CONCLUSION
SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY MR. BELFORD
What remains to be mentioned for the satisfaction of such of the readersas may be presumed to have interested themselves in the fortunes of thoseother principals in the story, who survived Mr. Lovelace, will be foundsummarily related as follows:
The news of Mr. LOVELACE's unhappy end was received with as much grief byhis own relations, as it was with exultation by the Harlowe family, andby Miss Howe. His own family were most to be pitied, because, beingsincere admirers of the inimitable lady, they were greatly grieved forthe injustice done her; and now had the additional mortification oflosing the only male of it, by a violent death.
That his fate was deserved, was still a heightening of their calamity, asthey had, for that very reason, and his unpreparedness for it, but toomuch ground for apprehension with regard to his future happiness. Whilethe other family, from their unforgiving spirit, and even the noble younglady above mentioned, from her lively resentments, found his death somelittle, some temporary, alleviation of the heavy loss they had sustained,principally through his means.
Temporary alleviation, we repeat, as to the Harlowe family; for THEY werefar from being happy or easy in their reflections upon their own conduct.--And still the less, as the inconsolable mother rested not till she hadprocured, by means of Colonel Morden, large extracts from some of theletters that compose this history, which convinced them all that the verycorrespondence which Clarissa, while with them, renewed with Mr.Lovelace, was renewed for their sakes, more than for her own: that shehad given him no encouragement contrary to her duty and to that prudencefor which she was so early noted: that had they trusted to a discretionwhich they owned she had never brought into question, she would haveextricated them and herself (as she once proposed* to her mother) fromall difficulties as to Lovelace: that she, if any woman ever could, wouldhave given a glorious instance of a passion conquered, or at least keptunder by reason and by piety; the man being too immoral to be implicitlybeloved.
* See Vol. I. Letter XVII.
The unhappy parents and uncles, from the perusal of these extracts, tooevidently for their peace, saw that it was entirely owing to the avarice,the ambition, the envy, of her implacable brother and sister, and to thesenseless confederacy entered into by the whole family, to compel her togive her hand to a man she must despise, or she had not been a CLARISSA,and to their consequent persecution of her, that she ever thought ofquitting her father's house: and that even when she first entertainedsuch a thought, it was with intent, if possible, to procure for herself aprivate asylum with Mrs. Howe, or at some other place of safety, (but notwith Mr. Lovelace, nor with any of the ladies of his family, thoughinvited by the latter,) from whence she might propose terms which oughtto have been complied with, and which were entirely consistent with herduty--that though she found herself disappointed of the hoped-for refugeand protection, she intended not, by meeting Mr. Lovelace, to put herselfinto his power; all that she aimed at by taking that step being toendeavour to pacify so fierce a spirit, lest he should (as he indeed wasdetermined to do) pay a visit to her friends, which might have beenattended with fatal consequences; but was spirited away by him in such amanner, as made her an object of pity rather than of blame.
These extracts further convinced them all that it was to her unaffectedregret that she found that marriage was not in her power afterwards for along time; and at last, but on one occasion, when their unnatural crueltyto her (on a new application she had made to her aunt Hervey, to procuremercy and pardon) rendered her incapable of receiving his proffered hand;and so obliged her to suspend the day: intending only to suspend it tillrecovered.
They saw with equal abhorrence of Lovelace, and of their own cruelty, andwith the highest admiration of her, that the majesty of her virtue hadawed the most daring spirit in the world, so that he durst not attempt tocarry his base designs into execution, till, by wicked potions, he hadmade her senses the previous sacrifice.
But how did they in a manner adore her memory! How did they recriminateupon each other! when they found, that she had not only preserved herselffrom repeated outrage, by the most glorious and intrepid behaviour, indefiance, and to the utter confusion of all his libertine notions, buthad the fortitude, constantly, and with a noble disdain, to reject him.--Whom?--Why, the man she once could have loved, kneeling for pardon, andbegging to be permitted to make her the best reparation then in his powerto make her; that is to say, by marriage. His fortunes high andunbroken. She his prisoner at the time in a vile house: rejected by allher friends; upon repeated application to them, for mercy andforgiveness, rejected--mercy and forgiveness, and a last blessing,afterwards imploring; and that as much to lighten their future remorses,as for the comfort of her own pious heart--yet, though savagely refused,on a supposition that she was not so near her end as she was representeddeparted, forgiving and blessing them all!
Then they recollected that her posthumous letters, instead of reproaches,were filled with comfortings: that she had in her last will, in their ownway, laid obligations upon them all; obligations which they neitherdeserved nor expected; as if she thought to repair the injustice whichself-partiality made some of them conclude done to them by hergrandfather in his will.
These intelligences and recollections were perpetual subjects ofrecrimination to them: heightened their anguish for the loss of a childwho was the glory of their family; and not seldom made them shun eachother, (at the times they were accustomed to meet together,) that theymight avoid the mutual reproaches of eyes that spoke, when tongues weresilent--their stings also sharpened by time! What an unhappy family wasthis! Well might Colonel Morden, in the words of Juvenal, challenge allother miserable families to produce such a growing distress as that ofthe Harlowes (a few months before so happy!) was able to produce.
