THE HISTORY OF HARRIOT AND SOPHIA

HARRIOT and Sophia were the daughters of a gentleman, who, having spent a good paternal inheritance before he was five and thirty, was reduced to live upon the moderate salary of a place at court, which his friends procured him to get rid of his importunities. The same imprudence by which he had been governed in affairs of lesser importance directed him likewise in the choice of a wife: the woman he married had no merit but beauty, and brought with her to the house of a man whose fortune was already ruined nothing but a taste for luxury and expence, without the means of gratifying it.

Harriot, the eldest daughter of this couple, was, like her mother, a beauty, and upon that account, as well as the conformity of her temper and inclinations to hers, engrossed all her affection.

Sophia she affected to despise, because she wanted in an equal degree those personal attractions, which in her opinion constituted the whole of female perfection. Meer common judges however allowed her person to be agreeable; people of discernment and taste pronounced her something more. The striking sensibility of her countenance, the soft elegance of her shape and motion, a melodious voice in speaking, whose varied accents enforced the sensible things she always said, were beauties not capable of striking vulgar minds, and which were sure to be eclipsed by the dazzling lustre of her sister’s complexion, and the fire of two bright eyes, whose motions were as quick and unsettled as her thoughts.

While Harriot was receiving the improvement of a polite education, Sophia was left to form herself as well as she could; happily for her a just taste and solid judgment supplied the place of teachers, precept, and example. The hours that Harriot wasted in dress, company, and gay amusements, were by Sophia, devoted to reading.

A good old gentleman, who was nearly related to her father, perceiving this taste in her, encouraged it by his praises, and furnished her with the means of gratifying it, by constantly supplying her with such books as were best calculated to improve her morals and understanding. His admiration encreasing in proportion as he had opportunities of observing her merit, he undertook to teach her the French and Italian languages, in which she soon made a surprising progress; and by the time she had reached her fifteenth year, she had read all the best authors in them, as well as in her own.

By this unwearied application to reading, her mind became a beautiful store-house of ideas: hence she derived the power and the habit of constant reflection, which at once enlarged her understanding, and confirmed her in the principles of piety and virtue.

As she grew older the management of the family entirely devolved upon her; for her mother had no taste for any thing but pleasure, and her sister was taught to consider herself as a fine lady, whose beauty could not fail to make her fortune, and whose sole care it ought to be to dress to the greatest advantage, and make her appearance in every place where she might encrease the number of her admirers.

Sophia, in acquitting herself of the duties of a house-keeper to her mother, shewed that the highest intellectual improvements were not incompatible with the humbler cares of domestic life: every thing that went through her hands received a grace and propriety from the good sense by which she was directed; nor did her attention to family-affairs break in upon her darling amusement reading.

People who know how to employ their time well are always good economists of it. Sophia laid out hers in such exact proportions, that she had always sufficient for the several employments she was engaged in: the business of her life, like that of nature, was performed without noise, hurry, or confusion.

The death of Mr. Darnley threw this little family into a deplorable state of indigence, which was felt the more severely, as they had hitherto lived in an affluence of all things, and the debts which an expence so ill proportioned to their income had obliged Mr. Darnley to contract, left the unhappy widow and her children without any resource. The plate, furniture, and every thing valuable were seized by the creditors. Mrs. Darnley and her daughters retired to a private lodging, where the first days were passed in weak despondence on the part of the mother, in passionate repinings on that of the eldest daughter, and by Sophia in decent sorrow and pious resignation.

Mrs. Darnley however, by a natural consequence of her thoughtless temper, soon recovered her former gaiety. Present evils only were capable of affecting her; reflection and forecast never disturbed the settled calm of her mind. If the wants of one day were supplied, she did not consider what inconveniences the next might produce. As for Harriot she found resources of comfort in the exalted ideas she had of her own charms; and having already laid it down as a maxim, that poverty was the most shameful thing in the world, she formed her resolutions accordingly.

