University of Virginia Library

LETTER VI.

As soon as my visitants had gone, I hastened
to my father's. I immediately introduced
the subject of which my heart was full. I related
the particulars of my late interview with
my brother; intreated him with the utmost
earnestness to make the proper enquiries into
the state of my brother's affairs, with whose
ate it was too plain, that his own was inextricably
involved.

He was seized with extreme solicitude on
hearing my intelligence. He could not keep
his chair one moment at a time, but walked
about the floor trembling. He called his servant,

and directed him in a faultering voice to
go to my brother's house and request him to
come immediately.

I was sensible that what I had done was
violently adverse to my brother's wishes. Nevertheless,
I urged my father to an immediate explanation,
and determined to be present at the
conference.

The messenger returned. My brother was
not at home. We waited a little while, and then
dispatched the messenger again, with directions
to wait till his return. We waited, in
vain, till nine; ten; eleven o'clock. The messenger
then came back, informing us that
Frank was still abraod. I was obliged to
dismiss the hope of a conference this night,
and returned in an anxious and melancholy
mood to Mrs. Fielder's.

On my way, while ruminating on these
events, I began to fear that I had exerted an
unjustifiable degree of caution: I knew that
those who embark in pecuniary schemes are
often reduced to temporary streights and difficulties:
that ruin and prosperity frequently
hang on the decision of the moment: that a
gap may be filled up by a small effort seasonably
made, which if neglected, rapidly widens
and irrevocably swallows up the ill-fated adventurer.

It was possible that all my brother had said
was literally true; that he merited my confidence
in this instance, and that the supply he
demanded would save both him and my father
from the ruin that impended over them. The
more I pondered on the subject, the more dissatisfied

I became with my own scruples. In
this state of mind I reached home. The servant,
while opening the door, expressed her surprise
at my staying out so late, telling me, that my
brother had been waiting my return for several
hours, with marks of the utmost impatience. I
shuddered at this intelligence, though just before
I had almost formed the resolution of going
to his house and offering him the money he
wanted.

I found him, in my apartment.—Good God!
cried he, where have you been till this time of
night?

I told him frankly where I had been, and
what had detained me. He was thunderstruck.
Instead of that storm of rage and invective
which I expected, he grew pale with consternation:
and said in a faint voice:

Jane you have ruined me beyond redemption.
Fatal, fatal rashness. It was enough to have refused
me a loan which tho' useless to you, is as
indispensible to my existence as my heart's
blood. Had you quietly lent me the trifling
pittance I asked, all might yet have been well;
my father's peace have been saved and my own
affairs been compleatly re-established.

All arrogance and indignation were now laid
aside. His tone and looks betokened the deepest
distress. All the firmness, reluctance and
wariness of my temper vanished in a moment.
My heart was seized with an agony of compunction.
I came close to him and taking his hand
involuntarily said—Dear brother! Forgive me.

Strange what influence calamity possesses in
softening the character. He made no answer,

but putting his arms around me, pressed me to
his breast while tears stole down his cheek.

Now was I thoroughly subdued. I am quite
an April girl, thou knowest, Harry, and the
most opposite emotions fill, with equal certainty
my eyes. I could scarcely articulate—O! my
dear brother, forgive me. Take what you ask.
If it can be of any service to you, take all I have.

But how, shall I see my father. Infinite pains
have I taken to conceal from him a storm which
I thought could be easily averted; which his
knowledge of it would only render more difficult
to resist, but my cursed folly, by saying
more than I intended to you, has blasted my designs.

I again expressed my regret for the rashness
of my conduct, and intreated him to think better
of my father, than to imagine him invincible
to argument. I promised to go to him in
the morning, and counteract, as much as I
could, the effects of my evening conversation.
At length he departed, with somewhat renovated
spirits, and left me to muse upon the strange
events of this day.

I could not free myself from the secret apprehension
of having done mischief rather than
good, by my compliance. I had acted without
consulting my mother, in a case where my
youth and inexperience stood in the utmost
need of advice. On the most trivial occasions I
had hitherto held it a sacred duty, to make her
the arbitress and judge of my whole conduct,
and now shame for my own precipitance and
regard for my brother's feelings seemed to join
in forbidding me to disclose what had passed.
A most restless and unquiet night did I pass.

Next morning was I to go to my father, to
repair as much as possible the breach I had
thoughtlessly made in his happiness. I knew
not what means to employ for this purpose.
What could I say? I was far from being satisfied,
myself, with my brother's representations.
I hoped, but had very little confidence that any
thing in my power to do, would be of permanent
advantage.

