y-T*? 
 
 
 ■<>^y
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY 
 
 AT URBANA-CHArv^PAiGN 
 
 BOOKSTACKS
 
 "^jH , THE 
 
 S P I R I T 
 
 OF 
 
 THE BOOK;" 
 
 OR, 
 
 MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 CAROLINE 
 
 PRINCESS OF HASBURGH, 
 
 A Political and Amatory Romance. 
 XN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. i. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 THOMAS ASHE, Esq. 
 
 " The Book.''— Any Person liavi.io; in their Possi-ssion 
 a Certain Book, printed by Mr. Edwards in IB07, but 
 never published, withlV. Lindsell's Naiue as the Selltr of 
 the same on the Title Page, and will bring it to W. Liiid- 
 sell, Bookseller, Wimpole-Street, will ective a handionie 
 Gratuity. Times Paper, 27 March 1809. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY AI.LEN & CO- 
 NO. 15, PATERNOSTrRKoW. 
 
 1811.
 
 
 THE 
 
 P K E I A C E. 
 
 For the literal and other errors occur- 
 ring in this work, the Editor presumes 
 he may confidently rest his justifica- 
 tion in the assurance, that it has been 
 committed to the press with more than 
 common anxiety, and from thence 
 presented to the public, with more 
 than ordinary exertion and toil. 
 
 To enter into a detail of the circum- 
 stances in which the subject matter of 
 these volumes has originated, would 
 
 A
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 1)e idle and superfluous: tlieyliave, di- 
 rectly or indiiecily, transpired through- 
 out this kingdom, and throughout 
 every portion of the globe, where the 
 name of Britain has ever been heard ; — • 
 but unfortunately for the ilkistrious 
 Persons connected with this history, 
 those circumstances have been so im- 
 perfectly understood, so treacherously 
 exaggerated, so basely with-held, or so 
 ^lisingenuously communicated, that the 
 lively, sensible, and enthusiastic minds 
 <if the British people, have hitherto 
 been left v>'hoUy to conjecture ; and 
 ronjecture has, fs'orn appearances, mis- 
 T'^inesentation, and a superficial view of 
 disguised facts, conjured up a scene so 
 atrocious, monstrous, and iniquitous, 
 "tliat censure and reprobation have 
 been heaped upon the innocent, while
 
 PREFACE. V 
 
 fientlmentsj of pity and commiseration, 
 have, to this day, been entertained 
 for those, who alone merit public i?i- 
 diij-nation and disgrace. 
 
 The Editor of '- Tlie Spirit of ' Tl^c 
 Book,' or^Iemoirs oFCaroiine IriiiLW;^ 
 of ilasburgu," rbndiy iadul^^'js th'T 
 hope, that a fair, candid, and impar- 
 tial perusal of these volumes will bfi 
 accorded him : and that, until the 
 work has been sifted to its last page, 
 no harsh or unjust interpretation, no 
 unwarrantable anticipation, nor ungra- 
 cious prejudice, will bias the minds of 
 those who honour his pages w^ith their 
 leisure : — he entreats them to bear in 
 remembrance that it is as unwise as it 
 is illiberal to draw premature rendu- 
 A 9
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 sions on the nature and tendency of 
 this Work, merely because it professes 
 to embrace the matter of the abomi- 
 nable and slanderous volume known by 
 the name of " The Delicate Investiga- 
 tion/^ lie deprecates, as every honest 
 Englishman must, that unnatural, 
 guilty, and malignant volume ! — he 
 contemns, in common with the rest 
 of his countrymen, the ungenerous sen« 
 tim.ent that could actuate to the pub- 
 lication of so gross a libel, and the 
 mercenary principle that could com- 
 promise for its suppression. 
 
 The subsequent Letters are com- 
 piled from the purest motives — from 
 a patriotiic feeling, — and with all the 
 affectionate devotion of a subject ; — - 
 to establish the innocence of the per-
 
 pre: -i." ■:. vii 
 
 secuted, — -to gq jusiic to the injured, 
 — and to sal)i,tantinte the virtues of, 
 and lo wipe off the calumnious stain 
 from, , those illustrious Personages, 
 which public error and misconception 
 have attached to them. 
 
 The British are a just and a generous 
 people, but they are often too hasty in 
 their conclusions: their resentment fre- 
 quently precedes their judgment, their 
 censure is sometimes premature, and 
 their praise unqualified. The Editor, 
 however, dares now to hope, that the 
 following pages will clearly and satis- 
 factorily elucidate those important facts 
 which have hitherto been veiled in 
 apparent mystery, and he enjoys the 
 flattering persuasion that such elucida- 
 tion w^ill tend to inspire in the bosoms *
 
 Vlil PEEFACE. 
 
 of his felloAV countrymen one unaiii"- 
 mous sentimerjt — -love, esteem and ve- 
 neration for every individual nicmber 
 of that august Family comprehended in 
 these niemoirs. 
 
 Every-body aOects to know some- 
 thing of " The Enquiry ;'' — it is true, 
 the leading features of it cannot have 
 more pubHcity, though the minutiae 
 may be better understood. It is to be 
 lamented that the " Enquiry'^ was agi- 
 tated at all, — but once agitated, it was 
 more to be regretted that a circumstan- 
 tial detail of particulars was not submit- 
 ted, in an honest wajj, to a Nation, 
 whose interests it so seriously involved. 
 Had that been the case, the love of 
 justice, which so pre-eminently cha-
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 racterlzes Englishmen, would have been 
 conspicuously demonstrated by the 
 adoption of sentiments, other than 
 those now too generally entertained, 
 and which the Editor endeavours, from 
 laudable motives, to counteract. 
 
 The Editor pledges himself that his 
 work is formed upon the basis of the 
 suppressed Book, which was placed 
 for that express purpose in his hands; 
 and he also declares that the original 
 facts and interesting anecdotes with 
 which his pao;es are illuminated, are 
 derived from a source equally authen- 
 tic and incontrovertible. 
 
 It has been lately ascertained that a 
 few copies of the *' Delicate Investiga-
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 tion^^ (said to be surreptitioiislij taken) 
 are yet extant. It will be however a 
 matter of future congratulation to the 
 Public that after the publication of 
 these Memoirs the still existing copies 
 of that infamous and slanderous detail 
 will no longer be considered as of the 
 inesiimahle value with which they have 
 been heretofore contemplated. 
 
 THOMAS ASHE, 
 
 Editor.
 
 LETTER L 
 
 Caroline to Charlotte. 
 
 .It is with the utmost rekictance, my 
 dear girl, that I review my life. But 
 I am forced into the Arena to defend 
 my honor and reputation; having been 
 branded with the grossest suspicions 
 and charges, by my Givil and sacerdo- 
 tal Accusers, whose conduct, during 
 '' The Delicate Enquiry,^^ evinces, 
 that this country is arrived at that state 
 of depravity, which the Romans attain- 
 ed previously to the ruin and dissolu- 
 tion of their empire. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Indeed when almost the whole of 
 my Acccusers directly countenanced a 
 most savage and unnatural enquiry, and 
 with unparalleled effrontery called for 
 an investigation into my conduct, (the 
 minutes of which investigation they 
 durst not for their own sakes expose), 
 I think I see their characters accurately 
 drawn by Juvenal: I see that hardened 
 audacity, the last refuge of detected 
 guilt, mentioned by Tacitus in speak- 
 ing of the infamous Messalina. God 
 forbid I should involve the innocent 
 with the guilty ! There are, I hope, 
 many of the first description ; but alas ! 
 they bear no proportion to the latter — 
 at least amongst my Accusers. 
 
 But " The Book" is suppressed, and 
 you are told, that I, your unfortunate 
 mother, am not to be estimated at any 
 ^alue since " the Enquiry" was thought 
 necessary to be pursued.
 
 Fatal and unquestionable appears the 
 truth of this assertion. " The Enqni- 
 rv'^ has, in truth, made my Vi^e teem 
 with misery and with shame. It has 
 dehberately exposed me to censure and 
 contempt. It exhibits me as a wretch- 
 ed outcast from society, wdio merits 
 the scoffs and the scorns of a merciless 
 world. It has set me adrift upon the 
 tempestuous ocean of my own passions 
 when they are most irritated and head- 
 strong. It has cut me out from the 
 moorings of these domestic obligations, 
 by whose cable I might ride at safety 
 from their turbulence. It has robbed 
 me of the society of my husband and 
 my daughter. It has deprived me of 
 the pow^erfui influence which arises 
 from the sense of Home, from the sa- 
 cred religion of the Hearth, in quel- 
 ling the passions, in reclaiming the 
 wanderings, in correcting the disorders 
 of the human heart. 
 B 2
 
 Yes, my eliild, " The Enquiry'' has 
 cruelly bereaved me of the protection 
 of these attachments: and it is but too 
 tatally true, that 1 am no longer to be 
 estimated at any value. I am no long- 
 er worth any thing: faded, fallen, de- 
 graged, and disgraced, 1 am worth less 
 than nothing! But it is for the honor, 
 the hope, the expectation, the tender- . 
 ness, and the comforts that have been 
 blasted by " the Enquiry,^' and that 
 have fled from me for ever, that I write 
 these memoirs for you and for poste- 
 rity. 
 
 It is not, therefore, my Charlotte, 
 mj present value which you are to 
 weitJ-h ; but it is mv value at that time 
 when I sat basking in a father's and in 
 a mother's love; with the blessing of 
 Heaven on my head, and its purity in 
 my heart ; — when I sat amongst my own 
 princely family, and heard the morali-
 
 ty of a parental board ; — estimate, my 
 child, that past value; compare it with 
 its present deplorable diminution, in 
 consequence of a political marriage, and 
 of an interested enquir}^, and may it 
 lead you to form some judgment of the 
 severity of the injury inflicted on me 
 by such a marriage, and the extent of 
 the compensation which is due to me 
 by the authors of such an enquiry. 
 
 Caromxf. 
 
 Ji :^
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 Mean, degraded, and contemptible 
 as I ann rendered by *' the Enquiry,^' I 
 uill still endeavour to prove, my Char- 
 lotte, that I have strong and heavy 
 claims both upon your affection and 
 upon the attachment and respect of the 
 community, 
 
 Bat my accusers contend that I am 
 the author of niv own sufferings, and 
 that I ought to suffer for the ill conse- 
 quences of my own conduct. 
 
 In what part of " The Book" do you 
 find any foundation for that assertion? 
 In no part. — But my Accusers say that 
 1 indulged in dress, in company, in a
 
 fondness for the society of men of me- 
 rit and letters; and in a love for 
 
 for and for ! ! ! Tliis, 
 
 say tiiey, constitutes my crime ! Odi- 
 ous and impudent aggravation of inju- 
 ry — to add calumny to insults, and out- 
 rage to dishonor! From whom but men 
 hacknied in the paths of shame 
 and vice: from whom but women hav- 
 ing no compunctions in their own 
 breasts to restrain them, could you ex- 
 pect such brutal disregard for the feel- 
 ings of others? — from whom but the 
 cold-blooded Lawyer; — from what but 
 the exhausted mind, the habitual com- 
 munity with shame; — from what but 
 the habitual contempt of virtue and of 
 man, could you have expected the ar- 
 rogance, the barbarity, and the folly 
 of sucli foul, because so unnatural iia- 
 putations against me ? 
 
 B 4
 
 My Accusers should have reflected, 
 and have blushed, before they suflered 
 such vile charges to have passed their 
 lips. 
 
 Where is the single fact in " The 
 Book'^ on which the remotest suspicion 
 of a criminal kind can be hung? 
 
 Odiously have my Accusers endea- 
 voured to make the softest and most 
 amiable feelings of the heart, the pre- 
 text of their slanderous imputations: 
 Captains P e and M y distin- 
 guished and honorable officers of the 
 nav3% my fust acquaintances in this 
 country ; Sir J- D— — s and a Mid- 
 shipman, the one the husband and the 
 other the son of a lady, the dearest 
 
 friend I possess. Sir S y S -u 
 
 a man whom every body loves, and an 
 Orphan, the child of one of the uK)st 
 amiable women that ever lived, were
 
 charges brought against me as a 
 Clime; — and a respect for them, arising 
 from the softness of nature, and a sense 
 of merit, is made the scene and the 
 testimony of guilt! 
 
 But how just soever the complaints 
 are, which my sufferings force from me, 
 I shall say nothing that may augment 
 the blemishes of my Accusers. 
 
 Giddy, inexperienced youth, un- 
 bounded generosity, and gratitude; an 
 inclination, natural to innocence, of 
 judging well of every body, and the in- 
 dulgence of the best of parents, all 
 concurred, when cruelly separated from 
 my husband, to inspire me with a love 
 of society, and to that particular kind 
 with which I was prepossessed before 
 my unfortunate and guilty elevation. 
 On this charge, then, I will not further 
 weary you, or exhaust myself. I will 
 B 5
 
 10 
 
 add nothing more than that the charges 
 agamst me, and against the persons 1 
 have named, are as false as they are in- 
 fainous; that in '* The Book'^ they 
 have not a colour of support; and that 
 before I conclude this correspondence, 
 I shall convince you, that the public 
 should brand them with the strongest 
 reprobation and reproach. 
 
 Tired, and the ni^^ht advancinGf^ I 
 xiiust conclude with the assurance of 
 being your 
 
 Caroline,
 
 11 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 But " The Book" contains a charg-e 
 against me, which I feel it proper to 
 discuss; for I trust, my dear girl, you 
 observe that I affect not any address to 
 your passions, by which you may be 
 led away from the subject, i assume 
 merely to separate the parts of the 
 affecting case of your mother, and to 
 lay them item by item, before you^ 
 w^ith the coldness of detail, and not 
 with any colouring or display of fiction, 
 of fancy, or of untruth. 
 
 The charge I allude to, is '• indiscreet 
 confidences and acquaintances/^ Ho- 
 norable to myself is my unsuspecting 
 confidence!' Besides, to what a horri- 
 b6
 
 1^2 
 
 ble alternative is it meant that English 
 wives should be reduced ? — Are they to 
 be immured by worse than eastern bar- 
 barity? Are their principles to be de- 
 praved ; their passions sublimated ; every 
 fnier motive of action extinguished by 
 the inevitable consequences of thus 
 treating them like slaves? Is confidence 
 and hospitality to be interpreted into 
 2uilt and indiscretion? And is a liberal 
 and generous confidence in them, to be 
 the instrument of the calumniator and 
 the basis of crime^ 
 
 I must proceed a little further. My 
 miserable Accusers, it seems, when 
 their brain was on fjre, and every fiend 
 of hell was let loose upon their hearts, 
 say that I received ma?^ked attentions: 
 heard unwarrantable topics of discourse 
 respecting your father's friends, and 
 that when any gentleman proposed to 
 take a ^lass of winCj or to hand me
 
 13 
 
 into my carriage, I tamely granted the 
 honor, without attending to my high 
 station or to my exalted rank 1 
 
 Alas! my Charlotte, honorably, but 
 fatally for my repose, I am neither jea- 
 lous, suspicous nor cruel. I treated 
 my FRIENDS with the confidence of 
 FRiEXDS ; and I never suspected that my 
 Accusers would aggravate my innocent 
 attachments into a colour of factious li- 
 centiousness and vicious impiety. I 
 never suspected that such innocent at- 
 tachments could be employed for the 
 purpose of swelling the disorders of my 
 heart, and of cutting off you, my child, 
 from the Inheritance to which you 
 are entitled, by virtue of your mother's 
 unfortunate marriage. But surely if my 
 Accusers have no pity for me, they 
 must have mercy upon my innocent and 
 helpless Child; they cannot now, hav- 
 ing no evidence in " The Book,^' con-
 
 14 
 
 demn you to neglect and Disinheri- 
 tance; they cannot Now strike you 
 into that most dreadful of all human 
 conditions, the orphanage that springs 
 not from the grave, that falls not from 
 the hand of Providence, or the stroke 
 of death ; but that which comes before 
 its time, anticipated and inflicted by 
 the remorseless cruelty of Accusers, 
 who HAVE an Interest in the esta- 
 blishment of parental guitti 
 
 Who HAD "an interest" I should 
 have said ; for, balancing on the pivot 
 of your destiny, their hearts could not 
 be cold, nor their tongues be wordless. 
 Destitute of evidence, they could not. 
 make you, like me, a wretched fugitive. 
 They also saw yawning sepulchres be- 
 tween them and their design ; and, 
 from the faded refuse of abed they vain- 
 ly attempted to prove violated, they 
 discovered testimony upon which they
 
 15 
 
 were convinced the public would repose 
 the most implicit faith. They examin- 
 ed and f')UDd nothing that could de- 
 grade a chi d to which nature bore evi- 
 dence inleg;ible characters ; they looked 
 in your face, and received the most ir- 
 refragable proofs of the sacred obser- 
 vance of mv oblioations, and of the 
 pledges of my fidelity. They looked 
 at my conduct, and, aggravated and 
 blotted as it was by their odious and 
 caluiimiating proceedings, they mitigat- 
 ed YOUR destiny, althougn they have 
 turned me over to a life of irretrievable 
 ignominy and abhorrence^ 
 
 Before I can enter on the detail of 
 '*an Enquiry'' which, for darkness of 
 my^tevy and boldness of imposition has 
 never been paralleled, I find, my dear 
 child,, that It is incumbent on me to 
 describe to you my earnest days, and 
 the causes which led to a marriage that
 
 16 
 
 has been followed by such deep and 
 lasting calamity. The voice of honour, 
 the voice of nature, and the voice of 
 " THE PEOPLE,^^ call foF the most mi- 
 nute detail from me, and I shall piously 
 obey such sacred calls when recovered 
 from the fatigue of this Letter. 
 
 Adieu, my dear maid, 
 
 Caroline.
 
 LEi iER IV. 
 
 The taniily from which I descend, 
 my amiable Charlotte, and the circle of 
 Germany to which 1 belong, were me- 
 morable at the earliest period of anti- 
 quity. The House of Hasburgh has 
 been celebrated by every historian, and 
 Strabo informs us, that, from the most 
 remote times, its country was distin- 
 guished for its wealth and fertility ; by 
 the wisdom of its laws, and by the 
 military and proud disposition of its in- 
 habitants. 
 
 To this last disposition perhaps it is 
 owing, that its modern history does not 
 correspond to its ancient lustre, A 
 people of soldiers whose trade was their 
 sword, they lived on terms of defiance 
 with all mankind. This proved fatal
 
 18 
 
 to their interests ; and it induced my 
 father who was the head of this people, 
 to instigate Prussia to rescue France 
 from the grasp of usurpation, and to 
 carry war to the very gates of the capi- 
 tal/ 
 
 It is commonly supposed that the 
 presumption, or ignorance of my father, 
 was the spring and origin of this roman- 
 tic undertaking. There is no greater 
 error ! — It is to a high and honourable 
 spirit, that the conduct of the Duke 
 is to be attributed. 
 
 My father, — the man whose virtues 
 I shall ever praise, and whose abilities 
 I shall ever admire, was certainly the 
 first who advised the grand idea of a ge- 
 neral confederation. And he was 
 moved to it by the melancholy sulFer- 
 ngs of the emigrants, and by a hope, 
 that by marching rapidly into France,
 
 19 
 
 he should suppress the designs of the 
 treasonable, and bring effectual succour 
 10 the cause of the royalists. He also 
 thought that, while France was lacer- 
 ated by internal wars, and the hand of 
 every man was armed against his bro- 
 ther, that this deplorable scene could 
 only be brought to a conclusion by an 
 armed mediator, and that, if a sufficient 
 force were seen under the walls of 
 Paris, discord, would cease, and France 
 herself would again prosper and be 
 happy. 
 
 When in this light, my dear girl, we 
 view the conduct of the unfortunate 
 Duke, it will not perhaps appear dictated 
 by that wild enthusiasm to which it is 
 generally ascribed, nor to that folly to 
 which the multitude have been directed 
 to impute it. Therefore, whenever yoa 
 hear his name mentioned, do you ad~ 
 voeate his cause; and tell his calum-
 
 20 
 
 liiators, that he gave celebrity to his 
 country ; that he decorated it with many 
 monuments of glory, and that he has 
 given a certain instinctive veneration to 
 that distant and venerable spot, which 
 must seize on every mind possessed of 
 the smallest respect for virtue, and 
 honor. 
 
 Returning from this digression into 
 the state of public affairs, I shall now 
 observe, generally, that when the 
 minds of men, from a concurrence of 
 circumstances, have been long exposed 
 to certain impressions, it matters not 
 with what disgust, or even horror, they 
 were at first received, gradually they 
 became familiarized with them, and 
 reason, or, what by them is called rea- 
 son, will soon be disposed to give them 
 its solemn approbation. — My father re- 
 turned to his country, and the troops 
 of Prussia became as licentious as the
 
 21 
 
 troops of France; while her Queen was 
 content to weave a garment for the 
 very enemy whom her consort, aided 
 by my father, vainly attempted to sub- 
 due ! 
 
 But among the many calamities 
 which resulted to my country from the 
 war, there was none more to be lament- 
 ed, than that ferocious and unfeeling 
 disposition with which it inspired the 
 mass of its inhabitants. — I had known 
 my country and the disposition and 
 manners of the people before the war. 
 I had known them to be gentle, hu- 
 mane, and possessed, perhaps of more 
 of the milk of human kindness than the 
 lower order of the people in most coun- 
 tries possess. Whereas 1 found them, 
 after some continuance of war, with 
 quite a new set of feelings; they had 
 become familiar with cruelty ; they 
 could talk of torture and of death — nol
 
 22 
 
 of the death of an individual, but of the 
 slaughter of thousands; with the same 
 apathy and listlessness as they would 
 have spoken of an every-day incident. 
 Death, and suffering, and cruelty, seem- 
 ed for them to have lost all their hor- 
 ror ; and I have heard the officers about 
 ^my father relate the fall of thousands 
 with a degree of circumstantial and cool 
 accuracy, which proved that they felt 
 in the relation the most perfect indif- 
 ference. 
 
 I have a motive, my Charlotte, for 
 entering into these particulars. It is to 
 explain to you how I passed through 
 the thorny path of early life without 
 being drawn astray by the seduction of 
 the passions. — 1 wish to convince you 
 that I neither wanted youth, bloom, nor 
 admirers, but that I thought the period, 
 I have described, too degenerate ; — and 
 I determined within myself not to sully
 
 23 
 
 my first affections by bestowing them 
 upon any man, not clainiing pre-emi- 
 nence from splendid abilities, humanity 
 of heart, and unspotted fame. — You are 
 not therefore to weary, or to conceive 
 that to be idle digression, which, in the 
 end you will find necessary to the ho- 
 nor of your affectionate 
 
 Caroline.
 
 24f 
 
 LETTER V, 
 
 I CANNOT resolve, as yet, to commu- 
 nicate to my lovely child the details of 
 my own life. My country has prior 
 claims to my attention. 
 
