'Wonder not, madam,' said the father, 'at the lively expressions of my child; gratitude is the best master of eloquence; she feels, Madam—we all feel the force of the advantages we derive from that worthy man. Good God! what had been our situation at this moment, had we not owed our deliverance to the Baron!' 'I am not,' said I, 'entirely acquainted with the whole of your story; the Baron, I am certain, concealed great part; but I should be happy to hear the particulars.'
"The old man assured me he had a pleasure in reciting a tale which reflected so much honour on the Baron; 'and let me,' said he, 'in the pride of my heart, let me add, no disgrace on me or mine; for, Madam, poverty, in the eye of the right-judging, is no disgrace. Heaven is my witness, I never repined at my lowly station, till by that I was deprived of the means of rescuing my beloved family from their distress. But what would riches have availed me, had the evil befallen me from which that godlike man extricated us? Oh! Madam, the wealth of worlds could not have conveyed one ray of comfort to my heart, if I could not have looked all round my family, and said, tho' we are poor, we are virtuous, my children.
'It would be impertinent to trouble you, Madam, with a prolix account of my parentage and family. I was once master of a little charity-school, but by unavoidable misfortunes I lost it. My eldest daughter, who sits there, was tenderly beloved by a young man in our village, whose virtues would have reflected honour on the most elevated character. She did ample justice to his merit. We looked forward to the happy hour that was to render our child so, and had formed a thousand little schemes of rational delight, to enliven our evening of life; in one short moment the sun of our joy was overcast, and promised to set in lasting night. On a fatal day, my Nancy was seen by a gentleman in the army, who was down on a visit to a neighbouring squire, my landlord; her figure attracted his notice, and he followed her to our peaceful dwelling. Her mother and I were absent with a sick relation, and her protector was out at work with a farmer at some distance. He obtruded himself into our house, and begged a draught of ale; my daughter, whose innocence suspected no ill, freely gave him a mug, of which he just sipped; then, putting it down, swore he would next taste the nectar of her lips. She repelled his boldness with all her strength, which, however, would have availed her but little, had not our next-door neighbour, seeing a fine-looking man follow her in, harboured a suspicion that all was not right, and took an opportunity of coming in to borrow something. Nancy was happy to see her, and begged her to stay till our return, pretending she could not procure her what she wanted till then. Finding himself disappointed, Colonel Montague (I suppose, Madam, you know him), went away, when Nancy informed our neighbour of his proceedings. She had hardly recovered herself from her perturbation when we came home. I felt myself exceedingly alarmed at her account; more particularly as I learnt the Colonel was a man of intrigue, and proposed staying some time in the country. I resolved never to leave my daughter at home by herself, or suffer her to go out without her intended husband. But the vigilance of a fond father was too easily eluded by the subtilties of an enterprising man, who spared neither time nor money to compass his illaudable schemes. By presents he corrupted that neighbour, whose timely interposition had preserved my child inviolate. From the friendship she had expressed for us, we placed the utmost confidence in her, and, next to ourselves, intrusted her with the future welfare of our daughter. When the out-posts are corrupted, what fort can remain unendangered? It is, I believe, a received opinion, that more women are seduced from the path of virtue by their own sex, than by ours. Whether it is, that the unlimited faith they are apt to put in their own sex weakens the barriers of virtue, and renders them less powerful against the attacks of the men, or that, suspecting no sinister view, they throw off their guard; it is certain that an artful and vicious woman is infinitely a more to be dreaded companion, than the most abandoned libertine. This false friend used from time to time to administer the poison of flattery to the tender unsuspicious daughter of innocence. What female is free from the seeds of vanity? And unfortunately, this bad woman was but too well versed in this destructive art. She continually was introducing instances of handsome girls who had made their fortunes merely from that circumstance. That, to be sure, the young man, her sweetheart, had merit; but what a pity a person like her's should be lost to the world! That she believed the Colonel to be too much a man of honour to seduce a young woman, though he might like to divert himself with them. What a fine opportunity it would be to raise her family, like Pamela Andrews; and accordingly placed in the hands of my child those pernicious volumes. Ah! Madam, what wonder such artifices should prevail over the ignorant mind of a young rustic! Alas! they sunk too deep. Nancy first learnt to disrelish the honest, artless effusions of her first lover's heart. His language was insipid after the luscious speeches, and ardent but dishonourable warmth of Mr. B—, in the books before-mentioned. Taught to despise simplicity, she was easily led to suffer the Colonel to plead for pardon for his late boldness. My poor girl's head was now completely turned, to see such an accomplished man kneeling at her feet suing for forgiveness and using the most refined expressions; and elevating her to a Goddess, that he may debase her to the lowest dregs of human kind. Oh! Madam, what have not such wretches to answer for! The Colonel's professions, however, at present, were all within the bounds of honour. A man never scruples to make engagements which he never purposes to fulfill, and which he takes care no one shall ever be able to claim. He was very profuse of promises, judging it the most likely method of triumphing over her virtue by appearing to respect it. Things