Humani generis mores tibi nosse volenti Sufficit una domus: paucos consume dies, & Dicere te miserum, postquam illinc veneris, aude.
Mrs. HARLOWE lived about two years and an half after the lamented deathof her CLARISSA.
Mr. HARLOWE had the additional affliction to survive his lady about halfa year; her death, by new pointing his former anguish and remorse,hastening his own.
Both, in their last hours, however, comforted themselves, that theyshould be restored to their BLESSED daughter, as they always (from thetime they were acquainted with the above particulars of her story, andwith her happy exit) called her.
They both lived, however, to see their son James, and their daughterArabella, married: but not to take joy in either of their nuptials.
Mr. JAMES HARLOWE married a woman of family, an orphan; and is obliged,at a very great expense, to support his claim to estates, which were hisprincipal inducement to make his addresses to her; but which, to thisday, he has not recovered; nor is likely to recover; having powerfuladversaries to contend with, and a title to assert, which admits oflitigation; and he not blessed with so much patience as is necessary topersons embarrassed in law.
What is further observable, with regard to him, is, that the match wasentirely of his own head, against the advice of his father, mother, anduncles, who warned him of marrying in this lady a law-suit for life. Hisungenerous behaviour to his wife, for what she cannot help, and for whatis as much her misfortune as his, has occasioned such estrangementsbetween them (she being a woman of spirit) as, were the law-suitsdetermined, even more favourably than probably they will be, must makehim unhappy to the end of his life. He attributes all his misfortunes,when he opens himself to the few friends he has, to his vile and crueltreatment of his angelic sister. He confesses these misfortunes to bejust, without having temper to acquiesce in the acknowledged justice.One month in every year he puts on mourning, and that month commenceswith him on the 7th of September, during which he shuts himself up fromall company. Finally, he is looked upon, and often calls himself,
THE MOST MISERABLE OF BEINGS.
ARABELLA'S fortune became a temptation to a man
of quality to make hisaddresses to her: his title an inducement with her to approve of him.Brothers and sisters, when they are not friends, are generally thesharpest enemies to each other. He thought too much was done for in thesettlements. She thought not enough. And for some years past, they haveso heartily hated each other, that if either know a joy, it is in beingtold of some new misfortune or displeasure that happens to the other.Indeed, before they came to an open rupture, they were continuallyloading each other, by way of exonerating themselves (to the additionaldisquiet of the whole family) with the principal guilt of theirimplacable behaviour and sordid cruelty to their admirable sister.--Maythe reports that are spread of this lady's farther unhappiness from herlord's free life; a fault she justly thought so odious in Mr. Lovelace(though that would not have been an insuperable objection with her to hisaddresses); and of his public slights and contempt of her, and evensometimes of his personal abuses, which are said to be owing to herimpatient spirit, and violent passions; be utterly groundless--For, whata heart must that be, which would wish she might be as great a tormentto herself, as she had aimed to be to her sister? Especially as sheregrets to this hour, and declares that she shall to the last of herlife, her cruel treatment of that sister; and (as well as her brother) isbut too ready to attribute to that her own unhappiness.
Mr. ANTONY and Mr. JOHN HARLOWE are still (at the writing of this)living: but often declare, that, with their beloved niece, they lost allthe joy of their lives: and lament, without reserve, in all companies,the unnatural part they were induced to take against her.
Mr. SOLMES is also still living, if a man of his cast may be said tolive; for his general behaviour and sordid manners are such as justifythe aversion the excellent lady had to him. He has moreover found hisaddresses rejected by several women of far inferior fortunes (great ashis own are) to those of the lady to whom he was encouraged to aspire.
Mr. MOWBRAY and Mr. TOURVILLE having lost the man in whose conversationthey so much delighted; shocked and awakened by the several unhappycatastrophes before their eyes; and having always rather ductile anddictating hearts; took their friend Belford's advice: converted theremainder of their fortunes into annuities for life; and retired, the oneinto Yorkshire, the other into Nottinghamshire, of which counties theyare natives: their friend Belford managing their concerns for them, andcorresponding with them, and having more and more hopes, every time hesees them, (which is once or twice a year, when they come to town,) thatthey will become more and more worthy of their names and families.
As those sisters in iniquity, SALLY MARTIN and POLLY HORTON, hadabilities and education superior to what creatures of their castgenerally can boast of; and as their histories are no where given in thepreceding papers, in which they are frequently mentioned; it cannot failof gratifying the reader's curiosity, as well as answering the good endsdesigned by the publication of this work, to give a brief account oftheir parentage, and manner of training-up, preparative to the vilecourses they fell into, and of what became of them, after the dreadfulexit of the infamous Sinclair.