 , The fame which it formerly acquired 
 by its seminaries of learning, and by the 
 just administration of my ancestors, 
 engage the whole of my mind. But 
 besides the cultivation of literature and 
 the observance of the laws of hospita- 
 lity and justice, a number of visitors 
 were attracted by the serenity of the cli- 
 mate, the fertility of the soil and the 
 refinements of the capital, which rivaled 
 most of the cities of the German circles. 
 But, at the period I speak of, a detesta- 
 ble war had converted our citizens into
 
 mere soldiers, and destroyed the affec- 
 tions and dignity of their nature. They 
 became as passive as the sword with 
 which they fought. They surrendered 
 themselves, as far as men could surrend- 
 er themselves, body and soul, to the 
 absolute disposal of the King of Prus- 
 sia. They became the wretched instru- 
 ments of that bloody ambition, with 
 which he meant to desolate the earth. 
 They were bouoht and sold like the 
 beasts of the field. As blood-hounds 
 they were trained up to be let loose 
 upon the peaceable inhal)itants of 
 France, in an unsuspecting hour to ra- 
 vage and destroy ! 
 
 AYhy confine myself to the military 
 of my annihilated country ! — ^iVhat are 
 the standing armies of the fairest and 
 most civilized portions of the earth ? — 
 What are they, but dreadful diseases in 
 the body politic, growing out of the ig- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 
 
 :norance and untoward circumstances of 
 past times, which princes knew too 
 Well how to convert to the aoorandise- 
 nient of their power, and the gratifica- 
 tion of their lusts? — What are they, 
 Ibut enormous and expensive machines 
 of destruction, moved and directed by 
 all the malignant and all the petty pas- 
 sions of the human heart ; by the pride, 
 the revenge, the ambition of kings and 
 of ministers; by the jealousies and in- 
 trigues of sycophants and prostitutes ? 
 —What are they, my child, bivt des- 
 troying hurricanes, which sweep away 
 at once the fruits and the cultivators of 
 the soil; the products and the means 
 of industry, the monuments of litera- 
 ture, and the arts, the works of ages, 
 in the tempest of an hour ? 
 
 Viewing the military in such a light, 
 and detesting my countrymen for the 
 dreadful change which the war operated
 
 • 27 
 
 on their character and manners, it is by 
 no means a matter of surprize, that the 
 hidden feelings of my soul should not 
 have been disclosed, or that I should 
 have so long remained a stranger to love 
 — and to all its delights or" calamities. 
 — Alas ! I little thought, when most 
 tranquil and secure, that the pleasures 
 and misfortunes of my life were about 
 to commence. I little thought that my 
 happiness should so soon raise the envy, 
 and my disappointments the contempt 
 of the world. Charlotte ! read with 
 attention the following letters, and 
 drop a tear on my sad reverse of for- 
 tune, and it will console ^till death 
 your 
 
 Caroline. 
 
 <: 2
 
 28 
 
 LETTER YI. 
 
 Among the officers who served 
 under my father with the highest fepu- 
 tation was a young Irishman of the 
 name of C****** B*****. — I prefer, 
 however, to call him Algernon, and to 
 introduce him, for the present, to you 
 under that name. 
 
 If a life spent in the zealous cultiva- 
 tion of moral virtue, and the most assi- 
 duous endeavours for promoting both 
 public and private happiness, deserve to 
 be recorded, it is that of Algernon, 
 whose name will be held in veneration 
 in my country, as long as extraordinary 
 merit shall be admired or remembered. 
 
 Algernon was originally destined for
 
 29 
 
 arms, but, from the liberal education 
 he had received he did not pursue the 
 profession with the cold sentiments of a 
 German, a robber, or a murderer. — On 
 the contrary, he often preferrt-d, at the 
 feet of Minerva, to sacrifice all the mi- 
 litary pompAvhich blazes round the car 
 of the god of war. And in that period 
 of which I have spoken with the most 
 pointed reprobation ; in that period, 
 perhaps the darkest of any in history, 
 he explored all the walks of literature; 
 exhausted the Greek and Roman page: 
 studied music, painting, and poetry ; 
 disputation and eloquence; bore the 
 palm from all his rivals, and rose on the 
 ruins of his masters far above the emi- 
 nence of those gentlemen, his con-tem- 
 poraries, with whom my father's friends 
 were in the habit of associating. 
 
 After having attained, by the exer- 
 tions of valour, the power of genius, 
 c 3
 
 30 
 
 and the exercise of every virtue, to a 
 certain rank in his profession, and to the 
 head of the hterary world, it was not 
 unnatural for hitn to wish to relax from 
 his efforts, and to enjoy his consequence 
 and his pleasure in the corresponding 
 jattractions of my father's court. Per- 
 haps LOVE was his principal motive. 
 There v^rere many beautiful women at- 
 tached to the court. Let us rather say, 
 then, that the generous impulse of love, 
 not the pre-conceived views of pleasure 
 or of seduction, prompted him to pro- 
 cure admission to the society of mv 
 friends. — Indeed he had but few diffi- 
 culties to encounter. The admiration 
 procured by the celebrity of his mili- 
 tary and literary fame, prepared both 
 my father and my mother to meet his 
 ambition with the warmest attentions, 
 and the struggle was, who should pes- 
 sess most of the time and society of Al- 
 gernon.
 
 31 
 
 At this particular time I was in tner 
 bloom of vouth : and, if not esteemed 
 for beauty, I was celebrated for ele- 
 gance, literature, and wit. But I had 
 no pretensions; and if I ever tbou^lu 
 of Algernon it was connected with the 
 idea of which of the ladies of the court 
 mioht be distinguished bv his choice. 
 In truth he was too bright a star to be 
 the slave or the subject of individual ad- 
 iTiiration. There was not a person who 
 did not ardently wish to see, and ta 
 emulate hiin. — When he appeared ia 
 public, every one ran to behold him, 
 and when he witlidrew, every eye 
 sprang forward to pursue him. Inde- 
 pendent of these attractions, he pos- 
 sessed, indeed, two qualifications, a 
 tone of voice, and a grace in sing- 
 ing, which gave him a controul over 
 every female heart. These powers 
 were peculiarly his; at least I never be- 
 held them fall to theshare of any other. 
 c 4^
 
 —To soften, by playful amusement, 
 the stern character of a military court, 
 he composed several sonnets on love 
 and manner>. These he was often pre- 
 vailed on to sing, when the harmony 
 of his voice gave new charms to the ex- 
 pression.-— in short, in all circles no- 
 thing was talked of but Algernon ;— 
 even the most ignomnt, who could not 
 judge of composition, were enchanted 
 by the melody of his voice* Femxile 
 hearts wera unable to resist the im- 
 pression, —Tluis was his name parried 
 through Germany, And the accom« 
 plishments of Algernon became the 
 theme of every tongues—Instructed by 
 nature and enlighleaed l)y taste, he 
 combined all these beauties which are 
 Vr'idely scattered among the rest of his 
 sex. Nor could such a man ever have 
 existed, if nature had confined her imi- 
 tation to a single subject. The sur- 
 prizing character of his person and
 
 33 
 
 mind, owed its perfection to the collect- 
 ed charms accorded to man. — But, 1 
 cannot proceed. Besides, what had I 
 to do with beauty or deformity, gran- 
 deur or horror; an adorned mind, or 
 an untutored genius? What was Alger- 
 non to me ? Did he glitter in my la- 
 ther's palace with any other design 
 than to pursue the object of hi§. love, 
 or solely for the gratification oF amuse- 
 
 ment ? Did he 1 must refer my 
 
 child to my next letter. 
 
 (^AR0H5<S 
 
 c^
 
 34 
 
 LETTER VIL 
 
 I OMITTED to tell you in my last, my 
 dear girl, that the principal triumph 
 of Algernon, consisted in his having 
 procured the respect and esteem of 
 my adorable mother, the Duchess 
 of Hasburgh. So great, indeed, was 
 her opinion of his virtue and abilities, 
 that she frequently confided me to his 
 instruction, and aiforded him every op- 
 portunity of perfecting my knowledge 
 in the English language, and fn the 
 Belles-Letlres. 
 
 Before I detail the circumstances of 
 our studious hours, or relate the pro- 
 gress I made under so intelligent a 
 master, I feel it my duty to make you 
 more intimately acquainted with my
 
 35 
 
 mother, and to add a few particulars to 
 the observations I have already made 
 on the private and public conduct of 
 the Duke, my father. 
 
 But every one knows the character 
 of the Duchess ; that she is of the 
 most noble family, an interesting per- 
 son, and one of the most amiable of 
 women. Now advancing in the vale of 
 life, she is like those statues of the Si- 
 LEXi ; — if you only view their outside, 
 nothing can be less captivating: but 
 when examined internally, they are 
 found to contain within them tlic 
 images of all the gods. — Thus at first, 
 seeing and hearing the discourses of my 
 mother, they appear harsh. She talks 
 of the beauty of virtue, the baseness of 
 vice, and the folly of a dishonorable 
 life. She endeavours to persuade every 
 body to fix their afTectlnns on tlie most 
 deserving objects, and to rccal their 
 c 6
 
 36 
 
 thoughts from criminal indulgencies and 
 mistaken friendships ; oil this account 
 strangers are apt to think her too severe 
 and moralizing; but, my Charlotte, if 
 you unfold and look into her senti- 
 ments, you find that there is the most 
 profound sense and goodness in eveiy 
 \vord; that her admonitions are divine ; 
 that they contain the images ofa.'i the 
 virtues, and all the precepts necessary 
 to form a ureat aiv] a eood character !■ — 
 ^Vere i not suspected of being too par- 
 tial, 1 would declare how much 1 have 
 always been aiTected, ravished, and 
 amazed on hearing her naked v. ords» 
 Distracted, my heart has leapt for joy. 
 or my eyes suiiused with tears. 1 have 
 heard many amiable women, but I 
 never felt the same effects; my soul 
 was never confounded ; — I was not 
 enraged at -myself for any follies of my 
 life, nor ever wished it in my power to 
 correct those follies. Her admonition,
 
 37 
 
 — ^her's alone, could extort the confes- 
 sion that I was indigent of many vir- 
 tues which she possessed; that I 
 should n( gleet nothing to acquire them, 
 and that 1 should devote myself entire- 
 ly to the study of her example. Ah ! 
 my child, should I listen to her at pre- 
 sent, 1 know I should no longer remain 
 mistress of myself, but be as formeily 
 corrected, improved, and transported! 
 — But I am condemned to seal up my 
 ears. 1 must run off, and fly, lest the 
 charms of her conversation remind 
 me of the degradation of my present 
 state, and of the height from which 
 I have fallen. — Yet, I must not shun 
 her ; confusion and remorse seize on 
 me. — 1 have broken all my promises ! 
 — 1 am conscious of the truth of all 
 her reproaches ! — I am conscious it 
 is my duty to act as she advises ! — » 
 But the moment she is gone love 
 and despair overcome me ! How of-
 
 38 
 
 ten have I wished her dead for con- 
 demning my weakness ;— yet, if it 
 happened, I know not, — I am sure, 
 I know not, who would feel a deeper 
 sorrow ! 
 
 The struggle of my soul is too 
 great for the continuance of the sub- 
 ject, and I cannot explain to you 
 in this letter what is meant by the 
 alarming and terrible expression of 
 *'^ love and despair overcome w?e/^ Nor 
 are you to understand, that the " strug- 
 gle ofmijsoul^^ is between Virtue and 
 Vice. Were this the case I should 
 indeed be miserable and merit to be 
 so. No, my child, be assured, before 
 you conclude this correspondence, your 
 only difficulty will be, which to admire 
 most, the dignity with which I have 
 supported virtue, or the manner in 
 which 1 endure insult and calamity. 
 In the mean time I shall give you the
 
 39 
 
 promised observations on the Duke of 
 Hasburgh. 
 
 My father was, as I before may 
 have informed vou, of the first blood in 
 Germany, a beautiful person ; the 
 bravest, the most gallant, and the most 
 ambitious of men. At Berlin he was 
 the first in power and authority : com- 
 manded the armies, and gained several 
 battles. 
 
 In the nnidst of his glories, the 
 Duchess used to speak to him frankly 
 of his pride, vain-glory, restless ambi- 
 tion, immense thirst for power, and 
 asked him, " Whether he would live 
 satisfied with his present enjoyments, 
 or die instantly, if excluded from ac- 
 quiring more r'^ He was silent. " You 
 would rather choose to die" said the 
 Duchess ! " It seems, then,^^ said he, 
 *' you know my thoughts perfectly well;
 
 40 
 
 be it so; should I contradict you, my 
 intended conduct would soon persuade 
 you to the contrary." These words, 
 alas ! were prophetic. Mount Jena is 
 an eternal monument both of his ambi- 
 tion and of his worth. But he was not 
 to blame. — The rupture of Prussia with 
 France, at that exact time^ was not of 
 his advising. — A rupture, connected 
 with the vilest fraud, and followed by 
 the basest submission, that ever dis- 
 >graced any country. It could have no- 
 thing in common with my father, but 
 it will stand a monument of reproach 
 9nd infamy to Prussia, as long as his- 
 tory or tradition can hand it down. 
 Nor will posterity easily believe, that 
 her wretched sovereign, without know- 
 ledge, abilities or bravery, should find 
 support and safety, in the very bosom 
 of a kingdom which he had sold, in- 
 sulted, and betrayed. The system he 
 has since pursued, must afford still
 
 higher astonishment to his ruined des- 
 cendants! Farewell! I have exhausted 
 (ny patience on this wretched theme. 
 
 Caroline.
 
 42 
 
 LETTER VIIL 
 
 Of the persons in the esteem of the 
 valued parents whose portrait, my be- 
 loved girl, I sketched for your inform- 
 ation in my last, none stood higher 
 than Algernon. And, as I have some- 
 where before remarked, such was their 
 opinion of his talents and integrity, that 
 they afforded him every opportunity af 
 instructing me in those accomplish- 
 ments which he himself so eminently 
 possessed. 
 
 In this important occupation, Alger- 
 non shewed himself worthy of the 
 trust reposed in him. He had no other 
 views than finding out the truth for my 
 improvejment, and laying before me
 
 43 
 
 such important maxims, as would be 
 most useful in the conduct of life: And 
 whether he discoursed on rehgiOn and 
 divine matters, or on abstract points, as 
 on the nature and immateriality of the 
 soul; on politics and morals, he so dis- 
 cussed every subject, as always to in- 
 veiitigate, and if possible to discover and 
 separate what was real and natural^ 
 from what was fictitious and artificial. 
 If talking on physics ; the properties 
 and laws of motion in the heavenly 
 bodies; if on ethics, the passions and 
 affections of the human heart were 
 carefully enquired into, the powers of 
 each examined, and the regard due to 
 them ascertained. His dissertations, 
 whether on divine or human affairs^ 
 ended not in empty metaphysical spe- 
 culations, but were all calculated to 
 kindle a love to the Deity, and to in- 
 struct me in all the various duties of dis- 
 tinguished life: To advance and main-
 
 44 
 
 tain every grand truth ; to recommend 
 the beauty and inherent worth of virtue, 
 and to condemn the infamy and turpi- 
 tude of vice. 
 
 Instruction thus carried on, became 
 every day more delightful and interest- 
 ing to me. Besides, in his instruction, 
 Algernon was natural and easy; often 
 witty, and full of humour; his raille- 
 ries exquisite, and such as became a 
 complete gentleman: his reasoning re- 
 fined and metaphysical. In short, the 
 sentiment, ingenuity and good humour 
 of Algernon; his lively descriptions, 
 frequent ironies, and just strokes of 
 satire, when set in opposition to the 
 intemperance of language, the passion* 
 ate surly behaviour, clumsy wit, sour 
 repartees, and personal invectives of 
 the German literati, formed a captivat- 
 ing contrast, and set him off to the ut- 
 most possible advantage, la his dis-
 
 45 
 
 qiiisitions with them, where his design 
 was only to confute, he had no occasi- 
 on to advance any doctrines of his own. 
 But in his conversations with nie, he 
 advanced and maintained all the grand 
 truths concerning the Deity, the immor- 
 tality of the soul, &c. &c. and always 
 offered the strongest arguments that 
 could be advanced in the support of 
 them. 
 
 Conv^ersino; with him one evenins: 
 on the question, *' -whether virtue can 
 he taught F'* he encouraged me to make 
 some observations. Emboldened by 
 the ease and elecrance of his manner, I 
 complied. Indeed he led me on step 
 by step. J3ealt most gently with me; 
 extolled me for my knowledge ; drop- 
 ped his own usual flow of eloquence; 
 appeared fond of being instructed by 
 me; listened with seeming attention, 
 and by degrees made me lay open the
 
 46 
 
 absurdity of my notions, and my Igno- 
 rance in those things which my former 
 instructors pretended I perfectly under- 
 stood. And having presumed I con- 
 vinced him " that virtue can he taught/^ 
 1 could not help feeling disappointed to 
 find by his arguments, that it cannot 
 be taught; that it is a divine inspired 
 gift; a blessing implanted in him who 
 is possessed of it, not coming from his 
 own intelligence, nor from the intelli- 
 gence of others — but from God. 
 
 In proving this, and after confuting 
 my opinions, he stopped. To have 
 gone further and made me formally 
 own my ignorance, and submit to new 
 instruction, would have been^ incon- 
 sistent with his character. However, 
 tinged as I was with some degree of 
 superstition; having a profound reve- 
 jrence for the original instructions I had 
 received ; believing every fable taught
 
 47 
 
 vc\e from my infancy ; full of family 
 pride and self-conceit, and convinced 
 that virtue could be taught, I replied 
 to Algernon with less grace and judg- 
 ment, than vexation and asperity. 
 
 " You confound me," said I, " Al- 
 gernon ! You are like the Torpedo, 
 which benumbs every thing it touches; 
 thus have you benumbed me both in 
 body and in mind: I thought I had 
 known virtue, but you have quite per- 
 plexed me.^' 
 
 * Not so like as you imagine,' replied 
 he, calmly ; * if the Torpedo had the 
 faculty of benumbing ifse/f as well as 
 others, it would resemble me more. I 
 do not, when certain myself, raise 
 doubts in others : I am rather myself 
 the most doubtful of all men ; this is 
 the reason why I suggest difficulties to 
 you: but I have ofiended you : I shall
 
 48 
 
 drop the question, and in futuro cor- 
 rect myself.' 
 
 Will you believe it, Charlotte, al- 
 though sensible of his wisdom and of 
 my own weakness, I suffered him to 
 retire with a cold indifference. I was 
 quite confounded, but pride would not 
 allow me to call him back ; it would 
 not allow me to humble and to expose 
 myself; to tell him that 1 admired all 
 he said, and that I should hearken to 
 all he had to say : No; pride would not 
 allow me to do this, and I suffered him 
 to depart, with a cold indifference. 
 Confounded and perplexed, 1 retired 
 to my study, and saw no more of him, 
 till the following day, 
 
 Charlotte.
 
 49 
 
 LETTER IX, 
 
 The morning after I had separated 
 from Alg-ernon 'with " a cold indiiTer- 
 ence/^ I descended to my mother's 
 library to breakfast. Algernon rose 
 with a studied politeness, handed me 
 a chair, and seated me by the Duchess, 
 instead of next to himself, which was 
 his usual practice. 
 
 Trifling as this incident may appear 
 to you, my interesting girl, it inspired 
 me with the most painful sensations, 
 nor were their poignancy removed on 
 perceiving, that he resumed his place 
 
 by the side of the Countess of W r, 
 
 with whom he had been previously er- 
 gaged in conversation, and who vves 
 considered to be the most beautiful and 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 
 
 accomplished woman of any of the 
 German courts. 
 
 As I may have occasion to mention 
 this Countess, whose name is Melina 
 on many other occasions, I will here 
 ■inform you that she is the eldest daugh- 
 ter of an Austrian nobleman of the 
 highest rank. 
 
 A good natural capacity, an ambi- 
 tious desire of knowledge, and the seeds 
 of the finest dispositions began early to 
 shew themselves in her mind. Her 
 affectionate father, observing such pro- 
 mising symptoms, and having a just 
 sense of the great importance of a good 
 education, took great care that her 
 mind should be formed to such a sense 
 of virtue and religion, and such a taste 
 tor valuable knowledge, as might render 
 loyer happy in herself, an ornament to
 
 51 
 
 her family, and useful in her rcnk in 
 the world. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, fjr Melina, 
 her father made choice of one of Ins 
 chaplains for her instructor. Foremost 
 in delusion, in bigotry, in cruelty, and 
 in aptness at all the stratagems of 
 priesthood; alike successful as an orator 
 at the altar, or a leader in a brothel, 
 was father Rosenbergh, of pious cele- 
 brity. 
 
 This noxious energy of character 
 raised himself from the situation of an 
 outcast excommunicate priest, to be 
 first director in the family of Baron 
 
 W r, to the tutorship of his amiable 
 
 daughter. But you shall judge for 
 yourself, of her progress, my Charlotte, 
 as I shall return to her, and to the ma:i- 
 ner of conversation with Algernon. 
 
 D 2 

 
 59 
 
 Algernon was silent. Melina main- 
 tained the disquisition. I must con- 
 fess she had some beauties of diction 
 peculiar to herself: she affected a gran- 
 deur of style, atid often obtained it, 
 though not alvva3's lo that high degree 
 she intended. She designed that her 
 words should be both sublime and be- 
 coming; and sometimes they were so: 
 but they were also frequently rough, 
 unpolished, and ranged in an original, 
 not in a natural manner. This made 
 her often obsure and confused ; inaccu- 
 rate and elaborate in her ornaments; 
 and by an anxious endeavour to astonish 
 Algernon, she fell into excesses of no- 
 velty, which still furrher involved her 
 in perplexity and darkness. That is, 
 her style was at once concise, abrupt, 
 and unintelligible, although sometimes 
 a certain purity and brightness burst 
 forth, and dazzled like a flash of light- 
 ning in a gloomy evening. On the
 
 63 
 
 whole, her conversation was marked 
 witli roughness and severity: sweet- 
 ness — the sweetness of Algernon, was 
 cot a httle foreign to her naanner. 
 
 The time was very favorable to their 
 discussion. It was a rainy morning^; 
 and breakfast being over, the Duke re- 
 tired to his private study, and the Du- 
 chess and i sitting at work, as if inat- 
 tentive to the discourse, they proceed- 
 ed without the terror of criticism or in- 
 terruption. 
 
