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BOHN'S NOVELIST'S LIBRARY. 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
EVELINA 
 
 OR 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY'S 
 
 ENTRANCE INTO THE 
 
 WORLD 
 
 BY FRANCES BURNEY 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
 
 BY ANNIE RAINE ELLIS 
 
 AUTHOR OF " SYLVESTRA/' "MARIE," AND " MARIETTE." 
 
 LONDON : GEORGE BELL AND SONS, YORK STREET, 
 
 COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 1890 
 
CHISWICK PRESS: C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT 
 CHANCKKY LANK. 
 
• 
 
 £- 
 
 
 AN INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE living French writer who has the most wit at will, 1 
 has laboured with the patience of an antiquary, and the 
 kindness of a kinsman, to preserve, or revive, the memories of 
 those French writers whom he classes as the Neglected, the 
 Disdained, the Forgotten, and the Resuscitated. We begin to 
 read of them because we like himself in his own writings, we 
 go on reading, liking him better still. He himself has called 
 Sainte-Beuve " the smiling critic," but mirth or pathos must 
 be sought far beneath the patient consideration, the desire to 
 give almost every writer the fairest of fair play, which mark 
 the judicious Sainte-Beuve. Each has that sixth sense, an ex- 
 quisite appreciation of fine literature ; but to Charles Monselet 
 belong the playful pity, the tender ridicule, the touch of 
 poetry, making living approved Academic authors akin to 
 these poor shades evoked from book-stalls on the quays of 
 Paris, or from yellow files of journals and bundles of pamph- 
 lets in public libraries. It must be owned that, but for 
 euphemy, M. Monselet might have named some of his authors, 
 the Galvanized, or the Disinterred. He himself smiles in de- 
 precation as he leads forward many of the objects of his 
 charity, or clemency, of the brain, and sighs as he shows the 
 grandiose Chateaubriand, and the high-thinking Guizot al- 
 ready among those who may need resuscitation. 
 
 On the shelves of the London Library may be found the 
 fifty volumes of an edition of " The British Novelists," brought 
 out in 1800. If we flatter ourselves we are less fickle than 
 
 * Charles Monselet. 
 
 ±i 
 
VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the French, let us look at the list of novels in this collection. 
 One only is in every hand; "Robinson Crusoe." Few have read 
 " Clarissa Harlowe " and " Sir Charles Grandison," though all 
 well-taught persons know their place in English literature. 
 Men of letters and lovers of humour read Fielding, but his 
 novels, for reasons which had weight in his own time, are 
 put out of the reach of those to whose youth, or sex, some 
 shelter is due. The same may be said of the less genial and 
 humane Smollett; "The Castle of Otranto" and "The Old 
 English Baron " are not much more read than the feeble tales 
 of Mackenzie, or the unpleasant " Zeluco " of Dr. Moore. That 
 humorous study of country manners, and of popular Methodism 
 in it's early days, " The Spiritual Quixote," deserves to be 
 better known, so do the novels of the two Charlottes, Lennox 
 and Smith. Next to u Robinson Crusoe" and "Clarissa Har- 
 lowe," in European reputation, is the " Yicar of Wakefield," 
 which, with Mrs. Inchbald's vigorous and pathetic " Simple 
 Story," the " Evelina " and " Cecilia "of Miss Burney, and the 
 " Belinda" of Miss Edgeworth, stand forth from a list on which 
 Frances Burney was, in 1800, not only the most eminent 
 living writer, but a classic, second only to Fielding and 
 Richardson. 
 
 Few whose grandfathers bought books are without one or 
 more copies of" Evelina " and of" Cecilia." If the discoloured 
 type on the soft, grey, ribbed paper has not been " almost ef- 
 faced by tears," as were the characters of a letter over which her 
 own Camilla wept — tears of our grandmothers who had talked 
 in their sleep of my Lord Orville, and of Mortimer Del vile — the 
 fingers of three or four generations have left the pages friable. 
 We speak not without knowledge, for wishing to consult our 
 family " Cecilia," for the purposes of this essay, it was found 
 too brittle for use It is therefore meet that one who helped 
 in turn to wear it out, should lend a hand towards bringing 
 out an edition to spare, or to replace, those volumes sacred to 
 the memories of kind people who were touched and taught by 
 what their grandchildren shun with smiles, — the little sermons 
 of the Reverend Mr. Villars, in" Evelina," and the philanthropic 
 rhapsodies of Albany in " Cecilia." The fashion of pathos 
 changes more quickly than that of humour, and the smiles of 
 generation after generation, are more easily moved than their 
 tears. 
 
INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 '' Frances Burney, the second daughter and third child of 
 Dr. Burney, was born at Lynn Eegis, in Norfolk, on the 13th 
 of June, 1752." 
 
 Dr. Burney was a gentleman of good descent, whose grand- 
 father, James Macburney, had a " considerable patrimony " at 
 Great Han wood, in Shropshire, and a house in Whitehall 
 Gardens. This is barely named in the memoirs of a family 
 which has something better to show than title-deeds, or tales of 
 descent. A pedigree which would satisfy Mr. Galton may be 
 sketched, even from such scanty and imperfect notices of the 
 Burney family, as it's modesty has put within our reach. Dr. 
 Burney's children might well be gifted as they were. Their 
 father and mother, their paternal grandfather and grandmother, 
 their uncles and cousins, seem to have had lively talents. 
 What there might have been of Irish vivacity in the Shrop- 
 shire gentry who had once been called Macburney, 1 was blent 
 with the fire and strength which never seem to fail in those 
 Huguenot families who became English for the sake of their 
 religion. 
 
 James Macburney, father of the first Dr. Charles Burney, 
 is said to have been a pleasant man, of ready wit, who danced 
 remarkably well, played well on the violin, and was a portrait- 
 painter of no mean talents. He married an actress ; was 
 thereupon disinherited by his father, and maintained himself 
 by painting. The actress died, leaving children, one of whom 
 was many years organist of St. Margaret's, Shrewsbury. 
 James Burney took for his second wife, Mistress Ann Cooper, 
 a sprightly beauty, who had refused to marry the old wit, 
 Wycheriey ; her youngest son, Charles, the composer, critic, 
 and historian of music, married a charming woman, French by 
 descent, and accomplished beyond the standard of the great 
 ladies of her day. She was mother of Admiral James Burney, 2 
 who twice sailed round the world with Captain Cook. He 
 
 1 The father of Dr. Burney dropped the *' Mac " at the beginning of 
 his name, Perhaps he thought it made his name top-heavy ; or it may 
 be because " Macs," whether Scotch or Irish, were anything but popular 
 in an England which was still English. 
 
 2 ftear- Admiral Burney, F.R.S., born in 1749, died in 1821. He 
 wrote a " History of Discoveries in the South &ea," a " History of North- 
 Eastern Voyages of Discovery," and other works. On his appointment to 
 the command of the " Bristol," fifty-gun ship, in 1781, Dr. Johnson wrote 
 
Vll] INTRODUCTION. 
 
 may be traced in the letters of Charles Lamb and his friends, 
 and is the hospitable admiral whose " flashes of wild wit " are 
 noted in the charming paper in which Lamb tells how he 
 himself was called on to give away a Miss Burney as a bride. 1 
 The second son of Dr. and of Esther Burney was Dr. Charles, 2 
 the great Greek scholar ; their second daughter was our 
 classic and famous Fanny. Nor were their other daughters 
 without graceful gifts ; Esther, who married her cousin 
 Charles Burney, played duets with him so well as to delight 
 those who were asked to the private concerts of Dr. Burney ; 
 Susanna wrote letters as graphic as those of Frances ; Sarah, 
 the daughter of Dr. Burney's second marriage, was a success- 
 ful novelist, one of whose tales Queen Charlotte pronounced to 
 be " very pretty." Hazlitt somewhere mentions a niece of 
 Madame D'Arblay, whose mind resembled that of her aunt. 
 We do not know whether this was the niece who edited the 
 a Diary " of her aunt with so much good taste and judgment. 
 There was, besides, an Edward Burney, who painted the por- 
 trait of his cousin Frances, which was engraved for her " Diary," 
 and made drawings for the plates in Dr. Burney's " Account of 
 the Handel Commemorations " of 1784. When we have added 
 to quick and lively parts, amiable and winning dispositions, 
 warm family affection, strong self-respect, and a just sense 
 of the honourable position of Dr. Burney, we have only 
 summed what lies on the very surface of the numerous letters 
 and diaries of the family. Their integrity and high principles 
 shine on every page. To form a just opinion of Frances 
 Burney, we must know something of the father who was her 
 pattern of all that was good and attractive in human nature* 
 At five-and-twenty, she wrote of her dear Mrs.Thrale, "I never 
 before saw a person who so strongly resembles my dear 
 father." At forty, she spoke of her husband, as being " so very 
 like my beloved father in disposition, humour, and taste, that 
 
 to Mrs. Thrale : " I delight to think of the happiness diffused among the 
 Burneys. I question if any ship upon the ocean goes out attended with 
 more good wishes than that which carries the fate of Burney. I love all of 
 that breed whom I can be said to know ; and one or two whom I hardly 
 know, I love upon credit, and love them because they love each other." 
 
 1 This Essay of Elia is called " The Wedding." The admiral's son, 
 Martin, a barrister, is also named in Lamb's " Letters." 
 
 2 Born at Lynn, December 4, 1757 ; LL.D. Aberdeen, 1792. Vicar 
 of Deptford, Prebendary of Lincoln, Chaplain to the King. Died 1817. 
 
INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 the day never passes in which I do not exclaim, ' How you re- 
 mind me of my father ! ' " 
 
 "My heart," said Dr. Johnson, "goes forth to meet Bur- 
 ney ! I question if there be in the world such another man 
 altogether, for mind, intelligence, and manners, as Dr. 
 Burney." Of him, Dr. Johnson begged the only pardon Mrs. 
 Thrale ever heard him ask in her house. It was not for any 
 rude speech, but for a chance word taken amiss in error. 1 
 
 Dr. Charles Burney (born at Shrewsbury, in 1726) 2 was for 
 some short time at Chester Free School ; at seventeen he was 
 apprenticed to Dr. Arne, the composer of music. He was 
 soon released from his articles by Fulk Greville, 3 who wished 
 to have him in his household as a friend and musician. At 
 about one-and-twenty, he married Esther Sleepe, the grand- 
 child of a French Huguenot of the name of Dubois. He left 
 London to recover his health, became organist of Lynn, gave 
 lessons in music in that town, and in many of the great 
 houses of Norfolk. He lived nine or ten years in Lynn, 
 going back to London in 1760. In Norfolk, he had "scarcely 
 ever entered a house upon terms of business, without leaving it 
 on those of intimacy." In London, he became the most popular 
 of music-masters, and of men. His beloved wife, with whom 
 he had studied astronomy and Italian, whose translation from 
 the French of Maupertuis he had published with his own ama- 
 teur's pamphlet on "Comets," died almost suddenly in 1761. 
 
 1 " I never in my life heard Johnson pronounce the words, ( I beg 
 your pardon, Sir/ to any human creature, but the apparently soft and 
 gentle Dr. Burney." 
 
 2 On the 12th of April ; went to London in 1744. He published "An 
 Essay towards a History of Comets," 1769 ; u The Present State of Music 
 in France and Italy," 1771 ; a similar book on Germany and the Nether- 
 lands, about 1773 ; " History of Music," 1776-89 ; " Memoirs of Metas- 
 tasio," 1795 5 " Account of Handel Commemorations," 1785. A Monthly 
 Reviewer, and writer of the musical articles in " Chambers' Cyclopaedia." 
 No list of Dr. Burney's musical works is given in his memoirs. We 
 cannot but agree with Croker that this is " a strange omission in the 
 memoirs of a musical professor." Mus. D. Oxon, 1769; F.R. S., 
 1773 ; Organist of Chelsea Hospital, 1790 5 Correspondent of the Insti- 
 tute of France, 1810 ; died April 12th, 1814. 
 
 3 Fulk Greville, a fine gentleman after a princely fashion, kept two 
 attendants to play to him on French horns outside any inn where he 
 might dine when travelling. His paying Dr. Arne three hundred pounds 
 to cancel young Burney's articles was a trait of the same sort. 
 
X INTROPCCTION. 
 
 After six years of widowhood, he married another handsome and 
 well-taught lady — a widow from Lynn who had been Esther's 
 intimate friend. To maintain his children, he gave lessons from 
 
 . -ometimes from seven, in the morning until night ; often 
 dining in his carriage, always studying in it. When in 
 Norfolk, he had learnt Italian on horseback ; carrying in his 
 
 -:oat pocket a dictionary of his own compiling, and a 
 volume of Tasso or Metastasio. When weary of Italian, he 
 would turn to a paper-book in which he wrote what struck 
 him most in his own observations, or in books : and many 
 tilings struck and interested him. '-He was,'* said Mrs. Thrale. 
 •• a full-minded man." He wrote fluent verses which sometimes 
 rose a little above doggerel, and a very easy English style ; 
 pleasant enough when he did not attempt to make metaphors. 
 Mrs. Thrale likens him to rich, sweet vine of Frontignae, which 
 was a favourite with all. His friend, Metastasio was the 
 man whom he would most have wished to resemble, had he 
 been other than the happy and busy Charles Barney. ,; In- 
 deed," wrote his daughter, "in many, nay in most respects, 
 could he have been changed into Metastasio. it would hardly 
 have been a change. ° Those who have tasted the honeycomb 
 of Metastasio. those who sipped the old-fashioned wine of 
 Frontignae, will allow that the wine and the poet have much in 
 common. So as they are like each other, they may both be 
 like Dr. Burney. Though we do not take Mrs. Thrale' s word 
 for being worth very much, she often throws a flash of light 
 upon character. There are in the subjoined lines 1 some traits 
 which connect Dr. Burney with the " supple facility," the 
 power to please and soothe of Metastasio, and the ; - faint praise 
 from all " of the vintage. If it were lawful to patch a phrase 
 
 1 See in Burney combine 
 Every p:>wer to please,, every talent to shine: 
 In professional science a second to none. 
 In social, if second, thro 3 shyness alone 
 
 His character fornrd free, confiding, and kind, 
 
 Grown cautious by habit, by station confin'd. 
 
 The' born to improve and enlighten our days. 
 
 In a supple facility fixes his praise : 
 
 And contented to soothe, unambitious to strike. 
 
 Has a faint praise from all men, from all men alike.' 1 
 
 Mrs. Thrale's '* Li ies c n Dr. Burney's pmrait by 
 Sir Joshua Beyn. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 with French, we should describe Dr. Burney as the man most 
 repandu of his day. His house was one of those which sharpen 
 the wits, and the shy girl of whom he said " She had very 
 little education but what she gave herself," gained in silence 
 the kind of teaching and training best fitted to her powers. 
 His own conversation, and that of his friends ; the share taken 
 by his daughters in preparing his works for the press ; his 
 great number of books, which were neither forced upon his 
 girls, nor forbidden them ; the authors, who treated Dr. 
 Burney as their brother ; the artists, in all ways of art, who 
 thronged his house — from Garrick, who came when the maid 
 was washing the steps, and Dr. Burney under the hands of 
 his hair-dresser, to Pacchierotti, and Millico, Agujari, and 
 Gabrielli, who sang to him till midnight ; the brilliant com- 
 pany who were drawn to hear, and sometimes to help in the 
 music; the opera and the playhouse — all these were educating 
 Frances Burney, while she was spoken of as a dunce who did 
 not know her letters at eight. 
 
 Dr. Burney is said to have been shy. The shyness of 
 Frances " pursued and annoyed her through life." She was 
 bashful, even to sheepishness. This may have been due, in 
 part, to the delicate health, which often marks the youth of 
 those who live to her great age. This delicacy was one reason 
 why Dr. Burney did not send her to school in Paris as he had 
 sent two of her sisters. Another reason was that he feared 
 she had a predisposition to Romanism. It happened that her 
 maternal grandmother, though the child of a Huguenot, was 
 a devout Boman Catholic. 
 
 When we find that, twenty years later, Frances Burney 
 loved Mrs. Delany for resembling that " saint-like woman," 
 her sweet, gentle, beautiful, and benevolent grandmother, 1 we 
 may conjecture that her father was not far wrong in thinking 
 her veneration for that grandmother's character might lead to 
 an adoption of her creed ; so, as Dr. Burney dared not trust 
 his daughter to that France which had no small share in her, 
 he sent her to no school at all, but suffered her to teach her- 
 self by writing infantine tragedies, and epic poems, plays, and 
 romances ; and turning over her father's books to find what 
 
 1 She has given her grandmother's maiden-name of Du Bois to a 
 Frenchman in" Evelina," and the maiden-name of her godmother, Mrs. 
 Greville, to her melancholy Scot, Mr. Macartney. 
 
xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 fitted her fancy. She seems to have had a fair knowledge of 
 French and Italian, and some amount of reading, as devoid as 
 her father's commonplace book of all order, or unity of subject. 
 In person, Frances Burney was low of stature, of a brown 
 complexion. One of her friends called her " the dove : " she 
 thought it must have been from the colour of her eyes, which 
 were of a greenish-grey. It was most likely from their timid 
 expression. She was, like her father, very short-sighted. 
 In her portrait, taken at the age of thirty, merriment seems 
 latent behind a very demure look. In our fancy we trace 
 something French in the countenance. Her looks told her 
 thoughts : " Poor Fanny ! " said her father, " her face tells 
 what she thinks, whether she will or no. . . I long to see 
 her honest face once more." She was very young-looking 
 for her age. She had a soft sweet voice, which she did not 
 use in singing, for, brought up among critics, she was too 
 timid even to touch a harpsichord or piano if anyone was 
 within hearing. She did not speak with composure in a 
 small party where she could be well heard. She had a power 
 of mimicry, which seems to have been sparingly used, as we 
 only find it once mentioned in her " Diary," when she exchanged 
 with Mrs. Thrale imitations of the dangerous Baretti, who 
 had stabbed his man, and who, by-and-by, warned her, with a 
 menace, not to put him in a book. A certain Sir John, 1 said 
 he had never seen any woman walk so well ; and she danced with 
 great spirit. 2 When she learnt the great success of "Evelina,'* 
 after checking a longing to throw Mr. Crisp's wig out of the 
 window, she danced a jig round the old mulberry-tree in his 
 garden. Mr. Crisp was not in the secret, but put it down to 
 her flow of spirits, after recovery from severe illness. Sir 
 Walter Scott was so pleased with this tale (a pretty subject for a 
 painter), that fifty years later he wrote it down from her telling: 
 — " November, 18th," (1826) 3 " was introduced by Bogers to 
 
 1 The name of this Baronet is not given in full in the " Diary" of 
 Madame D'Arblay ?l but it was Sir John Shelley $ he was " a courtier of 
 the last age ; a Sussex squire." 
 
 2 Mr. Crisp to Miss Burney, January, 1779. — "Do you remember, 
 about a dozen years ago, how you used to dance " Nancy Dawson" on the 
 grass-plot, with your cap on the ground, and your long hair streaming 
 down your back, one shoe off, and throwing about your head like a mad 
 thing ? " 
 
 3 Lockhart's " Life of Scott," p. 388, ri. 
 
INTRODUCTION. Xlll 
 
 Madame D'Arblay, the celebrated authoress of ' Evelina ' and 
 « Cecilia,' — an elderly lady, with no remains of personal 
 beauty, but with a simple and gentle manner, a pleasing ex- 
 pression of countenance, and apparently quick feelings. She 
 told me she had wished to see two persons — myself, of course, 
 being one, the other George Canning. This was really a com- 
 pliment to be pleased with — a nice little handsome pat of 
 butter, made up by a neat-handed Phillis of a dairy-maid, 
 instead of the grease, fit only for cart-wheels, which one is 
 dosed with by the pound. 
 
 " Madame D'Arblay told us that the common story of Dr. 
 Burney, her father, having brought home her own first work, 
 and recommended it to her perusal, was erroneous. Her 
 father was in the secret of * Evelina ' being printed. But 
 the following circumstances may have given rise to the story : 
 — Dr. Burney was at Streatham soon after the publication, 
 where he found Mrs. Thrale recovering from her confinement, 
 low at the moment, and out of spirits. While they were 
 talking together, Johnson, who sat beside in a kind of reverie, 
 suddenly broke out : 'You should read this new work, madam — 
 you should read " Evelina ; " every one says it is excellent, and 
 they are right.' The delighted father obtained a commission 
 from Mrs. Thrale to purchase his daughter's work, and retired 
 the happiest of men. Madame D'Arblay said she was wild 
 with joy at this decisive evidence of her literary success, and 
 that she could only give vent to her rapture by dancing and 
 skipping round a mulberry-tree in the garden. She was very 
 young at this time. I trust I shall see this lady again." 
 
 We have placed this passage in our text because it leads 
 direct to the question, what was the age of Miss Burney when 
 she wrote " Evelina." Rumour had soon heightened all there 
 was of surprising in the book by such details as that her father 
 had put her own novel into her hands as one most worthy 
 of her reading, and that the author, like the heroine, was then 
 barely seventeen. A writer in the " Quarterly Beview " of 
 April, 1833, first put in print assumptions, which almost 
 amount to charges, that Madame D'Arblay, when writing her 
 father's •' Memoirs," had avoided, suppressed, or obliterated dates 
 for the purpose of enhancing the merit of her youthful work, 
 by making it out to have been written eight years earlier than 
 was truly the case. We append, though all must remember 
 
XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 them, Macaulay's famous words. 1 If the " bad writer " in the 
 '' Quarterly Review," the bad editor of " Boswell," was, as is 
 said, the same man who is drawn as " Rigby " in M Coningsby,' 
 as " Wenham" in " Vanity Fair," his mean misdeeds have met 
 with punishment worthy of Pope, from the appropriate hands 
 of two great writers of romance. 
 
 In that review, the intention to give pain to Madame D' Ai - 
 blay is so apparent that it takes away from the force of what- 
 soever is just in Croker's criticism of the arrangement and 
 style of her " Memoirs of Dr. Burney." That she was sparing of 
 dates is a grievance to those who read that book. The writing 
 of "Evelina" and " Cecilia" was not, indeed, the way to acquire 
 the exact care and patient precision which mark the habits of 
 the good biographer. On the other hand, skill in fiction does 
 not of itself impair the perception of truth, or the power of 
 communicating it, though it seems to give comfort to some of 
 the dull and unimaginative to say that it does. 
 
 When Dr. Johnson found Miss Burney had said he was 
 looking well at a time when he felt very ill, he wrote in sad- 
 ness, " Fanny's trade is fiction." He was then gloomy, not 
 unkind. " Miss Burney, the novelist,'''' is Croker's comment ; 
 with malicious under-lining of the words. She herself has writ- 
 ten, " I never mix truth with fiction : all that I relate in jour- 
 nalizing is strictly, nay, plainly, fact." 
 
 As these unproven charges of high-colouring and inexact- 
 ness of narrative on the part of Madame D'Arblay have been 
 extracted and repeated by the editor of Mrs. Delany's " Corre- 
 spondence," we thought it worth while, even though the latter 
 is plainly moved by pique, to compare the "Memoirs of Dr. 
 Burney" with the "Diary" of Madame D'Arblay, and with 
 other books, on some points of moment. It is of importance to 
 know how far students of literature may depend on what 
 
 1 " There was no want of low minds and bad hearts in the generation 
 which witnessed her first appearance. There was the envious Kenrick 
 and the savage Wolcot, the asp George Steevens, and the polecat John 
 Williams. It did not, however, occur to them to search the parish register 
 of Lynn, in order that they might be able to twit a lady with having con- 
 cealed her age. That truly chivalrous exploit was reserved for a bad 
 writer of our own time, whose spite she had provoked by not furnishing 
 him with materials for a worthless edition of Boswell's "Life of Johnson, ?r 
 some sheets of which our readers have doubtless seen round parcels of 
 better books." — Macaulay, " Essay on Madame D'Arblay." 
 
INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 Madame D'Arblay tells them of Johnson and of Burke ; andhow 
 far future historians may use with safety her Diary of the 
 reign of George III. We examined the book which ranks 
 with those of Evelyn and of Pepys. The result of our pains 
 was entire confirmation of her accuracy in all points on which 
 we tried it, 1 taking care, as we did, not to neglect the particu- 
 lars of the first publication of " Evelina," on which she herself 
 thought her memory might have failed. In a note to her 
 father's " Memoirs," Madame D'Arblay, then eighty, tells with 
 pride and pleasure, how six years before, Scott had been 
 brought by Rogers to pay his homage to her, the oldest in the 
 art of fiction, the Doyenne of the Faculty ! Madame D'Ar- 
 blay had been taken by surprise, and feared she might not 
 have been correct in what she had told Scott in answer to his 
 inquiries as to the true history of her first book. Before Scott 
 came to see her, in the following year, she had looked among 
 her papers, and brought him forth her notes. He told her he 
 had already written it down, and " most particularly, had not 
 forgotten her mulberry-tree." We had misgivings that he had 
 written down the errors of a failing memory when we found 
 in the "Diary" of Madame D'Arblay 2 a letter in which Mrs. 
 Thrale says to Dr. Burney that Dr. Johnson had just returned 
 full of praises of the first volume of " Evelina," which she had 
 lent him. So it might appear that Mrs. Thrale had brought 
 the book to the notice of Dr. Johnson, not he to hers, as 
 Madame D'Arblay told Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 In the " Life of Dr. Burney," 3 we find what brings the two 
 statements into concord — a letter from Mrs. Phillips to her 
 sister Frances, telling what Dr. Burney had himself heard : — 
 u To night, at Streatham, while we were sitting at tea, only 
 Dr. Johnson, Mrs. Thrale, Miss Thrale. and myself — * Madam/ 
 cried Dr. Johnson, see-sawing on his chair, * Mrs. Cholmonde- 
 ley was talking to me last night of a new novel, which, she 
 
 1 It is very likely that trivial errors may be found in the " Memoirs of 
 Dr. Burney." They were compiled from his voluminous papers, and from 
 the " vast diaries " of his daughter. Madame D'Arblay was aged when 
 she began a task hard and tedious for any writer-=-t.hat of extracting a 
 harmonious narrative from journals and letters. How avoid errors when 
 one detail is given to one correspondent, others to another ? All are true, 
 but the details omitted are often those which bring others into concord. 
 
 2 Page 57, vol. i., July 22, 1778. 3 Page 140, vol. ii. 
 
XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 says, has a very uncommon share of merit — " Evelina." She 
 says she has not been so entertained this great while as in 
 reading it ; and that she shall go all over London to discover 
 the author.' Do you breathe, my dear Fanny ? ' Odd 
 enough !' cried Mrs. Thrale; * why, somebody else mentioned 
 that book to me t'other day — Lady Westcote, it was, I believe. 
 The modest writer of " Evelina," she talked about.' ■ Mrs. 
 Cholmondeley says/ answered the Doctor, * that she never be- 
 fore met so much modesty with so much merit in any lite- 
 rary production of the kind as is implied by the concealment 
 of the author.' " 
 
 After this search of ours, we sweep aside the assertions of 
 this " Quarterly Eeviewer." " Details greatly overcharged ; " 
 — " suppression of dates — we say suppression because we can- 
 not attribute it to accidental negligence; " — "studious omission 
 of dates " — such are his amenities. He says he has " always 
 seen and heard it stated, that at the age of seventeen," 
 Madame D'Arblay wrote " Evelina." Where did he see it 
 stated, for hearsay does not count? He prints no proof 
 (where can any be found ?) that Madame D'Arblay ever said, 
 or wrote, that she was only seventeen when she wrote " Eve- 
 lina." On looking with care through all she wrote which is in 
 print, we find but one passage in which her age at that time 
 is approached, 1 and in that she disclaims seventeen. Else- 
 where she tells us that she burnt her stories and scribblings 
 of all kinds when she was fifteen ; that another tale rose in 
 her mind and would be written ; that she wrote it by snatches, 
 in a closet or small play-room up two pairs of stairs, carrying 
 
 1 " I have not pretended to shew the world what it actually is, but 
 what it appears to a girl of seventeen : and so far as that, surely any girl 
 who is past seventeen may safely do." On the other hand, we find indi- 
 rect evidence that the friends she had made by her book did know her 
 age. " I know," said Dr. Johnson in 1779, " none like her, — nor do I 
 believe there is, or there ever was, a man who could write such a book 
 so young." " I suppose," said Mrs. Thrale, " Pope was no older than 
 Miss Burney when he wrote ' Windsor Forest ? ' " Pope was twenty-five 
 when he published " Windsor Forest " — Miss Burney twenty-five when she 
 published u Evelina." A comparison of their work at the same age would 
 seem to have passed through the minds of Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Thrale as 
 they spoke, and this conversation was written down by Miss Burney for 
 her family, and for Mr. Crisp, who knew her age. In January, 1779, 
 Mrs. Thrale wrote to Miss Burney : — " You are twenty odd years old, 
 and I am past thirty-six." 
 
INTRODUCTION. XV 11 
 
 it, paragraph by paragraph, in her memory until she could 
 steal time to put it on paper. By snatches it must have been 
 written, for she was under the eye of a step-mother. When she 
 was not copying her father's " History of Music " for the press, 
 she sewed all the morning. She lived among very sociable 
 people ; she kept a full diary, and wrote long letters to her 
 second father, Mr. Crisp. How she had found time to write 
 " Evelina" at all was his wonder. She never had time to 
 read it to her sister Susan, who knew her secret. 
 
 Those who have written a work of imagination alone can 
 tell how it grows ; and even they would find it hard to tell. 
 One scene presses to be written ; another must be wooed to be 
 won. This passage flashes on the mind; others must be 
 sought. It is not unlikely Frances was telling herself this 
 story for years while hemming and stitching. An expert 
 might say some pages were written by a girl ; others, by a 
 young woman. Some may have been recast, and others in- 
 serted, during that long time she was copying her first rough 
 scrawl. It is probable that her diary from fifteen years of age 
 to five-and-twenty, which is still in manuscript, contains 
 entries which would confirm or disprove our conjectures. As 
 a question of art, it seems much less surprising that any one 
 of Dr. Burney's daughters should know society at seventeen, 
 than that a young woman of five-and-twenty should write of 
 seventeen with its own buoyancy and freshness. We hold it 
 to be the better book if Miss Burney wrote it all at four or 
 five-and-twenty, though we may doubt if she did. 
 
 The spite shown in full in that review, lurked in some 
 notes to Croker's "BoswelPs Life of Johnson," which came 
 out in 1831, two years earlier. The first edition of Croker's 
 "Boswell" was published while Madame D'Arblay was pre- 
 paring her " Memoirs of Dr. Burney " for the press. To 
 have given Croker materials for patching his provoking book, 
 would have been to deprive her own of its most delight- 
 ful passages, or at least to forestall them. Nowhere do we 
 see Boswell as she has shown him. At Streatham, drawing a 
 chair behind Dr. Johnson to miss not a word he said, being 
 bade to go away, and told he was " a Branghton," which he took 
 for the name of some new wild beast thereabouts ; at Windsor,, 
 forcing himself in her way to press for letters for his " book of 
 books." Because she did not strip her " Diary" of its most 
 
 b 
 
XV11J INTRODUCTION. 
 
 interesting sketches, she was thus to be lashed by Croker, 
 while he waited for the time when he might review her book 
 with a still more comfortable discharge of malice l : — " Frances, 
 afterwards Madame D' Arblay, born in July, 1752, had pub- 
 lished ' Evelina,' at the latter end of January, 1778, and 
 * Cecilia ' in the autumn of 1782. It was stated and believed 
 that she was only seventeen when she surprised the world by her 
 4 Evelina ; ' it now appears that she was near twenty-seven — an 
 important difference." This note was repeated in the edition 
 of 1848. Croker might at least have done the small sum of 
 Miss Burney's age more correctly. 2 Frances Burney was born 
 on the 13th of June (not July) 1752, old style — that is, on 
 the 25th of June, new style. She was therefore six months 
 short of six-and-twenty when her first book was published. 
 We believe the rumour to have arisen in part from her being 
 very young-looking for her age, 3 in part from the desire very 
 common among unimaginative readers to make the author 
 out to be his or her own hero or heroine. 
 
 Croker was shameless in his impenitence. In his last edition 
 of Boswell (even after Macaulay ! ) he added an offensive note 
 on this passage in Boswell's text 4 : — " May 15th, 1784. Dr. 
 Johnson told the Essex Head Club, 'I dined yesterday at 
 Mrs. Garrick's, with Mrs. Carter, Miss Hannah More, and 
 Fanny Burney. Three such women are not to be found. 1 " 
 
 c ' The letters of these three ladies, posthumously published, have con- 
 firmed, and, indeed, increased the reputation of Mrs. Carter and Hannah 
 More, while they have wholly extinguished that of Madame D' Arblay ; 
 but this indeed had been waning ever since her two first novels, which, 
 clever as they were, owed a great deal of their extraordinary success to 
 the strange misrepresentations that had been somehow made, of the 
 author's being ten years younger than she really was." — Croker, 1847. 
 
 Now all this is the very reverse of truth. The sober reputa- 
 
 1 Croker's " Boswell's Life of Johnson," 1848, p. 732, note 3. 
 
 2 " Nobody was stronger in dates than Mr. Rigby ; . . . detail 
 was Mr. Rigby's forte ; ... it was thought no one could lash a 
 woman like Rigby. Rigby's statements were arranged with a formid- 
 able array of dates rarely accurate." — "Coning shy?' 
 
 3 " Dr. Burney," cried Sheridan, (when about to be presented to 
 Frances,) " have you no older daughters ? Can this possibly be the 
 authoress of i Evelina ! ' " At another time, Mrs. Cholmondeley said, 
 
 " Mr. C laid a wager the writer was a man. I said I was sure it 
 
 was a woman ; but now we are both out, for it's a girl" 
 
 4 Croker's " Boswell," p. 754, note 1. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XIX 
 
 tion of Mrs. Carter, the faded fame of Miss More, are lighted up 
 a little by the brilliance of Boswell and Burney ; and that is 
 almost all. 
 
 It is markworthy that those who have thrown doubt on the 
 accuracy of Madame D'Arblay are found, when tested ever 
 so slightly, to be themselves what the French politely call 
 " inexact." When Dr. Routh was asked by a young man to 
 give some parting precept which might be of use to him 
 through life, " Always verify citations M were the precious 
 words vouchsafed him. Seldom does this maxim more need 
 to be put in practice than by those who consult Croker's 
 " Notes on Boswell," or the editor's notes and comments 
 on the " Correspondence of Mrs. Delany : " the latter book, of 
 small value in proportion to its cumbrous length, is of some 
 use in throwing light on the novelists of the last century. The 
 autobiography of Mrs. Delany shows that the efforts of her 
 family to force " Clarissa" into a marriage she loathed were not 
 monstrous in improbability ; the tedious letters of some of the 
 fine ladies contain traits which are comments on " Evelina." 
 The Editor is herself an unconscious testimony to the truth to 
 nature of what had before seemed to us overdrawn — the family 
 vanity and peevish susceptibility of Mr. Delvile, in " Cecilia." 
 As the charges brought in this book against Miss Burney are 
 too confused and rambling to be treated in our text, we pro- 
 pose to dismiss them in a page or two of epilogue. 1 
 
 About six months after the publication of " Evelina," Dr. 
 Burney had the happiness of hearing Dr. Johnson recommend 
 the book to Mrs. Thrale. That sprightly lady vied with Mrs. 
 Montagu for the queendom of the wits. That she should have 
 been the first person told by Dr. Burney that " our Fanny " 
 was the author of "Evelina," the first to tell Mrs. Montagu, 
 and to make Miss Burney known to that lady, were great points 
 in assertion of her own claims to precedence. Miss Burney 
 staid five months with the Thrales in the year 1778. She was 
 with them again from February, 1779, until 1780. We might 
 say she staid with Dr. Johnson and the Thrales. " Sir," said 
 he to Dr. Burney, seizing Fanny's hands to detain her, " I 
 would have her always come ! and never go ! " To this com- 
 panionship we owe charming pages of Dr. Johnson's gayest 
 
 1 See Epilogue, p. xxxix. 
 
XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " talk," and glimpses of a genial layer of his character, unseen 
 by Boswell, (though he divined it), 1 unshown by Mrs. Thrale. 
 
 In the note-book of Mrs. Thrale may be found complaints 
 that Dr. Burney liked to keep his hold of his children I his 
 touch, at least, was light. One day when most of them were, 
 for once, under his roof, he called out, in his joy : " Offspring \ 
 can you dance ? " 
 
 He and his daughter most likely did not wish it to be 
 thought that she lived with Mrs. Thrale as Dr. Burney had 
 lived with Mr. Greville. There are certain jottings in 
 " Thraliana " which show how needful it was for Miss 
 Burney to maintain the " dignity " at which that flippant 
 little person sneered. Mrs. Thrale displayed " the insolence 
 of wealth," 2 in her complaints that Miss Burney, among 
 the pleasures of Bath, was ungrateful and insolent enough 
 to pine, while in her company, for her home in St. Martin's 
 Lane. Their warm friendship of five years was abruptly 
 broken by Mrs. Thrale, after that silly second marriage, 
 which is, unhappily, the first thing named when she falls 
 under the pen. Some have said there was needless cen- 
 sure on the part of her friends, and harsh, abrupt abandon- 
 ment. They forget that though it was merely foolish to 
 marry the inoffensive Piozzi, 3 it was criminal to forsake four 
 daughters, of whom the eldest was not of age, in order to 
 
 1 Mr. Boswell. — " Madam, you must give me some of your choice 
 little notes of the Doctor's ; we have seen him long enough upon stilts, 
 I want to show him in a new light. Grave Sam, and great Sara, and 
 solemn Sam, and learned Sam, all these he has appeared over and over. 
 Now I want to entwine a wreath of the Graces across his brow ; I want 
 to show him as gay Sam, agreeable Sam, pleasant Sam." — "Diary of 
 Madame If ArblayP 
 
 1 " He shewed me to-night his drawing-room, very genteelly fitted up ; 
 and said, c Mrs. Thrale sneered, when I talked of my having asked you and 
 your lady to live at my house. I was obliged to tell her, that you would 
 be in as respectable a situation in my house as in hers. Sir, the inso- 
 lence of wealth will creep out.' Boswell. — ' She has a little both of 
 the insolence of wealth, and the conceit of parts.' Johnson. — * The 
 insolence of wealth is a wretched thing ; but the conceit of parts has some 
 foundation.'" — Boswell 's " Life of Johnson." 
 
 3 Piozzi had been made known to the Thrales through Dr. Burney. 
 This must have been an increase of vexation to his daughter and to him- 
 self. Though Dr. Burney was sorry to lose the pleasant society of Streat- 
 ham, he said: " No one could blame Piozzi for accepting a gay, rich 
 widow. What could a man do better ? " 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXI 
 
 marry their singing-master. This she did. Had one of 
 them married him, what would she have said ? Her fancy for 
 Piozzi was the caprice of a woman who found herself at forty, 
 for the first time, free from controul. Her friends should 
 have found some one else to woo her ; not argued with a little 
 fairy, on whose eyelids juice of" Love in Idleness" had been laid 
 by some sprite of whim. She was no " Titania," however, but 
 when chafed could show herself a mere Welsh fairy. Fairies 
 are said to be " a dark race, of low stature, small but very 
 spiteful." According to Sir Hugh Evans, " Serve Got, and 
 fairies will not pinse you." 1 The long and virtuous life 
 of Madame D'Arblay cannot be sullied by posthumous spirts 
 of venom. The poisoned mud does not stick. Mrs. Thrale, 
 so far, was lucky that her " Bottom " was a quiet, harmless 
 man, who saved her money, and became much too gouty to 
 trouble her with the fiddling she hated in her heart. 
 
 The publication of " Evelina " had brought Miss Burney 
 fame and friends, but only twenty pounds in money, and one 
 copy of her novel, for which she had to ask twice. Ten pounds 
 more, and ten sets of her book, in handsome bindings, sent to 
 her later, were all she ever got by it. Dr. Burney and Mr. 
 Crisp urged her to write while her powers were as fresh as her 
 fame. She was fearful that a second book might overthrow 
 the airy fabric of that fame. It had risen like the palace of 
 Aladdin, and might so depart. When Mr. Crisp told her that 
 but for the money he should think it her best policy to write no 
 more, he expressed her own thoughts. 2 She withdrew for 
 about a year from fine dressing, and from visiting ; from Dr. 
 Johnson and the Thrales, to write her second novel, which 
 was published in 1782, about four years and a half after "Eve- 
 lina." " Cecilia " had as ample a success as the warmest of Miss 
 Burney's friends could have wished. It confirmed, and 
 widened, the fame of the writer. Of how few can it be said 
 that their praise is worth naming on the page that tells of 
 
 i " Pinch him, fairies, mutually ! " — " Merry Wives of Windsor." 
 2 " Perpetual dress," she wrote to Mr. Crisp, "requires perpetual re- 
 plenishment, and that actually occupies almost every moment I spend out 
 of company. . . . Fact! fact! I assure you, however paltry, 
 ridiculous, or inconceivable it may sound. Caps, hats, and ribbons, make, 
 indeed, no venerable appearance upon paper. . . . Those who can- 
 not pay milliners must either toil for themselves or go capless." 
 
XX11 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the praise of Burke and of Johnson ? — -Burke, our " greatest 
 man since Milton ; " x Burke who gave praise, as a king should 
 reward, with a noble excess, befitting his own rank. Burke 
 spoke to Dr. Johnson and to Miss Burney of " Cecilia," "in the 
 noblest terms which our language, in its highest glory, is 
 capable of emitting." 2 Burke wrote her a letter, after read- 
 ing " Cecilia," which is a pattern of grand praise. 
 
 The " fearful joy" Frances Burney had "snatched" be- 
 tween the publication of the two books must, in the winter of 
 1782, have been secure and complete contentment. Those 
 she loved, and they were many, were so happy in her happi- 
 ness ! Her proud father, night after night, handed her to his 
 coach, to visit houses in which she was welcomed as the chief 
 guest of the assembly. He heard her receive the compliments 
 of brilliant companies in a brilliant and compact London. 
 He called them u bouquets of uncommon fragrance" when 
 offered by such men as Mason and Horace Walpole, or tho 
 if old wits," Owen Cambridge and Soame Jenyns, who rested 
 on wreaths won before 1750. We think that Macaulay 
 thought justly when he wrote, " If she recorded with minute 
 diligence all the compliments, delicate and coarse, which she 
 heard wherever she turned, she recorded them for the eyes of 
 two or three persons who had loved her from infancy, who 
 had loved her in obscurity, and to whom her fame gave the 
 purest and most exquisite delight. Nothing can be more 
 unjust than to confound these outpourings of a kind heart,, 
 sure of perfect sympathy, with the egotism of a blue-stocking 
 who prates to all who come near her about her own novel, or 
 her own volume of sonnets." 
 
 The quality of egotism depends so very much on who is ego. 
 According to that it is wearisome, or tolerable ; pleasant — nay 
 delightful. On the keenness of a reader's own interest in the- 
 history of letters and manners depends his finding the " Diary " 
 of Madame D'Arblay tedious or entertaining. As for ego- 
 tism! — oh, reader! do remember that you can .in nowise put 
 yourself in her place, unless you have a fancy almost equal ta 
 her own. Not of you has Burke said that, " One book of hers 
 is equal to a thousand of others ! " Nor Johnson that, " Rich- 
 
 1 Macaulay. 
 
 3 This was at Miss Monckton's Assembly. Dr. Johnson told Dr. 
 Burney of it afterwards. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XX111 
 
 ardson would have been afraid of you, and Harry Fielding, 
 too." Not for your book was Sir Joshua Reynolds fed while 
 reading, that he might not quit it, nor did both he and Burke 
 sit up all night to learn how it ended. Not you did Soame 
 Jenyns sue to meet, and at seventy-eight put on a court-suit 
 of apricot-coloured silk, lined with white satin, that he might be 
 presented to you in a worthy manner ; while the Thrales and 
 Mrs. Montagu, Mrs. Garrick and Miss More, Mrs. Carter and 
 Mrs. Chapone rose and stood to listen to his compliments, nor 
 seated themselves until you had been seated in a place of honour. 
 
 " 0, Fanny ! " wrote her kind Mr. Crisp, even before the 
 publication of " Cecilia," " set this down as the happiest period 
 of your life : and when you come to be old and sick, and 
 health and spirits are fled, (for this may come,) then live 
 upon remembrance, and think that you have had your share 
 of the good things, and say, — ' For what I have received, the 
 Lord make me thankful ! ' " 
 
 No wonder the heart of Frances failed when she was called 
 on by a fond father to give up all this, and all these, to be 
 cloistered at Windsor. Into this great mistake she was led 
 in 1786. Mr. Crisp and Dr. Johnson were gone. They 
 might have seen through the semblance of honour and profit 
 which misled not merely Dr. Burney and his family, but men 
 and women of letters and the public : a vague notion took 
 hold of all, that something Augustan was about to begin at 
 Windsor, when Miss Burney was made Keeper of the Robes. 1 
 It was an odd way of rewarding merit in literature, to give 
 the favoured author a place which left her no leisure for 
 writing. She might have earned all the money Queen Char- 
 lotte ever paid her, by two novels written in the five years 
 she lost at Windsor. There she did what she disliked, all 
 day long. She had never cared for fine clothes. It may be 
 noticed that she never but once describes the dress of any of 
 her heroines. Then it is to show the sorrow and danger of 
 buying a " suit" without certain means of paying for it. In 
 fact, she seldom speaks of ladies' dress except as a source of 
 
 1 Mr. Burke told Dr. Burney in 1791, "He" (Burke), "had never 
 been more mistaken in his life. He thought the Queen had never be- 
 haved more amiably, or shown more good sense than in appointing Miss 
 Burney to her service ; but what a service it had turned out ! a confine- 
 ment to such a companion as Mrs. Schwellenberg ! " 
 
XXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 fatigue and expense. " Toilette" she says, should be written 
 without the " ette." When free from life at Court, it has been 
 said that, " she changed her lodgings oftener than her gown." 
 She had besides, no holidays, few calls of friends, only six 
 weeks in the year in London, and those the six weeks of 
 Lent ! She was tied to an old woman, who was a mere child 
 in understanding, knowledge, and manners ; who thought it 
 a suitable way of showing her displeasure to offer no dinner 
 to Miss Burney when she carved for others ; who made her 
 ill by not letting her shut the window on her own side of the 
 coach in which they took their dreary airings in very cold 
 weather ; " who never wished to hear her voice but when 
 they were alone, and who never was in a good humour if it 
 stopped then; 1 ' who, civilly, remarked before Miss Burney 
 when a gentleman offered to read to them, " I won't have 
 nothing what you call novels, — what you call romances, — 
 what you call histories, — I might not read such what you 
 call stuff — not I ! " This illiterate and ill-bred Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg, who threatened her servants (English servants), 
 with exile, when they made her wait for her coach, treated 
 the best-known writer of the day as a person who had been 
 hired to play at cards with her when she was not lacing and 
 unlacing the Queen's stays. No wonder Miss Burney wrote 
 in 1789, " A lassitude of existence creeps sensibly upon me." 
 After five years of irksome toil, which lowered her health and 
 spirits, Miss Burney crept out of the Queen's service, in a 
 state which it needed long nursing and travelling to improve. 
 It was some time before she was well enough to enjoy her 
 return to freedom. She was accorded a paltry hundred a 
 year, dependent on the royal pleasure. At the time when 
 she had her full pittance of two hundred pounds yearly, 
 Boswell had said to her, " Why I would farm you out myself 
 for double, or treble, the money. I wish I had the regulation 
 of such a farm ! " Yet it would be most unfair to the memory 
 of Queen Charlotte to load it with the reproach that this poor 
 pension was ever stopped, as some rumour, as incorrect as 
 the report that Dr. Johnson revised " Cecilia," has led Mr. 
 Augustus Hare to believe. 1 On it she married two years 
 later. It was all she had, except what was brought in by 
 
 1 See Epilogue, p. 1. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXV 
 
 41 Cecilia;" and her husband, the Chevalier D'Arblay, 1 had 
 nothing at all ; his pay having been stopped, and his pro- 
 perty seized and sold by the Convention in France. He was 
 lucky to have his life, for he was on guard at the Tuileries 
 the night the King and Queen escaped to Yarennes. Their 
 plan had been kept from him. He felt it unworthy of the 
 King to leave him and his men to the fury of the mob. 
 
 Dr. Burney thought this romance by far the worst his 
 Fanny had ever submitted to him for approval. It seems so 
 hard to have to tell that the lovers were both over forty. 
 Infectious ailments, such as whooping-cough, love, and 
 measles, are much worse when caught in middle-life. This case 
 was so bad that Dr. Burney, after some delay, sent Captain 
 Burney, as his proxy, to give his sister Fanny to the French- 
 man, in Mickleham Church. Alexandre D'Arblay, " a cheva- 
 lier by birth, by his order (of St. Louis), and by character," 
 was an amiable, sensible, and honourable man, who dug his 
 garden, and pruned his trees, while waiting for better times. 
 The price of food rose, and taxes were trebled during the 
 eight years this pair lived happily in England. A son, their 
 only child, was born in 1794. With care for him on her mind, 
 Madame D'Arblay wrote her third novel, " Camilla,' ' which was 
 published in 1796. The cost of printing it was paid out of money 
 raised by subscription of a guinea for each copy. Ladies, 
 instead of booksellers, kept her books, according to a sugges- 
 tion made long before, by Burke. 2 Over eleven hundred of 
 
 1 General DArblay was born at Joigny, near Paris. He was of 
 nearly the same age as his wife. He served in the French Artillery 
 from thirteen years of age. He was in the Regiment of the Comte de 
 Narbonne, who was, for a brief time, War-Minister of Louis XVI. 
 General D'Arblay had been on the War-Committee, Adjutant-General 
 to La Fayette, and Commandant of Longwy. In 1792, he was made 
 u Marechal de Camp," by Louis XVI. 
 
 He thrice refused high commands, (among them the government of 
 Cherbourg), offered him by Napoleon, who wished to draw him to his 
 service as he had drawn his most intimate friend, Narbonne. 
 
 On the return of Louis XVIII., he was restored to his rank, and 
 made an officer of the King's Body -Guard at the Tuileries. The King 
 named him " Comte," a title he never used except when on a mission. 
 He was a Knight of St. Louis, of the Legion of Honour, and of the 
 41 Lily," or of Fidelity, — a Bourbon order. Some of his verses may be 
 found in old" Almanachs des Muses." He died at Bath, May 3, 1819. 
 
 2 These ladies were the Dowager-Duchess of Leinster, Mrs. Boscawen, 
 Mrs. Crewe, and Mrs. Lock. 
 
XXVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the best names in the England of that day, are on that grand 
 subscription-list. There are those of the author's peers, old 
 and young; of Harriet and Sophia Lee, of Mrs. Barbauld,. 
 Mrs. Chapone and Hannah More, Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Mon- 
 tagu ; of Amelia Alderson, afterwards Opie ; of Mary Berry 
 and Maria Edgeworth. One subscriber must have a sentence 
 to herself — " Miss J. Austen, Steventon Eectory." It was, 
 perhaps, the first time that honoured name was seen in print. 
 Let us fancy the Jane Austen of twenty looking at her own 
 name, in her own copy, of " Camilla," with the feelings of won- 
 der and delight with which " Fanny Price" viewed her own 
 daring subscription to a Portsmouth circulating library. 1 
 
 It has been said that to have counted Dr. Burney's acquain- 
 tances and friends would have been to exhaust the " Norfolk 
 Directory," the " Court Calendar," the artists in all ways, the 
 lists of the Koyal Society, and of Johnson's Club ; even so is 
 it with his daughter's subscription-list. 
 
 There meet, in concord, Edmund Burke and Warren Hast- 
 ings. When Hastings heard of this new book, he gave a great 
 jump, and exclaimed, " Well, then, now I can serve her, thank 
 Heaven, and I will ! I will write to Anderson to engage 
 Scotland, and I will attack the East Indies myself! " 
 
 If three co-heiresses, the Misses Thrale, for the sake of old 
 days at Streatham, order ten sets of " Camilla," the princely 
 Burke sends twenty guineas, asking only for one copy ; subscribing 
 not only for his wife and himself, but, by a delicate feint, for his 
 dead brother, and for the son whose death laid him low. 
 
 The Queen gives her highest proof of confidence in the cor- 
 rect principles of the writer. She allows the three elder prin- 
 cesses, aged thirty, twenty-eight, and twenty-six, to read 
 " Camilla," without looking through it herself fco see if it were 
 fit for the reading of tender maidens. 2 Within three months 
 3,500 copies of " Camilla " were sold ; the rate of sale was one- 
 
 1 In " Mansfield Park." 
 
 2 Miss Burney must have been very popular in the royal household. 
 Most of her colleagues are on the list. Even Mrs. Schwellenberg is there, 
 besides the sleepy equerries who roused her rage. Perhaps the bark 
 of" Cerbera" (as Miss Burney called Mrs. Schwellenberg,) was worse 
 than her bite. She said, " the Bernar bin reelly agribble." She wished 
 Miss Burney to accept the Queen's offer of her own place when vacant by 
 retirement or death, — " A mark of favour and confidence which," Miss 
 Burney adds, " I had not expected." 
 
IHTBODUCTfOir. xxvn 
 
 third more rapid than that of the sale of u Cecilia : " vet there 
 was a M bui n this time. It was seen there was a falling-orT in 
 the writers skill. 
 
 Her brother Charles told her not to mind the critics, since 
 she knew every one bought the book ! her family and friends 
 clung to tt Camilla " loyally — so did her admirers at a distance. 
 It is into the mouth of a dull and coarse undergraduate that 
 Miss Austen puts a condemnation of " Camilla." 1 
 
 With the money gained by this book. General D'Arblay 
 built a cottage close by Norbury Park, the seat of the 
 Locks : with that amiable and accomplished family Madame 
 D'Arblay had a close friendship lasting for life. The 
 D'Arblays lived in " Camilla Cottage." in quiet, only broken 
 by the early death of Susan, that dearest sister, for whom 
 Fanny had written her journals, which were never again to be 
 kept so fully. Towards the end of 1801, General D'Arblay. who 
 had more than once tried for employment as an officer, went 
 to Paris, to gather what might be left unseized of his property, 
 and to claim his arrears of pay. As he would not serve against 
 the country of his wife and child, he seems to have got little 
 beyond his half-pay of sixty-two pounds a year : and after 
 some time, a post in the Civil Department of Construction of 
 Public Buildings. General D'Arblay was not a man to trust bo 
 the pension, or the pen, of his wife while he could find work to 
 be done. He urged her to join him in France, putting before 
 her the precarious nature of their main resource :" this " main 
 resource " must, we think, have been the Queen's hundred 
 a year. It is unpleasant to observe how very fearful was 
 
 1 John Thorp, in " Northanger Abbey. 33 
 
 1 We give the following passage, with twofold intent. 1. It is the 
 only reference we can find after Madame D'Arblay 's marriage, to any 
 uncertainty about her pension. 2. It is a glimpse of D'Arblay, who wrote 
 well enough to make us wish to read more of his letters : — " Ma ; 
 amie. il esr impossible de nous dissimuler que depuis plusieurs anruvs 
 nous n'avons vecu, malgre Urate notre economic, que par le moven de 
 ressources qui sent on cpuisees on bien pretes a Tctre. La plus grande 
 partie de notre revenu n'est rien moins qu'assuree. et eependant que 
 ferions-nous si elle venait a nous manquer ? La morale de ce sermon est. 
 que tandis queje suis proprea quelquechose.il est de noon devoir, eomme 
 e'poux et comme pere, de tacher de tirer parti des circonst«mcespour nous 
 menager, s'il est possible, one vieillesse totalement independante : et a 
 notre petit on bien-etre qui ne nous fosse pas renoncer au notre." — M 
 D'Arblay to Madame D'Arblay, Paris s 6 Deoember) : 1801. 
 
XXV111 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Madame D'Arblay that the royal favour she had won by so 
 much toil aud suffering should cease to be hers. Not so 
 would she have felt had her dealings been with Johnson, or 
 with Burke ! l Fortified by the Queen's sanction, and solemn 
 opinion that a wife should follow her husband, (even if he 
 were a Frenchman !) Madame D'Arblay went to Paris during 
 «' the short peace." 
 
 It was to be for a year : she was kept over ten ! She found 
 her husband's family like so many more Burneys ; she lived in 
 the very best company in Paris, as she had done in London ; a 
 General D'Arblay never gave her any greater cause for uneasi- 
 ness than being ont of her sight at his office, but she was lost, 
 to literature ; she was lost, besides, to letters, 3 (in the lower 
 meaning of the word,) to the letters which come and go by 
 post. There was no certainty that any she wrote would reach 
 her father, or her friends. Her father in his fear, forbade her to 
 write to him at all. She did not dare to keep a journal — papers 
 might be seized at any time. The Corsican bore no comments 
 on his deeds. What we have lost may be seen by what she 
 wrote when free : by her sketches of Buonaparte, in 1805, as 
 First Consul, at the Tuileries ; of the torpor of Paris when 
 the news came of his escape from Elba ; of the flight of the 
 French Eoyalists to Ghent, and to Brussels ; of the panic at 
 Brussels when there was a wild rumour that Waterloo was 
 an English defeat. In August 1812, she fled to England with 
 her son, while Buonaparte was on his Russian campaign. 
 
 The youth was near the age when he would have been made 
 into a French soldier had he staid. She found her father 
 aged and broken ; she soothed and cheered the last days of a 
 man who was called " admirable " by the pious Bishop Jebb, 
 
 1 See Epilogue, p. 1. 
 
 2 " The society in which I mix . . . is all that can be wished, whether 
 for wit, wisdom, intelligence, gaiety, or politeness." — Madame D'Arblay 
 to Dr. Burnet, May 1, 1810. 
 
 3 " Nor have I ever heard whether the last six letters I have written, 
 (to Dr. Burney,) have as yet been received. Two of them were antiques 
 that had waited three or four years some opportunity ; . . . the two last 
 were to reach you through a voyage by America." — Madame D'Arblay 
 to Dr. Burnet. 
 
 (This letter, begun on the 16th September, 1807, missed it's chance of 
 being sent, and was finished on the 21st of August, 1808. Dr. Burney 
 seems to have received only ten letters from his daughter in as many years.) 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXIX 
 
 He died in her arms on the night of the general illumination 
 after the success of the allies in 1814. We feel her pangs of 
 uncertainty ; she dreaded that he died doubting the truth of 
 the good news she tried to tell him, of the overthrow of a 
 power of evil, of the relief of Europe, of the return of peace. 
 
 Dr. Burney had a happy life at home and abroad. The 
 " elegance of his manners," which was inherited by Madame 
 D'Arblay, made him so welcome at great houses, that it is 
 strange he should have had little of State patronage or 
 reward, until he was eighty. 
 
 At Walmer, Mr. Pitt heard him play, and listened with atten- 
 tive politeness. " He was as obliging,'' wrote Dr. Burney, " as 
 if I had had half-a-dozen Boroughs at my devotion, but he 
 neither knows nor cares one farthing for flutes or fiddles." 
 Dr. Burney was much more of a Tory than Mr. Pitt ; but it 
 had been left to the generous Burke to give Dr. Burney 
 all that was in his power — the poor place of organist at 
 Chelsea Hospital, two days before he left office 1 for the last 
 time. It was left to Charles Fox, when he took office, 2 on the 
 death of Pitt, to give Dr. Burney £300 a year for life at the 
 entreaty of Mrs. Crewe and Mr. Windham. 
 
 It would appear that so far back as the month of December, 
 1811, Madame D'Arblay was feeling the way towards bringing 
 out her fourth, and last, novel, " The Wanderer," which was 
 not published until 1814. There was the " astonishing eclat " 
 about this book, that the whole edition was bespoken before it 
 was published. That graceless Byron, (who did not respect 
 too many things or people !) felt as if strawberry -leaves were 
 added to his coronet, when a publisher said he should look 
 over a novel by a lady whose writings Dr. Johnson had once 
 revised ! 3 We do not suppose Byron ever saw it, as only 
 
 1 In 17$3. 2 In 1806. 
 
 3 Letter 78. "To Mr. Harness. Dec. 8, 1811. 
 
 " . . . . My bookseller Cawthorne, has just left me. and tells 
 me, with a most important face, that he is in treaty for a novel of Madame 
 D'Arblay's, for which 1,000 guineas are asked ! He wants me to read the 
 MS. (if he obtains it), which I shall do with pleasure; but I should be 
 very cautious in venturing an opinion on her whose ' Cecilia ' Dr. Johnson 
 superintended. If he lends it to me, I shall put it into the hands of 
 Kogers and Moore, who are truly men of taste." 
 
 In a note on this letter, Moore corrects a rumour believed even by 
 
XXX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 three of it's five volumes were finished when Madame D'Arblay 
 escaped to England in 1812. 3,600 copies of " The Wanderer " 
 at two guineas for each set, were sold in six months — yet it 
 was an utter failure. We are glad it is not our duty to read 
 that book again ! 
 
 Madame D' Arblay had her part in the good things brought 
 by peace. Her husband was restored to his full rank and 
 pay. By desire of Queen Charlotte, she was presented to the 
 last Dauphiness of France, the Duchess D'Angouleme, and 
 the King, Louis XVIII. The King told her in very pretty 
 English "that he had been charmed by her books, and had read 
 them often." He bade her good-bye in French, with " Bonjour, 
 Madame la Comtesse" If she had cared for a brand-new title, 
 she might have taken it. 
 
 After the second Eestoration of Louis XVIII., General 
 D'Arblay withdrew from a service which he found too severe 
 .after twenty years of rest. He died at Bath, in 1818, some 
 months before his son was ordained a deacon of the Church of 
 England. His widow lived afterwards at 11, Bolton Street, 
 Piccadilly, among a few friends and kinsfolk, arranging the 
 mass of papers left her by Dr. Burney, her own journals and 
 those of her sister Susan. Out of them she constructed 
 the " Memoirs of Dr. Burney," published in 1832. This 
 book was spoilt by the bad style she had contracted after 
 the publication of " Cecilia; " yet Bishop Jebb wrote to her, 
 that, " Much as we already know of the last age, you have 
 brought many scenes of it, not less animated than new, 
 graphically before our eyes, whilst I now seem familiar with 
 many departed worthies who were not before known to me, 
 even so much as by name." 
 
 Macaulay : " Lord Byron is here mistaken. Dr. Johnson never saw 
 4 Cecilia ' till it was in print. A day or two before publication the young 
 authoress, as I understand, sent three copies to the three persons who had 
 the best claim to them, — her father, Mrs. Thrale, and Dr. Johnson." 
 
 Letter 80. " To Mr. Hodgson. Dec. 12, 1811. 
 
 " . . Cawthorne talks of being in treaty for a novel of Madame 
 DArblay's, and if he obtains it, (at 1500 gs. ! !) wishes me to see the 
 MS. This I should read with pleasure, — not that I should ever dare to 
 venture a criticism on her whose writings Dr. Johnson once revised, but 
 for the pleasure of the thing. If my worthy publisher wanted a sound 
 opinion, I should send the MS. to Rogers and Moore as men most 
 .alive to true taste . . . ." — Moore's " Life of Byron' 1 vol. ii. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXXI 
 
 Southey, too, wrote to her son : " ' Evelina ' did not give me 
 more pleasure when I was a schoolboy, than these 4 Memoirs ' 
 have given me now, and this is saying a great deal. Except 
 Boswell's, there is no other work in our language which 
 carries us into such society, and makes us fancy that we are 
 acquainted with the persons to whom we are there intro- 
 duced." 
 
 In 1837 she had the great grief of losing her son, 1 who had 
 just received preferment, and was about to marry. She 
 outlived him three years, dying in London on the 6th of 
 January — a day she had kept for forty years, in memory of 
 the death of her sister Susan. She was buried in the church- 
 yard of Walcot, near Bath, by the side of her husband, and 
 of this their dear and only son. 
 
 Little can be added to what this clever Susan Burney, when 
 scarcely fourteen, wrote of her elder sister : — " The character- 
 istics of Fanny seem to be sense, sensibility, bashfulness, and 
 ■even a degree of prudery. Her understanding is superior." 
 The " scruples," " punctilios," and " refinements " of delicacy, 
 which catch your eye as you turn Miss Burney's pages, were 
 in her character before they were in her books. Mr. Crisp 
 said she had " a tender aud delicate frame of mind." Her 
 friends admired her " timid intelligence," and " drooping sen- 
 sibility," when they did not see them cause her too much suf- 
 fering. Such was the fair ideal of the female character. 
 
 " Sophy Western," and "Amelia," were charming girls, but a 
 little too hearty for the taste of that time ; they are charm- 
 ing women now, — for all time ; but " Evelina," and " Cecilia," 
 were young ladies of so much " delicacy of sentiment," that 
 we must needs pause now-and-then, to ask whether their 
 sensibility was sensible, or whether, as in the opinion 
 of a North Country lady, "they wanted a good shaking:" 
 to scatter their " vapours," we presume. They sometimes 
 carry the sensibility of Clarissa, Clementina, and Harriet 
 Byron, to what we may call an '' effeminate " excess ; for that 
 Mr. Richardson had to answer, as Miss Burney has, perhaps, 
 to answer for the reaction of Miss Edgeworth, and of Miss 
 
 1 The Reverend Alexander DArblay was born at Bookham in 1794 ; 
 obtained the Tancred Scholarship in 1813, Tenth Wrangler in 1818, 
 Fellow of Christ's College, Cambridge; Minister of Ely Chapel, Holborn, 
 1836 ; died on the 19th of January, 1837. 
 
XXX13 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Austen ; for the too great amount of bright and cold good 
 sense of the first ; for the over-sobriety of feeling of the 
 second. 
 
 It is an obvious remark that " Evelina " is her author's self 
 at seventeen ; a rustic Miss Burney, more helpless in a ball- 
 room than Dr. Burney's daughter could ever have been, but 
 as sensitive to slight : shunning notice, but feeling that u it 
 is not very comfortable to be neglected," and desirous of a 
 " distinguishing politeness to raise and support her." Miss 
 Burney, among strangers, spoke so low as hardly to be heard 
 for more than a word in a sentence. With a friend of per- 
 ceptions like her own she could enjoy " a robust halloo " of 
 laughter. There is every reason to think that she wept and 
 blushed quite as much as " Evelina," or " Cecilia." We ex- 
 cept ,( Camilla," for it would be hard indeed to blush, or weep, 
 so much as that poor girl. Lord Macaulay has counted, for 
 after-ages, the twenty-seven fainting-fits in one very silly 
 novel ; but who shall gauge the tear-fall in " Camilla ? " 
 
 One reason of the quick and complete success of her novels 
 was their entire purity. Mr. Eichardson, who was wrapped 
 up in his own virtue, and praised from pulpits, is maculate 
 beside Miss Burney. Another was her clear, distinct way of 
 showing what she saw, and nothing besides : her books do 
 not tax the mind of any reader. He passes pictures, which 
 " tell you only the present moment : nothing of tim,e to- 
 come ! " l No riddles of life are given him to guess, on pain of 
 being rent if he cannot solve them. Miss Burney may not 
 be deep, but she is lucid. 
 
 The simple frame-work of "Evelina ,, answers its purpose 
 of showing, on the stage of a book, a " pleasant broad comedy'* 
 of manners, 2 from the top of society to the base. There is 
 skill in the choice of types of fashion. Lord Orville, the- 
 elegant, but virtuous hero, is a second Sir Charles Grandison, 
 better suited than the first to the liking of young ladies, and 
 to the manners of 1778. Sir Clement Willoughby has some- 
 thing in him of Harriet Byron's troublesome lovers, Mr. 
 Greville, and Sir Hargrave. Bemark the softening of manners 
 between the writing of " Sir Charles Grandison," and of 
 
 1 These are Miss Burney's own words, but they are not applied as in 
 " Camilla." 
 
 2 Sara Coleridge. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXX111 
 
 " Evelina." The bad baronet of Harriet Byron carries her off 
 from a masquerade, and begins to have the marriage- service 
 read over her by force. The bad baronet of " Evelina " only 
 drives her towards the upper end of Piccadilly, instead of to 
 Queen Ann Street; and draws her into " a dark alley" at 
 Vauxhall, that he may be free to make insolent love. Sir 
 Clement is a clever man of pleasure and of fashion, Lord 
 Merton — coarse, ignorant, and dull — is on a lower grade: 
 not many years later, his style of fashion has gone down to 
 John Thorp, in " Northanger Abbey ." Next comes LoveJ, a fop 
 and a coxcomb, who copied those above him, but yet is of the 
 " ton." It is far from him to Mr. Smith, "the Holbourn Beau," 
 who lodges in the dining-room over the silversmith's shop on 
 Snow Hill, and is looked upon as " quite one of the quality," 
 by the Branghtons, " for he dresses as fine, and goes to balls 
 and dances, and everything quite in taste; — and, besides, 
 keeps a foot-boy of his own, too." 
 
 These five types of fashion are well-defined. On the top of 
 the mount, the outline of Lord Orville is less distinct than 
 it might be, but Mr. Smith, at the foot, is unmatched. He, 
 and the Branghtons, are more than characters of manners. 
 We are made to see why they are ill-bred. Their vulgarity 
 comes from the mind, outwards. We close the book thinking 
 chiefly how they took the marriage of " Miss" with a Lord, and 
 whether they tormented her by pressing Lord Orville to buy 
 new silver spoons. The contrast of characters in " Evelina " is 
 strong — we might say abrupt, but very diverting. There is a 
 charming freshness of youth in this romance. Girls enjoy the 
 book, for they will ever like to know how other girls went to 
 balls, and tried to avoid absurd, or unpleasant, men, and 
 to dance often, but not too often, with delightful partners ; 
 even if it were one hundred years ago. 
 
 " Evelina" is the more attractive book ; " Cecilia," the better 
 designed. " Cecilia," and even " Camilla, 1 ' have an admirable 
 breadth of plan, a great variety of characters, and of incidents. 
 The same skill may be observed in the " Memoirs of Dr. Burney." 
 In it, you pass through a long gallery of portraits, " Conver- 
 sation-pieces," "Music-parties," and " Gala-scenes," after t>he 
 manner of the Old Masters. 
 
 In one episode of " Cecilia," that of the death of Harrel> 
 the writer is above and beyond herself. The passage stands 
 
 c 
 
XXXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 apart from the book, reminding us of some scene drawn 
 by Charles Lamb from Dekker, or Webster. Putting this ap- 
 palling passage aside, Miss Burney's serious characters, and 
 pathetic incidents are commonly well conceived, but as com- 
 monly over-drawn, and over-coloured. To-day, they some- 
 times tempt smiles she little meant to provoke. 
 
 " Evelina's " feelings on first meeting her father, (who is 
 not the least wicked among the many bad fathers in fiction,) 
 are beyond nature, and beyond duty seen in it's most austere 
 regard. (i The conflict scene," between mother and son in 
 " Cecilia," for which Miss Burney said she " wrote the whole 
 book," seems to us to merit the warm objections made to it 
 by Mr. Crisp. The criticism of Burke on "Cecilia," is as 
 good now as a hundred years ago. The masquerade he 
 thought too long, and that something might be spared from 
 Harrel's grand assembly; he did not like Morrice's part at the 
 Pantheon ; and he wished the conclusion either more happy 
 or more miserable; "for in a work of imagination," said he, 
 " there is no medium." Again, u You have crowded into a 
 few small volumes an incredible variety of characters ; most 
 of them well planned, well supported, and well contrasted 
 with each other. If there be any fault in this respect, it is 
 one in which you are in no great danger of being imitated. 
 Justly as your characters are drawn, perhaps they are too 
 numerous." 
 
 After all, when we tax Miss Burney with exaggeration, we 
 may tell ourselves that Mrs. Delvile reminded Mrs. Thrale of 
 her own mother, 1 and that one man was found like " Albany," 
 and another, who said he himself was a " Briggs ! " 
 
 It is on her keen perception of whatsoever was comic, through 
 all grades, from the diverting to the humourous, 2 and on her 
 lively power of bringing it before us, that the fame of Frances 
 Burney must rest ; though she has much more, if we seek it 
 with an attention little likely to be given to-day. She had 
 
 1 " When I read the lady's " ( Mrs. Delvile's) " character in my own dress- 
 ing-room, I catch myself looking at my mother's picture every moment ; 
 yours is so like her in many things.'' 
 
 2 Her conversation showed these gifts as much as did her books. 
 Dr. 'Burney told Mr. Crisp, that Frances had given him an account of 
 a ridiculous family in her neighbourhood, '' with so much humour, such 
 painting, such description, such fun, that in her mouth it was a perfect 
 comedy." 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXXV 
 
 an enjoyment of the ludicrous aspects of vulgarity, united 
 with a sense of the distress and irritation inflicted by the 
 vulgar on delicate minds, peculiar to herself. 
 
 There is a French play in which the hero, bent on his 
 own concerns, is molested at every step by impertinent, 
 importunate people. Such are the main " motives " of 
 H Evelina," and of " Cecilia." Whatsoever is inopportune 
 oefalls those heroines — the doubtful position, the vulgar kins- 
 folk, the insolent admirers of one ; the jarring guardians, the 
 hunters of the fortune, and hinderers of the marriage of the 
 other, are all arranged to produce contrarieties which rise to 
 the tragi-comic. A secondary object is to give those pictures 
 of manners which were accepted by society as not unfair re- 
 presentations of it's own surface. 
 
 Miss Burney's knowledge of society widened between 1778 
 and 1782. In " Cecilia," and in " Camilla," she gives us the 
 humours of the " ton'' as distinguished from mere common- 
 place fashion. She shows us the " Insensibilists " (as she 
 calls them, beginning already to make a jargon of her own, 
 though her next class consists of the " Jargonists ") ; there 
 are besides the " Voluble" and the " Supercilious." 
 
 The "Insensibilists" and the "Supercilious'"' naturally run 
 into the " Ennuyes" of the next generation, even as Mr. 
 Meadows is the forerunner in her writings of a much greater 
 coxcomb, Sir Sedley Clarendal, in-" Camilla." 
 
 Miss Larolles, the " Voluble," says of Mr. Meadows : " Why, 
 he's at the very head of the ton. There's nothing in the world 
 so fashionable as taking no notice of things, and never seeing 
 people, and saying nothing at all, and never hearing a word, 
 and not knowing one's own acquaintance, and always finding 
 fault ; all the ton do so, and I assure you, as to Mr. Meadows, 
 he's so excessively courted by everybody, that if he does but 
 say a syllable, he thinks it such an immense favour, you've no 
 idea." 
 
 In " Camilla " (1796) the " ton" has run into revolutionary 
 manners. " It consists of impertinence, insolence, and un- 
 bounded freedom and ease, with a short, abrupt, dry manner 
 of speech ; and in taking the liberty to ask any question that 
 occurs upon other people's affairs and opinions — even upon 
 their incomes and expenses — nay, even upon their age." 
 Society cannot vary the cut of it's affectations so often as 
 
XXX VI IXTEOrrCTlOX. 
 
 that of it's clothes. In " Cecilia " we meet with the follies of 
 to-day in hoop aud sacque. or io bag-wig and ruffles. 
 
 Still we may observe that Miss Burner has no 
 of the Fine Arts : no Mrs. Cimabue Brown of the eighteenth 
 century: no " Virtuosi;" no " Cognoscenti " — not even a rap- 
 turist of music. Her '* Jargonists M are talkers of slang ; some 
 of which survives them. Captain Aresby would be " glad to 
 have the honour to cut." He finds things l< killing to a point : 
 killing past resuscitation — abominably horrid." One man is 
 " the most petrifying fellow he ever was obsede by." French 
 phrases overrun English talk, as in Mrs. Gore's defunct novels. 
 
 Shortly speaking, we may say that Frances Barney wrote 
 M Evelina '' for her own pleasure, and that of her sister Susan, 
 with very little thought of the public : that she wrote 
 " Cecilia " at bidding, with a distinct strain upon her to be 
 equal to the place she held in the estimation of a highly- 
 polished society, above which, but out of which, towered Burke 
 and Johnson ; u Camilla " was written, among the cares of a 
 nursery, to gain money. All through it we see timid looks 
 fixed on Windsor. Will ''the sweet Queen" approve? can be 
 heard through every sentence. " Camilla " was to be M sketches 
 of character and morals put in action — not a romance." because 
 the word novel had long stood in the way of ''Cecilia "at Windsor. 
 Xow, "the sweet Queen.'' if we may judge by what she read 
 with Miss Knight and with Miss Bnrney, had a preference for 
 dull books. In suiting her taste, Madame D 1 Arblay condemned 
 " Camilla " to neglect unsoftened by any hope of a reprint ; 
 although over 3.000 guineas were raised by its sale, and Miss 
 Austen lifted her pen in its behalf. 1 There is in it a general 
 decline and fall of the writer's powers. It should have been 
 called "The Vacillations of Edgar Mandelbert : " that hero. 
 '• too, too amiable Edgar,'' wavers between thinking Camilla 
 an angel of beauty and goodness, and a mere frivolous and 
 faithless coquette two-and-twenty times. It is true he has 
 five volumes through which to waver. He would not have 
 had one chance of doubting if he, or any other character in 
 the book, had had the most ordinary share of sense. There is 
 a silly, good-natured Baronet in " Camilla." who put Queen 
 
 1 Miss Austen took from the last sentence of" Cecilia."' the name of 
 her novel, " Pride and Prejudice." 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXXV11 
 
 Charlotte in mind of some gentleman she had known in 
 Mecklenburg before she was seventeen. Sir Hugh might, 
 perhaps, have been such a man as the object of this almost 
 pathetic recollection ; but he could never have been a York- 
 shire man, as Madame D'Arblay made it out. After " Camilla,' ' 
 " the combinations for another long work did not occur " to 
 her: "incidents for dramas did." Only one of the plays 
 •over which she wasted time was ever acted, and it failed. 
 When very poor, over forty, and a married woman, she with- 
 drew from representation a comedy, for which Sheridan was 
 to have paid her four hundred pounds, out of deference to her 
 father, who feared another failure. Her noble obedience, in 
 which General D'Arblay concurred, raises her much higher 
 than her play might have done. Many efforts have been 
 made to account for the strange style of writing into which 
 she fell in middle life. None seem to us fully to explain so 
 singular a change. Five years at Windsor, 1 and over twenty- 
 five of speaking French, may have done much to spoil her 
 English, which was never very secure, because it was not 
 based on Latin ; but we think the germ of evil may be traced 
 to Dr. Burney. Above all men she admired her father, and 
 his style, as a part of himself. She wrote to him, " I, like Mr. 
 Courtney, class your English with the very first class." 
 
 We have said before that Dr. Burney wrote clear and easy 
 English when he did not make metaphors. Let us show how 
 he wrote when he tried that dangerous experiment : — " Your 
 loss would be the most painful and severe amputation which 
 misfortune could perform upon my affections." Again, "It 
 has been very well said of mental wounds that they must 
 digest, like those of the body, before they can be healed. The 
 poultice of necessity can alone, perhaps, in some cases, bring 
 on this digestion ; but we should not impede it by caustics or 
 corrosives." It seems strange that a woman who had so 
 strong a sense of the ridiculous should have fallen into a 
 
 1 Remark how many more vulgarities of expression, not put into vul- 
 gar mouths, there are in " Camilla " than in " Evelina." For instance, 
 people " stroam the fields," or have " a depressing feel" instead of feeling. 
 She lived at Windsor among hybrids. Miss Knight says of a Bishop of 
 Salisbury, who had been a Canon of Windsor, and preceptor to the Duke 
 of Kent : " Living much at Windsor .... he had imbibed the bad style 
 of manners belonging to that place." 
 
XXXV111 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 style so absurd as that of" Camilla," of the " Wanderer," of the 
 "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," and of the " Diary " and " Letters ,r 
 from about the year 1800, onwards. That she was unconscious of 
 it's defects, the following smart rebuke to her son will show : — 
 
 " Easily, too easily, I conceive the melancholy reflections 
 that were awakened by the sight of our dear, dear cottage ; 
 yet your expressions upon it's view lose much of their effect by 
 being overstrained, recJierches, and designing to be pathetic. 
 We never touch others, my dear Alex., when we study to show 
 we are touched ourselves. I beg you when you write to me, 
 to let your pen paint your thoughts as they rise, not as you 
 seek or labour to embellish them. I remember you once wrote 
 me a letter so very fine from Cambridge, that, if it had not 
 made me laugh, it would have made me sick." 
 
 This was written in 1815, when she herself was in full flow 
 of Euphuism. 
 
 Why dwell on breaches of law of which the culprit was 
 unaware ? There is neither pleasure nor profit in noting faults 
 of style which do not affect the best parts of her best books. 
 
 When all is said that can be said, to lessen or to lower her, 
 the place of Frances Burney remains assured, as that between 
 Henry Fielding and Samuel Eichardson, who died in 1754 and 
 in 1761 ; and Maria Edgeworth and Jane Austen, born in 1767 
 and in 1775. 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 WE will not cumber our text with a notice of another 
 attack on Madame D'Arblay by the same writer, in the 
 same review. This time it was after her death. In 1842 
 three volumes of her "Diary" had been published by her 
 niece. In No. CXL. of the " Quarterly Keview," there is a 
 notice of them, bearing the same relation to honest criticism 
 that shooting your landlor 1 from behind a hedge does to 
 legitimate warfare. The " greatly overcharged details," of 
 1833, are, in 1842, neightened into u factitious details " and 
 " false colouring." " The suppression of dates," (to conceal 
 the great age of five-and- twenty !) has become " The extreme 
 youth of the author was an elaborate deception on the part of 
 herself and her friends. We beg leave to refer to our former 
 article for the details of this manoeuvring ; suffice it here to 
 repeat that it was at the outset represented that * Evelina ' 
 was the work of a girl of seventeen. ... It was so con- 
 fidently asserted that no one, we believe, doubted its truth 
 until the publication of the « Memoirs of Dr. Burney.' " The 
 reviewer asserts that Madame D'Arblay must all her life have 
 been embarrassed by this original deviation from truth. Then 
 so must have been Dr. Burney, and Dr. Charles, and the 
 Admiral ! Dr. Johnson would have "felled" this man with a 
 folio. The sword of Burke would have leaped from it's scab- 
 bard. The words of Macaulay were the sword of Burke. 
 Now, if people are to answer for what is said of them, there is 
 a report much more common than that Miss Burney wrote 
 "Evelina" at seventeen. It is, that Croker, moved by no 
 power of good, searched the Lynn register, that he might 
 annoy a lady of eighty by stating in a review, that fifty-five 
 years before she had not published her true age. We have 
 
XI EPILOGUE. 
 
 ourselves heard it said, perhaps with humourous exaggeration, 
 that Croker went to Lynn, outside a stage-coach, on a win- 
 ter's night, in severe weather, to search for this rusty weapon 
 of vengeance. An odd thing is, that in this article of 1842, 
 Croker avows that "the entry" (of Frances Burn ey's baptism,) 
 was procured with " some pains," yet admits that in 1833 he 
 had given the month as July, when, on her niece's showing, 
 it was June. He repeats the blunder, " July," in his last edition 
 of Boswell's " Johnson," in 1847. 
 
 What could Croker know of the " outset ? " Was a depu- 
 tation of Burneys to go to Galway, where Croker was born 
 two years after the publication of " Evelina ; " and assure the 
 babe in his cradle that rumour was mistaken in making out 
 their Fanny to be only seventeen ; or was it to be done in 
 1800, when he came to London as a student of law ? In this 
 base article, he speaks of Madame D'Arblay as being " deceit- 
 ful," — " perhaps malicious ; " and a mere " menial " at Court ; 
 and gives a warning, almost a menace, to the Editor, to pub- 
 lish no more of the " Diary." This is not worth the ink we 
 spend on it, yet we have known people who have been led by 
 this review, and by the former, to judge Madame D'Arblay' s 
 " Diary " before, or without, reading it. 
 
 As some small proof that those who had more concern 
 than Croker in the statements made by Madame D'Arblay, 
 did not find her wanting in faithfulness to fact, in loyal feel- 
 ing, or in propriety of taste, let us print what we heard from 
 the late Dr. Peacock, Dean of Ely. The Duke of Sussex told 
 Dean Peacock that he and the other surviving children of 
 King George and Queen Charlotte, had been much alarmed 
 on learning that the " Diary of Madame D'Arblay " was about 
 to be published ; but on reading it they were very much 
 pleased; "though I think," (the Duke added,) "that she 
 is rather hard on poor old Schwellenberg ! " It is not to be 
 supposed that Princes and Princesses were barked at by the 
 person whom Macaulay called " an old hag," and whom Miss 
 Burney nicknamed " Cerbera." 
 
EPILOGUE. xll 
 
 SOME readers may remember Mrs. Delany, who played a 
 mother's part to Miss Burney for nearly two of those weary 
 five years which were wasted at Windsor. They may think 
 Miss Burney was too prolix in praise of a lady, who, though 
 of " great politeness and ingenuity, and of an unaffected 
 piety," l is little known except through Miss Burney herself. 
 If profuse, her praise was sincere. She spoke of her acquain- 
 tance with Mrs. Delany, as of " a great blessing," in a journal 
 only meant for her sister Susan, and for her best friend, Mrs. 
 Lock, ten } r ears after she had written, — " This fatal month 
 I was bereft of " (Mrs. Delany) " the most revered of friends, 
 and, perhaps, the most perfect of women." Let us cite the 
 editor of Mrs. Delany's " Correspondence " as to the value 
 set by Mrs. Delany on Miss Burney : — 
 
 " In August, 1785, Mrs. Delany (writing to Mrs. Frances 
 Hamilton,) says of Miss Burney, who was staying with her 
 during her illness : — ' I have had in the house with me ever 
 since my nephews were obliged to leave me, Miss Burney (the 
 author of " Evelina " and " Cecilia"), which, excellent as they 
 are, are her meanest praise. Her admirable understanding, 
 tender affection, and sweetness of manners, make her valuable 
 to all those who have the happiness to know her.' Mrs. De- 
 lany also says that it was a satisfaction to her to have had Miss 
 Burney ' as a companion for Miss Port 2 during her own illness 
 at that period.' " 
 
 Again, Mrs. Delany to Mrs. Port, Windsor, December 21st, 
 1785 : — M Miss Burney is still with me, but leaves me in the 
 beginning of January. She is, indeed, a most valuable com- 
 panion, and on Mary's account, 2 as well as my own, I am happy 
 to have as much of her company as I can." 
 
 Once again, writing on the 3rd of July to Mrs. Frances 
 Hamilton, Mrs. Delany says : — " I am sure you are acquainted 
 
 1 Bishop Hurd. 
 
 2 Georgina Mary Ann Port (called " Mary " by her great-aunt, Mrs. 
 Delany) was born on the 16th of September, 1771. On her father's 
 outrunning his means, she was taken by Mrs. Delany, who brought her 
 up from the age of seven to that of sixteen. After the death of Mrs. 
 Delany, on the 15th of April, 1788, Miss Port lived with her maternal 
 uncles, until she married Mr. Benjamin Waddington, on the 19th of 
 February, 1789. She died on the 19th of January, 1850. 
 
xlii EPILOGUE. 
 
 with the novel entitled ' Cecilia,' much admired for its sense, 
 variety of character, delicacy of sentiment, &c, &c. There is 
 nothing good, amiable, and agreeable, mentioned in the book 
 that is not possessed by the author of it, Miss Burney. I 
 have now been acquainted with her three years : her extreme 
 diffidence of herself, notwithstanding her great genius, and 
 the applause she has met with, adds lustre to all her excel- 
 lences, and all improve on acquaintance." 
 
 Now Mrs. Delany's cuttings out of paper, and pastings of 
 layers of coloured paper over each other, to imitate flowers ; 
 and making cornices of shells stuck into plaster, to adorn a 
 private chapel, were clever tricks of hand, but far from works 
 of art. Like her chenille-flowers on the chapel-cushions, they 
 are rather to be excused than commended. Those who have 
 seen how ill Lady Di Beauclerk drew, and read how highly 
 she was praised, may conjecture what were the paintings of 
 Mrs. Delany, a mere amateur, at a time when Eeynolds him- 
 self was a schoolboy in his art. She rests on her good judg- 
 ment, and knowledge of manners, and character. That she 
 had a good judgment, or much knowledge of character, is 
 virtually denied by her remote collateral connexion and editor, 
 who virtually contradicts all that her great-grand-aunt ever said 
 of Miss Burney, in rancourous notes and comments through- 
 out one of the thick volumes of her cumbrous six. Why is 
 this ? It seems to be because, in the short notice of Mrs. De- 
 lany given in the " Memoirs of Dr. Burney," and in the fuller 
 details of the " Diary of Madame D'Arblay," Mrs. Delany ap- 
 pears as poor ; as losing help towards her housekeeping when 
 the Duchess-Dowager of Portland died in 1785 ; and as being 
 set at ease by the King, who gave her three hundred a year, 
 and the use of a furnished house in Windsor. This was no 
 State-secret, first made known by Madame D'Arblay in 1832. 
 
 This editor herself prints a letter from Mr. Gilpin (of the 
 il Forest Scenery") to Mrs. Delany, in which he congratulates 
 her on the kindness of the King. He says, if he had been a 
 Jacobite, it would have turned him to King George. This 
 highly offends Lady Llanover, who rebukes the shade of Mr. 
 Gilpin l for presumption, with which she, who corrects her 
 
 1 " It will be observed, in the course of Mr. Gilpin's letters, that he was 
 not free from the fault of presumption (a fault much more common in 
 
EPILOGUE. xliil 
 
 great-grand-aunt, should first have taxed herself. How and 
 why Mrs. Delany got her pension, was, in 1832, an old story, 
 of the " Old Almanack " kind. How little Madame D'Arblay 
 thought it would give pain, when put in print, is shown by 
 her making friendly mention of the great-niece, Miss Port, 
 then Mrs. Waddington, more than once in the text, and 
 sending a copy of her book to Mrs. Delany's old waiting- 
 woman. If Mrs. Waddington doubted what she read, as 
 much as she may have disliked it, there was Madame D'Arblay, 
 her dear friend — her correspondent whom she had impor- 
 tuned to write to her for at least twelve years (from 1788 to 
 1802), who was seeing her, and writing to her on terms of 
 warm friendship in 1813, and, for anything we know, later 
 still, ready to explain from her " Diaries " things which she 
 doubted ; and having at eighty, as at eighteen, " the fear of 
 doing wrong " l as her " leading principle." 
 
 As nothing seems to have been written to Madame D'Ar- 
 blay in 1832, or to the editor of her •* Diary " in 1842, by Mrs. 
 Waddington, 2 we may take it for granted that nothing could 
 be written. Indeed, how can those " Diaries" of Madame 
 D'Arblay, which are more trustworthy by far than the 
 memory of any one ; which were good evidence then, and 
 would be now, in any court of justice, unless impugned by 
 other journals equally trustworthy, be contested ? 
 
 We have examined this affair of Mrs. Delany's pension with 
 more care than it is worth. It is now of no concern to any- 
 one, except so far as it affects that high " veracity " of Madame 
 
 the present day), and that the notice and encouragement justly awarded 
 to his talents, made him sometimes forget his own position or that of 
 those he addressed. The above letter is an instance of this." — Editor's 
 comment, p. 306, vol. vi. of Mrs. Delany's " Correspondence." Mr. 
 Gilpin was not alone in his presumption: — Mrs. Montagu, on the 1 6th 
 of December, 1785, wrote to Miss Burney of this pension : " Their Majes 
 ties' goodness must have been to Mrs. Delany the best support in afflic- 
 tion which this world could give ; their acts were princely, but the senti- 
 ments they have shewn in* their manner are angelical." 
 
 1 Madame D'Arblay. 
 
 2 It is said that Mrs. Waddington wrote to Mrs. Delany's old waiting- 
 woman to ask her if her own dear friend, Madame D'Arblay, had told the 
 truth ! If so, it was unlike a gentlewoman. We do not notice this waiting- 
 woman's letter, because it was unfair to print it without printing the 
 letter to which it was an answer. There is nothing in it, however. 
 
XUV EPILOGUE. 
 
 D'Arblay, which Dr. Johnson said, more than once, he, scrict 
 as he was, had " never fonnd failing." We think Lady Llan- 
 over has exaggerated in her own mind what was said by 
 Madame D'Arblay, then tried to confute more than was stated. 
 
 It is not unlikely that, in the forty years and more, be- 
 tween 1785 and 1832, the story of Mrs. Delany's pension 
 had floated into a golden family-legend, in which a beautiful, 
 wise, and venerable lady was wafted to Windsor, for merits' 
 •sake alone, to sit by a virtuous king and queen, telling 
 them her tales of old time ; revering, but revered. This 
 legend is " invested with the organic weakness of tradi- 
 tion." l The same may be said of a myth of the next genera- 
 tion, in which a lovely Mrs. Waddington is shown as restoring, 
 by that " personal influence " (with Queen Charlotte) which 
 there is no sign she ever had, a pension to Madame D'Arblay, 
 which there is no sign had ever ceased. The world has 
 legends enough to live upon so long as it may last ; let us, so 
 far as we can, stop the making of more. Let us stop them in 
 the very making ; it is the only way. 
 
 Can anyone suppose that King George gave Mrs. Delany a 
 house, furnished even to " pickles and preserves," and three hun- 
 dred a year to keep it up, unless he knew she was in some dis- 
 tress for money ? Eespect for her character, and pleasure in her 
 answers to his " What ? what? " doubtless counted for much. 
 There may have been some thought, besides, of pleasing the 
 House of Bentinck, by settling a difficult affair. Mrs. Delany 
 would not accept from the Duke of Portland that home for the 
 summer, and whatsoever else she may have taken, from her old 
 friend, his mother. A daughter of the Duchess, Lady Wey- 
 mouth, was a Lady of the Bed-chamber : through her the offer 
 of the pension was made to Mrs. Delany. We say it may 
 have been to please the House of Bentinck, for we find that- 
 through her own connexions Mrs. Delany could not get even 
 an Irish bishopric for her second husband, the learned Dean 
 of Down. She was eighty-five in 1785, and it could not last 
 for long. 
 
 Mrs. Delany's editor seeks to shake the credit of Miss 
 Burney, who, if found inexact in other things, might be so 
 about the money-matters of her great-grand-aunt. She tries 
 
 1 Lord Beaconsfield. 
 
EPILOGUE. xlv 
 
 to show Miss Burney as stating, in a Diary written for her clever 
 sister Susan — who, according to the witty Comte de Narbonne y 
 was all that was " spirituelle" as well as all that was " douce; " 
 and for her clever Daddy Crisp, an old friend of this Duchess 
 of Portland, things that were not ! — that she met people when 
 she did not, and was praised by Mrs. Delany and the Duchess 
 when they had not even read her book ! This is set in the 
 index in quite a solemn way, as the " State of the Case, with 
 regard to her " (Miss Burney's) " first interview with the 
 Duchess of Portland." Indeed, the index is almost Crokerian,. 
 reminding us of an amenity in Croker's Index to Bos well's 
 " Johnson : " " Macaulay, Thomas Babington, his blundering 
 criticisms." " Mis-statements of Miss Burney," is a very fair 
 following of Croker. 
 
 The editor cites the first of Croker's disgraceful articles on 
 Madame D'Arblay, and commends it as a " very just notice.. 
 Anyone who follows Croker will find mare's-nests. This 
 " State of the Case " is a mare's-nest of some size. The 
 editor writes that she has " often been told by her mother " 
 (Mrs. Waddington)," that Mrs. Delany was induced, some time 
 after she had herself received Miss Burney, to gratify the 
 latter, by obtaining the Duchess of Portland's unwilling con- 
 sent to have the authoress of ' Evelina ' presented to her." 
 Here the mother's memory was at fault — no wonder, she was 
 not twelve years old when Miss Burney first met Mrs. 
 Delany and the Duchess of Portland, on one and the same 
 day — Sunday, the 19th of January, 1783. 1 She had heard, 
 more than a month before, of the admiration of these ladies, 
 and that they were reading one of her books for the third 
 time. On the 8th of December, 1782, Sir Joshua Keyn olds told 
 her he had heard this at a party given by the Duchess of 
 Portland, 2 at which he wished she had been present. The 
 editor's next point is to prove they had not read the book 
 Miss Burney said they praised in January, 1783, until the De- 
 cember of the same year. We give this singular passage for 
 the sake of readers who might take the editor's part of Mrs. 
 Delany's " Correspondence " upon trust : — 
 
 " Miss Hamilton mentions having read 'Evelina' on suc- 
 
 1 " Diary of Madame D'Arblay,-' p. 249, vol. ii. 
 
 2 " Diary/' &c. p. 192. vol. ii. 
 
xlvi EPILOGUE. 
 
 cessive evenings after tea, and records having ■ finished ' 
 'Evelina,' 5th Dec. 1783, and the Duchess of Portland having 
 written that evening to Mrs. Boscawen to say that they had 
 * gone through E., the book she had desired them to read.' 
 There is not one word of encomium repeated on the part of the 
 Duchess of Portland, whose unlimited compliments to Miss 
 Burney will be remembered to have been recorded in Madame 
 D'Arblay's " Diary," as having been uttered in reference to 
 her novel tivelve months previously, and especially with regard 
 to * Evelina,' of which the Duchess of Portland is said to have 
 uttered the following words : 4 Of the morality of the book 
 (cried the Duchess) we shall indeed now give Miss Burney 
 her due, so striking, so pure, so genuine, so instructive 1 1* " 
 
 Now could any one believe that before making, by implica- 
 tion, such charges of untruth against Madame D'Arblay, any 
 editor, however inexpert, would not have looked at the 
 " Diary ? M There she would have seen that, so far as we are 
 told, " Evelina " was never named by the Duchess of Portland, 
 or by Mrs. Delany, on that 9th of January, 1783. The good 
 old ladies spoke of " Cecilia." Thrice had they wept over 
 "Cecilia," before they had read "Evelina" at all; so that 
 they were nearly six years behind Mrs. Cholmondeley, Mrs. 
 Thrale, Mr. Boscawen, and Mrs. Montagu, when they heard 
 " Evelina " read by Miss Hamilton in December, 1783. Why 
 are the words " which the Duchess of Portland is said to have 
 uttered," not cited as they stand in the " Diary of Madame 
 D'Arblay ? l If copied correctly, they spoil the under-linings 
 of the paragraph we have called singular, by showing it was 
 of " Cecilia" the ladies spoke — " The Harrels " being a reck- 
 less couple of fashion in " Cecilia : " — 
 
 " ' The Harrels ! 0, then the Harrels ! ' cried Mrs. Delany. 
 
 " ' If you speak of the Harrels, and of the morality of the 
 book,' cried the Duchess, with a solemn sort of voice, ' we 
 shall, indeed, never give Miss Burney her due : so striking, 
 so pure, so genuine, so instructive. 1 " 
 
 It was trifling with the readers, and buyers, of the " Cor- 
 respondence of Mrs. Delany," to turn this sentence into bad 
 grammar, and to distort it's meaning by clumsy omissions. 2 
 
 1 " Diary of Madame D'Arblay," p. 36, vol. iii. 
 
 2 If this Duchess was unwilling to do anything, it was to begin to read 
 " Cecilia." 
 
EPILOGUE. xlvii 
 
 Another story told by this editor is the most paltry, the 
 very pettiest anecdote we ever saw in print. It is treated as 
 if it were an English " Affaire du Collier" of little less impor- 
 tance than that fatal affair in France : — 
 
 " Mrs. Delany .... had not seen enough of her " 
 (Miss Burney) " to be aware how utterly unfit she was for any 
 place requiring punctuality, neatness, or manual dexterity ; 
 (Queen Charlotte used to complain to Mrs. Delany that Miss 
 Burney could not learn to tie the bow of her necklace on 
 Court-days without giving her pain by getting the hair at the 
 back of the neck tied in with it.") 
 
 Now, Miss Burney did not tie the bow of the Queen's neck- 
 lace on Court-days. One of the Bed-chamber women, for whose 
 guilty name we will not seek, must have hurt that " Sweet 
 Queen." On Court-days, a bell was rung for a Bed-chamber- 
 woman, who tied on the necklace, handed the fan, and the 
 gloves, and carried the royal train to the ante-room, where 
 a Lady of the Bed-chamber took the command of the queenly 
 skirts. 
 
 If Miss Burney ever committed " Lese-Majeste," (in it's 
 first meaning,) it must have been on common-days, not on 
 Court-days ; but how the story is spoilt when " Court-days " 
 are taken out of the sentence ! Even with Court-days left in 
 it, is it not like one of those stories told by Miss Carolina 
 Wilhelmina Amelia Skeggs, to which Mr. Burchell cried 
 " Fudge " ? 
 
 The editor once or twice calls Miss Burney, " one of Queen 
 Charlotte's dressers." If she had referred to " Debrett's Eoyal 
 Kalendar," for the years in which Miss Burney held office, 
 she would there have found : — 
 
 " Keepers of the Bobes, 
 "MRS. SCHWELLENBERGEN, MRS. F. BURNEY." 
 The assistant, or Wardrobe Woman, Mrs. Thielky (or 
 
 u * Ah, Ma'am,' cried Mrs. Delany archly, * and does your Grace re- 
 member protesting you would never read " Cecilia" ? ' 
 
 " * Yes,' said she, laughing, < I declared that five volumes could never 
 he attacked, but since I began I have read it three times." 
 
 This seems to be what an imperfect memory made into unwillingness 
 to be presented to the author ; still, as Dr. Johnson said to some man, 
 " Sir, you give an ill account of your own taste or understanding, if 
 you wanted any making to read such a book as ' Cecilia.' " — " Diary of 
 Madame WArblay? p. 157, vol. ii. 
 
xlviii EPILOGUE. 
 
 Thielcke), was the " real acting person," Miss Burney, as she 
 says, " the apparent one." Mrs. Schwellenberg and Miss 
 Burney always received at tea, and often at dinner, all the 
 gentlemen and many of the ladies, who were invited to 
 Windsor, " as only a select few could eat with the King and 
 Queen ; and those few, ladies — no men, of what rank soever,, 
 sitting in the Queen's presence." 
 
 It would have been singularly impertinent in the King and 
 Queen to set mere dressers to entertain Bishops, Lords, and 
 Commons and their wives. 
 
 As for the " neatness and manual dexterity " ( ! ! ! J, here is 
 the opinion of the wife of an Irish Bishop, given to Miss 
 Burney before morning-prayer, in the chapel at Windsor: — 
 " Well ; the Queen, to be sure, is a great deal better dressed than 
 she used to be ; but, for all that, I really think it is but an odd 
 thing for you 1 — Dear ! I think it's something so out of the 
 way for you ! — I can't think how you set about it at first. It 
 must have been very droll to you at first." * 
 
 Lady Llanover prints some very trifling notes from Miss 
 Burney to a Mary Hamilton, niece of the well-known Sir 
 
 1 Let us pluck one or two of Lady Llanover' s weeds of speech : 
 " As the daughter of a music-master," (Miss Burney) " had no individual 
 position whatever ! " Might we not think we heard Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 saying : " The Queen will give you a gown. . . . The Queen says 
 you are not rich." ..." When I give you the gown, I will tell you 
 when you may make your curtsey." 
 
 Lady Llanover: " Miss Burney had an undefined sort of celebrity, 
 won by her talents." 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg (speaking before Miss Burney) : " I won't have 
 nothing what you call novels, what you call romances, what you call 
 histories, — I might not read such what you call stuff, — not I ! " 
 
 [What was written by the betters of Mrs. S. and Lady X.] 
 
 Jane Austen : " It is only c Cecilia,' or Camilla,' or ' Belinda j ' or, in 
 short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are dis- 
 played, in which most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest 
 delineation of it's varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour are 
 conveyed to the world." — 
 
 Lord Byron to Mr. Murray. " Dec. 27, 1813. 
 
 " Lord Holland is laid up with the gout, and would feel obliged if you 
 could obtain, and send as soon as possible, Madame D'Arblay's (or even 
 Miss Edgeworth's) new work. I know they are not out ; but it is per- 
 haps possible for your Majesty to command what we cannot with much 
 
 suing purchase, as yet I would almost fall sick myself to 
 
 get at Madame D'Arblay's writing " — Moore's " Life of 
 
 Byron." 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 xlix 
 
 William Hamilton, British Ambassador at Naples. 1 They 
 were not worth the printing, but they are used as pegs, on 
 which to hang rigmarole. 
 
 In one of these notes Miss Burney utters a timid wish that 
 she might see "the Vase." "The Portland Vase " ! cries the 
 editor, eager to show that Miss Burney was not on such a 
 footing with the Duchess of Portland as to enjoy any cer- 
 tainty of a vision of that ethnic and unholy " Grail." If the 
 editor had looked into Madame D'Arblay's " Diary," she 
 would there have found it was the Hamilton Vase, which 
 Miss Burney had missed seeing, one day, and hoped to see 
 some other. 2 This would have spoilt her argument. 
 
 Last of all comes a miserable cavil about some trifling 
 remembrances bequeathed to Miss Burney by Mrs. Delany. 
 It stands thus : " Miss Burney quoted the expressions appended 
 to the bequests made to Dr. Hurd, the Bishop of Exeter, the 
 Earl of Dartmouth, and Mr. Mason, the poet, as addressed to 
 herself." What Miss Burney did say, writing to her sister, 3 
 was : " They," (that is, these words,) "were ordered to be sent 
 me with the portrait of Saccharissa, and two medallions of 
 their majesties : they were originally written to accompany the 
 legacy to the Bishop of Worcester, Dr. Hurd, as you may per- 
 ceive by the style, but it was desired they might also be copied : — 
 
 " I take this liberty, that my much-esteemed and respected 
 friend may sometimes recollect a person who was so sensible 
 of the honour of [his] [her] friendship, and who delighted so 
 much in her conversation and works." 
 
 1 This Miss Hamilton is the subject of an odd note by this editor. 
 On the 20th of May, 1781, Mrs. Delany sends to her dear Miss 
 
 Hamilton *' a line of congratulation on the return of a ' day so infinitely 
 valuable.' .... I feel its consequences too much to express, and 
 am as little able to do justice to the flow of good wishes that it may prove 
 every year a blessing to her who is a blessing to all." " The Editor '' 
 (sic) " is unable to explain this date, as the 1 8th of Jan. was the birth- 
 day of Queen Charlotte ; and 4th June, of George III." It never strikes 
 the editor, that the birthday of Miss Hamilton might be " infinitely valu- 
 able " to her friends. — " Correspondence of Mrs. Delany" p. 22, vol. vi. 
 
 2 "Diary," &c, p. 304, vol. ii., Jan. 15, 1784: — " There was a world 
 of regret in the boudoir about my not going to see the Hamilton Vase, 
 next day." It may have been the vase afterwards sold to the Duchess of 
 Portland by Sir W. Hamilton ; but it was his when Miss Burney wished 
 to see it. 
 
 3 " Diary," &c.,p. 134, vol. iv. 
 
 d 
 
1 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Why should these minute cavils ever have been made ? 
 There is much more of this editor's rigmarole which some- 
 times amounts to railing ; but we are of Hooker's mind, " to 
 railing I answer nothing ; " above all, to clamour raised round 
 graves. 
 
 Madame D'Arblay to Mrs. Lock, 1796 : — 
 
 (The Queen) " has behaved like an angel to me, from the trying time 
 to her of my marriage with a Frenchman." l 
 
 Madame D'Arblay to Mrs. (Waddington), June, 1797: — 
 
 " It was a very sweet thought to make my little namesake write to 
 me." 2 
 
 THIS " little namesake" was Frances Waddington, born 
 on the 4th of March, 1791 ; married to the famous Bunsen 
 on the 1st of July, 1817. Her letters and journals have been 
 edited, and her life written by Mr. Augustus Hare. 
 
 On page 71, vol. i. of this Life we find the following extract 
 from the journal of Miss Waddington : — 
 
 " June 5, 1805. 
 
 "The Queen" (Charlotte) " spoke very graciously to 
 mamma, and made inquiries after Madame D'Arblay." 
 
 To this, the following note is appended :— 
 
 " Because the pension of Madame D'Arblay, which had 
 ceased on her marriage and residence in France, had been re- 
 stored on the representation and personal influence of Mrs. 
 Waddington, who made known her reduced circumstances to 
 Queen Charlotte." No authority is given for these state- 
 ments, all of which we believe to be incorrect. 
 
 We must first remark that Madame D'Arblay had been 
 nearly nine years married before she went to France at all. 
 Between the two events, there is not even the pause of a 
 comma in the note we have cited. 
 
 It is certain that she was paid her pension during those nine 
 years ; it is as certain that it did not cease on her going to 
 France, nor, so far as is known, did it ever cease, although for 
 two years (from the spring of 1803 to the end of May 1805,) 
 
 1 " Diary of Madame D'Arblay," p. 78, vol. vi. 
 
 2 "Diary," &c, p. 109, vol. vi. 
 
EPILOGUE. ll 
 
 she had no remittances of money from England from any source 
 whatsoever. This covers the whole time, as dealt with in the 
 note we have cited, between the marriage of Madame D'Arblay, 
 in 1793, and Miss Waddington's visit to Windsor, in 1805. 
 
 Let us show that this hindrance of payment, caused by the 
 war, is the grain of truth out of which have sprouted these 
 figments. We believe Mr. Hare to have taken some family 
 legend of the Waddingtons upon trust, and put it into print 
 in this note without testing it's truth. 
 
 Before marrying, Miss Burney made herself sure that this 
 hundred a year would not be withdrawn. Who spoke, or 
 wrote, for her to the Queen, we are not told ; but she married, 
 with the Royal sanction, upon that hundred a year. 1 This 
 was on the 31st of July, 1793. On the 2nd of August, she 
 wrote to tell her " sweet friend," Mrs. Waddington, of her 
 marriage, that she might spare her " weak nerves and tender 
 heart a surprise almost too strong for them." Mrs. Waddington 
 had not long left London, where she had all but met the 
 Chevalier D'Arblay. She was an exacting friend, claiming to 
 know all Miss Burney did, yet she had not been told of this 
 courtship. " Such," wrote Madame D'Arblay, "was the un- 
 certainty of my situation, from prudential obstacles, that I 
 dared venture at no confidence." 2 In 1796. Madame D'Arblay 
 dedicated " Camilla " to the Queen, who, thereupon, joined the 
 King in giving her what was then called " a compliment " of 
 a hundred guineas, in return for golden words of loyal affection. 
 
 1 See the "Diary of Madame DArblay," p. 425, vol. vi. 
 
 2 "Diary of Madame DArblay," p. 430, vol. v. p. 16, vol. vi. 
 That Mrs. Waddington teased Madame DArblay to write her full 
 accounts of all she did may be seen in the " Diary." At page 32, vol. 
 vi., we find a letter in answer to " a dry reproof" from Mrs. Wadding- 
 ton for not having been told of the production of a tragedy by Madame 
 DArblay. At p. 44, vol. vi , we find Madame DArblay writing to 
 Mrs. Waddington : " Let me hasten to tell you something of myself 
 that I shall be very sorry you should hear from any other, as your too 
 susceptible mind would be hurt again, and that would grieve me quite 
 to the heart." Again, at p. 109, vol. vi. , in answer to fresh complaints 
 of the shortness of her letters, Madame DArblay writes to Mrs. Wad- 
 dington : — " You ask me what information any of my late letters have 
 
 given you, except of my health and affection It appears to me, 
 
 perhaps wrongly, that you have wrought yourself into a fit of fancied 
 resentment against a succession of short letters, which could only have 
 been merited by letters that were unfriendly." 
 
lii EPILOGUE. 
 
 In 1797 and 1798 there are proofs in her "Diary" that she 
 was in receipt of her pension. 1 It is clear she was in high 
 favour, having long private interviews with the Queen when- 
 ever she went to Court. Before going to France in 1802, she 
 had a long farewell-audience of the Queen, and took leave of 
 the King and the Princesses. She wrote letters from France 
 to Miss Planta, for the Queen's reading. 
 
 She went for a year, or eighteen months, only, but was kept 
 over ten years. The " Short Peace," (as old folks used to call 
 the " Peace of Amiens,") was signed in March, 1802, about a 
 month before she sailed, and broken by Buonaparte in the May 
 of 1803, — just as she was thinking that she might be able to 
 return to England in the autumn. 
 
 We have a letter from Madame D'Arblay to Dr. Burney, 
 bearing the date of the 29th of May, 1805. In it, she tells her 
 father that General D'Arblay has obtained his half-pay of 
 £62 10s. yearly, and that, as " all their resources from England 
 had ceased ivith the peace" and little was left of what they had 
 brought over, he had, after much seeking, obtained a civil 
 appointment. 2 Letters were then sent by way of Hamburg, 
 so that it is very unlikely Dr. Burney had received this letter 
 on the 5th of June, when the Waddingtons were at Windsor ; 
 but the Queen knew that Mrs. Wadding ton wrote to Madame 
 D'Arblay ; and, it may be, knew she saw Dr. Burney, who 
 dined with the Waddingtons, six days later — on the 11th of 
 June; therefore, "the Queen made inquiries after Madame 
 D'Arblay." 
 
 About this time, Dr. Burney wrote to his daughter, giving 
 her a list of those friends who yet lived, and still thought of her 
 He says : . . . . "Mrs. Waddington," (who is last on the list,) 
 "and many more of your faithful votaries, still live, and never 
 see me without urgent inquiries after you." All the baseless 
 fabric of this note may have been raised on the pity which 
 must have been felt for Madame D'Arblay by the Queen, and 
 Mrs. Waddington, and all her " other faithful votaries; " and 
 on their wonder how she contrived to live when all direct 
 communication with England was barred by the blockade. 
 They did not know that General D'Arblay had recovered, or 
 
 1 " Diary/' &c, p. 143, p. 170, vol. vi. 
 
 2 " Diary," p. 332, vol. vi. 
 
EPILOGUE. liii 
 
 procured, any means of living. All they knew was, that 
 neither her pension, nor the profits of her books, had reached 
 her between April, 1803, and June, 1805. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that her bankers did not find means 
 to remit money to her later on. That letter of May the 29th, 
 1805, contains her last mention of poverty. 
 
 In 1812, she escapes to England. There and then she is 
 on her old footing with the Queen and the Princesses. She 
 spends three days out of the five they are in town with them 
 at St. James's Palace in February, 1813. She is with them 
 again in May, she is " received more graciously than ever if 
 that be possible," and so on, until, just before the Queen's 
 death, in 1817, she visits her old and dear mistress every day 
 at Bath. We have read that some one, when the phrase was 
 as novel as it is absurd, asked Lord Plunket what a man, who 
 had styled his book " a, personal narrative," could mean ? " We 
 lawyers," replied Lord Plunket, "use personal, as distinct from 
 real." In this sense, we must understand the " personal in- 
 fluence" of Mrs. Waddington, who left Windsor (as Miss Port) 
 in April, 1788. 1 In August of the same year, we find Miss 
 Burney writing : — . . . . "I had no room "... (at 
 Cheltenham,) "whatsoever at my own disposal, in such a 
 manner as to enable my having the happiness to receive any of 
 my private friends ; even Miss P[ort], though known to all the 
 Eoyal Family, I could never venture to invite except when 
 they were abroad." 2 This looks not like influence ; nor does 
 any influence make itself manifest through the signs of 
 welcome granted to Mrs. Waddington at Windsor. They 
 are less than we should have expected, seeing that she had 
 
 1 For letters to Mrs. Waddington, see the " Diary of Madame 
 D'Arblay," pp. 12, 13, 133, 147, 170, 355, vol. v.i pp. 14, 32, 44, 109, 
 vol. vi. ; p. 8, vol. viii. She is the Miss P. of the (( Diary." Intelligent 
 readers might form a fair notion of her character and situation from 
 these kind letters of advice, without having seen the sketch by Mr. 
 Augustus Hare ; which, on the whole, fits into, and explains these 
 letters : " Her too susceptible mind" — " Her too agitated mind" — is the 
 subject of Madame D'Arblay's warnings. . . . " Guard yourself all 
 you can from ruminating too deeply, and from indulging every rising 
 emotion, whether of pain, or of pleasure. You are all made up with pro- 
 pensities to both ; I see it with concern, yet with added tenderness : see 
 it also yourself, and it can do no evil." — u Diary of Madame WArblay? 
 p. 13, vol. v. 
 
 2 : < Diary," p. 216, vol. iv. 
 
liv EPILOGUE. 
 
 spent three years under the eyes of the Royal Family, and 
 left Windsor as a lovely and interesting " girl of sixteen," 
 who had lost her best friend, and had, as it were, no home l 
 Mr. Hare does not show her as going to Windsor at all, be- 
 tween 1788 and that oth of June, 1805, when Miss Fielding 
 said : " I have no doubt they would send for you, if they knew 
 you were here." " They " did, and Mrs. Waddington saw the 
 Queen, with all the Princesses, and a great many more ladies. 
 The Queen " made some remarks on Mamma's having two 
 such great girls," asked after Madame D'Arblay, then said 
 " she would not detain us any longer." Mr. Hare tells us 
 Mrs. Waddington went to see her old friends at Windsor, 
 in 1806, 1807, 1808 ; but she is not shown to have seen the 
 Queen, except once on the terrace only, "in an amazing 
 crowd," in 1807. 
 
 It would be slaying the slain to proceed. 
 
 At page 400, vol. i., of the " Life of Baroness Bunsen," we 
 find some very harsh and crude remarks by that lady on the 
 u Memoirs of Dr. Burney." The book may have reached her 
 in the company of Croker's review of it, and of the comments 
 of some of her own kindred on what had given them offence 
 in the notice of Mrs. Delany by Madame D'Arblay. Madame 
 Bunsen's wrath is uttered in the language of the conventicle : 
 "blasphemous" and "unchristian," are, however, grotesque 
 words to use to anything, written anywhere, by Madame 
 D'Arblay, whom Johnson asked to pray for him in his last 
 illness. 
 
 We never, to our knowledge, saw any of the Burneys, but 
 we are ready to tilt with our pen for the writer who has 
 given us so much pleasure as the famous Frances, against 
 Croker — " not quite a felon, yet but half a knight;" against 
 the discourteous and inexact editor of " Mrs. Delany's Cor- 
 respondence," and against whosoever put incorrect infor- 
 mation before Mr. Augustus Hare, who was worthy of better 
 usage. 
 
 1 See Mr. Hare's own account of her unhappy situation, in the " Life 
 of Baroness Bunsen." 
 
{ORIGINAL INSCRIPTION.'] 
 To [Dr. Burney]. 
 
 Oh, Author of my being !— far more dear 
 
 To me than light, than nourishment, or rest, 
 Hygeia's blessings, Bapture's burning tear, 
 
 Or the life-blood that mantles in my breast ! 
 
 f 
 If in my heart the love of Virtue glows, 
 
 'Twas planted there by an unerring rule ; 
 From thy example the pure flame arose, 
 
 Thy life, my precept, — thy good works, my school 
 
 Could my weak pow'rs thy num'rous virtues trace, 
 By filial love each fear should be repress'd ; 
 
 The blush of Incapacity I'd ctaace, 
 
 And stand, Kecorder of thy worth, confess'd : 
 
 But since my niggard stars that gift refuse, 
 
 Concealment is the only boon I claim ; 
 Obscure be still the unsuccessful Muse, 
 
 Who cannot raise, but would not sink, thy fame. 
 
 Oh ! of my life at once the source and joy ! 
 
 If e'er thy eyes these feeble lines survey, 
 Let not their folly their intent destroy ; 
 
 Accept the tribute — but forget the lay. 
 
[ORIGINAL DEDICATION.] 
 TO THE AUTHORS 
 
 OF THE 
 MONTHLY AND CRITICAL REVIEWS. 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 HPHE liberty which I take in addressing to you the trifling 
 ■*■ production of a few idle hours, will doubtless move your 
 wonder, and probably your contempt. I will not, however, 
 with the futility of apologies, intrude upon your time, but 
 briefly acknowledge the motives of my temerity ; lest, by a 
 premature exercise of that patience which I hope will befriend 
 me, I should lessen its benevolence, and be accessary to my 
 own condemnation. 
 
 Without name, without recommendation, and unknown 
 alike to success and disgrace, to whom can I so properly 
 apply for patronage, as to those who publicly profess them- 
 selves Inspectors of all literary performances ? 
 
 The extensive plan of your critical observations, — which, 
 not confined to works of utility or ingenuity, is equally open 
 to those of frivolous amusement, — and, yet worse than 
 frivolous, dullness, — encourages me to seek for your protec- 
 tion, since, — perhaps for my sins !— it intitles me to your 
 
lviii DEDICATION. 
 
 annotations. To resent, therefore, this offering, however in- 
 significant, would ill become the universality of your under- 
 taking ; though not to despise it may, alas ! be out of your 
 power. 
 
 The language of adulation, and the incense of flattery, 
 though the natural inheritance, and constant resource, from 
 time immemorial, of the Dedicator, to me offer nothing but the 
 wistful regret that I dare not invoke their aid. Sinister 
 views would be imputed to all I could say ; since, thus 
 situated, to extol your judgment, would seem the effect of art, 
 and to celebrate your impartiality, be attributed to sus- 
 pecting it. 
 
 As magistrates of the press, and Censors for the public, — 
 to which you are bound by the sacred ties of integrity to 
 exert the most spirited impartiality, and to which your 
 suffrages should carry the marks of pure, dauntless, irre- 
 fragable truth — to appeal for your Mekcy, were to solicit your 
 dishonour; and therefore, — though 'tis sweeter than frank- 
 incense, — more grateful to the senses than all the odorous 
 perfumes of Arabia, — and though 
 
 It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath, 
 
 I court it not ! to your justice alone I am intitled, and by that 
 I must abide. Your engagements are not to the supplicating 
 authors ; but to the candid public, which will not fail to 
 crave 
 
 The penalty and forfeit of your bond. 
 
