―65―

ORIGINAL ESSAYS, &c.

For the Weekly Magazine.

ARTHUR MERVYN;
or , memoirs of the year 1793.

[Continued from page 37.]

THIS extraordinary interview was
now passed. Pleasure as well as pain
attended my reflections on it. I ad-
hered to the promise I had improvi-
dently given to Welbeck, but had
excited displeasure, and perhaps sus-
picion in the lady. She would find
it hard to account for my silence.
She would probably impute it to per-
verseness, or imagine it to flow from
some incident connected with the
death of Clavering, calculated to
give a new edge to her curiosity.

It was plain that some connection
subsisted between her and Welbeck.
Would she drop the subject at the
point which it had now attained?
Would she cease to exert herself to
extract from me the desired informa-
tion, or would she not rather make
Welbeck a party in the cause, and
prejudice my new friend against me?
This was an evil proper, by all law-
ful means, to avoid. I knew of no
other expedient than to confess to
him the truth, with regard to Claver-
ing, and explain to him the dilemma
in which my adherence to my promise
had involved me.

I found him on my return home
and delivered him the letter with
which I was charged. At the sight
of it surprise, mingled with some

uneasiness, appeared in his looks.
“What!” said he, in a tone of dis-
appointment, “you then saw the
lady?”

I now remembered his directions
to leave my message at the door, and
apologized for my neglecting them
by telling my reasons. His chagrin
vanished, but not without an apparent
effort, and he said that all was well;
the affair was of no moment.

After a pause of preparation, I in-
treated his attention to something
which I had to relate. I then de-
tailed the history of Clavering and of
my late embarrassments. As I went
on his countenance betokened increas-
ing solicitude. His emotion was
particularly strong when I came to
the interrogatories of Mrs. Went-
worth in relation to Clavering; but
this emotion gave way to profound
surprise when I related the manner
in which I had eluded her inquiries.
I concluded with observing, that
when I promised forbearance on the
subject of my own adventures, I
had not foreseen any exigence which
would make an adherence to my pro-
mise difficult or inconvenient: that,
if his interest was promoted by my
silence, I was still willing to main-
tain it and requested his directions
how to conduct myself on this occa-
sion.

He appeared to ponder deeply and
with much perplexity on what I had
said. When he spoke there was hesi-


―66―

tation in his manner and circuity in
his expressions, that proved him to
have something in his thoughts which
he knew not how to communicate.
He frequently paused; but my an-
swers and remarks, occasionally given,
appeared to deter him from the
revelation of his purpose. Our dis-
course ended, for the present, by his
desiring me to persist in my present
plan; I should suffer no inconvenien-
cies from it, since it would be my
own fault if an interview again took
place between the lady and me;
meanwhile he should see her and ef-
fectually silence her inquiries.

I ruminated not superficially or
briefly on this dialogue. By what
means would he silence her inquiries?
He surely meant not to mislead
her by fallacious representations.
Some inquietude now crept into my
thoughts. I began to form conjec-
tures as to the nature of the scheme
to which my suppression of the truth
was to be thus made subservient. It
seemed as if I were walking in the
dark and might rush into snares or
drop into pits before I was aware of
my danger. Each moment accu-
mulated my doubts and I cherished a
secret foreboding that the event
would prove my new situation to be
far less fortunate than I had, at first,
fondly believed. The question now
occurred with painful repetition, Who
and what was Welbeck? What was
his relation to this foreign lady?
What was the service for which I was
to be employed?

I could not be contented without
a solution of these mysteries. Why
should I not lay my soul open before
my new friend? Considering my situ-
ation, would he regard my fears
and my surmises as criminal? I felt
that they originated in laudable ha-
bits and views. My peace of mind
depended on the favourable verdict
which conscience should pass on my
proceedings. I saw the emptiness of
fame and luxury when put in the
balance against the recompense of
virtue. Never would I purchase the

blandishments of adulation and the
glare of opulence at the price of my
honesty.

