LETTER XXXI.
To Henry Colden.
How shall I tell you the strange—strange incident! every
fibre of my frame still trembles. I have endeavored,
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knew me averse to company at any time, and I had withdrawn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
mantel, 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 mere 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 through 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 probable 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
even 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 a 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 endeavored 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 favor with my
mother, the inquiry 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 inamorata 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 by;" 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
endeavored 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 Newport 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.
