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hair too exactly dressed for a man in his situation; but when I say this, it is not to find fault with him, but to shew how little fault there was to be found. Lord Cromartie is an indifferent figure, appeared much dejected, and rather sullen: he dropped a few tears the first day, and swooned as soon as he got back to his cell. For Lord Balmerino, he is the most natural brave old fellow I ever saw: the highest intrepidity, even to indifference. At the bar he behaved like a soldier and a man; in the intervals of form, with carelessness and humour. He pressed extremely to have his wife, his pretty Peggy, with him in the Tower. Lady Cromartie only sees her husband through the grate, not choosing to be shut up with him, as she thinks she can serve him better by her intercession without. . . . When they were to be brought from the Tower in separate coaches, there was some dispute in which the axe must go-old Balmerino cried, 'Come, come, put it with me.' At the bar, he plays with his fingers upon the axe, while he talks to the gentleman-gaoler; and one day, somebody coming up to listen, he took the blade and held it like a fan between their faces. During the trial, a little boy was near him, but not tall enough to see; he made room for the child and placed him near himself. . . .

When the peers were going to vote, Lord Foley withdrew, as too well a wisher; Lord Moray, as nephew of Lord Balmerino-and Lord Stair, as, I believe, uncle to his great grandfather. Lord Windsor, very affectedly, said, 'I am sorry I must say, guilty upon my honour.' Lord Stamford would not answer to the name of Henry, having been christened Harry-what a great way of thinking on such an occasion! I was diverted too with old Norsa, . . . an old Jew that kept a tavern. My brother, as Auditor of the Exchequer, has a gallery along one whole side of the court. I said, 'I really feel for the prisoners!' Old Issachar replied, 'Feel for them! pray, if they had succeeded, what would have become of all us?' When my Lady Townshend heard her husband vote, she said, 'I always knew my lord was guilty, but I never thought he would own it upon his honour.' Lord Balmerino said, that one of his reasons for pleading not guilty, was, that so many ladies might not be disappointed of their show. . . . He said, 'They call me Jacobite; I am no more a Jacobite than any that tried me: but if the Great Mogul had set up his standard, I should have followed it, for I could not starve.'

London Earthquakes and London Gossip.

Mar. 11, 1750.
Portents and prodigies are grown so frequent,
That they have lost their name.

-DRYDEN'S All for Love. My text is not literally true; but as far as earthquakes go towards lowering the price of wonderful commodities, to be sure we are overstocked. We have had a second, much more violent than the first; and you must not be surprised if by next post you hear of a burning mountain sprung up in Smithfield. In the night between Wednesday and Thursday last (exactly a month since the first shock) the earth had a shivering fit between one and two, but so slight, that if no more had followed, I don't believe it would have been noticed. I had been awake, and had scarce dozed again-on a sudden I felt my bolster lift up my head; I thought somebody was getting from under my bed, but soon

found it was a strong earthquake, that lasted near half a minute, with a violent vibration and great roaring. I rung my bell; my servant came in, frightened out of his senses: in an instant we heard all the windows in the neighbourhood flung up. I got up and found people running into the street, but saw no mischief done : there has been some; two old houses flung down, several chimneys, and much china-ware. The bells rung in several houses. Admiral Knowles, who has lived long in Jamaica, and felt seven there, says this was more violent than any of them: Francesco prefers it to the dreadful one at Leghorn. The wise say, that if we have not rain soon, we shall certainly have more. Several people are going out of town, for it has nowhere reached above ten miles from London: they say they are not frightened, but that it is such fine weather, 'Lord! one

[graphic]

HORACE WALPOLE, EARL OF ORFORD.

From Portrait by Nathaniel Hone in National Portrait Gallery. can't help going into the country!' . . . A parson, who came into White's the morning of earthquake the first, and heard bets laid on whether it was an earthquake or the blowing up of powder-mills, went away exceedingly scandalised, and said: 'I protest they are such an impious set of people, that I believe if the last trumpet was to sound, they would bet puppet-show against Judgment.' . . .

The Middlesex election is carried against the Court: the Prince, in a green frock (and I won't swear but in a Scotch plaid waistcoat), sat under the park-wall in his chair, and hallooed the voters on to Brentford. The Jacobites are so transported, that they are opening subscriptions for all boroughs that shall be vacant.

The Round of London Life.

Dec. 29, 1763.

