Why did I suffer myself to be
hurried from Boulogne? If I must
be a dependant upon humanity for
subsistence, why not have availed
myself of your generous offer, and
sought it at St. Omer’s? In your
sympathising bosom I had found a
receptacle for all my sorrows; and
under Marianne’s protection I
had been secured from every danger.
But now the prospect is dreadful,ful, A4v 8
and a retrospect still worse. You
are the only friend in whom I dare
confide, and to ease the fulness of a
woe-fraught heart, I must inform
you, that Stamford has proved a
villain. You are thunderstruck!
While I fancy myself as just awakened
from a dream of horror.

You knew not that my parents
were people of large fortune. In
short it was a secret which I arrived
not at myself till after you had left
our convent. But it is now absolutely
necessary you should be acquainted
with circumstances which
contributed to render me totally
neglected by and unknown to my
nearest relatives.—

My mother being of a gay disposition
could not be persuaded that
happiness was mostly found in domestic
life: but from adhering too
strictly to an ill formed judgment,
plunged into a vortex of pleasure
and lost sight of it for ever. My
father, young and fond of public
amusements himself, gratified her every A5r 9
every wish, till he suspected she
had formed an attachment of the
tenderest nature for an officer in
the navy. He spoke very harshly
to her on the subject; but being
innocent of the crime alluded to,
my mother thought herself ill treated.
Consequently disregarded his
reproaches, set his threats at defiance;
and merely for the sake of
bravado kept up her acquaintance
with the captain. A conduct so derogatory
from prudence furnished
conversation for the town. My father
soon quitted England; his estates
were mortgaged; and my mother
left with child of me, and totally
destitute. Her relations had
imbibed a strong notion of her guilt,
and positively refused seeing her.
Her supposed dishonor had not gone
farther than appearance. They had
treated her with indignity, and her
spirit was too high to permit a vindication
of her conduct to those
who were so easily prejudiced against
her; and though reduced to the A5v 10
the utmost distress, would not stoop
to solicit assistance from any of
them. Fortunately a friend in the
country, who had heard of her situation,
died; and from motives of
compassion left her sixty pounds a
year. With this poor pittance she
retired to Boulogne, and a short
time after was delivered of me.

I need not animadvert on the
time you and I passed at the convent:
but date the rise of misfortune
from the time my mother
met Mr. Stamford.

He had been acquainted with my
father; and when she was seized
with that dreadful disease which
terminated life, she claimed his
protection for her orphan child
(who was the only daughter of his
friend) and conjured him to do
the utmost in his power in striving
to find whether my father was yet
alive; and if he were to convey
me to him even if in the East Indies,
having been informed he
went there on leaving England. He A6r 11
He solemnly promised to comply
with her every request. And as
villanously determined to break
through all bounds that led to my
ruin.

At present I cannot add more, my
eyes are dimmed with tears; and
what I have already written seems
to dance before them: however I
will not conclude till I have subscribed
myself,

P. S. Direct for me, Mademoiselle
Chattelherhault, at Sir John
Osborn’s, St. James’s Square.

What can be the reason for
my not having heard from you?
Surely my Marianne can never
mean to desert me because I am in
distress! I will not entertain an
opinion so much to her prejudice;
but conclude that her letters have
by some mistake been kept back.
Or is it possible mine have not yet
reached her; yet in the hope that
you may have received them before
this arrives, I shall give you a further
proof of Stamford’s perfidy.

Mr. Osborn promised to make
enquiry after my father, and if he
was in England find him. To my
extreme mortification he has learned,
that no such person has ever
been heard of. And I am now
convinced the wretch’s desire of
bringing me among strangers, was
only to gain his ends in a more effectualfectual B6v 24
manner than he could possibly
have done at Boulogne.—Heaven
be praised his scheme has been
frustrated—yet here I am in a
strange country, dreading every
moment the shame of being detected
as an impostor, which must inevitably
happen if this family persist in
introducing me to their acquaintance.
I have repeatedly told Mr.
Osborn I will return to France, and
fear not the want of an asylum while
it is in your power to afford me
one. He never suffers me to conclude
a proposition of this kind;
for throwing himself on his knees
before me, a kind of anxiety takes
possession of his looks. He speaks
not, ’tis true—but so eloquent does
that position plead for him, that I
cannot proceed with what was in
my thoughts to have said. What
can be the meaning of it? I never
felt such a strange palpitation at my
heart when in company with any
other man. Yesterday, for the first
time, we had a conversation on the subject; C1r 25
subject; he said something must be
contrived to make us both happy.
—What had his happiness to do
with mine? I wished to put that
question to him, but had not courage.
—When I am alone I determine
to come to you at all events;
but while Mr. Osborn was reasoning
with me, I wondered how
I could once suffer a thought of
leaving him to enter my head;
especially since he urges the necessity
for my remaining in England.

Do advise me what to do; by
that I will implicitly abide, even
though it should prove to quit Mr.
Osborn, his amiable mother and
sprightly sister, for ever.—I must
now bid my Marianne adieu, by
subscribing myself,

Positively, Sophia, this is the
last summons I will send for your
return to town. I have got the most
charming little French girl that imagination
can suggest, for a companion;
and if you make not an end
of your visit shortly, I must absolutely
elect her my favourite and
chief confidant in your stead

Seriously though, the Chevalier
Chattelherhault’s sister is with us.
She is scarce fifteen, my brother
says; but it is astonishing to hear
how sensibly she converses, and
yet in such an artless strain that it is
impossible to refrain from loving
her: in short, to tell you a secret,
I believe poor Henry has lost his
heart without intending it. Though
I’ll answer for neither father or
mother making any objection to his C2r 27
his marrying the amiable little creature.
—She has been very ill ever
since she came to England, and
the good folks here conclude it is
occasioned by the fatigue of her
journey; but you know I am a close
observer of human nature, and will
be hanged if love does not prey
more upon her mind than fatigue
has been able to do on her body.—
Being of a lively disposition (most
French people are, you know) she
sometimes strives to exert her spirits,
and then is really captivating;
but they soon flag. She sighs, wipes
her eyes, and turns her head aside,
to prevent her emotion becoming
visible. Do not these symptoms
favour stongly of a hopeless passion?
Ay, ay, this is ever the case
with you people of sentiment; see
a man you approve, and souse,
you’re over head and ears in love;
when, nothing will satisfy you till
you are happy in your choice.

Observe the contrast between a C2 sen- C2v 28
sentimental body and that of a girl
of spirit like myself. Place me in
company with the man I love; but
let a few more dear charming creatures,
whom I care not a rush for,
be of the party, I ogle one, flirt with
another, and make downright love
to a third. Though by the bye he
must be a conceited fool, that I
have the most sovereign contempt
for, and if it happens to be overheard
by the man I really love, Oh! the
exquisite pleasure it affords! Now
attribute this to want of sensibility
if you dare.

To make an honest confession to
you, Sophia, my behaviour does not
proceed from a total want of sensibility;
for believe me I have experienced
many and many a severe
pang, while I have affected a gaity
which my heart disclaimed. You
will say a person of my volatile disposition
cannot be so far caught,
and that my affections may be disentangled
with as much ease as I flutter C3r 29
flutter with every fop.—You are
deceived: I flirt with every man
whom chance throws in my way,
’tis true; yet that more than one
has ever found a way to my heart,
I disown. However this is a digression
from the description of my little
French friend.

Yesterday we prevailed on her to
appear in the drawing room, and
I then discovered that she possesses
a certain timidity which few women
of her nation are troubled
with. I attribute it to her not having
been accustomed to the company
of a variety of strangers before.
She curtsied aukwardly, blushed
when spoken to, and was evidently
too much embarrassed to give a proper
answer to the most simple question
that was put to her. In short,
Mademoiselle Chattelherhault never
appeared to such a disadvantage
in my eye, as when she ought to
have even looked to the greatest
advantage. You know Chesterfield C3 says, C3v 30
says, “a person’s behaviour at first
sight, will prejudice others either
in their favour or against them for
life.”

