where he was immediately informed by some spiteful
enemy of mine, that I had been during the whole of his absence openly
intriguing with Frederick Lamb. In consequence of this information,
one evening, when I expected his return, his servant brought me the
following letter, dated Lewes:
"A friend of mine has informed me of what has been going on at
Brighton. This information, added to what I have seen with my own
eyes, of your intimacy with Frederick Lamb, obliges me to declare
that we must separate. Let me add, Harriette, that you might have
done anything with me, with only a little mere conduct. As it is,
allow me to wish you happy, and further, pray inform me, if in any
way, _à la distance_, I can promote your welfare.
"CRAVEN."
This letter completed my dislike of Lord Craven. I answered it
immediately, as follows:
"MY LORD,--Had I ever wished to deceive you, I have the wit to
have done it successfully; but you are old enough to be a better
judge of human nature than to have suspected me of guile or
deception. In the plenitude of your condescension, you are pleased
to add that I 'might have done anything with you, with only a
little mere conduct,' now I say, and from my heart, the Lord defend
me from ever doing anything with you again! Adieu,
"HARRIETTE."
My present situation was rather melancholy and embarrassing, and yet I
felt my heart the lighter for my release from the cocoa-trees, without
its being my own act and deed. "It is my fate!" thought I; "for I
never wronged this man. I hate his fine carriage, and his money, and
everything belonging to or connected with him. I shall hate cocoa as
long as I live; and I am sure I will never enter a boat again if I can
help it. This is what one gets by acting with principle."
The next morning, while I was considering what was to become of me, I
received a very affectionate letter from Frederick Lamb, dated Hull. He
dared not, he said, be selfish enough to ask me to share his poverty,
and yet he had a kind of presentiment that he should not lose me.
My case was desperate; for I had taken a vow not to remain another night
under Lord Craven's roof. John, therefore, the black whom Craven had, I
suppose, imported with his cocoa-trees from the West Indies, was desired
to secure me a place in the mail for Hull.
It is impossible to do justice to the joy and rapture which brightened
Frederick's countenance, when he flew to receive me and conducted
me to his house, where I was shortly visited by his worthy general,
Mackenzie, who assured me of his earnest desire to make my stay in Hull
as comfortable as possible.
We continued here for about three months, and then came to London.
Fred Lamb's passion increased daily; but I discovered, on our arrival
in London, that he was a voluptuary, somewhat worldly and selfish.
My comforts were not considered. I lived in extreme poverty, while he
contrived to enjoy all the luxuries of life, and suffered me to pass
my dreary evenings alone, while he frequented balls, masquerades, &c.
Secure of my constancy, he was satisfied--so was not I! I felt that I
deserved better from him.
I asked Frederick one day, if the Marquis of Lorne was as handsome as he
had been represented to me. "The finest fellow on earth," said Frederick
Lamb, "all the women adore him;" and then he went on to relate various
anecdotes of his lordship, which strongly excited my curiosity.
Soon after this he quitted town for a few weeks, and I was left alone in
London, without money, or at any rate with very little, and Frederick
Lamb, who had intruded himself on me at Brighton, and thus been the
cause of my separation from Lord Craven, made himself happy; because he
believed me faithful and cared not for my distresses.
This idea disgusted me; and in a fit of anger I wrote to the Marquis
of Lorne, merely to say that, if he would walk up to Duke's Row,
Somers-town, he would meet a most lovely girl.
This was his answer,--
"If you are but half as lovely as you think yourself, you must
be well worth knowing; but how is that to be managed? Not in the
street! but come to No. 39 Portland-street and ask for me.
"L."
My reply was this,--
"No! our first meeting must be on the high road, in order that
I may have room to run away, in case I don't like you.
"HARRIETTE."
The marquis rejoined,--
"Well then, fair lady, to-morrow at four, near the turnpike,
look for me on horseback, and then you know I can gallop away.
"L."
We met. The duke--he has since succeeded to the title--did not gallop
away; and for my part I had never seen a countenance I had thought half
so beautifully expressive. I was afraid to look at it, lest a closer
examination might destroy all the new and delightful sensations his
first glance had inspired in my breast. His manner was most gracefully
soft and polished. We walked together for about two hours.
"I never saw such a sunny, happy countenance as yours in my whole life,"
said Argyle to me.
"Oh, but I am happier than usual to-day," answered I, very naturally.
Before we parted, the duke knew as much of me and my adventures as I
knew myself. He was very anxious to be allowed to call on me.
"And how will your particular friend Frederick Lamb like that?" inquired
I.