We are a very absurd nation (though the French are so good at present as to think us a very wise one, only because they themselves are now a very weak one); but

then that absurdity depends upon the almanac. Posterity, who will know nothing of our intervals, will conclude that this age was a succession of events. I could tell them that we know as well when an event, as when Easter, will happen. Do but recollect these last ten years. The beginning of October, one is certain that everybody will be at Newmarket, and the Duke of Cumberland will lose, and Shafto win, two or three thousand pounds. After that, while people are preparing to come to town for the winter, the Ministry is suddenly changed, and all the world comes to learn how it happened, a fortnight sooner than they intended; and fully persuaded that the new arrangement cannot last a month. The Parliament opens: everybody is bribed; and the new establishment is perceived to be composed of adamant. November passes, with two or three selfmurders, and a new play. Christmas arrives; everybody goes out of town; and a riot happens in one of the theatres. The Parliament meets again: taxes are warmly opposed, and some citizen makes his fortune by a subscription. The Opposition languishes: balls and assemblies begin: some master and miss begin to get together, are talked of, and give occasion to forty more matches being invented; an unexpected debate starts up at the end of the session, that makes more noise than anything that was designed to make a noise, and subsides again in a new peerage or two. Ranelagh opens and Vauxhall; one produces scandal, and t'other a drunken quarrel. People separate, some to Tunbridge, and some to all the horse-races in England; and so the year comes again to October.

From The Castle of Otranto.'

The marquis was not surprised at the silence that reigned in the princess's apartment. Concluding her, as he had been advertised, in her oratory, he passed on. The door was a-jar; the evening gloomy and overcast. Pushing open the door gently, he saw a person kneeling before the altar. As he approached nearer, it seemed not a woman, but one in a long woollen weed, whose back was towards him. The person seemed absorbed in prayer. The marquis was about to return, when the figure, rising, stood some moments fixed in meditation, without regarding him. The marquis, expecting the holy person to come forth, and meaning to excuse his uncivil interruption, said, Reverend father, I sought the Lady Hippolita.-Hippolita ! replied a hollow voice; camest thou to this castle to seek Hippolita? and then the figure turning slowly round, discovered to Frederic the fleshless jaws and empty sockets of a skeleton, wrapt in a hermit's cowl.-Angels of grace protect me! cried Frederic, recoiling.-Deserve their protection! said the spectre. Frederic, falling on his knees, adjured the phantom to take pity on him.-Dost thou not remember me? said the apparition. Remember the wood of Joppa! -Art thou that holy hermit? cried Frederic, trembling. Can I do aught for thy eternal peace?-Wast thou delivered from bondage, said the spectre, to pursue carnal delights? Hast thou forgotten the buried sabre, and the behest of Heaven engraven on it?—I have not, I have not, said Frederic: but say, blest spirit, what is thy errand to me? what remains to be done?-To forget Matilda! said the apparition, and vanished.

Frederic's blood froze in his veins. For some minutes he remained motionless. Then, falling prostrate on his face before the altar, he besought the intercession of

every saint for pardon. A flood of tears succeeded to this transport; and the image of the beauteous Matilda rushing, in spite of him, on his thoughts, he lay on the ground in a conflict of penitence and passion. Ere he could recover from this agony of his spirits, the Princess Hippolita, with a taper in her hand, entered the oratory alone. Seeing a man, without motion, on the floor, she gave a shriek, concluding him dead. Her fright brought Frederic to himself. Rising suddenly, his face bedewed with tears, he would have rushed from her presence; but Hippolita, stopping him, conjured him, in the most plaintive accents, to explain the cause of his disorder, and by what strange chance she had found him there in that posture.-Ah! virtuous princess! said the marquis, penetrated with grief-and stopped.-For the love of heaven, my lord, said Hippolita, disclose the cause of this transport! What mean these doleful sounds, this alarming exclamation on my naine? What woes has Heaven still in store for the wretched Hippolita ?—Yet silent!-By every pitying angel, I adjure thee, noble prince, continued she, falling at his feet, to disclose the purport of what lies at thy heart-I see thou feelest for me; thou feelest the sharp pangs that thou inflictestspeak, for pity!-does ought thou knowest concern my child? I cannot speak, cried Frederic, bursting from her-Oh! Matilda !

