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

help us.

I shall be able to manage the Sir-loin myself, my Mother will eat

the soup, and You and the Doctor must finish the rest.” Here I

was interrupted, by seeing my poor Sister fall down to appearance

Lifeless upon one of the Chests, where we keep our Table linen.

I immediately called my Mother and the Maids, and at last we

brought her to herself again; as soon as ever she was sensible,

she expressed a determination of going instantly to Henry, and

was so wildly bent on this Scheme, that we had the greatest

Difficulty in the World to prevent her putting it in execution;

at last however more by Force than Entreaty we prevailed on her

to go into her room; we laid her upon the Bed, and she continued

for some Hours in the most dreadful Convulsions. My Mother and I

continued in the room with her, and when any intervals of

tolerable Composure in Eloisa would allow us, we joined in

heartfelt lamentations on the dreadful Waste in our provisions

which this Event must occasion, and in concerting some plan for

getting rid of them. We agreed that the best thing we could do

was to begin eating them immediately, and accordingly we ordered

up the cold Ham and Fowls, and instantly began our Devouring Plan

on them with great Alacrity. We would have persuaded Eloisa to

have taken a Wing of a Chicken, but she would not be persuaded.

She was however much quieter than she had been; the convulsions

she had before suffered having given way to an almost perfect

Insensibility. We endeavoured to rouse her by every means in our

power, but to no purpose. I talked to her of Henry. “Dear

Eloisa (said I) there’s no occasion for your crying so much about

such a trifle. (for I was willing to make light of it in order

to comfort her) I beg you would not mind it—You see it does not

vex me in the least; though perhaps I may suffer most from it

after all; for I shall not only be obliged to eat up all the

Victuals I have dressed already, but must if Henry should recover

(which however is not very likely) dress as much for you again;

or should he die (as I suppose he will) I shall still have to

prepare a Dinner for you whenever you marry any one else. So you

see that tho’ perhaps for the present it may afflict you to think

of Henry’s sufferings, Yet I dare say he’ll die soon, and then

his pain will be over and you will be easy, whereas my Trouble

will last much longer for work as hard as I may, I am certain

that the pantry cannot be cleared in less than a fortnight.” Thus

I did all in my power to console her, but without any effect, and

at last as I saw that she did not seem to listen to me, I said no

more, but leaving her with my Mother I took down the remains of

The Ham and Chicken, and sent William to ask how Henry did. He

was not expected to live many Hours; he died the same day. We

took all possible care to break the melancholy Event to Eloisa in

the tenderest manner; yet in spite of every precaution, her

sufferings on hearing it were too violent for her reason, and she

continued for many hours in a high Delirium. She is still

extremely ill, and her Physicians are greatly afraid of her going

into a Decline. We are therefore preparing for Bristol, where we

mean to be in the course of the next week. And now my dear

Margaret let me talk a little of your affairs; and in the first

place I must inform you that it is confidently reported, your

Father is going to be married; I am very unwilling to beleive so

unpleasing a report, and at the same time cannot wholly discredit

it. I have written to my freind Susan Fitzgerald, for

information concerning it, which as she is at present in Town,

she will be very able to give me. I know not who is the Lady. I

think your Brother is extremely right in the resolution he has

taken of travelling, as it will perhaps contribute to obliterate

from his remembrance, those disagreable Events, which have lately

so much afflicted him— I am happy to find that tho’ secluded

from all the World, neither you nor Matilda are dull or unhappy

—that you may never know what it is to, be either is the wish of

your sincerely affectionate

C.L.

 

P. S. I have this instant received an answer from my freind

Susan, which I enclose to you, and on which you will make your

own reflections.

 

The enclosed LETTER

 

My dear CHARLOTTE

You could not have applied for information concerning the report

of Sir George Lesleys Marriage, to any one better able to give it

you than I am. Sir George is certainly married; I was myself

present at the Ceremony, which you will not be surprised at when

I subscribe myself your Affectionate

Susan Lesley

 

LETTER the THIRD

From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss C. LUTTERELL

Lesley Castle February the 16th

 

