The fame of friendship which so long had told
Of three or four illustrious names of old,
Till hoarse and weary of the tale she grew,
Rejoices now to have got a new,
A new and more surprising story,
Of fair Lucasia and Orinda's glory.
Mr. Owen, Lucasia's husband, died. Mrs. Phillips went from a distance to visit her bereaved friend, and they fell into each other's arms with copious tears. In a poem, Orinda describes this meeting under the beautiful image of two sister rivulets, which, creeping from their separate springs, in secret currents under ground, burst together at last, swollen by their own embraces to a flood. Lucasia marries again, and becomes Lady Dungannon. This marriage, by the new scenes, ties, and pleasures it introduces, proves the undoing of poor Orinda's happiness. Lucasia cools towards her, allows her less space in her heart than she craves; and finally we have a reluctant farewell poem, bearing the ominous title, "Orinda to Lucasia. Parting, October, 1661, at London:
"Adieu, dear object of my love's excess,
And with thee all my hopes of happiness.
I to resign thy dear converse submit,
Since I can neither keep nor merit it:
I ask no inconvenient kindness now,
To move thy passion or to cloud thy brow;
And thou wilt satisfy my boldest plea
By some few soft remembrances of me.
The lines may remind one of the pathetic sentiment expressed almost two hundred years later by a kindred heart. Eugénie de Guérin says, "In the moment of union, the seed of separation is sown. Cruel illusion, the belief in friendships that are eternal. The knowledge is bitter, but let me learn the lesson." Yes: learn the lesson indeed, so far as it is true; but do not exaggerate it, nor let it cast too wide and dense a shadow over the rest of life.
Elizabeth Rowe seems to have had a heart peculiarly alive to tender attachments. And she was happy in winning and retaining many friends. Her superiors, her equals, her servants, all loved her as one of the best of women. Her "Friendship in Death, in Twenty Letters from the Dead to the Living," enjoyed great celebrity in its day. The beautiful Countess Hertford was her enthusiastic friend. She exchanged many visits with her, again and again leaving her own stately mansion to abide in the humble house of her admired friend; and she sacredly cherished her memory after death had parted them. Thomson, in the original form of his "Hymn to Solitude," celebrated these friends as "Philomela and the gentle-looking Hertford." Lady Hertford had so affectionate a heart, so rich a mind, so gracious a mien, and was so tenacious in her fondnesses, that she captivated the souls of many of her contemporaries. She was the patron of Thomson, who, in some exquisite lines, dedicated his "Spring" to her. She rewarded the young Elizabeth Carter for a poem in honor of Mrs. Rowe, with her steadfast love and her correspondence. But her most important friendship was that with the Countess of Pomfret. This ran through the largest part of her life, was a source of the greatest comfort and edification to them both, and has left a monument of its unwavering sincerity and fullness in the long series of their published letters.
Mrs. Montague's passion for friendships led her to form intimacies with many of the most distinguished persons of her time, both men and women. When she was Elizabeth Robinson, at the age of twelve she exchanged her doll for a living friend, in the person of Lady Margaret Harley, who became the celebrated Duchess of Portland. This intimacy was kept up to the end of their lives, by constant letters, visits, and other endearments. The admirable Mrs. Barbauld, Hannah More, and Elizabeth Carter, were also her cherished friends. She was the founder of the far-famed "Blue-Stocking Club." Few friendships, it is certain, have ever existed between women more thoroughly sound and comforting than that of Hannah More and Mrs. Garrick. After the death of the great tragedian, Hannah spent a large part of her time with his widow. Mrs. Garrick fondly called Miss More her chaplain. As friends of Elizabeth Carter, besides those already named, Pulteney, Earl of Bath, Mr. Montague, Dr. Johnson, Sir George Lyttleton, Archbishop Seeker, Miss Sutton, Mrs. Vesey, and, above all, Miss Catherine Talbot, deserve to be especially Mentioned. Miss Carter and Miss Talbot corresponded regularly for thirty years, and shared almost every secret. Not a single misunderstanding occurred to mar the placidity of their solid confidence and good will. It is a pleasure, even at this day, to look through their voluminous, rather stiff and prosy, but entirely sensible and affectionate correspondence.
There was an ardent friendship, of which the details have perished, between the once famous novelist and poet, Charlotte Smith, and the lovely, unhappy, romantic Henrietta, Lady O'Niel.
Twelve times the moon, that rises red
O'er yon tall wood of shadowy pine,
Has filled her orb, since low was laid,
My Harriet, that sweet form of thine!
No more thy friendship soothes to rest
This wearied spirit, tempest-tossed:
The cares that weigh upon my breast
Are doubly felt since thou art lost.
But, ere that wood of shadowy pine
Twelve times shall yon full orb behold,
This sickening heart, that bleeds for thine,
My Harriet, may like thine be cold!