Chapter 3

Bertha
(the Mother of Philander) and Agatha (my own Mother) always lived
together. They were neither of them very rich; their united fortunes
had originally amounted to nine thousand Pounds, but as they had always
lived on the principal of it, when we were fifteen it was diminished to
nine Hundred. This nine Hundred they always kept in a Drawer in one of
the Tables which stood in our common sitting Parlour, for the
convenience of having it always at Hand. Whether it was from this
circumstance, of its being easily taken, or from a wish of being
independant, or from an excess of sensibility (for which we were always
remarkable) I cannot now determine, but certain it is that when we had
reached our 15th year, we took the nine Hundred Pounds and ran away.
Having obtained this prize we were determined to manage it with
economy and not to spend it either with folly or Extravagance. To this
purpose we therefore divided it into nine parcels, one of which we
devoted to Victuals, the 2d to Drink, the 3d to Housekeeping, the 4th
to Carriages, the 5th to Horses, the 6th to Servants, the 7th to
Amusements, the 8th to Cloathes and the 9th to Silver Buckles. Having
thus arranged our Expences for two months (for we expected to make the
nine Hundred Pounds last as long) we hastened to London and had the
good luck to spend it in 7 weeks and a Day which was 6 Days sooner than
we had intended. As soon as we had thus happily disencumbered ourselves
from the weight of so much money, we began to think of returning to our
Mothers, but accidentally hearing that they were both starved to Death,
we gave over the design and determined to engage ourselves to some
strolling Company of Players, as we had always a turn for the Stage.
Accordingly we offered our services to one and were accepted; our
Company was indeed rather small, as it consisted only of the Manager
his wife and ourselves, but there were fewer to pay and the only
inconvenience attending it was the Scarcity of Plays which for want of
People to fill the Characters, we could perform. We did not mind
trifles however—. One of our most admired Performances was _Macbeth_,
in which we were truly great. The Manager always played _Banquo_
himself, his Wife my _Lady Macbeth_. I did the _Three Witches_ and
Philander acted _all the rest_. To say the truth this tragedy was not
only the Best, but the only Play that we ever performed; and after
having acted it all over England, and Wales, we came to Scotland to
exhibit it over the remainder of Great Britain. We happened to be
quartered in that very Town, where you came and met your Grandfather—.
We were in the Inn-yard when his Carriage entered and perceiving by the
arms to whom it belonged, and knowing that Lord St Clair was our
Grandfather, we agreed to endeavour to get something from him by
discovering the Relationship—. You know how well it succeeded—. Having
obtained the two Hundred Pounds, we instantly left the Town, leaving
our Manager and his Wife to act _Macbeth_ by themselves, and took the
road to Sterling, where we spent our little fortune with great _eclat_.
We are now returning to Edinburgh in order to get some preferment in
the Acting way; and such my Dear Cousin is our History.”

I thanked the amiable Youth for his entertaining narration, and after
expressing my wishes for their Welfare and Happiness, left them in
their little Habitation and returned to my other Freinds who
impatiently expected me.

My adventures are now drawing to a close my dearest Marianne; at least
for the present.

When we arrived at Edinburgh Sir Edward told me that as the Widow of
his son, he desired I would accept from his Hands of four Hundred a
year. I graciously promised that I would, but could not help observing
that the unsimpathetic Baronet offered it more on account of my being
the Widow of Edward than in being the refined and amiable Laura.

I took up my Residence in a Romantic Village in the Highlands of
Scotland where I have ever since continued, and where I can
uninterrupted by unmeaning Visits, indulge in a melancholy solitude, my
unceasing Lamentations for the Death of my Father, my Mother, my
Husband and my Freind.

Augusta has been for several years united to Graham the Man of all
others most suited to her; she became acquainted with him during her
stay in Scotland.

Sir Edward in hopes of gaining an Heir to his Title and Estate, at the
same time married Lady Dorothea—. His wishes have been answered.

Philander and Gustavus, after having raised their reputation by their
Performances in the Theatrical Line at Edinburgh, removed to Covent
Garden, where they still exhibit under the assumed names of _Luvis_ and
_Quick_.