I cannot account for her stupidity
any other way than by the observation
above, as she seemed one
of the most accomplished girls I had
ever seen. She dances admirably.
We once prevailed on her to walk
a minuet with Henry, while I played
on the piano forte; she sings divinely,
and plays to a miracle. Indeed
I had several times said that
—“the graces danced round her to
join in her train.” Trebeck was of
the party.—I had totally forgotten
you were unacquainted with that
original, and being in a humour to
delineate, will give you a short account
of his general character.

In the first place, he affects to
patronise our most celebrated performers
of the drama, for no other
motive than because it is fashionable.
Then he invites every author, if it is only C4r 31
only a novelist, to intrust their writings
to his care, and promises to
dispose of them at a high price;
though, if the truth was known,
the insignificant varlet has not interest
enough with any bookseller in
town to get rid of his own, were he
possessed of wit to write. Did his
boasting stop here it might pass unnoticed;
but would make you
believe, if possible, that the three
royal brothers were hand and glove
with him; and that the dukes of
P― and B―, and half a hundred
other noblemen, were his most
intimate acquaintances. At other
times, he is promising places to a
score of people, when it is known
by every person to whom he is acquainted,
that he has been soliciting
one for himself these six years past,
and has not been able to obtain it
yet. When an election is coming
on, he is in the zenith of his glory,
and talks as pompously in company
of himself and Mr. ― having
been up late with their voters the pre C4v 32
cedingpreceding evening, as if he were himself
a member, rather than a tool for
members. However, the truth is,
a certain man of fashion, well
known in the great world, countenances
him very much, because he
strives to render himself consequenttial
by going a “voter hunting”, and
appearing every day while the poll
lasts upon the hustings. Merely from
this mode of proceeding, he has
gained admittance into the houses
of a few fashionable people, and was
introduced at ours by Sir George
Loveall. So much for his character.
Take his person and face, assisted
by a little rouge, when dressed for
the drawing-room, and he is pleasing,
though not irresistible; with an
infinite loquacity, and you have
the man at once. You have likewise
nearly read all you are likely
to receive from me this post at least,
as my hand is perfectly cramped
from holding the pen; as witness,

Well might you fear, my
dear D’Arcy, I meant to desert you,
after having written two letters but
received no answer: I can justify
myself, by telling you, I have been
at Paris, and only returned this
morning. Your three letters were
given me with others, which I have
not yet opened, so impatient am I
to assure you of what I feel for the
sufferings you have endured.—
Would to heaven you were with
me at this moment. The hypocrisy
of that villain prevented you being
here, and will, I very much fear,
contribute towards your passing
many an unhappy hour after your
leaving England; which, but for
him, you never could have known;
I mean not from his attempt upon
you, because you were rescued from C5v 34
from the danger, and will be more
effectually so when settled with me.
You will scarce credit an assertion
of your being in love with Mr. Osborn;
believe me, Beaufoy, it is
literally true, and your danger is
infinitely greater at present, than
it was at the time he rescued you
out of the clutches of that old savage,
Stamford. To prove the reality
of what I have advanced, I
appeal to your letter, wherein you
say, “while Mr. Osborn was reasoning
with me, I wondered how I
could once suffer a thought of leaving
him to enter my head, especially
since he urges the necessity of
my remaining in England.” I hope,
on the perusal, it will strike you as
forcibly as it does me. You were
highly blamable, in short, unjustifiable,
in suffering an imposition so
very gross to be put upon the family
of Sir John Osborn.—You think me
too severe upon you while you are
in distress; I cannot help it, though every C6r 35
every sentence which hurts your
feelings, wounds my own beyond
expression.—My friendship could
not be real, did I not point out
your faults and endeavour to correct
them.—Ask yourself, what
could be Mr. Osborn’s motive for
bringing me into his father’s house
under a fictitious name? The answer
occurs, to gain your affections
by a seeming disinterested behaviour;
then to suffer his family to
arrive at a knowledge of the fraud,
you are thrown under his protection,
and your ruin is sealed.

Indeed D’Arcy, I shall be wretched
till I have you with me.—Gratitude
has awakened itself into love
in your breast; and while you remain
in England I dread the consequences
which are likely to ensue.
—Mr. Osborn says “something
must be contrived to make you both
happy.” Will he marry you? Or
could you possibly conceive yourself
his lawful wife, by signing
your name at the altar Chattelherhault,hault, C6v 36
supposing it is by the consent
of Sir John? The idea of becoming
a mistress is so repugnant to
your nature, that I am convinced
the bare thought will make you
tremble as you read. I wish not
to shock you with chimerical, and
horrid phantoms, but to place every
circumstance strongly in the view
you ought to see it. You left France
in the firm hope of finding an only
parent.—Return to it in the strong
assurance of meeting an affectionate
friend. Only consider what contempt
and reproaches you are doomed
to suffer, if you remain with
the family till the secret is known.
—Think what misery you will escape
by resolutely following the dictates
of reason, and quitting the
man, who, it is certain, aims at
your eternal ruin.—You entreat
my advice, and give a promise,
“implicitly to abide by it,”—have I
not said as much as ought to determine
you against whatever he may urge D1r 37
urge to the contrary?—My heart
feels that your’s will suffer, on
being obliged to give up the object
of it’s tenderest wishes. Though
you will hereafter own, that it is
easier to endure the heart ache for a
few weeks, or even months, than
experience the severity of cruel
reflection whole years.—I will not
add more on the subject, my D’Arcy
possesses an uncommon share of
sense, which, if attended to, will carry
her safe through every difficulty;
and I doubt not, be the
means of her being with me this day
three weeks.—In that hope I conclude
myself,

I told you in my last,Open note a001-rota Which does not appear. Chattelherhault,
what a divine creature I
had rescued from infamy.

It certainly was wrong to introduce
her at my father’s house as your
sister. I see the impropriety now,
though it did not strike me at the
time—yet there appeared a something
so indelicate in offering to
place her in lodgings, after having
promised her a secure retreat under
the protection of my mother and sister,
that I could not have been capable
of it for the world, though by
not doing it I have rendered both
her and myself perfectly wretched
—Mistake not my meaning, I could
not be wretched were it not that
Miss Beaufoy has totally become a
prey to her fears—she says she is terrified D2r 39
terrified beyond expression at the
sound of every strange voice, lest it
should prove a person who can discover
the impostor in her looks.
Charming, innocent, engaging girl,
my affection for her is so strongly rivetted,
that I cannot suffer her to
depart, though I know it is madness
to detain her—You will reasonably
ask, What I intend doing with her,
and whether my enthusiasm extends
far enough to marry her? I
frankly own it does. Were I possessed
of an independent fortune
she is the only woman who should
share it with me; but situated as I
am, it cannot be.—Of a noble family
himself, my father thinks it a
duty incumbent on his son, to support
it’s dignity by marriage.—
Should I marry Miss Beaufoy, my
mother’s future days will be embittered
by cruel reflections from him
for her foolish indulgence of me
when a boy; and though I never
should value his resentment towards D2 myself D2v 40
myself on the occasion, I could not
endure the mortifying thought, of
causing uneasiness for her tender
nature to combat with. You are a
man of gallantry, and will wonder
at my having even one difficulty to
encounter: nay will tell me the
girl is in my power and I ought to
make a good use of my time; it is
true she is in my power—but honour
forbids me to trample on the
laws of humanity, or the rights of
hospitality—In fact I love her, and
that love will not permit me to offer
an indignity to her—She is extremely
eager to return to France—
I think she has left a lover behind,
and that is her motive for hurrying
from me. I have been prudent
enough to conceal from Miss Beaufoy
the passion I entertain for her,
which, hopeless as it is, she never
shall be acquainted with. I am
convinced she entertains not a suspicion
of my being in love with
her, but rather attributes my tenderder D3r 41
solicitude to the effects of compassion.
—Would my stars had assigned
it really was so—No man is
more susceptible to the charms of
beauty than myself, and I could
pledge my life on the truth, that it
never cost a human being more
pain, to keep themselves, what the
world terms honest than I have suffered
―By heavens I cannot behold
this charming girl with the eye
of a seducer, and must make no
other determination but that of bidding
her adieu. The thought drives
me desperate. I can only add,

