CHAPTER VII

Sure such a day as this was never seen!--THOMAS THUMB.

The day, th' important day!--ADDISON.

O giorno felice!--ITALIAN.

RURAL SCENERY.--THE BRIDAL COSTUME.--OLD FRIENDS.--LITTLE BILLY

GREATLY GROWN.--THE MARRIAGE.--A SCENE OF MORTALITY.--CONCLUSION.

The morning of the happy day destined to unite our lovers was

ushered into the world with a blue sky, and the ringing of bells.

Maidens, united in bonds of amity and artificial roses, come

dancing to the pipe and tabor; while groups of children and

chickens add hilarity to the unison of congenial minds. On the left

of the village are seen plantations of tufted turnips; on the right

a dilapidated dog-kennel,

With venerable grandeur marks the scene;

while every where the delighted eye catches monstrous mountains and

minute daisies. In a word,

All nature wears one universal grin.

The procession now set forward to the church. The bride was habited

in white drapery. Ten signs of the Zodiac, worked in spangles,

sparkled round its edge, but Virgo was omitted at her own desire;

and the bridegroom proposed to dispense with Capricorn. Sweet

delicacy! She held a pot of myrtle in her hand, and wore on her

head a small lighted torch, emblematical of Hymen. The boys and

girls bounded about her, and old Margueritone begged the favour of

lighting her pipe at her la'ship's head.

'Aha, I remember you!' said little Billy, pointing his plump and

dimpled finger at her. She remarked how tall he was grown, and took

him in her arms; while he playfully beat her with an infinitude of

small thumps.

The marriage ceremony passed off with great spirit; and the fond

bridegroom, as he pressed her to his heart, felt how pure, how

delicious are the joys of virtue.

That evening, he gave a _fête champetre_ to the peasantry; and,

afterwards, a magnificent supper to his friends.

The company consisted of Lord Lilliput, Sir James Brobdignag,

little Billy, Anacharsis Clootz, and Joe Miller.

Nothing, they thought, could add to their happiness; but they were

miserably mistaken. A messenger, pale as Priam's, rushed into the

room, and proclaimed Lord Theodore a peer of Great Britain, as his

father had died the night before.

All present congratulated Lord De Willoughby on this prosperous

turn of affairs; while himself and his charming bride exchanged a

look that spoke volumes.

Little Billy then pledged him in a goblet of Falernian; but he very

properly refused, alleging, that as the dear child was in love with

Hysterica, he had probably poisoned the wine, in a fit of jealousy.

The whole party were in raptures at this mark of his lordship's

discretion.

After supper, little Billy rose, and bowing gracefully to the

bride, stabbed himself to the heart.

Our readers may now wish to learn what became of the remaining

personages in this narrative.

Count Stiletto is dead; Lord Lilliput is no more; Sir James

Brobdignag has departed this life; Anacharsis Clootz is in his

grave; and Mr. J. Miller is in another, and we trust, a better

world.

Old Margueritone expired with the bible in her hand, and the

coroner's inquest brought in a verdict of lunacy.

Having thus conducted our lovers to the summit of human happiness,

we shall take leave of our readers with this moral reflection:--

THE FALLING OUT OF LOVERS IS THE RENEWAL OF LOVE.

THE END.

I must now leave you to prepare my dress for the ball. The ball-room,

which occupies an entire wing of the house, is full of artists and

workmen; but her ladyship will not permit me to see it till the night

of the dance; as, she says, she means to surprise me with its

splendour. Cynics may say what they will against expensive decorations;

but in my opinion, whatever tends to promote taste in the fine arts

(and a mental is in some degree productive of a moral taste); whatever

furnishes artizans with employment, and excites their emulation, must

improve the condition of society.

Adieu.

LETTER XXXII

The morning of the ball, I awoke without any remains of my late

indisposition, except that captivating paleness, that sprinkling of

lilies, which adds to interest without detracting from beauty.

I rose with the sun, and taking a small china vase in my hand, tripped

into the parterre, to collect the fresh and fragrant dew that glistened

on the blossoms. I filled the piece of painted earth with the nectar of

the sky, and returned.

During the day, I took nothing but honey, milk, and dried conserves; a

repast the most likely to promote that ethereal character which I

purposed adopting at night.

Towards evening, I laved my limbs in a tepid bath; and as soon as the

sun had waved his last crimson banner in the west, I began my toilette.

So variable is fashion, that I determined not to dress according to its

existing laws; since they might be completely exploded in a month; and,

at all events, by the time my life is written, they will have become

quite antiquated. For instance, do we not already abhor Evelina's and

Harriet Byron's powdered, pomatumed, and frizzled hair? It was,

therefore, my plan to dress in imitation of classical models, and to

copy the immortal toilette of Greece.

Having first divested myself from head to foot of every habiliment, I

took a long piece of the finest cambric, and twice wound it gracefully

round my shoulders and bosom, and twice enveloped my form in its folds;

which, while they delineated the outline of my shape, veiled the

tincture of my skin. I then flung over it a drapery of embroidered

gauze, and its unimplicated simplicity gave to my perfect figure the

spirit of an antique statue. An apparent tissue of woven air, it fell

like a vapour round me. A zone of gold and a clasp prettily imprisoned

my waist; and my graceful arms, undegraded by gloves, were bare to the

shoulder. Part of my hair was confined by a bodkin, and part floated

over my neck in native ringlets. As I could not well wear my leg naked,

I drew on it a texture of woven silk; and laced a pair of sandals over

my little foot; which resembled that of a youthful Thetis, or of a

fugitive Atalanta.

I then bathed my face with the dew which I had gathered in the morning,

poured on my hair and bosom the balmy waters of the distilled rose, and

sprinkled my drapery with fragrant floods of lavender; so that I might

be said to move in an ambient atmosphere of odours.

Behold me now, dressed to a charm, to a criticism. Here was no sloping,

or goring, or seaming, or frilling, or flouncing. Detestable mechanism

of millinery! No tedious papillotes, or unpoetical pins were here. All

was done, in a few minutes, with a clasp, a zone, and a bodkin.

As I surveyed my form in the mirror, I was enraptured at its Sylphic

delicacy; but I trembled to reflect, that the fairest flowers are the

most fragile. You would imagine that a maiden's sigh could dissipate

the drapery; and its aerial effect was as if a fairy were to lift the

filmy gossamer on her spear, and lightly fling it over a rose-bud.

Resolving not to make myself visible till all the guests had arrived, I

sat down and read Ossian, to store my mind with ideas for conversation.

I love Ossian, it is so sublime, so bewildered, so full of a blue and

white melancholy; of ghosts, and the four elements. I likewise turned

over other books; for, as I had never mixed in fashionable society, I

could not talk that nothingness, which is every thing in high life.

Nor, indeed, if I could, would I; because, as a heroine, it was my part

to converse with point, flowers, and sublimation.

About to appear in a world where all was new to me; ignorant of its

forms, inexperienced in its rules; fair, young, and original, I

resolved on adopting such manners as should not be subject to place,

time, accident, or fashion. In short, to copy universal, generalized,

unsophisticated nature, and Grecian statues.

As I had studied elegance of attitude before I knew the world, my

graces were original, and all my own creation; so that if I had not the

temporary mannerisms of a marchioness, I had, at least, the immortal

movements of a seraph. Words may become obsolete, but the language of

gesture is universal and eternal.

As for smiles, I felt myself perfect mistress of all that were ever

ascribed to heroines;--the fatal smile, the smile such as precedes the

dissolution of sainted goodness, the fragment of a broken smile, and

the sly smile that creates the little dimple on the left side of the

little mouth.

At length the most interesting moment of my life arrived; the moment

when I was to burst, like a new planet, on the fashionable hemisphere.

I descended the stairs, and pausing at the door, tried to tranquillize

my fluttered spirits. I then assumed an air-lifted figure, scarcely

touching the ground, and glided into the room.

The company were walking in groups, or sitting.

'That is she;--there she is;--look, look!' was whispered on all sides.

Every eye fixed itself upon me, while I felt at once elevated and

opprest.

Lady Gwyn advanced, took my hand, and paying me the highest compliments

on my appearance, led me to a sofa, at the upper end of the room. A

semicircle of astonished admirers, head over head, ranged itself in my

front, and a smile of glowing approbation illuminated the faces of all.

There I sat, in all the bashful diffidence of a simple and

inexperienced recluse, trembling for myself, fearing for others,

systematically suppressing my feelings, impulsively betraying them;

while, with an expression of sweet wildness, and retiring

consciousness, was observable a degree of susceptibility too exquisite

to admit of lasting peace.

At last a spruce and puny fop stepped from amidst the group, and seated

himself beside me.

'This was a fine day, Ma'am,' said he, as he admired the accurate turn

of his ankle.

'Yes,' answered I, 'halcyon was the morn, when I strayed into the

garden, to gather flowery dew; and it seemed as if the twins of Latona

had met to propitiate their rites. Blushes, like their own roses,

coloured the vapours; and rays, pure as their thoughts, silvered the

foliage.'

The company murmured applause.

'What a pity,' said he, 'that this evening was wet; as in consequence

of it, we have probably lost another beautiful description from you.'

'Ah, my good friend,' cried I, wreathing my favourite smile; and laying

the rosy tip of my finger on his arm; 'such is the state of man. His

morning rises in sunshine, and his evening sets in rain.'

While the company were again expressing their approbation, I overheard

one of them whisper to the fop:

'Come, play the girl off, and let her have your best nonsense.'

The fop winked at him, and then turned to me; while I sat shocked and

astonished, but collecting all my powers.

'See,' said he, 'how you have fascinated every eye. Actually you are

the queen-bee; with all your swarm about you.'

'And with my drone too,' said I, bowing slightly.

'Happy in being a drone,' said he, 'so he but sips of your honey.'