Walpole's Works were edited by Mary Berry (5 vols. 1798). Peter Cunningham's is the best edition of the Letters (9 vols. 1857-59), but a new edition by Mrs Paget Toynbee was in progress in 1902. See also Memoirs of Horace Walpole, edited by Eliot Warburton (1851), and the Life by Mr Austin Dobson (2nd ed. 1893). Macaulay's Essay is brilliant but unsympathetic. SainteBeuve's essays on Madame du Deffand (Causeries, vols. i. and xiv.) give an interesting account of Walpole's relations with the Parisian salons. Some Unpublished Letters were edited by Sir Spencer Walpole in 1902.

Alexander Carlyle (1722-1805) was born at Cummertrees manse near Annan, whence in 1724 his father was called to Prestonpans. Educated at Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Leyden, he was minister of Inveresk from 1748 till his death. He was a divinity student when he volunteered for the defence of Edinburgh against Prince Charlie (the defence the authorities did not attempt); and he saw the flight of the defeated royal troops from his father's manse garden. The friend of Hume, Adam Smith, Smollett, John Home, &c., he was present in the theatre when Home's Douglas was first performed; and he belonged emphatically to the Broad Church party in the Scotland of the eighteenth century. With Robertson the historian he led the Moderates in the Church of Scotland; he was Moderator of the General Assembly, and was made Dean of the Chapel Royal in 1789. His imposing presence earned him the name of 'Jupiter' Carlyle; he was,' says Sir Walter Scott, 'the grandest demigod I ever saw.' His very interesting Autobiography was first edited in 1860 by John Hill Burton.

Prestonpans.

I directed the maid to awake me the moment the battle began, and fell into a profound sleep in an instant. I had no need to be awaked, though the maid was punctual, for I heard the first cannon that was fired, and started to my clothes; which, as I neither buckled

nor gartered, were on in a moment, and immediately went to my father's, not a hundred yards off. All the strangers were gone, and my father had been up before daylight, and had resorted to the steeple. While I was conversing with my mother, he returned to the house, and assured me of what I had guessed before, that we were completely defeated. I ran into the garden, where there was a mount in the south-east corner, from which one could see the fields almost to the verge of that part where the battle was fought. Even at that time, which could hardly be more than ten or fifteen minutes after firing the first cannon, the whole prospect was filled with runaways, and Highlanders pursuing them. Many had their coats turned as prisoners, but were still trying to reach the town in hopes of escaping. The pursuing Highlanders, when they could not overtake, fired at them, and I saw two fall in the glebe. By-and-by a Highland officer whom I knew to be Lord Elcho passed with his train, and had an air of savage ferocity that disgusted and alarmed. He inquired fiercely of me where a public-house was to be found; I answered him very meekly, not doubting but that, if I had displeased him with my tone, his reply would have been with a pistol bullet.

The crowd of wounded and dying now approached with all their followers, but their groans and agonies were nothing compared with the howlings, and cries, and lamentations of the women, which suppressed manhood and created despondency. Not long after the Duke of Perth appeared with his train, who asked me, in a very different tone, the way to Collector Cheap's, to which house he had ordered our wounded officers. Knowing the family were from home, I answered the questions of victorious clemency with more assurance of personal safety, than I had done to unappeased fury. I directed him the way to the house, which was hard by that where I had slept.

The rebel army had before day marched in three divisions, one of which went straight down the waggonway to attack our cannon; the other two crossed the Morass near Seaton House, one of which marched north towards Port-Seaton, where the field is broadest, to attack our rear, but over-marched themselves, and fell in with a few companies that were guarding the baggage in a small enclosure near Cockenzie, and took the whole. The main body marched west through the plains, and just at the break of day attacked our army. After firing once, they run on with their broadswords, and our people fled. The dragoons attempted to charge, under Colonel Whitney, who was wounded, but wheeled immediately, and rode off through the defile between Preston and Bankton, to Dolphingston, half a mile off. Colonel Gardiner, with his division, attempted to charge, but was only followed by eleven men, as he had foretold, Cornet Kerr being one. He continued fighting, and had received several wounds, and was at last brought down by the stroke of a broadsword over the head. He was carried to the minister's house at Tranent, where he lived till next forenoon. His own house, which was nearer, was made an hospital for the Highlanders, no person of our army being carried there but the Master of Torphichen, who was so badly wounded that he could be sent to no greater distance. Some of the dragoons fled as far as Edinburgh, and one stood all day at the Castle-gate, as General Guest would not allow him to be taken in. A considerable

body of dragoons met at Dolphingston immediately after the rout, little more than half a mile from the field, where Cope joined them; and where it was said Lord Drummore offered to conduct them back, with assurance of victory when the Highlanders were busy with the booty. But they could not be prevailed on by his eloquence no more than by the youthful ardour of Earls Home and Loudon. After a short halt, they marched over Falside Hill to Lauder. Sir Peter Halket, a captain in Lee's regiment, acted a distinguished part on this occasion; for after the rout he kept his company together: and getting behind a ditch in Tranent Meadow, he kept firing away on the rebels till they were glad to let him surrender on terms.

