VOLUME I (continued 2)

It is easy to conceive that the acquaintance of Lady Frances was much courted, as no private person had it so much in their power to entertain their company so well; there being every requisite at Munster-house to delight the heart, please the eyes, and satisfy the understanding.—No person of any taste but would blush to acknowledge they have not been in Shropshire to admire her buildings, manufactures, schools, etc.—And it fares with her merit like the pictures of Raphael, which are seen with admiration by all, or at least no one dare own that he has no taste for a composition which has received so universal an applause.

Upon Lord Munster's being of age, she was thirty-seven; yet the regularity of her life contributed to make her lose no more in her person than what might be considered as the slight touches in a picture, which when faded diminish nothing of the master-strokes of the piece. Lord Darnley, since the time he had expected to become Lady Frances's husband, still continued to attach himself to her. 'Whatever her determinations may be,' said he, 'I am sensible of the value of her soul; her friendship is more tender than the endearment of love in other women.' Such forbearances were not uncommon in ages of chivalry; and however justly ridiculed by the inimitable Cervantes, when carried to extremes, and terminating in Quixotism, yet it appears to constitute a capital part of the character of a true knight. Lord Darnley's attachment to Lady Frances was not founded on the weakness of his intellects; it never made him forgetful of his duties to society. He is at the same time a philosopher and a politician; and adds practice to speculation, experience to knowledge, in both these departments. Though the brilliant actions of some heroes are only handed down to us, and we view their characters through the magnifying end of the tube, yet Hercules himself could lay aside his club, and amuse himself with the distaff, to enjoy the company of the woman he loved. All great souls have descended occasionally, and divesting themselves of their heroism, have become susceptible of the tender passion.

Lady Frances respected Lord Darnley's character, as much as she loved his person; and the time was now arrived when she proposed ingenuously to confess to him the reasons of her past conduct, and to offer to dedicate the remainder of her life in rewarding his tender, fond, faithful attentions. But she suspected that—years had made such an alteration in her person, that she ceased to be an object of love, (to his lordship) although perfectly convinced she possessed his esteem—Under this apprehension it became impossible for her to act the part she intended—She became disquieted, and was determined, had that really been the case, never to have allied herself to any other. After revolving a thousand things, she at last determined to confirm or confute her hopes, by employing a particular friend, and a relation of Lord Darnley's, to discover his sentiments. Lady Frances's intimacy with this lady had commenced at Paris, when they were in the convent of the ——. As her character is peculiar, the indulgent reader will perhaps pardon the introduction of her story in this place.

At the time Lady Frances returned to England, Mrs Lee was taken out of the convent to be married. Her parents, dazzled with Mr Lee's wealth, forgot to attend to other requisites to render that state happy. Without his being a man of very shining parts, he had such talents as made him acceptable to women, in particular to a girl so young as she was when this alliance took place. He sung and danced well, was lively to extravagance, full of agreeable trifling, and always in good humour: add to this, he was handsome in his person, liberal to excess, and calculated for the seduction of the fair. Mrs Lee's great beauty, her parents partially flattered themselves would fix his affections.—All the graces of which the figure and emotions of a female were capable, were united in her; but his love for her was nothing but an impulse of passion which soon subsided. Addicted by his natural disposition to pleasure, he despised those which a tender sensibility renders so exquisitely delightful; such would have trespassed too much on his vanity. Unexperienced and artless, his innocent wife could not long retain his affections, and in the few years she lived with him, encountered many mortifications; first from the alienation of his affections, afterwards from the distressed situation of his affairs, which entirely changed his temper, rendering him impatient and passionate. His very footmen were taught to insult her, and every one in the family knew the most effectual way to ingratiate themselves with him, was to disregard his wife. Yet she bore it all with patience, and acted her part with prudence, endeavouring to disarm his anger with gentleness. She sometimes, indeed, lamented and complained, but the dove and the lamb do so too—'The poison of grief exhales only in complaints.'—She was neither sullen nor gay when he was out of humour; nor impertinent or melancholy when he was pleased—She obliged her affections to wait and submit to the various turns of his temper—trying to bribe his passions to her interest. She endeavoured also, by economy and proper attention, to retard as long as possible, the ruin that threatened him; and considerably diminished the household expenses.

