Chapter 2

I am the son of Agatha
your Laurina’s 4th and youngest Daughter,” “I see you are indeed;
replied Lord St. Clair—But tell me (continued he looking fearfully
towards the Door) tell me, have I any other Grand-children in the
House.” “None my Lord.” “Then I will provide for you all without
farther delay—Here are 4 Banknotes of 50£ each—Take them and remember I
have done the Duty of a Grandfather.” He instantly left the Room and
immediately afterwards the House.

Adeiu.
Laura.

LETTER the 12th
LAURA in continuation

You may imagine how greatly we were surprised by the sudden departure
of Lord St Clair. “Ignoble Grand-sire!” exclaimed Sophia. “Unworthy
Grandfather!” said I, and instantly fainted in each other’s arms. How
long we remained in this situation I know not; but when we recovered we
found ourselves alone, without either Gustavus, Philander, or the
Banknotes. As we were deploring our unhappy fate, the Door of the
Apartment opened and “Macdonald” was announced. He was Sophia’s cousin.
The haste with which he came to our releif so soon after the receipt of
our Note, spoke so greatly in his favour that I hesitated not to
pronounce him at first sight, a tender and simpathetic Freind. Alas! he
little deserved the name—for though he told us that he was much
concerned at our Misfortunes, yet by his own account it appeared that
the perusal of them, had neither drawn from him a single sigh, nor
induced him to bestow one curse on our vindictive stars—. He told
Sophia that his Daughter depended on her returning with him to
Macdonald-Hall, and that as his Cousin’s freind he should be happy to
see me there also. To Macdonald-Hall, therefore we went, and were
received with great kindness by Janetta the Daughter of Macdonald, and
the Mistress of the Mansion. Janetta was then only fifteen; naturally
well disposed, endowed with a susceptible Heart, and a simpathetic
Disposition, she might, had these amiable qualities been properly
encouraged, have been an ornament to human Nature; but unfortunately
her Father possessed not a soul sufficiently exalted to admire so
promising a Disposition, and had endeavoured by every means on his
power to prevent it encreasing with her Years. He had actually so far
extinguished the natural noble Sensibility of her Heart, as to prevail
on her to accept an offer from a young Man of his Recommendation. They
were to be married in a few months, and Graham, was in the House when
we arrived. _We_ soon saw through his character. He was just such a Man
as one might have expected to be the choice of Macdonald. They said he
was Sensible, well-informed, and Agreable; we did not pretend to Judge
of such trifles, but as we were convinced he had no soul, that he had
never read the sorrows of Werter, and that his Hair bore not the least
resemblance to auburn, we were certain that Janetta could feel no
affection for him, or at least that she ought to feel none. The very
circumstance of his being her father’s choice too, was so much in his
disfavour, that had he been deserving her, in every other respect yet
_that_ of itself ought to have been a sufficient reason in the Eyes of
Janetta for rejecting him. These considerations we were determined to
represent to her in their proper light and doubted not of meeting with
the desired success from one naturally so well disposed; whose errors
in the affair had only arisen from a want of proper confidence in her
own opinion, and a suitable contempt of her father’s. We found her
indeed all that our warmest wishes could have hoped for; we had no
difficulty to convince her that it was impossible she could love
Graham, or that it was her Duty to disobey her Father; the only thing
at which she rather seemed to hesitate was our assertion that she must
be attached to some other Person. For some time, she persevered in
declaring that she knew no other young man for whom she had the the
smallest Affection; but upon explaining the impossibility of such a
thing she said that she beleived she _did like_ Captain M’Kenrie better
than any one she knew besides. This confession satisfied us and after
having enumerated the good Qualities of M’Kenrie and assured her that
she was violently in love with him, we desired to know whether he had
ever in any wise declared his affection to her.