'Rather say,' cried I, 'that he deserves my sting.'

'Ah,' said he, laying his hand on his heart; 'your eyes have fixed a

sting here.'

'Then your tongue,' returned I, 'is rather more innocent; for though it

may have the venom of a sting, it wants the point.'

The company laughed, and he coloured.

'Do I tease you?' said he, trying to rally. 'How cruel! Actually I am

so abashed, as you may see, that my modesty flies into my face.'

'Then,' said I, 'your modesty must be very hard run for a refuge.'

Here the room echoed with acclamations.

'I am not at a loss for an answer,' said he, looking round him, and

forcing a smile. 'I am not indeed.'

'Then pray let me have it,' said I, 'for folly never becomes truly

ludicrous till it tries to be pert.'

'Bravo! Bravo!' cried an hundred voices at once, and away the little

drone flew from my hive. I tossed back my ringlets with an infantine

shake of the head, and sat as if unconscious of my triumph.

The best of it is, that every word he said will one day appear in

print. Men who converse with a heroine ought to talk for the press, or

they will make but a silly figure in her memoirs.

'I thank you for your spirit, my dear,' said Lady Gwyn, sitting down

beside me. 'That little puppy deserves every severity. Think of his

always sitting in his dressing-gown, a full hour after he has shaved,

that the blood may subside from his face. He protests his surprise how

men can find pleasure in running after a nasty fox; cuts out half his

own coat at his tailor's; has a smile, and a "pretty!" for every one

and every thing; sits silent till one of his four only topics is

introduced, and then lisping a descant on the last opera, the last

boxing-match, the last race, or the last play, he drains his last idea,

and has nothing at your service, for the remainder of the night,

but an assenting bow. Such insects should never come out but at

butterfly-season; and even then, only in a four-wheeled bandbox, while

monkeys strew the way with mignionette. No, I can never forgive him for

having gone to Lady Bontein's last rout in preference to mine; though

he knew that she gave her's on the same evening purposely to thin my

party.'

'And pray,' said I, 'who is Lady Bontein?'

'That tall personage yonder, with sorrel hair,' answered her ladyship;

'and with one shoulder of the gothic order, and the other of the

corinthian. She has now been forty years endeavouring to look handsome,

and she still thinks, that by diligent perseverance she will succeed at

last. See how she freshens her smiles, and labours to look at ease;

though she has all the awkwardness of a milkmaid, without any of the

simplicity. You must know she has pored over Latin, till her mind has

become as dead as the language itself. Then she writes well-bred

sonnets about a tear, or a primrose, or a daisy; but nothing larger

than a lark; and talks botany with the men, as she thinks that science

is a sufficient excuse for indecency. Nay, the meek creature affects

the bible too; but it is whispered, that she has often thrown it at her

footman's head, without any affectation at all. But the magnificence

of to-night will put all competition out of her power; and I have also

planned a little _Scena_, classical, appropriate, and almost unique;

not alone in order to complete my triumph over her, but to grace your

entrance into life, by conferring a peculiar mark of distinction on

you.'

'On me!' cried I. 'What mark? I deserve no mark, I am sure.'

'Indeed you do,' said she. 'All the world knows that you are the first

heroine in it; and the fact is, I mean to celebrate your merits

to-night, by crowning you, just as Corinne was crowned in the capitol.'

'Dear Lady Gwyn,' cried I, panting with joy; 'sure you are not---- Ah,

are you serious?'

'Most serious, my love,' answered she, 'and in a short time the

ceremony will commence. You may perceive that the young men and girls

have left the room. It is to prepare for the procession; and now excuse

me, as I must assist them.'

She then hurried out, and I remained half an hour, in an agony of

anxious expectation.

At last, I heard a confused murmur at the door, and a gentleman ran

forward from it, to clear a passage. A lane was soon formed of the

guests; and fancy my feelings, when I beheld the promised procession

entering!

First appeared several little children, who came tripping towards me;

some with baskets of flowers, and others with vases of odorous waters,

or censers of fragrant fire. After them advanced a tall youth of noble

port, conspicuous in a scarlet robe, that trailed behind him with

graceful dignity. On his head was a plat of palm, in his left hand he

held a long wand, and in his right the destined wreath of laurel and

myrtle. Behind him came maidens, two by two, and hand in hand. They had

each a drapery of white muslin flung negligently round them, and

knotted just under the shoulder; while their luxuriant hair floated

over their bosoms. The youths came next, habited in flowing vestments

of white linen.

The leader approached, and making profound obeisance, took my hand. I

rose, bowed, and we proceeded with a slow step out of the room; while

the children ran before us, tossing their little censers, scattering

pansies, and sprinkling liquid sweets. The nymphs and youths followed

in couples, and the company closed the procession. We crossed the hall,

ascended the winding staircase, and passed along the corridor, till we

reached the ball-room. The folding doors then flew open, as if with

wings; and a scene presented itself, which almost baffles description.

It was a spacious apartment, oval in its form, and walled all round

with a luxuriant texture of interwoven foliage, kept compact by green

lattice-work. Branches of the broad chesnut and arbutus were relieved

with lauristinas, acacias, and mountain-ash; while here and there,

within the branches, appeared clusters of lamps, that mingled their

coloured rays, and poured a flood of lustre on the leaves. The floor

was chalked into circular compartments, and each depicted some gentle

scene of romance. There I saw Mortimer and his Amanda, Delville and his

Cecilia, Valencourt and his Emily. The ceiling was of moss, illuminated

with large circles of lamps; and from the centre of each circle, a

basket was seen peeping, and half inverted, as if about to shower its

ripe fruits and chaplets upon our heads.

At the upper end of the room I beheld a large arbour, elevated on a

gradual slope of turf. Its outside was intertwined with jessamines,

honeysuckles, and eglantines, tufted with clumps of sunflowers, lilies,

hollyhocks, and a thousand other blossoms, and hung with clusters of

grapes, and trails of intricate ivy; while all its interior was so

studded with innumerable lamps, that it formed a resplendent arch of

variegated fire. The seat was a grassy bank, strewn with a profusion of

aromatic herbs; and the footstool was a heap of roses. Just from under

this footstool, and through the turf, came gushing a little rill, that

first tumbled its warbling waters down some rugged stones, and then

separating itself to the right and left, ran along a pebbled channel,

bordered with flowery banks, till it was lost, at either side, amidst

overshadowing branches.

The moment I set foot in the room, a stream of invisible music, as if

from above, and softened by distance, came swelling on my enraptured

ear. Thrice we circled this enchanted chamber, and trod to the solemn

measure. I was amazed, entranced; I felt elevated to the empyrean. I

moved with the grandeur of a goddess, and the grace of a vision.

At length my conductor led me across the little rill, into the bower. I

sat down, and he stood beside me. The children lay in groups on the

grass, while the youths and virgins ranged themselves along the

opposite side of the streamlet, and the rest of the company stood

behind them.

The master of this august ceremony now waved his wand: the music

ceased, all was silent, and he thus began.

'My countrymen and countrywomen.

'Behold your Cherubina; behold the most celebrated woman in our island.

Need I recount to you all her accomplishments? Her impassioned

sensibility, her exquisite art in depicting the delicate and affecting

relations between the beauties of nature, and the deep emotions of the

soul? Need I dwell on those elegant adventures, those sorrows, and

those horrors, which she has experienced; I might almost say, sought?

Oh! no. The whole globe already resounds with them, and their fame will

descend to the most remote posterity.

'Need I portray her eloquence, the purity of her style, and the

smoothness of her periods? Are not her ancestors illustrious? Are not

her manners fascinating? Alas! to this question, some of our hearts

beat audible response. Her's is the head of a Sappho, deficient alone

in the voluptuous languor, which should characterize the countenance of

that enamoured Lesbian.

'To CROWN her, therefore, as the patroness of arts, the paragon of

charms, and the first of heroines, is to gratify our feelings, more

than her own; by enabling us to pay a just homage to beauty and to

virtue.'

He ceased amidst thunders of applause. I rose;--and in an instant, it

was the stillness of death. Then with a timorous, yet ardent air, I

thus addressed the assembly.

'My countrymen, my countrywomen!

'I will not thank you, for I cannot. In giving me cause to be grateful,

you have taken from me the means of expressing my gratitude, for you

have overpowered me.

'How I happen to deserve the beautiful eulogium just pronounced, I am

sure I cannot conceive. Till this flattering moment, I never knew that

the grove resounds with my praises, that my style is pure, and my head

a Sappho's. But unconsciousness of merit is the characteristic of a

heroine.

'The gratitude, however, which my words cannot express, my deeds shall

evince; and I now pledge myself, that neither rank nor riches (which,

from my pursuits, I am peculiarly liable to) shall ever make me

unmindful of what I owe to adversity. For, from her, I have acquired

all my knowledge of the world, my sympathy, my pensiveness, and my

sensibility. Yes, since adversity thus adds to virtue, it must be a

virtue to seek adversity.

'England, my friends, is now the depository of all that remains of

virtue;--the ark that floats upon the waters of the deluge. But what

preserves her virtuous? Her women. And whence arises their purity? From

education.

'To you, then, my fair auditory, I would enjoin a diligent cultivation

of learning. But oh! beware what books you peruse; for, trust me, some

are as injurious as others are salutary. I cannot point out to you the

mischievous class, because I have never read them; but indubitably, the

most useful are novels and romances. Such as I am, these, these alone

have made me. These, by depicting heroines sublimated almost to

immateriality, teach the common class of womankind to reach what is

uncommon, by striving at what is unattainable; to despise the

grovelling follies and idlenesses of the mere worker of samplers, and

to contract a taste for that sensibility, whose tear is the dissolution

of pearls, whose blush is the sunbeam of the cheek, and whose sigh is

more costly than the breeze, that comes laden with oriental

frankincense.'

