costume; his hair hung in ringlets, and mustachios embellished his lip.

He then departed in a coach, and as soon as he had left us:

'I declare,' said the landlady to me, 'I do not like your cousin's
style of beauty at all; particularly his pencilled eyebrows and curled
locks, they look so womanish.'

'What!' said I, 'not admire Hesperian, Hyacinthine, clustering curls?
Surely you would not have a hero with overhanging brows and lank hair?
These are worn by none but the villains and assassins.'

I perceived poor Higginson colouring, and twisting his fingers; and I
then recollected that his brows and hair have precisely the faults
which I reprobated.

'Dear, dear, dear!' muttered he, and made a precipitate retreat from
the room.

I retired soon after; and I now hasten to throw myself on my bed, dream
of love and Montmorenci, and wake unrefreshed, from short and
distracted slumbers.

Adieu.

LETTER XI

This morning, soon after breakfast, I heard a gentle knocking at my
door, and, to my great astonishment, a figure, cased in shining armour,
entered. Oh! ye conscious blushes, it was my Montmorenci! A plume of
white feathers nodded on his helmet, and neither spear nor shield were
wanting.

'I come,' cried he, bending on one knee, and pressing my hand to his
lips, 'I come in the ancient armour of my family, to perform my promise
of recounting to you the melancholy memoirs of my life.'

'My lord,' said I, 'rise and be seated. Cherubina knows how to
appreciate the honour that Montmorenci confers.'

He bowed; and having laid by his spear, shield, and helmet, he placed
himself beside me on the sofa, and began his heart-rending history.

'All was dark. The hurricane howled, the hail rattled, and the thunder
rolled. Nature was convulsed, and the traveller inconvenienced.

'In the province of Languedoc stood the Gothic Castle of Montmorenci.
Before it ran the Garonne, and behind it rose the Pyrenees, whose
summits exhibiting awful forms, seen and lost again, as the partial
vapours rolled along, were sometimes barren, and gleamed through the
blue tinge of air, and sometimes frowned with forests of gloomy fir,
that swept downward to their base.

'My lads, are your carbines charged, and your daggers sharpened?'
whispered Rinaldo, with his plume of black feathers, to the banditti,
in their long cloaks.

'If they an't,' said Bernardo, 'by St. Jago, we might load our carbines
with the hail, and sharpen our daggers against this confounded
north-wind.'

'The wind is east-south-east,' said Ugo.

'At this moment the bell of Montmorenci Castle tolled one. The sound
vibrated through the long corridors, the spiral staircases, the suites
of tapestried apartments, and the ears of the personage who has the
honour to address you. Much alarmed, I started from my couch, which was
of exquisite workmanship; the coverlet of flowered gold, and the canopy
of white velvet painted over with jonquils and butterflies, by Michael
Angelo. But conceive my horror when I beheld my chamber filled with
banditti!

'Snatching my sword, I flew to a corner, where my coat of mail lay
heapt. The bravos rushed upon me; but I fought and dressed, and dressed
and fought, till I had perfectly completed my unpleasing toilette.

'I then stood alone, firm, dignified, collected, and only fifteen years
of age.

    Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye,
    Than twenty of their swords.--

'To describe the horror of the contest that followed, were beyond the
pen of an Anacreon. In short, I fought till my silver skin was laced
with my golden blood; while the bullets flew round me, thick as hail,

    And whistled as they went for want of thought.

'At length my sword broke, so I set sail for England.

'As I first touched foot on her chalky beach; Hail! exclaimed I, happy
land, thrice hail! Take to thy fostering bosom the destitute
Montmorenci--Montmorenci, once the first and richest of the Gallic
nobility--Montmorenci, whom wretches drove from his hereditary
territories, for loyalty to his monarch, and opposition to the
atrocities of exterminators and revolutionists.

'Nine days and nights I wandered through the country, the rivulet my
beverage, and the berry my repast: the turf my couch, and the sky my
canopy.'

'Ah!' interrupted I, 'how much you must have missed the canopy of white
velvet painted over with jonquils and butterflies!'

'Extremely,' said he, 'for during sixteen long years, I had not a roof
over my head.--I was an itinerant beggar!

'One summer's day, the cattle lay panting under the broad umbrage; the
sun had burst into an immoderate fit of splendour, and the struggling
brook chided the matted grass for obstructing it. I sat under a hedge,
and began eating wild strawberries; when lo! a form, flexile as the
flame ascending from a censer, and undulating with the sighs of a dying
vestal, flitted inaudible by me, nor crushed the daisies as it trod.
What a divinity! she was fresh as the Anadyomene of Apelles, and
beautiful as the Gnidus of Praxitiles, or the Helen of Zeuxis. Her eyes
dipt in Heaven's own hue.'----

'Sir,' said I, 'you need not mind her eyes: I dare say they were blue
enough. But pray who was this immortal doll of your's?'

'Who!' cried he. 'Why who but--shall I speak it? Who but--the LADY
CHERUBINA DE WILLOUGHBY!!!'

'I!'

'You!'

'Ah! Montmorenci!'

'Ah! Cherubina! I followed you with cautious steps,' continued he,
'till I traced you into your--you had a garden, had you not?'

'Yes.'

'Into your garden. I thought ten thousand flowerets would have leapt
from their beds to offer you a nosegay. But the age of gallantry is
past, that of merchants, placemen, and fortune-hunters has succeeded,
and the glory of Cupid is extinguished for ever!

'You disappeared, I uttered incoherent sentences, and next morning
resumed my station at a corner of the garden.'

'At which corner?' asked I.

'Why really,' said he, 'I cannot explain; for the place was then new to
me, and the ground was covered with snow.'

'With snow!' cried I. 'Why I thought you were eating wild strawberries
only the day before.'

'I!' said he. 'Sure you mistake.'

'I declare most solemnly you told me so,' cried I.

'Why then,' said he, 'curse me if I did.'

'Sir,' said I. 'I must remark that your manners----'

'Bless me!' cried he, 'yes, I did say so, sure enough, and I did eat
wild strawberries too; but they were _preserved_ wild strawberries. I
had got a small crock of them from an oyster woman, who was opening
oysters in a meadow, for a hysterical butcher; and her knife having
snapt in two, I lent her my sword; so, out of gratitude, she made me a
present of the preserves. By the bye, they were mouldy.

'One morning, as I sat at the side of the road, asking alms, some
provincial players passed by me. I accosted them, and offered my
services. In short, they took me with them; I performed, was applauded;
and at length my fame reached London, where I have now been acting some
years, with much success; anxious as I am, to realize a little money,
that I may return, in disguise, to my native country, and petition
Napoleon to restore my forfeited estates.

'Such, fair lady, such is my round, unvarnished tale.

'But wherefore,' cried he, starting from his seat; 'wherefore talk of
the past? Oh! let me tell you of the present and of the future. Oh! let
me tell you, how dearly, how devotedly I love you!'

'Love me!' cried I, giving such a start as the nature of the case
required. 'My lord, this is so--really now so----'

'Pardon this abrupt avowal of my unhappy passion,' said he, flinging
himself at my feet. 'Fain would I have let concealment, like a worm in
the bud, feed on my damask cheek; but, oh! who could resist the
maddening sight of so much beauty?'

I remained silent, and with the elegant embarrassment of modesty, cast
my blue eyes to the ground. I never looked so lovely.

'But I go!' cried he, springing on his feet. 'I fly from you for ever!
No more shall Cherubina be persecuted with my hopeless love. But
Cherubina, the hills and the vallies shall echo, and the songsters of
the grove shall articulate Cherubina. I will shake the leaves of the
forest with my sighs, and make the stream so briny with my tears, that
the turbot shall swim into it, and the sea-weed grow upon its banks!'

'Ah, do not!' said I, with a look of unutterable anguish.

'I will!' exclaimed he, pacing the chamber with long strides, and
slapping his heart, 'and I call all the stars of respectability to
witness the vow. Then, Lady Cherubina,' continued he, stopping short
before me; 'then, when maddened and emaciated, I shall pillow my
haggard head on a hard rock, and lulled by the hurricanes of Heaven,
shall sink into the sleep of the grave.'----

'Dear Montmorenci!' said I, quite overcome, 'live for my sake--as you
value my--friendship,--live.'

'Friendship!' echoed he. 'Oh! Cherubina, Oh! my soul's precious
treasure, say not that icy word. Say hatred, disgust, horror; any thing
but friendship.'

'What shall I say?' cried I, ineffably affected, 'or what shall I do?'

'What you please,' muttered he, looking wild and pressing his forehead.
'My brain is on fire. Hark! chains are clanking--The furies are
whipping me with their serpents--What smiling cherub arrests yon bloody
hand? Ha! 'tis Cherubina. And now she frowns at me--she darts at
me--she pierces my heart with an arrow of ice!'

He threw himself on the floor, groaned grievously, and tore his hair. I
was horror-struck.

'I declare,' said I, 'I would say any thing on earth to relieve
you;--only tell me what.'

'Angel of light!' exclaimed he, springing upon his feet, and beaming on
me a smile that might liquefy marble. 'Have I then hope? Dare I say it?
Dare I pronounce the divine words, she loves me?'

'I am thine and thou art mine!' murmured I, while the room swam before
me.

He took both my hands in his own, pressed them to his forehead and
lips, and leaned his burning cheek upon them.

'My sight is confused,' said he, 'my breathing is opprest; I hear
nothing, my veins swell, a palpitation seizes my heart, and I scarcely
know where I am, or whether I exist!'

Then softly encircling my waist with his arm, he pressed me to his
heart. With what modesty I tried to extricate myself from his embrace;
yet with what willing weakness I trembled on his bosom. It was
Cherubina's hand that fell on his shoulder, it was Cherubina's tress
that played on his cheek, it was Cherubina's sigh that breathed on his
lip.

'Moment of a pure and exquisite emotion!' cried he. 'In the life of man
you are known but once; yet once known, can you ever be forgotten? Now
to die would be to die most blest!'

Suddenly he caught me under the chin, and kissed me. I struggled from
him, and sprang to the other end of the room, while my neck and face
were suffused with a glow of indignation.

'Really,' said I, panting with passion, 'this is so unprovoked, so
presuming.'

He cast himself at my feet, execrated his folly, and swore that he had
merely fulfilled an etiquette indispensible among lovers in his own
country.

''Tis not usual here, my lord,' said I; 'and I have no notion of
submitting to any freedom that is not sanctioned by the precedent of
those exalted models whom I have the honour to imitate.

'I fancy, my lord, you will find, that, as far as a kiss on the hand,
or an arm round the waist, they have no particular objection. But a
salute on the lip is considered inaccurate. My lord, on condition that
you never repeat the liberty, here is my hand.'

He snatched it with ardor, and strained it to his throbbing bosom.

'And now,' cried he, 'make my happiness complete, by making this hand
mine for ever.'

On a sudden an air of dignified grandeur involved my form. My mind, for
the first time, was called upon to reveal its full force. It felt the
solemnity of the appeal, and triumphed in its conscious ability.

'What!' cried I, 'knowest thou not the fatal, the inscrutable, the
mysterious destiny, which must ever prevent our union?'

'Speak, I conjure you,' cried he, 'or I expire on the spot.'

'Alas!' exclaimed I, 'can'st thou suppose the poor orphan Cherubina so
destitute of principle and of pride, as to intrude herself unknown,
unowned, unfriended; mysterious in her birth, and degraded in her
situation, on the ancient and illustrious House of Montmorenci?

'Here then I most solemnly vow, never to wed, till the horrible mystery
which hangs over my birth be developed.'

You know, Biddy, that a heroine ought always to snatch at an
opportunity of making a fatal vow. When things are going on too smooth,
and interest drooping, a fatal vow does wonders. I remember reading in
some romance, of a lady, who having vowed never to divulge a certain
secret, kept it twenty years; and with such inviolability, that she
lived to see it the death of all her children, several of her friends,
and a fine old aunt.

As soon as I had made this fatal vow, his lordship fell into the most
afflicting agonies and attitudes.

'Oh!' cried he, 'to be by your side, to see you, touch you, talk to
you, love you, adore you, and yet find you lost to me for ever. Oh!
'tis too much, too much.'

'The milliner is here, Miss,' said the maid, tapping at the door.

'Bid her call again,' said I.

'Beloved of my soul!' murmured his lordship.

'Ma'am,' interrupted the maid, opening the door, 'she cannot call
again, as she must go from this to Kensington.'

'Then let her come in,' said I, and she entered with a charming
assortment of bonnets and dresses.

'We will finish the scene another time,' whispered I to his lordship.

His lordship swore that he would drop dead that instant.

The milliner declared that she had brought me the newest patterns.

'On my honour,' said I to his lordship, 'you shall finish this scene
to-morrow morning, if you wish it.'

'You may go and be---- Heigho!' said he, suddenly checking himself.
What he was about to say, I know not; something mysterious, I should
think, by the knitting of his brows. However, he snatched his spear,
shield, and helmet, made a low bow, laid his hand on his heart, and
stalked out of the chamber. Interesting youth!

I then ran in debt for some millinery, drank hartshorn, and chafed my
temples.

I think I was right about the kiss. I confess I am not one of those
girls who try to attract men through the medium of the touch; and who
thus excite passion at the expence of respect. Lips are better employed
in sentiment, than in kissing. Indeed, had I not been fortified by the
precedent of other heroines, I should have felt, and I fear, did
actually feel, even the classical embrace of Montmorenci too great a
freedom. But remember I am still in my noviciate. After a little
practice, I shall probably think it rather a pleasure to be strained,
and prest, and folded to the heart. Yet of this I am certain, that I
shall never attain sufficient hardihood to ravish a kiss from a man's
mouth; as the divine Heloise did; who once ran at St. Preux, and
astonished him with the most balmy and remarkable kiss upon record.
Poor fellow! he was never the same after it.

I must say too, that Montmorenci did not shew much judgment in urging
me to marry him, before I had undergone adventures for four volumes.
Because, though the heroic etiquette allowed me to fall in love at
first sight, and confess it at second sight, yet it would not authorize
me to marry myself off quite so smoothly. A heroine is never to be got
without agony and adventure. Even the ground must be lacerated, before
it will bring forth fruits, and often we cannot reach the lovely
violet, till we have torn our hands with brambles.

