Ella.
This lady was first known to the Sexagenarian, and obtained a place in his Recollections, by one of those singular accidents, which sometimes bring individuals together, who, entering the world at the opposite ends of the diameter, with different objects, pursuits, and employments, have but little seeming probability of ever meeting at the centre. Ella was extravagantly fond of poetry; it occupied all her thoughts, and was seated in her very soul. Among other trifles which our friend had written for amusement, and which had found their way into the world, a poem, which had received more of his time and attention than he usually gave to such things, (for he did not estimate his talents in this line very highly) was sent to a friend, who happened at this period to be resident under the same roof with Ella.
It mightily struck her fancy, and she determined on obtaining the author’s acquaintance. Her mind was of that eager and ardent temperature, that having once resolved on any measure, she spared no time or pains in accomplishing it. She accordingly sent him by the post, a copy of verses, complimenting him on the late production of his muse, in terms like herself, easy, airy, and elegant. The writer was soon discovered, (or as Pope said of Johnson, deterré) and a familiar acquaintance commenced, which was only terminated by death.
If Ella’s mind and talents had been under the regulation of sedate feelings and sober judgment, she would have been one of the most delightful and interesting creatures in the universe; but unfortunately for her, she was in every thing an enthusiast. She obeyed, without reflection, the first impulse of her mind. She read whatever excited public attention and curiosity, but she read to little or no effect; she impatiently hurried over the volumes before her, that she might begin something else: the consequence unavoidably was, that in a very short interval, she retained no recollection of the principal features, facts, and characters, of the books she had recently perused.
She also wrote a great deal, and some specimens of her poetical taste and talent are really very beautiful; but she wrote with extreme haste, and revised nothing. She was particularly solicitous, and not always with sufficient discrimination, to have a personal acquaintance with those of both sexes, who were distinguished in the world by their reputation for talents. Unhappily for her, there was no moderation in her attachments, from which she frequently became the victim of artifice and fraud. Perfectly artless and unsuspicious herself, she thought that intellectual superiority necessarily involved ingenuousness, honesty, and truth; nor was she cured of this infirmity, till her fortunes had been irretrievably impaired. Her liberality knew no bounds, and she literally gave, till no more remained for her to bestow.
Her captivating manners, her high birth, her connections, her talents, necessarily drew a crowd of young men about her, for many of whom, in their turns, she suffered love; but the flame was transitory in its effects, nor did she ever seriously entangle herself in an engagement which had marriage for its object, except with one individual, as unlike herself, in every possible particular, as the imagination can conceive.
Her playfulness and most bewitching familiarity often, however, were the cause of her entangling others. Some might be named, who, though grave, reserved, and dignified personages, were unable to resist the fascination of her charms and manners, and glided into her net with the easiest captivity imaginable.
There was one very singular character, whom accident threw in her way, wild, romantic, and ingenious like herself. Both were devoted to the love of poetry, and they wrote fine things to one another, till a great intimacy took place, and the gentleman, who was also an enthusiast in all things, worshipped her as his idol.