These doubts did not make me defer my visit.
I was greatly surprised to find my father as cheerful
and serene as usual, which he quickly accounted
for, by telling me that he had just had
a long conversation with Frank, who had convinced
him that there was no ground for the
terrors I had inspired him with the night before.
He could not forbear a little acrimony on the
impropriety of my interference, and I tacitly
acquiesced in the censure. I found that he knew
nothing of the sum I had lent, and I thought
not proper to mention it.

That day, notwithstanding his promises of
payment, passed away without hearing from
my brother. I had never laid any stress upon
the promise, but drew a bad omen from this
failure.

A few days elapsed without any material incident.
The next occasion on which my brother
was introduced into conversation with Mrs. Fielder,
took place one evening after my friend
had returned from spending the day abroad.
After a pause in which there was more significance
than usual-pray have you seen Frank lately?

I made some vague answer.

He had been talked about this afternoon very
little, as usual, to his advantage.

I trembled from head to foot.

I fear continued she, he is going to ruin, and
will drag your father down the same precipice.

Dearest madam! what new circumstance.—

Nothing very new. It seems Mr. Frazer
—his wife told the story—sold him, a twelve
month ago, a curricle and pair of horses. Part
of the money after some delay, was paid. The
rest was dunned for unavailingly a long time.
At length, Curricle and horses scoured the
roads under the management of Monsr. Petitgrave,
brother to Frank's housekeeper, the handsome
mustee. This gave Frazer uneasiness and
some importunity extorted from Frank a note,
which being due last Tuesday was at Frank's
importunity, withdrawn from bank to prevent
protest. Next day however it was paid.

I ventured to ask if Mrs. Frazer had mentioned
any sum.

Yes: a round sum: five hundred dollars.

Fortunately, the dark prevented my mother
from perceiving my confusion. It was Tuesday
Evening on which I had lent the money to
Frank. He had given me reason to believe that
his embarrassments arose from his cotton-weaving
scheme, and that the sum demanded from
me was to pay the wages of craving but worthy
labourers.

While in the first tumult of these reflections,
some one brought a letter. It was from my brother;
this was the tenour—

“I fear, Jane, I have gained but little credit
with you for punctuality. I ought to have fulfilled
my promise, you will say. I will not excuse
my breach of it, by saying, (though I
might say so, perhaps, with truth,) that you

have no use for the money: that I have pressing
use for it, and that a small delay, without being
of any importance to you, will be particularly
convenient to me: no. The true and all
sufficient reason why I did not return the money,
was—because I had it not. To convince
you that I am really in need, I enclose you a
check for another five hundred, which you'll
much oblige me by signing. I can repay
you both sums together by Saturday-if you
needs must have it so soon. The bearer waits.”

In any state of my thoughts, there was little
likelihood of my complying with a request made
in these terms. With my present feelings, it
was difficult to forbear returning an angry and
reproachful answer. I sent him back these lines.

“I am thoroughly convinced that it is not in
my power to afford you any effectual aid in your
present difficulties. It will be very easy to injure
myself. The request you make can have no
other tendency. I must therefore decline complying.”

The facility with which I had yielded up my
first resolutions, probably encouraged him to
this second application, and I formed very solemn
resolutions not to be seduced a second
time.

In a few minutes after dispatching my answer,
he appeared. I need not repeat our conversation.
He extorted from me without much
difficulty, what I had heard thro' my mother,
and methinks, I am ashamed to confess it—by
exchanging his boisterous airs for pathetic ones
—by appealing to my sisterly affection, and
calling me his angel and Saviour; and especially

by solemnly affirming that Frazer's story
was a calumny I, at length, did as he would
have me: yet only for three hundred; I would
not go beyond that sum.

The moment he left me, I perceived the
weakness and folly of my conduct in the strongest
light. I renewed all my prudent determinations:
yet strange to tell, within less than a
week, the same scene of earnest importunity on
his side, and of foolish flexibility on mine was
re-acted.

With every new instance of folly, my shame
and self condemnation increased, and the more
difficult I found it to disclose the truth to my
mother.

In the course of a very few days, one half of
my little property, was gone. A sum sufficient,
according to my system of economy, to
give me decent independence of the world for,
at least, three years, had been dissipated by the
prodigality of a profligate woman. At the time,
indeed, I was ignorant of this. It was impossible
not to pay some regard to the plausible statements
and vehement asseverations of my brother,
and to suffer them to weigh something
against charges which might possibly be untrue.
As soon as accident had put me in full possession
of the truth on this head, I was no longer
thus foolishly obsequious.