In the meantime my father became very uneasy lest I should be ill-treated by the rebels, as they would discover that I had been a Volunteer in Edinburgh; he therefore ordered the horses to be saddled, and telling me that the sea was out, and that we could escape by the shore without being seen, we mounted, taking a short leave of my mother and the young ones, and took the way he had pointed out. We escaped without interruption till we came to Port-seton harbour, a mile off, where we were obliged to turn up on the land, when my father observing a small party of Highlanders, who were pursuing two or three carts with baggage that were attempting to escape, and coming up with the foremost driver, who would not stop when called to, they shot him on the spot. This daunted my father, who turned immediately, and took the way we came. We were back again soon after, when, taking off my boots and putting on shoes, I had the appearance of a person who had not been abroad. I then proposed to go to Collector Cheap's house, where I understood there were twenty-three wounded officers, to offer my assistance to the surgeons, Cunningham and Trotter, the first of whom I knew. They were surgeons of the dragoons, and had surrendered that they might attend the officers. When I went in, I told Cunningham (afterwards the most eminent surgeon in Dublin) that I had come to offer them my services, as, though no surgeon, I had better hands than a common servant. They were obliged to me; but the only service I could do to them was to try to find one of their medicine-chests among the baggage, as they could do nothing for want of instruments. I readily undertook this task, provided they would furnish me with a guard. This they hoped they could do; and knocking at the door of an inner room, a Highland officer appeared, whom they called Captain Stewart. He was good-looking, grave, and of polished manners. He answered that he would soon

find a proper conductor for me, and despatched a servant with a message. In the meantime I observed a very handsome young officer lying in an easy-chair in a faint, and seemingly dying. They led me to a chest of drawers, where there lay a piece of his skull, about two fingers' breadth and an inch and a-half long. I said, 'This gentleman must die.' 'No,' said Cunningham, 'the brain is not affected, nor any vital part: he has youth and a fine constitution on his side; and could I but get my instruments, there would be no fear of him.' This man was Captain Blake. Captain Stewart's messenger arrived with a fine, brisk, little, well-dressed Highlander, armed cap-a-pie with pistols, and dirk, and broadsword. Captain Stewart gave him his orders, and we set off immediately.

Never did any young man more perfectly display the boastful temper of a raw soldier, new to conflict and victory, than this Highland warrior. He said he had that morning been armour-bearer to the Duke of Perth, whose valour was as conspicuous as his clemency; that now there was no doubt of their final success, as the Almighty had blessed them with this almost bloodless victory on their part; that He had made the sun to shine upon them uninterruptedly since their first setting out; that no brawling woman had cursed, nor even a dog had barked at them; that not a cloud had interposed between them and the blessings of Heaven, and that this happy morning- Here he was interrupted in his harangue by observing in the street a couple of grooms leading four fine blood-horses. He drew a pistol from his belt, and darted at the foremost in a moment. 'Who are you, sir? and where are you going? and whom are you seeking?' It was answered with an uncovered head and a dastardly tone, 'I am Sir John Cope's coachman, and I am seeking my master.' 'You'll not find him here, sir, but you and your man and your horses are my prisoners. Go directly to the Collector's house, and put up your horses in the stable, and wait till I return from a piece of public service. Do this directly, as you regard your lives.' They instantly obeyed. A few paces further on he met an officer's servant with two handsome geldings and a large and full clothes-bag. Similar questions and answers were made, and we found them all in the place to which they were ordered, on our return.

It was not long before we arrived at Cockenzie, where, under the protection of my guard, I had an opportunity of seeing this victorious army. In general they were of low stature and dirty, and of a contemptible appearance. The officers with whom I mixed were gentleman-like, and very civil to me, as I was on an errand of humanity. I was conducted to Locheil, who was polished and gentle, and who ordered a soldier to make all the inquiry he could about the medicine-chests of the dragoons. After an hour's search, we returned without finding any of them, nor were they ever afterwards recovered. This view I had of the rebel army confirmed me in the prepossession that nothing but the weakest and most unaccountable bad conduct on our part could have possibly given them the victory. God forbid that Britain should ever again be in danger of being overrun by such a despicable enemy, for, at the best, the Highlanders were at that time but a raw militia, who were not cowards.