I spoke, and peals of acclamation shook the bower.

The priest of the ceremony now raises the crown on high, then lowers it

by slow degrees, and holds it suspended over my head. Letting down my

tresses, and folding my hands on my bosom, I throw myself upon my

knees, and incline forward to receive it.

I AM CROWNED.

At the same moment, drums, and trumpets, and shouts, burst upon my ear,

in a hurricane of triumph. The youths and maidens make obeisance; I

rise, press my hand to my heart, and bow deeply. Tears start into my

eyes. I feel far above mortality.

Hardly had the tumult subsided when a harp was brought to the bower;

and they requested that I would sing and play an improvisatore, like

Corinne. What was I to do? for I knew nothing of the harp, but a few

chords! In this difficulty, I luckily recollected a heroine, who was

educated only by an old steward, and his old wife, in an old castle,

with an old lute; and who, notwithstanding, as soon as she stepped into

society, played and sang, like angels, by intuition.

I therefore felt quite reassured, and sat to the harp. I struck a few

low Lydian notes, and cast a timid glance around me. At first my voice

was scarcely louder than a sigh; and my accompaniment was a harmonic

chord, swept at intervals. The words came from the moment.

'Where is my blue-eyed chief? said the white-bosomed daughter of Erin,

as the wave kissed her foot; and wherefore went he from his weeping

maid, to the fight of heroes? She saw a dim form rise before her, like

a mist from the valley. Pale grew her cheek, as the blighted leaf in

autumn. Your lover, it shrilly shrieked, sleeps among the dead, like a

broken thistle amidst dandelions; but his spirit, like the thistly

down, has ascended into the skies. The maiden heard; she ran, she flew,

she sprang from a rock. The waves closed over her. Peace to the

daughter of Erin!'

As I sang 'she ran, she flew,' the workings and tremblings of the

minstrel were in unison; while my winged fingers fluttered along the

chords, light as a swallow over a little lake, when he touches it with

the utmost feather of his pinion. But while I sang, 'peace to the

daughter of Erin!' my voice, as it died over the faint vibration of the

strings, had all the heart-breaking softness of an Eolian lyre; so

woeful was it, so wistful, so wildered. 'Viva! viva!' resounded through

the room. At the last cadence, I dropped one arm gently down, and

hanging the other on the harp, leaned my languishing head upon it,

while my moistened eyes were half closed.

A sudden disturbance at the door roused me from my trance. I looked up,

and beheld--what?--Can you imagine what? No, my friend, you could not

to the day of judgment. I saw, in short, my great mother come striding

towards me, with outspread arms, and calling, 'my daughter, my

daughter!' in a voice that might waken the dead.

My heart died within me: down I darted from the bower, and ran for

shelter behind Lady Gwyn.

'Give me back my daughter!' vociferated the dreadful woman, advancing

close to her ladyship.

'Oh! do no such thing!' whispered I, pulling her ladyship by the

sleeve. 'Take half--all my property; but do not be the death of me!'

'What are you muttering there, Miss?' cried my mother, espying me.

'What makes you stand peeping over that wretch's shoulder?'

'Indeed, Ma'am,' stammered I, 'I am--I am taking your part.'

'Who could have presumed to liberate this woman?' cried Lady Gwyn.

'The Condottieri,' said my mother, 'headed by the great Damno Sulphureo

Volcanoni.'

'Then you must return to your prison, this moment,' cried Lady Gwyn.

My mother fell on her knees, and began blubbering; while the guests got

round, and interceded for her being restored to liberty. I too thought

it my duty to say something (my mother all the time sobbing horribly);

till, at length, Lady Gwyn consented--for my sake, she said,--to set

the poor wretch free; but on this special condition, that there should

be no prosecution for false imprisonment.

All matters being amicably adjusted, my mother begged a morsel of meat,

as she had not eaten any these ten years. In a few minutes, a small

table, furnished with a cold turkey and a decanter of wine, was laid

for her in the bower. The moment she perceived it, she ran, and seating

herself in the scene of my recent triumph, began devouring with such

avidity, that I was thunderstruck. One wing soon went; the second

shared the fate of its companion, and now she set about a large slice

of the breast.

'What a charming appetite your dear mother has got!' said several of

the guests to me. I confessed it, but assured them that inordinate

hunger did not run in our family. Her appetite being at last satiated,

she next assailed the wine. Glass after glass disappeared with

inconceivable rapidity, and every glass went to my heart. 'She will be

quite intoxicated!' thought I; while my fears for the hereditary honour

of our house overcoming my personal terrors, I had the resolution to

steal across, and whisper:

'Mother, if you have any regard for your daughter, and respect for your

ancestors, drink no more.'

'No more than this decanter, upon my honour!' said she, applying it to

her lips.

At this moment the violins struck up.

'And now,' cried my mother, running down from the bower, 'who is for a

dance?'

'I am,' said my friend, the little fop, advancing, and taking her hand.

'Then,' said she, 'we will waltz, if you please.'

Santa Maria!--Waltz!

A circle was cleared, and they began whirling each other round at a

frightful rate,--or rather she him; for he was like a plaything in her

hands; and had he let go his grasp, I am sure he would have been flung

up among the branches, and have stuck there, like King Charles in the

oak.

At last, while I was standing, a statue of shame, and wondering how any

human being, endowed with a common portion of reason, could act so

ridiculous a part, this miserable woman, overcome with wine and

waltzing, fell flat upon the floor; and was carried out of the room by

four grinning footmen.

I could hold no longer: the character of my family demanded a prompt

explanation, and with tears in my eyes, I desired to be heard. Silence

was obtained.

'I beseech of this assembly,' said I, 'to acquit me of having hand,

act, or part, in the conduct of that unfortunate person. I never even

saw her, till I came to this house; and that I may never see her again,

I pray heaven. I hate her, I dread her; and I now protest, in the most

unequivocal manner, that I do not believe her to be my mother at all.

She has no resemblance to the portrait in the gallery; and as she was

stark mad, when found in the woods, she perhaps imagined herself my

mother; for I am told that mad persons are apt to fancy themselves

great people. No, my malignant star ordained us to meet, that she might

place me in awkward situations by her vulgarity; just as Mrs. Garnet,

the supposed mother of the Beggar Girl, used to place that heroine. I

am sure this is the case; nothing can convince me to the contrary; and

therefore, I thus publicly renounce, disown, and wash my hands of her,

now and for ever.'

The company coincided in my sentiments, and applauded my determination.

Country dancing was then proposed: the men sauntered about the room for

partners; the mothers walked their daughters up and down, to shew their

paces; and their daughters turned away their heads when they saw their

favourites approaching to ask them. Ugliness and diamonds occupied the

top of the set; the beauties stood in the centre, and the motley

couples came last;--old bachelors with misses of fifteen; and boys, who

were glad to be thought men, with antiques, who were sorry to be called

maids. Other unfortunates, drest to a pin, yet noticed by nobody, sat

protruding the supercilious lip at a distance.

And now the merry maze commenced. But what mutilated steps, what

grotesque graces! One girl sprang and sprawled to the terror of every

ankle; and with a clear idea of space, shewed that she had no notion of

time. Another, not deigning to dance, only moved; while her poor

partner was seen helping her in, like a tired jade to the distance

post. This bartered elegance for a flicflac; that swam down the set; a

third cut her way through it; and a fourth, who, by her longevity,

could not be dancing for a husband, appeared, by her earnestness, to be

dancing for her life.

All this delighted me highly, for it would shew my graces to the

greater advantage. My partner was the gentleman who had crowned me; and

now, when our turn to dance down came, a general whisper among the

spectators, and their sudden hurry towards me, proved that much was

expected from my performance. I would not disappoint them for worlds;

besides, it was incumbent on me to stamp a marked dissimilarity between

my supposed mother, and myself, in every thing; and to call forth

respect and admiration, as much as she had excited derision and

contempt.

And now, with my right foot behind, and the point of it but just

touching the ground, I leaned forward on my left, and stood as if in

act to ascend from this vale of tears to regions of interminable

beatitude.

The next moment the music gave the signal, and I began. Despising the

figure of the common country-dance, I meandered through all the

intricacies of the dance of Ariadne; imitating in my circular and

oblique motions the harmonious movement of the spheres; and

resembling, in my light and playful form, the Horoe of Bathycles, as

they appeared in the Temple of Amycla. Sometimes with a rapid flight,

and glowing smile, I darted, like a herald Iris, through the mazes of

the set; sometimes assuming the dignity of a young Diana, I floated in

a swimming languishment; and sometimes, like a pastoral nymph of

Languedoc, capriciously did I bend my head on one side, and dance up

insidious. What a Hebe!

I happened not to see my partner from the time I began till I had

ended; but when panting and playful, I flew like a lapwing, to my seat,

he followed, and requested that I would accept the assurances of his

high admiration.

Soon afterwards, waltzing was introduced.

'You have already imitated Ida's dancing,' said he. 'Will you now

imitate Charlotte's, and allow me, like Werter, to hold in my arms the

most lovely of women; to fly with her, like the wind, and lose sight of

every other object?'

I consented; he led me forth, and clasping my waist, began the

circuitous exercise of waltzing. Round and round we flew, and swifter

and swifter; till my head grew quite giddy. Lamps, trees, dresses,

faces, all seemed to be shattered and huddled together, and sent

whisking round the room in a vortex.

But, oh, my friend, how shall I find language to describe the

calamitous termination of an evening so propitious in its commencement?