Amidst these reflections the dinner-
hour arrived. The lady and Wel-
beck were present. A new train of
sentiments now occupied my mind.
I regarded them both with inquisi-
tive eyes. I cannot well account for
the revolution which had taken place
in my mind. Perhaps it was a proof
of the capriciousness of my temper
or it was merely the fruit of my pro-
found ignorance of life and manners.
Whence ever it arose, certain it is
that I contemplated the scene before
me with altered eyes. Its order and
pomp was no longer the parent of
tranquility and awe. My wild reve-
ries of inheriting this splendour and
appropriating the affections of this
nymph, I now regarded as lunatic
hope and childish folly. Education
and nature had qualified me for a dif-
ferent scene. This might be the
mask of misery and the structure of
vice.

My companions as well as myself
were silent during the meal. The
lady retired as soon as it was finished.
My inexplicable melancholy increas-
ed. It did not pass unnoticed by
Welbeck, who inquired, with an air
of kindness, into the cause of my
visible dejection. I am almost asham-
ed to relate to what extremes my
folly transported me. Instead of an-
swering him I was weak enough to
shed tears.

This excited afresh his surprise and
his sympathy. He renewed his in-
quiries: my heart was full, but how
to disburthen it I knew not. At
length, with some difficulty, I ex-
pressed my wishes to leave his house
and return into the country.

“What,” he asked, “had occurred
to suggest this new plan? What mo-
tive could incite me to bury myself in
rustic obscurity? How did I purpose
to dispose of myself? Had some new
friend sprung up more able or more
willing to benefit me than he had
been?”

―67―

“No,” I answered, “I have no
relation who would own me, or friend
who would protect. If I went into
the country it would be to the toil-
some occupations of a day-labourer:
but even that was better than my pre-
sent situation.”

“This opinion,” he observed, “must
be newly formed. What was there
irksome or offensive in my present
mode of life?”

That this man condescended to ex-
postulate with me; to dissuade me
from my new plan; and to enume-
rate the benefits which he was willing
to confer, penetrated my heart with
gratitude. I could not but acknow-
ledge that leisure and literature, co-
pious and elegant accommodation
were valuable for their own sake:
that all the delights of sensation and
refinements of intelligence were com-
prised within my present sphere;
and would be nearly wanting in that
to which I was going; I felt tempo-
rary compunction for my folly, and
determined to adopt a different de-
portment. I could not prevail upon
myself to unfold the true cause of my
dejection and permitted him there-
fore to ascribe it to a kind of home-
sickness; to inexperience; and to
that ignorance which, on being ush-
ered into a new scene, is oppressed
with a sensation of forlornness. He
remarked that these chimeras would
vanish before the influence of time,
and company, and occupation. On
the next week he would furnish me
with employment; meanwhile he
would introduce me into company
where intelligence and vivacity would
combine to dispel my glooms.

As soon as we separated, my dis-
quietudes returned. I contended
with them in vain and finally resol-
ved to abandon my present situation.
When and how this purpose was to
be effected I knew not. That was
to be the theme of future deliberation.

Evening having arrived, Welbeck
proposed to me to accompany him on
a visit to one of his friends. I cheer-
fully accepted the invitation and

went with him to your friend Mr.
Wortley's. A numerous party was
assembled, chiefly of the female sex.
I was introduced by Welbeck by the
title of a young friend of his. Not-
withstanding my embarrassment I did
not fail to attend to what passed on
this occasion. I remarked that the
utmost deference was paid to my
companion, on whom his entrance in-
to this company appeared to operate
like magic. His eye sparkled; his
features expanded into a benign se-
renity; and his wonted reserve gave
place to a torrent-like and overflow-
ing elocution.

I marked this change in his deport-
ment with the utmost astonishment.
So great was it, that I could hardly
persuade myself that it was the same
person. A mind thus susceptible of
new impressions must be, I conceived,
of a wonderful texture. Nothing
was further from my expectations
than that this vivacity was mere dis-
simulation and would take its leave
of him when he left the company:
yet this I found to be the case. The
door was no sooner closed after him
than his accustomed solemnity return-
ed. He spake little, and that little
was delivered with emphatical and
monosyllabic brevity.