Sophia, as soon as her grief for the loss of her father had subsided, began to consider of some plan for their future subsistence. She forbore however to communicate her thoughts on this subject to her mother and sister, who had always affected to treat every thing she said with contempt, the mean disguise which envy had assumed to hide their consciousness of her superior merit; but she opened her mind to the good old gentleman, to whom she had been obliged for many of her improvements. She told him that being by his generous cares qualified to undertake the education of a young lady, she was desirous of being received into the family of some person of distinction in the quality of governess to the daughters of it, that she might at once secure to herself a decent establishment, and be enabled to assist her mother. She hinted that if her sister could be also prevailed upon to enter into the service of a lady of quality, they might jointly contribute their endeavours to make their mother’s life comfortable.

Mr. Herbert praised her design, and promised to mention it to Mrs. Darnley, to whom he conceived he might speak with the greater freedom, as his near relation to her husband, and the long friendship which had subsisted between them, gave him a right to interest himself in their affairs. The first words he uttered produced such an emotion in Mrs. Darnley’s countenance, as convinced him that what he had farther to say would not be favourably received. She coloured, drew herself up with an air of dignity, looking at the same time at her eldest daughter with a scornful smile.

Mr. Herbert, however, continued his discourse, when Harriot, with a pertness which she took for wit, interrupted him with a loud laugh, and asked him, if going to service was the best provision he could think of for Mr. Darnley’s daughters?

Mr. Herbert, turning hastily to her, replied with a look of great gravity, and in a calm accent, ‘Have you, miss, thought of any thing better?’

Harriot, without being disconcerted, retorted very briskly,‘People who have nothing but advice to offer to their friends in distress, ought to be silent till they are asked for it.’

‘Good advice, miss, replied the old gentleman with the same composure, is what every body cannot, and many will not give; and it is at least an instance of friendship to hazard it, where one may be almost sure of its giving offence.’ But, continued he, turning to Sophia, ‘my young pupil here has I hope not profited so little by her reading as not to know the value of good counsel; and I promise her she shall not only command the best that I am capable of giving, but every other assistance she may stand in need of.’ Saying this, he bowed and went away, without any attempts from Mrs. Darnley to detain him.

Poor Sophia, who was supposed by her silence to have acquiesced in the old gentleman’s proposal, was exposed to a thousand reproaches for her meanness of spirit. She attempted to shew the utility, and even the necessity of following his advice; but she found on this occasion, as she had on many others, that with some persons it is not safe to be too reasonable. Her arguments were answered with rage and invective, which soon silenced her, and increased the triumph of her imperious sister.

Mr. Herbert, apprehensive of the ill treatment she was likely to be exposed to, offered to place her in the family of a country clergyman, and to pay for her board till such a settlement as she desired could be procured for her; but the tender Sophia, not willing to leave her mother while she could be of any use to her, gratefully declined his offer, still expecting that the increasing perplexity of their circumstances might bring her to relish his reasonable counsels, and that she might have the sanction of her consent to a step which prudence made necessary to be taken.

A legacy of a hundred pounds being left her by a young lady who tenderly loved her, and who died in her arms, she immediately presented it to her mother, by whom it was received it with a transport of joy, but without any reflection upon the filial piety of her who gave it.

Sophia’s good friend, though he did not absolutely approve of this exalted strain of tenderness, yet did not fail to place the merit of it in the fullest light; but Harriot, who never heard any praises of her sister without a visible emotion, interrupted him, by saying, that Sophia had only done what she ought; and that she herself would have acted in the same manner, if the sum had been twenty times larger.

The same delicacy which induced Sophia to divest herself of any particular right to this small legacy, made her see the misapplication of it without discovering the least mark of dislike. Harriot, who governed her mother absolutely, having represented to her, that the obscurity in which they lived was not the means to preserve their old friends, or to acquire new ones; and that it was their business to appear again in the world, and put themselves in the way of fortune, which could not be done without making a decent appearance at least; Mrs. Darnley, who thought this reasoning unanswerable, consented to their changing their present lodgings for others more genteel, and to whatever expences her eldest daughter judged necessary to secure the success of her scheme.

Sophia lamented in secret this excess of imprudence; and to avoid being a witness of it, as well as to free her mother from the expence of her maintenance, she resolved to accept of the first genteel place that offered; but the natural softness and timidity of her temper made her delay as long as possible mentioning this design to her mother and sister, lest it should be construed into a tacit reproach of them for a conduct so very different.

