Chapter XII

OF A PART OF MY LIFE THAT HAD BEEN BETTER SPENT OTHERWISE THAN IT WAS.

Now after that which I had heard from my lady, I had but one desire, and this was, to leave the place so soon as I conveniently might. With this purpose, then, I waited upon my lord, and acquainted him of my determination, wherewith he professed himself very much grieved. But perceiving from my countenance, without doubt, that Madam Heliodora had undeceived me, and released me from the tangle that he had drawn around me, and seeing also the turmoil of spirit into the which her action had thrown me, he made no further attempt to detain me at St Thomas, nor was any question made touching my sudden departing. And on my part, also, I said naught of the hopes he had given me, since now, at last, I perceived that ’twas all done in so delicate and artful a manner as he could have denied with all appearance of truth any design to turn my thoughts towards my lady his daughter. But Mr Marigny wan’t so silent, for he was very greatly astonished to learn that I was about departing that very day, following the counsel of Madam Heliodora. And this I was concerned to do in the exactest manner possible, from the shame and remorse I felt in regard of my conduct towards her, for this I repeat, as I have hereinbefore showed you, that my folly an’t in no wise to be laid to the charge of that most noble and virtuous lady (as certain base persons have falsely alleged), but solely to my own presumption, and the statecraft of my lord marquis her father.

Mr Marigny being, as I said, mighty astonished at my decision, could not forbear questioning me thereupon, and so arrived at a tolerable knowledge of the whole matter. Still, although mightily diverted to hear of my presumption and its rebuff, he was good enough to restrain his mirth in my presence, though I can’t but believe that he hinted the affair to his fellows, and especially to Colonel Laborde, for when these gentlemen came to take their leaves of me, there was in their manners a certain sourness and contemptuous pity, such as my sore heart found it hard to brook. Nevertheless, I did bid them farewell with great ceremony, and likewise my lady and Mad. de Chesnac, and so departed, my lord sending me in his own barge, with Mr Marigny bearing a letter from his lordship commending me to the agent at Fort St George in Maderas. And of his lordship I took my leave with great respect, esteeming him to be at once the stoutest soldier and the most ambitious person that I had ever met.

The Dutch fleet being still absent since my lord’s defeat on’t, our voyage, lasting but for two hours or so, passed without any event worthy of remark, nor might I even spend it in melancholical and remorseful thought, since Mr Marigny was with me, and must have continued discoursing had he been attending upon me to the scaffold. And so droll and merry was he, that I even could not forbear laughing at some of his conceits (though I would not suffer him to press me on that point of my ill-starred pretension to my lady’s hand), but so at last we reached Maderas, whither Mr Marigny had come more than once with letters from my lord marquis, and were hospitably received by the agent, when my letter of commendation had been delivered. One of the council offering Mr Marigny a lodging for the night, he returned back to St Thomas the next day, bearing divers letters and gifts for my lord from the agent, and it seemed to me that I was now done with the French, and should be like to hear no more, so long as I lived, concerning that city and its garrison. But in this, as you will afterwards perceive, I did err.

Now I, being left at Fort St George for to await the coming of some ship that might carry me to Surat, had no better to do than to walk abroad and divert myself with looking at the town. And this is a place of good force, dwelt in both by Moors and Gentues, and also by that people called _Parseys_, that are more industrious and successful in their business than either of ’em. The place is far better ordered, according to our notions, than Surat, the streets being straight, and kept always sweet and clean. The fort is also strong and well provided with soldiers, both Europe men and Indosthans, though without any artillery, since the merchants an’t allowed even a cannon or two for the firing a salute. But with such magnificence do the Company’s servants go here, as it quite exceeds that at Surat, and this because they are resolved in everything to show themselves to the Indians at least as great as the chief officers of the King of Gulconda, whom he sends often enough for to plague ’em. And all this I observed with some pleasure, being concerned always to note the situation of his majesty’s subjects in these parts, and the usage they meet with from the Indians.