We returned home at a late hour,
and I immediately retired to my
chamber, not so much from the de-
sire of repose as in order to enjoy and
pursue my own reflections without in-
terruption.

The condition of my mind was
considerably remote from happiness.
I was placed in a scene that furnished
fuel to my curiosity. This passion
is a source of pleasure, provided its
gratification be practicable. I had
no reason, in my present circumstan-
ces, to despair of knowledge; yet
suspicion and anxiety beset me. I
thought upon the delay and toil
which the removal of my ignorance
would cost and reaped only pain and
fear from the reflection.

The air was remarkably sultry.
Lifted sashes and lofty ceilings were

―68―

insufficient to attemper it. The per-
turbation of my thoughts affected
my body, and the heat which oppres-
sed me, was aggravated, by my rest-
lessness, almost into fever. Some
hours were thus painfully past, when
I recollected that the bath, erected in
the court below, contained a sufficient
antidote to the scorching influence of
the atmosphere.

I rose, and descended the stairs soft-
ly, that I might not alarm Welbeck
and the lady, who occupied the two
rooms on the second floor. I pro-
ceeded to the bath, and filling the
reservoir with water, speedily dissi-
pated the heat that incommoded me.
Of all species of sensual gratification,
that was the most delicious; and I
continued for a long time, laving my
limbs and moistening my hair. In
the midst of this amusement, I no-
ticed the approach of day, and imme-
diately saw the propriety of returning
to my chamber. I returned with the
same caution which I had used in de-
scending; my feet were bare, so that
it was easy to proceed unattended by
the smallest signal of my progress.

I had reached the carpetted stair-
case, and was slowly ascending, when
I heard, within the chamber that was
occupied by the lady, a noise, as of
some one moving. Though not con-
scious of having acted improperly, yet
I felt reluctance to be seen. There
was no reason to suppose that this
sound was connected with the detec-
tion of me, in this situation; yet I
acted as if this reason existed, and
made haste to pass the door and gain
the second flight of steps.

I was unable to accomplish my de-
sign, when the chamber door slowly
opened, and Welbeck, with a light
in his hand, came out. I was abash-
ed and disconcerted at this interview.
He started at seeing me; but discover-
ing in an instant who it was, his face
assumed an expression in which shame
and anger were powerfully blended.
He seemed on the point of opening
his mouth to rebuke me; but sud-
denly checking himself, he said, in a

tone of mildness, “How is this?—
Whence come you?”

His emotion seemed to communi-
cate itself, with an electrical rapidity,
to my heart. My tongue faltered
while I made some answer. I said,
“I had been seeking relief from the
heat of the weather, in the bath.”
He heard my explanation in silence:
and, after a moment's pause, passed
into his own room, and shut himself
in. I hastened to my chamber.

A different observer might have
found in these circumstances no food
for his suspicion or his wonder. To
me, however, they suggested vague
and tumultuous ideas.

As I strode across the room I re-
peated, “This woman is his daughter.
What proof have I of that? He once
asserted it; and has frequently uttered
allusions and hints from which no
other inference could be drawn. The
chamber from which he came, in an
hour devoted to sleep, was hers. For
what end could a visit like this be
paid? A parent may visit his child at
all seasons, without a crime. On see-
ing me, methought his features indi-
cated more than surprise. A keen
interpreter would be apt to suspect a
consciousness of wrong. What if this
woman be not his child! How shall
their relationship be ascertained?”

I was summoned at the customary
hour to breakfast. My mind was full
of ideas connected with this incident.
I was not endowed with sufficient
firmness to propose the cool and syste-
matic observation of this man's de-
portment. I felt as if the state of
my mind could not but be evident to
him; and experienced in myself all
the confusion which this discovery
was calculated to produce in him. I
would have willingly excused myself
from meeting him; but that was im-
possible.

