Letter forty-four of Evelina. In continuation, Holburn, June thirteenth. Yesterday all the Brantons dined here. Our conversation was almost wholly concerning the adventure of the day before. Mr. Brantons said that his first thought was instantly to turn his lodger out of doors. Lest, continued he, his killing himself in my house should bring me into any trouble, but then I was afraid I should never get the money he owes me. Whereas, if he dies in my house, I have a right to all he leaves behind him if he goes off in my debt. Indeed, I would put him in prison. What shall I get by that? He could not earn anything there to pay me, so I considered about it some time, and then I determined to ask him point-blank for my money out of hand. And so I did, but he told me he'd pay me next week. However, I gave him to understand, that though I was no scotch-man, yet I did not like to be over-reached any more than he. So he then gave me a ring, which to my certain knowledge must be worth ten guineas, and told me he would not part with it for his life, and good deal more and such sort of stuff, but I might keep it till he could pay me. "'It is ten to one, father,' said young Branton, if he came fairly by it. "'Mmm, very likely not,' answered he, but that will make no great difference, for I shall be able to prove my right to it all one." What principles! I could hardly stay in the room. "'I'm determined,' said the son, I'll take some opportunity to affront him soon, now I know how poor he is, because of the heirs he gave himself when he first came. "'And pray, I was that's child,' said Madame Duvall. "'Why, you never knew such a fuss in your life as he made, because one day at dinner I only happened to say, that I suppose he had never got such a good meal in his life before he came to England. There, he fell in such a passion as you can't think, but for my part I took no notes of it. For to be sure, thinks I, he must needs be a gentleman, or he never got to be so angry about it. However, he won't put his tricks upon me again in a hurry.' "'Well,' said Miss Polly, he's grown quite another creature to what he was, and he doesn't run away from us, nor hide himself, nor anything. And he's as civil as can be, and he's always in the shop, and he saunters about the stairs and looks at everybody as he comes in. "'Why, you may see what he's after plain enough,' said Mr. Branton. "'He wants to see Miss again.' "'Haha! Lord, how I should laugh,' said the son, if he should have fell in love with Miss. "'I'm sure,' said Miss Branton, "'Miss is welcome, but for my part I should be quite ashamed of such a beggarly conquest.' Such was the conversation till tea-time, when the appearance of Mr. Smith gave a new turn to the discourse. Miss Branton desired me to remark with what a smart heir he entered the room, and asked me if he had not very much a quality look. "'Come,' cried he, advancing to us, "'you ladies must not sit together. Wherever I go I always make to rule to part the ladies.' And then, handing Miss Branton to the next chair, he seated himself between us. "'Well now, ladies, I think we said very well. What say you? For my part I think it was a very good motion.' "'If my cousin likes it,' said Miss Branton, "'I'm sure I've no objection.' "'Oh,' cried he, "'I always study what the ladies like. That's my first thought. And indeed it is but natural that you should like best to sit by the gentleman. For what can you find to say to one another?' "'Say,' cried young Branton, "'Oh! Never you think of that. They'll find enough to say. I'll be sworn. You know the women are never tired of talking.' "'Come, come, Tom,' said Mr. Smith, "'don't be severe upon the ladies. When I'm by, you know I always take their part.' Soon after, when Miss Branton offered me some cake, this man of gallantry said, "'Well, if I was that lady, I'd never take anything from a woman.' "'Why not, sir?' "'Because I should be afraid of being poisoned for being so handsome.' "'Who is severe upon the ladies now?' said I. "'Why, really, ma'am, it was a slip of the tongue. I did not intend to say such a thing. But one can't always be on one's guard.' Soon after the conversation turning upon public places, young Branton asked if I'd ever been to George's at Hampstead. "'Indeed, I never heard the place mentioned.' "'Didn't you miss?' cried he eagerly. "'Why, then, you've a deal of fun to come, I'll promise you. And I'll tell you what. I'll treat you there some Sunday soon.' "'So now, bid and poll, be sure you don't tell Miss about the chairs, and all that, for I have a mind to surprise her. If I pay, I think I've a right to have it my own way.' "'George's at Hampstead?' repeated Mr. Smith contemptuously. "'How came you to think the young lady would like to go to such a low place as that?' "'But pray, ma'am, have you ever been to Don Saltero's at Chelsea?' "'No, sir.' "'No? Nay, then I must insist on having the pleasure of conducting you there before long. I assure you, ma'am, many gentile people go, or else I give you my word I should not recommend it.' "'Pray, cousin,' said Mr. Branton, "'have you been at Saddle's Wells yet?' "'No, sir.' "'No? Why, then, you've seen nothing.' "'Pray, miss,' said the son, "'how do you like the Tower of London?' "'I have never been to it, sir.' "'Goodness,' exclaimed he, "'not seen the Tower. Why, maybe you hadn't been atop of the monument, neither.' "'No, indeed I have not.' "'Well, then, you might as well not come to London for ought I see, for you've been nowhere.' "'Pray, miss,' said Polly, "'have you been all over Paul's church yet?' "'No, ma'am.' "'Well, but ma'am,' said Mr. Smith, "'how do you like Vauxhall and Marleman?' "'I never saw either, sir.' "'No, God bless me. You really surprised me. Why, Vauxhall is the first pleasure in life. I know nothing like it. "'Well, ma'am, you must have been with strange people, indeed, not to have taken you to Vauxhall. Why, you have seen nothing of London yet. However, we must try if we can't make you a men's.' In the course of this catechism, many other places were mentioned, of which I have forgotten the names, but the looks of surprise and contempt that my repeated negatives incurred were very diverting. "'Come,' said Mr. Smith, after tea, "'as this lady has been with such a queer set of people, let's show her the difference. "'Suppose we go somewhere to-night? I love to do things with spirit. Come, ladies, where shall we go? For my part, I should like foots. But the ladies must choose. I never speak myself.' "'Well, Mr. Smith is always in such spirits,' said Miss Branton.' "'Why, yes, ma'am, yes. Thank God! Pretty good spirits. I have not yet the cares of the world upon me. I am not married. Ha, ha! You'll excuse me, ladies, but I can't help laughing.' No objection being made. To my great relief we all proceeded to the little theatre in the Haymarket, where I was extremely entertained by the performance of the miner and the commissary. They all returned hither to supper. CHAPTER XIV Yesterday morning Madame Duvall again sent me to Mr. Branton's, attended by Monsieur Dubois, to make some party for the evening, because she had had the vapours the preceding day from staying at home. As I entered the shop, I perceived the unfortunate north Britain seated in a corner, with a book in his hand. He cast his melancholy eyes up as we came in, and I believe immediately recollected my face, for he started and changed colour. I delivered Madame Duvall's message to Mr. Branton, who told me I should find Polly upstairs, but that the others were gone out. Upstairs, therefore, I went, and seated on a window with Mr. Brown at her side sat Miss Polly. I felt a little awkward at disturbing them, and much more so at their behaviour afterwards, for as soon as the common enquiries were over, Mr. Brown grew so fond and so foolish that I was extremely disgusted. Polly, all the time, only rebuked him with,— La now, Mr. Brown, do be quiet, can't you? You should not have behaved so before company. Why now, what will Miss think of me? While her looks plainly showed not merely the pleasure, but the pride which she took in his caresses. I did not, by any means, think it necessary to punish myself by witnessing their tenderness, and therefore telling them I would see if Miss Branton will return home, I soon left them, and again descended into the shop. So, Miss, you come again!" said Mr. Branton.  I made no answer, and Monsieur Dubois instantly brought me a chair. The unhappy stranger, who had risen at my entrance, again seated himself, and though his head lent towards his book, I could not help observing his eyes were most intently and earnestly turned towards me. Monsieur Dubois, as well as his broken English, would allow him, endeavour to entertain us till the return of Miss Branton and her brother. Lord, how tired I am! cried the former. I have not a foot to stand upon. And then, without any ceremony, she flung herself into the chair from which I had risen to receive her. You, tired!" said the brother. Why, then, what must I be that have walked twice as far? And with equal politeness he paid the same compliment to Monsieur Dubois, which his sister had done to me. Two chairs and three stools completed the furniture of the shop, and Mr. Branton, who chose to keep his own seat himself, desired Monsieur Dubois to take another. And then, seeing that I was without any, called out to the stranger, Come, Mr. McCartney, that is your stool. Shocked at their rudeness, I declined to the offer, and approaching Miss Branton said, If you will be so good as to make room for me on your chair, there will be no occasion to disturb that gentleman. Lord, what signifies that? cried the brother. He has had his share of sitting I'll be sworn. And if he has not, said the sister, he is a chair upstairs, and the shop is our own, I hope. This grossness so much disgusted me, that I took the stool, and carrying it back to Mr. McCartney myself, I returned him thanks as civilly as I could for his politeness, but said that I had rather stand. He looked at me as if unaccustomed to such attention, bowed very respectfully, but neither spoke, nor yet made use of it. I soon found that I was an object of derision to all present, except Mr. Dubois, and therefore I begged Mr. Branton would give me an answer for Madame Dubois, as I was in haste to return. Well then, Tom, Biddy, where have you mine to go to-night? Your aunt and Miss want to be abroad and amongst them. Why then, papa? said Miss Branton. We'll go to Don Santero's. Mr. Smith likes that place, so maybe he'll go along with us. No, no, said the son. I'm for White Conduit House, so let's go there. White Conduit House, indeed! cried his sister. No, Tom, that I won't. Why then, let it alone, nobody wants your company. We shall do as well without you, I'll be sworn, and better too.  Just then Mr. Smith came into the shop, which he seemed to intend passing through, but when he saw me he stopped, and began a most courteous inquiry after my health, protesting that, had he known I was there, he should have come down sooner. But bless me, mom! added he. What is the reason you stand? And then he flew to bring me the seat from which I had just parted. Mr. Smith, you are coming very good time, said Mr. Branton, to end a dispute between my son and daughter about where they shall all go to-night. Oh, fine, Tom, dispute with the lady! cried Mr. Smith. Now, as for me, I'm for where you will, provided this young lady is of the party. One place is the same as another to me, so that it be but agreeable to the ladies.  