SALLY MARTIN was the daughter of a substantial mercer at the court-endof the town; to whom her mother, a grocer's daughter in the city, broughta handsome fortune; and both having a gay turn, and being fond of thefashions which it was their business to promote; and which the wives anddaughters of the uppermost tradesmen (especially in that quarter of thetown) generally affect to follow; it was no wonder that they brought uptheir daughter accordingly: nor that she, who was a very sprightly andready-witted girl, and reckoned very pretty and very genteel, shouldevery year improve upon such examples.
She early found herself mistress of herself. All she did was right: allshe said was admired. Early, very early, did she dismiss blushes fromher cheek. She could not blush, because she could not doubt: andsilence, whatever was the subject, was as much a stranger to her asdiffidence.
She never was left out of any party of pleasure after she had passed herninth year; and, in honour of her prattling vein, was considered as aprincipal person in the frequent treats and entertainments which herparents, fond of luxurious living, gave with a view to increase theiracquaintance for the sake of their business; not duly reflecting, thatthe part they suffered her to take in what made for their interest, wouldprobably be a mean to quicken their appetites, and ruin the morals oftheir daughter, for whose sake, as an only child, they were solicitous toobtain wealth.
The CHILD so much a woman, what must the WOMAN be?
At fifteen or sixteen, she affected, both in dress and manners, to apesuch of the quality as were most apish. The richest silks in herfather's shop were not too rich for her. At all public diversions, shewas the leader, instead of the led, of all her female kindred andacquaintances, though they were a third older than herself. She wouldbustle herself into a place, and make room for her more bashfulcompanions, through the frowns of the first possessors, at a crowdedtheatre, leaving every one near her amazed at her self-consequence,wondering she had no servant to keep place for her; whisperinglyinquiring who she was; and then sitting down admiring her fortitude.
She officiously made herself of consequence to the most noted players;who, as one of their patronesses, applied to her for her interest ontheir benefit-nights. She knew the christian, as well as sur name ofevery pretty fellow who frequented public places; and affected to speakof them by the former.
Those who had not obeyed the call her eyes always made upon all of themfor notice at her entrance, or before she took her seat, were spoken ofwith haughtiness, as, Jacks, or Toms; wile her favourites, with anaffectedly-endearing familiarity, and a prettiness of accent, wereJackeys and Tommys; and if they stood very high in her graces, deardevils, and agreeable toads.
She sat in judgment, and an inexorable judge she was upon the actionsand conduct of every man and woman of quality and fashion, as they becamethe subjects of conversation. She was deeply learned in the scandalouschronicle: she made every character, every praise, and every censure,serve to exalt herself. She should scorn to do so or so!--or, That wasever her way; and Just what she did, or liked to do; and judging herselfby the vileness of the most vile of her sex, she wiped her mouth, and satdown satisfied with her own virtue.
She had her chair to attend her wherever she went, and found people amongher betters, as her pride stooped to call some of the most insignificantpeople in the world, to encourage her visits.
She was practised in all the arts of the card-table: a true Spartan girl;and had even courage, occasionally, to wrangle off a detection. Latehours (turning night into day, and day into night) were the almostunavoidable consequences of her frequent play. Her parents pleasedthemselves that their Sally had a charming constitution: and, as long asshe suffered not in her health, they were regardless of her morals.
The needle she hated: and made the constant subjects of her ridicule thefine works that used to employ, and keep out of idleness, luxury, andextravagance, and at home (were they to have been of no other service)the women of the last age, when there were no Vauxhalls, Ranelaghs,Marybones, and such-like places of diversion, to dress out for, and gadafter.
And as to family-management, her parents had not required any knowledgeof that sort from her; and she considered it as a qualification onlynecessary for hirelings, and the low-born, and as utterly unworthy of theattention of a modern fine lady.
Although her father had great business, yet, living in so high andexpensive a way, he pretended not to give her a fortune answerable to it.Neither he nor his wife having set out with any notion of frugality couldthink of retrenching. Nor did their daughter desire that they shouldretrench. They thought glare or ostentation reputable. They called itliving genteely. And as they lifted their heads above their neighbours,they supposed their credit concerned to go forward rather than backwardin outward appearances. They flattered themselves, and they flatteredtheir girl, and she was entirely of their opinion, that she had charmsand wit enough to attract some man of rank; of fortune at least: and yetthis daug
hter of a mercer-father and grocer-mother could not bear thethoughts of a creeping cit; encouraging herself with the few instances(comcommon ones, of girls much inferior to herself in station, talents,education, and even fortune, who had succeeded--as she doubted not tosucceed. Handsome settlements, and a chariot, that tempting gewgaw tothe vanity of the middling class of females, were the least that sheproposed to herself. But all this while, neither her parents nor herselfconsidered that she had appetites indulged to struggle with, and a turnof education given her, as well as a warm constitution, unguarded bysound principles, and unbenefitted by example, which made her much betterqualified for a mistress than a wife.
