Love and Friendship, and Other Early Works - Jane Austen (ebook offline reader .TXT) 📗

in America after a most happy

Union of seven years—. My Children, two sweet Boys and a Girl,

who had constantly resided with my Father and me, passing with

him and with every one as the Children of a Brother (tho’ I had

ever been an only Child) had as yet been the comforts of my Life.

But no sooner had I lossed my Henry, than these sweet Creatures

fell sick and died—. Conceive dear Sophia what my feelings must

have been when as an Aunt I attended my Children to their early

Grave—. My Father did not survive them many weeks—He died,

poor Good old man, happily ignorant to his last hour of my

Marriage.’

 

“But did not you own it, and assume his name at your husband’s

death?”

 

“No; I could not bring myself to do it; more especially when in

my Children I lost all inducement for doing it. Lady Bridget,

and yourself are the only persons who are in the knowledge of my

having ever been either Wife or Mother. As I could not Prevail on

myself to take the name of Dashwood (a name which after my

Henry’s death I could never hear without emotion) and as I was

conscious of having no right to that of Annesley, I dropt all

thoughts of either, and have made it a point of bearing only my

Christian one since my Father’s death.” She paused—“Oh! my dear

Miss Jane (said I) how infinitely am I obliged to you for so

entertaining a story! You cannot think how it has diverted me!

But have you quite done?”

 

“I have only to add my dear Sophia, that my Henry’s elder Brother

dieing about the same time, Lady Bridget became a Widow like

myself, and as we had always loved each other in idea from the

high Character in which we had ever been spoken of, though we had

never met, we determined to live together. We wrote to one

another on the same subject by the same post, so exactly did our

feeling and our actions coincide! We both eagerly embraced the

proposals we gave and received of becoming one family, and have

from that time lived together in the greatest affection.”

 

“And is this all? said I, I hope you have not done.”

 

“Indeed I have; and did you ever hear a story more pathetic?”

 

“I never did—and it is for that reason it pleases me so much,

for when one is unhappy nothing is so delightful to one’s

sensations as to hear of equal misery.”

 

“Ah! but my Sophia why are YOU unhappy?”

 

“Have you not heard Madam of Willoughby’s Marriage?”

 

“But my love why lament HIS perfidy, when you bore so well that

of many young Men before?”

 

“Ah! Madam, I was used to it then, but when Willoughby broke his

Engagements I had not been dissapointed for half a year.”

 

“Poor Girl!” said Miss Jane.

 

LETTER the THIRD

From a YOUNG LADY in distressed Circumstances to her freind

 

A few days ago I was at a private Ball given by Mr Ashburnham.

As my Mother never goes out she entrusted me to the care of Lady

Greville who did me the honour of calling for me in her way and

of allowing me to sit forwards, which is a favour about which I

am very indifferent especially as I know it is considered as

confering a great obligation on me “So Miss Maria (said her

Ladyship as she saw me advancing to the door of the Carriage) you

seem very smart to night— MY poor Girls will appear quite to

disadvantage by YOU— I only hope your Mother may not have

distressed herself to set YOU off. Have you got a new Gown on?”

 

“Yes Ma’am.” replied I with as much indifference as I could

assume.

 

“Aye, and a fine one too I think—(feeling it, as by her

permission I seated myself by her) I dare say it is all very

smart—But I must own, for you know I always speak my mind, that

I think it was quite a needless piece of expence—Why could not

you have worn your old striped one? It is not my way to find

fault with People because they are poor, for I always think that

they are more to be despised and pitied than blamed for it,

especially if they cannot help it, but at the same time I must

say that in my opinion your old striped Gown would have been

quite fine enough for its Wearer—for to tell you the truth (I

always speak my mind) I am very much afraid that one half of the

people in the room will not know whether you have a Gown on or

not—But I suppose you intend to make your fortune to night—.

Well, the sooner the better; and I wish you success.”

 

“Indeed Ma’am I have no such intention—”

 

“Who ever heard a young Lady own that she was a Fortune-hunter?”

Miss Greville laughed but I am sure Ellen felt for me.

 

“Was your Mother gone to bed before you left her?” said her

Ladyship.

 

“Dear Ma’am, said Ellen it is but nine o’clock.”

 

“True Ellen, but Candles cost money, and Mrs Williams is too wise

to be extravagant.”

 

“She was just sitting down to supper Ma’am.”

 

“And what had she got for supper?” “I did not observe.” “Bread

and Cheese I suppose.” “I should never wish for a better

supper.” said Ellen. “You have never any reason replied her

Mother, as a better is always provided for you.” Miss Greville

laughed excessively, as she constantly does at her Mother’s wit.

