Chapter III: Part 3

His attentions became as necessary to her soul, as aliments of food are to the support of the body, while the respectful distance of his behaviour proved to her his passion was controlled by his respect.

Some surmises were at length insinuated to Mr Lee, to his wife's dishonour. He paid little attention to them--but coming home one night flushed with wine, and finding Mr Villars alone at supper with her, (no unusual matter, and by his own request) he drew his sword, and wounded him before he had time to defend himself! Mrs Lee fainted away----on her recovery she removed herself from a house to which no entreaties on his part could prevail on her to return--declaring she would live no longer with a man who could at once suspect her virtue, endanger his friend's life, and ruin her reputation.

The world talked differently about this affair. Should not the example of the law be followed, which is so tender in criminal cases, that delinquents are often found _not guilty_, for want of legal evidence, at the same time that the court, the jury, and every one present at the trial feel the strongest _moral_ conviction of their _guilt_? Scandal on the contrary always gives its most important and fatal decisions from _appearances_ and _suppositions_, though reputation is dearer to a woman of honor than life itself. Mrs Lee experienced the malevolence of her own sex particularly. What, said they, could engage Mr Villars to devote all his time to her? is not friendship between a man and a woman a chimera, the mark of a passion which honor or self-interest bids them conceal? But whilst the world represented this affair in the worst colours, Lady Frances wrote her an affectionate letter, offering her assistance, and begging she would communicate her real situation, that she might the more effectually be enabled to serve her; to which Mrs Lee returned the following answer.

'Dear Madam.

I received the honor of your letter, and find myself elevated by
your notice--if there can be pride that ranks with virtues, it is
that we feel from friendships with the worthy. The liberal sentiments
you express, are a proof of the goodness of your heart----I have ever
thought that to believe the worst is a mark of a mean spirit, and a
wicked soul; at least I am sure, that the contrary quality, when it
is not due to weakness of understanding, is the fruit of a generous
temper. In return for your generosity, I will lay open my whole heart
to you; and if in consequence I lose your esteem, I shall at least
have the satisfaction resulting from a consciousness of my candour.
This is a liberty I should have taken before, had it not proceeded
from the timidity I felt in unbosoming myself to one whose virtues
I dreaded, and in discovering _my weakness_ to one who I think has
_none of her own_. Your ladyship knows the trials I suffered for many
years; my conduct under the severest mortifications human nature could
sustain. I was wounded in my affections, condemned and insulted in
my person, impoverished in my circumstances: I still had strength of
mind to regulate myself so as to meet your approbation: no species
of calamity was unknown to me, nor were there wanting those of the
other sex, who judged from my situation they might have a chance of
succeeding with me, if I was weak enough to listen to them--but they
soon gave up the pursuit, judging the excess of my misfortunes had
hardened my heart entirely against certain impressions. But this was
so far from being the case, that my sorrows, my sufferings, rendered
my heart (naturally tender) more susceptible of that refined passion,
which, when dignified by respect, and softened by tenderness, found so
ready access to it[24].

In short, circumstanced as I was, if it is a crime to love, I am
very culpable! but had I unfortunately proceeded to any act contrary
to my engagements with Mr Lee, I myself would have acquainted him with
it, though, in the opinion of many, he would not have deserved so much
candour from me.

This being the real state of the case, I flatter myself your
ladyship will think me more _weak_ than _wicked_, more _frail_ than
_culpable_, more _unfortunate_ than _indiscreet_. And I must now
acquaint you, that I am determined never to return to my husband--I
have consulted my reason on this subject, and when we have done
so, whatever the decision be, whether in favour of our prejudices,
or against them, we must rest satisfied, since nothing can be more
certain than this, that he who follows that guide in the search of
truth, as that was given to direct him, will have a much better plea
to make for his conduct, than he who has resigned himself implicitly
to the guidance of others. My maxim is, our understanding, _properly_
exercised, is the _medium_ by which God makes known his _will_ to us;
and that in all _cases_, the voice of impartial reason is the _voice
of_ God. Were my marriage even to be annulled, all the theologians
in the world could not prove the least impiety in it.--Milton wrote
_the doctrine and discipline of divorce_; wherein he proves, that a
contrariety of mind, destructive of felicity, peace, and happiness,
are greater reasons of divorce than adultery, especially if there be
no children, and there be a mutual consent for separation.

He dedicated the second edition to the parliament of England, with
the assembly of divines----The latter summoned him before the house
of Lords, who, whether approving his doctrine, or not favouring his
accusers, dismissed him. Necessary and just causes have necessary and
just consequences: what error and disaster joined, reason and equity
should disjoin.