were proceeding thus; when, finding the Colonel's continued stay in our neighbourhood, I became anxious to conclude my daughter's union, hoping, that when he should see her married, he would entirely lay his schemes aside; for, by his hovering about our village, I could not remain satisfied, or prevent disagreeable apprehensions arising. My daughter was too artless to frame any excuse to protract her wedding, and equally so, not to discover, by her confusion, that her sentiments were changed. My intended son-in-law saw too clearly that change; perhaps he had heard more than I had. He made rather a too sharp observation on the alteration in his mistress's features. Duty and respect kept her silent to me, but to him she made an acrimonious reply. He had been that day at market, and had taken a too free draught of ale. His spirits had been elevated by my information, that I would that evening fix his wedding-day. The damp on my daughter's brow had therefore a greater effect on him. He could not brook her reply, and his answer to it was a sarcastic reflection on those women who were undone by the red-coats. This touched too nearly; and, after darting a look of the most ineffable contempt on him, Nancy declared, whatever might be the consequence, she would never give her hand to a man who had dared to treat her on the eve of her marriage with such unexampled insolence; so saying, she left the room. I was sorry matters had gone so far, and wished to reconcile the pair, but both were too haughty to yield to the intercessions I made; and he left us with a fixed resolution of making her repent, as he said. As is too common in such cases, the public-house seemed the properest asylum for the disappointed lover. He there met with a recruiting serjeant of the Colonel's, who, we since find, was sent on purpose to our village, to get Nancy's future husband out of the way. The bait unhappily took, and before morning he was enlisted in the king's service. His father and mother, half distracted, ran to our house, to learn the cause of this rash action in their son. Nancy, whose virtuous attachment to her former lover had only been lulled to sleep, now felt it rouze with redoubled violence. She pictured to herself the dangers he was now going to encounter, and accused herself with being the cause. Judging of the influence she had over the Colonel, she flew into his presence; she begged, she conjured him, to give the precipitate young soldier his discharge. He told her, 'he could freely grant any thing to her petition, but that it was too much his interest to remove the only obstacle to his happiness out of the way, for him to be able to comply with her request. However,' continued he, taking her hand, 'my Nancy has it in her power to preserve the young man.' 'Oh!' cried she, 'how freely would I exert that power!' 'Be mine this moment,' said he, 'and I will promise on my honour to discharge him.' 'By that sacred word,' said Nancy, 'I beg you, Sir, to reflect on the cruelty of your conduct to me! what generous professions you have made voluntarily to me! how sincerely have you promised me your friendship! and does all this end in a design to render me the most criminal of beings?' 'My angel,' cried the Colonel, throwing his arms round her waist, and pressing her hand to his lips, 'give not so harsh a name to my intentions. No disgrace shall befall you. You are a sensible girl; and I need not, I am sure, tell you, that, circumstanced as I am in life, it would be utterly impossible to marry you. I adore you; you know it; do not then play the sex upon me, and treat me with rigour, because I have candidly confessed I cannot live without you. Consent to bestow on me the possession of your charming person, and I will hide your lovely blushes in my fond bosom; while you shall whisper to my enraptured ear, that I shall still have the delightful privilege of an husband, and Will Parker shall bear the name. This little delicious private treaty shall be known only to ourselves. Speak, my angel, or rather let me read your willingness in your lovely eyes.' 'If I have been silent, Sir,' said my poor girl, 'believe me, it is the horror which I feel at your proposal, which struck me dumb. But, thus called upon, let me say, I bless Heaven, for having allowed me to see your cloven-foot, while yet I can be out of its reach. You may wound me to the soul, and (no longer able to conceal her tears) you have most sorely wounded me through the side of William; but I will never consent to enlarge him at the price of my honour. We are poor people. He has not had the advantages of education as you have had; but, lowly as his mind is, I am convinced he would first die, before I should suffer for his sake. Permit me, Sir, to leave you, deeply affected with the disappointments I have sustained; and more so, that in part I have brought them on myself.' Luckily at this moment a servant came in with a letter. 'You are now engaged, Sir,' she added, striving to hide her distress from the man. 'Stay, young woman,' said the Colonel, 'I have something more to say to you on this head.' 'I thank you Sir,' said she, curtseying, 'but I will take the liberty of sending my father to hear what further you may have to say on this subject.' He endeavoured to detain her, but she took this opportunity of escaping. On her return, she threw her arms round her mother's neck, unable to speak for sobs. Good God! what were our feelings on seeing her distress! dying to hear, yet dreading to enquire. My wife folded her speechless child to her bosom, and in all the agony of despair besought her to explain this mournful silence. Nancy slid from her mother's incircling arms, and sunk upon her knees, hiding her face in her lap: at last she sobbed out, 'she was undone for ever; her William would be hurried away, and the Colonel was the basest of men.' These broken sentences served but to add to our distraction. We urged a full account; but it was a long time before we could learn the whole particulars. The poor girl now made a full recital of all her folly, in having listened so long to the artful addresses of Colonel Montague, and the no less