30. CHAPTER XXX
And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep,
A shade that follows wealth and fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep.
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When Charlotte was left to herself, she began to think
what course she must take, or to whom she could apply,
to prevent her perishing for want, or perhaps that very night falling
a victim to the inclemency of the season. After many perplexed
thoughts, she at last determined to set out for New-York,
and enquire out Mrs. Crayton, from whom she had no doubt but
she should obtain immediate relief as soon as her distress was
made known; she had no sooner formed this resolution than she
resolved immediately to put it in execution: she therefore wrote
the following little billet to Mrs. Crayton, thinking
if she should
have company with her it would be better to send it in than to
request to see her.
TO MRS. CRAYTON.
"MADAM,
When we left our native land, that dear, happy land which
now contains all that is dear to the wretched Charlotte, our prospects
were the same; we both, pardon me, Madam, if I say, we
both too easily followed the impulse of our treacherous hearts,
and trusted our happiness on a tempestuous ocean, where mine
has been wrecked and lost for ever; you have been more
fortunate—you are united to a man of honour and humanity, united
by the most sacred ties, respected, esteemed, and admired, and
surrounded by innumerable blessings of which I am bereaved,
enjoying those pleasures which have fled my bosom never to return;
alas! sorrow and deep regret have taken their place. Behold
me, Madam, a poor forsaken wanderer, who has no where to lay
her weary head, wherewith to supply the wants of nature, or to
shield her from the inclemency of the weather. To you I sue, to
you I look for pity and relief. I ask not to be received as an
intimate or an equal; only for charity's sweet sake
receive me into
your hospitable mansion, allot me the meanest apartment in it,
and let me breath out my soul in prayers for your happiness; I
cannot, I feel I cannot long bear up under the accumulated woes
that pour in upon me; but oh! my dear Madam, for the love of
heaven suffer me not to expire in the street; and when I am at
peace, as soon I shall be, extend your compassion to my helpless
offspring, should it please heaven that it should survive its
unhappy mother. A gleam of joy breaks in on my benighted soul
while I reflect that you cannot, will not refuse your protection to
the heart-broken.
CHARLOTTE."
When Charlotte had finished this letter, late as it was in the
afternoon, and though the snow began to fall very fast, she tied up
a few necessaries which she had prepared against her expected
confinement, and terrified lest she should be again exposed to
the insults of her barbarous landlady, more dreadful to her
wounded spirit than either storm or darkness, she set forward
for New York.[8]
It may be asked by those, who, in a work of this kind, love to
cavil at every trifling omission, whether Charlotte did not
possess any valuable of which she could have disposed, and by that
means have supported herself till Mrs. Beauchamp's return,
when she would have been certain of receiving every tender
attention which compassion and friendship could dictate: but let
me entreat these wise, penetrating gentlemen to reflect,
that
when Charlotte left England, it was in such haste that there was
no time to purchase any thing more than what was wanted for
immediate use on the voyage, and after her arrival at New-York,
Montraville's affection soon began to decline, so that her whole
wardrobe consisted of only necessaries, and as to baubles, with
which fond lovers often load their mistresses, she possessed not
one, except a plain gold locket of small value, which contained a
lock of her mother's hair, and which the greatest extremity of
want could not have forced her to part with.
I hope, Sir, your prejudices are now removed in regard to the
probability of my story? Oh they are. Well then, with your leave,
I will proceed.
The distance from the house which our suffering heroine
occupied, to New-York, was not very great, yet the snow fen so fast,
and the cold so intense, that, being unable from her situation to
walk quick, she found
herself almost sinking with cold and
fatigue before she reached the town; her garments, which were
merely suitable to the summer season, being an undress robe of
plain white muslin, were wet through, and a thin black cloak
and bonnet, very improper habiliments for such a climate, but
poorly defended her from the cold. In this situation she reached
the city, and enquired of a foot soldier whom she met, the way
to Colonel Crayton's.
"Bless you, my sweet lady," said the soldier with a voice and
look of compassion, "I will shew you the way with all my heart;
but if you are going to make a petition to Madam Crayton it is all
to no purpose I assure you: if you please I will conduct you to
Mr. Franklin's; though Miss Julia is married and gone now, yet
the old gentleman is very good. "
"Julia Franklin," said Charlotte; "is she not married to
Montraville?"
"Yes," replied the soldier, "and may
God bless them, for a
better officer never lived, he is so good to us all; and as to Miss Julia,
all the poor folk almost worshipped her."
"Gracious heaven," cried Charlotte, "is Montraville unjust
then to none but me. "
The soldier now shewed her Colonel Crayton's door, and,
with a beating heart, she knocked for admission.
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