A1r A1v

Frontispiece to the Lady’s Museum. A full page engraving of a group of white women in togas in front of a large building and sculpture. They are standing around a table piled with books and parchments. A cherub (possibly Cupid) and a white man/god with a loin-cloth and wreathed headdress look on. A. Walker del. et sculp.


Lady’s Museum.

By the Author of the Female Quixote.

Vol. I.

A coat of arms ornamented with scrolling and a lion on one side and a unicorn on the other. The words “Honi soit qui mal y pense” are written around the central crest and “Dieu et mon droit” is written on a banner at the bottom.

Honi soit qui mal y pense

Dieu et mon droit

“Honi Soit Q Mal Y Pense”
“Dieu Et Mon Droit”

Printed for J. Newberry in St. Paul’s Church-
Yard, and J. Coote in PaterNoster Row.

A2v B1r

Lady’s Museum

As I do not set out with great promises
to the public of the wit, humour, and
morality, which this pamphlet is to
contain, so I expect no reproaches to
fall on me, if I should happen to fail in any, or all
of these articles.

My readers may depend upon it, I will always
be as witty as I can, as humorous as I can, as
moral as I can, and upon the whole as entertaining
as I can. However, as I have but too much reason
to distrust my own powers of pleasing, I shall usher
in my pamphlet with the performance of a lady,
who possibly would never have suffered it to appear
in print, if this opportunity had not offered.

If her sprightly paper meets with encouragement
enough to dispel the diffidence natural to a
young writer, she will be prevailed upon, I hope, to
continue it in this Museum; I shall therefore, without
any farther preface, present it to my readers.

Numb. I. B The
B1v 2

The Trifler.

[Number I.]

“Cast your eyes upon paper, madam; there you
may look innocently”
, said a polite old gentleman
of my acquaintance to me, one day, in the
words of a wit to a fine lady. A compliment is no
unpleasing way of conveying advice to a young woman,
and when that advice may be so construed, as
to become perfectly agreeable to her own inclinations,
it is certain to be well received, and quickly
complied with. It is indeed very clear to me, that
my friend in this borrowed admonition recommended
reading to eyes which he probably thought
were too intent upon pleasing; but I, with a small
deviation from the sense, applied it, to what is I
freely own my predominant passion; and therefore
resolved to write, still pursuing the same darling
end, though by different means.

So frankly to acknowledge the desire of pleasing
to be my predominant passion, is in other
words, to confess myself, one of that ridiculous
species of beings, called a coquet.――This will be
said by some, and thought by others, for all do not
say what they think on such occasions.

Yet to that laudable principle, in women mistaken
for coquetry, we owe the thunder of eloquence
in the senate, as well as the glitter of dress in the draw- B2r 3
drawing-room. An animated speech, and a wellchosen
silk, are equally the effects of a desire to
please, both in the patriot and the beauty: and if
the one is ever observed to be silent, and the other
without ornaments, it is because he is persuaded,
that silence is most expressive; and she, that negligence
is most becoming.

But for this active principle, the statesman would
be no politician, and the general no warrior.
The desire of fame, or the desire of pleasing,
which, in my opinion, are synonimous terms, produces
application in one and courage in the other.
It is the poet’s inspiration, the patriot’s zeal, the
courtier’s loyalty, and the orator’s eloquence. All
are coquets, if that be coquetry, and those grave
personages and the fine lady are alike liable to be
charged with it.

But it will be objected, that the distinguishing
characteristic of a coquet is to use her powers of
pleasing to the ungenerous purpose of giving pain;
the same may be said of each of the others. All
human excellence, as well as human happiness, is
comparative. We are admired but in proportion
as we excel others, and whoever excels is sure to
give pain, to his inferiors in merit, either from
envy or emulation; passions which produce sensations
nearly alike, although their consequences
are very different.

I hope I have now fully proved, that I, tho’
a woman, young, single, gay, and ambitious of
pleasing, deserve not the odious appellation of
coquet; I say, I hope, I have proved it, for I am B2 but B2v 4
but eighteen, and not used to be contradicted in
an argument. “If seldom your opinions err;
Your eyes are always in the right,”

says the gallant Prior. Hence it follows that we always
triumph in a dispute, though I cannot help
allowing, that we often triumph without victory.

Universally, as I could wish to please in this
paper, yet I shall be contented, if it finds only a
favourable acceptance with my own sex, to whose
amusement it is chiefly designed to contribute.

To introduce it to them under the denomination
of a trifle may be thought an affront to their understandings.
But in the choice of my title, I remembered
the fable of the mountain that brought
forth a mouse. That I have promised little is my
security from censure; if I give more it will be
my best claim to praise. I should indeed have
thought some apology necessary for an undertaking
of this kind, had I not been persuaded, it was a
mighty easy one, from its being so frequently attempted,
and by persons too of my own sex.

The subjects I propose to treat of will be such as
reading and observation shall furnish me with; for,
with a strong passion for intellectual pleasures, I
have likewise a taste for many of the fashionable
amusements, and in the disposition of my time, I
have contrived to gratify both these inclinations;
one I thought too laudable to be restrained, the
other I found too pleasing to be wholly subdued.

I am B3r 5

I am already aware that I have talked too much
of myself: it is indeed a subject one cannot easily
quit, and perhaps I am not sorry, that in introductory
papers of this sort, the writers have generally
given some account of themselves. Every one
knows that long custom has the force of a law;
and, in obedience to this, I shall fill up my first
paper with a short history of myself.

I am the daughter of a gentleman remarkable
only in this, that during the course of a pretty
long life, he never lost a friend, or made an enemy.
From which singular circumstance I leave
the reader to collect his character. My mother
was generally allowed to be a well bred-woman,
and an excellent economist. In her youth she was
extremely indulged by her parents, who, on account
of a slight disorder in her eyes, would not
suffer her to use her needle, or look into a book,
except on Sundays or holidays, when she was permitted
to read two or three verses of a chapter in
the Bible.

My mother therefore grew up, not only without
any taste, but with a high contempt for reading;
and those of her female acquaintance who had made
any proficiency that way were sure to be distinguished
by her, with the opprobrious term of being
book-learned, which my mother always pronounced
with a look and accent of ineffable scorn.

My sister, who is a year younger than myself,
so entirely engrossed her affection, that I was
wholly neglected by her. My fondness for reading,
which I discovered very early, encreased her dislike
of me. As she seldom chose to have me in her sight, B3 I had B3v 6
I had opportunities sufficient to indulge myself in
this favourite amusement, for I had taken possession
of all the books my brother left behind him,
when he went to the university; but having great
sensibility of soul, I was so affected with my mother’s
partial fondness for my sister, and neglect of
me, that young as I then was, I often past whole
nights in tears, lamenting my misfortune.

But this sensibility entirely ruined me with my
mother; for, being one day excessively shocked at
some new instance of her partiality, I went up
sobbing to the nursery, and had recourse to a book
for my relief. It happened to be Æsop’s Fables:
I opened it at the following one, which striking my
imagination, then full of the preference given by
my mother to my sister, I followed a sudden impulse,
and sent it to my mother, desiring she would
be pleased to read it; for I did not doubt but
she would make a proper application of it.

“An ape had twins: she doated upon one of
them, and did not much care for the other. She
took a sudden fright one day, and in a hurry
whips up her darling under her arm, and took
no heed of the other, which therefore leaped
astride upon her shoulders. In this haste down
she comes, and beats out her favourite’s brains
upon a stone, while that which she had on her
back came off safe and sound.”

My mother, surprised at the novelty of the request,
read the fable, and immediately afterwards
came up to the nursery in great wrath, and corrected
me severely, for calling her an ape, prophetically
declaring that a girl who at nine years old could B4r 7
could be so wicked, as to compare her mother to
an ape, would never come to good.

Every one who came to the house was told the
horrid crime I had been guilty of, the servants
held me in the utmost detestation for comparing
my mother to an ape, never mentioning it, without
lifted up hands and eyes, in abhorrence of such
early undutifulness.

My father, who had loved me with great tenderness,
was dead when this incident happened;
and the most effectual way of paying court to my
mamma being to caress my sister, and take no notice
of me, I met with very few friends, either at
home or abroad.

In this state of humiliation and disgrace my brother
found me, at his return from the university.
When my sister and I were presented to him, my
mother did not fail to relate the crime for which I
had suffered so much, shewing him the book, which
she had kept carefully ever after, with the leaf
doubled down, at the fatal fable, declaring she
thought herself very unhappy in having given birth
to a child who was likely to prove so great an affliction
to her; “for may not every thing that is
said she, “be expected from a girl who at
her years could compare her mother to an ape?”

My brother read the fable, and my mother leaving
the room to give some necessary orders, he ran
eagerly to me, snatched me up in his arms, and
gave me a hundred kisses. My little heart was so
sensibly affected with a tenderness to which I had
not been accustomed, that I burst into tears.

B4 My B4v 8

My mother at her return found me sobbing,
with the violence of my emotions, and did not
doubt but my brother had been chiding me. He
told her gravely, that since I was so fond of reading,
he would regulate my studies himself, and
take care I should read no books which might
teach me to be undutiful.

To this dear brother I owe the advantage of a
right education, which I had like to have missed.
After my mother’s death he took me entirely under
his own care. My sister chose to reside with an
aunt, whose heir she expects to be; and while she
is a slave to the caprices of an old woman, I have
the pleasure of being the mistress of a well-ordered
family, for I keep my brother’s house; and by endeavouring
to make him an useful as well as agreeable
companion, enjoy the sweet satisfaction of
shewing every day my gratitude for obligations it
can never be in my power to return.

Of B5r 9

Of the
Studies proper for Women.

Translated from the French.

To prohibit women entirely from learning
is treating them with the same indignity that
Mahomet did, who, to render them voluptuous,
denied them souls; and indeed the greatest part of
women act as if they had really adopted a tenet
so injurious to the sex, and appear to set no value
upon that lively imagination, that sprightly wit
which makes them more admired than beauty

When we consider the happy talents which women
in general possess, and how successfully some
have cultivated them, we cannot without indignation
observe the little esteem they have for the
endowments of their minds which it is so easy for
them to improve. They are, as Montaigne says,
flowers of quick growth, and by the delicacy of
their conception, catch readily and without trouble
the relation of things to each other. It is a melancholy
consideration that the most precious gifts of
nature should be stifled, or obscured by a shameful

The charms of their persons, how powerful soever,
may attract, but cannot fix us; something more B5v 10
more than beauty is necessary to rivet the lover’s
chain. By often beholding a beautiful face, the
impression it first made on us soon wears away.
When the woman whose person we admire is incapable
of pleasing us by her conversation, languor
and satiety, soon triumph over the taste we had
for her charms: hence arises the inconstancy with
which we are so often reproached; it is that barrenness
of ideas which we find in women that renders
men unfaithful.

The ladies may judge of the difference there is
among them, by that which they themselves make
between a fool who teases them with his impertinence,
and a man of letters who entertains them
agreeably; a very little labour would equal them
to the last, and perhaps give them the advantage.
This is a kind of victory which we wish to yield
them. We would, without envy, see them dividing
with us a good, whose value is always
greater than the labour by which it is acquired.

The more they shall enlarge their notions, the
more subjects of conversation will be found between
them and us, and the more sprightly and
affecting will that conversation be. How many
delicate sentiments, how many nice sensibilities
are lost by not being communicable, and in which
we should feel an increase of satisfaction could we
meet with women disposed to taste them!

But what are the studies to which women may
with propriety apply themselves? This question I
take upon myself to answer; and I intreat the ladies
to pardon me, if among all the sciences which
exercise the wonderful activity of the human mind, I B6r 11
I pronounce that only some are fit to be cultivated
by them. I would particularly recommend to them
to avoid all abstract learning, all thorny researches,
which may blunt the finer edge of their
wit, and change the delicacy in which they excel
into pedantic coarseness.

If their sex has produced Daciers Anne le Fevre, wife of monsieur Dacier. She translated
Florus, Terence, and Homer, and added very learned notes of
her own.
and Chatelets, Gabriella Emilia de Bréteuil, marchioness du Châtelet.
She explained Leibnitz, translated Newton, and commented
upon him. We have philosophical institutions of hers,
which prove the force of her wonderful genius to all who
have learning enough to render them capable of judging of it.

these are examples rarely found, and fitter to be
admired than imitated: for who would wish to see
assemblies made up of doctors in petticoats, who
will regale us with Greek and the systems of Leibnitz.
The learning proper for women is such as
best suits the soft elegance of their form, such as
may add to their natural beauties, and qualify them
for the several duties of life. There is nothing
more disgustful than those female theologians, who,
adopting all the animosity of the party they have
thought fit to join, assemble ridiculous synods in
their houses, and form extravagant sects. A
Bourignon Antoinette Bourignon, a celebrated visionary, who purchased
the island of Nordstrand, to establish a sect of mysticks
there. She composed nineteen large volumes, and wasted a
very considerable fortune by her attempts to propagate her extravagant
a virgin of Venice, The virgin of Venice, an old woman, who, supported by
Postel, called herself the Messiah of women.
a madame Guyon, B6v 12
Guyon, Madame Guyon, a lady of great beauty and fortune,
who in the reign of Louis XIV. preached the doctrine of pure
love, and renewed the extravagances of quietism.
are characters more detestable than libertines,
like Ninon. Ninon Lenclos, a woman of gallantry in the last age.

It is in such parts of learning only as afford the
highest improvement that we invite women to
share with us. All that may awaken curiosity, and
lend graces to the imagination, suits them still better
than us. This is a vast field where we may
together exercise the mind; and here they may
even excel us without mortifying our pride.

History and natural philosophy are alone sufficient
to furnish women with an agreeable kind of
study. The latter, in a series of useful observations
and interesting experiments, offers a spectacle
well worthy the consideration of a reasonable being.
But in vain does nature present her miracles to the
generality of women, who have no attention but
to trifles: she is dumb to those who know not
how to interrogate her.

Yet surely it requires but a small degree of attention
to be struck with that wonderful harmony
which reigns throughout the universe, and to be
ambitious of investigating its secret springs. This
is a large volume which is open to all; here a pair
of beautiful eyes may employ themselves without
being fatigued. This amiable study will banish
languor from the sober amusements of the country,
and repair that waste of intellect which is caused
by the dissipations of the town. Women cannot be B7r 13
be too much excited to raise their eyes to objects
like these, which they but too often debase to such
as are unworthy of them.

The sex is more capable of attention than we
imagine: what they chiefly want is a well directed
application. There is scarcely a young girl who
has not read with eagerness a great number of idle
romances, and puerile tales, sufficient to corrupt
her imagination and cloud her understanding. If
she had devoted the same time to the study of history,
she would in those varied scenes which the
world offers to view, have found facts more interesting,
and instruction which only truth can

Those striking pictures, that are displayed in
the annals of the human race, are highly proper to
direct the judgment, and form the heart. Women
have at all times had so great a share in events, and
have acted so many different parts, that they may
with reason consider our archives as their own:
nay, there are many of them who have written memoirs
of the several events of which they had been
eye-witnesses. Mademoiselle de Montpensier, Madame
de Némours
, Madame de Motteville, are of
this number. Christina of Pisan, daughter to the
astronomer, patronised by the Emperor Charles
the fifth
, has given us the life of that prince; and
long before her, the princess Anna Comnenus
wrote the history of her own times. We call upon
the ladies to assert their rights, and from the study of
history to extract useful lessons for the conduct of

This B7v 14

This study, alike pleasing and instructive, will
naturally lead to that of the fine arts, which it is
fit the ladies should have a less superficial knowledge
of. The arts are in themselves too amiable
to need any recommendation to the sex: all
the objects they offer to their view have some
analogy with women, and are like them adorned
with the brightest colours. The mind is agreeably
soothed by those images which poetry, painting,
and musick trace out to it, especially if they are
found to agree with purity of manners. It was these
three charming arts, which, in the last reign, rendered
Mademoiselle Chéron so celebrated; a lady in
whom the talents of Sappho, of M――, and of Rosalba
were united.

To familiarize ourselves with the arts is in some
degree to create a new sense. So agreeably have
they imitated nature, nay, so often have they embellished
it, that whoever cultivates them, will in
them always find a fruitful source of new pleasures.
We ought to provide against the encroachments of
languor and weariness by this addition to our natural
riches; and surely when we may so easily
transfer to ourselves the possession of that multitude
of pleasing ideas which they have created, it would
be the highest stupidity to neglect such an advantage.

There is no reason to fear that the ladies, by applying
themselves to these studies, will throw a shade
over the natural graces of their wit. No; on the contrary,
those graces will be placed in a more conspicuous
point of view: what can equal the pleasure we receive
from the conversation of a woman who is 3 more B8r 15
more solicitous to adorn her mind than her person?
In the company of such women there can be no
satiety; every thing becomes interesting, and has a
secret charm which only they can give. The delightful
art of saying the most ingenious things
with a graceful simplicity is peculiar to them: it
is they who call forth the powers of wit in men,
and communicate to them that easy elegance which
is never to be acquired in the closet.

But what preservative is there against weariness
and disgust in the society of women of weak and
unimproved understanding? In vain do they endeavour
to fill the void of their conversation with
insipid gaiety: they soon exhaust the barren funds
of fashionable trifles, the news of the day, and
hackneyed compliments; they are at length obliged
to have recourse to scandal, and it is well if they
stop there: a commerce in which there is nothing
solid must be either mean or criminal.

There is but one way to make it more varied
and more interesting. If ladies of the first
rank would condescend to form their taste upon
our best authors, and collect ideas from their useful
writings, conversation would take another cast:
their acknowledged merit would banish that swarm
of noisy impertinents who flutter about them, and
who endeavour to render them as contemptible
as themselves: men of sense and learning would
then frequent their assemblies, and form a circle
more worthy of the name of good company.

In this new circle gaiety would not be banished,
but refined by delicacy and wit. Merit is not austere
in its nature; there is a calm and uniform chear- B8v 16
chearfulness that runs through the conversation
of persons of real understanding, which is far preferable
to the noisy mirth of ignorance and folly.
Those societies formed by the Sevignes, the Fayetts,
The Sabliéres, with the Vivonnes, the La Fares, and
Rochefoucaults, were surely more pleasing than
the assemblies of our days. Among them learning
was not pedantic, nor wisdom severe; and subjects
of the highest importance were treated with
all the sprightliness of wit.

The ladies must allow me once more to repeat
to them that the only means of charming, and of
charming long, is to improve their minds; good
sense gives beauties which are not subject to fade
like the lillies and roses of their cheeks, but will
prolong the power of an agreeable woman to the
autumn of her life. It was by her wit that the Dutchess of Valentinois charmed
three successive monarchs, and preserved her influence to
an extreme old age. It was to their wit that Madame de
, Madam Tencin, and several other ladies owed their
power of charming when their youth was fled. The graces
of a fine understanding, improved by study, never grow old.
If the sex would not have
their influence confined to the short triumph of a
day, they must endeavour to improve their natural
talents by study, and the conversation of men of
letters. Neglect will not then steal upon them in
proportion as their bloom decays; but they will
unite in themselves all the advantages of both

We live no longer in an age when prejudice
condemned women as well as the nobility, to a
shameful ignorance. The ridicule with which pedantrydan- C1r 17
was treated had so much discredited every
kind of knowledge, that there were many ladies
who thought it graceful to murder the words of
their native language; but some were still found,
who, shaking off the yoke of fashion, ventured to
think justly, and speak with propriety; and even at
this time there are a small number who are not
ashamed of being more learned than the idle man
of fashion, and the fluttering courtier.

Harriot and Sophia.

Harriot and Sophia were the daughters
of a gentleman, who, having spent a good
paternal inheritance before he was five and thirty,
was reduced to live upon the moderate salary of a
place at court, which his friends procured him to
get rid of his importunities. The same imprudence
by which he had been governed in affairs of
lesser importance directed him likewise in the
choice of a wife: the woman he married had no No. I. C merit C1v 18
merit but beauty, and brought with her to the
house of a man whose fortune was already ruined
nothing but a taste for luxury and expence, without
the means of gratifying it.

Harriot, the eldest daughter of this couple, was,
like her mother, a beauty, and upon that account,
as well as the conformity of her temper and inclinations
to hers, engrossed all her affection.

Sophia she affected to despise, because she wanted
in an equal degree those personal attractions, which in
her opinion constituted the whole of female perfection.
Meer common judges however allowed her
person to be agreeable; people of discernment and
taste pronounced her something more. The striking
sensibility of her countenance, the soft elegance of
her shape and motion, a melodious voice in speaking,
whose varied accents enforced the sensible things
she always said, were beauties not capable of striking
vulgar minds, and which were sure to be
eclipsed by the dazzling lustre of her sister’s complexion,
and the fire of two bright eyes, whose
motions were as quick and and unsettled as her

While Harriot was receiving the improvement
of a polite education, Sophia was left to form herself
as well as she could; happily for her a just
taste and solid judgment supplied the place of
teachers, precept, and example. The hours that
Harriot wasted in dress, company, and gay amusements,
were by Sophia devoted to reading.

A good old gentleman, who was nearly related
to her father, perceiving this taste in her, encouragedraged C2r 19
it by his praises, and furnished her with the
means of gratifying it, by constantly supplying her
with such books as were best calculated to improve
her morals and understanding. His admiration encreasing
in proportion as he had opportunities of
observing her merit, he undertook to teach her
the French and Italian languages, in which she
soon made a surprising progress; and by the time
she had reached her fifteenth year, she had read
all the best authors in them, as well as in her

By this unwearied application to reading, her
mind became a beautiful store-house of ideas:
hence she derived the power and the habit of constant
reflection, which at once enlarged her understanding,
and confirmed her in the principles of
piety and virtue.

As she grew older the management of the family
entirely devolved upon her; for her mother had no
taste for any thing but pleasure, and her sister was
taught to consider herself as a fine lady, whose beauty
could not fail to make her fortune, and whose
sole care it ought to be to dress to the greatest advantage,
and make her appearance in every place
where she might encrease the number of her admirers.

Sophia, in acquitting herself of the duties of a
house-keeper to her mother, shewed that the highest
intellectual improvements were not incompatible
with the humbler cares of domestic life: every
thing that went through her hands received a
grace and propriety from the good sense by which
she was directed; nor did her attention to familyaffairsC2 affairs C2v 20
break in upon her darling amusement reading.

People who know how to employ their time
well are always good economists of it. Sophia laid
out hers in such exact proportions, that she had
always sufficient for the several employments she
was engaged in: the business of her life, like that
of nature, was performed without noise, hurry,
or confusion.

The death of Mr. Darnley threw this little family
into a deplorable state of indigence, which
was felt the more severely, as they had hitherto
lived in an affluence of all things, and the debts
which an expence so ill proportioned to their income
had obliged Mr. Darnley to contract, left
the unhappy widow and her children without any
resource. The plate, furniture, and every thing
valuable were seized by the creditors. Mrs. Darnley
and her daughters retired to a private lodging,
where the first days were passed in weak despondence
on the part of the mother, in passionate repinings
on that of the eldest daughter, and by Sophia
in decent sorrow and pious resignation.

Mrs. Darnely however, by a natural consequence
of her thoughtless temper, soon recovered her former
gaiety. Present evils only were capable of affecting
her; reflection and forecast never disturbed
the settled calm of her mind. If the wants of one day
were supplied, she did not consider what inconveniences
the next might produce. As for Harriot she
found resources of comfort in the exalted ideas she
had of her own charms; and having already laid it down C3r 21
down as a maxim, that poverty was the most shameful
thing in the world, she formed her resolutions

Sophia, as soon as her grief for the loss of her
father had subsided, began to consider of some
plan for their future subsistence. She forbore
however to communicate her thoughts on this
subject to her mother and sister, who had always
affected to treat every thing which she said with contempt,
the mean disguise which envy had assumed to hide
their consciousness of her superior merit; but she
opened her mind to the good old gentleman, to
whom she had been obliged for many of her improvements.
She told him that being by his generous
cares qualified to undertake the education of
a young lady, she was desirous of being received
into the family of some person of distinction in the
quality of governess to the daughters of it, that she
might at once secure to herself a decent establishment,
and be enabled to assist her mother. She
hinted that if her sister could be also prevailed upon
to enter into the service of a lady of quality, they
might jointly contribute their endeavours to make
their mother’s life comfortable.

Mr. Herbert praised her design, and promised to
mention it to Mrs. Darnley, to whom he conceived
he might speak with the greater freedom, as his near
relation to her husband, and the long friendship
which had subsisted between them, gave him a right
to interest himself in their affairs. The first words
he uttered produced such an emotion in Mrs. Darnley’s
countenance, as convinced him that what he
had farther to say would not be favourably received.
She coloured, drew herself up with an C3 air C3v 22
air of dignity, looking at the same time at her
eldest daughter with a scornful smile.

Mr. Herbert, however, continued his discourse,
when Harriot, with a pertness which she took for
wit, interrupted him with a loud laugh, and asked
him, if going to service was the best provision he
could think of for Mr. Darnley’s daughters?

Mr. Herbert, turning hastily to her, replied with
a look of great gravity, and in a calm accent,
“Have you, miss, thought of any thing better?”

Harriot, without being disconcerted, retorted
very briskly, “People who have nothing but advice
to offer to their friends in distress, ought to be
silent till they are asked for it.”

“Good advice, miss,” replied the old gentleman
with the same composure, “is what every
body cannot, and many will not give; and it is
at least an instance of friendship to hazard it,
where one may be almost sure of its giving offence.”
“But,” continued he, turning to Sophia,
“my young pupil here has I hope not profited so
little by her reading as not to know the value of
good counsel; and I promise her she shall not
only command the best that I am capable of giving,
but every other assistance she may stand in
need of.”
Saying this, he bowed and went away,
without any attempts from Mrs. Darnley to detain

Poor Sophia, who was supposed by her silence
to have acquiesced in the old gentleman’s proposal,
was exposed to a thousand reproaches for her
meanness of spirit. She attempted to shew the utility,
and even the necessity of following his advice;
but she found on this occasion, as she had on many others, C4r 23
others, that with some persons it is not safe to be
too reasonable. Her arguments were answered
with rage and invective, which soon silenced her,
and increased the triumph of her imperious sister.

Mr. Herbert, apprehensive of the ill treatment
she was likely to be exposed to, offered to place her
in the family of a country clergyman, and to pay for
her board till such a settlement as she desired could
be procured for her; but the tender Sophia, not
willing to leave her mother while she could be of
any use to her, gratefully declined his offer, full
expecting that the increasing perplexity of their
circumstances might bring her to relish his reasonable
counsels, and that she might have the sanction
of her consent to a step which prudence made necessary
to be taken.

A legacy of a hundred pounds being left her by
a young lady who tenderly loved her, and who
died in her arms, she immediately presented it to
her mother, by whom it was received it with a
transport of joy, but without any reflection upon
the filial piety of her who gave it.

Sophia’s good friend, though he did not absolutely
approve of this exalted strain of tenderness,
yet did not fail to place the merit of it in the fullest
light; but Harriot, who never heard any praises of
her sister without a visible emotion, interrupted him,
by saying, that Sophia had only done what she
ought; and that she herself would have acted in the
same manner, if the sum had been twenty times

The same delicacy which induced Sophia to divest
herself of any particular right to this small C4 legacy, C4v 24
legacy, made her see the misapplication of it without
discovering the least mark of dislike. Harriot,
who governed her mother absolutely, having represented
to her, that the obscurity in which they
lived was not the means to preserve their old
friends, or to acquire new ones; and that it was
their business to appear again in the world, and
put themselves in the way of fortune, which could
not be done without making a decent appearance
at least; Mrs. Darnley, who thought this reasoning
unanswerable, consented to their changing their
present lodgings for others more genteel, and to
whatever expences her eldest daughter judged necessary
to secure the success of her scheme.

Sophia lamented in secret this excess of imprudence;
and to avoid being a witness of it, as well
as to free her mother from the expence of her
maintenance, she resolved to accept of the first genteel
place that offered; but the natural softness
and timidity of her temper made her delay as long
as possible mentioning this design to her mother
and sister, lest it should be construed into a tacit
reproach of them for a conduct so very different.

Indeed her condition was greatly altered for the
worse, since the present she had made of her legacy.
Her mother and sister had never loved her much,
and their tenderness for her was now entirely lost
in the uneasy consciousness of having owed an obligation
to her, for which they could not resolve to
be grateful. They no longer considered her as an
insignificant person whose approbation or dislike
was of no sort of consequence, but as a saucy censurer
of their actions, who assumed to herself a superiority,pe- C5r 25
on account of the paultry assistance she
had offered them: every thing she said was construed
into upbraidings of the benefit she had conferred
upon them. If she offered her opinion
upon any occasion, Harriot would say to her with
a malicious sneer, “To be sure you think you
have a right to give us laws, because we have had
the misfortune to be obliged to you.”
And Mrs.
, working herself up to an agony of grief
and resentment for the fancied insult, would lift
up her eyes and cry, “How much is that mother
be pitied who lives to receive alms from her

Poor Sophia used to anser no otherwise than by
tears: but this was sure to aggravate her fault;
for it was supposed that she wept and appeared
afflicted only to shew people what ungrateful returns
she met for her goodness.

Thus did the unhappy Sophia, with the softest
sensibility of heart and tenderest affections, see herself
excluded from the endearing expressions of a
mother’s fondness, only by being too worthy of it,
and exposed to shocking suspicions of undutifulness
for an action that shewed the highest filial affection:
so true it is, that great virtues cannot be
understood by mean and little minds, and with
such, not only lose all their lustre, but are too often
mistaken for the contrary vices.

While Sophia passed her time in melancholy reflections,
Harriot, being by her generous gift enabled
to make as shewy an appearance as her mourning
habit would permit, again mixed in company,
and laid baits for admiration. Her beauty soon 3 pro- C5v 26
procured her a great number of lovers; her poverty
made their approaches easy; and the weakness of
her understanding, her insipid gaiety, and pert affectation
of wit, encouraged the most licentious
hopes, and exposed her to the most impertinent

Among those who looking upon her as a conquest
of no great difficulty formed the mortifying design
of making a mistress of her, was Sir Charles Stanley,
a young baronet of a large estate, a most agreeable
person, and engaging address: his fine qualities
made him the delight of all who knew
him, and even envy itself allowed him to be a man
of the strictest honour and unblemished integrity.