Philippa has long paid the Debt of Nature, Her Husband however still
continues to drive the Stage-Coach from Edinburgh to Sterling:—

Adeiu my Dearest Marianne.
Laura.

Finis

June 13th 1790.

LESLEY CASTLE
AN UNFINISHED NOVEL IN LETTERS

To HENRY THOMAS AUSTEN Esqre.

Sir

I am now availing myself of the Liberty you have frequently honoured me
with of dedicating one of my Novels to you. That it is unfinished, I
greive; yet fear that from me, it will always remain so; that as far as
it is carried, it should be so trifling and so unworthy of you, is
another concern to your obliged humble

Servant
The Author

Messrs Demand and Co—please to pay Jane Austen Spinster the sum of one
hundred guineas on account of your Humble Servant.

H. T. Austen

£105. 0. 0.

LESLEY CASTLE

LETTER the FIRST is from
Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL

Lesley Castle Janry 3rd—1792.

My Brother has just left us. “Matilda (said he at parting) you and
Margaret will I am certain take all the care of my dear little one,
that she might have received from an indulgent, and affectionate and
amiable Mother.” Tears rolled down his cheeks as he spoke these
words—the remembrance of her, who had so wantonly disgraced the
Maternal character and so openly violated the conjugal Duties,
prevented his adding anything farther; he embraced his sweet Child and
after saluting Matilda and Me hastily broke from us and seating himself
in his Chaise, pursued the road to Aberdeen. Never was there a better
young Man! Ah! how little did he deserve the misfortunes he has
experienced in the Marriage state. So good a Husband to so bad a Wife!
for you know my dear Charlotte that the Worthless Louisa left him, her
Child and reputation a few weeks ago in company with Danvers and
dishonour. Never was there a sweeter face, a finer form, or a less
amiable Heart than Louisa owned! Her child already possesses the
personal Charms of her unhappy Mother! May she inherit from her Father
all his mental ones! Lesley is at present but five and twenty, and has
already given himself up to melancholy and Despair; what a difference
between him and his Father! Sir George is 57 and still remains the
Beau, the flighty stripling, the gay Lad, and sprightly Youngster, that
his Son was really about five years back, and that _he_ has affected to
appear ever since my remembrance. While our father is fluttering about
the streets of London, gay, dissipated, and Thoughtless at the age of
57, Matilda and I continue secluded from Mankind in our old and
Mouldering Castle, which is situated two miles from Perth on a bold
projecting Rock, and commands an extensive veiw of the Town and its
delightful Environs. But tho’ retired from almost all the World, (for
we visit no one but the M’Leods, The M’Kenzies, the M’Phersons, the
M’Cartneys, the M’Donalds, The M’kinnons, the M’lellans, the M’kays,
the Macbeths and the Macduffs) we are neither dull nor unhappy; on the
contrary there never were two more lively, more agreable or more witty
girls, than we are; not an hour in the Day hangs heavy on our Hands. We
read, we work, we walk, and when fatigued with these Employments
releive our spirits, either by a lively song, a graceful Dance, or by
some smart bon-mot, and witty repartee. We are handsome my dear
Charlotte, very handsome and the greatest of our Perfections is, that
we are entirely insensible of them ourselves. But why do I thus dwell
on myself! Let me rather repeat the praise of our dear little Neice the
innocent Louisa, who is at present sweetly smiling in a gentle Nap, as
she reposes on the sofa. The dear Creature is just turned of two years
old; as handsome as tho’ 2 and 20, as sensible as tho’ 2 and 30, and as
prudent as tho’ 2 and 40. To convince you of this, I must inform you
that she has a very fine complexion and very pretty features, that she
already knows the two first letters in the Alphabet, and that she never
tears her frocks—. If I have not now convinced you of her Beauty, Sense
and Prudence, I have nothing more to urge in support of my assertion,
and you will therefore have no way of deciding the Affair but by coming
to Lesley-Castle, and by a personal acquaintance with Louisa, determine
for yourself. Ah! my dear Freind, how happy should I be to see you
within these venerable Walls! It is now four years since my removal
from School has separated me from you; that two such tender Hearts, so
closely linked together by the ties of simpathy and Freindship, should
be so widely removed from each other, is vastly moving. I live in
Perthshire, You in Sussex. We might meet in London, were my Father
disposed to carry me there, and were your Mother to be there at the
same time. We might meet at Bath, at Tunbridge, or anywhere else
indeed, could we but be at the same place together. We have only to
hope that such a period may arrive. My Father does not return to us
till Autumn; my Brother will leave Scotland in a few Days; he is
impatient to travel. Mistaken Youth! He vainly flatters himself that
change of Air will heal the Wounds of a broken Heart! You will join
with me I am certain my dear Charlotte, in prayers for the recovery of
the unhappy Lesley’s peace of Mind, which must ever be essential to
that of your sincere freind