I see no reason why those who upon the evidence of more than
fourteen years experience are unsuited to each other, _joined_
not _matched_, should live disagreeably together, and exist
miserably--merely for the inadequate satisfaction of exulting upon
the degree of their patience in having to say they did _not part_.
A person may mistake in fixing love without knowledge of the party,
but he cannot err that finds cause to dislike from woeful experience.
It is, indeed, convenient for the lords of the creation to inculcate
another doctrine, upon the same principles that the extreme and
timorous attention to his own security made James I. very anxious
to infuse into his subjects the belief of divine hereditary right,
and a scrupulous unreserved obedience _to the power which God had
set over them_. Mr Villars, who is now reconciled with my husband,
has written to intercede in his behalf, assuring me of his penitence
and affection. Boileau has observed, that it is an easy matter in a
_Christian poem_ for _God_ to bring _the devil to reason_. Could I
believe that all my husband did, were the effects of love, it would
not in the least alter my resolution, since I should consider a
person whose affection had such dreadful effects, as dangerous to
my repose, as one whose anger was implacable.----What signifies it
to me whether it be love or hatred by which I suffer, if the danger
and inconvenience be the same? I am certain were we to live together
again, whenever we met we should as naturally quarrel as the elephant
and the rhinoceros. Reconciliations in the marriage state, after
violent breaches, are seldom lasting, and after what has passed
between us, like the father of the gods and the queen of heaven, we
shall be the best company when _asunder_.

He says his conduct proceeded from an excess of love! I desire to
be subject no more to such excesses! I am content to be moderately
beloved; nor shall I ever again give occasion for such extraordinary
proofs of affection. Were I to act otherwise, it would afford too much
encouragement for the men to use their wives ill. _Too good subjects
are apt to make bad kings._ He has my consent to live with any
woman who can delight in such a _loving husband_, while I will force
him to esteem my conduct, and irritate his animosity by declining a
reconciliation. We are tired with perpetual gratitude, and perpetual
hatred.----He wishes to be reconciled to me, not from any religious
motive, or return of affection, his animosity being still the
same--but because he is tired of acting the part of a provoked husband.

I am piqued at Mr Villars's interesting himself in this matter. I
shall not answer his letter for a week; I mistrust my own vivacity.

Our imagination is often our greatest enemy: I am striving to weary
mine before I act. Business like fruit hath its time of maturity,
and we should not think of dispatching it while it is half ripe. The
Cardinal de Retz said, 'I have all my life-time held men in greater
esteem for what they forbore to do on some occasions than for what
they did.'

I have here a most delightful dwelling----It is thatched, and
covered on every side with roses, wood-bines, and honey-suckles,
surrounded with a garden of the most artful confusion. The streams all
around murmur, and fall a thousand ways. A great variety of birds are
here collected, and are in high harmony on the sprays. The ruins of an
abbey enhance the beauties of this place: they appear at the distance
of four hundred yards from the house; and as some great trees are now
grown up among the remains, and a river winds among the broken walls,
the view is solemn, the picture fine. Here I often meditate on my
misfortunes.

'There is a joy in grief when peace dwells
in the breast of the sad.'
OSSIAN'S Poems.

Sadness receives so many eulogiums in the scripture, that it is easy
to judge, that if it be not of the number of the virtues, it may be
usefully employed in their service----and it may be truly observed,
that without experiencing sorrow, we should never know life's true
value.

About a mile above the house is a range of very high hills, the
sight of which renders me less incredulous of the accounts of Olympus,
and mount Athos. Hygeia resides here, and dispenses the chief
blessings of life, ease and health. I will pass my days in sweet
tranquillity and study.

'In either place 'tis folly to complain,
The mind, and not the place, creates the pain.'
HORACE, lib. i. epist. 14.

Could I flatter myself I should ever be honored by your presence,
how happy I should be!----Your eye, I am sure, would catch pleasure
while it measures the surrounding landscape (even at this season
of the year) of russet lawns and grey fallows, on which stray the
nibbling flocks: the mountains too, which seem to support the
labouring clouds, add sublimity to the charming scene. When I take a
walk after a sedentary occupation, I feel a sensible pleasure; rest
in its turn becomes agreeable, if it has been preceded by a moderate
fatigue. Every action of our lives may be converted into a kind of
pleasure, if it is but well timed: Life owes all its joys to this
well-adapted succession; and he will never enjoy its true relish,
who does not know to blend pleasure with dissipation. I ask pardon
for detaining your ladyship so long--My cousin Lord Darnley has been
to see, and admires my cottage.--I perceive plainly he flatters
himself that you will one day make him happy. I do not presume to
offer my advice; it would be imitating the savage chief, who marks
out to the sun the course it is to take----but surely his respectful,
uninterrupted attachment deserves your consideration. Were I not
perfectly convinced of his worth and sincerity, I should be _the last_
person to speak in his behalf. The bitterness of conjugal repentance,
which I have experienced, is beyond all others poignant; and happy it
is if _disunion_, rather than perpetual _disagreement_, results from
it.

I ever am your ladyship's
Obliged and affectionate friend,
LUCY LEE.'

Lady Frances returned Mrs Lee immediately the following answer.

'Dear Madam, Munster-house.

I return you many thanks for the confidence you honored me with;
and I sincerely sympathize with you on the many disagreeable events
that have occurred to you. If my approbation can confer on you any
satisfaction, you possess it in a very eminent degree: for though I
cannot approve of your sentiments concerning divorce, etc. yet your
conduct in your family was exemplary.

There is no reasoning about the motions of the heart. Reflection and
sensation are extremely different--our affections are not in our own
power, though yours seem to have been under proper regulations.