Her twentieth year, to her own equal wonder and regret, passed over herhead, and she had not one offer that her pride would permit her to acceptof. A girl from fifteen to eighteen, her beauty then beginning toblossom, will, as a new thing, attract the eyes of men: but if she makeher face cheap at public places, she will find, that new faces will drawmore attention than fine faces constantly seen. Policy, therefore, ifnothing else were considered, would induce a young beauty, if she couldtame her vanity, just to show herself, and to be talked of, and thenwithdrawing, as if from discretion, (and discreet it will be to do so,)expect to be sought after, rather than to be thought to seek for; onlyreviving now-and-then the memory of herself, at the public places inturn, if she find herself likely to be forgotten; and then she will benew again. But this observation ought young ladies always to have intheir heads, that they can hardly ever expect to gratify their vanity,and at the same time gain the admiration of men worthy of making partnersfor life. They may, in short, have many admirers at public places, butnot one lover.
Sally Martin knew nothing of this doctrine. Her beauty was in its bloom,and yet she found herself neglected. 'Sally Martin, the mercer'sdaughter: she never fails being here;' was the answer, and theaccompanying observation, made to every questioner, Who is that lady?
At last, her destiny approached. It was at a masquerade that she firstsaw the gay, the handsome Lovelace, who was just returned from histravels. She was immediately struck with his figure, and with thebrilliant things that she heard fall from his lips as he happened to sitnear her. He, who was not then looking out for a wife, was taken withSally's smartness, and with an air that at the same time showed her to beequally genteel and self-significant; and signs of approbation mutuallypassing, he found no difficulty in acquainting himself where to visit hernext day. And yet it was some mortification to a person of herself-consequence, and gay appearance, to submit to be known by so fine ayoung gentleman as no more than a mercer's daughter. So natural is itfor a girl brought up as Sally was, to be occasionally ashamed of thosewhose folly had set her above herself.
But whatever it might be to Sally, it was no disappointment to Mr.Lovelace, to find his mistress of no higher degree; because he hoped toreduce her soon to the lowest condition that an unhappy woman can fallinto.
But when Miss Martin had informed herself that her lover was the nephewand presumptive heir of Lord M. she thought him the very man for whom shehad been so long and so impatiently looking out; and for whom it wasworth her while to spread her toils. And here it may not be amiss toobserve, that it is very probable that Mr. Lovelace had Sally Martin inhis thoughts, and perhaps two or three more whose hopes of marriage fromhim had led them to their ruin, when he drew the following whimsicalpicture, in a letter to his friend Belford, not inserted in the precedingcollection:
'Methinks,' says he, 'I see a young couple in courtship, having each adesign upon the other: the girl plays off: she is very happy as she is:she cannot be happier: she will not change her single state: the man, Iwill suppose, is one who does not confess, that he desires not that sheshould: she holds ready a net under her apron; he another under his coat;each intending to throw it over the other's neck; she over his, when herpride is gratified, and she thinks she can be sure of him; he over her's,when the watched-for yielding moment has carried consent too far. Andsuppose he happens to be the more dexterous of the two, and whips his netover her, before she can cast her's over him; how, I would fain know, canshe cast her's over him; how, I would fain know, can she be justlyentitled to cry out upon cruelty, barbarity, deception, sacrifices, andall the rest of the exclamatory nonsense, with which the pretty fools, insuch a case, are wont to din the ears of their conquerors? Is it notjust, thinkest thou, when she makes her appeal to gods and men, that bothgods and men should laugh at her, and hitting her in the teeth with herown felonious intentions, bid her sit down patiently under her deserveddisappointment?'
In short, Sally's parents, as well as herself, encouraged Mr. Lovelace'svisits. They thought they might trust to a discretion in he which sheherself was too wise to doubt. Pride they knew she had; and that, inthese cases, is often called discretion.--Lord help the sex, saysLovelace, if they had not pride!--Nor did they suspect danger from thatspecious air of sincerity, and gentleness of manners, which he couldassume or lay aside whenever he pleased.
The second masquerade, which was no more than their third meeting abroad,completed her ruin, from so practised, though so young a deceiver; andthat before she well knew she was in danger; for, having prevailed on herto go off with him about twelve o'clock to his aunt Forbes's, a lady ofhonour and fortune, to whom he had given reason to expect her futureniece, [the only hint of marriage he ever gave her,] he carried her offto the house of the wicked woman, who bears the name of Sinclair in thesepapers; and there, by promises, which she understood in the favourablesense, (for where a woman loves she seldom doubts enough for her safety,)obtained an easy conquest over a virtue that was little more thannominal.
He found it not difficult to induce her to proceed in the guiltycommerce, till the effects of it became to apparent to be hid. Herparents then (in the first fury of their disappointment, and vexation forbeing deprived of all hopes of such a son-in-law) turned her out ofdoors.
Her disgrace thus published, she became hardened; and, protected by herseducer, whose favourite mistress she then was, she was so incensedagainst her parents for an indignity so little suiting with her pride,and the head they had always given her, that she refused to return tothem, when, repenting of their passionate treatment of her, they wouldhave been reconciled to her: and, becoming the favourite daughter of hermother Sinclair, at the persuasions of that abandoned woman she practisedto bring on an abortion, which she effected, though she was so far gonethat it had like to have cost her her life.