Persons who connect the idea of virtue and
goodness with such a character, would find it hard
to conceive how a man who lives in a constant
course of dissimulation with one part of his species,
and who abuses the advantages he has received
from nature and fortune in subduing chastity, and
ensnaring innocence, can possibly deserve, and establish
a reputation for honour! but such are the illusions
of prejudice, and such the tyranny of custom,
that he who is called a man of gallantry shall be at the
same time esteemed a man of honour, though gallantry
comprehends the worst kind of fraud, cruelty,
and injustice.

Sir Charles Stanley had been but too successful
in his attempts upon beauty, to fear being rejected
by Miss Darnely; and knowing her situation, he
resolved to engage her gratitude at least before he
declared his designs. He had interest enough to pro- C6r 27
procure the place her father enjoyed for a gentleman
who thought himself happy in obtaining it,
though charged with an annuity of fourscore
pounds a year for the widow of his predecessor.

Sir Charles, in acquainting Miss Darnley with
what he had done in favour of her mother, found
himself under no necessity of insinuating his motive
for the extraordinary interest he took in the affairs of
this distrest family. Harriot’s vanity anticipated
any declaration of this sort, and the thanks she gave
him were accompanied with such an apparent consciousness
of the power of her charms as convinced
him his work was already more than half done.

He was now received at Mrs. Darnley’s in the
quality of a declared lover of Harriot’s; and although
amidst all his assiduities he never mentioned
marriage, either the mother and daughter did
not penetrate into his real designs, or were but too
much disposed to favour them.

The innocent heart of Sophia was at first overwhelmed
with joy for the happy provision that had
been made for her mother, and the prospect of such
an advantageous match for her sister, when Mr.
, who knew the world too well to be imposed
upon by these fine appearances, gently hinted
to his young favourite, his apprehensions of the
baronet’s dishonourable views.

Her delicacy was so shocked by this suspicion,
that she could scarce forbear expressing some little
resentment of it; but reflecting that this ardent
lover of Harriot’s had not yet made any proposals
of marriage, her good sense immediately suggested
to her that such affected delays in a man who was abso- C6v 28
absolutely independent, and with a woman whose
situation made it a point of delicacy to be early explicit
on that head, could only proceed from intentions
which he had not yet dared to own.

Chance had so ordered it, that hitherto she had
never seen Sir Charles Stanley; whenever he came,
she was either employed in the family-affairs, or engaged
with her books, which it was no easy matter
to make her quit. Besides, as she had no share in
his visits, and as her sister never shewed any inclination
to introduce her to him, she thought it did
not become her to intrude herself upon his acquaintance.
Sir Charles indeed, knowing that Mrs.
had another daughter, used sometimes to
enquire for her, but was neither surprised nor disappointed
that she never made her appearance.

Sophia, however, was determined to be in the
way when he came next, that she might have an
opportunity of observing his behavior to her sister;
and fondly flattered herself that she should discover
nothing to the disadvantage of a person whom her
grateful heart had taught itself to love and esteem
as their common benefactor.

Sir Charles at the next visit found Sophia in
the room with her sister. He instantly saw something
in her looks and person which inspired him
with more respect than he had been used to feel for
Mrs. Darnley and Harriot; a dignity which she
derived from innate virtue, and an exalted understanding.
Struck with the uncommon sensibility
of her countenance, he began to consider her with
an attention which greatly disgusted Harriot, who could C7r 29
could not conceive that where she was present any
other object was worthy notice.

Sophia herself was a little disconcerted by the
young baronet’s so earnestly gazing on her; and
in order to divert his looks, opened a conversation
in which her sister might bear a part. Then it was,
that without designing it, she displayed her whole
power of charming: that flow of wit which was
so natural to her, the elegant propriety of her language,
the delicacy of her sentiments, the animated
look which gave them new force, and sent them
directly to the heart, and the moving graces of the
most harmonious voice in the world, were attractions,
which though generally lost on fools, seldom fail of
their effect on the heart of a man of sense.

Sir Charles was wrapt in wonder and delight; he
had no eyes, no ears, but for Sophia: he scarce
perceived that Harriot was in the room.

The insolent beauty, astonished at such unusual
neglect, varied her attitude and her charms a thousand
different ways to draw his attention; but found
all was to no purpose. Had she been capable of
serious reflection, she might now have discovered
what advantages her sister, though far inferior to
her in beauty, gained over her, by the force of her
understanding: she might now have seen,
“How beauty is excelled by modest grace,
And wisom, which alone is truly fair.”

But too ignorant to know her own wants, and too
conceited to imagine she had any, she was strangely
perplexed how to account for so sudden an alteration
in Sir Charles.

Her C7v 30

Her uneasiness, however, grew so great, that
she was not able to conceal it. She shifted her
seat two or three times in a minute, bit her lips
almost through, and frowned so intelligibly, that
Sophia at last perceiving her agitation, suddenly
recollected herself, and quitted the room upon pretence
of business.

When she was gone, Harriot drawing herself
up, and assuming a look which expressed her confidence
in the irresistible power of her charms,
seemed resolved to make her lover repent the little
notice he had taken of her in this visit by playing
off a thousand scornful airs upon him; but she
was more mortified than ever when upon turning
her eyes towards him, in full expectation of finding
his fixed upon her, she saw them bent upon the
ground, and such a pensiveness in his countenance
as all her rigors could never yet occasion.

She was considering what to say to him to draw
him out of this reverie, when Sir Charles, on a
sudden raising his eyes, turned them towards the
door with a look of mingled anxiety and impatience,
and then, as if disappointed, sighed and addressed
some indifferent conversation to Harriot.

The lady, now quite provoked, had recourse to
an artifice which her shallow understanding suggested
to her, as an infallible method of awakening
his tenderness, and this was to make him jealous.
Without any preparation therefore, she introduced
the name of Lord L――, a young nobleman who
was just returned from his travels, and lavishing a
thousand encomiums upon his person, and his elegant
taste in dress, added, “That he was the best
bred man in the world, and had entertained her so C8r 31
so agreeably one night at the play, when happening
to come into a box where she was with a lady
of her acquaintance, that they did not mind a
word the players said, he was so diverting.”

Sir Charles coldly answered, “That Lord L.
was a very pretty youth, and that he was intimately
acquainted with him.”

“Oh then,” cried Harriot, with a great deal of
affected joy, “I vow and protest you shall bring
him to see me.”

“Indeed you must excuse me madam,” said Sir
, with some quickness.

Harriot, concluding her stratagem had taken effect,
was quite transported, and renewed her attacks,
determined to make him suffer as much as
possible; but the young baronet, whose thoughts
were full of Sophia, and whose emotion at the request
Harriot had made him, was occasioned by
fears very different from those she suspected, took
no further notice of what she said, but interrupted
her to ask how old her sister Sophia was?

“I dare engage,” replied Harriot, “you would
never have supposed her to be younger than I

The baronet smiled, and looking at his watch,
seemed surprised that it was so late, and took his

Miss Darnley following him to the door of the
room, cried, “Remember I lay my commands
upon you to bring my Lord L. to see me.”

Sir Charles answered her no otherwise than by a
low bow, and she returned, delighted at the parting
pang which she supposed she had given him. Vanity C8v 32
Vanity is extremely ingenious in procuring gratifications
for itself. Harriot did not doubt but that
she had tormented Sir Charles sufficiently; and it
was the unshaken confidence which she had in the
power of her charms, that hindered her from discovering
the true cause of the new disgust she had
conceived for her sister. However, it was so great
that she could scarcely speak to her civilly, or endure
her in her sight: yet she found an increase of
pleasure in talking to her mother when she was
present of the violent passion Sir Charles Stanley
had for her, and in giving an exaggerated account
of the professions he made her.

Sophia did not listen to this sort of discourse with
her usual complaisance. Her mind became insensibly
more disposed to suspect the sincerity of the
baronet’s passion for her sister: she grew pensive
and melancholy, sought solitude more than ever, and
loved reading less.

This change, which her own innocence hid from
herself, was quickly perceived by Mr. Herbert,
who loved her with a parent’s fondness, and thought
nothing indifferent which concerned her. He took
occasion one day to mention Sir Charles Stanley to
her, and asked her opinion of his person and understanding,
keeping his eyes fixed upon her at the
same time, which disconcerted her so much that
she blushed; and though she commended him
greatly, yet it was easy to discover that she forbore
to say all the good she thought of him, for fear of
saying too much.

Mr. Herbert no longer doubted but this dangerous
youth had made an impression on the innocentcent D1r 33
heart of Sophia, which was still ignorant of
its own emotions.

He had perceived for some time that Sir Charles
had changed the object of his pursuits: his visits
now were always short, unless Sophia was in the
way: he brought her all the new books and pamphlets
that came out which were worth her reading:
he adopted the purity and delicacy of her
sentiments, declared himself always of the side she
espoused: he talked of virtue like a man who loved
and practised it, and set all his good qualities in
the fairest light: he presented Harriot from time
to time with fashionable trifles, and sent Sophia
books enough to furnish out a little library, consisting
of the best authors, in English, French,
and Italian, all elegantly bound, with proper cases
for their reception: he praised whatever she approved,
and appeared to have great respect and
consideration for Mr. Herbert, because he observed
she loved and esteemed him.

That faithful friend of the virtuous Sophia trembled
for her danger, when he considered that by
this artful management the baronet was strengthening
himself every day in her good opinion, and seducing
her affections under the appearance of meriting
her friendship; yet he did not think it proper
to give her even a hint of her situation. A
young maid has passed over the first bounds of reservedness
who allows herself to think she is in

Mr. Herbert would not familiarize her with so
dangerous an idea: he knew her extreme modesty,
her solid virtue; he was under no apprehensions No.1. D that D1v 34
that she would ever act unworthy of her character;
but a heart so nicely sensible, so delicately tender
as hers, he knew must suffer greatly from a disappointed
passion; and this was what he wanted to
prevent, not by wounding her delicacy with suggesting
to her that she was in love, but by preserving
her from the encroachments of that passion.

He reminded her of the design she had formerly
mentioned to him of entering into the service of a
lady, and was rejoiced to find that she still continued
her resolution. Harriot’s natural insolence
and ill temper, irritated by the change she now
plainly saw in Sir Charles, made home so disagreeable
to Sophia, that she wished impatiently for an
opportunity of providing for herself, that she might
no longer live upon the bounty of her sister, who
often insinuated that their mother’s annuity was
her gift.

Mr. Herbert, who had other reasons besides those
she urged, from freeing her from so uneasy a dependance,
promised to be diligent in his enquiries
for something that would suit her.

Neither Mrs. Darnley nor Harriot opposed this
design, which soon came to the knowledge of Sir
Charles, who had bribed a servant of the family to
give him intelligence of every thing that passed
in it.

Impatient to prevent the execution if it, and
tortured by the bare apprehension of Sophia’s absence,
he resolved to break through that constraint
he had so long laid upon himself, and acquaint
her with his passion.

7 But D2r 35

But it was not easy to find an opportunity of
speaking to her alone. At length having contrived
to get Harriot engaged to a play, and prevailed
upon a maiden kinswoman of his to invite Mrs.
to a party of whist, he went to the house
at his usual hour of visiting this little family, and
found Sophia at home, and without any company.

Not all the confidence he derived from his rank
and fortune, his fine understanding, and those personal
graces which gave him but too much merit
in the eyes of many women, could hinder him from
trembling at the thought of that declaration he was
about to make. As soon as he came into Sophia’s
presence he was awed, disconcerted, and unable to
speak; such was the power of virtue, and such the
force of a real passion! Two or three times he resolved
to begin, but when he looked upon Sophia,
and saw in her charming eyes that sparkling intelligence
which displayed the treasures of the soul
that animated them; when he observed the sweet
severity of her modest countenance, the composed
dignity of her behaviour, he durst not own a passion
which had views less pure than the perfect
creature that inspired it.

His conversation for near an hour was so confused,
so disjointed, and interrupted by such frequent
musings, that Sophia was amazed, and thought it
so disagreeable, and unlike what it used to be, that
she was not sorry when he seemed disposed to put
an end to his visit.

Sir Charles indeed rose up to be gone, but with
so deep a concern in his eyes as increased Sophia’s D2 per- D2v 36
perplexity. She attended him respectfully to the
door of the room, when he suddenly turning back,
and taking her hand, “Do not hate me,” said he,
“nor think ill of me, if I tell you that I love and
adore you.”

Sophia, in the utmost confusion at such a speech,
disengaged her hand from his, and retiring a few
steps back, bent her eyes on the ground, and continued

Sir Charles, emboldened by her confusion, made
a tender, and at the same time respectful declaration
of the passion he had long felt for her.

Sophia, not willing to hear him enlarge upon this
subject, raised her eyes from the ground, her cheeks
were indeed overspread with blushes, but there
was a grave composure in her looks that seemed a
bad omen to Sir Charles.

“I have hitherto flattered myself, sir,” said she,
“that you entertained a favourable opinion of me,
how happens it then that I see myself to-day exposed
to your raillery?”

The baronet was beginning a thousand protestations,
but Sophia stop him short. “If your professions
to me are sincere,”
said she, “what am I to
think of those you made to my sister?”

Sir Charles expected this retort, and was the
less perplexed by it, as he needed only to follow
the dictates of truth to form such an answer as was
proper to be given. “I acknowledge,” said he,
“that I admired your sister, and her beauty made
as strong an impression upon me as mere beauty
can make upon a man who has a taste for higher
excellencies. I sought Miss Darnley’s acquaintance.“ance. D3r 37
I was so happy as to do her some little
service. I wished to find in her those qualities
that were necessary to fix my heart――Pardon my
freedom, Miss Sophia, the occasion requires that
I should speak freely. Miss Darnley, upon a
nearer acquaintance, did not answer the idea I
had formed to myself of a woman whom I could
love for life; and the professions I made her, as
you are pleased to call them, were no more than
expressions of gallantry; a sort of homage which
beauty, even when it does not touch the heart,
exacts from the tongue. My heart was not so
easy a conquest――tell me not of raillery, when I
declare that none but yourself was ever capable
of inspiring me with a real passion.”

The arrival of Mr. Herbert proved a grateful
interuption to Sophia, in whose innocent breast the
tenderness and apparent sincerity of this declaration
raised emotions which she knew not how to disguise.

Sir Charles, though grieved at this unseasonable
visit, yet withdrew, not wholly desparing of success.
He had heedfully observed the changes
in Sophia’s face while he was speaking, and
thought he had reason to hope that he was not
indifferent to her. Loving her as he did with excessive
tenderness, what pure and unmixed satisfaction
would this thought have given him, had he
not been conscious that his designs were unworthy
of her! The secret upbraidings of his conscience
disquieted him amidst all his flattering hopes of
success; but custom, prejudice, the insolence of
fortune, and the force of example, all conspired to D3 sup- D3v 38
suppress the pleadings of honour and justice in favour
of the amiable Sophia, and fixed him in the
barbarous resolution of attempting to corrupt that
virtue which made her so worthy of his love.

Mr. Herbert having, as has been already mentioned,
interrupted the conversation between Sir
and Sophia, was not surprised at the young
baronet’s abrupt departure, as he seemed preparing
to go when he came in; but upon looking at Sophia,
he perceived so many signs of confusion and
perplexity in her countenance, that he did not
doubt but the discourse which his entrance had put
an end to, was a very interesting one. He waited
a moment, in expectation that she would open herself
to him, but finding that she continued silent
and abashed, he gently took her hand, and looking
tenderly upon her, “Tell me, my child,” said he,
“has not something extraordinary happened, which
occasions this confusion I see you in?”

“Sir Charles has indeed been talking to me,” replied
Sophia blushing, “in a very extraordinary
manner, and such as I little expected.”

Mr. Herbert pressed her to explain herself, and
she gave him an exact account of Sir Charles’s discourse
to her, without losing a word; so faithful
had her memory been to all he said.

Mr. Herbert listened to her attentively, and
found something so like candor and sincerity in the
baronet’s declaration, that he could not help being
pleased with it. He had never indeed judged
favourably of his views upon Harriot, but here the
case was very different.

Har- D4r 39

Harriot’s ignorance, vanity, and eager desire of
being admired, exposed her to the attacks of libertinism,
and excited presumptuous hopes.

Sophia’s good sense, modesty, and virtue, placed
her out of the reach of temptation. No one
could think it surprising that a man of sense should
make the fortune of a woman who would do honour
to his choice, and where there was such exalted
merit as in Sophia, overlook the disparity of

But justly might it be called infatuation and folly,
to raise to rank and affluence a woman of Harriot’s
despicable turn; to make a companion for life of
a handsome ideot, who thought the highest excellencies
of the female character were to know how
to dress, to dance, to sing, to flutter in a drawingroom,
or coquet at a play; who mistook pertness
for wit, confidence for knowledge, and insolence
for dignity.

While he was revolving these thoughts in his
mind, Sophia looked earnestly at him, pleased to
observe that what the baronet had said seemed
worthy his consideration.

Mr. Herbert, who read in her looks that she
wished to have his advice on this occasion, but
would not ask it, lest she should seem to lay any
stress upon Sir Charles’s declaration, told her it
was very possible the baronet was sincere in what
he had said to her; that his manner of accounting
for his quitting her sister, was both sensible and candid;
that she ought not to be surprised at the preference
he gave her over Miss Darnley, since she
deserved it by the care she had taken to improve D4 her D4v 40
her mind, and to acquire qualities which might
procure her the esteem of all wise and virtuous

He warned her, however, not to trust too much
to favourable appearances, nor to suffer her inclinations
to be so far engaged by the agreeable person
and specious behaviour of Sir Charles Stanley,
as to find it painful to renounce him, if he should
hereafter shew himself unworthy of her good opinion.

He advised her, when he talked to her in the
same strain again, to refer him to her mother and
to him for an answer; and told her that he would
save her the confusion and perplexity of acquainting
her mother and sister with what had happened,
by taking that task upon himself.

“You will, no doubt,” added he, “be exposed to
some sallies of ill temper from Miss Darnley, for
robbing her of a lover; for envy is more irreconcileable
than hatred: but let not your sensibility
suffer much on her account: if you deprive
her of a lover, you do not deprive her of one
she loves: she is too vain, too volatile, and too
greedy of general admiration, to be affected with
the loss of Sir Charles, any farther than as her
pride is wounded by it: and one would imagine
she had foreseen this desertion, by the pains
she has taken about a new conquest lately.”

Mr. Herbert was going on, when Mrs. Darnley
knocked at the door. Sophia, in extreme agitation,
begged him to say nothing concerning Sir Charles
that evening. He promised her he would not, and I they D5r 41
they all three conversed together upon indifferent
things, till Harriot returned from the play.

Mr. Herbert then took leave of them, after inviting
himself to breakfast the next morning; which
threw Sophia into such terror and confusion, that
she retired hastily to her room, to conceal her

Mr. Herbert came the next morning, according
to his promise; and Sophia, all trembling with her
apprenhensions, retired immediately after breakfast
He entered upon the business that had brought
him thither; but sensible that what he had to say
would prove extremely mortifying to miss Harriot,
he thought it not amiss to sweeten the bitter pill
he was preparing for her, by sacrificing a little flattery
to her pride.

“You fine ladies,” said he, addressing himself to
her with a smile, “are never weary of extending
your conquests; but you use your power with so
much tyranny, that it is not surprising some of
your slaves should assume courage, at last, to
break your chains. Do you know, my pretty
cousin, that you have lost Sir Charles Stanley;
and that he has offered that heart, which you
no doubt have despised, to your sister Sophia?”

Miss Darnley, who had bridled up at the beginning
of this speech, lost all her assumed dignity towards
the end of it: her face grew pale and red
by turns; she fixed her eyes on the ground, her
bosom heaved with the violence of her agitations,
and tears, in spite of her, were ready to force their

Sir D5v 42

Sir Charles had indeed for a long time discontinued
his addresses to her, and had suffered his
inclination for her sister to appear plainly enough;
but still her vanity suggested to her, that this
might be all a feint, and acted only with a view to
alarm her fears, and oblige her to sacrifice all her
other admirers to him.

What Mr. Herbert had said therefore, struck her
at first with astonishment and grief; but solicitous
to maintain the fancied superiority of her character,
she endeavoured to repress her emotions; and taking
the hint which he had designedly thrown out
to her to save her confusion,

“Sir Charles has acted very wisely,” said she,
putting on a scornful look, “to quit me, who always
despised him, for one who has been so little
used to have lovers, that she will be ready to run
mad with joy at the thoughts of such a conquest:
but after all, she has only my leavings.”

Mr. Herbert, though a little shocked at the
grossness of her language, replied gravely, “However
that may be, Miss, it is certain that he has
made a very open, and to all appearance, sincere
declaration of love to Miss Sophia, who, not
knowing how to mention this affair to her mother
herself, commissioned me to acquaint her
with it, that she may have her directions how to
behave to Sir Charles, and what to say to him.”

“One would have imagined,” interrupted Miss
eagerly, “that she who sets up for so much
wit, and reads so many books, might have known
what to say to him.”

“Pray, D6r 43

“Pray, Miss,” said Mr. Herbert, “what would you
have had her say to Sir Charles?”

“Why truly,” replied she, “I think she ought to
have told him that he was very impertinent, and
have shewn him the door.”

“Sure, Harriot,” said Mrs. Darnley, who had been
silent all this time, “You forget that Sir Charles
is our benefactor, and that I am obliged to him
for all the little support I have.”

“It is not likely I should forget it,” retorted
Miss Darnley, since I am the person who am most
obliged to him for what he has done; if I
mistake not, it was upon my account that he interested
himself in our affairs.”

“Well, well, Harriot,” replied Mrs. Darnley, “I
have been told this often enough; but why should
you be angry at this prospect of your sister’s advancement?”

“I angry at her advancement, madam!” exclaimed
Miss Harriot, “not I really: I wish the
girl was provided for by a suitable match with
all my heart; but as for Sir Charles, I would
not have her set her foolish heart upon him; he
is only laughing at her.”

“It may be so,” said Mr. Herbert, “though I think
Miss Sophia the last woman in the world whom
a man would chuse to laugh at. However, this
affair is worthy a little consideration――Miss Sophia,
pursued he, addressing himself to
Mrs. Darnley, “intends to refer Sir Charles entirely
to you. You will be the best judge whether
the passion he professes is sincere, and his
intentions honourable; and I can answer for my “young D6v 44
young cousin, that she will be wholly governed
by your advice, since it is impossible that you
can give her any but what is most advantageous
to her honour and happiness.”

Harriot, no longer able to suppress her rage and
envy, was thrown so far off her guard as to burst
into tears. “I cannot bear to be thus insulted,”
cried she; “and I declare if Sir Charles is permitted
to go on with his foolery with that vain girl,
I will quit the house.”

“Was there ever any one so unreasonable as
you are, Miss,”
said Mr. Herbert, “have you not
owned that you despised Sir Charles; and if your
sister is a vain girl, will she not be sufficiently
mortified by accepting your leavings, as you said
just now?”

“I am speaking to my mother, sir,” replied Harriot,
with a contemptuous frown; “depend upon
it, Madam,”
pursued she, “that I will not stay to be
sacrificed to Mr. Herbert’s favourite――either she
shall be forbid to give Sir Charles any encouragement,
who after all, only laughing at her, or I
will leave the house.”

Saying this, she flung out of the room, leaving
her mother divided between anger and grief, and
Mr. Herbert motionless with astonishment.

To be continued.

The facing D6v

page 44.

A full page engraving of an elegant drawing room with three white people. One man and one woman seated at the tea table and one woman on her way out the door.

A. Walker del. et sculp.

facing D7r D7r 45

A Song, in Philander.

A Dramatic Pastoral.

Set by Mr. Oswald.

Think what the hapless virgin proves,

who loves in vain, yet
fondly loves;
While modesty and female pride, The
slighted passion seek to hide.


For oh! in vain the sigh’s represt

That struggling heaves her anxious breast.

In vain the falling tear’s with-held,

The conscious wish in vain repell’d.


Her faded cheeks, and air forlorn,

Coarse jests invite, and cruel scorn.

To hopeless love she falls a prey,

And wastes in silent grief away.

On D7v 46

On reading a Poem written by a Lady of


Afraid to be pleas’d, and with envy half fir’d,

Still wishing to blame, while by force I admir’d,

New beauties appearing as farther I read,

At last in a rage to Apollo I said:


Oh thou whom the lean tribe of authors adore!

And proud of thy gifts, are content to be poor;

Say, why must a peeress thus put in her claim,

For the poet’s poor airy inheritance, fame?


Needs that brow which a coronet circles be bound

With that wreath that your glorious starv’d fav’rites have

Why should she who at ease in gilt chariots may ride,

Our tir’d Pegasus mount, and so skilfully guide?


With Gallia’s rich vintage, her thirst she may slake,

Then why such large draughts from our Helicon take?

And blest here with corn-fields, and meadows, and pastures,

Has she need of grants in the realm of Parnassus?


Thus I: nor to answer Apollo disdain’d,

My Stella from fortune those trifles obtain’d;

In wit I decreed her supremely to shine,

When were titles and riches suppos’d gifts of mine?

But your clamours to stop, and your anger to tame,

She shall smile on your works, and her praise shall be fame.

D8r 47

An Ode.


How long from thy inchanting sway

Shall I my freedom, Love, maintain!

The young, the beauteous, and the gay

Still spread the pleasing snare in vain.


The study’d air, the borrow’d grace,

All affectation’s numerous wiles,

Send blunted darts from ev’ry face,

Conceal’d in blushes, sighs, and smiles.


For these my heart feels no alarms,

Whose honest wish is but to prove

The genuine force of artless charms,

The soft simplicity of love.


The heaving bosom’s fall and rise,

Compassion only should display.

The glance that can my soul suprise

To wit must owe the pointed ray.


The smile that wouuld my soul inflame,

Good nature only must bestow.

Sweet modesty, ingen’ous shame,

Must give the kindling cheek to glow.

Mere D8v 48


Mere outward charms the mind delude

To own a short compulsive reign,

By wit, and virtue when subdu’d,

She forges for herself her chain.

To Death. An irregular Ode.


Oh death, thou gentle end of human pain,

Why is thy stroke so long delay’d?

Why to a wretch, who breathes but to complain,

Dost thou refuse thy welcome aid?

Still wilt thou fly the plaintive voice of woe,

And where thou’rt dreaded, only aim the blow.


Oh leave, fantastick tyrant, leave,

The young, the gay, the happy, and the free:

On them bestow a short reprieve,

And bend thy fatal shafts at me.

The beauteous bride, or blooming heir,

Let thy resistless power spare,

And aim at this grief-wounded heart

That springs half way to meet the welcome dart.


Still must I view with streaming eyes,

Another, and another morn arise;

Are my days length’ned to prolong my pain?

Do grief and sickness waste this frame in vain?

A finish’d wretch e’er youth has ceas’d to bloom,

By early sorrow ripen’d for the tomb.

The facing D8v facing E1r

Engraved for the Lady’s Museum

An engraving of an elaborately framed portrait of Gabriella D’Etrees. There are two cherubs holding up the drapery.

A. Walker sculp.

Gabriella D’Etrees, Dutchess of Beaufort,
Mistress to Henry the Great of France

E1r 49

of the
Dutchess of Beaufort.

It has been asserted by the enemies of our sex,
that it is the fear of shame which keeps many
women virtuous. Had those detractors lived in an age
when vice ceased to incur blame in proportion as
it appeared in splendor, when riches procured guilt
the distinction due to virtue, and indigence drew
on virtue the contempt merited by guilt, when licentiousness
of conduct was the road to grandeur,
and every courtezan expected to be a peeress; they
would be forced to confess that she who in such corrupt
times preserved a purity of manners was virtuous
upon principle, since shame was no longer to
be dreaded as the attendant on vice.

To such of my fair readers as love virtue for her own
sake, I present the history of the dutchess of Beaufort,
mistress to Henry IV. of France. Here they will see
grandeur purchased by crimes, and possessed with
anxiety; schemes of ambition carried far into
futurity, suddenly defeated by an immature and
horrible death; and hence they may learn to rejoice
in that innocence which is at once their merit and No.I. E their E1v 50
their reward. The amours of Henry the Great
have been recorded by many writers, who, altho’
they indeed abound with facts, yet are they
adorned and embellished with so many circumstances
as have the appearance of being imaginary,
that the whole seems either a tale invented to amuse
than a real and interesting narrative:

To avoid being misled by those lively authors, I
shall extract the history of the dutchess of Beaufort
solely from the Memoirs of the Duke de Sully,
prime-minister to Henry the Great, one of the
wisest and most virtuous men of his age; and the
reader will have the pleasure to see many passages
in the words of that admirable writer.

Gabriella D’Etrees, afterwards so famous under
the name of Dutchess of Beaufort, was descended
from an ancient family in Picardy, to which the
honourable post of grand-master of the artillery
had been in a manner hereditary.

This young lady was so exquisitely beautiful,
that she obtained the surname of Fair, to express
the pre-eminence of her charms over all those of
her sex and time. Henry IV. who was born a
hero, and who at the most early age was called by
fortune to the exertion of those qualities which so
deservedly procured him the epithet of Great, had
also the weakness of heroes, that alloy in his character
otherwise so truly noble which serves to shew
us that nothing is perfect here below. Glory was
not more his passion than love; and if on certain
occasions he was capable of sacrificing his tenderness
to his fame, on others he made no scruple to
hazard his fame to gratify his tenderness. At the
time that Henry fell in love with mademoiselle D’Etrees, E2r 51
, he was at war with his own subjects.
Rebellion, sanctified by the name of religion, had
given rise to the League, in which all the princes
and great men of France were engaged.

The design of this formidable party was to exclude
him from the succession on account of his being a protestant,
and Henry III. his immediate predecessor,
lost his life by the hands of an assassin, for maintaining
the rights of his injured kinsman. Henry,
when fighting for a kingdom, found love a stronger
passion than ambition. An accidental sight of
mademoiselle D’Etrees inspired him with so violent
a passion for her, that he often risqued his
crown, his honour, and his life, for the satisfaction
of talking to her a few moments. Once in particular,
when he was in a manner besieged in his
camp by the duke of Parma, he disguised himself in
the habit of a peasant, and passed through the enemy’s
guards to make her a short visit.

