Letters 50 through 52 of the history of Lady Barton. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Devorah Allen. The History of Lady Barton by Elizabeth Griffith. Letter 50. Miss Cleveland to Lady Barton. Paris still, but on the point of quitting it in a few hours. My brother arrived here on Sunday night, and with him, but no matter, he is not of sufficient consequence to interrupt a narrative in which we are all so much interested. You may be curious, though. Lord Hume then came with Sir George from Naples. He has had a thousand ridiculous adventures in Italy. I have not seen him yet, and do not know when I shall. My eyes, as you apprehended, certainly told tales. For the moment Sir George saw me, he said there is a glad expression in my sister's face that would almost tempt me to hope, beyond the bounds of reason. But alas, Fanny, there is no redemption from the grave. True, Sir George, I answered. But perhaps your treasure may not yet be consigned to that strong chest. He got my hand, and pressing it to his heart, cried out, It is impossible that you should meet a trifle with my anguish. Yet did she not expire at Amiens? She never was at Amiens, I replied. Where? Where, then, did her pure spirit take its flight and quit her lovely form? You must be more composed, Sir George, before I can talk further on this subject. Why was it started, Fanny? Why are all my wounds made to bleed afresh? Can you delight in cruelty? Far from it. You know how tenderly I sympathized with your distress when I believed her dead. If there is a cause in nature that can make you doubt it now, Oh, speak it quickly and ease my anxious heart. I have strong reasons to believe she lives, or I should not thus have alarmed you. My friend Mrs. Walter has seen and conversed with a young lady of the name of Delia Colville in a convent at Saint-Omer, who may be her. He dropped upon his knees and exclaimed, Gracious Heaven, but realize this blessed vision, Let me no longer mourn my Delia's loss, And unrepining will I then submit to all that fate or fortune can inflict upon my future days. Speak, speak on my sister, And say again that you believe she lives. Indeed, I do believe so, my dear brother. He rose and caught me in his arms, While the large drops ran plenty astound his cheeks. Tears relieved us both. I then proceeded to acquaint him with those circumstances which I have already informed you of, As I thought I might now venture to speak to him with more certainty, And that I felt too much pain in keeping him longer doubtful. His transports increased, And it is utterly impossible to give any idea of the excess of his joy. It was with difficulty that I could prevent his going at midnight to Lord H. But though I prevailed on him to defer his visit till morning, I could not persuade him to go to bed, Or attempt to take any rest or food except a little wine and water, And the whole night was spent in repeating what I had told him before, And rereading Mrs. Walter's letter. Selfish mortal as he is, He barely mentioned his having extricated Lord Hume out of some doleful disasters that befell him at Naples, In which an opera singer was the principal performer. But what consequence could he suppose the story to be of to me? Though I neither am or ever mean to be connected with his lordship, I am pleased that my brother saved his life, And that by his means he has got quit of an artful woman who might probably have ruined his fortune, And I have a kind of satisfied pride also in thinking that he is so much indebted to our family. I am afraid there is something mean in the above reflection, But I am not now at leisure enough to trace it back to its source. At some other time I will fairly and philosophically investigate its nature, And receive or reject it, according as I find it derived from a good or bad origin. Long before the ambassador's servants were stirring my brother attempted his door, And I think he returned three times before his excellency was visible. As soon as he had acquainted him with his business, Lord H very obligingly set out with him for Versailles, And has promised to get the order for Delia's enlargement as much expedited as possible. My brother, as you may suppose, remains in waiting till it is finished, And is then to call on me and fly to Saint-Omer, Without staying for the return of the chancellor's messenger from Toulouse. I have sat all day in my travelling dress as I would not delay him for any consideration. I mentioned your joy on the recovery of Delia. He returns your love a hundredfold, And says he will write both to you and Sir William as soon as his spirits are a little more composed. I fear to attempt answering my dear Louise's letter at present, As I expect to be summoned by my brother every instant. His carriage turns into the porte-cauchers at this moment. Adieu, ma tré-cher-sur, F. Cleveland. Letter 51, Miss Cleveland to Lady Barton, Saint-Omer. Though I have been here three days, My head is still giddy with the violent motion and emotion I have gone through since I left Paris. We set out the moment I had sealed my last letter to you, And travelled with as much expedition as French roads, Courses, and post-boys would permit. Sir George was determined to stop Adamiant, And notwithstanding certain assurances I had given him that his Delia was alive, He seemed to be strongly agitated when we drove into the town. He inquired from our landlord whether he recollected a young English lady's dying there at such a time. And being answered in the affirmative, The colour forsook his cheek, He fell almost lifeless on a settee that was near him and sighed out, Ah, Fanny, why have you deceived me? I could not help being provoked at his weakness, And told him I did not know that he was to be a mourner For all the young English women that should die in France. That I was perfectly convinced Miss Colville was alive and well, Or I should not have set out on our present expedition. But if he was inclined to think otherwise He had better not pursue the journey any farther. He replied with his usual mildness, Who loves must fear, And sure who loves like me must greatly fear. But my reliance on you has banished my apprehensions, And I now only desire to inquire into this affair To know by what means Mrs. Colville could avail herself of a stranger's death To carry on the vile deceit she has practised. Our host, like most others, Was very well inclined to be communicative, And informed us of the following particulars. That on such a day the diligence that goes to Paris stopped at his house, And set down a very pretty young woman who was so extremely ill That she was not able to travel farther. And that notwithstanding all possible care was taken of her, She expired on the fourth day after her coming there. They had discovered before she died that she was an English heretic, As she absolutely refused to let any of their clergy attend her During her illness. But they knew not even her name, nor whom she belonged to. And though her clothes and effects were sufficient to defray the expenses Of her funeral, yet as she was not a Catholic, She could not be interred in consecrated ground. And my host, to use his own phrase, Said he was in a perfect quandary to know how he should dispose of the body. But as good luck would have it, A lady in her maid arrived at his house the next day in a post-chase. As they were English, he acquainted them with his distress, And the maid was sent to look at the dead person In order to know if she could give any account of her.  At last the lady herself went to look at this lifeless beauty, And the moment she saw her, she gave a loud scream And ran back into her apartment. Sometime after, the maid called for him And told him that it was her lady's daughter who had died there, And gave some hints of her having eloped from her friends. She desired that everything might be prepared in the best manner For sending the body to England, And strictly charged him not to let any person go into the chamber where she lay, But those who were immediately concerned about the body. She added that he might dispose of the young lady's effects as he thought proper, Except a small trunk, which contained only a miniature picture, A pocketbook, and some letters, And the lady would pay all the necessary expenses on this melancholy occasion. Everything was then done as she directed to the mutual satisfaction of mine host, And that of the barrier of the living and robber of the dead, Mrs. Colville. I have not now leisure to expatiate on this extraordinary coincidence of circumstances, Yet I must observe that fortune seemed inclined to favour Mrs. Colville's deceit By the particular situation of the young woman at Amiens, Whose interment had imposed on all Delia's friends, even on her lover, And prevented any further inquiry about her. I dare say you are by this time very impatient to get us to our journey's end, But don't be in a hurry, Louisa, for our haste in setting out before the next day Occasioned a very disagreeable delay, as it brought us to the gates of Saint-Omer An hour after they were shut, and obliged us to pass a miserable night In what they call an auberge. But in our country I think it might be more justly styled a barn. At last the wished-for morning came, and we pursued our way directly to the convent. It is impossible to give you any idea of my brother's emotion. When we were shown into the parlor I desired to see the superior. I know that I must not stop here to give you a description of her person, But indeed she is a fine old lady. As soon as she appeared I delivered the king's mandate to her, Which she read with great dignity, but not without surprise, And said if she had been imposed on with regard to the young lady in question She was not to blame. And added that she was ready on the instant to obey the king's order By delivering Miss Colville to my care. George in a transport exclaimed, Let me but see her, madam. There I interposed my negative for Delia's sake, As I feared the effects which so unexpected an interview might have upon her spirits. It was therefore at last agreed to that I should go into another parlor, See Mrs. Walter, and send her to prepare Delia for such a joyful event. Our amiable friend soon came to me, And I have the happiness to tell you that she is most wonderfully recovered. But in pity to my brother's impatience, I scarce waited to inquire her health, Before I appointed her the messenger of glad tidings to our dear Delia. She returned with her in an instant, But when the lovely girl beheld me she could not speak. She made an effort to put her hand through the grate, And sunk down on a chair that stood near her. Tears came to her relief, And she at last articulated, Oh my beloved Fanny, my more than sister. At that word she blushed, And hid her face, as if to wipe away the tears.  