 The subject was religion, or perhaps, 
 rather irreligion. Seriously, my Char- 
 lotte, to one who has not well and of- 
 ten considered this subject, -'tis scarce 
 possible to imagine how large a part of 
 what most people miscall religion, is but 
 the prevailing bias of their natural dis- 
 position, screening itself under that 
 sacred character and appearance. And 
 D 3
 
 54 
 
 the misfortune is the greater, as ^tis 
 hardly possible to undeceive them. 
 Errors in religion, are the most stub- 
 born things in nature. Nothing is so 
 inflexible as conscience, when once it 
 is set wrong. It darkens the mind to 
 such a fatal degree, that conviction 
 comes to be dreaded as a crime, and 
 even blindness itself is esteemed sacred. 
 if you go about to shew these deluded 
 peop'e to themselves, they cannot eii- 
 diu'ethe pain of the representation. They 
 have been so long used to confound 
 their own prejudices about religion, with 
 religion itself, that if they are but 
 touched in these tender points, imme- 
 diately they raise a cry and alarm, as if 
 you were erasing the very foundations 
 of all religion, and common morality. 
 But as these reflections rose out of the 
 conversation between Algernon and 
 Melina, you shall form your own opi- 
 nions from that conversation, which
 
 65 
 
 shall appear word for word in my next 
 letter. Do not be deterred from peru- 
 sing that conversation, although upon a 
 religious subject it is highly illuminated 
 
 with interesting matter. 
 
 Caroline, 
 
 D ^
 
 56 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 I RESUME without ceremony, my 
 dear Chailotte, the subject of my last 
 letter. 
 
 *' Do you know the general character 
 of D'Aremberg?" said Melina to Alger- 
 non, " did you ever hear that he is a 
 religious character, and that he did not 
 take this turn till he had met with a 
 disappointrnent in love ?^^ 
 
 ' The idea is pleasant enough/ repli- 
 ed Algernon, ' but I never thought 
 there had been any alliance between the 
 passions of love and religious enthusi- 
 asm: it maybe granted, indeed, that 
 there is generally an enthusiasm in love ;
 
 67 
 
 but certainly it is of a very different 
 kind from what is called such in reli- 
 gion/ 
 
 " ^Tis only the same passion/' inter- 
 rupted Melina, " differently applied and 
 exercised. Believe me, enthusiasm has 
 been more indebted lo converts to the 
 quarter of disappointed love, than loany 
 other whatsoever. If tbey find not the 
 expected returns of their passion upon 
 earth, nothing more reasonable than 
 for them to take refuge in Heaven. 
 They transfer their passions from mere 
 mortals, to a spiritual and divine object, 
 and love in them is subhmated into 
 devotion.^^ 
 
 * There cannot surely,' said Algernon, 
 * be conceived a more unworthy and 
 degrading apprehension of the divinity, 
 than to imagine him more pleased with 
 the ungoverned sallies of devout phren- 
 D 5
 
 6S 
 
 zy; the wild transports of such heated 
 enthusiam, than with the rational, so- 
 ber, and manly exereise of true and sub- 
 stantial virtue, goodness, and benevo- 
 lence. Believe me, Countess, the only 
 rational way of recommendins; ourselves 
 to the Deity, is by imitating Him as far 
 as we are able; and there is nothing by 
 which we approach to a nearer resem- 
 blance of Him, than by an active, and 
 diffusive goodness. Rut the sober 
 pursuits of unafrected virtue, are too 
 remiss and lifeless for such warm 
 and sanguine tempers as you speak of. 
 To serve God by doing good to man, 
 will not answer their purpose. Their 
 passion is towards an ecstatic species of 
 religion; a religion, like themstilves, 
 made up of violence and flame.' 
 
 Here my mother could not forbear 
 expressing her approbation of Alger- 
 non's sentiments. I rose my head from
 
 .69 
 
 my work. His attention was fixed up- 
 on me. I resumed my work to hide 
 the blushes which diffused my cheek, 
 Alelina appeared hurt. — Rosenbergh — 
 a villain or an enthusiast, had [given 
 her a taste for this devout passion from 
 the first moment he instructed her. She 
 was bred a religious-inamorato with the 
 most assiduous care. The turn of her 
 instruction, her reading, her conversa- 
 tions lay all that .way. She was so 
 early accustomed to see enthusiasm 
 substituted for religion, that she insen- 
 sibly caught the same spirit and turn of 
 thinking. She had practised this devo- 
 tional habit so long, that she became 
 thoroughly eneamoured of it; it was 
 wrought into her very make and con- 
 stitution, and without her knowledge, 
 or ever having acted in the least im- 
 proper, the rise and source of her piety 
 lay in her passions. She was a sort of 
 religious dehaucMe, instructed by Ro- 
 D 6
 
 60 
 
 senberg to find out the art of reconciling 
 grace and nature, piety and sensuality ; 
 and to unite, to an uncommon strict- 
 ness and sanctity, a most refined, 
 though disguised sort of self-indul- 
 gence. 
 
 Recovering somewhat from her con- 
 fusion and embarrassment— 
 
 " Would you then/' said she, to Al- 
 gernon, " allow no scope to the passions 
 in religion? That would indeed effec- 
 tually purge it of intemperate heats; 
 but will it not be running too far back 
 into the chilling extreme? Are not 
 our passions the springs of action in 
 our ordinary concerns; without such 
 passions would not life itself be apt to 
 stagnate ? May not some such quick- 
 ening influence be equally necessary 
 in our religious affairs? Our prayers par- 
 ticularly, if they be not warmed and
 
 61 
 
 enlivened with some degrees of ferven- 
 cy and intenseness, would they not 
 degenerate into a mere lifeless indifFer- 
 ency, a cold and formal lip-service? 
 Are you ignorant that no less a man 
 than the pope, condemned a bishop 
 in a severe penalty, for defining prayer 
 
 to be " A CALM, UNDISTURBED AD- 
 DRESS TO God P^ a doctrine similar to 
 that which you have just now advan- 
 ced ?^^ 
 
 ' You mistake the point, lovely 
 Countess,^ returned Algernon, ' warmth 
 and earnestness in any good sense are 
 by no means inconsistent with being 
 calm and undisturbed, which is oppo- 
 sed, not to a fixed rational intention of 
 mind in our religious exercises, a seri- 
 ous recollected frame of 'spirit; but to 
 the artificial heats and transports of a 
 wanton imagination, and an enthusias- 
 tic fancy; that gross, and mechanical
 
 62 
 
 sort of devotion, which writers of the 
 mystic class, describe as accompanied 
 with — ' a sensible commotion of the spiiifs., 
 and estuation of the blood,^ This is hor- 
 rible. Believe me, it is shameful to 
 have recourse to our passions in order 
 to give life and vigour to our religious 
 exercises, when our calm rational affec- 
 tions, a much nobler part of our com- 
 position, are abundantly sufficient to all 
 w^ise and good purposes of doing this. 
 These will inspire warmth without 
 flame, and strength without violence. 
 So that we shall be able to pray at 
 once with the spirit, with all the ear- 
 nestness of a devout recollection, but 
 without the paroxisms of devout phren- 
 zy, which the illuminati of Germany, 
 and the methodists of England are so 
 fond of recommending. The sacred 
 scriptures know nothing of those pas- 
 sionate ecstacies. — Where do we read 
 €).f raptures, suspensions; of starings on
 
 63 
 
 the divine beauty, expiring in the bo- 
 som of our Maker, in the inspired pa- 
 ges? What nnention is there ever made 
 of the refined transports of seraphic 
 love, the mystic union, and all the 
 other fanciful abstractions of enthusias- 
 tic pietists? These are the dreams and 
 inventions of men, not the doctrine of 
 Christ and his apostles. — But,^ exclaim- 
 ed Algernon, suddenly rising from his 
 seat, ' 1 had the misfortune to offend 
 the Princess Caroline by arguing against 
 her conviction last nioht. I must not 
 incur your displeasure, lovely Count- 
 ess, this morning/ 
 
 On hearing my name mentioned, I 
 looked up with timidity. He bowed 
 with an expression of sensibility, and 
 left the room. My mother praised — 
 
 Melina admired, and I alas! 
 
 what were my sentiments towards 
 him? — Did I praise, did I admire, did
 
 64 
 
 I ?■ — my child! I cannot gratify 
 
 your curiosity till some future letter. 
 Know me, however, for your attached 
 
 Caroline.
 
 65 
 
 LETTER XL 
 
 I FEEL convinced that you are so far 
 from being wearied with my report of 
 our conferences with Algernon, that 
 you wish to engage- me to recollect all 
 the particulars that have passed be- 
 tween him, Melina, and myself. 
 
 Perhaps, too, you conjecture that I 
 have a fondness for such recollections. 
 Your conjecture, my Charlotte, is not 
 ill founded. Having heard so much of 
 his conversation, particularly that with 
 Melina, I was not easily disengaged 
 from it. I was ever and anon relapsing 
 insensibly into the same train of thought 
 his last discourse inspired; pursuing and 
 applying the words " lovely Countess,'^ 
 and his " offending Princess Caroline/'
 
 66 
 
 and thus torturing myself to such a de- 
 gree, that I could scarce converse 
 upon any-thing however foreign to it, 
 but it served in some way or other to 
 renew the doubts, the hopes, the fears, 
 and the impression. 
 
 Gracious God ! what doubts, what 
 hopes, what fears, what impression? 
 Do not those terms explain in a beau- 
 tiful and affecting manner, the origin 
 and the enthusiasm of some romantic 
 passion ? What passion did I feel ? What 
 passion could I feel ? Algernon 1 a strang- 
 er, without fortune or rank I And I, a 
 Princess royally endowed and allied! 
 Could there be any hopes on my part, 
 any pretensions on his? No, certainly! 
 Therefore, my alarm soon appeared 
 groundless, and I attributed the emo- 
 tion 1 felt to a desire to know whether 
 Melina, whom he called the " lovely 
 Countess," was in truth the happy ob- 
 »;ect of his choice.
 
 (S7 
 
 With a mind thus tranquillized, and 
 a rcsohition thus determined to disco- 
 ver Melina's fate, the first favorable op- 
 portunity, I took a solitary ramble, and 
 after a few turns discovered Algernon 
 sitting' at the end of a favourite walk 
 in the garden, with a book in his hand; 
 and so seemingly intent upon what he 
 was reading, that 1 had got near enough 
 to speak to him, before he had disco- 
 vered any-thing of me. 
 
 Upon my wishing him good morning 
 by name, he rose up in haste, and com- 
 ing with a confused eagerness towards 
 me, returned the salutation, and with 
 accents which distinguish the genuine 
 sincerity of the friend, from the coun- 
 terfeit complaisance of the mere well- 
 bred man. 
 
 As soon as our first interview was 
 over, and I, seated by him, endeavour-
 
 68 
 
 ing to assume that openness of soul, and 
 flow of good-humour which ever form- 
 ed my natural character, — 
 
 " What grave moralist, Algernon," 
 said T, " were you conversing with just 
 now, who had so engaged your atten- 
 tion, that you saw nothing of me, as I 
 came along the walk, till I discovered 
 myself by speaking to you?'^ 
 
 ' Perhaps,* returned he, *you will 
 not be of opinion my studies were so 
 very serious, when I tell you it was a 
 piece of English poetry I was perusing; 
 but,' contmued he. ' my disquisitions 
 have given you offence, I would not 
 that my studies were to be attended 
 with a like calamity/ 
 
 This gentle reproach was uttered 
 with so much sentiment and tremula- 
 tion of voice, that I felt my heart swell
 
 69 
 
 with remorse and sorrow. My eyes 
 filled with tears, and 1 was about to 
 solicit his forgiveness for the " cold in- 
 difference^^ with which I lately separa- 
 ted from him, when, with a generous 
 indignation, he saved me from such 
 humility; taking ir^e by the hand, and 
 saying 
 
 ' A nature so transcendently kind 
 and excellent, can give no offence. 
 Suspicion or evil must be foreign to a 
 being of such angelic goodness and be- 
 neficence ! A mind like yours, is one 
 of those choicer bounties of Heaven, 
 which are bestowed only on some few 
 exalted and favorite spirits. You are' 
 — ■ ' but pardon me,' said he, inter- 
 rupting himself, and withdrawing his 
 hand, which 1 had neither courage nor 
 precaution to resign, ' pardon me, 1 
 should have told you, that it was to 
 Mr. Pope's Windsor Forest, to which
 
 70 
 
 I was indebted for entertainment when 
 you entered the garden. I had been 
 reviewing a favorite passage of mine 
 there, and was pursuing a train of re- 
 flections, which it had suggested to 
 
 me.^ 
 
 " Perhaps/' said I, '' you w\\\ oblige 
 me so far as to communicate some share 
 of your garden entertainment to your 
 friend, and admit me as a party with you, 
 in these your evening meditations: this 
 will be an effectual means to check any 
 farther sallies of pride or irratabihty, and 
 to reduce me from that artificial height 
 to which ignorance had raised me, to 
 the more valuable exercise of reasoning 
 and philosophy .'' 
 
 * How much you delight and honor 
 me,' replied Algernon, ' but the sub- 
 ject I was upon, is pretty extensive, and 
 we shall hardly be able to go through
 
 71 
 
 with it to-ni2;ht. — It will not be lona; 
 before we shall be called to supper: it 
 will serve to entertain you, perhaps, 
 another evening. To-morrow — if you 
 wiH allow me to pursue it?^ 
 
 We were summoned to — and joined 
 the supper party. The remainder of 
 fhe evening was taken up with several 
 indifferent matters, just as they hap* 
 pened to arise in a mixed company 
 without order or corinection ; and at a 
 moderate hour we bad grood-nigrht. I 
 repeat the same to you, my child, for 
 it is late and I am weary. 
 
 Caroline. 
 
 -•'»
 
 72 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 The next evening, the weather 
 proving extremely fine, Algernon pro- 
 posed to me to take a walk in the gar- 
 den, which I readily came into ; and a 
 short ramble soon brought us to a little 
 study which my father had built for 
 the conveniency of avoiding the inter- 
 ruptions of his public affairs, and enjoy- 
 ing a freer air, and more extended pros- 
 pect, whenever the season of the year, 
 and state of the atmosphere should in- 
 vite to such a retreat. 
 
 It was here, too, that Algernon fre- 
 quently amused his solitary hours, and 
 where he generally preserved half a 
 dozen of his favorite authors for that 
 particular purpose.
 
 i ^ 
 
 The arrival at this charming retreat 
 atforded me a fair occasion to remind 
 him of the promise he had made me of 
 renewing his last evening speculation 
 on the vWindsor Forest of Pope, 
 ^Twas but, 1 told him, to give his^ree 
 thoughts voice and accent ; he would, I 
 hoped, be under no restraint upon the 
 account of my being present ; especial- 
 ly as this was not the first time he had 
 made me so much his friend, as to ini- 
 tiate me into those sacred mysteries of 
 knowledge which were geiierally as» 
 sumed to be above the capacity of my 
 sex. 
 
 'Since you will needs condescend, 
 amiable |)rincess/ said he, ' to bear a 
 part with me in these my solitary ex- 
 ercises, I will introduce them to you in 
 tlie same manner as I told you, I first 
 fell into them myself, by reading to 
 you a passage out of Pope.' 
 
 VOL. T. E
 
 74 
 
 He here read a part of the Windsor 
 Forest, and then continued : 
 
 ' Tis this union of nature and art 
 that I always thought the reconr>men- 
 dation of the English method of design- 
 ing. Plere is nothing of that studied 
 regularity, which displeases by a per- 
 petual sameness and repetition of 
 
 ** Grove nods on grove, each ally has a brother, 
 ** And half the platform just reflects the other." 
 
 * The poor result of a confined taste, 
 and a littleness of design ! But a cer- 
 tam agreeable wildness should prevail 
 through the whole, which as it resem- 
 bles nature in beauty, resembles it also 
 in its use, by suiting itself to the un- 
 equal temper of the climate, and vary- 
 ing, with all the varieties of the sea-
 
 sons. The disposition of ''*The Fo- 
 rest" is easy and natural, arising wholly 
 out of the genius of the place ; and the 
 several beauties seem not so properly 
 brought /«/o it as result ing-y/w;? it. The 
 interchanges of shade and opening, 
 level and raised grounds, garden and 
 forest, are adjusted with great art, so 
 as best to relieve and set off each the 
 other; and withal to take in, or to ex- 
 clude, the view of the country, as 
 either was judged most agreeable in the 
 general plan. And whilst the eye is 
 taken up with the various forms of 
 beautiful objects that present them- 
 selves in their respective assignments, 
 the other senses are as agreeably enter- 
 tained with the multiplied fragrancies 
 of natural scents, the warbling music of 
 birds, or the soothing softness of aqua- 
 tic murmurs. 
 
 E 2
 
 "Good heavens!^' interrupted I, 
 " what a delightful scene. 1 should 
 give the world for such a forest ; to pass 
 the rennainder of my life in, rambling 
 from place to place, and there consume 
 each day ^till evening should come 
 upon mc. Happy queen who com- 
 mands such a forest ! Happy Carohne, 
 could she but wander thro' it.'^ 
 
 Alas ! how ignorant was I of what 
 was to constitute my happiness ! I 
 have seen Windsor, and felt no plea- 
 sure : — 1 have wandered in her forests 
 and was alive to every thing but de-, 
 light. — But I must not anticipate. Al- 
 gernon thus continued : 
 
 ' Besides, I have sometinDCS thought, 
 there is a sort of natural connexion be- 
 tween what is called ?^Jiiie taste of the 
 politer arts of life, and a general polish- 
 edness of manners and i«tTar(/ character.
 
 Women, in particular, said he, turning 
 his eyes upon me, woinen of a refined 
 imagination have usually a larger way 
 of thinking^ than others. Thev dis- 
 cover a delicacy of sentiment and ge- 
 nerosity of spirit, which less improved 
 minds are whollv strans^ers to. — Beins: 
 conversant m the ideas of natural beau- 
 ty, order, and proportion, their tempers 
 insensibly take a polish from the ob- 
 jects of their studies and contempla- 
 tions. They transcribe, as it were, 
 something of that grace and symmetry 
 they are so fond of in external decora- 
 tions into the inward frame and dispo- 
 sition of their own minds.^ 
 
 *' The ViRTUOSA,'^ said I, "Alger- 
 non, are much obliged to you. 1 wish 
 they were always careful to make good 
 an observation so much in their favour, 
 I am afraid the polite arts are some- 
 times cultivated b}^ women, who 
 E -3
 
 78 
 
 have no great taste of moral acxiom- 
 plisbments.'' 
 
 *Then they are by no m^ans the 
 ViiiTU/)SA they would be esteemed/ 
 returned he. * No woman has a just 
 claim to this character, in whom the 
 love of beauty, order, and grace, does 
 not prevail throughout, and influence 
 her general conduct. For, having once 
 established a correctness of taste and 
 elegance of fancy in the things of out- 
 ward grace and ornament, shall they be 
 such poor and scanty thinkers, as to 
 give it no scope in subjects of a nobler 
 kind ? Shall they be so little consistent 
 with themselves, as to be enamoured 
 with the harmony of sounds, and have 
 no sense of inward numbers, the mea- 
 sures of action, the nicer tones of pas- 
 sion and sentiment ? — Commanding a 
 judicious eye in the works of painting 
 and statuary, shall they be blind to al^
 
 79 
 
 the charms of moral limning, the pro- 
 portions of real life and manners? — 
 Whilst they are scrupulously exact in 
 the disposition of the ornaments, the 
 ordering of their houses and equipages, 
 shall they have no regard to the living 
 architecture of their own minds? No 
 thought of inward embellishment? No 
 taste of the more beautiful oeconomy 
 of the human heart, — of the order and 
 disposition of its affections r' 
 
 'Suppose you pursue this idea ! love- 
 ly princess,^ said he — ' suppose you look 
 into yourself, and examine the state oi' 
 your own heart. What more lovely 
 object can you contemplate? — Tell me, 
 is it not free from folly and from guilty 
 from defect and im potency — from 
 every thing but goodness, grace and 
 loveliness ? Is it not ?' 
 
 e4
 
 80 
 
 I remained silent, confused, and agi- 
 tated. 
 
 While he was 3^6! speaking, I had, 
 alas ! looked into myself; I had exa- 
 mined my heart, and the nature and 
 state of my affections, and the scrutiny 
 filled my mind with apprehensions, 
 astonishment, and horror !~I remained 
 silent! So did Algernon, Whether he 
 perceived that peace and happiness had 
 fled from my breast, and that he him- 
 self was the cause of my confusion and 
 misery, I know not, for he remained 
 silent, till the pause became consider- 
 able ; and then, with the most respect- 
 ful tenderness, and taking me gently 
 by the hand to raise me from my seat, 
 he observed, 
 
 It is now too late to enter upon so 
 large and interesting a topic. We \v:il 
 adjourn it, is' you pleasej till to-njorrow
 
 81 
 
 evening; when, if the weather prove 
 favourable to your walking, it may af- 
 ford no unuseful matter of entertain- 
 ment ! 
 
 In this manner w^e reached the Pa- 
 lace, joined the party but added no- 
 thing to its pleasure or amusement. 
 
 I am for life, my dear girl, your 
 
 Cakoline. 
 
 E 6
 
 89 
 
 LETTER Xlll. 
 
 As great a friend as I have ever been 
 to fine weather and sunshine, my 
 Charlotte, believe me I never gave it a 
 more sincere welcome than upon look« 
 ing out the next morning. 
 
 Indeed I have often been particularly 
 pleased with the observation of an En- 
 glish writer, that " a fine day is a kind 
 of sensual pleasure.*' — For my own 
 part I always found it so. ^Tis then 
 that nature unfolds all her brightest 
 charms to view, and opens, as it were, 
 her whole store of blessings. The in- 
 imitable beauty, extent and variety of 
 natural prospects, the verdure of the
 
 83 
 
 fields- and meadows, the fragrancy of 
 the air, the lustre, mildness, and benig- 
 nity of the heavens; in a word, the 
 whole scene of a fine day wonderfully 
 co-operates to our enjoyment. The 
 world seems made for our peculiar ^ra- 
 tification ; our spirits are cherished and 
 enlivened; our imaginations warmed 
 and entertained, our rational faculties 
 invigorated and exercised : the whole 
 sytem overflows, as it were, with de- 
 light and complacency. In this agree- 
 able consciousness, how does every 
 anxious and disquieting thought va- 
 nish I How open is the soul to every 
 grateful, affectionate, and devout sen- 
 timent, toi\'ards the author of its hap» 
 piness ! With what a generous indigna- 
 tion does it reject every unworthy aj." 
 prehension of so amiable and munificent 
 a nature ! How foreign the least suspi- 
 k6
 
 84 
 
 cion of evil from a being of such expe- 
 rienced bounty and beneficence. 
 
 In this manner, and with such con- 
 templations, did I beguile this morn- 
 ing, and banish froin my heart the con- 
 iusion and horror which but so lately 
 reigned in it. 
 
 The greater part of the day we were 
 obhged to attend some company that 
 came in upon us. But the interrup- 
 tions of other subjects could not keep 
 my thoughts from glancing often upon 
 THAT which was by agreement to em- 
 ploy our evening^s speculation. Inso- 
 much that I was sometimes, I am 
 afraid, less attentj^ve to the general con- 
 versation that was carrying on at table, 
 than 1 could well justify to myself in 
 point of good-breeding and hospita- 
 lity. 
 
 i
 
 85 
 
 When the afternoon was pretty far 
 advanced, our visitants left us. — Alger- 
 non had httle more than time to give 
 some necessary orders, in his quality of 
 my father^s aid-de-camp, to vs^hichrank 
 he was lately appointed, before the 
 heat of the day wa^^vvorn off to invite 
 us abroad, in one of the most delight- 
 ful evenings I have ever known. 
 