M. Lesley.

LETTER the SECOND
From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY in answer.

Glenford Febry 12

I have a thousand excuses to beg for having so long delayed thanking
you my dear Peggy for your agreable Letter, which beleive me I should
not have deferred doing, had not every moment of my time during the
last five weeks been so fully employed in the necessary arrangements
for my sisters wedding, as to allow me no time to devote either to you
or myself. And now what provokes me more than anything else is that the
Match is broke off, and all my Labour thrown away. Imagine how great
the Dissapointment must be to me, when you consider that after having
laboured both by Night and by Day, in order to get the Wedding dinner
ready by the time appointed, after having roasted Beef, Broiled Mutton,
and Stewed Soup enough to last the new-married Couple through the
Honey-moon, I had the mortification of finding that I had been
Roasting, Broiling and Stewing both the Meat and Myself to no purpose.
Indeed my dear Freind, I never remember suffering any vexation equal to
what I experienced on last Monday when my sister came running to me in
the store-room with her face as White as a Whipt syllabub, and told me
that Hervey had been thrown from his Horse, had fractured his Scull and
was pronounced by his surgeon to be in the most emminent Danger. “Good
God! (said I) you dont say so? Why what in the name of Heaven will
become of all the Victuals! We shall never be able to eat it while it
is good. However, we’ll call in the Surgeon to help us. I shall be able
to manage the Sir-loin myself, my Mother will eat the soup, and You and
the Doctor must finish the rest.” Here I was interrupted, by seeing my
poor Sister fall down to appearance Lifeless upon one of the Chests,
where we keep our Table linen. I immediately called my Mother and the
Maids, and at last we brought her to herself again; as soon as ever she
was sensible, she expressed a determination of going instantly to
Henry, and was so wildly bent on this Scheme, that we had the greatest
Difficulty in the World to prevent her putting it in execution; at last
however more by Force than Entreaty we prevailed on her to go into her
room; we laid her upon the Bed, and she continued for some Hours in the
most dreadful Convulsions. My Mother and I continued in the room with
her, and when any intervals of tolerable Composure in Eloisa would
allow us, we joined in heartfelt lamentations on the dreadful Waste in
our provisions which this Event must occasion, and in concerting some
plan for getting rid of them. We agreed that the best thing we could do
was to begin eating them immediately, and accordingly we ordered up the
cold Ham and Fowls, and instantly began our Devouring Plan on them with
great Alacrity. We would have persuaded Eloisa to have taken a Wing of
a Chicken, but she would not be persuaded. She was however much quieter
than she had been; the convulsions she had before suffered having given
way to an almost perfect Insensibility. We endeavoured to rouse her by
every means in our power, but to no purpose. I talked to her of Henry.
“Dear Eloisa (said I) there’s no occasion for your crying so much about
such a trifle. (for I was willing to make light of it in order to
comfort her) I beg you would not mind it—You see it does not vex me in
the least; though perhaps I may suffer most from it after all; for I
shall not only be obliged to eat up all the Victuals I have dressed
already, but must if Henry should recover (which however is not very
likely) dress as much for you again; or should he die (as I suppose he
will) I shall still have to prepare a Dinner for you whenever you marry
any one else. So you see that tho’ perhaps for the present it may
afflict you to think of Henry’s sufferings, Yet I dare say he’ll die
soon, and then his pain will be over and you will be easy, whereas my
Trouble will last much longer for work as hard as I may, I am certain
that the pantry cannot be cleared in less than a fortnight.” Thus I did
all in my power to console her, but without any effect, and at last as
I saw that she did not seem to listen to me, I said no more, but
leaving her with my Mother I took down the remains of The Ham and
Chicken, and sent William to ask how Henry did. He was not expected to
live many Hours; he died the same day. We took all possible care to
break the melancholy Event to Eloisa in the tenderest manner; yet in
spite of every precaution, her sufferings on hearing it were too
violent for her reason, and she continued for many hours in a high
Delirium. She is still extremely ill, and her Physicians are greatly
afraid of her going into a Decline. We are therefore preparing for
Bristol, where we mean to be in the course of the next week. And now my
dear Margaret let me talk a little of your affairs; and in the first
place I must inform you that it is confidently reported, your Father is
going to be married; I am very unwilling to beleive so unpleasing a
report, and at the same time cannot wholly discredit it. I have written
to my freind Susan Fitzgerald, for information concerning it, which as
she is at present in Town, she will be very able to give me. I know not
who is the Lady. I think your Brother is extremely right in the
resolution he has taken of travelling, as it will perhaps contribute to
obliterate from his remembrance, those disagreable Events, which have
lately so much afflicted him—I am happy to find that tho’ secluded from
all the World, neither you nor Matilda are dull or unhappy—that you may
never know what it is to, be either is the wish of your sincerely
affectionate

