The two best things that I learned from my ITTT TEFL course. The best thing I've learned from my TEFL course is the amount of preparation that goes into lesson planning. Usually, I am mocked by my friends and colleagues because of the amount of organization I like to do before any medium to large size task. Now I can say my love of planning and organizational skills will finally be put to good use. Lesson planning is crucial to any lesson. Whether it's a private session or a group class, lesson planning is absolutely necessary for a smooth teaching flow. It gives an overview of what you would like to teach and helps to keep you on track and not lack direction. I like how the course teaches you the merits of flexibility within structure. As I mentioned previously, I can lean towards rigidity but this course taught me to plan ahead as an overall guide but to keep flexible and open to the student's needs. How to manage a class was also a helpful part of lesson planning. It listed such basic pointers. For example, being personable, punctual, learning student's names, being aware of class dynamics, seating plans and most importantly, when to be involved and when to observe. I also learned what I should include in my lesson plan. For example, what you want the students to learn by the end of the lesson as well as the general theme and how it ties into past and future lessons. It is also a good tool should another person need to step in and teach your class. This will allow them to understand what you have already covered. I think another important point is to understand the student's motivation for learning a new language. Whether is it for travel or work, this will help the teacher gear the lesson in a way that keeps students interested and motivated. Planning ahead is key. Planning ahead for some people may seem like extra work but not if it's done in a way that allows the teacher to be more efficient in the classroom. The teacher can use their precious time more effectively and that will keep the students excited and interested. It is also a great tool to keep a record of what you have covered in the class. There was a great lesson plan worksheet included in the course that is incredibly useful. There I learned how to time out the one hour class, what I should include and how to stay on track. Having good subject knowledge is another important factor in lesson planning, being able to discuss news topics that are not too offensive but perhaps lighter and more entertaining, such as, movies, fun local news, and travel. It also mentions keeping the lesson plan with you as a reference, having all your teaching aids pre-chosen with enough copies for all your students, checking that any equipment needed works ahead of time and pre-arranging the desks for any group activities. The ESA methodology of teaching. Another great point I learned is how to keep students engaged, motivated and interested while learning a new language. I can say from experience that learning grammar as an adult is no fun undertaking. There were so many great points and new methodologies that I had learned and I can't wait to put them work. The ESA approach, engage, study, activate, is wonderful and I know it works as that is the structure used by my Italian teachers. Are you ready to teach English abroad? I feel these practical ideologies paired with effective lesson planning will enable me to be a good teacher and an even better student. I love languages and I am eager to help other students feel the same way about learning. Speak with an ITTT advisor today to put together your personal plan for teaching English abroad. Send us an email or call us toll free at 1-800-490-0531 to speak with an ITTT advisor today.


I have already told you I came hither with a view of engaging Lord T.'s interest in support of those views on which all my hopes of happiness depend. The friendship he has ever professed for me has been warm as that of a father. I was continually with him at Rome, and he there pressed me to accept those services I then never expected to have occasion for. Until now, content with my situation, love first raised in me the spirit of ambition and determined me to accept those offers. In a former letter I told you I was going to follow Lord T. into the garden to communicate to him my purpose of pushing my fortune in the world to which I had before given general hints from which he seemed to approve as a kind of spirit becoming a young man warm with hope and not destitute of merit. On revolving my scheme as I approached him it appeared so romantic, so void of all rational hope that I had not resolution to mention it, and determined at least to suspend it until better digested and more fitted to bear the cool eye of impartial reason. In these sentiments I should still have remained had not a letter from Lady Anne Wilmot by giving me jealousy determined me not to defer one moment a design on which all my happiness depended. I therefore, with some hesitation this morning, opened all my heart and the real state of my circumstances to Lord T., concealing only what related to Lady Julia. He heard me with great coolness, carelessly lolling on a set T., his eyes fixed on a new Chinese summer-house opposite the window near which he sat and made me the following answer. Your views, Mr. Mandeville, seem rather romantic for a man who has no party connections and so little parliamentary interest. However, you are of a good family, and there are things to be had in time, if properly recommended. Have you no friend who would mention you to the minister? He then rang the bell hastily for his valet and retired to dress, leaving me motionless with astonishment and indignation. We met no more until dinner when he treated me with a distant civility, the meaning of which was easily understood. He apologized, with an air of ceremony, on his being forced to go for a fortnight to Scarborough with a party, who, being all strangers, he was afraid would not be agreeable to me. But at his return he should be glad of the honour of seeing me again. I bowed coldly and took no other notice of what he said than to order my shays immediately, on which he pressed my stay to-night, but in vain. The servants leaving the room he was a little disconcerted, but observed he was sorry for me. My case was really hard. He always thought my fortune much larger, wondered at my father's indiscretion in educating me so improperly. People ought to consider their circumstances. It was a pity I had no friend. Lord Belmont, if he pleased, but he was so absurdly fond of his independence. During his harangue I entirely recovered my presence of mind, and with an air of great ease and unconcern, told his lordship I was much obliged to him for curing me of a pursuit so improper for a man of my temper, that the liberal offers of service he had formerly made me at Rome had betrayed me into a false opinion of the friendship of great men, but that I was now convinced of what value such professions are, and that they are only made where it seems certain they will never be accepted. That it was impossible his lordship could judge properly of the conduct of a man of my father's character, that I was proud of being son to the most exalted and generous of mankind, and would not give up that honour to be first minister to the first prince on earth, that I never so strongly felt the value of independence as at that moment and did not wonder at the value Lord Belmont set upon so inestimable a blessing. I came away without waiting for an answer, and stopped at an inn about ten miles off where I am now waiting for one of my servants whom I left behind to bring me a letter I expect to day from Lady Anne Wilmot. And now, my dear Mordent, what will become of your unhappy friend? The flattering hopes I fondly entertained are dispersing like a flitting cloud. Lord T.'s behaviour has removed the veil which love had spread over the wildness of my design, and convinced me that success is impossible. Where or to whom shall I now apply? Lord T. was him on whose friendship I most depended, whose power to serve me was greatest, and whose professions gave me most right to expect his services. I here forever give up all views. Can I then calmly give up the hopes of Lady Julia? I will go back, confess my passion to Lord Belmont, and throw myself on that goodness whose first delight is that of making others happy. Yet can I hope he will give his daughter the heiress of such affluence, disinterested and noble as he is, the false maxims of the world? Mordent, I am born to wretchedness. What have I gained by inspiring the most angelic of women with pity?  The servant I left at Lord T.'s is this moment arrived, he has bought me a letter. I know not why, but my hand trembles. I have scarce power to break the seal. Epistle Henry to Henry Mandeville of Squire. Summon all your resolution, my dear Mr. Mandeville. Sure my fears were prophetic. Do not be too much alarmed. Lady Julia is well. She is in tears by me. She disapproves her father's views. She begs me to assure you her heart is not less sensible than ours will be to sow cruel a stroke, begs you not to return yet to Belmont, but to depend on her affection, and leave your fate in her hands. The enclosed letters will acquaint you with what I have been for some time in apprehension of. With such a design for his daughter, why did my Lord bring you to Belmont, so formed to inspire love as you both are, why did he expose you to danger it was scarce possible for you to escape? But it is now too late to wish you had never met, or my hopes are in your resolution. I dare expect nothing from Lady Julia's. Epistle the Earl to the Earl of Belmont, September the 10th.  