I blush as I write it, till the reflected crimson dyes my paper. For in

the midst of my rotatory motion, while heaven seemed earth, and earth

seemed heaven; the zone, on which all my attire depended, and by which

it was all confined, on a sudden burst asunder, and in the next whirl,

more than half of my dress dropped at my feet! Another revolution and I

had acted Diana to fifty Acteons; but I shrieked, and extricating

myself from my partner, sank on the floor, amidst the wreck of my

drapery. The ladies ran, ranged themselves round me, and cast a mantle

over my half-revealed charms. I was too much shocked, and indeed too

giddy to move; so they lifted me between them, and bore me, in slow

procession, out of the room. It was the funeral of modesty; but the

pall was supported by tittering malice.

I hurried into bed, and cried myself asleep.

I cannot think, much less write of this disaster, with common

fortitude. I wonder whether Thompson's Musidora could be considered a

sufficient precedent, or at least a palliative parallel? If not, and

that my biographer records it, I am undone.

Adieu.

LETTER XXXIII

Yesterday Lady Gwyn took me, at my particular request, to visit Monkton

Castle, an old ruin, within three miles of us; and as it forms part of

that property which she holds at present, it is mine to all intents and

purposes.

The door-way was stopped up with stones, so that I could not take a

survey of its interior; but outside it looked desolate enough. I mean,

at some future period, to furnish it like Udolpho, and other castles of

romance, and to reside there during the howling months.

After dinner her ladyship went to superintend the unpacking of some

beautiful china, which had just arrived from London; and I was left

alone on the sofa. Evening had already begun to close: a delicious

indolence thrilled through my limbs, and I felt all that lassitude and

vacuity which the want of incident ever creates.

'Were there even some youth in the house,' thought I, 'who would

conceive an unhappy attachment for me;--had her ladyship but a

persecuting son, what scenes might happen! Suppose at this moment the

door were to be thrown open, and he to enter, with a quick step, and

booted and spurred. He starts on seeing me. Never had I looked so

lovely. 'Heavens!' murmurs he, ''tis a divinity!' then suddenly

recollecting himself, he advances with a respectful bow. 'Pardon this

intrusion,' says he; 'but I--really I--.' I rise, and colouring

violently, mutter, without looking at him: 'I wonder where her ladyship

can be?' But as I am about to pass him, he snatches my hand, and

leading me back to the sofa, says:--'Suffer me to detain you a moment.

This occasion, so long desired, I cannot bring myself to relinquish.

Prevented by the jealous care of a too fond mother, from appearing

before you, I have sought and found a thousand opportunities, on the

stairs--in the garden--in the shrubbery--to behold those charms. Fatal

opportunities! for they have robbed me of my peace for ever! Yes,

charming Cherubina, you have undone me. That airy, yet dignified form;

those mild, yet sparkling eyes; those lips, more delicious than the

banquet of the gods----' 'Really, Signor,' says I, in all the pleasing

simplicity of maiden embarrassment, 'this language is as improper for

me to hear as for you to express.' 'It is, it is improper,' cries he,

with animation, 'for it is inadequate.' 'Yes,' says I 'inadequate to

the respect I deserve as the guest of your mother.' 'Ah!' exclaims he,

'why should the guest imitate the harshness of the hostess?' 'That she

may not,' says I, 'countenance the follies of the son. Signor, I desire

you will unhand me.' 'Never!' cries he; 'never, till you say you pity

me. O, my Cherubina; O, my soul's idol!' and he drops upon his knee,

and grasps my hand; when behold, the door opens, and Lady Gwyn appears

at it! Never were astonishment and dismay equal to her's. 'Godfrey,

Godfrey,' says she, 'is this the conduct that I requested of you? This,

to seek clandestine interviews, where I had prohibited even an open

acquaintance? And for thee, fair unfortunate,' turning towards me, with

that mild look, which cuts more than a thousand sarcasms; 'for thee,

lovely frail one, thou must seek some other asylum.' Her sweet eyes

swim in tears. I fling myself at her feet. 'I am innocent,' I cry,

'innocent as the little fawn that frisks itself to repose by the

bubbling fountain.' She smiles incredulous. 'Come,' says she, taking my

hand, 'let me lead you to your apartment.' 'Stay, in mercy stay!' cries

Godfrey, rushing between us and the door. She waves him aside. I reach

my room. Nothing can console me. I am all despair. In a few minutes the

maid taps at my door, with a slip of paper from Godfrey. 'Oh,

Cherubina,' it says, 'how my heart is torn for you! As you value your

fame, perhaps your life, meet me to-night, at twelve, in the

shrubbery.' After a long struggle, I resolve to meet him. 'Tis twelve,

the winds are abroad, the shower descends. I fling on something, and

steal into the shrubbery. I find him there before me. He thanks me ten

thousand, thousand times for my kindness, my condescension; and by

degrees, leads me into the avenue, where I see a chaise in waiting. I

shrink back; he prays, implores; and at length, snatching me in his

arms, is about to force me into the vehicle, when on a sudden--'Hold,

villain!' cries a voice. It is the voice of Stuart! I shriek, and drop

to the ground. The clashing of swords resounds over my contested body,

and I faint. On recovering, I find myself in a small, but decent

chamber, with an old woman and a beautiful girl watching over me. 'St.

Catherine be praised,' exclaims the young peasant, 'she comes to

herself.' 'Tell me,' I cry, 'is he murdered?' 'The gentleman is dead,

sure enough, miss,' says the woman. I laugh frantic, and point my

finger. 'Ha! look yonder,' I cry; 'see his mangled corpse, mildly

smiling, even in death. See, they fight; he falls.--Barbarous Godfrey!

valiant, generous, unfortunate Stuart! And hark, hear you that! 'Tis

the bell tolling, tolling, tolling!' During six weeks I continue in

this dreadful brain-fever. Slowly I recover. A low melancholy preys

upon me, and I am in the last stage of a consumption. But though I lose

my bloom, illness touches my features with something more than human.

One evening, I had got my chair on the green before the door, and was

watching the sun as he set in a blaze of gold. 'And oh!' exclaimed I,

'soon must I set like thee, fair luminary;--when I am interrupted by a

stifled sigh, just behind me. I turn. Heaven and earth! who should be

leaning over me, with looks of unutterable love, but--Stuart! In an

instant, I see him, I shriek, I run, I leap into his arms.----

Unfortunate leap; for it wakened me from a delicious reverie, and I

found myself in the arms,--not of Stuart,--but of the old butler! Down

we both came, and broke in pieces a superb china vase, which he was

just bringing into the room.

'What will my lady say to this?' cried he, rising and collecting the

fragments.

'She will smile with ineffable grace,' answered I, 'and make a moral

reflection on the instability of sublunary things.'

He shook his head, and went on with his work of affliction; while I

hastened to the glass, where I found my face flushed from my reverie,

my hair dishevelled, and my long eyelashes wet with tears. I perceived

too that my dress had got a terrible rent by my fall.

Hardly had I recomposed myself, when her ladyship returned, and called

for tea.

'How did you tear your robe, my love?' said she.

'By a fall that I got just now,' replied I. 'Sure never was such an

unfortunate fall!'

'Nay, child,' said she, rallying me, 'though a martyr to the tender

sensibilities, you must not be a victim to torn muslin.'

'I am extremely distressed, however,' said I.

'But why so?' cried she. 'It was an accident, and all of us are awkward

at times. Life has too many serious miseries to admit of vexation about

trifles.'

'There now!' cried I, with delight. 'I declare I told the butler, when

I broke the china vase, that you would make a moral reflection.'

'Broke the---- Oh! mercy, have you broken my beautiful china vase?'

'Smashed it to atoms,' answered I, in a tone of the most assuasive

sweetness.

'You did?' exclaimed she, in a voice that stunned me. 'And pray, how

dared you go near it? How dared you even look at it? You, who are not

fit company for crockery, much less china;--a crazed creature, that I

brought into my house to divert my guests. You a title? You a beauty?'

'Dear Lady Gwyn,' said I, 'do be calm under this calamity. Trust me

life has too many serious miseries to admit of vexation about trifles.'

Her ladyship rose, with her cheeks inflamed, and her eyes glittering.

I ran out of the room, in much terror; then up stairs, and into the

nearest bed-chamber. It happened to be her ladyship's; and this

circumstance struck me as most providential; for, in her present mood,

she would probably compel me to quit the house; so that I could never

have another opportunity of ransacking her caskets and cabinets, for

memorials of my birth.

I therefore began the search; but in the midst of it was interrupted by

hearing a small voice cry, 'get out!'

Much amazed, I looked up, and perceived her ladyship's favourite parrot

in its cage.

'Get out!' said the parrot.

'I will let thee out, cost what it will,' cried I.

So with much sensibility, and indeed, very little spleen, I took the

bird, and put it out at the window.

After having accurately examined several drawers, I found a casket in

one of them; opened it, and beheld within (O delightful sight!) a

miniature set round with inestimable diamonds, and bearing a perfect

resemblance to the portrait in the gallery,--face, attitude, attire,

every thing!

'Relic of my much injured house!' exclaimed I, depositing the picture

in my bosom.' Image of my sainted mother, never will I part with thee!'

'What are you doing in my room?' cried Lady Gwyn, as she burst into it.

'How is this? All my dresses about the floor! my drawers, my casket

open!--And, as I live, here is the miniature gone! Why you graceless

little thing, are you robbing me?'

'Madam,' answered I, 'that miniature belongs to my family; I have

recovered it at last; and let me see who will dare take it from me.'

'You are more knave than fool,' said her ladyship: 'give it back this

instant, or, on my honour, I will expose you to the servants.'

'What is the use of bullying?' said I. 'Sure you are ruined should this

swindling affair come to be known, not that I would, for the world,

hang your ladyship;--far from it,--but then your character will be

blasted. Ah! Lady Gwyn, where is your hereditary honour? where is your

prudence? where is your dignity?'

'Where is my parrot?' shrieked her ladyship.

'Ranging the radiant air!' exclaimed I--'inhaling life, and fragrance,

and freedom amidst the clouds! I let it out at the window.'