artful persuasions of our perfidious neighbour; and concluded, by imploring our forgiveness. It would have been the height of cruelty, to have added to the already deeply wounded Nancy. We assured her of our pardon, and spoke all the comfortable things we could devise. She grew tolerably calm, and we talked composedly of applying to some persons whom we hoped might assist us. Just at this juncture, a confused noise made us run to the door, when we beheld some soldiers marching, and dragging with them the unfortunate William loaded with irons, and hand-cuffed. On my hastily demanding why he was thus treated like a felon, the serjeant answered, he had been detected in an attempt to desert; but that he would be tried to-morrow, and might escape with five hundred lashes; but, if he did not mend his manners for the future, he would be shot, as all such cowardly dogs ought to be; and added, they were on the march the regiment. Figure to yourself, Madam, what was now the situation of poor Nancy. Imagination can hardly picture so distressed an object. A heavy stupor seemed to take intire possession of all her faculties. Unless strongly urged, she never opened her lips, and then only to breathe out the most heart-piercing complaints. Towards the morning, she appeared inclinable to doze; and her mother left her bed-side, and went to her own. When we rose, my wife's first business was to go and see how her child fared; but what was her grief and astonishment, to find the bed cold, and her darling fled! A small scrap of paper, containing these few distracted words, was all the information we could gain:
'My dearest father and mother, make no inquiry after the most forlorn of all wretches. I am undeserving of your least regard. I fear, I have forfeited that of Heaven. Yet pray for me: I am myself unable, as I shall prove myself unworthy. I am in despair; what that despair may lead to, I dare not tell: I dare hardly think. Farewell. May my brothers and sisters repay you the tenderness which has been thrown away on A. Johnson!' My wife's shrieks reached my affrighted ears; I flew to her, and felt a thousand conflicting passions, while I read the dreadful scroll. We ran about the yard and little field, every moment terrified with the idea of seeing our beloved child's corpse; for what other interpretation could we put on the alarming notice we had received, but that to destroy herself was her intention? All our inquiry failed. I then formed the resolution of going up to London, as I heard the regiment was ordered to quarters near town, and hoped there. After a fruitless search of some days, our strength, and what little money we had collected, nearly exhausted, it pleased the mercy of heaven to raise us up a friend; one, who, like an angel, bestowed every comfort upon us; in short, all comforts in one—our dear wanderer: restored her to us pure and undefiled, and obtained us the felicity of looking forward to better days. But I will pursue my long detail with some method, and follow my poor distressed daughter thro' all the sad variety of woe she was doomed to encounter. She told us, that, as soon as her mother had left her room, she rose and dressed herself, wrote the little melancholy note, then stole softly out of the house, resolving to follow the regiment, and to preserve her lover by resigning herself to the base wishes of the Colonel; that she had taken the gloomy resolution of destroying herself, as soon as his discharge was signed, as she could not support the idea of living in infamy. Without money, she followed them, at a painful distance, on foot, and sustained herself from the springs and a few berries; she arrived at the market-town where they were to take up their quarters; and the first news that struck her ear was, that a fine young fellow was just then receiving part of five hundred lashes for desertion; her trembling limbs just bore her to the dreadful scene; she saw the back of her William streaming with blood; she heard his agonizing groans! she saw—she heard no more! She sunk insensible on the ground. The compassion of the crowd around her, soon, too soon, restored her to a sense of her distress. The object of it was, at this moment, taken from the halberts, and was conveying away, to have such applications to his lacerated back as should preserve his life to a renewal of his torture. He was led by the spot where my child was supported; he instantly knew her. 'Oh! Nancy,' he cried, 'what do I see?' 'A wretch,' she exclaimed, 'but one who will do you justice. Should my death have prevented this, freely would I have submitted to the most painful. Yes, my William, I would have died to have released you from those bonds, and the exquisite torture I have been witness to; but the cruel Colonel is deaf to intreaty; nothing but my everlasting ruin can preserve you. Yet you shall be preserved; and heaven will, I hope, have that mercy on my poor soul, which, this basest of men will not shew.' The wretches, who had the care of poor William, hurried him away, nor would suffer him to speak. Nancy strove to run after them, but fell a second time, through weakness and distress of mind. Heaven sent amongst the spectators that best of men, the noble-minded Baron. Averse to such scenes of cruel discipline, he came that way by accident; struck with the appearance of my frantic daughter, he stopped to make some inquiry. He stayed till the crowd had dispersed, and then addressed himself to this forlorn victim of woe. Despair had rendered her wholly unreserved; and she related, in few words, the unhappy resolution she was obliged to take, to secure her lover from a repetition of his sufferings. 'If I will devote myself to infamy to Colonel Montague,' said she, 'my dear William will be released. Hard as the terms are, I cannot refuse. See, see!' she screamed out, 'how the blood runs! Oh! stop thy barbarous hand!' She raved, and then fell into a fit again. The good Baron intreated some people, who were near, to take care of her. They removed the distracted creature to a house in the town, where some comfortable things were given her by an apothecary, which the care of the Baron provided.