I am far from intending, your Lordship entirely mistakes me, no man can be more sensible of the honour of your Lordship's alliance, or of Lady Julia's uncommon perfections, but a light way of talking which one naturally acquires in the world has led me undesignedly into some appearance of disrespect to a state of the felicity of which I have not the least doubt. I flatter myself, your Lordship will on cooler reflection, forgive an unguarded word, and allow me to hope for the honour of convincing you and the lady, by my future conduct, that no man has a higher idea of matrimonial happiness than, my Lord, your Lordship's most devoted and very obedient servant, Fonville. Epistle, Lord, to Lord Viscount Fonville. My Lord, I readily admit your Lordship's apology as I am under no apprehension any man can intend to slight the alliance of one who has always endeavoured his character should be worthy his birth and the rank he has the honour to hold in his country. As I love the plain of stealing in affairs of such consequence I will not a moment deceive your Lordship or suffer you to engage in a pursuit which, if I have any influence over my daughter, will be unsuccessful, not from any disesteem of your Lordship, but because I have another view for her, the disappointment of which would destroy all my hopes of a happy evening of life and embitter my last hours. I have long intended her with her own approbation which her filial piety gives me no room to doubt for the son of my friend, the heir of an oldam and of an affluent fortune and what I much more value of uncommon merit in one of the first families in the kingdom. I am sure your Lordship will not endeavour to oppose a design which has been long-formed, is far advanced, and on which I have so much set my heart. I am, my Lord, with great regard your Lordship's very obedient and devoted servant, Belmont. I have long, my dear Mr. Mandeville, suspected my Lord's design in favour of Lord Melvin, of which there is not now the least doubt. Our coming away from his father's on his arrival was a circumstance which then struck me extremely. Lady Julia's stay there on this supposition would have been ill-suited to the delicacy of her sex and rank. Yet I am astonished my Lord has not sooner told her of it, but there is no accounting for the caprice of age. How shall I tell my dear Mr. Mandeville my sentiments on this discovery? How shall I, without wounding a passion which bears no restraint, hint to him, my wishes, that he would sacrifice that love which can only by its continuance make him wretched, to Lady Julia's peace of mind? That he would himself assist her to conquer an inclination which is incompatible with the views which the most indulgent of parents entertains for her happiness? Those the disappointment of which she has declared will embitter his last hours. Make one generous effort, my amiable friend. It is glorious to conquer where conquest is most difficult. Think of Lord Belmont's friendship of his almost parental care of your fortune, of the pleasure with which he talks of your virtues, and it will be impossible for you to continue to oppose that design on which his hopes of a happy evening of life are founded. Would you deny a happy evening to that life to which thousands owe the felicity of theirs? It is from you, and not Lady Julia, I expect this sacrifice. The consideration which will most strongly influence you to make it will forever prevent her. It pains me to wound your delicacy by saying I mean the difference of your fortunes. From a romantic generosity she will think herself obliged to that perseverance which the same generosity now calls loudly on you to decline. If you have the greatness of mine to give up hopes which can never be accomplished, time and absence may assist Lady Julia's filial sweetness and bring her to a compliance with her father's will. Believe that whilst I write my heart melts with compassion for you both, and that nothing but the tenderest friendship could have urged me to so painful a talk. I am, etc., eh, Wilmot? Oh, Mordent, till now I was never truly wretched, I have not even a glimpse of hope remaining. I must give up the only wish for which life is worth my care, or in bitter the last hours of the man, who with unequal generosity has pleaded my case against himself, and declined a noble acquisition of fortune that it might give consequence, and as he thought happiness to me. But Lady Julia, heaven is my witness, to make her happy I would this moment give up all my right to her heart. I would myself lead her to the altar, though the same hand the next moment. Mordent, I will promise if she requests it to consent to her marriage, but I will not to survive it. My thoughts are all distraction, I cannot write to Lady Anne. I will write to the most lovely of women. She knows not the cruel request of her friend. Her love disdains the low consideration of wealth. Our hearts were formed for each other. She knows every sentiment of my soul.  Can the gentle, the indulgent Lord Belmont, but all conspires to undo me? The best, the most mild of mankind, has turned a tyrant to make me wretched. I will know from herself if she consents. I will give up my own hopes to her happiness, but let me first be convinced it is indeed her happiness and not the prejudices of her father to which I make so cruel a sacrifice. I have wrote to Lady Julia, and am more calm. I have mentioned Lady Anne's request. I have told her that though without hope if I am still blessed in her affection I will never resign her but with life, but if she can be happy with Lord Melvin if she asks it she is this moment free. I have entreated her to consult her own heart without a thought of me that I would die this moment to contribute to her peace, that the first purpose of my life is her happiness with which my own shall never come in competition, that there is nothing I will ever refuse her but to cease to think of her with adoration, that if she wishes to marry Lord Melvin, great heaven is it possible she can wish it? I will return to Italy and carry far from her a passion which can never cease but in the grave. I will wait here for an answer and then determine where to go. CHAPTER XXI To Colonel Belville Thursday Emily Howard came last night. Lady Julia and she are reading natural history with my Lord and examining Butterfly's wings in a microscope, a pretty innocent amusement to keep young ladies out of mischief. I wish my Lord had thought of it sooner, it might have been of great use to Lady Julia. If one is but amused it is of no great consequence whether by a butterfly or a lover. Varsely severe that last sentence it must be allowed I have a pretty genius for satire. My Lord certainly intends Lady Julia for Lord Melvin. I have wrote Harry a ridiculous wise letter persuading him to sacrifice his own passion to my Lord's caprice and giving him advice which I should hate him if I thought him capable of following. How easy it is to be wise for anybody but oneself! I suppose Harry could with great calmness preach on the imprudence of my attachment to you. We are going to a strolling play tonight. My Lord encourages diversions on his estate on the same principle that a wise prince protects the fine arts to keep his people at home. We had a family to dine here yesterday who are very agreeable people and to whom my Lord showed a particular attention. Mr. Barker, the father, is the most bearable man I have seen in this country and the daughters vastly above the style of the Mrs. here. Lady Belmont intends to take them this winter with her to town, as she does every year some gentleman's daughter in her neighbourhood. Erdure, I am peevish beyond measure and scarce know what I would be at. Have you never these kinds of feels, never fretful you cannot tell why? It is well for you, you are not here. A lover and a favourite lap dog have a dreadful life on these occasions, or indeed any animal one can use ill with impunity. Very severe to-day, do you not perceive it? Six o'clock. Ten thousand times more peevish than ever. We have just had a visit from the best kind of woman in the world and her daughter, an amiable and accomplished young lady, who writes verses and journals, paints, makes shell flowers, cuts paper, and has every qualification to render the marriage state happy. Talks of the charms of rural retirement, the pleasures of reflection, the beauties of the mind, and sings, loves the gentle generous passion. It was not in nature to have stood at a quarter of an hour. Heaven be praised, the play-hour is come, and the coaches are at the door. Eleven o'clock. We have seen them enact Juliet and Romeo. Lady Julia seemed to sympathise with the heroine. I'll not wed Paris, Romeo is my husband. Epistle Colonel to Colonel Belleville We have been all extremely busy today celebrating a harvest home. A long procession of our village youths, all dressed gaily in fine shirts adorned with ribbons, paired with the handsomest of the country girls in white jackets and petticoats, garlands of flowers and wheat-ears on their heads, their rakes streaming with various coloured ribbons which glittered in the sunbeams, preceded the harvest cart, on which in a bower of green bow stood a beautiful little girl dressed in the rural style with inimitable elegance by the hands of Lady Julia herself.  They then adjourned to the hall where a plentiful feast was provided, and where the whole village where that night my lord's guests. Lord Belmont is extremely fond of all these old customs and will suffer none of them to be left off on his estate. The prospect of this festivity, he says, cheers them in their labour, and is a laudable tribute of gladness to that beneficent being to whose bounty we owe the full reward of our toil, the plentious harvest, and who rejoices in the happiness of his creatures. Besides, says my lord, all these amusements encourage a spirit of matrimony and increase the number of my people. And pray, my dear lord, do they encourage no other spirit? No, madam. Lady Belmont's anger and mine would, in such a case they know, contrary to that of the world, fall chiefly where it ought, on the seducer, who would be for ever expelled my estate, the heaviest punishment I could possibly inflict. Then as I am a declared enemy to interested marriages, the young people are allowed to choose for themselves, which removes the temptation device, which is generally caused by the shameful avarice of parents. Our example, too, is of great service and allures them to a regular behaviour. They think that must be the happiest life which we, who have the power of choosing, prefer, and therefore it is the fashion amongst them to be regular and seek their happiness as we do at home. I believe my lord is right. I am well pleased, too. He throws the blame on you the wretches and excuses the poor lasses. In the eye of the world it is, to be sure, to talk contraire, but my lord and lady Belmont are so singular as to see with their own eyes. Adieu! We all go down one dance with the villagers, and I hear the tabor and pipe. Oh! Heaven's a coach and six in the man of a livery! A running footman! It must be Lady Mary. I will inquire. It is herself. My lord flies to receive her in the court, Lady Belmont and Lady Julia, at the door. She alights. I never saw her before. Her figure is striking, full of dignity, and that grace which is almost lost in this generation. She enters the house, leaning on my lord. I am grieved Harry is gone. I wished her to be some time with him. She only just saw him as he came through London on his way to Belmont. But I must go to pay my respects. Adieu! A Pistol George To George Mordentersquire, Tuesday, September the fourteenth. As I was sitting alone this morning at the inn looking out at a window, I saw right into the yard Mr. Herbert, the gentleman to whom I took so strong an inclination at Lord Teese, and for whose character I have the highest esteem. He saw me, and springing eagerly from his horse, sent to know if I would admit him. He came in, and after expressing some surprise at seeing me there, on my telling him I had left Lord Teese and waited there a few days for letters, he insisted on my spending that time at his house in a manner which it was impossible for me to refuse. As we rode he apologised for the entertainment I should meet with, wished for a larger share of the gifts of fortune that he might receive his friends in a manner more suited to his desires, but said, if he knew me, the heart of the host was all I should care for, and that I should relish the homely meat of cheerful friendship as well as the splendid profusion of luxury and pride. We arrived at a neat house with a little romantic garden behind it, where we were received by Mrs. Herbert with that hospitable air which is inseparable from real benevolence of heart. Her person was extremely pleasing, and her dress elegantly plain. She had little boy sitting by her, lovely and playful as a cupid. Neatness and propriety presided at our frugal meat, and after a