This pleased her husband; he wanted to retrench, without appearing less magnificent; for his prudence (or rather his desire of saving at home to squander abroad) was still subordinate to his ostentation. But all these innocent stratagems were ineffectual; spending his whole time between women, racing, and gaming, one excess succeeded another, until his affairs were intirely involved. Previous to this, Mrs Lee had resigned her jewels to pay one of his game debts, which she afterwards saw adorning a girl he kept. The world saw he devoted himself only to objects of contempt, and pitied his neglect of a woman of her merit, and who was still handsome, having that style of beauty which is the image of a sensible heart, though sorrow and tears had deprived it of its freshness. This laid her open to the assiduity of men of gallantry, who are generally obliging enough, upon such occasions, to offer their assistance to dry up a pretty woman's tears. It is to be confessed a woman under these circumstances is in a very dangerous situation.

None of Mr Lee's conduct was founded on propriety—he was witty, kind, cold, angry, easy, stiff, jealous, careless, cautious, confident, close, open, but all in the wrong place. She often retired into her closet, and wept the silent hours away for his hard-heartedness—yet without one unkind word or reproach. Her parents were dead, Lady Frances at a distance, her sorrows of a complicated kind, which required great delicacy to discover; she had no person to open her heart to, none to whom she could pour forth the sorrows of the soul! she had a susceptible heart, and no object she took any interest in, or who participated in her trials.—This situated, (the candid must acknowledge) she was perhaps more to be pitied than blamed, in permitting another object to glide insensibly into her affections—more especially as he was introduced by Mr Lee, as one to whom she was indebted for his life and fortune.

The first he had defended, when two gamblers, his adversaries, were on the point of killing him; the last he had preserved by discovering a scheme that had been practised on him by them when inebriated by liquor, to which he was much addicted. Her husband left her young and unexperienced heart to all the tortures and pangs of jealousy, and that ennui attending an unoccupied heart; after flattering herself, as she had done nothing to deserve the estrangement of his affections, that they would be as permanent as her own. Why did he forsake her; why did he lay her open to temptations? her heart might have been his own, had he not cruelly abandoned her—at any rate it was too good to form another tye, had he not at last added contempt to neglect and his cruel usage at last would have animated a statue, at least I may safely declare nothing warmed with flesh and blood could bear it. A man of this humour is to be beloved only in the way of christianity—that is the utmost obedience which can be allowed to the commandments of God, and the authority of religion.

Were I obliged to draw a picture that should represent the happy union between an elevated soul, a penetrating mind, and a heart in which sweet humanity resides, I would form it entirely of the person and features of Mr Villars; and I fancy that all who had any just idea of those three qualities might perceive them plainly expressed in his form, look, and demeanor. Mr Lee pressed him to be much at his house; and as his innocent, though oppressed, wife had been kept in constant alarms concerning the consequences of his gaming——she could not but look on Mr Villars as the favour of her fortune, and on one to whom she might be indebted for her husband's reformation. I shall not expatiate on the sweetness and charms of his voice, of his noble appearance, and of the tincture of melancholy which softens the vivacity of his fine eyes; but what distinguishes him from most other men is the sentimental look of modest virtue, which never gives offence. He is not in the least a slave to interest; but as he is no stranger to the necessities of life, his conduct is always regular, and he never abandons himself to any excess. Such is and was Mr Villars. Mrs Lee very soon perceived his partiality for her—circumstanced as she was, his attentions were dangerous—but she could not with any propriety forbid him a house to which her husband so constantly invited him, without letting him see she mistrusted herself—more especially as he never failed in his respect for her.

He became her only comforter and friend; and if from her youth and inexperience she was likely to fall into even the appearance of any error, it was this kind, this friendly monitor that guarded her from it.

His attentions became as necessary to her soul, as aliments of food are to the support of the body, while the respectful distance of his behaviour proved to her his passion was controlled by his respect.

Some surmises were at length insinuated to Mr Lee, to his wife's dishonour. He paid little attention to them—but coming home one night flushed with wine, and finding Mr Villars alone at supper with her, (no unusual matter, and by his own request) he drew his sword, and wounded him before he had time to defend himself! Mrs Lee fainted away——on her recovery she removed herself from a house to which no entreaties on his part could prevail on her to return—declaring she would live no longer with a man who could at once suspect her virtue, endanger his friend's life, and ruin her reputation.