But when once I had completed my survey of the fort and city, I found time heavy on my hands, and having naught else to do, fell into a state of great melancholy and weariness, brooding continually over my hopeless love and its ending. And although I was very sensible of my own folly in entertaining such a passion, and cursed it in my mind, yet did I, as many, I believe, are wont to do, attribute to the fancied misdeeds of others that which was my own fault, blaming not only my lord, but also Madam Heliodora, and even Mad. de Chesnac and Mr Marigny, and in especial Colonel Laborde, because, as I suppose, they had not cared to warn me and so preserve me from my foolishness. And all this did breed in me a certain heaviness and disease that was near leading me to madness, so that I did forswear all confidence in my fellow-creatures, and determined to live henceforth by myself alone, untouched by the joys and pains of other men. I am thankful to remember that even at this time I had grace enough to exempt my father from this general condemnation, and to resolve still to use all means in my power for to carry out that purpose wherein he had sent me to the Indies--viz., the releasing the Ellswether estate from its burdens, that so Sir Harry might enjoy in his old age that easiness of fortune which he deserved. But with respect to marriage with Dorothy, or return to England, I put the thoughts of these from me with a sort of sick scorn, if I may so speak. For I won’t deny that I seemed to myself to be a very virtuous and well-deserving person, that a cruel fate had led into divers misfortunes, such as he must needs rise superior to ’em, though they galled him sorely. And that I might do this, it was evident to me that I must give myself up altogether to business, lest otherwise the memory of my trouble should drive me mad.

And that I might the better do this, I begged the agent at the fort to appoint me some work until there should come some means for me to return to Surat, which he did with a very good will, so that I gained much experience in that two months I did spend at Maderas. In my leisure time, moreover, not desiring to have opportunity for thought, I applied myself to the study of the Portuguese, finding an old Portugal trader willing to instruct me therein, and so made good progress. And all this diligence pleased the agent so well (he not knowing of that secret spur that did drive me on to work continually, and yet made all my labour to seem but as fruitless toil), that he much commended me, and desired mightily to have me with him instead of at Surat. But it wan’t for me to linger at Maderas when my place was elsewhere, and because no ship touched at the place convenient for me to embark therein, I did embrace with joy the occasion offered me by the setting out of a _caphalay_ bound for Bombaim, and headed by my friend the old Portugal trader, to return to Surat, he inviting me to bear him company.

Now in this journey we must needs pass through all the kingdom of Gulconda and also that of Visiapour, in both whereof the kings and ruling men are Moors, and mighty suspicious and jealous of all Europe men, and for this cause we adopted the Indian habit for our travels, that so we might go on our way with less remark. And all this journey, by God’s good providence, we did perform and accomplish in safety, visiting divers places of note and seeing many strange things, which it would be tedious to set down at length. And at Bombaim I bid farewell to my ancient friend the Portugal, thanking him for his kindness towards me and the many things he had taught me in his ingenious discourse, and made myself known to the President of the Council at Bombaim. And by good luck there chanced to be lying in the port just at that time the Company’s _baloon_ from Surat, that was come for to bring an advice from the Council there, so as I was able to be sent on at once to my old factory. And when we were come to Surat, I went on shore immediately, being still in my Moorish habit, and with great _mustachios_, such as the Moguls use to wear, and did seek Mr Martin in his former room. But I found there a gentleman newly arrived from England, that advised me that Mr Martin was now made Accountant, and showed himself very curious to know what I desired with him. But not choosing to gratify this inquisitive temper, I sought the Accountant’s chamber, and found there Mr Martin established in great state and some luxury. And seeing me, he took me for some Arabian or Persian visitor of quality, and speaking in Persian, desired to know how he might serve me, but I regarding him steadfastly, the truth brake into his mind, and he leaped up and seized me joyfully by the hand.

“My dear Ned,” quoth he, “_the longest day hath his end_, and I was ever sure I should see you again, though Mr Secretary, and that evil-conditioned cub of his, Mr Spender, hath often scoffed at my security. But _without hope the heart would break_, and so it had been with me, my dear lad, had I believed you truly to be turned Papist and gone to the Brasils. Wherefore I have always declared that you wan’t either dead or recanted, but were honourably and Christianly employed wherever you were, and now here you are for to confirm my words. But truly you are grown from a boy into a man since last I saw you.”