little dessert of excellent fruit from their garden, Mr. Herbert took me the tour of his estate, which consists of about seventy acres, which he cultivates himself, and has embellished with everything that can make it lovely. All has the appearance of content and peace. I observed this to him, and added that I infinitely envied his happiness. He stopped and looked earnestly at me. I am indeed, said he, happy in many things, and though my fortune is greatly below my birth and hopes, I am not in want. Things may be better, till then I bear them as I can. My wife, whose worth outweighs all praise, combats our ill fate with a spirit I cannot always imitate. For her, Mr. Mandeville, for her, I feel with double keenness the stings of adversity. I observed him too much affected to pursue the subject further. I therefore changed it and returned to the house, but I will not leave him till I am instructed how to draw the worm of discontent from one of the worthiest of human bosoms. Right to me here, I shall stay till I know when my father will be in the country. Adieu! Epistle, Colonel! To Colonel Belleville, Wednesday. I am charmed with Lady Mary. Her address is easy, polite, attentive. She is tall, brown, well-made, and perfectly graceful. Her hair would inspire awe if not softened by the utmost sweetness and appability of behaviour. She has great vivacity in her looks and manner. Her hair is quite white, her eyes have lost their luster, yet it is easy to see she has been very handsome, her hand and armour yet lovely, of which she is not a little vain. Take her, for all in all, she is the finest ruin I ever beheld. She is full of anecdotes of the Queen's time, chosen with judgment and told with spirit, which makes her conversation infinitely amusing. She has been saying so many fine things of Harry, who by the way strongly resembles her, that I begin to think the good old lady has a matrimonial design upon him. Really not amiss such a scheme, fine remains an affluent fortune, and as to years, eighty is absolutely the best age I know for a wife except eighteen.  She has the talkativeness of age, which where there is sense and knowledge of the world I do not dislike. She is learned in genealogy, and can tell you not only the intermarriages, but the family virtues and vices of every ancient house in the kingdom. As to the modern one she does not think them worth studying. I am high in her favour, because my blood has never been contaminated by a city marriage. She tells me the women of my family have always been famous for a certain ease and bonnere, which she is glad to see is not lost, and that my grandmother was the greatest ornament of Queen Mary's court. She has a great contempt for the present race of beauties, says the very idea of grace is almost lost, and that we see nothing now but mere pretty women, and she can only account for this by supposing the trifling turn of their minds gives an insignificance to their persons, and that she would advise them to learn to think and act in order to their being able to look and move with dignity. You nephew, she said, who remember each bright Churchill of the Galaxy will readily come into my opinion. She does me the honour, however, to say I am the most graceful woman she had seen since the Queen's time. She is a great politician and something inclined to be a Tory, though she professes perfect impartiality, loves the King, and idolises the Queen because she thinks she sees in her the sweet affability so admired in her favourite Queen Mary, forgives the sits for their opposition to peace because they get more money by war, the criterion by which they judge everything. But his amazed nobles, born guardians of the just rights of the throne, the fountain of all their honours, should join these interested change-alley politicians and endeavour from private peak to weaken the hands of their sovereign, but adds with a sigh that mankind was always alike, and that it was just so in the Queen's time. But pray, nephew, this Canada! I remember when Hill was sent against it in the Queen's time. It was thought of great consequence, and two or three years ago pamphlets were wrote, I am told by men very well-born, to prove it was the only point we ought to have in view, but a point in which we could scarce hope to succeed. Is it really so trifling an acquisition? And how comes the nature of it to be so changed, now we are likely to keep it? The terms of peace talked of, madam, said Lord Belmont, if we consider them in the only just light, their relation to the end for which war was undertaken, are such as wisdom and equity equally dictate. Here, considered merely as the possession of it gives security to our colonies, is of more national consequence to us than all our sugar-islands and the globe. But if the present inhabitants are encouraged to stay by the mildness of our laws and that full liberty of conscience to which every rational creature has a right, if they are taught by every honest art a love for that constitution which makes them free and a personal attachment to the best of princes, if they are allured to our religious worship by seeing it in its genuine beauty equally remote from their load of trifling ceremonies and the unornamented forms of the dissenters, if population is encouraged, the wastelands settled, and a whale fishery set on foot, we shall find it, considered in every light an acquisition beyond our most sanguine hopes. Oh, Sielle, I am tired, endure, eh, Wilmot? CHAPTER XXII To George Mordentersquire I am still with Mr. Herbert, whose genius learning and goodness of heart make him an honour to human nature itself. I shall never know peace until I find a way to render his situation more worthy of his character. It was with great difficulty I drew from him the following short account of himself. I quote, There is nothing in my past life but what is, I fear, too usual to be worth relating. Wampth of temper and the vanity of youth seduced me into a circle of company not to be kept up by one of my fortune at a less price than ruin, and the same vanity, with inexperience and a false opinion of mankind, betrayed me into views not less destructive.  The reputation of such a sum in my own power drew about me all the worthless young men of fashion in the university whose persuasions and examples led me into a train of expense to which my fortune was far from being equal. They flattered those talents of which I thought but too well myself and easily persuaded me I only wanted to be known in the great world to rise to what height I pleased. I accompanied them to town full of the idea of raising my fortune to which they assured me nothing so much contributed as the appearance of being perfectly at ease. To this end I launched into every expense they proposed, dress, equipage, play, and every fashionable extravagance. I was well received everywhere and thought my designs in a prosperous way. I found my fortune, however, decaying at the end of two years, but had not courage to inquire into particulars, until drawing upon my banker for money to pay some debts I had unwearily contracted, he told me he had already paid the whole. It was some time before he could convince me of this, but finding his accounts had all the appearance of exactness I was obliged to acquiesce, and went home in an agony of despair. Unable to quit a way of life which was become habitual and which it was now impossible to support without dishonesty there is no describing my feelings. After revolving a thousand different schemes in my imagination I determined to conceal the situation of my affairs, sell my estate, and before that money was gone press my great friends to serve me. I applied to my banker who undertook to send me a purchaser, but before I had completed my design I received by the post a bank note of five hundred pounds the sum I was indebted in town, with a letter in a hand unknown to me representing in the most delicate manner the imprudence of my past conduct, the madness of my views, and the certain consequences of my parting with this my last stake, in treating me by the memory of my parents to preserve this sacred deposit, this little remain of what their tender care had left me. Melted with this generosity, struck with the just reproof, yet chained down to that world which had undone me, convinced yet irresolute, I struggled with my own heart to determine on retiring into the country, but to postpone as long as possible a retreat which I could not bear to think of resolved first to try my great friends and be certain of what I had to hope for. I represented to them the necessity of immediately attempting in earnest to push my fortune, and pressing them closely found their promises were air. They talked in general terms of their esteem for me, of my merit, and each of them expressed the warmest desire of seeing me serve by any means but his own. In order to animate their languid friendship I discovered to them the real state of my affairs, and from that moment found myself avoided by them all. They dropped me by degrees, whenever at home when I called, and at length see Stephen to bow to me in public. Ashamed of their own baseness in thus cruelly deserting me after leading me into ruin, most of them fought to excuse it by blackening my character, whilst the best of them affected coldly to pity me as a vain foolish fellow who had undone himself by forgetting his own primeval situation and arrogantly presuming to live with them. Burning with indignation I determined at once to break the bands which held me captive. I sold my equipage, discharged my debts, and came down to this place resolved to find out to whom I had been so obliged, and by living on half my income to repay this generous benefactor. I took lodgings in a farmhouse and soon found that peace of mind to which I had long been a stranger. I tried every method to find out to whom I was indebted for an act of such exalted friendship, but in vain, until one day a relation being present of whom I had some suspicion I related the story, as of another, keeping my eyes fixed upon him. He remained perfectly unmoved, but happening to turn my head I saw a confusion in the air of a young lady in the room with whom I had been bred in the greatest intimacy which excited all my attention. She saw me observe her, and a blush overspread her cheek which convinced me I had found the object of my search. I changed the subject, and the next morning made her a visit, when I, with great difficulty, drew from her a confession that having long had a tender esteem for me she had, by a friend in town, watched all my actions, that my banker had applied to that very friend to purchase my estate, on which, seeing me on the brink of absolute ruin, she had taken what appeared to her the most probable means to prevent it, and was so happy as to see she had succeeded. I dare say I need not tell you this noble creature was my dear Mrs. Herbert, the smallness of whose fortune added infinitely to the generosity of the action, what she had sent me being within a trifle her all. I loved, I addressed her, and at length was so happy as to call her mine. Blessed in the most exalted passion for each other, a passion which time has rather increased than abated, the narrowness of our circumstances is the only ill we have to complain of. Even this we have borne with cheerfulness in the