Her ladyship ran towards me, but I passed her, and made the best of my

way down stairs; while she followed, calling, stop thief! Too well I

knew and rued the dire expression; nor stopped an instant, but hurried

out of the house--through the lawn--down the avenue--into a

hay-field;--the servants in hot pursuit. Not a moment was to be lost: a

drowning man, you know, will grasp at straws, and I crept for refuge

under a heap of hay.

But whether they found me there, or how long I remained, or what has

become of me since, or what is likely to become of me hereafter, you

shall learn in my next.

Adieu.

LETTER XXXIV

I remained in my disagreeable situation till night had closed, and the

pursuit appeared over. I then rose, and walked through the fields,

without any settled intention. Terror was now succeeded by bitter

indignation at the conduct of Lady Gwyn, who had dared to drive me from

my own house, and vilify me as a common thief. Insupportable insult!

Unparalleled degradation! Was there no revenge? no remedy?

Like a rapid ray from heaven, a thought at once simple and magnificent

shot through my brain, and made my very heart bound with transport.

When I name Monkton Castle, need I tell you the rest? Need I tell you

that I determined to seize on that antique abode of my ancestors, to

fortify it against assaults, to procure domestics and suitable

furniture for it, and to reside there, the present rival, and the

future victress of the vile Lady Gwyn? Let her dispossess me if she

dare, or if she can; for I have heard that possession is a great number

of points of the law in one's favour.

As to fitting up the castle, that will be quite an easy matter; for the

tradespeople of London willingly give credit for any amount to a

personage of rank like me; and therefore I have nothing more to do than

make some friend there bespeak furniture in my name.

It appeared to me that Jerry Sullivan was the most eligible person I

could select; so now, a light heart making a light foot, I tripped back

to the road, and took my way towards Monkton Castle, for the purpose of

procuring an asylum in some cottage near it, and writing a letter of

instructions to Jerry.

It was starlight, and I had walked almost three miles, when a little

girl with a bundle of sticks on her back overtook me, and began asking

alms. In the midst of her supplications, we came to the hut where she

lived, and I followed her into it, with the hope of getting a night's

lodging there, or at least a direction to one.

In a room, comfortless, with walls of smoked mud, I found a wrinkled

and decrepit beldame, and two smutty children, holding their hands over

a few faded embers. I begged permission to rest myself for a short

time; the woman, after looking at me keenly, consented, and I sat down.

I then entered into conversation, represented myself as a wandering

stranger in distress, and inquired if I had any chance of finding a

lodging about the neighbourhood. The woman assured me that I had not,

and on perceiving me much disconcerted at the disappointment, coarsely,

but cordially, offered me her hut for the night. I saw I had nothing

for it but to remain there; so the fire was replenished, some brown

bread and sour milk (the last of their store) produced, and while we

sat round it, I requested of the poor woman to let me know what had

reduced her to such distress.

She told me, with many tears and episodes, that her daughter and

son-in-law, who had supported her, died about a month ago, and left

these children behind, without any means of subsistence, except what

they could procure from the charitable.

All their appearances corroborated this account, for famine had set its

meagre finger on their faces. I wished to pity them, but their whining,

their dirtiness, and their vulgarity, disgusted more than interested

me. I nauseated the brats, and abhorred the haggard hostess. How it

happens, I know not, but the misery that looks alluring on paper is

almost always repulsed in real life. I turn with distaste from a ragged

beggar, or a decayed tradesman, while the recorded sorrows of a

Belfield or a Rushbrook draw tears of pity from me as I read.

At length we began to think of rest. The children gave me their pallet:

I threw myself upon it without undressing, and they slept on some straw

with a blanket over them.

In the morning we presented a most dismal group. Not a morsel had we

for breakfast, nor the means of obtaining any. The poor cripple, who

had expected some assistance from me, sat grunting in a corner; the

children whimpered and shivered; and I, with more elegance, but not

less misery, chaunted a matin to the Virgin.

I then began seriously to consider what mode of immediate subsistence I

ought to adopt; and at last I hit upon a most pleasing and judicious

plan. As some days must elapse between my writing to Jerry Sullivan and

his coming down (for I mean to have him here, if possible), and as the

cottage is within a short distance from the castle, I have resolved to

remain with my hostess till he shall arrive, and to go forth every day

in the character of a beggar-girl. Like another Rosa, I will earn my

bread by asking alms. My simple and imploring address, my

half-suppressed sigh, my cheek yet traced with the recent tear, all

will be irresistible. Even the shrivelled palm of age will expand at my

supplication, and the youths, offering compliments with eleemosynary

silver, will call me the lovely vagabond, or the mendicant angel. Thus

my few days of beggary will prove quite delightful; and oh, how sweet,

when those are over, to reward and patronize, as Lady of the Castle,

those hospitable cottagers who have pitied and sheltered me as the

beggar-girl.

My first step was writing to Jerry Sullivan; and I fortunately found

the stump of a pen, some thick ink, and coarse paper, in the cottage.

This was my letter.

'Honest Jerry,

'Since I saw you last, I have established all my claims, and am now

the Lady Cherubina de Willoughby, the true and illustrious mistress

of Gwyn Castle, Monkton Castle, and other estates of uncommon

extent and value. Now, Jerry, as I am convinced that you feel

grateful for the services, however trivial, which I have done you,

I know you will be happy at an opportunity of obliging me in

return.

'Will you then execute some commissions for me? Meaning to make

Monkton Castle (which is uninhabited at present) my residence, I

wish to furnish it according to the style of the times it was built

in. You must, therefore, bespeak, at the best shops, such articles

as I shall now enumerate.

'First. Antique tapestry sufficient to furnish one entire wing.

'Second. Painted glass enriched with armorial bearings.

'Third. Pennons and flags, stained with the best old blood;--Feudal

if possible.

'Fourth. Black feathers, and cloaks for my liveries.

'Fifth. An old lute, or lyre, or harp.

'Sixth. Black hangings, curtains, and a velvet pall.

'Seventh. A warder's trumpet.

'Eighth. A bell for the portal.

'Besides these, I shall want antique chairs, tables, beds, and, in

a word, all the casts-off of castles that you can lay hands upon.

'You must also get a handsome barouche, and four horses; and by

mentioning my name (the Lady Cherubina de Willoughby, of Monkton

Castle), and by shewing this letter, no shopkeeper or mechanic will

refuse you credit for anything. Tell them I will pass my receipts

as soon as the several articles arrive.

'I have now to make a proposal, which, I hope and trust, will meet

with your approbation. Your present business does not appear to be

prosperous: all the offices in my castle are still unoccupied, and

as I have the highest opinion of your discretion and honesty, the

situation of warden (a most ostensible one) is at your service. The

salary is two hundred a-year: consider of it.

'At all events, I do beseech of you to come down, as soon as you

can, on receipt of this letter, and remain a few days, for the

purpose of assisting me in my regulations.

'You might travel in the barouche, and bring some of the smaller

articles with you. Pray be here in three days at farthest.

'CHERUBINA DE WILLOUGHBY.

'_Monkton Castle._'

I now began to think that I might, and should summon other friends, on

this important occasion; and accordingly I wrote a few lines to

Higginson.

'Dear Sir,

'Intending to take immediate possession of Monkton Castle, which

has devolved to me by right of lineal descent; and wishing, in

imitation of ancient times, for a wild and enthusiastic minstrel,

as part of my household, I have to acquaint you, that if you should

think such an office eligible, I shall be happy to place you in it,

and to recompense your poetical services with an annual stipend of

two hundred pounds.

'Should this proposal prove acceptable, be so good as to call on my

trusty servant, Jerry Sullivan, in St. Giles's, and accompany him

down in my barouche.

'CHERUBINA DE WILLOUGHBY.

'_Monkton Castle._'

I then penned a billet to Montmorenci; ah, ask not why, but pity me.

Silly Cherubina! and yet, mark how her burning pen can write ice.

'My Lord,

'Pardon the trouble I am about giving you, but as I mean to reside,

for the future, in one of my castles (my birth and pretensions

having already been acknowledged by Lady Gwyn), I wish to secure

the parchment and picture that I left at my former lodgings at

Drury Lane.

'Will you, my lord, have the goodness to transmit them, by some

trusty hand, to Jerry Sullivan, the woollen-draper in St. Giles's,

who will convey them to me at Monkton Castle.

'With sentiments of respect and esteem,

'I have the honour to be,

'My Lord,

'Your lordship's most obedient,

'And most humble servant,

'CHERUBINA DE WILLOUGHBY.

'_Monkton Castle._'

Now this is precisely the formal sort of letter which a heroine

sometimes indites to her lover: he cannot, for the soul of him, tell

why; so down he comes, all distracted in a postchaise, and makes such a

dishevelled entrance, as melts her heart in an instant, and the scene

ends with his arm round her waist.

Adieu.

LETTER XXXV

As I was now about to go begging, I thought it necessary to look like a

beggar; so I dressed myself in a tattered gown, cap, and cloak, that

had belonged to the deceased daughter of my hostess. Then placing my

mother's portrait in my bosom, I sallied forth, and took the road to

the neighbouring village.

Being Sunday, the rustics looked trim and festive, the nymphs and

youths frolicked along, the grandsires sat at their doors, the sun was

shining; all things smiled but the miserable Cherubina.

At length I reached the village, and deposited my letters for the post.

The church, imbosomed in trees, stood at a little distance. The people

were at prayers, and as I judged that they would soon be dismissed, I

placed myself at the sacred gate, as an auspicious station for the

commencement of my supplicatory career.

In a short time they began to leave the church.

'One penny for the poor starving girl,' said I.

'How are you? How are you? How are you?' was gabbled on all sides.

'One penny,--one penny,--Oh, one penny!' softly faltered I.