Thus, unchastity her first crime, murder her next, her conscience becameseared; and, young as she was, and fond of her deceiver, soon grewindelicate enough, having so thorough-paced a school-mistress, to do allshe could to promote the pleasures of the man who had ruined her;scrupling not, with a spirit truly diabolical, to endeavour to draw inothers to follow her example. And it is hardly to be believed whatmischiefs of this sort she was the means of effecting; woman confiding inand daring woman; and she a creature of specious appearance, and greatart.
A still viler wickedness, if possible, remains to be said of SallyMartin.
Her father dying, her mother, in hopes to reclaim her, as she called it,proposed her to quit the house of the infamous Sinclair, and to retirewith her into the country, where her disgrace, and her then wicked way oflife, would not be known; and there so to live as to save appearances;the only virtue she had ever taught her; besides that of endeavouringrather to delude than be deluded.
To this Sally consented; but with no other intention, as she often owned,(and gloried in it,) than to cheat her mother of the greatest part of hersubstance, in revenge for consenting to her being turned out of doorslong before, and by way of reprisal for having persuaded her father, asshe would have it, to cut her off, in his last will, from any share inhis fortune.
This unnatural wickedness, in half a year's time, she brought about; andthen the serpent retired to her obscene den with her spoils, laughing atwhat she had done; even after it had broken her mother's heart, as it didin a few months
' time: a severe, but just punishment for the unprinciplededucation she had given her.
It ought to be added, that this was an iniquity of which neither Mr.Lovelace, nor any of his friends, could bear to hear her boast; andalways checked her for it whenever she did; condemning it with one voice.And it is certain that this, and other instances of her complicatedwickedness, turned early Lovelace's heart against her; and, had she notbeen subservient to him in his other pursuits, he would not have enduredher: for, speaking of her, he would say, Let not any one reproach us,Jack: there is no wickedness like the wickedness of a woman.*
* Eccles. xxv. 19.
A bad education was the preparative, it must be confessed; and for thisSally Martin had reason to thank her parents; as they had reason to thankthemselves for what followed: but, had she not met with a Lovelace, shehad avoided a Sinclair; and might have gone on at the common rate ofwives so educated, and been the mother of children turned out to taketheir chance in the world, as she was; so many lumps of soft wax, fit totake any impression that the first accidents gave them; neither happy,nor making happy; every thing but useful, and well off, if not extremelymiserable.
POLLY HORTON was the daughter of a gentlewoman, well descended; whosehusband, a man of family and of honour, was a Captain in the Guards.
He died when Polly was about nine years of age, leaving her to the careof her mother, a lively young lady of about twenty-six; with a genteelprovision for both.
Her mother was extremely fond of her Polly; but had it not in herself tomanifest the true, the genuine fondness of a parent, by a strict andguarded education; dressing out, and visiting, and being visited by thegay of her own sex, and casting her eye abroad, as one very ready to tryher fortune again in the married state.
This induced those airs, and a love to those diversions, which make ayoung widow, of so lively a turn, the unfittest tutoress in the world,even to her own daughter.
Mrs. Horton herself having had an early turn to music, and that sort ofreading which is but an earlier debauchery for young minds, preparativeto the grosser at riper years; to wit, romances and novels, songs andplays, and those without distinction, moral or immoral, she indulged herdaughter in the same taste; and at those hours, when they could not takepart in the more active and lively amusements and kill-times, as somecall them, used to employ Miss to read to her, happy enough, in her ownimagination, that while she was diverting her own ears, and sometimes, asthe piece was, corrupting her own heart, and her child's too, she wasteaching Miss to read, and improve her mind; for it was the boast ofevery tea-table half-hour, That Miss Horton, in propriety, accent, andemphasis, surpassed all the young ladies her age; and, at other times,complimenting the pleased mother--Bless me, Madam, with what a surprisinggrace Miss Horton reads!--she enters into the very spirit of her subject--this she could have from nobody but you! An intended praise; but, asthe subjects were, would have been a severe satire in the mouth of anenemy!--While the fond, the inconsiderate mother, with a delighted air,would cry, Why, I cannot but say, Miss Horton does credit to hertutoress! And then a Come hither, my best Love! and, with a kiss ofapprobation, What a pleasure to your dear papa, had he lived to see yourimprovements, my Charmer! Concluding with a sigh of satisfaction, hereyes turning round upon the circle, to take in all the silent applausesof theirs! But little though the fond, the foolish mother, what theplant would be, which was springing up from these seeds! Little imaginedshe, that her own ruin, as well as her child's, was to be the consequenceof this fine education; and that, in the same ill-fated hour, the honourof both mother and daughter was to become a sacrifice to the intriguinginvader.
This, the laughing girl, when abandoned to her evil destiny, and incompany with her sister Sally, and others, each recounting theirsettings-out, their progress, and their fall, frequently related to beher education and manner of training-up.
