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<title>EVELINA, by Frances Burney</title>
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<p>Project Gutenberg</p>
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<title>Evelina; or, The History of a Young Lady's Entrance Into the World</title>
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<div type="titlepage">
<head>Evelina; or, The History of a Young Lady's Entrance Into the World</head>
<dateline>1778</dateline>
<byline>Frances Burney</byline>
</div>
<div type="inscription">
<salute>TO DR. BURNEY.</salute>
<lg>
<l>Oh, Author of my being!-far more dear</l>
<l>           To me than light, than nourishment, or rest,</l>
<l>         Hygeia's blessings, Rapture's burning tear,</l>
<l>           Or the life-blood that mantles in my breast!</l>
</lg>
<lg>
<l>If in my heart the love of Virtue glows,</l>
<l>           'T was planted there by an unerring rule;</l>
<l>         From thy example the pure flame arose,</l>
<l>           Thy life, my precept,-thy good works, my school.</l>
</lg>
<lg>
<l>Could my weak pow'rs thy num'rous virtues trace,</l>
<l>           By filial love each fear should be repress'd,</l>
<l>         The blush of Incapacity I'd chace,</l>
<l>           And stand, Recorder of thy worth, confess'd:</l>
</lg>
<lg>
<l>But since my niggard stars that gift refuse,</l>
<l>           Concealment is the only boon I claim;</l>
<l>         Obscure be still the unsuccessful Muse,</l>
<l>           Who cannot raise, but would not sink, thy fame.</l>
</lg>
<lg>
<l>Oh! of my life at once the source and joy!</l>
<l>           If e'er thy eyes these feeble lines survey,</l>
<l>         Let not their folly their intent destroy;</l>
<l>           Accept the tribute-but forget the lay.</l>
</lg>
</div>
<div type="dedication">
<salute>THE AUTHORS OF THE MONTHLY AND CRITICAL REVIEWS.</salute>
<p> GENTLEMEN, The
liberty which I take in addressing to you the trifling production of a few idle
hours, will doubtless move your wonder, and probably your contempt. I will not,
however, with the futility of apologies, intrude upon your time, but briefly
acknowledge the motives of my temerity; lest, by a premature exercise of that
patience which I hope will befriend me, I should lessen its benevolence, and be
accessary to my own condemnation.</p>
<p> Without name, without recommendation, and unknown alike to success and disgrace, to
whom can I so properly apply for patronage, as to those who publicly profess
themselves Inspectors of all literary performances?</p>
<p> The extensive plan of your critical observations,-which, not confined to works of
utility or ingenuity, is equally open to those of frivolous amusement,-and, yet worse
than frivolous, dullness,-encourages me to seek for your protection, since,-perhaps
for my sins!-it intitles me to your annotations. To resent, therefore, this offering,
however insignificant, would ill become the universality of your undertaking; though
not to despise it may, alas! be out of your power.</p>
<p> The language of adulation, and the incense of flattery, though the natural
inheritance, and constant resource, from time immemorial, of the Dedicator, to me
offer nothing but the wistful regret that I dare not invoke their aid. Sinister views
would be imputed to all I could say; since, thus situated, to extol your judgment,
would seem the effect of art, and to celebrate your impartiality, be attributing to
suspecting it.</p>
<p> As magistrates of the press, and Censors for the public,-to which you are bound by
the sacred ties of integrity to exert the most spirited impartiality, and to which
your suffrages should carry the marks of pure, dauntless, irrefragable truth-to
appeal to your MERCY, were to solicit your dishonour; and therefore,-though 'tis
sweeter than frankincense,-more grateful to the senses than all the odorous perfumes
of Arabia,-and though</p>
<p> It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath,-</p>
<p> I court it not! to your justice alone I am intitled, and by that I must abide. Your
engagements are not to the supplicating authors; but to the candid public, which will
not fail to crave</p>
<p> The penalty and forfeit of your bond.</p>
<p> No hackneyed writer, inured to abuse, and callous to criticism, here braves your
severity;-neither does a half-starved garretteer,</p>
<p> Oblig'd by hunger-and request of friends,-</p>
<p> implore your lenity: your examination will be alike unbiassed by partiality and
prejudice;-no refractory murmuring will follow your censure, no private interest will
be gratified by your praise.</p>
<p> Let not the anxious solicitude with which I recommend myself to your notice, expose
me to your derision. Remember, Gentlemen, you were all young writers once, and the
most experienced veteran of your corps may, by recollecting his first publication,
renovate his first terrors, and learn to allow for mine. For though Courage is one of
the noblest virtues of this nether sphere; and though scarcely more requisite in the
field of battle, to guard the fighting hero from disgrace, than in the private
commerce of the world, to ward off that littleness of soul which leads, by steps
imperceptible, to all the base train of the inferior passions, and by which the too
timid mind is betrayed into a servility derogatory to the dignity of human nature!
yet is it a virtue of no necessity in a situation such as mine; a situation which
removes, even from cowardice itself, the sting of ignominy;-for surely that courage
may easily be dispensed with, which would rather excite disgust than admiration!
Indeed, it is the peculiar privilege of an author, to rob terror of contempt, and
pusillanimity of reproach.</p>
<p> Here let me rest- and snatch myself, while I yet am able, from the fascination of
EGOTISM:-a monster who has more votaries than ever did homage to the most popular
deity of antiquity; and whose singular quality is, that while he excites a blind and
involuntary adoration in almost every individual, his influence is universally
disallowed, his power universally contemned, and his worship, even by his followers,
never mentioned but with abhorence.</p>
<p> In addressing you jointly, I mean but to mark the generous sentiments by which
liberal criticism, to the utter annihilation of envy, jealousy, and all selfish
views, ought to be distinguished.</p>
<closer>
<salute>I have the honour to be,<lb/>    GENTLEMEN,<lb/>        Your most
obedient<lb/>            Humble Servant,<lb/>     </salute>           <signed>***
****</signed></closer>
</div>
<div type="preface">
<head>PREFACE.</head>
<p> IN the republic of letters, there is no member of such inferior rank, or who is so
much disdained by his brethren of the quill, as the humble Novelist; nor is his fate
less hard in the world at large, since, among the whole class of writers, perhaps not
one can be named of which the votaries are more numerous but less respectable.</p>
<p> Yet, while in the annals of those few of our predecessors, to whom this species of
writing is indebted for being saved from contempt, and rescued from depravity, we can
trace such names as Rousseau, Johnson,(1)Marivaux, Fielding, Richardson, and
Smollett, no man need blush at starting from the same post, though many, nay, most
men, may sigh at finding themselves distanced.</p>
<p> The following letters are presented to the Public-for such, by novel writers, novel
readers will be called,-with a very singular mixture of timidity and confidence,
resulting from the peculiar situation of the editor; who, though trembling for their
success from a consciousness of their imperfections, yet fears not being involved in
their disgrace, while happily wrapped up in a mantle of impenetrable obscurity.</p>
<p> To draw characters from nature, though not from life, and to mark the manners of the
times, is the attempted plan of the following letters. For this purpose, a young
female, educated in the most secluded retirement, makes, at the age of seventeen, her
first appearance upon the great and busy stage of life; with a virtuous mind, a
cultivated understanding, and a feeling heart, her ignorance of the forms, and
inexperience in the manners of the world, occasion all the little incidents which
these volumes record, and which form the natural progression of the life of a young
woman of obscure birth, but conspicuous beauty, for the first six months after her
Entrance into the world.</p>
<p> Perhaps, were it possible to effect the total extirpation of novels, our young
ladies in general, and boarding-school damsels in particular, might profit from their
annihilation; but since the distemper they have spread seems incurable, since their
contagion bids defiance to the medicine of advice or reprehension, and since they are
found to baffle all the mental art of physic, save what is prescribed by the slow
regimen of Time, and bitter diet of Experience; surely all attempts to contribute to
the number of those which may be read, if not with advantage, at least without
injury, ought rather to be encouraged than contemned.</p>
<p> Let me, therefore, prepare for disappointment those who, in the perusal of these
sheets, entertain the gentle expectation of being transported to the fantastic
regions of Romance, where Fiction is coloured by all the gay tints of luxurious
Imagination, where Reason is an outcast, and where the sublimity of the Marvellous
rejects all aid from sober Probability. The heroine of these memoirs, young, artless,
and inexperienced, is</p>
<p> No faultless Monster that the world ne'er saw;</p>
<p> but the offspring of Nature, and of Nature in her simplest attire.</p>
<p> In all the Arts, the value of copies can only be proportioned to the scarcity of
originals: among sculptors and painters, a fine statue, or a beautiful picture, of
some great master, may deservedly employ the imitative talents of young and inferior
artists, that their appropriation to one spot may not wholly prevent the more general
expansion of their excellence; but, among authors, the reverse is the case, since the
noblest productions of literature are almost equally attainable with the meanest. In
books, therefore, imitation cannot be shunned too sedulously; for the very perfection
of a model which is frequently seen, serves but more forcibly to mark the inferiority
of a copy.</p>
<p> To avoid what is common, without adopting what is unnatural, must limit the ambition
of the vulgar herd of authors: however zealous, therefore, my veneration of the great
writers I have mentioned, however I may feel myself enlightened by the knowledge of
Johnson, charmed with the eloquence of Rousseau, softened by the pathetic powers of
Richardson, and exhiliarated by the wit of Fielding and humour of Smollett, I yet
presume not to attempt pursuing the same ground which they have tracked; whence,
though they may have cleared the weeds, they have also culled the flowers; and,
though they have rendered the path plain, they have left it barren.</p>
<p> The candour of my readers I have not the impertinence to doubt, and to their
indulgence I am sensible I have no claim; I have, therefore, only to intreat, that my
own words may not pronounce my condemnation; and that what I have here ventured to
say in regard to imitation, may be understood as it is meant, in a general sense, and
not be imputed to an opinion of my own originality, which I have not the vanity, the
folly, or the blindness, to entertain.</p>
<p> Whatever may be the fate of these letters, the editor is satisfied they will meet
with justice; and commits them to the press, though hopeless of fame, yet not
regardless of censure.</p>
<p> 1)However superior the capacities in which these great writers deserve to be
considered, they must pardon me that, for the dignity of my subject, I here rank the
authors of Rasselas and Eloise as Novelists.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER I</head>
<opener>LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, Kent.</opener>
<p> CAN any thing, my good Sir, be more painful to a friendly mind, than a necessity of
communicating disagreeable intelligence? Indeed it is sometimes difficult to
determine, whether the relator or the receiver of evil tidings is most to be
pitied.</p>
<p> I have just had a letter from Madame Duval; she is totally at a loss in what manner
to behave; she seems desirous to repair the wrongs she has done, yet wishes the world
to believe her blameless. She would fain cast upon another the odium of those
misfortunes for which she alone is answerable. Her letter is violent, sometimes
abusive, and that of you!-you, to whom she is under obligations which are greater
even than her faults, but to whose advice she wickedly imputes all the sufferings of
her much injured daughter, the late Lady Belmont. The chief purport of her writing I
will acquaint you with; the letter itself is not worthy your notice.</p>
<p> She tells me that she has, for many years past, been in continual expectation of
making a journey to England, which prevented her writing for information concerning
this melancholy subject, by giving her hopes of making personal inquiries; but family
occurrences have still detained her in France, which country she now sees no prospect
of quitting. She has, therefore, lately used her utmost endeavors to obtain a
faithful account of whatever related to her ill-advised daughter; the result of which
giving her some reason to apprehend, that, upon her death-bed, she bequeathed an
infant orphan to the world, she most graciously says, that if you, with whom she
understands the child is placed, will procure authentic proofs of its relationship to
her, you may sent it to Paris, where she will properly provide for it.</p>
<p> This woman is, undoubtedly, at length, self-convicted of her most unnatural
behaviour; it is evident, from her writing, that she is still as vulgar and
illiterate as when her first husband, Mr. Evelyn, had the weakness to marry her; nor
does she at all apologize for addressing herself to me, though I was only once in her
company.</p>
<p> Her letter has excited in my daughter Mirvan, a strong desire to be informed of the
motives which induced Madame Duval to abandon the unfortunate Lady Belmont, at a time
when a mother's protection was peculiarly necessary for her peace and her reputation.
Notwithstanding I was personally acquainted with all the parties concerned in that
affair, the subject always appeared of too delicate a nature to be spoken of with the
principals; I cannot, therefore, satisfy Mrs. Mirvan otherwise than by applying to
you.</p>
<p> By saying that you may send the child, Madame Duval aims at conferring, where she
most owes obligation. I pretend not to give you advice; you, to whose generous
protection this helpless orphan is indebted for every thing, are the best and only
judge of what she ought to do; but I am much concerned at the trouble and uneasiness
which this unworthy woman may occasion you.</p>
<p> My daughter and my grandchild join with me in desiring to be most kindly remembered
to the amiable girl; and they bid me remind you, that the annual visit to Howard
Grove, which we were formerly promised, has been discontinued for more than four
years. I am, dear Sir, with great regard, Your most obedient friend and servant, M.
HOWARD.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER II</head>
<opener> MR. VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD Berry Hill, Dorsetshire.</opener>
<p> YOUR Ladyship did but too well foresee the perplexity and uneasiness of which Madame
Duval's letter has been productive. However, I ought rather to be thankful that I
have so many years remained unmolested, than repine at my present embarrassment;
since it proves, at least, that this wretched woman is at length awakened to
remorse.</p>
<p> In regard to my answer, I must humbly request your Ladyship to write to this effect:
"That I would not, upon any account, intentionally offend Madame Duval; but that I
have weighty, nay unanswerable reasons for detaining her grand-daughter at present in
England; the principal of which is, that it was the earnest desire of one to whose
will she owes implicit duty. Madame Duval may be assured, that she meets with the
utmost attention and tenderness; that her education, however short of my wishes,
almost exceeds my abilities; and I flatter myself, when the time arrives that she
shall pay her duty to her grand-mother, Madame Duval will find no reason to be
dissatisfied with what has been done for her."</p>
<p> Your Ladyship will not, I am sure, be surprised at this answer. Madame Duval is by
no means a proper companion or guardian for a young woman: she is at once uneducated
and unprincipled; ungentle in temper, and unamiable in her manners. I have long known
that she has persuaded herself to harbour an aversion for me-Unhappy woman! I can
only regard her as an object of pity!</p>
<p> I dare not hesitate at a request from Mrs. Mirvan; yet, in complying with it, I
shall, for her own sake, be as concise as I possibly can; since the cruel
transactions which preceded the birth of my ward can afford no entertainment to a
mind so humane as her's.</p>
<p> Your Ladyship may probably have heard, that I had the honour to accompany Mr.
Evelyn, the grandfather of my young charge, when upon his travels, in the capacity of
a tutor. His unhappy marriage, immediately upon his return to England, with Madame
Duval, then a waiting-girl at a tavern, contrary to the advice and entreaties of all
his friends, among whom I was myself the most urgent, induced him to abandon his
native land, and fix his abode in France. Thither he was followed by shame and
repentance; feelings which his heart was not framed to support; for, notwithstanding
he had been too weak to resist the allurements of beauty, which nature, though a
niggard to her of every other boon, had with a lavish hand bestowed on his wife; yet
he was a young man of excellent character, and, till thus unaccountably infatuated,
of unblemished conduct. He survived this ill-judged marriage but two years. Upon his
death-bed, with an unsteady hand, he wrote me the following note:</p>
<p> "My friend, forget your resentment, in favour of your humanity;-a father, trembling
for the welfare of his child, bequeaths her to your care. O Villars! hear! pity! And
relieve me!"</p>
<p> Had my circumstances permitted me, I should have answered these words by an
immediate journey to Paris; but I was obliged to act by the agency of a friend, who
was upon the spot, and present at the opening of the will.</p>
<p> Mr. Evelyn left to me a legacy of a thousand pounds, and the sole guardianship of
his daughter's person till her eighteenth year; conjuring me, in the most affecting
terms, to take the charge of her education till she was able to act with propriety
for herself; but, in regard to fortune, he left her wholly dependent on her mother,
to whose tenderness he earnestly recommended her.</p>
<p> Thus, though he would not, to a woman low-bred and illiberal as Mrs. Evelyn, trust
the conduct and morals of his daughter, he nevertheless thought proper to secure to
her the respect and duty to which, from her own child, were certainly her due; but
unhappily, it never occurred to him that the mother, on her part, could fail in
affection or justice.</p>
<p> Miss Evelyn, Madam, from the second to the eighteenth year of her life, was brought
up under my care, and, except when at school under my roof. I need not speak to your
Ladyship of the virtues of that excellent young creature. She loved me as her father;
nor was Mrs. Villars less valued by her; while to me she became so dear, that her
loss was little less afflicting than that which I have since sustained of Mrs.
Villars herself.</p>
<p> At that period of her life we parted; her mother, then married to Monsieur Duval,
sent for her to Paris. How often have I since regretted that I did not accompany her
thither! Protected and supported by me, the misery and disgrace which awaited her
might perhaps have been avoided. But, to be brief-Madame Duval, at the instigation of
her husband, earnestly, or rather tyrannically, endeavoured to effect a union between
Miss Evelyn and one of his nephews. And, when she found her power inadequate to her
attempt, enraged at her non-compliance, she treated her with the grossest unkindness,
and threatened her with poverty and ruin.</p>
<p> Miss Evelyn, to whom wrath and violence had hitherto been strangers, soon grew weary
of such usage; and rashly, and without a witness, consented to a private marriage
with Sir John Belmont, a very profligate young man, who had but too successfully
found means to insinuate himself into her favour. He promised to conduct her to
England-he did.-O, Madam, you know the rest!-Disappointed of the fortune he expected,
by the inexorable rancour of the Duvals, he infamously burnt the certificate of their
marriage, and denied that they had ever been united.</p>
<p> She flew to me for protection. With what mixed transports of joy and anguish did I
again see her! By my advice, she endeavoured to procure proofs of her marriage-but in
vain; her credulity had been no match for his art.</p>
<p> Every body believed her innocent, from the guiltless tenor of her unspotted youth,
and from the known libertinism of her barbarous betrayer. Yet her sufferings were too
acute for her slender frame; and the same moment that gave birth to her infant, put
an end at once to the sorrows and the life of its mother.</p>
<p> The rage of Madame Duval at her elopement, abated not while this injured victim of
cruelty yet drew breath. She probably intended, in time, to have pardoned her; but
time was not allowed. When she was informed of her death, I have been told, that the
agonies of grief and remorse, with which she was seized, occasioned her a severe fit
of illness. But, from the time of her recovery to the date of her letter to your
Ladyship, I had never heard that she manifested any desire to be made acquainted with
the circumstances which attended the death of Lady Belmont, and the birth of her
helpless child.</p>
<p> That child, Madam, shall never, while life is lent me, know the loss she has
sustained. I have cherished, succoured, and supported her, from her earliest infancy
to her sixteenth year; and so amply has she repaid my care and affection, that my
fondest wish is now circumscribed by the desire of bestowing her on one who may be
sensible of her worth, and then sinking to eternal rest in her arms.</p>
<p> Thus it has happened, that the education of the father, daughter, and
grand-daughter, has devolved on me. What infinite misery have the two first caused
me! Should the fate of the dear survivor be equally adverse, how wretched will be the
end of my cares-the end of my days!</p>
<p> Even had Madame Duval merited the charge she claims, I fear my fortitude would have
been unequal to such a parting; but being such as she is, not only my affection, but
my humanity, recoils, at the barbarous idea of deserting the sacred trust reposed in
me. Indeed, I could but ill support her former yearly visits to the respectable
mansion at Howard Grove: pardon me, dear Madam, and do not think me insensible of the
honour which your Ladyship's condescension confers upon us both; but so deep is the
impression which the misfortunes of her mother have made on my heart, that she does
not, even for a moment, quit my sight without exciting apprehensions and terrors
which almost overpower me. Such, Madam, is my tenderness, and such my weakness!-But
she is the only tie I have upon earth, and I trust to your Ladyship's goodness not to
judge of my feelings with severity.</p>
<p> I beg leave to present my humble respects to Mrs. and Miss Mirvan; and have the
honour to be, Madam, your Ladyship's most obedient and most humble servant, ARTHUR
VILLARS.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head>LETTER III [Written some months after the last]</head>
<opener>LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, March 8.</opener>
<salute> Dear and Rev. Sir,</salute>
<p> YOUR last letter gave me infinite pleasure: after so long and tedious an illness,
how grateful to yourself and to your friends must be your returning health! You have
the hearty wishes of every individual of this place for its continuance and
increase.</p>
<p> Will you not think I take advantage of your acknowledged recovery, if I once more
venture to mention your pupil and Howard Grove together? Yet you must remember the
patience with which we submitted to your desire of not parting with her during the
bad state of your health, tho' it was with much reluctance we forbore to solicit her
company. My grand-daughter in particular, has scarce been able to repress her
eagerness to again meet the friend of her infancy; and for my own part, it is very
strongly my wish to manifest the regard I had for the unfortunate Lady Belmont, by
proving serviceable to her child; which seems to me the best respect that can be paid
to her memory. Permit me, therefore, to lay before you a plan which Mrs. Mirvan and I
have formed, in consequence of your restoration to health.</p>
<p> I would not frighten you;-but do you think you could bear to part with your young
companion for two or three months? Mrs. Mirvan proposes to spend the ensuing spring
in London, whither for the first time, my grandchild will accompany her: Now, my good
friend, it is very earnestly their wish to enlarge and enliven their party by the
addition of your amiable ward, who would share, equally with her own daughter, the
care and attention of Mrs. Mirvan. Do not start at this proposal; it is time that she
should see something of the world. When young people are too rigidly sequestered from
it, their lively and romantic imaginations paint it to them as a paradise of which
they have been beguiled; but when they are shown it properly, and in due time, they
see it such as it really is, equally shared by pain and pleasure, hope and
disappointment.</p>
<p> You have nothing to apprehend from her meeting with Sir John Belmont, as that
abandoned man is now abroad, and not expected home this year.</p>
<p> Well, my good Sir, what say you to our scheme? I hope it will meet with your
approbation; but if it should not, be assured I can never object to any decision of
one who is so much respected and esteemed as Mr. Villars, by His most faithful,
humble servant, M. HOWARD.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER IV</head>
<opener> MR. VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD Berry Hill, March 12.</opener>
<p> I AM grieved, Madam, to appear obstinate, and I blush to incur the imputation of
selfishness. In detaining my young charge thus long with myself in the country, I
consulted not solely my own inclination. Destined, in all probability, to possess a
very moderate fortune, I wished to contract her views to something within it. The
mind is but too naturally prone to pleasure, but too easily yielded to dissipation:
it has been my study to guard her against their delusions, by preparing her to
expect-and to despise them. But the time draws on for experience and observation to
take the place of instruction: if I have in some measure, rendered her capable of
using one with discretion, and making the other with improvement, I shall rejoice
myself with the assurance of having largely contributed to her welfare. She is now of
an age that happiness is eager to attend,-let her then enjoy it! I commit her to the
protection of your Ladyship, and only hope she may be found worthy half the goodness
I am satisfied she will meet with at your hospitable mansion.</p>
<p> Thus far, Madam, I cheerfully submit to your desire. In confiding my ward to the
care of Lady Howard, I can feel no uneasiness from her absence, but what will arise
from the loss of her company, since I shall be as well convinced of her safety as if
she were under my own roof.-But can your Ladyship be serious in proposing to
introduce her to the gaieties of a London life? Permit me to ask, for what end, or
for what purpose? A youthful mind is seldom totally free from ambition; to curb that,
is the first step to contentment, since to diminish expectation is to increase
enjoyment. I apprehend nothing more than too much raising her hopes and her views,
which the natural vivacity of her disposition would render but too easy to effect.
The town-acquaintance of Mrs. Mirvan are all in the circle of high life; this artless
young creature, with too much beauty to escape notice, has too much sensibility to be
indifferent to it; but she has too little wealth to be sought with propriety by men
of the fashionable world.</p>
<p> Consider Madam, the peculiar cruelty of her situation. Only child of a wealthy
Baronet, whose person she has never seen, whose character she has reason to abhor,
and whose name she is forbidden to claim; entitled as she is to lawfully inherit his
fortune and estate, is there any probability that he will properly own her? And while
he continues to persevere in disavowing his marriage with Miss Evelyn, she shall
never, at the expense of her mother's honour, receive a part of her right as the
donation of his bounty.</p>
<p> And as to Mr. Evelyn's estate, I have no doubt but that Madame Duval and her
relations will dispose of it among themselves.</p>
<p> It seems, therefore, as if this deserted child, though legally heiress to two large
fortunes, must owe all her rational expectations to adoption and friendship. Yet her
income will be such as may make her happy, if she is disposed to be so in private
life; though it will by no means allow her to enjoy the luxury of a London fine
lady.</p>
<p> Let Miss Mirvan, then, Madam, shine in all the splendour of high life; but suffer my
child still to enjoy the pleasures of humble retirement, with a mind to which greater
views are unknown.</p>
<p> I hope this reasoning will be honoured with your approbation; and I have yet another
motive which has some weight with me: I would not willingly give offence to any human
being; and surely Madame Duval might accuse me of injustice, if, while I refuse to
let her grand-daughter wait upon her, I consent that she should join a party of
pleasure to London.</p>
<p> In sending her to Howard Grove, not one of these scruples arise; and therefore Mrs.
Clinton, a most worthy woman, formerly her nurse, and now my housekeeper, shall
attend her thither next week.</p>
<p> Though I have always called her by the name of Anville, and reported in this
neighbourhood that her father, my intimate friend, left her to my guardianship; yet I
have thought it necessary she should herself be acquainted with the melancholy
circumstances attending her birth: for though I am very desirous of guarding her from
curiosity and impertinence, by concealing her name, family, and story, yet I would
not leave it in the power of chance to shock her gentle nature with a tale of so much
sorrow.</p>
<p> You must not, Madam, expect too much from my pupil; she is quite a little rustic,
and knows nothing of the world; and though her education has been the best I could
bestow in this retired place, to which Dorchester, the nearest town, is seven miles
distant, yet I shall not be surprised if you should discover in her a thousand
deficiencies of which I have never dreamt. She must be very much altered since she
was last at Howard Grove. But I will say nothing of her; I leave her to your
Ladyship's own observations, of which I beg a faithful relation; and am, Dear Madam,
with great respect, Your obedient and most humble Servant, ARTHUR VILLARS.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER V</head>
<opener>MR. VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD March 18.</opener>
<p>Dear Madam,</p>
<p> THIS letter will be delivered to you by my child-the child of my adoption-my
affection! Unblest with one natural friend, she merits a thousand. I send her to you
innocent as an angel, and artless as purity itself; and I send you with her the heart
of your friend, the only hope he has on earth, the subject of his tenderest thoughts,
and the object of his latest cares. She is one, Madam, for whom alone I have lately
wished to live; and she is one whom to serve I would with transport die! Restore her
but to me all innocence as you receive her, and the fondest hope of my heart will be
amply gratified. A. VILLARS.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER VI</head>
<opener> LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove.</opener>
<p> Dear Rev. Sir,</p>
<p> THE solemn manner in which you have committed your child to my care, has in some
measure damped the pleasure which I receive from the trust, as it makes me fear that
you suffer from your compliance, in which case I shall very sincerely blame myself
for the earnestness with which I have requested this favour: but remember, my good
Sir, she is within a few days summons; and be assured, I will not detain her a moment
longer than you wish.</p>
<p> You desire my opinion of her.</p>
<p> She is a little angel! I cannot wonder that you sought to monopolize her: neither
ought you, at finding it impossible.</p>
<p> Her face and person answer my most refined ideas of complete beauty: and this,
though a subject of praise less important to you, or, to me than any other, is yet so
striking, it is not possible to pass it unnoticed. Had I not known from whom she
received her education, I should at first sight of so perfect a face, have been in
pain for her understanding; since it has been long and justly remarked, that folly
has ever sought alliance with beauty.</p>
<p> She has the same gentleness in her manners, the same natural graces in her motions,
that I formerly so much admired in her mother. Her character seems truly ingenuous
and simple; and at the same time that nature has blessed her with an excellent
understanding and great quickness of parts, she has a certain air of inexperience and
innocency that is extremely interesting.</p>
<p> You have not reason to regret the retirement in which she has lived; since that
politeness which is acquired by an acquaintance with high life, is in her so well
supplied by a natural desire of obliging, joined to a deportment infinitely
engaging.</p>
<p> I observe, with great satisfaction, a growing affection between this amiable girl
and my grand-daughter, whose heart is as free from selfishness or conceit, as that of
her young friend is from all guile. Their regard may be mutually useful, since much
is to be expected from emulation where nothing is to be feared from envy. I would
have them love each other as sisters, and reciprocally supply the place of that
tender and happy relationship to which neither of them has a natural claim.</p>
<p> Be satisfied, my good Sir, that your child shall meet with the same attention as our
own. We all join in most hearty wishes for your health and happiness, and in
returning our sincere thanks for the favour you have conferred on us. I am, dear Sir,
Your most faithful servant, M. HOWARD.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER VII</head>
<opener> LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, March 26.</opener>
<p> BE not alarmed, my worthy friend, at my so speedily troubling you again; I seldom
use the ceremony of waiting for answers, or writing with any regularity, and I have
at present immediate occasion for begging your patience.</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan has just received a letter from her long absent husband, containing the
welcome news of his hoping to reach London by the beginning of next week. My daughter
and the Captain have been separated almost seven years, and it would therefore be
needless to say what joy, surprise, and consequently confusion, his at present
unexpected return has caused at Howard Grove. Mrs. Mirvan, you cannot doubt, will go
instantly to town to meet him; her daughter is under a thousand obligations to attend
her; I grieve that her mother cannot.</p>
<p> And now, my good Sir, I almost blush to proceed;-but, tell me, may I ask-will you
permit-that your child may accompany them? Do not think us unreasonable, but consider
the many inducements which conspire to make London the happiest place at present she
can be in. The joyful occasion of the journey; the gaiety of the whole party, opposed
to the dull life she must lead, if left here with a solitary old woman for her sole
companion, while she so well knows the cheerfulness and felicity enjoyed by the rest
of the family,-are circumstances that seem to merit your consideration. Mrs. Mirvan
desires me to assure you that one week is all she asks, as she is certain that the
Captain, who hates London, will be eager to revisit Howard Grove; and Maria is so
very earnest in wishing to have the company of her friend, that, if you are
inexorable, she will be deprived of half the pleasure she otherwise hopes to
receive.</p>
<p> However, I will not, my good Sir, deceive you into an opinion that they intend to
live in a retired manner, as that cannot be fairly expected. But you have no reason
to be uneasy concerning Madame Duval; she has not any correspondent in England, and
obtains no intelligence but by common report. She must be a stranger to the name your
child bears; and, even should she hear of this excursion, so short a time as a week
or less spent in town upon so particular an occasion, though previous to their
meeting, cannot be construed into disrespect to herself.</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan desires me to assure you, that if you will oblige her, her two children
shall equally share her time and her attention. She has sent a commission to a friend
in town to take a house for her; and while she waits for an answer concerning it, I
shall for one from you to our petition. However, your child is writing herself; and
that, I doubt not, will more avail than all we can possible urge.</p>
<p> My daughter desires her best compliments to you if, she says, you will grant her
request but not else.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dear Sir, we all hope every thing from your goodness.<lb/>M. HOWARD.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER VIII</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, March 26.</opener>
<p> THIS house seems to be the house of joy; every face wears a smile, and a laugh is at
every body's service. It is quite amusing to walk about and see the general
confusion; a room leading to the garden is fitting up for Captain Mirvan's study.
Lady Howard does not sit a moment in a place; Miss Mirvan is making caps; every body
so busy!-such flying from room to room!-so many orders given, and retracted, and
given again! nothing but hurry and perturbation.</p>
<p> Well but, my dear Sir, I am desired to make a request to you. I hope you will not
think me an encroacher; Lady Howard insists upon my writing!-yet I hardly know how to
go on; a petition implies a want and have you left me one? No, indeed.</p>
<p> I am half ashamed of myself for beginning this letter. But these dear ladies are so
pressing-I cannot, for my life, resist wishing for the pleasures they offer
me,-provided you do not disapprove them.</p>
<p> They are to make a very short stay in town. The Captain will meet them in a day or
two. Mrs. Mirvan and her sweet daughter both go; what a happy party! Yet, I am not
very eager to accompany them: at least I shall be contented to remain where I am, if
you desire that I should.</p>
<p> Assured, my dearest Sir, of your goodness, your bounty, and your indulgent kindness,
ought I to form a wish that has not your sanction? Decide for me, therefore, without
the least apprehension that I shall be uneasy or discontented. While I am yet in
suspense, perhaps I may hope; but I am most certain that when you have once
determined I shall not repine.</p>
<p> They tell me that London is now in full splendour. Two playhouses are open,-the
Opera-house,-Ranelagh,-and the Pantheon.-You see I have learned all their names.
However, pray don't suppose that I make any point of going, for I shall hardly sigh,
to see them depart without me, though I shall probably never meet with such another
opportunity. And, indeed, their domestic happiness will be so great,-it is natural to
wish to partake of it.</p>
<p> I believe I am bewitched! I made a resolution, when I began, that I would not be
urgent; but my pen-or rather my thoughts, will not suffer me to keep it-for I
acknowledge, I must acknowledge, I cannot help wishing for your permission.</p>
<p> I almost repent already that I have made this confession; pray forget that you have
read it, if this journey is displeasing to you. But I will not write any longer; for
the more I think of this affair, the less indifferent to it I find myself.</p>
<p> Adieu, my most honoured, most reverenced, most beloved father! for by what other
name can I call you? I have no happiness or sorrow, no hope or fear, but what your
kindness bestows, or your displeasure may cause. You will not, I am sure, send a
refusal without reasons unanswerable, and therefore I shall cheerfully acquiesce. Yet
I hope-I hope you will be able to permit me to go! I am, with the utmost affection,
gratitude, and duty, your EVELINA -</p>
<p> I cannot to you sign ANVILLE, and what other name may I claim?</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER IX</head>
<opener> MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA Berry Hill, March 28.</opener>
<p> TO resist the urgency of intreaty, is a power which I have not yet acquired: I aim
not at an authority which deprives you of liberty, yet I would fain guide myself by a
prudence which should save me the pangs of repentance. Your impatience to fly to a
place which your imagination has painted to you in colors so attractive, surprises me
not; I have only to hope, that the liveliness of your fancy may not deceive you: to
refuse, would be raising it still higher. To see my Evelina happy, is to see myself
without a wish: go, then my child; and may that Heaven, which alone can direct,
preserve and strengthen you! To that, my love, will I daily offer prayers for your
felicity. O may it guard, watch over you, defend you from danger, save you from
distress, and keep vice as distant from your person as from your heart! And to me,
may it grant, the ultimate blessing of closing these aged eyes in the arms of one so
dear-so deservedly beloved! ARTHUR VILLARS.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER X</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Queen Ann Street, London, Saturday, April
2.</opener>
<p> THIS moment arrived. Just going to Drury Lane Theatre. The celebrated Mr. Garrick
performs Ranger. I am quite in ecstasy. So is Miss Mirvan. How fortunate that he
should happen to play! We would not let Mrs. Mirvan rest till she consented to go.
Her chief objection was to our dress, for we have had no time to Londonize ourselves;
but we teased her into compliance, and so we are to sit in some obscure place that
she may not be seen. As to me, I should be alike unknown in the most conspicuous or
most private part of the house.</p>
<p> I can write no more now. I have hardly time to breathe-only just this, the houses
and streets are not quite so superb as I expected. However, I have seen nothing yet,
so I ought not to judge.</p>
<p> Well; adieu, my dearest Sir, for the present; I could not forbear writing a few
words instantly on my arrival, though I suppose my letter of thanks for your consent
is still on the road. Saturday Night.</p>
<p> O, my dear Sir, in what raptures am I returned? Well may Mr. Garrick be so
celebrated, so universally admired-I had not any idea of so great a performer.</p>
<p> Such ease! such vivacity in his manner! such grace in his motions! such fire and
meaning in his eyes!-I could hardly believe he had studied a written part, for every
word seemed to be uttered from the impulse of the moment.</p>
<p> His action-at once so graceful and so free!-his voice-so clear, so melodious, yet so
wonderfully various in its tones!-Such animation!-every look speaks!</p>
<p> I would have given the world to have had the whole play acted over again. And when
he danced-O, how I envied Clarinda! I almost wished to have jumped on the stage and
joined them.</p>
<p> I am afraid you will think me mad, so I won't say any more; yet, I really believe
Mr. Garrick would make you mad too if you could see him. I intend to ask Mrs. Mirvan
to go to the play every night while we stay in town. She is extremely kind to me; and
Maria, her charming daughter, is the sweetest girl in the world.</p>
<p> I shall write to you every evening all that passes in the day, and that in the same
manner as, if I could see, I should tell you. Sunday.</p>
<p> This morning we went to Portland chapel; and afterwards we walked in the mall of St.
James's Park, which by no means answered my expectations: it is a long straight walk
of dirty gravel, very uneasy to the feet; and at each end instead of an open
prospect, nothing is to be seen but houses built of brick. When Mrs. Mirvan pointed
out the Palace to me-I think I was never much more surprised.</p>
<p> However, the walk was very agreeable to us; every body looked gay, and seemed
pleased; and the ladies were so much dressed, that Miss Mirvan and I could do nothing
but look at them. Mrs. Mirvan met several of her friends. No wonder, for I never saw
so many people assembled together before. I looked about for some of my acquaintance,
but in vain; for I saw not one person that I knew, which is very odd, for all the
world seemed there.</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan says we are not to walk in the Park again next Sunday, even if we should
be in town, because there is better company in Kensington Gardens; but really if you
had seen how much every body was dressed, you would not think that possible.
Monday.</p>
<p> We are to go this evening to a private ball, given by Mrs. Stanley, a very
fashionable lady of Mrs. Mirvan's acquaintance.</p>
<p> We have been a-shopping as Mrs. Mirvan calls it, all this morning, to buy silks,
caps, gauzes, and so forth.</p>
<p> The shops are really very entertaining, especially the mercers; there seem to be six
or seven men belonging to each shop; and every one took care by bowing and smirking,
to be noticed. We were conducted from one to another, and carried from room to room
with so much ceremony, that at I was almost afraid to go on.</p>
<p> I thought I should never have chosen a silk: for they produced so many, I knew not
which to fix upon; and they recommended them all so strongly, that I fancy they
thought I only wanted persuasion to buy every thing they showed me. And, indeed, they
took so much trouble, that I was almost ashamed I could not.</p>
<p> At the milliners, the ladies we met were so much dressed, that I should rather have
imagined they were making visits than purchases. But what most diverted me was, that
we were more frequently served by men than by women; and such men! so finical, so
affected! they seemed to understand every part of a woman's dress better than we do
ourselves; and they recommended caps and ribbands with an air of so much importance,
that I wished to ask them how long they had left off wearing them.</p>
<p> The dispatch with which they work in these great shops is amazing, for they have
promised me a complete suit of linen against the evening.</p>
<p> I have just had my hair dressed. You can't think how oddly my head feels; full of
powder and black pins, and a great cushion on the top of it. I believe you would
hardly know me, for my face looks quite different to what it did before my hair was
dressed. When I shall be able to make use of a comb for myself I cannot tell; for my
hair is so much entangled, frizzled they call it, that I fear it will be very
difficult.</p>
<p> I am half afraid of this ball to-night; for, you know, I have never danced but at
school: however, Miss Mirvan says there is nothing in it. Yet, I wish it was
over.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dear Sir, pray excuse the wretched stuff I write; perhaps I may improve by
being in this town, and then my letters will be less unworthy your reading. Meantime,
I am, Your dutiful and affectionate, though unpolished, EVELINA.</p>
<p> Poor Miss Mirvan cannot wear one of the caps she made, because they dress her hair
too large for them.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XI</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Queen Ann Street, April 5, Tuesday Morning.</opener>
<p> I HAVE a vast deal to say, and shall give all this morning to my pen.</p>
<p> As to my plan of writing every evening the adventures of the day, I find it
impracticable; for the diversions here are so very late, that if I begin my letters
after them, I could not go to bed at all.</p>
<p> We passed a most extraordinary evening. A private ball this was called, so I
expected to have seen about four or five couple; but Lord! my dear Sir, I believe I
saw half the world! Two very large rooms were full of company; in one were cards for
the elderly ladies, and in the other were the dancers. My mamma Mirvan, for she
always calls me her child, said she would sit with Maria and me till we were provided
with partners, and then join the card-players.</p>
<p> The gentlemen, as they passed and repassed, looked as if they thought we were quite
at their disposal, and only waiting for the honour of their commands; and they
sauntered about, in a careless, indolent manner, as if with a view to keep us in
suspense. I don't speak of this in regard to Miss Mirvan and myself only, but to the
ladies in general: and I thought it so provoking, that I determined in my own mind
that, far from humouring such airs, I would rather not dance at all, than with any
one who would seem to think me ready to accept the first partner who would condescend
to take me.</p>
<p> Not long after, a young man, who had for some time looked at us with a kind of
negligent impertinence, advanced on tiptoe towards me; he had a set smile on his
face, and his dress was so foppish, that I really believed he even wished to be
stared at; and yet he was very ugly.</p>
<p> Bowing almost to the ground with a sort of swing, and waving his hand, with the
greatest conceit, after a short and silly pause, he said, "Madam-may I presume?"-and
stopt, offering to take my hand. I drew it back, but could scarce forbear laughing.
"Allow me, Madam," continued he, affectedly breaking off every half moment, "the
honour and happiness-if I am not so unhappy as to address you too late-to have the
happiness and honour-"</p>
<p> Again he would have taken my hand; but bowing my head, I begged to be excused, and
turned to Miss Mirvan to conceal my laughter. He then desired to know if I had
already engaged myself to some more fortunate man? I said No, and that I believed I
should not dance at all. He would keep himself he told me, disengaged, in hopes I
should relent; and then, uttering some ridiculous speeches of sorrow and
disappointment, though his face still wore the same invariable smile, he
retreated.</p>
<p> It so happened, as we have since recollected, that during this little dialogue Mrs.
Mirvan was conversing with the lady of the house. And very soon after, another
gentleman, who seemed about six-and-twenty years old, gaily but not foppishly
dressed, and indeed extremely handsome, with an air of mixed politeness and
gallantry, desired to know if I was engaged, or would honour him with my hand. So he
was pleased to say, though I am sure I know not what honour he could receive from me;
but these sort of expressions, I find, are used as words of course, without any
distinction of persons, or study of propriety.</p>
<p> Well, I bowed, and I am sure I coloured; for indeed I was frightened at the thoughts
of dancing before so many people, all strangers, and, which was worse, with a
stranger: however, that was unavoidable; for, though I looked round the room several
times, I could not see one person that I knew. And so he took my hand, and led me to
join in the dance.</p>
<p> The minuets were over before we arrived, for we were kept late by the milliners
making us wait for our things.</p>
<p> He seemed very desirous of entering into conversation with me; but I was seized with
such a panic, that I could hardly speak a word, and nothing but the shame of so soon
changing my mind prevented my returning to my seat, and declining to dance at
all.</p>
<p> He appeared to be surprised at my terror, which I believe was but too apparent:
however, he asked no questions, though I fear he must think it very strange, for I
did not choose to tell him it was owing to my never before dancing but with a
school-girl.</p>
<p> His conversation was sensible and spirited; his air, and address were open and
noble; his manners gentle, attentive, and infinitely engaging; his person is all
elegance, and his countenance the most animated and expressive I have ever seen.</p>
<p> In a short time we were joined by Miss Mirvan, who stood next couple to us. But how
I was startled when she whispered me that my partner was a nobleman! This gave me a
new alarm: how will he be provoked, thought I, when he finds what a simple rustic he
has honoured with his choice! one whose ignorance of the world makes her perpetually
fear doing something wrong!</p>
<p> That he should be so much my superior in every way, quite disconcerted me; and you
will suppose my spirits were not much raised, when I heard a lady, in passing us,
say, "This is the most difficult dance I ever saw."</p>
<p> "O dear, then" cried Maria to her partner, "with your leave, I'll sit down till the
next."</p>
<p> "So will I too, then," cried I, "for I am sure I can hardly stand."</p>
<p> "But you must speak to your partner first," answered she; for he had turned aside to
talk with some gentlemen. However, I had not sufficient courage to address him; and
so away we all three tript, and seated ourselves at another end of the room.</p>
<p> But, unfortunately for me, Miss Mirvan soon after suffered herself to be prevailed
upon to attempt the dance; and just as she rose to go, she cried, "My dear, yonder is
your partner, Lord Orville walking about the room in search of you."</p>
<p> "Don't leave me then, dear girl!" cried I; but she was obliged to go. And now I was
more uneasy than ever; I would have given the world to have seen Mrs. Mirvan, and
begged of her to make my apologies; for what, thought I, can I possibly say to him in
excuse for running away? He must either conclude me a fool, or half mad; for any one
brought up in the great world, and accustomed to its ways, can have no idea of such
sort of fears as mine.</p>
<p> My confusion increased when I observed that he was every where seeking me, with
apparent perplexity and surprise; but when, at last, I saw him move towards the place
where I sat, I was ready to sink with shame and distress. I found it absolutely
impossible to keep my seat, because I could not think of a word to say for myself;
and so I rose, and walked hastily towards the card-room, resolving to stay with Mrs.
Mirvan the rest of the evening, and not to dance at all. But before I could find her,
Lord Orville saw and approached me.</p>
<p> He begged to know if I was not well? You may easily imagine how much I was
embarrassed. I made no answer; but hung my head like a fool, and looked on my
fan.</p>
<p> He then, with an air the most respectfully serious, asked if he had been so unhappy
as to offend me?</p>
<p> "No, indeed!" cried I; and, in hopes of changing the discourse, and preventing his
further inquiries, I desired to know if he had seen the young lady who had been
conversing with me?</p>
<p> No;-but would I honour him with any commands to her?</p>
<p> "O, by no means!"</p>
<p> Was there any other person with whom I wished to speak?</p>
<p> I said no, before I knew I had answered at all.</p>
<p> Should he have the pleasure of bringing me any refreshment?</p>
<p> I bowed, almost involuntarily. And away he flew.</p>
<p> I was quite ashamed of being so troublesome, and so much above myself as these
seeming airs made me appear; but indeed I was too much confused to think or act with
any consistency.</p>
<p> If he had not been as swift as lightning, I don't know whether I should not have
stolen away again; but he returned in a moment. When I had drank a glass of lemonade,
he hoped, he said, that I would again honour him with my hand, as a new dance was
just begun. I had not the presence of mind to say a single word, and so I let him
once more lead me to the place I had left.</p>
<p> Shocked to find how silly, how childish a part I had acted, my former fears of
dancing before such a company, and with such a partner, returned more forcibly than
ever. I suppose he perceived my uneasiness; for he entreated me to sit down again if
dancing was disagreeable to me. But I was quite satisfied with the folly I had
already shewn; and therefore declined his offer, though I was really scarce able to
stand.</p>
<p> Under such conscious disadvantages, you may easily imagine my dear Sir, how ill I
acquitted myself. But, though I both expected and deserved to find him very much
mortified and displeased at his ill fortune in the choice he had made; yet, to my
very great relief, he appeared to be even contented, and very much assisted and
encouraged me. These people in high life have too much presence of mind, I believe,
to seem disconcerted, or out of humour, however they may feel: for had I been the
person of the most consequence in the room, I could not have met with more attention
and respect.</p>
<p> When the dance was over, seeing me still very much flurried, he led me to a seat,
saying that he would not suffer me to fatigue myself from politeness.</p>
<p> And then, if my capacity, or even, if my spirits had been better, in how animated a
conversation I might have been engaged! it was then I saw that the rank of Lord
Orville was his least recommendation, his understanding and his manners being far
more distinguished. His remarks upon the company in general were so apt, so just, so
lively, I am almost surprised myself that they did not reanimate me; but, indeed, I
was too well convinced of the ridiculous part I had myself played before so nice an
observer, to be able to enjoy his pleasantry: so self-compassion gave me feeling for
others. Yet I had not the courage to attempt either to defend them or to rally in my
turn; but listened to him in silent embarrassment.</p>
<p> When he found this, he changed the subject, and talked of public places, and public
performers; but he soon discovered that I was totally ignorant of them.</p>
<p> He then, very ingeniously, turned the discourse to the amusements and occupations of
the country.</p>
<p> It now struck me that he was resolved to try whether or not I was capable of talking
upon any subject. This put so great a restraint upon my thoughts, that I was unable
to go further than a monosyllable, and not ever so far, when I could possibly avoid
it.</p>
<p> We were sitting in this manner, he conversing with all gaiety, I looking down with
all foolishness, when that fop who had first asked me to dance, with a most
ridiculous solemnity approached, and, after a profound bow or two, said, "I humbly
beg pardon, Madam,-and of you too, my Lord,-for breaking in upon such agreeable
conversation-which must, doubtless, be more delectable-than what I have the honour to
offer-but-"</p>
<p> I interrupted him-I blush for my folly,-with laughing; yet I could not help it; for,
added to the man's stately foppishness, (and he actually took snuff between every
three words) when I looked around at Lord Orville, I saw such extreme surprise in his
face,-the cause of which appeared so absurd, that I could not for my life preserve my
gravity.</p>
<p> I had not laughed before from the time I had left Miss Mirvan, and I had much better
have cried then; Lord Orville actually stared at me; the beau, I know not his name,
looked quite enraged. "Refrain-Madam," said he, with an important air, "a few moments
refrain!-I have but a sentence to trouble you with.-May I know to what accident I
must attribute not having the honour of your hand?"</p>
<p> "Accident, Sir!" repeated I, much astonished.</p>
<p> "Yes, accident, Madam;-for surely,-I must take the liberty to observe-pardon me,
Madam,-it ought to be no common one-that should tempt a lady-so young a one too,-to
be guilty of ill-manners."</p>
<p> A confused idea now for the first time entered my head, of something I had heard of
the rules of an assembly; but I was never at one before,-I have only danced at
school,-and so giddy and heedless I was, that I had not once considered the
impropriety of refusing one partner, and afterwards accepting another. I was
thunderstruck at the recollection: but, while these thoughts were rushing into my
head, Lord Orville with some warmth, said, "This Lady, Sir, is incapable of meriting
such an accusation!"</p>
<p> The creature-for I am very angry with him-made a low bow and with a grin the most
malicious I ever saw, "My Lord," said he, "far be it from me to accuse the lady, for
having the discernment to distinguish and prefer-the superior attractions of your
Lordship."</p>
<p> Again he bowed and walked off.</p>
<p> Was ever any thing so provoking? I was ready to die with shame. "What a coxcomb!"
exclaimed Lord Orville: while I, without knowing what I did, rose hastily, and moving
off, "I can't imagine," cried I, "where Mrs. Mirvan has hid herself!"</p>
<p> "Give me leave to see," answered he. I bowed and sat down again, not daring to meet
his eyes; for what must he think of me, between my blunder, and the supposed
preference?</p>
<p> He returned in a moment, and told me that Mrs. Mirvan was at cards, but would be
glad to see me; and I went immediately. There was but one chair vacant; so, to my
great relief, Lord Orville presently left us. I then told Mrs. Mirvan my disasters;
and she good-naturedly blamed herself for not having better instructed me; but said,
she had taken it for granted that I must know such common customs. However, the man
may, I think, be satisfied with his pretty speech and carry his resentment no
farther.</p>
<p> In a short time Lord Orville returned. I consented, with the best grace I could, to
go down another dance, for I had had time to recollect myself; and therefore resolved
to use some exertion, and, if possible, to appear less a fool than I had hitherto
done; for it occurred to me, that, insignificant as I was, compared to a man of his
rank and figure; yet, since he had been so unfortunate as to make choice of me for a
partner, why I should endeavour to make the best of it.</p>
<p> The dance, however, was short, and he spoke very little; so I had no opportunity of
putting my resolution in practice. He was satisfied, I suppose, with his former
successless efforts to draw me out or, rather, I fancied he had been inquiring who I
was. This again disconcerted me; and the spirits I had determined to exert, again
failed me. Tired, ashamed, and mortified, I begged to sit down till we returned home,
which I did soon after. Lord Orville did me the honour to hand me to the coach,
talking all the way of the honour I had done him! O these fashionable people!</p>
<p> Well, my dear Sir, was it not a strange evening? I could not help being thus
particular, because, to me, every thing is so new. But it is now time to conclude. I
am, with all love and duty, your EVELINA.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XII</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Tuesday, April 5.</opener>
<p> THERE is to be no end to the troubles of last night. I have this moment, between
persuasion and laughter, gathered from Maria the most curious dialogue that ever I
heard. You will at first be startled at my vanity; but, my dear Sir, have
patience!</p>
<p> It must have passed while I was sitting with Mrs. Mirvan, in the card-room. Maria
was taking some refreshment, and saw Lord Orville advancing for the same purpose
himself; but he did not know her, though she immediately recollected him. Presently
after, a very gay-looking man, stepping hastily up to him cried, "Why, my Lord, what
have you done with your lovely partner?"</p>
<p> "Nothing!" answered Lord Orville with a smile and a shrug.</p>
<p> "By Jove," cried the man, "she is the most beautiful creature I ever saw in my
life!"</p>
<p> Lord Orville, as he well might, laughed; but answered, "Yes, a pretty modest-looking
girl."</p>
<p> "O my Lord!" cried the madman, "she is an angel!"</p>
<p> "A silent one," returned he.</p>
<p> "Why ay, my Lord, how stands she as to that? She looks all intelligence and
expression."</p>
<p> "A poor weak girl!" answered Lord Orville, shaking his head.</p>
<p> "By Jove," cried the other, "I am glad to hear it!"</p>
<p> At that moment, the same odious creature who had been my former tormentor, joined
them. Addressing Lord Orville with great respect, he said, "I beg pardon, my Lord,-if
I was-as I fear might be the case-rather too severe in my censure of the lady who is
honoured with your protection-but, my Lord, ill-breeding is apt to provoke a
man."</p>
<p> "Ill-breeding!" cried my unknown champion, "impossible! that elegant face can never
be so vile a mask!"</p>
<p> "O Sir, as to that," answered he, "you must allow me to judge; for though I pay all
deference to your opinion-in other things-yet I hope you will grant-and I appeal to
your Lordship also-that I am not totally despicable as a judge of good or
ill-manners."</p>
<p> "I was so wholly ignorant," said Lord Orville, gravely, "of the provocation you
might have had, that I could not but be surprised at your singular resentment."</p>
<p> "It was far from my intention," answered he, "to offend your lordship; but, really,
for a person who is nobody, to give herself such airs,-I own I could not command my
passion. For, my Lord, though I have made diligent inquiry-I cannot learn who she
is."</p>
<p> "By what I can make out," cried my defender, "she must be a country parson's
daughter."</p>
<p> "He! he! he! very good, 'pon honour!" cried the fop;-"well, so I could have sworn by
her manners."</p>
<p> And then, delighted at his own wit, he laughed, and went away, as I suppose, to
repeat it.</p>
<p> "But what the deuce is all this?" demanded the other.</p>
<p> "Why a very foolish affair," answered Lord Orville; "your Helen first refused this
coxcomb, and then-danced with me. This is all I can gather of it."</p>
<p> "O, Orville," returned he, "you are a happy man!-But ill-bred? -I can never believe
it! And she looks too sensible to be ignorant."</p>
<p> "Whether ignorant or mischievous, I will not pretend to determine; but certain it
is, she attended to all I could say to her, though I have really fatigued myself with
fruitless endeavours to entertain her, with the most immovable gravity; but no sooner
did Lovel begin his complaint, than she was seized with a fit of laughing, first
affronting the poor beau, and then enjoying his mortification."</p>
<p> "Ha! ha! ha! why there is some genius in that, my Lord, perhaps rather-rustic."</p>
<p> Here Maria was called to dance, and so heard no more.</p>
<p> Now, tell me, my dear Sir, did you ever know any thing more provoking? "A poor weak
girl!" "ignorant or mischievous!" What mortifying words! I am resolved, however, that
I will never again be tempted to go to an assembly. I wish I had been in
Dorsetshire.</p>
<p> Well, after this, you will not be surprised that Lord Orville contented himself with
an inquiry after our healths this morning, by his servant, without troubling himself
to call, as Miss Mirvan had told me he would; but perhaps it may be only a country
custom.</p>
<p> I would not live here for the world. I care not how soon we leave town. London soon
grows tiresome. I wish the Captain would come. Mrs. Mirvan talks of the opera for
this evening; however, I am very indifferent about it. Wednesday Morning.</p>
<p> Well, my dear Sir, I have been pleased against my will, I could almost say; for I
must own I went out in very ill humour, which I think you cannot wonder at: but the
music and the singing were charming; they soothed me into a pleasure the most
grateful, the best suited to my present disposition in the world. I hope to persuade
Mrs. Mirvan to go again on Saturday. I wish the opera was every night. It is, of all
entertainments, the sweetest and most delightful. Some of the songs seemed to melt my
very soul. It was what they call a serious opera, as the comic first singer was
ill.</p>
<p> To-night we go to Ranelagh. If any of those three gentlemen who conversed so freely
about me should be there-but I won't think of it. Thursday Morning.</p>
<p> Well, my dear Sir, we went to Ranelagh. It is a charming place; and the brilliancy
of the lights, on my first entrance, made me almost think I was in some enchanted
castle or fairy palace, for all looked like magic to me.</p>
<p> The very first person I saw was Lord Orville. I felt so confused!-but he did not see
me. After tea, Mrs. Mirvan being tired, Maria and I walked round the room alone. Then
again we saw him, standing by the orchestra. We, too, stopt to hear a singer. He
bowed to me; I courtesied, and I am sure I coloured. We soon walked on, not liking
our situation; however, he did not follow us; and when we passed by the orchestra
again, he was gone. Afterwards, in the course of the evening, we met him several
times; but he was always with some party, and never spoke to us, though whenever he
chanced to meet my eyes, he condescended to bow.</p>
<p> I cannot but be hurt at the opinion he entertains of me. It is true my own behaviour
incurred it-yet he is himself the most agreeable, and, seemingly, the most amiable
man in the world, and therefore it is that I am grieved to be thought ill of by him:
for of whose esteem ought we to be ambitious, if not of those who most merit our
own?-But it is too late to reflect upon this now. Well I can't help it.-However, I
think I have done with assemblies.</p>
<p> This morning was destined for seeing sights, auctions, curious shops, and so forth;
but my head ached, and I was not in a humour to be amused, and so I made them go
without me, though very unwillingly. They are all kindness.</p>
<p> And now I am sorry I did not accompany them, for I know not what to do with myself.
I had resolved not to go to the play to-night; but I believe I shall. In short, I
hardly care whether I do or not. * * * * *</p>
<p> I thought I had done wrong! Mrs. Mirvan and Maria have been half the town over, and
so entertained!-while I, like a fool, staid at home to do nothing. And, at the
auction in Pall-mall, who should they meet but Lord Orville. He sat next to Mrs.
Mirvan, and they talked a great deal together; but she gave me no account of the
conversation.</p>
<p> I may never have such another opportunity of seeing London; I am quite sorry that I
was not of the party; but I deserve this mortification, for having indulged my
ill-humour. Thursday Night.</p>
<p> We are just returned from the play, which was King Lear, and has made me very sad.
We did not see any body we knew.</p>
<p> Well, adieu, it is too late to write more. Friday.</p>
<p> Captain Mirvan is arrived. I have not spirits to give an account of his
introduction, for he has really shocked me. I do not like him. He seems to be surly,
vulgar, and disagreeable.</p>
<p> Almost the same moment that Maria was presented to him, he began some rude jests
upon the bad shape of her nose, and called her a tall ill-formed thing. She bore it
with the utmost good-humour; but that kind and sweet-tempered woman, Mrs. Mirvan,
deserved a better lot. I am amazed she would marry him.</p>
<p> For my own part, I have been so shy, that I have hardly spoken to him, or he to me.
I cannot imagine why the family was so rejoiced at his return. If he had spent his
whole life abroad, I should have supposed they might rather have been thankful than
sorrowful. However, I hope they do not think so ill of him as I do. At least, I am
sure they have too much prudence to make it known. Saturday Night.</p>
<p> We have been to the opera, and I am still more pleased than I was on Tuesday. I
could have thought myself in Paradise, but for the continual talking of the company
around me. We sat in the pit, where every body was dressed in so high a style, that
if I had been less delighted with the performance, my eyes would have found me
sufficient entertainment from looking at the ladies.</p>
<p> I was very glad I did not sit next the Captain; for he could not bear the music or
singers, and was extremely gross in his observations of both. When the opera was
over, we went into a place called the coffee-room where ladies, as well as gentlemen,
assemble. There are all sorts of refreshments, and the company walk about, and chat
with the same ease and freedom as in a private room.</p>
<p> On Monday we go to a ridotto, and on Wednesday we return to Howard Grove. The
Captain says he won't stay here to be smoked with filth any longer; but, having been
seven years smoked with a burning sun, he will retire to the country, and sink into a
fair weather chap. Adieu, my dear Sir.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XIII</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Tuesday, April 12.</opener>
<p>My dear Sir,</p>
<p> WE came home from the ridotto so late, or rather so early that it was not possible
for me to write. Indeed, we did not go -you will be frightened to hear it-till past
eleven o'clock: but no body does. A terrible reverse of the order of nature! We sleep
with the sun, and wake with the moon.</p>
<p> The room was very magnificent, the lights and decorations were brilliant, and the
company gay and splendid. But I should have told you, that I made many objections to
being of the party, according to the resolution I had formed. However, Maria laughed
me out of my scruples, and so once again I went to an assembly.</p>
<p> Miss Mirvan danced a minuet; but I had not the courage to follow her example. In our
walks I saw Lord Orville. He was quite alone, but did not observe us. Yet, as he
seemed of no party, I thought it was not impossible that he might join us; and though
I did not wish much to dance at all-yet, as I was more acquainted with him than with
any other person in the room, I must own I could not help thinking it would be
infinitely more desirable to dance again with him than with an entire stranger. To be
sure, after all that had passed, it was very ridiculous to suppose it even probable
that Lord Orville would again honour me with his choice; yet I am compelled to
confess my absurdity, by way of explaining what follows.</p>
<p> Miss Mirvan was soon engaged; and presently after a very fashionable gay looking
man, who seemed about thirty years of age, addressed himself to me, and begged to
have the honour of dancing with me. Now Maria's partner was a gentleman of Mrs.
Mirvan's acquaintance; for she had told us it was highly improper for young women to
dance with strangers at any public assembly. Indeed it was by no means my wish so to
do: yet I did not like to confine myself from dancing at all; neither did I dare
refuse this gentleman as I had done Mr. Lovel, and then, if any acquaintance should
offer, accept him: and so, all these reasons combining, induced me to tell him-yet I
blush to write it to you!-that I was already engaged; by which I meant to keep myself
at liberty to a dance, or not, as matters should fall out.</p>
<p> I suppose my consciousness betrayed my artifice, for he looked at me as if
incredulous; and, instead of being satisfied with my answer and leaving me, according
to my expectation, he walked at my side, and, with the greatest ease imaginable,
began a conversation in the free style which only belongs to old and intimate
acquaintance. But, what was most provoking, he asked me a thousand questions
concerning the partner to whom I was engaged. And at last he said, "Is it really
possible that a man whom you have honoured with your acceptance can fail to be at
hand to profit from your goodness?"</p>
<p> I felt extremely foolish; and begged Mrs. Mirvan to lead to a seat; which she very
obligingly did. The Captain sat next her; and to my great surprise, this gentleman
thought proper to follow, and seat himself next to me.</p>
<p> "What an insensible!" continued he; "why, Madam, you are missing the most delightful
dance in the world!-The man must be either mad or a fool-Which do you incline to
think him yourself?"</p>
<p> "Neither, Sir," answered I, in some confusion.</p>
<p> He begged my pardon for the freedom of his supposition, saying, "I really was off my
guard, from astonishment that any man can be so much and so unaccountably his own
enemy. But where, Madam, can he possibly be!-has he left the room!-or has not he been
in it?"</p>
<p> "Indeed, Sir," said I peevishly, "I know nothing of him."</p>
<p> "I don't wonder that you are disconcerted, Madam; it is really very provoking. The
best part of the evening will be absolutely lost. He deserves not that you should
wait for him."</p>
<p> "I do not, Sir," said I, "and I beg you not to-"</p>
<p> "Mortifying, indeed, Madam," interrupted he, "a lady to wait for a gentleman!-O
fie!-careless fellow!-What can detain him?-Will you give me leave to seek him?"</p>
<p> "If you please, Sir," answered I; quite terrified lest Mrs. Mirvan should attend to
him; for she looked very much surprised at seeing me enter into conversation with a
stranger.</p>
<p> "With all my heart," cried he; "pray, what coat has he on?"</p>
<p> "Indeed I never looked at it."</p>
<p> "Out upon him!" cried he; "What! did he address you in a coat not worth looking
at?-What a shabby wretch!"</p>
<p> How ridiculous! I really could not help laughing, which I fear encouraged him, for
he went on.</p>
<p> "Charming creature!-and can you really bear ill usage with so much sweetness? Can
you, like patience on a monument, smile in the midst of disappointment? For my part,
though I am not the offended person, my indignation is so great, that I long to kick
the fellow round the room!-unless, indeed,-(hesitating and looking earnestly at me,)
unless, indeed,-it is a partner of your own creating?"</p>
<p> I was dreadfully abashed, and could not make an answer.</p>
<p> "But no!" cried he (again, and with warmth,) "It cannot be that you are so cruel!
Softness itself is painted in your eyes.-You could not, surely, have the barbarity so
wantonly to trifle with my misery."</p>
<p> I turned away from this nonsense with real disgust, Mrs. Mirvan saw my confusion,
but was perplexed what to think of it, and I could not explain to her the cause, lest
the Captain should hear me. I therefore proposed to walk; she consented, and we all
rose; but, would you believe it? this man had the assurance to rise too, and walk
close by my side, as if of my party!</p>
<p> "Now," cried he, "I hope we shall see this ingrate.-Is that he?"-pointing to an old
man who was lame, "or that?" And in this manner he asked me of whoever was old or
ugly in the room. I made no sort of answer: and when he found that I was resolutely
silent, and walked on as much as I could without observing him, he suddenly stamped
his foot, and cried out in a passion, "Fool! idiot! booby!"</p>
<p> I turned hastily toward him: "O, Madam," continued he, "forgive my vehemence; but I
am distracted to think there should exist a wretch who can slight a blessing for
which I would forfeit my life!-O that I could but meet him, I would soon-But I grow
angry: pardon me, Madam, my passions are violent, and your injuries affect me!"</p>
<p> I began to apprehend he was a madman, and stared at him with the utmost
astonishment. "I see you are moved, Madam," said he; "generous creature!-but don't be
alarmed, I am cool again, I am indeed,-upon my soul I am;-I entreat you, most lovely
of mortals! I intreat you to be easy."</p>
<p> "Indeed, Sir," said I very seriously, "I must insist upon your leaving me; you are
quite a stranger to me, and I am both unused, and averse to your language and your
manners."</p>
<p> This seemed to have some effect on him. He made me a low bow, begged my pardon, and
vowed he would not for the world offend me.</p>
<p> "Then, Sir, you must leave me," cried I. "I am gone, Madam, I am gone!" with a most
tragical air; and he marched away at a quick pace, out of sight in a moment; but
before I had time to congratulate myself, he was again at my elbow.</p>
<p> "And could you really let me go, and not be sorry?-Can you see me suffer torments
inexpressible, and yet retain all your favour for that miscreant who flies
you?-Ungrateful puppy!-I could bastinado him!"</p>
<p> "For Heaven's sake, my dear," cried Mrs. Mirvan, "who is he talking of?"</p>
<p> "Indeed-I do not know, Madam," said I; "but I wish he would leave me."</p>
<p> "What's all that there?" cried the Captain.</p>
<p> The man made a low bow, and said, "Only, Sir, a slight objection which this young
lady makes to dancing with me, and which I am endeavouring to obviate. I shall think
myself greatly honoured if you will intercede for me."</p>
<p> "That lady, Sir," said the Captain coldly, "is her own mistress." And he walked
sullenly on.</p>
<p> "You, Madam," said the man (who looked delighted, to Mrs. Mirvan),<lb/>"You, I hope,
will have the goodness to speak for me."</p>
<p> "Sir," answered she gravely, "I have not the pleasure of being acquainted with
you."</p>
<p> "I hope when you have, Ma'am," cried he, undaunted, "you will honour me with your
approbation: but, while I am yet unknown to you, it would be truly generous in you to
countenance me; and I flatter myself, Madam, that you will not have cause to repent
it."</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan, with an embarrassed air, replied, "I do not at all mean,<lb/>Sir, to
doubt your being a gentleman,-but-"</p>
<p> "But what, Madam?-that doubt removed, why a but?"</p>
<p> "Well, Sir," said Mrs. Mirvan (with a good humoured smile), "I will even treat you
with your own plainness, and try what effect that will have on you: I must therefore
tell you, once for all-"</p>
<p> "O pardon me, Madam!" interrupted he, eagerly, "you must not proceed with those
words once for all; no, if I have been too plain, and though a man, deserve a rebuke,
remember, dear ladies that if you copy, you ought in justice to excuse me."</p>
<p> We both stared at the man's strange behaviour.</p>
<p> "Be nobler than your sex," continued he, turning to me, "honour me with one dance,
and give up the ingrate who has merited so ill your patience."</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan looked with astonishment at us both.</p>
<p> "Who does he speak of, my dear?-you never mentioned-"</p>
<p> "O, Madam!" exclaimed he, "he was not worth mentioning-it is a pity he was ever
though of; but let us forget his existence. One dance is all I solicit. Permit me,
Madam, the honour of this young lady's hand; it will be a favour I shall ever most
gratefully acknowledge."</p>
<p> "Sir," answered she, "favours and strangers have with me no connection."</p>
<p> "If you have hitherto," said he, "confined your benevolence to your intimate
friends, suffer me to be the first for whom your charity is enlarged."</p>
<p> "Well, Sir, I know not what to say to you,-but-"</p>
<p> He stopt her but with so many urgent entreaties that she at last told me, I must
either go down one dance, or avoid his importunities by returning home. I hesitated
which alternative to chose; but this impetuous man at length prevailed, and I was
obliged to consent to dance with him.</p>
<p> And thus was my deviation from truth punished; and thus did this man's determined
boldness conquer.</p>
<p> During the dance, before we were too much engaged in it for conversation, he was
extremely provoking about my partner, and tried every means in his power to make me
own that I had deceived him; which, though I would not so far humble myself as to
acknowledge, was indeed but too obvious.</p>
<p> Lord Orville, I fancy, did not dance at all. He seemed to have a large acquaintance,
and joined several different parties: but you will easily suppose, I was not much
pleased to see him, in a few minutes after I was gone, walk towards the place I had
just left, and bow to and join Mrs. Mirvan!</p>
<p> How unlucky I thought myself, that I had not longer withstood this stranger's
importunities! The moment we had gone down the dance, I was hastening away from him;
but he stopt me, and said, that I could by no means return to my party without giving
offence, before we had done our duty of walking up the dance. As I know nothing at
all of these rules and customs I was obliged to submit to his directions; but I fancy
I looked rather uneasy, for he took notice of my inattention, saying, in his free
way, "Whence that anxiety?-Why are those lovely eyes perpetually averted?"</p>
<p> "I wish you would say no more to me, Sir," cried I peevishly; "you have already
destroyed all my happiness for this evening."</p>
<p> "Good Heaven! What is it I have done?-How have I merited this scorn?"</p>
<p> "You have tormented me to death; you have forced me from my friends, and intruded
yourself upon me, against my will, for a partner."</p>
<p> "Surely, my dear Madam, we ought to be better friends, since there seems to be
something of sympathy in the frankness of our dispositions.-And yet, were you not an
angel-how do you think I could brooke such contempt?"</p>
<p> "If I have offended you," cried I, "you have but to leave me-and O how I wish you
would!"</p>
<p> "My dear creature," said he, half laughing, "why where could you be educated?"</p>
<p> "Where I most sincerely wish I now was!"</p>
<p> "How conscious you must be, all beautiful that you are, that those charming airs
serve only to heighten the bloom of your complexion!"</p>
<p> "Your freedom, Sir, where you are more acquainted, may perhaps be less disagreeable;
but to me -"</p>
<p> "You do me justice," cried he, interrupting me, "yes, I do indeed improve upon
acquaintance; you will hereafter be quite charmed with me."</p>
<p> "Hereafter, Sir, I hope I shall never-"</p>
<p> "O hush!-hush!-have you forgot the situation in which I found you?-Have you forgot,
that when deserted, I pursued you,-when betrayed, I adored you?-but for me-"</p>
<p> "But for you, Sir, I might perhaps have been happy."</p>
<p> "What then, am I to conclude that, but for me, your partner would have
appeared?-poor fellow!-and did my presence awe him?"</p>
<p> "I wish his presence, Sir, could awe you!"</p>
<p> "His presence!-perhaps then you see him?"</p>
<p> "Perhaps, Sir, I do," cried I, quite wearied of his raillery.</p>
<p> "Where? Where?-for Heaven's sake show me the wretch!"</p>
<p> "Wretch, Sir!"</p>
<p> "O, a very savage!-a sneaking, shame-faced, despicable puppy!"</p>
<p> I know not what bewitched me-but my pride was hurt, and my spirits were tired,
and-in short, I had the folly, looking at Lord Orville, to repeat, "Despicable, you
think?"</p>
<p> His eyes instantly followed mine; "Why, is that the gentleman?"</p>
<p> I made no answer; I could not affirm, and I would not deny:-for I hoped to be
relieved from his teasing by his mistake.</p>
<p> The very moment we had done what he called our duty, I eagerly desired to return to
Mrs. Mirvan.</p>
<p> "To your partner, I presume, Madam?" said he, very gravely.</p>
<p> This quite confounded me. I dreaded lest this mischievous man ignorant of his rank,
should address himself to Lord Orville, and say something which might expose my
artifice. Fool! to involve myself in such difficulties! I now feared what I had
before wished; and therefore, to avoid Lord Orville, I was obliged myself to propose
going down another dance, though I was ready to sink with shame while I spoke.</p>
<p> "But your partner, Ma'am?" said he, affecting a very solemn air, "perhaps he may
resent my detaining you: if you will give me leave to ask his consent-"</p>
<p> "Not for the universe."</p>
<p> "Who is he, Madam?"</p>
<p> I wished myself a hundred miles off. He repeated his question,<lb/>"What is his
name?"</p>
<p> "Nothing-nobody-I don't know-"</p>
<p> He assumed a most important solemnity: "How!-not know?-Give me leave, my dear Madam,
to recommend this caution to you: Never dance in public with a stranger,-with one
whose name you are unacquainted with,-who may be a mere adventurer,-a man of no
character, consider to what impertinence you may expose yourself."</p>
<p> Was ever anything so ridiculous? I could not help laughing, in spite of my
vexation.</p>
<p> At this instant, Mrs. Mirvan, followed by Lord Orville, walked up to us. You will
easily believe it was not difficult for me to recover my gravity; but what was my
consternation, when this strange man, destined to be the scourge of my artifice,
exclaimed, "Ha! My Lord Orville!-I protest I did not know your Lordship. What can I
say for my usurpation?-Yet, faith, my Lord, such a prize was not to be
neglected."</p>
<p> My shame and confusion were unspeakable. Who could have supposed or foreseen that
this man knew Lord Orville? But falsehood is not more unjustifiable than unsafe.</p>
<p> Lord Orville-well he might-looked all amazement.</p>
<p> "The philosophic coldness of your Lordship," continued this odious creature, "every
man is not endowed with. I have used my utmost endeavours to entertain this lady,
though I fear without success; and your lordship will not be a little flattered, if
acquainted with the difficulty which attended my procuring the honour of only one
dance." Then, turning to me, who was sinking with shame, while Lord Orville stood
motionless, and Mrs. Mirvan astonished,-he suddenly seized my hand, saying, "Think,
my Lord, what must be my reluctance to resign this fair hand to your Lordship!"</p>
<p> In the same instant, Lord Orville took it of him; I coloured violently, and made an
effort to recover it. "You do me too much honour, Sir," cried he, (with an air of
gallantry, pressing it to his lips before he let it go;) "however, I shall be happy
to profit by it, if this lady," turning to Mrs. Mirvan, "will permit me to seek for
her party."</p>
<p> To compel him thus to dance, I could not endure; and eagerly called out, "By no
means-not for the world!-I must beg-"</p>
<p> "Will you honour me, Madam, with your commands," cried my tormentor; "may I seek the
lady's party?"</p>
<p> "No, Sir," answered I, turning from him.</p>
<p> "What shall be done, my dear?" said Mrs. Mirvan.</p>
<p> "Nothing, Ma'am;-anything, I mean-"</p>
<p> "But do you dance, or not? you see his Lordship waits."</p>
<p> "I hope not-I beg that-I would not for the world-I am sure I ought to-to-"</p>
<p> I could not speak; but that confident man, determining to discover whether or not I
had deceived him, said to Lord Orville, who stood suspended, "My Lord, this affair,
which at present seems perplexed, I will briefly explain:-this lady proposed to me
another dance,-nothing could have made me more happy,-I only wished for your
Lordship's permission; which, if now granted, will, I am persuaded, set everything
right."</p>
<p> I glowed with indignation. "No, Sir-it is your absence, and that alone, can set
everything right."</p>
<p> "For Heaven's sake, my dear," cried Mrs. Mirvan, who could no longer contain her
surprise, "what does all this mean?-were you pre-engaged?-had Lord Orville-"</p>
<p> "No, Madam," cried I, "only-only I did not know that gentleman,-and so-and so I
thought-I intended-I-"</p>
<p> Overpowered by all that had passed, I had not strength to make my mortifying
explanation;-my spirits quite failed me, and I burst into tears.</p>
<p> They all seemed shocked and amazed.</p>
<p> "What is the matter, my dearest love?" cried Mrs. Mirvan, with kindest concern.</p>
<p> "What have I done!" exclaimed my evil genius, and ran officiously for a glass of
water.</p>
<p> However, a hint was sufficient for Lord Orville, who comprehended all I would have
explained. He immediately led me to a seat, and said in a low voice, "Be not
distressed, I beseech you: I shall ever think my name honoured by your making use of
it."</p>
<p> This politeness relieved me. A general murmur had alarmed Miss Mirvan, who flew
instantly to me; while Lord Orville the moment Mrs. Mirvan had taken the water, led
my tormentor away.</p>
<p> "For Heaven's sake, dear Madam," cried I, "let me go home;-indeed I cannot stay here
any longer."</p>
<p> "Let us all go," cried my kind Maria.</p>
<p> "But the Captain, what will he say-I had better go home in a chair."</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan consented, and I rose to depart. Lord Orville and that man both came to
me. The first, with an attention I but ill-merited from him, led me to a chair; while
the other followed, pestering me with apologies. I wished to have made mine to Lord
Orville, but was too much ashamed.</p>
<p> It was about one o'clock. Mrs. Mirvan's servants saw me home.</p>
<p> And now,-what again shall ever tempt me to an assembly? I dread to hear what you
will think of me, my most dear and honoured Sir: you will need your utmost partiality
to receive me without displeasure.</p>
<p> This morning Lord Orville has sent to inquire after our health; and Sir Clement
Willoughby, for that, I find, is the name of my persecutor, has called; but I would
not go down stairs till he was gone.</p>
<p> And now, my dear Sir, I can somewhat account for the strange, provoking, and
ridiculous conduct of this Sir Clement last night; for Miss Mirvan says he is the
very man with whom she heard Lord Orville conversing at Mrs. Stanley's, when I was
spoken of in so mortifying a manner. He was pleased to say he was glad to hear I was
a fool; and therefore, I suppose, he concluded he might talk as much nonsense as he
pleased to me: however, I am very indifferent as to his opinion;-but for Lord
Orville,-if then he thought me an idiot, now, I am sure, he must suppose me both bold
and presuming. Make use of his name!-what impertinence-he can never know how it
happened,-he can only imagine it was from an excess of vanity;-well, however, I shall
leave this bad city to-morrow, and never again will I enter it.</p>
<p> The Captain intends to take us to-night to the Fantoccini. I cannot bear that
Captain; I can give you no idea how gross he is. I heartily rejoice that he was not
present at the disagreeable conclusion of yesterday's adventure, for I am sure he
would have contributed to my confusion; which might, perhaps, have diverted him, as
he seldom or never smiles but at some other person's expense.</p>
<p> And here I conclude my London letters,-and without any regret; for I am too
inexperienced and ignorant to conduct myself with propriety in this town, where
everything is new to me, and many things are unaccountable and perplexing.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dear Sir; Heaven restore me safely to you! I wish I was to go immediately
to Berry Hill; yet the wish is ungrateful to Mrs. Mirvan, and therefore I will
repress it. I shall write an account of the Fantoccini from Howard Grove. We have not
been to half the public places that are now open, though I dare say you will think we
have been to all. But they are almost as innumerable as the persons who fill
them.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XIV.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Queen Ann Street, April 13.</opener>
<p> HOW much will you be surprised, my dearest Sir, at receiving another letter, from
London, of your Evelina's writing! But, believe me, it was not my fault, neither is
it my happiness, that I am still here: our journey has been postponed by an accident
equally unexpected and disagreeable.</p>
<p> We went last night to see the Fantoccini, where we had infinite entertainment from
the performance of a little comedy in French and Italian, by puppets, so admirably
managed, that they both astonished and diverted us all, except the Captain, who has a
fixed and most prejudiced hatred of whatever is not English.</p>
<p> When it was over, while we waited for the coach, a tall elderly woman brushed
quickly past us, calling out, "My God, what shall I do?"</p>
<p> "Why, what would you do?" cried the Captain.</p>
<p> "Ma foi, Monsieur," answered she, "I have lost my company, and in this place I don't
know nobody."</p>
<p> There was something foreign in her accent, though it was difficult to discover
whether she was an English or a French woman. She was very well dressed; and seemed
so entirely at a loss what to do, that Mrs. Mirvan proposed to the Captain to assist
her.</p>
<p> "Assist her!" cried he, "ay, with all my heart;-let a link-boy call her a
coach."</p>
<p> There was not one to be had, and it rained very fast.</p>
<p> "Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the stranger, "what shall become of me? Je suis au
desespoir!"</p>
<p> "Dear Sir," cried Miss Mirvan, "pray let us take the poor lady into our coach. She
is quite alone, and a foreigner-"</p>
<p> "She's never the better for that," answered he: "she may be a woman of the town, for
anything you know."</p>
<p> "She does not appear such," said Mrs. Mirvan; "and indeed she seems so much
distressed, that we shall but follow the golden rule, if we carry her to her
lodgings."</p>
<p> "You are mighty fond of new acquaintance," returned he; "but first let us know if
she be going our way."</p>
<p> Upon inquiry, we found that she lived in Oxford Road; and, after some disputing, the
Captain surlily, and, with a very bad grace, consented to admit her into his coach;
though he soon convinced us, that he was determined she should not be too much
obliged to him, for he seemed absolutely bent upon quarrelling with her: for which
strange inhospitality I can assign no other reason, than that she appeared to be a
foreigner.</p>
<p> The conversation began, by her telling us, that she had been in England only two
days; that the gentlemen belonging to her were Parisians, and had left her to see for
a hackney-coach, as her own carriage was abroad; and that she had waited for them
till she was quite frightened, and concluded that they had lost themselves.</p>
<p> "And pray," said the Captain, "why did you go to a public place without an
Englishman?"</p>
<p> "Ma foi, Sir," answered she, "because none of my acquaintance is in town."</p>
<p> "Why then," said he, "I'll tell you what, your best way is to go out of it
yourself."</p>
<p> "Pardi, Monsieur," returned she, "and so I shall; for, I promise you, I think the
English a parcel of brutes; and I'll go back to France as fast as I can, for I would
not live among none of you."</p>
<p> "Who wants you?" cried the Captain: "do you suppose, Madam French, we have not
enough of other nations to pick our pockets already? I'll warrant you, there's no
need for you for to put in your oar."</p>
<p> "Pick your pockets, Sir! I wish nobody wanted to pick your pockets no more than I
do; and I'll promise you you'd be safe enough. But there's no nation under the sun
can beat the English for ill-politeness: for my part, I hate the very sight of them;
and so I shall only just visit a person of quality or two of my particular
acquaintance, and then I shall go back again to France."</p>
<p> "Ay, do," cried he; "and then go to the devil together, for that's the fittest
voyage for the French and the quality."</p>
<p> "We'll take care, however," cried the stranger with great vehemence, "not to admit
none of your vulgar unmannered English among us."</p>
<p> "O never fear," returned he, coolly, "we shan't dispute the point with you; you and
the quality may have the devil all to yourselves."</p>
<p> Desirous of changing the subject of a conversation which now became very alarming,
Miss Mirvan called out, "Lord, how slow the man drives!"</p>
<p> "Never mind, Moll," said her father, "I'll warrant you he'll drive fast enough
to-morrow, when you are going to Howard Grove."</p>
<p> "To Howard Grove!" exclaimed the stranger, "why, mon Dieu, do you know Lady
Howard?"</p>
<p> "Why, what if we do?" answered he; "that's nothing to you; she's none of your
quality, I'll promise you."</p>
<p> "Who told you that?" cried she; "you don't know nothing about the matter! besides,
you're the ill-bredest person ever I see: and as to your knowing Lady Howard, I don't
believe no such a thing; unless, indeed, you are her steward."</p>
<p> The Captain, swearing terribly, said, with great fury, "You would much sooner be
taken for her wash-woman."</p>
<p> "Her wash-woman, indeed?-Ha, ha, ha, why you han't no eyes; did you ever see a
wash-woman in such a gown as this?-Besides, I'm no such mean person, for I'm as good
as Lady Howard, and as rich too; and besides, I'm now come to England to visit
her."</p>
<p> "You may spare yourself that there trouble," said the Captain, "she has paupers
enough about her already."</p>
<p> "Paupers, Mister!-no more a pauper than yourself, nor so much neither;-but you are a
low, dirty fellow, and I shan't stoop to take no more notice of you."</p>
<p> "Dirty fellow!" exclaimed the Captain, seizing both her wrists, "hark you, Mrs.