I am not surprised at the calumny you met with. Many people stoop
to the baseness of discovering in a person distinguished by eminent
qualities, the weaknesses of humanity, while there is scarcely to be
found an honest heart, who knows how to render a noble and sincere
homage to another's superiority. I acknowledge myself guilty with
respect to you, of a too common instance of injustice, that of
desiring that others would always _conduct themselves_ by our maxims!
I am the more culpable, as I entirely agree with you in thinking that
all our actions should proceed from the fixed principles we have
adopted. I never pay a blind deference to the judgment of any man, or
any body of men whatever. I cannot acquiesce in a decision, however
formidable made by numbers, where my own reason is not satisfied. When
the mind has no _data_, no settled principles to which it may recur
as the rule of action, the agent can feel little or no satisfaction
within himself, and society can have no moral security whatever
against him.

The most permanent, the most pleasing enjoyment the human soul is
capable of entertaining, is that which arises from a consciousness
of having acted up to that standard of rectitude which we conceive
to be the proper measure of our duty: and the best grounds on which
we can expect others to place confidence in us, is the assurance we
give them that we act under the influence of such moral obligations.
This principle has influenced my conduct: and as you say you are
absolutely determined never to live with your husband again; although
my sentiments do not correspond with yours on that head, I will add
nothing further on that subject, but refer you to certain passages
in scripture, which I think on sober reflection must invalidate your
present opinion[25].

The caprice you have often tacitly blamed me for respecting Lord
Darnley, had you known the motives for, you would have approved--I
will now in reward for your candour _to me_ be equally sincere _with
you_--trusting to your honor, that you will not _divulge_ what is it
so material to me to _conceal_.

At the time I agreed to give Lord Darnley my hand, I was at liberty
to indulge my inclinations, and to devote myself entirely to him:
But on my father's death, when I found the estate in my possession,
I considered myself as mother to my brother's children. This was my
motive for rejecting the man I (_did_, and do _now_) fondly love: who
by his generous and friendly, his respectful and tender behaviour,
deserves every thing from me. Whoever pretends to be without passions,
censures the wisdom of that Power which made him; and if men of sense
(for they alone are capable of refined pleasure) would so far admit
love, as not to exclude their necessary and more important duties,
they need not be ashamed to indulge one of the most valuable blessings
of an innocent life. I honor the married state: and have high ideas of
the happiness resulting from an union of hearts. Domestic society is
founded on the union betwixt husband and wife. Among all the civilized
nations, this union hath been esteemed sacred and honorable; and from
it are derived those exquisite joys, or sorrows, which can embitter
all the pleasures, or alleviate all the pains in human life. The
heart has but a certain degree of sensibility, which we ought to be
economists of. Lord Darnley engrossed my whole soul; nothing could
afford me any pleasure which had no reference to him.--He was ever
uppermost in my thoughts, and I bestowed only a secondary reflection
on all other subjects.

I could have cheerfully, for his _conversation_, abandoned all
society on earth beside, and have been more blessed, than if, for
them, I had been deprived of _his_. But if we suffer one particular
duty (even the worship of the Deity) to engross us entirely, or even
to encroach upon the rest, we make but a very imperfect essay towards
religion, or virtue; and are still at a considerable distance from
the business of a moral agent. "The dial that mistells one hour, of
consequence is false through the whole round of day."

_Virtue_, in my acceptation, is nothing else than that principle
by which our actions are _intentionally directed_, to produce good,
to the several objects of our free agency. I was aware, that it was
not only necessary that I should mean to act a right part, and take
the best way which could direct me to effect it, but that I should
previously take those measures which were in my power to acquire the
knowledge of my duty, and of the weaknesses I had to guard against.
I was sensible, that, had I given my hand to Lord Darnley, I would
have been defective in the duties incumbent on me to my own family:--
Love would have taken entire possession of my soul, and shut up the
avenues of my heart against every other sentiment. Upon this occasion
I felt how justly the sacrifice of our own happiness is placed among
the highest virtues. How painful must it be to the most generous
heart! Men lose their lives to honor--I relinquished my love--the
life of life. I am sensible I have been condemned for permitting him
to be so much with me: but what recompence can the world bestow on
me, for relinquishing the society of a real and tender friend? Common
attachments, the shadows of friendship, the issue of chance, or
fantastic likings, _rashly cemented_, may as hastily be _dissolved_:
but mine has had the purest virtue for its basis, and will subsist
whilst vital breath in me remains. My affections are founded on those
amiable qualities, which are seldom united, and therefore but little
liable to be displaced. My partiality is founded on esteem: take away
the cause, the effect will cease. The dread of the world has never yet
withheld me from following the bent of my own inclinations, and the
dictates of my own heart, not the dread of censure ever influenced my
conduct.