To me. Unless indeed it were to church—haha! you'll excuse me, mom, but really I never could conquer my fear of a person—haha! really, ladies, I beg your pardon for being so rude, but I can't help laughing for my life. I was just saying, Mr. Smith, said Miss Branton, that I should like to go to Don Saltero's. Now pray, where should you like to go? Why, really, Miss Biddy, you know I always let the ladies decide. I never fix anything myself, but I should suppose it would be rather hot at the coffee-house. However, pray, ladies, settle amongst yourselves, I am agreeable to whatever you choose. It was easy for me to discover that this man, with all his parade of conformity, abjects to everything that is not proposed by himself, but he is so much admired by this family for his gentility that he thinks himself a complete fine gentleman. Come! said Mr. Branton, the best way will be to put it to the vote, and then everybody will speak their minds. Biddy, call Paul downstairs, we'll start fair. Lord Pa! said Miss Branton, why can't you as well send Tom? You're always sending me of the errands. A dispute then ensued, but Miss Branton was obliged to yield. When Mr. Brown and Miss Polly made their appearance, the latter uttered many complaints of having been called, saying she did not want to come, and was very well where she was. Now, ladies, your votes! cried Mr. Smith. And so, Mom, to me, we'll begin with you. What place shall you like best? And then, in a whisper, he added, I assure you, I shall see the same as you do, whether I like it or not. I said that as I was ignorant what choice was in my power, I must beg to hear their decisions first. This was reluctantly assented to, and then Miss Branton voted for Saltero's coffee-house, her sister, for a party to Mother Red Caps, the brother for White Conduit House, Mr. Brown for Badnig Wells, Mr. Branton for Sadler's Wells, and Mr. Smith for Vauxhall. Well now, Mom! said Mr. Smith. We have all spoken, and so you must give the casting vote. Come, what will you fix upon? Sir! answered I. I was to speak last. Well, so you will! said Miss Branton. For we've all spoke first. Pardon me, returned I. The voting has not yet been quite general. And I turned towards Mr. McCartney, to whom I wished extremely to show that I was not of the same brutal nature with those by whom he was treated so grossly. Why pray! said Mr. Branton. Who have we left out? Would you have the cats and dogs vote? No, sir! cried I with some spirit. I would have that gentleman vote, if indeed he is not superior to joining our party. They all looked at me, as if they doubted whether or not they had heard me right, but in a few moments their surprise gave way to a rude burst of laughter. Very much displeased, I told Mr. Dubois that if he was not ready to go, I would have a coach called for myself. Oh yes, he said, he was always ready to attend me. Mr. Smith, then advancing, attempted to take my hand, and begged me not to leave them till I had settled the evening's plans. I have nothing, sir, said I, to do with it, as it is my intention to stay at home, and therefore Mr. Branton will be so good as to send Madame du Vaux word what place is fixed upon, when it is convenient to him. And then, making a slight curtsy, I left them. How much does my disgust for these people increase my pity for poor Mr. McCartney? I will not see them when I can avoid so doing, but I am determined to take every opportunity in my power to show civility to this unhappy man, whose misfortunes with this family only render him an object of scorn. I was, however, very well pleased with Mr. Dubois, who, far from joining in their mirth, expressed himself extremely shocked at their ill-breeding. We had not walked ten yards before we were followed by Mr. Smith, who came to make excuses, and to assure me they were only joking, and hope that I took nothing ill. For if I did, he would make a quarrel of it himself with the Brantons, rather than I should receive any offence. I begged him not to take any trouble about so immaterial an affair, and assured him I should not myself. He was so officious that he could not be profiled upon to return home, till he had walked with us to Mr. Dawkins. Madame du Vaux was very much displeased that I brought her so little satisfaction. White conduit house was at last fixed upon, and notwithstanding my great dislike of such parties and such places, I was obliged to accompany them. Very disagreeable, and much according to my expectations, the evening proved. There were many people all smart and gaudy, and so pert and low-bred that I could hardly endure being amongst them. But the party to which, unfortunately, I belonged, seemed all at home. And of Letter forty-five. Letter carried his point of making a party for Vauxhall, consisting of Madame du Vaux, Monsieur du Bois, all the Brantons, Mr. Brown, himself, and me. For I find all endeavours vain to escape anything which these people desire I should not. There were twenty disputes previous to our setting out. First, as to the time of our going, Mr. Branton, his son and young Brown were for six o'clock, and all the ladies and Mr. Smith were for eight. The latter, however, conquered. Then, as to the way we should go, some were for a boat, others for a coach, and Mr. Branton himself was for walking, but the boat at length was decided upon. Indeed, this was the only part of the expedition that was agreeable to me, for the Thames was delightfully pleasant. The garden is very pretty, but too formal. I should have been better pleased had it consisted less of straight walks, where grove and nods at grove, each alley, has its brother. The trees, the numerous lights, and the company in the circle round the orchestra make a most brilliant and gay appearance, and had I been with a party less disagreeable to me, I should have thought at a place formed for animation and pleasure. There was a concert, in the course of which an haute-bois concerto was so charmingly played, that I could have thought myself upon enchanted ground, had I had spirits more gentle to associate with. The haute-bois and the open air is heavenly. Mr. Smith endeavoured to attach himself to me, with such a vicious assiduity and impertinent freedom, that he quite sickened me. Indeed, Monsieur Dubois was the only man of the party to whom, voluntarily, I ever addressed myself. He is civil and respectful, and I have found nobody else so since I left Howard Grove. His English is very bad, but I prefer it to speaking French myself, which I dare not venture to do. I converse with him frequently, both to disengage myself from others, and to oblige Madame Dubois, who is always pleased when he is attended to. As we were walking about the orchestra, I heard a bell ring, and in a moment Mr. Smith, flying up to me, caught my hand, and, with a motion too quick to be resisted, ran away with me many yards before I had breath to ask his meaning, though I struggled as well as I could to get away from him. At last, however, I insisted upon stopping. Stopping, mum! cried he. Why, we must run on, or we shall lose the cascade! And then again he hurried me away, mixing with a crowd of people, all running with so much velocity, that I could not imagine what had raised such an alarm. We were soon followed by the rest of the party, and my surprise and ignorance proved a source of diversion to them all, which was not exhausted the whole evening. Young Brunton, in particular, laughed till he could hardly stand. The scene of the cascade I thought extremely pretty, and the general effect striking and lively. But this was not the only surprise which was to divert them at my expense, for they led me about the garden purposely to enjoy my first sight of various other deceptions. About ten o'clock, Mr. Smith, having chosen a box in a very conspicuous place, we all went to supper. Much fault was found with everything that was ordered, though not a morsel of anything was left, and the dearness of the provisions, with conjectures upon which profit was made by them, supplied discourse during a whole meal. When wine and cider were brought, Mr. Smith said, "'Now let's enjoy ourselves. Now is the time, or never. Well, mom, and how do you like Wawksall?' "'Like it,' cried young Brunton. "'Well, how can she help liking it?  That I'll answer for.' "'For my part,' said Miss Brunton. "'I like it because it is not vulgar.' "'This must have been a fine treat for you, Miss,' said Mr. Brunton. "'Why, I suppose, you was never so happy in all your life before.' "'I endeavoured to express my satisfaction with some pleasure, yet I believe they were much amazed at my coldness.' "'Miss ought to stay in town till the last night,' said young Brunton. "'And then it's my belief she'll say something to it. Why, Lord, it's the best night of any. There's always a riot, and there the folks run about, and then there's such a squealing and squalling. And there all the lamps are broke, and the women run skimper scamper. I declare I would not take five guineas to miss the last night.' I was very glad when they all grew tired of sitting, and called for the waiter to pay the bill. The Miss Brunton said they would walk on while the gentleman settled the account, and asked me to accompany them, which, however, I declined. "'You girls may do as you please,' said Madame Duvall. "'But there's to me, I promise you, I shan't go nowhere without the gentleman.' "'No more, I suppose, or my cousin,' said Miss Brunton, looking reproachfully toward Mr. Smith. This reflection, which I feared would flatter his vanity, made me most unfortunately request Madame Duvall's permission to attend them. She granted it, and away we went, having promised to meet in the rum. To the rum, therefore, I would immediately have gone, but the sisters agreed that they would first have a little pleasure, and they titted and talked so loud that they attracted universal notice. "'Lord Polly,' said the eldest, "'suppose we were to take a turn in the dark walks?' "'I do,' answered she, "'and then we'll hide ourselves, and then Mr. Brown will think we are lost.' I remonstrated very warmly against this plan, telling them it would endanger our missing the rest of the party all the evening. "'Oh dear,' cried Miss Brunton, "'I thought how uneasy Miss would be without a bow!' This impertinence I did not think worth answering, and quite by compulsion I followed them down a long alley, in which there was hardly any light. By the time we came near the end, a large party of gentlemen, apparently very riotous, and who were hallowing, leaning on one another, and laughing immoderately, seemed to rush suddenly from behind some trees, and meeting us face to face, put their arms at their sides, and formed a kind of circle, which first stopped our proceeding, and then our retreating, for we were presently entirely enclosed. The Miss Brunton screamed aloud, and I was frightened exceedingly. Our screams were answered with bursts of laughter, and for some minutes we were kept prisoners, till at last one of them, rudely seizing hold of me, said I was a pretty little creature. Terrified to death, I struggled with such femants to disengage myself from him, that I succeeded, in spite of his efforts to detain me, and immediately, with the swiftness which fear only could have given me, I flew rather than ran up the walk, hoping to secure my safety by returning to the lights and company we had so foolishly left. But before I could possibly accomplish my purpose, I was met by another party of men, one of whom placed himself so directly in my way, calling out, wither so fast my love, that I could only have proceeded by running into his arms. In a moment both my hands, by different persons, were called hold of, and one of them, in a most familiar manner, desired when I ran next, to accompany me in a race, while the rest of the parties stood still and laughed. I was almost distracted with terror, and so breathless with running, that I could not speak, till another, advancing, said, I was as handsome as an angel and desired to be of the party. I then just articulated, for heaven's sake, gentlemen, let me pass! Another, then rushing suddenly forward, exclaimed, Heaven and earth! What voice is that? The voice of the prettiest el actress I have seen this age! answered one of my persecutors. No, no, no! I panted out, I am no actress, pray let me go, pray let me pass! By all that's sacred! cried the same voice, which I then knew for Sir Clement Willoughby's. Tis herself! Sir Clement Willoughby! cried I. Oh, sir, assist, assist me, or I shall die with terror! Gentlemen! cried he, disengaging them all from me in an instant. Pray, leave this lady to me! Loud laughs proceeded from every mouth, and two or three said Willoughby has all the luck, but one of them, in a passionate manner, vowed he would not give me up, for that he had the first right to mean would support it. Your are mistaken, said Sir Clement.  