Indeed her condition was greatly altered for the worse, since the present she had made of her legacy. Her mother and sister had never loved her much, and their tenderness for her was now entirely lost in the uneasy consciousness of having owed an obligation to her, for which they could not resolve to be grateful. They no longer considered her as an insignificant person whose approbation or dislike was of no sort of consequence, but as a saucy censurer of their actions, who assumed to herself a superiority, [Page 25]on account of the paultry assistance she had offered them: every thing she said was construed into upbraidings of the benefit she had conferred upon them. If she offered her opinion upon any occasion, Harriot would say to her with a malicious sneer, ‘To be sure you think you have a right to give us laws, because we have had the misfortune to be obliged to you.’ And Mrs. Darnley, working herself up to an agony of grief and resentment for the fancied insult, would lift up her eyes and cry, ‘How much is that mother be pitied who lives to receive alms from her child!’

Poor Sophia used to answer no oftherwise than by tears: but this was sure to aggravate her fault; for it was supposed that she wept and appeared afflicted only to shew people what ungrateful returns she met with for her goodness.

Thus did the unhappy Sophia, with the softest sensibility of heart and tendered affections, see herself excluded from the endearing expressions of a mother’s fondness, only by being too worthy of it, and exposed to shocking suspicions of undutifulness for an action that shewed the highest filial affection: so true it is, that great virtues cannot be understood by mean and little minds, and with such, not only lose all their lustre, but are too often mistaken for the contrary vices.

While Sophia passed her time in melancholy reflections, Harriot, being by her generous gift enabled to make as shewy an appearance as her mourning habit would permit, again mixed in company, and laid baits for admiration. Her beauty soon procured her a geat number of lovers; her poverty made their approaches easy; and the weakness of her understanding, her insipid gaiety, and pert affectation of wit, encouraged the most licentious hopes, and exposed her to the most impertinent addresses.

Among those who looking upon her as a conquest of no great difficulty formed the mortifying design of making a mistress of her, was Sir Charles Stanley, a young baronet of a large estate, a most agreeable person, and engaging address: his fine qualities made him the delight of all who knew him, and even envy itself allowed him to be a man of the strictest honour and unblemished integrity.

Persons who connect the idea of virtue and goodness with such a character, would find it hard to conceive how a man who lives in a constant course of dissimulation with one part of his species, and who abuses the advantages he has received from nature and fortune in subduing chastity, and ensnaring innocence, can possibly deserve, and establish a reputation for honour! but such are the illusions of prejudice, and such the tyranny of custom, that he who is called a man of gallantry shall be at the same time esteemed a man of honour, though gallantry comprehends the worst kind of fraud, cruelty, and injustice.

Sir Charles Stanley had been but too successful in his attempts upon beauty, to fear being rejected by Miss Darnley; and knowing her situation, he resolved to engage her gratitude at least before he declared his designs. He had interest enough to procure the place her father enjoyed for a gentleman who thought himself happy in obtaining it, though charged with an annuity of fourscore pounds a year for the widow of his predecessor.

Sir Charles, in acquainting Miss Darnley with what he had done in favour of her mother, found himself under no necessity of insinuating his motive for the extraordinary interest he took in the affairs of this distrest family. Harriot’s vanity anticipated any declaration of this sort, and the thanks she gave him were accompanied with such an apparent consciousness of the power of her charms as convinced him his work was already more than half done.

He was now received at Mrs. Darnley’s in the quality of a declared lover of Harriot’s; and although amidst all his assiduities he never mentioned marriage, either the mother and daughter did not penetrate into his real designs, or were but too much disposed to favour them.

The innocent heart of Sophia was at first overwhelmed with joy for the happy provision that had been made for her mother, and the prospect of such an advantageous match for her sister, when Mr. Herbert, who knew the world too well to be imposed upon by these fine appearances, gently hinted to his young favourite, his apprehensions of the baronet’s dishonourable views.