It was the cooing of a dove amidst the chattering of magpies.

'And who was that stranger in the next pew?' said one lady.

'One penny for the love of----'

'She seemed to think herself too pretty to pray,' said another.

'One penny for the----'

'Perhaps motion does not become her lips,' said another.

'One penny for the love of charity.'

But they had gotten into their carriages.

'If youth, innocence, and distress can touch your hearts,' said I,

following some gentlemen down the road, 'pity the destitute orphan, the

hungry vagrant, the most injured and innocent of her sex. Gentlemen,

good gentlemen, kind gentlemen----.'

'Go to hell,' said they.

'There is for you, sweetheart,' cried a coarse voice from behind, while

a halfpenny jingled at my foot. I turned to thank my benefactor, and

found that he was a drunken man in the stocks.

Disgusted and indignant at the failure of my first attempt, I hurried

out of the village, and strayed along, addressing all I met, but all

appeared too gay to pity misery. Hour after hour I passed in fruitless

efforts, now walking, now sitting; till at length day began to close,

and fatigue and horrid hunger were enfeebling my limbs.

In a piteous condition, I determined to turn my steps back towards the

cottage; for night was already blackening the blue hemisphere, the

mountainous clouds hung low, and the winds piped the portentous moan of

a coming hurricane. By the little light that still remained, I saw a

long avenue on my left, which, I thought, might lead to some hospitable

place of shelter; and I began, as well as the gloom of the trees would

permit, to grope my way through it.

After much labour and many falls, I came to an opening, and as I saw no

house, I still walked straight forward. By this time the storm had

burst upon my head with tremendous violence, and it was with difficulty

that I could keep my feet.

At last I fancied I could perceive a building in front, and I bent my

steps towards it. As I drew nearer, I found my way sometimes obstructed

by heaps of stones, or broken columns, and I concluded that I was

approaching some prodigious castle, where I should be sure to find

shelter, horror, owls, and one of my near relations. I therefore

hastened towards it, and soon my extended hands touched the structure.

My heart struck a throb of joy, and I began to feel along the wall for

some ruined portal or archway.

Hardly had I moved ten paces, when my groping hands plunged into

unresisting air: I stopped a moment, then entered through the vacuity,

and to my great comfort, found myself under immediate shelter.

This then, I guessed, was the great hall of the castle, and I prepared

my mind for the most terrible things.

I had not advanced three yards, when I paused in much terror; for I

thought I heard a stir just beside me. Again all was still, and I

ventured forward. I now fancied that I heard a gentle breathing; and at

the same instant I struck my foot against something, which, with a

sudden movement, tripped up my heels, and down I came, shrieking and

begging for mercy; while a frightful bustle arose all round me,--such

passing and repassing, rustling and rushing, that I gave myself over

for lost.

'Oh, gentlemen banditti!' cried I, 'spare my persecuted life, and I

will never, never betray you!'

They did not answer a syllable, but retired to some distance, where

they held a horrid silence.

In a few minutes, I heard steps outside, and two persons entered the

building.

'This shelters us well enough,' said one of them.

'Curse on the storm,' cried the other, 'it will hinder any more of them

from coming out to-night. However we have killed four already, and,

please goodness, not one will be alive on the estate this day month.'

Oh, Biddy, how my soul sickened at the shocking reflection, that four

of a family were already murdered in cold blood, and that the rest were

to share the same fate in a month!

Unable to contain myself, I muttered, 'Mercy upon me, mercy upon me!'

'Did you hear that?' whispered one of the men.

'I did,' said the other. 'Off with us this moment!' and off they both

ran.

I too determined to quit this nest of horrors, for my very life

appeared in danger; so, rising, I began to grope my way towards the

door, when I fell over something that lay on the ground, and as I put

out my hand, I touched (Oh, horrible!) a dead, cold, damp human face.

Instantly the thought struck me that this was one of the four whom the

ruffians had murdered, and I flung myself from it, with a shiver of

horror; but in doing so, laid my hand on another face; while a faint

gleam of lightning that flashed at the moment shewed me two bodies,

pale, ghastly, naked, and half covered with straw.

I started up, screaming, and made a desperate effort to reach the door;

but just as I was darting out of it, I found my shoulder seized with a

ferocious grasp.

'I have caught one of them,' cried the person. 'Fetch the lantern.'

'I am innocent of the murder!' cried I. 'I swear to you that I am. They

did not fall by my dagger, I can assure you.'

'Who? what murder?' cried he. 'Hollo, help! here is a murder

committed.'

'Not by me!' cried I. 'Not by me, not by me! No, no, no, my hands are

unstained with their blood.'

And now a lantern being brought, I perceived several servants in

liveries, who first examined my features, and then dragged me back into

the building, while they searched there for some poachers, whom they

had been way-laying when they found me. The building! And what was the

building, think you? Why nothing more than the shell of an unfinished

house,--a mere modern morsel of a tasteless temple! And what were the

banditti who had knocked me down, think you? Why nothing more than a

few harmless sheep, that now lay huddled together in a corner! And what

were the two corpses, think you? Why nothing more than two Heathen

statues for the little temple!--And the ruffians that talked of their

having killed, and having to kill, were only the poachers, who had

killed four hares! Here then was the whole mystery developed, and a

great deal of good fright gone for nothing.

However, some trouble still remained to me. The servants, swearing that

I was either concerned with the poachers, or in some murder, dragged me

down a shrubbery, till we reached a large mansion. We then entered a

lighted hall: one of them went to call his master, and after a few

minutes, an elderly gentleman, with a troop of young men and women at

his heels, came out of a parlour.

'Is that the murderess? What a young murderess! I never saw a murderess

before!' was whispered about by the ladies.

'What murder is this you were talking of, young woman?' said the

gentleman to me.

'I will tell you with pleasure,' answered I. 'You must know that I am a

wandering beggar-girl, without home, parents, or friends; and when the

storm began, I ran, for shelter, into the Temple of Taste, as your

servants called it. So, thinking it a castle, and some sheep which

threw me down, banditti, and a couple of statues, corpses, of course it

was quite natural for me to suppose, when two men entered, and began to

talk of having killed something, that they meant these very corpses.

Was it not natural now? And so that is the plain and simple narrative

of the whole affair.'

To my great surprise, a general burst of laughter ran round the hall.

'Sheep banditti, and statues corpses. Dear me,--Bless me--Well to be

sure!' tittered the misses.

'Young woman,' said the gentleman, 'your incoherent account inclines me

to think you concerned in some atrocious transaction, which I must make

it my business to discover.'

'I am sure,' said a young lady, 'she carries the gallows in her face.'

''Tis so pretty a gallows,' said a young gentleman, 'that I wish I were

hanging upon it.'

'Fie brother,' said the young lady, 'how can you talk so to a

murderess?'

'And how can you talk so,' cried I, 'before you know me to be a

murderess? It is not just, it is not generous, it is not feminine. Men

impelled by love, may deprive our sex of virtue; but we ourselves,

actuated by rancorous, not gentle impulses, rob each other of

character.'

'Oh! indeed, you have done for yourself now,' said the young lady.

'That sentence of morality has settled you completely.'

'Then I presume you do not admire morality,' said I.

'Not from the lips of a low wretch like you,' said she.

'Know, young woman,' cried I, 'that the current which runs through

these veins is registered in hereditary heraldry.'

The company gave a most disgusting laugh.

'It is,' cried I, 'I tell you it is. I tell you I am of the blood

noble.'

'Oh blood!' squeaked a young gentleman.

What wonder that I forgot my prudence amidst these indignities? Yes,

the proud spirit of my ancestors swelled my heart, all my house stirred

within me, and the blood of the De Willoughbys rose into my face, as I

drew the magnificent picture from my bosom, pointed a quivering finger

at it, and exclaimed:

'Behold the portrait of my titled mother!'

'See, see!' cried the girls crowding round. ''Tis covered all over with

diamonds!'

'I flatter myself it is,' said I. 'There is proof irrefragable for

you!'

'Proof enough to hang you I fancy!' cried the old gentleman, snatching

it out of my hand. 'So now, my lady, you must march to the magistrate.'

I wept, knelt, entreated, all was in vain: his son, the young man who

had paid my face the compliment, took charge of my person, and

accompanied by the servant who had seized me, set off with me to the

magistrate's.

During our walk, he tried to discover how I had got possession of the

picture, but I was on my guard, and merely replied that time would tell

my innocence. On a sudden, he desired the servant to go back for an

umbrella, and take it to the magistrate's after him.

The man having left us:

'Now,' said the 'squire, 'whether you are a pilferer of pictures I know

not, but this I know, that you are a pilferer of hearts, and that I am

determined to keep you in close custody, till you return mine, which

you have just stolen. To be plain, I will extricate you from your

present difficulty, and conceal you in a cottage just at hand, if you

will allow me to support and visit you. You understand me.'

The blood gushed into my cheeks as he spoke; but however indignant I

felt at the proposal, I likewise felt that it would be prudent to

dissemble; and as other heroines in similar predicaments do not

hesitate to hint that they will compromise their honours, I too

determined to give my tempter some hope; and thus make him my friend

till I could extricate myself from this emergency.

I therefore replied that I trusted he would not find me deficient in

gratitude.

'Thank you, love,' said he. 'And now here is the cottage.'

He then tapped at a door: an elderly woman opened it, and within I

perceived a young woman, with a bold, but handsome face, hastily

adjusting her cap at a glass.

'I have brought a wretched creature,' said he, 'whom I found starving

on the road. Pray take care of her, and give her some refreshment. You

must also contrive a bed for her.'

The women looked earnestly at me, and then significantly at each other.

'She shall have no bed in my house,' said the elder, 'for I warrant

this is the hussey who has been setting you against poor Susan, in

order to get you herself, and telling you lies about Tommy Hicks's

visiting here--poor girl!'