It is not certain whether the fair Gabriella repaid
this excessive tenderness with equal sincerity. In such
attachments few women separate the lover from the
king. Mademoiselle D’Etrees had not understanding
enough to be capable of the refinements of a delicate
passion. She was interested, vain, and ambitious:
she raised her hopes to the throne, and
not only practised upon the weakness of Henry
for this purpose, but formed cabals and intrigues
to secure the success of her designs, which would in
all probability have reduced her royal lover once
more to the condition of an exile: yet she had the
address to persuade him that she really loved him;
or rather this thought was so necessary to his happipiness,E2 ness, E2v 52
that he assisted the crafty mistress in deceiving

The Duke de Sully mentions a sum of money
which she lent the king in his distresses. How
great those distresses were the reader may conceive
by the humorous representation which Henry himself
gave of them in the following billet to the duke
of Sully
. Sully’s Memoirs, Vol. I. page 343, the Quarto Edition.

“I am very near my enemies, and scarcely a
horse to carry me into the battle, nor a complete
suit of armour to put on; my shirts are all
ragged, my doublets out at elbow, my kettle is
seldom on the fire, and these two last days I have
been obliged to dine where I could, for my purveyors
have informed me, that they have not
wherewithal to furnish my table.”

The king’s passion for mademoiselle D’Etrees
was at first so far discountenanced by her parents,
that they kept her in a severe confinement; and although
Henry in his impatience to be with her
would sometimes neglect to reap the fruits of a
dear-bought victory, and quitting the pursuit of
the enemy, turn aside to the road that led to her
house, yet a distant sight of her was all he could
obtain. Monsieur D’Etrees, supposing his daughter
would be more secure from the king’s attempts
when she was married, peremptorily insisted
upon her giving her hand to Nicholas D’Amerval,
lord of Liancourt.

Gabriella continued obstinate in her disobedience,
till the king, who had made sure of monsieur
de Liancourt
, sent her word to comply, as 7 the E3r 53
the only means of freeing herself from her present

It was certainly no proof of Henry’s understanding,
though a great one of that blind passion
which tyrannised over his heart, that he so securely
relied upon the honour of a man who, to serve his
designs, could consent to be a nominal husand,
and upon the fidelity of a woman who entered into
the most solemn engagement with a fixed purpose
to break through it: however, an accident happened
which awakened his suspicions. It is thus
related by the duke de Sully.

“His majesty having sent Alibour, his first
physician, to visit Madame de Liancourt, who
was indisposed, (this was in the beginning of his
addresses to that lady.) At his return he told
the king, that she was indeed a little disordered;
but that he need not be uneasy, for the consequence
would be very good. ‘But will you not bleed and
purge her?’
said the king to him. ‘I shall be
very careful of doing that,’
replied the old
man with the same simplicity, ‘before she has gone half
her time.’
‘How!’ interrupted the king, astonished
and disordered to the last degree; ‘what
is it you say, friend? surely you rave, and are not
in your right senses.’
Alibour supported his assertion with good
proofs, which the king thought he should destroy,
by telling him upon what terms he was with the
lady. ‘I know not what you have done, or what
you have not done’
, replied the old physician with
great composure; and, for a complete proof, referred
him to six or seven months from that time.
E3 “The E3v 54 The king quitted Alibour in great rage, and
went immediately to reproach the sick fair one,
who, no doubt, knew well enough how to new
dress all the good man had ignorantly said; for
it was not perceived that any misunderstanding
happened between the king and his mistress.
It is certain, however, that the event was exactly
conformable to Alibour’s prediction: but
it was thought that Henry, after a more strict
examination, was brought to believe, that he had
been mistaken in his reckoning, since, instead
of disowning the child that madam de Liancourt
lay in of at Coucy, during the siege of Laon,
he acknowledged it openly, and had it baptized
by the name of sar.”

Gabriella found it no difficult matter to persuade
the king, that she loved him alone. She affected
the tender solicitude of a wife for his person and
safety, when he left her to put himself at the head
of his army; tears, swoonings, and passionate complaints,
expressed her strong apprehensions of his
danger. She continued to lend him money in his
exigencies; and we find in Sully’s Memoirs an
order to him from the king to repay madame de
four thousand crowns he had borrowed
from her. It may easily be imagined that Henry
was reduced to great streights when he consented
to receive this assistance from his mistress.

Henry, while the affairs of his kingdom were
still in the utmost confusion, and while several of
the chiefs of the League were in arms against
him, some of whom he was endeavouring to bring over E4r 55
over to his party by negotiations, and reducing
others by force, found leisure for the soft anxities of

He was in Picardy, where, finding himself unable
to support the absence of madame de Liancourt,
he wrote to his faithful friend the duke of
, then marquis of Rosny, to conduct that lady
to him.

In this journey the fair Gabriella was in imminent
danger of her life. The duke of Sully gives
a particular account of it, which I shall transcribe
for the sake of the observation he makes at the end
of it. Sully’s Memoirs, Vol. I. page 383, Quarto.

“At Maubuisson I met madame de Liancourt, with
whom I took the road to Clermont. I rode seven
or eight hundred paces before the litter in which
this lady was, and which was followed at some
distance by a great unwieldy coach that carried
her women; before and behind this coach marched
several mules loaded with baggage.
About a league from Clermont, where the
road was very narrow, a steep hill on one side,
and a hanging valley on the other, leaving only
room enough for two carriages to go a-breast;
the coachman alighting on some occasion or
other, one of the mules passing near the side of
the coach after it stopped, by its neighing and
the sound of its bells, so terrified the horses,
which unfortunately were young and skittish, that,
taking the bit between their teeth, they drew the
coach with such rapidity, that, meeting with two E4 “other E4v 56
other mules, they overturned them in their
The women within, seeing a thousand abysses
opened under their feet, apprehended their danger,
and sent forth most lamentable cries.
The coachman and muleteers endeavoured in
vain to stop the horses: they were already within
fifty paces of the litter, when madam Liancourt,
alarmed by the noise, looked out, and
screamed aloud. I also turned back, and,
trembling at the danger in which I saw this lady
and her attendants, without being able to assist
them, on account of the distance I was at, ‘Ah,
said I to La Font, ‘the women will be
dashed in pieces, what will become of us? and what
will the king say?’
While I was thus speaking,
I pushed my horse forwards with all my strength;
but this was useless, and I should have arrived
too late.
By one of those lucky chances, and which almost
amount to a miracle, when the danger was
greatest, the axle-tree of the litter-wheels coming
out of the nave by a violent shock which
broke the pegs, the two wheels fell on each
side, and the coach to the ground, and there
stopped: one of the hindmost horses was thrown
down by the shock, and kept in the other. The
fore horses broke their traces, and passed so close
to the litter, which was already at the extremity
of the precipice, that it is plain if they had drawn
the coach along with it, it would have been
thrown over it.
“I E5r 57 I stopped them and gave them to my domesticks
to hold, after which I flew to relieve
Madame de Liancourt, who was half dead with
fear. I went next to the coach and assisted the
women to get out of it: they were for having
the coachman hanged; and I was complaisant
enough to give him two or three strokes with my
cane. At length their terrors being entirely dissipated,
and the carriage refitted, we resumed
our journey; and till we arrived at Clermont I
continued to ride close to Madame de Liancourt’s
The king had set out for this place to meet
his mistress, and arrived there a quarter of an
hour after us. I did not fail to inform him immediately
of what had happened; and while I
was relating this adventure, I observed him attentively,
and saw him grow pale and tremble.
By these emotions, which I never saw in him in
the greatest dangers, it was easy to guess the violence
of his passion for this lady.”

In the year 15961596 the king created his mistress
marchioness of Monceaux: his passion for her encreased
to such a degree that he suffered no one to
be ignorant of it. He passed through Paris, with
this lady by his side; and by the tenderness which
he took pleasure to shew to her in public, he seemed
to invite the adorations of his courtiers to this idol,
who made her influence be universally felt.

Gabriella, under the appearance of a disinterested
love for the king’s person, concealed a boundless
ambition, which made her not scruple to sacrifice
the honour of her royal lover to any prospect of ag- E5v 58
aggrandizing herself. She contracted her son
sar, whom she had by the king, to the opulent
heiress of the house of Mercœur.

The Duke of Mercœur, who was then in arms
against his sovereign, found himself by this alliance
restored to his favour, without suffering the least
diminution of his honours and estates; and Henry,
anxious only to please his mistress, condescended to
treat upon almost equal terms with a rebel subject,
whom he had it in his power to crush at a blow.

The Duke of Sully did not fail to make very
lively remonstrances to his master upon this occasion;
but the whole affair was concluded before
he had been made acquainted with it.

The ceremony of the contract was performed at
Angers, with the same magnificence as if the little
sar had been a son of France born in marriage.
He was then but four years old, and his betrothed
wife but six.

The birth of a second son drew from the king
an increase of tenderness and honours. Gabriella
now quitted the title of Marchioness of Monceaux
for that of Dutchess of Beaufort. As she had for
a long time set no bounds to her ambition, she aspired
at nothing less than being declared queen of
France; and Henry’s passion for her, which encreased
every day, gave her hopes of accomplishing her

When she was informed that the king’s agents
at Rome were commissioned to solicit the dissolution
of his marriage with Margaret of Valois, and that
his majesty was upon the point of sending the Duke
of Luxembourg to that court, with the title of ambassador,bas- E6r 59
to hasten the conclusion of it, she looked
upon this to be a favourable opportunity; but apprehensive
that those agents and the new ambassador
would not enter into her views, she resolved
to get Sillery, then minister of state, and who was
already deep in her interests, to be nominated for
this embassy. As she well knew what was most
likely to tempt him, she promised him the seals at
his return from Rome, and the post of Chancellor
when it became vacant.

At this price Sillery engaged with all the oaths
she exacted of him to neglect nothing that might
prevail upon the pope to legitimate the two children
which she had by Henry, and to dissolve his
marriage with Margaret.

This first step taken, few obstacles remained to
hinder her advancement to the throne. She easily
found reasons to make the king approve of the ambassador
she had chosen. The Duke of Luxembourg
was only suffered to set out, to be recalled
as soon as Sillery should be in a condition to take
his place.

The Dutchess assisted herself in preparing his
equipages, and prevailed upon the king to give the
necessary orders for Sillery’s appearance with all
the pomp and magnificence by which the success of
his negociation might be secured.

To prepare the French at the same time for the
change which she meditated for her children, she
prevailed upon the king, who had no less tenderness
for them than the mother, to let the ceremony
of her second son’s baptism be performed at Saint
, where the king then was, with the same mag- E6v 60
magnificence and honours which in this ceremony
are only observed to the children of France.

“Although I could pardon this lady,” says the
Duke of Sully, “for an intoxication in which she
was kept by the servile respect the courtiers expressed
for the children, and the adorations they
offered to herself, yet I could not have the same
indulgence for Henry, who was so far from
taking any measures to undeceive her with regard
to the extravagant hopes she had entertained,
that he gave orders for the baptism of this child
with a readiness that shewed how agreeable the
request was to him.

I declared my sentiments,” pursues the duke,
“of this conduct, with great freedom; I endeavoured
publickly to oppose the inferences which
the courtiers would make from it in favour of
these children’s pretensions to the crown. The
king himself, when the ceremony was over, became
sensible that his orders had been exceeded;
and this I had no difficulty to believe.

The child was named Alexander, as the eldest
had been sar; and the court-flatterers, by a
king of second baptism, gave him the title of
Monsieur, which in France no one is permitted
to bear but the king’s only brother, or the presumptive
heir to the crown.
The mistress did not stop here; she began to
assume all the airs of a queen: not indeed so
much of her own accord, for I think she knew
herself well enough not to have ventured on any
such notion, but driven on to take that step by “the E7r 61
the continual solicitations of her creatures and
Madame de Sourdis, Cheverny, and Fresne,
seconded her so well on their parts, that it became
insensibly the public talk of the court, that the
king was going to marry his mistress; and that
it was for this purpose he was soliciting his
divorce at Rome.
I was shocked at a report so injurious to the
glory of this prince; I went to him and made
him sensible of the consequence of it. He appeared
to me affected, and even piqued at it: his
first care was to justify Madame de Beaufort,
who, he positively assured me, had not contributed
to the report; for which, all the proof he
had was, that she had told him so.
He threw the whole blame upon Madame de
and Fresne, to whom he shewed that he
was capable of pardoning a conduct so little respectful
to him, since although he was assured
they were guilty, he gave them not the slightest
One circumstance added great weight to the
steps I took in this affair, both in public and private.
Queen Margaret, with whom the affair
of the approaching dissolution of her marriage
obliged me to keep a correspondence by letters,
was the last who heard of what was said and
done at court with regard to Madame de Beaufort’s
pretensions; as soon as she was informed
of them she wrote to me, and gave me to
understand, that she had not changed her mind
concerning a separation from the king; but “that E7v 62
that she was so much offended at their intending
to give the place she resigned, to a woman so infamous
as the Dutchess was, by her commerce
with the king, that although she had at first
given her consent, without annexing any conditions
to it, she was now determined to insist
upon the exclusion of this woman; and no treatment
whatever should oblige her to alter her
resolution. I shewed this letter to the king,
who judging by it how much his marriage with
his mistress would irritate the best of his subjects
against him, began, in reality, to change
his sentiments and conduct.
I was of opinion, that if madame de Beaufort
was acquainted with the contents of this letter,
it might probably produce the same effects upon
her. I would not take this trouble upon myself,
being unwilling to meet the insolence and
rage of a woman, who looked upon me as a
stumbling block in the way of her advancement;
but I communicated the letter to Chiverny
and Fresne, who immediately informed
Madame de Sourdis of it, and she almost in
the same moment the Dutchess of Beaufort.
But this lady’s counsellors were not so easily
alarmed; they were very sensible that the step
they had undertaken to prevail upon the king,
would not fail of meeting with many difficulties,
and they had settled their behaviour upon each:
the result of their deliberations had been to
hasten, as much as possible, the conclusion of
the affair, persuading themselves, that when it
was once over, they might give it a colour that 2 “should E8r 63
should make it excusable; or at worst, matters
might be composed after a little talk, as always
happens when things are without remedy.
They knew well the disposition of the French
nation, especially the courtiers, whose first law
it is to be always of the same mind with the sovereign;
and whose strongest passion the desire
of pleasing him. In a word, they thought
themselves secure of every thing, provided the
king himself did not fail them.
Fresne having drawn up the warrant for the
payment of the heralds, trumpeters, and other officers
of the crown who had attended at the ceremony
of this baptism, it was brought to me
as well as the rest of the counsellors, that I might
give my order for its discharge. As soon as I
cast my eyes upon this writing, a tender concern
for the king’s honour made me look upon it as
a lasting witness of his weakness, which was going
to be handed down to posterity. I hesitated
not a moment to return it, and caused another
to be drawn up in terms more proper.
The titles of Monsieur, son of France, and
all that could give any notion of that kind were
suppressed, and consequently the houshold fees
were reduced to the ordinary sum, with which
they were highly dissatisfied. They did not fail
to renew their efforts; and in their discontent
quoted monsieur de Fresne, and the law by
which their claims were regulated. At first I
restrained myself before these people, whose bad
intentions I was not ignorant of; but growing
impatient at last, I could not help saying to “them E8v 64
them with some indignation, ‘Go, go, I will do
nothing in it; learn that there are no sons of

This firmness in Sully was the occasion of a
quarrel between the king and the fair Gabriella.
The duke relates it at large in his memoirs; and
the whole passage being extremely curious, I shall
give my readers the pleasure of seeing it here.

The duke continues thus. “No Sully’s memoirs, vol.I.p.40. sooner had
these words escaped me, than, suspecting that
a troublesome affair would be made of it; to
prevent it I went immediately to his majesty,
who was walking with the duke D’Epernon in
the palace of Saint-Germain. I shewed him
the warrant Fresne had drawn up, telling him,
that if it was allowed, there needed no more
but to declare himself married to the dutchess
of Beaufort
. ‘This is Fresne’s malice,’ said the
king, after he had read it, ‘but I shall take care
to prevent it.’

Then commanding me to tear the paper, he
turned to three or four lords of the court who
were nearest him. ‘How malignant are these people,’
said he aloud, ‘and what difficulties do they
throw in the way of those who serve me with fidelity?
they brought a warrant to monsieur de Rosney,
with a design to make him offend me, if he
passed it; or my mistress, if he refused it.’
In the state affairs then were, these words
were far from being indifferent; they gave the “cour- F1r 65
courtiers, who had smiled at my simplicity, to
understand that they might possibly be deceived
themselves, and that the supposed marriage was
not so near as they had imagined.
The king continuing to converse with me
apart, told me, that he did not doubt but that
madame de Beaufort was greatly enraged against
me, and advised me to go to her, and endeavour
by solid reasons to give her satisfaction.
‘If that will not do,’ added he, ‘I will speak to her
as her master.’
I went directly to the dutchess’s apartment,
which was in the cloister of Saint-Germain; I
knew not what notion she conceived of a visit,
which she found I began with a sort of explanation.
She did not allow me to go on; the rage
with which she was animated not permitting her
to observe any measures, she interrupted me
with a reproach that I had imposed on the king,
and made him believe that black was white.
‘’Tis well, madam,’ said I, interrupting her in
my turn, but with great calmness, ‘since you think
fit to talk in this manner, I shall take my leave, but
I shall not however, neglect to do my duty.’
this, I left her, not being willing to hear
more, that I might not be tempted to say any
thing severer. I put the king in a very ill
humour with his mistress, when I repeated to
him what she said. ‘Come along with me,’ said the
king, with an emotion that pleased me greatly,
‘and I will let you see that women do not wholly possess
No.I. F “His F1v 66 His coach not being ready soon enough for
his impatience, his majesty got into mine, and
as we drove to the dutchess’s lodgings, he told
me that he would never have cause to reproach
himself, that, through his complaisance for a woman,
he had banished, or even disgusted servants,
who, like me, were only solicitous for his glory
and interest.
Madame de Beaufort, upon my leaving her
apartment so hastily, had expected to see the
king soon after; and during that time had taken
sufficient pains to adorn her person; believing
like me that the victory which one or other of
us was to gain would be the happy or miserable
presage of her fortune.
As soon as she was informed of the king’s arrival,
she came as far as the door of the first
hall to receive him. Henry without saluting
her, or shewing any part of his usual tenderness,
‘Let us go, madam,’ said he, ‘to your chamber,
and suffer no one to enter but yourself, Rosney, and
me, for I want to talk to you both, and make you
live together upon friendly terms.’
Then ordering the door to be shut, and that no
one should be suffered to remain in the chamber,
wardrobe, or closet, he took her hand, holding one
of mine at the same time, and with an air that
she had good reason to be surprised at, told her,
that the true motive which had determined him
to attach himself to her, was the gentleness he
had observed in her disposition; but that her
conduct for some time past, had convinced him,
that what he had believed to be real was only “dis- F2r 67
sembled; and that she had deceived him: he
reproached her with the bad counsels she had
listened to, and the very considerable faults they
had occasioned.
He loaded me with praises, to shew the
dutchess, by the difference of our proceedings,
that I only had a true affection for his person:
he commanded her to subdue her aversion for
me so far as to be able to regulate her conduct
by my advice, since she might depend upon it
his passion for her should never induce him to
banish me from his presence.
Madame de Beaufort began her answer with
sighs and tears. She affected a tender and submissive
air: she would have kissed the hand of
Henry; omitting no artifice which she thought
capable of melting his heart. It was not till she
had played over all these little arts, that she began
to speak, which she did by complaining,
that instead of those returns she might have expected
from a prince to whom she had given her
heart, she saw herself sacrificed to one of his
She recapitulated all that I had done against
her children, in order to awake his majesty’s
resentment against me; then feigning to sink
under the violence of her grief and despair, she
let herself fall upon a couch, where she protested
she was determined to die, not being able to
endure life after so cruel an affront.
The attack was a little strong. Henry did
not expect it: I observed him heedfully, and saw
his countenance change; but recovering himselfF2 self F2v 68
immediately, that his mistress might not
perceive it, he continued to tell her in the same
tone, that she might spare herself the trouble
of having recourse to so many artifices on so slight
an occasion.
Sensibly affected at this reproach, she redoubled
her tears, crying that she plainly perceived
she was abandoned; and that doubtless it was to
augment her shame and my triumph, that the
king had resolved to make me a witness of the
severest behaviour that ever was shewn to a
This thought seemed to plunge her into a real
despair. ‘By heaven, madam,’ said the king, losing
patience, ‘this is too much. I know to what
all this artifice tends: you want to prevail upon
me to banish a servant whose assistance I cannot be
without; I declare to you if I was reduced to the
necessity of chusing to lose one or the other, I would
rather part with ten mistresses like you, than one servant
such as him.’
He did not forget the term
of groom which she had made use of; and was
still more offended, that she had applied it to a
man whose family had the honour of being allied
to his own.
After this harsh speech the king quitted the
dutchess suddenly, and was going out of her
apartment, without seeming to be moved at
the condition he left her in; probably because
he knew her well enough to be sensible that all
this violence of grief was affectation and grimace.
“As F3r 69 As for me, I was so far deceived by it, as to
be greatly concerned for her, and was not drawn
out of this error, till madam de Beaufort, perceiving
the king was going to leave her so much
offended, that she had reason to apprehend he
would never return again, changed her behaviour
in an instant, ran to stop him, and threw
herself at his feet, no longer to impose upon his
tenderness, but to sooth him to a forgetfulness
of her fault. She began by apologising for her
past conduct, assumed an air of gentleness and
complacency, and vowed she never had, nor
ever would have any will but his.
Never was there a change of scene more sudden!
I now saw a woman perfectly agreeable,
easy, and compliant, who acted towards me as
if all that had just passed had been a dream; and
we separated very good friends.”

The dutchess of Beaufort however still entertained
hopes of being queen of France. She employed
every artifice which her own cunning and the
more subtile policy of her relations suggested to her
to secure the succes of her designs. The king
having recovered from a dangerous fit of illness,
she engaged his first physician, who was absolutely
devoted to her, to persuade him that he could have
no more children.

She had practised so successfully upon some of
his ministers of state, that they made no scruple to
advise Henry to secure the succession by marrying
the dutchess, and legitimating the eldest of the children
which he had by her.

F3 That F3v 70

That the king was but too well disposed to admit
this counsel appears by the following conversation
which he had with the duke of Sully, who of
all his ministers was the only one that had courage
and resolution enough to oppose a design so injurious
to his honour.

“The king”, says the duke of Sully , Sully’s Memoirs, Vol. I. Page 462, Quarto. “at certain
intervals, appeared so pensive and reserved,
that it was not difficult to guess some secret uneasiness
preyed upon his mind; and I was the
more convinced of it, when his majesty, who
often diverted himself with hunting, ordered me
twice to follow him apart, that he might have
an opportunity of conversing with me alone; yet
when I did he was silent.

I then remembered that the same thing had
happened at Saint Germain and Angers; and
I concluded that he had a design in view, which
he had some difficulty to disclose to me, knowing
with what freedom I sometimes opposed his
opinions; but what this design was I could not
guess. Returning from a visit to the duke of
, his majesty being at the foot of the
stair-case, saw me as I entered the court, and
calling me, made me go with him into the garden,
which was extremely large and beautiful,
holding my hand with his finger between mine
as usual, then ordered the door to be shut, and
that no person should be allowed to enter.
This prelude made me expect to hear a secret
of great consequence. Henry did not enter upon 2 “it F4r 71
it immediately; but, as if he had not sufficient
resolution to explain himself, began to tell me
what had just happened between him and the
duke of Bouillon. This conversation was followed
by news relating to the negotiations of
Vervins, and led him insensibly to reflect on
the advantages France would receive from a
peaceable government.
One circumstance the king said gave him
great uneasiness, which was, that not having
children by the queen his wife, it would answer
no purpose to be at so much trouble to procure
peace and tranquility to his kingdom, since, after
his death, it must necessarily fall into its former
calamities, by the disputes that would arise
between the prince of Condé, and the other
princes of the blood, concerning the succession
to the crown.
His majesty confessed to me, that this was
his motive for desiring with such ardour to leave
sons behind him. Unless his marriage with the
princess Margaret could be dissolved, it was not
possible for him to be absolutely happy; but the
informations he received from the archbishop of
Urbin, Mess du Perron, D’Offat, and de Marquemont,
his deputies at Rome, of the pope’s
favourable dispositions in respect to that affair,
gave him great hopes of its success. In effect,
Clement the Eighth, who was as good a politician
as any prince in Europe, revolving in his
mind what means were most likely to hinder
France and the other christian kingdoms from
falling again into a state of anarchy and confusion,
could find none so effectual as to secure F4 “the F4v 72
the succession to the crown of France, by authorising
Henry to engage in a second marriage,
which might produce him male children.
Our conversation being fixed upon this subject,
it was easy for me to perceive that it was
from hence his majesty’s uneasiness proceeded;
but I could not so soon know what was the particular
thing that disturbed him. The king began
to consider with me what princess of Europe
he should chuse for his wife, in case his marriage
with Margaret of Valois should be dissolved;
but indeed he set out with a declaration that
shewed, that any reflections on that head would
be fruitless.”

“That I may not repent,” said he, “of taking so
dangerous a step, nor draw upon myself a misfortune,
which is with justice said to exceed all others, that
of having a wife disagreeable in person and mind;
it is necessary that in her I marry, I should find these
seven things, beauty, prudence, softness, wit, fruitfulness,
riches, and a royal birth.”

But there was not one in all Europe with whom
he appeared entirely satisfied. “I should have no
objection to the infanta of Spain,”
pursued Henry
“although she is a little advanced in years, provided
that with her I could marry the Low-Countries; even
if I should be obliged to restore to you the Earldom of
Bethune: neither would I refuse the princess Arabella
She was daughter to Charles, Earl of Lennox, who was
grandson to Margaret queen of Scotland, eldest sister to Henry
. Her cousin-german, James VI. king of Scotland,
having in 16021602 been declared lawful heir to Queen Elizabeth,
the following year a conspiracy was formed in her favour, and
she died in 16161616, a prisoner in the tower of London.
of Eng- F5r 73
England, if, as it is publickly said, that crown really
belongs to her, she were only declared presumptive
heiress of it; but there is no reason to expect that either
of these things will happen. I have also heard of some
princesses of Germany, whose names I have forgot;
but the women of this country don’t suit me; I should
always fancy I had a hogshead of wine in bed with
me: besides, I have been told that France had once
a queen of that country, who had like to have ruined
it. All these considerations have given me a disgust
to the German ladies. The sisters of Prince
have likewise been mentioned to me; but
besides that they are protestants, which would give
umbrage to the court of Rome, and the more zealous
catholics, they are daughters of a nun, which, together
with a certain reason that I will inform you
of some other time, has prevented my entertaining
any thoughts of them. The Duke of Florence has
a niece who is said to be handsome, but she is descended
from one of the most inconsiderable families in
Christendom, that bear the title of prince; it not
being above three score or four-score years since her
ancestors were only the first citizens of Florence:
she is likewise of the same race with the queen-mother
Catherine, who did so much mischief to France, and
to me in particular.”


“These,” continued the king, observing that I
listened attentively to him, “are all the foreign princesses
that I have any knowledge of: of those within “my F5v 74
my kingdom, my niece of Guise would please me
best, Louisa Margaret of Lorrain: she was a very beautiful
princess. It was proposed, at the time of the siege of Paris,
for her to marry Henry IV. in order to unite the two parties.
The sarcastical lampoons of that time charge her with carrying
on an intrigue with the duke of Bellegarde, master of the
horse; and what Henry says here of poulets is taken from a
song that was made against mademoiselle de Guise.
notwithstanding the malicious reports that
have been spread that she loves poulets The jest upon the word poulet, which in French signifies
either a chicken or a love-letter.
in paper better
than in a fricassee; for my part, I not only believe
those reports to be false, but should rather chuse
a wife who is a little fond of gallantry, than one
who wanted understanding; but I am apprehensive
that the violent affection which she discovers for her
family, particularly for her brothers, would create
some disorders in the kingdom.”

After this the king named all the other princesses
in France, but to as little purpose: he
acknowledged that some were beautiful, and
genteel, such as the eldest of the Duke of
two daughters, although of a brown
complexion; the two daughters likewise of the
Duke of Aumale, and three of the Duke of Longueville;
but all these were either too young, or
were not to his taste.

He afterwards named Mademoiselle Rohan,
the Princess of Conti’s daughter, of the house
of Lucé, Mademoiselles Luxembourg and Guémené;
but the first was a protestant, and the
second not old enough; and the persons of the “two F6r 75
two others did not please him; and all for some
reason or other were excluded.

The king closed this enumeration by saying,
that although these ladies might be all agreeable
enough to him in their persons, he saw no way
to be assured that they would bring him heirs,
or that he could suit himself to their tempers, or
be convinced of their prudence, three of the
seven conditions, without which he had resolved
never to marry; since, if he entered into an engagement
of that kind, it would be with a design
to give his wife a share in the management
of all his domestick affairs; and that, if according
to the course of nature, he should die before her,
and leave children very young behind him, it
would be necessary that she should be able to
superintend their education, and govern the
kingdom during a minority.

Weary at length of endeavouring to no purpose
to find out what the king aimed at by this
discourse; “But what do you mean, Sire,” said I, “by
so many affirmitives and negatives; and what am I
to conclude by them, but that you are desirous to
marry, and yet cannot find a woman upon earth
qualified to be your wife? By the manner in which
you mentioned the Infanta Clara Eugenia, it should
seem that great heiresses are most agreeable to you; but
can you expect that heaven should raise a Margaret
of Flanders, or a Mary of Burgundy from the dead
for you; or at least restore the Queen of England
to her youth?

I added smiling, that for proof of the other qualities
that he demanded, I saw no better expedient “than F6v 76
than to bring all the beauties of France together,
from the age of seventeen to that of twenty-five,
that by talking with them in person, he might know
the turn of their temper and genius; and that for
the rest he should refer himself to experienced matrons,
to whom recourse is had on such occasions.
Then beginning to talk more seriously, I declared
that, in my opinion, his majesty might
contract his expectations, by striking off a great
fortune and royal birth, and be satisfied with
a wife who might keep his heart, and bring
him fine children; but that here again he must
content himself with mere probability, there being
many beautiful women incapable of childbearing;
and many illustrious fathers unhappy
in their offspring: but whatever his children
should prove, the blood from which they sprung
would secure the respect and obedience of the
French nation.”