 No hackneyed writer, inured to abuse, and callous to 
 criticism, here braves your severity ; — neither does a half- 
 starved garretteer, 
 
 Oblig'd by hunger — and request of friends,— 
 
DEDICATION. llX 
 
 implore your lenity : your examination will be alike unbiassed 
 by partiality and prejudice ; — no refractory murmuring will 
 follow your censure, no private interest be gratified by your 
 praise. 
 
 Let not the anxious solicitude with which I recommend myself 
 to your notice, expose me to your derision. Eemember, Gentle- 
 men, you were all young writers once, and the most experienced 
 veteran of your corps may, by recollecting his first publication, 
 renovate his first terrors, and learn to allow for mine. For though 
 Courage is one of the noblest virtues of this nether sphere ; 
 and though scarcely more requisite in the field of battle, to guard 
 the fighting hero from disgrace, than in the private commerce 
 of the world, to ward off that littleness of soul which leads, 
 by steps imperceptible, to all the base train of the inferior 
 passions, and by which the too timid mind is betrayed into a 
 servility derogatory to the dignity of human nature ! yet is it 
 a virtue of no necessity in a situation such as mine ; a situa- 
 tion which removes, even from cowardice itself, the sting of 
 ignominy ; — for surely that courage may easily be dispensed 
 with, which would rather excite disgust than admiration ! 
 Indeed, it is the peculiar privilege of an author, to rob terror 
 of contempt, and pusillanimity of reproach. 
 
 Here let me rest — and snatch myself, while I yet am able, 
 from the fascination of Egotism : — a monster who has more 
 votaries than ever did homage to the most popular deity 
 of antiquity ; and whose singular quality is, that while he 
 excites a blind and involuntary adoration in almost every 
 individual, his influence is universally disallowed, his power 
 universally contemned, and his worship, even by his followers, 
 never mentioned but with abhorrence. 
 
 In addressing you jointly, I mean but to mark the generous 
 sentiments by which liberal criticism, to the utter annihilation 
 
IX DEDICATION. 
 
 of envy, jealousy, and all selfish views, ought to be dis- 
 tinguished. 
 
 I have the honour to be, 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 Your most obedient 
 
 Humble Servant, 
 
 # # # * # # # 
 
[ORIGINAL PREFACE.-] 
 
 TN the republic of letters, there is no member of such inferior 
 **■ rank, or who is so much disdained by his brethren of the 
 quill, as the humble Novelist : nor is his fate less hard in the 
 world at large, since, among the whole class of writers, per- 
 haps not one can be named of which the votaries are more 
 numerous but less respectable. 
 
 Yet, while in the annals of those few of our predecessors, to 
 whom this species of writing is indebted for being saved from 
 contempt, and rescued from depravity, we can trace such 
 names as Eousseau, Johnson, 1 Marivaux, Fielding, Eichardson, 
 and Smollett, no man need blush at starting from the same 
 post, though many, nay, most men, may sigh at finding 
 themselves distanced. 
 
 The following letters are presented to the Public — for such, 
 by novel writers, novel readers will be called, — with a very 
 singular mixture of timidity and confidence, resulting from 
 the peculiar situation of the editor; who, though trembling 
 for their success from a consciousness of their imperfections, 
 yet fears not being involved in their disgrace, while happily 
 wrapped up in a mantle of impenetrable obscurity. 
 
 To draw characters from nature, though not from life, and* 
 to mark the manners of the times, is the attempted plan of 
 the following letters. For this purpose, a young female, 
 educated in the most secluded retirement, makes, at the age 
 of seventeen, her first appearance upon the great and busy 
 
 1 However superior the capacities in which these great writers deserve 
 to be considered, they must pardon me that, for the dignity of my sub- 
 ject, I here rank the authors of Rasselas and Eloise as Novelists. 
 
lxii PREFACE. 
 
 stage of life ; with a virtuous mind, a cultivated understand- 
 ing, and a feeling heart, her ignorance of the forms, and in- 
 experience in the manners of the world, occasion all the little 
 incidents which these volumes record, and which form the 
 natural progression of the life of a young woman of obscure 
 birth, but conspicuous beauty, for the first six months after 
 her Entrance into the world. 
 
 Perhaps, were it possible to effect the total extirpation of 
 novels, our young ladies in general, and boarding-school 
 damsels in particular, might profit from their annihilation ; 
 but since the distemper they have spread seems incurable, 
 since their contagion bids defiance to the medicine of advice 
 or reprehension, and since they are found to baffle all the 
 mental art of physic, save what is prescribed by the slow 
 regimen of Time, and bitter diet of Experience ; surely all 
 attempts to contribute to the number of those which may be 
 read, if not with advantage, at least without injury, ought 
 rather to be encouraged than contemned. 
 
 Let me, therefore, prepare for disappointment those who, 
 in the perusal of these sheets, entertain the gentle expectation 
 of being transported to the fantastic regions of Romance, 
 where Fiction is coloured by all the gay tints of luxurious 
 Imagination, where Eeason is an outcast, and where the sub- 
 limity of the Marvellous rejects all aid from sober Probability. 
 The heroine of these memoirs, young, artless, and inexpe- 
 rienced, is 
 
 No faultless Monster that the world ne'er saw ; 
 
 but the offspring of Nature, and of Nature in her simplest 
 attire. 
 
 In all the Arts, the value of copies can only be propor- 
 tioned to the scarcity of originals : among sculptors and 
 painters, a fine statue, or a beautiful picture, of some great 
 master, may deservedly employ the imitative talents of young 
 and inferior artists, that their appropriation to one spot may 
 
PREFACE. lxiii 
 
 not wholly prevent the more general expansion of their 
 excellence ; but, among authors, the reverse is the case, since 
 the noblest productions of literature are almost equally attain- 
 able with the meanest. In books, therefore, imitation cannot 
 be shunned too sedulously ; for the very perfection of a 
 model which is frequently seen, serves but more forcibly to 
 mark the inferiority of a copy. 
 
 To avoid what is common, without adopting what is un- 
 natural, must limit the ambition of the vulgar herd of authors : 
 however zealous, therefore, my veneration of the great writers 
 I have mentioned, however I may feel myself enlightened by 
 the knowledge of Johnson, charmed with the eloquence of 
 Kousseau, softened by the pathetic powers of Eichardson, 
 and exhilarated by the wit of Fielding and humour of 
 Smollett ; I yet presume not to attempt pursuing the same 
 ground which they have tracked ; whence, though they may 
 have cleared the weeds, they have also culled the flowers; 
 and, though they have rendered the path plain, they have 
 left it barren. 
 
 The candour of my readers I have not the impertinence to 
 doubt, and to their indulgence I am sensible I have no claim ; 
 I have, therefore, only to intreat, that my own words may not 
 pronounce my condemnation ; and that what I have here ven- 
 tured to say in regard to imitation, may be understood as it 
 is meant, in a general sense, and not be imputed to an 
 opinion of my own originality, which I have not the vanity, 
 the folly, or the blindness, to entertain. 
 
 Whatever may be the fate of these letters, the editor is 
 satisfied they will meet with justice; and commits them to 
 the press, though hopeless of fame, yet not regardless of 
 censure. 
 

 tAoA 
 
 
EVELINA. 1 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Howard Grove, Kent. 
 
 CAN any thing, my good Sir, be more painful to a friendly 
 mind, than a necessity of communicating disagreeable 
 intelligence ? Indeed it is sometimes difficult to determine, 
 whether the relator or the receiver of evil tidings is most to 
 be pitied. 
 
 I have just had a letter from Madame Duval ; she is 
 totally at a loss in what manner to behave ; she seems de- 
 sirous to repair the wrongs she has done, yet wishes the 
 world to believe her blameless. She would fain cast upon 
 another the odium of those misfortunes for which she alone 
 is answerable. Her letter is violent, sometimes abusive, and 
 that of you ! — you, to whom she is under obligations which 
 are greater even than her faults, but to whose advice she 
 wickedly imputes all the sufferings of her much injured 
 daughter, the late Lady Belmont. The chief purport of her 
 writing I will acquaint you with; the letter itself is not 
 worthy your notice. 
 
 1 The title, " Evelina." — " Why, they say," continued he (Mr. Lort), 
 " that it's an account of a young lady's first entrance into company, and 
 of the scrapes she gets into ; and they say that there's a great deal of 
 character in it, but I have not cared to look into it, because the name is 
 so foolish — * Evelina ! ' " 
 
 " Why foolish, sir ? " cried Dr. Johnson. " Where's the folly of it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Thrale then explained the name from Evelyn, according to my 
 own meaning. 
 
 " Well," said Dr. Johnson, " if that was the reason, it is a very good 
 one." — Diary of Madame B Arblay. 
 
 B 
 
8 EVELINA. 
 
 She tells me that she has, for many years past, been in 
 continual expectation of making a journey to England, 
 which prevented her writing for information concerning 
 this melancholy subject, by giving her hopes of making 
 personal inquiries ; but family occurrences have still de- 
 tained her in France, which country she now sees no pros- 
 pect of quitting. She has, therefore, lately used her utmost 
 endeavours to obtain a faithful account of whatever related 
 to her ill- advised daughter ; the result of which giving her 
 some reason to apprehend, that, upon her death-bed, she 
 bequeathed an infant orphan to the world, she most 
 graciously says, that if you, with whom she understands the 
 child is placed, will procure authentic proofs of its relation- 
 ship to her, you may send it to Paris, where she will pro- 
 perly provide for it. 
 
 This woman is, undoubtedly, at length, self- convicted of 
 her most unnatural behaviour : it is evident, from her 
 writing, that she is still as vulgar and illiterate as when 
 V j her first husband, Mr. Evelyn, had the weakness to marry 
 her ; nor does she at all apologize for addressing herself to 
 me, though I was only once in her company. 
 
 Her letter has excited in my daughter Mirvan, a strong 
 desire to be informed of the motives which induced Madame 
 Duval to abandon the unfortunate Lady Belmont, at a 
 time when a mother's protection was peculiarly necessary 
 for her peace and her reputation. Notwithstanding I was 
 personally acquainted with all the parties concerned in 
 that affair, the subject always appeared of too delicate a 
 nature to be spoken of with the principals ; I cannot, 
 therefore, satisfy Mrs. Mirvan otherwise than by applying 
 to you. 
 
 By saying that you may send the child, Madame Duval 
 
 aims at conferring, where she most owes obligation. I pre- 
 tend not to give you advice ; you, to whose generous pro- 
 tection this helpless orphan is indebted for every thing, are 
 the best and only judge of what she ought to do ; but I am 
 much concerned at the trouble and uneasiness which this 
 unworthy woman may occasion you. 
 
 My daughter and my grandchild join with me in desir- 
 ing to be most kindly remembered to the amiable girl ; and 
 they bid me remind you, that the annual visit to Howard 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Grove^jvhich. we were formerly promised, has been discon- 
 tinuecf for more than fonr years. 
 
 I am, dear Sir, with great regard, 
 
 Your most obedient friend and servant, 
 
 M. Howard. 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 MR. VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD. 
 
 Berry Kill, Dorsetshire. 
 
 YOUR Ladyship did bnt too well foresee the perplexity 
 and uneasiness of which Madame Duval's letter has 
 been productive. However, I ought rather to be thankful 
 that I have so many years remained unmolested, than repine 
 at my present embarrassment ; since it proves, at least, that 
 this wretched woman is at length awakened to remorse. 
 
 In regard to my answer, I must humbly request your 
 Ladyship to write to this effect : " That I would not, upon 
 any account, intentionally offend Madame Duval ; but that 
 I have weighty, nay unanswerable reasons for detaining her 
 grand-daughter at present in England ; the principal of 
 which is, that it was the earnest desire of one to whose will 
 she owes implicit duty. Madame Duval may be assured, 
 that she meets with the utmost attention and tenderness ; 
 that her education, however short of my wishes, almost 
 exceeds my abilities ; and I flatter myself, when the time 
 arrives that she shall pay her duty to her grand-mother, 
 Madame Duval will find no reason to be dissatisfied with 
 what has been done for her." 
 
 Your Ladyship will not, I am sure, be surprised at this 
 answer. Madame Duval is by no means a proper com- 
 panion or guardian for a young woman : she is at once un- 
 educated and unprincipled ; ungentle in temper, and un- 
 amiable in her manners. I have long known that she has 
 persuaded herself to harbour an aversion for me — Un- 
 happy woman ! I can only regard her as an object of 
 pity! 
 
 I dare not hesitate at a request from Mrs. Mirvan ; yet, 
 
4 EVELINA. 
 
 in complying with it, I shall, for her own sake, be as con- 
 cise as I possibly can ; since the cruel transactions which 
 preceded the birth of my ward, can afford no entertain- 
 ment to a mind so humane as her's. 
 
 Your Ladyship may probably have heard, that I had the 
 honour to accompany Mr. Evelyn, the grandfather of my 
 young charge, when upon his travels, in the capacity of a 
 tutor. His unhappy marriage, immediately upon his return 
 to England, with Madame Duval, then a waiting-girl at a 
 tavern, contrary to the advice and entreaties of all his 
 friends, among whom I was myself the most urgent, induced 
 him to abandon his native land, and fix his abode in France. 
 Thither he was followed by shame and repentance ; feelings 
 which his heart was not framed to support ; for, notwith- 
 standing he had been too weak to resist the allurements of 
 beauty, which nature, though a niggard to her of every 
 other boon, had with a lavish hand bestowed on his wife ; 
 yet he was a young man of excellent character, and, till 
 thus unaccountably infatuated, of unblemished conduct. 
 He survived this ill-judged marriage but two years. Upon 
 his death-bed, with an unsteady hand, he wrote me the fol- 
 lowing note : 
 
 " My friend, forget your resentment, in favour of your 
 humanity ; — a father, trembling for the welfare of his child, 
 bequeathes her to your care. — Villars ! hear ! pity ! and 
 relieve me ! " 
 
 Had my circumstances permitted me, I should have 
 answered these words by an immediate journey to Paris ; 
 but I was obliged to act by the agency of a friend, who was 
 upon the spot, and present at the opening of the will. 
 
 Mr. Evelyn left to me a legacy of a thousand pounds, and 
 the sole guardianship of his daughter's person till her 
 eighteenth year ; conjuring me, in the most affecting terms, 
 to take the charge of her education till she was able to act 
 with propriety for herself ; but, in regard to fortune, he left 
 her wholly dependent on her mother, to whose tenderness 
 he earnestly recommended her. 
 
 Thus, though he would not, to a woman low-bred and 
 illiberal as Mrs. Evelyn, trust the conduct and morals of 
 his daughter, he nevertheless thought proper to secure to 
 her the respect and duty which, from her own child, were 
 
EVELINA. 5 
 
 certainly her due ; but, unhappily, it never occurred to 
 him that the mother, on her part, could fail in affection or 
 justice. 
 
 Miss Evelyn, Madam, from the second to the eighteenth 
 year oTher life, was brought up under my care, and, except 
 when at school, under my roof. I need not speak to your 
 Ladyship of the virtues of that excellent young creature. 
 Sjie loved me as her father ; nor was Mrs. Villars less valued 
 by her ; while to me she became so dear, that her loss was 
 little less afflicting than that which I have since sustained 
 of Mrs. Villars herself. 
 
 At that period of her life we parted ; her mother, then 
 married to Monsieur Duval, sent for her to Paris. How 
 often have I since regretted that I did not accompany her 
 _j^ thither ! Protected and supported by me, the misery and 
 ' disgrace which awaited her might perhaps have been 
 avoided. But, to be brief — Madame Duval, at the instiga- 
 tion of her husband, earnestly, or rather tyrannically, en- 
 deavoured to effect a union between Miss Evelyn and one 
 of his nephews. And, when she found her power inadequate 
 to her attempt, enraged at her non-compliance, she treated 
 her with the grossest unkindness, and threatened her with 
 poverty and ruin. 
 
 Miss Evelyn, to whom wrath and violence had hitherto 
 oeen strangers, soon grew weary of such usage ; and rashly, 
 and without a witness, consented to a private marriage with 
 Sir John Belmont, a very profligate young man, who had 
 but too successfully found means to insinuate himself into 
 her favour. He promised to conduct her to England — he 
 did. — 0, Madam, you know the rest ! — Disappointed of the 
 fortune he expected, by the inexorable rancour of the Duvals, 
 he infamously burnt the certificate of their marriage, and 
 denied that they had ever been united. 
 
 She flew to me for protection. With what mixed trans- 
 ports of joy and anguish did I again see her ! By my 
 advice, she endeavoured to procure proofs of her marriage 
 — but in vain ; her credulity had been no match for his art. 
 
 Every body believed her innocent, from the guiltless tenor 
 of her unspotted youth, and from the known libertinism of 
 her barbarous betrayer. Yet her sufferings were too acute 
 for her tender frame ; and the same moment that gave birth 
 
6 EVELINA. 
 
 to her infant, put an end at once to the sorrows and the 
 life of its mother. 
 
 The rage of Madame Duval at her elopement, abated not 
 while this injured victim of cruelty yet drew breath. She 
 probably intended, in time, to have pardoned her ; but time 
 was not allowed. When she was informed of her death, I 
 have been told, that the agonies of grief and remorse, with 
 which she was seized, occasioned her a severe fit of illness. 
 But, from the time of her recovery to the date of her letter 
 to your Ladyship, I had never heard that she manifested 
 any desire to be made acquainted with the circumstances 
 which attended the death of Lady Belmont, and the birth 
 of her helpless child. 
 
 That child, Madam, shall never, while life is lent me, 
 know the loss she has sustained. I have cherished, suc- 
 coured, and supported her, from her earliest infancy to her 
 sixteenth year ; and so amply has she repaid my care and 
 affection, that my fondest wish is now circumscribed by 
 the desire of bestowing her on one who may be sensible of 
 her worth, and then sinking to eternal rest in her arms. 
 
 Thus it has happened, that the education of the father, 
 daughter, and grand- daughter, has devolved on me. What 
 infinite misery have the two first caused me ! Should the 
 fate of the dear survivor be equally adverse, how wretched 
 will be the end of my cares — the end of my days ! 
 
 Even had Madame Duval merited the charge she claims, 
 I fear my fortitude would have been unequal to such a 
 parting ; but, being such as she is, not only my affection, 
 but my humanity, recoils, at the barbarous idea of deserting 
 the sacred trust reposed in me. Indeed, I could but ill 
 support her former yearly visits to the respectable mansion 
 at Howard Grove : pardon me, dear Madam, and do not 
 think me insensible of the honour which your Ladyship's 
 condescension confers upon us both ; but so deep is the 
 impression which the misfortunes of her mother have made 
 on my heart, that she does not, even for a moment, quit my 
 sight, without exciting apprehensions and terrors which 
 almost overpower me. Such, Madam, is my tenderness, 
 and such my weakness ! — But she is the only tie I have 
 upon earth, and I trust to your Ladyship's goodness not to 
 judge of my feelings with severity. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 I beg leave to present my humble respects to Mrs. and 
 Miss Mirvan ; and have the honour to be, 
 
 Madam, your Ladyship's most obedient 
 
 and most humble servant, 
 
 Arthur Villars. 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 [Written some months after the last.] 
 LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Dear and Rev. Sir, Howard Grove, March 8. 
 
 YOUR last letter gave me infinite pleasure : after so 
 long and tedious an illness, how grateful to yourself 
 and to your friends must be your returning health ! You 
 have the hearty wishes of every individual of this place for 
 its continuance and increase. 
 
 Will you not think I take ad vantage of your acknow- 
 ledged recovery, if I once more venture to mention your 
 pupil and Howard Grove together ? Yet you must remem- 
 ber the patience with which we submitted to your desire of 
 not parting with her during the bad state of your health, 
 tho' it was with much reluctance we forbore to solicit her 
 company. My grand- daughter, in particular, has scarce 
 been able to repress her eagerness to again meet the friend 
 of her infancy ; and, for my own part, it is very strongly 
 my wish to manifest the regard I had for the unfortunate 
 Lady Belmont, by proving serviceable to her child ; which 
 seems to me the best respect that can be paid to her 
 memory. Permit me, therefore, to lay before you a plan 
 which Mrs. Mirvan and I have formed, in consequence of 
 your restoration to health. 
 
 I would not frighten you ; — but do you think you could 
 bear to part with your young companion for two or three 
 months ? Mrs. Mirvan proposes to spend the ensuing 
 spring in London, whither, for the first time, my grand- 
 child will accompany her : Now, my good friend, it is very 
 earnestly their wish to enlarge and enliven their party by 
 
8 EYELINA. 
 
 the addition of your amiable ward, who would share, 
 equally with her own daughter, the care and attention of 
 Mrs. Mirvan. Do not start at this proposal ; it is time 
 that she should see something of the world. When young 
 people are too rigidly sequestered from it, their lively and 
 romantic imaginations paint it to them as a paradise of 
 which they have been beguiled ; but when they are shown 
 it properly, and in due time, they see it such as it really is, 
 equally shared by pain and pleasure, hope and disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 You have nothing to apprehend from her meeting with 
 Sir John Belmont, as that abandoned man is now abroad, 
 and not expected home this year. 
 
 Well, my good Sir, what say you to our scheme ? I hope 
 it will meet with your approbation ; but if it should not, be 
 assured I can never object to any decision of one who is so 
 much respected and esteemed as Mr. Villars, by 
 
 His most faithful, humble servant, 
 
 M. Howard. 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 MR. VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD. 
 
 Berry Hill, March 12. 
 
 I AM grieved, Madam, to appear obstinate, and I blush 
 to incur the imputation of selfishness. In detaining my 
 young charge thus long with myself in the country, I con- 
 sulted not solely my own inclination. Destined, in all 
 probability, to possess a very moderate fortune, I wished to 
 contract her views to something within it. The mind is 
 but too naturally prone to pleasure, but too easily yielded 
 to dissipation : it has been my study to guard her against 
 their delusions, by preparing her to expect — and to despise 
 them. But the time draws on for experience and observa- 
 tion to take the place of instruction : if I have, in some mea- 
 sure, rendered her capable of using one with discretion, and 
 making the other with improvement, I shall rejoice myself 
 with the assurance of having largely contributed to her 
 welfare. She is now of an age that happiness is eager to 
 
EVELINA, y 
 
 attend, — let her then enjoy it ! I commit her to the protec- 
 tion of your Ladyship, and only hope she may be found 
 worthy half the goodness I am satisfied she will meet with 
 at your hospitable mansion. 
 
 Thus far, Madam, I cheerfully submit to your desire. 
 In confiding my ward to the care of Lady Howard, I can 
 feel no uneasiness from her absence, but what will arise 
 from the loss of her company, since I shall be as well con- 
 vinced of her safety as if she were under my own roof. — 
 But can your Ladyship be serious in proposing to introduce 
 her to the gaieties of a London life ? Permit me to ask, 
 for what end, or for what purpose ? A youthful mind is 
 seldom totally free from ambition ; to curb that, is the first 
 step to contentment, since to diminish expectation is to 
 increase enjoyment. I apprehend nothing more than too 
 much raising her hopes and her views, which the natural 
 vivacity of her disposition would render but too easy to 
 effect. The town-acquaintance of Mrs. Mirvan are all in 
 the circle of high life ; this artless young creature, with 
 too much beauty to escape notice, has too much sensibility 
 to be indifferent to it ; but she has too little wealth to be 
 sought with propriety by men of the fashionable world. 
 
 Consider, Madam, the peculiar cruelty of her situation. 
 Only child of a wealthy Baronet, whose person she has 
 never seen, whose character she has reason to abhor, and 
 whose name she is forbidden to claim ; entitled as she is to 
 lawfully inherit his fortune and estate, is there any proba- 
 bility that he will properly own her ? And while he con- 
 tinues to persevere in disavowing his marriage with Miss 
 Evelyn, she shall never, at the expense of her mother's 
 honour, receive a part of her right as the donation of his 
 bounty. 
 
 And as to Mr. Evelyn's estate, I have no doubt but that 
 Madame Duval and her relations will dispose of it among 
 themselves. 
 
 It seems, therefore, as if this deserted child, though 
 legally heiress of two large fortunes, must owe all her 
 rational expectations to adoption and friendship. Yet her 
 income will be such as may make her happy, if she is dis- 
 posed to be so in private life ; though it will by no means 
 allow her to enjoy the luxury of a London fine lady. 
 
10 EYELINA. 
 
 Let Miss Mirvan, then, Madam, shine in all the splendour 
 of high life ; but suffer my child still to enjoy the pleasures 
 of humble retirement, with a mind to which greater views 
 are unknown. 
 
 I hope this reasoning will be honoured with your appro- 
 bation ; and I have yet another motive which has some 
 weight with me : I would not willingly give offence to any 
 human being ; and surely Madame Duval might accuse me 
 of injustice, if, while I refuse to let her grand- daughter 
 wait upon her, I consent that she should join a party of 
 pleasure to London. 
 
 In sending her to Howard Grove, not one of these 
 scruples arise ; and therefore Mrs. Clinton, a most worthy 
 woman, formerly her nurse, and now my housekeeper, shall 
 attend her thither next week. 
 
 Though I have always called her by the name of Anville, 
 and reported in this neighbourhood that her father, my 
 intimate friend, left her to my guardianship ; yet I have 
 thought it necessary she should herself be acquainted with 
 the melancholy circumstances attending her birth: for 
 though I am very desirous of guarding her from curiosity 
 and impertinence, by concealing her name, family, and 
 story, yet I would not leave it in the power of chance to 
 shock her gentle nature with a tale of so much sorrow. 
 
 You must not, Madam, expect too much from my pupil ; 
 she is quite a little rustic, and knows nothing of the world ; 
 and though her education has been the best I could bestow 
 in this retired place, to which Dorchester, the nearest 
 town, is seven miles distant, yet I shall not be surprised if 
 you should discover in her a thousand deficiencies of which 
 I have never dreamt. She must be very much altered 
 since she was last at Howard Grove. — But I will say 
 nothing of her ; I leave her to your Ladyship's own obser- 
 vations, of which I beg a faithful relation ; and am, 
 Dear Madam, m 
 
 with great respect, 
 Your obedient and most humble Servant, 
 Arthur Yillars. 
 
EVELINA. 11 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 MB. VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD. 
 
 Dear Madam, March 18. 
 
 THIS letter will be delivered to yon by my child, — the 
 child of my adoption, — my affection ! TJnblest with 
 one natnral friend, she merits a thousand. T send her to 
 you innocent as an angel, and artless as pnrity itself ; and 
 I send yon with Her the heart of yonr friend, the only hope 
 he has on earth, the subject of his tenderest thoughts, and 
 the object of his latest cares. She is one, Madam, for 
 whom alone I have lately wished to live ; and she is one 
 whom to serve I would with transport die ! Restore her 
 but to me all innocence as you receive her, and the fondest 
 hope of my heart will be amply gratified. 
 
 A. VlLLARS. 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Dear and Rev. Sir, Howard Grove. 
 
 THE solemn manner in which you have committed your 
 child to my care, has in some measure damped the 
 pleasure which I receive from the trust, as it makes me 
 fear that you suffer from your compliance, in which case I 
 shall very sincerely blame myself for the earnestness with 
 which I have requested this favour : but remember, my 
 good Sir, she is within a few days summons; and be assured, 
 I will not detain her a moment longer than you wish. 
 
 You desire my opinion of her. 
 
 She is a little angel ! I cannot wonder that you sought 
 to monopolize her : neither ought you, at finding it impos- 
 sible. 
 
 Her face and person answer my most refined ideas of 
 complete beauty : and this, though a subject of praise less 
 important to you, or, to me than any other, is yet so strik- 
 ing, it is not possible to pass it unnoticed. Had I not 
 
12 EVELINA. 
 
 known from whom she received her education, I should at 
 first sight of so perfect a face, have been in pain for her 
 understanding ; since it has been long and justly remarked, 
 that folly has ever sought alliance with beauty. 
 
 She has the same gentleness in her manners, the same 
 natural graces in her motions, that I formerly so much ad- 
 mired in her mother. Her character seems truly ingenuous 
 and simple ; and at the same time that nature has blessed 
 her with an excellent understanding and great quickness of 
 parts, she has a certain air of inexperience and innocency 
 that is extremely interesting. 
 
 You have no reason to regret the -retirement in which she 
 has lived ; since that politeness which is acquired by an ac- 
 quaintance with high life, is in her so well supplied by a 
 natural desire of obliging, joined to a deportment infinitely 
 engaging. 
 
 I observe, with great satisfaction, a growing affection be- 
 tween this amiable girl and my grand- daughter, whose 
 heart is as free from selfishness or conceit, as that of her 
 young friend is from all guile. Their regard may be mutu- 
 ally useful, since much is to be expected from emulation 
 where nothing is to be feared from envy. I would have 
 them love each other as sisters, and reciprocally supply the 
 place of that tender and happy relationship to which neither 
 of them has a natural claim. 
 
 Be satisfied, my good Sir, that your child shall meet with 
 the same attention as our own. We all join in most hearty 
 wishes for your health and happiness, and in returning our 
 sincere thanks for the favour you have conferred on us. 
 I am. dear Sir, 
 
 Your most faithful servant, 
 
 M. Howard. 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Howard Grove, March 26. 
 E not alarmed, my worthy friend, at my so speedily 
 
 B 
 
 troubling you again; I seldom use the ceremony of 
 waiting for answers, or writing with any regularity, and I 
 
EVELINA. 13 
 
 have at present immediate occasion for begging your 
 patience. 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan has just received a letter from her long ab- 
 sent husband, containing the welcome news of his hoping 
 to reach London by the beginning of next week. My 
 daughter and the Captain have been separated almost seven 
 years, and it would therefore be needless to say what joy, sur- 
 prise, and consequently confusion, his at present unexpected 
 return has caused at Howard Grove. Mrs. Mirvan, you cannot 
 doubt, will go instantly to town to meet him ; her daughter 
 is under a thousand obligations to attend her ; I grieve that 
 her mother cannot. 
 
 And now, my good Sir, I almost blush to proceed ; — but, 
 tell me, may I ask — will you permit — that your child may 
 accompany them ? Do not think us unreasonable, but con- 
 sider the many inducements which conspire to make Lon- 
 don the happiest place at present she can be in. The joyful 
 occasion of the journey ; the gaiety of the whole party, op- 
 posed to the dull life she must lead, if left here with a soli- 
 tary old woman for her sole companion, while she so well 
 knows the cheerfulness and felicity enjoyed by the rest of 
 the family, — are circumstances that seem to merit your con- 
 sideration. Mrs. Mirvan desires me to assure you, that 
 one week is all she asks, as she is certain that the Captain, 
 who hates London, will be eager to revisit Howard Grove ; 
 and Maria is so very earnest in wishing to have the com- 
 pany of her friend, that, if you are inexorable, she will be 
 deprived of half the pleasure she otherwise hopes to re- 
 ceive. 
 
 However, I will not, my good Sir, deceive you into an 
 opinion that they intend to live in a retired manner, as that 
 cannot be fairly expected. But you have no reason to be 
 uneasy concerning Madame Duval; she has not any cor- 
 respondent in England, and obtains no intelligence but by 
 common report. She must be a stranger to the name your 
 child bears ; and, even should she hear of this excursion, so 
 short a time as a week or less spent in town upon so par- 
 ticular an occasion, though previous to their meeting, can- 
 not be construed into disrespect to herself. 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan desires me to assure you, that if you will 
 oblige her, her two children shall equally share her time 
 
14 EVELINA. 
 
 and her attention. She has sent a commission to a friend 
 in town to take a house for her ; and while she waits for an 
 answer concerning it, I shall for one from yon to our peti- 
 tion. However, your child is writing herself ; and that, I 
 doubt not, will more avail than all we can possibly urge. 
 
 My daughter desires her best compliments to you if> she 
 says, you will grant her request, but not else. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Sir, we all hope every thing from your 
 goodness. 
 
 M. Howard. 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Howard Grove, March 26. 
 
 THI S house seems to be the house of joy ; every face wears 
 a smile, and a laugh is at every body's service. It is 
 quite amusing to walk about and see the general confusion ; 
 a room leading to the garden is fitting up for Captain Mir- 
 van's study. Lady Howard does not sit a moment in a 
 place ; Miss Mirvan is making caps ; every body so busy ! 
 — such flying from room to room ! — so many orders given, 
 and retracted, and given again ! nothing but hurry and per- 
 turbation. 
 
 Well but, my dear Sir, I am desired to make a request 
 to you. I hope you will not think me an encroacher ; Lady 
 Howard insists upon my writing ! — yet I hardly know how 
 to go on ; a petition implies a want, — and have you left me 
 one ? No, indeed. 
 
 I am half ashamed of myself for beginning this letter. 
 But these dear ladies are so pressing — I cannot, for my life, 
 resist wishing for the pleasures they offer me, — provided 
 you do not disapprove them. 
 
 They are to make a very short stay in town. The Cap- 
 tain will meet them in a day or two. Mrs. Mirvan and 
 her sweet daughter both go ; what a happy party ! Yet I 
 am not very eager to accompany them : at least I shall be 
 contented to remain where I am, if you desire that I 
 should. 
 
 Assured, my dearest Sir, of your goodness, your bounty, 
 
EVELINA. 15 
 
 and jour indulgent kindness, ought I to form a wish that 
 has not your sanction ? Decide for me, therefore, without 
 the least apprehension that I shall be uneasy or discon- 
 tented. While I am yet in suspense, perhaps I may hope ; 
 but I am most certain, that when you have once determined 
 I shall not repine. 
 
 They tell me that London is now in full splendour. Two 
 play-houses are open, — the Opera-house, — Ranelagh, — and 
 the Pantheon. — You see I have learned all their names. 
 However, pray don't suppose that I make any point of 
 going, for I shall hardly sigh, to see them depart without 
 me, though I shall probably never meet with such another 
 opportunity. And, indeed, their domestic happiness will 
 be so great, — it is natural to wish to partake of it. 
 
 I believe I am bewitched ! I made a resolution, when I 
 began, that I would not be urgent ; but my pen — or rather 
 my thoughts, will not suffer me to keep it — for I acknow- 
 ledge, I must acknowledge, I cannot help wishing for your 
 permission. 
 
 I almost repent already that I have made this confession ; 
 pray forget that you have read it, if this journey is dis- 
 pleasing to you. But I will not write any longer ; for the 
 more I think of this affair, the less indifferent to it I find 
 myself. 
 
 Adieu, my most honoured, most reverenced, most beloved 
 father ! for by what other name can I call you ? I have no 
 happiness or sorrow, no hope or fear, but what your kind- 
 ness bestows, or your displeasure may cause. You will not, 
 I am sure, send a refusal without reasons unanswerable, 
 and therefore I shall cheerfully acquiesce. Yet I hope — I 
 hope you will be able to permit me to go ! 
 
 I am, with the utmost affection, 
 
 gratitude, and duty, your 
 
 Evelina 
 
 I cannot to you sign Anville, and what other name 
 may I claim ? 
 
16 EVELINA 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA. 
 
 Berry Hill, March 28. 
 
 TO resist the urgency of intreaty, is a power which I have 
 not yet acquired : I aim not at an authority which de- 
 prives you of liberty, yet I would fain guide myself by a 
 prudence which should save me the pangs of repentance. 
 Your impatience to fly to a place which your imagination has 
 painted to you in colours so attractive, surprises me not ; I 
 have only to hope, that the liveliness of your fancy may not 
 deceive you : to refuse, would be raising it still higher. To 
 see my Evelina happy, is to see myself without a wish : go 
 then, my child; and may that Heaven, which alone can direct, 
 preserve and strengthen you ! To that, my love, will I daily 
 offer prayers for your felicity. may it guard, watch over 
 you, defend you from danger, save you from distress, and 
 keep vice as distant from your person as from your heart ! 
 And to me, may it grant, the ultimate blessing of closing these 
 aged eyes in the arms of one so dear — so deservedly beloved I 
 
 Arthur Villars. 1 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Queen Ann Street, London, Saturday, April 2. 
 
 THIS moment arrived. Just going to Drury Lane 2 
 Theatre. The celebrated Mr. Garrick performs 
 Ranger. I am quite in ecstacy. So is Miss Mirvan. How 
 fortunate that he should happen to play ! We would not 
 
 1 Criticism of" Evelina" — " Before I had read half the first volume 
 I was much surprised, and I confess delighted $ and most especially with 
 the letters of Mr. Villars." — Dr. Burney. 
 
 This is given as an instance that the pages fretted by the tears of one 
 generation are the least interesting to another. 
 
 2 Drury Lane Theatre. — The second theatre of that name, built by 
 Wren 5 new-faced by the brothers Adam for Garrick : opened by him, 
 with a prologue by Dr. Johnson, in 1747. 
 
KVELINA. 17 
 
 let Mrs. Mirvan rest till she consented to go. Her chief 
 objection was to our dress, for we have had no time to 
 Londonize ourselves; but we teased her into compliance, 
 and so we are to sit in some obscure place that she may 
 not be seen. As to me, I should be alike unknown in the 
 most conspicuous or most private part of the house. 
 
 I can write no more now. I have hardly time to breathe 
 — only just this, the houses and streets are not quite so 
 superb as I expected. However, I have seen nothing yet, 
 so I ought not to judge. 
 
 Well ; adieu, my dearest Sir, for the present ; I could 
 not forbear writing a few words instantly on my arrival, 
 though I suppose my letter of thanks for your consent is 
 still on the road. 
 
 Saturday Night. 
 
 0, my dear Sir, in what raptures am I returned ? Well 
 may Mr. Garrick x be so celebrated, so universally admired — 
 I had not any idea of so great a performer. 
 
 Such ease ! such vivacity in his manner ! such grace in 
 his motions ! such fire and meaning in his eyes ! — I could 
 hardly believe he had studied a written part, for every word 
 seemed to be uttered from the impulse of the moment. 
 
 His action — at once so graceful and so free ! — his voice 
 — so clear, so melodious, yet so wonderfully various in its 
 tones ! — Such animation ! — every look speaks! 
 
 I would have given the world to have had the whole play 
 acted over again. And when he danced — 0, how I envied 
 Clarinda ! I almost wished to have jumped on the stage and 
 joined them. 
 
 I am afraid you will think me mad, so I won't say any 
 more ; yet, I really believe Mr. Grarrick would make you 
 mad too if you could see him. I intend to ask Mrs. Mirvan 
 to go to the play every night while we stay in town. She 
 is extremely kind to me ; and Maria, her charming daugh- 
 ter, is the sweetest girl in the world. 
 
 1 Garrick took leave of the stage on the 10th of June, 1776, one year 
 and a half before the publication of " Evelina. " Ranger and Clarinda are 
 characters in " The Suspicious Husband," a comedy by Dr. Benjamin 
 Hoadley, the physician, 1747. Garrick died in 177-9 ; with him, accord- 
 ing to Dr. Burney, the author's father, "Nature and Shakespeare together 
 expired." 
 
 C 
 
18 EVELINA. 
 
 I shall write to yon every evening all that passes in the 
 day, and that in the same manner as , if I conld see, I shonld 
 tell you. 
 
 Sunday. 
 
 This morning we went to Portland chapel ; and after- 
 wards we walked in the Mall of St. James's Park, 1 which 
 by no means answered my expectations : it is a long straight 
 walk of dirty gravel, very nneasy to the feet ; and at each 
 end, instead of an open prospect, nothing is to be seen but 
 houses built of brick. When Mrs. Mirvan pointed out the 
 Palace to me — I think I was never much more surprised. 
 
 However, the walk was very agreeable to us ; every body 
 looked gay, and seemed pleased; and the ladies were so 
 much dressed, that Miss Mirvan and I could do nothing but 
 look at them. Mrs. Mirvan met several of her friends. No 
 wonder, for I never saw so many people assembled together 
 before. I looked about for some of my acquaintance, but in 
 vain ; for I saw not one person that I knew, which is very 
 odd, for all the world seemed there. 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan says we are not to walk in the Park again 
 next Sunday, even if we should be in town, because there is 
 better company in Kensington Gardens ; 2 but really, if you 
 had seen how much every body was dressed, you would not 
 think that possible. 
 
 Monday. 
 
 We are to go this evening to a private ball, given by Mrs. 
 Stanley, a very fashionable lady of Mrs. Mirvan's acquain- 
 tance. 
 
 We have been a-shopping as Mrs. Mirvan calls it, all this 
 morning, to buy silks, caps, gauzes, and so forth. 
 
 The shops are really very entertaining, especially the 
 mercers ; there seem to be six or seven men belonging to 
 each shop ; and every one took care, by bowing and smirk- 
 
 1 The Mall of St. James's Park. — " When I pass the Mall in the evening 
 it is prodigious to see the number of ladies walking there/' — Swift to 
 Stella. 
 
 2 Kensington Gardens. — 
 
 " Each walk, with robes of various dyes bespread, 
 
 Seems from afar a moving tulip-bed, 
 
 Where rich brocades and costly damasks glow, 
 
 And chintz, the rival of the showery bow." — Tickell. 
 
EVELINA. 19 
 
 ing, to be noticed. We were conducted from one to another, 
 and carried from room to room with so much ceremony, that 
 at first I was almost afraid to go on. 
 
 I thought I should never have chosen a silk : for they pro- 
 duced so many, I knew not which to fix upon ; and they re- 
 commended them all so strongly, that I fancy they thought 
 I only wanted persuasion to buy every thing they showed 
 me. And, indeed, they took so much trouble, that I was 
 almost ashamed I could not. 
 
 At the milliners, the ladies we met were so much dressed, 
 that I should rather have imagined they were making visits 
 than purchases. But what most diverted me was, that we 
 were more frequently served by men than by women ; and 
 such men ! so finical, so affected ! they seemed to understand 
 every part of a woman's dress better than we do ourselves ; 
 and they recommended caps and ribbands with an air of so 
 much importance, that I wished to ask them how long they 
 had left off wearing them. 
 
 The dispatch with which they work in these great shops 
 is amazing, for they have promised me a complete suit of linen 
 against the evening. 
 
 I have just had my hair dressed. You can't think how 
 oddly my head feels ; full of powder and black pins, and a 
 great cushion on the top of it. I believe you would hardly 
 know me, for my face looks quite different to what it did 
 before my hair was dressed. When I shall be able to make 
 use of a comb for myself I cannot tell ; for my hair is so 
 much entangled, frizzled they call it, that I fear it will be 
 very difficult. 
 
 I am half afraid of this ball to-night ; for, you know, I 
 have never danced but at school : however, Miss Mirvan says 
 there is nothing in it. Yet I wish it was over. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Sir ; pray excuse the wretched stuff I 
 write ; perhaps I may improve by being in this town, and 
 then my letters will be less unworthy your reading. Mean 
 time, I am, 
 
 Your dutiful and affectionate, 
 though unpolished, 
 
 Evelina. 
 
 Poor Miss Mirvan cannot wear one of the caps she made, 
 because they dress her hair too large for them. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Queen Ann Street, April 5, Tuesday Morning. 
 
 I HAVE a vast deal to say, and shall give all this morning 
 to my pen. As to my plan of writing every evening the 
 adventnres of the day, I find it impracticable ; for the diver- 
 sions here are so very late, that if I begin my letters after 
 them, I could not go to bed at all. 
 
 We past a most extraordinary evening. A private ball 
 this was called, so I expected to have seen about four or five 
 couple ; but Lord ! my dear Sir, I believe I saw half the 
 world ! Two very large rooms were full of company ; in one 
 were cards for the elderly ladies, and in the other were the 
 dancers. My mamma Mirvan, for she always calls me her 
 child, said she would sit with Maria and me till we were 
 provided with partners, and then join the card-players. 
 
 The gentlemen, as they passed and repassed, looked as if 
 they thought we were quite at their disposal, and only wait- 
 ing for the honour of their commands ; and they sauntered 
 about, in a careless indolent manner, as if with a view to 
 keep us in suspense. I don't speak of this in regard to Miss 
 Mirvan and myself only, but to the ladies in general : and 
 I thought it so provoking, that I determined in my own 
 mind that, far from humouring such airs, I would rather 
 not dance at all, than with any one who should seem to think 
 me ready to accept the first partner who would condescend 
 to take me. 
 
 Not long after, a young man, who had for some time 
 looked at us with a kind of negligent impertinence, ad- 
 vanced on tiptoe towards me ; he had a set smile on his face, 
 and his dress was so foppish, that I really believe he even 
 wished to be stared at ; and yet he was very ugly. 
 
 Bowing almost to the ground with a sort of swing, and 
 waving his hand with the greatest conceit, after a short and 
 silly pause, he said, " Madam — may I presume ? " — and 
 stopt, offering to take my hand. I drew it back, but could 
 scarce forbear laughing. " Allow me, Madam," continued 
 
EVELINA. '21 
 
 he, affectedly breaking off every half moment, " the honour 
 and happiness — if I am not so nnhappy as to address you too 
 late — to have the happiness and honour — " l 
 
 Again he would have taken my hand ; but, bowing my 
 head, I begged to be excused, and turned to Miss Mirvan to 
 conceal my laughter. He then desired to know if I had 
 already engaged myself to some more fortunate man ? I 
 said No, and that I believed I should not dance at all. He 
 would keep himself, he told me, disengaged, in hopes I 
 should relent ; and then, uttering some ridiculous speeches 
 of sorrow and disappointment, though his face still wore the 
 same invariable smile, he retreated. 
 
 It so happened, as we have since recollected, that during 
 this little dialogue Mrs. Mirvan was conversing with the lady 
 of the house. And very soon after, another gentleman, who 
 seemed about six-and-twenty years old, gaily but not fop- 
 pishly dressed, and indeed extremely handsome, with an air 
 of mixed politeness and gallantry, desired to know if I was 
 engaged, or would honour him with my hand. So he was 
 pleased to say, though I am sure I know not what honour 
 he could receive from me ; but these sort of expressions, I 
 find, are used as words of course, without any distinction of 
 persons, or study of propriety. 
 
 Well, I bowed, and I am sure 1 coloured ; for indeed I 
 was frightened at the thoughts of dancing before so many 
 people, all strangers, and, which was worse, with a stranger : 
 however, that was unavoidable ; for, though I looked round 
 the room several times, I could not see one person that I 
 knew. And so he took my hand, and led me to join in the 
 dance. 
 
 The minuets were over before we arrived, for we were 
 kept late by the milliners making us wait for our things. 
 
 He seemed very desirous of entering into conversation 
 with me ; but I was seized with such a panic, that I could 
 hardly speak a word, and nothing but the shame of so soon 
 changing my mind prevented my returning to my seat, and 
 declining to dance at all. 
 
 1 Private Balls. — It seems that, at private balls, gentlemen might ask » 
 ladies to dance, without any introduction. Partners were sometimes 
 changed at the end of every second dance. At other times the same couple 
 danced together the whole evening. 
 
22 ) EVELINA. 
 
 He appeared to be surprised at my terror, which I believe 
 was but too apparent : however, he asked no questions, 
 though I fear he must think it very strange, for I did not 
 choose to tell him it was owing to my never before dancing 
 but with a school- girl. 
 
 His conversation was sensible and spirited ; his air, and 
 address were open and noble ; his manners gentle, attentive, 
 and infinitely engaging ; his person is all elegance, and his 
 countenance the most animated and expressive I have ever 
 seen. 
 
 In a short time we were joined by Miss Mirvan, who 
 stood next couple to us. But how was I startled when she 
 whispered me that my partner was a nobleman ! This gave 
 me a new alarm : how will he be provoked, thought I, when 
 he finds what a simple rustic he has honoured with his 
 choice ! one whose ignorance of the world makes her per- 
 V petually fear doing something wrong ! 
 
 That he should be so much my superior every way, quite 
 t disconcerted me ; and you will suppose my spirits were not 
 much raised, when I heard a lady, in passing us, say, " This 
 is the most difficult dance I ever saw." 
 
 " dear, then," cried Maria to her partner, " with your 
 leave, I'll sit down till the next." 
 
 11 So will I too, then," cried I, " for I am sure I can 
 hardly stand." 
 
 " But you must speak to your partner first," answered 
 she ; for he had turned aside to talk with some gentlemen. 
 However, I had not sufficient courage to address him ; and 
 so away we all three tript, and seated ourselves at another 
 end of the room. 
 
 But, unfortunately for me, Miss Mirvan soon after 
 suffered herself to be prevailed upon to attempt the dance ; 
 and just as she rose to go, she cried, " My dear, yonder is 
 your partner, Lord Orville, walking about the room in 
 search of you." 
 
 " Don't leave me then, dear girl ! " cried I ; but she was 
 obliged to go. And now I was more uneasy than ever ; I 
 would have given the world to have seen Mrs. Mirvan, and 
 begged of her to make my apologies ; for what, thought I, 
 can I possibly say to him in excuse for running away ? he 
 must either conclude me a fool, or half mad ; for any one 
 
EVELINA. 23 
 
 brought up in the great world, and accustomed to its ways, 
 can have no idea of such sort of fears as mine. 
 
 My confusion increased when I observed that he was 
 every where seeking me, with apparent perplexity and sur- 
 prise ; but when, at last, I saw him move towards the place 
 where I sat, I was ready to sink with shame and distress. 
 I found it absolutely impossible to keep my seat, because 1 
 could not think of a word to say for myself ; and so I rose, 
 and walked hastily towards the card-room, resolving to stay 
 with Mrs. Mirvan the rest of the evening, and not to dance 
 at all. But before I could find her, Lord Orville saw and 
 approached me. 
 
 He begged to know if I was not well ? You may easily 
 imagine how much I was embarrassed. I made no answer ; 
 but hung my head like a fool, and looked on my fan. 
 
 He then, with an air the most respectfully serious, asked 
 if he had been so unhappy as to offend me ? 
 
 " No, indeed ! " cried I ; and, in hopes of changing the 
 discourse, and preventing his further inquiries, I desired to 
 know if he had seen the young lady who had been convers- 
 ing with me ? 
 
 No ; — but would I honour him with any commands to 
 her ? 
 
 " 0, by no means ! " 
 
 Was there any other person with whom I wished to 
 speak ? 
 
 I said no, before I knew I had answered at all. 
 
 Should he have the pleasure of bringing me any refresh- 
 ment ? 
 
 I bowed, almost involuntarily. And away he flew. 
 
 I was quite ashamed of being so troublesome, and so 
 much above myself as these seeming airs made me appear ; 
 but indeed I was too much confused to think or act with 
 any consistency. 
 
 If he had not been as swift as lightning, I don't know 
 whether I should not have stolen away again ; but he re- 
 turned in a moment. When I had drank a glass of lemon- 
 ade, he hoped, he said, that I would again honour him with 
 my hand, as a new dance was just begun. I had not the 
 presence of mind to say a single word, and so I let him once 
 more lead me to the place I had left. 
 
24 EVELINA. 
 
 Shocked to find how silly, how childish a part I had 
 acted, my former fears of dancing before such a company, 
 and with such a partner, returned more forcibly than ever. 
 I suppose he perceived my uneasiness ; for he intreated me 
 to sit down again if dancing was disagreeable to me. But 
 I was quite satisfied with the folly I had already shewn ; 
 and therefore declined his offer, though I was really scarce 
 able to stand. 
 
 Under such conscious disadvantages, you may easily 
 imagine, my dear Sir, how ill I acquitted myself. But, 
 though I both expected and deserved to find him very much 
 mortified and displeased at his ill fortune in the choice he 
 had made ; yet, to my very great relief, he appeared to be 
 even contented, and very much assisted and encouraged me. 
 These people in high life have too much presence of mind, 
 I believe, to seem disconcerted, or out of humour, however 
 they may feel : for had I been the person of the most con- 
 sequence in the room, I could not have met with more 
 attention and respect. 
 
 When the dance was over, seeing me still very much 
 flurried, he led me to a seat, saying that he would not suffer 
 me to fatigue myself from politeness. 
 
 And then, if my capacity, or even if my spirits had been 
 better, in how animated a conversation might I have been 
 engaged ! it was then I saw that the rank of Lord Orville 
 was his least recommendation, his understanding and his 
 manners being far more distinguished. His remarks upon 
 the company in general were so apt, so just, so lively, I am 
 almost surprised myself that they did not reanimate me; 
 but, indeed, I was too well convinced of the ridiculous part 
 I had myself played before so nice an observer, to be able 
 to enjoy his pleasantry : so self-compassion gave me feeling 
 for others. Yet I had not the courage to attempt either to 
 defend them, or to rally in my turn ; but listened to him in 
 silent embarrassment. 
 
 When he found this, he changed the subject, and talked 
 of public places, and public performers ; but he soon dis- 
 covered that I was totally ignorant of them. 
 
 He then, very ingeniously, turned the discourse to the 
 amusements and occupations of the country. 
 
 It now struck me, that he was resolved to try whether or 
 
EVELINA. 25 
 
 not I was capable of talking upon amy subject. This put so 
 great a constraint upon my thoughts, that I was unable to 
 go further than a monosyllable, and not even so far, when 
 I could possibly avoid it. 
 
 We were sitting in this manner, he conversing with all 
 gaiety, I looking down with all foolishness, when that fop 
 who had first asked me to dance, with a most ridiculous 
 solemnity approached, and, after a profound bow or two, 
 said, " I humbly beg pardon, Madam, — and of you too, my 
 Lord, — for breaking in upon such agreeable conversation — 
 which must, doubtless, be more delectable — than what I 
 have the honour to offer — but — " 
 
 I interrupted him — I blush for my folly, — with laughing ; 
 yet I could not help it ; for, added to the man's stately 
 foppishness, (and he actually took snuff between every three 
 words) when I looked round at Lord Orville, I saw such 
 extreme surprise in his face, — the cause of which appeared 
 so absurd, that I could not for my life preserve my gravity. 
 
 I had not laughed before from the time I had left Miss 
 Mirvan, and I had much better have cried then ; Lord 
 Orville actually stared at me ; the beau, I know not his 
 name, looked quite enraged. " Refrain — Madam," said he, 
 with an important air, " a few moments refrain ! — I have 
 but a sentence to trouble you with. — May I know to what 
 accident I must attribute not having the honour of your 
 hand ? " 
 
 " Accident, Sir ! " repeated I, much astonished. 
 
 " Yes, accident, Madam ; — for surely, — I must take the 
 liberty to observe — pardon me, Madam, — it ought to be no 
 common one — that should tempt a lady — so young a one 
 too, — to be guilty of ill-manners." 
 
 A confused idea now for the first time entered my head, 
 of something I had heard of the rules of an assembly ; but 
 I was never at one before, — I have only danced at school, — 
 and so giddy and heedless I was, that I had not once con- 
 sidered the impropriety of refusing one partner, and after- 
 wards accepting another. I was thunderstruck at the re- 
 collection : but, while these thoughts were rushing into my 
 head, Lord Orville, with some warmth, said, " This Lady, 
 Sir, is incapable of meriting such an accusation ! " 
 
 The creature — for I am very angry with him — made a 
 
26 EVELINA. 
 
 low bow, and with a grin the most malicious I ever saw, 
 " My Lord," said he, " far be it from me to accuse the lady, 
 for having the discernment to distinguish and prefer — the 
 superior attractions of your Lordship.'' 
 
 Again he bowed, and walked off. 
 
 Was ever any thing so provoking ? I was ready to die 
 with shame. " What a coxcomb ! " exclaimed Lord Orville : 
 while I, without knowing what I did, rose hastily, and 
 moving off, " I can't imagine," cried I, " where Mrs. Mirvan 
 has hid herself ! " 
 
 " Give me leave to see," answered he. I bowed and sat 
 down again, not daring to meet his eyes ; for what must he 
 think of me, between my blunder, and the supposed pre- 
 ference ? 
 
 He returned in a moment, and told me that Mrs. Mirvan 
 was at cards, but would be glad to see me ; and I went 
 immediately. There was but one chair vacant ; so, to my 
 great relief, Lord Orville presently left us. I then told 
 Mrs. Mirvan my disasters ; and she good-naturedly blamed 
 herself for not having better instructed me ; but said, she 
 had taken it for granted that I must know such common 
 customs. However, the man may, I think, be satisfied with 
 his pretty speech, and carry his resentment no farther. 
 
 In a short time Lord Orville returned. I consented, 
 with the best grace I could, to go down another dance, for 
 I had had time to recollect myself ; and therefore resolved 
 to use some exertion, and, if possible, appear less a fool than 
 I had hitherto done ; for it occurred to me, that, insignifi- 
 cant as I was, compared to a man of his rank and figure ; 
 yet, since he had been so unfortunate as to make choice of 
 me for a partner, why I should endeavour to make the best 
 of it. 
 
 The dance, however, was short, and he spoke very little ; 
 so I had no opportunity of putting my resolution in prac- 
 tice. He was satisfied, I suppose, with his former success- 
 less efforts to draw me out : or, rather, I fancied, he had 
 been inquiring who I was. This again disconcerted me ; 
 and the spirits I had determined to exert, again failed me. 
 Tired, ashamed, and mortified, I begged to sit down till we 
 returned home, which I did soon after. Lord Orville did 
 me the honour to hand me to the coach, talking all the way 
 
EYELINA. 27 
 
 of the honour I had done Mm! these fashionable 
 people ! 
 
 Well, my dear Sir, was it not a strange evening ? I 
 could not help being thus particular, because, to me, every- 
 thing is so new. But it is now time to conclude. I am, 
 with all love and duty, your 
 
 Evelina. 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Tuesday, April 5. 
 
 THERE is to be no end to the troubles of last night. I 
 have this moment, between persuasion and laughter, 
 gathered from Maria the most curious dialogue that ever I 
 heard. You will at first be startled at my vanity ; but. my 
 dear Sir, have patience ! 
 
 It must have passed while I was sitting with Mrs. Mir van 
 in the card-room. Maria was taking some refreshment, 
 and saw Lord Orville advancing for the same purpose him- 
 self ; but he did not know her, though she immediately re- 
 collected him. Presently after, a very gay-looking man, 
 stepping hastily up to him, cried, " Why, my Lord, what 
 have you done with your lovely partner ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! " answered Lord Orville with a smile and a 
 shrug. 
 
 " By Jove," cried the man, " she is the most beautiful 
 creature I ever saw in my life ! " 
 
 Lord Orville, as he well might, laughed ; but answered, 
 11 Yes, a pretty modest-looking girl." 
 
 " my Lord ! " cried the madman, " she is an angel ! " 
 
 " A silent one," returned he. 
 
 " Why ay, my Lord, how stands she as to that ? She 
 looks all intelligence and expression." 
 
 " A poor weak girl ! " answered Lord Orville, shaking 
 his head. 
 
 " By Jove," cried the other, " I am glad to hear it ! " 
 
 At that moment, the same odious creature who had been 
 my former tormentor, joined them. Addressing Lord 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Orville with great respect, lie said, " I beg pardon, my Lord, 
 — if I was — as I fear might be the case — rather too severe 
 in my censnre of the lady who is honoured with your pro- 
 tection — but, my Lord, ill-breeding is apt to provoke a man." 
 
 " Ill-breeding ! " cried my unknown champion, " im- 
 possible ! that elegant face can never be so vile a mask ! " 
 
 " O Sir, as to that," answered he, " you must allow me to 
 judge ; for though I pay all deference to your opinion — in 
 other things, — yet I hope you will grant — and I appeal to 
 your Lordship also — that I am not totally despicable as a 
 judge of good or ill-manners." 
 
 " I was so wholly ignorant," said Lord Orville, gravely, 
 " of the provocation you might have had, that I could not 
 but be surprised at your singular resentment." 
 
 " It was far from my intention," answered he, " to offend 
 your lordship ; but, really, for a person whojg nolwly, to 
 give herself such airs, — I own I could not command my 
 passion. For, my Lord, though I have made diligent 
 inquiry — I cannot learn who she is." 
 
 " By what I can make out," cried my defender, " she 
 must be a country parson's daughter." 
 
 " He ! he ! he ! very good, 'pon honour ! " cried the fop ; 
 — " well, so I could have sworn by her manners." 
 
 And then, delighted at his own wit, he laughed, and went 
 away, as I suppose, to repeat it. 
 
 " But what the deuce is all this ? " demanded the other. 
 
 "Why a very foolish affair," answered Lord Orville; 
 " your Helen first refused this coxcomb, and then — danced 
 with me. This is all I can gather of it." 
 
 " O, Orville," returned he, " you are a happy man ! — But 
 ill-bred ? — I can never believe it ! And she looks too sen- 
 sible to be ignorant." 
 
 " Whether ignorant or mischievous, I will not pretend to 
 determine ; but certain it is, she attended to all I could say 
 to her, though I have really fatigued myself with fruitless 
 endeavours to entertain her, with the most immoveable 
 gravity ; but no sooner did Lovel begin his complaint, than 
 she was seized with a fit of laughing, first affronting the 
 poor beau, and then enjoying his mortification." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! why there is some genius in that, my 
 Lord, though perhaps rather — rustic" 
 
EVELINA. 29 
 
 Here Maria was called to dance, and so heard no more. 
 
 Now, tell me, my dear Sir, did yon ever know any thing 
 more provoking ? " A poor weak girl ! " " ignorant or mis- 
 chievous ! " What mortifying words ! I am resolved, how- 
 ever, that I will never again be tempted to go to an 
 assembly. I wish I had been in Dorsetshire. 
 
 Well, after this, yon will not be snrprised that Lord Or- 
 ville contented himself with an inqniry after onr healths 
 this morning, by his servant, withont tronbling himself to 
 call, as Miss Mirvan had told me he would ; bnt perhaps it 
 may be only a conntry custom. 
 
 I would not live here for the world. I care not how soon 
 we leave town. London soon grows tiresome. I wish the 
 Captain would come. Mrs. Mirvan talks of the opera for 
 this evening ; however, I am very indifferent about it. 
 
 Wednesday Morning. 
 
 Well, my dear Sir, I have been pleased against my will, 
 I could almost say ; for I must own I went out in very ill 
 humour, which I think you cannot wonder at : but the 
 music and the singing were charming ; they soothed me 
 into a pleasure the most grateful, the best suited to my 
 present disposition in the world. I hope to persuade Mrs. 
 Mirvan to go again on Saturday. I wish the opera was 
 every night. It is, of all entertainments, the sweetest and 
 most delightful. Some of the songs seemed to melt my 
 very soul. It was what they call a serious opera, as the 
 comic first singer was ill. 1 
 
 To-night we go to Ranelagh. 2 If any of those three 
 
 1 The Opera. — The first Opera-House in the Haymarket, built and 
 established by Sir John Vanbrugh, architect and dramatist, opened, 
 1705, burnt down, 1789. 
 
 2 Ranelagh. — A place of public entertainment, erected (circ. 1740) on 
 the site of the gardens of a villa of Viscount Ranelagh, at Chelsea. The 
 principal room (the Rotunda), begun in 1741, and opened for public 
 breakfasts on the 5th of April, 1742, was 185 feet in diameter, with an 
 orchestra in the centre, and tiers of boxes all round. The chief amuse- 
 ment was promenading (as it was called) round and round the circular area 
 below, and taking refreshments in the boxes, while the orchestra exe- 
 cuted different pieces of music. It was a kind of u Vauxhall under 
 cover," warmed with coal fires. The Rotunda is said to have been pro- 
 jected by Lacy, the patentee of Drury Lane Theatre. The ccmp d'ceil, 
 
* 
 
 30 EVELINA. 
 
 gentlemen who conversed so freely about me should be 
 there — but I won't think of it. 
 
 Thursday Morning. 
 
 Well, my dear Sir, we went to Ranelagh. It is a charm- 
 ing place ; and the brilliancy of the lights, on my first en- 
 trance, made me almost think I was in some inchanted 
 castle or fairy palace, for all looked like magic to me. 
 
 The very first person I saw was Lord Orville. I felt so 
 confused ! — but he did not see me. After tea, Mrs. Mirvan 
 being tired, Maria and I walked round the room alone. 
 Then again we saw him, standing by the orchestra. We, 
 too, stopt to hear a singer. He bowed to me ; I courtesied, 
 and I am sure I coloured. We soon walked on, not liking 
 our situation : however, he did not follow us ; and when we 
 passed by the orchestra again, he was gone. Afterwards, 
 in the course of the evening, we met him several times ; but 
 he was always with some party, and never spoke to us, 
 though whenever he chanced to meet my eyes, he con- 
 descended to bow. 
 
 I cannot but be hurt at the opinion he entertains of me. 
 It is true my own behaviour incurred it — yet he is himself 
 the most agreeable, and, seemingly, the most amiable man 
 \ in the world, and therefore it is that I am grieved to be 
 thought ill of by him : for of whose esteem ought we to be 
 ambitious, if not of those who most merit our own ? — But 
 \ it is too late to reflect upon this now. Well, I can't help 
 it. — However, I think I have done with assemblies. 
 
 This morning was destined for seeing sights, auctions, 
 curious shops, and so forth ; but my head ached, and I was 
 not in a humour to be amused, and so I made them go with- 
 out me, though very unwillingly. They are all kindness. 
 
 And now I am sorry I did not accompany them, for I 
 know not what to do with myself. I had resolved not to 
 go to the play to-night ; but I believe I shall. In short, I 
 hardly care whether I do or not. 
 
 Dr. Johnson declared, " was the finest thing he had ever seen." The 
 last appearance (if one may use the expression) of Ranelagh was when 
 the installation ball of the Knights of the Bath, in 1 802, was given there. 
 Its site is now part of Chelsea Hospital garden, between Church Row 
 and the river, to the east of the Hospital. No trace remains. 
 
EVELINA. 31 
 
 I thought I had done wrong ! Mrs. Mirvan and Maria 
 have been half the town over, and so entertained ! — while 
 I, like a fool, staid at home to do nothing. And, at the 
 auction in Pall-mall, who should they meet but Lord 
 Orville. He sat next to Mrs. Mirvan, and they talked a 
 great deal together ; but she gave me no account of the 
 conversation. 
 
 I may never have such another opportunity of seeing 
 London ; I am quite sorry that I was not of the party ; but 
 I deserve this mortification, for having indulged my ill- 
 humour. 
 
 Thursday Night. 
 
 We are just returned from the play, which was King 
 Lear, and has made me very sad. We did not see any 
 body we knew. 
 
 Well, adieu, it is too late to write more. 
 
 Friday. 
 
 Captain Mirvan is arrived. I have not spirits to give an 
 account of his introduction, for he has really shocked me. 
 I do not like him. He seems to be surly, vulgar, and dis- 
 agreeable. 1 
 
 Almost the same moment that Maria was presented to 
 him, he began some rude jests upon the bad shape of her 
 nose, and called her a tall ill-formed thing. She bore it 
 with the utmost good humour ; but that kind and sweet- 
 tempered woman, Mrs. Mirvan, deserved a better lot. I 
 am amazed she would marry him. 
 
 For my own part, I have been so shy, that I have hardly 
 spoken to him, or he to me. I cannot imagine why the 
 family was so rejoiced at his return. If he had spent his 
 whole life abroad, I should have supposed they might 
 rather have been thankful than sorrowful. However, I 
 hope they do not think so ill of him as I do. At least, 
 I am sure they have too much prudence to make it known. 
 
 1 Character of Captain Mirvan. — " I have this to comfort me, — that the 
 more I see of sea-captains, the less reason I have to be ashamed of Cap- 
 tain Mirvan ; for they have all so irresistible a propensity to wanton 
 mischief, to roasting beaux, and detesting old women, that I quite re- 
 joice I showed the book to no one 'ere printed, lest I should have been 
 prevailed upon to soften his character." — Diary and Letters of Madame 
 IfArblay, part viii., May, 1780. 
 
32 EYELINA. 
 
 Saturday Night. 
 
 We have been to the opera, and I am still more pleased 
 than I was on Tnesday. I could have thought myself in 
 Paradise, but for the continual talking of the company 
 around me. We sat in the pit, where everybody was 
 dressed in so high a style, that if I had been less delighted 
 with the performance, my eyes would have found me suffi- 
 cient entertainment from looking at the ladies. 
 
 I was very glad I did not sit next the Captain ; for he 
 could not bear the music or singers, and was extremely 
 gross in his observations on both. When the opera was 
 over, we went into a place called the coffee-room, where 
 ladies, as well as gentlemen, assemble. There are all sorts 
 of refreshments, and the company walk about, and chat 
 with the same ease and freedom as in a private room. 
 
 On Monday we go to a ridotto, and on Wednesday we 
 return to Howard Grove. The Captain says he won't stay 
 here to be smoked with filth any longer ; but, having been 
 seven years smoked with a turning sun, he will retire to the 
 country, and sink into a, fair weather chap. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Sir. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 My dear Sir, Tuesday, April 12. 
 
 WE came home from the ridotto l so late, or rather so 
 early, that it was not possible for me to write. In- 
 deed we did not go — you will be frightened to hear it — till 
 past eleven o'clock : but nobody does. A terrible reverse 
 of the order of nature ! We sleep with the sun, and wake 
 with the moon. 
 
 The room was very magnificent, the lights and decora- 
 tions were brilliant, and the company gay and splendid. 
 But I should have told you, that I made many objections to 
 being of the party, according to the resolution I had formed. 
 However, Maria laughed me out of my scruples, and so once 
 again I went to an assembly. 
 
 1 The Ridotto was a dancing assembly in public rooms. 
 
EVELINA. 33 
 
 Miss Mirvan danced a minuet ; but I had not the courage 
 to follow her example. In our walks I saw Lord Orville. 
 He was quite alone, but did not observe us. Yet, as he 
 seemed of no party, I thought it was not impossible that he 
 might join us ; and though I did not wish much to dance 
 at all — yet, as I was more acquainted with him than with 
 any other person in the room, I must own I could not help 
 thinking it would be infinitely more desirable to dance again 
 with him than with an entire stranger. To be sure, after 
 all that had passed, it was very ridiculous to suppose it even 
 probable that Lord Orville would again honour me with his 
 choice ; yet I am compelled to confess my absurdity, by way 
 of explaining what follows. 
 
 Miss Mirvan was soon engaged ; and presently after a very 
 fashionable gay looking man, who seemed about thirty years 
 of age, addressed himself to me, and begged to have the 
 honour of dancing with me* Now Maria's partner was a 
 gentleman of Mrs. Mirvan's acquaintance ; for she had told 
 us it was highly improper for young women to dance with 
 strangers at any public assembly. Indeed it was by no 
 means my wish so to do : yet I did not like to confine 
 myself from dancing at all ; neither did I dare refuse this 
 gentleman as I had done Mr. Lovel, and then, if any ac- 
 quaintance should offer, accept him : and so, all these 
 reasons combining, induced me to tell him — yet I blush to 
 write it to you ! — that I w &sjtf ready engaged ; by which I 
 meant to keep myself at liberty to~dance, or not, as matters 
 should fall out. 
 
 I suppose my consciousness betrayed my artifice, for he 
 looked at me as if incredulous ; and, instead of being satis- 
 fied with my answer and leaving me, according to my expec- 
 tation, he walked at my side, and, with the greatest ease 
 imaginable, began a conversation in the free style which 
 only belongs to old and intimate acquaintance. But, what 
 was most provoking, he asked me a thousand questions con- 
 cerning the partner to whom I was engaged. And at last he 
 said, " Is it really possible that a man whom you have 
 honoured with your acceptance can fail to be at hand to 
 profit from your goodness ? " 
 
 I felt extremely foolish ; and begged Mrs. Mirvan to lead 
 to a seat ; which she very obligingly did. The Captain sat 
 
34 EVELINA. 
 
 next her ; and to my great surprise, this gentleman thought 
 proper to follow, and seat himself next to me. 
 
 "What an insensible!" continued he; "why, Madam, 
 you are missing the most delightful dance in the world ! — 
 The man must be either mad or a fool — Which do you in- 
 cline to think him yourself ? " 
 
 " Neither, Sir," answered I, in some confusion. 
 
 He begged my pardon for the freedom of his supposition, 
 saying, " I really was off my guard, from astonishment that 
 any man can be so much and so unaccountably his own 
 enemy. But where, Madam, can he possibly be ! — has he 
 left the room ! — or has not he been in it ? " 
 
 " Indeed, Sir," said I peevishly, " I know nothing of 
 him." 
 
 " I don't wonder that you are disconcerted, Madam ; it is 
 really very provoking. The best part of the evening will 
 be absolutely lost. He deserves not that you should wait 
 for him." 
 
 " I do not, Sir," said I, " and I beg you not to — " 
 
 " Mortifying, indeed, Madam," interrupted he, "a lady 
 to wait for a gentleman ! — fie ! — careless fellow ! — What 
 can detain him ? — Will you give me leave to seek him ?" 
 
 " If you please, Sir," answered I, quite terrified lest Mrs. 
 Mirvan should attend to him ; for she looked very much sur- 
 prised at seeing me enter into conversation with a stranger. 
 
 " With all my heart," cried he ; " pray, what coat has 
 he on?" 
 
 " Indeed I never looked at it." 
 
 " Out upon him ! " cried he ; " What ! did he address you 
 in a coat not worth looking at ? — What a shabby wretch ! " 
 
 How ridiculous ! I really could not help laughing, which 
 I fear encouraged him, for he went on. 
 
 " Charming creature ! — and can. you really bear ill usage 
 with so much sweetness ? Can you, like patience on a 
 monument, smile in the midst of disappointment ? — For my 
 part, though I am not the offended person, my indignation 
 is so great, that I long to kick the fellow round the room ! 
 — unless, indeed, — (hesitating and looking earnestly at me,) 
 unless, indeed, — it is a partner of your own creatmg f " 
 
 I was dreadfully abashed, and could not make any 
 answer. 
 
EYELINA. 35 
 
 " But no!" cried he (again, and with warmth,) "It 
 cannot be that you are so cruel ! Softness itself is painted 
 in your eyes. — You could not, surely, have the barbarity so 
 wantonly to trifle with my misery." 
 
 I turned away from this nonsense with real disgust, 
 Mrs. Mirvan saw my confusion, but was perplexed what to 
 think of it, and I could not explain to her the cause, lest the 
 Captain should hear me. I therefore proposed to walk ; 
 she consented, and we all rose ; but, would you believe it ? 
 this man had the assurance to rise too, and walk close by 
 my side, as if of my party ! 
 
 " Now/' cried he, " I hope we shall see this ingrate. — Is 
 that he ? " — pointing to an old man who was lame, " or 
 that ? " And in this manner he asked me of whoever was 
 old or ugly in the room. I made no sort of answer : and 
 when he found that I was resolutely silent, and walked on 
 as much as I could without observing him, he suddenly 
 stamped his foot, and cried out in a passion, " Fool ! idiot ! 
 booby!" 
 
 I turned hastily toward him : " O, Madam," continued 
 he, " forgive my vehemence ; but I am distracted to think 
 there should exist a wretch who can slight a blessing for 
 which I would forfeit my life ! — that I could but meet 
 him, I would soon — But I grow angry : pardon me, Madam, 
 my passions are violent, and your injuries affect me ! " 
 
 I began to apprehend he was a madman, and stared at 
 him with the utmost astonishment. " I see you are moved, 
 Madam," said he ; " generous creature ! — but don't be 
 alarmed, I am cool again, I am indeed, — upon my soul I 
 am ; — I intreat you, most lovely of mortals ! I intreat you 
 to be easy." 
 
 " Indeed, Sir," said I very seriously, " I must insist 
 upon your leaving me ; you are quite a stranger to me, and 
 I am both unused, and averse to your language and your 
 manners." 
 
 This seemed to have some effect on him. He made me 
 a low bow, begged my pardon, and vowed he would not for 
 the world offend me. 
 
 " Then, Sir, you must leave me," cried I. " I am gone, 
 Madam, I am gone ! " with a most tragical air ; and he 
 inarched away at a quick pace, out of sight in a moment ; 
 
36 ETELINA. 
 
 bnt before I had time to congratulate myself, he was again 
 at my elbow. 
 
 " And could you really let me go, and not be sorry ? — 
 Can you see me suffer torments inexpressible, and yet retain 
 all your favour for that miscreant who flies you ? — Un- 
 grateful puppy ! — I could bastinado him ! " 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, my dear," cried Mrs. Mirvan, " who 
 is he talking of ? " 
 
 " Indeed — I do not know, Madam," said I ; " but I wish 
 he would leave me." 
 
 " What's all that there ? " cried the Captain. 
 
 The man made a low bow, and said, " Only, Sir, a slight 
 objection which this young lady makes to dancing with me, 
 and which I am endeavouring to obviate. I shall think 
 myself greatly honoured if you will intercede for me." 
 
 " That lady, Sir," said the Captain coldly, "is her own 
 mistress." And he walked sullenly on. 
 
 " You, Madam," said the man (who looked delighted, to 
 Mrs. Mirvan), " you, I hope, will have the goodness to 
 speak for me." 
 
 11 Sir," answered she gravely, " I have not the pleasure 
 of being acquainted with you." 
 
 u I hope when you have, Ma'am," cried he, undaunted, 
 " you will honour me with your approbation : but, while I 
 am yet unknown to you, it would be truly generous in you 
 to countenance me ; and I flatter myself, Madam, that you 
 will not have cause to repent it." 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan, with an embarrassed air, replied, "I do 
 not at all mean, Sir, to doubt your being a gentleman, — 
 buir— " 
 
 " But what, Madam ? — that doubt removed, why a but ?" 
 
 " Well, Sir," said Mrs. Mirvan (with a good humoured 
 smile), " I will even treat you with your own plainness, and 
 try what effect that will have on you : I must therefore tell 
 you, once for all — " 
 
 " pardon me, Madam ! " interrupted he, eagerly, " you 
 must not proceed with those words once for all; no, if I 
 have been too plain, and though a man, deserve a rebuke, 
 remember, dear ladies, that if you copy, you ought in justice 
 to excuse me." 
 
 We both stared at the man's strange behaviour. 
 
EVELINA. 37 
 
 " Be nobler than your sex," continued he, turning to me, 
 "honour me with one dance, and give up the ingrate who 
 has merited so ill your patience.'' 
 
 Mrs. Mir van looked with astonishment at us both. 
 
 " Who does he speak of, my dear ? — you never men- 
 tioned — " 
 
 " 0, Madam ! " exclaimed he, " he was not worth men- 
 tioning — it is pity he was ever thought of; but let us 
 forget his existence. One dance is all I solicit. Permit me, 
 Madam, the honour of this young lady's hand ; it will be a 
 favour I shall ever most gratefully acknowledge." 
 
 " Sir," answered she, " favours and strangers have with 
 me no connection." 
 
 " If you have hitherto," said he, " confined your benevo- 
 lence to your intimate friends, suffer me to be the first for 
 whom your charity is enlarged." 
 
 "Well, Sir, I know not what to say to you, — but — " 
 
 He stopt her hut with so many urgent entreaties, that 
 she at last told me, I must either go down one dance, or 
 avoid his importunities by returning home. I hesitated 
 which alternative to choose; but this impetuous man at 
 length prevailed, and I was obliged to consent to dance with 
 him. 
 
 And thus was my deviation from truth punished ; and 
 thus did this man's determined boldness conquer. 
 
 During the dance, before we were too much engaged in 
 it for conversation, he was extremely provoking about my 
 'partner, and tried every means in his power to make me 
 own that I had deceived him ; which, though I would not so 
 far humble myself as to acknowledge, was indeed but too 
 obvious. 
 
 Lord Orville, I fancy, did not dance at all. He seemed 
 to have a large acquaintance, and joined several different 
 parties : but you will easily suppose, I was not much pleased 
 to see him, in a few minutes after I was gone, walk towards 
 the place I had just left, and bow to and join Mrs. Mirvan ! 
 
 How unlucky I thought myself, that I had not longer 
 withstood this stranger's importunities ! The moment we 
 had gone down the dance, I was hastening away from him ; 
 but he stopt me, and said, that I could by no means return 
 to my party without giving offence, before we had done our 
 
38 ETKLINA. 
 
 duty of walking up the dance. As I know nothing at all of 
 these rules and customs, I was obliged to submit to his 
 directions ; but I fancy I looked rather uneasy, for he took 
 notice of my inattention, saying, in his free way, " Whence 
 that anxiety ? — Why are those lovely eyes perpetually 
 averted ? " 
 
 "I wish you would say no more to me, Sir," cried I 
 peevishly ; " you have already destroyed all my happiness 
 for this evening." 
 
 11 Good Heaven ! what is it I have done ? — How have I 
 merited this scorn ? " 
 
 " You have tormented me to death ; you have forced me 
 from my friends, and intruded yourself upon me, against 
 my will, for a partner." 
 
 " Surely, my dear Madam, we ought to be better friends, 
 since there seems to be something of sympathy in the frank- 
 ness of our dispositions. — And yet, were you not an angel — 
 how do you think I could brook such contempt ? " 
 
 " If I have offended you," cried I, " you have but to leave 
 me — and how I wish you would ! " 
 
 " My dear creature," said he, half laughing, " why where 
 could you be educated ? " 
 
 " Where I most sincerely wish I now was ! " 
 
 " How conscious you must be, all beautiful that you are, 
 that those charming airs serve only to heighten the bloom 
 of your complexion ! " 
 
 " Your freedom, Sir, where you are more acquainted, 
 may perhaps be less disagreeable ; but to me — " 
 
 " You do me justice," cried he, interrupting me, "yes, I 
 do indeed improve upon acquaintance ; you will hereafter 
 be quite charmed with me." 
 
 "Hereafter, Sir, I hope I shall never — " 
 
 " O hush ! — hush ! — have you forgot the situation in 
 which I found you ? — Have you forgot, that when deserted, I 
 pursued you, — when betrayed, I adored you ? — but for me — " 
 
 " But for you, Sir, I might perhaps have been happy." 
 
 " What then, am I to conclude that, but for me, your 
 partner would have appeared ? — poor fellow ! — and did my 
 presence awe him ? " 
 
 " I wish his presence, Sir, could awe you! " 
 
 " His presence ! — perhaps then you see him ? " 
 
EVELINA. 39 
 
 " Perhaps, Sir, I do," cried I, quite wearied of his 
 raillery. 
 
 " Where? where? — for Heaven's sake shew me the 
 wretch ! " 
 
 " Wretch, Sir ! " 
 
 " 0, a very savage ! — a sneaking, shame-faced, despicable 
 puppy ! " 
 
 I know not what bewitched me — but my pride was hurt, 
 and my spirits were tired, and — in short, I had the folly, 
 looking at Lord Orville, to repeat, " Despicable, you think ? " 
 
 His eyes instantly followed mine; "Why, is that the 
 gentleman ? " 
 
 I made no answer ; I could not affirm, and I would not 
 deny : — for I hoped to be relieved from his teasing by his 
 mistake. 
 
 The very moment we had done what he called our duty, 
 I eagerly desired to return to Mrs. Mir van. 
 
 " To your partner, I presume, Madam ? " said he, very 
 gravely. 
 
 This quite confounded me. I dreaded lest this mis- 
 chievous man, ignorant of his rank, should address himself 
 to Lord Orville, and say something which might expose my 
 artifice. Fool ! to involve myself in such difficulties ! I 
 now feared what I had before wished ; and therefore, to 
 avoid Lord Orville, I was obliged myself to propose going 
 down another dance, though I was ready to sink with shame 
 while I spoke. 
 
 II But your partner, Ma'am ? " said he, affecting a very 
 solemn air, " perhaps he may resent my detaining you : if 
 you will give me leave to ask his consent " 
 
 " Not for the universe." 
 
 " Who is he, Madam ? " 
 
 I wished myself a hundred miles off. He repeated his 
 question, " What is his name ? " 
 
 " Nothing — nobody — I don't know — " 
 
 He assumed a most important solemnity : " How ! — not 
 know ? — Give me leave, my dear Madam, to recommend 
 this caution to you : Never dance in public with a stranger, 
 — with one whose name you are unacquainted with, — who may 
 be a mere adventurer, — a man of no character, consider to 
 what impertinence you may expose yourself.' ' 
 
40 EVELINA. 
 
 Was ever anything so ridiculous ? I could not help 
 laughing, in spite of my vexation. 
 
 At this instant, Mrs. Mirvan, followed by Lord Orville, 
 walked up to us. You will easily believe it was not difficult 
 for me to recover my gravity ; but what was my consterna- 
 tion, when this strange man, destined to be the scourge of 
 my artifice, exclaimed, " Ha ! my Lord Orville ! — I protest 
 I did not know your Lordship. What can I say for my 
 usurpation ? — Yet, faith, my Lord, such a prize was not to 
 be neglected." 
 
 My shame and confusion were unspeakable. Who 
 could have supposed or foreseen that this man knew Lord 
 Orville ? But falsehood is not more unjustifiable than un- 
 safe. 
 
 Lord Orville — well he might — looked all amazement. 
 
 " The philosophic coldness of your Lordship/ ' continued 
 this odious creature, " every man is not endowed with. I 
 have used my utmost endeavours to entertain this lady, 
 though I fear without success ; and your lordship will not 
 be a little flattered, if acquainted with the difficulty which 
 attended my procuring the honour of only one dance. " 
 Then, turning to me, who was sinking with shame, while 
 Lord Orville stood motionless, and Mrs. Mirvan astonished, 
 — he suddenly seized my hand, saying, " Think, my Lord, 
 what must be my reluctance to resign this fair hand to your 
 Lordship ! " 
 
 In the same instant, Lord Orville took it of him ; I 
 coloured violently, and made an effort to recover it. " You 
 do me too much honour, Sir," cried he, (with an air of 
 gallantry, pressing it to his lips before he let it go ;) " how- 
 ever, I shall be happy to profit by it, if this lady," turning 
 to Mrs. Mirvan, " will permit me to seek for her party." 
 
 To compel him thus to dance, I could not endure ; and 
 eagerly called out, " By no means — not for the world ! — I 
 must beg " 
 
 "Will you honour me, Madam, with your commands," 
 cried my tormentor ; " may I seek the lady's party ? " 
 
 " No, Sir," answered I, turning from him. 
 
 " What shall be done, my dear " said Mrs. Mirvan. 
 
 " Nothing, Ma'am ; — any thing, I mean " 
 
 " But do you dance, or not you see his Lordship waits." 
 
EVELINA. 41 
 
 " I hope not — I beg that — I would not for the world — I 
 am sure I ought to — to " 
 
 I could not speak ; but that confident man, determining 
 to discover whether or not I had deceived him, said to Lord 
 Orville, who stood suspended, " My Lord, this affair, which 
 at present seems perplexed, I will briefly explain : — this 
 lady proposed to me another dance, — nothing could have 
 made me more happy, — I only wished for your Lordship's 
 permission ; which, if now granted, will, I am persuaded, 
 set every thing right." 
 
 I glowed with indignation. " No, Sir — it is your absence, 
 and that alone, can set every thing right." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, my dear," cried Mrs. Mirvan, who 
 could no longer contain her surprise, " what does all this 
 mean ? — were you pre-engaged ? — had Lord Orville " 
 
 " No, Madam," cried I, " only — only I did not know that 
 gentleman, — and so, — and so I thought- — I intended — I " 
 
 Overpowered by all that had passed, I had not strength 
 to make my mortifying explanation; — my spirits quite 
 failed me, and I burst into tears. 
 
 They all seemed shocked and amazed. 
 
 " What is the matter, my dearest love ? " cried Mrs. Mir- 
 van, with the kindest concern. 
 
 " What have I done ! " exclaimed my evil genius, and ran 
 officiously for a glass of water. 
 
 However, a hint was sufficient for Lord Orville, who 
 comprehended all I would have explained. He immediately 
 led me to a seat, and said in a low voice, " Be not distressed, 
 I beseech you ; I shall ever think my name honoured by 
 your making use of it." 
 
 This politeness relieved me. A general murmur had 
 alarmed Miss Mirvan, who flew instantly to me ; while Lord 
 Orville, the moment Mrs. Mirvan had taken the water, led 
 my tormentor away. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, dear Madam," cried I, " let me go 
 home ; indeed I cannot stay here any longer." 
 
 " Let us all go," cried my kind Maria. 
 
 " But the Captain, what will he say — I had better go 
 home in a chair." 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan consented, and I rose to depart. Lord Or- 
 ville and that man both came to me. The first, with an 
 
42 EVELINA. 
 
 attention I but ill merited from him, led me to a chair* 
 while the other followed, pestering me with apologies. I 
 wished to have made mine to Lord Orville, but was too 
 much ashamed. 
 
 It was about one o'clock. Mrs. Mirvan's servants saw 
 me home. 
 
 And now, — what again shall ever tempt me to an assem- 
 bly ? I dread to hear what you will think of me, my most 
 dear and honoured Sir : you will need your utmost partiality 
 to receive me without displeasure. 
 
 This morning Lord Orville has sent to inquire after our 
 health ; and Sir Clement Willoughby, for that, I find, is the 
 name of my persecutor, has called ; but I would not go 
 down stairs till he was gone. 
 
 And now, my dear Sir, I can somewhat account for the 
 strange, provoking, and ridiculous conduct of this Sir 
 Clement last night ; for Miss Mirvan says he is the very 
 man with whom she heard Lord Orville conversing at Mrs. 
 Stanley's, when I was spoken of in so mortifying a manner. 
 He was pleased to say he was glad to hear I was a fool ; 
 and therefore, I suppose, he concluded he might talk as 
 much nonsense as he pleased to me : however, I am very 
 indifferent as to his opinion ; — but for Lord Orville, — if then 
 he thought me an idiot, now, I am sure, he must suppose 
 me both bold and presuming. Make use of his name ! — 
 what impertinence — he can never know how it happened, 
 — he can only imagine it was from an excess of vanity ; 
 — well, however, I shall leave this bad city to-morrow, and 
 never again will I enter it. 
 
 The Captain intends to take us to-night to the Fantoccini. 
 I cannot bear that Captain ; I can give you no idea how 
 gross he is. I heartily rejoice that he was not present at 
 the disagreeable conclusion of yesterday's adventure, for I 
 am sure he would have contributed to my confusion ; which 
 might, perhaps, have diverted him, as he seldom or never 
 smiles but at some other person's expence. 
 
 And here I conclude my London letters, — and without 
 any regret; for I am too inexperienced and ignorant to 
 conduct myself with propriety in this town, where every 
 thing is new to me, and many things are unaccountable 
 and perplexing. 
 
EVELINA. 43 
 
 Adieu, my dear Sir ; Heaven restore me safely to you ! 
 I wish I was to go immediately to Berry Hill ; yet the 
 wish is ungrateful to Mrs. Mirvan, and therefore I will 
 repress it. I shall write an account of the Fantoccini from 
 Howard Grove. We have not been to half the public 
 places that are now open, though I dare say you will think 
 we have been to all. But they are almost as innumerable 
 as the persons who fill them. 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Queen Ann Street, April 13. 
 
 HOW much will you be surprised, my dearest Sir, at 
 receiving another letter, from London, of your Eve- 
 lina's writing ! But, believe me, it was not my fault, 
 neither is it my happiness, that I am still here : our journey 
 has been postponed by an accident equally unexpected and 
 disagreeable. 
 
 We went last night to see the Fantoccini, where we had 
 infinite entertainment from the performance of a little 
 comedy in French and Italian, by puppets, so admirably 
 managed, that they both astonished and diverted us all, 
 except the Captain, who has a fixed and most prejudiced 
 hatred of whatever is not English. 
 
 When it was over, while we waited for the coach, a tall 
 elderly woman brushed quickly past us, calling out, " My 
 God, what shall I do ? " 
 
 " Why, what would you do ? " cried the Captain. 
 
 " Ma foi, Monsieur" answered she, " I have lost my 
 company, and in this place I don't know nobody." 
 
 There was something foreign in her accent, though it 
 was difficult to discover whether she was an English or a 
 French woman. She was very well dressed ; and seemed 
 so entirely at a loss what to do, that Mrs. Mirvan proposed 
 to the Captain to assist her. 
 
 "Assist her!" cried he, "ay, with all my heart; — let 
 a link-boy call her a coach." 
 
44 EVELINA. 
 
 There was not one to be had, and it rained very fast. 
 
 " Mori Dim ! " exclaimed the stranger, " what shall be- 
 come of me ? Je suis au desespoir ! " 
 
 " Dear Sir," cried Miss Mirvan, " pray let us take the 
 poor lady into our coach. She is quite alone, and a 
 foreigner " 
 
 " She's never the better for that," answered he : " she 
 may be a woman of the town, for any thing you know." 
 
 " She does not appear such," said Mrs. Mirvan; "and 
 indeed she seems so much distressed, that we shall but 
 follow the golden rule, if we carry her to her lodgings." 
 
 " You are mighty fond of new acquaintance," returned 
 he ; " but first let us know if she be going our way." 
 
 Upon enquiry, we found that she lived in Oxford Road ; 
 and, after some disputing, the Captain surlily, and with a 
 very bad grace, consented to admit her into his coach ; 
 though he soon convinced us, that he was determined she 
 should not be too much obliged to him, for he seemed 
 absolutely bent upon quarrelling with her : for which 
 strange inhospitality I can assign no other reason, than 
 that she appeared to be a foreigner. 
 
 The conversation began, by her telling us, that she had 
 been in England only two days ; that the gentlemen be- 
 longing to her were Parisians, and had left her to see for a 
 hackney-coach, as her own carriage was abroad ; and that 
 she had waited for them till she was quite frightened, and 
 concluded that they had lost themselves. 
 
 " And pray," said the Captain, " why did you go to a 
 public place without an Englishman ? " 
 
 " Ma foi, Sir," answered she, " because none of my ac- 
 quaintance is in town." 
 
 " Why then," said he, " I'll tell you what, your best way 
 is to go out of it yourself." 
 
 " Pardi, Monsieur" returned she, " and so I shall ; for, I 
 promise you, I think the English a parcel of brutes ; and 
 I'll go back to France as fast as I can, for I would not live 
 among none of you." 
 
 "Who wants you? " cried the Captain: "do you sup- 
 pose, Madam French, we have not enough of other nations 
 to pick our pockets already ? I'll warrant you, there's no 
 need for you for to put in your oar." 
 
EVELINA. 45 
 
 " Pick your pockets, Sir ! I wish nobody wanted to pick 
 your pockets no more than I do ; and I'll promise you 
 you'd be safe enough. But there's no nation under the 
 sun can beat the English for ill-politeness : for my part, I 
 hate the very sight of them ; and so I shall only just visit 
 a person of quality or two of my particular acquaintance, 
 and then I shall go back again to France." 
 
 " Ay, do," cried he ; " and then go to the devil together, 
 for that's the fittest voyage for the French and the quality." 
 
 " We'll take care, however," cried the stranger with great 
 vehemence, " not to admit none of your vulgar unmannered 
 English among us." 
 
 " O never fear," returned he, coolly, " we shan't dispute 
 the point with you ; you and the quality may have the 
 devil all to yourselves." 
 
 Desirous of changing the subject of a conversation which 
 now became very alarming, Miss Mirvan called out, " Lord, 
 how slow the man drives ! " 
 
 " Never mind, Moll," said her father, "I'll warrant you 
 he'll drive fast enough to-morrow, when you are going to 
 Howard Grove." 
 
 " To Howard Grove ! " exclaimed the stranger, " why, 
 mon Dieu, do you know Lady Howard ? " 
 
 " Why, what if we do ? " answered he ; " that's nothing 
 to you ; she's none of your quality, I'll promise you." 
 
 "Who told you that ? " cried she ; " you don't know 
 nothing about the matter ! besides, you're the ill-bredest 
 person ever I see : and as to your knowing Lady Howard, 
 I don't believe no such a thing ; unless, indeed, you are 
 her steward." 
 
 The Captain, swearing terribly, said, with great fury, 
 " You would much sooner be taken for her wash- 
 woman." 
 
 " Her wash-woman, indeed ! — Ha, ha, ha ! why you 
 han't no eyes ; did you ever see a wash-woman in such a 
 gown as this ? — Besides, I'm no such mean person, for I'm 
 as good as lady Howard, and as rich too ; and besides, I'm 
 now come to England to visit her." 
 
 " You may spare yourself that there trouble," said the 
 Captain, " she has paupers enough about her already." 
 
 " Paupers, Mister ! — no more a pauper than yourself, nor 
 
46 EVELINA. 
 
 go much neither ; — but you are a low, dirty fellow, and I 
 shan't stoop to take no more notice of you." 
 
 " Dirty fellow ! " exclaimed the Captain, seizing both 
 her wrists, " hark you, Mrs. Frog, you'd best hold your 
 tongue ; for I must make bold to tell you, if you don't, 
 that I shall make no ceremony of tripping you out of the 
 window, and there you may lie in the mud till some of your 
 Monseers come to help you out of it." 
 
 Their increasing passion quite terrified us ; and Mrs. 
 Mirvan was beginning to remonstrate with the Captain, 
 when we were all silenced by what follows. 
 
 " Let me go, villain that you are, let me go, or I'll pro- 
 mise you I'll get you put to prison for this usage. I'm no 
 common person, I assure you ; and, ma foi, I'll go to Jus- 
 tice Fielding 1 about you ; for I'm a person of fashion, and 
 I'll make you know it, or my name a'n't Duval." 
 
 I heard no more : amazed, frightened, and unspeakably 
 shocked, an involuntary exclamation of Gracious Heaven! 
 escaped me, and, more dead than alive, I sunk into Mrs. 
 Mirvan 's arms. But let me draw a veil over a scene too 
 cruel for a heart so compassionately tender as your's ; it is 
 sufficient that you know this supposed foreigner proved to 
 be Madame Duval, — the grandmother of your Evelina ! 
 
 O, Sir, to discover so near a relation in a woman, who 
 had thus introduced herself ! — what would become of me, 
 were it not for you, my protector, my friend, and my 
 refuge ? 
 
 My extreme concern, and Mrs. Mirvan's surprise, imme- 
 diately betrayed me. But I will not shock you with the 
 manner of her acknowledging me, or the bitterness, the 
 grossness — I cannot otherwise express myself, — with which 
 she spoke o£ those unhappy past transactions you have so 
 
 1 Justice Fielding. — Sir John Fielding, half brother of the famous 
 Henry ; and, like him, a humane and wise magistrate, seeking to lessen 
 crime by other means than punishment. He succeeded Henry, as 
 Justice of the Peace for Westminster. Though blind from his birth, 
 he wrote several pamphlets ; he tried to induce Garrick not to have 
 the " Beggar's Opera" acted, for the same reasons that led the Lord 
 Chamberlain to forbid " Jack Sheppard " in our own time. He died at 
 Brompton, in the same year (1780) that his house in Bow Street was 
 pulled down, and his goods burned in the street by a rabble which thus 
 showed its true spirit. 
 
EVELINA. 47 
 
 pathetically related to me. All tlie misery of a much 
 injured parent, dear, though never seen, regretted, though 
 never known, crowded so forcibly upon my memory, that 
 they rendered this interview — one only excepted — the most 
 afflicting I can ever know. 
 
 When we stopt at her lodgings, she desired me to accom- 
 pany her into the house, and said she could easily procure 
 a room for me to sleep in. Alarmed and trembling, I 
 turned to Mrs. Mirvan. " My daughter, Madam," said 
 that sweet woman, " cannot so abruptly part with her young 
 friend ; you must allow a little time to wean them from 
 each other." 
 
 " Pardon me, Ma'am," answered Madame Duval, (who, 
 from the time of her being known, somewhat softened her 
 manners) " Miss can't possibly be so nearly connected to 
 this child as I am." 
 
 " No matter for that," cried the Captain, (who espoused 
 my cause to satisfy his own pique, tho' an awkward apology 
 had passed between them) " she was sent to us ; and so, 
 dy'e see, we don't choose for to part with her." 
 
 I promised to wait upon her at what time she pleased 
 the next day ; and, after a short debate, she desired me to 
 breakfast with her, and we proceeded to Queen Ann 
 Street. 
 
 What an unfortunate adventure ! I could not close my 
 eyes the whole night. A thousand times I wished I had 
 never left Berry Hill : however, my return thither shall be 
 accelerated to the utmost of my power ; and, once more in 
 that abode of tranquil happiness, I will suffer no tempta- 
 tion to allure me elsewhere. 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan was so kind as to accompany me to Madame 
 Duval's house this morning. The Captain, too, offered his 
 service ; which I declined, from a fear she should suppose I 
 meant to insult her. 
 
 She frowned most terribly upon Mrs. Mirvan ; but she 
 received me with as much tenderness as I believe she is 
 capable of feeling. Indeed, our meeting seems really to 
 have affected her ; for when, overcome by the variety of 
 emotions which the sight of her occasioned, I almost fainted 
 in her arms, she burst into tears, and said, " let me not lose 
 my poor daughter a second time ! " This unexpected 
 
48 EVELINA. 
 
 humanity softened me extremely ; but she very soon excited 
 my warmest indignation, by the ungrateful mention she 
 made of the best of men, my dear and most generous bene- 
 factor. However, grief and anger mutually gave way to 
 terror, upon her avowing the intention of her visiting Eng- 
 land was to make me return with her to France. This, 
 she said, was a plan she had formed from the instant she 
 had heard of my birth ; which, she protested, did not reach 
 her ears till I must have been twelve years of age ; but 
 Monsieur Duval, who she declared was the worst husband 
 in the world, would not permit her to do any thing she 
 wished : he had been dead but three months ; which had 
 been employed in arranging certain affairs, that were no 
 sooner settled, than she set off for England. She was al- 
 ready out of mourning, for she said nobody here could tell 
 how long she had been a widow. 
 
 She must have been married very early in life : what her 
 age is I do not know ; but she really looks to be less than 
 fifty. She dresses very gaily, paints very high, and the 
 traces of former beauty are still very visible in her face. 
 
 I know not when, or how, this visit would have ended, 
 had not the Captain called for Mrs. Mirvan, and absolutely 
 insisted upon my attending her. He is become, very sud- 
 denly, so warmly my friend, that I quite dread his officious- 
 ness. Mrs. Mirvan, however, whose principal study seems 
 to be healing those wounds which her husband inflicts, ap- 
 peased Madame Duval's wrath, by a very polite invitation 
 to drink tea, and spend the evening here. Not without 
 great difficulty was the Captain prevailed upon to defer his 
 journey some time longer ; but what could be done ? It 
 would have been indecent for me to have quitted town the 
 very instant I discovered that Madame Duval was in it; 
 and to have staid here solely under her protection— Mrs. 
 Mirvan, thank Heaven, was too kind for such a thought. 
 That she should follow us to Howard Grove, I almost 
 equally dreaded. It is therefore determined, that we re- 
 main in London for some days, or a week : though the 
 Captain has declared that the old French hag, as he is 
 pleased to call her, shall fare never the better for it. 
 
 My only hope is to get safe to Berry Hill ; where, coun- 
 selled and sheltered by you, I shall have nothing more to 
 
EVELINA. 49 
 
 fear. Adieu, my ever dear and most honoured Sir ! I shall 
 have no happiness till I am again with you. 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA. 
 
 Berry Hill, April 16. 
 
 IN the belief and hope that my Evelina would, ere now, 
 have bid adieu to London, I had intended to have de- 
 ferred writing, till I heard of her return to Howard Grove ; 
 but the letter I have this moment received, with intelligence 
 of Madame Duval's arrival in England, demands an im- 
 mediate answer. 
 
 Her journey hither equally grieves and alarms me. How 
 much did I pity my child, when I read of a discovery at 
 once so unexpected and unwished ! I have long dreaded 
 this meeting and its consequence ; to claim you seems 
 naturally to follow acknowledging you. I am well ac- 
 quainted with her disposition, and have for many years 
 foreseen the contest which now threatens us. 
 
 Cruel as are the circumstances of this affair, you must 
 not, my love, suffer it to depress your spirits : remember, 
 that while life is lent me, I will devote it to your service ; 
 and, for future time, I will make such provision as shall 
 seem to me most conducive to your future happiness. 
 Secure of my protection, and relying on my tenderness, let 
 no apprehensions of Madame Duval disturb your peace : 
 conduct yourself towards her with all the respect and de- 
 ference due to so near a relation, remembering always, that 
 the failure of duty on her part, can by no means justify any 
 neglect on your's. Indeed, the more forcibly you are struck 
 with improprieties and misconduct in another, the greater 
 should be your observance and diligence to avoid even the 
 shadow of similar errors. Be careful, therefore, that no 
 remissness of attention, no indifference of obliging, make 
 known to her the independence I assure you of ; but when 
 6he fixes the time for her leaving England, trust to me the 
 task of refusing your attending her : disagreeable to my- 
 
J 
 
 50 EVELINA. 
 
 self, I own, it will be ; yet to you it would be improper, if 
 not impossible. 
 
 In regard to her opinion of me, I am more sorry than 
 surprised at her determined blindness ; the palliation which 
 she feels the want of, for her own conduct, leads her to 
 seek for failings in all who were concerned in those un- 
 happy transactions which she has so much reason to 
 lament. And this, as it is the cause, so we must in some 
 measure consider it as the excuse of her inveteracy. 
 
 How grateful to me are your wishes to return to Berry 
 Hill ! Your lengthened stay in London, and the dissipa- 
 tion in which I find you are involved, fill me with uneasi- 
 ness. I mean not, however, that I would have you sequester 
 yourself from the party to which you belong, since Mrs. 
 Mirvan might thence infer a reproof which your youth and 
 her kindness would render inexcusable. I will not, there- 
 fore, enlarge upon this subject; but content myself with 
 telling you, that I shall heartily rejoice when I hear of 
 your safe arrival at Howard Grove, for which place I hope 
 you will be preparing at the time you receive this letter. 
 
 I cannot too much thank you, my best Evelina, for the 
 minuteness of your communications. Continue to me this 
 Indulgence, for I should be miserable if in ignorance of 
 your proceedings. 
 
 How new to you is the scene of life in which you are en- 
 gaged ! — balls — plays — operas — ridottos ! — Ah, my child ! 
 at your return hither, how will you bear the change ? My 
 heart trembles for your future tranquillity. — Yet I will 
 hope every thing from the unsullied whiteness of your soul, 
 and the native liveliness of your disposition. 
 
 I am sure I need not say, how much more I was pleased 
 with the mistakes of your inexperience at the private ball, 
 than with the attempted adoption of more fashionable man- 
 ners at the ridotto. But your confusion and mortifications 
 were such as to entirely silence all reproofs on my part. 
 
 I hope you will see no more of Sir Clement Willoughby, 
 whose conversation and bolcfness are extremely disgustful 
 to me. I was gratified by the good nature of Lord Orville, 
 upon your making use of his name ; but I hope you will 
 never again put it to such a trial. 
 
 Heaven bless thee, my dear child ! and grant that neither 
 
EYELINA. 51 
 
 misfortune nor vice may ever rob thee of that gaiety of 
 heart, which, resulting from innocence, while it constitutes 
 your own, contributes also to the felicity of all who know 
 
 y0U ! A T7 
 
 Arthur Villars. 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Queen Ann Street, 
 Thursday morning, April 14. 
 
 BEFORE our dinner was over yesterday, Madame Duval 
 came to tea ; though it will lessen your surprise, to 
 hear that it was near five o'clock, for we never dine till the 
 day is almost over. She was asked into another room while 
 the table was cleared, and then was invited to part ike of 
 the dessert. 
 
 She was attended by a French gentleman, whom she in- 
 troduced by the name of Monsieur Du Bois : Mrs. Mirvan 
 received them both with her usual politeness ; but the Cap- 
 tain looked very much displeased ; and after a short silence, 
 very sternly said to Madame Duval, " Pray, who asked you 
 to bring that there spark with you ? " 
 
 " O," cried she, " I never go no where without him." 
 
 Another short silence ensued, which was terminated by 
 the Captain's turning roughly to the foreigner, and saying, 
 " Do you know, Monseer, that you are the first Frenchman 
 I ever let come into my house ? " 
 
 Monsieur Du Bois made a profound bow. He speaks no 
 English, and understands it so imperfectly, that he might 
 possibly imagine he had received a compliment. 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan endeavoured to divert the Captain's ill- 
 humour, by starting new subjects : but he left to her all 
 the trouble of supporting them, and leant back in his chair 
 in gloomy silence, except when any opportunity offered of 
 uttering some sarcasm upon the French. Finding her 
 efforts to render the evening agreeable were fruitless, Mrs. 
 Mirvan proposed a party to Ranelagh. Madame Duval 
 joyfully consented to it ; and the Captain, though he railed 
 
52 EVELINA. 
 
 against the dissipation of the women, did not oppose it ; and 
 therefore Maria and I ran np stairs to dress ourselves. 
 
 Before we were ready, word was brought us that Sir 
 Clement Willoughby was in the drawing-room. He intro- 
 duced himself under the pretence of inquiring after all our 
 healths, and entered the room with the easy air of an old 
 acquaintance ; though Mrs. Mirvan confesses that he seemed 
 embarrassed when he found how coldly he was received, not 
 only by the Captain, but by herself. 
 
 1 was extremely disconcerted at the thoughts of seeing 
 this man again, and did not go down stairs till I was called 
 to tea. He was then deeply engaged in a discourse upon 
 French manners with Madame Duval and the Captain ; 
 and the subject seemed so entirely to engross him, that he 
 did not, at first, observe my entrance into the room. Their 
 conversation was supported with great vehemence ; the 
 Captain roughly maintaining the superiority of the English 
 in every particular, and Madame Duval warmly refusing to 
 allow of it in any ; while Sir Clement exerted all his powers 
 of argument and of ridicule, to second and strengthen what- 
 ever was advanced by the Captain : for he had the sagacity 
 to discover, that he could take no method so effectual for 
 making the master of the house his friend, as to make 
 Madame Duval his enemy ; and indeed, in a very short 
 time, he had reason to congratulate himself upon his suc- 
 cessful discernment. 
 
 As soon as he saw me, he made a most respectful bow, 
 and hoped I had not suffered from the fatigue of the ridotto : 
 I made no other answer than a slight inclination of the head, 
 for I was very much ashamed of that whole affair. He then 
 returned to the disputants ; where he managed the argu- 
 ment so skilfully, at once provoking Madame Duval, and 
 delighting the Captain, that I could not forbear admiring 
 his address, though I condemned his subtlety. Mrs. Mirvan, 
 dreading such violent antagonists, attempted frequently to 
 change the subject ; and she might have succeeded, but for 
 the interposition of Sir Clement, who would not suffer it to 
 be given up, and supported it with such humour and satire, 
 that he seems to have won the Captain's heart; though 
 their united forces so enraged and overpowered Madame 
 Duval, that she really trembled with passion. 
 
EVELINA. 53 
 
 I was very glad when Mrs. Mirvan said it was time to be 
 gone. Sir Clement arose to take leave ; but the Captain 
 very cordially invited him to join our party : he had an en- 
 gagement, he said, but would give it up to have that 
 pleasure. 
 
 Some little confusion ensued in regard to our manner of 
 setting off. Mrs. Mirvan offered Madame Duval a place in 
 her coach, and proposed that we four females should go all 
 together ; however, this she rejected, declaring she would 
 by no means go so far without a gentleman, and wondering 
 so polite a lady could make so English a proposal. Sir 
 Clement Willoughby said, his chariot was waiting at the 
 door, and begged to know if it could be of any use. It was 
 at last decided, that a hackney-coach should be called for 
 Monsieur Du Bois and Madame Duval, in which the Captain, 
 and, at his request, Sir Clement, went also ; Mrs. and Miss 
 Mirvan and I had a peaceful and comfortable ride by our- 
 selves. 
 
 I doubt not but they quarrelled all the way ; for when 
 we met at Ranelagh every one seemed out of humour ; and 
 though we joined parties, poor Madame Duval was avoided 
 as much as possible by all but me. 
 
 The room was so very much crowded, that but for the 
 uncommon assiduity of Sir Clement Willoughby, we should 
 not have been able to procure a box (which is the name 
 given to the arched recesses that are appropriated for tea- 
 parties) till half the company had retired. As we were 
 taking possession of our places, some ladies of Mrs. Mirvan's 
 acquaintance stopped to speak to her, and persuaded her to 
 take a round with them. When she returned to us, what 
 was my surprise, to see that Lord Orville had joined her 
 party ! The ladies walked on : Mrs. Mirvan seated herself, 
 and made a slight, though respectful, invitation to Lord 
 Orville to drink his tea with us ; which, to my no small 
 consternation, he accepted. 
 
 I felt a confusion unspeakable at again seeing him, from 
 the recollection of the ridotto adventure : nor did my situa- 
 tion lessen it ; for I was seated between Madame Duval and 
 Sir Clement, who seemed as little as myself to desire Lord 
 Orville' s presence. Indeed, the continual wrangling and 
 ill-breeding of Captain Mirvan and Madame Duval made 
 
64 EVELINA. 
 
 me blush that I belonged to them. And poor Mrs. Mirvan 
 and her amiable daughter had still less reason to be satisfied. 
 
 A general silence ensued after he was seated : his appear- 
 ance, from different motives, gave an universal restraint to 
 every body. What his own reasons were for honouring us 
 with his company, I cannot imagine ; unless, indeed, he had 
 a curiosity to know whether I should invent any new im- 
 pertinence concerning him. 
 
 The first speech was made by Madame Duval, who said, 
 " It's quite a shocking thing to see ladies come to so genteel 
 a place as Ranelagh with hats on ; it has a monstrous vulgar 
 look : I can't think what they wear them for. There is no 
 such a thing to be seen in Paris.' ' x 
 
 " Indeed," cried Sir Clement, " I must own myself no 
 advocate for hats ; I am sorry the ladies ever invented or 
 adopted so tantalizing a fashion : for, where there is beauty, 
 they only serve to shade it ; and, where there is none, to 
 excite a most unavailing curiosity. I fancy they were 
 originally worn by some young and whimsical coquette." 
 
 "More likely," answered the Captain, "they were in- 
 vented by some wrinkled old hag, who'd a mind for to keep 
 the young fellows in chace, let them be never so weary." 
 
 11 1 don't know what you may do in England," cried 
 Madame Duval, "but I know in Paris no woman needn't 
 be at such a trouble as that to be taken very genteel notice 
 of." 
 
 " Why, will you pretend for to say," returned the Cap- 
 tain, " that they don't distinguish the old from the young 
 there as well as here ? " 
 
 " They don't make no distinguishments at all," said she; 
 "they're vastly too polite." 
 
 " More fools they ! " cried the Captain, sneeringly. 
 
 " Would to Heaven," cried Sir Clement, " that, for our 
 own sakes, we Englishmen too were blest with so accom- 
 modating a blindness ! " 
 
 " Why the devil do you make such a prayer as that ? " 
 
 1 Hats. — The fashion of wearing hats seems to have been pushed by 
 the ladies to an excess which almost put Madame Duval in the right. 
 A few years later they dressed for the day in hats— Miss Burjiey sat 
 down to tea with the Equerries at Windsor in her hat, as her heroine, 
 tf Cecilia," had sat down in her hat to dinner. 
 
ETELINA. 55 
 
 demanded the Captain : " them are the first foolish words 
 I've heard you speak ; but I suppose you're not much used 
 to that sort of work. Did you ever make a prayer before, 
 since you were a sniveler ? " 
 
 " Ay, now," cried Madame Duval, " that's another of the 
 unpolitenesses of you English, to go to talking of such 
 things as that : now in Paris nobody never says nothing 
 about religion, no more than about politics." 
 
 " Why then," answered he, " it's a sign they take no more 
 care of their souls than of their country, and so both one 
 and t'other go to old Nick." 
 
 " Well, if they do," said she, " who's the worse, so long 
 as they don't say nothing about it ? it's the tiresomest thing 
 in the world to be always talking of them sort of things, 
 and nobody that's ever been abroad troubles their heads 
 about them." 
 
 "Pray then," cried the Captain, "since you know so 
 much of the matter, be so good as to tell us what they do 
 trouble their heads about ? — Hey, Sir Clement ! han't we 
 a right to know that much ? " 
 
 " A very comprehensive question," said Sir Clement, 
 "and I expect much instruction from the lady's answer." 
 
 " Come, Madam," continued the Captain, " never flinch ; 
 speak at once ; don't stop for thinking." 
 
 "I assure you I am not going," answered she; "for as 
 to what they do do, why they've enough to do, I promise 
 you, what with one thing or another." 
 
 " But what, what do they do, these famous Monseers ? n 
 demanded the Captain ; " can't you tell us ? do they game ? 
 — or drink ? — or fiddle ? — or are they jockeys ? — or do they 
 spend all their time in flummering old women ? " 
 
 " As to that, Sir — but indeed I shan't trouble myself to 
 answer such a parcel of low questions, so don't ask me no 
 more about it." And then, to my great vexation, turning 
 to Lord Orville, she said, " Pray, Sir, was you ever in 
 Paris ? " 
 
 He only bowed. 
 
 " And pray, Sir, how did you like it ? " 
 
 This comprehensive question, as Sir Clement would have 
 called it, though it made him smile, also made him hesitate ; 
 however, his answer was expressive of his approbation. 
 
56 EYELINA. 
 
 "I thought you would like it, Sir, because you look so 
 like a gentleman. As to the Captain, and as to that other 
 gentleman, why they may very well not like what they don't 
 know : for I suppose, Sir, you was never abroad ? " 
 
 " Only three years, Ma'am," answered Sir Clement, 
 drily. 
 
 " Well, that's very surprising ! I should never have 
 thought it : however, I dare say you only kept company 
 with the English." 
 
 " Why, pray, who should he keep company with ? I# cried 
 the Captain : " what, I suppose you'd have him ashamed of 
 his own nation, like some other people not a thousand miles 
 off, on purpose to make his own nation ashamed of 
 him? ,, 
 
 "I'm sure it would be a very good thing if you'd go 
 abroad yourself." 
 
 " How will you make out that, hey, Madam ? come, 
 please to tell me, where would be the good of that ? " 
 
 " Where ! why a great deal. They'd make quite another 
 person of you." 
 
 " What, I suppose you'd have me to learn to cut capers ? 
 — and dress like a monkey ? — and palaver in French 
 gibberish ? — hey, would you ? — And powder, and daub, and 
 make myself up, like some other folks ? " 
 
 " I would have you to learn to be more politer, Sir, and 
 not to talk to ladies in such a rude, old- fashion way as this. 
 You, Sir, as have been in Paris," again addressing herself 
 to Lord Orville, " can tell this English gentleman how he'd 
 be despised, if he was to talk in such an ungenteel manner 
 as this before any foreigners. Why, there isn't a hair- 
 dresser, nor a shoemaker, nor nobody, that wouldn't blush 
 to be in your company." 
 
 " Why, look ye, Madam," answered the Captain, " as to 
 your hair-pinchers and shoe-blacks, you may puff off their 
 manners, and welcome ; and I am heartily glad you like 'em 
 so well : but as to me, since you must needs make so free 
 of your advice, I must e'en tell you, I never kept company 
 with any such gentry." 
 
 " Come, ladies and gentlemen," said Mrs. Mirvan, " as 
 many of you as have done tea, I invite to walk with me." 
 Maria and I started up instantly ; Lord Orville followed ; 
 
EVELINA. 5? 
 
 and I question whether we were not half round the room 
 ere the angry disputants knew that we had left the box. 
 
 As the husband of Mrs. Mirvan had borne so large a~~~ 
 share in this disagreeable altercation, Lord Orville forbore 
 to make any comments upon it ; so that the subject was 
 immediately dropt, and the conversation became calmly 
 sociable, and politely cheerful, and, to every body but me, 
 must have been highly agreeable : — but, as to myself, I was 
 so eagerly desirous of making some apology to Lord Orville, 
 for the impertinence of which he must have thought me 
 guilty at the ridotto, and yet so utterly unable to assume 
 sufficient courage to speak to him, concerning an affair in 
 which I had so terribly exposed myself, that I hardly 
 ventured to say a word all the time we were walking. 
 Besides, the knowledge of his contemptuous opinion haunted 
 and dispirited me, and made me fear he might possibly 
 misconstrue whatever I should say. So that, far from en- 
 joying a conversation which might, at any other time, 
 have delighted me, I continued silent, uncomfortable, and 
 ashamed. O, Sir, shall I ever again involve myself in so 
 foolish an embarrassment ? I am sure that, if I do, I shall 
 deserve yet greater mortification. 
 
 We were not joined by the rest of the party till we had 
 taken three or four turns round the room ; and then they 
 were so quarrelsome, that Mrs. Mirvan complained of being 
 fatigued, and proposed going home. No one dissented. 
 Lord Orville joined another party, having first made an 
 offer of his services, which the gentlemen declined, and we 
 proceeded to an outward room, where we waited for the car- 
 riages. It was settled that we should return to town in the 
 same manner we came to Ranelagh ; and, accordingly, 
 Monsieur Du Bois handed Madame Duval into a hackney- 
 coach, and was just preparing to follow her, when she 
 screamed, and jumped hastily out, declaring she was wet 
 through all her clothes. Indeed, upon examination the 
 coach was found to be in a dismal condition ; for the 
 weather proved very bad, and the rain had, though I know 
 not how, made its way into the carriage. 
 
 Mrs. and Miss Mirvan, and myself, were already disposed 
 of as before ; but no sooner did the Captain hear this ac- 
 count, than, without any ceremony, he was so civil as to 
 
58 EVELINA. 
 
 immediately take possession of the vacant seat in his own 
 coach, leaving Madame Duval and Monsieur Du Bois to 
 take care of themselves. As to Sir Clement Willoughby, 
 his own chariot was in waiting. 
 
 I instantly begged permission to offer Madame Duval my 
 own place, and made a motion to get out ; but Mrs. Mirvan 
 stopped me, saying, that I should then be obliged to return 
 to town with only the foreigner, or Sir Clement. 
 
 II never mind the old beldame," cried the Captain, 
 " she's weather-proof, I'll answer for her ; and besides, as 
 we are all, I hope, English, why she'll meet with no worse 
 than she expects from us." 
 
 " I do not mean to defend her," said Mrs. Mirvan ; " but 
 indeed, as she belongs to our party, we cannot, with any 
 decency, leave the place till she is, by some means, accom- 
 modated." 
 