Your summons, and even
threats, are likely to avail you nothing.
—My dear Mrs. Raymond
has been ill, and still continues
languid; she entreats I will remain
with her, and I cannot refuse: indeed
the tie of friendship will not
suffer me to leave her till her health
is re-established—I am happy in
your having obtained so valuable
inan acquisition as your acquaintance
with Mademoiselle Chattelherhault
—I think I need hardly repeat here,
that whatever affords you pleasure
gives me infinite satisfaction, though
the idea of your having disposed of
that heart, which you have ever
boasted was invulnerable, is really
a subject for mirth to me—Pray
who is this self same somebody, on
whom your mad cap ladyship has thought D4r 43
thought proper to bestow the little
flutterer? He must be a man of
sense, or he had not attracted your
notice; his manners must be pleasing,
or you never had regarded him
with an eye of affection.—His birth
must be noble, else had you not
suffered the passion to take possession
of your breast, and I am sure,
his fortune must be ample, or your
father will never consent to your
having him. But why in the name
of fate do you persist in teasing the
poor man? Beware, Matilda, of
going too far. There’s no great art
requisite in the making of a conquest,
the difficulty lays in securing the
affections; but if you give a man
cause to suppose your own are
estranged from him, is he to be
blamed for withdrawing his? A
heart once lost to a woman in such
a way is never to be regained. And
why? the lover thinks himself neglected,
pays attention to other women,
while the real object of his choice D4v 44
choice remains totally unnoticed.
She feels herself piqued and treats
him with disdain. An altercation
ensues, the gentleman is of opinion,
some trifling acknowledgment is
due from the lady for her first error,
while too proud to stoop, presuming
on her charms, she bids him be
gone and never see her more; he
takes her at her word, and some
other possibly less fair, but more
kind female, compensates him for
the loss of the first. You dare me
to accuse you of insensibility: how
can I, while your charity towards
distressed families, and attention to
sick friends, assure me you inherit
it not in any degree. But why suffer
a playful heart to trifle with the
happiness of him on whom your
own depends, by striving to convince,
that sensibility is a virtue you
have not yet attained? You are allowed
to be handsome: have gained
a number of lovers; and, as you have
discovered the secret, I am no longerer D5r 45
surprised at Grenville’s advantageous
offer being rejected; for well
I know, you never could consent
to become a wife to that man who
was not sole master of your heart.
But suffer me to entreat, if he in
question is worthy of it, that you
forbear to wound his feelings. You
know the force of my attachment
towards you, and cannot be displeased
at the liberty I have assumed.
Adieu. Reflect on what is observed
above by,

Thanks to you, my Marianne,
for your tender concern, and even
for your severity; it has convinced
me of my error, and I am no longer
insensible to my danger. Yet I must
do Mr. Osborn the justice to aver,
that he has never once professed a
regard for me further than compassion
extends. Surely such behaviour
has not the meaning of a seducer in
it, though men are designing, and
can put on the mask of friendship,
while they have an unwary object’s
ruin in view; but he shall find
D’Arcy Beaufoy’s virtue cannot be
conquered. My mother discovered
a propensity in my juvenile mind
towards levity; she fell an innocent
victim to it herself and determined
to crush the dawning of it in
her child. Death suffered her not to D6r 47
to compleat the victory; but Stamford
accomplished what she wished
to see performed. I mean not to insinuate
that I am become a prude,
merely to deceive the penetrating
eye of friendship. No, it is a meanness
I should despise in another early,
and must detest in myself; but
to assure you that you have not so
much to dread from my susceptibility
(which I confess is great), as
your apprehensions for my safety
suggests. Since I received your letter
I told Miss Osborn that I was
alarmed at my brother’s remaining
so much longer at home than he intended;
and if he arrived not in
England next week I should positively
return to France the ensuing
one. She looked astonished, and
insisted on my renouncing every
idea of the kind. I was determined;
she resolute; and each in
her humour retired to dress; but I
give you my honour you shall see
me at the appointed time. While I remain D6v 48
remain here I am forced against inclination
to appear every day in
company, and dreading a discovery
I cannot divest myself of fear,
which is certainly mistaken for stupidity.
What a different appearance
does my behaviour wear here,
and at Boulogne; there I was
known as Mademoiselle Beaufoy,
celebrated for the elegancy of her
manners; here cannot be otherwise
distinguised than by the name
of Chattelherhault, an aukward
French girl. I shall very soon bid
adieu to this amiable family forever.
Surely gratitude cannot be accounted
a crime, if it were, I am guilty
indeed. Mr. Osborn’s noble generosity
has demanded that tribute of
me, and I have given with it a heart,
undivided by love for any of his
sex. To my Marianne I may acknowledge
this truth; but it never
shall escape me to another soul. You
will console me for the loss, till it
is perfectly regained. Much happierpier E1r 49
should I have found myself,
had I never known the void; yet
why should I say that? The pleasing
sensations a person experiences,
when contemplating the object of
their tenderest wishes, though but
in idea, compensate for all their
pain. Oh Marianne, too fatally I
feel the imbecility of the above assertion.
I love—and without hope.
Those who find the pleasure more
than transient, must be allowed
a reciprocal return. I will not awaken
your anxiety, by suffering murmurs
to escape me, for that which
I ought to conceal, even from myself;
but solicit your acceptance of
the tenderest wishes of,