He is now in the house, And most ardently longs to see you, But must not be indulged at the expense of injuring your health By an increase of agitation. If you were calm he should appear this moment. I am quite calm, she said, And fainted away. I have her so terrified in my life. By the assistance of the nuns She was brought to herself in about ten minutes, And by the superior's permission Sir George was admitted into the parlor with me. I thought their meeting would have killed us all. Even an old nun wept While she administered drops and water to the whole company. I feel myself too much affected, Even at this instant, To be able to repeat the conversation that passed at the time. Sir George embraced me as if I had been his mistress, And dearly a clung round Mrs. Walter's neck, Calling her Deliverer, Guardian Angel, etc. When our transports had a little subsided, I proposed our adjourning to the inn, Till we could be accommodated with private lodgings, For we had before agreed to wait the return Of the Chancellor's messenger at Santo Mer, As it was absolutely necessary that my brother Should have a little rest after his fatigue Both of mind and body. But he was not fated to taste repose As speedily as I then hoped for. I received Miss Colville in due form, From the hands of the Superior, By whom many compliments and apologies Were made to her late prisoner. Delia's behavior was charming, For instead of reproaches for the severity She had suffered, she returned thanks For the great care that had been taken of her, And took a most polite and even affectionate leave Of the whole community. Mrs. Walter and Olivia accompanied us to the inn, And we passed the day in mutual congratulations, And in moralizing on the providential series Of incidents that had procured Delia's deliverance. But toward evening we all perceived a visible change In her countenance, and before midnight There appeared strong symptoms of a fever. My brother was almost distracted. My heart bleeds for him. Should she again be torn from his fond heart, I think it would be impossible that he should Survive the second blow. But I will hope the best. He has not gone to bed since we left Paris. He never stirs from the enter chamber Of the room where she lies, So dreadfully that I am shocked at seeing him. The physicians here say that she is not in danger, But they are so miserably ignorant that I cannot Rely on their judgment in a case where I am So sincerely interested. Mrs. Walter and I sit up by turns And never leave the dear invalid for a moment. I fear she suffers from her concern for us, But she promises, and I hope will perform Her engagement to be well in a few days. On the very day that we took her out of the convent, There came a letter from her mother, The superior to send Delia to some other nunnery, And charging her to deny her ever having been there To any person who should inquire after her. Thank God we have counteracted her wicked scheme, And I trust he will restore her to our Prairies and wishes. Again, excuse me, my Louisa, For not entering upon the subjects mentioned In your last letter, as the present situation Of our beloved brother and adopted sister Engrosses all my thoughts, And I cannot even allow a minute's attention To what appears a very extraordinary circumstance, Which is Lord Hume's following us from Paris, And lodging directly opposite to us at Saint-Thomère. He sends five or six times a day to inquire Delia's health, and writes a letter Once a day to Sir George. I can't help being pleased with this appearance Of attention and good nature to my brother, And at the proper respect he shows In not taking the advantage which he might Of obtruding himself into my presence Under pretense of visiting his friend. Why, oh, why has he foolishly deprived Himself and me of what once appeared To have been so great a pleasure to us both? But that has passed. I do not, nor I will not think of him. I do, my dearest sister. F. Cleveland. P.S., you know that Sir George, Mrs. Walter, Delia, and Olivia all love you. Forgive me, then, for uniting their affictions With mine and presenting them in one bouquet together, Instead of offering them to your acceptance In detached sprigs. Delia has slept all the time I have been writing. She wakes this moment. She is much refreshed. I fly to tell Sir George. Letter 52. Mrs. Cleveland to Lady Barton. Saint-Omer. Our fears have been much increased For Delia's life since I wrote last. But thank heaven they are now happily over. Her disorder turned out to be the measles. The physicians have pronounced her out of danger, And all our spirits are attuned To the sweet harmony of love and joy. If I had not been witness of them, I should not easily have credited an account Of the extravagancies which Sir George was Guilty of during her illness. I find, Louisa, that when these Philosophic gentlemen are thrown the least Out of their bias, they are not a bit More steady than ourselves. And, hang up, philosophy should be The motto of them all, whenever their Passions are thoroughly interested. But not to treat my brother too severely, His was a very particular case. And had his treasure been snapped From his arms, almost in the moment He discovered it. The trial would, I think, have been too Severe for human fortitude. The messenger returned from Toulouse While Delia was in the utmost danger. We did not therefore at that time Trouble ourselves to inquire what Mrs. Colville had said or done On this extraordinary occasion.  It is shocking to think how very near At the very time she uttered this falsehood.  And promising to give a thousand guineas To the foundation, provided she took care To secrete her effectually. The good old lady has put this letter Into my brother's possession. And he in return has made a present To the sisterhood of five hundred pounds. This paper would be proof sufficient Against Mrs. Colville if we had not A still more undoubted evidence In the person of our dear Delia. The moment her health is established We shall return to England And notwithstanding my joy at her recovery Shall quit Saint-Omer with regret As I cannot prevail on my beloved Mrs. Walter to accompany us. She and her sweet little girl Are perfectly idolized in the convent And I fear if Mrs. Walter's situation Would admit of her taking the veil That she would certainly pass the remainder Of her days in that quiet asylum. To prevent this I wish Long life to the most worthless Being upon earth. I should not specify Colonel Walter Here if Mrs. Colville were not alive. I wish they were married together And then I am pretty sure there is Not a pair in the drawing room of Pandemonium that would not readily Give them due place in precedence. But I will have done with these infernals. And now for your long, Too long unanswered letter. I hope by this time Sir William's recovery has removed the anxiety You must necessarily feel on his illness And released you from a confinement That might possibly injure your health. Were it not for these considerations I know a few offices more pleasing Than attending a person we love In slight disorders. There is something extremely flattering To a generous mind In the idea of administering relief To another's pains. To explain the thought. Explore the asking eye. What a delightful employment. And when crowned with success By the recovery of our patient We are conscious of a certain exultation In the mind, which can only arise From the certainty of having done what Nature claims and charity enjoins. I have of late experienced great Pleasure in the execution of this duty From my attendance on Mrs. Walter And Delia. And am therefore inclined to elevate Her understanding by placing it amongst Our rational powers and rescuing it From the mean character of one of The mere duties of life. Yet I fear I shall make but few Converts to my opinion, especially Amongst the gay world, who looking Upon it in such a servile light Rank it with fasting, penitence And prayer, and too often postpone Them together till they may need Them all themselves and then are Left in their turn to the care Of servants and other mercenaries. If Miss Ashford be a woman of Sense, you run no hazard In trusting her with your opinion Of Colonel Walter, though she were Ever so much in love. If she be weak, she stands more In need of such a friendly warning. And if she should break with you In consequence of it, I think You may easily console yourself For the loss of such an acquaintance By reflecting that you acted from A spirit of friendship, of which She has shown herself unworthy. I perfectly approve of your conduct Towards the person himself, and Am for your sake glad to exculpate Lord Lucan from the weakness Might I not add the dishonour of Having made a confidant. What a charming girl is our Harriet. I must call her so, for Indeed I have a very great claim To her affection, from having Unsolicited bestowed so large A portion of mine on her, which I hope when she is Lady Lucan Don't start, Louisa, and her Heart quite at ease, she will Generously repay. Now pray let me be indulged in Talking a little of myself. Aime-en pour vraiment, humilier Et humiliant. For I believe one And confess the other. My brother has informed me of Lord Hume's misadventures at Naples, The particulars of which I shall Not trouble you with at present, As they are nothing different from The two general pranks and hazards Of youthful spirits, and may serve The first tetetet we may ever have The pleasure of enjoying together. I bestow a generous wish that Sir George's Notion about this matter may prove True, that as he has not only Seen, but felt, his folly And extravagance, he may be more Likely to act prudently for the rest Of his life than if he had never erred. This is a maxim universally Propagated, and may In some instances be true. But I can scarce think at a sufficient Foundation for a woman of sense And her happiness on. To a man who has been accustomed to The artful blandishments of an abandoned Woman, I should much fear that the Delicate endearments of a wife would Appear as tasteless and insipid, as True wit to the epigrammatist, or The sweetest fiend to the spiced Pallet. But all this is merely Matter of speculation, and no Manor of consequence to me, for Lord Hume has never yet attempted To pay me a visit, either at Paris or here. And Sir George Had not hitherto been in a situation to Invite him, especially as, from a Very proper delicacy, he has never Acquainted him with the circumstances Of Miss Colville's story. And Though we set out from Paris at the Same time, he kept different stages From us all the way. The account that my brother has just Given me of that particular is this. That they had agreed at Naples to Travel together to England. But On their arrival at Paris, and his Hinting to him that I had come Out of some singular piece of business or Other, he had immediately estranged Himself from any further connection with Him. Saying, after his lively Manor, that as he looked upon himself To be in the nature of a redeemed Night, he thought of his bounden duty To attend his deliverer, in the Quality of a humble squire, till he Had escorted him safe into his own Country. But should wait upon him At such a respectful and unprying Distance, as might leave the Privacy both of his conversation and My brother, you know, was abroad when Our affections commenced and grew Together, while I was under the Matronage of my Aunt Marriott. When he returned, I had not courage Enough to acquaint him with a secret Which would better have become Lord Hume himself to have informed Him of, as they have ever lived On the most friendly terms together, And in the present situation of the Affair, it would be extremely Indiscreet and absurd to breathe The least hints of it now. The foolish affections, as they must Naturally be formed without judgment, Are generally unfortunate attachments, As they sometimes leave such traces On the heart, as a long life of Mature reason can scarcely wear away. And to you I will not blush to own, That were it not for that fatal letter Which Lord Hume wrote to me from Naples, and which is as Indelibly engraved on my heart as The first impression he made there, I could again be weak enough, were He to solicit it, to reassume Those rosy fetters which I fancied Our juvenile hands had formed sufficiently Strong to hold us both for life. But that letter, Louisa, I cannot forget it. I must therefore try to forget the writer Of it. I am, however, vastly Pleased with the delicacy of his present Behavior. I told you in my last That he lodges opposite to us. He is generally planted at his window, But whenever I approach mine, He bows and retires immediately. He has, it seems, No kind of business in this place, But stays here from the mere possibility Of his being in some degree, Or by some chance or other, useful To my brother, to whom he thinks Himself everlastingly indebted for his kindness To him at Naples. Gratitude cannot exist in a base Mind. How then can Gratitude and ingratitude subsist In the same heart? How can the same man run so far In a rear to the account of love, And be so ready to overpay the debt Of friendship? Were he a man Hackneyed in the ways of the world, I should not be so much surprised At this inconsistency of character. Men of gallantry, I have heard, Consider women as bigoted Catholics Do heretics, and hold no faith With them. And that sweet line Which Shakespeare has put into the mouth Of the innocent Juliet, is repeated With perhaps an equal degree of contemptible Exultation by the abandoned Courtier and the aping sit. At lovers' perjuries they say Jove laughs. But Lord Hume is young, and youth Is the spring of virtue. At least it is the season when we are most liable To feel the compunctious visitings of nature, In consequence of our trespassing Against her laws, by injuring The peace or happiness of others. But I am myself trespassing Against her first emotion, That of self-preservation, By dwelling on a subject which must Forever be productive of pain, Notwithstanding my repeated efforts To blunt the arrow's point. I congratulate you on the near prospect Of happiness which opens to your friend, Miss Lester. May it terminate In the possession of all her wishes. I hope she is by this time Lady Creswell, And that my sweet little Harriet had The pleasure and honor of being her Paranymph. I consider this Office as a step to advancement, And I suppose most young ladies Are of my opinion, as they are Generally very desirous of it. I think I have now, though Slightly touched upon every article Of your last letter, and I hope To find a packet from you at my return To Dover Street, and that soon, Very soon after, I shall be able To give you an account of the joining Of a pair whose hearts are, I believe, As firmly united as any that Ever took hands from the first Wedding in Eden down to this present day. Adieu, my dear Luisa. You are loved and remembered by all Here, but by none more Affectionately than F. Cleveland. End of letter 52. Letters 53 and 54 Of the history of Lady Barton. