University of Virginia Library

LETTER VI.

To Henry Colden.

As soon as my visitants had gone, I hastened to my
father. I immediately introduced the subject of which
my heart was full. I related the particulars of my late
interview with my brother; entreated him with the utmost
earnestness to make the proper inquiries into the state of
my brother's affairs, with whose fate it was too plain, that
his own were 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 faltering 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 despatched 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 abroad.
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 straits 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
though useless to you, is as indispensable 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 completely
reestablished.

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 any of 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 entreated 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 it the utmort 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 has 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 twelvemonth 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 Mons. Petitgrave, brother to Frank's house-keeper,
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 laborers.

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

"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 despatching my answer, he appeared.

I need not repeat our conversation. He extorted from
me without much difficulty, what I had heard through 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 savior;
and especially by solemnly affirming that Frazer's
story was a calmny. 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 reacted.

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 inquiry 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—"Jane 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 don't 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 steadfastly 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 meretricious 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 day's 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 apprized 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
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 non-payment,
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 repay it shewn to have proceeded
from no fault of his.

I repeatedly endeavored 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 complete
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
through 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, despatched 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 rhetoric, that I
began to regret my flight.

I felt something like compunction at having deprived him
of an opportunity 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 detestable,
how insecure, are fraud and treachery. Had he been
confronted with me, no doubt he would have recognised 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 favorably. 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 despair.
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 honor 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 tenor 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 connexion
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 opulence one
would think it would occur to him to inquire 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
gaol 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 despatched
an enormous packet; 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, wo be to thee.

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