 " Lord, my dear," cried the Captain, whom the distress 
 of Madame Duval had put into very good humour, " why, 
 she'll break her heart if she meets with any civility from a 
 filthy Englishman." 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan, however, prevailed ; and we all got out of 
 the coach, to wait till Madame Duval could meet with some 
 better carriage. We found her, attended by Monsieur 
 Du Bois, standing amongst the servants, and very busy in 
 wiping her negligee, 1 and endeavouring to save it from being 
 stained by the wet, as she said it was a new Lyons silk. 
 Sir Clement Willoughby offered her the use of his chariot, 
 but she had been too much piqued by his raillery to accept 
 it. We waited some time, but in vain ; for no hackney- 
 coach could be procured. The Captain, at last, was per- 
 suaded to accompany Sir Clement himself, and we four 
 females were handed into Mrs. Mirvan's carriage, though 
 not before Madame Duval had insisted upon our making 
 room for Monsieur Du Bois, to which the Captain only 
 consented in preference to being incommoded by him in Sir 
 Clement's chariot. 
 
 Our party drove off first. We were silent and unsociable ; 
 for the difficulties attending this arrangement had made 
 
 1 Negligee. — " A loose open gown for ladies, introduced about 1757." 
 — Fairholt. We see in Letter xxxiii. that it was pinned on. 
 
EVELINA. 59 
 
 every one languid and fatigued. Unsociable, I must own, 
 we continued ; but very short was the duration of our 
 silence, as we had not proceeded thirty yards before every 
 voice was heard at once — for the coach broke down f 
 I suppose we concluded, of course, that we were all half- 
 killed, by the violent shrieks that seemed to come from 
 every mouth. The chariot was stopped, the servants came 
 to our assistance, and we were taken out of the carriage, 
 without having been at all hurt. The night was dark and 
 wet ; but I had scarce touched the ground when I was 
 lifted suddenly from it by Sir Clement Willoughby, who 
 begged permission to assist me, though he did not wait 
 to have it granted, but carried me in his arms back to 
 Ranelagh. 
 
 He enquired very earnestly if I was not hurt by the acci- 
 dent ? I assured him I was perfectly safe, and free from 
 injury ; and desired he would leave me, and return to the 
 rest of the party, for I was very uneasy to know whether 
 they had been equally fortunate. He told me he was happy 
 in being honoured with my commands, and would joyfully 
 execute them ; but insisted upon first conducting me to a 
 warm room, as I had not wholly escaped being wet. He 
 did not regard my objections ; but made me follow him to 
 an apartment, where we found an excellent fire, and some 
 company waiting for carriages. I readily accepted a seat, 
 and then begged he would go. 
 
 And go, indeed, he did ; but he returned in a moment, 
 telling me that the rain v r as more violent than ever, and 
 that he had sent his servants to offer their assistance, and 
 acquaint the Mirvans of my situation. I was very mad that 
 he would not go himself ; but as my acquaintance with him 
 was so very slight, I did not think proper to urge him con- 
 trary to his inclination. 
 
 Well, he drew a chair close to mine ; and, after again 
 inquiring how I did, said, in a low voice, " You will pardon 
 me, Miss Anville, if the eagerness I feel to vindicate my- 
 self, induces me to snatch this opportunity of making sincere 
 acknowledgments for the impertinence with which I tor- 
 mented you at the last ridotto. I can assure you, Madam, 
 I have been a true and sorrowful penitent ever since ; but 
 — shall I tell you honestly what encouraged me to " 
 
\ 
 
 60 EYELINA. 
 
 He stopt, but I said nothing ; for I thought instantly of 
 the conversation Miss Mirvan had overheard, and supposed 
 he was going to tell me himself what part Lord Orville had 
 borne in it ; and really I did not wish to hear it repeated. 
 Indeed, the rest of his speech convinces me that such was 
 his intention ; with what view I know not, except to make 
 a merit of his defending me. 
 
 " And yet," he continued, " my excuse may only expose 
 my own credulity, and want of judgment and penetration. 
 I will, therefore, merely beseech your pardon, and hope that 
 some future time — " 
 
 Just then the door was opened by Sir Clement's servant, 
 and I had the pleasure of seeing the Captain, Mrs. and Miss 
 Mirvan, enter the room. 
 
 " ho ! " cried the former, " you have got a good warm 
 berth here; but we shall beat up your quarters. Here, 
 Lucy, Moll, come to the fire, and dry your trumpery. But, 
 hey-day — why, where's old Madame French ? V 
 
 " Good God," cried I, " is not Madame Duval then with 
 you ? " 
 
 " With me ! No,— thank God." 
 
 I was very uneasy to know what might have become of 
 her ; and, if they would have suffered me, I should have 
 gone out in search of her myself ; but all the servants were 
 dispatched to find her ; and the Captain said, we might be 
 very sure her French beau would take care of her. 
 
 We waited some time without any tidings, and were soon 
 the only party in the room. . My uneasiness increased so 
 much that Sir Clement now made a voluntary offer of 
 seeking her. However, the same moment that he opened 
 the door with this design, she presented herself at it, at- 
 tended by Monsieur Du Bois. 
 
 " I was this instant, Madam," said he, " coming to see for 
 you." 
 
 " You are mighty good, truly," cried she, " to come when 
 all the mischief's over." 
 
 She then entered, — in such a condition ! — entirely covered 
 with mud, and in so great a rage, it was with difficulty she 
 could speak. We all expressed our concern, and offered 
 our assistance — except the Captain, who no sooner beheld 
 her than he burst out into a loud laugh. 
 
EYELINA. 61 
 
 We endeavoured, by our enquiries and condolements, to 
 prevent her attending to him ; and she was for some time 
 so wholly engrossed by her anger and her distress, that we 
 succeeded without much trouble. We begged her to inform 
 us how this accident had happened. " How ! " repeated 
 she, — " why it was all along of your all going away, — and 
 there poor Monsieur Du Bois — but it wasn't his fault, — for 
 he's as bad off as me." 
 
 All eyes were then turned to Monsieur Du Bois, whose 
 clothes were in the same miserable plight with those of 
 Madame Duval, and who, wet, shivering, and disconsolate, 
 had crept to the fire. 
 
 The Captain laughed yet more heartily ; while Mrs. 
 Mirvan, ashamed of his rudeness, repeated her inquiries to 
 Madame Duval ; who answered, " Why, as we were a-coming 
 along, all in the rain, Monsieur Du Bois was so obliging, 
 though I'm sure it was an unlucky obligingness for me, as 
 to lift me up in his arms to carry me over a place that was 
 ankle- deep in mud ; but instead of my being ever the better 
 for it, just as we were in the worst part, — I'm sure I wish 
 we had been fifty miles off, — for somehow or other his foot 
 slipt, — at least, I suppose so, — though I can't think how it 
 happened, for I'm no such great weight ; — but, however 
 that was, down we both came, together, all in the mud ; and 
 the more we tried to get up, the more deeper we got 
 covered with the nastiness — and my new Lyons negligee, 
 too, quite spoilt ! — however, it's well we got up at all, for 
 we might have laid there till now, for aught you all cared - T 
 nobody never came near us." 
 
 This recital put the Captain into an ecstacy; he went 
 from the lady to the gentleman, and from the gentleman to 
 the lady, to enjoy alternately the sight of their distress. 
 He really shouted with pleasure ; and, shaking Monsieur 
 Du Bois strenuously by the hand, wished him joy of having 
 touched English ground ; and then he held a candle to Ma- 
 dame Duval, that he might have a more complete view of 
 her disaster, declaring repeatedly, that he had never been 
 better pleased in his life. 
 
 The rage of poor Madame Duval was unspeakable ; she 
 dashed the candle out of his hand, stamping upon the floor, 
 and, at last, spat in his face. 
 
62 EYELINA. 
 
 This action seemed immediately to calm them both, as 
 the joy of the Captain was converted into resentment, and 
 the wrath of Madame Duval into fear : for he put his hands 
 upon her shoulders, and gave her so violent a shake, that 
 she screamed out for help ; assuring her, at the same time, 
 that if she had been one ounce less old, or less ugly, she 
 should have had it all returned in her own face. 
 
 Monsieur Du Bois, who had seated himself very quietly 
 at the fire, approached them, and expostulated very warmly 
 with the Captain ; but he was neither understood nor re- 
 garded ; and Madame Duval was not released till she quite 
 sobbed with passion. 
 
 When they were parted, I intreated her to permit the 
 woman who has the charge of the ladies cloaks to assist in 
 drying her clothes ; she consented, and we did what was 
 possible to save her from catching cold. We were obliged 
 to wait in this disagreeable situation near an hour before a 
 hackney-coach could be found ; and then we were disposed 
 in the same manner as before our accident. 
 
 I am going this morning to see poor Madame Duval, and 
 to inquire after her health, which I think must have suf- 
 fered by her last night's misfortunes ; though, indeed, she 
 seems to be naturally strong and hearty. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Sir, till to-morrow. 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Friday Morning, April 15. 
 
 OIR Clement Willoughby called here yesterday at noon, 
 **-3 and Captain Mirvan invited him to dinner. For my 
 part I spent the day in a manner the most uncomfortable 
 imaginable. 
 
 I found Madame Duval at breakfast in bed, though Mon- 
 sieur Du Bois was in the chamber ; which so much asto- 
 nished me, that I was, involuntarily, retiring, without con- 
 sidering how odd an appearance my retreat would have, 
 when Madame Duval called me back, and laughed very 
 heartily at my ignorance of foreign customs. 
 
EVELINA. 63 
 
 The conversation, however, very soon took a more 
 serious turn ; for she began, with great bitterness, to in- 
 veigh against the barbarous brutality of that fellow the Cap- 
 tain, and the horrible ill-breeding of the English in general ; 
 declaring, she should make her escape with all expedition 
 from so beastly a nation. But nothing can be more strangely 
 absurd, than to hear politeness recommended in language so 
 repugnant to it as that of Madame Duval. 
 
 She lamented, very mournfully, the fate of her Lyons 
 silk ; and protested she had rather have parted with all 
 the rest of her wardrobe, because it was the first gown she 
 had bought to wear upon leaving off her weeds. She has 
 a very bad cold, and Monsieur Dn Bois is so hoarse, he can 
 hardly speak. 
 
 She insisted upon my staying with her all day ; as she 
 intended, she said, to introduce me to some of my own rela- 
 tions. I would very fain have excused myself, but she did 
 not allow me any choice. 
 
 Till the arrival of these relations, one continued series of 
 questions on her side, and of answers on mine, filled up all 
 the time we passed together. Her curiosity was insatiable ; 
 she inquired into every action of my life, and every particu- 
 lar that had fallen under my observation in the lives of all 
 I knew. Again, she was so cruel as to avow the most in- 
 veterate rancour against the sole benefactor her deserted 
 child and grand-child have met with ; and such was the in- 
 dignation her ingratitude raised, that I would actually have 
 quitted her presence and house, had she not, in a manner 
 the most peremptory, absolutely forbid me. But what, 
 good Heaven ! can induce her to such shocking injustice ? 
 O, my friend and father ! I have no command of myself 
 when this subject is started. 
 
 She talked very much of taking me to Paris, and said I 
 greatly wanted the polish of a French education. She la- 
 mented that I had been brought up in the country, which, she 
 observed, had given me a very bumpkinish air. However, 
 she bid me not despair, for she had known many girls much 
 worse than me, who had become very fine ladies after a few 
 years residence abroad ; and she particularly instanced a 
 Miss Polly Moore, daughter of a chandler's- shop woman, 
 who, by an accident not worth relating, happened to be sent 
 
64 EYELINA. 
 
 to Paris, where, from an awkward ill-bred girl, she so much 
 improved, that she has since been taken for a woman of 
 quality. 
 
 The relations to whom she was pleased to introduce me, 
 consisted of a Mr. Branghton, who is her nephew, and three 
 of his children, the eldest of which is a son, and the two 
 younger are daughters. 
 
 Mr. Branghton appears about forty years of age. He 
 does not seem to want a common understanding, though he 
 is very contracted and prejudiced : he has spent his whole 
 time in the city, and I believe feels a great contempt for 
 all who reside elsewhere. 
 
 His son seems weaker in his understanding, and more 
 gay in his temper ; but his gaiety is that of a foolish, over- 
 grown school-boy, whose mirth consists in noise and distur- 
 bance. He disdains his father for his close attention to busi- 
 ness, and love of money ; though he seems himself to have no 
 talents, spirit, or generosity, to make him superior to either. 
 His chief delight appears to be tormenting and ridiculing 
 his sisters ; who, in return, most heartily despise him. 
 
 Miss Branghton, the eldest daughter, is by no means ugly ; 
 but looks proud, ill-tempered, and conceited. She hates 
 the city, though without knowing why ; for it is easy to 
 discover she has lived no where else. 
 
 Miss Polly Branghton is rather pretty, very foolish, very 
 ignorant, very giddy, and, 1 believe, very good-natured. 
 
 The first half -hour was allotted to making themselves com- 
 fortable; for they complained of having had a very dirty 
 walk, as they came on foot from Snow Hill, where Mr. 
 Branghton keeps a silver- smith's shop ; and the young 
 ladies had not only their coats to brush, and shoes to dry, 
 but to adjust their head-dress, which their bonnets had 
 totally discomposed. 
 
 The manner in which Madame Duval was pleased to in- 
 troduce me to this family extremely shocked me. " Here, 
 my dears," said she, " here's a relation you little thought of : 
 but you must know, my poor daughter Caroline had this 
 child after she run away from me, — though I never knew 
 nothing of it, not I, for a long while after ; for they took 
 care to keep it a secret from me, though the poor child has 
 never a friend in the world besides." 
 
EVELINA. 81 
 
 which this Mr. Lovel harbours of my conduct, that he 
 would think it a provocation sufficiently important for a 
 duel, if his courage equalled his wrath. 
 
 I am terrified at the very idea. Good Heaven ! that a 
 man so weak and frivolous should be so revengeful ! How- 
 ever, if bravery would have excited him to affront Lord 
 Orville, how much reason have I to rejoice that cowardice 
 makes him contented with venting his spleen upon me ! 
 But we shall leave town soon, and, I hope, see him no more. 
 
 It was some consolation to me to hear from Miss Mirvan, 
 that, while he was speaking to me so cavalierly, Lord 
 Orville regarded him with great indignation. 
 
 But, really, I think there ought to be a book of the laws 
 and customs a-la-mode, presented to all young people upon 
 their first introduction into public company. 
 
 To-night we go to the opera, where I expect very great 
 pleasure. We shall have the same party as at the play ; 
 for Lord Orville said he should be there, and would look 
 for us. 
 
 LETTER XXL 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 I HAVE a volume to write of the adventures of yesterday. 
 In the afternoon, — at Berry Hill I should have said 
 the evening, for it was almost six o'clock, — while Miss 
 Mirvan and I were dressing for the opera, and in high 
 spirits from the expectation of great entertainment and 
 pleasure, we heard a carriage stop at the door, and con- 
 cluded that Sir Clement Willoughby, with his usual as- 
 siduity, was come to attend us to the Haymarket ; but, in 
 a few moments, what was our surprise to see our chamber 
 door flung open, and the two Miss Branghtons enter the 
 room ! They advanced to me with great familiarity, saying, 
 " How do you do, Cousin ? — so we've caught you at the 
 glass ! — well, I'm determined I'll tell my brother of that ! " 
 Miss Mirvan, who had never before seen them, and could 
 not at first imagine who they were, looked so much asto- 
 nished, that I was ready to laugh myself, till the eldest said, 
 
 G 
 
82 EVELINA. 
 
 " We're come to take you to the opera, Miss ; papa and my 
 brother are below, and we are to call for your grand-mama 
 as we go along.' ' 
 
 " I am very sorry," answered I, " that you should have 
 taken so much trouble, as I am engaged already." 
 
 11 Engaged ! Lord, Miss, never mind that,'' cried the 
 youngest; "this young lady will make your excuses I dare 
 say ; it's only doing as one would be done by, you know." 
 
 " Indeed Ma'am," said Miss Mirvan, " I shall myself be 
 very sorry to be deprived of Miss Anville's company this 
 evening." 
 
 "Well, Miss, that is not so very good-natured in you," 
 said Miss Branghton, " considering we only come to give 
 our cousin pleasure ; it's no good to us ; it's all upon her 
 account ; for we came, I don't know how much round 
 about to take her up." 
 
 " I am extremely obliged to you," said I, " and very 
 sorry you have lost so much time ; but I cannot possibly help 
 it, for I engaged myself without knowing you would call." 
 
 " Lord, what signifies that ? " said Miss Polly, " you're 
 no old maid, and so you needn't be so very formal : besides, 
 I dare say those you are engaged to a'n't half so near related 
 to you as we are." 
 
 " I must beg you not to press me any further, for I 
 assure you it is not in my power to attend you." 
 
 " Why, we came all out of the city on purpose : besides, 
 your grand-mama expects you ; — and, pray, what are we to 
 say to her ? " 
 
 " Tell her, if you please, that I am much concerned, — 
 but that I am pre-engaged." 
 
 " And who to ? " demanded the abrupt Miss Branghton. 
 
 " To Mrs. Mirvan, — and a large party." 
 
 " And, pray, what are you all going to do, that it would 
 be such a mighty matter for you to come along with us ? " 
 
 " We are all going to — to the opera." 
 
 " dear, if that be all, why can't we go altogether ? " 
 
 I was extremely disconcerted at this forward and ignorant 
 behaviour, and yet their rudeness very much lessened my 
 concern at refusing them. Indeed, their dress was such as 
 would have rendered their scheme of accompanying our 
 party impracticable, even if I had desired it ; and this, as 
 
EVELINA. 83 
 
 they did not themselves find it out, I was obliged, 
 in terms the least mortifying I could think of, to tell 
 them. 
 
 They were very much chagrined, and asked where I 
 should sit. 
 
 " In the pit," answered I. 
 
 " In the pit ! " repeated Miss Branghton ; " well, really, 
 I must own, I should never have supposed that my gown 
 was not good enough for the pit : but come, Polly, let's go ; 
 if Miss does not think us fine enough for her, why to be 
 sure she may choose." 
 
 Surprised at this ignorance, I would have explained to 
 them, that the pit at the opera required the same dress as 
 the boxes ; but they were so much affronted they would 
 not hear me ; and, in great displeasure, left the room, say- 
 ing, they would not have troubled me, only they thought I 
 should not be so proud with my own relations, and that 
 they had at least as good a right to my company as 
 strangers. 
 
 I endeavoured to apologize, and would have sent a long 
 message to Madame Duval : but they hastened away with- 
 out listening to me ; and I could not follow them down 
 stairs, because I was not dressed. The last words I heard 
 them say were, "Well, her grandmama will be in a fine 
 passion, that's one good thing." 
 
 Though I was extremely mad at this visit, yet I so heartily 
 rejoiced at their going, that I would not suffer myself to 
 think gravely about it. 
 
 Soon after, Sir Clement actually came, and we all went 
 down stairs. Mrs. Mirvan ordered tea ; and we were 
 engaged in a very lively conversation, when the servant 
 announced Madame Duval, who instantly followed him into 
 the room. 
 
 Her face was the colour of scarlet, and her eyes sparkled 
 with fury. She came up to me with a hasty step, saying, 
 "So, Miss, you refuses to come to me, do you ? And pray 
 who are you, to dare to disobey me ? " 
 
 I was quite frightened; — I made no answer; — I even 
 attempted to rise, and could not, but sat still, mute and 
 motionless. 
 
 Every body but Miss Mirvnn seemed in the utmost 
 
84 EVELINA. 
 
 astonishment ; and the Captain rising and approaching 
 Madame Duval, with a voice of authority, said, " Why, 
 how now, Mrs. Turkey-cock, what's put you into this here 
 fluster ? " 
 
 " It's nothing to you," answered she, " so you may as 
 well hold your tongue ; for I sha'n't be called to no account 
 by you, I assure you." 
 
 " There you're out, Madam Fury," returned he ; " for 
 you must know, I never suffer any body to be in a passion 
 in my house, but myself." 
 
 " But you shall," cried she, in a great rage ; " for I'll be 
 in as great a passion as ever I please, without asking your 
 leave : so don't give yourself no more airs about it. And 
 as for you Miss," again advancing to me, " I order you to 
 follow me this moment, or else I'll make you repent it all 
 your life." And, with these words, she flung out of the 
 room. 
 
 I was in such extreme terror, at being addressed and 
 threatened in a manner to which I am so wholly unused, 
 that I almost thought I should have fainted. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, my love," cried Mrs. Mirvan, " but 
 stay where you are, and I will follow Madame Duval, and 
 try to bring her to reason." 
 
 Miss Mirvan took my hand, and most kindly endeavoured 
 to raise my spirits. Sir Clement, too, approached me, with 
 an air so interested in my distress, that I could not but 
 feel myself obliged to him ; and, taking my other hand, 
 said, " For Heaven's sake, my dear Madam, compose your- 
 self : surely the violence of such a wretch ought merely to 
 move your contempt ; she can have no right, I imagine, to 
 lay her commands upon you, and I only wish that you 
 would allow me to speak to her." 
 
 " no ! not for the world ! — indeed, I believe, — I am 
 afraid — I had better follow her." 
 
 " Follow her ! Good God, my dear Miss Anville, would 
 you trust yourself with a mad woman ? for what else can 
 you call a creature whose passions are so insolent ? No, 
 no ; send her word at once to leave the house, and tell her 
 you desire that she will never see you again." 
 
 " O Sir ! you don't know who you talk of ! — it would 
 ill become me to send Madame Duval such a message." 
 
EVELINA. 85 
 
 " But why" cried he, (looking very inquisitive,) " why 
 should you scruple to treat her as she deserves ? " 
 
 I then found that his aim was to discover the nature of 
 her connection with me ; but I felt so much ashamed of my 
 near relationship to her, that I could not persuade myself 
 to answer him, and only intreated that he would leave her 
 to Mrs. Mirvan, who just then entered the room. 
 
 Before she could speak to me, the Captain called out, 
 " Well, G-oody, what have you done with Madame French ? 
 is she cooled a little ? cause if she ben't, I've just thought 
 of a most excellent device to bring her to." 
 
 " My dear Evelina," said Mrs. Mirvan, " I have been 
 vainly endeavouring to appease her ; I pleaded your engage- 
 ment, and promised your future attendance : but I am sorry 
 to say, my love, that I fear her rage will end in a total 
 breach (which I think you had better avoid) if she is any 
 further opposed." 
 
 " Then I will go to her, Madam," cried I ; " and, indeed, 
 it is now no matter, for I should not be able to recover my 
 spirits sufficiently to enjoy much pleasure any where this 
 evening." 
 
 Sir Clement began a very warm expostulation and i.n- 
 treaty, that I would not go ; but I begged him to desist, 
 and told him, very honestly, that, if my compliance were 
 not indispensably necessary, I should require no persuasion 
 to stay. He then J;ook my hand, to lead me down stairs ; 
 but the Captain desired him to be quiet, saying he would 
 'squire me himself, " because " he added, (exultingly rubbing 
 his hands) "I have a wipe ready for the old lady, which 
 may serve her to chew as she goes along." 
 
 We found her in the parlour, " you're come at last, 
 Miss, are you ? — fine airs you give yourself, indeed ! — ma 
 foi, if you hadn't come, you might have staid, I assure you, 
 and have been a beggar for your pains." 
 
 " Heyday, Madam," cried the Captain, (prancing for- 
 ward, with a look of great glee) " what, a'n't you got out of 
 that there passion yet ? why then, I'll tell you what to do 
 to cool yourself ; call upon your old friend, Monseer Slippery, 
 who was with you at Ranelagh, and give my service to him, 
 and tell him, if he sets any store by your health, that I desire 
 he'll give you such another souse as he did before : hell 
 
86 EVELINA. 
 
 know what I mean, and I'll warrant you he'll do't, for my 
 sake." 
 
 " Let 1 i, if he dares ! " cried Madame Duval ; "but I 
 shan't stay to answer you no more ; you are a vulgar fellow ; 
 — and so, child, let us leave him to himself. " 
 
 " Hark ye, Madam," cried the Captain, " you'd best not 
 call names ; because, d'ye see, if you do, I shall make bold 
 to shew you the door." 
 
 She changed colour, and saying, " Pardi, I can shew it 
 myself," hurried out of the room, and I followed her into a 
 hackney-coach. But, before we drove off, the Captain, 
 looking out of the parlour window, called out " D'ye hear, 
 Madam, don't forget my message to Monseer." 
 
 You will believe our ride was not the most agreeable in 
 the world ; indeed, it would be difficult to say which was 
 least pleased, Madame Duval or me, though the reasons of 
 our discontent were so different : however, Madame Duval 
 soon got the start of me ; for we had hardly turned out of 
 Queen Ann Street, when a man, running full speed, stopt 
 the coach. He came up to the window, and I saw he was 
 the Captain's servant. He had a broad grin on his face, and 
 panted for breath. Madame Duval demanded his business : 
 " Madam," answered he, " my master desires his compli- 
 ments to you, and — and — and he says he wishes it well over 
 with you. He ! he ! he ! — " 
 
 Madame Duval instantly darted forward, and gave him 
 a violent blow on the face ; " Take that back for your 
 answer, sirrah," cried she, " and learn not to grin at your 
 betters another time. Coachman, drive on ! " 
 
 The servant was in a violent passion, and swore terribly ; 
 but we were soon out of hearing. 
 
 The rage of Madame Duval was greater than ever ; and 
 she inveighed against the Captain with such fury, that I 
 was even apprehensive she would have returned to his 
 house, purposely to reproach him, which she repeatedly 
 threatened to do ; nor would she, I believe, have hesitated 
 a moment, but that, notwithstanding her violence, he has 
 really made her afraid of him. 
 
 When we came to her lodgings we found all the Brangh- 
 tons in the passage, impatiently waiting for us with the 
 door open. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 " Only see, here's Miss ! " cried the brother. 
 
 "Well, I declare I thought as much ! " said the younger 
 sister. 
 
 " Why, Miss," said Mr. Branghton, " I think you 
 might as well have come with your cousins at once ; it's 
 throwing money in the dirt, to pay two coaches for one 
 fare." 
 
 " Lord, father," cried the son, " make no words about 
 that ; for I'll pay for the coach that Miss had." 
 
 " 0, I know very well," answered Mr. Branghton, " that 
 you're always more ready to spend than to earn." 
 
 I then interfered, and begged that I might myself be 
 allowed to pay the fare, as the expence was incurred upon 
 my account ; they all said no, and proposed that the same 
 coach should carry us to the opera. 
 
 While this passed, the Miss Branghtons were examining 
 my dress, which, indeed, was very improper for my company ; 
 and, as I was extremely unwilling to be so conspicuous 
 amongst them, I requested Madame Duval to borrow a hat 
 or bonnet for me of the people of the house. But she never 
 wears either herself, and thinks them very English and bar- 
 barous ; therefore she insisted that I should go full dressed, 
 as I had prepared myself for the pit, though I made many 
 objections. 
 
 We were then all crowded into the same carriage ; but 
 when we arrived at the opera-house, I contrived to pay the 
 coachman. They made a great many speeches ; but Mr. 
 Brangh ton's reflection had determined me not to be indebted 
 to him. 
 
 If I had not been too much chagrined to laugh, I should 
 have been extremely diverted at their ignorance of whatever 
 belongs to an opera. In the first place they could not tell 
 at what door we ought to enter, and we wandered about for 
 some time, without knowing which way to turn : they did 
 not choose to apply to me, though I was the only person of 
 the party who had ever before been at an opera ; because 
 they were unwilling to suppose that their country cousin, as 
 they were pleased to call me, should be better acquainted 
 with any London public place than themselves. I was very 
 indifferent and careless upon this subject ; but not a little 
 uneasy at finding that my dress, so different from that of 
 
bb EVELINA. 
 
 the company to which I belonged, attracted general notice 
 and observation. 
 
 In a short time, however, we arrived at one of the door- 
 keeper's bars. Mr. Branghton demanded for what part of 
 the house they took money ? They answered, the pit ; and 
 regarded ns all with great earnestness. The son then 
 advancing, said " Sir, if you please, I beg that I may treat 
 Miss." 
 
 " We'll settle that another time," answered Mr. Brangh- 
 ton, and put down a guinea. 
 
 Two tickets of admission were given to him. 
 
 Mr. Branghton, in his turn, now stared at the door-keeper, 
 and demanded what he meant by giving him only two 
 tickets for a guinea. 
 
 " Only two, Sir ! " said the man ; " why, don't you know 
 that the tickets are half -a- guinea each ? " 
 
 " Half-a-guinea each ! " repeated Mr. Branghton, " why, 
 I never heard of such a thing in my life ! And pray, Sir, 
 how many will they admit ? M 
 
 " Just as usual, Sir, one person each." 
 
 " But one person for half-a-guinea ! — why, I only want 
 to sit in the pit, friend." 
 
 " Had not the ladies better sit in the gallery, Sir ; for 
 they'll hardly choose to go into the pit with their hats on ? " 
 
 " 0, as to that," cried Miss Branghton, " if our hats are 
 too high, we'll take them off when we get in. I sha'n't 
 mind it, for I did my hair on purpose." 
 
 Another party then approaching, the door-keeper could 
 no longer attend to Mr. Branghton; who, taking up the 
 guinea, told him it should be long enough before he'd see it 
 again, and walked away. 
 
 The young ladies, in some confusion, expressed their sur- 
 prise that their papa should not know the opera prices, 
 which, for their parts, they had read in the papers a thou- 
 sand times. 
 
 " The price of stocks," said he, " is enough for me to see 
 after ; and I took it for granted it was the same thing here 
 as at the play-house." 
 
 " I knew well enough what the price was," said the son ; 
 " but I would not speak, because I thought perhaps they'd 
 take less, as we're such a large party." 
 
EVELINA. »y 
 
 The sisters both laughed very contemptuously at this 
 idea, and asked him if he ever heard of people's abating any 
 thing at a public place ? 
 
 " I don't know whether I have or no," answered he ; 
 " but I am sure if they would, you'd like it so much the 
 worse." 
 
 " Very true, Tom," cried Mr. Branghton ; " tell a 
 woman that any thing is reasonable, and she'll be sure to 
 hate it." 
 
 "Well," said Miss Polly, "I hope that aunt and Miss 
 will be of our side, for papa always takes part with Tom." 
 
 " Come, come," cried Madame Duval, " if you stand talk- 
 ing here, we sha'n't get no place at all." 
 
 Mr. Branghton then enquired the way to the gallery ; 
 and, when we came to the door-keeper, demanded what 
 was to pay. 
 
 " The usual price, Sir," said the man. 
 
 " Then give me change," cried Mr. Branghton, again 
 putting down his guinea. 
 
 " For how many, Sir ? *' 
 
 " Why — let's see, for six." 
 
 " For six, Sir ? why, you've given me but a guinea." 
 
 " But a guinea ! why, how much would you have ? I sup- 
 pose it i'n't half-a-guinea a piece here too ? " 
 
 "No, Sir, only five shillings." 
 
 Mr, Branghton again took up his unfortunate guinea, 
 and protested he would submit to no such imposition. I 
 then proposed that we should return home, but Madame 
 Duval would not consent ; and we were conducted, by a 
 woman who sells books of the opera, to another gallery- 
 door, where, after some disputing, Mr. Branghton at last 
 paid, and we all went up stairs. 
 
 Madame Duval complained very much of the trouble of 
 going so high : but Mr. Branghton desired her not to hold 
 the place too cheap ; " for, whatever you think," cried he, 
 " I assure you I paid pit price ; so don't suppose I come 
 here to save my money." 
 
 " Well, to be sure," said Miss Branghton, " there's no 
 judging of a place by the outside, else, I must needs say, 
 there's nothing very extraordinary in the stair-case." 
 
 But, when we entered the gallery, their amazement and 
 
90 EVELINA. 
 
 disappointment became general. For a few instants, they 
 looked at one another without speaking, and then they all 
 broke silence at once. 
 
 " Lord, papa," exclaimed Miss Polly, " why, you have 
 brought us to the one-shilling gallery ! " 
 
 " I'll be glad to give you two shillings, though," answered 
 he, " to pay. I was never so fooled out of my money be- 
 fore, since the hour of my birth. Either the door-keeper's 
 a knave, or this is the greatest imposition that ever was 
 put upon the public." 
 
 "Mafoi" cried Madame Duval, " I never sat in such a 
 mean place in all my life ; — why, it's as high — we sha'n't 
 see nothing." 
 
 "I thought at the time," said Mr. Branghton, "that 
 three shillings was an exorbitant price for a place in the 
 gallery : but as we'd been asked so much at the other doors, 
 why I paid it without many words ; but then, to be sure, 
 thinks I, it can never be like any other gallery, we shall see 
 some crinkum-crankum or other for our money ; but I find 
 it's as arrant a take-in as ever I met with." 
 
 "Why, it's as like the twelve-penny gallery at Drury 
 Lane," cried the son, " as two peas are to one another. I 
 never knew father so bit before." 
 
 I " Lord," said Miss Branghton, " I thought it would have 
 been quite a fine place, — all over, I don't know what, — and 
 done quite in taste." 
 
 In this manner they continued to express their dissatis- 
 faction till the curtain drew up ; after which their observa- 
 tions were very curious. They made no allowance for the 
 customs, or even for the language, of another country ; but 
 formed all their remarks upon comparisons with the English 
 theatre. 
 
 ^Notwithstanding my vexation at having been forced into 
 a party so very disagreeable, and that, too, from one so 
 much — so very much the contrary — yet, would they have 
 suffered me to listen, I should have forgotten every thing 
 unpleasant, and felt nothing but delight in hearing the sweet 
 voice of Signor Millico, the first singer ; but they tormented 
 me with continual talking. 
 
 " What a jabbering they make ! " cried Mr. Branghton, 
 " there's no knowing a word they say. Pray, what's the 
 
EYELINA. 91 
 
 reason they can't as well sing in English ? — but I suppose 
 the fine folks would not like it, if they could understand it." 
 
 " How unnatural their action is ! " said the son : " why, 
 now, who ever saw an Englishman put himself in such out- 
 of-the-way postures ? " 
 
 " For my part," said Miss Polly, " I think it's very pretty, 
 only I don't know what it means." 
 
 " Lord, what does that signify," cried her sister ; " mayn't 
 one like a thing without being so very particular ? — You 
 may see that Miss likes it, and I don't suppose she knows 
 more of the matter than we do." 
 
 A gentleman, soon after, was so obliging as to make 
 room in the front row for Miss Branghton and me. We had 
 no sooner seated ourselves, than Miss Branghton exclaimed, 
 " Grood gracious ! only see ! — why, Polly, all the people in 
 the pit are without hats, dressed like any thing ! " 
 
 " Lord, so they are," cried Miss Polly; " well, I never 
 saw the like ! — it's worth coming to the opera, if one saw 
 nothing else." 
 
 I was then able to distinguish the happy party I had left ; 
 and I saw that Lord Orville had seated himself next to Mrs. 
 Mirvan. Sir Clement had his eyes perpetually cast towards 
 the five shilling gallery, where I suppose he concluded that 
 we were seated ; however, before the opera was over, I have 
 reason to believe that he had discovered me, high and dis- 
 tant as I was from him. Probably he distinguished me by 
 my head-dress. 
 
 At the end of the first act, as the green curtain dropped 
 to prepare for the dance, they imagined that the opera was 
 done ; and Mr. Branghton expressed great indignation that 
 he had been tricked out of his money with so little trouble. 
 " Now, if any Englishman was to do such an impudent 
 thing as this," said he, "why, he'd be pelted; — but here, 
 one of these outlandish gentry may do just what he pleases, 
 and come on, and squeak out a song or two, and then pocket 
 your money without further ceremony." 
 
 However, so determined he was to be dissatisfied, that, be- 
 fore the conclusion of the third act, he found still more 
 fault with the opera for being too long ; and wondered 
 whether they thought their singing good enough to serve us 
 for supper. 
 
92 EVELINA. 
 
 During the symphony of a song of Signor Millico's, in 
 the second act, young Mr. Branghton said, " It's my belief 
 that that fellow's going to sing another song ! — why, there's 
 nothing but singing ! — I wonder when they'll speak." 
 
 This song, which was slow and pathetic, caught all my 
 attention, and I leaned my head forward to avoid hearing 
 their observations, that I might listen without interruption : 
 but, upon turning round, when the song was over, I found 
 that I was the object of general diversion to the whole 
 party ; for the Miss Branghtons were tittering, and the two 
 gentlemen making signs and faces at me, implying their 
 contempt of my affectation. 
 y This discovery determined me to appear as inattentive as 
 themselves ; but I was very much provoked at being thus 
 prevented enjoying the only pleasure, which, in such a 
 party, was within my power. 
 
 " So Miss," said Mr. Branghton, " you're quite in the 
 fashion, I see ; — so you like operas ? well, I'm not so polite ; 
 I can't like nonsense, let it be never so much the taste." 
 
 " But pray, Miss," said the son, " what makes that fellow 
 look so doleful while he is singing ? " 
 
 " Probably because the character he performs is in distress." 
 
 " Why, then, I think he might as well let alone singing 
 till he's in better cue : it's out of all nature for a man to 
 be piping when he's in distress. For my part, I never sing 
 but when I'm merry ; yet I love a song as well as most 
 people." 
 
 When the curtain dropt they all rejoiced. 
 
 " How do you like it ? " — and " How do you like it ? " passed 
 from one to another with looks of the utmost contempt. 
 " As for me," said Mr. Branghton, " they've caught me once ; 
 but if ever they d© again, I'll give 'em leave to sing me to 
 Bedlam for my pains : for such a heap of stuff never did I 
 hear : there isn't one ounce of sense in the whole opera, 
 nothing but one continued squeaking and squalling from 
 beginning to end." 
 
 "If I had been in the pit," said Madame Duval, " I 
 should have liked it vastly, for music is my passion ; but 
 sitting in such a place as this, is quite unbearable." 
 
 Miss Branghton, looking at me, declared, that she was not 
 genteel enough to admire it. 
 
EVELINA. 93 
 
 Miss Polly confessed, that, if they would but sing English, 
 she would like it very well. 
 
 The brother wished he could raise a riot in the house, be- 
 cause then he might get his money again. 
 
 And, finally, they all agreed that it was monstrous 
 dear. 
 
 During the last dance, I perceived standing near the 
 gallery-door, Sir Clement Willoughby. I was extremely 
 vexed, and would have given the world to have avoided 
 being seen by him : my chief objection was, from the ap- 
 prehension that he would hear Miss Branghton call me 
 cousin. — I fear you will think this London journey has 
 made me grow very proud ; but indeed this family is so low- 
 bred and vulgar, that I should be equally ashamed of such 
 a connection in the country, or any where. And really I 
 had already been so much chagrined that Sir Clement had 
 been a witness of Madame Duval's power over me, that 
 I could not bear to be exposed to any further mortifi- 
 cation. 
 
 As the seats cleared, by parties going away, Sir Clement 
 approached nearer to us. The Miss Branghtons observed 
 with surprise, what a fine gentleman was come into the 
 gallery ; and they gave me great reason to expect, that they 
 would endeavour to attract his notice, by familiarity with 
 me, whenever he should join us ; and so I formed a sort of 
 plan to prevent any conversation. I'm afraid you will 
 think it wrong ; and so I do myself now ; — but, at the 
 time, I only considered how I might avoid immediate 
 humiliation. 
 
 As soon as he was within two seats of us, he spoke to 
 me : "I am very happy, Miss Anville, to have found you, 
 for the ladies below have each an humble attendant, and 
 therefore I am come to offer my services here." 
 
 " Why then," cried I, (not without hesitating) " if you 
 please, — I will join them." 
 
 " Will you allow me the honour of conducting you ? ,r 
 cried he eagerly ; and, instantly taking my hand, he would 
 have marched away with me : but I turned to Madame 
 Duval, and said, " As our party is so large, Madame, if you 
 will give me leave, I will go down to Mrs. Mir van, that I 
 may not crowd you in the coach.' ' 
 
94 EVELINA. 
 
 And then, without waiting for an answer, I suffered Sir 
 Clement to hand me out of the gallery. 
 
 Madame Duval, I doubt not, will be very angry ; and so 
 I am with myself now, and therefore I cannot be surprised : 
 but Mr. Branghton, I am sure, will easily comfort himself, 
 in having escaped the additional coach-expence of carrying 
 me to Queen Ann Street ; as to his daughters, they had 
 no time to speak ; but I saw they were in utter amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 My intention was to join Mrs. Mirvan, and accompany 
 her home. Sir Clement was in high spirits and good- 
 humour ; and all the way we went, I was fool enough 
 to rejoice in secret at the success of my plan; nor was 
 it till I got down stairs, and amidst the servants, that 
 any difficulty occurred to me of meeting with my 
 friends. 
 
 I then asked Sir Clement, how I should contrive to 
 acquaint Mrs. Mirvan that I had left Madame Duval ? 
 
 " I fear it will be almost impossible to find her," answered 
 he ; <; but you can have no objection to permitting me to see 
 you safe home." 
 
 He then desired his servant, who was waiting, to order 
 his chariot to draw up. 
 
 This quite startled me ; I turned to him hastily, and 
 said that I could not think of going away without Mrs. 
 Mirvan. 
 
 " But how can we meet with her ? " cried he ; " you will 
 not choose to go into the pit yourself ; I cannot send a 
 servant there ; and it is impossible for me to go and leave 
 you alone." 
 
 The truth of this was indisputable, and totally silenced 
 me. Yet, as soon as I could recollect myself, I determined 
 not to go into his chariot, and told him I believed I had 
 best return to my party up stairs. 
 
 He would not hear of this ; and earnestly intreated me not 
 to withdraw the trust I had reposed in him. 
 
 While he was speaking, I saw Lord Orville, with several 
 ladies and gentlemen, coming from the pit passage : unfor- 
 tunately he saw me too, and, leaving his company, advanced 
 instantly towards me, and, with an air and voice of surprise, 
 said, " Good God, do I see Miss Anville ! " 
 
EVELINA. f '95 ) 
 
 I now most severely felt the folly of my plan, and the 
 awkwardness of my situation : however, I hastened to tell 
 him, though in a hesitating manner, that I was waiting for 
 Mrs. Mir van ; but what was my disappointment, when he 
 acquainted me that she was already gone home ! 
 
 I was inexpressibly distressed ; to suffer Lord Orville to 
 think me satisfied with the single protection of Sir Clement 
 Willoughby, I could not bear ; yet I was more than ever 
 averse to returning to a party which I dreaded his seeing. 
 I stood some moments in suspense, and could not help ex- 
 claiming, " Good Heaven, what can I do ! " 
 
 " Why, my dear madam," cried Sir Clement, " should you 
 be thus uneasy ? — you will reach Queen Ann Street almost 
 as soon as Mrs. Mir van, and I am sure you cannot doubt 
 being as safe." 
 
 I made no answer, and Lord Orville then said, " My 
 coach is here ; and my servants are ready to take any com- 
 mands Miss Anville will honour me with for them. I shall 
 myself go home in a chair, and therefore " 
 
 How grateful did I feel for a proposal so considerate, and 
 made with so much delicacy ! I should gladly have ac- 
 cepted it, had I been permitted, but Sir Clement would not 
 let him even finish his speech ; he interrupted him with 
 evident displeasure, and said, " My Lord, my own chariot 
 is now at the door." 
 
 And just then the servant came, and told him the car- 
 riage was ready. He begged to have the honour of con- 
 ducting me to it, and would have taken my hand ; but I 
 drew it back, saying, " I can't — I can't indeed ! pray go by 
 yourself — and as to me, let me have a chair." 
 
 " Impossible," cried he with vehemence, " I cannot think 
 of trusting you with strange chairmen, — I cannot answer it 
 to Mrs. Mirvan ; — come, dear Madam, we shall be home in 
 five minutes." 
 
 Again I stood suspended. With what joy would I then 
 have compromised with my pride, to have been once more with 
 Madame Duval and the Branghtons, provided I had not met 
 with Lord Orville ! However, I flatter myself that he not 
 only saw but pitied my embarrassment ; for he said in a tone 
 of voice unusually softened, " To offer my services in the 
 presence of Sir Clement Willoughby would be superfluous ; 
 
96 EVELINA. 
 
 but I hope I need not assure Miss Anville how happy it 
 would make me to be of the least use to her." 
 
 I courtsied my thanks. Sir Clement, with great earnest- 
 ness, pressed me to go ; and while I was thus uneasily 
 deliberating what to do, the dance, I suppose, finished, for 
 the people crowded down stairs. Had Lord Orville then 
 repeated his offer, I would have accepted it notwithstanding 
 Sir Clement's repugnance ; but I fancy he thought it would 
 be impertinent. In a very few minutes I heard Madame 
 Duval's voice, as she descended from the gallery. " Well," 
 cried I hastily, " if I must go — " I stopt ; but Sir Clement 
 immediately handed me into his chariot, called out, " Queen 
 Ann Street," and then jumped in himself. Lord Orville, 
 with a bow and a half smile, wished me good night. 
 
 My concern was so great at being seen and left by Lord 
 Orville in so strange a situation, that I should have been 
 best pleased to have remained wholly silent during our ride 
 home ; but Sir Clement took care to prevent that. 
 
 He began by making many complaints of my unwilling- 
 ness to trust myself with him, and begged to know what 
 could be the reason ? This question so much embarrassed 
 me, that I could not tell what to answer ; but only said, 
 that I was sorry to have taken up so much of his time. 
 
 " O Miss Anville," cried he, taking my hand, " if you 
 knew with what transport I would dedicate to you not only 
 the present but all the future time allotted to me, you would 
 not injure me by making such an apology." 
 
 I could not think of a word to say to this, nor to a great 
 many other equally fine speeches with which he ran on; 
 though I would fain have withdrawn my hand, and made 
 almost continual attempts ; but in vain, for he actually 
 grasped it between both his, without any regard to my 
 resistance. 
 
 Soon after, he said that he believed the coachman was 
 going the wrong way ; and he called to his servant, 
 and gave him directions. Then again addressing himself 
 to me, " How often, how assiduously have I sought an 
 opportunity of speaking to you, without the presence of 
 that brute, Captain Mirvan ! Fortune has now kindly 
 favoured me with one ; and permit me," again seizing my 
 hand, " permit me to use it in telling you that I adore you." 
 
EVELINA. 97 
 
 I was quite thunderstruck at this abrupt and unex- 
 pected declaration. For some moments I was silent ; but 
 when I recovered from my surprise, I said, " Indeed, Sir, 
 if you were determined to make me repent leaving my own 
 party so foolishly, you have very well succeeded. " 
 
 " My dearest life," cried he, " is it possible you can be so 
 cruel ? Can your nature and your countenance be so 
 totally opposite ? Can the sweet bloom upon those charm- 
 ing cheeks, which appears as much the result of good- 
 humour as of beauty — " 
 
 " O, Sir," cried I, interrupting him, "this is very fine; 
 but I had hoped we had had enough of this sort of conver- 
 sation at the Bidotto, and I did not expect you would 
 so soon resume it." 
 
 " What I then said, my sweet reproach er, was the effect 
 of a mistaken, a profane idea, that your understanding held 
 no competition with your beauty ; but now, now that 
 I find you equally incomparable in both, all words, all 
 powers of speech, are too feeble to express the admiration I 
 feel of your excellencies." 
 
 " Indeed," cried I, "if your thoughts had any connection 
 with your language, you would never suppose that I could 
 give credit to praise so very much above my desert." 
 
 This speech, which I made very gravely, occasioned still 
 stronger protestations ; which he continued to pour forth, 
 and I continued to disclaim, till I began to wonder that we 
 were not in Queen Ann Street, and begged he would desire 
 the coachman to drive faster. 
 
 " And does this little moment," cried he, " which is the 
 first of happiness I have ever known, does it already appear 
 so very long to you ? " 
 
 " I am afraid the man has mistaken the way," answered 
 I, " or else we should ere now have been at our journey's 
 end. I must beg you will speak to him." 
 
 " And can you think me so much my own enemy ? — if 
 my good genius has inspired the man with a desire of pro- 
 longing my happiness, can you expect that I should counter- 
 act its indulgence ? " 
 
 I now began to apprehend that he had himself ordered 
 the man to go a wrong way ; and I was so much alarmed 
 at the idea, that, the very instant it occurred to me, I let 
 
 H 
 
98 EVELINA. 
 
 down the glass, and made a sudden effort to open the 
 chariot-door myself, with a view of jumping into the street ; 
 but he caught hold of me, exclaiming, " For Heaven's sake, 
 what is the matter ? " 
 
 " I — I don't know," cried I (quite out of breath), " but 
 I am sure the man goes wrong ; and if you will not speak 
 to him, I am determined I will get out myself." 
 
 "You amaze me," answered he (still holding me), "I 
 cannot imagine what you apprehend. Surely you can have 
 no doubts of my honour ? " 
 
 He drew me towards him as he spoke. I was frightened 
 dreadfully, and could hardly say, " No, Sir, no, — none at 
 all : only Mrs. Mirvan, — I think she will be uneasy." 
 
 " Whence this alarm, my dearest angel ? — What can you 
 fear ? — my life is at your devotion, and can you, then, 
 doubt my protection ? " 
 
 And so saying, he passionately kissed my hand. 
 
 Never, in my whole life, have I been so terrified. I broke 
 forcibly from him, and, putting my head out of the window, 
 called aloud to the man to stop. Where we then were, I 
 know not ; but I saw not a human being, or I should have 
 called for help. 
 
 Sir Clement, with great earnestness, endeavoured to 
 appease and compose me : "If you do not intend to murder 
 me," cried I; "for mercy's, for pity's sake, let me get 
 out ! " 
 
 " Compose your spirits, my dearest life," cried he, " and 
 I will do every thing you would have me." And then he 
 called to the man himself, and bid him make haste to 
 Queen Ann Street. " This stupid fellow," continued he, 
 " has certainly mistaken my orders ; but I hope you are now 
 fully satisfied." 
 
 I made no answer, but kept my head at the window, 
 watching which way he drove, but without any comfort to 
 myself, as I was quite unacquainted with either the right 
 or the wrong. 
 
 Sir Clement now poured forth abundant protestations of 
 honour, and assurances of respect, intr eating my pardon for 
 having offended me, and beseeching my good opinion : but 
 I was quite silent, having too much apprehension to make 
 reproaches, and too much anger to speak without. 
 
EVELINA. 99 
 
 Iii this manner we went through several streets, till at 
 last, to my great terror, he suddenly ordered the man to 
 stop, and said, " Miss Anville, we are now within twenty 
 yards of your house ; but I cannot bear to part with you, 
 till you generously forgive me for the offence you have 
 taken, and promise not to make it known to the Mir vans." 
 
 I hesitated between fear and indignation. 
 
 " Your reluctance to speak redoubles my contrition for 
 having displeased you, since it shews the reliance I might 
 have on a promise which you will not give without con- 
 sideration." 
 
 " I am very, very much distressed," cried I ; " you ask a 
 promise which you must be sensible I ought not to grant, 
 and yet dare not refuse." 
 
 " Drive on ! " cried he to the coachman ; " Miss An- 
 ville, I will not compel you ; I will exact no promise, but 
 trust wholly to your generosity." 
 
 This rather softened me ; which advantage he no sooner 
 perceived, than he determined to avail himself of ; for he 
 flung himself on his knees, and pleaded with so much. sub- 
 mission, that I was really obliged to forgive him, because 
 his humiliation made me quite ashamed : and, after that, he 
 would not let me rest till I gave him my word that I would 
 not complain of him to Mrs. Mir van. 
 
 My own folly and pride, which had put me in his power, 
 were pleas which I could not but attend to in his favour. 
 However, I shall take very particular care never to be again 
 alone with him. 
 
 When, at last, we arrived at our house, I was so overjoyed, 
 that I should certainly have pardoned him then, if I had 
 not before. As he handed me up stairs, he scolded his ser- 
 vant aloud, and very angrily, for having gone so much out 
 
 of the way. Miss Mirvan ran out to meet me ; and who 
 
 should I see behind her, but Lord Orville ! 
 
 All my joy now vanished, and gave place to shame and 
 confusion ; for I could not endure that he should know how 
 long a time Sir Clement and I had been together, since I 
 was not at liberty to assign any reason for it. 
 
 They all expressed great satisfaction at seeing me ; and 
 said they Irad been extremely uneasy and surprised that I 
 was so long coming home, as they had heard from Lord 
 
\^\^^ EVELINA. 
 
 Orville that I was not with Madame Duval. Sir Clement, 
 in an affected passion, said, that his booby of a servant had 
 misunderstood his orders, and was driving us to the upper 
 end of Piccadilly. For my part, I only coloured ; for 
 though I would not forfeit my word, I yet disdained to 
 confirm a tale in which I had myself no belief. 
 
 Lord Orville, with great politeness, congratulated me, 
 that the troubles of the evening had so happily ended ; and 
 said, that he had found it impossible to return home, before 
 he enquired after my safety. 
 
 In a very short time he took his leave, and Sir Clement 
 followed him. As soon as they were gone, Mrs. Mirvan, 
 though with great softness, blamed me for having quitted 
 Madame Duval. I assured her, and with truth, that for 
 the future I would be more prudent. 
 
 The adventures of the evening so much disconcerted me, 
 
 i that I could not sleep all night. I am under the most cruel 
 
 1 apprehensions lest Lord Orville should suppose my being on 
 
 rthe gallery- stairs with Sir Clement was a concerted scheme, 
 
 \and even that our continuing so long together in his chariot 
 
 was with my approbation, since I did not say a word on 
 
 the subject, nor express any dissatisfaction at the coachman's 
 
 pretended blunder. 
 
 Yet his coming hither to wait our arrival, though it 
 seems to imply some doubt, shews also some anxiety. In- 
 deed, Miss Mirvan says, that he appeared extremely anxious, 
 nay, uneasy and impatient for my return. If I did not fear 
 to flatter myself, I should think it not impossible but that 
 he had a suspicion of Sir Clement's design, and was there- 
 fore concerned for my safety. 
 
 What a long letter is this ! however, I shall not write 
 many more from London ; for the Captain said this morn- 
 ing, that he would leave town on Tuesday next. Madame 
 Duval will dine here to-day, and then she is to be told his 
 intention. 
 
 I am very much amazed that she accepted Mrs. Mirvan 's 
 invitation, as she was in such wrath yesterday. I fear that 
 to-day I shall myself be the principal object of her displea- 
 sure ; but I must submit patiently, for I cannot defend 
 myself. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest Sir. Should this letter be productive 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 of any uneasiness to you, more than ever shall I repent the 
 heedless imprudence which it recites. 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Monday Morning, April 18. 
 
 MRS. MIR VAN has just communicated to me an anec- 
 dote concerning Lord Orville, which has much sur- 
 prised, half pleased, and half pained me. 
 
 While they were sitting together during the opera, he 
 told her that he had been greatly concerned at the imperti- 
 nence which the young lady under her protection had 
 suffered from Mr. Lovel ; but that he had the pleasure of 
 assuring her, she had no future disturbance to apprehend 
 from him. 
 
 Mrs. Mir van, with great eagerness, begged he would 
 explain himself ; and said she hoped he had not thought so 
 insignificant an affair worthy his serious attention. 
 
 " There is nothing," answered he, "which requires more 
 immediate notice than impertinence, for it ever encroaches 
 when it is tolerated." He then added, that he believed he 
 ought to apologize for the liberty he had taken in interfer- 
 ing ; but that, as he regarded himself in the light of a party 
 concerned, from having had the honour of dancing with Miss 
 Anville, he could not possibly reconcile to himself a patient 
 neutrality. 
 
 He then proceeded to tell her, that he had waited upon 
 Mr. Lovel the morning after the play ; that the visit had 
 proved an amicable one, but the particulars were neither 
 entertaining nor necessary : he only assured her, Miss An- 
 ville might be perfectly easy, since Mr. Lovel had engaged 
 his honour never more to mention, or even to hint at what 
 had passed at Mrs. Stanley's assembly. 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan expressed her satisfaction at this conclusion, 
 and thanked him for his polite attention to her young 
 friend. 
 
 " It would be needless," said he, " to request that this 
 
102 / EVELINA. 
 
 affair may never transpire, since Mrs. Mirvan cannot but 
 see the necessity of keeping it inviolably secret; but I 
 thought it incumbent upon me, as the young lady is under 
 your protection, to assure both you and her of Mr. Lovel's 
 future respect.' ' 
 
 Had I known of this visit previous to Lord Orville's 
 making it, what dreadful uneasiness would it have cost me ! 
 Yet that he should so much interest himself in securing me 
 from offence, gives me, I must own, an internal pleasure, 
 greater than I can express ; for I feared he had too con- 
 temptuous an opinion of me, to take any trouble upon my 
 account. Though, after all, this interference might rather 
 be to satisfy his own delicacy, than from thinking well of me. 
 But how cool, how quiet is true courage ! Who, from 
 seeing Lord Orville at the play, would have imagined his 
 resentment would have hazarded his life ? yet his displeasure 
 was evident, though his real bravery and his politeness 
 equally guarded him from entering into any discussion in 
 our presence. 
 
 Madame Duval, as I expected, was most terribly angry 
 yesterday : she scolded me for, I believe, two hours, on 
 account of having left her ; and protested she had been so 
 much surprised at my going, without giving her time to 
 answer, that she hardly knew whether she was awake or 
 asleep. But she assured me that if ever I did so again, she 
 would never more take me into public. And she expressed 
 an equal degree of displeasure against Sir Clement, because 
 he had not even spoken to her, and because he was always 
 of the Captain's side in an argument. The Captain, as 
 bound in honour, warmly defended him, and then followed 
 a dispute in the usual style. 
 
 After dinner, Mrs. Mirvan introduced the subject of our 
 leaving London. Madame Duval said she should stay a 
 month or two longer. The Captain told her she was wel- 
 come, but that he and his family should go into the country 
 on Tuesday morning. 
 
 A most disagreeable scene followed. Madame Duval in- 
 sisted upon keeping me with her ; but Mrs. Mirvan said, 
 that as I was actually engaged on a visit to Lady Howard, 
 who had only consented to my leaving her for a few days, 
 she could not think of returning without me. 
 
EVELINA. 103 
 
 Perhaps, if the Captain had not interfered, the good- 
 breeding and mildness of Mrs. Mirvan might have had 
 some effect upon Madame Duval ; but he passes no oppor- 
 tunity of provoking her ; and therefore made so many gross 
 and rude speeches, all of which she retorted, that, in con- 
 clusion, she vowed she would sooner go to law in right of 
 her relationship, than that I should be taken away from her. 
 
 I heard this account from Mrs. Mirvan, who was so kindly 
 considerate as to give me a pretence for quitting the room 
 as soon as this dispute began, lest Madame Duval should 
 refer to me, and insist on my obedience. 
 
 The final result of the conversation was, that, to soften 
 matters for the present, Madame Duval should make one in 
 the party to Howard Grove, whither we are positively to 
 go next Wednesday. And though we are none of us satis- 
 fied with this plan, we know not how to form a better. 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan is now writing to Lady Howard, to excuse 
 bringing this unexpected guest, and prevent the disagree- 
 able surprise which must otherwise attend her reception. 
 This dear lady seems eternally studying my happiness and 
 advantage. 
 
 To-night we go to the Pantheon, which is the last diver- 
 sion we shall partake of in London ; for to-morrow 
 
 This moment, my dearest Sir, I have received your kind 
 letter. 
 
 If you thought us too dissipated the first week, I almost 
 fear to know what you will think of us this second ; — how- 
 ever, the Pantheon this evening will probably be the last 
 public place which I shall ever see. 
 
 The assurance of your support and protection in regard 
 to Madame Duval, though what I never doubted, excites 
 my utmost gratitude. How, indeed, cherished under your 
 roof, the happy object of your constant indulgence, how 
 could I have borne to become the slave of her tyrannical 
 humours ? — Pardon me that I speak so hardly of her ; but 
 whenever the idea of passing my days with her occurs to 
 me, the comparison which naturally follows, takes from me 
 all that forbearance which, I believe, I owe her. 
 
 You are already displeased with Sir Clement : to be sure, 
 
104 EVELINA. 
 
 then, his behaviour after the opera will not make his peace 
 with you. Indeed the more I reflect upon it, the more 
 angry I am. I was entirely in his power, and it was cruel 
 in him to cause me so much terror. 
 
 0, my dearest Sir, were I but worthy the prayers and 
 the wishes you offer for me, the utmost ambition of my heart 
 would be fully satisfied ! but I greatly fear you will find me, 
 now that I am out of the reach of your assisting prudence, 
 more weak and imperfect than you could have expected. 
 
 I have not now time to write another word, for I must 
 immediately hasten to dress for the evening. 
 
 LETTER XXIII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Queen Ann Street, Tuesday, April 19. 
 
 THERE is something to me half melancholy in writing 
 an account of our last adventures in London. How- 
 ever, as this day is merely appropriated to packing and 
 preparations for our journey, and as I shall shortly have 
 no more adventures to write, I think I may as well complete 
 my town journal at once : and, when you have it all to- 
 gether, I hope, my dear Sir, you will send me your obser- 
 vations and thoughts upon it to Howard Grove. 
 
 About eight o'clock we went to the Pantheon. 1 I was 
 extremely struck with the beauty of the building, which 
 greatly surpassed whatever I could have expected or 
 imagined. Yet it has more the appearance of a chapel than 
 of a place of diversion ; and, though I was quite charmed 
 with the magnificence of the room, I felt that I could not 
 be as gay and thoughtless there as at Ranelagh ; for there 
 is something in it which rather inspires awe and solemnity, 
 
 1 The Pantheon. — A theatre and public promenade — a kind of town 
 Ranelagh, built by James Wyatt. It was opened in January, 1772. 
 Dr. Johnson visited it with Boswell. They agreed in thinking it inferior 
 to Ranelagh. Ridottos were held at the Pantheon. This building was 
 burnt down in January, 1792. The present building is the third of the 
 name. 
 
EVELINA. 105 
 
 than mirth and pleasure. However, perhaps it may only 
 have this effect upon such a novice as myself. 
 
 I should have said, that our party consisted only of Cap- 
 tain, Mrs. and Miss Mirvan, as Madame Duval spent the 
 day in the city ; — which I own I could not lament. 
 
 There was a great deal of company ; but the first person 
 we saw was Sir Clement Willoughby. He addressed us 
 with his usual ease, and joined us for the whole evening. I 
 felt myself very uneasy in his presence ; for I could not 
 look at him, nor hear him speak, without recollecting the 
 chariot adventure ; but, to my great amazement, I observed 
 thathe looked at me without the least apparent discomposure, 
 though, certainly, he ought not to think of his behaviour 
 without blushing. I really wish I had not forgiven him, 
 and then he could not have ventured to speak to me any 
 more. 
 
 There was an exceeding good concert, but too much talk- 
 ing to hear it well. Indeed I am quite astonished to find 
 how little music is attended to in silence ; for, though every 
 body seems to admire, hardly any body listens. 
 
 We did not see Lord Orville till we went into the tea- 
 room, which is large, low, and under ground, and serves 
 merely as a foil to the apartments above ; he then sat next 
 to us. He seemed to belong to a large party, chiefly of 
 ladies ; but, among the gentlemen attending them, I per- 
 ceived Mr. Lovel. 
 
 I was extremely irresolute whether or not I ought to 
 make any acknowledgments to Lord Orville for his generous 
 conduct in securing me from the future impertinence of that 
 man ; and I thought, that, as he had seemed to allow Mrs. 
 Mirvan to acquaint me, though no one else, of the measures 
 which he had taken, he might perhaps suppose me ungrate- 
 ful if silent : however, I might have spared myself the 
 trouble of deliberating, as I never once had the shadow of 
 an opportunity of speaking unheard by Sir Clement. On 
 the contrary, he was so exceedingly officious and forward, 
 that I could not say a word to any body but instantly he 
 bent his head forward, with an air of profound attention, as 
 if I had addressed myself wholly to him ; and yet I never 
 once looked at him, and would not have spoken to him on 
 any account. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Indeed, Mrs. Mirvan herself, though unacquainted with 
 the behaviour of Sir Clement after the opera, says it is not 
 right for a young woman to be seen so frequently in public 
 with the« same gentleman ; and, if our stay in town was to 
 be lengthened, she would endeavour to represent to the 
 Captain the impropriety of allowing his constant attendance ; 
 for Sir Clement with all his easiness, could not be so eter- 
 nally of our parties, if the Captain was less fond of his 
 company. 
 
 At the same table with Lord Orville sat a gentleman, — 
 I call him so only because he was at the same table, — who, 
 almost from the moment I was seated, fixed his eyes stead- 
 fastly on my face, and never once removed them to any 
 other object during tea-time, notwithstanding my dislike of 
 his staring must, I am sure, have been very evident. I was 
 quite surprised, that a man, whose boldness was so offensive, 
 could have gained admission into a party of which Lord 
 Orville made one; for I naturally concluded him to be 
 some low-bred, uneducated man ; and I thought my idea 
 was indubitably confirmed, when I heard him say to Sir 
 Clement Willoughby, in an audible whisper, — which is a 
 mode of speech very distressing and disagreeable to by- 
 standers, — " For Heaven's sake, Willoughby, who is that 
 lovely creature ? " 
 
 But what was my amazement, when, listening attentively 
 for the answer, though my head was turned another way, 
 I heard Sir Clement say, " I am sorry I cannot inform your 
 Lordship, but I am ignorant myself." 
 
 Lordship ! how extraordinary ! that a nobleman, accus- 
 tomed, in all probability, to the first rank of company in 
 the kingdom, from his earliest infancy, can possibly be de- 
 ficient in good manners, however faulty in morals and prin- 
 ciples ! Even Sir Clement Willoughby appeared modest 
 in comparison with, this person. 
 
 During tea, a conversation was commenced upon the 
 times, fashions, and public places, in which the company of 
 both tables joined. It began by Sir Clement's inquiring of 
 Miss Mirvan and of me, if the Pantheon had answered our 
 expectations. 
 
 We both readily agreed that it had greatly exceeded 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 ^^oi) 
 
 " Ay, to be sure," said the Captain, " why, you don't 
 suppose they'd confess they didn't like it, do you ? What- 
 ever's the fashion, they must like, of course ; — or else, I'd be 
 bound for it, they'd own, that there never was such a dull 
 place as this here invented." 
 
 " And has, then, this building," said Lord Orville, " no 
 merit that may serve to lessen your censure ? Will not 
 your eye, Sir, speak something in its favour ? " 
 
 " Eve ! " cried the Lord, (I don't know his name,) " and 
 is there any eye here, that can find pleasure in looking at 
 dead walls or statues, when such heavenly living objects as 
 I now see demand all their admiration ? " 
 
 " 0, certainly," said Lord Orville, " the lifeless symmetry 
 of architecture, however beautiful the design and proportion, 
 no man would be so mad as to put in competition with the 
 animated charms of nature : but when, as to-night, the eye 
 may be regaled at the same time, and in one view, with all 
 the excellence of art, and all the perfection of nature, I can- 
 not think that either suffer by being seen together." 
 
 " I grant, my Lord," said Sir Clement, " that the cool 
 eye of unimpassioned philosophy may view both with equal 
 attention, and equal safety ; but, where the heart is not so 
 well guarded, it is apt to interfere, and render, even to the 
 eye, all objects but one insipid and uninteresting." to 
 
 '"'"Aye, Aye," cried the Captain, "you may talk what 
 you will of your eye here, and your eye there, and, for the 
 matter of that, to be sure you have two, — but we all know 
 they both squint one way." 
 
 " Far be it from me," said Lord Orville, " to dispute the 
 magnetic power of beauty, which irresistibly draws and 
 attracts whatever has soul and sympathy : and I am happy 
 to acknowledge, that though we have now no gods to occupy 
 a mansion professedly built for them, yet we have secured 
 their better halves, for we have goddesses to whom we all 
 most willingly bow down." And then, with a very droll 
 air, he made a profound reverence to the ladies. 
 
 " They'd need to be goddesses with a vengeance," said 
 the Captain, " for they're mortal dear to look at. How- 
 somever, I should be glad to know what you can see in e'er 
 a face among them that's worth half-a-guinea for a sight." 
 
 " Half-a-guinea ! " exclaimed that same Lord, " I would 
 
108* EVELINA. 
 
 give half I am worth for a sight of only one, provided I 
 make my own choice. And, prithee, how can money be 
 better employed than in the service of fine women ? " 
 
 " If the ladies of his own party can pardon the Captain's 
 speech," said Sir Clement, "I think he has a fair claim to 
 the forgiveness of all." 
 
 " Then you depend very much, as I doubt not but you 
 may," said Lord Orville, "upon the general sweetness of 
 the sex ; — but, as to the ladies of the Captain's party, they 
 may easily pardon, for they cannot be hurt." 
 
 " But they must have a devilish good conceit of them- 
 selves, though," said the Captain, " to believe all that. 
 Howsomever, whether or no, I should be glad to be told by 
 some of you, who seem to be knowing in them things, what 
 kind of diversion can be found in such a place as this here, 
 for one who has had, long ago, his full of face -hunting ? " 
 
 Every body laughed, but nobody spoke. 
 
 " Why, look you there now," continued the Captain, 
 " you're all at a dead stand ! — not a man among you can 
 answer that there question. Why, then, I must make bold 
 to conclude, that you all come here for no manner of pur- 
 pose but to stare at one another's pretty faces : — though, 
 for the matter of that, half of 'em are plaguy ugly ; — and, 
 as to t'other half, — I believe it's none of God's manu- 
 factory." 
 
 "What the ladies may come hither for, Sir," said Mr. 
 Lovel, (stroking his ruffles, and looking down,) " it would 
 ill become us to determine ; but as to we men, doubtless we 
 can have no other view than to admire them." 
 
 " If I ben't mistaken," cried the Captain, (looking earn- 
 estly in his face,) "you are that same person we saw at 
 Love for Love t'other night ; ben't you ? " 
 
 Mr. Lovel bowed. 
 
 "Why, then, Gentlemen," continued he, with a loud 
 laugh, " I must tell you a most excellent good joke ; — when 
 all was over, as sure as you're alive, he asked what the 
 play was ! Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " Sir," said Mr. Lovel, colouring, "if you were as much 
 used to a town-life as I am, — which, I presume, is not pre- 
 cisely the case, — I fancy you would not find so much 
 diversion from a circumstance so common." 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 " Common ! what, is it common ? " repeated the Captain ; 
 " why then, 'fore Greorge, such chaps are more fit to he sent 
 to school, and well disciplined with a cat-o'-nine-tails, than 
 to poke their heads into a play-house. W hy, a play is the 
 
 rmly thinf r 1f»ft f ^ ow-P-rlgy^ +.W-. nQq q gvoi^nf rnnnn in il l- 
 
 f or as to all the rest of vour public places, d'ye see, if __ 
 they were all put together, I woul dn't give that for 'em ! " 
 (snapping his nngers.) " Ana now we J re talking of them 
 sort of things, there's your operas, — I should like to know, 
 now, what any of you can find to say for them." 
 
 Lord Orville, who was most able to have answered, 
 seemed by no means to think the Captain worthy an argu- 
 ment, upon a subject concerning which he had neither 
 knowledge nor feeling : but, turning to us, he said, " The 
 ladies are silent, and we seem to have engrossed the con- 
 versation to ourselves, in which we are much more our own 
 enemies than theirs. But," addressing himself to Miss 
 Mirvan and me, " I am most desirous to hear the opinions 
 of these young ladies, to whom all public places must, as 
 yet, be new." 
 
 We both, and with eagerness, declared that we had 
 received as much, if not more pleasure, at the opera than 
 any where : but we had better have been silent ; for the 
 Captain, quite displeased, said, "What signifies asking 
 them girls ? Do you think they know their own minds yet ? 
 Ask 'em after any thing that's called diversion, and you're 
 sure they'll say it's vastly fine — they are a set of parrots, 
 and speak by rote, for they all say the same thing : but ask 
 'em how they like making puddings and pies, and I'll 
 warrant you'll pose 'em. As to them operas, I desire I 
 may hear no more of their liking such nonsense ; and for 
 you, Moll," (to his daughter,) " I charge you, as you 
 value my favour, that yo u'll never again be so impertinent 
 as to have a taste of yoi -ir owr Setose ™y ^ n ^i There are 
 ioois enough in the world, without your adding to their 
 number. I'll have no daughter of mine affect them sort of 
 megrims. It is a shame they a'n't put down ; and if I'd 
 my will, there's not a magistrate in this town but should 
 be knocked on the head for suffering them. If you've a 
 mind to praise any thing, why you may praise a play, and 
 welcome, for I like it myself." 
 
 I 
 
110 ' EYELINA. 
 
 This reproof effectually silenced us both for the rest of 
 the evening. Nay, indeed, for some minutes it seemed to 
 silence every body else ; till Mr. Lovel, not willing to lose 
 an opportunity of returning the Captain's sarcasm, said, 
 Ui Why, really Sir, it is but natural to be most pleased wi£h 
 what is most familiar ; and, I think, of all our diversions, 
 thjere is not one so much in common between us and the coun- 
 try as a play. Not a village but has its barns and come- 
 dians ; and as for the stage business, why it may be pretty 
 equally done any where ; and even in regard to us, and the 
 canaille, confined as we all are within the semi-circle of a 
 theatre, there is no place where the distinction is less 
 obvious." 
 
 While the Captain seemed considering for Mr. Lovel's 
 meaning, Lord Orville, probably with a view to prevent his 
 finding it, changed the subject to Cox's Museum, and asked 
 what he thought of it ? 
 
 " Think !— " said he, " why I think as how it i'n't worth 
 thinking about. I like no such jemcrachs. It is only fit, 
 in my mind, for monkeys : — though, for aught I know, 
 they too might turn up their noses at it." 
 
 " May we ask your Lordship's own opinion ? " said Mrs. 
 Mirvan. 
 
 " The mechanism," answered he, " is wonderfully in- 
 genious : I am sorry it is turned to no better account ; but 
 its purport is so frivolous, so very remote from all aim at 
 instruction or utility, that the sight of so fine a show only 
 leaves a regret on the mind, that so much work, and so 
 much ingenuity, should not be better bestowed." 
 
 " The truth is," said the Captain, " that in all this huge 
 town, so full as it is of folks of all sorts, there i'n't so much 
 as one public place, besides the play-house, where a man, 
 „ that's to say, a man who isjajnam ought not to be ashamed 
 to shew his* face. T'other day they got me to a ridotto; 
 but, I believe, it will be long enough before they get me to 
 another. I knew no more what to do with myself, than if 
 my ship's company had been metamorphosed into French- 
 men. Then, again, there's your famous Ranelagh, that 
 you make such a fuss about ; — why what a dull place is 
 that ! — it's the worst of all." 
 
 tanelagh dull ! " — " Ranelagh dull ! " — was echoed 
 
EVELINA. Ill 
 
 from mouth to month ; and all the ladies, as if of one 
 accord, regarded the Captain with looks of the most ironical 
 contempt. 
 
 "As to Ranelagh," said Mr. Lovel, "most indubitably, 
 though the price is plebeian, it is by no means adapted to 
 the plebeian taste. It requires a certain acquaintance with 
 high life, and — and — and something of — of — something 
 d\ui vrai gout, to be really sensible of its merit. Those 
 whose — whose connections, and so forth, are not among les 
 gens comme il faut, can feel nothing but ennui at such a 
 place as Iianelagh." 
 
 " Ranelagh ! " cried Lord , "0, 'tis the divinest 
 
 place under heaven, or, indeed, — for aught 
 
 know " 
 
 " O you creature ! " cried a pretty, but affected young 
 lady, patting him with her fan, " you sha'n't talk so ; I 
 know what you are going to say ; but, positively, I wo'n't 
 sit by you, if you're so wicked." 
 
 " And how can one sit by you, and be good ? " said he, 
 " when only to look at you is enough to make one wicked — 
 or wish to be so ? " 
 
 " Fie, my Lord ! " returned she, " you are really insuffer- 
 able. I don't think I shall speak to you again these seven 
 years." 
 
 " What a metamorphosis," cried Lord Orville, " should 
 you make a patriarch of his Lordship." 
 
 " Seven years ! " said he, "dear Madam, be contented 
 with telling me you will not speak to me after seven years, 
 and I will endeavour to submit." 
 
 u 0, very well, my Lord," answered she, "pray date the 
 end of our speaking to each other as early as you please, 
 I'll promise to agree to your time." 
 
 "You know, dear Madam," said he, sipping his tea, 
 " you know T only live in your sight." 
 
 " yes, my Lord, I have long known that. But I 
 begin to fear we shall be too late for Ranelagh this 
 evening." 
 
 **^0 no, Madam," said Mr. Lovel, looking at his watch, 
 " it is but just past ten." 
 
 11 No more ! " cried she, " then we shall do very 
 well." 
 
112 EVELINA. 
 
 All the ladies now started up, and declared they had no 
 time to lose. 
 
 "Why, what the D 1," cried the Captain, leaning 
 
 forward with both his arms on the table, " are you going to 
 Ranelagh at this time of night ? " 
 
 The ladies looked at one another, and smiled. 
 
 "To Ranelagh?" cried Lord , "yes, and I hope 
 
 you are going too ; for we cannot possibly excuse these 
 ladies. " 
 
 " I go to Ranelagh ?— if I do, I'll be ." 
 
 Every body now stood up ; and the stranger Lord, 
 coming round to me, said, " You go, I hope ? " 
 
 " No, my Lord, I believe not." 
 
 "0 you cannot, must not be so barbarous." And he 
 took my hand, and ran on, saying such fine speeches and 
 compliments, that I might almost have supposed myself a 
 goddess, and him a pagan paying me adoration. As soon 
 as I possibly could, I drew back my hand ; but he fre- 
 quently, in the course of conversation, contrived to take it 
 again, though it was extremely disagreeable to me ; and 
 the more so, as I saw that Lord JDrville had his eyes 
 fixed upon us, with a gravity of attention that made me 
 uneasy. 
 
 And, surely, my dear Sir, it was a great liberty in this 
 lord, notwithstanding his rank, to treat me so freely. As 
 to Sir Clement, he seemed in misery. 
 
 They all endeavoured to prevail with the Captain to join 
 the Ranelagh party ; and this lord told me, in a low voice, 
 that it was tearing his heart out to go without me. 
 
 During this conversation Mr. Lovel came forward, and 
 assuming a look of surprise, made me a bow, and inquired 
 how I did, protesting upon his honour, that he had not 
 seen me before, or would sooner have paid his respects 
 to me. 
 
 Though his politeness was evidently constrained, yet I 
 was very glad to be thus assured of having nothing more 
 to fear from him. 
 
 The Captain, far from listening to their persuasions of 
 accompanying them to Ranelagh, was quite in a passion at 
 the proposal, and vowed he wo aid sooner go to the Black- 
 hole in Calcutta. 
 
EYELINA. 113 
 
 " But," said Lord , " if the ladies will take their tea 
 
 at Ranelagh, you may depend upon our seeing them safe 
 home ; for we shall all be proud of the honour of attending 
 them." 
 
 " May be so," said the Captain, " but I'll tell you what, 
 if one of these places ben't enough for them to-night, why 
 to-morrow they shall go to ne'er a one." 
 
 We instantly declared ourselves very ready to go home. 
 
 " It is not for yourselves that we petition," said Lord , 
 
 "but for us; if you have any charity, you will not be so 
 cruel as to deny us ; we only beg you to prolong our happi- 
 ness for a few minutes, — the favour is but a small one for 
 you to grant, though so great a one for us to receive." 
 
 " To tell you a piece of my mind," said the Captain, 
 surlily, " I think you might as well not give the girls so 
 much of this palaver : they'll take it all for gospel. As to 
 Moll, why she's well enough, but nothing extraordinary ; 
 though, perhaps, you may persuade her that her pug nose 
 is all the fashion ; and as to the other, why she's good 
 white and red to be sure ; but what of that ? — I'll warrant 
 she'll moulder away as fast as her neighbours." 
 
 " Is there," cried Lord , " another man in this place, 
 
 who, seeing such objects, could make such a speech ? " 
 
 "As to that there," returned the Captain, "I don't 
 know whether there be or no, and, to make free, I don't 
 care ; for I sha'n't go for to model myself by any of these 
 fair-weather chaps, who dare not so much as say their 
 souls are their own, — and, for aught I know, no more they 
 ben't. I'm almost as much ashamed of my counfa ym^ ag - 
 i f I was a F ren chman, and I believe in my heart there i'n't 
 a'pin to cnoose be tween them j" and, before long, we s halT 
 n ear tne ver y sailors talking fnat lingo, and see never 'a 
 sw abber without a bag and a s word : " """""" " 
 
 * r Jtie, he, he l-^ ^weflp- 'pon -konor," cried Mr. Lovel, 
 " you gentlemen of the ocean have a most severe way o£ 
 judging." 
 
 " Severe ! 'fore George, that is impossible ; for, to cut 
 the matter short, the men, as they call themselves, are no 
 better than monkeys ; and as to the women, why they are 
 mere dolls. So now you've got my opinion of this subject : 
 and so I wish you good night." 
 
 I 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 The ladies, who were very impatient to be gone, made 
 their courtsies, and tripped away, followed by all the gentle- 
 men of their party, except the lord before mentioned, and, 
 Lord Orville, who stayed to make inquiries of Mrs. Mirvan 
 concerning our leaving town ; and then saying, with his 
 usual politeness, something civil to each of us, with a very 
 grave air he quitted us. 
 
 Lord remained some minutes longer, which he 
 
 spent in making a profusion of compliments to me ; by 
 which he prevented my hearing distinctly what Lord Orville 
 said, to my great vexation, especially as he looked — I 
 thought so, at least — as if displeased at his particularity of 
 behaviour to me. 
 
 In going to an outward room to wait for the carriage, I 
 walked, and could not possibly avoid it, between this noble- 
 man and Sir Clement Willoughby ; and, when the servant 
 said the coach stopped the way, though the latter offered 
 me his hand, which I should much have preferred, this 
 same lord, without any ceremony, took mine himself ; and 
 Sir Clement, with a look extremely provoked, conducted 
 >Irs. Mirvan. 
 \ In all ranks and all stations of life, how strangely do 
 
 characters and manners differ ! Lord Orville, with a polite- 
 ness which knows no intermission, and makes no distinc- 
 \ tion, is as unassuming and modest as if he had never mixed 
 J with the great, and was totally ignorant of every qualifica- 
 tion he possesses ; this other lord, though lavish of com- 
 pliments and fine speeches, seems to me an entire stranger 
 to real good- breeding : whoever strikes his fancy, engrosses 
 his whole attention. He is forward and bold ; has an air 
 of haughtiness towards men, and a look of libertinism 
 towards women ; and his conscious quality seems ^60 have 
 given hhn a freedom in his way of speaking to either sex, 
 that is very little short of rudeness. 
 
 When we returned home, we were all low-spirited. The 
 evening's entertainment had displeased the Captain ; and 
 his displeasure, I believe, disconcerted us all. 
 
 And here I thought to have concluded my letter ; but, 
 to my great surprise, just now we had a visit from Lord 
 Orville. He called, he said, to pay his respects to us before 
 we left town, and made many inquiries concerning our 
 
EVELINA. 115 } 
 
 return ; and, when Mrs. Mirvan told him we were going 
 into the country without any view of again quitting it, he 
 expressed his concern in such terms — so polite, so nattering, 
 so serious — that I could hardly forbear being sorry myself. 
 "Were I to go immediately to Berry Hill, I am sure I should 
 feel nothing but joy ; — but, now we are joined by this 
 Captain, and Madame Duval, I must own I expect very 
 little pleasure at Howard Grove. 
 
 Before Lord Orville went, Sir Clement Willoughby 
 called. He was more grave than I had ever seen him ; 
 and made several attempts to speak to me in a low voice, 
 and to assure me that his regret upon the occasion of our 
 journey was entirely upon my account. But I was not in 
 spirits, and could not bear to be teased by him. However, 
 he has so well paid his court to Captain Mirvan, that 
 he gave him a very hearty invitation to the Grove. At 
 this he brightened, — and just then Lord Orville took leave. 
 
 No doubt but he was disgusted at this ill-timed, ill-bred 
 partiality ; for surely it was very wrong to make an invita- 
 tion before Lord Orville in which he was not included ! I 
 was so much chagrined, that, as soon as he went, I left 
 the room ; and I shall not go down stairs till Sir Clement 
 is gone. 
 
 Lord Orville cannot but observe his assiduous endeavours 
 to ingratiate himself into my favour ; and does not this ex- 
 travagant civility of Captain Mirvan give him reason to 
 suppose that it meets with our general approbation ? I can- 
 not think upon this subject without inexpressible uneasiness ; 
 and yet I can think of nothing else. „ ^ 
 
 Adieu, my dearest Sir. Pray write to me immediately. 
 How many long letters has this one short fortnight pro- 
 duced ! More than I may probably ever write again. I 
 fear I shall have tired you with reading them ; hut you 
 will now have time to rest, for I shall find but little to jsay 
 in future. mm m 
 
 And now, most honoured Sir, with all the follies and 
 imperfections which I have thus faithfully recounted, can 
 you, and with unabated kindness, suffer me to sign myself 
 Your dutiful and most affectionate 
 
 Evelina ? 
 
>i 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA. 
 
 Berry Hill, April 22. 
 
 HOW much do I rejoice that I can again address my 
 letters to Howard Grove ! My Evelina would have 
 grieved had she known the anxiety of my mind during her 
 residence in the great world. My apprehensions have been 
 inexpressibly alarming ; and your journal, at once exciting 
 and relieving my fears, has almost wholly occupied me 
 since the time of your dating it from London. 
 
 Sir Clement Willoughby must be an artful designing 
 man : I am extremely irritated at his conduct. The pas- 
 sion he pretends for you has neither sincerity nor honour ; 
 the manner and the opportunities he has chosen to declare 
 it, are bordering upon insult. 
 
 His unworthy behaviour after the opera, convinces me, 
 that, had not your vehemence frightened him, Queen Ann 
 Street would have been the last place whither he would 
 have ordered his chariot. 0, my child, how thankful am I 
 for your escape ! I need not now, I am sure, enlarge upon 
 your indiscretion and want of thought, in so hastily trusting 
 yourself with a man so little known to you, and whose 
 gaiety and flightiness should have put you on your guard. 
 
 The riohlemari you met at the Pantheon, bold and 
 forward as you describe him to be, gi ves me no appre- 
 h ension ; a man who appears so openly licentious, and who 
 makesTiis attack with so little regard to decorum, is one 
 who, to a mind such as my Evelina's, can never be seen 
 but with the disgust which his manners ought to excite. 
 
 But _Sir Clement, though he seeks occasion to give re al 
 off ejice, contrives to avoi d all appearance of intentiona l 
 e ^ilT He is iar more dangerou s, b ecause more artful : b ut 
 I am happy to observe, that he seems to have made no im- 
 pression upon your heart ; aud therefore a very little care 
 and prudence may secure you from those designs which I 
 fear he has formed. 
 
 Lord Orville appears to be of a better order of beings. 
 His spirited conduct to the meanly impertinent Lovel, and 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 iMj 
 
 his anxiety for yon after the opera, prove him to be a man 
 of sense and of feeling. Donbtless he thought there was 
 much reason to tremble for your safety while exposed to 
 the power of Sir Clement ; and he acted with a regard to 
 real honour, that will always incline me to think well of 
 him, in so immediately acquainting the Mir van family with 
 your situation. Many men of this age, from a false and / 
 pretended delicacy to a friend, would have quietly pursued £, 
 their own affairs, and thought it more honourable to leave \ 
 an unsuspecting young creature to the mercy of a libertine, J 
 than to risk his displeasure by taking measures for her*"^ 
 security. 
 
 Your evident concern at leaving London is very natural, 
 and yet it afflicts me. I ever dreaded your being too much 
 pleased with a life of dissipation, which youth and vivacity 
 render but too alluring ; and I almost regret the consent 
 for your journey, which I had not the resolution to with- , 
 hold. 
 
 Ala s, my child, the artlessness of your nature, and th 
 si mplicity ot your education, alike u nfit you for the tKorny 
 p aiihs of the great and busy wor ld. The supposed obscurity 
 of your birth, and situation, makes you liable to a thousand 
 disagreeable adventures. Not only my views, but my hopes 
 for your future life, have ever centered in the country. 
 Shall I own to you, that, however I may differ from Cap- 
 taiu Mirvan in other respects, yet my opinion of the town, 
 its manners, inhabitants, and diversions, is much upon a 
 level with his own ? T^^fifl if. ja thfl gfiagraj harbour of 
 fr aud and of follv T of duplicity n.ud of impertinence : andTl 
 wisn few things more fervently, than that you may have 
 ta ken a lasting leave oi i€T * 
 
 Remember, however, that I only speak in regard to a 
 public and dissipated life ; in private families we may 
 doubtless find as much goodness, honesty, and virtue, in 
 London as in the country. 
 
 If contented with a retired station, I still hope I shall 
 live to see my Evelina the ornament of her neighbourhood, 
 and the pride and delight of her family ; giving and re- 
 ceiving joy from such society as may best deserve her affec- 
 tion, and employing herself in such useful and innocent oc- 
 cupations as may secure and merit the tenderest love 
 
 MrfllUULlL —' —■ ■l-.UiiJ.HM 
 
 11 1 J 
 
118 > EVELINA. 
 
 of her friends, and the worthiest satisfaction of her own 
 heart. 
 
 Snch are my hopes, and such have been my expectations. 
 
 Disappoint them not, my beloved child ; but cheer me with 
 
 a few lines, that may assure me, this one short fortnight 
 
 spent in town has not undone the work of seventeen years 
 
 * spent in the country. 
 
 .J Arthur Villars. 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Howard Grove, April 25. 
 
 NO, my dear Sir, no : the work of seventeen years remains 
 such as it was, ever unworthy your time and your 
 labour ; but not more so now — at least I hope not, — than 
 before that fortnight which has so much alarmed you. 
 
 And yet I must confess, that I am not half so happy 
 ^ here at present as I was ere I went to town : but the change 
 is in the place, not in me. • Captain Mirvan and Madame 
 Duval have ruined Howard Grove. The harmony that 
 reigned here is disturbed, our schemes are broken, our way 
 of life is altered, and our comfort is destroyed. But do not 
 suppose London to be the source of these evils ; for, had our 
 excursion been any where else, so disagreeable an addition 
 to our household must have caused the same change at our 
 return. 
 
 I was sure you would be displeased with Sir Clement 
 "Willoughby, and therefore I am by no means surprised -at 
 what you say of him ; but for 'Lord Orville — I must own I 
 had greatly feared that my weak and imperfect account 
 would not have procured him the good opinion which he 
 so well deserves, and which I am delighted to find you seem 
 to have of him. O, Sir, could I have done justice to the 
 merit of which I believe him possessed ; — could I have 
 painted him to you such as he appeared to me; — then, in- 
 deed, you would have had some idea of the claim which he 
 has to your approbation ! 
 
 After the last letter which I wrote in town, nothing more 
 
EVELINA. 119 
 
 passed previous to our journey hither, except a very violent 
 quarrel between Captain Mirvan and Madame Duval. As 
 the Captain intended to travel on horseback, he had settled 
 that we four females should make use of his coach. Madame 
 Duval did not come to Queen Ann Street till the carriage 
 had waited some time at the door ; and then, attended by 
 Monsieur Du Bois, she made her appearance. 
 
 The Captain, impatient to be gone, would not suffer them 
 to enter the house, but insisted that we should immediately 
 get into the coach. We obeyed ; but were no sooner seated, 
 than Madame Duval said, " Come, Monsieur Du Bois, 
 these girls can make very good room for you : sit closer, 
 children." 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan looked quite confounded ; and M. Du Bois, 
 after making some apologies about crowding us, actually 
 got into the coach, on the side with Miss Mirvan and me. 
 But no sooner was he seated, than the Captain, who had 
 observed this transaction very quietly, walked up to the 
 coach door, saying, " What, neither with your leave, nor 
 by your leave ? " 
 
 M. Du Bois seemed rather shocked, and began to make 
 abundance of excuses : but the Captain neither understood 
 nor regarded him, and, very roughly, said, " Look'ee 
 Monseer, this here may be a French fashion for aught I 
 know, — but give and take is fair in all nations ; and so 
 now, d'ye see, I'll make bold to show you an English one." 
 
 And then, seizing his wrist, he made him jump out of the 
 coach. 
 
 M. Du Bois instantly put his hand upon his sword, and 
 threatened to resent this indignity. The Captain, holding 
 up his stick, bid him draw at his peril. Mrs. Mirvan, 
 greatly alarmed, got out of the coach, and, standing 
 between them, intreated her husband to re-enter the 
 house. 
 
 " None of your clack ! " cried he angrily ; " what the 
 D — 1, do you suppose I can't manage a Frenchman ? " 
 
 Meantime, Madame Duval called out to M. Du Bois, " Eh, 
 laissez-le, mon ami, ne le corrigez pas ; c'est une vilaine bete qui 
 rien vaut pas la peine." 
 
 "Monsieur le Capitaine" cried M. Du Bois, " voulez- 
 vous lien me demander pardon ? " 
 
120 EVELINA. 
 
 " O ho, you demand pardon, do you ? " said the Captain, 
 " I thought as much ; I thought you'd come to ; — so you 
 have lost your relish for an English salutation, have you ? " 
 strutting up to him with looks of defiance. 
 
 A crowd was now gathering, and Mrs. Mir van again be- 
 sought her husband to go into the house. 
 
 * ' Why, what a plague is the woman afraid of ? — Did you 
 ever know a Frenchman that could not take an affront ? — 
 I warrant Monseer knows what he is about ; — don't you 
 Monseer ? " 
 
 M. Du Bois, not understanding him, only said, " plait-il, 
 Monsieur ? " 
 
 " No, nor dish me neither," answered the Captain ; " but, 
 be that as it may, what signifies our parleying here? If 
 you've any thing to propose, speak at once ; if not, why let 
 us go on our journey without more ado." 
 
 "Parbleu, je n'entends rien, moi ! " cried M. Du Bois, 
 shrugging up his shoulders, and looking very dismal. 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan then advanced to him, and said in French, 
 that she was sure the Captain had not any intention to 
 affront him, and begged he would desist from a dispute 
 which could only be productive of mutual misunderstand- 
 ing, as neither of them knew the language of the other. 
 
 This sensible remonstrance had the desired effect; and 
 M. du Bois, making a bow to every one except the Captain, 
 very wisely gave up the point, and took leave. 
 
 We then hoped to proceed quietly on our journey ; but 
 the turbulent Captain would not yet permit us. He ap- 
 proached Madame Duval with an exulting air, and said, 
 " Why, how's this, Madam ? what, has your champion de- 
 serted you ? why, I thought you told me, that you old 
 gentlewomen had it all your own way among them French 
 sparks ? " 
 
 "As to that, Sir," answered she, "it's not of no conse- 
 quence what you thought ; for a person who can behave in 
 such a low way, may think what he pleases for me, for I 
 gha'n't mind." 
 
 "Why then, Mistress, since you must needs make so 
 free," cried he, " please to tell me the reason why you took 
 the liberty for to ask any of your followers into my coach 
 without my leave ? Answer me to that." 
 
EVELINA. 121 
 
 " Why, then, pray, Sir," returned she, " tell me the reason 
 why you took the liberty to treat the gentleman in such an 
 impolite way, as to take and pull him neck and heels out ? 
 I'm sure he hadn't done nothing to affront you, nor nobody 
 else ; and I don't know what great hurt he would have 
 done you, by just sitting still in the coach : he would not 
 have eat it." 
 
 " What, do you think, then, that my horses have nothing 
 to do but to carry about your snivelling Frenchmen ? If 
 you do, Madam, I must make bold to tell you, you are out, 
 for I'll see 'em hang'd first." 
 
 " More brute you, then ! for they've never carried nobody 
 half so good." 
 
 " Why, look'ee, Madam, if you must needs provoke me, 
 I'll tell you a piece of my mind : you must know, I can 
 see as far into a millstone as another man ; and so, if yon 
 thought for to fob me off with one of your smirking French 
 puppies for a son-in-law, why you'll find yourself in a 
 nobble, that's all." 
 
 " Sir, you're a but I won't say what ; — but I pro- 
 test I hadn't no such a thought, no more hadn't Monsieur 
 Du Bois." 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Mirvan, " we shall be very late." 
 
 "Well, well," answered he, "get away then; off with 
 you as fast as you can, it's high time. As to Molly, she's 
 fine lady enough in all conscience ; I want none of your 
 French chaps to make her worse." 
 
 And so saying he mounted his horse and we drove off. 
 And I could not but think, with regret, of the different 7 
 feelings we experienced upon leaving London, to what had ^ 
 belonged to our entering it. ~ 
 
 During the journey Madame Duval was so very violent 
 against the Captain, that she obliged Mrs. Mirvan to tell » 
 her, that, when in her presence, she must beg her to choose *^f 
 some other subject of discourse. m 
 
 We had a most affectionate reception from Lady Howard, ~ 
 whose kindness and hospitality cannot fail of making every £> 
 body happy who is disposed so to be. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest Sir. I hope, though I have hitherto 
 neglected to mention it, that you have always remembered 
 me to whoever has made any inquiry concerning me. 
 
 c*+ 
 
122 EVELINA. 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REY. MR. YILLARS. 
 
 Howard Grove, April 27. 
 
 OMY dear Sir, I now write in the greatest uneasiness ! 
 > Madame Duval has made a proposal which terrifies 
 me to death, and which was as unexpected as it is shocking. 
 
 She had been employed for some hours this afternoon in 
 reading letters from London : and, just about tea-time, she 
 sent for me into her room, and said, with a look of great 
 satisfaction, " Come here, child, I've got some very good 
 news to tell you : something that will surprise you, I'll give 
 you my word, for you ha'n't no notion of it." 
 
 I begged her to explain herself ; and then, in terms 
 which I cannot repeat, she said she had been considering 
 what a shame it was to see me such a poor country, shame- 
 faced thing, when I ought to be a fine lady ; and that she 
 had long, and upon several occasions, blushed for me, though 
 she must own the fault was none of mine : for nothing 
 better could be expected from a girl who had been so im- 
 mured. However, she assured me she had, at length, hit 
 upon a plan, which would make quite another creature of 
 me. 
 
 I waited, without much impatience, to hear what this 
 preface led to ; but I was soon awakened to more lively 
 sensations, when she acquainted me, that her intention was 
 to prove my birthright, and to claim, by law, the inheri- 
 tance of my real family ! 
 
 It would be impossible for me to express my extreme 
 consternation when she thus unfolded her scheme. My 
 surprise and terror were equally great ; I could say nothing : 
 I heard her with a silence which I had not the power to 
 break. ~~ ' — ' * 
 
 She then expatiated very warmly upon the advantages 
 I should reap from her plan ; talked in a high style of my 
 future grandeur ; assured me how heartily I should despise 
 almost every body and every thing I had hitherto seen ; 
 predicted my marrying into some family of the first rank 
 
EVELINA. 123, 
 
 in the kingdom ; and, finally, said I should spend a few 
 months in Paris, where my education and manners might 
 receive their last polish. 
 
 She enlarged also upon the delight she should have, in 
 common with myself, from mortifying the pride of certain 
 people, and showing them that she was not to be slighted 
 with impunity. 
 
 In the midst of this discourse, I was relieved by a sum- 
 mons to tea. Madame Duval was in great spirits ; but my 
 emotion was too painful for concealment, and every body 
 enquired into the cause. I would fain have waived the sub- 
 ject, but Madame Duval was determined to make it public. 
 She told them that she had it in her head to make something 
 of me, and that they should soon call me by another name 
 than that of Anville; and yet that she was not going to 
 have the child married neither. 
 
 I could not endure to hear her proceed, and was going 
 to leave the room ; which, when Lady Howard perceived, 
 she begged Madame Duval would defer her intelligence to 
 some other opportunity : but she was so eager to com- 
 municate her scheme, that she could bear no delay ; and 
 therefore they suffered me to go without opposition. In- 
 deed, whenever my situation or affairs are mentioned by 
 Madame Duval, she speaks of them with such bluntness 
 and severity, that I cannot be enjoined a task more cruel 
 than to hear her. 
 
 I was afterwards acquainted with some particulars of the 
 conversation by Miss Mirvan ; who told me that Madame 
 Duval informed them of her plan with the utmost com- 
 placency, and seemed to think herself very fortunate in 
 having suggested it ; but, soon after, she accidentally be- 
 trayed, that she had been instigated to the scheme by her 
 relations the Branghtons, whose letters, which she received 
 to-day, first mentioned the proposal. She declared that 
 she would have nothing to do with any roundabout ways, 
 but go openly and instantly to law, in order to prove my 
 birth, real name, and title to the estate of my ancestors. 
 
 How impertinent and officious in these Branghtons, to* 
 interfere thus in my concerns ! You can hardly imagine 
 what a disturbance this plan has made in the family. The 
 Captain, without enquiring into any particulars of the affair. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 has peremptorily declared himself against it, merely because 
 it has been proposed by Madame Duval ; and they have 
 battled the point together with great violence. Mrs. Mirvan 
 says, she will not even think, till she hears your opinion. 
 But Lady Howard, to my great surprise, openly avows her 
 approbation of Madame Duval's intention : however, she 
 will write her reasons and sentiments upon the subject to 
 you herself. 
 
 As to Miss Mirvan she is my sp nnnr l g^lf nn. fl neithe r 
 h qpes nor fears but as I do^ ^And as to me, — I know not 
 what to say, nor even what to wish : I have often thought 
 my fate peculiarly cruel, to have but one parent, and from 
 that one to be banished for ever ; — while, on the other side, 
 I have but too well known and felt the propriety of the 
 separation. And yet, you may much better imagine, than 
 I can express, the internal anguish which sometimes op- 
 presses my heart, when I reflect upon the strange indifference 
 that must occasion a father never to make the least enquiry 
 after the health, the welfare, or even the life of his child ! 
 
 Sir, to me the loss is nothing ! — greatly, sweetly, and 
 most benevolently have you guarded me from f eeling it ; 
 but for him, I grieve indeed ! — I must be divested, not 
 merely of all filial piety, but of all humanity, could I ever 
 think upon this subject, and not be wounded to the soul. 
 
 Again I must repeat, I know not what to wish: t hink 
 for me, therefore, mv rlparpst Rir T a.n/1 suffer my doubting 
 mind, -that knows not which way to direct its hopes, to be 
 guided by your wisdom and unerring counsel. 
 
 Eyelina. 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 D.ear Sir, Howard Grove. 
 
 CANNOT give a greater proof of the high opinion I 
 have of your candour, than ^v thf libecty To™ -r>nw 
 
 i 
 
 go ing to take, of presuming t o offer you advice, upon a 
 subject concerning which you have so iust a claim to" act 
 
EYELINA. 125 
 
 f or yourself : but I know you have too unaffected a loye 
 of justice, to be partially tenacious of your own judgment. 
 
 Madame Duval has been proposing a scheme which has 
 put us all in commotion, and against which, at first, in 
 common with the rest of my family, I exclaimed : but,, 
 upon more mature consideration, I own my objections have 
 almost wholly vanished. 
 
 This scheme is no other than to commence a lawsuit 
 with Sir John Belmont, to prove the validity of his mar- 
 riage with Miss Evelyn ; the necessary consequence of 
 which proof will be, securing his fortune and estate to his 
 daughter. 
 
 And why, my dear Sir, should not this be ? I know 
 that, upon first hearing, such a plan conveys ideas that 
 must shock you; but I know, too, that your mind is 
 superior to being governed by prejudices, or to opposing 
 any important cause on account of a few disagreeable at- 
 tendant circumstances. 
 
 Your lovely charge, now first entering into life, has 
 merit which ought not to be buried in obscurity. She 
 seems born for an ornament to the world. Nature has- 
 been bountiful to her of whatever she had to bestow ; and 
 the peculiar attention you have given to her education, has 
 formed her mind to a degree of excellence, that in one so 
 young I have scarce ever seen equalled. Fortune alone 
 has hitherto been sparing of her gifts ; and she, too, now 
 opens the way which leads to all that is left to wish for 
 her. 
 
 What your reasons may have been, my good Sir, for so 
 carefully concealing the birth, name, and pretensions of 
 this amiable girl, and forbearing to make any claim upon 
 Sir John Belmont, I am totally a stranger to ; but, without 
 knowing, I respect them, from the high opinion that I have of 
 your character and judgment : but I hope they are not in- 
 superable ; for I cannot but think, that it was never de- 
 signed for one who seems meant to grace the world, to have 
 her life devoted to retirement. 
 
 Surely Sir John Belmont, wretch as he has shown him- 
 self, could never see his accomplished daughter, and not be 
 proud to own her, and eager to secure her the inheritance 
 of his fortune. The admiration she met with in town> 
 
126 EVELINA. 
 
 though merely the effect of her external attractions, was 
 such, that Mrs. Mirvan assures me, she would have had 
 the most splendid offers, had there not seemed to be some 
 mystery in regard to her birth, which, she was well in- 
 formed was assiduously, though vainly, endeavoured to be 
 discovered. 
 
 Can it be right, my dear Sir, that this promising young 
 creature should be deprived of the fortune and rank 
 of life to which she is lawfully intitled, and which you 
 have prepared her to support and to use so nobly ? To de- 
 spise riches may, indeed, be philosophic ; but to dispense 
 them worthily must, surely, be more beneficial to man- 
 kind. 
 
 Perhaps a few years, or indeed a much shorter time, may 
 make this scheme impracticable : Sir John, tho' yet young, 
 leads a life too dissipated for long duration ; and when too 
 late, we may regret that something was not sooner done : 
 for it will be next to impossible, after he is gone, to settle 
 > or prove anything with his heirs and executors. 
 
 Pardon the earnestness with which I write my sense of 
 • this affair ; but your charming ward has made me so 
 warmly her friend, that I cannot be indifferent upon a sub- 
 ject of such importance to her future life. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Sir ; — send me speedily an answer to this 
 remonstrance, and believe me to be, &c. 
 
 M. Howard. 
 
 LETTER XXVIII. 
 
 MR. VILLARS TO LADT HOWARD. 
 
 Berry Hill, May 2. 
 
 YOUR letter, Madam, has opened a source of anxiety, to 
 which I look forward with dread, and which, to see 
 closed, I scarcely dare expect. I am unwilling to oppose 
 my opinion to that of your Ladyship ; nor, indeed, can I, 
 but by arguments which I believe will rather rank me as a 
 hermit, ignorant of the world, and fit only for my cell, than 
 &s a proper guardian, in an age such as this, for an accom- 
 plished young woman. Yet, thus called upon, it behoves 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 me to explain, and endeavour to vindicate, the reasons by 
 which I have been hitherto guided. 
 
 Th e mother of this d ear_child, — who was led to destruc- ^yf 
 tion by her own imprudence, the hardness of heart of 
 Madame Duval, and the villany of Sir John Belmont, — was^ 
 once, what he r daughter is n ow, the best b eloved of my < 
 frfiftrt.; and h(rP -memory, so long as my own holds, I shall 
 love, mourn and honour ! On the fatal day that her gentle 
 soul left its mansion, and not many hours ere she ceased to 
 breathe, I solemnly plighted my faith, That her chi ld if 
 i t lived, should know no father but myself, or her acknowledged^ 
 husband^ ' ' "*~~* 
 
 You cannot, Madam, suppose that I found much difficulty 
 in adhering to this promise, and forbearing to make any 
 claim upon Sir John Belmont. Could I feel an affection 
 the most paternal for this poor sufferer, and not abominate 
 her destroyer ? Could I wish to deliver to him, who had so 
 basely betrayed the mother, the helpless and innocent off- 
 spring, who, born in so much sorrow, seemed intitled to all 
 the compassionate tenderness of pity ? 
 
 For many years, the name alone of that man, accidentally 
 spoken in my hearing, almost divested me of my Chris-* 
 tianity, and scarce could I forbear to execrate him. Yet I 
 sought not, neither did I desire, to deprive him of his child, 
 had he with any appearance of contrition, or, indeed, of 
 humanity, endeavoured to become less unworthy such a 
 blessing ; — but he is a stranger to all parental feelings, and 
 has with a savage insensibility, forborne to enquire even 
 into the existence of this sweet orphan, though the situation 
 of his injured wife was but too well known to him. 
 
 You wish to be acquainted with my intentions. — I must 
 acknowledge they were such as I now perceive would not be 
 honoured with your Ladyship's approbation ; for though I 
 have sometimes thought of presenting Evelina to her father, 
 and demanding the justice which is her due, yet, at other 
 times, I have both disdained and feared the application ; 
 disdained lest it should be refused ; and feared, lest it 
 should be accepted ! 
 
 Lady Belmont, who was firmly persuaded of her ap- 
 proaching dissolution, frequently and earnestly besought me, 
 that if her infant was a female, I would not abandon her to 
 
 i 
 
13 ly EVELINA. 
 
 direction of a man so wholly unfit to take the charge of 
 her education : but, should she be importunately demanded, 
 that I would retire with her abroad, and carefully conceal 
 her from Sir John, till some apparent change in his senti- 
 ments and conduct should announce him less improper for 
 such a trust. And often would she say, " Should the pooc 
 babe have any feelings correspondent with its mother's, it 
 will have no want while under your protection." Alas ! 
 she had no sooner quitted it herself, than she was plunged 
 into a gulph of misery, that swallowed up her peace, reputa- 
 tion, and life. 
 
 During the childhood of Evelina, I suggested a thousand 
 plans for the security of her birth-right ; — but I as many 
 times rejected them. I was in a perpetual conflict, between 
 the desire that she should have justice done her, and the 
 apprehension that, while I improved her fortune, I should 
 endanger her mind. However, as her character began to be 
 formed, and her disposition to be displayed, my perplexity 
 abated ; the road before me seemed less thorny and intri- 
 cate, and I thought I could perceive the right path from 
 the wrong : for when I observed the artless openness, the 
 ^Ingenuous simplicity of her nature; when I saw that her 
 guileless and innocent soul fancied all the world to be 
 1 pure and disinterested as herself, and that her heart was 
 1 open to every impression with which love, pity, or art 
 ^ might assail it ; — then did I flatter myself, that to follow 
 my own inclination, and to secure her welfare, was the 
 same thing ; since, to expose her to the snares and dangers 
 inevitably encircling a house of which the master is dissi- 
 pated and unprincipled, without the guidance of a mother, 
 or any prudent and sensible female, seemed to me no less 
 than suffering her to stumble into some dreadful pit, when 
 the sun is in its meridian. My plan, therefore, was not 
 merely to educate and to cherish her as my own, but to 
 adopt her the heiress of my small fortune, and to bestow 
 her upon some worthy man, with whom she might spend 
 her days in tranquillity, cheerfulness, and good-humour, un- 
 tainted by vice, folly, or ambition. 
 
 So much for the time past. Such have been the motives 
 
 K . hy which I have been governed ; and I hope they will be 
 
 allowed not merely to account for, but also to justify, the 
 
EVELINA. 129 
 
 conduct which has resulted from them. It now remains to 
 speak of the time to come. 
 
 And here, indeed, I am sensible of difficulties which I 
 almost despair of surmounting according to my wishes. I 
 .pay the highest "deference to your Ladyship's opinion, 
 which it is extremely painful to me not to concur with ; ::3 ^ret 
 I am so well acquainted with your goodness, that I presume 
 to hope it would not be absolutely impossible for me to 
 offer such arguments as might lead you to think with me, 
 that this young creature's chance of happiness seems less 
 doubtful in retirement, than it would be in the gay and 
 dissipated world. But why should I perplex your Ladyship 
 with reasoning that can turn to so little account ? for, 
 alas ! what arguments, what persuasions, can I make use 
 of, with any prospect of success, to such a woman as Hadame 
 D uval ? Her character and the violence of her disposition, 
 intimidate me from making the attempt : shejsJ^e-igfio- 
 r ant for instruction , too obs tinate for intreaty, and too weak 
 for r eason. 
 
 I wi!i~Tiot, therefore, enter into a contest from which I 
 have nothing to expect but altercation and impertinence. 
 As soon would I discuss the effect of sound with the deaf, 
 or the nature of colours with the blind, as aim at illumi- 
 nating with conviction a mind so warped by prejudice, so 
 much the slave of unruly and illiberal passions. Unused 
 as she is to control, persuasion would but harden, and op- 
 position incense her. I yield, therefore, to the necessity 
 which compels my reluctant acquiescence ; and shall now 
 tarn all my thoughts upon considering of such methods for 
 the conducting this enterprize, as may be most conducive 
 to the happiness of my child, and least liable to wound her 
 sensibility. 
 
 The law-suit, therefore, I wholly and absolutely disap- 
 prove. 
 
 Will you, my dear Madam, forgive the freedom of an 
 old man, if I own myself greatly surprised, that you could, 
 even for a moment, listen to a plan so violent, so public, so 
 totally repugnant to all female delicacy ? I am satisfied 
 your Ladyship has not weighed this project. There was a 
 time, indeed, when to assert the innocence of Lady Belmont, 
 and to blazon to the world the wrongs, not guilt, by which 
 
 K 
 
130 EYELINA. 
 
 she suffered, I proposed, nay attempted, a similar plan : 
 but then all assistance and encouragement was denied. 
 How cruel to the remembrance I bear of her woes is this 
 tardy resentment of Madame Duval ! She was deaf to the 
 voi ce of Natu re, though she has hearkened 16 lha L u£ 
 A mBitioTrr_ ~ ' ~ ' ' ~~ " 
 
 Never can I consent to have this dear and timid girl 
 brought forward to the notice of the world by such a 
 method ; a method which will subject her to all the imper- 
 tinence of curiosity, the sneers of conjecture, and the stings 
 of ridicule. And for what ? — the attainment of wealth 
 which she does not want, and the gratification of vanity 
 which she does not feel. A child to appear against a father ! 
 — no, Madam, old and infirm as I am, I would even yet sooner 
 convgy her myself to some remote part of the world, though 
 I were sure of dying in the expedition. • 
 
 Far different had been the motives which would have 
 stimulated her unhappy mother to such a proceeding ; all 
 her felicity in this world was irretrievably lost ; her life 
 was become a burthen to her ; and her fair fame, which she 
 had early been taught to prize above all other things,* had 
 received a mortal wound : therefore, to clear her own 
 honour, and to secure from blemish the birth of her child, 
 was all the good which fortune had reserved herself the 
 power of bestowing. But even this last consolation was 
 withheld from her ! 
 
 Let milder measures be adopted : and — since it must be 
 so — let application be made to Sir John Belmont : but as 
 to a law-suit, I hope, upon this subject, never more to hear 
 it mentioned. 
 
 With Madame Duval, all pleas of delicacy would be in- 
 effectual ; her scheme must be opposed by arguments better 
 suited to her understanding. I will not, therefore, talk of 
 its impropriety, but endeavour to prove its inutility. Have 
 the goodness, then, to tell her, that her own intentions 
 would be frustrated by her plan ; since, should the law- 
 suit be commenced, and even should the cause be gained, 
 Sir John Belmont would still have it in his power, and, if 
 irritated, no doubt in his inclination, to cut off her grand- 
 daughter with a shilling. 
 
 She cannot do better herself than to remain quiet and 
 
EYELINA. 131 
 
 inactive in the affair : the long and mutual animosity 
 between her and Sir John will make her interference 
 merely productive of debates and ill-will. Neither would 
 I have Evelina appear till summoned. And as to myself, 
 I must wholly decline acting ; though I will, with unwearied 
 zeal, devote all my thoughts to giving counsel : but, in 
 truth, I have neither inclination nor spirits adequate to 
 engaging personally with this man. 
 
 My opinion is, that he would pay more respect to a letter 
 from your Ladyship upon this subject, than from any other 
 person. I, therefore, advise and hope, that you will your- 
 self take the trouble of writing to him, in order to open 
 the affair. When he shall be inclined to see Evelina, I 
 have for him a posthumous letter, which his much injured 
 lady left to be presented to him, if ever such a meeting 
 should take place. 
 
 The views of the Branghtons, in suggesting this scheme, 
 are obviously interested. They hope, by securing to Evelina 
 the fortune of her father, to induce Madame Duval to 
 settle her own upon themselves. In this, however, they 
 would probably be mistaken ; f or little min x!« Hyp p,v^ 
 a propensity to bestow their wealth upon those who are 
 already in affluenc e ; and, therefore, the less her grand- 
 child requires her assistance, the more gladly she will 
 give it. 
 
 I have but one thing more to add, from which, however, 
 I can by no means recede : my word so solemnly given to 
 Lady Belmont, that her child should never be owned but 
 with her self, must be inviolably adhered to. 
 
 I am, dear Madam, with great respect, t 
 
 Your Ladyship's most obedient servant, 
 
 Arthur Villars. 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA. 
 
 Berry Hill, May 2. 
 
 HOW sincerely do I sympathise in the uneasiness and 
 concern which my beloved Evelina has so much 
 reason to feel ! The cruel scheme in agitation is equally 
 
132 EVELINA. 
 
 repugnant to my judgment and my. inclination ; — yet to 
 oppose it seems impracticable. To follow the dictates of 
 my own heart, I should instantly recall you to myself, and 
 never more consent to your being separated from me ; but 
 the manners and opinion of the world demand a different 
 conduct. Hope, however, for the best, and be satisfied you 
 shall meet with no indignity ; if you are not received into 
 your own family as you ought to be, and with the distinc- 
 tion that is your due, you shall leave it for ever ; and once 
 again restored to my protection, secure your own tranquil- 
 lity, and make, as you have hitherto done, all the happiness 
 of my life. 
 
 Arthur Villars. 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Howard Grove, May 6. 
 
 THE die is thrown, and I attend the event in trembling ! 
 Lady Howard has written to Paris, and sent her letter 
 to town, to be forwarded in the ambassador's packet ; and, 
 in less than a fortnight, therefore, she expects an answer. 
 0, Sir, with what anxious impatience shall I wait its arrival I 
 upon it seems to depend the fate of my future life. My 
 solicitude is so great, and my suspense so painful, that I 
 cannot rest a moment in peace, or turn my thoughts into 
 any other channel. 
 
 Deeply interested as I now am in the event, most sincerely 
 do I regret that the plan was ever proposed. Methinks it 
 cannot end to my satisfaction : for either I must be torn 
 from the arms of my more than father, — or I must have the 
 misery of being finally convinced, that I am cruelly rejected 
 by him who has the natural claim to that dear title ; a title, 
 which to write, mention, or think of, fills my whole soul 
 with filial tenderness. 
 
 The subject is discussed here eternally. Captain Mirvan 
 and Madame Duval, as usual, quarrel whenever it is started : 
 but I am so wholly engrossed by my own reflections, that 
 I cannot even listen to them. My imagination changes the 
 
J 
 
 EVELINA. J^L-^ 
 
 r * 
 
 scene perpetually : o$e moment ; \ am embraced by a kind 
 and relenting parent, who takes me to that heart from 
 which I have hitherto been banished, and supplicates, 
 through me, peace and forgiveness from the ashes of my 
 mother ! — at another, he regards me with detestation, con- 
 siders me as the living image of an injured saint, and re- 
 pulses me with horror ! — But I will not afflict you with the 
 melancholy ph antasms of my brain ; I will endeavour to 
 compose my mind to a more tranquil state, and forbear to 
 write again till I have in some measure succeeded. 
 
 May Heaven bless you, my dearest Sir ! and long, long 
 may it continue you on earth, to bless 
 
 Your grateful 
 
 Evelina. 
 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 
 LADY HOWARD TO SIR JOHN BELMONT, BART. 
 
 Sir, Howard Grove, May 5. 
 
 YOU will, doubtless, be surprised at receiving a letter 
 from one who had for so short a period the honour of 
 your acquaintance, and that at so great a distance of time ; 
 but the motive which has induced me to take this liberty is 
 of so delicate a nature, that were I to commence making 
 apologies for my officiousness, I fear my letter would be too 
 long for your patience. 
 
 You have, probably, already conjectured the subject 
 upon which I mean to treat. My regard for Mr. Evelyn, 
 and his amiable daughter, was well known to you : nor can 
 I ever cease to be interested in whatever belongs to their 
 memory or family. 
 
 I must own myself somewhat distressed in what manner 
 to introduce the purport of my writing; yet as I think 
 that, in affairs of this kind, frankness is the first requisite 
 to a good understanding between the parties concerned, I 
 will neither torment you nor myself with punctilious cere- 
 monies, but proceed instantly and openly to the business 
 which occasions my giving you this trouble. 
 
 I presume, Sir, it would be superfluous to tell you, that 
 
EYELINA. 
 
 your child resides still in { Dorsetshire j ,nd is still under the 
 protection of the Reverend Mr. Yillars, in whose house she 
 was born : for, though no enquiries concerning her have 
 reached his ears, or mine, I can never suppose it possible 
 you have forborne to make them. It only remains, there- 
 fore, to tell you, that your daughter is now grown up ; that 
 she has been educated with the utmost care, and the utmost 
 success ; and that she is now a most deserving, accomplished, 
 and amiable young woman. 
 
 Whatever may be your view for her future destination in 
 life, it seems time to declare it. She is greatly admired, 
 and, I doubt not, will be very much sought after : it is 
 proper, therefore, that her future expectations, and your 
 pleasure concerning her, should be made known. 
 
 Believe me, Sir, she merits your utmost attention and 
 regard. You could not see and know her, and remain un- 
 moved by those sensations of affection which belong to so 
 near and tender a relationship. She is the lovely resem- 
 blance of her lovely mother ; — pardon, Sir, the liberty I 
 take in mentioning that unfortunate lady ; but I think it 
 behoves me, upon this occasion, to shew the esteem I felt 
 for her : allow me, therefore, to say, and be not offended at 
 my freedom, that the memory of that excellent lady has but 
 too long remained under the aspersions of calumny ; surely 
 it is time to vindicate her fame ; — and how can that be 
 done in a manner more eligible, more grateful to her friends, 
 or more honourable to yourself, than by openly receiving as 
 your child, the daughter of the late Lady Belmont ? 
 