The world talked differently about this affair. Should not the example of the law be followed, which is so tender in criminal cases, that delinquents are often found not guilty, for want of legal evidence, at the same time that the court, the jury, and every one present at the trial feel the strongest moral conviction of their guilt? Scandal on the contrary always gives its most important and fatal decisions from appearances and suppositions, though reputation is dearer to a woman of honor than life itself. Mrs Lee experienced the malevolence of her own sex particularly. What, said they, could engage Mr Villars to devote all his time to her? is not friendship between a man and a woman a chimera, the mark of a passion which honor or self-interest bids them conceal? But whilst the world represented this affair in the worst colours, Lady Frances wrote her an affectionate letter, offering her assistance, and begging she would communicate her real situation, that she might the more effectually be enabled to serve her; to which Mrs Lee returned the following answer.

'Dear Madam.

I received the honor of your letter, and find myself elevated by your notice—if there can be pride that ranks with virtues, it is that we feel from friendships with the worthy. The liberal sentiments you express, are a proof of the goodness of your heart——I have ever thought that to believe the worst is a mark of a mean spirit, and a wicked soul; at least I am sure, that the contrary quality, when it is not due to weakness of understanding, is the fruit of a generous temper. In return for your generosity, I will lay open my whole heart to you; and if in consequence I lose your esteem, I shall at least have the satisfaction resulting from a consciousness of my candour. This is a liberty I should have taken before, had it not proceeded from the timidity I felt in unbosoming myself to one whose virtues I dreaded, and in discovering my weakness to one who I think has none of her own. Your ladyship knows the trials I suffered for many years; my conduct under the severest mortifications human nature could sustain. I was wounded in my affections, condemned and insulted in my person, impoverished in my circumstances: I still had strength of mind to regulate myself so as to meet your approbation: no species of calamity was unknown to me, nor were there wanting those of the other sex, who judged from my situation they might have a chance of succeeding with me, if I was weak enough to listen to them—but they soon gave up the pursuit, judging the excess of my misfortunes had hardened my heart entirely against certain impressions. But this was so far from being the case, that my sorrows, my sufferings, rendered my heart (naturally tender) more susceptible of that refined passion, which, when dignified by respect, and softened by tenderness, found so ready access to it[24].

In short, circumstanced as I was, if it is a crime to love, I am very culpable! but had I unfortunately proceeded to any act contrary to my engagements with Mr Lee, I myself would have acquainted him with it, though, in the opinion of many, he would not have deserved so much candour from me.

This being the real state of the case, I flatter myself your ladyship will think me more weak than wicked, more frail than culpable, more unfortunate than indiscreet. And I must now acquaint you, that I am determined never to return to my husband—I have consulted my reason on this subject, and when we have done so, whatever the decision be, whether in favour of our prejudices, or against them, we must rest satisfied, since nothing can be more certain than this, that he who follows that guide in the search of truth, as that was given to direct him, will have a much better plea to make for his conduct, than he who has resigned himself implicitly to the guidance of others. My maxim is, our understanding, properly exercised, is the medium by which God makes known his will to us; and that in all cases, the voice of impartial reason is the voice of God. Were my marriage even to be annulled, all the theologians in the world could not prove the least impiety in it.—Milton wrote the doctrine and discipline of divorce; wherein he proves, that a contrariety of mind, destructive of felicity, peace, and happiness, are greater reasons of divorce than adultery, especially if there be no children, and there be a mutual consent for separation.

He dedicated the second edition to the parliament of England, with the assembly of divines——The latter summoned him before the house of Lords, who, whether approving his doctrine, or not favouring his accusers, dismissed him. Necessary and just causes have necessary and just consequences: what error and disaster joined, reason and equity should disjoin.

I see no reason why those who upon the evidence of more than fourteen years experience are unsuited to each other, joined not matched, should live disagreeably together, and exist miserably—merely for the inadequate satisfaction of exulting upon the degree of their patience in having to say they did not part. A person may mistake in fixing love without knowledge of the party, but he cannot err that finds cause to dislike from woeful experience. It is, indeed, convenient for the lords of the creation to inculcate another doctrine, upon the same principles that the extreme and timorous attention to his own security made James I. very anxious to infuse into his subjects the belief of divine hereditary right, and a scrupulous unreserved obedience to the power which God had set over them. Mr Villars, who is now reconciled with my husband, has written to intercede in his behalf, assuring me of his penitence and affection. Boileau has observed, that it is an easy matter in a Christian poem for God to bring the devil to reason. Could I believe that all my husband did, were the effects of love, it would not in the least alter my resolution, since I should consider a person whose affection had such dreadful effects, as dangerous to my repose, as one whose anger was implacable.——What signifies it to me whether it be love or hatred by which I suffer, if the danger and inconvenience be the same? I am certain were we to live together again, whenever we met we should as naturally quarrel as the elephant and the rhinoceros. Reconciliations in the marriage state, after violent breaches, are seldom lasting, and after what has passed between us, like the father of the gods and the queen of heaven, we shall be the best company when asunder.