Her delicacy was so shocked by this suspicion, that she could scarce forbear expressing some little resentment of it; but reflecting that this ardent lover of Harriot’s had not yet made any proposals of marriage, her good sense immediately suggested to her that such affected delays in a man who was absolutely independent, and with a woman whose situation made it a point of delicacy to be early explicit on that head, could only proceed from intentions which he had not yet dared to own.

Chance had so ordered it, that hitherto she had never seen Sir Charles Stanley; whenever he came, she was either employed in the family-affairs, or engaged with her books, which it was no easy matter to make her quit. Besides, as she had no share in his visits, and as her sister never shewed any inclination to introduce her to him, she thought it did not become her to intrude herself upon his acquaintance. Sir Charles indeed, knowing that Mrs. Darnley had another daughter, used sometimes to enquire for her, but was neither surprised nor disappointed that she never made her appearance.

Sophia, however, was determined to be in the way when he came next, that she might have an opportunity of observing his behaviour to her sister; and fondly flattered herself that she should discover nothing to the disadvantage of a person whom her grateful heart had taught itself to love and esteem as their common benefactor.

Sir Charles at the next visit found Sophia in the room with her sister. He instantly saw something in her looks and person which inspired him with more respect than he had been used to feel for Mrs. Darnley and Harriot; a dignity which she derived from innate virtue, and an exalted understanding. Struck with the uncommon sensibility of her countenance, he began to consider her with an attention which greatly disgusted Harriot, who could not conceive that where she was present any other object was worthy notice.

Sophia herself was a little disconcerted by the young baronet’s so earnestly gazing on her; and in order to divert his looks, opened a conversation in which her sister might bear a part. Then it was, that without designing it, she displayed her whole power of charming: that flow of wit which was so natural to her, the elegant propriety of her language, the delicacy of her sentiments, the animated look which gave them new force, and sent them directly to the heart, and the moving graces of the most harmonious voice in the world, were attractions, which though generally lost on fools, seldom fail of their effect on the heart of a man of sense.

Sir Charles was wrapt in wonder and delight; he had no eyes, no ears, but for Sophia: he scarce perceived that Harriot was in the room.

The insolent beauty, astonished at such unusual neglect, varied her attitude and her charms a thousand different ways to draw his attention; but found all was to no purpose. Had she been capable of serious reflection, she might now have discovered what advantages her sister, though far inferior to her in beauty, gained over her, by the force of her understanding: she might now have seen, 

“How beauty is excelled by modest grace,

“And wisdom, which alone is truly fair.”

But too ignorant to know her own wants, and too conceited to imagine she had any, she was strangely perplexed how to account for so sudden an alteration in Sir Charles.

Her uneasiness, however, grew so great, that she was not able to conceal it. She shifted her seat two or three times in a minute, bit her lips almost through, and frowned so intelligibly, that Sophia at last perceiving her agitation, suddenly recollected herself, and quitted the room upon pretence of business.

When she was gone, Harriot drawing herself up, and assuming a look which expressed her confidence in the irresistible power of her charms, seemed resolved to make her lover repent the little notice he had taken of her in this visit by playing off a thousand scornful airs upon him; but she was more mortified than ever when upon turning her eyes towards him, in full expectation of finding his fixed upon her, she saw them bent upon the ground, and such a pensiveness in his countenance as all her rigors could never yet occasion.

She was considering what to say to him to draw him out of this reverie, when Sir Charles, on a sudden raising his eyes, turned them towards the door with a look of mingled anxiety and impatience, and then, as if disappointed, sighed and addressed some indifferent conversation to Harriot.

The lady, now quite provoked, had recourse to an artifice which her shallow understanding suggested to her, as an infallible method of awakening his tenderness, and this was to make him jealous. Without any preparation therefore, she introduced the name of Lord L—, a young nobleman who was just returned from his travels, and lavishing a thousand encomiums upon his person, and his elegant taste in dress, added, ‘That he was the best bred man in the world, and had entertained her so agreeably one night at the play, when happening to come into a box where she was with a lady of her acquaintance, that they did not mind a word the players said, he was so diverting.’

Sir Charles coldly answered, ‘That Lord L. was a very pretty youth, and that he was intimately acquainted with him.’

‘Oh then, cried Harriot, with a great deal of affected joy, I vow and protest you shall bring him to see me.’