Frog, you'd best hold your tongue; for I must make bold to tell you, if you don't,
that I shall make no ceremony of tripping you out of the window, and there you may
lie in the mud till some of your Monseers come to help you out of it."</p>
<p> Their increasing passion quite terrified us; and Mrs. Mirvan was beginning to
remonstrate with the Captain, when we were all silenced by what follows.</p>
<p> "Let me go, villain that you are, let me go, or I'll promise you I'll get you put to
prison for this usage. I'm no common person, I assure you; and, ma foi, I'll go to
Justice Fielding about you; for I'm a person of fashion, and I'll make you know it,
or my name a'n't Duval."</p>
<p> I heard no more: amazed, frightened, and unspeakably shocked, an involuntary
exclamation of Gracious Heaven! escaped me, and, more dead than alive, I sunk into
Mrs. Mirvan's arms. But let me draw a veil over a scene too cruel for a heart so
compassionately tender as your's; it is sufficient that you know this supposed
foreigner proved to be Madame Duval,-the grandmother of your Evelina!</p>
<p> O, Sir, to discover so near a relation in a woman, who had thus introduced
herself!-what would become of me, were it not for you, my protector, my friend, and
my refuge?</p>
<p> My extreme concern, and Mrs. Mirvan's surprise, immediately betrayed me. But, I will
not shock you with the manner of her acknowledging me, or the bitterness, the
grossness -I cannot otherwise express myself,-with which she spoke of those unhappy
past transactions you have so pathetically related to me. All the misery of a much
injured parent, dear, though never seen, regretted, though never known, crowded so
forcibly upon my memory, that they rendered this interview-one only excepted-the most
afflicting I can ever know.</p>
<p> When we stopt at her lodgings, she desired me to accompany her into the house, and
said she could easily procure a room for me to sleep in. Alarmed and trembling, I
turned to Mrs. Mirvan. "My daughter, Madam," said that sweet woman, "cannot so
abruptly part with her young friend; you must allow a little time to wean them from
each other."</p>
<p> "Pardon me, Ma'am," answered Madame Duval, (who, from the time of her being known,
somewhat softened her manners) "Miss can't possibly be so nearly connected to this
child as I am."</p>
<p> "No matter for that," cried the Captain, (who espoused my cause to satisfy his own
pique, tho' an awkward apology had passed between them) "she was sent to us; and so,
dy'e see, we don't choose for to part with her."</p>
<p> I promised to wait upon her at what time she pleased the next day; and, after a
short debate, she desired me to breakfast with her, and we proceeded to Queen Ann
Street.</p>
<p> What an unfortunate adventure! I could not close my eyes the whole night. A thousand
times I wished I had never left Berry Hill: however, my return thither shall be
accelerated to the utmost of my power; and, once more in that abode of tranquil
happiness, I will suffer no temptation to allure me elsewhere.</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan was so kind as to accompany me to Madame Duval's house this morning. The
Captain, too, offered his service; which I declined, from a fear she should suppose I
meant to insult her.</p>
<p> She frowned most terribly upon Mrs. Mirvan; but she received me with as much
tenderness as I believe she is capable of feeling. Indeed, our meeting seems really
to have affected her; for when, overcome by the variety of emotions which the sight
of her occasioned, I almost fainted in her arms, she burst into tears, and said, "let
me not lose my poor daughter a second time!" This unexpected humanity softened me
extremely; but she very soon excited my warmest indignation, by the ungrateful
mention she made of the best of men, my dear and most generous benefactor. However,
grief and anger mutually gave way to terror, upon her avowing the intention of her
visiting England was to make me return with her to France. This, she said, was a plan
she had formed from the instant she had heard of my birth; which, she protested, did
not reach her ears till I must have been twelve years of age; but Monsieur Duval, who
she declared was the worst husband in the world, would not permit her to do any thing
she wished: he had been dead but three months; which had been employed in arranging
certain affairs, that were no sooner settled, than she set off for England. She was
already out of mourning, for she said nobody here could tell how long she had been a
widow.</p>
<p> She must have been married very early in life: what her age is I do not know; but
she really looks to be less than fifty. She dresses very gaily, paints very high, and
the traces of former beauty are still very visible in her face.</p>
<p> I know not when, or how, this visit would have ended, had not the Captain called for
Mrs. Mirvan, and absolutely insisted upon my attending her. He is become, very
suddenly, so warmly my friend, that I quite dread his officiousness. Mrs. Mirvan,
however, whose principal study seems to be healing those wounds which her husband
inflicts, appeased Madame Duval's wrath, by a very polite invitation to drink tea and
spend the evening here. Not without great difficulty was the Captain prevailed upon
to defer his journey some time longer; but what could be done? It would have been
indecent for me to have quitted town the very instant I discovered that Madame Duval
was in it; and to have staid here solely under her protection-Mrs. Mirvan, thank
Heaven, was too kind for such a thought. That she should follow us to Howard Grove, I
almost equally dreaded. It is therefore determined, that we remain in London for some
days, or a week: though the Captain has declared that the old French hag, as he is
pleased to call her, shall fare never the better for it.</p>
<p> My only hope is to get safe to Berry Hill; where, counselled and sheltered by you, I
shall have nothing more to fear. Adieu, my ever dear and most honoured Sir! I shall
have no happiness till I am again with you.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XV</head>
<opener> MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA Berry Hill, April 16.</opener>
<p> IN the belief and hope that my Evelina would, ere now, have bid adieu to London, I
had intended to have deferred writing, till I heard of her return to Howard Grove;
but the letter I have this moment received, with intelligence of Madame Duval's
arrival in England, demands an immediate answer.</p>
<p> Her journey hither equally grieves and alarms me. How much did I pity my child, when
I read of a discovery at once so unexpected and unwished! I have long dreaded this
meeting and its consequence; to claim you seems naturally to follow acknowledging
you. I am well acquainted with her disposition, and have for many years foreseen the
contest which now threatens us.</p>
<p> Cruel as are the circumstances of this affair, you must not, my love, suffer it to
depress your spirits: remember, that while life is lent me, I will devote it to your
service; and, for future time, I will make such provisions as shall seem to me most
conducive to your future happiness. Secure of my protection, and relying on my
tenderness, let no apprehensions of Madame Duval disturb your peace: conduct yourself
towards her with all the respect and deference due to so near a relation, remembering
always, that the failure of duty on her part, can by no means justify any neglect on
your's. Indeed, the more forcibly you are struck with improprieties and misconduct in
another, the greater should be your observance and diligence to avoid even the shadow
of similar errors. Be careful, therefore, that no remissness of attention, no
indifference of obliging, make known to her the independence I assure you of; but
when she fixes the time for her leaving England, trust to me the task of refusing
your attending her: disagreeable to myself, I own, it will be; yet to you it would be
improper, if not impossible.</p>
<p> In regard to her opinion of me, I am more sorry than surprised at her determined
blindness; the palliation which she feels the want of, for her own conduct, leads her
to seek for failings in all who were concerned in those unhapppy transactions which
she has so much reason to lament. And this, as it is the cause, so we must in some
measure consider it as the excuse of her inveteracy.</p>
<p> How grateful to me are your wishes to return to Berry Hill! Your lengthened stay in
London, and the dissipation in which I find you are involved, fill me with
uneasiness. I mean not, however, that I would have you sequester yourself from the
party to which you belong, since Mrs. Mirvan might thence infer a reproof which your
youth and her kindness would render inexcusable. I will not, therefore, enlarge upon
this subject; but content myself with telling you, that I shall heartily rejoice when
I hear of your safe arrival at Howard Grove, for which place I hope you will be
preparing at the time you receive this letter.</p>
<p> I cannot too much thank you, my best Evelina, for the minuteness of your
communications. Continue to me this indulgence, for I should be miserable if in
ignorance of your proceedings.</p>
<p> How new to you is the scene of life in which you are
engaged!-balls-plays-operas-ridottos!-Ah, my child! At your return hither, how will
you bear the change? My heart trembles for your future tranquility.-Yet I will hope
every thing from the unsullied whiteness of your soul, and the native liveliness of
your disposition.</p>
<p> I am sure I need not say, how much more I was pleased with the mistakes of your
inexperience at the private ball, than with the attempted adoption of more
fashionable manners at the ridotto. But your confusion and mortifications were such
as to entirely silence all reproofs on my part.</p>
<p> I hope you will see no more of Sir Clement Willoughby, whose conversation and
boldness are extremely disgustful to me. I was gratified by the good nature of Lord
Orville, upon your making use of his name; but I hope you will never again put it to
such a trial.</p>
<p> Heaven bless thee, my dear child! And grant that neither misfortune nor vice may
ever rob thee of that gaiety of heart, which, resulting from innocence, while it
constitutes your own, contributes also to the felicity of all who know you! ARTHUR
VILLARS.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XVI</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Queen Ann Street, Thursday morning, April
14.</opener>
<p> BEFORE our dinner was over yesterday Madame Duval came to tea; though it will lessen
your surprise, to hear that it was near five o'clock, for we never dine till the day
is almost over. She was asked into another room while the table was cleared, and then
was invited to partake of the dessert.</p>
<p> She was attended by a French gentleman, whom she introduced by the name of Monsieur
Du Bois: Mrs. Mirvan received them both with her usual politeness; but the Captain
looked very much displeased; and after a short silence, very sternly said to Madame
Duval, "Pray who asked you to bring that there spark with you?"</p>
<p> "O," cried she, "I never go no where without him."</p>
<p> Another short silence ensued, which was terminated by the Captain's turning roughly
to the foreigner, and saying, "Do you know, Monseer, that you are the first Frenchman
I ever let come into my house?"</p>
<p> Monsieur Du Bois made a profound bow. He speaks no English, and understands it so
imperfectly, that he might possibly imagine he had received a compliment.</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan endeavourd to divert the Captain's ill-humour, by starting new subjects:
but he left to her all the trouble of supporting them, and leant back in his chair in
gloomy silence, except when any opportunity offered of uttering some sarcasm upon the
French. Finding her efforts to render the evening agreeable were fruitless, Mrs.
Mirvan proposed a party to Ranelagh. Madame Duval joyfully consented to it; and the
Captain though he railed against the dissipation of the women, did not oppose it; and
therefore Maria and I ran up stairs to dress ourselves.</p>
<p> Before we were ready, word was brought us that Sir Clement Willoughby was in the
drawing-room. He introduced himself under the pretence of inquiring after all our
healths, and entered the room with the easy air of an old acquaintance; though Mrs.
Mirvan confessed that he seemed embarrassed when he found how coldly he was received,
not only by the Captain, but by herself.</p>
<p> I was extremely disconcerted at the thoughts of seeing this man again, and did not
go downstairs till I was called to tea. He was then deeply engaged in a discourse
upon French manners with Madame Duval and the Captain; and the subject seemed so
entirely to engross him, that he did not, at first, observe my entrance into the
room. Their conversation was supported with great vehemence; the Captain roughly
maintaining the superiority of the English in every particular, and Madame Duval
warmly refusing to allow of it in any; while Sir Clement exerted all his powers of
argument and of ridicule, to second and strengthen whatever was advanced by the
Captain: for he had the sagacity to discover, that he could take no method so
effectual for making the master of the house his friend, as to make Madame Duval his
enemy; and indeed, in a very short time, he had reason to congratulate himself upon
his successful discernment.</p>
<p> As soon as he saw me, he made a most respectful bow, and hoped I had not suffered
from the fatigue of the ridotto: I made no other answer than a slight inclination of
the head, for I was very much ashamed of that whole affair. He then returned to the
disputants; where he managed the argument so skilfully, at once provoking Madame
Duval, and delighting the Captain, that I could not forbear admiring his address,
though I condemned his subtlety. Mrs. Mirvan, dreading such violent antagonists,
attempted frequently to change the subject; and she might have succeeded, but for the
interposition of Sir Clement, who would not suffer it to be given up, and supported
it with such humour and satire, that he seems to have won the Captain's heart; though
their united forces so enraged and overpowered Madame Duval, that she really trembled
with passion.</p>
<p> I was very glad when Mrs. Mirvan said it was time to be gone. Sir Clement arose to
take leave; but the Captain very cordially invited him to join our party: he had an
engagement, he said, but would give it up to have that pleasure.</p>
<p> Some little confusion ensued in regard to our manner of setting off. Mrs. Mirvan
offered Madame Duval a place in her coach, and proposed that we four females should
go all together; however, this she rejected, declaring she would by no means go so
far without a gentleman, and wondering so polite a lady could make so English a
proposal. Sir Clement Willoughby said, his chariot was waiting at the door, and
begged to know if it could be of any use. It was at last decided, that a
hackney-coach should be called for Monsieur Du Bois and Madame Duval, in which the
Captain, and, at his request, Sir Clement, went also; Mrs. and Miss Mirvan and I had
a peaceful and comfortable ride by ourselves.</p>
<p> I doubt not but they quarrelled all the way; for when we met at Ranelagh every one
seemed out of humour; and though we joined parties, poor Madame Duval was avoided as
much as possible by all but me.</p>
<p> The room was so very much crowded, that but for the uncommon assiduity of Sir
Clement Willoughby, we should not have been able to procure a box (which is the name
given to the arched recesses that are appropriated for tea-parties) till half the
company had retired. As we were taking possession of our places, some ladies of Mrs.
Mirvan's acquaintance stopped to speak to her, and persuaded her to take a round with
them. When she returned to us, what was my surprise, to see that Lord Orville had
joined her party! The ladies walked on: Mrs. Mirvan seated herself, and made a
slight, though respectful, invitation to Lord Orville to drink his tea with us;
which, to my no small consternation, he accepted.</p>
<p> I felt a confusion unspeakable at again seeing him, from the recollection of the
ridotto adventure: nor did my situation lessen it; for I was seated between Madame
Duval and Sir Clement, who seemed as little as myself to desire Lord Orville's
presence. Indeed, the continual wrangling and ill-breeding of Captain Mirvan and
Madame Duval made me blush that I belonged to them. And poor Mrs. Mirvan and her
amiable daughter had still less reason to be satisfied.</p>
<p> A general silence ensued after he was seated: his appearance, from different
motives, gave an universal restraint to every body. What his own reasons were for
honouring us with his company, I cannot imagine; unless, indeed, he had a curiosity
to know whether I should invent any new impertinence concerning him.</p>
<p> The first speech was made by Madame Duval, who said, "It's quite a shocking thing to
see ladies come to so genteel a place as Ranelagh with hats on; it has a monstrous
vulgar look: I can't think what they wear them for. There is no such a thing to be
seen in Paris."</p>
<p> "Indeed," cried Sir Clement, "I must own myself no advocate for hats; I am sorry the
ladies ever invented or adopted so tantalizing a fashion: for, where there is beauty,
they only serve to shade it; and, where there is none, to excite a most unavailing
curiosity. I fancy they were originally worn by some young and whimsical
coquette."</p>
<p> "More likely," answered the Captain, "they were invented by some wrinkled old hag,
who'd a mind for to keep the young fellows in chace, let them be never so weary."</p>
<p> "I don't know what you may do in England," cried Madame Duval, "but I know in Paris
no woman needn't be at such a trouble as that to be taken very genteel notice
of."</p>
<p> "Why, will you pretend for to say," returned the Captain, "that they don't
distinguish the old from the young there as well as here?"</p>
<p> "They don't make no distinguishments at all," said she; "they're vastly too
polite."</p>
<p> "More fools they!" cried the Captain, sneeringly.</p>
<p> "Would to Heaven," cried, Sir Clement, "that, for our own sakes, we Englishmen too
were blest with so accommodating a blindness!"</p>
<p> "Why the devil do you make such a prayer as that?" demanded the Captain: "them are
the first foolish words I've heard you speak; but I suppose you're not much used to
that sort of work. Did you ever make a prayer before, since you were a sniveler?"</p>
<p> "Ay, now," cried Madame Duval, "that's another of the unpolitenesses of you English,
to go to talking of such things as that: now in Paris nobody never says nothing about
religion, no more than about politics."</p>
<p> "Why then," answered he, "it's a sign they take no more care of their souls than of
their country, and so both one and t'other go to old Nick."</p>
<p> "Well, if they do," said she, "who's the worse, so long as they don't say nothing
about it? It's the tiresomest thing in the world to be always talking of them sort of
things, and nobody that's ever been abroad troubles their heads about them."</p>
<p> "Pray then," cried the Captain, "since you know so much of the matter, be so good as
to tell us what they do trouble their heads about?-Hey, Sir Clement! han't we a right
to know that much?"</p>
<p> "A very comprehensive question," said Sir Clement, "and I expect much instruction
from the lady's answer."</p>
<p> "Come, Madam," continued the Captain, "never flinch; speak at once; don't stop for
thinking."</p>
<p> "I assure you I am not going," answered she; "for as to what they do do, why they've
enough to do, I promise you, what with one thing or another."</p>
<p> "But what, what do they do, these famous Monseers?" demanded the Captain; "can't you
tell us? do they game?-or drink?-or fiddle?-or are they jockeys?-or do they spend all
their time in flummering old women?"</p>
<p> "As to that, Sir-but indeed I shan't trouble myself to answer such a parcel of low
questions, so don't ask me no more about it." And then, to my great vexation, turning
to Lord Orville, she said, "Pray, Sir, was you ever in Paris?"</p>
<p> He only bowed.</p>
<p> "And pray, Sir, how did you like it?"</p>
<p> This comprehensive question, as Sir Clement would have called it, though it made him
smile, also made him hesitate; however, his answer was expressive of his
approbation.</p>
<p> "I thought you would like it, Sir, because you look so like a gentleman. As to the
Captain, and as to that other gentleman, why they may very well not like what they
don't know: for I suppose, Sir, you was never abroad?"</p>
<p> "Only three years, Ma'am," answered Sir Clement, drily.</p>
<p> "Well, that's very surprising! I should never have thought it: however,<lb/>I dare
say you only kept company with the English."</p>
<p> "Why, pray, who should he keep company with?" cried the Captain: "what I suppose
you'd have him ashamed of his own nation, like some other people not a thousand miles
off, on purpose to make his own nation ashamed of him?"</p>
<p> "I'm sure it would be a very good thing if you'd go abroad yourself."</p>
<p> "How will you make out that, hey, Madam? come, please to tell me, where would be the
good of that?"</p>
<p> "Where! why a great deal. They'd make quite another person of you."</p>
<p> "What, I suppose you'd have me to learn to cut capers?-and dress like a monkey?-and
palaver in French gibberish?-hey, would you?-And powder, and daub, and make myself
up, like some other folks?"</p>
<p> "I would have you learn to be more politer, Sir, and not to talk to ladies in such a
rude, old-fashion way as this. You, Sir, as have been in Paris," again addressing
herself to Lord Orville, "can tell this English gentleman how he'd be despised, if he
was to talk in such an ungenteel manner as this before any foreigners. Why, there
isn't a hairdresser, nor a shoemaker, nor nobody, that wouldn't blush to be in your
company."</p>
<p> "Why, look ye, Madam," answered the Captain, "as to your hair-pinchers and
shoe-blacks, you may puff off their manners, and welcome; and I am heartily glad you
like 'em so well: but as to me, since you must needs make so free of your advice, I
must e'en tell you, I never kept company with any such gentry."</p>
<p> "Come, ladies and gentlemen," said Mrs. Mirvan, "as many of you as have done tea, I
invite to walk with me." Maria and I started up instantly; Lord Orville followed; and
I question whether we were not half round the room ere the angry disputants knew that
we had left the box.</p>
<p> As the husband of Mrs. Mirvan had borne so large a share in the disagreeable
altercation, Lord Orville forbore to make any comments upon it; so that the subject
was immediately dropt, and the conversation became calmly sociable, and politely
cheerful, and, to every body but me, must have been highly agreeable:-but, as to
myself, I was so eagerly desirous of making some apology to Lord Orville, for the
impertinence of which he must have thought me guilty at the ridotto, and yet so
utterly unable to assume sufficient courage to speak to him, concerning an affair in
which I had so terribly exposed myself, that I hardly ventured to say a word all the
time we were walking. Besides, the knowledge of his contemptuous opinion haunted and
dispirited me, and made me fear he might possibly misconstrue whatever I should say.
So that, far from enjoying a conversation which might, at any other time, have
delighted me, I continued silent, uncomfortable, and ashamed. O, Sir, shall I ever
again involve myself in so foolish an embarrassment? I am sure that, if I do, I shall
deserve greater mortification.</p>
<p> We were not joined by the rest of the party till we had taken three or four turns
around the room; and then they were so quarrelsome, that Mrs. Mirvan complained of
being fatigued and proposed going home. No one dissented. Lord Orville joined another
party, having first made an offer of his services, which the gentlemen declined, and
we proceeded to an outward room, where we waited for the carriages. It was settled
that we should return to town in the same manner we came to Ranelagh; and,
accordingly, Monsieur Du Bois handed Madame Duval into a hackney coach, and was just
preparing to follow her, when she screamed, and jumped hastily out, declaring she was
wet through all her clothes. Indeed, upon examination the coach was found to be in a
dismal condition; for the weather proved very bad, and the rain had, though I know
not how, made its way into the carriage.</p>
<p> Mrs. and Miss Mirvan, and myself, were already disposed of as before; but no sooner
did the Captain hear this account, than, without any ceremony, he was so civil as to
immediately take possession of the vacant seat in his own coach, leaving Madame Duval
and Monsieur Du Bois to take care of themselves. As to Sir Clement Willoughby, his
own chariot was in waiting.</p>
<p> I instantly begged permission to offer Madame Duval my own place, and made a motion
to get out; but Mrs. Mirvan stopped me, saying, that I should then be obliged to
return to town with only the foreigner, or Sir Clement.</p>
<p> "O never mind the old beldame," cried the Captain, "she's weather-proof, I'll answer
for her; and besides, as we are all, I hope, English, why she'll meet with no worse
than she expects from us."</p>
<p> "I do not mean to defend her," said Mrs. Mirvan; "but indeed, as she belongs to our
party, we cannot, with any decency, leave the place till she is, by some means,
accommodated."</p>
<p> "Lord, my dear," cried the Captain, whom the distress of Madame Duval had put into
very good humour, "why, she'll break her heart if she meets with any civility from a
filthy Englishman."</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan, however, prevailed; and we all got out of the coach, to wait till
Madame Duval could meet with some better carriage. We found her, attended by Monsieur
Du Bois, standing amongst the servants, and very busy in wiping her negligee, and
endeavouring to save it from being stained by the wet, as she said it was a new Lyons
silk. Sir Clement Willoughby offered her the use of his chariot, but she had been too
much piqued by his raillery to accept it. We waited some time, but in vain; for no
hackney-coach could be procured. The Captain, at last, was persuaded to accompany Sir
Clement himself, and we four females were handed into Mrs. Mirvan's carriage, though
not before Madame Duval had insisted upon our making room for Monsieur Du Bois, to
which the Captain only consented in preference to being incommoded by him in Sir
Clement's chariot.</p>
<p> Our party drove off first. We were silent and unsociable; for the difficulties
attending this arrangement had made every one languid and fatigued. Unsociable, I
must own, we continued; but very short was the duration of our silence, as we had not
proceeded thirty yards before every voice was heard at once-for the coach broke down!
I suppose we concluded, of course, that we were all half killed, by the violent
shrieks that seemed to come from every mouth. The chariot was stopped, the servants
came to our assistance, and we were taken out of the carriage, without having been at
all hurt. The night was dark and wet; but I had scarce touched the ground when I was
lifted suddenly from it by Sir Clement Willoughby, who begged permission to assist
me, though he did not wait to have it granted, but carried me in his arms back to
Ranelagh.</p>
<p> He enquired very earnestly if I was not hurt by the accident? I assured him I was
perfectly safe, and free from injury; and desired he would leave me, and return to
the rest of the party, for I was very uneasy to know whether they had been equally
fortunate. He told me he was happy in being honoured with my commands, and would
joyfully execute them; but insisted upon first conducting me to a warm room, as I had
not wholly escaped being wet. He did not regard my objections; but made me follow him
to an apartment, where we found an excellent fire, and some company waiting for
carriages. I readily accepted a seat, and then begged he would go.</p>
<p> And go, indeed, he did; but he returned in a moment, telling me that the rain was
more violent than ever, and that he had sent his servants to offer their assistance,
and acquaint the Mirvans of my situation. I was very mad that he would not go
himself; but as my acquaintance with him was so very slight, I did not think proper
to urge him contrary to his inclination.</p>
<p> Well, he drew a chair close to mine; and, after again enquiring how I did, said, in
a low voice, "You will pardon me, Miss Anville, if the eagerness I feel to vindicate
myself, induces me to snatch this opportunity of making sincere acknowledgments for
the impertinence with which I tormented you at the last ridotto. I can assure you,
Madam, I have been a true and sorrowful penitent ever since; but-shall I tell you
honestly what encouraged me to-"</p>
<p> He stopt, but I said nothing; for I thought instantly of the conversation Miss
Mirvan had overheard, and supposed he was going to tell me himself what part Lord
Orville had borne in it; and really I did not wish to hear it repeated. Indeed, the
rest of his speech convinces me that such was his intention; with what view I know
not, except to make a merit of his defending me.</p>
<p> "And yet," he continued, "my excuse may only expose my own credulity, and want of
judgment and penetration. I will, therefore, merely beseech your pardon, and hope
that some future time-"</p>
<p> Just then the door was opened by Sir Clement's servant, and I had the pleasure of
seeing the Captain, Mrs. and Miss Mirvan, enter the room.</p>
<p> "O ho!" cried the former, "you have got a good warm berth here; but we shall beat up
your quarters. Here, Lucy, Moll, come to the fire, and dry your trumpery. But,
hey-day-why, where's old Madame French?"</p>
<p> "Good God," cried I, "is not Madame Duval then with you?"</p>
<p> "With me! No,-thank God."</p>
<p> I was very uneasy to know what might have become of her; and, if they would have
suffered me, I should have gone in search of her myself; but all the servants were
dispatched to find her; and the Captain said, we might be very sure her French beau
would take care of her.</p>
<p> We waited some time without any tidings, and were soon the only party in the room.
My uneasiness increased so much that Sir Clement now made a voluntary offer of
seeking her. However, the same moment that he opened the door with this design, she
presented herself at it, attended by Monsieur Du Bois.</p>
<p> "I was this instant, Madam," said he, "coming to see for you."</p>
<p> "You are mighty good, truly," cried she, "to come when all the mischief's over."</p>
<p> She then entered,-in such a condition!-entirely covered with mud, and in so great a
rage, it was with difficulty she could speak. We all expressed our concern, and
offered our assistance-except the Captain, who no sooner beheld her than he burst out
into a loud laugh.</p>
<p> We endeavoured, by our enquiries and condolements, to prevent her attending to him;
and she was for some time so wholly engrossed by her anger and her distress, that we
succeeded without much trouble. We begged her to inform us how this accident
happened. "How!" repeated she,-"why it was all along of your all going away,-and
there poor Monsieur Du Bois-but it wasn't his fault,-for he's as bad off as me."</p>
<p> All eyes were then turned to Monsieur Du Bois, whose clothes were in the same
miserable plight with those of Madame Duval; and who, wet, shivering, and
disconsolate, had crept to the fire.</p>
<p> The Captain laughed yet more heartily; while Mrs. Mirvan, ashamed of his rudeness,
repeated her inquiries to Madame Duval; who answered, "Why, as we were a-coming
along, all in the rain, Monsieur Du Bois was so obliging, though I'm sure it was an
unlucky obligingness for me, as to lift me up in his arms to carry me over a place
that was ankle-deep in mud; but instead of my being ever the better for it, just as
we were in the worst part,-I'm sure I wish we had been fifty miles off,-for somehow
or other his foot slipt,-at least, I suppose so,-though I can't think how it
happened, for I'm so such great weight;-but, however that was, down we both came,
together, all in the mud; and the more we tried to get up, the more deeper we got
covered with the nastiness-and my new Lyons negligee, too, quite spoilt!-however,
it's well we got up at all, for we might have laid there till now, for aught you all
cared; nobody never came near us."</p>
<p> This recital put the Captain into an ecstasy; he went from the lady to the
gentleman, and from the gentleman to the lady, to enjoy alternately the sight of
their distress. He really shouted with pleasure; and, shaking Monsieur Du Bois
strenuously by the hand, wished him joy of having touched English ground; and then he
held a candle to Madame Duval, that he might have a more complete view of her
disaster, declaring repeatedly, that he had never been better pleased in his
life.</p>
<p> The rage of poor Madame Duval was unspeakable; she dashed the candle out of his
hand, stamping upon the floor, and, at last, spat in his face.</p>
<p> This action seemed immediately to calm them both, as the joy of the Captain was
converted into resentment, and the wrath of Madame Duval into fear: for he put his
hands upon her shoulders, and gave her so violent a shake, that she screamed out for
help; assuring her, at the same time, that if she had been one ounce less old, or
less ugly, she should have had it all returned in her own face.</p>
<p> Monsieur Du Bois, who had seated himself very quietly at the fire, approached them,
and expostulated very warmly with the Captain; but he was neither understood nor
regarded; and Madame Duval was not released till she quite sobbed with passion.</p>
<p> When they were parted, I intreated her to permit the woman who has charge of the
ladies' cloaks to assist in drying her clothes; she consented, and we did what was
possible to save her from catching cold. We were obliged to wait in this disagreeable
situation near an hour before a hackney-coach could be found; and then we were
disposed in the same manner as before our accident.</p>
<p> I am going this morning to see poor Madame Duval, and to inquire after her health,
which I think must have suffered by her last night's misfortunes; though, indeed, she
seems to be naturally strong and hearty.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dear Sir, till to-morrow.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XVII</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Friday Morning, April 15.</opener>
<p> SIR CLEMENT WILLOUGHBY called here yesterday at noon, and Captain Mirvan invited him
to dinner. For my part I spent the day in a manner the most uncomfortable
imaginable.</p>
<p> I found Madame Duval at breakfast in bed, though Monsieur Du Bois was in the
chamber; which so much astonished me, that I was, involuntarily, retiring, without
considering how odd an appearance my retreat would have, when Madame Duval called me
back, and laughed very heartily at my ignorance of foreign customs.</p>
<p> The conversation, however, very soon took a more serious turn; for she began, with
great bitterness, to inveigh against the barbarous brutality of that fellow the
Captain, and the horrible ill-breeding of the English in general, declaring, she
should make her escape with all expedition from so beastly a nation. But nothing can
be more strangely absurd, than to hear politeness recommended in language so
repugnant to it as that of Madame Duval.</p>
<p> She lamented, very mournfully, the fate of her Lyons silk; and protested she had
rather have parted with all the rest of her wardrobe, because it was the first gown
she had bought to wear upon leaving off her weeds. She has a very bad cold, and
Monsieur Du Bois is so hoarse, he can hardly speak.</p>
<p> She insisted upon my staying with her all day; as she intended, she said, to
introduce me to some of my own relations. I would very fain have excused myself, but
she did not allow me any choice.</p>
<p> Till the arrival of these relations, one continued series of questions on her side,
and of answers on mine, filled up all the time we passed together. Her curiosity was
insatiable; she inquired into every action of my life, and every particular that had
fallen under my observation in the lives of all I knew. Again, she was so cruel as to
avow the most inveterate rancour against the sole benefactor her deserted child and
grand-child have met with; and such was the indignation her ingratitude raised, that
I would actually have quitted her presence and house, had she not, in a manner the
most peremptory, absolutely forbid me. But what, good Heaven! can induce her to such
shocking injustice? O, my friend and father! I have no command of myself when this
subject is started.</p>
<p> She talked very much of taking me to Paris, and said I greatly wanted the polish of
a French education. She lamented that I had been brought up in the country, which,
she observed, had given me a very bumpkinish air. However, she bid me not despair,
for she had known many girls much worse than me, who had become very fine ladies
after a few years residence abroad; and she particularly instanced a Miss Polly
Moore, daughter of a chandler's-shop woman, who, by an accident not worth relating,
happened to be sent to Paris, where, from an awkward ill-bred girl, she so much
improved, that she has since been taken for a woman of quality.</p>
<p> The relations to whom she was pleased to introduce me, consisted of a Mr. Branghton,
who is her nephew, and three of his children, the eldest of which is a son, and the
two younger are daughters.</p>
<p> Mr. Branghton appears about forty years of age. He does not seem to want a common
understanding, though he is very contracted and prejudiced: he has spent his whole
time in the city, and I believe feels a great contempt for all who reside
elsewhere.</p>
<p> His son seems weaker in his understanding, and more gay in his temper; but his
gaiety is that of a foolish, overgrown school-boy, whose mirth consists in noise and
disturbance. He disdains his father for his close attention to business, and love of
money; though he seems himself to have no talents, spirit, or generosity, to make him
superior to either. His chief delight appears to be tormenting and ridiculing his
sisters; who, in return, most heartily despise him.</p>
<p> Miss Branghton, the eldest daughter, is by no means ugly; but looks proud,
ill-tempered, and conceited. She hates the city, though without knowing why; for it
is easy to discover she has lived no where else.</p>
<p> Miss Polly Branghton is rather pretty, very foolish, very ignorant, very giddy, and,
I believe, very good-natured.</p>
<p> The first half-hour was allotted to making themselves comfortable; for they
complained of having had a very dirty walk, as they came on foot from Snow Hill,
where Mr. Branghton keeps a silversmith's shop; and the young ladies had not only
their coats to brush, and shoes to dry, but to adjust their head-dress, which their
bonnets had totally discomposed.</p>
<p> The manner in which Madame Duval was pleased to introduce me to this family
extremely shocked me. "Here, my dears," said she, "here's a relation you little
thought of; but you must know, my poor daughter Caroline had this child after she run
away from me,-though I never knew nothing of it, not I, for a long while after; for
they took care to keep it a secret from me, though the poor child has never a friend
in the world besides."</p>
<p> "Miss seems very tender-hearted, aunt," said Miss Polly; "and to be sure she's not
to blame for her mama's undutifulness, for she couldn't help it."</p>
<p> "Lord, no," answered she, "and I never took no notice of it to her: for, indeed, as
to that, my own poor daughter wasn't so much to blame as you may think; for she'd
never have gone astray, if it had not been for that meddling old parson I told you
of."</p>
<p> "If aunt pleases," said young Mr. Branghton, "we'll talk o' somewhat else, for Miss
looks very uneasy-like."</p>
<p> The next subject that was chosen was the age of the three young Branghtons and
myself. The son is twenty; the daughters upon hearing that I was seventeen, said that
was just the age of Miss Polly; but their brother, after a long dispute, proved that
she was two years older, to the great anger of both sisters, who agreed that he was
very ill-natured and spiteful.</p>
<p> When this point was settled, the question was put, Which was tallest?-We were
desired to measure, as the Branghtons were all of different opinions. None of them,
however, disputed my being the tallest in the company; but, in regard to one another,
they were extremely quarrelsome: the brother insisted upon their measuring fair, and
not with heads and heels; but they would by no means consent to lose those privileges
of our sex; and therefore the young man was cast, as shortest; though he appealed to
all present upon the injustice of the decree.</p>
<p> This ceremony over, the young ladies begun, very freely, to examine my dress, and to
interrogate me concerning it. "This apron's your own work, I suppose, Miss? but these
sprigs a'n't in fashion now. Pray, if it is not impertinent, what might you give a
yard for this lutestring?-Do you make your own caps, Miss?" and many other questions
equally interesting and well-bred.</p>
<p> Then they asked me how I liked London? and whether I should not think the country a
very dull place, when I returned thither? "Miss must try if she can't get a good
husband," said Mr. Branghton, "and then she may stay and live here."</p>
<p> The next topic was public places, or rather the theatres, for they knew of no other;
and the merits and defects of all the actors and actresses were discussed: the young
man here took the lead, and seemed to be very conversant on the subject. But during
this time, what was my concern, and, suffer me to add, my indignation, when I found,
by some words I occasionally heard, that Madame Duval was entertaining Mr. Branghton
with all the most secret and cruel particulars of my situation! The eldest daughter
was soon drawn to them by the recital; the youngest and the son still kept their
places; intending, I believe, to divert me, though the conversation was all their
own.</p>
<p> In a few minutes, Miss Branghton coming suddenly up to her sister, exclaimed, "Lord,
Polly, only think! Miss never saw her papa!"</p>
<p> "Lord, how odd!" cried the other; "why, then, Miss, I suppose you wouldn't know
him?"</p>
<p> This was quite too much for me; I rose hastily, and ran out of the room: but I soon
regretted I had so little command of myself; for the two sisters both followed, and
insisted upon comforting me, notwithstanding my earnest intreaties to be left
alone.</p>
<p> As soon as I returned to the company, Madame Duval said, "Why, my dear, what was the
matter with you? why did you run away so?"</p>
<p> This question almost made me run again, for I knew not how to answer it. But, is it
not very extraordinary, that she can put me in situations so shocking, and then
wonder to find me sensible of any concern?</p>
<p> Mr. Branghton junior now inquired of me, whether I had seen the Tower, or St. Paul's
church? and upon my answering in the negative, they proposed making a party to shew
them to me. Among other questions, they also asked, if I had ever seen such a thing
as an opera? I told them I had. "Well," said Mr. Branghton, "I never saw one in my
life, so long as I've lived in London; and I never desire to see one, if I live here
as much longer."</p>
<p> "Lord, papa," cried Miss Polly, "why not? you might as well for once, for the
curiosity of the thing: besides, Miss Pomfret saw one, and she says it was very
pretty."</p>
<p> "Miss will think us very vulgar," said Miss Branghton, "to live in<lb/>London, and
never have been to an opera; but it's no fault of mine,<lb/>I assure you, Miss, only
papa don't like to go."</p>
<p> The result was, that a party was proposed, and agreed to, for some early
opportunity. I did not dare contradict them; but I said that my time, while I
remained in town, was at the disposal of Mrs. Mirvan. However, I am sure I will not
attend them, if I can possibly avoid doing so.</p>
<p> When we parted, Madame Duval desired to see me the next day; and the Branghtons told
me, that the first time I went towards Snow Hill, they should be very glad if I would
call upon them.</p>
<p> I wish we may not meet again till that time arrives.</p>
<p> I am sure I shall not be very ambitious of being known to any more of my relations,
if they have any resemblance to those whose acquaintance I have been introduced to
already.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XVIII</head>
<div type="div4">
<head> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION</head>
<p> I HAD just finished my letter to you this morning, when a violent rapping at the
door made me run down stairs; and who should I see in the drawing room, but-Lord
Orville!</p>
<p> He was quite alone, for the family had not assembled to breakfast. He inquired
first of mine, then of the health of Mrs. and Miss Mirvan, with a degree of
concern that rather surprised me, till he said he had just been informed of the
accident we had met with at Ranelagh. He expressed his sorrow upon the occasion
with utmost politeness, and lamented that he had not been so fortunate as to hear
of it in time to offer his services. "But I think," he added, "Sir Clement
Willoughby had the honour of assisting you?"</p>
<p> "He was with Captain Mirvan, my Lord."</p>
<p> "I had heard of his being of your party."</p>
<p> I hope that flighty man has not been telling Lord Orville he only assisted me!
however, he did not pursue the subject: but said, "This accident though extremely
unfortunate, will not, I hope, be the means of frightening you from gracing
Ranelagh with your presence in future?"</p>
<p> "Our time, my Lord, for London, is almost expired already."</p>
<p> "Indeed! do you leave town so very soon?"</p>
<p> "O yes, my Lord, our stay has already exceeded our intentions."</p>
<p> "Are you, then, so particularly partial to the country?"</p>
<p> "We merely came to town, my Lord, to meet Captain Mirvan."</p>
<p> "And does Miss Anville feel no concern at the idea of the many mourners her
absence will occasion?"</p>
<p> "O, my Lord,-I'm sure you don't think-" I stopt there; for, indeed, I hardly knew
what I was going to say. My foolish embarrassment, I suppose, was the cause of
what followed; for he came to me, and took my hand saying, "I do think, that
whoever has once seen Miss Anville, must receive an impression never to be
forgotten."</p>
<p> This compliment,-from Lord Orville,-so surprised me, that I could not speak; but
felt myself change colour, and stood for some moments silent, and looking down:
however, the instant I recollected my situation, I withdrew my hand, and told him
that I would see if Mrs. Mirvan was not dressed. He did not oppose me-so away I
went.</p>
<p> I met them all on the stairs, and returned with them to breakfast.</p>
<p> I have since been extremely angry with myself for neglecting so excellent an
opportunity of apologizing for my behaviour at the ridotto: but, to own the truth,
that affair never once occurred to me during the short tete-e-tete which we had
together. But, if ever we should happen to be so situated again, I will certainly
mention it; for I am inexpressibly concerned at the thought of his harbouring an
opinion that I am bold or impertinent, and I could almost kill myself for having
given him the shadow of a reason for so shocking an idea.</p>
<p> But was not it very odd that he should make me such a compliment? I expected it
not from him;-but gallantry, I believe, is common to all men, whatever other
qualities they may have in particular.</p>
<p> Our breakfast was the most agreeable meal, if it may be called a meal, that we
have had since we came to town. Indeed, but for Madame Duval, I should like London
extremely.</p>
<p> The conversation of Lord Orville is really delightful. His manners are so
elegant, so gentle, so unassuming, that they at once engage esteem, and diffuse
complacence. Far from being indolently satisfied with his own accomplishments, as
I have already observed many men here are, though without any pretensions to his
merit, he is most assiduously attentive to please and to serve all who are in his
company, and, though his success is invariable, he never manifests the smallest
degree of consciousness.</p>
<p> I could wish that you, my dearest Sir, knew Lord Orville, because I am sure you
would love him; and I have felt that wish for no other person I have seen since I
came to London. I sometimes imagine, that when his youth is flown, his vivacity
abated, and his life is devoted to retirement, he will, perhaps, resemble him whom
I most love and honour. His present sweetness, politeness, and diffidence, seem to
promise in future the same benevolence, dignity, and goodness. But I must not
expatiate upon this subject.</p>
<p> When Lord Orville was gone,-and he made but a very short visit,-I was preparing,
most reluctantly, to wait upon Madame Duval; but Mrs. Mirvan proposed to the
Captain, that she should be invited to dinner in Queen Ann Street; and he readily
consented, for he said he wished to ask after her Lyons negligee.</p>
<p> The invitation is accepted, and we expect her every moment. But to me, it is very
strange, that a woman who is the uncontrolled mistress of her time, fortune, and
actions, should choose to expose herself voluntarily to the rudeness of a man who
is openly determined to make her his sport. But she has very few acquaintance;
and, I fancy, scarce knows how to employ herself.</p>
<p> How great is my obligation to Mrs. Mirvan, for bestowing her time in a manner so
disagreeable to herself, merely to promote my happiness! Every dispute in which
her undeserving husband engages, is productive of pain and uneasiness to herself;
of this I am so sensible, that I even besought her not to send to Madame Duval;
but she declared she could not bear to have me pass all my time, while in town,
with her only. Indeed she could not be more kind to me, were she your
daughter.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XIX</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Saturday Morning, April 16.</opener>
<p> MADAM DUVAL was accompanied by Monsieur Du Bois. I am surprised that she should
choose to introduce him where he is so unwelcome: and, indeed, it is strange that
they should be so constantly together, though I believe I should have taken notice of
it, but that Captain Mirvan is perpetually rallying me upon my grandmama's beau.</p>
<p> They were both received by Mrs. Mirvan with her usual good-breeding; but the
Captain, most provokingly, attacked her immediately, saying, "Now, Madame, you that
have lived abroad, please to tell me this here: Which did you like best, the warm
room at Ranelagh, or the cold bath you went into afterwards? though I assure you, you
look so well, that I should advise you to take another dip."</p>
<p> "Ma foi, Sir," cried she, "nobody asked for your advice, so you may as well keep it
to yourself: besides, it's no such great joke to be splashed, and to catch cold, and
spoil all one's things, whatever you may think of it."</p>
<p> "Splashed, quoth-a!-why I thought you were soused all over.-Come, come, don't mince
the matter, never spoil a good story; you know you hadn't a dry thread about
you-'Fore George, I shall never think on't without hollooing! such a poor forlorn
draggle-tailed-gentlewoman! and poor Monseer French, here, like a drowned rat, by
your side!-"</p>
<p> "Well, the worse pickle we was in, so much the worser in you not to help us; for you
knowed where we were fast enough, because, while I laid in the mud, I'm pretty sure I
heard you snigger: so it's like enough you jostled us down yourself; for Monsieur Du
Bois says, that he is sure he had a great jolt given him, or he shouldn't have
fell."</p>
<p> The Captain laughed so immoderately, that he really gave me also a suspicion that he
was not entirely innocent of the charge: however, he disclaimed it very
peremptorily.</p>
<p> "Why then," continued she, "if you didn't do that, why didn't you come to help
us?"</p>
<p> "Who, I?-what, do you suppose I had forgot I was an Englishman, a filthy, beastly
Englishman?"</p>
<p> "Very well, Sir, very well; but I was a fool to expect any better, for it's all of a
piece with the rest; you know, you wanted to fling me out of the coach-window, the
very first time ever I see you: but I'll never go to Ranelagh with you no more, that
I'm resolved; for I dare say, if the horses had runn'd over me, as I laid in that
nastiness, you'd never have stirred a step to save me."</p>
<p> "Lord, no, to be sure, Ma'am, not for the world! I know your opinion of our nation
too well, to affront you by supposing a Frenchman would want my assistance to protect
you. Did you think that Monseer here, and I had changed characters, and that he
should pop you into the mud, and I help you out of it? Ha, ha, ha!"</p>
<p> "O very well, Sir, laugh on, it's like your manners; however, if poor Monsieur Du
Bois hadn't met with that unlucky accident himself I shouldn't have wanted nobody's
help."</p>
<p> "O, I promise you, Madame, you'd never have had mine; I knew my distance better: and
as to your being a little ducked, or so, why, to be sure, Monseer and you settled
that between yourselves; so it was no business of mine."</p>
<p> "What, then, I suppose you want to make me believe as Monsieur Du<lb/>Bois served me
that trick o'purpose?"</p>
<p> "O' purpose! ay, certainly; whoever doubted that? Do you think a Frenchman ever made
a blunder? If he had been some clumsy-footed English fellow, indeed, it might have
been accidental: but what the devil signifies all your hopping and capering with your
dancing-masters, if you can't balance yourselves upright?"</p>
<p> In the midst of this dialogue, Sir Clement Willoughby made his appearance. He
affects to enter the house with the freedom of an old acquaintance; and this very
easiness, which, to me, is astonishing, is what most particularly recommends him to
the Captain. Indeed, he seems very successfully to study all the humours of that
gentleman.</p>
<p> After having heartily welcomed him, "You are just come in time, my boy," said he,
"to settle a little matter of a dispute between this here gentlewoman and I; do you
know she has been trying to persuade me, that she did not above half like the ducking
Monseer gave her t'other night."</p>
<p> "I should have hoped," said Sir Clement, with the utmost gravity, "that the
friendship subsisting between that lady and gentleman would have guarded them against
any actions professed disagreeable to each other: but, probably, they might not have
discussed the matter previously; in which case the gentleman, I must own, seems to
have been guilty of inattention, since, in my humble opinion, it was his business
first to have inquired whether the lady preferred soft or hard ground, before he
dropt her."</p>
<p> "O very fine, gentlemen, very fine," cried Madame Duval, "you may try to set us
together by the ears as much as you will; but I'm not such an ignorant person as to
be made a fool of so easily; so you needn't talk no more about it, for I sees into
your designs."</p>
<p> Monsieur Du Bois, who was just able to discover the subject upon which the
conversation turned, made his defence, in French, with great solemnity: he hoped, he
said, that the company would at least acknowledge he did not come from a nation of
brutes; and consequently, that to wilfully offend any lady, was, to him, utterly
impossible; but that, on the contrary, in endeavouring, as was his duty, to save and
guard her, he had himself suffered, in a manner which he would forbear to relate, but
which, he greatly apprehended, he should feel the ill effects of for many months: and
then, with a countenance exceedingly lengthened, he added, that he hoped it would not
be attributed to him as national prejudice, when he owned that he must, to the best
of his memory, aver, that his unfortunate fall was owing to a sudden but violent
push, which, he was shocked to say, some malevolent person, with a design to his
injury, must certainly have given him; but whether with a view to mortify him, by
making him let the lady fall, or whether merely to spoil his clothes, he could not
pretend to determine.</p>
<p> This disputation was, at last, concluded by Mrs. Mirvan's proposing that we should
all go to Cox's Museum. Nobody objected, and carriages were immediately ordered.</p>
<p> In our way down stairs, Madame Duval, in a very passionate manner, said, "Ma foi, if
I wouldn't give fifty guineas only to know who gave us that shove!"</p>
<p> This Museum is very astonishing, and very superb; yet if afforded me but little
pleasure, for it is a mere show, though a wonderful one.</p>
<p> Sir Clement Willoughby, in our walk round the room, asked me what my opinion was of
this brilliant spectacle!</p>
<p> "It is a very fine, and very ingenious," answered I; "and yet-I don't know how it
is-but I seem to miss something."</p>
<p> "Excellently answered!" cried he; "you have exactly defined my own feelings, though
in a manner I should never have arrived at. But I was certain your taste was too well
formed, to be pleased at the expense of your understanding."</p>
<p> "Pardi," cried Madame Duval, "I hope you two is difficult enough! I'm sure if you
don't like this you like nothing; for it's the grandest, prettiest, finest sight that
ever I see in England."</p>
<p> "What," cried the Captain with a sneer, "I suppose this may be in your French taste?
it's like enough, for it's all kickshaw work. But pr'ythee, friend," turning to the
person who explained the devices, "will you tell me the use of all this? for I'm not
enough of a conjuror to find it out."</p>
<p> "Use, indeed!" repeated Madame Duval, disdainfully; "Lord if every thing's to be
useful!-"</p>
<p> "Why, Sir, as to that, Sir," said our conductor, "the ingenuity of the mechanism-the
beauty of the workmanship-the-undoubtedly, Sir, any person of taste may easily
discern the utility of such extraordinary performances."</p>
<p> "Why then, Sir," answered the Captain, "your person of taste must be either a
coxcomb, or a Frenchman; though, for the matter of that, 'tis the same thing."</p>
<p> Just then our attention was attracted by a pine-apple; which, suddenly opening,
discovered a nest of birds, which immediately began to sing. "Well," cried Madame
Duval, "this is prettier than all the rest! I declare, in all my travels, I never see
nothing eleganter."</p>
<p> "Hark ye, friend," said the Captain, "hast never another pine-apple?"</p>
<p> "Sir?-"</p>
<p> "Because, if thou hast, pr'ythee give it us without the birds; for, d'ye see, I'm no
Frenchman, and should relish something more substantial."</p>
<p> This entertainment concluded with a concert of mechanical music: I cannot explain
how it was produced, but the effect was pleasing. Madame Duval was in ecstasies; and
the Captain flung himself into so many ridiculous distortions, by way of mimicking
her, that he engaged the attention of all the company; and, in the midst of the
performance of the Coronation Anthem, while Madame Duval was affecting to beat time,
and uttering many expressions of delight, he called suddenly for salts, which a lady,
apprehending some distress, politely handed to him, and which, instantly applying to
the nostrils of poor Madame Duval, she involuntarily snuffed up such a quantity, that
the pain and surprise made her scream aloud. When she recovered, she reproached him
with her usual vehemence; but he protested he had taken that measure out of pure
friendship, as he concluded, from her raptures, that she was going into hysterics.
This excuse by no means appeased her, and they had a violent quarrel; but the only
effect her anger had on the Captain, was to increase his diversion. Indeed, he laughs
and talks so terribly loud in public, that he frequently makes us ashamed of
belonging to him.</p>
<p> Madame Duval, notwithstanding her wrath, made no scruple of returning to dine in
Queen Ann Street. Mrs. Mirvan had secured places for the play at Drury-Lane Theatre,
and, though ever uneasy in her company, she very politely invited Madame Duval to be
of our party; however, she had a bad cold and chose to nurse it. I was sorry for her
indisposition; but I knew not how to be sorry she did not accompany us, for she is-I
must not say what, but very unlike other people.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XX</head>
<div type="div4">
<head> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION</head>
<p> OUR places were in the front row of a side-box. Sir Clement Willoughby, who knew
our intention, was at the door of the theatre, and handed us from the
carriage.</p>
<p> We had not been seated five minutes before Lord Orville, whom we saw in the
stage-box, came to us; and he honoured us with his company all the evening; Miss
Mirvan and I both rejoiced that Madam Duval was absent, as we hoped for the
enjoyment of some conversation, uninterrupted by her quarrels with the Captain:
but I soon found that her presence would have made very little alteration; for as
far was I from daring to speak, that I knew not where even to look.</p>
<p> The play was Love for Love; and though it is fraught with wit and entertainment I
hope I shall never see it represented again; for it is so extremely indelicate-to
use the softest word I can-that Miss Mirvan and I were perpetually out of
countenance, and could neither make any observations ourselves, nor venture to
listen to those of others. This was the most provoking, as Lord Orville was in
excellent spirits, and exceedingly entertaining.</p>
<p> When the play was over, I flattered myself I should be able to look about me with
less restraint, as we intended to stay the farce; but the curtain had hardly
dropped, when the box-door opened, and in came Mr. Lovel, the man by whose foppery
and impertinence I was so much teased at the ball where I first saw Lord
Orville.</p>
<p> I turned away my head, and began talking to Miss Mirvan; for I was desirous to
avoid speaking to him-but in vain; for, as soon as he had made his compliments to
Lord Orville and Sir Clement Willoughby, who returned them very coldly, he bent
his head forward and said to me, "I hope, Ma'am, you have enjoyed your health
since I had the honour-I beg ten thousand pardons, but, I protest I was going to
say the honour of dancing with you-however, I mean the honour of seeing you
dance?"</p>
<p> He spoke with a self-complacency that convinced me that he had studied this
address, by way of making reprisals for my conduct at the ball; I therefore bowed
slightly, but made no answer.</p>
<p> After a short silence he again called my attention, by saying, in an easy,
negligent way, "I think, Ma'am, you was never in town before?"</p>
<p> "No, Sir."</p>
<p> "So I did presume. Doubtless, Ma'am, every thing must be infinitely novel to you.
Our customs, our manners, and les etiquettes de nous autres, can have little very
resemblance to those you have been used to. I imagine, Ma'am, your retirement is
at no very small distance from the capital?"</p>
<p> I was so much disconcerted at this sneering speech, that I said not a word;
though I have since thought my vexation both stimulated and delighted him.</p>
<p> "The air we breathe here, however, Ma'am," continued he, very conceitedly,
"though foreign to that you have been accustomed to, has not I hope been at
variance with your health?"</p>
<p> "Mr. Lovel," said Lord Orville, "could not your eye have spared that
question?"</p>
<p> "O, my Lord," answered he, "if health were the only cause of a lady's bloom, my
eye, I grant, had been infallible from the first glance; but-"</p>
<p> "Come, come," cried Mrs. Mirvan, "I must beg no insinuations of that sort: Miss
Anville's colour, as you have successfully tried, may, you see, be heightened;
but, I assure you, it would be past your skill to lessen it."</p>
<p> "'Pon honour, Madam," returned he, "you wrong me; I presumed not to infer that
rouge was the only succedaneum for health; but, really, I have known so many
different causes for a lady's colour, such as flushing-anger-mauvaise honte-and so
forth, that I never dare decide to which it may be owing."</p>
<p> "As to such causes as them there," cried the Captain, "they must belong to those
that they keep company with."</p>
<p> "Very true, Captain," said Sir Clement; "the natural complexion has nothing to do
with the occasional sallies of the passions, or any accidental causes."</p>
<p> "No, truly," returned the Captain: "for now here's me, why I look like any other
man; just now; and yet, if you were to put me in a passion, 'fore George, you'd
soon see me have as fine a high colour as any painted Jezebel in all this place,
be she never so bedaubed."</p>
<p> "But," said Lord Orville, "the difference of natural and of artificial colour
seems to me very easily discerned; that of nature is mottled and varying; that of
art set, and too smooth; it wants that animation, that glow, that indescribable
something, which, even now that I see it, wholly surpasses all my powers of
expression."</p>
<p> "Your Lordship," said Sir Clement, "is universally acknowledged to be a
connoisseur in beauty."</p>
<p> "And you, Sir Clement," returned he, "an enthusiast."</p>
<p> "I am proud to own it," cried Sir Clement; "in such a cause, and before such
objects, enthusiasm is simply the consequence of not being blind."</p>
<p> "Pr'ythee, a truce with all this palavering," cried the Captain: "the women are
vain enough already; no need for to puff 'em up more."</p>
<p> "We must all submit to the commanding officer," said Sir Clement: "therefore, let
us call another subject. Pray, ladies, how have you been entertained with the
play?"</p>
<p> "Want of entertainment," said Mrs. Mirvan, "is its least fault; but I own there
are objections to it, which I should be glad to see removed."</p>
<p> "I could have ventured to answer for the ladies," said Lord Orville, "since I am
sure this is not a play that can be honoured with their approbation."</p>
<p> "What, I suppose it is not sentimental enough!" cried the Captain, "or else it is
too good for them; for I'll maintain it's one of the best comedies in our
language, and has more wit in one scene than there is in all the new plays put
together."</p>
<p> "For my part," said Mr. Lovel, "I confess I seldom listen to the players: one has
so much to do, in looking about and finding out one's acquaintance, that, really,
one has no time to mind the stage. Pray," most affectedly fixing his eyes upon a
diamond ring on his little finger, "pray-what was the play to-night?"</p>
<p> "Why, what the D-l," cried the Captain, "do you come to the play without knowing
what it is?"</p>
<p> "O yes, Sir, yes, very frequently: I have no time to read play-bills; one merely
comes to meet one's friends, and shew that one's alive."</p>
<p> "Ha, ha, ha!-and so," cried the Captain, "it costs you five shillings a-night
just to shew you're alive! Well, faith, my friends should all think me dead and
underground before I'd be at that expense for 'em. Howsomever-this here you may
take from me-they'll find you out fast enough if you have anything to give
'em.-And so you've been here all this time, and don't know what the play was?"</p>
<p> "Why, really Sir, a play requires so much attention,-it is scarce possible to
keep awake if one listens;-for, indeed, by the time it is evening, one has been so
fatigued with dining,-or wine,-or the house,-or studying,-that it is-it is
perfectly an impossibility. But, now I think of it, I believe I have a bill in my
pocket; O, ay, here it is-Love for Love, ay,-true, ha, ha!-how could I be so
stupid!"</p>
<p> "O, easily enough, as to that, I warrant you," said the Captain; "but, by my
soul, this is one of the best jokes I ever heard!-Come to a play, and not know
what it is!-Why, I suppose you wouldn't have found it out, if they had fob'd you
off with a scraping of fiddlers, or an opera?-Ha, ha, ha!-Why, now, I should have
thought you might have taken some notice of one Mr. Tattle, that is in this
play!"</p>
<p> This sarcasm, which caused a general smile, made him colour: but, turning to the
Captain with a look of conceit, which implied that he had a retort ready, he said,
"Pray, Sir, give me leave to ask-What do you think of one Mr. Ben, who is also in
this play?"</p>
<p> The Captain, regarding him with the utmost contempt, answered in a loud voice,
"Think of him!-why, I think he is a man!" And then, staring full in his face, he
struck his cane on the ground with a violence that made him start. He did not
however, choose to take any notice of this: but, having bit his nails some time in
manifest confusion, he turned very quick to me, and in a sneering tone of voice,
said, "For my part, I was most struck with the country young lady, Miss Prue; pray
what do you think of her, Ma'am?"</p>
<p> "Indeed, Sir," cried I, very much provoked, "I think-that is, I do not think any
thing about her."</p>
<p> "Well, really, Ma'am, you prodigiously surprise me!-mais, apparemment ce n'est
qu'une facon de parler? -though I should beg your pardon, for probably you do not
understand French?"</p>
<p> I made no answer, for I thought his rudeness intolerable; but Sir Clement, with
great warmth, said, "I am surprised that you can suppose such an object as Miss
Prue would engage the attention of Miss Anville even for a moment."</p>
<p> "O, Sir," returned this fop, "'tis the first character in the piece!-so well
drawn!-so much the thing!-such true country breeding-such rural ignorance! ha, ha,
ha!-'tis most admirably hit off, 'pon honour!"</p>
<p> I could almost have cried, that such impertinence should be leveled at me; and
yet, chagrined as I was, I could never behold Lord Orville and this man at the
same time, and feel any regret for the cause I had given of displeasure.</p>
<p> "The only female in the play," said Lord Orville, "worthy of being mentioned to
these ladies is Angelica."</p>
<p> "Angelica," cried Sir Clement, "is a noble girl; she tries her lover severely,
but she rewards him generously."</p>
<p> "Yet, in a trial so long," said Mrs. Mirvan, "there seems rather too much
consciousness of her power."</p>
<p> "Since my opinion has the sanction of Mrs. Mirvan," added Lord Orville, "I will
venture to say, that Angelica bestows her hand rather with the air of a
benefactress, than with the tenderness of a mistress. Generosity without delicacy,
like wit without judgment, generally gives as much pain as pleasure. The
uncertainty in which she keeps Valentine, and her manner of trifling with his
temper, give no very favourable idea of her own."</p>
<p> "Well, my Lord," said Mr. Lovel, "it must, however, be owned, that uncertainty is
not the ton among our ladies at present; nay, indeed, I think they say,-though
faith," taking a pinch of snuff, "I hope it is not true-but they say, that we now
are most shy and backward."</p>
<p> The curtain then drew up, and our conversation ceased. Mr. Lovel, finding we
chose to attend to the players, left the box. How strange it is, Sir, that this
man, not contented with the large share of foppery and nonsense which he has from
nature, should think proper to affect yet more! for what he said of Tattle and of
Miss Prue, convinced me that he really had listened to the play, though he was so
ridiculous and foolish as to pretend ignorance.</p>
<p> But how malicious and impertinent is this creature to talk to me in such a
manner! I am sure I hope I shall never see him again. I should have despised him
heartily as a fop, had he never spoken to me at all; but now, that he thinks
proper to resent his supposed ill-usage, I am really quite afraid of him.</p>
<p> The entertainment was, The Duece is in Him; which Lord Orville observed to be the
most finished and elegant petit piece that was ever written in English.</p>
<p> In our way home, Mrs. Mirvan put me into some consternation by saying, it was
evident, from the resentment which this Mr. Lovel harbours of my conduct, that he
would think it a provocation sufficiently important for a duel, if his courage
equaled his wrath.</p>
<p> I am terrified at the very idea. Good Heaven! that a man so weak and frivolous
should be so revengeful! However, if bravery would have excited him to affront
Lord Orville, how much reason have I to rejoice that cowardice makes him contended
with venting his spleen upon me! But we shall leave town soon, and, I hope, see
him no more.</p>
<p> It was some consolation to me to hear from Miss Mirvan, that, while he was
speaking to me so cavalierly, Lord Orville regarded him with great
indignation.</p>
<p> But, really, I think there ought to be a book of the laws and customs
-e;-la-mode, presented to all young people upon their first introduction into
public company.</p>
<p> To-night we go to the opera, where I expect very great pleasure. We shall have
the same party as at the play, for Lord Orville said he should be there, and would
look for us.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXI</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION</opener>
<p>I HAVE a volume to write of the adventures of yesterday. In the afternoon,-at Berry
Hill I should have said the evening, for it was almost six o'clock,-while Miss Mirvan
and I were dressing for the opera, and in high spirits from the expectation of great
entertainment and pleasure, we heard a carriage stop at the door, and concluded that
Sir Clement Willoughby, with his usual assiduity, was come to attend us to the
Haymarket; but, in a few moments, what was our surprise to see our chamber door flung
open, and the two Miss Branghtons enter the room! They advanced to me with great
familiarity, saying, "How do you do, Cousin?-so we've caught you at the glass!-well,
I'm determined I'll tell my brother of that!"</p>
<p> Miss Mirvan, who had never before seen them, and could not at first imagine who they
were, looked so much astonished, that I was ready to laugh myself, till the eldest
said, "We're come to take you to the opera, Miss; papa and my brother are below, and
we are to call for your grand-mama as we go along."</p>
<p> "I am very sorry," answered I, "that you should have taken so much trouble, as I am
engaged already."</p>
<p> "Engaged! Lord, Miss, never mind that," cried the youngest; "this young lady will
make your excuses I dare say; it's only doing as one would be done by, you know."</p>
<p> "Indeed Ma'am," said Miss Mirvan, "I shall myself be very sorry to be deprived of
Miss Anville's company this evening."</p>
<p> "Well, Miss, that is not so very good-natured in you," said Miss Branghton,
"considering we only come to give our cousin pleasure; it's no good to us; it's all
upon her account; for we came, I don't know how much round about to take her up."</p>
<p> "I am extremely obliged to you," said I, "and very sorry you have lost so much time;
but I cannot possibly help it, for I engaged myself without knowing you would
call."</p>
<p> "Lord, what signifies that?" said Miss Polly, "you're no old maid, and so you
needn't be so very formal: besides I dare say those you are engaged to a'n't half so
near related to you as we are."</p>
<p> "I must beg you not to press me any further, for I assure you it is not in my power
to attend you."</p>
<p> "Why, we came all out of the city on purpose: besides, your grand-mama expects
you;-and, pray, what are we to say to her?"</p>
<p> "Tell her, if you please, that I am much concerned,-but that I am pre-engaged."</p>
<p> "And who to?" demanded the abrupt Miss Branghton.</p>
<p> "To Mrs. Mirvan,-and a large party."</p>
<p> "And, pray, what are you all going to do, that it would be such a mighty matter for
you to come along with us?"</p>
<p> "We are all going to-to the opera."</p>
<p> "O dear, if that be all, why can't we go altogether?"</p>
<p> I was extremely disconcerted at this forward and ignorant behaviour, and yet their
rudeness very much lessened my concern at refusing them. Indeed, their dress was such
as would have rendered their scheme of accompanying our party impracticable, even if
I had desired it; and this, as they did not themselves find it out, I was obliged, in
terms the least mortifying I could think of, to tell them.</p>
<p> They were very much chagrined, and asked where I should sit.</p>
<p> "In the pit," answered I.</p>
<p> "In the pit," repeated Miss Branghton; "well, really, I must own, I should never
have supposed that my gown was not good enough for the pit: but come, Polly, let's
go; if Miss does not think us fine enough for her, why to be sure she may
choose."</p>
<p> Surprised at this ignorance, I would have explained to them, that the pit at the
opera required the same dress as the boxes; but they were so much affronted they
would not hear me; and, in great displeasure, left the room, saying, they would not
have troubled me, only they thought I should not be proud with my own relations, and
that they had at least as good a right to my company as strangers.</p>
<p> I endeavoured to apologize, and would have sent a long message to Madame Duval: but
they hastened away without listening to me; and I could not follow them down stairs,
because I was not dressed. The last words I heard them say were, "Well, her grandmama
will be in a fine passion, that's one good thing."</p>
<p> Though I was extremely mad at this visit, yet I so heartily rejoiced at their going,
that I would not suffer myself to think gravely about it.</p>
<p> Soon after, Sir Clement actually came, and we all went down stairs. Mrs. Mirvan
ordered tea; and we were engaged in a very lively conversation, when the servant
announced Madame Duval, who instantly followed him into the room.</p>
<p> Her face was the colour of scarlet, and her eyes sparkled with fury. She came up to
me with a hasty step, saying, "So, Miss, you refuses to come to me, do you? And pray
who are you, to dare to disobey me?"</p>
<p> I was quite frightened;-I made no answer;-I even attempted to rise, and could not,
but sat still, mute and motionless.</p>
<p> Everybody but Miss Mirvan seemed in the utmost astonishment; and the Captain rising
and approaching Madame Duval, with a voice of authority, said, "Why, how now, Mrs.
Turkey-cock, what's put you into this here fluster?"</p>
<p> "It's nothing to you," answered she, "so you may as well hold your tongue; for I
shan't be called to no account by you, I assure you."</p>
<p> "There you're out, Madame Fury," returned he; "for you must know,<lb/>I never suffer
anybody to be in a passion in my house, but myself."</p>
<p> "But you shall," cried she, in a great rage; "for I'll be in as great a passion as
ever I please, without asking your leave: so don't give yourself no more airs about
it. And as for you Miss," again advancing to me, "I order you to follow me this
moment, or else I'll make you repent it all your life." And, with these words, she
flung out of the room.</p>
<p> I was in such extreme terror, at being addressed and threatened in a manner to which
I am so wholly unused, that I almost thought I should have fainted.</p>
<p> "Don't be alarmed, my love," cried Mrs. Mirvan, "but stay where you are, and I will
follow Madame Duval, and try to bring her to reason."</p>
<p> Miss Mirvan took my hand, and most kindly endeavoured to raise my spirits. Sir
Clement, too, approached me, with an air so interested in my distress, that I could
not but feel myself obliged to him; and, taking my other hand, said, "For Heaven's
sake, my dear Madam, compose yourself: surely the violence of such a wretch ought
merely to move your contempt; she can have no right, I imagine, to lay her commands
upon you, and I only wish that you would allow me to speak to her."</p>
<p> "O no! not for the world!-indeed, I believe,-I am afraid-I had better follow
her."</p>
<p> "Follow her! Good God, my dear Miss Anville, would you trust yourself with a mad
woman? for what else can you call a creature whose passions are so insolent? No, no;
send her word at once to leave the house, and tell her you desire that she will never
see you again."</p>
<p> "O, Sir! you don't know who you talk of!-it would ill become me to send Madame Duval
such a message."</p>
<p> "But why," cried he, (looking very inquisitive,) "why should you scruple to treat
her as she deserves?"</p>
<p> I then found that his aim was to discover the nature of her connection with me; but
I felt so much ashamed of my near relationship to her, that I could not persuade
myself to answer him, and only intreated that he would leave her to Mrs. Mirvan, who
just then entered the room.</p>
<p> Before she could speak to me, the Captain, called out, "Well, Goody, what have you
done with Madame French? is she cooled a little? cause if she ben't, I've just
thought of a most excellent device to bring her to."</p>
<p> "My dear Evelina," said Mrs. Mirvan, "I have been vainly endeavouring to appease
her; I pleaded your engagement, and promised your future attendance: but I am sorry
to say, my love, that I fear her rage will end in a total breach (which I think you
had better avoid) if she is any further opposed."</p>
<p> "Then I will go to her, Madam," cried I; "and, indeed, it is now no matter, for I
should not be able to recover my spirits sufficiently to enjoy much pleasure any
where this evening."</p>
<p> Sir Clement began a very warm expostulation and intreaty, that I would not go; but I
begged him to desist, and told him, very honestly, that, if my compliance were not
indispensably necessary I should require no persuasion to stay. He then took my hand,
to lead me down stairs; but the Captain desired him to be quiet, saying he would
'squire me himself, "because" he added, (exultingly rubbing his hands) "I have a wipe
ready for the old lady, which may serve her to chew as she goes along."</p>
<p> We found her in the parlour, "O you're come at last, Miss, are you?-fine airs you
give yourself, indeed!-ma foi, if you hadn't come, you might have staid, I assure
you, and have been a beggar, for your pains."</p>
<p> "Heyday, Madam," cried the Captain, (prancing forward, with a look of great glee)
"what, a'n't you got out of that there passion yet? why then, I'll tell you what to
do to cool yourself; call upon your old friend, Monseer Slippery, who was with you at
Ranelagh, and give my service to him, and tell him, if he sets any store by your
health, that I desire he'll give you such another souse as he did before: he'll know
what I mean, and I'll warrant you he'll do't for my sake."</p>
<p> "Let him, if he dares!" cried Madame Duval; "but I shan't stay to answer you no
more; you are a vulgar fellow;-and so, child, let us leave him to himself."</p>
<p> "Hark ye, Madam," cried the Captain, "you'd best not call names; because, d'ye see,
if you do, I shall make bold to shew you the door."</p>
<p> She changed colour, and saying, "Pardi, I can shew it myself," hurried out of the
room, and I followed her into a hackney-coach. But, before we drove off, the Captain,
looking out of the parlour window, called out "D'ye hear, Madam, don't forget my
message to Monseer."</p>
<p> You will believe our ride was not the most agreeable in the world; indeed, it would
be difficult to say which was least pleased, Madame Duval or me, though the reasons
of our discontent were so different: however, Madame Duval soon got the start of me;
for we had hardly turned out of Queen Ann Street, when a man, running full speed,
stopt the coach. He came up to the window, and I saw he was the Captain's servant. He
had a broad grin on his face, and panted for breath. Madame Duval demanded his
business: "Madam," answered he, "my master desires his compliments to you,
and-and-and he says he wishes it well over with you. He! he! he!-"</p>
<p> Madame Duval instantly darted forward, and gave him a violent blow on the face;
"Take that back for your answer, sirrah," cried she, "and learn not to grin at your
betters another time. Coachman, drive on!"</p>
<p> The servant was in a violent passion, and swore terribly; but we were soon out of
hearing.</p>
<p> The rage of Madame Duval was greater than ever; and she inveighed against the
Captain with such fury, that I was even apprehensive she would have returned to his
house, purposely to reproach him, which she repeatedly threatened to do; nor would
she, I believe, have hesitated a moment, but that, notwithstanding her violence, he
has really made her afraid of him.</p>
<p> When we came to her lodgings we found all the Branghtons in the passage, impatiently
waiting for us with the door open.</p>
<p> "Only see, here's Miss!" cried the brother.</p>
<p> "Well, I declare I thought as much!" said the younger sister.</p>
<p> "Why, Miss," said Mr. Branghton, "I think you might as well have come with your
cousins at once; it's throwing money in the dirt, to pay two coaches for one
fare."</p>
<p> "Lord, father," cried the son, "make no words about that; for I'll pay for the coach
that Miss had."</p>
<p> "O, I know very well," answered Mr. Branghton, "that you're always more ready to
spend than to earn."</p>
<p> I then interfered, and begged that I might myself be allowed to pay the fare, as the
expense was incurred upon my account; they all said no, and proposed that the same
coach should carry us to the opera.</p>
<p> While this passed the Miss Branghtons were examining my dress, which, indeed, was
very improper for my company; and, as I was extremely unwilling to be so conspicuous
amongst them, I requested Madame Duval to borrow a hat or bonnet for me of the people
of the house. But she never wears either herself, and thinks them very English and
barbarous; therefore she insisted that I should go full dressed, as I had prepared
myself for the pit, though I made many objections.</p>
<p> We were then all crowded into the same carriage; but when we arrived at the
opera-house, I contrived to pay the coachman. They made a great many speeches; but
Mr. Branghton's reflection had determined me not to be indebted to him.</p>
<p> If I had not been too much chagrined to laugh, I should have been extremely diverted
at their ignorance of whatever belongs to an opera. In the first place they could not
tell at what door we ought to enter, and we wandered about for some time, without
knowing which way to turn: they did not choose to apply to me, though I was the only
person of the party who had ever before been at an opera; because they were unwilling
to suppose that their country counsin, as they were pleased to call me, should be
better acquainted with any London public place than themselves. I was very
indifferent and careless upon this subject; but not a little uneasy at finding that
my dress, so different from that of the company to which I belonged, attracted
general notice and observation.</p>
<p> In a short time, however, we arrived at one of the door-keeper's bars. Mr. Branghton
demanded for what part of the house they took money? They answered, the pit; and
regarded us all with great earnestness. The son then advancing, said "Sir, if you
please, I beg that I may treat Miss."</p>
<p> "We'll settle that another time," answered Mr. Branghton, and put down a guinea.</p>
<p> Two tickets of admission were given to him.</p>
<p> Mr. Branghton, in his turn, now stared at the door-keeper, and demanded what he
meant by giving him only two tickets for a guinea.</p>
<p> "Only two, Sir!" said the man; "why, don't you know that the tickets are half-a
guinea each?"</p>
<p> "Half-a-guinea each!" repeated Mr. Branghton, "why, I never heard of such a thing in
my life! And pray, Sir, how many will they admit?"</p>
<p> "Just as usual, Sir, one person each."</p>
<p> "But one person for half-a-guinea!-why, I only want to sit in the pit, friend."</p>
<p> "Had not the ladies better sit in the gallery, Sir; for they'll hardly choose to go
into the pit with their hats on?"</p>
<p> "O, as to that," cried Miss Branghton, "if our hats are too high we'll take them off
when we get in. I sha'n't mind, it, for I did my hair on purpose."</p>
<p> Another party then approaching, the door-keeper could no longer attend to Mr.
Branghton; who, taking up the guinea, told him it should be long enough before he'd
see it again, and walked away.</p>
<p> The young ladies, in some confusion, expressed their surprise that their papa should
not know the opera prices, which, for their parts, they had read in the papers a
thousand times.</p>
<p> "The price of stocks," said he, "is enough for me to see after; and<lb/>I took it
for granted it was the same thing here as at the playhouse."</p>
<p> "I knew well enough what the price was," said the son; "but I would not speak,
because I thought perhaps they'd take less, as we're such a large party."</p>
<p> The sisters both laughed very contemptuously at this idea, and asked him if he ever
heard of people's abating any thing at a public place? I don't know whether I have or
not," answered he; "but I am sure if they would, you'd like it so much the
worse."</p>
<p> "Very true, Tom," cried Mr. Branghton; "tell a woman that any thing is reasonable,
and she'll be sure to hate it."</p>
<p> "Well," said Miss Polly, "I hope that aunt and Miss will be of our side, for papa
always takes part with Tom."</p>
<p> "Come, come," cried Madame Duval, "if you stand talking here, we shan't get no place
at all."</p>
<p> Mr. Branghton then enquired the way to the gallery; and, when we came to the
door-keeper, demanded what was to pay.</p>
<p> "The usual price, Sir," said the man.</p>
<p> "Then give me change," cried Mr. Branghton, again putting down his guinea.</p>
<p> "For how many, Sir?"</p>
<p> "Why-let's see,-for six."</p>
<p> "For six, Sir? why, you're given me but a guinea."</p>
<p> "But a guinea! why, how much would you have? I suppose it is'n't half-a-guinea a
piece here too?"</p>
<p> "No, Sir, only five shillings."</p>
<p> Mr. Branghton again took up his unfortunate guinea, and protested he would not
submit to no such imposition. I then proposed that we should return home, but Madame
Duval would not consent; and we were conducted, by a woman who sells books of the
opera, to another gallery-door, where, after some disputing, Mr. Branghton at last
paid, and we all went up stairs.</p>
<p> Madame Duval complained very much of the trouble of going so high: but Mr. Branghton
desired her not to hold the place too cheap; "for, whatever you think," cried he, "I
assure you I paid pit price; so don't suppose I come here to save my money."</p>
<p> "Well, to be sure," said Miss Branghton, "there's no judging of a place by the
outside, else, I must needs say, there's nothing very extraordinary in the
stair-case."</p>
<p> But, when we entered the gallery their amazement and disappointment became general.
For a few instants, they looked at one another without speaking, and then they all
broke silence at once.</p>
<p> "Lord, papa," exclaimed Miss Polly, "why, you have brought us to the one-shilling
gallery!"</p>
<p> "I'll be glad to give you two shillings, though," answered he, "to pay. I was never
so fooled out of my money before, since the house of my birth. Either the
door-keeper's a knave, or this is the greatest imposition that ever was put upon the
public."</p>
<p> "Ma foi," cried Madame Duval, "I never sat in such a mean place in all my life;-why,
it's as high-we shan't see nothing."</p>
<p> "I thought at the time," said Mr. Branghton, "that three shillings was an exorbitant
price for a place in the gallery: but as we'd been asked so much at the other doors,
why I paid it without many words; but, then, to be sure, thinks I, it can never be
like any other gallery, we shall see some crinkum-crankum or other for our money; but
I find it's as arrant a take-in as ever I met with."</p>
<p> "Why, it's as like the twelve-penny gallery at Drury Lane," cried the son, "as two
peas are to one another. I never knew father so bit before."</p>
<p> "Lord," said Miss Branghton, "I thought it would have been quite a fine place,-all
over, I don't know what,-and done quite in taste."</p>
<p> In this manner they continued to express their dissatisfaction till the curtain drew
up; after which their observations were very curious.</p>
<p> They made no allowance for the customs, or even for the language, of another
country; but formed all their remarks upon comparisons with the English theatre.</p>
<p> Notwithstanding my vexation at having been forced into a party so very disagreeable,
and that, too, from one so much-so very much the contrary-yet, would they have
suffered me to listen, I should have forgotten every thing unpleasant, and felt
nothing but delight in hearing the sweet voice of Signor Millico, the first singer;
but they tormented me with continual talking.</p>
<p> "What a jabbering they make!" cried Mr. Branghton, "there's no knowing a word they
say. Pray, what's the reason they can't as well sing in English?-but I suppose the
fine folks would not like it, if they could understand it."</p>
<p> "How unnatural their action is!" said the son: "why, now, who ever saw an Englishman
put himself in such out-of-the-way postures?"</p>
<p> "For my part," said Miss Polly, "I think it's very pretty, only I don't know what it
means."</p>
<p> "Lord, what does that signify," cried her sister; "mayn't one like a thing without
being so very particular?-You may see that Miss likes it, and I don't suppose she
knows more of the matter than we do."</p>
<p> A gentleman, soon after, was so obliging as to make room in the front row for Miss
Branghton and me. We had no sooner seated ourselves, than Miss Branghton exclaimed,
"Good gracious! only see!-why, Polly, all the people in the pit are without hats,
dressed like anything!"</p>
<p> "Lord, so they are," cried Miss Polly; "well, I never saw the like!-it's worth
coming to the opera, if one saw nothing else."</p>
<p> I was then able to distinguish the happy party I had left; and I saw that Lord
Orville had seated himself next to Mrs. Mirvan. Sir Clement had his eyes perpetually
cast towards the five-shilling gallery, where I suppose he concluded that we were
seated; however, before the opera was over, I have reason to believe that he had
discovered me, high and distant as I was from him. Probably he distinguished me by my
head-dress.</p>
<p> At the end of the first act, as the green curtain dropped to prepare for the dance,
they imagined that the opera was done; and Mr. Branghton expressed great indignation
that he had been tricked out of his money with so little trouble. "Now, if any
Englishman was to do such an impudent thing as this," said he, "why, he'd be
pelted;-but here, one of these outlandish gentry may do just what he pleases, and
come on, and squeak out a song or two, and then pocket your money without further
ceremony."</p>
<p> However, so determined he was to be dissatisfied, that, before the conclusion of the
third act, he found still more fault with the opera for being too long; and wondered
whether they thought their singing good enough to serve us for supper.</p>
<p> During the symphony of a song of Signor Millico's, in the second act, young Mr.