“So far from having ever declared it, I have no reason to imagine that
he has ever felt any for me.” said Janetta. “That he certainly adores
you (replied Sophia) there can be no doubt—. The Attachment must be
reciprocal. Did he never gaze on you with admiration—tenderly press
your hand—drop an involantary tear—and leave the room abruptly?” “Never
(replied she) that I remember—he has always left the room indeed when
his visit has been ended, but has never gone away particularly abruptly
or without making a bow.” Indeed my Love (said I) you must be
mistaken—for it is absolutely impossible that he should ever have left
you but with Confusion, Despair, and Precipitation. Consider but for a
moment Janetta, and you must be convinced how absurd it is to suppose
that he could ever make a Bow, or behave like any other Person.” Having
settled this Point to our satisfaction, the next we took into
consideration was, to determine in what manner we should inform
M’Kenrie of the favourable Opinion Janetta entertained of him.... We at
length agreed to acquaint him with it by an anonymous Letter which
Sophia drew up in the following manner.

“Oh! happy Lover of the beautifull Janetta, oh! amiable Possessor of
_her_ Heart whose hand is destined to another, why do you thus delay a
confession of your attachment to the amiable Object of it? Oh! consider
that a few weeks will at once put an end to every flattering Hope that
you may now entertain, by uniting the unfortunate Victim of her
father’s Cruelty to the execrable and detested Graham.”

“Alas! why do you thus so cruelly connive at the projected Misery of
her and of yourself by delaying to communicate that scheme which had
doubtless long possessed your imagination? A secret Union will at once
secure the felicity of both.”

The amiable M’Kenrie, whose modesty as he afterwards assured us had
been the only reason of his having so long concealed the violence of
his affection for Janetta, on receiving this Billet flew on the wings
of Love to Macdonald-Hall, and so powerfully pleaded his Attachment to
her who inspired it, that after a few more private interveiws, Sophia
and I experienced the satisfaction of seeing them depart for
Gretna-Green, which they chose for the celebration of their Nuptials,
in preference to any other place although it was at a considerable
distance from Macdonald-Hall.

Adeiu
Laura.

LETTER the 13th
LAURA in continuation

They had been gone nearly a couple of Hours, before either Macdonald or
Graham had entertained any suspicion of the affair. And they might not
even then have suspected it, but for the following little Accident.
Sophia happening one day to open a private Drawer in Macdonald’s
Library with one of her own keys, discovered that it was the Place
where he kept his Papers of consequence and amongst them some bank
notes of considerable amount. This discovery she imparted to me; and
having agreed together that it would be a proper treatment of so vile a
Wretch as Macdonald to deprive him of money, perhaps dishonestly
gained, it was determined that the next time we should either of us
happen to go that way, we would take one or more of the Bank notes from
the drawer. This well meant Plan we had often successfully put in
Execution; but alas! on the very day of Janetta’s Escape, as Sophia was
majestically removing the 5th Bank-note from the Drawer to her own
purse, she was suddenly most impertinently interrupted in her
employment by the entrance of Macdonald himself, in a most abrupt and
precipitate Manner. Sophia (who though naturally all winning sweetness
could when occasions demanded it call forth the Dignity of her sex)
instantly put on a most forbidding look, and darting an angry frown on
the undaunted culprit, demanded in a haughty tone of voice “Wherefore
her retirement was thus insolently broken in on?” The unblushing
Macdonald, without even endeavouring to exculpate himself from the
crime he was charged with, meanly endeavoured to reproach Sophia with
ignobly defrauding him of his money... The dignity of Sophia was
wounded; “Wretch (exclaimed she, hastily replacing the Bank-note in the
Drawer) how darest thou to accuse me of an Act, of which the bare idea
makes me blush?” The base wretch was still unconvinced and continued to
upbraid the justly-offended Sophia in such opprobious Language, that at
length he so greatly provoked the gentle sweetness of her Nature, as to
induce her to revenge herself on him by informing him of Janetta’s
Elopement, and of the active Part we had both taken in the affair. At
this period of their Quarrel I entered the Library and was as you may
imagine equally offended as Sophia at the ill-grounded accusations of
the malevolent and contemptible Macdonald. “Base Miscreant! (cried I)
how canst thou thus undauntedly endeavour to sully the spotless
reputation of such bright Excellence? Why dost thou not suspect _my_
innocence as soon?” “Be satisfied Madam (replied he) I _do_ suspect it,
and therefore must desire that you will both leave this House in less
than half an hour.”