 The venerable man who has had the care of her education, 
 deserves your warmest acknowledgments, for the unremit- 
 ting pains he has taken, and the attention he has shewn in 
 the discharge of his trust. Indeed she has been peculiarly 
 fortunate in meeting with such a friend and guardian ; a 
 more worthy man, or one whose character seems nearer to 
 perfection, does not exist. 
 
 Permit me to assure you, Sir, she will amply repay what- 
 ever regard and favour you may hereafter shew her, by the 
 comfort and happiness you cannot fail to find in her affec- 
 tion and duty. To be owned 'properly by you is the first 
 wish of her heart ; and, I am sure, that to merit your appro- 
 bation will be the first study of her life. 
 
EVELINA. 135 
 
 I fear that you will think this address impertinent ; but 
 I must rest upon the goodness of my intention to plead my 
 excuse. 
 
 I am, Sir, 
 Your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 M. Howard. 
 
 LETTER XXXII. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Howard Grove, Kent, May 10. 
 
 OUR house has been enlivened to-day by the arrival of a 
 London visitor ; and the necessity I have been under 
 of concealing the uneasiness of my mind, has made me exert 
 myself so effectually, that I even think it is really diminished ; 
 or, at least, my thoughts are not so totally, so very anxiously, 
 occupied by one subject only as they lately were. 
 
 I was strolling this morning with Miss Mirvan, down a 
 lane about a mile from the Grove, when we heard the 
 trampling of horses ; and, fearing the narrowness of the 
 passage, we were turning hastily back, but stopped upon 
 hearing a voice call out, " Pray, Ladies, don't be frightened, 
 for I will walk my horse." We turned again, and then saw 
 Sir Clement Willoughby. He dismounted ; and approach- 
 ing us with the reins in his hand, presently recollected us. 
 " Good Heaven," cried he, with his usual quickness, " do I 
 see Miss Anville ? — and you too, Miss Mirvan ? " 
 
 He immediately ordered his servant to take charge of his 
 horse ; and then, advancing to us, took a hand of each, 
 which he pressed to his lips, and said a thousand fine things 
 concerning his good fortune, our improved looks, and the 
 charms of the country, when inhabited by such rural deities. 
 * The town, Ladies, has languished since your absence ; — or, 
 at least, I have so much languished myself, as to be abso- 
 lutely insensible to all it had to offer. One refreshing 
 breeze, such as I now enjoy, awakens me to new vigour, 
 life, and spirit. But I never before had the good luck to 
 see the country in such perfection." 
 
136 EVELINA. 
 
 " Has not almost every body left town, Sir ? " said Miss 
 Mir van. 
 
 " I am ashamed to answer you, Madam — but indeed it is 
 as full as ever, and will continue so till after the birth- day. 
 However, you Ladies were so little seen, that there are but 
 few who know what it has lost. For my own part, I felt it 
 too sensibly, to be able to endure the place any longer/ ' 
 
 " Is there any body remaining there, that we were 
 acquainted with ? " cried I. 
 
 " yes, Ma'am." And then he named two or three 
 persons we have seen when with him ; but he did not men- 
 tion Lord Orville, and I would not ask him, lest he should 
 think me curious. Perhaps, if he stays here some time, he 
 may speak of him by accident. 
 
 He was proceeding in this complimentary style, when we 
 were met by the Captain; who no sooner perceived Sir 
 Clement, than he hastened up to him, gave him a hearty 
 shake of the hand, a cordial slap on the back, and some 
 other equally gentle tokens of satisfaction, assuring him of 
 his great joy at his visit, and declaring he was as glad to 
 see him as if he had been a messenger who brought news 
 that a French ship was sunk. Sir Clement, on the other 
 side, expressed himself with equal warmth ; and protested 
 he had been so eager to pay his respects to Captain Mir van, 
 that he had left London in its full lustre, and a thousand 
 engagements unanswered, merely to give himself that 
 pleasure. 
 
 " We shall have rare sport," said the Captain ; " for, do 
 you know, the old French- woman is among us? 'Fore 
 George, I have scarce made any use of her yet, by reason I 
 have had nobody with me that could enjoy a joke : how- 
 somever, it shall go hard but we'll have some diversion 
 now." 
 
 Sir Clement very much approved of the proposal ; and 
 we then went into the house, where he had a very grave 
 reception from Mrs. Mirvan, who is by no means pleased 
 with his visit, and a look of much discontent from Madame 
 Duval, who said to me in a low voice, " I'd as soon have 
 seen Old Nick as that man, for he's the most impertinentest 
 person in the world, and isn't never of my side." 
 
 The Captain is now actually occupied in contriving some 
 
ETELINA. 137 
 
 scheme, which, he says, is to pay the old Dowager off ; and 
 so eager and delighted is he at the idea, that he can scarcely 
 restrain his raptures sufficiently to conceal his design even 
 from herself. I wish, however, since I do not dare put 
 Madame Duval upon her guard, that he had the delicacy 
 not to acquaint me with his intention. 
 
 LETTER XXXIII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 May \Zth. 
 
 THE Captain's operations are begun, — and, I hope, 
 ended; for, indeed, poor Madame Duval has already 
 but too much reason to regret Sir Clement's visit to Howard 
 Grove. 
 
 Yesterday morning, during breakfast, as the Captain was 
 reading the newspaper, Sir Clement suddenly begged to 
 look at it, saying, he wanted to know if there was any ac- 
 count of a transaction, at which he had been present the 
 evening before his journey hither, concerning a poor French- 
 man, who had got into a scrape which might cost him his 
 life. 
 
 The Captain demanded particulars ; and then Sir Cle- 
 ment told a long story of being with a party of country 
 friends at the Tower, and hearing a man call out for mercy 
 in French ; and that, when he inquired into the occasion of 
 his distress, he was informed that he had been taken up 
 upon suspicion of treasonable practices against the govern- 
 ment. " The poor fellow," continued he, " no sooner found 
 that I spoke French, than he besought me to hear him, 
 protesting that he had no evil designs ; that he had been 
 but a short time in England, and only waited the return of 
 a lady from the country to quit it for ever." 
 
 Madame Duval changed colour, and listened with the 
 utmost attention. 
 
 " Now, though I by no means approve of so many 
 foreigners continually flocking into our country," added he, 
 addressing himself to the Captain, "yet I could not help 
 
138 EVELINA. 
 
 pitying the poor wretch, because he did not know enongh 
 of English to make his defence ; however, I found it im- 
 possible to assist him ; for the mob would not suffer me to 
 interfere. In truth, I am afraid he was but roughly 
 handled." 
 
 " Why, did they duck him ? " said the Captain. 
 
 " Something of that sort," answered he. 
 
 " So much the better ! so much the better ! " cried the 
 Captain, " an impudent French puppy ! I'll bet you what 
 you will he was a rascal. I only wish all his countrymen 
 were served the same." 
 
 " I wish you had been in his place, with all my soul ! " 
 cried Madame Duval, warmly ; — " but pray, Sir, did 'n't no- 
 body know who this poor gentleman was ? " 
 
 " Why I did hear his name," answered Sir Clement, " but 
 I cannot recollect it." 
 
 " It wasn't — it wasn't — Du Bois ? " stammered out 
 Madame Duval. 
 
 " The very name ! " answered he : "yes, Du Bois, I re- 
 member it now." 
 
 Madame Duval's cup fell from her hand, as she repeated 
 " Du Bois ! Monsieur Du Bois, did you say ? " 
 
 " Du Bois ! why, that's my friend," cried the Captain, 
 " that's Monseer Slippery, i'n't it ? — Why, he's plaguy fond 
 of sousing work ; howsomever, I'll be sworn they gave him 
 his fill of it." 
 
 " And I'll be sworn," cried Madame Duval, " that you're 
 a — but_I don't believe nothing about it, so you needn't be 
 so overjoyed, for I dare say it was no more Monsieur Du 
 Bois than I am." 
 
 " I thought at the time," said Sir Clement, very gravely, 
 " that I had seen the gentleman before ; and now I recollect, 
 I think it was in company with you, Madame." 
 
 "With me, Sir ? " cried Madame Duval. 
 
 " Say you so ? " said the Captain ; " why then it must be 
 
 he, as sure as you're alive ! Well, but, my good friend, 
 
 what will they do with poor Monseer ? " 
 
 "It is difficult to say," answered Sir Clement, very 
 thoughtfully ; " but I should suppose, that if he has not 
 good friends to appear for him, he will be in a very unplea- 
 sant situation ; for these are serious sorts of affairs." 
 
EVELINA. 139 
 
 "Why, do you think they'll hang him ? " demanded the 
 Captain. 
 
 Sir Clement shook his head, but made no answer. 
 
 Madame Duval could no longer contain her agitation ; she 
 started from her chair, repeating, with a voice half-choked, 
 " Hang him ! — they can't, — they sha'n't — let them at their 
 peril ! — However, it's all false, and I won't believe a word 
 of it ; — but I'll go to town this very moment, and see M. 
 Du Bois myself ; — I won't wait for nothing." 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan begged her not to be alarmed ; but she flew 
 out of the room, and up stairs into her own apartment. 
 Lady Howard blamed both the gentlemen for having been 
 so abrupt, and followed her. I would have accompanied 
 her, but the Captain stopped me ; and, having first laughed 
 very heartily, said he was going to read his commission to 
 his ship's company. 
 
 " Now, do you see," said he, "as to Lady Howard, I sha'n't 
 pretend for to enlist her into my service, and so I shall e'en 
 leave her to make it out as well as she can ; but as to all you, 
 I expect obedience and submission to orders : I am now 
 upon a hazardous expedition, having undertaken to convoy 
 a crazy vessel to the shore of Mortification ; so, d'ye see, if 
 any of you have anything to propose that will forward the 
 enterprize, — why speak and welcome ; but if any of you, 
 that are of my chosen crew, capitulate, or enter into any 
 treaty with the enemy, — I shall look upon you as mutinying, 
 and turn you adrift." 
 
 Having finished this harangue, which was interlarded 
 with many expressions, and sea-phrases, that I cannot recol- 
 lect, he gave Sir Clement a wink of intelligence, and left us 
 to ourselves. 
 
 Indeed, notwithstanding the attempts I so frequently 
 make of writing some of the Captain's conversation, I can 
 only give you a faint idea of his language ; for almost every 
 other word he utters is accompanied by an oath, which, I 
 am sure, would be as unpleasant for you to read, as for me 
 to write : and, besides, he makes use of a thousand sea-terms, 
 which are to me quite unintelligible. 
 
 Poor Madame Duval sent to inquire at all probable places, 
 whether she could be conveyed to town in any stage-coach : 
 but the Captain's servant brought her for answer, that no 
 
140 EVELINA. 
 
 London stage would pass near Howard Grove till to-day. 
 She then sent to order a chaise ; but was soon assured, that 
 no horses could be procured. She was so much inflamed by 
 these disappointments, that she threatened to set out for town 
 on foot ; and it was with difficulty that Lady Howard dis- 
 suaded her from this mad scheme. 
 
 The whole morning was filled up with these inquiries. 
 But when we were all assembled to dinner, she endeavoured 
 to appear perfectly unconcerned, and repeatedly protested 
 that she gave not any credit to the report, as far as it 
 regarded M. Du Bois, being very certain that he was not 
 the person in question. 
 
 The Captain used the most provoking efforts to convince 
 her that she deceived herself ; while Sir Clement, with more 
 art, though not less malice, affected to be of her opinion ; 
 but, at the same time that he pretended to relieve her un- 
 easiness, by saying that he doubted not having mistaken the 
 name, he took care to enlarge upon the danger to which the 
 unknown gentleman was exposed, and expressed great concern 
 at his perilous situation. 
 
 Dinner was hardly removed, when a letter was delivered 
 to Madame Duval. The moment she had read it, she hastily 
 demanded from whom it came. 
 
 " A country boy brought it," answered the servant, " but 
 he would not wait." 
 
 " Run after him this instant ! " cried she, "and be sure 
 you bring him back. Mon Dieu I quelle aventure ! queferai- 
 Jet" 
 
 "What's the matter ? that's the matter ? " said the Cap- 
 tain. 
 
 " Why nothing — nothing's the matter. mon Dieu ! " 
 
 And she rose, and walked about the room. 
 
 " Why, what, — has Monseer sent to you ? " continued the 
 Captain : " is that there letter from him ? " 
 
 " No, — it i'n't ; — besides, if it is, it's nothing to you." 
 
 " O then, I'm sure it is ! Pray now, Madam, don't be 
 so close ; come tell us all about it, — what does he say ? how 
 did he relish the horse-pond ? — which did he find best, sous- 
 ing single or double ? Tore George, 'twas plaguy unlucky 
 you was not with him ! " 
 
 " It's no such a thing, Sir," cried she, very angrily ; " and 
 
EYELINA. 141 
 
 if you're so very fond of a horse-pond, I wish you'd put 
 yourself into one, and not be always a thinking about other- 
 people's being served so." 
 
 The man then came in to acquaint her they could not 
 overtake the boy. She scolded violently, and was in such 
 perturbation, that Lady Howard interfered, and begged to 
 know the cause of her uneasiness, and whether she could 
 assist her. 
 
 Madame Duval cast her eyes upon the Captain and Sir 
 Clement, and said she should be glad to speak to her Lady- 
 ship without so many witnesses. 
 
 • " Well, then, Miss Anville," said the Captain, turningjbo 
 me, " do you and Molly go into another room, and stay 
 thfere till Mrs. Duval has opened her mind to us." „ m 
 
 •" So you^naj»think, Sir," cried she, " but who's fooLthen ?' 
 no, no, you needn't trouble yourself to make a ninny of „me 
 neither, for I'm not so easily taken in, I'll assure you." 
 
 Lady Howard then invited her into the dressing-room, 
 and I was desired to attend her. 
 
 As soon as we had shut the door, " O my Lady," exclaimed 
 Madame Duval, " here's the most crudest thing in the world 
 has happened ! — but that Captain is such a beast, I can't say 
 nothing before him, — but it's all true ! poor M. Du Bois is 
 tooked up ! " 
 
 Lady Howard begged her to be comforted, saying that, 
 as M. Du Bois was certainly innocent, there could be. no 
 doubt of his ability to clear himself. 
 
 "To be sure, my Lady," answered she, " I know he is 
 innocent ; and to be sure they'll never be so wicked as to 
 hang him for nothing ? " 
 
 "Certainly not," replied Lady Howard; "you have no 
 reason to be uneasy. This is not a country where punish- 
 ment is inflicted without proof." 
 
 " Very true, my Lady : but the worst thing is this ; I 
 cannot bear that that fellow the Captain should know about 
 it ; for if he does, I sha'n't never hear the last of it ; — no 
 more won't poor M. Du Bois." 
 
 "Well, well," said Lady Howard, "shew me the letter, 
 and I will endeavour to advise you." 
 
 The letter was then produced. It was signed by the 
 clerk of a country justice ; who acquainted her, that a 
 
(£i42^) 
 
 EYELINA. 
 
 prisoner, then upon trial for suspicion of treasonable prac- 
 tices against the government, was just upon the point of 
 being committed to jail ; but having declared that he was 
 known to her, this clerk had been prevailed upon to write, in 
 order to enquire if she really could speak to the character and 
 family of a Frenchman who called himself Pierre Du Bois. 
 
 When I heard the letter, I was quite amazed at its success. 
 So improbable did it seem, that a foreigner should be taken 
 before a country justice of peace, for a crime of so dangerous 
 a nature, that I csyajaafc imagJBfi ^ow ^ adame Duval could 
 be alarmed, even for a mom ent. But, with all hfvr vioTr^q h 
 of temper, 1 see that she is easily frightened, and in fact, 
 more cowardly than many who ha .vft not h alf frft-r spirit ; a,p?T 
 sir little does sne reflect upon circ iirnsfo.-pr^ nr p T »n'KQV>ili^ 
 t hat she is continually the dupe of her own— I ought not t o 
 sa y iqnor ounce, but yet I can thin k nf no nflim* wrvrrl^ 
 
 I believe that Lady Jtioward, from the beginning of the 
 transaction, suspected some contrivance of the Captain ; and 
 this letter, I am sure, must confirm her suspicion : however, 
 though she is not at all pleased with his frolic, yet she would 
 not hazard the consequence of discovering his designs : her 
 looks, her manner, and her character, made me draw this 
 conclusion from her apparent perplexity ; for not a word 
 did she say that implied any doubt of the authenticity of 
 the letter. Indeed there seems to be a sort of tacit agree- 
 ment between her and the Captain, that she should not 
 appear to be acquainted with his schemes ; by which means 
 she at once avoids quarrels, and supports her dignity. 
 
 While she was considering what to propose, Madame Du- 
 val begged to have the use of her Ladyship's chariot, that 
 she might go immediately to the assistance of her friend. 
 Lady Howard politely assured her, that it should be ex- 
 tremely at her service ; and then Madame Duval besought 
 her not to own to the Captain what had happened, protest- 
 ing that she could not endure he should know poor M. Du 
 Bois had met with so unfortunate an accident. Lady 
 Howard could not help smiling, though she readily promised 
 not to inform, the Captain of the affair. As to me, she de- 
 sired my attendance ; which I was by no means rejoiced at, 
 as I was certain that she was going upon a fruitless errand. 
 
 I was then commissioned to order the chariot. 
 
EVELINA. 143 
 
 At the foot of the stairs I met the Captain, who was most 
 impatiently waiting the result of the conference. In an in- 
 stant we were joined by Sir Clement. A thousand inquiries 
 were then made concerning Madame Duval's opinion of the 
 letter, and her intentions upon it : and when I would have 
 left them, Sir Clement, pretending equal eagerness with the 
 Captain, caught my hand, and repeatedly detained me, to 
 ask some frivolous question, to the answer of which he must 
 be totally indifferent. At length, however, I broke from 
 them ; they retired into the parlour, and I executed my 
 commission. 
 
 The carriage was soon ready ; and Madame Duval, having 
 begged Lady Howard to say she was not well, stole softly 
 down stairs, desiring me to follow her. The chariot was 
 ordered at the garden-door ; and, when we were seated, she 
 told the man, according to the clerk's directions, to drive to 
 Mr. Justice Tyrell's, asking, at the same time, how many 
 miles off he lived ? 
 
 I expected he would have answered, that he knew of no 
 such person ; but, to my great surprise, he said, " Why, 
 'Squire Tyrell lives about nine miles beyond the park." 
 
 " Drive fast, then," cried she, " and you sha'n't be no 
 worse for it." 
 
 During our ride, which was extremely tedious, she tor- 
 mented herself with a thousand fears for M. Du Bois's 
 safety ; and piqued herself very much upon having escaped 
 unseen by the Captain, not only that she avoided his triumph, 
 but because she knew him to be so much M. Du Bois's enemy, 
 that she was sure he would prejudice the justice against him, 
 and endeavour to take away his life. For my part, I was 
 quite ashamed of being engaged in so ridiculous an affair, 
 and could only think of the absurd appearance we should 
 make upon our arrival at Mr. Tyrell's. 
 
 When we had been out near two hours, and expected 
 every moment to stop at the place of our destination, I 
 observed that Lady Howard's servant, who attended us on 
 horseback, rode on forward till he was out of sight : and 
 soon after returning, came up to the chariot window, and 
 delivering a note to Madame Duval, said he had met a boy 
 who was just coming with it to Howard Grove, from the 
 clerk of Mr. Tyrell. 
 
144 EVELINA. 
 
 While she was reading it, he rode round to the other 
 window, and, making a sign for secresy, put into my hand 
 a slip of paper, on which was written, " Whatever happens, 
 be not alarmed — for you are safe — though you endanger all 
 mankind ! " 
 
 I readily imagined that Sir Clement must be the author 
 of this note, which prepared me to expect some disagreeable 
 adventure : but I had no time to ponder upon it ; for 
 Madame Duval had no sooner read her own letter, than, in 
 an angry tone of voice, she exclaimed, " Why, now, what a 
 thing is this ! here we're come all this way for nothing ! " 
 
 She then gave me the note ; which informed her, that 
 she need not trouble herself to go to Mr. Tyrell's, as the 
 prisoner had had the address to escape. I congratulated 
 her upon this fortunate incident ; but she was so much con- 
 cerned at having rode so far in vain, that she seemed less- 
 pleased than provoked. However, she ordered the man to- 
 make what haste he could home, as she hoped, at least,, 
 to return before the Captain should suspect what had 
 passed. 
 
 The carriage turned about ; and we journeyed so quietly 
 for near an hour, that I began to natter myself we should 
 be suffered to proceed to Howard Grove without further 
 molestation, when suddenly, the footman called out, " John, 
 are we going right ? " 
 
 " Why, I a'n't sure," said the coachman, " but I'm afraid 
 we turned wrong." 
 
 " What do you mean by that, sirrah ? " said Madame 
 Duval : " why, if you lose your way, we shall be all in the 
 dark." 
 
 " I think we should turn to the left," said the footman. 
 
 " To the left ! " answered the other ; " ISTo, no, I'm partly 
 sure we should turn to the right." 
 
 " You had better make some enquiry," said I. 
 
 "Ma foil" cried Madame Duval, "we're in a fine hole 
 here ! — they neither of them know no more than the post. 
 However, I'll tell my Lady as sure as you're born, so you'd 
 better find the way." 
 
 " Let's try this lane," said the footman. 
 
 " No," said the coachman, " that's the road to Canter- 
 bury ; we had best go straight on." 
 
EVELINA. 145 
 
 " Why, that's the direct London road," returned the 
 footman, " and will lead us twenty miles about." 
 
 " Pardi," cried Madame Duval, " why, they won't go 
 one way nor t'other ! and now we're come all this jaunt for 
 nothing, I suppose we shan't get home to-night ! " 
 
 " Let's go back to the public-house," said the footman, 
 " and ask for a guide." 
 
 " No, no," said the other, "if we stay here a few minutes, 
 somebody or other will pass by ; and the horses are almost 
 knocked up already." 
 
 " Well, I protest," cried Madame Duval, " I'd give a 
 guinea to see them sots both horse- whipped ! As sure as 
 I'm alive they're drunk ! Ten to one but they'll overturn 
 us next ! " 
 
 After much debating, they at length agreed to go on till 
 we came to some inn, or met with a passenger who could 
 direct us. We soon arrived at a farm-house, and the foot- 
 man alighted, and went into it. 
 
 In a few minutes he returned, and told us we might pro- 
 ceed, for that he had procured a direction : " But," added 
 he, " it seems there are some thieves hereabouts ; and so 
 the best way will be for you to leave your watches and 
 purses with the farmer, whom I know very well, and who 
 is an honest man, and a tenant of my Lady's." 
 
 "Thieves!" cried Madame Duval, looking aghast; 
 " the Lord help us ! — I've no doubt but we shall be all 
 murdered ! " 
 
 The farmer came up to us, and we gave him all we were 
 worth, and the servants followed our example. We then 
 proceeded ; and Madame Duval's anger so entirely subsided, 
 that, in the mildest manner imaginable, she intreated them 
 to make haste, and promised to tell their Lady how diligent 
 and obliging they had been. She perpetually stopped them, 
 to ask if they apprehended any danger ; and was at length 
 so much overpowered by her fears, that she made the foot- 
 man fasten his horse to the back of the carriage, and then 
 come and seat himself within it. My endeavours to en- 
 courage her were fruitless : she sat in the middle, held the 
 man by the arm, and protested that if he did but save her 
 life, she would make his fortune. Her uneasiness gave me 
 much concern, and it was with the utmost difficulty I forbore 
 
 L 
 
146 EVELINA. 
 
 to acquaint her that she was imposed upon ; but the mutual 
 fear of the Captain's resentment to me, and of her own to 
 him, neither of which would have any moderation, deterred 
 me. As to the footman, be was evidently in torture from 
 restraining his laughter ; and I observed that he was fre- 
 quently obliged to make most horrid grimaces, from pre- 
 tended fear, in order to conceal his risibility. 
 
 Very soon after, " The robbers are coming ! " cried the 
 coachman. 
 
 The footman opened the door, and jumped out of the 
 chariot. 
 
 Madame Duval gave a loud scream. 
 
 I could no longer preserve my silence. " For Heaven's 
 sake, my dear Madam," said I, " don't be alarmed, — you 
 are in no danger, — you are quite safe, — there is nothing 
 but " 
 
 Here the chariot was stopped by two men in masks ; 
 who at each side put in their hands as if for our purses. 
 Madame Duval sunk to the bottom of the chariot, and 
 implored their mercy. I shrieked involuntarily, although 
 prepared for the attack : one of them held me fast, while 
 the other tore poor Madame Duval out of the carriage, in 
 spite of her cries, threats, and resistance. 
 
 I was really frightened, and trembled exceedingly. 
 " My angel ! " cried the man who held me, " you cannot 
 surely be alarmed, — do you not know me ? — I shall hold 
 myself in eternal abhorrence, if I have really terrified 
 you." 
 
 "Indeed, Sir Clement, you have," cried I: — "but, for 
 Heaven's sake, where is Madame Duval ? — why is she 
 forced away ? " 
 
 " She is perfectly safe ; the Captain has her in charge : 
 but suffer me now, my adored Miss Anville, to take the 
 only opportunity that is allowed me, to speak upon another, 
 a much dearer, much sweeter subject." 
 
 And then he hastily came into the chariot, and seated 
 himself next to me. I would fain have disengaged myself 
 from him, but he would not let me : " Deny me not, most 
 charming of women," cried he, " deny me not this onlj 
 moment that is lent me, to pour forth my soul into your 
 gentle ears, — to tell you how much I suffer from your ab : 
 
EVELINA. 147 
 
 sence, — how much I dread jour displeasure, — and how 
 cruelly I am affected by your coldness ! " 
 
 "0, Sir, this is no time for such language ; — pray leave 
 me, pray go to the relief of Madame Duval, — I cannot bear 
 that she should be treated with such indignity." 
 
 " And will you, — can you command my absence ? — 
 When may I speak to you, if not now ? — Does the Captain 
 suffer me to breathe a moment out of his sight ? — and are 
 not a thousand impertinent people for ever at your 
 elbow ? " 
 
 " Indeed, Sir Clement, you must change your style, or I 
 will not hear you. The impertinent people you mean are 
 among my best friends ; and you would not, if you really 
 wished me well, speak of them so disrespectfully." 
 
 " Wish you well ! — 0, Miss Anville, point but out to me 
 how, in what manner, I may convince you of the fervour 
 of my passion ; — tell me but what services you will accept 
 from me, — and you shall find my life, my fortune, my whole 
 soul at your devotion." 
 
 " I want nothing, Sir, that you can offer ; — I beg you 
 not to talk to me so — so strangely. Pray leave me ; and 
 pray assure yourself you cannot take any method so suc- 
 cessless to show any regard for me, as entering into 
 schemes so frightful to Madame Duval, and so disagreeable 
 to myself." 
 
 " The scheme was the Captain's : I even opposed it : 
 though, I own, I could not refuse myself the so long-wished- 
 for happiness of speaking to you once more, without so 
 many of — your friends to watch me. And I had flattered 
 myself, that the note I charged the footman to give you, 
 would have prevented the alarm you have received." 
 
 " Well, Sir, you have now, I hope, said enough ; and, if 
 you will not go yourself to see for Madame Duval, at least 
 suffer me to inquire what is become of her." 
 
 " And when may I speak to you again ? " 
 
 " No matter when, — I don't know, — perhaps — " 
 
 " Perhaps what, my angel ? " 
 
 " Perhaps never, Sir, if you torment me thus." 
 
 " Never ! 0, Miss Anville, how cruel, how piercing to 
 my soul is that icy word ! — Indeed I cannot endure such 
 displeasure." 
 
148 BYELINA. 
 
 " Then, Sir, you must not provoke it. Pray leave me 
 directly." 
 
 " I will, Madam : but let me, at least, make a merit of 
 my obedience, — allow me to hope that yon will, in future, 
 be less averse to trusting yourself for a few moments alone 
 with me." 
 
 I was surprised at the freedom of this request ; but, while 
 I hesitated how to answer it, the other mask came up to 
 the chariot-door, and, in a voice almost stifled with laughter, 
 said, " I've done for her ! — the old back is safe ; — but we 
 must sheer off directly, or we shall be all aground." 
 
 Sir Clement instantly left me, mounted his horse, and 
 rode off. The Captain having given some directions to the 
 servants, followed him. 
 
 I was both uneasy and impatient to know the fate of 
 Madame Duval, and immediately got out of the chariot to 
 seek her. I desired the footman to show me which way 
 she was gone ; he pointed with his finger by way of answer, 
 and I saw that he dared not trust his voice to make any 
 other. I walked on at a very quick pace, and soon, to my 
 great consternation, perceived the poor lady seated upright 
 in a ditch. I flew to her with unfeigned -concern at her 
 situation. She was sobbing, nay, almost roaring, and in 
 the utmost agony of rage and terror. As soon as she saw 
 me, she redoubled her cries ; but her voice was so broken, 
 I could not understand a word she said. I was so much 
 shocked, that it was with difficulty I forbore exclaiming 
 against the cruelty of the Captain for thus wantonly ill- 
 treating her ; and I could not forgive myself for having 
 passively suffered the deception. I used my utmost en- 
 deavours to comfort her, assuring her of our present safety, 
 and begging her to rise and return to the chariot. 
 
 Almost bursting with passion, she pointed to her feet, and 
 with frightful violence she actually tore the ground with 
 her hands. 
 
 I then saw that her feet were tied together with a strong 
 rope, which was fastened to the upper branch of a tree, even 
 with a hedge which ran along the ditch where she sat. I 
 endeavoured to untie the knot ; but soon found it was 
 infinitely beyond my strength. I was, therefore, obliged to 
 apply to the footman ; but, being very unwilling to add to 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 his mirth by the sight of Madame Duval's situation, I 
 desired him to lend me a knife : I returned with it, and cut 
 the rope. Her feet were soon disentangled; and then, 
 though with great difficulty, I assisted her to rise. But 
 wha t was my astonishment, when, the moment she wa s up, 
 s he hit me a violent slap on the f age I r retreated from her 
 with precipitation and dread ; and she then loaded me with 
 reproaches, which, though almost unintelligible, convinced 
 me that she imagined I had voluntarily deserted her ; but 
 she seemed not to have the slightest suspicion that she had 
 not been attacked by real robbers. 
 
 I was so much surprised and confounded at the blow, 
 that, for some time, I suffered her to rave without making 
 any answer ; but her extreme agitation, and real suffering, 
 soon dispelled my anger, which all turned into compassion. 
 I then told her, that I had been forcibly detained from 
 following her, and assured her of my real sorrow at her ill- 
 
 ^ 
 
 She began to be somewhat appeased ; and I again intreated 
 her to return to the carriage, or give me leave to order that 
 it should draw up to the place where we stood. She made 
 no answer, till I told her, that the longer we remained still, 
 the greater would be the danger of our ride home. Struck 
 with this hint, she suddenly, and with hasty steps, moved 
 forward. 
 
 Her dress was in such disorder, that I was quite sorry to 
 have her figure exposed to the servants, who all of them, in 
 imitation of their master, hold her in derision : however, 
 the disgrace was unavoidable. 
 
 The ditch, happily, was almost quite dry, or she must 
 have suffered still more seriously ; yet so forlorn, so miser- 
 able a figure, I never before saw. Her head-dress had 
 fallen off, her linen was torn, her negligee had not a pin left 
 in it, her petticoats she was obliged to hold on, and her 
 shoes were perpetually slipping off. She was covered with 
 dirt, weeds, and filth, and her face was really horrible ; for 
 . the pomatum and powder from her head, and the dust from 
 the road, were quite pasted on her skin by her t ear s^ which, 
 . with her rouge? made so frightful a mixture, that she hardly 
 -looked human. ■"'-'-«• # ... ^ 
 
 The servants were ready to die with laughter the moment 
 
150 EVELINA. 
 
 they saw her ; but not all my remonstrances could prevail 
 upon her to get into the carriage, till she had most vehe- 
 mently reproached them both for not rescuing her. The 
 footman, fixing his eyes on the ground, as if fearful of again 
 trusting himself to look at her, protested that the robbers 
 had vowed they would shoot him if he moved an inch, and 
 that one of them had stayed to watch the chariot, while *tne 
 other carried her off, adding, that the reason of their be- 
 having so barbarously, was to revenge our having secured 
 our purses. Notwithstanding her anger, she gave immediate 
 credit to what he said ; and really imagined that her want 
 of money had irritated the pretended robbers to treat her 
 with such cruelty. I determined, therefore, to be carefully 
 upon my guard not to betray the imposition, which could 
 now answer no other purpose, than occasioning an irrepar- 
 able breach between her and the Captain. 
 
 Just as we were seated in the chariot, she discovered the 
 loss which her head had sustained, and called out, " My 
 God ! what is become of my hair ? — why, the villain has 
 stole all my curls ! " 
 
 She then ordered the man to run and see if he could find 
 any of them in the ditch. He went, and presently returning, 
 produced a great quantity of hair, in such a nasty condition, 
 that I was amazed she would take it ; and the man, as he 
 delivered it to her, found it impossible to keep his counte- 
 nance ; which she no sooner observed, than all her stormy 
 passions were again raised. She flung the battered curls in 
 his face, saying, " Sirrah, what do you grin for ? I wish 
 you'd been served so yourself, and you wouldn't have found 
 it no such joke : you are the impudentest fellow ever I see; 
 and if I find you dare grin at me any more, I shall make no 
 ceremony of boxing your ears." 
 
 Satisfied with the threat, the man hastily retired, and we 
 drove on. 
 
 Her anger now subsiding into grief, she began most 
 sorrowfully to lament her case. " I believe," she cried, 
 " never nobody was so unlucky as I am ! an d so here, be- 
 cause I ha'n't had misfortunes fmrm f rh already, that puppy 
 Tia^ made me lose my curls ! — Why, I can't see nobody 
 without them :— o nly look at me. — 1 was tipvpv so bad off itT 
 nfy life betore. ' Pardi, if I'd know'd as much, I'd have 
 
KVKL1NJL ( ^151 ) 
 
 brought two or three sets with me : but I'd never a thought 
 of such a thing as this." 
 
 Finding her now somewhat pacified, I ventured to ask an 
 account of her adventure, which I will endeavour to write 
 in her own words. 
 
 "Why, child, all this misfortune comes of that puppy's 
 making us leave our money behind us ; for, as soon as the 
 robber see I did put nothing in his hands, he lugged me out 
 of the chariot by main force, and I verily thought he'd have 
 murdered me. He was as strong as a lion ; I was no more 
 in his hands than a child. But I believe never nobody was 
 so abused before ; for he dragged me down the road, pulling 
 and hauling me all the way, as if'd no more feeling than a 
 horse. I'm sure I wish I could see that man cut up and 
 quartered alive ! however, he'll come to the gallows, that's 
 one good thing. So soon as we'd got out of sight of the 
 chariot, though he needn't have been afraid, for if he'd beat 
 me to a mummy, those cowardly fellows wouldn't have said 
 nothing to it — So, when I was got there, what does he do, 
 but all of a sudden he takes me by both the shoulders, and 
 he gives me such a shake ! — Mon Bieu ! I shall never forget 
 it, if I live to be an hundred. I'm sure I dare say I'm out 
 of joint all over. And, though I made as much noise as 
 ever I could, he took no more notice of it than nothing at 
 all ; but there he stood, shaking me in that manner, as if he 
 was doing it for a wager. I'm determined, if it costs me 
 •all my fortune, I'll see that villain hanged. He shall be J 
 found out, if there's e'er a justice in England. So when he I 
 had shook me till he was tired, and I felt all over like a 
 jelly, without saying never a word, he takes and pops me 
 into the ditch ! I'm sure, I thought he'd have murdered me, 
 as much as ever I thought any thing in my life ; for he kept 
 bumping me about, as if he thought nothing too bad for me. 
 However, I'm resolved I'll never leave my purse behind me 
 again, the longest day I have to live. So when he couldn't 
 stand over me no longer, he holds out his hands again for 
 my money ; but he was as cunning as could be, for he 
 wouldn't speak a word, because I shouldn't swear to his 
 voice ; however, that sha'n't save him, for I'll swear to him 
 any day in the year, if I can but catch him. So, when I 
 told him I had no money, he fell to jerking me again, just 
 
152 ^ EVELINA. 
 
 as if he had but that moment begun ! And, after that, he 
 got me close by a tree, and out of his pocket he pulls a great 
 cord ! — It's a wonder I did not swoon away ; for as sure as 
 you're alive, he was going to hang me to that tree. I 
 screamed like any thing mad, and told him if he would but 
 spare my life, I'd never prosecute him, nor tell nobody what 
 he'd done to me : so he stood some time quite in a brown 
 study, a- thinking what he should do. And so, after that, 
 he forced me to sit down in the ditch, and he tied my feet 
 together, just as you see them ; and then, as if he had not 
 done enough, he twitched off my cap, and, without saying 
 nothing, got on his horse and left me in that condition ; 
 thinking, I suppose, that I might lie there and perish." 
 
 Though this narrative almost compelled me to laugh, yet 
 I was really irritated with the Captain, for carrying his love 
 of tormenting, — sport, he calls it, — to such barbarous and 
 unjustifiable extremes. I consoled and soothed her, as well 
 as I was able ; and told her, that since M. Du Bois had 
 escaped, I hoped, when she recovered from her fright, all 
 would end well. 
 
 " Fright, child ! " repeated she, " why that's not half ; — 
 I promise you, I wish it was ; but here I'm bruised from top 
 to toe, and it's well if ever I have the right use of my limbs 
 again. However, I'm glad the villain got nothing but his 
 trouble for his pains. But here the worst is to come, for I 
 can't go out, because I've got no curls, and so he'll be 
 escaped before I can get to the justice to stop him. I'm* 
 resolved I'll tell Lady Howard how her man served me ; 
 for if he hadn't made me fling 'em away, I dare say I could 
 have pinned them up well enough for the country." 
 
 " Perhaps Lady Howard may be able to lend you a cap 
 that will wear without them." 
 
 " Lady Howard, indeed ! why, do you think I'd wear one 
 of her dowdies ? No, I'll promise you, I sha'n't put on no 
 such disguisement. It's the unluckiest thing in the world 
 that I did not make the man pick up the curls again ; but 
 he put me in such a passion, I could not think of nothing. 
 I know I can't get none at Howard Grove for love nor 
 money ; for of all the stupid places ever I see, that Howard 
 Grove is the worst ; there's never no getting nothing one 
 wants." 
 
EYELINA. . 153 
 
 This sort of conversation lasted till we arrived at our 
 journey's end ; and then a new distress occurred : Madame 
 Duval was eager to speak to Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan, 
 and to relate her misfortunes ; but she could not endure 
 that Sir Clement or the Captain should see her in such dis- 
 order ; for she said they were so ill-natured, that instead of 
 pitying her, they would only make a jest of her disasters. 
 She therefore sent me first into the house, to wait for an 
 opportunity of their being out of the way, that she might 
 steal up stairs unobserved. In this I succeeded, as the 
 gentlemen thought it most prudent not to seem watching 
 for her ; though they both contrived to divert themselves 
 with peeping at her as she passed. 
 
 She went immediately to bed, where she had her supper. 
 Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan both of them very kindly 
 sat with her, and listened to her tale with compassionate 
 attention ; while Miss Mirvan and I retired to our own room, 
 where I was very glad to end the troubles of the day in a 
 comfortable conversation. 
 
 The Captain's raptures, during supper, at the success of 
 his plan, were boundless. I spoke afterwards to Mrs. Mir- 
 van with the openness which her kindness encourages, and 
 begged her to remonstrate with him upon the cruelty of 
 tormenting Madame Duval so causelessly. She promised 
 to take the first opportunity of starting the subject ; but 
 said he was at present so much elated, that he would not 
 listen to her with any patience. However, should he make 
 any new efforts to molest her, I can by no means consent 
 to be passive. Had I imagined he would have been so 
 violent, I would have risked his anger in her defence much 
 sooner. 
 
 She has kept her bed all day, and declares she is almost 
 bruised to death. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Sir. What a long letter have I written ! 
 I could almost fancy I sent it you from London ! 
 
t\ 
 
 154 EVELINA. 
 
 LETTER XXXIV. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Hotvard Grove, May 15. 
 
 THIS insatiable Captain, if left to himself, would not, I 
 believe, rest, till he had tormented Madame Duval into 
 a fever. He seems to have no delight but in terrifying or 
 provoking her ; and all his thoughts apparently turn upon 
 inventing such methods as may do it most effectually. 
 
 She had her breakfast again in bed yesterday morning ; 
 but during ours, the Captain, with a very significant look 
 at Sir Clement, gave us to understand, that he thought she 
 had now rested long enough to bear the hardships of a fresh 
 campaign. 
 
 His meaning was obvious ; and, therefore, I resolved to 
 endeavour immediately to put a stop to his intended exploits. 
 When breakfast was over, I followed Mrs. Mirvan out of 
 the parlour, and begged her to lose no time in pleading the 
 cause of Madame Duval with the Captain. "My love," 
 answered she, " I have already expostulated with him ; but 
 all I can say is fruitless, while his favourite, Sir Clement, 
 contrives to urge him on." 
 
 " Then I will go and speak to Sir Clement," said I, " for 
 I know he will desist if I request him." 
 
 " Have a care, my dear ! " said she, smiling ; " it is some- 
 times dangerous to make requests to men who are too de- 
 sirous of receiving them." 
 
 " Well then, my dear Madam, will you give me leave to 
 speak myself to the Captain ? " 
 
 " Willingly ; nay, I will accompany you to him." 
 
 I thanked her, and we went to seek him. He was walking 
 in the garden with Sir Clement. Mrs. Mirvan most oblig- 
 ingly made an opening for my purpose, by saying, " Mr. 
 Mirvan, I have brought a petitioner with me." 
 
 " Why, what's the matter now ? " cried he. 
 
 I was fearful of making him angry, and stammered very 
 much, when I told him, I hoped he had no new plan fc* 
 alarming Madame Duval. 
 
EVELINA. 155 
 
 " New plan ! " cried he ; " why, you don't suppose the old 
 one would do again, do you ? Not but what it was a very- 
 good one, only I doubt she wouldn't bite." 
 
 " Indeed, Sir," said I, " she has already suffered too much ; 
 and I hope you will pardon me, if I take the liberty of 
 telling you, that I think it my duty to do all in my power to 
 prevent her being again so much terrified." 
 
 A sullen gloominess instantly clouded his face, and, 
 turning short from me, he said, I might do as I pleased, 
 but that I should much sooner repent than repair my 
 officiousness. 
 
 I was too much disconcerted at this rebuff to attempt 
 making any answer* and finding that Sir Clement warmly 
 espoused my caused I walked away, and left them to discuss 
 the point together. 
 
 Mrs. Mirvam, who never speaks to the Captain when he 
 is out of humour, was glad to follow me, and with her usual 
 sweetness made a thousand apologies for her husband's ill- 
 manners. 
 
 When I left her, I went to Madame Duval, who was 
 just risen, and employed in examining the clothes she had 
 on the day of her ill usage. 
 
 " Here's a sight ! " cried she. " Come, here child, — only 
 look — Pardi, so long as I've lived, I never see so much be- 
 fore ! Why, all my things are spoilt ; and, what's worse, 
 my sacque was as good as new. Here's the second negligee 
 I've had used in this manner ! — I'm sure I was a fool to put 
 it on in such a lonesome place as this ; however, if I stay 
 here these ten years, I'll never put on another good gown, 
 that I'm resolved." 
 
 " Will you let the maid try if she can iron it out, or clean 
 it, Ma'am?" 
 
 "No, she'll only make bad worse. — But look here, now, 
 here's a cloak ! Mon Lieu ! why it looks like a dish-clout ! 
 Of all the unluckinesses that ever I met, this is the worst I 
 for, do you know, I bought it but the day before I left 
 Paris ! — Besides, into the bargain, my cap's quite gone : 
 where the villain twitched it, I don't know ; but I never 
 see no more of it from that time to this. Now you must 
 know this was the becomingest cap I had in the world, for 
 I've Dever another with pink ribbon in it ; and, to tell you 
 
156 EVELINA. 
 
 the truth, if I hadn't thought to have seen M. Du Bois, I'd 
 no more have pnt it on than I'd have flown ; for as to what 
 one wears in such a stupid place as this, it signifies no more 
 than nothing at all." 
 
 She then told me, that she had been thinking all night of a 
 contrivance to hinder the Captain from finding out her loss of 
 cnrls ; which was, having a large ganze handkerchief pinned 
 over her head as a hood, and saying she had the tooth-ach. 
 
 " To tell yon the truth," added she, " I believe that Cap- 
 tain is one of the worst men in the world ; he's always 
 making a joke of me ; and as to his being a gentleman, he has 
 no more manners than a bear, for he's always upon the grin 
 when one's in distress ; and, I declareTT'd rather be done 
 any thing to than laughed at, for, to my mind, it's one or 
 other the disagreeablest thing in the world/j 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan, I found, had been endeavouring to dissuade 
 her from the design she had formed of having recourse to 
 the law, in order to find out the supposed robbers ; for she 
 dreads a discovery of the Captain, during Madame Duval's 
 stay at Howard Grove, as it could not fail being productive 
 of infinite commotion. She has, therefore, taken great pains 
 to show the inutility of applying to justice, unless she were 
 more able to describe the offenders against whom she would 
 appear ; and has assured her, that as she neither heard their 
 voices, nor saw their faces, she cannot possibly swear to 
 their persons, or obtain any redress. 
 
 Madame Duval, in telling me this, extremely lamented 
 her hard fate, that she was thus prevented from revenging 
 her injuries ; which, however, she vowed she would not be 
 persuaded to pocket tamely : " because," added she, " if such 
 villains as these are let to have their own way, and nobody 
 takes no notice of their impudence, they'll make no more 
 ado than nothing at all of tying people in ditches, and such 
 things as that : however, I shall consult with M. Du Bois, 
 as soon as I can ferret out where he's hid himself. I'm 
 sure I've a right to his advice, for it's all along of his 
 gaping about at the Tower that I've met with these mis- 
 fortunes." 
 
 "M. Du Bois," said I, "will, I am sure, be very sorry 
 when he hears what has happened." 
 
 " And what good will that do now ? — that won't unspoil 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 <£E) 
 
 all ray clothes ; I can tell him, I a'n't much obliged to him, 
 though it's no fault of his ; — yet it i'n't the less proyokinger 
 for that. I'm sure, if he had been there, to have seen me 
 served in that manner, and put neck and heels into a ditch, 
 he'd no more have thought it was me than the Pope of 
 Rome. I'll promise you, whatever you may think of it, I 
 sha'n't have no rest, night nor day, till I find out that 
 rogue." 
 
 "I have no doubt, Madam, but you will soon discover him." 
 
 " Pard% if I do, I'll hang him, as sure as fate ! — but 
 what's the oddest, is, that he should take such a special 
 spite against me above all the rest ! it was as much for no- 
 thing as could be ; for I don't know what I had done, so 
 particular bad, to be used in that manner : I'm sure, I 
 hadn't given him no offence, as I know of, for I never see- 
 his face all the time ; and as to screaming a little, I think 
 it's very hard if one musn't do such a thing as that, when 
 one's put in fear of one's life." 
 
 During this conversation, she endeavoured to adjust her 
 head-dress, but could not at all please herself. Indeed, had 
 I not been present, I should have thought it impossible for 
 a woman, at her time of life, to be so very difficult in regard 
 to dress. What she may have in view, I cannot imagine ; 
 but the labour of the toilette seems the chief business of her 
 life. ' ' 
 
 WTien I left her, in my way down stairs, I met Sir Cle- 
 ment ; who, with great earnestness, said he must not be 
 denied the honour of a moment's conversation with me ; and 
 then, without waiting for an answer, he led me to the gar- 
 den ; at the door of which, however, I absolutely insisted 
 upon stopping. 
 
 He seemed very serious, and said, in a grave tone of voice, 
 " At length, Miss Anville, I flatter myself I have hit upon 
 an expedient that will oblige you ; and therefore, though it 
 is death to myself, I will put it in practice." 
 
 I begged him to explain himself. 
 
 " I saw your desire of saving Madame Duval, and scarce 
 could I refrain giving the brutal Captain my real opinion 
 of his savage conduct ; but I am unwilling to quarrel with 
 him, lest I should be denied entrance into a house which 
 you inhabit ; I have been endeavouring to prevail with him 
 
158 EYELINA. 
 
 to give up his absurd new scheme, but I find him impene- 
 trable : — I have therefore determined to make a pretence for 
 suddenly leaving this place, dear as it is to me, and con- 
 taining all I most admire and adore ; — and I will stay in 
 town till the violence of this boobyish humour is abated." 
 
 He stopped ; but I was silent, for I knew not what I 
 ought to say. He took my hand, which he pressed to his 
 lips, saying, " And must I then, Miss Anville, must I quit 
 you — sacrifice voluntarily my greatest felicity ; — and yet 
 not be honoured with one word, one look of approbation ? " 
 
 I withdrew my hand, and said with a half laugh, " You 
 know so well, Sir Clement, the value of the favours you 
 confer, that it would be superfluous for me to point it out." 
 
 " Charming, charming girl ! how does your wit, your 
 understanding, rise upon me daily ; and must I, can I part 
 with you ? — will no other method " 
 
 " O, Sir, do you so soon repent the good office you had 
 planned for Madame Duval ? " 
 
 " For Madame Duval ! — cruel creature, and will you not 
 even suffer me to place to your account the sacrifice I am 
 about to make ? " 
 
 " You must place it, Sir, to what account you please ; but 
 I am too much in haste now to stay here any longer." 
 
 And then I would have left him ; but he held me, and 
 rather impatiently said, " If, then, I cannot be so happy as 
 to oblige you, Miss Anville, you must not be surprised should 
 I seek to oblige myself. If my scheme is not honoured with 
 your approbation, for which alone it was formed, why should 
 I, to my own infinite dissatisfaction, pursue it ? " 
 
 We were then, for a few minutes, both silent ; I was really 
 unwilling he should give up a plan which would so effectually 
 break into the Captain's designs, and, at the same time, save 
 me the pain of disobliging him ; and I should instantly and 
 thankfully have accepted his offered civility, had not Mrs. 
 Mirvan's caution made me fearful. However, when he 
 pressed me to speak, I said, in an ironical voice, " I had 
 thought, Sir, that the very strong sense you have yourself 
 of the favour you propose to me, would sufficiently have re- 
 paid you ; but, as I was mistaken, I must thank you myself. 
 And now," making a low courtesy, " I hope, Sir, you are 
 satisfied." 
 
ETELINA. 159 
 
 " Loveliest of thy sex — " he began ; but I forced myself 
 from him, and run up stairs. 
 
 Soon after Miss Mirvan told me that Sir Clement had 
 just received a letter, which obliged him instantly to leave 
 the Grove, and that he had actually ordered a chaise. I 
 then acquainted her with the real state of the affair. In- 
 deed, I conceal nothing from her ; she is so gentle and sweet- 
 tempered, that it gives me great pleasure to place an entire 
 confidence in her. 
 
 At dinner, I must own, we all missed him ; for though 
 the flightiness of his behaviour to me, when we are by our- 
 selves, is very distressing; yet, in large companies, and 
 general conversation, he is extremely entertaining and agree- 
 able. As to the Captain, he has been so much chagrined at 
 his departure, that he has scarce spoken a word since he 
 went : but Madame Duval, who made her first public ap- 
 pearance since her accident, was quite in raptures that she 
 escaped seeing him. 
 
 The money which we left at the farm-house has been re- 
 turned to us. What pains the Captain must have taken to 
 arrange and manage the adventures which he chose we 
 should meet with ! Yet he must certainly be discovered ; 
 for Madame Duval is already very much perplexed, at having 
 received a letter this morning from M. Du Bois, in which 
 he makes no mention of his imprisonment. However, she 
 has so little suspicion, that she imputes his silence upon the 
 subject to his fears that the letter might be intercepted. 
 
 Not one opportunity could I meet with, while Sir Clement 
 was here, to enquire after his friend Lord Orville : but I 
 think it was strange he should never mention him unasked. 
 Indeed, I rather wonder that Mrs. Mirvan herself did not 
 introduce the subject, for she always seemed particularly 
 attentive to him. 
 
 And now, once more, all my thoughts involuntarily turn 
 upon the letter I so soon expect from Paris. This visit of 
 Sir Clement has, however, somewhat diverted my fears ; 
 and, therefore, I am very glad he made it at this time. 
 Adieu, my dear Sir. 
 
160 EVELINA. 
 
 LETTER XXXV. 
 
 SIR JOHN BELMONT TO LADY HOWARD. 
 
 Madam, Paris, May 11. 
 
 I HAVE this moment the honour of your Ladyship's 
 letter, and I will not wait another, before I return an 
 answer. 
 
 It seldom happens that a man, though extolled as a saint, 
 is really without blemish ; or that another, though reviled 
 as a devil, is really without humanity. Perhaps the time is 
 not very distant, when I may have the honour to convince 
 your Ladyship of this truth, in regard to Mr. Villars and 
 myself. 
 
 As to the young lady, whom Mr. Villars so obligingly 
 proposes presenting to me, I wish her all the happiness to 
 which, by your ladyship's account, she seems entitled ; and, 
 if she has a third part of the merit of her to whom you com- 
 pare her, I doubt not but Mr. Villars will be more success- 
 ful in every other application he may make for her advan- 
 tage, than he can ever be in any with which he may be 
 pleased to favour me. 
 
 I have the honour to be Madam, 
 Your Ladyship's most humble, 
 and most obedient servant, 
 John Belmont. 
 
 LETTER XXXVI. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Howard Grove, May 18. 
 
 WELL, my dear Sir, all is now over ! the letter so 
 anxiously expected is at length arrived, and my doom 
 is fixed. The various feelings which oppress me, I have 
 not language to describe ; nor need I — you know my heart, 
 you have yourself formed it — and its sensations upon this 
 occasion you may but too readily imagine. 
 
EVELINA. /161 
 
 Outcast as I am, and rej ected for ever by him^ tfl who m 
 I of right belo ng — shall I now implore your continued pro- 
 tection ? — .No, no ; — I will not offend your generous heart, 
 which, open to distress, has no wish but to relieve it, with 
 an application that would seem to imply a doubt. I am 
 more secure than ever of your kindness, since you now 
 know upon that is my sole dependence. 
 
 I endeavour to bear this stroke with composure, and in 
 such a manner as if I had already received your counsel 
 and consolation. Yet, at times, my emotions are almost too 
 much for me. O, Sir, what a letter for a parent to write ! 
 Must I not myself be deaf to the voice of nature, if I could 
 endure to be thus absolutely abandoned without regret ? I dare # 
 not even to you, nor would I, could I help it, to myself, 
 acknowledge all that I think ; for, indeed, I have sometimes 
 sentiments upon this rejection, which my strongest sense of 
 pluty can^ scarcely correct. Yet, suffer me to ask — might 
 not this answer have been softened ?— was it not enough to 
 disclaim me for £ver, without treating me with contempt, 
 and wounding me with derision ? * + 
 
 But while I am thus thinking of myself, I forget how 
 much more he is the object of sorrow than I am ! Alas ! 
 what amends can he make himself for the anguish he is 
 hoarding up for time to come ! M y heart bleeds for him, 
 whene ver t his reflection occurs to me. 
 
 WEat is~sald of yuii, my pro tee ten ', my friend, my bene- 
 factor ! I dare not trust myself to comment upon. Gracious 
 Heaven ! what a return for goodness so unparalleled ! 
 
 I would fain endeavour to divert my thoughts from this 
 subject; but even that is not in my power; for, afflicting 
 as this letter is to me, I find that it will not be allowed to 
 conclude the affair, though it does all my expectations ; for 
 Madame Duval has determined not to let it rest here. She 
 heard the letter in great wrath, and protested she would not 
 be so easily answered ; she regretted her facility in having 
 been prevailed upon to yield the direction of this affair to 
 those who knew not how to manage it, and vowed she 
 would herself undertake and conduct it in future. 
 
 It is in vain that I have pleaded against her resolution, 
 and besought her to forbear an attack where she has nothing 
 to expect but resentment : especially as there seems to be a 
 
 M 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 liint, that Lady Howard will one day be more openly dealt 
 with, She will not hear me : she is furiously bent upon^a 
 project which is terrible to think of ; — for she means to go 
 herself to Paris, take me with her, and there, face to face, 
 demand justice ! 
 
 How to appease or to persuade her, I know not ; but for 
 the universe would I not be dragged, in such a manner, to 
 an interview so awful, with a parent I have never yet be- 
 held ! 
 
 Lady Howard and Mrs. Mir van are both of them infinitely 
 shocked at the present situation of aff airs, and they seem to 
 be even more kind to me than ever ; and my dear Maria, 
 who is the friend of my heart, uses her utmost efforts to 
 1 console me ; and, when she fails in her design, with still 
 greater kindness she sympathises in my sorrow. 
 
 I very much rejoice, however, that Sir Clement Wil- 
 loughby had left us before this letter arrived. I am sure 
 the general confusion of the house would otherwise have 
 betrayed to him the whole of a tale wh ic^^TnTwrTgOre 
 t han-ever, wish lu haye- btirie'd in oblivion. 
 
 Lady Howard thinks I ought no I Lu disoblige Madame 
 Duval, yet she acknowledges the impropriety of my accom- 
 panying her abroad upon such an enterprise. Indeed, I 
 would rather die than force myself into his presence. But 
 so vehement is Madame Duval, that she would instantly 
 have compelled me to attend her to town, in her way to 
 Paris, had not Lady Howard so far exerted herself, as to 
 declare she could by no means consent to my quitting her 
 house, till she gave me up to you, by whose permission I 
 had entered it. 
 
 She was extremely angry at this denial ; and the Captain, 
 by his sneers and raillery, so much increased her rage, that 
 she has positively declared, should your next letter dispute 
 her authority to guide me by her own pleasure, she will, 
 without hesitation, make a journey to Berry Hill, and teach 
 you to know who she is. 
 
 Should she put this threat in execution, nothing could 
 give me greater uneasiness : for her violence and volubility 
 would almost distract you. 
 
 Unable as I am to act for myself, or to judge what con- 
 duct I ought to pursue, how grateful do I feel myself, that 
 
EVELINA. 163 
 
 I have such a guide and director to counsel and instruct me 
 as yourself ! 
 
 Adieu, my dearest Sir ! Heaven, I trust, will never let 
 me live to be repulsed, and derided by you, to whom I may 
 now sign myself, wholly your 
 
 Evelina. 
 
 LETTER XXXVII. 
 
 MR. YJLLARS TO EVELINA. 
 
 Berry Hill, May 21. * 
 
 LET not my Evelina be depressed by a stroke of fortune 
 for which she is not responsible. No breach of duty 
 on your part has incurred the unkindness which has been 
 shown you ; nor have you, by any act of imprudence, pro- 
 voked either censure or reproach. Let me intreat you, 
 therefore, my dearest child, to support yourself with that 
 courage which your innocency ought to inspire : and let all 
 the affliction you allow yourself be for him only who, not 
 having that support, must one day be but too severely sen- 
 sible how much he wants it. 
 
 The hint thrown out concerning myself is wholly unin- 
 telligible to me : my heart, I dare own, fully acquits me of j 
 vice ; but without blemish, I have never ventured to pro- 
 nounce myself. However, it seems his intention to be 
 hereafter more explicit ; and then, — should anything appear, 
 that has on my part contributed to those misfortunes we 
 lament, let me at least say, that the most partial of my 
 friends cannot be so much astonished as I shall myself be at 
 such a discovery. 
 
 The mention, also, of any future applications I may make, 
 is equally beyond my comprehension. But I will not dwell 
 upon a subject, which almost compels from me reflections 
 that cannot but be wounding to a heart so formed for /&liaN 
 tenderness as my Evelina's. There is an air of mystery 
 throughout the letter, the explanation of which I will await 
 in silence. 
 
 The scheme of Madame Duval is such as might be rea- 
 
1 64/ EYELINA. 
 
 sonably expected from a woman so little inured to dis- 
 appointment, and so totally incapable of considering the 
 delicacy of your situation. Your averseness to her plan 
 gives me pleasure, for it exactly corresponds with my own. 
 Why will she not make the journey she projects by herself? 
 She would not have even the wish of an opposition to en- 
 counter. And then, once more, might my child and myself 
 be left to the quiet enjoyment of that peaceful happiness, 
 which she alone has interrupted. As to her coming hither, 
 I could, indeed, dispense with such a visit ; but, if she will 
 not be satisfied with my refusal by letter, I must submit to 
 the task of giving it her in person. 
 
 My impatience for your return is increased by your ac- 
 count of Sir Clement Willoughby's visit to Howard Grove. 
 I am but little surprised at the perseverance of his assidui- 
 ties to interest you in his favour ; but I am very much hurt 
 that you should be exposed to addresses, which, by their 
 privacy, have an air that shocks me. You cannot, my love, 
 be too circumspect ; the slightest carelessness on your part 
 will be taken advantage of by a man of his disposition. It 
 is not sufficient for you to be reserved : his conduct even 
 calls for your resentment ; and should he again, as will 
 doubtless be his endeavour, contrive to solicit your favour 
 in private, let your disdain and displeasure be so marked, 
 as to constrain a change in his behaviour. Though, indeed, 
 should his visit be repeated while you remain at the Grove, 
 Lady Howard must pardon me if I shorten yours. 
 
 Adieu, my child. You will always make my respects to 
 the hospitable family to which we are so much obliged. 
 
 LETTER XXXVIIL 
 
 MR. VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD. 
 
 /*~Dear Madam, Berry Hill, May 27. 
 
 ^*T T3HELIEVE your Ladyship will not be surprised at hear- 
 ± ing I have had a visit from Madame Duval, as I doubt 
 not her having made known her intention before she left 
 Howard Grove. I would gladly have excused myself this 
 
EYELINA 
 
 meeting, could I have avoided it decently ; but, after so 
 long a journey, it was not possible to refuse her admittance. 
 
 She told me, that she came to Berry Hill, in consequence 
 of a letter I had sent to her grand- daughter, in which I had 
 forbid her going to Paris. Very roughly she then called 
 me to account for the- authority which I had assumed ; and, 
 had I been disposed to have argued with her, she would 
 very angrily have disputed the right by which I used it. 
 But I declined all debating. I therefore listened very 
 quietly, till she had so much fatigued herself with talking, 
 that she was glad, in her turn, to be silent. And then, I 
 begged to know the purport of her visit. 
 
 She answered, that she came to make me relinquish the 
 power I had usurped over her grand- daughter ; and assured 
 me she would not quit the place till she succeeded. 
 
 But I will not trouble your Ladyship with the particulars 
 of this disagreeable conversation ; nor should I, but on ac- 
 count of the result, have chosen so unpleasant a subject for 
 your perusal. However, I will be as concise as I possibly 
 can, that the better occupations of your Ladyship's time 
 may be less impeded. 
 
 When she found me inexorable in refusing Evelina's at- 
 tending her to Paris, she peremptorily insisted that she 
 should at least live with her in London till Sir John Bel- 
 mont's return. I remonstrated against this scheme with 
 all the energy in my power : but the contest was vain ; she 
 lost her patience, and I my time. She declared, that if I 
 was resolute in opposing her, she would instantly make a 
 will, in which she would leave all her fortune to strangers, 
 though, otherwise, she intended her grand- daughter for her 
 sole heiress. 
 
 To me, I own, this threat seemed of little consequence ; 
 I have long accustomed myself to think, that, with a com- 
 petency, of which she is sure, my child might be as happy 
 as in the possession of millions ; but the incertitude of her 
 future fate deters me from following implicitly the dictates of 
 my present judgment. The connections she may hereafter 
 form, the style of life for which she may be destined, and 
 the future family to which she may belong, are considera- 
 tions which give but too much weight to the menaees of 
 Madame Duval. In short, Madam, after a discourse infi- 
 
! 
 
 166, EVELINA. 
 
 nitely tedious, I was obliged, though very reluctantly, to 
 compromise with this ungovernable woman, by consenting 
 that Evelina should pass one month with her. 
 
 I never made a concession with so bad a grace, or so 
 much regret. The violence and vulgarity of this woman, 
 her t otal ignorance of propriety, the family to which she is 
 rela :ed, and the company she is likely to keep, are objections 
 so forcible to her having the charge of this dear child, that 
 nothing less than my diffidence of the right I have of 
 depriving her of so large a fortune, would have induced 
 me to listen to her proposal. Indeed we parted, at last, 
 equally discontented ; she at what I had refused, I at what 
 I had granted. 
 
 It i only remains for me to return your Ladyship my 
 humb, * nowledgments for the kin dness which you have 
 so libeic shown to my ward ; and to beg you would have 
 the goodness to part with her when Madame Duval thinks 
 proper to claim the promise which she has extorted from me. 
 
 I am, 
 
 Dear Madam. &c. 
 
 Arthur Villars. 
 
 LETTER XXXIX. 
 
 MB. VILLARS TO EVELIXA. 
 
 Berry Hill, May 2& 
 
 WITH a reluctance which occasions me inexpressible 
 uneasiness, I have been almost compelled to consent 
 that my Evelina should quit the protection of the hospitable 
 and respectable Lady Howard, and accompany Madame 
 Duva] to a city which I had hoped she would never again 
 rave entered. But alas, my dear child, we are the slaves 
 of custom, the dupes of prejudice, and dare not stem the 
 torrent of an opposing world, even though our judgments 
 condemn our compliance ! However, since the die is cast, we 
 must endeavour to make the best of it. 
 
 You will have occasion, in the course of the month you 
 are to pass with Madame Duval, for all the circumspection 
 
EYELINA. 
 
 &> 
 
 and prudence you can call to your aid. She will not, I 
 know, propose any thing to you which she thinks wrong 
 herself ; but you must learn not only to judge but to act for 
 yourself ; if any schemes are started, any engagements 
 made, which your understanding represents to you as im- 
 proper, exert yourself resolutely in avoiding them ; and do 
 not, by a too passive facility, risk the censure of the world, 
 or your own future regret. 
 
 You cannot too assiduously attend to Madame Duval her- 
 self ; but I would wish you to mix as little as possible with 
 her associates, who are not likely to be among those whose ac- / 
 quaintance would reflect credit upon you. Remember, my 
 dear Evelina, nothing is so delicate as the reputation of a 
 woman ; it is at once the most beautiful and most brittle of 
 all human things. 
 
 Adieu, my beloved child ; I shall be but ill at ease till 
 this month is elapsed. A. V. 
 
 LETTER XL. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 London, June 6. 
 
 ONCE more, my dearest Sir, I write to you from this 
 great city. Yesterday morning, with the truest con- 
 cern, I quitted the dear inhabitants of Howard Grove, and 
 most impatiently shall I count the days till I see them 
 again. Lady Howard and Mrs. Mir van took leave of me 
 with the most flattering kindness ; but indeed I knew not 
 how to part with Maria, whose own apparent sorrow re- 
 doubled mine. She made me promise to send her a letter 
 every post : and I shall write to her with the same freedom, 
 and almost the same confidence, you allow me to make use 
 of to yourself. 
 
 The Captain was very civil to me : but he wrangled with 
 poor Madame Duval to the last moment ; and, taking me 
 aside, just before we got into the chaise, he said, " Hark'ee, 
 Miss Anville, I've a favour for to ask of you, which is this ; 
 
168 ) EYELINA. 
 
 that yon will write us word how the old gentlewoman finds 
 herself, when she sees it was all a trick ; and what the 
 French lubber says to it, and all about it." 
 
 I answered that I would obey him, though I was very 
 little pleased with the commission, which, to me, was highly 
 improper ; but he will either treat me as an informer, 
 or make me a party in his frolic, 
 
 As soon as we drove away, Madame Duval, with much 
 satisfaction, exclaimed, " Dieu merci, we've got off at last ! 
 I'm sure I never desire to see that place again. It's a 
 wonder I've got away alive ; for I believe I've had the 
 worst luck ever was known, from the time I set my foot 
 upon the threshold. I know I wish I'd never a gone. 
 Besides, into the bargain, it's the most dullest place in all 
 Christendom : there's never no diversions, nor nothing 
 at all." 
 
 Then she bewailed M. Du Bois ; concerning whose adven- 
 tures she continued to make various conjectures during the 
 rest of our journey. 
 
 When I asked her what part of London she should reside 
 in, she told me that Mr. Branghton was to meet us at an 
 inn, and would conduct us to a lodging. Accordingly, we 
 proceeded to a house in Bishopsgate Street, and were led by 
 a waiter into a room where we found Mr. Branghton. 
 
 He received us very civilly ; but seemed rather surprised 
 at seeing me, saying, " Why, I didn't think of your bringing 
 Miss ; however, she's very welcome." 
 
 " I'll tell you how it was," said Madame Duval : " you 
 must know I've a mind to take the girl to Paris, that she 
 may see something of the world, and improve herself a little ; 
 besides, I've another reason, that you and I will talk more 
 about. But, do you know, that meddling old parson, as I 
 told you of, would not let her go : however, I'm resolved I'll 
 be even with him ; for I shall take her on with me, without 
 saving never a word more to nobody." 
 
 I started at this intimation, which very much surprised 
 me. But, I am very glad she has discovered her intention, 
 as I shall be carefully upon my guard not to venture from 
 town with her. 
 
 Mr. Branghton then hoped we had passed our time agree- 
 ably in the country. 
 
EYELINA. 169 
 
 " Lord, cousin," cried she, " I've been the miserablest 
 creature in the world ! I'm sure all the horses in London 
 sha'n't drag me into the country again of one while : why, 
 how do you think I've been served ? — only guess." 
 
 " Indeed, cousin, I can't pretend to do that." 
 
 " Why then I'll tell you. Do you know I've been robbed ! 
 — that is, the villain would have robbed me if he could, 
 only I'd secured all my money." 
 
 11 Why then, cousin, I think your loss can't have been 
 very great." 
 
 " O Lord, you don't know what you're a saying ; you're 
 talking in the unthinkingest manner in the world : why, it 
 was all along of not having no money that I met with that 
 misfortune." 
 
 " How's that, cousin ? I don't see what great misfor- 
 tune you can have met with, if you'd secured all your 
 money." 
 
 " That's because you don't know nothing of the matter : 
 for there the villain came to the chaise ; and, because we 
 hadn't got nothing to give him, though he'd no more 
 right to our money than the man in the moon, yet, do you 
 know, he fell into the greatest passion ever you see, and 
 abused me in such a manner, and put me in a ditch, and 
 got a rope o' purpose to hang me ; — and I'm sure, if that 
 wasn't misfortune enough, why I don't know what is." 
 
 " This is a hard case, indeed, cousin. But why don't 
 you go to Justice Fielding ? " 
 
 " O as to that, I'm a going to him directly ; but only I 
 want first to see poor M. Du Bois ; for the oddest thing of 
 all is, that he has wrote to me, and never said nothing 
 of where he is, nor what's become of him, nor nothing 
 else." 
 
 " M. Du Bois ! why, he's at my house at this very 
 time." 
 
 " M. Du Bois at your house ! well, I declare this is-the 
 surprisingest part of all : However, I assure you, I think 
 he might have corned for me, as well as you, considering 
 what I have gone through on his account ; for, to«tell you the 
 truth, it was all along of him that I met with that accident* 
 so I don't take it very kind of him, I promise you." 
 
1 70 EVELINA. 
 
 " Well, but cousin, tell me some of the particulars of this 
 affair." 
 
 " As to the particulars, I'm sure they'd make your hair 
 stand on end to hear them ; however, the beginning of it all 
 was through the fault of M. Du Bois : but, I'll assure you, 
 he may take care of himself in future, since he don't so 
 much as come to see if I'm dead or alive. — But, there, I 
 went for him to a justice of peace, and rode all out of the 
 way, and did every thing in the world, and was used worser 
 than a dog, and all for the sake of serving of him ; and now, 
 you see, he don't so much — well, I was a fool for my pains. 
 — However, he may get somebody else to be treated so 
 another time ; for, if he's taken up every day in the week, 
 I'll never go after him no more.'' 
 
 This occasioned an explanation ; in the course of which 
 Madame Duval, to her utter amazement, heard that M. Du 
 Bois had never left London during her absence ! nor did 
 Mr. Branghton believe that he had ever been to the Tower, 
 or met with any kind of accident. 
 
 Almost instantly the whole truth of the transaction 
 seemed to rush upon her mind, and her wrath was incon- 
 ceivably violent. She asked me a thousand questions in a 
 breath ; but, fortunately, was too vehement to attend to my 
 embarrassment, which must otherwise have betrayed my 
 knowledge of the deceit. Revenge was her first wish ; 
 and she vowed she would go the next morning to Justice 
 Fielding, and inquire what punishment she might lawfully 
 inflict upon the Captain for his assault. 
 
 I believe we were an hour at Bishopsgate Street before 
 poor Madame Duval could allow any thing to be mentioned 
 but her own story ; at length, however, Mr. Branghton told 
 her, that M. Du Bois, and all his own family, were waiting 
 for her at his house. A hackney-coach was then called, and 
 we proceeded to Snow Hill. 
 
 "MY i Bmrnff 1 ^^"' house is small and inconvenient ; though 
 his shop, which takes in all the ground floor, is large and 
 commodious. I believe I told you before, that he is a 
 s ilver- smith - 
 
 ■"" We were conducted up two pair of stairs : for the dining- 
 room, Mr. Branghton told us, was let. His two daughters, 
 their brother, M. Du Bois, and a young man, were at tea, 
 
EVELINA. 171 
 
 They had waited some time for Madame Duval, but I found 
 they had not any expectation that I should accompany her ; 
 and the young ladies, I believe, were rather more surprised 
 than pleased when I made my appearance ; for they seemed 
 hurt that I should see their apartment. Indeed, I would 
 willingly have saved them that pain, had it been in my 
 power. 
 
 The first person who saw me was M. Du Bois, " Ah, mon 
 Dieu ! " exclaimed he, " voila Mademoiselle ! " 
 
 " Goodness," cried young Branghton, " if there isn't 
 Miss ! " 
 
 " Lord, so there is ! " said Miss Polly ; " well, I'm sure I 
 should never have dreamed of Miss's coming." 
 
 " Nor I neither, I'm sure," cried Miss Branghton, " or 
 else I would not have been in this room to see her : I'm 
 quite ashamed about it ; — only not thinking of seeing any 
 body but my aunt — however, Tom, it's all your fault ; for, 
 you know very well I wanted to borrow Mr. Smith's room y 
 only you were so grumpy you would not let me." 
 
 " Lord, what signifies ? " said the brother ; " I dare be 
 sworn Miss has been up two pair of stairs before now ; — 
 ha'n't you, Miss ? " 
 
 I begged that I might not give them the least disturbance ; 
 and assured them that I had not any choice in regard to 
 what room we sat in. 
 
 " Well," said Miss Polly, " when you come next, Miss, 
 we'll have Mr. Smith's room : and it's a very pretty one, 
 and only up one pair of stairs, and nicely furnished, and 
 every thing." 
 
 " To say the truth," said Miss Branghton, " I thought that 
 my cousin would not, upon any account, have come to town 
 in the summer-time ; for it's not at all the fashion ; — so, to 
 be sure, thinks I, she'll stay till September, when the play- 
 houses open." 
 
 This was my reception, which I believe you will not call 
 a very cordial one. Madame Duval, who, after having 
 severely reprimanded M. Du Bois for his negligence, was 
 just entering upon the story of her misfortunes, now wholly 
 engaged the company. 
 
 M. Du Bois listened to her with a look of the utmost 
 horror, repeatedly lifting up his eyes and hands, and 
 
172 EVELINA. 
 
 exclaiming, " ciel ! quel barbare ! " The young ladies 
 gav^ her the most earnest attention ; but their brother, and 
 the young man, kept a broad grin upon their faces during 
 the whole recital. She was, however, too much engaged 
 to observe them ; but, when she mentioned having been 
 tied in a ditch, young Branghton, no longer able to con- 
 tain himself, burst into a loud laugh, declaring that 
 he had never heard any thing so funny in his life ! His 
 laugh was heartily re-echoed by his friend ; the Miss Brangh- 
 tons could not resist the example ; and poor Madame 
 Duval, to her extreme amazement, was absolutely over- 
 powered and stopped by the violence of their mirth. 
 
 For some minutes the room seemed quite in an uproar ; 
 the rage of Madame Duval, the astonishment of M. Du Bois, 
 and the angry interrogatories of Mr. Branghton, on one 
 side ; the convulsive tittering of the sisters, and the loud 
 laughs of the young men, on the other, occasioned such 
 noise, passion and confusion, that had any one stopped an 
 instant on the stairs, he must have concluded himself in 
 Bedlam. At length, however, the father brought them to 
 order ; and, half-laughing, half -frightened, they made Ma- 
 dame Duval some very awkward apologies. But she would 
 not be prevailed upon to continue her narrative, till they 
 had protested they were laughing at the Captain, and not 
 at her. Appeased by this, she resumed her story ; which 
 by the help of stuffing handkerchiefs into their mouths, the 
 young people heard with tolerable decency. 
 
 Every body agreed, that the ill-usage the Captain had 
 given her was actionable ; and Mr. Branghton said, he was 
 sure she might recover what damages she pleased, since she 
 had been put in fear of her life. 
 
 She then, with great delight, declared, that she would lose 
 no time in satisfying her revenge, and vowed she would not 
 be contented with less than half his fortune : " For though," 
 she said, " I don't put no value upon the money, because, 
 JDieu merci, I ha'n't no want of it, yet I don't wish for no- 
 thing so much as to punish that fellow ; for, I'm sure, 
 whatever' s the cause of it, he owes me a great grudge, 
 and I know no more what it's for than you do ; but he's 
 always been doing me one spite or other ever since I knew 
 him." 
 
EYELINA. 
 
 C3J 
 
 Soon after tea, Miss Branghton took an opportunity to 
 tell me, in a whisper, that the yo ung man I saw was a lo ver 
 o f her sister's, that his nj jnft.waiS'Jj rown, and tha tiLa-ffias^a 
 h aberdas her : with many other particulars of his circum- 
 stances and family ; and then she declared her utter aversion ♦ 
 to the thoughts of such a match ; but added, that her sister 
 had no manner of spirit or ambition, though, for her part, 
 she would ten times rather die an old maid, than marry 
 any person but a gentleman. "And, for that matter,'' 
 added she, " I believe Polly herself don't care much for 
 him, only she's in such a hurry, because, I suppose, she's a 
 mind to be married before me ; however, she's very wel- 
 come ; for, I'm sure, I don't care a pin's point whether I 
 ever marry at all ; — it's all one to me." 
 
 Some time after this, Miss Polly contrived to tell her 
 story. She assured me, with much tittering, that her sister 
 was in a great fright lest she should be married first. " So* 
 I make her believe that I will," continued she ; " for I love 
 dearly to plague her a little ; though, I declare, I don't in- 
 tend to have Mr. Brown in reality ; — I'm sure I don't like 
 him half well enough, — do you, Miss ? " 
 
 " It is not possible for me to judge of his merits," said I,. 
 " as I am entirely a stranger to him." 
 
 " But what do you think of him, Miss ? " 
 
 " Why, really, I — I don't know." 
 
 " But do you think him handsome ? Some people reckon 
 him to have a good pretty person ; — but I'm sure, for my 
 part, I think he's monstrous ugly : — don't you, Miss ? " 
 
 " I am no jndge, — but I think his person is very — very 
 well." 
 
 " Very well ! — Why, pray Miss," in a tone of vexation^ 
 " what fault can you find with it ? " 
 
 " O, none at all ! " 
 
 " I'm sure you must be very ill-natured if you could. 
 Now there's Biddy says she thinks nothing of him, — but I 
 know it's all out of spite. You must know, Miss, it makes 
 her as mad as can be that I should have a lover before her ; 
 but she's so proud that nobody will court her, and I often 
 tell her she'll die an old maid. But the thing is, she has 
 taken it into her head to h ave a l i king for M r. Smith, as 
 lodges on the first floor ; 'but, Lord, he'll never have her r 
 
174 EVELINA. 
 
 • 
 
 for he's quite a fine gentleman ; and besides, Mr. Brown 
 heard him say one day, that he'd never marry as long as he 
 lived, for he'd no opinion of matrimony." 
 
 " And did you tell your sister this ? " 
 
 " 0, to be sure, I told her directly ; but she did not mind 
 me ; however, if she will be a fool she must.'' 
 
 This extreme want of affection and good-nature increased 
 the distaste I already felt for these unamiable sisters ; and 
 a confidence so entirely unsolicited and unnecessary, mani- 
 fested equally their folly and their want of decency. 1 
 
 I was very glad when the time for our departing arrived. 
 Mr. Branghton said our lodgings were in Holborn, that we 
 might be near his house, and neighbourly. He accompanied 
 us to them himself. 
 
 Our rooms are large, and not inconvenient ; our landlord 
 is an hosier. I am sure I have a thousand reasons to re- 
 joice that I am so little known : for my present situation 
 is, in every respect, very unenviable ; and I would not, for 
 the world, be seen by any acquaintance of Mrs. Mirvan. 
 
 This morning, Madame Duval, attended by all the Brangh- 
 tons, actually went to a Justice in the neighbourhood, to re- 
 port the Captain's ill usage of her. I had great difficulty 
 in excusing myself from being of the party, which would 
 have given me very serious concern. Indeed, I was ex- 
 tremely anxious, though at home, till I heard the result of 
 the application, for I dread to think of the uneasiness which 
 
 1 The Br&nghtons. — " If you do tell Mrs. Thrale, won't she think it 
 strange where I can have kept company, to describe such a family as the 
 Branghtons, Mr. Brown, and some others ? Indeed, (thank Heaven !) 
 I don't myself remember ever passing half-an-hour at a time with any 
 one person quite so bad." — Miss Burnet to Dr. Bdrney, July 25, 1778. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Sir ? why do you get up before the cloth 
 is removed ? — Running about in the middle of meals ! — one would take 
 you for a Branghton, Sir ! " 
 
 " A Branghton, Sir ? " replied Mr. Boswell, and with earnestness, 
 41 what is a Branghton, Sir ? " 
 
 •' Where have you lived, Sir?" cried Dr. Johnson, laughing, "and 
 what company have you kept, not to know what a Branghton is ? " 
 
 Mr. Boswell said in a low tone to Mrs. Thrale, " Pray, ma'am, what's 
 a Branghton ? Do me the favour to tell me ! Is it some animal here- 
 abouts ? " — Memoirs of Dr. Burney. 
 
 — " Burney will not write to me, and values me no more than if I 
 were a Branghton." — Dr. Johnson To "Mrs. Thrale, April 11, 1780. 
 
EVELINA. 175 # 
 
 such an affair would occasion the amiable Mrs. Mirvan. 
 But, fortunately, Madame Duval has received very little 
 encouragement to proceed in her design ; for she has been 
 informed, that, as she neither heard the voice, nor saw the 
 face of the person suspected, she will find difficulty to cast 
 him upon conjecture, and will have but little probability of 
 gaining her cause, unless she can procure witnesses of the 
 transaction. Mr. Branghton, therefore, who has considered 
 all the circumstances of the affair, is of opinion, that the law- 
 suit will not only be expensive, but tedious and hazardous, 
 and has advised against it. Madame Duval, though very 
 unwillingly, has acquiesced in his decision ; but vows, that if 
 ever she is so affronted again, she will be revenged, even if 
 she ruins herself. I am extremely glad that this ridiculous 
 adventure seems now likely to end without more serious 
 consequences. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest Sir. My direction is at Mr. Dawkin's, 
 a hosier in High Holborn. 
 
 LETTER XLI. 
 
 EVELINA TO MISS MIRVAN. 
 
 June 7th. 
 
 I HAVE no words, my sweet friend, to express the thank- 
 fulness I feel for the unbounded kindness which you, 
 your dear mother, and the much-honoured Lady Howard, 
 have shown me ; and still less can I find language to tell 
 you with what reluctance I parted from such dear and 
 generous friends, whose goodness reflects, at once, so much 
 honour on their own hearts, and on her to whom it has been 
 so liberally bestowed. But I will not repeat what I have 
 already written to the kind Mrs. Mirvan ; I will remem- 
 ber your admonitions, and confine to my own breast that 
 gratitude with which you have filled it, and teach my pen 
 to dwell upon subjects less painful to my generous corre- 
 spondent. 
 
 0, Maria ! London now seems no longer the same place 
 where I lately enjoyed so much happiness ; every thing is 
 
^ 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 new and strange to me ; even the town itself has not the 
 same aspect. — My situation so altered ! — my home so diffe- 
 rent ! — my companions so changed ! — But you well know 
 my averseness to this journey. 
 
 Indeed, to me, London now seems a desert : that gay and 
 busy appearance it so lately wore, is now succeeded by a 
 look of gloom, fatigue, and lassitude ; the air seems stag- 
 nant, the heat is intense, the dust intolerable, and the in- 
 habitants illiterate and under-bred. At least, such is the 
 face of things in the part of the town where I at present 
 reside. 
 
 Tell me, my dear Maria, do you never retrace in your 
 memory the time we passed here when together ? to mine 
 it recurs for ever ! And yet I think I rather recollect a 
 dream, or some visionary fancy, than a reality. — That I 
 should ever have been known to Lord Orville, — that I 
 should have spoken to — have danced with him, — seems 
 now a romantic illusion : and that elegant politeness, that t 
 flattering attention, that high-bred delicacy, which so much 
 distinguished him above all other men, and which struck 
 us with such admiration, I now retrace the remembrance 
 of rather as belonging to an object of ideal perfection^ 
 formed by my own imagination, than to a being of the 
 same race and nature as those with whom I at present con- 
 verse. 
 
 I have no news for you, my dear Miss Mirvan ; for all 
 that I could venture to say of Madame Duval I have already 
 written to your sweet mother ; and as to adventures, I have 
 none to record. Situated as I now am, I heartily hope I 
 shall not meet with any ; my wish is to remain quiet and 
 unnoticed. 
 
 Adieu ! excuse the gravity of this letter ; and believe me, 
 your most sincerely 
 
 Affectionate and obliged 
 
 Evelina Anville. 
 
EVELINA. 177 
 
 LETTER XLIL 
 
 EVELINA TO THE EEV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Holborn, June 9. 
 
 YESTERDAY morning we received an invitation to dine 
 and spend the day at Mr. Brangh ton's ; and M. Du 
 Bois, who was also invited, called to conduct us to Snow 
 Hill. 
 
 Young Branghton received us at the door ; and the first 
 words he spoke were, " Do you know, sisters a'n't dressed 
 yet." 
 
 Then, hurrying us into the house, he said to me, " Come, 
 Miss, you shall go up stairs and catch 'em, — I dare say 
 they're at the glass." 
 
 He would have taken my hand ; but I declined this 
 civility, and begged to follow Madame Duval. 
 
 Mr. Branghton then appeared, and led the way himself. 
 We went, as before, up two pair of stairs ; but the moment 
 the father opened the door, the daughters both gave a loud 
 scream. We all stopped ; and then Miss Branghton called 
 out, " Lord, Papa, what do you bring the company up here 
 for ? why, Polly and I a'n't half dressed." 
 
 " More shame for you," answered he ; " here's your aunt, 
 and cousin, and M. Du Bois, all waiting, and ne'er a room 
 to take them to." 
 
 " Who'd have thought of their coming so soon ? " cried 
 she : "I am sure for my part I thought Miss was used to 
 nothing but quality hours." 
 
 "Why, I sha'n't be ready this half- hour yet," said Miss 
 Polly ; " can't they stay in the shop till we're dressed ? " 
 
 Mr. Bran ghton was very angry, and scolded them violently : 
 however, we were obliged to descend, and stools were pro- 
 cured for us in the shop, where we found the brother, who 
 was highly delighted, he said, that his sisters had been 
 catched ; and he thought proper to entertain me with a long 
 account of their tediousness, and the many quarrels they 
 all had together. 
 
 When, at length, these ladies were equipped to their satis- 
 
 N 
 
178 EVELINA. 
 
 faction, they made their appearance ; but before any conver- 
 sation was suffered to pass between them and us, they had 
 a long and most disagreeable dialogue with their father, to 
 whose reprimands, though so justly incurred, they replied 
 with the utmost pertness, while their brother all the time 
 laughed aloud. 
 
 The moment they perceived this, they were so much pro- 
 voked, that, instead of making any apologies to Madame 
 Duval, they next began a quarrel with him. " Tom, what 
 do you laugh for ? I wonder what business you have to be 
 always a laughing when Papa scolds us ? " 
 
 " Then what business have you to be such a while getting 
 on your clothes ? You're never ready, you know well 
 enough.' ' 
 
 " Lord, Sir, I wonder what's that to you ! I wish you'd i 
 mind your own affairs, and not trouble yourself about ours. 
 How should a boy like you know any thing ? " 
 
 " A boy, indeed ! not such a boy, neither : I'll warrant 
 you'll be glad to be as young when you come to be old 
 maids." 
 
 This sort of dialogue we were amused with till dinner 
 was ready, when we again mounted up two pair of stairs. 
 
 In our way, Miss Polly told me that her sister had asked 
 Mr. Smith for his room to dine in, but he had refused to 
 lend it ; " because, " she said, " one day it happened to be a 
 little greased : however, we shall have it to drink tea in, 
 and then, perhaps, you may see him ; and I assure you he's 
 quite like one of the quality, and dresses as fine, and goes 
 to balls and dances, and every thing, quite in taste ; and 
 besides, Miss, he keeps a foot-boy of his own too." 
 
 The dinner was ill-served, ill-cooked, and ill-managed. 
 The maid who waited had so often to go down stairs for 
 something that was forgotten, that the Branghtons were 
 perpetually obliged to rise from table themselves, to get 
 plates, knives and forks, bread or beer. Had they been 
 without preteTisions, all this would have seemed of no con- 
 sequence ; but they aimed at appearing to advantage, and 
 even fancied they succeeded. However, the most disagreeable 
 part of our fare was that the whole family continually dis- 
 puted whose turn it was to rise, and whose to be allowed 
 to sit still. 
 
EVELINA. 179 
 
 When this rneal was over, Madame Duval, ever eager to 
 discourse upon her travels, entered into an argument with 
 Mr. Branghton, and, in broken English, M. Du Bois, con- 
 cerning the French nation : and Miss Polly, then address- 
 ing herself to me, said " Don't you think, Miss, it's very 
 dull sitting up stairs here ? we'd better go down to shop, 
 and then we shall see the people go by." 
 
 " Lord, Poll," said the brother, " you're always wanting 
 to be staring and gaping ; and I'm sure you needn't be so 
 fond of showing yourself, for you're ugly enough to frighten 
 a horse." 
 
 " Ugly, indeed ! I wonder which is best, you or me. But, 
 I tell you what, Tom, you've no need to give yourself such 
 airs; for, if you do, I'll tell Miss of — you know what " 
 
 " Who cares if you do ? you may tell what you will ; I 
 don't mind " 
 
 " Indeed," cried I, " I do not desire to hear any secrets." 
 
 " O, but I'm resolved I'll tell you, because Tom's so very 
 spiteful. You must know, Miss, t'other night " 
 
 " Poll," cried the brother, " if you tell of that, Miss shall 
 know all about your meeting young Brown, — you know 
 when ! — So I'll be quits with you one way or other." 
 
 Miss Polly coloured, and again proposed our going down 
 stairs till Mr. Smith's room was ready for our reception. 
 
 "Aye, so we will," said Miss Branghton ; "I'll assure you, 
 cousin, we have some very genteel people pass by our shop 
 sometimes. Polly and I always go and sit there when we've 
 cleaned ourselves." 
 
 "Yes, Miss," cried the brother, "they do nothing else all 
 day long, when father don't scold them. But the best fun 
 is, when they've got all their dirty things on, and all their 
 hair about their ears, sometimes I send young Brown up 
 stairs to them : and then there's such a fuss ! — There, they 
 hide themselves, and run away, and squeal and squall, like 
 any thing mad : and so then I puts the two cats into the 
 room, and I gives them a good whipping, and so that sets 
 them a squalling too ; so there's such a noise and such an 
 uproar ! — Lord, you can't think, Miss, what fun it is ! " 
 
 This occasioned a fresh quarrel with the sisters ; at the 
 end of which, it was at length decided that we should go 
 to the shop. 
 
180 EVELINA. 
 
 In our way down stairs, Miss Branghton said aloud, " I 
 wonder when Mr. Smith's room will be ready." 
 
 1 ' So do I," answered Polly ; " I'm sure we should not do 
 any harm to it now." 
 
 This hint had not the desired effect ; for we were suffered 
 to proceed very quietly. 
 
 As we entered the shop, I observed a young man in deep 
 mourning leaning against the wall, with his arms folded, 
 and his eyes fixed on the ground, apparently in profound 
 and melancholy meditation ; but the moment he perceived 
 us, he started, and, making a passing bow, very abruptly 
 retired. As I found he was permitted to go quite unnoticed, 
 I could not forbear enquiring who he was. 
 
 " Lord ! " answered Miss Branghton, " he's nothing but 
 a poor Scotch poet." 
 
 "For my part," said Miss Polly, "I believe he's just 
 starved, for I don't find he has any thing to live upon." 
 
 " Live upon ! " cried the brother ; " why, he's a poet, you 
 know, so he may live upon learning." 
 
 " Aye, and good enough for him, too," said Miss Brangh- 
 ton ; " for he's as proud as he's poor." 
 
 " Like enough," replied the brother; "but, for all that, 
 you won't find he will live without meat and drink : no, no, 
 catch a Scotchman at that if you can ! why, they only come 
 here for what they can get." 
 
 "I'm sure," said Miss Branghton, "I wonder Papa'll be 
 such a fool as to ]et him stay in the house, for I dare say 
 he'll never pay for his lodging." 
 
 " Why, no more he would, if he could get another lodger . 
 you know the bill has been put up this fortnight. Miss, if 
 you should hear of a person that wants a room, I assure you 
 it is a very good one, for all it's up three pair of stairs." 
 
 I answered, that as I had no acquaintance in London, I 
 had not any chance of assisting them : but both my com- 
 passion and my curiosity were excited for this poor young 
 man ; and I asked them some further particulars concerning 
 him. 
 
 They then acquainted me, that they had only known him 
 three months. When he first lodged with them, he agreed 
 to board also ; but had lately told them he would eat by 
 himself, though they all believed he had hardly ever tasted 
 
EVELINA. 181 
 
 a morsel of meat since he left their table. They said, that 
 he had always appeared very low-spirited ; but for the last 
 month he had been duller than ever ; and, all of a sudden, 
 he had put himself into mourning, though they knew not 
 for whom, nor for what ; but, they supposed it was only for 
 convenience, as no person had ever been to see or enquire 
 for him since his residence amongst them : and they were 
 sure he was very poor, as he had not paid for his lodgings 
 the last three weeks : and, finally, they concluded he was a 
 poet, or else half-crazy, because they had, at different times, 
 found scraps of poetry in his room. 
 
 They then produced some unfinished verses, written on 
 small pieces of paper, unconnected, and of a most melan- 
 choly cast. Among them was the fragment of an ode, 
 which, at my request, they lent me to copy ; and as you 
 may perhaps like to see it, I will write it now. 
 
 O LIFE ! thou lingering dream of grief, of pain, 
 And every ill that Nature can sustain, 
 
 Strange, mutable, and wild ! 
 Now flattering with Hope most fair, 
 Depressing now with fell Despair, 
 
 The nurse of Guilt, the slave of Pride, 
 
 That, like a wayward child, 
 Who, to himself a foe, 
 Sees joy alone in what's denied, 
 In what is granted, woe ! 
 thou poor, feeble, fleeting pow'r, 
 By Vice seduc'd, by Folly woo'd, 
 By Mis'ry, Shame, Remorse, pursu'd ; 
 And as thy toilsome steps proceed, 
 Seeming to Youth the fairest flow'r, 
 Proving to Age the rankest weed, 
 
 A gilded but a bitter pill, 
 Of varied, great, and complicated ill ! 
 
 These lines are harsh, but they indicate an internal 
 wretchedness, which I own, affects me. Surely this young 
 man must be involved in misfortunes of no common nature ; 
 but 1 cannot imagine what can induce him to remain with 
 this unfeeling family, where he is, most unworthily, despised 
 
182 EVELINA. 
 
 for being poor, and most illiberally detested for being a 
 Scotchman. He may, indeed, have motives, which he cannot 
 surmount, for submitting to such a situation. Whatever 
 they are, I most heartily pity him, and cannot but wish it 
 were in my power to afford him some relief. 
 
 During this conversation, Mr. Smith's foot-boy came to 
 Miss Branghton, and informed her, that his master said she 
 might have the room now when she liked it, for that he was 
 presently going out. 
 
 This very genteel message, though it perfectly satisfied 
 the Miss Branghtons, by no means added to my desire of 
 being introduced to this gentleman : and upon their rising, 
 with intention to accept his offer, I begged they would excuse 
 my attending them, and said I would sit with Madame 
 Duval till the tea was ready. 
 
 I therefore once more went up two pair of stairs with young 
 Branghton, who insisted upon accompanying me ; and there 
 we remained till Mr. Smith's foot-boy summoned us to tea, 
 when I followed Madame Duval into the dining-room. 
 
 The Miss Branghtons were seated at one window, and 
 Mr. Smith was lolling indolently out of the other. They 
 all approached us at our entrance ; and Mr. Smith, pro- 
 bably to show he was master of the apartment, most offi- 
 ciously handed me to a great chair at the upper end of the 
 room, without taking any notice of Madame Duval, till I 
 rose and offered her my own seat. 
 
 Leaving the rest of the company to entertain themselves, 
 he very abruptly began to address himself to me, in a style 
 of gallantry equally new and disagreeable to me. It is 
 true, no man can possibly pay me greater compliments, or 
 make more fine speeches, than Sir Clement Willoughby : 
 yet his language, though too flowery, is always that of a 
 gentleman ; and his address and manners are so very 
 superior to those of the inhabitants of this house, that, to 
 make any comparison between him and Mr. Smith, would 
 be extremely unjust. This latter seems very desirous of 
 appearing a man of gaiety and spirit ; but his vivacity is 
 so low-bred, and his whole behaviour so forward and dis- 
 agreeable, that I should prefer the company of dullness 
 itself, even as that goddess is described by Pope, to that of 
 this sprightly young man. 
 
EVELINA. 183 
 
 He made many apologies that he had not lent his room 
 for onr dinner, which he said, he should certainly have 
 done, had he seen me first : and he assured me, that when 
 I came again, he should be very glad to oblige me. 
 
 I told him, and with sincerity, that every part of the 
 house was equally indifferent to me. 
 
 " Why, Ma'am, the truth is, Miss Biddy and Polly take 
 no care of any thing ; else, I'm sure, they should be always 
 welcome to my room ; for I'm never so happy as in obliging 
 the ladies, — that's my character, Ma'am : — but, really, the 
 last time they had it, every thing was made so greasy and 
 so nasty, that, upon my word, to a man who wishes to 
 have things a little genteel, it was quite cruel. Now, as 
 to you, Ma'am, it's quite another thing, for I should not 
 mind if every thing I had was spoilt, for the sake of having 
 the pleasure to oblige you ; and I assure you, Ma'am, it 
 makes me quite happy that I have a room good enough to 
 receive you." 
 
 This elegant speech was followed by many others, so 
 much in the same style, that to write them would be 
 superfluous ; and as he did not allow me a moment to 
 speak to any other person, the rest of the evening was con- 
 sumed in a painful attention to this irksome young man, 
 who seemed to intend appearing before me to the utmost 
 advantage. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Sir. I fear you will be sick of reading 
 about this family ; yet I must write of them, or not of any, 
 since I mix with no other. Happy shall I be when I quit 
 them all, and again return to Berry Hill. 
 
 LETTER XLIII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 June 10th. 
 
 THIS morning Mr. Smith called, on purpose, he said, to 
 offer me a ticket for the next Hampstead assembly. 
 I thanked him, but desired to be excused accepting it : he 
 would not, however, be denied, nor answered; and, in a 
 
184 EYE LIN A. 
 
 manner both vehement and free, pressed and urged his 
 offer, till I was wearied to death : but, when he found me 
 resolute, he seemed thunderstruck with amazement, and 
 thought proper to desire I would tell him my reasons. 
 
 Obvious as they must surely have been to any other 
 person, they were such as I knew not how to repeat to 
 him ; and, when he found I hesitated, he said, " Indeed 
 Ma'am, you are too modest ; I assure you the ticket is 
 quite at your service, and I shall be very happy to dance 
 with you : so pray don't be so coy." 
 
 " Indeed, Sir," returned I, "you are mistaken; I never 
 supposed you would offer a ticket without wishing it should 
 be accepted ; but it would answer no purpose to mention 
 the reasons which make me decline it, since they cannot 
 possibly be removed. " 
 
 This speech seemed very much to mortify him ; which 
 I could not be concerned at, as I did not choose to be 
 treated by him with so much freedom. When he was, at 
 last, convinced that his application to me was ineffectual, 
 he addressed himself to Madame Duval, and begged she 
 would interfere in his favour ; offering at the same time to 
 procure another ticket for herself. 
 
 " Ma foi, Sir," answered she, angrily, "you might as 
 well have had the complaisance to ask me before ; for, I 
 assure you, I don't approve of no such rudeness : however, 
 you may keep your tickets to yourself, for we don't want 
 none of 'em." 
 
 This rebuke almost overset him ; he made many apologies, 
 and said that he should certainly have first applied to her, 
 but that he had no notion the young lady would have re- 
 fused him, and, on the contrary, had concluded that she 
 would have assisted him to persuade Madame Duval herself. 
 
 This excuse appeased her ; and he pleaded his cause so 
 successfully, that, to my great chagrin, he gained it, and 
 Madame Duval promised that she would go herself, and 
 take me to the Hampstead assembly whenever he pleased. 
 
 Mr. Smith then, approaching me witk an air of triumph, 
 said, " Well, Ma'am, now I think you can't possibly keep 
 to your denial." 
 
 I made no answer ; and he soon took leave, tho' not till 
 he had so wonderfully gained the favour of Madame Duval, 
 
EVELINA. 185 
 
 that she declared, when he was gone, he was the prettiest 
 young man she had seen since she came to England. 
 
 As soon as I could find an opportunity, I ventured, in 
 the most humble manner, to intreat Madame Duval would 
 not insist upon my attending her to this ball ; and repre- 
 sented to her, as well as I was able, the impropriety of my 
 accepting any present from a young man so entirely un- 
 known to me : but she laughed at my scruples ; called me 
 a foolish, ignorant country-girl ; and said she should make 
 it her business to teach me something of the world. 
 
 This ball is to be next week. I am sure it is not more 
 improper for, than unpleasant to me, and I will use every 
 possible endeavour to avoid it. Perhaps I may apply to 
 Miss Branghton for advice, as I believe she will be willing 
 to assist me, from disliking, equally with myself, that I 
 should dance with Mr. Smith. 
 
 June Wth. 
 
 0, my dear Sir ! I have been shocked to death ; and yet 
 at the same time delighted beyond expression, in the hope 
 that I have happily been the instrument of saving a human 
 creature from destruction. 
 
 This morning Madame Duval said she would invite the 
 Branghton family to return our visit to-morrow ; and, not 
 choosing to rise herself, — for she generally spends the 
 morning in bed, — she desired me to wait upon them with 
 her message. M. Du Bois, who just then called, insisted 
 upon attending me. 
 
 Mr. Branghton was in the shop, and told us that his son 
 and daughter were out ; but desired me to step up stairs, 
 as he very soon expected them home. This I did, leaving 
 M. Du Bois below. I went into the room where we had 
 dined the day before ; and, by a wonderful chance, I hap- 
 pened so to seat myself, that I had a view of the stairs, 
 and yet could not be seen from them. 
 
 In about ten minutes time, I saw, passing by the door, 
 with a look perturbed and affrighted, the same young man 
 I mentioned in my last letter. Not heeding, as I suppose, 
 how he went, in turning the corner of the stairs, which are 
 narrow and winding, his foot slipped and he fell ; but 
 almost instantly rising, I plainly perceived the end of a 
 
18b EVELIXA. 
 
 pistol, which started from his pocket by hitting against 
 the stairs. 
 
 I was inexpressibly shocked. All that I had heard of 
 his misery occurring to my memory, made me conclude 
 that he was, at that very moment, meditating suicide ! 
 Struck with the dreadful idea, all my strength seemed to 
 fail me. He moved on slowly, yet I soon lost sight of him ; 
 I sat motionless with terror ; all power of action forsook 
 me ; and I grew almost stiff with horror ; till recollecting 
 that it was yet possible to prevent the fatal deed, all my 
 faculties seemed to return, with the hope of saving him. 
 
 My first thought was to fly to Mr. Branghton ; but I 
 feared, that an instant of time lost might for ever be rued ; 
 and, therefore, guided by the impulse of my apprehensions, 
 as well as I was able I followed him up stairs, stepping 
 very softly, and obliged to support myself by the bannisters. 
 
 When I came within a few stairs of the landing-place I 
 stopped ; for I could then see into his room, as he had not 
 yet shut the door. 
 
 He had put the pistol upon a table, and had his hand in 
 his pocket, whence, in a few moments, he took out another: 
 he then emptied something on the table from a small leather 
 bag ; after which, taking up both the pistols, one in each 
 hand, he dropt hastily upon his knees, and called out, "0, 
 God ! — forgive me ! " 
 
 In a moment strength and courage seemed lent to me as 
 by inspiration : I started, and rushing precipitately into 
 the room, just caught his arm, and then, overcome by my 
 own fears, I fell down at his side breathless and senseless. 
 My recovery, however, was, I believe, almost instantaneous; 
 and then the sight of this unhappy man, regarding me 
 with a look of unutterable astonishment, mixed with con- 
 cern, presently restored to me my recollection. I arose, 
 though with difficulty ; he did the same ; the pistols, as I 
 soon saw, were both on the floor. 
 
 Unwilling to leave them, and, indeed, too weak to move, 
 I leant one hand on the table, and then stood perfectly 
 still ; while he, his eyes cast wildly towards me, seemed 
 too infinitely amazed to be capable of either speech or 
 action. 
 
 I believe we were some minutes in this extraordinary 
 
EVELINA. ( . 187 
 
 situation ; but, as my strength returned, I felt myself both 
 
 ashamed and awkward, and moved towards the door. Pale 
 
 and motionless, he suffered me to pass, without changing 
 
 his posture, or uttering a syllable ; and, indeed, 
 
 — g 
 He look'd a bloodless image of despair. — Pope. 
 
 When I reached the door, I turned round; I looked 
 fearfully at the pistols, and, impelled by an emotion I could 
 not repress, I hastily stepped back, with an intention of 
 carrying them away : but their wretched owner, perceiving 
 my design, and recovering from his astonishment, darting 
 suddenly down, seized them both himself. 
 
 Wild with fright, and scarce knowing what I did, I 
 caught, almost involuntarily, hold of both his arms, and 
 exclaimed, " 0, Sir ! have mercy on yourself ! " 
 
 The guilty pistols fell from his hands, which, disengaging 
 from me, he fervently clasped, and cried, " S weet Heaven ! 
 is this thy angel £ " 
 
 Encouraged by such gentleness, I again attempted to take 
 the pistols ; but, with a look half frantic, he again prevented 
 me, saying, " What would you do ? " 
 
 " Awaken you," I cried, with a courage I now wonder at, 
 " to worthier thoughts, and rescue you from perdition." 
 
 I then seized the pistols ; he said not a word, — he made 
 no effort to stop me ; — I glided quick by him, and tottered 
 down stairs ere he had recovered from the extremest amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 The moment I reached again the room I had so fearfully 
 left, I threw away the pistols, and flinging myself on the 
 first chair, gave free vent to the feelings I had most pain- 
 fully stifled, in a violent burst of tears, which, indeed, 
 proved a happy relief to me. 
 
 In this situation I remained some time ; but when, at 
 length, I lifted up my head, the first object I saw was the 
 poor man who had occasioned my terror, standing, as if 
 petrified, at the door, and gazing at me with eyes of wild 
 wonder. 
 
 I started from the chair; but trembled so excessively, 
 that I almost instantly sunk again into it. He then, though 
 without advancing, and, in afaultering voice, said, " Who- 
 ever, or whatever you are, relieve me, I pray you, from the 
 
188 EVELINA. 
 
 suspence under which my soul labours — and tell me if indeed 
 I do not dream ? " 
 
 To this address, so singular, and so solemn, I had not then 
 the presence of mind to frame any answer ; but as I pre- 
 sently perceived that his eyes turned from me to the pistols, 
 and that he seemed to intend regaining them, I exerted all 
 my strength, and saying, " 0, for Heaven's sake forbear ! " 
 I rose and took them myself. 
 
 " Do my senses deceive me ! " cried he, " do J live — ? and 
 do you ? " 
 
 As he spoke he advanced towards me ; and I, still guard- 
 ing the pistols, retreated, saying, " No, no — you must not — 
 must not have them ! " 
 
 "Why — for what purpose, tell me! — do you withhold 
 them ? "— 
 
 " To give you time to think; — to save you from eternal 
 misery ; — and, I hope, to reserve you for mercy and for- 
 giveness." • ^ 
 
 " Wonderful ! " cried he, with uplifted hands and eyes, 
 " most wonderful ! " 
 
 For some time he seemed wrapped in deep thought, till 
 a sudden noise of tongues below announcing the approach 
 of the Branghtons, made him start from his reverie : he 
 
 sprung hastily forward,— dropt on one knee, caught 
 
 hold of my gown, which he pressed to his lips ; and then, 
 quick as lightning, he rose, and flew up stairs to his own 
 room. 
 
 There was something in the whole of this extraordinary 
 and shocking adventure, really too affecting to be borne ; 
 and so entirely had I spent my spirits, and exhausted my 
 courage, that before the Branghtons reached me, I had sunk 
 on the ground without sense or motion. 
 
 I believe I must have been a very horrid sight to them 
 on their entrance into the room ; for to all appearance, I 
 seemed to have suffered a violent death, either by my own 
 rashness, or the cruelty of some murderer, as the pistols 
 had fallen close by my side. 
 
 How soon I recovered I know not ; but, probably I was 
 more indebted to the loudness of their cries than to their 
 assistance; for they all concluded that I was dead, and, 
 for some time, did not make any effort to revive me. 
 
EVELINA. /189 ) 
 
 Scarcely could I recollect where, or indeed what, I was, 
 ere they poured upon me such a torrent of questions and 
 enquiries, that I was almost stunned with their vociferation. 
 However, as soon, and as well as I was able, I endeavoured 
 to satisfy their curiosity, by recounting what had happened ■ 
 as clearly as was in my power. They all looked aghast at 
 the recital ; but, not being well enough to enter into any 
 discussions, I begged to have a chair called, and to return 
 instantly home. 
 
 Before I left them, I recommended, with great earnest- 
 ness, a vigilant observance of their unhappy lodger ; and 
 that they would take care to keep from him, if possible, all 
 means of self-destruction. 
 
 M. Du Bois, who seemed extremely concerned at my 
 indisposition, walked by the side of the chair, and saw me 
 safe to my own apartment. 
 
 The rashness and the misery of this ill-fated young man 
 engross all my thoughts. If indeed, he is bent upon de- 
 stroying himself, all efforts to save him will be fruitless. 
 H ow much do I wish it were in my power to disco ver the 
 n ature of the malad y whi cji t hus maddens him an djto offe r~ 
 or t o procure alleviation to his sufferings ! I am sure, my 
 dearest iSir, you will be much concerned for this poor man ; 
 and, were you here, I doubt not but you would find some 
 method of awakening him from the error which blinds him, 
 and of pouring the balm of peace and comfort into his 
 afflicted soul ! 
 
 LETTER XLIV. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Holbom, June 13th. 
 
 YESTERDAY all the Branghtons dined here. Our 
 conversation was almost wholly concerning the adven- 
 ture of the day before. Mr. Branghton said, that his first 
 thought was instantly to turn his lodger out of doors, 
 "Lest," continued he, " his killing himself in my house 
 should bring me into any trouble : but then I was afraid 
 
190 EVELINA. 
 
 I should never get the money that he owes me ; whereas, 
 if he dies in my house, I have a right to all he leaves behind 
 him, if he goes off in my debt. Indeed, I would put him 
 in prison, — but what should I get by that ? he could not 
 earn any thing there to pay me : so I considered about it 
 some time, and then I determined to ask him, point-blank, 
 for my money out of hand. And so I did ; but he told me 
 he'd pay me next week : however, I gave him to under- 
 stand, that though I was no Scotchman, yet, I did not like 
 to be over-reached any more than he : so then he gave me 
 a ring, which, to my certain knowledge, must be worth ten 
 guineas, and told me he would not part with it for his life, 
 and a good deal more such sort of stuff, but that I might 
 keep it till he could pay me." 
 
 " It is ten to one, father," said young Branghton, "if he 
 came fairly by it." 
 
 " Yery likely not," answered he ; " but that will make no 
 great difference, for I shall be able to prove my right to it 
 all one." 
 
 What principles ! I could hardly stay in the room. 
 m " I'm determined," said the son, " I'll take some oppor- 
 tunity to affront him soon, now I know how poor he is, 
 because of the airs he gave himself to me when he first came." 
 
 " And pray how was that, child ? " said Madame Duval. 
 
 " Why, you never knew such a fuss in your life as he 
 made, because one day at dinner I only happened to say, 
 that I supposed he had never got such a good meal in his 
 life before he came to England : ther*e, he fell in such a 
 passion as you can't think : but, for my part, I took no 
 notice of it : for to be sure, thinks I, he must needs be a 
 gentleman, or he'd never go to be so angry about it. How- 
 ever, he won't put his tricks upon me again in a hurry." 
 
 "Well," said Miss Polly, "he's grown quite another 
 creature to what he was, and he doesn't run away from us, 
 nor hide himself, nor any thing ; and he's as civil as can be, 
 and he's always in the shop, and he saunters about the 
 stairs, and he looks at every body as comes in." 
 
 " Why, you may see what he's after plain enough," said 
 Mr. Branghton ; "he wants to see Miss again." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! Lord, how I should laugh," said the son, 
 "if he should have fell in love with Miss I " 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 © 
 
 V I'm sure," said Miss Branghton, " Miss is welcome ; 
 but, for my part, I should be quite ashamed of such a 
 beggarly conquest." 
 
 Such was the conversation till tea-time,, when the appear- 
 ance of Mr. Smith gave a new turn to the discourse. 
 
 Miss Brangh ( on desired me to remark with what a smart 
 air he entered the room, and asked me if he had not very 
 much a quality look ? 
 
 " Come," cried he, advancing to us, " you ladies must not 
 sit together; wherever I go I always make it a rule to 
 part the ladies." 
 
 And then, handing Miss Branghton to the next chair, he 
 seated himself between us. 
 
 " Well, now, ladies, I think we sit very well. What say 
 you ? for my part I think it was a very good motion." 
 
 " If my cousin likes it," said Miss Branghton, "I'm sure 
 I've no objection." 
 
 "0," cried he, "I always study what the ladies like, — 
 that's my first thought. And, indeed, it is but natural that 
 you should like best to sit by the gentlemen, for what can 
 you find to say to one another ? " f^\ 
 
 " Say ! " cried young Branghton ; "0, never you think / 
 of that, they'll find enough to say, I'll be sworn. You know V 
 the women are never tired of talking." \ 
 
 " Come, come, Tom," said Mr. Smith, " don't be severe^ 
 upon the ladies ; when I'm by, you know I always take 
 their part." 
 
 Soon after, when Miss Branghton offered me some cake, 
 this man of gallantry said, " Well, if I was that lady, I'd 
 never take any thing from a woman." 
 
 "Why not, Sir?" 
 
 " Because I should be afraid of being poisoned for being 
 so handsome." 
 
 " Who is severe upon the ladies now ? " said I. 
 
 " Why, really, Ma'am, it was a slip of the tongue ; I did 
 not intend to say such a thing ; but one can't always be on 
 one's guard." 
 
 Soon after, the conversation turning upon public places, 
 young Branghton asked if I had ever been to George's at 
 Hampstead ? 
 
 " Indeed, I never heard the place mentioned." 
 
192 EVELINA. 
 
 " Didn't you, Miss," cried lie eagerly ; " why, then you've 
 a deal of fun to come, I'll promise you ; and, I tell you 
 what, I'll treat you there some Sunday, soon. So now, Bid 
 and Poll, be sure you don't tell Miss about the chairs, and 
 all that, for I've a mind to surprise her ; and if I pay, I 
 think I've a right to have it my own way." 
 
 " George's at Hampstead ! " repeated Mr. Smith contemp- 
 tuously ; how came you to think the young lady would 
 like to go to such a low place as that ! But, pray, Ma'am, 
 have you ever been to Don Saltero's at Chelsea ? " l 
 
 "No, Sir." 
 
 " No ! — nay, then I must insist on having the pleasure of 
 conducting you there before long. " I assure you, Ma'am, 
 many genteel people go, or else, I give you my word, J should 
 not recommend it." 
 
 "Pray, cousin," said Mr. Branghton, "have you been at 
 Sadler's "Wells vet ?" 2 
 
 "No, Sir." 
 
 " No ! why, then you've seen nothing ! " 
 
 " Pray, Miss," said the son, "how do you like the Tower 
 of London? " 
 
 " I have never been to it, Sir." 
 
 " Goodness ! " exclaimed he, " not seen the Tower ! — why, 
 maybe, you ha'n't been o' top of the Monument, neither ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, I have not." 
 
 " Why, then, you might as well not have come to London 
 for aught I see, for you've been no where." 
 
 " Pray, Miss," said Polly, " have you been all over Paul's 
 Church yet ? " 
 
 "No, Ma'am." 
 
 "Well, but, Ma'am," said Mr. Smith, " how do you like 
 Vauxhall and Marybone ? " 
 
 " I never saw either, Sir." 
 
 "No — God bless me! — you really surprise me, — why 
 
 1 Don Sahero's, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea. A coifee-house and Museum 
 opened in 1695 by one Salter, a barber, nicknamed "Don Saltero.*' He- 
 drew teeth, wrote verses, and had a collection of curiosities which was 
 dispersed by sale in 1799. 
 
 2 Sadler's Wells, named from a spring of mineral water, discovered by 
 one Sadler in 1683, in the garden of a house he had newly opened 
 as " Sadler's Music-Hall." 
 
EVELINA. 193 
 
 Vauxhall is the first pleasure in life ! — I know nothing like 
 it. — Well, Ma'am, you must have been with strange people, 
 indeed, not to have taken you to Vauxhall. Why you have 
 seen nothing of London yet. However, we must try if we 
 can't make you amends." 
 
 In the course of this catechism, many other places were 
 mentioned, of which I have forgotten the names ; but the 
 looks of surprise and contempt that my repeated negatives 
 incurred were very diverting. 
 
 " Come," said Mr. Smith, after tea, "as this lady has 
 been with such a q ueer set of peopl e, let's show her the 
 difference ; suppose we go somewhere t6-night ! — I love to 
 do things with spirit ! — Come, ladies, where shall we go ? 
 For my part I should like Foote's l — but the ladies must 
 choose ; I never speak myself." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Smith is always in such spirits ! " said Miss 
 Branghton. 
 
 " Why, yes, Ma'am, yes, thank Grod, pretty good spirits ; 
 — I have not yet the cares of the world upon me ; — I am 
 not married, — ha, ha, ha ! — you'll excuse me, ladies, — but I 
 can't help laughing ! " 
 
 No objection being made, to my great relief we all pro- 
 ceeded to the little theatre in the Haymarket, where I was 
 extremely entertained by the performance of the Minor and 
 the Commissary. 2 
 
 They all returned hither to supper. 
 
 1 The little theatre in the Haymarket (so called to mark it out from 
 that of Vanbrugh, over the way), was opened in 1720. It was managed 
 for thirty years by Foote, an excellent mimic, an actor, and the author of 
 " The Minor," and other plays. In 1777, Foote sold his license to the 
 elder Colman, and died in the same year. This theatre was closed in 
 1820, and the present house opened in 1821. 
 
 2 " The Minor " and " The Commissary" — " The Minor " was by Foote, 
 and was first brought out in two acts at Dublin (1760), where it was 
 unsuccessful. In the same year the author re-wrote it, putting it into 
 three acts, and produced it at the Haymarket, where it was very success- 
 ful. " The Minor " was esteemed Foote's best piece, though it gave great 
 offence to the Methodists. — " The Commissary " was also a three act 
 comedy by Foote. It was producexl at the Haymarket in 1765, Foote 
 himself playing the Commissary — Zachary Fungus. This, the leading 
 character, is to some extent taken from Moliere's citizen-turned-gentle- 
 man. 
 
194 EVELINA. 
 
 LETTER XLV. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 June loth. 
 
 \ YESTERDAY morning Madame Duval again sent me to 
 Mr. Branghton's, attended by M. Du Bois, to make 
 some party for the evening, because she had had the vapours 
 the preceding da^ffom staying at home. 
 
 As I entered the shop, I perceived the unfortunate North 
 Briton seated in a corner, with a book in his hand. He 
 cast his melancholy eyes up as we came in ; and, I believe, 
 immediately recollected my face — for he started, and changed 
 colour. I delivered Madame Duval's message to Mr. Brangh- 
 ton, who told me I should find Polly up stairs, but that the 
 others were gone out. 
 