Branghton said, "It's my belief that that fellow's going to sing another song!-why,
there's nothing but singing!-I wonder when they'll speak."</p>
<p> This song, which was slow and pathetic, caught all my attention, and I leaned my
head forward to avoid hearing their observations, that I might listen without
interruption: but, upon turning round, when the song was over, I found that I was the
object of general diversion to the whole party; for the Miss Branghtons were
tittering, and the two gentlemen making signs and faces at me, implying their
contempt of my affectation.</p>
<p> This discovery determined me to appear as inattentive as themselves; but I was very
much provoked at being thus prevented enjoying the only pleasure, which, in such a
party, was within my power.</p>
<p> "So Miss," said Mr. Branghton, "you're quite in the fashion, I see-so you like
operas? Well, I'm not so polite; I can't like nonsense, let it be never so much the
taste."</p>
<p> "But pray, Miss," said the son, "what makes that fellow look so doleful while he is
singing?"</p>
<p> "Probably because the character he performs is in distress."</p>
<p> "Why, then, I think he might as well let alone singing till he's in better cue: it's
out of all nature for a man to be piping when he's in distress. For my part, I never
sing but when I'm merry; yet I love a song as well as most people."</p>
<p> When the curtain dropt they all rejoiced.</p>
<p> "How do you like it?"-and "How do you like it?" passed from one to another with
looks of the utmost contempt. "As for me," said Mr. Branghton, "they've caught me
once; but if ever they do again, I'll give 'em leave to sing me to Bedlam for my
pains: for such a heap of stuff never did I hear: there isn't one ounce of sense in
the whole opera, nothing but one continued squeaking and squalling from beginning to
end."</p>
<p> "If I had been in the pit," said Madame Duval, "I should have liked it vastly, for
music is my passion; but sitting in such a place as this, is quite unbearable."</p>
<p> Miss Branghton, looking at me, declared, that she was not genteel enough to admire
it.</p>
<p> Miss Polly confessed, that, if they would but sing English, she would like it very
well.</p>
<p> The brother wished he could raise a riot in the house, because then he might get his
money again.</p>
<p> And, finally, they all agreed that it was monstrous dear.</p>
<p> During the last dance, I perceived standing near the gallery-door, Sir Clement
Willoughby. I was extremely vexed, and would have given the world to have avoided
being seen by him: my chief objection was, from the apprehension that he would hear
Miss Branghton call me cousin.-I fear you will think this London journey has made me
grow very proud; but indeed this family is so low-bred and vulgar, that I should be
equally ashamed of such a connection in the country, or anywhere. And really I had
already been so much chagrined that Sir Clement had been a witness of Madame Duval's
power over me, that I could not bear to be exposed to any further mortification.</p>
<p> As the seats cleared, by parties going away, Sir Clement approached nearer to us.
The Miss Branghtons observed with surprise, what a fine gentleman was come into the
gallery; and they gave me great reason to expect, that they would endeavour to
attract his notice, by familiarity with me, whenever he should join us; and so I
formed a sort of plan to prevent any conversation. I'm afraid you will think it
wrong; and so I do myself now;-but, at the time, I only considered how I might avoid
immediate humiliation.</p>
<p> As soon as he was within two seats of us, he spoke to me: "I am very happy, Miss
Anville, to have found you, for the ladies below have each an humble attendant, and
therefore I am come to offer my services here."</p>
<p> "Why then," cried I, (not without hesitating) "if you please,-I will join them."</p>
<p> "Will you allow me the honour of conducting you?" cried he eagerly; and, instantly
taking my hand, he would have marched away with me: but I turned to Madame Duval, and
said, "As our party is so large, Madame, if you will give me leave, I will go down to
Mrs. Mirvan, that I may not crowd you in the coach."</p>
<p> And then, without waiting for an answer, I suffered Sir Clement to hand me out of
the gallery.</p>
<p> Madame Duval, I doubt not, will be very angry; and so I am with myself now, and
therefore I cannot be surprised: but Mr. Branghton, I am sure, will easily comfort
himself, in having escaped the additional coach-expense of carrying me to Queen Ann
Street; as to his daughters, they had no time to speak; but I saw they were in utter
amazement.</p>
<p> My intention was to join Mrs. Mirvan, and accompany her home. Sir Clement was in
high spirits and good humour; and all the way he went, I was fool enough to rejoice
in secret at the success of my plan; nor was it till I got down stairs, and amidst
the servants, that any difficulty occurred to me of meeting with my friends.</p>
<p> I then asked Sir Clement, how I should contrive to acquaint Mrs. Mirvan that I had
left Madame Duval?</p>
<p> "I fear it will be almost impossible to find her," answered he; "but you can have no
objection to permitting me to see you safe home."</p>
<p> He then desired his servant, who was waiting, to order his chariot to draw up.</p>
<p> This quite startled me; I turned to him hastily, and said that I could not think of
going away without Mrs. Mirvan.</p>
<p> "But how can we meet with her?" cried he; "you will not choose to go into the pit
yourself; I cannot send a servant there; and it is impossible for me to go and leave
you alone."</p>
<p> The truth of this was indisputable, and totally silenced me. Yet, as soon as I could
recollect myself, I determined not to go into his chariot, and told him I believed I
had best return to my party up stairs.</p>
<p> He would not hear of this; and earnestly intreated me not to withdraw the trust I
had reposed in him.</p>
<p> While he was speaking, I saw Lord Orville, with several ladies and gentlemen, coming
from the pit passage: unfortunately he saw me too, and, leaving his company, advanced
instantly towards me, and with an air and voice of surprise, said, "Good God, do I
see Miss Anville!"</p>
<p> I now most severely felt the folly of my plan, and the awkwardness of my situation:
however, I hastened to tell him, though in a hesitating manner, that I was waiting
for Mrs. Mirvan; but what was my disappointment, when he acquainted me that she was
already gone home!</p>
<p> I was inexpressibly distressed; to suffer Lord Orville to think me satisfied with
the single protection of Sir Clement Willoughby, I could not bear; yet I was more
than ever averse to returning to a party which I dreaded his seeing. I stood some
moments in suspense, and could not help exclaiming, "Good Heaven, what can I do!"</p>
<p> "Why, my dear madam," cried Sir Clement, "should you be thus uneasy?-you will reach
Queen Ann Street almost as soon as Mrs. Mirvan, and I am sure you cannot doubt being
as safe."</p>
<p> I made no answer, and Lord Orville then said, "My coach is here; and my servants are
ready to take any commands Miss Anville will honour me with for them. I shall myself
go home in a chair, and therefore-"</p>
<p> How grateful did I feel for a proposal so considerate, and made with so much
delicacy! I should gladly have accepted it, had I been permitted, but Sir Clement
would not let him even finish his speech; he interrupted him with evident
displeasure, and said, "My Lord, my own chariot is now at the door."</p>
<p> And just then the servant came, and told him the carriage was ready. He begged to
have the honour of conducting me to it, and would have taken my hand; but I drew it
back, saying, "I can't-I can't indeed! pray go by yourself-and as to me, let me have
a chair."</p>
<p> "Impossible," cried he with vehemence, "I cannot think of trusting you with strange
chairmen,-I cannot answer it to Mrs. Mirvan;-come, dear Madam, we shall be home in
five minutes."</p>
<p> Again I stood suspended. With what joy would I then have compromised with my pride,
to have been once more with Madame Duval and the Branghtons, provided I had not met
with Lord Orville! However, I flatter myself that he not only saw but pitied my
embarrassment; for he said in a tone of voice unusually softened, "To offer my
services in the presence of Sir Clement Willoughby would be superfluous; but I hope I
need not assure Miss Anville how happy it would make me to be of the least use to
her."</p>
<p> I courtsied my thanks. Sir Clement, with great earnestness, pressed me to go; and
while I was thus uneasily deliberating what to do, the dance, I suppose, finished,
for the people crowded down stairs. Had Lord Orville then repeated his offer, I would
have accepted it notwithstanding Sir Clement's repugnance; but I fancy he thought it
would be impertinent. In a very few minutes I heard Madame Duval's voice, as she
descended from the gallery. "Well," cried I hastily, "if I must go-" I stopt; but Sir
Clement immediately handed me into his chariot, called out, "Queen Ann Street," and
then jumped in himself. Lord Orville, with a bow and a half smile, wished me good
night.</p>
<p> My concern was so great at being seen and left by Lord Orville in so strange a
situation, that I should have been best pleased to have remained wholly silent during
our ride home; but Sir Clement took care to prevent that.</p>
<p> He began by making many complaints of my unwillingness to trust myself with him, and
begged to know what could be the reason? This question so much embarrassed me, that I
could not tell what to answer; but only said, that I was sorry to have taken up so
much of his time.</p>
<p> "O Miss Anville," cried he, taking my hand, "if you knew with what transport I would
dedicate to you not only the present but all the future time allotted to me, you
would not injure me by making such an apology."</p>
<p> I could not think of a word to say to this, nor to a great many other equally fine
speeches with which he ran on; though I would fain have withdrawn my hand, and made
almost continual attempts; but in vain, for he actually grasped it between both his,
without any regard to my resistance.</p>
<p> Soon after, he said that he believed the coachman was going the wrong way; and he
called to his servant, and gave him directions. Then again addressing himself to me,
"How often, how assiduously have I sought an opportunity of speaking to you, without
the presence of that brute, Captain Mirvan! Fortune has now kindly favoured me with
one; and permit me," again seizing my hand, "permit me to use it in telling you that
I adore you."</p>
<p> I was quite thunderstruck at this abrupt and unexpected declaration. For some
moments I was silent; but when I recovered from my surprise, I said, "Indeed, Sir, if
you were determined to make me repent leaving my own party so foolishly, you have
very well succeeded."</p>
<p> "My dearest life," cried he, "is it possible you can be so cruel? Can your nature
and your countenance be so totally opposite? Can the sweet bloom upon those charming
cheeks, which appears as much the result of good-humour as of beauty-"</p>
<p> "O, Sir," cried I, interrupting him, "this is very fine; but I had hoped we had had
enough of this sort of conversation at the ridotto, and I did not expect you would so
soon resume it."</p>
<p> "What I then said, my sweet reproacher, was the effect of a mistaken, a profane
idea, that your understanding held no competition with your beauty; but now, now that
I find you equally incomparable in both, all words, all powers of speech, are too
feeble to express the admiration I feel of your excellencies."</p>
<p> "Indeed," cried I, "if your thoughts had any connection with your language, you
would never suppose that I could give credit to praise so very much above my
desert."</p>
<p> This speech, which I made very gravely, occasioned still stronger protestations;
which he continued to pour forth, and I continued to disclaim, till I began to wonder
that we were not in Queen Ann Street, and begged he would desire the coachman to
drive faster.</p>
<p> "And does this little moment," cried he, "which is the first of happiness I have
ever known, does it already appear so very long to you?"</p>
<p> "I am afraid the man has mistaken the way," answered I, "or else we should ere now
have been at our journey's end. I must beg you will speak to him."</p>
<p> "And can you think me so much my own enemy?-if my good genius has inspired the man
with a desire of prolonging my happiness, can you expect that I should counteract its
indulgence?"</p>
<p> I now began to apprehend that he had himself ordered the man to go a wrong way; and
I was so much alarmed at the idea, that, the very instant it occurred to me, I let
down the glass, and made a sudden effort to open the chariot-door myself, with a view
of jumping into the street; but he caught hold of me, exclaiming, "For Heaven's sake,
what is the matter?"</p>
<p> "I-I don't know," cried I (quite out of breath), "but I am sure the man goes wrong;
and if you will not speak to him, I am determined I will get out myself."</p>
<p> "You amaze me," answered he (still holding me), "I cannot imagine what you
apprehend. Surely you can have no doubts of my honour?"</p>
<p> He drew me towards him as he spoke. I was frightened dreadfully, and could hardly
say, "No, Sir, no,-none at all: only Mrs. Mirvan,-I think she will be uneasy."</p>
<p> "Whence this alarm, my dearest angel?-What can you fear?-my life is at your
devotion, and can you, then, doubt my protection?"</p>
<p> And so saying, he passionately kissed my hand.</p>
<p> Never, in my whole life, have I been so terrified. I broke forcibly from him, and,
putting my head out of the window, called aloud to the man to stop. Where we then
were, I know not; but I saw not a human being, or I should have called for help.</p>
<p> Sir Clement, with great earnestness, endeavoured to appease and compose me: "If you
do not intend to murder me," cried I, "for mercy's, for pity's sake, let me get
out!"</p>
<p> "Compose your spirits, my dearest life," cried he, "and I will do everything you
would have me." And then he called to the man himself, and bid him make haste to
Queen Ann Street. "This stupid fellow," continued he, "has certainly mistaken my
orders; but I hope you are now fully satisfied."</p>
<p> I made no answer, but kept my head at the window watching which way he drove, but
without any comfort to myself, as I was quite unacquainted with either the right or
the wrong.</p>
<p> Sir Clement now poured forth abundant protestations of honour, and assurances of
respect, intreating my pardon for having offended me, and beseeching my good opinion:
but I was quite silent, having too much apprehension to make reproaches, and too much
anger to speak without.</p>
<p> In this manner we went through several streets, till at last, to my great terror, he
suddenly ordered the man to stop, and said, "Miss Anville, we are now within twenty
yards of your house; but I cannot bear to part with you, till you generously forgive
me for the offence you have taken, and promise not to make it known to the
Mirvan's."</p>
<p> I hesitated between fear and indignation.</p>
<p> "Your reluctance to speak redoubles my contrition for having displeased you, since
it shews the reliance I might have on a promise which you will not give without
consideration."</p>
<p> "I am very, very much distressed," cried I; "you ask a promise which you must be
sensible I ought not to grant, and yet dare not refuse."</p>
<p> "Drive on!" cried he to the coachman;-"Miss Anville, I will not compel you; I will
exact no promise, but trust wholly to your generosity."</p>
<p> This rather softened me; which advantage he no sooner received, than he determined
to avail himself of; for he flung himself on his knees, and pleaded with so much
submission, that I was really obliged to forgive him, because his humiliation made me
quite ashamed: and, after that, he would not let me rest till I gave him my word that
I would not complain of him to Mrs. Mirvan.</p>
<p> My own folly and pride, which had put me in his power, were pleas which I could not
but attend to in his favour. However, I shall take very particular care never to be
again alone with him.</p>
<p> When, at last, we arrived at our house, I was so overjoyed, that I should certainly
have pardoned him then, if I had not before. As he handed me up stairs, he scolded
his servant aloud, and very angrily, for having gone so much out of the way. Miss
Mirvan ran out to meet me; -and who should I see behind her, but Lord Orville!</p>
<p> All my joy now vanished, and gave place to shame and confusion; for I could not
endure that he should know how long a time Sir Clement and I had been together, since
I was not at liberty to assign any reason for it.</p>
<p> They all expressed great satisfaction at seeing me; and said they had been extremely
uneasy and surprised that I was so long coming home, as they had heard from Lord
Orville that I was not with Madame Duval. Sir Clement, in an affected passion, said,
that his booby of a servant had misunderstood his orders, and was driving us to the
upper end of Piccadilly. For my part, I only coloured; for though I would not forfeit
my word, I yet disdained to confirm a tale in which I had myself no belief.</p>
<p> Lord Orville, with great politeness, congratulated me, that the troubles of the
evening had so happily ended; and said, that he had found it impossible to return
home, before he enquired after my safety.</p>
<p> In a very short time he took his leave, and Sir Clement followed him. As soon as
they were gone, Mrs. Mirvan, though with great softness, blamed me for having quitted
Madame Duval. I assured her, and with truth, that for the future I would be more
prudent.</p>
<p> The adventures of the evening so much disconcerted me, that I could not sleep all
night. I am under the most cruel apprehensions lest Lord Orville should suppose my
being on the gallery-stairs with Sir Clement was a concerted scheme, and even that
our continuing so long together in his chariot was with my approbation, since I did
not say a word on the subject, nor express my dissatisfaction at the coachman's
pretended blunder.</p>
<p> Yet his coming hither to wait our arrival though it seems to imply some doubt, shews
also some anxiety. Indeed, Miss Mirvan says, that he appeared extremely anxious, nay,
uneasy and impatient for my return. If I did not fear to flatter myself, I should
think it not impossible but that he had a suspicion of Sir Clement's design, and was
therefore concerned for my safety.</p>
<p> What a long letter is this! however, I shall not write many more from London; for
the Captain said this morning, that he would leave town on Tuesday next. Madame Duval
will dine here to-day, and then she is to be told his intention.</p>
<p> I am very much amazed that she accepted Mrs. Mirvan's invitation, as she was in such
wrath yesterday. I fear that to-day I shall myself be the principal object of her
displeasure; but I must submit patiently, for I cannot defend myself.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dearest Sir. Should this letter be productive of any uneasiness to you,
more than ever shall I repent the heedless imprudence which it recites.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXII</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Monday Morning, April 18.</opener>
<p> MRS. MIRVAN has just communicated to me an anecdote concerning Lord<lb/>Orville,
which has much surprised, half pleased, and half pained me.</p>
<p> While they were sitting together during the opera, he told her that he had been
greatly concerned at the impertinence which the young lady under her protection had
suffered from Mr. Lovel; but that he had the pleasure of assuring her, she had no
future disturbance to apprehend from him.</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan, with great eagerness, begged he would explain himself; and said she
hoped he had not thought so insignificant an affair worthy his serious attention.</p>
<p> "There is nothing," answered he, "which requires more immediate notice than
impertinence, for it ever encroaches when it is tolerated." He then added, that he
believed he ought to apologize for the liberty he had taken in interfering; but that,
as he regarded himself in the light of a party concerned, from having had the honour
of dancing with Miss Anville, he could not possibly reconcile to himself a patient
neutrality.</p>
<p> He then proceeded to tell her, that he had waited upon Mr. Lovel the morning after
the play; that the visit had proved an amicable one, but the particulars were neither
entertaining nor necessary: he only assured her, Miss Anville might be perfectly
easy, since Mr. Lovel had engaged his honour never more to mention, or even to hint
at what had passed at Mrs. Stanley's assembly.</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan expressed her satisfaction at this conclusion, and thanked him for his
polite attention to her young friend.</p>
<p> "It would be needless," said he, "to request that this affair may never transpire,
since Mrs. Mirvan cannot but see the necessity of keeping it inviolably secret; but I
thought it incumbent upon me, as the young lady is under your protection, to assure
both you and her of Mr. Lovel's future respect."</p>
<p> Had I known of this visit previous to Lord Orville's making it, what dreadful
uneasiness would it have cost me! Yet that he should so much interest himself in
securing me from offence, gives me, I must own, an internal pleasure, greater than I
can express; for I feared he had too contemptuous an opinion of me, to take any
trouble upon my account. Though, after all, this interference might rather be to
satisfy his own delicacy, than from thinking well of me.</p>
<p> But how cool, how quiet is true courage! Who, from seeing Lord Orville at the play,
would have imagined his resentment would have hazarded his life? yet his displeasure
was evident, though his real bravery and his politeness equally guarded him from
entering into any discussion in our presence.</p>
<p> Madame Duval, as I expected, was most terribly angry yesterday: she scolded me for,
I believe, two hours, on account of having left her; and protested she had been so
much surprised at my going, without giving her time to answer, that she hardly knew
whether she was awake or asleep. But she assured me that if ever I did so again, she
would never more take me into public. And she expressed an equal degree of
displeasure against Sir Clement, because he had not even spoken to her, and because
he was always of the Captain's side in an argument. The Captain, as bound in honour,
warmly defended him, and then followed a dispute in the usual style.</p>
<p> After dinner, Mrs. Mirvan introduced the subject of our leaving<lb/>London. Madame
Duval said she would stay a month or two longer. The<lb/>Captain told her she was
welcome, but that he and his family should<lb/>go into the country on Tuesday
morning.</p>
<p> A most disagreeable scene followed. Madame Duval insisted upon keeping me with her;
but Mrs. Mirvan said, that as I was actually engaged on a visit to Lady Howard, who
had only consented to my leaving her for a few days, she could not think of returning
without me.</p>
<p> Perhaps, if the Captain had not interfered, the good-breeding and mildness of Mrs.
Mirvan might have had some effect upon Madame Duval; but he passes no opportunity of
provoking her; and therefore made so many gross and rude speeches, all of which she
retorted, that, in conclusion, she vowed she would sooner go to law in right of her
relationship, than that I should be taken away from her.</p>
<p> I heard this account from Mrs. Mirvan, who was so kindly considerate as to give me a
pretence for quitting the room as soon as this dispute began, lest Madame Duval
should refer to me, and insist on my obedience.</p>
<p> The final result of the conversation was, that, to soften matters for the present,
Madame Duval should make one in the party to Howard Grove, whither we are positively
to go next Wednesday. And though we are none of us satisfied with this plan, we know
not how to form a better.</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan is now writing to Lady Howard, to excuse bringing this unexpected guest,
and prevent the disagreeable surprise which must otherwise attend her reception. This
dear lady seems eternally studying my happiness and advantage.</p>
<p> To-night we go to the Pantheon, which is the last diversion we shall partake of in
London; for to-morrow- * * * * *</p>
<p> This moment, my dearest Sir, I have received your kind letter.</p>
<p> If you thought us too dissipated the first week, I almost fear to know what you will
think of us this second;-however, the Pantheon this evening will probably be the last
public place which I shall ever see.</p>
<p> The assurance of your support and protection in regard to Madame Duval, though what
I never doubted, excites my utmost gratitude. How, indeed, cherished under your roof,
the happy object of your constant indulgence, how could I have borne to become the
slave of her tyrannical humours? -Pardon me that I speak so hardly of her; but
whenever the idea of passing my days with her occurs to me, the comparison which
naturally follows, takes from me all that forbearance which, I believe, I owe
her.</p>
<p> You are already displeased with Sir Clement: to be sure, then, his behaviour after
the opera will not make his peace with you. Indeed the more I reflect upon it, the
more angry I am. I was entirely in his power, and it was cruel in him to cause me so
much terror.</p>
<p> O, my dearest Sir, were I but worthy the prayers and the wishes you offer for me,
the utmost ambition of my heart would be fully satisfied! but I greatly fear you will
find me, now that I am out of the reach of your assisting prudence, more weak and
imperfect than you could have expected.</p>
<p> I have not now time to write another word, for I must immediately hasten to dress
for the evening.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXIII</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Queen Ann Street, Tuesday, April 19.</opener>
<p> THERE is something to me half melancholy in writing an account of our last
adventures in London. However, as this day is merely appropriated to packing and
preparations for our journey, and as I shall shortly have no more adventures to
write, I think I may as well complete my town journal at once: and, when you have it
all together, I hope, my dear Sir, you will send me your observations and thoughts
upon it to Howard Grove.</p>
<p> About eight o'clock we went to the Pantheon. I was extremely struck with the beauty
of the building, which greatly surpassed whatever I could have expected or imagined.
Yet it has more the appearance of a chapel than of a place of diversion; and, though
I was quite charmed with the magnificence of the room, I felt that I could not be as
gay and thoughtless there as at Ranelagh; for there is something in it which rather
inspires awe and solemnity, than mirth and pleasure. However, perhaps it may only
have this effect upon such a novice as myself.</p>
<p> I should have said, that our party consisted only of Captain, Mrs. and<lb/>Miss
Mirvan, as Madame Duval spent the day in the city;-which I own<lb/>I could not
lament.</p>
<p> There was a great deal of company; but the first person we saw was Sir Clement
Willoughby. He addressed us with his usual ease, and joined us for the whole evening.
I felt myself very uneasy in his presence; for I could not look at him, nor hear him
speak, without recollecting the chariot adventure; but, to my great amazement, I
observed that he looked at me without the least apparent discomposure, though,
certainly, he ought not to think of his behaviour without blushing. I really wish I
had not forgiven him, and then he could not have ventured to speak to me any
more.</p>
<p> There was an exceeding good concert, but too much talking to hear it well. Indeed I
am quite astonished to find how little music is attended to in silence; for, though
every body seems to admire, hardly any body listens.</p>
<p> We did not see Lord Orville till we went into the tea-room, which is large, low, and
under ground, and serves merely as a foil to the apartments above; he then sat next
to us. He seemed to belong to a large party, chiefly of ladies; but, among the
gentlemen attending them, I perceived Mr. Lovel.</p>
<p> I was extremely irresolute whether or not I ought to make any acknowledgments to
Lord Orville for his generous conduct in securing me from the future impertinence of
that man; and I thought, that, as he had seemed to allow Mrs. Mirvan to acquaint me,
though no one else, of the measures which he had taken, he might perhaps suppose me
ungrateful if silent: however, I might have spared myself the trouble of
deliberating, as I never once had the shadow of an opportunity of speaking unheard by
Sir Clement. On the contrary, he was so exceedingly officious and forward, that I
could not say a word to any body but instantly he bent his head forward, with an air
of profound attention, as if I had addressed myself wholly to him; and yet I never
once looked at him, and would not have spoken to him on any account.</p>
<p> Indeed, Mrs. Mirvan herself, though unacquainted with the behaviour of Sir Clement
after the opera, says it is not right for a young woman to be seen so frequently in
public with the same gentleman; and, if our stay in town was to be lengthened, she
would endeavour to represent to the Captain the impropriety of allowing his constant
attendance; for Sir Clement with all his easiness, could not be so eternally of our
parties, if the Captain was less fond of his company.</p>
<p> At the same table with Lord Orville sat a gentleman,-I call him so only because he
was at the same table,-who, almost from the moment I was seated, fixed his eyes
steadfastly on my face, and never once removed them to any other object during
tea-time, notwithstanding my dislike of his staring must, I am sure, have been very
evident. I was quite surprised, that a man, whose boldness was so offensive, could
have gained admission into a party of which Lord Orville made one; for I naturally
concluded him to be some low-bred, uneducated man; and I thought my idea was
indubitably confirmed, when I heard him say to Sir Clement Willoughby, in an audible
whisper,-which is a mode of speech very distressing and disagreeable to
bystanders,-"For Heaven's sake, Willoughby, who is that lovely creature?"</p>
<p> But what was my amazement, when, listening attentively for the answer, though my
head was turned another way, I heard Sir Clement say, "I am sorry I cannot inform
your Lordship, but I am ignorant myself."</p>
<p> Lordship! how extraordinary! that a nobleman, accustomed, in all probability, to the
first rank of company in the kingdom, from his earliest infancy, can possibly be
deficient in good manners, however faulty in morals and principles! Even Sir Clement
Willoughby appeared modest in comparison with this person.</p>
<p> During tea, a conversation was commenced upon the times, fashions, and public
places, in which the company of both tables joined. It began by Sir Clement's
inquiring of Miss Mirvan and of me, if the Pantheon had answered our
expectations.</p>
<p> We both readily agreed that it had greatly exceeded them.</p>
<p> "Ay, to be sure," said the Captain, "why, you don't suppose they'd confess they
didn't like it, do you? Whatever's the fashion, they must like, of course;-or else,
I'd be bound for it, they'd own, that there never was such a dull place as this here
invented."</p>
<p> "And has, then, this building," said Lord Orville, "no merit that may serve to
lessen your censure? Will not your eye, Sir, speak something in its favour?"</p>
<p> "Eye!" cried the Lord, (I don't know his name,) "and is there any eye here, that can
find pleasure in looking at dead walls or statues, when such heavenly living objects
as I now see demand all their admiration?"</p>
<p> "O, certainly," said Lord Orville, "the lifeless symmetry of architecture, however
beautiful the design and proportion, no man would be so mad as to put in competition
with the animated charms of nature: but when, as to-night, the eye may be regaled at
the same time, and in one view, with all the excellence of art, and all the
perfection of nature, I cannot think that either suffer by being seen together."</p>
<p> "I grant, my Lord," said Sir Clement, "that the cool eye of unimpassioned philosophy
may view both with equal attention, and equal safety; but, where the heart is not so
well guarded, it is apt to interfere, and render, even to the eye, all objects but
one insipid and uninteresting."</p>
<p> "Aye, Aye," cried the Captain, "you may talk what you will of your eye here, and
your eye there, and, for the matter of that, to be sure you have two,-but we all know
they both squint one way."</p>
<p> "Far be it from me," said Lord Orville, "to dispute the magnetic power of beauty,
which irresistibly draws and attracts whatever has soul and sympathy: and I am happy
to acknowledge, that though we have now no gods to occupy a mansion professedly built
for them, yet we have secured their better halves, for we have goddesses to whom we
all most willingly bow down." And then with a very droll air, he made a profound
reverence to the ladies.</p>
<p> "They'd need to be goddesses with a vengeance," said the Captain, "for they're
mortal dear to look at. Howsomever, I should be glad to know what you can see in e'er
a face among them that's worth half-a-guinea for a sight."</p>
<p> "Half-a-guinea!" exclaimed that same Lord, "I would give half I am worth for a sight
of only one, provided I make my own choice. And, prithee, how can money be better
employed than in the service of fine women?"</p>
<p> "If the ladies of his own party can pardon the Captain's speech," said<lb/>Sir
Clement, "I think he has a fair claim to the forgiveness of all."</p>
<p> "Then you depend very much, as I doubt not but you may," said Lord Orville, "upon
the general sweetness of the sex;-but as to the ladies of the Captain's party, they
may easily pardon, for they cannot be hurt."</p>
<p> "But they must have a devilish good conceit of themselves, though," said the
Captain, "to believe all that. Howsomever, whether or no, I should be glad to be told
by some of you, who seem to be knowing in them things, what kind of diversion can be
found in such a place as this here, for one who has had, long ago, his full of
face-hunting?"</p>
<p> Every body laughed, but nobody spoke.</p>
<p> "Why, look you there now," continued the Captain, "you're all at a dead stand!-not a
man among you can answer that there question. Why, then, I must make bold to
conclude, that you all come here for no manner of purpose but to stare at one
another's pretty faces:-though, for the matter of that, half of 'em are plaguy
ugly;-and, as to t'other half,-I believe it's none of God's manufactory."</p>
<p> "What the ladies may come hither for, Sir," said Mr. Lovel, (stroking his ruffles,
and looking down,) "it would ill become us to determine; but as to we men, doubtless
we can have no other view than to admire them."</p>
<p>  "If I ben't mistaken," cried the Captain, (looking earnestly in<lb/> his
face,)<lb/>"you are that same person we saw at Love for Love t'other night;<lb/>ben't
you?"</p>
<p> Mr. Lovel bowed.</p>
<p> "Why, then, Gentlemen," continued he, with a loud laugh, "I must tell you a most
excellent good joke;-when all was over, as sure as you're alive, he asked what the
play was! Ha, ha, ha!"</p>
<p>  "Sir," said Mr. Lovel, colouring, "if you were as much used to<lb/> town-life as
I<lb/>am,-which, I presume, is not precisely the case,-I fancy you would<lb/>not find
so much diversion from a circumstance so common."</p>
<p> "Common! What, is it common?" repeated the Captain; "why then, 'fore George, such
chaps are more fit to be sent to school, and well disciplined with a cat-o'-nine
tails, than to poke their heads into a play-house. Why, a play is the only thing
left, now-a-days, that has a grain of sense in it; for as to all the rest of your
public places, d'ye see, if they were all put together, I wouldn't give that for
'em!" (snapping his fingers.) "And now we're talking of them sort of things, there's
your operas,-I should like to know, now, what any of you can find to say for
them."</p>
<p> Lord Orville, who was most able to have answered, seemed by no means to think the
Captain worthy an argument, upon a subject concerning which he had neither knowledge
nor feeling: but, turning to us, he said, "The ladies are silent, and we seem to have
engrossed the conversation to ourselves, in which we are much more our own enemies
than theirs. But," addressing himself to Miss Mirvan and me, "I am most desirous to
hear the opinions of these young ladies, to whom all public places must, as yet, be
new."</p>
<p> We both, and with eagerness, declared that we had received as much, if not more
pleasure, at the opera than any where: but we had better have been silent; for the
Captain, quite displeased, said, "What signifies asking them girls? Do you think they
know their own minds yet? Ask 'em after any thing that's called diversion, and you're
sure they'll say it's vastly fine-they are a set of parrots, and speak by rote, for
they all say the same thing: but ask 'em how they like making puddings and pies, and
I'll warrant you'll pose 'em. As to them operas, I desire I may hear no more of their
liking such nonsense; and for you, Moll" (to his daughter,) "I charge you, as you
value my favour, that you'll never again be so impertinent as to have a taste of your
own before my face. There are fools enough in the world, without your adding to their
number. I'll have no daughter of mine affect them sort of megrims. It is a shame they
a'n't put down; and if I'd my will, there's not a magistrate in this town but should
be knocked on the head for suffering them. If you've a mind to praise any thing, why
you may praise a play, and welcome, for I like it myself."</p>
<p> This reproof effectually silenced us both for the rest of the evening. Nay, indeed,
for some minutes it seemed to silence every body else; till Mr. Lovel, not willing to
lose an opportunity of returning the Captain's sarcasm, said, "Why, really Sir, it is
but natural to be most pleased with what is most familiar; and, I think, of all our
diversions, there is not one so much in common between us and the country as a play.
Not a village but has its barns and comedians; and as for the stage business, why it
may be pretty equally done any where; and even in regard to us, and the canaille,
confined as we all are within the semi-circle of a theatre, there is no place where
the distinction is less obvious."</p>
<p>  While the Captain seemed considering for Mr. Lovel's meaning,<lb/> Lord
Orville,<lb/>probably with a view to prevent his finding it, changed the
subject<lb/>to Cox's Museum, and asked what he thought of it?</p>
<p>  "Think!-"said he, "why I think as how it i'n't worth thinking<lb/> about. I
like<lb/>no such jemcracks. It is only fit, in my mind, for monkeys:-though,<lb/>for
aught I know, they too might turn up their noses at it."</p>
<p> "May we ask your Lordship's own opinion?" said Mrs. Mirvan.</p>
<p> "The mechanism," answered he, "is wonderfully ingenioous: I am sorry it is turned to
no better account; but its purport is so frivolous, so very remote from all aim at
instruction or utility, that the sight of so fine a show leaves a regret on the mind,
that so much work, and so much ingenuity, should not be better bestowed."</p>
<p> "The truth is," said the Captain, "that in all this huge town, so full as it is of
folks of all sorts, there i'n't so much as one public place, besides the play-house,
where a man, that's to say, a man who is a man, ought not to be ashamed to shew his
face. T'other day they got me to a ridotto: but, I believe, it will be long enough
before they get me to another. I knew no more what to do with myself, than if my
ship's company had been metamorphosed into Frenchman. Then, again, there's your
famous Ranelagh, that you make such a fuss about;-why what a dull place is that!-it's
the worst of all."</p>
<p>  "Ranelagh dull!"-"Ranelagh dull!-was echoed from mouth to mouth;<lb/> and
all<lb/>the ladies, as if of one accord, regarded the Captain with looks of<lb/>the
most ironical contempt.</p>
<p> "As to Ranelagh," said Mr. Lovell, "most indubitably, though the price is blebian,
it is by no means adapted to the plebian taste. It requires a certain acquaintance
with high life, and-and-and something of-of-something d'un vrai gout, to be really
sensible of its merit. Those whose-whose connections, and so forth, are not among les
gens comme il faut, can feel nothing but ennui at such a place as Ranelagh."</p>
<p> "Ranelagh!" cried Lord -, "O, tis the divinest place under heaven,-or, indeed,-for
aught I know-"</p>
<p> "O you creature!" cried a pretty, but affected young lady, patting him with her fan,
"you sha'n't talk so; I know what you are going to say; but, positively, I won't sit
by you, if you're so wicked."</p>
<p>  "And how can one sit by you, and be good?" said he, "when only to<lb/> look at
you<lb/>is enough to make one wicked-or wish to be so?"</p>
<p>  "Fie, my Lord!" returned she, "you really are insufferable. I don't<lb/> think
I<lb/>shall speak to you again these seven years."</p>
<p>  "What a metamorphosis," cried Lord Orville," should you make a<lb/> patriarch
of<lb/>his Lordship."</p>
<p>  "Seven years!" said he, "dear Madam, be contented with telling me<lb/> you
will<lb/>not speak to me after seven years, and I will endeavour to submit."</p>
<p> "O, very well, my Lord," answered she, "pray date the end of our speaking to each
other as early as you please, I'll promise to agree to your time."</p>
<p>  "You know, dear Madam," said he, sipping his tea, "you know I only<lb/> live
in<lb/>your sight."</p>
<p>  "O yes, my Lord, I have long known that. But I begin to fear we<lb/> shall be
too<lb/>late for Ranelagh this evening."</p>
<p>  "O no, Madame," said Mr. Lovel, looking at his watch, "it is but<lb/> just
past<lb/>ten."</p>
<p> "No more!" cried she, "O then we shall do very well."</p>
<p> All the ladies now started up, and declared they had no time to lose.</p>
<p>  "Why, what the D-l," cried the Captain, leaning forward with both<lb/> his
arms<lb/>on the table," are you going to Ranelagh at this time of night?"</p>
<p> The ladies looked at one another, and smiled.</p>
<p>  "To Ranelagh?" cried Lord -, "yes, and I hope you are going too;<lb/> for
we<lb/>cannot possibly excuse these ladies."</p>
<p> "I go to Ranelagh?-if I do, I'll be -."</p>
<p>  Everybody now stood up; and the stranger Lord, coming round to me,<lb/> said,
"You<lb/>go, I hope?"</p>
<p> "No, my Lord, I believe not."</p>
<p> "O you cannot, must not be so barbarous." And he took my hand, and ran on, saying
such fine speeches, and compliments, that I might almost have supposed myself a
goddess, and him a pagan paying me adoration. As soon as I possibly could, I drew
back my hand; but he frequently, in the course of conversation, contrived to take it
again, though it was extremely disagreeable to me; and the more so, as I saw that
Lord Orville had his eyes fixed upon us, with a gravity of attention that made me
uneasy.</p>
<p> And, surely, my dear Sir, it was a great liberty in this lord, not withstanding his
rank, to treat me so freely. As to Sir Clement, he seemed in misery.</p>
<p>  They all endeavoured to prevail with the Captain to join the<lb/> Ranelagh
party;<lb/>and this lord told me, in a low voice, that it was tearing his
heart<lb/>out to go without me.</p>
<p> During this conversation Mr. Lovel came forward, and assuming a look of surprise,
made me a bow, and inquired how I did, protesting upon his honour, that he had not
seen me before, or would have sooner paid his respects to me.</p>
<p>  Though his politeness was evidently constrained, yet I was very glad<lb/> to
be<lb/>thus assured of having nothing more to fear from him.</p>
<p>  The Captain, far from listening to their persuasions of accompanying<lb/> them
to<lb/>Ranelagh, was quite in a passion at the proposal, and vowed he
would<lb/>sooner go to the Blackhole in Calcutta.</p>
<p> "But," said Lord -, "if the ladies will take their tea at Ranelagh, you may depend
upon our seeing them safe home; for we shall be proud of the honour of attending
them."</p>
<p>  "May be so," said the Captain, "but I'll tell you what, if one<lb/> of
these<lb/>places ben't enough for them to-night, why to-morrow they shall go<lb/>to
ne'er a one."</p>
<p> We instantly declared ourselves ready to go home.</p>
<p> "It is not for yourselves that we petition," said Lord -. "But for us; if you have
any charity, you will not be so cruel as to deny us; we only beg you to prolong our
happiness for a few minutes,-the favour is but a small one for you to grant, though
so great a one for us to receive."</p>
<p> "To tell you a piece of my mind," said the Captain, surlily, "I think you might as
well not give the girls so much of this palaver; they'll take it all for gospel. As
to Moll, why she's well enough, but nothing extraordinary; though, perhaps, you may
persuade her that her pug nose is all the fashion; and as to the other, why she's
good white and red to be sure; but what of that?-I'll warrant she'll moulder away as
fast as her neighbours."</p>
<p> "Is there," cried Lord -, "another man in this place, who, seeing such objects,
could make such a speech?"</p>
<p> "As to that there," returned the Captain, "I don't know whether there be or no, and,
to make free, I don't care; for I sha'n't go for to model myself by any of these
fair-weather chaps, who dare not so much as say their souls are their own,-and, for
aught I know, no more they ben't. I'm almost as much ashamed of my countrymen as if I
was a Frenchman, and I believe in my heart there i'n't a pin to choose between them;
and, before long, we shall hear the very sailors talking that lingo, and see never a
swabber without a bag and a sword."</p>
<p>  "He, he, he!-well, 'pon honour," cried Mr. Lovel, "you gentlemen of<lb/> the
ocean<lb/>have a most severe way of judging."</p>
<p> "Severe! 'fore George, that is impossible; for, to cut the matter short, the men, as
they call themselves, are no better than monkeys; and as to the women, why they are
mere dolls. So now you've got my opinion of this subject; and I so wish you good
night."</p>
<p> The ladies, who were very impatient to be gone, made their courtsies, and tripped
away, followed by all the gentlemen of their party, except the lord before mentioned,
and, Lord Orville, who stayed to make inquiries of Mrs. Mirvan concerning our leaving
town; and then saying, with his usual politeness, something civil to each of us, with
a very grave air he quitted us.</p>
<p> Lord - remained some minutes longer, which he spent in making a profusion of
compliments to me; by which he prevented my hearing distinctly what Lord Orville
said, to my great vexation, especially as he looked-I thought so, at least-as if
displeased at his particularity of behaviour to me.</p>
<p> In going to an outward room, to wait for the carriage, I walked, and could not
possibly avoid it, between this nobleman and Sir Clement Willoughby, and, when the
servant said the coach stopped the way, though the latter offered me his hand, which
I should much have preferred, this same lord, without any ceremony, took mine
himself; and Sir Clement, with a look extremely provoked, conducted Mrs. Mirvan.</p>
<p> In all ranks and all stations of life, how strangely do characters and manners
differ! Lord Orville, with a politeness which knows no intermission, and makes no
distinction, is as unassuming and modest as if he had never mixed with the great, and
was totally ignorant of every qualification he possesses; this other lord, though
lavish of compliments and fine speeches, seems to me an entire stranger to real
good-breeding; whoever strikes his fancy, engrosses his whole attention. He is
forward and bold; has an air of haughtiness towards men, and a look of libertinism
towards woman; and his conscious quality seems to have given him a freedom in his way
of speaking to either sex, that is very little short of rudeness.</p>
<p>  When we returned home, we were all low-spirited. The
evening's<lb/> entertainment<lb/>had displeased the Captain; and his displeasure, I
believe,<lb/>disconcerted us all.</p>
<p> And here I thought to have concluded my letter; but, to my great surprise, just now
we had a visit from Lord Orville. He called, he said, to pay his respects to us
before we left town, and made many inquiries concerning our return; and, when Mrs
Mirvan told him we were going into the country without any view of again quitting it,
he expressed concern in such terms-so polite, so flattering, so serious-that I could
hardly forbear being sorry for myself. Were I to go immediately to Berry Hill, I am
sure I should feel nothing but joy;-but, now we are joined by this Captain, and
Madame Duval, I must own I expect very little pleasure at Howard Grove.</p>
<p> Before Lord Orville went, Sir Clement Willoughby called. He was more grave than I
had ever seen him; and made several attempts to speak to me in a low voice, and to
assure me that his regret upon the occasion of our journey was entirely upon my
account. But I was not in spirits, and could not bear to be teased by him. However,
he has so well paid his court to Captain Mirvan, that he gave him a very hearty
invitation to the Grove. At this he brightened,-and just then Lord Orville took
leave.</p>
<p> No doubt but he was disgusted at this ill-timed, ill-bred partiality; for surely it
was very wrong to make an invitation before Lord Orville in which he was not
included! I was so much chagrined, that, as soon as he went, I left the room; and I
shall not go down stairs till Sir Clement is gone.</p>
<p> Lord Orville cannot but observe his assiduous endeavours to ingratiate himself into
my favour; and does not this extravagant civility of Captain Mirvan give him reason
to suppose that it meets with our general approbation? I cannot thimk upon this
subject without inexpressible uneasiness; and yet I can think of nothing else.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dearest Sir. Pray write to me immediately. How many long letters has this
one short fortnight produced! More than I may probably ever write again. I fear I
shall have tired you with reading them; but you will now have time to rest, for I
shall find but little to say in future.</p>
<p>  And now, most honoured Sir, with all the follies and imperfections<lb/> which
I<lb/>have thus faithfully recounted, can you, and with unabated kindness,<lb/>suffer
me to sign myself Your dutiful and most affectionate EVELINA?</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXIV</head>
<opener> MR VILLARS TO EVELINA Berry Hill, April 22.</opener>
<p> HOW much do I rejoice that I can again address my letters to Howard Grove! My
Evelina would have grieved had she known the anxiety of my mind during her residence
in the great world. My apprehensions have been inexpressibly alarming; and your
journal, at once exciting and relieving my fears, has almost wholly occupied me since
the time of your dating it from London.</p>
<p> Sir Clement Willoughby must be an artful designing man: I am extremely irritated at
his conduct. The passion he pretends for you has neither sincerity nor honour; the
manner and the opportunities he has chosen to declare it, are bordering upon
insult.</p>
<p> His unworthy behaviour after the opera, convinces me, that, had not your vehemence
frightened him, Queen Ann Street would have been the last place whither he would have
ordered his chariot. O, my child, how thankful am I for your escape! I need not now,
I am sure, enlarge upon your indiscretion and want of thought, in so hastily trusting
yourself with a man so little known to you, and whose gaiety and flightiness should
have put you on your guard.</p>
<p> The nobleman you met at the Pantheon, bold and forward as you describe him to be,
gives me no apprehension; a man who appears so openly licentious, and who makes his
attack with so little regard to decorum, is one who, to a mind such as my Evelina's,
can never be seen but with the disgust which his manners ought to excite.</p>
<p> But Sir Clement, though he seeks occasion to give real offence, contrives to avoid
all appearance of intentional evil. He is far more dangerous, because more artful:
but I am happy to observe, that he seems to have made no impression upon your heart;
and therefore a very little care and prudence may secure you from those designs which
I fear he has formed.</p>
<p> Lord Orville appears to be of a better order of beings. His spirited conduct to the
meanly impertinent Lovel, and his anxiety for you after the opera, prove him to be a
man of sense and feeling. Doubtless he thought there was much reason to tremble for
your safety while exposed to the power of Sir Clement; and he acted with a regard to
real honour, that will always incline me to think well of him, in so immediately
acquainting the Mirvan family with your situation. Many men of this age, from a false
and pretended delicacy to a friend, would have quietly pursued their own affairs, and
thought it more honourable to leave an unsuspecting young creature to the mercy of a
libertine, than to risk his displeasure by taking measures for her security.</p>
<p> Your evident concern at leaving London is very natural, and yet it afflicts me. I
ever dreaded your being too much pleased with a life of dissipation, which youth and
vivacity render but too alluring; and I almost regret the consent for your journey,
which I had not the resolution to withhold.</p>
<p> Alas, my child, the artfulness of your nature, and the simplicity of your education,
alike unfit you for the thorny paths of the great and busy world. The supposed
obscurity of your birth and situation, makes you liable to a thousand disagreeable
adventures. Not only my views, but my hopes for your future life, have ever centered
in the country. Shall I own to you, that, however I may differ from Captain Mirvan in
other respects, yet my opinion of the town, its manners, inhabitants, and diversions,
is much upon upon a level with his own? Indeed it is the general harbour of fraud and
of folly, of duplicity and of impertinence; and I wish few things more fervently,
than that you may have taken a lasting leave of it.</p>
<p>  Remember, however, that I only speak in regard to a public
and<lb/> dissipated<lb/>life; in private families we may doubtless find as much
goodness,<lb/>honesty, and virtue, in London as in the country.</p>
<p> If contented with a retired station, I still hope I shall live to see my Evelina the
ornament of her neighbourhood, and the pride and delight of her family; and giving
and receiving joy from such society as may best deserve her affection, and employing
herself in such useful and innocent occupations as may secure and merit the tenderest
love of her friends, and the worthiest satisfaction of her own heart. Such are my
hopes, and such have been my expectations. Disappointment them not, my beloved child;
but cheer me with a few lines, that may assure me, this one short fortnight spent in
town has not undone the work of seventeen years spent in the country. ARTHUR
VILLARS.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXV</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, April 25.</opener>
<p> NO, my dear Sir, no: the work of seventeen years remains such as it was, ever
unworthy your time and your labour; but not more so now-at least I hope not,-than
before that fortnight which has so much alarmed you.</p>
<p> And yet I must confess, that I am not half so happy here at present as I was ere I
went to town: but the change is in the place, not in me. Captain Mirvan and Madame
Duval have ruined Howard Grove. The harmony that reigned here is disturbed, our
schemes are broken, our way of life is altered, and our comfort is destroyed. But do
not suppose London to be the source of these evils; for, had our excursion been any
where else, so disagreeable an addition to our household must have caused the same
change at our return.</p>
<p> I was sure you would be displeased with Sir Clement Willoughby, and therefore I am
by no means surprised at what you say of him; but for Lord Orville-I must own I had
greatly feared that my weak and imperfect account would not have procured him the
good opinion which he so well deserves, and which I am delighted to find you seem to
have of him. O, Sir, could I have done justice to the merit of which I believe him
posessed;-could I have painted him to you such as he appeared to me;-then, indeed,
you would have had some idea of the claim which he has to your approbation!</p>
<p> After the last letter which I wrote in town, nothing more passed previous to our
journey hither, except a very violent quarrel between Captain Mirvan and Madame
Duval. As the Captain intended to travel on horseback, he had settled that we four
females should make use of his coach. Madame Duval did not come to Queen Ann Street
till the carriage had waited some time at the door; and then, attended by Monsieur Du
Bois, she made her appearance.</p>
<p> The Captain, impatient to be gone, would not suffer them to enter the house, but
insisted that we should immediately get into the coach. We obeyed; but were no sooner
seated, than Madame Duval said, "Come, Monsieur Du Bois, these girls can make very
good room for you; sit closer, children."</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan looked quite confounded; and M. Du Bois, after making some apologies
about crowding us, actually got into the coach, on the side with Miss Mirvan and me.
But no sooner was he seated, than the Captain, who had observed this transaction very
quietly, walked up to the coach door, saying, "What, neither with your leave, nor by
your leave?"</p>
<p> M. Du Bois seemed rather shocked, and began to make abundance of excuses: but the
Captain neither understood nor regarded him, and, very roughly, said, "Look'ee,
Monseer, this here may be a French fashion for aught I know,-but give and take is
fair in all nations; and so now, d'ye see, I'll make bold to show you an English
one."</p>
<p> And then, seizing his wrist, he made him jump out of the coach.</p>
<p> M. Du Bois instantly put his hand upon his sword, and threatened to resent this
indignity. The Captain, holding up his stick, bid him draw at his peril. Mrs. Mirvan,
greatly alarmed, got out of the coach, and, standing between them, intreated her
husband to re-enter the house.</p>
<p>  "None of your clack!" cried he angrily; "what the D-l, do you<lb/> suppose
I<lb/>can't manage a Frenchman?"</p>
<p>  Meantime, Madame Duval called out to M. Du Bois, "Eh, laissez-le,<lb/> mon ami,
ne<lb/>le corrigez pas; c'est une villaine bete qui n'en vaut pas la peine."</p>
<p> "Monsieur le Capitaine," cried M. Du Bois, "voulez-vous bien ne demander
pardon?"</p>
<p>  "O ho, you demand pardon, do you?" said the Captain," I thought as<lb/> much;
I<lb/>thought you'd come to;-so you have lost your relish for an
English<lb/>salutation, have you?" strutting up to him with looks of defiance.</p>
<p>  A crowd was now gathering, and Mrs. Mirvan again besought her husband<lb/> to
go<lb/>into the house.</p>
<p>  "Why, what a plague is the woman afraid of?-Did you ever know<lb/> a
Frenchman<lb/>that could not take an affront?-I warrant Monseer knows what he
is<lb/>about;-don't you Monseer?"</p>
<p> M. Du Bois, not understanding him, only said, "plait-il, Monsieur?"</p>
<p>  "No, nor dish me neither," answered the Captain; "but, be that as<lb/> it
may,<lb/>what signifies our parleying here? If you've any thing to propose,<lb/>speak
at once; if not, why let us go on our journey without more ado."</p>
<p>  "Parbleu, je n'entends rien, moi!" cried M. Du Bois, shrugging up
his<lb/>shoulders, and looking very dismal.</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan then advanced to him, and said in French, that she was sure the Captain
had not any intention to affront him, and begged he would desist from a dispute which
could only be productive of mutual misunderstanding, as neither of them knew the
language of the other.</p>
<p>  This sensible remonstrance had the desired effect; and M. Du Bois,<lb/> making
a<lb/>bow to every one except the Captain, very wisely gave up the point,<lb/>and
took leave.</p>
<p> We then hoped to proceed quietly on our journey; but the turbulent Captain would not
yet permit us. He approached Madame Duval with an exulting air, and said, "Why, how's
this, Madame? what, has your champion deserted you? why, I thought you told me, that
you old gentlewomen had it all your own way among them French sparks?"</p>
<p> "As to that, Sir," answered she, "it's not of no consequence what you thought; for a
person who can behave in such a low way, may think what he pleases for me, for I
sha'n't mind."</p>
<p>  "Why then, Mistress, since you must needs make so free," cried he,<lb/> "please
to<lb/>tell me the reason you took the liberty for to ask any of your<lb/>followers
into my coach without my leave? Answer me to that."</p>
<p> "Why, then, pray, Sir," returned she, "tell me the reaon why you took the liberty to
treat the gentleman in such an unpolite way, as to take and pull him neck and heels
out? I'm sure he hadn't done nothing to affront you, nor nobody else; and I don't
know what great hurt he would have done you, by just sitting still in the coach; he
would not have eat it."</p>
<p>  "What, do you think, then, that my horses have nothing to do but<lb/> to
carry<lb/>about your snivelling Frenchmen? If you do, Madam, I must make bold<lb/>to
tell you, you are out, for I'll see 'em hang'd first."</p>
<p> "More brute you, then! For they've never carried nobody half so good."</p>
<p> "Why, look'ee, Madam, if you must needs provoke me, I'll tell you a piece of my
mind; you must know, I can see as far into a millstone as another man; and so, if you
thought for to fob me off with another one of your smirking French puppies for a
son-in-law, why you'll find yourself in a hobble, that's all."</p>
<p> "Sir, you're a-but I won't say what;-but I protest I hadn't no such a thought, no
more hadn't Monsieur Du Bois."</p>
<p> "My dear," said Mrs. Mirvan, "we shall be very late."</p>
<p>  "Well, well," answered he, "get away then; off with you as fast as<lb/> you
can,<lb/>it's high time. As to Molly, she's fine lady enough in all conscience;<lb/>I
want none of your French chaps to make her worse."</p>
<p>  And so saying he mounted his horse and we drove off. And I could<lb/> not
but<lb/>think, with regret, of the different feelings we experienced upon<lb/>leaving
London, to what had belonged to our entering it.</p>
<p>  During the journey Madame Duval was so very violent against the<lb/> Captain,
that<lb/>she obliged Mrs. Mirvan to tell her, that, when in her presence,<lb/>she
must beg her to choose some other subject of discourse.</p>
<p>  We had a most affectionate reception from Lady Howard, whose<lb/> kindness
and<lb/>hospitality cannot fail of making every body happy who is disposed<lb/>so to
be.</p>
<p>  Adieu, my dearest Sir. I hope, though I have hitherto neglected<lb/> to
mention<lb/>it, that you have always remembered me to whoever has made any
inquiry<lb/>concerning me.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXVI</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, April 27.</opener>
<p> O MY dear Sir, I now write in the greatest uneasiness! Madame Duval has made a
proposal which terrifies me to death, and which was as unexpected as it is
shocking.</p>
<p> She had been employed for some hours this afternoon in reading letters from London:
and, just about tea-time, she sent for me into her room, and said, with a look of
great satisfaction, "Come here, child, I've got some very good news to tell you:
something that will surprise you, I'll give you my word, for you ha'n't no notion of
it."</p>
<p> I begged her to explain herself; and then, in terms which I cannot repeat, she said
she had been considering what a shame it was to see me such a poor country,
shame-faced thing, when I ought to be a fine lady; and that she had long, and upon
several occasions, blushed for me, though she must own the fault was none of mine;
for nothing better could be expected from a girl who had been so immured. However,
she assured me she had, at length, hit upon a plan, which would make quite another
creature of me.</p>
<p> I waited, without much impatience, to hear what this preface led to; but I was soon
awakened to more lively sensations, when she aquainted me, that her intention was to
prove my birthright, and to claim, by law, the inheritance of my real family!</p>
<p> It would be impossible for me to express my extreme consternation when she thus
unfolded her scheme. My surprise and terror were equally great; I could say nothing:
I heard her with a silence which I had not the power to break.</p>
<p> She then expatiated very warmly upon the advantages I should reap from her plan;
talked in a high style of my future grandeur; assured me how heartily I should
despise almost every body and every thing I had hitherto seen; predicted my marrying
into some family of the first rank in the kingdom; and, finally, said I should spend
a few months in Paris, where my education and manners might receive their last
polish.</p>
<p>  She enlarged also upon the delight she should have, in common<lb/> with
myself,<lb/>from mortifying the pride of certain people, and showing them
that<lb/>she was not to be slighted with impunity.</p>
<p> In the midst of this discourse, I was relieved by a summons to tea. Madame Duval was
in great spirits; but my emotion was too painful for concealment, and every body
enquired into the cause. I would fain have waived the subject, but Madame Duval was
determined to make it public. She told tham that she had it in her head to make
something of me, and that they should soon call me by another name than that of
Anville; and yet that she was not going to have the child married neither.</p>
<p> I could not endure to hear her proceed, and was going to leave the room; which, when
Lady Howard perceived, she begged Madame Duval would defer her intelligence to some
other opportunity; but she was so eager to communicate her scheme, that she could
bear no delay; and therefore they suffered me to go without opposition. Indeed,
whenever my situation or affairs are mentioned by Madame Duval, she speaks of them
with such bluntness and severity, that I cannot be enjoined a task more cruel than to
hear her.</p>
<p> I was afterwards accquainted with some particulars of the conversation by Miss
Mirvan; who told me that Madame Duval informed them of her plan wih the utmost
complacency, and seemed to think herself very fortunate in having suggested it; but,
soon after, she accidentally betrayed, that she had been instigated to the scheme by
her relations the Branghtons, whose letters, which she received today, first
mentioned the proposal. She declared that she would have nothing to do with any
roundabout ways, but go openly and instantly to law, in order to prove my birth, real
name, and title to the estate of my ancestors.</p>
<p> How impertinent and officious in these Branghtons, to interfere thus in my concerns!
You can hardly imagine what a disturbance this plan has made in the family. The
Captain, without enquiring into any particulars of the affair, has peremptorily
declared himself against it, merely because it has been proposed by Madame Duval; and
they have battled the point together with great violence. Mrs. Mirvan says, she will
not even think, till she hears your opinion. But Lady Howard, to my great surprise,
openly avows her appprobation of Madame Duval's intention; however, she will write
her reasons and sentiments upon the subject to you herself.</p>
<p> As to Miss Mirvan, she is my second self, and neither hopes nor fears but as I do.
And as to me,-I know not what to say, nor even what to wish; I have often thought my
fate peculiarly cruel, to have but one parent, and from that one to be banished for
ever;-while, on the other side, I have but too well known and felt the propriety of
the separation. And yet, you may much better imagine, than I can express, the
internal anguish which sometimes oppresses my heart, when I reflect upon the strange
indifference that must occasion a father never to make the least enquiry after the
health, the welfare, or even the life of his child!</p>
<p> O Sir, to me the loss is nothing!-greatly, sweetly, and most benevolently have you
guarded me from feeling it; but for him, I grieve indeed!-I must be divested, not
merely of all filial piety, but of all humanity, could I ever think upon this
subject, and not be wounded to the soul.</p>
<p> Again I must repeat, I know not what to wish; think for me, therefore, my dearest
Sir, and suffer my doubting mind, that knows not which way to direct its hopes, to be
guided by your wisdom and unerring counsel. EVELINA.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXVII</head>
<opener> LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove.</opener>
<p> Dear Sir,</p>
<p> I CANNOT give a greater proof of the high opinion I have of your candour, than by
the liberty I am now going to take, of presuming to offer you advice, upon a subject
concerning which you have so just a claim to act for yourself; but I know you have
too unaffected a love of justice, to be partially tenacious of your own judgment.</p>
<p> Madame Duval has been proposing a scheme which has put us all in commotion, and
against which, at first, in common with the rest of my family, I exclaimed: but, upon
more mature consideration, I own my objections have almost wholly vanished.</p>
<p> This scheme is no other than to commence a lawsuit with Sir John Belmont, to prove
the validity of his marriage with Miss Evelyn; the necessary consequence of which
proof will be, securing his fortune and estate to his daughter.</p>
<p> And why, my dear Sir, should not this be? I know that, upon first hearing, such a
plan conveys ideas that must shock you; but I know, too, that your mind is superior
to being governed by prejudices, or to opposing any important cause on account of a
few disagreeable attendant circumstances.</p>
<p> Your lovely charge, now first entering into life, has merit which ought not to be
buried in obscurity. She seems born for an ornament to the world. Nature has been
bountiful to her of whatever she had to bestow; and the peculiar attention you have
given to her education, has formed her mind to a degree of excellence, that in one so
young I have scarce ever seen equalled. Fortune alone has hitherto been sparing of
her gifts; and she, too, now opens the way which leads to all that is left to wish
for her.</p>
<p> What your reasons may have been, my good Sir, for so carefully concealing the birth,
name, and pretensions of this amiable girl, and forbearing to make any claim upon Sir
John Belmont, I am totally a stranger to; but, without knowing, I respect them, from
the high opinion that I have of your character and judgment: but I hope they are not
insuperable; for I cannot but think, that it was never designed for one who seems
meant to grace the world, to have her life devoted to retirement.</p>
<p> Surely Sir John Belmont, wretch as he has shown himself, could never see his
accomplished daughter, and not be proud to own her, and eager to secure her the
inheritance of his fortune. The admiration she met with in town, though merely the
effect of her external attractions, was such, that Mrs. Mirvan assures me, she would
have had the most splendid offers, had there not seemed to be some mystery in regard
to her birth, which, she was well informed was assiduously, though vainly,
endeavoured to be discovered.</p>
<p> Can it be right, my dear Sir, that this promising young creature should be deprived
of the fortune and rank of life to which she is lawfully entitled, and which you have
prepared her to support and to use so nobly? To despise riches may, indeed, be
philosophic; but to dispense them worthily must, surely, be more beneficial to
mankind.</p>
<p> Perhaps a few years, or indeed a much shorter time, may make this scheme
impracticable: Sir John, tho' yet young, leads a life too dissipated for long
duration; and when too late, we may regret that something was not sooner done: for it
will be next to impossible, after he is gone, to settle or prove anything with his
heirs and executors.</p>
<p> Pardon the earnestness with which I write my sense of this affair; but your charming
ward has made me so warmly her friend, that I cannot be indifferent upon a subject of
such importance to her future life.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dear Sir;-send me speedily an answer to this remonstrance, and believe me
to be, -c. M. HOWARD.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXVIII</head>
<opener>MR VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD Berry Hill, May 2.</opener>
<p> YOUR letter, Madam, has opened a source of anxiety, to which I look forward with
dread, and which, to see closed, I scarcely dare expect. I am unwilling to oppose my
opinion to that of your Ladyship; nor, indeed, can I, but by arguments which I
believe will rather rank me as a hermit ignorant of the world, and fit only for my
cell, than as a proper guardian, in an age such as this, for an accomplished young
woman. Yet, thus called upon, it behoves me to explain, and endeavour to vindicate,
the reasons by which I have been hitherto guided.</p>
<p> The mother of this dear child,-who was led to destruction by her own imprudence, the
hardness of heart of Madame Duval, and the villany of Sir John Belmont,-was once,
what her daughter is now, the best beloved of my heart: and her memory, so long as my
own holds, I shall love, mourn and honour! On the fatal day that her gentle soul left
its mansion, and not many hours ere she ceased to breathe, I solemnly plighted my
faith, That her child if it lived, should know no father but myself, or her
acknowledged husband.</p>
<p> You cannot, Madam, suppose that I found much difficulty in adhering to this promise,
and forbearing to make any claim upon Sir John Belmont. Could I feel an affection the
most paternal for this poor sufferer, and not abominate her destroyer? Could I wish
to deliver to him, who had so basely betrayed the mother, the helpless and innocent
offspring, who, born in so much sorrow, seemed entitled to all the compassionate
tenderness of pity?</p>
<p> For many years, the name alone of that man, accidentally spoken in my hearing,
almost divested me of my Christianity, and scarce could I forbear to execrate him.
Yet I sought not, neither did I desire, to deprive him of his child, had he with any
appearance of contrition, or, indeed, of humanity, endeavoured to become less
unworthy such a blessing;-but he is a stranger to all parental feelings, and has with
a savage insensibility, forborne to enquire even into the existence of this sweet
orphan, though the situation of his injured wife was but too well known to him.</p>
<p> You wish to be acquainted with my intentions.-I must acknowledge they were such as I
now perceive would not be honoured with your Ladyship's approbation; for though I
have sometimes thought of presenting Evelina to her father, and demanding the justice
which is her due, yet, at other times, I have both disdained and feared the
application; disdained lest it should be refused; and feared, lest it should be
accepted!</p>
<p> Lady Belmont, who was firmly persuaded of her approaching dissolution, frequently
and earnestly besought me, that if her infant was a female, I would not abandon her
to the direction of a man so wholly unfit to take the charge of her education: but,
should she be importunately demanded, that I would retire with her abroad, and
carefully conceal her from Sir John, till some apparent change in his sentiments and
conduct should announce him less improper for such a trust. And often would she say,
"Should the poor babe have any feelings correspondent with its mother's, it will have
no want while under your protection." Alas! she had no sooner quitted it herself,
than she was plunged into a gulph of misery, that swallowed up her peace, reputation,
and life.</p>
<p> During the childhood of Evelina, I suggested a thousand plans for the security of
her birth-right;-but I as many times rejected them. I was in a perpetual conflict,
between the desire that she should have justice done her, and the apprehension that,
while I improved her fortune, I should endanger her mind. However, as her character
began to be formed, and her disposition to be displayed, my perplexity abated; the
road before me seemed less thorny and intricate, and I thought I could perceive the
right path from the wrong: for when I observed the artless openness the ingenuous
simplicity of her nature; when I saw that her guileless and innocent soul fancied all
the world to be pure and disinterested as herself, and that her heart was open to
every impression with which love, pity, or art might assail it;-then did I flatter
myself, that to follow my own inclination, and to secure her welfare, was the same
thing; since, to expose her to the snares and dangers inevitably encircling a house
of which the master is dissipated and unprincipled, without the guidance of a mother,
or any prudent and sensible female, seemed to me no less than suffering her to
stumble into some dreadful pit, when the sun is in its meridian. My plan, therefore,
was not merely to educate and to cherish her as my own, but to adopt her the heiress
of my small fortune, and to bestow her upon some worthy man, with whom she might
spend her days in tranquility, cheerfulness, and good-humour, untainted by vice,
folly, or ambition.</p>
<p> So much for the time past. Such have been the motives by which I have been governed;
and I hope they will be allowed not merely to account for, but also to justify, the
conduct which has resulted from them. It now remains to speak of the time to
come.</p>
<p> And here, indeed, I am sensible of difficulties which I almost despair of
surmounting according to my wishes. I pay the highest deference to your Ladyship's
opinion, which it is extremely painful to me not to concur with;-yet I am so well
acquainted with your goodness, that I presume to hope it would not be absolutely
impossible for me to offer such arguments as might lead you to think with me, that
this young creature's chance of happiness seems less doubtful in retirement, than it
would be in the gay and dissipated world. But why should I perplex your Ladyship with
reasoning that can turn to so little account? for, alas! what arguments, what
persuasions, can I make use of, with any prospect of success, to such a woman as
Madame Duval? Her character and the violence of her disposition, intimidate me from
making the attempt: she is too ignorant for instruction, too obstinate for intreaty,
and too weak for reason.</p>
<p> I will not, therefore, enter into a contest from which I have nothing to expect but
altercation and impertinence. As soon would I discuss the effect of sound with the
deaf, or the nature of colours with the blind, as aim at illuminating with conviction
a mind so warped by prejudice, so much the slave of unruly and illiberal passions.
Unused as she is to control, persuasion would but harden, and opposition incense her.
I yield, therefore, to the necessity which compels my reluctant acquiescence; and
shall now turn all my thoughts upon considering of such methods for the conducting
this enterprise, as may be most conducive to the happiness of my child and least
liable to wound her sensibility.</p>
<p> The law-suit, therefore, I wholly and absolutely disapprove.</p>
<p> Will you, my dear Madam, forgive the freedom of an old man, if I own myself greatly
surprised, that you could, even for a moment, listen to a plan so violent, so public,
so totally repugnant to all female delicacy? I am satisfied your Ladyship has not
weighed this project. There was a time, indeed, when to assert the innocence of Lady
Belmont, and to blazon to the world the wrongs, not guilt, by which she suffered, I
proposed, nay attempted, a similar plan: but then all assistance and encouragement
was denied. How cruel to the remembrance I bear of her woes is this tardy resentment
of Madame Duval! She was deaf to the voice of Nature, though she has hearkened to
that of Ambition.</p>
<p> Never can I consent to have this dear and timid girl brought forward to the notice
of the world by such a method; a method which will subject her to all the
impertinence of curiosity, the sneers of conjecture, and the stings of ridicule. And
for what?-the attainment of wealth which she does not want, and the gratification of
vanity which she does not feel. A child to appear against a father!-no, Madam, old
and infirm as I am, I would even yet sooner convey her myself to some remote part of
the world, though I were sure of dying in the expedition.</p>
<p> Far different had been the motives which would have stimulated her unhappy mother to
such a proceeding; all her felicity in this world was irretrievably lost; her life
was become a burthen to her; and her fair fame, which she had early been taught to
prize above all other things, had received a mortal wound: therefore, to clear her
own honour, and to secure from blemish the birth of her child, was all the good which
fortune had reserved herself the power of bestowing. But even this last consolation
was withheld from her!</p>
<p> Let milder measures be adopted: and-since it must be so-let application be made to
Sir John Belmont, but as to a law-suit, I hope, upon this subject, never more to hear
it mentioned.</p>
<p> With Madame Duval, all pleas of delicacy would be ineffectual; her scheme must be
opposed by arguments better suited to her understanding. I will not, therefore, talk
of its impropriety, but endeavour to prove its inutility. Have the goodness, then, to
tell her, that her own intentions would be frustrated by her plan; since, should the
lawsuit be commenced, and even should the cause be gained, Sir John Belmont would
still have it in his power, and, if irritated, no doubt in his inclination, to cut
off her grand-daughter with a shilling.</p>
<p> She cannot do better herself than to remain quiet and inactive in the affair: the
long and mutual animosity between her and Sir John will make her interference merely
productive of debates and ill-will. Neither would I have Evelina appear till
summoned. And as to myself, I must wholly decline acting; though I will, with
unwearied zeal, devote all my thoughts to giving counsel: but, in truth, I have
neither inclination nor spirits adequate to engaging personally with this man.</p>
<p> My opinion is, that he would pay more respect to a letter from your Ladyship upon
this subject, than from any other person. I, therefore, advise and hope, that you
will yourself take the trouble of writing to him, in order to open the affair. When
he shall be inclined to see Evelina, I have for him a posthumous letter, which his
much injured lady left to be presented to him, if ever such a meeting should take
place.</p>
<p> The views of the Branghtons, in suggesting this scheme, are obviously interested.
They hope, by securing to Evelina the fortune of her father, to induce Madame Duval
to settle her own upon themselves. In this, however, they would probably be mistaken;
for little minds have ever a propensity to bestow their wealth upon those who are
already in affluence; and, therefore, the less her grandchild requires her
assistance, the more gladly she will give it.</p>
<p> I have but one thing more to add, from which, however, I can by no means recede: my
word so solemnly given to Lady Belmont, that her child should never be owned but with
her self, must be inviolably adhered to. I am, dear Madam, with great respect, Your
Ladyship's most obedient servant, ARTHUR VILLARS.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXIX</head>
<opener> MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA Berry Hill, May 2.</opener>
<p> HOW sincerely do I sympathise in the uneasiness and concern which my beloved Evelina
has so much reason to feel! The cruel scheme in agitation is equally repugnant to my
judgment and my inclination;-yet to oppose it seems impracticable. To follow the
dictates of my own heart, I should instantly recall you to myself, and never more
consent to your being separated from me; but the manners and opinion of the world
demand a different conduct. Hope, however, for the best, and be satisfied you shall
meet with no indignity; if you are not received into your own family as you ought to
be, and with the distinction that is your due, you shall leave it for ever; and once
again restored to my protection, secure your own tranquillity, and make, as you have
hitherto done, all the happiness of my life. ARTHUR VILLARS.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXX</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, May 6.</opener>
<p> THE die is thrown, and I attend the event in trembling! Lady Howard has written to
Paris, and sent her letter to town, to be forwarded in the ambassador's packet; and,
in less than a fortnight, therefore, she expects an answer. O, Sir, with what anxious
impatience shall I wait its arrival! upon it seems to depend the fate of my future
life. My solicitude is so great, and my suspense so painful, that I cannot rest a
moment in peace, or turn my thoughts into any other channel.</p>
<p> Deeply interested as I now am in the event, most sincerely do I regret that the plan
was ever proposed. Methinks it cannot end to my satisfaction: for either I must be
torn from the arms of my more than father,-or I must have the misery of being finally
convinced, that I am cruelly rejected by him who has the natural claim to that dear
title, which to write, mention, or think of, fills my whole soul with filial
tenderness.</p>
<p> The subject is discussed here eternally. Captain Mirvan and Madame Duval, as usual,
quarrel whenever it is started: but I am so wholly engrossed by my own reflections,
that I cannot even listen to them. My imagination changes the scene perpetually: one
moment, I am embraced by a kind and relenting parent, who takes me to that heart from
which I have hitherto been banished, and supplicates, through me, peace and
forgiveness from the ashes of my mother!-at another, he regards me with detestation,
considers me as the living image of an injured saint, and repulses me with
horror!-But I will not afflict you with the melancholy phantasms of my brain; I will
endeavour to compose my mind to a more tranquil state, and forbear to write again
till I have in some measure succeeded.</p>
<p> May Heaven bless you, my dearest Sir! and long, long may it continue you on earth,
to bless Your grateful EVELINA</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXXI</head>
<opener> LADY HOWARD TO SIR JOHN BELMONT, BART Howard Grove, May 5.</opener>
<p> Sir,</p>
<p> YOU will, doubtless, be surprised at receiving a letter from one who had for so
short a period the honour of your acquaintance, and that at so great a distance of
time; but the motive which has induced me to take this liberty is of so delicate a
nature, that were I to commence making apologies for my officiousness, I fear my
letter would be too long for your patience.</p>
<p> You have, probably, already conjectured the subject upon which I mean to treat. My
regard for Mr. Evelyn, and his amiable daughter, was well known to you: nor can I
ever cease to be interested in whatever belongs to their memory or family.</p>
<p> I must own myself somewhat distressed in what manner to introduce the purport of my
writing; yet as I think that, in affairs of this kind, frankness is the first
requisite to a good understanding between the parties concerned, I will neither
torment you nor myself with punctilious ceremonies, but proceed instantly and openly
to the business which occasions my giving you this trouble.</p>
<p> I presume, Sir, it would be superfluous to tell you, that your child resides still
in Dorsetshire, and is still under the protection of the Reverend Mr. Villars, in
whose house she was born: for, though no enquiries concerning her have reached his
ears, or mine, I can never suppose it possible you have forborne to make them. It
only remains, therefore, to tell you, that your daughter is now grown up; that she
has been educated with the utmost care, and the utmost success; and that she is now a
most deserving, accomplished, and amiable young woman.</p>
<p> Whatever may be your view for her future destination in life, it seems time to
declare it. She is greatly admired, and, I doubt not, will be very much sought after:
it is proper, therefore, that her future expectations, and your pleasure concerning
her, should be made known.</p>
<p> Believe me, Sir, she merits your utmost attention and regard. You could not see and
know her, and remain unmoved by those sensations of affection which belong to so near
and tender a relationship. She is the lovely resemblance of her lovely
mother;-pardon, Sir, the liberty I take in mentioning that unfortunate lady; but I
think it behoves me, upon this occasion, to shew the esteem I felt for her: allow me,
therefore, to say, and be not offended at my freedom, that the memory of that
excellent lady has but too long remained under the aspersions of calumny; surely it
is time to vindicate her fame;-and how can that be done in a manner more eligible,
more grateful to her friends, or more honourable to yourself, than by openly
receiving as your child, the daughter of the late Lady Belmont?</p>
<p> The venerable man who has had the care of her education, deserves your warmest
acknowledgments, for the unremitting pains he has taken, and the attention he has
shewn in the discharge of his trust. Indeed she has been peculiarly fortunate in
meeting with such a friend and guardian; a more worthy man, or one whose character
seems nearer to perfection, does not exist.</p>
<p> Permit me to assure you, Sir, she will amply repay whatever regard and favour you
may hereafter shew her, by the comfort and happiness you cannot fail to find in her
affection and duty. To be owned properly by you is the first wish of her heart; and,
I am sure, that to merit your approbation will be the first study of her life.</p>
<p> I fear that you will think this address impertinent; but I must rest upon the
goodness of my intention to plead my excuse. I am, Sir, Your most obedient humble
servant, M. HOWARD.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXXII</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, Kent, May 10.</opener>
<p> OUR house has been enlivened to-day by the arrival of a London visitor; and the
necessity I have been under of concealing the uneasiness of my mind, has made me
exert myself so effectually, that I even think it is really diminished; or, at least,
my thoughts are not so totally, so very anxiously, occupied by one subject only as
they lately were.</p>
<p> I was strolling this morning with Miss Mirvan, down a lane about a mile from the
Grove, when we heard the trampling of horses; and, fearing the narrowness of the
passage, we were turning hastily back, but stopped upon hearing a voice call out,
"Pray, Ladies, don't be frightened, for I will walk my horse." We turned again, and
then saw Sir Clement Willoughby. He dismounted; and approaching us with the reins in
his hand, presently recollected us. "Good Heaven," cried he, with his usual
quickness, "do I see Miss Anville ?-and you too, Miss Mirvan?"</p>
<p> He immediately ordered his servant to take charge of his horse; and then, advancing
to us, took a hand of each, which he pressed to his lips, and said a thousand fine
things concerning his good fortune, our improved looks, and the charms of the
country, when inhabited by such rural deities. "The town, Ladies, has languished
since your absence;-or, at least, I have so much languished myself, as to be
absolutely insensible to all it had to offer. One refreshing breeze, such as I now
enjoy, awakens me to new vigour, life, and spirit. But I never before had the good
luck to see the country in such perfection."</p>
<p> "Has not almost every body left town, Sir?" said Miss Mirvan.</p>
<p> "I am ashamed to answer you, Madam,-but indeed it is as full as ever, and will
continue so till after the birth-day. However, you Ladies were so little seen, that
there are but few who know what it has lost. For my own part, I felt it too sensibly,
to be able to endure the place any longer."</p>
<p> "Is there any body remaining there, that we were acquainted with?" cried I.</p>
<p> "O yes, Ma'am." And then he named two or three persons we have seen when with him;
but he did not mention Lord Orville, and I would not ask him, lest he should think me
curious. Perhaps, if he stays here some time, he may speak of him by accident.</p>
<p> He was proceeding in this complimentary style, when we were met by the Captain; who
no sooner perceived Sir Clement, than he hastened up to him, gave him a hearty shake
of the hand, a cordial slap on the back, and some other equally gentle tokens of
satisfaction, assuring him of his great joy at his visit, and declaring he was as
glad to see him as if he had been a messenger who brought news that a French ship was
sunk. Sir Clement, on the other side, expressed himself with equal warmth; and
protested he had been so eager to pay his respects to Captain Mirvan, that he had
left London in its full lustre, and a thousand engagements unanswered, merely to give
himself that pleasure.</p>
<p> "We shall have rare sport," said the Captain; "for, do you know, the old
French-woman is among us? 'Fore George, I have scarce made any use of her yet, by
reason I have had nobody with me that could enjoy a joke: howsomever, it shall go
hard but we'll have some diversion now."</p>
<p> Sir Clement very much approved of the proposal; and we then went into the house,
where he had a very grave reception from Mrs. Mirvan, who is by no means pleased with
his visit, and a look of much discontent from Madame Duval, who said to me in a low
voice, "I'd as soon have seen Old Nick as that man, for he's the most impertinentest
person in the world, and isn't never of my side."</p>
<p> The Captain is now actually occupied in contriving some scheme, which, he says, is
to pay the old Dowager off; and so eager and delighted is he at the idea, that he can
scarcely restrain his raptures sufficiently to conceal his design even from herself.
