LETTER XXXVIII.
Miss Powis to Lady MARY SUTTON.
Oh my dear Lady! what a villain have I escap'd from?—Could your Ladyship believe that a man, who, to all appearance, has made a good husband to your agreeable neighbour upwards of twelve years, and preserv'd the character of a man of honour;—could you believe in the decline of life he would have fallen off? No, he cannot have fallen: such a mind as his never was exalted.—It is the virtues of his wife that has hitherto made his vices imperceptible;—that has kept them in their dark cell, afraid to venture out;—afraid to appear amidst her shining perfections.—Vile, abandon'd Smith!—But for the sake of his injur'd, unhappy wife, I will not discover his baseness to any but yourself and Lady Powis.—Perhaps Mrs. Smith may not be unacquainted with his innate bad principles;—perhaps she conceals her knowledge of them knowing it vain to complain of a disorder which is past the reach of medicine.—What cure is there for mischief lurking under the mask of hypocrisy?—It must be of long standing before that covering can grow over it:—like a vellum on the eye, though taken off ever skillfully, it will again spread on the blemish'd sight.
How am I running on!—My spirits are flutter'd:—I begin where I should end, and end where I should begin.—Behold me, dearest Madam, just parted from my Hampshire friends,—silent and in tears, plac'd by the side of my miscreant conductor.—You know, my Lady, this specious man can make himself vastly entertaining: he strove to render his conversation particularly so, on our first setting out.
We had travell'd several stages without varying the subject, which was that of our intended tour, when I said I hop'd it would conquer Mrs. Smith's melancholy for the death of her brother.—How did his answer change him in a moment from the most agreeable to the most disgustful of his sex!
My wife, Miss Warley, with a leer that made him look dreadful, wants your charming sprightliness:—it is a curs'd thing to be connected with a gloomy woman:—
Gloomy, Sir! casting at him a look of disdain; do you call mildness, complacency, and evenness of temper, gloomy?
She is much altered, Madam;—is grown old and peevish;—her health is bad;—she cannot live long.
Mrs. Smith can never be peevish, Sir;—and as to her age, I thought it pretty near your own.
No, no, Madam, you are quite mistaken; I am at least five years younger.
Five years, Sir! what are five years at your time of life!
Come, come, Miss Warley, laying his huge paw on my hand, and in a tone of voice that shew'd him heartily nettled;—even at my time of life I can admire a beautiful young Lady.—If my wife should die,—old as I am—men older than myself, with half my estate, have married some of the finest women in the kingdom.
Very likely, Sir;—but then it is to be suppos'd the characters of such men have been particularly amiable,—No man or woman of honour can esteem another whose principles are doubtful.
This was a pretty home-thrust; it put him more on his guard for the present; but had he behav'd like an angel, I must have hated him. He was very respectful, very ceremonious, and very thoughtful, 'till we arrived at the inn where we were to stop the night; and had so much art not to seem displeas'd, that I refus'd giving him my company at supper, under pretence of indisposition.—Indeed, I was far from well: a child which I had seen a few hours before fresh in the small-pox, a good deal disconcerted me.—After fixing on my room, not to appear suspicious, I went down at his request, to eat a bit of cake and drink a glass of wine, before I retired for the night.—I had scarce swallow'd it when he left me, as he said, to speak to the drivers. I wished him a good night as he went out, and took an opportunity a few moments after to go to my chamber.—When there I lock'd the door, and sat myself down to undress; but I began to be greatly alarm'd by something that mov'd under the bed.—Judge my surprize,—judge my horror,—on taking the candle and examining, to see there a man!—But how was that surprize,—that horror increased, on discovering, him to be the vile Smith!—I gave a loud scream, and ran towards the door; but had not power to turn the key, before he caught me in his arms.—
Be calm, Miss Warley, cried the monster;—hear what I have to say.—Suffer me to tell you, that I love you to distraction;—that I adore you.
Adore me, vile man! said I, breaking from him:—leave me this instant—begone:—leave me, I say, instantly.—Again I scream'd.
No, by heaven! he reply'd, I will not go 'till you have heard and pardon'd me.—Here I stand determin'd to be heard:—hear me, or this moment is my last.—With that he drew out a pistol, and held it to his breast.
And dare you, said I, collecting all my resolution,—dare you rush into eternity, without one virtue to offer up with your polluted soul?—I pronounc'd these words with steadiness.—He trembled, he look'd like a criminal at the hour of execution.—Letting the pistol drop from his hand, the base dissembler fell on his knees before me.—Nobody hearing my cries,—nobody coming to my assistance, I was oblig'd to hear, and pretend to credit his penitential protestations. God knows how my ears might have been farther shock'd with his odious passion;—what indignities I might have suffer'd,—had I not heard some person passing by the door of my apartment:—on which I ventur'd to give another scream.—The door was instantly burst open; and whilst an elderly Gentleman advanc'd towards me, full of surprize, the detested brute slipp'd away.—This Gentleman, my good deliverer, was no other than your Ladyship's banker, who when he was acquainted with my name, insisted on taking me to Town in his own coach, where he was returning from a visit he had made at Salisbury—I did not ask, neither do I know what became of Smith; but I suppose he will set out with his wife immediately for Dover.—Thank God! I am not of the party—How I pity poor Miss Frances Walsh, a young Lady who, he told me, was waiting at his house in Town to go over with them.—I am but just arriv'd at Mr. Delves's house.—Mr. and Mrs. Delves think with me, that the character of the unworthy Smith should not be expos'd for the sake of his worthy wife.—The family here are all amiable.—I could say a great deal more; but my head aches dreadfully.—This I must add, I have consented, at the tender intreaties of Mr. and Mrs. Delves, to remain with them 'till a proper opportunity offers to throw myself at your Ladyship's feet.—My head grows worse;—I must lay down my pen.—This bad man has certainly frighten'd me into a fever.
[The following lines were added after Miss Powis's recovery]
I hope, my dear Lady, before this you have Mr. Delves's letter;—if so, you know I have had the small-pox.—You know too I am out of danger.—How can I be thankful enough for so many escapes!—This is the first day I have been able to hold a pen.—I am permitted to write no more than the name of your honour'd and affectionate
F. WARLEY.