He says his conduct proceeded from an excess of love! I desire to be subject no more to such excesses! I am content to be moderately beloved; nor shall I ever again give occasion for such extraordinary proofs of affection. Were I to act otherwise, it would afford too much encouragement for the men to use their wives ill. Too good subjects are apt to make bad kings. He has my consent to live with any woman who can delight in such a loving husband, while I will force him to esteem my conduct, and irritate his animosity by declining a reconciliation. We are tired with perpetual gratitude, and perpetual hatred.——He wishes to be reconciled to me, not from any religious motive, or return of affection, his animosity being still the same—but because he is tired of acting the part of a provoked husband.

I am piqued at Mr Villars's interesting himself in this matter. I shall not answer his letter for a week; I mistrust my own vivacity.

Our imagination is often our greatest enemy: I am striving to weary mine before I act. Business like fruit hath its time of maturity, and we should not think of dispatching it while it is half ripe. The Cardinal de Retz said, 'I have all my life-time held men in greater esteem for what they forbore to do on some occasions than for what they did.'

I have here a most delightful dwelling——It is thatched, and covered on every side with roses, wood-bines, and honey-suckles, surrounded with a garden of the most artful confusion. The streams all around murmur, and fall a thousand ways. A great variety of birds are here collected, and are in high harmony on the sprays. The ruins of an abbey enhance the beauties of this place: they appear at the distance of four hundred yards from the house; and as some great trees are now grown up among the remains, and a river winds among the broken walls, the view is solemn, the picture fine. Here I often meditate on my misfortunes.

Sadness receives so many eulogiums in the scripture, that it is easy to judge, that if it be not of the number of the virtues, it may be usefully employed in their service——and it may be truly observed, that without experiencing sorrow, we should never know life's true value.

About a mile above the house is a range of very high hills, the sight of which renders me less incredulous of the accounts of Olympus, and mount Athos. Hygeia resides here, and dispenses the chief blessings of life, ease and health. I will pass my days in sweet tranquillity and study.

Could I flatter myself I should ever be honored by your presence, how happy I should be!—--Your eye, I am sure, would catch pleasure while it measures the surrounding landscape (even at this season of the year) of russet lawns and grey fallows, on which stray the nibbling flocks: the mountains too, which seem to support the labouring clouds, add sublimity to the charming scene. When I take a walk after a sedentary occupation, I feel a sensible pleasure; rest in its turn becomes agreeable, if it has been preceded by a moderate fatigue. Every action of our lives may be converted into a kind of pleasure, if it is but well timed: Life owes all its joys to this well-adapted succession; and he will never enjoy its true relish, who does not know to blend pleasure with dissipation. I ask pardon for detaining your ladyship so long—My cousin Lord Darnley has been to see, and admires my cottage.—I perceive plainly he flatters himself that you will one day make him happy. I do not presume to offer my advice; it would be imitating the savage chief, who marks out to the sun the course it is to take——but surely his respectful, uninterrupted attachment deserves your consideration. Were I not perfectly convinced of his worth and sincerity, I should be the last person to speak in his behalf. The bitterness of conjugal repentance, which I have experienced, is beyond all others poignant; and happy it is if disunion, rather than perpetual disagreement, results from it.

I ever am your ladyship's Obliged and affectionate friend,

Lucy Lee.'

Lady Frances returned Mrs Lee immediately the following answer.

'Dear Madam,Munster-house.

I return you many thanks for the confidence you honored me with; and I sincerely sympathize with you on the many disagreeable events that have occurred to you. If my approbation can confer on you any satisfaction, you possess it in a very eminent degree: for though I cannot approve of your sentiments concerning divorce, etc. yet your conduct in your family was exemplary.