“Nay, sir,” says I, “by my own feelings I might be grown from a man into the Wandering Jew.”

“Ned,” says Mr Martin, looking me straight in the face, “you have been in trouble, and that other than the Inquisition’s. What is’t, lad? Is it wine, or women, or dice? for ’tis these three are the common curses of our young gentlemen here as in England.”

“Sir,” says I, “you have hit it, and yet not altogether, for ’tis a woman that hath brought me to this pass, and yet not as you imagine it, for I pretended to her hand in an honourable manner, and she used me better than I deserved. ’Twas my situation and hers made my pretensions dishonourable.”

“Tush!” says he; “_dishonourable honour_, what is this? Or do you prefer your doings to be named _honourable dishonour_? Riddle me no riddles, Ned. _Many stumble at a straw and leap over a blocke_, and I fear lest your honour have brought you perilous near to dishonour. But tell me your tale, and let me hear of your hairbreadth ’scapes and most disastrous chances, and I’ll help you in so far as my conscience will suffer me. Who is the female you speak of, and how hath she brought you into trouble?”

But this seeming to me to reflect somewhat upon Madam Heliodora, whose name and reputation I must ever hold sacred, I made haste to tell Mr Martin with some heat all my history, which he had picked up wrong from my first words, and he listened with prodigious attention, nodding and wagging his head at times, but saying little.

“Ah, Ned, Ned!” quoth he at last, “I would we had never sent you to Goa, and yet, as the proverb saith, _Bought wit is best_. Perhaps ’tis these very trials that are to make a man of you in time.”

“Nay, sir, when am I to be a man if not now?” asked I.

“Now? when you are still slighting your solemn engagement with your cousin, and all for the sake of a presumptuous passion that sprung up in a week?” said he. “When you are treasuring all manner of spite against this French lady and her friends for their share in your undoing, and even against that nobleman to whom she is betrothed, that never injured you, save unwittingly by the fact of his living at all? No, lad, I shan’t account you a man until you show yourself one. When you award blame to yourself instead of to these other persons, and are ready to atone, so far as may be, for your fault, then I shall esteem you a man, and worthy to win a woman’s love.”

I was silent from very shame, for Mr Martin had read my thoughts better than I myself, and they looked black enough when he uttered them aloud. He laid his hand upon my shoulder kindly--

“I spake lightly at my first seeing you, Ned, calling you a man grown. This you an’t yet, but I hope to see you one. There is much for you to learn yet, and it may be to suffer, but _He runneth far, that never turneth againe_.”

Thus did this good man gently admonish me, with all imaginable kindness, at a time when (God knows), I needed both counsel and admonition only too much. For, when working hours was over, and Mr Martin would fain have carried me to his own lodging, there to tarry until my own former chamber could be prepared for me, there come one from his honour the President (to whom Mr Martin had sent intelligence of my return), desiring me to consider myself as suspended from the Company’s service until such time as the Council might sit upon my case, and deliberate whether I was to be restored to my room or not. And this seemed to me but a piece of formality, though a strange one; but Mr Martin looked grave thereat, and showed himself more concerned than I had looked for. Howbeit, he found me a lodging in one of the guest-chambers for that night, and did also send back to me my old servant Loll Duss, whom he had kept all this while in his own service for his faithfulness to me. And at supper I had the honour to make the acquaintance of divers of the gentlemen that were arrived in the factory since I had left Surat, and likewise to present myself afresh to the knowledge of those that I had seen before. The President I did but salute in passing him, and likewise Mr Secretary, that sat at his honour’s table, and possessed his ear. One or two persons among those present (and notably Mr Spender), showed themselves somewhat cold towards me, but the greater part, following the lead of Mr Martin, did discourse with me very agreeably, and were mighty desirous to hear of my adventures.