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the Public domain. For more information or to volunteer, Please visit LibriVox.org. The History of Lady Barton By Elizabeth Griffith. Letter 53. Lord Hume to Lord Lucan. Saint Homer's Saint Homer's Here I am and here, Like a fool as I am, I have been loitering these Three weeks without any kind Of business or pleasure to pursue, Or even a creature to converse With, except honest old Saunders Who wonders mightily at my lordship For passing my time so Lonesomely as he phrases it. You will perhaps wonder too Till I inform you that I have The pleasure of seeing Fanny Cleveland Every day. Don't envy me, Lucan, for I Am only permitted to gaze at her Across the street, where we both Live at present. I wish I had a Little of the fascinating power Of the basilisk in my eyes That might make the dear girl Throw herself into my arms, and May I perish if I would injure Her when she was folded there. But how came I here in the midst Of my friends alone? You'll be curious enough to ask To make no other answer than to repeat The hint I gave you from Paris With regard to some mystery or other Relative to Sir George's concerns. It cannot be any affair Of gallantry or a sister would Not be his confidant. It cannot Be a business of honor or I should Probably have been led into the secret. We may fairly conclude then That it must certainly be some Second love engagement or other Of difficulty, which his Romantic punctilio may not leave Yet at liberty to divulge. For he appeared to be One of the knights of the sorrowful Countess, as well as your lordship Would not met him first at Naples. However, that matter may be I have taken care ever since His reserve communication to me Never to distress him by my Visits, and though we travel The same road together, I may Be rather said to attend on Than accompany him all the way. I remember when my infatuation For Margarita was at the height You're telling me that I loved Fanny Cleveland notwithstanding. I was surprised at an assertion Then which I now find to be true But allowing this fact which I Suppose she must be certain of As well as you by my hankering After her at this rate and the Timid respect I treat her with From my window which is directly Opposite to hers, till me my heart If this be love. Don't you think she uses me When all lovers are unreasonable And false ones deserve mortification? Though perhaps it may be My own fault that I am kept Thouselufra, I am such a bashful Penitent that I have not courage enough To desire leave to wait on her. Though surely some favorable interval Might be contrived even amidst The occupation of the most secret Family intercourse to afford sufficient Leisure for the common decencies Of friendship or politeness. I would give any consideration That the first interview was over End as it may, but I do not urge it Though I am convinced that Sir George Knows nothing either of the engagements Or the breach between his sister and me I wish I could pluck up heart Of grace enough to tell him all about it For as I told you before He is a very sensible man And though he had lately Some honorable attachment or other I may perhaps have entered into a new one Since without any manner of imputation For a constancy to the grave Of kindness and folly, yet I think it is At least ten to one that he has Had some little gaiety To occur in the margarita style Himself at some time of his life And therefore would not make Such a fuss about a man's Having strayed a little out of his row On a common as his Pretty sister might do Who to be sure like all other Diana steers exactly by rule and compass I wish you were here at this moment To conduct myself under my present difficulty For I am in confounded awkward circumstances And though you pretend to be a much Modester youth than me I will be hanged where you in my situation If you would not explicate yourself Much easier than I can possibly Contrive to do But wither has my former undoubted spirit Taken its flight to of late I had once the courage to give a bolder front And yet tremble now at the justice Of asking pardon for it Thus conscience, conscience Of us all If they get over to England Before I have obtained leave to wait Or miss Cleveland it is all over with me For I may visit Sir George seven years And never see his sister My last resource must be to get Into the same packet boat with her And pray most about me for a good storm In our passage that we may be cast away And that I may have an opportunity Like Jaffer to save her life With half the loss of mine Or else that the waves May swallow me and my folly together And so leave no trace behind Of your affectionate friend Hume P.S. you are so Confoundedly dry And uncommunicative That I have left off asking you any more questions About your mistress If she should turn out Diavola Like mine, I mean Margarita I'm sure you won't be such a symbol As to tell me and yet it would be But good nature of you to let me Laugh in turn, write to me however And direct to Almax Right here we are all to set out For Old England next week End of Letter 53 Letter 54 Lord Hume To the Lord Lucan Saint Omer still in my tutelor Saint Shalt Omer be As long as I exist Little did I think my dear Lucan When I concluded my last letter That I should write to you again from this place The uniformity of my life Seemed nothing calculated to afford The least subject matter for another line But chance, how much we all indebted To chance has happily furnished me With material sufficient to write An epic poem, if I were But as good a poet Omer as Who must certainly have taken his name From this place, H known As La Terra, you know For I insist upon it that the burning Of three real good and substantial houses In this town is to the full As interesting a subject to all mortals Now living as the famous conflagration Of his imaginary Troy A further firm that Helen Was but a sunburnt dowdy To the lovely Fanny Cleveland Whom I, happy or far that any hero Living or dead have just now Rescued from the flames And that the gentle Delia Colville Is much hansomer than Madame Andromache Who I think ranked next to her In beauty that Sir George Cleveland Is as brave as Hector Your friend Hume is at least as much In love as Monsieur Paris I do not mean either the tailor Or the saint of that name, but the very Identical Trojan with whom Lita's Daughter ventured herself on chipboard As my adorable Fanny Will presently with me Many prosperous gales attend Our Argos, a richer sure Than ever sailed from Coulques For I do not now stand In need of the machinery of a storm The glorious element of fire has purged Away my foulness, and like the asbestos I'm rendered pure again My Fanny too rises a newborn Phoenix from her nest. I am In such a spirit's lukin' that I Find it impossible to give you a rational Account of this charming adventure Suffices it then to say that I Had the happiness that expression is too Faint, an elegant G Is the word to save my Fanny's life May I not add, I dare not Pronounce it, she must, she will be Grateful in her soft looks and downcast Eyes, I read my pardon signed The regards of anger are erect In pierce, those of disdain Oblique and scornful But Fanny's eyes, they never were So beautiful as now, scarce Raise their lovely lids and only Sparkle through their sable fringe Like stars in a clear sky I think that is a poetical image Beat it, lukin' and I'll allow you To be about half as much in love as I am I cannot stand to scribble Any more to you rejoice with me And believe me, yours sincerely Hume, p.s. If I ever recover my wits again I'll deal out the particulars of my Trial or deal, but believe me I would prefer my present inebriation To all the sober sense that ever was From Solomon down to Samuel Need I add the surname of Johnson here? End of letter 54 St. Homer's Letter 55 of the History of Lady Barton This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings Are in the public domain For more information Or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Ivan Yuan From Shanghai High School International Division The History of Lady Barton By Elizabeth Griffith Letter 55 Lord Lucan To Lord Hume I received both your letters My dear Hume By the same packet And I think It's much pleasanter To congratulate than condol I shall only reply To the last of them For if you are As I now begin to think A true lover Your present happiness Must have banished Every trait of your former Desquiet You have indeed My lively friend Being mightily in-depth To chance And I hope You will pardon me for saying That it has done More in your favor Than you had any right To have hoped for But you careless fellows Sometimes profit more By getting into scarps Than we sober ones Do by keeping out of them I think It requires the utmost effort Of this interested friendship Not to envy you The happiness of having been Serviceable to the woman you love And such a woman too Whose generous nature Can be softened Into a forgiveness Of injuries By the small merit Of having done an act That any man in the world Lo, not a lover Would have been proud To have performed But who is still a cold bill Pray This is another personage Added to your former drama Being her first appearance On the stage But she must Be the new mistress of Third George I suppose Whom you hinted at before Though that mystery Is unraveled at last Ella Que monsoor is full speeder The object of my adoration Has been ill Dangerously ill For some time And I had not even dared To quarrel for her feelings Or relieve my anxiety By incessant demented inquiries About her health We are many, many miles Asunder Almost at the opposite extreme Of this kingdom And I am debarred Even the poor indulgence Of lamenting by secret Correspondence The pains I hourly feel From absence Of my destiny And I will not murmur or reply At whatever she shall ordain Do I not let deserve That chance or fortune Should do something in favor Of such a humble and patient sufferer As I am Then what can it do for me? Circumstance As my unhappy passion is It must be criminal Even to hope That those insupermable bars Which now divide us Shall ever be removed And yet my weak, my guilty heart Even at this moment Feels a gleam of joy In thinking that there is a chance Which through may set her free Let me not dwell upon the subject Or breathe a wish That must render me unworthy Of her I have received an invitation To attend the nuptials Of an intimate friend of mine Who has been long in love With a very amiable woman But he now Was