'Ay, and Bob Saunders,' cried the daughter.

'Sweet innocent!' cried the mother. 'And the three Hawkins's,' cried

the daughter.

'Tender lamb!' cried the mother, 'and a girl too that never looked at

mortal man but the 'squire.'

'And John Mullins, and Jacob Jones, and Patrick O'Brien,' cried the

daughter.

'Think of that!' cried the mother.

'Yes, think of that!' cried the daughter. 'Patrick O'Brien! the

broad-shouldered abominable man! Oh! I will cut my throat--I will--so I

will!'

'Alas!' said I, 'behold the fatal effects of licentious love. Here is a

girl, whom your money, perhaps, allured from the paths of virtue.'

'Oh! no,' cried Susan, 'it was his honour's handsome face, and his fine

words, so bleeding and so sore, and he called me an angel above the

heavens!'

'Yes,' said I, 'it is the tenderness of youth, the smile of joy, the

blush of innocence, which kindle the flame of the seducer; and yet

these are what he would destroy. It is the heart of sensibility which

he would engage, and yet in that heart he would plant every rankling

pang, every bitter misery. Detestable passion! which accomplishes the

worst of purposes, through the medium of the best and sweetest

affections. She whose innocent mind ascribes to others the motives that

actuate itself, she who confides, because she would not deceive, she

who has a tear for real grief, and who melts at the simulated miseries

of her lover, she soonest falls a sacrifice to his arts; while the cold

vestal, who goes forth into the world callous to feeling, and armed

with austerity, repulses his approaches with indignation, and calls her

prudence virtue.'

The young man gazed on me with surprise, and the mother had come

closer; but Susan was peeping at her face in the glass.

'Look on that beautiful girl before you,' cried I. 'Heaven itself is

not brighter than her brow; the tints of the morning cannot rival her

blushes.'

Susan held down her head, but cast an under glance at the 'squire.

'Such is she now,' continued I, 'but too soon you may behold her pale,

shivering, unsteady of step, and hoarse with nocturnal curses, one of

those unhappy thousands, who nightly strew our streets with the

premature ruins of dilapidated beauty.'

'Yes, look at her, look at her!' cried the mother, who flushing even

through her wrinkles, and quivering in every limb, now rushed towards

her daughter, and snatching off her cap, bared her forehead. 'Look at

her! she was once my lovely pride, the blessing of my heart; and see

what he has now made her for me; while I, miserable as I am, must wink

at her guilt, that I may save her from disgrace and ruin!'

'Oh! then,' cried I, turning to the 'squire, 'while still some portion

of her fame remains, fly from her, fly for ever!'

'I certainly mean to do so,' replied he, 'so pray make your mind easy.

You see, Susan, by this young woman's sentiments, that she cannot be

what you suspected her.'

'And I am convinced, Susan,' said I, 'that you feel grateful for the

pains I have taken to reclaim the 'squire from a connection so fatal to

you both.'

'I am quite sure I do,' sobbed Susan, 'and I will pray for your health

and happiness ever while I live. So, dear Miss, since I must lose him,

I hope you will coax him to leave me some money first; not that I ever

valued him for his money, but you know I could not see my mother go

without her tea o'nights.'

'Amiable creature!' cried I. 'Yes, I will intercede for you.'

'My giving you money,' said the 'squire, 'will depend on my finding,

when I return to-morrow morning, that you have treated this girl well

to-night.'

'I will treat her like a sister,' said Susan.

The 'squire now declared that he must be gone; then taking me aside, 'I

shall see you early to-morrow,' whispered he, 'and remove you to a

house about a mile hence, and I will tell my father that you ran away.

Meantime, continue to talk virtue, and these people will think you a

saint.'

He then bade us all good-night, and departed.

Instantly I set my wits at work, and soon hit upon a plan to accomplish

my escape. I told the women that I had an old mother, about a mile from

the cottage, who was almost starving; and that if I could procure a

little silver, and a loaf of bread, I would run to her hut with the

relief, and return immediately.

To describe the kind solicitude, the sweet goodnature that mother and

daughter manifested, in loading me with victuals and money, were

impossible. Suffice it, that they gave me half-a-crown, some bread,

tea, and sugar; and Susan herself offered to carry them; but this I

declined; and now, with a secret sigh at the probability that I might

never see them again, I left their house, and hastened towards the

cottage of the poor woman. Having reached it, I made the hungry

inhabitants happy once more, while I solaced myself with some tea, and

the pleasing reflection, that I had brought comfort to the distressed,

and had reclaimed a deluded girl from ruin and infamy.

Adieu,

LETTER XXXVI

After my last letter, I spent two tedious days in employments that I

now blush to relate;--no less than doing all the dirty work of the

cottage, such as sweeping the room, kindling the fire, cooking the

victuals; and trying, by dint of comb and soap, to make cherubs of the

children. What bewitched me, I cannot conceive, for the humanity of

other heroines is ever clean, elegant, and fit for the reader. They

give silver and tears in abundance, but they never descend to the

bodily charity of working, like wire-drawers, for withered old women

and brats with rosy noses. I can only say, in vindication of myself,

that those who sheltered me were poor and helpless themselves, and that

they deserved some recompense on my part for their hospitality to me.

So you must not condemn me totally; for I do declare to you, that I

would much rather have relieved them with my purse, and soothed them

with my sympathy, than have fried their herrings and washed their

faces.

At the same time, take notice, I was not totally forgetful of my nobler

destiny; for I dedicated part of this period to the composition of a

poem, which I reserve for my memoirs. My biographer can say that it was

suggested by the story of Susan; and even if it should still appear to

be somewhat forced into my book, I would rather have this the case,

than suffer posterity to go without it altogether. Here it is.

CAROLINE

Beneath a thatch, where gadding woodbine flower'd,

About the lattice and the porch embower'd,

An aged widow lived, whose calm decline,

Clung on one hope, her lovely Caroline.

Her lovely Caroline, in virtue blest,

As morning snow, was spotless and unprest.

Her tresses unadorn'd a braid controll'd,

Her pastoral russet knew no civic gold.

In either cheek an eddying dimple play'd,

And blushes flitted with a rosy shade.

Her airy step seem'd lighting from the sky,

And joy and frolic sparkled in her eye.

Yet would she weep at sorrows not her own,

And love foredoom'd her heart his panting throne.

For her the rustics strove a homely grace,

Clipped their redundant locks, and smooth'd their pace;

Lurk'd near her custom'd path, in trimmest guise,

And talk'd the simple praises of her eyes.

But fatal hour, when she, by swains unmov'd,

Beheld the master of the vale, and loved.

Long had he tempted her reserve in vain,

Till one luxuriant eve that sunn'd the plain;

On the bent herbage, where a gushing brook,

Blue harebells and the tufted violet shook;

Where hung umbrageous branches overhead,

And the rain'd roses lay in fragments red,

He found the slumbering maid. Prophane he press'd

Her virgin lip, then first by man carest.

She starts, and like a ruddy cloud bestrewn,

At brake of morning, o'er the paly moon;

Or as on Alpine cliffs, a wounded doe

Sheds all its purple life upon the snow;

So the maid blushes, while her humble eyes

Fear from a knot of primroses to rise;

And mute she sits, affecting to repair

The discomposed meanders of her hair.

Need I his arts unfold? The accomplish'd guile

That glosses poisonous words with gilded smile?

The tear suborned, the tongue complete to please;

Eyes ecstasied, idolatry of knees?

These and his oaths I pass. Enough to tell,

The virgin listen'd, and believ'd, and fell.

And now from home maternal long decoy'd

She dwells with him midst pleasures unenjoy'd;

Till the sad tidings that her parent dear

To grief had died a victim reach her ear.

Pale with despair, 'At least, at least,' she cries,

'Stretch'd on her ashes, let me close these eyes.

Short shelter need the village now bestow,

Ere by her sacred grave they lay me low.'

Then, without nurture or repose, she hastes

Her journey homeward over rocks and wastes;

Till, as her steps a hill familiar gain,

Bursts on her filling eyes her native plain.

She pants, expands her arms, 'Ah, peaceful scene!'

Exclaiming: 'Ah, dear valley, lovely green,

Still ye remain the same; your hawthorn still,

All your white cottages, the little mill;

Its osiered brook, that prattles thro' the meads,

The plat where oft I danced to piping reeds.

All, all remain unalter'd. 'Tis but thine

To suffer change, weak, wicked Caroline!'

The setting sun now purples hill and lake,

And lengthen'd shadows shadows overtake.

A parting carol larks and throstles sing,

The swains aside their heated sickles fling.

Now dairies all arrang'd, the nymphs renew

The straggling tress, and tighten'd aprons blue;

And fix some hasty floweret, as they run

In a blithe tumult to the pipe begun.

And now, while dance and frolic shake the vale,

Sudden the panting girl, dishevell'd, pale,

Stands in the midst. All pausing gather round,

And gaze amaz'd. The tabors cease to sound.

'Yes, ye may well,' the faltering suppliant cries,

'Well may ye frown with those repulsive eyes.

Yet pity one not vicious but deceiv'd,

Who vows of marriage, ere she fell, believ'd.

Without a mother, sire, or fostering home,

Save, save me, leave me not forlorn to roam.

Not now the gifts ye once so fondly gave,

Not now the verse and rural wreath I crave;

Not now to lead your festive sports along,

Queen of the dance, and despot of the song;

One shed is all, oh, just one wretched shed,

To lay my weary limbs and aching head.

Then will I bless your bounty, then inure

My frame to toil, and earn a pittance poor.

Then, while ye mix in mirth, will I, forlorn,

Beside my murder'd parent sit and mourn.'

She paus'd, expecting answer. None replied.

'And have ye children, have ye hearts?' she cried.

