LADY G. See, Miss Byron!--How captious!--Lord G---- ought to have a termagant wife: one who could return rage for rage. Meekness is my crime.--I cannot be put out of temper.--Meekness was never before attributed to woman as a fault.

LORD G. Good G.o.d!--Meekness!--Good G.o.d!

LADY G. But, Harriet, do you judge on which side the grievance lies.-- Lord G---- presents me with a face for his, that I never saw him wear before marriage: He has cheated me, therefore. I shew him the same face that I ever wore, and treat him pretty much in the same manner (or I am mistaken) that I ever did: and what reason can he give, that will not demonstrate him to be the most ungrateful of men, for the airs he gives himself? Airs that he would not have presumed to put on eight days ago.

Who then, Harriet, has reason to complain of grievance; my lord, or I?

LORD G. You see, Miss Byron--Can there be any arguing with a woman who knows herself to be in jest, in all she says?

HAR. Why then, my lord, make a jest of it. What will not bear an argument, will not be worth one's anger.

LORD G. I leave it to Miss Byron, Lady G----, to decide between us, as she pleases.

LADY G. You'd better leave it to me, sir.

HAR. Do, my lord.

LORD G. Well, madam!--And what is your decree?

LADY G. You, Miss Byron, had best be Lady Chancellor, after all. I should not bear to have my decree disputed, after it is p.r.o.nounced.

HAR. If I must, my decree is this:--You, Lady G---- shall own yourself in fault; and promise amendment. My lord shall forgive you; and promise that he will, for the future, endeavour to distinguish between your good and your ill-nature: that he will sit down to jest with your jest, and never be disturbed at what you say, when he sees it accompanied with that archness of eye and lip which you put on to your brother, and to every one whom you best love, when you are disposed to be teazingly facetious.

LADY G. Why, Harriet, you have given Lord G---- a clue to find me out, and spoil all my sport.

HAR. What say you, my lord?

LORD G. Will Lady G---- own herself in fault, as you propose?

LADY G. Odious recrimination!--I leave you together. I never was in fault in my life. Am I not a woman? If my lord will ask pardon for his froppishness, as we say of children--

She stopt, and pretended to be going--

HAR. That my lord shall not do, Charlotte. You have carried the jest too far already. My lord shall preserve his dignity for his wife's sake.

My lord, you will not permit Lady G---- to leave us, however?

He took her hand, and pressed it with his lips: for G.o.d's sake, madam, let us be happy: it is in your power to make us both so: it ever shall be in your power. If I have been in fault, impute it to my love. I cannot bear your contempt; and I never will deserve it.

LADY G. Why could not this have been said some hours ago?--Why, slighting my early caution, would you expose yourself?

I took her aside. Be generous, Lady G----. Let not your husband be the only person to whom you are not so.

LADY G. [Whispering.] Our quarrel has not run half its length. If we make up here, we shall make up clumsily. One of the silliest things in the world is, a quarrel that ends not, as a coachman after a journey comes in, with a spirit. We shall certainly renew it.

HAR. Take the caution you gave to my lord: don't expose yourself. And another; that you cannot more effectually do so, than by exposing your husband. I am more than half-ashamed of you. You are not the Charlotte I once thought you were. Let me see, if you have any regard to my good opinion of you, that you can own an error with some grace.

LADY G. I am a meek, humble, docile creature. She turned to me, and made me a rustic courtesy, her hands before her: I'll try for it: tell me, if I am right. Then stepping towards my lord, who was with his back to us looking out at the window--and he turning about to her bowing--My lord, said she, Miss Byron has been telling me more than I knew before of my duty. She proposes herself one day to make a won-der-ful obedient wife. It would have been well for you, perhaps, had I had her example to walk by. She seems to say, that, now I am married, I must be grave, sage, and pa.s.sive: that smiles will hardly become me: that I must be prim and formal, and reverence my husband.--If you think this behaviour will become a married woman, and expect it from me, pray, my lord, put me right by your frowns, whenever I shall be wrong. For the future, if I ever find myself disposed to be very light-hearted, I will ask your leave before I give way to it. And now, what is next to be done? humorously courtesying, her hands before her.

He clasped her in his arms: dear provoking creature! This, this is next to be done--I ask you but to love me half as much as I love you, and I shall be the happiest man on earth.

My lord, said I, you ruin all by this condescension on a speech and air so ungracious. If this is all you get by it, never, never, my lord, fall out again. O Charlotte! If you are not generous, you come off much, much too easily.

Well now, my lord, said she, holding out her hand, as if threatening me, let you and me, man and wife like, join against the interposer in our quarrels.--Harriet, I will not forgive you, for this last part of your lecture.

