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 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
bad,” 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.

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 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
itself.

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
neglect.

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 DaciersOpen note a001-rota Anne le Fevre, wife of monsieur Dacier. She translated
Florus, Terence, and Homer, and added very learned notes of
her own. and Chatelets,Open note a002-rota 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
BourignonOpen note a003-rota 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
dreams. a virgin of Venice,Open note a004-rota The virgin of Venice, an old woman, who, supported by
Postel, called herself the Messiah of women. a madame Guyon, B6v 12
Guyon,Open note a005-rota 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.Open note a006-rota 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
give.

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
life.

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.Open note a007-rota 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
Vérac, 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
sexes.

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.

The
History
of
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
thoughts.

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
own.

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
accordingly.

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
him.

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
larger.

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.
Darnley, 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
child!”

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
addresses.

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.
Herbert, 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.
Darnley 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 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
Charles, 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
am.”

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

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
love.

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.

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.
Darnley 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
silent.

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
Charles 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.

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
circumstances.

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
persons.

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
disorder.

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
way.

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

“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,
madam,” 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.

A Song, in Philander.

A Dramatic Pastoral.

Set by Mr. Oswald.

The
History
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
D’Etrees, 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
himself.

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.Open note a008-rota 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
restraint.

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.

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
Liancourt 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
love.

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
Sully, 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.Open note a009-rota Sully’s Memoirs, Vol. I. page 383, Quarto.

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
Cæsar, 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
Cæsar 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
designs.

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
Germain, 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.