hope of happier days. A late accident has, however, broken upon that tranquillity with which heaven has hid the two blesters. It is now about six months since a lady who tenderly esteemed us both sent for me, and acquainted me she had procured for me of a gentleman whose family had been obliged to her a living of above three hundred pounds a year in a beautiful situation, and desired I would immediately take orders. As I was originally educated with a view to the church I consented with inexpressible joy, blessing that heaven which had thus rewarded my severe's generous affection, and given us all that was wanting to complete our happiness. I set out for London with an exulting heart, where after being ordained I received the presentation and went down to take possession. The house was large and elegant, and betrayed me into furnishing it rather better than suited my present circumstances, but as I determined on the utmost frugality for some years I thought this of little consequence. I set men to work in the garden and wrote my wife an account of our new residence which made her eager to hasten her removal. The day of my coming for my family was fixed when my patron came down to this seat which was within sight of the rectory. I waited on him, and found him surrounded by wretches to whom it was scarce possible to give the name of human. Proflicate, abandoned, lost even to the sense of shame, their conversation wounded reason, virtue, politeness, and all that mankind agreed to hold sacred. My patron, the wealthy heir of a West Indian, was raised above them only by fortune and a superior degree of ignorance and savage insensibility. He received me with an insolence which I found great difficulty in submitting to, and after some brutal general reflections on the clergy dared to utter expressions relating to the beauty of my wife which fired my soul with indignation. Breathless with rage I had not power to reply when one of the company, speaking low to him, he answered aloud, "'Ark, you Herbert, this blockhead thinks a parson, a gentleman and wonders at my treating as I please a fellow who eats my bread. I will sooner want bread, sir,' said I, rising, then owe it to the most contemptible of mankind, for living is once more at your disposal. I resign all right to it before this company.' The pleasure of having acted as I ought swelled my bosom with a conscious delight, and supported me until I reached home, when my heart sunk at the thought of what my Sophia might feel from the disappointment. Her affairs, too, were a little embarrassed, from which misery I had hoped to be set free, instead of which my debts were increased. Mr. Mandeville, if you never know the horrors of being in debt you can form no idea of what it is to breathe the air at the mercy of another, to labour, to struggle to be just, whilst the cruel world are loading you with the guilt of injustice. I entered the house filled with horrors not to be conceived.  You will imagine what I felt at that moment. Instead of replying, I related to her the treatment I had met with, and the character of him to whom we were to be obliged, and asked her what she would wish me to do. Resign the living, said she, and trust to that heaven whose goodness is over all his creatures. I embraced her with tears of tender transport, and told her I had already done it. We wrote to the lady to whose friendship we had been obliged for the presentation, and she had the greatness of mine not to disprove my conduct. We have since practised a more severe frugality which we are determined not to relax until what we owe is fully discharged. Time will we hope bring about this end, and remove the load which now oppresses my heart. And to trust to heaven and our own industry and to aim at independence alone I have avoided all acquaintance which could interfere with his only rational plan. But Lord T., seeing me at the house of a nobleman whose virtues do honour to his rank, and imagining my fortune easy from my cordial reception there, invited me earnestly to his seat. By having, as I suppose, been since undeceived as to my situation, you were a witness of his unworthy treatment of me, of one descended from a family as noble as his own, liberally educated, with a spirit equally above meanness and pride, and a heart which feels too sensibly to be happy in a world like this. O, Mr. Mandeville, what can you think of him who, instead of pouring out his soul in thankfulness to heaven for those advantages he enjoys by his goodness above his fellow creatures, make use of them to wound the bosom of the wretched, and add double bitterness to the cup of adversity. The real evils of a narrow fortune are trifling, its worst pangs spring from the unfeeling cruelty of others. It is not always that philosophy can raise us above the proud man's contumely, or those thousand insults, which patient merit of the unworthy takes.   I have heard you with infinite concern hint designs, too like my own. Let me entreat, let me conjure you to profit by my example. If peace is worth your care, be content with your paternal fortune, however small, nor by rashly launching on the flattering sea of hope, hazard that shipwreck which I have suffered." Mordent is not this the voice of heaven? I will return to the bosom of independence and give up designs in which it is almost impossible for modest worth to succeed. My father is in town, I will go to him when he returns. His advice shall determine my future conduct. A letter from Lady Julia, my servant has this moment brought it from Lord Tease, whither I desired it to be directed, not choosing to let them know I have put an end to my visit, as Lord Belmont should insist on my return. End of Section 22. Section 23 of the history of Lady Julia Mandeville. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The History of Lady Julia Mandeville by Francis Brooke. Section 23. Epistle Henry to Henry Mandeville Esquire. In what word shall I assure the most amiable of men he has nothing to fear from Lord Melvin? If he knows my heart, he knows it incapable of change. He knows not his own generous spirit more disdains the low consideration of fortune. He knows I can have but one wish, that this accidental advantage was on his side that he might taste the transport of obliging her he loves. My duty, my gratitude to the best of parents, forbids my entering into present engagements without his knowledge, nor will I make future ones, which would have in view an event on which I cannot think without horror. But his commands, were he capable of acting so inconsistently with his past indulgent goodness, would be insufficient to make me give my hand to Lord Melvin when my heart is fixedly another's. I may perhaps assume courage to own my sensibility, a sensibility justified by such merit in the object to the tenderness of mothers and friends. In the meantime defer your return to Belmont and hope everything from time, my father's friendship and my un-ultrable esteem. Then did I say, where did I learn this coldness of expression? Let me own, though I am covered with blushes whilst I write, it is from my love, my ardent love, from a passion which is the pride and boast of my life, that the most charming of mankind has everything to hope. If his happiness depends on my affection, he is happy. You shall hear from me by Lady Anne and my beloved Emily. At present you will not ask to hear from me. I do. Oh, Mardin, how shall I restrain the wild transports of my heart? Her love, her most ardent love, how could I suspect her truth? No, my friend, I ask no more. I will not return to Belmont. Certain of her tenderness I submit without repining to her commands. Unable, however, to resist the desire of being near her, I will go privately to a little farm, four miles from Belmont, of which it has a view, which is rented by an old servant of my father's, whose son is in love with one of Lady Belmont's maids, and from whom I shall hear daily accounts of Lady Julia. As it is near the road, I may even have a chance of seeing her past by. I shall leave my servants at the inn, and order all my letters hither. Mr. Herbert will convey them to me, and keep the secret of my retreat. Great Heaven, I shall tonight be near her. I shall behold the turrets of Belmont. It is even possible I may see the dear object of all my wishes. A thousand sweet ideas rise in my mind. My heart dances with pleasure. More don't, she loves me. She will never be another's. This passion absorbs me wholly. I had almost forgot my friend. Go to my bankers. Take a hundred pounds, and send it by the post to Mr. Herbert, without letting him know from once it comes. Why is this trifle all that is in my power to do for worth like his? If a happier fate, be let me not encourage the sanguine hopes of youth. I will introduce him to Lord Belmont, the friend of virtue, the support of the unhappy, the delegate of heaven itself. Adieu, your faithful H. Mandeville. Epistle, Colonel. To Colonel Belville, Thursday. A pretty sentimental letter, your last, and would make an admirable figure in a true history of Caledon and Urania.  And yet the world, apropos to the world, a French author I am reading says, a wise writer to divert the fury of criticism from his works should throw it now and then an indiscretion in his conduct to play with, as seamen do a tub to the whale. Do not you think this might be a useful hint to us beauties? If I treat the good old lady sometimes with a little imprudence in regard to you, my complexion may escape the better for it. We are just returned from a party on the water, which, like most concerted parties, turned out exceedingly dull. We had gilded barges, excellent music, an elegant repast, and all that could invite pleasure amongst us. But whether her ladyship be a true coquette, flying fastest when pursued, or what is the reason I know not, but certain it is one seldom finds her where one goes to seek her. Your visits are generally spontaneous and unexpected. She rejects all invitations, and comes upon you in her own way, by surprise. I set off in high spirits, my heart beating with expectation, and never past a more languid day. I fancied every moment would be pleasanter, but found the last hour as spiritless as the first. I saw chagrin and disappointment in the eyes of half the company, especially the younger part of it. Lady Julia seemed to say, all this would be charming if Harry Mandeville was here. My own ideas were something similar. I could not keep my imagination from wandering a little to Grosvenor Street. Most of the misses were in the same situation. Whilst the good old people seemed perfectly satisfied, which convinces me that at a certain time of life there is no pleasure without the heart, where that is untouched and takes no part in your amusements, all is still life and vegetation. It is in vain to expect enjoyment from outward objects, where the soul is from home. I missed my sweet Harry exceedingly, for, though not a lover, he is a divine fellow, and there is something vastly amusing in having so agreeable an object before one's eyes. After I make a party of pleasure it shall consist all of lovers who have not met for a twelve month. Who should we meet on our return but Fondville, in a superb barge full of company dying at the feet of the Cittadina, who is singing a melting Italian air? Yes, we are to be Lady Viscountis