“Well,” interrupted the king, setting aside your advice
concerning this assembly of beauties, with which
I am mightily diverted, and your sage reflection, that
great men have often children who possess none of
their qualities, I hope to have sons whose actions shall
exceed mine. Since you confess that the lady whom I
marry ought to be of an excellent temper, beautiful in
her person, and of such a make as to give hopes of
bringing children; consider a little, whether you do not
know a person in whom all of these qualities are

I replied, that I would not take upon me to
decide hastily upon a choice wherein so much consideration3 sider- F7r 77
was requisite, and to which I had not
yet sufficiently attended.

“And what would you say,” returned Henry, “if I
should name one, who, I am fully convinced possesses
these three qualities?”

“I would say, sire,” replied I, with great simplicity,
“that you are much better acquainted with
her than I am, and that she must necessarily be
a widow, otherwise you can have no certainty,
with regard to her fruitfulness.”

“This is all you would desire,” said the king; “but
if you cannot guess who she is, I will name her to

“Name her then,” said I, “for I own I have not
wit enough to find out who she is.”

“Ah! how dull you are,” cried the king; “but I
am persuaded you could guess who I mean if you would,
and only affect this ignorance to oblige me to name
her myself; confess then that these three qualities
meet in my mistress; not”
(pursued the king in some
confusion, at this discovery of his weakness) “that
I have any intention to marry her, but I want to
know what you would say, if, not being able to
meet with any other whom I could approve of, I
should one day take it into my head to make her my

It was not difficult for me to discover, amidst
these slight artifices, that his majesty had already
thought of it but too much, and was but too
well disposed to this unworthy marriage, which
every thing he had said tended to excuse.

“My F7v 78

My astonishment was very great, but
I thought it necessary to conceal my thoughts
with the utmost care. I affected to believe that
he was jesting, that I might have an opportunity
of answering in such a manner as might
make the king ashamed of having entertained
so extravagant a notion.

My dissimulation did not succeed; the king
had not made so painful an effort to stop there.
“I command you,” said he to me, “to speak freely,
you have acquired the right of telling me plain truths;
do not apprehend that I shall be offended with you
for doing so, provided that it is in private; such a
liberty in public would greatly offend me.”

I replied that I would never be so imprudent
as to say any thing in private, any more than in
public, that might displease him, except on such
occasions when his life or the good of the state
was in question. I afterwards represented to
him the disgrace so scandalous an alliance would
draw upon him, in the opinion of the whole
world, and the reproaches he would suffer from
his own mind upon that account, when the ardour
of his passion being abated, he should be
able to judge impartially of his own conduct.

I shewed him that if this was the only means
he could have recourse to, to free France from
the calamities a doubtful succession would produce,
that he would expose himself to all the inconveniences
he was anxious to avoid, and others
still greater. That although he should legitimate
the children he had by madame de Liancourt,
yet that could not hinder the eldest, who “was F8r 79
was born in a double adultery, from being in
this respect, inferior to the second, whose birth
was attended with but half of that disgrace,
and both must yield to those whom he might
have by madam de Liancourt, after she was his
lawful wife; it being therefore impossible to
settle their claims, they could not fail of becoming
an inexhaustible source of quarrels and war.
“I leave you, sire,” pursued I, “to make reflections upon
all this, before I say any more.”

“That will not be amiss,” returned the king, who
was struck with my arguments, “for you have
said enough of this matter for the first time.”

But such was the tyranny of that blind passion,
with which he was inflamed, that in spite
of himself he renewed the subject that very moment
by asking me, if, from the disposition I
knew the French to be of, especially the nobility,
I thought he had any reason to apprehend
they would rise in rebellion while he was living,
if he should marry his mistress.

This question convinced me, that his heart
had received an incurable wound. I treated
him accordingly, and entered into arguments
and expostulations, with which I shall not trouble
the reader, since his own imagination may
suggest to him all that it was necessary to say
upon this occasion; and this subject has been already
dwelt upon too long. We continued
three hours alone in the garden, and I had the
consolation to leave the king in a full persuasion
of the truth and reasonableness of all I had said
to him.

“The F8v 80

The difficulty lay in breaking those two
powerful ties; the king had not yet brought
himself to that point; he had many dreadful
conflicts of mind to suffer e’er that could be effected;
and all he could do for the present, was
to defer taking his last resolution till he had obtained
the permission he had been so long solliciting
from the pope, and till then to keep his
sentiments secret.

He promised me not to acquaint his mistress
with what I had said, lest it should draw her resentment
upon me. “She loves you,” said the king
to me, “and esteems you still more; but her mind still
entertains some remains of distrust, that you will
not approve of my design in favour of her and her
children: she often tells me, that when one hears you
perpetually carrying in your mouth my kingdom and
my glory; one is apt to think that you prefer the one
to my person, and the other to my quiet.”

I answered, that against this charge I would
make no defence; that the kingdom and the sovereign
were to be looked upon with the same
eyes. “Remember, sire,” added I, “that your virtue
is the soul that animates this great body, which
must by its splendor and prosperity repay you that
glory which it derives from you, and that you are
not to seek happiness by any other means.”

After this we left the garden, and it being
night separated, leaving the courtiers to rack
their imaginations to guess the subject of so
long a conference.

To be continued


Lady’s Museum

The Trifler.
[Number II.]

From the account I have already
given of my temper and inclincations,
it will be readily supposed that the
love of power, which our great satirist
asserts to be the ruling passion of my sex, is not
the least prevailing one of mine; and therefore I
will candidly acknowledge that the too perceptible
decline of our influence has often been the subject
of much painful reflection to me.

We live no longer in those happy times, when to
recover one stolen fair one, whole nations took up
arms; when the smile of beauty was more powerful
than the voice of ambition; when heroes conquered
to deserve our favour, and poets preferred
the myrtle to the laurel crown.

In this degenerate age instances of dying for
love are very rare, and instances of marrying for Numb. II. G love G1v 82
love are still rarer. Formerly, if a lady had commanded
her lover to bring her the head of a lion,
he would have gone to Africa in search of the
savage conquest, though death were to have been
the consequence of his obedience: but now, what
lady would presume so much upon her authority,
as to exact from her lover the sacrifice of a party at
whist, or a match at Newmarket!

However desirous I am to find the cause of
this decline of our empire in the depraved manners
of the men, yet justice obliges me to own that
we ourselves are not wholly free from blame.
Beauty, like the majesty of kings, weakens its influence
when familiarised to common view. The
face that may be seen every morning at auctions,
at public breakfastings, and in crouded walks;
every evening at assemblies, at the play, the opera,
or some other fashionable scene of pleasure, soon
loses the charm of novelty, and effaces the impression
it first made. We may gaze upon a fine
picture till the grace of the attitude, the loveliness
of the features, and the strength of the colouring
cease to surprise and delight us; and unhappily many
of our present race of beauties are too solicitous
about their personal charms to attend to the improvement
of their minds: so that a fine woman is
indeed often no more than a fine picture.

It has been observed, that there is no country in
the world where women enjoy so much liberty as in
England, and none where their sway is so little
acknowledged. In Spain, where the severe father,
and jealous brother, guard the secluded maid from
all converse with men, she will conquer more hearts
by being seen once without a veil, than one of our beauties, G2r 83
beauties, who appears with her neck and shoulders
uncovered at every place of publick resort during
the whole season.

The Spanish lover passes whole nights at his mistress’s
door, and employs sighs, tears, serenades, and
tender complaints to move her compassion; bribes
the vigilant duenna with half his estate to procure
him a short interview at a grated window: and for
this inestimable favour he exposes himself to the
rage of her relations, who probably stand ready to
punish his presumption with death; while he, regardless
of the insidious stab, contemplates her by
the faint light of the moon, with enthusiastic rapture.

For her sake he enters the dreadful lists, and encounters
the fiercest bull of Andalusia; the spectators
tremble at his danger; he looks up to the
balcony where she is seated, and catches fortitude
from her eyes. Should he be wounded in
the unequal combat, a sign from her gives him
new force and courage: again he assails his furious
antagonist, and drives him bellowing about the
field. The lady waves her handkerchief to him
as a token of her joy for his victory; the lover, half
dead with fatigue and loss of blood, but triumphing
more in that instance of her regard for him
than in the loud acclamations he hears on every
side, turns to the place where she stands, kisses his
sword, and is carried out of the lists.

Thus ardent are the flames which love inspires
in a country where the promiscuous assembly, the
wrangling card-table, the licentious comedy, and
late protracted ball, are not permitted to rob G2 beauty G2v 84
beauty of its most engaging charms, the blush of
unsullied modesty, and the soft dignity of female

With us the lover dresses at his mistress, sings,
dances, and coquets with her, expects to dazzle
her with superior charms, and loves her for the superficial
qualities he admires in himself. He hopes
not to gain her heart in reward of his services and
constancy, but claims it as a price due to the
resistless graces of his person.

Such is the low state of our power at present,
and such it will continue till our own prudence
and reserve supply the place of imposed retiredness,
and throw as many difficulties in the lover’s way
as the tyranny of custom does in other countries.
Beauty, like the Parthian archer, wounds surest
when she flies, and we then most certain of victory
when we have not courage enough to invite
the attack.

Conclusion of the History of the Dutchess
of Beaufort.

The Dutchess of Beaufort was not ignorant
that the Duke of Sully opposed all her designs;
she knew the power which his wisdom and
integrity gave him over the mind of the king;
but such was her confidence in her own charms,
and in those schemes which her low cunning, and
the interested policy of her relations and dependants
had suggested, that she fondly flattered herselfself G3r 85
neither reasons of state, nor motives of honour
would have force enough to hinder her royal lover
from gratifying her wishes.

Henry, either because he had not yet taken any
resolution against her, or, that his tenderness and
regard for her hindered him from declaring it, suffered
her to remain in this pleasing delusion.

In the mean time she appeared in the state and
equipage of a queen; the servile courtiers anticipated
her expected dignity by paying her those
honours which were due only to the wife of their
prince. No language but that of adulation ever
reached her ear; power, magnificence, pleasure,
offered her every day successive delights; her
smile was considered as the smile of fortune; less
successful guilt looked up to her with secret repinings;
envy, dazzled by her blaze of grandeur,
durst not even in whispers breathe its discontent;
and only virtue beheld her at once with pity and

In the midst of all this splendor madame de
Beaufort was completely wretched; the fear
of future disappointments rendered her present
enjoyments tasteless; conscious of the slender
chains by which she held the king’s heart, she
lived in perpetual anxiety, lest her beauty should
suffer any decay; the slightest alteration in her complexion
filled her with dreadful alarms, and every
evening brought with it the painful reflection that
she was now a day older than she was yesterday.

While the dissolution of the king’s marriage
with Margaret of Valois was soliciting at Rome, G3 she G3v 86
she equally dreaded and wished for the determination
of that important affair.

If the divorce was granted, the king would indeed
be at liberty to marry her, but he would be
free likewise to marry any one else; and all the
wisest and best of his subjects earnestly desired to
see him married to some princess of Europe, who
might bring him heirs worthy to reign over them;
and if among all those princesses who were judged
to be suitable matches for Henry the IV. she heard
any of them praised for their beauty, she trembled
and could not conceal her uneasiness.

The king caused the pictures of the Infanta of
Spain, and of Mary de Medicis to be shewn to her,
being curious to know what she would say.

“I am under no apprehension of that brown woman,”
said she, speaking of the Infanta, “but the Florentine
fills me with dread.”

This painful anxiety, which was the consequence
of her precarious situation, received continual increase
by the confidence she placed in the predictions
of astrologers.

“Madame de Beaufort,” says the Duke of Sully,
“was the weakest of her sex, with regard to divination:
she did not pretend to deny that she
consulted astrologers concerning her affairs; and
indeed she had always a great many of them
about her, who never quitted her; and what is
most surprising, though she doubtless paid them
well, yet they never foretold her any thing but
what was disagreeable.”

“One said that she would never be married but
once, another that she would die young, a third “warned G4r 87
warned her to take care of being with child, and
a fourth assured her that she would be betrayed
by one of her friends. Hence proceeded that
melancholy which oppress’d her, and which she
was never able to overcome.
Gracienne, one of her women, has since told
me, that she would often retire from company to
pass whole nights in grief and weeping, on account
of these predictions.”

If we add to this continual anxiety the stings
of conscience for unrepented guilt, can imagination
form the idea of a more wretched being than this
woman, in the midst of all her splendor, power,
and magnificence?

The trouble of despair, says a sensible writer,
always rises in proportion to the evil that is feared;
consequently the greatest agonies of expectation
are those which relate to another world.

These agonies, which she who lived in an infamous
commerce with a married man often experienced,
were heightened by an event which affected
her more than any other person, and seemed
a frightful presage of her own approaching fate.

She was far advanced in another guilty pregnancy,
when the strange death of Louisa de Budos,
second wife to Henry Constable de Montmorency,
filled her with unusual horrors, and embittered all
the short remainder of her life.

“These two deaths (says the Duke of Sully
speaking of the constable’s lady, and Madame
de Beaufort
) made a great noise every where, and
were attended with a surprising similarity of very
uncommon circumstances: both were seized G4 “with G4v 88
with a violent distemper that lasted only three or
four days; and both, tho’ extremely beautiful,
became horribly disfigured, which together with
some other circumstances, that at any other time
would have been thought natural, or only the
effects of poison, raised a report in the world, that
the deaths of these two young ladies, as well as
their elevation, was the work of the devil, who
made them pay dearly for that short felicity
he had procured them. And this was certainly
believed not only amongst the common people,
who are generally credulous to a high degree of
folly, but amongst the courtiers themselves.

This,” pursues the duke of Sully, “is what is related
of the constable’s lady, and as it is said by the
ladies who were then at her house: she was conversing
with them gaily in her closet, when one
of her women entered in great terror, and told her
that a certain person, who called himself a gentleman,
and who indeed had a good presence, saving
that he was quite black, and of a gigantic stature,
had just entered her antichamber, and desired
to speak to her about affairs of great consequence,
which he could communicate to none but her.

At every circumstance relating to this extraordinary
courier, the lady was seen to grow pale; and
appeared so oppressed with grief, that she could
scarcely bid her woman intreat the gentleman to defer
his visit to another time; to which he replied
in a tone that filled the messenger with horror, That
since the lady would not come to him willingly he
would take the trouble to go and seek her in her
closet. She, who was more afraid of a publick than a pri- G5r 89
a private audience, resolved at last to go to him,
but with all the marks of a deep despair.
The terrible message performed, she returned
to her company, bathed in tears, and half dead with
dismay: she had only time to speak a few words to
take leave of them, particularly of three ladies who
were her intimate friends, and to assure them that
she should never see them more.
That instant she was seized with exquisite pains,
and died at the end of three days, filling all who
saw her with horror at the frightful change of every
feature in her once lovely face.”

The dutchess of Beaufort proved the truth of
that observation, that repentance is often not so
much remorse for our sins, as fear of the consequence
――This fear indeed acted powerfully upon
her mind; but it did not produce reformation in
her conduct, which is the only infallible sign by
which true penitence may be known.

The king having resolved to spend the Easter
holidays at Fontainebleau, was unwilling to incur
the censure of keeping this lady with him during
that sacred festival. Madame de Beaufort, who
had insisted upon making one of the party with
the king, was sensibly mortified when, after a stay
only of three of four days, he intreated her to leave
him at Fontainebleau, and return herself to Paris.

This request, enforced by motives drawn from
the impropriety of their continuing together at such
a time, was received with tears by the dutchess.
Whether it was that her pride was sensibly wounded
by the king’s so easily admitting the necessity of her
absence, or that she had really some secret foreboding2 ing G5v 90
that she should never see him more, she seemed
to consider this separation as the greatest misfortune
that could befal her.

The duke of Sully, as well as all the other historians
who have mentioned this parting of the king
and his mistress, allow that there was something
very extraordinary in the grief expressed by the two
lovers upon this occasion.

When the moment came that madame de Beaufort
was to leave Fontainbleau, she appeared overwhelmed
with anguish. The king, who was more passionately
fond of her than ever, struggled to repress
his emotions: he conducted her half way to Paris;
and although they proposed only an absence of a
few days, yet they dreaded the moment of separation,
as if they were never to meet more. “Those”
(says the duke of Sully) “who are inclined to give
faith to such kind of forebodings will lay some
stress upon this relation. The two lovers renewed
their endearments; and in every thing
they said to each other at that moment, some
persons have pretended to find proofs of these
presages of an inevitable fate.”

Henry sighing led his mistress to the boat
which was to carry her down to the arsenal. Just
as she was preparing to enter it, she stopped, and
turning to the king, who was oppressed with grief,
she spoke to him, as if for the last time. She recommended
to his care her children, her estate of Monceaux,
and her domestics. Henry listened to her;
but, instead of comforting her, gave way to sympathising
sorrow. Again they took leave of each
other, and a secret emotion again drew them to
each other’s arms.

The G6r 91

The king, not being able to tear himself from
her, the marshal D’Ornano, Roquelaure, and Frontenac,
forced him away, and prevailed upon him
at length to return to Fontainebleau, after he had
tenderly recommended the care of his mistress to
La Varenne, with orders to conduct her safely to
the house of Zamet, Sebastian Zamet, a private gentlemen of immense fortune.
He was an Italian, and a native of Lucca, but got
himself naturalized in 15811581. He desired the notary who drew
up his daughter’s contract of marriage, to stile him lord of seventeen
hundred thousand crowns. Henry IV. loved him for
his wit and facetious humour, and chose his house for collations
and parties of pleasure.
to whom he chose to confide
this pledge so dear to him.

The duke of Sully being at Paris when madame
de Beaufort
arrived there, he thought himself
obliged to wait on her before he set out for his
estate at Rosny; and by the account he gives of
her discourse to him, it appears that her melancholy
ideas were already dissipated; and that she
again indulged herself in her gay dreams of royalty,
and cherished all her ambitious hopes: dreams
so soon to be changed to a frightful certainty, and
hopes shortly to terminate in despair and death!

“She gave me” (says the duke of Sully) “a most
obliging reception, and seemed to have wholly
forgot our dispute at Saint Germain; but not
chusing to explain herself clearly upon that compliance
with her projects to which she wished to
bring me, she contented herself with endeavouring
to engage me in her interest, by mingling
with those civilities which she shewed to very few
persons, words which carried a double sense, and
hinted to me a boundless grandeur, if I would “re- G6v 92
relax a little in the severity of my counsel to the
king with regard to her.

I” (pursues the duke) “who was as little moved
with the chimeras that filled her head as with
those she sought to inspire me with, pretended
not to understand any part of a discourse intelligible
enough; and answered her equivocal
terms with general professions of respect, attachment,
and devotion, which signify what
one will.”

The dutchess of Sully going likewise to pay a
visit to the triumphant mistress, was overwhelmed
with the airs of royalty assumed by this poor creature
already devoted to the shades of death, and
so soon to answer at the tribunal of divine justice
for that guilty grandeur which she preferred to
eternal happiness.

Madame de Beaufort kindly intreated the dutchess
of Sully to love her, and to converse with her
as a friend. “Entered into confidances” (says the
duke of Sully) “that would have appeared to be
the last instances of the most intimate friendship to
those, who, like madame de Sully, knew not that
the dutchess, who had no great share of understanding,
was not very delicate in the choice of
her confidants. It was her highest pleasure
to entertain any person she first saw with her
schemes and expectations; and when she conversed
with her inferiors, she scarce submitted
to any caution; for with them she no longer
guarded her expressions, but often assumed the
state and language of a queen.

Madame de Sully” (continues the duke) “could
not avoid shewing some surprize at the dutchess’s “dis- G7r 93
discourse, especially when that lady, making
an absurd assemblage of the civilities practised
among persons of equal rank with these airs of
a queen, told her she might come to her coucher
and lever when she pleased, with many other
speeches of the same kind.”

It was in the midst of these intoxicating dreams
of ambition, and while she resigned her whole soul
to scenes of present pleasure, and to hopes of future
greatness, that Providence thought fit to put a period
to her life.

She was still at the house of Sebastian Zamet,
who had received his fair guest with all the assiduity
of a courtier solicitous to please, when on Maundy
, after a luxurious repast, she had an
inclination to hear the evening service at Saint Anthony’s
the Less
: she was there seized with fainting
fits, which obliged her attendants to carry her
back immediately.

As soon as she arrived at Zamet’s, she went into
the garden, hoping to receive some benefit from
the air; but in a few minutes she was attacked with
an apoplectic fit, which it was expected would have
instantly stifled her.

She recovered a little, through the assistance that
was given her; and, strongly prepossessed with a
notion that she was poisoned, she commanded her
servants to carry her from that house to madame de
Sourdis her aunt, who lived in the cloister Saint

They had but just time to put her in bed, when
thick succeeding convulsions, so dreadful as amazed all G7v 94
all who were present, and every symptom of approaching
death, left monsieur Varenne, who had
taken up the pen to inform the king of this melancholy
accident nothing else to say, but that the
physicians despaired of the dutchess’s life, from the
nature of her distemper, which required the most
violent remedies, and the circumstance of her being
big with child, which made all applications mortal.

Scarce had he sent away the letter, when the
dutchess, drawing near her last moments, fell into
new convulsions, which disfigured her so horribly,
that Varenne, not doubting but that the king
would upon the receipt of his letter set out instantly
to see his mistress, thought it more prudent to tell
him in a second letter that she was dead, than expose
him to a spectacle at once so dreadful and afflicting,
as that of a woman whom he tenderly loved,
expiring in agitations, struggles, and agonies which
scarcely left any thing of human in her figure.

On the Saturday following the convulsions had
turned her quite black, and writh’d her mouth to
the back of her neck. Riviere, the king’s first
phsician, coming in great haste upon this occasion
with others of the king’s physicians, but just entered
her chamber, and when he saw the extraordinary
condition she was in went away, saying to
those who were with him, “This is the hand of God.”

A few moments afterwards the dutchess expired,
in a general subversion of all the functions of nature,
capable of inspiring horror and dismay.

The king who, upon the receipt of Varenne’s
first letter, had not failed to mount his horse immediately,
received the second when he was got half G8r 95
half way to Paris; and listening to nothing but the
excess of his passion, was resolved, notwithstanding
all that could be said to him to give himself the consolation
of seeing his mistress once more.

Marshal Bassompierre, in his Memoirs, relates
that Henry did not believe his mistress was dead,
and continued his journey; but that Varenne,
having come to acquaint the marshal D’Ornano
and him, who had accompanied the dutchess to
Paris, that she was just dead, they both took horse,
to carry the melancholy news to the king, and
hinder him from proceeding to Paris.

We found the king, says marshal Bassompierre,
on the other side of La Saussaye near Vilejuif, coming
on post horses with the utmost expedition. As soon
as he perceived the marshal D’Ornano, he suspected
that he was come to bring him fatal tidings, which
as soon as he had heard, he uttered the most passionate

These noblemen having with great difficulty
prevailed upon Henry to go into the Abbey La
, they laid him upon a bed, till the coach
which they had ordered to follow came from Paris:
they put him into it, to carry him back to Fontainebleau,
and during this little journey he was so oppress’d
with grief that he fell into a fainting fit in
the arms of the master of the horse.

As soon as he arrived in Fontainebleau he dispatched
a messenger to the Duke of Sully, who
was at his country-seat, to desire he would come
to him instantly.

It is worthy remark, that the king should upon
this occasion of his mistress’s death think no one so G8v 96
so capable of giving him consolation as the man
who had most opposed his extravagant fondness
for her; such is the involuntary homage which
even the passions themselves pay to wisdom and

When this messenger arrived at the duke’s castle,
he was conversing with his wife upon the extraordinary
airs assumed by the Dutchess of Beaufort
when she last saw her; and perceiving her to be so
much affected with the discourse she had held with
her as to conclude there would certainly be some
very great change in the fortune of this lady,
the duke acquainted her with Madame de Beaufort’s
design to get herself declared queen, with the
practices of her relations and dependants for that
purpose, the struggles the king had in his own
mind, and the resolution he had taken to overcome

Madame de Sully was listening attentively to
this relation, when they heard the bell of the first
gate of the castle, without the moat, ring, and none
of the servants answering, it being yet scarcely day,
a voice several times repeated, “I come from the king.”

The Duke of Sully that instant wakening one
of the grooms of his chamber, sent him to open the
gate; and in his impatience to know the cause of
this early summons, he slipt on a night-gown and
ran to meet the courier, when observing a deep concern
upon his countenance, he asked him trembling,
if the king was ill?

No, replied the man, but he is in the utmost
affliction, madame the dutchess is dead.

This H1r 97

“This news,” says the Duke of Sully, “appeared
to me so improbable, that I made him repeat
his words several times; and when convinced
that it was true, I felt my mind divided between
grief for the condition to which her death reduced
the king, and joy for the advantages all
France would derive from it, which was increased,
by my being fully persuaded that the king
would by this transitory affliction purchase a release
from a thousand anxieties, and much more
anguish of heart than what he now actually suffered.
I went up again to my wife’s chamber
full of these reflections, ‘You will neither go to
the dutchess’s Coucher nor Lever,’
said I, ‘for she
is dead.’”

So sudden and so fatal a fall from all those
towering hopes of grandeur filled Madame de Sully
with astonishment and concern for the unhappy
dutchess of Beaufort. The shocking particulars of
her strange death she was made acquainted with
by a letter from La Varenne to her lord.

The Duke of Sully hastened to the king, whom
he found walking in a gallery, so oppress’d with grief
that all company was insupportable to him. This
wise counsellor and faithful friend employed every
argument drawn from religion, virtue, and policy,
to mitigate his sorrow: he even ventured to represent
to him that the event which now caused him
all this affliction was among the number of those
which he would one day look upon as most fortunate:
he conjured him to consider the painful
situation he would have been in, if his mistress had
lived; when on one side, struggling with the force No. 2. H of H1v 98
of a tender and violent passion, and on the other
with the silent convictions of what honour and
duty required of him, he would have been under
an absolute necessity of coming to some resolution
with respect to an engagement which he could not
break without torture, nor continue without infamy.

Heaven, he told him, came to his assistance by
a stroke painful indeed; but the only one that
could open the way to a marriage upon which
depended the tranquility of France, the fate of
Europe, the welfare of his subjects, and his own

“Henry,” adds the Duke of Sully, “had not the
weakness of resigning himself up to grief through
obstinacy; or of seeking a cure in insensibility.
He listened more to the dictates of his reason
than his passion, and appeared already much less
afflicted to the courtiers who entered his chamber.
At length, every one being careful not
to renew his grief, which his daily employments
gradually diminished, he found himself in that
state which all wise men ought to be, who
have had great subjects of affliction; that is, neither
condemning nor flattering the cause, nor
affecting either to recal or banish the remembrance
of it.” Le Grain tells us, that the king made all his court go
into mourning for the Dutchess of Beaufort; he himself was
dressed in black the first eight days, and afterwards in violet.

H2r 99

Harriot and Sophia

Mr. Herbert having recovered from the
astonishment into which he had been
thrown by the strange behaviour of Miss Darnley,
endeavoured to comfort her mother, whose weak
mind was more disposed to be alarmed at the threat
she had uttered upon her quitting the room, than
to resent such an insult to parental tenderness.

After gently insinuating to her, that she ought to
reduce her eldest daughter to reason, by a proper
exertion of her authority, he earnestly recommended
to her to be particularly attentive to an affair which
concerned the happiness of her youngest child, from
whose piety and good sense she might promise herself
so much comfort.

He advised her to give Sir Charles Stanley an
opportunity of explaining himself to her as soon
as possible; and to make him comprehend, that he
must not hope for permission to pay his addresses
to Sophia, till he had satisfied her that his intentions
were such, as she ought to approve.

H2 Mrs. H2v 100

Mrs. Darnley appeared so docile and complaisant
upon this occasion, so ready to take advice, and so
fully determined to be directed by it, that Mr.
went away extremely well satisfied with
her behaviour, and full of pleasing hopes for his
beloved Sophia.

Harriot, in the mean time, was tormenting her
sister above stairs: she had entered her room with
a heart full of bitterness, and a countenance inflamed
with rage, flinging the door after her with
such violence, that Sophia letting fall her book,
started up in great terror, and in a trembling accent
asked her what was the matter with her?

Her own apprehensions had indeed already suggested
to her the cause of the disorder she appeared
to be in, which it was not easy to discover in that torrent
of reproach and invective with which she strove
to overwhelm her. Scornful and unjust reflections
upon her person, bitter jests upon her pedantick affectation,
and malignant insinuations of hypocrisy,
were all thrown out with the utmost incoherence of
passion; to which Sophia answered no otherwise
than by provoking serenity of countenance and
calm attention.

That she was able to bear with so much moderation
the cruel insults of her sister, was not more
the effect of her natural sweetness of temper, than
her good sense and delicate turn of mind. The
upper region of the air, says a sensible French writer,
admits neither clouds nor tempests; the thunder,
storms, and meteors, are formed below: such
is the difference between a mean, and an exalted

I Har- H3r 101

Harriot, who did not find her account in this
behavior, sought to rouse her rage by reproaches
still more severe, till having ineffectually
railed herself out of breath, she aukwardly imitated
her sister’s composure, folded her hands before her,
and seating herself, asked her in a low but solemn
tone of voice, whether she would deign to answer
her one plain question?

Sophia then resuming her seat, told her with a
look of mingled dignity and sweetness, that she was
ready to answer her any question, and give her any
satisfaction she could desire, provided she would
repress those indecent transports of anger, so unbecoming
to her sex and years.

Why, you little envious creature, said Harriot,
you do not surely, because you are two or three
years younger than I am, pretend to insinuate that
I am old?

No certainly, replied Sophia, half smiling, my
meaning is, that you are too young to adopt, as
you do, all the peevishness of old age; but your
question sister, pursued she――

Well then, said Harriot, I ask you, how you have
dared to say that Sir Charles Stanley was tired of
me, and preferred you to me?

Tired of you! repeated Sophia, shocked at her
coarseness and falshood, I never was capable of
making use of such an expression, nor do I familiarise
myself with ideas that need such strange language
to convey them.

Harriot provoked almost to frenzy by this hint,
which her indiscreet conduct made but too just, flew
down stairs to her mother, and with mingled sobs and H3 ex- H3v 102
exclamations, told her, that Sophia had treated
her like an infamous creature, who had dishonoured
herself and her family.