This, and to see a succession of humble servants buzzing about a mother,who took too much pride in addresses of that kind, what a beginning, whatan example, to a constitution of tinder, so prepared to receive the sparkstruck, from the steely forehead and flinty heart of such a libertine asat last it was their fortune to be encountered by!
In short, as Miss grew up under the influences of such a directress, andof books so light and frothy, with the inflaming additions of music,concerts, operas, plays, assemblies, balls, and the rest of the rabble ofamusements of modern life, it is no wonder that, like early fruit, shewas soon ripened to the hand of the insidious gatherer.
At fifteen, she owned she was ready to fancy herself the heroine of everynovel and of every comedy she read, so well did she enter into the spiritof her subject; she glowed to become the object of some hero's flame; andperfectly longed to begin an intrigue, and even to be run away with bysome enterprising lover: yet had neither confinement nor check toapprehend from her indiscreet mother, which she thought absolutelynecessary to constitute a Parthenissa!
Nevertheless, with all these fine modern qualities, did she complete hernineteenth year, before she met with any address of consequence; one halfof her admirers being afraid, because of her gay turn, and but middlingfortune, to make serious applications for her favour; while others werekept at a distance, by the superior airs she assumed; and a third sort,not sufficiently penetrating the foibles either of mother or daughter,were kept off by the supposed watchful care of the former.
But when the man of intrepidity and intrigue was found, never was heroineso soon subdued, never goddess so easily stript of her celestials! For,at the opera, a diversion at which neither she nor her mother ever missedto be present, she beheld the specious Lovelace--beheld him invested withall the airs of heroic insult, resenting a slight affront offered to hisSally Martin by two gentlemen who had known her in her more hopefulstate, one of whom Mr. Lovelace obliged to sneak away with a broken head,given with the pummel of his sword, the other with a bloody nose; neitherof them well supporting that readiness of offence, which, it seems, was apart of their known character to be guilty of.
The gallantry of this action drawing every by-stander on the side of thehero, O the brave man! cried Polly Horton, aloud, to her mother, in akind of rapture, How needful the protection of the brave to the fair!with a softness in her voice, which she had taught herself, to suit herfancied high condition of life.
A speech so much in his favour, could not but take the notice of a manwho was but too sensible of the advantages which his fine person, andnoble air, gave him over the gentler hearts, who was always watchingevery female eye, and who had his ear continually turned to everyaffected voice; for that was one of his indications of a proper subjectto be attempted--Affectation of every sort, he used to say, is a certainsign of a wrong turned head; of a faulty judgment; and upon such a basisI seldom build in vain.
He instantly resolved to be acquainted with a young creature, who seemedso strongly prejudiced in his favour. Never man had a readier inventionfor all sorts of mischief. He gave his Sally her cue. He called hersister in their hearing; and Sally, whisperingly, gave the young lady andher mother, in her own way, the particulars of the affront she hadreceived; making herself an angel of light, to cast the brighter ray uponthe character of her heroic brother. She particularly praised his knownand approved courage; and mingled with her praises of him suchcircumstances relating to his birth, his fortune, and endowments, as lefthim nothing to do but to fall in love with the enamoured Polly.
Mr. Lovelace presently saw what turn to give his professions. So brave aman, yet of manners so gentle! hit the young lady's taste: nor could shesuspect the heart that such an aspect covered. This was the man! thevery man! she whispered to her mother. And, when the opera was over, hisservant procuring a coach, he undertook, with his specious sister, to setthem down at their own lodgings, though situated a quite different wayfrom his: and there were they prevailed upon to alight, and partake of aslight repast.
Sally pressed them to return the favour to her at her aunt Forbes's, andhoped it would be before her brothe
r went to his own seat.
They promised her, and named their evening.
A splendid entertainment was provided. The guests came, having in theinterim found all that was said of his name, and family, and fortune tobe true. Persons of so little strictness in their own morals, took itnot into their heads to be very inquisitive after his.
Music and dancing had their share in the entertainment. These openedtheir hearts, already half opened by love: The aunt Forbes, and thelover's sister, kept them open by their own example. The hero sung,vowed, promised. Their gratitude was moved, their delights wereaugmented, their hopes increased, their confidence was engaged, all theirappetites up in arms; the rich wines co-operating, beat quite off theirguard, and not thought enough remaining for so much as suspicion--Miss,detached from her mother by Sally, soon fell a sacrifice to thesuccessful intriguer.
The widow herself, half intoxicated, and raised as she was with artfulmixtures, and inflamed by love, unexpectedly tendered by one of thelibertines, his constant companions, (to whom an opportunity wascontrived to be given to be alone with her, and that closely followed byimportunity, fell into her daughter's error. The consequences of which,in length of time, becoming apparent, grief, shame, remorse, seized herheart, (her own indiscretion not allowing her to arraign her daughter's,)and she survived not her delivery, leaving Polly with child likewise;who, when delivered, being too fond of the gay deluder to renounce hiscompany, even when she found herself deluded, fell into a course ofextravagance and dissoluteness; ran through her fortune in a very littletime, and, as an high preferment, at last, with Sally, was admitted aquarter partner with the detestable Sinclair.