Your mention of his continued attachment is highly flattering, and
very pleasing--There you touched the tenderest springs of my heart,
bring me down to all the softness of my sex, and press upon me a crowd
of tender, lovely, ideas--

If the consciousness of good-will to others, though inactive, be
highly delightful, what a superior joy have I not experienced, my
dear friend, in exerting this disposition, in acts of beneficence!
Is not this the supreme enjoyment in nature? It is true, the great
works I have carried on, the encouragement I have given to learning,
the manufactories I have introduced into this kingdom, etc. etc. have
procured me the suffrage of the world, and may transmit my name down
to posterity. But what flatters me most is, that if I have acquired
any fame, it is derived from the man I love. My acquaintance with him,
has been a happiness to my mind, because it has improved and exalted
its powers. The epithet of _great_, so liberally bestowed on princes,
would, in most cases, if narrowly scanned, belong rather to their
ministers. Unassisted by Agrippa and Mecænas, where should we have
placed Augustus? What is the history of Lewis XIII. but the shining
acts of Richelieu? Lewis XIV. was indeed a great king; but the Condés,
the Turennes, as well as the Luvois, and Colberts, had no small share
in acquiring the glories of his reign. In all situations of life, it
is of great consequence to make a right choice of those we confide
in--It is on that choice our own glory and peace depend.--But it is
still more so to princes, or persons of large property. A private man
will find a thousand persons ready to open his eyes, by reproaching
him with the wrong steps into which bad advice drew him; whereas
courtiers, or those who are interested, approve and applaud whatever
the prince or the great person does. An ingenious courtier replied to
his friend, who upbraided him with his too great complaisance for the
emperor who had made bad verses, which he commended; "Would you have
me have more sense than a man who commands twelve legions, and can
banish me?"

That day my nephew is of age, I shall assign over his estate, and
acquaint him of his obligations to Lord Darnley, to whom, at the same
time, I shall offer my hand, if I have reason then to think it shall
be agreeable to him. If it should not, I shall be mortified, though I
shall not deck my brow with the plaintive willow. I need not tell you
how agreeable it will be for me to see you at this place, which is
considerably improved since you were here last. This day month I give
a feast, in imitation of the Saturnalia[26]; make me happy by your
presence on that occasion.

I remain, with great esteem,
Your affectionate friend,

FRANCES FINLAY.

Mrs Lee, soon after the receipt of the above letter, came to Munster-house, where she generally resided during the winter months, (after her separation from her husband) retiring to her cottage in Wales, in the summer.

Lady Frances had always a select number of friends with her. Notwithstanding her passion for music, she kept the performers in their own line; and though she venerated the liberal sciences, and contributed so largely to their cultivation, their several professors only waited on her by invitation: by this means she had it always in her power to suit her company, and never to be intruded on; as the best things are irksome to those whose inclinations, tastes, and humours, they do not suit.

I have already mentioned Mrs Norden, who had the care of Lady Frances's education, and who now continued to reside with her: this Lady's seriousness was happily contrasted with Lady Eliza's sprightliness, while Lady Frances's scientifical knowledge was agreeably relieved by the strokes of nature observable in Mrs Lee--who declared she had never read, or studied, any more than to assist her decyphering what was incumbent her _to understand_. 'I hate your wise ones,' said she, 'there is no opinion so absurd but it has been mentioned by some philosopher.' She is nature itself, without disguise, quite original disdaining all imitation, even in her dress, which is simple but unaffected. She plays most divinely on the fiddle. Her genius for music is sublime and universal. She holds the fiddle like a man, and produces music in all its genuine charms, raising the soul into the finest affections.

An aunt and sister of Sir Harry Bingley's were also much at Munster-house. Miss Bingley was of the same age with Lady Eliza: to the charms of a regular beauty she joins all those of a cultivated mind, together with a disposition replete with candor, and a turn for ridicule; two things rarely joined together--as a calm dispassionate love of truth, with a disposition to examine carefully, and judge impartially, with a love of diverting one's self at other people's expense, seldom meet together in the same mind. Mrs Dorothea Bingley is a maiden lady of fifty, possessed of a large independent fortune, which she proposes to bestow on her niece. She was in her youth very handsome: but having lived all her life in the country, she derived all her ideas of love from the heroic romance. To talk to her of love was a capital offence. Her rigour must be melted by the blood of giants, necromancers, and paynim knights. She expected, that, for her sake, they would retire to desarts, mourn her cruelty, _subsist_ on _nothing_, and make light of scampering over impassable mountains, and riding through unfordable rivers, without recollecting, that, while the imagination of the lover is linked to this _muddy vesture of decay_, she must now and then condescend to partake of the carnality of the vivres of the shambles.