“We shall go willingly; (answered Sophia) our hearts have long detested
thee, and nothing but our freindship for thy Daughter could have
induced us to remain so long beneath thy roof.”

“Your Freindship for my Daughter has indeed been most powerfully
exerted by throwing her into the arms of an unprincipled
Fortune-hunter.” (replied he)

“Yes, (exclaimed I) amidst every misfortune, it will afford us some
consolation to reflect that by this one act of Freindship to Janetta,
we have amply discharged every obligation that we have received from
her father.”

“It must indeed be a most gratefull reflection, to your exalted minds.”
(said he.)

As soon as we had packed up our wardrobe and valuables, we left
Macdonald Hall, and after having walked about a mile and a half we sate
down by the side of a clear limpid stream to refresh our exhausted
limbs. The place was suited to meditation. A grove of full-grown Elms
sheltered us from the East—. A Bed of full-grown Nettles from the
West—. Before us ran the murmuring brook and behind us ran the
turn-pike road. We were in a mood for contemplation and in a
Disposition to enjoy so beautifull a spot. A mutual silence which had
for some time reigned between us, was at length broke by my
exclaiming—“What a lovely scene! Alas why are not Edward and Augustus
here to enjoy its Beauties with us?”

“Ah! my beloved Laura (cried Sophia) for pity’s sake forbear recalling
to my remembrance the unhappy situation of my imprisoned Husband. Alas,
what would I not give to learn the fate of my Augustus! to know if he
is still in Newgate, or if he is yet hung. But never shall I be able so
far to conquer my tender sensibility as to enquire after him. Oh! do
not I beseech you ever let me again hear you repeat his beloved name—.
It affects me too deeply—. I cannot bear to hear him mentioned it
wounds my feelings.”

“Excuse me my Sophia for having thus unwillingly offended you—” replied
I—and then changing the conversation, desired her to admire the noble
Grandeur of the Elms which sheltered us from the Eastern Zephyr. “Alas!
my Laura (returned she) avoid so melancholy a subject, I intreat you.
Do not again wound my Sensibility by observations on those elms. They
remind me of Augustus. He was like them, tall, magestic—he possessed
that noble grandeur which you admire in them.”

I was silent, fearfull lest I might any more unwillingly distress her
by fixing on any other subject of conversation which might again remind
her of Augustus.

“Why do you not speak my Laura? (said she after a short pause) “I
cannot support this silence you must not leave me to my own
reflections; they ever recur to Augustus.”

“What a beautifull sky! (said I) How charmingly is the azure varied by
those delicate streaks of white!”

“Oh! my Laura (replied she hastily withdrawing her Eyes from a
momentary glance at the sky) do not thus distress me by calling my
Attention to an object which so cruelly reminds me of my Augustus’s
blue sattin waistcoat striped in white! In pity to your unhappy freind
avoid a subject so distressing.” What could I do? The feelings of
Sophia were at that time so exquisite, and the tenderness she felt for
Augustus so poignant that I had not power to start any other topic,
justly fearing that it might in some unforseen manner again awaken all
her sensibility by directing her thoughts to her Husband. Yet to be
silent would be cruel; she had intreated me to talk.

From this Dilemma I was most fortunately releived by an accident truly
apropos; it was the lucky overturning of a Gentleman’s Phaeton, on the
road which ran murmuring behind us. It was a most fortunate accident as
it diverted the attention of Sophia from the melancholy reflections
which she had been before indulging. We instantly quitted our seats and
ran to the rescue of those who but a few moments before had been in so
elevated a situation as a fashionably high Phaeton, but who were now
laid low and sprawling in the Dust. “What an ample subject for
reflection on the uncertain Enjoyments of this World, would not that
Phaeton and the Life of Cardinal Wolsey afford a thinking Mind!” said I
to Sophia as we were hastening to the field of Action.