 I was going to remind him of the 
 point he had engaged to speak on, 
 which I affected to think was " the in- 
 fluence of a fine taste on the inward 
 character,^^ when I found myself pre- 
 vented by his breaking into another 
 subject in the following manner. 
 
 ' How charming, Princess Caroline! 
 appears the whole face of nature about 
 us. What an uniform variety in those 
 natural landscapes ! What a delightful
 
 86 
 
 melody in the woods ! What an agree- 
 able verdure in the naeadows! What a 
 cooling freshness in the air ! What an 
 exquisite fragrancy in the mingled 
 scents of shrubs and flowers ! Whil&t, 
 as Milton elegantly speaks ; 
 
 •" Gentle gales,. 
 
 Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense 
 Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole 
 Their balmy spoils,** 
 
 * Above all, what an inimitable scene of 
 beauty is now offering itself to our ob- 
 servation in the view of yonder setting 
 sun ennobled with all that diversity of 
 finely painted clouds, which, as if desi- 
 rous tocoutlnue his presence amongst 
 us, retard the parting ray, and give 
 it back again to our sight in those mul- 
 tiplied reflections which adorn the 
 western horizon !
 
 * At the same time, behold there in 
 the east the moon's more sober light 
 beginning to disclose itself! See her 
 rising, as the same divine Milton has it, 
 '' in clouded majesty \" And as the 
 strength of day-light gradually wears 
 away, preparing to introduce the milder 
 graces of the evening. Who can re- 
 flect on the delightful vicissitude, and 
 not feel a secret transport springing up 
 in his breast, the expression of a de- 
 vout gratitude towards the beneficent 
 Author of his happines. 
 
 He paused — with his eyes unassu- 
 mingly bent upon me. — I was moved 
 — but soon replied to the interesting 
 interrogation. 
 
 " I am, indeed, entirely of your opi- 
 nion, Algernon ! The contemplation of 
 nature is one of the most delightful
 
 88 
 
 entertainments that the mind is capa- 
 ble of. Pleasures of this kind, if they 
 have not so much of tumult in them as 
 the sprightlier joys of the town, have 
 much more of real satisfaction ; they 
 leave a pleasure behind when they are 
 past ; and, what is of much higher 
 consideration, are calculated to im- 
 prove, as well as to entertain our 
 thoughts. They refine our spirits, and 
 humanize our tempers: soften the 
 mind into a forgetfulness of wrath, ma- 
 lice, and every disquieting passion ; 
 give amiable impressions of nature, 
 mankind, and a Diety ; inspire a 
 sense of public . good ; an exquisite 
 taste for humanity and private friend- 
 ship : they put us in good humour with 
 ourselves, and with the general scheme 
 and constitution of things around us/^ 
 ^— I paused.
 
 89 
 
 ' But of all natural speculations/ re- 
 sumed Alp;ernon, ' there is none more 
 calculated to refine and humanize the 
 mind, to ^ive it an enlaroed and liberal 
 
 sense of thino^s, than — than the 
 
 theory of the heart and knowledge of 
 its affections. — This Is the end, the 
 aim, and the object of all our other stu- 
 dies. Have you, lovely Princess ! have 
 you made your heart a subject of your 
 contemplation? Have you, as I observ- 
 ed last evening, have you looked into 
 yourself? Do you know the character 
 and tendency of your affections?' — 
 
 With ideas confused, an imagination 
 disturbed, and a heart agitated, 1 
 know not what absurd reply I should 
 have made, had not Melina come to 
 reproach us for our absence, and to 
 summon us to a party formed in the 
 great hall.
 
 90 
 
 I had no enjoyment till I retired to 
 rest, and even there a busy mind re- 
 traced the vicissitudes of the day. 
 
 Caroline.
 
 91 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 Alas! my Charlotte, the dreams of 
 hope which beguiled your mother, as 
 appeared from her last letter to you, 
 soon fled, and exposed me to a state of 
 mind that extended its baneful influ- 
 ence over her happiness, and made her 
 a victim of calamity and despair. 
 
 Of the circumstances which led to a 
 situation so lamentable, I feel it right 
 to give you all the most minute par- 
 ticulars. 
 
 You must know that the badness of 
 the weather, the multitude of company 
 which resorted to us at that critical 
 time, and the want of any reasonable
 
 9t> 
 
 opportunity, interrupted my walks and 
 conversations with Algernon ; and after 
 ihe lapse of a few days, produced an 
 unaccountable coldness of the most 
 studied nature between us. 
 
 Meiina, who always betrayed the 
 most anxious solicitude to attract his 
 attention, had now an opportunity of 
 engrossing the whole of his society, 
 and I, from pique, jealousy, or resent- 
 ment, affected to enjoy the adoration 
 
 of the Prussian Prince L -s, at 
 
 that time a visitor at my father's court. 
 
 Thus circumstanced; — one beautiful 
 serene summer^s evening, after ram- 
 bling in a grove of laurels, till the lamp of 
 night arose, and silvered the objects 
 around me, I seated myself on the bank 
 ofa winding stream; — a weeping willow 
 spread over me its branches: an antique 
 tower partly in ruins, mantled in ivy»
 
 93 
 
 and surrounded with yew and cypress, 
 was the only object to be seen. But 
 1 heard the steps of strangers, and I 
 soon perceived Melina attended by 
 Algernox, approach the tower and 
 repose themselves on a seat which w^as 
 extended between the gate and the 
 stream. 
 
 The moon illuminated the beauteous 
 countenance of Algernon ; I could see 
 that Melina regarded him with a gentle 
 smile, and that a lively colour glowed 
 upon his cheeks. I could see, alas! 
 perhaps I only thought 1 saw, that he 
 looked upon her with a fond compla- 
 cency, and that he listened with rap- 
 ture to all she said. 
 
 With a silent step, a mind on fire, 
 and a heart throbbing with agony, I 
 passed to a spot where I could remain 
 concealed, although nearer to them 
 than where I at first reposed.
 
 9i 
 
 Fatal vice ! criminal curiosity ! it dis- 
 pelled the airy illusions which I so long 
 and so imprudently entertained. 
 
 Notwithstanding the perversion of 
 mind and intellect under which 1 ex- 
 isted, 1 could not help confessing that 
 Melina appeared a being of the most 
 angelic form. 
 
 A mantle of the palest sapphire hung 
 over her shoulders to the ground; her 
 flaxen hair fell in waving curls on her 
 fine neck, and a white veil, nearly 
 transparent, shaded her face; — as she 
 lifted it up, she sighed, and continued 
 for some moments silent: never did I 
 behold a countenance so delicate, and 
 notwithstanding a smile played on her 
 coral lips, her lovely blue eyes were 
 surcharged with tears, and resembled 
 violets dropping with dew: beneath 
 her veil she wore a wreath of mingled
 
 9^ 
 
 amaranths and jessamine. Not to have 
 admired such a being, would have be- 
 trayed a depravity of reason, and a per- 
 version of sentiment, which would 
 have made me worthy the pangs I then 
 felt and since feel. 
 
 Algernon, adorned with all the 
 charms of his enchanting youth, with 
 eyes bent towards her, and with ac- 
 cents sweet as those of Milton^s Eve, 
 thus addressed her: 
 
 * Why does that sigh distend thy 
 bosom ? Why does that blush pervade 
 •thy cheek? You, who are destined to 
 augment the felicity of some favored 
 mortal! — You, whom the loves pursue 
 and play around! — You, whose life ex- 
 hibits a lovely scene of gentle innocence 
 
 and cahn repose ! — You ! what can 
 
 interrupt your happiness ? — "What car^
 
 96 
 
 " O never! never! dare I tell you," 
 exclaimed Melina, " but/' continued 
 she, tor Algernon remained silent and 
 apparently petrified, " do you know 
 the " Sorrows of Sophia Fribourgh ;'' do 
 you knov/ that she loved a being who 
 could make no return to her love ? I 
 had been reading those "Sorrows'' this 
 morning; a melancholy tale, which in 
 strong colours impressed itself on my 
 memory, and led me to reflect on the 
 change of pleasure we sometimes feel, 
 in perusing the most tragical story. 
 What, Algernon ! can occasion it? Can 
 the human heart delight in the mis- 
 fortune of another? Forbid it Heaven !" 
 
 She then fixed her eyes on the sur- 
 face of the water; the moon sported 
 on the wave, and all nature seemed 
 hushed to attend to the sweeter ac- 
 cents of Algernon.
 
 97 
 
 * Consider, amiable Melina/ said he, 
 ' if the rose has thorns, has it not a 
 verniiel tincture and ambrosial sweet- 
 ness ? — If the woodbine droops, laden 
 with the dew-drops of the morning, 
 when the sun has exhaled them, will 
 it not be refreshed and breathe richer 
 fragrance? So, if a heart like yours, be 
 touched with a story of distress, it will 
 at tlie same time experience a delight- 
 ful sensation; and if the tears flow, as 
 vours do now, it can never be called a 
 weakness. — Do not then wish to di- 
 vest yourse'f of this genuine test of 
 tep.dcrntss, or to desire the departure 
 of sensibility from your Lrea.-t. 
 
 * Ah I no, fiiir Melina,' continued 
 he, ' still deign to let sensibil.ty be thy 
 'attendant; still ut her teach tlice to 
 sigh with the unhappy, and with the 
 happy to rejoice ! Still be sensible that 
 the pleasure which arises from legends 
 
 VOL. I, I
 
 9« 
 
 of Sorrow, owes its origin to the cer- 
 tain knowledge, that your heart is not 
 callous to the fine feelings, but that you 
 have some generous joys, and generous 
 cares beyond the generality of your sex/ 
 
 *' But suppose,^' interrupted Melina, 
 with a wild and frantic air, " suppose 
 that the legend of Sophia, applies to 
 myself, can I then discover in my own 
 heart a single source of pleasure or en- 
 joyment? Suppose that the admiration 
 procured by the celebrity of a name, 
 prepared the heart of Melina for more 
 tender impressions; — suppose that 
 every refined personal attraction served 
 to heighten those impressions; that the 
 struggle was too great for the virtue of 
 inexperienced age; that from a combi- 
 nation of incidents, joined to a natural 
 cast of enthusiastic disposition, such a 
 strength of passion takes possession of 
 my soul, as the wildest legends of ro-
 
 99 
 
 mance have never exhibited — suppose 
 all this; and suppose that that passion 
 is for Algernon, and then dare to tell 
 me that you can reconcile my story 
 with my happiness, or /^ 
 
 Scarcely had she pronounced these 
 words, when she fell exhausted into 
 the arms of Algernon. — I dropt lifeless 
 to the ground — and on recovering, 
 heard the loud tolling of the palace 
 bell, and the voice of the multitude 
 who were sent in pursuit of the lost 
 
 Caroline* 
 
 T e
 
 100 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 The beautiful and aflecting manner 
 in which Melina exposed the origin 
 and the enthusiasm of her love, and 
 the certainty that it met with a reci- 
 procal or congenial return, had so ma- 
 lign and powerful an influence on my 
 mind, that it generated a fever which 
 confined me for several days to my 
 bed, and spread a report that my life 
 v/as despaired of. 
 
 When you reflect, my sweet Char- 
 lotte, that in the regions of the court, 
 nothing was talked of but your mother: 
 her costume; her person ; her conver- 
 sation ; her manners, considered models 
 of imitation and taste. That when she
 
 ^ 101 
 
 took an airing in her carriage, duration 
 appeared to cease, and the operations 
 of nature seemed suspended, save the 
 winds which crept in undulations around 
 her car, and the clouds which intercept- 
 ed the sun in his burning career. When 
 you reflect, that coy father made a 
 merit of doing any thing whatever at 
 my suggestion; that at a single word I 
 could transform an Elysian field into a 
 desert, and a desert into an Elysian; 
 you will then be able to form some idea 
 of the grief and consternation which my 
 alarming indisposition excited through- 
 out the land. 
 
 My father was inconsolable, and my 
 mother watched with unceasing care 
 over the safety of her child. In exer- 
 cising this painful office, she discovered 
 the true origin and cause of my dis 
 order. But nature, reason, and religi- 
 f3
 
 105 
 
 on — all concurred to induce her to for- 
 give me. 
 
 To soothe my mind; to faciliate my 
 recovery, she even condescended to 
 speak of Algernon; and instead of 
 meanly endeavouring to diminish his 
 merit, she increased by her praises, the 
 splendid reputation he had already ac- 
 quired. This generosity on her part 
 encouraged me to speak my mind with- 
 out restraint. 
 
 * Heaven knows!' said I, * in all my 
 love, it is him, and him only I seek 
 for. I look for no dowry, no alliances 
 by marriage ! I am even insensible to 
 the pride of my own birth, and the value 
 of my own acquisitions. 1 am even 
 insensible to my own pleasures, nor 
 have 1 a will to gratify. All is absorb- 
 ed in him. In the name of kis wife, 
 there is something more holy, some-
 
 105 
 
 thing more imposing, than in all the 
 fascinating" titles that glitter on the 
 crowns of Princes. But where is Al- 
 gernon ? Tell me, dear mother ! where 
 is Algernon? Is it true that he loves 
 Melina? is it true that I am no more {cr 
 behold the man whom I am for ever 
 destined to adore ?^ 
 
 " Fear not, sweet innocence 1" re- 
 plied my mother, " fear not any-thing 
 that may retard your recovery ! Here 
 is a letter from Melina, which will 
 soon convince you, that ther« lives 
 not a better man than Alsiernon, nor a 
 more fortunate woman than yourself." 
 With this she put a letter into my hand 
 which run thus. 
 
 " I am about to impose on myself a 
 " most painful and ungracious task — 
 " ^tis to tell you that I have violated 
 " your friendship, and that I am un- 
 
 F 4
 
 104 
 
 " worthy of your esteem. You have 
 ** always treated me with kindness and 
 *' attention, and I have always beea 
 •'• ungrateful and indiscreet. Nay more, 
 " I have coolly concerted and endea- 
 * voured to accomplish your misery; 
 •' to make you a wretch as desolate as 
 •* myself, by robbing you of the affec- 
 " tions of the man you love ! 
 
 ** I have, by a calm and logical plan, 
 •* strove to inspire your Algernon with 
 *• the passion I myself feel ; — but I 
 •* have failed. The congeniality of 
 •* your studies, the resemblance in 
 ^' your minds, manners, and affections 
 *• have defeated all my designs, and 
 " when I audaciously and imprudently 
 " confided my secret to Algernon, he 
 " told me, but with pity it is true, — he 
 '' told me -/'
 
 105 
 
 ' Alas ! jNIadam, the unfortunate Al- 
 
 * gernon already loves your friend — the 
 ' most interesting and accomplished 
 ' woman of the age. You have deposit- 
 ' a secret in my breast — let the hidden 
 ' feelinojs of mv heart, find a sanctua- 
 ' ry in yours — know, then, that 1 dare 
 ' to love her who is the subject of ge- 
 ' neral love and envy, — know that I 
 ' dare to love the Princess Caroline of 
 
 * liasburgh, and that iVom the hrst in- 
 ' stant I beheld her, 1 felt that my 
 ' misfortune or my felicity had coni- 
 ' menced its career/ 
 
 "This mutual confession, so honora- 
 " ble on his part, so inglorious on mine, 
 *' was interrupted by a sudden noise in 
 " the vicinity of the old tower where 
 *' we were seated: we rose — returned 
 " in a deadly silence to the palace, from 
 ** which our absence had excited asto- 
 *' nishment, and our return wiiliout 
 f5
 
 106 
 
 ^* you, surprize and despair. The bell 
 " was tolled aloud ; every person went 
 '' in your pursuit, and found you, faint 
 •' and languid, near the monument of 
 ^' my humiliation — near the spot where 
 **• Algernon heard and rejected the love 
 *' I entertained. His affliction at the 
 '^ state you were in, and at the con- 
 '' tinuation of your indisposition, can 
 " never be described: — and yet, he 
 '' knew not the cause — he suspected 
 " not your passion for him, nor che- 
 *• rished the most distant idea that you 
 ** thought him the most lovely and ac- 
 " complished of men. 
 
 " Taking advantage of this timidity 
 ** and ignorance, and fearful lest he 
 " should come to the knowledge of a 
 ** circumstance on the perpetual secre- 
 " cy of which my last gleam of hope 
 *' tremulated, I sought another confer- 
 '* ence with him ; I commiserated his
 
 107 
 
 " fate, and told him you were unwor- 
 
 " thy of such a passion ; that your in- 
 
 " dispostion was owing to a violent 
 
 " attachment existing between you 
 
 " and Prince L s, and that yon 
 
 " were at once as unworthy his iove as 
 
 ** his esteem! He sunk at my feet ! I, 
 
 ** too, was nearly in a lifeless state. 
 
 *• Would, alas! that I had been life- 
 
 " less! On recovering, I found thesto- 
 
 " ry had made a deep impression on 
 
 *' his heart and character. He rose 
 
 *^ up, viewed me more with an indig- 
 
 " nant than a suspicious eye; struck 
 
 " his forehead with one hand, while 
 
 " he wove a frozen farewell to me w it a 
 
 " the other, and then suddenly disap- 
 
 " peared ! To pourtray the condition in 
 
 *' which I remained, would be a vdWr^^ 
 
 ** and futile attempt. As for Algeinon, 
 
 " having magnified every little advert- 
 
 '^ ence in your conduct into proofs of 
 
 "^ my accusations, or b-lieving at least 
 F 6
 
 108 
 
 ' that be was slighted, neglected or 
 
 * despised, he applied to the Duke 
 ' for leave of absence, and set off for 
 ' Paris with all the appearance of a 
 ' broken heart, and a tortured mind. 
 ' Such is the effect of my cruel and 
 ' criminal conduct ! — What reproach- 
 ' es do I not merit from the world, 
 ' for dimming the hisire of the two 
 ' brightest stars it contains ! For dar- 
 
 * ing to appropriate to myself, that 
 ' man, whom nature meant to be the 
 ' ornament and benefactor of the hu- 
 ' man race, or the husband of the 
 
 * sweetest woman that exists. Bat, 
 ' I am not yet totally shaujeless. i 
 ' cannot yet reconcile myself to you, 
 
 * but I can be useful. Send this let- 
 
 * ter to Algernon, and he will quickly 
 ' return to reward his Caroline — and 
 
 * to pity your unfortunate Melina/^
 
 109 
 
 Excuse mc, my Charlotte, I must 
 here conclude; 1 cannot do justice to 
 the scene of affection, which ensued 
 the perusal of this letter, between my 
 mother and your own, own 
 
 Caroline.
 
 no 
 
 LETTER XVr. 
 
 Nothing could equal, — as I trust 
 you have judgment and sensibility to 
 conceive, my beloved girl, nny distress, 
 my joy, and my astonishment on read- 
 ing Melina^s letter. How to appease 
 her affliction, how to vindicate my con- 
 duct, and how to undeceive Algernon, 
 were duties incumbent on me to per- 
 form, but they appeared to me to be 
 traversed by so many obstructions, that 
 they retarded the restoration of my 
 health, and made me incapable of 
 forming any well concerted design, or 
 of following any practicable pursuit. 
 
 In this dilemma, Prince L s, 
 
 who from his infancy entertained for 
 me a brotherly kindness and affection.
 
 Ill 
 
 and with whom I had been brought up 
 as a sister, determined to set off for 
 Paris; to discover Algernon, to inform 
 him of his error and of his happiness, 
 and to bring him back to a society in 
 which he was so lamented and adored. 
 
 All attempts and enquiries to disco- 
 ver Algernon were totally fruitless for 
 three whole days, when the Prince be- 
 ing on a visit at a nobleman's seat near 
 Versailles, walked out by himself in 
 the grounds adjoining the house which 
 were open to the public, and coming 
 up to an arbour, saw in it a gentleman 
 standing with his back towards him, 
 whom he presently recognized to be — • 
 Algernon ! 
 
 Unconscious of a witness beir^g pre- 
 sent, Algernon sighed, and said, "The 
 " night-shade grows here with the ho- 
 " ney-suckle, as the amiable accom-
 
 112 
 
 " pllshments of Caroline entwine with 
 " the errors of her mind.'^ 
 
 " But — may I not have been too pre- 
 *' cipitaie ?'^ continued he, " I naust re- 
 " turn to reason ! Every hour of my ab- 
 " sence makes me mistrust rny own 
 " jealousy, as well as her truth, virtue, 
 " and excellency/^ 
 
 At these words he turned round — 
 and startled back with a look of threat, 
 horror, and indignation, at the sight of 
 Prince L s. Fortunately, how- 
 ever, this gallant young Prince was 
 born with such an impress of honor on 
 his front, that it was impossible to re- 
 gard him for an instant and to retain 
 any suspicion of the virtue and dignity 
 of his heart. His manners, too, were 
 as mild and unassuming, as his mind 
 and conduct were manly and decided, 
 and his zeal, courage, and abilities were
 
 113 
 
 acknowledged and applauded both in 
 the cabinet and in the camp. 
 
 " Unhappy Algernon," said he, " is 
 ** it necessary to conjure you to do jus 
 " tice to your Prince ? Is it necessary 
 *' to implore you to listen to me; to 
 '' brin^ you back from your mistake, 
 *' and to convince you that there is not 
 " the smallest ground for the charges 
 " which the unfortunate Melina has in- 
 *' duced you to believe ?'* 
 
 Algernon rapidly advanced to the 
 proffered embrace — listened to, and 
 examined the proofs which were ad- 
 duced : the mistake was fully explain- 
 ed, and he was not only satisfied of my 
 innocence, my Charlotte, but assured 
 that he aloric was the arbiter of my 
 fate.
 
 114 
 
 On their way home, this amiable 
 Prince abruptly turned towards his 
 friend and companion, and said : 
 
 ** Algernon, it is the duty of a friend, 
 ** to participate in painful recollec- 
 *' tions, and this plea will impose it upon 
 " thee. Thou must recollect the happy 
 *' time when Melina, and Caroline, and 
 
 " I, the ill-fated L s, were asso- 
 
 " ciated and bred as relatives together. 
 *' Couldst thou see Melina before 
 " thee now as I do? Couldst thou hear 
 " how sweetly, how affectionately she 
 " speaks ? Excellent divine Melina,^^ 
 continued he, *' how dear you were 
 " to me 1 You were the first and the 
 " only object of my love ! the only 
 " spring and fountain of my felicity ! 
 " In your society the hours unthought 
 " of siipt away! beguiled by your en- 
 " livening influence, I passed my early 
 " youth> nor dreamed that the source
 
 115 
 
 •' of my happiness could become the 
 " instrument of my misery ! — But I shall 
 " tell you all — Algernon 1 — ^No, rather 
 " let me be silent ; for what can I speak 
 " to the dearost fiend of my heart but 
 ** of the sorrow of my soul. No long- 
 " er bound by the sweet tie of love, I 
 " must be more closely cemented to 
 ** thee by the bonds of friendship. 
 *' Having never possessed the spirit 
 " and heart of Melina, I will love the 
 '* man she loved, and cherish that 
 " peaceful philosophy which distin- 
 ^ ofuishes his character and secures the 
 " tranquillity of his breast. Yes, my 
 *' friend," he continued, '' for six years 
 " have 1 given Melina every pledge of 
 " my affection and met with no reci- 
 " procal return. For six years.''—. 
 