I did not see his lordship again until dinner time; and we had almost
finished our repast, before the poet made his appearance and his bow.
His bow was as usual, but his appearance was strangely changed. His
hair stood in stiff ringlets on his forehead, and he had pruned his
bushy eyebrows, till hardly one bristle remained; while a pair of white
gloves, small enough for myself, were forced upon his hands. He glanced
at us with a conscious eye, and hurried to his seat at table.

'Ovid's Metamorphoses, by Jupiter!' exclaimed Montmorenci. 'Why,
Higginson, how shameful for the mice to have nibbled your eyebrows,
while Apollo Belvidere was curling your hair!'

The poet blushed, and ate with great assiduity.

'My dear fellow,' continued his lordship, 'we can dispense with those
milk-white gloves during dinner. Tell me, are they mamma's, dear
mamma's?'

'I will tell my mother of you!' cried the poet, half rising from his
chair.

Now his mother is an old bed-ridden lady in one of the garrets. I then
interfered in his behalf, and peace was restored.

After dinner, I took an opportunity, when the landlady had left the
room, to request ten pounds from his lordship, for the purpose of
paying the milliner. Never was regret so finely pictured in a face as
in his, while he swore that he had not a penny upon earth. Indeed so
graceful was his lamentation, so interesting his penury, that though
the poet stole out of the room for ten pounds, which he slipped into my
hand, I preferred the refusal of the one to the donation of the other.

Yes, this amiable young nobleman increases in my estimation every
moment. Never can you catch him out of a picturesque position. He would
exhaust in an hour all the attitudes of all the statues; when he talks
tenderness, his eyes glow with a moist fire, and he always brings in
his heart with peculiar happiness. Then too, his oaths are at once well
conceived and elegantly expressed. Thunderbolts and the fixed stars are
ever at his elbow, and no man can sink himself to perdition with so
fine a grace.

But I could write of him, talk of him, think of him, hour after hour,
minute after minute; even now, while the shadows of night are
blackening the blushes of the rose, till dawn shall stain with her
ruddy fire, the snows of the naked Apennine; till the dusky streams
shall be pierced with darts of light, and the sun shall quaff his dewy
beverage from the cup of the tulip, and the chalice of the lily. That
is pretty painting.

Adieu.

LETTER XII

'It is my lady, O it is my love!' exclaimed Lord Altamont Mortimer
Montmorenci, as he flew, like a winged mercury, into my apartment this
morning. A loud rap at the door checked his eloquence, and spoiled a
most promising posture.

'Is Miss Wilkinson within?' said a voice in the hall.

'No such person lives here,' replied the maid, who was accustomed to
hear me called Miss Donald.

'But there does, and on the ground-floor too, and I will find her out,
I warrant,' cried the same voice.

My door was then thrown open, and who should waddle into the room, but
fat Wilkinson!

My first feeling (could you believe it) was of gladness at seeing him;
nor had I presence of mind enough, either to repulse his embrace, or
utter a piercing shriek. Happily my recollection soon returned, and I
flung him from me.

'Cherry,' said he, 'dear Cherry, what have I done to you, that you
should use me thus? Was there ever a wish of your heart that I left
ungratified? And now to desert me in my old age! Only come home with
me, my child, only come home with me, and I will forgive you all.'

'Wilkinson,' said I, 'this interview must be short, pointed, and
decisive. As to calling yourself my father, that is a stale trick, and
will not pass; and as to personating (what I perceive you aspire to)
the grand villain of my plot, your corpulency, pardon me, puts that out
of the question for ever. I should be just as happy to employ you as
any other man I know, but excuse me if I say, that you rather overrate
your talents and qualifications. Have you the gaunt ferocity of famine
in your countenance? Can you darken the midnight of a scowl? Have you
the quivering lip and the Schedoniac contour? And while the lower part
of your face is hidden in black drapery, can your eyes glare from under
the edge of a cowl? In a word, are you a picturesque villain, full of
plot, and horror, and magnificent wickedness? Ah, no, Sir, you are only
a sleek, good-humoured, chuckle-headed gentleman. Continue then what
nature made you; return to your plough, mow, reap, fatten your pigs and
the parson; but never again attempt to get yourself thrust into the
pages of a romance.'

Disappointment and dismay forced more meaning into his features than I
thought them possessed of. The fact is, he had never imagined that my
notions of what villains ought to be were so refined; and that I have
formed my taste in these matters upon the purest models.

As a last effort of despair, the silly man flung himself on his knees
before me, and grasping my hands, looked up in my face, with such an
imploring wretchedness of expression, while the tears rolled silently
down his cheeks, that I confess I was a little moved; and for the
moment fancied him sincere.

'Now goodness bless thee,' said he, at length, 'goodness bless thee,
for those sweet tears of thine, my daughter!'

'Tears!' cried I, quite shocked.

'Yes, darling,' said he, 'and now with this kiss of peace and love, we
will blot out all the past.'

I shrieked, started from my seat, and rushed into the expanding arms of
Montmorenci.

'And pray, Sir,' cried Wilkinson, advancing fiercely, 'who are you?'

'A lodger in this house, Sir,' answered his lordship, 'and your best
friend, as I trust you will acknowledge hereafter. I became acquainted
with this lady at the table of our hostess, and learned from her, that
she had left your house in disgust. Yesterday morning, on entering her
apartment, to make my respects, I found an old gentleman there, one
Doctor Merrick, whom I recognized as a wretch of infamous character;
tried twice for shoplifting, and once for having swindled the Spanish
ambassador out of a golden snuff-box. I, though an humble individual,
yet being well acquainted with this young lady's high respectability,
presumed to warn her against such a dangerous companion; when I found,
to my great concern, that she had already promised him her hand in
marriage.'

Wilkinson groaned: I stared.

'On being apprised of his character,' continued Montmorenci, 'the young
lady was willing enough to drop the connection, but unfortunately, the
ruffian had previously procured a written promise of marriage from her,
which he now refuses to surrender; and at the moment you came, I was
consulting with your daughter what was best to be done.'

'Lead me to him!' cried Wilkinson, 'lead me to the villain this
instant, and I will shew you what is best to be done!'

'I have appointed an interview with him, about this time,' said his
lordship, 'and as your feelings might probably prompt you to too much
warmth, perhaps you had better not accompany me; but should I fail in
persuading him to deliver up the fatal paper, you shall then see him
yourself.'

'You are a fine fellow!' cried the farmer, shaking his hand, 'and have
bound me to you for ever.'

'I will hasten to him now,' said his lordship, and casting a
significant glance at me, departed; leaving me quite astonished, both
at his story, and his motive for fabricating it. It was, however, my
business to support the deception.

Wilkinson then told me that he discovered my place of residence in
London, from the discharged Butler, who, it seems, is not your son, but
your lover; and to whom you have shewn all my letters. He went to
Wilkinson, and made the disclosure for forty guineas. Sordid wretch!
and Wilkinson says that he wants to marry you, merely for the sake of
your annuity. Biddy, Biddy! had you known as much of the world as I do
now, a fortune hunter would not have imposed upon you.

As to your shewing him my letters, I cannot well blame you for a breach
of trust, which has answered the purpose of involving my life in a more
complicated labyrinth of entanglements.

But to return. In the midst of our conversation, the maid brought me a
note. It was from Montmorenci, and as follows:

    'Will my soul's idol forgive the tale I told Wilkinson, since it
    was devised in order to save her from his fangs? This Doctor
    Merrick, whom I mentioned to him, instead of being a swindler, is a
    mad-doctor; and keeps a private madhouse. I have just seen him, and
    have informed him that I am about to put a lunatic gentleman, my
    honoured uncle, under his care. I told him, that this dear uncle
    (who, you may well suppose is Wilkinson) has lucid intervals; that
    his madness arose from grief at an unfortunate amour of his
    daughter's, and shews itself in his fancying that every man he sees
    wants to marry her, and has her written promise of marriage.

    'I have already advanced the necessary fees, and now is your time
    to wheedle Wilkinson out of money, by pretending that you will
    return home with him. A true heroine, my sweet friend, ever shines
    in deception.

          Good now, play one scene
        Of excellent dissembling.--SHAKESPEARE.

        'Ever, ever, ever,

                      'Your faithful

                                   'MONTMORENCI.

    'P.S. Excuse tender language, as I am in haste.'

This dear letter I placed in my bosom: and when I begged of the farmer
to let me have a little money, he took out his pocket-book.

'Here, my darling,' said he, 'here are notes to the tune of a hundred
pounds, that you may pay all you owe, and purchase whatever baubles and
finery you like. This is what you get for discarding that swindler, and
promising to return home with old dad.'

Soon afterwards, our hero came back, and told us that his interview had
proved unsuccessful. It was therefore determined that we should all
repair to the Doctor's (for Wilkinson would not go without me), and off
we set in a hired coach. On our arrival, we were shewn into a parlour,
and after some minutes of anxious suspense, the Doctor, a thin little
figure, with a shrivelled face and bushy wig, came humming into the
room.

Wilkinson being introduced, the Doctor commenced operations, by trying
the state of his brain.

'Any news to-day, Mr. Wilkinson?' said he.

'Very bad news for me, Sir,' replied Wilkinson, sullenly.

'I mean public news,' said the Doctor.

'A private grievance ought to be considered of public moment,' said
Wilkinson.

'Well remarked, Sir,' cried the Doctor, 'a clear-headed observation as
possible. Sir, I give you credit. There is a neatness in the turn of it
that argues a collected intellect.'

'Sir,' said Wilkinson, 'I hope that some other observations which I am
about to offer will please you as well.'

'I hope so for your own sake,' answered the Doctor; 'I shall certainly
listen to them with a favourable ear.'

'Thank you, Sir,' said the farmer: 'and such being the case, I make no
doubt that all will go well; for men seldom disagree, when they wish to
coincide.'

'Good again,' cried the Doctor. 'Apt and good. Sir, if you continue to
talk so rationally, I promise you that you will not remain long in my
house.'

'I am sorry,' replied Wilkinson, 'that talking rationally is the way to
get turned out of your house, because I have come for the purpose of
talking rationally.'

'And while such is your resolution,' said the Doctor, 'nothing shall be
left undone to make my house agreeable. You have only to hint your
wishes, and they shall be gratified.'

'Sir, Sir,' cried Wilkinson, grasping his hand, 'your kindness is
overpowering, because it is unexpected. However, I do not mean to
trespass any farther on your kindness than just to request, that you
will do me the favour of returning to my daughter the silly paper
written by her, containing her promise to marry you; and if you could
conveniently lay your hand on it now, you would add to the obligation,
as I mean to leave Town in an hour.'

'Mr. Wilkinson,' said the Doctor, 'I shall deal candidly with you.
Probably you will not leave Town these ten years. And pardon me, if I
give you fair warning, that should you persist in asking for the paper,
a severe horse-whipping will be the consequence.'

'A horse-whipping!' repeated Wilkinson, as if he could not believe his
ears.

'You shall be cut from shoulder to flank,' said the Doctor. ''Tis my
usual way of beginning.'

'Any thing more, my fine fellow?' cried the farmer.

'Only that if you continue refractory,' said the Doctor, 'you shall be
lashed to the bed-post, and shall live on bread and water for a month.'

'Here is a proper ruffian for you!' cried Wilkinson. 'Now, by the
mother that bore me, I have a good mind to flay you within an inch of
your life!'

'Make haste then,' said the Doctor, ringing the bell; 'for you will be
handcuffed in half a minute.'

'Why you little creature,' cried Wilkinson, 'do you hope to frighten
me? Not ask for the paper, truly! Ay, ten thousand times over and over.
Give me the paper, give me the paper; give me the paper, the paper, the
paper! What say you to that, old Hector?'

'The handcuffs!' cried the Doctor to the servant.

'Ay, first handcuff me, and then pick my pockets,' cried Wilkinson.
'You see I have found you out, sirrah! yes I have discovered that you
are a common shoplifter, tried five times for your life--and the very
fellow that swindled the Spanish ambassador out of a diamond
snuff-box.'

'A good deal deranged, indeed,' whispered the Doctor to his lordship.

'But how the deuce the girl could bring herself to fancy you,' cried
Wilkinson, 'that is what shocks me most. A fellow, by all that is
horrid, as ugly as if he were bespoke--an old fellow, too, and twice as
disgusting, and not half so interesting, as a monkey in a consumption.'

'Perfectly distracted, 'pon my conscience!' muttered the Doctor; 'the
maddest scoundrel, confound him, that ever bellowed in Bedlam!'

Two servants entered with handcuffs.

'Look you,' cried Wilkinson, shaking his cane; 'dare to bring your
bullies here, and if I don't cudgel their carcases out of shape, and
your's into shape, may I be shot.'

'Secure his hands,' said the Doctor.

Wilkinson instantly darted at the Doctor, and knocked him down. The
servants collared Wilkinson, who called to Montmorenci for assistance;
but in vain; and after a furious scuffle, the farmer was handcuffed.

'Dear uncle, calm these transports!' said his lordship. 'Your dutiful
and affectionate nephew beseeches you to compose yourself.'

'Uncle!--nephew!' cried the farmer. 'What do you mean, fellow? Who the
devil is this villain?'

'Are you so far gone, as not to know your own nephew?' said the Doctor,
grinning with anger.

'Never set eyes on the poltron till an hour ago!' cried Wilkinson.

'Merciful powers!' exclaimed Montmorenci. 'And when I was a baby, he
dandled me; and when I was a child, he gave me whippings and
sugar-plums; and when I came to man's estate, he cherished me in his
bosom, and was unto me as a father!' Here his lordship applied a
handkerchief to his face.

'The man is crazed!' cried Wilkinson.

'No, dear uncle,' said Montmorenci, ''tis you who are crazed; and to be
candid with you, this is a madhouse, and this gentleman is the
mad-doctor, and with him you must now remain, till you recover from
your complaint--the most afflicting instance of insanity, that,
perhaps, was ever witnessed.'

'Insanity!' faltered the farmer, turning deadly pale. 'Mercy, mercy on
my sinful soul, for I am a gone man!'

'Nay,' said his lordship, 'do not despair. The Doctor is the first in
his profession, and will probably cure you in the course of a few
years.'