Fondville. All is agreed. The clothes bespoke. Our very garters interwoven with coronets. I shall get off before the days of visitation, for there will be no supporting madame la Viscountis. I have been talking half an hour teta-tet with Lady Mary, and have led her into the secret of little Westbrook's passion for Harry. She drew up at the very mention, was astonished, that a creature of yesterday could think of mixing his blood with that of Mandeville, and declared she knew but twenty houses in Europe into which she should ever consent to Harry's marrying. I took this opportunity of giving a hint of his inclination for Lady Julia, but I'm doubtful whether she understood me. Oh, that he had Lord Melvin's expectations. But why do I wish for impossibilities? Let me rather wish what is next to impossible, that Lord Belmont would overlook the want of them. I do a pistle Colonel, to Colonel Belville Thursday evening. Oh, Sielle, une aventure. Making use of the sweet liberty of Belmont, which has no rule but that of the Thalamite, do what thou wilt, I left them after dinner to settle family affairs, and ordered my chariot to make a solitary airing. An old cat, however, arriving just as it came to the door, who was a famous proficient in scandal, a treat I am absolutely deprived of at Belmont, I changed my mind, and asked her to accompany me, that I might be amused with the secret history of all the neighborhood. She had torn to pieces half a dozen of the prettiest women about us, when passing through a little village about six miles from Belmont, I was struck with the extreme neatness of a small house and garden near the road. There was an elegant plainness in the air of it, which pleased me so much that I pulled the string and ordered the coachman to stop, that I might examine it more at leisure. I was going to bid him drive on, when two women came out of an arbor, one of whom instantly engaged all my attention. Imagine to yourself, in such a place all that is graceful and lovely in woman, an elegance of form and habit, a dignity of deportment, an air of delicate, languor and sensibility, which won the heart at a look, a complexion inclining to pale, the finest dark eyes, with the countenance in which a modest sorrow and dignified dejection gave the strongest indications of suffering merit. My companion, seeing the apparent partiality with which I beheld this amiable object, began to give me the history of her, embittered by all the virulence of malice, which however amounted to no more than that she was a stronger, and that, as nobody knew who she was, they generously concluded she was one whose interest it was not to be known. They now drew nearer to us, and the charming creature, raising her eyes and then first seeing us, exclaimed, Good Heaven, Lady Anne Wilmot, is it possible? I now regarded her more attentively, and, though greatly changed since I saw her, knew her to be Belle Hastings, Mr. Wilmot's niece, whom I had been long endeavoring to find. I sprung from the chariot to meet her, and need not tell you my transport at so unexpected a recounter. After the common inquiries on meeting I expressed my surprise at finding her there, with a gentle reproach at her unkindness in being in England without letting me know it. She blushed, and seemed embarrassed at what I said, on which I changed the subject, and pressed her to accompany me immediately to Belmont, the place on earth where merit like hers was most sure of finding its best reward, esteem. She declined this proposal in a manner which convinced me she had some particular reason for refusing, which I doubted not her taking a proper time to explain, and therefore gave it up for the present. I insisted, however, on her promising to go with me to town, and that nothing but a matrimonial engagement should separate her from. There is no describing the excess of her gratitude, tears of tender sensibility shone in her eyes, and I could see her bosom swell with sensations to which she could not give utterance. An hour passed, without my having thought of my meager companion at the gate. I was not sorry for having accidentally mortified the envious wretch for her spite to poor Belle. However, as I would not designedly be shocking I sent to her, and apologised for my neglect, which I excused from my joy at meeting unexpectedly with a relation for whom I had the tenderest friendship. The creature alighted at my request, and, to make amends for the picture she had drawn of my amiable niece, overwhelmed her with civilities and expressions of esteem, which would have increased my contempt for her, if anything in nature could. After tea we returned, when I related my adventure, and, though so late, could scarce prevail on Lady Balmont to defer her visit to Belle till to-morrow. She hopes to be able to prevail on her to accompany us back to Bellemont. Adieu, Cato. Epistle George To George Mourdon, Esquire I write this from my new abode, a little sequestered farm at the side of a romantic wood. There is an arbor in the thickest grove of intermingled jesemons and roses. Here William mediates future happy hours when joined to his lovely Anna. He has adorned it with every charm of nature to please the mistress of his soul. Here I pass my sweetest hours. Here William brings me news of Lady Julia. He is this moment returned. He saw her walking to the rustic temple, leaning on Emily Howard. He tells me she sighed as she passed him. Oh, Mourdon, was that sigh for me? Not certain Lady Julia would forgive my being so near her, or a concealment which has so guilty an air I have enjoined William's secrecy even to his Anna, and bribed it by a promise of making him happy. My letters therefore come round by Mr. Herbert's, and it is three days before I receive them. I have not yet heard from Bellemont or my father. I am supposed to be still at Lord T's. Ever an enthusiast from warmth of heart and imagination, my whole soul is devoted to Lady Julia. I pass my days in carving that lovable name on the rinds of the smoothest trees, and when the good old man retires to his rest William and I steal forth and ride to the end of Bellemont Park, where, having contemplated the dear abode of all that earth contains of lovely, and breathed an ardent prayer to heaven for her happiness, I return to my rustic retreat, and wait patiently till the next evening brings back the same pleasing employment. Since I left Bellemont I have never known happiness like what I now feel. Certain of her tenderness, tranquility is restored to my soul. Forever employed in thinking of her, that painful restraint which company brought is removed, the scenes around me and the dear solitude I enjoy, are proper to flatten the love-sick heart. My passion is soothed by the artless expression of Williams. I make him sit hours talking of his Anna. He brings me every day intelligence of my angel. I see every hour the place where she inhabits. Am I not most happy? Her idea is perpetually before me. When I walk in these sweet shades so resembling those of Bellemont, I look round as if expecting to behold her. I start at every sound, and almost fancy her lovely form in my view. Oh, Mordeaux, what transport do I find in this sweet delirium of love? How eagerly do I expect the return of evening. Could I but once again behold her, once again swear eternal passion? I have a thousand things to say. Epistle Colonel To Colonel Belleville Tuesday morning I have this moment a letter from Belle Hastings which I send you. I wish her here. Yet know not how to press it after so rational an apology. Recording by Jadopi, www.publicdomainaudiobooks.bluffspot.com. Section 24 of the History of Lady Julia Mandville 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 Jadopi The History of Lady Julia Mandville, by Francis Brooke. Section 24 Epistle Lady To Lady Anne Wilmutt Before I absolutely accept or refuse your ladyship's generous invitation, allow me to account to you for my being in a place where you so little expected to find me, but which I am convinced you will acquiesce in my continuing in, when you know the motives which induced me to make choice of it.  I should then have returned, but having contracted a very great friendship for a young lady of the first quality in England, she pressed me to continue there till her return, which was fixed for the year following. About three months before we intended to leave Paris, her brother arrived, on which occasion she left the convent, and went to spend her remaining time with an aunt, who then resided in France, and who, being told I had stayed the last year in complacence to her amiable niece, insisted on my accompanying her. To spare a long narrative of common events, the brother of my friend became passionately in love with me, and I was so unhappy as to be too sensible to his tenderness. He entreated me to conceal our attachment from his sister, for the present, professed the most honourable designs, told me he did not doubt of bringing his father to consent to a marriage to which there could be no objection that was not founded in the most sordid avarice, and on which the happiness of his life depended. The time of our intended return to England drawing near, he employed, and successfully, the power he had over my heart to influence my acceptance of an invitation given me by a friend of my mother's, to accompany her to Florence, where I promised to stay till his return from Rome. Too much in love, as he said, and I weakly believed, to support a longer absence, he came in a few months to Florence. We were then in the country with a Florentine nobleman, whose lady was related to my friend, to whom he was strongly recommended, and who gave him an invitation to his villa, which I need not tell you he accepted. We saw each other continually, but under a restraint, which, whilst it increased our mutual passion, was equally painful to both. At length he contrived to give me a letter, pressing me to see him alone in the garden at an hour he mentioned. I went, and found the most beloved of men waiting for me in a grove of oranges. He saw me at a distance. I stopped by an involuntary impulse. He ran to me. He approached me with a transport which left me no room to doubt of his affection. After an hour spent in vows of everlasting love, he pressed me to marry him privately, which I refused with an air of firmness but little suited to the state of my heart, and protested no consideration should ever induce me to give him my hand without the consent of his father. He expressed great resentment of a resolution which he affirmed was inconsistent with a real passion, pretended jealousy of a young nobleman in the house, and artfully hinted at returning immediately to England. Then, softening his voice, implored my compassion, vowed he could not live without me, and so varied his behaviour from rage to the most seducing softness that the fear of displeasing him, who was dearer to me than life, assisted by the tender persuasive eloquence of well-dissembled love so far prevailed over the dictates of reason and strict honour that, unable to resist his despair, I consented to a clandestine marriage. I then insisted on returning immediately to the house, to which he consented, though unwillingly. And leaving me with all the exulting raptures of successful love went to Florence to prepare a priest to unite us, promising to return