Now the next day, when the Council sat, I was summoned before them for to give account of myself, and quickly perceived that ’twas well for me that I had Mr Martin for my helper, since Mr President was prodigiously evil affected towards me. I could not forbear crediting some of this ill-will of his to Mr Spender, that was present for to assist Mr Secretary, so that they two had plenty of chances to turn his honour against me, but I would not forget myself so far as to declare my belief before the Council. And indeed, now that I am come to consider the matter calmly, I can’t but perceive that there was nothing extraordinary in all this precaution, if they believed the tales they had heard touching me, for it was hinted (I don’t know by whom), that I was escaped from the Inquisition by denying my faith and betraying the Company’s secrets. On the contrary part was there at present only my bare word, and I can’t be surprised that the Council hesitated to believe so singular and monstrous a tale, the like of which had scarce ever been heard before, either in England or the Indies.

But at that time I was extreme hot and indignant that some proof of my story was demanded, beyond my own word, and I might have gone on to have grievously damaged my own cause by my intemperate words, had not my good friend Mr Martin once more come to my help. For this excellent man offered immediately to be bound for me, and to answer for my conversation and general trustworthiness until Captain Freeman should be returned from his voyage into Bengall, when he with his ship’s crew might testify to the truth of my relation. And this the Council did accept, and further allowed Mr Martin to use me in the business under his own eye, he seeing to’t that the Company took no damage. And this decided, we returned to Mr Martin’s lodging, where I threw myself in anger into a great chair.

“Sure, sir,” says I, “I’m worse off, now that my word is doubted, than even that king I have once heard you speak on, for I have lost all, and honour beside.”

“Nay,” says he, “your honour can’t be took from you, without you allow it. Do you be careful to keep it safe.”

“But how to withstand the power of slander?” I asked.

“I’ll allow,” says he, “that the accusation as to the manner of your escape comes as from an enemy, for _Malice never speaks well_. But for the rest, ’tis but a reasonable precaution, and I will see to’t that when Captain Freeman is returned to prove your honesty, this time shall be credited to you as a part of your service. You have in me, Ned, _a friend in court_, and he, saith the proverb, _is worth a penny in purse_. So be of good cheer, remembering that _As a man is friended, so the law is ended_.”

Having received this assurance, I found my heart something lighter, and I went to work with such zest as delighted Mr Martin, though he knew not, as I supposed, that ’twas chiefly done that I might have no leisure left for thought. I took much advantage from his ripe experience and long knowledge of the Eastern trade, and he was wont to tell me, laughing, that I bid fair to be as keen a merchant as himself. Having some knowledge of French, I was often sent to carry through any needful business with the gentlemen at the French Factory, whom I found very agreeable, but more of merchants and less of soldiers than those I had seen at St Thomas. I had heard from Mr Martin and others that they wan’t well liked among us, being regarded as interlopers, and also because they had assisted Sevi Gi with fusees and powder on his second coming hither in the year 1669-70, when again our poor Englishmen were shut up in the Factory, which they defended with great obstinacy, and so beat him off. And beside this also, the French suffered the Morattys to march through their factory to attack part of the town and a certain Prince of Tartary that had his lodging there, which put them in very ill odour both with the Moguls and with us, but for this they cared little, being set upon an alliance with Sevi Gi, after the design conceived by my lord Marquis of Tourvel.

Now after I had been near six months back at Surat, there come one day a message saying that the Boscobel had cast anchor in Swally Road, and an _hackery_ was sent at once for to fetch Captain Freeman to be examined by the Council touching my matter, without any speech had betwixt us. And he, though greatly astonished to hear of my safety and return, did so stoutly declare me to have escaped from imminent peril and death at Goa, and that not by recantation, but by God’s working with him and his crew, that the Council became convinced, and sending a messenger to summon me to their presence, informed me that I was restored to my place in the Company’s service. But this wan’t all I demanded, for I should by rights, without that journey of mine to Goa on the Company’s occasions, and all that followed it, have been by now a senior factor, with the hope to become a full merchant in two years or so. And this I had often spoken of with Mr Martin, and did now again, both with him and with my other good friend, Captain Freeman, until Mr Martin declared that something must be done, and offered to undertake the matter for me. Having then in his hands all my savings, which had been much increased by his care during my absence, he demanded of the Council that I should be permitted to enter into the bond of £1000 that is required of a factor, and be placed in the same situation as I should naturally have held had all gone well, receiving also pay for all the time of my absence.