'A few years? That bread and water business will dispatch me in a week!
Mad? I mad? I vow to my conscience, Doctor, I was always reckoned the
quietest, easiest, sweetest--sure every one knows honest Gregory
Wilkinson. Don't they, Cherry? Dear child, answer for your father. Am I
mad? Am I, Cherry?'

'As butter in May,' said Montmorenci.

'You lie like a thief!' vociferated the farmer, struggling and kicking.
'You lie, you sneering, hook-nosed reprobate!'

'Why, my dear uncle,' said Montmorenci, 'do you not recollect the night
you began jumping like a grasshopper, and scolding the full-moon in my
deer-park?'

'Your deer-park? I warrant you are not worth a cabbage-garden! But now
I see through the whole plot. Ay, I am to be kept a prisoner here,
while my daughter marries that old knave before my face. It would kill
me, Cherry; I tell you I should die on the spot. Oh, my unfortunate
girl, are you too conspiring against me? Are you, Cherry? Dear Cherry,
speak. Only say you are not!'

'Indeed, my friend,' said I, 'you shall be treated with mildness.
Doctor, I beg you will not act harshly towards him. With all his
faults, the man is goodnatured and well tempered, and to do him
justice, he has always used me kindly.'

'Have I not?' cried he. 'Sweet Cherry, beautiful Cherry, blessings on
you for that!'

'Come away,' said Montmorenci hastily. 'You know 'tis near dinner
time.'

'Farewell, Doctor,' said I. 'Adieu, poor Wilkinson.'

'What, leaving me?' cried he, 'leaving your old father a prisoner in
this vile house? Oh, cruel, cruel!'

'Come,' said Montmorenci, taking my hand: 'I have particular business
elsewhere.'

'For pity's sake, stay five minutes!' cried Wilkinson, struggling with
the servants.

'Come, my love!' said Montmorenci.

'Only one minute--one short minute!' cried the other.

'Well,' said I, stopping, 'one minute then.'

'Not one moment!' cried his lordship, and was hurrying me away.

'My child, my child!' cried Wilkinson, with a tone of such
indescribable agony, as made the blood curdle in my veins.

'Dear Sir,' said I, returning; 'indeed I am your friend. But you know,
you know well, I am not your child.'

'You are!' cried he, 'by all that is just and good, you are my own
child!'

'By all that is just and good,' exclaimed Montmorenci, 'you shall come
away this instant, or remain here for ever.' And he dragged me out of
the room.

'Now then,' said the poor prisoner, as the door was closing, 'now do
what you please with me, for my heart is quite broken!'

On our way home, his lordship enjoined the strictest secrecy with
regard to this adventure. I shewed him the hundred pounds, and
reimbursed him for what he had paid the Doctor; and on our arrival, I
discharged my debt to the poet.

Adieu.

LETTER XIII

Soon after I had got into these lodgings, I sent the servant to
Grosvenor Square, with a message for Betterton, requesting him to let
me have back the bandbox, which I left at his house the night I fled
from him. In a short time she returned with it, and I found every
article safe.

To my amazement and dismay, who should enter my apartment this morning
but Betterton himself! I dropped my book. He bowed to the dust.

'Your business, Sir?' said I, rising with a dignity, which, from my
being under the repeated necessity of assuming it, has now become
natural to me.

'To make a personal apology,' replied he, 'for the disrespectful and
inhospitable treatment which the loveliest of her sex experienced at my
house.'

'An apology for one insult,' said I, 'must seem insincere, when the
mode adopted for making it is another insult.'

'The retort is exquisitely elegant,' answered he, 'but I trust, not
true. For, granting, my dear Madam, that I offer a second insult by my
intrusion, still I may lessen the first insult so much by my apology
that the sum of both may be less than the first, as it originally
stood.'

'Really,' said I, 'you have blended politeness and arithmetic so
happily together; you have clothed multiplication and subtraction in
such polished phraseology----'

'Good!' cried he, 'that is real wit.'

'You have added so much algebra to so much sentiment,' continued I.

'Good, good!' interrupted he again.

'In short, you have apologized so gracefully by the rule of three, that
I know not which has assisted you the most--Chesterfield or Cocker.'

'Inimitable,' exclaimed he. 'Really your retorting powers are superior
to those of any heroine on record.'

In short, my friend, I was so delighted with my repartee, that I could
not, for my life, continue vexed with the object of it; and before he
left me, I said the best things in nature, found him the most agreeable
old man in the world, shook hands with him at parting, and gave him
permission to visit me again.

On calm consideration, I do not disapprove of my having allowed him
this liberty. Were he merely a good kind of good for nothing old
gentleman, it would only be losing time to cultivate an acquaintance
with him. But as the man is a reprobate, I may find account in
enlisting him amongst the other characters; particularly, since I am at
present miserably off for villains. Indeed, I augur auspiciously of his
powers, from the fact (which he confessed), of his having discovered my
place of abode, by following the maid, when she was returning with my
bandbox.

But I have to inform you of another rencontre.

Last night, the landlady, Higginson, and myself, went to see his
lordship perform in the new Spectacle. The first piece was called a
melodrama; a compound of horror and drollery, where scenery, dresses,
and decorations, prevailed over nature, genius, and moral. As to the
plot, I could make nothing of it; only that the hero and heroine were
in very great trouble about trifles, and quite at their ease in real
distress. For instance, when the heroine had arrived at the height of
her misery, she began to sing. Then the hero, resolving to revenge her
wrongs, falls upon one knee, turns up his eyes, and calls on the sacred
majesty of God to assist him. This invocation to the Divinity might,
perhaps, prove the hero's piety, but I am afraid it shewed the poet's
want of any. Certainly, however, it produced a powerful effect on my
feelings. I heard the glory of God made subservient to a theatrical
clap-trap, and my blood ran cold. So, I fancy, did the blood of six or
seven sweet little children behind the scenes, for they were presently
sent upon the stage, to warm themselves with a dance. After dancing,
came murder, and the hero gracefully advanced with a bullet in his
head. He falls; and many well-meaning persons suppose that the curtain
will fall with him. No such thing: Hector had a funeral, and so must
Kemble. Accordingly the corpse appears, handsomely dished up on an
escutcheoned coffin; while certain virgins of the sun (who, I am told,
support that character better than their own), chaunt a holy requiem
round it. When horror was exhausted, the poet tried disgust.

After this piece came another, full of bannered processions, gilded
pillars, paper snows, and living horses, that were really far better
actors than the men who rode them. It concluded with a grand battle, in
which twenty men on horseback, and twenty on foot, beat each other
indiscriminately, and with the utmost good humour. Armour clashed,
sabres struck fire, a castle was burnt to the ground, horses fell dead,
the audience rose shouting and clapping, and a man just below me in the
pit, cried out in an ecstasy, 'I made their saddles! I made their
saddles!'

As to Montmorenci's performance, nothing could equal it; for though his
character was the meanest in the piece, he contrived to make it the
most prominent. He had an emphasis for every word, an attitude for
every emphasis, and a look for every attitude. The people, indeed,
hissed him repeatedly, because they knew not, as I did, that his acting
a broken soldier in the style of a dethroned monarch, proceeded from
his native nobility of soul, not his want of talent.

After the performance, we were pressing through the crowd in the lobby,
when I saw, as I thought, Stuart (Bob Stuart!), at a short distance
from me, looking anxiously about him. On nearer inspection, I found I
was right, and it occurred to me, that I might extract a most
interesting scene from him, besides laying a foundation for future
incident. I therefore separated myself (like Evelina at the Opera) from
my party, and contrived to cross his path. At first he did not
recognize me, but I continued by his side till he did.

'Miss Wilkinson!' exclaimed he, 'how rejoiced I am to see you! Where is
your father?'

'Let us leave this place,' said I, 'they are searching for me, I know
they are.'

'Who?' said he.

'Hush!' whispered I. 'Conduct me in silence from the theatre.'

He put my hand under his arm, and hurried me away. When we had gained
the street:

'You may perceive by my lameness,' said he, 'that I am not yet well of
the wound I received the night I met you on the Common. But I could not
refrain from accompanying your father to Town, in search of you; and as
I heard nothing of him since he went to your lodgings yesterday, I
called there myself this evening, and was told that you had gone to the
theatre. They could give me no information about your father, but of
course, you have seen him since he came to Town.'

'I have not, I assure you,' said I, an evasive, yet conscientious
answer, because Wilkinson is not my real father.

'That is most extraordinary,' cried he, 'for he left the hotel
yesterday, to call on you. But tell me candidly, Miss Wilkinson, what
tempted you to leave home? How are you situated at present? with whom?
and what is your object?'

'Alas!' said I, 'a horrible mystery hangs over me, which I dare not now
develop. It is enough, that in flying from one misfortune, I have
plunged into a thousand others, that peace has fled from my heart, and
that I am RUINED.'

'Ruined!' exclaimed he, with a look of horror.

'Past redemption,' said I, hiding my face in my hands.

'This will be dreadful news for your poor father,' said he. 'But I beg
of you to tell me the particulars.'

'Then to be brief,' answered I, 'the first night I came to Town, a
gentleman decoyed me into his house, and treated me extremely ill.'

'The villain!' muttered Stuart.

'Afterwards I left him,' continued I, 'and walked the streets, till I
was taken up for a robbery, and put into the watchhouse.'

'Is this fact?' asked Stuart, 'or are you merely sporting with my
feelings?'

''Tis fact, on my honour,' said I, 'and to conclude my short, but
pathetic tale, a gentleman, a mysterious and amiable youth, met me by
mere accident, after my release; and I am, at present, under his
protection.'

'A shocking account indeed!' said he. 'But have you never considered
the consequences of continuing this abandoned course of life?'

'Now here is a pretty insinuation!' cried I; 'but such is always the
fate of us poor heroines. No, never can we get through an innocent
adventure in peace and quietness, without having our virtue called in
question. 'Tis always our virtue, our virtue. If we are caught coming
out of a young man's bed-room,--'tis our virtue. If we remain a whole
night in the streets,--'tis our virtue. If we make a nocturnal
assignation,--Oh! 'tis our virtue, our virtue. Such a rout as they
make.'

'I regret,' said Stuart, 'to see you treat the subject so lightly, but
I do beseech of you to recollect, that your wretched parent----'

''Tis a fine night, Sir.'

'That your wretched parent----'

'Sir,' said I, 'when spleen takes the form of remonstrance, a lecture
is only a scolding put into good language. This is my house, Sir.' And
I stopped at the door.

'At least,' said he, 'will you do me the favour of being at home for me
to-morrow morning?'

'Perhaps I may,' replied I. 'So good night, master Bobby!'

The poet and the landlady did not return for half an hour. They told me
that their delay was occasioned by their search for me; but I refused
all explanation as to what happened after I had lost them.

Adieu.

LETTER XIV

Just as I had finished my last letter, his lordship entered my room,
but saluted me coldly.

'I am informed,' said he, 'that you strayed from your party last night,
and refused, afterwards, to give an account of yourself to the
landlady. May I hope, that to me, who feel a personal interest in all
your actions, you will be more communicative?'

'I regret,' said I, 'that circumstances put it out of my power to
gratify your wishes. I foresee that you, like an Orville, or a
Mortimer, will suspect and asperse your mistress. But the Sun shall
return, the mist disperse, and the landscape laugh again.'

'Confound your metaphors! 'cried he, discarding attitude and elegance
in an instant. 'Do you hope to hide your cunning under mists and
laughing landscapes? But I am not to be gulled; I am not to be done. No
going it upon me, I say. Tell me directly, madam, where you were, and
with whom; or by the devil of devils, you shall repent it finely.'

I was thunderstruck. 'Sir,' said I, 'you have agitated the gentle air
with the concussion of inelegant oaths and idioms, uttered in the most
ungraceful manner. Sir, your vulgarity is unpardonable, and we now part
for ever.'

'For ever!' exclaimed he, reverting into attitude, and interlacing his
knuckles in a clasp of agony. 'Hear me, Cherubina. By the shades of my
ancestors, my vulgarity was assumed!'

'Assumed, Sir?' said I, 'and pray, for what possible purpose?'

'Alas!' cried he, 'I must not, dare not tell. It is a sad story, and
enveloped in a mysterious veil. Oh! fatal vow! Oh! cruel Marchesa!'
Shocking were his contortions as he spoke.

'No!' cried I. 'No vow could ever have produced so dreadful an effect
on your language.'

'Well, 'said he, after a painful pause, 'sooner than incur the odium of
falsehood, I must disclose to you the horrid secret.

'The young Count Di Narcissini was my friend. Educated together, we
became competitors in our studies and accomplishments; and in none of
them could either of us be said to excel the other; till, on our
introduction at Court, it was remarked by the Queen, that I surpassed
the Count in shaking hands. 'Narcissini,' said her Majesty, 'has
judgment enough in knowing when to present a single finger, or perhaps
two; but, for the positive pressure, or the negligent hand with a
drooping wrist; or the cordial, honest, dislocating shake, give me
Montmorenci. I cannot deny that the former has great taste in this
accomplishment; but then the latter has more genius--more
execution--more, as it were, of the _magnifique_ and _aimable_.'

'His mother the Marchesa overheard this critique, turned as pale as
ashes, and left the levee.

'That night, hardly had I fallen into one of those gentle slumbers,
which ever attends the virtuous, when a sudden noise roused me; and on
opening my eyes, I beheld the detested Marchesa, with an Italian
assassin, standing over me.'

'Montmorenci!' cried she, 'thou art the bane of my repose. Thou hast
surpassed my son in the graces. Now listen. Either pledge thyself, by
an irrevocable vow, henceforth to sprinkle thy conversation with
uncouth phrases, and colloquial barbarisms, or prepare to die!'

'Terrible alternative! What could I do? The dagger gleamed before my
face. I shuddered, and took the fatal vow of vulgarity.

'The Marchesa then put into my hand the Blackguard's Dictionary, which
I studied night and day with much success; and I have now the
misfortune to state, that I can be, so far as language goes, the
greatest blackguard in England.'

'Unhappy youth!' cried I. 'This, indeed, accounts for what had often
made me uneasy. But say, can nothing absolve you from this hateful
vow?'

'There is one way,' he replied. 'The Marchesa permitted me to resume my
natural elegance, as soon as my marrying should put an end to
competition between her son and me. Oh! then, my Cherubina, you, you
alone can restore me to hope, to happiness, and to grammar!'