healed by parents Though utterly unfit For any scene of festivity I cannot refuse this summons As I am truly interested In the happiness of both The bride and the bridegroom I shall therefore Set out immediately For doubling The wedding will be celebrated A few miles from it But direct to me there And if you have yet Descended from your hyperbolical Heist Pray let me have a simple Newspaper paragraph about the fire And the facts that attended it Your hopeless state Has been battered I find By the same unnatural means That the wretched farmers Of this country Used with their land When their crops Begin to grow thin They burn it But you are a lucky fellow In everything Even your ill behavior To Miss Cleveland Turns out now To your advantage A woman of force An irrefragable proof of her love Who forgives such an affront For if she does Believe me That is her own passion Not your chivalry That have recovered her to you Adieu Luton End of letter 55 Letters 56 to 58 Of the history Of Lady Barton This is a LibraVox recording All LibraVox recordings Are in the public domain For more information Or to volunteer Please visit LibraVox.org Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen Vancouver, B.C. The History of Lady Barton By Elizabeth Griffith Letters 56 to 58 From Lady Barton To Miss Cleveland Letter 56 Lady Barton to Miss Cleveland Elm Grove, near Dublin Thank you, my fanny, For the pleasure I have received From all your letters But particularly for the last Which announces the glad tidings Of Delia's recovery Of my brother's approaching happiness And of your return to England You will see By the date of this That I have made an excursion From self-filled Since my last Sir William Who is now, I hope, In a fair way of recovery Has at last Consented to Lucy's most earnest And repeated request And has kindly permitted me To attend her neutrals He intends to pass The time of my absence With Colonel Walter I am sorry he has chosen Him for his companion But what arguments could I Oppose to his inclinations? On my arrival in Dublin Yesterday morning I was met by my beloved Lucy And her beloved lover I never saw Delicate happiness So strongly impressed Upon elegant features As it appeared In both their counterances Yet there was A little mixture of timidity In Lucy's eyes Which abated their vivacity But increased that charming Look of sensibility Which is the natural result Of refined tenderness The most irresistible Of female charms Harriet, Who came with me Is in high spirits She is to have the honour You wished for Of being bright made And on this occasion Young girls are always Delighted at their prospect Of a wedding And consider that Most solemn and hazardous act Of our lives merely as a festival When alas But this wedding will I hope and believe Justify their opinion And make a holiday For both their lives Amen, I say Oh, my heart Mrs. Layton, Lucy, Harriet, and I Came here yesterday in my coach This morning I have been All about the place And never saw a sweeter spot The prospects are delightful There is an ample view Of the Bay of Dublin And of the opposite hills Which for many miles Are richly cultivated And adorned with Chamberless gardens and villas There is nothing in the Environments of London Half so beautiful As neither the Thames or Medway Can pretend to vie In beautiful or in grandeur With the ocean This lovely seat Sir Harry Crespo Has just purchased And settled it as a Jointure house On my fair friend The family mentioned to descend In the usual course To his heirs mail I am pleased with the Proprietary And delicacy of this action As I have always thought It extremely cruel That a woman should be Ablaged to quit her house On the death of her husband And be as it were Turned adrift in the world At the time she has lost Her chief stay And support in it Sir Harry is to dine With us here this day And go back to Dublin Which is just six miles Off at night, tomorrow He returns here again To part from his Lucy No more. The ceremony is then To be performed in a neat Private chapel within the Demons. Miss Crespo Will, a sister of Sir Harry's Is to be the other Bridemaid, and his Bridemen, whoever They are to be, will I Suppose attend him hither. I hear a carriage Driving furiously, and Am not yet dressed. It must be Sir Harry. Lovers are impatient. Tis he indeed. But can I believe My sight, Lord Lucan, with him My fate pursues me. O fanny, I can Bright no more. Adieu, El Barton. Letter 57 Lady Barton to Miss Cleveland. The moment I had laid Down my pen, Harriet Flew into my room To express her surprise At Lord Lucan's arrival. Her predominant than wonder In her artless eyes Lucie came into my chamber Soon after To assure me that she did Not know of his lordship's Coming, or even that He was an acquaintance Of Sir Harry's, till He introduced him to her That instant below Stairs, Harriet Replied with unusual Vervosity. Surely, Miss Leicester, You need not Make an apology for such An agreeable addition To our society, as Lord Lucan. The moment these words Had escaped her, her face Was covered with blushes. I took not the least Notice of her emotion. Though it struck me Strongly when contrasted With the different sensations Of fear and anxiety That affected my heart. A thousand disagreeable Thoughts rushed at once Into my mind. I determined, however, To act with the utmost Circumspection, and carefully To avoid any particular Interview or conversation With his lordship. I did not quit my chamber Till dinner was served. I spent the immediate hour Extremely ill. I had speeches And fashioning my conduct To impossible rules Which all vanished out Of my thoughts, like a dream, The moment I beheld Lord Lucan. And I suppose that no creature Could ever have appeared More completely embarrassed Upon any occasion. His counterance Upon seeing me Was expressive of the sincerest There was a brilliancy in his eye And a liveliness in his complexion Which would have made the homeliest Features pleasing. Alas, he has wanted Not this advantageous aid. My confusion Soon became contagious And seemed to throw a general Damp upon the spirits Of the whole company. Even the happy Creswell Was ablated Of his cheerfulness And often set forth a look Of inquiry to try If he could discover the cause Of his own change. In Lucie's now altered Counterance, I could not help Perceiving the gloom I had spread and endeavored But in vain to rally My spirits. They were sunk too low To be recalled. I was tired, but that would have Been an addition to my friend's Distress. We made a dull and silent meal And I quitted the table The moment it was possible. I withdrew immediately To my chamber. And begged to be left alone. I was indulged by Lucie, Though unwillingly. I tried to account to myself For the uncommon heaviness Which oppressed my heart. The weakness of my past Conduct appeared In the most glaring light To me. And from the agonies of remorse Which I then felt, I concluded myself The most guilty of wretches. Yet my reason revolted Against the opinion. But was still utterly Unable to banish it Or to account for the sudden Change in my sentiments Upon the subject. As no alteration Had happened. Either in Lord Lucan's conduct Or my situation. From the time that I had Considered my attachment to him As perfectly innocent Because it was absolutely Involuntary. I became almost distracted With my doubts. And traversing my chamber With hasty steps, I exclaimed How poor, how insufficient Is human reason. Either to direct Our actions or restrain Our passions. O thou, that stillest The raging of the sea. And calmest the fury Of the winds. Abate this conflict In thy creature's breast. And point the way In which my feet should tread To find the paths of peace. A sudden gush of tears Followed this ejaculation. My mind grew calm And though I could At that instant have taken An everlasting leave Of Lord Lucan With the most perfect Resignation. I continued musing Upon the subject Of my future conduct For a long time, and at last Determined that I would To assume as much cheerfulness As possible While I remained at own grove That in a very few days After the wedding I would return to self-field. But before I went Write a letter to Lord Lucan Fully expressive Of the change in my sentiments With regard to him Or rather myself And joining him To make no reply Nor attempt ever To see me more. Soon after I had formed This resolution Lucy softly tapped My chamber door. She saw I had been weeping But as I smiled And held out my hand On her approach She said my face might be compared To an April day. But as sunshine seemed Now to prevail She hoped there would be no more showers. We joined the company And I with pleasure Perceived that I was Much less constrained In my manner to Lord Lucan And everybody else Than I had been at dinner. A little flight Of Sir Harry's At the time that the Gentlemen were to leave us And return to town Threw me into a second Embarrassment. He insisted upon His being permitted to salute All the ladies As he should never be Another knight, a bachelor And that Lord Lucan And a young gentleman Whose name is Weston And was then present Should salute Miss Leister As she should not choose To spare them one Of her kisses Should have an exclusive Right to the sole property Of them. Young Weston, who perhaps Mistakes vivacity For good breeding, proposed This faulty's becoming General, and it was Impossible to object seriously To a matter that appeared So very trifling Especially upon Such an occasion as This. Once at Your wedding, you know Is a proverb Yet neither you Nor any of that company Will, I hope, ever know The pangs I felt At receiving a kiss From Lord Lucan. It seemed to cost him Almost as much pain as it did Me, for he trembled As if he had been seized With an ag fit. The consent of my heart Caught me with a consciousness Of guilt. I am sorry the foolish affair Happened, but I will think No more of it. It is now near Two o'clock in the morning Of Lucy's wedding day, and As I suppose I shall Not have much leisure For some time to come I would not omit Before I lay me down to rest If that may be Acquainting my dear Confessor and counselor With the state of that heart Which, while it beats, Will ever retain The tenderest affection for her. Every good wish Attends my brother, and I hope I may by This time add His amiable wife. My fanny's claim to That title is, I think And hope not far distant. The renewal of Lord Hume's Connections with Sir George Might have been merely accidental, But his continuing Them in the manner He has done, even To the incumbrance of my Brother in his present Circumstances speaks to The revival of his attachment To you much Stronger than the most Direct and formal proposition Could possibly Have done, his Attorney might perform The one, but his Passion only could be Capable of the other. Lord Hume has his merits As well as his faults, And the mild eye of My sister's charity is Ever more open To the former than the latter, And if the union I have hinted at Should take place, I Thus they will become Every day more conspicuous. Adieu, my fanny. El Barton. P.S. Eight o'clock in the morning I have passed a miserable night Disturbed slumbers And terrifying dreams. If I were superstitious I should imagine Some ill fate Awaits me, alas How totally unfit Am I for the festivity Of a bridal day. Letter 58 Lady Barton To Miss Cleveland Our wedding, my fanny, Was conducted With the greatest propriety And elegance. There were eighteen persons Present. The eldest of Hume, Mrs. Layton Accepted, was not Eight and twenty. He sat smiling on every Placid brow, even I endeavored to assume An air of cheerfulness, But thought myself Like Lucifer in heaven Unblessed, amidst the Blessed. It is said That every woman looks Better on her wedding day Than any other of her life. I confess I never saw Lady Creswell Appear so beautiful. There was a sort of serene Happiness in her Counterance, which I know not how to describe. Her clear brown Complexion appeared almost Transparent, yet Was often heightened to The most becoming blush By the fond looks Of her enamored bridegroom. The dress of all Brides is nearly the same. You may