 Up stairs, therefore, I went ; and, seated on a window, 
 with Mr. Brown at her side, sat Miss Polly. I felt a little 
 awkward at disturbing them, and much more so at their be- 
 haviour afterwards ; for, as soon as the common enquiries 
 were over, Mr. Brown grew so fond and so foolish, that I 
 was extremely disgusted. Polly, all the time, only rebuked 
 him with, " La, now, Mr. Brown, do be quiet, can't you ? — 
 you should not behave so before company. — Why, now, 
 what will Miss think of me ? " — While her looks plainly 
 showed not merely the pleasure, but the pride which she 
 took in his caresses. 
 
 I did not by any means think it necessary to punish my- 
 self by witnessing their tenderness ; and therefore telling 
 them I would see if Miss Branghton were returned home.. 
 I soon left them, and again descended into the shop. 
 
 " So, Miss, you've come again," said Mr. Branghton ; 
 u what, I suppose you've a mind to sit a little in the shop, 
 and see how the world goes, hey, Miss ? " 
 
 I made no answer ; and M. Du Bois instantly brought 
 me a chair. 
 
 The unhappy stranger, who had risen at my entrance, 
 again seated himself ; and, though his head leant towards 
 
EVELINA. i 195 
 
 his book, I could nofc help observing, his eyes were most 
 intently and earnestly turned towards me. 
 
 M. Du Bois, as well as his broken English would allow 
 him, endeavoured to entertain us till the return of Miss 
 Branghton and her brother. 
 
 " Lord, how tired I am ! " cried the former ; " I have not 
 a foot to stand upon." And, then, without any ceremony, 
 she flung herself into the chair from which I had risen to 
 receive her. 
 
 "You tired ! " said the brother ; " why, then, what must 
 I be, that have walked twice as far ? " And, with equal 
 politeness, he paid the same compliment to M. Du Bois 
 which his sister had done to me. 
 
 Two chairs and three stools completed the furniture of 
 the shop ; and Mr. Branghton, who chose to keep his own 
 seat himself, desired M. Du Bois to take another ; and then 
 seeing thai T t^ ^n'th^yt any, called out to the stranger, 
 " Come, [Mr. Macartney f lend us your stool." 
 
 Shocked at their rudeness, I declined the offer ; and, 
 approaching Miss Branghton, said, " If you will be so good 
 as to make room for me on your chair, there will be no oc- 
 casion to disturb that gentleman." 
 
 " Lord, what signifies that ? " cried the brother ; " he has 
 had his share of sitting, I'll be sworn." 
 
 " And, if he has not," said the sister, " he has a chair up- 
 stairs; and the shop is our own, I hope." 
 
 This grossness so much disgusted me, that I took the 
 stool, and carrying it back to Mr. Macartney myself, I re- 
 turned him thanks as civilly as I could for his politeness, 
 but said that I had rather stand. 
 
 He looked at me as if unaccustomed to such attention, *7 
 bowed very respectfully, but neither spoke nor yet made J 
 use of it. r — 
 
 I soon found that I was an qbiect of derision J to all pre- 
 sent, except M. Du Bois ; and, therefore, 1 T>egged Mr. 
 Branghton would give me an answer for Madame Duval, as 
 I was in haste to return. 
 
 " Well, then, Tom, — Biddy, where have you a mind to go 
 to-night ? your aunt and Miss want to be abroad and 
 amongst them." 
 
 " Why then, Papa," said Miss Branghton, " we'll go to 
 
V 
 
 196 EVELINA. 
 
 m 
 
 Don Saltero's. Mr. Smith likes that place, so may be he'll 
 go along with us." 
 
 " No, no," said the son, " I'm for White-Conduit House ; 
 so let's go there." 
 
 " White- Conduit House, indeed ! " cried his sister ; " no, 
 Tom, that I won't." l 
 
 11 Why, then, let it alone ; nobody wants your company ; — 
 we shall do as well without you, I'll be sworn, and better 
 too." 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Tom, if you don't hold your tongue, 
 I'll make you repent it, — that I assure you." 
 
 Just then Mr. Smith came into the shop, which he seemed 
 to intend passing through ; but when he saw me, he stopped, 
 and began a most courteous enquiry after my health, pro- 
 testing, that, had he known I was there, he should have 
 come down sooner. " But, bless me, Ma'am," added he, 
 " what is the reason you stand ? "*and then he-n©w to bring 
 me the seat from which I had jusff parte d. J 
 
 " Mr. Smith, you are come in very good time," said Mr. 
 Branghton, " to end a dispute between my son and daughter, 
 about where they shall all go to-night." 
 
 " fie, Tom, — dispute with a lady ! " cried Mr. Smith. 
 " Now, as for me, I'm for where you will, provided this 
 young lady is of the party; — one place is the same as 
 another to me, so that it be but agreeable to the ladies. — I 
 would go any where with you, Ma'am," (to me) " unless, 
 indeed, it were to church ; — ha, ha, ha ! — You'll excuse me, 
 Ma'am ; but, really, I never could conquer my fear of a 
 parson ; — ha, ha, ha ! — Really, ladies, I beg your pardon 
 for being so rude ; but I can't help laughing for my 
 life ! " 
 
 " I was just saying, Mr. Smith," said Miss Branghton y 
 " that I should like to go io Don Saltero's ; — now, pray, 
 where shobld jjou like j£_g4 ? " 
 
 " Why, really, Miss Biddy, you know I always let the 
 ladies decide ; I never fix any thing myself ; but I should 
 
 1 White Conduit House, a kind of minor Vauxhall, where cakes and 
 cream were eaten in gardens early in this century. The house 
 (which was pulled down in 1848) took its name from a conduit which 
 had supplied the Charterhouse with water. 
 
EYEL1NA. 
 
 suppose it would be rather hot at the coffee-house : — how- 
 ever, pray, ladies, settle it among yourselves ; — I'm agree- 
 able to whatever you choose." 
 
 It was easy for imp tfl diacff ger, that this man r .wi tjj all his 
 par ade of conformity, objects to every thing that is not pro- 
 pos ed by fri'maplf • ha± Tip ]> pjQ-mTinh admired by this family 
 f or his gentility, th at he thinks himsel f a complete fine 
 ge ntleman ! 
 
 <r Come," said Mr. Branghton, " the best way will be to 
 put it to the vote, and then every body will speak their 
 minds. Biddy, call Poll down stairs. We'll start fair." 
 
 " Lord, Papa," said Miss Branghton, " why can't you as 
 well send Tom ? — you're always sending me of the 
 errands " 
 
 A dispute then ensued, but Miss Branghton was obliged 
 to yield. 
 
 When Mr. Brown and Miss Polly made their appearance, 
 the latter uttered many complaints of having been called, 
 saying, she did not want to come, and was very well where 
 she was. 
 
 " Now, ladies, your votes," cried Mr. Smith ; " and so, 
 Ma'am (to me), we'll begin with you. What place shall 
 you like best ? " and then, in a whisper, he added, " I assure 
 you, I shall say the same as you do, whether I like it or 
 not." 
 
 I said, that as I was ignorant what choice was in my 
 power, I must beg to hear their decisions first. This was 
 reluctantly assented to ; and then Miss Branghton voted 
 for Saltero's Coffee-house ; her sister, for a party to Mother 
 Red Cap's; 1 the brother for White-Conduit House; Mr.. 
 Brown, for Bagnigge Wells ; 2 Mr. Branghton, for Sadler's 
 Wells ; and Mr. Smith, for Vauxhall. 
 
 "Well now, Ma'am," said Mr. Smith, " we have all spoken, 
 and so you must give the casting vote. Con^, what will 
 you fix upon ? " 
 
 " Sir," answered I, " I was to speak last." 
 
 1 Mother Redcap's. —At the end of High Street, Camden Town. It 
 has been rebuilt, and is only a public-house. 
 
 2 Bagnigge Wells, Cold Bath Fields. — A kind of minor Vauxhall, 
 much frequented formerly by the lower sort of tradesmen : opened in 
 1767. 
 
198 * ETELINA. 
 
 " Well, so you will," said Miss Branghton, " for we've all 
 spoke first." 
 
 " Pardon me," returned I, " the voting has not yet been 
 quite general." 
 
 ^nd I looked towards Mr. Macartney, to whom I wished 
 extremely to show that I was not of the same brutal nature 
 with those by whom he was treated so grjossly.. 
 
 " Why, pray," said Mr. Branghton, " who have we lelt 
 out ? would you have the cats and dogs vote ? " 
 
 "No, Sir," cried I, with some spirit, " I would have that 
 gentleman vote, — if, indeed, he is not superior to joining our 
 party." 
 
 They all looked at me, as if they doubted whether or not 
 they had heard me right : but, in a few moments, their sur- 
 prise gave way to a rude burst of laughter. 
 
 Yery much displeased, I told M. Du Bois that if he 
 was not ready to go, I would have a coach called for my- 
 self. 
 
 yes, he said, he was always ready to attend me. 
 
 Mr. Smith then, advancing, attempted to take my hand, 
 and begged me not to leave them till I had settled the even- 
 ing's plan. 
 
 " I have nothing, Sir," said I, "to do with it, as it is my 
 intention to stay at home ; and therefore Mr. Branghton will 
 be so good as to send Madame Duval word what place is 
 fixed upon, when it is convenient to him." 
 
 And then, making a slight courtesy, I left them. 
 
 How much does my disgust for these people increase my 
 pity for poor Mr. Macartney ! I will not see them when I 
 can avoid so doing ; but I am determined to take every op- 
 portunity in my power to show civility to this unhappy man, 
 whose misfortunes with this family, only render him an ob- 
 ject of scorn. I was, however, very well pleased with M. 
 Du Bois, wfco, far from joining in their mirth, expressed 
 himself extremely shocked at their ill-breeding. 
 
 We had not walked ten yards before we were followed by 
 Mr. Smith, who came to make excuses, and to 'assure me 
 they were only joking, and hoped I took nothing ill ; for if 
 I did, he would make a quarrel of it himself with the 
 Branghtons, rather than I should receive any offence. 
 
 1 begged him not to take any trouble about so immaterial 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 an affair, and assured him I should not myself. He was-So*" 
 officious, that he would not be prevailed upon to return home, 
 till he had walked with us to Mr. Dawkins's. 
 
 Madame Duval was very much displeased that I brought 
 her so little satisfaction. White- Conduit House was at 
 last fixed upon ; and, notwithstanding my great dislike of 
 such parties and such places, I was obliged to accompany 
 them. 
 
 Yery disagreeable, and much according to my expecta- 
 tions, the evening proved. There were many people all 
 smart and gaudy, and so pert and low-bred, that I could 
 hardly endure being amongst them ; but the party to which, 
 unfortunately, I belonged, seemed all at- home. 
 
 LETTER XLYI. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Holborn, June 17th. 
 
 YESTERDAY Mr. Smith carried his point of making a 
 party for Yauxhall, 1 consisting of Madame Duval, M. 
 Du Bois, all the Branghtons, Mr. Brown, himself, — and 
 me ! — for I find all endeavours vain to escape any thing 
 which these people desire I should not. 
 
 There were twenty disputes previous to our setting out ; 
 first, as to the time of our going : Mr. Branghton, his son, 
 and young Brown, were for six o'clock ; and all the ladies 
 and Mr. Smith were for eight ; — the latter, however, con- 
 quered. 
 
 Then, as to the way we should go ; some were for a boat, 
 others for a coach, and Mr. Branghton himself was for 
 walking ; but the boat at length was decided upon. Indeed 
 this was the only part of the expedition that was agreeable 
 to me ; for ♦the Thames was delightfully pleasant. 
 
 *~ r Vauxhall, once New Spring Gardens, a fasHionaBle place of puBltc 
 resort from 1661 almost to the end of the reign of George III. The 
 price of admission was one shilling up to the summer of 1798, when it 
 was raised to two shillings. 
 
200 WiiM 
 
 Tie garden is very pretty, but too formal ; I should 
 haw pleased, had it consisted less of straight 
 
 walks, where 
 
 a 
 
 _-r- -• r. each alley has its brother. 
 
 The trees, the numerous lights, and the company in the 
 circle round the orchestra make a most brilliant and gay 
 abearance ; and had I been with a party less disagreeable 
 : me. I should have thought it a place formed for anima- 
 tion and pleasure. There was a concert ; in the course of 
 which a hautbois cancer! : wae so charmingly played, that I 
 c : vh ;! have :h :ught myself upon enchanted ground, had I had 
 
 ritfi more gentle to associate with. The hautbois in the 
 open air is heavenly. 
 
 Mr. Smith endeavoured to attach himself to me. with 
 Bach officious assiduity and impertinent freedom, that he 
 quite sickened me. Indeed 1L Du B:is was the only man 
 of the parry to whom, voluntarily. I ever addressed myfl 
 ^ He is civil and respectful, and I have found nobody else so 
 siu:e I left Howard Grove. His English is very bad; but 
 I prefer it to speaking French myself, which I dare not 
 \ venture to do. I c inverse with him frequently, both to 
 disengage myself from others, and to oblige Madame 
 Duval, who is always pleased when he is attended to. 
 
 As we were walking about the orchestra. I heard a bell 
 ring : and, in a moment. Mr. Smith, flying up to me. caught 
 my hand. and. with a motion too quick to be resisted, ran 
 away with me many yards before I had breath to ask his 
 meaning, though I straggled, as well a.s I could, to get from 
 him. At last, however. I insisted upon stopping : " Stop- 
 ping, Ma'am ! " cried ne. " why we must run on or we shall 
 lose the cascade ! " 
 
 And then again he hurried me away, mixing with a crowd 
 of people, all running with so much velocity, that I could 
 not imagine what had raised such an alarm. TVe were 
 Boon followed by the rest of the party; and -aii—sjii^irise 
 a nd U-n::an:e nrweh a source of j ixfiEBJQj r ' \them aTT . 
 which was not exhausted the whole evening! Young 
 Branghton. in particular, laughed till he could hardly 
 stand. 
 
 i 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 The scene of the cascade I thought extremely pretty, and 
 the general effect striking and lively. 
 
 But thi s was not the only surp rise which wag fr> diVm* 
 them at my expense ; f or they led me about the gard en 
 purpos ely to enjoy my first sight of various other deceptio ns. 
 
 "About ten o clock, ivir. bmith having chosen a box in a 
 very conspicuous place, we all went to supper. Much 
 fault was found with every thing that was ordered, though 
 not a morsel of any thing was left ; and the dearness of 
 the provisions, with conjectures upon what profit was made 
 by them, supplied discourse during the whole meal. 
 
 When wine and cyder were brought, Mr. Smith said, 
 " Now let's enjoy ourselves ; now is the time, or never. 
 Well, Ma'am, and how do you like Yauxhall ? " 
 
 " Like it ! " cried young Branghton ; " why, how can she 
 help liking it ? she has never seen such a place before, that 
 I'll answer for." 
 
 " For my part," said Miss Branghton, " I like it because 
 it is not vulgar." 
 
 " This must have been a fine treat for you, Miss," said 
 Mr. Branghton ; " why, I suppose you was never so happy 
 in all your life before ? " 
 
 I endeavoured to express my satisfaction with some 
 pleasure ; yet, I believe, they were much amazed at my 
 coldness. 
 
 II Miss ought to stay in town till the last night," said 
 young Branghton ; " and then, it's my belief, she'd say 
 something to it ! Why, Lord, it's the best night of any ; 
 there's always a riot, — and there the folks run about, — and 
 then there's such squealing and squalling ! — and, there, all 
 the lamps are broke, — and the women run skimper scamper. 
 — I declare I would not take five guineas to miss the last 
 night ! " 
 
 I was very glad when they all grew tired of sitting, and 
 called for the waiter to pay the bill. The Miss Branghtons 
 said they would walk on while the gentlemen settled the 
 account, and asked me to accompany them ; which, how- 
 ever, I declined. 
 
 " You girls may do as you please," said Madame Duval ; 
 u but as to me, I promise you, I sha'n't go nowhere without 
 the gentlemen." 
 
202 , EYELLNA. 
 
 11 Xo more, I suppose, will my cousin," said Miss 
 Branghton, looking reproachfully towards Mr. Smith. 
 
 This reflection, which I feared would flatter his Tanity, 
 made me most unfortunately request Madame DuvalVper- 
 miss'ion to attend them. She granted it ; and away we 
 went* having promised to meet ifl Ull£ KKmjSTT — ■ - «- 
 
 To the room, therefore. I would immediately have gone : 
 but the sisters agreed that they would first have a little 
 pleasure ; and they tittered and talked so loud, that they 
 attracted universal notice. 
 
 " Lord, Polly," said the eldest, u suppose we were to take 
 a turn in the dark walks ! " 
 
 " Aye, do," answered she ; " and then we'll hide ourselves, 
 and then Mr. Brown will think we are lost." 
 
 I remonstrated very warmly against this plan, telling 
 them it would endanger our missing the rest of the party 
 all the evening. 
 
 " dear," cried Miss Branghton, " I thought how uneasy 
 Miss would be without a beau ! " 
 
 This impertinence I did not think worth answering ; and, 
 quite by compulsion, I followed them down a long alley, in 
 which there was hardly any light. 
 
 By the time we came near the end, a large party of 
 gentlemen, apparently very riotous, and who were halloo- 
 ing, leaning on one another, and laughing immoderately, 
 seemed to rush suddenly from behind some trees, and, 
 meeting us face to face, put their arms at their sides, and 
 formed a kind of circle, which first stopped our proceeding, 
 and then our retreating, for we were presently entirely en- 
 closed. The Miss Branghtons screamed aloud, and I was 
 frightened exceedingly ; our screams were answered with 
 bursts of laughter, and for some minutes we were kept 
 prisoners, till at last one of them, rudely seizing hold of me, 
 said I was a pretty little creature. 
 
 Terrified to death, I struggled with such vehemence to 
 disengage myself from him, that I succeeded, in spite of his 
 efforts to detain me ; and immediately, and with a swiftness 
 which fear only could have given me, I flew rather than ran 
 up the walk, hoping to secure my safety by returning to 
 the lights and company we had so foolishly left : but before 
 I could possibly accomplish my purpose, I was met by 
 
EVELINA. 203 
 
 another party of men, one of whom placed himself so 
 directly in my way, calling out, " Whither so fast, my 
 love ? " — that I could only have proceeded by running into 
 his arms. 
 
 In a moment both my hands, by different persons, were 
 caught hold of, and one of them, in a most familiar manner, 
 desired, when I ran next, to accompany me in a race ; while 
 the rest of the party stood still and laughed. 
 
 I was almost distracted with terror, and so breathless 
 with running, that I could not speak ; till another, ad- 
 vancing, said, I was as handsome as an angel, and desired 
 to be of the party. I then just articulated, " For Heaven's 
 sake, gentlemen, let me pass!" 
 
 Another then rushing suddenly forward, exclaimed, 
 " Heaven and earth ! what voice is that ? — " 
 
 " The voice of the prettiest little actress I have seen this 
 age," answered one of my persecutors. 
 
 " No, — no, — no — " I panted out, " I am no actress — pray 
 let me go, — pray let me pass — " 
 
 "By all that's sacred," cried the same voice, which I 
 then knew for Sir Clement Willoughby's, " 'tis herself ! " 
 
 " Sir Clement Willoughby ! " cried I. " 0, Sir, assist— 
 assist me — or I shall die with terror ! " 
 
 " Gentlemen," cried he, disengaging them all from me 
 in an instant, " pray leave this lady to me." 
 
 Loud laughs proceeded from every mouth, and two or 
 three said Willoughby has all the luck ! But one of them, 
 in a passionate manner, vowed he would not give me up, 
 for that he had the first right to me, and would support it. 
 
 " You are mistaken," said Sir Clement, " this lady is — 
 I will explain myself to you another time ; but, I assure you, 
 you are all mistaken." 
 
 And then taking my willing hand, he led me off, amidst 
 the loud acclamations, laughter, and gross merriment of his 
 impertinent companions. 
 
 As soon as we had escaped from them, Sir Clement, with 
 a voice of surprise, exclaimed, " My dearest creature, what 
 wonder, what strange revolution, has brought you to such 
 a spot as this ? " 
 
 Ashamed of my situation, and extremely mortified to be 
 thus recognized by him, I was for some time silent ; and 
 
204 EVELINA. 
 
 when lie repeated his question, only stammered out, 
 "I have. — I hardly know how. — lost myself from my 
 party — " 
 
 He caught my hand, and eagerly pressing it, in a passion- 
 ate voice said. " that I had sooner met with thee ! '* 
 
 Surprised at a freedom so unexpected, I angrily broke 
 from him. saying, u Is this the protection you give me, Sir 
 Clement ': 
 
 And then I saw. what the perturbation of my mind had 
 prevented my sooner noticing, that he had led me, though 
 I know not how, into another of the dark alleys, instead of 
 | lace whither I meant to go. 
 
 " Good God ! " I cried. " where am I F — TThat way are 
 vou eoino* F 
 
 " Where." answered he. " we shall be least observed ! " 
 
 Astonished at this speech, I stopped short, and declared 
 I would go no further. 
 
 " And why not, my angel r " again endeavouring to take 
 my hand. 
 
 My heart beat wuth resentment ; I pushed him away from 
 me with all my strength, and demanded how he dared treat 
 me with such insolence F 
 
 " Insolence ! M repeated he. 
 
 "Yes, Sir Clement, insolence; from you. who know me, 
 I had a claim for protection. — not to such treatment as 
 this." 
 
 •"By Heaven." cried he. with warmth, "you distract 
 me : — why. tell me. — why do I see you here F — Is this a 
 place for Miss Anville F — these dark walks ! — no party ! 
 no companion ! — by all that's good. I can scarce believe 
 my senses ! " 
 
 Extremely offended at this speech. I turned angrily from 
 him : and. not deigning to make any answer, walked on 
 is that part of the garden whence I perceived the 
 lights and company. 
 
 He followed me ; but we were both some time silent. 
 
 " So you will not explain to me your situation F N said 
 he. at length. 
 
 " No, Sir," answered I, disdainfully. 
 
 " Xor vet — suffer me to make mv own interpreta- 
 tion F -■" 
 
EYELINA. 205 
 
 I could not bear this strange manner of speaking; it 
 made my very soul shudder, — and I burst into tears. 
 
 He flew to me, and actually flung himself at my feet, as 
 if regardless who might see him, saying, " O, Miss Anville ? 
 — loveliest of women, — forgive my, — my — I beseech you 
 forgive me ; — if I have offended — if I have hurt you — I could 
 kill myself at the thought !— " 
 
 "No matter, Sir, no matter," cried I; "if I can but 
 find my friends, — I will never speak to — never see you 
 again ! " 
 
 " Good God ! — good Heaven ! — my dearest life, what is 
 it I have done ? — what is it I have said ? — " 
 
 " You best know, Sir, what and why : but don't hold me- 
 here, — let me be gone ; and do you ! " 
 
 " Not till you forgive me ! — I cannot part with you in 
 anger." 
 
 " For shame, for shame, Sir ! " cried I, indignantly, " da 
 you suppose I am to be thus compelled ? — do you take 
 advantage of the absence of my friends to affront me ? " 
 
 " No, Madam," cried he, rising : " I would sooner forfeit 
 zny life than act so mean a part. But you have flung mo 
 into amazement unspeakable, and you will not condescend 
 to listen to my request of giving me some explanation." 
 
 " The manner, Sir," said I, "in which you spoke that 
 request, made, and will make, me scorn to answer it." 
 
 " Scorn ! — I will own to you, I expected not such dis- 
 pleasure from Miss Anville." 
 
 " Perhaps, Sir, if you had, you would less voluntarily 
 have merited it." 
 
 " My dearest life, surely it must be known to you, that 
 the man does not breathe who adores you so passionately, 
 so fervently, so tenderly as I do ! — Why, then, will you 
 delight in perplexing me ? — in keeping me in suspense ? — 
 in torturing me with doubt ? " 
 
 "J, Sir, delight in perplexing you! — you are much mis- 
 taken. — Your suspense, your doubts, your perplexities, — 
 are of your own creating ; and, believe me, Sir, they may 
 offend, but they can never delight me : — but as you have 
 yourself raised, you must yourself satisfy, them." 
 
 " Good God ! — that such haughtiness and such sweetness 
 can inhabit the same mansion ! " 
 
206 EVELINA. 
 
 I made no answer ; but quickening my pace I walked on 
 silently and sullenly, till this most impetuous of men, snatch- 
 ing my hand, which he grasped with violence, besought me 
 to forgive him with such earnestness of supplication, that, 
 merely to escape his importunities, I was forced to speak, 
 and in some measure to gr ant the pardon he req uested ; 
 though it was accorded with a very ill grace : but, indeed;*" 
 I knew not how to resist the humility of his intreaties : yet 
 never shall I recollect the occasion he gave me of dis- 
 pleasure, without feeling it renewed. 
 
 We now soon arrived in the midst of the general crowd ; 
 and, my own safety being then insured, I grew extremely 
 uneasy for the Miss Branghtons, whose danger, however 
 imprudently incurred by their own folly, I too well knew 
 how to tremble for. To this consideration all my pride of 
 heart yielded, and I determined to seek my party with the 
 utmost speed ; though not without a sigh did I recollect the 
 fruitless attempt I had made after the opera, of concealing 
 from this man my unfortunate connections, which I was 
 now obliged to make known. 
 
 I hastened, therefore, to the room, with a view of send- 
 ing young Branghton to the aid of his sisters. In a very 
 short time I perceived Madame Duval, and the rest, look- 
 ing at one of the paintings. 
 
 I must own to you honestly, my dear Sir, that an in- 
 voluntary repugnance seized me at presenting such a set to 
 Sir Clement, — he who had been used to see me in parties so 
 different ! — My pace slackened as I approached them, — but 
 they presently perceived me. 
 
 " Ah, Mademoiselle ! " cried M. Du Bois, " Que je suis 
 charm e de vous voir ! " 
 
 " Pray, Miss," cried Mr. Brown, " where 's Miss Polly ? " 
 
 " Why, Miss, you've been a long while gone," said Mr. 
 Branghton ; "we thought you'd been lost. But what have 
 you done with your cousins ? " 
 
 I hesitated, — for Sir Clement regarded me with a look of 
 wonder. 
 
 " Pardi," cried Madame Duval, " I shan't let you leave 
 me again in a hurry. Why, here we've been in such a 
 fright ! — and all the while, I suppose, you've been thinking 
 nothing about the matter." 
 
EVELINA. 207 
 
 " Well," said young Branghton, " as long as Miss is come 
 back, I don't mind ; for as to Bid and Poll, they can take 
 care of themselves. But the best joke is, Mr. Smith is gone 
 all about a looking for you." 
 
 These speeches were made almost in a breath : but when, 
 at last, they waited for an answer, I told them, that, in. 
 walking up one of the long alleys, we had been frightened 
 and separated. 
 
 " The long alleys ! " repeated Mr. Branghton, " and, pray, 
 what had you to do in the long alleys ? why, to be sure, 
 you must all of you have had a mind to be affronted ! " 
 
 This speech was not more impertinent to me, than sur- 
 prising to Sir Clement, who regarded all the party with 
 evident astonishment. However, I told young Branghton, 
 no time ought to be lost, for that his sisters might require 
 his immediate protection. 
 
 " But how will they get it ? " cried this brutal brother : 
 " if they've a mind to behave in such a manner as that, 
 they ought to protect themselves ; and so they may for 
 me." 
 
 " Well," said the simple Mr. Brown, " whether you go or 
 no, I think I may as well see after Miss Polly." 
 
 The father then interfering, insisted that his son should 
 accompany him ; and away they went. 
 
 It was now that Madame Duval first perceived Sir Cle- 
 ment ; to whom, turning with a look of great displeasure, 
 she angrily said, " Mafoi, so you are corned here, of all the 
 people in the world ! — I wonder, child, you would let such 
 a — such a person as that keep company with you." 
 
 " I am very sorry, Madam," said Sir Clement, in a tone 
 of surprise, " if I have been so unfortunate as to offend you ; 
 but I believe you will not regret the honour I now have of 
 attending Miss Anville, when you hear that I have been so 
 happy as to do her some service." 
 
 Just as Madame Duval, with her usual Ma foi y was be- 
 ginning to reply, the attention of Sir Clement was wholly 
 drawn from her, by the appearance of Mr. Smith, who, 
 coming suddenly behind me, and freely putting his hands on 
 my shoulders, cried, " O ho, my little runaway, have I found 
 you at last ? I have been scampering all over the gardens 
 for you, for I was determined to find you, if you were 
 
208 EVELINA. 
 
 above ground. — But how could you be so cruel as to leave 
 us?" 
 
 I turned round to him, and looked with a degree of con- 
 tempt that I hoped would have quieted him : but he had 
 not the sense to understand me ; and, attempting to take 
 my hand, he added, " Such a demure-looking lady as you 
 are, who'd have thought of your leading one such a dance ? 
 — Come, now, don't be so coy ; only think what a trouble I 
 have had in running after you ! " 
 
 " The trouble, Sir," said I, "was of your own choice, — 
 not mine." And I walked round to the other side of 
 Madame Duval. 
 
 Perhaps I was too proud ; — but I could not endure that 
 Sir Clement, whose eyes followed him with looks of the 
 most surprised curiosity, should witness his unwelcome 
 familiarity. 
 
 Upon my removal he came up to me, and, in a low voice,, 
 said, " You are not, then, with the Mirvans ? " 
 
 " No, Sir." 
 
 " And, pray, — may I ask, — have you left them long ? " 
 
 " No, Sir." 
 
 " How unfortunate I am ! — but yesterday I sent to 
 acquaint the Captain I should reach the Grove by to-mor- 
 row noon ! However, I shall get away as fast as possible. 
 Shall you be long in town ?" 
 
 " I believe not, Sir." 
 
 "And then, when you leave it — which way — will you 
 allow me to ask, which way you shall travel ? " 
 
 " Indeed, — I don't know." 
 
 " Not know ! — But do you return to the Mirvans any 
 more ? " 
 
 " I— I can't tell, Sir." 
 
 And then I addressed myself to Madame Duval, with 
 such a pretended earnestness, that he was obliged to be 
 silent. 
 
 As he cannot but observe the great change in my situa- 
 tion, which he knows not how to account for, there is some- 
 thing in all these questions, and this unrestrained curiosity, 
 that I did not expect from a man who, when he pleases, can 
 be so well-bred as Sir Clement Willoughby. He seems dis- 
 posed to think that the alteration in my companions autho- 
 
EVELINA. ( V^209 
 
 rises an alteration in his manners. It is true, he has always 
 treated me with nncommon freedom, but never before with 
 so disrespectful an abruptness. This observation, which he 
 has given me cause to make, of his changing with the tide, 
 has sunk him more in my opinion than any other part of 
 his conduct. 
 
 Yet I could almost have laughed when I looked at Mr. 
 Smith, who no sooner saw me addressed by Sir Clement, 
 than, retreating aloof from the company, he seemed to lose 
 at once all his happy self-sufficiency and conceit : looking 
 now at the baronet, now at himself ; surveying, with sorrow- 
 ful eyes, his dress ; struck with his air, his gestures, his 
 easy gaiety, he gazed at him with envious admiration, and 
 seemed himself, with conscious inferiority , to shrink into 
 nothing. 1 mm " 
 
 Soon after, Mr. Brown, running up to us, called out, " La, 
 what, i'n't Miss Polly come yet ? 
 
 " Come," said Mr. Branghton ; "why, I thought you went 
 to fetch her yourself, didn't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I couldn't find her ; — yet I daresay I've been 
 over half the garden." 
 
 " Half ? but why did not you go over it all ? " 
 "Why, so I will : but only I thought I'd just come and 
 see if she was here first." 
 " But where's Tom ? " 
 
 " Why, I don't know ; for he would not stay with me, all 
 as ever I could say : for we met some young gentlemen of 
 his acquaintance, and so he bid me go and look by myself ; 
 for he said, says he, I can divert myself better another way, 
 says he." 
 
 This account being given, away again went this silly 
 young man ; and Mr. Branghton, extremely incensed, said 
 he would go and see after them himself. 
 
 * So, now," cried Madame Duval, " he's gone too ! why, 
 at this rate, we shall have to wait for one or other of them 
 all night ! " 
 
 Observing that Sir Clement seemed disposed to renew 
 
 1 " Dr. Johnson said that Mr. Smith's vulgar gentility was admirably 
 portrayed ; and when Sir Clement joins them, he said, there was a 
 shade of character prodigiously well marked." — Diary of Madame VAr- 
 blay, part i., August 3, 1778. 
 
 P 
 
210 * EVELINA. 
 
 his enquiries, I turned towards one of the paintings, and, 
 pretending to be very much occupied in looking at it, asked 
 M. Du Bois some questions concerning the figures. 
 
 " ! Mon Dieu ! " cried Madame Duval, " don't ask him ; 
 your best way is to ask Mr. Smith, for he's been here the 
 oftenest. Come, Mr. Smith, I dare say you can tell us all 
 about them." 
 
 " Why, yes, Ma'am, yes," said Mr. Smith : who, brighten- 
 ing up at this application, advanced towards us with an air 
 of assumed importance, which, however, sat very uneasily 
 upon him, and begged to know what he should explain first : 
 " For I have attended," said he, " to all these paintings, and 
 know every thing in them perfectly well ; for I am rather 
 fond of pictures, Ma'am ; and, really, I must say, I think a 
 pretty picture is *a — a very — is really a very — is something 
 very pretty — " 
 
 " So do I too," said Madame Duval ; " but pray now, Sir, 
 tell us who that is meant for," pointing to a figure of Nep- 
 tune. 
 
 " That ! — why, that, Ma'am, is, — Lord bless me, I can't 
 think how I come to be so stupid, but really I have forgot 
 his name ; — and yet, I know it as well as my own too : — 
 however, he's a General, Ma'am, they are all Generals." 
 
 I saw Sir Clement bite his lips ; and, indeed, so did I 
 mine. 
 
 "Well," said Madame Duval, "it's the oddest dress for a 
 general ever I see ! " 
 
 " He seems so capital a figure," said Sir Clement, to Mr. 
 Smith, " that I imagine he must be Generalissimo of the 
 whole army." 
 
 " Yes, Sir, yes," answered Mr. Smith, respectfully bowing, 
 and highly delighted at being thus referred to, u you are 
 perfectly right; — but I cannot for my life think of his 
 name ; — perhaps, Sir, you may remember it ? " 
 
 "No, really," replied Sir Clement, "my acquaintance 
 among the generals is not so extensive." 
 
 The ironical tone of voice in which Sir Clement spoke 
 entirely disconcerted Mr. Smith ; who again retiring to an 
 humble distance, seemed sensibly mortified at the failure of 
 his attempt to recover his consequence. 
 
 Soon after, Mr. Branghton returned with his youngest 
 
EVELINA. 211 
 
 daughter, whom he had rescued from a party of insolent 
 young men ; but he had not yet been able to find the eldest. 
 Miss Polly was really frightened, and declared she would 
 never go into the dark walks again. Her father, leaving 
 her with us, went in quest of her sister. 
 
 While she was relating her adventures, to which nobody 
 listened more attentively than Sir Clement, we saw Mr. 
 Brown enter the room. " O, la ! " cried Miss Polly, "let 
 me hide myself, and don't tell him I'm come." 
 
 She then placed herself behind Madame Duval, in such a 
 manner that she could not be seen. 
 
 " So Miss Polly is not come yet ! " said the simple swain : 
 " well, I can't think where she can be ! I've been a looking, 
 and looking, and looking all about, and can't find her all I 
 can do." 
 
 "Well, but, Mr. Brown," said Mr. Smith, " sha'n't you 
 go and look for the lady again ? " 
 
 "Yes, Sir," said he, sitting down ; " but 1 must rest me 
 a little bit first. You can't think how tired I am." 
 
 u O fie, Mr. Brown, fie," cried Mr. Smith, winking at us, 
 " tired of looking for a lady ! Go, go, for shame ! " 
 
 " So I will, Sir, presently ; but you'd be tired too, if you 
 had walked so far : besides, I think she's gone out of the 
 garden, or else I must have seen something or other of her." 
 
 A he, he, he ! of the tittering Polly, now betrayed her, 
 and so ended this ingenious little artifice. 
 
 At last appeared Mr. Branghton and Miss Biddy, who, 
 with a face of mixed anger and confusion, addressing herself 
 to me, said, " So, Miss, so you ran away from me ! Well, 
 see if I don't do as much by you some day or other ! But I 
 thought how it would be ; you'd no mind to leave the 
 gentlemen, though you run away from me." 
 
 I was so much surprised at this attack, that I could not 
 answer her for very amazement ; and she proceeded to tell 
 us how ill she had been used, and that two young men had 
 been making her walk up and down the dark walks by 
 absolute force, and as fast as ever they could tear her along ; 
 and many other particulars, which I will not tire you with 
 relating. In conclusion, looking at Mr. Smith, she said, 
 *' Bat to be sure, thought I, at least all the company will be 
 looking for me ; so I little expected to find you all here, 
 
212 EVELINA. 
 
 talking as comfortably as ever you can. However, I know 
 I may thank my cousin for it ! " 
 
 " If yon mean me, Madam," said I, very mnch shocked, 
 " I am quite ignorant in what manner I can have been 
 accessary to your distress." 
 
 " Why, by running away so. If you'd stayed with us, I'll 
 answer for it Mr. Smith and M. Du Bois would have come 
 to look for us ; but I suppose they could not leave your 
 ladyship." 
 
 The folly and unreasonableness of this speech would 
 admit of no answer. But what a scene was this for Sir 
 Clement ! his surprise was evident ; and I must acknow- 
 ledge my confusion was equally great. 
 
 We had now to wait for young Branghton, who did not 
 appear for some time ; and during this interval it was with 
 difficulty that I avoided Sir Clement, who was on the rack 
 of curiosity, and dying to speak to me. 
 
 When, at last, the hopeful youth returned, a long and 
 frightful quarrel ensued between him and his father, in 
 which his sisters occasionally joined, concerning his neglect ; 
 and he defended himself only by a brutal mirth, which he 
 indulged at their expense. 
 
 Every one now seemed inclined to depart, — when, as 
 usual, a dispute arose upon the way of our going, whether 
 in a coach or a boat. After much debating, it was deter- 
 mined that we should make two parties, one by the water 
 and the other by land ; for Madame Duval declared she 
 would not, upon any account, go into a boat at night. 
 
 Sir Clement then said, that if she had no carriage in 
 waiting, he should be happy to see her and me safe home, as 
 his was in readiness. 
 
 Fury started into her eyes, and passion inflamed every 
 feature, as she answered, " Pardi, no — you may take care 
 of yourself, if you please ; but as to me, I promise you I 
 sha'n't trust myself with no such person." 
 
 He pretended not to comprehend her meaning ; yet, to 
 waive a discussion, acquiesced in her refusal. The coach- 
 party fixed upon, consisted of Madame Duval, M. Du Bois, 
 Miss Branghton, and myself. 
 
 I now began to rejoice, in private, that at least our lodg- 
 ings would be neither seen nor known by Sir Clement. 
 
EVELINA. 213 
 
 We soon met with a hackney-coach, into which he handed 
 me, and then took leave. 
 
 Madame Duval having already given the coachman her 
 direction, he mounted the box, and we were just driving off, 
 when Sir Clement exclaimed, " By Heaven, this is the very 
 coach I had in waiting for myself ! " 
 
 " This coach, your honour ! " said the man ; " no, that it 
 i'n't." 
 
 Sir Clement, however, swore that it was ; and presently, 
 the man, begging his pardon, said he had really forgotten 
 that he was engaged. 
 
 I have no doubt but that this scheme occurred to him at 
 the moment, and that he made some sign to the coachman, 
 which induced him to support it ; for there is not the least 
 probability that the accident really happened, as it is most 
 likely his own chariot was in waiting. 
 
 The man then opened the coach- door, and Sir Clement, 
 advancing to it, said, " I don't believe there is another 
 carriage to be had, or I would not incommode you ; but, as 
 it may be disagreeable to you to wait here any longer, I beg 
 you will not get out, for you shall be set down before I am 
 carried home, if you will be so good as to make a little room." 
 
 And so saying, in he jumped, and seated himself between 
 M. Du Bois and me, while our astonishment at the whole 
 transaction was too great for speech. He then ordered the 
 coachman to drive on, according to the directions he Jiad 
 already received. 
 
 •For the first ten minutes no one uttered a word ; and 
 then, Madame Duval, no longer able to contain herself, 
 exclaimed, " Ma foi, if this isn't one of the most impu- 
 dentest things ever I see ! " 
 
 Sir Clement, regardless of this rebuke, attended only to 
 me ; however, I answered nothing he said, when I could 
 possibly avoid so doing. Miss Branghton made several 
 attempts to attract his notice, but in vain, for he would not 
 take the trouble of paying her any regard. 
 
 Madame Duval, during the rest of the ride, addressed 
 herself to M. Du Bois in French, and in that language 
 exclaimed, with great vehemence, against boldness and 
 assurance. 
 
 I was extremely glad when I thought our journey must 
 
214/ EVELINA. 
 
 be nearly at an end, for my situation was very uneasy to 
 me, as Sir Clement perpetually endeavoured to take my 
 hand. I looked out of the coach- window, to see if we were 
 near home : Sir Clement, stooping over me, did the same ; 
 and then, in a voice of infinite wonder, called out, " Where 
 
 the d — 1 is the man driving to ? Why we are in Broad 
 
 Street, St. Giles's ! " 
 
 " O, he's very right," cried Madame Duval, " so never 
 trouble your head about that ; for I sha'n't go by no direc- 
 tions of your's, I promise you." 
 
 When, at last, we stopped at an hosier's in High Holborn, 
 — Sir Clement said nothing, but his eyes, I saw, were very 
 busily employed in viewing the place, and the situation of 
 the house. The coach, he said, belonged to him, arid there- 
 fore he insisted upon paying for it ; and then he took leave. 
 M. Du Bois walked home with Miss Branghton, and Madame 
 Duval and I retired to our apartments. 
 
 How disagreeable an evening's adventure ! not one of the 
 party seemed satisfied, except Sir Clement, who was in high 
 spirits : but Madame Duval was enraged at meeting with 
 him ; Mr. Branghton, angry with his children; the frolic 
 of the Miss Branghtons had exceeded their plan, and ended 
 in their own distress ; their brother was provoked that there 
 had been no riot ; Mr. Brown was tired, and Mr. Smith 
 mortified. As to myself, I must acknowledge, n othing 
 cou id be more disagreeable to me, tnanbemg seeiTbv Sir 
 Cl ement Willoughby with a party at once^s^T Tulgar^in 
 th emselves and so familiar to me^ * 
 
 And you, too, my dear Sir, will, I know, be sorry that I 
 have met him ; however, there is no apprehension of his 
 visiting here, as Madame Duval is far too angry to admit 
 him. 
 
 LETTER XLYII. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Holborn, June \&th. 
 
 MADAME DUVAL rose very late this morning, and, 
 at one o'clock, we had but just breakfasted, when Miss 
 Branghton, her brother, Mr. Smith, and Monsieur Du Bois, 
 called to enquire after our healths. 
 
EVELINA. 215 
 
 This civility in young Branghton, I mnch suspect, was 
 merely the result of his father's commands ; but his sister 
 and Mr. Smith, I soon found, had motives of their own. 
 Scarce had they spoken to Madame Duval, when, advancing 
 eagerly to me, " Pray, Ma'am," said Mr. Smith, "who was 
 that gentleman ? " 
 
 " Pray, cousin," cried Miss Branghton, " was not he 
 the same gentleman you ran away with that night at the 
 opera ? " 
 
 " Goodness ! that he was," said young Branghton ; " and, 
 I declare, as soon as ever I saw him, I thought I knew his 
 face." 
 
 " I'm sure, I'll defy you to forget him," answered his 
 sister, " if once you had seen him : he is the finest gentle- 
 man I ever saw in my life ; don't you think so, Mr. 
 Smith?" 
 
 " Why, you won't give the lady time to speak," said 
 Mr. Smith. — " Pray, Ma'am, what is the gentleman's 
 name ? " 
 
 " Willoughby, Sir." 
 
 " Willoughby ! I think I have heard the name. Pray, 
 Ma'am, is he married ? " 
 
 " Lord, no, that he is not," cried Miss Branghton ; " he 
 looks too smart by a great deal for a married man. Pray, 
 cousin, how did you get acquainted with him ? " 
 
 " Pray, Miss," said young Branghton, in the same breath, 
 " what's his business ? " 
 
 " Indeed I don't know," answered I. 
 
 " Something very genteel, I dare say," added Miss 
 Branghton, " because he dresses so fine." 
 
 " It ought to be something that brings in a good income," 
 said Mr. Smith ; " for I'm sure he did not get that suit of 
 clothes he had on under thirty or forty pounds ; for I know 
 the price of clothes pretty well. — Pray, Ma'am, can you tell 
 me what he has a-year ? " 
 
 " Don't talk no more about him," cried Madame Duval, 
 " for I don't like to hear his name : I believe he's one of 
 the worst persons in the world ; for though I never did him 
 no manner of harm, nor so much as hurt a hair of his head, 
 I know he was an accomplice with that fellow, Captain 
 Mirvan, to take away my life." 
 
216 EVELINA. 
 
 Everybody, but myself, now crowding around her for an 
 explanation, a violent rapping at the street-door was un- 
 heard ; and, without any previous notice, in the midst of 
 her narration, Sir Clement Willoughby entered the room. 
 They all started ; and, with looks of guilty confusion, 
 as if they feared his resentment for having listened to 
 Madame Duval, they scrambled for chairs, aud in a moment 
 were all formally seated. 
 
 Sir Clement, after a general bow, singling out Madame 
 Duval, said with his usual easiness, " I have done myself 
 the honour of waiting on you, Madame, to enquire if you 
 have any commands to Howard Grove, whither I am going 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 Then, seeing the storm that gathered in her eyes, before 
 he allowed her time to answer, he addressed himself to me ; 
 — " And if you, Madam, have any with which you will 
 honour me, I shall be happy to execute them." 
 
 " None at all, Sir." 
 
 " None ! — not to Miss Mirvan ! — no message ! no letter ! " 
 
 " I wrote to Miss Mirvan yesterday by the post." 
 
 " My application should have been earlier, had I sooner 
 known your address." 
 
 " Ma foi" cried Madame Duval, recovering from her 
 surprise, " I believe never nobody saw the like of this ! " 
 
 " Of what, Madam ? " cried the undaunted Sir Clement, 
 turning quick towards her ; " I hope no one has offended 
 you!" 
 
 " You don't hope no such a thing ! " cried she, half 
 choked with passion, and rising from her chair. This 
 motion was followed by the rest ; and in a moment, every 
 body stood up. 
 
 Still Sir Clement was not abashed ; affecting to make a 
 bow of acknowledgment to the company in general, he said, 
 " Pray — I beg — Ladies, — Gentlemen, — pray don't let me 
 disturb you, pray keep your seats." 
 
 " Pray, Sir," said Miss Branghton, moving a chair towards 
 him, " won't you sit down, yourself? " 
 
 " You are extremely good, Ma'am : — rather than make 
 any disturbance — " 
 
 And so saying, this strange man seated himself, as did, in 
 an instant, every body else, even Madame Duval herself, 
 
* 
 
 EVELINA. 217 : 
 
 who, overpowered by his boldness, seemed too full for 
 utterance. 
 
 He then, and with as much composure as if he had been 
 an expected guest, began to discourse on the weather, — its 
 uncertainty, — the heat of the public places in summer, — 
 the emptiness of the town, — and other such common topics. 
 
 Nobody, however, answered him ; Mr. Smith seemed 
 afraid, young Branghton ashamed, M. Du Bois amazed, 
 Madame Duval enraged, and myself determined not to 
 interfere. All that he could obtain, was the notice of Miss 
 Branghton, whose nods, smiles, and attention, had some 
 appearance of entering into conversation with him. 
 
 At length, growing tired, I suppose, of engaging every 
 body's eyes, and nobody's tongue, addressing himself to 
 Madame Duval and to me, he said, " I regard myself as 
 peculiarly unfortunate, Ladies, in having fixed upon a time 
 for my visit to Howard Grove, when you are absent 
 from it." 
 
 " So I suppose, Sir, so I suppose," cried Madame Duval, 
 hastily rising, and the next moment as hastily seating her- 
 self ; — " you'll be wanting of somebody to make your game 
 of, and so you may think to get me there again ; — but, I 
 promise you, Sir, you won't find it so easy a matter to make 
 me a fool ; and besides that," raising her voice, "I've found 
 you out, I assure you ; so if ever you go to play your tricks 
 upon me again, I'll make no more ado, but go directly to a 
 justice of peace ; so, Sir, if you can't think of nothing but 
 making people ride about the country at all hours of the 
 night, just for your diversion, why, you'll find I know some 
 justices as well as Justice Tyrrell." 
 
 Sir Clement was evidently embarrassed at this attack ; 
 yet he affected a look of surprise, and protested he did not 
 understand her meaning. 
 
 " Well," cried she, " if I don't wonder where people can 
 get such impudence ! if you'll say that, you'll say any thing : 
 however, if you swear till you're black in the face, I sha'n't 
 believe you ; for nobody sha'n't persuade me out of my 
 senses, that I'm resolved." 
 
 " Doubtless not, Madam," answered he with some hesi- 
 tation ; " and I hope you do not suspect I ever had such an 
 intention ; my respect for you — " 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 " 0, Sir, you're vastly polite all of a sudden ! but I know 
 what it's all for ! it's only for what you can get ! — You 
 could treat me like nobody at Howard Grove ; but now you 
 see I've a house of my own, you've a mind to wheedle your- 
 self into it ; but I sees your design, so you needn't trouble 
 yourself to take no more trouble about that, for you shall 
 never get nothing at my house, — not so much as a dish of 
 tea : — so now, Sir, you see I can play you trick for trick." 
 
 There was something so extremely gross in this speech, 
 that it even disconcerted Sir Clement, who was too much 
 confounded to make any answer. 
 
 It was curious to observe the effect which his embarrass- 
 ment, added to the freedom with which Madame Duval 
 addressed him, had upon the rest of the company. Every 
 one, who before seemed at a loss how or if at all, to occupy 
 a chair, now filled it with the most easy composure : and 
 Mr. Smith, whose countenance had exhibited the most 
 striking picture of mortified envy, now began to recover his 
 usual expression of satisfied conceit. Young Branghton, 
 too, who had been apparently awed by the presence of 
 so fine a gentleman, was again himself, rude and familiar : 
 while his mouth was wide distended into a broad grin, at 
 hearing his aunt give the beau such a trimming, 
 
 Madame Duval, encouraged by this success, looked 
 around her with an air of triumph, and continued her 
 harangue. " And so, Sir, I suppose you thought to have 
 had it all your own way, and to have corned here as 
 often as you pleased, and to have got me to Howard Grove 
 again, on purpose to have served me as you did before ; but 
 you shall see I'm as cunning as you ; so you may go and 
 find somebody else to use in that manner, and to put your 
 mask on, and to make a fool of; for as to me, if you 
 go to tell me your stories about the Tower again, for a 
 month together, I'll never believe 'm no more : and I'll pro- 
 mise you, Sir, if you think I like such jokes, you'll find I'm 
 no such person." 
 
 " I assure you, Ma'am, — upon my honour, — I really 
 don't comprehend — I fancy there is some misunder- 
 standing — " 
 
 " What, I suppose you'll tell me next you don't know 
 nothing of the matter ? " 
 
EVELINA. 219 \ 
 
 " Not a word, upon my honour." 
 
 O, Sir Clement, thought I, is it thus you prize your 
 honour ! 
 
 " Parcli" cried Madam Duval, "this is the most pro- 
 vokingest part of all ! why, you might as well tell me 
 I don't know my own name." 
 
 " Here is certainly some mistake ; for I assure you, 
 Ma'am — " 
 
 "Don't assure me nothing," cried Madame Duval, 
 raising her voice ; "I know what I'm saying, and so 
 do you too ; for did not you tell me all that about the 
 Tower, and about M. Du Bois ? — why, M. Du Bois wasn't 
 never there, nor nigh it, and so it was all your own inven- 
 tion." 
 
 " May there not be two persons of the same name ? the 
 mistake was but natural — " 
 
 " Don't tell me of no mistake, for it was all on purpose : 
 besides, did not you come, all in a mask, to the chariot-door, 
 and help to get me put in that ditch ? — I'll promise you, 
 I've had the greatest mind in the world to take the law of 
 you ever since ; and if ever you do as much again, so I will, 
 I assure you ! " 
 
 Here Miss Branghton tittered, Mr. Smith smiled contemp- # 
 tuously, and young Branghton thrust his handkerchief into 
 his mouth to stop his laughter. 
 
 The situation of Sir Clement, who saw all that passed, j 
 became now very awkward even to himself, and he stam- I 
 mered very much in saying, " Surely, Madam — surely you — 
 you cannot do me the — the injustice to think — that I had 
 any share in the — the — the misfortune which — " 
 
 "Mafoi, Sir," cried Madame Duval, with increasing 
 passion, "you'd best not stand talking to me at that rate : 
 I know it was you ; and if you stay there, a provoking me 
 in such a manner, I'll send for a constable this minute." 
 
 Young Branghton, at these words, in spite of all his 
 efforts, burst into a loud laugh ; nor could either his sister 
 or Mr. Smith, though with more moderation, forbear join- 
 ing in his mirth. 
 
 Sir Clement darted his eyes towards them with looks of 
 the most angry contempt ; and then told Madame Duval, 
 that he would not now detain her to make his vindica- 
 
220 EVELINA. 
 
 tion, but would wait on her some time when she was 
 alone. 
 
 " O Pardi, Sir," cried she, " I don't desire none of your 
 company ; and if you wasn't the most boldest person in the 
 world, you would not dare look me in the face." 
 
 The ha, ha, ha's ! and he, he, he's ! grew more and more 
 uncontrollable, as if the restraint, from which they had 
 burst, had added to their violence. Sir Clement could no 
 longer endure being the object who excited them ; and, 
 having no answer ready for Madame Duval, he hastily 
 stalked towards Mr. Smith and young Branghton, and 
 sternly demanded what they laughed at ? 
 
 Struck by the air of importance which he assumed, and 
 alarmed at the angry tone of his voice, their merriment 
 ceased as instantaneously as if it had been directed by 
 clock-work ; and they stared foolishly, now at him, now at 
 each other, without making any answer but a simple 
 "Nothing, Sir." 
 
 "O pour le coup," cried Madame Duval, "this is too 
 much ! Pray, Sir, what business have you to come here a 
 ordering people that comes to see me ? I suppose next no- 
 body must laugh but yourself ! " 
 
 " With me, Madam," said Sir Clement, bowing, " a lady 
 may do any thing, and consequently there is no liberty in 
 which I shall not be happy to indulge you : — but it has 
 never been my custom to give the same licence to gentlemen." 
 
 Then, advancing to me, who had sat very quietly on a 
 window during this scene, he said, " Miss Anville, I may at 
 least acquaint our friends at Howard Grove that I had the 
 honour of leaving you in good health." And then, lowering 
 his voice, he added, " For Heaven's sake, my dearest 
 creature, who are these people ? and how came you so 
 strangely situated ? " 
 
 " I beg my respects to all the family, Sir," answered I, 
 aloud ; " and I hope you will find them well." 
 
 He looked at me reproachfully, but kissed my hand ; and 
 then, bowing to Madame Duval and Miss Branghton, passed 
 hastily by the men, and made his exit. 
 
 I fancy he will not be very eager to repeat his visit ; for 
 I should imagine he has rarely, if ever, been before in a 
 situation so awkward and disagreeable. 
 
EYELINA. 221 
 
 Madame Duval has been all spirits and exultation ever 
 since he went, and only wishes Captain Mirvan would call y 
 that she might do the same by him. Mr. Smith, upon hear- 
 ing that he was a baronet, and seeing him drive off in a 
 very beautiful chariot, declared that he would not have 
 laughed upon any account, had he known his rank ; and 
 regretted extremely having missed such an opportunity of 
 making so genteel an acquaintance. Young Branghton 
 vowed, that if he had known as much, he would have asked 
 for his custom : and his sister has sung his praises ever since y 
 protesting she thought all along he was a man of quality by 
 his look. 
 
 LETTER XLVIII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 June 2\st. 
 
 THE last three evenings have passed tolerably quiet, for 
 the Vauxhall adventures had given Madame Duval a 
 surfeit of public places : home, however, soon growing- 
 tiresome, she determined to-night, she said, to relieve her 
 ennui by some amusement ; and it was therefore settled, 
 that we should call upon the Branghtons at their house, 
 and thence proceed to Mary bone Gardens . 
 
 But, before we reached Snow Hill, we were caught in a 
 shower of rain : we hurried into the shop, where the first 
 object I saw was Mr. Macartney, with a book in his hand, 
 seated in the same corner where I saw him last ; but his 
 looks were still more wretched than before, his face yet 
 thinner, and his eyes sunk almost hollow into his head. 
 He lifted them up as we entered, and I even thought that 
 they emitted a gleam of joy : involuntarily I made to him 
 my first courtesy ; he rose and bowed with a precipitation 
 that manifested surprise and confusion. 
 
 In a few minutes we were joined by all the family, except 
 Mr. Smith, who fortunately was engaged. 
 
 Had all the future prosperity of our lives depended upon 
 the good or bad weather of this evening, it could not have 
 
222 EVELINA. 
 
 been treated as a subject of greater importance. " Snre, 
 never any thing was so nnlucky! " — " Lord, how provoking ! " 
 — " It might rain for ever, if it would hold up now." — These, 
 and such expressions, with many anxious observations upon 
 the kennels, filled up all the conversation till the shower 
 was over. 
 
 And then a very warm debate arose, whether we should 
 pursue our plan, or defer it to some finer evening. The 
 Miss Branghtons were for the former ; their father was 
 sure it would rain again ; Madame Duval, though she de- 
 tested returning home, yet dreaded the dampness of the 
 gardens. 
 
 M. Du Bois then proposed going to the top of the house, 
 to examine whether the clouds looked threatening or peace- 
 able : Miss Branghton, starting at this proposal, said they 
 might go to Mr. Macartney's room, if they would, but not 
 to her's. 
 
 This was enough for the brother ; who, with a loud laugh, 
 declared he would have some fun ; and immediately led the 
 way, calling to us all to follow. His sisters both ran after, 
 but no one else moved. 
 
 In a few minutes young Branghton, coming half way 
 down stairs, called out, " Lord, why don't you all come ? 
 why, here's Poll's things all about the room ! " 
 
 Mr. Branghton then went ; and Madame Duval, who 
 cannot bear to be excluded from whatever is going forward, 
 was handed up stairs by M. Du Bois. 
 
 I hesitated a few moments whether or not to join them ; 
 but, soon perceiving that Mr. Macartney had dropped his 
 book, and that I engrossed his whole attention, I prepared, 
 from mere embarrassment, to follow them. 
 
 As I went, I heard him move from his chair, and walk 
 slowly after me. Believing that he wished to speak to me, 
 and earnestly desiring myself to know if, by your means, I 
 could possibly be of any service to him, I first slackened my 
 pace, and then turned back. But, though I thus met him 
 half-way, he seemed to want courage or resolution to address 
 me ; for, when he saw me returning, with a look extremely 
 disordered, he retreated hastily from me. 
 
 Not knowing what I ought to do, I went to the street- 
 door, where I stood some time, hoping he would be able to 
 
EVELINA. ^ 
 
 recover himself; but, on the contrary, his agitation in- 
 creased every moment ; he walked np and down the room 
 in a quick but unsteady pace, seeming equally distressed 
 and irresolute ; and, at length, with a deep sigh, he flung 
 himself into a chair. 
 
 I was so much affected by the appearance of such extreme 
 anguish, that I could remain no longer in the room : I 
 therefore glided by him and went up stairs ; but, ere I had 
 gone five steps, he precipitately followed me, and, in a broken 
 voice, called out " Madam ! — for Heaven's sake — " 
 
 He stopped ; but I instantly descended, restraining, as 
 well as I was able, the fulness of my own concern. I waited 
 some time, in painful expectation, for his speaking : all that 
 I had heard of his poverty occurring to me, I was upon the 
 point of presenting him my purse ; but the fear of mistaking 
 or offending him deterred me. Finding, however, that he 
 continued silent, I ventured to say, " Did you — Sir, wish to 
 speak to me ? " 
 
 " I did," cried he with quickness, " but now — I can- 
 not !— " 
 
 " Perhaps, Sir, another time, — perhaps if you recollect 
 yourself — " 
 
 " Another time ? " repeated he mournfully ; " alas ! I 
 look not forward but to misery and despair ! " 
 
 " 0, Sir," cried I, extremely shocked, "you must not 
 talk thus ! — If you forsake yourself, how can you expect — " 
 
 I stopped. " Tell me, tell me," cried he, with eagerness, 
 " who you are ? — whence you come ? — and by what strange 
 means you seem to be arbitress and ruler of the destiny of 
 such a wretch as I am ? " 
 
 " Would to Heaven," cried I, " I could serve you ! " 
 
 " You can! " 
 
 " And how ? Pray tell me how ? " 
 
 " To tell you — is death to me ! yet I will tell you. — I 
 have a right to your assistance, — you have deprived me 
 of the only resource to which I could apply, — and there- 
 fore — " 
 
 " Pray, pray speak," cried I, putting my hand into my 
 pocket ; " they will be down stairs in a moment ! " 
 
 " I will, Madam. — Can you — will you — I think you will ! 
 — may I then — " he stopped and paused ; "say, will you " 
 
EYELINA. 
 
 — then, suddenly turning from me, " Great Heaven, I can- 
 not speak ! " and he went back to the shop. 
 
 I now put my purse in my hand, and following him, said, 
 " If, indeed, Sir, I can assist you, why should you deny me 
 so great a satisfaction ? Will you permit me to — " 
 
 I dared not go on ; but with a countenance very much 
 softened, he approached me arid said, " Your voice, Madam, 
 is the voice of compassion ! — such a voice as these ears have 
 long been strangers to ! " 
 
 Just then young Branghton called out vehemently to me 
 to come up stairs. I seized the opportunity of hastening 
 away : and therefore saying, " Heaven, Sir, protect and 
 comfort you ! " I let fall my purse upon the ground, not 
 daring to present it to him, and ran up stairs with the 
 utmost swiftness. 
 
 Too well do I know you, my ever honoured Sir, to fear your 
 displeasure for this action : I must, however, assure you, I 
 shall need no fresh supply during my stay in town, as I 
 am at little expense, and hope soon to return to Howard 
 Grove. 
 
 Soon, did I say ! when not a fortnight is yet expired of 
 the long and tedious month I must linger out here ! 
 
 I had many witticisms to endure from the Branghtons, 
 upon account of my staying so long with the Scotch mojoe, 
 as they call him ; but I attended to them very little, for my 
 whole heart was filled with pity and concern. I was very 
 glad to find the Marybone scheme was deferred, another 
 shower of rain having put a stop to the dissension upon this 
 subject ; the rest of the evening was employed in most vio- 
 lent quarrelling between Miss Polly and her brother, on 
 account of the discovery made by the latter of the state of 
 her apartment. 
 
 We came home early ; and I have stolen from Madame 
 Duval and M. Du Bois, who is here for ever, to write to 
 my best friend. 
 
 I am most sincerely rejoiced, that this opportunity has; 
 offered for my contributing what little relief was in my 
 power to this unhappy man ; and I hope it will be sufficient 
 to enable him to pay his debts to this pitiless family. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 LETTER XLIX. 
 
 MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA. 
 
 Berry Hill. 
 
 DISPLEASURE ? my Evelina !— you have but done 
 your duty ; you have but shown that humanity with- 
 out which I should blush to own my child. It is mine, 
 however, to see that your generosity be not repressed by 
 your suffering from indulging it ; I remit to you, therefore, 
 not merely a token of my approbation, but an acknowledg- 
 ment of my desire to participate in your charity. 
 
 my child, were my fortune equal to my confidence in 
 thy benevolence, with what transport should I, through thy 
 means, devote it to the relief of indigent virtue ! yet let us 
 not repine at the limitation of our power ; for while our 
 bounty is proportioned to our ability, the difference of the 
 greater or less donation can weigh but little in the scale of 
 justice. 
 
 In reading your account of the misguided man, whose 
 misery has so largely excited your compassion, I am led to 
 apprehend that his unhappy situation is less the effect of 
 misfortune than of misconduct. If he is reduced to that 
 state of poverty represented by the Branghtons, he should 
 endeavour, by activity and industry, to retrieve his affairs, 
 and not pass his time in idle reading in the very shop of his 
 creditor. 
 
 The pistol scene made me shudder ; the courage witl/ 
 which you pursued this desperate man, at once delighted 
 and terrified me. ~° n bpmi thftg my dearest Evelina, dau nt- 
 less in th e cause of distress ! let no weak fears, no timid 
 doubts, deteT^afTromTBe exertion of your duty, according 
 to the fullest sense of it that Nature has implanted in your 
 mind. Though gentleness and modesty are the peculiar 
 attributes of your sex, yet fortitude and firmness, when 
 occasion demands them, are virtues as noble and as be- 
 coming in w omen as in men : the right line of conduct is 
 the same for both sexes, though the manner in which it is 
 
 Q 
 
226 EVELINA. 
 
 pursued may somewhat vary, and be accommodated to th( 
 strength or weakness of the different travellers. 
 
 There is, however, something so mysterious in all yoi 
 have seen or heard of this wretched man, that I am unwil- 
 ling to stamp a bad impression of his character upon sc 
 slight and partial a knowledge of it. Where any thing is 
 doubtful, the ties of society, and the laws of humanity, 
 claim a favourable interpretation ; but remember, my deai 
 child, that those of discretion have an equal claim to your 
 regard. 
 
 As to Sir Clement Willoughby, I know not how to 
 express my indignation at his conduct. Insolence so in- 
 sufferable, and the implication of suspicions so shocking, 
 irritate me to a degree of wrath, which I hardly thought 
 my almost worn-out passions were capable of again ex- 
 periencing. You must converse with him no more : he 
 imagines, from the pliability of your temper, that he may 
 offend you with impunity ; but his behaviour justifies, nay, 
 calls for your avowed resentment ; do not, therefore, hesi- 
 tate in forbidding him your sight. 
 
 The Branghtons, Mr. Smith, and young Brown, however 
 I ill-bred and disagreeable, are objects too contemptible for 
 I serious displeasure : yet I grieve much that my Evelina 
 ^should be exposed to their rudeness and impertinence. 
 
 The very day that this tedious month expires, I shall send 
 Mrs. Clinton to town, who will accompany you to Howard 
 Grove. Your stay there will, I hope, be short ; for I feel 
 daily an increasing impatience to fold my beloved child to 
 my bosom ! 
 
 Arthur Yillars. 
 
 LETTER L. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Holborn, June 27tk. 
 
 I HAVE just received, my dearest Sir, your kind present, 
 and still kinder letter. Surely, never had orphan so 
 little to regret as your grateful Evelina ! Though mother- 
 less, though worse than fatherless, bereft from infancy of 
 
EVELINA. (227 J 
 
 the two first and greatest blessings of life, never has she 
 had cause to deplore their loss ; never has she felt the 
 omission of a parent's tenderness, care or indulgence ; 
 never, but from sorrow for them, had reason to grieve at the 
 separation ! Most thankfully do I receive the token of your 
 approbation, and most studiously will I endeavour so to J 
 dispose of it, as may merit your generous confidence in my| 
 conduct. 
 
 Your doubts concerning Mr. Macartney give me some 
 uneasiness. Indeed, Sir, he has not the appearance of 
 a man whose sorrows are the effect of guilt. But I hope, 
 before I leave town, to be better acquainted with his situa- 
 tion, and enabled, with more certainty of his worth, to re- 
 commend him to your favour. 
 
 I am very willing to relinquish all acquaintance with 
 Sir Clement Willoughby, as far as it may depend upon my- 
 self so to do ; but, indeed I know not how I should be able 
 
 to absolutely fo rbid him miTsig fit. 
 
 Miss Mirvan, in her last letter, informs me that he is now 
 at Howard Grove, where he continues in high favour with 
 the Captain, and is the life and spirit of the house. My 
 time, since I wrote last, has passed very quietly, Madame 
 Duval having been kept at home by a bad cold, and 
 the Branghtons by bad weather. The young man, indeed, 
 has called two or three times ; and his behaviour, though 
 equally absurd, is more unaccountable than ever : he speaks 
 very little, takes hardly any notice of Madame Duval, and 
 never looks at me without a broad grin. Sometimes he 
 approaches me, as if with intention to communicate intelli- 
 gence of importance ; and then, suddenly stopping short, 
 laughs rudely in my face. 
 
 O how happy shall I be, when the worthy Mrs. Clinton 
 arrives ! 
 
 June 2§th. 
 
 Yesterday morning, Mr. Smith called to acquaint us that 
 the Hampstead assembly was to be held that evening ; and 
 then he presented Madame Duval with one ticket, and 
 brought another to me. I thanked him for his intended 
 civility, but told him I was surprised he had so soon for- 
 gotten my having already declined going to the ball. 
 
' 
 
 228 EVELINA. 
 
 " Lord, Ma'am," cried he, " how should I suppose you 
 was in earnest ? come, come, don't be cross ; here's your 
 Grandmama ready to take care of you, so you can have no 
 fair objection, for she'll see that I don't runaway with you. 
 Besides, Ma'am, I got the tickets on purpose." 
 
 " If you were determined, Sir," said I, " in making me 
 this offer, to allow me no choice of refusal or acceptance, I 
 must think myself less obliged to your intention than I was 
 willing to do." 
 
 " Dear Ma'am," cried he, "you're so smart, there is no 
 speaking to you ; — indeed you are monstrous smart, Ma'am ! 
 but come, your Grandmama shall ask you, and then I know 
 you'll not be so cruel." 
 
 Madame Duval was very ready to interfere ; she desired 
 me to make no further opposition, said she should go her- 
 self, and insisted upon my accompanying her. It was in 
 vain that I remonstrated ; I only incurred her anger : and 
 Mr. Smith having given both the tickets to Madame Duval 
 with an air of triumph, said he should call early in the 
 evening, and took leave. 
 
 I was much chagrined at being thus compelled to owe 
 even the shadow of an obligation to so forward a young 
 man ; but I determined that nothing should prevail upon 
 me to dance with him, however my refusal might give 
 offence. 
 
 In the afternoon, when he returned, it was evident that 
 he purposed to both charm and astonish me by his appear- 
 ance : he was dressed in a very showy manner, but without 
 any taste ; and the inelegant smartness of his air and de- 
 portment, his visible struggle against education to put on 
 the fine gentleman, added to his frequent conscious glances 
 at a dress to which he was but little accustomed, very effec- 
 tually destroyed his aim of figuring, and rendered all his 
 efforts useless. 1 
 
 1 " I know Mr. Smith," cried Mrs. Thrale, " very well, — I always have 
 him before me at the Hampstead Ball, dressed in a white coat, and a 
 tambour waistcoat, worked in green silk. Poor Mr. Seward ! Mr. John- 
 son made him so mad t'other day ! ' Why, Seward,' said he, ' how smart 
 3 T ou are dressed ! why you only want a tambour waistcoat to look like Mr. 
 Smith ! ' "—Diary of Madame D'Arblay, Part II., Aug. 23, 1778. 
 
 " Oh, you are a sly little rogue ! — what a Holbourn beau you have 
 drawn ! Harry Fielding never drew so good a character ! Such a fine 
 
EVELINA. 229 
 
 Daring tea entered Miss Branghton and her brother. I 
 was sorry to observe the consternation of the former, when 
 she perceived Mr. Smith. I had intended applying to her 
 for advice upon this occasion, but had been always deterred 
 by her disagreeable abruptness. Having cast her eyes 
 several times from Mr. Smith to me, with manifest dis- 
 pleasure, she seated herself sullenly in the window, scarce 
 answering Madame Duval's enquiries ; and when I spoke to 
 her, turning absolutely away from me. 
 
 Mr. Smith, delighted at this mark of his importance, sat 
 indolently quiet on his chair, endeavouring by his looks 
 rather to display, than to conceal, his inward satisfaction. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " cried young Branghton, " why, you're 
 all as fine as five-pence ! Why, where are you going ? " 
 
 " To the Hampstead ball," answered Mr. Smith. 
 
 " To a ball ! " cried he, " Why, what, is aunt going to a 
 ball? Ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 " Yes, to be sure," cried Madame Duval ; " I don't know 
 nothing need hinder me." 
 
 11 And pray, aunt, will you dance too ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I may ; but I suppose, Sir, that's none of your 
 business, whether I do or not." 
 
 " Lord ! well, I should like to go ! I should like to see 
 aunt dance of all things ! But the joke is, I don't believe 
 she'll get ever a partner." 
 
 "You're the most rudest boy ever I see," cried Madame 
 Duval, angrily : " but, I promise you, I'll tell your father 
 what you say, for I've no notion of such vulgarness." 
 
 " Why, Lord, aunt, what are you so angry for ? there's 
 no speaking a word, but you fly into a passion : you're 
 as bad as Biddy, or Poll, for that, for you're always a- 
 scolding." 
 
 " I desire, Tom," cried Miss Branghton, " you'd speak for 
 yourself, and not make so free with my name." 
 
 " There, now, she's up ! there's nothing but quarrelling 
 with the women; it's my belief they like it better than 
 victuals and drink." 
 
 "Pie, Tom," cried Mr. Smith, "you never remember 
 
 varnish of low politeness." — Dr. Johnson. — Vide D'Arblay's Diary, Part 
 II., Aug. 23, 1778. 
 
 I 
 
230 EYELINA. 
 
 your manners before the ladies : I'm sure you never heard 
 me speak so rude to them." 
 
 " Why, Lord, you are a beau ; but that's nothing to me. 
 So, if you've a mind, you may be so polite as to dance with 
 aunt yourself." Then, with a loud laugh, he declared it 
 would be good fun to see them. 
 
 " Let it be never so good, or never so bad," cried Madame 
 Duval, " you won't see nothing of it, I promise you ; so pray 
 don't let me hear no more of such vulgar pieces of fun ; for, 
 I assure you, I don't like it. And as to my dancing with 
 Mr. Smith, you may see wonderfuller things than that any 
 day in the week." 
 
 " Why, as to that, Ma'am," said Mr. Smith, looking much 
 surprised, " I always thought you intended to play at cards, 
 and so I thought to dance with the young lady." 
 
 I gladly seized this opportunity to make my declaration, 
 that I should not dance at all. 
 
 " Not dance at all ! " repeated Miss Branghton; " yes, 
 that's a likely matter truly, when people go to balls." 
 
 " I wish she mayn't," said the brother ; " 'cause then Mr. 
 Smith will have nobody but aunt for a partner. Lord, how 
 mad he'll be ! " 
 
 " O, as to that," said Mr. Smith, " I don't at all fear of 
 prevailing with the young lady, if once I get her to the 
 room." 
 
 "Indeed, Sir," cried I, much offended by his conceit, 
 " you are mistaken ; and therefore I beg leave to undeceive 
 you, as you may be assured my resolution will not alter." 
 
 " Then, pray, Miss, if it is not impertinent," cried Miss 
 Branghton, sneeringly, " what do you go for ? " 
 
 "Merely and solely," answered I, "to comply with the 
 request of Madame Duval." 
 
 " Miss," cried young Branghton, " Bid only wishes it was 
 she, for she has cast a sheep's eye at Mr. Smith this long 
 while." 
 
 "Tom," cried the sister, rising, "I've the greatest mind 
 in the world to box your ears ! How dare you say such 
 a thing of me ! " 
 
 " No, hang it, Tom, no, that's wrong," said Mr. Smith, 
 simpering ; " it is indeed, to tell the lady's secrets. — But 
 never mind him, Miss Biddy, for I won't believe him." 
 
EVELINA. 231 
 
 " Why, I know Bid would give her ears to go," returned 
 the brother ; " but only Mr. Smith likes Miss best, — so does 
 every body else." 
 
 While the sister gave him a very angry answer, Mr. Smith 
 said to me in a low voice, " Why now, Ma'am, how can you 
 be so cruel as to be so much handsomer than your cousins ? 
 Nobody can look at them when you are by." 
 
 " Miss," cried young Branghton, " whatever he says to 
 you don't mind him, for he means no good ; I'll give you 
 my word for it, he'll never marry you ; for he has told me 
 again and again, he'll never marry as long as he lives ; be- 
 sides, if he'd any mind to be married, there's Bid would 
 have had him long ago, and thanked him too." 
 
 " Come, come, Tom, don't tell secrets ; you'll make the 
 ladies afraid of me: but I assure you," lowering his voice, 
 "if I did marry, it should be your cousin." 
 
 Should be ! did you ever, my dear Sir, hear such un- 
 authorised freedom ? I looked at him with a contempt I did 
 not wish to repress, and walked to the other end of the room. 
 
 Very soon after Mr. Smith sent for a hackney-coach. 
 When I would have taken leave of Miss Branghton, she 
 turned angrily from me, without making any answer. She 
 supposes, perhaps, that I have rather sought, than endea- 
 voured to avoid, the notice and civilities of this conceited 
 young man. 
 
 The ball was at the long room at Hampstead. 
 
 This room seems very well named, for I believe it would 
 be difficult to find any other epithet which might with 
 propriety distinguish it, as it is without ornament, elegance, 
 or any sort of singularity, and merely to be marked by it's 
 length. 
 
 I was saved from the importunities of Mr. Smith, the 
 beginning of the evening, by Madame Duval's declaring 
 her intention to dance the two first dances with him herself. 
 Mr. Smith's chagrin was very evident ; but as she paid no 
 regard to it, he was necessitated to lead her out. 
 
 I was, however, by no means pleased, when she said she 
 was determined to dance a minuet. Indeed, I was quite 
 astonished, not having had the least idea she would have 
 consented to, much less proposed, such an exhibition of her 
 person. She had some trouble to make her intentions 
 
 I 
 
23£/ 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 known, as Mr. Smith was rather averse to speaking to the 
 master of the ceremonies. 
 ^^ During this minuet, how much did I rejoice in being 
 Jsurrounded only with strangers ! She danced in a style so 
 I uncommon ; her age, her showy dress, and an unusual quan- 
 tity of rouge, drew upon her the eyes, and I fear the derision, 
 ( of the whole company. Whom she danced with, I know 
 *"" not ; but Mr. Smith was so ill-bred as to laugh at her very 
 openly, and to speak of her with as much ridicule as was in 
 his power. But I would neither look at, nor listen to him, 
 nor would I suffer him to proceed with any speech which he 
 began, expressive of his vexation at being forced to dance 
 with her. I told him, very gravely, that complaints upon 
 such a subject might, with less impropriety, be made to every 
 person in the room than to me. 
 
 When she returned to us, she distressed me very much, 
 by asking what I thought of her minuet. I spoke as civilly 
 as I could ; but the coldness of my compliment evidently 
 disappointed her. She then called upon Mr. Smith to 
 secure a good place among the country dancers ; and away 
 they went, though not before he had taken the liberty to 
 say to me in a low voice, " I protest to you, Ma'am, I shall 
 be quite out of countenance, if any of my acquaintance 
 should see me dancing with the old lady ! " 
 
 For a few moments I very much rejoiced at being relieved 
 from this troublesome man ; but scarce had I time to con- 
 gratulate myself, before I was accosted by anocher, who 
 begged the favour of hopping a dance with me. 
 
 I told him that I should not dance at all ; but he thought 
 proper to importune me, very freely, not to be so cruel ; and 
 I was obliged to assume no little haughtiness before I could 
 satisfy him I was serious. 
 
 After this, I was addressed much in the same manner, 
 by several other young men ; of whom the appearance and 
 language were equally inelegant and low-bred; so that I 
 soon found my situation was both disagreeable and improper, 
 since, as I was quite alone, I fear I must seem rather to 
 invite than to forbid the offers and notice I received ; and 
 1 yet, so great was my apprehension of this interpretation, 
 that I am sure, my dear Sir, you would have laughed had 
 you seen how proudly grave I appeared. 
 
EYELINA. 233 
 
 I knew not whether to be glad or sorry, when Madame 
 Duval and Mr. Smith returned. The latter instantly re- 
 newed his tiresome intreaties, and Madame Duval said she 
 would go to the card-table ; and as soon as she was accom- 
 modated, she desired us to join the dancers. 
 
 I will not trouble you with the arguments which followed. 
 Mr. Smith teased me till I was weary of resistance ; and I 
 should at last have been obliged to submit, had I not for- 
 tunately recollected the affair of Mr. Lovel, and told my 
 persecutor, that it was impossible I should dance with him, 
 even if I wished it, as I had refused several persons in his 
 absence. 
 
 He was not contented with being extremely chagrined ; 
 but took the liberty, openly and warmly, to expostulate with 
 me upon not having said I was engaged. 
 
 The total disregard with which, involuntarily, I heard 
 him, made him soon change the subject. In truth, I had 
 no power to attend to him ; for all my thoughts were 
 occupied in re-tracing the transactions of the two former 
 balls, at which I had been present. The party — the con- 
 versation — the company — how great the contrast ! 
 
 In a short time, however, he contrived to draw my atten- 
 tion to himself, by his extreme impertinence ; for he chose 
 to express what he called his admiration of me, in terms so 
 open and familiar, that he forced me to express my dis- 
 pleasure with equal plainness. 
 
 But how was I surprised, when I found he had the 
 temerity — what else can I call it ? — to impute my resent- 
 ment to doubts of his honour : for he said, " My dear 
 Ma'am, you must be a little patient ; I assure you I have 
 no bad designs, I have not upon my word ; but, really, 
 there is no resolving upon such a thing as matrimony all at 
 once ; what with the loss of one's liberty, and what with 
 the ridicule of all one's acquaintance, — I assure you, Ma'am, 
 you are the first lady who ever made me even demur upon 
 this subject ; for, after all, my dear Ma'am, marriage is the 
 devil." 
 
 "Your opinion, Sir," answered I, "of either the married 
 or the single life, can be of no manner of consequence to 
 me ; and therefore I would by no means trouble you to 
 discuss their different merits." 
 
C 234 
 
 EVKMNA. 
 
 f 
 
 " Why, really, Ma'am, as to your being a little out of 
 sorts, I must own I can't wonder at it ; for, to be sure, 
 m arriag e jfi pH i - " ^1 with tfafi ladies ; b ut with us gentlem en 
 
 "self ii 
 
 it's quite another jthing ! Now only put yourself in my 
 place ;— suppose you had such a large acquaintance of 
 gentlemen as I have, — and that you had always been used 
 to appear a little — a little smart among them, — why, now, 
 how should you like to let yourself down all at once into a 
 married man ? " 
 
 I could not tell what to answer ; so much conceit, and so 
 much ignorance, both astonished and silenced me. 
 
 " I assure you Ma'am," added he, " there is not only Miss 
 
 Biddy, though I should have scorned to mention her, if 
 
 her brother had not blab'd, for I'm quite particular in keep- 
 ing ladies' secrets, — but there are a great many other ladies 
 
 that have been proposed to me ; but I never thought 
 
 twice of any of them, that is, not in a serious way : — so you 
 may very well be proud," offering to take my hand ; " for 
 I assure you, there is nobody so likely to catch me at last as 
 yourself." 
 
 " Sir," cried I, drawing myself back as haughtily as I 
 could, " you are totally mistaken, if you imagine you have 
 given me any pride I felt not before, by this conversation ; 
 on the contrary, you must allow me to tell you, I find it too 
 humiliating to bear with it any longer." 
 
 I then placed myself behind the chair of Madame Duval : 
 who, when she heard of the partners I had refused, pitied 
 my ignorance of the world, but no longer insisted upon my 
 dancing. 
 
 Indeed, the extreme vanity of this man, m akes m e exert 
 a spirit which I did not, till now, krjow t hat TT^DOssessec l : 
 But 1 cannot endure tnat ne sh ould think me at his disposal . 
 
 The rest of the evening passed very quietly, as Mr. Smith 
 did not again attempt speaking to me ; except, indeed, after 
 we had left the room, and while Madame Duval was seating 
 herself in the coach, he said, in a voice of pique, " Next time 
 I take the trouble to get any tickets for a young lady, I'll 
 make a bargain before-hand, that she shan't turn me over 
 to her grandmother." 
 
 We came home very safe ; and thus ended this so long 
 projected and most disagreeable affair. 
 
EVELINA. 235 
 
 LETTER LI. 
 
 EVELINA IK CONTINUATION. 
 
 I HAVE just received a most affecting letter from Mr. 
 Macartney. I will inclose it, my dear Sir, for yonr peru- 
 sal. More than ever have I cause to rejoice that I was able 
 to assist him. 
 
 Mr . Macartney to Miss An ville. 
 Madam, 
 
 Impressed with the deepest, the most heartfelt sense of 
 the exalted humanity with which you have rescued from 
 destruction an unhappy stranger, allow me, with the hum- 
 blest gratitude, to offer you my fervent acknowledgments, 
 and to implore your pardon for the terror I have caused you. 
 
 You bid me, Madam, live : I have now, indeed, a motive 
 for life, since I should not willingly quit the world, while I 
 withhold from the needy and distressed any share of that 
 charity which a disposition so noble would otherwise bestow 
 upon them. 
 
 The benevolence with which you have interested yourself 
 in my affairs, induces me to suppose you would wish to be 
 acquainted with the cause of that desperation from which 
 you snatched me, and the particulars of that misery of 
 which you have so wonderfully been a witness. Yet, as 
 this explanation will require that I should divulge secrets of 
 a nature the most delicate, I must intreat you to regard them 
 as sacred, even though I forbear to mention the names of 
 the parties concerned. 
 
 I was brought up in Scotland, though my mother, who 
 had the sole care of me, was an English-woman, and had 
 not one relation in that country. She devoted to me her 
 whole time. The retirement in which we lived, and the 
 distance from our natural friends, she often told me, were 
 the effect of an unconquerable melancholy with which she 
 was seized upon the sudden loss of my father, some time 
 before I was born 
 
 At Aberdeen, where I finished my education, I formed a 
 
236 EVELINA. 
 
 friendship with a young man of fortune, which I considered 
 as the chief happiness of roy life : — but, when he quitted his 
 studies, I considered it as my chief misfortune ; for he 
 immediately prepared, by direction of his friends, to make 
 the tour of Europe. As I was designed for the church, and 
 had no prospect even of maintenance but from my own in- 
 dustry, I scarce dared permit even a wish of accompanying 
 him. It is true, he would joyfully have borne my expences : 
 but my affection was as free from meanness as his own ; and 
 
 II made a determination the most solemn, never to lessen its 
 dignity by submitting to pecuniary obligations. 
 We corresponded with great regularity, and the most 
 unbounded confidence, for the space of two years, when he 
 arrived at Lyons in his way home. 
 
 He wrote me thence the most pressing invitation to meet 
 him at Paris, where he intended to remain some time. My 
 desire to comply with his request, and shorten our absence, 
 was so earnest, that my mother, too indulgent to control me, 
 lent me what assistance was in her power, and, in an ill-fated 
 moment, I set out for that capital. 
 
 My meeting with this dear friend was the happiest event 
 of my life : he introduced me to all his acquaintance ; and 
 so quickly did time seem to pass at that delightful period, 
 that the six weeks I had allotted for my stay were gone, 
 ere I was sensible I had missed so many days. But I must 
 now own, that the company of my friend was not the sole 
 subject of my felicity : I became acquainted with a young 
 lady, daughter of an Englishman of distinction, with whom 
 I formed an attachment, which I have a thousand times 
 vowed, a thousand times sincerely thought, would be lasting 
 as my life. She had but just quitted a convent in which 
 she had been placed when a child, and though English by 
 birth, she could scarcely speak her native language. Her 
 person and disposition were equally engaging ; but chiefly I 
 adored her for the greatness of the expectations, which, for 
 my sake, she was willing to resign. 
 
 When the time for my residence in Paris expired, I was 
 almost distracted at the idea of quitting her ; yet I had not 
 the courage to make our attachment known to her father, 
 who might reasonably form for her such views as would 
 make him reject, with a contempt which I could not bear to 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 think of, such an offer as mine. Yet I had free access to 
 the house, where she seemed to be left almost wholly to the 
 guidance of an old servant, who was my fast friend. 
 
 But, to be brief, the sudden and unexpected return of her 
 father, one fatal afternoon, proved the beginning of the 
 misery which has ever since devoured me. I doubt not but 
 he had listened to our conversation ; for he darted into the 
 room with the rage of a madman. Heavens ! what a scene 
 followed ! — what abusive language did the shame of a clan- 
 de stine aff air, and the consciousness of acting ill, induce meTto 
 brook i 3Lt length, however, his fury exceeded my patience, 
 he called me a beggarly, cowardly Scotchman. Fired at 
 the words, I drew my sword ; he, with equal alertness, drew 
 his ; for he was not an old man, but, on the contrary, strong 1 
 and able as myself. In vain his daughter pleaded; — in 
 vain did I, repentant of my anger, retreat — his reproaches 
 continued ; myself, my country, were loaded with infamy, till, 
 no longer constraining my rage, — we fought, — and he fell ! 
 
 At that moment I could almost have destroyed myself ! 
 The young lady fainted with terror ; the old servant, drawn 
 to us by the noise of the scuffle, entreated me to escape* and 
 promised to bring intelligence of what should pass to my 
 apartments. The disturbance which I heard raised in the 
 house obliged me to comply ; and, in a state of mind incon- 
 ceivably wretched, I tore myself away. 
 
 My friend, whom I found at home, soon discovered the 
 whole affair. It was near midnight before the woman came. 
 She told me that her master was living, and her young- 
 mistress restored to her senses. The absolute necessity for 
 my leaving Paris, while any danger remained, was forcibly 
 argued by my friend : the servant promised to acquaint him 
 of whatever passed, and he to transmit to me her informa- 
 tion. Thus circumstanced, with the assistance of this dear 
 friend, I effected my departure from Paris, and, not long 
 after, I returned to Scotland. I would fain have stopped 
 by the way, that I might have been nearer the scene of all 
 my concerns ; but the low state of my finances denied me 
 that satisfaction. 
 
 The miserable situation of my mind was soon disco- 
 vered by my mother ; nor would she rest till I communi- 
 cated the cause. She heard my whole story with an agita- 
 

 EVELINA. 
 
 * 
 
 tion which astonished me : — the name of the parties concerned 
 seemed to strike her with horror : — but when I said, We 
 foug M^nd he fell ; — " My son/' crie d ah ^ £pffl hayfi tffaff"*" 
 mumered yonrTaTher ! ^ and she sunk breathless at my feet . 
 
 Comments" 1 OT'acTam, "upon such a sceneas ' tn^^wouKT'to "you 
 
 be superfluous, and to me agonizing : I cannot, for both our 
 sakes, be too concise. When she recovered, she confessed 
 all the particulars of a tale which she had hoped never to 
 have revealed. — Alas ! the loss she had sustained of my 
 father was not by death ! — bound to her by no ties but those 
 of honour, h e had voluntarily deserted her ! — Her settling 
 in Scotland wa^noTTn'e enect ot choice,— stfe was banished 
 thither by a family but too justly incensed. — Pardon, Madam, 
 that I cannot be more explicit ! 
 
 My senses, in the greatness of my misery, actually for- 
 sook me, and, for more than a week, I was wholly delirious. 
 My unfortunate mother was yet more to be pitied ; for she 
 pined with unmitigated sorrow, eternally reproaching her- 
 self for the danger to which her too strict silence had ex- 
 posed me. When I recovered my reason, my impatience to 
 hear from Paris almost deprived me of it again ; and though 
 the length of time I waited for letters might justly be attri- 
 buted to contrary winds, I could not bear the delay, and 
 was twenty times upon the point of returning thither at all 
 hazards. At length, however, several letters arrived at 
 once, and from the most insupportable of my afflictions I 
 was then relieved ; for they acquainted me that the horrors 
 of parricide were not in reserve for me. They informed me 
 also, that as soon as the wound was healed, a journey would 
 be made to England, where my unhappy sister was to be re- 
 ceived by an aunt, with whom she was to live. 
 
 This intelligence somewhat quieted the violence of my 
 sorrows. I instantly formed a plan of meeting them in 
 London, and, by revealing the whole dreadful story, con- 
 vincing this irritated parent that he had nothing more to 
 apprehend from his daughter's unfortunate choice. My 
 mother consented, and gave me a letter to prove the truth 
 of my assertions. As I could but ill afford to make this 
 journey, I travelled in the cheapest way that was possible. 
 I took an obscure lodging, — I need not, Madam, tell you 
 where, — and boarded with the people of the house. 
 
EYELINA. 239 
 
 Here I languished, week after week, vainly hoping for 
 the arrival of my family ; but my impetuosity had blinded 
 me to the imprudence of which I was guilty in quitting 
 Scotland so hastily. My wounded ^father, after his recovery, 
 relapsed ; and when I had waited in the most comfortless 
 situation for six weeks, my friend wrote me word, that the 
 journey was yet deferred for some time longer. 
 
 My finances were then nearly exhausted ; and I was 
 obliged, though most unwillingly, to beg further assistance 
 from my mother, that I might return to Scotland. Oh, 
 Madam ! — my answer was not from herself ; — it was writ- 
 ten by a lady who had long been her companion, and ac- 
 quainted me that she had been taken suddenly ill of a 
 fever,— and was no more ! 
 
 The compassionate nature of which you have given such 
 noble proofs, assures me I need not, if I could, paint to you 
 the anguish of a mind overwhelmed with such accumulated 
 sorrows. 
 
 Inclosed was a letter to a near relation, which she had, 
 during her illness, with much difficulty, written ; and in 
 which, with the strongest maternal tenderness, she described 
 my deplorable situation, and intreated his interest to procure 
 me some preferment. Yet so sunk was I by misfortune, 
 that a fortnight elapsed before I had the courage or spirit 
 to attempt delivering this letter. I was then compelled to 
 it by want. To make my appearance with some decency, I 
 was necessitated myself to the melancholy task of changing 
 my coloured clothes for a suit of mourning; — and then I 
 proceeded to seek my relation. 
 
 I was informed he was not in town. 
 
 In this desperate situation, the pride of my heart, which 
 hitherto had not bowed to adversity, gave way ; and I de- 
 termined to intreat the assistance of my friend, whose of- 
 fered services I had a thousand times rejected. Yet, Madam, 
 so hard is it to root from the mind its favourite principles or 
 prejudices, call them which you please, that I lingered another 
 week ere I had the resolution to send away a letter, which I 
 regarded as the death of my independence. 
 
 At length, reduced to my last shilling, dunned insolently 
 by the people of the house, and almost famished, I sealed 
 this fatal letter; and, with a heavy heart, determined to 
 
 3 
 
240 EVELINA. 
 
 take it to the post-office. But Mr. Branghton and his son 
 suffered me not to pass through their shop with impunity ; 
 they insulted me grossly, and threatened me with imprison- 
 ment, if I did not immediately satisfy their demands. Stung 
 to the soul, I bid them have but a day's patience, and flung 
 from them in a state of mind too terrible for description. 
 
 My letter which I now found would be received too late 
 to save me from disgrace, I tore into a thousand pieces ; and 
 scarce could I refrain from putting an instantaneous, an 
 unlicensed, period to my existence. 
 
 In this disorder of my senses, I formed the horrible plan of 
 turning foot-pad ; for which purpose I returned to my lodg- 
 ing, and collected whatever of my apparel I could part with ; 
 which I immediately sold, and with the produce purchased 
 a brace of pistols, powder and shot. I hope, however, you 
 will believe me, when I most solemnly assure you, my sole 
 intention was to frighten the passengers I should assault with 
 these dangerous weapons ; which I had not loaded but from 
 a resolution, — a dreadful one, I own, — to save myself from 
 an ignominious death if seized. And, indeed, I thought, 
 that if I could but procure money sufficient to pay Mr. 
 Branghton, and make a journey to Scotland, I should soon 
 be able, by the public papers, to discover whom I had in- 
 jured, and to make private retribution. 
 
 But, Madam, new to every species of villainy, my per- 
 turbation was so great, that I could with difficulty support 
 myself ; yet the Branghtons observed it not as I passed 
 through the shop. 
 
 Here I stop : — what followed is better known to yourself. 
 But no time can ever efface from my memory that moment, 
 when, in the very action of preparing for my own destruc- 
 tion, or the lawless seizure of the property of others, you 
 rushed into the room and arrested my arm ! — It was indeed 
 an awful moment ! — the hand of Providence seemed to in- 
 tervene between me and eternity : I beheld you as an 
 angel ! — I thought you dropt from the clouds ! — The earth,, 
 indeed, had never presented to my view a form so celestial ! 
 — What wonder, then, that a spectacle so astonishing should, 
 to a man disordered as I was, appear too beautiful to be 
 human ? 
 
 And now, Madam, that 1 have pe^ormed this painful 
 
EYELINA. 
 
 & 
 
 task, the more grateful one remains of rewarding, as far ag 
 is in my power, your generous goodness, by assuring you 
 it shall not be thrown away. You have awakened me to 
 a sense of the false pride by which I have been actuated ; — ■ 
 a pride which, while it scorned assistance from a friend, 
 scrupled not to compel it from a stranger, though at the 
 hazard of reducing that stranger to a situation as destitute 
 as my own. Yet, oh ! how violent was the struggle which 
 tore my conflicting soul ere I could persuade myself to 
 profit by the benevolence which you were so evidently 
 disposed to exert in my favour ! 
 
 By means of a ring, the gift of my much-regretted 
 mother, I have for the present satisfied Mr. Branghton; 
 and, by means of your compassion, I hope to support myself 
 either till I hear from my friend, to whom at length I have 
 written, or till the relation of my mother returns to town. 
 
 To talk to you, Madam, of paying my debt, would be 
 vain ; I never can ! the service you have done me exceeds 
 all power of return : yo u^ have restored me to my senses ; 
 y ou have taught me to curb tnose passions which beref t me 
 o f them ; and t since 1 caimot avTOTcalaniity, to bear it a'S a 
 man! -^ n interposition so wondertullv circumstanced can 
 never be recollected without benefit. Yet allow me to say, 
 the pecuniary part of my obligation must be settled by my 
 first ability. 
 
 I am, Madam, with the most profound respect, and heart- 
 felt gratitude, • 
 Your obedient, / 
 and devoted humble servant, 
 
 J. Macartney, 4 
 
 LETTER LIL 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Holborn, July 1. — 5 o'clock in the morning, 
 
 OSIR, what an adventure have I to write ! — all night it 
 has occupied my thoughts, and I am now risen thus 
 early to write it to you. 
 
 Yesterday it was settled that we should spend the even- 
 it 
 
242 EVELINA. 
 
 ing in Marybone Gardens, 1 where M. Torre, a celebrated 
 foreigner, was to exhibit some fire-works. The party con- 
 sisted of Madame Duval, all the Branghtons, M. Du Bois, 
 Mr. Smith, and Mr. Brown. 
 
 We were almost the first persons who entered the Gardens, 
 Mr. Branghton having declared he would have all he could 
 get for his money, which, at best, was only fooled away at 
 such silly and idle places. 
 
 We walked in parties, and very much detached from one 
 another. Mr. Brown and Miss Polly led the way by them- 
 selves ; Miss Branghton and Mr. Smith followed ; and the 
 latter seemed determined to be revenged for my behaviour 
 at the ball, by transferring all his former attention for me 
 to Miss Branghton, who received it with an air of exulta- 
 tion ; and very frequently they each of them, though from 
 different motives, looked back, to discover whether I ob- 
 served their good intelligence. Madame Duval walked 
 with M. Du Bois, and Mr. Branghton by himself ; but his 
 son would willingly have attached himself wholly to me ; 
 saying frequently, " Come, Miss, let's you and I have a little 
 fun together: you see they have all left us, so now let's 
 leave them." But I begged to be excused, and went to the 
 other side of Madame Duval. 
 
 This Garden, as it is called, is neither striking for mag- 
 nificence nor for beauty ; and we were all so dull and 
 languid, that I was extremely glad when we were sum- 
 moned to the orchestra, upon the opening of a concer t ; in 
 the course of which I had the pleasure of hearing a concerto 
 on the violin by Mr. Barthelemon, who to me seems a player 
 of exquisite fancy, feeling, and variety. 
 
 When notice was given us that the fire-works were pre- 
 paring, we hurried along to secure good places for the sight ; 
 but very soon we were so encircled and incommoded by the 
 crowd, that Mr. Smith proposed the ladies should make in- 
 terest for a form to stand upon : this was soon effected : 
 and the men then left us to accommodate themselves 
 
 1 Marylebone Gardens, and bowling-green. " 7th May, 1668. Then 
 we abroad to Marrowbone, and there walked in the garden, the first time 
 I ever was there, and a pretty place it is."— Pepys. 
 
 Marylebone Gardens, after experiencing the caprice of public taste as 
 much as Ranelagh or Vauxhall, were finally closed in 1777-8. 
 
EVELINA. 24£ 
 
 better ; saying, they would return the moment the exhibi- 
 tion was over. 
 
 The fire- work was really beautiful ; and told, with won- 
 derful ingenuity, the story of Orpheus and Eurydice : but, 
 .afcjbhe moment of the fatal look which separated them for 
 ever, there was such an explosion of. fire, -and^ojhorrible a 
 noise, that we all, as of one accord, jumpt hastily from^the 
 form, and ran away some paces, fearing that we were in 
 danger of mischief, from the innumerable sparks of fire 
 which glittered in the air. 
 
 For a moment or two I neither knew nor considered 
 whither I had run ; but my recollection was soon awakened 
 by a stranger's addressing me with, " Come along with me, 
 my dear, and I'll take care of you." 
 
 I started ; and then, to my great terror, perceived that I 
 had outrun all my companions, and saw not one human 
 being I knew ! With all the speed in my power, and 
 forgetful of my first fright, I hastened back to the place 1 
 had left ; — but found the form occupied by a new set 
 of people. 
 
 In vain, from side to side, I looked for some face I knew ; 
 I found myself in the midst of a crowd, yet without party, 
 friend, or acquaintance. I walked in disordered haste fro m 
 p lace to ^place, withou t knowing- which wav to turn, or 
 wl iitherl wenL Every other moinehl I Was spoken to by 
 some bold and unfeeling man ; to whom my distress, which I 
 think must be very apparent, only furnished a pretence for 
 impertinent witticisms, or free gallantry. 
 
 At last a young officer, marching fiercely up to me, said, 
 u You are a sweet pretty creature, and I enlist you in my 
 service ; " and then, with great violence, he seized my hand. 
 I screamed aloud with fear ; and forcibly snatching it away, 
 I ran hastily up to two ladies, and cried, " for Heaven's sake, 
 dear ladies, afford me some protection ! " 
 
 They heard me with a loud laugh, but very readily said, 
 " Ay, let her walk between us;" and each of them took hold 
 of an arm. 
 
 Then, in a drawling, ironical tone of voice, they asked 
 wliab had frightened my little Ladyship ? I told them my ad- 
 venture very simply, and intreated they would have the 
 goodness to assist me in finding my friends. 
 
244 EVELINA. 
 
 yes, to be sure, they said, I should not want for friends, 
 whilst I was with them. Mine, I said, would be very grate- 
 ful for any civilities with which they might favour me. 
 But imagine, my dear Sir, how I must have been con- 
 founded, when I observed, that ^^y ^fhfr wrvrrl T gp^frp* 
 produ ced a ^o 11 ^ laiiph • However, I will not dwell upon a 
 cMLVersaLIon, which soon, to my inexpressible horror, con- 
 vinced me I had sought protection from insult, of those who 
 were themselves most likely to offer it ! You, my dearest 
 Sir, I well know, will both feel for, and pity my terror, 
 which I have no words to describe. 
 
 Had I been at liberty, I should have instantly run away 
 from them when I made the shocking discovery : but, as 
 they held me fast, that was utterly impossible : and such 
 was my dread of their resentment or abuse that I did not 
 dare make any open attempt to escape. 
 
 They asked me a thousand questions, accompanied by as 
 many halloos, of who I was, what I was, and whence I 
 came ? My answers were very incoherent ; — but what, good 
 Heaven, were my emotions, when, a few moments after- 
 wards, I perceived advancing our way — Lord (1-rvillc ! 
 
 Never shall I forget what I felt at that instant : had I, 
 indeed, been sunk to the guilty state which such companions 
 # might lead him to suspecf> I could scarce have jj&d feelings 
 more cruelly depressing. 
 
 However, to my infinite joy, he passed us without distin- 
 guishing me ; though I saw that in a careless manner, his 
 eyes surveyed the party. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, one of these unhappy women 
 said, " Do you know that young fellow ? " 
 
 Not thinking it possible she should mean Lord Orville by 
 such a term, I readily answered, " No, Madam." 
 
 " Why then," answered she, " you have a monstrous good 
 stare, for a little country Miss." 
 
 1 now found I had mistaken her, but was glad to avoid 
 an explanation. 
 
 A few minutes after, what was my delight to hear the 
 voice of Mr. Brown, who called out, " Lord, i'n't that Miss 
 what's her name ? " 
 
 " Thank God," cried I, suddenly springing from them 
 both, " thank God, I have found my party." 
 
EVELINA. 245 
 
 Mr. Brown was, however, alone ; and, without knowing 
 what I did, I took hold of his arm. 
 
 " Lord, Miss," cried he, "we've had such a hunt you 
 can't think ! some of them thought you was gone home : 
 but I says, says I, I don't think, says I, that she's like to 
 go home all alone, says I." 
 
 " So that gentleman belongs to you, Miss, does he ? " 
 said one of the women. 
 
 " Yes, Madam," answered I, " and I now thank you for 
 your civility ; but as I am safe, will not give you any 
 further trouble." 
 
 I courtsied slightly, and would have walked away ; but, 
 most unfortunately, Madame Duval and the two Miss 
 Branghtons just then joined us. 
 
 They all began to make a thousand enquiries ; to which 
 I briefly answered, that I had been obliged to these two 
 ladies for walking with me, and would tell them more 
 another time : for, though I felt great comparative courage, 
 I was yet ton -mnnn intimi dated by their presen ce, to dare 
 be explicit. ~ 
 
 Nevertheless, I ventured once more to wish them good 
 night, and proposed seeking Mr. Branghton. These un- 
 happy women listened to all that was said with a kind of 
 callous curiosity, and seemed determined not to take any 
 hint. But my vexation was terribly augmented when, after 
 having whispered something to each other, they very 
 -cavalierly declared, that they intended joining our party ! 
 and then, one of them very boldly took hold of my arm, 
 while the other, going round, seized that of Mr. Brown ; 
 and thus, almost forcibly, we were moved on between them, 
 and followed by Madame Duval and the Miss Branghtons. 
 
 It would be very difficult to say which was greatest, my 
 fright, or Mr. Brown's consternation ; who ventured not to 
 make the least resistance, though his uneasiness made him 
 tremble almost as much as myself. I would instantly have 
 withdrawn my arm ; but it was held so tight I could not 
 move it ; and poor Mr. Brown was circumstanced in the 
 same manner on the other side ; for I heard him say, 
 " Lord, Ma'am, there's no need to squeeze one's arm so ! " 
 
 And this was our situation, — for we had not taken three 
 steps, when, — Sir, — we again met Lord Orville ! — but 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 not again did he pass quietly by us : — unhappily I caught 
 his eye ; — both mine immediately were bent to the ground ; 
 but he approached me, and we all stopped. 
 
 I then looked up. He bowed. Good God, with what 
 expressive eyes did he regard me ! Never were surprise and 
 concern so strongly marked : — yes, my dear Sir, he looked 
 greatly concerned ; and that, the remembrance of that, is 
 the only consolation I feel for an evening the most painful 
 of my life. 
 
 What he first said I know not ; for, indeed, I seemed to 
 have neither ears nor understanding ; but I recollect that I 
 only courtsied in silence. He paused for an instant, as if 
 — I believe so, — as if unwilling to pass on ; and then, 
 finding the whole party detained, he again bowed, and took 
 leave. 
 
 Indeed, my dear Sir, I thought I should have fainted ; so 
 great was my emotion, from shame, vexation, and a thou- 
 sand other feelings, for which I have no expressions. I 
 absolutely tore mygelf from the woman's arm ; and then, 
 disengaging myself Trom that of Mr. Brown, I went to 
 Madame Duval, and besought that she would not suffer me 
 to be again parted from her. 
 
 I fancy — that Lord Orville saw what passed ; for scarcely 
 was I at liberty, ere he returned. Methought, my dear Sir, 
 the pleasure, the surprise of that moment, recompensed me 
 for all the chagrin I had before felt : for do you not think, 
 that his return manifests, from a character so quiet, so re- 
 served as Lord Orville's, something like solicitude in my 
 concerns ? such at least was the interpretation I involun- 
 tarily made upon again seeing him. 
 
 With a politeness to which I have been sometime very little 
 used, he apologized for returning ; and then inquired after 
 the health of Mrs. Mirvan, and the rest of the Howard 
 Grove family. The flattering conjecture which I have 
 just acknowledged, had so wonderfully restored my spirits, 
 that I believe I never answered him so readily, and with 
 so little constraint. Yery short, however, was the duration 
 of this conversation ; for we were soon most disagreeably 
 interrupted. 
 
 The Miss Branghtons, though they saw almost imme- 
 diately the characters of the women to whom I had so un- 
 
EVELINA. 247 
 
 fortunately applied, were, nevertheless, so weak and foolish, » 
 as merely to titter at their behaviour. As to Madame} 
 Duval, she was for some time so strangely imposed upon,! 
 that she thought they were two real fine ladies. I ndeed, it 
 i s wonderful to see how easily and how frequently s£e is de- 
 cei ved . Our disturbance, however, arose from young Brown, 
 who was now between the two women, by whom his arms 
 were absolutely pinioned to his sides : for a few minutes his 
 complaints had been only murmured ; but he now called out 
 aloud, " Goodness, Ladies, you hurt me like any thing ! 
 why, I can't walk at all, if you keep pinching my 
 arms so ! " 
 
 This speech raised a loud laugh in the women, and 
 redoubled the tittering of the Miss Branghtons. For my 
 own part, I was most cruelly confused : while the counte- 
 nance of Lord Orville manifested a sort of indignant as- 
 tonishment ; and, from that moment, he spoke to me no 
 more till he took leave. 
 
 Madame Duval, who now began to s aspect her company, 
 proposed our taking the first box we saw empty, be- 
 speaking a supper, and waiting till Mr. Branghton should 
 find us. 
 
 Miss Polly mentioned one she had remarked, to which 
 we all turned. Madame Duval instantly seated herself ; 
 and the two bold women, forcing the frightened Mr. Brown 
 to go between them, followed her example. 
 
 Lord Orville, with an air of gravity that wounded my 
 very soul, then wished me good night. I said not a word ; 
 but my face, if it had any connection with my heart, must 
 have looked melancholy indeed : and so I have some reason 
 to believe it did ; for he added, with much more softness, 
 though no less dignity, " Will Miss Anville allow me to ask 
 her address, and to pay my respects to her before I leave 
 town ? " 
 
 O how I changed colour at this unexpected request ! — 
 yet, what was the mortification I suffered in answering, 
 " My Lord, I am — in Holborn ! " 
 
 He then bowed and left us. 
 
 What, what can he think of this adventure ! how 
 
 gtrflTKrply, h<~>w n-n-jplly ha .ye all appearances turned against 
 
 i6T Had I been blessed with any presence of mind, f 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 iould instantly have explained to him the accident which 
 [occasioned my being in such terrible company : — but I have 
 [none ! 
 
 As to the rest of the evening, I cannot relate the particu- 
 lars of"Vhat passed; for, to you, I only write of what I 
 think ; and I can think of nothing but this unfortunate, 
 this disgraceful meeting. These two wretched women 
 continued to torment us all, but especially poor Mr. Brown, 
 who seemed to afford them uncommon diversion, till we 
 were discovered by Mr. Branghton, who very soon found 
 means to release us from their persecutions, by frightening 
 them away. We stayed but a short time after they left us, 
 which was all employed in explanation. 
 
 Whatever may be the construction which Lord Orville 
 may put upon this affair, to me it cannot fail of being un- 
 favourable ; to be seen— gracious Heaven ! to be seen in 
 
 company with two women of such character ! How 
 
 vainly, how proudly have I wished to avoid meeting him 
 when only with the Branghtons and Madame Duval ; — but 
 now, how joyful should I be had he seen me to no greater 
 disadvantage ! — Holborn, too ! what a direction ! he who 
 had always — but I will not torment you, my dearest Sir, 
 with any more of my mortifying conjectures and apprehen- 
 sions : perhaps he may call, — a/id then I shall have an op- 
 portunity of explaining to him all the most shocking part 
 of the adventure. And yet, as I did not tell him at whose 
 house I lived, he may not be able to discover me ; I merely 
 said, in Holborn ; and he, who I suppose saw my embarrass- 
 ment, forbore to ask any other direction. 
 
 Well, I must take my chance ! 
 
 Yet let me, in justice to Lord Orville, and in justice to 
 the high opinion I have always entertained of his honour 
 and delicacy, — let me observe the difference of his behaviour, 
 when nearly in the same situation, to that of Sir Clement 
 Willoughby. He had, at least, equal cause to depreciate 
 me in his opinion, and to mortify and sink me in my own : 
 
 but far different was his conduct : perplexed, indeed, he 
 
 looked, and much surprised: — but it was benevolently, not 
 with insolence. I am even inclined to think, that he could 
 not *see a young cr eature whom he had^oJately_known in a 
 EgTier~spnere, appear so suctcTenly, so strangely, so disgrace- 
 
EYELINA. 249 
 
 fully altered in her situation, without some pitj and con- 
 cern. But whatever might be his doubts and suspicions, far 
 from suffering them to influence his behaviour, he spoke, 
 he looked with the same politeness and attention with 
 which he had always honoured me when countenanced by 
 JVfrs. Mirvan. ^ , „ 
 
 Once again, let me drop this subject. 
 
 In every mortification, every disturbance, how grateful 
 to my heart, how sweet to my recollection, is the certainty 
 of your never-failing tenderness, sympathy, and protec- 
 tion ! Oh, Sir, could I upon this subject^ could J_writeas 
 I feel, — how animated would be the {language of yp3r 
 devoted Evelina. 
 
 LETTER LIIL 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Holborn, July 1st. 
 
 LISTLESS, uneasy, and without either spirit or courage 
 to employ myself, from the time I had finished my 
 last letter, I indolently seated myself at tha window, whej;e, 
 while I waited Madame Duval's summons^ to breakfast, I 
 perceived, among the carriages which passed by, a coronet- 
 coach, and, in a few minutes, from the window of it, Lord 
 Orville ! I instantly retreated, but not, I believe, unseen ; 
 for the coach immediately drove up to our door. 
 
 Indeed, my dear Sir, I must own I was greatly agitated ; 
 the idea of receiving Lord Orville by myself, — the know- 
 ledge that his visit was entirely to me, — the wish of ex- 
 plaining the unfortunate adventure of yesterday, — and the 
 mortification of my present circumstances, — all these 
 t houghts, occurring to me nearly at the same time, oc-^ 
 casi o ned me more anxiety oonfq si nr> J ^-nd pA-rpWitjj £E5u 
 l jpan p ossibly express. 
 
 1 believe he meant to send up his name ; but the maid, 
 unused to such a ceremony, forgot it by the way, and only 
 told me, that a great Lord was below, and desired to see 
 me ; and, the next moment, he appeared himself. 
 
250 EVELINA. 
 
 If, formerly, when in the circle of high life, and accus- 
 tomed to its manners, I so much admired and distinguished 
 the grace, the elegance of Lord Orville, think, Sir, how 
 
 they must strike me now, now, when far removed 
 
 from that splendid circle, I live with those to whom even 
 ci vility is unknown , and dec orum a stranger ! 
 
 I am sure I received him very awkwardly*, depressed by 
 a situation so disagreeable — could I do otherwise ? When 
 his first enquiries were made, " I think myself very fortu- 
 nate," he said, " in meeting with Miss Anville at home, and 
 s till more so in find ing her disengaged." 
 
 ( -L onj ^ courtsied^ He then talked of Mrs. Mirvan, asked 
 how long I had been in town, and other such general 
 questions ; which happily gave me time to recover from 
 my embarrassment. After which he said, " If Miss Anville 
 will allow me the honour of sitting by her a few minutes 
 (for we were both standing) I will venture to tell her 
 the motive which, next to enquiring after her health, has 
 prompted me to wait on her thus early." 
 
 We were then both seated ; and, after a short pause, he 
 said, " How to apologize for so great a liberty as I am 
 upon the point of taking, I know not ; — shall I, there- 
 fore, rely wholly upon your goodness, and not apologize 
 
 U onTy 
 
 should be extremely sorry to appear impertinent, — 
 yet hardly know how to avoid it." 
 
 "Impertinent! O, my Lord," cried I, eagerly, "that, I 
 am sure, is impossible ! " 
 
 "You are very good," answered he, " and encourage me 
 to be ingenuous " 
 
 Again he stopped : but my expectation was too great 
 for speech. At last, without looking at me, in a low 
 voice, and hesitating manner, he said, " Were those ladies 
 'with whom I saw you last night ever in your company 
 Jbefore ? " 
 
 " No, my Lord," cried I, rising and colouring violently, 
 " nor will they ever be again." 
 
 He rose too ; and, with an air of the most condescending 
 concern, said, " Pardon, Madam, the abruptness of a 
 question which I knew not how to introduce as I ought, 
 
\ 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 and for which I have no excuse to offer but my respect 
 for Mrs. Mirvan, joined to the sincerest wishes for your 
 happiness : yet I fear I have gone too far ! " 
 
 " I am very sensible of the honour of your lordship's 
 attention,'' said I ; " but " 
 
 " Permit me to assure you," cried he, finding I hesitated, 
 " that o fficiousness is not my characteristic : and that I 
 would by no means have risked your displeasure, had I not 
 been fully satisfied you were too generous to be offended 
 without a real cause of offence." 
 
 " Offended ! " cried I, "no, my Lord, I am only grieved 
 — grieved, indeed ! to find myself in a situation so unfortu- 
 nate as to be obliged to make explanations, which cannot ! . 
 but mortify and Shock me." 
 
 " It is I alone," cried he, with some eagerness, " who am „ 
 shocked, as it is I who deserve to be mortified. I seek no 
 explanation, for I have no doubt ; but in mistaking me, 
 Miss Anville injures herself : allow me therefore, frankly 
 and openly, to tell you the intention of my visit." 
 
 I bowed, and we both returned to our seats. 
 
 " I will own myself to have been greatly surprised," con- 
 tinued he, " when I met you yesterday evening, in company 
 with two persons who I was sensible merited not , +>»p VirvqrmT* 
 o f your noti ce : nor was it easy for me to conjecture the 
 cause of your being so situated ; yet, believe me, my incer- 
 titude did not for a moment do you injury. I was satisfied 
 that their characters must be unknown to you ; and I thought, 
 with concern, of the shock you would sustain when you 
 discovered their un worthiness. I should not, however, 
 upon so short an acquaintance, have usurped the privilege 
 of intimacy, in giving my unasked sentiments upon so 
 delicate a subject, had I not known that cr ^lulity is the , 
 sis ter of innocence , and therefore feared you might be 
 deceived. A something which I could not resist, urged me 
 to the freedom I have taken to caution you ; but I shall 
 not easily forgive myself if I have been so unfortunate as 
 to give you pain." 
 
 The pride which his first question had excited, now sub- 
 sided into delight and gratitude ; and I instantly related 
 to him, as well as I could, the accident which had occasioned 
 my joining the unhappy women with whom he had met me. 
 
252 ) EVELINA. 
 
 He listened with an attention so flattering, seemed so much 
 interested dnring the recital, and, when I had done, thanked 
 me in terms so polite, for what he was pleased to call my 
 condescension, that I was almost ashamed either to look at 
 or hear him. 
 
 Soon after the maid came to tell me, that Madame Dnval 
 desired to have breakfast made in her own room* 
 
 " I fear," cried Lord Orville, instantly rising, " that I 
 have intruded upon your time ; — yet who, so situated, could 
 do otherwise ? " Then, taking my hand, " Will Miss Anville 
 allow me thus to seal my peace ? " he pressed it to his lips, 
 and took leave. 
 
 Generous, noble Lord Orville ! how dis^nie^asied/liis con- 
 duct ! how d elicate his whole behaviour ! willing to advise, 
 yet afraid to wound me ! — Can I ever, in future, regret the 
 adventure I met with at Marybone, since it has been pro- 
 ductive of a visit so flattering ? Had my mortifications been 
 still more humiliating, my terrors still more alarming, such 
 a mark of esteem — may I not call it so ? — from Lord 
 Orville, would have made me ample amends. 
 
 And indeed, my dear Sir, I require some consolation in 
 my present very disagreeable situation ; for, since he went, 
 twa- incidents have happened, that,- had not mj spirits 
 been particularly elated, would greatly have .disconcerted 
 me. 
 
 During breakfast, Madame Duval, very abruptly, asked, 
 if I should like to be married ? and added, that Mr. Brangh- 
 ton had been proposing a match for me with his son. 
 Surprised, and, I must own, provoked, I assured her that 
 in thinking of me, Mr. Branghton would very vainly lose 
 his time. 
 
 " Why," ^ried she, " I have had grander views for you 
 myself, if once I could get you to Paris, and make y e ffl be 
 owned ; but if I can't do that, and you can do no better, 
 why, as you are both my relations, I think to leave my 
 fortune between you ; and then, if you marry, you never 
 need want for nothing." 
 
 I begged her not to pursue the subject, as, I assured her, 
 Mr. Branghton was totally disagreeable to me ; but she 
 continued her admonitions and reflections, with her usual 
 disregard of whatever I could answer. She charged me, 
 
EVELINA. 253 
 
 very peremptorily, neither wholly to discourage, nor yet to 
 accept Mr. Branghton's offer, till she saw what could be 
 done for me : the young man, she added, had often intended 
 to speak to me himself, but, not well knowing how to intro- 
 duce the subject, he had desired her to pave the way for 
 him. 
 