'Ah! my lord,' cried I, 'recollect my own fatal vow. Never, never can I
be your's!'

'Drive me not mad!' he cried. 'You are mine, you shall be mine. This,
this is the bitterest moment of my life. You do not, cannot love me.
No, Cherubina, no, you cannot love me.'

I fixed my eyes in a wild gaze, rose hastily from my chair, paced the
room with quick steps; and often sighing deeply, clasped my hands and
shuddered.

He led me to the sofa, kissed the drapery of my cambric handkerchief,
and concealed his face in its folds. Then raising his head.

'Do you love me?' said he, with a voice dropping manna.

A smile, bashful in its archness, played round my rich and trembling
lip; and with an air of bewitching insinuation, I placed my hand on his
shoulder, shook my head, and looked up in his face, with an expression
half reproachful, half tender.

He snatched me in a transport to his heart; and that trembling
pressure, which virtue consecrated, and love understood, conveyed to
each of us an unspeakable sensation; as if a beam from Heaven had
passed through both our frames, and left some of its divine warmth
behind it.

What followed, angels might have attested.

A ringlet had escaped from the bandage of my bodkin. He clipped it off
with my scissors, and fixed it next his heart; while I prettily
struggled to prevent him, with arch anger, and a pouting playfulness. A
thousand saucy triumphs were basking in his eyes, when the door opened,
and who should make his appearance, but--Master Bobby!

I could have boxed him.

'I avail myself,' said he, 'of the permission you gave me last night,
to call on you this morning.'

Montmorenci looked from the one to the other with amazement.

'And as I am anxious,' continued Stuart, 'to speak with you in
private----'

'Sir,' said I, 'any thing which you have to communicate, this
gentleman, my particular friend, may hear.'

'Yes, Sir,' cried his lordship, in a haughty tone, 'for I have the
honour to boast myself the protector of this lady.'

'If you mean her protector from injury and insult,' said Stuart, 'I
hope, Sir, you are not on this occasion, as on others, an actor?'

'You know me then?' said his lordship.

'I saw you perform last night,' answered Stuart, 'but, to say the
truth, I do not recollect your name.'

'My name is Norval on the Grampian Hills,' cried his lordship.

'Sir,' said Stuart, 'though we sometimes laugh at you, even in your
grave characters, the part you have now chosen seems much too serious
for drollery. Allow me to ask, Sir, by what right you feel entitled to
call yourself the protector of this lady?'

'First inform me,' said Montmorenci, 'by what right you feel entitled
to put that question?'

'By the right of friendship,' answered Stuart.

'No, but enmity,' cried I, 'unprovoked, unprincipled, inexorable
enmity. This is the Stuart whom you have often heard me mention, as my
persecutor; and I hope you will now make him repent of his temerity.'

'Sir,' said his lordship, 'I desire you to leave the house.'

'Not till you favour me with your company,' replied Stuart; 'for I find
I must have some serious conversation with you.'

'Beshrew my heart!' cried Lord Altamont Mortimer Montmorenci, 'if you
want satisfaction, follow me this moment. I am none of your slovenly,
slobbering shots. Damme, I scorn to pistol a gentleman about the
ankles. I can teach the young idea how to shoot, damme.'

He spoke, and strode out of the room.

Stuart smiled and followed him. You must know, I speculate upon a duel.

In short, my plot is entangling itself admirably; and such characters
as Betterton and Stuart will not fail to keep the wheels of it going.
Betterton is probably planning to carry me off by force; Stuart and our
hero are coming to a misunderstanding about me; the latter will,
perhaps, return with his arm in an interesting sling, and another
parting-forever interview cannot be far distant.

Such is the promising aspect of affairs.

Adieu.

LETTER XV

While I was sitting in the most painful suspense, a knock came to the
door, and Stuart entered.

'You terrify, shock, amaze me!' cried I. 'What dreadful blow awaits me?
Speak!'

'Pray,' said he, laughing, 'what was your fancy for telling me that you
were ruined?'

'And so I am,' answered I.

'At least, not in the way you wished me to suppose,' said he.

'I repeat, Sir,' cried I, 'that I am ruined: no matter in what manner;
but ruined I am.'

'Your friend, the player, tells me that you are not,' said he.

'My friend, the player, is very meddling,' answered I. 'This is the way
that whatever plot I lay down for my memoirs is always frustrated. Sir,
I say I am ruined.'

'Well,' cried he, 'I will not dispute the point. I wish only to guard
you against being ruined again. I mistrust this Grundy much. From his
conversation, after we left you, I can perceive that he has a
matrimonial design upon you. Pray beware of the fellow.'

'The fellow!' cried I. 'Alas! you know him not. His large and piercing
eye is but the index of a soul fraught with every human virtue.'

'Ah! my friend,' said he, 'you stand on the very verge of a precipice,
and I must endeavour, even at the risk of your displeasure, to snatch
you from it.'

He then began a long lecture on my conduct, and asserted that my
romantic turn is a sort of infatuation, amounting to little less than
madness, and likely to terminate in ruin. He painted, in language
pretty enough, the distraction of Wilkinson, after I had fled from his
house; and, at last, contrived to extract from me (what, I remark, I
can never obtain when I want them)--tears.

Seeing me thus affected, he turned the conversation to desultory
topics. We talked of old times, of our juvenal sports and quarrels,
when we were playfellows; what happened after our separation; his life
at college and in the army; my studies and accomplishments. Thence we
made a natural transition to the fine arts. In short, it was the first
time in my life that I had a rational conversation (as it is called)
with a well-informed young man, and I confess I felt gratified.
Besides, even his serious remonstrances were so happily interspersed
with humour and delicate irony, that I could not bring myself to be
displeased with him.

He remained more than two hours, and at parting took my hand.

'I have hitherto been scolding you,' said he, with a smile, 'and I must
now praise you, that I may be better entitled to scold you again. You
have the elements of every thing amiable and endearing in your mind,
and an admirable understanding to direct them. But you want some one to
direct that understanding. Your father and I have already had a serious
consultation on the subject; but till he comes, nothing can be done.
Indeed, I am much alarmed at his absence. Meantime, will you permit me
to legislate in his stead, and to begin by chusing more eligible
lodgings for you. I confess I dread the machinations of that actor.'

As he spoke, a rap came to the door.

'Do me the favour to take tea with me this evening,' said I, 'and we
will talk the matter over.'

He promised, and took his leave.

Montmorenci then made his appearance, and in visible perturbation, at
having found Stuart here again. If I can constitute a jealousy between
them it will add to the animation of several scenes. I therefore
praised Stuart to the skies, and mentioned my having asked him to tea.
His lordship flew into a violent rage, and swore that the villain
wanted to unheroinize me, in order to gain me himself. He then renewed
his entreaties that I would consent to an immediate marriage; but now
the benefits of my fatal vow shone forth in their full lustre, and its
irrevocability gave rise to some of the finest agonies that his
lordship ever exhibited.

At length we separated to dress for dinner.

At my toilette I recollected with exactness every particular of his
late conversation; his sentiments so congenial with mine; his manners
so engaging; his countenance so noble and ingenuous.

'I shall see him no more,' said I.

A sigh that followed, told me more of my heart than I wished to know.

No, my Biddy, never, never can he be mine. I must banish his dear image
from my mind; and to speak in the simple and unsophisticated language
of the heroine in the Forest of Montalbo:

'_Indeed, surely, I think, we ought, under existing circumstances,
dearest, dearest madam, to avoid, where we can, every allusion, to
this, I fear, alas! our, indeed, hopeless attachment._'

Adieu.

LETTER XVI

When Stuart came, he found his lordship, the landlady, the poet, and
myself sitting round the tea-table. At first the conversation was
general, and on the topics of the day. These Stuart discussed with much
animation and volubility, while his lordship sat silent and
contemptuous. I fancy that his illustrious tongue disdained to trifle.

Meantime Higginson, in a new coat and waistcoat, sat anglicising the
Latinity of his face, and copying the manners and attitudes of
Montmorenci, whom the poor man, I verily believe, is endeavouring to
rival. At length the word poetry caught his ear; he gave the graces to
the winds, and listened.

'Therefore,' continued Stuart to me, 'satirical poetry must be much
more useful than encomiastic.'

'Sir,' said Higginson, drawing back his head and lowering his voice, as
if he dreaded nothing so much as being heard, 'I must beg leave, in all
humility, to coincide with your exprest proposition; but to suggest a
doubt whether it be decorous to violate the repose of noble blood.'

'If the great deserve exposure as much as the mean,' said Stuart,
'their rank is rather a reason why they should be censured sooner;
because their bad example is more conspicuous, and, therefore, more
detrimental.' 'But,' said I, 'though satirizing the vicious may be
beneficial to the community, is it always advantageous to the
satirist?'

'Johnson observes,' answered Stuart, 'that _it is no less a proof of
eminence to have many enemies than many friends_; and, indeed, without
the one we seldom have the other. On the whole, however, I would
advise a writer not to drop the olive-branch in grasping at the rod;
though those whom he finds privately endeavouring to vilify his own
character, self-defence entitles him to expose without mercy.'

'That satire is salutary to society, I am convinced,' said I. 'It
becomes mischievous only when it is aimed at the worthy heart.'

'And yet,' said Stuart, 'those that are loudest in declaiming against
the satirist, are often fondest of disseminating the satire. Now he who
slanders with his tongue, is just as culpable as he who defames with
his pen; for, if the one weapon be not as extensive, in its effects, as
the other, the motives of those who use it are equally vile. Hume, in
one of his essays, says, that _a whisper may fly as quick, and be as
pernicious, as a pamphlet_.'

'And I think,' said I, 'that those who never allow people faults, are
just as injurious to the community as those who never allow them
virtues.'

'True,' said Stuart; 'and a late publication (which equals in
sentiment, diction, and pictures of character, any work of the kind in
our language) thus concludes a description of them: _These, assuming
the name of Good-nature, say, that for their part, they wish to avoid
making enemies, and when they cannot speak well of people, they make it
a rule not to speak of them at all. Now this is an admirable system,
for thus, permitting vice, they sanction it, and by not opposing,
assist its progress._'

'So you see,' said Higginson, 'that next to laws and religion, which
correct the serious derelictions, writing, which chastises the smaller
foibles, is the most useful instrument in a state.'

'Observe,' whispered I to Stuart, 'how the ruling passion breaks
forth.'

'And, therefore,' continued Higginson, 'next to the legislator and
divine, the poet is the most exalted member of the community.'

'Pardon me there,' said I. 'The most exalted members are not
legislators, or divines, or poets, who prescribe, but heroes and
heroines, who perform.'

'If you mean the heroes and heroines of romance,' said Stuart, 'their
performances are useful in teaching us what we should shun, not what we
should imitate. The heroine, in particular, quits a comfortable home,
turns out to be the best pedestrian in the world; and, after weeping
tears enough to float her work-basket, weds some captious, passionate,
and kneeling hero.'

'Better,' cried I, 'than to remain a domesticated rosy little Miss, who
romps with the squire, plays an old tune on an old piano, and reads
prayers for the good family--servants and all. At last, marrying some
honest gentleman, who lives on his saddle, she degenerates into a
dangler of keys and whipper of children; trots up and down stairs,
educates the poultry, and superintends the architecture of pies.'

'Now for my part,' said Stuart, 'I would have a young lady neither a
mere homely drudge, nor a sky-rocket heroine, let off into the clouds.
I would educate her heart and head, as well as her fingers and feet.
She should be at once the ornament of the social group, and the delight
of the domestic circle; abroad attractive, at home endearing; the
enchantress to whom levity would apply for mirth, and wisdom for
admonition; and her mirth should be graceful, and her admonition
fascinating. If she happened to be solitary, she should have the power
of contemplation, and if her needle broke, she should be capable of
finding resource in a book. In a word, she should present a proof, that
wit is not inconsistent with good-nature, nor liveliness with
good-sense, and that to make the virtues attractive, they ought to be
adorned with the graces.'

'And pray, to whom would you marry this charmer?' asked his lordship,
winking at me.

'Why,' replied he, 'when she wishes to settle in life, I would have her
consult her parents, and make a prudent match.'

'A prudent match!' cried I. 'Just conceive--a prudent match! Oh,
Stuart, I declare I am quite ashamed of you.'

''Pon honour,' said his lordship, 'you are too severe. I will bet five
to four he means well.'

'No doubt,' said I. 'And to be candid, I think him a mighty good sort
of a man.'

'A proper behaved young person,' said his lordship.

'An honest _bon diable_!' added I.

'A worthy soul!' said he.

'A respectable character!' cried I.

'A decent creature!' said he.

'A humane and pious christian,' cried I.

This last hit was irresistible, and both of us burst out laughing,
while Stuart sat silent, and even affected to smile.

'Now is your time,' whispered I, to his lordship. 'A few more sarcasms,
and he crouches to you for ever.'

'I fancy, young gentleman,' said his lordship, turning full upon
Stuart, and laughing so long, that I thought he would never finish the
sentence; 'I fancy, my tight fellow, you may now knock under.'

'I am not always inclined to do so,' replied Stuart; 'neither am I
easily provoked to knock down.'

'Knock down whom?' demanded his lordship, with the most complete frown
I had ever beheld.

'A puppy,' said Stuart coolly.

'You lie!' vociferated our hero.

'Leave the room, Sir,' cried Stuart, starting from his seat.

Montmorenci rose, retreated to the door;--stopped--went on--stopped
again--moved--stopped--

'Vanish!' cried Stuart, advancing.

His lordship vanished.

I ran, snatched a pen, and wrote on a scrap of paper

'VINDICATE YOUR HONOUR, OR NEVER APPEAR IN MY PRESENCE!'

I then rang the bell for the maid, and slipping some silver into her
hand, begged that she would deliver the paper to his lordship.

Higginson then started from his chair.

'After a deliberate consideration of the subject,' said he, 'I am more
and more convinced, that a poet is the first character in society.'

During a whole hour, I remained in a state of the most distracting
suspense, for he never returned! Meantime, Stuart was privately
pressing me to leave my lodgings, and remain at his father's, till
Wilkinson should be found. Indignant at the cowardly conduct of his
lordship, I was almost consenting; when on a sudden, the door flew
open, and with a slow step and dignified deportment, Lord Altamont
Mortimer Montmorenci entered. All eyes were rivetted on him. He walked
towards Stuart, and fell upon one knee before him:

'I come, Sir,' said he, 'to retract that abuse which I gave you just
now. I submit to whatever punishment you please; nor shall I think my
honour re-established till my fault is repaired. Then grant me the
pardon that I beg, on whatever conditions you think proper.'