Those of the other sex who were mostly at Munster-house, were, Lord Darnley, Sir Harry Bingley, Sir James Mordaunt, etc. etc. etc. Great marriages had been proposed to Lady Frances; but she had ceased long to be importuned on that head. When Lord Munster was of age she gave a splendid entertainment to the neighbourhood, which finished with a ball. The day after she shewed her nephew the state of her affairs, when she succeeded to the estate: and that, exclusive of the buildings, etc. etc. she had already doubled it: that the perpetual burdens she had entailed on it, did not amount to one quarter of the advanced rents, which would continue to encrease: that she had put aside for Lady Eliza's fortune fifty thousand pounds, and an equivalent sum for herself, and then with great pleasure resigned the remainder to his Lordship, who she was happy to find so worthy of filling the place of his ancestors. She at the same time acquainted him with her motives for concealing her intentions in his favor, and that, had she seen him addicted to any irregularities, she would not have assigned over the property so soon to him--as the law of this country does not interfere like that of France, where, if a person, before he attains the age of twenty-five, wastes his fortune by anticipation, or other means, and is in a fair way of ruining himself, and, perhaps, his family; the government interposes: guardians of his estate are appointed, and his person may be detained in custody till he arrives at that age; but _there_ the jurisdiction stops. The acknowledgments of Lord Munster are easier to be conceived, than expressed--he concluded by saying, 'he hoped Lady Frances would always consider Munster-house as still her own, and make it her principle residence!' She smiled, and looking to Lord Darnley, said, 'Having my lord performed my duty to this family; it is now in my power to make myself happy by conforming to your wishes--Sixteen years ago, I had singly an engagement to fulfil; but I have now a breach of it to repair.' Lord Darnley's joy may easily be supposed great on this occasion, who had maintained for Lady Frances, for so long a time, an uninterrupted attachment.--They were married a few days afterwards. Never did Phoebus gild a more auspicious day; never did Cupid inspire two lovers with a higher sense of each other's merit; and never did Hymen light his torch with a greater complacency, than to reward that constancy which remained invincible in Lord Darnley, without even being supported by hope.

The part Lady Darnley performed would have been difficult for another; but the club which a man of ordinary size could but lift, was but a walking-stick to Hercules.

No one enjoyed this wedding more than Mrs Dorothea Bingley. A sixteen years courtship corresponded entirely with her ideas of the right and fitness of things. She harangued her niece and Lady Eliza on this subject, telling them that Lady Darnley is the only woman she knows in this degenerate age, that has acted up to the propriety of the ancients--that she respected the sublimity of her ideas. She was very desirous of her niece's marrying a Mr Bennet, because he made love in heroics, was inebriated in his science, and thought all the world considered him as a Phoenix of wit. Miss Bingley would often reason with her aunt on this subject? 'Of what use in the world (said she) is an erudition so savage, and so full of presumption?'

One moral, or a mere well-natur'd deed,
Does all desert in sciences exceed.'

SHEFFIELD

But Mrs Dorothea always insisted that he was a classical scholar, and a fine gentleman! The niece declared he was a Pagan, and ought to have lived two centuries ago, as he spoke a language she did not understand! 'He may be learned (said she) but he has no passion!'

'No passion (replied Mrs Dorothea) how comes he then to write such fine letters?'

'The fine letters (replied Miss Bingley) show memory and fancy, but no sensations of _the heart_! lovers who make use of extravagant tropes are reduced to that expedient, to supply the defect of passion by the deceitful counterfeit of hyperbolical language. The passions of _the heart_ depend not on the deductions of _the understanding_--but it was necessary he should have a _Corinna_, because Ovid had _one_; and he makes me inconstant, although I never gave him any encouragement, because Gallus's favourite run away with a soldier. He seems to be intimately acquainted with the history of Cupid and Venus, but knows nothing _of love_: and would be sooner applauded for writing a good elegy, than have his mistress smile on him.'

Mrs Dorothea told her, that she was exceedingly perverse, but she would give her leave _to talk_, as she had the power _to do_.

Miss Bingley said, 'Since Mr Bennet was so much in her good graces, she made no doubt but he would pay her his homage, on the smallest hint, would transfer his affections--as the foundation of his passion was _the same_ for _both_, built on that of her _mansion_, would _grow_ with her _trees_ and _increase_ with her _estate_----Increase, you know, my dear aunt, is the end of marriage; and your fortune is better than Medea's charm, for that only made an old man young again; but your riches will make a young man enamoured of an old woman! He will swear you are not only wiser than Minerva, but fairer than the Paphian queen! Though you are old, your trees are green; and though you have lost the roses in your cheeks, there are great plenty of them on your pleasure-grounds.'

Mrs Dorothea with great good-humour laughed at her niece's sallies, saying, 'You remember what Martial says;

'Fain would kind Paula wed me if she could:
I won't, she's old; if older yet, I would.'

'But seriously, niece (said she) you will never make a choice that I shall so much approve of--he has so much wit.'

Miss Bingley replied, that all the credit he has for wit is owing to the gratification he gives to others ill-nature: and said she would be very happy to accommodate herself to her aunt's wishes; but was not upon such a religious strain, and so desirous of canonization hereafter (if sufferings can make a saint) as to marry a man of his character, that she might have her mortifications and punishments in this life: but at the same time would faithfully promise never to marry any man she disapproved of.

There were great rejoicings for some weeks at Munster-house:--at which time Lord and Lady Darnley set out for their estate in Dorsetshire, and Lady Eliza accompanied Lord Munster to London. As a correspondence commenced at this period between the parties I have already introduced to the reader, the sequel of this history will appear from their letters. I shall only observe, that Lord Munster's figure was remarkably agreeable, his address engaging; he first attracted, and then commanded the admiration of all who knew him. On the slightest acquaintance with him, a most exact regard to all the proprieties and decencies of life were observable in his conduct; and such an evident desire to oblige, and to make all about him easy, as became a good mind and a liberal education. An agreeable chearfulness made his conversation as lively and agreeable as it was useful and instructing. But the discerning eye of friendship could discover that he was not happy, and that delicacy to the feelings of his friends restrained him from giving way to an uneasiness, which it was too apparent he laboured under. His general behaviour bore the genuine stamp of true politeness, the result of an overflowing humanity and benevolence of heart. Such qualities very justly and forcibly recommend, lying obvious to almost every observer; but to the more discerning, a nearer view of him quickly discovered endowments far above the common standard. He had, in truth, endowments of mind to have honored any station.