All that is necessary to add to the history of these unhappy women, willbe comprised in a very little compass.
After the death of the profligate Sinclair, they kept on the infamoustrade with too much success; till an accident happened in the house--agentleman of family killed in it in a fray, contending with another fora new-vamped face. Sally was accused of holding the gentleman's arm,while his more-favoured adversary ran him through the heart, and thenmade off. And she being tried for her life narrowly escaped.
This accident obliged them to break up house-keeping; and not having beenfrugal enough of their ill-gotten gains, (lavishing upon one what theygot by another,) they were compelled, for subsistence sake, to enterthemselves as under-managers at such another house as their own had been.In which service, soon after, Sally died of a fever and surfeit got by adebauch; and the other, about a month after, by a violent cold,occasioned through carelessness in a salivation.
Happier scenes open for the remaining characters; for it might bedescending too low to mention the untimely ends of Dorcas, and ofWilliam, Mr. Lovelace's wicked servant; and the pining and consumptiveone's of Betty Barnes and Joseph Leman, unmarried both, and in less thana year after the happy death of their excellent young lady.
The good Mrs. NORTON passed the small remainder of her life, as happilyas she wished, in her beloved foster-daughter's dairy-house, as it usedto be called: as she wished, we repeat; for she had too strongaspirations after another life, to be greatly attached to this.
She laid out the greatest part of her time in doing good by her advice,and by the prudent management of the fund committed to her direction.Having lived an exemplary life from her youth upwards; and seen her sonhappily settled in the world; she departed with ease and calmness,without pang or agony, like a tired traveller, falling into a sweetslumber: her last words expressing her hope of being restored to thechild of her bosom; and to her own excellent father and mother, to whosecare and pains she owed that good education to which she was indebted forall her other blessings.
The poor's fund, which was committed to her care, she resigned a weekbefore her death, into the hands of Mrs. Hickman, according the directionof the will, and all the accounts and disbursements with it; which shehad kept with such an exactness, that the lady declares, that she willfollow her method, and only wishes to discharge the trust as well.
Miss HOWE was not to be persuaded to quit her mourning for her dearfriend, until six months were fully expired: and then she made Mr.HICKMAN one of the happiest men in the world. A woman of her fine senseand understanding, married to a man of virtue and good-nature, (who hadno past capital errors to reflect upon, and to abate his joys, and whosebehaviour to Mrs. Hickman is as affectionate as it was respectful to MissHowe,) could not do otherwise. They are already blessed with two finechildren; a daughter, to whom, by joint consent, they have given the nameof her beloved friend; an a son, who bears that of his father.
She has allotted to Mr. Hickman, who takes delight in doing good, (andthat as much for its own sake, as to oblige her,) his part of themanagement of the poor's fund; to be accountable for it, as shepleasantly says, to her. She has appropriated every Thursday morning forher part of that management; and takes so much delight in the task, thatshe declares it to be one of the most agreeable of her amusements. Andthe more agreeable, as she teaches every one whom she benefits, to blessthe memory of her departed friend; to whom she attributes the merit ofall her own charities, as well as the honour of those which she dispensesin pursuance of her will.
She has declared, That this fund shall never fail while she lives. Shehas even engaged her mother to contribute annually to it. And Mr.Hickman has appropriated twenty pounds a year to the same. Inconsideration of which she allows him to recommend four objects yearly topartake of it.--Allows, is her style; for she assumes the wholeprerogative of dispensing this charity; the only prerogative she does orhas occasion to assume. In every other case, there is but one willbetween them; and that is generally his or her's, as either speaks first,upon any subject, be it what it will. MRS. HICKMAN, she sometimes aspleasantly as generously tells him, must not quite forget that she wasonce MISS HOWE, because if he had not loved her as such, and with all herfoibles, she had never been MRS. HICKMAN. Nevertheless she seriously, onall occasions, and that to others as well as to himself, confesses thatshe owes him unreturnable obligations for his patience with her in HERday, and for his generous behaviour to her in HIS.
And still more the highly does she esteem and love him, as she reflectsupon his past kindness to her beloved friend; and on that dear friend'sgood opinion of him. Nor is it less grateful to her, that the worthyman joins most sincerely with her in all those respectful andaffectionate recollections, which make the memory of the departedprecious to survivors.