I wish, however, since I do not dare put Madame Duval upon her guard, that he had the
delicacy not to acquaint me with his intention.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXXIII</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION May 13th.</opener>
<p> THE Captain's operations are begun,-and, I hope, ended; for, indeed, poor Madame
Duval has already but too much reason to regret Sir Clement's visit to Howard
Grove.</p>
<p> Yesterday morning, during breakfast, as the Captain was reading the newspaper, Sir
Clement suddenly begged to look at it, saying, he wanted to know if there was any
account of a transaction, at which he had been present the evening before his journey
hither, concerning a poor Frenchman, who had got into a scrape which might cost him
his life.</p>
<p> The Captain demanded particulars; and then Sir Clement told a long story of being
with a party of country friends at the Tower, and hearing a man call out for mercy in
French; and that, when he inquired into the occasion of his distress, he was informed
that he had been taken up upon suspicion of treasonable practices against the
government. "The poor fellow," continued he, "no sooner found that I spoke French,
than he besought me to hear him, protesting that he had no evil designs; that he had
been but a short time in England, and only waited the return of a lady from the
country to quit it for ever."</p>
<p> Madame Duval changed colour, and listened with the utmost attention.</p>
<p> "Now, though I by no means approve of so many foreigners continually flocking into
our country," added he, addressing himself to the Captain, "yet I could not help
pitying the poor wretch, because he did not know enough of English to make his
defence; however, I found it impossible to assist him; for the mob would not suffer
me to interfere. In truth, I am afraid he was but roughly handled."</p>
<p> "Why, did they duck him?" said the Captain.</p>
<p> "Something of that sort," answered he.</p>
<p> "So much the better! so much the better!" cried the Captain, "an impudent French
puppy! I'll bet you what you will he was a rascal. I only wish all his countrymen
were served the same."</p>
<p> "I wish you had been in his place, with all my soul!" cried Madame Duval,
warmly;-"but pray, Sir, did'n't nobody know who this poor gentleman was?"</p>
<p> "Why I did hear his name," answered Sir Clement, "but I cannot recollect it."</p>
<p> "It wasn't-it wasn't-Du Bois?" stammered out Madame Duval.</p>
<p> "The very name!" answered he: "yes, Du Bois, I remember it now."</p>
<p> Madame Duval's cup fell from her hand, as she repeated "Du<lb/>Bois! Monsieur Du
Bois, did you say?"</p>
<p> "Du Bois! why, that's my friend," cried the Captain, "that's Monseer<lb/>Slippery,
i'n't it?-Why, he's plaguy fond of sousing work; howsomever,<lb/>I'll be sworn they
gave him his fill of it."</p>
<p> "And I'll be sworn," cried Madame Duval, "that you're a-but I don't believe nothing
about it, so you needn't be so overjoyed, for I dare say it was no more Monsieur Du
Bois than I am."</p>
<p> "I thought at the time," said Sir Clement, very gravely, "that I had seen the
gentleman before; and now I recollect, I think it was in company with you,
Madame."</p>
<p> "With me, Sir?" cried Madame Duval.</p>
<p> "Say you so?" said the Captain; "why then it must be he, as sure as you're
alive!-Well, but, my good friend, what will they do with poor Monseer?"</p>
<p> "It is difficult to say," answered Sir Clement, very thoughtfully; "but I should
suppose, that if he has not good friends to appear for him, he will be in a very
unpleasant situation; for these are serious sorts of affairs."</p>
<p> "Why, do you think they'll hang him?" demanded the Captain.</p>
<p> Sir Clement shook his head, but made no answer.</p>
<p> Madame Duval could no longer contain her agitation; she started from her chair,
repeating, with a voice half-choked, "Hang him!-they can't,-they sha'n't-let them at
their peril!-However, it's all false, and I won't believe a word of it;-but I'll go
to town this very moment, and see M. Du Bois myself;-I won't wait for nothing."</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan begged her not to be alarmed; but she flew out of the room, and up
stairs into her own apartment. Lady Howard blamed both the gentlemen for having been
so abrupt, and followed her. I would have accompanied her, but the Captain stopped
me; and, having first laughed very heartily, said he was going to read his commission
to his ship's company.</p>
<p> "Now, do you see," said he, "as to Lady Howard, I sha'n't pretend for to enlist her
into my service, and so I shall e'en leave her to make it out as well as she can; but
as to all you, I expect obedience and submission to orders; I am now upon a hazardous
expedition, having undertaken to convoy a crazy vessel to the shore of Mortification;
so, d'ye see, if any of you have anything to propose that will forward the
enterprise,-why speak and welcome; but if any of you, that are of my chosen crew,
capitulate, or enter into any treaty with the enemy,-I shall look upon you as
mutinying, and turn you adrift."</p>
<p> Having finished this harangue, which was interlarded with many expressions, and
sea-phrases, that I cannot recollect, he gave Sir Clement a wink of intelligence, and
left us to ourselves.</p>
<p> Indeed, notwithstanding the attempts I so frequently make of writing some of the
Captain's conversation, I can only give you a faint idea of his language; for almost
every other word he utters is accompanied by an oath, which, I am sure, would be as
unpleasant for you to read, as for me to write: and, besides, he makes use of a
thousand sea-terms, which are to me quite unintelligible.</p>
<p> Poor Madame Duval sent to inquire at all probable places, whether she could be
conveyed to town in any stage-coach: but the Captain's servant brought her for
answer, that no London stage would pass near Howard Grove till to-day. She then sent
to order a chaise; but was soon assured, that no horses could be procured. She was so
much inflamed by these disappointments, that she threatened to set out for town on
foot; and it was with difficulty that Lady Howard dissuaded her from this mad
scheme.</p>
<p> The whole morning was filled up with these inquiries. But when we were all assembled
to dinner, she endeavoured to appear perfectly unconcerned, and repeatedly protested
that she gave not any credit to the report, as far as it regarded M. Du Bois, being
very certain that he was not the person in question.</p>
<p> The Captain used the most provoking efforts to convince her that she deceived
herself; while Sir Clement, with more art, though not less malice, affected to be of
her opinion; but, at the same time that he pretended to relieve her uneasiness, by
saying that he doubted not having mistaken the name, he took care to enlarge upon the
danger to which the unknown gentleman was exposed, and expressed great concern at his
perilous situation.</p>
<p> Dinner was hardly removed, when a letter was delivered to Madam Duval. The moment
she had read it, she hastily demanded from whom it came.</p>
<p> "A country boy brought it," answered the servant," but he would not wait."</p>
<p> "Run after him this instant!" cried she, "and be sure you bring him back. Mon Dieu!
quelle aventure! que feraije?"</p>
<p> "What's the matter? what's the matter?" said the Captain.</p>
<p> "Why nothing-nothing's the matter. O mon Dieu!"</p>
<p> And she rose, and walked about the room.</p>
<p> "Why, what,-has Monseer sent to you?" continued the Captain: "is that there letter
from him?"</p>
<p> "No,-it i'n't;-besides, if it is, it's nothing to you."</p>
<p> "O then, I'm sure it is! Pray now, Madam, don't be so close; come tell us all about
it-what does he say? how did he relish the horse-pond?-which did he find best,
sousing single or double? 'Fore George, 'twas plaguy unlucky you was not with
him!"</p>
<p> "It's no such a thing, Sir," cried she, very angrily; "and if you're so very fond of
a horse-pond, I wish you'd put yourself into one, and not be always a thinking about
other people's being served so."</p>
<p> The man then came in to acquaint her they could not overtake the boy. She scolded
violently, and was in such perturbation, that Lady Howard interfered, and begged to
know the cause of her uneasiness, and whether she could assist her.</p>
<p> Madame Duval cast her eyes upon the Captain and Sir Clement, and said she should be
glad to speak to her Ladyship without so many witnesses.</p>
<p> "Well, then, Miss Anville," said the Captain, turning to me, "do you and Molly go
into another room, and stay there till Mrs. Duval has opened her mind to us."</p>
<p> "So you may think, Sir," cried she, "but who's fool then? no, no, you needn't
trouble yourself to make a ninny of me neither, for I'm not so easily taken in, I'll
assure you."</p>
<p> Lady Howard then invited her into the dressing-room, and I was desired to attend
her.</p>
<p> As soon as we had shut the door, "O my Lady," exclaimed Madam Duval, "here's the
most cruelest thing in the world has happened!-but that Captain is such a beast, I
can't say nothing before him,-but it's all true! poor M. Du Bois is tooked up!"</p>
<p> Lady Howard begged her to be comforted, saying that, as M. Du Bois was certainly
innocent, there could be no doubt of his ability to clear himself.</p>
<p> "To be sure, my Lady," answered she, "I know he is innocent; and to be sure they'll
never be so wicked as to hang him for nothing?"</p>
<p> "Certainly not," replied Lady Howard; "you have no reason to be uneasy. This is not
a country where punishment is inflicted without proof."</p>
<p> "Very true, my Lady: but the worst thing is this; I cannot bear that that fellow the
Captain should know about it; for if he does, I sha'n't never hear the last of it;-no
more won't poor M. Du Bois."</p>
<p> "Well, well," said Lady Howard, "shew me the letter, and I will endeavour to advise
you."</p>
<p> The letter was then produced. It was signed by the clerk of a country justice; who
acquainted her, that a prisoner, then upon trial for suspicion of treasonable
practices against the government, was just upon the point of being committed to jail;
but having declared that he was known to her, this clerk had been prevailed upon to
write, in order to enquire if she really could speak to the character and family of a
Frenchman who called himself Pierre Du Bois.</p>
<p> When I heard the letter, I was quite amazed at its success. So improbable did it
seem, that a foreigner should be taken before a country justice of peace, for a crime
of so dangerous a nature, that I cannot imagine how Madame Duval could be alarmed,
even for a moment. But, with all her violence of temper, I see that she is easily
frightened, and in fact, more cowardly than many who have not half her spirit; and so
little does she reflect upon circumstances, or probability, that she is continually
the dupe of her own-I ought not to say ignorance, but yet I can think of no other
word.</p>
<p> I believe that Lady Howard, from the beginning of the transaction, suspected some
contrivance of the Captain; and this letter, I am sure, must confirm her suspicion:
however, though she is not at all pleased with his frolic, yet she would not hazard
the consequence of discovering his designs: her looks, her manner, and her character,
made me draw this conclusion from her apparent perplexity; for not a word did she say
that implied any doubt of the authenticity of the letter. Indeed there seems to be a
sort of tacit agreement between her and the Captain, that she should not appear to be
acquainted with his schemes; by which means she at once avoids quarrels, and supports
her dignity.</p>
<p> While she was considering what to propose, Madame Duval begged to have the use of
her Ladyship's chariot, that she might go immediately to the assistance of her
friend. Lady Howard politely assured her, that it should be extremely at her service;
and then Madame Duval besought her not to own to the Captain what had happened,
protesting that she could not endure he should know poor M. Du Bois had met with so
unfortunate an accident. Lady Howard could not help smiling, though she readily
promised not to inform the Captain of the affair. As to me, she desired my
attendance; which I was by no means rejoiced at, as I was certain that she was going
upon a fruitless errand.</p>
<p> I was then commissioned to order the chariot.</p>
<p> At the foot of the stairs I met the Captain, who was most impatiently waiting the
result of the conference. In an instant we were joined by Sir Clement. A thousand
inquiries were then made concerning Madame Duval's opinion of the letter, and her
intentions upon it: and when I would have left them, Sir Clement, pretending equal
eagerness with the Captain, caught my hand, and repeatedly detained me, to ask some
frivolous question, to the answer of which he must be totally indifferent. At length,
however, I broke from them; they retired into the parlour, and I executed my
commission.</p>
<p> The carriage was soon ready; and Madame Duval, having begged Lady Howard to say she
was not well, stole softly down stairs, desiring me to follow her. The chariot was
ordered at the garden-door; and, when we were seated, she told the man, according to
the clerk's directions, to drive to Mr. Justice Tyrell's, asking at the same time,
how many miles off he lived?</p>
<p> I expected he would have answered, that he knew of no such person; but, to my great
surprise, he said, "Why, 'Squire Tyrell lives about nine miles beyond the park."</p>
<p> "Drive fast, then," cried she, "and you sha'n't be no worse for it."</p>
<p> During our ride, which was extremely tedious, she tormented herself with a thousand
fears for M. Du Bois's safety; and piqued herself very much upon having escaped
unseen by the Captain, not only that she avoided his triumph, but because she knew
him to be so much M. Du Bois's enemy, that she was sure he would prejudice the
justice against him, and endeavour to take away his life. For my part, I was quite
ashamed of being engaged in so ridiculous an affair, and could only think of the
absurd appearance we should make upon our arrival at Mr. Tyrell's.</p>
<p> When we had been out near two hours, and expected every moment to stop at the place
of our destination, I observed that Lady Howard's servant, who attended us on
horseback, rode on forward till he was out of sight: and soon after returning, came
up to the chariot window, and delivering a note to Madame Duval, said he had met a
boy who was just coming with it to Howard Grove from the clerk of Mr. Tyrell.</p>
<p> While she was reading it, he rode round to the other window, and making a sign for
secrecy, put into my hand a slip of paper, on which was written, "Whatever happens,
be not alarmed-for you are safe-though you endanger all mankind!"</p>
<p> I readily imagined that Sir Clement must be the author of this note, which prepared
me to expect some disagreeable adventure: but I had no time to ponder upon it; for
Madame Duval had no sooner read her own letter, than, in an angry tone of voice, she
exclaimed, "Why, now, what a thing is this! here we're come all this way for
nothing!"</p>
<p> She gave me the note; which informed her, that she need not trouble herself to go to
Mr. Tyrell's, as the prisoner had had the address to escape. I congratulated her upon
this fortunate incident; but she was so much concerned at having rode so far in vain,
that she seemed to be less pleased than provoked. However, she ordered the man to
make what haste he could home, as she hoped, at least, to return before the Captain
should suspect what had passed.</p>
<p>  The carriage turned about; and we journeyed so quietly for near an<lb/> hour,
that<lb/>I began to flatter myself we should be suffered to proceed to
Howard<lb/>Grove without any molestation, when suddenly, the footman called
out,<lb/>"John, are we going right?"</p>
<p>  "Why, I a'n't sure," said the coachman, "But I'm afraid we turned<lb/> wrong."</p>
<p>  "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" said Madame Duval; "why, if you<lb/> lose
your<lb/>way, we shall all be in the dark."</p>
<p> "I think we should turn to the left," said the footman.</p>
<p>  "To the left!" answered the other; "No, no, I'm partly sure we should<lb/> turn
to<lb/>the right."</p>
<p> "You had better make some enquiry," said I.</p>
<p>  "Ma foi!" cried Madame Duval, "we're in a fine hole here!-they<lb/> neither
of<lb/>them know no more than the post. However, I'll tell my Lady as sure<lb/>as
you're born, you'd better find the way."</p>
<p> "Let's try this lane," said the footman.</p>
<p> "No," said the coachman, "that's the road to Canterbury; we had best go straight
on."</p>
<p>  "Why, that's the direct London road," returned the footman, "and<lb/> will lead
us<lb/>twenty miles about."</p>
<p> "Pardi," cried Madame Duval, "why, they won't go one way nor t'other! and now we're
come all this jaunt for nothing, I suppose we shan't get home to-night!"</p>
<p>  "Let's go back to the public-house," said the footman, "and ask for
a<lb/>guide."</p>
<p>  "No, no," said the other, "if we stay here a few minutes, somebody<lb/> or
other<lb/>will pass by; and the horses are almost knocked up already."</p>
<p>  "Well, I protest," cried Madame Duval, "I'd give a guinea to see<lb/> them
sots<lb/>both horse-whipped! As sure as I'm alive they're drunk! Ten to one<lb/>but
they'll overturn us next."</p>
<p>  After much debating, they at length agreed to go on till we came to<lb/> some
inn,<lb/>or met with a passenger who could direct us. We soon arrived at
a<lb/>farm-house, and the footman alighted, and went into it.</p>
<p> In a few minutes he returned, and told us we might proceed, for that he had procured
a direction: "But," added he, "it seems there are some thieves hereabouts; and so the
best way will be for you to leave your watches and your purses with the farmer, whom
I know very well, and who is an honest man, and a tenant of my Lady's."</p>
<p>  "Thieves!" cried Madame Duval, looking aghast; "the Lord help<lb/> us!-I've
no<lb/>doubt but we shall be all murdered!"</p>
<p> The farmer came up to us, and we gave him all we were worth, and the servants
followed our example. We then proceeded; and Madame Duval's anger so entirely
subsided, that, in the mildest manner imaginable, she intreated them to make haste,
and promised to tell their Lady how diligent and obliging they had been. She
perpetually stopped them, to ask if they apprehended any danger; and was at length so
much overpowered by her fears, that she made the footman fasten his horse to the back
of the carriage, and then come and seat himself within it. My endeavours to encourage
her were fruitless: she sat in the middle, held the man by the arm, and protested
that if he did but save her life, she would make his fortune. Her uneasiness gave me
much concern, and it was with the utmost difficulty I forbore to acquaint her that
she was imposed upon; but the mutual fear of the Captain's resentment to me, and of
her own to him, neither of which would have any moderation, deterred me. As to the
footman, he was evidently in torture from restraining his laughter; and I observed
that he was frequently obliged to make most horrid grimaces, from pretended fear, in
order to conceal his risibility.</p>
<p> Very soon after, "The robbers are coming!" cried the coachman.</p>
<p> The footman opened the door, and jumped out of the chariot.</p>
<p> Madame Duval gave a loud scream.</p>
<p> I could no longer preserve my silence. "For Heaven's sake, my dear Madame," said I,
"don't be alarmed,-you are in no danger,-you are quite safe,-there is nothing
but-"</p>
<p> Here the chariot was stopped by two men in masks; who at each side put in their
hands as if for our purses. Madame Duval sunk to the bottom of the chariot, and
implored their mercy. I shrieked involuntarily, although prepared for the attack: one
of them held me fast, while the other tore poor Madame Duval out of the carriage, in
spite of her cries, threats, and resistance.</p>
<p> I was really frightened, and trembled exceedingly. "My angel!" cried the man who
held me, "you cannot surely be alarmed,-do you not know me?-I shall hold myself in
eternal abhorrence, if I have really terrified you."</p>
<p> "Indeed, Sir Clement, you have," cried I:-"but, for Heaven's sake, where is Madame
Duval?-why is she forced away?"</p>
<p>  "She is perfectly safe; the Captain has her in charge: but suffer<lb/> me now,
my<lb/>adored Miss Anville, to take the only opportunity that is allowed me,<lb/>to
speak upon another, a much dearer, much sweeter subject."</p>
<p> And then he hastily came into the chariot, and seated himself next to me. I would
fain have disengaged myself from him, but he would not let me: "Deny me not, most
charming of women," cried he, "deny me not this only moment that is lent me, to pour
forth my soul into your gentle ears,-to tell you how much I suffer from your
absence,-how much I dread your displeasure,-and how cruelly I am affected by your
coldness!"</p>
<p>  "O, Sir, this is no time for such language;-pray leave me, pray go<lb/> to
the<lb/>relief of Madame Duval,-I cannot bear that she should be treated
with<lb/>such indignity."</p>
<p> "And will you,-can you command my absence?-When may I speak to you, if not now?-Does
the Captain suffer me to breathe a moment out of his sight?-and are not a thousand
impertinent people for ever at your elbow?"</p>
<p>  "Indeed, Sir Clement, you must change your style, or I will not hear<lb/> you.
The<lb/>impertinent people you mean are among my best friends; and you would<lb/>not,
if you really wished me well, speak of them so disrespectfully."</p>
<p> "Wish you well!-O, Miss Anville, point but out to me how, in what manner, I may
convince you of the fervour of my passion;-tell me but what services you will accept
from me,-and you shall find my life, my fortune, my whole soul at your devotion."</p>
<p> "I want nothing, Sir, that you can offer;-I beg you not to talk to me so-so
strangely. Pray leave me; and pray assure yourself you cannot take any method so
successless to show any regard for me, as entering into schemes so frightful to
Madame Duval, and so disagreeable to myself."</p>
<p> "The scheme was the Captain's: I even opposed it: though, I own, I could not refuse
myself the so-long-wished-for happiness of speaking to you once more, without so many
of-your friends to watch me. And I had flattered myself, that the note I charged the
footman to give you, would have prevented the alarm you have received."</p>
<p> "Well Sir, you have now, I hope, said enough; and, if you will not go yourself to
see for Madame Duval, at least suffer me to inquire what is become of her."</p>
<p> "And when may I speak to you again?"</p>
<p> "No matter when,-I don't know,-perhaps-"</p>
<p> "Perhaps what, my angel?"</p>
<p> "Perhaps never, Sir,-if you torment me thus."</p>
<p>  "Never! O, Miss Anville, how cruel, how piercing to my soul is<lb/> that
icy<lb/>word!-Indeed I cannot endure such displeasure."</p>
<p> "Then, Sir, you must not provoke it. Pray leave me directly."</p>
<p>  "I will Madam: but let me, at least, make a merit of my<lb/> obedience,-allow
me<lb/>to hope that you will, in future, be less averse to trusting yourself<lb/>for
a few moments alone with me"</p>
<p> I was surprised at the freedom of this request: but, while I hesitated how to answer
it, the other mask came up to the chariot-door, and, in a voice almost stifled with
laughter said, "I've done for her!-the old buck is safe;-but we must sheer off
directly, or we shall be all ground."</p>
<p>  Sir Clement instantly left me, mounted his horse, and rode off.
The<lb/> Captain<lb/>having given some directions to the servants, followed him.</p>
<p> I was both uneasy and impatient to know the fate of Madame Duval, and immediately
got out of the chariot to seek her. I desired the footman to show me which way she
was gone; he pointed with his finger by way of answer, and I saw that he dared not
trust his voice to make any other. I walked on at a very quick pace, and soon, to my
great consternation, perceived the poor lady seated upright in a ditch. I flew to her
with unfeigned concern at her situation. She was sobbing, nay, almost roaring, and in
the utmost agony of rage and terror. As soon as she saw me, she redoubled her cries;
but her voice was so broken, I could not understand a word she said. I was so much
shocked, that it was with difficulty I forebore exclaiming against the cruelty of the
Captain for thus wantonly ill-treating her; and I could not forgive myself for having
passively suffered the deception. I used my utmost endeavours to comfort her,
assuring her of our present safety, and begging her to rise and return to the
chariot.</p>
<p>  Almost bursting with passion, she pointed to her feet, and
with<lb/> frightful<lb/>violence she actually tore the ground with her hands.</p>
<p> I then saw that her feet were tied together with a strong rope, which was fastened
to the upper branch of a tree, even with a hedge which ran along the ditch where she
sat. I endeavoured to untie the knot; but soon found it was infinitely beyond my
strength. I was, therefore, obliged to apply to the footman; but, being very
unwilling to add to his mirth by the sight of Madame Duval's situation. I desired him
to lend me a knife: I returned with it, and cut the rope. Her feet were soon
disentangled; and then, though with great difficulty, I assisted her to rise. But
what was my astonishment, when, the moment she was up, she hit me a violent slap on
the face! I retreated from her with precipitation and dread: and she then loaded me
with reproaches, which, though almost unintelligible, convinced me that she imagined
I had voluntarily deserted her; but she seemed not to have the slightest suspicion
that she had not been attacked by real robbers.</p>
<p> I was so much surprised and confounded at the blow, that, for some time, I suffered
her to rave without making any answer; but her extreme agitation, and real suffering,
soon dispelled my anger, which all turned into compassion. I then told her, that I
had been forcibly detained from following her, and assured her of my real sorrow of
her ill-usage.</p>
<p> She began to be somewhat appeased; and I again intreated her to return to the
carriage, or give me leave to order that it should draw up to the place where we
stood. She made no answer, till I told her, that the longer we remained still, the
greater would be the danger of our ride home. Struck with this hint, she suddenly,
and with hasty steps, moved forward.</p>
<p>  Her dress was in such disorder, that I was quite sorry to have<lb/> her
figure<lb/>exposed to the servants, who all of them, in imitation of her
master,<lb/>hold her in derision: however the disgrace was unavoidable.</p>
<p> The ditch, happily, was almost quite dry, or she must have suffered still more
seriously; yet so forlorn, so miserable a figure, I never before saw her. Her
head-dress had fallen off, her linen was torn, her negligee had not a pin left in it,
her petticoats she was obliged to hold on, and her shoes were perpetually slipping
off. She was covered with dirt, weeds, and filth, and her face was really horrible;
for the pomatum and powder from her head, and the dust from the road, were quite
pasted on her skin by her tears, which, with her rouge, made so frightful a mixture,
that she hardly looked human.</p>
<p> The servants were ready to die with laughter the moment they saw her; but not all my
remonstrances could prevail upon her to get into the carriage, till she had most
vehemently reproached them both for not rescuing her. The footman, fixing his eyes on
the ground, as if fearful of again trusting himself to look at her, protested that
the robbers had vowed they would shoot him if he moved an inch, and that one of them
had stayed to watch the chariot, while the other carried her off, adding, that the
reason of their behaving so barbarously, was to revenge our having secured our
purses. Notwithstanding, her anger, she gave immediate credit to what he said; and
really imagined that her want of money had irritated the pretended robbers to treat
her with such cruelty. I determined, therefore, to be carefully upon my guard not to
betray the imposition, which could now answer no other purpose, then occasioning an
irreparable breach between her and the Captain.</p>
<p>  Just as we were seated in the chariot, she discovered the loss which<lb/> her
head<lb/>had sustained, and called out, "My God! what is become of my
hair?-why,<lb/>the villain has stole all my curls!"</p>
<p> She then ordered the man to run and see if he could find any of them in the ditch.
He went, and presently returning, produced a great quantity of hair, in such nasty
condition, that I was amazed she would take it; and the man, as he delivered it to
her, found it impossible to keep his countenance; which she no sooner observed, than
all her stormy passions were again raised. She flung the battered curls in his face,
saying, "Sirrah, what do you grin for? I wish you'd been served so yourself, and you
wouldn't have found it no such joke; you are the impudentest fellow ever I see; and
if I find you dare grin at me any more, I shall make no ceremony of boxing your
ears."</p>
<p> Satisfied with the threat, the man hastily retired, and we drove on.</p>
<p> Her anger now subsiding into grief, she began most sorrowfully to lament her case.
"I believe," she cried, "never nobody was so unlucky as I am! and so here, because I
ha'n't had misfortunes enough already, that puppy has made me lose my curls!-Why, I
can't see nobody without them:-only look at me,-I was never so bad off in my life
before. Pardi, if I'd know'd as much, I'd have brought two or three sets with me: but
I'd never a thought of such a thing as this."</p>
<p> Finding her now somewhat pacified, I ventured to ask an account of her adventure,
which I will endeavour to write in her own words.</p>
<p> "Why, child, all this misfortune comes of that puppy's making us leave our money
behind us; for, as soon as the robber see I did put nothing in his hands, he lugged
me out of the chariot by main force, and I verily thought he'd have murdered me. He
was as strong as a lion; I was no more in his hands than a child. But I believe never
nobody was so abused before; for he dragged me down the road, pulling and hauling me
all the way, as if'd no more feeling than a horse. I'm sure I wish I could see that
man cut up and quartered alive! however, he'll come to the gallows, that's one good
thing. So soon as we'd got out of sight of the chariot, though he needn't have been
afraid, for if he'd beat me to a mummy, those cowardly fellows wouldn't have said
nothing to it-so, when I was got there, what does he do, but all of a sudden he takes
me by both the shoulders, and he gives me such a shake!-Mon Dieu I shall never forget
it, if I live to be an hundred. I'm sure I dare say I'm out of joint all over. And
though I made as much noise as I ever could, he took no more notice of it than
nothing at all; there he stood, shaking me in that manner, as if he was doing it for
a wager. I'm determined, if it costs me all my fortune, I'll see that villain hanged.
He shall be found out, if there's e'er a justice in England. So when he had shook me
till he was tired, and I felt all over like a jelly, without saying never a word, he
takes and pops me into the ditch! I'm sure, I thought he'd have murdered me, as much
as ever I thought any thing in my life; for he kept bumping me about, as if he
thought nothing too bad for me. However, I'm resolved I'll never leave my purse
behind me again, the longest day I have to live. So when he couldn't stand over me no
longer, he holds out his hands again for my money; but he was as cunning as could be,
for he wouldn't speak a word, because I shouldn't swear to his voice; however, that
sha'n't save him, for I'll swear to him any day in the year, if I can but catch him.
So, when I told him I had no money, he fell to jerking me again, just as if he had
but that moment begun! And, after that, he got me close by a tree, and out of his
pocket he pulls a great cord!-It's a wonder I did not swoon away: for as sure as
you're alive, he was going to hang to me that tree. I screamed like any thing mad,
and told him if he would but spare my life, I'd never prosecute him, nor tell anybody
what he'd done to me: so he stood some time quite in a brown study, a-thinking what
he should do. And so, after that, he forced me to sit down in the ditch, and he tied
my feet together, just as you see them: and then, as if he had not done enough, he
twitched off my cap, and without saying nothing, got on his horse and left me in that
condition; thinking, I suppose, that I might lie there and perish."</p>
<p> Though this narrative almost compelled me to laugh, yet I was really irritated with
the Captain, for carrying his love of tormenting,-sport, he calls it,-to such
barbarous and unjustifiable extremes. I consoled and soothed her, as well as I was
able: and told her, that since M. Du Bois had escaped, I hoped, when she recovered
from her fright, all would end well.</p>
<p> "Fright, child!" repeated she,-"why that's not half:-I promise you, I wish it was:
but here I'm bruised from top to toe and it's well if ever I have the right use of my
limbs again. However, I'm glad the villain got nothing but his trouble for his pains.
But here the worst is to come, for I can't go out, because I've got no curls, and so
he'll be escaped before I can get to the justice to stop him. I'm resolved I'll tell
Lady Howard how her man served me; for if he hadn't made me fling 'em away, I dare
say I would have pinned them up well enough for the country."</p>
<p>  "Perhaps Lady Howard may be able to lend you a cap that will
wear<lb/> without<lb/>them."</p>
<p> "Lady Howard, indeed! why, do you think I'd wear one of her dowdies? No, I'll
promise you, I sha'n't put on no such disguisement. It's the unluckiest thing in the
world that I did not make the man pick up the curls again; but he put me in such a
passion, I could not think of nothing. I know I can't get none at Howard Grove for
love nor money: for of all the stupid places ever I see, that Howard Grove is the
worst; there's never no getting nothing one wants."</p>
<p> This sort of conversation lasted till we arrived at our journey's end; and then a
new distress occurred: Madame Duval was eager to speak to Lady Lady Howard and Mrs.
Mirvan, and to relate her misfortunes: but she could not endure that Sir Clement or
the Captain should see her in such disorder; so she said they were so ill-natured,
that instead of pitying her, they would only make a jest of her disasters. She
therefore sent me first into the house, to wait for an opportunity of their being out
of the way, that she might steal up stairs unobserved. In this I succeeded, as the
gentlemen thought it most prudent not to seem watching for her; though they both
contrived to divert themselves with peeping at her as she passed.</p>
<p> She went immediately to bed, where she had her supper. Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan
both of them very kindly sat with her, and listened to her tale with compassionate
attention: while Miss Mirvan and I retired to our own room, where I was very glad to
end the troubles of the day in a comfortable conversation.</p>
<p> The Captain's raptures, during supper, at the success of his plan, were boundless. I
spoke afterwards to Mrs. Mirvan with the openness which her kindness encourages, and
begged her to remonstrate with him upon the cruelty of tormenting Madame Duval so
causelessly. She promised to take the first opportunity of starting up the subject:
but said he was at present so much elated, that he would not listen to her with any
patience. However, should he make any new efforts to molest her, I can by no means
consent to be passive. Had I imagined he would have been so violent, I would have
risked his anger in her defense much sooner.</p>
<p> She had kept her bed all day, and declares she is almost bruised to death.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dear Sir. What a long letter have I written! I could almost fancy I sent
it to you from London!</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXXIV</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION<lb/> Howard Grove, May 15.</opener>
<p> THIS insatiable Captain, if left to himself, would not, I believe, rest, till he had
tormented Madame Duval into a fever. He seems to have no delight but in terrifying or
provoking her; and all his thoughts apparently turn upon inventing such methods as
may do it most effectually.</p>
<p> She had her breakfast again in bed yesterday morning: but during ours, the Captain,
with a very significant look at Sir Clement, gave us to understand, that he thought
she had now rested long enough to bear the hardships of a fresh campaign.</p>
<p> His meaning was obvious: and, therefore, I resolved to endeavour immediately to put
a stop to his intended exploits. When breakfast was over, I followed Mrs. Mirvan out
of the parlour, and begged her to lose no time in pleading the cause of Madame Duval
with the Captain. "My love," answered she, "I have already expostulated with him; but
all I can say is fruitless, while his favourite, Sir Clement, contrives to urge him
on."</p>
<p> "Then I will go and speak to Sir Clement," said I, "for I know he will desist if I
request him."</p>
<p> "Have I care, my dear!" said she, smiling: "it is sometimes dangerous to make
requests to men who are too desirous of receiving them."</p>
<p> "Well, then, my dear Madam, will you give me leave to speak myself to the
Captain?"</p>
<p> "Willingly: nay, I will accompany you to him."</p>
<p> I thanked her, and we went to seek him. He was walking in the garden with Sir
Clement. Mrs. Mirvan most obligingly made an opening for my purpose, by saying, "Mr.
Mirvan, I have brought a petitioner with me."</p>
<p> "Why, what's the matter now?" cried he.</p>
<p> I was fearful of making him angry, and stammered very much, when I told him, I hoped
he had no new plan for alarming Madame Duval.</p>
<p> "New plan!" cried he; "why, you don't suppose the old one would do again, do you?
Not but what it was a very good one, only I doubt she wouldn't bite."</p>
<p> "Indeed, Sir," said I, "she had already suffered too much; and I hope you will
pardon me, if I take the liberty of telling you, that I think it my my duty to do all
in my power to prevent her being again so much terrified."</p>
<p> A sullen gloominess instantly clouded his face, and, turning short from me, he said,
I might do as I pleased, but that I should much sooner repent than repair my
officiousness.</p>
<p> I was too much disconcerted at this rebuff to attempt making any answer: and finding
that Sir Clement warmly espoused my cause, I walked away, and left them to discuss
the point together.</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan, who never speaks to the Captain when he is out of humour, was glad to
follow me, and with her usual sweetness made a thousand apologies for her husband's
ill-manners.</p>
<p> When I left her, I went to Madame Duval, who was just risen, and employed in
examining the clothes she had on the day of her ill usage.</p>
<p> "Here's a sight!" she cried. "Come, here child,-only look-Pardi, so long as I've
lived, I never see so much before! Why, all my things are spoilt; and what's worse,
my sacque was as good as new. Here's the second negligee I've used in this manner! -
I'm sure I was a fool to put it on in such a lonesome place as this; however if I
stay here these ten years, I'll never put on another good gown, that I'm
resolved."</p>
<p> "Will you let the maid try if she can iron it out, or clean it, Ma'am?"</p>
<p> "No, she'll only make bad worse.-But look here, now, here's a cloak! Mon Dieu! why
it looks like a dish-clout! Of all the unluckiness that ever I met, this is the
worst! for, do you know, I bought it but the day before I left Paris!-Besides, into
the bargain, my cap's quite gone: where the villain twitched it, I don't know; but I
never see no more of it from that time to this. Now you must know that this was the
becomingest cap I had in the world, for I've never another with pink ribbon in it;
and, to tell you the truth, if I hadn't thought to have seen M. Du Bois, I'd no more
have put it on than I'd have flown; for as to what one wears in such a stupid place
as this, it signifies no more than nothing at all."</p>
<p> She then told me, that she had been thinking all night of a contrivance to hinder
the Captain from finding out her loss of curls; which was having a large gauge
handkerchief pinned over her head as a hood, and saying she had the tooth-ache.</p>
<p> "To tell you the truth," added she, "I believe that Captain is one of the worst men
in the world; he's always making a joke of me; and as to his being a gentleman, he
has no more manners than a bear, for he's always upon the grin when one's in
distress; and, I declare I'd rather be done anything to than laughed at, for, to my
mind, it's one or other the disagreeablest thing in the world."</p>
<p> Mrs. Mirvan, I found, had been endeavouring to dissuade her from the design she had
formed of having recourse to the law, in order to find out the supposed robbers; for
she dreads a discovery of the Captain, during Madam Duval's stay at Howard Grove, as
it could not fail being productive of infinite commotion. She has, therefore, taken
great pains to show the inutility of applying to justice, unless she were more able
to describe the offenders against whom she would appear; and has assured her, that as
she neither heard their voices, nor saw their faces, she cannot possibly swear to
their persons, or obtain any redress.</p>
<p> Madame Duval, in telling me this, extremely lamented her hard fate, that she was
thus prevented from revenging her injuries; which, however, she vowed she would not
be persuaded to pocket tamely: "because," added she, "if such villains as these are
let to have their own way, and nobody takes no notice of their impudence, they'll
make no more ado than nothing at all of tying people in ditches, and such things as
that: however, I shall consult with M. Du Bois, as soon as I can ferret out where
he's hid himself. I'm sure I've a right to his advice, for it's all along of his
gaping about at the Tower that I've met with these misfortunes."</p>
<p> "M. Du Bois," said I, "will, I am sure, be very sorry when he hears what has
happened."</p>
<p> "And what good will that do now?-that won't unspoil all my clothes; I can tell him,
I a'n't much obliged to him, though it's no fault of his;-yet it i'n't the less
provokinger for that. I'm sure, if he had been there, to have seen me served in that
manner, and put neck and heels into a ditch, he'd no more have thought it was me than
the Pope of Rome. I'll promise you, whatever you may think of it, I sha'n't have no
rest, night nor day, till I find out that rogue."</p>
<p> "I have no doubt, Madam, but you will soon discover him."</p>
<p> "Pardi, if I do, I'll hang him, as sure as fate!-but what's the oddest, is, that he
should take such a special spite against me above all the rest! it was as much for
nothing as could be; for I don't know what I had done, so particular bad, to be used
in that manner: I'm sure, I hadn't given no offence, as I know of, for I never see
his face all the time: and as to screaming a little, I think it's very hard if one
mustn't do such a thing as that, when one's put in fear of one's life."</p>
<p> During this conversation, she endeavoured to adjust her headdress, but could not at
all please herself. Indeed, had I not been present, I should have thought it
impossible for a woman, at her time of life, to be so very difficult in regard to
dress. What she may have in view, I cannot imagine, but the labour of the toilette
seems the chief business of her life.</p>
<p> When I left her, in my way down stairs, I met Sir Clement; who with great
earnestness, said he must not be denied the honour of a moment's conversation with
me; and then, without waiting for an answer, he led me to the garden; at the door of
which, however, I absolutely insisted upon stopping.</p>
<p> He seemed very serious, and said, in a grave tone of voice, "At length, Miss
Anville, I flatter myself I have hit upon an expedient that will oblige you; and
therefore, though it is death to myself, I will put in practice."</p>
<p> I begged him to explain himself.</p>
<p> "I saw your desire of saving Madame Duval, and scarce could I refrain giving the
brutal Captain my real opinion of his savage conduct; but I am unwilling to quarrel
with him, lest I should be denied entrance into a house which you inhabit; I have
been endeavouring to prevail with him to give up his absurd new scheme, but I find
him impenetrable:-I have therefore determined to make a pretense for suddenly leaving
this place, dear as it is to me, and containing all I most admire and adore;-and I
will stay in town till the violence of this boobyish humour is abated."</p>
<p> He stopped; but I was silent, for I knew not what I ought to say. He took my hand,
which he pressed to his lips, saying, "And must I then, Miss Anville, must I quit
you-sacrifice voluntarily my greatest felicity:-and yet not be honoured with one
word, one look of approbation?"</p>
<p> I withdrew my hand, and said with half a laugh, "You know so well, Sir Clement, the
value of the favours you confer, that it would be superfluous for me to point it
out."</p>
<p> "Charming, charming girl! how does your wit, your understanding, rise upon me daily:
and must I, can I part with you?-will no other method-"</p>
<p> "O, Sir, do you so soon repent the good office you had planned for<lb/>Madame
Duval?"</p>
<p> "For Madame Duval!-cruel creature, and will you not even suffer me to place to your
account the sacrifice I am about to make?"</p>
<p> "You must place it, Sir, to what account you please; but I am too much in haste now
to stay here any longer."</p>
<p> And then I would have left him; but he held me, and rather impatiently said, "If,
then, I cannot be so happy as to oblige you, Miss Anville, you must not be surprised
should I seek to oblige myself. If my scheme is not honoured with your approbation,
for which alone it was formed, why should I, to my own infinite dissatisfaction,
pursue it?"</p>
<p> We were then, for a few minutes, both silent; I was really unwilling he should give
up a plan which would so effectually break into the Captain's designs, and, at the
same time, save me the pain of disobliging him; and I should instantly and thankfully
have accepted his offered civility, had not Mrs. Mirvan's caution made me fearful.
However, when he pressed me to speak, I said, in an ironical voice, "I had thought,
Sir, that the very strong sense you have yourself of the favour you propose to me,
would sufficiently have repaid you; but, as I was mistaken, I must thank you myself.
And now," making a low courtesy, "I hope, Sir, you are satisfied."</p>
<p> "Loveliest of thy sex-" he began; but I forced myself from him and ran upstairs.</p>
<p> Soon after Miss Mirvan told me that Sir Clement had just received a letter, which
obliged him instantly to leave the Grove, and that he had actually ordered a chaise.
I then acquainted her with the real state of the affair. Indeed, I conceal nothing
from her; she is so gentle and sweet-tempered, that it gives me great pleasure to
place an entire confidence in her.</p>
<p> At dinner, I must own, we all missed him; for though the flightiness of his
behaviour to me, when we are by ourselves is very distressing; yet, in large
companies, and general conversation, he is extremely entertaining and agreeable. As
to the Captain, he has been so much chagrined at his departure, that he has scarce
spoken a word since he went: but Madame Duval, who made her first public appearance
since her accident, was quite in raptures that she escaped seeing him.</p>
<p> The money which we left at the farm-house has been returned to us. What pains the
Captain must have taken to arrange and manage the adventures which he chose we should
meet with! Yet he must certainly be discovered; for Madame Duval is already very much
perplexed, at having received a letter this morning from M. Du Bois, in which he
makes no mention of his imprisonment. However, she has so little suspicion, that she
imputes his silence upon the subject to his fears that the letter might be
intercepted.</p>
<p> Not one opportunity could I meet with, while Sir Clement was here, to enquire after
his friend Lord Orville: but I think it was strange he should never mention him
unasked. Indeed, I rather wonder that Mrs. Mirvan herself did not introduce the
subject, for she always seemed particularly attentive to him.</p>
<p> And now, once more, all my thoughts involuntarily turn upon the letter I so soon
expect from Paris. This visit of Sir Clement has, however, somewhat diverted my
fears; and, therefore, I am very glad he made it at this time. Adieu, my dear
Sir.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXXV</head>
<opener> SIR JOHN BELMONT TO LADY HOWARD Paris, May 11.</opener>
<p> Madam,</p>
<p> I HAVE this moment the honour of your Ladyship's Letter, and I will not wait
another, before I return an answer.</p>
<p> It seldom happens that a man, though extolled as a saint, is really without blemish;
or that another, though reviled as a devil, is really without humanity. Perhaps the
time is not very distant, when I may have the honour to convince your Ladyship of
this truth, in regard to Mr. Villars and myself.</p>
<p> As to the young lady, whom Mr. Villars so obligingly proposes presenting to me, I
wish her all the happiness to which, by your ladyship's account, she seems entitled;
and, if she has a third part of the merit of her to whom you compare her, I doubt not
but Mr. Villars will be more successful in every other application he may make for
her advantage, that he can ever be in any with which he may be pleased to favour me.
I have the honour to be Madam, Your Ladyship's most humble, and most obedient
servant, JOHN BELMONT.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXXVI</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, May 18.</opener>
<p> WELL, my dear Sir, all is now over! the letter so anxiously expected is at length
arrived, and my doom is fixed. The various feelings which oppress me, I have not
language to describe; nor need I-you know my heart, you have yourself formed it-and
its sensations upon this occasion you may but too readily imagine.</p>
<p> Outcast as I am, and rejected for ever by him to whom I of right belong-shall I now
implore your continued protection?-No, no;-I will not offend your generous heart,
which, open to distress, has no wish but to relieve it, with an application that
would seem to imply a doubt. I am more secure than ever of your kindness, since you
now know upon that is my sole dependence.</p>
<p> I endeavour to bear this stroke with composure, and in such a manner as if I had
already received your counsel and consolation. Yet, at times, my emotions are almost
too much for me. O, Sir, what a letter for a parent to write! Must I not myself be
deaf to the voice of nature, if I could endure to be thus absolutely abandoned
without regret? I dare not even to you, nor would I, could I help it, to myself,
acknowledge all that I might think; for, indeed, I have sometimes sentiments upon
this rejection, which my strongest sense of duty can scarcely correct. Yet, suffer me
to ask-might not this answer have been softened?-was it not enough to disclaim me for
ever, without treating me with contempt, and wounding me with derision?</p>
<p> But while I am thus thinking of myself, I forget how much more he is the object of
sorrow than I am! Alas! what amends can he make himself for the anguish he is
hoarding up for time to come! My heart bleeds for him, whenever this reflection
occurs to me.</p>
<p>  What is said of you, my protector, my friend, my benefactor! I dare<lb/> not
trust<lb/>myself to comment upon. Gracious Heaven! what a return for goodness<lb/>so
unparalleled!</p>
<p> I would fain endeavour to divert my thoughts from this subject; but even that is not
in my power; for, afflicting as this letter is to me, I find that it will not be
allowed to conclude the affair, though it does all my expectations; for Madame Duval
has determined not to let it rest here. She heard the letter in great wrath, and
protested she would not be so easily answered; she regretted her facility in having
been prevailed upon to yield the direction of this affair to those who knew not how
to manage it, and vowed she would herself undertake and conduct it in future.</p>
<p> It is in vain that I have pleaded against her resolution, and besought her to
forbear an attack where she has nothing to expect but resentment: especially as there
seems to be a hint, that Lady Howard will one day be more openly dealt with. She will
not hear me: she is furiously bent upon a project which is terrible to think of;-for
she means to go herself to Paris, take me with her, and there, face to face, demand
justice!</p>
<p> How to appease or to persuade her, I know not; but for the universe would I not be
dragged, in such a manner, to an interview so awful, with a parent I have never yet
beheld!</p>
<p> Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan are both of them infinitely shocked at the present state
of affairs, and they seem to be even more kind to me than ever; and my dear Maria,
who is the friend of my heart, uses her utmost efforts to console me; and, when she
fails in her design, with still greater kindness she sympathises in my sorrow.</p>
<p> I very much rejoice, however, that Sir Clement Willoughby had left us before this
letter arrived. I am sure the general confusion of the house would otherwise have
betrayed to him the whole of a tale which I now, more than ever, wish to have buried
in oblivion.</p>
<p> Lady Howard thinks I ought not to disoblige Madame Duval, yet she acknowledges the
impropriety of my accompanying her abroad on such an enterprise. Indeed, I would
rather die than force myself into his presence. But so vehement is Madame Duval, that
she would instantly have compelled me to attend her to town, in her way to Paris, had
not Lady Howard so far exerted herself, as to declare she could by no means consent
to my quitting her house, till she gave me up to you, by whose permission I had
entered it.</p>
<p> She was extremely angry at this denial; and the Captain, by his sneers and raillery,
so much increased her rage, that she has positively declared, should your next letter
dispute her authority to guide me by her own pleasure, she will, without hesitation,
make a journey to Berry Hill, and teach you to know who she is.</p>
<p> Should she put this threat in execution, nothing could give me greater uneasiness:
for her violence and volubility would almost distract you.</p>
<p> Unable as I am to act for myself, or to judge what conduct I ought to pursue, how
grateful do I feel myself, that I have such a guide and director to counsel and
instruct me as yourself!</p>
<p> Adieu, my dearest Sir! Heaven, I trust, will never let me live to be repulsed, and
derided by you, to whom I may now sign myself, wholly your EVELINA.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXXVII</head>
<opener> MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA Berry Hill, May 21.</opener>
<p> LET not my Evelina be depressed by a stroke of fortune for which she is not
responsible. No breach of duty on your part has incurred the unkindness which has
been shown you; nor have you, by any act of imprudence, provoked either censure or
reproach. Let me intreat you, therefore, my dearest child, to support yourself with
that courage which your innocency ought to inspire: and let all the affliction you
allow yourself be for him only who, not having that support, must one day be but too
severely sensible how much he wants it.</p>
<p> The hint thrown out concerning myself is wholly unintelligible to me: my heart, I
dare own, fully acquits me of vice; but without blemish, I have never ventured to
pronounce myself. However, it seems his intention to be hereafter more explicit; and
then,-should anything appear, that has on my part contributed to those misfortunes we
lament, let me at least say, that the most partial of my friends cannot be so much
astonished as I shall myself be at such a discovery.</p>
<p> The mention, also, of any future applications I may make, is equally beyond my
comprehension. But I will not dwell upon a subject, which almost compels from me
reflections that cannot but be wounding to a heart so formed for filial tenderness as
my Evelina's. There is an air of mystery throughout the letter, the explanation of
which I will await in silence.</p>
<p> The scheme of Madame Duval is such as might be reasonably expected from a woman so
little inured to disappointment, and so totally incapable of considering the delicacy
of your situation. Your averseness to her plan gives me pleasure, for it exactly
corresponds with my own. Why will she not make the journey she projects by herself?
She would not have even the wish of an opposition to encounter. And then, once more,
might my child and myself be left to the quiet enjoyment of that peaceful happiness,
which she alone has interrupted. As to her coming hither, I could, indeed, dispense
with such a visit; but, if she will not be satisfied with my refusal by letter, I
must submit to the task of giving it her in person.</p>
<p> My impatience for your return is increased by your account of Sir Clement
Willoughby's visit to Howard Grove. I am but little surprised at the perseverance of
his assiduities to interest you in his favour; but I am very much hurt that you
should be exposed to addresses, which, by their privacy, have an air that shocks me.
You cannot, my love, be too circumspect; the slightest carelessness on your part will
be taken advantage of by a man of his disposition. It is not sufficient for you to be
reserved: his conduct even calls for your resentment; and should he again, as will
doubtless be his endeavour, contrive to solicit your favour in private, let your
disdain and displeasure be so marked, as to constrain a change in his behaviour.
Though, indeed, should his visit be repeated while you remain at the Grove, Lady
Howard must pardon me if I shorten yours.</p>
<p> Adieu, my child. You will always make my respects to the hospitable family to which
we are so much obliged.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXXVIII</head>
<opener> MR. VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD Berry Hill, May 27.</opener>
<p> Dear Madam,</p>
<p> I BELIEVE your Ladyship will not be surprised at hearing I have had a visit from
Madame Duval, as I doubt not her having made known her intention before she left
Howard Grove. I would gladly have excused myself this meeting, could I have avoided
it decently; but, after so long a journey, it was not possible to refuse her
admittance.</p>
<p> She told me, that she came to Berry Hill, in consequence of a letter I had sent to
her grand-daughter, in which I forbid her going to Paris. Very roughly she then
called me to account for the authority which I had assumed; and, had I been disposed
to have argued with her, she would very angrily have disputed the right by which I
used it. But I declined all debating. I therefore listened very quietly, till she had
so much fatigued herself with talking, that she was glad, in her turn, to be silent.
And then, I begged to know the purport of her visit.</p>
<p> She answered, that she came to make me relinquish the power I had usurped over her
grand-daughter; and assured me she would not quit the place till she succeeded.</p>
<p> But I will not trouble your Ladyship with the particulars of this disagreeable
conversation; nor should I, but on account of the result, have chosen so unpleasant a
subject for your perusal. However, I will be as concise as I possibly can, that the
better occupations of your Ladyship's time may be less impeded.</p>
<p> When she found me inexorable in refusing Evelina's attending her to Paris, she
peremptorily insisted that she should at least live with her in London till Sir John
Belmont's return. I remonstrated against this scheme with all the energy in my power;
but the contest was vain; she lost her patience, and I my time. She declared, that if
I was resolute in opposing her, she would instantly make a will, in which she would
leave all her fortune to strangers, though, otherwise, she intended her
grand-daughter for her sole heiress.</p>
<p> To me, I own, this threat seemed of little consequence; I have long accustomed
myself to think, that, with a competency, of which she is sure, my child might be as
happy as in the possession of millions; but the incertitude of her future fate deters
me from following implicitly the dictates of my present judgement. The connections
she may hereafter form, the style of life for which she may be destined, and the
future family to which she may belong, are considerations which give but too much
weight to the menaces of Madame Duval. In short, Madam, after a discourse infinitely
tedious, I was obliged, though very reluctantly, to compromise with this ungovernable
woman, by consenting that Evelina should pass one month with her.</p>
<p> I never made a concession with so bad a grace, or so much regret. The violence and
vulgarity of this woman, her total ignorance of propriety, the family to which she is
related, and the company she is likely to keep, are objections so forcible to her
having the charge of this dear child, that nothing less than my diffidence of the
right I have of depriving her of so large a fortune, would have induced me to listen
to her proposal. Indeed we parted, at last, equally discontented; she at what I had
refused, I at what I had granted.</p>
<p> It now only remains for me to return your Ladyship my humble acknowledgments for the
kindness which you have so liberally shown to my ward; and to beg you would have the
goodness to part with her when Madame Duval thinks proper to claim the promise which
she has extorted from me. I am, Dear Madam, &amp;c. ARTHUR VILLARS.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XXXIX</head>
<opener> MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA Berry Hill, May 28.</opener>
<p> WITH a reluctance which occasions me inexpressible uneasiness, I have been almost
compelled to consent that my Evelina should quit the protection of the hospitable and
respectable Lady Howard, and accompany Madame Duval to a city which I had hoped she
would never again have entered. But alas, my dear child, we are the slaves of custom,
the dupes of prejudice, and dare not stem the torrent of an opposing world, even
though our judgements condemn our compliance! However, since the die is cast, we must
endeavor to make the best of it.</p>
<p> You will have the occasion, in the course of the month you are to pass with Madame
Duval, for all the circumspection and prudence you can call to your aid. She will
not, I know, propose any thing to you which she thinks wrong herself; but you must
learn not only to judge but to act for yourself; if any schemes are started, any
engagements made, which your understanding represents to you as improper, exert
yourself resolutely in avoiding them; and do not, by a too passive facility, risk the
censure of the world, or your own future regret.</p>
<p> You cannot too assiduously attend to Madame Duval herself; but I would wish you to
mix as little as possible with her associates, who are not likely to be among those
whose acquaintance would reflect credit upon you. Remember, my dear Evelina, nothing
is so delicate as the reputation of a woman; it is at once the most beautiful and
most brittle of all human things.</p>
<p> Adieu, my beloved child; I shall be but ill at ease till this month is elapsed.
A.V.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XL</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS London, June 6.</opener>
<p> ONCE more, my dearest Sir, I write to you from this great city. Yesterday morning,
with the truest concern, I quitted the dear inhabitants of Howard Grove, and most
impatiently shall I count the days till I see them again. Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan
took leave of me with the most flattering kindness; but indeed I knew not how to part
with Maria, whose own apparent sorrow redoubled mine. She made me promise to send her
a letter every post: and I shall write to her with the same freedom, and almost the
same confidence, you allow me to make use of to yourself.</p>
<p> The Captain was very civil to me: but he wrangled with poor Madame Duval to the last
moment; and, taking me aside, just before we got into the chaise, he said, "Hark'ee,
Miss Anville, I've a favour for to ask of you, which is this; that you will write us
word how the old gentlewoman finds herself, when she sees it was all a trick; and
what the French lubber says to it, and all about it."</p>
<p> I answered that I would obey him, though I was very little pleased with the
commission, which, to me, was highly improper; but he will either treat me as an
informer, or make me a party in his frolic.</p>
<p> As soon as we drove away, Madame Duval, with much satisfaction, exclaimed, "Dieu
merci, we've got off at last! I'm sure I never desire to see that place again. It's a
wonder I've got away alive; for I believe I've had the worst luck ever was known,
from the time I set my foot upon the threshold. I know I wish I'd never a gone.
Besides, into the bargain, it's the most dullest place in all Christendom: there's
never no diversions, nor nothing at all."</p>
<p> Then she bewailed M. Du Bois; concerning whose adventures she continued to make
various conjectures during the rest of our journey.</p>
<p> When I asked her what part of London she should reside in, she told me that Mr.
Branghton was to meet us at an inn, and would conduct us to a lodging. Accordingly,
we proceeded to a house in Bishopsgate Street, and were led by a waiter into a room
where we found Mr. Branghton.</p>
<p> He received us very civilly; but seemed rather surprised at seeing me, saying, "Why,
I didn't think of your bringing Miss; however, she's very welcome."</p>
<p> "I'll tell you how it was," said Madame Duval: "you must know I've a mind to take
the girl to Paris, that she may see something of the world, and improve herself a
little; besides, I've another reason, that you and I will talk more about. But, do
you know, that meddling old parson, as I told you of, would not let her go: however,
I'm resolved I'll be even with him; for I shall take her on with me, without saying
never a word more to nobody."</p>
<p> I started at this intimation, which very much surprised me. But, I am very glad she
has discovered her intention, as I shall be carefully upon my guard not to venture
from town with her.</p>
<p> Mr. Branghton then hoped we had passed our time agreeably in the country.</p>
<p> "O Lord, cousin," cried she, "I've been the miserablest creature in the world! I'm
sure all the horses in London sha'n't drag me into the country again of one while:
why, how do you think I've been served?-only guess."</p>
<p> "Indeed, cousin, I can't pretend to do that."</p>
<p> "Why then I'll tell you. Do you know I've been robbed!-that is, the villain would
have robbed me if he could, only I'd secured all my money."</p>
<p> "Why, then cousin, I think your loss can't have been very great."</p>
<p> "O Lord, you don't know what you're a saying; you're talking in the unthinkingest
manner in the world: why, it was all along of not having no money that I met with
that misfortune."</p>
<p> "How's that, cousin? I don't see what great misfortune you can have met with, if
you'd secured all your money."</p>
<p> "That's because you don't know nothing of the matter: for there the villain came to
the chaise; and, because we hadn't got nothing to give him, though he'd no more right
to our money than the man in the moon, yet, do you know, he fell into the greatest
passion ever you see, and abused me in such a manner, and put me in a ditch, and got
a rope o'purpose to hang me;-and I'm sure, if that wasn't misfortune enough, why I
don't know what is."</p>
<p> "This is a hard case, indeed, cousin. But why don't you go to
Justice<lb/>Fielding?"</p>
<p> "O as to that, I'm a going to him directly; but only I want first to see M. Du Bois;
for the oddest thing of all is, that he has wrote to me, and never said nothing of
where he is, nor what's become of him, nor nothing else."</p>
<p> "M. Du Bois! why, he's at my house at this very time."</p>
<p> "M. Du Bois at your house! well, I declare this is the surprisingest part of all:
However, I assure you, I think he might have comed for me, as well as you,
considering what I have gone through on his account; for, to tell you the truth, it
was all along of him that I met with that accident; so I don't take it very kind of
him, I promise you."</p>
<p> "Well, but cousin, tell me some of the particulars of this affair."</p>
<p> "As to the particulars, I'm sure they'd make your hair stand on end to hear them;
however, the beginning of it all was through the fault of M. Du Bois: but, I'll
assure you, he may take care of himself in future, since he don't so much as come to
see if I'm dead or alive.-But, there, I went for him to a justice of peace, and rode
all out of the way, and did every thing in the world, and was used worser than a dog,
and all for the sake of serving of him; and now, you see, he don't so much-well, I
was a fool for my pains.-However, he may get somebody else to be treated so another
time; for, if he's taken up every day in the week, I'll never go after him no
more."</p>
<p> This occasioned an explanation; in the course of which Madame Duval, to her utter
amazement, heard that M. Du Bois had never left London during her absence! nor did
Mr. Branghton believe that he had ever been to the Tower, or met with any kind of
accident.</p>
<p> Almost instantly the whole truth of the transaction seemed to rush upon her mind,
and her wrath was inconceivably violent. She asked me a thousand questions in a
breath; but, fortunately, was too vehement to attend to my embarrassment, which must
otherwise have betrayed my knowledge of the deceit. Revenge was her first wish; and
she vowed she would go the next morning to Justice Fielding, and inquire what
punishment she might lawfully inflict upon the Captain for his assault.</p>
<p> I believe we were an hour at Bishopsgate Street before poor Madame Duval could allow
any thing to be mentioned but her own story; at any length, however, Mr. Branghton
told her, that M. Du Bois, and all his own family, were waiting for her at his house.
A hackney-coach was then called, and we proceeded to Snow Hill.</p>
<p> Mr. Branghton's house is small and inconvenient; though his shop, which takes in all
the ground floor, is large and commodious. I believe I told you before, that he is a
silver-smith.</p>
<p> We were conducted up two pairs of stairs: for the dining-room, Mr. Branghton told
us, was let. His two daughters, their brother, M. Du Bois, and a young man, were at
tea. They had waited some time for Madame Duval, but I found they had not any
expectation that I should accompany her; and the young ladies, I believe, were rather
more surprised than pleased when I made my appearance; for they seemed hurt that I
should see their apartment. Indeed, I would willingly have saved them that pain, had
it been in my power.</p>
<p> The first person who saw me was M. Du Bois, "Ah, mon Dieu!" exclaimed he, "voila
Mademoiselle!"</p>
<p> "Goodness," cried young Branghton, "if there isn't Miss!"</p>
<p> "Lord, so there is!" said Miss Polly; "well, I'm sure I should never have dreamed of
Miss's coming."</p>
<p> "Nor I neither, I'm sure," cried Miss Branghton, "or else I would not have been in
this room to see her: I'm quite ashamed about it;-only not thinking of seeing any
body but my aunt-however, Tom, it's all your fault; for, you know very well I wanted
to borrow Mr. Smith's room, only you were so grumpy you would not let me."</p>
<p> "Lord, what signifies?" said her brother; "I dare be sworn Miss has been up two pair
of stairs before now;-ha'n't you, Miss?"</p>
<p> I begged that I might not give them the least disturbance; and assured them that I
had not any choice in regard to what room we sat in.</p>
<p> "Well," said Miss Polly, "when you come next, Miss, we'll have Mr. Smith's room: and
it's a very pretty one, and only up one pair of stairs, and nicely furnished, and
every thing."</p>
<p> "To say the truth," said Miss Branghton, "I thought that my cousin would not, upon
any account, have come to town in the summer-time; for it's not at all the fashion
;-so, to be sure, thinks I, she'll stay till September, when the play-houses
open."</p>
<p> This was my reception, which I believe you will not call a very cordial one. Madame
Duval, who, after having severely reprimanded M. Du Bois for his negligence, was just
entering upon the story of her misfortunes, now wholly engaged the company.</p>
<p> M. Du Bois listened to her with a look of the utmost horror, repeatedly lifting up
his eyes and hands, and exclaiming, "O ciel! quel barbare!" The young ladies gave her
the most earnest attention; but their brother, and the young man, kept a broad grin
upon their faces during the whole recital. She was, however, too much engaged to
observe them; but, when she mentioned having been tied in a ditch, young Branghton,
no longer able to contain himself, burst into a loud laugh, declaring that he had
never heard any thing so funny in his life! His laugh was heartily re-echoed by his
friend; the Miss Branghtons could not resist the example; and poor Madame Duval, to
her extreme amazement, was absolutely overpowered and stopped by the violence of
their mirth.</p>
<p> For some minutes the room seemed quite in an uproar; the rage of Madame Duval, the
astonishment of M. Du Bois, and the angry interrogatories of Mr. Branghton, on one
side; the convulsive tittering of the sisters, and the loud laughs of the young men,
on the other, occasioned such noise, passion and confusion, that had any one stopped
an instant on the stairs, he must have concluded himself in Bedlam. At length,
however, the father brought them to order; and, half-laughing, half-frightened, they
made Madame Duval some very awkward apologies. But she would not be prevailed upon to
continue her narrative, till they had protested they were laughing at the Captain,
and not at her. Appeased by this, she resumed her story; which by the help of
stuffing handkerchiefs into their mouths, the young people heard with tolerable
decency.</p>
<p> Every body agreed, that the ill-usage the Captain had given her was actionable; and
Mr. Branghton said, he was sure she might recover what damages she pleased, since she
had been put in fear of her life.</p>
<p> She then, with great delight, declared, that she would lose no time in satisfying
her revenge, and vowed she would not be contented with less than half his fortune:
"For though," she said, "I don't put no value upon the money, because, Dieu merci, I
ha'n't no want of it, yet I don't wish for nothing so much as to punish that fellow;
for I'm sure, whatever's the cause of it, he owes me a great grudge, and I know no
more what it's for than you do; but he's always been doing me one spite or another
ever since I knew him."</p>
<p> Soon after tea, Miss Branghton took an opportunity to tell me, in a whisper, that
the young man I saw was a lover of her sister's, that his name was Brown, and that he
was a haberdasher: with many other particulars of his circumstances and family; and
then she declared her utter aversion to the thoughts of such a match; but added, that
her sister had no manner of spirit or ambition, though, for her part, she would ten
times rather die an old maid, than marry any person but a gentleman. "And, for that
matter," added she, "I believe Polly herself don't care much for him, only she's in
such a hurry, because, I suppose, she's a mind to be married before me; however,
she's very welcome; for, I'm sure, I don't care a pin's point whether I ever marry at
all;-it's all one to me."</p>
<p> Some time after this, Miss Polly contrived to tell her story. She assured me, with
much tittering, that her sister was in a great fright lest she should be married
first. "So I make her believe that I will," continued she; "for I dearly love to
plague her a little; though, I declare, I don't intend to have Mr. Brown in
reality;-I'm sure I don't like him half well enough,-do you, Miss?"</p>
<p> "It is not possible for me to judge of his merits," said I, "as I am entirely a
stranger to him."</p>
<p> "But what do you think of him, Miss?"</p>
<p> "Why, really, I-I don't know."</p>
<p> "But do you think him handsome? Some people reckon him to have a good pretty
person;-but I'm sure, for my part, I think he's monstrous ugly:-don't you, Miss?"</p>
<p> "I am no judge,-but I think his person is very-very well."</p>
<p> "Very well! -Why, pray Miss," in a tone of vexation, "what fault can you find with
it?"</p>
<p> "O, none at all!"</p>
<p> "I'm sure you must be very ill-natured if you could. Now there's Biddy says she
thinks nothing of him,-but I know it's all out of spite. You must know, Miss, it
makes her as mad as can be that I should have a lover before her; but she's so proud
that nobody will court her, and I often tell her she'll die an old maid. But the
thing is, she has taken it into her head to have a liking for Mr. Smith, as lodges on
the first floor; but, Lord, he'll never have her, for he's quite a fine gentleman;
and besides, Mr. Brown heard him say one day, that he'd never marry as long as he
lived, for he'd no opinion of matrimony."</p>
<p> "And did you tell your sister this?"</p>
<p> "O, to be sure, I told her directly; but she did not mind me; however, if she will
be a fool she must."</p>
<p> This extreme want of affection and good-nature increased the distaste I already felt
for these unamiable sisters; and a confidence so entirely unsolicited and
unnecessary, manifested equally their folly and their want of decency.</p>
<p> I was very glad when the time for our departing arrived. Mr. Branghton said our
lodgings were in Holborn, that we might be near his house, and neighbourly. He
accompanied us to them himself.</p>
<p> Our rooms are large, and not inconvenient; our landlord is an hosier. I am sure I
have a thousand reasons to rejoice that I am so little known: for my present
situation is, in every respect, very unenviable; and I would not, for the world, be
seen by any acquaintance of Mrs. Mirvan.</p>
<p> This morning, Madame Duval, attended by all the Branghtons, actually went to a
Justice in the neighborhood, to report the Captain's ill usage of her. I had great
difficulty in excusing myself from being of the party, which would have given me very
serious concern. Indeed, I was extremely anxious, though at home, till I heard the
result of the application, for I dread to think of the uneasiness which such an
affair would occasion the amiable Mrs. Mirvan. But, fortunately, Madame Duval has
received very little encouragement to proceed in her design; for she has been
informed, that, as she neither heard the voice, nor saw the face of the person
suspected, she will find difficulty to cast him upon conjecture, and will have but
little probability of gaining her cause, unless she can procure witnesses of the
transaction. Mr. Branghton, therefore, who has considered all the circumstances of
the affair, is of the opinion; the lawsuit will not only be expensive, but tedious
and hazardous, and has advised against it. Madame Duval, though very unwillingly, has
acquiesced in his decision; but vows, that if she ever is so affronted again, she
will be revenged, even if she ruins herself. I am extremely glad that this ridiculous
adventure seems now likely to end without more serious consequences.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dearest Sir. My direction is at Mr. Dawkin's, a hosier in<lb/>High
Holborn.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XLI</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO MISS MIRVAN June 7th</opener>
<p> I HAVE no words, my sweet friend, to express the thankfulness I feel for the
unbounded kindness which you, your dear mother, and the much-honoured Lady Howard,
have shown me; and still less can I find language to tell you with what reluctance I
parted from such dear and generous friends, whose goodness reflects, at once, so much
honour on their own hearts, and on her to whom it has been so liberally bestowed. But
I will not repeat what I have already written to the kind Mrs. Mirvan; I will
remember your admonitions, and confine to my own breast that gratitude with which you
have filled it, and teach my pen to dwell upon subjects less painful to my generous
correspondent.</p>
<p> O, Maria! London now seems no longer the same place where I lately enjoyed so much
happiness; every thing is new and strange to me; even the town itself has not the
same aspect.-My situation so altered!-my home so different!-my companions so
changed!-But you well know my averseness to this journey.</p>
<p> Indeed, to me, London now seems a desert: that gay and busy appearance it so lately
wore, is now succeeded by a look of gloom, fatigue, and lassitude; the air seems
stagnant, the heat is intense, the dust intolerable, and the inhabitants illiterate
and under-bred; At least, such is the face of things in the part of town where I at
present reside.</p>
<p> Tell me, my dear Maria, do you never retrace in your memory the time we passed here
when together? to mine it recurs for ever! And yet I think I rather recollect a
dream, or some visionary fancy, than a reality.-That I should ever have been known to
Lord Orville,-that I should have spoken to-have danced with him,-seems now a romantic
illusion: and that elegant politeness, that flattering attention, that high-bred
delicacy, which so much distinguished him above all other men, and which struck us
with so much admiration, I now retrace the remembrance of rather as belonging to an
object of ideal perfection, formed by my own imagination, than to a being of the same
race and nature as those with whom I at present converse.</p>
<p> I have no news for you, my dear Miss Mirvan; for all that I could venture to say of
Madame Duval I have already written to your sweet mother; and as to adventures, I
have none to record. Situated as I now am, I heartily hope I shall not meet with any;
my wish is to remain quiet and unnoticed.</p>
<p> Adieu! excuse the gravity of this letter; and believe me, your most sincerely
Affectionate and obliged EVELINA ANVILLE.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XLII</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Holborn, June 9.</opener>
<p> YESTERDAY morning we received an invitation to dine and spend the day at Mr.