 Here the tears stood in his fine eyes 
 — he could not proceed ! They soon 
 'after arrived at the palace gate, and
 
 116 
 
 joy, and consternation, resumed their 
 happy and tumultuous reign. No more, 
 this time^ no more. 
 
 Caroline.
 
 117 
 
 LETTER XVil. 
 
 The arriv^al of the two friends 
 caused so much agitation in my breast, 
 that it was not deemed prudent for me 
 to see them till the following day. A 
 lono^, long night, therefore, my dear 
 Charlotte, had to pass away, before I 
 could fix my streaming eyes on my 
 beloved and faithful Algernon. 
 
 In the course of the succeedino: dav 
 he entered my anti-chamber ; — he was 
 introduced by the Duchess and attend- 
 ed by Prince L — s, and one or two of 
 my own people. — Too weak to rise, I 
 reclined on a sopha. He advanced to 
 me, knelt, took my hand, and vainly 
 attempted to speak. A consciousness 
 of this imperfection, made him clasp
 
 118 
 
 my hand incessantly to bis lips, while 
 he fixed looks of such anxious hope 
 upon me as revealed every circumstance 
 of his thoughts. 
 
 '' The happiness with which my 
 soul is subdued/^ said he, — but he 
 could not continue ; his powers of 
 mind were overcome, nor could he 
 utter another syllable. 
 
 Was it happiness, or was it misery, a 
 stranger might have demanded ? In- 
 deed anxiety and expectation sat upon 
 the sharp arch of every brow : — a single 
 breath drawn might have been heard, 
 and each person present hung on tip- 
 toe to hear what was expected to be ut- 
 tered. — A deadly paleness increased 
 for a moment both on my cheek and 
 on that of Algernon, when a glance, 
 each half raised, and neither wholly 
 ventured to fix on the other, enriched
 
 119 
 
 our cheeks alike with a bloom, that in- 
 terpreted the emotion of our minds. 
 
 I was the first to cast my eyes on 
 the ground, and he turned his with deep 
 intenseness on the Duchess, as though 
 he would, through them, drag the dis- 
 covery his faiUng speech thus painfully 
 prolonged. 
 
 *' Imagine not,'^ said the Duchess, 
 *' imagine not Algernon, that it is to 
 *' lower your pride or wound your feel- 
 " ings, that I now introduce you to my 
 " daughter. No ; I call upon God, 
 *' whose mercy I supplicate, to witness, 
 *' that I have always regarded you as 
 *' my son, I have no objection to your 
 " marriage Avith Caroline : take her to 
 *' your arms ! It shall be my duty to 
 " reconcile you to the Duke. Be hap- 
 *' py ! my son. Be happy !^^
 
 120 
 
 A burst of delight, even to J^gonv, 
 that overflowed the bosom of the 
 youth, as he fell in a manner prostrate 
 before his boundless benefactress, was 
 too mighty for both. 
 
 The Duchess, when able, approached 
 me, and said, " 1 soon guessed at my 
 " girl's 'indisposition ; I hope 1 have 
 "" found a remedy — will she now reco- 
 " ver for her mother and friends ?'' 
 
 Subdued and soul-touched, I lifted 
 my eyes from the ground, on which 
 terror and uncertainty had caused me 
 to bury them, and my look made the 
 expression of the tongue needless. 
 
 By an irresistible impulse, at the 
 same instant, Algernon canght me in 
 his arms, and my cheek found a sweet- 
 er resting place on his shoulder ; while 
 the fond pareut made an effort to seal.
 
 121 
 
 with her blessing, those sacred, tliose 
 delightful vows, each beating heart 
 was tor the first time making to the 
 other. 
 
 '• 1 have been aware this happy mo- 
 ment would come,'^ interrupted Prince 
 L — s. " I foresaw that I should have 
 " my portion of delight ; take this ring, 
 *' Algernon, and let me unite your 
 " hands ^till the Duke consents to a 
 more holv rite." 
 
 Algernon, at a hearing so blessed, 
 sprung from his knees, as though light 
 enough to soar up to heaven, and rais- 
 ins: me with the most endearing^ ten- 
 derness, put the ring on my finger, and 
 kissed my extended^ hand with the 
 deepest rapti,re. 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 122 
 
 What a moment ! The servants sunk 
 in solemn silence on their knees. My 
 iTJOther wept upon my neck ; and 
 Prince L- — s endeavoured to suppress 
 an incurable sensibility, yet melting at 
 liis heart. 
 
 Thus a few, a very few, minutes, to 
 the astonishment even of the imme- 
 diate parties, witnessed the happiness 
 of two lovers, who, one hour before, 
 had never breathed a sound like impas- 
 sioned tenderness, although in secret 
 they mutually consecrated to celibacy 
 the heart neither dared to give to the 
 other. 
 
 Oh ! how sweet were the tears of 
 blended gratitude and delight that 
 each poured over the generous h,and of 
 the amiable Duchess. — In natures, 
 finely touched with the pure spirit of 
 heaven, it is hard to discover which
 
 123 
 
 feels most gratification — the obliger, or 
 the obliged ; — in iny niotlier^s eyes it 
 added a charm, that she would not have 
 it comprehended that she made at once 
 the fortune and the happiness of Alger- 
 non ; and he, on his part, felt it but as 
 an added enjoyment to owe every good 
 to lier — to the mother of his beloved 
 Caroline. 
 
 A little time stemmed in each bo- 
 som its conflux of passions, and I sud- 
 denly recollected the derangement of 
 my dress. I cast a surprised eye on 
 its disorder, nor did I forget the unbe- 
 coming morning cap which I wore ; but 
 glancing over the dishevelled hair, and 
 careless attire of Algernon, I thought I. 
 had never seen him so handsome ; and 
 though woman enough to prefer pro- 
 priety, 1 was wise enough to knovv that 
 it is only consecrated by virtue. — See- 
 g2
 
 124 
 
 ii)g me relapse into weakness, my dear 
 friends left me to repose, as I now do 
 you my lovely Charlotte, Farewell 1 
 Love your 
 
 Caroline.
 
 125 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 
 Nothing could have been more for- 
 tunate than the return of the two 
 friends, and the consequent re-establish- 
 ment of my health and gaiety ; for our 
 court had received the acquisition of 
 several English visitors of distinction, 
 and nothing could offend my father 
 more than to find them treated with 
 coldness, inattention, or incivility. 
 
 Indeed he valued that nation 
 more than any other country, and 
 often declared that he would prefer to 
 see me the wife of an English Prince 
 than the Empress of any of the richest 
 nation of the continent of Europe. 
 
 g3
 
 126 
 
 We were peculiarly fortunate in our 
 visitors just at this time; they were all 
 men of travel and letters, and named — 
 
 M e, W e, G—y, T n, 
 
 IV - m, and Lordi? V a and 
 
 St. H s. And that nothing might 
 
 cast a gloom over a society which merit- 
 ed so much bli>s, I restored Melina to 
 my friendship, and insisted on Prince 
 L— s forgetting the sorrow which 
 preyed upon his mind: — If not cheerful, 
 to affect to be cheerful, and to learn of 
 my Algernon how to win a female 
 heart. 
 
 The first time I saw these inter- 
 esting Englishmen was at our lea hour 
 — for I did not join the dinner-party, 
 from motives of timidity which you 
 possibly may divine. They were no 
 sooner introduced to me in the even- 
 ing than they formed a little circle dis- 
 tinct from the general company, and
 
 127 
 
 appeared to take delight in every ob-- 
 servation, however trivial that I made. 
 
 The conversation turned upon Ua- 
 veiling and the passion of the English 
 to roam abroad. 
 
 ^ There is a French proverb/ said I, 
 *^ which says gu' a chaqiio blseaii sou 
 ' ?iul est beau^ — what is the reason Mr. 
 
 ' M e, that you Englishmen do 
 
 ' not love your homes ; that you ab- 
 ' scond from tliem ; that you quit your 
 * country, and prefer to it so often the 
 ' most sterile and inclement parts of 
 *^ the globe ? — I am told there is not 
 ' a village, or a town, in Africa, in 
 ' Asia, or in the Crimea where an Eii- 
 ' glishman or an English family may not 
 ' be found apparently established foi 
 ' life/ 
 
 G4:
 
 128 
 
 " Princess/^ returned M e, 
 
 *' we all have motives of which it does 
 ** not seem you are conscious of the 
 ** strength. Permit me to inform you 
 " in a few words. 
 
 " When travelling in Egypt, I met 
 <« y 3^ y^i^Q ig pQY^ before you, 
 
 " in a garden watering a jessamine. 
 " You, my lord, said I, in Egypt ! the 
 " rencontre is surprising. What on 
 " earth do you here ?'^ 
 
 ' 1 enjoy ,^ said he, ' the finest fruits, 
 
 * — and 1 love this little spot which 1 
 < have myself improved, more than all 
 ^ the Baronies I possess in England 
 ^ and Ireland. Observe,' continued 
 his Lordship, 'observe this beautiful 
 'bunch of grapes; examine its pro- 
 
 * parties, its fragrance, its taste: it sur- 
 
 * passes the finest Indian fruit.- — Such 
 ' are my motives for dwelling here.*
 
 129 
 ^' And for life ?'' said I. 
 
 ' No, unfortunately/ said V- a, * I 
 
 ' injposed an obligation 07i ynijself^ to 
 
 * visit the Islands of the Archipelago 
 
 * and the Coast of Asia, and to return 
 
 * to my own detestable country, at 
 
 * the expiration often years/ 
 
 *' Passing from France to Spain, at 
 " another time," continued the enter- 
 
 taining M e, " I met my friend 
 
 " W m, who is also here before 
 
 " you, dwelling on the summit of one 
 " of the bleakest Pyrennes. Good God ! 
 
 *• W ^m," exclaimed I, " is it in 
 
 *' truth you ? What in the name of 
 *' wisdom, can you do upon this rock ?" 
 He answered : 
 
 * I respire a fine air/ 
 
 " And could not you indulge in the 
 g5
 
 150 
 
 " same luxury on Richmond-hill?'^ 
 said I. 
 
 ' By no means/ said W m, 
 
 * Richmond is a mere garden, with a 
 
 * beautiful natural amphitheatre, that is 
 ' certain, but its varieties are embel- 
 
 * lished, and all its scenery announces 
 
 * the hand of man. For my part I love 
 
 * nature dressed by the hand of na- 
 ^ ture— in her chemise. Such as you 
 
 * observe it here, wild, naked, and gi- 
 
 * gantic 1^ 
 
 *' Some time after," resumed M 
 
 " when passing through Russia, I 
 
 " found L — d St. H s, who also 
 
 ** no\v basks in your Royal Highness's 
 " presence, I found him, in the finest 
 ** season in the year, muffled up in a 
 " sheep-skin pelice, and lying before 
 ** the fire on a bufFaloe hide. My 
 ** Lord, said I, with horror, what in
 
 131 
 
 " the name of goodness has brought 
 " you to this country, and reduced you 
 " to this state r" 
 
 ' I enjoy/ said his Lordship, ' the 
 ' charms of this climate !* 
 
 " Your enjoyments/* replied I, 
 '* must be of a very gelid nature, for it 
 " freezes hard here, nine months in the 
 " year/* 
 
 'It matters nothing/ retorted his- 
 Lordship, ' I did not find myself well 
 * in England, I solicited to come out 
 ' ambassador to this court ; I came, 
 ' and 1 consider my health much im- 
 ' proved. Besides, in England, you 
 ' have generally three seasons in one 
 ' day, whereas here there is but one 
 ' season throughout the year.' 
 
 ''■ But, my Lord," said I, '* it appear? 
 g6
 
 132 
 
 '• to me that your Lordship's nose and 
 ** ears are frost-bitten !'^ 
 
 ' That is but too true, M -e,' 
 
 said his Lordship, 'but believe me that 
 ' is not the fault of the climate: 'tis 
 ' that of my stupid valet de chambre, 
 
 * who, in one of the severest nights 
 ' that has occurred these several 
 ' months, forgot to envelop my head 
 
 * in the skin of a bear !' 
 
 " In making the tour of Italy, charm- 
 
 ** ing Princess," said M e, " I 
 
 " found T n at Florence, a city 
 
 " which he inhabited for a number of 
 '* years.'^ 
 
 " You demand of me what he was 
 ** doins: there ail that time ? I can in- 
 ** form you — here he is present, let 
 ^' him contradict me if he can/'
 
 133 
 
 " In the morning he assembled some 
 " thirty musicians in his great hall, 
 " who made as much noise as ourpeo- 
 *' pie at the opening of St. Bartholo- 
 " mew fair. At two o'clock be dined; 
 " at three took coffee and reposed ; be- 
 " cause to be a true Italian, it is ne- 
 " cessary to sleep after dinner. At 
 " five he rose from his couch ; dressed, 
 " fait su toilette ; went to the Opera; 
 " supped with Graciana, and at two 
 " returned home to bed. This is the 
 " history of his whole life at Florence. 
 
 " As to G — y, whom I met at Milan, 
 *' he was detained there by a Roman 
 " nightingale, whose song pleased him 
 " so much that he promised never to 
 " separate from the sweet bird till the 
 " day of his death. I advised him to 
 " take the object of his admiration to 
 " England, but he seemed to fear that 
 " the voice might degenerate ; and he
 
 I34r 
 
 ^^ assured me that G ^a, had no 
 
 " sooner passed the streights of Dover, 
 
 " than she ceased to be G a, and 
 
 " appeared to him as contemptible as 
 *' any native of the isle. 
 
 " But I have forgot W -e/' 
 
 continued the facetious M— — e. 
 '* Hi& memoirs are, however, short. 
 " They consist in his having spent 
 " thirty thousand hard guineas in the 
 " purchase of old copper coins to the 
 *' intrinsic value of about ten pounds, 
 *' and in forming a collection of shells, 
 *' pebbles, grubs, and butterflies, which 
 ** his next heir will pitch into the 
 " streets. 
 
 " Thus have I obeyed the commands 
 ** of your serene Highness," concluded 
 M — e.
 
 135 
 
 ' Not so perfectly as you understandj. 
 
 -*• Mr. M e, said I ; ' you have 
 
 '■ not accounted for your own peregri- 
 
 * nations ; r appears to me that your 
 
 * own motives for absenting yourself 
 
 * from your country, must be peculiar- 
 ' ly interesting and strong. I must in- 
 ' sist, as you have been so exact with 
 
 * these gentlemen, — upon knowing the 
 
 * origin of your motives for rambhng 
 ' about the world, and for living in a 
 ^ manner that must obstruct your rise 
 ' to glory and to fame. I must insist 
 ' on knowing the origin.^ 
 
 I had hardly repeated the word 
 
 " origin," when M — e rose from 
 
 his seat, with an air sorrowful and per- 
 turbed ; and, taking the proffered 
 arm of his friend G — y, made me a res- 
 pectful inclination of his head and re- 
 tired !
 
 136 
 
 I was affected and confused ; tlie 
 charm of our little circle was dissolved. 
 The strangers gathered round my fa- 
 ther ; and Prince L s, and Alger- 
 non conducted Melina and me to that 
 part of the company which my mother 
 entertained. During this ceremony, 1 
 understood from Algernon, that 1 had 
 touched a chord that always vibrated 
 discord in poor M— ^e's breast. I 
 will tell you his "Sorrows/^ to-morrow, 
 continued Algernon. — Till then I was 
 condemned to wait. 
 
 Adieu, dear girl. 
 
 Caroline.
 
 137 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 The day after tlie co7iseri'azw}tee, 
 which terminated in a manner so unex- 
 pectedly affecting, we were compelled 
 lo consume in ceremony and public at- 
 tentions; and it became nearly night 
 
 before Prince L s, Melina, Aigev- 
 
 gernon, and myself, could assemble at 
 the old tower to hear the promised 
 *' Sorrows" of the interesting M— — e. 
 
 The night was delightful. The wide 
 expanse of Heaven was strewed w^ith 
 glittering stars. The moon shone soft- 
 ly through the dark shades of the forest. 
 The country round was still and gloomy^ 
 All nature seemed hushed in repose^ 
 except some sparkles of the torch of
 
 1S8 
 
 eight, which played on the purling^ 
 stream, and here and there a glow- 
 worm wandering in the dark. All 
 other lights were out; all other noise 
 was extinct r with a sweet melancholy 
 we seated ourselves; and forgot, in the 
 griefs of another, the agony which the 
 same spot had seen and experienced by 
 ourselves, Algernon proceeded thus — 
 
 " Before I speak of M^ e, I 
 
 '* must inform you of some particulars 
 " of the House of Edinburgh.. 
 
 ii 
 
 ' By an absurd law, a law made in 
 violation of the great charter, which 
 expressly secures to every subject the 
 uncontrouled right of disposing of 
 '^ his person, and property, the sons 
 " and daughters of the House of Edin- 
 " burgh, are condemned to celibacy, 
 *^ or else to marry any foreign Pro- 
 " T£iXil^fT Prince or Pkincsss^ that
 
 139 ^ 
 
 ** may be deemed, cifter proposals^ an 
 ** eligible match. 
 
 '* In consequence of this law, the 
 ^* sons waste the vigour of their mind 
 " in the lap of enervating enjoyments; 
 " and at a time when they ought to be 
 *' married men, philosophers, states- 
 ** men and warriors, they are found 
 " with the reins loosened at the call of 
 " passion ; and instead of rising in the 
 " scale of excellence, they are com- 
 *' pelled to sink in vicious depravity 
 " below their fellow-citizens; who are 
 " secured from the subjugation of cri- 
 " minal pursuits, by the domestic so- 
 " ciety of British wives, who are a 
 " pattern of virtue, of honor, and of 
 '^ truth. 
 
 " Strangers to the tenderness of con- 
 " jugal love, the sons waste their affec- 
 *' tions in the embraces of harlots ;—
 
 uo 
 
 " or, if they enter into a political marri- 
 " age, their condition is more naiserable 
 " than what can well be conceived. 
 
 '* Without knowing the temper, 
 " manners and character of those with 
 " whom they engage, they enjoy no 
 '"* satisfaction ; soothe or share no cares, 
 " and must aggravate and augment 
 " mutual defects and infirmities. 
 
 " They cast their eyes upon their 
 " situation, and contrast the freedom 
 " they enjoyed in the company of 
 '' prostitutes, with the tyranny impo- 
 " sed upon them by political wives, in 
 '* whom, their hearts have no manner 
 " of interest or concern. 
 
 " If such be th-e case of the sons of 
 " the Flouse of Edinburgh, the fate of 
 " its daughters is infinitely less capable 
 " to be endured*
 
 141 
 
 "perpetually secluded from marri- 
 *' age with their countrymen, however 
 *' nobly and highly descended, and 
 " condemned to consume their life in 
 *' hopes of some beggarly prot;estant 
 " Prince applying for their hand, they 
 " are placed on a tottering eminence, 
 " exposed to a multitude of watchful 
 *' and scrutinizing eyes. 
 
 *' There is nothing they perform that 
 *' is not known, and the notorious sub- 
 " ject of 'cqnversation. Their amuse- 
 " ments are examined with an atten- 
 " tion which themselves do not think 
 •' they deserve. Their foibles are mag- 
 ** nified through a thousand censorious 
 ** glasses, and their smallest levities 
 •* considered as the utmost stretch of 
 *' human crime. 
 
 *' An insuperable line of separation 
 " is drawn between them and the no-
 
 149 
 
 '' hility and gentry of their native 
 " land. ^ 
 
 " They are immured in castles. No 
 " man, but the invalids and servants 
 *' of the state, can enter those castles; 
 " no one must behold their faces, but 
 " at church or at court. 
 
 " An inevitable death or perpetual 
 *' Imprisonment, awaits the man who 
 '' shall attempt to intrude himself into 
 *' their apartments, or address a few 
 " words to them on meeting them out 
 ** of doors. 
 
 ** And the smallest instances of 
 
 *' their affability, partiality, or kind- 
 
 " ness, — such as a smile, a nod, the 
 
 " return of a bow^, or the extension of 
 
 ** the hand for an embrace, are inter- 
 
 *' pre ted into the signs of a passion, 
 
 ** which , if not checked, would infuse
 
 143 
 
 '*' the dreadful contagion of love over 
 " the regions of the imagination and 
 " the heart. 
 
 '• And for whom are so many charms 
 '' carefully preserved ? Not fora II— — I, 
 
 '' a H d,aC h,ora P y. 
 
 " No, but for some foreign Prince, too 
 ** poor to marry at home, and yet too 
 *^ great to be rejected abroad. 
 
 " Were Monaco a protestant, or 
 *' were the Italian Princes not of the 
 " Catholic faith, there is not a dauoh- 
 " ter of this illustrious House, but 
 *' what would at this day, have been 
 " a slave to a contemptible little tyrant 
 *' of some Italian state ! 
 
 " Not but those amiable daughters 
 " have no disposition to burst asunder 
 *' their unnatural chains ! And when 
 *' we rellect on ttieir wantof a liberal
 
 144 
 
 " education; in the idleness and abun- 
 " dance in which they pass their days; 
 " the restraint in which they are unre- 
 " mittingly kept; and the vhacitij of 
 " passion excited hij restraint^ it is mat- 
 " ter of astonishment how theysup- 
 " press the fire of the heart, and how 
 *' they check the approach of love, 
 " tenderness, and sentiment ! 
 
 " The truth is, nature, whose pow- 
 " erful voice the law of this House 
 ** vainly attempts to smother and sub- 
 ** due, mingles in all their pains and 
 *' their pleasures ; rouses their sensa- 
 *' tions; and directs their vivid ima- 
 ** ginations, their desires, their medi- 
 ** tations — but, unfortunately towards 
 *' objects which that law denies them 
 *' liberty to attain. 
 
 ** The ardour, however, pursues 
 ** them : the lawj m the place of ex-
 
 14.5 
 
 *' tiiigulsliing, contributes to the con- 
 '' flagration, and drives its victims 
 ^' sometimes to degrading — sometimes 
 " to tlie most honorable attachments, 
 
 " Of the latter distinguished kind, 
 
 " is the passion of Lady E 
 
 *' for the unfortunate M I" 
 
 Algernon had no sooner stated this 
 interesting and unexpected fact, than 
 we all expressed our astonishment and 
 admiration — but being late, were com- 
 pelled to adjourn till the morrow. 
 Farewell 
 
 Caroline. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 We were all so impatient to hear 
 the continuation of the " Sorrows" of 
 
 M e and the amour of Lady 
 
 E ^ that we adjourned immedi- 
 ately after breakfast, on the day succeed- 
 ing the first recital, to my study, and 
 there heard Algernon deliver himself as 
 follows: 
 
 " The fair E- = — to the quickest 
 
 ** improvements of the mind, adds 
 " the lustre of a very beautiful counte- 
 " nance, and the fascination of a per- 
 ** son amiably formed. 
 