Now when Mr Martin had told me what he had asked, I cried out in amazement at this monstrous demand, but he smiling said that a man ought always to ask twice as much as he hoped to receive, for then there was some chance of his getting the half. And capping this, as was his wont, with the proverb, _’Tis good riding at two anchors, men have told; for if the one faile, the other may hold_, he disarmed my opposition and maintained his point. And the Council demurring to his proposition, as he had expected, though the President, Mr Secretary not being beside him to poison his ear, did not show himself so averse from it as might have been looked for, Mr Martin did argue the matter with ’em, so that at last they came to an agreement. By this instrument I stood to receive only the pay of a writer for the past six months since my return, and none at all for the time of my absence, after my falling into the hands of the Inquisition, but I was to be made at once a senior factor, and after serving my three years in that situation, was to receive promotion in due course. In the arranging this equitable settlement Mr Martin gave himself no small pains, and was very eager about it until all was agreed, and the record thereof sent home to be approved by the Committee in London. But when this was all done, there come upon me a strange restlessness and misanthropy, so that I would fain have fled into the wilderness, to be away from all men, and yet I must needs labour continually for to keep myself from thinking. And Mr Martin, seeing this, cast about for some means to relieve me, but found none at first. But at length, perceiving that the ceremony and sociableness of the life in the Factory was very displeasing to me, he spake to Mr President in my behalf, and gat me appointed to a post in our house at Amidavat.[100] Now this is a town that lies some way inland from Surat, on the road to the emperor’s great city of Agra, and a place of some importance. And sending me here, where there was but two or three white men beside myself, he trusted I should find the solitude I desired, for ’tis a strange thing in the Indies that when you are once become accustomed to the native Indosthans around you, you heed their presence little more than if they were dogs or cats.

I went, then, to Amidavat, being grateful to my good friend for his kindness, but guessing little of his sorrow on parting with me, that was like a son to him. “_He must needs goe that the devill drives_, Ned,” says he to me, with the water standing in his eyes, the while he bid me farewell; “and I fear lest the devil had driven you into some harm, had you abode here. At Amidavat, whither you go, there is more hard work, and less chance of evil companions, but you may come to ruin even there, if you will let the devil drive you, instead of yourself driving him away.”

Now I don’t purpose to describe particularly the three years that I did spend at Amidavat, for although, through the goodness of God, I did not come to ruin, yet I approached tolerably near thereto, falling under the assault of such temptations as everywhere await a young man when he hath some time of his own, and little hope nor fixed faith for to guide him past ’em. It seemed to me that my life was ended, or at least all the happiness on’t, before it was well begun, and that I had naught to which to look forward, and this bred in me such a coldness and deadness of spirit as made me do ill because I had no care to do well. And yet, although in these three years I did many things the recollection whereof now makes me sorry, and many also whereof I am now ashamed, it is false to say that I behaved myself unfaithfully towards my employers, or that I was at all slack as regarded business. For with respect to the first, the confidence wherewith I was afterwards honoured by the Committee is a sufficient answer, and for the second, that my own wealth grew in a surprising manner. To heap up money, that I might fulfil my father’s desire, was now my only endeavour, and ’twas to fill up the hours when I could not well be making money, that I resorted to those pursuits whereto I have alluded. And moreover, for my credit’s sake, I must say also this, that even in my most desponding and careless hours, the recollection of Madam Heliodora and her last words to me would come back into my mind, and this remembrance did hold me back from some sins that I might otherwise have committed.