Branghton's; and M. Du Bois, who was also invited, called to conduct us to Snow
Hill.</p>
<p> Young Branghton received us at the door; and the first words he spoke were, "Do you
know, sisters a'n't dressed yet."</p>
<p> Then, hurrying us into the house, he said to me, "Come, Miss, you shall go upstairs
and catch 'em,-I dare say they're at the glass."</p>
<p> He would have taken my hand; but I declined this civility, and begged to follow
Madame Duval.</p>
<p> Mr. Branghton then appeared, and led the way himself. We went, as before, up two
pairs of stairs; but the moment the father opened the door, the daughters both gave a
loud scream. We all stopped; and then Miss Branghton called out, "Lord, Papa, what do
you bring the company up here for? why, Polly and I a'n't half dressed."</p>
<p> "More shame for you," answered he; "here's your aunt, and cousin, and M. Du Bois,
all waiting, and ne'er a room to take them to."</p>
<p> "Who'd have thought of their coming so soon?" cried she: "I am sure for my part I
thought Miss was used to nothing but quality hours."</p>
<p> "Why, I sha'n't be ready this half-hour yet," said Miss Polly; "can't they stay in
the shop till we're dressed?"</p>
<p> Mr. Branghton was very angry, and scolded them violently: however, we were obliged
to descend, and stools were procured for us in the shop, where we found the brother,
who was highly delighted, he said, that his sisters had been catched; and he thought
proper to entertain me with a long account of their tediousness, and the many
quarrels they all had together.</p>
<p> When, at length, these ladies were equipped to their satisfaction, they made their
appearance; but before any conversation was suffered to pass between them and us,
they had a long and most disagreeable dialogue with their father, to whose
reprimands, though so justly incurred, they replied with the utmost pertness while
their brother all the time laughed aloud.</p>
<p> The moment they perceived this, they were so much provoked, that, instead of making
any apologies to Madame Duval, they next began to quarrel with him. "Tom, what do you
laugh for? I wonder what business you have to be always a laughing when Papa scolds
us?"</p>
<p> "Then what business have you to be such a while getting on your clothes? You're
never ready, you know well enough."</p>
<p> "Lord, Sir, I wonder what's that to you! I wish you'd mind your own affairs, and not
trouble yourself about ours. How should a boy like you know any thing?"</p>
<p> "A boy, indeed! not such a boy, neither: I'll warrant you'll be glad to be as young
when you come to be old maids."</p>
<p> This sort of dialogue we were amused with till dinner was ready, when we again
mounted up two pairs of stairs.</p>
<p> In our way, Miss Polly told me that her sister had asked Mr. Smith for his room to
dine in, but he had refused to lend it; "because," she said, "one day it happened to
be a little greased: however, we shall have it to drink tea in, and then, perhaps,
you may see him; and I assure you he's quite like one of the quality, and dresses as
fine, and goes to balls and dances, and every thing, quite in taste; and besides,
Miss, he keeps a foot-boy of his own too."</p>
<p> The dinner was ill-served, ill-cooked, and ill-managed. The maid who waited had so
often to go down stairs for something that was forgotten, that the Branghtons were
perpetually obliged to rise from table themselves, to get plates, knives, and forks,
bread or beer. Had they been without pretensions, all this would have seemed of no
consequence; but they aimed at appearing to advantage, and even fancied they
succeeded. However, the most disagreeable part of our fare was that the whole family
continually disputed whose turn it was to rise, and whose to be allowed to sit
still.</p>
<p> When this meal was over, Madame Duval, ever eager to discourse upon her travels,
entered into an argument with Mr. Branghton, and, in broken English, M. Du Bois,
concerning the French nation: and Miss Polly, then addressing herself to me, said
"Don't you think, Miss, it's very dull sitting up stairs here? we'd better go down to
shop, and then we shall see the people go by."</p>
<p> "Lord, Poll," said the brother, "you're always wanting to be staring and gaping; and
I'm sure you needn't be so fond of showing yourself, for you're ugly enough to
frighten a horse."</p>
<p> "Ugly, indeed! I wonder which is best, you or me. But, I tell you what, Tom, you've
no need to give yourself such airs; for, if you do, I'll tell Miss of-you know
what-"</p>
<p> "Who cares if you do? you may tell what you will; I don't mind-"</p>
<p> "Indeed," cried I, "I do not desire to hear any secrets."</p>
<p> "O, but I'm resolved I'll tell you, because Tom's so very spiteful. You must know,
Miss, t'other night-"</p>
<p> "Poll," cried the brother, "if you tell of that, Miss shall know all about your
meeting young Brown,-you know when!-So I'll be quits with you one way or other."</p>
<p> Miss Polly coloured, and again proposed our going down stairs till<lb/>Mr. Smith's
room was ready for our reception.</p>
<p> "Aye, so we will," said Miss Branghton; "I'll assure you, cousin, we have some very
genteel people pass by our shop sometimes. Polly and I always go and sit there when
we've cleaned ourselves."</p>
<p> "Yes, Miss," cried the brother, "they do nothing else all day long, when father
don't scold them. But the best fun is, when they've got all their dirty things on,
and all their hair about their ears, sometimes I send young Brown up stairs to them:
and then there's such a fuss!-There, they hide themselves, and run away, and squeal
and squall, like any thing mad: and so then I puts the two cats into the room, and I
gives them a good whipping, and so that sets them a squalling too; so there's such a
noise and such an uproar!-Lord, you can't think, Miss, what fun it is!"</p>
<p> This occasioned a fresh quarrel with the sisters; at the end of which, it was at
length decided that we should go to the shop.</p>
<p> In our way down stairs, Miss Branghton said aloud, "I wonder when<lb/>Mr. Smith's
room will be ready."</p>
<p> "So do I," answered Polly; "I'm sure we should not do any harm to it now."</p>
<p> This hint had not the desired effect; for we were suffered to proceed very
quietly.</p>
<p> As we entered the shop, I observed a young man in deep mourning leaning against the
wall, with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on the ground, apparently in profound
and melancholy meditation; but the moment he perceived us, he started, and, making a
passing bow, very abruptly retired. As I found he was permitted to go quite
unnoticed, I could not forbear enquiring who he was.</p>
<p> "Lord!" answered Miss Branghton, "he's nothing but a poor Scotch poet."</p>
<p> "For my part," said Miss Polly, "I believe he's just starved, for I don't find he
has anything to live upon."</p>
<p> "Live upon!" cried the brother; "why, he's a poet, you know, so he may live upon
learning."</p>
<p> "Aye, and good enough for him, too," said Miss Branghton; "for he's as proud as he's
poor."</p>
<p> "Like enough," replied the brother; "but, for all that, you won't find he will live
without meat and drink: no, no, catch a Scotchman at that if you can! why, they only
come here for what they can get."</p>
<p> "I'm sure," said Miss Branghton, "I wonder Papa'll be such a fool as to let him stay
in the house, for I dare say he'll never pay for his lodging."</p>
<p> "Why, no more he would, if he could get another lodger. You know the bill has been
put up this fortnight. Miss, if you should hear of a person that wants a room, I
assure you it is a very good one, for all it's up three pair of stairs."</p>
<p> I answered, that as I had no acquaintance in London, I had not any chance of
assisting them: but both my compassion and my curiosity were excited for this poor
young man; and I asked them some further particulars concerning him.</p>
<p> They then acquainted me, that they had only known him three months. When he first
lodged with them, he agreed to board also; but had lately told them he would eat by
himself, though they all believed he had hardly ever tasted a morsel of meat since he
left their table. They said, that he had always appeared very low-spirited; but for
the last month he had been duller than ever; and, all of a sudden, he had put himself
into mourning, though they knew not for whom, nor for what; but they supposed it was
only for convenience, as no person had ever been to see or enquire for him since his
residence amongst them: and they were sure he was very poor, as he had not paid for
his lodgings the last three weeks: and, finally, they concluded he was a poet, or
else half-crazy, because they had, at different times, found scraps of poetry in his
room.</p>
<p> They then produced some unfinished verses, written on small pieces of paper,
unconnected, and of a most melancholy cast. Among them was the fragment of an ode,
which, at my request, they lent to me to copy; and as you may perhaps like to see it,
I will write it now.</p>
<p>          O LIFE! thou lingering dream of grief, of pain, And every<lb/>         ill
that Nature can sustain,<lb/>            Strange, mutable, and wild!<lb/>         Now
flattering with Hope most fair, Depressing now with<lb/>         fell
Despair,<lb/>           The nurse of Guilt, the slave of
Pride,<lb/>             That, like a wayward child,<lb/>           Who, to himself a
foe,<lb/>         Sees joy alone in what's denied,<lb/>             In what is
granted, woe!<lb/>         O thou poor, feeble, fleeting, pow'r, By Vice seduc'd,
by<lb/>         Folly woo'd, By Mis'ry, Shame, Remorse, pursu'd; And as
thy<lb/>         toilsome steps proceed, Seeming to Youth the fairest
flow'r,<lb/>         Proving to Age the rankest weed,<lb/>             A gilded but a
bitter pill,<lb/>         Of varied, great, and complicated ill!</p>
<p> These lines are harsh, but they indicate an internal wretchedness, which I own,
affects me. Surely this young man must be involved in misfortunes of no common nature
but I cannot imagine what can induce him to remain with this unfeeling family, where
he is, most unworthily, despised for being poor, and most illiberally detested for
being a Scotchman. He may, indeed, have motives, which he cannot surmount, for
submitting to such a situation. Whatever they are, I most heartily pity him, and
cannot but wish it were in my power to afford him some relief.</p>
<p> During this conversation, Mr. Smith's foot-boy came to Miss Branghton, and informed
her, that his master said she might have the room now when she liked it, for that he
was presently going out.</p>
<p> This very genteel message, though it perfectly satisfied the Miss Branghtons, by no
means added to my desire of being introduced to this gentleman; and upon their
rising, with intention to accept his offer, I begged they would excuse my attending
them, and said I would sit with Madame Duval till the tea was ready.</p>
<p> I therefore once more went up two pair of stairs with young<lb/>Branghton, who
insisted upon accompanying me; and there we remained<lb/>till Mr. Smith's foot-boy
summoned us to tea, when I followed Madame<lb/>Duval into the dining-room.</p>
<p> The Miss Branghtons were seated at one window, and Mr. Smith was lolling indolently
out of the other. They all approached us at our entrance; and Mr. Smith, probably to
show he was master of the department, most officiously handed me to a great chair at
the upper end of the room, without taking any notice of Madame Duval, till I rose and
offered her my own seat.</p>
<p> Leaving the rest of the company to entertain themselves, he very abruptly began to
address himself to me, in a style of gallantry equally new and disagreeable to me. It
is true, no man can possibly pay me greater compliments, or make more fine speeches,
than Sir Clement Willoughby: yet his language, though too flowery, is always that of
a gentleman; and his address and manners are so very superior to those of the
inhabitants of this house, that, to make any comparison between him and Mr. Smith,
would be extremely unjust. This latter seems very desirous of appearing a man of
gaiety and spirit; but his vivacity is so low-bred, and his whole behaviour so
forward and disagreeable, that I should prefer the company of dullness itself, even
as that goddess is described by Pope, to that of this sprightly young man.</p>
<p> He made many apologies that he had not lent his room for our dinner, which he said,
he should certainly have done, had he seen me first: and he assured me, that when I
came again, he should be very glad to oblige me.</p>
<p> I told him, and with sincerity, that every part of the house was equally indifferent
to me.</p>
<p> "Why, Ma'am, the truth is, Miss Biddy and Polly take no care of any thing; else, I'm
sure, they should be always welcome to my room; for I'm never so happy as in obliging
the ladies,-that's my character, Ma'am:-but, really, the last time they had it, every
thing was made so greasy and so nasty, that, upon my word, to a man who wishes to
have things a little genteel, it was quite cruel. Now, as to you, Ma'am, it's quite
another thing, for I should not mind if every thing I had was spoilt, for the sake of
having the pleasure to oblige you; and I assure you, Ma'am, it makes me quite happy
that I have a room good enough to receive you."</p>
<p> This elegant speech was followed by many others so much in the same style, that to
write them would be superfluous; and as he did not allow me a moment to speak to any
other person, the rest of the evening was consumed in a painful attention to this
irksome young man, who seemed to intend appearing before me to the utmost
advantage.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dear Sir. I fear you will be sick of reading about this family; yet I must
write of them, or not of any, since I mix with no other. Happy I shall be when I quit
them all, and again return to Berry Hill.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XLIII</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION</opener>
<p> June 10th THIS morning Mr. Smith called, on purpose, he said, to offer me a ticket
for the next Hampstead assembly. I thanked him, but desired to be excused accepting
it: he would not, however, be denied, nor answered; and, in a manner both vehement
and free, pressed and urged his offer, till I was wearied to death: but, when he
found me resolute, he seemed thunderstruck with amazement, and thought proper to
desire I would tell him my reasons.</p>
<p> Obvious as they must surely have been to any other person, they were such as I knew
not how to repeat to him; and, when he found I hesitated, he said, "Indeed, Ma'am,
you are too modest; I assure you the ticket is quite at your service, and I shall be
very happy to dance with you; so pray don't be so coy."</p>
<p> "Indeed, Sir," returned I, "you are mistaken; I never supposed you would offer a
ticket without wishing it should be accepted; but it would answer no purpose to
mention the reasons which make me decline it, since they cannot possibly be
removed."</p>
<p> This speech seemed very much to mortify him; which I could not be concerned at, as I
did not choose to be treated by him with so much freedom. When he was, at last,
convinced that his application to me was ineffectual, he addressed himself to Madame
Duval, and begged she would interfere in his favour; offering at the same time to
procure another ticket for herself.</p>
<p> "Ma foi, Sir," answered she, angrily, "you might as well have had the complaisance
to ask me before; for, I assure you, I don't approve of no such rudeness: however,
you may keep your tickets to yourself, for we don't want none of 'em."</p>
<p> This rebuke almost overset him; he made many apologies, and said that he should
certainly have first applied to her, but that he had no notion the young lady would
have refused him, and, on the contrary, had concluded that she would have assisted
him to persuade Madame Duval herself.</p>
<p> This excuse appeased her; and he pleaded his cause so successfully, that, to my
great chagrin, he gained it, and Madame Duval promised that she would go herself, and
take me to the Hampstead assembly whenever he pleased.</p>
<p> Mr. Smith then, approaching me with an air of triumph, said, "Well,<lb/>Ma'am, now I
think you can't possibly keep to your denial."</p>
<p> I made no answer; and he soon took leave, tho' not till he had so wonderfully gained
the favour of Madame Duval, that she declared, when he was gone, he was the prettiest
young man she had seen since she came to England.</p>
<p> As soon as I could find an opportunity, I ventured, in the most humble manner, to
intreat Madame Duval would not insist upon my attending her to this ball; and
represented to her, as well as I was able, the impropriety of my accepting any
present from a man so entirely unknown to me: but she laughed at my scruples; called
me a foolish, ignorant country-girl; and said she should make it her business to
teach me something of the world.</p>
<p> This ball is to be next week. I am sure it is not more improper for, than unpleasant
to me, and I will use every possible endeavour to avoid it. Perhaps I may apply to
Miss Branghton for advice, as I believe she will be willing to assist me, from
disliking, equally with myself, that I should dance with Mr. Smith.</p>
<p> June 11th</p>
<p> O, my dear Sir! I have been shocked to death; and yet at the same time delighted
beyond expression, in the hope that I have happily been the instrument of saving a
human creature from destruction.</p>
<p> This morning Madame Duval said she would invite the Branghton family to return our
visit to-morrow; and, not choosing to rise herself,-for she generally spends the
morning in bed,-she desired me to wait upon them with her message. M. Du Bois, who
just then called, insisted upon attending me.</p>
<p> Mr. Branghton was in the shop, and told us that his son and daughter were out; but
desired me to step up stairs, as he very soon expected them home. This I did, leaving
M. Du Bois below. I went into the room where we had dined the day before; and, by a
wonderful chance, I happened to seat myself, that I had a view of the stairs, and yet
could not be seen from them.</p>
<p> In about ten minutes time, I saw, passing by the door, with a look perturbed and
affrighted, the same young man I mentioned in my last letter. Not heeding, as I
suppose, how he went, in turning the corner of the stairs, which are narrow and
winding, his foot slipped and he fell; but almost instantly rising, I plainly
perceived the end of a pistol, which started from his pocket by hitting against the
stairs.</p>
<p> I was inexpressibly shocked. All that I had heard of his misery occurring to my
memory, made me conclude that he was, at that very moment, meditating suicide! Struck
with the dreadful idea, all my strength seemed to fail me. He moved on slowly, yet I
soon lost sight of him; I sat motionless with terror; all power of action forsook me;
and I grew almost stiff with horror; till recollecting that it was yet possible to
prevent the fatal deed, all my faculties seemed to return, with the hope of saving
him.</p>
<p> My first thought was to fly to Mr. Branghton; but I feared, that an instant of time
lost might for ever be rued; and, therefore, guided by the impulse of my
apprehensions, as well as I was able I followed him up stairs, stepping very softly,
and obliged to support myself by the banisters.</p>
<p> When I came within a few stairs of the landing-place I stopped; for I could then see
into his room, as he had not yet shut the door.</p>
<p> He had put the pistol upon a table, and had his hand in his pocket, whence, in a few
moments, he took out another: he then emptied something on the table from a small
leather bag; after which, taking up both the pistols, one in each hand, he dropt
hastily upon his knees, and called out, "O, God!-forgive me!"</p>
<p> In a moment strength and courage seemed lent to me as by inspiration: I started, and
rushing precipitately into the room, just caught his arm, and then, overcome by my
own fears, I fell down at his side breathless and senseless. My recovery, however,
was, I believe, almost instantaneous; and then the sight of this unhappy man,
regarding me with a look of unutterable astonishment, mixed with concern, presently
restored to me my recollection. I arose, though with difficulty; he did the same; the
pistols, as I soon saw, were both on the floor.</p>
<p> Unwilling to leave them, and, indeed, too weak to move, I leant one hand on the
table, and then stood perfectly still; while he, his eyes cast wildly towards me,
seemed too infinitely amazed to be capable of either speech or action.</p>
<p> I believe we were some minutes in this extraordinary situation; but, as my strength
returned, I felt myself both ashamed and awkward, and moved towards the door. Pale
and motionless, he suffered me to pass, without changing his posture, or uttering a
syllable; and, indeed,</p>
<p> He look'd a bloodless image of despair.-POPE.</p>
<p> When I reached the door, I turned round; I looked fearfully at the pistols, and,
impelled by an emotion I could not repress, I hastily stepped back, with an intention
of carrying them away: but their wretched owner, perceiving my design, and recovering
from his astonishment, darting suddenly down, seized them both himself.</p>
<p> Wild with fright, and scarce knowing what I did, I caught, almost involuntarily,
hold of both his arms, and exclaimed, "O, Sir! have mercy on yourself!"</p>
<p> The guilty pistols fell from his hands, which, disengaging from me, he fervently
clasped, and cried, "Sweet Heaven! is this thy angel?"</p>
<p> Encouraged by such gentleness, I again attempted to take the pistols; but, with a
look half frantic, he again prevented me, saying "What would you do?"</p>
<p> "Awaken you," I cried, with a courage I now wonder at, "to worthier thoughts, and
rescue you from perdition."</p>
<p> I then seized the pistols; he said not a word,-he made no effort to stop me;-I
glided quick by him, and tottered down stairs ere he had recovered from the extremest
amazement.</p>
<p> The moment I reached again the room I had so fearfully left, I threw away the
pistols, and flinging myself on the first chair, gave free vent to the feelings I had
most painfully stifled, in a violent burst of tears, which, indeed, proved a happy
relief to me.</p>
<p> In this situation I remained some time; but when, at length, I lifted up my head,
the first object I saw was the poor man who had occasioned my terror, standing, as if
petrified, at the door, and gazing at me with eyes of wild wonder.</p>
<p> I started from the chair; but trembled so excessively, that I almost instantly sunk
again into it. He then, though without advancing, and, in a faultering voice, said,
"Whoever, or whatever you are, relieve me, I pray you, from the suspense under which
my soul labours-and tell me if indeed I do not dream?"</p>
<p> To this address, so singular, and so solemn, I had not then the presence of mind to
frame any answer; but as I presently perceived that his eyes turned from me to the
pistols, and that he seemed to intend regaining them, I exerted all my strength, and
saying, "O, for Heaven's sake forbear!" I rose and took them myself.</p>
<p> "Do my sense deceive me!" cried he, "do I live-? And do you?"</p>
<p> As he spoke he advanced towards me; and I, still guarding the pistols, retreated,
saying, "No, no-you must not-must not have them!"</p>
<p> "Why-for what purpose, tell me!-do you withhold them?"-</p>
<p> "To give you time to think,-to save you from eternal misery; -and,<lb/>I hope, to
reserve you for mercy and forgiveness."</p>
<p> "Wonderful!" cried he, with uplifted hands and eyes, "most wonderful!"</p>
<p> For some time he seemed wrapped in deep thought, till a sudden noise of tongues
below announcing the approach of the Branghtons, made him start from his reverie: he
sprung hastily forward, -dropt on one knee,-caught hold of my gown, which he pressed
to his lips; and then, quick as lightning, he rose, and flew up stairs to his own
room.</p>
<p> There was something in the whole of this extraordinary and shocking adventure,
really too affecting to be borne; and so entirely had I spent my spirits, and
exhausted my courage, that before the Branghtons reached me, I had sunk on the ground
without sense or motion.</p>
<p> I believe I must have been a very horrid sight to them on their entrance into the
room; for to all appearance, I seemed to have suffered a violent death, either by my
own rashness, or the cruelty of some murderer, as the pistols had fallen close by my
side.</p>
<p> How soon I recovered I know not; but, probably I was more indebted to the loudness
of their cries than to their assistance; for they all concluded that I was dead, and,
for some time, did not make any effort to revive me.</p>
<p> Scarcely could I recollect where, or indeed what, I was, ere they poured upon me
such a torrent of questions and enquiries, that I was almost stunned by their
vociferation. However, as soon, and as well as I was able, I endeavoured to satisfy
their curiosity, by recounting what had happened as clearly as was in my power. They
all looked aghast at the recital; but, not being well enough to enter into any
discussions, I begged to have a chair called, and to return instantly home.</p>
<p> Before I left them, I recommended, with great earnestness, a vigilant observance of
their unhappy lodger; and that they would take care to keep from him, if possible,
all means of self-destruction.</p>
<p> M. Du Bois, who seemed extremely concerned at my indisposition, walked by the side
of the chair, and saw me safe to my own apartment.</p>
<p> The rashness and the misery of this ill-fated young man engross all my thoughts. If
indeed, he is bent upon destroying himself, all efforts to save him will be
fruitless. How much do I wish it were in my power to discover the nature of the
malady which thus maddens him and to offer or to procure alleviation to his
sufferings! I am sure, my dearest Sir, you will be much concerned for this poor man;
and, were you here, I doubt not but you would find some method of awakening him from
the error which blinds him, and of pouring the balm of peace and comfort into his
afflicted soul.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XLIV</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Holborn, June 13th.</opener>
<p> YESTERDAY all the Branghtons dined here. Our conversation was almost wholly
concerning the adventure of the day before. Mr. Branghton said, that his first
thought was instantly to turn his lodger out of doors, "Lest," continued he, "his
killing himself in my house should bring me into any trouble: but then I was afraid I
should never get the money that he owes me; whereas, if he dies in my house, I have a
right to all he leaves behind him, if he goes off in my debt. Indeed, I would put him
in prison,-but what should I get by that? he could not earn anything there to pay me:
so I considered about it some time, and then I determined to ask him, point-blank,
for my money out of hand. And so I did; but he told me he'd pay me next week:
however, I gave him to understand, that though I was no Scotchman, yet, I did not
like to be over-reached any more than he: so he then gave me a ring, which, to my
certain knowledge, must be worth ten guineas, and told me he would not part with it
for his life, and a good deal more such sort of stuff, but that I might keep it until
he could pay me."</p>
<p> "It is ten to one, father," said young Branghton, "if he came fairly by it."</p>
<p> "Very likely not," answered he; "but that will make no great difference, for I shall
be able to prove my right to it all one."</p>
<p> What principles! I could hardly stay in the room.</p>
<p> "I'm determined," said the son, "I'll take some opportunity to affront him soon, now
I know how poor he is, because of the airs he gave himself when he first came."</p>
<p> "And pray how was that, child?" said Madame Duval.</p>
<p> "Why, you never knew such a fuss in your life as he made, because one day at dinner
I only happened to say, that I supposed he had never got such a good meal in his life
before he came to England: there, he fell in such a passion as you can't think: but
for my part, I took no notice of it: for to be sure, thinks I, he must needs be a
gentleman, or he'd never go to be so angry about it. However, he won't put his tricks
upon me again in a hurry."</p>
<p> "Well," said Miss Polly, "he's grown quite another creature to what he was, and he
doesn't run away from us, nor hide himself, nor any thing; and he's as civil as can
be, and he's always in the shop, and he saunters about the stairs, and he looks at
every body as comes in."</p>
<p> "Why, you may see what he's after plain enough," said Mr. Branghton; "he wants to
see Miss again."</p>
<p> "Ha, ha, ha! Lord, how I should laugh," said the son, "if he should have fell in
love with Miss!"</p>
<p> "I'm sure," said Miss Branghton, "Miss is welcome; but, for my part,<lb/>I should be
quite ashamed of such a beggarly conquest."</p>
<p> Such was the conversation till tea-time, when the appearance of<lb/>Mr. Smith gave a
new turn to the discourse.</p>
<p> Miss Branghton desired me to remark with what a smart air he entered the room, and
asked me if he had not very much a quality look?</p>
<p> "Come," cried he, advancing to us, "you ladies must not sit together; wherever I go
I always make it a rule to part the ladies."</p>
<p> And then, handing Miss Branghton to the next chair, he seated himself between
us.</p>
<p> "Well, now, ladies, I think we sit very well. What say you? for my part I think it
was a very good motion."</p>
<p> "If my cousin likes it," said Miss Branghton, "I'm sure I've no objection."</p>
<p> "O," cried he, "I always study what the ladies like,-that's my first thought. And,
indeed, it is but natural that you should like best to sit by the gentlemen, for what
can you find to say to one another?"</p>
<p> "Say!" cried young Branghton; "O, never you think of that, they'll find enough to
say, I'll be sworn. You know the women are never tired of talking."</p>
<p> "Come, come, Tom," said Mr. Smith, "don't be severe upon the ladies; when I'm by,
you know I always take their part."</p>
<p> Soon after, when Miss Branghton offered me some cake, this man of gallantry said,
"Well, if I was that lady, I'd never take any thing from a woman."</p>
<p> "Why not, Sir?"</p>
<p> "Because I should be afraid of being poisoned for being so handsome."</p>
<p> "Who is severe upon the ladies now?" said I.</p>
<p> "Why, really, Ma'am, it was a slip of the tongue; I did not intend to say such a
thing; but one can't always be on one's guard."</p>
<p> Soon after, the conversation turning upon public places, young<lb/>Branghton asked
if I had ever been to George's at Hampstead?</p>
<p> "Indeed, I never heard the place mentioned."</p>
<p> "Didn't you, Miss," cried he eagerly; "why, then you've a deal of fun to come, I'll
promise you; and, I tell you what, I'll treat you there some Sunday, soon. So now,
Bid and Poll, be sure you don't tell Miss about the chairs, and all that, for I've a
mind to surprise her; and if I pay, I think I've a right to have it my own way."</p>
<p> "George's at Hampstead!" repeated Mr. Smith contemptuously; "how came you to think
the young lady would like to go to such a low place as that! But, pray, Ma'am, have
you ever been to Don Saltero's at Chelsea?"</p>
<p> "No, Sir."</p>
<p> "No!-nay, then I must insist on having the pleasure of conducting you there before
long. I assure you, Ma'am, many genteel people go, or else, I give you my word, I
should not recommend it."</p>
<p> "Pray, cousin," said Mr. Branghton, "have you been at Sadler's<lb/>Wells yet?"</p>
<p> "No, Sir."</p>
<p> "No! why, then you've seen nothing!"</p>
<p> "Pray, Miss," said the son, "how do you like the Tower of London?"</p>
<p> "I have never been to it, Sir."</p>
<p> "Goodness!" exclaimed he, "not seen the Tower!-why, may be, you ha'n't been o' top
of the Monument, neither?"</p>
<p> "No, indeed, I have not."</p>
<p> "Why, then, you might as well not have come to London for aught I see, for you've
been no where."</p>
<p> "Pray, Miss," said Polly, "have you been all over Paul's Church yet?"</p>
<p> "No, Ma'am."</p>
<p> "Well, but, Ma'am," said Mr. Smith, "how do you like Vauxhall and<lb/>Marybone?"</p>
<p> "I never saw either, Sir."</p>
<p> "No-God bless me!-you really surprise me,-why Vauxhall is the first pleasure in
life!-I know nothing like it.-Well, Ma'am, you must have been with strange people,
indeed, not to have taken you to Vauxhall. Why you have seen nothing of London yet.
However, we must try if we can't make you amends."</p>
<p> In the course of this catechism, many other places were mentioned, of which I have
forgotten the names; but the looks of surprise and contempt that my repeated
negatives incurred were very diverting.</p>
<p> "Come," said Mr. Smith, after tea, "as this lady has been with such a queer set of
people, let's show her the difference; suppose we go somewhere to-night!-I love to do
things with spirit!-Come, ladies, where shall we go? For my part I should like
Foote's-but the ladies must choose; I never speak myself."</p>
<p> "Well, Mr. Smith is always in such spirits!" said Miss Branghton.</p>
<p> "Why, yes, Ma'am, yes, thank God, pretty good spirits;-I have not yet the cares of
the world upon me;-I am not married,-ha, ha, ha!-you'll excuse me, ladies,-but I
can't help laughing!"</p>
<p> No objection being made, to my great relief we all proceeded to the little theatre
in the Haymarket, where I was extremely entertained by the performance of the Minor
and the Commissary.</p>
<p> They all returned hither to supper.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XLV</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION June 15th.</opener>
<p> YESTERDAY morning Madame Duval again sent me to Mr. Branghton's, attended by M. Du
Bois, to make some party for the evening, because she had had the vapours the
preceding day from staying at home.</p>
<p> As I entered the shop, I perceived the unfortunate North Briton seated in a corner,
with a book in his hand. He cast his melancholy eyes up as we came in; and, I
believe, immediately recollected my face-for he started, and changed colour. I
delivered Madame Duval's message to Mr. Branghton, who told me I should find Polly up
stairs, but that the others were gone out.</p>
<p> Up stairs, therefore, I went; and, seated on a window, with Mr. Brown at her side,
sat Miss Polly. I felt a little awkward at disturbing them, and much more so at their
behaviour afterwards; for, as soon as the common enquiries were over, Mr. Brown grew
so fond and so foolish, that I was extremely disgusted. Polly, all the time, only
rebuked him with, "La, now, Mr. Brown, do be quiet, can't you?-you should not behave
so before company.-Why, now, what will Miss think of me?"-While her looks plainly
showed not merely the pleasure, but the pride which she took in his caresses.</p>
<p> I did not by any means think it necessary to punish myself by witnessing their
tenderness; and therefore telling them I would see if Miss Branghton were returned
home, I soon left them, and against descended into the shop.</p>
<p> "So, Miss, you've come again," said Mr. Branghton; "what, I suppose you've a mind to
sit a little in the shop, and see how the world goes, hey, Miss?"</p>
<p> I made no answer; and M. Du Bois instantly brought me a chair.</p>
<p> The unhappy stranger, who had risen at my entrance, again seated himself; and though
his head leant towards his book, I could not help observing, his eyes were most
intently and earnestly turned towards me.</p>
<p> M. Du Bois, as well as his broken English would allow him, endeavoured to entertain
us till the return of Miss Branghton and her brother.</p>
<p> "Lord, how tired I am!" cried the former; "I have not a foot to stand upon." And,
then, without any ceremony, she flung herself into the chair from which I had risen
to receive her.</p>
<p> "You tired!" said the brother; "why, then, what must I be, that have walked twice as
far?" And, with equal politeness, he paid the same compliment to M. Du Bois which his
sister had done to me.</p>
<p> Two chairs and three stools completed the furniture of the shop; and Mr. Branghton,
who chose to keep his own seat himself, desired M. Du Bois to take another; and then
seeing that I was without any, called out to the stranger, "Come, Mr. Macartney, lend
us your stool."</p>
<p> Shocked at their rudeness, I declined the offer; and, approaching Miss Branghton,
said, "If you will be so good as to make room for me on your chair, there will be no
occasion to disturb that gentleman."</p>
<p> "Lord, what signifies that?" cried the brother; "he has had his share of sitting,
I'll be sworn."</p>
<p> "And, if he has not," said the sister, "he has a chair up stairs; and the shop is
our own, I hope."</p>
<p> This grossness so much disgusted me, that I took the stool, and carrying it back to
Mr. Macartney myself, I returned him thanks as civilly as I could for his politeness,
but said that I had rather stand.</p>
<p> He looked at me as if unaccustomed to such attention, bowed very respectfully, but
neither spoke nor yet made use of it.</p>
<p> I soon found that I was an object of derision to all present, except M. Du Bois; and
therefore, I begged Mr. Branghton would give me an answer for Madame Duval, as I was
in haste to return.</p>
<p> "Well, then, Tom,-Biddy, where have you a mind to go tonight? your aunt and Miss
want to be abroad and amongst them."</p>
<p> "Why, then, Papa," said Miss Branghton, "we'll go to Don Saltero's. Mr. Smith likes
that place, so may be he'll go along with us."</p>
<p> "No, no," said the son, "I'm for White-Conduit House; so let's go there."</p>
<p> "White-Conduit House, indeed!" cried his sister; "no, Tom, that<lb/>I won't."</p>
<p> "Why, then, let it alone; nobody wants your company;-we shall do as well without
you, I'll be sworn, and better too."</p>
<p> "I'll tell you what, Tom, if you don't hold your tongue, I'll make you repent
it,-that I assure you."</p>
<p> Just then Mr. Smith came into the shop, which he seemed to intend passing through;
but when he saw me, he stopped, and began a most courteous enquiry after my health,
protesting, that, had he known I was there, he should have come down sooner. "But,
bless me, Ma'am," added he, "what is the reason you stand?" and then he flew to bring
me the seat from which I had just parted.</p>
<p> "Mr. Smith, you are come in very good time," said Mr. Branghton, "to end a dispute
between my son and daughter, about where they shall all go to-night."</p>
<p> "O, fie, Tom,-dispute with a lady!" cried Mr. Smith. "Now, as for me, I'm for where
you will, provided this young lady is of the party;-one place is the same as another
to me, so that it be but agreeable to the ladies.-I would go any where with you,
Ma'am," (to me) "unless, indeed, it were to church; -ha, ha, ha!-You'll excuse me,
Ma'am; but, really, I never could conquer my fear of a parson;-ha, ha, ha!-Really,
ladies, I beg your pardon for being so rude; but I can't help laughing for my
life!"</p>
<p> "I was just saying, Mr. Smith," said Miss Branghton, "that I should like to go to
Don Saltero's;-now, pray, where should you like to go?"</p>
<p> "Why, really, Miss Biddy, you know I always let the ladies decide; I never fix any
thing myself; but I should suppose it would be rather hot at the
coffee-house:-however, pray, ladies, settle it among yourselves;-I'm agreeable to
whatever you choose."</p>
<p> It was easy for me to discover, that this man, with all his parade of conformity,
objects to every thing that is not proposed by himself: but he is so much admired by
this family for his gentility, that he thinks himself a complete fine gentleman!</p>
<p> "Come," said Mr. Branghton, "the best way will be to put it to the vote, and then
every body will speak their minds. Biddy, call Poll down stairs. We'll start
fair."</p>
<p> "Lord, Papa," said Miss Branghton, "why can't you as well send<lb/>Tom?-you're
always sending me of the errands."</p>
<p> A dispute then ensued, but Miss Branghton was obliged to yield.</p>
<p> When Mr. Brown and Miss Polly made their appearance, the latter uttered many
complaints of having been called, saying, she did not want to come, and was very well
where she was.</p>
<p> "Now, ladies, your votes," cried Mr. Smith; "and so, Ma'am (to me), we'll begin with
you. What place shall you like best?" and then, in a whisper, he added, "I assure
you, I shall say the same as you do, whether I like it or not."</p>
<p> I said, that as I was ignorant what choice was in my power, I must beg to hear their
decisions first. This was reluctantly assented to; and then Miss Branghton voted for
Saltero's Coffee-house; her sister, for a party to Mother Red Cap's; the brother for
White-Conduit House; Mr. Brown, for Bagnigge Wells; Mr. Braughton, for Sadler's
Wells; and Mr. Smith, for Vauxhall.</p>
<p> "Well now, Ma'am," said Mr. Smith, "we have all spoken, and so you must give the
casting vote. Come, what will you fix upon?"</p>
<p> "Sir," answered I, "I was to speak last."</p>
<p> "Well, so you will," said Miss Branghton, "for we've all spoke first."</p>
<p> "Pardon me," returned I, "the voting has not yet been quite general."</p>
<p> And I turned towards Mr. Macartney, to whom I wished extremely to show that I was
not of the same brutal nature with those by whom he was treated so grossly.</p>
<p> "Why, pray," said Mr. Branghton, "who have we left out? would you have the cats and
dogs vote?"</p>
<p> "No, Sir," cried I, with some spirit, "I would have that gentleman vote,-if, indeed,
he is not superior to joining our party."</p>
<p> They all looked at me, as if they doubted whether or not they had heard me right:
but, in a few moments, their surprise gave way to a rude burst of laughter.</p>
<p> Very much displeased, I told M. Du Bois that if he was not ready to go, I would have
a coach called for myself.</p>
<p> O yes, he said, he was always ready to attend me.</p>
<p> Mr. Smith then, advancing, attempted to take my hand, and begged me not to leave
them till I had settled the evening's plans.</p>
<p> "I have nothing, Sir," said I, "to do with it, as it is my intention to stay at
home; and therefore Mr. Branghton will be so good as to send Madame Duval word what
place is fixed upon, when it is convenient to him."</p>
<p> And then, making a slight courtesy, I left them.</p>
<p> How much does my disgust for these people increase my pity for poor Mr. Macartney! I
will not see them when I can avoid so doing; but I am determined to take every
opportunity in my power to show civility to this unhappy man, whose misfortunes with
this family, only render him an object of scorn. I was, however, very well pleased
with M. Du Bois, who, far from joining in their mirth, expressed himself extremely
shocked at their ill-breeding.</p>
<p> We had not walked ten yards before we were followed by Mr. Smith, who came to make
excuses, and to assure me they were only joking, and hoped I took nothing ill; for if
I did, he would make a quarrel of it himself with the Branghtons, rather than I
should receive any offense.</p>
<p> I begged him not to take any trouble about so immaterial an affair, and assured him
I should not myself. He was so officious, that he would not be prevailed upon to
return home, till he had walked with us to Mr. Dawkins's.</p>
<p> Madame Duval was very much displeased that I brought her so little satisfaction.
White-Conduit House was at last fixed upon; and, notwithstanding my great dislike of
such parties and such places, I was obliged to accompany them.</p>
<p> Very disagreeable, and much according to my expectations, the evening proved. There
were many people all smart and gaudy, and so pert and low-bred, that I could hardly
endure being amongst them; but the party to which, unfortunately, I belonged, seemed
all at home.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XLVI</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Holborn, June 17th.</opener>
<p> YESTERDAY Mr. Smith carried his point of making a party for Vauxhall, consisting of
Madame Duval, M. Du Bois, all the Branghtons, Mr. Brown, himself,-and me!-for I find
all endeavours vain to escape any thing which these people desire I should not.</p>
<p> There were twenty disputes previous to our setting out; first, as to the time of our
going: Mr. Branghton, his son, and young Brown, were for six o'clock; and all the
ladies and Mr. Smith were for eight;-the latter, however, conquered.</p>
<p> Then, as to the way we should go; some were for a boat, others for a coach, and Mr.
Branghton himself was for walking; but the boat at length was decided upon. Indeed
this was the only part of the expedition that was agreeable to me; for the Thames was
delightfully pleasant.</p>
<p> The garden is very pretty, but too formal; I should have been better pleased, had it
consisted less of straight walks, where</p>
<p> Grove nods at grove, each alley has its brother.</p>
<p> The trees, the numerous lights, and the company in the circle round the orchestra
make a most brilliant and gay appearance; and had I been with a party less
disagreeable to me, I should have thought it a place formed for animation and
pleasure. There was a concert; in the course of which a hautbois concerto was so
charmingly played, that I could have thought myself upon enchanted ground, had I had
spirits more gentle to associate with. The hautbois in the open air is heavenly.</p>
<p> Mr. Smith endeavoured to attach himself to me, with such officious assiduity and
impertinent freedom, that he quite sickened me. Indeed M. Du Bois was the only man of
the party to whom, voluntarily, I ever addressed myself. He is civil and respectful,
and I have found nobody else so since I left Howard Grove. His English is very bad;
but I prefer it to speaking French myself, which I dare not venture to do. I converse
with him frequently, both to disengage myself from others, and to oblige Madame
Duval, who is always pleased when he is attended to.</p>
<p> As we were walking about the orchestra, I heard a bell ring; and, in a moment, Mr.
Smith, flying up to me, caught my hand, and, with a motion too quick to be resisted,
ran away with me many yards before I had breath to ask his meaning, though I
struggled as well as I could, to get from him. At last, however, I insisted upon
stopping: "Stopping, Ma'am!" cried he, "why we must run on or we shall lose the
cascade!"</p>
<p> And then again he hurried me away, mixing with a crowd of people, all running with
so much velocity, that I could not imagine what had raised such an alarm. We were
soon followed by the rest of the party; and my surprise and ignorance proved a source
of diversion to them all, which was not exhausted the whole evening. Young Branghton,
in particular, laughed till he could hardly stand.</p>
<p> The scene of the cascade I thought extremely pretty, and the general effect striking
and lively.</p>
<p> But this was not the only surprise which was to divert them at my expense; for they
led me about the garden purposely to enjoy my first sight of various other
deceptions.</p>
<p> About ten o'clock, Mr. Smith having chosen a box in a very conpicuous place, we all
went to supper. Much fault was found with every thing that was ordered, though not a
morsel of any thing was left; and the dearness of the provisions, with conjectures
upon what profit was made by them, supplied discourse during the whole meal.</p>
<p> When wine and cyder were brought, Mr. Smith said, "Now let's enjoy ourselves; now is
the time, or never. Well, Ma'am, and how do you like Vauxhall?"</p>
<p> "Like it!" cried young Branghton; "why, how can she help liking it? she has never
seen such a place before, that I'll answer for."</p>
<p> "For my part," said Miss Branghton, "I like it because it is not vulgar."</p>
<p> "This must have been a fine treat for you, Miss," said Mr. Branghton; "why, I
suppose you was never so happy in all your life before?"</p>
<p> I endeavoured to express my satisfaction with some pleasure; yet,<lb/>I believe,
they were much amazed at my coldness.</p>
<p> "Miss ought to stay in town till the last night," said young Branghton; "and then,
it's my belief, she'd say something to it! Why, Lord, it's the best night of any;
there's always a riot,-and there the folks run about,-and then there's such squealing
and squalling!-and, there, all the lamps are broke,-and the women run skimper
scamper.-I declare I would not take five guineas to miss the last night!"</p>
<p> I was very glad when they all grew tired of sitting, and called for the waiter to
pay the bill. The Miss Branghtons said they would walk on while the gentlemen settled
the account, and asked me to accompany them; which, however, I declined.</p>
<p> "You girls may do as you please," said Madame Duval; "but as to me,<lb/>I promise
you, I sha'n't go nowhere without the gentlemen."</p>
<p> "No more, I suppose, will my cousin," said Miss Branghton, looking reproachfully
towards Mr. Smith.</p>
<p> This reflection, which I feared would flatter his vanity, made me most unfortunately
request Madame Duval's permission to attend them. She granted it; and away we went,
having promised to meet in the room.</p>
<p> To the room, therefore, I would immediately have gone: but the sisters agreed that
they would first have a little pleasure; and they tittered and talked so loud, that
they attracted universal notice.</p>
<p> "Lord, Polly," said the eldest, "suppose we were to take a turn in the dark
walks!"</p>
<p> "Aye, do," answered she; "and then we'll hide ourselves, and then<lb/>Mr. Brown will
think we are lost."</p>
<p> I remonstrated very warmly against this plan, telling them it would endanger our
missing the rest of the party all the evening.</p>
<p> "O dear," cried Miss Branghton, "I thought how uneasy Miss would be without a
beau!"</p>
<p> This impertinence I did not think worth answering; and, quite by compulsion, I
followed them down a long alley, in which there was hardly any light.</p>
<p> By the time we came near the end, a large party of gentlemen, apparently very
riotous, and who were hallooing, leaning on one another, and laughing immoderately,
seemed to rush suddenly from behind some trees, and meeting us face to face, put
their arms at their sides, and formed a kind of circle, which first stopped our
proceeding, and then our retreating, for we were presently entirely enclosed. The
Miss Branghtons screamed aloud, and I was frightened exceedingly; our screams were
answered with bursts of laughter, and for some minutes we were kept prisoners, till
at last one of them, rudely seizing hold of me, said I was a pretty little
creature.</p>
<p> Terrified to death, I struggled with such vehemence to disengage myself from him,
that I succeeded, in spite of his efforts to detain me; and immediately, and with a
swiftness which fear only could have given me, I flew rather than ran up the walk,
hoping to secure my safety by returning to the lights and company we had so foolishly
left: but before I could possibly accomplish my purpose, I was met by another party
of men, one of whom placed himself so directly in my way, calling out, "Whither so
fast, my love?"-that I could only have proceeded by running into his arms.</p>
<p> In a moment both my hands, by different persons, were caught hold of, and one of
them, in a most familiar manner, desired, when I ran next, to accompany me in a race;
while the rest of the party stood still and laughed.</p>
<p> I was almost distracted with terror, and so breathless with running, that I could
not speak; till another, advancing, said, I was as handsome as an angel, and desired
to be of the party. I then just articulated, "For Heaven's sake, gentlemen, let me
pass!"</p>
<p> Another then rushing suddenly forward, exclaimed, "Heaven and earth! What voice is
that?-"</p>
<p> "The voice of the prettiest little actress I have seen this age," answered one of my
persecutors.</p>
<p> "No,-no,-no-" I panted out, "I am no actress-pray let me go,-pray let me pass-"</p>
<p> "By all that's sacred," cried the same voice, which I then knew for<lb/>Sir Clement
Willoughby's, "'tis herself!"</p>
<p> "Sir Clement Willoughby!" cried I. "O, Sir, assist-assist me-or I shall die with
terror!"</p>
<p> "Gentlemen," cried he, disengaging them all from me in an instant, "pray leave this
lady to me."</p>
<p> Loud laughs proceeded from every mouth, and two or three said Willoughby has all the
luck! But one of them, in a passionate manner, vowed he would not give me up, for
that he had the first right to me, and would support it.</p>
<p> "You are mistaken," said Sir Clement, "this lady is-I will explain myself to you
another time; but, I assure you, you are all mistaken."</p>
<p> And then taking my willing hand, he led me off, amidst the loud acclamations,
laughter, and gross merriment of his impertinent companions.</p>
<p> As soon as we had escaped from them, Sir Clement, with a voice of surprise,
exclaimed, "My dearest creature, what wonder, what strange revolution, has brought
you to such a place as this?"</p>
<p> Ashamed of my situation, and extremely mortified to be thus recognized by him, I was
for some time silent; and when he repeated his question, only stammered out, "I
have,-I hardly know how,-lost from my party-"</p>
<p> He caught my hand, and eagerly pressing it, in a passionate voice said,<lb/>"O that
I had sooner met with thee!"</p>
<p> Surprised at a freedom so unexpected, I angrily broke from him, saying,<lb/>"Is this
the protection you give me, Sir Clement?"</p>
<p> And then I saw, what the perturbation of my mind had prevented my sooner noticing,
that he had led me, though I know not how, into another of the dark alleys, instead
of the place whither I meant to go.</p>
<p> "Good God!" I cried, "where am I?-What way are you going?"</p>
<p> "Where," answered he, "we shall be least observed!"</p>
<p> Astonished at this speech, I stopped short, and declared I would go no further.</p>
<p> "And why not, my angel?" again endeavouring to take my hand.</p>
<p> My heart beat with resentment; I pushed him away from me with all my strength, and
demanded how he dared treat me with such insolence?</p>
<p> "Insolence!" repeated he.</p>
<p> "Yes, Sir Clement, insolence; from you, who know me, I had a claim for
protection,-not to such treatment as this."</p>
<p> "By Heaven," cried he, with warmth, "you distract me;-why, tell me,-why do I see you
here?-Is this a place for Miss Anville?-these dark walks!-no party! no companion!-by
all that's good I can scarce believe my senses!"</p>
<p> Extremely offended at this speech, I turned angrily from him: and, not deigning to
make any answer, walked on towards that part of the garden whence I perceived the
lights and company.</p>
<p> He followed me; but we were both some time silent.</p>
<p> "So you will not explain to me your situation?" said he, at length.</p>
<p> "No, Sir," answered I, disdainfully.</p>
<p> "Nor yet-suffer me to make my own interpretation?-"</p>
<p> I could not bear this strange manner of speaking; it made my very soul shudder,-and
I burst into tears.</p>
<p> He flew to me, and actually flung himself at my feet, as if regardless who might see
him, saying, "O, Miss Anville,-loveliest of women,-forgive my,-my,-I beseech you
forgive me;-if I have offended-if I have hurt you-I could kill myself at the
thought!-"</p>
<p> "No matter, Sir, no matter," cried I; "if I can but find my friends,-I will never
speak to-never see you again!"</p>
<p> "Good God!-good Heaven! My dearest life, what is it I have done?-what is it I have
said?-"</p>
<p> "You best know, Sir, what and why: but don't hold me here,-let me be gone; and do
you!"</p>
<p> "Not till you forgive me!-I cannot part with you in anger."</p>
<p> "For shame, for shame, Sir!" cried I, indignantly, "do you suppose I am to be thus
compelled?-do you take advantage of the absence of my friends to affront me?"</p>
<p> "No, Madam," cried he, rising: "I would sooner forfeit my life than act so mean a
part. But you have flung me into amazement unspeakable, and you will not condescend
to listen to my request of giving me some explanation."</p>
<p> "The manner, Sir," said I, "in which you spoke that request, made, and will make, me
scorn to answer it."</p>
<p> "Scorn!-I will own to you, I expected not such displeasure from<lb/>Miss
Anville."</p>
<p> "Perhaps, Sir, if you had, you would less voluntarily have merited it."</p>
<p> "My dearest life, surely it must be known to you, that the man does not breathe who
adores you so passionately, so fervently, so tenderly as I do!-Why, then, will you
delight in perplexing me?-in keeping me in suspense?-in torturing me with doubt?"</p>
<p> "I, Sir, delight in perplexing you!-you are much mistaken.-Your suspense, your
doubts, your perplexities,-are of your own creating; and believe me, Sir, they may
offend, but they can never delight me:-but as you have yourself raised, you must
yourself satisfy them."</p>
<p> "Good God!-that such haughtiness and such sweetness can inhabit the same
mansion!"</p>
<p> I made no answer; but quickening my pace I walked on silently and sullenly, till
this most impetuous of men, snatching my hand, which he grasped with violence,
besought me to forgive him with such earnestness of supplication, that, merely to
escape his importunities, I was forced to speak, and in some measure to grant the
pardon he requested; though it was accorded with a very ill grace: but, indeed, I
knew not how to resist the humility of his intreaties: yet never shall I recollect
the occasion he gave me of displeasure, without feeling it renewed.</p>
<p> We now soon arrived in the midst of the general crowd; and, my own safety being then
insured, I grew extremely uneasy for the Miss Branghtons, whose danger, however
imprudently incurred by their own folly, I too well knew how to tremble for. To this
consideration all my pride of heart yielded, and I determined to seek my party with
the utmost speed; though not without a sigh did I recollect the fruitless attempt I
had made after the opera, of concealing from this man my unfortunate connections,
which I was now obliged to make known.</p>
<p> I hastened, therefore, to the room, with a view of sending young<lb/>Branghton to
the aid of his sisters. In a very short time I perceived<lb/>Madame Duval, and the
rest, looking at one of the paintings.</p>
<p> I must own to you honestly, my dear Sir, that an involuntary repugnance seized me at
presenting such a set to Sir Clement,-he who had been used to see me in parties so
different!-My pace slackened as I approached them,-but they presently perceived
me.</p>
<p> "Ah, Mademoiselle!" cried M. Du Bois, "Que je suis charm-e; de vous voir!"</p>
<p> "Pray, Miss," cried Mr. Brown, "where's Miss Polly?"</p>
<p> "Why, Miss, you've been a long while gone," said Mr. Branghton; "we thought you'd
been lost. But what have you done with your cousins?"</p>
<p> I hesitated,-for Sir Clement regarded me with a look of wonder.</p>
<p> "Pardi," cried Madame Duval, "I shan't let you leave me again in a hurry. Why, here
we've been in such a fright!-and all the while, I suppose, you've been thinking
nothing about the matter."</p>
<p> "Well," said young Branghton," as long as Miss is come back, I don't mind; for as to
Bid and Poll, they can take care of themselves. But the best joke is, Mr. Smith is
gone all about a looking for you."</p>
<p> These speeches were made almost in a breath: but when, at last, they waited for an
answer, I told them, that, in walking up one of the long alleys, we had been
frightened and separated.</p>
<p> "The long alleys!" repeated Mr. Branghton, "and pray, what had you to do in the long
alleys? why, to be sure, you must all of you have had a mind to be affronted!"</p>
<p> This speech was not more impertinent to me, than surprising to Sir<lb/>Clement, who
regarded all the party with evident astonishment. However,<lb/>I told young
Branghton, no time ought to be lost, for that his sisters<lb/>might require his
immediate protection.</p>
<p> "But how will they get it?" cried this brutal brother: "if they've a mind to behave
in such a manner as that, they ought to protect themselves; and so they may for
me."</p>
<p> "Well," said the simple Mr. Brown, "whether you go or not, I think<lb/>I may as well
see after Miss Polly."</p>
<p> The father then interfering, insisted that his son should accompany him; and away
they went.</p>
<p> It was now that Madame Duval first perceived Sir Clement; to whom, turning with a
look of great displeasure, she angrily said, "Ma foi, so you are comed here, of all
the people in the world!-I wonder, child, you would let such a-such a person as that
keep company with you."</p>
<p> "I am very sorry, Madam," said Sir Clement, in a tone of surprise, "if I had been so
unfortunate as to offend you; but I believe you will not regret the honour I now have
of attending Miss Anville, when you hear that I have been so happy as to do her some
service."</p>
<p> Just as Madame Duval, with her usual Ma foi, was beginning to reply, the attention
of Sir Clement was wholly drawn from her, by the appearance of Mr. Smith, who, coming
suddenly behind me, and freely putting his hands of my shoulders, cried, "O ho, my
little runaway, have I found you at last? I have been scampering all over the gardens
for you, for I was determined to find you, if you were above ground.-But how could
you be so cruel as to leave us?"</p>
<p> I turned round to him, and looked with a degree of contempt that I hoped would have
quieted him: but he had not the sense to understand me; and, attempting to take my
hand, he added, "Such a demure-looking lady as you are, who'd have thought of your
leading one such a dance?-Come, now, don't be so coy; only think what a trouble I
have had in running after you!"</p>
<p> "The trouble, Sir," said I, "was of your own choice,-not mine." And<lb/>I walked
round to the other side of Madame Duval.</p>
<p> Perhaps I was too proud;-but I could not endure that Sir Clement, whose eyes
followed him with looks of the most surprised curiosity, should witness his unwelcome
familiarity.</p>
<p> Upon my removal he came up to me, and, in a low voice, said, "You are not, then,
with the Mirvans?"</p>
<p> "No, Sir."</p>
<p> "And pray,-may I ask you,-have you left them long?"</p>
<p> "No, Sir."</p>
<p> "How unfortunate I am!-but yesterday I sent to acquaint the Captain I should reach
the Grove by to-morrow noon! However, I shall get away as fast as possible. Shall you
be long in town?"</p>
<p> "I believe not, Sir."</p>
<p> "And then, when you leave it-which way-will you allow me to ask, which way you shall
travel?"</p>
<p> "Indeed,-I don't know."</p>
<p> "Not know!-But do you return to the Mirvans any more?"</p>
<p> "I-I can't tell, Sir."</p>
<p> And then I addressed myself to Madame Duval, with such a pretended earnestness, that
he was obliged to be silent.</p>
<p> As he cannot but observe the great change in my situation, which he knows not how to
account for, there is something in all these questions, and this unrestrained
curiosity, that I did not expect from a man who, when he pleases, can be so well-bred
as Sir Clement Willoughby. He seems disposed to think that the alteration in my
companions authorises an alteration in his manners. It is true, he has always treated
me with uncommon freedom, but never before with so disrespectful an abruptness. This
observation, which he has given me cause to make, of his changing with the tide, has
sunk him more in my opinion than any other part of his conduct.</p>
<p> Yet I could almost have laughed when I looked at Mr. Smith, who no sooner saw me
addressed by Sir Clement, than, retreating aloof from the company, he seemed to lose
at once all his happy self-sufficiency and conceit; looking now at the baronet, now
at himself; surveying, with sorrowful eyes, his dress; struck with his air, his
gestures, his easy gaiety, he gazed at him with envious admiration, and seemed
himself, with conscious inferiority, to shrink into nothing.</p>
<p> Soon after, Mr. Brown, running up to us, called out, "La, what, i'n't Miss Polly
come yet?"</p>
<p> "Come," said Mr. Branghton; "why, I thought you went to fetch her yourself, didn't
you?"</p>
<p> "Yes, but I couldn't find her;-yet I daresay I've been over half the garden."</p>
<p> "Half? but why did not you go over it all?"</p>
<p> "Why, so I will: but only I thought I'd just come and see if she was here
first."</p>
<p> "But where's Tom?"</p>
<p> "Why, I don't know; for he would not stay with me, all as ever I could say: for we
met some young gentlemen of his acquaintance, and so he bid me go and look by myself;
for he said, says he, I can divert myself better another way, says he."</p>
<p> This account being given, away again went this silly young man; and Mr. Branghton,
extremely incensed, said he would go and see after them himself.</p>
<p> "So, now", cried Madame Duval, "he's gone too! why, at this rate, we shall have to
wait for one or other of them all night!"</p>
<p> Observing that Sir Clement seemed disposed to renew his enquiries, I turned towards
one of the paintings, and, pretending to be very much occupied in looking at it,
asked M. Du Bois some questions concerning the figures.</p>
<p> "O! Mon Dieu!" cried Madame Duval, "don't ask him; your best way is to ask Mr.
Smith, for he's been here the oftenest. Come, Mr. Smith, I dare say you can tell us
all about them."</p>
<p> "Why, yes, Ma'am, yes," said Mr. Smith: who, brightening up at this application,
advanced towards us with an air of assumed importance, which, however, sat very
uneasily upon him, and begged to know what he should explain first: "For I have
attended," said he, "to all these paintings, and know every thing in them perfectly
well; for I am rather fond of pictures, Ma'am; and, really, I must say, I think, a
pretty pictures is a-a very-is really a very-is something very pretty-"</p>
<p> "So do I too," said Madame Duval; "but pray now, Sir, tell us who that is meant
for," pointing to a figure of Neptune.</p>
<p> "That!-why, that, Ma'am, is,-Lord bless me, I can't think how I come to be so
stupid, but really I have forgot his name;-and yet, I know it as well as my own
too:-however, he's a General, Ma'am, they are all Generals."</p>
<p> I saw Sir Clement bite his lips; and, indeed, so did I mine.</p>
<p> "Well," said Madame Duval, "it's the oddest dress for a general ever<lb/>I see!"</p>
<p> "He seems so capital a figure," said Sir Clement, to Mr. Smith, "that I imagine he
must be Generalissimo of the whole army."</p>
<p> "Yes, Sir, yes," answered Mr. Smith, respectfully bowing, and highly delighted at
being thus referred to, "you are perfectly right;-but I cannot for my life think of
his name;-perhaps, Sir, you may remember it?"</p>
<p> "No, really," replied Sir Clement, "my acquaintance among the generals is not so
extensive."</p>
<p> The ironical tone of voice in which Sir Clement spoke entirely disconcerted Mr.
Smith; who again retiring to an humble distance, seemed sensibly mortified at the
failure of his attempt to recover his consequence.</p>
<p> Soon after, Mr. Branghton returned with his youngest daughter, who he had rescued
from a party of insolent young men; but he had not yet been able to find the eldest.
Miss Polly was really frightened, and declared she would never go into the dark walks
again. Her father, leaving her with us, went in quest of her sister.</p>
<p> While she was relating her adventures, to which nobody listened more attentively
than Sir Clement, we saw Mr. Brown enter the room. "O, la!" cried Miss Polly, "let me
hide myself, and don't tell him I'm come."</p>
<p> She then placed herself behind Madame Duval, in such a manner that she could not be
seen.</p>
<p> "So Miss Polly is not come yet!" said the simple swain: "well, I can't think where
she can be! I've been looking, and looking, and looking all about, and can't find her
all I can do."</p>
<p> "Well, but, Mr. Brown," said Mr. Smith, "sha'n't you go and look for the lady
again?"</p>
<p> "Yes, Sir," said he, sitting down; "but I must rest me a little bit first. You can't
think how tired I am."</p>
<p> "O fie, Mr. Brown, fie," cried Mr. Smith, winking at us, "tired of looking for a
lady! Go, go, for shame!"</p>
<p> "So I will, Sir, presently; but you'd be tired too, if you had walked so far:
besides, I think she's gone out of the garden, or else I must have seen something or
other of her."</p>
<p> A he, he he! of the tittering Polly, now betrayed her, and so ended this ingenious
little artifice.</p>
<p> At last appeared Mr. Branghton and Miss Biddy, who, with a face of mixed anger and
confusion, addressing herself to me, said, "So, Miss, so you ran away from me! Well,
see if I don't do as much by you some day or other! But I thought how it would be;
you'd no mind to leave the gentlemen, though you run away from me."</p>
<p> I was so much surprised at this attack, that I could not answer her for very
amazement; and she proceeded to tell us how ill she had been used, and that two young
men had been making her walk up and down the dark walks by absolute force, and as
fast as ever they could tear her along; and many other particulars, which I will not
tire you with relating. In conclusion, looking at Mr. Smith, she said, "But to be
sure, thought I, at least all the company will be looking for me; so I little
expected to find you all here, talking as comfortably as ever you can. However, I
know I may thank my cousin for it!"</p>
<p> "If you mean me, Madam," said I, very much shocked, "I am quite ignorant in what
manner I can have been accessary to your distress."</p>
<p> "Why, by running away so. If you'd stayed with us, I'll answer for it Mr. Smith and
M. Du Bois would have come to look for us; but I suppose they could not leave your
ladyship."</p>
<p> The folly and unreasonableness of this speech would admit of no answer. But what a
scene was this for Sir Clement! his surprise was evident; and I must acknowledge my
confusion was equally great.</p>
<p> We had now to wait for young Branghton, who did not appear for some time; and during
this interval it was with difficulty that I avoided Sir Clement, who was on the rack
of curiosity, and dying to speak to me.</p>
<p> When, at last, the hopeful youth returned, a long and frightful quarrel ensued
between him and his father, in which his sisters occasionally joined, concerning his
neglect; and he defended himself only by a brutal mirth, which he indulged at their
expense.</p>
<p> Every one now seemed inclined to depart,-when, as usual, a dispute arose upon the
way of our going, whether in a coach or a boat. After much debating, it was
determined that we should make two parties, one by the water and the other by land;
for Madame Duval declared she would not, upon any account, go into a boat at
night.</p>
<p> Sir Clement then said, that if she had no carriage in waiting, he should be happy to
see her and me safe home, as his was in readiness.</p>
<p> Fury started into her eyes, and passion inflamed every feature, as she answered,
"Pardi, no-you may take care of yourself, if you please; but as to me, I promise you
I sha'n't trust myself with no such person."</p>
<p> He pretended not to comprehend her meaning; yet, to waive a discussion, acquiesced
in her refusal. The coach-party fixed upon, consisted of Madame Duval, M. Du Bois,
Miss Branghton, and myself.</p>
<p> I now began to rejoice, in private, that at least our lodgings would be neither seen
nor known by Sir Clement. We soon met with a hackney-coach, into which he handed me,
and then took leave.</p>
<p> Madame Duval having already given the coachman her direction, he mounted the box,
and we were just driving off, when Sir Clement exclaimed, "By Heaven, this is the
very coach I had in waiting for myself!"</p>
<p> "This coach, your honour!" said the man; "no, that it i'n't."</p>
<p> Sir Clement, however, swore that it was; and presently, the man, begging his pardon,
said he had really forgotten that he was engaged.</p>
<p> I have no doubt but that this scheme occurred to him at the moment, and that he made
some sign to the coachman, which induced him to support it; for there is not the
least probability that the accident really happened, as it is most likely his own
chariot was in waiting.</p>
<p> The man then opened the coach-door, and Sir Clement, advancing to it, said "I don't
believe there is another carriage to be had, or I would not incommode you; but, as it
may be disagreeable to you to wait here any longer, I beg you will not get out, for
you shall be set down before I am carried home, if you will be so good as to make a
little room."</p>
<p> And so saying, in he jumped, and seated himself between M. Du Bois and me, while our
astonishment at the whole transaction was too great for speech. He then ordered the
coachman to drive on, according to the directions he had already received.</p>
<p> For the first ten minutes no one uttered a word; and then, Madame Duval, no longer
able to contain herself, exclaimed, "Ma foi, if this isn't one of the most
impudentest things ever I see!"</p>
<p> Sir Clement, regardless of this rebuke, attended only to me; however I answered
nothing he said, when I could possibly avoid so doing. Miss Branghton made several
attempts to attract his notice, but in vain, for he would not take the trouble of
paying her any regard.</p>
<p> Madame Duval, during the rest of the ride, addressed herself to M. Du Bois in
French, and in that language exclaimed, with great vehemence, against boldness and
assurance.</p>
<p> I was extremely glad when I thought our journey must be nearly at an end, for my
situation was very uneasy to me, as Sir Clement perpetually endeavoured to take my
hand. I looked out of the coach-window, to see if we were near home: Sir Clement,
stooping over me, did the same; and then, in a voice of infinite wonder, called out,
"Where the d-l is the man driving to?-Why we are in Broad Street, St. Giles's!"</p>
<p> "O, he's very right," cried Madame Duval, "so never trouble your head about that;
for I sha'n't go by no directions of your's, I promise you."</p>
<p> When, at last, we stopped at an hosier's in High Holborn,-Sir Clement said nothing,
but his eyes, I saw, were very busily employed in viewing the place, and the
situation of the house. The coach, he said, belong to him, and therefore he insisted
upon paying for it; and then he took leave. M. Du Bois walked home with Miss
Branghton, and Madame Duval and I retired to our apartments.</p>
<p> How disagreeable an evening's adventure! not one of the party seemed satisfied,
except Sir Clement, who was in high spirits: but Madame Duval was enraged at meeting
with him; Mr. Branghton, angry with his children; the frolic of the Miss Branghtons
had exceeded their plan, and ended in their own distress; their brother was provoked
that there had been no riot; Mr. Brown was tired, and Mr. Smith mortified. As to
myself, I must acknowledge, nothing could be more disagreeable to me, than being seen
by Sir Clement Willoughby with a party at once so vulgar in themselves, and so
familiar to me.</p>
<p> And you, too, my dear Sir, will, I know, be sorry that I have met him; however,
there is no apprehension of his visiting here, as Madame Duval is far too angry to
admit him.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XLVII.</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. Holborn, June 18th.</opener>
<p> MADAME DUVAL rose very late this morning, and, at one o'clock, we had but just
breakfasted, when Miss Branghton, her brother, Mr. Smith, and Monsieur Du Bois,
called to enquire after our healths.</p>
<p> The civility in young Branghton, I much suspect, was merely the result of his
father's commands; but his sister and Mr. Smith, I soon found, had motives of their
own. Scarce had they spoken to Madame Duval, when, advancing eagerly to me, "Pray,
Ma'am," said Mr. Smith, "who was that gentleman?"</p>
<p> "Pray, cousin," cried Miss Branghton, "was not he the same gentleman you ran away
with that night at the opera?"</p>
<p> "Goodness! that he was," said young Branghton, "and, I declare, as soon as ever I
saw him, I thought I knew his face."</p>
<p> "I'm sure, I'll defy you to forget him," answered his sister, "if once you had seen
him: he is the finest gentleman I ever saw in my life, don't you think so, Mr.
Smith?"</p>
<p> "Why, you won't give the lady time to speak," said Mr. Smith.-"Pray,<lb/>Ma'am, what
is the gentleman's name?"</p>
<p> "Willoughby, Sir."</p>
<p> "Willoughby! I think I have heard the name. Pray, Ma'am, is he married?"</p>
<p> "Lord, no, that he is not," cried Miss Branghton; "he looks too smart by a great
deal for a married man. Pray, cousin, how did you get acquainted with him?"</p>
<p> "Pray, Miss," said young Branghton, in the same breath, "what's his business?"</p>
<p> "Indeed I don't know," answered I.</p>
<p> "Something very genteel, I dare say," added Miss Branghton, "because he dresses so
fine."</p>
<p> "It ought to be something that brings in a good income" said Mr. Smith; "for I'm
sure that he did not get that suit of clothes he had on under thirty or forty pounds;
for I know the price of clothes pretty well.-Pray, Ma'am, can you tell me what he has
a-year?"</p>
<p> "Don't talk no more about him," cried Madame Duval, "for I don't like to hear his
name: I believe he's one of the worst persons in the world; for though I never did
him no manner of harm, nor so much as hurt a hair of his head, I know he was an
accomplice with the fellow, Captain Mirvan, to take away my life."</p>
<p> Everybody, but myself, now crowding around her for an explanation, a violent rapping
at the street-door was unheard; and, without any previous notice, in the midst of her
narration, Sir Clement Willoughby entered the room. They all started; and, with looks
of guilty confusion, as if they feared his resentment for having listened to Madame
Duval, they scrambled for chairs, and in a moment were all formally seated.</p>
<p> Sir Clement, after a general bow, singling out Madame Duval, said with his usual
easiness, "I have done myself the honour of waiting on you, Madame, to enquire if you
have any commands to Howard Grove, whither I am going to-morrow morning."</p>
<p> Then, seeing the storm that gathered in her eyes, before he allowed her time to
answer, he addressed himself to me;-"And if you, Madam, have any with which you will
honour me, I shall be happy to execute them."</p>
<p> "None at all, Sir."</p>
<p> "None! -not to Miss Mirvan!-no message! no letter!"</p>
<p> "I wrote to Miss Mirvan yesterday by the post."</p>
<p> "My application should have been earlier, had I sooner known your address."</p>
<p> "Ma foi," cried Madame Duval, recovering from her surprise, "I believe never nobody
saw the like of this!"</p>
<p> "Of what, Madam?" cried the undaunted Sir Clement, turning quick towards her; "I
hope no one has offended you!"</p>
<p> "You don't hope no such a thing!" cried she, half choked with passion, and rising
from her chair. This motion was followed by the rest; and in a moment, every body
stood up.</p>
<p> Still Sir Clement was not abashed; affecting to make a bow of acknowledgment to the
company in general, he said, "Pray-I beg-Ladies,-Gentlemen,-pray don't let me disturb
you, pray keep your seats."</p>
<p> "Pray, Sir," said Miss Branghton, moving a chair towards him, "won't you sit down
yourself?"</p>
<p> "You are extremely good, Ma'am:-rather than make any disturbance-"</p>
<p> And so saying, this strange man seated himself, as did, in an instant every body
else, even Madame Duval herself, who, overpowered by his boldness, seemed too full
for utterance.</p>
<p> He then, and with as much composure as if he had been an expected guest, began to
discourse on the weather,-its uncertainty,-the heat of the public places in
summer,-the emptiness of the town,-and other such common topics.</p>
<p> Nobody, however, answered him; Mr. Smith seemed afraid, young Branghton ashamed, M.
Du Bois amazed, Madame Duval enraged, and myself determined not to interfere. All
that he could obtain, was the notice of Miss Branghton, whose nods, smiles, and
attention, had some appearance of entering into conversation with him.</p>
<p> At length, growing tired, I suppose, of engaging every body's eyes, and nobody's
tongue, addressing himself to Madame Duval and to me, the said, "I regard myself as
peculiarly unfortunate, Ladies, in having fixed upon a time for my visit to Howard
Grove, when you are absent from it."</p>
<p> "So I suppose, Sir, so I suppose," cried Madame Duval, hastily rising, and the next
moment as hastily seating herself;-"you'll be wanting of somebody to make your game
of, and so you may think to get me there again;-but, I promise you, Sir, you won't
find it so easy a matter to make me a fool; and besides that," raising her voice,
"I've found you out, I assure you; so if ever you go to play your tricks upon me
again, I'll make no more ado, but go directly to a justice of peace; so, Sir, if you
can't think of nothing but making people ride about the country at all hours of the
night, just for your diversion, why, you'll find I know some justices as well as
Justice Tyrrell."</p>
<p> Sir Clement was evidently embarrassed at this attack; yet he affected a look of
surprise, and protested he did not understand her meaning.</p>
<p> "Well," cried she, "if I don't wonder where people can get such impudence! if you'll
say that, you'll say anything: however, if you swear till you're black in the face, I
sha'n't believe you; for nobody sha'n't persuade me out of my senses, that I'm
resolved."</p>
<p> "Doubtless not, Madam," answered he with some hesitation; "and I hope you do not
suspect I ever had such an intention; my respect for you-"</p>
<p> "O, Sir, you're vastly polite all of a sudden! but I know what it's all for! it's
only for what you can get!-You could treat me like nobody at Howard Grove; but now
you see I've a house of my own, you're mind to wheedle yourself into it; but I sees
your design, so you needn't trouble yourself to take no more trouble about that, for
you shall never get nothing at my house,-not so much as a dish of tea:-so now, Sir,
you see I can play you trick for trick."</p>
<p> There was something so extremely gross in this speech, that it even disconcerted Sir
Clement, who was too much confounded to make any answer.</p>
<p> It was curious to observe the effect which his embarrassment, added to the freedom
with which Madame Duval addressed him, had upon the rest of the company. Every one,
who before seemed at a loss how or if at all, to occupy a chair, how filled it with
the most easy composure: and Mr. Smith, whose countenance had exhibited the most
striking picture of mortified envy, now began to recover his usual expression of
satisfied conceit. Young Branghton, too, who had been apparently awed by the presence
of so fine a gentleman, was again himself, rude and familiar: while his mouth was
wide distended into a broad grin, at hearing his aunt give the beau such a
trimming.</p>
<p> Madame Duval, encouraged by this success, looked around her with an air of triumph,
and continued her harangue. "And so, Sir, I suppose you thought to have had it all
your own way, and to have comed here as often as you pleased, and to have got me to
Howard Grove again, on purpose to have served me as you did before; but you shall see
I'm as cunning as you; so you may go and find somebody else to use in that manner,
and to put your mask on, and to make a fool of; for as to me, if you go to tell me
your stories about the Tower again, for a month together, I'll never believe 'm no
more: and I'll promise you, Sir, if you think I like such jokes, you'll find I'm no
such person."</p>
<p> "I assure you, Ma'am,-upon my honour,-I really don't comprehend-I fancy there is
some misunderstanding-"</p>
<p> "What, I suppose you'll tell me next you don't know nothing of the matter?"</p>
<p> "Not a word, upon my honour."</p>
<p> O, Sir Clement, thought I, is it thus you prize your honour!</p>
<p> "Pardi," cried Madame Duval, "this is the most provokingest part of all! why, you
might as well tell me I don't know my own name."</p>
<p> "Here is certainly some mistake; for I assure you, Ma'am-"</p>
<p> "Don't assure me nothing," cried Madame Duval, raising her voice; "I know what I'm
saying, and so do you too; for did not you tell me all that about the Tower, and
about M. Du Bois?-why M. Du Bois wasn't never there, nor nigh it, and so it was all
your own invention."</p>
<p> "May there not be two persons of the same name? the mistake was but natural-"</p>
<p> "Don't tell me of no mistake, for it was all on purpose: besides, did not you come,
all in a mask, to the chariot-door, and help to get me put in that ditch?-I'll
promise you, I've had the greatest mind in the world to take the law of you ever
since; and if ever you do as much again, so I will, I assure you!"</p>
<p> Here Miss Branghton tittered, Mr. Smith smiled contemptously, and
young<lb/>Branghton thrust his handkerchief into his mouth to stop his laughter.</p>
<p> The situation of Sir Clement, who saw all that passed, became now very awkward even
to himself, and he stammered very much in saying, "Surely, Madam-surely you-you
cannot do me the-the injustice to think-that I had any share in the-the-the
misfortune which-"</p>
<p> "Ma foi, Sir," cried Madame Duval, with increasing passion, "you'd best not stand
talking to me at that rate: I know it was you; and if you stay there, a provoking me
in such a manner, I'll send for a constable this minute."</p>
<p> Young Branghton, at these words, in spite of all his efforts, burst into a loud
laugh; nor could either his sister or Mr. Smith, though with more moderation, forbear
joining in his mirth.</p>
<p> Sir Clement darted his eyes towards them with looks of the most angry contempt; and
then told Madame Duval, that he would not now detain her to make his vindication, but
would wait on her some time when she was alone.</p>
<p> "O Pardi, Sir," cried she, "I don't desire none of your company; and if you wasn't
the most boldest person in the world, you would not dare look me in the face."</p>
<p> The ha, ha ha's! and he, he, he's! grew more and more uncontrollable, as if the
restraint, from which they had burst, had added to their violence. Sir Clement could
no longer endure being the object who excited them; and, having no answer ready for
Madame Duval, he hastily stalked towards Mr. Smith and young Branghton, and sternly
demanded what they laughed at?</p>
<p> Struck by the air of importance which he assumed, and alarmed at the angry tone of
his voice, their merriment ceased as instantaneously as if it had been directed by
clock-work; and they stared foolishly, now at him, now at each other, without making
any answer but a simple "Nothing, Sir."</p>
<p> "O pour le coup," cried Madame Duval, "this is too much! Pray, Sir, what business
have you to come here a ordering people that comes to see me? I suppose next nobody
must laugh but yourself!"</p>
<p> "With me, Madam," said Sir Clement, bowing, "a lady may do any thing, and
consequently there is no liberty in which I shall not be happy to indulge you: -but
it has never been my custom to give the same licence to gentlemen."</p>
<p> Then, advancing to me, who had sat very quietly on a window during this scene, he
said, "Miss Anville, I may at least acquaint our friends at Howard Grove that I had
the honour of leaving you in good health." And then, lowering his voice, he added,
"For Heaven's sake, my dearest creature, who are these people? and how came you so
strangely situated?"</p>
<p> "I beg my respects to all the family, Sir," answered I, aloud; "and I hope you will
find them well."</p>
<p> He looked at me reproachfully, but kissed my hand; and then, bowing to Madame Duval
and Miss Branghton, passed hastily by the men, and made his exit.</p>
<p> I fancy he will not be very eager to repeat his visit; for I should imagine he has
rarely, if ever, been before in a situation so awkward and disagreeable.</p>
<p> Madame Duval has been all spirits and exultation ever since he went, and only wishes
Captain Mirvan would call, that she might do the same by him. Mr. Smith, upon hearing
that he was a baronet, and seeing him drive off in a very beautiful chariot, declared
that he would not have laughed upon any account, had he known his rank; and regretted
extremely having missed such an opportunity of making so genteel an acquaintance.
Young Branghton vowed, that if he had known as much, he would have asked for his
custom: and his sister has sung his praises ever since, protesting she thought all
along he was a man of quality by his look.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XLVIII.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. June 21st.</opener>
<p> THE last three evenings have passed tolerably quiet, for the Vauxhall adventures had
given Madame Duval a surfeit of public places: home, however, soon growing tiresome,
she determined to-night, she said, to relieve her ennui by some amusement; and it was
therefore settled, that we should call upon the Branghtons at their house, and thence
proceed to Marybone Gardens.</p>
<p> But, before we reached Snow Hill, we were caught in a shower of rain: we hurried
into the shop, where the first object I saw was Mr. Macartney, with a book in his
hand, seated in the same corner where I saw him last; but his looks were still more
wretched than before, his face yet thinner, and his eyes sunk almost hollow into his
head. He lifted them up as we entered, and I even thought that they emitted a gleam
of joy: involuntarily I made to him my first courtesy; he rose and bowed with a
precipitation that manifested surprise and confusion.</p>
<p> In a few minutes were joined by all the family, except Mr. Smith, who fortunately
was engaged.</p>
<p> Had all the future prosperity of our lives depended upon the good or bad weather of
this evening, it could not have been treated as a subject of greater importance.
"Sure, never anything was so unlucky!"-"Lord, how provoking!"-"It might rain for
ever, if it would hold up now."-These, and such expressions, with many anxious
observations upon the kennels, filled up all the conversation till the shower was
over.</p>
<p> And then a very warm debate arose, whether we should pursue our plan, or defer it to
some finer evening. The Miss Branghtons were for the former; their father was sure it
would rain again; Madame Duval, though she detested returning home, yet dreaded the
dampness of the gardens.</p>
<p> M. Du Bois then proposed going to the top of the house, to examine whether the
clouds looked threatening or peaceable: Miss Branghton, starting at this proposal,
said they might go to Mr. Macartney's room, if they would, but not to her's.</p>
<p> This was enough for the brother; who, with a loud laugh, declared he would have some
fun; and immediately led the way, calling to us all to follow. His sisters both ran
after, but no one else moved.</p>
<p> In a few minutes young Branghton, coming half-way down stairs, called out, "Lord,
why don't you all come? why, here's Poll's things all about the room!"</p>
<p> Mr. Branghton then went; and Madame Duval, who cannot bear to be excluded from
whatever is going forward, was handed up stairs by M. Du Bois.</p>
<p> I hesitated a few moments whether or not to join them; but, soon perceiving that Mr.
Macartney had dropped his book, and that I engrossed his whole attention, I prepared,
from mere embarrassment, to follow them.</p>
<p> As I went, I heard him move from his chair, and walk slowly after me. Believing that
he wished to speak to me, and earnestly desiring myself to know if, by your means, I
could possibly be of any service to him, I first slackened my pace, and then turned
back. But, though I thus met him half-way, he seemed to want courage or resolution to
address me; for, when he saw me returning, with a look extremely disordered, he
retreated hastily from me.</p>
<p> Not knowing what I ought to do, I went to the street-door, where I stood some time,
hoping he would be able to recover himself; but, on the contrary, his agitation
increased every moment; he walked up and down the room in a quick but unsteady pace,
seeming equally distressed and irresolute; and, at length, with a deep sigh, he flung
himself into a chair.</p>
<p> I was so much affected by the appearance of such extreme anguish, that I could
remain no longer in the room: I therefore glided by him and went up stairs; but, ere
I had gone five steps, he precipitately followed me, and, in a broken voice, called
out "Madam!-for Heaven's sake-"</p>
<p> He stopped; but I instantly descended, restraining, as well as I was able, the
fulness of my own concern. I waited some time, in painful expectation, for his
speaking: all that I had heard of his poverty occurring to me, I was upon the point
of presenting him my purse; but the fear of mistaking or offending him deterred me.
Finding, however, that he continued silent, I ventured to say, "Did you,-Sir, wish to
speak to me?"</p>
<p> "I did," cried he with quickness, "but now-I cannot!-"</p>
<p> "Perhaps, Sir, another time,-perhaps if you recollect yourself-"</p>
<p> "Another time?" repeated he mournfully; "alas! I look not forward but to misery and
despair!"</p>
<p> "O, Sir," cried I, extremely shocked, "you must not talk thus!-If you forsake
yourself, how can you expect-"</p>
<p> I stopped. "Tell me, tell me," cried he, with eagerness, "who you are?-whence you
come?-and by what strange means you seem to be arbitress and ruler of the destiny of
such a wretch as I am?"</p>
<p> "Would to Heaven," cried I, "I could serve you!"</p>
<p> "You can!"</p>
<p> "And how? Pray tell me how?"</p>
<p> "To tell you-is death to me! yet I will tell you.-I have a right to your
assistance,-you have deprived me of the only resource to which I could apply,-and
therefore-"</p>
<p> "Pray, pray speak," cried I, putting my hand into my pocket; "they will be down
stairs in a moment!"</p>
<p> "I will, Madam.-Can you-will you-I think you will!-may I then-" he stopped and
paused; "say, will you"-then, suddenly turning from me, "Great Heaven, I cannot
speak!" and he went back to the shop.</p>
<p> I now put my purse in my hand, and following him, said, "If, indeed, Sir, I can
assist you, why should you deny me so great a satisfaction? Will you permit me
to-"</p>
<p> I dared not go on; but with a countenance very much softened, he approached me and
said, "Your voice, Madam, is the voice of compassion!-such a voice as these ears have
long been strangers to!"</p>
<p> Just then young Branghton called out vehemently to me to come up stairs. I seized
the opportunity of hastening away: and therefore saying, "Heaven, Sir, protect and
comfort you!" I let fall my purse upon the ground, not daring to present it to him,
and ran up stairs with the utmost swiftness.</p>
<p> Too well do I know you, my ever honoured Sir, to fear your displeasure for this
action: I must, however, assure you, I shall need no fresh supply during my stay in
town, as I am at little expense, and hope soon to return to Howard Grove.</p>
<p> Soon, did I say! when not a fortnight is yet expired of the long and tedious month I
must linger out here!</p>
<p> I had many witticisms to endure from the Branghtons, upon account of my staying so
long with the Scotch mope, as they call him; but I attended to them very little, for
my whole heart was filled with pity and concern. I was very glad to find the Marybone
scheme was deferred, another shower of rain having put a stop to the dissension upon
this subject; the rest of the evening was employed in most violent quarrelling
between Miss Polly and her brother, on account of the discovery made by the latter of
the state of her apartment.</p>
<p> We came home early; and I have stolen from Madame Duval and M. Du Bois, who is here
for ever, to write to my best friend.</p>
<p> I am most sincerely rejoiced, that this opportunity has offered for my contributing
what little relief was in my power to this unhappy man; and I hope it will be
sufficient to enable him to pay his debts to this pitiless family.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER XLIX.</head>
<opener> MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA. Berry Hill.</opener>
<p> DISPLEASURE? my Evelina!-you have but done your duty; you have but shown that
humanity without which I should blush to own my child. It is mine, however, to see
that your generosity be not repressed by your suffering from indulging it; I remit to
you, therefore, not merely a token of my approbation, but an acknowledgment of my
desire to participate in your charity.</p>
<p> O my child, were my fortune equal to my confidence in thy benevolence, with what
transport should I, through thy means, devote it to the relief of indigent virtue!
yet let us not repine at the limitation of our power; for while our bounty is
proportioned to our ability, the difference of the greater or less donation can weigh
but little in the scale of justice.</p>
<p> In reading your account of the misguided man, whose misery has so largely excited
your compassion, I am led to apprehend that his unhappy situation is less the effect
of misfortune than of misconduct. If he is reduced to that state of poverty
represented by the Branghtons, he should endeavour, by activity and industry, to
retrieve his affairs, and not pass his time in idle reading in the very shop of his
creditor.</p>
<p> The pistol scene made me shudder; the courage with which you pursued this desperate
man, at once delighted and terrified me. Be ever thus, my dearest Evelina, dauntless
in the cause of distress! let no weak fears, no timid doubts, deter you from the
exertion of your duty, according to the fullest sense of it that Nature has implanted
in your mind. Though gentleness and modesty are the peculiar attributes of your sex,
yet fortitude and firmness, when occasion demands them, are virtues as noble and as
becoming in women as in men: the right line of conduct is the same for both sexes,
though the manner in which it is pursued may somewhat vary, and be accommodated to
the strength or weakness of the different travellers.</p>
<p> There is, however, something so mysterious in all you have seen or heard of this
wretched man, that I am unwilling to stamp a bad impression of his character upon so
slight and partial a knowledge of it. Where any thing is doubtful, the ties of
society, and the laws of humanity, claim a favourable interpretation; but remember,
my dear child, that those of discretion have an equal claim to your regard.</p>
<p> As to Sir Clement Willoughby, I know not how to express my indignation at his
conduct. Insolence so insufferable, and the implication of suspicions so shocking,
irritate me to a degree of wrath, which I hardly thought my almost worn-out passions
were capable of again experiencing. You must converse with him no more: he imagines,
from the pliability of your temper, that he may offend you with impunity; but his
behaviour justifies, nay, calls for your avowed resentment; do not, therefore,
hesitate in forbidding him your sight.</p>
<p> The Branghtons, Mr. Smith, and young Brown, however ill-bred and disagreeable, are
objects too contemptible for serious displeasure; yet I grieve much that my Evelina
should be exposed to their rudeness and impertinence.</p>
<p> The very day that this tedious month expires, I shall send Mrs. Clinton to town, who
will accompany you to Howard Grove. Your stay there will, I hope, be short; for I
feel daily an increasing impatience to fold my beloved child to my bosom! ARTHUR
VILLARS.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER L.</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. Holborn, June 27th.</opener>
<p> I HAVE just received, my dearest Sir, your kind present, and still kinder letter.
Surely, never had orphan so little to regret as your grateful Evelina! Though
motherless, though worse than fatherless, bereft from infancy of the two first and
greatest blessings of life, never has she had cause to deplore their loss; never has
she felt the omission of a parent's tenderness, care, or indulgence; never, but from
sorrow for them, had reason to grieve at the separation! Most thankfully do I receive
the token of your approbation, and most studiously will I endeavour so to dispose of
it, as may merit your generous confidence in my conduct.</p>
<p> Your doubts concerning Mr. Macartney give me some uneasiness. Indeed, Sir, he has
not the appearance of a man whose sorrows are the effect of guilt. But I hope, before
I leave town, to be better acquainted with his situation, and enabled, with more
certainty of his worth, to recommend him to your favour.</p>
<p> I am very willing to relinquish all acquaintance with Sir Clement<lb/>Willoughby, as
far as it may depend upon myself so to do; but, indeed<lb/>I know not how I should be
able to absolutely forbid him my sight.</p>
<p> Miss Mirvan, in her last letter, informs me that he is now at Howard Grove, where he
continues in high favour with the Captain, and is the life and spirit of the house.
My time, since I wrote last, has passed very quietly, Madame Duval having been kept
at home by a bad cold, and the Branghtons by bad weather. The young man, indeed, has
called two or three times; and his behavior, though equally absurd, is more
unaccountable than ever: he speaks very little, takes hardly any notice of Madame
Duval, and never looks at me without a broad grin. Sometimes he approaches me, as if
with intention to communicate intelligence of importance; and then, suddenly stopping
short, laughs rudely in my face.</p>
<p> O how happy shall I be, when the worthy Mrs. Clinton arrives!</p>
<p> June 29th.</p>
<p> Yesterday morning, Mr. Smith called to acquaint us that the Hampstead assembly was
to be held that evening; and then he presented Madame Duval with one ticket, and
brought another to me. I thanked him for his intended civility, but told him I was
surprised he had so soon forgotten my having already declined going to the ball.</p>
<p> "Lord, Ma'am," cried he, "how should I suppose you was in earnest? come, come, don't
be cross; here's your Grandmama ready to take care of you, so you can have no fair
objection, for she'll see that I don't run away with you. Besides, Ma'am, I got the
tickets on purpose."</p>
<p> "If you were determined, Sir," said I, "in making me this offer, to allow me no
choice of refusal or acceptance, I must think myself less obliged to your intention
than I was willing to do."</p>
<p> "Dear Ma'am," cried he, "you're so smart, there is no speaking to you;-indeed you
are monstrous smart, Ma'am! but come, your Grandmama shall ask you, and then I know
you'll not be so cruel."</p>
<p> Madame Duval was very ready to interfere; she desired me to make no further
opposition, said she should go herself, and insisted upon my accompanying her. It was
in vain that I remonstrated; I only incurred her anger: and Mr. Smith having given
both the tickets to Madame Duval with an air of triumph, said he should call early in
the evening, and took leave.</p>
<p> I was much chagrined at being thus compelled to owe even the shadow of an obligation
to so forward a young man; but I determined that nothing should prevail upon me to
dance with him, however my refusal might give offence.</p>
<p> In the afternoon, when he returned, it was evident that he purposed to both charm
and astonish me by his appearance: he was dressed in a very showy manner, but without
any taste; and the inelegant smartness of his air and deportment, his visible
struggle against education to put on the fine gentleman, added to his frequent
conscious glances at a dress to which he was but little accustomed, very effectually
destroyed his aim of figuring, and rendered all his efforts useless.</p>
<p> During tea entered Miss Branghton and her brother. I was sorry to observe the
consternation of the former, when she perceived Mr. Smith. I had intended applying to
her for advice upon this occasion, but had been always deterred by her disagreeable
abruptness. Having cast her eyes several times from Mr. Smith to me, with manifest
displeasure, she seated herself sullenly in the window, scarce answering Madame
Duval's enquiries; and when I spoke to her, turning absolutely away from me.</p>
<p> Mr. Smith, delighted at this mark of his importance, sat indolently quiet on his
chair, endeavouring by his looks rather to display, than to conceal, his inward
satisfaction.</p>
<p> "Good gracious!" cried young Branghton, "why, you're all as fine as a five-pence!
Why, where are you going?"</p>
<p> "To the Hampstead ball," answered Mr. Smith.</p>
<p> "To a ball!" cried he. "Why, what, is aunt going to a ball? Ha, ha, ha!"</p>
<p> "Yes, to be sure," cried Madame Duval; "I don't know nothing need hinder me."</p>
<p> "And pray, aunt, will you dance too?"</p>
<p> "Perhaps I may; but I suppose, Sir, that's none of your business, whether I do or
not."</p>
<p> "Lord! well, I should like to go! I should like to see aunt dance of all things! But
the joke is, I don't believe she'll get ever a partner."</p>
<p> "You're the most rudest boy ever I see," cried Madame Duval, angrily: "but, I
promise you, I'll tell your father what you say, for I've no notion of such
vulgarness."</p>
<p> "Why, Lord, aunt, what are you so angry for? there's no speaking a word, but you fly
into a passion: you're as bad as Biddy, or Poll, for that, for you're always
a-scolding."</p>
<p> "I desire, Tom," cried Miss Branghton, "you'd speak for yourself, and not make so
free with my name."</p>
<p> "There, now, she's up! There's nothing but quarrelling with the women; it's my
belief they like it better than victuals and drink."</p>
<p> "Fie, Tom," cried Mr. Smith, "you never remember your manners before the ladies: I'm
sure you never heard me speak so rude to them."</p>
<p> "Why, Lord, you are a beau; but that's nothing to me. So, if you've a mind, you may
be so polite as to dance with aunt yourself." Then, with a loud laugh, he declared it
would be good fun to see them.</p>
<p> "Let it be never so good, or never so bad," cried Madame Duval, "you won't see
nothing of it, I promise you; so pray don't let me hear no more of such vulgar pieces
of fun; for, I assure you, I don't like it. And as to my dancing with Mr. Smith, you
may see wonderfuller things than that any day in the week."</p>
<p> "Why, as to that, Ma'am," said Mr. Smith, looking much surprised, "I always thought
you intended to play at cards, and so I thought to dance with the young lady."</p>
<p> I gladly seized this opportunity to make my declaration, that I should not dance at
all.</p>
<p> "Not dance at all!" repeated Miss Branghton; "yes, that's a likely matter truly,
when people go to balls."</p>
<p> "I wish she mayn't," said the brother; "'cause then Mr. Smith will have nobody but
aunt for a partner. Lord, how mad he'll be!"</p>
<p> "O, as to that," said Mr. Smith, "I don't at all fear of prevailing with the young
lady, if once I get her to the room."</p>
<p> "Indeed, Sir," cried I, much offended by his conceit, "you are mistaken; and
therefore I beg leave to undeceive you, as you may be assured my resolution will not
alter."</p>
<p> "Then, pray, Miss, if it is not impertinent," cried Miss Branghton, sneeringly,
"what do you go for?"</p>
<p> "Merely and solely," answered I, "to comply with the request of<lb/>Madame
Duval."</p>
<p> "Miss," cried young Branghton, "Bid only wishes it was she, for she has cast a
sheep's eye at Mr. Smith this long while."</p>
<p> "Tom," cried the sister, rising, "I've the greatest mind in the world to box your
ears! How dare you say such a thing of me!"</p>
<p> "No, hang it, Tom, no, that's wrong," said Mr. Smith, simpering; "it is indeed, to
tell the lady's secrets.-But never mind him, Miss Biddy, for I won't believe
him."</p>
<p> "Why, I know Bid would give her ears to go," returned the brother; "but only Mr.