There is no reasoning about the motions of the heart. Reflection and sensation are extremely different—our affections are not in our own power, though yours seem to have been under proper regulations.

I am not surprised at the calumny you met with. Many people stoop to the baseness of discovering in a person distinguished by eminent qualities, the weaknesses of humanity, while there is scarcely to be found an honest heart, who knows how to render a noble and sincere homage to another's superiority. I acknowledge myself guilty with respect to you, of a too common instance of injustice, that of desiring that others would always conduct themselves by our maxims! I am the more culpable, as I entirely agree with you in thinking that all our actions should proceed from the fixed principles we have adopted. I never pay a blind deference to the judgment of any man, or any body of men whatever. I cannot acquiesce in a decision, however formidable made by numbers, where my own reason is not satisfied. When the mind has no data, no settled principles to which it may recur as the rule of action, the agent can feel little or no satisfaction within himself, and society can have no moral security whatever against him.

The most permanent, the most pleasing enjoyment the human soul is capable of entertaining, is that which arises from a consciousness of having acted up to that standard of rectitude which we conceive to be the proper measure of our duty: and the best grounds on which we can expect others to place confidence in us, is the assurance we give them that we act under the influence of such moral obligations. This principle has influenced my conduct: and as you say you are absolutely determined never to live with your husband again; although my sentiments do not correspond with yours on that head, I will add nothing further on that subject, but refer you to certain passages in scripture, which I think on sober reflection must invalidate your present opinion[25].

The caprice you have often tacitly blamed me for respecting Lord Darnley, had you known the motives for, you would have approved—I will now in reward for your candour to me be equally sincere with you—trusting to your honor, that you will not divulge what is it so material to me to conceal.

At the time I agreed to give Lord Darnley my hand, I was at liberty to indulge my inclinations, and to devote myself entirely to him: But on my father's death, when I found the estate in my possession, I considered myself as mother to my brother's children. This was my motive for rejecting the man I (did, and do now) fondly love: who by his generous and friendly, his respectful and tender behaviour, deserves every thing from me. Whoever pretends to be without passions, censures the wisdom of that Power which made him; and if men of sense (for they alone are capable of refined pleasure) would so far admit love, as not to exclude their necessary and more important duties, they need not be ashamed to indulge one of the most valuable blessings of an innocent life. I honor the married state: and have high ideas of the happiness resulting from an union of hearts. Domestic society is founded on the union betwixt husband and wife. Among all the civilized nations, this union hath been esteemed sacred and honorable; and from it are derived those exquisite joys, or sorrows, which can embitter all the pleasures, or alleviate all the pains in human life. The heart has but a certain degree of sensibility, which we ought to be economists of. Lord Darnley engrossed my whole soul; nothing could afford me any pleasure which had no reference to him.—He was ever uppermost in my thoughts, and I bestowed only a secondary reflection on all other subjects.

I could have cheerfully, for his conversation, abandoned all society on earth beside, and have been more blessed, than if, for them, I had been deprived of his. But if we suffer one particular duty (even the worship of the Deity) to engross us entirely, or even to encroach upon the rest, we make but a very imperfect essay towards religion, or virtue; and are still at a considerable distance from the business of a moral agent. "The dial that mistells one hour, of consequence is false through the whole round of day."

Virtue, in my acceptation, is nothing else than that principle by which our actions are intentionally directed, to produce good, to the several objects of our free agency. I was aware, that it was not only necessary that I should mean to act a right part, and take the best way which could direct me to effect it, but that I should previously take those measures which were in my power to acquire the knowledge of my duty, and of the weaknesses I had to guard against. I was sensible, that, had I given my hand to Lord Darnley, I would have been defective in the duties incumbent on me to my own family:—Love would have taken entire possession of my soul, and shut up the avenues of my heart against every other sentiment. Upon this occasion I felt how justly the sacrifice of our own happiness is placed among the highest virtues. How painful must it be to the most generous heart! Men lose their lives to honor—I relinquished my love—the life of life. I am sensible I have been condemned for permitting him to be so much with me: but what recompence can the world bestow on me, for relinquishing the society of a real and tender friend? Common attachments, the shadows of friendship, the issue of chance, or fantastic likings, rashly cemented, may as hastily be dissolved: but mine has had the purest virtue for its basis, and will subsist whilst vital breath in me remains. My affections are founded on those amiable qualities, which are seldom united, and therefore but little liable to be displaced. My partiality is founded on esteem: take away the cause, the effect will cease. The dread of the world has never yet withheld me from following the bent of my own inclinations, and the dictates of my own heart, not the dread of censure ever influenced my conduct.