The duke laughed.
"Well then," said his grace, "do me the honour, some day, to come and
dine or sup with me at Argyle House."
"I shall not be able to run away, if I go there," I answered,
laughingly, in allusion to my last note.
"Shall you want to run away from me?" said Argyle; and there was
something unusually beautiful and eloquent in his countenance, which
brought a deep blush into my cheek.
"When we know each other better?" added Argyle, beseechingly. "_En
attendant_, will you walk again with me to-morrow?" I assented, and we
parted.
I returned to my home in unusual spirits: they were a little damped,
however, by the reflection that I had been doing wrong. "I cannot," I
reasoned with myself, "I cannot, I fear, become what the world calls
a steady, prudent, virtuous woman. That time is past, even if I was
ever fit for it. Still I must distinguish myself from those in the
like unfortunate situations, by strict probity and love of truth. I
will never become vile. I will always adhere to good faith, as long as
anything like kindness or honourable principle is shown towards me: and,
when I am ill used, I will leave my lover rather than deceive him.
"Frederick Lamb relies, in perfect confidence, on my honour. True that
confidence is the effect of vanity. He believes that a woman who could
resist him, as I did at Brighton, is the safest woman on earth! He
leaves me alone and without sufficient money for common necessaries.
"No matter; I must tell him to-night, as soon as he arrives from the
country, that I have written to and walked with Lorne. My dear mother
would never forgive me if I became artful." So mused, and thus reasoned
I, till I was interrupted by Frederick Lamb's loud knock at my door.
"He will be in a fine passion," said I to myself, in excessive
trepidation; and I was in such a hurry to have it over that I related
all immediately. To my equal joy and astonishment Frederick Lamb was not
a bit angry. From his manner I could not help guessing that his friend
Lorne had often been found a very powerful rival.
I could see through the delight he experienced at the idea of possessing
a woman whom, his vanity persuaded him, Argyle would sigh for in vain:
and, attacking me on my weak point, he kissed me, and said, "I have the
most perfect esteem for my dearest little wife, whom, I can, I know, as
safely trust with Argyle as Craven trusted her with me."
"Are you quite sure?" asked I, merely to ease my conscience. "Were it
not wiser to advise me not to walk about with him?"
"No, no," said Frederick Lamb; "it is such good fun! bring him up every
day to Somers-town and the Jew's Harp house, there to swallow cider and
sentiment. Make him walk up here as many times as you can, dear little
Harry, for the honour of your sex, and to punish him for declaring, as
he always does, that no woman who will not love him at once is worth
his pursuit."
"I am sorry he is such a coxcomb," said I.
"What is that to you, you little fool?"
"True," I replied. And, at the moment, I made a sort of determination
not to let the beautiful and voluptuous expression of Argyle's dark blue
eyes take possession of my fancy.
"You are a neater figure than the Marquis of Lorne;" said I to
Frederick, wishing to think so.
"Lorne is growing fat," answered Frederick Lamb; "but he is the most
active creature possible, and appears lighter than any man of his weight
I ever saw; and then he is, without any exception, the highest bred man
in England."
"And you desire and permit me to walk about the country with him?"
"Yes; do trot him often up here. I want to have a laugh against Lorne."
"And you are not jealous?"
"Not at all," said Frederick Lamb, "for I am secure of your affections."
"I must not deceive this man," thought I, and the idea began to make me
a little melancholy. "My only chance, or rather my only excuse, will be
his leaving me without the means of existence." This appeared likely;
for I was too shy, and too proud to ask for money: and Frederick Lamb
encouraged me in this amiable forbearance!
The next morning, with my heart beating unusually high, I attended my
appointment with Argyle. I hoped, nay almost expected, to find him there
before me. I paraded near the turnpike five minutes, then grew angry; in
five more, I became wretched; in five more, downright indignant; and, in
five more, wretched again--and so I returned home.
"This," thought I, "shall be a lesson to me hereafter, never to meet a
man: it is unnatural:" and yet I had felt it perfectly natural to return
to the person whose society had made me so happy! "No matter," reasoned
I, "we females must not suffer love or pleasure to glow in our eyes,
until we are quite sure of a return. We must be dignified!"
Alas! I can only be and seem what I am. No doubt my sunny face of joy
and happiness, which he talked to me about, was understood, and it has
disgusted him. He thought me bold, and yet I am sure I never blushed so
much in any man's society before.