Smith likes Miss best,-so does every body else."</p>
<p> While the sister gave him a very angry answer, Mr. Smith said to me in a low voice,
"Why now, Ma'am, how can you be so cruel as to be so much handsomer than your
cousins? Nobody can look at them when you are by."</p>
<p> "Miss," cried young Branghton, "whatever he says to you don't mind him for he means
no good; I'll give you my word for it, he'll never marry you; for he has told me
again and again, he'll never marry as long as he lives; besides, if he'd any mind to
be married, there's Bid would have had him long ago, and thanked him too."</p>
<p> "Come, come, Tom, don't tell secrets; you'll make the ladies afraid of me: but I
assure you," lowering his voice, "if I did marry, it should be your cousin."</p>
<p> Should be!-did you ever, my dear Sir, hear such unauthorised freedom? I looked at
him with a contempt I did not wish to repress, and walked to the other end of the
room.</p>
<p> Very soon after Mr. Smith sent for a hackney-coach. When I would have taken leave of
Miss Branghton, she turned angrily from me, without making any answer. She supposes,
perhaps, that I have rather sought, than endeavoured to avoid, the notice and
civilities of this conceited young man.</p>
<p> The ball was at the long room at Hampstead.</p>
<p> This room seems very well named, for I believe it would be difficult to find any
other epithet which might with propriety distinguish it, as it is without ornament,
elegance, or any sort of singularity, and merely to be marked by its length.</p>
<p> I was saved from the importunities of Mr. Smith, the beginning of the evening, by
Madame Duval's declaring her intention to dance the first two dances with him
herself. Mr. Smith's chagrin was very evident; but as she paid no regard to it, he
was necessitated to lead her out.</p>
<p> I was, however, by no means pleased, when she said she was determined to dance a
minuet. Indeed, I was quite astonished, not having had the least idea she would have
consented to, much less proposed, such an exhibition of her person. She had some
trouble to make her intentions known, as Mr. Smith was rather averse to speaking to
the master of the ceremonies.</p>
<p> During this minuet, how much did I rejoice in being surrounded only with strangers!
She danced in a style so uncommon; her age, her showy dress, and an unusual quantity
of rouge, drew upon her the eyes, and I fear the derision, of the whole company. Whom
she danced with, I know not; but Mr. Smith was so ill-bred as to laugh at her very
openly, and to speak of her with as much ridicule as was in his power. But I would
neither look at, nor listen to him, nor would I suffer him to proceed with any speech
which he began, expressive to his vexation at being forced to dance with her. I told
him, very gravely, that complaints upon such a subject might, with less impropriety,
be made to every person in the room than to me.</p>
<p> When she returned to us, she distressed me very much, by asking what I thought of
her minuet. I spoke as civilly as I could; but the coldness of my compliment
evidently disappointed her. She then called upon Mr. Smith to secure a good place
among the country dancers; and away they went, though not before he had taken the
liberty to say to me in a low voice, "I protest to you, Ma'am, I shall be quite out
of countenance, if any of my acquaintance should see me dancing with the old
lady!"</p>
<p> For a few moments I very much rejoiced at being relieved from this troublesome man;
but scarce had I time to congratulate myself, before I was accosted by another, who
begged the favour of hopping a dance with me.</p>
<p> I told him that I should not dance at all; but he thought proper to importune me,
very freely, not to be so cruel; and I was obliged to assume no little haughtiness
before I could satisfy him I was serious.</p>
<p> After this, I was addressed much in the same manner, by several other young men; of
whom the appearance and language were equally inelegant and low-bred; so that I soon
found my situation was both disagreeable and improper, since, as I was quite alone, I
fear I must seem rather to invite than to forbid the offers and notice I received;
and yet, so great was my apprehension of this interpretation, that I am sure, my dear
Sir, you would have laughed had you seen how proudly grave I appeared.</p>
<p> I knew not whether to be glad or sorry, when Madame Duval and Mr. Smith returned.
The latter instantly renewed his tiresome intreaties, and Madame Duval said she would
go to the card-table; and as soon as she was accommodated, she desired us to join the
dancers.</p>
<p> I will not trouble you with the arguments which followed. Mr. Smith teased me till I
was weary of resistance; and I should at last have been obliged to submit, had I not
fortunately recollected the affair of Mr. Lovel, and told my persecutor, that it was
impossible I should dance with him, even if I wished it, as I had refused several
persons in his absence.</p>
<p> He was not contented with being extremely chagrined; but took the liberty, openly
and warmly, to expostulate with me upon not having said I was engaged.</p>
<p> The total disregard with which, involuntarily, I heard him, made him soon change the
subject. In truth, I had no power to attend to him; for all my thoughts were occupied
in re-tracing the transactions of the two former balls, at which I had been present.
The party-the conversation-the company-O how great the contrast!</p>
<p> In a short time, however, he contrived to draw my attention to himself, by his
extreme impertinence; for he chose to express what he called his admiration of me, in
terms so open and familiar, that he forced me to express my displeasure with equal
plainness.</p>
<p> But how was I surprised, when I found he had the temerity-what else can I call
it?-to impute my resentment to doubts of his honour: for he said, "My dear Ma'am, you
must be a little patient; I assure you I have no bad designs, I have not upon my
word; but, really, there is no resolving upon such a thing as matrimony all at once;
what with the loss of one's liberty, and what with the ridicule of all one's
acquaintance,-I assure you Ma'am you are the first lady who ever made me even demur
upon this subject; for, after all, my dear Ma'am, marriage is the devil."</p>
<p> "Your opinion, Sir," answered I, "of either the married or the single life, can be
of no manner of consequence to me; and therefore I would by no means trouble you to
discuss their different merits."</p>
<p> "Why, really, Ma'am, as to your being a little out of sorts, I must own I can't
wonder at it; for, to be sure, marriage is all in all with the ladies; but with us
gentlemen it's quite another thing! Now only put yourself in my place;-suppose you
had such a large acquaintance of gentlemen as I have,-and that you had always been
used to appear a little-a little smart among them-why, now could you like to let your
self down all at once into a married man?"</p>
<p> I could not tell what to answer; so much conceit, and so much ignorance, both
astonished and silenced me.</p>
<p> "I assure you, Ma'am," added he, "there is not only Miss Biddy,-though I should have
scored to mention her, if her brother had not blab'd, for I'm quite particular in
keeping ladies' secrets,-but there are a great many other ladies that have been
proposed to me;-but I never thought twice of any of them, that is, not in a serious
way:-so you may very well be proud," offering to take my hand; "for I assure you,
there is nobody so likely to catch me at last as yourself."</p>
<p> "Sir, "cried I, drawing myself back as haughtily as I could, "you are totally
mistaken, if you imagine you have given me any pride I felt not before, by this
conversation; on the contrary, you must allow me to tell you, I find it too
humiliating to bear with it any longer."</p>
<p> I then placed myself behind the chair of Madame Duval: who, when she heard of the
partners I had refused, pitied my ignorance of the world, but no longer insisted upon
my dancing.</p>
<p> Indeed, the extreme vanity of this man, makes me exert a spirit which I did not,
till now, know that I possessed: but I cannot endure that he should think me at his
disposal.</p>
<p> The rest of the evening passed very quietly, as Mr. Smith did not again attempt
speaking to me; except, indeed, after we had left the room and while Madam Duval was
seating herself in the coach, he said, in a voice of pique, "Next time I take the
trouble to get any tickets for a young lady, I'll make a bargain before-hand, that
she shan't turn me over to her grandmother."</p>
<p> We came home very safe; and thus ended this so long projected and most disagreeable
affair.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LI.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION.</opener>
<p> I HAVE just received a most affecting letter from Mr. Macartney. I<lb/>will inclose
it, my dear Sir, for your perusal. More than ever have<lb/>I cause to rejoice that I
was able to assist him. Mr. Macartney to<lb/>Miss Anville.</p>
<p> Madam,</p>
<p> IMPRESSED with deepest, the most heartfelt sense of the exalted humanity with which
you have rescued from destruction an unhappy stranger, allow me, with humblest
gratitude, to offer you my fervent acknowledgments, and to implore your pardon for
the terror I have caused you.</p>
<p> You bid me, Madam, live: I have now, indeed, a motive for life, since I should not
willingly quit the world, while I withhold from the needy and distressed any share of
that charity which a disposition so noble would otherwise bestow upon them.</p>
<p> The benevolence with which you have interested yourself in my affairs, induces me to
suppose you would wish to be acquainted with the cause of that desperation from which
you snatched me, and the particulars of that misery of which you have so wonderfully
been a witness. Yet, as this explanation will require that I should divulge secrets
of a nature the most delicate, I must intreat you to regard them as sacred, even
though I forbear to mention the names of the parties concerned.</p>
<p> I was brought up in Scotland, though my mother, who had the sole care of me, was an
English-woman, and had not one relation in that country. She devoted to me her whole
time. The retirement in which we lived, and the distance from our natural friends,
she often told me, were the effect of an unconquerable melancholy with which she was
seized upon the sudden loss of my father, some time before I was born.</p>
<p> At Aberdeen, where I finished my education, I formed a friendship with a young man
of fortune, which I considered as the chief happiness of my life:-but, when he
quitted his studies, I considered it as my chief misfortune; for he immediately
prepared, by direction of his friends, to make the tour of Europe. As I was designed
for the church, and had no prospect even of maintenance but from my own industry, I
scarce dared permit even a wish of accompanying him. It is true, he would joyfully
have borne my expenses: but my affection was as free from meanness as his own; and I
made a determination the most solemn, never to lessen its dignity by submitting to
pecuniary obligations.</p>
<p> We corresponded with great regularity, and the most unbounded confidence, for the
space of two years, when he arrived at Lyons in his way home.</p>
<p> He wrote me thence the most pressing invitation to meet him at Paris, where he
intended to remain some time. My desire to comply with his request, and shorten our
absence, was so earnest, that my mother, too indulgent to control me lent me what
assistance was in her power, and, in an ill-fated moment, I set out for that
capital.</p>
<p> My meeting with this dear friend was the happiest event of my life: he introduced me
to all his acquaintance; and so quickly did time seem to pass at that delightful
period, that the six weeks I had allotted for my stay were gone, ere I was sensible I
had missed so many days. But I must now own, that the company of my friend was not
the sole subject of my felicity: I became acquainted with a young lady, daughter of
an Englishman of distinction, with whom I formed an attachment, which I have a
thousand times vowed, a thousand times sincerely thought, would be lasting as my
life. She had but just quitted a convent in which she had been placed when a child,
and though English by birth, she could scarcely speak her native language. Her person
and disposition were equally engaging; but chiefly I adored her for the greatness of
the expectation, which, for my sake, she was willing to resign.</p>
<p> When the time for my residence in Paris expired, I was almost distracted at the idea
of quitting her; yet I had not the courage to make our attachment known to her
father, who might reasonably form for her such views as would make him reflect, with
a contempt which I could not bear to think of, such an offer as mine. Yet I had free
access to the house, where she seemed to be left almost wholly to the guidance of an
old servant, who was my fast friend.</p>
<p> But, to be brief, the sudden and unexpected return of her father, one fatal
afternoon, proved the beginning of the misery which has ever since devoured me. I
doubt not but he had listened to our conversation; for he darted into the room with
the rage of a madman. Heavens! what a scene followed!-what abusive language did the
shame of a clandestine affair, and the consciousness of acting ill, induce me to
brook! At length, however, his fury exceeded my patience, he called me a beggarly,
cowardly Scotchman. Fired at the words, I drew my sword; he, with equal alertness,
drew his; for he was not an old man, but, on the contrary, strong and able as myself.
In vain his daughter pleaded;-in vain did I, repentant of my anger retreat-his
reproaches continued; myself, my country, were loaded with infamy, till no longer
constraining my rage,-we fought,-and he fell!</p>
<p> At that moment I could almost have destroyed myself! The young lady fainted with
terror; the old servant, drawn to us by the noise of the scuffle, entreated me to
escape, and promised to bring intelligence of what should pass to my apartments. The
disturbance which I heard raised in the house obliged me to comply; and, in a state
of mind inconceivable wretched, I tore myself away.</p>
<p> My friend, whom I found at home, soon discovered the whole affair. It was near
midnight before the woman came. She told me that her master was living, and her young
mistress restored to her senses. The absolute necessity for my leaving Paris, while
any danger remained, was forcibly argued by my friend: the servant promised to
acquaint him of whatever passed, and he to transmit to me her information. Thus
circumstanced, with the assistance of this dear friend, I effected my departure from
Paris, and, not long after, I returned to Scotland. I would fain have stopped by the
way, that I might have been nearer the scene of all my concerns; but the low state of
my finances denied me that satisfaction.</p>
<p> The miserable situation of my mind was soon discovered by my mother; nor would she
rest till I communicated the cause. She heard my whole story with an agitation which
astonished me:-the name of the parties concerned seemed to strike her with
horror:-but when I said, We fought, and he fell; -"My son," cried she, "you have then
murdered your father!" and she sunk breathless at my feet. Comments, Madam, upon such
a scene as this, would to you be superfluous, and to me agonizing: I cannot, for both
our sakes, be too concise. When she recovered, she confessed all the particulars of a
tale which she had hoped never to have revealed.-Alas! the loss she had sustained of
my father was not by death!-bound to her by no ties but those of honour, he had
voluntarily deserted her!-Her settling in Scotland was not the effect of choice,-she
was banished thither by a family but too justly incensed.-Pardon, Madam, that I
cannot be more explicit!</p>
<p> My senses, in the greatness of my misery, actually forsook me, and, for more than a
week, I was wholly delirious. My unfortunate mother was yet more to pitied; for she
pined with unmitigated sorrow, eternally reproaching herself for the danger to which
her too strict silence had exposed me. When I recovered my reason, my impatience to
hear from Paris almost deprived me of it again; and though the length of time I
waited for letters might justly be attributed to contrary winds, I could not bear the
delay, and was twenty times upon the point of returning thither at all hazards. At
length, however, several letters arrived at once, and from the most insupportable of
my afflictions I was then relieved; for they acquainted me that the horrors of
parricide were not in reserve for me. They informed me also, that as soon as the
wound was healed, a journey would be made to England, where my unhappy sister was to
be received by an aunt, with whom she was to live.</p>
<p> This intelligence somewhat quieted the violence of my sorrows. I instantly formed a
plan of meeting them in London, and, by revealing the whole dreadful story,
convincing this irritated parent that he had nothing more to apprehend from his
daughter's unfortunate choice. My mother consented, and gave me a letter to prove the
truth of my assertions. As I could but ill afford to make this journey, I travelled
in the cheapest way that was possible. I took an obscure lodging,-I need not, Madam,
tell you where,-and boarded with the people of the house.</p>
<p> Here I languished, week after week, vainly hoping for the arrival of my family; but
my impetuosity had blinded me to the imprudence of which I was guilty in quitting
Scotland so hastily. My wounded father, after his recovery, relapsed, and when I had
waited in the most comfortless situation for six weeks, my friend wrote me word that
the journey was yet deferred for some time longer.</p>
<p> My finances were then nearly exhausted; and I was obliged, though most unwillingly,
to beg further assistance from my mother, that I might return to Scotland. Oh,
Madam!-my answer was not from herself;-it was written by a lady who had long been her
companion, and aquainted me that she had been taken suddenly ill of a fever,-and was
no more!</p>
<p> The compassionate nature of which you have given such noble proofs, assures me I
need not, if I could, paint to you the anguish of a mind overwhelmed with such
accumulated sorrows.</p>
<p> Inclosed was a letter to a near relation, which she had, during her illness, with
much difficulty, written; and in which, with the strongest maternal tenderness, she
described my deplorable situation, and intreated his interest to procure me some
preferment. Yet so sunk was I by misfortune, that a fortnight elapsed before I had
the courage or spirit to attempt delivering this letter. I was then compelled to it
by want. To make my appearance with some decency, I was necessitated myself to the
melancholy task of changing my coloured clothes for a suit of mourning;- and then I
proceeded to seek my relation.</p>
<p> I was informed he was not in town.</p>
<p> In this desperate situation, the pride of my heart, which hitherto had not bowed to
adversity, gave way; and I determined to intreat the assistance of my friend, whose
offered services I had a thousand times rejected. Yet, Madam, so hard is it to root
from the mind its favourite principles or prejudices, call them which you please,
that I lingered another week ere I had the resolution to send away a letter, which I
regarded as the death of my independence.</p>
<p> At length, reduced to my last shilling, shunned insolently by the people of the
house, and almost famished, I sealed this fatal letter; and, with a heavy heart,
determined to take it to the post office. But Mr. Branghton and his son suffered me
not to pass through their shop with impunity; they insulted me grossly, and
threatened me with imprisonment, if I did not immediately satisfy their demands.
Stung to the soul, I bid them have but a day's patience, and flung from them in a
state of mind too terrible for description.</p>
<p> My letter which I now found would be received too late to save me from disgrace, I
tore into a thousand pieces; and scarce could I refrain from putting an
instantaneous, an unlicensed, a period to my existence.</p>
<p> In this disorder of my senses, I formed the horrible plan of turning foot-pad; for
which purpose I returned to my lodging, and collected whatever of my apparel I could
part with; which I immediately sold, and with the produce purchased a brace of
pistols, powder and shot. I hope, however, you will believe me, when I most solemnly
assure you, my sole intention was to frighten the passengers I should assault with
these dangerous weapons; which I had not loaded but from a resolution,-a dreadful
one, I own,-to save myself from an ignominious death if seized. And, indeed, I
thought, that if I could but procure money sufficient to pay Mr. Branghton, and make
a journey to Scotland, I should soon be able to, by the public papers, to discover
whom I had injured, and to make private retribution.</p>
<p> But, Madam, new to every species of villainy, my perturbation was so great, that I
could with difficulty support myself, yet the Branghtons observed it not as I passed
through the shop.</p>
<p> Here I stop:-what followed is better known to yourself. But no time can ever efface
from my memory that moment, when, in the very action of preparing for my own
destruction, or the lawless seizure of the property of others, you rushed into the
room and arrested my arm!-It was indeed an awful moment!-the hand of Providence
seemed to intervene between me and eternity: I beheld you as an angel!-I thought you
dropt from the clouds!-The earth, indeed, had never presented to my view a form so
celestial!-What wonder, then, that a spectacle so astonishing should, to a man
disordered as I was, appear too beautiful to be human?</p>
<p> And now, Madam, that I have performed this painful task, the more grateful one
remains of rewarding, as far as is in my power, your generous goodness, by assuring
you it shall not be thrown away. You have awakened me to a sense of the false pride
by which I have been actuated;-a pride which, while it scorned assistance from a
friend, scrupled not to compel it from a stranger, though at the hazard of reducing
that stranger to a situation as destitute as my own. Yet, oh! how violent was the
struggle which tore my conflicting soul ere I could persuade myself to profit by the
benevolence which you were so evidently disposed to exert in my favour!</p>
<p> By means of a ring, the gift of my much-regretted mother, I have for the present
satisfied Mr. Branghton; and, by means of your compassion, I hope to support myself
either till I hear from my friend, to whom at length I have written, or till the
relation of my mother returns to town.</p>
<p> To talk to you, Madam, of paying my debt, would be vain; I never can! the service
you have done me exceeds all power of return: you have restored me to my senses; you
have taught me to curb those passions which bereft me of them; and, since I cannot
avoid calamity, to bear it as a man! An interposition so wonderfully circumstanced
can never be recollected without benefit. Yet allow me to say, the pecuniary part of
my obligation must be settled by my first ability.</p>
<p> I am, Madam, with the most profound respect, and heartfelt gratitude,<lb/>Your
obedient, and devoted humble servant, J. MACARTNEY.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LII.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Holborn, July 1.-5 o'clock in the morning.</opener>
<p> O SIR, what and adventure have I to write!-all night it has occupied my thoughts,
and I am now risen thus early to write it to you.</p>
<p> Yesterday it was settled that we should spend the evening in Marybone<lb/>Gardens,
where M. Torre, a celebrated foreigner, was to exhibit some<lb/>fire-works. The party
consisted of Madame Duval, all the Branghtons,<lb/>M. Du Bois, Mr. Smith, and Mr.
Brown.</p>
<p> We were almost the first persons who entered the Gardens, Mr. Branghton having
declared he would have all he could get for his money, which, at best, was only
fooled away at such silly and idle places.</p>
<p> We walked in parties, and very much detached from one another. Mr. Brown and Miss
Polly led the way by themselves; Miss Branghton and Mr. Smith followed; and the
latter seemed determined to be revenged for my behaviour at the ball, by transferring
all his former attention for me to Miss Branghton, who received it with an air of
exultation; and very frequently they each of them, though from different motives,
looked back, to discover whether I observed their good intelligence. Madame Duval
walked with M. Du Bois, and Mr. Branghton by himself; but his son would willingly
have attached himself wholly to me; saying frequently, "come, Miss, let's you and I
have a little fun together: you see they have all left us, so now let's leave them."
But I begged to be excused, and went to the other side of Madame Duval.</p>
<p> This Garden, as it is called, is neither striking for magnificence nor for beauty;
and we were all so dull and languid, that I was extremely glad when we were summoned
to the orchestra, upon the opening of a concert; in the course of which I had the
pleasure of hearing a concerto on the violin by Mr. Barthelemon, who to me seems a
player of exquisite fancy, feeling and variety.</p>
<p> When notice was given us that the fire-works were preparing we hurried along to
secure good places for the sight; but very soon we were so encircled and incommoded
by the crowd, that Mr. Smith proposed the ladies should make interest for a form to
stand upon: this was soon effected: and the men then left us to accommodate
themselves better; saying, they would return the moment the exhibition was over.</p>
<p> The fire-work was really beautiful; and told, with wonderful ingenuity, the story of
Orpheus and Eurydice: but, at the moment of the fatal look which separated them for
ever, there was such an explosion of fire, and so horrible a noise, that we all, as
of one accord, jumpt hastily from the form, and ran away some paces, fearing that we
were in danger of mischief, from the innumerable sparks of fire which glittered in
the air.</p>
<p>  For a moment or two I neither knew nor considered whither I had run;<lb/> but
my<lb/>recollection was soon awakened by a stranger's addressing me with,<lb/>"Come
along with me, my dear, and I'll take care of you."</p>
<p> I started; and then, to my great terror, perceived that I had outrun all my
companions, and saw not one human being I knew! With all the speed in my power, and
forgetful of my first fright, I hastened back to the place I had left;-but found the
form occupied by a new set of people.</p>
<p> In vain, from side to side, I looked for some face I knew; I found myself in the
midst of a crowd, yet without party, friend, or acquaintance. I walked in disordered
haste from place to place, without knowing which way to turn, or whither I went.
Every other moment I was spoken to by some bold and unfeeling man; to whom my
distress, which I think must be very apparent, only furnished a pretence for
impertinent witticisms, or free gallantry.</p>
<p> At last a young officer, marching fiercely up to me, said, "You are a sweet pretty
creature, and I enlist you in my service;" and then, with great violence, he seized
my hand. I screamed aloud with fear; and forcibly snatching it away, I ran hastily up
to two ladies, and cried, "for Heaven's sake, dear ladies, afford me some
protection!"</p>
<p> They heard me with a loud laugh, but very readily said, "Ay, let her walk between
us;" and each of them took hold of an arm.</p>
<p> Then, in a drawling, ironical tone of voice, they asked what had frightened my
little Ladyship? I told them my adventure very simply, and intreated they would have
the goodness to assist me in finding my friends.</p>
<p> O yes, to be sure, they said, I should not want for friends, whilst I was with them.
Mine, I said, would be very grateful for any civilities with which they might favour
me. But imagine, my dear Sir, how I must have been confounded, when I observed, that
every other word I spoke produced a loud laugh! However, I will not dwell upon a
conversation, which soon, to my inexpressible horror, convinced me I had sought
protection from insult, of those who were themselves most likely to offer it! You, my
dearest Sir, I well know, will both feel for and pity my terror, which I have no
words to describe.</p>
<p> Had I been at liberty, I should have instantly run away from them when I made the
shocking discovery: but, as they held me fast, that was utterly impossible: and such
was my dread of their resentment or abuse that I did not dare make any open attempt
to escape.</p>
<p> They asked me a thousand questions, accompanied by as many halloos, of who I was,
what I was, and whence I came? My answers were very incoherent;-but what, good
Heaven, were my emotions, when, a few moments afterwards, I perceived advancing our
way-Lord Orville!</p>
<p> Never shall I forget what I felt at that instant: had I, indeed, been sunk to the
guilty state which such companions might lead him to suspect, I could scarce have had
feelings more cruelly depressing.</p>
<p> However, to my infinite joy, he passed us without distinguishing me; though I saw
that in a careless manner, his eyes surveyed the party.</p>
<p> As soon as he was gone, one of these unhappy women said, "Do you know that young
fellow?"</p>
<p> Not thinking it possible she should mean Lord Orville by such a term,<lb/>I readily
answered, "No, Madam."</p>
<p> "Why then," answered she, "you have a monstrous good stare, for a little county
Miss."</p>
<p> I now found I had mistaken her, but was glad to avoid an explanation.</p>
<p> A few minutes after, what was my delight to hear the voice of<lb/>Mr. Brown, who
called out," Lord, i'n't that Miss what's her name?"</p>
<p> "Thank God," cried I, suddenly springing from them both, "thank God,<lb/>I have
found my party."</p>
<p> Mr. Brown was, however, alone; and, without knowing what I did,<lb/>I took hold of
his arm.</p>
<p> "Lord, Miss," cried he, "we've had such a hunt you can't think! some of them thought
you was gone home: but I says, says I, I don't think, says I, that she's like to go
home all alone, says I."</p>
<p> "So that gentleman belongs to you, Miss, does he?" said one of the women.</p>
<p> "Yes, Madam," answered I, "and I now thank you for your civility; but as I am safe,
will not give you any further trouble."</p>
<p> I courtsied slightly, and would gave walked away; but, most unfortunately, Madame
Duval and the two Miss Branghtons just then joined us.</p>
<p> They all began to make a thousand enquiries; to which I briefly answered, that I had
been obliged to these two ladies for walking with me, and would tell them more
another time: for, though I felt great comparative courage, I was yet too much
intimidated by their presence, to dare be explicit.</p>
<p> Nevertheless, I ventured once more to wish them a goodnight, and proposed seeking
Mr. Branghton. These unhappy women listened to all that was said with a kind of
callous curiosity, and seemed determined not to take any hint. But my vexation was
terribly augmented when, after having whispered something to each other, they very
cavalierly declared, that they intended joining our party! and then, one of them very
boldly took hold of my arm, while the other, going round, seized that of Mr. Brown;
and thus, almost forcibly, we were moved on between them, and followed by Madame
Duval and the Miss Branghton.</p>
<p> It would be very difficult to say which was greatest, my fright, or Mr. Brown's
consternation; who ventured not to make the least resistance, though his uneasiness
made him tremble almost as much as myself. I would instantly have withdrawn my arm:
but it was held so tight I could not move it; and poor Mr. Brown was circumstanced in
the same manner on the other side; for I heard him say, "Lord, Ma'am, there's no need
to squeeze one's arm so!"</p>
<p> And this was our situation,-for we had not taken three steps, when,-O sir,-we again
met Lord Orville!-but not again did he pass quietly by us:-unhappily I caught his
eye;-both mine immediately were bent to the ground; but he approached me, and we all
stopped.</p>
<p> I then looked up. He bowed. Good God, with what expressive eyes did he regard me!
Never were surprise and concern so strongly marked:-yes, my dear Sir, he looked
greatly concerned: and that, the remembrance of that, is the only consolation I feel
for an evening the most painful of my life.</p>
<p> What he said I know not; for indeed, I seemed to have neither ears nor
understanding; but I recollect that I only courtsied in silence. He paused for an
instant, as if-I believe so,-as if unwilling to pass on; and then, finding the whole
party detained, he again bowed, and took leave.</p>
<p> Indeed, my dear Sir, I thought I should have fainted; so great was my emotion, from
shame, vexation, and a thousand other feelings, for which I have no expressions. I
absolutely tore myself from the woman's arms; and then, disengaging myself from that
of Mr. Brown, I went to Madame Duval, and besought that she would not suffer me to be
again parted from her.</p>
<p> I fancy-that Lord Orville saw what passed; for scarcely was I at liberty, ere he
returned. Methought, my dear Sir, the pleasure, the surprise of that moment,
recompensed me for all the chagrin I had before felt: for do you not think, that his
return manifests, for a character so quiet, so reserved as Lord Orville's, something
like solicitude in my concerns? such at least was the interpretation I involuntarily
made upon again seeing him.</p>
<p> With a politeness to which I have been sometime very little used, he apologized for
returning; and then inquired after the health of Mrs. Mirvan, and the rest of the
Howard Grove family. The flattering conjecture which I have just acknowledged, had so
wonderfully restored my spirits, that I believe I never answered him so readily, and
with so little constraint. Very short, however, was the duration of this
conversation; for we were soon most disagreeably interrupted.</p>
<p> The Miss Branghtons, though they saw almost immediately the characters of the women
to whom I had so unfortunately applied, were, nevertheless, so weak and foolish, as
merely to titter at their behaviour. As to Madame Duval, she was for some time so
strangely imposed upon, that she thought they were two real fine ladies. Indeed, it
is wonderful to see how easily and how frequently she is deceived. Our disturbance,
however, arose from young Brown, who was now between the two women, by whom his arms
were absolutely pinioned to his sides: for a few minutes his complaints had been only
murmured: but he now called out aloud, "Goodness, Ladies, you hurt me like any thing!
why, I can't walk at all, if you keep pinching my arms so!"</p>
<p> This speech raised a loud laugh in the women, and redoubled the tittering of the
Miss Branghtons. For my own part, I was most cruelly confused: while the countenance
of Lord Orville manifested a sort of indignant astonishment; and, from that moment,
he spoke to me no more till he took leave.</p>
<p> Madame Duval, who now began to suspect her company, proposed our taking the first
box we saw empty, bespeaking a supper, and waiting till Mr. Branghton should find
us.</p>
<p> Miss Polly mentioned one she had remarked, to which we all turned. Madame Duval
instantly seated herself; and the two bold women, forcing the frightened Mr. Brown to
go between them, followed her example.</p>
<p> Lord Orville, with an air of gravity that wounded my very soul, then wished me good
night. I said not a word; but my face, if it had any connection with my heart, must
have looked melancholy indeed: and so I have some reason to believe it did; for he
added with much more softness, though no less dignity, "Will Miss Anville allow me to
ask her address, and to pay my respects to her before I leave town?"</p>
<p> O how I changed colour at this unexpected request!-yet, what was the mortification I
suffered in answering, "My Lord, I am-in Holborn!"</p>
<p> He then bowed and left us.</p>
<p> What, what can he think of this adventure! how strangely how cruelly have all
appearances turned against me! Had I been blessed with any presence of mind, I should
instantly have explained to him the accident which occasioned my being in such
terrible company:-but I have none!</p>
<p> As to the rest of the evening, I cannot relate the particulars of what passed; for,
to you, I only write of what I think; and I can think of nothing but this
unfortunate, this disgraceful meeting. These two wretched women continued to torment
us all, but especially poor Mr. Brown, who seemed to afford them uncommon diversion,
till we were discovered by Mr. Branghton, who very soon found means to release us
from their persecutions, by frightening them away. We stayed but a short time after
they left us, which was all employed in explanation.</p>
<p> Whatever may be the construction which Lord Orville may put upon this affair, to me
it cannot fail of being unfavourable; to be seen-gracious Heaven! to be seen in
company with two women of such character!-How vainly, how proudly have I wished to
avoid meeting him when only with the Branghtons and Madame Duval;-but now, how joyful
should I be had he seen me to no greater disadvantage!-Holborn, too! what a
direction! he who had always-but I will not torment you, my dearest Sir, with any
more of my mortifying conjectures and apprehensions: perhaps he may call,-and then I
shall have an opportunity of explaining to him all the most shocking part of the
adventure. And yet, as I did not tell him at whose house I lived, he may not be able
to discover me; I merely said in Holborn; and he, who I suppose saw my embarrassment,
forbore to ask any other direction.</p>
<p> Well, I must take my chance!</p>
<p> Yet let me, in the justice to Lord Orville, and in justice to the high opinion I
have always entertained of his honour and delicacy,-let me observe the difference of
his behaviour, when nearly in the same situation, to that of Sir Clement Willoughby.
He had, at least, equal cause to depreciate me in his opinion, and to mortify and
sink me in my own; but far different was his conduct:-perplexed, indeed, he looked,
and much surprised:-but it was benevolently, not with insolence. I am even inclined
to think, that he could not see a young creature whom he had so lately known in a
higher sphere, appear so suddenly, so strangely, so disgracefully altered in her
situation, without some pity and concern. But whatever might be his doubts and
suspicions, far from suffering them to influence his behaviour, he spoke, he looked
with the same politeness and attention with which he had always honoured me when
countenanced by Mrs. Mirvan.</p>
<p> Once again, let me drop this subject.</p>
<p> In every mortification, every disturbance, how grateful to my heart, how sweet to my
recollection, is the certainty of your never-failing tenderness, sympathy and
protection! Oh, Sir, could I upon this subject, could I write as I feel,-how animated
would be the language of your devoted EVELINA.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LIII.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Holborn, July 1st.</opener>
<p> LISTLESS, uneasy, and without either spirit or courage to employ myself, from the
time I had finished my last letter, I indolently seated myself at the window, where,
while I waited Madame Duval's summons to breakfast, I perceived, among the carriages
which passed by, a coronet-coach, and in a few minutes, from the window of it, Lord
Orville! I instantly retreated, but not I believe, unseen; for the coach immediately
drove up to our door.</p>
<p> Indeed, my dear Sir, I must own I was greatly agitated; the idea of receiving Lord
Orville by myself,-the knowledge that his visit was entirely to me,-the wish of
explaining the unfortunate adventure of yesterday,-and the mortification of my
present circumstances,-all these thoughts, occurring to me nearly at the same time,
occasioned me more anxiety, confusion, and perplexity, than I can possibly
express.</p>
<p> I believe he meant to sent up his name; but the maid, unused to such a ceremony,
forgot it by the way, and only told me, that a great Lord was below, and desired to
see me; and, the next moment, he appeared himself.</p>
<p> If, formerly, when in the circle of high life, and accustomed to its manners, I so
much admired and distinguished the grace, the elegance of Lord Orville, think Sir,
how they must strike me now,-now, when far removed from that splendid circle, I live
with those to whom even civility is unknown, and decorum a stranger!</p>
<p> I am sure I received him very awkwardly: depressed by a situation so
disagreeable-could I do otherwise? When his first enquiries were made, "I think
myself very fortunate," he said, "in meeting with Miss Anville at home, and still
more so in finding her disengaged."</p>
<p> I only courtsied. He then talked of Mrs. Mirvan, asked how long I had been in town,
and other such general questions, which happily gave me time to recover from my
embarrassment. After which he said, "If Miss Anville will allow me the honour of
sitting by her a few minutes (for we were both standing) I will venture to tell her
the motive which, next to enquiring after her health, has prompted me to wait on her
thus early."</p>
<p> We were then both seated; and, after a short pause, he said, "How to apologize for
so great a liberty as I am upon the point of taking, I know not;-shall I, therefore,
rely wholly upon your goodness, and not apologize at all?"</p>
<p> I only bowed.</p>
<p> "I should be extremely sorry to appear impertinent,-yet hardly know how to avoid
it."</p>
<p> "Impertinent! O, my Lord," cried I, eagerly, "that, I am sure, is impossible!"</p>
<p> "You are very good," answered he, "and encourage me to be ingenuous-"</p>
<p> Again he stopped: but my expectation was too great for speech. At last, without
looking at me, in a low voice, and hesitating manner, he said, "Were those ladies
with whom I saw you last night ever in your company before?"</p>
<p> "No, my Lord," cried I, rising and colouring violently, "nor will they ever be
again."</p>
<p> He rose too; and, with an air of the most condescending concern, said, "Pardon,
Madam, the abruptness of a question which I knew not how to introduce as I ought, and
for which I have no excuse to offer but my respect for Mrs. Mirvan, joined to the
sincerest wishes for your happiness: yet I fear I have gone too far!"</p>
<p> "I am very sensible of the honour of your lordship's attention," said I; "but-"</p>
<p> "Permit me to assure you," cried he, finding I hesitated, "that officiousness is not
my characteristic; and that I would by no means have risked your displeasure, had I
not been fully satisfied you were too generous to be offended without a real cause of
offence."</p>
<p> "Offended!" cried I, "no, my Lord, I am only grieved-grieved, indeed! to find myself
in a situation so unfortunate as to be obliged to make explanations, which cannot but
mortify and shock me."</p>
<p> "It is I alone," cried he, with some eagerness, "who am shocked, as it is I who
deserve to be mortified. I seek no explanation, for I have no doubt; but in mistaking
me, Miss Anville injures herself: allow me therefore, frankly and openly, to tell you
the intention of my visit."</p>
<p> I bowed, and we both returned to our seats.</p>
<p> "I will own myself to have been greatly surprised," continued he, "when I met you
yesterday evening, in company with two persons who I was sensible merited not the
honour of your notice: nor was it easy for me to conjecture the cause of your being
so situated; yet, believe me, my incertitude did not for a moment do you injury. I
was satisfied that their characters must be unknown to you; and I thought, with
concern, of the shock you would sustain when you discovered their unworthiness. I
should not, however, upon so short an acquaintance, have usurped the privilege of
intimacy, in giving my unasked sentiments upon so delicate a subject, had I not known
that credulity is the sister of innocence, and therefore feared you might be
deceived. A something which I could not resist, urged me to the freedom I have taken
to caution you; but I shall not easily forgive myself if I have been so unfortunate
as to give you pain."</p>
<p> The pride which his first question had excited, now subsided into delight and
gratitude; and I instantly related to him, as well as I could, the accident which had
occasioned my joining the unhappy women with whom he had met me. He listened with an
attention so flattering, seemed so much interested during the recital, and, when I
had done, thanked me in terms so polite, for what he was pleased to call my
condescension, that I was almost ashamed either to look at or hear him.</p>
<p> Soon after the maid came to tell me, that Madame Duval desired to have breakfast
made in her own room.</p>
<p> "I fear," cried Lord Orville, instantly rising, "that I have intruded upon your
time;-yet who, so situated, could do otherwise?" Then, taking my hand, "Will Miss
Anville allow me thus to seal my peace?" he pressed it to his lips, and took
leave.</p>
<p> Generous, noble Lord Orville! how disinterested his conduct! how delicate his whole
behaviour! Willing to advise, yet afraid to wound me!-Can I ever, in future, regret
the adventure I met with at Marybone, since it has been productive of a visit so
flattering? Had my mortifications been still more humiliating, my terrors still more
alarming, such a mark of esteem-may I not call it so?-from Lord Orville, would have
made me ample amends.</p>
<p> And indeed, my dear Sir, I require some consolation in my present very disagreeable
situation; for, since he went, two incidents have happened, that, had not my spirits
been particularly elated, would greatly have disconcerted me.</p>
<p> During breakfast, Madame Duval, very abruptly, asked, if I should like to be
married? and added, that Mr. Branghton had been proposing a match for me with his
son. Surprised, and, I must own, provoked, I assured her that in thinking of me, Mr.
Branghton would very vainly lose his time.</p>
<p> "Why," cried she, "I have had grander views for you myself, if once I could get you
to Paris, and make you be owned; but if I can't do that, and you can do no better,
why, as you are both my relations, I think to leave my fortune between you; and then,
if you marry, you never need want for nothing."</p>
<p> I begged her not to pursue the subject, as, I assured her, Mr. Branghton was totally
disagreeable to me; but she continued her admonitions and reflections, with her usual
disregard of whatever I could answer. She charged me, very peremptorily, neither
wholly to discourage, nor yet to accept Mr. Branghton's offer, till she saw what
could be done for me: the young man, she added, had often intended to speak to me
himself, but, not well knowing how to introduce the subject, he had desired her to
pave the way for him.</p>
<p> I scrupled not, warmly and freely, to declare my aversion to this proposal; but it
was to no effect; she concluded, just as she had begun, by saying, that I should not
have him, if I could do better.</p>
<p> Nothing, however, shall persuade me to listen to any other person concerning this
odious affair.</p>
<p> My second cause of uneasiness arises, very unexpectedly, from M. Du Bois; who, to my
infinite surprise, upon Madame Duval's quitting the room after dinner, put into my
hand a note, and immediately left the house.</p>
<p> This note contains an open declaration of an attachment to me; which, he says, he
should never have presumed to have acknowledged, had he not been informed that Madame
Duval destined my hand to young Branghton,-a match which he cannot endure to think
of. He beseeches me earnestly to pardon his temerity; professes the most inviolable
respect; and commits his fate to time, patience, and pity.</p>
<p> This conduct in M. du Bois gives me real concern, as I was disposed to think very
well of him. It will not, however, be difficult to discourage him; and therefore, I
shall not acquaint Madame Duval of his letter, as I have reason to believe it would
greatly displease her.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LIV.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. July 3rd.</opener>
<p> O SIR, how much uneasiness must I suffer, to counterbalance one short morning of
happiness!</p>
<p> Yesterday the Branghtons proposed a party to Kensington Gardens; and, as usual,
Madame Duval insisted upon my attendance.</p>
<p> We went in a hackney-coach to Piccadilly, and then had a walk through Hyde Park;
which in any other company would have been delightful. I was much pleased with
Kensington Gardens, and think them infinitely preferable to those of Vauxhall.</p>
<p> Young Branghton was extremely troublesome; he insisted upon walking by my side, and
talked with me almost by compulsion; however, my reserve and coldness prevented his
entering upon the hateful subject which Madame Duval had prepared me to apprehend.
Once, indeed, when I was accidentally a few yards before the rest, he said, "I
suppose, Miss, aunt has told you about-you know what?-ha'n't she, Miss?"-But I turned
from him without making any answer. Neither Mr. Smith nor Mr. Brown were of the
party; and poor M. Du Bois, when he found that I avoided him, looked so melancholy,
that I was really sorry for him.</p>
<p> While we were strolling round the garden, I perceived, walking with a party of
ladies at some distance, Lord Orville! I instantly retreated behind Miss Branghton,
and kept out of sight till we had passed him; for I dreaded being seen by him again
in a public walk with a party of which I was ashamed.</p>
<p> Happily I succeeded in my design, and saw no more of him; for a sudden and violent
shower of rain made us all hasten out of the gardens. We ran till we came to a small
green-shop, where we begged shelter. Here we found ourselves in company with two
footmen, whom the rain had driven into the shop. Their livery I thought I had before
seen; and, upon looking from the window, I perceived the same upon a coachman
belonging to a carriage, which I immediately recollected to be Lord Orville's.</p>
<p> Fearing to be know, I whispered Miss Branghton not to speak my name. Had I
considered but a moment, I should have been sensible of the inutility of such a
caution, since not one of the party call me by any other appellation than that of
Cousin or of Miss; but I am perpetually involved in some distress or dilemma from my
own heedlessness.</p>
<p> This request excited very strongly her curiosity: and she attacked me with such
eagerness and bluntness of enquiry, that I could not avoid telling her the reason of
my making it, and, consequently, that I was known to Lord Orville: an acknowledgment
which proved the most unfortunate in the world; for she would not rest till she had
drawn from me the circumstances attending my first making the acquaintance. Then,
calling to her sister, she said, "Lord, Polly, only think! Miss has danced with a
Lord!"</p>
<p> "Well," cried Polly, "that's a thing I should never have thought of! And pray, Miss,
what did he say to you?"</p>
<p> This question was much sooner asked than answered; and they both became so very
inquisitive and earnest, that they soon drew the attention of Madame Duval and the
rest of the party; to whom, in a very short time, they repeated all they had gathered
from me.</p>
<p> "Goodness, then," cried young Branghton, "if I was Miss, if I would not make free
with his Lordship's coach, to take me to town."</p>
<p> "Why, ay," said the father, "there would be some sense in that; that would be making
some use of a Lord's acquaintance, for it would save us coach-hire."</p>
<p> "Lord, Miss," cried Polly, "I wish you would; for I should like of all things to
ride in a coronet-coach."</p>
<p> "I promise you," said Madame Duval, "I'm glad you've thought of it, for I don't see
no objection;-so let's have the coachman called."</p>
<p> "Not for the world," cried I, very much alarmed: "indeed it is utterly
impossible."</p>
<p> "Why so?" demanded Mr. Branghton: "pray, where's the good of your knowing a Lord, if
your never the better for him?"</p>
<p> "Ma foi, child," said Madame Duval, "you don't know no more of the world that if you
was a baby. Pray, Sir, (to one of the footmen) tell that coachman to draw up, for I
wants to speak to him."</p>
<p> The man stared, but did not move. "Pray, pray, Madame," said I, "pray, Mr.
Branghton, have the goodness to give up this plan; I know but very little of his
Lordship, and cannot, upon any account, take so great a liberty."</p>
<p> "Don't say nothing about it," said Madam Duval, "for I shall have it my own way: so,
if you won't call the coachman, Sir, I'll promise you I'll call him myself."</p>
<p> The footman, very impertinently, laughed and turned upon his heel. Madame Duval,
extremely irritated, ran out in the rain, and beckoned the coachman, who instantly
obeyed her summons. Shocked beyond all expression, I flew after her, and entreated
her, with the utmost earnestness, to let us return in a hackney coach:-but, oh!-she
is impenetrable to persuasion! She told the man she wanted him to carry her directly
to town, and that she would answer for him to Lord Orville. The man, with a sneer,
thanked her, but said he should answer for himself; and was driving off; when another
footman came up to him, with information that his Lord was gone into Kensington
Palace, and would not want him for an hour or two.</p>
<p> "Why, then, friend," said Mr. Branghton (for we were followed by all the party),
"where will be the great harm of your taking us to town?"</p>
<p> "Besides," said the son, "I'll promise you a pot of beer for my own share."</p>
<p> These speeches had no other answer from the coachman than a loud laugh, which was
echoed by the insolent footmen. I rejoiced at their resistance; though I was certain
that, if their Lord had witnessed their impertinence, they would have been instantly
dismissed his service.</p>
<p> "Pardi," cried Madame Duval, "if I don't think all the footmen are the most
impudentest fellows in the kingdom! But I'll promise you I'll have your master told
of your airs; so you'll get no good by 'em."</p>
<p> "Why, pray," said the coachman, rather alarmed, "did my Lord give you leave to use
the coach?"</p>
<p> "It's no matter for that," answered she; "I'm sure if he's a gentleman, he'd let us
have it sooner than we should be wet to the skin; but I'll promise you he shall know
how saucy you've been, for this young lady knows him very well."</p>
<p> "Ay, that she does," said Miss Polly; "and she's danced with him too."</p>
<p> Oh, how I repented my foolish mismanagement! The men bit their lips, and looked at
one another in some confusion. This was perceived by our party; who, taking advantage
of it, protested they would write Lord Orville word of their ill behaviour without
delay. This quite startled them; and one of the footmen offered to run to the palace,
and ask his Lord's permission for our having the carriage.</p>
<p> This proposal really made me tremble, and the Branghtons all hung back upon it; but
Madame Duval is never to be dissuaded from a scheme she has once formed. "Do so,"
cried she; "and give this child's compliments to your master; and tell him, as we
ha'n't no coach here, we should be glad to go just as far as Holborn in his."</p>
<p> "No, no, no!" cried I; "don't go,-I know nothing of his Lordship,-I send no
message,-I have nothing to say to him!"</p>
<p> The men, very much perplexed, could with difficulty restrain themselves from
resuming their impertinent mirth. Madame Duval scolded me vary angrily, and then
desired them to go directly. "Pray, then," said the coachman, "what name is to be
given to my Lord?"</p>
<p> "Anville," answered Madame Duval; "tell him Miss Anville wants the coach; the young
lady he danced with once."</p>
<p> I was really in an agony; but the winds could not have been more deaf to me, than
those to whom I pleaded! and therefore the footman, urged by the repeated threats of
Madame Duval, and perhaps recollecting the name himself, actually went to the palace
with this strange message!</p>
<p> He returned in a few minutes; and, bowing to me with the greatest respect, said, "My
Lord desires his compliments, and his carriage will be always at Miss Anville's
service."</p>
<p> I was so much affected by this politeness, and chagrined at the whole affair, that I
could scarce refrain from tears. Madame Duval, and the Miss Branghtons eagerly jumped
into the coach, and desired me to follow. I would rather have submitted to the
severest punishment; but all resistance was vain.</p>
<p> During the whole ride I said not a word: however, the rest of the party were so
talkative, that my silence was very immaterial. We stopped at our lodgings; but, when
Madame Duval and I alighted, the Branghtons asked if they could not be carried on to
Snow-Hill? The servants, now all civility, made no objection. Remonstrances from me
would, I too well knew, be fruitless; and therefore, with a heavy heart, I retired to
my room, and left them to their own direction.</p>
<p> Seldom have I passed a night in greater uneasiness.-So lately to have cleared myself
in the good opinion of Lord Orville,-so soon to forfeit it!-to give him reason to
suppose I presumed to boast of his acquaintance!-to publish his having danced with
me!-to take with him a liberty I should have blushed to have taken with the most
intimate of my friends!-to treat with such impertinent freedom, one who has honoured
me with such distinguished respect!-Indeed, Sir, I could have met with no accident
that would so cruelly have tormented me!</p>
<p> If such were, then, my feelings, imagine,-for I cannot describe, what I suffered
during the scene I am now going to write.</p>
<p> This morning, while I was alone in the dining-room, young Branghton called. He
entered with a most important air; and, strutting up to me, said, "Miss, Lord Orville
sends his compliments to you."</p>
<p> "Lord Orville!" repeated I, much amazed.</p>
<p> "Yes, Miss, Lord Orville; for I know his Lordship now, as well as you.-And a very
civil gentleman he is, for all he's a Lord."</p>
<p> "For Heaven's sake," cried I, "explain yourself."</p>
<p> "Why, you must know, Miss, after we left you, we met with a little misfortune; but I
don't mind it now, for it's all turned out for the best: but, just as we were a-going
up Snow-Hill, plump we comes against a cart, with such a jogg it almost pulled the
coach-wheel off. However, that i'n't the worst; for, as I went to open the door in a
hurry, a-thinking the coach would be broke down, as ill-luck would have it, I never
minded that the glass was up, and so I poked my head fairly through it.-Only see,
Miss, how I've cut my forehead!"</p>
<p> A much worse accident to himself would not, I believe, at that moment have given me
any concern for him: however, he proceeded with his account, for I was too much
confounded to interrupt him.</p>
<p> "Goodness, Miss, we were in such a stew, us, and the servants, and all, as you can't
think; for, besides the glass being broke, the coachman said how the coach wouldn't
be safe to go back to Kensington. So we didn't know what to do; however, the footmen
said they'd go and tell his Lordship what had happened. So then father grew quite
uneasy like, for fear of his Lordship's taking offence, and prejudicing us in our
business; so he said I should go this morning and ask his pardon, cause of having
broke the glass. So then I asked the footmen the direction, and they told me he lived
in Berkeley-square; so this morning I went,-and I soon found out the house."</p>
<p> "You did!" cried I, quite out of breath with apprehension.</p>
<p> "Yes, Miss, and a very fine house it is.-Did you ever see it?"</p>
<p> "No."</p>
<p> "No!-why, then, Miss, I know more of his Lordship than you do, for all you knew him
first. So, when I came to the door, I was in a peck of troubles, a-thinking what I
should say to him: however, the servants had no mind I should see him; for they told
me he was busy, but I might leave my message. So I was just a-coming away, when I
bethought myself to say I came from you."</p>
<p> "From me!"</p>
<p> "Yes, Miss, for you know, why should I have such a long walk as that for nothing? So
I says to the porter, says I, tell his Lordship, says I, one wants to speak to him as
comes from one Miss Anville, says I."</p>
<p> "Good God," cried I, "and by what authority did you take such a liberty?"</p>
<p> "Goodness, Miss don't be in such a hurry, for you'll be as glad as me, when you hear
how well it all turned out. So then they made way for me, and said his Lordship would
see me directly: and there I was led through such a heap of servants, and so many
rooms, that my heart quite misgave me; for I thought, thinks I, he'll be so proud
he'll hardly let me speak; but he's no more proud than I am, and he was as civil as
if I'd been a lord myself. So then I said, I hoped he wouldn't take it amiss about
the glass, for it was quite an accident; but he bid me not mention it, for it did not
signify. And then he said he hoped you got safe home, and wasn't frightened so I said
yes, and I gave your duty to him."</p>
<p> "My duty to him!" exclaimed I,-"and who gave you leave?-who desired you?"</p>
<p> "O, I did it out of my own head, just to make him think I came from you. But I
should have told you before, how the footman said he was going out of town to-morrow
evening, and that his sister was soon to be married, and that he was a-ordering a
heap of things for that; so it come into my head, as he was so affable, that I'd ask
him for his custom. So I says, says I, my Lord, says I, if your Lordship i'n't
engaged particularly, my father is a silversmith, and he'll be very proud to serve
you, says I; and Miss Anville, as danced with you, is his cousin, and she's my cousin
too, and she'd be very much obligated to you, I'm sure."</p>
<p> "You'll drive me wild," cried I, starting from my seat, "you have done me an
irreparable injury;-but I will hear no more!"-and then I ran into my own room.</p>
<p> I was half frantic, I really raved; the good opinion of Lord Orville seemed now
irretrievable lost: a faint hope, which in the morning I had vainly encouraged, that
I might see him again, and explain the transaction, wholly vanished, now I found he
was so soon to leave town: and I could not but conclude, that, for the rest of my
life, he would regard me as an object of utter contempt.</p>
<p> The very idea was a dagger to my heart!-I could not support it, and-but I blush to
proceed-I fear your disapprobation; yet I should not be conscious of having merited
it, but that the repugnance I feel to relate to you what I have done, makes me
suspect I must have erred. Will you forgive me, if I won that I first wrote an
account of this transaction to Miss Mirvan?-and that I even thought of concealing it
from you?-Short-lived, however, was the ungrateful idea, and sooner will I risk the
justice of your displeasure, than unworthily betray your generous confidence.</p>
<p> You are now probably prepared for what follows-which is a letter-a hasty letter,
that, in the height of my agitation, I wrote to Lord Orville.</p>
<p> "My Lord,</p>
<p> "I am so infinitely ashamed of the application made yesterday for your Lordship's
carriage in my name, and so greatly shocked at hearing how much it was injured, that
I cannot forbear writing a few lines, to clear myself from the imputation of an
impertinence which I blush to be suspected of, and to acquaint you, that the request
for your carriage was made against my consent, and the visit with which you were
importuned this morning without my knowledge.</p>
<p> "I am inexpressibly concerned at having been the instrument, however innocently, of
so much trouble to your Lordship; but I beg you to believe, that the reading these
lines is the only part of it which I have given voluntarily. I am, my Lord,</p>
<p> "Your Lordship's most Humble servant, "EVELINA ANVILLE."</p>
<p> I applied to the maid of the house to get this note conveyed to Berkley-square; but
scarce had I parted with it, before I regretted having written at all; and I was
flying down stairs to recover it, when the voice of Sir Clement Willoughby stopped
me. As Madame Duval had ordered we should be denied to him, I was obliged to return
up stairs; and after he was gone, my application was too late, as the maid had given
it to a porter.</p>
<p> My time did not pass very serenely while he was gone; however, he brought me no
answer, but that Lord Orville was not at home. Whether or not he will take the
trouble to send any,-or whether he will condescend to call,-or whether the affair
will rest as it is, I know not;-but, in being ignorant, am most cruelly anxious.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LV.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. July 4th.</opener>
<p> YOU may now, my dear Sir, send Mrs. Clinton for your Evelina with as much speed as
she can conveniently make the journey, for no further opposition will be made to her
leaving this town: happy had it perhaps been for her had she never entered it!</p>
<p> This morning Madame Duval desired me to go to Snow-Hill, with an invitation to the
Branghtons and Mr. Smith to spend the evening with her; and she desired M. Du Bois,
who breakfasted with us, to accompany me. I was very unwilling to obey her, as I
neither wished to walk with M. Du Bois, nor yet to meet young Branghton. And, indeed,
another, a yet more powerful reason, added to my reluctance;-for I thought it
possible that Lord Orville might send some answer, or perhaps might call, during my
absence; however, I did not dare dispute her commands.</p>
<p> Poor M. Du Bois spoke not a word during our walk, which was, I believe, equally
unpleasant to us both. We found all the family assembled in the shop. Mr. Smith, the
moment he perceived me, addressed himself to Miss Branghton, whom he entertained with
all the gallantry in his power. I rejoice to find that my conduct at the Hampstead
ball has had so good an effect. But young Branghton was extremely troublesome; he
repeatedly laughed in my face, and looked so impertinently significant, that I was
obliged to give up my reserve to M. Du Bois, and enter into conversation with him
merely to avoid such boldness.</p>
<p> "Miss," said Mr. Branghton, "I'm sorry to hear from my son that you wasn't pleased
with what we did about that Lord Orville: but I should like to know what it was you
found fault with, for we did all for the best."</p>
<p> "Goodness!" cried the son, "why, if you'd seen Miss, you'd have been surprised-she
went out of the room quite in a huff, like-"</p>
<p> "It is too late, now," said I, "to reason upon this subject; but, for the future, I
must take the liberty to request, that my name may never be made use of without my
knowledge. May I tell Madame Duval that you will do her the favour to accept her
invitation?"</p>
<p> "As to me, Ma'am," said Mr. Smith, "I am much obliged to the old lady, but I have no
mind to be taken in by her again; you'll excuse me, Ma'am."</p>
<p> All the rest promised to come, and I then took leave; but, as I left the shop, I
heard Mr. Branghton say, "Take courage, Tom, she's only coy." And, before I had
walked ten yards, the youth followed.</p>
<p> I was so much offended that I would not look at him, but began to converse with M.
Du Bois, who was now more lively than I had ever before seen him; for, most
unfortunately, he misinterpreted the reason of my attention to him.</p>
<p> The first intelligence I received when I came home, was, that two gentlemen had
called, and left cards. I eagerly enquired for them, and read the names of Lord
Orville and Sir Clement Willoughby. I by no means regretted that I missed seeing the
latter, but perhaps I may all my life regret that I missed the former; for probably
he has now left town,-and I may see him no more!</p>
<p> "My goodness," cried young Branghton, rudely looking over me, "only think of that
Lord's coming all this way! It's my belief he'd got some order ready for father, and
so he'd a mind to call and ask you if I'd told him the truth."</p>
<p> "Pray, Betty," cried I, "how long has he been gone?"</p>
<p> "Not two minutes, Ma'am."</p>
<p> "Why then, I'll lay you any wager, "said young Branghton, "he saw you and I
a-walking up Holborn Hill."</p>
<p> "God forbid!" cried I, impatiently; and, too much chagrined to bear with any more of
his remarks, I ran up stairs; but I heard him say to M. Du Bois, "Miss is so uppish
this morning, that I think I had better not speak to her again."</p>
<p> I wish M. Du Bois had taken the same resolution; but he chose to follow me into the
dining-room, which he found empty.</p>
<p> "Vous ne l'aimez donc pas, ce garcon, Mademoiselle!" cried he.</p>
<p> "Me!" cried I, "no, I detest him!" for I was sick at heart.</p>
<p> "Ah, tu me rends la vie!" cried he; and, flinging himself at my feet, he had just
caught my hand as the door was opened by Madame Duval.</p>
<p> Hastily, and with marks of guilty confusion in his face, he arose; but the rage of
that lady quite amazed me! Advancing to the retreating M. Du Bois, she began, in
French, an attack, which her extreme wrath and wonderful volubility almost rendered
unintelligible; yet I understood but too much, since her reproaches convinced me she
had herself proposed being the object of his affection.</p>
<p> He defended himself in a weak and evasive manner; and, upon her commanding him from
her sight, very readily withdrew: and then, with yet greater violence, she upbraided
me with having seduced his heart, called me an ungrateful, designing girl, and
protested she would neither take me to Paris, nor any more interest herself in my
affairs, unless I would instantly agree to marry young Branghton.</p>
<p> Frightened as I had been at her vehemence, this proposal restored all my courage;
and I frankly told her, that in this point I never could obey her. More irritated
than ever, she ordered me to quit the room.</p>
<p> Such is the present situation of affairs. I shall excuse myself from seeing the
Branghtons this afternoon: indeed, I never wish to see them again. I am sorry,
however innocently, that I have displeased Madame Duval; yet I shall be very glad to
quit this town, for I believe it does not now contain one person I ever wish to again
meet. Had I but seen Lord Orville, I should regret nothing: I could then have more
fully explained what I so hastily wrote; yet it will always be a pleasure to me to
recollect that he called, since I flatter myself it was in consequence of his being
satisfied with my letter.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dear Sir; the time now approaches when I hope once more to receive your
blessing, and to owe all my joy, all my happiness, to your kindness.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LVI.</head>
<opener> MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA. Berry Hill, July 7th.</opener>
<p> WELCOME, thrice welcome, my darling Evelina, to the arms of the truest, the fondest
of your friends! Mrs. Clinton, who shall hasten to you with these lines, will conduct
you directly hither; for I can consent no longer to be parted from the child of my
bosom!-the comfort of my age!-the sweet solace of all my infirmities! Your worthy
friends at Howard Grove must pardon me that I rob them of the visit you proposed to
make them before your return to Berry Hill, for I find my fortitude unequal to a
longer separation.</p>
<p> I have much to say to you, many comments to make upon your late letters, some parts
of which give me no little uneasiness; but I will reserve my remarks for our future
conversations. Hasten, then, to the spot of thy nativity, the abode of thy youth,
where never yet care or sorrow had power to annoy thee.-O that they might ever be
banished this peaceful dwelling!</p>
<p> Adieu, my dearest Evelina! I pray but that thy satisfaction at our approaching
meeting may bear any comparison with mine! ARTHUR VILLARS.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LVII.</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO MISS MIRVAN. Berry Hill, July 14th.</opener>
<p> MY Sweet Maria will be much surprised, and I am willing to flatter myself,
concerned, when, instead of her friend, she receives this letter;-this cold, this
inanimate letter, which will but ill express the feelings of the heart which indites
it.</p>
<p> When I wrote to you last Friday, I was in hourly expectation of seeing Mrs. Clinton,
with whom I intended to have set out for Howard Grove. Mrs. Clinton came; but my plan
was necessarily altered, for she brought me a letter,-the sweetest that ever was
penned, from the best and kindest friend that ever orphan was blessed with, requiring
my immediate attendance at Berry Hill.</p>
<p> I obeyed,-and pardon me if I own I obeyed without reluctance: after so long a
separation, should I not else have been the most ungrateful of mortals?-And yet,-oh,
Maria! though I wished to leave London, the gratification of my wish afforded me no
happiness! and though I felt an impatience inexpressible to return hither, no words,
no language, can explain the heaviness of heart with which I made the journey. I
believe you would hardly have known me;-indeed, I hardly know myself. Perhaps, had I
first seen you, in your kind and sympathizing bosom I might have ventured to have
reposed every secret of my soul;-and then-but let me pursue my journal.</p>
<p> Mrs. Clinton delivered Madame Duval a letter from Mr. Villars, which requested her
leave for my return; and, indeed, it was very readily accorded: yet, when she found,
by my willingness to quit town that M. Du Bois was really indifferent to me, she
somewhat softened in my favour; and declared, that, but for punishing his folly in
thinking of such a child, she would not have consented to my being again buried in
the country.</p>
<p> All the Branghtons called to take leave of me; but I will not write a word more
about them: indeed I cannot, with any patience, think of that family, to whose
forwardness and impertinence is owing all the uneasiness I at this moment suffer!</p>
<p> So great was the depression of my spirits upon the road, that it was with great
difficulty I could persuade the worthy Mrs. Clinton I was not ill; but, alas! the
situation of my mind was such as would have rendered any mere bodily pain, by
comparison, even enviable!</p>
<p> And yet, when we arrived at Berry Hill,-when the chaise stopped at this place,-how
did my heart throb with joy!-and when, through the window, I beheld the dearest, the
most venerable of men, with uplifted hands, returning, as I doubt not, thanks for my
safe arrival,-good God! I thought it would have burst my bosom!-I opened the
chaise-door myself; I flew,-for my feet did not seem to touch the ground,-into the
parlour: he had risen to meet me; but the moment I appeared he sunk into his chair,
uttering, with a deep sigh, though his face beamed with delight, "My God, I thank
thee!"</p>
<p> I sprung forward; and, with a pleasure that bordered upon agony, I embraced his
knees, I kissed his hands, I wept over them, but could not speak: while he, now
raising his eyes in thankfulness towards heaven, now bowing down his reverend head,
and folding me in his arms, could scarce articulate the blessings with which his kind
and benevolent heart overflowed.</p>
<p> O, Miss Mirvan, to be so beloved by the best of men,-should I not be happy?-Should I
have one wish save that of meriting his goodness?-Yet think me not ungrateful; indeed
I am not, although the internal sadness of my mind unfits me, at present, for
enjoying as I ought the bounties of Providence.</p>
<p> I cannot journalize, cannot arrange my ideas into order.</p>
<p> How little has situation to do with happiness! I had flattered myself, that, when
restored to Berry Hill, I should be restored to tranquillity: far otherwise have I
found it, for never yet had tranquillity and Evelina so little intercourse.</p>
<p> I blush for what I have written. Can you, Maria, forgive my gravity? but I restrain
it so much, and so painfully, in the presence of Mr. Villars, that I know not how to
deny myself the consolation of indulging it to you.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dear Miss Mirvan.</p>
<p> Yet one thing I must add: do not let the seriousness of this letter deceive you; do
not impute to a wrong cause the melancholy I confess, by supposing that the heart of
your friend mourns a too great susceptibility: no, indeed! believe me it never was,
never can be, more assuredly her own than at this moment. So witness in all truth,
Your affectionate, EVELINA.</p>
<p> You will make my excuses to the honoured Lady Howard, and to your dear mother.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LVIII.</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO MISS MIRVAN. Berry Hill, July 21st.</opener>
<p> YOU accuse me of mystery, and charge me with reserve: I cannot doubt but I must have
merited the accusation; yet, to clear myself,-you know not how painful will be the
task. But I cannot resist your kind entreaties;-indeed I do not wish to resist them;
for your friendship and affection will soothe my chagrin. Had it arisen from any
other cause, not a moment would I have deferred the communication you ask;-but as it
is, I would, were it possible, not only conceal it from all the world, but endeavour
to disbelieve it myself. Yet since I must tell you, why trifle with your
impatience?</p>
<p> I know not how to come to the point; twenty times have I attempted it in vain;-but I
will force myself to proceed.</p>
<p> Oh, Miss Mirvan, could you ever have believed, that one who seemed formed as a
pattern for his fellow-creatures, as a model of perfection,-one whose elegance
surpassed all description,-whose sweetness of manners disgraced all comparison;-oh,
Miss Mirvan, could you ever have believed that Lord Orville, would have treated me
with indignity?</p>
<p> Never, never again will I trust to appearances;-never confide in my own weak
judgment;-never believe that person to be good who seems to be amiable! What cruel
maxims are we taught by a knowledge of the world!-But while my own reflections absorb
me, I forget you are still in suspense.</p>
<p> I had just finished the last letter which I wrote to you from London, when the maid
of the house brought me a note. It was given to her, she said, by a footman, who told
her he would call the next day for an answer.</p>
<p> This note,-but let it speak for itself.</p>
<p> "To Miss Anville.</p>
<p>          "With transport, most charming of thy sex, did I read<lb/>         the
letter<lb/>        with which you yesterday morning favoured me. I am sorry
the<lb/>        affair of the carriage should have given you any
concern,<lb/>        but I am highly flattered by the anxiety you express
so<lb/>        kindly. Believe me, my lovely girl, I am truly sensible<lb/>        to
the honour of your good opinion, and feel myself deeply<lb/>        penetrated with
love and gratitude. The correspondence you<lb/>        have so sweetly commenced, I
shall be proud of continuing;<lb/>        and I hope the strong sense I have of the
favour you do me<lb/>        will prevent your withdrawing it. Assure yourself, that
I<lb/>        desire nothing more ardently than to pour forth my thanks
at<lb/>        your feet, and to offer those vows which are so justly
the<lb/>        tribute of your charms and accomplishments. In your
next<lb/>        I intreat you to acquaint me how long you shall remain
in<lb/>        town. The servant, whom I shall commission to call for
an<lb/>        answer, has orders to ride post with it to me. My
impatience<lb/>        for his arrival will be very great, though inferior to
that<lb/>        with which I burn to tell you, in person, how much I
am,<lb/>        my sweet girl, your grateful admirer, "ORVILLE."</p>
<p> What a letter! how has my proud heart swelled every line I have copied! What I wrote
to him you know; tell me, then, my dear friend, do you think it merited such an
answer?-and that I have deservedly incurred the liberty he has taken? I meant nothing
but a simple apology, which I thought as much due to my own character as to his; yet
by the construction he seems to have put upon it, should you not have imagined it
contained the avowal of sentiments which might indeed have provoked his contempt?</p>
<p> The moment the letter was delivered to me, I retired to my own room to read it; and
so eager was my first perusal, that,-I am ashamed to own,-it gave me no sensation but
of delight. Unsuspicious of any impropriety from Lord Orville, I perceived not
immediately the impertinence it implied,-I only marked the expressions of his own
regard; and I was so much surprised, that I was unable for some time to compose
myself, or read it again:-I could only walk up and down the room, repeating to
myself, "Good God, is it possible?-am I then loved by Lord Orville?"</p>
<p> But this dream was soon over, and I awoke to far different feelings. Upon a second
reading I thought every word changed,-it did not seem the same letter,-I could not
find one sentence that I could look at without blushing: my astonishment was extreme,
and it was succeeded by the utmost indignation.</p>
<p> If, as I am very ready to acknowledge, I erred in writing to Lord Orville, was it
for him to punish the error? If he was offended, could he not have been silent? If he
thought my letter ill-judged, should he not have pitied my ignorance? have considered
my youth, and allowed for my inexperience?</p>
<p> Oh, Maria! how have I been deceived in this man! Words have no power to tell the
high opinion I had of him; to that was owing the unfortunate solicitude which
prompted my writing; a solicitude I must for ever repent!</p>
<p> Yet perhaps I have rather reason to rejoice than to grieve, since this affair has
shown me his real disposition, and removed that partiality which, covering his every
imperfection, left only his virtues and good qualities exposed to view. Had the
deception continued much longer, had my mind received any additional prejudice in his
favour, who knows whither my mistaken ideas might have led me? Indeed I fear I was in
greater danger than I apprehended, or can now think of without trembling;-for, oh, if
this weak heart of mine had been penetrated with too deep an impression of his
merit,-my peace and happiness had been lost for ever.</p>
<p> I would fain encourage more cheerful thoughts, fain drive from my mind the
melancholy that has taken possession of it; but I cannot succeed: for, added to the
humiliating feelings which so powerfully oppress me, I have yet another cause of
concern;-alas, my dear Maria, I have broken the tranquillity of the best of men!</p>
<p> I have never had the courage to show him this cruel letter; I could not bear so
greatly to depreciate in his opinion, one whom I had, with infinite anxiety, raised
in it myself. Indeed, my first determination was to confine my chagrin totally to my
own bosom; but your friendly enquiries have drawn it from me: and now I wish I had
made no concealment from the beginning, since I know not how to account for a
gravity, which not all my endeavours can entirely hide or repress.</p>
<p> My greatest apprehension is, lest he should imagine that my residence in London has
given me a distaste to the country. Every body I see takes notice of my being
altered, and looking pale and ill. I should be very indifferent to all such
observations, did I not perceive that they draw upon me the eyes of Mr. Villars,
which glisten with affectionate concern.</p>
<p> This morning, in speaking of my London expedition he mentioned Lord Orville. I felt
so much disturbed, that I would instantly have changed the subject; but he would not
allow me, and, very unexpectedly, he began his panegyric; extolling in strong terms,
his manly and honourable behaviour in regard to the Marybone adventure. My cheeks
glowed with indignation every word he spoke;-so lately as I had myself fancied him
the noblest of his sex, now that I was so well convinced of my mistake, I could not
bear to hear his undeserved praises uttered by one so really good, so unsuspecting,
so pure of heart.</p>
<p> What he thought of my silence and uneasiness I fear to know; but I hope he will
mention the subject no more. I will not, however, with ungrateful indolence, give way
to a sadness which I find infectious to him who merits the most cheerful exertion of
my spirits. I am thankful that he has forborne to probe my wound; and I will
endeavour to heal it by the consciousness that I have not deserved the indignity I
have received. Yet I cannot but lament to find myself in a world so deceitful, where
we must suspect what we see, distrust what we hear, and doubt even what we feel!</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LIX.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Berry Hill, July 29th.</opener>
<p> I MUST own myself somewhat distressed how to answer your raillery: yet, believe me,
my dear Maria, your suggestions are those of fancy, not of truth. I am unconscious of
the weakness you suspect; yet, to dispel your doubts, I will animate myself more than
ever to conquer my chagrin, and to recover my spirits.</p>
<p> You wonder, you say, since my heart takes no part in this affair, why it should make
me so unhappy? And can you, acquainted as you are with the high opinion I entertained
of Lord Orville, can you wonder that so great a disappointment in his character
should affect me? Indeed, had so strange a letter been sent to me from any body, it
could not have failed shocking me; how much more sensibly, then, must I feel such an
affront, when received from the man in the world I had imagined least capable of
giving it?</p>
<p> You are glad I made no reply; assure yourself, my dear friend, had this letter been
the most respectful that could be written, the clandestine air given to it, by his
proposal of sending his servant for my answer, instead of having it directed to his
house, would effectually have prevented my writing. Indeed, I have an aversion the
most sincere to all mysteries, all private actions; however foolishly and blameably,
in regard to this letter, I have deviated from the open path which, from my earliest
infancy, I was taught to tread.</p>
<p> He talks of my having commenced a correspondence with him: and could Lord Orville
indeed believe I had such a design? believe me so forward, so bold, so strangely
ridiculous? I know not if his man called or not; but I rejoice that I quitted London
before he came, and without leaving any message for him. What, indeed, could I have
said? it would have been a condescension very unmerited to have taken any, the least
notice of such a letter.</p>
<p> Never shall I cease to wonder how he could write it. Oh, Maria! what, what could
induce him so causelessly to wound and affront one who would sooner have died than
wilfully offended him? -How mortifying a freedom of style! how cruel an implication
conveyed by his thanks and expressions of gratitude! Is it not astonishing, that any
man can appear so modest, who is so vain?</p>
<p> Every hour I regret the secrecy I have observed with my beloved Mr. Villars; I know
not what bewitched me, but I felt at first a repugnance to publishing this affair
that I could not surmount;-and now, I am ashamed of confessing that I have any thing
to confess! Yet I deserve to be punished for the false delicacy which occasioned my
silence, since, if Lord Orville himself was contented to forfeit his character, was
it for me, almost at the expense of my own, to support it?</p>
<p> Yet I believe I should be very easy, now the first shock is over, and now that I see
the whole affair with the resentment it merits, did not all my good friends in this
neighbourhood, who think me extremely altered, tease me about my gravity, and torment
Mr. Villars with observations upon my dejection and falling away. The subject is no
sooner started, than a deep gloom overspreads his venerable countenance, and he looks
at me with a tenderness so melancholy, that I know not how to endure the
consciousness of exciting it.</p>
<p> Mrs. Selwyn, a lady of large fortune, who lives about three miles from Berry Hill,
and who has always honoured me with very distinguishing marks of regard, is going, in
a short time, to Bristol, and has proposed to Mr. Villars to take me with her for the
recovery of my health. He seemed very much distressed whether to consent or refuse;
but I, without any hesitation, warmly opposed the scheme, protesting my health could
no where be better than in this pure air. He had the goodness to thank me for this
readiness to stay with him; but he is all goodness! Oh, that it were in my power to
be indeed what, in the kindness of his heart, he has called me, the comfort of his
age, and solace of his infirmities!</p>
<p> Never do I wish to be again separated from him. If here I am grave, elsewhere I
should be unhappy. In his presence, with a very little exertion, all the cheerfulness
of my disposition seems ready to return; the benevolence of his countenance
reanimates, the harmony of his temper composes, the purity of his character edifies
me! I owe to him every thing! and, far from finding my debt of gratitude a weight,
the first pride, the first pleasure of my life, is the recollection of the
obligations conferred upon me by a goodness so unequalled.</p>
<p> Once, indeed, I thought there existed another,-who, when time had wintered o'er his
locks, would have shone forth among his fellow-creatures with the same brightness of
worth which dignifies my honoured Mr. Villars; a brightness how superior in value to
that which results from mere quickness of parts, wit, or imagination! a brightness,
which, not contented with merely diffusing smiles, and gaining admiration from the
sallies of the spirits, reflects a real and a glorious lustre upon all mankind! Oh,
how great was my error! how ill did I judge! how cruelly have I been deceived!</p>
<p> I will not go to Bristol, though Mrs. Selwyn is very urgent with me;-but I desire
not to see any more of the world! the few months I have already passed in it, have
sufficed to give me a disgust even to its name.</p>
<p> I hope, too, I shall see Lord Orville no more: accustomed, from my first knowledge
of him, to regard him as a being superior to his race, his presence, perhaps, might
banish my resentment, and I might forget his ill conduct; for oh, Maria!-I should not
know how to see Lord Orville -and to think of displeasure!</p>
<p> As a sister I loved him;-I could have entrusted him with every thought of my heart,
had he deigned to wish my confidence: so steady did I think his honour, so feminine
his delicacy, and so amiable his nature! I have a thousand times imagined that the
whole study of his life, and whole purport of his reflections, tended solely to the
good and happiness of others: but I will talk,-write,-think of him no more! Adieu, my
dear friend!</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LX.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Berry Hill, August 10th.</opener>
<p> YOU complain of my silence, my dear Miss Mirvan;-but what have I to write? Narrative
does not offer, nor does a lively imagination supply the deficiency. I have, however,
at present, sufficient matter for a letter, in relating a conversation I had
yesterday with Mr. Villars.</p>
<p> Our breakfast had been the most cheerful we have had since my return hither; and
when it was over, he did not, as usual, retire to his study, but continued to
converse with me while I worked. We might, probably, have passed all the morning thus
sociably, but for the entrance of a farmer, who came to solicit advice concerning
some domestic affairs. They withdrew together into the study.</p>
<p> The moment I was alone my spirits failed me; the exertion with which I had supported
them had fatigued my mind; I flung away my work, and, leaning my arms on the table,
gave way to a train of disagreeable reflections, which, bursting from the restraint
that had smothered them, filled me with unusual sadness.</p>
<p> This was my situation, when, looking towards the door, which was open,<lb/>I
perceived Mr. Villars, who was earnestly regarding me. "Is Farmer<lb/>Smith gone,
Sir?" cried I, hastily rising, and snatching up my work.</p>
<p> "Don't let me disturb you," said he, gravely; "I will go again to my study."</p>
<p> "Will you, Sir?-I was in hopes you were coming to sit here."</p>
<p> "In hopes!-and why, Evelina, should you hope it?"</p>
<p> This question was so unexpected, that I knew not how to answer it; but, as I saw he
was moving away, I followed, and begged him to return. "No, my dear, no," said he,
with a forced smile, "I only interrupt your meditations."</p>
<p> Again I knew not what to say; and while I hesitated, he retired. My heart was with
him, but I had not the courage to follow. The idea of an explanation, brought on in
so serious a manner, frightened me. I recollected the inference you had drawn from my
uneasiness, and I feared that he might make a similar interpretation.</p>
<p> Solitary and thoughtful, I passed the rest of the morning in my own room. At dinner
I again attempted to be cheerful; but Mr. Villars himself was grave, and I had not
sufficient spirits to support a conversation merely by my own efforts. As soon as
dinner was over, he took a book, and I walked to the window. I believe I remained
near an hour in this situation. All my thoughts were directed to considering how I
might dispel the doubts which I apprehended Mr. Villars had formed, without
acknowledging a circumstance which I had suffered so much pain merely to conceal. But
while I was thus planning for the future, I forgot the present; and so intent was I
upon the subject which occupied me, that the strange appearance of my unusual
inactivity and extreme thoughtfulness never occurred to me. But when, at last, I
recollected myself, and turned round, I saw that Mr. Villars, who had parted with his
book, was wholly engrossed in attending to me. I started from my reverie, and, hardly
knowing what I said, asked if he had been reading?</p>
<p> He paused a moment, and then replied, "Yes, my child;-a book that both afflicts and
perplexes me."</p>
<p> He means me, thought I; and therefore I made no answer.</p>
<p> "What if we read it together?" continued he, "will you assist me to clear its
obscurity?"</p>
<p> I knew not what to say; but I sighed involuntarily from the bottom of my heart. He
rose, and approaching me, said, with emotion, "My child, I can no longer be a silent
witness of thy sorrow,-is not thy sorrow my sorrow?-and ought I to be a stranger to
the cause, when I so deeply sympathize in the effect?"</p>
<p> "Cause, Sir!" cried I, greatly alarmed, "what cause?-I don't know,-I can't
tell-I-"</p>
<p> "Fear not," said he, kindly, "to unbosom thyself to me, my dearest Evelina; open to
me thy whole heart,-it can have no feelings for which I will not make allowance. Tell
me, therefore, what it is that thus afflicts us both; and who knows but I may suggest
some means of relief?"</p>
<p> "You are too, too good," cried I, greatly embarrassed; "but indeed<lb/>I know not
what you mean."</p>
<p> "I see," said he, "it is painful to you to speak: suppose, then,<lb/>I endeavour to
save you by guessing?"</p>
<p> "Impossible! impossible!" cried I, eagerly; "no one living could ever guess, ever
suppose-" I stopped abruptly; for I then recollected I was acknowledging something
was to be guessed: however, he noticed not my mistake.</p>
<p> "At least let me try," answered he, mildly; "perhaps I may be a better diviner than
you imagine: if I guess every thing that is probable, surely I must approach near the
real reason. Be honest, then, my love, and speak without reserve;-does not the
country, after so much gaiety, so much variety, does it not appear insipid and
tiresome?"</p>
<p> "No, indeed! I love it more than ever, and more than ever do I wish<lb/>I had never,
never quitted it!"</p>
<p> "Oh, my child! that I had not permitted the journey! My judgment always opposed it,
but my resolution was not proof against persuasion."</p>
<p> "I blush, indeed," cried I, "to recollect my earnestness;-but I have been my own
punisher!"</p>
<p> "It is too late now," answered he, "to reflect upon this subject; let us endeavour
to avoid repentance for the time to come, and we shall not have erred without reaping
some instruction." Then, seating himself, and making me sit by him, he continued, "I
must now guess again: perhaps you regret the loss of those friends you knew in
town;-perhaps you miss their society, and fear you may see them no more?-perhaps Lord
Orville-"</p>
<p> I could not keep my seat; but, rising hastily, said, "Dear Sir, ask me nothing
more!-for I have nothing to own,-nothing to say;-my gravity has been merely
accidental, and I can give no reason for it at all.-Shall I fetch you another
book?-or will you have this again?"</p>
<p> For some minutes he was totally silent, and I pretended to employ myself in looking
for a book. At last, with a deep sigh, "I see," said he, "I see but too plainly, that
though Evelina is returned,-I have lost my child!"</p>
<p> "No, Sir, no," cried I, inexpressibly shocked, "she is more your's than ever!