therefore conclude That Lady Creswell wore white and silver. The bridesmaids were Dressed exactly like Par-hazard in pale Pink and silver. My clothes were gracious Heaven. How can I Write about such trifling Matters? While my heart Is breaking, I must Fly, my fanny, Forever fly from the sight Of one who becomes Our more dangerous to my Repose. We have now been three days Together under the same Roof, yet have I been lucky enough To avoid any particular Conversation with Lord Lucan. He perceives My caution. His vanity Is doubtless flattered by It, yet he affects To appear unhappy. His looks are Impressive of the tenderest Sorrow, and he sometimes Gases on me till He seems to have lost Himself. Poor Harriet Watches his eyes. Alas! they are But seldom turned on her. If he is really As wretched as he seems He is To the full as much To be pitied as Myself. Why did we ever meet? Or why not Sooner? That heart Which, in spite of The restraint of duty, Is but too much devoted To him now. Had It been free, my sister, I fear his criminal To indulge this Fond idea. I will Suppress it then. I have not had leisure To begin the letter I Tend to write to him. But tomorrow, or the next Day, in short, before I seal this, I will. And yet, what can I say to him? Have I Ought to complain of In his conduct That can warrant an everlasting Breach between us? Has he not kept Within the bounds prescribed By me? Has he Even presumed to hint He thinks them to severe? Unless in voluntary Size and tender looks Are construed into crimes, Lucan has not offended. Yet, yet I will Break off this. I Know not what to call it Improper at least As well as painful Connection. I am Almost distracted. I have this moment received A letter from Lord Lucan. I'm glad of it. This is encroaching. I have now some pretense For my intended breach. Yet, read it, Fanny, I will copy it If my fast-streaming tears Don't wash the lines away. To Lady Barton If, as I Hope the most profound Submission to her will Whom my mind worships And my eyes adore Could have preserved me Her esteem, never had The unhappy Lucan infringed Lady Barton's command, Nor even Dare to repine At being forbidden to express His hopeless passion By speech or letter to her. But alas, Madame, though Love is blind, lovers Are quick-sighted, and I but too clearly perceive That I have lost That portion of your regard With which I had Perhaps too vainly Flattered myself. I mean not, Madame, To reproach you with This cruel change, But humbly to implore You to inform me If I have, though unwittingly Heaven knows Being so unfortunate As to have offended you Even in the slightest Article of my conduct If my appearing before you At this time Without permission Be inputted to me Give me leave to Transfer the blame upon chance Which Let me hither without Knowing that you had Intended to have honored Lady Kraskel's wedding Presence. The transports I was sensible of On meeting you so Unexpectedly here Cannot surely be deemed A crime, and yet The misery I have since Sustained has made me Already sufficiently atoned For it, as if It had been one. Even my present Presumption bears its own Apology, along With it, as your cruelty And my justification Required it. The unhappy But unoffending Suplend May expalt you Even with Heaven itself Without impiety I shall trespass No farther on you, madame Than just to assure You that I find I Belong no longer to myself And that, in spite Both of you and me, I Am And shall remain ever Yours, Lucan. What shall I say to him, my Sister? What answer shall I Make to line so full Of tenderness and submission? Can I be unjust Enough to reproach or Condemn him? While he is guiltless Of any offense towards me, That if I acquit him Do I not discriminate myself? Must he not Think me unworthy Of his regards? If female caprice alone Should appear the motive Of my altered conduct, I will not enter on the Subject, but coldly tell Him that I first repented Then conquered my Past weakness And bid him to Try to follow my example. O fanny, I shall Break his gentle heart If, but my own Would burst, I Should be happy. How inconsistent is This letter with my last? Why can't I not Again recover That calmness Which even a Transient devotion Had inspired? Alas, because my piety Was but temporary And transitory, Like the ungrateful Israelites, I sought The Lord in my trouble, But he has not promised To be nigh to all Those who call upon Him. His mercy Is not limited, and in That hope will I Confide. More than Half the night is elapsed, But I will not close My eyes till I have Written to Lord Lucan. Should I defer it till Tomorrow, his supplicating Eye and tender looks May change my uniform Purpose, would to heaven I had not come here. Never was Any creature so altered In the time, Sir William Will certainly perceive The change, and how Shall I account for it. It is done, my sister, I have taken An everlasting leave Of Lord Lucan. I will Copy what I have written. How infinitely short Does it fall of what I wish to say. To Lord Lucan, my Lord, Perfectly sensible As I am Of all the faultness Of my conduct, both Towards you and myself I submit, without Repining to the censure Implied in your letter. But alas, my lord, The crime I Am there charged with Is not the source Of my self-condemnation, That you may be Perfectly convinced Of my sincerity, I will Confess that I saw Your growing passion Of the earliest infancy And at the same time Beheld you in The most favorable light. Yet I vainly hoped That, situated As I then was, My virtue would have been Proof, even against Your merit, and my sense Of it, and that The knowing my heart ought To be devoted to another Was sufficient to render No. How have I Since blushed at that presumption Which was founded Not in strength But weakness? From the moment that The accidental circumstance Of the picture at self-field Had brought on a confession Of our mutual sentiments, Peace has been A stranger to my breast, A consciousness of The irrevocable I have been guilty of Towards a person I dare not even name At present has haunted Me ever since. The constant perturbation Of my mind with other Mortifications arising From the same source Brought on a dangerous Illness, which led Me a willing victim almost To the grave. I now Rejoice that what I Then most ardently desired Was not the consequence Of the joint disorder, Both of heart and mind And body. Yes, my lord, I wish to live That my future conduct may Atone for my past folly, And that the example Of the weakest of the weaker Sex may enable You to conquer a Passion which, if Indulged, must be Productive of misery only, Both to yourself And its unhappy Object. I will Not boast, my lord, That I have already Accomplished this arduous Task. My nature Is sincere, but As a proof that I mean seriously to Succeed in the attempt, I, from this moment, Interdict myself From ever corresponding Or conversing with your lordship More, and do here Declare that I will never Pardon your attempting Either to see or Write me on any further Occasion of our lives. I shall Ever retain the sincerest Wishes for your lordship's Happiness, though this Is the last time that I Shall ever subscribe myself. Your affectionate friend, L.B. I will not comment on this Hateful letter. Surely I never wrote so bad one. But isn't that Wonderful? Is not The heart our best Inspire? And can I say that mine dictated This severe decree? Yet I trust my dear Fanny will approve it. It has afforded Mine to a temporary relief. I mean To order my coach as soon As I rise in the morning To send this letter to lord Lucan before I appear At breakfast, and set out Directly after for Southfield, without giving Him time to recover enough From his surprise So as to attempt an Ex-Paul's tolation. I am tempted to leave Harriet with Lady Creswell That I may perform The journey alone. What A journey will it be? Adieu, adieu, L.Barton. End of Letters 56-58 Letter 59 Of the History of Lady Barton This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings Are in the public domain. For more information And to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Devorah Allen The History of Lady Barton By Elizabeth Griffith Letter 59 Miss Cleveland To Lady Barton Indeed, my ever dear Louisa, your letters have been A heavy alloy to the happiness That I ought now to partake of. But like Joseph, when surrounded With all the magnificence and the Court, I weep upon the neck Of my Benjamin. Yet Let me flatter myself that good And not ill-fate awaits my sister As I may now believe the conflicts Past, and that her own reason And virtue have triumphed over a Weakness which, as she justly Observes, could only be productive Of misery. Of misery, perhaps In the extreme. Yes, my dear sister, I do most Truly applaud both your letter And your conduct towards Lord And, what is of infinitely More consequence, you will Yourself approve it. You will Again enjoy that peace which Goodness bosoms ever, and Even feel a higher degree of Exultation in your mind at having Recovered the lost path than those Who have never strayed can possibly Be sensible of. With this Prophecy I will close the subject Of your late letters, and shall Be impatient till I find it verified By the calm cheerfulness which will, Yourself through all your future correspondence. I have much to tell you, both Of myself and our dear brother, We have had a wedding as well As you, but was a very Private one. Yet surely I may say with Fitz Osborn, What though in silence, sacred Hymen trod, nor liar Proclaimed, nor garland crowned The God, what though nor feast, Nor revel dance was there, Thane pomp of joy the happy Well may spare, yet Love unfaigned and conscious honour Led the spotless virgin to the bridal bed. All heaven and every friendly power Approved the vow and blessed the hour. But to proceed regularly, In my last I told you that we should Quit Saint-Homer in a few days. Do not be shocked, Louisa, When I tell you that we were all Daring near remaining there forever. As Delia recovered her health, Sir George's spirits returned, And after passing a very cheerful evening This day three weeks, we retired Rather before midnight to our chambers. I want words to express the terror I felt when I was awakened about Four o'clock in the morning by people Screaming out fire and beating up my door In order to force it open. I found myself involved in so thick A smoke that I could not find the passage Out of my chamber and concluded That I must inevitably perish. Amidst the variety of voices That repeatedly called upon me to pull up To revolt, I thought I distinguished Lord Humes. Perhaps this circumstance added to my confusion. On a sudden the voice ceased, And I found myself as it were left alone In the midst of the flames, Which then burst into one side of the room. At that moment a ladder was fixed Against one of my windows, And Lord Hume entering by it Caught me in his arms and carried me I know not how, but totally devoid Of sense to his apartment on the other Side of the street. When I had recovered my reason, I had the happiness of finding my brother And Delia sitting by me, And my champion kneeling before me, And pouring lavender water on my hands And face with a look of such tender Solitude as if his life depended upon mine. The emotion of my gratitude, Or, call it what you please, Was too strong for my spirits. I fainted a second time. I was put to bed in this situation, And a surgeon had opened the vein in my arm Before I opened my eyes again. Never can I forget the expressive look Of sorrow which appeared in Lord Hume's countenance. I confess it, Louisa, It in one moment obliterated all his past defenses, And he became even dearer to my heart Than he had ever been before. His saving my life, Even at the hazard of his own, Was only a proof of his spirit and humanity, Which he ought to have exerted for any other woman In the same dreadful situation. But the tender anxiety he showed Towards me afterwards, Spoke the fond lover, And the delicacy of his behavior from that event Has strengthened his claim to that title. As soon as my arm was bound up, I tried to express my gratitude to Lord Hume, But could not. Tears stopped my utterance, But relieved the oppression of my heart. He seemed as little able himself To speak as I, But in an incoherent manner said He was the happiest man alive, And kissed my hand in transport. Sir George then made every person A straw except my maid, And left me for some hours to compose myself. I found upon inquiry That the fire which had consumed three houses Began at a sugar baker's, Who lived next door to us, And that it was not discovered till a part of our house Was in flames. An old servant of Lord Hume's Was the first person who saw the blaze. The poor man happened not to be well And could not sleep. To his sickness under providence Are we indebted for our lives, Beague of servitude or labour, His Lord and my brother having rendered him Independent for life. This accident, you may suppose, Retarded our setting out.  