The next morning after our last interview I
set out, as usual, to bid good morrow to my father.
My uneasy thoughts led me unaware to
extend my walk, till I reached the door of a
watch-maker with whom my servant had some
time before, left a watch to be repaired. It occurred

to me that since I was now on the spot,
I might as well stop and make some enquiry about
it. On entering the shop I almost repented
of my purpose, as two persons were within
the bar, if I may call it so, seated in a lounging
posture, by a small stove, smoking segars and
gazing at me with an air of indolent impertinence.
I determined to make my stay as short
as possible, and hurried over a few questions
to the artist, who knew me only as the owner
of the watch. My attention was quickly roused
by one of the loungers, who, having satisfied
his curiosity, by gazing at me, turned to the
other and said; well; you have hardly been to
Frank's this morning, I suppose.

Indeed, but I have; was the reply.

Why, damn it, you pinch too hard. Well,
and what success.

Why, what do you think?

Another put-off, another call-again, to be sure.

I would not go till he downed with the stuff.

No! (with a broad stare) it an't possible.

Seeing is believing I hope—producing a piece
of paper.

Why so it is. A check—but—what's that
name?—let's see, stooping to examine the signature
—“Fane Talbot” who the Devil is she?

Don't you know her? She's his sister. A
devilish rich girl.

But how? does she lend him money?

Yes, to be sure. She's his sister you know.

But how does she get money? Is she a widow?

No, She is a girl, I've heard, not eighteen.

'Tis not my look out how she gets money,
so as her check's good, and that I'll fix as soon
as the door's open.

Why damn it, if I dont think it a forgery.
How should such a girl as that get so much
money.

Can't conceive. Coax or rob her aunt of it,
I suppose. If she's such another as Frank, she
is able to outwit the devil. I hope it may be
good. If it isn't, he shan't be his own man one
day longer.

But how did you succeed so well.

He asked me yesterday, to call once more.
So I called, you see, by times, and finding
that he had a check for a little more than my
debt I teazed him out of it, promising to give
him the balance. I pity the fellow from my soul.
It was all for trinkets and furniture bought by
that prodigal jade, Mademoiselle Couteau.
She would ruin a prince if she had him as much
at her command as she has Frank. Little does
the sister know for what purpose she gives her
money; however, that, as I said before, be her
look out.

During this dialogue my eye was fixed upon
the artist, who with the watch open in one hand,
and a piece of wire in the other, was describing,
with great formality, the exact nature of
the defect, and the whole process of the cure;
but though I looked stedfastly at him, I heard
not a syllable of his dissertation. I broke away
when his first pause allowed me.

The strongest emotion in my heart was resentment.
That my name should be prostituted
by the foul mouths of such wretches, and my
money be squandered for the gratification of a
meritricious vagabond, were indignities not to
be endured. I was carried involuntarily towards

my brother's house. I had lost all that
awe in his presence, and trepidation at his scorn
which had formerly been so troublesome. His
sarcasms or revilings had become indifferent to
me, as every days experience had of late convinced
me that, in no valuable attribute was he,
any wise, superior to his sister. The consciousness
of having been deceived and wronged by
him, set me above both his anger and his flattery.
I was hastening to his house to give vent to my
feelings, when a little consideration turned my
steps another way. I recollected that I should
probably meet his companion, and that was an
encounter which I had hitherto carefully avoided—I
went according to my first design, to my
father's—I was in hopes of meeting Frank
there, some time in the day, or of being visited
by him at Mrs. Fielder's.

My soul was in a tumult that unfitted me for
conversation. I felt hourly increasing remorse
at having concealed my proceedings from my
mother. I imagined that had I treated her
from the first, with the confidence due to her,
I should have avoided all my present difficulties.
Now the obstacles to confidence appeared
insurmountable, and my only consolation
was, that by inflexible resolution, I might shun
any new cause for humiliation and regret.

I had purposed to spend the greater part of
the day at my father's, chiefly in the hope of
a meeting with my brother, but, after dinner,
my mother sent for me home. Something
methought very extraordinary, must have happened,
as my mother was well; as, according
to the messenger's account, she had just parted

with a gentleman who seemed to have visited
her on private business, my heart misgave me.