 I scrupled not, warmly and freely, to declare my aversion 
 to this proposal ; but it was to no eifect ; she concluded, 
 just as she had begun, by saying, that I should not have 
 him, if I could do better. 
 
 Nothing, however, shall persuade me to listen to any 
 other person concerning this odious affair. 
 
 My second cause of uneasiness arises, very unexpectedly, 
 from M. Du Bois ; who, to my infinite surprise, upon Ma- 
 dame Duval's quitting the room after dinner, put into my 
 hand a note, and immediately left the house. 
 
 This note contains an open declaration of an attachment 
 to me ; which, he says, he should never have presumed to 
 have acknowledged, had he not been informed that Madame 
 Duval destined my hand to young Branghton, — a match 
 which he cannot endure to think of. He beseeches me 
 earnestly to pardon his temerity ; professes the most in- 
 violable respect; and commits his fate to time, patience, . fc 
 and pity. 
 
 This conduct in M. Du Bois gives me real concern, as I 
 was disposed to think very well of him. It will not, how- 
 ever, be difficult to discourage him ; and therefore, I shall 
 not acquaint Madame Duval of his letter, as I have reason 
 to believe it would greatly displease her. 
 
 LETTER LIV. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 July 3rd. 
 
 OSIB/, how much uneasiness must I suffer, to counter- 
 balance one short morning of happiness ! 
 Yesterday the Branghtons proposed a party to Ken sing- 
 ton Gardens ; and, as usual, Madame Duval insisted upon 
 my attendance. 
 
254 EVELINA. 
 
 We went in a hackney-coach to Piccadilly, and then had 
 a walk through Hyde Park ; which in any other company 
 would have been delightful. I was much pleased with 
 Kensington Gardens, and think them infinitely preferable 
 to those of Vauxhall. 
 
 Young Branghton was extremely troublesome ; he in- 
 sisted upon walking by my side, and talked with me almost 
 by compulsion ; however, my reserve and coldness pre- 
 vented his entering upon the hateful subject which Madame 
 Duval had prepared me to apprehend. Once, indeed, when 
 I was accidentally a few yards before the rest, he said, " I 
 suppose, Miss, aunt has told you about — you know what ? — 
 ha'n't she, Miss ? " — But I turned from him without making 
 any answer. Neither Mr. Smith nor Mr. Brown were of 
 the party ; and poor M. Du Bois, when he found that I 
 avoided him, looked so melancholy, that I was really sorry 
 for him. 
 
 While we were strolling round the garden, I perceived, 
 walking with a party of ladies at some distance, Lord 
 Orville ! I instantly retreated behind Miss Branghton, and 
 kept out of sight till we had passed him ; for I dreaded 
 being seen by him again in a public walk with a party of 
 which I was ashamed. 
 
 Happily I succeeded in my design, and saw no more of 
 him ; for a sudden and violent shower of rain made us all 
 hasten out of the gardens. We ran till we came to a small 
 green-shop, where we begged shelter. Here we found our- 
 selves in company with two footmen, whom the rain had 
 driven into the shop. Their livery I thought I had before 
 seen ; and, upon looking from the window, I perceived the 
 same upon a coachman belonging to a carriage, which I 
 immediately recollected to be Lord Orville's. 
 
 Fearing to be known, I whispered Miss Branghton not 
 to speak my name. Had I considered but a moment, I 
 should have been sensible of the inutility of such a caution, 
 since not one of the party call me by any other appellation 
 than that of Cousin or of Miss ; but I am perpetually in- 
 volved in some distress or dilemma from my own heedless- 
 ness. 
 
 This request excited very strongly her curiosity : and she 
 attacked me with such eagerness and bluntness of enquiry, 
 
EVELINA. 255 
 
 that I could not avoid telling her the reason of my making 
 it, and, consequently, that I was known to Lord Orville : 
 an acknowledgment which proved the most unfortunate in 
 the world ; for she would not rest till she had drawn from 
 me the circumstances attending my first making the ac- 
 quaintance. Then, calling to her sister, she said, " Lord, 
 Polly, only think ! Miss has danced with a Lord ! " 
 
 "Well," cried Polly, "that's a thing I should never 
 have thought of ! And pray, Miss, what did he say to you ? " 
 
 This question was much sooner asked than answered ; 
 and they both became so very inquisitive and earnest, that 
 they soon drew the attention of Madame Duval and the 
 rest of the party ; to whom, in a very short time, they 
 repeated all they had gathered from me. 
 
 "Goodness, then," cried young Branghton, "if I was 
 Miss, if I would not make free with his Lordship's coach, 
 to take me to town." 
 
 " Why, ay," said the father, " there would be some sense 
 in that; that would be making some use of a Lord's ac- 
 quaintance, for it would save us coach-hire." 
 
 "Lord, Miss," cried Polly, "I wish you would; for I 
 should like of all things to ride in a coronet- coach." 
 
 " I promise you," said Madame Duval, " I'm glad you've 
 thought of it, for I don't see no objection ; — so let's have 
 the coachman called." 
 
 " Not for the world," cried I, very much alarmed : " in- 
 deed it is utterly impossible." 
 
 " Why so ? " demanded Mr. Branghton : " pray, where's 
 the good of your knowing a Lord, if you're never the better 
 for him ? " 
 
 "Mafoi, child," said Madame Duval, " you don't know 
 no more of the world than if you was a baby. Pray, Sir, 
 (to one of the footmen) tell that coachman to draw up, for 
 I wants to speak to him." 
 
 The man stared, but did not move. " Pray, pray, Ma- 
 dame," said I, " pray, Mr. Branghton, have the goodness to 
 give up this plan ; I know but very little of his Lordship, 
 and cannot, upon any account, take so great a liberty." 
 
 " Don't say nothing about it," said Madame Duval, " for 
 I shall have it my own way : so, if you won't call the 
 coachman, Sir, I'll promise you I'll call him myself." 
 
256 EVELINA. 
 
 The footman, very impertinently, laughed and turned 
 upon his heel. Madame Duval, extremely irritated, ran out 
 in the rain, and beckoned the coachman, who instantly 
 obeyed her summons. Shocked beyond all expression, I 
 flew after her, and entreated her, with the utmost earnest- 
 ness, to let us return in a hackney coach : — but, oh ! — she 
 is impenetrable to persuasion ! She told the man she wanted 
 him to carry her directly to town, and that she would 
 answer for him to Lord Orville. The man, with a sneer, 
 thanked her, but said he should answer for himself ; and 
 was driving off ; when another footman came up to him, 
 with information that his Lord was gone into Kensington 
 Palace, and would not want him for an hour or two. 
 
 " Why, then, friend," said Mr. Branghton (for we were 
 followed by all the party), " where will be the great harm of 
 your taking us to town ? " 
 
 11 Besides," said the son, " I'll promise you a pot of beer 
 for my own share." 
 
 These speeches had no other answer from the coachman 
 than a loud laugh, which was echoed by the insolent foot- 
 men. I rejoiced at their resistance ; though I was certain 
 that, if their Lord had witnessed their impertinence, they 
 would have been instantly dismissed his service. 
 
 " Pardi" cried Madame Duval, "if I don't think all the 
 footmen are the most impudentest fellows in the kingdom ! 
 But I'll promise you I'll have your master told of your airs ; 
 so you'll get no good by 'em." 
 
 " Why, pray," said the coachman, rather alarmed, " did 
 my Lord give you leave to use the coach ? " 
 
 " It's no matter for that," answered she ; " I'm sure if 
 he's a gentleman, he'd let us have it sooner than we should 
 be wet to the skin ; but I'll promise you he shall know how 
 saucy you've been, for this young lady knows him very 
 well." 
 
 " Ay, that she does," said Miss Polly ; " and she's 
 danced with him too." 
 
 Oh, how I repented my foolish mismanagement ! The 
 men bit their lips, and looked at one another in some con- 
 fusion. This was perceived by our party ; who, taking 
 advantage of it, protested they would write Lord Orville 
 word of their ill behaviour without delay. This quite 
 
EVELINA. 257 
 
 startled them ; and one of the footmen offered to run to the 
 palace, and ask his Lord's permission for our having the 
 carriage. • 
 
 This proposal really made me tremble, and the Brangh- 
 tons all hung back upon it ; but Madame Duval is never to 
 be dissuaded from a scheme she has once formed. " Do 
 so," cried she ; " and give this child's compliments to your 
 master ; and tell him, as we ha'n't no coach here, we should i 
 be glad to go just as far as Holborn in his." \ 
 
 " No, no, no ! " cried I ; " don't go, — I know nothing of / 
 his Lordship, — I send no message, — I have nothing to say 
 to him ! " 
 
 The men, very much perplexed, could with difficulty 
 restrain themselves from resuming their impertinent mirth. 
 Madame Duval scolded me very angrily, and then desired 
 them to go directly. " Pray, then," said the coachman, 
 " what name is to be given to my Lord ? " 
 
 "Anville," answered Madame Duval; "tell him Miss 
 Anville wants the coach ; the young lady he danced with 
 once." 
 
 I was really in an agony ; but the winds could not have 
 been more deaf to me, than those to whom I pleaded ! and 
 therefore the footman, urged by the repeated threats of 
 Madame Duval, and perhaps recollecting the name himself, 
 actually went to the palace with this strange message ! 
 
 He returned in a few minutes ; and, bowing to me with 
 the greatest respect, said, "My Lord desires his compliments, 
 and his carriage will be always at Miss Anville's service." 
 
 I was so much affected by this politeness, and chagrined 
 at the whole affair, that I could scarce refrain from tears. 
 Madame Duval, and the Miss Branghtons eagerly jumped 
 into the coach, and desired me to follow. I would rather 
 have submitted to the severest punishment ; but all resis- 
 tance was vain. 
 
 During the whole ride I said not a word : however, the 
 rest of the party were so talkative, that my silence was very 
 immaterial. We stopped at our lodgings ; but, when 
 Madame Duval and I alighted, the Branghtons asked if 
 they could not be carried on to Snow- Hill ? The servants, 
 now all civility, made no objection. Remonstrances from 
 me would, I too well knew, be fruitless; and therefore, 
 
\258y EVELINA. 
 
 with a heavy heart, I retired to my room, and left them to 
 their own direction. 
 
 Seldom have I passed a night in greater uneasiness. — 
 So lately to have cleared myself in the good opinion of Lord 
 Orville, — so soon to forfeit it ! — to give him reason to sup- 
 pose I presumed to boast of his acquaintance ! — to publish 
 his having danced with me ! — to take with him a liberty I 
 should have blushed to have taken with the most intimate 
 of my friends ! — to treat with such impertinent freedom, 
 one who has honoured me with such distinguished respect ! 
 « — Indeed, Sir, I could have met with no accident that would 
 so cruelly have tormented me ! 
 
 If such were, then, my feelings, imagine,— for I cannot 
 describe, what I suffered during the scene I am now going 
 to write. 
 
 This morning, while I was alone in the dining-room, 
 young Branghton called. He entered with a most impor- 
 tant air ; and, strutting up to me, said, " Miss, Lord Orville 
 sends his compliments to you." 
 
 " Lord Orville ! " repeated I, much amazed. 
 
 " Yes, Miss, Lord Orville; for I know his Lordship now, 
 as well as you. — And a very civil gentleman he is, for all 
 he's a Lord/' 
 
 " For Heaven's sake," cried I, " explain yourself." 
 
 " Why, you must know, Miss, after we left you, we met 
 with a little misfortune ; but I don't mind it now, for it's 
 all turned out for the best : but, just as we were a-going up 
 Snow-Hill, plump we comes against a cart, with such a 
 jogg it almost pulled the coach- wheel off. However, that 
 i'n't the worst ; for, as I went to open the door in a hurry, 
 a-thinking the coach would be broke down, as ill-luck would 
 have it, I never minded that the glass was up, and so I 
 poked my head fairly through it. — Only see, Miss, how I've 
 cut my forehead ! " 
 
 A much worse accident to himself would not, I believe, 
 at that moment have given me any concern for him : how- 
 ever, he proceeded with his account, for I was too much 
 confounded to interrupt him. 
 
 " Goodness, Miss, we were in such a stew, us, and the 
 servants, and all, as you can't think ; for, besides the glass 
 being broke, the coachman said how the coach wouldn't be 
 
EYELINA. 259 
 
 safe to go back to Kensington. So we didn't know what 
 to do ; however, the footmen said they'd go and tell his 
 Lordship what had happened. So then father grew quite 
 uneasy like, for fear of his Lordship's taking offence, and 
 prejudicing us in our business ; so he said I should go this 
 morning and ask his pardon, cause of having broke the glass. 
 So then I asked the footmen the direction, and they told 
 me he lived in Berkeley-square ; so this morning I went, — 
 and I soon found out the house." 
 
 " You did ! " cried I, quite out of breath with apprehen- 
 sion. 
 
 " Yes, Miss, and a very fine house it is. — Did you ever 
 see it ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " No ! — why, then, Miss, I know more of his Lordship 
 than you do, for all you knew him first. So, when I came 
 to the door, I was in a peck of troubles, a- thinking what I 
 should say to him : however, the servants had no mind I 
 should see him ; for they told me he was busy, but I might 
 leave my message. So I was just a-coming away, when I 
 bethought myself to say I came from you." 
 
 "From me/" 
 
 " Yes, Miss, for you know, why should I have such a 
 long walk as that for nothing ? So I says to the porter, says 
 I, tell his Lordship, says I, one wants to speak to him as 
 comes from one Miss Anville, says I." 
 
 " Good God," cried I, " and by what authority did jou 
 take such a liberty ? " 
 
 " Goodness, Miss, don't be in such a hurry, for you'll be 
 as glad as me, when you hear how well it all turned out. 
 So then they made way for me, and said his Lordship would 
 see me directly : and there I was led through such a heap 
 of servants, and so many rooms, that my heart quite mis- 
 gave me ; for I thought, thinks I, he'll be so proud he'll 
 hardly let me speak ; but he's no more proud than I am, 
 and he was as civil as if I'd been a lord myself. So then I 
 said, I hoped he wouldn't take it amiss about the glass, for 
 it was quite an accident ; but he bid me not mention it, for 
 it did not signify. And then he said he hoped you got 
 safe home, and wasn't frightened ; and so I said yes, and 1 
 gave your duty to him." 
 
260 EVELINA. 
 
 " My duty to him ! " exclaimed I, — " and who gave you 
 leave ? — who desired you ? " 
 
 " 0, I did it out of my own head, just to make him think 
 I came from you. But I should have told you before, how 
 the footman said he was going out of town to-morrow 
 evening, and that his sister was soon to be married, and 
 that he was a- ordering a heap of things for that ; so it 
 come into my head, as he was so affable, that I'd ask him 
 for his custom. So I says, says I, my Lord, says I, if your 
 Lordship i'n't engaged particularly, my father is a silver- 
 smith, and he'll be very proud to serve you, says I ; and 
 Miss Anville, as danced with you, is his cousin, and she's 
 my cousin too, and she'd be very much obligated to you r 
 I'm sure." 
 
 " You'll drive me wild," cried I, starting from my seat, 
 " you have done me an irreparable injury ; — but I will hear 
 no more ! " — and then I ran into my own room. 
 
 I was half frantic, I really raved ; the good opinion of 
 Lord Orville seemed now irretrievably lost : a faint hope, 
 which in the morning I had vainly encouraged, that I 
 might see him again, and explain the transaction, wholly 
 vanished, now I found he was so soon to leave town : and 
 I could not but conclude, that, for the rest of my life, he 
 would regard me as an object of utter contempt. 
 
 The very idea was a dagger to my heart ! — I could not 
 support it, and — but I blush to proceed — I f ear your ^d is- 
 a pprobation ; yet I should not be conscious of having 
 merited it, but that the repugnance I feel to relate to 
 you what I have done, makes me suspect I must have 
 erred. Will you forgive me, if I own that I first wrote an 
 account of this transaction to Miss Mirvan ? — and that I 
 even thought of concealing it from you ? — Short-lived, how- 
 ever, was the ungrateful idea, and sooner will I risk the 
 justice of your displeasure, than unworthily betray your 
 generous confidence. 
 
 You are now probably prepared for what follows — which 
 is a letter — a hasty letter, that, in the height of my agita- 
 tion, I wrote to Lord Orville. 
 " My Lord, 
 
 " I am so infinitely ashamed of the application made 
 yesterday for your Lordship's carriage in my name, and so 
 
EYELINA. 261 
 
 greatly shocked at hearing how much it was injured, that 
 I cannot forbear writing a few lines, to clear myself from 
 the imputation of an impertinence which I blush to be sus- 
 pected of, and to acquaint you, that the request for your 
 carriage was made against my consent, and the visit with 
 which you were importuned this morning without my 
 knowledge. 
 
 " I am inexpressibly concerned at having been the instru- 
 ment, however innocently, of so much trouble to your Lord- 
 ship ; but I beg you to believe, that the reading these lines 
 is the only part of it which I have given voluntarily. I am, 
 my Lord, 
 
 " Your Lordship's most humble servant, 
 
 " Evelina Anyille." 
 
 I applied to the maid of the house to get this note con- 
 veyed to Berkeley- square ; but scarce had I parted with it, 
 before I regretted having written at all ; and I was flying 
 down stairs to recover it, when the voice of Sir Clement 
 Willoughby stopped me. As Madame Duval had ordered 
 we should be denied to him, I was obliged to return up 
 stairs ; and after he was gone, my application was too late, 
 as the maid had given it to a porter. 
 
 My time did not pass very serenely while he was gone ; 
 however, he brought me no answer, but that Lord Orville 
 was not at home. Whether or not he will take the trouble 
 to send any, — or whether he will condescend to call, — or 
 whether the affair will rest as it is, I know not ; — but, in 
 being ignorant, am most cruelly anxious. 
 
 LETTER LY. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 July 4ith. 
 
 YOU may now, my dear Sir, send Mrs. Clinton for your 
 Evelina with as much speed as she can conveniently 
 make the journey, for no further opposition will be made to 
 her leaving this town : happy had it perhaps been for her 
 had she never entered it ! 
 
262 EYELINA. 
 
 This morning Madame Duval desired me to go to Snow- 
 Hill, with an invitation to the Branghtons and Mr. Smith 
 to spend the evening with her ; and she desired M. Du Bois, 
 who breakfasted with us, to accompany me. I was very 
 unwilling to obey her, as I neither wished to walk with M. 
 Du Bois, nor yet to meet young Branghton. And, indeed, 
 another, a yet more powerful reason, added to my reluc- 
 tance ; — for I thought it possible that Lord Orville might 
 send some answer, or perhaps might call, during my ab- 
 sence ; however, I did not dare dispute her commands. 
 
 Poor M. Du Bois spoke not a word during our walk, 
 which was, I believe, equally unpleasant to us both. We 
 found all the family assembled in the shop. Mr. Smith, the 
 moment he perceived me, addressed himself to Miss Brangh- 
 ton, whom he entertained with all the gallantry in his power. 
 I rejoice to find that my conduct at the Hampstead ball has 
 had so good an effect. But young Branghton was ex- 
 tremely troublesome ; he repeatedly laughed in my face, and 
 looked so impertinently significant, that I was obliged to 
 give up my res^rteton^TDuTBois, and enter into conversa- 
 tion with him merely to avoid such boldness. 
 
 " Miss," said Mr. Branghton, "I'm sorry to hear from 
 my son that* you wasn't pleased with what we did about 
 that Lord Orville : but I should like to know what it was 
 you found fault with, for we did all for the best." 
 
 " Goodness ! " cried the son, " why, if you'd seen Miss, 
 you'd have been surprised — she went out of the room quite 
 in a huff, like—" 
 
 "It is too late, now," said I, "to reason upon this sub- 
 ject ; but, for the future, I must take the liberty to request, 
 that my name may never be made use of without my know- * 
 ledge. May I tell Madame Duval that you will do her the 
 favour to accept her invitation ? " 
 
 "As to me, Ma'am," said Mr. Smith, " I am much ob- 
 liged to the old lady, but I have no mind to be taken in by 
 her again ; you'll excuse me, Ma'am." 
 
 All the rest promised to come, and I then took leave ; 
 but, as I left the shop, I heard Mr. Branghton say, " Take 
 courage, Tom, she's only coy." And, before I had walked 
 ten yards, the youth followed. 
 
 I was so much offended that I would not look at him, but 
 
EVELINA. 263 * 
 
 began to converse with M. Du Bois, who was now more 
 lively than I had ever before seen him ; for, most unfortu- 
 nately, he misinterpreted the reason of my attention to 
 him,_ _ _ . ^ 
 
 The first intelligence I received when I came home, was, 
 tha^two gentlemen had called, and left cards. I eagerly 
 enquired for them, and read the names of Lord Orville and 
 Sir Clement Willoughby. I by no means regretted that*I 
 missed seeing the latter, but perhaps I may all my life re- 
 gret that I missed the former ; for probably he has now 
 left town, — and I may see him no more ! 
 
 "My goodness," cried young Branghton, rudely looking 
 over me, " only think of that Lord's coming all this way ! 
 It's my belief he'd got some order ready for father, and so 
 he'd a mind to call and ask you if I'd told him the truth." 
 
 " Pray, Betty," cried I, " how long has he been gone ? " 
 
 " Not two minutes, Ma'am." 
 
 " Why then, I'll lay you any wager," said young Brangh- 
 ton, " he saw you and I a-walking np Holborn Hill." 
 
 " God forbid ! " cried I, impatiently ; and, too much 
 chagrined to bear with any more of his remarks, I ran up 
 stairs; but I heard him say to M. Du Bois, "Miss is so 
 uppish this morning, that I think I had better not speak to 
 her again." 
 
 I wish M. Du Bois had taken the same resolution ; but 
 he chose to follow me into the dining-room, which he found 
 empty. 
 
 "Vous ne Vaimez done pas, ce gar con, Mademoiselle!" 
 cried he. 
 
 " Me ! " cried I, "no, I detest him ! " for I was sick at 
 heart. 
 
 " Ah, hi me rends la vie ! " cried he ; and, flinging himself 
 at my feet, he had just caught my hand as the door was 
 opened by Madame Duval. 
 
 Hastily, and with marks of guilty confusion in his face, 
 he arose ; but the rage of that lady quite amazed me ! Ad- 
 vancing to the retreating M. Du Bois, she began, in French, 
 an attack, which her extreme wrath send wonderful volubility 
 almost rendered unintelligible-; ~yet I utrder^tood but toft 
 much, since her reproaches convinced me she had herself 
 proposed being the object of his affection. 
 
* 264 ) EVELINA. 
 
 He defended himself in a weak and evasive manner; 
 and, upon her commanding him from her sight, very 
 readily withdrew : and then, with yet greater violence, she 
 un jpraided me with having seduced his heart 1 called me an 
 u ngrateful, designin g girl, and protested she wonld n eith er _ 
 t gke me to ^n Z-BOr ft-Tiy mnrp infprp. st herself in rn v 
 affairs, unless I would instantly agree to marry young 
 BTanghton. 
 
 [Frightened as I had been at her vehemence, this proposal 
 restored all my courage ; and I frankly told her, that in this 
 point I never could obey her. More irritated than ever, she 
 ordered me to quit the room. 
 
 Such is the present situation of affairs. I shall excuse 
 myself from seeing the Branghtons this afternoon : indeed, 
 I never wish to see them again. I am sorry, however in- 
 nocently, that I have displeased Madame Duval ; yet I shall 
 be very glad to quit this town, for I believe it does not now 
 contain one person I ever wish to again meet. Had I but seen 
 Lord Orville, I should regret nothing : I could then have 
 more fully explained what I so hastily wrote ; yet it will 
 always be a pleasure to me to recollect that he called, since 
 I natter myself it was in consequence of his being satisfied 
 with my letter. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Sir ; the time now approaches when I hope 
 once more to receive your blessing, and to owe all my joy, 
 all my happiness, to your kindness. 
 
 LETTER LVI. 
 
 MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA. 
 
 Berry Hill, July 7th. 
 
 WELCOME, thrice welcome, my darling Evelina, to 
 the arms of the truest, the fondest of your friends ! 
 Mrs. Clinton, who shall hasten to you with these lines, will 
 conduct you directly hither ; for I can consent no longer to 
 be parted from the chi ld of my bosom ! — the comfort of my 
 gg:e I — the s weet solace of all my in'firmities , ! i our worthy" 
 friends at Howard Grove must pardon me that I rob them 
 of- the visit you proposed to make them before your return 
 
EVELINA. 265 
 
 * 
 
 to Berry Hill, for I find my fortitude unequal to a longer 
 separation. 
 
 I have much to say to you, many comments to make upon 
 your late letters, some parts of which give me no little un- 
 easiness ; but I will reserve my remarks for our future con- 
 versations. Hasten, then, to the spot of thy nativity, the 
 abode of thy youth, where never yet care or sorrow had 
 
 power to annoy thee. that they might ever be banished 
 
 this peaceful dwelling ! 
 
 Adieu, my dearest Evelina ! I pray but that thy satisfac- 
 tion at our approaching meeting may bear any comparison 
 with mine ! 
 
 Arthur Villars. 
 
 LETTER LVIL 
 
 EVELINA TO MISS MIRVAN. 
 
 Berry Hill, July Uth. 
 
 MY sweet Maria will be much surprised, and I am willing 
 to flatter myself, concerned, when, instead of her friend, 
 she receives this letter ; — this cold, this inanimate letter, 
 which will but ill express the feelings of the heart which 
 indites it. 
 
 When I wrote to you last Friday, I was in hourly expec- 
 tation of seeing Mrs. Clinton, with whom I intended to have 
 set out for Howard Grove. Mrs. Clinton came ; but my 
 plan was necessarily altered, for she brought me a letter, — 
 the sweetest that ever was penned, from the best and 
 kindest friend that ever orphan was blessed with, requiring 
 my immediate attendance at Berry Hill. 
 
 I obeyed,— and pardon^ me if I own I obeyed without 
 reluctance : after so long a separation, should I not else 
 have been the most ungrateful" of mortals ? — And yet, — <5h, 
 Maria ! though I wished to leaveTjGndon, the gratification 
 of my wish afforded me no happiness ! and though I f elfan 
 impatience inexpressible to return -hither, no words, no lan- 
 guage, can explain the heaviness of heart with which* I 
 made the journey. I believe you would hardly have known 
 
f266 ) EVELINA. 
 
 me ; — indeed, I hardly know myself. Perhaps, had I first 
 seen you, in your kind and sympathising bosom I might 
 have ventured to have reposed every secret of my soul ; — 
 and then — but let me pursue my journal. 
 
 Mrs. Clinton delivered Madame Duval a letter from Mr. 
 Villars, which requested her leave for my return; and, 
 indeed, it was very readily accorded : yet, when she found, 
 by my willingness to quit town, that M. Du Bois was really 
 indifferent to me, she somewhat softened in my favour ; and 
 declared, that, but for punishing his folly in thinking of 
 such a child, she would not have consented to my being 
 again buried in the country. 
 
 All the Branghtons called to take leave of me ; but I will 
 not write a word more about them : indeed I cannot, with 
 any patience, think of that family, to whose forwardness 
 and impertinence is owing all the uneasiness I at this 
 moment suffer ! 
 
 So great was the depression of my spirits upon the road, 
 that it was with difficulty I could persuade the worthy Mrs. 
 Clinton I was not ill ; but, alas ! the situation of my mind 
 was such as would have rendered any mere bodily pain, by 
 comparison, even enviable ! 
 
 And yet, when we arrived at Berry Hill, — when the chaise 
 stopped at this place, — how did my heart throb with joy ! — • 
 and when, through the window, I beheld the dearest, the 
 most venerable of men, with uplifted hands, returning, as 
 I doubt not, thanks for my safe arrival, — good God ! I 
 thought it would have burst my bosom ! — I opened the 
 chaise-door myself ; I flew, — for my feet did not seem to 
 touch the ground, — into the parlour : he had risen to meet 
 me ; but the moment I appeared he sunk into his chair, 
 uttering, with a deep sigh, though his face beamed with 
 delight, "My God, I thank thee ! " 
 
 I sprung forward ; and, with ^a pleasure that bordere d 
 unon agony, I e mbraced his knees, I kissedJ xLS~-hands, ' I 
 wep t over * them, "but c ould not speak : whi le he, now raising 
 h i^eyes .m t teTikllllhess towards h eayen L now bowing dow n 
 his revere nd nead, and ioldm g mein h is arms, could scarce 
 a rticulate tge^blessinys willTwhich his kmcTand benevolent 
 
 h eart overS owed. " ""~ — ' "~~ 
 
 "D, Miss ISIrrvan, to be so beloved by the best of men, — 
 
EVELINA. 26 7y 
 
 should I not be happy ? — Should I have one wish save that 
 of meriting his goodness ? — Yet think me not ungrateful j 
 indeed I am not, although the internal sadness of my mind 
 unfits me, at present, for enjoying as I ought the bounties 
 of Providence. 
 
 I cannot journalize, cannot arrange my ideas into order. ^ 
 
 How little has situation to do with happiness ! I had 
 flattered myself, that, when restored to Berry Hill, I should 
 be restored to tranquillity : far otherwise have I found it, 
 for never yet had tranquillity and Evelina so little inter- 
 course. 
 
 I blush for what I have written. Can you, Maria, for- 
 give my gravity ? but I restrain it so much, and so pain- 
 fully, in the presence of Mr. Villars, that I know not how to 
 deny myself the consolation of indulging it to you. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Miss Mirvan. 
 
 Yet one thing I must add : do not let the seriousness of 
 this letter deceive you ; do not impute to a wrong cause the 
 melancholy I confess, by supposing that the heart of your 
 friend mourns a too great susceptibility : no, indeed ! believe 
 me it never was, never can be, more assuredly her own than 
 at this moment. So witness in all truth, 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 Evelina. 
 
 You will make my excuses to the honoured Lady Howard, 
 and to your dear mother. 
 
 LETTER LVIII. 
 
 EVELINA TO MISS MIRVAN. 
 
 Berry Hill, July 21st. 
 
 YOU accuse me of mystery, and charge me with reserve : 
 I cannot doubt but I must have merited the accusa- 
 tion ; yet, to clear myself, — you know not how painful will 
 be the task. But I cannot resist your kind intreaties ; — 
 indeed I do not wish to resist them ; for your friendship and 
 affection will soothe my chagrin. Had it arisen from any 
 other cause, not a moment would I have deferred the com- 
 munication you ask ; — but as it is, I would, were it possible, 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 not only conceal it from all the world, but endeavour to 
 disbelieve it myself. Yet since I must tell you, why trifle 
 with your impatience ? 
 
 I know not how to come to the point ; twenty times 
 have I attempted it in vain ; — but I will force myself to 
 ^proceed. 
 
 Oh, Miss Mirvan, could you ever have believed, that one 
 who seemed formed as a pattern for his fellow- creatures, as 
 a model of perfection, — one whose elegance surpassed all de- 
 scription, — whose sweetness of manners disgraced all com- 
 I parison ; — oh, Miss Mirvan, could you ever have believed 
 ' that Lord Orville, would have treated me with in dignity ? 
 
 Never, never again will I trust to appearances; — never 
 confide in my own we ak judgment ; — never believe that 
 person to be good who seems to be amiable ! What cruel 
 maxims are we taught by a knowledge of the world ! — But 
 while my own reflections absorb me, I forget you are still 
 in suspense. 
 
 I had just finished the last letter which I wrote to you 
 from London, when the maid of the house brought me a note. 
 It was given to her, she said, by a footman, who told her he 
 would call the next day for an answer. 
 
 This note, — but let it speak for itself. 
 
 "To MissAnville. 
 " With transport, most charming of thy sex, did I read 
 the letter with which you yesterday morning favoured me. 
 I am sorry the affair of the carriage should have given you 
 any concern, but I am highly flattered by the anxiety 
 you express so kindly. Believe me, my l ovely gir l, I am 
 truly sensible of the honour of your good opinion, and feel 
 myself deeply penetrated with love and gratitude. The 
 correspondence you have so sweetly commenced, I shall 
 be proud of continuing ; and I hope the strong sense I 
 have of the favour you do me will prevent your withdraw- 
 ing it. Assure yourself, that I desire nothing more ardently 
 than to pour forth my thanks at your feet, and to offer those 
 vows which are so justly the tribute of your charms and 
 accomplishments. In your next I intreat you to acquaint 
 me how long you shall remain in town. The servant, whom 
 I shall commission to call for an answer, has orders to ride 
 
EVELINA. 269 
 
 post with it to me. My impatience for his arrival will be 
 very great, though inferior to that with which I burn to tell 
 you, in person, how much I am, my s wget ff irl, your grateful 
 admirer, " Orville." 
 
 What a letter ! how has my proud heart swelled every 
 line I have copied ! What I wrote to him you know ; tell 
 me, then, my dear friend, do you think it merited such an 
 answer ? — and that I have deservedly incurred the liberty he 
 has taken ? I meant nothing but a simple apology, which I 
 thought as much due to my own character as to his ; yet by 
 the construction he seems to have put upon it, should you 
 not have imagined it contained the avowal of sentiments 
 which might indeed have provoked his contempt ? 
 
 The moment the letter was delivered to me, I retired to- 
 my own room to read it ; and so eager was my first perusal, 
 that, — I am ashamed to own, — it gave me no sensation but 
 of delight. Unsuspic ious of angr imp ropriety from Lor A 
 Or ville, I perceived not immediately the impertinence it 
 inrplieckz^-I only marked the expressions of his own re~ 
 gard ; and I was so much surprised, that I was unable for 
 some time to compose myself, or read it again : — I could 
 only walk up and down the room, repeating to myself, 
 " Good God, is it possible ? — am I then loved by Lord 
 Orville?" -/ 
 
 But this dream was soon over, and I awoke to far dif- 
 ferent feelings. Upon a second reading I thought every 
 word changed, — it did not seem the same letter, — I could 
 not find one sentence that I could look at without blushing : 
 my astonishment was extreme, and it was succeeded by the 
 utmost indignation. s 
 
 If, as I am very ready to acknowledge, I erred in writing 
 to Lord Orville, was it for him to punish the error ? If he 
 was offended, could he not have been silent ? If he thou ght 
 m y letter ill-judged^ should he not have pitied m y ignor - 
 a nce ? have considered my youth, and allowed for my_i n- 
 expedience P - 
 
 Oh. Maria ! how have I been deceived in this man ! 
 Words have no power to tell the high opinion I had of 
 him ; to that was owing the unfortunate solicitude which 
 prompted my writing ; a solicitude I must for ever repent ! 
 
270 EYELINA. 
 
 Yet perhaps I have rather reason to rejoice than to grieve, 
 since this affair has shown me his real disposition, and re- 
 moved that partiality which, covering his every imperfec- 
 tion, left only his virtues and good qualities exposed to 
 view. Had the deception continued much longer, had my 
 mind received any additional prejudice in his favour, who 
 knows whither my mistaken ideas might have led me ? In- 
 deed I fear I was in greater danger than I apprehended, 
 or can now think of without trembling ; — for, oh, if this 
 weak heart of mine had been penetrated with too deep an 
 impression of his merit, — my peace and happiness had been 
 lost for ever. 
 
 I would fain encourage more cheerful thoughts, fain 
 drive from my mind the melancholy that has taken posses- 
 sion of it ; but I cannot succeed : for, added to the humili- 
 ating feelings which so powerfully oppress me, I have yet 
 another cause of concern ; — alas, my dear Maria, I have 
 broken the tranquillity o£the best of menj ^ 
 
 I have never had the courage to show him this cruel 
 letter; I could not bear so greatly to depreciate in his 
 opinion, one whom I had, with infinite anxiety, raised in it 
 myself. Indeed, my first determination was to confine my 
 chagrin totally to my own bosom ; but your friendly en- 
 quiries have drawn it from me : and now I wish I had 
 made no concealment from the beginning, since I know not 
 how to account for a gravity, which not all my endeavours 
 can entirely hide or repress. 
 
 My greatest apprehension is, lest he should imagine that 
 my residence in London has given me a distaste to the 
 country. Every body I see takes notice of my being altered, 
 and looking pale and ill. I should be very indifferent to all 
 such observations, did I not perceive that they draw upon 
 me the eyes of Mr. Villars, which glisten with affectionate 
 concern. 
 
 This morning, in speaking of my London expedition he 
 mentioned Lord Orville. I felt so much disturbed, that^I 
 would instantly have changed the subject ; but he would 
 -not allow me, and, very unexpectedly, he began his panegy- 
 ric, extolling in strong terms, his manly and honourable 
 behaviour in regard to the Marybone adventure. My 
 cheeks glowed with indignation every word he spoke ; — 
 
EVELINA. { 271 
 
 so lately as I had myself fancied him the noblest of his sex, 
 now that I was so well convinced of my mistake, I could 
 not bear to hear his undeserved praises uttered by one so 
 really good, so unsuspecting, so pure' of heart. 
 •-What he thought of my silence and uneasiness I~f ear To 
 know ; but I -hope he will mention the subject no more. *I 
 w^l not, hcfwever, withrungratef ul indolence, give way tTT a 
 sadness which I find infectious to him who merits the most 
 cheerful exertion of my spirits. I am thankful that he has 
 forborne to probe my wound ; and I will endeavour to heal 
 it by the consciousness that I have not deserved the indignity 
 I have received. Yet I cannot but lament to find myself in 
 a world so deceitful, where we must suspect what we see, 
 distrust what we hear, and doubt even what we feel ! 
 
 LETTER LIX. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Bemj Rill, My 29th. 
 
 I MUST own myself somewhat distressed how to answer 
 your raillery : yet, believe me, ray dear Maria, your 
 suggestions are those of fancy, not of truth. I am un- 
 conscious of the weakness you suspect ; yet, to dispel your 
 doubts, I will animate myself more than ever to conquer my 
 chagrin, and to recover my spirits. 
 
 You wonder, you say, since my heart takes no part in 
 this affair, why it should make me so unhappy ? And can 
 you, acquainted as you are with the high opinion I enter- 
 tained of Lord Orville, can you wonder that so great a dis- 
 appointment in his character should affect me ? Indeed, 
 had so strange a letter been sent to me from any body, it 
 could not have failed shocking me ; how much more sen- 
 sibly, then, must I feel such an affront, when received from 
 th} man in the world I had imagined least capable of 
 giving it ? 
 
 You are glad I made no reply ; assure yourself, my dear 
 friend, had this letter been the most respectful that could 
 be written, the clandestine air given to it, by his proptfsal 
 
BTKUHA. 
 
 of sending his servant for my answer, instead of having it 
 directed to his house, would effectually have prevented my 
 writing. Indeed, I have an aversion the mos t sincere to all 
 mysterie s, all private actions ; however toolisniy and blafflE - 
 aoly, m regard to tnlS letter", 1 have deviated from the open 
 path Which, from my earliest i nfancy, TV'as taught to tread . 
 J He tat&s of my having eommSficeil a correspondence with 
 him : and could Lord Orville indeed believe I had such a 
 design ? believe me so forward, so bold, so strangely ridicu- 
 lous ? I know not if his man called or not ; but I rejoice 
 that I quitted London before he came, and without leaving 
 any message for him. What, indeed, could I have said? 
 it would have been a condescension very unmerited to have 
 taken any, the least notice of such a letter. 
 
 Never shall I cease to wonder how he could write it. Oh, 
 Maria ! what, what could induce him so causelessly to 
 wound and affront one who would sooner have died than 
 
 wilfully offended Mm ? How mortifying a freedom of 
 
 style ! how cruel an implication conveyed by his thanks and 
 expressions of gratitude! Is it not astonishin g, that any 
 m an can appear so modest, who is so vain ? _ 
 
 iii very hour i regret the secrecy 1 nave observed with my 
 beloved Mr. Yillars ; I know not what bewitched me, but I 
 felt at first a repugnance to publishing this affair that I 
 could not surmount ; — and now, I am ashamed of confessing 
 that I have any thing to confess ! Yet I deserve to be pun- 
 ished for the false delicacy which occasioned my silence, 
 since, if Lord Orville himself was contented to forfeit his 
 character, was it for me, almost at the expence of my own, 
 to support it ? 
 
 Yet I believe I should be very easy, now the first shock 
 is over, and now that I see the whole affair with the resent- 
 ment it merits, did not all my good friends in this neigh- 
 bourhood, who think me extremely altered, tease me about 
 my gravity, and torment Mr. Yillars with observations upon 
 my dejection and falling away. The subject is no sooner 
 started, than a deep gloom overspreads his venerable coun- 
 tenance, and he looks at me with a tenderness so melan- 
 choly, that I know not how to endure the consciousness of 
 
 pTPJti-npj- it. *» 
 
 Ylrs. Selwynja lady of large fortune, who lives about 
 
EVELINA. 273 
 
 three miles from Berry Hill, and who has always honoured 
 me with very distinguishing marks of regard, is going, in a 
 short time, to Bristol, and has proposed to Mr. Yillars to 
 take me with her for the recovery of my health. He seemed 
 very much distressed whether to consent or refuse ; but I, 
 without any hesitation, warmly opposed the scheme, protest- 
 ing my health could no where be better than in this pu/e 
 air. He had the goodness to thank me for this readiness to 
 stay with him ; but he is all goodness ! Oh, that it were in my 
 power to be indeed what, in the kindness of his heart, he has 
 called me, the comfort of his age, and solace of his infirmities ! 
 
 Never do I wish to be again separated from him. If 
 here I am grave, elsewhere I should be unhappy. In his 
 presence, with a very little exertion, all the cheerfulness of 
 my disposition seems ready to return ; the benevolence of . 
 his countenance reanimates, the harmony of his temper com- \ 
 poses, the purity of his character edifies me ! I owe to him 
 every thing ! and, far from finding my debt of gratitude a 
 weight, the first pride, the first pleasure of my life, is the 
 recollection of the obligations conferred upon me by a good- 
 ness so unequalled. 
 
 Once, indeed, I thought there existed another, — who, 
 when time had wintered o'er his lochs, would have shone forth 
 among his fellow-creatures with the same brightness of worth 
 which dignifies my honoured Mr. Villars ; a brightness how 
 superior in value to that which results from mere quickness 
 of parts, wit, or imagination ! a brightness, which, not con- 
 tented with merely diffusing smiles, and gaining admiration 
 from the sallies of the spirits, reflects a real and a glorious 
 lustre upon all mankind ! Oh, how great was my error I 
 how ill did I judge ! how cruelly have I been deceived ! 
 
 I will not go to Bristol, though Mrs. Selwyn is very 
 argent with me ; — but I desire not to see any more of the 
 wor ld ! the few months I have already passed in it, have_ 
 su fficed to give me a disgust even to its nam e. 
 
 Thope, too, I shall see Lord Orville no more : accustomed, 
 from my first knowledge of him, to regard him as a being 
 superior to his race, his presence, perhaps, might banish my 
 resentment, and I might forget his ill conduct; for oh, 
 Maria ! — I should not know how to see Lord Orville — and 
 to think of displeasure ! 
 
 T 
 
274 ) EVELINA. 
 
 As a sister I loved him ; — I could have entrusted him 
 with every thought of my heart, had he deigned to wish my 
 confidence : so steady did I think his honour, so feminine 
 l ^s delicacy, and so amiable his nature ! I have a thousand 
 t imes imagined that the whole study o f his life, and who le 
 purport of his reflections, tended solely to the good and 
 h appiness of others : b ut 1 will talk, — write, — think of him 
 
 no more 
 
 Adieu, my dear friend 
 
 LETTER LX. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Berry Hill, August 10th. 
 
 YOU complain of my silence, my dear Miss Mirvan ; — 
 but what have I to write ? Narrative does not offer, 
 nor does a lively imagination supply the deficiency. I have, 
 however, at present, sufficient matter for a letter, in relating 
 a conversation I had yesterday with Mr. Villars. 
 
 Oar breakfast had been the most cheerful we have had 
 since my return hither ; and when it was over, he did not, 
 as usual, retire to his study, but continued to converse with 
 me while I worked. We might, probably, have passed all 
 the morning thus sociably, but for the entrance of a farmer, 
 who came to solicit advice concerning some domestic affairs. 
 They withdrew together into the study. 
 
 The moment I was alone my spirits failed me ; the exer- 
 tion with which I had supported them had fatigued my 
 mind ; I flung away my work, and, leaning my arms on 
 'the table, gave way to a train of disagreeable reflection's, 
 which, bursting from the restraint that had smothered 
 them, filled me with unusual sadness. 
 
 This was my situation, when, looking towards the door, 
 which was open, I perceived Mr. Villars, who was earnestly 
 regarding me. " Is Farmer Smith gone, Sir ? " cried 1, 
 hastily rising, and snatching up my work. 
 
EYELINA. 275 
 
 " Don't let me disturb you/' said he, gravely ; " I will go 
 again to my study." 
 
 " Will you, Sir ? — I was in hopes you were coming to sit 
 here." 
 
 " In hopes ! — and why, Evelina, should you hope it ? " 
 
 This question was so unexpected, that I knew not how 
 to answer it ; but, as I saw he was moving away, I followed, 
 and begged him to return. " No, my dear, no," said he, 
 with a forced smile, " I only interrupt your meditations." 
 
 Again I frpftw -np f what to say ; and while I hesitated, he 
 retired. My heart was with him, out I had not the courage 
 to follow. The idea of an explanation, brought on in so 
 serious a manner, frightened me. I recollected the in- 
 ference you had drawn from my uneasiness, and I feared 
 that he might make a similar interpretation. 
 
 Solitary and thoughtful, I passed the rest of the morning 
 in my own room. At dinner I again attempted to be cheer- 
 ful ; but Mr. Villars himself was grave, and I had not suf- 
 ficient spirits to support a conversation merely by my own 
 efforts. As soon as dinner was over, he took a book, and I 
 walked to the window. I believe I remained near an hour 
 in this situation. All my thoughts were directed to con- 
 sidering how I might dispel the doubts which I appre- 
 hended Mr. Villars had formed, without acknowledging a 
 circumstance which I had suffered so much pain merely to 
 conceal. But while I was thus planning for the future, I 
 forgot the present ; and so intent was I upon the subject 
 which occupied me, that the strange appearance of my un- 
 usual inactivity and extreme thoughtfulness never occurred 
 to me. But when, at last, I recollected myself, and turned 
 round, I saw that Mr. Yillars, who had parted with his 
 book, was wholly engrossed in attending to me. I started 
 from my reverie, and, hardly knowing what I said, asked 
 if he had been reading ? 
 
 He paused a moment, and then replied, " Yes, my child ; 
 — a book that both afflicts and perplexes me." 
 
 He means me, thought I ; and therefore I made no 
 answer. 
 
 " What if we read it together ? " continued he, "will you 
 assist me to clear its obscurity ? " 
 
 I knew not what to say ; but I sighed involuntarily from 
 
276 ETEL1NA. 
 
 the bottom of my heart. He rose, and approaching me, 
 said, with emotion, " My child, I can no longer be a silent 
 witness of thy sorrow, — is not thy sorrow my sorrow ? — and 
 ought I to be a stranger to the cause, when I so deeply 
 sympathize in the effect ? " 
 
 " Cause, Sir ! " cried I, greatly alarmed, " what cause ? 
 — I don't know, — I can't tell — I — " 
 
 " Fear not," said he, kindly, " to unbosom thyself to me, 
 my dearest Evelina ; open to me thy whole heart, — -it can 
 have no feelings for which I will not make allowance. Tell 
 me, therefore, what it is "that thus afflicts us both ; and who 
 knows but I may suggest some means of relief ? " 
 
 " You are too, too good," cried I, greatly embarrassed; 
 " but indeed T know not what you mean." 
 
 " I see," said he, " it is painful to you to speak : suppose, 
 then, I endeavour to save you by guessing ? " 
 
 " Impossible ! impossible ! " cried T, eagerly ; " no one 
 living could ever guess, ever suppose — " I stopped abruptly ; 
 for I then recollected I was acknowledging something was 
 to be guessed : however, he noticed not my mistake. 
 
 " At least let me try," answered he, mildly ; " perhaps I 
 may be a better diviner than you imagine : if I guess every 
 thing that is probable, surely I must approach near the real 
 reason. Be honest, then, my love, and speak without re- 
 serve ; — does not the country, after so much gaiety, so much 
 variety, does it not appear insipid and tiresome ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ! I love it more than ever, and more than 
 ever do I wish I had never, never quitted it ! " 
 
 " Oh, my child ! that I had not permitted the journey ! 
 My judgment always opposed it, but my resolution was not 
 proof against persuasion." 
 
 " I blush, indeed," cried I, " to recollect my earnestness; 
 — but I have been my own punisher ! " 
 
 " It is too late now," answered he, " to reflect upon this 
 subject ; let us endeavour to avoid repentance for the time 
 to come, and we shall not have erred without reaping some 
 instruction." Then, seating himself, and making me sit 
 by him, he continued, " I must now guess again : perhaps 
 you regret the loss of those friends you knew in town ; — 
 perhaps you miss their society, and fear you may see them 
 no more ? — perhaps Lord Orville " 
 
EVELINA. 277, 
 
 I could not keep my seat ; but, rising hastily, said, " Dear 
 Sir, ask me nothing more ! — for I have nothing to own, — ■ 
 nothing to say ; — my gravity has been merely accidental, 
 and I can give no reason for it at all. — Shall I fetch you 
 another book ? — or will you have this again ? " 
 
 For some minutes he was totally silent, and I pretended 
 to employ myself in looking for a book. At last, with a deep 
 sigh, " I see," said he, "I see but too plainly, that though 
 Evelina is returned, — I have ]ost my child ! " 
 
 "No, Sir, no," cried I, inexpressibly shocked, "she is 
 more your's than ever ! Without you, the world would be 
 a desert to her, and life a burthen : — forgive her, then, and, 
 — if you can, — condescend to be, once more, the confidant 
 of all her thoughts." 
 
 " How highly I value, how greatly I wish for her confi- 
 dence," returned he, " she cannot but know ; — yet to extort, 
 to tear it from her, — my justice, my affection both revolt at 
 the idea. I am sorry that I was so earnest with you ; — 
 leave me, my dear, leave me, and compose yourself ; we will 
 meet again at tea." 
 
 " Do you then refuse to hear me ? " 
 
 " No, but I abhor to compel you. I have long seen that 
 your mind has been ill at ease, and mine has largely par- 
 taken of your concern : I forbore to question you ; for I 
 hoped that time and absence, from whatever excited your 
 uneasiness, might best operate in silence : but, alas ! your 
 affliction seems only to augment, — your health declines, — 
 your look alters ! — Oh, Evelina, my aged heart bleeds to 
 see the change ! — bleeds to behold the darling it had 
 cherished, the prop it had reared for its support, when 
 bowed down by years and infirmities, sinking itself under 
 the pressure of internal grief ! — struggling to hide what it 
 should seek to participate ! — But go, my dear, go to your 
 own room ; we both want composure, and we will talk of 
 this matter some other time." 
 
 " Oh, Sir," cried I, penetrated to the soul, " bid me not 
 leave you ! — think me not so lost to feeling, to grati- 
 tude " 
 
 " Not a word of that," interrupted he : " it pains me you 
 should think upon that subject ; pains me you should ever 
 remember that you have not a natural, an hereditary right 
 
£78/ EVELINA. 
 
 to every thing within my power. I meant not to affect you 
 thus, — I hoped to have soothed yon ! — bnt my anxiety be- 
 trayed me to an nrgency that has distressed yon. Comfort 
 yonrself , my love ; and donbt not bnt that time will stand 
 your friend, and all will end well.' , 
 
 I burst into tears : with difficulty had I so long re- 
 strained them ; for my heart, while it glowed with tender- 
 ness and gratitude, was oppressed with a sense of its own 
 nnworthiness. " You are all, all goodness ! " cried I, in a 
 voice scarce audible ; " little as I deserve, — unable as I am 
 to repay, such kindness, — yet my whole soul feels, — thanks 
 you for it ! " 
 
 M My dearest child," cried he, " I cannot bear to see thy 
 tears ; — for my sake dry them : such a sight is too much 
 for me : think of that, Evelina, and take comfort, I charge 
 thee ! " 
 
 " Say then," cried I, kneeling at his feet, " say then that 
 yon forgive me ! that yon pardon my reserve, — that you 
 will again suffer me to tell yon my most secret thoughts, 
 and rely upon my promise never more to forfeit your confi- 
 dence ! my father ! — my protector ! — my ever- honoured, 
 
 — ever-loved — my best and only friend ! — say yon forgive 
 your Evelina, and she will study better to deserve your 
 goodness ! " 
 
 He raised, he embraced me : he called me his sole joy, 
 his only earthly hope, and the child of his bosom ! He 
 folded me to his heart ; and, while I wept from the fulness 
 of mine, with words of sweetest kindness and consolation, 
 he soothed and tranquillised me. 
 
 Dear to my remembrance will ever be that moment when, 
 banishing the reserve I had so foolishly planned, and so 
 painfully supported, I was restored to the confidence of the 
 best of men ! 
 
 When at length we were again quietly and composedly 
 seated by each other, and Mr. Villars waited for the expla- 
 nation I had begged him to hear, I found myself extremely 
 embarrassed how to introduce the subject which must lead 
 to it. He saw my distress ; and with a kind of benevolen 3 
 pleasantry, asked me if I would let him guess any more ? I 
 assented in silence. 
 
 " Shall I, then, go back to where I left off ? * 
 
EVELINA. 279 
 
 " If — if you please ; — I believe so, — " said I, stammering 
 
 " Well, then, my love, I think I was speaking of the re- 
 gret it was natural you should feel upon quitting those from 
 whom you had received civility and kindness, with so little 
 certainty of ever seeing them again, or being able to return 
 their good offices. These are circumstances that afford but 
 melancholy reflections to young minds ; and the affectionate 
 disposition of my Evelina, open to all social feelings, must 
 be hurt more than usual by such considerations. — You are 
 silent, my dear. Shall I name those whom I think most 
 worthy the regret I speak of ? We shall then see if our 
 opinions coincide." 
 
 Still I said nothing, and he continued. 
 
 "In your London journal, nobody appears in a more 
 amiable, a more respectable light than Lord Orville ; and 
 perhaps " 
 
 " I knew what you would say," cried I, hastily, " and I 
 have long feared where your suspicions would fall ; but in- 
 deed, Sir, you are mistaken: I hate Lord Orville, — he is 
 the last man in the world in whose favour I should be pre- • 
 judiced." 
 
 I stopped ; for Mr. Yillars looked at me with such in- 
 finite surprise, that my own warmth made me blush. 
 
 " You hate Lord Orville ! " repeated he. /^* 
 
 I could make no answer ; but t ook fron ^ my ppokfifc^ook ■* } Jg, f 
 t he fetter and giving it to him, "'See, Sir," said I, "how VZ/ C 
 differently the same man can talk and write ! " 
 
 He read it three times before he spoke ; and then said, 
 " I am so much astonished, that I know not what I read. 
 When had you this letter ? " 
 
 I told him. Again he read it, and, after considering its 
 contents some time, said, " I can form but one conjecture 
 concerning this most extraordinary performance : he must 
 certainly have been intoxicated when he wrote it." 
 
 " Lord Orville intoxicated ! " repeated I : " once I 
 thought him a stranger to all intemperance ; — but it is 
 very possible, for I can believe any thing now." 
 
 " That a man who had behaved with so strict a regard to 
 delicacy," continued Mr. Yillars, " and who, as far as occa- 
 sion had allowed, manifested sentiments the most honour- 
 able, should thus insolently, thus wantonly, insult a modest 
 
p. 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 young woman, in his perfect senses, I cannot think possible. 
 But, my dear, you should have inclosed this letter in an 
 empty cover, and have returned it to him again : such a 
 resentment would at once have become your character, 
 and have given him an opportunity, in some measure, of 
 clearing his own. He could not well have read this letter 
 the next morning without being sensible of the impropriety 
 of having written it." 
 
 Oh, Maria ! why had I not this thought ? I might then 
 have received some apology ; the mortification would then 
 have been his, not mine. It is true, he could not have rein- 
 stated himself so highly in my opinion as* I had once 
 ignorantly placed him, since the conviction of such intem- 
 perance would have levelled him with the rest of his imper- 
 fect race ; yet my humbled pride might have been consoled 
 by his acknowledgments. 
 
 But whyjshrmld T allow mysplf to bp hn- mhlftrl by a, man 
 who can suffer his reason to be thus abjectly debased, when 
 lam e x al^ed jby one who knows no vice.^a^ idscal^clely* a 
 tailing, ^ut_by2hearsay» ? To think of his kindness, and re^ 
 fleet upon his praises, might animate and comfort me even 
 in the midst of affliction. "Your indignation, " said he, 
 " is the result of virtue ; you fancied Lord Orville was 
 ^ without fault — he had the appearance of infinite worthi- 
 es ' Iness, and you supposed his character accorded with his 
 * V ^appearance : guileless yourself, how could you prepare 
 against the duplicity of another ? Your disappointment 
 has but been proportioned to your expectations, and you 
 have chiefly owed its severity to the innocence which hid its 
 approach." 
 
 I will bid these words dwell ever in my memory, and 
 they shall cheer, comfort, and enliven me ! This conversa- 
 tion, though extremely affecting to me at the time it passed, 
 has relieved my mind from much anxiety. Concealment, 
 my dear Maria, is the foe of tranquillity : however I may 
 err in future, I will never be disingenuous in acknow- 
 ledging my errors. To you and to Mr. Villars I vow an 
 unremitting confidence. 
 
 And yet, though I am more at ease, I am far from well : 
 I have been some time writing this letter ; but I hope I shall 
 send you soon a more cheerful one. 
 
 L 
 
EVELINA. 281 
 
 Adieu, my sweet friend. I intreat you not to acquaint 
 even your dear mother with this affair ; Lord Orville is a 
 favourite with her, and why should I A .publish thatjbe 
 deserves not that honour ? r \ 
 
 LETTER EXI. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Br istol TTntw p ].fa j August 28th. 
 
 YOU will be again surprised, my dear Maria, at seeing 
 whence I date my letter : but I have been very ill, and 
 Mr. Villars was so much alarmed, that he not only insisted 
 upon my accompanying Mrs. Selwyn hither, but earnestly 
 desired she would hasten her intended journey. 
 
 We travelled very slowly, and I did not find myself 
 so much fatigued as I expected. We are situated upon a 
 most delightful spot ; the prospect is beautiful, the air pure, 
 and the weather very favourable to invalids. I am already 
 better, and I doubt not but I shall soon be well ; as well, in 
 regard to mere health, as I wish to be. 
 
 I cannot express the reluctance with which I parted from . 
 my revered Mr. Villars : it was not like that parting which, 
 last April, preceded my journey to Howard Grove, when, 
 all expectation and hope, though I wept, I rejoiced, and, 
 though I sincerely grieved to leave him, I yet wished to be 
 gone : the sorrow I now felt was unmixed with any livelier 
 sensation ; expectation was vanished, and hope I had none ! 
 All that I held most dear upon earth I quitted ; and that 
 upon an errand, to the success of which I was totally in- 
 different, the re-establishment of my health. Had it been 
 to have seen my sweet Maria, or her dear mother, I should 
 not have repined. 
 
 Ml&-fiel wyn is very kind and attentive to me. She is 
 esfasmflly p.1p,vftr : her understanding , iadsed, mags ha called - 
 masculine : but, u nfortunately , her manners deserve t he 
 s ame epithe t ; fo r, in studying to acquire the knowledge o f 
 the other sex, she has lost all the soft ne ss of her own. \ n 
 
' 
 
 282 ETELINA. 
 
 regard to myself, however, as I have neither courage nor 
 inclination to argne with her, I have never b een personally 
 hur t TVfc h rr wa,nt pf g mtl r n r "i } n virtu n wH n h , ne y Q rthf>lfgF, 
 s eemsYso essentialja part of t ^ Q fp™fl1^ ^hnm^t^ r, that I find 
 myself more awkward, and less at ease, wi th a woman wn*o 
 wants it, than 1 do with a man. She is not a favourite" 
 with Mr. V lllars, who has often been disgusted at her nil- 
 merciful propensity to sati re : but his anxiety that I should 
 try the effect of the Bristol waters, overcame his dislike of 
 committing me to her care. Mrs. Clinton is also here ; so 
 that I shall be as well attended as his utmost partiality could 
 desire. 
 
 I will continue -to write to you, my dear Miss Mirvan, 
 with as much constancy as if I had no other correspondent ; 
 though, during my absence from Berry Hill, my letters 
 may, perhaps, be shortened on account of the minuteness of 
 the journal which I must write to my beloved Mr. Villars : 
 but you, who know his expectations, and how many ties 
 bind me to fulfil them, will I am sure, rather excuse any 
 omission to yourself, than any negligence to him. 
 
 LETTER LXII. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Bristol Hotwells, Sept. 12th. 
 
 THE first fortnight that I passed here was so quiet, so 
 serene, that it gave me reason to expect a settled calm 
 during my stay ; but if I may now judge of the time to 
 come, by the present state of my mind, the calm will be 
 succeeded by a storm, of which I dread the violence ! 
 
 This morning, in my way to the pump-room with Mrs. 
 Selwyn, we were both very much incommoded by three 
 gentlemen, who were sauntering by the side of the Avon, 
 laughing and talking very loud, and lounging; so disagree- 
 ably, that we knew not how to pass them. Xhey all three 
 fixed their eyes very boldly .upon me, alternately looking 
 under my hat, and whispering one another. ^Mrs. Sel- 
 w^yn assumed an air of uncommon sternness, and said, " You 
 
EVELINA. §83 
 
 will please, gentlemen, either to proceed yourselves, or to 
 suffer us." 
 
 " Oh ! Ma'am," cried one of them, " we w^ll suffer you 
 with the greatest pleasure* in life." 
 
 " You will suffer us both" answered she, " or I am much 
 mistaken : you had better, therefore, make way quietly ; for 
 I should be sorry to give my servant the trouble of teaching 
 you better manners." 
 
 Her commanding air struck them, yet they all chose. Jo 
 laugh ; and one of them wished the fellow would beginjiis 
 lesson, that he might have the pleasure of rolling him into 
 the Avon ; while another, advancing to me with a freedom 
 which made me start, said, " By my soul I did not know 
 you ! — but I am sure I cannot be mistaken ; — had not I the 
 honour of seeing you once at the Pantheon ? " 
 
 I then recollected the nobleman, who, at that place, had 
 so much embarrassed me. I courtsied without speaking. 
 They all bowed, and making, though in a very easy manner, 
 an apology to Mrs. Selwyn, they suffered us to pass on, but 
 chose to accompany us. 
 
 " And where," continued this Lord, " can you so long have 
 hid yourself ? do you know I have been in search of you 
 this age ? I could neither find you out, nor hear of you : 
 not a creature could inform me what was become of you. 
 I cannot imagine where you could be immured. I was at 
 two or three public places every night, in hopes of meeting 
 you. Pray, did you leave town ? " 
 
 " Yes, my Lord." 
 
 " So early in the season ! — what could possibly induce 
 you to go before the birth- day ? " 
 
 " I had nothing, my Lord, to do with the birth-day." 
 
 " By my soul, all the women who had, may rejoice you 
 were away. Have you been here any time ? " 
 
 " Not above a fortnight, my Lord." 
 
 " A fortnight ! — how unlucky that I did not meet you 
 sooner ! but I have had a run of ill luck ever since I came. 
 How long shall you stay ? " 
 
 " Indeed, my Lord, I don't know." • 
 
 " Six weeks I hope ; for 1+ shall wish the place at the devjj 
 when you go." 
 
 " Do you, then, flatter yourself, my Lord," said Mrs, 
 
284 EVELINA. 
 
 Selwyn, who had hitherto listened in silent contempt, 
 " that you shall see such a beautiful spot as this, when you 
 visit the do minion s of the devil ? " 
 
 44 Ha, ha, 1 ha I ifalth7~ iiiy Lfrr d," said one of his com- 
 panions, who still walked with us, though the other had 
 taken leave, 44 the lady is rather hard upon you." 
 
 " ISTotj ^fllV' answerer! Mrs. Rftlwyn ; " f or as I canno t 
 doubt BuThis Lordship's rank arid interest will sec ure him 
 iTplace there, it would be reflect ing on his understanding,"^" 
 -fo suppose he should not wish to enlarge and beautif y nis 
 
 Much as I was disgusted with this Lord, I must own 
 Mrs. Selwyn's severity rather surprised me : but you, who 
 have so often observed it, will not wonder she took so fair 
 an opportunity of indulging her humour. 
 
 " As to places," returned he, totally unmoved, " I am so 
 indifferent to them, that the devil take me if I care which 
 way I go ! objects, indeed, I am not so easy about ; and, 
 therefore, I expect, that those angels with whose beauty I 
 am so much enraptured in this world, will have the goodness 
 to afford me some little consolation in the other/' 
 
 44 What, my Lord ! " cried Mrs. Selwyn, " would you wish 
 to degrade the habitation of your friend, by admitting into 
 it the insipid company of the upper regions ? " 
 
 44 What do you do with yourself this evening ? " said his 
 Lordship, turning to me. 
 
 44 I shall be at home, my Lord." 
 
 44 O, a-propos, — where are you ? " 
 
 44 Young ladies, my Lord," said Mrs. Selwyn, " are no 
 where." 
 
 44 Prithee," whispered his Lordship, "is that queer woman 
 your mother? " 
 
 Good Heavens, Sir, what words for such a question ! 
 
 44 No, my Lord." 
 
 44 Your maiden aunt then ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 41 Whoever she is, I wish she would mind her own affairs : 
 I d oji't know wh a t thfi dpyil a woman live s for after thirty : 
 she is only in othe r folk's way. Shall you be at the assem-" 
 
 M" 
 
 44 1 believe not, my Lord." 
 
EVELINA. 285 
 
 " No ! — why then, how in the world can you contrive to 
 pass your time ? " 
 
 " In ^t man ner which your Lo rdship will think very pt- 
 t raordinary ' ',. juried Mrs. Selwyn, " for t he young 1 lady 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! Egad, my Lord," cried the facetious com- 
 panion, "you are got into bad hands." 
 
 "You had better, Ma'am," answered he, "attack Jack 
 Co yerleff here, for you will make nothing of me." 
 
 " Of you, my Lord," cried she, " Heaven forbid I should 
 ever entertain so idle an expectation ! I only talk, like a 
 silly woman, for the sake of talking ; but I have by no 
 means so low an .opinion, of your Lordship, as to suppose 
 you vulnerable to censure." 
 
 "Do, pray, Ma'am," cried he, "turn to Jack Coverley ; 
 he's the very man for you ; — he'd be a wit himself if he was 
 not too modest." 
 
 ".Prithee, my Lord, be quiet," returned the other ; " if tjie 
 lady is contented to bestow all her favours upon you, why 
 should you make such a point of my going snacks ? " 
 
 " Don't be apprehensive, gentlemen," said Mrs. Selwyn, 
 drily, " I am not romantic ; — I have not the least design of 
 doing good to either of you." 
 
 " Have not you been ill since I saw you ? " said his 
 Lordship, again addressing himself to me. 
 
 " Yes, my Lord." 
 
 " I thought so ; you are paler than you was, and I sup- 
 pose that's the reason I did not recollect you sooner." 
 
 " Has not your Lordship too much gallantry," cried 
 Mrs. Selwyn, " to discover a young lady's illness by her 
 looks ? " 
 
 " The devil a word can I speak for that woman," said he, 
 in a low voice ; "do, prithee, Jack, take her in hand." 
 
 "Excuse me, my Lord," answered Mr. Coverley. 
 
 " When shall I see you again ? " continued his Lordship ; 
 " do you go to the pump-room every morning ? " 
 
 "No, my Lord." 
 
 " Do you ride out ? " 
 
 "No, my Lord." 
 
 Just then we arrived at the pump-room, and an end was 
 put to our conversation, if it is not an abuse of words to 
 
 :# 
 
286 J EVELINA. 
 
 give such a term to a string of rude questions and free 
 compliments. 
 
 He had not opportunity to say much more to me,,as Mrs. 
 Selwyn joined^a large party, and I walked. home between 
 two ladies! He had, however, the curiosity to see us to 
 the door. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn was very eager to know how I had made 
 acquaintance with this nobleman, whose manners so evi- 
 dently announced the character of a confirmed libertine ^ I 
 €ould give her very little satisfaction, as I was ignorant 
 even of his name : but, in the afternoon, Mr. Ridgeway, the 
 apothecary, gave us very ample information. 
 
 As his person was easily Hftgp.n"hftrt J fnv hp i<g r^Tnflrknbly 
 tall, Mr. Ridgeway told us he was YLord Merton^ a noble- 
 magrwho is but lately come to his title^ though he has^aT ^ 
 read y dissipated more that half his f ortune ; a professe d 
 ao!mIrer of beau ty, but alnan of most licentious characte r ; 
 th at amongm gu, his companions consisted c hiefly of gambl ers 
 anjl jojske^sTa^ rarely admitted. 
 
 1 'Well, MislT^nville," saib^Miu. Delwjn, rf J: am glad I 
 was not more civil to him. You may depend upon me for 
 keeping him at a distance.'' 
 
 " O, Madam," said Mr. Ridgeway, " he may now be ad- 
 mitted any where, for he is going to reform.' 1 
 
 " Has he, under that notion, persuaded any fool to marry 
 him?" 
 
 " Not yet, Madam, but a marriage is expected to take place 
 shortly : it has been some time in agitation ; but the friends 
 of the lady have obliged her to wait till she is of age : how- 
 ever, her brother, who has chiefly opposed the match, now 
 that she is near being at her own disposal, is tolerably quiet. 
 She is very pretty, and will have a large fortune. We ex- 
 pect her at the Wells every day." 
 
 " What is her name ? " said Mrs. Selwyn. 
 
 " La rpent," answered he : " Lady Louisa Larpent, sister 
 of LorcTUrville/ J 
 
 " Lord Orville ! " repeated I, all amazement. 
 
 " Yes Ma'am ; his Lordship is coming with her. I have 
 had certain information. They are to be at the Honourable 
 Mrs. Beaumont's. She is a relation of my Lord's,, and has 
 a very fine house upon Clifton Hill." 
 
EVELINA. 287 
 
 His Lordship is coming with her ! — Good God, what an 
 emotion did those words give me ! How strange, my dear 
 Sir, that, just at this time, he should visit Bristol ! It will 
 be impossible for me to avoid seeing him, as Mrs. Selwyn 
 is" very well acquainted with Mrs. Beaumont. Indeed, I 
 have had an escape in not being under the same roof with 
 him, for Mrs. Beaumont invited us to her house immediately 
 upon our arrival ; but the inconvenience of being so distant 
 from the pump-room made Mrs. Selwyn decline her civility. 
 
 Oh that the first meeting were over ! — or that I could quit 
 Bristol without seeing him ! — inexpressibly do I dread an 
 interview ! Should the same impertinent freedom be ex- 
 pressed by his looks, which dictated this cruel letter, I shall 
 not know how to endure either him or myself. Had I but 
 returned it, I should be easier, because my sentiments of it 
 would then be known to him ; but now, he can only gather 
 them from my behaviour ; and I tremble lest he should 
 mistake my indignation for confusion ! — lest he should mis- 
 construe my reserve into embarrassment ! — for how, my 
 dearest Sir, how shall I be able totally to divest myself of 
 the respect with which I have been used to think of him ? — 
 the pleasure with which I have been used to see him ? 
 
 Surely he, as well as I, must recollect the letter at the 
 moment of our meeting; and he will, probably, mean to 
 gather my thoughts of it from my looks ; — oh that they 
 could but convey to him my r eal detestation of impertinen ce 
 an^Eanity ! then would he see how muck he Uad mistaken 
 my disposition when he imagined them my due. 
 
 There was a time when the very idea that such a man as 
 Lord Merton should ever be connected with Lord Orville 
 would have both surprised and shocked me ; and even yet 
 I am pleased to hear of his repugnance to the marriage. 
 
 But how strange, that a man of so abandoned a character 
 should be the choice of a sister of Lord Orville ! and how 
 strange, that, almost at the moment of the union, he should 
 be so importunate in gallantry to another woman ! What a 
 world is this we live in ! how corrupt ! how degenerate ! 
 well might I be contented to see no more of it ! If I find 
 that the eyes of Lord Orville agree with his pen, — I shall 
 then think, that of all mankind, the only virtuous individual 
 resides at Berry Hill. 
 
/ 2§8 J EVELINA. 
 
 
 LETTER LXIII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 O 1 
 
 Bristol Hotwells, Sept. 16th. 
 
 H, Sir, Lord Orville is still himself ! still what, from 
 the moment I beheld, I believed him to be — all that 
 is amiable in man ! and yonr happy Evelina, restored at once 
 to spirits and tranquillity, is no longer sunk in her own 
 opinion, nor discontented with the world ; — no longer, with 
 dejected eyes, sees the prospect of passing her future days 
 in sadness, doubt, and suspicion ! — with revived courage 
 she now looks forward, and expects to meet with goodness, 
 even among mankind : — though still she feels, as strongly 
 as ever, the folly of hoping, in any second instance, to meet 
 with perfection. 
 
 Your conjecture was certainly right ; Lord Orville, when 
 he wrote that letter, could not be in his senses. Oh that 
 intemperance should have power to degrade so low, a man 
 so noble ! 
 
 This morning I accompanied Mrs. Selwyn to Clifton Hill, 
 where, beautifully situated, is the house of Mrs. Beaumont. 
 Most uncomfortable were my feelings during our walk,, 
 which was very slow ; for the agitation of my mind made 
 me more than usually sensible how weak I still (5ontin«.e. 
 As we entered the house, I summoned all my resolution 
 to my aid, determined rather to die than give Lord Orville 
 reason to attribute my weakness to a wrong cause. I was 
 happily relieved from my perturbation, when I saw Mrs- 
 Beaumont was alone. We sat with her for, I believe, an 
 hour without interruption ; and then we saw a phaeton drive 
 up to the gate, and a lady and gentleman alight from it. 
 ^ They entered the parlour with the ease of people who 
 / were at home. The gentleman, I soon saw, was Lord 
 Merton : he came shuffling into the room with his boots .on, 
 and his whip in his hand ; and having made something like 
 a bow to Mrs. Beaumont, he turned towards me. His sur- 
 • prise was very evident ; but he took no manner of notice of 
 me. He waited, I believe, to discover, first, what chance 
 
EVELINA. 289 
 
 had brought me to that house, where he did not look much 
 rejoiced at meeting me. He seated himself very quietly at 
 the window, without speaking to any body. 
 
 Mean time the lady, who seemed very young, hobbling 
 rather than walking into the room, made a passing courtsy 
 to Mrs. Beaumont, saying, " How are you, Ma'am ? " and 
 then, without noticing any body else, with an air of languor 
 she flung herself upon a sofa, protesting, in a most affected 
 voice, and speaking so softly she could hardly be heard, that 
 she was fatigued to death. " Really, Ma'am, the roads are 
 so monstrous dusty, — you can't imagine how troublesome 
 the dust is to one's eyes ! — and the sun, too, is monstrous dis- 
 agreeable ! — I dare say I shall be so tanned : I shan't be fit to 
 be seen this age. Indeed, my Lord, I won't go out with you 
 any more, for you don't care where you take one." 
 
 " Upon my honour ," said Lord Merton, " I took you, 
 the pleasantest ride in England ; the fault was in the sun 
 not me." 
 
 "Your Lordship is in the right," said Mrs. Selwyn, 
 " to transfer the fault to the sun, because it has so many 
 excellencies to counterbalance partial inconveniences that a 
 little blame will not injure that in our estimation." 
 
 Lord Merton looked by no means delighted at this attack ; 
 which I believe she would not so readily have made, but to 
 revenge his neglect of us. 
 
 " Did you meet your brother, Lady Louisa ? " said Mrs* 
 Beaumont. 
 
 " No, Ma'am. Is he rode out this morning ? " 
 
 I then found, what I had before suspected, that this 
 lady was Lord Orville's sister : how strange, that such near 
 relations should be so different to each other ! There is, \ 
 indeed, some resemblance in their features ; but, in their J 
 manners, not the least. 
 
 " Yes," answered Mrs. Beaumont, " and I believe he- 
 wished to see you." 
 
 " My Lord drove so monstrous fast," said Lady Louisa r 
 " that perhaps we passed him. He frightened me out of 
 my senses ; I declare my head is quite giddy. Do you 
 know, Ma'am, we have done nothing but quarrel all the 
 morning ? — You can't think how I've scolded ; have not I, 
 my Lord ? " and she smiled expressively at Lord Merton. 
 
 u 
 
V 
 
 290 EVELINA. 
 
 " Vou have been, as you always are," said he, twisting 
 his whip with his fingers, " all sweetness." 
 
 " fie, my Lord," cried she, " I know you don't think 
 so ; I know you think me very ill-natured ; — don't you, my 
 Lord ? " 
 
 " No, upon my honour ; — how can your Ladyship ask 
 such a question ? Pray how goes time ? my watch stands." 
 
 " It is almost three," answered Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 " Lord, Ma'am, you frighten me ! " cried Lady Louisa ; 
 and then, turning to Lord Merton, " why now, you wicked 
 creature you, did you not tell me it was but one ? " 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn then rose to take leave ; but Mrs. Beaumont 
 asked if she would look at the shrubbery. " I should like 
 it much," answered she, " but that I fear to fatigue Miss 
 Anville." 
 
 Lady Louisa, then, raising her head from her hand, on 
 which it had leant, turned round to look at me ; and hav- 
 ing fully satisfied her curiosity, without any regard to the 
 confusion it gave me, turned about, and, again leaning on 
 her hand, took no further notice of me. 
 
 I declared myself very able to walk, and begged that I 
 might accompany them. " What say you, Lady Louisa," 
 cried Mrs. Beaumont, " to a stroll in the garden ? " 
 
 " Me, Ma'am ! — I declare I can't stir a step ; the heat is 
 so excessive, it would kill me. I'm half dead with it al- 
 ready ; besides, I shall have no time to dress. Will any 
 body be here to day, Ma'am ? " 
 
 " I believe not, unless Lord Merton will favour us with 
 \ his company." 
 J " With great pleasure, Madam." 
 
 | " Well, I declare you don't deserve to be asked," cried 
 
 ( Lady Louisa, " you wicked creature you ! — I must tell you 
 one thing, Ma'am, — you can't think how abominable he 
 was ! do you know we met Mr. Lovel in his new phaeton, 
 and my Lord was so cruel as to drive against it ? — we 
 really flew. I declare I could not breathe. Upon my word, 
 my Lord, I'll never trust myself with you again, — I won't 
 indeed." 
 
 We then went into the garden, leaving them to discuss 
 the point at their leisure. 
 
 Do you remember a pretty but affected young lady I men 
 
EVELINA, f 29JX 
 
 tio nedto have seen, in LordOrville's party, a.f +Vip PiTifhnrm.P 
 How little did i then imagine her to be his sister ! yet 
 Lady Louisa Larpent is the very person. I can now account 
 for the piqued manner of her speaking to Lord Mertonthat 
 evening, and I can now account for the air of displeasure 
 with which Lord Orville marked the undue attention of his 
 future brother-in-law to me. 
 
 We had not walked long, ere, at a distance, I perceived 
 Lord Orville, who seemed just dismounted from his horse, 
 enter the garden. All my perturbation returned at the 
 sight of him ! — yet I endeavoured to repress every feeling 
 but resentment. As he approached us, he bowed to the 
 whole party ; but I turned away my head to avoid taking 
 any share in his civility. Addressing himself immediately 
 to Mrs. Beaumont, he was beginning to enquire after his 
 sister : but, upon seeing my face, he suddenly exclaimed, 
 " Miss Anville ! — " and then he advanced, and made his 
 compliments to me, — not with an air of vanity or imperti- 
 nence, nor yet with a look of consciousness or shame ; — but 
 with a countenance open, manly, and charming ! — with a 
 smile that indicated pleasure, and eyes that sparkled with 
 delight ! — on my side was all that consciousness ; for by 
 him, I really believe, the letter was, at that moment, entirely 
 forgotten. 
 
 With what politeness did he address me ! with what 
 sweetness did he look at me ! the very tone of his voice 
 seemed nattering ! he congratulated himself upon his good 
 fortune in meeting with me ; — hoped I should spend some 
 time in Bristol, and enquired, even with anxiety enquired, 
 if my health was the cause of my journey ; in which case 
 his satisfaction would be converted into apprehension. 
 
 Yet, struck as I was with his manner, and charmed to 
 find him such as he was wont to be, imagine not, my dear 
 Sir, that I forgot the resentment I owe him, or the cause 
 he has given me of displeasure ; no, my behaviour was such, 
 as I hope, had you seen, you would not have disapproved : 
 I was grave and distant ; I scarce looked at him when he 
 spoke, or answered him when he was silent. 
 
 As he must certainly observe this alteration in my con- 
 duct, I think it could not fail making him both recollect 
 and repent the provocation he had so causelessly given me ; 
 
292 EVELINA. 
 
 J 
 
 iqv surely lie was not so wholly lost to reason, as to be now 
 ignorant lie had ever offended me. 
 
 The moment that, without absolute rudeness, I was able, 
 I turned entirely from him, and asked Mrs. Selwyn if we 
 should not be late home ? How Lord Orville looked I know 
 not, for I avoided meeting his eyes ; but he did not speak 
 another word as we proceeded to the garden gate. Indeed, 
 I believe, my abruptness surprised him, for he did not seem 
 to expect I had so much spirit. And, to own the truth, 
 convinced as I was of the propriety, nay, necessity, of show- 
 ing my displeasure, I yet almost hated myself for receiving 
 his politeness so ungraciously. 
 
 When we were taking leave, my eyes accidentally meet- 
 ing his, I could not but observe that his gravity equalled 
 my own ; for it had entirely taken place of the smiles and 
 good humour with which he had met me. 
 
 " I am afraid this young lady," said Mrs. Beaumont, " is 
 too weak for another long walk till she is again rested." 
 
 "If the ladies will trust to my driving," said Lord 
 Orville, " and are not afraid of a phaeton, mine shall be 
 ready in a moment." 
 
 " You are very good, my Lord," said Mrs. Selwyn, " but 
 my will is yet unsigned, and I don't choose to venture in a 
 phaeton with a young man while that is the case." 
 
 " O," cried Mrs. Beaumont, "you need not be afraid of 
 my Lord Orville, for he is remarkably careful." 
 
 " Well, Miss Anville," answered she, " what say you ? " 
 
 " Indeed," cried I, " I had much rather walk — ." But 
 then, looking at Lord Orville, I perceived in his face a sur- 
 prise so serious at my abrupt refusal, that I could not for- 
 bear adding, " for I should be sorry to occasion so much 
 trouble." 
 
 Lord Orville, brightening at these words, came forward, 
 and pressed his offer in a manner not to be denied ; — so the 
 phaeton was ordered ! And indeed, my dear Sir, — I know 
 not how it was ; — but, from that moment, my coldness and 
 reserve insensibly wore away ! You must not be angry, — 
 it was my intention, nay, my endeavour, to support them 
 with firmness : but when I formed the plan, I thought only 
 of the letter, — not of Lord Orville ! — and how is it possible 
 for resentment to subsist without provocation ? yet, believe 
 
EVELINA. 293 
 
 me„ my dearest Sir, had he sustained the part he began to 
 act when he wrote this ever-to-be-regretted letter, your 
 Evelina would not have forfeited her title to your esteem, 
 by contentedly submitting to be treated with indignity. 
 
 We continued in the garden till the phaeton was ready. 
 When we parted from Mrs. Beaumont, she repeated her 
 invitation to Mrs. Selwyn to accept an apartment in her 
 house ; but the reason I have already mentioned made it 
 be again declined. 
 
 Lord Orville drove very slow, and so cautiously, that, not- 
 withstanding the height of the phaeton, fear would have 
 been ridiculous. I supported no part in the conversation ; 
 but Mrs. Selwyn extremely well supplied the place of two. 
 Lord Orville himself did not speak much ; but the excellent 
 ^sense and refined good-breeding whicji accompany everj- 
 jvord he utters, give value and weight to whatever he says. 
 
 " I suppose, „my Lord/' said Mrs. Selwyn, when y£e 
 stopped at our lodgings, " you would have been extremely 
 cgnfused had we met any gentlemen who have the honour 
 of knowing you." 
 
 " If I had," answered he, gallantly, if it would have been 
 from mere compassion at their envy." 
 
 " No, my Lord," answered she, " it would have been frojn 
 mere shame, that, in an age so daring, you alone should J)e 
 such a coward as to forbear to frighten women?' 
 
 " O," cried he, laughing, " when a man is in a fright for 
 himself, the ladies cannot but be in security ; for you have 
 not had half the apprehension for the safety of your per- 
 sons, that I have for that of my heart." He then alighted, 
 handed us out, took leave, and again mounting the phaeton, 
 was out of sight in a minute. 
 
 " Certainly," said Mrs. Selwyn, when he was gone, 
 " there must have been some mistake in the birth of that 
 young man ; he was, undoubtedly, designed for the last age ; 
 for he is really polite ! " ^ 
 
 And now, my dear Sir, do not you think, according to . 
 the present situation of affairs, I may give up my resent- 
 ment, without imprudence or impropriety ? I hope you 
 will not blame me. Indeed, had you, like me, seen his re- 
 spectful behaviour, you would have been convinced of the 
 impracticability of supporting any further indignation. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 LETTER LXIY. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Bristol Hotwells, Sept. \§th. 
 
 YESTERDAY morning Mrs. Selwyn received a card 
 from Mrs. Beaumont, to ask her to dine with, her to-day: 
 and another, to the same purpose, came to me. The invitation 
 was accepted, and we are but just arrived from Clifton Hill. 
 We found Mrs. Beaumont alone in the parlour. I will 
 write you the character of that lady, in the words of our 
 satirical friend Mrs. Selwyn. " She is an absolute Cowrt 
 Calend ar bigot ; fo r, chancing herself to be born o f a noble 
 and ancient family, she thinks proper to be of opinion, that J 
 birth an d virtue are one and the" sameTEmg. " She has some 
 good qualities ; but they rather originate irom pride than 
 principle, as she piques h erself upon being too high-born_t o 
 be ca pable of an unworthy action, and thinks it incumbent 
 upon her to support the dignity of her ancestry . Fortu- 
 nately tor the world in general, she has taken it into her 
 head, that condescension is th e most distinguishing virt ue 
 01 high lite ; so that the same pride of family which renders 
 others imperious, is with her the motive of affability. But 
 her civility is too formal to be comfortable, and too me- 
 chanical to be flattering. That she does me the honour of 
 so much notice, is merely owing to an accident, which, I am 
 sure, is very painful to her remembrance ; for it so hap- 
 pened, that I once did her some service, in regard to an 
 ? apartment at Southampton ; and I have since been in- 
 formed, that, at the time she accepted my assistance, she 
 thought I was a woman of quality ; and I make no doubt 
 but she was miserable when she discovered me to be a mere 
 country gentlewoman : however, her nice notions of de- 
 corum have made her load me with favours ever since. 
 But I am not much flattered by her civilities, as I am con- 
 vinced I owe them neither to attachment nor gratitude ; 
 but solely to a desire of cancelling an obligation, which she 
 cannot brook being under, to one whose name is no where 
 to be found in the Court Calendar." 
 
EVELINA. 295 
 
 You well know, my dear Sir, the delight this lady takes 
 in giving way to her satirical humour. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont received us very graciously, though she 
 somewhat distressed me by the questions she asked con- 
 cerning my family ; — such as, Whether I was related to the 
 Anvilles in the North ? — Whether some of my name did not 
 live in Lincolnshire ? and many other enquiries, which much 
 embarrassed me. 
 
 The conversation next turned upon the intended marriage in 
 her family. She treated the subject with reserve ; but it was 
 evident she disapproved Lady Louisa's choice. She spoke in 
 terms of the highest esteem of Lord Orville, calling him, in 
 Marmontel's words, " TJn jeune homme comme il y en a pen." 
 
 I did not think this conversation very agreeably inter- 
 rupted by the entrance of Mr. Lovel. Indeed I am heartily 
 sorry he is now at the Hot Wells. He made his compli- 
 ments with the most obsequious respect to Mrs. Beaumont, 
 but took no sort of notice of any other person. 
 
 In a few minutes Lady Louisa Larpent made her appear- 
 ance. The same manners prevailed ; for, court sying, with 
 " I hope you are well, Ma'am," to Mrs. Beaumont, she 
 passed straight forward to her seat on the sofa; where, 
 leaning her head on her hand, she cast her languishing eyes 
 round the room, with a vacant stare, as if determined, 
 though she looked, not to see who was in it. 
 
 Mr. Lovel, presently approaching her, with reverence the 
 most profound, hoped her Ladyship was not indisposed. 
 
 " Mr. Lovel ! " cried she, raising her head, " I declare I 
 did not see you : have you been here long ? " 
 
 " By my watch, Madam," said he, " only five minutes, — 
 but by your Ladyship's absence as many hours." 
 
 " ! now I think of it," cried she, " I am very angry with 
 you ; — so go along, do ; for I sha'n't speak to you all day." 
 
 " Heaven forbid your La'ship's displeasure should last so 
 long ! in such cruel circumstances, a day would seem an 
 age. But in what have I been so unfortunate as to offend ? " 
 
 " 0, you half killed me the other morning, with terror ! I 
 have not yet recovered from my fright. How could you be so 
 cruel as to drive your phaeton against my Lord Merton's ? " 
 
 " Ton honour, Ma'am, your La'ship does me wrong ; — 
 it was all owing to the horses, — there was no curbing them. 
 
296 EVELINA. 
 
 I protest I suffered more than jour Ladyship, from the 
 terror of alarming you." 
 
 Just then entered Lord Merton ; stalking up to Mrs. 
 Beaumont, to whom alone he bowed, he hoped he had not 
 made her wait ; and then, advancing to Lady Louisa, said, in 
 a careless manner, " How is your Ladyship this morning ? " 
 
 " Not well at all," answered she ; " I have been dying with 
 the head-ache ever since I got up." 
 
 " Indeed ! " cried he, with a countenance wholly unmoved, 
 " I am very unhappy to hear it. But should not your 
 Ladyship have some advice ? " 
 
 " I am quite sick of advice," answered she, " Mr. Bidge- 
 way has but just left me, — but he has done me no good. 
 Nobody here knows what is the matter with me, yet they 
 all see how indifferent I am." 
 
 "Your Ladyship's constitution," said Mr. Lovel, "is in- 
 finitely delicate." 
 
 " Indeed it is," cried she, in a low voice, " I am nerve all 
 over ! " 
 
 " I am glad, however," said Lord Merton, "that you did 
 not take the air this morning, for Coverley has been driving 
 against me as if he was mad : he has got two of the finest 
 spirited horses I ever saw." 
 
 " Pray my Lord," cried she, " why did not you bring Mr. 
 Coverley with you ? he's a droll creature ; I like him mon- 
 strously." 
 
 " Wny, he promised to be here as soon as me. I suppose 
 he'll come before dinner's over." 
 
 In the midst of this trifling conversation Lord Orville 
 made his appearance. how different was his address ! 
 how superior did he look and move, to all about him ! 
 Having paid his respects to Mrs. Beaumont, and then to 
 Mrs. Selwyn, he came up to me, and said, " I hope Miss 
 Anville has not suffered from the fatigue of Monday morn- 
 ing ? " Then, turning to Lady Louisa, who seemed rather 
 surprised at his speaking to me, he added, " Give me leave, 
 sister, to introduce Miss Anville to you." 
 
 Lady Louisa, half- rising, said, very coldly, that she should 
 be glad of the honour of knowing me ; and then, abruptly 
 turning to Lord Merton and Mr. Lovel, continued, in a half- 
 whisper, her conversation. 
 
EVELINA. 297 
 
 For my part, I had risen and court sied, and now, feeling 
 very foolish, I seated myself again : first I blushed at the 
 tunexpected politeness of Lord Orville, and immediately 
 afterwards at the contemptuous failure of it in his sister. 
 How can that young lady see her brother so universally 
 admired for his manners and deportment, and yet be so 
 unamiably opposite to him in hers! but while his mind, 
 enlarged and noble, rises superior to the little prejudices 
 of rank, hers, feeble and unsteady, sinks beneath their in- 
 fluence. 1 
 
 Lord Orville, I am sure, was hurt and displeased : he bit 
 his lips, and, turning from her, addressed himself wholly to 
 me, till we were summoned to dinner. Do you think I was 
 not grateful for his attention ? yes, indeed, and every angry 
 idea I had entertained was totally obliterated. 
 
 As we were seating ourselves at the table, Mr. Coverley 
 t)ame into the room ; he made a thousand apologies in a 
 breath for being so late, but said he had been retarded by a 
 little accident, for that he had overturned his phaeton, and 
 broke it all to pieces. Lady Louisa screamed at this in- 
 telligence, and, looking at Lord Merton, declared she would 
 never go into a phaeton again. 
 
 "0," cried he, " never mind Jack Coverley ; for he does 
 not know how to drive." 
 
 " My Lord," cried Mr. Coverley, M I'll drive against you 
 for a thousand pounds." 
 
 " Done ! " returned the other ; " name your day, and we'll 
 each choose a judge." 
 
 " The sooner the better," cried Mr. Coverley ; " to-mor- 
 row, if the carriage can be repaired." 
 
 1 " But I am very fond of Lady Louisa ; I think her as well drawn as 
 any character in the book ; so fine, so affected, so languishing; and, at 
 the same time, so insolent ! " — Mrs. Thrale, Madame ITArblay i s Diary, 
 August 23, 1778. 
 
 When Mrs. Thrale was provoked by the punctilious refinement of her 
 *' sweet Burney," she wrote to her, — " Don't you be Lady Louisa with- 
 out her quality." This seemed playful, but we find that she wrote of 
 Miss Burney, in that private note-book which Dr. Johnson named 
 " Thraliana " — " the dignity of Dr. Burney's daughter — such dignity ! 
 The Lady Louisa of Leicester-Square ! " There are other hard things 
 written of Miss Burney in " Thraliana " side by side with such phrases 
 as " My own bosom-friend," " My dearest loveliest friend," " My beloved 
 Fanny Burney." 
 
298 EVELINA. 
 
 " These enterprises," said Mrs. Selwyn, "are very proper 
 for men of rank, since 'tis a million to one but both parties 
 will be incapacitated for any better employment." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake," cried Lady Louisa, changing colour, 
 " don't talk so shockingly ! Pray, my Lord, pray, Mr. 
 Coverley, don't alarm me in this manner." 
 
 " Compose yourself, Lady Louisa," said Mrs. Beaumont, 
 " the gentlemen will think better of the scheme ; they are 
 neither of them in earnest." 
 
 " The very mention of such a scheme," said Lady Louisa, 
 taking out her salts, " makes me tremble all over ! Indeed, 
 my Lord, you have frightened me to death ! I sha'n't eat a 
 morsel of dinner." 
 
 " Permit me," said Lord Orville, " to propose some other 
 subject for the present, and we will discuss this matter 
 another time." 
 
 " Pray, brother, excuse me ; my Lord must give me his 
 word to drop the project, — for I declare it has made me 
 sick as death." 
 
 " To compromise the matter," said Lord Orville, " suppose, 
 if both parties are unwilling to give up the bet, that, to 
 make the ladies easy, we change its object to something 
 less dangerous ? " 
 
 This proposal was so strongly seconded by all the party, 
 that both Lord Merton and Mr. Coverley were obliged to 
 comply with it ; and it was then agreed that the affair 
 should be finally settled in the afternoon. 
 
 " I shall now be entirely out of conceit with phaetons 
 again," said Mrs. Selwyn, " though Lord Orville had almost 
 reconciled me to them." 
 
 " My Lord Orville ! " cried the witty Mr. Coverley, " why, 
 my Lord Orville is as careful, — egad, as careful as an old 
 woman ! Why, I'd drive a one-horse cart against my Lord's 
 phaeton for a hundred guineas ! " 
 
 This sally occasioned much laughter ; for Mr. Coverley, 
 I find, is regarded as a man of infinite humour. 
 
 "Perhaps, Sir," said Mrs. Selwyn, "you have not dis- 
 covered the reason my Lord Orville is so careful ? " 
 
 11 Why, no, Ma'am ; I must own I never heard any par- 
 ticular reason for it." 
 
 " Why, then, Sir, I'll tell it you ; and I believe you will 
 
EVELINA. 299" 
 
 
 
 confess it to be very particular ; his Lordship's friends are 
 not yet tired of him." 
 
 Lord Orville laughed and bowed. Mr. Coverley, a little 
 confused, turned to Lord Merton, and said, " No foul play, 
 my Lord ! I remember your Lordship recommended me to 
 the notice of this lady the other morning, and, egad, I be- 
 lieve you have been doing me the same office to-day." 
 ^ " Give you joy, Jack ! " cried Lord Merton, with aTIc^id 
 laugh. 
 
 After this the conversation turned wholly upon eating, a 
 subject which was discussed with the utmost delight ; and, 
 had I not known they were men of rank and fashion, I 
 should ha ve imagined that Lord Merton, Mr. Lovel, and 
 Mr. Coverley, had all been professed cooks ; t or they dis- 
 played so much knowledge of sauces and made-dishes, and 
 of the various methods of dressing the same things, that I 
 am persuaded they must have given much time, and much 
 study, to make themselves such adepts in this art. It 
 would be very difficult to determine, whether they were 
 most to be distinguished as glubf&u&~ or ep icure s ; for they 
 were, at once, dainty and voracious, understood the right and 
 the wrong of every dish, and alike emptied the one and the 
 other. I should have been quite sick of their remarks, had I 
 not been entertained by seeing that Lord Orville, who, I 
 am sure, was equally disgusted, not only read my sentiments^ 
 but, by his countenance, communicated to me his own. 
 
 When dinner was over, Mrs. Beaumont recommended 
 the gentlemen to the care of Lord Orville, and then attended 
 the ladies to the drawing-room. 
 
 The conversation, till tea-time, was extremely insipid ; 
 Mrs. Selwyn reserved herself for the gentlemen, Mrs. Beau- 
 mont was grave, and Lady Louisa languid. 
 
 But, at tea, every body revived ; we were joined by the 
 gentlemen, and gaiety took the place of dullness. 
 
 Since I, as Mr. Lovel says, am Nobody, 1 I seated myself 
 quietly at a window, and not very near to any body : Lord 
 Merton, Mr. Coverley, and Mr. Lovel, severally passed me 
 without notice, and surrounded the chair of Lady Louisa 
 Larpent. I must own, I was rather piqued at the behaviour 
 of Mr. Lovel, as he had formerly known me. It is true, I 
 1 Page 28. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 * 
 
 onost sincerely despise his foppery ; yet I should be grieved 
 to meet with contempt from any body. But I was by no 
 means sorry to find, that Lord Merton was determined not 
 to know me before Lady Louisa, as his neglect relieved me 
 from much embarrassment. As to Mr. Coverley, his atten- 
 tion or disregard were equally indifferent to me. Yet, al- 
 t ogether, I feel extremely uncomfortable in finding myself 
 c onsidered in a lignt ver y inferior to the rest of the com pan y/^ 
 "But when JUord Urville appeared, the scene changed : 
 he came up stairs last ; and, seeing me sit alone, not only 
 spoke to me directly, but drew a chair next mine, and 
 honoured me with his entire attention. 
 
 He enquired very particularly after my health, and hoped 
 I had already found benefit from the Bristol air. " l£ ow 
 little did I imagine," added he, " when I had last the pleasure 
 of seeing you in town, that ill health would in so short a time 
 have brought you hither ! I am ashamed of myself for the 
 satisfaction I feel at seeing you, — yet, how can I help it ? M 
 
 Se then enquired after the Mirvan family, and spoke of 
 Mrs. Mirvan in terms of most just praise. " She is gen tle 
 and amiable/ ' said he, "ajgue feminine character. 7 
 
 "Yes, indeed," answered T: ' ' and heF sweet daughter, 
 to say every thing of her at once, is just the daughter such 
 a mother deserves. 7 ' 
 
 * ' I am glad of it, ' ' said he, " for both their sakes, as such near 
 relations must always reflect credit or disgrace oneach other.' 7 
 
 After this he began to speak of the beauties of Clifton ; 
 but, in a few moments, he was interrupted by a call from 
 the company, to discuss the affair of the wager. Lord 
 Merton and Mr. Coverley, though they had been discoursing 
 upon the subject some time, could not fix upon the thing 
 that satisfied them both. 
 
 When they asked the assistance of Lord Orville, he pro- 
 posed that every body present should vote something ; and 
 that the two gentlemen should draw lots which, from the 
 several votes, should decide the bet. 
 
 " We must then begin with the ladies," said Lord Orville; 
 and applied to Mrs. Selwyn. 
 
 " With all my heart," answered she, with her usual readi- 
 ness ; " and, since the gentlemen are not allowed to risk 
 their necks, suppose we decide the bet by their heads J " 
 
EVELINA. 301. 
 
 "By our heads?" cried Mr. Coverley. "Egad, I don't 
 understand you." 
 
 " I will then explain myself more fully. As I doubt not 
 but you are both excellent classics, suppose, for the good of 
 your own memories, and the entertainment and surprise of the 
 company, the thousand pounds should fall to the share of 
 him who can repeat by heart the longest ode of Horace ? " 
 
 Nobody could help laughing, the two gentlemen applied 
 to excepted ; who seemed, each of them, rather at a loss in 
 what manner to receive this unexpected proposal. At length 
 Mr. Coverley, bowing low, said, " Will your Lordship please 
 to begin ? " 
 
 "Devil take me if I do ! " answered he, turning on his 
 heel, and stalking to the window. 
 
 " Come, gentlemen," said Mrs. Selwyn, " why do you hesi- 
 tate ? I am su re you cannot be afraid of a weak wnmam. ? _ 
 Besides, if you should chance to be out, Mr. Lovel, I dare 
 say, will have the goodness to assist you." 
 
 The laugh now turned against Mr. Lovel, whose change of 
 countenance manifested no great pleasure at the transition. 
 
 "Me, Madam ! " said he, colouring ; "no, really I mu^t 
 beg to be excused." 
 
 "Why so, Sir?" 
 
 " Why so, Ma'am ! — Why, really — as to that, — 'pon honour,. 
 Ma'am, you are rather — a little severe ; — fQr,. h nw io it poa 
 mYj\pj for a. -man who is in the house, to study the classi cs ? I 
 assure you, Ma'am, (with an affected shrug) 1 nnoT quite 
 business enough for my poor head in studying politic s." 
 
 " But, did you study politics at school, and at the uni- 
 versity ? " 
 
 " At the university ! " repeated he, with an embarrassed 
 look ; " why, as to that, Ma'am, — no, 1 can't say I did ; 
 but then, what with riding, — and — and — and so forth, — 
 really, on e, has not much time, even at the u niversity, for 
 m ere reading ." 
 m .but, to be sure, Sir, you have read the classics ? " 
 
 " O dear, yes, Ma'am ! — very often, — but not very — not 
 very lately." 
 
 "Which of the Odes do you recommend to these gentlemen 
 to begin with ? " 
 
 "Which of the Odes! — Really, Ma'am, as to that, I 
 
302/ EVELINA. 
 
 have no very particular choice ; — f or ? to own the truth, that 
 H orace was never a very great favolm te^rtl 1 me."~ 
 
 "" In truth 1 believe you ! " said Mrs. Selwyn, very drily. 
 
 Lord Merton, again advancing into the circle, with a nod 
 .and a laugh, said, " Give you joy, Lovel ! " 
 
 Lord Orville next applied to Mrs. Beaumont for her vote. 
 
 " It would very agreeably remind me of past times," said 
 she, " when bowing was in fashion, if the bet was to depend 
 upon the best made bow." 
 
 " Egad, my Lord," cried Mr. Coverley, "there I should 
 beat you hollow, for your Lordship never bows at all." 
 
 " And pray, Sir, do you ? " said Mrs. Selwyn. 
 
 " Do I, Ma'am ? " cried he ; " why, only see ! " 
 
 " I protest," cried she, " I should have taken that for a 
 shrug, if you had not told me 'twas a bow." 
 m " My lord," cried Mr. Coverley, " let's practise ; " and then, 
 most ridiculously, they pranced about the room, making bows. 
 
 " We must now," said Lord Orville, turning to me, " call 
 upon Miss Anville." 
 
 " O no, my Lord," cried I ; " i ndeed I have nothing to 
 pro pose. " He would not, however, be refused ; but urged* 
 me so much to say sometldng, that at last, not to make him 
 wait any longer, I ventured to propose an extempore couplet 
 upon some given subject. 
 
 . Mr,- Coverley, instantly made me a bow, or, according 
 to Mrs. Selwyn, a shrug, crying, " Thank you, Ma.'am >agaflj 
 that's my forte ! — why, my Lord, the Fates seem against you." 
 
 Lad j Louisa was then applied to ; and every body seemed 
 eager to hear her opinion. "I don't know what to say, I 
 declare," cried she, affectedly ; " can't you pass me ? " 
 
 " By no means," said Lord Merton. 
 
 " Is it possible your Ladyship can make so cruel a re- 
 quest ? " said Mr. Lovel. 
 
 "Egad," cried Mr. Coverley, "if your Ladyship does not 
 help us in this dilemma, we shall be forced to return to our 
 phaetons." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Lady Louisa, screaming; "you frightful 
 creature, you, how can you be so abominable ? " 
 
 I believe this trifling lasted near half an hour ; when at 
 length, every body being tired, it was given up, and she 
 .said she would consider against another time. 
 
EYELINA. 303 
 
 Lord Orville now called upon Mr. Lovel ; who, after 
 about ten minutes' deliberation, proposed, with a most im- 
 portant face, to determine the wager by who should draw 
 the longest straw ! * 
 
 I had much difficulty to forbear laughing at this un- 
 meaning scheme ; but saw, to my great surprise, not the 
 least change of countenance in any other person : and, since 
 we came home, Mrs. Selwyn has informed me, that to draw 
 straivs is a fashion of betting by no means uncommon . Good 
 God ! my dear Sir, does it not seem as if money were of no 
 value or service, since thg§§ wno posse ss, squander it away 
 in a ma rmar so infinitely absur d ? 
 
 It now only remained for Lord Orville to speak ; and the 
 attention of the company showed the expectations he had 
 raised ; yet, I believe, they by no means prevented his pro- 
 posal from being heard with amazement ; for it was no 
 other, than that the money should be his due, who, according 
 to the opinion of the judges, should bring the worthiest 
 object with whom to share it ! f } 
 
 They all stared, without speaking. Indeed, I believe / 
 every one, for a moment at least, experienced something / 
 like shame, from having either proposed or countenanced S* 
 an extravagance so useless and frivolous. For my part, I I 
 was so much struck and affected by a rebuke so noble to \ 
 these spendthrifts, that I felt my eyes filled with tears. *— ^ 
 
 The short silence and momentary reflection into which 
 the company was surprised, Mr. Coverley was the first to 
 dispel, by saying, " Egad, my Lord, your Lordship has a 
 most remarkable odd way of taking things." 
 
 "Faith," said the incorrigible Lord Merton, "if this 
 scheme takes, I shall fix upon my Swiss to share with me ; 
 for I don't know a worthier fellow breathing." 
 
 After a few more of these attempts at wit, the two gentle- 
 men agreed that they would settle the affair the next morning. 
 
 The conversation then took a different turn ; but I did 
 not give it sufficient attention to write any account of it. 
 Not long after, Lord Orville, resuming his seat near mine, 
 said, " Why is Miss Anville so thoughtful ? " 
 
 " I am sorry, my Lord," said I, "to consider myself 
 among those who have so justly incurred your censure."^ 
 
 " My censure ! — you amaze me ! " 
 
304 EVELINA. 
 
 " Indeed, my Lord, you have made me quite ashamed of 
 myself for having given my vote so foolishly, when an 1 
 opportunity offered, if, like your Lordship, I had had the- 
 sense to use it, of showing some humanity. " 
 
 " You treat this too seriously," said he, smiling ; " and I 
 hardly know if you do not now mean a rebuke to me." 
 
 " To you, my Lord ! " 
 m " Nay, who are most deserving of it ; those who adapt 
 their conversation to the company, or those who_ affect ta 
 be superior to it ? " 
 
 •■ O, my Lord, who else, would do you so little justice ? '* 
 * ** "I flatter myself," answered ne, " that, in fact, youjr 
 opinion and mine, in this point, are the same, though you 
 condescended to comply with the humour of the company .- 
 It is for me, therefore, to apologize for so unseasonable a 
 gravity, which, but for the particular interest that I now 
 take in the affairs of Lord Merton, I should not have been- 
 so officious to display." 
 ^ Such a compliment as this could not fail to reconcile me 
 to myself ; and with revived spirits, I entered into a con- 
 versation, which he supported with me till Mrs. Selwyn's* 
 carriage was announced ; and we returned home. 
 
 During our ride, Mrs. Selwyn very much surprised me, 
 by asking, if I thought my health would now permit me to 
 * give up my morning walks to the pump-room, for the pur- 
 pose of spending a week at Clifton ? " for this poor Mrs. 
 Beaumont," added she, "is so eager to have a discharge in 
 full of her debt to me, that out of mere compassion, I am 
 induced to listen to her. Besides, she has always a house 
 full of people ; and, though they are chiefly fools and cox- 
 combs, yet there is some pleasure in cutting them up." 
 
 I begged I might not, by any means, prevent her fol- 
 lowing her inclination, as my health was now very well 
 established. And so, my dear Sir, to-morrow we are to be 
 actually the guests of Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 I am not much delighted at this scheme ; for, greatly as 
 I am flattered by the attention of Lord Orville, it is not 
 very comfortable to be neglected by every body else. Be- 
 si des, as ! am sure I owe the particularity of his civility to 
 a^enerous leeimg tor my situation, 1 cannot e xpect him to 
 suppbiHrrtTsb long as a week. " s *- 
 
EYELINA. 
 
 305 
 
 How often do I wish, since I am absent from yon, that I 
 was nnder the protection of Mrs. Mirvan ! It is true, Mrs. 
 Selwyn is very obliging, and, in every respect, treats me as 
 an equal ; but she is contented with behaving well herself, 
 and does not, with a distinguishing politeness, raise and 
 support me with others. Yet I mean not to blame her, for 
 I know she is sincerely my friend ; but the fact is, she is 
 herself so much occupied in conversation, when in company, 
 that she has neither leisure nor thought to attend to the 
 silent, 
 
 Well, I must take my chance ! B ut I knew not, till now , 
 ho w requisite are birth and fortune to the attainment t of 
 respec^a] 
 
 LETTER LXV. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Clifton, Sept. 20th. 
 
 HERE I am, my dear Sir, under the same, roof, and an 
 inmate of the same house as Lord Orville ! Indeed, 
 if this were not the case, my situation would be very dis- 
 agreeable, as you will easily believe, when I tell you the light 
 in which I am generally considered. 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Selwyn, " did you ever before meet 
 with that egregious fop, Lovel ? " 
 
 I very readily satisfied her as to my acquaintance with 
 him. 
 
 a O, then," said she, " I am the less surprised at his ill- 
 nature, since he has already injured you." 
 
 I begged her to explain herself ; and then she told me, 
 that while Lord Orville was speaking to me, Lady Louisa 
 said to Mr. Lovel, " Do you know who that is ? " 
 
 " Why, Ma'am, no, 'pon honour," answered he, " I can't 
 absolutely say I do ; I only know she is a kind of a toad- 
 eater. She made her first appearance in that capacity last 
 spring, when she attended Miss Mirvan, a young lady of 
 Kent." 
 
 How cruel is it, my dear Sir, to be thus exposed to the 
 x 
 
306/ • EVELINA. 
 
 impertinent suggestions of a man who is determined to do 
 me ill offices ! Lady Lonisa may well despise a toad-eat&r ; 
 but, thank Heaven, her brother has not heard, or does not 
 credit, the mortifying appellation. Mrs. Selwyn said, she 
 would advise me to pay my court to this Mr. Lovel ; " for," 
 said she, " though he is malicious, he is fashionable, and 
 may do you some harm in the great world." But I should 
 disdain myself as much as I do him, were I capable of such 
 duplicity as to natter a man whom I scorn and despise. 
 
 We were received by Mrs. Beaumont with great civility, 
 and by Lord Orville with something more. As to Lady 
 L'quisa, she scarcely perceived that we were in the room. 
 
 There has been company here all day, part of whicIT I 
 have spent most happily : for after tea, when the ladies 
 played at cards, Lord Orville, who does not, and I, who 
 cannot play, were consequently at our own disposal ; and 
 then his Lordship entered into a conversation with me, 
 which lasted till supper-time. 
 
 Almost insensibly, I find the constraint, the reserve, I 
 have been wont to feel in his presence, wear away ; the 
 politeness, the sweetness, with which he speaks to me, re- 
 store all my natural cheerfulness, and make me almost as 
 easy as he is himself; and the more so, as, if I may judge 
 by his looks, I am rather raised, than sunk of late in his 
 opinion. 
 
 I asked him how the bet was, at last, to be decided ? He 
 told me that, to his great satisfaction, the parties had been 
 prevailed upon to lower the sum from one thousand to one 
 hundred pounds ; and that they had agreed it should be 
 determined by a race between two old women, one of whom 
 was to be chosen by each side, and both were to be proved 
 more than eighty years of age, though, in other respects 
 , strong and healthy as possible. 
 
 {^ When I expressed my surprise at this extraordinary 
 
 <T [ method of spending so much money, " I am charmed," said 
 
 J he, " at the novelty of meeting with one so unhackneyed in 
 
 ^\ the world, as not to be yet influenced by custom to forget 
 
 ) the use of reason : for certain it is, that the prevalence of 
 
 / fashion makes the greatest absurdities pass uncensured, and 
 
 ( the mind naturally accommodates itself even to the most 
 
 X^^ ridiculous improprieties, if they occur frequently." 
 
EVELINA. 307 
 
 "I should have hoped," said I, "that the humane pro- 
 posal made yesterday by your Lordship, would have had 
 more effect." 
 
 " 0/' cried he, laughing, " I was so far from expecting 
 any success, that I shall think myself very fortunate if I 
 escape the wit of Mr. Coverley in a lampoon ! yet I spoke 
 openly, because I do not wish to conceal that I am no friend 
 to gaming." 
 
 After this, he took up the New Bath Guide, 1 and read it 
 with me till supper-time. In our way down stairs, Lady 
 "Louisa said, " I thought, brother, you were engaged this 
 evening ? " 
 
 " Yes, sister," answered he, " and I have been engaged." 
 And he bowed to me with an air of gallantry that rather 
 confused me. 
 
 Sept. 2Srd. 
 Almost insensibly have three days glided on since I 
 wrote last, and so serenely, that, but for your absence, I 
 could not have formed a wish. My residence here is much 
 happier than I had dared expect. The attention with 
 which Lord Orville honours me, is as uniform as it is 
 nattering, and seems to result from a benevolence of heart 
 that proves him as much a stranger to caprice as to pride ; 
 for, as his particular civilities arose from a generous resent- 
 ment at seeing me neglected, so will they, I trust, continue, 
 as long as I shall, in any degree, deserve them. I am now 
 not merely easy, but even gay in his presence : such is the 
 effect of true politeness, that it banishes all restraint and 
 embarrassment. When we walk out, he p >H o ^ oiirlc ! to h& 
 my p^mpflTiyTij and keeps by my side all the way we go. 
 When we read, he marks the passages most worthy to be 
 noticed, draws out my sentiments, and favours me with his 
 own. At table, where he always sits next to me, he obliges 
 me by a thousand nameless attentions ; while the distin- 
 guishing good- breeding with which he treats me, prevents 
 my repining at the visibly-felt superiority of the rest of the 
 
 1 The yew Bath Guide. — This lively satire in verse was written by 
 Christopher Anstey, whom Miss Burney was to meet at Bath, a year or 
 two after the publication of Evelina. It was almost his : - single speech." 
 He lived to a good age without doing more of note. 
 
308 EVELINA. 
 
 company. A thousand occasional meetings could not have 
 brought us to that degree of social freedom, which four 
 days spent under the same roof have, insensibly, been pro- 
 ductive of : and, as my only friend in this house, Mrs. Sel- 
 wyn, is too much engrossed in perpetual conversation to 
 attend much to me, Lord Orville seems to regard me as a 
 helpless stranger, and, as such, to think me intitled to his 
 good offices and protection. Indeed, my dear Sir, I have 
 reason to hope, that the depreciating opinion he formerly 
 entertained of me is succeeded by one infinitely more 
 partial. — It may be that I flatter myself ; but yet his looks, 
 his attentions, his desire of drawing me into conversation, 
 and his solicitude to oblige me, all conspire to make me 
 hope I do not. In short, my dearest Sir, these last four 
 happy days would repay me for months of sorrow and pain ! 
 
 LETTER LXVI. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Clifton, Sept. 24th. 
 
 THIS morning I came down stairs very early ; and 
 supposing that the family would not assemble for 
 some time, I strolled out, purposing to take a long walk, in 
 the manner I was wont to do at Berry Hill, before break- 
 fast : but I had scarce shut the garden-gate, before I was 
 met by a gentleman, who, immediately bowing to me, I re- 
 collected to be the unhappy Mr. Macartney. Yery much 
 surprised, I courtsied, and stopped till he came up to me. 
 He was still in mourning, but looked better than when I 
 saw him last, though he had the same air of melancholy 
 which so much struck me at first sight of him. 
 
 Addressing me with the utmost respect, " I am happy, 
 Madam," said he, " to have met with you so soon. I came 
 to Bristol but yesterday, and have had no small difficulty in 
 tracing you to Clifton. " 
 
 " Did you know, then, of my being here ? " 
 " I did, Madam ; the sole motive of my journey was to 
 see you. I have been to Berry Hill, and there I had my 
 
EVELINA. 309 
 
 intelligence, and, at the same time, the unwelcome informa- 
 tion of your ill health." 
 
 " Good God ! Sir, — and can you possibly have taken so 
 much trouble ? " 
 
 " Trouble ! O, Madam, could there be any, to return you, 
 the moment I had the power, my personal acknowledgments 
 for your goodness ? " 
 
 I then enquired after Madame Duval and the Snow-Hill 
 family. He told me they were all well, and that Madame 
 Duval proposed soon returning to Paris. When I con- 
 gratulated him on looking better, "It is yourself, Madam," 
 said he, " you should congratulate ; for to your humanity 
 alone it may now be owing that I exist at all." He then 
 told me, that his affairs were now in a less desperate situa- 
 tion; and that he hoped, by the assistance of time and 
 reason, to accommodate his mind to a more cheerful sub- 
 mission to his fate. " The interest you so generously took 
 in my affliction," added he, " assures me you will not be dis- 
 pleased to hear of my better fortune ; I was therefore eager 
 to acquaint you with it." He then told me that his friend, 
 the moment he had received his letter, quitted Paris, and 
 flew to give him his personal assistance and consolation. 
 With a heavy heart, he acknowledged, he accepted it ; " but 
 yet," he added, " I have accepted it ; and therefore, as bound 
 equally by duty and honour, my first step was to hasten to 
 the benefactress of my distress, and to return " (presenting 
 me something in a paper) " the only part of my obligations 
 that can be returned ; for the rest, I have nothing but my 
 gratitude to offer, and must always be contented to consider 
 myself her debtor." 
 
 I congratulated him most sincerely upon his dawning 
 prosperity, but begged he would not deprive me of the 
 pleasure of being his friend; and declined receiving the 
 money, till his affairs were more settled. 
 
 While this point was in agitation, I heard Lord Orville's 
 voice inquiring of the gardener if he had seen me ? I im- 
 mediately opened the garden gate ; and his Lordship, ad- 
 vancing to me with quickness, said, " Good God ! Miss 
 Anville, have you been out alone ? Breakfast has been ready 
 some time, and I have been round the garden in search of 
 you." 
 
. 310 ) EVELINA. 
 
 " Tour Lordship has been very good,'' said I; "but I 
 hope you have not waited." 
 
 " Not waited ! " repeated he, smiling : " Do you think we 
 could sit down quietly to breakfast, with the idea that you 
 had run away from us ? But come," (offering to hand me) 
 " if we do not return, they will suppose Jam run away too ; 
 and they very naturally may, as they know the attraction of 
 the magnet that draws me." 
 
 " I will come, my Lord," said I, rather embarrassed, " in 
 two minutes." Then, turning to Mr. Macartney, with yet 
 more embarrassment, I wished him good morning. 
 
 He advanced towards the garden, with the paper still in 
 his hand. 
 
 "No, no," cried I, " some other time." 
 
 " May I then, Madam, have the honour of seeing you 
 again ? " 
 
 I did not dare take the liberty of inviting any body to the 
 house of Mrs. Beaumont, nor yet had I the presence of mind 
 to make an excuse ; and, therefore, not knowing how to 
 refuse him, I said, " Perhaps you may be this way again to- 
 morrow morning, — and I believe I shall walk out before 
 breakfast." 
 
 He bowed, and went away ; while I, turning again to 
 Lord Orville, saw his countenance so much altered, that I 
 was frightened at what I had so hastily said. He did not 
 again offer me his hand : but walked, silent and slow, by my 
 side. Good Heaven ! thought I, what may he not suppose 
 from this adventure ? May he not, by my desire of meet- 
 ing Mr. Macartney to-morrow, imagine it was by design I 
 walked out to meet him to-day ? Tormented by this appre- 
 hension, I determined to avail myself of the freedom which 
 his behaviour, since I came hither, has encouraged ; and, 
 since he would not ask any questions, begin an explanation 
 myself. I therefore slackened my pace to gain time : and 
 then said, "Was not your Lordship surprised to see me 
 speaking with a stranger ? " 
 
 " A stranger ? " repeated he ; " is it possible that gentle- 
 man can be a stranger to you ? " 
 
 "No, my Lord," said I, stammering, "not to me — but 
 only it might look — he might seem — " 
 
 "No, believe me," said he, with a forced smile, "I could 
 
EVELINA. 311 
 
 never suppose Miss Anville would make an appointment 
 with a stranger." 
 