And then, taking my willing hand, he led me off, amidst the loud acclamations, laughter, and gross merriment of his impertinent companions. As soon as we had escaped from them, Sir Clement, with a voice of surprise, exclaimed, My dearest creature, what wonder, what strange revolution has brought you to such a place as this! Ashamed of my situation, and extremely mortified to be thus recognized by him, I was for some time silent, and when he repeated his question, only stammered out, I have—I hardly know how—lost for my party. He caught my hand, and eagerly pressing it, in a passionate voice said, Oh! that I had sooner met with thee! Surprise! at a freedom so unexpected, I angrily broke from him, saying, Is this the protection you give me, Sir Clement? And then I saw, what the perturbation of my mind had prevented my sooner noticing, that he had led me, though I know not how, into another of the dark alleys, instead of the place whither I meant to go. Good God! I cried. Where am I? What way are we going? Where? answered he. We shall be least observed. Astonished at this speech, I stopped short, and declared I would go no further. And why not, my angel? Again endeavouring to take my hand. My heart beat with resentment. I pushed him away from me with all my strength, and demanded how he dared treat me with such insolence. Insolence! repeated he. Yes, Sir Clement, insolence! From you who know me, I had a claim for protection, not to such treatment as this. By heaven! cried he with warmth. You distract me. Why tell me? Why do I see you here? Is this the place for Miss Anvil? These dark walks, no party, no companion? By all that's good, I can scarce believe my senses. Extremely offended at this speech, I turned angrily from him, and, not daining to make any answer, walked on towards that part of the garden whence I perceived the lights and company. He followed me, but we were both sometimes silent. Say, you will not explain to me your situation? said he at length. No, Sir! answered I disdainfully. Nor yet suffer me to make my own interpretation. I could not bear this strange manner of speaking. It made my very soul shudder, and I burst into tears. He flew to me, and actually flung himself at my feet, as if regardless who might see him saying, Oh Miss Anvil, loveliest of women, forgive my—my—I beseech you, forgive me.  No matter, Sir, no matter, cried I, if I can but find my friends, I will never speak to, never see you again. Good God! Good Heaven! My dearest life, what is it I have done? What is it I have said? You best know, Sir, what and why, but don't hold me here. Let me be gone, and do you. Not till you forgive me, I cannot part with you in anger. For shame, for shame, Sir! cried I indignantly. Do you suppose I am to be thus compelled? Do you take advantage of the absence of my friends to affront me? No, madam! cried he, rising. I would sooner forfeit my life and act so mean apart. But you have flung me into amazement, unspeakable, and you will not condescend to listen to my request of giving me some explanation. The manner, Sir, said I, in which you spoke that request, made and will make me scorn to answer it. Scorn? I will own to you. I expected not such a displeasure from Miss Anvil. Perhaps, Sir, if you had, you would less voluntarily have merited it. My dearest life, surely it must be known to you that the man does not breathe who adores you so passionately, so fervently, so tenderly as I do. Why, then, will you delight in perplexing me, in keeping me in suspense, in torturing me with doubt? Aye, Sir! delight in perplexing you! You are much mistaken. Your suspense, your doubts, your perplexities are of your own creating, and believe me, Sir, they may offend, but they can never delight me. But as you have yourself raised, you must yourself satisfy them. Good God! that such haughtiness and such sweetness can inhabit the same mansion! I made no answer. But quickening my pace, I walked on silently and sullenly, till this most impetuous of men, snatching my hand, which he grasped with violence, besought me to forgive him with such earnestness of supplication, that merely to escape his importunities I was forced to speak, and in some measure to grant the pardon he requested, though it was accorded with a very ill grace, but indeed I knew not how to resist the humility of his entreaties, yet never shall I recollect the occasion he gave me of displeasure, without feeling it renewed. We now soon arrived in the midst of the general crowd, and my own safety being then ensured, I grew extremely uneasy for the Miss Brantons, whose danger, however imprudently incurred by their own folly, I too well knew how to tremble for. To this consideration all my pride of heart yielded, and I determined to seek my party with the utmost speed. Though not without a sigh did I recollect the fruitless attempt I had made after the opera, of concealing from this man my unfortunate connections, in which I was now obliged to make known. I hastened therefore to the room, with a view of sending young Branton to the aid of his sisters, in a very short time I perceived Madame Duval and the rest, looking at one of the paintings. I must own to you honestly, my dear sir, that an involuntary repugnance seized me at presenting such a set disclement, he who had been used to see me in parties so different. My pace slackened as I approached them, but they presently perceived me. —Amen, Moselle! cried Monsieur Duval, que je suis cherme de Duval. —Pray, Miss! cried Mr. Brown. —Where's Miss Polly? —Why, Miss, you've been gone a long while, said Mr. Branton. We thought she'd been lost, but what have you done with your cousins? I hesitated, for so clement regarded me with a look of wonder. —Birdie! cried Madame Duval. —I shan't let you leave me again in a hurry, while here we've been in such a fright, and all the while I suppose you've been thinking nothing about the matter. —Well! said young Branton, as long as Miss has come back, I don't mind, for as to bid and poll, they can take care of themselves. But the best joke is, Mr. Smith has gone all about looking for you. These speeches were made almost in a breath, but when at last they waited for an answer, I told them that, in walking up one of the long alleys, we had been frightened and separated. —The long alleys! repeated Mr. Branton, and pray, what had you to do in the long alleys? Why, to be sure, you must all of you have had a mind to be affronted. This speech was not more impertinent to me, than surprising to Sir Clement, who regarded all the party with evident astonishment. However, I told young Branton no time ought to be lost, for that his sisters might require his immediate protection. —But how will they get it? cried this brutal brother. If they've a mind to behave in such a manner as that, they ought to protect themselves, and so they may for me. —Well! said the simple Mr. Brown, whether you go or not, I think I might as well see after Miss Polly. The father, then, interfering, insisted that his son should accompany him, and away they went. It was now that Madame Duvall first perceived Sir Clement, to whom, turning with the look of great displeasure, she angrily said, Muffois, so you are comrade here, of all the people in the world. I wonder, child, you would let such a—such a person as that keep company with you. I am very sorry, madam," said Sir Clement, in a tone of surprise. If I had been so unfortunate as to offend you, but I believe you will not regret the honour I have now of attending Miss Anville, when you hear that I have been so happy as to do her some service. Just as Madame Duvall, with her usual Muffois, was beginning to reply, the attention of Sir Clement was wholly drawn from her by the appearance of Mr. Smith, who, coming suddenly behind me, and freely putting his hands on my shoulders, cried, Oh! Oh! My little runaway, have I found you at last! I have been scampering all over the gardens for you, for I was determined to find you if you were above ground. But how could you be so cruel as to leave us? I turned round to him, and looked with a degree of contempt that I hoped would have quieted him, but he had not the sense to understand me, and attempting to take my hand, he added, Such a demure-looking lady as you are! Who would have thought of your leading one such a dance?  Only think what a trouble I have had in running after you! The trouble, sir, said I, was of your own choice, not mine. And I walked round to the other side of Madame Duvall. Perhaps I was too proud, but I could not endure that suclement, whose eyes followed him with looks of the most surprised curiosity, should witness his unwelcome familiarity. Upon my removal he came up to me, and in a low voice said, You are not, then, with the Mervins. No, sir. And pray, may I ask you, have you left them long? No, sir. How unfortunate I am! But yesterday I sent to acquaint the captain, I should reach the grove by to-morrow noon. However, I shall get away as fast as possible. Shall you be long in town? I believe not, sir. And then, when you leave it, which way will you allow me to ask? Which way shall you travel? Indeed, I don't know. Not know. But do you return to the Mervins any more? I—I can't tell, sir. And then I addressed myself to Madame Duvall, with such a pretended earnestness that he was obliged to be silent. As he cannot but observe the great change in my situation, which he knows not how to account for, there is something in all these questions and this unrestrained curiosity that I did not expect from a man who, when he pleases, can be so well-bred as Sir Clement Willoughby. He seems disposed to think that the alteration in my companions authorises an alteration in his manners. It is true he has always treated me with uncommon freedom, but never before was so disrespectful and abruptness. This observation, which he has given me cause to make, of his changing with the tide, has sunk him more in my opinion than any other part of his conduct. Yet I could almost have laughed when I looked at Mr. Smith, who no sooner saw me addressed by Sir Clement, than retreating aloof from the company, he seemed to lose at once all his happy self-sufficiency in conceit, looking now at the baronet, now at himself, surveying with sorrowful eyes his dress, struck with his air, his gestures, his easy gaiety. He gazed at him with envious admiration, and seemed himself, with conscious inferiority, to shrink into nothing. Soon after, Mr. Brown, running up to us, called out, —'La, wa, ain't Miss Polly come yet?' —'Come,' said Mr. Branton. —'Why, I thought you went to fetch her yourself, didn't you?' —'Yes, but I couldn't find her, yet I daresay I've been over half the garden.' —'Half? But why did you not go over at all?' —'Why, so I will, but only I thought I'd just come and see if she was here first.' —'But where's Tom?' —'Why, I don't know, for he would not stay with me all as ever I could say, for he met some young gentleman of his acquaintance, and so he bid me go and look by myself, for he said, says he, I can divert myself better another way,' says he. This account being given, away again went the silly young man, and Mr. Branton, extremely incensed, said he would go and see after them himself. —'So now,' cried Madame Duvall, —'He's gone too. Why, at this rate, we shall have to wait for one or other of them all night.' Observing that ceclement seemed disposed to renew his inquiries, I turned towards one of the paintings, and pretending to be very much occupied in looking at it, asked Monsieur Dubois some questions concerning the figures. —'Oh, mon Dieu,' cried Madame Duvall, —'Don't ask him. Your best way is to ask Mr. Smith, for he's been near the oftenest. Come, Mr. Smith, I dare say you can tell us all about them.' —'Why, yes, ma'am, yes,' said Mr. Smith, —'Who, brightening up at this application, advanced towards us with an air of assumed importance, which, however, sat very uneasily upon him, and begged to know what he should explain first.' —'For I have attended,' said he, —'to all these paintings, and know everything