At breakfast, after the usual salu-
tations, nothing was said. For a time
I scarcely lifted my eyes from the
table. Stealing a glance at Wel-
beck, I discovered in his features
nothing but his wonted gravity. He

―69―

appeared occupied with thoughts that
had no relation to last night's adven-
ture. This encouraged me; and I
gradually recovered my composure.
Their inattention to me allowed me
occasionally to throw scrutinizing and
comparing glances at the face of each.

The relationship of parent and child
is commonly discoverable in the vi-
sage; but the child may resemble
either of its parents, yet have no fea-
ture in common with both. Here
outlines, surfaces, and hues were in
absolute contrariety. That kindred
subsisted between them was possible,
notwithstanding this dissimilitude:
but this circumstance contributed to
envenom my suspicions.

Breakfast being finished, Welbeck
cast an eye of invitation to the piano
forte. The lady rose to comply with his
request. My eye chanced to be, at that
moment, fixed on her. In stepping
to the instrument some motion or ap-
pearance awakened a thought in my
mind, which affected my feelings like
the shock of an earthquake.

I have too slight acquaintance with
the history of the passions to truly ex-
plain the emotion which now throb-
bed in my veins. I had been a stranger
to what is called love. From sub-
sequent reflection, I have contracted
a suspicion, that the sentiment with
which I regarded this lady was not un-
tinctured from this source, and that
hence arose the turbulence of my feel-
ings, on observing what I construed
into marks of pregnancy. The evi-
dence afforded me was slight; yet it
exercised an absolute sway over my
belief.

It was well that this suspicion had
not been sooner excited. Now civi-
lity did not require my stay in the
apartment, and nothing but flight
could conceal the state of my mind.
I hastened, therefore, to a distance,
and shrowded myself in the friendly
secrecy of my own chamber.

The constitution of my mind is
doubtless singular and perverse; yet
that opinion, perhaps, is the fruit of
my ignorance. It may by no means

be uncommon for men to fashion their
conclusions in opposition to evidence
and probability, and so as to feed their
malice and subvert their happiness.
Thus it was, in an eminent degree,
in my case. The simple fact was con-
nected, in my mind, with a train of
the most hateful consequences. The
depravity of Welbeck was inferred
from it. The charms of this angelic
woman were tarnished and withered.
I had formerly surveyed her as a pre-
cious and perfect monument, but now
it was a scene of ruin and blast.

This had been a source of sufficient
anguish; but this was not all. I re-
collected that the claims of a parent
had been urged. Will you believe
that these claims were now admitted,
and that they heightened the iniquity
of Welbeck into the blackest and most
stupendous of all crimes? These ideas
were necessarily transient. Conclu-
sions more conformable to appearan-
ces succeeded. This lady might have
been lately reduced to widowhood.
The recent loss of a beloved compa-
nion would sufficiently account for her
dejection, and make her present situa-
tion compatible with duty.

By this new train of ideas I was
somewhat comforted. I saw the folly
of precipitate inferences, and the in-
justice of my atrocious imputations,
and acquired some degree of patience
in my present state of uncertainty.
My heart was lightened of its wonted
burthen, and I laboured to invent
some harmless explication of the scene
that I had witnessed the preceding
night.

At dinner Welbeck appeared as
usual, but not the lady. I ascribed
her absence to some casual indisposi-
tion, and ventured to inquire into the
state of her health. My companion
said she was well, but that she had
left the city for a month or two, find-
ing the heat of summer inconvenient
where she was. This was no unplau-
sible reason for retirement. A candid
mind would have acquiesced in this
representation, and found in it no-
thing inconsistent with a supposition

―70―

respecting the cause of appearances,
favourable to her character; but
otherwise was I affected. The un-
easiness which had flown for a mo-
ment returned, and I sunk into gloomy
silence.