Mrs. Darnley, though more favourably disposed
towards her youngest daughter, since she had been
made acquainted with the baronet’s affection for
her, yet was on this occasion governed by her habitual
preference of Harriot; and sending for Sophia,
she reproved her with great asperity for her
insolent behaviour to her sister.

Sophia listened with reverence to her mother’s
reproofs; and after justifying herself, as she easily
might, from the accusation her sister had brought
against her, she added, that not being willing to
be exposed to any farther persecutions on account
of Sir Charles Stanley, whose sincerity she thought
very doubtful, she was resolved not to wait any
longer for a place such as Mr. Herbert’s tenderness
was in search of for her, but to accept the first
reputable one that offered.

“I have not the vanity, madam,” pursued she, “to
imagine that a man of rank and fortune can
seriously resolve to marry an indigent young
woman like me; and although I am humble
enough to go to service, I am too proud to listen
to the addresses of any man who, from his superiority
of fortune, thinks he had a right to keep
me in doubt of his intentions, or, in a mean
dependance upon a resolution which he has not
perhaps regard enough for me to make.”

This discourse was not at all relished by Mrs.
, who conceived that many inconveniences
were to be submitted to, for the enjoyment of affluence6 flu- H4r 103
and pleasure; but Sophia, who had revolved
in her mind all the mortifications a young woman
is exposed to, whose poverty places her so greatly
below her lover; that she is to consider his professions
as an honour, and to be rejoiced at every
indication of his sincerity; her delicacy was so
much wounded by the bare apprehension of suffering
what she thought an indignity to her sex,
that she was determined to give Sir Charles Stanley
no encou ragement, but to pursue her first design
of seeking a decent establishment, suitable to the
depress’d state of her fortune.

Mrs. Darnley, however, combatted her resolution
with arguments which she supposed absolutely conclusive,
and added to them her commands not to
think any more of so humiliating a design, which
so offended Harriot, that she broke out again into
tears, exclamations, and reproaches.

Her mother would have found it a difficult task
to have pacified her, had not a message from a lady,
inviting her to a concert that evening, obliged her
to calm her mind, that her complexion might not
suffer from those emotions of rage which she had
hitherto taken so little pains to repress.

As soon as Harriot retired, to begin the labours
of the toilet, Mrs. Darnley, with great mildness, represented
to Sophia, that it was her duty to improve
the affection Sir Charles express’d for her,
since by that means it might be in her power to
make her mother and her sister easy in their circumstances,
and engage their love for ever.

This was attacking Sophia on her weak side;
she answered with the softest tenderness of look H4 and H4v 104
and accent, “That it was her highest ambition
to make them happy.”

“Then I do not doubt, my child,” said Mrs.
, “but you will employ all your good sense
to secure the conquest you have made.”

Sophia, melted almost to tears by these tender
expressions, to which she had been so little used,
assured her mother she would upon this occasion
act so as to deserve her kindness.

Mrs. Darnley would have been better pleased
if she had been less reserved, and had appeard
more affected with the fine prospect that was opening
for her; but it was not possible to press her farther.
Nature here had transferred the parent’s
rights to the child, and the gay, imprudent ambitious
mother, stood awed and abashed, in the presence
of her worthier daughter.

Sophia, who expected Sir Charles would renew
his visit in the evening, past the rest of the day in
uneasy perturbations. He entered the house just
at the time that Harriot, who had ordered a chair
to be got for her, came fluttering down the stairs
in full dress. As soon as she perceived him her
cheeks glowed with resentment; but affecting a
careless inattention, she shot by him with a half
courtesy, and made towards the door: he followed,
and accosting her with a grave but respectful air,
desired she would permit him to lead her to her
chair. Harriot, conveying all the scorn into her face
which the expression of her pretty but unmeaning features
were capable of, and rudely drawing away her
hand, “Pray, Sir,” said she, “carry your devores where “they H5r 105
they will be more acceptable, I am not disposed
to be jested with any longer.”

Sir Charles, half smiling and bowing low, told her,
that he respected her too much, as well upon her own
account as upon Miss Sophia’s, for whom indeed
he had the most tender regard, to be guilty of the
impertinence she accused him of.

Harriot did not stay to hear more: offended in
the highest degree at the manner in which he
mentioned Sophia, she darted an angry look at him,
and flung herself into her chair.

It must be confessed that Sir Charles discovered
upon this occasion a great share of that easy confidence
which people are apt to derive from splendid
fortunes and undisputed rank; but as he wanted
neither good sense, generosity, nor even delicacy,
he would have found it difficult to own to a lady
whom he had been used to address in the style of a
lover, that his heart had received a new impression,
if the contemptible character of Harriot had not
authorised his desertion of her. Pride, ignorance,
folly, affectation, sink a woman so low in the
eyes of men, that they easily dispense with themselves
from a strict observance of those delicate attentions,
and respectful regards, which the sex in general
claim by the laws of politeness, but which
sense and discernment never pay to the trifling
part of it.

Sir Charles was likewise glad of an opportunity
to shew Miss Darnley, that he did not think the
little gallantry which had passed between them,
entitled her to make him any reproaches; or to
consider the passion he professed for her sister as an in- H5v 106
infidelity to her; and now finding himself more at
ease from the frank acknowledgement he had made,
he sent up his name, and was received by Mrs.
Darnley with all the officious civility she was used
to shew him.

Sophia was in the room, and rose up at his entrance
in a sweet confusion, which she endeavoured
to conceal, by appearing extremely busy at a piece
of needle-work.

Sir Charles, after some trifling conversation with
her mother, approached her, and complimented
her with an easy air upon her being so usefully
employed, when most other young ladies were abroad
in search of amusement.

Sophia, who was now a little recovered, answered
him with that wit and vivacity which was so natural
to her; but looking up at the same time, she
saw his eyes fixed upon her with a look so tender
and passionate, as threw her back into all her former
confusion, which encreased every moment by
the consciousness that it was plain to his observation.

The young baronet, though he was charmed
with her amiable modesty, yet endeavoured to relieve
the concern he saw her under, by talking of
indifferent matters, till Mrs. Darnley seeing them
engaged in discourse, prudently withdrew, when
he instantly addressed her in a language more tender
and particular.

Sophia, shocked at her mother’s indiscretion,
and at his taking advantage of it so abruptly, let
all the weight of her resentment fall on him; and
the poor lover was so awed at her frowns, and the sar- H6r 107
sarcastic raillery which she mingled with expressions
that shewed the most invincible indifference,
that not daring to continue a discourse which offended
her, and in too great concern to introduce
another subject, he stood fixed in silence for several
minutes, leaning on the back of her chair, while
she plied her needle with the most earnest attention,
and felt her confusion decrease in proportion
as his became more apparent.

At length he walked slowly to the other end of
the room, and taking up a new book which he had
sent her a few days before, he asked her opinion of
it in a faultering accent, and was extremely mortified
to find she was so much at ease, as to answer
him, with all the readiness of wit and clearness of
judgment imaginable.

Another pause of silence ensued, during which
Sophia heard him sigh softly several times, while
he turned over the leaves of the book with such
rapidity as shewed he scarce read a single line in
any page of it.

He was thus employed when Mrs. Darnley returned,
who stood staring first at one, then at the
other, strangely perplexed at their looks and silence,
and apprehensive that all was not right. Sophia
now took an opportunity to retire, and met an
angry glance from her mother as she passed by her.

Her departure roused Sir Charles out of his revery,
he looked after her, and then turning to Mrs.
Darnley, overcame his discontent so far as to be
able to entertain her a quarter of an hour with his
usual politeness; and finding Sophia did not appear
again, he took his leave.

As H6v 108

As soon as he was gone Mrs. Darnley called her
daughter, and chid her severely for her rudeness in
leaving the baronet.

Sophia defended herself as well as she could,
without owning the true cause of her disgust, which
was her mother’s so officiously quitting the room;
but Mrs. Darnley was so ill satisfied with her behaviour,
that she complained of it to her friend Mr.
, who came in soon afterwards, telling him
that Sophia’s pride and ill temper would be the
ruin of her fortune.

The good man having heard the story but one
way, thought Sophia a little to blame, till having
an opportunity to discourse with her freely, he found
the fault she had been charged with, was no more
than an excess of delicacy, which was very pardonable
in her situation: he warned her, however, not to
admit too readily apprehensions injurious to herself,
which was in some degree debasing the dignity of
her sex and character; but to make the baronet
comprehend that esteeming him as a man of honour,
she considered his professions of regard to her as a
claim upon her gratitude; and that, in consequence,
she should without any reluctance receive the commands
of her mother, and the advice of her friends
in his favour.

Poor Sophia found herself but too well disposed
to think favourably of Sir Charles; her tenderness
had suffered greatly by the force she had put upon
herself to behave to him in so disobliging a manner,
and the uneasiness she saw him under, his silence,
and confusion, and the sighs that escaped him, apparently
without design, had affected her sensibly, and H7r 109
and several days passing away without his appearing
again, she concluded he was irrecoverably prejudiced
against her; the uneasiness this thought
gave her, first hinted to herself the impression he
had already made on her heart.

Sir Charles had been so much piqued by
her behaviour as to form the resolution of seeing
her no more; but when he supposed himself most
capable of persisting in this resolution, he was nearest
breaking through it, and suddenly yielding to
the impulse of his tenderness, he flew to her again
more passionate than ever; this little absence having
only served to shew him how necessary she was
to his happiness.

When Sophia saw him enter the room, the agitations
of her mind might easily read in her
artless countenance; a sentiment of joy for his return
gave new fire to her eyes, and vivacity to her
whole person; while a consciousness of the effect
his presence produced, and a painful doubt of his
sincerity, and the rectitude of his intentions, alternately
dyed her cheeks with blushes and paleness.

The young baronet approached her trembling,
but the unexpected softness with which she received
him, increasing at once his passion and his hopes,
he poured out his whole soul in the tenderest and
most ardent professions of love, esteem, and admiration
of her.

Sophia listened to him with a complaisant attention;
and having had sufficient time while he was
speaking, to compose and recollect herself; she told
him, in a modest but firm accent, that she was obliged
to him for the favourable opinion he entertainedtained H7v 110
of her; but that she did not think herself at
liberty to hear, much less to answer to such discourse
as he had thought proper to address to her, till she had
the sanction of her mother’s consent, and Mr. Herbert’s
approbation, whose truly parental regard for
her, made her look upon him as another father, who
supplied the place of him she had lost.

Sir Charles, more charmed with her than ever,
was ready in his present flow of tender sentiments
for her, to offer her his hand with an unreservedness
that would have satisfied all her delicate scruples;
but carried away by the force of habit, an
insurmountable aversion to marriage, and the false
but strongly impressed notion of refinements in a
union of hearts, where love was the only tye, he
could not resolve to give her a proof of his affection,
which in his opinion was the likeliest way to destroy
all the ardor of it; but careful not to alarm her,
and apprehending no great severity of morals from
the gay interested mother, he politely thanked her
for the liberty she gave him to make his passion
known to Mrs. Darnley, and to solicit her consent
to his happiness.

Sophia observed with some concern, that he affected
to take no notice of Mr. Herbert upon this
occasion; but she would not allow herself to dwell
long upon a thought so capable of raising doubts
injurious to his honour; and satisfied with the frankness
of his proceeding thus far, she suffered no
marks of discontent or apprehension to appear in
her countenance and behaviour.

Sir Charles did not fail to make such a general
declaration of his sentiments to Mrs. Darnley as he thought H8r 111
thought sufficient to satisfy Sophia, without obliging
himself to be more explicite; and in
the mean time, having acquired a thorough
knowledge of Mrs. Darnley’s character, he sought
to engage her in his interest by a boundless
liberality, and by gratifying all those passions which
make corruption easy. She loved dissipation;
and all the pleasures and amusements that inventive
luxury had found out to vary the short scene
of life were at her command; she had a high taste
for the pleasures of the table, and therefore the
most expensive wines, and choicest delicacies that
earth, sea, and air could afford, were constantly
supplied by him in the greatest profusion. No
day ever passed without her receiving some considerable
present, the value of which was inhanced
by the delicacy with which it was made.

The innocent Sophia construed all this munificence
into proofs of the sincerity of his affection
for her; for the young baronet, whether awed by
the dignity of her virtue, or that he judged it necessary
to secure the sucess of his designs, mingled
with the ardor of his professions, a behaviour
so respectful and delicate, as removed all her apprehensions,
and left her whole soul free to all the
tender impressions a lively gratitude could make
on it.

Mr. Herbert, however, easily penetrated into Sir
Charles views; he saw with the pain the progress he
made every day in the affection of Sophia; but by
the speciousness of his conduct, he had established
himself so firmly in her good opinion, that he judged
any attempt to alarm her fears, while there seemed so H8v 112
so little foundation for them, would miss its effect;
and not doubting but ere it was long her own
observation would furnish her with some cause for
apprehension, he contented himself for the present
with keeping a vigilant eye upon the conduct of
Sir Charles and Mrs. Darnley, and with being
ready to assist Sophia in her perplexities, whenever
she had recourse to him.

The change there was now in the situation of
this amiable girl, afforded him many opportunities
of admiring the excellence of her character: she who
formerly used to be treated with neglect and even
harshness by her mother, was now distinguished with
peculiar regard; her opinion always submitted to with
deference, her inclinations consulted in all things,
and a studious endeavour to please her was to be seen
in every word and action of Mrs. Darnley’s, who
affected to be as partially fond of her as she had
once been of her sister.

Even the haughty insolent Harriot, keeping her
rage and envy concealed in her own breast, condescended
to wear the appearance of kindness to her,
while she shared with her mother in all those gratifications
which the lavish generosity of Sir Charles
procured them, and which Sophia, still continuing
her usual simplicity of life, could never be persuaded
to partake of. Yet all this produced no
alteration in Sophia; the same modesty and humility,
the same sweetness of temper, and attention to
oblige, distinguished her now as in her days of

Mr. I1r 113

Mr. Herbert contemplated her with admiration
and delight, and often with astonishment reflected
upon the infatuation of Sir Charles, who could
allow himself to be so far governed by fashionable
prejudices, and a libertine turn of mind, as to balance
one moment whether he should give himself
a lawful claim to the affections of such a woman.

Affairs continued in this state during three
months, when the good old man, who watched
over his young favourite with all the pious solicitude
of her guardian angel, perceived that she was
grown more melancholy and reserved than usual;
he often heard her sigh, and fancied she had been
weeping, and her fine eyes would appear sometimes
suffused with tears, even when she endeavoured
to appear most chearful.

He imagined that she had something upon her
mind which she wished to disclose to him; her looks
seemed to intimate as much, and she frequently
sought opportunities of being alone with him,
and engaged him to pass those evenings with her
when her mother and sister were at any of the public
entertainments. Yet all those times, though her
heart seemed labouring with some secret uneasiness
which she would fain impart to him, she had not resolution
enough to enter into any explanation.

Mr. Herbert, who could have wished she had
been more communicative, resolved at length to
spare her any farther struggles with herself; and
one day when he was alone with her, taking occasion
to observe that she was not so chearful as usual,
he asked her tenderly if any thing had happened to
give her uneasiness; speak freely my child, said No. II. I he I1v 114
he to her, and think you speaking to a

Sophia made no other answer at first than by
bursting into tears, which seeming to relieve her
a little; she raised her head, and looking upon the
good man, who beheld her with a fixed attention.
“May I hope sir:” said she, “that you are
still disposed to fulfil the kind promise you once
made me――Oh take me from hence,”
she, relapsing into a new passion of tears, “place
me in the situation to which my humble lot has
called me; save me from the weakness of my
own heart――I now see plainly the delusion into
which I have fallen; but, alas! my mother does
not see it――every thing here conspires against my

To be continued.

An I2r 115

of the
Vestal Virgins.

Numa Pompilius, the second king of Rome,
a man of great virtue, piety, and wisdom,
is considered as author of the vestal institution;
though there were vestals before his time, and even
so early as the settlement of Eneas in Italy, who,
we are told, placed the palladium, an image of
Pallas so called, which he had brought with him
from Troy, in the temple of Vesta, and committed
it to the care of the virgins dedicated to the service
of that goddess, who from her name were called
vestals. But it was Numa who gave a form to
this institution, and regulated the ministry and office
of the order.

That prince confined the number of the vestals
to four; two more were afterwards added by Tarquinius
, one of his successors, and that
number continued unaltered.

Numa committed to these virgins the keeping
of the immortal fire, and the palladium, with the
care of certain secret sacrifices in the worship of the I2 god- I2v 116
goddess Vesta. They vowed chastity during the
space of thirty years that they attended on the
service of the goddess; the age of admission was
above six, and under ten, and they were to be without
any corporal blemish.

The ten first years were a kind of noviciate or
probation, when they were instructed in all the sacred
mysteries; the next ten were passed in the
practice of them, and the last ten in teaching the

This term being expired, they were free to
quit the order, to lay aside the distinctions of it
and to marry; but very few, it is said, made use
of this liberty, terrified with frequent examples of
the unhappy end attending those who changed
their condition.

Very great privileges and marks of distinction
were at several times granted to the vestals. They
had a right to make a will during their father’s
life, and to dispose of their fortunes, without a
trustee; for the Roman women were always under
guardianship: they were forbid to take an oath,
and in courts of justice their evidence was admitted
upon their bare affirmation.

When they appeared in public, a lictor attended
them with the fasces; and if a vestal in her walks
happened to meet a criminal leading to execution,
he was pardoned upon her declaring that the meeting
was accidental. They had a distinguished
rank and place of honour assigned them in the circus,
and at other public shews, and were educated
and maintained at the expence of the commonwealth.

But I3r 117

But if great honours were paid to the dignity and
virtue of the vestals, their faults were also punished
with equel severity. The faults thus punishable
were either negligence of their duty, in suffering the
sacred fire to go out, or incontinence in violating
their vow of chastity.

In the first case, which was looked upon as the
sign of some great calamity to the state, the guilty
vestal was punished as a slave, that is, with scourging;
covered only with a veil, she was whipped
with rods by the Pontifex Maximus, or chief
priest. One of the vestals spent the whole night
by the sacred fire, to prevent its extinction, and
watched thus each in turn. When the fire was
out, it was to be rekindled by the rays of the sun,
the manner of which is variously related.

The great crime of the vestals was the violation
of their vow of chastity; and this was punished
in a manner not to be described without horror.
They were buried alive. Near the Colline gate,
says Plutarch, there is a little vault, with a hole to
go down to it; in the vault there is a bed, a lighted
lamp, and a small quantity of provisions, consisting
of a loaf, a pitcher of water, a vial of oil, and a pot
of milk: these are provided for the criminal, that
religion may not be wounded by starving to death
a person consecrated with the most august and sacred
ceremonies. Strange scruple! they feared
to starve her whom they buried alive.

The offender was put into a close and covered litter,
that her piercing shrieks might not be heard, and
carried in that manner through crouds of people
cross the forum. At the sight of the litter, all made I3 way I3v 118
way for it to pass, and followed it in awful silence,
and all the marks of the deepest sorrow. There
could not be a more horrible spectacle, nor a more
dreadful or melancholy day for Rome, than that
on which a vestal was carried to execution.

When the litter was come to the place of punishment,
the lictors took off the covering and opened
it; then the pontifex maximus, after some private
prayers, with hands and eyes lifted up to heaven,
took out the unhappy criminal, all closely veiled,
and set her on the ladder, by which she was to descend
into the vault: after which, he returned with
the other priests; and the wretched vestal was no
sooner down, but the ladder was removed, and the
hole filled up with earth till the ground was even,
and no sign of a grave remained, to intimate that
the criminal was deemed unworthy to appear either
among the dead of the living.

By this terrible execution is seen what notions
the heathens themselves entertained concerning the
breach of chastity; and the fear of its drawing
down the curse and vengeance of the Gods upon
the whole state, if it remained unpunished. To
avoid such a fatal calamity, the vestals were exhorted
not only to fly with horror from every temptation
to guilt, but to avoid with the utmost care
whatever could cast the least blemish on their reputation.

Posthumia, a vestal, having subjected herself to
unfavourable suspicions, on account of her too great
solicitude in dress, and gaiety in manners, unbecoming
the sacred purity of a virgin, was called
to her trial. After a long examination she was pronouncednoun- I4r 119
innocent; but the pontifex maximus
commanded her to quit those gay airs for the future,
and to shew in her dress more wisdom and modesty
than elegance and taste.

The 638th year of Rome gives us an example of
corruption among the vestals, never heard of before.
In preceding times it rarely happened that
a vestal violated her vow of chastity, and the day
of her punishment was a day of universal mourning
at Rome. But this year, of the six vestals, three
were proved criminal, two of which losing all sense
of fear as well as shame, had almost publickly abandoned
themselves to dissolute practices.

The mischief was begun by a Roman knight,
named Butætius Barrus, a professed libertine, who
being tired of too easy conquests, sought to vary
his infamous pleasures by the charm of difficulty
and danger. He therefore attacked a vestal called
Emilia, and when he had succeeded in seducing her,
the contagion soon spread; and two other vestals,
Licinia, and Marcia, followed the example of their

Marcia, however, less criminal than the other
two, admitted only one lover; but Emilia and
Licinia, who were become great friends, if such
leagues which the wicked form with the wicked
may be called in the name of friendship, not
chusing to confine themselves to their first gallants,
each introduced her brother to her friend,
and managed each other’s interviews.

Having once begun to extend their criminal
amours, they soon had occasion to observe that
their secret took air; therefore to engage those I4 to I4v 120
to silence whom they apprehended would inform
against them, they made them all accomplices in
the guilt.

This scene of infamy, after having been long
acted in secret, was at length brought to light by a
slave named Manius, whose master was one of
Emilia’s gallants.

This fellow had been employed by Licinia and
her to carry on their intrigues with several young
Romans, and had for some time acquitted himself
very faithfully in their infamous service; but being
disappointed in the rewards they had promised him,
and in his expectations of liberty from his master,
he made a full discovery; and the guilty vestals
were immediately brought to trial.

The college of pontiffs, which by the constitution
of Numa were the proper judges of this affair,
acted with great lenity, and condemned only Emilia;
a favourable sentence was passed upon Marcia
and Licinia, for which the former was probably
indebted to her having been less criminal; and the
latter to the eloquence of the celebrated L. Crassus,
her kinsman, who being then twenty seven
years of age, defended her in an oration of which
Cicero speaks with praise.

The unhappy Emilia was buried alive, pursuant
to her sentence; Marcia and Licinia were just
recovered from the horrors of that dreadful fate
which had impended over them, when a new
process was commenced against them.

The whole Roman people exclaimed against
the lenity of the pontiffs, on an occasion when the
crime was equally evident and odious; and the tribune I5r 121
tribune Sextus Peduceus having put himself at the
head of those who murmured at the sentence, caused
an extraordinary commission to be voted by the
people for re-hearing the cause of Marcia and Licinia;
and at the head of that commission placed
L. Cassius, who for that purpose was created prætor
a second time, after having been consul and

He was a person of rigid virtue and inflexible
severity, and one who, as Cicero observes, had rendered
himself agreeable to the people, not by politeness
and a popular behavior, but by an austerity
of manners, which acquired him respect.

Cassius fully answered the expectation of those
who had chosen him; for he not only condemned
the two vestals, who were punished in the same
manner as Emilia, but also a great number of
other persons; so that his tribunal was called the
rock of the accused.

I5v 122

of the
Count de Comminge.

Written by himself.

The house of Comminge, from which I am
descended, is one of the most ancient and illustrious
in the kingdom; my great grand-father,
who had two sons, was so extremely fond of the
youngest, that he settled some very considerable
estates upon him, in prejudice to the rights of his
elder brother; and gave him the title of marquis
of Lussan. The partiality of my ancestor
did not weaken the friendship between his two
sons, which encreased with their years. They
would have their children brought up together;
but by giving them their education in common,
instead of uniting them by stricter ties than those
of blood, which was their sole view in it, they rendered
them enemies almost from their birth.

My father, who was always excelled in his exercises
by the young marquis of Lussan, conceived
a jealousy at it, which soon degenerated into a fixed I6r 123
fixed aversion. They often quarrelled; and my
father being always the aggressor, it was he who
was always punished.

One day, when he complained of this treatment
to the steward of our family, “Know,” said the man
to him, “that you will have it in your power to
repress the pride of the marquis of Lussan; all
the estates he possesses are entailed upon you,
and your grandfather could not dispose of them:
when you are the master,”
continued he, “it will
not be difficult for you to recover your right.”

This intimation convincing my father, that he
had it in his power to be revenged of his cousin,
made him set no bounds to his resentment. Their
quarrels became so frequent and so violent, that
there was a necessity for separating them. They
were many years without seeing each other, during
which they were both married. The marquis of
Lussan had only a daughter by his wife, and my
father only a son by his, which was myself.

As soon as my father came to the possession of
his hereditary estates, by the death of his grandfather,
he determined to follow the advice that
had been given him, while he was yet a youth, and
which he had never lost sight of: he omitted nothing
that could render his claim unquestionable,
and rejecting several proposals for an accommodation,
commenced a law-suit with the marquis of Lussan,
which could not but terminate in the despoiling
him of all his estates.

An unhappy rencounter, which they had one
day in a hunting-match, rendered them for ever
irreconcileable. My father, whose vowed revenge was I6v 124
was never out of his thoughts, said several cruel
things to the Marquis of Lussan, upon the despicable
condition to which he expected soon to reduce
him. The marquis, tho’ naturally mild,
could not help answering with some haughtiness.
They had recourse to their swords: fortune declared
in favour of Monsieur de Lussan: he disarmed
my father, and bid him ask his life.

“I should hate it,” answered my father fiercely,
“if I owed it to thee.” “Yet, spite of thyself,
thou shalt owe it to me,”
said the marquis, of
Lussan, throwing him his sword: after which he
instantly left him.

This generous action did not move my father
in his favour; on the contrary, the double victory
his enemy gained over him, encreased his hatred,
and he carried on the suit against the marquis of
Lussan more vigorously than before. However,
when his hopes were highest he received some accounts
from his lawyers, which effectually destroyed
them. This disappointment threw him into such
transports of rage and grief, as brought on a dangerous
fever, under which he languished a long
time, and in this state I found him at my return
from my travels, upon which I had ben sent immediately
after my studies were finished.

A few days after my arrival, the Abbot de R――,
a kinsman of my mother’s, sent notice to my father,
that the writings which alone were able to prove
his just claim to the estates possessed by the marquis
of Lussan, were in the archives of the abbey
of R――, to which place many of the papers belonging
to our family had been carried during the civil wars. I7r 125
wars. My father was desired by the abbot to
keep this information secret, and to come himself
for those writings, or send a person for them,
on whose fidelity he could have an absolute dependance.

The bad state of his health not permitting him
to go himself, he charged me with this commission,
after many times representing to me, the great importance
of it. “You,” said he to me, “are more
concerned in the recovery of those papers, than
I am; the estates will probably soon be yours;
but if you had no interest in them, I think well
enough of you, to believe that you share my
resentment, and are eager to revenge the injuries
I have received.”
After giving some other
necessary instructions, it was resolved that I should
take the title of marquis of Longaunois, that my
business in the abbey might not be suspected,
madame de Lussan having several relations there.

I set out, accompanied only by an old servant of
my father’s, and my own valet de chambre. My
journey proved successful: I found in the archives
of the abbey the writings which proved incontestably
the entail. I wrote to my father, and gave
him an account of all that I had done; and, as I
was only at a small distance from ――,
I desired he would permit me to stay there during
the season for drinking the waters. My father was
so pleased with the success of my journey, that he
readily complied with my request.

I still appeared under the borrowed title of the
marquis of Langaunois: my equipage was too inconsiderable
to support the grandeur of that of Comminge.minge, I7v 126
The day after my arrival, I went to the
fountain: in these places ceremony is laid aside,
and an easy polite freedom better supplies its place.
From the first day of my appearance at the baths, I
was admitted into all parties of pleasure, and introduced
at the house of the marquis de la Valette, who
that day gave a grand entertainment to the ladies.

I found several of them whom I had seen at the
fountain already come, and said some tender things
to them, as I then thought myself obliged to do
to all women. I was engaged in a particular conversation
with one of them, when a lady of a good
presence entered the room, followed by a girl of
surprising beauty; her charms fixed my attention
immediately, her graceful modesty won my esteem.
I loved her from that moment, and that moment
decided the destiny of my whole life. Insensibly
my former gaiety vanished; I could do nothing
but gaze on her, and follow her every where: she
perceived it, and blushed. A walk was proposed,
and I had the good fortune to lead her. We were
at a sufficient distance from the rest of the company
to give me an opportunity of talking to her upon
a subject by which my whole thoughts were engrossed;
but I who a few moments before was not
able to remove my eyes from her face, had now
when we were alone not courage enough to look
upon her. Till then I had always talked of love to
women for whom I felt nothing but indifference;
but as soon as my heart was really subdued, I found
it impossible to speak.

We rejoined the company, without having uttered
a single word to each other. The ladies were con- I8r 127
conducted to their lodgings, and I returned home,
where I shut myself up in my apartment. In the
disposition my mind was then, solitude was most
agreeable. I felt a certain kind of joy mixed with
pain, which I believe always accompanies a beginning
passion: mine had rendered me so timid,
that I durst not endeavour to know the name of her
I loved. I was apprehensive my curiosity would
betray the secret of my heart; but how did it sink
within me, when I learned that it was the daughter
of the marquis of Lussan who had charmed me.
All the obstacles that opposed my happiness rose
instantly to my mind; but the fear that Adelaida,
so was that lovely girl called, had been early taught
to hate my name, was what most alarmed me. I
thought myself fortunate in having assumed another;
and fondly hoped that she would know my
passion for her before she could be prejudiced
against me; and that when she knew who I was she
would at least be induced to pity me.

I therefore determined to conceal my true name
as long as possible, and in the mean time to use
every method to please her; but I was too much
in love to employ any other than that of loving. I
followed her wherever she went: I ardently wished
for an opportunity of speaking to her in private;
and when that so much desired opportunity offered
itself, I had not power to take advantage of it.
The fear of forfeiting a thousand little freedoms,
which I now enjoyed, restrained me; but my
greatest fear was that of offending her.

