LETTER XXXI.
To Henry Colden.
Philadelphia, Nov. 11.
How shall I tell you the strange—strange
incident! every fibre of my frame still trembles.
I have endeavoured, during the last hour, to
gain tranquillity enough for writing, but without
success: yet I can forbear no longer; I
must begin.
I had just closed my last to you, when somebody
knocked. I heard footsteps below, as the
girl ushered in the visitant, which were not quite
unknown to me. The girl came up.—“A gentleman
is waiting.”
A gentleman! thought I. An odd hour this—
it was past ten—for any man but one to visit me.
His business must be very urgent. So, indeed,
he told the girl, it was, for she knew me averse
to company at any time, and I had withdrawn
to my chamber for the night; but he would not
be eluded. He must see me, he said, this night.
A tall and noble figure, in a foreign uniform,
arose from the sofa at my entrance. The half
extinct lamp on the mantle, could not conceal
from me—my brother!
My surprise almost overpowered me. I should
have sunk upon the floor, had he not stepped to
me, and sustained me in his arms.
I see you are surprised, Jane, said he, in a tone
not without affection in it. You did not expect,
I suppose, ever to see me again. It was a more
chance brought me to America. I shall stay
here a moment and then hie me back again. I
could not pass through the city without an “How
d'ye” to the little girl for whom I have still some
regard.
The violence of my emotions found relief in
a flood of tears. He was not unmoved, but embracing
me with tenderness, he seated me by
him on the sofa.
When I had leisure to survey his features, I
found that time had rather improved his looks.
They were less austere; less contemptuous
than they used to be; perhaps, indeed, it was
only a momentary remission of his customary
feelings.
To my rapid and half coherent questions, he
replied:—I landed—you need not know where.
My commission requires secrecy, and you
know I have personal reasons for wishing to pass
thro' this city without notice. My business did
not bring me further southward than New-London;
but I heard your mother resided in New-York,
and could not leave the country without
seeing you. I called on her yesterday, but she
looked so grave and talked so obscurely about
you, that I could not do less than come hither.
She told me you were here. How have been
affairs since I left you?
I answered this question vaguely.
Pray, with much earnestness, are you married
yet?
The confusion with which I returned an
answer to this, did not escape him.
I asked Mrs. Fielder the same question, and
she talked as if it were a doubtful point. She
could not tell, she said, with a rueful physiognomy.
Very probably it might be so—I could
not bring her to be more explicit. As I proposed
to see you, she said, you were the fittest
person to explain your own situation. This
made me the more anxious to see you. Pray,
Jane, how do matters stand between you and
Mrs. Fielder? are you not on as good terms as
formerly?
I answered, that some difference had unhappily
occurred between us, that I loved and
revered her as much as ever, and hoped that
we should soon be mother and daughter again.
But the cause—the cause, Jane. Is a lover the
bone of contention between you? that's the rock
on which family harmony is sure to be wrecked.
But tell me, what have you quarrelled
about?
How could I explain on such a subject, thus
abruptly introduced, to him? I told him it was
equally painful and useless to dwell on my contentions
with my mother, or on my own affairs.
Rather let me hear, said I, how it fares with
you; what fortunes you have met with in this
long absence.
Pretty well; pretty well. Many a jade's trick
did fortune play me before I left this spot, but,
ever since, it has been all smooth and bright
with me—But this marriage—Art thou a wife
or not? I heard I think some talk about a Talbot.
What's become of him? they said you
were engaged to him.
It is long since the common destiny has ended
all Talbot's engagements.
Dead, is he? well; a new aspirer, I suppose,
has succeeded, and he is the bone of contention.
Who's he?
I could not bear that a subject of such deep
concern to me, should be discussed thus lightly,
and, therefore, begged him to change the
subject.
Change the subject? with all my heart, if we
can find any more important; but that's impossible.
So, we must ev'n stick to this; a little
longer. Come, what's his parentage; fortune;
age; character; profession; 'Tis not likely I
shall find fault where Mrs. Fielder does. Young
men and old women seldom hit upon the same
choice in an husband, and, for my part, I am
easily pleased.
This is a subject, brother, on which it is impossible
that we should think alike; nor is it
necessary. Let us then talk of something in
which we have a common concern: something
that has a claim to interest you.
What subject, girl, can have a stronger claim
on my attention than the marriage of my sister—I
am not so giddy and unprincipled as to
be unconcerned on that head. So make no
more ado, but tell your brother candidly what
are your prospects?