Without you, the world would be a desert to her, and life a burthen:-forgive her,
then, and,-if you can,-condescend to be, once more, the confidant of all her
thoughts."</p>
<p> "How highly I value, how greatly I wish for her confidence," returned he, "she
cannot but know;-yet to extort, to tear it from her,-my justice, my affection both
revolt at the idea. I am sorry that I was so earnest with you;-leave me, my dear,
leave me, and compose yourself; we will meet again at tea."</p>
<p> "Do you then refuse to hear me?"</p>
<p> "No, but I abhor to compel you. I have long seen that your mind has been ill at
ease, and mine has largely partaken of your concern: I forbore to question you; for I
hoped that time and absence, from whatever excited your uneasiness, might best
operate in silence: but, alas! your affliction seems only to augment,-your health
declines,-your look alters!-Oh, Evelina, my aged heart bleeds to see the
change!-bleeds to behold the darling it had cherished, the prop it had reared for its
support, when bowed down by years and infirmities, sinking itself under the pressure
of internal grief!-struggling to hide what it should seek to participate!-But go, my
dear, go to your own room; we both want composure, and we will talk of this matter
some other time."</p>
<p> "Oh, Sir," cried I, penetrated to the soul, "bid me not leave you!-think me not so
lost to feeling, to gratitude-"</p>
<p> "Not a word of that," interrupted he: "it pains me you should think upon that
subject; pains me you should ever remember that you have not a natural, an hereditary
right to every thing within my power. I meant not to affect you thus,-I hoped to have
soothed you!-but my anxiety betrayed me to an urgency that has distressed you.
Comfort yourself, my love; and doubt not but that time will stand your friend, and
all will end well."</p>
<p> I burst into tears: with difficulty had I so long restrained them; for my heart,
while it glowed with tenderness and gratitude, was oppressed with a sense of its own
unworthiness. "You are all, all goodness!" cried I, in a voice scarce audible;
"little as I deserve,-unable as I am to repay, such kindness,-yet my whole soul
feels,-thanks you for it!"</p>
<p> "My dearest child," cried he, "I cannot bear to see thy tears;-for my sake dry them:
such a sight is too much for me: think of that, Evelina, and take comfort, I charge
thee!"</p>
<p> "Say then," cried I, kneeling at his feet, "say then that you forgive me! that you
pardon my reserve,-that you will again suffer me to tell you my most secret thoughts,
and rely upon my promise never more to forfeit your confidence!-my father!-my
protector!-my ever-honoured,-ever-loved-my best and only friend!-say you forgive your
Evelina, and she will study better to deserve your goodness!"</p>
<p> He raised, he embraced me: he called me his sole joy, his only earthly hope, and the
child of his bosom! He folded me to his heart; and, while I wept from the fulness of
mine, with words of sweetest kindness and consolation, he soothed and tranquillised
me.</p>
<p> Dear to my remembrance will ever be that moment when, banishing the reserve I had so
foolishly planned, and so painfully supported, I was restored to the confidence of
the best of men!</p>
<p> When at length we were again quietly and composedly seated by each other, and Mr.
Villars waited for the explanation I had begged him to hear, I found myself extremely
embarrassed how to introduce the subject which must lead to it. He saw my distress;
and with a kind of benevolent pleasantry, asked me if I would let him guess any more?
I assented in silence.</p>
<p> "Shall I, then, go back to where I left off?"</p>
<p> "If-if you please;-I believe so,-" said I, stammering.</p>
<p> "Well, then, my love, I think I was speaking of the regret it was natural you should
feel upon quitting those from whom you had received civility and kindness, with so
little certainty of ever seeing them again, or being able to return their good
offices. These are circumstances that afford but melancholy reflections to young
minds; and the affectionate disposition of my Evelina, open to all social feelings,
must be hurt more than usual by such considerations.-You are silent, my dear. Shall I
name those whom I think most worthy the regret I speak of? We shall then see if our
opinions coincide."</p>
<p> Still I said nothing, and he continued.</p>
<p> "In your London journal, nobody appears in a more amiable, a more respectable light
than Lord Orville; and perhaps-"</p>
<p> "I knew what you would say," cried I, hastily, "and I have long feared<lb/>where
your suspicions would fall; but indeed, Sir, you are mistaken:<lb/>I hate Lord
Orville,-he is the last man in the world in whose favour<lb/>I should be
prejudiced."</p>
<p> I stopped; for Mr. Villars looked at me with such infinite surprise, that my own
warmth made me blush.</p>
<p> "You hate Lord Orville!" repeated he.</p>
<p> I could make no answer; but took from my pocket-book the letter, and giving it to
him, "See, Sir," said I, "how differently the same man can talk and write!"</p>
<p> He read it three times before he spoke; and then said, "I am so much astonished,
that I know not what I read. When had you this letter?"</p>
<p> I told him. Again he read it, and, after considering its contents some time, said,
"I can form but one conjecture concerning this most extraordinary performance: he
must certainly have been intoxicated when he wrote it."</p>
<p> "Lord Orville intoxicated!" repeated I: "once I thought him a stranger to all
intemperance;-but it is very possible, for I can believe any thing now."</p>
<p> "That a man who had behaved with so strict a regard to delicacy," continued Mr.
Villars, "and who, as far as occasion had allowed, manifested sentiments the most
honourable, should thus insolently, thus wantonly, insult a modest young woman, in
his perfect senses, I cannot think possible. But, my dear, you should have inclosed
this letter in an empty cover, and have returned it to him again: such a resentment
would at once have become your character, and have given him an opportunity, in some
measure, of clearing his own. He could not well have read this letter the next
morning without being sensible of the impropriety of having written it."</p>
<p> Oh, Maria! why had I not this thought? I might then have received some apology; the
mortification would then have been his, not mine. It is true, he could not have
reinstated himself so highly in my opinion as I had once ignorantly placed him, since
the conviction of such intemperance would have levelled him with the rest of his
imperfect race; yet my humbled pride might have been consoled by his
acknowledgments.</p>
<p> But why should I allow myself to be humbled by a man who can suffer his reason to be
thus abjectly debased, when I am exalted by one who knows no vice, and scarcely a
failing, but by hearsay? To think of his kindness, and reflect upon his praises,
might animate and comfort me even in the midst of affliction. "Your indignation,"
said he, "is the result of virtue; you fancied Lord Orville was without fault-he had
the appearance of infinite worthiness, and you supposed his character accorded with
appearance: guileless yourself, how could you prepare against the duplicity of
another? Your disappointment has but been proportioned to your expectations, and you
have chiefly owed its severity to the innocence which hid its approach."</p>
<p> I will bid these words dwell ever in my memory, and they shall cheer, comfort, and
enliven me! This conversation, though extremely affecting to me at the time it
passed, has relieved my mind from much anxiety. Concealment, my dear Maria, is the
foe of tranquillity: however I may err in future, I will never be disingenuous in
acknowledging my errors. To you and to Mr. Villars I vow an unremitting
confidence.</p>
<p> And yet, though I am more at ease, I am far from well: I have been some time writing
this letter; but I hope I shall send you soon a more cheerful one.</p>
<p> Adieu, my sweet friend. I intreat you not to acquaint even your dear mother with
this affair; Lord Orville is a favourite with her, and why should I publish that he
deserves not that honour?</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXI.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Bristol Hotwells, August 28th.</opener>
<p> YOU will be again surprised, my dear Maria, at seeing whence I date my letter: but I
have been very ill, and Mr. Villars was so much alarmed, that he not only insisted
upon my accompanying Mrs. Selwyn hither, but earnestly desired she would hasten her
intended journey.</p>
<p> We travelled very slowly, and I did not find myself so much fatigued as I expected.
We are situated upon a most delightful spot; the prospect is beautiful, the air pure,
and the weather very favourable to invalids. I am already better, and I doubt not but
I shall soon be well; as well, in regard to mere health, as I wish to be.</p>
<p> I cannot express the reluctance with which I parted from my revered Mr. Villars: it
was not like that parting which, last April, preceded my journey to Howard Grove,
when, all expectation and hope, though I wept, I rejoiced, and, though I sincerely
grieved to leave him, I yet wished to be gone: the sorrow I now felt was unmixed with
any livelier sensation; expectation was vanished, and hope I had none! All that I
held most dear upon earth I quitted; and that upon an errand, to the success of which
I was totally indifferent, the re-establishment of my health. Had it been to have
seen my sweet Maria, or her dear mother, I should not have repined.</p>
<p> Mrs. Selwyn is very kind and attentive to me. She is extremely clever: her
understanding, indeed, may be called masculine: but, unfortunately, her manners
deserve the same epithet; for, in studying to acquire the knowledge of the other sex,
she has lost all the softness of her own. In regard to myself, however, as I have
neither courage nor inclination to argue with her, I have never been personally hurt
at her want of gentleness; a virtue which, nevertheless, seems so essential a part of
the female character, that I find myself more awkward, and less at ease, with a woman
who wants it, than I do with a man. She is not a favourite with Mr. Villars, who has
often been disgusted at her unmerciful propensity to satire: but his anxiety that I
should try the effect of the Bristol waters, overcame his dislike of committing me to
her care. Mrs. Clinton is also here; so that I shall be as well attended as his
utmost partiality could desire.</p>
<p> I will continue to write to you, my dear Miss Mirvan, with as much constancy as if I
had no other correspondent; though, during my absence from Berry Hill, my letters
may, perhaps, be shortened on account of the minuteness of the journal which I must
write to my beloved Mr. Villars: but you, who know his expectations, and how many
ties bind me to fulfil them, will I am sure, rather excuse any omission to yourself,
than any negligence to him.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXII.</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. Bristol Hotwells, Sept. 12th.</opener>
<p> THE first fortnight that I passed here was so quiet, so serene, that it gave me
reason to expect a settled calm during my stay; but if I may now judge of the time to
come, by the present state of my mind, the calm will be succeeded by a storm, of
which I dread the violence!</p>
<p> This morning, in my way to the pump-room with Mrs. Selwyn, we were both very much
incommoded by three gentlemen, who were sauntering by the side of the Avon, laughing
and talking very loud, and lounging so disagreeably, that we knew not how to pass
them. They all three fixed their eyes very boldly upon me, alternately looking under
my hat, and whispering one another. Mrs. Selwyn assumed an air of uncommon sternness,
and said, "You will please, gentlemen, either to proceed yourselves, or to suffer
us."</p>
<p> "Oh! Ma'am," cried one of them, "we will suffer you with the greatest pleasure in
life."</p>
<p> "You will suffer us both," answered she, "or I am much mistaken: you had better,
therefore, make way quietly; for I should be sorry to give my servant the trouble of
teaching you better manners."</p>
<p> Her commanding air struck them, yet they all chose to laugh; and one of them wished
the fellow would begin his lesson, that he might have the pleasure of rolling him
into the Avon; while another, advancing to me with a freedom which made me start,
said, "By my soul, I did not know you!-but I am sure I cannot be mistaken;-had not I
the honour of seeing you once at the Pantheon?"</p>
<p> I then recollected the nobleman, who, at that place, had so much embarrassed me. I
courtsied without speaking. They all bowed, and making, though in a very easy manner,
an apology to Mrs. Selwyn, they suffered us to pass on, but chose to accompany
us.</p>
<p> "And where," continued this Lord, "can you so long have hid yourself? do you know I
have been in search of you this age? I could neither find you out, nor hear of you:
not a creature could inform me what was become of you. I cannot imagine where you
could be immured. I was at two or three public places every night, in hopes of
meeting you. Pray, did you leave town?"</p>
<p> "Yes, my Lord."</p>
<p> "So early in the season!-what could possibly induce you to go before the
birth-day?"</p>
<p> "I had nothing, my Lord, to do with the birth-day."</p>
<p> "By my soul, all the women who had, may rejoice you were away. Have you been here
any time?"</p>
<p> "Not above a fortnight, my Lord."</p>
<p> "A fortnight!-how unlucky that I did not meet you sooner! but I have had a run of
ill luck ever since I came. How long shall you stay?"</p>
<p> "Indeed, my Lord, I don't know."</p>
<p> "Six weeks, I hope; for I shall wish the place at the devil when you go."</p>
<p> "Do you, then, flatter yourself, my Lord," said Mrs. Selwyn, who had hitherto
listened in silent contempt, "that you shall see such a beautiful spot as this, when
you visit the dominions of the devil?"</p>
<p> "Ha, ha, ha! Faith, my Lord," said one of his companions, who still walked with us,
though the other had taken leave, "the lady is rather hard upon you."</p>
<p> "Not at all," answered Mrs. Selwyn; "for as I cannot doubt but his Lordship's rank
and interest will secure him a place there, it would be reflecting on his
understanding, to suppose he should not wish to enlarge and beautify his
dwelling."</p>
<p> Much as I was disgusted with this Lord, I must own Mrs. Selwyn's severity rather
surprised me: but you, who have so often observed it, will not wonder she took so
fair an opportunity of indulging her humour.</p>
<p> "As to places," returned he, totally unmoved, "I am so indifferent to them, that the
devil take me if I care which way I go! objects, indeed, I am not so easy about; and,
therefore, I expect, that those angels with whose beauty I am so much enraptured in
this world, will have the goodness to afford me some little consolation in the
other."</p>
<p> "What, my Lord!" cried Mrs. Selwyn, "would you wish to degrade the habitation of
your friend, by admitting into it the insipid company of the upper regions?"</p>
<p> "What do you do with yourself this evening?" said his Lordship, turning to me.</p>
<p> "I shall be at home, my Lord."</p>
<p> "O, -e;-propos,-where are you?"</p>
<p> "Young ladies, my Lord," said Mrs. Selwyn, "are no where."</p>
<p> "Prithee," whispered his Lordship, "is that queer woman your mother?"</p>
<p> Good Heavens, Sir, what words for such a question!</p>
<p> "No, my Lord."</p>
<p> "Your maiden aunt then?"</p>
<p> "No."</p>
<p> "Whoever she is, I wish she would mind her own affairs: I don't know what the devil
a woman lives for after thirty: she is only in other folk's way. Shall you be at the
assembly?"</p>
<p> "I believe not, my Lord."</p>
<p> "No!-why then, how in the world can you contrive to pass your time?"</p>
<p> "In a manner which your Lordship will think very extraordinary," cried Mrs. Selwyn,
"for the young lady reads."</p>
<p> "Ha, ha, ha! Egad, my Lord," cried the facetious companion, "you are got into bad
hands."</p>
<p> "You had better, Ma'am," answered he, "attack Jack Coverley here, for you will make
nothing of me."</p>
<p> "Of you, my Lord," cried she, "Heaven forbid I should ever entertain so idle an
expectation! I only talk, like a silly woman, for the sake of talking; but I have by
no means so low an opinion of your Lordship, as to suppose you vulnerable to
censure."</p>
<p> "Do, pray, Ma'am," cried he, "turn to Jack Coverley; he's the very man for you;-he'd
be a wit himself if he was not too modest."</p>
<p> "Prithee, my Lord, be quiet," returned the other; "if the lady is contented to
bestow all her favours upon you, why should you make such a point of my going
snacks?"</p>
<p> "Don't be apprehensive, gentlemen," said Mrs. Selwyn, drily, "I am not romantic;-I
have not the least design of doing good to either of you."</p>
<p> "Have not you been ill since I saw you?" said his Lordship, again addressing himself
to me.</p>
<p> "Yes, my Lord."</p>
<p> "I thought so; you are paler than you was, and I suppose that's the reason I did not
recollect you sooner."</p>
<p> "Has not your Lordship too much gallantry," cried Mrs. Selwyn, "to discover a young
lady's illness by her looks?"</p>
<p> "The devil a word can I speak for that woman," said he, in a low voice; "do,
prithee, Jack, take her in hand."</p>
<p> "Excuse me, my Lord," answered Mr. Coverley.</p>
<p> "When shall I see you again?" continued his Lordship; "do you go to the pump-room
every morning?"</p>
<p> "No, my Lord."</p>
<p> "Do you ride out?"</p>
<p> "No, my Lord."</p>
<p> Just then we arrived at the pump-room, and an end was put to our conversation, if it
is not an abuse of words to give such a term to a string of rude questions and free
compliments.</p>
<p> He had not opportunity to say much more to me, as Mrs. Selwyn joined a large party,
and I walked home between two ladies. He had, however, the curiosity to see us to the
door.</p>
<p> Mrs. Selwyn was very eager to know how I had made acquaintance with this nobleman,
whose manners so evidently announced the character of a confirmed libertine. I could
give her very little satisfaction, as I was ignorant even of his name: but, in the
afternoon, Mr. Ridgeway, the apothecary, gave us very ample information.</p>
<p> As his person was easily described, for he is remarkably tall, Mr. Ridgeway told us
he was Lord Merton, a nobleman who is but lately come to his title, though he has
already dissipated more than half his fortune; a professed admirer of beauty, but a
man of most licentious character; that among men, his companions consisted chiefly of
gamblers and jockeys, and among women he was rarely admitted.</p>
<p> "Well, Miss Anville," said Mrs. Selwyn, "I am glad I was not more civil to him. You
may depend upon me for keeping him at a distance."</p>
<p> "O, Madam," said Mr. Ridgeway, "he may now be admitted any where, for he is going to
reform."</p>
<p> "Has he, under that notion, persuaded any fool to marry him?"</p>
<p> "Not yet, Madam, but a marriage is expected to take place shortly: it has been some
time in agitation; but the friends of the lady have obliged her to wait till she is
of age: however, her brother, who has chiefly opposed the match, now that she is near
being at her own disposal, is tolerably quiet. She is very pretty, and will have a
large fortune. We expect her at the Wells every day."</p>
<p> "What is her name?" said Mrs. Selwyn.</p>
<p> "Larpent," answered he: "Lady Louisa Larpent, sister of Lord Orville."</p>
<p> "Lord Orville!" repeated I, all amazement.</p>
<p> "Yes, Ma'am; his Lordship is coming with her. I have had certain information. They
are to be at the Honourable Mrs. Beaumont's. She is a relation of my Lord's, and has
a very fine house upon Clifton Hill."</p>
<p> His Lordship is coming with her! -Good God, what an emotion did those words give me!
How strange, my dear Sir, that, just at this time, he should visit Bristol! It will
be impossible for me to avoid seeing him, as Mrs. Selwyn is very well acquainted with
Mrs. Beaumont. Indeed, I have had an escape in not being under the same roof with
him, for Mrs. Beaumont invited us to her house immediately upon our arrival; but the
inconvenience of being so distant from the pump-room made Mrs. Selwyn decline her
civility.</p>
<p> Oh that the first meeting were over!-or that I could quit Bristol without seeing
him!-inexpressibly do I dread an interview! Should the same impertinent freedom be
expressed by his looks, which dictated this cruel letter, I shall not know how to
endure either him or myself. Had I but returned it, I should be easier, because my
sentiments of it would then be known to him; but now, he can only gather them from my
behaviour; and I tremble lest he should mistake my indignation for confusion!-lest he
should misconstrue my reserve into embarrassment!-for how, my dearest Sir, how shall
I be able totally to divest myself of the respect with which I have been used to
think of him?-the pleasure with which I have been used to see him?</p>
<p> Surely he, as well as I, must recollect the letter at the moment of our meeting; and
he will, probably, mean to gather my thoughts of it from my looks;-oh that they could
but convey to him my real detestation of impertinence and vanity! then would he see
how much he had mistaken my disposition when he imagined them my due.</p>
<p> There was a time when the very idea that such a man as Lord Merton should ever be
connected with Lord Orville would have both surprised and shocked me; and even yet I
am pleased to hear of his repugnance to the marriage.</p>
<p> But how strange, that a man of so abandoned a character should be the choice of a
sister of Lord Orville! and how strange, that, almost at the moment of the union, he
should be so importunate in gallantry to another woman! What a world is this we live
in! how corrupt! how degenerate! well might I be contented to see no more of it! If I
find that the eyes of Lord Orville agree with his pen,-I shall then think, that of
all mankind, the only virtuous individual resides at Berry Hill.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXIII.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Bristol Hotwells, Sept. 16th.</opener>
<p> OH, Sir, Lord Orville is still himself! still what, from the moment I beheld, I
believed him to be-all that is amiable in man! and your happy Evelina, restored at
once to spirits and tranquillity, is no longer sunk in her own opinion, nor
discontented with the world;-no longer, with dejected eyes, sees the prospect of
passing her future days in sadness, doubt, and suspicion!-with revived courage she
now looks forward, and expects to meet with goodness, even among mankind:-though
still she feels, as strongly as ever, the folly of hoping, in any second instance, to
meet with perfection.</p>
<p> Your conjecture was certainly right; Lord Orville, when he wrote that letter, could
not be in his senses. Oh that intemperance should have power to degrade so low, a man
so noble!</p>
<p> This morning I accompanied Mrs. Selwyn to Clifton Hill, where, beautifully situated,
is the house of Mrs. Beaumont. Most uncomfortable were my feelings during our walk,
which was very slow; for the agitation of my mind made me more than usually sensible
how weak I still continue. As we entered the house, I summoned all my resolution to
my aid, determined rather to die than give Lord Orville reason to attribute my
weakness to a wrong cause. I was happily relieved from my perturbation, when I saw
Mrs. Beaumont was alone. We sat with her for, I believe, an hour without
interruption; and then we saw a phaeton drive up to the gate, and a lady and
gentleman alight from it.</p>
<p> They entered the parlour with the ease of people who were at home. The gentleman, I
soon saw, was Lord Merton: he came shuffling into the room with his boots on, and his
whip in his hand; and having made something like a bow to Mrs. Beaumont, he turned
towards me. His surprise was very evident; but he took no manner of notice of me. He
waited, I believe, to discover, first, what chance had brought me to that house,
where he did not look much rejoiced at meeting me. He seated himself very quietly at
the window, without speaking to any body.</p>
<p> Mean time the lady, who seemed very young, hobbling rather than walking into the
room, made a passing courtsy to Mrs. Beaumont, saying, "How are you, Ma'am?" and
then, without noticing any body else, with an air of languor she flung herself upon a
sofa, protesting, in a most affected voice, and speaking so softly she could hardly
be heard, that she was fatigued to death. "Really, Ma'am, the roads are so monstrous
dusty,-you can't imagine how troublesome the dust is to one's eyes!-and the sun, too,
is monstrous disagreeable!-I dare say I shall be so tanned: I shan't be fit to be
seen this age. Indeed, my Lord, I won't go out with you any more, for you don't care
where you take one."</p>
<p> "Upon my honour," said Lord Merton, "I took you the pleasantest ride in England, the
fault was in the sun, not me."</p>
<p> "Your Lordship is in the right," said Mrs. Selwyn, "to transfer the fault to the
sun, because it has so many excellencies to counterbalance partial inconveniences
that a little blame will not injure that in our estimation."</p>
<p> Lord Merton looked by no means delighted at this attack; which I believe she would
not so readily have made, but to revenge his neglect of us.</p>
<p> "Did you meet your brother, Lady Louisa?" said Mrs. Beaumont.</p>
<p> "No, Ma'am. Is he rode out this morning?"</p>
<p> I then found, what I had before suspected, that this lady was Lord Orville's sister:
how strange, that such near relations should be so different to each other! There is,
indeed, some resemblance in their features; but, in their manners, not the least.</p>
<p> "Yes," answered Mrs. Beaumont, "and I believe he wished to see you."</p>
<p> "My Lord drove so monstrous fast," said Lady Louisa, "that perhaps we passed him. He
frightened me out of my senses; I declare my head is quite giddy. Do you know, Ma'am,
we have done nothing but quarrel all the morning?-You can't think how I've scolded;
have not I, my Lord?" and she smiled expressively at Lord Merton.</p>
<p> "You have been, as you always are," said he, twisting his whip with his fingers,
"all sweetness."</p>
<p> "O fie, my Lord," cried she, "I know you don't think so; I know you think me very
ill-natured;-don't you, my Lord?"</p>
<p> "No, upon my honour;-how can your Ladyship ask such a question? Pray how goes time?
my watch stands."</p>
<p> "It is almost three," answered Mrs. Beaumont.</p>
<p> "Lord, Ma'am, you frighten me!" cried Lady Louisa; and then, turning to Lord Merton,
"why now, you wicked creature you, did you not tell me it was but one?"</p>
<p> Mrs. Selwyn then rose to take leave; but Mrs. Beaumont asked if she would look at
the shrubbery. "I should like it much," answered she, "but that I fear to fatigue
Miss Anville."</p>
<p> Lady Louisa, then, raising her head from her hand, on which it had leant, turned
round to look at me; and having fully satisfied her curiosity, without any regard to
the confusion it gave me, turned about, and, again leaning on her hand, took no
further notice of me.</p>
<p> I declared myself very able to walk, and begged that I might accompany them. "What
say you, Lady Louisa," cried Mrs. Beaumont, "to a stroll in the garden?"</p>
<p> "Me, Ma'am!-I declare I can't stir a step; the heat is so excessive, it would kill
me. I'm half dead with it already; besides, I shall have no time to dress. Will any
body be here to-day, Ma'am?"</p>
<p> "I believe not, unless Lord Merton will favour us with his company."</p>
<p> "With great pleasure, Madam."</p>
<p> "Well, I declare you don't deserve to be asked," cried Lady Louisa, "you wicked
creature you!-I must tell you one thing, Ma'am,-you can't think how abominable he
was! do you know we met Mr. Lovel in his new phaeton, and my Lord was so cruel as to
drive against it?-we really flew. I declare I could not breathe. Upon my word, my
Lord, I'll never trust myself with you again,-I won't indeed."</p>
<p> We then went into the garden, leaving them to discuss the point at their
leisure.</p>
<p> Do you remember a pretty but affected young lady I mentioned to have seen, in Lord
Orville's party, at the Pantheon? How little did I then imagine her to be his sister!
yet Lady Louisa Larpent is the very person. I can now account for the piqued manner
of her speaking to Lord Merton that evening, and I can now account for the air of
displeasure with which Lord Orville marked the undue attention of his future
brother-in-law to me.</p>
<p> We had not walked long, ere, at a distance, I perceived Lord Orville, who seemed
just dismounted from his horse, enter the garden. All my perturbation returned at the
sight of him!-yet I endeavoured to repress every feeling but resentment. As he
approached us, he bowed to the whole party; but I turned away my head to avoid taking
any share in his civility. Addressing himself immediately to Mrs. Beaumont, he was
beginning to enquire after his sister: but, upon seeing my face, he suddenly
exclaimed, "Miss Anville!-" and then he advanced, and made his compliments to me,-not
with an air of vanity or impertinence, nor yet with a look of consciousness or
shame;-but with a countenance open, manly, and charming!-with a smile that indicated
pleasure, and eyes that sparkled with delight!-on my side was all that consciousness;
for by him, I really believe, the letter was, at that moment, entirely forgotten.</p>
<p> With what politeness did he address me! with what sweetness did he look at me! the
very tone of his voice seemed flattering! he congratulated himself upon his good
fortune in meeting with me;-hoped I should spend some time in Bristol, and enquired,
even with anxiety enquired, if my health was the cause of my journey; in which case
his satisfaction would be converted into apprehension.</p>
<p> Yet, struck as I was with his manner, and charmed to find him such as he was wont to
be, imagine not, my dear Sir, that I forgot the resentment I owe him, or the cause he
has given me of displeasure; no, my behaviour was such, as I hope, had you seen, you
would not have disapproved: I was grave and distant; I scarce looked at him when he
spoke, or answered him when he was silent.</p>
<p> As he must certainly observe this alteration in my conduct, I think it could not
fail making him both recollect and repent the provocation he had so causelessly given
me; for surely he was not so wholly lost to reason, as to be now ignorant he had ever
offended me.</p>
<p> The moment that, without absolute rudeness, I was able, I turned entirely from him,
and asked Mrs. Selwyn if we should not be late home? How Lord Orville looked I know
not, for I avoided meeting his eyes; but he did not speak another word as we
proceeded to the garden gate. Indeed, I believe, my abruptness surprised him, for he
did not seem to expect I had so much spirit. And, to own the truth, convinced as I
was of the propriety, nay, necessity, of showing my displeasure, I yet almost hated
myself for receiving his politeness so ungraciously.</p>
<p> When we were taking leave, my eyes accidentally meeting his, I could not but observe
that his gravity equalled my own; for it had entirely taken place of the smiles and
good humour with which he had met me.</p>
<p> "I am afraid this young lady," said Mrs. Beaumont, "is too weak for another long
walk till she is again rested."</p>
<p> "If the ladies will trust to my driving," said Lord Orville, "and are not afraid of
a phaeton, mine shall be ready in a moment."</p>
<p> "You are very good, my Lord, "said Mrs. Selwyn, "but my will is yet unsigned, and I
don't choose to venture in a phaeton with a young man while that is the case."</p>
<p> "O," cried Mrs. Beaumont, "you need not be afraid of my Lord Orville, for he is
remarkably careful."</p>
<p> "Well, Miss Anville," answered she, "what say you?"</p>
<p> "Indeed," cried I, "I had much rather walk-." But then, looking at Lord Orville, I
perceived in his face a surprise so serious at my abrupt refusal, that I could not
forbear adding, "for I should be sorry to occasion so much trouble."</p>
<p> Lord Orville, brightening at these words, came forward, and pressed his offer in a
manner not to be denied;-so the phaeton was ordered! And indeed, my dear Sir,-I know
not how it was;-but, from that moment, my coldness and reserve insensibly wore away!
You must not be angry,-it was my intention, nay, my endeavour, to support them with
firmness: but when I formed the plan, I thought only of the letter,-not of Lord
Orville!-and how is it possible for resentmen to subsist without provocation? yet,
believe me, my dearest Sir, had he sustained the part he began to act when he wrote
this ever-to-be-regretted letter, your Evelina would have not forfeited her title to
your esteem, by contentedly submitting to be treated with indignity.</p>
<p> We continued in the garden till the phaeton was ready. When we parted from Mrs.
Beaumont, she repeated her invitation to Mrs. Selwyn to accept an apartment in her
house; but the reason I have already mentioned made it be again declined.</p>
<p> Lord Orville drove very slow, and so cautiously, that, notwithstanding the height of
the phaeton, fear would have been ridiculous. I supported no part in the
conversation; but Mrs. Selwyn extremely well supplied the place of two. Lord Orville
himself did not speak much; but the excellent sense and refined good-breeding which
accompany every word he utters, give value and weight to whatever he says.</p>
<p> "I suppose, my Lord," said Mrs. Selwyn, when we stopped at our lodgings, "you would
have been extremely confused had we met any gentlemen who have the honour of knowing
you."</p>
<p> "If I had," answered he, gallantly, "it would have been from mere compassion at
their envy."</p>
<p> "No, my Lord," answered she, "it would have been from mere shame, that, in an age so
daring, you alone should be such a coward as to forbear to frighten women."</p>
<p> "O," cried he, laughing, "when a man is in a fright for himself, the ladies cannot
but be in security; for you have not had half the apprehension for the safety of your
persons, that I have for that of my heart." He then alighted, handed us out, took
leave, and again mounting the phaeton, was out of sight in a minute.</p>
<p> "Certainly," said Mrs. Selwyn, when he was gone, "there must have been some mistake
in the birth of that young man; he was, undoubtedly, designed for the last age; for
he is really polite!"</p>
<p> And now, my dear Sir, do not you think, according to the present situation of
affairs, I may give up my resentment, without imprudence or impropriety? I hope you
will not blame me. Indeed, had you, like me, seen his respectful behaviour, you would
have been convinced of the impracticability of supporting any further
indignation.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXIV.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Bristol Hotwells, Sept. 19th.</opener>
<p> YESTERDAY morning Mrs. Selwyn received a card from Mrs. Beaumont, to ask her to dine
with her to-day: and another, to the same purpose, came to me. The invitation was
accepted, and we are but just arrived from Clifton Hill.</p>
<p> We found Mrs. Beaumont alone in the parlour. I will write you the character of that
lady, in the words of our satirical friend Mrs. Selwyn. "She is an absolute Court
Calendar bigot; for, chancing herself to be born of a noble and ancient family, she
thinks proper to be of opinion, that birth and virtue are one and the same thing. She
has some good qualities; but they rather originate from pride than principle, as she
piques herself upon being too high-born to be capable of an unworthy action, and
thinks it incumbent upon her to support the dignity of her ancestry. Fortunately for
the world in general, she has taken it into her head, that condescension is the most
distinguishing virtue of high life; so that the same pride of family which renders
others imperious, is with her the motive of affability. But her civility is too
formal to be comfortable, and too mechanical to be flattering. That she does me the
honour of so much notice, is merely owing to an accident, which, I am sure, is very
painful to her remembrance; for it so happened, that I once did her some service, in
regard to an apartment at Southampton; and I have since been informed, that, at the
time she accepted my assistance, she thought I was a woman of quality; and I make no
doubt but she was miserable when she discovered me to be a mere country gentlewoman:
however, her nice notions of decorum have made her load me with favours ever since.
But I am not much flattered by her civilities, as I am convinced I owe them neither
to attachment nor gratitude; but solely to a desire of cancelling an obligation,
which she cannot brook being under, to one whose name is no where to be found in the
Court Calendar."</p>
<p> You well know, my dear Sir, the delight this lady takes in giving way to her
satirical humour.</p>
<p> Mrs. Beaumont received us very graciously, though she some what distressed me by the
questions she asked concerning my family;-such as, Whether I was related to the
Anvilles in the North?-Whether some of my name did not live in Lincolnshire? and many
other inquiries, which much embarrassed me.</p>
<p> The conversation next turned upon the intended marriage in her family. She treated
the subject with reserve; but it was evident she disapproved Lady Louisa's choice.
She spoke in terms of the highest esteem of Lord Orville, calling him, in Marmontel's
words, "Un jeune homme comme il y en a peu."</p>
<p> I did not think this conversation very agreeably interrupted by the entrance of Mr.
Lovel. Indeed I am heartily sorry he is now at the Hot Wells. He made his compliments
with the most obsequious respect to Mrs. Beaumont, but took no sort of notice of any
other person.</p>
<p> In a few minutes Lady Louisa Larpent made her appearance. The same manners
prevailed; for, courtsying, with "I hope you are well, Ma'am," to Mrs. Beaumont, she
passed straight forward to her seat on the sofa; where, leaning her head on her hand,
she cast her languishing eyes round the room, with a vacant stare, as if determined,
though she looked, not to see who was in it.</p>
<p> Mr. Lovel, presently approaching her, with reverence the most profound, hoped her
Ladyship was not indisposed.</p>
<p> "Mr. Lovel!" cried she, raising her head, "I declare I did not see you: have you
been here long?"</p>
<p> "By my watch, Madam," said he, "only five minutes,-but by your<lb/>Ladyship's
absence as many hours."</p>
<p> "O! now I think of it," cried she, "I am very angry with you;-so go along, do; for I
sha'n't speak to you all day."</p>
<p> "Heaven forbid your La'ship's displeasure should last so long! in such cruel
circumstances, a day would seem an age. But in what have I been so unfortunate as to
offend?"</p>
<p> "O, you half killed me the other morning, with terror! I have not yet recovered from
my fright. How could you be so cruel as to drive your phaeton against my Lord
Merton's?"</p>
<p> "'Pon honour, Ma'am, your La'ship does me wrong;-it was all owing to the
horses,-there was no curbing them. I protest I suffered more than your Ladyship, from
the terror of alarming you."</p>
<p> Just then entered Lord Merton; stalking up to Mrs. Beaumont, to whom alone he bowed,
he hoped he had not made her wait; and then, advancing to Lady Louisa, said, in a
careless manner, "How is your Ladyship this morning?"</p>
<p> "Not well at all," answered she; "I have been dying with the head-ache ever since I
got up."</p>
<p> "Indeed!" cried he, with a countenance wholly unmoved, "I am very unhappy to hear
it. But should not your Ladyship have some advice?"</p>
<p> "I am quite sick of advice," answered she, "Mr. Ridgeway has but just left me,-but
he has done me no good. Nobody here knows what is the matter with me, yet they all
see how indifferent I am."</p>
<p> "Your Ladyship's constitution," said Mr. Lovel, "is infinitely delicate."</p>
<p> "Indeed it is," cried she, in a low voice, "I am nerve all over!"</p>
<p> "I am glad, however," said Lord Merton, "that you did not take the air this morning,
for Coverley has been driving against me as if he was mad: he has got two of the
finest spirited horses I ever saw."</p>
<p> "Pray my Lord," cried she, "why did not you bring Mr. Coverley with you? he's a
droll creature; I like him monstrously."</p>
<p> "Why, he promised to be here as soon as me. I suppose he'll come before dinner's
over."</p>
<p> In the midst of this trifling conversation Lord Orville made his appearance. O how
different was his address! how superior did he look and move, to all about him!
Having paid his respects to Mrs. Beaumont, and then to Mrs. Selwyn, he came up to me,
and said, "I hope Miss Anville has not suffered from the fatigue of Monday morning?"
Then, turning to Lady Louisa, who seemed rather surprised at his speaking to me, he
added, "Give me leave, sister, to introduce Miss Anville to you."</p>
<p> Lady Louisa, half-rising, said, very coldly, that she should be glad of the honour
of knowing me; and then, abruptly turning to Lord Merton and Mr. Lovel, continued, in
a half-whisper, her conversation.</p>
<p> For my part, I had risen and courtsied, and now, feeling very foolish, I seated
myself again: first I blushed at the unexpected politeness of Lord Orville, and
immediately afterwards at the contemptuous failure of it in his sister. How can that
young lady see her brother so universally admired for his manners and deportment, and
yet be so unamiably opposite to him in hers! but while his mind, enlarged and noble,
rises superior to the little prejudices of rank, hers, feeble and unsteady, sinks
beneath their influence.</p>
<p> Lord Orville, I am sure, was hurt and displeased: he bit his lips, and, turning from
her, addressed himself wholly to me, till we were summoned to dinner. Do you think I
was not grateful for his attention? yes, indeed, and every angry idea I had
entertained was totally obliterated.</p>
<p> As we were seating ourselves at the table, Mr. Coverley came into the room; he made
a thousand apologies in a breath for being so late, but said he had been retarded by
a little accident, for that he had overturned his phaeton, and broke it all to
pieces. Lady Louisa screamed at this intelligence, and, looking at Lord Merton,
declared she would never go into a phaeton again.</p>
<p> "O," cried he, "never mind Jack Coverley; for he does not know how to drive."</p>
<p> "My Lord," cried Mr. Coverley, "I'll drive against you for a thousand pounds."</p>
<p> "Done!" returned the other; "name your day, and we'll each choose a judge."</p>
<p> "The sooner the better," cried Mr. Coverley; "to-morrow, if the carriage can be
repaired."</p>
<p> "These enterprises," said Mrs. Selwyn, "are very proper for men of rank, since 'tis
a million to one but both parties will be incapacitated for any better
employment."</p>
<p> "For Heaven's sake," cried Lady Louisa, changing colour, "don't talk so shockingly!
Pray, my Lord, pray, Mr. Coverley, don't alarm me in this manner."</p>
<p> "Compose yourself, Lady Louisa," said Mrs. Beaumont, "the gentlemen will think
better of the scheme; they are neither of them in earnest."</p>
<p> "The very mention of such a scheme," said Lady Louisa, taking out her salts, "makes
me tremble all over! Indeed, my Lord, you have frightened me to death! I sha'n't eat
a morsel of dinner."</p>
<p> "Permit me," said Lord Orville, "to propose some other subject for the present, and
we will discuss this matter another time."</p>
<p> "Pray, brother, excuse me; my Lord must give me his word to drop the project,-for I
declare it has made me sick as death."</p>
<p> "To compromise the matter," said Lord Orville, "suppose, if both parties are
unwilling to give up the bet, that, to make the ladies easy, we change its object to
something less dangerous?"</p>
<p> This proposal was so strongly seconded by all the party, that both Lord Merton and
Mr. Coverley were obliged to comply with it; and it was then agreed that the affair
should be finally settled in the afternoon.</p>
<p> "I shall now be entirely out of conceit with phaetons again," said<lb/>Mrs. Selwyn,
"though Lord Orville had almost reconciled me to them."</p>
<p> "My Lord Orville!" cried the witty Mr. Coverley, "why, my Lord Orville is as
careful,-egad, as careful as an old woman! Why, I'd drive a one-horse cart against my
Lord's phaeton for a hundred guineas!"</p>
<p> This sally occasioned much laughter; for Mr. Coverley, I find, is regarded as a man
of infinite humour.</p>
<p> "Perhaps, Sir," said Mrs. Selwyn, "you have not discovered the reason my Lord
Orville is so careful?"</p>
<p> "Why, no, Ma'am; I must own I never heard any particular reason for it."</p>
<p> "Why, then, Sir, I'll tell it you; and I believe you will confess it to be very
particular; his Lordship's friends are not yet tired of him."</p>
<p> Lord Orville laughed and bowed. Mr. Coverley, a little confused, turned to Lord
Merton, and said, "No foul play, my Lord! I remember your Lordship recommended me to
the notice of this lady the other morning, and, egad, I believe you have been doing
me the same office to-day."</p>
<p> "Give you joy, Jack!" cried Lord Merton, with a loud laugh.</p>
<p> After this the conversation turned wholly upon eating, a subject which was discussed
with the utmost delight; and, had I not known they were men of rank and fashion, I
should have imagined that Lord Merton, Mr. Lovel, and Mr. Coverley, had all been
professed cooks; for they displayed so much knowledge of sauces and made-dishes, and
of the various methods of dressing the same things, that I am persuaded they must
have given much time, and much study, to make themselves such adepts in this art. It
would be very difficult to determine, whether they were most to be distinguished as
gluttons or epicures; for they were, at once, dainty and voracious, understood the
right and the wrong of every dish, and alike emptied the one and the other. I should
have been quite sick of their remarks, had I not been entertained by seeing that Lord
Orville, who, I am sure, was equally disgusted, not only read my sentiments, but, by
his countenance, communicated to me his own.</p>
<p> When dinner was over, Mrs. Beaumont recommended the gentlemen to the care of Lord
Orville, and then attended the ladies to the drawing-room.</p>
<p> The conversation, till tea-time, was extremely insipid; Mrs. Selwyn reserved herself
for the gentlemen, Mrs. Beaumont was grave, and Lady Louisa languid.</p>
<p> But, at tea, every body revived; we were joined by the gentlemen, and gaiety took
the place of dullness.</p>
<p> Since I, as Mr. Lovel says, am Nobody, I seated myself quietly at a window, and not
very near to any body: Lord Merton, Mr. Coverley, and Mr. Lovel, severally passed me
without notice, and surrounded the chair of Lady Louisa Larpent. I must own, I was
rather piqued at the behaviour of Mr. Lovel, as he had formerly known me. It is true,
I most sincerely despise his foppery; yet I should be grieved to meet with contempt
from any body. But I was by no means sorry to find, that Lord Merton was determined
not to know me before Lady Louisa, as his neglect relieved me from much
embarrassment. As to Mr. Coverley, his attention or disregard were equally
indifferent to me. Yet, altogether, I feel extremely uncomfortable in finding myself
considered in a light very inferior to the rest of the company.</p>
<p> But when Lord Orville appeared, the scene changed: he came up stairs last; and,
seeing me sit alone, not only spoke to me directly, but drew a chair next mine, and
honoured me with his entire attention.</p>
<p> He enquired very particularly after my health, and hoped I had already found benefit
from the Bristol air. "How little did I imagine," added he, "when I had last the
pleasure of seeing you in town, that ill health would in so short a time have brought
you hither! I am ashamed of myself for the satisfaction I feel at seeing you,-yet,
how can I help it?"</p>
<p> He then enquired after the Mirvan family, and spoke of Mrs. Mirvan in terms of most
just praise. "She is gentle and amiable," said he, "a true feminine character."</p>
<p> "Yes, indeed," answered I: "and her sweet daughter, to say every thing of her at
once, is just the daughter such a mother deserves."</p>
<p> "I am glad of it," said he, "for both their sakes, as such near relations must
always reflect credit or disgrace on each other."</p>
<p> After this he began to speak of the beauties of Clifton; but, in a few moments, he
was interrupted by a call from the company, to discuss the affair of the wager. Lord
Merton and Mr. Coverley, though they had been discoursing upon the subject some time,
could not fix upon the thing that satisfied them both.</p>
<p> When they asked the assistance of Lord Orville, he proposed that every body present
should vote something; and that the two gentlemen should draw lots which, from the
several votes, should decide the bet.</p>
<p> "We must then begin with the ladies," said Lord Orville; and applied to Mrs.
Selwyn.</p>
<p> "With all my heart," answered she, with her usual readiness; "and, since the
gentlemen are not allowed to risk their necks, suppose we decide the bet by their
heads?"</p>
<p> "By our heads?" cried Mr. Coverley. "Egad, I don't understand you."</p>
<p> "I will then explain myself more fully. As I doubt not but you are both excellent
classics, suppose, for the good of your own memories, and the entertainment and
surprise of the company, the thousand pounds should fall to the share of him who can
repeat by heart the longest ode of Horace?"</p>
<p> Nobody could help laughing, the two gentlemen applied to excepted; who seemed, each
of them, rather at a loss in what manner to receive this unexpected proposal. At
length Mr. Coverley, bowing low, said, "Will your Lordship please to begin?"</p>
<p> "Devil take me if I do!" answered he, turning on his heel, and stalking to the
window.</p>
<p> "Come, gentlemen," said Mrs. Selwyn, "why do you hesitate? I am sure you cannot be
afraid of a weak woman? Besides, if you should chance to be out, Mr. Lovel, I dare
say, will have the goodness to assist you."</p>
<p> The laugh now turned against Mr. Lovel, whose change of countenance manifested no
great pleasure at the transition.</p>
<p> "Me, Madam!" said he, colouring; "no, really I must beg to be excused."</p>
<p> "Why so, Sir?"</p>
<p> "Why so, Ma'am!-Why, really-as to that,-'pon honour, Ma'am, you are rather-a little
severe;-for how is it possible for a man who is in the house, to study the classics?
I assure you, Ma'am, (with an affected shrug) I find quite business enough for my
poor head in studying politics."</p>
<p> "But, did you study politics at school, and at the university?"</p>
<p> "At the university!" repeated he, with an embarrassed look; "why, as to that,
Ma'am,-no, I can't say I did; but then, what with riding,-and -and-and so
forth,-really, one has not much time, even at the university, for mere reading."</p>
<p> "But, to be sure, Sir, you have read the classics?"</p>
<p> "O dear, yes, Ma'am!-very often,-but not very-not very lately."</p>
<p> "Which of the Odes do you recommend to these gentlemen to begin with?"</p>
<p> "Which of the Odes!-Really, Ma'am, as to that, I have no very particular
choice;-for, to own the truth, that Horace was never a very great favourite with
me."</p>
<p> "In truth I believe you!" said Mrs. Selwyn, very drily.</p>
<p> Lord Merton, again advancing into the circle, with a nod and a laugh, said, "Give
you joy, Lovel!"</p>
<p> Lord Orville next applied to Mrs. Beaumont for her vote.</p>
<p> "It would very agreeably remind me of past times," said she, "when bowing was in
fashion, if the bet was to depend upon the best made bow."</p>
<p> "Egad, my Lord," cried Mr. Coverley, "there I should beat you hollow, for your
Lordship never bows at all."</p>
<p> "And pray, Sir, do you?" said Mrs. Selwyn.</p>
<p> "Do I, Ma'am?" cried he; "why, only see!"</p>
<p> "I protest," cried she, "I should have taken that for a shrug, if you had not told
me 'twas a bow."</p>
<p> "My lord," cried Mr. Coverley, "let's practise;" and then, most ridiculously, they
pranced about the room, making bows.</p>
<p> "We must now," said Lord Orville, turning to me, "call upon Miss<lb/>Anville."</p>
<p> "O no, my Lord," cried I; "indeed I have nothing to propose." He would not, however,
be refused; but urged me so much to say something, that at last, not to make him wait
any longer, I ventured to propose an extempore couplet upon some given subject. Mr.
Coverley instantly made me a bow, or, according to Mrs. Selwyn, a shrug, crying,
"Thank you, Ma'am; egad, that's my forte!-why, my Lord, the Fates seem against
you."</p>
<p> Lady Louisa was then applied to; and every body seemed eager to hear her opinion. "I
don't know what to say, I declare," cried she, affectedly; "can't you pass me?"</p>
<p> "By no means," said Lord Merton.</p>
<p> "Is it possible your Ladyship can make so cruel a request?" said<lb/>Mr. Lovel.</p>
<p> "Egad," cried Mr. Coverley, "if your Ladyship does not help us in this dilemma, we
shall be forced to return to our phaetons."</p>
<p> "Oh!" cried Lady Louisa, screaming; "you frightful creature, you, how can you be so
abominable?"</p>
<p> I believe this trifling lasted near half an hour; when at length, every body being
tired, it was given up, and she said she would consider against another time.</p>
<p> Lord Orville now called upon Mr. Lovel; who, after about ten minutes' deliberation,
proposed, with a most important face, to determine the wager by who should draw the
longest straw!</p>
<p> I had much difficulty to forbear laughing at this unmeaning scheme; but saw, to my
great surprise, not the least change of countenance in any other person: and, since
we came home, Mrs. Selwyn has informed me, that to draw straws is a fashion of
betting by no means uncommon. Good God! my dear Sir, does it not seem as if money
were of no value or service, since those who possess, squander it away in a manner so
infinitely absurd?</p>
<p> It now only remained for Lord Orville to speak; and the attention of the company
showed the expectations he had raised; yet, I believe, they by no means prevented his
proposal from being heard with amazement; for it was no other, than that the money
should be his due, who, according to the opinion of the judges, should bring the
worthiest object with whom to share it!</p>
<p> They all stared, without speaking. Indeed, I believe every one, for a moment at
least, experienced something like shame, from having either proposed or countenanced
an extravagance so useless and frivolous. For my part, I was so much struck and
affected by a rebuke so noble to these spendthrifts, that I felt my eyes filled with
tears.</p>
<p> The short silence and momentary reflection into which the company was surprised, Mr.
Coverley was the first to dispel, by saying, "Egad, my Lord, your Lordship has a most
remarkable odd way of taking things."</p>
<p> "Faith," said the incorrigible Lord Merton, "if this scheme takes, I shall fix upon
my Swiss to share with me; for I don't know a worthier fellow breathing."</p>
<p> After a few more of these attempts at wit, the two gentlemen agreed that they would
settle the affair the next morning.</p>
<p> The conversation then took a different turn; but I did not give it sufficient
attention to write any account of it. Not long after, Lord Orville, resuming his seat
near mine, said, "Why is Miss Anville so thoughtful?"</p>
<p> "I am sorry, my Lord," said I, "to consider myself among those who have so justly
incurred your censure."</p>
<p> "My censure!-you amaze me!"</p>
<p> "Indeed, my Lord, you have made me quite ashamed of myself for having given my vote
so foolishly, when an opportunity offered, if, like your Lordship, I had had the
sense to use it, of showing some humanity."</p>
<p> "You treat this too seriously," said he, smiling; "and I hardly know if you do not
now mean a rebuke to me."</p>
<p> "To you, my Lord!"</p>
<p> "Nay, who are most deserving of it; those who adapt their conversation to the
company, or those who affect to be superior to it?"</p>
<p> "O, my Lord, who else would do you so little justice?"</p>
<p> "I flatter myself," answered he, "that, in fact, your opinion and mine, in this
point, are the same, though you condescended to comply with the humour of the
company. It is for me, therefore, to apologize for so unseasonable a gravity, which,
but for the particular interest that I now take in the affairs of Lord Merton, I
should not have been so officious to display."</p>
<p> Such a compliment as this could not fail to reconcile me to myself; and with revived
spirits, I entered into a conversation, which he supported with me till Mrs. Selwyn's
carriage was announced; and we returned home.</p>
<p> During our ride, Mrs. Selwyn very much surprised me, by asking, if I thought my
health would now permit me to give up my morning walks to the pump-room, for the
purpose of spending a week at Clifton? "for this poor Mrs. Beaumont," added she, "is
so eager to have a discharge in full of her debt to me, that out of mere compassion,
I am induced to listen to her. Besides, she has always a house full of people; and,
though they are chiefly fools and cox-combs, yet there is some pleasure in cutting
them up."</p>
<p> I begged I might not, by any means, prevent her following her inclination, as my
health was now very well established. And so, my dear Sir, to-morrow we are to be
actually the guests of Mrs. Beaumont.</p>
<p> I am not much delighted at this scheme; for, greatly as I am flattered by the
attention of Lord Orville, it is not very comfortable to be neglected by every body
else. Besides, as I am sure I owe the particularity of his civility to a generous
feeling for my situation, I cannot expect him to support it so long as a week.</p>
<p> How often do I wish, since I am absent from you, that I was under the protection of
Mrs. Mirvan! It is true, Mrs. Selwyn is very obliging, and, in every respect, treats
me as an equal; but she is contented with behaving well herself, and does not, with a
distinguishing politeness, raise and support me with others. Yet I mean not to blame
her, for I know she is sincerely my friend; but the fact is, she is herself so much
occupied in conversation, when in company, that she has neither leisure nor thought
to attend to the silent.</p>
<p> Well, I must take my chance! But I knew not, till now, how requisite are birth and
fortune to the attainment of respect and civility.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXV.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Clifton, Sept. 20th.</opener>
<p> HERE I am, my dear Sir, under the same roof, and an inmate of the same house as Lord
Orville! Indeed, if this were not the case, my situation would be very disagreeable,
as you will easily believe, when I tell you the light in which I am generally
considered.</p>
<p> "My dear," said Mrs. Selwyn, "did you ever before meet with that egregious fop,
Lovel?"</p>
<p> I very readily satisfied her as to my acquaintance with him.</p>
<p> "O, then," said she, "I am the less surprised at his ill-nature, since he has
already injured you."</p>
<p> I begged her to explain herself; and then she told me, that while<lb/>Lord Orville
was speaking to me, Lady Louisa said to Mr. Lovel,<lb/>"Do you know who that is?"</p>
<p> "Why, Ma'am, no, 'pon honour," answered he, "I can't absolutely say I do; I only
know she is a kind of a toad-eater. She made her first appearance in that capacity
last spring, when she attended Miss Mirvan, a young lady of Kent."</p>
<p> How cruel is it, my dear Sir, to be thus exposed to the impertinent suggestions of a
man who is determined to do me ill offices! Lady Louisa may well despise a
toad-eater; but, thank Heaven, her brother has not heard, or does not credit, the
mortifying appellation. Mrs. Selwyn said, she would advise me to pay my court to this
Mr. Lovel; "for," said she, "though he is malicious, he is fashionable, and may do
you some harm in the great world." But I should disdain myself as much as I do him,
were I capable of such duplicity as to flatter a man whom I scorn and despise.</p>
<p> We were received by Mrs. Beaumont with great civility, and by Lord Orville with
something more. As to Lady Louisa, she scarcely perceived that we were in the
room.</p>
<p> There has been company here all day, part of which I have spent most happily: for
after tea, when the ladies played at cards, Lord Orville, who does not, and I, who
cannot play, were consequently at our own disposal; and then his Lordship entered
into a conversation with me, which lasted till supper-time.</p>
<p> Almost insensibly, I find the constraint, the reserve, I have been wont to feel in
his presence, wear away; the politeness, the sweetness, with which he speaks to me,
restore all my natural cheerfulness, and make me almost as easy as he is himself;-and
the more so, as, if I may judge by his looks, I am rather raised, than sunk of late
in his opinion.</p>
<p> I asked him how the bet was, at last, to be decided? He told me that, to his great
satisfaction, the parties had been prevailed upon to lower the sum from one thousand
to one hundred pounds; and that they had agreed it should be determined by a race
between two old women, one of whom was to be chosen by each side, and both were to be
proved more than eighty years of age, though, in other respects strong and healthy as
possible.</p>
<p> When I expressed my surprise at this extraordinary method of spending so much money,
"I am charmed," said he, "at the novelty of meeting with one so unhackneyed in the
world, as not to be yet influenced by custom to forget the use of reason: for certain
it is, that the prevalence of fashion makes the greatest absurdities pass uncensured,
and the mind naturally accommodates itself even to the most ridiculous improprieties,
if they occur frequently."</p>
<p> "I should have hoped," said I, "that the humane proposal made yesterday by your
Lordship, would have had more effect."</p>
<p> "O," cried he, laughing, "I was so far from expecting any success, that I shall
think myself very fortunate if I escape the wit of Mr. Coverley in a lampoon! yet I
spoke openly, because I do not wish to conceal that I am no friend to gaming."</p>
<p> After this, he took up the New Bath Guide, and read it with me till supper-time. In
our way down stairs, Lady Louisa said, "I thought, brother, you were engaged this
evening?"</p>
<p> "Yes, sister," answered he, "and I have been engaged." And he bowed to me with an
air of gallantry that rather confused me. Sept. 23rd.</p>
<p> Almost insensibly have three days glided on since I wrote last, and so serenely,
that, but for your absence, I could not have formed a wish. My residence here is much
happier than I had dared expect. The attention with which Lord Orville honours me, is
as uniform as it is flattering, and seems to result from a benevolence of heart that
proves him as much a stranger to caprice as to pride; for, as his particular
civilities arose from a generous resentment at seeing me neglected, so will they, I
trust, continue, as long as I shall, in any degree, deserve them. I am now not merely
easy, but even gay in his presence: such is the effect of true politeness, that it
banishes all restraint and embarrassment. When we walk out, he condescends to be my
companion, and keeps by my side all the way we go. When we read, he marks the
passages most worthy to be noticed, draws out my sentiments, and favours me with his
own. At table, where he always sits next to me, he obliges me by a thousand nameless
attentions; while the distinguishing good-breeding with which he treats me, prevents
my repining at the visibly-felt superiority of the rest of the company. A thousand
occasional meetings could not have brought us to that degree of social freedom, which
four days spent under the same roof have, insensibly, been productive of: and, as my
only friend in this house, Mrs. Selwyn, is too much engrossed in perpetual
conversation to attend much to me, Lord Orville seems to regard me as a helpless
stranger, and, as such, to think me entitled to his good offices and protection.
Indeed, my dear Sir, I have reason to hope, that the depreciating opinion he formerly
entertained of me is succeeded by one infinitely more partial.-It may be that I
flatter myself; but yet his looks, his attentions, his desire of drawing me into
conversation, and his solicitude to oblige me, all conspire to make me hope I do not.
In short, my dearest Sir, these last four happy days would repay me for months of
sorrow and pain!</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXVI.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Clifton, Sept. 24th.</opener>
<p> THIS morning I came down stairs very early; and supposing that the family would not
assemble for some time, I strolled out, purposing to take a long walk, in the manner
I was wont to do at Berry Hill, before breakfast: but I had scarce shut the
garden-gate, before I was met by a gentleman, who, immediately bowing to me, I
recollected to be the unhappy Mr. Macartney. Very much surprised, I courtsied, and
stopped till he came up to me. He was still in mourning, but looked better than when
I saw him last, though he had the same air of melancholy which so much struck me at
first sight of him.</p>
<p> Addressing me with the utmost respect, "I am happy, Madam," said he, "to have met
with you so soon. I came to Bristol but yesterday, and have had no small difficulty
in tracing you to Clifton."</p>
<p> "Did you know, then, of my being here?"</p>
<p> "I did, Madam; the sole motive of my journey was to see you. I have been to Berry
Hill, and there I had my intelligence, and, at the same time, the unwelcome
information of your ill health."</p>
<p> "Good God! Sir,-and can you possibly have taken so much trouble?"</p>
<p> "Trouble! O, Madam, could there be any, to return you, the moment I had the power,
my personal acknowledgments for your goodness?"</p>
<p> I then enquired after Madame Duval and the Snow-Hill family. He told me they were
all well, and that Madame Duval proposed soon returning to Paris. When I
congratulated him on looking better, "It is yourself, Madam," said he, "you should
congratulate; for to your humanity alone it may now be owing that I exist at all." He
then told me, that his affairs were now in a less desperate situation; and that he
hoped, by the assistance of time and reason, to accommodate his mind to a more
cheerful submission to his fate. "The interest you so generously took in my
affliction," added he, "assures me you will not be displeased to hear of my better
fortune; I was therefore eager to acquaint you with it." He then told me that his
friend, the moment he had received his letter, quitted Paris, and flew to give him
his personal assistance and consolation. With a heavy heart, he acknowledged, he
accepted it; "but yet," he added, "I have accepted it; and therefore, as bound
equally by duty and honour, my first step was to hasten to the benefactress of my
distress, and to return" (presenting me something in a paper) "the only part of my
obligations that can be returned; for the rest, I have nothing but my gratitude to
offer, and must always be contented to consider myself her debtor."</p>
<p> I congratulated him most sincerely upon his dawning prosperity, but begged he would
not deprive me of the pleasure of being his friend; and declined receiving the money,
till his affairs were more settled.</p>
<p> While this point was in agitation, I heard Lord Orville's voice inquiring of the
gardener if he had seen me? I immediately opened the garden gate; and his Lordship,
advancing to me with quickness, said, "Good God! Miss Anville, have you been out
alone? Breakfast has been ready some time, and I have been round the garden in search
of you."</p>
<p> "Your Lordship has been very good," said I; "but I hope you have not waited."</p>
<p> "Not waited!" repeated he, smiling: "Do you think we could sit down quietly to
breakfast, with the idea that you had run away from us? But come," (offering to hand
me) "if we do not return, they will suppose I am run away too; and they very
naturally may, as they know the attraction of the magnet that draws me."</p>
<p> "I will come, my Lord," said I, rather embarrassed, "in two minutes." Then, turning
to Mr. Macartney, with yet more embarrassment, I wished him good morning.</p>
<p> He advanced towards the garden, with the paper still in his hand.</p>
<p> "No, no," cried I, "some other time."</p>
<p> "May I then, Madam, have the honour of seeing you again?"</p>
<p> I did not dare take the liberty of inviting any body to the house of Mrs. Beaumont,
nor yet had I the presence of mind to make an excuse; and, therefore, not knowing how
to refuse him, I said, "Perhaps you may be this way again to-morrow morning,-and I
believe I shall walk out before breakfast."</p>
<p> He bowed, and went away; while I, turning again to Lord Orville, saw his countenance
so much altered, that I was frightened at what I had so hastily said. He did not
again offer me his hand; but walked, silent and slow, by my side. Good Heaven!
thought I, what may he not suppose from this adventure? May he not, by my desire of
meeting Mr. Macartney to-morrow, imagine it was by design I walked out to meet him
to-day? Tormented by this apprehension, I determined to avail myself of the freedom
which his behaviour, since I came hither, has encouraged; and, since he would not ask
any questions, begin an explanation myself. I therefore slackened my pace to gain
time; and then said, "Was not your Lordship surprised to see me speaking with a
stranger?"</p>
<p> "A stranger?" repeated he; "is it possible that gentleman can be a stranger to
you?"</p>
<p> "No, my Lord," said I, stammering, "not to me -but only it might look-he might
seem-"</p>
<p> "No, believe me," said he, with a forced smile, "I could never suppose<lb/>Miss
Anville would make an appointment with a stranger."</p>
<p> "An appointment, my Lord?" repeated I, colouring violently.</p>
<p> "Pardon me, Madam," answered he, "but I thought I had heard one."</p>
<p> I was so much confounded that I could not speak: yet, finding he walked quietly on,
I could not endure he should make his own interpretation of my silence: and
therefore, as soon as I recovered from my surprise, I said, "Indeed, my Lord, you are
much mistaken, Mr. Macartney had particular business with me-and I could not-I knew
not, how to refuse seeing him;-but indeed, my Lord-I had not,-he had not,-" I
stammered so terribly that I could not go on.</p>
<p> "I am very sorry," said he, gravely, "that I have been so unfortunate as to distress
you; but I should not have followed you had I not imagined you were merely walked out
for the air."</p>
<p> "And so I was!" cried I, eagerly, "indeed, my Lord, I was! My meeting with Mr.
Macartney was quite accidental; and, if your Lordship thinks there is any impropriety
in my seeing him to-morrow, I am ready to give up that intention."</p>
<p> "If I think!" said he, in a tone of surprise; "surely Miss Anville cannot leave the
arbitration of a point so delicate to one who is ignorant of all the circumstances
which attend it?"</p>
<p> "If," said I, "it was worth your Lordship's time to hear them,-you should not be
ignorant of the circumstances which attend it."</p>
<p> "The sweetness of Miss Anville's disposition," said he, in a softened voice, "I have
long admired; and the offer of a communication, which does me so much honour, is too
grateful to me not to be eagerly caught at."</p>
<p> Just then Mrs. Selwyn opened the parlour window, and our conversation ended. I was
rallied upon my passion for solitary walking; but no questions were asked me.</p>
<p> When breakfast was over, I hoped to have had some opportunity of speaking with Lord
Orville; but Lord Merton and Mr. Coverley came in, and insisted up his opinion of the
spot they had fixed upon for the old women's race. The ladies declared they would be
of the party; and accordingly we all went.</p>
<p> The race is to be run in Mrs. Beaumont's garden; the two gentlemen are as anxious,
as if their joint lives depended upon it. They have at length fixed upon objects; but
have found great difficulty in persuading them to practise running, in order to try
their strength. This grand affair is to be decided next Thursday.</p>
<p> When we returned to the house, the entrance of more company still prevented my
having any conversation with Lord Orville. I was very much chagrined, as I knew he
was engaged at the Hotwells in the afternoon. Seeing, therefore, no probability of
speaking to him before the time of my meeting Mr. Macartney arrived, I determined
that, rather than risk his ill opinion, I would leave Mr. Macartney to his own
suggestions.</p>
<p> Yet, when I reflected upon his peculiar situation, his poverty, his sadness, and,
more than all the rest, the idea I knew he entertained of what he calls his
obligations to me, I could not resolve upon a breach of promise, which might be
attributed to causes, of all the others the most offensive to one whom misfortune has
made extremely suspicious of slights and contempt.</p>
<p> After the most uneasy consideration, I at length determined upon writing an excuse,
which would, at once, save me from either meeting or affronting him. I therefore
begged Mrs. Selwyn's leave to send her man to the Hotwells, which she instantly
granted; and then I wrote the following note:</p>
<floatingText type="letter">
<body>
<div type="letter">
<salute>"To Mr. Macartney.</salute>
<p>"SIR,</p>
<p>          "As it will not be in my power to walk out to-morrow
morning,<lb/>         I would<lb/>        by no means give you the trouble
of coming to Clifton. I hope,<lb/>        however, to have the pleasure of
seeing you before you quit<lb/>        Bristol. I am, Sir, your obedient
servant, "EVELINA ANVILLE."</p>
</div>
</body>
</floatingText>
<p> I desired the servant to enquire at the pump-room where Mr. Macartney lived, and
returned to the parlour.</p>
<p> As soon as the company dispersed, the ladies retired to dress. I then, unexpectedly,
found myself alone with Lord Orville; who, the moment I rose to follow Mrs. Selwyn,
advanced to me, and said, "Will Miss Anville pardon my impatience, if I remind her of
the promise she was so good as to make me this morning?"</p>
<p> I stopped, and would have returned to my seat; but before I had time, the servants
came to lay the cloth. He retreated, and went towards the window; and, while I was
considering in what manner to begin, I could not help asking myself what right I had
to communicate the affairs of Mr. Macartney: and I doubted whether, to clear myself
from one act of imprudence, I had not committed another.</p>
<p> Distressed by this reflection, I thought it best to quit the room, and give myself
some time for consideration before I spoke; and therefore, only saying I must hasten
to dress, I ran up stairs, rather abruptly I own; and so, I fear, Lord Orville must
think. Yet what could I do? Unused to the situations in which I find myself, and
embarrassed by the slightest difficulties, I seldom, till too late, discover how I
ought to act.</p>
<p> Just as we were all assembled to dinner, Mrs. Selwyn's man, coming into the parlour,
presented to me a letter, and said, "I can't find out Mr. Macartney, Madam; but the
post-office people will let you know if they hear of him."</p>
<p> I was extremely ashamed of this public message; and, meeting the eyes of Lord
Orville, which were earnestly fixed on me, my confusion redoubled, and I knew not
which way to look. All dinner-time he was as silent as myself; and the moment it was
in my power I left the table, and went to my own room. Mrs. Selwyn presently followed
me; and her questions obliged me to own almost all the particulars of my acquaintance
with Mr. Macartney, in order to excuse my writing to him. She said it was a most
romantic affair, and spoke her sentiments with great severity; declaring that she had
no doubt but he was an adventurer and an impostor.</p>
<p> And now, my dear Sir, I am totally at a loss what I ought to do; the more I reflect,
the more sensible I am of the utter impropriety, nay, treachery, of revealing the
story, and publishing the misfortunes and poverty of Mr. Macartney; who has an
undoubted right to my secrecy and discretion, and whose letter charges me to regard
his communication as sacred.-And yet, the appearance of mystery,-perhaps something
worse, which this affair must have to Lord Orville,-his seriousness,-and the promise
I have made him, are inducements scarce to be resisted for trusting him with the
openness he has reason to expect from me.</p>
<p> I am equally distressed, too, whether or not I should see Mr. Macartney to-morrow
morning.</p>
<p> Oh, Sir, could I now be enlightened by your counsel, from what anxiety and
perplexity should I be relieved!</p>
<p> But now,-I ought not to betray Mr. Macartney, and I will not forfeit a confidence
which would never have been reposed in me, but from a reliance upon my honour, which
I should blush to find myself unworthy of. Desirous as I am of the good opinion of
Lord Orville, I will endeavour to act as if I was guided by your advice; and, making
it my sole aim to deserve it, leave to time and to fate my success or
disappointment.</p>
<p> Since I have formed this resolution, my mind is more at ease. But I will not finish
my letter till the affair is decided.</p>
<p> Sept. 25th.</p>
<p> I rose very early this morning; and, after a thousand different plans, not being
able to resolve upon giving poor Mr. Macartney leave to suppose I neglected him, I
thought it incumbent upon me to keep my word, since he had not received my letter; I
therefore determined to make my own apologies, not to stay with him two minutes, and
to excuse myself from meeting him any more.</p>
<p> Yet, uncertain whether I was wrong or right, it was with fear and trembling that I
opened the garden-gate;-judge then, of my feelings, when the first object I saw was
Lord Orville!-he, too, looked extremely disconcerted, and said, in a hesitating
manner, "Pardon me, Madam,-I did not intend,-I did not imagine you would have been
here so soon-or-or I would not have come."-And then, with a hasty bow, he passed me,
and proceeded to the garden.</p>
<p> I was scarce able to stand, so greatly did I feel myself shocked; but, upon my
saying, almost involuntarily, "Oh, my Lord!"-he turned back, and, after a short
pause, said, "Did you speak to me, Madam?"</p>
<p> I could not immediately answer; I seemed choaked, and was even forced to support
myself by the garden-gate.</p>
<p> Lord Orville, soon recovering his dignity, said, "I know not how to apologize for
being, just now, at this place;-and I cannot, immediately-if ever -clear myself from
the imputation of impertinent curiosity, to which I fear you will attribute it:
however, at present, I will only intreat your pardon, without detaining you any
longer." Again he bowed, and left me.</p>
<p> For some moments I remained fixed to the same spot, and in the same position,
immoveable, as if I had been transformed to a stone. My first impulse was to call him
back, and instantly tell him the whole affair; but I checked this desire, though I
would have given the world to have indulged it; something like pride aided what I
thought due to Mr. Macartney, and I determined not only to keep his secret, but to
delay any sort of explanation till Lord Orville should condescend to request it.</p>
<p> Slowly he walked; and, before he entered the house, he looked back, but hastily
withdrew his eyes, upon finding I observed him.</p>
<p> Indeed, my dear Sir, you cannot easily imagine a situation more uncomfortable than
mine was at that time; to be suspected by Lord Orville of any clandestine actions
wounded my soul; I was too much discomposed to wait for Mr. Macartney, nor in truth,
could I endure to have the design of my staying so well known. Yet I was so extremely
agitated, that I could hardly move; and I have reason to believe Lord Orville, from
the parlour-window, saw me tottering along; for, before I had taken five steps, he
came out, and, hastening to meet me, said, "I fear you are not well; pray, allow me
(offering his arm) to assist you."</p>
<p> "No, my Lord," said I, with all the resolution I could assume; yet I was affected by
an attention, at that time so little expected, and forced to turn away my head to
conceal my emotion.</p>
<p> "You must," said he, with earnestness, "indeed you must,-I am sure you are not
well;-refuse me not the honour of assisting you;" and, almost forcibly, he took my
hand, and, drawing it under his arm, obliged me to lean upon him. That I submitted
was partly the effect of surprise, at an earnestness so uncommon in Lord Orville,
and, partly, that I did not just then dare trust my voice to make any objection.</p>
<p>   When we came to the house, he led me into the parlour, and to a<lb/>  chair,
and<lb/>begged to know if I would not have a glass of water.</p>
<p> "No, my Lord, I thank you," said I, "I am perfectly recovered;" and, rising, I
walked to the window, where, for some time, I pretended to be occupied in looking at
the garden.</p>
<p> Determined as I was to act honourably by Mr. Macartney, I yet most anxiously wished
to be restored to the good opinion of Lord Orville; but his silence, and the
thoughtfulness of his air, discouraged me from speaking.</p>
<p> My situation soon grew disagreeable and embarrassing, and I resolved to return to my
chamber till breakfast was ready. To remain longer I feared might seem asking for his
enquiries; and I was sure it would ill become me to be more eager to speak, than he
was to hear.</p>
<p> Just as I reached the door, turning to me hastily, he said, "Are you going, Miss
Anville?"</p>
<p> "I am, my Lord," answered I; yet I stopped.</p>
<p> "Perhaps to return to-but I beg your pardon!" He spoke with a degree of agitation
that made me readily comprehend he meant to the garden; and I instantly said, "To my
own room, my Lord." And again I would have gone; but, convinced by my answer that I
understood him, I believe he was sorry for the insinuation: he approached me with a
very serious air, though at the same time he forced a smile, and said, "I know not
what evil genius pursues me this morning, but I seem destined to do or to say
something I ought not: I am so much ashamed of myself, that I can scarce solicit your
forgiveness."</p>
<p> "My forgiveness! my Lord?" cried I, abashed, rather than elated by his
condescension; "surely you cannot-you are not serious?"</p>
<p> "Indeed, never more so! yet, if I may be my own interpreter, Miss<lb/>Anville's
countenance pronounces my pardon."</p>
<p> "I know not, my Lord, how any one can pardon, who never has been offended."</p>
<p> "You are very good; yet I could expect no less from a sweetness of disposition which
baffles all comparison: you will not think I am an encroacher, and that I take
advantage of your goodness, should I once more remind you of the promise you
vouchsafed me yesterday?"</p>
<p> "No, indeed; on the contrary I shall be very happy to acquit myself in your
Lordship's opinion."</p>
<p>   "Acquittal you need not," said he, leading me again to the window;<lb/>  "yet
I<lb/>own my curiosity is strongly excited."</p>
<p> When I was seated, I found myself much at a loss what to say; yet, after a short
silence, assuming all the courage in my power, "Will you not, my Lord," said I,
"think me trifling and capricious, should I own I have repented the promise I made,
and should I entreat your Lordship not to insist upon my strict performance of it?"-I
spoke so hastily, that I did not, at the time, consider the impropriety of what I
said.</p>
<p> As he was entirely silent, and profoundly attentive, I continued to speak without
interruption.</p>
<p> "If your Lordship, by any other means, knew the circumstances attending my
acquaintance with Mr. Macartney, I am most sure you would yourself disapprove my
relating them. He is a gentleman, and has been very unfortunate;-but I am not-I
think,-at liberty to say more: yet I am sure, if he knew your Lordship wished to hear
any particulars of his affairs, he would readily consent to my acknowledging
them;-shall I, my Lord, ask his permission?"</p>
<p> "His affairs!" repeated Lord Orville; "by no means, I have not the least curiosity
about them."</p>
<p> "I beg your Lordship's pardon,-but indeed I had understood the contrary."</p>
<p> "Is it possible, Madam, you could suppose the affairs of an utter stranger can
excite my curiosity?"</p>
<p> The gravity and coldness with which he asked this question very much abashed me. But
Lord Orville is the most delicate of men! and, presently recollecting himself, he
added, "I mean not to speak with indifference of any friend of yours,-far from it;
any such will always command my good wishes: yet I own I am rather disappointed; and
though I doubt not the justice of your reason, to which I implicitly submit, you must
not wonder, that, when upon the point of being honoured with your confidence, I
should feel the greatest regret at finding it withdrawn."</p>
<p> Do you think, my dear sir, I did not, at that moment, require all my resolution to
guard me from frankly telling him whatever he wished to hear? yet I rejoice that I
did not; for, added to the actual wrong I should have done, Lord Orville himself,
when he had heard, would, I am sure, have blamed me. Fortunately, this thought
occurred to me; an I said, "Your Lordship shall yourself be my judge; the promise I
made, though voluntary, was rash and inconsiderate; yet, had it concerned myself, I
would not have hesitated in fulfilling it; but the gentleman, whose affairs I should
be obliged to relate-"</p>
<p> "Pardon me," cried he, "for interrupting you; yet allow me to assure you, I have not
the slightest desire to be acquainted with his affairs, further than what belongs to
the motives which induced you yesterday morning-" He stopped; but there was no
occasion to say more.</p>
<p> "That, my Lord," cried I, "I will tell you honestly. Mr. Macartney had some
particular business with me, and I could not take the liberty to ask him hither."</p>
<p> "And why not?-Mr. Beaumont, I am sure-"</p>
<p> "I could not, my Lord, think of intruding upon Mrs. Beaumont's complaisance; and so,
with the same hasty folly I promised your Lordship, I much more rashly promised to
meet him."</p>
<p> "And did you?"</p>
<p> "No, my Lord," said I, colouring, "I returned before he came."</p>
<p> Again, for some time, we were both silent; yet, unwilling to leave him to
reflections which could not but be to my disadvantage, I summoned sufficient courage
to say, "There is no young creature, my Lord, who so greatly wants, or so earnestly
wishes for, the advice and assistance of her friends, as I do: I am new to the world,
and unused to acting for myself;-my intentions are never willfully blameable, yet I
err perpetually!-I have hitherto been blessed with the most affectionate of friends,
and, indeed, the ablest of men, to guide and instruct me upon every occasion:-but he
is too distant, now, to be applied to at the moment I want his aid:-and here,-there
is not a human being whose counsel I can ask."</p>
<p> "Would to Heaven," cried he, with a countenance from which all coldness and gravity
were banished, and succeeded by the mildest benevolence, "that I were worthy,-and
capable,-of supplying the place of such a friend to Miss Anville!"</p>
<p> "You do me but too much honour," said I, "yet I hope your Lordship's
candour,-perhaps I ought to say indulgence,-will make some allowance, on account of
my inexperience, for behaviour so inconsiderate:-May I, my Lord, hope that you
will?"</p>
<p>  "May I," cried he, "hope that you will pardon the ill-grace with<lb/> which I
have<lb/>submitted to my disappointment? And that you will permit me (kissing<lb/>my
hand) thus to seal my peace?"</p>
<p> "Our peace, my Lord!" said I, with revived spirits.</p>
<p> "This, then," said he, again pressing it to his lips, "for our peace: and now,-are
we not friends?"</p>
<p> Just then the door opened, and I had only time to withdraw my hand, before the
ladies came in to breakfast.</p>
<p> I have been, all day, the happiest of human beings!-to be thus reconciled to Lord
Orville, and yet to adhere to my resolution,-what could I wish for more?-he too has
been very cheerful, and more attentive, more obliging to me than ever. Yet Heaven
forbid I should again be in a similar situation, for I cannot express how much
uneasiness I have suffered from the fear of incurring his ill opinion.</p>
<p> But what will poor Mr. Macartney think of me? Happy as I am, I much regret the
necessity I have been under of disappointing him.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dearest Sir.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXVII.</head>
<opener> MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA. Berry Hill, Sept. 28th.</opener>
<p> DEAD to the world, and equally insensible to its pleasures or its pains, I long
since bad adieu to all joy, and defiance to all sorrow, but what should spring from
my Evelina,-sole source, to me, of all earthly felicity. How strange, then, is it,
that the letter in which she tells me she is the happiest of human beings, should
give me most mortal inquietude!</p>
<p> Alas, my child!-that innocence, the first, best gift of Heaven, should, of all
others, be the blindest to its own danger,-the most exposed to treachery,-and the
least able to defend itself, in a world where it is little known, less valued, and
perpetually deceived!</p>
<p> Would to Heaven you were here!-then, by degrees, and with gentleness, I might enter
upon a subject too delicate for distant discussion. Yet is it too interesting, and
the situation too critical, to allow of delay.-Oh, my Evelina, your situation is
critical indeed!-your peace of mind is at stake, and every chance for your future
happiness may depend upon the conduct of the present moment.</p>
<p> Hitherto I have forborne to speak with you upon the most important of all concerns,
the state of your heart:-alas, I need no information! I have been silent, indeed, but
I have not been blind.</p>
<p> Long, and with the deepest regret, have I perceived the ascendancy which Lord
Orville has gained upon your mind.-You will start at the mention of his name,-you
will tremble every word you read;-I grieve to give pain to my gentle Evelina, but I
dare not any longer spare her.</p>
<p> Your first meeting with Lord Orville was decisive. Lively, fearless, free from all
other impressions, such a man as you describe him could not fail of exciting your
admiration; and the more dangerously, because he seemed as unconscious of his power
as you of your weakness; and therefore you had no alarm, either from his vanity of
your own prudence.</p>
<p> Young, animated, entirely off your guard, and thoughtless of consequences,
Imagination took the reins; and Reason, slow-paced, though sure-footed, was unequal
to the race of so eccentric and flighty a companion. How rapid was then my Evelina's
progress through those regions of fancy and passion whither her new guide conducted
her!-She saw Lord Orville at a ball,-and he was the most amiable of men! -She met him
again at another,-and he had every virtue under Heaven!</p>
<p> I mean not to depreciate the merit of Lord Orville, who, one mysterious instance
alone excepted, seems to have deserved the idea you formed of his character; but it
was not time, it was not the knowledge of his worth, obtained your regard: your new
comrade had not patience to wait any trial; her glowing pencil, dipt in the vivid
colours of her creative ideas, painted to you, at the moment of your first
acquaintance, all the excellencies, all the good and rare qualities, which a great
length of time and intimacy could alone have really discovered.</p>
<p> You flattered yourself that your partiality was the effect of esteem, founded upon a
general love of merit, and a principle of justice; and your heart, which fell the
sacrifice of your error, was totally gone ere you expected it was in danger.</p>
<p> A thousand times have I been upon the point of showing you the perils of your
situation; but the same inexperience which occasioned your mistake, I hoped, with the
assistance of time and absence, would effect a cure: I was, indeed, most unwilling to
destroy your illusion, while I dared hope it might itself contribute to the
restoration of your tranquillity; since your ignorance of the danger, and force of
your attachment, might possibly prevent that despondency with which young people, in
similar circumstances, are apt to persuade themselves, that what is only difficult,
is absolutely impossible.</p>
<p> But, now, since you have again met, and have become more intimate than ever, all my
hope from silence and seeming ignorance is at an end.</p>
<p> Awake then, my dear, my deluded child, awake to the sense of your danger, and exert
yourself to avoid the evils with which it threatens you:-evils which, to a mind like
yours, are most to be dreaded; secret repining, and concealed, yet consuming regret!
Make a noble effort for the recovery of your peace, which now, with sorrow I see it,
depends wholly upon the presence of Lord Orville. This effort may indeed be painful;
but trust to my experience, when I assure you it is requisite.</p>
<p> You must quit him!-his sight is baneful to your repose, his society is death to your
future tranquillity! Believe me, my beloved child, my heart aches for your suffering,
while it dictates its necessity.</p>
<p> Could I flatter myself that Lord Orville would, indeed, be sensible of your worth,
and act with a nobleness of mind which should prove it congenial to your own, then
would I leave my Evelina to the unmolested enjoyment of the cheerful society, and
increasing regard, of a man she so greatly admires: but this is not an age in which
we may trust to appearances; and imprudence is much sooner regretted than repaired.