‘Indeed you must excuse me madam,’ said Sir Charles, with some quickness.

Harriot, concluding her stratagem had taken effect, was quite transported, and renewed her attacks, determined to make him suffer as much as possible; but the young baronet, whose thoughts were full of Sophia, and whose emotion at the request Harriot had made him, was occasioned by fears very different from those she suspected, took no further notice of what she said, but interrupted her to ask how old her sister Sophia was?

‘I dare engage, replied Harriot, you would never have supposed her to be younger than I am.’

The baronet smiled, and looking at his watch, seemed surprised that it was so late, and took his leave.

Miss Darnley following him to the door of the room, cried, ‘Remember I lay my commands upon you to bring my Lord L. to see me.’

Sir Charles answered her no otherwise than by a low bow, and she returned, delighted at the parting pang which she supposed she had given him. Vanity is extremely ingenious in procuring gratifications for itself. Harriot did not doubt but that she had tormented Sir Charles sufficiently; and it was the unshaken confidence which she had in the power of her charms, that hindered her from discovering the true cause of the new disgust she had conceived for her sister. However, it was so great that she could scarcely speak to her civilly, or endure her in her sight: yet she found an increase of pleasure in talking to her mother when she was present of the violent passion Sir Charles Stanley had for her, and in giving an exaggerated account of the professions he made her.

Sophia did not listen to this sort of discourse with her usual complaisance. Her mind became insensibly more disposed to suspect the sincerity of the baronet’s passion for her sister: she grew pensive and melancholy, sought solitude more than ever, and loved reading less.

This change, which her own innocence hid from herself, was quickly perceived by Mr. Herbert, who loved her with a parent’s fondness, and thought nothing indifferent which concerned her. He took occasion one day to mention Sir Charles Stanley to her, and asked her opinion of his person and understanding, keeping his eyes fixed upon her at the same time, which disconcerted her so much that she blushed; and though she commended him greatly, yet it was easy to discover that she forbore to say all the good she thought of him, for fear of saying too much.

Mr. Herbert no longer doubted but this dangerous youth had made an impression on the innocent heart of Sophia, which was still ignorant of its own emotions.

He had perceived for some time that Sir Charles had changed the object of his pursuits: his visits now were always short, unless Sophia was in the way: he brought her all the new books and pamphlets that came out which were worth her reading: he adopted the purity and delicacy of her sentiments, declared himself always of the side she espoused: he talked of virtue like a man who loved and practised it, and set all his good qualities in the fairest light: he presented Harriot from time to time with fashionable trifles, and sent Sophia books enough to furnish out a little library, consisting of the best authors, in English, French, and Italian, all elegantly bound, with proper cases for their reception: he praised whatever she approved, and appeared to have great respect and consideration for Mr. Herbert, because he observed she loved and esteemed him.

That faithful friend of the virtuous Sophia trembled for her danger, when he considered that by this artful management the baronet was strengthening himself every day in her good opinion, and seducing her affections under the appearance of meriting her friendship; yet he did not think it proper to give her even a hint of her situation. A young maid has passed over the first bounds of reservedness who allows herself to think she is in love.

Mr. Herbert would not familiarize her with so dangerous an idea: he knew her extreme modesty, her solid virtue; he was under no apprehensions that she would ever act unworthy of her character; but a heart so nicely sensible, so delicately tender as hers, he knew must suffer greatly from a disappointed passion; and this was what he wanted to prevent, not by wounding her delicacy with suggesting to her that she was in love, but by preserving her from the encroachments of that passion.

He reminded her of the design she had formerly mentioned to him of entering into the service of a lady, and was rejoiced to find that she still continued her resolution. Harriot’s natural insolence and ill temper, irritated by the change she now plainly saw in Sir Charles, made home so disagreeable to Sophia, that she wished impatiently for an opportunity of providing for herself, that she might no longer live upon the bounty of her sister, who often insinuated that their mother’s annuity was her gift.

Mr. Herbert, who had other reasons besides those she urged, from freeing her from so uneasy a dependance, promised to be diligent in his enquiries for something that would suit her.