As Lady Darnley's breast glowed with that exalted fervent charity which embraces the wide extended interests of men, of communities, of the species itself; it is easy to conceive how her heart exulted at finding her nephew so deserving of all she had done for him. But though she felt the greatest satisfaction at his being so conformable to her wishes, and his fortune so adequate to his beneficence; the same sensibility rendered her wretched for the evident melancholy in which he was plunged. Her social affections ever awake, even on those whose objects lie beyond the nearer ties of nature, on many occasions gave her most painful sympathetic feelings; so deeply was she interested in the fortunes of all with whom she had any connection. How then must she mourn to observe, that, notwithstanding the possession of every advantage of person and wealth, her nephew was miserable!--If men would but consider how many things there are that riches cannot buy, they would not be so fond of them--for all the outward advantages Lord Munster had, were, to a man in his situation of mind, _landscapes_ before a _blind man_, or _music_ to one that _is deaf_.

Delicacy kept Lady Darnley from interrogating her nephew on the subject of his grief; sensible that the remotest desire _from her_, must amount to a command _to him_. She only, at parting, insinuated the happiness it would afford her to see him ally himself suitably to some lady of merit: and, as Lady Eliza was to accompany him to town, requested him to moderate her liveliness, and to be a careful observer of her conduct.

'I never see (said she) a single man, who hath passed middle age in celibacy, where no particular security arises from his profession or character; but I think I see an unsafe subject, and a very dangerous instrument for any mischief that his _own_ parts may _inspire_, or _other men's_ may _prompt him_ to: As to other achievements of virtue, a distinction _ought_, I think, to be _made_; because, in common acceptation, there is a variety of things which pass under that name, and are generally applauded, which, properly estimated, would not _deserve it_. A regard to posterity hath carried arms, arts, and literature, further than any other motive ever did or could. Who is so likely to be influenced by this regard as they who are to leave behind them the darling pledges of their affection, in whom they hope to have their names continued, and all the fruits of their study, toil, and exploits, abiding and permanent?' Lord Munster assured the Countess, that he would ever think it his glory to conform to her wishes in ever respect.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME

VOLUME II

Soon after Lord Munster's arrival in London, he wrote Lady Darnley the following letter.

From the Earl of Munster to the
Countess of Darnley.

'My Dear Aunt,

Over powered as I am with a weight of obligations, I should think
myself highly wanting to my own feelings, were I in any one instance
in my future life to leave you dubious of my gratitude, or the earnest
desire I have of conforming to your wishes.

You have, my dear Madam, expressed your desire I should marry;
but that, my dear aunt, is impossible at present. But I revere that
state: men who laugh at a serious engagement, have never known the
allurements of modesty when blended with affability; nor felt the
power of beauty, when innocence has increased its force. This has been
my case, and my heart is already a prey to a hopeless passion. But it
is necessary to carry you back some years, in order to give a recital
of its commencement.

The amiable character of Mr Vanhagen, my landlord at Rotterdam, you
are already acquainted with: his humanity and benevolence inspired me
with the greatest respect. The advantages his countrymen have over us,
are their industry, vigilance, and wariness: But they in general exert
them to excess, by which means they turn their virtues into vices.
Their industry becomes rapine, their vigilance fraud, their wariness
cunning. But my worthy landlord possessed all the virtues.

He had in the early part of his life resided much at Venice, and
brought from thence the economy and frugality which distinguish them
in their private families, their temperance, their inviolable secrecy
of public and private affairs, and a certain steadiness and serenity
to which the English are supposed to be utter strangers. His long
residence there, made him well known to the duchess de Salis, whose
distant relation he had married.

This lady had resided some years at Rotterdam with her family.
She was only daughter to the Count de Trevier, was heiress to a
large fortune, and possessed exquisite beauty, good-sense, and
every accomplishment that was likely to preserve and to improve the
authority beauty gives to make it _indefectible_ and _interminable_.
But the duke, her husband, unfortunately was soon satiated with the
regularity of her virtues: His affections could not long be preserved
by a woman of her amiable undisguised character. When custom had taken
off the edge from his passion, he endeavoured to rouse his torpid
mind by a change of object. That vivacity which the tender passions
impart to pleasure, was a powerful incentive for him to indulge them.
His heart found fresh delight in gallantry, to which he was naturally
prone: a dangerous delight, which, habituating the mind to the most
lively transports, gives it a distaste to all moderate and temperate
enjoyments: from thence forward the innocent and tranquil joys which
nature offers, lose all their relish. His sophisticated mind made him
blind to the merit of his wife, who loved him tenderly.--She felt most
severely his neglect, and contracted insensibly a settled melancholy,
which served the more effectually to alienate his affections from
her. She became miserable:--and no temper can be so invincibly good
as to hold out against the siege of constant slights and neglects.
Misfortunes she had strength of mind to support, and death she could
have encountered with greater resolution than the displeasure and
peevishness of the man she loved. Wherever there is love, there is a
degree of fear--we are naturally afraid of offending, or of doing any
thing which may lessen us in the esteem of an object that is dear to
us: and if we are conscious of any act by which we may have incurred
displeasure, we are impatient and miserable, till, by intreaties and
tokens of submission, we have expiated the offence and are restored to
favor.