 

Such is the humiliating Situation in which I am forced to appear

while riding in her Ladyship’s Coach—I dare not be impertinent,

as my Mother is always admonishing me to be humble and patient if

I wish to make my way in the world. She insists on my accepting

every invitation of Lady Greville, or you may be certain that I

would never enter either her House, or her Coach with the

disagreable certainty I always have of being abused for my

Poverty while I am in them.—When we arrived at Ashburnham, it

was nearly ten o’clock, which was an hour and a half later than

we were desired to be there; but Lady Greville is too fashionable

(or fancies herself to be so) to be punctual. The Dancing

however was not begun as they waited for Miss Greville. I had

not been long in the room before I was engaged to dance by Mr

Bernard, but just as we were going to stand up, he recollected

that his Servant had got his white Gloves, and immediately ran

out to fetch them. In the mean time the Dancing began and Lady

Greville in passing to another room went exactly before me—She

saw me and instantly stopping, said to me though there were

several people close to us,

 

“Hey day, Miss Maria! What cannot you get a partner? Poor Young

Lady! I am afraid your new Gown was put on for nothing. But do

not despair; perhaps you may get a hop before the Evening is

over.” So saying, she passed on without hearing my repeated

assurance of being engaged, and leaving me very much provoked at

being so exposed before every one—Mr Bernard however soon

returned and by coming to me the moment he entered the room, and

leading me to the Dancers my Character I hope was cleared from

the imputation Lady Greville had thrown on it, in the eyes of all

the old Ladies who had heard her speech. I soon forgot all my

vexations in the pleasure of dancing and of having the most

agreable partner in the room. As he is moreover heir to a very

large Estate I could see that Lady Greville did not look very

well pleased when she found who had been his Choice—She was

determined to mortify me, and accordingly when we were sitting

down between the dances, she came to me with more than her usual

insulting importance attended by Miss Mason and said loud enough

to be heard by half the people in the room, “Pray Miss Maria in

what way of business was your Grandfather? for Miss Mason and I

cannot agree whether he was a Grocer or a Bookbinder.” I saw that

she wanted to mortify me, and was resolved if I possibly could to

Prevent her seeing that her scheme succeeded. “Neither Madam; he

was a Wine Merchant.” “Aye, I knew he was in some such low way—

He broke did not he?” “I beleive not Ma’am.” “Did not he

abscond?” “I never heard that he did.” “At least he died

insolvent?” “I was never told so before.” “Why, was not your

FATHER as poor as a Rat” “I fancy not.” “Was not he in the

Kings Bench once?” “I never saw him there.” She gave me SUCH a

look, and turned away in a great passion; while I was half

delighted with myself for my impertinence, and half afraid of

being thought too saucy. As Lady Greville was extremely angry

with me, she took no further notice of me all the Evening, and

indeed had I been in favour I should have been equally neglected,

as she was got into a Party of great folks and she never speaks

to me when she can to anyone else. Miss Greville was with her

Mother’s party at supper, but Ellen preferred staying with the

Bernards and me. We had a very pleasant Dance and as Lady G—

slept all the way home, I had a very comfortable ride.

 

The next day while we were at dinner Lady Greville’s Coach

stopped at the door, for that is the time of day she generally

contrives it should. She sent in a message by the servant to say

that “she should not get out but that Miss Maria must come to the

Coach-door, as she wanted to speak to her, and that she must make

haste and come immediately—” “What an impertinent Message Mama!”

said I—“Go Maria—” replied she—Accordingly I went and was

obliged to stand there at her Ladyships pleasure though the Wind

was extremely high and very cold.

 

“Why I think Miss Maria you are not quite so smart as you were

last night—But I did not come to examine your dress, but to

tell you that you may dine with us the day after tomorrow—Not

tomorrow, remember, do not come tomorrow, for we expect Lord and

Lady Clermont and Sir Thomas Stanley’s family—There will be no

occasion for your being very fine for I shant send the Carriage—

If it rains you may take an umbrella—” I could hardly help

laughing at hearing her give me leave to keep myself dry—“And

pray remember to be in time, for I shant wait—I hate my Victuals

over-done—But you need not come before the time—How does your

Mother do? She is at dinner is not she?” “Yes Ma’am we were in

the middle of dinner when your Ladyship came.” “I am afraid you

find it very cold Maria.” said Ellen. “Yes, it is an horrible

East wind —said her Mother—I assure you I can hardly bear the

window down—But you are used to be blown about by the wind Miss

Maria and that is what has made your Complexion so rudely and

coarse. You young Ladies who cannot often ride in a Carriage

never mind what weather you trudge in, or how the wind shews your

legs. I would not have my Girls stand out of doors as you do in

such a day as this. But some sort of people have no feelings

either of cold or Delicacy—Well, remember that we shall expect

you on Thursday at 5 o’clock—You must