In short, neither we nor our servants Had been able to save any of our clothes From the flames. You may conclude that the dear good Walter Supplied us with every necessary Till we could get them made. I fear the apprehension she felt Before she knew that we were safe Has hurt her much. She looked so very delicate when we parted That I scarce dare flatter myself With the hopes of ever seeing her more. While we were delayed at Saint-Omer, A second courier arrived for Mrs. Colville, With a letter to Sir George, Acknowledging her passion for him, Pleading that in her excuse, And imploring him in the most abject terms Not to expose her weakness By carrying on the suit against her, And assuring him of her full consent Of his marriage with her daughter. In order to avoid being brought to England By the Chancellor's messenger, She is retired privately from Toulouse, And has placed herself in a convent, But where we know not, nor shall ever inquire. I hope she will remain wherever she is For life, as I really believe, That the bare sight of her would shock Our poor Delia more than the fire had done. She has sent back the small trunk Which belonged to the person who died At Amiens, and has desired that Sir George May open it in order to forward The papers in it to the party for whom they are designed. If this can be discovered from the initials, Which is the only address they have. My brother has assigned this commission to me, And as soon as I have a moment's leisure I will execute it faithfully. If I continue to write so circumstantially There will be no end of this letter, You must therefore take leave of Saint-Omer, And suffer yourself to be instantly Transported across the water with me, As if you were reading one of Shakespeare's plays, And conclude us now safely arrived in London, Whence I am now writing to you. After my brother had waited on the chancellor, And shown him Mrs. Colville's letters, He most readily gave his consent to Delia's marriage, And said if he were a bachelor He should be very proud of such a helpmate As the fair lady, meaning me, Louisa, Who had acted with so much prudence In the conduct of this extraordinary affair. As both the parties were very well inclined To enter into the holy state of matrimony, They readily dispensed with the parade Of public wedding. And on Saturday last my brother had the happiness Of receiving his well-beloved wife From the hands of my beloved husband that is to be. For we shall take more state and form Upon us than they have done, I assure you. Joy to my Louisa. The happy pair set out next day for Cleveland Hall, Whither I shall follow them in a very few days. Mary Granville and Lord Hume are to accompany me, And the moment I know my Louisa's heart is at peace I shall give Lord Hume a legal claim to mine. But not till then, for indeed, my sister, I cannot taste of joy while you are wretched. Lord Hume and my brother have complained Much of the dejection of my spirits Since we came from France. I have attributed the change in me to that of the climate, But I think they don't acquiesce in that opinion, And suspect a hidden cause of sorrow, Though they know not from once it can arise. Oh, be happy, my Louisa, and make me so. Lord Hume's chariot stops at the door, A lawyer with him, how tremendous, And not a creature with me. Run, Robert, for Miss Granville. Horrid parchments, shocking deeds, My hand trembles, I can never sign them. How did you? A do. A do, my sister. F. Cleveland. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The History of Lady Barton by Elizabeth Griffith, Letter 60, Lord Hume to Lord Lucan, London. If you are not absolutely dwindled into a state of vegetation And fixed like a plant to one peculiar spot, I conjure you by all the powers of friendship, My dear Lucan, to set out on the receipt of this To be witness to that happiness which I confess beyond Either my expectation or desserts, And which I can hardly believe to be real. Listen, Annie Cleveland's lovely hand, What a contrast to her cheek, Then blushing like the rosy morn, Has signed our marriage articles, And I now only wait for that short passport To happiness which is contained in a few mystical words That I suppose are to hold us enchanted For the rest of our lives. For my own part, I acknowledge the spell already. Could all the arguments of philosophy Ever have convinced me, Without my own experience, That the slightest touch of Cleveland's hand Should communicate a richer transport to my soul Than the closest embrace of Margarita. In one case I feel myself a man, In the other but a brute. In the first instance I am sensible Of the union of mind and body. In the second my sensations were totally devoid Of all sentiment whatever. Is not this charming enthusiasm? I mistook my transports before, Took giddiness for frolic, Extravagance for spirit, Folly for fondness, And appetite for passion. On my honor, Lucan, my fanny, Is ten thousand times more lovely Than when I left England. In short, I did not know her then, Or I could never have been so infatuated As I was to a creature so every way her inferior. But come, my friend, come, I again entreat you And see this earthly paragon. You say you are at an immense distance From the object of your affection, What signifies then a thousand miles More or less since you are deprived Of the pleasure of seeing her. I begin to think she must be some unnatural Manufactured prude. Don't be angry, Lucan. I have no reason to abuse her But on your account, Not even to permit your writing to her, Perhaps you're quitting the kingdom Where she is may bring her to better temper. I am but a bad judge in these romantic matters, Though I am certain that no man living Is at this moment more sincerely in love than I am. Sir George Cleveland was married last week, And I had the honor of giving the bride away. She is a charming girl, I confess, But nothing to be compared to my Cleveland. But they have beauty enough between them To stock a suraglion. I do most sincerely wish to have you At my wedding, Lucan, But wait an hour for your coming, Nor should I think of your being present At the ceremony, but that my fanny Has declared she will not bestow her hand Without the concurrence of a sister Who lives in Ireland, a Lady Barton. Do you know her, Lucan? She was a charming girl before she married, Though not quite as handsome as my fanny. You see, then, you have no time to lose. I must not suppose that her ladieship, However matronly she may have become Since her marriage can possibly object now To a connection which she seemed once to encourage And to prove. Give the reins to your horses, And a wave, my friend, to yours most truly hume. P.S., if you should not find me in London, Post off to Cleveland Hall. I long to introduce you to Sir George And his lady, but more particularly To my dear fanny. End of Letter 60. Letter 61 of the History of Lady Barton. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, Please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda-Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. The History of Lady Barton By Elizabeth Griffith. Letter 61 From Lady Barton to Miss Cleveland.  The first has already reached its zenith. O may the latter do so too. I will not enter into any further explanation, Nor mention a single particular relative to myself, Till I know that you are married. If, therefore, you are anxious About the most interesting events of my life, I shall shortly receive a letter from Lady Hume, Which will then entitle her to a confidence now, Withheld from my beloved fanny Cleveland, By her ever-affectionate sister, Louisa Barton. End of Letter 61 Recording by Linda-Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. Letter 62 Of the History of Lady Barton This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, Please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Devorah Allen. The History of Lady Barton By Elizabeth Griffith Letter 62 Miss Cleveland, to Lady Barton I have hesitated for some time, dear Louisa, Whether in your present dejected state of mind, I should venture to communicate to you a story of much woe, Which was contained in the papers of the unhappy young woman Who died at Amiens. The diverting of any current Must necessarily abate its force, And whatever can awaken our sensibility For the misfortunes of others Must, at least for the time, Make us insensible to our own. I believe, too, that comparison weighs much In our estimation of good and evil, And, though a generous heart, Even laboring under the severest calamities, May be incapable of forming a wish for relief At the expense of another's happiness, Yet I am persuaded that there is a sort of alleviation To be found in reflecting that there are, Or, rather, that there have been, Others much more wretched than ourselves. Upon this principle, then, I shall send you this melancholy story, Which I should never have been mistress of, Had the papers in which it was contained, Though unsealed, been properly addressed. But, as they were only superscribed with initials, I was obliged to look into the contents In order to forward them to the person For whom they were designed. And I hope my taking a copy of them, For you, and you only, Will not be considered as a breach of trust, Either to the living or the dead. As soon as my brother and sister went out of town, Which was the first moment I had leisure, I opened the little trunk Which Mrs. Colville's last messenger brought to Saint-Omer, And which may properly enough be called The lacrimal urn of the unfortunate Maria. For in it was the tearful narrative Of a life of sorrows deposited. And though she is now removed From a possibility of feeling them, They still retain the magnetic power of living grief, And must attract the sigh of pity From every tender, every feeling heart. The story of Maria To Mr. Edward S Will the most tender and affectionate of brothers With patience condescend to read The sad confession of a dying wretch Who owns herself unworthy of his kindness, Yet, trembling on the verge of life, Solicits to obtain his pardon and pity? Alas, my Edward, they will never reach me. No friendly voice can ever soothe my ear Or speak peace to my perturbed heart, For soon the motion of its pulse shall cease And this poor shattered frame return to dust. Drop then one fond, forgiving tear Upon these pages. Tis all I now can ask, or you ere long Can grant. The story of my misconduct and misfortunes Perhaps will reach you before this letter. How does my heart now bleed For that indignant grief your generous mind Must feel for a beloved sister's infamy? I do not mean to extenuate my faults. Alas, they will not bear extenuation. And conscious as I am of my approach to that tribunal Before which we must all ere long appear, Deceit or falsehood would be as weak, as wicked. Then hear the faithful story of my heart, And judge me as one erring mortal should another. In less than a year after you sailed for Bingle, Our dear father died. What an irreparable loss was mine. I need not tell you that as he was in the church, We were at once deprived of the principal part Of his fortune with his life, And that there did not remain above a hundred pounds a year Being a life annuity purchased from my mother With her own portion to support her and me. The altered countenances