This was my situation, when one evening, as
the company were walking in separate parties, Adalaidalaida I8v 128
dropt a bracelet off her arm, to which her picture
was fastened. The chevalier de Saint Oden,
who led her, eagerly stooped to take it up, and,
after gazing upon it a moment, put it in his
pocket. Adelaida at first asked for it mildly; but
he obstinately refusing to return it, she expressed
great resentment at a behaviour which showed so
little respect for her.

The chevalier was handsome; some little successes
with the fair had made him vain and presuming.
Without being disconcerted at Adelaida’s
anger, “Why, mademoiselle,” said he, “would
you deprive me of a good which I owe only to
chance? I flatter myself,”
continued he, lowering
his voice; “that when you know the sentiments
you have inspired me with, you will suffer
me to keep what that has presented me.”

Saying this he bowed profoundly low; and, without
waiting for her answer, retired.

I happened not to be with her then. The marchioness
de la Valette and I were talking at a little
distance; but altho’ I quitted her as seldom as possible,
yet my attention was always fixed upon her.
I never lost a look, a word, or action of hers, and
however particularly engaged, I never failed in any
of those assiduities, which others practise to please,
but which the excess of my passion made we find
inconceivable pleasure in performing.

To be continued.

K1r 129

For the


In the enumeration of those studies which the
fair sex may properly be permitted to employ
some part of their time in an application to, given
in our last Number, it may be remembered that
history and natural philosophy stood foremost in the
list. Curiosity is one of the most prevalent, and,
when properly applied, one of the most amiable,
passions of the human mind; nor can it in any way
find a more rational scope for exertion, than in the
recollection of historical facts, and a curious inquisition
into the wonders of creation. To this application
of that passion the female part of the
world are unquestionably most happily adapted.
Undisturbed by the more intricate affairs of business;
unburthened with the load of political entanglements;
with the anxiety of commercial negotiations;
or the suspense and anguish which attend on
the pursuit of fame or fortune, the memories of the
fair are left vacant to receive and to retain the regularNo.2. K gular K1v 130
connection of a train of events, to register
them in that order which fancy may point out as
most pleasing, and to form deductions from them
such as may render their lives more agreeable to
themselves, and more serviceable to every one
about them. Their more exalted faculties, not being
tied down by wearisome attention to mathematical
investigations, metaphysical chimeras, or
abstruse scholastic learning, are more at liberty to observe
with care, see with perspicuity, and judge without
prejudice, concerning the amazing world of wonders
round them than those of men, who, very frequently
by attempting to arrive at every kind of
knowledge, find themselves stopped short in their
career by the limited period of life, before they
can properly be said to have reached any.

To gratify and furnish food for this laudable curiosity,
therefore, in both these branches of knowledge,
shall be one of our principal aims in the prosecution
of this work; yet as amusement no less
than instruction will ever constitute one of the main
columns of our edifice, and that our wish is to
render the ladies though learned not pedantic,
conversable rather than scientific, we shall avoid
entering into any of those minutiæ, or diving into
those depths of literature, which may make their
study dry to themselves, or occasion its becoming
tiresome to others.

If therefore we treat of philosophy, it shall be
polished from the rust of theoretical erudition, and
adorned with all those advantages which a connexion
with the politer arts and sciences can throw upon
it. If of history, a pleasing relation of the most
interesting facts shall be endeavoured at, the movementment K2r 131
of the grand machine of government shall
indeed be set before our readers, and the influence
of each apparent wheel be rendered visible: but
we shall think it unnecessary to look into every
secret spring whereby these wheels were actuated;
and shall dispense with entering into the never to
be discovered causes of the rise and fall of nations
now no more, to make room for the more useful
knowledge of those movements of the human
heart on which depend the happiness or ruin of individuals.
If geography should form, as we propose
it shall, one portion of each number, it will
not be with us the meer description of large tracts
of land, where woods and plains, mountains and
valleys, rivers and sandy deserts occur alike in all;
but only a detail in every country of those things
which are peculiar to itself: a picture not of the
face of the earth, of sea and air, in different latitudes
and longitudes, but a more varied prospect of human
nature diversified by different laws, by different
constitutions, and different ideas.

Thus much will be sufficient to premise in regard
to the matter of our researches on these kind
of subjects, in order to obviate the horrid idea
which the word philosophy might perhaps otherwise
impress on the minds of our female readers, who
might from that term expect to find a work intended
and calculated chiefly for their amusement and instruction,
loaded with dry and abstruse investigations,
which some of them might not have time,
or others even want attention, to examine with the
application necessary to become mistresses of them;
and which if they were attained would stand a K2 chance K2v 132
chance of more than ten to one of exciting the
outcry of the world against them.

As to the method we intend to pursue, however,
something, though not much, will be necessary
to add. Which will be only to observe that
no regular course of philosophy, no long train of
historical events, nor any close confinement to one
branch of geographical knowledge, shall be aimed
at in our essays on these subjects. Variety is the
soul of study, as well as the pleasure of life; and a
thousand useful pieces of knowledge steal into the
vacancies of our mind when detached, which would
never find their way thither if they were entangled
with each other, or mingled in the grand mass of
philosophical enquiries.

Learning, in short, is the old man’s bundle of
rods: when bound up in the cluster, it is almost impossible
to be overcome, yet every single twig may
easily be mastered. In short, we see not the labour
we have to go through, when it is presented to us
in minute portions; yet still it answers the end
proposed, “Small sands the mountain, moments make the year.”
We accumulate knowledge by golden grains, and
find ourselves possessed of an ample treasure before
we are even aware that we have attained the necessary
store for our passing easily through life.

To render this accumulation therefore thus easy,
we shall fix ourselves to no peculiar order, but
make variety our aim; transport our reader by
turns through all the regions of earth, air, and
ocean, and to different climates, with expedition beyondyond K3r 133
the power of a magician’s wand. No bars of
time, of place, or distance, or even impossibility
itself, shall stop our progress. One Number of our
work perhaps shall leave us admiring the stupendous
fabric of the immense extended universe;
the next shall find us aiding our limited sight by
help of glasses in observations on a world of unknown
beings contained within a drop of fluid, or
forests waving in the narrow circuit of a small piece
of moss. To-day we shall converse with almost
our cotemporaries, enquire their actions, and censure
or applaud them as we please; to-morrow
shall introduce us to an intercourse with the great
founders of long abolished empires. One page
shall teach the manners used by nations where
splendour and magnificence surpass even the most
volatile imagination; the next point out the various
artifices which want, the parent of inventive
labour, instructs the poor unhappy savage to make
use of for the supply of those necessities which barren
wilds and mountains desolate deny the fuller
solace of. In short, every thing curious, every
thing instructive, every thing entertaining, shall
be carefully sought out, and offered to the view,
without distinction or respect to order; still leaving
to the mind of every reader to range and form
them into systems according to his pleasure.

K3 Of K3v 134

Of the
as Considered
Under a General View.

Although, as I have hinted above, we do not
propose to enter into any regular order with
regard to particular details, yet previous to our engaging
in any disquisitions at all, it may not be improper
to take one general review of nature, in
order to open and prepare the mind for the reception
of such discoveries as may at first sight confound
from their novelty, and such truths as may
appear incredible from their overleaping the limits
of our conception.

Every study ought to have its peculiar use not
only with regard to mankind in general, but to the
person to whom it is recommended in particular.
It is not enough to say, such or such a branch of
knowledge will, if pursued, be productive of some
emolument to others; the person who is particularly
solicited to pursue it ought to be informed in
what respect it may be rendered serviceable to him
in particular. Let mankind argue on the principles
of stoicism annd public spirit as long as they please,
it would be difficult through the history of now almost
six thousand years, to find any action ever so trivial K4r 135
trivial, if attended with either labour or hazard,
that has been performed merely for the sake of the
publick in present, or of posterity in future, wherein
some advantage either real or imaginary was
not to accrue to the agent.

The motives to great and illustrious actions in
the loud and busy occurrences of the world have
been usually incited by ambition: Ambition, united
with avarice, has aimed at present aggrandizement;
ambition, spurred on by fancy, has made future
fame its final goal. Yet have the actions thus
produced generally tended to oppression or extravagance.

In the continued practice of moral opinions, and
the support of religious tenets, many have run thro’
lives of pain and persecution; many have fallen
voluntary martyrs in the midst of the most excruciating
tortures, and gloried in the sufferings they
have borne. The hope of future meed, the prospect
of a certain happiness in another state, purchased
by patient sufferings in this, have been at
once their motive and support: yet these have frequently
deserved the names of wild enthusiasm and
headstrong superstition.

In the still calmer and more retired sphere of
learned disquisition, the springs of action seem with
greater disinterestedness to tend towards general
utility. Fame is but rarely gained by studious
lore; fortune still seldomer. The present therefore
seems improbable, the future most uncertain.
Ambition and interest here seem to have no
effect. The motives then of action here are more
concealed; yet motives still there are: for human K4 na- K4v 136
nature finds its powers too limited, its inclinations
too much clogg’d, to act without some point in view
to rouse it to exertion.

From the concealment then, or rather from the
non-appearance of these motives, arises the so common
cry against the practice of natural philosophy,
“What is the use of this?” A cry thus raised as easily
is answered, “The use is universal――”But to explain
that answer more may be necessary.

To those whose minds are too contracted to
wander through the tracts of boundless space, to
view at once with wonder, and follow with discernment,
the motions of the heavenly bodies; and
whilst contracted thus are still too dissipated to fix
upon the objects placed before them, and pay the
due attention to that mechanism, which, as the judicious
Mr. Boyle most justly has observed, “is
more conspicuous in nature’s watches than her
to these, I say, the use of all these
studies will still remain concealed.

But to the mind of clear and cool reflection,
their use is plain and evident: they lead by smooth
and regular gradations to peace and happiness:
they raise the thoughts to humanity and devotion;
serve to calm our ruffled passions, and, by a regular
transition, convey our contemplations from the
creature to its Creator.

In this light then let us consider them: look on
the vast universe as one immense machine, whose
complicated mechanism bespeaks an artist of almighty
power and wisdom――a machine formed for
our use, and consequently a most amazing proof
of his benevolence and goodness――a machine whose I several K5r 137
several parts have all a wonderful connection, and
all their several uses; which it is therefore a duty
enjoined on us to endeavour at the discovering, and
the discovery itself a reward granted for the performance
of that duty.

Let us then first take a view of this mighty machine
in the whole, and then descend to a more
immediate disquisition of its several parts.

For this purpose then, reader, imagine yourself
conveyed to some place beyond even the limits
of infinite space; there cast your eyes around, and
view the number of the stars which glitter in their
several orbs. Small as they from our earth appear,
behold them each a sun, shining with brightest
lustre; each an immense mass of heat and light.
Around them see numbers of worlds revolving in
stated orbits, and in certain times. Lost as you
are in the irregularity of their number and their
motions, now fix your attention on a single one――
return to our system only.

There, in the centre, the only place from whence
the advantages of light and heat could be dispersed
with equal impartiality to all the surrounding planets,
and almost equally to every one in all the several
periods of its course, behold the sun: a wondrous
moss of fire, of so immense a bulk, glowing
with so much brightness, and heated to a fervor so
intense, as to diffuse its genial warmth, and spread
its rays for millions of miles around it, and, tho’
burning for thousands of years, enduring no visible
decrease. Next to him, although at a distance
of thirty-two millions of miles from his body,
rolls the small planet Mercury, revolving rapidly through K5v 138
all the several periods of its season in eighty-eight
of our days. Then in a larger circle, next comes
Venus, forming its year in somewhat more than
seven months. Her bulk is nearly equal to that
of our globe; and in her course appears to us,
sometimes a full bright star, reflecting the sun’s rays
from the whole circle of her body; at others horned,
and in a crescent, representing as it were in
miniature the changes of the moon.

For these two planets, placed as they are within
the immediate influence of the beams which emanate
from the great fount of light, those rays are
full sufficient for their purpose, unaided by extraneous
assistance. Not so the Earth, the next in
order of the planets; stationed where the sun’s
rays diverge and dissipate, so as to afford only a
fainter day, and endued with motions whereby
sometimes that day is very short; in order to procure
and to prolong to her the great blessing of light,
she is attended by a satellite, a planet perpetually
revolving round her body, which by receiving on
its surface the rays of the great luminary, sends
them back by reflection to the inhabitants of
this globe; and here let us reflect on the amazing
complication of various motions carried on at once
in these two bodies! The daily revolution of the
earth round its own axis, performed in four and
twenty hours, combined with that in her own orbit,
performed with a velocity of almost a thousand miles
in a minute. The Moon turning round her own
centre in twenty-seven days, rolling in the same
space of time around her primary, and carrying on
these motions calm and undisturbed, whilst she is borne K6r 139
borne along with equal swiftness by that primary
in its annual progress――how wonderful a combination!
how inconceivable to human fancy,
the impulse by which it could be at first set to
work! what less than infinite power could continue
in it such unwearied regularity of rotation for so
many ages! what but infinite wisdom could have
contrived it in such just proportion, in such connected
harmony, as to bring about every change of
time and season which can be conducive either to
the convenience, the use, or even to the pleasure
of the inhabitants of both these globes!

In the fourth circle of the solar system rolls, in a
period of almost two years, the planet Mars. Above
him still, and in the realms of everlasting frost, and
little more than constant twilight, the mighty Jupiter,
superior to all the other planets from his stupendous
bulk, revolves in a large circuit of twelve
tedious years. Round him four moons continually
attend, moving in different periods, to furnish his
inhabitants with light, and entertain them with the
almost infinite variety of their changes and aspects.

Still farther off, and at not much less than eight
hundred millions of miles distance from the sun,
in slow and stately progress Saturn moves, filling
almost thirty years in one revolution. Five moons
relieve his almost total darkness; nor would even
the help of these avail to chear the gloom which his
inhabitants experience, were they not aided by a still
brighter band of reflected light formed by the ample
ring whereby his body ever is encircled. Let fancy
paint the glorious prospect of the face of heaven
as it appears to them; where sometimes in one hemispheremisphere K6v 140
at once are to be seen, (besides the brilliant
arch now over their heads, and now forming
to a certain height a luminary border to their horizon)
five moons, shining with borrowed lustre,
and at once glance presenting to their view all the
several phenomena which with our single satellite we
are obliged to wait for years to see; some in the full,
some new, and some increscent; some undisturbed
and clear, and others in eclipse. Eclipses too, unknown
to our moon, formed by the interchangeable
positions of the several satellites; and sometimes
by the ring, behind which they remain a
time concealed, and then emerge again.

Besides these regular, these well known periods,
behold a set of bodies, whose errant progress extends
sometimes far, far beyond the orbit of the
farthest of these planets, and sometimes comes within
a nearer distance to the sun than is the very nearest:
In one part of their orbit moving slower than
Saturn, and in another whirling swifter round the
body of the sun than Mercury himself: sometimes
in regions, to the cold of which the frosts of Greenland
must be the dog star’s heat; sometimes in
raging fires which the most wild imagination cannot
form the least idea of; experiencing thus within
one revolution, sometimes indeed of several
hundred years, all the vicissitudes of times, of seasons,
climates, and appearances, which all the other
planets in their several orbits separately undergo;
yet are these wandering masses, these phenomena,
which from their rare appearances have been esteemed
portents and prodigies, restrained by mighty
power, their progress stated by almighty wisdom, and K7r 141
and their wild courses ruled by the great hand that
made them.

Such is the system, such the vast machine, of
which our globe is but a single part, one wheel,
and that no more than one of the most trivial;
for of the bodies we have named, there are some
exceeding it in bulk by many hundred times: yet
let us come to a nearer view of that alone, and we
shall find its mechanism such as, in our narrow
comprehensions, might of itself exhaust the utmost
power even of Omnipotence; yet this, compared
with the whole system, how insignificant! and that
whole system itself, if lost from out the universe,
how little to be missed!――not more than would the
smallest pebble conveyed from the extended coast
of the wide ocean――what then is man! and what
is his creator!

Contract we now our views, and fix them on our
earth.――Behold the mighty mass, a fertile globe,
of near eight thousand miles diameter, covered in
every part with animated beings, formed into an
infinite variety of different shapes, of different natures,
and different inclinations, and consequently
with an infinity of different wants: yet see upon
its surface, within its bowels, or floating in its surrounding
atmosphere, the means for the supplying
all those wants; nay more, of gratifying every
needless wish of those insatiate animals mankind;
of yielding supernumerary delights, and leaving to
the mind of just reflexion not even a single wish
to form.

Observe the atmosphere wherewith to the height
of a few miles the globe appears enwrapped. In it K7v 142
it you see the treasure houses of the rain, of snow,
and hail, let loose at proper periods to cool and to
refresh the earth; to afford nourishment to all
the vegetable world, and to supply the rivers and
the springs with water: of clouds to overshadow
and protect alike the animals and plants from the
sun’s scorching heat, and to relieve that heat by seasonable
showers. There you behold the prison of the
winds which are sent forth at proper times to put in
motion the stagnant air, and scatter all those noxious
vapours which it receives by circulating through the
several organs of animal life. The lightnings too, and
thunder there are formed with more than chymic
art; whose dreadful explosions, at the same time
that they cool and purify the surrounding elements,
seem more immediately to be the voice of the Almighty,
warning his creatures of his wrath, at the
same time that it declares his power.

Descend we to the surface. There observe the almost
infinite variety of forms and of materials. See
there high mountains reaching to the clouds, whose
long extended ridges serve so many various purposes;
as limits to great kingdoms, and bars to
wild o’erbearing thirst of empire; as ribs whereby
this mass of earth and water is strengthened and
supported, as is the animal frame by massy bones;
and lastly as immense alembics, to collect and to
distil those waters which the sun’s heat evaporates
from the wide surface of the ocean; thence to disperse
them down their sides in numberless little
rills, which, meeting and uniting in their progress,
compose those mighty rivers whereby the several
tracts of land which form the continents, are equally sup- K8r 143
supplied with that most useful element, and which
upon their bosoms bear the trade of many inland

View next the vallies adorned with pleasing verdure,
and variegated with a dazzling glow of
beauteous colouring, affording food for miriads of
animals, created for the use and the conveniencies
of man――Observe the woods and forests waving in
the wind, and yielding shelter from the storm and
tempest, laden with fruits of every kind, and furnishing
materials for building more convenient habitations.
In other parts large wide extended heaths, covered
with underwood, serve for the dwelling-place
of various animals――Elsewhere see sandy deserts, thro’
which scarce any tract of feet can be discerned――
rocks and vast cliffs which stop the ocean’s rage;
and lastly, view the wide expanse of ocean, whose
surface is enriched with all the treasures of the commercial
world, and serves to bring about an intercourse
between those very nations which it appears
to bar from all communication――Within its bulk
of waters miriads of animals of various forms and
sizes find habitation and existence, from the immense
floating island of the whale’s enormous body
and the devouring shark, to the poor little lifeless limpet,
which fixes to the rock, and there passes all the
period of its being without either sight or motion――
Around its borders see growing on every part mosses
and corals, which with a kind of vegetation differing
from other plants, and varying from each other, form
groves for the smaller inhabitants of the waters to range
among, and hide themselves from the perception of
their voracious enemies; whilst its unfathomed bottom 5 con- K8v 144
tains a world unknown to us of animals which never
rise to the surface, or wander to the shores, and
therefore must possess organs, respiration, and
means for the preserving life, hitherto undiscoverable
by anatomical researches, and unaccounted
for by philosophical theory.

Let us, I say, but once reflect on this review of
nature, and who can ask what use these studies have?
What use, but to adapt and to prepare the mind for
still more speculative and important reflections on
the immensity of that great power by which these
wonders have been all created: who, with his single
fiat, has set this incomprehensible machine in
motion, and who with a meet nod can stop that
motion, and instantly reduce it to its original chaos.
What use, but to point out to man, that proud presumptuous
being, who dares to set himself in bold
defiance to that power, how poor, how insignificant,
how very a worm he is when placed in competition
with many of the other productions of omnipotence!
――What use, but to inspire the true philosopher
with the most humble reverence, with the
most ardent gratitude, and with the deepest sense
of that beneficence which has placed him in a world
where he remains surrounded with ten thousand
miracles, supplied with every thing his real wants
can stand in need of, or his unbounded wishes form
in fancy: and sees himself possessed of all this by
the immediate kindness of a power which claims
from him no other recompense but his enjoying
them with wonder and with gratitude, and paying
the small tribute of praise to him who gave them.

An facing K8v facing L1r
An engraving of a barefoot man of color with long hair and a turban wielding an elaborate shield in one hand and a sword with a hairy tail. There are two dark men knealing behind him cutting off the hair from a white severed head. The ground is sparsely vegetated and there is no background at all.

An Inhabitant of the Island of Amboyna equipp’d for War.

L1r 145

Lady’s Geography.

As we have before observed that it shall be our
endeavour in the progress of this work to render
it as interesting as possible, and to reject every
thing that does not tend in some measure either to
instruct or entertain, we shall consequently be very
short in our descriptive part of the particular countries
we may have occasion to conduct our fair readers
through; since the general face of nature varies
little more in different countries than the face of
man. Air, earth, and water, hills and valleys,
woods and open plains, are the universal features
every where; and therefore would produce continual
and tedious repetitions, were we to attach
ourselves to such descriptions: but the peculiar variations
in those features, together with the particular
complexion which the mind of man appears to
wear in every place, is what alone we shall think
worthy of our notice. For this reason we shall
constantly divide our investigations of different
countries into three parts, viz. first, such general
description as many be absolutely necessary for the
knowledge of its situation, and to give some idea
to the reader of the prospect he might expect to
meet with if he was on the spot, but in this we
shall be as concise as possible; secondly, the natural
history, or a detail of the productions and No. 2. L curio- L1v 146
curiosities of nature peculiar to it; and lastly, the
civil history, or an account of the manners, laws,
and customs of the inhabitants; in which, as well
as in the preceding article, we shall aim at preserving
all imaginary novelty, by taking no notice
at all of those things of either kind which are universally
possessed in every country; making only a
bare mention of such as they have in common
withsome others; and extending more amply on such
alone as are peculiar to the very individual spot or
nation which is the subject of our immediate consideration.
In pursuance therefore of this kind of
plan, we shall now proceed to

A Description of Amboyna,
and of
The Other Islands Dependent on it.

This cluster of islands, which are numbered by
some authors amongst the Moluccas, were first discovered
by the Portuguese, in 15111511; but were
taken from them by the Dutch in the beginning
of 16051605, in whose possession they remain to this
day. They are situated in about the fourth degree
of south latitude
, and about the one hundred and
forty-fifth of longitude
from the Canary Islands.

Amboyna in itself, although the capital, is by no
means the largest of the islands which are connected
under the same jurisdiction: yet as it is the most
populous in proportion to its size, the most regularly
cultivated, the most carefully strengthened
with many fortresses, and beautified with a very
handsome city, it claims the preference of being
first mentioned.

3 It L2r 147

It is an island, or rather two joined together by
a small isthmus of about a quarter of a league in
breadth, and which forms on one side of it a gulph
of upwards of six German leagues in length, and
about a league over in the broadest part, capable
of containing an infinite number of vessels, and on
the other a very fine bay. This isthmus lies so low,
that by only cutting a canal of about six feet depth
the two gulphs would communicate with each other.
The two parts of the islands separated by it are of
different sizes; the northern part, which is called
Hitto, is much the largest, being eight leagues
and a half long, and two and a half broad; the other,
named Leytimor, is but about five leagues in
length, and its breadth at most not above two,
gradually diminishing almost to a point at one end;
at two leagues and half from which, on the northern
coast, stands the town of Amboyna.

Hitto is divided into seven cantons, each of which
for the most part contains about five villages, and
is defended by a fortress and garrison. Leytimor
would of itself be very inconsiderable, were it not
for its being the seat of the capital town and fortress
in the island, viz. Amboyna and Fort Victory.

The town stands in a fine plain on the coast of
the larger gulph, and is about a quarter of a league
in length, and fourteen hundred paces broad.
The streets are wide and regular; and altho’ they
are not paved, yet the soil is so very spungy, that
the heavy rains, which frequently fall there, do
them much less damage than one would be apt to
expect. It contains about a thousand houses, exclusive
of the public buildings: amongst which the L2 castle, L2v 148
castle, the market-house, the church, the guardhouse,
the town-house, the hospital, the orphanhouse,
governor’s palace, the old and new Dutch
churches, and the company’s linnen magazine, are
the most considerable, and some of them very magnificent.

The number of inhabitants of the island of Amboyna
are thought to amount to between seventy
and eighty thousand souls, all of whom are Moors
or Mahometans, excepting the people of Leytimor,
who, most of them profess Christianity, and about
five or six villages of the other part of the island.

Under the government of Amboyna are included
ten other islands, viz. Bouro, Amblau, Manipa,
Kelang, Bonoa, Ceram, Ceram-Laout, Naussa-Laout,
Honimoa, and Boangbesi.

The external aspect of all these islands present at
first sight the appearance of the rudest desert. On
whatever side you turn your eyes, you see yourself
surrounded with lofty mountains, whose tops are lost
in clouds; with frightful rocks riding on one another’s
heads; with horrid caverns, thick woods,
shading with almost a continual darkness numbers
of very deep valleys; and at the same time your ears
are struck with the noise of rivers rushing into the
sea with horrid roar, especially towards the beginning
of the eastern monsoon, the time at which
the European vessels most commonly arrive there.

Yet foreigners who stay there till the western
monsoon find infinite beauties in the prospect. The
mountains abounding with seago and with cloves;
the forests cloathed in verdure, and adorned with
blossoms; the vallies laden with fertility; the rivers rolling L3r 149
rolling with waters pure and chrystalline; the very
rocks and caverns, which seem but as the shadows
in a picture; all these objects diversified in so many
ways render it one of the finest countries in the

The frequent attacks of the palsy in these islands,
and the yellowness of complexion which many persons
bring from thence with them, have made it
be concluded that the air of them is unwholsome:
yet these disorders are rather to be attributed to the
imprudence of travellers, than to the temperament
of the climate, the air of which is clear and healthful.
Many have lost their limbs by sleeping in
their shirts by moonlight in cool evenings; and the
excessive drinking of the Saguweer, fixes that yellowness
so much complained of: but these are disorders
to which the natives, who take the same liquor
in moderation, and do not expose themselves
to the air in cold nights, are not subject to.

Earthquakes and heavy rains are the greatest inconveniences
of these climates. During the time of the
eastern monsoon, which begins in May, and ends
in September, it will sometimes rain for several weeks
together: yet notwithstanding the vast quantity of
water which falls direct, and the impetuous torrents
which pour down from the mountains into the
lower grounds, the land being so very spungy
the fields soon become dry again. But what is very
remarkable is, that the season for these rains is not
the same throughout all the islands: when it rains
at Amboyna, it is frequently very fair at Bouro,
Manipa, and other of the lands to the west. This
season is often accompanied with violent hurricanes;L3 canes; L3v 150
but earthquakes are more common during
the western monsoon, which also lasts for five
months. In April and October they have no regular
winds. The easterly ones bring rain; the
westerly ones a drought: yet both these, as well as
the very plentiful evening dews, are of service in
tempering the excessive heats which are sometimes
so great in the middle parts of the day as to dry up
rivers and cause the earth to open in clefts of twenty
feet deep. In these seasons of drought they are also
incommoded with violent storms of thunder and
lightning; and earthquakes are very frequently
attendant on the rains which follow these heats.

Natural History of the Islands of Amboyna.

The principal and general product of these islands
are rice, seago, and cloves: they have, however,
great quantities of cocoa nuts, nutmegs, and other
vegetable productions. As to animals they have
very few peculiar to themselves, excepting some
of the bird kind. We will now take a little circuit
through the several islands, and remark what
is to be found worthy of notice in each.

Amboyna. In Hitto, or the northern part of
this island, are two mountains almost inaccessible;
one of which, called Tanita, is the highest in the
whole island. The top of it is so extremely cold
that no kind of animal is to be found on it, excepting
some black lizards, which live in a very
thick moss, wherewith the ground, and even the
barks of the trees, are entirely cover’d; and which is L4r 151
is so extremely moist, that the water will run out of
it with the slightest pressure.

Bouro. This island is many times larger than
Amboyna, being about eighteen leagues in length,
and upwards of thirteen in breadth. It is remarkable
for its very fine woods, amongst which three
kinds of ebony, the black, the white, and a bastard
kind between both, are the most distinguishable.

The internal parts of this island are fill’d with
high mountains and vast forests in many places inaccessible,
and which are the habitations of many
large serpents and other venomous animals; and
the banks of the rivers are infested with crocodiles.
But what is the most wonderful is a large inland lake
which is at the top of a mountain about the middle
of the island. This is almost inaccessible, the way
to it being over steep craigs and forests, so thick
as to be scarce passable. It is about two leagues
and an half over, and nearly round. Its depth in
the middle is fifteen or sixteen fathoms, and it is
supplied by a very rapid river. It produces no fish
but eels, some of which are as thick as a man’s
thigh. There are great number of wild ducks and
plover about its borders, and the woods near it
abound with a kind of bird, about the size of a
Canary bird, with a black head, red neck, with a
ring of white around it, and the wings of a bright
gold colour. In short, by the description, they
seem much to resemble our goldfinches, and sing
delightfully. There are also in this island two
other hills each almost in the form of a sugar loaf,
open at the top, and fill’d with water.

L4 On L4v 152

On the coast of the island of Ceram, which is the
largest of them all, being sixty leagues in length,
and in some places fifteen in breadth, is a prodigious
large rock, at the foot of which Nature has
formed several caverns, which give it the outward
appearance of a walled town with its gates. These
caverns sometimes serve for shelter to persons who
happen to be overtaken by the night, tho’ the retreat
into them is frightful and even dangerous,
being very much infested with serpents and other
venomous reptiles.

In the little islands of Noussa, Laout, and Honimoa,
but especially in the latter, is found a kind
of soap earth, which the women of that country,
when pregnant, devour greedily, from a persuasion
that it has virtue to make their children fair, altho’
experience most generally has contradicted
that opinion.