She had not time to answer me, for every thought was now engaged by the
horrid spectacle before us. Two Gentlemen most elegantly attired but
weltering in their blood was what first struck our Eyes—we
approached—they were Edward and Augustus—. Yes dearest Marianne they
were our Husbands. Sophia shreiked and fainted on the ground—I screamed
and instantly ran mad—. We remained thus mutually deprived of our
senses, some minutes, and on regaining them were deprived of them
again. For an Hour and a Quarter did we continue in this unfortunate
situation—Sophia fainting every moment and I running mad as often. At
length a groan from the hapless Edward (who alone retained any share of
life) restored us to ourselves. Had we indeed before imagined that
either of them lived, we should have been more sparing of our Greif—but
as we had supposed when we first beheld them that they were no more, we
knew that nothing could remain to be done but what we were about. No
sooner did we therefore hear my Edward’s groan than postponing our
lamentations for the present, we hastily ran to the Dear Youth and
kneeling on each side of him implored him not to die—. “Laura (said He
fixing his now languid Eyes on me) I fear I have been overturned.”

I was overjoyed to find him yet sensible.

“Oh! tell me Edward (said I) tell me I beseech you before you die, what
has befallen you since that unhappy Day in which Augustus was arrested
and we were separated—”

“I will” (said he) and instantly fetching a deep sigh, Expired—. Sophia
immediately sank again into a swoon—. _My_ greif was more audible. My
Voice faltered, My Eyes assumed a vacant stare, my face became as pale
as Death, and my senses were considerably impaired—.

“Talk not to me of Phaetons (said I, raving in a frantic, incoherent
manner)—Give me a violin—. I’ll play to him and sooth him in his
melancholy Hours—Beware ye gentle Nymphs of Cupid’s Thunderbolts, avoid
the piercing shafts of Jupiter—Look at that grove of Firs—I see a Leg
of Mutton—They told me Edward was not Dead; but they deceived me—they
took him for a cucumber—” Thus I continued wildly exclaiming on my
Edward’s Death—. For two Hours did I rave thus madly and should not
then have left off, as I was not in the least fatigued, had not Sophia
who was just recovered from her swoon, intreated me to consider that
Night was now approaching and that the Damps began to fall. “And
whither shall we go (said I) to shelter us from either?” “To that white
Cottage.” (replied she pointing to a neat Building which rose up amidst
the grove of Elms and which I had not before observed—) I agreed and we
instantly walked to it—we knocked at the door—it was opened by an old
woman; on being requested to afford us a Night’s Lodging, she informed
us that her House was but small, that she had only two Bedrooms, but
that However we should be wellcome to one of them. We were satisfied
and followed the good woman into the House where we were greatly
cheered by the sight of a comfortable fire—. She was a widow and had
only one Daughter, who was then just seventeen—One of the best of ages;
but alas! she was very plain and her name was Bridget..... Nothing
therfore could be expected from her—she could not be supposed to
possess either exalted Ideas, Delicate Feelings or refined
Sensibilities—. She was nothing more than a mere good-tempered, civil
and obliging young woman; as such we could scarcely dislike here—she
was only an Object of Contempt—.

Adeiu
Laura.

LETTER the 14th
LAURA in continuation

Arm yourself my amiable young Freind with all the philosophy you are
Mistress of; summon up all the fortitude you possess, for alas! in the
perusal of the following Pages your sensibility will be most severely
tried. Ah! what were the misfortunes I had before experienced and which
I have already related to you, to the one I am now going to inform you
of. The Death of my Father and my Mother and my Husband though almost
more than my gentle Nature could support, were trifles in comparison to
the misfortune I am now proceeding to relate. The morning after our
arrival at the Cottage, Sophia complained of a violent pain in her
delicate limbs, accompanied with a disagreable Head-ake. She attributed
it to a cold caught by her continued faintings in the open air as the
Dew was falling the Evening before. This I feared was but too probably
the case; since how could it be otherwise accounted for that I should
have escaped the same indisposition, but by supposing that the bodily
Exertions I had undergone in my repeated fits of frenzy had so
effectually circulated and warmed my Blood as to make me proof against
the chilling Damps of Night, whereas, Sophia lying totally inactive on
the ground must have been exposed to all their severity. I was most
seriously alarmed by her illness which trifling as it may appear to
you, a certain instinctive sensibility whispered me, would in the End
be fatal to her.