 "An appointment, my Lord?" repeated I, colouring 
 violently. 
 
 "Pardon me, Madam," answered he, "but I thought I 
 had heard one." 
 
 I was so much confounded that I could not speak : yet, 
 finding he walked quietly on, I could not endure he should 
 make his own interpretation of my silence : and therefore, 
 as soon as I recovered from my surprise, I said, " Indeed, 
 my Lord, you are much mistaken, Mr. Macartney had par- 
 ticular business with me — and I could not — I knew not, 
 how to refuse seeing him ; — but indeed, my Lord — I had 
 not, — he had not, — " I stammered so terribly that I could 
 not go on. 
 
 " I am very sorry," said he, gravely, " that I have been so 
 unfortunate as to distress you ; but I should not have fol- 
 lowed you had I not imagined you were merely walked out 
 for the air." 
 
 " And so I was ! " cried I, eagerly, "indeed, my Lord, I 
 was ! My meeting with Mr. Macartney was quite accidental ; 
 and, if your Lordship thinks there is any impropriety in 
 my seeing him to-morrow, I am ready to give up that in- 
 tention." 
 
 "If I think ! " said he, in a tone of surprise ; " surely 
 Miss Anville cannot leave the arbitration of a point so deli- 
 cate to one who is ignorant of all the circumstances which 
 attend it ? " 
 
 "If," said I, "it was worth your Lordship's time to hear 
 them, — you should not be ignorant of the circumstances 
 which attend it." 
 
 " The sweetness of Miss Anville's disposition," said he, in 
 a softened voice, " I have long admired ; and the offer of a 
 communication, which does me so much honour, is too 
 grateful to me not to be eagerly caught at." 
 
 Just then Mrs. Selwyn opened the parlour window, and 
 our conversation ended. I was rallied upon my passion for 
 solitary walking ; but no questions were asked me. 
 
 When breakfast was over, I hoped to have had some 
 opportunity of speaking with Lord Orville ; but Lord 
 Merton and Mr. Coverley came in, and insisted upon his 
 
312 EVELINA. 
 
 opinion of the spot they had fixed upon for the old women's 
 race. The ladies declared they would be of the party ; and 
 accordingly we all went. 
 
 The race is to be run in Mrs. Beaumont's garden ; the 
 two gentlemen are as anxious, as if their joint lives de- 
 pended upon it. They have at length fixed upon objects ; 
 but have found great difficulty in persuading them to prac- 
 tise running, in order to try their strength. This grand 
 affair is to be decided next Thursday. 
 
 When we returned to the house, the entrance of more 
 company still prevented my having any conversation with 
 Lord Orville. I was very much chagrined, as I knew he 
 was engaged at the Hotwells in the afternoon Seeing, 
 therefore, no probability of speaking to him before the time 
 of my meeting Mr. Macartney arrived, I determined that, 
 rather than risk his ill opinion, I would leave Mr. Macart- 
 ney to his own suggestions. 
 
 Yet, when I reflected upon his peculiar situation, his 
 poverty, his sadness, and, more than all the rest, the idea I 
 knew he entertained of what he calls his obligations to me, 
 I could not resolve upon a breach of promise, which might 
 be attributed to causes, of all others the most offensive to 
 one whom misfortune has made extremely suspicious of 
 slights and contempt. 
 
 After the most uneasy consideration, I at length deter- 
 mined upon writing an excuse, which would, at once, save 
 me from either meeting or affronting him. I therefore 
 begged Mrs. Selwyn's leave to send her man to the Hot- 
 wells, which she instantly granted ; and then I wrote the 
 following note : 
 
 " To Mr. Macartney. 
 "Sir, 
 
 " As it will not be in my power to walk out to-morrow 
 morning, I would by no means give you the trouble of 
 coming to Clifton. I hope, however, to have the pleasure 
 of seeing you before you quit Bristol. I am, Sir, your 
 obedient servant, 
 
 "Evelina Anville." 
 
 I desired the servant to enquire at the pump-room where 
 Mr. Macartney lived, and returned to the parlour. 
 
 As soon as the company dispersed, the ladies retired to 
 
EYE LIN A. 
 
 dress. I then, unexpectedly, found myself alone with Lord 
 Orville ; who, the moment I rose to follow Mrs. Selwyn, 
 advanced to me, and said, " Will Miss Anville pardon my 
 impatience, if I remind her of the promise she was so good 
 as to make me this morning ? " 
 
 I stopped, and would have returned to my seat ; but be- 
 fore I had time, the servants came to lay the cloth. He 
 retreated, and went towards the window ; and, while I was 
 considering in what manner to begin, I could not help 
 asking myself what right I had to communicate the affairs 
 oOIr. Macartney: and I doubted whether, to clear myself 
 from one "acTof^imprudence, I had not committed another. 
 
 Distressed by this reflection, I thought it best to quit the 
 room, and give myself some time for consideration before I 
 spoke ; and therefore, only saying I must hasten to dress, 
 I ran up stairs, rather abruptly I own ; and so, I fear, Lord 
 Orville must think. Yet what could I do ? unused to the 
 situations in which I find myself, and embarrass ed by the 
 sl ightest difficulties, I seldom, till too late, 'discover now 1 
 ought to act. 
 
 Just as we were all assembled to dinner, Mrs. Selwyn's 
 man, coming into the parlour, presented to me a letter, and 
 said, " I can't find out Mr. Macartney, Madam ; but the 
 post-office people will let you know if they hear of him." 
 
 I was extremely ashamed of this public message ; and, 
 meeting the eyes of Lord Orville, which were earnestly 
 fixed on me, my confusion redoubled, and I knew not which 
 way to look. All dinner-time he was as silent as myself ; 
 and the moment it was in my power I left the table, and 
 went to my own room. Mrs. Selwyn presently followed 
 me ; and her questions obliged me to own almost all the 
 particulars of my acquaintance with Mr. Macartney, in 
 order to excuse my writing to him. She said it was a 
 most_romantic affair, and sp oke her se ntiments with great 
 severity ; declaring that she had no doubt but he was an 
 adventurer and an impostor. 
 
 "And now, my dear Sir, 1 am totally at a loss what I 
 ought to do ; the more I reflect, the more sensible I am of 
 the utter impropriety, nay, treachery, of revealing the story, 
 and publishing the misfortunes and poverty of Mr. Macart- 
 ney ; who has an undoubted right to my secrecy and dis- 
 
314 EVELINA. 
 
 cretion, and whose letter charges me to regard his commu- 
 nication as sacred. — And yet, the appearance of mystery, — - 
 perhaps something worse, which this affair must have to 
 Lord Orville, — his seriousness, — and the promise I have 
 made him, are inducements scarce to be resisted for trust- 
 ing him with the openness he has reason to expect from 
 me. 
 
 I am equally distressed, too, whether or not I should see 
 Mr. Macartney to-morrow morning. 
 
 Oh, Sir, could I now be enlightened by your counsel, 
 from what anxiety and perplexity should I be relieved ! 
 
 But no, — I ought not to betray Mr. Macartney, and I 
 will not forfeit a confidence which would never have been 
 reposed in me, but from a reliance upon my honour, which 
 I should blush to find myself unworthy of. Desirous as I 
 am of the good opinion of Lord Orville, I will endeavour 
 to act as if I w^as guided by your advice ; and, making it 
 my sole aim to deserve it, leave to time and to fate my 
 success or disappointment. 
 
 Since I have formed this resolution, my mind is more 
 at ease. But I w^ill not finish my letter till the affair is de- 
 cided. 
 
 Sept. 2oth. 
 
 I rose very early this morning ; and, after a thousand 
 different plans, not being able to resolve upon giving poor 
 Mr. Macartney leave to suppose I neglected him, I thought 
 it incumbent upon me to keep my word, since he had not 
 received my letter ; I therefore determined to make my 
 own apologies, not to stay with him two minutes, and to 
 excuse myself from meeting him any more. 
 
 Yet, uncertain whether I was wrong or right, it was with 
 fear and trembling that I opened the garden-gate ; — judge 
 then, of my feelings, when the first object I saw was Lord 
 Orville ! — he, too, looked extremely disconcerted, and said, 
 in a hesitating manner, " Pardon me, Madam, — I did not 
 intend, — I did not imagine you would have been here so 
 soon — or — or I would not have come." — And then, with a 
 hasty bow, he passed me, and proceeded to the garden. 
 
 I was scarce able to stand, so greatly did I feel myself 
 shocked ; but, upon my saying, almost involuntarily, " Oh, 
 
EVELINA. 315 
 
 my Lord ! " — lie turned back, and, after a short pause, said, 
 " Did you speak to me, Madam ? " 
 
 I could not immediately answer ; I seemed choaked, and 
 was even forced to support myself by the garden-gate. 
 
 Lord Orville, soon recovering his dignity, said, " I know 
 not how to apologize for being, just now, at this place ; — - 
 and I cannot, immediately — if ever — clear myself from the 
 imputation of impertinent curiosity, to which I fear you will 
 attribute it : however, at present, I will only intreat your 
 pardon, without detaining you any longer." Again he bowed y 
 and left me. 
 
 For some moments I remained fixed to the same spot, 
 and in the same position, immoveable, as if I had been 
 transformed to a stone. My first impulse was to call him 
 back, and instantly tell him the whole affair ; but I checked 
 this desire, though I would have given the world to have 
 indulged it ; something like pride aided what I thought 
 due to Mr. Macartney, and I determined not only to keep 
 his secret, but to delay any sort of explanation till Lord 
 Orville should condescend to request it. 
 
 Slowly he walked ; and, before he entered the house, he 
 looked back, but hastily withdrew his eyes, upon finding 
 I observed him. 
 
 Indeed, my dear Sir, you cannot easily imagine a situa- 
 tion more uncomfortable than mine was at that time ; to be 
 suspected by Lord Orville of any clandestine actions 
 wounded my soul ; I was too much discomposed to wait 
 for Mr. Macartney, nor, in truth, could I endure to have 
 the design of my staying so well known. Yet I was so 
 extremely agitated, that I could hardly move ; and I have 
 reason to believe Lord Orville, from the parlour-window, 
 saw me tottering along ; for, before I had taken five steps, 
 he came out, and, hastening to meet me, said, " I fear you 
 are not well ; pray, allow me (offering his arm) to assist 
 you." 
 
 " No, my Lord," said I, with all the resolution I could 
 assume ; yet I was affected by an attention, at that time so- 
 little expected, and forced to turn away my head to conceal 
 my emotion. 
 
 " You must," said he, with earnestness, " indeed you 
 must, — I am sure you are not well ; — refuse me not the 
 
316 EVELINA. 
 
 honour of assisting you ; " and, almost forcibly, he took my 
 hand, and, drawing it under his arm. obliged me to lean 
 upon him. That I submitted was partly the effect of sur- 
 prise, at an earnestness so uncommon in Lord Orville, and, 
 partly, that I did not just then dare trust my voice to make 
 any objection. 
 
 When we came to the house, he led me into the parlour, 
 and to a chair, and begged to know if I would not have a 
 glass of water. 
 
 " No, my Lord, I thank you," said I, " I am perfectly 
 recovered ; " and, rising, I walked to the window, where, 
 for some time, I pretended to be occupied in looking at the 
 len. 
 
 Determined as I was to act honourably by Mr. Macart- 
 ney, I yet most anxiously wished to be restored to the good 
 opinion of Lord Orville ; but his silence, and the thought - 
 fulness of his air, discouraged me from speaking. 
 
 My situation soon grew disagreeable and embarrassing, 
 and I resolved to return to my chamber till breakfast \ 
 ready. To remain longer I feared might seem asking for 
 his enquiries ; and I was sure it would ill become me to be 
 more eager to speak, than he was to hear. 
 
 Just as I reached the door, turning to me hastily, he 
 . %; Are you going, Miss Anville ? " 
 
 " I am, my Lord," answered I ; yet I stopped. 
 
 " Perhaps to return to — but I beg your pardon ! " He 
 spoke with a degree of agitation that made me readily 
 comprehend he meant to the garden ; and I instantly said. 
 "To my own room, my Lord." And again I would have 
 g ae ; but, convinced by my answer that I understood him. 
 I believe he was sorry for the insinuation : he approached 
 me with a very serious air, though at the same time he 
 forced a smile, and said, ' ; I know not what evil genius 
 pursues me this morning, but I seem destined to do or to 
 -omethincr I oucjht not : I am so much ashamed of mv- 
 self, that I can scarce solicit your forgiveness." 
 
 " My forgiveness ! my Lord r " cried I, abashed, rather 
 than elated by his condescension ; " surely you cannot — 
 yrra are not serious ? " 
 
 " Indeed, never more so ! xet, if I may be my own inter- 
 
 ter, Mi— Ariville's countenance pronounces my pardon." 
 
EVELINA. 317 
 
 " I know not, my Lord, how any one can pardon, who 
 never has been offended." 
 
 " You are very good ; yet I could expect no less from a 
 sweetness of disposition which baffles all comparison : you 
 will not think I am an encroacher, and that I take advan- 
 tage of your goodness, should 1 once more remind you of 
 the promise you vouchsafed me yesterday ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ; on the contrary I shall be very happy to ac- 
 quit myself in your Lordship's opinion." 
 
 " Acquittal you need not," said he, leading me again to 
 the window ; " yet I own my curiosity is strongly excited." 
 
 When I was seated, I found myself much at a loss what 
 to say ; yet, after a short silence, assuming all the courage 
 in my power, " Will you not, my Lord," said I, "think me 
 trifling and capricious, should I own I have repented the 
 promise I made, and should I entreat your Lordship not to 
 insist upon my strict performance of it ? " — I spoke so 
 hastily, that I did not, at the time, consider the impropriety 
 of what I said. 
 
 As he was entirely silent, and profoundly attentive, I 
 continued to speak without interruption. 
 
 " If your Lordship, by any other means, knew the circum- 
 stances attending my acquaintance with Mr. Macartney, I 
 am most sure you would yourself disapprove my relating 
 them. He is a gentleman, and has been very unfortunate ; — 
 but I am not — I think, — at liberty to say more : yet I am 
 sure, if he knew your Lordship wished to hear any parti- 
 culars of his affairs, he would readily consent to my acknow- 
 ledging them ; — shall I, my Lord, ask his permission ? " 
 
 " His affairs ! " repeated Lord Orville ; " by no means, I 
 have not the least curiosity about them." 
 
 " I beg your Lordship's pardon, — but indeed I had under- 
 stood the contrary." 
 
 " Is it possible, Madam, you could suppose the affairs of 
 an utter stranger can excite my curiosity ? " 
 
 The gravity and coldness with which he asked this 
 question very much abashed me. But Lord Orville is the 
 most delicate of men ! and, presently recollecting himself, 
 he added, " I mean not to speak with indifference of any 
 friend of yours, — far from it ; any such will always command 
 my good wishes : yet I own I am rather disappointed ; and 
 
EYELINA. 
 
 lough I doubt not the justice of jour reason, to which J 
 implicitly submit, you must not wonder, that, when upon 
 the point of being honoured with your confidence, I should 
 feel the greatest regret at finding it withdrawn." 
 
 Do you think, my dear Sir, I did not, at that moment, 
 require all my resolution to guard me from frankly telling 
 him whatever he wished to hear ? yet I rejoice that I did 
 not ; for, added to the actual wrong I should have done, 
 Lord Orville himself, when he had heard, would, I am sure, 
 liave blamed me. Fortunately, this thought occurred to me ; 
 and I said, " Your Lordship shall yourself be my judge ; 
 the promise I made, though voluntary, was rash and incon- 
 siderate ; yet, had it concerned myself, I would not have 
 hesitated in fulfilling it ; but the gentleman, whose affairs I 
 should be obliged to relate " 
 
 " Pardon me," cried he, " for interrupting you ; yet allow 
 me to assure you, I have not the slightest desire to be ac- 
 quainted with his affairs, further than what belongs to the 
 
 motives which induced you yesterday morning " He 
 
 stopped ; but there was no occasion to say more. 
 
 " That, my Lord," cried I, " I will tell you honestly. Mr. 
 Macartney had some particular business with me, and I 
 could not take the liberty to ask him hither." 
 
 " And why not ? — Mrs. Beaumont, I am sure — " 
 
 " I could not, my Lord, think of intruding upon Mrs. 
 Beaumont's complaisance ; and so, with the same hasty 
 folly I promised your Lordship, I much more rashly pro- 
 mised to meet him." 
 
 4 'And did you? " 
 
 " Xo, my Lord," said I, colouring, "] returned before 
 he came." 
 
 Again, for some time, we were both silent ; yet, unwilling 
 to leave him to reflections which could not but be to my 
 disadvantage, I summoned sufficient courage to say, "There 
 is no young creature, my Lord, who so greatly wants, or so 
 earnestly wishes for, the advice and assistance of her friends, 
 as I do : I am new to the world, and unused to acting for 
 myself ; — my intentions are never wilfully blameable, yet I 
 err perpetually ! — I have hitherto been blessed with the 
 most affectionate of friends, and, indeed, the ablest of men, 
 to guide and instruct me upon every occasion : — but he is 
 
EVELINA. 319 
 
 too distant, now, to be applied to at the moment I want his 
 aid : — and here, — there is not a human being whose counsel 
 I can ask." 
 
 " Would to Heaven," cried he, with a countenance from 
 which all coldness and gravity were banished, and succeeded 
 by the mildest benevolence, "that I were worthy, — and 
 capable, — of supplying the place of such a friend to Miss 
 Anville ! " 
 
 " You do me but too much honour," said I, " yet I hope 
 your Lordship's candour, — perhaps I ought to say indul- 
 gence. — will make some allowance, on account of my inex- 
 perience, for behaviour so inconsiderate : — May I, my Lord, 
 hope that you will ? " 
 
 " May I," cried he, "hope that you will pardon the ill- 
 grace with which I have submitted to my disappointment ? 
 and that you will permit me (kissing my hand) thus to seal 
 my peace ? " 
 
 " Our peace, my Lord ! " said I, with revived spirits. 
 
 " This, then," said he, again pressing it to his lips, " for our 
 peace : and now, — are we not friends ? " 
 
 Just then the door opened, and I had only time to with- 
 draw my hand, before the ladies came in to breakfast. 
 
 I have been, all day, the happiest of human beings ! — to 
 be thus reconciled to Lord Orville, and yet to adhere to my 
 resolution, — what could I wish for more ? — he too has been 
 very cheerful, and more attentive, more obliging to me than 
 ever. Yet Heaven forbid I should again be in a similar 
 situation, for I cannot express how much uneasiness I have 
 suffered from the fear of incurring his ill opinion. 
 
 But what will poor Mr. Macartney think of me ? Happy 
 as I am, I much regret the necessity I have been under of 
 disappointing him. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest Sir. 
 
EYELINA. 
 
 LETTER LXVIL 
 
 ME. YILLARS TO EYELINA. 
 
 Berry Hill, Sept. 28th. 
 
 DEAD to the world, and equally insensible to its pleasures 
 or its pains, I long since bad adieu to all joy, and 
 defiance to all sorrow, but what should spring from my 
 Evelina, — sole source, to me, of all earthly felicity. How 
 strange, then, is it, that the letter in which she tells me she 
 is the happiest of human beings, should give me most mortal 
 inquietude ! _ 
 
 Alas, my child ! — t hat ( innocen ce j the first, best gift of 
 Heaven, sho uld^ of alt others, be The blindest to its o wn 
 danff er.-r£the mo st exposed to treache ry, — a nd the least a ble 
 to defend itseliT i n a world where "it is little knowxuH^ 
 va lued, and perpetually dece ived ! 
 
 Would to Jtieaven you were here ! — then, by degrees, and 
 with gentleness, I might enter upon a subject too delicate 
 for distant discussion. Yet is it too interesting, and the 
 situation too critical, to allow of delay. — Oh, my Evelina, 
 your situation is critical indeed ! — your peace of mind is at 
 stake, and every chance for your future happiness may de- 
 pend upon the conduct of the present moment. 
 
 Hitherto I have forborne to speak with you upon the 
 most important of all concerns, the state of your heart : — 
 alas, I need no information ! I have been silent, indeed, but 
 I have not been bb'nd. 
 
 Long, and with the deepest regret, have I perceived the 
 ascendancy which Lord Orville has gained upon your 
 mind. — You will start at the mention of his name, — you will 
 tremble every word you read ; — I grieve to give pain to my 
 gentle Evelina, but I dare not any longer spare her. 
 
 Your first meeting with Lord Orville was decisive. Lively, 
 fearless, free from all other impressions, such a man as you 
 describe him could not fail of exciting your admiration ; 
 and the more dangerously, because h e seemed as uncon- 
 scious of his power as you of your weakness ; and therefore 
 
EVELINA. 321 
 
 yo u had no alarm, either from his vanity or your own 
 prudence. 
 
 Yo ung, animatedy^atirely^fi your guard, and th oughtless 
 of conseq uences, ( Imagination ] took the reins ; and Hleasoli? ) 
 slow- paced T thou g h sure-footed, was unequal to the race o f 
 s o eccentric and nighty a companion. How rapid was then 
 my .Evelina's progress through those regions of fancy and 
 p assio n whither her new guide conducted her !— She saw 
 Lord Orville at a ball, — and he was the most amiable of 
 men! — She met him again at another, — and he had every 
 virtue under Heaven ! 
 
 I mean not to depreciate the merit of Lord Orville, who, 
 one mysterious instance alone excepted, seems to have de- 
 served the idea you formed of his character ; but it was 
 not time, it was not the knowlftdgp of h is worth, obtaine d. 
 your regar d : your new comrade had not patience to wait 
 any trial ; her glowing pencil, dipt in the vivid colours of 
 her creative ideas, painted to you, at the moment of your 
 first acquaintance, all the excellencies, all the good and rare 
 qualities, which a great length of time and intimacy could 
 alone have really discovered. 
 
 You flattered yourself that your partiality was the effect 
 of esteem, founded upon a general love of merit, and a prin- 
 ciple of justice ; and your heart, wh ich fell fhp gn.r>rifipft of 
 yo ur error, was totally go ne ere you expected it was in 
 danger. 
 
 "A thousand times have I been upon the point of showing 
 you the perils of your situation ; but th e same inexperienc e 
 which occasioned your mistake^ I hoped, with the assista nce 
 o f time and absence, woulc^ effect a. r.nrp ■ I was, incleed, 
 most unwilling to destroy your illusion , while I dared hope 
 it might itself contribute to the restoration of your tran- 
 quillity ; since your ignoranc e of the dange r, and force of 
 yo ur attachment.^r niffht possibly prevent that despondency 
 with which young people, in similar circumstances, are apt 
 to persuade themselves, that what is only difficult, is abso- 
 lutely impossible. 
 
 But, now, since you have again met, and have become 
 more intimate than ever, all my hope from silence and 
 seeming ignorance is at an end^ ^^^ 
 
 A wake_j fchen, my dear, my (deluded Jchild, awake to the 
 
 tf 
 
322 EYELINA. 
 
 sense of your danger, and exert yourself to avoid the evils 
 with which it threatens you : — evils which, to a mind like 
 yours, are most to be dreaded ; secret repining, and con- 
 cealed, yet consuming regret ! Make a noble effort for the 
 recovery of your peace, which now, with sorrow I see it, 
 depends wholly upon the presence of Lord Orville. This 
 effort may indeed be painful ; but trust to my experience, 
 when I assure you it is requisite. 
 
 You must quit him ! — hj ajn'ght is hanfvP nl t.n ynn-r vgpnao 
 his so ciety is death to your future t rjanxpillilgE T Believe me, 
 my beloved child, my heart aches for your suffering, while 
 it dictates its necessity. 
 
 Could I flatter myself that Lord Orville would, indeed, 
 be sensible of your worth, and act with a nobleness of mind 
 which should prove it congenial to your own, then would I 
 leave my Evelina to the unmolested enjoyment of the cheer- 
 ful society, and increasing regard, of a man she so greatly 
 admires : but th is is n ot an age in which we may trustjt o 
 a ppearances ; an' d imprudence is much sooner regrette d 
 t han repaire d! Your health, you tell me, is much mended:— 
 Can you then" consent to leave Bristol ? — not abruptly, that 
 I do not desire, but in a few days from the time you receive 
 this ? I will write to Mrs. Selwyn, and tell her how much I 
 wish your return ; and Mrs. Clinton can take sufficient care 
 of you. 
 
 I have meditated upon every possible expedient that 
 might tend to your happiness, ere I fixed upon exacting 
 from you a compliance which I am convinced will be most 
 painful to you ; but I can satisfy myself in none. This 
 will at least be safe ; and as to sucess, — we must leave it 
 to time. 
 
 T am very glad to hear of Mr. Macartney's welfare. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest child ! Heaven preserve and strengthen 
 you ! A. V. 
 
EVELINA. 323 
 
 LETTER LXVIII. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Clifton, Sept. 28th. 
 
 SWEETLY, most sweetly, have two days more passed 
 since I wrote : but I have been too much engaged to be 
 exact in my journal. 
 
 To-day has been less tranquil. It was destined for the 
 decision of the important bet, and has been productive of 
 general confusion throughout the house. It was settled 
 that the race should be run at five o'clock in the afternoon. 
 Lord Merton breakfasted here, and staid till noon. He 
 wanted to engage the ladies to bet on his side, in the true 
 spirit of gaming, without seeing the racers. But he could 
 only prevail on Lady Louisa, as Mrs. Selwyn said she never 
 laid a wager against her own wishes, and Mrs. Beaumont 
 would not take sides. As for me, I was not applied to. It 
 is impossible for negligence to be more pointed than that of 
 Lord Merton to me, in the presence of Lady Louisa. 
 
 But, just before dinner, I happened to be alone in the 
 drawing-room, when his Lordship suddenly returned ; and, 
 coming in with his usual familiarity, he was beginning, 
 "You see, Lady Louisa, — " but stopping short, "Pray, 
 where's every body gone ? " 
 
 " Indeed I don't know, my Lord." 
 
 He then shut the door ; and, with a great alteration in 
 his face and manner, advanced eagerly towards me, and 
 said, " How glad I am, my sweet girl, to meet you, at last, 
 alone ! By my soul I began to think there was a plot 
 against me, for I've never been able to have you a minute 
 to my self.' ' And very freely he seized my hand. 
 
 I was so much surprised at this address, after having 
 been so long totally neglected, that I could make no other 
 answer, than staring at him with unfeigned astonishment. 
 
 " Why now," continued he, " if you was not the cruellest 
 little angel in the world, you would have helped me to some 
 expedient : for you see how I am watched here ; Lady 
 
324 EVELINA. 
 
 Louisa's eyes are never off me. She gives me a charming 
 foretaste of the pleasures of a wife ! however, it won't last 
 long." 
 
 Disgusted to the greatest degree, I attempted to draw 
 away my hand ; but I believe I should not have succeeded 
 if Mrs. Beaumont had not made her appearance. He 
 turned from me with the greatest assurance, and said, 
 " How are you, Ma'am ? — how is Lady Louisa ? — you see I 
 can't live a moment out of the house." 
 
 Could you, my dearest Sir, have believed it possible for 
 such effrontery to be in man ? 
 
 Before dinner came Mr. Coverley, and, before five o'clock, 
 Mr. Lovel and some other company. The place marked out 
 for the race, was a gravel- walk in Mrs. Beaumont's garden, 
 and the length of the ground twenty yards. When we 
 were summoned to the course, the two poor old women made 
 their appearance. Though they seemed very healthy for 
 their time of life, they yet looked so weak, so infirm, so feeble, 
 that I could feel no sensation but that of pity at the sight. 
 However, this was not the general sense of the company ; for 
 they no sooner came forward, than they were greeted with 
 a laugh from every beholder, Lord Orville excepted, who 
 looked very grave during the whole transaction. Doubtless 
 he must be greatly discontented at the dissipated conduct 
 and extravagance of a man, with whom he is soon to be so 
 nearly connected. 
 
 For some time, the scene was truly ridiculous : the agi- 
 tation of the parties concerned, and the bets that were laid 
 upon the old women, were absurd beyond measure. Who 
 are you for ? and whose side are you of ? was echoed from 
 mouth to mouth by the whole company. Lord Merton and 
 Mr. Coverley were both so excessively gay and noisy, that 
 I soon found they had been too free in drinking to their 
 success. They handed, with loud shouts, the old women to 
 the race-ground, and encouraged them by liberal promises to 
 exert themselves. 
 
 When the signal was given for them to set off, the poor 
 creatures, feeble and frightened, ran against each other : 
 and, neither of them able to support the shock, they both 
 fell on the ground. 
 
 Lord Merton and Mr. Coverley flew to their assistance. 
 
EVELINA. 325 
 
 Seats were brought for them ; and they each drank a glass 
 of wine. They complained of being much bruised; for, 
 heavy and helpless, they had not been able to save them- 
 selves, but fell with their whole weight upon the gravel. 
 However, as they seemed equal sufferers, both parties were 
 too eager to have the affair deferred. 
 
 Again therefore they set off, and hobbled along, nearly 
 even with each other, for some time ; yet frequently, to the 
 inexpressible diversion of the company, they stumbled and 
 tottered; and the confused hallooing of "Now, Goverley ! " 
 "Now, Merton!" run from side to side during the whole 
 affair. 
 
 Not long after, a foot of one of the poor women slipt, and 
 with great force she came again to the ground. Involun- 
 tarily, I sprung forward to assist her ; but Lord Merton, to 
 whom she did not belong, stopped me, calling out, " No foul 
 play ! no foul play ! " 
 
 Mr. Coverley then, repeating the same words, went him- 
 self to help her, and insisted that the other should stop. A 
 debate ensued ; but the poor creature was too much hurt to 
 move, and declared her utter inability to make another at- 
 tempt. Mr. Coverley was quite brutal : he swore at her with 
 unmanly rage, and seemed scarce able to refrain even fro: 
 striking her. 
 
 Lord Merton then, in great rapture, said it was a hollow 
 thing ; but Mr. Coverley contended, that the fall was acci- 
 dental, and time should be allowed for the woman to recover. 
 However, all the company being against him, he was pro- 
 nounced the loser. 
 
 We then went to the drawing-room, to tea. After which, 
 the evening being remarkably warm, we all walked in the 
 garden. Lord Merton was quite riotous, and Lady Louisa 
 in high spirits ; but Mr. Coverley endeavoured, in vain, to 
 conceal his chagrin. 
 
 As Lord Orville was thoughtful, and walked by himself, 
 I expected that, as usual, I should pass unnoticed, and be 
 left to my own meditations : but this was not the case ; for 
 Lord Merton, entirely off his guard, giddy equally from 
 wine and success, was very troublesome to me ; and, regard- 
 less of the presence of Lady Louisa, which hitherto has re- 
 strained him even from common civility, he attached himself 
 
326 EVELINA. 
 
 to me, during the walk, with a freedom of gallantry that put 
 me extremely out of countenance. He paid me the most 
 high-flown compliments ; and frequently and forcibly seized 
 my hand, though I repeatedly, and with undissenibled anger, 
 drew it back. Lord Orville, I saw, watched us with earnest- 
 ness ; and Lady Louisa's smiles were converted into looks 
 of disdain. 
 
 I could not bear to be thus situated ; and complaining I 
 was tired, I quickened my pace, with intention to return to 
 the house ; but* Lord Merton, hastily following, caught my 
 hand, and saying the day was his own, vowed he would not 
 let me go. 
 
 " You must, my Lord," cried I, extremely flurried. 
 
 " You are the most charming girl in the world," said he, 
 " and never looked better than at this moment." 
 
 "My Lord," cried Mrs. Selwyn, advancing to us, " you 
 don't consider, that the better Miss Anville looks the more 
 striking is the contrast with your Lordship ; therefore, for 
 your own sake, I would advise you not to hold her." 
 
 " Egad, my Lord," cried Mr. Coverley, " I don't see what 
 right you have to the best old, and the best young woman 
 too, in the same day." 
 
 " Best young woman ! " repeated Mr. Lovel ; " 'pon honour, 
 Jack, you have made a most unfortunate speech ; however, 
 if Lady Louisa can pardon you, — and her Ladyship is all 
 goodness, — I am sure nobody else can ; for you have com- 
 mitted an outrageous solecism in good manners." 
 
 " And pray, Sir.," said Mrs. Selwyn, " under what denomi- 
 nation may your own speech pass ? " 
 
 Mr. Lovel, turning another way, affected not to hear her : 
 and Mr. Coverley, bowing to Lady Louisa, said, " Her 
 Ladyship is well acquainted with my devotion ; — but, egad, 
 I don't know how it is, — I had always an unlucky turn at 
 an epigram, and never could resist a smart play upon words 
 in my life." 
 
 " Pray, my Lord," cried I, " let go my hand ! pray, Mrs. 
 Selwyn, speak for me." 
 
 " My Lord," said Mrs. Selwyn, " in detaining Miss 
 Anville any longer you only lose time ; for we are already 
 as well convinced of your valour and your strength, as if you 
 were to hold her an age." 
 
EVELINA. 327 
 
 " My Lord," said Mrs. Beaumont, "I must beg leave to 
 interfere : I know not if Lady Louisa can pardon you ; but 
 as this young lady is at my bouse, I do not choose to have 
 her made uneasy." 
 
 " I pardon him ! " cried Lady Louisa ; " T declare I am 
 monstrous glad to get rid of him." 
 
 " Egad, my Lord," cried Mr. Coverley, " while you are 
 grasping at a shadow, you'll lose a substance ; you'd best 
 make your peace while you can." 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Coverley, be quiet," said Lady Louisa, 
 peevishly ; " for I declare I won't speak to him. Brother," 
 taking hold of Lord Orville's arm, "will you walk in 
 with me ? " 
 
 " Would to Heaven," cried I, frightened to see how much 
 Lord Merton was in liquor, " that I too had a brother ! 
 — and then I should not be exposed to such treatment." 
 
 Lord Orville, instantly quitting Lady Louisa, said, " Will 
 Miss Anville allow me the honour of taking that title ? " and 
 then, without waiting for any answer, he disengaged me 
 from Lord Merton ; and, handing me to Lady Louisa, " Let 
 me," added he, " take equal care of both my sisters ; " and 
 then, desiring her, to take hold of one arm, and begging me 
 to make use of the other, we reached the house in a moment. 
 Lord Merton, disordered as he was, attempted not to stop 
 us. 
 
 As soon as we entered the house, I withdrew my arm, and 
 courtsied my thanks, for my heart was too full for speech. 
 Lady Louisa, evidently hurt at her brother's condescension, 
 and piqued extremely by Lord Merton' s behaviour, silently 
 drew away hers ; and biting her lips, with a look of infinite 
 vexation, walked sullenly up the hall. 
 
 Lord Orville asked her if she would not go into the 
 parlour ? 
 
 " No," answered she, haughtily, " I leave you and your 
 new sister together : " and then she walked up stairs. 
 
 I was quite confounded at the pride and rudeness of this 
 speech. Lord Orville himself seemed thunderstruck : I 
 turned from him, and went into the parlour: he followed 
 me, saying, " Must I now apologize to Miss Anville for the 
 liberty of my interference ? — or ought I to apologize, that I 
 did not, as I wished, interfere sooner ? " 
 
328 EVELINA 
 
 " 0, my Lord," cried I, with an emotion I could not 
 repress, "it is from you alone I meet with any respect ; — 
 all others treat me with impertinence, or contempt ! " 
 
 I am sorry I had not more command of myself, as he had 
 reason just then to suppose I particularly meant his sister ; 
 which, I am sure, must very much hurt him. 
 
 " Good Heaven," cried he, "that so much sweetness and 
 merit can fail to excite the love and admiration so justly 
 their due ! I cannot, — I dare not express to you half the 
 indignation I feel at this moment! " 
 
 " I am sorry, my Lord," said I, more calmly, " to have 
 raised it ; but yet, — in a situation that calls for protection, 
 to meet only with mortifications, — indeed, but I am ill 
 formed to bear them ! " 
 
 " My dear Miss Anville," cried he, warmly, " allow me to 
 be your friend; think of me as if I were indeed your 
 brother ; and let me intreat you to accept my best services, 
 if there is any thing in which I can be so happy as to show 
 my regard, — my respect for you ! " 
 
 Before I had time to speak, the rest of the party entered 
 the parlour ; and, as I did not wish to see anything more of 
 Lord Merton, at least before he had slept, I determined to 
 leave it. Lord Orville, seeing my design, said, as I passed 
 him, " Will you go ? " " Had not I best, my Lord ? " said 
 I. "I am afraid," said he, smiling, "since I must now 
 speak as your brother, I am afraid you had ; — you see you 
 may trust me, since I can advise against my own in- 
 terest." 
 
 I then left the room, and have been writing ever since. 
 And, methinks, I can never lament the rudeness of Lord 
 Merton, as it has more than ever confirmed to me the esteem 
 of Lord Orville. 
 
 LETTER LXIX. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Sept. 30th. 
 
 OH, Sir, what a strange incident have I to recite ! what 
 a field of conjecture to open ! 
 Yesterday evening we all went to an assembly. Lord 
 
EVELINA. V\ 329 
 
 Orville presented tickets to the whole family ; and did me 
 the honour, to the no small surprise of all here, I believe, to 
 dance with me. But every day abounds in fresh instances 
 of his condescending politeness ; and he now takes every o p- 
 p ortunity of calling me his friend and his sister^ 
 
 Lord Merton offered a ticket to Lady Louisa ; but she was 
 so much incensed against him, that she refused it with the 
 utmost disdain : neither could he prevail upon her to dance 
 with him; she sat still the whole evening, and deigned not 
 to look at or speak to him. To me her behaviour is almost 
 the same : for she is cold, distant, and haughty, and her J 
 eyes express the greatest contempt. But for Lord Orville,_ 
 how miserable would my residence here make me ! 
 
 We were joined in the ball-room by Mr. Coverley, Mr. 
 Lovel, and Lord Merton, who looked as if he was doing 
 penance, and sat all the evening next to Lady Louisa, vainly 
 endeavouring to appease her anger. 
 
 Lord Orville began the minuets : he danced with a young 
 lady who seemed to engage the general attention, as she had 
 not been seen here before. She is pretty, and looks mild and 
 good-humoured. 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Love l." said Lady Louisa, " who is that ? " 
 '\ Mjss Belmont,^' answered he, " the young heiress : she 
 cameio the W ells yesterday. ' ' 
 
 Struck with the name, I involuntarily repeated it ; but 
 nobody heard me. 
 
 " What is her family ? " said Mrs. Beaumont. 
 " Have you not heard of her, Ma'am ? " cried he ; " she is 
 o nly daughter and heiress of Sir John Belmont .' ' 
 
 Good Heaven, how did I start ! the name struck my ear 
 like a thunderbolt. Mrs. Selwyn, who immediately looked 
 at me, said, " Be calm, my dear, and we will learn the truth 
 of all this." 
 
 Till then I had never imagined her to be acquainted with 
 my story ; but she has since told me, that she knew 
 my unhappy mother, and was well informed of the whole 
 affair. 
 
 She asked Mr. Lovel a multitude of questions ; and 
 1 gathered from his answers, that this young lady was just 
 come from abroad with Sir John Belmont, who was now in 
 London ; that she was under the care of his sister, Mrs. 
 
330 EVELINA. 
 
 Paterson; and that she would inherit a considerable 
 estate. 
 
 I cannot express the strange feelings with which I was 
 agitated during this recital. What, my dearest Sir, can it 
 possibly mean ? Did you ever hear of any after-marriage ? — 
 or must I suppose, that, while the lawful child is rejected, 
 another is adopted ? — I know not what to think ! I am be- 
 wildered with a contrariety of ideas ! 
 
 When we came home, Mrs. Selwyn passed more than an 
 hour in my room conversing upon this subject. She says, 
 that I ought instantly to go to town, find out my father, and 
 have the affair cleared up. She assures me I have too 
 strong a resemblance to my dear, though unknown, mother, 
 to allow of the least hesitation in my being owned, when 
 once I am seen. For my part, I have no wish but to act by 
 your direction. 
 
 I cannot give any account of the evening ; so disturbed, 
 so occupied am I by this subject, that I can think of no 
 other. I have entreated M rs. Selw yn to observe the strictest 
 secrecy, and she has promised that she will. Indeed, she 
 Tms ton Tnnp.li sftnsft f,n ftp> i dly communica tive . 
 
 Lord Orville took notice of my being absent and silent ; 
 but I ventured not to intrust him with the cause. Fortu- 
 nately, he was not of the party at the time Mr. Lovel made 
 the discovery. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn says, that if you approve my going to town, 
 she will herself accompany me. I had a thousand times 
 rather ask the protection of Mrs. Mirvan, but, after this 
 offer that will not be possible. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest Sir. I am sure you will write im- 
 mediately, and I shall be all impatience till your letter 
 arrives. 
 
 LETTER LXX. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Oct 1st. 
 
 C**OOD God, my dear Sir, what a wonderful tale have I 
 J again to relate ! even yet, I am not recovered from 
 my extreme surprise. 
 
EVELINA. 331 
 
 Yesterday morning, as soon as I had finished my hasty 
 letter, I was summoned to attend a walking party to the 
 Hot Wells. It consisted only of Mrs. Selwyn and Lord 
 Orville. The latter walked by my side all the way ; and 
 his conversation dissipated my uneasiness, and insensibly 
 restored my serenity. 
 
 At the pnmp-room I saw Mr. Macartney ; I conrtsied to 
 him twice ere he would speak to me. When he did, I 
 began to apologize for having disappointed him ; but 1 did 
 not find it very easy to excuse myself, as Lord Orville's 
 eyes, with an expression of anxiety that distressed me, 
 turned from him to me, and me to him, every word I spoke. 
 Convinced, however, that I had really trifled with Mr. 
 Macartney, I scrupled not to beg his pardon. He was then 
 not merely appeased, but even grateful. 
 
 He requested me to see him to-morrow : but I had not 
 the folly to be again guilty of an in discretion which had 
 already caused me so muchf uneasiness7~antt therefore I 
 told him frankly, that it was not in my power at present to 
 see him but by accident; and, to prevent his being offended, 
 I hinted to him the reason I could not receive him as I 
 wished to do. 
 
 When I had satisfied both him and myself upon this sub- 
 ject, I turned to Lord Orville, and saw, with concern, the 
 gravity of his countenance. I would have spoken to him, 
 but knew not how : I believe, however, he read my thoughts ; 
 for, in a little time, with a sort of serious smile, he said, "Does 
 not Mr. Macartney complain of his disappointment ? " 
 
 " Not much, my Lord." 
 
 " And how have you appeased him ? " Finding I hesitated 
 what to answer, "Am I not your brother ? " continued he, 
 " and must I not enquire into your affairs ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my Lord," said I, laughing. " I only wish 
 it were better worth your Lordship's while." 
 
 " Let me, then, make immediate use of my privilege. 
 When shall you see Mr. Macartney again ? " 
 
 " Indeed, my Lord, I can't tell." 
 
 " But, — do you know that I shall not suffer my sister to 
 m ake a private appointment ? " ' 
 
 *~" Pr ay, my L ord," c ried I earnestly, " use that word no 
 more ! Indeed, you shock me extremely. 77 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 14 That would I not do for the world," cried he, " jet you 
 know not how warmly, how deeply I am interested, not 
 only in all your concerns, but in all your actions." 
 
 This speech — the most particular one Lord Orville had 
 ever made to me, ended our conversation at that time ; for 
 I was too much struck by it to make any answer. 
 
 Soon after, Mr. Macartney, in a low voice, intreated me 
 not to deny him the gratification of returning the money. 
 While he was speaking, the young lady I saw yesterday at 
 the assembly, with the large party, entered the pump-room. 
 Mr. Macartney turned as pale as death, his voice faultered, 
 and he seemed not to know what he said. I was myself 
 almost equally disturbed, by the crowd of confused ideas 
 that occurred to me. Grood Heaven ! thought I, why should 
 he be thus agitated ? — is it possible this can be the young 
 lady he loved ? — 
 
 In a few minutes we quitted the pump-room ; and, 
 though I twice wished Mr. Macartney good morning, he 
 was so absent he did not hear me. 
 
 We did not immediately return to Clifton, as Mrs. Selwyn 
 had business at a pamphlet shop. While she was looking 
 at some new poems, Lord Orville again asked me when I 
 should see Mr. Macartney ? 
 
 44 Indeed, my Lord," cried I, 44 1 know not, but I would 
 give the universe for a few moments' conversation with 
 him ! " I spoke this with a simple sincerity, and was not 
 aware of the force of my own words. 
 
 44 The universe ! " repeated he, " Good Grod, Miss Anville, 
 do you say this to me ? " 
 
 44 1 would say it," returned I, " to any body, my Lord." 
 
 44 I beg your pardon," said he, in a voice that showed 
 him ill pleased, 44 1 am answered." 
 
 44 My Lord," cried I, 44 you must not judge hardly of me. 
 I spoke inadvertently ; but if you knew the painful suspense 
 I suffer at this moment, you would not be surprised at 
 what I have said." 
 
 "And would a meeting with Mr. Macartney relieve you 
 from that suspense ? " 
 
 44 Yes, my Lord, two words might be sufficient." 
 
 41 Would to Heaven," cried he, after a short pause, " that 
 I were worthy to know their import ! " 
 
ETELINA. 333 
 
 " Worthy, my Lord ! — 0, if that were all, your Lordship 
 could ask nothing I should not be ready to answer ! If I 
 were but at liberty to speak, I should be proud of your 
 Lordship's enquiries : but, indeed, I am not — I have not 
 any right to communicate the affairs of Mr. Macartney ; — 
 your Lordship cannot suppose I have." 
 
 " I wi ll own to you." answered he 7 " I know not what to 
 s uppose ; yet there seems a frankness ev en in your mystery 
 — -and such an air of openness in your couriLeliaiice,-'fehafrI 
 am willing to hope, — " He stopped a moment, and then 
 added, " This meeting, you say, is essential to your 
 repose ? " 
 
 " I did not say that, my Lord ; but yet I have the most 
 important reasons for wishing to speak to him." 
 
 He paused a few minutes ; and then said, with warmth, 
 " Yes, you shall speak to him ! — I will myself assist you ! — 
 Miss Anville, I am sure, cannot form a wish against pro- 
 priety : I will ask no questions, I will rely upon her own 
 purity, and, uninformed, blindfold as I am, I will serve her 
 with all my power ! " And then he went into the shop, 
 leaving me so strangely affected by his generous behaviour, 
 that I almost wished to follow him with my thanks. 
 
 When Mrs. Selwyn had transacted her affairs, we returned 
 home. 
 
 The moment dinner was over, Lord Orville went out, 
 and did not come back till just as we were summoned to 
 supper. This is the longest time he has spent from the 
 house since I have been at Clifton ; and you cannot imagine, 
 my dear Sir, how much I missed him. I scarce knew 
 before how infinitely I am indebted to him alone for 
 the happiness I have enjoyed since I have been at Mrs. 
 Beaumont's. 
 
 As I generally go down stairs last, he came to me, the 
 moment the ladies had passed by, and said, " Shall you be 
 at home to-morrow morning ? " 
 
 " I believe so, my Lord." 
 
 " And will you then receive a visitor for me ? " 
 
 " For you, my Lord ? " 
 
 " Yes : — I have made acquaintance with Mr. Macartney, 
 and he has promised to call upon me to-morrow about 
 three o'clock." 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 And then, taking my hand, he led me down stairs. 
 
 O, Sir ! — was there ever such another man as Lord 
 )rville ? — Yes, one other now resides at Berry Hill ! 
 
 This morning there has been a great deal of company 
 here ; but at the time appointed by Lord Orville, doubtless 
 with that consideration, the parlour is almost always empty, 
 as every body is dressing. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont, however, was not gone up stairs when 
 Mr. Macartney sent in his name. 
 
 Lord Orville immediately said, " Beg the favour of him 
 to walk in. You see, Madam, that I consider myself as at 
 home." 
 
 " I hope so," answered Mrs. Beaumont, " or I should be 
 very uneasy." 
 
 Mr. Macartney then entered. I believe we both felt very 
 conscious to whom the visit was paid : but Lord Orville 
 received him as his own guest ; and not merely entertained 
 him as such while Mrs. Beaumont remained in the room, 
 but for some time after she had left it, a delicacy that 
 saved me from the embarrassment I should have felt, had 
 he immediately quitted us. 
 
 In a few minutes, however, he gave Mr. Macartney a 
 book, — for I, too, by way of pretence for continuing in the 
 room, pretended to be reading, — and begged he would be 
 so good as to look it over, while he answered a note, which 
 he would dispatch in a few minutes, and return to him. 
 
 When he was gone, we both parted with our books ; and 
 Mr. Macartney, again producing the paper with the money, 
 besought me to accept it. 
 
 "Pray," said I, still declining it, "did you know the 
 young lady who came into the pump-room yesterday 
 morning ? " 
 
 " Know her ! " repeated he, changing colour, " Oh, but 
 too well ! " 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Why, Madam, do you ask ? " 
 /°\ " I must beseech you to satisfy me further upon this 
 V subject ; pray tell me who she is." 
 
 \ " Inviolably as I meant to keep my secret, I can refuse 
 K you, Madam, nothing ; — that lady — is the daughter of Sir 
 J John Belmont ! — of my father ! " 
 
 C 
 
EVELINA. 335 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! " cried I, involuntarily laying my 
 hand on his arm, "y ou are then — " my hrftfasz, T would 
 have said, but my voice tailed me, and 1 burst into tears. 
 
 " Oh, Madam," cried he, " what does this mean ? — what 
 can thus distress you ? " 
 
 I could not answer, but held out my hand to him. He 
 seemed greatly surprised, and talked in high terms of my 
 condescension. 
 
 " Spare yourself," cried I, wiping my eyes, " spare your- 
 self this mistake, — you have a right to all I can do for you ; 
 the similarity of our circumstances — " 
 
 We were then interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Selwyn ; 
 and Mr. Macartney, finding no probability of our being 
 left alone, was obliged to take leave, though, I believe, very 
 reluctantly, while in such suspense. 
 
 Mrs. Selwy n, then, by dint of interrogatories, drew from 
 me the state of this affair. Sh e is so penetrating, th at 
 the re is no -possibility of evading~fo give t ffT aS53Emicfel 
 
 Is not this- a strange event ? Good Heaven ! how little 
 did I think that the visits I so unwillingly paid at Mr. 
 Branghton's would have introduced me to so near a rela- 
 tion ! I will never again regret the time I spent in town 
 this summer : a circumstance so fortunate will always make 
 me think of it with pleasure. 
 
 I have just received your letter, — and it has almost broken 
 my heart ! — Oh, Sir ! the illusion is over, indeed ! how 
 vainly have I flattered, how miserably deceived myself ! 
 Long since, doubtful of the situation of my heart, I dreaded 
 a scrutiny ; — but now, now that I have so long escaped, I 
 began, indeed, to think my safety insured, to hope that my 
 fears were causeless, and to believe that my good opinion 
 and esteem of Lord Orville might be owned without sus- 
 picion, and felt without danger ; — miserably deceived, in- 
 deed ! His sight is baneful to my repose ; — his society is death 
 to my future tranquillity ! Oh, Lord Orville ! could I have 
 believed that a friendship so grateful to my heart, so sooth- 
 ing to my distresses, a friendship, which, in every respect, 
 did me so much honour, would only serve to embitter all my 
 future moments ! — What a strange, what an unhappy cir- 
 
/ .336 J EVELINA. 
 
 cumstance, that my gratitude, though so justly excited r 
 should be so fatal to my peace ! 
 
 Yes, Sir, I will quit him ; — would to Heaven I could at 
 this moment ! without seeing him again, — without trusting 
 to my now conscious emotion ! — Oh, Lord Orville, how little 
 do you know the evils I owe to you ! how little suppose 
 that, when most dignified by your attention, I was most to 
 be pitied, — and when most exalted by your notice, you were 
 most my enemy ! 
 
 You, Sir, relied upon my ignorance ; — I, alas, upon your 
 experience ; and, whenever I doubted the weakness of my 
 heart, the idea that you did not suspect it, reassured me, — 
 restored my courage, and confirmed my error ! — Yet am I 
 most sensible of the kindness of your silence. 
 
 Oh, Sir ! wh y have I ever quitted you ? why been ex- 
 p osed to dangers to which I am so unequal ? ~ 
 
 But I will leave this place, leave Lord Orville, — leave 
 him, perhaps, for ever ! — no matter ; your counsel, your 
 goodness, may teach me how to recover the peace and the 
 serenity of which my unguarded folly has beguiled me. To 
 you alone do I trust, — in you alone confide, for every future 
 hope I may form. 
 
 The more I consider the parting with Lord Orville, the 
 less fortitude do I feel to bear the separation ; — the friend- 
 ship he has shown me, — his politeness, — his sweetness of 
 manners, — his concern in my affairs, — his solicitude to 
 oblige me, — all, all to be given up ! — 
 
 No, I cannot tell him I am going, — I dare not trust my- 
 self to take leave of him, — I will run away without seeing 
 him : — implicitly will I follow your advice, avoid his sight,' 
 and shun his society ! 
 
 To-morrow morning I will set off for Berry Hill. Mrs. 
 Selwyn and Mrs. Beaumont shall alone know my intention. 
 And to-day — I will spend in my own room. The readiness 
 of my obedience is the only atonement I can offer for the 
 weakness which calls for its exertion. 
 
 Can you, will you, most honoured, most dear Sir ! sole 
 prop by which the poor Evelina is supported, — can you, 
 without reproach, without displeasure, receive the child you 
 have so carefully reared, — from whose education better 
 fruit might have been expected, and who, blushing for her 
 
EVELINA. 337 
 
 u nworthine ss, fears to meet the eye by which she has been 
 cherished T— Oh, yes, I am sure you will ! Y our Eveli na's 
 errors are those of the judgment ; and you, 1 well know, 
 parflon Tril but t hooo of the heart ! 
 
 LETTER LXXI. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Clifton, October 1st 
 
 I HA YE only time, my dearest Sir, for three words, to 
 overtake my last letter, and prevent your expecting me 
 immediately ; for, when I communicated my intention to 
 Mrs. Selwyn, she would not hear of it, and declared it would 
 be highly ridiculous for me to go before I received an an- 
 swer to my intelligence concerning the journey from Paris. 
 She has, therefore, insisted upon my waiting till your next 
 letter arrives. I hope you will not be displeased at my 
 compliance, though it is rather against my own judgment : 
 but Mr s. Selwyn quite overpowered me with the force of 
 her arguments . I will, however, see very little of Lord 
 Orvirie ; I will never come down stairs before breakfast ; 
 give up all my walks in the garden ; seat myself next to 
 Mrs. Selwyn ; and not merely avoid his conversation, but 
 shun his presence. I will exert all the prudence and all 
 the resolution in my power, to prevent this short delay from 
 giving you any further uneasiness. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest Sir. I shall not now leave Clifton 
 till I have your directions. 
 
 LETTER LXXII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Octoher 2nd. 
 
 YESTERDAY, from the time I received your kind, 
 though heart-piercing letter, I kept my room, — for I 
 was equally unable and unwilling to see Lord Orville ; but 
 
338 EVELINA. 
 
 this morning, finding I seemed destined to pass a few days 
 longer here, I endeavoured to calm my spirits, and to ap- 
 pear as usual ; though I determined to avoid him to the 
 utmost of my power. Indeed, as I entered the parlour, 
 when called to breakfast, my thoughts were so much occu- 
 pied with your letter, that I felt as much confusion at his 
 sight, as if he had himself been informed of its contents. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont made me a slight compliment upon my 
 recovery, for I had pleaded illness to excuse keeping my 
 room : Lady Louisa spoke not a word ; but Lord Orville, 
 little imagining himself the cause of my indisposition, en- 
 quired concerning my health with the most distinguishing 
 politeness. I hardly made any answer ; and, for the first 
 time since I have been here, contrived to sit at some dis- 
 tance from him. 
 
 I could not help observing that my reserve surprised him ; 
 yet he persisted in his civilities, and seemed to wish to 
 remove it. But I paid him very little attention ; and the 
 moment breakfast was over, instead of taking a book, or 
 walking in the garden, I retired to my own room. 
 
 Soon after, Mrs. Selwyn came to tell me, that Lord 
 Orville had been proposing I should take an airing, and 
 persuading her to let him drive us both in his phaeton. 
 She delivered the message with an archness that made me 
 blush ; and added, that an airing, in my Lord Orville 1 s car- 
 riage, could not fail to revive my spirits. There is no 
 possibility of escaping her discernment ; she has frequently 
 rallied me upon his Lordship's attention, — and, alas ! — upon 
 the pleasure with which I have received it ! However, I 
 absolutely refused the offer. 
 
 " Well/' said she, laughing, " I cannot just now indulge 
 you with any solicitation ; for, to tell you the truth, I have 
 business to transact at the Wells, and am glad to be ex- 
 cused myself. I would ask you to walk with me; — but 
 since Lord Orville is refused, I have not the presumption to 
 hope for success." 
 
 " Indeed," cried I, " you are mistaken ; I will attend you 
 with pleasure." 
 
 " rare coquetry ! " cried she, " surely it must be in- 
 herent in our sex, or it could not have been imbibed at Berry 
 Hill." 
 
EYELINA. 339 
 
 I had not spirits to answer her, and therefore put on my 
 hat and cloak in silence. 
 
 "I presume," continued she, drily, "his Lordship may 
 walk with us." 
 
 "If so, Madam," said I, "you will have a companion, 
 and I will stay at home." 
 
 " My dear child," cried she, " did you bring the certificate 
 of your birth with you ? " 
 
 " Dear Madam, no ! " 
 
 " Why then, we shall never be known again at Berry 
 Hill." 
 
 I felt too conscious to enjoy her pleasantry : but I believe 
 she was determined to torment me, for she asked if she 
 should inform Lord Orville that I desired him not to be of 
 the party ? 
 
 " By no means, Madam ; but, indeed, I had rather not 
 walk myself." 
 
 "My dear," cried she, "I really do not know you this 
 morning, — you have certainly been taking a lesson of Lady 
 Louisa." 
 
 She then went down stairs ; but presently returning, told 
 me she had acquainted Lord Orville that I did not choose 
 to go out in the phaeton, but preferred a walk, tete-a-tete 
 with her, by way of variety, 
 
 I said nothing, but was really vexed. She bad me go 
 down stairs, and said she would follow me immediately. 
 
 Lord Orville met me in the hall. " I fear," said he, 
 " Miss Anville is not yet quite well ? " and he would have 
 taken my hand, but I turned from him, and courtsying 
 slightly, went into the parlour. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont and Lady Louisa were at work : Lord 
 Merton was talking with the latter ; for he has now made 
 his peace, and is again received into favour. 
 
 I seated myself, as usual, by the window. Lord Orville, 
 in a few minutes, came to me, and said, " Why is Miss 
 Anville so grave ? " 
 
 "Not grave, my Lord," said I, "only stupid;" and I 
 took up a book. 
 
 "You will go," said he, after a short pause, "to the as- 
 sembly to-night ? " 
 
 " No, my Lord, certainly not." 
 
» ^ 340/ EYELINA. 
 
 u Neither tlien will I ; for I should he sorry to sully the 
 remembrance I have of the happiness I enjoyed at the last." 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn then coming in, general enquiries were made 
 to all but me, of who would go to the assembly ? Lord 
 Orville instantly declared he had letters to write at home ; 
 but every one else settled to go. 
 
 I then hastened Mrs. Selwyn away, though not before she 
 had said to Lord Orville, " Pray, has your Lordship ob- 
 tained Miss Anville's leave to favour us with your company ?" 
 
 " I have not, Madam," answered he, "had the vanity to 
 ask it." 
 
 During our walk, Mrs. Selwyn tormented me unmerci- 
 fully. She told me, that since I declined any addition to 
 our party, I must, doubtless, be conscious of my own powers 
 of entertainment ; and begged me, therefore, to exert them 
 freely. I repented a thousand times having consented to 
 walk alone with her : for though I made the most painful 
 efforts to appear in spirits, hexJ^iUeryquite ove rpowered me. 
 
 We went first to the pump-room! It was full of company ; 
 and the moment we entered, I heard a murmuring of, 
 " That's she ! " and, to my great confusion, I saw every eye 
 turned towards me. I pulled my hat over my face, and, 
 by the assistance of Mrs. Selwyn, endeavoured to screen 
 myself from observation : nevertheless, I found I was so 
 much the object of general attention, that I intreated her 
 to hasten away. But unfortunately she had entered into 
 conversation, very earnestly, with a gentleman of her ac- 
 quaintance, and would not listen to me ; but said, that if I 
 was tired of waiting, I might walk on to the milliner's with 
 the Miss Watkin s, two young ladies I had seen at Mrs. 
 Beaumont's, who were going thither. 
 
 I accepted the offer very readily, and away we went. 
 But we had not gone three yards, before we were followed 
 by a party of young men, who took every possible oppor- 
 tunity of looking at us, and, as they walked behind, talked 
 aloud, in a manner at once unintelligible and absurd. 
 " Yes," cried one, " 'tis certainly she ! — mark but her blush- 
 ing cheek ! " 
 ~ lm And then her eye — her downcast eye!" — cried another. 
 
 " True, oh most true," said a third, " every beauty is her 
 own! " 
 
EVELINA. 341 
 
 " But then, ,, said the first, " her^jmjjid ^—iiow ^ he ^^" 
 culty i s, to find out the truth of that, for she will no I yay a 
 
 " She is timid" answered another ; " mark but her timid 
 
 air^ - ~ = a * 
 
 '"TTuring this conversation, we walked on silent and quick : 
 as we knew not to whom it was particularly addressed, we 
 were all equally ashamed, and equally desirous to avoid 
 such unaccountable observations. 
 
 Soon after we were caught in a shower of rain. We 
 hurried on; and these gentlemen, following us, offered 
 their services in the most pressing manner, begging us to 
 make use of their arms ; and, while I almost ran, in order 
 to avoid their impertinence, I was suddenly met by Sir 
 Clement Willoughby ! 
 
 We both started : " Grood Grod ! " he exclaimed, " Miss 
 Anville ! " and then, regarding my tormentors with an air 
 of displeasure, he earnestly enquired, if any thing had 
 alarmed me ? 
 
 " No, no ; " cried I, for I found no difficulty now to dis- 
 engage myself from these youths, who, probably, conclud- 
 ing from the commanding air of Sir Clement, that he had 
 a right to protect me, quietly gave way to him, and entirely 
 quitted us. 
 
 With his usual impetuosity, he then began a thousand 
 enquiries, accompanied with as many compliments ; and he 
 told me, that he arrived at Bristol but this morning, which he 
 had entirely devoted to endeavours to discover where I lodged. 
 
 " Did you know, then," said I, " that I was at Bristol ? " 
 
 "Would to Heaven," cried he, "that I could remain in 
 ignorance of your proceedings with the same contentment 
 you do of mine ! then should I not for ever journey upon 
 the wings of Hope, to meet my own despair ! You cannot 
 even judge of the cruelty of my fate ; for the ease and 
 serenity of your mind incapacitates you from feeling for 
 the agitation of mine ! " 
 
 The ease and serenity of my mind ! alas, how little do I 
 merit those words ! 
 
 "But," added he, "had accident brought me hither, had 
 I not known of your journey, the voice of fame would have 
 proclaimed it to me instantly upon my arrival." 
 
(*&)■ 
 
 EYELINA. 
 
 " The voice of fame ! " repeated I. 
 
 " Yes, for yours was the first name I heard at the pump- 
 room. But had I not heard your name, such a description 
 could have painted no one else." 
 
 " Indeed," said I, " I do not understand you." But just 
 then arriving at the milliner's our conversation ended ; for 
 Miss Watkins called me to look at caps and ribbons. 
 
 Sir Clement, however, has the art of being always at 
 home; he was very soon engaged, as busily as ourselves, in 
 looking at lace ruffles ; yet he took an opportunity of say- 
 ing to me, in a low voice, " How charmed I am to see you 
 look so well ! I was told you were ill ; — but I never saw you 
 in better health, — never more infinitely lovely ! " 
 
 I turned away to examine the ribbons, and soon after 
 Mrs. Selwyn made her appearance. I found that she was 
 acquainted with Sir Clement, and her manner of speaking 
 to him convinced me that he was a favourite with her. 
 
 When their mutual compliments were over, she turned 
 to me, and said, " Pray, Miss Anville, how long can you 
 live without nourishment ? " 
 
 " Indeed, Ma'am," said I, laughing, " I have never 
 tried." 
 
 "Because so long, and no longer," answered she, "you 
 may remain at Bristol." 
 
 " Why, what is the matter, Ma'am ? " 
 
 " The matter ! — why, all the ladies are at open war with 
 you, — the whole pump-room is in confusion ; and you, 
 innocent as you pretend to look, are the cause. However, 
 if you take my advice, you will be very careful how you 
 eat and drink during your stay." 
 
 I begged her to explain herself : and she then told me, 
 that a copy of verses had been dropped in the pump-room, 
 and read there aloud : " Th e_ beauties of the Wel ls," said 
 s he, "are all mentioned, but you are the Venus to whom 
 t he prize is given . ' ' 
 
 " Is it then possible," cried Sir Clement, "that you have 
 not seen these verses ? " 
 
 " I hardly know," answered I, " whether any body has." 
 
 "I assure you," said Mrs. Selwyn, " if you give me the 
 invention of them, you do me an honour I by no means 
 deserve." 
 
ETBLINA. 343 
 
 14 1 wrote down in my tablets," said Sir Clement, " the 
 stanzas which concern Miss Anville this morning at the 
 pump-room ; and I will do myself the honour of copying 
 them for her this evening. " 
 
 " But why the part that concerns Miss Anville ? " said 
 Mrs. Selwyn ; " Did you ever see her before this morniug ? " 
 
 " O yes," answered he, " I have had that happiness fre- 
 quently at Captain Mirvan's. Too, too frequently ! " added 
 he, in a low voice, as Mrs. Selwyn turned to the milliner : 
 and as soon as she was occupied in examining some trim- 
 mings, he came to me, and, almost whether I would or not, 
 entered into conversation with me. 
 
 11 1 have a thousand things," cried he, " to say to you. 
 Pray where are you ? " 
 
 "With Mrs. Selwyn, Sir." 
 
 " Indeed ! — then, for once, chance is my friend. And 
 how long have you been here ? " 
 
 " About three weeks." 
 
 " Good Heaven ! what an anxious search have I had, to 
 discover your abode, since you so suddenly left town ! The 
 termagant, Madame Duval, refused me all intelligence. 
 Oh, Miss Anville, did you know what I have endured ! the 
 sleepless, restless state of suspense I have been tortured 
 with, yon could not, all cruel as you are, you could not 
 have received me with such frigid indifference ? " 
 
 " Received you, Sir ! " 
 
 " Why, is not my visit to you ? Do you think I should 
 have made this journey, but for the happiness of again see- 
 ing you ? " 
 
 " Indeed it is possible I might, — since so many others do." 
 
 " Cruel, cruel girl ! you know that I adore you ! you 
 know you are the mistress of my soul, and arbitress of my 
 fate ! " 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn then advancing to us, he assumed a more 
 disengaged air, and asked, if he should not have the 
 pleasure of seeing her in the evening at the assembly ? 
 
 " Oh, yes," cried she, " we shall certainly be there; so 
 you may bring the verses with you, if Miss Anville can 
 wait for them so long." 
 
 " I hope then," returned he, " that you will do me the 
 honour to dance with me ? " 
 
344 EVELINA. 
 
 I thanked him, but said I should not be at the assembly. 
 
 " Not be at the assembly ! " cried Mrs. Selwyn, " Why, 
 have you, too, letters to write ? " 
 
 She looked at me with a significant archness, that made 
 me colour ; and I hastily answered, " No, indeed, Ma'am ! " 
 
 " You have not ! " cried she, yet more drily ; " then 
 pray, my dear, do you stay at home to help, — or to hinder 
 others ? " 
 
 " To do neither, Ma'am," answered I, in much confusion ; 
 " so, if you please, I will not stay at home." 
 
 " You allow me, then," said Sir Clement, "to hope 
 for the honour of your hand ? " 
 
 I only bowed, — for the dread of Mrs. Selwyn's raillery 
 made me not dare refuse him. 
 
 Soon after this we walked home : Sir Clement accom- 
 panied us ; and the conversation that passed between Mrs. 
 Selwyn and him was supported in so lively a manner, that 
 I should have been much entertained, had my mind been 
 more at ease : but, alas ! I could think of nothing but the 
 capricious, the unmeaning appearance which the alteration 
 in my conduct must make in the eyes of Lord Orville ! 
 And much as I wished to avoid him, greatly as I desire to 
 save myself from having my weakness known to him, — yet 
 I cannot endure to incur his ill opinion, — and, unacquainted 
 as he is with the reasons by which I am actuated, how 
 can he fail contemning a change to him so unaccountable ? 
 
 As we entered the garden, he was the first object we saw. 
 He advanced to meet us ; and I could not help observing, 
 that at sight of each other both he and Sir Clement changed 
 colour. 
 
 We went into the parlour, where we found the same 
 party we had left. Mrs. Selwyn presented Sir Clement to 
 Mrs. Beaumont ; Lady Louisa and Lord Merton he seemed 
 well acquainted with already. 
 
 The conversation was upon the general subjects, of the 
 weather, the company at the Wells, and the news of the 
 day. But Sir Clement, drawing his chair next to mine, 
 took every opportunity of addressing himself to me in par- 
 ticular. 
 
 I could not but remark the striking difference of his at- 
 tention, and that of Lord Orville : the latter has such 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 gentleness of manners, such delicacy of conduct, and ah 
 so respectful, that, when he natters most, he never distresses ; 
 and wben he most confers honour, appears to receive it! 
 The former obtrudes his attention, and forces mine ; it is so 
 pointed, that it always confuses me, and so public, that it 
 attracts general notice. Indeed I have sometimes thought 
 that he would rather wish, than dislike to have his partiality 
 for me krAown, as he takes great care to prevent my being 
 spoken to by any but himself. 
 
 When ai> length he went away, Lord Orville took his 
 seat, and said, with a half smile, " Shall I call Sir Clement, 
 — or will you\ call me an usurper for taking this place ? — 
 You make me no answer ? — Must I then suppose that Sir 
 Clement — " 
 
 "It is little worth your Lordship's while," said I, "to 
 suppose any thing upon so insignificant an occasion." 
 
 " Pardon me," cried he ; — " to me nothing is insignificant 
 in which you are concerned." 
 
 To this I made no answer; neither did he say any 
 thing more, till the ladies retired to dress : and then, when 
 I would have followed them, he stopped me, saying, " One 
 moment, I entreat you ! " 
 
 I turned back, and he went on, " I greatly fear that I have 
 been so unfortunate as to offend you ; yet so repugnant to 
 my very soul is the idea, that I know not how to suppose it 
 possible I can unwittingly have done the thing in the world 
 that, designedly, I would wish to avoid." 
 
 "No, indeed, my Lord, you have not," said I. 
 
 "You sigh!" cried he, taking my hand, "would to 
 Heaven I were the sharer of your uneasiness, whencesoever 
 it springs ! with what earnestness would I not struggle to 
 alleviate it ! — Tell me, my dear Miss Anville, — my new- 
 adopted sister, my sweet and most amiable friend ! — tell 
 me, I beseech you, if I can afford you any assistance ? " 
 
 " None, none, my Lord ! " cried I, withdrawing my hand, 
 and moving towards the door. 
 
 "Is it then impossible I can serve you ? — Perhaps you 
 wish to see Mr. Macartney again ? " 
 
 " No, my Lord." And I held the door open. 
 
 " I am not, I own, sorry for that. Yet, oh ! Miss 
 Anville, there is a question, — there is a conjecture,— I know 
 
/346 ) 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 not how to mention, because I dread the result ! — Bu/t I see 
 you are in haste ; — perhaps in the evening I may have 
 the honour of a longer conversation. — Yet one thiiig, w iH 
 you have the goodness to allow me to ask ? — Did yjou, this 
 morning, when you went to the Wells, — did you knoiw whom 
 you should meet there ? " 
 
 " Who, my Lord ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon a thousand times for a curiosity so 
 unlicensed ; — but I will say no more at present." 
 
 He bowed, expecting me to go ; — and then, ^with quick 
 steps, but a heavy heart, I came to my own room. His 
 question, I am sure, meant Sir Clement WilLoughby; and 
 had I not imposed upon myself the severe ta^k of avoiding, 
 flying Lord Orville, with all my power, I 'would instantly 
 have satisfied him of my ignorance of Sir Clement's jour- 
 ney. And yet more did I long to say something of the 
 assembly, since I found he depended upon my spending the 
 evening at home. 
 
 I did not go down stairs again till the family was 
 * assembled to dinner. My dress, I saw, struck Lord Orville 
 I with astonishment ; and I was myself so much ashamed 
 | of appearing whimsical and unsteady, that I could not 
 
 look up. 
 * " I understood," said Mrs. Beaumont, " that Miss Anville 
 did not go out this evening." 
 
 " Her intention in the morning," said Mrs. Selwyn, 
 " was to stay at home ; but there is a fascinating power 
 in an assembly, which, upon second thoughts, is not to be 
 resisted." 
 
 "The assembly!" cried Lord Orville; "are you then 
 going to the assembly ? " 
 
 I made no answer ; and we all took our places at 
 table. 
 
 It was not without difficulty that I contrived to give up 
 my usual seat ; but I was determined to adhere to the pro- 
 mise in my yesterday's letter, though I saw that Lord 
 Orville seemed quite confounded at my visible endeavours 
 to avoid him. 
 
 After dinner, we all went into the drawing-room to- 
 gether, as there were no gentlemen to detain his Lordship ; 
 and then, before I could place myself out of his way, he 
 
EVELINA. 347 
 
 said, " You are then really going to the assembly ? — May 
 I ask if you shall dance ? " 
 
 " I believe not, — my Lord." 
 
 " If I did not fear," continued he, "that you would be 
 tired of the same partner at two following assemblies, I 
 would give up my letter-writing till to-morrow evening, 
 and solicit the honour of your hand." 
 
 " If I do dance," said I, in great confusion, " I believe I 
 am engaged." 
 
 " Engaged ! " cried he, with earnestness, " May I ask to 
 whom ? " 
 
 " To— Sir Clement Willoughby, my Lord." 
 
 He said nothing, but looked very little pleased, and did 
 not address himself to me any more all the afternoon. Oh, 
 Sir ! — thus situated, how comfortless were the feelings of 
 your Evelina ! 
 
 Early in the evening, with his accustomed assiduity, Sir 
 Clement came to conduct us to the assembly. He soon 
 contrived to seat himself next me, and, in a low voice, paid 
 me so many compliments, that I knew not which way to 
 look. 
 
 Lord Orville hardly spoke a word, and his countenance 
 was grave and thoughtful ; yet, whenever I raised my eyes, 
 his, I perceived, were directed towards me, though instantly, 
 upon meeting mine, he looked another way. 
 
 In a short time, Sir Clement, taking from his pocket a 
 folded paper, said, almost in a whisper, " Here, loveliest of 
 women, you will see a faint, an unsuccessful attempt to paint 
 the object of all my adoration ! yet, weak as are the lines 
 for the purpose, I envy beyond expression the happy mortal 
 who has dared make the effort." 
 
 " I will look at them," said I, " some other time." For, 
 conscious that I was observed by Lord Orville, I could not 
 bear he should see me take a written paper, so privately 
 offered, from Sir Clement. But Sir Clement is an imprac- 
 ticable man, and I never succeeded in any attempt to frus- 
 trate whatever he had planned. 
 
 "No," said he, still in a whisper, "you must take them 
 now, while Lady Louisa is away ; " for she and Mrs. 
 Selwyn were gone up stairs to finish their dress, " as she 
 must by no means see them." 
 
^ 
 
 EYKLINA. 
 
 a Indeed, " said I, " I have no intention to show them." 
 
 "But the only way," answered he, "to avoid suspicion, 
 is to take them in her absence. I would have read them 
 aloud myself, but that they are not proper to be seen by 
 any body in this house, yourself and Mrs. Selwyn ex- 
 cepted." 
 
 Then again he presented me the paper, which I now was 
 obliged to take, as I found declining it was vain. But I 
 was sorry that this action should be seen, and the whisper- 
 ing remarked, though the purport of the conversation was 
 left to conjecture. 
 
 As I held it in my hand, Sir Clement teazed me to look 
 at it immediately ; and told me, the reason he could not pro- 
 duce the lines publicly was, that among the ladies who were 
 mentioned, and supposed to be rejected, was Lady Louisa 
 Larpent. I am much concerned at this circumstance, as I 
 cannot doubt but that it will render me more disagreeable to 
 her than ever, if she should hear of it. 
 
 I will now copy the verses, which Sir Clement would not 
 let me rest till I had read. 
 
 See last advance, with bashful grace, 
 
 Downcast eye, and blushing cheek, 
 Timid air, and beauteous face, 
 
 Anville, — whom the Graces seek. 
 Though ev'ry beauty is her own, 
 
 And though her mind each virtue fills, 
 Anville, — to her power unknown, 
 
 Artless strikes, — unconscious kills. 
 
 I am sure, my dear Sir, you will not wonder that a pane- 
 gyric such as this should, in reading, give me the greatest 
 confusion ; and, unfortunately, before I had finished it, the 
 ladies returned. 
 
 " What have you there, my dear ? " said Mrs. Selwyn. 
 
 "Nothing, Ma'am," said I, hastily folding, and putting it 
 in my pocket. 
 
 " And has nothing," cried she, " the power of rouge ? " 
 
 I made no answer ; a deep sigh, which escaped Lord 
 Orville at that moment, reached my ears, and gave me sen- 
 sations — which I dare not mention ! 
 
EVELINA. 349 
 
 Lord Merton then handed Lady Louisa and Mrs. Beau- 
 mont to the latter's carriage. Mrs. Selwyn led the way to 
 Sir Clement's, who handed me in after her. 
 
 During the ride I did not once speak ; but when I came 
 to the assembly room, Sir Clement took care that I should 
 not preserve my silence. He asked me immediately to 
 dance ; I begged him to excuse me, and seek some other 
 partner. But on the contrary, he told me, he was very 
 glad I would sit still, as he had a million of things to say 
 to me. 
 
 He then began to tell me, how much he had suffered from 
 absence ; how greatly he was alarmed when he heard I had 
 left town ; and how cruelly difficult he had found it to trace 
 me ; which, at last, he could only do by sacrificing another 
 week to Captain Mir van. 
 
 M And Howard Grove," continued he, " which, at my first 
 visit, I thought the most delightful spot upon earth, now 
 appeared to me the most dismal : the face of the country 
 seemed altered : the walks, which I had thought most plea- 
 sant, were now most stupid : Lady Howard, who had 
 appeared a cheerful and respectable old lady, now appeared 
 in the common John Trot style of other aged dames : Mrs. 
 Mirvan, whom I had esteemed as an amiable piece of still- 
 life, now became so insipid, that I could hardly keep awake 
 in her company : the daughter, too, whom I had regarded 
 as a good-humoured, pretty sort of a girl, now seemed 
 too insignificant for notice : and as to the Captain, I had 
 always thought him a booby, — but now he appeared a 
 savage ! " 
 
 " Indeed, Sir Clement," cried I, angrily, " I will not hear 
 you speak thus of my best friends." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said he, " but the contrast of my 
 two visits was too striking not to be mentioned. " 
 
 He then asked what I thought of the verses ? 
 
 11 Either," said I, " they are written ironically, or by 
 some madman." 
 
 Such a profusion of compliments ensued, that I was 
 obliged to propose dancing, in my own defence. When we 
 stood up, " I intended," said he, " to have discovered the 
 author by his looks ; but I find you so much the general 
 loadstone of attention, that my suspicions change their object 
 
350 EVELINA. 
 
 every momeat. Surely you must yourself have some know- 
 ledge who he is ? " 
 
 I told him no. Yet, my dear Sir, I must own to you, I 
 have no doubt but that Mr. Macartney must be the author ; 
 no one else would speak of me so partially ; and, indeed, his 
 poetical turn puts it, with me, beyond dispute. 
 
 He asked me a thousand questions concerning Lord 
 Orville ; how long he had been at Bristol ? — what time I 
 had spent at Clifton ? — whether he rode out every morning ? 
 — whether I ever trusted myself in a phaeton ? and a multi- 
 tude of other enquiries, all tending to discover if I was 
 honoured with much of his Lordship's attention, and all 
 made with his usual freedom and impetuosity. 
 
 Fortunately, as I much wished to retire early, Lady 
 Louisa makes a point of being the first who quit the rooms, 
 and therefore we got home in very tolerable time. 
 
 Lord Orville's reception of us was grave and cold : far 
 from distinguishing me, as usual, by particular civilities, 
 Lady Louisa herself could not have seen me enter the room 
 with more frigid unconcern, nor have more scrupulously 
 avoided honouring me with any notice. But chiefly I was 
 struck to see, that he suffered Sir Clement, who stayed 
 supper, to sit between us, without any effort to prevent him, 
 though till then, he had seemed to be even tenacious of a 
 seat next mine. 
 
 This little circumstance affected me more than I can 
 express ; yet I endeavoured to rejoice at it, since neglect and 
 indifference from him may be my best friends. — But, alas ! 
 — so suddenly, so abruptly to forfeit his attention ! — to lose 
 his friendship.! — Oh, Sir, these thoughts pierced my soul ! 
 — scarce could I keep my seat ; for not all my efforts could 
 restrain the tears from trickling down my cheeks : however, 
 as Lord Orville saw them not, for Sir Clement's head was 
 constantly between us, I tried to collect my spirits, and suc- 
 ceeded so far as to keep my place with decency, till Sir Cle- 
 ment took leave ; and then, not daring to trust my eyes to 
 meet those of Lord Orville, I retired. 
 
 I have been writing ever since ; for, certain that I could 
 not sleep, I would not go to bed. Tell me, my dearest Sir, 
 if you possibly can, tell me that you approve my change of 
 .conduct, — tell me that my altered behaviour to Lord Orville 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 is right, — that my flying his society, and avoiding his civili- 
 ties, are actions which you wonld have dictated. — Tell me 
 this, and the sacrifices I have made will comfort me in the 
 midst of my regret, — for never, never can I cease to regret 
 that I have lost the friendship of Lord Orville ! — Oh, Sir, I 
 have slighted, — have rejected, — have thrown it away ! — No 
 matter, it was an hononr I merited not to preserve ; and now 
 I see, — that my mind was unequal to sustaining it without 
 danger. 
 
 Yet so strong is the desire you have implanted in me to 
 act with uprightness and propriety, that, however the weak- 
 ness of my heart may distress and afflict me, it will never, I 
 humbly trust, render me wilfully culpable. The wish of 
 doing well governs every other, as far as concerns my con- 
 duct, — for am I not your child ? — the creature of your own 
 forming ! — Yet, Oh Sir, friend, parent, of my heart ! — my 
 fe elings are all at war with my duties ! and, while I 
 most struggle to acquire self- approbation, my peace, my 
 happiness, my hopes, — are lost ! 
 
 'Tis you alone can compose a mind so cruelly agitated : 
 you, I well know, can feel pity for the weakness to which 
 you are a stranger ; and, though you blame the affliction, 
 soothe and comfort the afflicted. 
 
 LETTER LXXIII. 
 
 MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA. 
 
 Berry Hill, Oct. 3rd. 
 
 YOUR last communication, my dearest child, is indeed 
 astonishing ; that an acknowledged daughter and 
 heiress of Sir John Belmont should be at Bristol, and still 
 my Evelina bear the name of Anville, is to me inexplicable : 
 yet the mystery of the letter to Lady Howard prepared me 
 to expect something extraordinary upon Sir John Belmont's 
 return to England. 
 
 Whoever this young lady may be, it is certain she now 
 takes a place to which you have a right indisputable. An 
 
52) EVELINA. 
 
 after-marriage I never heard of ; yet, supposing snch a one 
 to have happened, Miss Evelyn was certainly the first wife, 
 and therefore her daughter must, at least, be entitled to the 
 name of Belmont. 
 
 Either there are circumstances in this affair at present 
 utterly incomprehensible, or else so me stran ge and most 
 at rociou s fraud has been practised ; which of these two is 
 the case it now behoves us to enquire. 
 
 My reluctance to this step gives way to my conviction of 
 its propriety, since the reputation of your dear and much- 
 injured mother must now either be fully cleared from 
 blemish, or receive its final and indelible wound. 
 
 The public appearance of a daughter of Sir John Belmont 
 will revive the remembrance of Miss Evelyn's story in all 
 who have heard it, — who the mother was, will be universally 
 demanded, — and if any other Lady Belmont should be 
 named, the birth of my Evelina will receive a stigma, 
 against which, honour, truth, and innocence may appeal in 
 vain ! — a stigma, which will eternally blast the fair fame of 
 her virtuous mother, and cast upon her blameless self the 
 odium of a title, which not all her purity can rescue from 
 established shame and dishonour ! 
 
 No, my dear child, no ; I wil l not quietly suffer, the as hpR 
 o f your mother to be treated with ignominy ! herspotless 
 ch aracter shall be justified to the world — her marriage shall 
 be" acknowledged, and her child shall bear the name to 
 which she is lawfully entitled. 
 
 It is true, that Mrs. Mirvan would conduct this affair 
 with more delicacy than Mrs. Selwyn ; yet, perhaps, to save 
 time, is of all considerations the most important, since the 
 longer this mystery is suffered to continue, the more difficult 
 may be rendered its explanation. The sooner, therefore, 
 you can set out for town, the less formidable will be your 
 task. 
 
 Let not your timidity, my dear love, depress your spirits : 
 I shall, indeed, tremble for you at a meeting so singular and 
 so affecting, yet there can be no doubt of the success of your 
 application : I enclose a letter from your unhappy mother, 
 written, and reserved purposely for this occasion : Mrs. 
 Clinton too, who attended her in her last illness, must ac- 
 company you to town. — But, without any other certificate 
 
EVELINA. 353 
 
 of your birth, that which you carry in your countenance, as 
 it could not be effected by artifice, so it cannot admit of a 
 doubt. 
 
 And now, my Evelina, committed at length to the care of 
 your real parent, receive the fervent prayers, wishes, and 
 blessings, of him who so fondly adopted you ! 
 
 May'st thou, child of my bosom ! may'st thou, in this 
 change of situation, experience no change of disposition ! 
 but receive with humility, and support with meekness the 
 elevation to which thou art rising ! May thy marm fvrs T 
 language, an d deportment, all evince that modest equan i- 
 mit^and cheerful gr atitude, which not merely deserve, bu t 
 dignify"prosperity ! May'st thou, to the last moments of an 
 unblemished life, retain thy genuine simplicity, thy single- 
 ness of heart, thy guileless sincerity ! And may'st thou, 
 stranger to ostentation, and superior to insolence, with true 
 greatness of soul shine forth conspicuous only in benefi- 
 cence ! 
 
 Arthur Villars. 
 
 LETTER LXXIV. 
 
 [Inclosed in the preceding Letter 
 
 LADY BELMONT TO SIR JOHN BELMONT 
 
 i 
 
 IN the firm hope that the moment of anguish which ap- 
 proaches will prove the period of my sufferings, once 
 more I address myself to Sir John Belmont, in behalf of 
 the child, who, if it survives its mother, will hereafter be 
 the bearer of this letter. 
 
 Yet, in what terms, — Oh, most cruel of men ! — can the 
 lost C aroline address you, and not address you in vain ? 
 Oh, deaf to the voice of compassion — deaf to the sting of 
 truth — deaf to every tie of honour — say, in what terms may 
 the lost Caroline address you, and not address you in vain I 
 
 Shall I call you by the loved, the respected title of hus- 
 band ? — No, you disclaim it ! — the father of my infant ? — 
 No, you doom it to infamy ! — the lover who rescued me from 
 a forced marriage ? — No, you have yourself betrayed me ! — 
 
 A A 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 the friend from whom I hoped succour and protection ? — 
 No, you have consigned me to misery and destruction ! 
 
 Oh, hardened against every plea of justice, remorse, or 
 pity ! how, and in what manner, may I hope to move thee ? 
 Is there one method I have left untried ? remains there 
 one resource unessayed ? No ! I have exhausted all the 
 bitterness of reproach, and drained every sluice of com- 
 passion ! 
 
 Hopeless, and almost desperate, twenty times have I flung 
 away my pen; — but the feelings of a mother, a moth er 
 a gonizing for the fate of her child, a^flin animating my 
 c ourage, as often 1 have resumed it . 
 
 Perhaps when I am no more, when the measure of my 
 woes is completed, and the still, silent, unreproaching dust 
 has received my sad remains, — then, perhaps, when accusa- 
 tion is no longer to be feared, nor detection to be dreaded, 
 the voice of equity and the cry of nature may be heard. 
 
 Listen, Oh Belmont, to their dictates ! reprobate not 
 your child, though you have reprobated its mother. The 
 evils that are past, perhaps, when too late, you may wish to 
 recal ; the young creature you have persecuted, perhaps, 
 when too late, you may regret that you have destroyed ; — 
 you may think with horror of the deceptions you have 
 practised, and the pangs of remorse may follow me to the 
 tomb : — O h, Belmont, all my resentment softe ns into pity 
 at the thought ! what will become of thee T front i TTear en. 
 w hen, with the eye of penitence, thou re vie west thy p ast 
 conduct.' ! 
 
 Hear, then, the solemn, the last address, with which the 
 unhappy Caroline will importune thee. 
 
 If when the time of thy contrition arrives, — for arrive 
 it must ! — when the sense of thy treachery shall rob thee of 
 almost every other, if then thy tortured heart shall sigh to 
 expiate thy guilt, — mark the conditions upon which I leave 
 thee my forgiveness. 
 
 Thou knowest I am thy wife ! — clear, then, to the world 
 the reputation thou hast sullied, and receive, as thy lawful 
 successor, the child who will present thee this, my dying 
 request ! 
 
 The worthiest, the most benevolent, the best of men, to 
 whose consoling kindness I owe the little tranquillity I have 
 
EVELINA. 355 
 
 been able to preserve, has plighted me his faith, that, upon 
 no other conditions, he will part with his helpless charge. 
 
 Shonld'st thou, in the features of this deserted innocent, 
 trace the resemblance of the wretched Caroline, — should its 
 face bear the marks of its birth, and revive in thy memory 
 the image of its mother, wilt thou not, Belmont, wilt thou 
 not therefore renounce it ? — Oh, babe of my fondest affec- 
 tion ! for whom already I experience all the tenderness of 
 maternal pity ! look not like thy unfortunate mother, — 
 lest the parent, whom the hand of death may spare, shall 
 be snatched from thee by the more cruel means of unnatural 
 antipathy ! 
 
 I can write no more. The small share of serenity I have 
 painfully acquired, will not bear the shock of the dreadful 
 ideas that crowd upon me. 
 
 Adieu, — for ever ! — 
 
 Yet, Oh ! — shall I not, in this last farewell, which thou 
 wilt not read till every stormy passion is extinct, and the 
 kind grave has embosomed all my sorrows, — shall I not 
 offer to the man, once so dear to me, a ray of consolation to 
 those afflictions he has in reserve ? BnfjgrjaB, thfen, to tell 
 the ^ that my pity far exceeds my in di gnation , — that I 
 
 pr ay for thee in my last mQ TTift-nt,g J flnrl flm* +.lin rnnnllnnfinn nf 
 
 t he love I once bore thee, shall swallow up pyevy nflipr > 
 l) nce more, adieu I 
 
 Caroline Belmont. 
 
 ellj£ 
 
 LETTER LXXY. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Clifton, Oct 3rd. 
 
 TJIIS morning I saw from my window, that Lord Orville 
 was walking in the garden ; but I would not go down 
 stairs till breakfast was ready : and then, he paid me his 
 compliments almost as coldly as Lady Louisa paid hers. 
 
 I took my usual place, and Mrs. Beaumont, Lady Louisa, 
 and Mrs. Selwyn, entered into their usual conversation. — Not 
 so your Evelina : disregarded, silent, and melancholy, she 
 
ETELLNA. 
 
 (zkJ 
 
 sat like a Cypher, whrvrr^ to rmhnrly l^^ln-ngir.^ nY poho^y 
 was noticed. 
 
 "Til brooking such a situation, and unable to support the 
 neglect of Lord Orville, the moment breakfast was over I 
 left the room, and was going up stairs ; when, very un- 
 pleasantly, I was stopped by Sir Clement Willoughby, who, 
 flying into the hall, prevented my proceeding. 
 
 He enquired very particularly after my health, and en- 
 treated me to return into the parlour. Unwillingly I con- 
 sented, but thought any thing preferable to continuing 
 alone with him ; and he would neither leave me, nor suffer 
 me to pass on. Yet, in returning, I felt not a little ashamed 
 at appearing thus to take the visit of Sir Clement to myself. 
 And, indeed, he endeavoured, by his manner of addressing" 
 me, to give it that air. 
 
 He stayed, I believe, an hour ; nor would he, perhaps, 
 even then have gone, had not Mrs. Beaumont broken up 
 the party, by proposing an airing in her coach. Lady 
 Louisa consented to accompany her ; but Mrs. Selwyn, 
 when applied to, said, " If my Lord, or Sir Clement, will 
 join us, I shall be happy to make one ; — but really a trio of 
 females will be nervous to the last degree." 
 
 Sir Clement readily agreed to attend them ; indeedy-he 
 makes it his evident study to court the favour of Mrs. 
 Beaumont. Lord Orville excused himself from going out ; 
 and I retired to my own room. What he did with himself 
 I know not, for I would not go down stairs till dinner was 
 ready : his coldness, though my own change of behaviour 
 had occasioned it, so cruelly depresses my spirits, that I 
 know not how to support myself in his presence. 
 
 At dinner, I found Sir Clement again of the party. Indeed, 
 he manages every thing his own way ; f or Mrs. Beaumo nt, 
 t houg h b y no means easy to please, seems quite at his dispos al. 
 
 The dinner, the afternoon, and the evening, were to me 
 the most irksome imaginable : I was tormented by the 
 assiduity of Sir Clement, who not only took, but made op- 
 portunities of speaking to me, — and I was hurt, — Oh, how 
 inexpressibly hurt ! — that Lord Orville not only forbore, as 
 hitherto, seeking, he even neglected all occasions of talking 
 with me ! 
 
 I begin to think, my dear Sir, that the sudden alteration 
 
ETELINA. 357 jT 
 
 in my behaviour was ill-judged and improper ; for, as I had ^ 
 received no offence, as the cause of the change was upon f K 
 my account, not his, I should not have assumed, so abruptly, S k* 
 a reserve for which I dared assign no reason, — nor have ^ ft 
 shunned his presence so obviously, without considering the ^ Tt 
 strange appearance of such a conduct. ^ 
 
 Alas, my dearest Sir, t hat my -rpflpc^'n^ shegM -*Jwa.ya p^ £ 
 be w £o7Tlate + .n w*** *"*» I BaSty! mfamki dn T progkai fle ex- K r 
 pe ^gnce 1 and much, I fear, I shall suffer yet more se- £? S^ 
 verely, from the heedless indiscretion of my temper, ere I at- r 
 tain that prudence and consideration, which, by foreseeing r nJ 
 distant consequences, may rule and direct in present 
 exigencies. 
 
 Oct. teh. 
 
 Yesterday morning every body rode out, except Mrs. 
 Selwyn and myself ; and we two sat for some time together 
 in her room ; but, as soon as I could, I quitted her, to 
 saunter in the garden ; for she diverts herself so unmerci- 
 fully with rallying me, either upon my gravity, or concern- 
 ing Lord Orville, — that I dread having any conversation 
 with her. 
 
 Here' I believe I spent an hour by myself ; when, hearing 
 the garden- gate open, I went into an arbour at the end of 
 a long walk, where, ruminating, very unpleasantly, upon 
 my future prospects, I remained quietly seated but a few 
 minutes, before I was interrupted by the appearance of Sir 
 Clement Willoughby. 
 
 I started ; and would have left the arbour, but he pre- 
 vented me. Indeed, I am almost certain he had heard in 
 the house where I was, as it is not, otherwise, probable he 
 would have strolled down the garden alone. 
 
 " Stop, stop," cried he, " loveliest and most beloved of 
 women, stop and hear me ! " 
 
 Then, making me keep my place, he sat down by me, 
 and would have take ji my han d ; but I drew it back, and 
 said I could not stay. * 
 
 " Can you, then," cried he, " refuse me the smallest 
 gratification, though, but yesterday, I almost suffered 
 martyrdom for the pleasure of seeing you ? " 
 
 " Martyrdom ! Sir Clement." 
 
358^) EVELINA. 
 
 " Yes, beauteous insensible ! martyrdom : for did I not 
 compel myself to be immured in a carriage, the tedious 
 length of a whole morning, with the three most fatiguing 
 women in England ? " 
 
 " Upon my word, the ladies are extremely obliged to you.'* 
 
 " Oh," returned he, "they have, every one of them, so 
 copious a share of their own personal esteem, that they 
 have no right to repine at the failure of it in the world ; 
 and, indeed, they will themselves be the last to discover it." 
 
 " How little," cried I, " are those ladies aware of such 
 severity from you ! " 
 
 " The y are guarded," answered he, " so happily and so 
 sec urely by their own conceit, tte t they aie not aw ar e of it 
 from any body. Oh, Miss Anville, to be torn away rfoin 
 you, in order to be shut up with them, — is there a human 
 being, except your cruel self, could forbear to pity me ? " 
 
 " I believe, Sir Clement, however hardly you may choose 
 to judge of them, your situation, by the world in general, 
 would rather have been envied than pitied." 
 
 " The world in general," answered he, "has the same 
 opinion of them that I have myself : M rs. Beaumont is 
 ev ery where laughed at. Lady L ouisa ridiculed, and Mrs. 
 S elwyn hated ." — 
 
 " Good God, Sir Clement, what cruel strength of words 
 do you use ! " 
 
 " It is you, my angel, are to blame, since your perfections 
 have rendered their faults so glaring. I protest to you,, 
 during our whole ride, I thought the carriage drawn by 
 snails. The absurd pride of Mrs. Beaumont, and the re- 
 spect she exacts, are at once insufferable and stupifying ; 
 had I never before been in her company, I should have con- 
 cluded that this had been her first airing from the herald's 
 office, — and wished her nothing worse, than that it might 
 also be the last. I assure you, that but for gaining the 
 freedom of her house, I would fly her as I would plague, 
 pestilence, and famine. Mrs. Selwyn, indeed, afforded 
 so me relief from this formality, "But the unbounded li cense 
 of her tongu e — 
 
 " O, Sir Clement, do you object to that ? " 
 
 " Y es, my sweet reproache r, in a woman I do; in a 
 wo man I think it intolerab le. She has wit, 1 acknowledge* 
 
EVELINA. 359 
 
 anymo re un derstanding than half her sex pu t togeth er ; 
 b ut she keeps alive a perpetTia1~"ex~pectation of satire, that 
 spxea ds a general uneasiness among all who are in he r 
 presence ; and she talks so much, that even the best thing s 
 sh e says weary the attention. As to the little Louisa , 'tis 
 such a pretty piece ot languor, that 'tis almost cruel to 
 speak rationally about hery — else I should say, she is a 
 me re compound of affectation, impertinence, and airs. ' 
 
 " I am quite amazed," said 1, " that, with such opinions, 
 you can behave to them all with so much attention and 
 civility." 
 
 " Civility ! my angel, — why I could worship, could 
 adore them, only to procure myself a moment of your con- 
 versation ! Have you not seen me pay my court to the 
 gross Captain Mirvan, and the virago Madame Duval ? 
 Were it possible that a creature so horrid could be formed, 
 as to partake of the worst qualities of all these characters, 
 — a creature who should have the haugh tiness" of Mr s. 
 Be aumo ntjthe br utality of Captain Mirvan , the s elf-conc eit 
 o f Mrs. Selwyn , the affe ctation of Lady Louis a, and the 
 vulgarity of Madame Duval , — even to such a monster as 
 that 1 would pay homage, and pour forth adulation, only 
 to obtain one word, one look from my adored Miss 
 Anville!" 
 
 " Sir Clement," said I, "you are greatly mistaken if you 
 suppose this d uplicity of character recommends you to my 
 good opinion. But 1 must take this opportunity of begging 
 you never more to talk to me in this strain." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Anville, your reproofs, your coldness, pierce 
 me to the soul ! look upon me with less rigour, and make 
 me what you please ; — you shall govern and direct all my 
 actions, — you shall new-form, new-model me : — I will not 
 have even a wish but of your suggestion ; only deign to 
 look upon me with pity — if not with favour !" 
 
 " Suffer me, Sir," said I, very gravely, "to make use of 
 this occasion to put a final conclusion to such expressions. 
 I entreat you never again to address me in a language so 
 flighty and so unwelcome. You have already given me 
 great uneasiness ; and I must frankly assure you, that if you 
 do not desire to banish me from wherever you are, you will 
 adopt a very different style and conduct in future." 
 
360 EVELINA. 
 
 I then rose, and was going, bnt he flnng himself at my 
 feet to prevent me, exclaiming, in a most passionate man- 
 ner, " Good God ! Miss Anville, what do yon say ? — is it, can 
 it be possible, that, so unmoved, that, with such petrifying 
 indifference, you can tear from me even the remotest hope ! " 
 
 " I know not, Sir," said I, endeavouring to disengage 
 myself from him, " what hope you mean, but I am sure 
 that I never intended to give you any." 
 
 " You distract me," cried he, " I cannot endure such 
 scorn ; — I beseech you to have some moderation in your 
 cruelty, lest you make me desperate : — say, then, that you 
 pity me, — fairest inexorable ! loveliest tyrant ! — say, tell 
 me, at least, that you pity me ! " 
 
 Just then, who should come in sight, as if intending to 
 pass by the arbour, but Lord Orville ! Good Heaven, how 
 did I start ! and he, the moment he saw me, turned pale, 
 and was hastily retiring ; — but I called out " Lord Orville ! 
 — Sir Clement, release me, — let go my hand ! " 
 
 Sir Clement, in some confusion, suddenly rose, but still 
 grasped my hand. Lord Orville, who had turned back, 
 was again walking away ; but, still struggling to disengage 
 myself, I called out " Pray, pray, my Lord, don't go ! — Sir 
 Clement, I insist upon your releasing me ! " 
 
 Lord Orville then, hastily approaching us, said, with 
 great spirit, " Sir Clement, you cannot wish to detain Miss 
 Anville by force ! " 
 
 " Neither, my Lord," cried Sir Clement, proudly, " do I 
 request the honour of your Lordship's interference." 
 
 However, he let go my hand, and I immediately ran into 
 the house. 
 
 I was now frightened to death, lest Sir Clement's morti- 
 fied pride should provoke him to affront Lord Orville f I 
 therefore ran hastily to Mrs. Selwyn, and entreated her, in 
 a manner hardly to be understood, to walk towards the ar- 
 bour. She asked no questions, for sh e is quick as l ight- 
 nj jiff in tak ing a hint, but instantly hastened, into the garden". 
 
 imagine, ~my dear Sir, how wretched I must be till I saw 
 her return ! scarce could I restrain myself from running 
 back : however, I checked my impatience, and waited, 
 though in agonies, till she came. 
 
 And now, my dear Sir, I have a conversation to write, 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 (jm.J 
 
 the most interesting to me that I ever heard. The com- 
 ments and questions with which Mrs. Selwyn interrupted 
 her account I shall not mention ; for they are such as you 
 may very easily suppose. 
 
 Lord Orville and Sir Clement were both seated very 
 quietly in the arbour : and Mrs. Selwyn, standing still, as 
 soon as she was within a few yards of them, heard Sir 
 Clement say, " Your question, my Lord, alarms me, and I 
 can by no means answer it, unless you will allow me to 
 propose another." 
 
 " Undoubtedly, Sir." 
 
 " You ask me, my Lord, what are my intentions ? — I 
 should be very happy to be satisfied as to your Lordship's." 
 
 " I have never, Sir, professed any.'' 1 
 
 Here they were both, for a few moments, silent ; and 
 then Sir Clement said, " To what, my Lord, must I then 
 impute your desire of knowing mine ? " 
 
 " To an unaffected interest in Miss Anville's welfare." 
 
 " Such an interest," said Sir Clement, drily, " is indeed 
 very generous ; but, except in a father, — a brother, — or a 
 lover — " 
 
 " Sir Clement," interrupted his Lordship, " I know your 
 inference ; and I acknowledge I have not the right of en- 
 quiry which any of those three titles bestow ; and yet I 
 confess the warmest wishes to serve her and to see her 
 happy. Will you, then, excuse me, if I take the liberty to 
 repeat my question ? " 
 
 " Yes, if your Lordship will excuse my repeating, that I 
 think it a rather extraordinary one." 
 
 "It maybe so," said Lord Orville; "but this young 
 lady seems to be peculiarly situated ; she is very young, 
 very inexperienced, yet appears to be left totally to her own 
 direction. She does not, I believe, see the dangers to which 
 she is exposed, and I will own to you, I feel a strong desire 
 to point them out." 
 
 " I don't rightly understand your Lordship, — but I think 
 you cannot mean to prejudice her against me ? " 
 
 " Her sentiments of you, Sir, are as much unknown to 
 me, as your intentions towards her. Perhaps, were I ac- 
 quainted with either, my omciousness might be at an end : 
 but I presume not to ask upon what terms — " 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Here lie stopped ; and Sir Clement said, " You know, my 
 Lord, I am net given to despair ; I am by no means such a 
 puppy as to tell you I am upon sure ground ; however, per- 
 severance — " 
 
 " You are, then, determined to persevere ? " 
 
 "I am, my Lord." 
 
 " Pardon me, then, Sir Clement, if I speak to you with 
 freedom. This young lady, though she seems alone, and, 
 in some measure, unprotected, is not entirely without 
 friends ; she has been extremely well educated, and accus- 
 tomed to good company ; she has a natural love of virtue, 
 and a mind that might adorn any station, however exalted : 
 is such a young lady, Sir Clement, a proper object to trifle 
 with ? — for your principles, excuse me, Sir, are well 
 known." 
 
 " As to that, my Lord, let Miss Anville look to herself \ 
 she has an excellent understanding, and needs no coun- 
 sellor." 
 
 " Her understanding is indeed excellent ; but she is too 
 young for suspicion, and has an artlessness of disposition 1 
 ne yer saw equalled . " ~~ -— ' 
 
 "My Lord," cried Sir Clement, warmly, "your praises 
 make me doubt your disinterestedness, and there exists not 
 the man, whom I would so unwillingly have for a rival as 
 yourself. But you must give me leave to say, you have 
 greatly deceived me in regard to this affair." 
 
 " How so, Sir ? " cried Lord Orville, with equal warmth. 
 
 " You were pleased, my Lord," answered Sir Clement, 
 " upon our fi rst conversation concerning this young l ady, to 
 spealTof her m terms by no means 1 ' suited to your present 
 encomiums ; you sai d she was a p oor, weak, ignorant girl, 
 a nd I had great reason to believe you had a most c on- 
 tem ptuous opinion of he r. ' ' 
 
 u It is very true/' said Lord Orville, " that I did not, at 
 our first acquaintance, do justice to the merits of Miss 
 Anville ; but I knew not then how new she was to the 
 world ; at present, however, I am convinced, that whatever 
 might appear strange in her behaviour, was simply the 
 effect of inexperience, timidity, and a retired education;, 
 for I find her informed, sensible, and intelligent. S be is_ 
 not A _jndeed, like most modern young "ladies, to be known 
 
EVELINA. 363" 
 
 in half an hour : her modest worthy and fear fnl eaflfilfaaas, 
 re quire both time and encouragement to show them selves. 
 S he does not, beautiful as she is, seize the soul by surp rise; 
 b ut, with more dangerous fascination, she steals it almost 
 imperceptibly. " 
 
 " Enough, my Lord," cried Sir Clement, " your solicitude 
 for her welfare is now sufficiently explained." 
 
 " My friendship and esteem," returned Lord Orville, " I 
 do not wish to disguise ; but assure yourself, Sir Clement, 
 I should not have troubled you upon this subject, had Miss 
 Anville and I ever conversed but as friends. However, 
 since you do not choose to avow your intentions, we must 
 drop the subject." 
 
 "M y intentions, " cried he, "I will frankly own, are* 
 hardly Known to myself. I think Miss Anville the loveliest 
 of her sex ; a nd, were I a marrying man, she, of all th e- 
 w omen I have seen, I would fix upon for a wife : but I 
 b elieve that not even the philosophy of your Lordship would 
 recommend me to a connection of that sort, with a girl of 
 obscure b irth, whose only dowry is her beauty, and who is 
 evid ently m a state of dependenc y." 
 
 " Sir Clement," cried Lord Orville, with some heat, " wa 
 will discuss this point no further ; we are both free agents, 
 and must act for ourselves." 
 
 Here Mrs. Selwyn, fearing a surprise, and finding my 
 apprehensions of danger were groundless, retired hastily 
 into another walk, and soon after came to give me this 
 account. 
 
 Good Heaven, w Hit fl TP QT1 i ifi thif—ft"" Clement ! so de- 
 sig ning, though so easy ; so deliberately artful, though s o 
 fligSv ! Greatl y, however, is he m istake 53 5535553 aa» 
 h e seems ; _fojiLi he girl, obscure, poor, dep end Put as fhp is, 
 f ar from wishing the hon our of his aUiatte%JWWiM T ^ f nr>1 y 
 now, but always hav e rejected it . 
 
 As to JUord Orville,, — but I will not trust my pen to men- 
 tion him, — tell me, my dear Sir, what you think of him ? — 
 tell me if he is not the noblest of men ? — and if you can 
 either wonder at, or blame my admiration ? 
 
 The idea of being seen immediately by either party, after 
 so singular a conversation, was both awkward and distress- 
 ing to me ; but I was obliged to appear at dinner. Sir 
 
364 EVELINA. 
 
 Clement, I saw, was absent and uneasy ; he watched me, 
 he watched Lord Orville, and was evidently disturbed in 
 his mind. Whenever he spoke to me, I turned from him 
 with undisguised disdain, for I am too much irritated 
 against him, to bear with his ill-meant assiduities any 
 longer. 
 
 But, not once, — not a moment, did I dare meet the eyes 
 of Lord Orville ! All consciousness myself, I dreaded his 
 penetration, and directed mine every way — but towards 
 his. The rest of the day I never quitted Mrs. Selwyn. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Sir : to-morrow I expect your directions, 
 whether I am to return to Berry Hill, or once more to visit 
 London. 
 
 LETTER LXXVI. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Oct. 6th. 
 
 AND now, my dearest Sir, if the perturbation of my 
 spirits will allow me, I will finish my last letter from 
 Clifton Hill. 
 
 This morning, though I did not go down stairs early, 
 Lord Orville was the only person in the parlour when I 
 entered it. I felt no small confusion at seeing him alone, 
 after having so long and successfully avoided such a meet- 
 ing. As soon as the usual compliments were over, I would 
 have left the room, but he stopped me by saying, " If I dis- 
 turb you, Miss Anville, I am gone.'' 
 
 " My Lord," said I, rather embarrassed, " I did not mean 
 to stay." 
 
 " I flattered myself," cried he, "I should have had a 
 moment's conversation with you." 
 
 I then turned back ; and he seemed himself in some per- 
 plexity : but, after a short pause, " You are very good," 
 said he, " to indulge my request ; I have, indeed, for some 
 time past, most ardently desired an opportunity of speaking 
 to you." 
 
 Again he paused ; but I said nothing, so he went on. 
 
 " You allowed me, Madam, a few days since, you allowed 
 
EVELINA. 365 
 
 me to lay claim to your friendship, — to interest myself in 
 your affairs, — to call you by the affectionate title of sister ; — 
 and the honour you did me, no man could have been more- 
 sensible of ; I am ignorant, therefore, how I have been so- 
 unfortunate as to forfeit it : — but, at present, all is changed ! 
 you fly me, — your averted eye shuns to meet mine, and you 
 sedulously avoid my conversation." 
 
 I was extremely disconcerted at this grave, and but too 
 just accusation, and I am sure I must look very simple ; — 
 but I made no answer. 
 
 " You will not, I hope," continued he, " condemn me 
 unheard ; if there is any thing I have done, — or any thing 
 I have neglected, tell me, I beseech you, ivhat, and it shall 
 be the whole study of my thoughts how to deserve your 
 pardon." 
 
 " Oh, my Lord," cried I, penetrated at once with shame 
 and gratitude, "your too, too great politeness oppresses 
 me ! — you have done nothing, — I have never dreamt of 
 offence ; — if there is any pardon to be asked it is rather for 
 me, than for you to ask it." 
 
 " You are all sweetness and condescension ! " cried lie, 
 " and I flatter myself you will again allow me to claim 
 those titles which I find myself so unable to forego. Yet, 
 occupied as I am, with an idea that gives me the greatest 
 uneasiness, I hope you will not think me impertinent, if I 
 still solicit, still intreat, nay implore, you to tell me, to 
 what cause your late sudden, and to me most painful, 
 reserve was owing ? " 
 
 " Indeed, my Lord," said I, stammering, " I don't, — I 
 can't, — indeed, my Lord, — " 
 
 " I am sorry to distress you," said he, " and ashamed to 
 be so urgent, — yet I know not how to be satisfied while in 
 ignorance, — and the time when the change happened, makes 
 me apprehend, — may I, Miss Anville, tell you what it makes 
 me apprehend ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my Lord." 
 
 " Tell me, then, — and pardon a question most essentially 
 important to me ; — Had, or had not, Sir Clement Willoughby 
 any share in causing your inquietude ? " 
 
 "No, my Lord," answered I, with firmness, "none in 
 the world." 
 
$66/ EVELINA. 
 
 " A thousand, thousand thanks!" cried he: "you have 
 relieved me from a weight of conjecture which I supported 
 very painfully. But one thing more ; is it, in any measure, 
 to Sir Clement that I may attribute the alteration in your 
 behaviour to myself, which, I could not but observe, began 
 the very day after his arrival at the Hot Wells ? " 
 
 " To Sir Clement, my Lord," said I, "attribute nothing. 
 He is the last man in the world who would have any in- 
 fluence over my conduct." 
 
 " And will you, then, restore to me that share of confi- 
 dence and favour with which you honoured me before he 
 came ? " 
 
 Just then, to my great relief, — for I knew not what to 
 say, — Mrs. Beaumont opened the door, and in a few minutes 
 "we went to breakfast. 
 
 Lord Orville was all gaiety ; never did I see him more 
 lively or more agreeable. Very soon after, Sir Clement 
 Willoughby called, to pay his respects, he said, to Mrs. 
 Beaumont. I then came to my own room, where, indulg- 
 ing my reflections, which, now soothed, and now alarmed 
 me, I remained very quietly, till I received your most kind 
 letter. 
 
 Oh, Sir, how sweet are the prayers you offer for your 
 Evelina ! how grateful to her are the blessings you pour 
 upon her head ! — You commit me to my real parent, — Ah, 
 Guardian, Fri en d riii Prote ctor of my youth . — by whom my 
 helpless infancy was cherished, my mind formed, my very 
 life preserved, — ?/oi j,are the Parent my heart acknowledg es, 
 and to y ou do I vow eternal dnty p gcatatods, aT1 ^ fl.flW»tirm f , 
 
 I loois forward to the approaching interview with more 
 fear than hope ; but, important as is this subject, *I am just 
 now wholly engrossed with another, which I must hasten 
 to communicate. 
 
 I immediately acquainted Mrs. Selwyn with the purport 
 of your letter. She was charmed to find your opinion 
 agreed with her own, and settled that we should go to town 
 to-morrow morning : and a chaise is actually ordered to be 
 l here by one o'clock. 
 
 She then desired me to pack up my clothes ; and said 
 she must go herself to make speeches and tell lies to Mrs. 
 Beaumont. 
 
EVELINA. 367 
 
 When I went down stairs to dinner, Lord Orville, who 
 was still in excellent spirits, reproached me for secluding 
 myself so much from the company. He sat next me, — he 
 would sit next me, — at table ; and he might, I am sure, 
 repeat what he once said of me before, that he almost ex- 
 Jiausted himself in fruitless endeavours to entertain me; — for, 
 indeed, I was not to be entertained : I was totally spiritless 
 and dejected ; the idea of the approaching meeting, — and 
 Oh, Sir, the idea of the approaching parting, — gave a 
 heaviness to my heart that I could neither conquer nor re- 
 press . I even regretted the half explanation that had passed, 
 and wished Lord Orville had supported his own reserve, and 
 suffered me to support mine. 
 
 However, when, during dinner, Mrs. Beaumont spoke of 
 our journey, my gravity was no longer singular ; a cloud 
 instantly overspread the countenance of Lord Orville, and 
 he became nearly as thoughtful and as silent as myself. 
 
 We all went together to the drawing-room. After a 
 short and unentertaining conversation, Mrs. Selwyn said 
 she must prepare for her journey, and begged me to see for 
 some books she had left in the parlour. 
 
 And here, while I was looking for them, I was followed 
 by Lord Orville. He shut the door after he came in, and, 
 approaching me with a look of anxiety, said, " Is this true, 
 Miss Anville, are you going ? " 
 
 " I believe so, my Lord," said I, still looking for the 
 books. 
 
 " So suddenly, so unexpectedly must I lose you ? " 
 
 " No great loss, my Lord," cried I, endeavouring to speak 
 cheerfully. 
 
 "Is it possible," said he gravely, "Miss Anville can doubt 
 my sincerity ? " 
 
 " I can't imagine," cried I, " what Mrs. Selwyn has done 
 with these books." 
 
 "Would to Heaven," continued he, " I might natter 
 myself you would allow me to prove it ! " 
 
 " I must run up stairs," cried I, greatly confused, " and 
 ask what she has done with them." 
 
 " You are going, then," cried he, taking my hand, " and 
 you give me not the smallest hope of your return !— will 
 you not, then, my too lovely friend ! — will you not, at least, 
 
6£L ) EVELINA. 
 
 teach me, with fortitude like your own, to support your 
 absence ? " 
 
 " My Lord," cried I, endeavouring to disengage my hand, 
 " pray let me go ! " 
 
 " I will," cried he, to my inexpressible confusion, dropping 
 on one knee, " if you wish to leave me ! " 
 
 " Oh, my Lord," exclaimed I, " rise, I beseech you, rise ! — 
 such a posture to me ! — surely your Lordship is not so cruel 
 as to mock me ! " 
 
 !) " Mock you ! " repeated he earnestly, " no I revere you \ 
 I esteem and I admire you above all human beings ! you 
 are the friend to whom my soul is attached as to its better 
 half ! you are the most amiable, the most perfect of women ! 
 and you are dearer to me than language has the power of 
 _ telling." 
 
 I attempt not to describe my sensations at that moment ;. 
 I scarce breathed ; I doubted if I existed, — the blood for- 
 sook my cheeks, and my feet refused to sustain me : Lord 
 Orville, hastily rising, supported me to a chair, upon which 
 I sunk, almost lifeless. 
 
 For a few minutes, we neither of us spoke ; and then, 
 seeing me recover, Lord Orville, though in terms hardly 
 articulate, intreated my pardon for his abruptness. Tho 
 moment my strength returned, I attempted to rise, but he 
 would not permit me. 
 
 I cannot write the scene that followed, though every 
 word is engraven on my heart ; but his protestations, his 
 expressions, were too flattering for repetition : nor would 
 he, in spite of my repeated efforts to leave him, suffer me 
 to escape : — in short, my dear Sir, I was not proof against 
 his solicitations — and h e drew from me the most sacred 
 se cret of my heart ! -^ 
 
 I know not how long we were together ; but Lord Orville 
 was upon his knees, when the door was opened by Mrs. 
 Selwyn ! — To tell you, Sir, the shame with which I was 
 overwhelmed, would be impossible ; — I snatched my hand 
 from Lord Orville, — he, too, started and rose, and Mrs* 
 Selwyn, for some instants, stood facing us both in silence. 
 
 At last, "My Lord," said she, sarcastically, "have 
 you been so good as to help Miss Anville to look for my 
 books ? " 
 
EVELINA. 369 
 
 " Yes, Madam, " answered he, attempting to rally, " and I 
 hope we shall soon be able to find them.'' 
 
 "Your Lordship is extremely kind," said she, drily, 
 " but I can by no means consent to take up any more of your 
 time." Then looking on the window-seat, she presently 
 found the books, and added, " Come, here are just three, 
 and so like the servants in the Drummer, this important 
 affair may give employment to us all." She then presented 
 one of them to Lord Orville, another to me, and taking 
 a third herself, with a most provoking look, she left the 
 room. 
 
 I would instantly have followed her ; but Lord Orville, 
 who could not help laughing, begged me to stay a minute, 
 as he had many important matters to discuss. 
 
 " No, indeed, my Lord, I cannot, — perhaps I have already 
 stayed too long." 
 
 " Does Miss Anville so soon repent her goodness ? " 
 
 " I scarce kno w what I jjfl, my Lord; — I am quite bevvil* " 
 
 dered ! "^ 
 
 """Une hour's conversation," cried he, " will, I hope, com- 
 pose your spirits, and confirm my happiness. When, then, 
 may I hope to see you alone ? — shall you walk in the garden 
 to-morrow before breakfast ? " 
 
 " No, no, my Lord ; you must not, a second time, re- 
 proach me with making an appointment." 
 
 " Do you then," said he, laughing, " reserve that honour 
 only for Mr. Macartney ? " 
 
 "Mr. Macartney," said I, "is poor, and thinks himself 
 obliged to me; otherwise — " 
 
 " Pov erty," cried he, " I will not plead ; but, if bei ng 
 ob liged to you has any weight, who sh all dis pute my title to 
 a n appointment Y " 
 
 " My Lord, 1 can stay no longer, — Mrs. Selwyn will lose 
 all patience." 
 