Mr. BELFORD was not so destitute of humanity and affection, as to beunconcerned at the unhappy fate of his most intimate friend. But whenhe reflects upon the untimely ends of several of his companions, but justmentioned in the preceding history*--On the shocking despondency anddeath of his poor friend Belton--On the signal justice which overtook thewicked Tomlinson--On the dreadful exit of the infamous Sinclair--On thedeep remorses of his more valued friend--And, on the other hand, on theexample set him by the most excellent of her sex--and on her blessedpreparation, and happy departure--And when he considers, as he often doeswith awe and terror, that his wicked habits were so rooted in hisdepraved heart, that all these warnings, and this lovely example, seemedto be but necessary to enable him to subdue them, and to reform; and thatsuch awakening-calls are hardly ever afforded to men of his cast, or (ifthey are) but seldom attended the full vigour of constitution:--When hereflects upon all these things, he adores the Mercy, which through thesecalls has snatched him as a brand out of the fire: and thinks himselfobliged to make it his endeavours to find out, and to reform, any ofthose who may have been endangered by his means; as well as to repair, tothe utmost of his power, any damage or mischiefs which he may haveoccasioned to others.
* See Letters XLI. and LVII. of this volume.
With regard to the trust with which he was honoured by the inimitablelady, he had the pleasure of acquitting himself of it in a very fewmonths, to every body's satisfaction; even to that of the unhappy family;who sent him their thanks on the occasion. Nor was he, at delivering uphis
accounts, contented without resigning the legacy bequeathed to him,to the uses of the will. So that the poor's fund, as it is called, isbecome a very considerable sum: and will be a lasting bank for relief ofobjects who best deserve relief.
There was but one earthly blessing which remained for Mr. Belford to wishfor, in order, morally speaking, to secure to him all his otherblessings; and that was, the greatest of all worldly ones, a virtuous andprudent wife. So free a liver as he had been, he did not think that hecould be worthy of such a one, till, upon an impartial examination ofhimself, he found the pleasure he had in his new resolutions so great,and his abhorrence of his former courses so sincere, that he was the lessapprehensive of a deviation.
Upon this presumption, having also kept in his mind some encouraginghints from Mr. Lovelace; and having been so happy as to have it in hispower to oblige Lord M. and that whole noble family, by some servicesgrateful to them (the request for which from his unhappy friend wasbrought over, among other papers, with the dead body, by De la Tour); hebesought that nobleman's leave to make his addresses to Miss CHARLOTTEMONTAGUE, the eldest of his Lordship's two nieces: and making at the sametime such proposals of settlements as were not objected to, his Lordshipwas pleased to use his powerful interest in his favour. And his worthyniece having no engagement, she had the goodness to honour Mr. Belfordwith her hand; and thereby made him as completely happy as a man can be,who has enormities to reflect upon, which are out of his power to atonefor, by reason of the death of some of the injured parties, and theirreclaimableness of others.
'Happy is the man who, in the time of health and strength, sees andreforms the error of his ways!--But how much more happy is he, who has nocapital and wilful errors to repent of!--How unmixed and sincere must thejoys of such a one come to him!'
Lord M. added bountifully in his life-time, as did also the two ladieshis sisters, to the fortune of their worthy niece. And as Mr. Belfordhad been blessed with a son by her, his Lordship at his death [whichhappened just three years after the untimely one of his unhappy nephew]was pleased to devise to that son, and to his descendents for ever (andin case of his death unmarried, to any other children of his niece) hisHertfordshire estate, (designed for Mr. Lovelace,) which he made up tothe value of a moiety of his real estates; bequeathing also a moietyof his personal to the same lady.
Miss PATTY MONTAGUE, a fine young lady [to whom her noble uncle, at hisdeath, devised the other moiety of his real and personal estates,including his seat in Berkshire] lives at present with her excellentsister, Mrs. Belford; to whom she removed upon Lord M.'s death: but, inall probability, will soon be the lady of a worthy baronet, of ancientfamily, fine qualities, and ample fortunes, just returned from histravels, with a character superior to the very good one he set out with:a case that very seldom happens, although the end of travel isimprovement.
Colonel MORDEN, who, with so many virtues and accomplishments, cannot beunhappy, in several letters tot eh executor, with whom he correspondsfrom Florence, [having, since his unhappy affair with Mr. Lovelacechanged his purpose of coming so soon to reside in England as he hadintended,] declares, That although he thought himself obliged either toaccept of what he took to be a challenge, as such; or tamely toacknowledge, that he gave up all resentment of his cousin's wrongs; andin a manner to beg pardon for having spoken freely of Mr. Lovelace behindhis back; and although at the time he owns he was not sorry to be calledupon, as he was, to take either the one course or the other; yet now,coolly reflecting upon his beloved cousin's reasonings against duelling;and upon the price it had too probably cost the unhappy man; he wishes hehad more fully considered those words in his cousin's posthumous letter--'If God will allow him time for repentance, why should you deny it him?'*
* Several worthy persons have wished, that the heinous practice ofduelling had been more forcibly discouraged, by way of note, at theconclusion of a work designed to recommend the highest and most importantdoctrines of christianity. It is humbly presumed, that these personshave not sufficiently attended to what is already done on that subject inVol. II. Letter XII. and in this volume, Letter XVI. XLIII. XLIV. andXLV.
To conclude--The worthy widow Lovick continues to live with Mr. Belford;and, by her prudent behaviour, piety, and usefulness, has endearedherself to her lady, and to the whole family.