Alas! my fears were but too fully justified; she grew gradually
worse—and I daily became more alarmed for her. At length she was
obliged to confine herself solely to the Bed allotted us by our worthy
Landlady—. Her disorder turned to a galloping Consumption and in a few
days carried her off. Amidst all my Lamentations for her (and violent
you may suppose they were) I yet received some consolation in the
reflection of my having paid every attention to her, that could be
offered, in her illness. I had wept over her every Day—had bathed her
sweet face with my tears and had pressed her fair Hands continually in
mine—. “My beloved Laura (said she to me a few Hours before she died)
take warning from my unhappy End and avoid the imprudent conduct which
had occasioned it... Beware of fainting-fits... Though at the time they
may be refreshing and agreable yet beleive me they will in the end, if
too often repeated and at improper seasons, prove destructive to your
Constitution... My fate will teach you this.. I die a Martyr to my
greif for the loss of Augustus.. One fatal swoon has cost me my Life..
Beware of swoons Dear Laura.... A frenzy fit is not one quarter so
pernicious; it is an exercise to the Body and if not too violent, is I
dare say conducive to Health in its consequences—Run mad as often as
you chuse; but do not faint—”

These were the last words she ever addressed to me.. It was her dieing
Advice to her afflicted Laura, who has ever most faithfully adhered to
it.

After having attended my lamented freind to her Early Grave, I
immediately (tho’ late at night) left the detested Village in which she
died, and near which had expired my Husband and Augustus. I had not
walked many yards from it before I was overtaken by a stage-coach, in
which I instantly took a place, determined to proceed in it to
Edinburgh, where I hoped to find some kind some pitying Freind who
would receive and comfort me in my afflictions.

It was so dark when I entered the Coach that I could not distinguish
the Number of my Fellow-travellers; I could only perceive that they
were many. Regardless however of anything concerning them, I gave
myself up to my own sad Reflections. A general silence prevailed—A
silence, which was by nothing interrupted but by the loud and repeated
snores of one of the Party.

“What an illiterate villain must that man be! (thought I to myself)
What a total want of delicate refinement must he have, who can thus
shock our senses by such a brutal noise! He must I am certain be
capable of every bad action! There is no crime too black for such a
Character!” Thus reasoned I within myself, and doubtless such were the
reflections of my fellow travellers.

At length, returning Day enabled me to behold the unprincipled
Scoundrel who had so violently disturbed my feelings. It was Sir Edward
the father of my Deceased Husband. By his side sate Augusta, and on the
same seat with me were your Mother and Lady Dorothea. Imagine my
surprise at finding myself thus seated amongst my old Acquaintance.
Great as was my astonishment, it was yet increased, when on looking out
of Windows, I beheld the Husband of Philippa, with Philippa by his
side, on the Coachbox and when on looking behind I beheld, Philander
and Gustavus in the Basket. “Oh! Heavens, (exclaimed I) is it possible
that I should so unexpectedly be surrounded by my nearest Relations and
Connections?” These words roused the rest of the Party, and every eye
was directed to the corner in which I sat. “Oh! my Isabel (continued I
throwing myself across Lady Dorothea into her arms) receive once more
to your Bosom the unfortunate Laura. Alas! when we last parted in the
Vale of Usk, I was happy in being united to the best of Edwards; I had
then a Father and a Mother, and had never known misfortunes—But now
deprived of every freind but you—”

“What! (interrupted Augusta) is my Brother dead then? Tell us I intreat
you what is become of him?” “Yes, cold and insensible Nymph, (replied
I) that luckless swain your Brother, is no more, and you may now glory
in being the Heiress of Sir Edward’s fortune.”

Although I had always despised her from the Day I had overheard her
conversation with my Edward, yet in civility I complied with hers and
Sir Edward’s intreaties that I would inform them of the whole
melancholy affair. They were greatly shocked—even the obdurate Heart of
Sir Edward and the insensible one of Augusta, were touched with sorrow,
by the unhappy tale. At the request of your Mother I related to them
every other misfortune which had befallen me since we parted. Of the
imprisonment of Augustus and the absence of Edward—of our arrival in
Scotland—of our unexpected Meeting with our Grand-father and our
cousins—of our visit to Macdonald-Hall—of the singular service we there
performed towards Janetta—of her Fathers ingratitude for it.. of his
inhuman Behaviour, unaccountable suspicions, and barbarous treatment of
us, in obliging us to leave the House.. of our lamentations on the loss
of Edward and Augustus and finally of the melancholy Death of my
beloved Companion.