 " Deprive her not of the pleasure of her conjectures, — but 
 tell me, are you under Mrs. Selwyn's care ? " 
 
 " Only for the present, my Lord." 
 
 " Not a few are the questions I have to ask Miss Anville : 
 among them, the most important is, whether she depends 
 wholly on herself, or whether there is any other person for 
 whose interest I must solicit ? " 
 
 BB 
 
370 — EVELINA. 
 
 "I hardly know, my Lord, I hardly know myself to 
 whom I most belong.' ' 
 
 " Suffer, suffer me, then," cried he, with warmth, " to 
 hasten the time when that shall no longer admit a doubt ! 
 — when your grateful Orville may call you all his ow n ! " 
 
 At length, but with difficulty, 1 broke from him. I went, 
 however, to my own room, for I was too much agitated to 
 follow Mrs. Selwyn. Good Grod, my dear Sir, what a 
 scene ! surely the meeting for which I shall prepare to- 
 morrow cannot so greatly affect me ! To be lo ved by L ord 
 Or ville, — to be the h onoured choice of his noble heart,— 
 
 TYV^frflppinPSg gftPTinftrl ten infinite *.n np hor^^j a-nri ' wApl. 
 
 ^ hitter^: I wept, foam +"g excess nf jo y whinh over- 
 powered me. 
 
 'In this state of almost painful felicity I continued till I 
 was . summoned to tea. When I re-entered the drawing- 
 room, I rejoiced much to find it full of company, as the 
 confusion with which I met Lord Orville was rendered the 
 less observable. 
 
 Immediately after tea, most of the company played at 
 cards, — and then — till supper time, Lord Orville devoted 
 himself wholly to me. 
 
 He saw that my eyes were red, and would not let me rest 
 till he had made me confess the cause ; and when, though 
 most reluctantly, I had acknowledged my weakness, I could 
 with difficulty refrain from weeping again at the gratitude 
 he expressed. 
 
 He earnestly desired to know if my journey could not be 
 postponed ! and when I said no, entreated permission to 
 attend me to town. 
 
 " Oh, my Lord," cried I, " what a request ! " 
 
 "The sooner," answered he, " I make my devotion to you 
 in public, the sooner I may expect, from your delicacy, you 
 will convince the world you encourage no mere danglers " 
 
 " You teach me, then, my Lord, the inference I might 
 expect, if I complied." 
 
 " And can you wo nder I should seek to hasten the happy 
 tim e, when no scruples, no discretion wi ll demand our sepa- 
 ratim^j md when tVm most pirn odious de licacy will r ather 
 promote, than oppose, my happiness in attending you' 1 ? " 
 
 To this I was silent, and he re-urged his request. 
 
EVELINA. 371 
 
 " My Lord," said I, " you ask what I have no power to 
 grant. This journey will deprive me of all right to act for 
 myself." 
 
 " What does Miss Anville mean ? " 
 
 " I cannot now explain myself ; indeed, if I could, the 
 task would be both painful and tedious." 
 
 " O, Miss Anville," cried he, " when may I hope to date 
 the period of this mystery ? when natter myself that 
 my pro mised friend will indeed honour me with her 
 confidence ? " 
 
 " My Lord," said I, " I mean not to affect any mystery, — 
 but my affairs are so circumstanced, that a long and most un- 
 happy story can alone explain them. However, if a short 
 suspense will give your Lordship any uneasiness, — " 
 
 " My beloved Miss Anville," cried he, eagerly, " pardon 
 my impatience ! — You shall tell me nothing you would 
 wish to conceal, — I will wait your own time for information, 
 and trust to your goodness for its speed." 
 
 " There is nothing, my Lord, I wish to conceal, — to 
 postpone an explanation is all I desire." 
 
 He then requested, that, since I would not allow him to 
 accompany me to town, I would permit him to write to me, 
 and promise to answer his letters. 
 
 A sudden recollection of the two letters which had already 
 passed between us occurring to me, I hastily answered, 
 " No, indeed, my Lord ! — " 
 
 " I am extremely sorry," said he, gravely, " that you 
 think me too presumptuous. I must own I had flattered 
 myself, that, to soften the inquietude of an absence, which 
 seems attended by so many inexplicable circumstances, 
 would not have been to incur your displeasure." 
 
 This seriousness hurt me ; and I could not forbear saying, 
 " Can you indeed desire, my Lord, that I should, a second 
 time, expose myself, by an unguarded readiness, to write 
 to you ? " 
 
 "A second time! unguarded readiness!" repeated he; 
 " you amaze me ! " 
 
 " Has your Lordship then quite forgot the foolish letter 
 I was so imprudent as to send you when in town ? " 
 
 " I have not the least idea," cried he, " of what you 
 mean." 
 
372 EVELINA. 
 
 "Why then, my Lord," said I, "we had better let the 
 subject drop.'' 
 
 " Impossible ! " cried he, " I cannot rest without an 
 explanation ! " 
 
 And then, he obliged me to speak very openly of both 
 the letters : but, my dear Sir, imagine my surprise, when 
 he assured me, in the most solemn manner, that, far from 
 having ever written me a single line, he had never received, 
 see n, or heard of my letter ! 
 
 This subject, which caused mutual astonishment and 
 perplexity to us both, entirely engrossed us for the rest of 
 the evening; and he made me promise to show him the 
 letter I had received in his name to-morrow morning, that 
 he might endeavour to discover the author. 
 
 After supper, the conversation became general. 
 
 And now, my dearest Sir, may I not call for your con- 
 gratulations upon the events of this day ? a day never to be 
 recollected by me but with the most grateful joy ! I know 
 how much you are inclined to think well of Lord Orville ; 
 I cannot, therefore, apprehend that my frankness to him 
 will displease you. Perhaps the time is not very distant, 
 when your Evelina's choice may receive the sanction of her 
 best friend's judgment and approbation, — which seems now 
 all she has to wish ! 
 
 In regard to the change in my situation which must first 
 take place, surely I cannot be blamed for what has passed ! 
 the partiality of Lord Orville must not only reflect 
 honour upon me, but upon all to whom I do, or may 
 belong. 
 
 Adieu, most dear Sir, I will write again when I arrive 
 at London. 
 
 LETTER LXXYII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Clifton, Oct. 7th. 
 
 YOU will see, my dear Sir, that I was mistaken in sup- 
 posing I should write no more from this place, where 
 my residence now seems more uncertain than ever. 
 
EVELINA. 373 
 
 This morning, during breakfast, Lord Orville took an 
 opportunity to beg me, in a low voice, to allow him a 
 moment's conversation before I left Clifton ; " May I hope," 
 added he, " that you will stroll into the garden after 
 breakfast ? " 
 
 I made no answer, but I believe my looks gave no denial ; 
 for, indeed, I much wished to be satisfied concerning the 
 letter. The moment, therefore, that I could quit the parlour, 
 I ran up stairs for my calash ; but, before I reached my 
 room, Mrs. Selwyn called after me, " If you are going to 
 walk, Miss Anville, be so good as to bid Jenny bring down 
 my hat, and I'll accompany you.' , 
 
 Yery much disconcerted, I turned into the drawing- 
 room, without making any answer, and there I hoped to 
 wait unseen, till she had otherwise disposed of herself. But, 
 in a few minutes, the door opened, and Sir Clement 
 Willoughby entered. 
 
 Starting at the sight of him, in rising hastily, I let drop 
 the letter which I had brought for Lord Orville's inspection, 
 and, before I could recover it, Sir Clement, springing 
 forward, had it in his hand. He was just presenting it to 
 me, and, at the same time, enquiring after my health, 
 when the signature caught his eye, and he read aloud 
 "Orville." 
 
 I endeavoured, eagerly, to snatch it from him, but he 
 would not permit me ; and, holding it fast, in a passionate 
 manner exclaimed, " Good God, Miss Anville, is it possible 
 you can value such a letter as this ? " 
 
 The question surprised and confounded me, and I was 
 too much ashamed to answer him ; but, finding he made 
 an attempt to secure it, I prevented him, and vehemently 
 demanded him to return it. 
 
 " Tell me first," said he, holding it above my reach, " tell 
 me if you have since received any more letters from the 
 same person ? " 
 
 " No, indeed," cried I, " never ! " 
 
 " And will you also, sweetest of women, promise that 
 you never will receive any more ? Say that, and you will 
 make me the happiest of men." 
 
 " Sir Clement," cried I, greatly confused, "pray give me 
 the letter." 
 
374 EVELINA. 
 
 " And will you not first satisfy my doubts ? — will you 
 not relieve me from the torture of the most distracting sus- 
 pense ? — tell me but that the detested Orville has written 
 to you no more ! " 
 
 "Sir Clement,' ' cried I, angrily, "you have no right 
 to make any conditions, — so pray give me the letter 
 directly. " 
 
 " Why such solicitude about this hateful letter ? can it 
 possibly deserve your eagerness ? tell me, with truth, with 
 sincerity tell me, does it really merit the least anxiety ? " 
 
 " No matter, Sir," cried I, in great perplexity, " the 
 letter is mine, and therefore — " 
 
 " I must conclude, then," said he, " that the letter deserves 
 your utmost contempt, — but that the name of Orville is 
 sufficient to make you prize it." 
 
 "Sir Clement," cried I, colouring, "you are quite — you 
 are very much — the letter is not — " 
 
 " O, Miss Anville," cried he, " you blush ! — you stammer ! 
 — Great Heaven ! it is then all as I feared ! " 
 
 11 1 know not," cried I, half -frightened, " what you mean ; 
 but I beseech you to give me the letter, and to compose 
 yourself." 
 
 "The letter," cried he, gnashing his teeth, "you shall 
 never see more ! You ought to have burnt it the moment 
 you had read it ! " And in an instant he tore it into a 
 thousand pieces. 
 
 Alarmed at a fury so indecently outrageous, I would 
 have run out of the room ; but he caught hold of my gown, 
 and cried, "Not yet, not yet must you go ! I am but half- 
 mad yet, and you must stay to finish your work. Tell me, 
 therefore, does Orville know your fatal partiality ? — Say 
 yes" added he, trembling with passion, " and I will fly you 
 for ever ! " 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Sir Clement," cried I, " release me ! 
 — if you do not, you will force me to call for help." 
 
 " Call then," cried he, " inexorable and most unfeeling 
 girl ; call, if you please, and bid all the world witness your 
 triumph ; — but could ten worlds obey your call, I would not 
 part from you till you had answered me. Tell me, then, 
 does Orville know you love him ? " 
 
 At any other time, an enquiry so gross would have given 
 
EVELINA. 375-— 
 
 me inexpressible confusion ; bat now, the wildness of his 
 manner terrified me, and I only said, " Whatever you 
 wish to know, Sir Clement, I will tell you another time ; but, 
 for the present, I entreat you to let me go ! " 
 
 " Enou gh, " c ried he, "I understand you ! — the art of 
 Qr ville has prevailed : — cold, inanimate, phlegmati (Tas he 
 is, you have rendered himthe most env ied of" men ! — 
 Onel Eiig more, and I jiaye done: — Will he marry vim. ?_" 
 
 What a question ! my cheeks glowed with indignation, 
 and I felt too proud to make any answer. 
 
 " I see, I see how it is," cried he, after a short pause, 
 " and I find I am undone for ever ! " Then, letting loose my 
 gown, he put his hand to his forehead, and walked up and 
 down the room in a hasty and agitated manner. 
 
 Though now at liberty to go, I had not the courage to 
 leave him : for his evident distress excited all my compassion. 
 And this was our situation, when Lady Louisa, Mr. Coverley, 
 and Mrs. Beaumont entered the room. 
 
 " Sir Clement Willoughby," said the latter, "I beg pardon 
 for making you wait so long, but — -*' 
 
 She had not time for another word ; Sir Clement, too 
 much disordered to know or care what he did, snatched up 
 his hat, and, brushing hastily past her, flew down stairs, 
 and out of the house. 
 
 .A rid w jt h him went my sincerest pity, though I earnestly 
 hope I shall see him no more. But what, my dear Sir, am 
 I to conclude from his strange speeches concerning the 
 letter ? Does it not seem as if he was himself the author 
 of it ? How else should he be so well acquainted with the 
 contempt it merits? Neither do I know another human 
 being who could serve any interest by such a deception. I 
 remember, too, that just as I had given my own letter to 
 the maid, Sir Clement came into the shop : probably he 
 prevailed upon her, by some bribery, to give it to him ; and 
 afterwards, by the same means, to deliver to me an answer 
 of his own writing. Indeed I can in no other manner 
 account for this affair. Oh, Sir Clement, were you not 
 yourself unhappy, I know not how I could pardon an artifice 
 that has caused me so much uneasiness ! 
 
 His abrupt departure occasioned a kind of general 
 consternation. 
 
376 EVELINA. 
 
 " Very extraordinary behaviour this ! " cried Mrs. Beau- 
 mont. 
 
 " Egad/' said Mr. Coverley, "the baronet has a mind to 
 tip us a touch of the heroics this morning ! " 
 
 " I declare/' cried Lady Louisa, " I never saw any thing 
 so monstrous in my life ! it's quite abominable ; — I fancy 
 the man's mad ; — I'm sure he has given me a shocking 
 fright ! " 
 
 Soon after, Mrs. Selwyn came up stairs with Lord Mer- 
 ton. The former, advancing hastily to me, said, "Miss 
 Anville, have you an almanack ? " 
 
 " Me ! — no, Madam." 
 
 " Who has one, then ? " 
 
 " Egad," cried Mr. Coverley, " I never bought one in my 
 life ; it would make me quite melancholy to have such a 
 time-keeper in my pocket. I would as soon walk all day 
 before an hour-glass." 
 
 " You are in the right," said Mrs. Selwyn, " not to watch 
 time, lest you should be betrayed, unawares, into reflecting 
 how you employ it." 
 
 " Egad, Ma'am," cried he, "if Time thought no more of 
 me than I do of Time, I believe I should bid defiance, for 
 one while, to old age and wrinkles ; for deuce take me, if 
 ever I think about it at all." 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Coverley," said Mrs. Selwyn, " why do you 
 think it necessary to tell me this so often ? " 
 
 " Often! " repeated he ; " Egad, Madam, I don't know 
 why I said it now ; — but I'm sure I can't recollect that ever 
 I owned as much before." 
 
 " Owned it before ! " cried she, " why, my dear Sir, you 
 own it all day long ; for every word, every look, every action 
 proclaims it." 
 
 I know not if he understood the full severity of her 
 satire, but he only turned off. with a laugh : and she then 
 applied to Mr. Lovel, and asked if he had an almanack ? 
 
 Mr. Lovel, who always looks alarmed when she addresses 
 hiin,~with some hesitation answered, " I assure you, Ma'am, 
 I have no manner of antipathy to an almanack, — none in 
 the least, — I assure you ; — I dare say I have four or five." 
 
 " Four or five ! — pray, may I ask what use you make of 
 so many ? " 
 
ETELINA. 377 
 
 " Use ! — really, Ma'am, as to that, — I don't make any- 
 particular use of them ; bat one must have them, to tell one 
 the day of the month : — I'm sure, else I should never keep 
 it in my head." 
 
 " A nd does your time pass so smoothly unmarked, th at, 
 wi thout an almanack. VOU ftnnlri -not rlisfinfrrpflh mi ft day 
 from another .i* " — ~ 
 
 'Tttealiy, Ma'am," cried he, colouring, " I don't see any 
 thing so very particular in having a few almanacks ; other 
 people have them, I believe, as well as me." 
 
 " Don't be offended," cried she, " I have but made a little 
 digression. All I want to know is, the state of the moon.; 
 — f™» if if, ia Q.f. tE£j53% I aEiH hp sa.v ftd a world of con jec- 
 tu res, and know at once to what cause to attribute th e 
 i nconsistencies I have witnessed this morning . In the first 
 place, 1 heard Lord Orville excuse himself from going out, 
 because he had business of importance to transact at home ; 
 — yet have I seen him sauntering alone in the garden this 
 half hour. Miss Anville, on the other hand, I invited to 
 walk out with me ; and, after seeking her every where 
 round the house, I find her quietly seated in the drawing- 
 room. And, but a few minutes since, Sir Clement 
 Willoughby, with even more than his usual politeness, told 
 me he was come to spend the morning here ; — when, just 
 now, I met him flying down stairs, as if pursued by the 
 Furies ; and, far from repeating his compliments, or making 
 any excuse, he did not even answer a question I asked him, 
 but rushed past me, with the rapidity of a thief from a 
 bailiff ! " 
 
 " I protest," said Mrs. Beaumont, " I can't think what 
 he meant ; such rudeness, from a man of any family, is quite 
 incomprehensible . ' ' 
 
 "My Lord," cried Lady Louisa to Lord Merton, "do 
 you know he did the same by me ? — I was just going to ask 
 him what was the matter ; but he ran past me so quick, 
 that I declare he quite dazzled my eyes. You can't think, 
 my Lord, how he frightened me ; I dare say I look as pale, 
 — don't I look very pale, my Lord ? " 
 
 " Your Ladyship," said Mr. Lovel, " so well becomes the 
 lilies, that the roses might blush to see themselves so 
 excelled." 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Lovel, ,, said Mrs. Selwyn, " if the roses 
 should blush, how would you find it out ? " 
 
 " Egad," cried Mr. Coverley, " I suppose they must 
 blush, as the saying is, like a blue dog, — for they are red 
 already." 
 
 " Prithee, Jack," said Lord Merton, " don't you pretend 
 to talk about blushes, that never knew what they were in 
 your life." 
 
 "My Lord," said Mrs. Selwyn, " if experience alone can 
 justify mentioning them, what an admirable treatise upon 
 the subject may we not expect from your Lordship ! " 
 
 " 0, pr ay, Ma'am /' answe red he, " stick to Jack Coverle y. 
 — he'syour only manj _formy part, i r.rmfpsa T harv& a. j^Qvt%\ 
 aversion ~€o ar gumenJsT" 
 
 <r U lie, myLord," cried Mrs. Selwyn, " a senator of the 
 nation ! a member of the noblest parliament in the world ! 
 — and yet neglect the art of oratory ! " 
 
 " Why, faith, my Lord," said Mr. Lovel, " I think, in 
 general, your House is not much addicted to study ; we of 
 the Lower House have indubitably most application ; and, 
 if I did not speak before a superior power (bowing to Lord 
 Merton) I should presume to add, we have likewise the 
 most able speakers." 
 
 "Mr. Lovel," said Mrs. Selwyn, "you deserve immor- 
 tality for that discovery ! But for this observation, and the 
 confession of Lord Merton, I protest I should have sup- 
 posed that a peer of the realm, and an able logician, were 
 synonymous terms." 
 
 Lord Merton, turning upon his heel, asked Lady Louisa 
 if she would take the air before dinner ? "' — 
 
 " Really," answered she, " I don't know ; — I'm afraid it's 
 monstrous hot ; besides (putting her hand to her forehead) 
 I an't half well; it's quite horrid to have such weak 
 nerves ! — the least thing in the world discomposes me : 
 I declare, that man's oddness has given me such a shock, 
 — I don't know when I shall recover from it. But 
 I' m a sad, weak creature; — don't you think I am, my 
 LariU!" " ^ 
 
 " O, by no means," answered he, " your Ladyship is 
 merely delicate, — and devil take me if ever I had the least 
 passion for an Amazon." 
 
EVELINA. 379 
 
 "I have the honour to be quite of your Lordship's 
 opinion," said Mr. Lovel, looking maliciously at Mrs. 
 Selwyn ; " for I have an insuperable fl yerF i irm to n trrngth, 
 eith er of body or m inr), in n fonmln.^ 
 
 " Eaith, and so have I," qQ -^ Mr ^y^lpy ; " f o r^egad, 
 I'd as^ soon see a woman chop wood, as hear her chop 
 
 logicZ; ; ; ^ 
 
 " So would every man in his senses," said Lord Merton ; 
 " for a womanjvants nothing to recommend her but beauty 
 a nd good-nature; in every thing e l so shm is pith^r i mpe r- 
 ti nent or unnatura l For my part, deuce take me if ever I 
 wish to hear a word of sense from a woman as long as I 
 
 livery ; — 
 
 " It has always been agreed," said Mrs. Selwy n, looking 
 round her with the utmost contempt, w tha tjioman oug ht 
 to be connected with a woman whose understandin g is 
 su perior to his own. JNow 1 very much fear, that to ac- 
 commodate all this good company, according to such a rule, 
 would be utterly impracticable, unless we should choose 
 subjects from Swift's hospital of idiots." 
 
 How many enemies, my dear Sir, does this unbounded 
 severity excite ! Lord Merton, however, only whistled ; Mr. 
 Coverley sang; and Mr. Lovel, after biting his lips some 
 time, said, " Ton honour, that lady — if she was not a lady, 
 — I should be half tempted to observe, — that thereis^simae- 
 thin g. — in such sever ity. — that is rather, I must say, — 
 rather o ddish^ ' 
 
 Just then a servant brought Lady Louisa a note upon a 
 tvaiter, which is a ceremony always used to her Ladyship ; 
 and I took the opportunity of this interruption to the con- 
 versation to steal out of the room. 
 
 I went immediately to the parlour, which I found quite 
 empty ; for I did not dare walk in the garden, after what 
 Mrs. Selwyn had said. 
 
 In a few miuutes a servant announced Mr. Macartney ; 
 saying, as he entered the room, that he would acquaint Lord 
 Orville he was there. 
 
 Mr. Macartney rejoiced much at finding me alone. He 
 told me he had taken the liberty to enquire for Lord 
 Orville, by way of pretext for coming to the house. 
 
 I then very eagerly enquired if he had seen his father. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 " I have, Madam," said he, "and the generous compas- 
 sion you have shown made me hasten to acquaint you, that, 
 upon reading my unhappy mother's letter, he did not hesi- 
 tate to acknowledge me." 
 
 " Good God," cried I, with no little emotion, " how 
 similar are our circumstances ! And did he receive you 
 kindly ? " 
 
 " I could not, Madam, expect that he would ; the cruel 
 transaction, which obliged me to fly Paris, was recent in 
 his memory." 
 
 " And, — have you seen the young lady ? " 
 
 " No, Madam," said he, mournfully, " I was forbid her 
 sight." 
 
 " Forbid her sight ! — and why ? " 
 
 " Partly, perhaps, from prudence, — and partly from there- 
 mains of a resentment which will not easily subside. I only 
 requested leave to acquaint her with my relationship, and 
 be allowed to call her sister ; — but it was denied me ! 
 ' You have no sister,' said Sir John, ' you must forget her exis- 
 tence' Hard and vain command ! " 
 
 " You have — you have a sister ! " cried I, from an impulse 
 of pity, which I could not repress ; "a sister who is most 
 warmly interested in your welfare, and who only wants op- 
 portunity to manifest her friendship and regard." 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! " cried he, "what does Miss Anville 
 mean ? " 
 
 "Anville," said I, "is not my real name; Sir John 
 Belmont is my father, — he is your's, — and I am your 
 sister ! — You see, therefore, the claim we mutually have to 
 each other's regard ; we are not merely bound by the ties 
 of friendship, but by those of blood. I feel for you, already, 
 all the affection of a sister ; I felt it, indeed, before I knew 
 T was one. — Why, my dear brother, do you not speak ? — do 
 you hesitate to acknowledge me ? " 
 
 " I am so lost in astonishment," cried he, "that I know 
 not if I hear right ! " — 
 
 " I have, then, found a brother," cried I, holding out my 
 hand, " and he will not own me ! " 
 
 " Own you ! — Oh, Madam," cried he, accepting my 
 offered hand, "is it indeed possible you can own me ? — a 
 poor, wretched adventurer ! who so lately had no support 
 
EVELINA. 381 
 
 but from your generosity ? — whom your benevolence 
 snatched from utter destruction ? — Can you, — Oh, Madam, 
 can you, indeed, and without a blush, condescend to own 
 such an outcast for a brother ? " 
 
 " Oh, forbear, forbear," cried I, "is this language proper 
 for a sister ? are we not reciprocally bound to each other ? 
 — Will you not suffer me to expect from you all the good 
 offices in your power ? — But tell me, where is our father at 
 present ? " 
 
 " At the Hot- Wells, Madam ; he arrived there yesterday 
 morning." 
 
 I would have proceeded with further questions, but 
 the entrance of Lord Orville prevented me. The moment 
 he saw us, he started, and would have retreated ; but, 
 drawing my hand from Mr. Macartney's, I begged him to 
 come in. 
 
 For a few moments we were all silent, and, I believe, all 
 in equal confusion. Mr. Macartney, however, recollecting 
 himself, said, " I hope your Lordship will forgive the 
 liberty I have taken in making use of your name." 
 
 Lord Orville, rather coldly, bowed, but said nothing. 
 
 Again we were all silent, and then Mr. Macartney took 
 leave. 
 
 " I fancy," said Lord Orville, when he was gone, " I 
 have shortened Mr. Macartney's visit ? " 
 
 "No, my Lord, not at all." 
 
 "I had presumed," said he, with some hesitation, "I 
 should have seen Miss Anville in the garden ; — but I knew 
 not she was so much better engaged." 
 
 Before I could answer, a servant came to tell me the 
 chaise was ready, and that Mrs. Selwyn was enquiring for 
 me. 
 
 "I will wait on her immediately," cried I, and away I 
 was running; but Lord Orville, stopping me, said, with 
 great emotion, " Is it thus, Miss Anville, you leave me ? " 
 
 " My Lord," cried I, " how can I help it ? — perhaps, soon, 
 some better opportunity may offer — " 
 
 " Good Heaven ! " cried he, " do you, indeed, take me for 
 a Stoic ! What better opportunity may I hope for ? — is not 
 the chaise come ? — are you not going ? have you even 
 deigned to tell me whither ? " 
 
382 EVELINA. 
 
 " My journey, my Lord, will now be deferred. Mr. 
 Macartney has brought me intelligence which renders it at 
 present unnecessary." 
 
 " Mr. Macartney," said he, gravely, " seems to have great 
 influence ; — yet he is a very young counsellor." 
 
 " Is it possible, my Lord, Mr. Macartney can give you the 
 least uneasiness? " 
 
 " My dearest Miss Anville," said he, taking my hand, " I 
 see, and I adore the purity of your mind, superior as it is to 
 all little arts, and all apprehensions of suspicion ; and I 
 should do myself, as well as you, injustice, if I were capable 
 of harbouring the smallest doubts of that goodness which 
 makes you mine for ever : nevertheless, pardon me, if I own 
 myself surprised, — nay, alarmed, at these frequent meetings 
 with so young a man as Mr. Macartney." 
 
 " My Lord," cried I, eager to clear myself, " Mr. Macart- 
 ney is my brother." 
 
 " Your brother ! you amaze me ! — What strange mystery, 
 then, makes his relationship a secret ? " 
 
 Just then Mrs. Selwyn opened the door. " O, you are 
 here ! " cried she : " Pray, is my Lord so kind as to assist 
 you in preparing for your journey, or in retarding it ? " 
 
 " I should be most happy," said Lord Orville, smiling, 
 <c if it were in my power to do the latter" 
 
 I then acquainted her with Mr. Macartney's communica- 
 tion. 
 
 She immediately ordered the chaise away : and then 
 took me into her own room, to consider what should be done. 
 
 A few minutes sufficed to determine her ; and she wrote 
 the following note. 
 
 " To Sir John Belmont, Bart. 
 
 "Mrs. Selwyn presents her compliments to Sir John 
 Belmont ; and, if he is at leisure, will be glad to wait on 
 him this morning, upon business of importance." 
 
 She then ordered her man to enquire at the pump-room 
 for a direction ; and went herself to Mrs. Beaumont to 
 apologize for deferring her journey. 
 
 An answer was presently returned, that Sir John would 
 be glad to see her. 
 
EVELINA. 383 
 
 She would have had me immediately accompany her to 
 the Hot- Wells ; but I entreated her to spare me the distress 
 of so abrupt an introduction, and to pave the way for my 
 reception. She consented rather reluctantly, and, attended 
 only by her servant, walked to the Wells. 
 
 She was not absent two hours ; yet so miserably did time 
 seem to linger, that I thought a thousand accidents had 
 happened, and feared she would never return. I passed 
 the whole time in my own room, for I was too much 
 agitated even to converse with Lord Orville. 
 
 The instant that, from my window, I saw her returning, 
 I flew down stairs, and met her in the garden. 
 
 We both walked to the arbour. 
 
 Her looks, in which disappointment and anger were ex- 
 pressed, presently announced to me the failure of her em- 
 bassy. Finding that she did not speak, I asked her, in a 
 faul tering voice, whether or not I had a fa ther ? 
 
 cr Y oa have not y my dear ! " said she abrupt ly. 
 
 " Yery well, Madam," said I, with tolerable calmness, 
 l \ let the chaise then be ordered again ; — I will go to Berry 
 Hill ; — and there, I trust, I shall still find one ! " 
 
 It was some time ere she could give, or I could hear, the 
 account of her visit ; and then she related it in a hasty 
 manner ; yet, I believe I can recollect every word. 
 
 " I found Sir John alone. He received me with the 
 utmost politeness. I did not keep him a moment in sus- 
 pense as to the purport of my visit. But I had no sooner 
 made it known, than, with a supercilious smile, he said, 
 * And have you, Madam, been prevailed upon, to revive that 
 ridiculous old story ? ' Ridiculous, I told him, was a term 
 which he would find no one else do him the favour to make 
 use of, in speaking of the horrible actions belonging to the 
 old story he made so light of ; ' actions,' continued I, ' which 
 would dye still deeper the black annals of Nero or Caligula.' 
 He attempted in vain to rally ; for I pursued him with all 
 the severity in my power, and ceased not painting the 
 enormity of his crime till I stung him to the quick, and, in 
 a voice of passion and impatience, he said, 'No more, 
 Madam, — this is not a subject upon which I need a moni- 
 tor.' 'Make then,' cried I, 'the only reparation in your 
 power. — Your daughter is now at Clifton ; send for her 
 
I 384 J EVELINA. 
 
 nither ; and, in t he face of the world, proclai m the legiti- 
 ■QV^Y__ftf Iipv V>it4>> arid_clear_t he reputation of youTlnt ured 
 wife.' * Madam,' said he, i you are much mistaken, if you 
 suppose I waited for the honour of this visit before I did 
 what little justice now depends upon me, to the memory of 
 that unfortunate woman : he r daughter has been—my ca-m 
 froni her infan cy ; I have taken her into my house ; she ~~ 
 b^arsmjname ; and she will be my sole heiress.' For 
 some time this assertion appeared so absurd, that I only 
 laughed at it : but, at last, he assured me, I had myself 
 been imposed upon ; for that the very woman who attejqde d 
 L ady Belmont in her last illness, conveyed the child to him __ 
 while he was in London, before she was a year old. ' Un- 
 willing,' he added, 'at that time to confirm the rumour of 
 my being married, I sent the woman with the child to 
 France : as soon as she was old enough, I put her into a 
 convent, where she has been properly educated, and now I 
 have taken her home. I have acknowledged her for my 
 lawful child, and paid, at length, to the memory of her un- 
 happy mother a tribute of fame, which has made me wish 
 to hide myself hereafter from all the world.' This whole 
 story sounded so improbable, that I did not scruple to tell 
 him I discredited every word. He then rung his bell ; and, 
 enquiring if his hair- dresser was come, said he was sorry to 
 leave me ; but that, if I would favour him with my com- 
 pany to-morrow, he would do himself the honour of intro- 
 ducing Miss Belmont to me, instead of troubling me to 
 introduce her to him. I rose in great indignation ; and 
 assuring him I would make his conduct as public as it was 
 infamous — I left the house." 
 
 Good Heaven, how strange the recital ! how incompre- 
 hensible an affair ! The Miss Belmont then who is actually 
 at Bristol, passes for the daughter of my unhappy mother 1 
 — passes, in short, for your Evelina ! Who she can be, or 
 what this tale can mean, I have not any idea. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn soon after left me to my own reflections. 
 Indeed they were not very pleasant. Quietly as I had 
 borne her relation, the moment I was alone I felt most 
 bitterly both the disgrace and sorrow of a rejection so 
 cruelly inexplicable. 
 
 I know not how long I might have continued in this 
 
 c 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 situation, had I not been awakened from my melancholy 
 reverie by the voice of Lord Orville. " May I come in," 
 cried he, " or shall I interrupt you ? " 
 
 I was silent, and he seated himself next me. 
 
 " I fear," he continued, " Miss Anville will think I perse- 
 cute her : yet so much as I have to say, and so much as I 
 wish to hear, with so few opportunities for either, she cannot 
 wonder — and I hope she will not be offended — that I seize 
 with such avidity every moment in my power to converse 
 with her. You are grave," added he, taking my hand; " I 
 hope you do not regret the delay of your Journey P — -I hope 
 the pleasure it gives to me, will not be a subject of pain to 
 you ? — You are silent ! — Something, I am sure, has afflicted 
 you : — would to Heaven I were able to console you ! — Would 
 to Heaven I were worthy to participate in your sorrows ! " 
 
 My heart was too full to bear this kindness, and I could 
 only answer by my tears. " Good Heaven," cried he, "how 
 you alarm me ! — My love, my sweet Miss Anville, deny me 
 no longer to be the sharer of your griefs ! — tell me, at least, 
 that you have not withdrawn your esteem ! — that you do 
 not repent the goodness you have shown me ! — that you still 
 think me the same grateful Orville, whose heart you have 
 deigned to accept ! " 
 
 " Oh, my Lord," cried I, " your generosity overpowers 
 me ! " And I wept like an infant. For now, that all my 
 hopes of being acknowledged seemed finally crushed, I felt 
 the nobleness of his dis interested regard so forcibly, that I 
 could scarce breathe under the weight of gratitude which 
 oppressed me. 
 
 He seemed greatly shocked ; and, in terms the most 
 flattering, the most respectfully tender, he at once soothed 
 my distress, and urged me to tell him its cause. 
 
 " My Lord," said I, when I was able to speak, " you little 
 know what an outcast you have honoured with your choice ! — ■ 
 a child of bounty, — an orphan from infancy, — dependent, 
 even for subsistence, dependent, upon the kindness of com- 
 passion ! — Rejected by my natural friends, — disowned for 
 ever by my nearest relation, — Oh, my Lord, so circum- 
 stanced, can I deserve the distinction with which you honour 
 me ? No, no, I feel the inequality too painfully ; — you must 
 leave me, my Lord ; you must suffer me to return to ob- 
 C C 
 
 \ 
 
386 EVELINA. 
 
 scurity; and there, in the bosom of my first, best, my 
 only friend, — I will pour forth all the grief of my heart ! — 
 while you, my Lord, must seek elsewhere — " 
 
 I could not proceed ; my whole soul recoiled against 
 the charge I would have given, and my voice refused to 
 utter it. 
 
 " Never," cried he, warmly, "my heart is your's, and I 
 swear to you an attachment eternal ! — You^n^e^aj^jnj^jua- 
 dee d, for a t ale of horror T and J am almost breathless wit h 
 e xpectat ion^— but so firm is my conviction, that, whatever 
 are your misfortunes, to have merited them is not of the 
 number, that I feel myself more strongly, more invincibly 
 devoted to you than ever ! — Tell me but where I may find 
 this noble friend, whose virtues you have already taught me 
 to reverence, — and I will fly to obtain his consent and inter- 
 cession, that henceforward our fates may be indissolubly 
 united ; — and then shall it be the sole study of my life to 
 endeavour to soften your past, — and guard you from future 
 misfortunes ! " 
 
 I had just raised my eyes to answer this most generous 
 of men, when the first object they met was Mrs. Selwyn. 
 
 " So, my dear," cried she, " what, still courting the rural 
 shades ! — I thought ere now you would have been satiated 
 with this retired seat, and I have been seeking you all over 
 the house. But I find the only way to meet with you, — is 
 to enquire for Lord Orville. However, don't let me disturb 
 your meditations ; you are possibly planning some pastoral 
 dialogue." 
 
 And, with this provoking speech, she walked on. 
 
 In the greatest confusion I was quitting the arbour, when 
 Lord Orville said, " Permit me to follow Mrs. Selwyn ; — 
 it is time to put an end to all impertinent conjectures ; will 
 you allow me to speak to her openly ? " 
 
 I assented in silence, and he left me. 
 
 I then went to my own room, where I continued till I was 
 summoned to dinner ; after which, Mrs. Selwyn invited me 
 to hers. 
 
 The moment she had shut the door, "Your Ladyship," 
 said she, " will, I hope, be seated." 
 
 " Ma'am ! " cried I, staring. 
 
 " the sweet innocent ! So you don't know what 1 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 mean ? — but, my dear, my sole view is to accustom you a 
 little to your dignity elect, lest, when you are addressed by 
 your title, you should look another way, from an apprehen- 
 sion of listening to a discourse not meant for you to hear." 
 
 Having, in this manner, diverted herself with my confu- 
 sion, till her raillery was almost exhausted, she congratulated 
 me very seriously upon the partiality of Lord Orville, and 
 painted to me, in the strongest terms, h is disintereste d 
 dpsi rft of hfrmg married to me immediate ly. She had told 
 him, she said, my whole story, and yet he was willing, nay 
 eager, that our union should take place of any further ap- 
 plication to my family. " Now, my dear," continued she/ 
 " I advise you by all means to marry him directly ; nothing 
 can be more precarious than Our success with Sir John ; and 
 the you ng men of this age are not to be t rusted with too 
 muc h time for deliberation, where their interests are co n- 
 cerned." 
 
 rr Good God, Madam," cried I, " do you think I would 
 hurry Lord Orville ? " 
 
 " Well, do as yon Will," S<"'^ S^j "Inn.lrily yr>]] fra,Vft fl,n 
 
 e xcellent subject for Quixotism ; — otherwise this dela y 
 mi ght prove your ruin ; but Lord Orville is almost as r o- 
 mantic as if he had been born and bred at .berry H33 " 
 
 ' She then proposed, as no better expedient seemed likely 
 to be suggested, that I should accompany her at once in her 
 visit to the Hot Wells to-morrow morning. 
 
 The very idea made me tremble ; yet she represented so 
 strongly the necessity of pursuing this unhappy affair with 
 spirit, or giving it totally up, that, wanting her force of ar- 
 gument, I was almost obliged to yield to her proposal. 
 
 In the evening we all walked in the garden : and Lord 
 Orville, who never quitted my side, told me he had been 
 listening to a tale, which, though it had removed the per- 
 plexities that had so long tormented him, had penetrated 
 him with sorrow and compassion. I acquainted him with 
 Mrs. Selwyn's plan for to-morrow, and confessed the ex- 
 treme terror it gave me. He then, in a manner almost un- 
 answerable, besought me to leave to him the conduct of the 
 affair, by consenting to be his before an interview took 
 place. 
 
 I could not but acknowledge my sense of his generosity ; 
 
388 EVELINA. 
 
 but I told him I was wholly dependent upon you ; and that 
 I was certain your opinion would be the same as mine ; 
 which was, that it would be highly improper I should dispose 
 of myself for ever, so very near the time which must finally 
 decide by whose authority I ought to be guided. The sub- 
 ject of this dreaded meeting, with the thousand conjectures 
 and apprehensions to which it gives birth, employed all our 
 conversation then, as it has all my thoughts since. 
 
 Heaven only knows how I shall support myself, when 
 the long expected — the wished — yet terrible moment ar- 
 rives, that will prostrate me at the feet of the nearest, the 
 most reverenced of all relations, whom my heart yearns to 
 know, and longs to love ! 
 
 LETTER LXXVIII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Oct. 9th. 
 
 I COULD not write yesterday, so violent was the agita- 
 tion of my mind ; — but I will not, now, lose a moment 
 till I have hastened to my best friend an account of the 
 transactions of a day I can never recollect without emotion. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn determined upon sending no message, 
 " Lest," said she, " Sir John, fatigued with the very idea 
 of my reproaches, should endeavour to avoid a meeting. 
 He cannot but see who you are, whether he will do you 
 justice or not." 
 
 We went early, and in Mrs. Beaumont's chariot ; into 
 which Lord Orville, uttering words of the kindest en- 
 couragement, handed us both. 
 
 My uneasiness, during the ride, was excessive; but, 
 when we stopped at the door, I was almost senseless with 
 terror ! the meeting, at last, was not so dreadful as that 
 moment ! I believe I was carried into the house ; but I 
 scarce recollect what was done with me : however, I know 
 we remained some time in the parlour before Mrs. Selwyn 
 could send any message up stairs. 
 
 When I was somewhat recovered, I intreated her to let 
 
EYELINA. 
 
 me return home, assuring her I felt myself quite unequal 
 to supporting the interview. 
 
 "No," said she; "you must stay now: your fears will 
 but gain strength by delay ; and we must not have such a 
 shock as this repeated." Then, turning to the servant, she 
 sent up her name. 
 
 An answer was brought, that he was going out in great 
 haste, but would attend her immediately. I turned so 
 sick, that Mrs. Selwyn was apprehensive I should have 
 fainted ; and, opening a door which led to an inner apart- 
 ment, she begged me to wait there till I was somewhat 
 composed, and till she had prepared for my reception. 
 
 Grlad of every moment's reprieve, I willingly agreed to 
 the proposal ; and Mrs. Selwyn had but just time to shut 
 me in, before her presence was necessary. 
 
 The voice of a father — Oh, dear and revered name !- 
 which then, for the first time, struck my ears, affected me 
 in a manner I cannot describe, though it was only em- 
 ployed in giving orders to a servant as he came down stairs. 
 
 Then, entering the parlour, I heard him say, " I am 
 sorry, Madam, I made you wait; but I have an engage- 
 ment which now calls me away : however, if you have any 
 commands for me, I shall be glad of the honour of your 
 company some other time." 
 
 " I am come, Sir," said Mrs. Selwyn, " to introduce your 
 daughter to you." 
 
 "I am infinitely obliged to you," answered he; "but I 
 have just had the satisfaction of breakfasting with her. 
 Ma'am, your most obedient." 
 
 " You refuse, then, to see her ? " 
 
 " I am much indebted to you, Madam, for this desire of 
 increasing my family ; but you must excuse me if I decline 
 taking advantage of it. I have already a daughter, to 
 whom I owe every thing ; and it is not three days since 
 that I had the pleasure of discovering a son : h ow many 
 more sons and daughters may be bro ught to me, lam y et 
 tolS ain , LllIj I am all cad v perfeclly ~satisiied with the siz e 
 
 ofmyfamily." " " ' — ' " 
 
 """ Had ytftr-a thousand children, Sir John," said Mrs. 
 Selwyn, warmly, "this only one, of which Lady Belmont 
 was the mother, ought to be most distinguished ; and, far 
 
/^90 ) 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 from avoiding her sight, you should thank your stars, in 
 humble gratitude, that there yet remains in your power 
 the smallest opportunity of doing the injured wife you 
 have destroyed, the poor justice of acknowledging her 
 child ! " 
 
 " I am very unwilling, Madam," answered he, " to enter 
 into any discussion of this point ; but you are determined 
 to compel me to speak. The re lives not at this tim^ Ifr ^ 
 
 h uman b ein g, wKq nhnnlrl inlV in m r nf ilio vftgr^f rlno in, — 
 
 the memory of that ill-fated woman ; no one can feel it so^ 
 s everel yjj^ jnyself : but let me, nevertheless, assure you, " I 
 have already d one all that remained in my power to prove 
 the~~respect she merit ed from me : her child I have edu- 
 cated, and owned lor my lawful heiress : if, Madam, you 
 can suggest to me any other means by which I may more 
 fully do her justice, and more clearly, , ma nifest her innq- 
 cence, name them to me ; and , though they should wound*" 
 my c haracter still deeper. I will perform th em reaairy." 
 
 "'All this sounds vastly well, returned. Mrs. Selwyn ; 
 " but I must own it is rather too enigmatical for my facul- 
 ti es of comprehension . You can, however, have no objec- 
 tion to seeing this young lady." 
 
 " None in the world." 
 
 " Come forth, then, my dear," cried she, opening the 
 door ; " come forth and see your father ! " Then, taking 
 my trembling hand, she led me forward. I would have 
 withdrawn it and retreated ; but, as he advanced instantly 
 towards me, I found myself already before him. 
 
 What a moment for your Evelina — an involuntary 
 scream escaped me, and, covering my face with my hands, I 
 sunk on the floor. 
 
 He had, however, seen me first ; for, in a voice scarce 
 articulate, he exclaimed, " My God ! does Caro line Evelyn 
 still lisfij " 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn said something, but I could not listen to her ; 
 and in a few minutes he added, " Lift up thy head — if my 
 sight has not blasted thee ! — lift up thy head, thou image 
 of my long lost Caroline ! " 
 
 Affected beyond measure, I half arose, and embraced 
 his knees, while yet on my own. 
 
 "Yes, yes," cried he, looking earnestly in my face, "I 
 
EYELINA. 391 
 
 see, I see thou art her child ! she lives — she breathes, — she 
 is present to my view ! — Oh, God, that she indeed lived ! — 
 Go dchild, go," a dded h e, wildly starting, and pushing me 
 from him : " take her away, IViadam, — 1 cannot bear to 
 lo^^ at her! JJ And then, breaking hastily from me, he 
 rusEed out of the room. 
 
 Speechless, motionless myself, I attempted not to stop 
 him ; bnt Mrs. Selwyn, hastening after him, caught hold 
 of his arm: "Leave me, Madam,'' cried he, with quick- 
 ness, " and take care of the poor child : — bid her not think 
 me nnkind; tell her, I wonld at this moment plunge a 
 dagger in my heart to serve her : but she has set my m brain 
 on fire ; and I can see her no more I" Then, with a violence 
 almost frantic, he ran up stairs. 
 
 Oh, Sir, had I not indeed cause to dread this interview ? 
 — an interview so unspeakably painful and afflicting to us 
 both ! Mrs. Selwyn wonld have immediately returned to 
 Clifton ; but I entreated her to wait some time, in the hope 
 that my unhappy father, when his first emotion was over, 
 would again bear me in his sight. However, he soon after 
 sent his servant to enquire how I did ; and to tell Mrs. 
 Selwyn he was much indisposed, but would hope for the 
 honour of seeing her to-morrow, at any time she would 
 please to appoint. 
 
 She fixed upon ten o'clock in the morning ; and then, 
 with a heavy heart, I got into the chariot. Those afflict- 
 ing words, I can see her no more ! were never a moment 
 absent from my mind. 
 
 Yet the sight of Lord Orville, who handed us from the 
 carriage, gave some relief to the sadness of my thoughts. 
 I could not, however, enter upon the painful subject ; but, 
 begging Mrs. Selwyn to satisfy him, I went to my own 
 room. 
 
 As soon as I communicated to the good Mrs. Clin ton 
 the present situation of my affairs, an idea occurred to" her 
 which seemed to clear up all the mystery of my having 
 been so long disowned. 
 
 The woman, she says, who attended my ever-to-be- 
 regr etted mother in her last illness, and who nursed inerti as 
 first" tour montns of my life, soon after being discharged 
 froinrjour house, lett Berry Hill entirely, Willi her baby, * 
 
{392 ) EVELINA. 
 
 who was but six weeks older than myse lf. Mrs. Clinton 
 
 re members, tfa a* hpr quitting thp planp npp^Adj a.* tfip 
 time, very extraordinary to the ne ighbours ; hTit ; a.g^hp 
 was never fagaxd of aftfixaeaxda, ^^ wqc >>y d^ffrepfrq^it^ 
 forgotten. 
 
 The moment this was mentioned, it struck Mrs. Selwyn, 
 as well as Mrs. Clinton herself, that my father had been 
 imposed upon ; and that the _ nurse, who said she-4ja d 
 bro ught his child to him, had/m tact, carried her own . 
 
 The name by which 1 was known, the secrecy observed 
 in regard to my family, and the retirement in which I 
 lived, all conspired to render this scheme, however daring 
 and fraudulent, by no means impracticable ; and, in short, 
 the idea was no sooner started, than conviction seemed to 
 follow it. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn determined immediately to discover the 
 truth or mistake of this conjecture ; therefore, the moment 
 she had dined, she walked to the Hot Wells, attended by 
 Mrs. Clinton. 
 
 I waited in my room till her return ; and then heard 
 the following account of her visit : 
 
 She found my poor father in great agitation. She 
 immediately informed him of the occasion of her so speedy 
 return, and of her suspicions of the woman who had pre- 
 tended to convey to him his child. Interrupting her with 
 quickness, he said he had just sent her from his presence ; 
 that the certainty I carried in my countenance of my real 
 birth, made him, the moment he had recovered from a 
 surprise which had almost deprived him of reason, suspect, 
 himself, the imposition she mentioned. He had therefore 
 sent for the woman, and questioned her with the utmost 
 austerity ; she turned pale, and was extremely embarrassed ; 
 but still she persisted in affirming, that she had really 
 brought him the daughter of Lady Belmont. His perplex- 
 ity, he said, almost distracted him : he had alivays ob- 
 served, that his daughter bore no resemblance to either of 
 her parents ; but, as he had never doubted the veracity of 
 the nurse, this circumstance did not give birth to any 
 suspicion. 
 
 At Mrs. Selwyn's desire, the woman was again called, 
 and interrogated with equal art and severity ; her confusion 
 
EVELINA. 393 
 
 was evident, and her answers often contradictory ; jet she 
 still declared she was no impostor. " We will see that in 
 a minute/' said Mrs. Selwyn ; and then desired Mrs. 
 Clinton might be called up stairs. The poor wretch, 
 changing colour, would have escaped out of the room ; 
 but, being prevented, dropt on her knees, and implored 
 forgiveness. A confession of the whole affair was then 
 extorted from her. 
 
 Doubtless, my dear Sir, you must remember Dame_Gx££lh 
 wlinwfl.fi -my fjyg* ixLmgp The deceit she has practised was 
 suggested, she says, by a conversation she overheard ; in 
 which my unhappy mother besought you, that, if her child 
 survived her, you would take the sole care of its education ; 
 and, in particular, if it should be a female, you would by 
 no means part with her in early life. You not only con- 
 sented, she says, but assured her you would even retire 
 abroad with me yourself, if my father should importu- 
 nately demand me. Her own child, she said, was then in 
 her arms ; and she could not forbear wishing it were pos- 
 sible to give her the fortune which seemed so little valued 
 for me. This wish once raised was not easily suppressed ; 
 on the contrary, what at first appeared a mere idle desire, 
 in a short time seemed a feasible scheme. Her husbanfe 
 was dead, and she had little regard for any body but her 
 child ; and, in short, having saved money for the journey! 
 she contrived to enquire a direction to my father ; and] 
 telling her neighbours she was going to settle in Devon-\ 
 shire, she set out on her expedition. 
 
 W hen Mrs. Selwyn asked her h ow g^ft daced pecpetrate 
 siKiha^ fraud, sb p protested «"g bad no ill designs; bu t 
 tfiat, as Mi ss would be never the worse for it, she though t 
 it pity nobody should be the befrt erT 
 
 Her success we are already acquainted with. Indeed 
 everything seemed to contribute towards it : my father 
 had no correspondent at Berry Hill ; the child was in- 
 stantly sent to France ; where, being brought up in as 
 much retirement as myself, nothing but accident could 
 discover the fraud. 
 
 And here let me indulge myself in observing, .and rejoic- 
 ing to observe, that the total neglect I thought I met with 
 was not the effect of insensibility or unkindness, but of 
 
394 EVELINA. 
 
 imposition and error ; and that, at the very time we con- 
 cluded I was unnaturally rejected, my deluded father 
 meant to show me most favour and protection. 
 
 He acknowledges that Lady Howard's letter flung him 
 into some perplexity : he immediately communicated it to 
 Dame Green, who confessed it was the greatest shock she 
 had ever received in her life ; yet she had the art and 
 boldness to assert, that Lady Howard must herself have 
 been deceived : and as she had, from the beginning of her 
 enterprise, declared she had stolen away the child without 
 your knowledge, he concluded that some deceit was then 
 intended him ; and this thought occasioned his abrupt 
 answer. 
 
 Dame Green owned, that, from the moment the journey 
 to England was settled, she gave herself up for lost. All 
 her hope was to have had her daughter married before it 
 took place ; for which reason she had so much promoted 
 Mr. Macartney's addresses ; for though such a match was 
 inadequate to the pretensions of Miss Belmont, she well 
 knew it was far superior to those her daughter could form 
 after the discovery of her birth. 
 
 My first enquiry was, if this innocent daughter was yet 
 acquainted with the affair ? " No," Mrs. Selwyn said ; nor 
 was any plan settled how to divulge it to her. Poor un- 
 fortunate girl ! how hard is her fate ! She is entitled to 
 my kindest offices, and I shall always consider her as my 
 sister. 
 
 I. then asked whether my father would again allow me 
 to sec him ! 
 
 " Why, no, my dear, not yet," answered she; "he de- 
 clares the sight of you is too much for him : however, we 
 are to settle everything concerning you to-morrow ; for 
 this woman took up all our time to-day." 
 
 This morning, therefore, she is again gone to the Hot 
 Wells. I am waiting in all impatience for her return ; but, 
 as I know you will be anxious for the account this letter 
 contains, I will not delay sending it. 
 
EVELINA. ' 395 
 
 LETTER LXXIX. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 October 9th. 
 
 HOW agitated, my dear Sir, is the present life of your 
 Evelina ! every day seems important, and one event 
 only a prelude to another. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn, upon her return this morning from the 
 Hot Wells, entering my room very abruptly, said, " Oh, my 
 dear, I have terrible news for you ! " 
 
 " For me, Ma'am ! — Good God ! what now ? " 
 
 " Arm yourself," cried she, " with all your Berry Hill 
 philosophy ; — con over every lesson of fortitude or resigna- 
 tion you ever learnt in your life ; — for know, — you are next 
 week to be married to Lord Orville ! " 
 
 Doubt, astonishment, and a kind of perturbation I can- 
 not describe, made this abrupt communication alarm me 
 extremely ; and, almost breathless, I could only exclaim, 
 " Good God, Madam, what do you tell me ! " 
 
 "You may well be frightened, my dear," said she, 
 ironically ; " for really there is something mighty terrific 
 in becoming, at once, the wife of the man you adore, — and 
 a Countess ! " 
 
 I intreated her to spare her raillery, and tell me her real 
 meaning. She could not prevail with herself to grant the 
 first request, though she readily complied with the second. 
 
 My poorjather, she said, was still in the utmost uneasi- 
 ness : he entered upon his affairs with great_o^enness, and 
 told her, he was equally disturbed how toTdSspos^ either of 
 th e daughterTT e h ad discovered, or the daughter he w as 
 nowt o give uft-L the former he dreaded to trust himself 
 with again beholding, and the latter he knew not how to 
 shock with the intelligence of her disgrace. Mrs. Selwyn 
 then acquainted him with my situation in regard to Lord 
 Orville : this delighted him extremely ; and, when he 
 heard of his Lordship's eagerness, he said he was himself 
 of opinion, the sooner the union took place the better ; and, 
 in return, he informed her of the affair of Mr. Macartney. 
 "And, after a very long conversation," continued Mrs. 
 
396 EYSLINA. 
 
 Selwyn, " we agreed, that the most eligible scheme for all 
 pa rties would~15e, to have both the real and the hchnous 
 da ughter married without dela^ v. Thereiore, if either of 
 you. have any inclination to pull caps for the title of Miss 
 Belmont, you must do it with all speed, as next week will 
 take from both of you all pretensions to it." 
 
 ••Next week! — dear Madam, what a strange plan! — 
 without my being consulted, — without applying to Mr. 
 Yi liars, — without even the concurrence of Lord Orville ! " 
 
 "As to consulting yoa, my dear, it was out of all ques- 
 tion ; because, you know, young ladies' hearts and hands 
 are always to be given with reluctance ; — as to Mr. Yillars. 
 it is sufficient we know him for your friend ; — and as for 
 Lord Orville, he is a party concerned." 
 
 " A party concerned ! — you amaze me ! " 
 
 " Why, yes ; for, as I found our consultation likely to 
 redound to his advantage, I persuaded Sir John to send for 
 him." 
 
 * Send for him !— Good God ! " 
 
 •• Yes ; and Sir John agreed. I told the servant, that if 
 he could not hear of his Lordship in the house, he might be 
 pretty certain of encountering him in the arbour. — Why do 
 you colour, my dear ? — Well, he was with us in a moment : 
 I introduced him to Sir John ; and we proceeded to 
 business." 
 
 " I am very, very sorry for it ! — Lord Orville must him- 
 self think this conduct strangely precipitate." 
 
 " No, my dear, you are mistaken ; Lord Orville has too 
 much good sense. Everything was then discussed in a 
 ration aXjooanner. You are to be married p rivately, though 
 and then "Prr-tre ono-of 
 
 poor little ALiss Ureen and your brother, who 
 have no house of their own, must go to one of Sir John's." 
 
 '•But why, my dear Madam, why all this haste P why 
 may we not be allowed a little longer time ? " 
 
 " I could give you a thousand reasons," answered she, 
 " but that I am tolerably certain tv:o or three will be more 
 than you can controvert, even with all the logic of genuine 
 coquetry. In the first place, you doubtless wish to quit the 
 house of Mrs. Beaumont : to whose, then, can you with 
 such propriety remove as to Lord Orville's r " 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 " Surely, Madam," cried I, " I am not more destitute 
 now than when I thought myself an orphan." 
 
 "Your father, my dear," answered she, " is willing to 
 save the little impostor as much of the mortification of her 
 disgrace as is in his power • now, if you immediately take 
 her place, according to your right, as Miss Belmont, why, 
 not all that either of you can do for her, will prevent her 
 being eternally stigmatized as the bantling of Dame Green, 
 wash- woman and wet nurse, of Berry Hill, Dorsetshire. 
 Now such a genealogy will not be very nattering, even to 
 Mr. Macartney, who, all-dismal as he is, you will find by no 
 means wanting in pride and self -consequence.'' 
 
 " For the universe," interrupted I, "I would not be 
 accessary to the degradation you mention ; but surely, 
 Madam, I may return to Berry Hill ? " 
 
 " By no means," said she ; "for though compassion may 
 make us wish to save the poor girl the confusion of an 
 immediate and public fall, yet justice demands you should 
 appear henceforward in no other light than that of Sir 
 John Belmont's daughter. Besides, between friends, 1^ 
 who know the world, can see that half this prodigious 
 delicacy for the little usurper is the mere result of self- 
 interest ; for, while her affairs are hushed up, Sir John's, you 
 know, are kept from being brought further to light. Now 
 the double marriage we have projected obviates all rational 
 objections. Sir John will give you immediately £30.00 ; 
 a ll settlements, a no 1 so forth, will be made for yon in thft.. 
 n ame of Ev elina Belmont in — Mr. Mfl.pgn4.-npy w iH at the 
 same time take poor (Polly Gree n j and yet, at first, it will 
 only be generally known inat a daughter of Sir John Belmont 
 is married." 
 
 In this manner, though she did not convince me, yet the 
 quickness of her arguments silenced and perplexed me. I 
 enquired, however, if I might not be permitted to again see 
 my father, or whether I must regard myself as banished his 
 presence for ever ? 
 
 "My dear," said she, "he does not know you : he con- 
 cludes that you have been brought up to detest him ; and 
 therefore he^isj^yjigr jprepared to dread than to l ove you." 
 
 This answer made me very unhappy : 1 wished, most 
 impatiently, to remove his prejudice, and endeavour, by 
 
398 EVELINA. 
 
 dutiful assiduity, to engage his kindness ; yet knew not 
 how to propose seeing him, while conscious he wished to 
 avoid me. 
 
 This evening, as soon as the company was engaged with 
 cards. Lord Orville exerted his utmost eloquence to recon- 
 cile me to this hasty plan ; but how was I startled when he 
 told me that next Tuesday was the day appointed by my 
 father to be the most important of my life ! 
 
 c; Next Tuesday ! " repeated I, quite out of breath, " Oh, 
 my Lord ! — " 
 
 ' ; My sweet Evelina," said he, " the day which will make 
 me the happiest of mortals, would probably appear awf nl to 
 you, were it to be deferred a twelvemonth. Mrs. Selwyn 
 has, doubtless, 'acquainted you with the many motives which, 
 independent of my eagerness, require it to be speedy ; 
 suffer, therefore, its acceleration, and generously complete 
 my felicity, by endeavouring to suffer it without repug- 
 nance." 
 
 " Indeed, my Lord, I would not wilfully raise objections, 
 nor do I desire to appear insensible of the honour of your 
 good opinion ; — but there is something in this plan — so verv 
 Las tv — so unreasonab ly" precipitate : — besides, I shall nay e 
 nd^Time to hear froro^Berry H ilTp ^and believe~~lneT ^my 
 Lord. 1 should be lor ever miserable^ were I, in an affair so 
 important, to act without the sanction of Mr. Villars's 
 advice." 
 
 He offered to wait on you himself : but I told him I had 
 rather write to you. And then he proposed, that, instead 
 of my immediately accompanying him to Lincolnshire, we 
 should first pass a month at my native Berry Hill. 
 
 This was, indeed, a grateful proposal to me, and I listened 
 to it with undisguised pleasure. And, in short, I was 
 obliged to consent to a compromise, in merely deferrjng_the 
 dqy till Khnxadftj ! He readily undertook to engage my 
 father's concurrence in this little delay ; and I besought 
 him, at the same time, to make use of his influence to 
 obtain me a second interview, and to represent the deep 
 concern I felt in being thus banished his sight. 
 
 He would then have spoken of settlements ; but I assured 
 him I was almost ignorant of the word. 
 
 And now, my dearest Sir, what is your opinion of these 
 
EVELINA. 399 
 
 hasty proceedings ? Believe me, I half regret the simple 
 facility with which I have suffered myself to be hurried 
 into compliance ; and, should you start but the smallest 
 objection, I will yet insist upon being allowed more time. 
 
 I must now write a concise account of the state of my 
 affairs to Howard Grove, and to Madame Duval. 
 
 Adieu, dearest and most honoured Sir ! everything at 
 present depends upon your single decision ; to which, 
 though I yield in trembling, I yield implicitly. 
 
 LETTER LXXX. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Oct. lltll. 
 
 YE STEED AY morning, as soon as breakfast was over, 
 Lord Orville went to the Hot Wells, to wait upon my 
 father with my double petition. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont then, in general terms, proposed a walk 
 in the garden. Mrs. Selwyn said she had letters to write ; 
 but Lady Louisa rose to accompany Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 I had had some reason to imagine, from the notice with 
 which her Ladyship had honoured me during breakfast, 
 that her brother had acquainted her with my present 
 situation : and her behaviour now confirmed my conjectures : 
 for, when I would have gone up stairs, instead of suffering 
 me, as usual, to pass disregarded, she called after me with 
 an affected surprise, "Miss Anville, don't you walk with 
 us ? " 
 
 There seemed something so little-minded in this sudden 
 change of conduct, that, from an involuntary motion of 
 contempt, I thanked her with a coldness like her own, and 
 declined her offer. Yet, observing that she blushed ex- 
 tremely at my refusal, and recollecting she was sister to 
 Lord Orville, my indignation subsided ; and, upon Mrs. 
 Beaumont repeating the invitation, I accepted it. 
 
 Our walk proved extremely dull : Mrs. Beaumont, who 
 never says much, was more silent than usual ; Lady Louisa 
 strove in vain to lay aside the restraint and distance she 
 has hitherto preserved ; and, as to me, I was too conscious 
 
400 EVELINA. 
 
 of the circumstances to which I owed their attention, to 
 feel either pride or pleasure from receiving it. 
 
 Lord Orville was not long absent : he joined us in the 
 garden with a look of gaiety and good humour that revived 
 us all. " You are just the party," said he, "I wished to see 
 together. Will you, Madam (taking my hand), allow me 
 the honour of introducing you, by your real name, to two 
 of my nearest relations ? Mrs. Beaumont, give me leave to 
 present to you the daughter of Sir John Belmont, a young 
 lady who, I am sure, must long since have engaged your 
 esteem and admiration, though you were a stranger to her 
 birth." 
 
 " My Lord," said Mrs. Beaumont, graciously saluting me, 
 "the y oung lady's ra nk in life, your Lordship's recom- 
 mendation, or her own merit, would, any one of them, have 
 been sufficient to have entitled her to my regard; and I 
 hope she has always met with that respect in my house 
 which is so much her due ; though, had I been sooner made 
 acquainted with her family, I should doubtless have better 
 known how to have secured it." 
 
 " Miss Belmont," said Lord Orville, " can receive no 
 lustre from family, whatever she may give to it. Louisa, 
 you will, I am sure, be happy to make yourself an interest 
 in the friendship of Miss Belmont, whom I hope shortly 
 (kissing my hand, and joining it with her Ladyship's) to 
 have the happiness of presenting to you by yot another 
 name, and by the most endearing of all titles." 
 
 I believe it would be difficult to say whose cheeks were, 
 at that moment, of the deepest dye, Lady Louisa's or my 
 own ; for the conscious pride with which she has hitherto 
 slighted me, gave to her an embarrassment which equalled 
 the confusion that an introduction so unexpected gave to 
 me. She saluted me, however ; and, with a faint smile y 
 said, " I shall esteem myself very happy to profit by the 
 honour of Miss Belmont's acquaintance." 
 
 I only courtsied, and we walked on : but it was evident, 
 from the little surprise they expressed, that they had been 
 already informed of the state of the affair. 
 
 We were soon after joined by more company : and Lord 
 Orville then, in a low voice, took an opportunity to tell me 
 the success of his visit. In the first place, Thursday was 
 
EVELINA. 401 
 
 agreed to ; and, in the second, my father, he said, was much 
 concerned to hear of my uneasiness ; sent me his blessing ; 
 and complied with my request of seeing him, with the same 
 readiness he should agree to any other I could make. Lord 
 Orville, therefore, settled that I should wait upon him in 
 the evening, and, at his particular request, unaccompanied 
 by Mrs. Selwyn. 
 
 This kind message, and the prospect of so soon seeing 
 him, gave me sensations of mixed pleasure and pain, which 
 wholly occupied my mind till the time of my going to the 
 Hot Wells. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont lent me her chariot, and Lord Orville 
 absolutely insisted upon attending me. " If you go alone," 
 said he, " Mrs. Selwyn will certainly be offended ; but if 
 you allow me to conduct you, though she may give the 
 freer scope to her raillery, she cannot possibly be affronted : 
 and we had much better suffer her laughter, than provoke 
 her satire.' ' 
 
 Indeed, I mast own, I had no reason to regret being so 
 accompanied ; for his conversation supported my spirits 
 from drooping, and made the ride seem so short, that we 
 actually stopped at my father's door, before I knew we had 
 proceeded ten yards. 
 
 He handed me from the carriage, and conducted me to 
 the parlour, at the door of which I was met by Mr. 
 Macartney. "Ah, my dear brother," cried I, "how happy 
 am I to see you here ! " 
 
 He bowed, and thanked me. Lord Orville, then, hold- 
 ing out his hand, said, " Mr. Macartney, I hope we shall 
 be better acquainted ; I promise myself much pleasure from 
 cultivating your friendship." 
 
 "Your Lordship does me but too much honour," an- 
 swered Mr. Macartney. 
 
 " But where," cried I, " is my sister ? for so I must al- 
 ready call, and always consider her : — I am afraid she- 
 avoids me ; — you must endeavour, my dear brother, to pre- 
 possess her in my favour, and reconcile her to owning me." 
 
 "Oh, Madam," cried he, "you are all goodness and 
 benevolence ! but at present I hope you will excuse her, for 
 I fear she has hardly fortitude sufficient to see you : in a 
 short time perhaps — " 
 
 D D 
 
402 EVELINA. 
 
 " In a very short time, then," said Lord Orville, M I hope 
 you will yourself introduce her, and that we shall have the 
 pleasure of wishing you both joy : allow me, my Evelina, to 
 say we, and permit me, in your name, as well as my own, 
 to entreat that the first guests we shall have the happiness 
 of receiving may be Mr. and Mrs. Macartney.'* 
 
 A servant then came to beg I would walk up stairs. 
 
 I besought Lord Orville to accompany me ; but he feared 
 the displeasure of Sir John, who had desired to see me 
 alone. He led me, however, to the foot of the stairs, and 
 made the kindest efforts to give me courage : but indeed he 
 did not succeed ; for the interview appeared to me in all 
 its terrors, and left me no feeling but apprehension. 
 
 The moment I reached the landing-place, the drawing- 
 room door was opened : and my father, with a voice of 
 kindness, called out, " My child, is it you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Sir," cried I, springing forward, and kneeling at 
 his feet, " it is your child, if you will own her ! " 
 
 He knelt by my side, and, folding me in his arms, " Own 
 thee," repeated he, " yes, my poor girl, and Heaven knows 
 with what bitter contrition ! " Then, raising both himself 
 and me, he brought me into the drawing-room, shut the 
 door, and took me to the window ; where, looking at me 
 with great earnestness, " Poor unhappy Caroline ! " cried 
 he ; and, to my inexpressible concern, he burst into tears. 
 Need I tell you, my dear Sir, how mine flowed at the sight ? 
 
 I would again have embraced his knees ; but, hurrying 
 from me, he flung himself upon a sofa, and, leaning his 
 face on his arms, seemed for some time absorbed in bitter- 
 ness of grief. 
 
 I ventured not to interrupt a sorrow I so much respected ; 
 
 but waited in silence, and at a distance, till he recovered 
 
 from its violence. But then it seemed in a moment to give 
 
 way to a kind of frantic fury ; for starting suddenly, with 
 
 ^ a sternness which at once surprised and frightened me, 
 
 C u Child," cried he, " hast thou yet sufficiently humbled thy 
 
 j father ? — if thou hast, be contented with this proof of my 
 
 j weakness, and no longer force thyself into my presence ! " 
 
 / Thunderstruck by a command so unexpected, I stood 
 
 still and speechless, and doubted whether my own ears did 
 
 not deceive me. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 " Oh go, go ! " cried he, passionately ; " in pity — in com- 
 passion, — if thou valuest my senses, leave me, — and for 
 ever ! " 
 
 " I will, I will," cried I, greatly terrified ; and I moved 
 hastily towards the door : yet, stopping when I reached it, 
 and, almost involuntarily, dropping on my knees, " Vouch- 
 safe," cried I, " Oh, Sir, vouchsafe but once to bless your 
 daughter, and her sight shall never more offend you ! " 
 
 " Alas," cried he, in a softened voice, " I am not worth y 
 tqjpl ess thee !— I am not worthy to call thee dau ghter 1 — T 
 am not worthy that the fair light of Heaven should vis it 
 my~ey es ! — Uh trod I that 1 could but c all back the tim e 
 er e thou wast born, — or else bury its remembrance i n 
 et ernal oblivion ! ' 
 
 " Would to Heaven," cried I, " that the sight of me were 
 less terrible to you ! that, instead of irritating, I could 
 soothe your sorrows ! — Oh Sir, how thankfully would I 
 then prove my duty, even at the hazard of my life ! " 
 
 "Are you so kind?" cried he, gently; "come hither, 
 child ; — rise, Evelina : — Alas, it is for one to kneel, — not 
 you ; — and I mould kneel T — I would crawl upon the aas& h, 
 — I wjmld kiss the dust, — could I. by BUfih suhmiflsiffl^ pjj- 
 tain the forgiv eness of the representative of the mos t 
 in jured of women ! " 
 
 7i Oh, fc>ir," exclaimed I, " that vou could but rea d my 
 heart ! — that you could but see the(nHal tenderness) and 
 concern with which it overflows ! — youwould not then talk 
 thus, — you would not then banish me your presence, and 
 exclude me from your affection ! " 
 
 " Good God," cried he, "is it then possible that you do 
 not hate me ? — Can the child of the wronged Caroline look 
 at, — and not execrate me ? Wast thou not born to abhor, 
 and bred to curse me ? Did not thy mother bequeath thee 
 her blessing on condition that thou should' st detest and 
 avoid me ? " 
 
 " Oh no, no, no ! " cried I ; " think not so unkindly of 
 her, nor so hardly of me." I then took from my pocket- 
 book her last letter ; and, pressing it to my lips, with a 
 trembling hand, and still upon my knees, I held it out to 
 him. 
 
 Hastily snatching it from me, " Great Heaven ! " cried 
 
404 EVELINA. 
 
 he, " 'tis her writing — "Whence comes tins ? — who gave it 
 yon — why had I it not sooner ? " 
 
 I made no answer ; his vehemence intimidated me. and 
 I ventnred not to move from the snppHant posture in 
 which I had put myself. 
 
 He went from me to the window, where his eyes were 
 for some time rivetted upon the direction of the letter, 
 though his hand shook so violently he could hardly hold it. 
 Then, bringing it to me, " Open it," — cried he, — " for I 
 cannot ! " 
 
 I had myself hardly strength to obey him : but when I 
 had. he took it back, and walked hastily up and down the 
 room, as if dreading to read it. At length, turning to me, 
 " Do you know," cried he, ;; its contents r " 
 
 II No, Sir," answered I. "it has never been unsealed." 
 He then again went to the window, and began reading. 
 
 Having hastily run it over, he cast up his eyes with a look 
 of desperation ; the letter fell from his hand, and he ex- 
 claimed, k ' Yes ! thou an sainted ! — thou art blessed ! — and 
 I am cursed for ever ! " He continued some time fixed in 
 this melancholy position ; after which, casting himself with 
 violence upon the ground, " O h wretch," cried he, " un wor- 
 thy life and light, in what dung eon canst thou hideTnV 
 
 hgatrr^ " ■ ^ 
 
 I could restrain myself no longer ; I rose and went to 
 him ; I did not dare speak ; but, with pity and concern un- 
 utterable, I wept and hung over him. 
 
 Soon after, starting up, he again seized the letter, ex- 
 claiming. " Acknowledge thee, Caroline ! — yes, with my 
 heart's best blood would I acknowledge thee ! — Oh that 
 thou could'st witness the agony of my soul ! — Ten thou- 
 sand daggers could not have wounded me like this letter! " 
 
 Then, after again reading it. " Evelina," he cried. " she 
 charges me to receive thee ; — wilt thou, in obedience to 
 her will, own for thy father the destroyer of thy mother ? " 
 
 What a dreadful question ! — I shuddered, but could not 
 speak. 
 
 II To clear her fame, and receive her child," continued 
 he, looking stedfastly at the letter, " are the conditions 
 upon which she leaves me her forgiveness : her fame I have 
 already cleared ; — and Oh, how willingly would I take her 
 
EVELINA. 405 
 
 child to my bosom, fold her to my heart, — call upon her to 
 mitigate my anguish, and pour the balm of comfort on my 
 wounds, we re I not conscious I deserve ngt to caceiga 
 ikand that all my affli ction is the result of mv own 
 
 g^iitT^— — ; 
 
 It was in vain I attempted to speak ; horror and grief 
 took from me all power of utterance. 
 
 He then read aloud from the letter, " Look not like thy 
 unfortunate mother ! " " Sweet soul, with what bitterness of 
 spirit hast thou written ! — Come hither, Evelina : Gracious 
 Heaven ! (looking earnestly at me) never was likeness 
 more striking ! — the eyes — the face — the form — Oh, my 
 child, my child ! " Imagine, Sir, — for I can never describe 
 my feelings, when I saw him sink upon his knees before 
 me ! " Oh, dear resemblance of thy murdered mother ! — 
 Oh, all that remains of the most injured of women ! behold 
 thy father at thy feet ! — bend ing thus l owly to implore you 
 w ould npLJiat e. hiu^. — Oh, then, thou representative of 
 my departed wite, speak to me in her name, and say 
 that the remorse which tears my soul tortures me not 
 in vain ! " 
 
 " Oh, rise, rise, my beloved father," cried I, attempting 
 to assist him ; " I cannot bear to see you thus ; reverse not 
 the law of nature ; rise yourself, and bless your kneeling 
 daughter ! " 
 
 " May Heaven bless thee, my child ! — " cried he, " for I 
 dare not." He then rose ; and, embracing me most affec- 
 tionately, added, " I see, I see that thou art all kindness, 
 softness, and tenderness ; I need not have feared thee, thou 
 art all the fondest father could wish, and I will try to frame 
 my mind to less painful sensations at thy sight. Perhaps 
 the time may come, when I may know the comfort of such 
 a daughter ; — at present I am only fit to be alone : dreadful 
 as are my reflections, they ought merely to torment myself. 
 — Adieu, my child ; — be not angry, — I cannot stay with 
 thee ; — Oh, Evelina ! thy countenance is a dagger to my 
 heart ! — just so thy mother looked, — just so — " 
 
 Tears and sighs seemed to choak him ; — and, waving his 
 hand, he would have left me ; — but, clinging to him, " Oh, 
 Sir," cried I, " will you so soon abandon me ? — am I again 
 an orphan ! — Oh, my dear, my long-lost father, leave me 
 
406 EVELINA. 
 
 not, I beseech you ! take pity on yonr child, and rob her 
 not of the parent she so fondly hoped would cherish her ! " 
 
 " You know not what you ask," cried he ; " t he em otions 
 which no w rend m y sou] a^e more than my reason "can 
 endure ; suffer me then, to leave you ; — impute it not to 
 unkmdness, but think of me as well as thou canst. Lord 
 Orville has behaved nobly ; — I believe he will make thee 
 happy." Then, again embracing me, " God bless thee, my 
 dear child," cried he, " God bless thee, my Evelina ! — 
 endeavour to love, — at least not to hate me, — and to make 
 me an interest in thy filial bosom, by thinking of me as thy 
 father." 
 
 I could not speak ; I kissed his hands on my knees : and 
 then, with yet more emotion, he again blessed me, and 
 hurried out of the room, — leaving me almost drowned in 
 tears. 
 
 Oh, Sir, all goodness as you are, how much will you feel 
 for your Evelina, during a scene of such agitation ! I pray 
 Heaven to accept the tribute of his remorse, and restore him 
 to tranquillity ! 
 
 When I was sufficiently composed to return to the par- 
 lour, I found Lord Orville waiting for me with the utmost 
 anxiety : — and then a new scene of emotion, though of a 
 far different nature, awaited me; for I learned by Mr, 
 Macartney, that this noblest of men had insisted the so- 
 long supposed Miss Belmont should be considered, indeed, 
 as my sister, and as the co-heiress of my father ; though not 
 in law, in justice, he says, she ought ever to be treated as the 
 daughter of Sir John Belmont. 
 
 Oh ! Lord Orville ! — it shall be the sole study of my 
 happy life, to express, better than by words, the sense 
 I have of your exalted benevolence and greatness of mind ! 
 
EYELINA. 
 
 (ms 
 
 LETTEB LXXXI. 
 
 EYELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Clifton, Oct. 12th. 
 
 THIS morning, early, I received the following letter from 
 Si r Clement Willough byj^ 
 
 " To Miss Anville. 
 
 " I hate this moment received intelligence that prepara- 
 tions are actually making for your marriage with Lord 
 Orville. 
 
 " Imagine not that I write with the imbecile idea of ren- 
 dering those preparations abortive. No, I am not so mad. 
 My sole view is to explain the motive of my conduct in a 
 particular instance, and to obviate the accusation of treachery 
 which may be laid to my charge. 
 
 "My unguarded behaviour, when I last saw you, has, 
 probably, already acquainted you, that the lett er I then saw 
 you reading was written by myself. For your further 
 satisfaction, let me have tne nonour of informing you, that 
 the letter you had designed for Lord Orville, had fallen into 
 my hands. 
 
 " However I may have been urged on by a\ passion/th e 
 most vio lent that e ver warmed the heart of man , 1 can by 
 no means calmly submit to be stigmatized for an action 
 seemingly so dishonourable ; and it is for this reason that I 
 trouble you with this justification. 
 
 " Lord Orville, — the happy Orville, whom you are so 
 ready to bless, — had made me believe he loved you not ; — 
 nay, that he held you in contempt. 
 
 " Such were my thoughts of his sentiments of you, when 
 I got possession of the letter you meant to send him. I 
 pretend not to vindicate either the means I used to obtain 
 it, or the action of breaking the seal ; but I was impelled, 
 by an imneiiujQuajiariosity, to discover the terms upon which 
 you wrote to him. 
 
 " The letter, however, was wholly unintelligible to me, and 
 the perusal of it only added to my perplexity. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 "A tame suspense I was not born to endure, and I 
 determined to clear my doubts at all hazards and events. 
 
 " I answered it, therefore, in Orville's name. 
 
 " The views which I am now going to acknowledge, 
 must, infallibly, incur your displeasure ; — yet I scorn all 
 palliation. 
 
 " Briefly, then, I concealed your letter to prevent a dis- 
 covery of your capacity ; and I wrote you an answer, which 
 I hoped would prevent your wishing for any other. 
 
 " I am we]l aware of every thing which can be said upon 
 this subject. Lord Orville will, possibly, think himself ill- 
 used ; but I am extremely indifferent as to his opinion ; nor 
 do I now write by way of offering any apology to him, but 
 merely to make known to yourself the reasons by which I 
 have been governed. 
 
 " I intend to set off next week for the Continent. Should 
 his Lordship have any commands for me in the mean time, 
 I shall be glad to receive them. I say not this by way of 
 defiance, — I should blush to be suspected of so doing 
 through an indirect channel ; but simply that, if you show 
 him this letter, he may know I dare defend, as well as 
 excuse, my conduct. 
 
 " Clement Willoughby." 
 
 What a strange letter ! ho w proud and how piqued doe s 
 its writer appear ! To what alternate meanness and xa&h&sss 
 5 o the passions lead, whe n reason and self-iierp 'fl ,l do -not t 
 o ppose them ! Sir Clement is conscious he has acted dis- 
 honourably ; yet the same unbridled vehemence, which 
 urged him to gratify a blameable curiosity, will sooner 
 prompt him to risk his life, than confess his misconduct. 
 The rudeness of his manner of writing to me, springs from 
 the same cause : the proof which he has received of my in- 
 difference to him, has stung him to the soul, and he has 
 neither the delicacy nor forbearance to disguise his dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 I determined not to show this letter to Lord Orville, and 
 thought it most prudent to let Sir Clement know I should 
 not. I therefore wrote the following note : 
 
EVELINA. 409 
 
 " To Sir Clement Willoughby. 
 " Sir, 
 
 " The letter you have been pleased to address to me, is so 
 little calculated to afford Lord Orville any satisfaction, that 
 you may depend upon my carefully keeping it from his 
 sight. I will bear you no resentment for what is past ; bu* 
 I most earnestly intreat, nay implore, that you will not 
 write again, while in your present frame of mind, by any 
 channel, direct or indirect. 
 
 " I hope you will have much pleasure in your promised 
 expedition; and I beg leave to assure you of my good 
 wishes." 
 
 Not knowing by what name to sign, I was obliged to 
 send it without any. 
 
 The preparations which Sir Clement mentions, go on just 
 as if your consent were arrived : it is in vain that I expos- 
 tulate ; Lord Orville says, should any objections be raised, 
 all shall be given up ; but that, as his hopes forbid him to 
 expect any, he must proceed as if already assured of your 
 concurrence. 
 
 We have had, this afternoon, a most interesting conver- 
 sation, in which we have traced our sentiments of each other 
 from our first acquaintance. I have made him confess how 
 ill he thought of me upon my foolish giddiness at Mrs. 
 Stanley's ball ; but he flatters me with assurances, that 
 every succeeding time he saw me, I appeared to something 
 less and less disadvantage. 
 
 When I expressed my amazement that he could honour 
 with his choice a girl who seemed so infinitely, in every re- 
 spect, beneath his alliance, he frankly owned, t hat he Vm.d 
 ful ly intended making more minute inquiries into my famil y 
 an ff connections ; and particularly concerning those peo p le 
 he saw me with at Marybone, before he acknowledged his 
 p repossession in my iavour : but the suddenness ot my m- 
 tended journey, and the uncertainty of seeing me again, put 
 him quite off his guard ; and, " d ivesting him of pruden ce, 
 left him nothing but love. " These were his words ; "and 
 yet, he has repeatedly assured me, that his partiality 
 has known no bounds from the time of my residing at 
 Clifton. 
 
410 EVELINA. 
 
 Mr. Macartney has just been with me, on an embassy 
 from my father. He has sent me his kindest love and 
 assurances of favour ; and desired to know if I am happy 
 in the prospect of changing my situation, and if there is 
 any thing I can name which he can do for me. And, at 
 the same time, Mr. Macartney delivered to me a draught 
 on my father's banker for a thousand pounds, which he 
 insisted that I should receive entirely for my own use, and 
 expend in equipping myself properly for the new rank of 
 life to which I seem destined. 
 
 I am sure I need not say how much I was penetrated by 
 this goodness : I wrote my thanks, and acknowledged, 
 frankly, that if I could see him restored to tranquillity, my 
 heart would be without a wish. 
 
 LETTER LXXXII. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 Clifton, Oct \Zth. 
 
 THE time approaches now when I hope we shall meet ; — 
 yet I cannot sleep ; — great joy is as restless as sorrow, 
 — and therefore I will continue my journal. 
 
 As I had never had an opportunity of seeing Bath, a 
 party was formed last night for showing me that celebrated 
 city ; and this morning, after breakfast, we set out in three 
 phaetons. Lady Louisa and Mrs. Beaumont with Lord 
 Merton ; Mr. Coverley, Mr. Lovel, and Mrs. Selwyn ; and 
 myself with Lord Orville. 
 
 We had hardly proceeded half a mile, when a gentleman 
 from the post-chaise which came gallopping after us, called 
 out to the servants, " Holla, my lads ! — pray, is one Miss 
 Anville in any of them thing -em-bobs ? " 
 
 I immediately recollected the voice of C aptain Mirvan ; 
 and Lord Orville stopped the phaeton. He was out of the 
 chaise, and with us in a moment. " So, Miss Anville," 
 cried he, " how do you do ? so I hear you're Miss Belmont 
 now ; — pray, how does old Madame French do ? " 
 
 " Madame Duval," said I, " is, I believe, very well." 
 
EVELINA. 411 
 
 " I hope she is in good case" said he, winking signifi- 
 cantly, " and won't flinch at seeing service : she has laid 
 by long enough to refit and be made tight. And pray how 
 does poor Monseer Doleful do ? is he as lank- jawed as 
 ever ? " 
 
 " They are neither of them," said I, "in Bristol." 
 "No! " cried he, with a look of disappointment; "but 
 surely the old dowager intends coming to the wedding I 
 'twill be a most excellent opportunity to show off her best 
 Lyons silk. Besides, I purpose to dance a new fashioned 
 jig with her. Don't you know when she'll come ? " 
 " I have no reason to expect her at all." 
 " No ! — 'Fore George, this here's the worst news I'd 
 wish to hear ! — why I've thought of nothing all the way, 
 but what trick I should serve her." 
 
 "You have been very obliging ! " said I, laughing. 
 "0, I promise you," cried he, " our Moll would never 
 have wheedled me into this jaunt, if I'd known she was 
 not here ; for, to let you into the secret, I fully intended to 
 have treated the old buck with another frolic." 
 
 " Did Miss Mirvan, then, persuade you to this journey ? " 
 " Yes, and we've been travelling all night." 
 " We ! " cried I : "Is Miss Mirvan, then, with you ? " 
 "What, Molly ? — yes, she's in that there chaise." 
 " Good God, Sir, why did you not tell me sooner ? " 
 cried I ; and immediately, with Lord Orville's assistance, I 
 jumped out of the phaeton, and ran to the dear girl. Lord 
 Orville opened the chaise door ; and I am sure I need not 
 tell you what unfeigned joy accompanied our meeting. 
 
 We both begged we might not be parted during the ride ; 
 and Lord Orville was so good as to invite Captain Mirvan 
 into his phaeton. 
 
 I think I was hardly ever more rejoiced than at this so 
 seasonable visit from my dear Maria ; who had no sooner 
 heard the situation of my affairs, than with the assistance 
 of Lady Howard, and her kind mother, she besought her 
 father with such earnestness to consent to the journey, that 
 he had not been able to withstand their united intreaties ; 
 though she owned that, had he not expected to have met 
 with Madame Duval, she believes he would not so readily 
 have yielded. They arrived at Mrs. Beaumont's but a few 
 
412 EVELINA. 
 
 minutes after we were out of sight, and overtook us without 
 much difficulty. 
 
 I say nothing" of our conversation, because you may so 
 well suppose both the subjects we chose, and our manner of 
 discussing them. 
 
 We all stopped at a great hotel, where we were obliged 
 to enquire for a room, as Lady Louisa, fatigued to death, 
 desired to take something before we began our rambles. 
 
 As soon as the party was assembled, the Captain, abruptly 
 saluting me, said, {; So, Miss Belmont, I wish you joy; so 
 
 I hear you've quarrelled with your new name already ¥ " 
 
 " Me ! — no, indeed. Sir." 
 
 " Then please for to tell me the reason you're in such a 
 hurry to change it ? M 
 
 " Miss Belmont ! " cried Mr. Lovel, looking around him 
 with the utmost astonishment : " I beg pardon ; — but, if it 
 is not impertinent, — I must beg leave to say I always 
 understood that lady's name was Anville." 
 
 " 'Fore George," cried the Captain, " it runs in my head, 
 I've seen you somewhere before ! and now I think on't, 
 pray a'n't you the person I saw at the play one night, and 
 who didn't know, all the time, whether it was a tragedy or 
 a comedy, or a concert of fiddlers ? " 
 
 c; I believe, Sir," said Mr. Lovel, stammering, u I, had 
 once, — I think — the pleasure of seeing you last spring." 
 
 "Aye, and if I live an hundred springs." answered he, 
 
 II I shall never forget it ; by Jingo, it has served me for a 
 most excellent good joke ever since. Well, howsomever, 
 I'm glad to see you still in the land of the living," (shaking 
 him roughly by the hand.; " Pray, if a body may be so 
 bold, how much anient may you give at present to keep the 
 undertakers aloof ? 
 
 '•Me, Sir!" said Mr. Lovel, very much discomposed: 
 u I protest I never thought myself in such imminent danger 
 as to — really. Sir, I don't understand you." 
 
 ' ; 0, you don't ! why then I'll make free for to explain 
 myself. Gentlemen and Ladies, I'll tell you what ; do you 
 know this here gentleman, simple as he sits there, pays five 
 shillings a-night to let his friends know he's alive ! " 
 
 " And very cheap too," said Mrs. Selwyn, ' ; if we consider 
 the value of the intelligence." 
 
EVELINA. C\^** 
 
 Lady Louisa being now refreshed, we proceeded upon 
 our expedition. 
 
 The charming city^oJLEait answered all my expectations. 
 The Crescent, the prospect from it, and the elegant 
 sv nimetry of the Circu s, delighted me. The Parad es. I 
 own, rather disappointed me ; one of them is scarce prefer- 
 able to some of the best paved streets in London ; and the 
 other, though it affords a beautiful prospect, a charming 
 view of Prior Park and of the Avon, yet wanted something 
 in itself of more striking elegance than a mere broad pave- 
 ment, to satisfy the ideas I had formed of it. 
 
 At the pump-room, I was amazed at the public exhibition 
 of the ladies in the bath ; it is true, their heads are covered 
 with bonnets ; but the very idea of being seen, in such a 
 situation, by whoever pleases to look, is indelicate. 
 
 " 'Fore George," said the Captain, looking into the bath, 
 " this would be a most excellent place for old Madame 
 French to dance a fandango in! By Jingo, I wou'dn't 
 wish for better sport than to swing her round this here 
 pond ! " 
 
 " She would be very much obliged to you," said Lord 
 Orville, " for so extraordinary a mark of your favour." 
 
 " Why, to let you know," answered the Captain, " she hit 
 tny fancy mightily ; I never took so much to an old tabby 
 before." 
 
 " Really now," cried Mr. Lovel, looking also into the bath, 
 " I must confess it is, to me, very incomprehensible why the 
 ladies choose that frightful unbecoming dress to bathe in ! 
 I have often pondered very seriously upon the subject, but 
 could never hit upon the reason." 
 
 "Well, I declare," said Lady Louisa, " I should like of 
 all things to set something new a-going ; I always hated 
 bathing, because one can get no pretty dress for it ! now 
 do, there's a good creature, try to help me to something." 
 
 " Who, me ! — 0, dear Ma'am," said he, simpering, " I 
 can't pretend to assist a person of your Ladyship's taste ; 
 besides, I hav e not the least head for fashions. — I really 
 don't think I ever invented above three in my life ! but I 
 never had the least turn for dress, — never any notion of 
 f ancy or ele^an^ e." 
 ''" 6 tie, Mr. Lovel ! how can you talk so ? — don't we all 
 
414 EVELINA. 
 
 know that you lead the ton in the beau monde ? I declare, I 
 think you dress better than any body." 
 
 " 0, dear Ma'am, you confuse me to the last degree ! I 
 dress well ! — I protest I don't think I'm ever fit to be seen ! 
 I'm often shocked to death to think what a figure I go. If 
 your Ladyship will believe me, I was full half an hour this 
 morning thinking what I should put on ! " 
 
 " Odds my life," cried the Captain, " I wish I'd been 
 near you ! I warrant I'd have quickened your motions a 
 little ; Half an hour thinking what you'd put on ; and who 
 the deuce do you think cares the snu ff of a candle whet her 
 yoiT^vftajiy_tbiTig on or not P " 
 
 ^^tTpray, Captain," cried Mrs. Selwyn, " don't be angry 
 with the gentleman for thinking, whatever be the cause, for 
 I assure you he makes no common practice of offending in 
 that way." 
 
 " Really, Ma'am, you're prodigiously kind," said Mr. 
 Lovel, angrily. 
 
 " Pray now," said the Captain, " did you ever get a 
 ducking in that there place yourself ? " 
 
 " A ducking, Sir ! " repeated Mr. Lovel : " I protest I 
 think that's rather an odd term ! — but if you mean a bath- 
 ing, it is an honour I have had many times." 
 
 " And pray, if a body may be so bold, what do you do 
 with that frizle-frize top of your own ? Why, I'll lay you 
 what you will, there is fat and grease enough on your 
 crown to buoy you up, if you were to go in head down- 
 wards." 
 
 "And I don't know," cried Mrs. Selwyn, "but that 
 might be the easiest way ; for I'm sure it would be the 
 lightest." 
 
 " For the matter of that there," said the Captain, " you 
 must make him a soldier, before you can tell which is 
 lightest, head or heels. Howsomever, I'd lay ten pounds 
 to a shilling, I could whisk him so dexterously over into 
 the pool, that he should light plump upon his foretop and 
 turn round like a tetotum." 
 
 " Done ! " cried Lord Merton ; " I take your odds." 
 
 " Will you ? " returned he ; " why, then, 'fore George, 
 I'd do it as soon as say Jack Robinson." 
 
 " He, he ! " faintly laughed Mr. Lovel, as he moved 
 
EVELINA. 415 
 
 abruptly from the window ; " 'pon honour, this is pleasant 
 enough ; but I don't see what right any body has to lay 
 wagers about one without one's consent." 
 
 " There, Lovel, you are out," cried Mr. Coverley, " any 
 man may lay what wager about you he will ; your consent 
 is nothing to the purpose : he may lay that your nose is a 
 sky-blue, if he pleases." 
 
 " Ay," said Mrs Selywn, " or that your mind is more 
 adorned than your person; — or any absurdity whatso- 
 ever." 
 
 " I protest," said Mr. Lovel, " I think it's a very dis- 
 agreeable privilege, and I must beg that nobody may take 
 such a liberty with me." 
 
 " Like enough you may," cried the Captain ; " but what's 
 that to the purpose ? Suppose I've a mind to lay that 
 you've never a tooth in your head — pray, how will you 
 hinder me ? " 
 
 " You'll allow me, at least, Sir, to take the liberty of 
 asking how you'll prove it ? " 
 
 " How ? — why, by knocking them all down your 
 throat." 
 
 " Knocking them all down my throat, Sir ! " repeated 
 Mr. Lovel, with a look of horror ; "I protest I never heard 
 any thing so shocking in my life ! And I must beg leave 
 to observe, that no wager, in my opinion, could justify such 
 a barbarous action." 
 
 Here Lord Orville interfered, and hurried us to our 
 carriages. 
 
 We returned in the same order we came. Mrs. Beau- 
 mont invited all the party to dinner, and has been so 
 obliging as to beg Miss Mirvan may continue at her house 
 during her stay. The Captain will lodge at the Wells. 
 
 The first half-hour after our return was devoted to hear- 
 ing Mr. Lovel's apologies for dining in his riding-dress. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont then, addressing herself to Miss Mirvan 
 and me, inquired how we liked Bath ? 
 
 " I hope," said Mr. Lovel, " the ladies do not call this 
 seeing Bath." 
 
 " No ! — what should ail 'em ? " cried the Captain, " do 
 you suppose they put their eyes in their pockets ? " 
 
 " No, Sir ; but I fancy you will find no person — that is 
 
y EVELINA. 
 
 — no person of any condition — call going about a few places 
 in a morning seeing Bath." 
 
 " Mayhap, then," said the literal Captain, "yon think we 
 should see it better by going about at midnight ? " 
 
 " No, Sir, no," said Mr. Lovel, with a supercilious smile, 
 " I perceive you don't understand me ; — we should never 
 call it seeing Bath, without going at the right season." 
 
 " Why, what a plague, then," demanded he, " can you 
 only see at one season of the year ? " 
 
 Mr. Lovel again smiled ; but seemed superior to making 
 any answer. 
 
 " The j^ ath am usements," said Lord Orville, " have a 
 sameness m them, which, after a short time, renders them 
 rather insipid ; but the gr eatest objection fhai-. na.r> Tip v ^^ 
 to the pl ace, is the encou ra gemen t jjj giV^a +r> go™* F +w " 
 
 " Why, 1 hope, my .Lord, you would not think of abolish- 
 ing ##22H2£&" cri ed Lord Merton,^tis the veryzest of liffi \ 
 Devil take me jfj conldlive without it. 77 
 
 ^T^am sorry for it," said hovd Orville, gravely, and 
 looking at Lady Louisa. 
 
 "Your Lordship is no judge of this subject," continued 
 the other ; " but if once we could get you to a gaming- 
 table, you'd never be happy away from it ! " 
 
 " I hope, my Lord," cried Lady Louisa, " that nobody 
 here ever occasions your quitting it." 
 
 "Your Ladyship," said Lord Merton, recollecting him- 
 self, "has power to make me quit any thing." 
 
 " Except herself" said Mr. Coverley. " Egad, my Lord, I 
 think I've helpt you out there ! " 
 
 "You men of wit, Jack," answered his Lordship, "are 
 always ready ; — for my part, I don't pretend to any talents 
 that way." 
 
 " Really, my Lord ? " asked the sarcastic Mrs. Selwyn ; 
 " well, that is wonderful, considering success would be so 
 much in your power." 
 
 " Pray, Ma'am," said Mr. Lovel to Lady Louisa, " has 
 your Ladyship heard the news ? " 
 
 " News ! — what news ? " 
 
 " Why, the report circulating at the Wells concerning a 
 certain person." 
 
 " O Lord, no : pray tell me what it is ? " 
 
EVELINA. 41 7 
 
 " O no, Ma'am, I beg your La'ship will excuse me ; 'tis 
 a profound secret, and I would not have mentioned it, if I 
 had not thought you knew it." 
 
 " Lord, now, how can you be so monstrous ? I declare, 
 now, you're a provoking creature ! But come, I know 
 you'll tell me ; — won't you now ? " 
 
 " Your La'ship knows I am but too happy to obey you ; 
 but, 'pon honour, I can't speak a word, if you won't all 
 promise me the most inv iolable secrecy. " 
 
 " I wish you'd wait for that from me," said the Captain, 
 " and I'll give you my word you'd be dumb for one while. 
 Secrecy, quoth- a ! — 'Fore George, I wonder you^ an't 
 as hamed to mention such a word, wherTyou talk pi* telling 
 i tto a woman . Though, for the matt er of that, l J d aslie Te 
 blab it to the whole' sex at once, as to go for to tell it to 
 snnh a thing as you." 
 
 " Such a thing as me, Sir ! " said Mr. Lovel, letting fall 
 his knife and fork, and looking very important ; " I really 
 have not the honour to understand your expression." 
 
 " It's all one for that," said the Captain ; " you may have 
 it explained whenever you like it." 
 
 " 'Pon honour, Sir," returned Mr. Lovel, " I must take 
 the liberty to tell you, that I should be extremely offended, 
 but that I suppose it to be some sea-phrase ; and therefore 
 I'll let it pass without further notice." 
 
 Lord Orville, then, to change the discourse, asked 
 Miss Mirvan if she should spend the ensuing winter in 
 London ? 
 
 *' No, to be sure," said the Captain, " what should she 
 for ? she saw all that was to be seen before." 
 
 "Is London, then," said Mr. Lovel, smiling at Lady 
 Louisa, " only to be regarded as a sight ? " 
 
 " Why, pray, Mr. Wiseacre, how are you pleased for to 
 regard it yourself ? — Answer me to that." 
 
 " Sir, my opinion, I fancy, you would hardly find in- 
 telligible. I don't understand sea-phrases enough to define 
 it to your comprehension. Does not your La'ship think 
 the task would be rather difficult ? " 
 
 " O Lard, yes," cried Lady Louisa ; " I declare I'd as 
 soon teach my parrot to talk Welsh." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! admirable ; — 'Pon honour, your La'ship's 
 
 E E 
 
418- 
 
 EYELINA. 
 
 P quite, in luck to-day ; but that, indeed, your La'ship is 
 every day. Though, to be su re, it is but candid to aojni ow- 
 \ ledge.jthat the gentlemen ofthe ocean have a, RP f nf -Sfeaflj 
 as -5^ii gg_ gi. dialect, so opposite to our\ that it is by, no 
 1 means s urprising they should regard London as a_mere 
 ) gAo^7~ tEaT may be seen by bein g looked at Ha ! ha ! 
 
 /haT"" ; " 
 
 v- " Ha ! ha ! " echoed Lady Louisa : " Well, I declare you 
 are the drollest creature. " 
 
 " He ! he ! Ton honour, I can't help laughing at the 
 conceit of seeing London in a few weeks ! " 
 
 " And what a plague should hinder you ? " cried the 
 Captain ; " do you want to spend a day in every street ? " 
 
 Here again Lady Louisa and Mr. Lovel interchanged 
 smiles. 
 
 " Why, I warrant you, if I had the showing it, I'd haul 
 you from St. James's to Wapping the very first morning. 1 " 
 
 The smiles were now, with added contempt, repeated ; 
 which the Captain observing, looked very fiercely at Mr. 
 Lovel, and said, "Hark'ee, my spark, none of your 
 grinning ! — 'tis a lingo I don't understand ; and if you 
 give me any more of it, I shall go near to lend you a box o' 
 the ear." 
 
 "I protest, Sir," said Mr. Lovel, turning extremely pale, 
 " I think it's taking a very particular liberty with a person, 
 to talk to one in such a style as this ! " 
 
 " It's like you may," returned the Captain : " but give a 
 good gulp, and I'll warrant you'll swallow it." Then, 
 calling for a glass of ale, with a very provoking and signifi- 
 cant nod, he drank to his easy digestion. 
 
 Mr. Lovel made no answer, but looked extremely sullen ; 
 and, soon after, we left the gentlemen to themselves. 
 
 I had then two letters delivered to me ; one from Lady 
 Howard and Mrs. Mirvan, which contained the kindest 
 congratulations ; and the other from Madame Duval ; — 
 but not a word from you, — to my no small surprise and 
 concern. 
 
 Madame Duval seems greatly rejoiced at my late intelli- 
 gence : a violent cold, she says, prevents her coming to 
 Bristol. The Branghtons, she tells me, are all well ; Miss 
 Polly is : soon to be married to Mr. Brown ; but Mr. Smith 
 
EVELINA. 419 
 
 has changed his lodgings, " which," she adds, " has made 
 the house extremely dull. However, that's not the worst 
 news ; pardi, I wish it was ! but I've been used like nobody, 
 — for Monsieur Du Bois has had the baseness to go back 
 to France without me." In conclusion, she assures me, as 
 you prognosticated she would, that I shall be sole heiress 
 of all she is worth, when Lady Orville. 
 
 At tea-time, we were joined by all the gentlemen but 
 Captain Mirvan, who went to the hotel where he was to 
 sleep, and made his daughter accompany him, to separate 
 her trumpery, as he called it, from his clothes. 
 
 As soon as they were gone, Mr. Lovel, who still appeared 
 extremely sulky, said, " I protest, I never saw such a vulgar, 
 abusive fellow in my life, as that Captain ; 'pon honour, I 
 believe he came here for no purpose in the world but to 
 pick a quarrel ; however, for my part, I vow I wo'n't 
 humour him." 
 
 " I declare," cried Lady Louisa, " he put me in a monstrous 
 fright ; — I never heard any body talk so shocking in my 
 life ! " 
 
 " I think," said Mrs. Selwyn, with great solemnity, " he 
 threatened to box your ears, Mr. Lovel ; — did not he ? " 
 
 "Really, Ma'am," said Mr. Lovel, colouring, "if one 
 was to mind every thing those low kind of people say, one 
 should never be at rest for one impertinence or other ; so I 
 think the best way is to be above taking any notice of them." 
 
 " What," said Mrs. Selwyn, with the same gravity, " and 
 so receive the blow in silence ! " 
 
 During this discourse, I heard the Captain's chaise stop 
 at the door, and ran downstairs to meet Maria. She was 
 alone, and told me that her father, who, she was sure, had 
 some scheme in agitation against Mr. Lovel, had sent her 
 on before him. We continued in the parlour till his 
 return, and were joined by Lord Orville, who begged me 
 not to insist on a patience so unnatural, as submitting to 
 be excluded our society. And let me, my dear Sir, with a 
 grateful heart let me o wm I never before passed half an 
 hour in such ferjac i felicity J 
 
 I believe we were all sorry when the Captain returned ; 
 yet his inward satisfaction, from however different a cause, 
 did not seem inferior to what our's had been. He chucked 
 
Jgo/ 
 
 EYELINA. 
 
 Maria under the chin, rubbed his hands, and was scarce 
 able to contain the fullness of his glee. We all attended 
 him to the drawing room ; where, having composed his 
 countenance, without any previous attention to Mrs. Beau- 
 mont, he marched up to Mr. Lovel, and abruptly said, 
 " Pray, have you e'er a brother in these here parts ? " 
 
 " Me, Sir ? — no, thank Heaven, I'm free from all encum- 
 brances of that sort." 
 
 " Well," cried the Captain, " I met a person just now so 
 like you, I could have sworn he had been your twin- 
 brother." 
 
 " It would have been a most singular pleasure to me," 
 said Mr. Lovel, "if I also could have seen him ; for, really, 
 I have not the least notion what sort of a person I am, 
 and I have a prodigious curiosity to know." 
 
 Just then the Captain's servant, opening the door, said, 
 " A little gentleman below desires to see one Mr. Lovel." 
 
 "Beg him to walk up stairs," said Mrs. Beaumont. 
 " But, pray what is the reason William is out of the 
 way ? " 
 
 The man shut the door without any answer. 
 
 " I can't imagine who it is," said Mr. Lovel : "I recollect 
 no little gentleman of my acquaintance now at Bristol, — 
 except, indeed, the Marquis of Charlton ; — but I don't 
 much fancy it can be him. Let me see, who else is there 
 so very little ? " 
 
 A confused noise among the servants now drew all eyes 
 towards the door : the impatient Captain hastened to open 
 it ; and then, clapping his hands, called out, " 'Fore George, 
 'tis the same person I took for your relation ! " 
 
 And then, to the utter astonishment of every body but 
 himself, he hauled into the room a monkey, full- dressed, 
 and extravagantly a la mode I ^" 
 
 The dismay of the company was almost general. Poor 
 Mr. Lovel seemed thunderstruck with indignation and 
 surprise : Lady Louisa began a scream, which for some 
 time was incessant ; Miss Mirvan and I jumped involun- 
 tarily upon the seats of our chairs ; Mrs. Beaumont herself 
 followed our example ; Lord Orville placed himself before 
 me as a guard ; and Mrs. Selwyn, Lord Merton, and Mr. 
 Coverley, burst into a loud, immoderate, ungovernable fit 
 
EYELINA. 421 
 
 of laughter, in which they were joined by the Captain, till, 
 unable to support himself, he rolled on the floor. 
 
 The first voice which made its way through this general 
 noise was that of Lady Louisa, which her fright and 
 screaming rendered extremely shrill. " Take it away ! " 
 cried she, " take the monster away ; — I shall faint, I shall 
 faint if you don't ! " 
 
 Mr. Lovel, irritated beyond endurance, angrily demanded 
 of the Captain what he meant ? 
 
 " Mean ? " cried the Captain, as soon as he was able to 
 speak ; " why only to shew you in your proper colours." 
 Then rising, and pointing to the monkey, " Why now, 
 ladies and gentlemen, I'll be judged by you all ! — Did you 
 ever see any thing more like ? — Odds my life, if it 
 wasn't for this here tail, you wouldn't know one from 
 t'other." 
 
 " Sir," cried Mr. Lovel, stamping, " I shall take a time 
 to make you feel my wrath." 
 
 " Come now," continued the regardless Captain, " just 
 for the fun's sake, doff your coat and waistcoat, and swop 
 with Mon seer Gri nagain here ; and I'll warrant you'll not 
 know yourself which is which." 
 
 "Not know myself from a monkey ! — I assure you, Sir, 
 I'm not to be used in this manner, and I won't bear it — 
 curse me if I will ! " 
 
 " Why, hey-day! " cried the Captain, "what, is master 
 in a passion ? — well, don't be angry : — come, he shan't 
 hurt you ; — here, shake a paw with him : — why, he'll do 
 you no harm, man ! — come, kiss and be friends ! " 
 
 " Who, I ?" cried Mr. Lovel, almost mad with vexation; 
 "as I'm a living creature, I would not touch him for a 
 thousand worlds ! " 
 
 " Send him a challenge," cried Mr. Coverley, " and I'll 
 be your second." 
 
 "Ay, do," said the Captain ; "and I'll be second to my 
 friend, Mon seer Clappe rclaw here. Come to it at once ! — 
 tooth and nail ! J * 
 
 " God forbid ! " cried Mr. Lovel, retreating, " I would 
 sooner trust my person with a mad bull ! " 
 
 " I don't like the look of him myself," said Lord Merton, 
 " for he grins most horribly." 
 
 E E 2 
 
42 2 EVELINA. 
 
 " Oh, I'm frightened out of my senses!" cried Lady 
 Louisa, " take him away, or I shall die ! " 
 
 "Captain," said Lord Orville, "the ladies are alarmed; 
 and I must beg you would send the monkey away." 
 
 11 Why, where can be the mighty harm of one monkey 
 more than another ? " answered the Captain : " howsom- 
 ever, if its agreeable to the ladies, suppose we turn them 
 out together ? " 
 
 " What do you mean by that, Sir ? " cried Mr. Lovel, lift- 
 ing up his cane. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " cried the Captain, fiercely, " be 
 so good as to down with your cane." 
 
 Poor Mr. Lovel, too much intimidated to stand his 
 ground, yet too much enraged to submit, turned hastily 
 round, and, forgetful of consequences, vented his passion 
 by giving a furious blow to the monkey. 
 
 The creature darting forwards, sprung instantly upon 
 him ; and, clinging round his neck, fastened his teeth to 
 one of his ears. 
 
 I was really sorry for the poor man ; who, though an 
 egregio us fop, h ad committed no offence that merited such 
 chastisement. 
 
 It was impossible now to distinguish whose screams were 
 loudest, those of Mr. Lovel, or of the terrified Lady Louisa, 
 who, I believe, thought her own turn was approaching : 
 but the unrelenting Captain roared with joy. 
 
 Not so Lord Orville : ever humane, generous, and bene- 
 volent, he quitted his charge, who he saw was wholly out 
 of danger, and seizing the monkey by the collar, made him 
 loosen the ear ; and then, with a sudden swing, flung him 
 out of the room, and shut the door. 
 
 Poor Mr. Lovel, almost fainting with terror, sunk upon 
 the floor, crying out, " Oh, I shall die, I shall die ! — Oh, 
 I'm bit to death ! " 
 
 " Captain Mirvan," said Mrs. Beaumont, with no little 
 indignation, " I must own I don't perceive the wit of this 
 action ; and I am sorry to have such cruelty practised in 
 my house." 
 
 "Why Lord, Ma'am," said the Captain, when his rapture 
 abated sufficiently for speech, "how could I tell they'd fall out 
 so ? — By jingo, I brought him to be a messmate for t'other." 
 
" Egad," said Mr. Coverley, " I would not have been 
 served so for a thousand pounds." 
 
 " Why, then, there's the odds of it," said the Captain ; 
 " for you see he is served so for nothing. But come," turning 
 to Mr. Lovel, " be of good heart, all may end well yet, and 
 you and Mm^gpr Tin-ngf.ail be as good friends as ever." 
 
 " I'm surprised, Mrs. Beaumont," cried Mr. Lovel, start- 
 ing up, " that you can suffer a person under your roof to be 
 treated so inhumanly." 
 
 "What argufies so many words ? " said the unfeeling 
 Captain ; " it is but a slit of the ear ; it only looks as if 
 you had been in the pillory." 
 
 " Very true," added Mrs. Selwyn ; " and who knows but 
 it may acquire you the credit of being an anti-ministerial 
 writer? " 
 
 " I protest/' cried Mr. Lovel, looking ruefully a t b 1R drags, 
 " mvjgW-ridipg suit's all over blood 1 " r 
 
 " Ha, h a. haJ' cried the Captain, " see what comes, of 
 stud ying for an hour what you shall put on ! " 
 
 Mr. Lovel then walked to the glass ; and, looking at the 
 place, exclaimed, " Oh Heaven, what a monstrous wound ! 
 my ear will never be fit to be seen again ! " 
 
 "Why then," said the Captain, "you must hide it ; — 'tis 
 but wearing a wig." 
 
 " A wig ! " repeated the affrighted Mr. Lovel ; " I wear 
 a wig ? — no, not if you would give me a thousand pounds 
 an hour ! " 
 
 " I declare," said Lady Louisa, " I never heard such a 
 shocking proposal in my life ! " 
 
 Lord Orville, then, seeing no prospect that the altercation 
 would cease, proposed to the Captain to walk. He assented ; 
 and having given Mr. Lovel a nod of exultation, accom- 
 panied his Lordship down stairs. 
 
 " 'Pon honour," said Mr. Lovel, the moment the door 
 was shut, " that fellow is the greatest brute in nature ! he 
 ought not to be admitted into a civilized society." 
 
 "Lovel," said Mr. Coverley, affecting to whisper, "you 
 must certainly pink him : you must not put up with such 
 an affront." 
 
 "Sir," said Mr. Lovel, " with any common person I 
 should not deliberate an instant ; but really with a fellow 
 
> 
 
 424 EVELINA. 
 
 who has done nothing but fight all his life, 'pon honour, 
 Sir, I can't think of it ! " 
 
 " Lovel," said Lord Merton, in the same voice, " yon must 
 call him to account. " 
 
 " Every man," said he, pettishly, " is the best judge of 
 his own affairs ; and I don't ask the honour of any person's 
 advice." 
 
 " Egad, Lovel," said Mr. Coverley, "you're in for it ! — 
 you can't possibly be off ! " 
 
 " Sir," cried he, very impatiently, " upon any proper 
 occasion I should be as ready to show my courage as any 
 body ; but as to fighting for such a trifle as this — I protest 
 I should blush to think of it ! " 
 
 ("A trifle!" cried Mrs. Selwyn, "good Heaven! and 
 have you made this astonishing riot about a trifle ? " 
 
 "Ma'am," answered the poor wretch, in great confusion, 
 "I did not know at first but that my cheek might have 
 been bit ; but as 'tis no worse, why, it, does not a great deal 
 signify. Mrs. Beaumont, I have the honour to wish you a 
 good evening ; I'm sure my carriage must be waiting." 
 And then, very abruptly, he left the room. 
 
 What a commotion has this mischief-loving Captain 
 raised ! Were I to remain here long, even the society of 
 my dear Maria could scarce compensate for the disturbances 
 which he excites. 
 
 When he returned, and heard of the quiet exit of Mr. 
 Lovel, his triumph was intolerable. " I think, I think," he 
 cried, " I have peppered him well ! I'll warrant he won't 
 give an hour to-morrow morning to settling what he shall 
 put on; why, his coat," turning to me, "would be a most 
 excellent match for old Ma dame Furbelow 's best Lyons 
 silk ! 'Fore George, I'd desire no better sport than to have 
 that there old cat here to go her snacks ! " 
 
 All the company then, Lord Orville, Miss Mirvan, and 
 myself excepted, played at cards ; and we — oh, how much 
 better did we pass our time ! 
 
 While we were engaged in a most delightful conversation, 
 a servant brought me a letter, which he told me had by 
 some accident been mislaid. Judge of my feelings when I 
 saw, my dearest Sir, your revered hand- writing ! My 
 emotions soon betrayed to Lord Orville whom the letter 
 
EVELINA. 425 
 
 was from ; the importance of the contents he well knew ; 
 and, assuring me I should not be seen by the card-players, 
 he besought me to open it without delay. 
 
 Open it, indeed, I did — but read it I could not ; — the 
 willing, yet awful consent you have granted — the tender- 
 ness of your expressions — the certainty that no obstacle 
 remained to my eternal union with the loved owner of my 
 heart, gave me sensations too various, and, though joyful, 
 too little placid for observation. Finding myself unable to 
 proceed, and blinded by the tears of gratitude and delight, 
 which started into my eyes, I gave over the attempt of 
 reading till I retired to my own room ; and, having no voice 
 to answer the enquiries of Lord Orville, I put the letter into 
 his hands, and left it to speak both for me and itself. 
 
 Lord Orville was himself affected by your kindness : he 
 kissed the letter as he returned it ; and, pressing my hand 
 affectionately to his heart, " Yo u are now/' said he, in a low 
 voice, " all my own ! Oh, my EveES^ h ow will -my son! find 
 r oo m fox iLs ha pp ines s ?— = rF~seem s"~already bursti ng ! " I 
 could make no reply, indeed I hardly spoke another word 
 the rest of the evening ; so little talkative is the fulness of 
 contentment. 
 
 0, my dearest Sir, the thankfulness of my heart I must 
 pour forth at our meeting, when, at your feet, my happiness 
 receives its confirmation from your blessing ; and when my 
 noble-minded, my beloved Lord Orville, presents to you the 
 highly -honoured, and thrice-happy Evelina. 
 
 A few lines I will endeavour to write on Thursday, which 
 shall be sent off express, to give you, should nothing inter- 
 vene, yet more certain assurance of our meeeting. 
 
 Now then, therefore, for the first — and probably the last 
 time I shall ever own the name, permit me to sign myself, 
 Most dear Sir, your gratefully affectionate,___^^ 
 
 Evelina/ B elmont) 
 
 Lady Louisa, at her own particular desire, will be present 
 at the ceremony, as well as Miss Mirvan and Mrs. Selwyn : 
 Mr. Macartney will, the same morning, be united to my 
 foster-sister ; and my father himself will give us both away. 
 
426 ETELINA. 
 
 LETTER LXXXIII. 
 
 MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA. 
 
 EVERY wish of my soul is now fulfilled — for the felicity 
 of my Evelina is equal to her worthiness ! 
 
 Yes, my child, thy happiness is engraved in golden cha- 
 racters upon the tablets of my heart ; and their impression 
 is indelible : for, should the rude and deep- searching hand 
 of Misfortune attempt to pluck them from their repository, 
 the fleeting fabric of life would give way ; and in tearing 
 from my vitals the nourishment by which they are sup- 
 ported, she would but grasp at a shadow insensible to her 
 touch. 
 
 Give thee my consent ? — Oh thou joy, comfort, and pride 
 of my life, how cold is that word to express the fervency 
 of my approbation ! Yes, I do indeed give thee my consent; 
 and so thankfully, that, with the humblest gratitude to 
 Providence, I would seal it with the remnant of my days. 
 
 Hasten then, my love, to bless me with thy presence, and 
 ^to receive the blessings with which my fond heart overflows ! 
 -And oh, my Evelina, h ear and assist in one only^ humble, 
 b ut ardent prayer, which yet animates my devotions": Tha t 
 the height of bliss to which thou art rising may not render 
 thee"giddy ? buE that the pur ityL of thy mind may form th e 
 br ightest splendour^ of thy prosperity !— and that the wea k 
 and aged frame of thy a lmost idolizing parent, n fia^y w™™ 
 out by time, past a fflictions, and infirmities, may yet be ab le 
 tcTsustain a meeting with all it s better part holds dear : and 
 then, that all the wounds which the former severity of for- 
 tune inflicted, may be healed and purified by the ultimate 
 consolation of pouring forth my dying words in blessings 
 on my child ! — closing these joy-streaming eyes in her 
 presence, and breathing my last faint sighs in her loved 
 
 arms 
 
 Grieve not, oh child of my care ! grieve not at the 
 inevitable moment ! but may thy own end be equally pro- 
 pitious ! Oh, may'st thou, when full of days, and full of 
 honour, sink down as gently to rest ! — be loved as kindly, 
 
EVELINA. 427 
 
 watched as tenderly, as thy happy father ! AiuLmayesi 
 t hou, wh ftn thy ^lass is rum be sweetly, b ut not fritter! v T 
 mojarned by some remaining darling of thy affectio ns — 
 so me^ye t s urviving Evelina ! 
 
 Arthur Yillars. 
 
 LETTER LXXXIV. 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 ALL is over, my dearest Sir ; and the fate of your Eve- 
 lina is decided ! This morning, with fearful joy and 
 trembling gratitude, she united herself for ever with the 
 object of her dearest, her eternal affection. 
 
 I have time for no more ; the chaise now waits which is 
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 best of men. 
 
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