'For shame!' exclaimed I, with an indignation that I could not
suppress. 'You a hero?'

His lordship instantly snatched a book from his pocket, and opening a
passage, presented it to me. The book was _La Nouvelle Heloise_.

'You see there,' said he, 'how Lord B., after having given St. Preux
the lie, begs forgiveness on his knees, and in the precise words which
I have just used. Will Cherubina condemn the conduct that Heloise
applauded?'

'Ever excellent, ever exalted mortal!' cried I. 'O thou art indeed all
that is just, dignified, magnanimous.'

I gave him my hand, and he bowed over it. Supper was announced. Mirth
ruled the night. The landlady sat gazing on his lordship; his lordship
on me. Stuart uttered a thousand witticisms; and even the poet
determined to be heard; for, in the midst of our merriment, I saw him,
with his mouth open, and his neck stretched forward, watching for the
first moment of silence. It came.

    'This is the fun,
    Equalled by none;
    So never, never, never have done!'

cried the happy creature, and protruded such an exorbitant laugh as
made ample amends for the gravity of his whole life.

At length Stuart took leave; and the rest of us separated to our
several apartments.

That coxcomb, I see, has no notion of sentiment, and no taste for
admiring those who have. There he sits, calm, unconcerned, and never
once fixes his eyes on me with a speaking gaze. Oh, no; nothing but wit
or wisdom for him. Not only is the fellow far from a pathetic turn
himself, but he has also an odd faculty of detaching even me from my
miseries, and of reducing me to horrid hilarity. It would vex a saint
to see how he makes me laugh, though I am predetermined not to give him
a single smile. But Montmorenci, the sentimental Montmorenci, timely
interposes the fine melancholy of his features;--he looks, he sighs, he
speaks; and in a moment I am recalled to the soft emotions, and a due
sense of my deplorable destiny.

Adieu.

LETTER XVII

Clouds are impending, and I know not whether they will clash together,
and elicit lightning, or mingle into one, and descend in refreshing
showers.

This morning, Montmorenci, the hostess, and myself, breakfasted early,
and then went shopping. I purchased a charming scarf, a bonnet, two
dresses, a diamond cross, and a pair of pearl ear-rings. His lordship
borrowed a guinea from me, and then bought a small casket, which he
presented to me in the handsomest manner.

We next visited Westminster Abbey; the first that I have ever seen,
though I had read of thousands. To my great disappointment, I found in
it no cowled monks with scapulars, and no veiled nuns with rosaries.
Nothing but statues of statesmen and warriors, in stone wigs and marble
regimentals.

Soon after we had returned home, Higginson entered my room, stealing,
and with a look of terror.

'My mother presents her respectful compliments,' said he in a whisper,
'and begs you will honour her with your presence, that she may do
herself the pleasure of saving you from destruction.'

'Tell me,' said I, with a look that pierced into his soul, 'which
character do _you_ mean to support on this occasion? that of my
friend, or of an accomplice in the plot against me?'

Higginson looked aghast.

'As to your being a principal,' continued I, 'that is not likely; but I
must ascertain if your object is to be--excuse me--an understrapping
ruffian. Never fear, speak your mind candidly.'

'And I was writing verses on you all the morning, and it was for you
that I clipped my eyebrows, and it was for you that I--dear me, dear
me!' cried the poor man, and began whimpering like a child.

'Nay,' said I, 'if it is not your taste, that is another affair; but
though I cannot countenance you as a villain, I will at least respect
you as an honest man. I will, I assure you; so now lead me to your
mother.'

We proceeded up stairs, and entered a garret; where his mother, a
corpulent old lady, was lying in a fit of the gout.

Higginson having introduced us: 'Miss,' said she, 'I sent for you to
tell you that I have just overheard your hostess, and an old gentleman
(Betterton, I think she called him), planning something against you.
They were in the next room, and thought I could not hear; but this I
know, that he offered her fifty pounds, if she would assist him in
obtaining you. And so, Miss, from all my son says of you, and sure
enough he raves of you like mad, I thought you would wish to be saved
from ruin.'

'Certainly, Madam,' answered I. 'At the same time, I must beg
permission to remark, that you have destroyed half the interest of this
intrigue against me, by forewarning me of it.'

'May be so, Miss,' said she. 'I have done my duty as a Christian,
however.'

'Nay,' said I, 'do not suppose I resent your conduct, old lady. I am
sure you meant all for the best, and I sincerely wish you health and
happiness. Farewell.'

On returning to my room, I found Betterton there before me. He came to
request that I would accept of a ticket for the masquerade, at the
Pantheon: and he gave another to the landlady; who, he said, must
accompany me thither: so 'tis clear that he means to decoy me from it.
Unhappy girl! But how can I refuse going? A heroine, you know, never
misses a masquerade: it is always the scene of her best adventure; and
to say the truth, I cannot resist the temptation of so delightful an
amusement. Now to consult about my character.

LETTER XVIII

At dinner, yesterday, I bespoke his lordship as an escort to the
masquerade; and we then held a council of dress. It was resolved, that
I should appear in the character of Sterne's Maria, and his lordship as
Corporal Trim.

This morning, just as I had finished reading the closet-scene, in the
Children of the Abbey, Betterton and the landlady came into my room;
and in a short time, I perceived the purport of their visit; as they
began requesting that I would not take either Stuart or Montmorenci
with me to the masquerade.

'The fact is, Miss,' said the landlady, 'that I have heard your real
story. Mr. Grundy is not your cousin at all, and your name is
Wilkinson, not Donald. Howsomever, as I believe you meant no harm, in
this deception, I am willing, at the solicitations of this excellent
gentleman, to let you remain in my house, provided you promise not to
receive any more visits from that Stuart, who is the greatest villain
unhanged; or from Mr. Grundy, who has certainly bad designs on you;
though he made proposals of marriage to myself, no longer ago than
yesterday.'

A tapping at my door prevented me from expressing my total disbelief in
her latter assertion. It struck me that should the person prove to be
his lordship, I might make her look extremely foolish, by letting her
overhear his declarations of attachment to me. 'Conceal yourselves in
this closet,' whispered I to my visitors. 'I have particular reasons.'
They looked at each other, and hesitated.

'In, in!' said I; 'for I suspect that this visit is from a villain, and
I wish you to hear what passes.'

Both then went into the closet. I opened the door of my chamber, and,
to my great disappointment, the poet appeared at it, with his eyes
rolling, and his mouth ajar.

'What is the matter?' asked I.

He gaped still wider, but said nothing.

'Ah,' cried I, 'that is an awkward attempt at expressing horror. If you
have any hideous news to communicate, why do you not rush into the
room, tossing your hands on high, and exclaiming, "Fly, fair lady, all
is lost!"'

'Indeed, Miss,' said he, 'I was never in the way of learning good
breeding. But don't go to the masquerade, Miss, Oh, don't! My mother
overheard old Betterton just now planning with the landlady, to carry
you from it by force. But, Miss, I have a fine sword, above stairs,
three feet and a half long, and I will rub off the rust, and----'

A knock at the street-door interrupted him. I was in a hiding mood.
Already the scene promised wonders; and I resolved not to damp its
rising spirit; so made the simple Higginson get underneath the sofa.

The next moment my door opened, and Vixen, Montmorenci's terrier, came
bounding towards me.

'Go, dear Vixen,' cried I, snatching her to my bosom; 'carry back to
your master all that nourishes his remembrance. Go, dear Vixen, guard
him by night, and accompany him by day, serve him with zeal, and love
him with fidelity!'

I turned round, and perceived--Montmorenci! The poor timid girl bent
her eyes to the ground.

'Yes, dear Vixen,' said he, 'you have now indeed a claim to my regard;
and with the fondest gratitude will I cherish you!'

He then flew to me, and poured forth, at my feet, the most passionate
acknowledgments, and tender protestations.

I tried to break from him.

'No, loveliest Cherubina!' said he, detaining me. 'Not thus must we
part.'

'We must part for ever!' exclaimed I. 'After that rash soliloquy which
you have just heard, never can I bear you in my sight. Besides, Sir,
you are betrothed, at this moment, to another.'

'I? Ridiculous! But to whom?'

'Our hostess--a most charming woman.'

'Our hostess! Yes, a charming woman indeed. She has roses in her cheek,
and lilies in her skin; but they are white roses, and orange lilies.
Our hostess! Beshrew my heart, I would let cobwebs grow on my lips
before I would kiss her.'

Another knock came to the door.

'Me miserable!' exclaimed I. 'If this be the person I suspect, we are
both undone--separated for ever!'

'Who? what? where shall I hide?' cried his lordship.

'Yon dark closet,' said I, pointing. 'Fly.'

His lordship sprang into the closet, and closed the door.

'I can hear no tidings of your father,' said Stuart, entering the room.
'I have searched every hotel in Town, and I really fear that some
accident----'

'Mercy upon me! who's here?' cried his lordship from the closet. 'As I
hope to be saved, the place is full of people. Let me go; whoever the
devil you are, let me go!'

'Take that--and that--and that:--you poor, pitiful, fortune-hunting
play-actor!' vociferated the landlady, buffetting him about.

That unhappy young nobleman bolted from the closet, with his face
running blood, and the landlady fast at his heels.

'Yes, you dog!' exclaimed she; 'I have discovered your treacherousness
at last. As for your love-letters and trinkets, to me, villain--I never
valued 'em a pin's point; but that you should go for to try to ruin
this sweet innocent young creature, that is what distresses me, so it
is.' And she burst out crying.

'Love-letters and trinkets to you!' exclaimed I. 'Surely he was not so
base, Madam.'

'But he was so base, Madam,' said she with a bitter look; 'and if you
fancy that 'tis yourself he loves, why look there; read the letter he
sent me yesterday, just after I had asked him to pay me for six months'
diet and lodging.'

I read:

    'Accept, my lovely hostess, the pair of bracelets which accompanies
    this note, and rest assured that I will discharge my bill, in the
    course of another month.

    'My motive for having brought Miss Wilkinson into your house, as my
    cousin, was simply to restore her to her friends. Your jealousy,
    though most unfounded, is most flattering.

    'Ah, how little do you know your Grundy!--If I pay the silly girl a
    few slight attentions, it is only to cloak that tenderness for you,
    which preys upon my heart, and consumes my vitals;--that
    tenderness, which I yesterday so solemnly vowed to evince (as soon
    as my affairs are arranged) at the altar.

    'Your own, own, own,

    'ABRAHAM GRUNDY.'

It was as much as my dignity could do to suppress my indignation at
this letter; but the heroine prevailed, and I cast on his lordship my
famous compound expression of pity, contempt, and surprise, which I
tinged with just fascination enough to remind him of what a jewel he
had lost.

Meantime he stood wiping his face, and did not utter a word.

'And now,' cried I, 'now for the grand developement. James Higginson,
come forth!'

In a moment the poet was seen, creeping, like a huge tortoise, from
under the sofa.

'Mr. Higginson,' said I, 'did not your mother tell you, that this lady
here--this amiable lady,' (and I curtsied low to her, and she curtsied
still lower to me), 'that this first and best of women,' (and again we
exchanged rival curtsies), 'is plotting with a Mr. Betterton to betray
me into his hands at the masquerade?'

'Madam,' answered the poet, with a firm demeanour, 'I do solemnly
certify and asseverate, that so my mother told me.'

'Then your mother told a confounded falsehood!' cried Betterton,
popping out of the closet.

Higginson walked up to him, and knocked him down with the greatest
gravity imaginable. The hostess ran at Higginson, and fastened her
fangs in his face. Montmorenci laid hold of the hostess, and off came
her cap. Stuart dropped into a chair with laughter. I too forgot all my
dignity, and clapped my hands, and danced with delight, while they
kicked and scratched each other without mercy.

At length Stuart interfered, and separated the combatants. The landlady
retired to repair her dismantled head; and his lordship and Higginson
to wash their wounds. Betterton too was about to take his departure.

'Sir,' said Stuart, 'I must beg leave to detain you for a few moments.'

Betterton bowed and returned.

'Your name is Betterton, I believe.'

'It is, Sir.'

'After Mr. Higginson's accusation of you,' said Stuart, 'I feel myself
called upon, as the friend of this lady's father, to insist on your
apologizing for the designs which you have dared to harbour against
her; and to demand an unequivocal renunciation of those views for the
future.'

'You are an honest fellow,' said Betterton, 'and I respect your spirit.
Most sincerely, most humbly, Miss Wilkinson, do I solicit your
forgiveness; and I beg you will believe, that nothing but a
misrepresentation of your real character and history tempted me to
treat you with such undeserved insult. I now declare, that you have
nothing further to fear from me.'

'But before I can feel perfectly satisfied,' said Stuart, 'I must
stipulate for the discontinuance of your visits to Miss Wilkinson, as a
proof that you have relinquished all improper projects against her.'

'I had formed that resolution before you spoke,' answered Betterton,
'though many a bitter pang it will cost me. Now then we are all
friends. I may have my faults, but upon my soul, I am a man of
honour;--I am, upon my soul. As for you, Mr. Stuart, without flattery,
you have evinced more discretion and coolness, throughout this affair,
than I have ever seen in so young a man. Sir, you are an honour to the
human race, and I wish you would dine with me this evening at the Crown
and Anchor. Some friends of us meet there to discuss a radical reform.
Do, my dear fellow. We want nothing but men of respectability like you;
for our sentiments "are the finest in the world."'

'You will excuse me,' said Stuart, 'though I am told that your wines
are as fine and as foreign as your sentiments.'

'Well, adieu, good people,' said Betterton. 'Think of me with kindness.
Faults I may have, but my heart----' (tapping at it with his
forefinger), 'all is right here.'