 " Her most remarkable charm, how- 
 *' ever, is her countenance ; but it is 
 *' well known that nature has made
 
 U7 
 
 " this a characteristic sign of the House 
 '' of Edinburgh, and that there is not 
 '' a taiiiily in Europe who has so con- 
 " spicuous a testimony of an honest 
 " heart and upright mind. 
 
 " As to the form of Lady E- 
 
 " without being thin and taper, it is 
 " limber and elegant; elastic and well 
 " contoured: and those attractive pro- 
 *' perties, added to the softness and 
 " fairness of her skin; to the freshness 
 " of her complexion, and the carnation 
 " of her frame, render her one of the 
 " most interesting women of the age. 
 
 " She has also the happiest turn for 
 *' music, drawing, poetry, and the fine 
 '' arts, and a peculiar talent for coaver- 
 " sation, mirth and humour. Yet, 
 " notwithstanding her courtesy, afTa- 
 '' bility of deportment, condescension 
 '' to men of letters, and fondness for 
 H "2
 
 148 
 
 '^° social intercourse, she has a due re» 
 ^' gard for her station, and seldom for- 
 ^^ gets she is nobly born. 
 
 " In the pride of birth, however, she' 
 
 '' sees nothino' but what leads to dis;- 
 
 " nified conduct, and to honorable ac- 
 
 " tions. And in the pride of wealth 
 
 " and title, she sees nothing but what 
 
 " naturally leads to the high power and 
 
 " distinction of diffusing blessings 
 
 ^' throughout the land. 
 
 '' She rejected, with becoming dis- 
 " dain, several * poor foreign protestant 
 " Princes;' and at an age, yet young, 
 *' seemed determined to pass her life 
 *' in ' single blessedness.^ 
 
 ^' Her heart was, notwithstanding, 
 ^' truly susceptible, and was much af- 
 " fected by the constant assiduities of 
 fe* M- e, who long strove to catch
 
 149 
 
 " her every thought, and to prevent hec 
 " every wish. 
 
 " Gratitude inclined her heart to 
 
 *' love, and she ahnost breathed 
 
 " a Vv'ish, to a female friend of 
 
 " M 's, an attendant on his mother 
 
 " the Duchess of Edinburgh, that she 
 
 " might converse with the genernijs 
 
 '* youth to whonj she owed so many 
 
 '* and so faithful attentions. 
 
 *' Instantly the elegant ]M- r, 
 
 " blooming as an Adonis, and clothed 
 " in the dress of the guards, knelt be- 
 " fore her, 
 
 ** She deigned to present him her 
 " hand; he pressed it to his lips; de- 
 " scribed to her the purity of his pas- 
 " sion, and earnestly prest for an ac- 
 *' knowledgment of love, and a pro- 
 '' nfiise of fidelity and secrecy. 
 H :3
 
 160 
 
 ** The mind of the fair E -— , 
 
 ^* was delicacy itself; anda sentiment- 
 *' al lover just suited the ideas which 
 *' she had formed ; she gave her assent 
 
 *' to M e's prayer; and bound 
 
 •' herself to eternal silence as to the 
 " connexion; to listen to no foreign 
 '* treaty of marriage, and to attend to 
 ** no other object than the captivating 
 ** being who lay at her "feet and ex- 
 *^ uhed in his success. 
 
 " For some time every scene was 
 •* a scene of virtuous happiness. Par- 
 *• ticipating in the amiability of her 
 *' lover, she extended her natural be- 
 " nevolence to ail around her. But 
 " this gay vision lasted not long. At 
 
 " the usual place and hour M— e 
 
 " repaired to the subject of iiis adora- 
 ** tion.
 
 IJl 
 
 " All was silence and gloom! Wuh 
 
 '* secret dread and uneasiness, for tiie 
 
 ** reputation of his E •. he travers- 
 
 " ed several times the z^^wa/ hall. He 
 
 " heard sounds, but they sunk agaip 
 
 " into the distant air, and all becarne 
 
 " silent as before. 
 
 " In a" short time, liowever, ihe 
 " hall was filled with light and arms. 
 *' Fear and wonder possessed all the 
 
 " faculties of M e, and he felt 
 
 " as in the presence of visitants from 
 " hell. 
 
 " A chilling thrill stole thro^ every 
 *' vein, and his resolution fur a mo- 
 " ment gave place to mingled surprize 
 *' and terror; but quickly shaking off 
 *' this weakness of" human nature, he 
 *' remembered that he was a soldier, 
 " and in that remembrance was quick- 
 *' lyall himself. He grasped his drawn 
 H 4
 
 U2 
 
 " sword — and defended himself from 
 " the attack of those who were ordered 
 *' to seize, and to bring him into the 
 " presence of the Duke of Edinburgh. 
 
 " He was wounded ; dizziness seized 
 ** on him, and he was carried without 
 ** resistance before the awful tribunal 
 " of the father of E . 
 
 *' The wretched E who com- 
 
 " prehended all the horror of his fate^ 
 " and who dreaded his life might be 
 " in danger, gathered courage from de- 
 " spair; she rushed out of her apart- 
 " ment, and entered the hall where 
 " M e was detained. 
 
 " A piercing shriek announced het 
 " knowledge of his wounds: she fell 
 ''* prostrate on the ground.
 
 \53 
 
 '^ The agonies of a parent, the tenors 
 '^ of the spectators, cannot be de- 
 " scribed ! 
 
 " The amiable father sunk beneath 
 
 " this load of distress. He strove to 
 
 '' recover his daughter ; promised her 
 
 *' his blessing and forgiveness, and only 
 
 '' required of M e, that he 
 
 " should travel on the continent during 
 
 '• the term of six years. 
 
 " Unfortunate lovers! eternally se- 
 ** parated for a breach of decorum; for 
 " you are not to understand that their 
 " intercourse was polluted by licentious^ 
 ** pleasures, or by a low sensuality of 
 " any kind — their interviews were dis- 
 " covered, and it was judged that pre- 
 *' vention was a virtue not to be de- 
 *' spised. 
 
 H 5
 
 154 
 
 " Nor is this the only victim in that 
 •' illustrious house. The heir to the 
 *' house/^ continued Algernon, " the 
 " most amiable and accomplished no- 
 *• bleman in Europe, is compelled to 
 " marry some foreign Princess, and to 
 ** yiolat-e the sacred eni>a2:ements he 
 *' has sometime since formed with a 
 ••' gentlewoman of considerable beauty, 
 *' merit and worth /^ 
 
 ' How! compelled?^ interrupted 
 Prince L — s, with some degree of hri' 
 patience and indignation/ 
 
 " Why," resumed his friend, " the 
 " heirof the House of Edinburgh, is a 
 *' man of feeling and honor — he owes to 
 " his tradesmen the sum of XoOO,eOO ; 
 '' and his father refuses to discharge that 
 '* enormous debt, without the son w^ill 
 '* consent to marry ; and by such means 
 " live with more regularity, and at the
 
 loo 
 
 " same time secure an uninterrupted 
 " progressive line of descent to the 
 " house. 
 
 *' Honor, as I have observed, sways 
 
 ** this young nobleman; he has given 
 
 '' a reluctant consent to this tyrannic 
 
 " proposition, and all the mdulgence 
 
 " he could obtain of his father was, to 
 
 " send his own agent to the protestant 
 
 " courts, and to marry the Princess, 
 
 '' of whom his commissioner should 
 
 " make the most favorable report. 
 
 *^ The commissioner is now in Ger- 
 " many, he has forwarded some por- 
 " traits home, and I understand from 
 " the English resident here, that he is 
 *' expected by your father to-morrow, 
 ** lovely Caroline,^' concluded Alger- 
 non, fixing his eyes in a pensive man- 
 ner upon me.
 
 166 
 
 Thus ended, my sweet Charlotte^ 
 the narration of Algernon. He had no 
 sooner finished, than we all rose up; 
 regarded each other with looks more of 
 apprehension than of pleasure; could 
 not, or durst not expose our individual 
 sensations, and so separated to dress 
 for a dinner party, to which all the En- 
 glish travellers were invited. 
 
 That nothing may traverse your hap- 
 piness, is the prayer of your afflicted 
 
 CAR0J.INK,
 
 157 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 It is said, my dear Charlotte, that 
 suspicion is the beginning of wisdom, 
 because it puts us on an enquiry into 
 the truth of any proposition suggested 
 to us. I am more incHned to think 
 that the axiom would have been more 
 just, had it said, that suspicion is the 
 beginning of calamity: for I no sooner 
 heard of the intention of the commis- 
 sioner, mentioned in my last visit to 
 my father's court, than I suspected some 
 design upon my peace; some interrup- 
 tion to my felicity. 
 
 To dissipate the baneful influence of 
 gloomy anticipations, and lo conceal 
 the perturbation of my mind from a 
 numerous [and scrutinizing society, I
 
 158 
 
 declined attending the dinner party, 
 and took a solitary ramble in my favo- 
 
 rite grove. 
 
 Perhaps of all natural speculations 
 there is none more calculated to refine 
 and tranquillize the mind; to give a 
 generous and liberal sense of things, 
 than a walk in a field, forest, or garden. 
 In my opinion it is the most natural 
 foundation of improvement and plea- 
 sure. And a woman must have lost 
 her very senses, and become a piece 
 of uninformed machanism, before she 
 can behold the chearful face of nature 
 with coldnesss and indifierency. For 
 my part, no sooner do 1 take a walk, 
 but numberless gay scenes immediately 
 display themselves to my view; the 
 various forms, the arrangements, the 
 colorings qf surrounding objects, in- 
 stantly strike my attention ; and all na- 
 ture appears to me, as was said by the
 
 159 
 
 author of it, " in perfect beauty." I 
 am entertained with grateful sounds in 
 the natural music of birds, the fannings 
 of woods, the murmur of streams, or 
 the fall of waters. 
 
 In spite of the most sullen melan- 
 choly, which would deprive me of the 
 innocent delights of my being; I un- 
 avoidably am refreshed with cooling 
 breezes and dehcious odours. The be- 
 nefits of light and sunshine, healthful 
 air, and kindly seasons, force many 
 sensible sensations upon me, whether 
 I will or not ; and by a merciful vio- 
 lence often constrain me to be happy. 
 
 So largely has an all-bountiful Creator 
 provided for my happiness, that no ef- 
 forts of morose and peevish calamity 
 can intirely overrule the benevolent 
 constitution of my nature; and the 
 most ingenious artificers of my misery
 
 160 
 
 must be unavoidably disappointed after 
 the publication of this letter. 
 
 I may imagine, from hence, my 
 lovely Charlotte, that the kind Author 
 of the universe, for seeing what un- 
 couth pains some vicious spirits would 
 take ta bring misery upon me, has, in 
 pity to my anticipated sufferings, con- 
 stituted almost every thing about me 
 as a necessary source of pleasure, and 
 as a counterbalance to the perverseness 
 of my enemies. But I cannot here 
 conclude this interesting subject. In 
 truth, I have hitherto only dv/elt on 
 its surface. Let us, my sweet child, 
 descend a little more into the philoso- 
 phy of those several delightful percep- 
 tions which nature so liberally admi- 
 nisters to us, and we shall discover a 
 more exquisite apparatus in the oeco- 
 nomy of our sensible pleasures than is 
 generally, I believe, apprehended.
 
 161 
 
 There is no one of our senses that af- 
 fords us so large a variety ,of pleasing 
 ideas as our sight. It is to this we are 
 indebted for all that abundant profu- 
 sion of natural beauty^ that adorns the 
 whole visible creation. Now what are 
 the several colorings of outward ob- 
 jects, and those magnificent shews 
 and apparitions, that on all hands pre- 
 sent themselves to our view ; those 
 lights and shades of nature's pencil, 
 that so delightfully diversify the gene- 
 ral face of the universe ? What, I say, 
 are they, my daughter, but a set of 
 arbitrary modifications of the perceiving 
 mind, to which the several objects 
 themselves have not the least resem- 
 blance? For, what agreement is there 
 in the nature of the thing between a 
 certain particular bulk, figure, or mo^ 
 tion of the insensible parts of external 
 matter, the only real qualities of the 
 several visible bodies that so various^y
 
 16^ 
 
 entertain our sight, and our ideas of 
 light and colours? And yet what a joy- 
 less and unconnfortable figure would 
 these things make to us, if w^e saw them 
 in their naked and philosophic reaUties 1 
 What a large fiejd of pleasure and ad- 
 miration would be lost to us, were all 
 the masterly touches of natural paint- 
 mg, the variegated scenery of heaveQ 
 and earth, at once to disappear, and 
 one undistinguished blot to overspread 
 the universal system I 
 
 To what purpose then such a prodi- 
 gal expence of art and ornament in the 
 furniture of this stupendous theatre of 
 nature, but to charm the ravished sense 
 of the intended spectator, by the pros- 
 pect of these imaginary glories ! My 
 child 1 we may pursue this speculation 
 yet farther. The perceptions of our 
 taste and smell, the ideas of sounds 
 from which ^e derived all the enchant-
 
 163 
 
 mg powers of harmony; an entertain- 
 ment which some have thought worthy 
 of heaven itself; the sensation of heat 
 and cold, and divers other affections of 
 our touch, are quite other things in our 
 minds froin what thev are in the seve- 
 ral existing objects. Providence, as if 
 the real quahties of bodies were too 
 scanty a foundation of pleasure to the 
 human sense, has superadded to them 
 many imaginary'properties and powers 
 of affecting us, in order to enlarge the 
 sphere of our blessings, and in a more 
 eminent degree to endear to us the 
 munificent Author of our being. 
 
 It is also observable that some of the 
 greatest beauties of nature are at the 
 same time the greatest benefits of it. 
 Fruits, which are most agreeable to the 
 eye, are often the pleasantest to the 
 taste likewise. There is nothing that 
 affords a greater supply of comforts to
 
 164 
 
 human life than the improvements of 
 agriculture ; and at the same time there 
 is not a finer piece of landscape than 
 the view of a fertile country richly di- 
 versified with the several products of 
 natural grain: whose undulations add 
 novelty to their charms, and entertain 
 us no less with the variety of the scene^ 
 than with its inimitable beauty and 
 magnificence. — And yet so careful has 
 the great Disposer of all things been, 
 that no part of his works should pass 
 unrecommended, to us, that even the 
 seeming wildnesses and imperfections 
 of nature ; as marshes, deserts, rocks, 
 precipices, are not without their charms;, 
 they, too, entertain us with their no- 
 velty and magnificence — if not with 
 their beauty. x\nd moreover, my 
 child, they may be considered as foils 
 to the noore graceful parts ; or as dis- 
 cords happily interspersed in the com- 
 position of things, ta render the gene-
 
 165 
 
 ral harmony of nature more exquisite 
 and inchanting, 
 
 I may add that not only irregularities 
 and seeming imperfections, but even 
 horrors themselves, when reason or ex- 
 perience has removed the first impreS' 
 sions of our fear, are no small founda- 
 tion of pleasure to us: — As fire, ruins, 
 hurricanes, a stormy sky, a tempes- 
 tuous ocean, a wild beast in chains, or 
 a dead monster: either from the na- 
 tural magnificence, or novelty of the 
 objects that excite thenj, as in the last 
 subject; or from the agreeable contem- 
 plation of our own personal safety ; 
 whilst they are considered by us as at 
 once dreadful and harmless. 
 
 What an amiable scene of things, do 
 such reflections open to our view ! The 
 seeming deviations of nature appear 
 from them not only few and extraordi-
 
 166 
 
 nary, but gratifying to our taste of no- 
 velty, which confers on thenn a sort of 
 relative agreeableness. — But I must 
 take leave of you for the present, with 
 a promise of continuing a report of my 
 farther meditations, if you shall think 
 it worth your while to require it of me. 
 I have established a good general found- 
 ation to proceed upon, and only reserve 
 the interesting discussion to our future 
 leisure or inclination. 
 
 Having consumed much time in my 
 speculative walk, and finding the even- 
 ing advanced, I hastened home to re- 
 ceive the dinner party in the drawing- 
 room. In my next you shall know the 
 interesting result. 
 
 Caroline.
 
 167 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 I RETURNED, my dear maid, both in 
 time and in disposition to prepare for 
 the reception of my flithers friends, and 
 to surprise them with a little concert in 
 which I resolved to take a principal 
 part. Indeed I ahvays thought music 
 one of the first accomplishments, and 
 to those who have a good ear, it is cer- 
 tainly a most delightful amusement. 
 Its efficacy to soften the manners, to 
 melt the heart, to excite and controul 
 the passions, is truly astonishing. It 
 sooths the anguish of the mind, it re- 
 moves the pain of the body; and puts 
 life and motion into the whole inani- 
 mate creation.
 
 I6S 
 
 I was joined by Melina, whom I re- 
 quested to accompany me on the 
 harp. I made this choice from a con- 
 viction that genuine music consists of 
 only two parts — melody and harmony. 
 The first arising from a combination of 
 tone and modulation, and can only be 
 applied with strict propriety to the pe- 
 dal harp and to vocal music. All other 
 instruments of music can have no claim 
 to this distinction. Wind instruments 
 may be supposed to approach nearer 
 to It; but something is still wanting to 
 compleat the idea of melody. Har- 
 mony, therefore, in my opinion is the 
 co-incidence of two sounds, and those 
 sounds result more from a well-strung 
 Ijarp, accompanied by a melodious 
 voice, than from any other combination 
 with which 1 am acquainted. 
 
 It being an English party it was late 
 before the company adjourned to the
 
 169 
 
 drawing room. On entering the apart- 
 ment the band struck up " God save 
 the King,'^ and during the ceremony of 
 tea-taking, it played " Rule Britannia/^ 
 and several other popular British airs. 
 — On the conclusion of this etiquette 
 portion of the entertainment, the gen- 
 tlemen gathered round me and Melina, 
 and solicited us to have the goodness 
 to touch the harp and to indulge them 
 with a few German airs. We com. plied, 
 and were in the midst of'' Del Rosa," 
 or Life let us Cherish, when Algernon, 
 who had been on duty, entered the 
 room — and on hearing us he exclaim- 
 ed 
 
 ** Hark ! to the music of the trembling sphere I 
 " What nightingales do sing in consort here ?'* 
 
 However affected we were by this 
 nder and elegant \ 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
 tender and elegant exclamation, we
 
 170 
 
 continued with renovated powers, and 
 he again broke forth 
 
 ** Hark ! how they shake the palsl M element-«- 
 <* And swell the note, as if 'twou'd ne'er be spent. 
 •* To hear such melting echo softly move, 
 ** Narcissus like ! who would not die in love ?" 
 
 Here an expression of rapturous adtni- 
 ration burst from every tongue, and 
 every eye was turned upon the inspired 
 Algernon. — Perceiving our silence, he 
 again exclaimed 
 
 ** Sing on sweet chauntress'j souls of melody ! 
 
 ** Closely attentive to your harmony, 
 
 ** The heav'ns check and stop tlicir pond'rous 
 
 spheres, 
 *' And all the world is now attentive ears !'* 
 
 *' Si no; on V'- -but here he was 
 
 again interrupted by the general voice
 
 171 
 
 of astonishment and applause — I\Ir. 
 
 T n taking him by the hand, 
 
 and declaring aloud that the few lines 
 he just heard were the finest specimen 
 of the Imprkisatori he had ever heard 
 or enjoyed. But Algernon got himself 
 into a difficulty from which he would 
 fain escape. AVe all insisted on his 
 singing and performing on the Harp. 
 Covered with blushes, and sinking un- 
 der the sweetest confusion, he took my 
 seat and performed the following little 
 sonnet, which, from the expressive looks 
 he gave me, I could comprehend ad- 
 dressecf to the spot where he first heard 
 me sing. 
 
 '* Fortunate vale, exulting bill, dear plain, 
 
 " Where morn and eve, my soul's fair idol 
 
 stray 'd, 
 ** While all your winds that murmured thro* 
 the glade 
 
 I 2
 
 172 
 
 *' Stole her sweet breath, — yet, yet, your path* 
 
 retain 
 ** Prints of her step^ by fount whose floods re- 
 main, 
 ** In. depth unfathom'd, 'mid the rocks that 
 
 shade, 
 •* With cavrrnM arch, their sleep ! — Ye streams 
 that ])]ay'd 
 ** Around her iimbs in summer's ardent reign, 
 
 " The soft resplendence of tliose azure eyes 
 *' Ting'd ye with living light ! The envied claim 
 1^ ** These blest distinctions give, my harp, my 
 
 sighs, 
 ** My songs record ; antl from their poets flame 
 
 ** Bid thy wild vale, its rocks, and streams aiise, 
 ** Associates still of their bii^rht n.iistress' fame." 
 
 He no sooner ceased, my dear Char- 
 lotte, than every one present was an- 
 xious to express to biui their delight 
 and approbation of his perforarance ; 
 and if I did not ntcer wy sentiments 
 publivcly, I was charmed to hear from 
 others, that he w^as a nnm who could 
 be admired and imitated, but excelled
 
 173 
 
 —perhaps equalled by none. For 
 there is not only an inexpressible charm 
 in the volume of his voice, but a deli- 
 cacy of expression and sentiment which 
 is the peculiar excellence- of an elegant 
 
 mind, and which induced Mr. M 3 
 
 to declare — Algernon is in truth the 
 genuine offspring of the Irish bard." — 
 
 *' In harmony," continued M e, 
 
 '' he may vie w^ith Braham, and in tvii- 
 " derness of expression with incledon : 
 " his modulations are peculiarly s^yeet.. 
 '' His words are also intelligible, whicli 
 '* gives his singing an air of novelty tru- 
 " ly captivating.'^ 
 
 In short, my love, if an improved 
 imitation of the best singers, and an ori- 
 ginal poetic genius, afford pleasure, the 
 singing of Algernon is fitted to yield it 
 in the highest degree ; and the more so, 
 as he is no less calculated to be the de- 
 light of the humble, than of those that 
 I 3
 
 are possessed of taste, genius, instruc- 
 tion and discernment. 
 
 On hearing him, the imagination is 
 at once strongly affected with the emo- 
 tions of novelty, beauty, and grace; and 
 the height of emotion, love, and senti- 
 ment are rendered visible through the 
 media of a lovely countenance, captiva- 
 ting language, and harmonic sounds. 
 He is in truth " the genuine offspring 
 of the Irish bard,^^ 
 
 Soon after this charmina; and novel 
 exhibition we retired to supper and 
 then to repose — to which latter bles- 
 sing my Charlotte is recommended by 
 her 
 
 Carolike»
 
 475 
 
 LETTER XXIIL 
 
 The departure of our interesting tra- 
 vellers, and the non-arrival of the ex- 
 pected visitor from England, left me at 
 Hberty, the day after the concert, to 
 enjoy myself in solitude and to renew 
 my evening walks with the beloved and 
 accomplished Algernon. 
 