Your mention of his continued attachment is highly flattering, and very pleasing—There you touched the tenderest springs of my heart, bring me down to all the softness of my sex, and press upon me a crowd of tender, lovely, ideas—

If the consciousness of good-will to others, though inactive, be highly delightful, what a superior joy have I not experienced, my dear friend, in exerting this disposition, in acts of beneficence! Is not this the supreme enjoyment in nature? It is true, the great works I have carried on, the encouragement I have given to learning, the manufactories I have introduced into this kingdom, etc. etc. have procured me the suffrage of the world, and may transmit my name down to posterity. But what flatters me most is, that if I have acquired any fame, it is derived from the man I love. My acquaintance with him, has been a happiness to my mind, because it has improved and exalted its powers. The epithet of great, so liberally bestowed on princes, would, in most cases, if narrowly scanned, belong rather to their ministers. Unassisted by Agrippa and Mecænas, where should we have placed Augustus? What is the history of Lewis XIII. but the shining acts of Richelieu? Lewis XIV. was indeed a great king; but the Condés, the Turennes, as well as the Luvois, and Colberts, had no small share in acquiring the glories of his reign. In all situations of life, it is of great consequence to make a right choice of those we confide in—It is on that choice our own glory and peace depend.—But it is still more so to princes, or persons of large property. A private man will find a thousand persons ready to open his eyes, by reproaching him with the wrong steps into which bad advice drew him; whereas courtiers, or those who are interested, approve and applaud whatever the prince or the great person does. An ingenious courtier replied to his friend, who upbraided him with his too great complaisance for the emperor who had made bad verses, which he commended; "Would you have me have more sense than a man who commands twelve legions, and can banish me?"

That day my nephew is of age, I shall assign over his estate, and acquaint him of his obligations to Lord Darnley, to whom, at the same time, I shall offer my hand, if I have reason then to think it shall be agreeable to him. If it should not, I shall be mortified, though I shall not deck my brow with the plaintive willow. I need not tell you how agreeable it will be for me to see you at this place, which is considerably improved since you were here last. This day month I give a feast, in imitation of the Saturnalia[26]; make me happy by your presence on that occasion.

I remain, with great esteem, Your affectionate friend,

Frances Finlay.

Mrs Lee, soon after the receipt of the above letter, came to Munster-house, where she generally resided during the winter months, (after her separation from her husband) retiring to her cottage in Wales, in the summer.

Lady Frances had always a select number of friends with her. Notwithstanding her passion for music, she kept the performers in their own line; and though she venerated the liberal sciences, and contributed so largely to their cultivation, their several professors only waited on her by invitation: by this means she had it always in her power to suit her company, and never to be intruded on; as the best things are irksome to those whose inclinations, tastes, and humours, they do not suit.

I have already mentioned Mrs Norden, who had the care of Lady Frances's education, and who now continued to reside with her: this Lady's seriousness was happily contrasted with Lady Eliza's sprightliness, while Lady Frances's scientifical knowledge was agreeably relieved by the strokes of nature observable in Mrs Lee—who declared she had never read, or studied, any more than to assist her decyphering what was incumbent her to understand. 'I hate your wise ones,' said she, 'there is no opinion so absurd but it has been mentioned by some philosopher.' She is nature itself, without disguise, quite original disdaining all imitation, even in her dress, which is simple but unaffected. She plays most divinely on the fiddle. Her genius for music is sublime and universal. She holds the fiddle like a man, and produces music in all its genuine charms, raising the soul into the finest affections.

An aunt and sister of Sir Harry Bingley's were also much at Munster-house. Miss Bingley was of the same age with Lady Eliza: to the charms of a regular beauty she joins all those of a cultivated mind, together with a disposition replete with candor, and a turn for ridicule; two things rarely joined together—as a calm dispassionate love of truth, with a disposition to examine carefully, and judge impartially, with a love of diverting one's self at other people's expense, seldom meet together in the same mind. Mrs Dorothea Bingley is a maiden lady of fifty, possessed of a large independent fortune, which she proposes to bestow on her niece. She was in her youth very handsome: but having lived all her life in the country, she derived all her ideas of love from the heroic romance. To talk to her of love was a capital offence. Her rigour must be melted by the blood of giants, necromancers, and paynim knights. She expected, that, for her sake, they would retire to desarts, mourn her cruelty, subsist on nothing, and make light of scampering over impassable mountains, and riding through unfordable rivers, without recollecting, that, while the imagination of the lover is linked to this muddy vesture of decay, she must now and then condescend to partake of the carnality of the vivres of the shambles.