From this I was roused by my pa-
tron, who requested me to deliver a
billet, which he put into my hand, at
the counting-house of Mr. Thetford,
and to bring him an answer. This
message was speedily performed. I
entered a large building by the river
side. A spacious apartment presented
itself, well furnished with pipes and
hogsheads. In one corner was a
smaller room, in which a gentleman
was busy at writing. I advanced to
the door of the room, but was there
met by a young person, who received
my paper, and delivered it to him
within. I stood still at the door; but
was near enough to overhear what
would pass between them.

The letter was laid upon the desk,
and presently he that sat at it lifted
his eyes, and glanced at the super-
scription. He scarcely spoke above a
whisper, but his words, nevertheless,
were clearly distinguishable. I did
not call to mind the sound of his voice,
but his words called up a train of re-
collections.

“Lo!” said he, carelessly, “this
from the Nabob!”

An incident so slight as this was
sufficient to open a spacious scene of
meditation. This little word, half
whispered in a thoughtless mood, was
a key to unlock an extensive cabinet
of secrets. Thetford was probably in-
different whether his exclamation
were overheard. Little did he think
on the inferences which would be
built upon It.

“The Nabob!” By this appella-
tion had some one been denoted in the
chamber-dialogue, of which I had
been an unsuspected auditor. The
man who pretended poverty, and yet
gave proofs of inordinate wealth;
whom it was pardonable to defraud of
thirty thousand dollars; first, because
the loss of that sum would be trivial

to one opulent as he; and secondly,
because he was imagined to have ac-
quired this opulence by other than ho-
nest methods. Instead of forthwith
returning home, I wandered into the
fields, to indulge myself in the new
thoughts which were produced by this
occurrence.

I entertained no doubt that the
person alluded to was my patron. No
new light was thrown upon his cha-
racter; unless something were dedu-
cible from the charge vaguely made,
that his wealth was the fruit of illicit
practices. He was opulent, and the
sources of his wealth were unknown,
if not to the rest of the community,
at least to Thetford. But here had
a plot been laid. The fortune of Thet-
ford's brother was to rise from the
success of artifices, of which the cre-
dulity of Welbeck was to be the vic-
tim. To detect and to counterwork
this plot was obviously my duty. My
interference might now indeed be too
late to be useful; but this was at least
to be ascertained by experiment.

How should my intention be effect-
ed? I had hitherto concealed from
Welbeck my adventures at Thetford's
house. These it was now necessary
to disclose, and to mention the recent
occurrence. My deductions, in con-
sequence of my ignorance, might be
erroneous; but of their truth his
knowledge of his own affairs would
enable him to judge. It was possible
that Thetford and he, whose chamber-
conversation I had overheard, were
different persons. I endeavoured in
vain to ascertain their identity by a
comparison of their voices. The
words lately heard, my remembrance
did not enable me certainly to pro-
nounce to be uttered by the same
organs.

This uncertainty was of little mo-
ment. It sufficed that Welbeck was
designated by this appellation, and
that therefore he was proved to be the
subject of some fraudulent proceeding.
The information that I possessed it
was my duty to communicate as ex-
peditiously as possible. I was resolved

―71―

to employ the first opportunity that
offered for this end.

My meditations had been ardently
pursued, and, when I recalled my
attention, I found myself bewilder-
ed among fields and fences. It was
late before I extricated myself from
unknown paths, and reached home.

I entered the parlour; but Wel-
beck was not there. A table, with
tea-equipage for one person was set;
from which I inferred that Welbeck
was engaged abroad. This belief was
confirmed by the report of the ser-
vant. He could not inform me where
his master was, but merely that he
should not take tea at home. This inci-
dent was a source of vexation and im-

patience. I knew not but that delay
would be of the utmost moment to the
safety of my friend. Wholly unac-
quainted as I was with the nature of his
contracts with Thetford, I could not
decide whether a single hour would not
avail to obviate the evils that threat-
ened him. Had I known whither to
trace his footsteps, I should certainly
have sought an immediate interview;
but, as it was, I was obliged to wait
with what patience I could collect
for his return to his own house.

I waited hour after hour in vain.
The sun declined, and the shades of
evening descended; but Welbeck was
still at a distance.

[To be continued.]