'Save me now, mothers, as from future harms

Ye hope to save the babies in your arms!

See, to you, maids, I bend on abject knee;

Youths, even to you, who bent before to me.

O, my companions, by our happy plays,

By dear remembrance of departed days;

By pity's self, your cruel parents move;

By sacred friendship; Oh! by those ye love!

Oft when ye trespassed, I for pardon pray'd;

Oft on myself your little mischiefs laid.

Did I not always sooth the wounded mind?

Was I not called the generous and the kind?

Still silent? What! no word, no look to cheer?

No gentle gesture? What, not even a tear?

Go then, ye pure! to heights of virtue climb;

Let none plead for me, none forgive my crime.

Go--yet the culprit, by her God forgiven,

May plead for you before the throne of heaven!

Ye simple pleasures of my rural hours,

Ye skies all sunshine, and ye paths all flowers;

Home, where no more a soothing friend I see,

Dear happy home, a last farewell to thee!'

Claspt are her hands, her features strewn with hair,

And her eyes sparkle with a keen despair.

But as she turns, a sudden burst of tears,

And struggles, as of one withheld, she hears.

'Speak!' she conjures, 'ere yet to phrenzy driven,

Tell me who weeps? What angel sent from heaven?'

'I, I your friend!' exclaims, with panting charms,

A rosy girl, and darts into her arms.

'What! will you leave me? Me, your other heart,

Your favourite Ellen? No, we must not part;

No, never! come, and in our cottage live;

Come, for the cruel village shall forgive.

O, my own darling, come, and unreproved,

Here on this heart rest ever, ever lov'd;

Here on this constant heart!' While thus she spoke,

Her furious sire the linkt embraces broke.

Borne in his arms, she wept, entreated, rav'd;

Then fainted, as a mute farewell she wav'd.

But now the wretch, with low and wildered cries,

Round and around revolving vacant eyes:

Slow from the green departs, and pauses now,

And gnaws her tresses and contracts her brow.

Shock'd by the change, the matrons, stern no more,

Pursue her steps and her return implore:

Soon a poor maniac, innocent of ill,

She wanders unconfined, and drinks the rill,

And plucks the simple cress. A hovel near

Her native vale defends her from the year.

With tender feet to flint and thistle bare,

And faded willows weeping in her hair,

She climbs some rock at morn, and all alone,

Chaunts hasty snatches of harmonious moan.

When moons empearl the leafy locks of bowers,

With liquid grain, and light the glistening flowers,

She gathers honeysuckle down the dells,

And tangled eglantine, and slumbering bells;

And with moist finger, painted by the leaves,

A coronet of roses interweaves;

Then steals unheard, and gliding thro' the yews,

The odorous offering on her mother strews.

At morn with tender pause, the nymphs admire,

How recent chaplets still the grave attire;

And matrons nightly tell, how fairies seen,

Danc'd roundelays aslant its cowslipped green.

Even when the whiten'd vale is bleak with snows,

That verdant spot the little Robin knows;

And sure to find the flakes at dawn remov'd,

Alights and chirps upon its turf belov'd.

Such her employ; till now, one wintry day,

Some shepherds hurrying by the haunted clay,

Find the pale ruin, life for ever flown,

With her cheek pillow'd on its dripping stone.

The turf unfinish'd wreaths of ivy strew,

And her lank locks are dim with misty dew.

Poor Ellen hymns her requiem. Willows pine

Around her grave. Fallen, fallen Caroline!

This morning, having resumed my muslins, I repaired to my castle, and

seated on the stump of a withered oak, began an accurate survey of its

strength, for the purpose of ascertaining whether it could stand a

siege, in case Lady Gwyn should attempt to dispossess me of it. I must

now describe it to you.

It is situated about a quarter of a mile from the road, on a waste

tract of land, where a few decayed trunks of trees are all that remain

of a former forest. The castle itself, which I fear is rather too small

for long corridors and suites of apartments, forms a square, with a

turret at each corner, and with a large gateway, now stopped up with

stones, at the southern side. While I surveyed its roofless walls,

over-topt with briony, grass, and nettles, and admired the gothic

points of the windows, where mantling ivy had supplied the place of

glass, long suffering and murder came to my thoughts.

As I sat planning, from romances, the revival of the feudal customs and

manners in my castle, and of the feudal system among my tenantry (all

so favourable to heroines), I saw a magnificent barouche, turning from

the road into the common, and advancing towards me. My heart beat high:

the carriage approached, stopt; and who should alight from it, but

Higginson and Jerry!

After Higginson, with reverence, and Jerry, with familiarity, had

congratulated me on my good fortune, the latter looked hard at the

castle.

'The people told us that this was Monkton Castle,' said he; 'but where

is the Monkton Castle that your ladyship is to live in?'

'There it is, my friend,' answered I.

'What? there!' cried he.

'Yes, there,' said I.

'What, there, there!'

'Yes, there, there.'

'Oh! murder! murder!'

'How far are we from your ladyship's house?' said the postilion,

advancing with his hat off.

'This castle is my house,' answered I.

'Begging your ladyship's pardon,' said he; 'what I mean, is, how far

are we from where your ladyship lives?'

'I live in this castle,' answered I.

Jerry began making signs to me over the fellow's shoulder, to hold my

tongue.

'What are you grimacing about there, Mr. Sullivan?' said I.

'Nothing at all, Ma'am,' answered he. ''Tis a way I have got; but your

ladyship, you know, is only come down to this castle on a sort of a

country excursion, to see if it wants repairing, you know: you don't

mean to live in it, you know.' And he put his finger on his nose, and

winked at me.

'But I know I do mean to live in it,' cried I, 'and so I request you

will cease your grinning.'

'Oh, murder, murder!' muttered he, swinging round on his heel.

The postilion now stood staring at the venerable edifice, with an

expression of the most insolent ridicule.

'And what are _you_ looking at?' cried Jerry.

'At the sky through the castle window,' said the fellow, reddening, and

shaking with smothered laughter.

'Why then mind your own business,' cried Jerry, 'and that is, to take

the horses from the carriage, and set off with yourself as fast as you

can.'

'Not till I am paid for their journey down,' said the postilion. 'So

will your ladyship have the goodness to pay me?'

'Certainly,' said I. 'Jerry, pay the fellow.'

'Deuce a rap have I,' answered Jerry. 'I laid out my last farthing in

little things for your ladyship.'

'Higginson,' said I, 'shall I trouble you to pay him?'

'It irks me to declare,' answered Higginson, 'that in equipments for

this expedition;--a nice little desk, a nice little comb, a nice little

pocket-glass, a nice little----'

'In short you have no money,' cried I.

'Not a farthing,' answered he.

'Neither have I,' said I; 'so, postilion, you must call another time.'

'Here is a pretty to do!' cried the postilion. 'Damme, this is a shy

sort of a business. Not even the price of a feed of oats! Snuff my

eyes, I must have the money. I must, blow me.'

''Tis I that will blow you,' cried Jerry, 'if you don't unloose your

horses this moment, and pack off.'

The postilion took them from the carriage, in silence; then having

mounted one of them, and ridden a few paces from us, he stopped.

'Now you set of vagabonds and swindlers,' cried he, 'without a roof

over your heads, or a penny in your pockets, to go diddle an honest man

out of his day's labour; wait till master takes you in hand: and if I

don't tell the coachmaker what a blockhead he was to give you his

barouche on tick, may I be particularly horsewhipt! Ladyship! a rummish

sort of a tit for a Ladyship! And that is my Lord, I suppose. And this

is the Marquis. Three pickpockets from Fleet-street, I would bet a whip

to a wisp. Ladyship! Oh, her Ladyship!' and away he cantered,

ladyshipping it, till he was out of hearing.

'That young person deserves a moral lecture,' said Higginson.

'He deserves a confounded drubbing,' cried Jerry. 'But now, 'pon your

conscience, does your ladyship intend to live in this old castle?'

'Upon my honour I do,' replied I.

'And is there no decent house on the estate, that one of your tenants

could lend you?' said he.

'Why you must know,' replied I, 'that though Lady Gwyn, the person who

has withheld my property from me so long, acknowledged my right to it

but a few days since, still, as she has not yet yielded up the title

deeds, in consequence of a quarrel which obliged me to quit her house,

it is improbable that the tenantry would treat me as their mistress.

All I can do, is, to seize this uninhabited castle which lies on my own

estate. But I can tell you, that a heroine of good taste, and who

wishes to rise in her profession, would infinitely prefer the

desolation of a castle to the comforts of a villa.'

'Well, of all the wise freaks----' cried Jerry, standing astride,

sticking his hands in his ribs, and nodding his head, as he looked up

at the castle.

'I tell you what, Mr. Sullivan,' interrupted I, 'if you have the

slightest objection to remaining here, you are at perfect liberty to

depart this moment.'

'And do you think I would leave you?' cried he. 'Oh then, oh then, 'tis

I that wouldn't! And the worse your quandary, the more I would stick by

you;--that is Jerry Sullivan. And if it was a gallows itself you were

speculating in, I would assist you all the same. One can find friends

enough when one is in the right, but give me the fellow that would

fight for me right or wrong.'

I shook his honest hand with warmth, and then asked him if he had

performed my commissions.

'Your ladyship shall hear,' said he. 'As soon as I got your letter, I

went with it in my hand, and shewed it at fifty different

shops;--clothiers, and glaziers, and upholsterers, and feather-makers,

and trumpet-makers; but neither old tapestry, nor old painted glass,

nor old flags stained with old blood, nor old lutes, nor old any thing

that you wanted, could I get; and what I could get, I must pay for; and

so what I must pay for, I would not get; and the reason why, I had no

money; and moreover, as sure as ever I shewed them your letter, so sure

they laughed at it.'

'Laughed at it!' cried I.

'All but one,' said Jerry.