Now while speaking of Madam Heliodora, I must not omit to set down a matter that did cause me much concern--viz., that about the end of the year 1674 news reached us at Amidavat that St Thomas was fallen at last into the hands of the Dutch, but with such credit to the besieged that ’twas permitted ’em to march out with all the honours of war, and to proceed whither they would. And upon this certain of them did repair to the vicinage of Gingee, in the kingdom of Visiapour, where they had obtained a grant of land from the king of the place, and did set up there a town called Phoolcherry.[101] Others of them came to Surat, to their own factory there, but on enquiring of ’em concerning my lord marquis and his household, I learned that he had been summoned back to France, and was departed thither, but whether upon a sealed letter or not I can’t tell, and with him his family. And for this I was much grieved, both for the failure of so great and fair-seeming an enterprise, and also that Madam Heliodora was now so far removed from me.

Now about six months before my time at Amidavat was expired, there come to me such a piece of news as might well have caused me to repent of my evil deeds and resolve to lead a better life, but God suffered me to go on still in my ungrateful courses, that my punishment might be the more grievous when it came. For I received a great packet of letters from England, some of ’em wrote a year and a half, and others but nine months ago (the first sort having been delayed on the high seas owing to some mischance that befell the vessel carrying ’em), but the burden of them all was the same, for they brought me the news that my father was dead. And this, as you may suppose, came upon me prodigious sharp and sudden in the midst of my toiling and sparing for to gather together the moneys that my father had looked for, but the more so by reason of this--viz., that I had had no letters wrote from Ellswether since I sent that one from St Thomas, boasting of my presumptuous hopes, nor in my own letters had I been able to bring myself to explain and describe the destruction of these hopes, but had wrote of indifferent matters without so much as making mention of ’em, although I had feared that my father would be sore troubled touching me. I had intended at some time in the future, when the pain of my rejection was less poignant, to write and declare to him the whole affair, and my present situation, but this was now removed out of my power by death.

The letter earliest in time was wrote by my cousin Dorothy:--

Sir,--I had not trobl’d You wit. ys. my poore Hand, weare itt not for ye mornfull Accident yt. ’tis fitter forr mee yn. for an Other to mak knowen too You. Yr. honred. Father, Syr _Harry Carrlion_, is no moer, hauing departed out of ys. Lyfe ye 10th Daie of ys. last Moneth. Wee being wth. him continuelly had observ’d a grate Chaunge in hys Condicons of late, noting yt. hee was become strangely gentle & quiett, sighg. often too Hym Selfe in his slow Walkyng in ye Garrden on his Crotches. Allsoe since yr. Letters was arriv’d, yt. weare wrote at _St Thomas_, it seem’d too us yt. Sirr _Harry_ did desire to write to You, getting out oftimes Penn & Paper, & prepareg. too beginn, bot nevr. beginning. And I asking if it shd. pleas hym yt. I writ forr hym, hee saith No, for yt. he shd. see You before Long. And ys. Asssurc. growing vpon Him, he was wont to spend moch Tyme in ye Arbour at ye End of ye Fir Walke, yt. lookes over ye Rode, watching agst. Your Comming. Being becom at last soe feable as he myght not leaue ye House, he satt all Day beside ye Windowe lookyng on ye Aproch, saying yt. he beleeu’d You was coming. Yn. alsoe, wn. he was seis’d wit. a Retorn of yt. old Disorder yt. had plag’d hym in his Campayns of _Germany_, he desir’d mee to sett open ye Dore of ye Chambre, soe yt. hee might heere You mountg. ye Staires. And I, seeing yt. he was not long for ys. Werld, did ask of hym some Message for You, for Feare least You shd. not be in Time to see hym. And hee, giuing mee his Blessing most swetely & fatherly, dyd sende ye same to You allso, bidding You (said he), bee a brave & honrable Man, & shew yr. Silf worthie.… Now on ye last Daie of his Lyfe, hee wander’d sore in his Mynde, spekyng as if too ye late Kynge & to Others yt. bee now dead. Bot at last, sitting upp & speaking veray loud & strong, “_Nedd_ is com,” saith he; “I heare hym on ye Staire.” And wee, looking yt. Way yt. he pointed, sawe no One, bot returning too hym, found him falln back deade, all ye Chambre & Bedd being still hong wit. Blacke, as alwaies since yr. Moder dy’d.