with him in the morning. The next day passed. And the next, without my hearing of him, a whole week elapsed in the same manner. Convinced of his affection, my fears were all for his safety. My imagination presented danger in every form, and no longer able to support the tears of my mind, filled with a thousand dreadful ideas, I sent a servant to inquire for him at the house where he lodged, who brought me word he had left Florence the very morning on which I expected his return. Those only who have loved, like me, can conceive what I felt at this news. But judge into what an abyss of misery I was plunged, on receiving a few hours after a letter from his sister, pressing me to return to her at Paris, where she was still waiting, in compliance with order from home, for her brother, who was to accompany her to England directly, to marry an heiress for whom he had been long intended by his father. She added that I must not lose a moment, for that her brother would, before I could receive the letter, be on the road to Paris. Rage, love, pride, resentment, indignation, now tore my bosom alternately. After conflict of different passions I determined on forgetting my unworthy lover, whose neglect appeared to me the contemptible insolence of superior fortune. I left the place the next day, as if for Paris, but taking the nearest way to England came hither to a clergyman's widow, who had been a friend of my mother's, to whom I told my story and with whom I determined to stay concealed till I heard the fate of my lover. I made a solemn vow in the first heat of my resentment never to write to him, nor let him know my retreat, and though with infinite difficulty I have hither to kept it. But what have I not suffered for this conduct, which, though my reason dictates, my heart condemns? A thousand times have I been on the point of discovering myself to him, and at least giving him an opportunity of vindicating himself. I accused myself of injustice in condemning him unheard, and on appearances which might be false. So weak is a heart in love, that though when I chose my place of retreat I was ignorant of that circumstance, it was with pleasure, though a pleasure I endeavored to hide from myself, that I heard it was only ten miles from his father's seat. I ought certainly to have changed it on this knowledge, but find a thousand plausible reasons to the contrary, and a but two successful in deceiving myself. Except of the propriety of my conduct in avoiding him, I am not the more happy. My heart betrays me, and represents him continually to my imagination in the most amiable light, as a faithful lover, injured by my suspicions, and made wretched by my loss. Torn by sentiments which vary every moment, the struggles of my soul have impaired my health, and will in time put an end to a life, to the continuance of which without him I am perfectly indifferent. Determined however to persist in a conduct which whatever I suffer from it is certainly my duty, I cannot, as I hear he has returned, consent to come to Belmont, where it is scarce possible I should fail meeting a man of his rank, who must undoubtedly be of Lord Belmont's acquaintance. Until he is married, or I am convinced I have injured him, I will not leave this retreat. At least I will not appear where I am almost certain of meeting him whom I ought forever to avoid. Oh, Lady Anne, how severe is this trial! How painful the conquest over the sweetest affections of the human heart! How mortifying to love an object which one has ceased to esteem! Most of his unworthiness my passion remains the same, nor will ever cease, but with life I at once despise and adore him. Yes, my tenderness is if possible more lively than ever, and though he has doomed me to misery I would die to contribute to his happiness. You, Madam Will, I know pity and forgive the inconsistencies of a heart ashamed of its own weaknesses, yet too sincere to disguise or palliate them. I am no stranger to your nobleness of sentiment. In your friendship and compassion all my hopes of tranquility are founded. I will endeavour to conquer this ill-placed prepossession and render myself more worthy your esteem. If his marriage with another makes it impossible for him to suppose I throw myself designedly in his way, I will go with you to town in the winter, and try if the hurry of the world can erase his image from my bosom. If he continues, unconnected, and no accident clears up to me his conduct, I will continue where I am. And forever hide my folly in this retreat. I am and see a Hastings. Poor Belle, how I pity her! Heaven certainly means love for our reward in another world. It so seldom makes it happy in this. But why do we blame Heaven? It is our own prejudices, our rage for wealth, our cowardly compliance with the absurd opinions of others which robs us of all the real happiness of life. I should be glad to know who this despicable fellow is. Though really it is possible she may injure him. I must know his name and find out whether or not she is torturing herself without reason. If he bears scrutinizing, our plans may coincide, and my jointure make us all happy. If not, he shall have the mortification of knowing she has an easy fortune, and of seeing her, what it shall be my business to make her next winter, one of the most fashionable women and celebrated toasts about town. After all, are we not a little in the machine style, not to be able to withdraw our love when our esteem is at an end? I suppose one might find a philosophical reason for this in Newton's Laws of Attraction. The heart of a woman does, I imagine, naturally gravitate towards a handsome, well-dressed, well-bred fellow, without inquiry into his mental qualities. Nay, has to that, do not let me be partial to you odious men. You have as little taste for mere internal charms as the lightest coquette in town. You talk, sometimes, of the beauties of the mind. But I should be glad, as somebody has said very well, to see one of you in love with a mind of three score. I am really sorry for Belle, but hope to bring her out of these heroics by Christmas. The town air, and being followed five or six weeks as a beauty, will do wonders. I know no specific for a love fit like a constant round of pretty fellows. The world, I dare say, will soon restore her to her senses. It is impossible she should ever regain them in a lonely village, with no company but an old woman. How dearly we love to nurse up our follies! Belle, I dare say, fancies vast merit in this romantic constancy to a man who, if he knew her absurdity, would laugh at it.  Friday night. Oh heavens, who could have thought it? Of all the birds in the air, find me out, Lord Melvin, for Belle Hastings' lover. Nothing was ever so charming. To tell the story, which does his business here in a moment, serves my lovely Harry, and punishes the wretches in fidelity as it deserves, I do, I fly to communicate. Saturday morning. All this is very strange to me, Lord Belmont, to whom I last night mentioned Lord Melvin's connection with Belle, as a reason against his marrying Lady Julia assures me no such thing was ever intended, that he was amazed how I came to think so, that Lord Rochdale has other views for his son, to which however he is adverse. I am glad to hear this last circumstance, and hope Belle has wronged him by her suspicions. But who can this be that is intended for Lady Julia? I do not love to be impertinent, but my curiosity is rather excited. I shall not sleep till I am in this secret. I must follow my Lord about till I get a clue to direct me. How shall I begin the attack? Really, my Lord says I. This surprises me extremely. I could have sworn, Lord Melvin, was the person your Lordship meant. If it is not him, who can it be? Yes, this will do. I will go to him directly. Cruel man, how he plays with my anxiety. He has gone out in the post-Shays with Lady Julia. The Shays drove from the door this moment. I can say not a word more. I am on the rack of expectation. I could not be more anxious about a lover of my own. The hear of an earldom, and of an affluent fortune, I have tortured my brain this hour, and not a scruple the nearer. End of Section 24, Recording by Jadapi, www.publicdomainaudiobooks.blogspot.com Section 25 of the History of Lady Julia Mandeville. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The History of Lady Julia Mandeville by Francis Brooke, Section 25 Epistle George To George Mordon Esquire Saturday morning O Mordon, I have seen her. I have heard the sound of that enchanting voice. My Lord was in the Shays with her. They stopped to drink fresh cream. Mordon presented her a nose-gay. She thanked him with an air of sweetness, which would have won the soul of a savage. My heart beat with unutterable transport. It was with difficulty I restrained myself. Mordon, I must return. I can no longer bear this absence. I will write this moment to Lord Belmont, and own my passion for his daughter. I will paint in the most lively colors my love and my despair. I will tell him I have nothing to hope from the world, and throw myself entirely on his friendship. I know the indiscretion of this proceeding. I know I ought not to hope for success. But I have too long concealed my sentiments, and pursued a conduct unworthy of my heart. I have wrote. I have sent away the letter. I have said all that can engage his heart in my favor. Tomorrow he will receive my letter. Oh, Mordon, how soon will my fate be determined? A chillness seizes me at the thought. My hand trembles. It is with difficulty I hold the pen. I have entreated an immediate answer. It will come in close to Mr. Herbert, to whom I have wrote, to bring the letter himself. On Wednesday I shall be the most happy or most lost of mankind. What a dreadful interval will it be. My heart dies within me at the thought. Epistle Henry To Henry Mandeville Esquire Belmont, 18th September I am commissioned by Lady Anne, my dear Mr. Mandeville, to insist on your immediate return.  