Whither can I immure
myself to escape the pursuit of the
vile undoer? Oh, Marianne, Stamford
will certainly discover my retreat,
and then I am lost indeed!
How could I suffer Mr. Osborn to
prevail on me to come here? Why
not return immediately to France,
rather than hasten to a place where
no relatives lived to protect me? A
blind fate seems to pursue me, and
I now look forward to approaching
shame, as an occurrence which
must inevitably besal me. The protection
of Sir John Osborn’s family,
which should be my security, will
help to involve me in still greater
difficulties, it will make my story
become public, and render my
disgrace conspicuous. Say, will you
receive the criminal, after having been E2r 51
been detected in the guilt of an imposition?
Yes, I know you will;
and my heart feels already elated,
by giving way to the pleasing idea.
You are impatient to be informed
of particulars, while I am suffering
my fears to hurry me beyond the
bounds of reason. Last night Miss
Osborn would take no denial—but
I must accompany herself and mother,
with Lady S― to see a new
comedy. Fortunately her brother
was engaged, before the party was
made, or he would have been our
escort. We were in the stage box.
At the conclusion of the last act,
Stamford appeared in the opposite
one; a dreadful sickness seized me,
and I could only articulate, “I am
very ill. Lady Osborn allow me
to leave the theatre.” Terrified at
the alteration in my looks, neither
her ladyship or daughter would suffer
me to go alone, but quitted the
house instantly with me; and ’twas
with the utmost difficulty I was E2 kept E2v 52
kept from fainting in the carriage:
the dread of his following, and
claiming me when it stopt, operated
so forcibly on my mind. Mr.
Osborn is now convinced of the impropriety
of my remaining any
longer with his family, and has at
length promised, that the Chevalier
shall write an excuse for being obliged
to defer his visit, and likewise
desiring my return immediately.
Though he still insists, that I have
nothing to fear from Stamford, because
when he finds I am countenanced
by people of rank, he will
drop all hopes of regaining me.
But I know his disposition too well,
to imbibe a notion of the kind; and
shall be perfectly miserable, till safe
in the protection of my dearest
D’Aubigny.—Should Stamford discover
with whom I am, how, or in
what manner shall I be extricated?
Enraged at the imposition—will not
Sir John deliver me into the vile
man’s hands, the moment I am demanded?manded? E3r 53
And then Mr. Osborn,
what a contemptible light he will
appear in, for having introduced so
wretched an outcast to his mother
and sister as I am―I can only be
commanded to leave the house; he,
as a son of it, will be spoken of with
scorn by every branch of his family
—cruel reflection, that for the sake
of rescuing an injured orphan from
infamy, he must bear the stigma of
ill treating relations who doat on
him. Is it not D’Arcy Beaufoy who
is likely to draw on him every reproach
he can receive? I cannot
endure the mortifying thought;
stubborn heart why will you not
break, and loose the bonds which
confine my soul to earth? Avaunt,
rash murmurs, you shall not be permitted
to escape me. Indeed Marianne
I have been very ill, and the
pain I still feel renders me somewhat
peevish, so you must not be angry
at the impatience I have expressed
above—Mr. Osborn says I must remainE3 main E3v 54
here till the Chevalier writes,
though if Stamford discovers my retreat,
you will very soon see the
degraded orphan in

You tell me your friend is ill,
that the tie of friendship will not
suffer you to leave her. Charming
emanation, how I admire it, and
charge the child to remain with her
till her health is re-established; in
the mean time I will do my utmost
to divert you both—Satire is my
vein you know, if you approve it, it
is well; if not, I believe you will
find my thoughtless brain is very barren E4r 55
barren of invention: that it is fertile
at embellishments, I think I have
already convinced you; and as a
proof that I can delineate truly
when w[Gap in transcription—1 letterflawed-reproduction]ll is at home, I will even
give you the sketch of a character,
which I am sure you will know
again, should chance ever bring
you into company with the original.
You are to know, I called on Mrs.
Crisp the other morning, and found
a Mrs and Miss Rawlins with her.
Picture to yourself an old soul near
seventy years of age, whose hair
had once been dark, but from the
ravages of Time, turned three parts
white. Imagine this hoary hair,
frizzed, not to say drest, into no
form whatever, some long, dangling
from what she terms the toupee,
while the rest so short, appears enviously
peeping from under a very
small fashionable white bonnet,
which, to make the owner look
more like an old ewe drest lamb-
fashion, must be stuck on one side, with E4v 56
with her veil pinned up, do discover
a broad red face, ornamented
with what I suppose she calls dimples;
but what even I cannot find
a simile for. Her twinkling grey
orbs look askaunce on a bottle nose,
and her mouth, when laughing,
might easily be mistaken for a gash
from ear to ear; but what deity
must I invoke to assist me in describing
her nonpareils of teeth? which
are decayed nearly to the gums, and
what few stumps remain in sight are
quite sufficient to turn the strongest
stomach. Her person, fat and unweildy,
is decked out in a blue satin
gown, ornamented with cocq le coc
riband, and a petticoat of the same
staring colour, with a pink cloak,
trimmed with black lace. I will
give you a slight sketch of her conversation
presently. It seems she has
several children: but a son whom she
calls Jacky is her favourite, because
he happens to be one of the most
egregious fops living; the daughter who E5r 57
who accompanied her, is her aversion.
The poor thing has the misfortune
to be amiable. I must bring
you acquainted with her by the
name of Nan, which her mamma in
thick lisp calls her in every company.
In her usual stile, Mrs. Crisp
was rallying me on Grenvill’s account,
and Mrs. Rawlins, to shew
her wit, began with a loud laugh:
“and I dare say matrimony would
agree with you. I say, why do you
not try it?”—Language like this
was new to me, and staring at her
with astonishment, I turned my enquiring
eyes towards my friend,
whose answering look bid me expect
amusement. The sequel will shew
I wanted not scope for ridicule. I
had not returned an answer, but
her daughter had cast a correcting
glance, which produced an interrogation
of “Lord, Nan, whats it
signify ar ent not we all women alike?
I say Miss Osborn, Nan is
setting her eyes at me, because I axed E5v 58
axed you a simple question, now
what harm was there in that?” Willing
to humour the joke, I replied,
“Oh none, madam, and I assure you
I have no objection to the marriage
state; the difficulty lies in getting
the other sex in the mind.” “Ah, I
know you girls, all loves to get the
men in your suit; but its us widows
they make up to for wives: but
come now I will tell you where to go
to know who is to be your husband.
I say, Nan, where is that what’s his
name moved to?” Without waiting
that I might be informed, she
went on. “Well, I likes a bit of fortune
vastly. Do you know I went
to him to ax him about Jacky? and
he says he is to be married to a Lady
of vast great fortune.” “How long
did he say it is to be before Miss
Rawlins is married,” interrupted
Mrs. Crisp looking significantly at
me. “‘Oh’, he says ‘Nan is to die a
maid, and I am to be married before
the year’s out; is not that droll now? E6r 59
now?’ He says ‘Jacky will be very
extravagant; and so I have left him
plenty of money, for I does love
Jacky’s little finger better an all the
bodies of others; is not that odd
now? I say I will tell you something
vastly drole;’ he said, says he,
‘if you go and walk as far as Greenwich
park; but you must walk all
the way, says he, because I do not
know whether he may not be on
the road, the twenty first of next
month between the hours of twelve
and two, you’ll see a good lusty
looking gentleman, and he will accost
you,’ says he: ‘and that man,’
says he, ‘is to be your husband;’
was not that drole now? Hey”—
“astonishing!” said I, putting on one
of my looks of surprise, which you
know I can make use of at pleasure,
“I hope you went ma’am” “Oh yes,
and what was vastly particular, I
had but just got in at the gate, when
he comes up to me. Was not that
odd now? and so after we began talking, E6v 60
talking, he ’tempted to chuck me
under the chin; and so says he,
‘you are a pretty girl’, and says he
‘if you have a mind to live with me,
I will allow you a guinea a week.’
But I told him, I was not the person
he took me for; and I was a Lady
of vast great fortune” Here I could
not have refrained from laughing,
had I not perceived that Miss Rawlins
was very much hurt at her mother’s
making such a fool of herself;
however she went on. “He begged
my pardon and was vastly sorry,
and hoped I was not offended, and
so I told him, no; and then he axed
me for my card, and I gave it him,
and so he has visited me ever since.
Was not that odd now?” “Oh surprising
to a degree! but how in the
name of fate, did you contrive to
walk to Greenwich?” said I. “Why
I walks about a great deal always,
but I was so tired, tho’ I took a
coach home, that I did not know
what to do; was not I, Nan?” “Then there F1r 61
there is no doubt, ma’am” (said
Mrs. Crisp,) “of the match being
concluded I suppose.” “Why I does
not know that there is, for Mr.
Sampson is so vastly good natured,
and he’s so much in love with me,
that I don’t see how I can stand out,
and what’s vastly particular, he’s a
man without a fault. Is not that
odd now, hey?” “Odd indeed” returned
I, “for I never yet heard of
such a one, and only wish, your’s
may prove to be without a fault, after
having got possession of your
fortune.” “Oh, he does not want me
for my money, he says, for if I had
not a farding he’d have me, for he’s
got a vast deal of his own; and he
says as how, if I wont have him,
that he wont have any body else;
is not that odd now?” Then the old
figure ran on in such extravagant
praises of her man, that I was quite
wearied before she got up, and
gave me what I suppose she thought
a polite invitation. “Well, I say, F Miss F1v 62
Miss Osborn, I shall be vastly glad
to see you; I lives in Grovenor
Square; Mrs. Crisp will shew you
the house; and I shall take it vastly
ill if you dont come;” then making
a bob curtsey, half side ways, she
waddled out of the room. “In the
name of every thing that is rational,”
exclaimed I, “where or in what
company could you possibly have
singled out that fulsome old soul?”
Mrs. Crisp said she was the widow
of a rich citizen, who having made
himself by his assiduity to business,
it might easily be seen from the illiterate
behaviour of his rib, had
been accustomed to associate with
the lowest class of people. It seems
she met with her at the house of a
relation, through whose means the
old fool has gained a few genteel
acquaintances; but as they only invite
her for the sake of diversion,
so they soon weary of ditto repeated,
and drop the acquaintance as
soon as they can. For her part Mrs. Crisp F2r 63
Crisp says, she shall be happy in
finding her house rid of such a troublesome
visitant, and, to effect it,
will plead an engagement whenever
she sends. You will certainly conclude
I have been exaggerating,
and say such a character cannot exist,
but in my flighty imagination.
Positively, it is the woman, as truly
as truth can draw. I have not added
a single ornament to either
dress or person, nor even a syllable
more to the conversation, as those
who have seen her can testify―so
much for that, now to affairs of
greater consequence. The happiness
you express in my having little
Chattelherhault with me, is likely to
be done away very soon, the poor
thing affects to be brother sick,
though I am out in my judgment if
it favours not more of love; and
declares as the Chevalier is not
come she will return to the continent.
I remonstrate, but all to no
purpose, the urchin has absolutely F2 fretted F2v 64
sretted herself ill, and was obliged
to leave the theatre last night; so I
expect if this brother does not disappoint
her by shewing himself in
England, that young sly-boots will
find an excuse for stealing a march
upon us next week, and leave poor
Henry to sigh in solitude, and
mourn his hapless fate: for if master
Cupid has not been playing him
a slippery trick by catching him
fast in his trammels, say I have no
discernment. The man has the assurance
to deny it, but his heart
must have been adamant, could he
have resisted the bright fire of her
eyes, which for all the demure
looks she strives to put on, tells me
she is not the inanimate soul she
would fain be thought; there is a
spirit in the very glance of them,
which says, “I was born to triumph:”
then she is such an amiable
disposition that in short I shall feel
almost as much hurt on her departure
as her sentimental lover. There’s F3r 65
There’s another rub in the way to
plague me; here have I set my
heart on making a conquest of the
Chevalier, and in the midst of the
pleasing sensations I was indulging
of love, hearts, darts, and a thousand
other pretty little things, when
Madam, whips into a post-chaise,
drives away for the continent, and
at once puts a stop to all my ideal
dreams of delight. Deuce take me
if I am not even with her before the
year’s out, and for the present will
console myself by spitting my spite,
by teizing you. And so you really
expect I should divulge the only secret
I ever kept from you, after the
pretty sermon you were kind
enough to send? No, no, child, that
will never do. What have I been
racking my brains for years past to
conceal the weakness of my heart
from the world, and shall I now
discover it to you? Affairs must
take a very different turn from
what they are in at present, before I F3 reveal F3v 66
reveal myself to any one be assured
—though not withstanding yoursaucy
lecture I still sign myself,