Those of the other sex who were mostly at Munster-house, were, Lord Darnley, Sir Harry Bingley, Sir James Mordaunt, etc. etc. etc. Great marriages had been proposed to Lady Frances; but she had ceased long to be importuned on that head. When Lord Munster was of age she gave a splendid entertainment to the neighbourhood, which finished with a ball. The day after she shewed her nephew the state of her affairs, when she succeeded to the estate: and that, exclusive of the buildings, etc. etc. she had already doubled it: that the perpetual burdens she had entailed on it, did not amount to one quarter of the advanced rents, which would continue to encrease: that she had put aside for Lady Eliza's fortune fifty thousand pounds, and an equivalent sum for herself, and then with great pleasure resigned the remainder to his Lordship, who she was happy to find so worthy of filling the place of his ancestors. She at the same time acquainted him with her motives for concealing her intentions in his favor, and that, had she seen him addicted to any irregularities, she would not have assigned over the property so soon to him—as the law of this country does not interfere like that of France, where, if a person, before he attains the age of twenty-five, wastes his fortune by anticipation, or other means, and is in a fair way of ruining himself, and, perhaps, his family; the government interposes: guardians of his estate are appointed, and his person may be detained in custody till he arrives at that age; but there the jurisdiction stops. The acknowledgments of Lord Munster are easier to be conceived, than expressed—he concluded by saying, 'he hoped Lady Frances would always consider Munster-house as still her own, and make it her principle residence!' She smiled, and looking to Lord Darnley, said, 'Having my lord performed my duty to this family; it is now in my power to make myself happy by conforming to your wishes—Sixteen years ago, I had singly an engagement to fulfil; but I have now a breach of it to repair.' Lord Darnley's joy may easily be supposed great on this occasion, who had maintained for Lady Frances, for so long a time, an uninterrupted attachment.—They were married a few days afterwards. Never did Phœbus gild a more auspicious day; never did Cupid inspire two lovers with a higher sense of each other's merit; and never did Hymen light his torch with a greater complacency, than to reward that constancy which remained invincible in Lord Darnley, without even being supported by hope.

The part Lady Darnley performed would have been difficult for another; but the club which a man of ordinary size could but lift, was but a walking-stick to Hercules.

No one enjoyed this wedding more than Mrs Dorothea Bingley. A sixteen years courtship corresponded entirely with her ideas of the right and fitness of things. She harangued her niece and Lady Eliza on this subject, telling them that Lady Darnley is the only woman she knows in this degenerate age, that has acted up to the propriety of the ancients—that she respected the sublimity of her ideas. She was very desirous of her niece's marrying a Mr Bennet, because he made love in heroics, was inebriated in his science, and thought all the world considered him as a Phoenix of wit. Miss Bingley would often reason with her aunt on this subject? 'Of what use in the world (said she) is an erudition so savage, and so full of presumption?'

But Mrs Dorothea always insisted that he was a classical scholar, and a fine gentleman! The niece declared he was a Pagan, and ought to have lived two centuries ago, as he spoke a language she did not understand! 'He may be learned (said she) but he has no passion!'

'No passion (replied Mrs Dorothea) how comes he then to write such fine letters?'

'The fine letters (replied Miss Bingley) show memory and fancy, but no sensations of the heart! lovers who make use of extravagant tropes are reduced to that expedient, to supply the defect of passion by the deceitful counterfeit of hyperbolical language. The passions of the heart depend not on the deductions of the understanding—but it was necessary he should have a Corinna, because Ovid had one; and he makes me inconstant, although I never gave him any encouragement, because Gallus's favourite run away with a soldier. He seems to be intimately acquainted with the history of Cupid and Venus, but knows nothing of love: and would be sooner applauded for writing a good elegy, than have his mistress smile on him.'

Mrs Dorothea told her, that she was exceedingly perverse, but she would give her leave to talk, as she had the power to do.