Pity and surprise were strongly depictured in your Mother’s
countenance, during the whole of my narration, but I am sorry to say,
that to the eternal reproach of her sensibility, the latter infinitely
predominated. Nay, faultless as my conduct had certainly been during
the whole course of my late misfortunes and adventures, she pretended
to find fault with my behaviour in many of the situations in which I
had been placed. As I was sensible myself, that I had always behaved in
a manner which reflected Honour on my Feelings and Refinement, I paid
little attention to what she said, and desired her to satisfy my
Curiosity by informing me how she came there, instead of wounding my
spotless reputation with unjustifiable Reproaches. As soon as she had
complyed with my wishes in this particular and had given me an accurate
detail of every thing that had befallen her since our separation (the
particulars of which if you are not already acquainted with, your
Mother will give you) I applied to Augusta for the same information
respecting herself, Sir Edward and Lady Dorothea.

She told me that having a considerable taste for the Beauties of
Nature, her curiosity to behold the delightful scenes it exhibited in
that part of the World had been so much raised by Gilpin’s Tour to the
Highlands, that she had prevailed on her Father to undertake a Tour to
Scotland and had persuaded Lady Dorothea to accompany them. That they
had arrived at Edinburgh a few Days before and from thence had made
daily Excursions into the Country around in the Stage Coach they were
then in, from one of which Excursions they were at that time returning.
My next enquiries were concerning Philippa and her Husband, the latter
of whom I learned having spent all her fortune, had recourse for
subsistence to the talent in which, he had always most excelled,
namely, Driving, and that having sold every thing which belonged to
them except their Coach, had converted it into a Stage and in order to
be removed from any of his former Acquaintance, had driven it to
Edinburgh from whence he went to Sterling every other Day. That
Philippa still retaining her affection for her ungratefull Husband, had
followed him to Scotland and generally accompanied him in his little
Excursions to Sterling. “It has only been to throw a little money into
their Pockets (continued Augusta) that my Father has always travelled
in their Coach to veiw the beauties of the Country since our arrival in
Scotland—for it would certainly have been much more agreable to us, to
visit the Highlands in a Postchaise than merely to travel from
Edinburgh to Sterling and from Sterling to Edinburgh every other Day in
a crowded and uncomfortable Stage.” I perfectly agreed with her in her
sentiments on the affair, and secretly blamed Sir Edward for thus
sacrificing his Daughter’s Pleasure for the sake of a ridiculous old
woman whose folly in marrying so young a man ought to be punished. His
Behaviour however was entirely of a peice with his general Character;
for what could be expected from a man who possessed not the smallest
atom of Sensibility, who scarcely knew the meaning of simpathy, and who
actually snored—.

Adeiu
Laura.

LETTER the 15th
LAURA in continuation.

When we arrived at the town where we were to Breakfast, I was
determined to speak with Philander and Gustavus, and to that purpose as
soon as I left the Carriage, I went to the Basket and tenderly enquired
after their Health, expressing my fears of the uneasiness of their
situation. At first they seemed rather confused at my appearance
dreading no doubt that I might call them to account for the money which
our Grandfather had left me and which they had unjustly deprived me of,
but finding that I mentioned nothing of the Matter, they desired me to
step into the Basket as we might there converse with greater ease.
Accordingly I entered and whilst the rest of the party were devouring
green tea and buttered toast, we feasted ourselves in a more refined
and sentimental Manner by a confidential Conversation. I informed them
of every thing which had befallen me during the course of my life, and
at my request they related to me every incident of theirs.

“We are the sons as you already know, of the two youngest Daughters
which Lord St Clair had by Laurina an italian opera girl. Our mothers
could neither of them exactly ascertain who were our Father, though it
is generally beleived that Philander, is the son of one Philip Jones a
Bricklayer and that my Father was one Gregory Staves a Staymaker of
Edinburgh. This is however of little consequence for as our Mothers
were certainly never married to either of them it reflects no Dishonour
on our Blood, which is of a most ancient and unpolluted kind.