 When we first entered the garden we 
 remained some time silent. At length 
 he addressed me with all his usual 
 flow of eloquence and sentiment. 
 
 " How fortunate for you, my Caro- 
 
 " line," said he, '' that you have a re- 
 
 " hsh for the beauties of nature ; that 
 
 ^ you can converse as it were with the 
 
 I 4
 
 176 
 
 *' Diety in its kindest and most cngag- 
 " ing appearance ; not so much in the 
 '* majesty of omnipotence, as in the 
 " mildness of love and benignity. In 
 " this happy frame of mind beUeve me 
 " you possess advantages seldom ac- 
 " corded to the inhabitants of courts. 
 " You enjoy a much larger share of in- 
 " nocent pleasures than lie within their 
 " compass. You have satisfactions of 
 *' a more exquisite kind than they ever 
 " experience or feel. You look upon 
 " the world, as it were in another 
 " light, and you discover in it a multi- 
 " tude of charms, that conceal them- 
 " selves from the idle, the voluptuous, 
 ''and the dissipated. — But how must 
 '' the pleasure grow upon you, when, 
 " borrowing helps from an improved 
 " philosophy, you consider the glories 
 " you survey, not as confined to this 
 " little globe of earth, but that a scene 
 '* of the same kind may probably be
 
 177 
 
 " presenting itself to sonne or other of 
 " the rational inhabitants of those num- 
 " berless worlds which lie diffused in 
 ** the wide expanses of aether, and be 
 '' entertaining the curious spectator of 
 *' nature in regions of so immense a dis- 
 •^' tance from our own, that the imagi- 
 '' nation turns giddy at the very thought 
 '' of it ! — Fur who shall presume to set 
 " bounds to the productir)ns of infinite 
 '* Power actuated by infinite benevo- 
 ''lence? — Who shall circumscribe the 
 *' theatre upon which an Omnipotent 
 '• Goodness may think proper to disph^y 
 "itself? 
 
 ** Questionless those sparkling fires 
 " which are preparing t(3 roll over our 
 "* heads have a nobler lise than barely 
 ■•' to spangle our particular hemisphere ; 
 ••a benefit, too, wliich every passing 
 '* cloud can deprive us of! — [low ii^uch 
 " more rational is it to consider them 
 I .:')
 
 178 
 
 " as the several suns of difieient sy-^ 
 " stems of planets, dispensing to them 
 " the invaluable blessings of light, and 
 *' heat, and refreshing influences, and 
 " affording them the grateful returns of 
 " day and night, whose mutual inter- 
 " changes may contribute as they do 
 " with us — to relieve and recommend 
 " each other. 
 
 *' What a delightful and entertaining 
 " scene,^^ continued he, " is even now 
 '' displaying itself to our observation, in 
 '^' this spacious canopy of Heaven^ €n- 
 '' riched with an infinity of shining orbs- 
 '' that shed their benign influences upon 
 *' our heads, and make this evening so 
 ** auspicious to us, my Caroline P^ 
 
 * How auspicious, my Algernon ?' 
 said 1, for he paused, and pressed my 
 hand in his, and appeared to look for a 
 reply.
 
 179 
 
 '' Auspicious,'^ resumed he, " to 
 .** many pleasing perceptions of the hu- 
 " man sense, and to others of a more 
 *' elegant kind that arise out of these, 
 *' and open a still wider field of enter- 
 '' tainment; the pleasures, I mean, of 
 " the fancy or imagination. Under this, 
 *' my amiable Caroline, I comprehend 
 " those social deligiitful perceptions 
 " which arise in my mind when I con- 
 " template the heavenly bodies, or 
 " whea I contemplate your lovely 
 " countenance, whicli is ecjually beauti- 
 " filly regular and harmonious. 
 
 ** When L behold them, or when Z 
 " look upon you, how enlarged and 
 "sublime an idea does the prospect 
 " give me of the beneficent contrivance 
 ** of the author of my faculties, that 
 ** receive an equal pleasure from ob- 
 ** jects of contrasted character and ex- 
 I 6
 
 180 
 
 '• cellence, and think of Heaven as I 
 " think of you V' 
 
 ' This is a mere prejudice of your 
 ' imagination/ said 1, ' Algernon, with 
 ' an emotion not in my power to con- 
 ^ ceal. 
 
 '' By no means, my Caroline/^ re- 
 turned he, with more than ordinary viva- 
 city, '' Nature has given me a very high 
 '* relish for her studies, and particularly 
 *' for the heightened ornaments and au- 
 *' o;ust grandeurs of the skies, but she 
 *"' rcqiiired not that niy admiration of 
 '• ' the splendid host of Heaven,^ should 
 ** make me shrink from human excel- 
 " lence, or insensible to the dominion 
 " of your ciiarms. 
 
 " On the contrary, she has filled my 
 " heart with a conviction that virtuous 
 •' love can alone constitue human hap-
 
 181 
 
 '* piness, and that the marriage state is 
 *' an institution which draws us no less 
 " forcibly by the charm of the highest 
 " morale than sensible pleasures; and 
 " this no doubt to counterbalance some 
 " unavoidable inconveniences of mar- 
 " riage ; to soften the pangs of child- 
 " birth ; to sweeten the fatigues of do- 
 " mestic concerns, of the care of off- 
 " spring, of the education and settle- 
 " ment of a family, and to be the foun- 
 " dation and cernent of those number- 
 " less tender sympathies, mutual en- 
 *' dearments, and reciprocations of love 
 " between the married parties them- 
 " selves, which make up not the mo- 
 " ralUi/ot\\yy but even the chief happi- 
 " ness of conjugal life ; and at the envy 
 " of which, in so remarkable an exern- 
 " plification of it, as the condition of 
 " the first parents of mankind is repre- 
 " sented to have been by the tender 
 '^ and passionate Milton, "'tis no won-
 
 182 
 
 " der their great enemy should turn a- 
 " side from beholding their mutual ca- 
 '^ resses, as unable to endure the paia 
 " of his malicious resentment at such 
 ♦^ superior delicacy of enjoyment." 
 
 * Aside the Devil turn'd 
 
 For envy, yet with jealous leer malign 
 EyM them askance- * 
 
 " An image of such exquisite force 
 *^' and beauty this," continued Alger- 
 " non, " that the fondest lovers of an- 
 *' tiquity may be challenged to produce 
 " its parallel in the most approved vvri- 
 *• ters of any age or country. 
 
 '' But"^ — exclaiiTied he with enthu- 
 siasm, " alihough the image may not 
 " have a written parallel, it may have 
 *' a strong likeness or a just imita- 
 " tion. What says my Caroline ! — 
 " when she confers on her Algernon a 
 " tender sense of the more improved
 
 183 
 
 " felicities of wedded love, will not 
 " the image of Milton be realized ? will 
 " not envy tarn askance ? will not our 
 *• state be the perpetual fountain of 
 '* domestic sweets ? of purity, peace, 
 
 •'• and innocence ?'^ 
 
 I could make no reply. We had 
 reached our accustomed seat ; my head 
 reposed on his shoulder, and my hand 
 was held to his breast. 
 
 " Caroline," said he, " the moon has 
 " risen from behind those dusky moun- 
 *' tains ; her resplendent hght shines 
 " thro' the trees w'hich crown their 
 *^ tops. What a charm this scene in^ 
 " spires ! Here let us rest awhile.^* 
 
 ' This sweet place inchaats me too,* 
 interrupted I. ' The softness of the 
 ' evening is delicious. Algernon, we 
 * will rest here awhile.*
 
 184 
 
 " How fresh and flourishinor are all 
 " things around us/' added he, " whe- 
 " ther they creep upon the ground, or 
 " cHmb this ruin's sides. — There pours 
 " the crystal spring, which falHng from 
 " the summit of the rock, miarmurs 
 " thro' the garden's shades. Observe 
 *' the point of yon rock over the cas- 
 " jcade, there I have engraven the name 
 ^'ofCarohne! She will one day visit 
 " that rock, enjoy this testimony of her 
 " lover's sentiments, and be enraptured 
 *' with the pro-^pect of tins wide land- 
 '' scape/' 
 
 ' You praise with transport/ said I, 
 
 * Algernon. But I will believe that all 
 
 * that I shall see there will be charm- 
 ' ing I will believe that it is the most 
 
 * delightful spot in the world. 1 am 
 ' sure there is no ibu'itain vvhose mur- 
 ' murs are so sweet, whose water is so 
 
 * refreshing.'
 
 185 
 
 •' And. this rose," returned he, 
 •' which I have plucked for you, let it 
 " receive additional fra2;rance from vour 
 " breath. Let me place it in your 
 " bosom ; it will become more dehci- 
 *' ous. But your bosom heaves. Ah! 
 ^' why would you suppress that sigh ? 
 '^ Why -V 
 
 ' O come, let us begone,' I exclaim- 
 ed. 
 
 " So soon ?'^ interrupted Algernon. 
 " So soon ? Has this place no delights 
 '* for my Caroline ? Can she not be 
 " happy for an instant with her Alger- 
 " non r' 
 
 * Ah ! let us begone,' I again reiter- 
 ated. — He was silent and pensive. He 
 did not reproach me, but he sighed. 
 My hand trembled in his.
 
 1S6 
 
 " Oh thou serene and silver nnoon,^* 
 exclaimed he, " be witness to my sighs; 
 " and 3'ou peaceful groves, how often 
 *' have you sighed, after me, the name 
 " of Caroline 1 Tender flowers, which 
 " now breathe your fragrance around 
 " her ! the dew of evening often glitter- 
 " ed on your leaves, while my cheek 
 •' was bathed with the tears of love and 
 " affection ! You now hang your mourn- 
 " ful head I The morning saw you bloom 
 " in all your splendour — you are now 
 " withered. Thus my youthful days 
 " must perish, if Caroline should dis- 
 **^ dain my love ! But,^^ said he, turn- 
 ing his eyes intensely upon, and addres* 
 sing himself immediately to me ; 
 " when 1 perish, mayst thou then, sur- 
 " rounded with all earthly bliss, enjoy 
 " the most enchanting pleasures in the 
 *^ arms of a more amiable — a more 
 " happy lover V^
 
 1S7 
 
 * Xo ! — distracting thought,' cried I, 
 — * no : never. Why, do you thus tor- 
 ^ ment my soul ? rlave I not given you 
 ' every bond of hope ? Do I not smile 
 
 • upon you ? When I sing. and play on 
 ' the harp in your presence, do you not 
 ' see that my hps tremble, and that my 
 ' fingers run ^Yildly over the neglected 
 
 • wire 1 
 
 *' Then I still behold someglimmer-^ 
 " ing rays of hope,'* uttered he with aa 
 expression of joy and exultation. 
 '* Caroline loves her Algernon." Her 
 *' tremulating hand is in mine ! She re- 
 *' clines her head upon my breast ! 
 " — Come, let my kisses catch the tears 
 *' of love which glisten on her cheeks 1" 
 
 I rose up with precipitation; his air 
 was timid, but mine was agitated and 
 perturbed. — 1 durst no longer remain 1
 
 18S 
 
 Confused, silent, and supported by 
 bis arm, 1 reached the palace, retired to 
 my chamber, and there abandoned my 
 mind to all the debghtrul reveries of 
 the most pure and exalted love. Nor 
 can I now interrupt the delightful re- 
 flections, by adding further to this long 
 Letter from your 
 
 Caroline.
 
 189 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 The evening described in my last was 
 followed by a night of horror and per- _ 
 tnrbation ! The imas^e of Algernon was 
 perpetually before my e\es in a bleed- 
 ing and prostrate condition, but I could 
 neither raise him from the ground, nor 
 dare to tell him how much i loved him. 
 Sometimes I thouglit 1 heard his falt- 
 ering voice, his stitled sighs, and some- 
 times 1 seemed to gaze upon his down- 
 cast look, and upon his frame which 
 appeared faint and trembling! 
 
 The morning no sooner dawned than 
 I repaired to the garden — the late scene 
 (.>^ such tender and innocent felicities. 
 But its inlluence was fled. Tiiere was 
 no Algernon; it Avas not cheered v»itli
 
 190 
 
 the sunshine of his presence ; his beams 
 were waniino- to cive il lustre and 
 warmth. 
 
 ' Ye charming flowers, ye various 
 ' plants/ said I, ' that have ever been 
 
 * my dear deUght, and the object of my 
 'Algernon's care; deprived of his cul- 
 ^ ture, as the prophecy of dreams tell 
 
 * me ye soon must be, you will wither, 
 ' for joy shall be for ever banished from 
 ' this place, and from my heart! Choak- 
 
 * ed will you be with weeds, while the 
 ' thorn and briar hang over you their 
 vfatal shade; and you, young trees, 
 ' planted by his hands, you that bear 
 ' such delicious fruits, despoiled of all 
 ' your gay attire, in his absence, your 
 ' withered branches mournfuUy shall 
 ' rise over this savage place, while I 
 ' shall pass the remainder of my days 
 ' in sorrow, sighs, and tears/
 
 191 
 
 Tfiis train of melancholy reflections 
 was interrupted by Melina and Prince 
 
 L s, who came in search of me to 
 
 join our family party, who were assem- 
 bling for breakfast. 
 
 Algernon was absent; my father look- 
 ed occupied ; my mother had the ap- 
 pearance of having been in tears, and 
 it appeared to me that every eye re- 
 garded me with an unusual expressi(!n 
 of tenderness and sentinient. The 
 painful and gloomy repast being over, 
 my father rose, and in words of awful 
 and portentous solemnity desired to 
 converse with me in his clcset. More 
 dead than alive, I complied with a me- 
 chanical — not a voluntary obedience. 
 
 On entering his study, his look as- 
 sumed that warlike spirit for which he 
 was so eminent; and the affections of 
 a father appeared totally extinguished !
 
 192 
 
 Martial ardour, or the genius of ambi- 
 tion seemed to occupy liis whole soul, 
 and to stifle all the amiable affections 
 of his nature. 
 
 " Caroline/' said he, " attend ! I was 
 '* once ranked amongst the great gene- 
 '' rals of niodern times, and my sole 
 " ambition was, and is to be placed on 
 *' a parallel with Engine, Malborough, 
 " the Great Frederick of Prussia, or 
 '' his cautious and able adversary Count 
 '* Daren. But a series of disappoint- 
 " ments on my part, and of successes 
 " on that of the French, obtain for 
 " them the character of great generals, 
 " and sink me in the opinion of man- 
 ** kind. 
 
 '' In this opinion of the French, the 
 " world is mistaken: — arms are a very 
 *•* inferior means of their conquest; the 
 " baneful principles of Jacobinism, the
 
 193 
 
 *' cruel system of forced contribution, 
 " proscription and confiscation, and 
 " also that insinuating accommodation 
 " to popular prejudices in religion and 
 " polity, so notoriously manifested in 
 " all their declarations and proceedings, 
 *• having principally concurred to my 
 " defeat, and to putting them in pos- 
 " session of many countries, where the 
 " credulity, want of eiergy, or treach- 
 *' ery of the natives have made them 
 ** false to their own interests, and they 
 *' have all in turn felt, too late, the 
 /'• hand of oppression, when the means 
 '' of self-defence have become either 
 "' desperate or impracticable. 
 
 " Fatigued, discouraged, and almost 
 *^ exhausted, it is in vain that I endea- 
 " vour with straining eyes to gather a 
 " ray of hope in that vast horizon 
 *' where the sun of German glory seems 
 '' set for ever. The flashes of British 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 
 
 " victory itself throw but a trembling 
 " and a meteor light, too feeble to 
 " pierce the darkness that seems to 
 ** brood over my country ! 
 
 *' Tremble not, Caroline,^' continued 
 my father, " tremble not, for you 
 '' have yet to attend to more excrucia- 
 " ting anticipations. I foresee thatEng- 
 " land, that brave and gallant nation, 
 *' will be deserted by every ally. The 
 *' strength, the spirit, and the character 
 *' of the House of Austria will be bro- 
 *' ken and subdued, and its mutilated 
 ** Dovver removed from the banks of 
 *' the Scheldt and the Rhine, to the 
 *^ distant shores of the Adriatic! The 
 " German empire, already mulct and 
 " amerced, appears, even now, to await 
 *' the consummation of its fate, in the 
 *•' silence of despair; — while the King 
 
 " of P a, after another struggle 
 
 " whichi maybe compelled reluctantly
 
 195 
 
 " to conduct, will have his crown tram- 
 " pled under foot, or be allowed to 
 " have it maintained by a Jacobin 
 " army, and a jacobin, treacherous, 
 '• profligate court ! 
 
 '' Russia, Denmark, and Sweden, 
 *' also from an insane and deranged 
 *' spirit of commercial avarice and fraud, 
 '- will enter into evasive and disgrace- 
 " ful conditions with France. 
 
 '• The rest of the continent, Spain, 
 '' Portugal, Italy, Piedmont, the cour- 
 '• ses of the lower Rhine into the ocean, 
 " the Seven United Provinces, the Low 
 '• Countries, will all readily be absorb- 
 ''• ed. By treaty or by terror, by in- 
 " fluence or by force, they all will be- 
 '* come members and departments of 
 " the French empire ; their ships, their 
 " soldiers, their commerce, and their 
 *' revenues, will all be at its disposal: 
 K 2
 
 196 
 
 '• and a power so enormous as was 
 " never j^et concentrated by any league 
 " or confederation of independent so- 
 " vereigns and states, will be amassed 
 " and converged into one single arm ! 
 " in the arm of the young Bonaparte 1 
 
 " Flushed with victory, goaded by 
 " disappointments, and directed by 
 " rancour and ambition, this adventu- 
 *' rer will direct, against the shores of 
 " England, the collected armies of all 
 " his coiiquered nations. 
 
 " He will but my child, ^tis 
 
 *• my ambition to be in the service of 
 " that glorious country; to oppose my 
 *' experience to his audacity, and to 
 " assist in securing so brave a people 
 '' from so unmerited and shameful a 
 " fate.
 
 197 
 
 " Deprived of all hopes in my native 
 *'' land, I look to England as the theatre 
 ^' of future glory; and I am happy to 
 " tell you, my daughter, that a circum- 
 " stance has just come to my knowledge 
 *' which affords me the truest felicity,. 
 " and promises success to all my de- 
 " signs. An express has just reached 
 ** me, that the Duke of Edinburgh has 
 *' insisted upon the immediate marriage 
 " of his eldest son, the Marquis of Al- 
 ** bion; that in compliance with a law 
 " which governs that illustrious family, 
 " a foreign protestant Princess has been 
 " selected for his wife; portraits of all 
 " such have been submitted to the 
 *• judgment of the Marquis, and he, my 
 *' Caroline, has had the grace and dis- 
 " crimination to make choice of you !" 
 
 It would appear, my Charlotte, that 
 misfortunes operate variously on the 
 human mind. Some hearts they soften 
 K 3
 
 198 
 
 and fructify : others they render callous 
 and steril. 
 
 My father had no sooner pronounced 
 the dreadful determination of the Mar- 
 quis, than rage and indignation took 
 possession of my breast. 
 
 * What, Sir,^ I exclaimed, ' do you 
 ' think that your daughter can enter 
 
 * into a cold political engagement with 
 ' a man who isf, a stranger to her 
 
 * heart ? 
 
 * No, Sir, rather let me dwell in 
 
 * wretchedness, or else marry a man of 
 ' a congenial nature; a man of integrity 
 ' and honor, interested in my happi- 
 
 * ness and welfare.' 
 
 "Cease! cease! perverse girl! ^^ ex- 
 claimed my father, "a long habit of
 
 199 
 
 " affectionate indulgence, has, I per- 
 " ceive, made you lose all idea of respect 
 " and obedience. You have lost every 
 '* desire to be of service to your lather 
 " and to your country. You .-"are n^^i 
 " how you afflict and agitate my mind. 
 " You feel for none but for yourself. 
 *' You heed not for the prosperity ot 
 *' your family. You consider not thai 
 *' the Marquis is heir apparent to the 
 " most extensive power and estates. 
 " That by your marriage with him, you 
 " will revive the former lustre of your 
 " Flouse; £;ratify the ambition of a fa- 
 " ther, and stand between him and a 
 ** broken heart, and a premature grave !" 
 
 This address of my father's, broke my 
 spirits, and gave me a look of patience 
 and resignation, by which he was de- 
 ceived. He took me to his bosom, and 
 kissed my cheek. I flung my arm 
 round his venerable neck, and for an 
 K 4
 
 200 
 
 instant both enjoyed the SY/eetest tes- 
 timony of filial and parental affection. 
 
 " You consent then, my child,'^ re- 
 sumed the Duke, " you consent to ac» 
 " cept the hand of the Marquis: leave 
 '^ my arms my love, and let me com- 
 " municate the glad tidings/^ 
 
 I rose from his bosom terrified and 
 exhausted. 
 
 ' No, Sir,^ said I, in the extremity 
 of grief, and gaining strength from de- 
 spair, ' no, Sir, never shall I consent 
 ' to a marriage, cold, forced, and 
 ' political/ 
 
 " What ! never ! dare you say never V^ 
 reiterated the Duke, and seizing me at 
 the same time by the arm, and accom- 
 panying the action with the most vio- 
 lent gesticulations, and imprecations; 
 '- what, dare you say never !^*
 
 201 
 
 ' Yes, I repeat it/ said I, in frantic 
 agony, ' I say never — never, shall I give 
 *- my hand to any but to . 
 
 I know not whether I uttered the 
 word Algernon, for my father's rage rose 
 so high, that he struck me to the 
 earth, where I remained in a swoon, 
 till restored by the tender cares of a 
 kind mother, and the various attend^ 
 ants whom my father sent to the as- 
 sistance of your lost and unfortunate 
 
 Ci^ROLIXF, 
 
 K5
 
 209 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 On recovering from the swoon into 
 which 1 was thrown by the conduct 
 and communications of a too ambi- 
 tious father, I paid no manner of atten- 
 tion to the objects or to the persons 
 around me. 
 
 1 revolved in my mind, as if awaking 
 from a dream, the dreadful scene I had 
 passed through. The comparison which 
 I made between what I was, and what 
 1 had been, but the evening before, ap- 
 peared too horrible and extraordinary 
 to be reaL 1 raved aloud, struck my 
 forehead, and in the bitterness of my 
 heart cursed the law and the people, 
 w hich were the origin of my distraction 
 and despair. I even assumed a cou-
 
 203 
 
 rage and intrepidity beyond the ordina- 
 ry capacity of my mind, and my eyes 
 quickened like those of the consump- 
 tive, which are always brightest the 
 nearer a patient approaches to dissolu- 
 tion. 
 
 Whilst in this state, my father en- 
 tered the room. I had conceived for 
 him all at once the mast invmcible an- 
 tipathy : I could not disguise it: it ap- 
 peared in every act, and pervaded the 
 whole tenor of my conduct. This ap- 
 pearance could not serve to mitigate 
 the fierceness of his disposition. Fie, 
 however, suppressed his rage; and as- 
 suming his usual dignity and serenity. 
 of manner, he thus calmly addressed 
 me. 
 