In a strange country; you are distressed
in mind, and likely to be ill.
Wait not for the Chevalier’s letter;
your last has made me wretched.
Tell Sir John’s family you have a
friend dying: tell them any thing
that will favour your escape from
the nation, before a discovery can
ensue; for well I know that your tender
nature cannot combat with the shock F4r 67
shock it will receive. The shame
can never reach you here; and if
you are afflicted with sickness,
friendship shall watch over it till
health is restored. Never can I
forget when the putrid fever seized
me in our convent; the companions
of my juvenile years in terror deserted
me, being fearful of the contagion;
you alone remained to comfort
and attend me, nor would suffer
yourself to be forced away
though it was by the command of
the abbess. It was not for friendship’s
sake you did it, as I then sixteen,
though you who was scarce
ten, too much of a child to bestow
my friendship on. No, it was innate
goodness prompted the generous
action. You stopt not here; in compleating
a cure: change of air was
necessary. I had no parents alive,
and those who were intrusted with
the care of me, were at too great a
distance to be applied to in time.
You prevailed on your mother to suffer F4v 68
suffer me to be with her. My health
was established, and my affection
for you rooted. Madam Beaufoy
was a second parent to me, ought I
then to forget that her child is unhappy?
No, my dear D’Arcy, while
respiration is allowed me, you shall
never want a friend. My fortune
is ample; come and share it with
me. It is Marianne invites. It is
the voice of friendship speaks. Suffer
not Mr. Osborn’s flattering eloquence
to prevail; trifle not another
moment with your future peace,
but hasten to her who will be the
guardian of your honour, the comforter
of your mind. You know my
nature is not a severe one, I can allow
for your gratitude, and partake
of the sensations it occasions. I will
sooth the agitations of your heart,
till love is glided into esteem. I do
nothing but reflect on myself for
not fetching you to St. Omer’s the
moment I knew of your loss, then
had the severe trials you have borne been F5r 69
been prevented, and your heart still
have remained a stranger to love. I
like not Miss Osborn; you only
speak of her in one letter as sprightly.
I fear she is more than sprightly,
she appears to me volatile, and
unthinking, and by no means a fit
companion for my gentle Beaufoy,
or why did she force you to accompany
her to the theatre, when I am
sure you pleaded illness or some
other excuse which would have satisfied
her, had she been serious
enough to attend to the dictates of
good breeding. However, that
you may not be obliged to her brother,
in pecuniary affairs, I have
enclosed a thirty pound note, with
the assurance that I am and ever
will remain,