and behavior Of those we had formerly called friends at Gloucester Made my mother determine on quitting a place Where, from her want of knowing the world, She considered herself as particularly ill-treated. She was then first taught that prosperity is the cement Of modern friendship, and when that fails, The tottering structure sinks into decay. She condescended to consult me upon our future Scheme of life, though as I was not then fifteen, I was but ill-qualified for an advisor. However, I had heard that Bath was a cheap place Of residence for those who settled themselves As inhabitants there. And as I also believed it to be an agreeable, Lively scene, I had often wished to go thither During my father's life, and therefore used All my little rhetoric with my mother to fix us there. I prevailed, and the first year we spent in it Was by many degrees the happiest of my life. We lived in a small house near the cross-bath, With the greatest economy. My mother did not go much into public, But we met with many former acquaintances Who were so obliging to matronize me to the rooms, Playhouse, and walks, as often as it was thought Proper to let me appear abroad. You cannot, my Edward, have forgotten my face and person, And may suppose that I was not without admirers In the midst of so many gay flutterers as abound at Bath. There are, I believe, fewer serious engagements Made there than at any place where such a concourse Of young people continually meet. Whether this is owing to the perpetual dissipation They live in, or to the constant rotation Of new faces that appear there daily Is not to me material. My heart, alas, was but too susceptible Of a tender impression, and Captain L, Son to Sir Richard L, first inspired My artless bosom with love. During the first three months of our acquaintance We saw each other every day, Nor did the idea of parting Or any other painful thought Obtrude upon our minds to interrupt The pleasing delirium of our mutual fondness. Our happiness was then most certainly too great to last. A letter from Sir Richard L to his son Acquainting him that he was promoted to the rank of Captain In a regiment which was then stationed in Ireland With a peremptory command to set out thither immediately Was the first. And we then thought the severest shock That fate could inflict on us. Though my mother was extremely indulgent to me Yet, from a delicacy natural to young minds I had never ventured to acquaint her With my attachment to Captain L. To this small but fatal error I perhaps owe most of the subsequent miseries of my life. The most intimate acquaintance I then had Was a young married lady, about three and twenty Who seemed to have the greatest friendship for my lover And tenderness for me imaginable. Her name is, but I will not expose her For the sake of a respectable family to whom she is allied Though she has brought infamy and sorrows upon me and mine I will call her Matilda. To her then I disclosed the anguish of my heart At the sad thought of parting with my lover And wept upon her bosom. She seemed to consider my distress as trifling Told me I had too much sensibility to be happy And advised me to conquer it. Then added, laughing, these first passions are always troublesome But you will not be so much affected at parting with your next lover. I was offended and disgusted at her speech. The very idea had profligacy in it.  During the short time that Captain L. remained at Bath After his father's summons, we three were inseparable. He would have married me at that interval But as he was not of age, being then but just turned of twenty He could get no clergyman to perform the ceremony for us. At length the fatal hour of separation arrived. Happiness and he were one in my estimation. They fled, alas, together. From his letters I received the sole consolation That could alleviate the pangs of absence. They were frequent and tender, yet I thought laterally That I sometimes discovered a little tendency Towards jealousy in them. But unconscious as I was of having given The slightest ground for suspicion by my conduct I thought it beneath me to enter into a particular defense Against a general charge And therefore suffered every hint upon this subject To pass unnoticed. We had now lived above a year at Bath And my mother began to find herself Extremely straightened in her circumstances. You had it not then in your power, my dear And generous Edward, to relieve her distress. And I am certain that one of the severest Which she herself felt Was her not being able to assist you In the first dawnings of your then infant fortunes. My mother, though past the prime of life Was still handsome, and at such a crisis Dress is of much more consequence to a woman Than at an earlier era. She had been used to elegance and affluence, Yet she cheerfully resigned them all And continued to wear deep mourning In order to ornament me with the remains Of her former paraphernalia And every little addition that she could make to it. Matilda used to take me with her Frequently to the rooms, and generally Invited me to private parties at her own apartments. Sometimes with my mother, but often or without. She always played high, and seemed solicitous To possess me with the same passion. I resisted the temptation, for some time, On account of the danger and indecorum Of such a course of life, to which She replied that as cards were now Become the bantan of all civilized nations The latter of my objections was sufficiently obviated. And that in order to guard against the former The earlier I began to practice the better. For as I should soon be a person of rank And fortune by the death of Sir Richard L. I could not think of living like a housewife In such an improved and enlightened age As the present. And that as high play had now become The general amusement and occupation Of all people entitled to associate In polite life, the sooner I was initiated Into the arts and sciences of gaming The safer it would be for my husband's Fortune or my own. She would sometimes make me hold her cards While she sat by, and instructed me How to play them. Then she would make me join in the stake And at last led me into adventure for myself On her promise to lend me what money I might lose, till I should be In a condition of repaying her. I am convinced that there is but one Step easy to avoid in vice, And that is the first. The fear and disgust with which I had engaged at play at the beginning War off by degrees, and habit Had seduced my mind into such a passion For cards in a short time That I regretted the Sundays that my mother Confined me at home after the church service Was over, to read proper discourses And listen to her most excellent Instructions. Mr. W., an elderly gentleman of Fortune, used generally to be of Our parties. He seemed to distinguish Me in a particular manner And used to favor me at play Which, as soon as I discovered, I Immediately resented, and declared I On my cards if he should ever again Attempt to pay me the least compliment Of the kind, to the disadvantage Either of himself or any of the rest Of the company. This proper reproof Of mine obliged him to restrain his Too indelicate gallantry towards me For the future. My card-accompt preserved itself Pretty even for some time, without Giving me occasion to trespass on The credit which my friend Matilda Had made me so voluntary a proffer Of, till one night that I happened To engage at Lou, which was a game I had never played at before, and Knew so little of as not to be aware How deeply I might be involved Upon the turn of luck against me. The stakes were not high, but as The forfeits were unlimited, I found Myself indebted to Mr. W. In the sum of thirty guineas when the Party broke up. I applied to My friend for the money, but she Put me off at that time by saying That I should try my fortune again The next evening at her apartments, Then put whatever balance should appear Against me on a proper footing for payment. I was tempted to venture on a second Essay at the same game, and concluded The night with doubling the debt to the Same person. I then claimed Matilda's promise, but she answered Me with great coldness, and a constrained Smile that my creditor was a gentleman Of large fortune, and as He had made her a confidant of his Partiality in my favour, she should Think at a breach of honour to take me Out of his hands by releasing me from An obligation as this was. The surprise and alarm I felt upon This occasion is not to be expressed. It was too surely a presage of All my future miseries. I began to find that I had been Most treacherously dealt by. I retired to my chamber without Speaking even to my mother, and Passed the night in walking about Distractively, and crying out How shall I be ever able to Discharge this dangerous debt, or How render a justifiable account Of conduct, either to my mother, to the World, but more especially to my Dear Captain L. I can find myself at home for several Days after this adventure, during Which time Matilda came often to solicit My returning into the world again, And affected to ridicule my prudery In being rendered so uneasy about So insignificant a circumstance, Which she assured me was but one Of the common events of life. However, I continued resolute In keeping myself retired, and Maint inconsolable on this unhappy Incident, till I received a letter From Captain L, which I opened With transport, hoping it would calm My mind, and restore my peace again. Alas, what an aggravation to my Misfortune and distress did I Meet with there. He told me that his regiment was Ordered to America, and that he Should embark with it in less than Ten days, which time was elapsed At the moment I received his letter. He added that my conduct had convinced That if he should never return to England, I would be easily consoled for his loss, Though he should never cease to Regret mine, wished me every Happiness that a life of dissipation Could yield, and bade me farewell Forever. My mind already disturbed and agitated, This cruel letter almost unhinged My reason, and sunk me into The most pitiable state of dejection.  For some time I continued in a state Of the profoundest melancholy. At length the voice of nature Waked my reason. The tears and Size of a fond parent by Sympathetic force attracted mine, And called forth all my gratitude. I strove to hide my anguish Even in smiles, but it still Prayed upon my tortured heart. The shame of having carried on My clandestine correspondence with a lover Who had now so plainly cast me off Prevented my revealing to my mother Any circumstance of a connection Which I then considered as disgraceful To me. But I flew directly To Matilda, who had been my only Confident in the secret, and Communicated the letter to her. She received me coldly, as She had done before on my former difficulty. Told me that this too Was but another of the common events Of life, that the most constant lovers Were not to be considered more than perennials. But that bath passions never Lasted beyond the season. That they were inspired by the heat Of the waters, and cooled as they did. What makes girls so wobegon Said she, upon such disappointments Is the overweening conceit that They are too apt to frame of their own consequence. But they must abate considerably Of their romantic self-sufficient Before they will find themselves In the station where nature has designed them. A toy. A rattle Which ten will play with for one who will think Of becoming a serious purchaser. Such maxims as these, whether true or false, Were not likely to assuage my grief. And I returned home the most unhappy Creature breathing. I accused Captain Al of falsehood, Of perjury. A thousand Times, alas, in vain did I vow To cast him from my heart and memory Forever. Pardon, thou Dear departed shade. These and all other injuries I have Unwittingly been the sad occasion Of to you. During my confinement Mr. W. made the most constant And obliging inquiries about me And in the most friendly manner offered My mother a house he had near the hot wells At Bristol, with the use of his carriage, Servants, et cetera. As I continued in a very low and languid