I now began to consider myself with feelings of the most painful
humility. Suddenly I flew to my writing-desk; "He shall not have the cut
all on his side, neither," thought I, with the pride of a child, "I will
soon convince him I am not accustomed to be slighted;" and then I wrote
to his grace as follows:
"It was very wrong and very bold of me to have sought your
acquaintance, in the way I did, my lord; and I entreat you to
forgive and to forget my childish folly, as completely as I have
forgotten the occasion of it."
"So far so good," thought I, pausing, "but then suppose he should, from
this dry note, really believe me so cold and stupid as not to have felt
his pleasing qualities. Suppose now it were possible he liked me after
all!" Then hastily, and half ashamed of myself, I added these few lines:
"I have not quite deserved this contempt from you, and, in
that consolatory reflection, I take my leave; not in anger my
lord, but only with the steady determination so to profit by the
humiliating lesson you have given me as never to expose myself to
the like contempt again.
"Your most obedient servant,
"HARRIETTE WILSON."
Having put my letter into the post, I passed a restless night: and
the next morning, heard the knock of the twopenny postman in extreme
agitation. He brought me, as I suspected, an answer from Argyle, which
is subjoined.
"You are not half vain enough, dear Harriette. You ought to
have been quite certain that any man who had once met you could not
fail in a second appointment but from unavoidable accident--and, if
you were only half as pleased with Thursday morning, as I was, you
will meet me to-morrow in the same place at four. Pray, pray, come.
"LORNE."
I kissed the letter and put it into my bosom, grateful for the weight it
had taken off my heart. Not that I was so far gone in love as my readers
may imagine; but I had suffered from wounded pride, and, in fact, I was
very much _tête monté_.
The sensations which Argyle had inspired me with were the warmest, nay,
the first, of the same nature, I had ever experienced. Nevertheless,
I could not forgive him quite so easily as this neither. I recollect
what Frederick Lamb had said about his vanity. "No doubt," thought I,
"he thinks it was nothing to have paraded me up and down that stupid
turnpike road, in the vain hope of seeing him. It shall now be his turn:
and I gloried in the idea of revenge."
The hour of Argyle's appointment drew nigh, arrived, and passed away,
without my leaving my house. To Frederick Lamb I related everything,
presented him with Argyle's letter, and acquainted him with my
determination not to meet his grace.
"How good!" said Frederick Lamb, quite delighted. "We dine together
to-day at Lady Holland's, and I mean to ask him, before everybody at
table, what he thinks of the air about the turnpike in Somerstown."
The next day I was surprised by a letter, not, as I anticipated, from
Argyle, but from the late Tom Sheridan, only son of Richard Brinsley
Sheridan. I had, by mere accident, become acquainted with that very
interesting young man when quite a child, from the circumstance of his
having paid great attention to one of my elder sisters.
He requested me to allow him to speak a few words to me, wherever I
pleased. Frederick Lamb having gone to Brockett Hall in Hertfordshire, I
desired him to call on me.
"I am come from my friend Lorne," said Tom Sheridan. "I would not have
intruded on you; but that, poor fellow, he is really annoyed, and he
has commissioned me to acquaint you with the accident which obliged him
to break his appointment; because I can best vouch for the truth of
it, having upon my honour, with my own ears, heard the Prince of Wales
invite Lord Lorne to Carlton House at the very moment when he was about
to meet you in Somerstown. Lorne," continued Tom Sheridan, "desires me
to say, that he is not coxcomb enough to imagine you cared for him; but
in justice, he wants to stand exactly where he did in your opinion,
before he broke his appointment: he was so perfectly innocent on that
subject. 'I would write to her,' said he, again and again, 'but that,
in all probability, my letters would be shown to Frederick Lamb, and be
laughed at by them both. I would call on her, in spite of the devil; but
that I know not where she lives.'
"I asked Argyle," Tom Sheridan proceeded, "how he had addressed his
last letters to you? 'To the post office in Somers-town,' was his
answer, 'and thence they were forwarded to Harriette.'" (He had tried
to bribe the old woman there, to obtain my address, but she abused him,
and turned him out of her shop.) "'It is very hard,'" continued Tom,
repeating the words of his noble friend, "'to lose the good-will of one
of the nicest, cleverest girls I ever met with in my life, who was, I
am certain, civilly if not kindly disposed towards me, by such a mere
accident.' Therefore," continued Tom Sheridan, smiling, "you'll make it
up with Lorne, won't you?"
"There is nothing to forgive," said I, "if no slight was meant. In
short you are making too much of me, and spoiling me, by all this
explanation; for, indeed, I had at first been less indignant, but that
I fancied his grace neglected me because----" and I hesitated, while I
could feel myself blush deeply.