Your last afforded us an infinite
deal of mirth, though Mrs. Raymond
is of opinion with me that you
have made the colouring to your finishing
strokes too high for the original
to be known by the portrait.
What an eccentric soul art thou;
were I not convinced of the innate
goodness of your heart, I should
certainly think you one of the most
malicious creatures living. You
are possessed of a lively imagination,
and want not the power of making
your friends laugh at pleasure; if
you wanted less inclination, to shew
your wit at the expence of your
good nature, I am sure those who
are now afraid of your very glance,
would love you sincerely. In answer
to this I know you will say
that if the ninnies are conscious of having F6r 71
having merited the lash of satire,
you are not fond of disappointing
them; however, not being willing to
argue the point with you, as I may
stand a chance of being reproached
for a saucy lecturer a second time,
I will drop the subject, and as you
have given me the character of a
ridiculous old woman, in return, I
will strive to exhibit a scene of woe
to you. It seems it is the custom
here for woman to attend gentlemen’s
gardens as well as the men.
Mrs. Raymond employs a poor industrious
creature who has a worthless
husband, and half a dozen children
to maintain, in assisting her
gardener; the poor soul was very
big with child, and she had given
her some old clothes to make baby
linen, and desired she would let
her know when she was down laying:
the unfortunate woman sent a
week ago, but though the remissness
of the servants Mrs. Raymond
knew not of it till yesterday, when I ac- F6v 72
I accompanied her to a house where
this poor wretch lodged. On going
up stairs we found all the children,
some crying for bread and butter,
while others, making light of even
hunger itself, were contentedly
playing on the floor; the eldest a
girl of fourteen, was sitting with
her arms folded in a dejected attitude,
on the side of a truckle bed,
which, except an old deal table,
was all the furniture in the room;
the distressed mother and her infant
child were laying on a mattress,
with nothing more than a rug for
their covering. On our entrance,
a little boy, about five years of age,
ran to a girl much less than himself,
and snatching up her pin cloth, cried,
while wiping her eyes, “Hush,
Sally, don’t ye cry no more, here’s
ladies come to give ye some bread
and butter, and bring poor mame
and the baby something to eat.”
“Will [Gap in transcription—flawed-reproduction1 letter]m give you some to Charly?”
said the little creature, blowinging G1r 73
her nose, to speak the plainer,
while her mother made an attempt
to sit up in the bed, but was so weak,
from not having taken any kind of
sustenance for two days past, that
she could not. The dear little soul
which was laying by her, had
caught a cold in it’s eyes, owing to
a part of the casement being broken
away, and the want of a door to
the room, as well as a fire in it, for
there was no stove, and only a few
faggots to be set alight on the hearth,
to warm some bread and water
when the little sufferer cried for
food, as it’s mother had scarce any
milk in her breast to afford it. A
sceneOpen note a002-rota The writer was witness to a scene similar
to the above not three years ago. to equal this I had never so
much as heard of before, consequently
the sight, which it is impossible
to describe in the view it then
appeared, shocked me to such a degree,
that had I not been relieved G by G1v 74
by tears I should certanly have fallen
into hysterics. It excited every
tender feeling so much for the poor
in my breast, that if I had been possessed
of the power, I wanted not
for inclination at the moment, to
have raised every beggar in the nation
to an affluent fortune; we stayed
but a short time, after giving
them what silver we had in our
pockets, as Mrs. Raymond wished
to hasten home and have something
comfortable made and sent to the
poor woman, which she has done
every day since, with broken victuals
for the children. She intends
taking the eldest girl into the house,
and have her taught plain work,
that she may be useful to her family;
and that the last child which is a
boy, to stand godmother to, and
put him to school when big enough,
and afterwards bind him apprentice
to some trade; would every woman
whose fortune was sufficient to allow
it, follow her example, what scenes of G2r 75
of distress and wretchedness might
they prevent; but a love of gaming
is become so prevalent in the breasts
of our females that they care not
what meannesses they are guilty of,
if it will enable them to sport a larger
quantity of money at the card
table; and possibly one lady loses in
four hours, more than would render
half a dozen families comfortable
their whole lives. Now would
some of these fashionable women,
whose conduct I have been making
so free with, say, that I am running
on in the strain of a moralist, without
the aid of years or even sense
to support the character, therefore
to oblige them, I will lay aside the
subject to tell you how pleased I am,
at your being disappointed in your
views on the Chevalier; how you
can trifle with your own feelings, I
cannot reconcile with my ideas of
knowing pleasure in that state; for
were I in love as you say you are, I
could not afford one smile to any G2 other G2v 76
other of the sex, while the object of it
was in company; and if he chanced
to pay more attention to another,
while I happened to be by, I really
believe that my foolish heart would
discover it’s weakness, by forcing
an inundation from my eyes. You
laugh at my frank confession, and
to put a stop to your ridicule I end
my epistle, by assuring you that I
still remain,

By what authority you attempt
to harbour Mademoiselle Beaufoy I know G3r 77
I know not; but as her guardian
must inform you, that I have a right
to claim her, wherever found. I
have not a doubt, that some atrocious
falsehood has been advanced to
excite your humanity, and extort
your protection of her. However,
that you may no longer be duped
by an artful tale, I must tell you she
eloped on our landing at Dover,
from France, with a young fellow
whom no one knows any thing of.
I had not been able to discover her
abode till this morning. I saw her
in a carriage which bears your
arms; now an affair of this kind
being made public, I should apprehend,
would by no means be agreeable
to you, therefore if the lady
is immediately restored I shall suffer
the story to sink into oblivion.
If she is not, be assured I will enforce
the severity of the lay in such
a case to it’s upmost extent.

Your answer, Sir, will determine,

A Letter I have just received,
informs me you have been left
guardian to an indiscreet young woman,
who has eloped from you,
for which I am sorry, though I
have not the honour of an acquaintance
with you; but I assure you, upon
my honour, I do not know any
thing of the person you mention;
the lady you have seen in my carriage
is Mademoiselle Chattelherhault,
sister to a Frenchman of distinction,
with whom my son is very
intimate. In the wish that you
may soon recover your ward, I
have the honour to be, Sir,

Thanks to my father’s [Gap in transcription—flawed-reproduction2-3 letters]
dence, or the town might have [Gap in transcription—flawed-reproduction2-3 letters]
obliged with a paragraph in [Gap in transcription—flawed-reproductionapproximately 2 words]
the news papers, that an extraordinary
circumstance had happened
in a certain nobleman’s family; a
young, and beautiful French woman
of distinction was on a visit to
them, and having been seen by
some elderly madman who claimed
her as his ward, Sir ―’s credulity
made him believe it was no phantom
of the brain, and therefore had given
her up to the claimant; then
would have been added at the end,
by the way of astonishment, “O tempora,
O mores!” Your curiosity is
more awakened by the above from
me, than the public’s would have
been from reading it in the Oracle,
Herald, or Woodfall’s Diary, so now G4v 80
now must I begin to elucidate. You
are to understand, Henry was summoned
to attend poor Montagu,
whose life was despaired of in Somersetshire;
as soon as we had seen
[Gap in transcription—flawed-reproductionapproximately 4 letters]et off, Mademoiselle Chatelherhault,
accompanied by lady
[Gap in transcription—flawed-reproductionapproximately 4 letters], and myself, went to take
the air in Hyde Park. An elderly
man on horse-back rode up to the
carriage, and staring very hard in,
appeared as if on the point of forcing
his head through the glass. “Oh
mon Dieu”, exclaimed the timorous
girl, changing colour. “Don’t alarm
yourself, my dear”, said my mother,
“it is customary in England for gentlemen
to behave in such a manner,
though it certainly favours of ill
manners.” “Pardon me my dear lady,”
returned she recovering herself,
“I was terribly afraid he would
have broke the carriage window.”
This passed off, and we thought no
more of it; in the evening a letter
was brought in to Sir John, with word G5r 81
word that the servant waited for an
answer. He withdrew to the library,
and Chattelherhault having
been unwell the whole day, took
the opportunity of retiring to her
room; on my father’s return he
shewed us a letter, which must certainly
have been written by the
man who had behaved so rudely in
the morning claiming our young
visitant by the name of Beaufoy,
and his ward. My mother
asked what answer he had returned; he
said an assurance that he knew not
any such person. I said I would
run up stairs and tell my little
French girl what an hair breadth
escape she had had; but my mother
ever careful of preventing
uneasiness for her friends, was afraid
of her being alarmed, and entreated
I would not inform her of it
till some time had elapsed; so thus
rests this important affair, though if
my will had been complied with, I
believe for the joke’s sake, instead of G5v 82
of an answer I should certainly
have sent some of Monro’s people to
take charge of him; positively the
man must be mad as a March hare,
[Gap in transcription—flawed-reproductionapproximately 3 letters]e never could have mistaken
[Gap in transcription—flawed-reproductionapproximately 3 letters] timid little Chattelherhault, for
his forward minx Beaufoy.