Miss Bingley said, 'Since Mr Bennet was so much in her good graces, she made no doubt but he would pay her his homage, on the smallest hint, would transfer his affections—as the foundation of his passion was the same for both, built on that of her mansion, would grow with her trees and increase with her estate——Increase, you know, my dear aunt, is the end of marriage; and your fortune is better than Medea's charm, for that only made an old man young again; but your riches will make a young man enamoured of an old woman! He will swear you are not only wiser than Minerva, but fairer than the Paphian queen! Though you are old, your trees are green; and though you have lost the roses in your cheeks, there are great plenty of them on your pleasure-grounds.'

Mrs Dorothea with great good-humour laughed at her niece's sallies, saying, 'You remember what Martial says;

'But seriously, niece (said she) you will never make a choice that I shall so much approve of—he has so much wit.'

Miss Bingley replied, that all the credit he has for wit is owing to the gratification he gives to others ill-nature: and said she would be very happy to accommodate herself to her aunt's wishes; but was not upon such a religious strain, and so desirous of canonization hereafter (if sufferings can make a saint) as to marry a man of his character, that she might have her mortifications and punishments in this life: but at the same time would faithfully promise never to marry any man she disapproved of.

There were great rejoicings for some weeks at Munster-house:—at which time Lord and Lady Darnley set out for their estate in Dorsetshire, and Lady Eliza accompanied Lord Munster to London. As a correspondence commenced at this period between the parties I have already introduced to the reader, the sequel of this history will appear from their letters. I shall only observe, that Lord Munster's figure was remarkably agreeable, his address engaging; he first attracted, and then commanded the admiration of all who knew him. On the slightest acquaintance with him, a most exact regard to all the proprieties and decencies of life were observable in his conduct; and such an evident desire to oblige, and to make all about him easy, as became a good mind and a liberal education. An agreeable chearfulness made his conversation as lively and agreeable as it was useful and instructing. But the discerning eye of friendship could discover that he was not happy, and that delicacy to the feelings of his friends restrained him from giving way to an uneasiness, which it was too apparent he laboured under. His general behaviour bore the genuine stamp of true politeness, the result of an overflowing humanity and benevolence of heart. Such qualities very justly and forcibly recommend, lying obvious to almost every observer; but to the more discerning, a nearer view of him quickly discovered endowments far above the common standard. He had, in truth, endowments of mind to have honored any station.

As Lady Darnley's breast glowed with that exalted fervent charity which embraces the wide extended interests of men, of communities, of the species itself; it is easy to conceive how her heart exulted at finding her nephew so deserving of all she had done for him. But though she felt the greatest satisfaction at his being so conformable to her wishes, and his fortune so adequate to his beneficence; the same sensibility rendered her wretched for the evident melancholy in which he was plunged. Her social affections ever awake, even on those whose objects lie beyond the nearer ties of nature, on many occasions gave her most painful sympathetic feelings; so deeply was she interested in the fortunes of all with whom she had any connection. How then must she mourn to observe, that, notwithstanding the possession of every advantage of person and wealth, her nephew was miserable!—If men would but consider how many things there are that riches cannot buy, they would not be so fond of them—for all the outward advantages Lord Munster had, were, to a man in his situation of mind, landscapes before a blind man, or music to one that is deaf.

Delicacy kept Lady Darnley from interrogating her nephew on the subject of his grief; sensible that the remotest desire from her, must amount to a command to him. She only, at parting, insinuated the happiness it would afford her to see him ally himself suitably to some lady of merit: and, as Lady Eliza was to accompany him to town, requested him to moderate her liveliness, and to be a careful observer of her conduct.

'I never see (said she) a single man, who hath passed middle age in celibacy, where no particular security arises from his profession or character; but I think I see an unsafe subject, and a very dangerous instrument for any mischief that his own parts may inspire, or other men's may prompt him to: As to other achievements of virtue, a distinction ought, I think, to be made; because, in common acceptation, there is a variety of things which pass under that name, and are generally applauded, which, properly estimated, would not deserve it. A regard to posterity hath carried arms, arts, and literature, further than any other motive ever did or could. Who is so likely to be influenced by this regard as they who are to leave behind them the darling pledges of their affection, in whom they hope to have their names continued, and all the fruits of their study, toil, and exploits, abiding and permanent?' Lord Munster assured the Countess, that he would ever think it his glory to conform to her wishes in ever respect.

End of the First Volume