After he had left us, I reprimanded Stuart so severely, for his
officiousness in having interfered about Betterton, that he went away
quite offended; and, I much fear, will never return. If he does not, he
will use me basely, to leave me here in this unprotected state, after
all his anxieties about me--anxieties too, which (I cannot tell why)
have pleased me beyond expression. I confess, I feel a regard for the
man, and should be sorry to have hurt his feelings seriously. Would Sir
Charles Bingley have deserted me so, I ask? No. But Stuart has no
notion of being a plain, useful, unsuccessful lover, like him. Well, I
must say, I hate to see a man more ready to fall out with one, than to
fall in love with one.

But Montmorenci--what shall I say of him? How can he possibly exculpate
himself from his treacherous intrigue with the landlady? I confess I am
predisposed to credit any feasible excuse which he can assign, rather
than find myself deceived, outrivalled, and deprived of a lover, not
alone dear to me, but indispensible to the progress of my memoirs.

Then, that closet-scene, from which I had a right to expect the true
pathetic, what a bear-garden it became! In short, I feel at this moment
disgusted with the world. I half wish I were at home again. Now too,
that Stuart has reminded me of our early days, I cannot avoid sometimes
picturing to myself the familiar fireside, the walks, frolics,
occupations of our childhood; and well I remember how he used to humour
my whims. Oh, these times are past, and now he opposes me in every
thing.

But whither am I wandering? Pardon these vulgar sentiments. They have
escaped my pen. You know that a mere home is my horror. Forgive them.

Adieu.

LETTER XIX

Determined to support my dignity, I dined alone in my room, after the
closet-scene; and during this evening, letters of the most
heart-rending nature passed between his lordship and me.

To be brief, he has convinced me, that the letter written in his name,
to the landlady, was a FORGERY of her own. The circumventing wretch! I
am of opinion, that it ought to be made a hanging matter.

The following is an extract from his and my correspondence. After a
most satisfactory disquisition on the various circumstances tending to
prove the forgery, he writes thus:

'I have begun twenty letters to you, and have torn them all. I write to
you on my knees, and the paper is blistered with my tears; but I have
dried it with my sighs.

'Sun, moon, and stars may rise and set as they will. I know not whether
it be day, or whether it be night.

'When the girl came with your last note, the idea that your eyes had
just been dwelling on her features, on her cap, ribbon, and apron, made
her and them so interesting, so dear to me, that, though her features
are snubbed, her cap tattered, her ribbon bottle-green (which I hate),
and her apron dirty, I should certainly have taken her in my arms, if I
had not been the most bashful of men.

'Though that note stung me to the heart, the words were hosts of angels
to me, and the small paper the interminable regions of bliss. Any thing
from you!

'How my heart beats, and my blood boils in my veins, when by chance our
feet meet under the table. The diapason of my heart-strings vibrates to
the touch. How often I call to mind the sweet reproof you once gave me
at dinner, when I trod on your toe in a transport of passion.

'"If you love me, tell me so," said you, smiling; "but do not hurt my
foot."

'Another little incident is always recurring to me. As we parted from
each other, the night before last, you held out your hand and said,
"Good-night, my dear Montmorenci." It was the first time you had ever
called me _dear_. The sound sank deep into my heart. I have repeated
it a hundred times since, and when I went to bed, I said, good night,
my dear Montmorenci. I recollected myself and laughed. The fatal kiss
that I once dared to snatch from you has undone me for ever. The
moisture on your lip was like a suppuration of rubies. O immortal
remembrance of that illusive, frantic, and enchanting moment!'

    BILLET FROM CHERUBINA.

    He who could be capable of the letter, could be capable of calling
    it a forgery.

    BILLET FROM MONTMORENCI.

    Misery with you, were better than happiness without you.

    BILLET FROM CHERUBINA.

    Hatred and certainty were better than love and suspicion.

    BILLET FROM MONTMORENCI.

    Love is heaven and heaven is love.

    BILLET FROM CHERUBINA.

    If heaven be love, I fear that heaven is not eternal.

    BILLET FROM MONTMORENCI.

    If my mind be kept in suspense, my body shall be suspended too.

    BILLET FROM CHERUBINA.

    Foolish youth! If my life be dear to thee, attempt not thine own.

    BILLET FROM MONTMORENCI.

    It were easier to kill myself than to fly from Cherubina.

    BILLET FROM CHERUBINA.

    LIVE. I restore you to favour.

    BILLET FROM MONTMORENCI.

    Angelic girl! But how can I live without the means? My landlady
    threatens me with an arrest. Heloise lent money to St. Preux.

    BILLET FROM CHERUBINA.

    In enclosing to you half of all I have, I feel, alas! that I am but
    half as liberal of my purse as of my heart.

    BILLET FROM MONTMORENCI.

    I promise to pay Lady Cherubina de Willoughby, or order, on demand,
    the sum of twenty-five pounds sterling, value received.

    MONTMORENCI.

In a few minutes after I had received this last billet, his lordship
came in person to perfect the reconciliation. Never was so tender, so
excruciating a scene.

We then consulted about the masquerade; and he brought me down his
dress for it. The Montero cap and tarnished regimentals (which he
procured at the theatre) are admirable.

Soon after his departure, a letter was brought to me by the maid; who
said, that a tall man, wrapped in a dark cloak, put it into her hand,
and then fled with great swiftness.

Conceive my sensations on reading this note, written in an antiquated
hand.

    _To Lady Cherubina de Willoughby.

    These, greeting.

    Most fayre Ladie

    An aunciente and loyall Vassall that erewhyles appertained unto
    yre ryhgte noble Auncestrie, in ye qualitie of Seneschal, hath,
    by chaunce, discovred yer place of hiding, and doth crave ye boon
    that you will not fayle to goe unto ye Masquerade at ye Pantheon;
    where, anon he will joyn you, and unravell divers mysterys
    touching your pedigree.

    Lette nonne disswaid you from to goe, and eke lette nonne, save a
    Matron, goe with you; els I dare not holde parle with you.

    Myne honoured Ladie, if you heede not this counsell, you will work
    yourselfe woefull ruth._

Judge if I can sleep a wink after such a mysterious communication.
Excellent old man! I mean to make him my steward.

Adieu.

LETTER XX

I believe I mentioned, in a former letter, that my bed-chamber was on
the ground floor, and looking into the yard at the back of the house.
Soon after I went to bed, last night, I heard a whispering and rustling
outside of the window, and while I was awaiting with anxiety the
result, sleep surprised me.

I awoke earlier, as I thought, than usual, this morning; for not a ray
penetrated my curtainless window. I then tried to compose myself to
sleep again, but in vain; so there I lay turning and tumbling about,
for eight or nine hours, at the very least. At last I became alarmed.
What can be the matter? thought I. Is the sun quenched or eclipsed? or
has the globe ceased rolling? or am I struck stone blind?

In the midst of my conjectures, a sudden cry of fire! fire!
reverberated through the house. I sprang out of bed, and huddled on me
whatever cloaths came to hand. I then groped for my casket of jewels,
and having secured it, rushed into the outer room, where my eyes were
instantly dazzled by the sudden glare of light.

However, I had presence of mind enough to snatch up Corporal Trim's
coat, which still remained on a chair; and to slip it on me. For, in
the first place, I had no gown underneath; and in the next, I
recollected, that Harriot Byron, at a moment of distress, went wild
about the country, in masquerade.

Hurrying into the hall, I saw the street door wide open, Stuart and
Montmorenci struggling with each other near it, the landlady dragging a
trunk down stairs, and looking like the ghost of a mad housemaid; and
the poet just behind her, with his corpulent mother, bed and all, upon
his back; while she kept exclaiming, that we should all be in heaven in
five minutes, and he crying out, Heaven forbid! Heaven forbid!

I darted past Stuart, just as he had got Montmorenci down; thence out
of the house, and had fled twenty paces, before I discovered, that, so
far from being night, it was broad, bright, incontrovertible day!

I had no time to reflect on this mystery, as I heard steps pursuing me,
and my name called. I fled the faster, for I dreaded I knew not what.
The portentous darkness of my room, the false alarm of fire, all
betokened some diabolical conspiracy against my life; so I rushed along
the street, to the horror and astonishment of all who saw me. For
conceive me drest in a long-skirted, red coat, stiff with tarnished
lace; a satin petticoat, satin shoes, no stockings, and my flaxen hair
streaming like a meteor behind me!

Stop her, stop her! was now shouted on all sides. Hundreds seemed in
pursuit. Panting and almost exhausted, I still continued my flight.
They gained on me. What should I do? I saw the door of a carriage just
opened, and two ladies, dressed for dinner, stepping into it. I sprang
in after them, crying, save me, save me! The footman endeavoured to
drag me out; the mob gathered round shouting; the horses took fright,
and set off in full gallop; I, meantime, on one knee, with my meek eyes
raised, and my hands folded across my bosom, awaited my fate; while the
ladies gazed on me in dismay, and supported one unbroken scream.

At last, the carriage dashed against a post, and was upset. Several
persons ran forward, and, I being uppermost, took me out the first.
Again I began running, and again a mob was at my heels. I felt certain
they would tear me in pieces. My head became bewildered; and all the
horrid sights I had ever read of rose in array before me. Bacchantes,
animated with Orphean fury, slinging their serpents in the air, and
uttering dithyrambics, appeared to surround me on every side. On I
flew. Knock it down! cried several voices.

A footman was just entering a house. I rushed past him, and into a
parlour, where a large party were sitting at dinner.

Save me! exclaimed I, and sank on my knees before them. All
arose:--some, in springing to seize me, fell; and others began dragging
me away. I grasped the table-cloth, in my confusion, and the next
instant, the whole dinner was strewn about the floor. Those who had
fallen down, rose in piteous plight; one bathed in soup, another
crowned with vegetables, and the face of a third all over harico.

They held me fast, and questioned me; then called me mad, and turned me
into the street. The mob were still waiting for me there, and they
cheered me as I came out; so seeing a shop at hand, I darted through
it, and ran up stairs, into the drawing-room.

There I found a mother in the cruel act of whipping her child. Ever a
victim to thrilling sensibility, I snatched the rod from her hand; she
shrieked and alarmed the house; and again I was turned out of doors.
Again, my friend the mob received me with a shout; again I took to
flight; rushed through another shop, was turned out--through another,
was turned out. In short, I threaded a dozen different houses, and
witnessed a dozen different domestic scenes. In this, they were
singing, in that scolding:--here, I caught an old man kissing the maid,
there, I found a young man reading the Bible. Entering another, I heard
ladies laughing and dancing in the drawing-room. I hurried past them to
the garrets, and saw their aged servant dying.

Shocked by the sight, I paused at his half-opened door. Not a soul was
in the room with him; and vials and basons strewed the table.

'Is that my daughter?' said he feebly. 'Will no one go for my daughter?
To desert me thus, after first breaking my heart! Well then, I will
find her out myself.'

He made a sudden effort to rise, but it was fatal. His head and arms
dropped down motionless, and hung out of the bed. He gave a hollow sob,
and expired.

Horrorstruck, I rushed into an adjoining garret, and burst into tears.
I felt guilty of I knew not what; and the picture of Wilkinson, dying
in the madhouse, and calling on his daughter, shot across me for a
moment.

The noise of people searching the rooms below, and ascending the
stairs, put an end to my disagreeable reflections; and I thought but of
escape. Running to the window of the garret, I found that it opened
upon the roof of a neighbouring house; and recollecting that robbers
often escape by similar means, I sprang out of the window, closed it
after me, and ran along a whole row of roofs.

At last I came to a house higher than the rest, with a small window,
similar to that by which I had just got out, and happily lying open. On
looking into the garret, I found that nobody was there, so I scrambled
into it, and fastened the window after me. A servant's bed, a chair, a
table, and an immense chest, constituted all the furniture. The chest
had nothing but a little linen in it; and I determined to make it my
place of refuge, in case of an alarm.

Having sat a few minutes, to compose my spirits, after the shock they
had just experienced, I resolved on exploring the several apartments;
for I felt a secret presentiment that this house was, some way or
other, connected with my fate--a most natural idea.

I first traversed the garrets, but found nothing in them worthy of
horror; so I stole, with cautious steps, down the first flight of
stairs, and found the door of the front room open. Hearing no noise
inside, I ventured to put in my head, and perceived a large table, with
lighted candles on it, and covered over with half-finished dresses of
various descriptions, besides bonnets, feathers, caps, and ribbons in
profusion; whence I concluded that the people of the house were
milliners.

Here I sat some time, admiring the dresses, and trying at a mirror how
the caps became me, till I was interrupted by steps on the stairs. I
ran behind a window-curtain; and immediately three young milliners came
into the room.

They sat down at the table, and began working.

'I wonder,' said one, 'whether our lodger has returned from dinner.'

'What a sly eye the fellow casts at me,' says another.

'And how he smiles at me,' says the first.

'And how he teases me about my being pretty,' says the second.

'And me too,' says the first; 'and he presses my hand into the
bargain.'

'Presses!' says the second; 'why, he _squeezes_ mine; and just think,
he tries to kiss me too.'

'I know,' says the third, who was the only pretty girl of the three,
'that he never lays a finger on me, nor speaks a word to me, good or
bad--never: and yesterday he lent me the Mysteries of Udolpho with a
very bad grace; and when I told him that I wanted it to copy the
description of the Tuscan girl's dress, as a lady had ordered me to
make up a dress like it, for the masquerade to-night, he handed me the
book, and said, that if I went there myself, the people would take my
face for a mask.'

Judge of my horror, when I recollected, that this was, indeed, the
night of the masquerade; and that I was pent behind a curtain, without
even a dress for it!

That Tuscan costume, thought I, would just answer. Perhaps I could
purchase it from the milliner. Perhaps---- But in the midst of my
perhaps's, the first and second milliner set off with some Indian
robes, which they had finished for the masquerade, while the pretty one
still remained to complete the Tuscan dress.

While I was just resolving to issue from my retreat, and persuade her
to sell me the dress, I heard a step stealing up the stairs; and
presently perceived a young gentleman peeping into the room. He nodded
familiarly to the milliner; and said, in a whisper, that he had seen
her companions depart, and was now come to know how soon she would go,
that he might meet her at their old corner. She replied, that she would
soon be ready; and he then stole back again.

I had now no time to lose in accomplishing my plan, so I drew aside the
curtain, and stood, in a commanding attitude before her.

The poor girl looked up, started, made a miserable imitation of the
heroic scream, and ran down stairs.