C.L.

P. S. I have this instant received an answer from my freind Susan,
which I enclose to you, and on which you will make your own
reflections.

The enclosed LETTER

My dear CHARLOTTE

You could not have applied for information concerning the report of Sir
George Lesleys Marriage, to any one better able to give it you than I
am. Sir George is certainly married; I was myself present at the
Ceremony, which you will not be surprised at when I subscribe myself
your

Affectionate
Susan Lesley

LETTER the THIRD
From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss C. LUTTERELL

Lesley Castle February the 16th

I _have_ made my own reflections on the letter you enclosed to me, my
Dear Charlotte and I will now tell you what those reflections were. I
reflected that if by this second Marriage Sir George should have a
second family, our fortunes must be considerably diminushed—that if his
Wife should be of an extravagant turn, she would encourage him to
persevere in that gay and Dissipated way of Life to which little
encouragement would be necessary, and which has I fear already proved
but too detrimental to his health and fortune—that she would now become
Mistress of those Jewels which once adorned our Mother, and which Sir
George had always promised us—that if they did not come into Perthshire
I should not be able to gratify my curiosity of beholding my
Mother-in-law and that if they did, Matilda would no longer sit at the
head of her Father’s table—. These my dear Charlotte were the
melancholy reflections which crowded into my imagination after perusing
Susan’s letter to you, and which instantly occurred to Matilda when she
had perused it likewise. The same ideas, the same fears, immediately
occupied her Mind, and I know not which reflection distressed her most,
whether the probable Diminution of our Fortunes, or her own
Consequence. We both wish very much to know whether Lady Lesley is
handsome and what is your opinion of her; as you honour her with the
appellation of your freind, we flatter ourselves that she must be
amiable. My Brother is already in Paris. He intends to quit it in a few
Days, and to begin his route to Italy. He writes in a most chearfull
manner, says that the air of France has greatly recovered both his
Health and Spirits; that he has now entirely ceased to think of Louisa
with any degree either of Pity or Affection, that he even feels himself
obliged to her for her Elopement, as he thinks it very good fun to be
single again. By this, you may perceive that he has entirely regained
that chearful Gaiety, and sprightly Wit, for which he was once so
remarkable. When he first became acquainted with Louisa which was
little more than three years ago, he was one of the most lively, the
most agreable young Men of the age—. I beleive you never yet heard the
particulars of his first acquaintance with her. It commenced at our
cousin Colonel Drummond’s; at whose house in Cumberland he spent the
Christmas, in which he attained the age of two and twenty. Louisa
Burton was the Daughter of a distant Relation of Mrs. Drummond, who
dieing a few Months before in extreme poverty, left his only Child then
about eighteen to the protection of any of his Relations who would
protect her. Mrs. Drummond was the only one who found herself so
disposed—Louisa was therefore removed from a miserable Cottage in
Yorkshire to an elegant Mansion in Cumberland, and from every pecuniary
Distress that Poverty could inflict, to every elegant Enjoyment that
Money could purchase—. Louisa was naturally ill-tempered and Cunning;
but she had been taught to disguise her real Disposition, under the
appearance of insinuating Sweetness, by a father who but too well knew,
that to be married, would be the only chance she would have of not
being starved, and who flattered himself that with such an extroidinary
share of personal beauty, joined to a gentleness of Manners, and an
engaging address, she might stand a good chance of pleasing some young