After some hesitation—My real brother; one
who had the tenderness becoming that relation,
would certainly deserve my confidence. But—
But what? come, never mince the matter. I
have scarcely been half a brother hitherto I grant
you. More of an enemy, perhaps, than friend,
but no reason why I should continue hostile or
indifferent. So tell me who the lad is and what
are his pretensions?
I endeavoured to draw him off to some other
subject, but he would not be diverted from this.
By dint of interrogatories he, at last, extorted
from me a few hints respecting you. Finding
that you were without fortune or profession,
and that my regard for you had forfeited all
favour with my mother: the enquiry was obvious.
How we meant to live? it was impossible to
answer this question in any manner satisfactory
to him. He has no notion of existence unconnected
with luxury and splendor.
Have you made any acquisitions, continued
he, since I saw you? has any good old aunt
left you another legacy?—this was said with
the utmost vivacity and self-possession. A
strange being is my brother. Could he have
forgotten by whom I was robbed of my former
legacy?
Come, come, I know thou art a romantic being.
One accustomed to feed on thoughts instead
of pudding. Contentment and a cottage
are roast beef and a palace to thee; but, take
my word for it, this inamorato of thine will
need a more substantial diet. By marrying
him you will only saddle him with misery. So
drop all thoughts of so silly a scheme; write
him a “good bye;” make up your little matters,
and come along with me. I will take you to my
country; introduce you to a new world; and
bring to your feet hundreds of generous souls,
the least of whom is richer, wiser, handsomer
than this tame-spirited droning animal—what's
his name? but no matter. I suppose I know nothing
of him.
I was rash enough to tell him your name and
abode, but I treated his proposal as a jest. I
quickly found that he was serious. He soon became
extremely urgent. Recounted the advantages
of his condition; the charming qualities of
his wife; the security and splendor of his new
rank. He endeavoured to seduce my vanity by
the prospect of the conquests I should make in
that army of colonels, philosophers, and commissioners,
that formed the circle of his friends—
any man but a brother, said he, must own that
you are a charming creature. So you need only
come and see, in order to conquer.
His importunities increased as my reluctance
became more evident. Thoughtless as I supposed
him to be, he said, the wish to find me
out, carry me to France, and put me in fortune's
way, was no inconsiderable inducement with
him to accept the commission which brought
him to America. He insinuated that brothership
and eldership gave him something like a title
to paternal authority, and insisted on obedience.
The contest became painful. Impatience and
reproach on his side awakened the like sentiments
in me, and it cost me many efforts to restrain
my feelings. Alternately he commanded
and persuaded: was willing to be governed
by my mother's advice; would carry me forthwith
to New-York: would lay before her his
proposal; and be governed by her decision.
The public vessel that brought him lay at New-port
waiting his return. Every possible accommodation
and convenience was possessed by the
ship. It was nothing but a sailing palace, in
which the other passengers were merely his
guests selected by himself.
I was a fool for refusing his offer. A simpleton.
The child of caprice, whom no time could
render steadfast except in folly: into whom no
counsel or example could instil an atom of
common sense. He supposed my man was equally
obstinate and stupid, but he would soon see of
what stuff he was made. He would hurry to
Baltimore, and take the boy to task for his
presumption and insolence in aspiring to Jane
Talbot without her brother's consent.
He snatched up his hat, but this intimation
alarmed me. Pray, stay one moment, brother.
Be more considerate. What right can you possibly
have to interfere with Mr. Colden's concerns.
Talk to me, as much and in what style
you please, but I beseech you insult not a man
who never offended you.
Perceiving my uneasiness on this head, he
took advantage of it to renew his solicitations
for my company to France. Swore solemnly
that no man should have his sister without his
consent, and that he would force the boy to
give me up.
This distressing altercation ended by his going
away, declaring, in spite of my entreaties,
that he would see you, and teach your insolence
a lesson not easily forgotten.
To sleep after this interview was impossible.
I could hardly still my throbbing heart sufficiently
to move the pen. You cannot hear from
me in time to avoid this madman, or to fortify
yourself against an interview. I cannot confute
the false or cunning glosses he may make upon
my conduct. He may represent me to you as
willing to accompany him; as detained only by
my obligation to you from which it is in your
power to absolve me.
Till I hear from you I shall have no peace.
Would to heaven there was some speedier conveyance.