in them perfectly well, for I am rather fond of pictures, ma'am, and really, I must say, I think a pretty picture is a—very—it's really a very—is something very pretty.' —'So do I too,' said Madame Duvall. —'But pray now, sir. Tell us who this is meant for,' pointing to a figure of Neptune. —'That. Why, that, ma'am, is—'Lord bless me, I can't think how I come to be so stupid, but really, I have forgot his name. And yet I know it as well as my own, too. However, he's a general, ma'am. They are all generals.' —'I saw Sir Clement bite his lips. And indeed, so did I mine.' —'Well,' said Madame Duvall. —'It's the oddest dress for a general ever I see.' —'He seems so capital of figure,' said Sir Clement to Mr. Smith, —'that I imagine he must be Generalissimo of the whole army.' —'Yes, sir, yes,' answered Mr. Smith, respectfully bowing, and highly delighted at being thus referred to. —'You are perfectly right, but I cannot for my life think of his name. Perhaps, sir, you may remember it?' —'No, really,' replied Sir Clement. —'My acquaintance among the generals is not so extensive.' The ironical tone of voice in which Sir Clement spoke, entirely disconcerted Mr. Smith, who again retiring to a humble distance, seemed sensibly mortified at the failure of his attempt to recover his consequence. Soon after Mr. Branton returned with his youngest daughter, who he had rescued from a party of insolent young men, but he had not yet been able to find the eldest. Miss Polly was really frightened, and declared she would never go into the dark walks again. Her father, leaving her with us, went in quest of her sister. While she was relating her adventure, to which nobody listened more attentively than Sir Clement, we saw Mr. Brown into the room. —'Oh, la!' cried Miss Polly. —'Let me hide myself, and don't tell him I've come.' She then placed herself behind Madame Duvall, in such a manner that she could not be seen. —'So Miss Polly has not come yet,' said the simple swaying. —'Well, I can't think where she can be. I've been looking, and looking, and looking all about, and can't find her all I can do.' —'Well, but Mr. Brown,' said Mr. Smith. —'Shon't you go and look for the lady again?' —'Yes, sir,' said he, sitting down. —'But I must rest me a little bit first. You can't think how tired I am.' —'Oh, fine, Mr. Brown, fine!' cried Mr. Smith, winking at us. —'Tired of looking for a lady. Go, go, for shame.' —'So I will, sir, presently. But you'd be tired, too, if you had walked so far. Besides, I think she's gone out of the garden, or else I must have seen something or other of her.' —'A, he, he, he,' of the tittering Polly, now betrayed her, and so ended this ingenious little artifice. At last appeared Mr. Branton and Miss Biddy, who, with a face of mixed anger and confusion, addressing herself to me, said, —'So Miss, so you ran away from me. We'll see if I don't do as much by you some day or other. But I thought how it would be. You'd no mind to leave the gentleman, though you run away from me.' —'I was so much surprised at this attack, that I could not answer her for very amazement. And she proceeded to tell us how ill she had been used, and that two young men had been making her walk up and down the dark walks by absolute force, and as fast as ever they could tear her along, and many other particulars, which I will not tie you with relating.' —'I had no conclusion, looking at Mr. Smith,' she said. —'But be sure,' thought I, at least all the company would be looking for me, so I little expected to find you all here, talking as comfortably as ever you can. However, I know I may thank my cousin for it.' —'If you mean me, madam,' said I, very much shocked.  If you'd stayed with us, I'll answer for it. Mr. Smith and Miss Yadoubois would have come to look for us, but I suppose they could not leave your ladyship.' —'The folly and unreasonable-ness of this speech would admit of no answer. But what a scene was this for Sir Clement! His surprise was evident, and I must acknowledge my confusion was equally great. We had now to wait for young Branton, who did not appear for some time, and during this interval it was with difficulty that I avoided Sir Clement, who was on the rack of curiosity, and dying to speak to me. When at last the hopeful youth returned, a long and frightful quarrel ensued between him and his father, in which his sisters occasionally joined, concerning his neglect, and he defended himself only by a brutal mirth, which he indulged at their expense. Everyone now seemed inclined to depart, when, as usual, a dispute arose upon the way of our going, whether in a coach or a boat. After much debating, it was determined that we should make two parties, one by the water and the other by the land, for Madame DuVall declared she would not upon any account go into a boat at night. Sir Clement then said that if she had no carriage and waiting, he should be happy to see her and me safe home, as his was in readiness. Fury started into her eyes, and passion inflamed every feature, as she answered, "'Baudy, no! you may take care of yourself, if you please, but as to me I promise you I shall not trust myself with no such person.'" He pretended not to comprehend her meaning, yet to waive a discussion acquiesced in her refusal, the coach-party fixed upon consisted of Madame DuVall, Monsieur DuBois, Miss Branton, and myself. I now began to rejoice in private that at least our lodgings would be neither seen nor known by Sir Clement. We soon met with a hackney-coach into which he handed me, and then took leave. Madame DuVall, having already given the coachman her direction, he mounted the box, and we were just driving off, when Sir Clement exclaimed, "'By heaven! this is the very coach I had in waiting for myself!' "'This coach, Your Honor?' said the man. "'No! that it didn't.'" Sir Clement, however, swore that it was, and presently the man begging his pardon, said he had really forgotten that he was engaged. I have no doubt but that this scheme occurred to him at the moment, and that he made some sign to the coachman, which induced him to support it, for there is not the least probability that the accident really happened, as it is most likely his own chariot was in waiting. The man then opened the coach's door, and Sir Clement, advancing to it, said, "'I don't believe there is another carriage to be had, or I would not uncommode you, but as it may be disagreeable to you to wait here any longer, I beg you will not get out, for you shall be set down before I am carried home, if you'll be so good as to make a little rom.'" And so saying, in he jumped, and seated himself between Monsieur Dubois and me, while our astonishment at the whole transaction was too great for speech, he then ordered the coachman to drive on, according to the directions he had already received. For the first ten minutes no one uttered a word, and then Madame Dubois no longer able to contain herself exclaimed, Ah! foie! if this isn't one of the most impudentest things I ever see! Sir Clement, regardless of this rebuke, attended only to me. However, I answered nothing he said, when I could possibly avoid doing so. Miss Branton made several attempts to attract his notice, but in vain, for he would not take the trouble of paying her any regard. Madame Dubois, during the rest of the ride, addressed herself to Monsieur Dubois in French, and in that language exclaimed with great vehemence against boldness and assurance. I was extremely glad when I thought our journey must be nearly at an end, for my situation was very uneasy to me, as Sir Clement perpetually endeavored to take my hand. I looked out of the coach window to see if we were near home. Sir Clement, stooping over me, did the same, and then in a voice of infinite wonder called out, Where the devil is the man driving to? Why, we are in broad streets and chiles.  When at last we stopped at an hosier's in High Holben, Sir Clement said nothing, but his eyes I saw were very busily employed in viewing the place and the situation of the house. The coach, he said, belonged to him, and therefore he insisted upon paying for it, and then he took leave. Monsieur Dubois walked home with Miss Branton, and Madame Dubois and I retired to our apartments. How disagreeable an evening's adventure! Not one of the parties seemed satisfied, except Sir Clement, who was in high spirits, but Madame Dubois was enraged at meeting with him. Mr. Branton, angry with his children, the frolic of the Miss Branton's had exceeded their plan, and ended in their own distress. Their brother was provoked that there had been no riot, Mr. Brown was tired, and Mr. Smith mortified. Asked myself, I must acknowledge nothing could be more disagreeable to me, than being seen by Sir Clement Willoughby with a party at once so vulgar in themselves, and so familiar to me. And you too, my dear Sir, will I know, be sorry that I have met him. However, there is no apprehension of his visiting here, as Madame Dubois is far too angry to admit him. Everliner by Fanny Burney Letter forty-seven Everliner to the Reverend Mr. Villa's Holborn June eighteenth Madame Duvall rose very late this morning, and at one o'clock we had but just breakfasted, when Miss Branton, her brother, Mr. Smith and Monsieur Dubois, called to inquire after our healths. The civility in young Branton, I much suspect, was merely the result of his father's commands, but his sister and Mr. Smith, I assume, found, had motives of their own. Scarce had they spoken to Madame Duvall, when advancing eagerly to me. Pray, Mom," said Mr. Smith, who was that gentleman? Pray, cousin," cried Miss Branton, was not he the same gentleman you ran away with that night at the opera? Goodness! that he was," said young Branton, and I declare, as soon as ever I saw him, I thought I knew his face. I'm sure I'll defy you to forget him," answered his sister, if once you had seen him, he is the finest gentleman I ever saw in my life, don't you think so, Mr. Smith?  Pray, Mom, what is the gentleman's name? Willoughby, sir. Willoughby? I think I have heard the name. Pray, Mom, is he married? Lord know that he is not," cried Miss Branton. He looks too smart by a great deal for a married man. Pray, cousin, how did you get acquainted with him? Pray, Miss," said young Branton, in the same breath. What's his business? Indeed, I don't know," answered I. Something very gentile I dare say," added Miss Branton, because he dresses so fine. It ought to be something that brings in a good income," said Mr. Smith. For I'm sure that he did not get that suit of clothes he had on for under thirty or forty pounds, for I know the price of clothes pretty well. Pray, Mom, can you tell me what he has a year? Don't talk no more about him," cried Madame Duvall. For I don't like to hear his name.  Everybody but myself, now crowding around her for an explanation, a violent rapping at the street door was unheard, and without any previous notice, in the midst of her narration, Sir Clement Willoughby entered the room. They all started, and with looks of guilty confusion, as if they feared his resentment for having listened to Madame Duvall, they scrambled for chairs, and in a moment were all formally seated. Sir Clement, after a general bow, singling out Madame Duvall, said with his usual easiness, I have done myself the honour of waiting on you, Madame, to inquire if you have any commands to Howard Grove, whether I am going tomorrow morning. Then, seeing the storm that gathered in her eyes, before he allowed a time to answer, he addressed himself to me. And if you, Madame, have any with which you will honour me, I shall be happy to execute them. None at all, Sir. None? Not to Miss Mervin, no message, no letter? I wrote to Miss Mervin yesterday by the post. My application should have been earlier had I sooner known your address. Ma foie! cried Madame Duvall, recovering from her surprise. I believe never nobody saw the like of these. Of what, Madame? cried the undaunted Sir Clement, turning quick towards her. I hope no one has offended you. You don't obno such thing! cried she, half choked with passion, and rising from her chair. This motion was followed by the rest, and in a moment everybody stood up. Still Sir Clement was not abashed. Affecting to make a bow of acknowledgement to the company in general, he said, Pray, I beg, ladies, a gentleman, pray don't let me disturb you, pray keep your seeds.  