Your description of the unfortunate
gardening woman shocked me
to a degree, and I shall beg to be
your debtor, till we meet, for a
couple of guineas, which I desire
you will give her in my name. So
you really thought I should laugh
at your frank confession; no, no, I
will carry it a little farther, by supposing
if you could not force a deluge
of tears that you would apply
a handkerchief to your eyes, and
sham, rather than not appear hurt
at the wretch’s neglect of you.
Shame on the sex: well may the
men be vain of themselves, while
there are such a number of soft,
sighing, what shall I call them, foolish
damsels as you in the world, that G6r 83
that take pains to convince them of
the power they have over them.
Silly girls. Why I tell you it is
the only way to effect the loss of
your man; a love of roving is inherent
in the nature of the sex, and
they are as fond of gaining conquests,
as e’er a woman of us all.
Make it no longer a doubt to any
one of them that your affections are
fixed on him, oh then he is your
very humble servant, and presers
his devoirs to some other fair.
Thus they reward ye. Follow my
precepts and observe the difference
in the behaviour of the lords of the
creation towards you. Support
your dignity, and suffer not the
man who has gained your heart to
make sure of it, supposing he really
loves you, is there any harm in
keeping him in suspence, till he
dares to insist on your naming the
time which will make you his. Your
wise-acre ladyship putting on a demure
look, will ask, “Whether it is G6v 84
is customary for a man to go so
great a length, before he is convinced
of a woman’s affections being
all his own?” Simpletonian! Do
you imagine that I now for instance,
would suffer any man to dangle after
me as a lover whom I despised;
and are there not ways and means
to let the one whom at sight of your
heart beats a strange palpitation,
know you have a regard for him,
without making it appear that you
are desperately in love? a few encouraging
smiles will inliven his humour
a whole evening; he dreams
all night of your bestowing more
favours on him than any other, arises
in the morning, fully persuaded
that you love him, hastens to attend
you, pleased in the idea of
having as many kind glances bestowed
on him as on the preceding
evening. How grievously is he
baulked; you look cool upon him;
he goes home, curses his stars, calls
you inhuman, and vows never to submit H1r 85
submit to your tyranny more; but
ere two days have rolled their circuit
o’er his head, he cathces himself,
ha, ha, ha, in the act of worshipping
at your shrine; and what
has effected this change, but his
dread of losing you? Whereas if
you had convinced him of his being
sole master of your heart, he would
have shewn his resentment, by
keeping his distance a whole fortnight;
well, after a time trifled away
in doubts, anxiety, and fears, he
determines not to be kept any longer
in suspence, but puts the question
that he may know his doom;
and after the marriage-day is fixed,
I have no objection to your shewing
as much love as you think proper;
and that woman must be destitute
of every generous principle, who
will not strive after having taken
a man for better for worse, to render
home more comfortable to him
than any other place can be: though
I am sorry that some wives, whose H conduct H1v 86
conduct I have observed, oblige
me to say, they have forgotten their
duty, with the vow they once made
at the altar. Bless us what faux pas
have I catched myself in, the deuce
take writing. Moralizing! as I
hope to live! Well, well, truth
will out one time or other, so I will
even copy my neighbours by making
a frank confession, hey, Sophia,
that if ever I marry, which the
Lord in his infinite mercy send I
may, I do really and sincerely believe,
(the declaration must be solemn
you know, by the way of adding
weight to what I advance) if
my husband proves a reasonable
man, that I may in process of time
be brought to dwindle as a wife, into
what I never will be while a
maiden, an amiable piece of still life.
Betray me not to the crops of our
acquaintance, Oh ye daughter of I
know not who, or my triumph will
be ended, and my design totally
spoiled before it can be executed; for H2r 87
for you are to understand, child, I
don’t mean to make any foolish protestations
of what my intentions are
in regard to hereafter, but put the
good man to a trial of his confidence
in my generosity, my honour,
and all other et ceteras which
appear so becoming in a woman;
and if I find he is willing to give
me my way in trifles, possibly I
may fall into his humour where
things of greater moment are concerned.
However for this time I
have said enough, and think you
will not be sorry at having finished
reading the scrawl of,

The assurance you have given me
on your honour, that you know not
such a person as Mademoiselle Beaufoy,
convinces me you have been
most grossly abused, in her being
introduced at your house under a
fictitious name; to prove which I
will wait on you this evening, bringing
people with me who can swear
to the identity of her person; or
resting the decision on the lady’s
emotion at sight of me. Will attend
you alone. Your acquiescence
will oblige,

You still persist in your ward’s
being protected by me, and I can
only say at present, that a resemblance
between two faces is sometimes
striking, and similitude
which Mademoiselle Beaufoy’s features
bear to Mademoiselle Chattelherhault’s
must have deceived you.
My son, Sir, is a man of hounour,
and would scorn to practice an imposition
on his family; he has been
sent for by a sick friend into Somersetshire;
at his return I shall be happy
to receive you, as I would not
choose to suffer our fair visitor, who
enjoys an ill state of health, to be
seen by any one in an affair of this
kind, without his approbation.

If ever you wished to do me a
kindness, Chattelherhault, it must
be proved now; that libidinous old
dog, Mademoiselle Beaufoy’s guardian,
has taken the opportunity
while I was out of town, attending
Jack Montague who has had a violent
fit of illness, of writing to Sir
John, and claiming her as his ward,
who had eloped from him at Dover;
my father declined receiving his visit
till my return, and I have insisted
on her not being made acquainted
with it, consequently his not being
permitted to see her, till your
arrival in England. The dear girl
has some time past been impatient
to return to the continent. She
has a friend at St. Omer’s, she
says, who is able, from her alliance
with people of consequence, to H4r 91
to protect her against all Stamford’s
stratagems; her name is D’Aubigny,
possibly you have some knowledge
of her. I have detained the suffering
charmer here thus long, in
the hope that circumstances might
turn out favourably and Mademoiselle
Beaufoy have become my
wife; the dear illusive hope must
now be banished, and whatever it
costs me, she shall return virtuous
to her friend, and may make some
other man more happy than I can
ever be after it. Do you not know
some one in whom you dare confide
the secret? If so, bring them
with you, to attest she is your sister.
In an injured orphan’s cause, let us
leave no one thing unaccomplished
to defend it. Let your haste to
England be the proof of your friendship
to,

Now, and not till now, has the
measure of my woes been compleated.
Osborn has just left my
room; from him I learn, that instead
of hastening to my dearest
Marianne I must remain a prisoner
in this nation: detestable place. how
I hate it: have I not cause, on reflecting
that the source of all my wretchedness
originated in it? Stamford,
too, has discovered me, and I have
been demanded of Sir John.—Mr.
Osborn has written to the Chevalier
to hasten here, and own me for his
sister: if he refuses, never more
may you expect to see me; shame
will put an end to that life which
misfortune has rendered tiresome.
Surely my fate is hard, born in
sorrow as I may say, fostered in affliction,
is it not enough that my
riper years are corroded by anguish, but H5r 93
but I must fall a prey to the severest
trial, that art, villany, and malice,
can inflict. The nobly generous
Osborn does every thing in his
power to afford me consolation, he
says the Chevalier has it not in his
nature to refuse any request which
he makes, but is not the one he
has now made what he cannot in
honour comply with? too certainly
it is; he bids me assume a placid
countenance on Stamford’s appearance,
and all will end well. Does
he think that one rash step has rendered
me callous to shame? God
forbid it should, rather let me sink
into misery, like one who is conscious
of her guilt, than justify incur
an accusation which I cannot think
of without horror. Would that
you were by to support my cause,
I could then throw myself at Lady
Osborn’s feet, and confess my error and
plead for forgiveness; but now
friendless and unprotected, my
thoughts wander to recollect some
person to whom I may apply; but chilled H5v 94
chilled in the knowledge that there
is not one, they return, and sink into
a state of torpidity to which madness
is surely preferable. Oh, my
mother! why was I permitted to
remain on earth, if only to be afflicted
worse than you were? I
scarcely know what I have written,
Marianne, but I am intent on complaining
to you, who are at too great
a distance to afford consolation, and
uttering an apostrophe to my dear
mother’s shade, which I seem to see
hovering over and lamenting the
fate of her unfortunate child.
Well, but I have been very ill, and
may not the knowledge of what I
am doom’d to suffer conduce to the
termination of my existence, and
that will prevent my shame; if it
should, Marianne, you must not
grieve for my loss, but comfort
yourself in the hope that I am happy.
Do you think my death would
becausebe cause for concern to Mr. Osborn?
I do not wish him to be very much afflicted H6r 95
afflicted, but methinks if he would
shed a tear o’er my grave, as a remembrancer
that he had once
known me I could more readily
submit to death now, than live half
a century longer the happiest of human
souls, if I thought he would
forget, and not lament me then.
Miss Osborn too, I flatter myself,
my memory will not be hateful to
her. Indeed you must not think
hardly of that young lady; she is
the counterpart of her dear brother;
accustomed from her infancy, I am
sure, to be beloved, she is at peace
with herself, and in good humour
with the world; she is young, has never
been known to misfortune, and
wants not for vivacity. I was once
lively, but wretchedness became
my inmate and has taken entire possession
of my breast I have given up
even the hope of meeting with my
father, while life remains I must
be dependent on you; should the
Almighty power snatch that protectiontection H6v 96
from me Stamford will renew
his persecution. I cannot proceed,
horror has chilled my every
nerve; but while respiration is allowed
me, I must ever remain your
affectionate, though wretched,