'By his indefatigable industry, the Baron discovered the basest collusion between the Colonel and serjeant; that, by the instigation of the former, the latter had been tampering with the young recruit, about procuring his discharge for a sum of money, which he being at that time unable to advance, the serjeant was to connive at his escape, and receive the stipulated reward by instalments. This infamous league was contrived to have a plea for tormenting poor William, hoping, by that means, to effect the ruin of Nancy. The whole of this black transaction being unravelled, the Baron went to Colonel Montague, to whom he talked in pretty severe terms. The Colonel, at first, was very warm, and wanted much to decide the affair, as he said, in an honourable way. The Baron replied, 'it was too dishonourable a piece of business to be thus decided; that he went on sure grounds; that he would prosecute the serjeant for wilful and corrupt perjury; and how honourably it would sound, that the Colonel of the regiment had conspired with such a fellow to procure an innocent man so ignominious a punishment.' As this was not an affair of common gallantry, the Colonel was fearful of the exposure of it; therefore, to hush it up, signed the discharge, remitted the remaining infliction of discipline, and gave a note of two hundred pounds for the young people to begin the world with. The Baron generously added the same sum. I had heard my daughter was near town; the circumstances of her distress were aggravated in the accounts I had received. Providence, in pity to my age and infirmities, at last brought us together. I advertised her in the papers: and our guardian angel used such means to discover my lodgings, as had the desired effect. My children are now happy; they were married last week. Our generous protector gave Nancy to her faithful William. We propose leaving this place soon; and shall finish our days in praying for the happiness of our benefactor.'
"You will suppose," continued Miss Finch, "my dear Lady Stanley, how much I was affected with this little narrative. I left the good folks with my heart filled with resentment against Montague, and complacency towards Ton-hausen. You will believe I did not hesitate long about the dismission of the former; and my frequent conversations on this head with the latter has made him a very favourable interest in my bosom. Not that I have the vanity to think he possesses any predilection in my favour; but, till I see a man I like as well as him, I will not receive the addresses of any one."
We joined in our commendation of the generous Baron. The manner in which he disclaimed all praise, Miss Finch said, served only to render him still more praise-worthy. He begged her to keep this little affair a secret, and particularly from me. I asked Miss Finch, why he should make that request? "I know not indeed," she answered, "except that, knowing I was more intimate with you than any one beside, he might mention your name by way of enforcing the restriction." Soon after this, Miss Finch took leave.
Oh, Louisa! dare I, even to your indulgent bosom, confide my secret thoughts? How did I lament not being in the Park the day of this adventure. I might then have been the envied confidante of the amiable Ton-hausen. They have had frequent conversations in consequence. The softness which the melancholy detail gave to Miss Finch's looks and expressions, have deeply impressed the mind of the Baron. Should I have shewn less sensibility? I have, indeed, rather sought to conceal the tenderness of my soul. I have been constrained to do so. Miss Finch has given her's full scope, and has riveted the chain which her beauty and accomplishments first forged. But what am I doing? Oh! my sister, chide me for thus giving loose to such expressions. How much am I to blame! How infinitely more prudent is the Baron! He begged that I, of all persons, should not know his generosity. Heavens! what an idea does that give birth to! He has seen—Oh! Louisa, what will become of me, if he should have discovered the struggles of my soul? If he should have searched into the recesses of my heart, and developed the thin veil I spread over the feelings I have laboured incessantly to overcome! He then, perhaps, wished to conceal his excellencies from me, lest I should be too partial to them. I ought then to copy his discretion. I will do so; Yes, Louisa, I will drive his image from my bosom! I ought—I know it would be my interest to wish him married to Miss Finch, or any one that would make him happy. I am culpable in harbouring the remotest desire of his preserving his attachment to me. He has had virtue enough. to conquer so improper an attachment; and, if improper in him, how infinitely more so in me! But I will dwell no longer on this forbidden subject; let me set bounds to my pen, as an earnest that I most truly mean to do so to my thoughts.
Think what an enormous packet I shall send you. Preserve your affection for me, my dearest sister; and, trust to my asseverations, you shall have no cause to blush for
JULIA STANLEY.