You are extremely good, ma'am, rather than make any disturbance." And so saying, this strange man seated himself, as did in an instant everybody else, even Madame Duvall herself, who overpowered by his boldness seemed too full for utterance. He then, and with as much composure as if he had been an expected guest, began to discourse on the weather, its uncertainty, the heat of the public places in summer, the emptiness of the town, and other such common topics. Nobody, however, answered him. Mr. Smith seemed afraid, young Branton ashamed, Mr. Duvall amazed, Madame Duvall enraged, and myself determined not to interfere. All that he could obtain was the notice of Miss Branton, whose nods, smiles, and attention had some appearance of entering into conversation with him. At length, growing tired, I suppose, of engaging everybody's eyes and nobody's tongue, addressing himself to Madame Duvall and to me, he said, I regard myself as peculiarly unfortunate, ladies, and having fixed upon a time for my visit to Howard Grove, when you are absent from it.  So, sir, if you can't think of nothing but making people ride about the country at all hours of the night, just for your diversion only, while you'll find I know some justices as well as Justice Tyrell. Sir Clement was evidently embarrassed at this attack, yet he effected a look of surprise and protested he did not understand her meaning. Well, cried she, if I don't wonder where people can get such impudence, if you'll say that, you'll say anything. However, if you swear till you're black in the face, I shan't believe you, for nobody shan't persuade me out of my senses that I'm resolved. Doubtless not, madam," answered he, with some hesitation, and I hope you do not suspect I ever had such an intention, my respect for you. Oh, sir, you're vastly polite all of a sudden, but I know what it's all for. It's only for what you can get. You could treat me like nobody at Howard Grove, but now you see I have a house of my own. You've a mind to weadle yourself into it. But I seize your design, so you needn't trouble yourself to take no more trouble about that, for you shall never get nothing at my house, not so much as a dish of tea. So now, sir, you see I can play you trick for trick. There was something so extremely gross in this speech that it even disconcerted Sir Clement, who was too much confounded to make any answer. It was curious to observe the effect which his embarrassment, added to the freedom with which Madame duval addressed him, had upon the rest of the company, everyone who before seemed at a loss how, or if at all to occupy a chair, now filled it with the most easy composure, and Mr. Smith, whose countenance had exhibited the most striking picture of mortified envy, now began to recover his usual expression of satisfied conceit. Young Branton, too, who had been apparently awed by the presence of so finer gentleman, was again himself, rude and familiar, while his mouth was wide distended into a broad grin, adhering his aunt to give the bows such a trimming. Madame duval, encouraged by this success, looked around her with an air of triumph, and continued her harangue. And so, sir, I suppose you thought to have added all your own way, and to have come at here as often as you pleased, and to have got me to our head grove again, on purpose to have served me as you did before. But you shall see I'm as cunning as you. So you may go and find somebody else to use in that manner, and to put your mask on, and to make a fool of. For as to me, if you go to tell me your stories about the tower again, for a month together I'll never believe them no more, and I'll promise you, sir, if you think I like such jokes, you'll find I'm no such person.  I fancy there is some misunderstanding. What? I suppose you'll tell me next you don't know nothing of the matter. Not a word upon my honour. Oh, Sir Clement, thought I. Is it thus you prize your honour? Pardee! cried Madame duval. This is the most provokingest part of all, why you might as well tell me I don't know my own name. Here is certainly some mistake, for I assure you, ma'am. Don't assure me nothing, cried Madame duval, raising her voice. I know what I'm saying, and so do you too. For did you not tell me all that about the tower, and about Monsieur Dubois? Why, Monsieur Dubois wasn't ever there, nor nigh it, and so it was all your own invention. May then not be two persons of the same name, the mistake was but natural. Don't tell me of no mistake, for it was all on purpose. Besides, did you not come all in a mask to the chariot door, and helped you get me put in that ditch? I'll promise you, I've had the greatest mind in the world to take the law of you ever since, and if you ever do as much again, so I will, I assure you. Here, Miss Branton tittered. Mr. Smith smiled contemptuously, and young Branton thrust his handkerchief into his mouth to stop his laughter. The situation of Sir Clement, who saw all that passed, became now very awkward even to himself, and he stammered very much in saying, Surely, madam, surely you, you cannot do me the injustice to think that I had any share in the, the, the misfortune which... Ma foie, sir! cried Madame Dubois with increasing passion. You'd best not stand talking to me at that rate. I know it was you, and if you stay there, at provoking me in such a manner, I'll send for a constable this minute. Young Branton, at these words, in spite of all his efforts, burst into a loud laugh, nor could either his sister or Mr. Smith, though with more moderation, for bear joining in his mirth. Sir Clement darted his eyes towards them with looks of the most angry contempt, and then told Madame Dubois that he would not now detain her to make his vindication, but would wait on her some time when she was alone. Oh, pardon me, sir! cried she. I don't desire none of your company, and if you was the most boldest person in the world, you would not there look me in the face. The ha-ha-ha's, and he-he-he's, grew more and more uncontrollable, as if the restraint from which they had burst had added to their violence. The Clement could no longer endure being the object to excited them, and having no answer ready for Madame Dubois, he hastily stalked towards Mr. Smith and Young Branton, and sternly demanded what they laughed at. Struck by the air of importance which he assumed, and alarmed at the angry tone of his voice, their merriment ceased as instantaneously as if it had been directed by clockwork, and they stared foolishly, now at him, now at each other, without making any answer but a simple— Nothing, sir. Oh, poor Legault! cried Madame Dubois. This is too much. Praise, sir, what business have you to come here ordering people that come to see me? I suppose next nobody must laugh but yourself. With me, Madame," said Sir Clement, bowing, a lady may do anything, and consequently there is no liberty in which I shall not be happy to indulge you, but it has never been my custom to give the same license to gentlemen. Then advancing to me, who had sat very quietly on a window during the scene, he said, Miss Anvil, I may at least acquaint our friends at Howard Grove that I had the honour of leaving you in good health. And then, lowering his voice, he added, For heaven's sake, my dearest creature, who are these people, and how came you so strangely situated? I beg my respects to all the family, sir," answered I, aloud, and I hope you will find them well. He looked at me reproachfully, but kissed my hand, and then bowing to Madame Duvall and Miss Branton, passed hastily by the men, and made his exit. I fancy he will not be very eager to repeat his visit, for I should imagine that he has rarely, if ever, been before in a situation so awkward and disagreeable. Madame Duvall has been all spirits and exaltation ever since he went, and only wishes kept in Mervin would call, that she might do the same by him. Mr. Smith, upon hearing that he was a baronet, and seeing him drive off in a very beautiful chariot, declared that he would not have laughed upon any account had he known his rank, and regretted extremely having missed such an opportunity of making so genteel in acquaintance. Young Branton vowed that if he had known his much he would have asked for his custom, and his sister has sung his praises ever since, protesting she thought all along he was a man of quality by his look. Everliner by Fanny Burney Letter forty-eight Everliner in continuation, June twenty-first The last three evenings have passed tolerably quiet, for the walks of the adventures had given Madame Duvall a surfeit of public places. Home, however, soon growing tiresome, she determined to-night, she said, to relieve her unwee by some amusement, and it was therefore settled that we should call upon the brandons at their house, and thence proceed to Meribin Gardens. But before we reached Snow Hill, we were caught in a shower of rain. We hurried into the shop, where the first object I saw was Mr. McCartney, with a book in his hand, seated in the same corner where I saw him last.  He lifted them up as we entered, and I even thought that they emitted a gleam of joy. Involuntarily I made to him my first curtsy. He rose and bowed with the precipitation that manifested surprise and confusion. In a few minutes were joined by all the family, except Mr. Smith, who fortunately was engaged. Had all the future prosperity of our lives depended upon the good or bad weather of this evening, it could not have been treated as a subject of greater importance. Sure, never anything was so unlucky! Lord! how provoking! it might rain for ever if it would hold up now! These and such expressions, with many anxious observations upon the kennels, filled up all the conversation till the shower was over. And then a very warm debate arose, whether we should pursue our plan or defer it to some finer evening. The Miss Brantons were for the former. Their father was sure it would rain again. Madame Duvall, though she detested returning home, yet dreaded the dampness of the gardens. Monsieur Dubois then proposed going to the top of the house to examine whether the clouds looked threatening or peaceable. Miss Branton, starting at this proposal, said they might go to Mr. McCartney's room, if they would, but not to hers. This was enough for the brother, who, with a loud laugh, declared he would have some fun, and immediately led the way, calling to us all to follow. His sisters both ran after, but no one else moved. In a few minutes young Branton, coming halfway down the stairs, called out, Lord, why don't you all come? Why, here's Paul's things all about the rom!" Mr. Branton then went, and Madame Duvall, who cannot bear to be excluded from whatever is going forward, was handed upstairs by Monsieur Dubois. I hesitated a few moments whether or not to join them, but soon perceiving that Mr. McCartney had dropped his book, and that I engrossed his whole attention, I prepared for mere embarrassment to follow them. As I went, I heard him move from his chair, and walk slowly after me. Believing that he wished to speak to me, and earnestly desiring myself to know if, by your means, I could possibly be of any service to him, I first slackened my pace, and then turned back. But though I thus met him half-way, he seemed to want courage or resolution to address me. For, when he saw me returning, with a look extremely disordered, he retreated hastily from me. Not knowing what I ought to do, I went to the street door, where I stood some time, hoping he would be able to recover himself. But on the contrary, his agitation increased every moment. He walked up and down the room in a quick but unsteady pace, seeming equally distressed and resolute, and at length, with a deep sigh, he flung himself into a chair. I was so much affected by the appearance of such extreme anguish, that I could remain no longer in the room. I therefore glided by him and went upstairs, but ere I had gone five steps, he precipitately