I ran after her, as far as the landing-place; and on looking over the
balusters, into the hall, I saw the young man who had just been with
her, listening to her account of the transaction. 'I will call the
watch,' said she, 'and do you keep guard at the door.'

She then hastened into the street, and he stood in such a manner, that
it was impossible for me to pass him.

'What is the matter?' cried the mistress of the house, coming out of
the parlour.

'A mad woman that is above stairs,' answered the young man. 'Miss Jane
has just seen her; dressed half like a man, half like a woman, and with
hair down to the ground!'

'What is all this?' cried a maid, running out of the kitchen.

'Oh! Molly,' said the mistress, 'Miss Jane is just frightened to death
by a monster above stairs, half man, half woman, and all over covered
with hair!'

Another servant now made her appearance.

'Oh! Betty,' cried Molly, 'Miss Jane is just killed by a huge monster
above stairs, half man, half beast, all over covered with black hair,
and I don't know what other devilments besides!'

'I will run and drive it down,' cried Betty, and began ascending the
stairs. Whither could I hide? I luckily recollected the large chest; so
I flew up to the garret. It was now quite dark; but I found the chest,
sprang into it, and having closed the lid, flung some of the linen over
me. I then heard the girl enter the next room, and in a few moments,
she came into mine, with another person.

'Here is the trunk, Tom,' said she, 'and I must lock it on you till the
search is over. You see, Tom, what risks I am running on your account;
for there is Miss Jane, killed by it, and lying in bits, all about the
floor.'

The man had now jumped into the chest; the girl locked it in an
instant, took out the key, and ran down.

Almost prest to death, I made a sudden effort to get from under him.

'What's this! Oh! mercy, what's this?' cried he, feeling about.

I gathered myself up; but did not speak.

'Help!' vociferated he. ''Tis the monster--here is the hair! help,
help!'

'Hush!' said I, 'or you will betray both of us. I am no monster, but a
woman.'

'Wasn't? it you that murdered the milliner?' said he, still trembling.

'No, really,' replied I, 'but now not a word; for I hear people
coming.'

As I spoke, several persons entered the room. We lay still. They
searched about; and one of them, approaching the chest, tried to lift
the lid.

'That is locked this month past,' said the voice of the maid who had
hidden the man in it, 'so you need not look there.'

They then searched the remaining garrets; and I heard them say, as they
were going down stairs, that I must have jumped out of a window.

'And now, Madam,' said the man, 'will you have the goodness to tell me
who you are?'

'A young and innocent maiden,' answered I, 'who, flying from my
persecutors, took refuge here.'

'Young and innocent!' cried he, 'good ingredients, faith. Come then, my
dear; I will protect you.'

So saying, he caught me round the waist, and attempted to kiss me.

I begged, reasoned, menaced--all would not do. I had read of a heroine,
whose virtue was saved by a timely brain-fever; so, as I could not
command one at that instant, I determined on affecting one.

'I murdered her famously!' exclaimed I; and then commenced singing and
moaning by turns.

He stopped, and lay quiet, as if uncertain what to make of me. I
scratched the chest with my nails, and laughed, and shrieked. He began
to mutter curses and prayers with great rapidity; till, as I was
gabbling over the finest passage in Ossian, 'Oh! merciful!' ejaculated
he, rolling himself into a ball; ''tis a Bedlamite broke loose!'

By this time, between my terror, and the heat of the chest, I was
gasping for breath; and my companion appeared on the very point of
suffocation; when, at this critical juncture, some one fortunately came
into the room. The man called for help, the chest was unlocked, opened;
and the maid with a candle appeared before us.

The man darted out like an arrow; she remained motionless with
astonishment at seeing me, while I lay there, almost exhausted; though,
as usual, not worth a swoon. I do believe, that the five fingers I am
writing with would leave me, sooner than my five senses.

'She has confessed to the murder!' cried the man; while the maid held
by his arm, and shrunk back, as I rose from the chest with an air of
dignity.

'Be not frightened, my friends,' said I smiling, 'for I assure you that
I am no murderess; and that the milliner is alive and well, at this
moment. Is she not, young woman?'

'Yes, sure,' answered she, somewhat recovering from her terror.

'How I came into this extraordinary situation,' continued I, 'it were
needless to relate; but I must have your assistance to get out of it.
If you, my good girl, will supply me with a decent gown, bonnet, and
pair of stockings, I will promise not to tell the family that you had a
lover secreted in the house, and I will give you two guineas for your
kindness.'

So saying, I took the casket from the pocket of my regimental coat, and
displayed the jewels and money that were in it.

'Mercy me!' cried the maid; 'how could they dare for to say that so
rich a lady murdered the girl?'

'Ay, or so handsome a lady,' added the man, bowing.

In a word, after some explanations and compliments, I gave the maid
four guineas, and the man the regimental coat; and was supplied with a
gown, bonnet, and pair of stockings.

As soon as I had dressed myself, we determined that I should steal down
stairs, and out of the house; and that, if discovered in my passage, I
should not betray the maid.

Accordingly, with much trepidation, I began to descend the stairs. Not
a soul seemed stirring. But as I passed by the milliner's room, I
perceived the door half open, and heard some one humming a tune inside.
I peeped through the chink, and saw the pretty milliner again seated
there, and still busied about the Tuscan dress. I resolved to make
another effort for it; and as I had gained my point with the maid, by
having discovered her intrigue, it struck me that I might succeed with
the milliner in a similar manner.

I therefore glided into the room, and seated myself just opposite to
her.

'Your business, Ma'am?' said she, looking surprised.

'To purchase that dress,' answered I.

''Tis already purchased,' said she.

'Do you remember the mad woman with the long hair?' said I, as I took
off my bonnet, and let down my tresses, with all the grandeur of virtue
victorious over vice.

She started and turned pale.

'You are the very person, I believe,' faltered she. 'What upon earth
shall I do?'

'Do?' cried I. 'Why, sell me the Tuscan dress of course. The fact
is--but let it go no farther--I am a heroine; I am, I give you my word
and honour. So, you know, the lady being wronged of the dress,
(inasmuch as she is but an individual), is as nothing compared with the
wrong that the community will sustain, if they lose the pleasure of
finding that I get it from you. Sure the whole scene, since I came to
this house, was contrived for the express purpose of my procuring that
individual costume; and just conceive what pretty confusion must take
place, if, after all, you prevent me! My dear girl, we must do poetical
justice. We must not disappoint the reader.

'You will tell me, perhaps, that selling the dress is improper?
Granted. But, recollect, what improper things are constantly done, in
novels, to bring about a pre-determined event. Your amour with the
gentleman, for instance; which I shall certainly tell your employer, if
you refuse to sell me the dress.

'As you value your own peace of mind, therefore, and in the name of all
that is just, generous, and honourable, I conjure you to reflect for a
moment, and you must see the matter in its rational light. What can you
answer to these arguments?'

'That the person who could use them,' said she, 'will never listen to
reason. I see what is the matter with you, and that I have no resource
but to humour you, or be ruined.' And she began crying.

To conclude, after a little farther persuasion, I got the dress, gave
her ten guineas, and, tripping down stairs, effected a safe escape out
of the house.

I then called a coach, and drove to Jerry Sullivan's; for I would not
return to my lodgings, lest the conspirators there should prevent me
from going to the masquerade.

The poor fellow jumped with joy when he saw me; but I found him in
great distress. His creditors had threatened his little shop with
immediate ruin, unless he would discharge his debts. He had now
provided the whole sum due, except forty pounds; but this he could not
procure, and the creditors were expected every minute.

'I have only twelve guineas in the world,' said I, opening my casket,
'but they are at your service.' And I put them into his hand.

'Dear Lady!' cried the wife, 'what a mortal sight of jewels you have
got! Do you know, now, I could borrow thirty pounds at least on them,
at the pawnbroker's; and that sum would just answer.'

'Nay,' said I, 'I cannot consent to part with them; though, had I
thirty pounds, I would sooner give it to you, than buy jewels with it.'

'Sure then,' cried she, 'by the same rule, you would sooner sell your
jewels, than let me want thirty pounds.'

'Not at all,' answered I, 'for I am fond of my jewels, and I do not
care about money. Besides, have I not already given you twelve
guineas?'

'You have,' answered she, 'and that is what vexes me. If you had given
me nothing at all, I would not have minded, because you were a
stranger. But first to make yourself our friend, by giving us twelve
guineas, and then to refuse us the remainder--'tis so unnatural!'

'Ungrateful woman!' cried I. 'Had I ten thousand pounds, you should not
touch a farthing of it.'

The arrival of the creditors interrupted us, and a touching scene
ensued. The wife and daughter flung themselves on their knees, and
wrung their hands, and begged for mercy; but the wretches were
inexorable.

How could I remain unmoved? In short, I slipped the casket into the
wife's hand; out she ran with it, and in a few minutes returned with
forty pounds. The creditors received the money due, passed receipts,
and departed, and Jerry returned me the twelve guineas, saying: 'Bless
your sweet face, for 'tis that is the finger-post to heaven, though, to
be sure, I can't look strait in it, after all you have done for me.
Och! 'tis a murder to be under an obligation: so if just a little bit
of mischief would happen you, and I to relieve you, as you did me, why
that would make me _aisy_.'

I am writing to you, from his house, while his daughter is finishing
the sleeve of my Tuscan dress; and in a short time I shall be ready for
the masquerade.

I confess I am not at all reconciled to the means I used in obtaining
that dress. I took advantage of the milliner's indiscretion in one
instance, to make her do wrong in another. But doubtless my biographer
will find excuses for me, which I cannot discover myself. Besides, the
code of moral law that heroines acknowledge is often quite opposite
from those maxims which govern other conditions of life. And, indeed,
if we view the various ranks and departments of society, we shall see,
that what is considered vicious in some of them, is not esteemed so in
others. Thus: it is deemed dishonest in a servant to cheat his master
of his wines, but it is thought perfectly fair for his master to
defraud the King of the revenue from those wines. In the same way, what
is called wantonness in a little minx with a flat face, is called only
susceptibility in a heroine with an oval one. We weep at the letters of
Heloise; but were they written by an alderman's fat wife, we should
laugh at them. The heroine may permit an amorous arm round her waist,
fly in the face of her parents, and make assignations in dark groves,
yet still be described as the most prudent of human creatures; but the
mere Miss has no business to attempt any mode of conduct beyond
modesty, decorum, and filial obedience. In a word, as different classes
have distinct privileges, it appears to me, from what I have read of
the law national, and the law romantic, that the heroine's prerogative
is similar to the King's, and that she, like him, can do no wrong.

Adieu.

LETTER XXI

O Biddy, I have ascertained my genealogy. I am--but I must not
anticipate. Take the particulars.

Having secured a comfortable bed at Jerry's, and eaten something (for I
had fasted all day), I went with him in a coach to the Pantheon, where
he promised to remain, and escort me back.

But I must first describe my Tuscan dress. It was a short petticoat of
pale green, with a bodice of white silk; the sleeves loose, and tied up
at the shoulders with ribbons and bunches of flowers. My hair, which
fell in ringlets on my neck, was also ornamented with flowers and a
straw hat. I wore no mask, heroines so seldom do.

Palpitating with expectation, I entered the assembly. Such a multitude
of grotesque groups as presented themselves! Clowns, harlequins, nuns,
devils; all talking and none listening. The clowns happy to be called
fools, the harlequins as awkward as clowns, the nuns impudent, and the
devils well-conducted. But as there is a description of a masquerade in
almost every novel, you will excuse me from entering into farther
particulars.

Too much agitated to support my character with spirit, I retired to a
recess, and there anxiously awaited the arrival of the ancient vassal.

Hardly had I been seated five minutes, when an infirm and reverend old
man approached, and sat down beside me. His feeble form was propt upon
a long staff, a palsy shook his white locks, and his garments had all
the quaintness of antiquity.

During some minutes, he gazed on me with earnestness, through a black
mask; at length, heaving a heavy sigh, he thus broke forth in tremulous
accents:

'Well-a-day! how the scalding tears do run adown my furrowed cheeks;
for well I wis, thou beest herself--the Lady Cherubina De Willoughby,
the long-lost daughter of mine honoured mistress!'

'Speak, I beseech you!' cried I. 'Are you, indeed, the ancient and
loyal vassal?'

'Now by my truly, 'tis even so,' said he.

I could have hugged the dear old man to my heart.

'Welcome, thrice welcome, much respected menial!' cried I, grasping his
hand. 'But keep me not in suspense. Unfold to me the heart-harrowing
mysteries of my unhappy house!'

'Now by my fay,' said he, 'I will say forth my say. My name is Whylome
Eftsoones, and I was accounted comely when a younker. But what boots
that now? Beauty is like unto a flower of the field.--Good my lady,
pardon a garrulous old man. So as I was saying, the damozels were once
wont to leer at me right waggishly; but time changeth all things, as
the proverb saith; and time hath changed my face, from that of a
blithesome Ganymede to one of those heads which Guido has often
painted; mild, pale, penetrating. Good my lady, I must tell thee a
right pleasant and quaint saying of a certain nun, touching my face.'

'For pity's sake,' cried I, 'and as you value the preservation of my
senses, continue your story without these digressions.'

'Certes, my lady,' said he. 'Well, I was first taken, as a bonny page,
into the service of thy great great grandfader's fader's brother; and I
was in at the death of these four generations, till at last, I became
seneschal to thine honoured fader, Lord De Willoughby. His lordship
married the Lady Hysterica Belamour, and thou wast the sole offspring
of that ill-fated union.

'Soon after thy birth, thy noble father died of an apparition; or, as
some will have it, of stewed lampreys. Returning, impierced with mickle
dolour, from his funeral, which took place at midnight, I was stopped
on a common, by a tall figure, with a mirksome cloak, and a flapped
hat. I shook grievously, ne in that ghastly dreriment wist how myself
to bear.'

'I do not comprehend your expressions,' interrupted I.

'I mean,' said he, 'I was in such a fright I did not know what to do.
Anon, he threw aside his disguise, and I beheld--Lord Gwyn!'

'Lord Gwyn!' cried I.

'Yea,' said he. 'Lord Gwyn, who was ywedded unto Lord De Willoughby's
sister, the Lady Eleanor.'

'Then Lady Eleanor Gwyn is my aunt!' cried I.