Man who might afford to marry a girl without a Shilling. Louisa
perfectly entered into her father’s schemes and was determined to
forward them with all her care and attention. By dint of Perseverance
and Application, she had at length so thoroughly disguised her natural
disposition under the mask of Innocence, and Softness, as to impose
upon every one who had not by a long and constant intimacy with her
discovered her real Character. Such was Louisa when the hapless Lesley
first beheld her at Drummond-house. His heart which (to use your
favourite comparison) was as delicate as sweet and as tender as a
Whipt-syllabub, could not resist her attractions. In a very few Days,
he was falling in love, shortly after actually fell, and before he had
known her a Month, he had married her. My Father was at first highly
displeased at so hasty and imprudent a connection; but when he found
that they did not mind it, he soon became perfectly reconciled to the
match. The Estate near Aberdeen which my brother possesses by the
bounty of his great Uncle independant of Sir George, was entirely
sufficient to support him and my Sister in Elegance and Ease. For the
first twelvemonth, no one could be happier than Lesley, and no one more
amiable to appearance than Louisa, and so plausibly did she act and so
cautiously behave that tho’ Matilda and I often spent several weeks
together with them, yet we neither of us had any suspicion of her real
Disposition. After the birth of Louisa however, which one would have
thought would have strengthened her regard for Lesley, the mask she had
so long supported was by degrees thrown aside, and as probably she then
thought herself secure in the affection of her Husband (which did
indeed appear if possible augmented by the birth of his Child) she
seemed to take no pains to prevent that affection from ever
diminushing. Our visits therefore to Dunbeath, were now less frequent
and by far less agreable than they used to be. Our absence was however
never either mentioned or lamented by Louisa who in the society of
young Danvers with whom she became acquainted at Aberdeen (he was at
one of the Universities there,) felt infinitely happier than in that of
Matilda and your freind, tho’ there certainly never were pleasanter
girls than we are. You know the sad end of all Lesleys connubial
happiness; I will not repeat it—. Adeiu my dear Charlotte; although I
have not yet mentioned anything of the matter, I hope you will do me
the justice to beleive that I _think_ and _feel_, a great deal for your
Sisters affliction. I do not doubt but that the healthy air of the
Bristol downs will intirely remove it, by erasing from her Mind the
remembrance of Henry. I am my dear Charlotte yrs ever

M. L.

LETTER the FOURTH
From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY

Bristol February 27th

My Dear Peggy

I have but just received your letter, which being directed to Sussex
while I was at Bristol was obliged to be forwarded to me here, and from
some unaccountable Delay, has but this instant reached me—. I return
you many thanks for the account it contains of Lesley’s acquaintance,
Love and Marriage with Louisa, which has not the less entertained me
for having often been repeated to me before.

I have the satisfaction of informing you that we have every reason to
imagine our pantry is by this time nearly cleared, as we left
Particular orders with the servants to eat as hard as they possibly
could, and to call in a couple of Chairwomen to assist them. We brought
a cold Pigeon pye, a cold turkey, a cold tongue, and half a dozen
Jellies with us, which we were lucky enough with the help of our
Landlady, her husband, and their three children, to get rid of, in less
than two days after our arrival. Poor Eloisa is still so very
indifferent both in Health and Spirits, that I very much fear, the air
of the Bristol downs, healthy as it is, has not been able to drive poor
Henry from her remembrance.