followed me, and in a broken voice called out, Madam, for heaven's sake!" He stopped. But I instantly descended, restraining, as well as I was able, the fullness of my own concern. I waited some time, in painful expectation, for his speaking. All that I had heard of his poverty occurring to me, I was on the point of presenting him my purse, but the fear of mistaking or offending him deterred me. Finding, however, that he continued silent, I ventured to say, did you, sir, wish to speak to me? I did, cried he with quickness, but no, I cannot. Perhaps, sir, another time, perhaps, if you recollect yourself. Another time, repeated he mournfully. Alas! I look not forward but to misery and despair. Oh, sir! cried I, extremely shocked. You must not talk thus. If you forsake yourself, how can you expect? I stopped. Tell me, tell me! cried he with eagerness. Who you are? Whence you come? And by what strange means you seem to be arbitrous and ruler of the destiny of such a wretched I am? What to heaven, cried I? I could serve you. You can. And how? Pray, tell me how? To tell you, is death to me. Yet I will tell you. I have a right to your assistance. You have deprived me of the only resource to which I could apply, and therefore— Pray, pray, speak! cried I, putting my hand into my pocket. They will be downstairs in a minute. I will, madam. Can you? Will you? I think you will. May I then—?" He stopped and paused. Say, will you? Then turning suddenly from me. Great heaven, I cannot speak. And he went back to the shop. I now put my purse in my hand, and following him said, If indeed, sir, I can assist you, why should you deny me so great a satisfaction? Will you permit me to?" I dared not go on, but with the countenance very much softened. He approached me and said, Your voice, madam, is the voice of compassion. Such a voice as these ears have long been strangers to. Just then young Brandon called out vehemently to me to come upstairs. I seized the opportunity of hastening away, and therefore saying, Heaven, sir, protect and comfort to you! I let for my purse upon the ground, not daring to present it to him, and ran upstairs with the utmost swiftness. Too well do I know you, my ever-honoured sir, to fear your displeasure for this action. I must, however, assure you, I shall need no fresh supply during my stay in town, as I am at little expense, and hope soon to return to Howard Grove. Soon, did I say, when not a fortnight has yet expired of the long and tedious month I must linger out here. I had many witticisms to endure from the Brantons, upon account of my staying so long with the Scotch Mope as they call him, but I attended to them very little, for my whole heart was filled with pity and concern. I was very glad to find the Maribans' scheme was deferred, another shower of rain having put a stop to the dissensions upon this subject. The rest of the evening was employed in most violent quarrelling between Miss Polly and her brother, on account of the discovery made by the latter of the state of her apartment. We came home early, and I have stolen from Madame Duvall and Monsieur Dubois, who was here for ever, to write to my best friend. I am most sincerely rejoiced that this opportunity has offered for my contributing what little relief was in my power to this unhappy man, and I hope it will be sufficient to enable him to pay his debts to this pitiless family. And of Letter 48 Displeasure, ah, my Evelina, you have but done your duty, you have but shown that humanity without which I should blush to own my child. It is mine, however, to see that your generosity be not repressed by your suffering from indulging in it. I remit to you, therefore, not merely a token of my approbation, but an acknowledgement of my desire to participate in your charity. O my child, for my fortune equal to my confidence in thy benevolence, with what transport should I, through thy means, devote it to the relief of indigent virtue. Yet let us not repine at the limitation of our power, for while our bounty is proportioned to our ability, the difference of the greater or less donation can weigh but little in the scale of justice. In reading your account of the misguided man whose misery has so largely excited your compassion, I am led to apprehend that his unhappy situation is less the effect of misfortune than of misconduct. If he is reduced to that state of poverty represented by the Brantons, he should endeavor by activity and industry to retrieve his affairs, and not pass his time in idle reading and the very shop of his creditor. The pistol scene made me shudder, the courage with which you pursued this desperate man at once delighted and terrified me. Be ever thus my dearest Evelina, dauntless in the cause of distress, let no weak fears, no timid doubts deter you from the exertion of your duty according to the fullest sense of it that nature has implanted in your mind. Though gentleness and modesty are the peculiar attributes of your sex, yet fortitude and firmness, when occasion demands them, are virtues as noble and as becoming in women as in men. The right line of conduct is the same for both sexes, though the manner in which it is pursued may somewhat vary, and be accommodated to the strength or weakness of the different travelers. There is, however, something so mysterious in all you have seen or heard of this wretched man that I am unwilling to stamp a bad impression of his character upon so slight and partial a knowledge of it, where anything is doubtful, the ties of society and the laws of humanity claim a favorable interpretation. But remember, my dear child, that those of discretion have an equal claim to your regard. As to Sir Clement Willoughby, I know not how to express my indignation at his conduct. Insolence so insufferable, and the implication of suspicion so shocking, irritate me to a degree of wrath, which I hardly thought my almost worn out passions were capable of again experiencing. You must converse with him no more. He imagines, from the pliability of your temper, that he may offend you with impunity, but to his behavior justifies, nay calls for your avowed resentment, do not therefore hesitate in forbidding him your sight. The Brantons, Mr. Smith, and Young Brown, however ill-bred and disagreeable, are objects too contemptible for serious displeasure, yet I grieve much that my Avelina should be exposed to their rudeness and impertence. The very day that this tedious month expires, I shall send Mrs. Clinton to town, who will accompany you to Howard Grove. Your stay there will, I hope, be short, for I feel daily in increasing impatience to fold my beloved child to my bosom. Arthur Villar's End of Letter 49 I have just received my dearest sir, your kind present, and still kinder letter.  Though motherless, though worse than fatherless, bereft from infancy of the two first and greatest blessings of life, never has she had cause to deplore their loss. Never has she felt the omission of a parent's tenderness, care, or indulgence. Never, but from sorrow for them, had reason to grieve at the separation. Most thankfully do I receive the token of your approbation, and most studiously will I endeavour so to dispose of it, as may merit your generous confidence in my conduct. Your doubts concerning Mr. McCartney give me some uneasiness. Indeed, sir, he has not the appearance of a man whose sorrows are the effect of guilt. But I hope, before I leave town, to be better acquainted with the situation, and enabled with more certainty of his worth to recommend him to your favour. I am very willing to relinquish all acquaintance with Sir Clement Willoughby, as far as it may depend upon myself to do so. But indeed I know not how I should be able to absolutely forbid him my sight. Miss Mervyn in her last letter informs me he is now at Howard Grove, where he continues in high favour with the captain, and is the life and spirit of the house. My time, since I wrote last, has passed very quietly, Madame Duvall having been kept at home by a bad cold, and the Brantons by a bad weather. The young man indeed has called two or three times, and his behaviour, though equally absurd, is more unaccountable than ever. He speaks very little, takes hardly any notice of Madame Duvall, and never looks at me without a broad grin. Sometimes he approaches me as if with intention to communicate intelligence of importance, and then, suddenly stopping short, laughs rudely in my face. Oh! how happy shall I be when the worthy Mrs. Clinton arrives! June 29th Yesterday morning Mr. Smith called to acquaint us that the Hampstead Assembly was to be held that evening, and then he presented Madame Duvall with one ticket, and brought another to me. I thanked him for his intense ability, but told him I was surprised he had so soon forgotten my already having declined going to the ball. Lord Ma'am! cried he. How should I suppose you as an earnest?  Here's your grand-mama ready to take care of you, so that you can have no fair objection, for she'll see that I don't run away with you. Besides, ma'am, I got the tickets on purpose. If you were determined, sir, said I, in making me this offer, to allow me no choice of refusal or acceptance, I must think myself less obliged to your intention than I was willing to do. Dear ma'am! cried he. You're so smart, there is no speaking to you. Indeed, you are monstrous smart, ma'am. But come, your grand-ma shall ask you, and then I shall know you'll not be so cruel. Ma'am Duvall was very ready to interfere. She desired me to make no further opposition, said she should go herself, and insisted upon my accompanying her. It was in vain that I remonstrated. I only incurred her anger, and Mr. Smith, having given both the tickets to Ma'am Duvall with an air of triumph, said he should call early in the evening, and took leave. I was much chagrined at being thus compelled to owe even the shadow of an obligation to so forward a young man, but I determined that nothing should prevail upon me to dance with him, however my refusal might give offence. In the afternoon when he returned, it was evident that he purposed to both charm and astonish me by his appearance. He was dressed in a very showy manner, but without any taste. And the inelegant smartness of his air and deportment, his visible struggle against education to put on the fine gentleman, added to his frequent conscious glances at address to which he was but little accustomed, very effectually destroyed his aim of figuring, and rendered all his efforts useless. During tea entered Miss Brandon and her brother. I was sorry to observe the consternation of the former, when she perceived Mr. Smith. I had intended applying to her for advice upon this occasion, but had been always deterred by her disagreeable abruptness. Having cast her eyes several times from Mr. Smith to me, with manifest displeasure, she seated herself sullenly in the window, scarce answering Madame Duvall's inquiries, and when I spoke to her, turning absolutely away from me. Mr. Smith, delighted at this mark of his importance, sat indolently quiet on his chair, endeavouring by his looks rather to display than to conceal his inward satisfaction. —Good gracious! cried young Brandon. Why, you're all as fine as a five-pence. Why, where are you going? —To the Hamston ball! answered Mr. Smith. —To a ball? cried he. —What? Why, it's aren't going to a ball. Ha, ha, ha! —Yes, to be sure! cried Madame Duvall. I don't know nothing, need hinder me. —And pray, aunt, will you dance, too? —Perhaps I may, but I suppose so that's none of your business, whether I do or not. —Lord, well, I should like to go. I should like to see aunt dance of all things. But the joke is, don't believe she'll ever get a partner. —You the most rudest boy ever, I see! said Madame Duvall angrily. But I promise you, I'll tell your father what you say, for I have no notion of such vulgarness. —Why, Lord, aunt, what are you so angry for? There's no speaking a word but you fly into a passion. You're as bad as biddy or pole for that, if you're always a scolding. —I desire, Tom, cried Miss Branton, that you speak for yourself, and do not make so free with my name. —There, now, she's up. There's nothing but quarrelling with the women, and it's my belief they like it better than victuals and drink. —Why, Tom, cried Mr. Smith, you never remember your manners before the ladies. I'm sure you never heard me speak so rude to them. —Why, Lord, you were a beau, but that's nothing to me. So, if you've a mind, you may be so polite as to dance with aunt yourself. —Then, with a loud laugh, he declared it would be good fun to see them. —Let it be never so good, or never so bad, cried Madame Duvall.  