And thus was this idle quarrel made up. All that vexes me on the occasion is, that it was not made up with dignity on my lord's part.

His honest heart so overflowed with joy at his lips, that the naughty creature, by her arch leers, every now and then, shewed, that she was sensible of her consequence to his happiness. But, Lucy, don't let her sink too low in your esteem: she has many fine qualities.

They prevailed on me to stay supper. Emily rejoiced in the reconciliation: her heart was, as I may say, visible in her joy. Can I love her better than I do? If I could, she would, every time I see her, give me reason for it.

LETTER x.x.xIII

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION WEDNESDAY NOON, APRIL 19.

It would puzzle you to guess at a visitor I had this morning.--Honest Mr.

Fowler. I was very glad to see him. He brought me a Letter from his worthy uncle. Good Sir Rowland! I had a joy that I thought I should not have had while I stayed in London, on its being put into my hand, though the contents gave me sensible pain. I enclose it. It is dated from Caermarthen. Be pleased to read it here.

CAERMARTHEN, APRIL 11.

How shall I, in fit manner, inscribe my letter to the loveliest of women!

I don't mean because of your loveliness; but whether as daughter or not, as you did me the honour to call yourself. Really, and truly, I must say, that I had rather call you by another name, though a little more remote as to consanguinity. Lord have mercy upon me, how have I talked of you! How many of our fine Caermarthen girls have I filled with envy of your peerless perfections!

Here am I settled to my heart's content, could I but obtain--You know whom I mean.--A town of gentry: A fine country round us--A fine estate of our own. Esteemed, nay, for that matter, beloved, by all our neighbours and tenants. Who so happy as Rowland Meredith, if his poor boy could be happy!--Ah, madam!--And can't it be so? I am afraid of asking. Yet I understand, that, notwithstanding all the jack-a-dandies that have been fluttering about you, you are what you were when I lest town. Some whispers have gone out of a fine gentleman, indeed, who had a great kindness for you; but yet that something was in the way between you. The Lord bless and prosper my dear daughter, as I must then call you, and not niece, if you have any kindness for him. And if as how you have, it would be wonderfully gracious if you would but give half a hint of it to my nephew, or if so be you will not to him, to me, your father you know, under your own precious hand. The Lord be good unto me! But I shall never see the she that will strike my fancy, as you have done. But what a dreadful thing would it be, if you, who are so much courted and admired by many fine gallants, should at last be taken with a man who could not be yours! G.o.d forbid that such a disastrous thing should happen! I profess to you, madam, that a tear or two have strayed down my cheeks at the thoughts of it. For why? Because you played no tricks with any man: you never were a coquette, as they call them. You dealt plainly, sincerely, and tenderly too, to all men; of which my nephew and I can bear witness.

Well, but what now is the end of my writing?--Lord love you, cannot, cannot you at last give comfort to two honest hearts? Honester you never knew! And yet, if you could, I dare say you would. Well, then, and if you can't, we must sit down as contented as we can; that's all we have for it.--But, poor young man! Look at him, if you read this before him.

Strangely altered! Poor young man!--And if as how you cannot, why then, G.o.d bless my daughter; that's all. And I do a.s.sure you, that you have our prayers every Lord's day, from the bottom of our hearts.

And now, if you will keep a secret, I will tell it you; and yet, when I began, I did not intend it: the poor youth must not know it. It is done in the singleness of our hearts; and if you think we mean to gain your love for us by it, I do a.s.sure you, that you wrong us.--My nephew declares, that he never will marry, if it be not somebody: and he has made his will, and so have I his uncle; and, let me tell you, that if as how I cannot have a niece, my daughter shall be the better for having known, and treated as kindly, as power was lent her,

Her true friend, loving father, and obedient servant, ROWLAND MEREDITH.

Love and service to Mr. and Mrs. Reeves, and all friends who inquire after me. Farewell. G.o.d bless you! Amen.

Have you, could you, Lucy, read this letter with dry eyes? Generous, worthy, honest men! I read but half way before Mr. Fowler--Glad I was, that I read no further. I should not have been able to have kept his uncle's secret, if I had; had it been but to disclaim the acceptance of the generous purpose. The carrying it into effect would exceedingly distress me, besides the pain the demise of the honest man would give me; and the more, as I bespoke the fatherly relation from him myself. If such a thing were to be, Sir Charles Grandison's generosity to the Danbys should be my example.

Do you know, Mr. Fowler, said I, the contents of the letter you have put into my hand?

No farther than that my uncle told me, it contained professions of fatherly love; and with wishes only--But without so much as expressing his hopes.

Sir Rowland is a good man, said I: I have not read above half his letter.