Your health, you tell me, is much mended:-Can you then consent to leave Bristol?-not
abruptly, that I do not desire, but in a few days from the time you receive this? I
will write to Mrs. Selwyn, and tell her how much I wish your return; and Mrs. Clinton
can take sufficient care of you.</p>
<p> I have meditated upon every possible expedient that might tend to your happiness,
ere I fixed upon exacting from you a compliance which I am convinced will be most
painful to you; but I can satisfy myself in none. This will at least be safe; and as
to success,-we must leave it to time.</p>
<p> I am very glad to hear of Mr. Macartney's welfare.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dearest child! Heaven preserve and strengthen you! A.V.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXVIII.</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. Clifton, Sept. 28th.</opener>
<p> SWEETLY, most sweetly, have two days more passed since I wrote: but I have been too
much engaged to be exact in my journal.</p>
<p> To-day has been less tranquil. It was destined for the decision of the important
bet, and has been productive of general confusion throughout the house. It was
settled that the race should be run at five o'clock in the afternoon. Lord Merton
breakfasted here, and staid till noon. He wanted to engage the ladies to bet on his
side, in the true spirit of gaming, without seeing the racers. But he could only
prevail on Lady Louisa, as Mrs. Selwyn said she never laid a wager against her own
wishes, and Mrs. Beaumont would not take sides. As for me, I was not applied to. It
is impossible for negligence to be more pointed than that of Lord Merton to me, in
the presence of Lady Louisa.</p>
<p> But, just before dinner, I happened to be alone in the drawing-room, when his
Lordship suddenly returned; and, coming in with his usual familiarity, he was
beginning, "You see, Lady Louisa,-" but stopping short, "Pray, where's every body
gone?"</p>
<p> "Indeed I don't know, my Lord."</p>
<p> He then shut the door; and, with a great alteration in his face and manner, advanced
eagerly towards me, and said, "How glad I am, my sweet girl, to meet you, at last,
alone! By my soul I began to think there was a plot against me, for I've never been
able to have you a minute to myself." And very freely he seized my hand.</p>
<p> I was so much surprised at this address, after having been so long totally
neglected, that I could make no other answer, than staring at him with unfeigned
astonishment.</p>
<p> "Why now," continued he, "if you was not the cruellest little angel in the world,
you would have helped me to some expedient: for you see how I am watched here; Lady
Louisa's eyes are never off me. She gives me a charming foretaste of the pleasures of
a wife! However, it won't last long."</p>
<p> Disgusted to the greatest degree, I attempted to draw away my hand; but I believe I
should not have succeeded if Mrs. Beaumont had not made her appearance. He turned
from me with the greatest assurance, and said, "How are you, Ma'am?-how is Lady
Louisa?-you see I can't live a moment out of the house."</p>
<p> Could you, my dearest Sir, have believed it possible for such effrontery to be in
man?</p>
<p> Before dinner came Mr. Coverley, and, before five o'clock, Mr. Lovel and some other
company. The place marked out for the race, was a gravel-walk in Mrs. Beaumont's
garden, and the length of the ground twenty yards. When we were summoned to the
course, the two poor old women made their appearance. Though they seemed very healthy
for their time of life, they yet looked so weak, so infirm, so feeble, that I could
feel no sensation but that of pity at the sight. However, this was not the general
sense of the company; for they no sooner came forward, than they were greeted with a
laugh from every beholder, Lord Orville excepted, who looked very grave during the
whole transaction. Doubtless he must be greatly discontented at the dissipated
conduct and extravagance of a man, with whom he is soon to be so nearly
connected.</p>
<p> For some time, the scene was truly ridiculous: the agitation of the parties
concerned, and the bets that were laid upon the old women, were absurd beyond
measure. Who are you for? and whose side are you of? was echoed from mouth to mouth
by the whole company. Lord Merton and Mr. Coverley were both so excessively gay and
noisy, that I soon found they had been free in drinking to their success. They
handed, with loud shouts, the old women to the race-ground, and encouraged them by
liberal promises to exert themselves.</p>
<p> When the signal was given for them to set off, the poor creatures, feeble and
frightened, ran against each other: and, neither of them able to support the shock,
they both fell on the ground.</p>
<p> Lord Merton and Mr. Coverley flew to their assistance. Seats were brought for them;
and they each drank a glass of wine. They complained of being much bruised; for,
heavy and helpless, they had not been able to save themselves, but fell with their
whole weight upon the gravel. However, as they seemed equal sufferers, both parties
were too eager to have the affair deferred.</p>
<p> Again therefore they set off, and hobbled along, nearly even with each other, for
some time; yet frequently, to the inexpressible diversion of the company, they
stumbled and tottered; and the confused hallooing of "Now, Coverley!" "Now, Merton!"
run from side to side during the whole affair.</p>
<p> Not long after, a foot of one of the poor women slipt, and with great force she came
again to the ground. Involuntarily, I sprung forward to assist her; but Lord Merton,
to whom she did not belong, stopped me, calling out, "No foul play! No foul
play!"</p>
<p> Mr. Coverley then, repeating the same words, went himself to help her, and insisted
that the other should stop. A debate ensued; but the poor creature was too much hurt
to move, and declared her utter inability to make another attempt. Mr. Coverley was
quite brutal: he swore at her with unmanly rage, and seemed scarce able to refrain
even from striking her.</p>
<p> Lord Merton then, in great rapture, said it was a hollow thing; but Mr. Coverley
contended, that the fall was accidental, and time should be allowed for the woman to
recover. However, all the company being against him, he was pronounced the loser.</p>
<p> We then went to the drawing-room, to tea. After which, the evening being remarkably
warm, we all walked in the garden. Lord Merton was quite riotous, and Lady Louisa in
high spirits; but Mr. Coverley endeavoured, in vain, to conceal his chagrin.</p>
<p> As Lord Orville was thoughtful, and walked by himself, I expected that, as usual, I
should pass unnoticed, and be left to my own meditations: but this was not the case;
for Lord Merton, entirely off his guard, giddy equally from wine and success, was
very troublesome to me; and, regardless of the presence of Lady Louisa, which
hitherto has restrained him even from common civility, he attached himself to me,
during the walk, with a freedom of gallantry that put me extremely out of
countenance. He paid me the most high-flown compliments; and frequently and forcibly
seized my hand, though I repeatedly, and with undissembled anger, drew it back. Lord
Orville, I saw, watched us with earnestness; and Lady Louisa's smiles were converted
into looks of disdain.</p>
<p> I could not bear to be thus situated; and complaining I was tired,<lb/>I quickened
my pace, with intention to return to the house; but<lb/>Lord Merton, hastily
following, caught my hand, and saying the day<lb/>was his own, vowed he would not let
me go.</p>
<p> "You must, my Lord," cried I, extremely flurried.</p>
<p> "You are the most charming girl in the world," said he, "and never looked better
than at this moment."</p>
<p> "My Lord," cried Mrs. Selwyn, advancing to us, "you don't consider, that the better
Miss Anville looks the more striking is the contrast with your Lordship; therefore,
for your own sake, I would advise you not to hold her."</p>
<p> "Egad, my Lord," cried Mr. Coverley, "I don't see what right you have to the best
old, and the best young woman too, in the same day."</p>
<p> "Best young woman!" repeated Mr. Lovel; "'pon honour, Jack, you have made a most
unfortunate speech; however, if Lady Louisa can pardon you,-and her Ladyship is all
goodness,-I am sure nobody else can; for you have committed an outrageous solecism in
good manners."</p>
<p> "And pray, Sir," said Mrs. Selwyn, "under what denomination may your own speech
pass?"</p>
<p> Mr. Lovel, turning another way, affected not to hear her: and Mr. Coverley, bowing
to Lady Louisa, said, "Her Ladyship is well acquainted with my devotion;-but, egad, I
don't know how it is,-I had always an unlucky turn at an epigram, and never could
resist a smart play upon words in my life."</p>
<p> "Pray, my Lord," cried I, "let go my hand! Pray, Mrs. Selwyn, speak for me."</p>
<p> "My Lord," said Mrs. Selwyn, "in detaining Miss Anville any longer you only lose
time; for we are already as well convinced of your valour and your strength, as if
you were to hold her an age."</p>
<p> "My Lord," said Mrs. Beaumont, "I must beg leave to interfere: I know not if Lady
Louisa can pardon you; but as this young lady is at my house, I do not choose to have
her made uneasy."</p>
<p> "I pardon him!" cried Lady Louisa; "I declare I am monstrous glad to get rid of
him."</p>
<p> "Egad, my Lord," cried Mr. Coverley, "while you are grasping at a shadow, you'll
lose a substance; you'd best make your peace while you can."</p>
<p> "Pray, Mr. Coverley, be quiet," said Lady Louisa, peevishly; "for I declare I won't
speak to him. Brother," taking hold of Lord Orville's arm, "will you walk in with
me?"</p>
<p> "Would to Heaven," cried I, frightened to see how much Lord Merton was in liquor,
"that I too had a brother!-and then I should not be exposed to such treatment."</p>
<p> Lord Orville, instantly quitting Lady Louisa, said, "Will Miss Anville allow me the
honour of taking that title?" and then, without waiting for any answer, he disengaged
me from Lord Merton; and, handing me to Lady Louisa, "Let me," added he, "take equal
care of both my sisters;" and then, desiring her, to take hold of one arm, and
begging me to make use of the other, we reached the house in a moment. Lord Merton,
disordered as he was, attempted not to stop us.</p>
<p> As soon as we entered the house, I withdrew my arm, and courtsied my thanks, for my
heart was too full for speech. Lady Louisa, evidently hurt at her brother's
condescension, and piqued extremely by Lord Merton's behaviour, silently drew away
hers; and biting her lips, with a look of infinite vexation, walked sullenly up the
hall.</p>
<p> Lord Orville asked her if she would not go into the parlour?</p>
<p> "No," answered she, haughtily, "I leave you and your new sister together:" and then
she walked up stairs.</p>
<p> I was quite confounded at the pride and rudeness of this speech. Lord Orville
himself seemed thunderstruck: I turned from him, and went into the parlour: he
followed me, saying, "Must I now apologize to Miss Anville for the liberty of my
interference?-or ought I to apologize, that I did not, as I wished, interfere
sooner?"</p>
<p> "O, my Lord," cried I, with an emotion I could not repress, "it is from you alone I
meet with any respect;-all others treat me with impertinence, or contempt!"</p>
<p> I am sorry I had not more command of myself, as he had reason just then to suppose I
particularly meant his sister; which, I am sure, must very much hurt him.</p>
<p> "Good Heaven," cried he, "that so much sweetness and merit can fail to excite the
love and admiration so justly their due! I cannot,-I dare not express to you half the
indignation I feel at this moment!"</p>
<p> "I am sorry, my Lord," said I, more calmly, "to have raised it; but yet,-in a
situation that calls for protection, to meet only with mortifications,-indeed, but I
am ill formed to bear them!"</p>
<p> "My dear Miss Anville," cried he, warmly, "allow me to be your friend; think of me
as if I were indeed your brother; and let me intreat you to accept my best services,
if there is any thing in which I can be so happy as to show my regard,-my respect for
you!"</p>
<p> Before I had time to speak, the rest of the party entered the parlour; and, as I did
not wish to see anything more of Lord Merton, at least before he had slept, I
determined to leave it. Lord Orville, seeing my design, said, as I passed him, "Will
you go?" "Had not I best, my Lord?" said I. "I am afraid," said he, smiling, "since I
must now speak as your brother, I am afraid you had; -you see you may trust me, since
I can advise against my own interest."</p>
<p> I then left the room, and have been writing ever since. And, methinks, I can never
lament the rudeness of Lord Merton, as it has more than ever confirmed to me the
esteem of Lord Orville.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXIX.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Sept. 30th.</opener>
<p> OH, Sir, what a strange incident have I to recite! what a field of conjecture to
open!</p>
<p> Yesterday evening we all went to an assembly. Lord Orville presented tickets to the
whole family; and did me the honour, to the no small surprise of all here, I believe,
to dance with me. But every day abounds in fresh instances of his condescending
politeness; and he now takes every opportunity of calling me his friend and his
sister.</p>
<p> Lord Merton offered a ticket to Lady Louisa; but she was so much incensed against
him, that she refused it with the utmost disdain: neither could he prevail upon her
to dance with him; she sat still the whole evening, and deigned not to look at or
speak to him. To me her behaviour is almost the same: for she is cold, distant, and
haughty, and her eyes express the greatest contempt. But for Lord Orville, how
miserable would my residence here make me!</p>
<p> We were joined in the ball-room by Mr. Coverley, Mr. Lovel, and Lord Merton, who
looked as if he was doing penance, and sat all the evening next to Lady Louisa,
vainly endeavouring to appease her anger.</p>
<p> Lord Orville began the minuets: he danced with a young lady who seemed to engage the
general attention, as she had not been seen here before. She is pretty, and looks
mild and good-humoured.</p>
<p> "Pray, Mr. Lovel," said Lady Louisa, "who is that?"</p>
<p> "Miss Belmont," answered he, "the young heiress: she came to the<lb/>Wells
yesterday."</p>
<p> Struck with the name, I involuntarily repeated it; but nobody heard me.</p>
<p> "What is her family?" said Mrs. Beaumont.</p>
<p> "Have you not heard of her, Ma'am?" cried he; "she is only daughter and heiress of
Sir John Belmont."</p>
<p> Good Heaven, how did I start! the name struck my ear like a thunderbolt. Mrs.
Selwyn, who immediately looked at me, said, "Be calm, my dear, and we will learn the
truth of all this."</p>
<p> Till then I had never imagined her to be acquainted with my story; but she has since
told me, that she knew my unhappy mother, and was well informed of the whole
affair.</p>
<p> She asked Mr. Lovel a multitude of questions; and I gathered from his answers, that
this young lady was just come from abroad with Sir John Belmont, who was now in
London; that she was under the care of his sister, Mrs. Paterson; and that she would
inherit a considerable estate.</p>
<p> I cannot express the strange feelings with which I was agitated during this recital.
What, my dearest Sir, can it possibly mean? Did you ever hear of any
after-marriage?-or must I suppose, that, while the lawful child is rejected, another
is adopted?-I know not what to think! I am bewildered with a contrariety of
ideas!</p>
<p> When we came home, Mrs. Selwyn passed more than an hour in my room conversing upon
this subject. She says, that I ought instantly to go to town, find out my father, and
have the affair cleared up. She assures me I have too strong a resemblance to my
dear, though unknown, mother, to allow of the least hesitation in my being owned,
when once I am seen. For my part, I have no wish but to act by your direction.</p>
<p> I cannot give any account of the evening; so disturbed, so occupied am I by this
subject, that I can think of no other. I have entreated Mrs. Selwyn to observe the
strictest secrecy, and she has promised that she will. Indeed, she has too much sense
to be idly communicative.</p>
<p> Lord Orville took notice of my being absent and silent; but I ventured not to
intrust him with the cause. Fortunately, he was not of the party at the time Mr.
Lovel made the discovery.</p>
<p> Mrs. Selwyn says, that if you approve my going to town, she will herself accompany
me. I had a thousand times rather ask the protection of Mrs. Mirvan, but, after this
offer that will not be possible.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dearest Sir. I am sure you will write immediately, and I shall be all
impatience till your letter arrives.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXX.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Oct. 1st.</opener>
<p> GOOD God, my dear Sir, what a wonderful tale have I again to relate! even yet, I am
not recovered from my extreme surprise.</p>
<p> Yesterday morning, as soon as I had finished my hasty letter, I was summoned to
attend a walking party to the Hot Wells. It consisted only of Mrs. Selwyn and Lord
Orville. The latter walked by my side all the way; and his conversation dissipated my
uneasiness, and insensibly restored my serenity.</p>
<p> At the pump-room I saw Mr. Macartney; I courtsied to him twice ere he would speak to
me. When he did, I began to apologize for having disappointed him; but I did not find
it very easy to excuse myself, as Lord Orville's eyes, with an expression of anxiety
that distressed me, turned from him to me, and me to him, every word I spoke.
Convinced, however, that I had really trifled with Mr. Macartney, I scrupled not to
beg his pardon. He was then not merely appeased, but even grateful.</p>
<p> He requested me to see him to-morrow; but I had not the folly to be again guilty of
an indiscretion; which had already caused me so much uneasiness; and therefore I told
him frankly, that it was not in my power at present to see him but by accident; and,
to prevent his being offended, I hinted to him the reason I could not receive him as
I wished to do.</p>
<p> When I had satisfied both him and myself upon this subject, I turned to Lord
Orville, and saw, with concern, the gravity of his countenance. I would have spoken
to him, but knew not how; I believe, however, he read my thoughts; for, in a little
time, with a sort of serious smile, he said, "Does not Mr. Macartney complain of his
disappointment?"</p>
<p> "Not much, my Lord."</p>
<p> "And how have you appeased him?" Finding I hesitated what to answer, "Am I not your
brother?" continued he, "and must I not enquire into your affairs?"</p>
<p> "Certainly, my Lord," said I, laughing. "I only wish it were better worth your
Lordship's while."</p>
<p> "Let me, then, make immediate use of my privilege. When shall you see Mr. Macartney
again?"</p>
<p> "Indeed, my Lord, I can't tell."</p>
<p> "But,-do you know that I shall not suffer my sister to make a private
appointment?"</p>
<p> "Pray, my Lord," cried I earnestly, "use that word no more! Indeed you shock me
extremely."</p>
<p> "That would I not do for the world," cried he, "yet you know not how warmly, how
deeply I am interested, not only in all your concerns, but in all your actions."</p>
<p> This speech-the most particular one Lord Orville had ever made to me, ended our
conversation at that time; for I was too much struck by it to make any answer.</p>
<p> Soon after, Mr. Macartney, in a low voice, intreated me not to deny him the
gratification of returning the money. While he was speaking, the young lady I saw
yesterday at the assembly, with the large party, entered the pump-room. Mr. Macartney
turned as pale as death, his voice faultered, and he seemed not to know what he said.
I was myself almost equally disturbed, by the crowd of confused ideas that occurred
to me. Good Heaven! thought I, why should he be thus agitated?-is it possible this
can be the young lady he loved?-</p>
<p> In a few minutes we quitted the pump-room; and, though I twice wished<lb/>Mr.
Macartney good morning, he was so absent he did not hear me.</p>
<p> We did not immediately return to Clifton, as Mrs. Selwyn had business at a pamphlet
shop. While she was looking at some new poems, Lord Orville again asked me when I
should see Mr. Macartney?</p>
<p> "Indeed, my Lord," cried I, "I know not, but I would give the universe for a few
moments' conversation with him!" I spoke this with a simple sincerity, and was not
aware of the force of my own words.</p>
<p> "The universe!" repeated he, "Good God, Miss Anville, do you say this to me?"</p>
<p> "I would say it," returned I, "to any body, my Lord."</p>
<p> "I beg your pardon," said he, in a voice that showed him ill pleased,<lb/>"I am
answered."</p>
<p> "My Lord," cried I, "you must not judge hardly of me. I spoke inadvertently; but if
you knew the painful suspense I suffer at this moment, you would not be surprised at
what I have said."</p>
<p> "And would a meeting with Mr. Macartney relieve you from that suspense?"</p>
<p> "Yes, my Lord, two words might be sufficient."</p>
<p> "Would to Heaven," cried he, after a short pause, "that I were worthy to know their
import!"</p>
<p> "Worthy, my Lord!-O, if that were all, your Lordship could ask nothing I should not
be ready to answer! If I were but at liberty to speak, I should be proud of your
Lordship's enquiries: but, indeed, I am not-I have not any right to communicate the
affairs of Mr. Macartney;-your Lordship cannot suppose I have."</p>
<p> "I will own to you," answered he, "I know not what to suppose; yet there seems a
frankness even in your mystery-and such an air of openness in your countenance, that
I am willing to hope,-" He stopped a moment, and then added, "This meeting, you say,
is essential to your repose?"</p>
<p> "I did not say that, my Lord; but yet I have the most important reasons for wishing
to speak to him."</p>
<p> He paused a few minutes; and then said, with warmth, "Yes, you shall speak to him!-I
will myself assist you!-Miss Anville, I am sure, cannot form a wish against
propriety: I will ask no questions, I will rely upon her own purity, and, uninformed,
blindfold as I am, I will serve her with all my power!" And then he went into the
shop, leaving me so strangely affected by his generous behaviour, that I almost
wished to follow him with my thanks.</p>
<p> When Mrs. Selwyn had transacted her affairs, we returned home.</p>
<p> The moment dinner was over, Lord Orville went out, and did not come back till just
as we were summoned to supper. This is the longest time he has spent from the house
since I have been at Clifton; and you cannot imagine, my dear Sir, how much I missed
him. I scarce knew before how infinitely I am indebted to him alone for the happiness
I have enjoyed since I have been at Mrs. Beaumont's.</p>
<p> As I generally go down stairs last, he came to me, the moment the ladies had passed
by, and said, "Shall you be at home tomorrow morning?"</p>
<p> "I believe so, my Lord."</p>
<p> "And will you then receive a visitor for me?"</p>
<p> "For you, my Lord?"</p>
<p> "Yes:-I have made acquaintance with Mr. Macartney, and he has promised to call upon
me to-morrow about three o'clock."</p>
<p> And then, taking my hand, he led me down stairs.</p>
<p> O, Sir!-was there ever such another man as Lord Orville?-Yes, one other now resides
at Berry Hill!</p>
<p> This morning there has been a great deal of company here; but at the time appointed
by Lord Orville, doubtless with that consideration, the parlour is almost always
empty, as every body is dressing.</p>
<p> Mrs. Beaumont, however, was not gone up stairs when Mr. Macartney sent in his
name.</p>
<p> Lord Orville immediately said, "Beg the favour of him to walk in. You see, Madam,
that I consider myself as at home."</p>
<p> "I hope so," answered Mrs. Beaumont, "or I should be very uneasy."</p>
<p> Mr. Macartney then entered. I believe we both felt very conscious to whom the visit
was paid: but Lord Orville received him as his own guest; and not merely entertained
him as such while Mrs. Beaumont remained in the room, but for some time after she had
left it, a delicacy that saved me from the embarrassment I should have felt, had he
immediately quitted us.</p>
<p> In a few minutes, however, he gave Mr. Macartney a book,-for I, too, by way of
pretence for continuing in the room, pretended to be reading,-and begged he would be
so good as to look it over, while he answered a note, which he would dispatch in a
few minutes, and return to him.</p>
<p> When he was gone, we both parted with our books; and Mr. Macartney, again producing
the paper with the money, besought me to accept it.</p>
<p> "Pray," said I, still declining it, "did you know the young lady who came into the
pump-room yesterday morning?"</p>
<p> "Know her!" repeated he, changing colour, "Oh, but too well!"</p>
<p> "Indeed!"</p>
<p> "Why, Madam, do you ask?"</p>
<p> "I must beseech you to satisfy me further upon this subject; pray tell me who she
is."</p>
<p> "Inviolably as I meant to keep my secret, I can refuse you, Madam, nothing;-that
lady-is the daughter of Sir John Belmont!-of my father!"</p>
<p> "Gracious Heaven!" cried I, involuntarily laying my hand on his arm, "you are then-"
my brother, I would have said, but my voice failed me, and I burst into tears.</p>
<p> "Oh, Madam," cried he, "what does this mean?-what can thus distress you?"</p>
<p> I could not answer, but held out my hand to him. He seemed greatly surprised, and
talked in high terms of my condescension.</p>
<p> "Spare yourself," cried I, wiping my eyes, "spare yourself this mistake,-you have a
right to all I can do for you; the similarity of our circumstances-"</p>
<p> We were then interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Selwyn; and Mr. Macartney, finding
no probability of our being left alone, was obliged to take leave, though, I believe,
very reluctantly, while in such suspense.</p>
<p> Mrs. Selwyn, then, by dint of interrogatories, drew from me the state of this
affair. She is so penetrating, that there is no possibility of evading to give her
satisfaction.</p>
<p> Is not this a strange event? Good Heaven! how little did I think that the visits I
so unwillingly paid at Mr. Branghton's would have introduced me to so near a
relation! I will never again regret the time I spent in town this summer: a
circumstance so fortunate will always make me think of it with pleasure. * * * * *
*</p>
<p> I have just received your letter,-and it has almost broken my heart!-Oh, Sir! the
illusion is over, indeed! how vainly have I flattered, how miserably deceived myself!
Long since, doubtful of the situation of my heart, I dreaded a scrutiny;-but now, now
that I have so long escaped, I began, indeed, to think my safety insured, to hope
that my fears were causeless, and to believe that my good opinion and esteem of Lord
Orville might be owned without suspicion, and felt without danger;-miserably
deceived, indeed! His sight is baneful to my repose;-his society is death to my
future tranquillity! Oh, Lord Orville! could I have believed that a friendship so
grateful to my heart, so soothing to my distresses, a friendship, which, in every
respect, did me so much honour, would only serve to embitter all my future
moments!-What a strange, what an unhappy circumstance, that my gratitude, though so
justly excited, should be so fatal to my peace!</p>
<p> Yes, Sir, I will quit him;-would to Heaven I could at this moment! without seeing
him again,-without trusting to my now conscious emotion!-Oh, Lord Orville, how little
do you know the evils I owe to you! how little suppose that, when most dignified by
your attention, I was most to be pitied,-and when most exalted by your notice, you
were most my enemy!</p>
<p> You, Sir, relied upon my ignorance;-I, alas, upon your experience; and, whenever I
doubted the weakness of my heart, the idea that you did not suspect it, reassured
me,-restored my courage, and confirmed my error!-Yet am I most sensible of the
kindness of your silence.</p>
<p> Oh, Sir! why have I ever quitted you? why been exposed to dangers to which I am so
unequal?</p>
<p> But I will leave this place, leave Lord Orville,-leave him, perhaps, for ever!-no
matter; your counsel, your goodness, may teach me how to recover the peace and the
serenity of which my unguarded folly has beguiled me. To you alone do I trust,-in you
alone confide, for every future hope I may form.</p>
<p> The more I consider the parting with Lord Orville, the less fortitude do I feel to
bear the separation;-the friendship he has shown me,-his politeness,-his sweetness of
manners,-his concern in my affairs,-his solicitude to oblige me,-all, all to be given
up!-</p>
<p> No, I cannot tell him I am going,-I dare not trust myself to take leave of him,-I
will run away without seeing him:-implicitly will I follow your advice, avoid his
sight, and shun his society!</p>
<p> To-morrow morning I will set off for Berry Hill. Mrs. Selwyn and<lb/>Mrs. Beaumont
shall alone know my intention. And to-day-I will spend<lb/>in my own room. The
readiness of my obedience is the only atonement<lb/>I can offer for the weakness
which calls for its exertion.</p>
<p> Can you, will you, most honoured, most dear Sir! sole prop by which the poor Evelina
is supported,-can you, without reproach, without displeasure, receive the child you
have so carefully reared,-from whose education better fruit might have been expected,
and who, blushing for her unworthiness, fears to meet the eye by which she has been
cherished?-Oh, yes, I am sure you will! Your Evelina's errors are those of the
judgment; and you, I well know, pardon all but those of the heart!</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXXI.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Clifton, October 1st.</opener>
<p> I HAVE only time, my dearest Sir, for three words, to overtake my last letter, and
prevent your expecting me immediately; for, when I communicated my intention to Mrs.
Selwyn, she would not hear of it, and declared it would be highly ridiculous for me
to go before I received an answer to my intelligence concerning the journey from
Paris. She has, therefore, insisted upon my waiting till your next letter arrives. I
hope you will not be displeased at my compliance, though it is rather against my own
judgment: but Mrs. Selwyn quite overpowered me with the force of her arguments. I
will, however, see very little of Lord Orville; I will never come down stairs before
breakfast; give up all my walks in the garden; seat myself next to Mrs. Selwyn; and
not merely avoid his conversation, but shun his presence. I will exert all the
prudence and all the resolution in my power, to prevent this short delay from giving
you any further uneasiness.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dearest Sir. I shall not now leave Clifton till I have your
directions.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXXII.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. October 2nd.</opener>
<p> YESTERDAY, from the time I received your kind, though heart-piercing letter, I kept
my room,-for I was equally unable and unwilling to see Lord Orville; but this
morning, finding I seemed destined to pass a few days longer here, I endeavoured to
calm my spirits, and to appear as usual; though I determined to avoid him to the
utmost of my power. Indeed, as I entered the parlour, when called to breakfast, my
thoughts were so much occupied with your letter, that I felt as much confusion at his
sight, as if he had himself been informed of its contents.</p>
<p> Mrs. Beaumont made me a slight compliment upon my recovery, for I had pleaded
illness to excuse keeping my room: Lady Louisa spoke not a word; but Lord Orville,
little imagining himself the cause of my indisposition, enquired concerning my health
with the most distinguishing politeness. I hardly made any answer; and, for the first
time since I have been here, contrived to sit at some distance from him.</p>
<p> I could not help observing that my reserve surprised him; yet he persisted in his
civilities, and seemed to wish to remove it. But I paid him very little attention;
and the moment breakfast was over, instead of taking a book, or walking in the
garden, I retired to my own room.</p>
<p> Soon after, Mrs. Selwyn came to tell me, that Lord Orville had been proposing I
should take an airing, and persuading her to let him drive us both in his phaeton.
She delivered the message with an archness that made me blush; and added, that an
airing, in my Lord Orville's carriage, could not fail to revive my spirits. There is
no possibility of escaping her discernment; she has frequently rallied me upon his
Lordship's attention,-and, alas!-upon the pleasure with which I have received it!
However, I absolutely refused the offer.</p>
<p> "Well," said she, laughing, "I cannot just now indulge you with any solicitation;
for, to tell you the truth, I have business to transact at the Wells, and am glad to
be excused myself. I would ask you to walk with me; -but since Lord Orville is
refused, I have not the presumption to hope for success."</p>
<p> "Indeed," cried I, "you are mistaken; I will attend you with pleasure."</p>
<p> "O rare coquetry!" cried she, "surely it must be inherent in our sex, or it could
not have been imbibed at Berry Hill."</p>
<p> I had not spirits to answer her, and therefore put on my hat and cloak in
silence.</p>
<p> "I presume," continued she, drily, "his Lordship may walk with us."</p>
<p> "If so, Madam," said I, "you will have a companion, and I will stay at home."</p>
<p> "My dear child," cried she, "did you bring the certificate of your birth with
you?"</p>
<p> "Dear Madam, no!"</p>
<p> "Why then, we shall never be known again at Berry Hill."</p>
<p> I felt too conscious to enjoy her pleasantry; but I believe she was determined to
torment me, for she asked if she should inform Lord Orville that I desired him not to
be of the party?</p>
<p> "By no means, Madam; but, indeed, I had rather not walk myself."</p>
<p> "My dear," cried she, "I really do not know you this morning,-you have certainly
been taking a lesson of Lady Louisa."</p>
<p> She then went down stairs; but presently returning, told me she had acquainted Lord
Orville that I did not choose to go out in the phaeton, but preferred a walk,
tete-e-tete with her, by way of variety.</p>
<p> I said nothing, but was really vexed. She bad me go down stairs, and said she would
follow me immediately.</p>
<p> Lord Orville met me in the hall. "I fear," said he, "Miss Anville is not yet quite
well?" and he would have taken my hand, but I turned from him, and courtsying
slightly, went into the parlour.</p>
<p> Mrs. Beaumont and Lady Louisa were at work: Lord Merton was talking with the latter;
for he has now made his peace, and is again received into favour.</p>
<p> I seated myself, as usual, by the window. Lord Orville, in a few minutes, came to
me, and said, "Why is Miss Anville so grave?"</p>
<p> "Not grave, my Lord," said I, "only stupid;" and I took up a book.</p>
<p> "You will go," said he, after a short pause, "to the assembly to-night?"</p>
<p> "No, my Lord, certainly not."</p>
<p> "Neither then will I; for I should be sorry to sully the remembrance<lb/>I have of
the happiness I enjoyed at the last."</p>
<p> Mrs. Selwyn then coming in, general enquiries were made to all but me, of who would
go to the assembly? Lord Orville instantly declared he had letters to write at home;
but every one else settled to go.</p>
<p> I then hastened Mrs. Selwyn away, though not before she had said to Lord Orville,
"Pray, has your Lordship obtained Miss Anville's leave to favour us with your
company?"</p>
<p> "I have not, Madam," answered he, "had the vanity to ask it."</p>
<p> During our walk, Mrs. Selvyn tormented me unmercifully. She told me, that since I
declined any addition to our party, I must, doubtless, be conscious of my own powers
of entertainment; and begged me, therefore, to exert them freely. I repented a
thousand times having consented to walk alone with her; for though I made the most
painful efforts to appear in spirits, her raillery quite overpowered me.</p>
<p> We went first to the pump-room. It was full of company; and the moment we entered, I
heard a murmuring of, "That's she!" and, to my great confusion, I saw every eye
turned towards me. I pulled my hat over my face, and, by the assistance of Mrs.
Selwyn, endeavoured to screen myself from observation, nevertheless, I found I was so
much the object of general attention, that I entreated her to hasten away. But
unfortunately she had entered into conversation, very earnestly, with a gentleman of
her acquaintance, and would not listen to me; but said, that if I was tired of
waiting, I might walk on to the milliner's with the Miss Watkins, two young ladies I
had seen at Mrs. Beaumont's, who were going thither.</p>
<p> I accepted the offer very readily, and away we went. But we had not gone three
yards, before we were followed by a party of young men, who took every possible
opportunity of looking at us, and, as they walked behind, talked aloud, in a manner
at once unintelligible and absurd. "Yes," cried one," 'tis certainly she!-mark but
her blushing cheek!"</p>
<p> "And then her eye -her downcast eye!"-cried another.</p>
<p> "True, oh most true," said a third, "every beauty is her own!"</p>
<p> "But then," said the first, "her mind,-now the difficulty is, to find out the truth
of that, for she will not say a word."</p>
<p> "She is timid," answered another; "mark but her timid air."</p>
<p> During this conversation, we walked on silent and quick; as we knew not to whom it
was particularly addressed, we were all equally ashamed, and equally desirous to
avoid such unaccountable observations.</p>
<p> Soon after we were caught in a shower of rain. We hurried on; and these gentlemen,
following us, offered their services in the most pressing manner, begging us to make
use of their arms; and, while I almost ran, in order to avoid their impertinence, I
was suddenly met by Sir Clement Willoughby!</p>
<p> We both started; "Good God!" he exclaimed, "Miss Anville!" and then, regarding my
tormentors with an air of displeasure, he earnestly enquired, if any thing had
alarmed me?</p>
<p> "No, no;" cried I, for I found no difficulty now to disengage myself from these
youths, who, probably, concluding from the commanding air of Sir Clement, that he had
a right to protect me, quietly gave way to him, and entirely quitted us.</p>
<p> With his usual impetuosity, he then began a thousand enquiries, accompanied with as
many compliments; and he told me, that he arrived at Bristol but this morning, which
he had entirely devoted to endeavours to discover where I lodged.</p>
<p> "Did you know, then," said I, "that I was at Bristol?"</p>
<p> "Would to Heaven," cried he, "that I could remain in ignorance of your proceedings
with the same contentment you do of mine! then should I not for ever journey upon the
wings of Hope, to meet my own despair! You cannot even judge of the cruelty of my
fate; for the ease and serenity of your mind incapacitates you from feeling for the
agitation of mine!"</p>
<p> The ease and serenity of my mind! alas, how little do I merit those words!</p>
<p> "But," added he, "had accident brought me hither, had I not known of your journey,
the voice of fame would have proclaimed it to me instantly upon my arrival."</p>
<p> "The voice of fame!" repeated I.</p>
<p> "Yes, for yours was the first name I heard at the pump-room. But had I not heard
your name, such a description could have painted no one else."</p>
<p> "Indeed," said I, "I do not understand you." But just then arriving at the
milliner's our conversation ended; for Miss Watkins called me to look at caps and
ribbons.</p>
<p> Sir Clement, however, has the art of being always at home; he was very soon engaged,
as busily as ourselves, in looking at lace ruffles; yet he took an opportunity of
saying to me, in a low voice, "How charmed I am to see you look so well! I was told
you were ill;-but I never saw you in better health,-never more infinitely
lovely!"</p>
<p> I turned away to examine the ribbons, and soon after Mrs. Selwyn made her
appearance. I found that she was acquainted with Sir Clement; and her manner of
speaking to him convinced me that he was a favourite with her.</p>
<p> When their mutual compliments were over, she turned to me, and said,<lb/>"Pray, Miss
Anville, how long can you live without nourishment?"</p>
<p> "Indeed, Ma'am," said I, laughing, "I have never tried."</p>
<p> "Because so long, and no longer," answered she, "you may remain at Bristol."</p>
<p> "Why, what is the matter, Ma'am?"</p>
<p> "The matter!-why, all the ladies are at open war with you,-the whole pump-room is in
confusion; and you, innocent as you pretend to look, are the cause. However, if you
take my advice, you will be very careful how you eat and drink during your stay."</p>
<p> I begged her to explain herself: and she then told me, that a copy of verses had
been dropped in the pump-room, and read there aloud: "The beauties of the Wells,"
said she, "are all mentioned, but you are the Venus to whom the prize is given."</p>
<p> "Is it then possible," cried Sir Clement, "that you have not seen these verses?"</p>
<p> "I hardly know," answered I, "whether any body has."</p>
<p> "I assure you," said Mrs. Selwyn, "if you give me the invention of them, you do me
an honour I by no means deserve."</p>
<p> "I wrote down in my tablets," said Sir Clement, "the stanzas which concern Miss
Anville this morning at the pump-room; and I will do myself the honour of copying
them for her this evening."</p>
<p> "But why the part that concerns Miss Anville?" said Mrs. Selwyn;<lb/>"Did you ever
see her before this morning?"</p>
<p> "O yes," answered he, "I have had that happiness frequently at Captain Mirvan's.
Too, too frequently!" added he, in a low voice, as Mrs. Selwyn turned to the
milliner: and as soon as she was occupied in examining some trimmings, he came to me,
and almost whether I would or not, entered into conversation with me.</p>
<p> "I have a thousand things," cried he, "to say to you. Pray where are you?"</p>
<p> "With Mrs. Selwyn, Sir."</p>
<p> "Indeed!-then, for once, chance is my friend. And how long have you been here?"</p>
<p> "About three weeks."</p>
<p> "Good Heaven! what an anxious search have I had, to discover your abode, since you
so suddenly left town! The termagant, Madame Duval, refused me all intelligence. Oh,
Miss Anville, did you know what I have endured! the sleepless, restless state of
suspense I have been tortured with, you could not, all cruel as you are, you could
not have received me with such frigid indifference?"</p>
<p> "Received you, Sir!"</p>
<p> "Why, is not my visit to you?" Do you think I should have made this journey, but for
the happiness of again seeing you?"</p>
<p> "Indeed it is possible I might,-since so many others do."</p>
<p> "Cruel, cruel girl! you know that I adore you! you know you are the mistress of my
soul, and arbitress of my fate!"</p>
<p> Mrs. Selwyn then advancing to us, he assumed a more disengaged air, and asked, if he
should not have the pleasure of seeing her in the evening at the assembly?</p>
<p> "Oh, yes," cried she, "we shall certainly be there; so you may bring the verses with
you, if Miss Anville can wait for them so long."</p>
<p> "I hope then," returned he, "that you will do me the honour to dance with me?"</p>
<p> I thanked him, but said I should not be at the assembly.</p>
<p> "Not be at the assembly?" cried Mrs. Selwyn, "Why, have you, too, letters to
write?"</p>
<p> She looked at me with a significant archness, that made me colour; and I hastily
answered, "No, indeed, Ma'am!"</p>
<p> "You have not!" cried she, yet more drily; "then pray, my dear, do you stay at home
to help,-or to hinder others?"</p>
<p> "To do neither, Ma'am," answered I, in much confusion; "so, if you please, I will
not stay at home."</p>
<p> "You allow me, then," said Sir Clement, "to hope for the honour of your hand?"</p>
<p> I only bowed,-for the dread of Mrs. Selwyn's raillery made me not dare refuse
him.</p>
<p> Soon after this we walked home: Sir Clement accompanied us; and the conversation
that passed between Mrs. Selwyn and him was supported in so lively a manner, that I
should have been much entertained, had my mind been more at ease: but, alas! I could
think of nothing but the capricious, the unmeaning appearance which the alteration in
my conduct must make in the eyes of the Lord Orville! And much as I wished to avoid
him, greatly as I desire to save myself from having my weakness known to him,-yet I
cannot endure to incur his ill opinion,-and, unacquainted as he is with the reasons
by which I am actuated, how can he fail contemning a change to him so
unaccountable?</p>
<p> As we entered the garden, he was the first object we saw. He advanced to meet us;
and I could not help observing, that at sight of each other both he and Sir Clement
changed colour.</p>
<p> We went into the parlour, where we found the same party we had left. Mrs. Selwyn
presented Sir Clement to Mrs. Beaumont; Lady Louisa and Lord Merton he seemed well
acquainted with already.</p>
<p> The conversation was upon the general subjects, of the weather, the company at the
Wells, and the news of the day. But Sir Clement, drawing his chair next to mine, took
every opportunity of addressing himself to me in particular.</p>
<p> I could not but remark the striking difference of his attention, and that of Lord
Orville: the latter has such gentleness of manners, such delicacy of conduct, and an
air so respectful, that, when he flatters most, he never distresses; and when he most
confers honour, appears to receive it! The former obtrudes his attention, and forces
mine; it is so pointed, that it always confuses me, and so public, that it attracts
general notice. Indeed I have sometimes thought that he would rather wish, than
dislike to have his partiality for me known, as he takes great care to prevent my
being spoken to by any but himself.</p>
<p> When at length he went away, Lord Orville took his seat, and said, with a half
smile, "Shall I call Sir Clement,-or will you call me an usurper for taking this
place?-You make me no answer?-Must I then suppose that Sir Clement-"</p>
<p> "It is little worth your Lordship's while," said I, "to suppose any thing upon so
insignificant an occasion."</p>
<p> "Pardon me," cried he;-"to me nothing is insignificant in which you are
concerned."</p>
<p> To this I made no answer; neither did he say any thing more, till the ladies retired
to dress: and then, when I would have followed them, he stopped me, saying, "One
moment, I entreat you!"</p>
<p> I turned back, and he went on, "I greatly fear that I have been so unfortunate as to
offend you; yet so repugnant to my very soul is the idea, that I know not how to
suppose it possible I can unwittingly have done the thing in the world that,
designedly, I would wish to avoid."</p>
<p> "No, indeed, my Lord, you have not," said I.</p>
<p> "You sigh!" cried he, taking my hand, "would to Heaven I were the sharer of your
uneasiness, whencesoever it springs! with what earnestness would I not struggle to
alleviate it!-Tell me, my dear Miss Anville,-my new-adopted sister, my sweet and most
amiable friend!-tell me, I beseech you, if I can afford you any assistance?"</p>
<p> "None, none, my Lord!" cried I, withdrawing my hand, and moving towards the
door.</p>
<p> "Is it then impossible I can serve you?-Perhaps you wish to see<lb/>Mr. Macartney
again?"</p>
<p> "No, my Lord." And I held the door open.</p>
<p> "I am not, I own, sorry for that. Yet, oh! Miss Anville, there is a question,-there
is a conjecture,-I know not how to mention, because I dread the result!-But I see you
are in haste;-perhaps in the evening I may have the honour of a longer
conversation.-Yet one thing, will you have the goodness to allow me to ask?-Did you,
this morning, when you went to the Wells,-did you know whom you should meet
there?"</p>
<p> "Who, my Lord?"</p>
<p> "I beg your pardon a thousand times for a curiosity so unlicensed;-but<lb/>I will
say no more at present."</p>
<p> He bowed, expecting me to go;-and then, with quick steps, but a heavy heart, I came
to my own room. His question, I am sure, meant Sir Clement Willoughby; and had I not
imposed upon myself the severe task of avoiding, flying Lord Orville, with all my
power, I would instantly have satisfied him of my ignorance of Sir Clement's journey.
And yet more did I long to say something of the assembly, since I found he depended
upon my spending the evening at home.</p>
<p> I did not go down stairs again till the family was assembled to dinner. My dress, I
saw, struck Lord Orville with astonishment; and I was myself so much ashamed of
appearing whimsical and unsteady, that I could not look up.</p>
<p> "I understood," said Mrs. Beaumont, "that Miss Anville did not go out this
evening."</p>
<p> "Her intention in the morning," said Mrs. Selwyn, "was to stay at home; but there is
a fascinating power in an assembly, which, upon second thoughts, is not to be
resisted."</p>
<p> "The assembly!" cried Lord Orville; "are you then going to the assembly?"</p>
<p> I made no answer; and we all took our places at table.</p>
<p> It was not without difficulty that I contrived to give up my usual seat; but I was
determined to adhere to the promise in my yesterday's letter, though I saw that Lord
Orville seemed quite confounded at my visible endeavours to avoid him.</p>
<p> After dinner, we all went into the drawing-room together, as there were no gentlemen
to detain his Lordship; and then, before I could place myself out of his way, he
said, "You are then really going to the assembly?-May I ask if you shall dance?"</p>
<p> "I believe not,-my Lord."</p>
<p> "If I did not fear," continued he, "that you would be tired of the same partner at
two following assemblies, I would give up my letter-writing till to-morrow evening,
and solicit the honour of your hand."</p>
<p> "If I do dance," said I, in great confusion, "I believe I am engaged."</p>
<p> "Engaged!" cried he, with earnestness, "May I ask to whom?"</p>
<p> "To-Sir Clement Willoughby, my Lord."</p>
<p> He said nothing, but looked very little pleased, and did not address himself to me
any more all the afternoon. Oh, Sir!-thus situated, how comfortless were the feelings
of your Evelina!</p>
<p> Early in the evening, with his accustomed assiduity, Sir Clement came to conduct us
to the assembly. He soon contrived to seat himself next me, and, in a low voice, paid
me so many compliments, that I knew not which way to look.</p>
<p> Lord Orville hardly spoke a word, and his countenance was grave and thoughtful; yet,
whenever I raised my eyes, his, I perceived, were directed towards me, though
instantly, upon meeting mine, he looked another way.</p>
<p> In a short time, Sir Clement, taking from his pocket a folded paper, said, almost in
a whisper, "Here, loveliest of women, you will see a faint, an unsuccessful attempt
to paint the object of all my adoration! yet, weak as are the lines for the purpose,
I envy beyond expression the happy mortal who has dared make the effort."</p>
<p> "I will look at them," said I, "some other time." For, conscious that I was observed
by Lord Orville, I could not bear he should see me take a written paper, so privately
offered, from Sir Clement. But Sir Clement is an impracticable man, and I never
succeeded in any attempt to frustrate whatever he had planned.</p>
<p> "No," said he, still in a whisper, "you must take them now, while Lady Louisa is
away;" for she and Mrs. Selwyn were gone up stairs to finish their dress, "as she
must by no means see them."</p>
<p> "Indeed," said I, "I have no intention to show them."</p>
<p> "But the only way," answered he, "to avoid suspicion, is to take them in her
absence. I would have read them aloud myself, but that they are not proper to be seen
by any body in this house, yourself and Mrs. Selwyn excepted."</p>
<p> Then again he presented me the paper, which I now was obliged to take, as I found
declining it was vain. But I was sorry that this action should be seen, and the
whispering remarked, though the purport of the conversation was left to
conjecture.</p>
<p> As I held it in my hand, Sir Clement teazed me to look at it immediately; and told
me, the reason he could not produce the lines publicly was, that among the ladies who
were mentioned, and supposed to be rejected, was Lady Louisa Larpent. I am much
concerned at this circumstance, as I cannot doubt but that it will render me more
disagreeable to her than ever, if she should hear of it.</p>
<p> I will now copy the verses, which Sir Clement would not let me rest till I had
read.</p>
<p>          See last advance, with bashful grace,<lb/>           Downcast eye, and
blushing cheek,<lb/>         Timid air, and beauteous
face,<lb/>           Anville,-whom the Graces seek.<lb/>         Though ev'ry beauty
is her own,<lb/>           And though her mind each virtue
fills,<lb/>         Anville,-to her power unknown,<lb/>           Artless
strikes,-unconscious kills.</p>
<p> I am sure, my dear Sir, you will not wonder that a panegyric such as this should, in
reading, give me the greatest confusion; and, unfortunately, before I had finished
it, the ladies returned.</p>
<p> "What have you there, my dear?" said Mrs. Selwyn.</p>
<p> "Nothing, Ma'am," said I, hastily folding, and putting it in my pocket.</p>
<p> "And has nothing," cried she, "the power of rouge?"</p>
<p> I made no answer; a deep sigh, which escaped Lord Orville at that moment, reached my
ears, and gave me sensations-which I dare not mention!</p>
<p> Lord Merton then handed Lady Louisa and Mrs. Beaumont to the latter's carriage. Mrs.
Selwyn led the way to Sir Clement's, who handed me in after her.</p>
<p> During the ride I did not once speak; but when I came to the assembly room, Sir
Clement took care that I should not preserve my silence. He asked me immediately to
dance; I begged him to excuse me, and seek some other partner. But on the contrary,
he told me, he was very glad I would sit still, as he had a million of things to say
to me.</p>
<p> He then began to tell me, how much he had suffered from absence; how greatly he was
alarmed when he heard I had left town; and how cruelly difficult he had found it to
trace me; which, at last, he could only do by sacrificing another week to Captain
Mirvan.</p>
<p> "And Howard Grove," continued he, "which, at my first visit, I thought the most
delightful spot upon earth, now appeared to me the most dismal: the face of the
country seemed altered; the walks, which I had thought most pleasant, were now most
stupid: Lady Howard, who had appeared a cheerful and respectable old lady, now
appeared in the common John Trot style of other aged dames: Mrs. Mirvan, whom I had
esteemed as an amiable piece of still-life, now became so insipid, that I could
hardly keep awake in her company: the daughter, too, whom I had regarded as a
good-humoured, pretty sort of a girl, now seemed too insignificant for notice: and as
to the Captain, I had always thought him a booby,-but now he appeared a savage!"</p>
<p> "Indeed, Sir Clement," cried I, angrily, "I will not hear you speak thus of my best
friends."</p>
<p> "I beg your pardon," said he, "but the contrast of my two visits was too striking
not to be mentioned."</p>
<p> He then asked what I thought of the verses?</p>
<p> "Either," said I, "they are written ironically, or by some madman."</p>
<p> Such a profusion of compliments ensued, that I was obliged to propose dancing, in my
own defence. When we stood up, "I intended," said he, "to have discovered the author
by his looks; but I find you so much the general loadstone of attention, that my
suspicions change their object every moment. Surely you must yourself have some
knowledge who he is?"</p>
<p> I told him no. Yet, my dear Sir, I must own to you, I have no doubt but that Mr.
Macartney must be the author; no one else would speak of me so partially; and,
indeed, his poetical turn puts it, with me, beyond dispute.</p>
<p> He asked me a thousand questions concerning Lord Orville; how long he had been at
Bristol?-what time I had spent at Clifton?-whether he rode out every morning?-whether
I ever trusted myself in a phaeton? and a multitude of other enquiries, all tending
to discover if I was honoured with much of his Lordship's attention, and all made
with his usual freedom and impetuosity.</p>
<p> Fortunately, as I much wished to retire early, Lady Louisa makes a point of being
the first who quit the rooms, and therefore we got home in very tolerable time.</p>
<p> Lord Orville's reception of us was grave and cold: far from distinguishing me, as
usual, by particular civilities, Lady Louisa herself could not have seen me enter the
room with more frigid unconcern, nor have more scrupulously avoided honouring me with
any notice. But chiefly I was struck to see, that he suffered Sir Clement, who stayed
supper, to sit between us, without any effort to prevent him, though till then, he
had seemed to be even tenacious of a seat next mine.</p>
<p> This little circumstance affected me more than I can express; yet I endeavoured to
rejoice at it, since neglect and indifference from him may be my best friends.-But,
alas!-so suddenly, so abruptly to forfeit his attention!-to lose his friendship!-Oh,
Sir, these thoughts pierced my soul!-scarce could I keep my seat; for not all my
efforts could restrain the tears from trickling down my cheeks: however, as Lord
Orville saw them not, for Sir Clement's head was constantly between us, I tried to
collect my spirits, and succeeded so far as to keep my place with decency, till Sir
Clement took leave; and then, not daring to trust my eyes to meet those of Lord
Orville, I retired.</p>
<p> I have been writing ever since; for, certain that I could not sleep, I would not go
to bed. Tell me, my dearest Sir, if you possibly can, tell me that you approve my
change of conduct,-tell me that my altered behaviour to Lord Orville is right,-that
my flying his society, and avoiding his civilities, are actions which you would have
dictated.-Tell me this, and the sacrifices I have made will comfort me in the midst
of my regret,-for never, never can I cease to regret that I have lost the friendship
of Lord Orville!-Oh, Sir, I have slighted,-have rejected,-have thrown it away!-No
matter, it was an honour I merited not to preserve; and now I see,-that my mind was
unequal to sustaining it without danger.</p>
<p> Yet so strong is the desire you have implanted in me to act with uprightness and
propriety, that, however the weakness of my heart may distress and afflict me, it
will never, I humbly trust, render me wilfully culpable. The wish of doing well
governs every other, as far as concerns my conduct,-for am I not your child?-the
creature of your own forming!-Yet, Oh Sir, friend, parent, of my heart!-my feelings
are all at war with my duties! and, while I most struggle to acquire
self-approbation, my peace, my happiness, my hopes,-are lost!</p>
<p> 'Tis you alone can compose a mind so cruelly agitated: you, I well know, can feel
pity for the weakness to which you are a stranger; and, though you blame the
affliction, soothe and comfort the afflicted.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXXIII.</head>
<opener> MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA. Berry Hill, Oct. 3rd.</opener>
<p> YOUR last communication, my dearest child, is indeed astonishing; that an
acknowledged daughter and heiress of Sir John Belmont should be at Bristol, and still
my Evelina bear the name of Anville, is to me inexplicable; yet the mystery of the
letter to Lady Howard prepared me to expect something extraordinary upon Sir John
Belmont's return to England.</p>
<p> Whoever this young lady may be, it is certain she now takes a place to which you
have a right indisputable. An after-marriage I never heard of; yet, supposing such a
one to have happened, Miss Evelyn was certainly the first wife, and therefore her
daughter must, at least, be entitled to the name of Belmont.</p>
<p> Either there are circumstances in this affair at present utterly incomprehensible,
or else some strange and most atrocious fraud has been practiced; which of these two
is the case it now behoves us to enquire.</p>
<p> My reluctance to this step gives way to my conviction of its propriety, since the
reputation of your dear and much-injured mother must now either be fully cleared from
blemish, or receive its final and indelible wound.</p>
<p> The public appearance of a daughter of Sir John Belmont will revive the remembrance
of Miss Evelyn's story in all who have heard it,-who the mother was, will be
universally demanded,-and if any other Lady Belmont should be named, the birth of my
Evelina will receive a stigma, against which, honour, truth, and innocence may appeal
in vain!-a stigma, which will eternally blast the fair fame of her virtuous mother,
and cast upon her blameless self the odium of a title, which not all her purity can
rescue from established shame and dishonour!</p>
<p> No, my dear child, no; I will not quietly suffer the ashes of your mother to be
treated with ignominy! her spotless character shall be justified to the world-her
marriage shall be acknowledged, and her child shall bear the name to which she is
lawfully entitled.</p>
<p> It is true, that Mrs. Mirvan would conduct this affair with more delicacy than Mrs.
Selwyn; yet, perhaps, to save time, is of all considerations the most important,
since the longer this mystery is suffered to continue, the more difficult may be
rendered its explanation. The sooner, therefore, you can set out for town, the less
formidable will be your task.</p>
<p> Let not your timidity, my dear love, depress your spirits: I shall, indeed, tremble
for you at a meeting so singular and so affecting, yet there can be no doubt of the
success of your application: I enclose a letter from your unhappy mother, written,
and reserved purposely for this occasion: Mrs. Clinton too, who attended her in her
last illness, must accompany you to town.-But, without any other certificate of your
birth, that which you carry in your countenance, as it could not be affected by
artifice, so it cannot admit of a doubt.</p>
<p> And now, my Evelina, committed at length to the care of your real parent, receive
the fervent prayers, wishes, and blessings, of him who so fondly adopted you!</p>
<p> May'st thou, O child of my bosom! may'st thou, in this change of situation,
experience no change of disposition! but receive with humility, and support with
meekness the elevation to which thou art rising! May thy manners, language, and
deportment, all evince that modest equanimity, and cheerful gratitude, which not
merely deserve, but dignify prosperity! May'st thou, to the last moments of an
unblemished life, retain thy genuine simplicity, thy singleness of heart, thy
guileless sincerity! And may'st thou, stranger to ostentation, and superior to
insolence, with true greatness of soul shine forth conspicuous only in beneficence!
ARTHUR VILLARS.</p>
<div type="enclosedletter">
<head>LETTER LXXIV. [Inclosed in the preceding Letter.]</head>
<opener> LADY BELMONT TO SIR JOHN BELMONT.</opener>
<p> IN the firm hope that the moment of anguish which approaches will prove the
period of my sufferings, once more I address myself to Sir John Belmont, in behalf
of the child, who, if it survives its mother, will hereafter be the bearer of this
letter.</p>
<p> Yet, in what terms,-Oh, most cruel of men!-can the lost Caroline address you, and
not address you in vain? Oh, deaf to the voice of compassion-deaf to the sting of
truth-deaf to every tie of honour-say, in what terms may the lost Caroline address
you, and not address you in vain!</p>
<p> Shall I call you by the loved, the respected title of husband?-No, you disclaim
it!-the father of my infant?-No, you doom it to infamy!-the lover who rescued me
from a forced marriage?-No, you have yourself betrayed me!-the friend from whom I
hoped succour and protection?-No, you have consigned me to misery and
destruction!</p>
<p> Oh, hardened against every plea of justice, remorse, or pity! how, and in what
manner, may I hope to move thee? Is there one method I have left untried? remains
there one resource unessayed? No! I have exhausted all the bitterness of reproach,
and drained every sluice of compassion!</p>
<p> Hopeless, and almost desperate, twenty times have I flung away my pen;-but the
feelings of a mother, a mother agonizing for the fate of her child, again
animating my courage, as often I have resumed it.</p>
<p> Perhaps when I am no more, when the measure of my woes is completed, and the
still, silent, unreproaching dust has received my sad remains,-then, perhaps, when
accusation is no longer to be feared, nor detection to be dreaded, the voice of
equity and the cry of nature may be heard.</p>
<p> Listen, Oh Belmont, to their dictates! reprobate not your child, though you have
reprobated its mother. The evils that are past, perhaps, when too late, you may
wish to recal; the young creature you have persecuted, perhaps, when too late, you
may regret that you have destroyed;-you may think with horror of the deceptions
you have practised, and the pangs of remorse may follow me to the tomb:-Oh,
Belmont, all my resentment softens into pity at the thought! what will become of
thee, good Heaven, when, with the eye of penitence, thou reviewest thy past
conduct!</p>
<p> Hear, then, the solemn, the last address, with which the unhappy<lb/>Caoline will
importune thee.</p>
<p> If when the time of thy contrition arrives,-for arrive it must!-when the sense of
thy treachery shall rob thee of almost every other, if then thy tortured heart
shall sigh to expiate thy guilt,-mark the conditions upon which I leave thee my
forgiveness.</p>
<p> Thou knowest I am thy wife!-clear, then, to the world the reputation thou hast
sullied, and receive, as thy lawful successor, the child who will present thee
this, my dying request!</p>
<p> The worthiest, the most benevolent, the best of men, to whose consoling kindness
I owe the little tranquillity I have been able to preserve, has plighted me his
faith, that, upon no other conditions, he will part with his helpless charge.</p>
<p> Should'st thou, in the features of this deserted innocent, trace the resemblance
of the wretched Caroline,-should its face bear the marks of its birth, and revive
in thy memory the image of its mother, wilt thou not, Belmont, wilt thou not
therefore renounce it?-Oh, babe of my fondest affection! for whom already I
experience all the tenderness of maternal pity! look not like thy unfortunate
mother,-lest the parent, whom the hand of death may spare, shall be snatched from
thee by the more cruel means of unnatural antipathy!</p>
<p> I can write no more. The small share of serenity I have painfully acquired, will
not bear the shock of the dreadful ideas that crowd upon me.</p>
<p> Adieu,-for ever!-</p>
<p> Yet, Oh!-shall I not, in this last farewell, which thou wilt not read till every
stormy passion is extinct, and the kind grave has embosomed all my sorrows,-shall
I not offer to the man, once so dear to me, a ray of consolation to those
afflictions he has in reserve? Suffer me, then, to tell thee, that my pity far
exceeds my indignation,-that I will pray for thee in my last moments, and that the
recollection of the love I once bore thee, shall swallow up every other!</p>
<p> Once more, adieu! CAROLINE BELMONT.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXXV.</head>
<opener> EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. Clifton, Oct. 3rd.</opener>
<p> THIS morning I saw from my window, that Lord Orville was walking in the garden; but
I would not go down stairs till breakfast was ready: and then, he paid me his
compliments almost as coldly as Lady Louisa paid hers.</p>
<p> I took my usual place, and Mrs. Belmont, Lady Louisa, and Mrs. Selwyn, entered into
their usual conversation.-Not so your Evelina: disregarded, silent, and melancholy,
she sat like a cypher, whom, to nobody belonging, by nobody was noticed.</p>
<p> Ill brooking such a situation, and unable to suport the neglect of<lb/>Lord Orville,
the moment breakfast was over I left the room, and<lb/>was going up stairs; when,
very unpleasantly, I was stopped by Sir<lb/>Clement Willoughby, who, flying into the
hall, prevented my proceeding.</p>
<p> He enquired very particularly after my health, and entreated me to return into the
parlour. Unwillingly, I consented, but thought any thing preferable to continuing
alone with him; and he would neither leave me, nor suffer me to pass on. Yet, in
returning, I felt not a little ashamed at appearing thus to take the visit of Sir
Clement to myself. And, indeed, he endeavoured, by his manner of addressing me, to
give it that air.</p>
<p> He stayed, I believe, an hour; nor would he, perhaps, even then have gone, had not
Mrs. Beaumont broken up the party, by proposing an airing in her coach. Lady Louisa
consented to accompany her; but Mrs. Selwyn, when applied to, said, "If my Lord, or
Sir Clement, will join us, I shall be happy to make one;-but really a trio of females
will be nervous to the last degree."</p>
<p> Sir Clement readily agreed to attend them; indeed, he makes it his evident study to
court the favour of Mrs. Beaumont. Lord Orville excused himself from going out; and I
retired to my own room. What he did with himself I know not, for I would not go down
stairs till dinner was ready: his coldness, though my own change of behaviour had
occasioned it, so cruelly depresses my spirits, that I know not how to support myself
in his presence.</p>
<p> At dinner, I found Sir Clement again of the party. Indeed, he manages every thing
his own way; for Mrs. Beaumont, though by no means easy to please, seems quite at his
disposal.</p>
<p> The dinner, the afternoon, and the evening, were to me the most irksome imaginable:
I was tormented by the assiduity of Sir Clement, who not only took, but made
opportunities of speaking to me,-and I was hurt,-Oh, how inexpressibly hurt!-that
Lord Orville not only forebore, as hitherto, seeking, he even neglected all occasions
of talking with me!</p>
<p> I begin to think, my dear Sir, that the sudden alteration in my behaviour was
ill-judged and improper; for, as I had received no offence, as the cause of the
change was upon my account, not his, I should not have assumed, so abruptly, a
reserve for which I dared assign no reason,-nor have shunned his presence so
obviously, without considering the strange appearance of such a conduct.</p>
<p> Alas, my dearest Sir, that my reflections should always be too late to serve me!
dearly, indeed, do I purchase experience! and much, I fear, I shall suffer yet more
severely, from the heedless indiscretion of my temper, ere I attain that prudence and
consideration, which, by foreseeing distant consequences, may rule and direct in
present exigencies. Oct. 4th.</p>
<p> Yesterday morning every body rode out, except Mrs. Selwyn and myself; and we two sat
for some time together in her room; but, as soon as I could, I quitted her, to
saunter in the garden; for she diverts herself so unmercifully with rallying me,
either upon my gravity, or concerning Lord Orville,-that I dread having any
conversation with her.</p>
<p> Here I believe I spent an hour by myself; when, hearing the garden-gate open, I went
into an arbour at the end of a long walk, where, ruminating, very unpleasantly, upon
my future prospects, I remained quietly seated but a few minutes, before I was
interrupted by the appearance of Sir Clement Willoughby.</p>
<p> I started; and would have left the arbour, but he prevented me. Indeed, I am almost
certain he had heard in the house where I was, as it is not, otherwise, probable he
would have strolled down the garden alone.</p>
<p> "Stop, stop," cried he, "loveliest and most beloved of women, stop and hear me!"</p>
<p> Then, making me keep my place, he sat down by me, and would have taken my hand; but
I drew it back, and said I could not stay.</p>
<p> "Can you, then," cried he, "refuse me the smallest gratification, though, but
yesterday, I almost suffered martyrdom for the pleasure of seeing you?"</p>
<p> "Martyrdom! Sir Clement."</p>
<p> "Yes, beauteous insensible! martyrdom: for did I not compel myself to be immured in
a carriage, the tedious length of a whole morning, with the three most fatiguing
women in England?"</p>
<p> "Upon my word, the ladies are extremely obliged to you."</p>
<p> "Oh," returned he, "they have, every one of them, so copious a share of their own
personal esteem, that they have no right to repine at the failure of it in the world;
and, indeed, they will themselves be the last to discover it."</p>
<p> "How little," cried I, "are those ladies aware of such severity from you!"</p>
<p> "They are guarded," answered he, "so happily and so securely by their own conceit,
that they are not aware of it from any body. Oh, Miss Anville, to be torn away from
you, in order to be shut up with them,-is there a human being, except your cruel
self, could forbear to pity me?"</p>
<p> "I believe, Sir Clement, however hardly you may choose to judge of them, your
situation, by the world in general, would rather have been envied than pitied."</p>
<p> "The world in general," answered he, "has the same opinion of them that I have
myself: Mrs. Beaumont is every where laughed at, Lady Louisa ridiculed, and Mrs.
Selwyn hated."</p>
<p> "Good God, Sir Clement, what cruel strength of words do you use!"</p>
<p> "It is you, my angel, are to blame, since your perfections have rendered their
faults so glaring. I protest to you, during our whole ride, I thought the carriage
drawn by snails. The absurd pride of Mrs. Beaumont, and the respect she exacts, are
at once insufferable and stupifying; had I never before been in her company, I should
have concluded that this had been her first airing from the herald's office,-and
wished her nothing worse, than that it might also be the last. I assure you, that but
for gaining the freedom of her house, I would fly her as I would plague, pestilence,
and famine. Mrs. Selwyn, indeed, afforded some relief from this formality, but the
unbounded license of her tongue-"</p>
<p> "O, Sir Clement, do you object to that?"</p>
<p> "Yes, my sweet reproacher, in a woman I do; in a woman I think it intolerable. She
has wit, I acknowledge, and more understanding than half her sex put together; but
she keeps alive a perpetual expectation of satire, that spreads a general uneasiness
among all who are in her presence; and she talks so much, that even the best things
she says weary the attention. As to the little Louisa, 'tis such a pretty piece of
languor, that 'tis almost cruel to speak rationally about her,-else I should say, she
is a mere compound of affectation, impertinence, and airs."</p>
<p> "I am quite amazed," said I, "that, with such opinions, you can behave to them all
with so much attention and civility."</p>
<p> "Civility! my angel,-why I could worship, could adore them, only to procure myself a
moment of your conversation! Have you not seen me pay my court to the gross Captain
Mirvan, and the virago Madame Duval? Were it possible that a creature so horrid could
be formed, as to partake of the worst qualities of all these characters,-a creature
who should have the haughtiness of Mrs. Beaumont, the brutality of Captain Mirvan,
the self-conceit of Mrs. Selwyn, the affectation of Lady Louisa, and the vulgarity of
Madame Duval,-even to such a monster as that I would pay homage, and pour forth
adulation, only to obtain one word, one look from my adored Miss Anville!"</p>
<p> "Sir Clement," said I, "you are greatly mistaken if you suppose this duplicity of
character recommends you to my good opinion. But I must take this opportunity of
begging you never more to talk to me in this strain."</p>
<p> "Oh, Miss Anville, your reproofs, your coldness, pierce me to the soul! look upon me
with less rigour, and make me what you please;-you shall govern and direct all my
actions,-you shall new-form, new-model me:-I will not have even a wish but of your
suggestion; only deign to look upon me with pity-if not with favour!"</p>
<p> "Suffer me, Sir," said I, very gravely, "to make use of this occasion to put a final
conclusion to such expressions. I entreat you never again to address me in a language
so flighty and so unwelcome. You have already given me great uneasiness; and I must
frankly assure you, that if you do not desire to banish me from wherever you are, you
will adopt a very different style and conduct in future."</p>
<p> I then rose, and was going, but he flung himself at my feet to prevent me,
exclaiming, in a most passionate manner, "Good God! Miss Anville, what do you say?-is
it, can it be possible, that, so unmoved, that, with such petrifying indifference,
you can tear from me even the remotest hope!"</p>
<p> "I know not, Sir," said I, endeavouring to disengage myself from him, "what hope you
mean, but I am sure that I never intended to give you any."</p>
<p> "You distract me," cried he, "I cannot endure such scorn;-I beseech you to have some
moderation in your cruelty, lest you make me desperate:-say, then, that you pity
me,-O fairest inexorable! loveliest tyrant!-say, tell me, at least, that you pity
me!"</p>
<p> Just then, who should come in sight, as if intending to pass by the arbour, but Lord
Orville! Good Heaven, how did I start! and he, the moment he saw me, turned pale, and
was hastily retiring;-but I called out "Lord Orville!-Sir Clement, release me,-let go
my hand!"</p>
<p> Sir Clement, in some confusion, suddenly rose, but still grasped my hand. Lord
Orville, who had turned back, was again walking away; but, still struggling to
disengage myself, I called out "Pray, pray, my Lord, don't go!-Sir Clement, I insist
upon your releasing me!"</p>
<p> Lord Orville then, hastily approaching us, said, with great spirit,<lb/>"Sir
Clement, you cannot wish to detain Miss Anville by force!"</p>
<p> "Neither, my Lord," cried Sir Clement, proudly, "do I request the honour of your
Lordship's interference."</p>
<p> However, he let go my hand, and I immediately ran into the house.</p>
<p> I was now frightened to death, lest Sir Clement's mortified pride should provoke him
to affront Lord Orville: I therefore ran hastily to Mrs. Selwyn, and entreated her,
in a manner hardly to be understood, to walk towards the arbour. She asked no
questions, for she is quick as lightening in taking a hint, but instantly hastened
into the garden.</p>
<p> Imagine, my dear Sir, how wretched I must be till I saw her return! scarce could I
restrain myself from running back: however, I checked my impatience, and waited,
though in agonies, till she came.</p>
<p> And now, my dear Sir, I have a conversation to write, the most interesting to me
that I ever heard. The comments and questions with which Mrs. Selwyn interrupted her
account I shall not mention; for they are such as you may very easily suppose.</p>
<p> Lord Orville and Sir Clement were both seated very quietly in the arbour: and Mrs.
Selwyn, standing still, as soon as she was within a few yards of them, heard Sir
Clement say, "Your question, my Lord, alarms me, and I can by no means answer it,
unless you will allow me to propose another."</p>
<p> "Undoubtedly, Sir."</p>
<p> "You ask me, my Lord, what are my intentions?-I should be very happy to be satisfied
as to your Lordship's."</p>
<p> "I have never, Sir, professed any."</p>
<p> Here they were both, for a few moments, silent; and then Sir Clement said, "To what,
my Lord, must I then impute your desire of knowing mine?"</p>
<p> "To an unaffected interest in Miss Anville's welfare."</p>
<p> "Such an interest," said Sir Clement, drily, "is indeed very generous; but, except
in a father,-a brother,-or a lover-"</p>
<p> "Sir Clement," interrupted his Lordship, "I know your inference; and I acknowledge I
have not the right of enquiry which any of those three titles bestow; and yet I
confess the warmest wishes to serve her and to see her happy. Will you, then, excuse
me, if I take the liberty to repeat my question?"</p>
<p> "Yes, if your Lordship will excuse my repeating, that I think it a rather
extraordinary one."</p>
<p> "It may be so," said Lord Orville; "but this young lady seems to be peculiarly
situated; she is very young, very inexperienced, yet appears to be left totally to
her own direction. She does not, I believe, see the dangers to which she is exposed,
and I will own to you, I feel a strong desire to point them out."</p>
<p> "I don't rightly understand your Lordship,-but I think you cannot mean to prejudice
her against me?"</p>
<p> "Her sentiments of you, Sir, are as much unknown to me, as your intentions towards
her. Perhaps, were I acquainted with either, my officiousness might be at an end: but
I presume not to ask upon what terms-"</p>
<p> Here he stopped; and Sir Clement said, "You know, my Lord, I am not given to
despair; I am by no means such a puppy as to tell you I am upon sure ground; however,
perseverance-"</p>
<p> "You are, then, determined to perservere?"</p>
<p> "I am, my Lord."</p>
<p> "Pardon me, then, Sir Clement, if I speak to you with freedom. This young lady,
though she seems alone, and, in some measure, unprotected, is not entirely without
friends; she has been extremely well educated, and accustomed to good company; she
has a natural love of virtue, and a mind that might adorn any station, however
exalted: is such a young lady, Sir Clement, a proper object to trifle with?-for your
principles, excuse me, Sir, are well known."</p>
<p> "As to that, my Lord, let Miss Anville look to herself; she has an excellent
understanding, and needs no counsellor."</p>
<p> "Her understanding is indeed excellent; but she is too young for suspicion, and has
an artlessness of disposition I never saw equalled."</p>
<p> "My Lord," cried Sir Clement, warmly, "your praises make me doubt your
disinterestedness, and there exists not the man, whom I would so unwillingly have for
a rival as yourself. But you must give me leave to say, you have greatly deceived me
in regard to this affair."</p>
<p> "How so, Sir?" cried Lord Orville, with equal warmth.</p>
<p> "You were pleased, my Lord," answered Sir Clement, "upon our first conversation
concerning this young lady, to speak to her in terms by no means suited to your
present encomiums; you said she was a poor, weak, ignorant girl, and I had great
reason to believe you had a most contemptuous opinion of her."</p>
<p> "It is very true," said Lord Orville, "that I did not, at our first acquaintance, do
justice to the merits of Miss Anville; but I knew not then how new she was to the
world; at present, however, I am convinced, that whatever might appear strange in her
behaviour, was simply the effect of inexperience, timidity, and a retired education;
for I find her informed, sensible, and intelligent. She is not, indeed, like most
modern young ladies, to be known in half an hour: her modest worth, and fearful
excellence, require both time and encouragement to show themselves. She does not,
beautiful as she is, seize the soul by surprise, but, with more dangerous
fascination, she steals it almost imperceptibly."</p>
<p> "Enough, my Lord," cried Sir Clement, "your solicitude for her welfare is now
sufficiently explained."</p>
<p> "My friendship and esteem," returned Lord Orville, "I do not wish to disguise; but
assure yourself, Sir Clement, I should not have troubled you upon this subject, had
Miss Anville and I ever conversed but as friends. However, since you do not choose to
avow your intentions, we must drop the subject."</p>
<p> "My intentions," cried he, "I will frankly own, are hardly known to myself. I think
Miss Anville the loveliest of her sex; and, were I a marrying man, she, of all the
women I have seen, I would fix upon for a wife: but I believe that not even the
philosophy of your Lordship would recommend me to a connection of that sort, with a
girl of obscure birth, whose only dowry is her beauty, and who is evidently in a
state of dependency."</p>
<p> "Sir Clement," cried Lord Orville, with some heat, "we will discuss this point no
further; we are both free agents, and must act for ourselves."</p>
<p> Here Mrs. Selwyn, fearing a surprise, and finding my apprehensions of danger were
groundless, retired hastily into another walk, and soon after came to give me this
account.</p>
<p> Good Heaven, what a man is this Sir Clement! So designing, though so easy; so
deliberately artful, though so flighty! Greatly, however, is he mistaken, all
confident as he seems; for the girl, obscure, poor, dependent as she is, far from
wishing the honour of his alliance, would not only now, but always have rejected
it.</p>
<p> As to Lord Orville,-but I will not trust my pen to mention him,-tell me, my dear
sir, what you think of him?-tell me if he is not the noblest of men?-and if you can
either wonder at, or blame my admiration?</p>
<p> The idea of being seen immediately by either party, after so singular a
conversation, was both awkward and distressing to me; but I was obliged to appear at
dinner. Sir Clement, I saw, was absent and uneasy; he watched me, he watched Lord
Orville, and was evidently disturbed in his mind. Whenever he spoke to me, I turned
from him with undisguised disdain, for I am too much irritated against him, to bear
with his ill-meant assiduities any longer.</p>
<p> But, not once,-not a moment, did I dare meet the eyes of Lord Orville! All
consciousness myself, I dreaded his penetration, and directed mine every way-but
towards his. The rest of the day I never quitted Mrs. Selwyn.</p>
<p> Adieu, my dear Sir: to-morrow I expect your directions, whether I am to return to
Berry Hill, or once more to visit London.</p>
</div>
<div type="letter">
<head> LETTER LXXVI.</head>
<opener> EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Oct. 6th.</opener>
<p> AND now, my dearest Sir, if the perturbation of my spirits will allow me, I will
finish my last letter from Clifton Hill. This morning, though I did not go down
stairs early, Lord Orville was the only person in the parlour when I entered it. I
felt no small confusion at seeing him alone, after having so long and successfully
avoided such a meeting. As soon as the usual compliments were over, I would have left
the room, but he stopped me by saying, "If I disturb you Miss Anville, I am
gone."</p>
<p> "My Lord," said I, rather embarrassed, "I did not mean to stay."</p>
<p> "I flattered myself," cried he, "I should have had a moment's conversation with
you."</p>
<p> I then turned back; and he seemed himself in some perplexity: but, after a short
pause, "You are very good," said he, "to indulge my request; I have, indeed, for some
time past, most ardently desired an opportunity of speaking to you."</p>
<p> Again he paused; but I said nothing, so he went on.</p>
<p> "You allowed me, Madam, a few days since, you allowed me to lay claim to your
friendship,-to interest myself in your affairs,-to call you by the affectionate title
of sister;-and the honour you did me, no man could have been more sensible of; I am
ignorant, therefore, how I have been so unfortunate as to forfeit it:-but, at
present, all is changed! you fly me,-your averted eye shuns to meet mine, and you
sedulously avoid my conversation."</p>
<p> I was extremely disconcerted at this grave, and but too just accusation, and I am
sure I must look very simple;-but I made no answer.</p>
<p> "You will not, I hope," continued he, "condemn me unheard; if there is any thing I
have done,-or any thing I have neglected, tell me, I beseech you, what, and it shall
be the whole study of my thoughts how to deserve your pardon."</p>
<p> "Oh, my Lord," cried I, penetrated at once with shame and gratitude, "your too, too
great politeness oppresses me!-you have done nothing,-I have never dreamt of
offence-if there is any pardon to be asked it is rather for me, than for you to ask
it."</p>
<p> "You are all sweetness and condescension!" cried he, "and I flatter myself you will
again allow me to claim those titles which I find myself so unable to forego. Yet,
occupied as I am, with an idea that gives me the greatest uneasiness, I hope you will
not think me impertinent, if I still solicit, still intreat, nay implore, you to tell
me, to what cause your late sudden, and to me most painful, reserve was owing?"</p>
<p> "Indeed, my Lord," said I, stammering, "I don't,-I can't,-indeed, my Lord,-"</p>
<p> "I am sorry to distress you," said he, "and ashamed to be so urgent,-yet I know not
how to be satisfied while in ignorance,-and the time when the change happened, makes
me apprehend,-may I, Miss Anville, tell you what it makes me apprehend?"</p>
<p> "Certainly, my Lord."</p>
<p> "Tell me, then,-and pardon a question most essentially important to me;-Had, or had
not, Sir Clement Willoughby any share in causing your inquietude?"</p>
<p> "No, my Lord," answered I, with firmness, "none in the world."</p>
<p> "A thousand, thousand thanks!" cried he: "you have relieved me from a weight of
conjecture which I supported very painfully. But one thing more; is it, in any
measure, to Sir Clement that I may attribute the alteration in your behaviour to
myself, which, I could not but observe, began the very day after his arrival at the
Hot Wells?"</p>
<p> "To Sir Clement, my Lord," said I, "attribute nothing. He is the last man in the
world who would have any influence over my conduct."</p>
<p> "And will you, then, restore to me that share of confidence and favour with which
you honoured me before he came?"</p>
<p> Just then, to my great relief,-for I knew not what to say,-Mrs.<lb/>Beaumont opened
the door, and in a few minutes we went to breakfast.</p>
<p> Lord Orville was all gaiety; never did I see him more lively or more agreeable. Very
soon after, Sir Clement Willoughby called, to pay his respects, he said, to Mrs.
Beaumont. I then came to my own room, where, indulging my reflections, which, now
soothed, and now alarmed me, I remained very quietly, till I received your most kind
letter.</p>
<p> Oh, Sir, how sweet are the prayers you offer for your Evelina! how grateful to her
are the blessings you pour upon her head!-You commit me to my real parent,-Ah,
Guardian, Friend, Protector of my youth,-by whom my helpless infancy was cherished,
my mind formed, my very life preserved,-you are the Parent my heart acknowledges, and
to you do I vow eternal duty, gratitude, and affection!</p>
<p> I look forward to the approaching interview with more fear than hope; but, important
as is this subject, I am just now wholly engrossed with another, which I must hasten
to communicate.</p>
<p> I immediately acquainted Mrs. Selwyn with the purport of your letter. She was
charmed to find your opinion agreed with her own, and settled that we should go to
town to-morrow morning: and a chaise is actually ordered to be here by one
o'clock.</p>
<p> She then desired me to pack up my clothes; and said she must go herself to make
speeches and tell lies to Mrs. Beaumont.</p>
<p> When I went down stairs to dinner, Lord Orville, who was still in excellent spirits,
reproached me for secluding myself so much from the company. He sat next me,-he would
sit next me,-at table; and he might, I am sure, repeat what he once said of me
before, that he almost exhausted himself in fruitless endeavours to entertain me;
-for, indeed, I was not to be entertained: I was totally spiritless and dejected; the
idea of the approaching meeting,-and Oh, Sir, the idea of the approaching
parting,-gave a heaviness to my heart that I could neither conquer nor repress. I
even regretted the half explanation that had passed, and wished Lord Orville had
supported his own reserve, and suffered me to support mine.</p>
<p> However, when, during dinner, Mrs. Beaumont spoke of our journey, my gravity was no
longer singular; a cloud instantly overspread the countenance of Lord Orville, and he
became nearly as thoughtful and as silent as myself.</p>
<p> We all went together to the drawing-room. After a short and unentertaining
conversation, Mrs. Selwyn said she must prepare for her journey, and begged me to see
for some books she had left in the parlour.</p>
<p> And here, while I was looking for them, I was followed by Lord Orville. He shut the
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