State, even after my recovery, Change of air was judged necessary For me, particularly as the physician Who attended me apprehended My falling into a consumption. I had, however, a very strong objection To accepting Mr. W's obliging Offer, from an unwillingness To receiving farther favours from one To whom I was already too much indebted. But this difficulty was a good deal Obviated by his declaring that he was Engaged on a party for two months To visit Paris, and during that Time both his house and Carriage must be entirely useless To him. At my mother's entreaty, and not Opposed by me, Matilda Uncented to accompany us, and I Own, I felt a gleam of joy at Removing from a place where every object Reminded me of my unhappiness. I did not then reflect that I could Not fly from myself, and that Neither happiness or misery are Local. Mr. W accompanied us to Bristol And put us into possession Of a very elegant house, in which He left four servants to attend us At bored wages. There was an ample supply of tea, wine, Meat and every elegance, which he Insisted on our using as if They were our own, and took his leave In the politest manner, earnestly Requesting that he might find us there At his return. The waters and the change of scenes Certainly conduced to the recovery Of my health. But peace and cheerfulness Were both estranged from my sad bosom And the only moments I enjoyed Were those in which I could prevail On Matilda to listen to my griefs. I soon discovered that she grew In a painful office. She was totally Immersed in gaiety, and used Offener to rally, then soothe My affliction. Under all the disadvantages, which The gloomy veil of sorrow had cast Around me, a Yorkshire baronet Sir James D. saw and liked Me. He immediately addressed Himself to my mother, and was By her most favourably received. She was overjoyed at the prospect Of what she called my happiness, And spoke to me of Sir James's proposal To transport. This was the second Outrage, if I may so call it, That my heart had suffered. I fell into an agony of grief, And before I could recollect Myself, or she prevent me, I vowed To heaven in the most solemn manner That I would never be Sir James's Wife. Even at this moment, Edward, I behold The figure of my astonished, my Offended mother. She had, however, So much reason at command As not to urge my madness farther But quitted the room with a look of Indignation, mingled with surprise And sorrow. In a few minutes I followed her into Her chamber, and found her in tears. I could not bear them, Edward. I fell upon my knees before her, Implored her pardon, and offered Even to sacrifice myself by marrying Sir James D., rather than render Her wretched. She answered with the utmost calmness, I fear, Maria, it is out of your Power to prevent my being so.  I hoped, but it is over. For be assured that after the Value of so rashly made, no power On earth should force me to consent To my child's perjury. Sir James shall have his answer. But let me now inform you of a Secret I wish to have concealed Forever from you. Penury and want surround us, and We shall soon be given up a Pray to them. We must return to No more. I will mortgage our little Income to pay our debts. In some obscure corner we must Labor for our bread, help to Support ourselves in honest Indigents, and strive to humble Our minds to our conditions. I do not condemn you, my child. Affections are not to be forced. I flattered myself that your youth And beauty might have obtained An advantageous match, which Would have been a support to me, And an establishment to yourself. I am beyond my hopes, but I do Not wish to render you a victim For my sake, nor shall this subject Ever be mentioned more between us. Oh, my brother, think what I Suffered while my mother spoke. I would at that moment have died A thousand deaths to have made her happy, Yet even then I inwardly rejoiced At being relieved from my apprehensions Of marrying a man I could not love. You may suppose I uttered All that gratitude could dictate For my mother's kindness, and For my future life to know no will But hers. Talked of contented Poverty, preferring a humble lot With peace of mind to splendid misery And strove in vain to combat With her sorrows. On this occasion I not only assumed But felt a degree of cheerfulness To which my heart had long been A stranger. I triumphed over Captain El's unjust suspicions. In the midst of poverty I rejected an advantageous settlement And despised a title which must be Bought at the expense of love. I expected Matilda Would have applauded my heroism, But was disappointed. She disapproved my conduct, Called me romantic and absurd, Condemned my mother's want of spirit, And said that had she been in her place She would have compelled me to marry Sir James D., and made me happy In spite of my own folly. In about four days after this event Mr. W., whom we had imagined To be in France, returned to Bristol. As I was sensible of the highest gratitude Towards him, I confess I felt a degree of pleasure at his arrival And received him with all the marks Of regard due to a friend. There was a vacant apartment In the house which he asked my mother's Leave to occupy. She certainly had not a right to refuse Yet I could perceive that she was vastly Embarrassed by the request. The next morning she told me that she was Determined to quit Bristol immediately Though she knew not where to bend her course As she did not think it proper to remain Longer in Mr. W.'s house. As this person was near fifty years of age I had never considered him in any other Light than as a father. However, the impropriety of living under His roof any longer struck me as soon As it was mentioned. I told her I was ready to attend her When and wherever she pleased. She burst into tears and said Alas, my child! Who will receive the friendless widow And her helpless orphan? Mr. W., who had overheard our discourse Came into the room And taking my mother's hand, said Behold in me, madam A protector and a son who will think Himself happy in making you so. The first emotion of my heart At this declaration was gratitude. Modesty alone restrained me From embracing Mr. W. I cried out in an ecstasy Oh, sir, you are too good, too generous How shall we ever be able To make you an amends? He instantly replied, It is in your power, madam, To overpay all my services. I ask no more than that fair hand Can give, but then your heart As well as person must be mine. Without the first, the letter Would be worthless. I will not at this moment expect your answer.  He quitted the room directly, But he might have remained there Before without hazarding any interruption From me. I was absolutely petrified with horror And surprise.  But, oh, consider, my Maria, To what insults and misfortunes Your innocence and youth must be exposed When you shall lose even the poor You have in me. I know I cannot long endure distress. My death must leave you a prey To every ill, to every danger. You will then reflect with grief And shame on that false delicacy That actuates you now, and vainly lament The loss of a fond parent whom You have suffered to sink with sorrow To the grave. I could bear no more. I fell on my knees before her. I clasped her in my arms and bathed Her bosom with my flowing tears Make me, sacrifice me, do what you will With me, I will not be a parasite. But give me time to conquer this poor heart And tear my L's much-loved image From my breast. At the name of L, my mother started Up and raised me with her. Then, looking at me with unutterable Anguish, said it must not be If your heart feels a passion For another object, I will much sooner Die than make you wretched. But who is Mr. L? And how has he deserved Maria's love? Shame kept me silent.  Matilda can inform you both Of my weakness and misfortune. As I wished to retire upon the instant, I opened a door that led by A few steps into the garden. In my confusion, I missed my footing And fell from the top to the bottom. My mother flew to my assistance But could not raise me. She called for help. And when Matilda and Mr. W, Lived me from the ground, I could not stand. I was carried into the house And a surgeon sent for Who acquainted them that I had dislocated My right ankle. In the midst of the pain I suffered Even during the action of setting my ankle I secretly rejoiced in this accident As it must, at least for some days, Retard an event to me More horrible than death. My heart was overflowing still with fondness For the faithless L. And I was sensible of too much respect For Mr. W. to love him. The second day of my confinement My mother told me that Matilda Had informed her of every particular Relative to the attachment between Captain L. And me. That though she considered it as a childish And romantic affair on my side And a mere matter of gallantry on his Yet her tenderness for me Had made her consent to Matilda's writing To him, and acquainting him With every particular of my present situation And if, in answer to that letter He should declare a serious and honorable Passion for me, she solemnly Promised never to oppose my inclination But cheerfully wait his return And yield her consent to our union. But if, on the contrary, Stop there, my dearest mother, I exclaimed, you have outgone My wishes, for if Captain L. Should hesitate a moment to receive Me as his wife, not only my hand But my heart shall then be free And gratitude to the best of parents Shall enable me to bestow them Reluctantly on any person whom Her prudence shall select. My mother embraced me And bathed my cheeks with tears of fondness. At that moment I thought myself The happiest of mortals. Matilda joined us And read the letter she had written to Captain L. I did not think that it sufficiently Described either my affection Or my distress. But as my mother approved of it I did not presume to make any objection But only engaged her promise to add a Defense of my conduct from the Misapprehensions or misrepresentations He seemed to have conceived or received Before with regard to it.  She could not therefore bear to be guilty Of the smallest deceit. And though Mr. W. had not pressed For any answer to his proposal, On account of the accident that had happened To me, she resolved to tell him That there was a friend in America Without whose consent I was determined That this person had been written to And that he should be informed of his answer The moment it arrived. Mr. W. received this information With a very ill grace, But acquiesced so far as to say That he could have no doubt of this unheard of Guardian's consent to such an offer as his. And as an answer might arrive Before I was perfectly restored to my health There was no great harm in asking it. But he did not suppose That we should be weak enough to refuse His alliance, even though this particular Friend might not approve of it. My mother, though extremely disgusted At the roughness of his reply, Concealed the coarseness of his expression From me, and I considered Myself extremely obliged to him For not persecuting me any further For the present, with his ungracious And unwelcome passion. Matilda was obliged to return To her house at Bath, and as My mother spent most of her time in my chamber And that Mr. W. was not permitted To make long visits to me The pretense of the necessity of my being Kept quiet, he grew weary Of passing his domestic hours alone And to my very great joy Set out for London. I have written so long, my dear Louisa That I am scarce able to hold the pen But I could not possibly stop In this interesting narrative, such I hope you will think it, till I came To what may properly be called a resting Place. For though we do not Leave Maria happy, her hopes And fears are held in equipoise And this perhaps may not be one of the least Eligible situations in human life. Since I wrote to you I have had a letter from Mrs. Walter My apprehensions for her life Are increased by it. They more than preponderate against my hopes My spirit sink with them. But I am in a gloomy mood at present I will try to shake it off Lord Hume will assist me I hear him coming upstairs Till tomorrow farewell My loved Louisa. End of letter 62