On our return from looking for the medicine-chests, we saw walking on the sea-shore, at the east end of Prestonpans, all the officers who were taken prisoners. I then saw human nature in its most abject form, for almost every aspect bore in it shame, and dejection, and despair. They were deeply mortified with what had happened, and timidly anxious about the future, for they were doubtful whether they were to be treated as prisoners of war or as rebels. I ventured to speak to one of them who was nearest me, a Major Severn; for Major Bowles, my acquaintance, was much wounded, and at the Collector's. He answered some questions I put to him with civility, and I told him what errand I had been on, and with what humanity I had seen the wounded officers treated, and ventured to assert that the prisoners would be well used. The confidence with which I spoke seemed to raise his spirits, which I com

pleted by saying that nothing could have been expected but what had happened, when the foot were so shamefully deserted by the dragoons.

Garrick and Golf.

Garrick was so friendly to John Home that he gave a dinner to his friends and companions at his house at Hampton, which he did but seldom. He had told us to bring golf clubs and balls that we might play at that game on Molesly Hurst. We accordingly set out in good time, six of us in a landau. As we passed through Kensington, the Coldstream regiment were changing guard, and, on seeing our clubs, they gave us three cheers in honour of a diversion peculiar to Scotland; so much does the remembrance of one's native country dilate the heart, when one has been some time absent. The same sentiment made us open our purses, and give our countrymen wherewithal to drink the Land o' Cakes.' Garrick met us by the way, so impatient he seemed to be for his company. There were John Home, and Robertson, and Wedderburn, and Robert and James Adam, and Colonel David Wedderburn, who was killed when commander of the army in Bombay, in the year [1773]. He was held by his companions to be in every respect as clever and able a man as his elder brother the Chancellor, with a much more gay, popular, and social temper.

Immediately after we arrived, we crossed the river to the golfing-ground, which was very good. None of the company could play but John Home and myself, and Parson Black from Aberdeen, who, being chaplain to a regiment during some of the Duke of Cumberland's campaigns, had been pointed out to his Royal Highness as a proper person to teach him the game of chess: the Duke was such an apt scholar that he never lost a game after the first day; and he recompensed Black for having beat him so cruelly, by procuring for him the living of Hampton, which is a good one. We returned and dined sumptuously. Mrs Garrick, the only lady, now grown fat, though still very lively, being a woman of uncommon good sense, and now mistress of English, was in all respects most agreeable company. She did not seem at

all to recognise me, which was no wonder, at the end of twelve years, having thrown away my bag-wig and sword, and appearing in my own grisly hairs, and in parson's clothes; nor was I likely to remind her of her former state.

Garrick had built a handsome temple, with a statue of Shakespeare in it, in his lower garden, on the banks of the Thames, which was separated from the upper one by a high-road, under which there was an archway which united the two gardens. Garrick, in compliment to Home, had ordered the wine to be carried to this temple, where we were to drink it under the shade of the copy of that statue to which Home had addressed his pathetic verses on the rejection of his play. The poet and the actor were equally gay, and well pleased with each other, on this occasion, with much respect on the one hand, and a total oblivion of animosity on the other; for vanity is a passion that is easy to be entreated, and unites freely with all the best affections. Having observed a green mount in the garden, opposite the archway, I said to our landlord, that while the servants were preparing the collation in the temple I would surprise him with a stroke at the golf, as I should drive a ball through his archway into the Thames once in three strokes. I had

measured the distance with my eye in walking about the garden, and accordingly, at the second stroke, made the ball alight in the mouth of the gateway, and roll down the green slope into the river. This was so dexterous that he was quite surprised, and begged the club of me by which such a feat had been performed. We passed a very agreeable afternoon; and it is hard to say which were happier, the landlord and landlady, or the guests.

The visit to London was paid in 1758. Returning from Leyden in 1746, Carlyle had seen on the packet-boat, disguised in boy's clothes, the Viennese dancing-girl whom Garrick married in 1749.