Even play itself has lost half its charms in your absence. He marry my wife and daughter, join in the same request, which I have a thousand reasons to press your complying with as soon as is consistent with what politeness exacts in regard to Lord T. One, and not the weakest, is the pleasure I find in conversation, a pleasure I never taste more strongly than with you, and a pleasure which promiscuous visitors have for some time ceased to give me. I have not lost my relish for society, but it grows, in spite of all my endeavors, more delicate. I have as great pleasure as ever in the conversation of select friends, but I cannot so well bear the common run of company. I look on this delicacy as one of the infirmities of age, and as much a symptom of decay as it would be to lose my taste for roast beef and be able only to relish Ortolans. Lord Fondville is next week to marry Miss Westbrook. They have a coach-making, which is to cost a thousand pounds. I am interrupted by a worthy man, to whom I am so sorry as to be able to do a service. To you I need make no other apology. Adieu, my amiable friend. Epistle Lady To Lady Anne Wilmot, Saturday, Grosvenor Street Can the most refined of her sex, at the very moment when she owns herself shocked at Mrs. H's malicious insinuation, refuse to silence her by making me happy? Can she submit to one of the keenest evils a sensible and delicate mind can feel, only to inflict torment on the man whose whole happiness depends on her, and to whose tenderness she has owned herself not insensible? Seeing your averseness to marriage I have never pressed you on a subject which seemed displeasing to you, but left it to time and my unweary love to dissipate those unjust and groundless prejudices which stood in the way of all my hopes. But does not this respect this submission demand that you should strictly examine those prejudices, and be convinced, before you make it, that they deserve such a sacrifice? Why will you, my dearest Lady Anne, urge your past unhappiness as a reason against entering into a state of which you cannot be a judge? You were never married. The soft consent of hearts, the tender sympathy of yielding minds, was wanting. Forced by the will of a tyrannic father to take on you, an insupportable yoke, too young to assert the rights of humanity, the freedom of your will destroyed, the name of marriages profaned by giving it to so detestable Anne Union. You have often spoke with pleasure of those sweet hours we passed at Sedley Farm. Can you then refuse to perpetuate such happiness? Are there no charms in the unreserved converse of the man who adores you? Or can you prefer the unmeaning flattery of fools you despise to the animated language of faithful love? If you are still insensible to my happiness, will not my interest prevail on you to relent? My uncle, who has just lost his only son, offers to settle his whole estate on me, on condition I immediately marry, a condition it depends on you alone whether I shall comply with. If you refuse, he gives it on the same terms to a distant relation whose mistress has a less cruel heart. Have you so little generosity as to condemn me at once to be poor and miserable, to lose the gifts both of love and fortune? I have wrote to Lady Belmont to intercede for me and trust infinitely more to her eloquence than my own. The only rational objection to my happiness, my uncle's estate removes.  If you now refuse, you have the heart of a tigress and delight in the misery of others. Interrupted my uncle, may all good angels guard the most amiable and lovely of women, and give her to her passionate Belleville. Epistle Colonel to Colonel Belleville, Monday. Will you marry me, my dear Allie Croker, for ever this question, Belleville? And yet, really, you seem to be not at all in the secret. Respect, submission, I thought you had known the sex better. How should a modest woman ever be prevailed on by a respectful, submissive lover? You would not surely have us. Oh heavens! A billet! Some despairing in amorato! Indeed! Lord Melvin, he is not going to make love to me, sure. Very well! Things are in a fine train. He writes me here as pretty and heroic epistle as one would desire, setting forth his passion for Belle Hastings, whom he has just discovered is my niece, and whom he declares he cannot live without. Owning appearances are against him and begging me to convey to her a long, teedy-deedome letter, explaining the reasons and causes. The story is tedious, but the sum total is this, that he found at Florence the friend on earth he most loved, engaged in a fair of honour, in which he could not avoid taking part as his second, that they went to the last town in the Tuscan state in order to escape into another. If any accident made it necessary to elude the pursuit of justice, that, to avoid suspicion, he left orders with his people to say he had left Florence, that he wrote to her by his valet, who was unfortunately seized and confined, the affair being suspected, that he was wounded, and obliged to stay some time before he could return to Florence. When he was informed she had left Italy, and though he had omitted no means to find her, had never been so happy as to succeed, had made his sister, Lady Louisa, his confidant, and by her assistance had almost prevailed on his father to consent. Almost prevailed on, really, these are pretty heirs, I shall write him an extremely stately answer and let him know. If he expects Miss Hastings to do him the honour, his address must be in quite another style. Miss Hastings, in blood, in merit, in education, in everything truly valuable and in fortune too, if I please, his equal. I wish the foolish girl was not so madly in love with him, for I long to torture his proud heart. I cannot resist teasing him a little, but as I know her weakness and that we must come to at last, I shall be forced to leave a door of mercy open. I shall, however, insist on his family's seeking the match, and on Lord Rochedale's asking her of me in form. I will not yield a scruple of our dignity on this occasion. But I must carry this letter to Belle, adieu. Asked your foolish question, I may perhaps allow you to visit at Belmont. I will promise no more at present. Did I tell you we all spent yesterday with my niece? She has the honour to please Lady Mary, who, on seeing her at a little distance with Lady Julia and me, no ill group, certainly, insisted on our sitting next winter for a picture of the Grace's dancing. Or suppose, madam, said I, the three goddesses on Mount Ida, with Harry Mandeville for our Paris. Your little Emily, being equally undersized for a Grace or a goddess, must be content to be a heave in a single piece. Adieu, yours, eh, Wilmot. Epistle Henry to Henry Mandeville, Asquire, London, September 19. This event in Russia is most extraordinary, but these sudden and violent revolutions are the natural consequences of that instability which must ever attend to spotic forms of government. Happy Britain, where the laws are equally the guard of prince and people, where liberty and prerogative go hand in hand, and mutually support each other, where no invasion can ever be made on any part of the Constitution without endangering the whole, where popular clamour like the thunderstorm, by agitating, clears and purifies the air, and its business done subsides. If this letter finds you at Lord T's, I would have you return immediately to Belmont, where I shall be in a few days. Lady Mary is already there, and intends to execute the design Lord Belmont mentioned to you, which makes your presence there absolutely necessary. The tide of fortune, my dear Harry, seems turning in your favour, but let it not harden your heart to the misfortunes of your fellow creatures, make you insolent to merit in the veil of humbler life, or tempt you to forget that all you possess is the gift of that beneficent power in whose sight virtue is the only distinction. The knowledge I have of your heart makes these cautions perhaps unnecessary, but you will forgive the excessive anxiety of paternal tenderness, alarmed at the near prospect of your tasting the poison most fatal to you, the intoxicating cop of prosperity. May heaven, my dearest Harry, continue you all you are at present. Your father has not another wish. Adieu, J. Mandeville, a Pistle Colonel, to Colonel Belville Tuesday morning. I stayed last night with a bell. There is no telling you her transport. She agrees with me, however, as to the propriety of keeping up our dignity, and has consented, though with infinite reluctance, not to admit Lord Melvin's visits till his father had made proposals to me. She is to see him first at Belmont, whether she removes in four or five days. Emily Howard is gone at my request to spend that interval with her. We have a divine scheme in our heads which you are not yet to be honoured with the knowledge of. Oh, do you know I have this morning discovered why Lady Mary is a tory? She has been flattered by Bolanbroke and sung by Atterbury. Had Addison turned his lyre to her praise she had certainly changed parties. I am seldom at a loss to explore the source of petticoat politics. Vanity is the moving spring in the female machine. Is interest is in the male. Certainly our principle of action is by much more noble. 11 o'clock. Lord, what is come to my mother? She is gone smiling into Lady Mary's room. Her air is gay beyond measure. It is she must sit for a dance in grace. Past twelve. There is something in agitation with which I am unacquainted. Lord and Lady Belmont have been an hour in close consultation with Lady Mary. La Bella Giulia is this moment summoned to attend them. This unknown lover I tremble for Harry. Should another? Almost one. I have your letter, this Russian event. True as you say, these violent convulsions, yes, you are right. Your reflections are perfectly just. But my thoughts are at present a little engaged. This consultation I fear bodes Harry no good. With my Lord's authority I am on the rack of impatience. The door opens. Lady Giulia comes this way. She has been in tears, I tremble at the sight. Belleville, they are not tears of sorrow. They are like the dew drops on the morning rose. She looks a thousand times more lovely through them. Her eyes have a melting languishment, a softness inexpressible, a sensibility mixed with transport. There is an animation in her look, a blush of unexpected happiness. She moves with the lightness of a wooden imp. Lady Belmont follows with a serene joy in that amiable countenance. They approach. They are already in my apartment. Adieu. Belleville, in what words? How shall I explain to you? I am breathless with pleasure and surprise. My Lord, Harry Mandeville, Lady Giulia, they were always intended for each other. A letter from Harry this morning, confessing his passion for Lady Giulia, determined them to make an immediate discovery. Read the enclosed letters and adore the goodness of providence which leads us by secret ways to that happiness our own wisdom could never arrive at. Section 26 of the History of Lady Giulia Mandeville. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The History of Lady Giulia Mandeville by Francis Brooke. Section 26. Epistle, Colonel. To Colonel Mandeville, Belmont, August 10, 1752. My dear Colonel, by a clause in the patent which has been hitherto kept secret in our part of the family, it is provided that on default of airs mail in the younger branch, the title of Earl of Belmont should go to the elder. In favor also of this disposition, the greatest part of the estate then in our possession, which is about half what I now enjoy, is by a deed in which, however, my lawyer tells me, there is a flaw which makes it of no effect, annexed to the title for ever. Giulia, being the only child we ever had, it is very probable the estate and title will be yours. Heaven, having blessed you with a son, it would be infinitely agreeable to me, and would keep up the splendor of our name, to agree on our intermarriage between our children. I would have you educate your son with this view, and at an expense becoming the heir of the titles and possessions of our family. But as it is possible I may yet have a son, in that case Lady Mary, our relation, whose heart is greatly set on this marriage, will settle her estate on yours, and I will give him my daughter with twenty thousand pounds. I insist on being at the whole expense of his education as my heir, as the estate will probably be his own. It is only anticipating his rents a few years, and does not lay him under the shadow of an obligation. I have mentioned above that there is a defect in the deed, which puts it in my power to rob you of your right in the estate. But as the design of our ancestor is dear, I take no merit to myself from not being the most infamous of mankind, which I should be, were I capable of making use of such a circumstance to your disadvantage. But could I reconcile so base an action to myself in a private light, no consideration could make it easy to me in a public one? I know nothing so dangerous to our happy constitution as an indignant nobility, chained down to a necessity of court dependence, or tempted by making faction the tool of ambition to disturb the internal peace of their country. Men who are at ease in their fortunes are generally good subjects. The preservation of what they have is a powerful tie of obedience. It is the needy, the disillute, the caesars, the catalines of the world who raise the storms which shake the foundation of government. You will imagine, my dear friend, I only intend this alliance to take place if their sentiments, when of age to judge for themselves, correspond with our intentions for their happiness. That this may be the case, let us educate them with the utmost care, in every accomplishment of mind and person, which can make them lovely in the eyes of each other. Let me, my dear Colonel, hear immediately if this proposal is as agreeable to you as to your faithful and affectionate Belmont. To the Earl of Belmont My Lord, I am greatly obliged to your Lordship for a proposal which does my son such honour, and for a conduct towards us both so noble and worthy your character. The disposition you mention is what I have sometimes hoped, but knew your Lordship's honour and integrity too well to think it necessary to make any inquiry. Convinced, if a settlement was made in my favour, you would in due time make me acquainted with it, till some probability appeared of its taking place, it was perhaps better concealed than disclosed. The alliance your Lordship proposes, if it ever takes place, will make me the happiest of mankind, having, however, observed marriages made by parents in the childhood of the parties to be generally disagreeable to the latter, whether from the perverseness of human nature or the free spirit of love impatient of the least control, will entreat our design may be kept secret from all the world, and in particular from the young people themselves, all we can do is to give them such an education as will best improve the gifts of nature, and render them objects of that lively and delicate affection, which alone can make such a connection happy. Perhaps it may be best to separate them till the time when the heart is most susceptible of tenderness, least an habitual intercourse should weaken that impression, which we wish their perfections to make on each other, both at present promise to be lovely, and if we guard against other attachments the charm of novelty added to what nature has done for them, and those acquired graces which it is our part to endeavour to give them can scarce fail of inspiring a mutual passion, which one's seeming to desire it would probably prevent. If I am so happy as to have your lordship's concurrence in these sentiments, I will remove my son immediately from your neighbourhood, and educate him in town at a proper time he shall go with a private tutor of birth and merit to the university, and from thence make the tour of Europe, whilst Lady Julia is advancing in every charm under the eye of the most excellent of mothers. Men who act a conspicuous part on the stage of life and who require a certain audacity and self-possession to bring their talents into full light cannot, in my opinion, have too public an education, but women whose loveliest charm is the rosy blush of native modesty, whose virtues blossom fairest in the veil, should never leave their household gods the best protectors of innocence. It is also my request that my son may be educated in a total ignorance of the settlement in our favour, both because the effect of it may possibly be destroyed by your lordship's having a son, and because he will taste the pleasures of a distinguished station if he ever arrives at it with double relish, if bred with more moderate expectations. He will by this means too escape the pernicious snares of flattery, the servile court of interested inferiors, and all the various mischiefs which poison the minds of young men, bred up as heirs to great estates and titles. He will see the hatefulness of pride and arrogance in others before he is tempted to be guilty of them himself. He will learn to esteem virtue, without those trappings of wealth and greatness which he will never hope to be possessed of. He will see the world as it is, by not being of consequence enough to be flattered or deceived. His education, his company, his expenses, shall, however, be suited to the rank he may one day possibly fill. My acquaintance with foreign courts enables me to introduce him everywhere to those of the first rank and merit. His equipage and attendance shall be such as may secure him general respect. Your lordship's generous offer of bearing the expense of his education deserves my sincerest gratitude, but economy will enable me to support it without the least inconvenience to my affairs. Half my income, which I will spare to him, with his mother's fortune which shall all be devoted to this purpose, will be sufficient to give him an education becoming of the heir of your lordship's fortune and honors. May heaven prosper a design which has so laudable an end in view as the future happiness of our children. I am, my lord, your lordship's affectionate and obedient servant, J. Mandeville. Epistle Colonel To Colonel Belleville Wednesday morning This joy is a prodigious enemy to sleep. Lady Julia rose this morning with the sun. I dare say she never thought he looked so bright. Before he sets she will see the most charming of mankind. My lord yesterday sent an express to lord T's with orders to follow Harry wherever he was and bring him this evening to Belmont. Lady Mary is to have the pleasure of making him acquainted with his happiness. The discovery was only delayed till convinced of their passion for each other. Colonel Mandeville is in town, directing the drawing of the writings, and comes down in a few days to have them executed. I have had a second letter from lord Melvin, as respectful as the pride of woman can desire. A post-script from lord Rochdale having satisfied me in point of decorum. I allow his son to visit here when he pleases. My niece and Emily Howard come this evening. Lady Julia is now with them. I suppose we shall see lord Melvin to-morrow. If he is very pressing they may perhaps be married with lady Julia. Heavens! Belleville! What a change in all our affairs! The matrimonial star prevails. It would be strange if I should be betrayed into the party, and yet lady Mary has drawn so bewitching a plan of a wedding day as might seduce a more determined coquette. If one could be married for that day only, or if one was sure of pleasing forever like lady Belmont, dear madam, said I, if your ladyship would lend one of your cestus, you are already possessed of it, my dear lady Anne. The delicacy and purity of a bride will always give you the charms of one. I believe her ladyship may be in the right. It is not the state, but the foolish conduct of people who enter into it that makes it unhappy. If you should come down with Colonel Mandeville, it is impossible to say what may happen. Absolutely, Belleville, if I do condescend, which is yet extremely doubtful, we will live in the style of lovers.  No impertinent presuming on the name of husband, no saucy freedoms, I will continue to be courted, and shall expect as much flattery, and give myself as many scornful heirs as if I had never honoured you with my hand. I give you warning. I shall make a most intolerable wife, but that is your business, not mine. This very day, snite, which is Lady Julia's birthday, is intended for her marriage. The house is to be full of company, invited to celebrate the day. Without knowing on what further account nobody is even to suspect them to be lovers, they are to go privately out of Lady Mary's apartment into the chapel, where my lord chooses the ceremony should be performed. We are to have a masquerade and a grand open pavilion on Corinthian pillars built for this happy occasion in the garden opposite the house, which is to be in view, finally illuminated. The intermediate space is to be adorned with the lamps, intermixed with festoons of flowers in the trees, round which are to be seats for the villagers, who are never forgot on these days of annual rejoicings. Lady Mary, who is mistress of the ceremonies, and who insists on joining all our hands that day, has engaged you for the ball to Lady Julia, Harry to Belle Hastings, and Lord Melvin to me. Our situation is to be kept secret for a week, which is to be filled up with various scenes of festivity, after which we are to go to town to be presented, and from thence on a tour of six months to Italy. This is her scheme, but it depends on Belle Hastings and me whether it shall be executed in full. Ten thousand to one, but our cruelty spoils the prettiest mysterious plan of a wedding that can be. Absolutely Lady Mary has a kind of an idea of things. I cannot conceive how she came by it, not the least symptom of an old main in this plan. Something so fanciful and like a love affair. It is a thousand pities her ladyship would not be of the party herself. Do you know never a sprightly old curtier of the Queen's time? My Lord is so pleased with the thought of seeing us all happy, that he has given orders for building a temple to love and friendship, at a little villa which the Colonel has given him, and which is almost centricle in respect to all our houses. Here we are to meet once a week and exclude the rest of the world. Harry and Lady Julia are to live at Lady Mary's seat, about ten miles from hence, and I have fixed on a house which is to be sold at about the same distance. And now, Belleville, to be very serious, I should be the happiest creature in the world in this prospect if I was not afraid of my own conduct. I am volatile, light, extravagant, and capricious, qualities ill suited to a matrimonial life. I know my faults, but I am not able to mend them. I see the beauty of order in the moral world, yet dope to excess on irregularity. Call on Colonel Mandeville and concert your journey together. Heaven and earth, what have I not said in that permission? With all my affection for you there is a solemnity in the idea. Oh, Belleville, should I ever become less dear to you? Should coldness, should indifference ever take place of that lively, endearing tenderness, I will throw away the pen for a moment. The most amiable of men will forgive the two anxious fears of excessive love. I with transport make him the arbiter of my future days. D. Julia is come back, and has brought me the enclosed bond by which Belle Hastings engages to pay you thirty thousand pounds on the day of my marriage. Her letter to you will explain this further. 12 o'clock. Ah, Cormio, son confuso, yes, I blush at saying and express words what I have already said by deduction. Your uncle insists on a positive I will. How can the dear old man be so cruel? Tell him, if he is not satisfied with this letter, he shall dictate the form of consent himself. One condition, however, I shall not dispense with, that he comes down to Belmont and opens the ball with Lady Mary. Adio.