Neither Mrs. Darnley nor Harriot opposed this design, which soon came to the knowledge of Sir Charles, who had bribed a servant of the family to give him intelligence of every thing that passed in it.

Impatient to prevent the execution of it, and tortured by the bare apprehension of Sophia’s absence, he resolved to break through that constraint he had so long laid upon himself, and acquaint her with his passion.

But it was not easy to find an opportunity of speaking to her alone. At length having contrived to get Harriot engaged to a play, and prevailed upon a maiden kinswoman of his to invite Mrs. Darnley to a party of whist, he went to the house at his usual hour of visiting this little family, and found Sophia at home, and without any company.

Not all the confidence he derived from his rank and fortune, his fine understanding; and those personal graces which gave him but too much merit in the eyes of many women, could hinder him from trembling at the thought of that declaration he was about to make. As soon as he came into Sophia’s presence he was awed, disconcerted, and unable to speak; such was the power of virtue, and such the force of a real passion! Two or three times he resolved to begin, but when he looked upon Sophia, and saw in her charming eyes that sparkling intelligence which displayed the treasures of the soul that animated them; when he observed the sweet severity of her modest countenance, the composed dignity of her behaviour, he durst not own a passion which had views less pure than the perfect creature that inspired it.

His conversation for near an hour was so confused, so disjointed, and interrupted by such frequent musings, that Sophia was amazed, and thought it so disagreeable, and unlike what it used to be, that she was not sorry when he seemed disposed to put an end to his visit.

Sir Charles indeed rose up to be gone, but with so deep a concern in his eyes as increased Sophia’s perplexity. She attended him respectfully to the door of the room, when he suddenly turning back, and taking her hand, ‘Do not hate me, said he, nor think ill of me, if I tell you that I love and adore you.’

Sophia, in the utmost confusion at such a speech, disengaged her hand from his, and retiring a few steps back, bent her eyes on the ground, and continued silent.

Sir Charles, emboldened by her confusion, made a tender, and at the same time respectful declaration of the passion he had long felt for her.

Sophia, not willing to hear him enlarge upon this subject, raised her eyes from the ground, her cheeks were indeed overspread with blushes, but there was a grave composure in her looks that seemed a bad omen to Sir Charles.

‘I have hitherto flattered myself, sir, said she, that you entertained a favourable opinion of me, how happens it then that I see myself to-day exposed to your raillery?’

The baronet was beginning a thousand protestations, but Sophia stopt him short. ‘If your professions to me are sincere, said she, what am I to think of those you made to my sister?’

Sir Charles expected this retort, and was the less perplexed by it, as he needed only to follow the dictates of truth to form such an answer as was proper to be given. ‘I acknowledge, said he, that I admired your sister, and her beauty made as strong an impression upon me as mere beauty can make upon a man who has a taste for higher excellencies. I sought Miss Darnley’s acquaintance. I was so happy as to do her some little service. I wished to find in her those qualities that were necessary to fix my heart—Pardon my freedom, Miss Sophia, the occasion requires that I should speak freely. Miss Darnley, upon a nearer acquaintance, did not answer the idea I had formed to myself of a woman whom I could love for life; and the professions I made her, as you are pleased to call them, were no more than expressions of gallantry; a sort of homage which beauty, even when it does not touch the heart, exacts from the tongue. My heart was not so easy a conquest—tell me not of raillery, when I declare that none but yourself was ever capable of inspiring me with a real passion.’

The arrival of Mr. Herbert proved a grateful interuption to Sophia, in whose innocent breast the tenderness and apparent sincerity of this declaration raised emotions which she knew not how to disguise.

Sir Charles, though grieved at this unseasonable visit, yet withdrew, not wholly desparing of success. He had heedfully observed the changes in Sophia’s face while he was speaking, and thought he had reason to hope that he was not indifferent to her. Loving her as he did with excessive tenderness, what pure and unmixed satisfaction would this thought have given him, had he not been conscious that his designs were unworthy of her! The secret upbraidings of his conscience disquieted him amidst all his flattering hopes of success; but custom, prejudice, the insolence of fortune, and the force of example, all conspired to suppress the pleadings of honour and justice in favour of the amiable Sophia, and fixed him in the barbarous resolution of attempting to corrupt that virtue which made her so worthy of his love.