You ask me whether your new Mother in law is handsome and amiable—I
will now give you an exact description of her bodily and mental charms.
She is short, and extremely well made; is naturally pale, but rouges a
good deal; has fine eyes, and fine teeth, as she will take care to let
you know as soon as she sees you, and is altogether very pretty. She is
remarkably good-tempered when she has her own way, and very lively when
she is not out of humour. She is naturally extravagant and not very
affected; she never reads anything but the letters she receives from
me, and never writes anything but her answers to them. She plays, sings
and Dances, but has no taste for either, and excells in none, tho’ she
says she is passionately fond of all. Perhaps you may flatter me so far
as to be surprised that one of whom I speak with so little affection
should be my particular freind; but to tell you the truth, our
freindship arose rather from Caprice on her side than Esteem on mine.
We spent two or three days together with a Lady in Berkshire with whom
we both happened to be connected—. During our visit, the Weather being
remarkably bad, and our party particularly stupid, she was so good as
to conceive a violent partiality for me, which very soon settled in a
downright Freindship and ended in an established correspondence. She is
probably by this time as tired of me, as I am of her; but as she is too
Polite and I am too civil to say so, our letters are still as frequent
and affectionate as ever, and our Attachment as firm and sincere as
when it first commenced. As she had a great taste for the pleasures of
London, and of Brighthelmstone, she will I dare say find some
difficulty in prevailing on herself even to satisfy the curiosity I
dare say she feels of beholding you, at the expence of quitting those
favourite haunts of Dissipation, for the melancholy tho’ venerable
gloom of the castle you inhabit. Perhaps however if she finds her
health impaired by too much amusement, she may acquire fortitude
sufficient to undertake a Journey to Scotland in the hope of its
Proving at least beneficial to her health, if not conducive to her
happiness. Your fears I am sorry to say, concerning your father’s
extravagance, your own fortunes, your Mothers Jewels and your Sister’s
consequence, I should suppose are but too well founded. My freind
herself has four thousand pounds, and will probably spend nearly as
much every year in Dress and Public places, if she can get it—she will
certainly not endeavour to reclaim Sir George from the manner of living
to which he has been so long accustomed, and there is therefore some
reason to fear that you will be very well off, if you get any fortune
at all. The Jewels I should imagine too will undoubtedly be hers, and
there is too much reason to think that she will preside at her Husbands
table in preference to his Daughter. But as so melancholy a subject
must necessarily extremely distress you, I will no longer dwell on it—.

Eloisa’s indisposition has brought us to Bristol at so unfashionable a
season of the year, that we have actually seen but one genteel family
since we came. Mr and Mrs Marlowe are very agreable people; the ill
health of their little boy occasioned their arrival here; you may
imagine that being the only family with whom we can converse, we are of
course on a footing of intimacy with them; we see them indeed almost
every day, and dined with them yesterday. We spent a very pleasant Day,
and had a very good Dinner, tho’ to be sure the Veal was terribly
underdone, and the Curry had no seasoning. I could not help wishing all
dinner-time that I had been at the dressing it—. A brother of Mrs
Marlowe, Mr Cleveland is with them at present; he is a good-looking
young Man, and seems to have a good deal to say for himself. I tell
Eloisa that she should set her cap at him, but she does not at all seem
to relish the proposal. I should like to see the girl married and
Cleveland has a very good estate. Perhaps you may wonder that I do not
consider _myself_ as well as my Sister in my matrimonial Projects; but
to tell you the truth I never wish to act a more principal part at a
Wedding than the superintending and directing the Dinner, and therefore
while I can get any of my acquaintance to marry for me, I shall never
think of doing it myself, as I very much suspect that I should not have
so much time for dressing my own Wedding-dinner, as for dressing that
of my freinds.