So pray, don't let me hear no more of such vulgar pieces of fun, for I assure you I don't like it. —And as to my dancing with Mr. Smith, you may see wonderful things than that any day in the week. —Why as to that, mom? said Mr. Smith, looking much surprised. I always thought you intended to play at cards, and so I thought to dance with the young lady. —I gladly seize this opportunity to make my declaration that I should not dance at all. —Not dance at all? repeated Miss Branton. Yes, that's a likely matter truly when people go to balls. —I wish she mayint, said the brother, because then Mr. Smith will have nobody but aunt for a partner. Lord, how mad he'll be! —Oh, as to that, said Mr. Smith, I don't at all fear of prevailing with the young lady if once I get her to the room. —Indeed, sir, cried I, much offended by his conceit. You are mistaken, and therefore I beg leave to undercede you, as you may be assured my resolution will not alter. —Then pray, Miss, if it is not impertinent, cried Miss Branton sneeringly, what do you go for? —Merely and solely, answered I, to comply with the request of Madame Duvall. —Miss, cried young Branton, beard only wishes it was she, for she has cast a sheep-sight, Mr. Smith, this long while. —Tom! cried the sister, rising, of the greatest mind in the world to box your ears, how dare you say such a thing of me? —No, hang it, Tom, no, that's wrong, said Mr. Smith, simpering. It is indeed to tell the lady's secrets, but never mind him, Miss Biddy, for I won't believe him. —Why, no, Bid would give her ears to go—returned the brother—but only Mr. Smith likes Miss Bess, so does everybody else. —While the sister gave him a very angry answer, Mr. Smith said to me in a low voice, —Why now, Mum, how can he be so cruel as to be so much handsomer than your cousins? Nobody can look at them while you are by.  I'll give you my word for it, I'll never marry you. —For he's told me again and again, I'll never marry as long as he lives. Besides, if he'd any mind to be married, there's Bid would have had him long ago, and thanked him too. —Come, come, Tom, don't tell secrets, you'll make the ladies afraid of me. But I assure you, lowering his voice, if I did marry, it should be your cousin. —Should be. Did you ever, my dear sir, hear such unauthorised freedom? I looked at him with a contempt I did not wish to repress, and walked to the other end of the room. Very soon after Mr. Smith sent for a hackney-coach, when I would have taken leave of Miss Branton, she turned angrily from me without making any answer. She supposes, perhaps, that I have rather sought, than endeavoured to avoid, the notice sensibilities of this conceited young man. The ball was at the long room at Hampstead. This room seems very well named, for I believe it would be difficult to find any other epithet which might, with propriety, distinguish it, as it is without ornament, elegance, or any sort of singularity, and merely to be marked by its length. I was saved from the importunities of Mr. Smith, the beginning of the evening, by Madame DuVall's declaring her intention to dance the first two dancers with him herself. Mr. Smith's chagrin was very evident, but as she paid no regard to it, he was necessitated to lead her out. I was, however, by no means pleased when she said she was determined to dance a minuet. Indeed, I was quite astonished, not having had the least idea she would have consented to, much less proposed, such an exhibition of her person. She had some trouble to make her intentions known, as Mr. Smith was rather averse to speaking to the master of the ceremonies. During this minuet, how much did I rejoice in being surrounded only with strangers? She danced in a style so uncommon. Her age, her showy dress, and an unusual quantity of rouge drew upon her the eyes, and I fear the derision of the whole company. Whom she danced with, I know not, but Mr. Smith was so ill-bred as to laugh at her very openly, and to speak of her with as much ridicule as was in his power. But I would neither look at nor listen to him, nor would I suffer him to proceed with any speech which he began, expressive to his vexation of being forced to dance with her. I told him, very gravely, that complaints upon such a subject might, with less impropriety, be made to every person in the room than to me. When she returned to us, she distressed me very much by asking what I thought of her minuet. I spoke as civilly as I could, but the coldness of my compliment evidently disappointed her. She then called upon Mr. Smith to secure a good place among the country dancers, and away they went, though not before he had taken the liberty to say to me in a low voice, I protest you, ma'am, I shall be quite out of countenance if any of my acquaintance should see me dancing with the old lady. For a few moments I very much rejoiced at being relieved from this troublesome man, but scarce had I time to congratulate myself before I was accosted by another, who begged the favour of hopping a dance with me. I told him that I should not dance at all, but he thought proper to impetune me, very freely, not to be so cruel, that I was obliged to assume no little haughtiness before I could satisfy him, I was serious. After this I was addressed much in the same manner by several other young men, of whom the appearance and language were equally inelegant in low bread, so that I soon found my situation was both disagreeable and improper. Since, as I was quite alone, I fear I must seem rather to invite than to forbid the offers and notice I received, and yet so great was my apprehension of this interpretation, that I am sure, my dear sir, you would have laughed had you seen how proudly grave I appeared. I knew not whether to be glad or sorry when Madame Duvall and Mr. Smith returned. The latter instantly renewed his tiresome entreaties, and Madame Duvall said she would go to the card-table, and as soon as she was accommodated she desired us to join the dancers. I will not trouble you with the arguments which followed. Mr. Smith teased me till I was weary of resistance, and I should at last have been obliged to submit.  He was not contented with being extremely chagrined, but took the liberty, openly and warmly, to expostulate with me upon not having said I was engaged. The total disregard with which, involuntarily I heard him, made him soon change the subject. In truth I had no power to attend to him, for all my thoughts were occupied in retracing the transactions of the two former balls, at which I had been present. The party, the conversation, the company—oh, how great the contrast! In a short time, however, he contrived to draw my attention to himself by his extreme impertinence, but he chose to express what he called his admiration of me, in terms so open and familiar that he forced me to express my displeasure with equal plainness.  For he said, my dear mum, you must be a little patient. I assure you I have no bad designs. I have not upon my word. But really there is no resolving upon such a thing as matrimony all at once. What with the loss of one's liberty? And what with the ridicule of all one's acquaintance?  For after all, my dear mum, marriage is the devil. Your opinion, sir, answered I, of either the married or the single life, can be of no manner of consequence to me, and therefore I would by no means trouble you to discuss their different merits. Why, really, mum, as to your being a little out of sorts, I must own I can't wonder at it, for to be sure marriage is all and all with the ladies. But with us gentlemen it's quite another thing. Now only put yourself in my place. Suppose you had such a large acquaintance of gentlemen as I have, and that you had always been used to appear a little—a little smart among them. Why, now, could you like to let yourself down all at once into a married man? I could not tell what to answer. So much conceit and so much ignorance both astonished and silenced me. I assure you, mum, added he, there is not only Miss Biddy, though I should have scorned to mention her if her brother had not blabbed, for I am quite particular in keeping ladies' secrets, but there are a great many other ladies that have been proposed to me. But I never thought twice of any of them. That is, not in a serious way. So you may very well be proud, offering to take my hand. For I assure you there was nobody so likely to catch me at last as yourself. Sir! cried I, drawing myself back as haughtily as I could. You are totally mistaken if you imagine you have given me any pride I felt not to perform by this conversation. On the contrary, you must allow me to tell you I find it too humiliating to bear with it any longer. I then placed myself behind the chair of Madame Duvall, who, when she heard of the partners I had refused, pitied my ignorance of the world, but no longer insisted upon my dancing. Indeed, the extreme vanity of this man makes me exert a spirit which I did not till now know that I possessed, but I can not endure that he should think me at his disposal. The rest of the evening passed very quietly, as Mr. Smith did not again attempt speaking to me, except indeed after he had left the room and while Madame Duvall was sitting herself on the couch, he said in a voice of peak, next time I take the trouble to get any tickets for young lady, I'll make a bargain beforehand that she shan't turn me over to her grandmother. We came home very safe, and thus ended this so long projected and most disagreeable affair. End of LETTER XV Everliner in Continuation I have just received a most affecting letter from Mr. McCartney. I will enclose it, my dear sir, for your perusal. More than ever have I caused to rejoice that I was able to assist him. Mr. McCartney to Miss Anvil. Impressed with deepest, the most heartfelt sense of the exalted humanity with which you have rescued from destruction and unhappy stranger, allow me, with humblest gratitude, to offer you my fervent acknowledgments, and to implore your pardon for the terror I have caused you. You bid me, madam, live. I have now, indeed, a motive for life, since I should not willingly quit the world while I withhold from the needy and distressed any share of that charity which a disposition so noble would otherwise bestow upon them. The benevolence with which you have interested yourself in my affairs induces me to suppose you would wish to be acquainted with the cause of that desperation from which you snatched me, and the particulars of that misery of which you have so wonderfully been a witness. Yet, as this explanation will require that I should divulge secrets of a nature the most delicate, I must entreat you to regard them as sacred, even though I forbear to mention the names of the parties concerned. I was brought up in Scotland, though my mother, who had the soul care of me, was an English woman, and had not one relation in that country. She devoted to me her whole time. The retirement in which we lived, and the distance from our natural friends, she often told me, were the effect of an unconquerable melancholy with which she was seized upon the sudden loss of my father, some time before I was born. At Aberdeen, where I finished my education, I formed a friendship with a young man of fortune, which I considered as the chief happiness of my life. But when he quitted his studies, I considered it as my chief misfortune, for he immediately prepared by direction of his friends to make the tour of Europe. As I was destined for the church, had had no prospect even of maintenance from my own industry, I scarce dared permit even a wish of accompanying him. It is true he would joyfully have borne my expenses, but my affection was as free