Mr. Herbert having, as has been already mentioned, interrupted the conversation between Sir Charles and Sophia, was not surprised at the young baronet’s abrupt departure, as he seemed preparing to go when he came in; but upon looking at Sophia, he perceived so many signs of confusion and perplexity in her countenance, that he did not doubt but the discourse which his entrance had put an end to, was a very interesting one. He waited a moment, in expectation that she would open herself to him, but finding that she continued silent and abashed, he gently took her hand, and looking tenderly upon her, ‘Tell me, my child, said he, has not something extraordinary happened, which occasions this confusion I see you in?’

‘Sir Charles has indeed been talking to me, replied Sophia blushing, in a very extraordinary manner, and such as I little expected.’

Mr. Herbert pressed her to explain herself, and she gave him an exact account of Sir Charles’s discourse to her, without losing a word; so faithful had her memory been to all he said.

Mr. Herbert listened to her attentively, and found something so like candor and sincerity in the baronet’s declaration, that he could not help being pleased with it. He had never indeed judged favourably of his views upon Harriot, but here the case was very different.

Harriot’s ignorance, vanity, and eager desire of being admired, exposed her to the attacks of libertinism, and excited presumptuous hopes.

Sophia’s good sense, modesty, and virtue, placed her out of the reach of temptation. No one could think it surprising that a man of sense should make the fortune of a woman who would do honour to his choice, and where there was such exalted merit as in Sophia, overlook the disparity of circumstances.

But justly might it be called infatuation and folly, to raise to rank and affluence a woman of Harriot’s despicable turn; to make a companion for life of a handsome ideot, who thought the highest excellencies of the female character were to know how to dress, to dance, to sing, to flutter in a drawing-room, or coquet at a play; who mistook pertness for wit, confidence for knowledge, and insolence for dignity.

While he was revolving these thoughts in his mind, Sophia looked earnestly at him, pleased to observe that what the baronet had said seemed worthy his consideration.

Mr. Herbert, who read in her looks that she wished to have his advice on this occasion, but would not ask it, lest she should seem to lay any stress upon Sir Charles’s declaration, told her it was very possible the baronet was sincere in what he had said to her; that his manner of accounting for his quitting her sister, was both sensible and candid; that she ought not to be surprised at the preference he gave her over Miss Darnley, since she deserved it by the care she had taken to improve her mind, and to acquire qualities which might procure her the esteem of all wise and virtuous persons.

He warned her, however, not to trust too much to favourable appearances, nor to suffer her inclinations to be so far engaged by the agreeable person and specious behaviour of Sir Charles Stanley, as to find it painful to renounce him, if he should hereafter shew himself unworthy of her good opinion.

He advised her, when he talked to her in the same strain again, to refer him to her mother and to him for an answer; and told her that he would save her the confusion and perplexity of acquainting her mother and sister with what had happened, by taking that task upon himself.

You will, no doubt, added he, be exposed to some sallies of ill temper from Miss Darnley, for robbing her of a lover; for envy is more irreconcileable than hatred: but let not your sensibility suffer much on her account: if you deprive her of a lover, you do not deprive her of one she loves: she is too vain, too volatile, and too greedy of general admiration, to be affected with the loss of Sir Charles, any farther than as her pride is wounded by it: and one would imagine she had foreseen this desertion, by the pains she has taken about a new conquest lately.

Mr. Herbert was going on, when Mrs. Darnley knocked at the door. Sophia, in extreme agitation, begged him to say nothing concerning Sir Charles that evening. He promised her he would not, and they all three conversed together upon indifferent things, till Harriot returned from the play.

Mr, Herbert then took leave of them, after inviting himself to breakfast the next morning; which threw Sophia into such terror and confusion, that she retired hastily to her own room, to conceal her disorder.

Mr. Herbert came the next morning, according to his promise; and Sophia, all trembling with her apprehensions, retired immediately after breakfast. He entered upon the business that had brought him thither; but sensible that what he had to say would prove extremely mortifying to miss Harriot, he thought it not amiss to sweeten the bitter pill he was preparing for her, by sacrificing a little flattery to her pride.