For Consolacon, Sir, wt. can I offer You in ye Losse of soch a Part., bot too remember yt. hee departed full of ye greatest Lov & Kindness toward You, & is now, without Doubt, tho’ abst. from Us, yet happily prest. wit. yr. dere Mother & all ye Blest? You haue ye Praiers of yr. poore Cosin in ys. sadd Afflicktion.

Understand mee, Sir, to remayn yr. faithfull Servt.,

D. Brandon.

With this come two letters from my father’s attorney, Mr Sternhold, the first wrote not long after my cousin’s, and confirming her narration, adding also that they had buried my father in the church at Ellswether beside my mother, and that many persons of quality in the neighbourhood had followed in the funeral with great respect. The second was wrote eight or nine months later, and contained a full relation of the posture of my father’s affairs, and the condition of the estate. And after this come a piece that did bring the water to my eyes, for to see the sadness and perplexity that I had brought upon that my good father, although that which followed drew me back again to my former state of hardness and despondency.

As often (writ Mr Sternhold) as I was admitted of late to the Presence of your Honour’s Father, my esteem’d Patron, I perceiv’d that he was desirous to draw up some Instrument or Deede that might have a binding Effect, and by certain Words that he once let drop I saw that he wish’d to make some Provision for Mrs _Brandon_, his Ward. Being of Opinnion (doubtless on the best Authority), that you, Sir, were minded to set aside your Contract enter’d into with that Lady, Sir _Harry_ desir’d to secure to her some Maintenance that should not be dependent upon your Honour’s Generositie, since this should doubtless be disagreeable to her. ’Twas the Impossibility of laying any further Burthen on the Estate that convinc’d him that he could not do this, and I fear it added some Sorrow to his last dayes, tho’ I believe that he need not have troubl’d him Selfe with Regard to this yong Gentlewoman. For to you, honour’d Sir, I may say with all Discretion, that during my late mournfull Vizitts at _Ellswether_, I have grown more and more sensible of the Perfections of Mrs _Brandon_, who is now growne into such splendour of Form and such surpassing Loveliness of Countenance as to be without any Equall, and that others are affected like My selfe, and to more Purpose. Tho’ no Fortune, the young Lady hath, by Reason of her Beauty and her Witt, as many Lovers as she can well intertain. Among ’em is my young Lord _Harmarthwaite_ him Selfe, who, with my Lady his Mother, vizited upon me the t’other Day, and sent, thro’ me, as her nearest Guardian, a most handsome Compliment to Mrs _Brandon_. His Lordshipp declar’d himselfe willing to espouse her without a Peny, nay, my Lady assur’d me he would wed her in her Smock if need were, and be proud at that. My Lady shew’d herself as well enclin’d to the Match as her Sonn, saying that she should be proud to receive into her Family a Lady of whose Parts and Prudence she had heard so much, whispering me allso that she would make Interest, thro’ my Lord _Harrington_ her Bro., with his Ma’tie to revive the Barony of _Brandon_ in Favour of my Lord and Mrs _Dorothy_, so leving a fine Inheritance to their Children. But this Proposition of Marriage Mrs _Brandon_ declin’d, as she hath done all other, tho’ I felt it my Duty to counsell her to entertayn this one. Some says upon this Matter that she is aiming at my Lord Duke of _London_ (Son to your Honour’s ancient Patron), who greatly commended both her Figure and her Dancing at the great Ball danc’d at _Belfort_ Castle some Time since, and some that her Heart is given to a certain Gentleman at present in Forrayn Parts, that shall be nameless.

“Alack, poor little Doll!” quoth I, when I had read this, “thou art well enough, in truth, but not for him that hath loved Madam Heliodora de Tourvel. Thy English ways should show poor indeed beside her languorous grace. Make thy choice while ’tis in thy power. Thy lordly servant[102] shall suit thee better than thy poor cousin.”

Thus you shall see how despitefully I used this jewel, for the which I had afterwards willingly given all I possessed, if I might thereby gain it. Such poor blind creatures are we mortals, that cast aside the diamond in our path for the glowing bubble that Fortune holds beyond our reach!