What a devil of a rout you
serious fellows make about virtuous
woman, as you call a girl who is
unwilling to run into your arms before
you have begun the attack;
ply the sex closely, there is not one
of them from the arrantest coquette
in nature, to the demurest prude among
them, but will surrender at
discretion; and where a man does
not accomplish his designs, it is
more owing to his want of patience, than I1r 97
than any rare prudence on the
woman’s part. I am deep read in
all their tricks and subterfuges, and
from persevering in pursuit of the
game, have never yet been obliged
to give out, till it was run down;
why you might easily have prevented
the present row, by taking
the girl [Gap in transcription—flawed-reproduction1 word] a bagnio; she, as a
stranger, could not have known
the difference between that and
your father’s house; the family
might have been out of town, not
expecting your return so soon, and
the critical moment been seized on,
she would gladly have acceded to
terms; you have hired private lodgings
for her, and the whole progress
of the amour had ended by
this time. Seriously though, for I
know you will curse my inhumanity
on reading the above, you
are the only man living for whom I
would risque my honour by lying
through thick and thin to a whole
nation, as it is most likely I shall I have I1v 98
have to do on this occaision; yet
what I shall find much more difficult,
will be silencing my sister’s
complaints of being confined so
much longer at our chateau than
she expected; but as her appearance
in England would play the devil,
by marring our plot, I intend to
quit France without her knowledge.
You say Mademoiselle Beaufoy is
known to Mademoiselle D’Aubigny.
I am acquainted with a relation of
that lady’s, and would not hesitate
in striving to serve any friend of
her’s; so the first fair wind wafts
me to Albion’s white cliffs. As
national politesse will not be requisite
in my recontre with the old
rascal, I am practising a few Irish
airs, such as looking big, cocking
my hat fiercely, strutting boldly,
putting myself in a menacing posture
to demand satisfaction. Don’t
you think, Osborn, that this en cavalier
behaviour will be quite comme
il faut? I am now going to tell a devil I2r 99
a devil of a lie to my sister, and
take the route to Calais:

Your last has almost broken my
heart. I can scarce see the letters
I write for the tears which force
their way in spite of all my endeavours
to repress them. What have
you not suffered in that vile England?
but what agitation, what
distress infinitely more, will you
have to combat with, as the time
approaches for your facing the worst
of villains; your emotion must betray
you to Sir John’s family, and I2 the I2v 100
the wretch will triumph in your
downfal: no friends in the nation
to whom you can flee for protection.
What must become of you? I tremble
at consequences which are likely
to ensue; and am determined to
lose not a moment in hastening
to your relief. Your wish that I
were by to support your cause,
shall not prove unpropitious. Yes,
I will obey the call of anguish, and
snatch you from despair. You shall
yet enjoy happiness without alloy,
and claim the reward due to injured
virtue. Don’t give way to dejection,
nor suffer despondency to gain an
ascendant over your mind. Believe
me, when the trying moment arrives,
you will find yourself equal
to the contest. That Superior Powwer,
which is appointed to guard,
is more watchful of our welfare at
the moment Hope is forsaking us,
and brings to our rescue, heart-felt
joy from the quarter in which we
look only for despair. Imagination has I3r 101
has portrayed to your mind’s view
a scene truly terrific, to avoid
which you are welcoming death;
and cruelly charge me not to grieve
for your loss, while you are wishing
Mr. Osborn to be susceptible of
that sympathy which you intreat I
will divest myself of. Were it not
for the known certainty of your being
too wretched at the time you
were writing to attend to circumstances,
I should be half inclined to
be angry with you; however, I
conjure you, as you value my future
quiet, to support your spirits.
I shall be in England possibly as
soon as this reaches you; after that
I will bid defiance to every attempt
on your honour. The post is going
out, and I cannot add more than
that you know my rank has rendered
me intimate with some of the
first English families. I shall avail
myself of such a fortunate circumstance,
and you may depend on seeing
me before your interview with I3 Stamford I3v 102
Stamford takes place. I remain
your sincere and unalterable friend,

Pray, child, are you fond of being
present at a grand quarrel between
the French and English,
where the latter stand a chance of
being well drubbed? if you are,
Hey for London town. Positively,
though, the man whose claim I
treated in so ludicrous a manner in
my last, has renewed it, and actually
insisted [Gap in transcription—flawed-reproduction1 word] my father’s resigning
the charge of Chattelherhaut
up to him, or proving that her
name was not Beaufoy and his ward I4r 103
ward. To do this effectually the
Chevalier’s presence was necessary,
and Henry dispatched an express
for him. So out of evil springeth
good. The dear charming man arrived
this evening, my heart leaped
when the post-chaise stopt at the
door; but when he entered the
room, oh what joy seized it, in the
hope of his becoming the most abject
of my slaves;—me-thought his
sentimental sister hardly received
him with a sisterly affection. Most
likely her langour proceeded from
the illness she has had; but I am
sure, was I dying, the sight of such
an affectionate brother as he appears
would infuse fresh vigour throughout
my frame, and recal my soul
to earth, if winging it’s flight towards
the ethereal regions. Absolutely
a body would suppose he had
thrown aside the brother, for the
more tender character of a lover;
if the Chevalier can behave so politely
attentive as a brother, what would I4v 104
would you not give, Sophia, to
have him for an admirer? In short,
my breast has taken the alarm, and
cautions it’s colleague the heart, to
beat to arms, to be enabled to stand
the attack of an invasion; for where
a shot cannot prevail, The French
have a knack of levying a whole
volley; don’t mistake by imagining
courage is meant instead of sighs,
and think it will be prudent to
place the centinel apprehension as
guard, because there is a strong probability
of such a man’s being engaged.
Thus speaks reason; but
a faithful heart replies, that life is
nothing without love, and it would
not be exempt from the passion to
obtain a universe, where it was not
to gain admission, at the same time
reminds it’s adviser, that love in
the image of one clothed in friendship’s
sacred garb, had crept through
an avenue to it’s utmost recess,
unresisted by her at the moment
he had raised his throne on the
firmest basis—Esteem—before even her I5r 105
her penetration could discover it,
he reigned triumphant, and now
would not give up his claim on the
whole, though the endeavour of all
her allies united were to strive to
hurl him from it. I have written
myself into that softened kind of
disposition in which I cannot proceed
with my usual vivacity, and
must resign the pen till morning.