 "Caroline, to honoi God, and to do 
 " good to mankind^ has hitherto been 
 ^' your greatest felicity.. There is, not 
 K 6
 
 204 
 
 " a person in all this country, who does 
 
 *' not talk of you with the warmest 
 
 " gratitude ; not one who does not, with 
 
 " tears of joy, relate some instance of 
 
 " your kindness or beneficence. Not 
 
 " one — save vour father ! 
 
 •/ 
 
 " Alas! for him 3'ou have neither 
 " respect nor sentiment ; candour, care, 
 "gracious smile, or filial solicitude. 
 " And yet I love thee, Caroline, and f 
 '' would, were fortune more propitious, 
 ^' make thee happy. I would make 
 ^^ thee happy, my child.'^ 
 
 He paused. I trembled, blushed 
 and approached towards him. He 
 took me by the hand, I fell at his feet, 
 my resentment towards him subsided, 
 and my voice died on my lips. 
 
 " My God!'' he cried, " what do 
 '' I behold! Tell me, O my child! do
 
 205 
 
 " you coasent to marry the Marquis of 
 " Albion, or is it a dream that deludes 
 " my senses? You appear again my 
 " daughter! Your eyes fill with grate- 
 " ful tears. You make me the happi- 
 " est of fathers. I shall make vou the 
 " most exalted and happiest of daugh- 
 " ters.^' 
 
 A deep convulsive sigh, silenced and 
 undeceived my father. 
 
 " Caroline," said he, " it is in vaia 
 " to reject the hand of the Marquis: 
 '' I must be obeyed: rise from the 
 *• ground and hearken to my last re- 
 " solve!" 
 
 Pale, agonized, and heart-wrung, I 
 rose, but could not stand. He moved 
 tov/ards me, and sustained my head on 
 his bosom. I seized his hand and bath-
 
 206 
 
 ed it with my tears. He bore me to a 
 sopha, and placed himself by my side. 
 
 " Caroline,'^ said he, with inexpres- 
 sible tenderness, *' amid the ruin of 
 " my ambition, there was but one tie 
 " left to hold me to the world ; and that 
 *' was you, I long anticipated your 
 " elevation by marriage. For this,. I. 
 " struggled against diappointair:nts,and 
 " to support with a resignatiOii becom- 
 " ing a soldier, the sorrows which 
 *' rived my heart after my calamities 
 " in France. I loved you, too, my 
 ** daughter, and to gratify that l(»VG, as 
 " well as my own ambition, I sought 
 " to bestow your hand upon the man 1 
 " esteem the most of any upon enrth. 
 " I have now obtained his, and his pa- 
 '* rents' concurrence. Do, my Caro- 
 " line, let the eager pleading of your 
 " father win your consent! Do, my 
 " child, yield to my earnest entreaty,
 
 207 
 
 " consent that the nuptial tie shall join 
 
 " vour hands, and I shall answer that 
 
 " love shall join your hearts. Prepa- 
 
 " rations shall be quickly made for your 
 
 " marriage by prox\% and the festival 
 
 " shall be celebrated with all the dig- 
 
 " nity becoming your birth/^ 
 
 This dreadful denunciation again, re- 
 stored me to an artificial heat; it roused 
 my exhausted spirits, and made me in- 
 capable of being intimidated by threats 
 or of being soothed by caresses. My 
 father perceived the inflexible character 
 of my mind. He sliook with rage and 
 indignation, but perceiving my mother 
 enter the room, he rose to retire — first 
 directing her, in a tone determined and 
 imperious, to see that 1 obeyed him 
 before twenty-tour hours should elapse. 
 
 My mother placed herself<lirectly by 
 me. I viewed her for some time si-
 
 208 
 
 lently, and she appeared in my eyes an 
 angel. Her features shone with all her 
 natural goodness and innocence, though 
 strongly clouded with an air of melaa- 
 choly and pensiveness. 
 
 Accustomed as I had been lately to 
 the intemperate violence of my^ father, 
 the beauty of my mother's beneficence 
 flushed upon me irresistibly. I could 
 bear my feelings no longer. I fell on 
 her neck, and kissed her. She wept, 
 and at the same time wiped the tears 
 from my streaming eyes. Innocent 
 tears ! they soothed the mind, and con- 
 tributed to knit our hearts still more 
 firmly together. 
 
 An explanation of the tenderestkind 
 ensued. At length my mother ob- 
 served
 
 209 
 
 " Caroline, my love, it is in vain to 
 ** resist your father. Since his defeat 
 *• in France, his mind has entirely 
 '^ changed, and he seems capable of 
 •' feeling no sentiment, of uttering no 
 '' thought, but those which relate to 
 " the recovery of his glory, or the re- 
 '* putation which he fears he has lost. 
 '^ Instead of being diminished, his am-. 
 "* bition is increased. His very lan- 
 " guage and looks partake of this ter- 
 *'• rible complexion of mind ; and one 
 " might know either from his diction 
 '* or his countenance, that the former 
 " charity of his heart now yields to 
 ** ambitious views, to intolerance, and 
 '• to persecution. 
 
 " ^Tis in vain to oppose him! But 
 *' if you do oppose him, mark my words, 
 " my child, you will expose your mo- 
 '- ther to all his fury for suffering your 
 " intimacy with Algernon, and you will
 
 210 
 
 " consign your Algernon to those regi- 
 " ons of sorrow; to tbose hideous dun- 
 " geons where the victims of your fa- 
 " ther's displecsLire already linger; 
 '• where they clank their heavy chains 
 '' in darkness, and where loathsome 
 " vermin are their only companions, 
 *' and the constant witnesses of their 
 " groans and tears. « 
 
 " Relax then I beseech you your re- 
 *' solution ! hazard not your mother's 
 " peace — your lover's head! Consent 
 " to marry the Marquis ; do, my Caro- 
 " line, consent. Appear in the ami- 
 " able colours of humanity — the wise 
 *' will applaud your wisdom, the just 
 *' will admire your justice, and the 
 " merciful will venerate your philan- 
 " thropy. You will appear in the most 
 '' dignified character ; you will excite 
 '' all the love and admiration you de- 
 " serve. You will be held up to view
 
 211 
 
 ** as a perfect pattern for imitation, and 
 
 *' you will ever bear testimony to this 
 
 " important truth, that filial affection 
 
 ** or obedience, is the most faithful 
 
 ** beacon for guidinga daughter through 
 
 '* the storms and tempests of life, to 
 
 *' the desired haven of peace, happi- 
 
 *' ness, and prosperity." 
 
 My father returned as my mother 
 concluded this beautiful appeal to the 
 reason and to the judgment. He, from 
 what motives I know not, congratulated 
 my mother on her success. 1 was too 
 much oioved and affected to undeceive 
 him. My silence, compromised my 
 honor, and I was hurried into the ap- 
 pearance, by a virtuous impulse, of 
 giving a flagitious consent to an union, 
 which my soul abhorred! I can no 
 more, Pitv vour 
 
 Caroune.
 
 212 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 Tortured and exhausted with hope- 
 le?s and mortifying reflections, I arose 
 the f'Jk>vvin<4 morning from a weary 
 bed; — dre«sed^ and opened the window 
 which looked into a garden on the east 
 side of the palace. 
 
 The pure air wafting the fragrant 
 odours of the herbs and flowers, in 
 some small degree dispelled the gloomy 
 clouds that enveloped my maddened 
 and bewildered brain ; I felt my body 
 recover new strength, and my heart 
 animated by reviving hopes. And 
 whilst my eyes wandered over the 
 garden, I perceived x\lgernon busily 
 engaged in conversation with the gar- 
 dener who appeared Jo explain to him
 
 - 213 
 
 the nature of bis rural labours, and to 
 shew, by his diction and manner, how 
 little he envied people tht enjoyments 
 of a more exalted lite. From the pure 
 and simple pleasure which illuminated 
 the smiles of Algeriion, I could well 
 comprehend him a stran2:er to all that 
 had passed, and was passing in my 
 heart. Indeed, I learnt from Alelina, 
 that he had been sent to Berlin by my 
 father, and i could perceive by the 
 elegant disorder of his travelling dress, 
 that he had but just returned to court. 
 I descended to the garden, and with a 
 slow and frozen step, and a heart pal- 
 pitating advanced towards him. 
 
 The alteration of my manner had an 
 instantaneous effect upon Algernon. 
 Ever and anon his piercing eye glanced 
 upon me. The change he beheld seem- 
 ed to fill him with terror and astonish- 
 ment. My form worn thin, and my
 
 214 
 
 countenance overspread with the white- 
 ness of a lily^s hue ; for hungry corrod- 
 ing sorrow had banquetted on the roses 
 that used to bloom upon my cheek; 
 my swoln eye surcharged with drops of , 
 sorrow, that seemed prepared to burst 
 forth the half-stifled sob, and the quick 
 heaves of my bosom, all gave evidence 
 of a mind within woe-fraught and 
 wounded by calamity; — while the pent 
 up turbulence of my grief sought to vent 
 itself in exclamations, and, with a wish 
 to conceal it from observation, contend- 
 ed for the mastery. 
 
 I endeavoured all I could to recover 
 that outward composure, which the 
 approach to Algernon, and the quick 
 sense of what I was to lose, had remov- 
 ed me from ; teaching my countenance 
 to wear the semblance of a calm sere- 
 nity I was far from^feeling, and to veil 
 the various and conflicting emotions
 
 215 
 
 that warred within my mind. Like the 
 stormy ocean^s waves dashing to and 
 fro, at one time raging with fury on to 
 its greatest height in mountainous bil- 
 lows reaching to the clouds, anon 
 plunging down into a vast abyss, and 
 again rising to their steepy ascent; so 
 my spirits rose and fell, as wrought on 
 by the silent sorrow that preyed upon 
 them. I strove to still this agitation of 
 my grief-charged soul, and in some mea- 
 sure at length succeeded. I looked the 
 picture of depressive melancholy, calm 
 and patiently resigned to meet its fate ; 
 but still my grief, too mighty to be 
 conquered, smothered within me, as a 
 fire ill quenched, ever and ever burst- 
 ing forth into rising flame. No more 
 the lustre of my eye sparkled. No more 
 their timid glances turned on Algernon, 
 to cheer, as they were wont, his adoring 
 heart; but pointed them downward in 
 tearful dignity, or momentarily raised
 
 to cast a mournful look, and then again 
 turned to their former station with a 
 deep fetched sigh ! 
 
 Algernon could not but note with 
 agony and apprehension, the paleness 
 and dejection my countenance express- 
 ed. He should have thought me in ill 
 health, had not my assurances to the 
 contrary satisfied him that I was not 
 indisposed. Yet certain, ill I was, and 
 that he knew, though not in body; yet, 
 if it lay not in the frame, he was con- 
 vinced by my looks, that spoke the 
 changeful emotions of my soul, it must 
 be in my heart or in my mind. 
 
 The transient pleasure I had experi- 
 enced when first I approached him 
 after his absence, did not exist any 
 length of time ; a something like a foul 
 and ugly fiend recollection conjured 
 up in my brain, to rip ope my sorrows
 
 ^17 
 
 afresh, which the healing hand of a 
 rising hope had in some sort a Uttle 
 tempered; while its pestiferous breath 
 withered, like the nipj)ing northern 
 blast, all the fair fiowers of visionary 
 happiness, which the sanguine youth ^ 
 had presented tome, and, in the swift- 
 ness of a thought, destroyed the plea- 
 sure 1 had felt, turned it into bitterness, 
 and rentasunder the pleasing charm that 
 kept my mind in confinement: short- 
 lived as is the niir.ble winged epeme- 
 ron, that lavishes away its few hours 
 of existence in sporting over the waters 
 which gave it to the light; in the grey 
 of evening it is brought forth, and yet 
 a little space, ere the night has perform- 
 ed the half of its course, the period of 
 its life is finished. Even so my joy 
 shone forth — and then died! gentle, 
 not of any permanent duration; sweet, 
 not stable; the delirium that pleasure* 
 unexpected wraps the senses in, 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 2 IS 
 
 I again, however, felt the influence 
 of Algernon's presence, and for a mo- 
 ment forgot the griefs that laboured 
 within me; but soon, alas! but soon 
 resumed their position. The measure 
 of my woes seemed full and running 
 over. I felt as if the sweet comforter 
 of grief-wounded minds, angel-formed 
 hope, had spread its airy pinions, and 
 left me a forlorn wretch, dead to all the 
 world, without any prospect whisper- 
 ing consolation to my distracted brain ; 
 distracted with many troubles, and see- 
 ing no conclusion to my woes, save in 
 death's cold arms. No friendly ray of 
 far-distant happiness broke upon my 
 gloomy retlections; all, all, was dreary 
 and desolate. My father inexorably 
 determined. My mother doomed to 
 pass her life in sorrow^, were it known 
 that she countenanced my attachment 
 for Algernon; and I, even I, condemn- 
 ed to exile myself from home, or to
 
 919 
 
 consent to a political marriage with the 
 Marquis. 
 
 There was no being to whom I could 
 look for protection. I thought or 
 
 Prince L s; but honor, rigid honor 
 
 forbade the claim, and bade me keep 
 as imaculate my reputation as was my 
 virtue; nor let envious detraction, that 
 seeks by forged tales of vile calumny, 
 told behind the back of unsuspecting 
 innocence, to sully its fair fame, that 
 it might plant its malicious gratinca- 
 tions on another's ruin, and smile over 
 the destruction! shrinking to very no- 
 thing when the intended victim turns 
 its face to meet their licentious re- 
 proaches and meddling censure. A 
 slanderous tongue ever strikes the 
 purest virtue as equal in the monarch as 
 the peasant; employs its miriads of 
 viperous tongues to contaminate the 
 spotless fame, and load with vile op- 
 
 L 2
 
 220 
 
 probrious epithets the mother of my 
 Charlotte, setting her up as a mark for 
 the vicious to aim their scandal at, and 
 
 O Charlotte ! into what digression 
 
 have 1 fallen ! Cruel J y ! why do 
 
 you thus traverse my thought and per- 
 vert my reason? Having blasted my 
 happiness^ and stained the honor of 
 my House, why will you obtrude on 
 my oblivion? why will you inspire me 
 with an abhorrence, with a terror, that 
 renders me incapable of writing to a 
 daughter, or of communing with my- 
 self? ^Tis in vain, my child I this lady's 
 image sa perturbs my mind, that I 
 must now conclude- with being your 
 
 Caroline.
 
 991 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 While agitated with the contending 
 enfiotions which I vainly endeavoured, 
 to describe in my last letter to you, my 
 sweet Charlotte, Algernon had con- 
 ducted me to a seat, and having 
 placed himself beside me, with his eyes 
 intently fixed on mine, he exclaimed : 
 
 *' CaroHne ! Oh, my Caroline I wilt 
 " thou not speak to me ? — Wilt thou 
 " not let me share the griefs thy looks 
 '' tell me thou canst but ill conceal ? — 
 " "W^herefore is thine eye pensive— 
 " downcast ? Oh ! tell me, I conjure 
 " thee, what has chanced to check the 
 '* joy thus our meeting should have 
 " raised ? speak ! oh, speak ! Where- 
 
 L o
 
 S92 
 
 " fore dost thou weep my Caroline ?" 
 be continued, observing my cheeks 
 studded with big drops. — " Those 
 " tears proceed not from joy ! No, 
 " they come from some hidden -sorrow 
 '* which I fain would soothe or partici- 
 *' pate. — Give me to know the cause, 
 *' that I may pour the healing balm of 
 '' gentle pity and commiseration into 
 " thy soft bosom, lull thy cares to rest, 
 " and speak to thee of future happy, 
 ''happy, days of mutual transport ; till 
 "thy griefs be forgotten, and thy soul 
 ''yield to thy Algernon and to love/* 
 
 ' Love, Algernon ! ah me !^ cried I, 
 "^ would 1 had never known its power- 
 
 • ful influence ! — I then should not 
 ' have to endure the conflicting emo- 
 
 * tions, that agitate my soul, and destroy 
 ' all my felicities. If to love be count-
 
 223 
 
 * ed sweet, wherefore, ah ! wherefore is 
 ' your Caroline thus miserable ?' 
 
 " And has love, nny Caroline, made 
 '* thee so ?" interrupted he, with viva- 
 city. — " When first thy lips confessed 
 '• thy heart was mine, I fondly thought 
 " you seemed not miserable then, but 
 *' filled rather with heavenly joy and 
 " transport, restrained only by timid 
 *• soul-enchanting modesty, which yet 
 *• could not prevent their appearing in 
 '• thy features. Thy lovely counte- 
 " nance breathed an air of bewitching 
 " ravishment, and thy whole mien 
 *' spoke the most extatic tenderness. 
 '* when, sunk into my arms, thou sup- 
 " portedst thy beauteous head against 
 *' my breast, and sufferedst me to clasp 
 " thy winning form to the heart that 
 •' beat only for thee. With eyes down- 
 *' cast, and blooming cheeks blushing 
 '* like the lovely rose, you listened
 
 224 
 
 " to the soft whispers of love ; and, 
 " with a tongue of seraphic music, ex- 
 " changed, in accents, low and uncon- 
 *' aected, with me, vows of unshaken 
 ** and inviolable fideUty i while 1 hung 
 •* enamoured over thee; beheld thy 
 *' fascinating features glow with inef- 
 " fable sweetness ; saw thy enchanting 
 *' bosom heave with transport undis- 
 " sembled as you murmured out pro^ 
 " testations of eternal love, which was 
 " answered m an incoherent strain of 
 " rapturous fondness. Then, oh then! 
 ** what transport ! what delight crowd- 
 ** ed upon me! Surely such wondrous 
 ** joy never was raised in the heart of 
 " man as that 1 then felt ! Let the re- 
 ** collection of that blessed hour tune 
 " thy heart once more to love, and ba- 
 *' nish sorrow from that gentle bo- 
 « som !''
 
 553 
 
 * Never, Algernon ! oh, never can 
 
 * that be/ exclaiiried 1, ' unless the 
 ' cause, the fatal cause, be first remov- 
 ' ed ! Sorrow and Caroline cannot part 
 
 * so easily as you imagine. Since I last 
 ^ saw you, hope has been a stranger to 
 ' this sad heart. — Even now, a prey to 
 
 * grief, words vainly struggle for utter- 
 
 * ance. — Algernon ! I cannot speak my 
 
 * thought. — Farewell ! a long farewell 
 ' to happiness ! It is torn for ever 
 
 * from me ; and my heart in losing you, 
 
 * has lost its all. — Now, Algernon, col- 
 
 * lect all thy fortitude to sustain this 
 
 * shock : Summon thy noble spirit to 
 
 * aid thee at the trying moment, lest 
 
 * that thou sink beneath it, and become 
 ' unable to support our eternal sepa- 
 ' ration ! ! !' 
 
 " Separation ! eternal separation ! 
 *' what means my Caroline ?" exclaim-
 
 ^96 
 
 ed the frantic Algernon. " I will never 
 " part from thee till this body lies 
 ** breathless upon the earth's cold sur- 
 " face ; for, art thou not my life, my 
 "love, my all ? and shalfl quit thee? 
 " —no, never ; my existence is linked 
 " with thine, and thine with mine, 
 *' Yet you say we must part V^ 
 
 ' Yes, Algernon ! I repeat it/ said 
 I, ' we must for ever part. Separate, 
 
 * Heaven knows, never more to meet ! 
 * — ^Now hold, my heart, or beat no 
 
 * more \ Yet one other trial ! but ah 1 
 
 * the tears fall down my cheek ! — I fear 
 •it is a bitter trial ! — Algernon it will 
 
 * shake thy fortitude ; and thou wilt 
 ' call down bitter imprecations upon 
 ' her who, in a detested hour, ruined 
 ' all thy happiness 1 wilt thou not, when 
 
 * thou knowest the cause that has lost 
 
 * me one I too much loved ? — When
 
 * thou bearest that I am already — that 
 ^ I did— P 
 
 " What didst thou do ?" asked Al- 
 gernon, gazing eagerly upon me, as I 
 sat striving to speak but unable, the 
 tears stopping my utterance, and the 
 sounds dying away upon my lips. — 
 " Ha, great Heaven !" continued he, 
 " a dire foreboding of hidden mischief 
 *' bursts upon my mind. If it be true ; 
 " — Blessed powers of just providence, 
 *' defend and support me I But perish 
 ** such a thought to wrong the truth 
 " and purity of my Caroline ! — Yet I 
 " must be satisfied — Tell me, Caroline; 
 ^' — let me know the worst at once, lest 
 " that, having it with-held, my doubts 
 " may increase and draw me into mad- 
 " ness. — In pity, rack not my brains 
 " with wild thoughts of another happier 
 *' lover wresting thy affections from me. 
 ' Speak ! but speak, dispel my doubts.
 
 228 
 
 " tell me that they are unfounded, or 
 " — that Prince L s is a villain V' 
 
 Oppressed as I then was with a 
 thousand terrors, this unexpected 
 stroke made me unable to make a re- 
 ply, lie rose from his seat with an 
 air frantic and wild. — I clung in speech- 
 less agony to his arm. I trembled in 
 silence. His nerves, too, shook, his 
 frantic mien forsook hitn, and he fell 
 extended upon the earth. — I dropt on 
 my knees. 
 
 ' Oh Algernon ! forgive me !^ cried I, 
 —-' do hearken to your Caroline ; mi- 
 ^ serable as we are, we are not so miser- 
 
 ^ able as you conceive. Prince L s 
 
 ' is your dearest friend ! — A B h 
 
 ' peer, the Marquis of Albion,^ — con- 
 tinued I, hanging over him, — •' is the 
 * only enemy you possess. To him it 
 ' is, that I am by violence to be allied !
 
 929 
 
 ' To him it is that my father immolates 
 
 • his child! To him it is, that you are 
 
 * to attribute / 
 
 •* Stop, Caroline, ^^ said the reviving 
 Algernon,-—" Stop 1 why, alas ! conti- 
 " nue a confession as injurious to me 
 '' as unavailing to yourself! Dearest 
 " Caroline forgive the outrage that es- 
 " caped my iips ! forgive the reproach- 
 ful glance that escaped my eyes I for- 
 
 ' Oh, Algernon 1 fly ! fly!' repeated 
 I in agony : ' here are persons come in 
 ' my pursuit. But mark me ! should 
 
 * my father's severity affect my life be- 
 ' fore the prosecution of this mar- 
 
 * riage, for my sake, for the sake of 
 ' your Caroline, be to my father a ser- 
 *- vant — to my mother a friend !^ 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 230 
 
 I fell upon his shoulder and wept bit- 
 terly. He clasped me to his breast. 
 We were conducted to breakfast by 
 Melina and the Prince, who found us 
 in this agonizing state, and who in 
 some measure restored us by flattering 
 hopes to ourselves. 
 
 Caroline. 
 
 END OP VOL. I- 
 
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