"Because what?" asked Tom Sheridan.
"Nothing;" I replied, looking at my shoes.
"What a pretty girl you are," observed Sheridan, "particularly when you
blush."
"Fiddlestick!" said I, laughing, "you know you always preferred my
sister Fanny."
"Well," replied Tom, "there I plead guilty. Fanny is the sweetest
creature on earth; but you are all a race of finished coquettes, who
delight in making fools of people.
"Now can anything come up to your vanity in writing to Lorne, that you
are the most beautiful creature on earth?"
"Never mind," said I, "you set all that to rights. I was never vain in
your society, in my life."
"I would give the world for a kiss, at this moment," said Tom; "because
you look so humble, and so amiable; but"--recollecting himself--"this is
not exactly the embassy I came upon. Have you a mind to give Lorne an
agreeable surprise?"
"I don't know."
"Upon my honour I believe he is downright in love with you."
"Well?"
"Come into a hackney-coach with me, and we will drive down to the Tennis
Court, in the Haymarket."
"Is the duke there?"
"Yes."
"But at all events, I will not trust myself in a hackney-coach with you."
"There was a time," said poor Tom Sheridan, with much drollery of
expression, "there was a time--but now!" and he shook his handsome head
with comic gravity, "but now! you may drive with me from here to St.
Paul's in the most perfect safety. I will tell you a secret," added he,
and he fixed his fine dark eye on my face while he spoke, in a tone,
half merry, half desponding, "I am dying; but nobody knows it yet!"
I was very much affected by his manner of saying this.
"My dear Mr. Sheridan," said I, with earnest warmth, "you have accused
me of being vain of the little beauty God has given me. Now I would give
it all, or upon my word I think I would, to obtain the certainty, that
you would from this hour refrain from such excesses as are destroying
you."
"Did you see me play the methodist parson, in a tub, at Mrs. Beaumont's
masquerade last Thursday?" said Tom, with affected levity.
"You may laugh as you please," said I, "at a little fool like me
pretending to preach to you, yet I am sensible enough to admire you, and
quite feeling enough to regret your time so misspent, your brilliant
talents so misapplied."
"Bravo! Bravo!" Tom reiterated, "what a funny little girl you are! Pray
Miss, how is your time spent?"
"Not in drinking brandy," I replied.
"And how might your talent be applied, Ma'am?"
"Have not I just given you a specimen, in the shape of a handsome
quotation?"
"My good little girl, it is in the blood, and I can't help it,--and, if
I could, it is too late now. I'm dying, I tell you. I know not if my
poor father's physician was as eloquent as you are; but he did his best
to turn him from drinking. Among other things, he declared to him one
day, that the brandy, Arquebusade, and Eau de Cologne, he swallowed,
would burn off the coat of his stomach. 'Then,' said my father, 'my
stomach must digest in its waistcoat; for I cannot help it.'"
"Indeed, I am very sorry for you," I replied: and I hope he believed me:
for he pressed my hand hastily, and I think I saw a tear glisten in his
bright, dark eye.
"Shall I tell Lorne," said poor Tom, with an effort to recover his
usual gaiety, "that you will write to him, or will you come to the
Tennis-court?"
"Neither," answered I, "but you may tell his lordship, that, of course,
I am not angry, since I am led to believe he had no intention to humble
nor make a fool of me."
"Nothing more?" inquired Tom.
"Nothing," I replied, "for his lordship."
"And what for me?" said Tom.
"You! what do you want?"
"A kiss!" he said.
"Not I, indeed!"
"Be it so then; and yet you and I may never meet again on this earth,
and just now I thought you felt some interest about me"; and he was
going away.
"So I do, dear Tom Sheridan!" said I, detaining him; for I saw death
had fixed his stamp on poor Sheridan's handsome face. "You know I have
a very warm and feeling heart, and taste enough to admire and like you;
but why is this to be our last meeting?"
"I must go to the Mediterranean"; poor Sheridan continued, putting his
hand to his chest, and coughing.
"To die!" thought I, as I looked on his sunk, but still very expressive,
dark eyes.
"Then God bless you!" said I, first kissing his hand, and then, though
somewhat timidly, leaning my face towards him. He parted my hair, and
kissed my forehead, my eyes, and my lips.
"If I do come back," said he, forcing a languid smile, "mind let me find
you married, and rich enough to lend me an occasional hundred pounds or
two." He then kissed his hand gracefully, and was out of sight in an
instant.
I never saw him again!