'Thou sayest truly,' replied he. '"My good Eftsoones," whispered Lord
Gwyn to me, "know you not that my wife, Lady Eleanor Gwyn, will enjoy
all the extensive estates of her brother, Lord De Willoughby, if that
brother's infant, the little Cherubina, were no more?"

'"I trow, ween, and wote, 'tis as your lordship saith," answered I.

'His lordship then put into mine hand a stiletto.

'"Eftsoones," said he, with a hollow voice, "if this dagger be planted
in a child's heart, it will grow, and bear a golden flower!"

'He spake, and incontinently took to striding away from me, in such
wise, that maulgre and albe, I gan make effort after him, nathlesse and
algates did child Gwyn forthwith flee from mine eyne.'

'I protest most solemnly,' said I, 'I do not understand five words in
the whole of that last sentence!'

'And yet, my lady,' replied he, ''tis the pure well of English
undefiled, and such as was yspoken in mine youth.'

'But what can you mean by _child_ Gwyn?' said I. 'Surely his lordship
was no suckling at this time.'

'Child,' said Eftsoones, 'signified a noble youth, some centuries ago;
and it is coming into fashion again. For instance, there is Childe
Harold.'

'Then,' said I, 'there is "second childishness;" and I fancy there will
be "mere oblivion" too. But if possible, finish your tale in the
corrupt tongue.'

'I will endeavour,' said he. 'Tempted by this implied promise of a
reward, I took an opportunity of conveying you away from your mother,
and of secreting you at the house of a peasant, whom I bribed to bring
you up as his own daughter. I told Lord Gwyn that I had dispatched you,
and he gave me three and fourpence halfpenny for my trouble.

'When the dear lady, your mother, missed you, she went through the most
elegant extravagancies; till, having plucked the last hair from her
head, she ran wild into the woods, and has never been heard of since.'

'Dear sainted sufferer!' exclaimed I.

'A few days ago,' continued Eftsoones, 'a messenger out of breath came
to tell me, that the peasant to whom I had consigned you was dying, and
wished to see me. I went. Such a scene! He confessed to me that he had
sold you, body and bones, as he inelegantly expressed it, to one farmer
Wilkinson, about thirteen years before; for that this farmer, having
discovered your illustrious birth, speculated on a handsome
consideration from Lord Gwyn, for keeping the secret. Now I am told
there is a certain parchment----'

'Which I have!' cried I.

'And a certain portrait of Nell Gwyn----'

'Which I have!'

'And a mole just above your left temple----'

'Which I have!' exclaimed I, in an ecstasy.

'Then your title is made out, as clear as the sun,' said he; 'and I
bow, in contrition, before Lady Cherubina de Willoughby, rightful
heiress of all the territory now appertaining, or that may hereinafter
appertain, to the House of De Willoughby.'

'Oh, dear, how delightful!' cried I. 'But my good friend, how am I to
set about proving my title?'

'Nothing easier,' answered he. 'Lady Gwyn (for his lordship is dead)
resides at this moment on your estate, which lies about thirty miles
from Town; so to-morrow morning you shall set off to see her ladyship,
and make your claims known to her. I will send a trusty servant with
you, and will myself proceed before you, to prepare her for your
arrival. You will therefore find me there.'

While we were in the act of arranging affairs more accurately, who
should make his appearance, but Stuart in a domino!

The moment he addressed me, old Eftsoones slunk away; nor could I catch
another glimpse of him during that night.

Stuart told me that he had come to the masquerade, on the chance of
finding me there, as I seemed so determined on going, the last time he
was with me. He likewise explained the mystery of the darkened chamber,
and the false alarm of fire.

It appears, that as soon as he had discovered the views of Betterton,
he hired a lodging at the opposite side of the street, and had two
police officers there, for the purpose of watching Betterton's
movements, and frustrating his attempts. He knocked several times in
the course of yesterday, but was always answered that I had walked out.
Knowing that I had not, he began to suspect foul play, and determined
on gaining admittance to me. He therefore knocked once more, and then
rushed into the house crying fire. This manoeuvre had the desired
effect, for an universal panic took place; and in the midst of it, he
saw me issuing forth, and effect my escape. After having pursued me
till he lost all traces of my route, he returned to my lodgings, and
was informed by the poet, that Betterton had persuaded the landlady to
fasten a carpet at the outside of my window, in order to make me remain
in bed, till the time for the masquerade should arrive; and thus
prevent me from having an interview with Stuart.

We then walked up and down the room, while I gave him an account of the
ancient and loyal vassal, and of all that I had heard respecting my
family. He was silent on the subject; and only begged of me to point
out Eftsoones, as soon as I should see him; but that interesting old
man never appeared. However, I was in great hopes of another adventure;
for a domino now began hovering about us so much, that Stuart at last
addressed it; but it glided away. He said he knew it was Betterton.

In about an hour, I became tired of the scene; for no one took notice
of my dress. We therefore bade Jerry, who was in waiting, call a coach;
and we proceeded in it to his house.

On our way, I mentioned my determination of setting off to Lady Gwyn's
the very next morning, as Eftsoones had promised to meet me there.
Stuart, for a wonder, applauded my resolution; and even offered to
accompany me himself.

'For,' said he, 'I think I know this old Eftsoones; and if so, I fancy
you will find me useful in unravelling part of the mystery. Besides, I
would assist, with all my soul, in any plan tending to withdraw you
from the metropolis.'

I snatched at his offer with joy; and it was then fixed that we should
take a chaise the next morning, and go together.

On our arrival at the lodging, Stuart begged a bed of Jerry, that he
might be ready for the journey in time; and the good-natured Irishman,
finding him my friend, agreed to make up a pallet for him in the
parlour.

Matters were soon arranged, and we have just separated for the night.

Well, Biddy, what say you now? Have I not made a glorious expedition of
it? A young, rich, beautiful titled heiress already--think of that,
Biddy.

As soon as I can decently turn Lady Gwyn out of doors, I mean to set
up a most magnificent establishment. But I will treat the poor woman
(who perhaps is innocent of her husband's crime) with extreme
delicacy. She shall never want a bed or a plate. By the by, I must
purchase silver plate. My livery shall be white and crimson. Biddy,
depend upon my patronage. How the parson and music-master will boast
of having known me. Then our village will swarm so, _to hear tell as
how_ Miss Cherry has grown a great lady. Old mother Muggins, at the
bottom of the hill, will make a good week's gossip out of it. However,
I mean to condescend excessively, for there is nothing I hate so much
as pride.

Yet do not suppose that I am speculating upon an easy life. Though the
chief obstacle to my marriage will soon be removed, by the confirmation
of my noble birth, still I am not ignorant enough to imagine that no
other impediments will interfere. Besides, to confess the fact, I do
not feel my mind quite prepared to marry Montmorenci at so short a
notice. Hitherto I have thought of him but as a lover, not as a
husband--very different characters, in general.

Ah, no, my friend; be well assured, that adversity will not desert me
quite so quickly. A present good is often the prognostic of an
approaching evil; and when prosperity points its sunshine in our faces,
misfortune, like our shadows, is sure to be behind.

Adieu.

LETTER XXII

After having breakfasted, and remunerated our entertainers, Stuart and
I set out in a post-chaise, while Jerry ran at our side half way down
the street, heaping me with blessings; and bidding me come to him if
ever I should be ruined. After we had advanced a few miles into the
country, Stuart began to look frequently through the back window, and
appeared uneasy. At length he stopped the carriage, and desired the
driver to turn round. As soon as the man had done so, another carriage,
which, it seems, had followed us from London, passed us, and
immediately turned after us.

''Tis as I thought!' cried Stuart, and stopping the chaise again,
jumped out of it.

The chaise behind us also stopped; and a gentleman alighted from it and
approached. But imagine my surprise, when I found that this gentleman
was old Betterton! I could almost have embraced him, his villainous
face looked so promising, and so pregnant with mischief.

'Sir,' said he to Stuart, 'as you have perceived me following your
carriage, I find myself compelled, however unwillingly, to declare my
motives for doing so. Last night I happened to be at the Pantheon, in a
domino, and saw you there escorting this lady. I confess I had long
before suspected your intentions towards her, and seeing you now
together at a masquerade, and without a matron, I did not feel my
suspicions lessened. I therefore had you both traced home, and I found,
to my great horror, that you stopped at a wretched, and, as I am
informed, infamous house in St. Giles's, where you remained during the
night. I found too, that a chaise was at the door of it this morning:
whence concluding, as I well might, that an elopement was in agitation,
I determined, if possible, to prevent so dreadful a catastrophe, by
hiring a carriage and pursuing you.

'Sir, you undertook to lecture me, when last I saw you; and plausibly
enough you performed your part. It is now my duty to return the
obligation. Mr. Stuart, Mr. Stuart, is it not a shame for you, Mr.
Stuart? Is this the way to treat the daughter of your friend, Mr.
Stuart? Go, silly boy, return to your home; and bless that heaven which
hath sent me to the rescue of this fair unfortunate.'

'By all that is comical,' cried Stuart, laughing immoderately, 'this is
too ludicrous even to be angry at! Miss Wilkinson, allow me to
introduce you to Mr. Whylome Eftsoones, an ancient and loyal vassal of
the De Willoughbys;--a mere modern in his principles, I am afraid; but
addicted, I wis, to antiquated language.'

Betterton, I thought, looked rather blank, as he said, 'Really, Sir, I
do not understand----'

'But really, Sir,' cried Stuart, 'I _do_ understand. I understand,
that if you would take less trouble in protecting this lady's honour,
you would have a better chance of preserving your own.'

'Sir,' answered Betterton, 'I will have you to know, that I would
sacrifice my life in defence of my honour.'

'Well, then,' said Stuart, 'though your life has but little of the
saint, it will, at least, have something of the martyr.'

Betterton scowled at him askance, and grinned a thousand devils.

'Hear me, gentlemen,' cried I. 'If either of you again say any thing
disrespectful or insulting to the other, I declare, on my honour, he
shall leave me instantly. At present, I should be happy if both would
do me the favour of escorting me to Lady Gwyn's, as I may meet with
treatment there that will render the support of friends indispensible.'

It was now Stuart's turn to look downcast, and Betterton's to smile
triumphant. The fact is, I wished to shew this admirable villain how
grateful I felt for his meritorious conduct in not having deserted me.

'I will accept of your invitation with pleasure,' said he, 'for my seat
lies within a few miles of her ladyship, and I wish to visit my
tenantry.'

It was now noon. A few fleecy clouds floated in the blue depths of
ether. The breeze brought coolness on its wings, and an inviting
valley, watered by a rivulet, lay on the left; here whitened with
sheep, and there dotted with little encampments of hay.

Exhilarated by the scene, after so long a confinement in the smoke and
stir of London, I proposed to my companions the rural exercise of
walking, as preferable to proceeding cooped up in a carriage. Each,
whatever was his motive, caught at the proposal with delight, and we
dismissed our chaises.

I now hastened to luxuriate in Arcadian beatitude. The pastoral habit
of Tuscany was favourable; nothing remained but to rival an Ida, or a
Glorvina, in simple touches of nature; and to trip along the lawns,
like a Daphne or a Hamadryad.

In an instant, I sprang across a hedge, and fled towards the little
valley, light as a wood-nymph flying from a satyr. I then took up a
most picturesque position. It was beside of the streamlet, under a
weeping willow, and on a grassy bank. Close behind me lay one of the
most romantic cottages that I had ever seen, and at its back was a
small garden, encompassed by green paling. The stream, bordered with
wild-flowers, prattled prettily; save here and there, where a jutting
stone shattered its crystal, and made its music hoarse. It purled and
murmured a little too, but no where could it be said either to tinkle
or gurgle, to chide or brawl.

Flinging off my bonnet, I shook my narcissine locks over my shoulders,
and began braiding them in the manner of a simple shepherdess.

Stuart came up the first. I plucked a daisy that was half dipt into the
brook; and instead of shaking off its moisture, I quaffed the liquid
fragrance with my lip, and then held the flower to him.

'What am I to do with it?' said he.

'To pledge me,' replied I. 'To drink Nature's nectar, that trembles on
the leaves which my lip has consecrated.'

He laughed and kissed the flower. That moment a lambkin began its
pretty bleat.

'Now,' said I, 'make me a simple tripping little ditty on a lambkin.'

'You shall have it,' answered he, 'and such as an attorney's clerk
would read to a milliner's apprentice.'

    Dear sensibility, O la!
    I heard a little lamb cry, ba;
    Says I, so you have lost mamma?
                      Ah!

    The little lamb, as I said so,
    Frisking about the field did go,
    And frisking, trod upon my toe.
                      Oh!

'Neat enough,' said I, 'only that it wants the word LOVE in it.'

'True,' cried Stuart; 'for all modern poems of the kind abound in the
word, though they seldom have much of the feeling.'

'And pray, my good friend,' asked I archly, as I bound up my golden
ringlets--'WHAT IS LOVE?'

'Nay,' said he, 'they say that talking of love is making it.'

Plucking a thistle that sprang from the bank, I blew away its down with
my balmy breath, merely to hide my confusion.

Surely I am the most sensitive of all created beings!

Betterton had now reached us, out of breath after his race, and utterly
unable to articulate.

'Betterton,' cried I, 'what is love?'

''Tis,' said he, gasping, ''tis--'tis----'

'The gentleman,' cried Stuart, 'gives as good a description of it as
most of our modern poets; who make its chief ingredients panting and
broken murmurs.'

'Now in my opinion,' said I, 'love is a mystical sympathy, which
unfolds itself in the glance that seeks the soul,--the sentiment that
the soul embodies--the tender gaiety--the more delicious sadness--the
stifled sigh--the soft and malicious smile--the thrill, the hope, the
fear--each in itself a little bliss. In a word, it is the swoon of the
soul, the delirium of the heart, the elegant inebriety of
unsophisticated sentiment.'

'If such be love,' said Stuart, 'I fear I shall never bring myself to
make it.'

'And pray,' said I, 'how would you make love?'

'There are many modes,' answered he, 'and the way to succeed with one
girl is often the way to fail with another. Girls may be divided into
the conversable and inconversable. He who can talk the best, has
therefore the best chance of the former; but would a man make a
conquest of one of the beautiful Inutilities, who sits in sweet
stupidity, plays off the small simpers, and founds her prospects in
life on the shape of her face, he has little more to do than call her a