By the duchess's earnest solicitude to please, she destroyed her
own purpose, and her obedience, like water flung upon a raging fire,
only inflamed her husband's follies; and therefore, when he was in
an ill humour, the duke vented his range on her. He did not care
_how_ often _he quarrelled_ with, or, to speak more properly, how
often he _insulted_ her; for that could not be called a quarrel
wherein she acted no part but _that of suffering_. But though his
displeasure was grievous to her, yet she could bear it better than
his indifference--for resentment argues some degree of regard. But
whilst she was breaking her heart for him, he passed his time in
gallantry--though his affections were always the satire of a woman's
virtue--the ruin of a woman's reputation.

A favourite mistress, by pursuing a different plan from that of the
duchess, secured his affections. She kept alive his ardour by her
caprices. _Affectation_ always exceeds the _reality_. But is not the
extravagance of some men's fancy to be pitied, who lodge all their
passions in a mistress, a dog, or a horse, which but in general do
them no service but what they are prompted to through necessity or
instinct? Art and cunning are _unknown_ to a woman of virtue, whose
conduct is determined by her principles, whose anxiety alone is
excited by affection.

After five years, in which the duchess had a son and a daughter, and
in which she had experienced many of the _vexations_, but few of the
_satisfactions_ of a married state; the duke left her, and resided
entirely in Paris with his mistress. She retired to the country, to
a family-seat of her father's, and devoted her time entirely to the
education of her children, and that of a young lady (of great beauty
and fortune) whose mother with her last breath bequeathed to her care.

She from time to time wrote the duke letters, expressing great
resignation, and such a tenderness for him as she thought might have
power to touch his heart. "I am obedient to your wishes," said she, "I
will not urge, with one unwelcome word, this unkindness--I'll conceal
it--If your heart has made a choice more worthy, I forgive it--pursue
your pleasures--drive without a rein your passions--I am the mistress
of my own mind, that shall not mutiny--If I retrieve you, I shall be
thankful--If not, you _are_ and must be still _my lord_."

To letters such as these she never received any answer! as the
charms of a woman's eloquence never have any force, when those of her
person are expired (in the eyes of her lover I mean): it might be
perhaps as easy to persuade a man to dance, who had lost the use of
his limbs.

I shall pass over the first ten years of her retirement, as they
furnish nothing more than the unwearied attentions she took in
employing every means for the instruction of her son, daughter, and
ward. I shall only observe, that the regularity of her conduct gained
her the esteem of every one. She was a friend to virtue under any
denomination, and an enemy to vice under any colour. She established
an institution for the provision of the infirm and destitute. This
was constructed on that wise and excellent plan, that excludes the
undeserving from participating in the charity, and extends only
to those who, from their real necessities, are proper objects of
benevolence.--At that period she was advised to take her son to
the capital. But she wisely considered that the education which
commonly attends high birth or great fortune, very often corrupts or
sophisticates nature; whilst in those of the middle state she remains
unmixed and unaltered. I have somewhere read; _Jamais les grandes
passions et les grandes vertus ne sont nées, & ne se sont nourries que
dans le silence & la retrait. L'homme en societé perd tous ses traits
distinctifs: ce n'est plus qu' une froide copie de ce qui l'environne.
Voilà pour quelle raison on nous accuse de manquer de caractere:
nous ne vivons pas assez avec nous-mêmes, & nous empruntons trop des
autres_.

The duchess procured for her son's tutor, a very respectable man,
who was at the utmost pains in forming his morals, and improving his
understanding; while so many of the degenerate nobility in great
cities are trifling away their time and their fortunes, in idle
dissipations, in sensual enjoyments, or irrational diversions, and
making mere amusement the great business of their lives. Happiness
and merit are the result, not so much of truth and knowledge, as
of attaining integrity and moderation. Many ridiculed the duchess's
plan of education, of debarring herself from those pleasures and
enjoyments her youth, rank, and beauty so well intitled her to: But
she often observed it would be the height of imbecility to judge of
her felicity by the imagination of others; considering nothing under
the title of happiness, but what she wished to be in the possession
of, or what was the result of her own voluntary choice. Women of the
world counteract their intention, in so assiduously courting pleasure,
as it only makes it fly further from them. They will not understand,
that pleasure is to be purchased, and that industry is the price of
it; to reject the one, is to renounce the other. They are to learn
that pleasure, which they idolize, must now and then be _quitted_ in
order to be _regained_. They have tried in vain to perpetuate it,
by attempting variety and refinement. Their fertile invention has
multiplied the objects of amusement, and created new ones every day,
without making any real acquisition. All these fantastic pleasures,
which are founded on variety, make no lasting impressions on the mind;
they only serve to prove the impossibility of permanent happiness, of
which some women entertain _chimerical expectations_: but the duchess
was too rational to make amusement her principal object. A woman that
is hurried away by a fondness for it, is, generally speaking, a very
useless member of the community: A party of pleasure will make her
forget every connection: and she is often sick without knowing _where_
her complaint _lies_, because she has nothing _to do_, and is tired of
being _well_.