I have made my own reflections on the letter you enclosed to me,

my Dear Charlotte and I will now tell you what those reflections

were. I reflected that if by this second Marriage Sir George

should have a second family, our fortunes must be considerably

diminushed—that if his Wife should be of an extravagant turn,

she would encourage him to persevere in that gay and Dissipated

way of Life to which little encouragement would be necessary, and

which has I fear already proved but too detrimental to his health

and fortune—that she would now become Mistress of those Jewels

which once adorned our Mother, and which Sir George had always

promised us—that if they did not come into Perthshire I should

not be able to gratify my curiosity of beholding my Mother-in-law

and that if they did, Matilda would no longer sit at the head of

her Father’s table—. These my dear Charlotte were the

melancholy reflections which crowded into my imagination after

perusing Susan’s letter to you, and which instantly occurred to

Matilda when she had perused it likewise. The same ideas, the

same fears, immediately occupied her Mind, and I know not which

reflection distressed her most, whether the probable Diminution

of our Fortunes, or her own Consequence. We both wish very much

to know whether Lady Lesley is handsome and what is your opinion

of her; as you honour her with the appellation of your freind, we

flatter ourselves that she must be amiable. My Brother is

already in Paris. He intends to quit it in a few Days, and to

begin his route to Italy. He writes in a most chearfull manner,

says that the air of France has greatly recovered both his Health

and Spirits; that he has now entirely ceased to think of Louisa

with any degree either of Pity or Affection, that he even feels

himself obliged to her for her Elopement, as he thinks it very

good fun to be single again. By this, you may perceive that he

has entirely regained that chearful Gaiety, and sprightly Wit,

for which he was once so remarkable. When he first became

acquainted with Louisa which was little more than three years

ago, he was one of the most lively, the most agreable young Men

of the age—. I beleive you never yet heard the particulars of

his first acquaintance with her. It commenced at our cousin

Colonel Drummond’s; at whose house in Cumberland he spent the

Christmas, in which he attained the age of two and twenty.

Louisa Burton was the Daughter of a distant Relation of Mrs.

Drummond, who dieing a few Months before in extreme poverty, left

his only Child then about eighteen to the protection of any of

his Relations who would protect her. Mrs. Drummond was the only

one who found herself so disposed—Louisa was therefore removed

from a miserable Cottage in Yorkshire to an elegant Mansion in

Cumberland, and from every pecuniary Distress that Poverty could

inflict, to every elegant Enjoyment that Money could purchase—.

Louisa was naturally ill-tempered and Cunning; but she had been

taught to disguise her real Disposition, under the appearance of

insinuating Sweetness, by a father who but too well knew, that to

be married, would be the only chance she would have of not being

starved, and who flattered himself that with such an extroidinary

share of personal beauty, joined to a gentleness of Manners, and

an engaging address, she might stand a good chance of pleasing

some young Man who might afford to marry a girl without a

Shilling. Louisa perfectly entered into her father’s schemes and

was determined to forward them with all her care and attention.

By dint of Perseverance and Application, she had at length so

thoroughly disguised her natural disposition under the mask of

Innocence, and Softness, as to impose upon every one who had not

by a long and constant intimacy with her discovered her real

Character. Such was Louisa when the hapless Lesley first beheld

her at Drummond-house. His heart which (to use your favourite

comparison) was as delicate as sweet and as tender as a Whipt-syllabub, could not resist her attractions. In a very few Days,

he was falling in love, shortly after actually fell, and before

he had known her a Month, he had married her. My Father was at

first highly displeased at so hasty and imprudent a connection;

but when he found that they did not mind it, he soon became

perfectly reconciled to the match. The Estate near Aberdeen

which my brother possesses by the bounty of his great Uncle

independant of Sir George, was entirely sufficient to support him

and my Sister in Elegance and Ease. For the first twelvemonth,

no one could be happier than Lesley, and no one more amiable to

appearance than Louisa, and so plausibly did she act and so

cautiously behave that tho’ Matilda and I often spent several

weeks together with them, yet we neither of us had any suspicion

of her real Disposition. After the birth of Louisa however,

which one would have thought would have strengthened her regard

for Lesley, the mask she had so long supported was by degrees

thrown aside, and as probably she then thought herself secure in

the affection of her Husband (which did indeed appear if possible

augmented by the birth of his Child) she seemed to take no pains

to prevent that affection from ever diminushing. Our visits

therefore to Dunbeath, were now less frequent and by far less

agreable than they used to be. Our absence was however never

either mentioned or lamented by Louisa who in the society of

young Danvers with whom she became acquainted at Aberdeen (he was

at one of the Universities there,) felt infinitely happier than

in that of Matilda and your freind, tho’ there certainly never

were pleasanter girls than we are. You know the sad end of all

Lesleys connubial happiness; I will not repeat it—. Adeiu my

dear Charlotte; although I have not yet mentioned anything of the

matter, I hope you will do me the justice to beleive that I THINK

and FEEL, a great deal for your Sisters affliction. I do not

doubt but that the healthy air of the Bristol downs will intirely

remove it, by erasing from her Mind the remembrance of Henry. I

am my dear Charlotte yrs ever

M. L.

 

LETTER the FOURTH

From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY

Bristol February 27th

 

My Dear Peggy

I have but just received your letter, which being directed to

Sussex while I was at Bristol was obliged to be forwarded to