from meanness as his own, and I made a determination, the most solemn, never to lessen its dignity by submitting to pecuniary obligations. We corresponded with great regularity, and the most unbounded confidence from the space of two years, when he arrived at Lyon in his way home. He wrote me thence the most pressing invitation to meet him at Paris, where he intended to remain some time. My desire to comply with his request, and shorten our absence, was so earnest, that my mother, too indulgent to control me, lent me what assistance was in her power, and in an ill-fated moment, I set out for that capital. My meeting with this dear friend was the happiest event of my life. He introduced me to all his acquaintance, and so quickly did time seem to pass at that delightful period, that the six weeks I had allotted for my stay were gone, ere I was sensible I had missed so many days. But I must know, own, that the company of my friend was not this old subject of my felicity. I became acquainted with the young lady, daughter of an Englishman of distinction, with whom I formed an attachment, which I have a thousand times vowed, a thousand times sincerely thought would be as lasting as my life. She had but just quitted a convent in which she had been placed with a child, and though English by birth, she could scarcely speak her native language. Her person and disposition were equally engaging. But chiefly I adored her with the greatness of the expectation, which, for my sake, she was willing to resign. When the time for my residence in Paris expired, I was almost distracted at the idea of quitting her. Yet I had not the courage to make our attachment known to her father, who might reasonably form for her such views as would make him reflect, with a contempt which I could not bear to think of, such an offer is mine. Yet I had free access to the house, where she seemed to be left almost wholly to the guidance of an old servant, who was my fast friend. But, to be brief, the sudden and unexpected return of her father, one fatal afternoon, proved the beginning of the misery which has ever since devoured me. I doubt not, but he had listened to our conversation, for he darted into the room with a rage of a madman. Heavens! what a scene followed! What abusive language did the shame of a clandestine affair, and the consciousness of acting ill induce me to brook? At length, however, his fury exceeded my patience. He called me a beggardly, cowardly scotchman. Fired at the words I drew my sword. He, with equal alertness, drew his, for he was not an old man, but, on the contrary, strong and able as myself. In vain his daughter pleaded. In vain did I, repentant of my anger retreat. His reproach has continued. Myself, my country, were loaded with infamy till no longer constraining my rage. We fought, and he fell. At that moment I could almost have destroyed myself. The young lady fainted with terror. The old servant, drawn to us by the noise of the scuffle, and treated me to escape, and promised to bring intelligence of what should pass to my apartments. The disturbance which I heard raised in the house obliged me to comply, and in a state of mind inconceivably wretched, I tore myself away. My friend, whom I found at home, soon discovered the whole affair. It was near midnight before the woman came. She told me that her master was living, and her young mistress restored to her senses. The absolute necessity for my leaving Paris, while any danger remained, was forcibly argued by my friend. The servant promised to acquaint him of whatever past, and he to transmit to me her information. Thus, circumstance, with the assistance of this dear friend, I affected my departure from Paris, and not long after I returned to Scotland. I would fain have stopped, by the way, that I might have been nearer the scene of all my concerns, but the low state of my finances denied me that satisfaction. The miserable situation of my mind was soon discovered by my mother, nor would she rest till I communicated the cause. She heard the whole story with an agitation which astonished me. The name of the party's concerns seemed to strike her with horror, but when I said, we fought, and he fell— My son, cried she, you have then murdered your father. And she sank breathless at my feet. Comments, madam, upon such a scene as this, would to you be superfluous, and to me agonising. I cannot, for both our sakes, be too concise. When she recovered, she confessed all the particulars of a tale which she had hoped never to have revealed. Alas! the last she had sustained of my father was not by death. Bound to her by no ties but those of honour, he had voluntarily deserted her. Her settling in Scotland was not the effect of choice. She was banished to thither by a family but too justly incensed. Pardon, madam, that I cannot be more explicit. My senses in the greatness of my misery actually forsook me, and for more than a week I was wholly delirious. My unfortunate mother was yet more to be pitied, for she pined with unmitigated sorrow, eternally reproaching herself for the danger to which her too strict silence had exposed me. When I recovered my reason, my impatience to hear from Paris almost deprived me of it again, and though the length of time I waited for letters might justly be attributed to contrary winds, I could not bear the delay, and was twenty times upon the point of returning thither at all hazards. At length, however, several letters arrived at once, and from the most insupportable of my afflictions I was then relieved, for they acquainted me that the horrors of parasite were not in reserve for me. They informed me also that as soon as the wound was healed a journey would be made to England, where my unhappy sister was to be received by an aunt with whom she was to live. This intelligence somewhat quieted the violence of my sorrows. I instantly formed a plaid of meeting them in London, and by revealing the whole dreadful story convincing this irritated parent that he had nothing more to apprehend from his daughter's unfortunate choice. My mother consented, and gave me a letter to prove the truth of my assertions. As I could but ill afford to make this journey, I travelled in the cheapest way that was possible. I took an obscure lodging—I need not, madam tell you where—and bordered with the people of the house. Here I languished, week after week, vainly hoping for the arrival of my family. But my impetuosity had blinded me to the imprudence of which I was guilty in quitting Scotland so hastily. My wounded father, after his recovery, relapsed, and when I had waited in the most comfortless situation for six weeks, my friend wrote me word that the journey was yet deferred for some time longer. My finances were then nearly exhausted, and I was obliged, though most unwillingly, to beg further assistance from my mother, that I might return to Scotland. Oh, madam! my answer was not from herself. It was written by a lady who had long been her companion, and acquainted me that she had been suddenly taken ill of a fever, and was no more. The compassionate nature of which you have given such noble proofs assures me I need not, if I could, paint to you the anguish of a mind overwhelmed with such accumulated sorrows. Enclosed was a letter to an irrelation which she had during her illness, with much difficulty written, and in which, with the strongest maternal tenderness, she described my deplorable situation, and entreated his interest to procure me some preferment. Yet so sunk was I by misfortune, that a fortnight elapsed before I had the courage or spirit to attempt delivering this letter. I was then compelled to it by want. To make my appearance with some decency I was necessitated myself to the melancholy task of changing my coloured clothes for a suit of mourning, and then I proceeded to seek my relation. I was informed he was not in town. In this desperate situation the pride of my heart, which hitherto had not bowed to adversity, gave way, and I determined to entreat the assistance of my friend, whose offered services I had a thousand times rejected. Yet madame, so hard is it to root from the mind its favourite principles of prejudices, call them what you please, that I lingered another week ere I had the resolution to send away a letter, which I regarded as the death of my independence. Had length, reduced to my last chilling, shunned insolently by the people of the house, and almost famished, I sealed this fatal letter, and with a heavy heart determined to take it to the post office. But Mr. Branton and his sons suffered me not to pass through their shop with impunity. They insulted me grossly, and threatened me with imprisonment if I did not immediately satisfy their demands. Stung to the soul I bid them have but a day's patience, and flung from them in a state of mind too terrible for description. My letter, which I now have found, would be received too late to save me from disgrace, I tore into a thousand pieces, and scarce could I refrain from putting an instantaneous and unlicensed period to my existence. In this disorder of the senses, I formed the horrible plan of turning footpad, for which purpose I returned to my lodging, and collected whatever of my apparel I could part with, which I immediately sold, and with the produce purchased a brace of pistols, powder, and shot. I hope, however, you will believe me when I most solemnly assure you, but sole intention was to frighten the passengers I should assault with these dangerous weapons, which I had not loaded, but from a resolution, a dreadful one I own, to save myself from an ignominious death if seized. And indeed, I thought, that if I could but procure money sufficient to pay Mr. Branton, and make a journey to Scotland, I should soon be able to, by the public papers, to discover whom I had injured, and to make private retribution. But madam, new to every species of villainy, my perturbation was so great, that I could with difficulty support myself, yet the Brantons observed it not as I passed to the shop. Here I stop, what followed is better known to yourself, but no time can ever efface from my memory that moment when, in the very action of preparing for my own destruction, with the lawless seizure of the property of others, you rushed into the room and arrested my arm. It was indeed an awful moment. The hand of Providence seemed to intervene between me and eternity. I beheld you as an angel. I thought you dropped from the clouds. The earth, indeed, had never presented to my view a form so celestial. What wonder, then, that a spectacle so astonishing should, to a man disordered as I was, appear too beautiful to be human? And now, madam, that I have performed this painful task, the more grateful one remains of rewarding, as far as is in my power, your generous goodness, by assuring you it shall not be thrown away. You have awakened me to a sense of the false pride by which I have been actuated, a pride which, while its scorned assistance from a friend, scrupled not come held from a stranger, though at the hazard of reducing that stranger to a situation as destitute as my own. Yet, oh! how violent was the struggle which torn my conflicting soul, ere I could persuade myself to profit, by the benevolence with which you were so evidently disposed to exert in my favour. By means of a ring, the gift of my much-regretted mother, a half for the present satisfied Mr. Branton, and by means of your compassion, a hope to support myself either till I hear from my friend, to whom it length the half written, or till the relation of my mother returns to town. To talk to you, madam, of paying my debt would be in vain. I never can. The service you have done me exceeds all power of return. You have restored me to my senses. You have taught me to curb those passions which bereft me of them, and since I cannot avoid calamity, to bear it as a man. An interposition so wonderfully circumstances can never be recollected without benefit. Yet allow me to say, the puniary part of my obligation must be settled by my fair stability. I am, madam, with the most profound respect at heartfelt gratitude, your obedient and voted humble servant, J. McCartney.