The island of Oma is remarkable for a spring of
hot water, the sulphureous steams of which are
received thro’ a wooden grate, by way of bath,
for the relief of gouty and paralytic persons; and
the ground every where about it is also extremely

But the most amazing particular in this island is
a kind of fiery vapour, which is conveyed in the
air with certain winds, and by which all the herbage
for a large tract of ground will be almost instantaneously
consum’d, and the cloaths, hair, and
sometimes the faces of persons expos’d to it, extremely
scorch’d. Nor have they any means of
escaping suffocation from the smoke produc’d by it, L5r 153
it, but by throwing themselves flat on the ground
with their faces to the earth.

The sea wherewith these islands are surrounded
present at particular times, viz. during the new moons
of June, and August, a very amazing sight. The
surface of it appears in the night-time as it were
striped with large furrows as white as milk, although
in the day time no difference is to be seen.
This white water, which does not mingle with the
other, has more or less extent according as it is
increased by the rains, which the south-east winds
bring along with them: no one has been able to
discover from whence it comes, or whereby it is
occasioned. Some have attributed this whiteness
to little animalculæ; whilst others imagine it to
proceed from sulphureous vapours rising from the
bottom of the sea, and spreading on its surface. It is
true there are many mountains of sulphur in this
part of the world; but was it occasioned by them,
the like phænomenon would be met with in other
places where such mountains are; which is not the
case. When the white water is gone, the sea discharges
a much greater quantity of froth and foam
than usual. This water is extremely dangerous
for small vessels, as the breakers cannot be distinguished
through it; ships which are exposed
to it also rot the sooner, and it is remarked that
the fish constantly follow the black water.

Another object worthy of notice in those seas,
is a kind of reddish worm, which appears every year
at a certain time along the shore in many parts of
the island of Amboyna. The use the inhabitants
make of these worms we shall shew hereafter.

I The L5v 154

The Manners and Customs of the Inhabitants
of Amboyna.

The inhabitants of these islands are of a middle
stature, rather lean than fat, and extremely swarthy:
their features are regular, and there are both men
and women of them who are far from unhandsome.
There is however a sort of them, which are called
Cakerlaks, who are almost as white as the Europeans;
but it is a sort of paleness which has something
frightful in it when one is near them: they are
very red hair’d, have large freckles on their hands
and faces, and their skin is scurfy, rough, and wrinkled.
Their eyes, which are perpetually winking,
seem in the day-time half shut, and are so weak
that they can scarce bear the light; but in the
night they see very clear. The women of this kind
are very rare. These Cakerlaks are a kind of lepers,
and are held in great contempt by their country
folks――They take their name from certain flying
insects, which cast their covering every year, and
whose skin resembles that of these people.

Their habitations are for the most part extremely
poor and wretched: some indeed which belong to
the principal persons are built of boards; but the
generality are constructed of gabba-gabbas, or
branches of the seago tree, the bark of which is
extremely smooth and polished. These houses make
no bad appearance when they are new; but in a
short time, when the gabba-gabbas begin to rot,
and the nails and fastenings which hold them give way, L6r 155
way, they form great gaps which render them extremely

Nor is their furniture more commodious or more
plentiful――A few shelves to serve by way of canopy,
some matts to sit on, a little earthen ware, a fryingpan,
a copper bason to put their pisang in, a lamp
of the same mettle, and two or three boxes made
of the leaves of the nipa, ornamented with white
shells, compose the principal part of it. The leaves
of the pisang serve them by way of table cloths
and napkins, and the shell of the cocoa nuts for
spoons. The use of knives is unknown to them,
but they do every thing with a kind of cleaver,
which they manage very dexterously: besides these
implements, for domestic use, they have also some
arms in their houses, such as helmets, bucklers,
sabres, and javelins.

Their habits are neither more diversified nor more
magnificent: the men wear a kind of close-bodied
coat and breeches, made of cotton, or some other
stuff, of a blue colour, and for the most part unlined.
The women in the house wear a sort of
petticoat sewed up, but without plaits, and equally
open at both ends: this they fasten at their waists
to their under habit, which is a kind of shift with
the sleeves very long, and a little open before, and
which reaches down somewhat below the navel.
When they go out they put on a second petticoat,
which they throw over their left shoulder, in the
manner of a cloak; so that only the right side is
to be seen.

As fashion is unknown to the people of this
country, all the difference of cloathing amongst them L6v 156
them consists in the difference of the stuffs. The
Moors have no other distinction in their dress from
the Christians of the island but that of wearing a
turban instead of the hat, or sometimes red or white
handkerchiefs, which the latter fasten on their heads.

The grandees however are particularly fond of
distinguishing themselves by the magnificence of
their dress and the number of their slaves. They
also wear robes of brocade, silk stockings, and
slippers, as marks of their nobility; whereas the
commonalty, both men and women, go barefooted,
or in wooden sandals. The wives of the principal
magistrates have the privilege of a kind of mantle,
with hanging sleeves which comes down to their
knees, is generally made of rich flowered silk, and
gives them great consequence among the people.
They also adorn themselves with ear-rings, bracelets,
and necklaces of many kinds, which are mostly
made of gold. They wear a hat cut in three or
four points, and hold a handkerchief in their hands
by way of a fan, which they put before their faces
whilst at prayers in the church, where they have
chairs; whereas the common women sit cross-legged
on mats upon the ground.

As the Amboynians in general are not looked
on as the best soldiers, they are also but indifferently
provided with arms. They have however
some, which if they did but dare to look their enemies
in the face, might be rendered extremely useful.
I have already, under the article of their furniture,
mentioned the principal of them. Nothing
more therefore is necessary but to say something in
regard to their structure.

Their L7r 157

Their helmets are of brass adorned with the feathers
of the bird of paradise. Of bucklers they
have two kinds; one sort, which are three or four
feet long, and about one broad, and adorned on
the outside with some rows of white shells: the
other kind is only a small target made of rushes,
very completely interwoven, about two or three
feet diameter, with a spike in the centre, which
renders them at the same time equally commodious
for offence. Of both these shields they avail
themselves very skilfully in parrying off the strokes
of their antagonists. Their right hand is armed
offensively either with a sabre or a javelin: some
of them substitute, in the room of these, the bow
and arrow, which are in more familiar use amongst
the Alfourians, or mountaineers. Their fire-arms,
which they acquired the knowledge of from the
Europeans, they employ only in sporting; nor
have they any heavy artillery, excepting a few patteraroes
on the walls of their fortresses.

The ordinary navigation of the Amboynians is
in a kind of canoes cut out of the trunks of trees,
which are ten, twelve, and sometimes even twenty
feet long by one or two broad. To either side of
these vessels they fix a large wing, which, falling
on the surface of the water, keeps it always in
equilibrium amidst the waves; and as long as these
wings are able to resist their force, the lightness of
the vessel enables it to make a considerable progress
in a very small time; but if once they happen
to give way, the canoe infallibly oversets. These
little barks are manned with one or two rowers,
besides the person who takes care of the helm. Their L7v 158
Their fishing-boats are broader, being about three
or four feet wide, but without any covering, which
would be very troublesome and inconvenient for
that use. Of the same form as these, but larger,
are the vessels they make use of in their parties of
pleasure. In the middle of them, however, is
fixed a square tent or pavillion, with benches and
curtains all round, large enough to contain fifteen
or twenty persons, in proportion to the size of the
boat; by which also is determined the number of
the rowers. The smaller Orembayes (for so are
these vessels called) carry ten or twelve, and the
larger ones from thirty to forty. These rowers are
arranged towards the head and stern of the boat
on planks which project from its two sides: the
oars are broad and short, almost in the form of a
baker’s peel, and the strokes of them are regulated
by the time of certain instruments of music played
on by two men for that purpose.

A third kind of bark, which they make use of,
is called the Champan, carries a mast, and is covered;
is about ten or twelve tons burthen; and
is made great use of for the conveying goods from
one island to another. The last sort of shipping
which these people employ are their Coracores,
which are large vessels of sometimes an hundred
feet in length, and twelve or fourteen in breadth.
The meaning of the name is the Sea-tortoise, which
is given to them from their being very heavy and
slow, altho’ with a fair wind they are very convenient,
as they have the assistance of sails as well as oars.
Some of these galleys have two, some three, and
others four rows of oars, extending from fifty to near L8r 159
near an hundred, with room for lodging about the
same number of men, exclusive of two or three very
elegant little apartments for persons of particular
distinction. Of these vessels, form’d into fleets from
fifty to sixty-five, provided with proper arms, and
a few pateraroes, they defend their own coasts from
incursions, and frequently make attacks on their

From what we have said of the habits, dwellings,
and furniture of these people, it appears, that their necessities
can be but few; one would therefore imagine
that with a little application, join’d to a very small
degree of œconomy, it would be easy for them to increase
their means, and even to amass great riches.
But altho’ there are several of them who enjoy
a very considerable income by the profits arising
from the produce of their cloves, yet they, for the
most part, expend it all in feasts, presents, and lawsuits,
in the latter of which they make nothing of
throwing away an hundred ducats in the defence of
a controverted clove-garden. It is, however, remarkable
that in a country where poverty is in a
manner the fashion, there are, nevertheless, no such
thing as beggars: but the wonder will in some
degree cease when it comes to be consider’d, that
the trees produce in very great abundance certain
fruits, the use of which is not denied to the passersby;
and that besides, no one there ever refuses to a
poor man the liberty of cutting as much fire-wood
as he has occasion for in one day, whilst it is very
easily in his power, with no extraordinary industry,
for him to make three shillings a-day by the sale of those L8v 160
those faggots, two pence of which will amply suffice
for his day’s subsistence.

We have observed above that feasting is one of
the articles which ruin the Amboynians, and by
which they are perpetually kept in penury and distress.
In short, there are many various occasions
on which they are obliged to give great and sumptuous
entertainments. Of these they have ordinary
and extraordinary ones. At those which are
given on marriages, christenings, burials, &c. all
the relations are invited; but no one comes emptyhanded.
Every person thinks himself obliged to
contribute a certain number of dishes: and these
presents are carried with great ceremony and abundance
of ostentation by their slaves, one following
another, in large brasen basons, each cover’d with
an embroidered handkerchief, thro’ which, however,
it is easy to distinguish what is underneath.

Besides this, three of four persons are constantly
employed for what might easily be performed by one;
each endeavouring to outshine the other in the quantity
of his presents and the number of his domestics.

To be continued.

facing L8v
The Lady’s Museum
Number. Third.
facing M1r
An engraving with a number of different island activites. There is a black man in the center playing a drum hung around his neck, a group of spectators (some black and some white), some with swords. There is a man floating by in a canoe and another group of people across the water behind a building.

B. Cole sculp.

Divers Instruments of Music made use of by ye Inhabitants
of Amboyna with their Method of Playing thereon.


Lady’s Museum

The Trifler.
[Number III.]


Whensquire Bickerstaff, in the time of
our mothers, such a time as, if their accounts
may be trusted, is never likely
to return, took upon him to entertain
the town, he endeavoured to secure a kind reception
by deducing his genealogy, and proving his
relation to the whole family of the Staffs.

If you can either by proximity of blood, or similitude
of mind, shew your alliance to the numerous
and powerful generation of Triflers, you may
set any other race of mortals at defiance; for very
little is to be feared from any power against which
the Triflers shall form a combination.

I have always had the honour of being numbered
among the Triflers; my mother, my grand-mother, Numb. III. M and M1v 162
and my grand-mother’s mother, were all Triflers
before me. You know, if you know any thing
of Trifles, that it is the peculiar practice of our family
to count their pedigree on the female side.
By the advantage of a strong memory, diligently
stored with repeated narratives, I have an exact
knowledge of the whole succession of Trifles,
which have engaged the elegant and gay for two
centuries and a half.

It is said in one of Steel’s comedies, that nobody
despises the honours of ancestry but those that want
them; and therefore I will not lose any advantage
of hereditary excellency. My mother was the
best knotter of queen Mary’s court; my aunt Pen
was the third lady that in the reign of Charles the
tied ribands to her nipples; my grand-mother
was a country gentlewoman, and has left little
behind her except a scented paste, with which the
beauties of her time used to clear their skins without
the help of water. My grand-mother appeared
at the court of James the First in Mrs. Turner’s
yellow starch, and her mother was always solicited
to cut out ruffs by queen’s Elizabeth’s maids of

I suppose, madam, you will now allow me to be
a genuine and legitimate Trifler; and I should be
glad that you could by equal authority clear your
pretensions to a place among the sisterhood. Triflers
are always jealous; and I will not conceal my
suspicions, that you are claiming a character without
right; and that your life has not been passed
regularly among us; that you have either wanted
the initiation of the boarding-school, or the completion
of the ball-room.

I M2r 163

I know, that it is common enough among periodical
authors to forget their titles: they fill their
heads with the theory of a plan which experience
soon shews them to be too narrow to last long.
The Tatler often talks with the most solemn austerity
of wisdom, and the Guardian deviates into
many topicks with which as a Guardian he has no
concern; but none ever started from her own purpose
so soon as the Trifler; and therefore I am
afraid, that she has taken a province which she cannot

To the first paper I made no objection: it is natural
to a Trifler to think her own adventures important,
and to tell them to those who do not wish
to hear them: but the second paper has betrayed
you. Can you think love and courtship subjects
for a Trifler? If love be a Trifle, what can we call
serious? The truth is that almost all other female
employments are the sports of idleness; and that
they seldom cease to trifle till they begin to love.

It is impossible in reading a book not to form
some image of the writer. You have told us little
of yourself; and therefore your readers are left to
their own conjectures. To tell you the truth, I
conceive you to be a rural virgin, that after having
passed about thirty years between reading and
needle-work among groves and brooks, has at the
invitation of some great lady left her grotto and
bower, and come to take a view of the scenes of
life, with no other ideas of love or pleasure than
she has gathered from the amours and amusements
of her own village.

M2 I do M2v 164

I do not wonder that to a votaress of studious
tranquility, the whole bustle of the town appears a
Trifle. Much of the splendor, and much of the
cares of life, I shall willingly give up to your sport
or censure. You may say what you will of pleasures
where no heart is light, of connections without
kindness, of struggles for precedency, of competitions
for the newest fashion; but believe me,
dear Dryad, to love and be loved is a serious business;
and whatever customs of courtship, caprice,
levity, or vanity, have dictated, however the modes
of approach between the sexes may be varied by
the accidents of time or place, it is not for the
Trifler to treat as Trifles those operations which
unite us for ever to tyrants or to friends, to savages
or to sages, and which terminate the flighty wit, or
airy flutterer in a wife, an economist, a mother,
and a grand-mother.

I am, Madam,
Your very Humble Servant.

Penelope Spindle.

The M3r 165

Harriot and Sophia

Sophia, as if afraid she had said too much, stopped
abruptly, and, fixing her eyes on the ground,
continued silent, and lost in thought.

Mr. Herbert, who had well considered the purport
of her words, passed over what he thought
would give her too much pain to be explicite
upon, and answered in great concern, “Then
my fears are true: Sir Charles is not disposed
to act like a man of honour.”

A sudden blush glowed in the cheeks of Sophia
at the mention of Sir Charles’s name; but it was
not a blush of softness and confusion. Anger and
disdain took the place of that sweet complacency,
which was the usual expression of her countenance,
and with a voice somewhat raised, she replied eagerly.

“Sir Charles I believe has deceived me; but
him I can despise――Yet do not imagine, Sir,
that he has dared to insult me by any unworthy
proposals: if he has any unjustifiable views
upon me, he has not had presumption enough to M3 make M3v 166
make me acquainted with them, otherwise than
by neglecting to convince me that they are
honourable; but he practices upon the easy credulity
of my mother. He lays snares for her
gratitude by an interested generosity, as I now
too plainly perceive; and he has the art to
make her so much his friend, that she will not
listen to any thing I say, which implies the least
doubt of his honour.”

Mr. Herbert sighed, and cast down his eyes.
Sophia continued in great emotion: “It is impossible
for me, Sir, to make you comprehend all
the difficulties of my situation. A man who
takes every form to ensnare my affections, but
none to convince my judgment, importunes me
continually with declarations of tenderness, and
complaints of my coldness and indifference;
what can I do? what ought I to answer to such
discourse? In this perplexity, why will not my
mother come to my assistance? Her years, her
authority as a parent give her a right to require
such an explanation from Sir Charles as may free
me from doubts, which although reason suggests,
delicacy permits me not to make appear;
but such is my misfortune, that I cannot persuade
my mother there is the least foundation
for my fears. She is obstinate in her good opinion
of Sir Charles; and I am reduced to the
sad necessity of either acting in open contradiction
to her sentiments and commands, or of
continuing in a state of humiliating suspence,
to which my character must at last fall a sacrifice.”

“That, M4r 167

“That, my dear child,” interrupted Mr. Herbert,
“is a point that ought to be considered.
I would not mention it to you first; but since
your own good sense has led the way to it, I
will frankly own that I am afraid, innocent and
good as you are, the censures of the world will
not spare you, if you continue to receive Sir
visits, doubtful as his intentions now
appear to every one: I know Mrs. Darnley
judges of the sincerity of his professions to you
by the generosity he has shewn in the presents
he has heaped upon her――but, my dear child,
that generosity was always suspected by me.”

“I confess,” said Sophia, blushing, “I once thought
favourably of him for the attention he shewed
to make my mother’s life easy; but if his liberality
to her be indeed, as you seem to think, a
snare, what opinion ought I to form of his motives
for a late offer he has made her, and
which at first dazzled me, so noble and so disinterested
did it appear!”

“I know no offer but one,” interrupted Mr.
hastily, “which you ought even to have
listened to.”

“Then the secret admonitions of my heart were
cried Sophia, with an accent that at once
expressed exultation and grief.

“But what was this offer, child,” said Mr. Herbert?
“I am impatient to know it.”

“I will tell you the whole affair as it happened,”
resumed Sophia; “but you must not be surprised,
that my mother was pleased with Sir Charles’s
offer. He has been her benefactor, and has a M4 “claim M4v 168
claim to her regard: it would be strange if she
had not a good opinion of him. You know
what that celebrated divine says whose writings
you have made me acquainted with: ‘Charity
itself commands us where we know no ill, to think
well of all; but friendship, that goes always a pitch
higher, gives a man a peculiar right and claim to
the good opinion of his friend.’
My mother may
be mistaken in the judgment she has formed of
Sir Charles; but it is her friendship, for him,
a friendship founded upon gratitude for the
good offices he has done her, that has given rise
to this mistake.”

Sophia, in her eagerness to justify her mother,
forgot that she had raised Mr. Herbert’s curiosity,
and left it unsatisfied; and the good old man,
charmed with the filial tenderness she shewed upon
this occasion, listened to her with complacency,
tho’ not with conviction. At length she suddenly
recollected herself, and entered upon her story;
but a certain hesitation in her speech, accompanied
with a bashful air that made her withdraw her eyes
from him, to fix them on the ground, intimated
plainly enough her own sentiments of the affair she
was going to acquaint him with.

“You know, Sir,” said she, “Sir Charles has had
a fit of illness lately, which alarmed all his
friends. My mother was particularly attentive
to him upon this occasion, and I believe he was
sensibly affected with her kind concern for him.
When he recovered, he begged my mother, my
sister, and myself, would accompany him in a
little excursion to Hampstead to take the air. “We M5r 169
We dined there, and returning home early in
the evening, as we passed through Brookstreet,
he ordered the coach to stop at the door
of a very genteel house, which appeared to be
newly painted and fitted up. Sir Charles desired
us to go in with him and look at it, and
give him our opinion of the furniture. Nothing
could be more elegant and genteel, and
we told him so; at which he appeared extremely
pleased, for all had been done, he said, according
to his directions.

He came home with us, and drank tea; after
which he had a private conversation with my
mother, which lasted about a quarter of an
hour; and when they returned to the room in
which they had left my sister and I, Sir Charles
appeared to me to have an unusual thoughtfulness
in his countenance, and my mother looked
as if she had been weeping; yet there was, at the
same time, an expression of satisfaction in her face.
He went away immediately; and my mother,
when, eager to give vent to the emotions which
filled her heart, exclaimed, ‘Oh, Sophia, how
much are you obliged to the generous affection
of that man!’

You may imagine, Sir,” pursued Sophia, in a
sweet confusion, “that I was greatly affected with
these words. I begged my mother to explain
herself. ‘Sir Charles,’ said she, ‘has made you a
present of that house which we went to view this
afternoon; and here,’
added she, giving me a
paper, ‘is a deed by which he has settled three
hundred pounds a year upon you.’

6 “I was M5v 170 I was silent, so was my sister, who looked at
me as if impatient to know my thoughts of this
extraordinary generosity. My thoughts indeed
were so perplexed, my notions of this manner
of acting so confused and uncertain, that I knew
not what to say. My mother told us Sir Charles
had declared to her, that his late illness had
given him occasion for many uneasy reflections
upon my account; that he shuddered with horror
when he considered the unhappy state of my
fortune, and to what difficulties I should have
been exposed if he had died; and that, for the
satisfaction of his own mind, he had made that
settlement upon me, that whatever happened I
might be out of the reach of necessity.

I am afraid, Sir,” pursued Sophia with a little
confusion in her countenance, “that you will condemn
me when I tell you I was so struck at first
with the seeming candor and tenderness of Sir
motives for this act of generosity, that
none but the most grateful sentiments rose in
my mind.”

“No, my dear,” replied Mr. Herbert, “I do not
condemn you: this snare was artfully laid; but
when was it that your heart, or rather your reason,
gave you those secret admonitions you spoke

“Immediately,” said Sophia: “a moment’s reflection
upon the conduct of Sir Charles served to
shew me that some latent design lay concealed
under this specious offer; but I am obliged to
my sister for giving me a more distinct notion of
it than my own confused ideas could furnish me

“Then M6r 171

“Then you desired to know her opinion,” said
Mr. Herbert.

“Certainly,” resumed Sophia, “this conversation
passed in her presence, and as my elder sister she
had a right to be consulted.”

“Pray what did she say?” asked Mr. Herbert

“You know, Sir,” said Sophia, with a gentle
smile, “my sister takes every opportunity to rally
me about my pretensions to wit: she told me it
was great condescension in me, who thought myself
wiser than all the world besides, to ask her
advice upon this occasion; and that she would
not expose herself to my contempt, by declaring
her opinion any farther than that she supposed
Sir Charles did not consider this as a marriagesettlement.

These last words,” pursued Sophia, whose face was
now covered with a deeper blush, “let in so much
light upon my mind, that I was ashamed and
angry with myself for having doubted a moment
of Sir Charles’s insincerity. I thanked my sister,
and told her she should see that I would profit by
the hint she had given me.”

“I wish,” interrupted Mr. Herbert, “that she may
profit as much by you; but people of good understanding
learn more from the ignorant than
the ignorant do from them, because the wise
avoid the follies of fools, but fools will not follow
the example of the wise: but what did
Mrs. Darnley say to this?”

“I never saw her so angry with my sister before,”
replied Sophia: she said several severe things to “her, M6v 172
her, which made her leave the room in great
emotion; and when we were alone I endeavoured
to convince my mother that it was not fit I should
make myself a dependant upon Sir Charles, by
accepting such considerable presents: she was
however of a different opinion, because Sir
behaviour had been always respectful
in the highest degree to me, and because the
manner in which he made this offer left no room
to suspect that he had any other design in it but
to secure a provision for me, in case any thing
should happen to him.”

“Your mother imposes upon herself,” replied
Mr. Herbert; “but I hope, my dear child, you
think more justly.”

“You may judge of my sentiments, Sir,” answered
Sophia, “by the resolution I have taken:
I wished to consult you; but as I had no opportunity
for it, I satisfied myself with doing what
I thought you would approve. My mother,
prest by my arguments, told me in a peevish
way that I might act as I thought proper: upon
which I retired, and, satisfied with this permission,
I enclosed the settlement in a cover directed
for Sir Charles. I had just sealed it, and was
going to send it away, when my mother came
into my room: I perceived she was desirous to
renew the conversation about Sir Charles; but
I carefully avoided it, for fear she should retract
the permission she had given me to act as I
pleased upon this occasion. My reserve piqued
her so much, that she forbore to enter upon the
subject again; but as I had no opportunity of send- M7r 173
sending my letter that night without her knowledge,
I was obliged to go to bed much richer
than I desired to be; and the next morning,
when we were at breakfast, a letter was brought
me from Sir Charles, dated four o’clock, in which
he informed me that he was just setting out in a
post-chaise for Bath. His uncle, who lies there
at the point of death, has it seems earnestly desired
to see him, and the messenger told him he
had not a minute to lose.”

“I am sorry,” interrupted Mr. Herbert, “that he
did not get your letter before he went.”

Sophia then taking it out of her pocket, gave
it to him, and begged he would contrive some
way to have it safely delivered to Sir Charles;
“and now,” added she, “my heart is easy on that side,
and I have nothing to do but to arm myself
with fortitude to bear the tender reproaches of a
mother whose anxiety for my interest makes her
see this affair in a very different light from that
in which you and I behold it.”

Mr. Herbert put the letter carefully into his
pocket-book, and promised her it should be conveyed
to Sir Charles; then taking her hand, which
he press’d affectionately, “You have another sacrifice
yet to make, my dear good child,”
said he,
“and I hope it will not cost you much to make it.
You must resolve to see Sir Charles no more: it
is not fit you should receive his visits, since you
suspect his designs are not honourable, and you
have but too much cause for suspicion: It is not
enough to be virtuous: we must appear so likewise;
we owe the world a good example, the “world, M7v 174
world, which oftener rewards the appearances of
merit than merit itself. It will be impossible for
you to avoid seeing Sir Charles sometimes, if you
continue with your mother: you have no authority
to forbid his visits here; and whether you
share them or not, they will be all placed to your
account. Are you willing, Miss Sophia, to go
into the country, and I will board you in the family
of a worthy clergyman, who is my friend?
His wife and daughters will be agreeable companions
for you; you will find books enough in
his study to employ those hours which you devote
to reading, and his conversation will be always
a source of instruction and delight.”

Sophia, with tears in her eyes, and a look so expressive
that it conveyed a stronger idea of the
grateful sentiments which filled her heart, than
any words could do, thanked the good old man
for his generous offer, and told him she was ready
to leave London whenever he pleased: but unwilling
to be an incumbrance upon his little fortune,
she intreated him to be diligent in his enquiries
for a place for her, that she might early inure herself
to the humble condition which providence
thought fit to allot for her.

Mr. Herbert entering into her delicate scruples,
promised to procure her a proper establishment;
and it was agreed between them that he should
acquaint her mother the next day with the resolution
she had taken, and endeavour to procure her
consent to it.

Mr. Herbert well knew all the difficulties of this
task, and prepared himself to sustain the storm which M8r 175
which he expected would fall upon him. He visited
Mrs. Darnley in the morning, and finding
her alone, entered at once into the affair, by telling
her that he had performed the commission
Miss Sophia had given him; that a friend of his
who was going to Bath would take care to deliver
her letter to her unworthy lover, who, added he,
will be convinced, by her returning his settlement,
that she has a just notion of his base designs, and
despises him as well for his falshood and presumption,
as for the mean opinion he has entertained
of her.

Mr. Herbert, who was perfectly well acquainted
with Mrs. Darnley’s character, and had studied
his part, would not give her time to recover from
the astonishment his first words had thrown her
into, which was strongly impressed upon her countenance,
and which seemed to deprive her of the
power of speech; but added, with an air natural
enough, “Your conduct, Mrs. Darnley, deserves
the highest praises; indeed I know not which to
admire most; your disinterestedness, prudence,
and judgment; or Miss Sophia’s ready obedience,
and the noble sacrifice she makes to her honour
and reputation. You knew her virtue might
be securely depended upon, and you permitted
her to act as she thought proper with regard to
the insidious offer Sir Charles made her: thus,
by transferring all the merit of a refusal to her,
you reflect a double lustre upon your own, and
she has fully answered your intentions by rejecting
that offer with the contempt it deserved.”

While M8v 176

While Mr. Herbert went on in this strain,
Mrs. Darnley insensibly forgot her resentment;
her features assumed all that complacency which
gratified vanity and self-applause could impress
upon them: and although she was conscious her
sentiments were very different from those which
Mr. Herbert attributed to her, yet, as she had
really spoke those words to Sophia which had
given her a pretence to act as she had done, she
concluded his praises were sincere, and enjoyed
them as much as if she had deserved them.

It was her business now, however vexed at her
daughter’s folly, as she conceived it, to seem highly
satisfied with her conduct, since what she had done
could not be recalled; yet inwardly fretting at
the loss of so noble a present, all her dissimulation
could not hinder her from saying, that although
she approved Sophia’s refusal, yet she could not
help thinking she had been very precipitate, and
that she ought to have waited till Sir Charles returned;
and not have sent, but have given him
back his settlement.

Mr. Herbert, without answering to that point,
told her, that what now remained for her prudence
to do was, to take away all foundation for slander,
by peremptorily forbidding Sir Charles’s future
visits. Here Mrs. Darnley began to frown; “for,
since it is plain to us all, madam,”
pursued he,
without seeming to perceive her emotion, “that
marriage is not his intention, by being allowed to
continue his addresses, miss Sophia’s character will
suffer greatly in the opinion of the world; and the
wisdom and discretion by which you have hitherto been N1r 177
been governed in this affair, will not secure you
from very unfavourable censures. To shew therefore
how much you are in earnest to prevent them,
I think it is absolutely necessary that you should
send your daughter out of this man’s way.”

Mrs. Darnley, who thought she had an unanswerable
objection to make to this scheme, interrupted
him eagerly, “You know my circumstances,
Mr. Herbert, you know I cannot afford to send
my daughter from me; how am I to dispose of
her, pray?”

“Let not that care trouble you, madame,” replied
Mr. Herbert, “I will take all this expence upon
myself: I love Miss Sophia as well as if she was
my own child; and slender as my income is, I will
be at the charge of her maintenance till fortune
and her own merit place her in a better situation.”

Mr. Herbert then acquainted her with the name
and character of the clergyman in whose family he
intended to board Sophia: he added, that the
place to which she was going being at no great
distance, she might hear from her frequently, and
sometimes visit her, without much expence or

Mrs. Darnley having nothing that was reasonable
to oppose to these kind and generous offers,
had recourse to rage and exclamation. She told
Mr. Herbert that he had no right to interpose in
the affairs of her family; that he should not dispose
of her child as he pleased; that she would exert
the authority of a parent, and no officious
medler should rob her of her child.