As soon as I got home, my mother took me
into her chamber, and told me, after an affecting
preface, that a gentleman in office at —
Bank, had called on her and informed her
that checks of my signing to a very large amount
had lately been offered, and that the last
made its appearance to day and was presented
by a man with whom it was highly disreputable
for one in my condition to be thought to have
any sort of intercourse.

You may suppose that after this introduction,
I made haste to explain every particular. My
mother was surprised and grieved. She rebuked
me, with some asperity, for my reserves.
Had I acquainted her with my brother's
demands, she could have apprised me
of all that I had since discovered. My brother,
she asserted was involved beyond any one's
power to extricate him, and his temper, his
credulity were such, that he was forever doomed
to poverty.

I had scarcely parted with my mother, on
this occasion, to whom I had promised to refer
every future application, when my brother
made his appearance. I was prepared to overwhelm
him with upbraidings for his past conduct,
but I found my tongue tied in his presence.
I could not bear to inflict so much shame and
mortification, and besides, the past being irrevocable,
it would only aggravate the disappointment
which I was determined every future application
should meet with. After some vague
apology for nonpayment, he applied for a new

loan. He had borrowed he said, of a deserving
man, a small sum, which he was now unable
to repay. The poor fellow was in narrow
circumstances: was saddled with a numerous
family: had been prevailed upon to lend,
after extreme urgency on my brother's part; was
now driven to the utmost need and by a prompt
repayment would probably be saved from ruin.
A minute and plausible account of the way in
which the debt originated, and his inability to re
pay it shewn to have proceeded from no fault
of his.

I repeatedly endeavoured to break off the
conversation, by abruptly leaving the room,
but he detained me by importunity; by holding
my hand; by standing against the door.

How irresistible is supplication! The glossings
and plausibilities of eloquence are inexhaustible.
I found my courage wavering. After
a few ineffectual struggles, I ceased to contend.
He saw that little remained to compleat
his conquest, and to effect that little, by convincing
me that his tale was true, he stepped
out a moment, to bring in his creditor, whose
anxiety had caused him to accompany Frank
to the door.

This momentary respite gave me time to reflect.
I ran thro' the door now no longer guarded;
up stairs I flew into my mother's chamber,
and told her from what kind of persecution I
had escaped.

While I was speaking, some one knocked at
the door. It was a servant, dispatched by my
brother to summon me back. My mother
went in my stead. I was left, for some minutes,
alone.

So persuasive had been my brother's Rhetorick,
that I began to regret my flight.

I felt something like compunction at having
deprived him of an oppertunity to prove his assertions.
Every gentle look and insinuating accent
reappeared to my memory, and I more
than half repented my inflexibility.

While buried in these thoughts, my mother
returned. She told me that my brother was
gone, after repeatedly requesting an interview
with me, and refusing to explain his business
to any other person.

Was there any body with him, madam?

Yes. One Clarges: a Jeweller. An ill looking
suspicious person.

Do you know any thing of this Clarges?

Nothing, but what I am sorry to know. He
is a dissolute fellow, who has broken the
hearts of two wives, and thrown his children
for maintenance on their maternal relations.
'Tis the same who carried your last check to
the Bank.

I, just then, faintly recollected the name of
Clarges, as having occurred in the conversation
at the Watchmaker's, and as being the
name of him who had produced the paper.
This, then, was the person who was to have
been introduced to me as the friend in need,
the meritorious father of a numerous family,
whom the payment of a just debt was to relieve
from imminent ruin! How loathsome;
how detestible; how insecure, are fraud and
treachery. Had he been confronted with me,
no doubt he would have recognized the person
whom he stared at, at the watchmaker's.

Next morning I received a note, dated on

the preceding evening. These were the terms
of it.

“I am sorry to say, Jane, that the ruin of a
father and brother may justly be laid at your
door. Not to save them, when the means
were in your power, and when entreated to use
the means, makes you the author of their ruin.
The crisis has come. Had you shewn a little
mercy, the crisis might have terminated favourably.
As it is, we are undone. You do
not deserve to know the place of my retreat.
Your unsisterly heart will prompt you to intercept,
rather than to aid or connive at my
flight. Fly, I must, whither, it is pretty certain,
will never come to your knowledge. Farewell.”

My brother's disappearance, the immediate
ruin of my father, whose whole fortune was
absorbed by debts contracted in his name, and
for the most part without his knowledge, the
sudden affluence of the adventurer who had
suggested his projects to my brother, were the
immediate consequences of this event. To a
man of my father's habits and views, no calamity
can be conceived greater than this. Never
did I witness a more sincere grief; a more
thorough dispair. Every thing he once possessed,
was taken away from him and sold.
My mother however, prevented all the most opprobrious
effects of poverty, and all in my power
to alleviate his solitude, and console him in
his distress, was done.