Sarah Fielding (1710-68), a sister of the great Henry Fielding (see page 339), also attained eminence in her generation as a novelist. Her best-known work was her first-David Simple, published in 1744, of which, in a preface to the second edition, Henry Fielding said that 'some of her touches might have done honour to the pencil of the immortal Shakespeare;' and Richardson quoted to her the opinion of a judge who gave her credit for a more perfect knowledge of the human heart than her great brother-an opinion that was probably unusual even then, and is now without a supporter. Other novels of Miss Fielding were The Governess and The Countess of Dellwyn. She also translated from the Greek.

Mrs Elizabeth Carter (1717-1806), the daughter of a Kentish clergyman, published in 1758 All the Works of Epictetus now Extant, translated from the Greek, and the work was received with high favour by the critics of the time. This learned lady, familiar to the readers of Boswell's Johnson, had previously (1739) translated, anonymously, Crousaz's Examination of Pope's Essay on Man, and Algarotti's Newton's Philosophy Explained. She had also published a small collection of poems written by herself before her twentieth year, and was a frequent correspondent of the Gentleman's Magazine. Hence her early acquaintance with Johnson, who commemorated her talents and virtues in pithy sayings as well as in a Greek and a Latin epigram. Her Poems on Several Occasions (1762) contained only two from the former volume. She knew Latin, Greek, Hebrew, French, Italian, Spanish, German, Portuguese, and Arabic; studied astronomy, ancient geography and history; played on the spinet and the German flute, sewed beautifully, and made admirable puddings. Her attainments were by no means superficial: Johnson said of a distinguished scholar, by way of compliment, that he understood Greek better than any one he had ever known except Elizabeth Carter. Her Memoirs (by her nephew, 1808) and several collections of her letters to Mrs Montagu and others maintained her repute for learning and sense. The friend of Burke, Reynolds, Richardson, Horace Walpole, Bishop Butler, Beattie, and Hannah More, she lived to read and admire Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. Of her poems, the best known is an Ode to Wisdom, enshrined by

Richardson in his Clarissa. It is in rather stilted style, and opens with these stanzas:

The solitary bird of night

Through the thick shades now wings his flight,

And quits his time-shook tower,

Where, sheltered from the blaze of day,
In philosophic gloom he lay

Beneath his ivy bower.

With joy I hear the solemn sound
Which midnight echoes waft around,
And sighing gales repeat.
Favourite of Pallas! I attend,

And, faithful to thy summons, bend
At wisdom's awful seat.

Charlotte Lennox (1720-1804) was the daughter of Colonel Ramsay, Lieutenant-Governor of New York, came to England in 1735, and after the death of her father failed as an actress, married, and took to literature. Her novel The Female Quixote (1752) has for heroine a young lady who has half-crazed herself by reading the romances of Scudéry, and it was praised by Fielding as well as by Johnson. Mrs Lennox also published a feeble critical work, Shakspear Illustrated, and translated from the French Brumoy's Greek Theatre, The Life of Sully, The Memoirs of Madame de Maintenon, and some other works. Her first novel, Harriot Stuart (1751), was celebrated by Johnson and a party of ladies and gentlemen in the Devil Tavern, where a sumptuous supper, including a prodigious applepie, was provided, and Johnson invested the authoress with a crown of laurel. Her novel Henrietta was dramatised by her as The Sister, plagiarised from by Burgoyne, and translated both into German and French. She wrote other novels, poems, a 'dramatic pastoral,' and a comedy based on Chapman's Eastward Hoe (see Vol. I. p. 378). The following is a conversation in the Female Quixote:

You had the boldness, said she, to talk to me of love; and you well know that persons of my sex and quality are not permitted to listen to such discourses; and if for that offence I banished you my presence, I did no more than decency required of me, and which I would yet do, were I mistress of my own actions.

But is it possible, cousin, said Glanville, that you can be angry with any one for loving you? Is that a crime of so high a nature as to merit an eternal banishment from your presence?

Without telling you, said Arabella, blushing, whether I am angry at being loved, it is sufficient, you know, that I will not pardon the man who shall have the presumption to tell me he loves me.

But, madam, interrupted Glanville, if the person who tells you he loves you, be of a rank not beneath you, I conceive you are not at all injured by the favourable sentiments he feels for you; and though you are not disposed to make any returns to his passion, yet you are certainly obliged to him for his good opinion.

Since love is not voluntary, replied Arabella, I am not obliged to any person for loving me; for, questionless, if he could help it, he would.

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