No.3. N Mr. N1v 178

Mr. Herbert now found it necessary to change
his method with this interested mother, “take
care, madam,”
said he, with a severe look, “how far
you carry your opposition in this case: the
world has its eyes upon your conduct; do not
give it reason to say that your daughter is more
prudent and cautious than you are; nor force
her to do that without your consent which you
ought to be the first to advise her to.”

“Without my consent!” replied Mrs. Darnley,
almost breathless with rage; “will she go without
my consent, say you; have you alienated her affections
from me so far? I will soon know that.”

Then rising with a furious air, she called Sophia,
who came into the room, trembling, and in the
utmost agitation. The melancholy that appeared
in her countenance, her paleness and disorder, the
consequences of a sleepless night, which she had
passed in various and afflicting thoughts, made Mr.
Herbert apprehensive that her mother’s obstinacy
would prove too hard for her gentle disposition;
and that her heart, thus assaulted with the most
powerful of all passions, love and filial tenderness,
would insensibly betray her into a consent to stay.

Mrs. Darnley giving her a look of indignation,
exclaimed with the sarcastic severity with which she
used formerly to treat her; “So my wise, my dutiful
daughter, you cannot bear, it seems, to live
with your mother; you are resolved to run away
from me, are you?”

“Madam,” replied Sophia, with a firmness that
disconcerted Mrs. Darnley, as much as it pleasingly
surprised Mr. Herbert, “it is not you I am “run- N2r 179
ning away from, as you unkindly say, I am going
into the country to force myself from the
pursuits of a man who has imposed upon your
goodness, and my credulity; one who I am convinced,
seeks my dishonour, and whose ensnaring
addresses have already, I am afraid, given a
wound to my reptutation, which nothing but the
resolution I have taken to avoid him can heal.”

Poor Sophia, who had with difficulty prevailed
over her own softness to speak in this determined
manner, could not bear to see the confusion into
which her answer had thrown her mother; but
sighing deeply, she retired towards the window,
and wiped away the tears that fell from her charming

Mrs. Darnley, who observed her emotion, and
well knew how to take advantage of that amiable
weakness in her temper, which made any opposition,
however just and necessary, painful to her,
desired Mr. Herbert to leave her alone with her
daughter, adding, that his presence was a constraint
upon them both.

Sophia hearing this, and dreading lest he should
leave her to sustain the storm alone, went towards
her mother, and with the most persuasive look and
accent, begged her not to part in anger from Mr.

“I cannot forgive Mr. Herbert,” said Mrs. Darnley,
“for supposing I am less concerned for your
honour than he is. I see no necessity for your
going into the country; your reputation is safe
while you are under my care; it is time enough
to send you out of Sir Charles’s way when we N2 “are N2v 180
are convinced his designs are not honourable.
Mr. Herbert, by filling your head with groundless
apprehensions, will be the ruin of your fortune.”

“Sir Charles’s dissembled affection for me,” interrupted
Sophia, “will be the ruin of my character.
There is no way to convince the world that I
am not the willing dupe of his artifices, but by
flying from him as far as I can: do not, my
dear mamma,”
pursued she, bursting into tears,
“oppose my going; my peace of mind, my reputation
depend upon it.”

“You shall go when I think proper,” replied
Mrs. Darnley; “and as for you, Sir, turning to
Mr. Herbert, I desire you will not interpose any
farther in this matter.”

“Indeed I must, madam,” said the good old man,
encouraged by a look Sophia gave him. “I consider
myself a guardian to your daughter, and
in that quality I pretend to some right to regulate
her conduct on an occasion which requires
a guardian’s care and authority.”

“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Mrs. Darnley, with a
malignant sneer, “what a jest! to call yourself
guardian to a girl who has not a shilling to depend

“I am the guardian of her honour and reputation,”
said Mr. Herbert: “these make up her
fortune; and with these she is richer than if she
possessed thousands without them.”

“And do you, miss,” said Mrs. Darnley to her
daughter, with a scornful air, “do you allow this
foolish claim? Are you this gentleman’s ward,

“Come, N3r 181

“Come, madam,” said Mr. Herbert, willing to
spare Sophia the pain of answering her question,
“be persuaded that I have the tenderness of a
parent, as well as guardian, for your daughter:
it is absolutely necessary she should see Sir Charles
no more; and the most effectual method she can
take to shun him, and to preserve her character,
is to leave a place where she will be continually
exposed to his importunity. I hope she will be
able to procure your consent to her going tomorrow.
I shall be here in the morning with a
post-chaise, and will conduct her myself to the
house of my friend, whom I have already prepared
by a letter to receive her.”

Mr. Herbert, without waiting for any answer,
bowed and left the room. Sophia followed him to
the door, and by a speaking glance assured him he
might depend upon her perseverance.

To be continued.

N3 To N3v 182

To the
Author of the Lady’s Museum.


As I apprehend the object of this publication is
no less the moral than the literary improvement
of your sex, permit me, through the channel
of this useful work, to point out to your fair readers
the fatal consequences of an opinion too generally
received among them.

The opinion I could wish to see corrected is, that
grandeur and happiness signify one and the same
thing. How far the same wrong notion prevails
among men, is not my present purpose to examine;
but I will venture to affirm, that in the system of female
logic, grandeur and happiness are convertible
terms. It is not surprising that this notion should
be extremely prevalent, when we consider, that the
whole system of female education tends to promote
and extend it. Whence is it, that many misses
are instructed in accomplishments evidently above
their rank, but in order to obtain a station in life
to which they could not reasonably aspire.

In truth, it is more the vanity of being thought
to possess such accomplishments than any pleasure
arising from those attainments, that is the inducement
to pursue them. I have been assured by the
parents of many young ladies, that their daughters
were perfect mistresses of French, musick, &c.
when upon a better acquaintance, I plainly perceived,
they had been at much expence only to
say they had been learners.

I would N4r 183

I would not be thought to mean, that the polite
accomplishments are not very useful and becoming
to persons of a certain rank and character;
but I would observe, that the promiscuous aim of
all ranks of females, to acquire those elegant distinctions,
evidently proves my first principle, namely,
that an appetite for vanity and splendor pervades
the whole system of modern education.

The polite attainments too frequently give
young ladies of middling station an unhappy propensity
to dissipation and pleasure, and indispose
them to the ordinary and necessary occupations of
life. It may be useful to consider what probability
there is, that an appetite for distinction may be
gratified, and then examine what superior happiness
such envied distinctions necessarily confer.

I shall take it for granted, that a good establishment
in marriage is the object of most women’s
wishes. It has been computed that nineteen marriages
in twenty, among persons of liberal condition,
are concluded upon no great inequality of
circumstances. It is plain then, that a lady who
flatters herself, that she shall marry above her rank,
runs no less a risk that twenty to one of a disappointment.
In fact this is unavoidable; for persons
of rank and opulence are not very numerous,
and frequently intermarry with each other: yet
upon so slender a prospect has many a poor lady
tired both herself and the public with a repetition of
her countenance for many years past at every place
of amusement.

To these dazzling and delusive hopes are ease
and contentment often sacrificed, from a mistaken N4 opi- N4v 184
opinion that grandeur and happiness are inseparable;
or rather, that the latter was not possible
without the former: hence anxious days and sleepless
nights, not to mention that virtue is much endangered
by pursuits giddy and fantastical. After
years of vain expectation the point in view is at a
greater distance than ever, to obtain which dancingmasters
and milliners have assisted in vain. If it be
said, that we hear sometimes of ladies, who from
private stations have rose to great rank and riches, I
answer, that particular exceptions conclude nothing
against the general observation, that unreasonable
expectation must almost always be disappointed.

Instances of surprising good fortune happen in
all pursuits, and seeming accident will have its
share in the happy events of matrimony, as well as
in most others. But if young people inflame their
imaginations with extraordinary occurrences, and
soar upon the waxen wings of expectation to regions
of imaginary bliss, they will quickly find,
like Icarus, misfortune interrupting the dream of
vanity, and may possibly pay almost as dear for the

With respect to the blessings of Providence, we
rather lament the absence of things perhaps not
necessary, than make a proper use of those we have.
It sufficiently appears, that a passion for grandeur
is not likely to be gratified; and that such wishes
must, in the nature of things, much oftener miscarry
than succeed.

But for once let us suppeose the point obtained,
and examine what happiness is annexed to that envied
condition. Providence, for the wisest reasons, has N5r 185
has made a great difference in the external circumstances
of his creatures, but not in their happiness.
In fact, the greatest blessings of life are proposed
in common to us all. Health and an approving
conscience are the grand satisfactions of our being,
as sin and pain are almost the only evils: nor can
we cease to adore that goodness who has made the
best things in life attainable by all conditions, without
a possibility of interfering with each other. In
these two grand articles, it appears, that persons of
wealth and station have no advantage over more
moderate conditions. The former are more exposed
to temptations, and a full tide of prosperity has
been always reckoned dangerous to virtue.

Besides, those who have large possessions and
connexions are much broader marks for misfortune
than others. Socrates accounted those happiest
who had fewest wants, as the happiest of all beings
is he who wants nothing. The more our wants
are enlarged, and our appetites indulged, they become
more ungovernable, and exceed our powers
of satisfying them. Such persons are exposed to
perpetual disappointment, as it is much easier to
imagine than obtain.

How many persons may we not presume, who
are shining themselves, and shone on by fortune,
that are inwardly miserable, and sick of life? Wealth
and station may indeed procure a great variety of
sensual gratifications, out of the reach of humbler
fortunes: but of what nature are such pleasures?
fleeting and dissatisfacttory in the confession of all.

Let us reflect a little on the most exalted pleasures
our nature is capable of. We shall find them attain- N5v 186
attainable by private stations, and from some of
the best of them the very lowest conditions not excluded.
Even those who are condemned to the
drudgery of manual labour may, and do often enjoy
a healthful body and a tranquil mind. Though
they are in a great measure excluded from intellectual
enjoyments, yet even this view of their
condition is not without its compensations. It will
not be denied, that our best enjoyments here below
arise from temperance, moderate desires, easy reflexions,
and a consciousness of knowledge and virtue.
I would ask my fair countrywomen, whether
high rank and great riches are necessary to these attainments?
The purest and most substantial pleasures
are certainly those arising from religion and
virtue; the pleasures of knowledge, and of friendship,
which are attainable by the middling, if
not all classes of life, depend much upon ourselves,
and are little subject to accident or diminution. So
far from being the constant companions of rank and
riches, that perhaps they are seldomer found among
persons of elevated stations than most others.
It were easy to assign the reasons; as the necessaries
of life are not difficult to obtain, so neither are its
best comforts. A person must have reflected indeed
to very little purpose who is not sensible, that
the prospect of the divine favour in another life, is
the grand foundation of contentment in this imperfect
and probationary state.

It will be said, that a competency of the good
things of life, is necessary to our happiness, and
truly desirable. Most undoubtedly it is: but the
misfortune is, our ideas of a competency are not taken N6r 187
taken from nature, or even from our proper station
and character, but from our imaginations and
wrong habits; and what is yet more preposterous,
from our comparisons with others.

A competency is not to be defined, because it
varies according to the station and necessities of individuals.
To use a familiar comparison――Suppose
a person undertakes a journey into a remote
country, and has sufficient to defray his necessary
expences, may he not enjoy the true pleasures of
the scene equally with him who travels the same
journey, attended with all the parade of equipage,
and encumbered with a superfluity of wealth? May
not as successful a voyage be made in a small, convenient
bark, as in a galley no less splendid than

Let nothing here advanced be supposed to mean,
that wealth and station incapacitate their possessors
from enjoying the truest happiness of their nature.
Among other advantages in common with
their fellow-creatures, they eminently enjoy the
godlike power of doing good to others. It is the
exercise of that power that gives rank and riches
their true dignity, and is the constant employment
of him who is the source of all excellence. But let
not people mistake that which may be made the
means of happiness for the necessary and never failing
cause of it; nor repine at the want of those
distinctions in the possession of which there occur
so many examples extremely miserable.

I cannot conclude this letter without observing,
that an appetite for grandeur very fatally predominates
at a crisis in life, wherein, of all others, it N6v 188
it behoves us to act with the truest wisdom: I
mean at the time of marriage. Matches are now
deemed good or bad, not from the qualities, but
the external circumstances of the parties. The
opinion of Thermistocles, like many other old opinions,
is quite exploded, who declared, “That he
would rather marry his daughter to a man without
an estate, than to an estate without a man.”

The candidates for the ladies affections, or more
properly their fortunes, undergo the most exact
scrutiny into their estates, expectations, and alliances;
nor is any enquiry omitted, but into their
sense and morals. If your fair readers please to extend
this charge to their admirers, they have my
consent, only remembering, that folly on one side,
never excuses it on another; and that they are most
likely to be greater sufferers by an ill choice, as
their condition is more dependent.

It is agreed on all sides, that the sure supports
of conjugal felicity are the unreserved friendship
and mutual esteem of the parties: now it is an
axiom, that friendship cannot exist but between
virtuous minds; and surely no dreams of a lunatic
were ever more visionary, than to suppose there
can be any abiding pleasure without virtue, since
in our system of being there is nothing durable
but the consequences of it.

Many a thoughtless female, who despised all considerations
but rank and riches, serves only to exhibit
a wretched spectacle of their insufficiency. I
doubt not but this essay may fall into the hands of
some of your fair readers, who have dragged out
an insipid length of days, doating about vain and perishable N7r 189
perishable distinctions, and have sunk into utter
contempt and oblivion, who, by a better conduct,
might have enjoyed happy and comfortable establishments.

Let those whose cases are retrievable, consider
that elevation must ever be the lot of very few;
nor when it is attained does it invariably produce
happiness. The truest satisfactions in life are not
necessarily connected with great estates or coronets,
but are to be found among persons of all conditions,
whose lives are governed by sense and virtue.
Of one thing they may be infallibly certain, that a
life conducted by vanity cannot fail to end in

I am, Madam,
Your very Humble Servant,

W. M.

Phi- N7v 190

of the
Count de Comminge

Hearing her speak with unusual emotion, I approach’d
her: she was giving her mother an account
of what had happened. Madame de Lussan
was as much offended at the chevalier’s behaviour
as her daughter. I was silent: I even continued
my walk with the ladies. When they retired, I
sent a message to the chevalier: he was at home, and
in consequence of my desiring him to meet me, he
came instantly to the place appointed.

“I cannot persuade myself,” said I, approaching
him, “that what has happened during our
walk to-day, is more than a mere pleasantry:
you are too gallant and well bred, to keep a lady’s
picture, contrary to her inclination.”

“I know not,” answered he warmly, “what interest
you take in my keeping or restoring it;
but I know that I neither need, nor will accept
of your advice.”
“Then,” replied I, “clapping
my hand to my sword, I will force you to receive
it in this manner.”

6 The N8r 191

The chevalier was brave. He eagerly answered
my defiance: we fought for some time with equal
success; but he was not animated like me with the
desire of serving what I loved. He wounded me
slightly in two places; but I gave him two large
wounds, and obliged him both to ask his life, and
to resign the picture. After I had assisted him to
rise, and had conducted him to the nearest house,
I retired to my own lodgings, where as soon as the
wounds I had received were drest, I set myself to
contemplate the lovely picture, and kissed it a thousand
and a thousand times.

I had a genius for painting, which I had taken
some pains to cultivate; yet I was far from being
a master in the art: but what will not love accomplish?
I undertook to copy this portrait. I spent
two days in this employment. Delightful task!
I succeeded so well, that even a very discerning eye
might have mistaken mine for the original. This inspired
me with the thought of substituting one for
the other, by which contrivance I should have the
advantage of keeping that which belonged to Adelaida;
and she, without knowing it, would always
bear my work about her.

These trifles to one who truly loves are matters
of great importance, and my heart knew how to
set a full value on them.

After I had fastened the picture I had painted
to the riband in such a manner that my cheat could
not be discovered, I presented it to Adelaida. Madame
de Lussan express’d herself highly obliged to
me. Adelaida said little: she seemed embarrassed;
but in the midst of that embarassment, I thought I dis- N8v 192
discovered that she was pleased at having received
this little obligation from me, and that thought
gave me real transport.

I have in my life experienced some of those
happy moments; and had my misfortunes been
only common ones, I should not have believed them
too dearly puchased.

After this little adventure, I stood extremely
well in the esteem of Madame de Lussan. I was
always at her lodgings: I saw Adelaida every hour
in the day; and although I did not speak to her of
my passion, yet I was sure she knew it, and I had
reason to believe she did not hate me. Hearts as
sensible as ours were, quickly understand each other:
to them every thing is expression.

I had lived two months in this manner, when I
received a letter from my father, in which he commanded
me to return immediately. This command
was to me like the stroke of a thunder-bolt:
my whole soul had been engrossed with the pleasure
of seeing and loving Adelaida. The idea of
leaving her was wholly new to me; the horror of
parting from her, the consequence of the law-suit
between our families, rose to my thoughts with
every aggravation to distract me.

To be continued.

The following Essay, on the original inhabitants
of Great Britain, is the composition of a nobleman,
distinguished for his genius, taste, and

An facing N8v facing O1r
An engraving of a white man and a white woman each decorated with elaborate tattoos of celestial bodies and the man has leg markings reminiscent of fish scales. They are wearing loin-cloths and carying instruments of war. The man is also holding a severed head.

B. Cole sculp.

Antient Britons

O1r 193

on the

Original Inhabitants of Great Britain.

The history of every nation in the world
begins in a dark and fabulous manner: nor
can any history be more obscure than that of
Great Britain. It is impossible to guess when, or
by whom our island was originally peopled. The
conjectures on this head have been various; but
as they amount only to conjectures, and as the
point itself is of no real importance, I shall pass directly
forward to the first accounts upon which
we may place any reliance: The original inhabitants
are represented as consisting of two classes,
Priests and Soldiers. The whole island, at least
that part of it called South Britain, was divided
into small provinces, each of which was allotted to
the sovereignty of a prince. These princes lived
in constant warfare and contention. The priests
were distinguished by the name of Druids; but
their power was not only confined to the ceremonies
of sacrifice, and other religious parts of worship,
it extended to the government of all civil
judicature. To the ordinary druids, (who were No. 3. O very O1v 194
very numerous, but seldom or ever of mean birth)
was committed the administration of justice in
the several provinces, the determination of all
causes, and the judicial decision of right and wrong;
but still subject to the supreme jurisdiction of one
chief druid, who, in dignity, excelled all the
rest; and who, in civil affairs, had the power of a
king, while in religious matters, he might be called
the reigning Pope of those days.

The military men were brave, even to a degree
of fierceness. They had never felt the effects of
fear, fatigue, or luxury. They had been bred in
woods, and inured to hardships. Agriculture and
merchandize had made little or no progress in the
kingdom. The constant diet of the people was milk
and flesh-meat, of both which they had great
plenty, the whole island being filled with various
kinds of cattle.

Such were the Britons, when Julius Cæsar invaded
their country. He appeared, with his fleet,
hovering upon the coast of England, 0699-08-26August the
twenty-sixth, in the year of Rome, 699, Some authors place the invasion in the year 0698698, particularly
Lydiat in his series summorum magistratum Romanorum.
Let the learned chronologists settle the point.
or fifty-five years before the birth of Christ.
His pretence for this invasion was the constant
refuge which the Belgæ, a people of Gaul, had
received from the inhabitants of Britain, and the
perpetual succours and assistance which were granted
by the Britains to the enemies of Rome. The pretence
was specious. The true motive was a thirst of glory O2r 195
glory. sar’s ambition like the ocean he crost,
had no bounds.

I am inclined to think, that this enterprize was
not very acceptable to the Roman people: they
looked upon it as an hazardous undertaking.
Cicero, in one of his epistles to Atticus, expresses
himself thus: Britannici belli exitus expectatur :
constat enim aditus insulæ esse munitos mirificis molibus:
etium illud jam cognitum est, neque argenti scripulum
esse illum in illa insulâ, neque ullam spem prædæ, nisi
ex mancipiis: ex quibus nullos puto te literis aut muficis
eruditos exspectare.
“The event of the British
war is waited for with impatience. It is
certain, that all the approaches to that island
are fortified by amazing out-works: and it is
universally known, that not a scruple of silver is
to be found throughout the whole island; nor
are there hopes of any acquisitions except the
slaves, amongst whom I cannot suppose you will
expect musicians, or men of learning.”
we perceive, seems to treat the Britains rather in a
sneering manner, than to speak of them with his
usual, lively, but weighty manner of expression.
He has no great opinion of their genius, or of their
learning. But however illiterate, or however unskilled
in music our ancestors might appear, it cannot
be denied, that they were not only couragious;
but of a liberal nature, totally devoid of all low
art, but not totally unversed in the policy of war.
sar gives an account of them, which as it comes
from an enemy is very much to their honour. He
says, he had great difficulty in landing, being annoyed
by their darts, and opposed by their cavalry; O2 and O2v 196
and when he had brought his troops to an engagement,
he confesses, that the battle was maintained
with sharpness on both sides. Pugnatum est ab
utrisque acriter
. At length the Roman arms prevailed.
The islanders gave way, retired to their
woods, and immediately sent ambassadors to sue
for terms of peace. sar, upon the arrival of
the ambassadors reproached the Britons, as having
acted ungenerously, by imprisoning his friend
Comius, whom he had sent into England, some
time before, with his own particular commands.
Their excuse is remarkable. Ejus rei culpam in
multitudinem contulerunt, et propter imprudentiam ut
ignosceretur petiverunt.
“They acknowledged their
imprudence, begged that it might be forgiven,
and fixed the rashness of the action entirely upon
the common people.”
So powerful and ungovernable,
even at that time, was an English rabble.
sar, gentle and compassionate, both by
nature and policy, received the excuse, demanded
hostages, and granted terms of peace.

The peace on the side of the Britons was an act
of necessity, not of choice. Perhaps is was no less
so on the side of the Romans. They would have
penetrated farther into the island; they would have
visited the coasts and would have considered the
various parts that might have afforded them a
refuge in any future invasion, if they had not met
with a people very different from what they expected.
They expected wild savages, they met
with real soldiers. They had been used to strike
terror upon the continent, they only excited spirit
and unanimity in a little island, where they found 7 cou- O3r 197
courage instead of fear; and order instead of confusion.

sar, at his first expedition from Belgic Gaul
into Britain, had left his cavalry behind him.
They were detained by contrary winds in a port
at some distances from that where he had embarked:
He had given orders that they should follow, on
the earliest opportunity, loaded with arms, ammunition,
and soldiers: and four days after his arrival
in England, they had obeyed those orders, and
were more than half way over the British channel,
when a sudden storm turned the ships entirely
out of their course, and not only forced back many
of them to the continent, but drove others to the
most western part of the island. At the same time,
the vessels which had transported sar, and which
had remained at anchor upon the British coast,
were much shattered by the tempest. Twelve of
them were absolutely lost; and the Romans saw
themselves at once deprived of all hopes of provision,
except such as could be procured from the
islanders, by sending out parties to forage at a
small distance from the Roman camp.

From these unexpected circumstances, the Britons
resolved to reap advantage: they assembled
their disbanded troops with great privacy and expedition,
and while one of the Roman legions
was sent out to forage, they suddenly surrounded
the foragers, and must immediately have destroyed
the rest, if sar with amazing alacrity had not
hastened to their assistance. The sudden appearance
of sar, although attended only by two cohorts,
put the Britons to a stand; and the Romans O3 did O3v 198
did not think themselves, at that time, sufficiently
prepared for an engagement. Each party retired;
the Britons to the woods, the Romans to their

Here the Britons seem to have been defective
in military conduct. They ought to have pursued
their blow: they ought to have attacked sar;
and in the true spirit of liberty, they ought either
to have conquered, or to have died. It is probable
that they perceived their error, and it is possible,
they might have retrieved it, if a succession
of rain and storms for many days together, had
not rendered all efforts against the enemy impracticable.

As soon as the weather changed, the Britons came
out of their retirement, and marched to attack
the Romans in their trenches. sar drew out
his legions before the camp; both armies engaged,
and both fought with equal spirit and resolution;
but the Romans were better disciplined, and more
perfect masters of the art of war: so that the unhappy
Britons were routed, and again compelled
to sue for peace, from the hands of an invader,
who, although the greatest man that ever lived,
must ever appear a lawless tyrant to Britain as
to Rome. sar was not sorry to be sollicited
for terms of peace: he received the ambassadors
in his usual attractive manner, and lost no time in
setling the terms of accommodation. He insisted
upon a greater number of hostages than he had
before required; and, under pretence of avoiding
the storms that generally rage in the British seas at the O4r 199
the autumnal equinox, he embarked his troops,
and hastened back to Gaul.

sar, during his short residence in Britain,
had observed enough of this new world, to make
him tacitly resolve upon a second invasion. The
woods were large, the cattle numerous, and the
inhabitants a brave people, worthy of being conquered.

A finer object could not have presented itself to
the eye of ambition. However, sar passed his
winter as usual in Italy, without any open declaration
of returning into England. In the mean
time, the Britons, filled with anger, indignation,
and disappointment, and perhaps guided by the
dictates of pride, revenge and obstinacy, were determined
not to send the hostages, which had been
peremptorily required on one side, and had been faithfully
promised on the other. sar let some months
pass before he took notice of so notorious a breach
of faith; and in this particular he acted with all
the subtilty of a miser, who, when he has obtained
a morgage upon an estate, purposely suffers the interest
of it to run on, till he can claim a right
of seizing the premises, and defying all equity of

In the year of Rome 0700700, sar, who, during
the winter, had been making various preparations
for a second attempt upon England, put his design
into execution. He set sail late in the evening
from the Portus Itius, The Portius Itius was near Bologne. The particular spot
is pointed out, but with no absolute certainty.
and arrived the next O4 day 200 O4v
day sar, in his Commentaries, has not told us the exact
month of his embarkation; but we may be certain, that it
was earlier in the summer than his first invasion.
about noon upon the British coast. His
army consisted of two thousand horse, and five legions
A legion consisted of ten companies, or cohorts. The
number of men were uncertain: sometimes more, sometimes
of foot; and his ships, including transports
and every other sort, amounted to above eight
hundred. Such a number of vessels appearing at
once upon the ocean, was a terrifying circumstance
to the Britons: they imagined sar’s military
forces much more numerous than they really were;
and they immediately withdrew their troops from
the shore, and retired into a more covered part of
the country; so that sar landed his men, and
fixed his camp without the least opposition. His
first enquiry was, into what part of the island the
Britons had withdrawn; and having learnt their
particular situation, he left a sufficient number of
forces to guard his fleet, and proceeded with the
rest in pursuit of the enemy. The islanders had
expected his approach, and were prepared to receive
him, by having fixed themselves upon a rising-ground
near a river, at the distance of about
twelve miles from the shore. Here they endeavoured
to oppose him by their chariots sar very particularly describes their manner of fighting,
(ex essedis) from their chariots: and says, that by continual
use they were arrived at such perfection in the management
of those vehicles, that they could stop their horses even
upon a steep descent: they could run upon the pole, and
throw themselves out, or into their chariots, with the utmost
nimbleness. sar confesses, that at the first sight of this
new method of fighting, the Romans were surprised, or rather
their cavalry; but in vain. The Roman horse pre- O5r 201
prevailed, and the Britons again withdrew to their
woods. They were there fortified, as sar tells
us, both by art and nature. The woods were
very thick, and the passage into them was rendered
extremely difficult, by large trees, which had been
cut down, and heaped upon each other to a great
height. The Britons had made use of this method
of fortification, in their civil wars: but the Romans
soon made their war over these entrenchments,
and expelled the Britons even from the woods,
where they had taken shelter. A small number of
regular troops will infallibly conquer a much larger
number of undisciplined forces. The Roman army
consisted of veterans, who had been trained up
from their youth in the art of war; and had carried
their arms over the greatest part of the world.
The Britons had only practised the military science
within their own island, and in contests against each
other. They were equal in courage, but inferior
in skill to their enemies. In some measure to remedy
this defect, they enlisted themselves under
the greatest commander of those days, Cassivelaunus,
prince or sovereign of the Cassi, and the
Trinobantes. The Trinobantian territories, The territories of Cassivellaunus were extensive: they extended,
says sar, “Fourscore miles into the island.” Cassivellaunus
was originally the king of the Cassi, and became sovereign
of the Trinobantes, by treacherously slaying their
king Imanuentius.
were Hert- O5v 202
Hertfordshire, Essex, and a great part of Middlesex.
The municipal city of this colony, was Verulanum,
, the walls of which, built probably
in the time of Agricola, are still to be seen in the
approaches to St. Alban’s.

Several skirmishes passed between the Britons
and the Romans; in one of which the former gained
some small advantage. But what force could
repel sar? He still marched forward towards
the river Thames, resolving to cross it at the only
place where it was fordable. Cassivelaunus had
foreseen his design, and had drawn up a large body
of British troops on the opposite shore. He had
fortified the banks with palisades, and had driven
into the bottom of the river a great number of
sharp stakes A little above Walton in Surry. The translator of Rapin
says, that these stakes are now to be seen in the river at low
water; and one of them was pulled up, with great difficulty,
some years ago. They are of oak, and by having lain so long
in the water (above eighteen centuries) are become very hard
and very black.
whose tops were covered by the
water. He had used every precaution that courage,
sagacity, and presence of mind could suggest;
but the Romans were determined not to be repulsed.
Their cavalry first entered the river, the
legions immediately followed, and notwithstanding
all impediments, passed across the Thames, with
such expedition, and approached the enemy with
so much vigour, that the Britons, unable to sustain
the assault, quitted the banks of the river, and fled
farther into the country.

Cassivelaunus still continued to make some attempts
against the Romans; but his designs constantlystantly O6r 203
proved abortive. The repeated victories
of sar, the intestine broils of the kingdom, the
immediate presence of a powerful invader, were
all circumstances that tended to damp the spirits
of an unexperienced, and a disunited people.
Many of the principalities (for so I think we may
call the several Districts of the island) began to
entertain thoughts of suing for an accommodation
with sar. The Trinobantes set the example:
they offered to submit to the conqueror, and to
give themselves up to his disposal: at the same
time requesting, that he would deliver them from
the tyranny of Cassivelaunus, and assign the government,
of their colony to Mandubratius, the son
of Imanuentius their late king.

sar, ever fond of shewing acts of mercy and
benevolence, accepted their offers and granted
their request .