Would you have thought, after this simple
relation, that there was any room for malice
and detraction to build up their inventions?

My brother was enraged that I refused to

comply with any of his demands; not grateful
for the instances in which I did comply.
Clarges resented the disappointment of his
scheme as much as if honour and integrity had
given him a title to success.

How many times has the story been told, and
with what variety of exaggeration, that the sister
refused to lend her brother money, when
she had plenty at command, and when a
seasonable loan would have prevented the ruin
of her family, while, at the same time, she had
such an appetite for toys and baubles, that ere
yet she was eighteen years old, she ran in
debt to Clarges the Jeweller, for upwards of
five hundred dollars worth.

You are the only person to whom I have
thought myself bound to tell the whole truth.
I do not think my reluctance to draw the follies
of my brother from oblivion, a culpable one.
I am willing to rely, for my justification from
malicious charges, on the general tenour of
my actions, and am scarcely averse to buy my
brother's reputation at the cost of my own. The
censure of the undistinguishing, and undistinguished
multitude, gives me little uneasiness.
Indeed the disapprobation of those who have
no particular connection with us, is a very faint,
dubious, and momentary feeling. We are
thought of, now and then, by chance, and immediately
forgotten. Their happiness is unaffected
by the sentence casually pronounced
on us, and we suffer nothing since it scarcely
reaches our ears, and the interval between the
judge and the culprit, hinders it from having
any influence on their actions. Not so, when

the censure reaches those who love us. The
charge engrosses their attention, influences
their happiness, and regulates their deportment
towards us. My self-regard, and my regard
for you, equally leads me to vindicate myself
to you, from any charge, however chimerical
or obsolete it may be.

My brother went to France. He seemed disposed
to forget that he ever had kindred or
country: never informed us of his situation
and views. All our tidings of him came to us
indirectly. In this way we heard that he procured
a commission in the republican troops,
had made some fortunate campaigns, and had
enriched himself by lucky speculations in the
forfeited estates.

My mother was informed, by some one lately
returned from Paris, that Frank had attained
possession of the whole property of an emigrant
Compte de Puysegur, who was far from
being the poorest of the ancient nobles: that
he lived, with princely luxury in the Count's
hotel; that he had married, according to the
new mode, the Compte's sister, and was, probably,
for the remainder of his life, a Frenchman.
He is attentive to his countrymen, and
this reporter partook of several entertainments
at his house.

Methinks the memory of past incidents
must sometimes intrude upon his thoughts.
Can he have utterly forgotten the father whom
he reduced to indigence; whom he sent to a
premature grave? Amidst his present oppulence
one would think it would occur to him
to enquire into the effects of his misconduct,

not only to his own family but on others

What a strange diversity there is among human
characters. Frank is, I question not, gay, volatile,
impetuous as ever. The jovial carousal
and the sound sleep are never molested, I dare
say, by the remembrance of the incidents I have
related to you.

Methinks had I the same heavy charges to
make against my conscience, I should find no
refuge but death, from the goadings of remorse.
To have abandoned a father to the
goal or the hospital, or to the charity of
strangers; a father too who had yielded him
an affection and a trust without limits; to have
wronged a sister out of the little property on
which she relied for support, to her unprotected
youth or helpless age. A sister who was
virtually an orphan; who had no natural
claim upon her present patroness, but might be
dismissed pennyless from the house that sheltered
her, without exposing the self-constituted
mother to any reproach.

And has not this event taken place already?
What can I expect but that, at least, it will take
place as soon as she hears of my resolution
with regard to thee? She ought to know it immediately.
I myself ought to tell it, and this
was one of the tasks which I designed to
perform in your absence; yet, alas! know not
how to set about it.

My fingers are for once thoroughly weary. I
must lay down the pen—But first—why don't I
hear from you? Every day since Sunday, when
you left me, have I dispatched an enormous
pacquet; and have not received a sentence in

answer. 'Tis not well done, my friend, to
forget and neglect me thus. You gave me
some reason, indeed, to expect no very sudden
tidings from you, but there is inexpiable
treason in the silence of four long days. If
you do not offer substantial excuses for this
delay, woe be to thee.

Take this letter, and expect not another
syllable from my pen till I hear from you.