The duchess had loved her husband passionately. If any person had a
desire of ingratiating themselves with her, they had only to begin by
him: To praise, to please, or admire him, opened to them a reception
in her heart. But our best virtues, when pushed to a certain degree,
are on the point of becoming vices: She soon found she was to blame,
in dedicating herself too fondly even to this beloved object. She
exhausted her whole sensibility on him, and in proportion to the
strength of her attachment, was the mortification she endured in being
abandoned by him. But had not even this been her fate, the extravagant
excesses of passion are but too generally followed by an intolerable
langour. The woman who wishes to preserve her husband's affection,
should be careful to conceal from him the extent of _hers_: there
should be always something left for him to expect. Fancy governs
mankind: and when the imagination is cloyed, reason is a slave to
caprice.

Women do not want judgment to determine, penetration to foresee, nor
resolution to execute; and Providence has not given them beauty to
create love, without understanding to preserve it. The pleasures of
which they are susceptible, are proportioned to the capacity and just
extent of their feelings. They are not made for those raptures which
transport them beyond themselves: these are a kind of convulsions,
which can never last. But there are infinite numbers of pleasures,
which, though they make slighter impressions, are nevertheless more
valuable. These are renewed every day under different forms, and
instead of excluding each other, unite together in happy concert,
producing that temperate glow of mind which preserves it vigorous,
and keeps it in a delightful equanimity. How much are those of the
fair-sex to be pitied who are insensible to such attainments, and who
look upon life as gloomy, which is exempt from the agitation of unruly
passions! As such prepossessions deprive them of pleasures which are
much preferable to those which arise from dangerous attachments, the
duchess knew how to make choice of her amusements, and _improved_ her
_understanding_ at the same time that she _gratified_ her _feelings_.
Life to those who know how to make a proper use of it, is strewed
with delights of every kind, which, in their turn, flatter the senses
and the mind; but the latter is never so agreeably engaged as in the
conversation of intelligent persons, who are capable of conveying both
instruction and entertainment. The duchess preferred the conversation
of _such_, to _men of the world_; being sensible she had every thing
_to gain_ on _one side_, and every thing _to lose_ on _the other_.

The Baron de Luce resided in the same part of the country. He was a
man of great gallantry, wit, and humour. He judged it impossible that
a woman in the bloom of beauty, possessed of the united advantages
resulting from rank, riches, and youth, should retire to an obscure
part of the world, and sequester herself from (what he judged) the
pleasures of life, without being _compelled_ by her husband or
_prompted_ by some secret inclination which she wished to conceal.
Determined to unravel this mystery, and to amuse himself during the
time he staid in the neighbourhood, he tried to insinuate himself into
her good opinion--but without giving any offence she avoided entering
into his plans. He still persisted in his intentions, judging, as he
wrote well, the duchess would be glad to enter into a correspondence;
but he found nothing in the reception she gave him that was for
his purpose, _to embellish the history of his amours_. But what he
undertook at first from vanity, became at last sufficient punishment
for him. The more he saw of her conduct the more his respect
increased, but which instead of making him relinquish his _intentions_
(from a conviction of the inefficacy of the pursuit) made him persist
_in them_, as he _then felt_ the passion which at _first he feigned_.

The duchess knew the predicament on which she stood; but as _the
hatred_ of men of a certain character is _less_ pernicious than _their
love_, she gave orders never to admit him into her presence. The good
or bad reputation of women depends not so much upon the propriety of
their own conduct, as it does upon a lucky or unlucky combination
of circumstances in certain situations. Some men calumniate them
for no other reason, but because they are in love with them. They
revenge themselves upon them for the want of that merit which renders
them despicable in their eyes. This was the case with the Baron; he
insinuated there were reasons which he knew that rendered it highly
proper for the duchess to live in the manner _she did_, speaking
in a _style_ which conveyed more than met the ear! The people he
addressed greedily listened to what seemed to bring the duchess more
on a footing with themselves; a thousand stories were circulated to
her prejudice (though innocence itself): Thus if there be but the
least foundation for slander, some people believe themselves fully
authorized to publish whatever malice _dares invent_. But there are
no enemies more dangerous to the reputation of women, than lovers
that cannot gain the reciprocal affection of their mistresses. These
reports were confirmed from another cause--A lady of fortune in the
neighbourhood became much attached to a man who resided with the
duchess as her son's tutor; he was ingenuous, sensible, and much
respected. She offered him her hand, and as she possessed a handsome
fortune could not conceive how he could decline that happiness. As
he was constantly at home, agreeable to the stories that had been
circulated, she concluded at once (and then affirmed) he was a
favourite of the duchess.