You fine ladies, said he, addressing himself to her with a smile, are never weary of extending your conquests; but you use your power with so much tyranny, that it is not surprising some of your slaves should assume courage, at last, to break your chains. Do you know, my pretty cousin, that you have lost Sir Charles Stanley; and that he has offered that heart, which you no doubt have despised, to your sister Sophia?

Miss Darnley, who had bridled up at the beginning of this speech, lost all her assumed dignity towards the end of it: her face grew pale and red by turns; she fixed her eyes on the ground, her bosom heaved with the violence of her agitations, and tears, in spite of her, were ready to force their way.

Sir Charles had indeed for a long time discontinued his addresses to her, and had suffered his inclination for her sister to appear plainly enough; but still her vanity suggested to her, that this might be all a feint, and acted only with a view to alarm her fears, and oblige her to sacrifice all her other admirers to him.

What Mr. Herbert had said therefore, struck her at first with astonishment and grief; but solicitous to maintain the fancied superiority of her character, she endeavoured to repress her emotions; and taking the hint which he had designedly thrown out to her to save her confusion,

Sir Charles has acted very wisely, said she, putting on a scornful look, to quit me, who always despised him, for one who has been so little used to have lovers, that she will be ready to run mad with joy at the thoughts of such a conquest: but after all, she has only my leavings.

Mr. Herbert, though a little shocked at the grossness of her language, replied gravely, ‘However that may be, Miss, it is certain that he has made a very open, and to all appearance, sincere declaration of love to Miss Sophia, who, not knowing how to mention this affair to her mother herself, commissioned me to acquaint her with it, that she may have her directions how to behave to Sir Charles, and what to say to him.’

‘One would have imagined, interrupted Miss Darnley eagerly, that she who sets up for so much wit, and reads so many books, might have known what to say to him.’

‘Pray, Miss, said Mr. Herbert, what would you have had her say to Sir Charles?’

‘Why truly, replied she, I think she ought to have told him that he was very impertinent, and have shewn him the door.’

‘Sure, Harriot, said Mrs. Darnley, who had been silent all this time, You forget that Sir Charles is our benefactor, and that I am obliged to him for all the little support I have.’

‘It is not likely I should forget it, retorted Miss Darnley, since I am the person who am most obliged to him for what he has done; if I mistake not, it was upon my account that he interested himself in our affairs.’

‘Well, well, Harriot, replied Mrs. Darnley, I have been told this often enough; but why should you be angry at this prospect of your sister’s advancement?’

‘I angry at her advancement, madam! exclaimed Miss Harriot, not I really: I wish the girl was provided for by a suitable match with all my heart; but as for Sir Charles, I would not have her set her foolish heart upon him; he is only laughing at her.’

‘It may be so, said Mr. Herbert, though I think Miss Sophia the last woman in the world whom a man would chuse to laugh at. However, this affair is worth a little consideration—Miss Sophia, madam, pursued he, addressing himself to Mrs. Darnley, intends to refer Sir Charles entirely to you. You will be the best judge whether the passion he professes is sincere, and his intentions honourable; and I can answer for my young cousin, that she will be wholly governed by your advice, since it is impossible that you can give her any but what is most advantageous to her honour and happiness.’

Harriot, no longer able to suppress her rage and envy, was thrown so far off her guard as to burst into tears. ‘I cannot bear to be thus insulted, cried she; and I declare if Sir Charles is permitted to go on with his foolery with that vain girl, I will quit the house.’

‘Was there ever any one so unreasonable as you are, Miss, said Mr. Herbert, have you not owned that you despised Sir Charles; and if your sister is a vain girl, will she not be sufficiently mortified by accepting your leavings, as you said just now?’

‘I am speaking to my mother, sir, replied Harriot, with a contemptuous frown; depend upon it, Madam, pursued she, that I will not stay to be sacrificed to Mr. Herbert’s favourite—either she shall be forbid to give Sir Charles any encouragement, who after all, is only laughing at her, or I will leave the house.’

Saying this, she flung out of the room, leaving her mother divided between anger and grief, and Mr. Herbert motionless with astonishment.

[To be continued.] 

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