Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton

London, Grosvenor-Street

Must I be silent? Must I not tell my Louisa how infinitely her candor and justice delight me? With the voice of a warning angel she bids me enquire, examine my heart, and resolve. I think I have resolved; and from reasons which I believe are not to be overcome. Yet I will confess my opinion, strong as it is, receives violent attacks; as, Louisa, you will be convinced, when you have read the whole of this letter.

My friend cautions me against being partial, even in favour of her brother. Such a friend is indeed worthy to advise, and I will remember her precepts. This brother may be a degenerate scion from a noble stock: yet I can hardly think the thing possible. That he may have fallen into many of the mistakes, common to the world in which he has lived, is indeed most likely. But the very qualities which you describe in him speak an active and perhaps a dignified nature.

We have duties to fulfil. Few opportunities present themselves to a woman, educated and restrained as women unfortunately are, of performing any thing eminently good. One of our most frequent and obvious tasks seems to be that of restoring a great mind, misled by error, to its proper rank. If the mind of Clifton should be such, shall I cowardly decline what I believe it to be incumbent on me to perform? Let him be only such as I expect, and let me be fortunate enough to gain his affections, and you shall see, Louisa, whether trifles shall make me desist.

What high proofs of courage, perseverance, and of suffering, do men continually give! And shall we wholly renounce the dignity of emulation, and willingly sign the unjust decree of prejudice, that mind likewise has its sex, and that women are destitute of energy and fortitude?

But Frank Henley!—Let me not hide a thought from my Louisa. He is indeed worthy of being loved, every day more worthy. I have a new story to tell, which will be more effectual praise than any words of mine. Like you I am persuaded he has some affection for me. I am not insensible to his worth and virtues: I ought not to be. Were I to indulge the reveries into which I could easily fall, I might be as much misled by passion as others, who are so ready to complain and pity themselves for being in love. But a wakeful sense of the consequences is my safeguard. It cannot be. I should render my father, my relations, and friends, miserable. I should set a bad example to my sex. I, who am at shewing them mind is superior to sex.

Such are the thoughts that protect me from the danger. His mental excellence perhaps I love as truly as heart could wish. But, as the lover who is to be the husband, no! I will not suffer my thoughts to glance in that direction. I might, but I will not. Nothing but a conviction that my principles are wrong shall ever make me; and that conviction I hold to be impossible.

Do not imagine I am guilty of the mistake of supposing myself his superior. Far the reverse. The tale which I am now about to relate will inform you better of the true state of my feelings.

You must know, my dear, that on our arrival in town, Sir Arthur, with my help, prevailed on Frank Henley to accept a twenty pound bill, that he might have the means of gratifying his inclinations, and enjoying the pleasures which at his age it is natural he should wish to enjoy. These means I had but too good reason to be convinced had been denied him by his father, which I suspected to be, and am now satisfied was, the true reason that Frank refused to attend us on our journey.

The youth has quite pride enough, my dear: he is desirous to confer, but not to accept obligations; is ready enough to give, but not to receive. As if he had not only a right to monopolize virtue, but to be exempt from the wants which are common to all, and to supply which men form themselves into societies. He seems to shrink with exquisite pain from the acceptance of money. However I was determined to conquer, and conquer I did. Nor can I say, considering them as I do, that I was sorry to offend the false feelings even of Frank Henley, for whom I have an infinite esteem.

After receiving this present, he accompanied me two or three times to those public places to which crowns and half guineas gain admittance; and, as you may imagine, was far from appearing insensible of the powers of poetry and music. Suddenly however he refused to be any more of such parties, for which I own I could divine no reason. I knew he had been educated in habits of oeconomy, and therefore could not suppose, generous though I knew him to be, that he had squandered away his pocket-money in so short a time. I endeavoured both to rally and to reason, but in vain; he was positive even to obstinacy; and I rightly conjectured there must be some cause for it which I had not discovered.

You have heard me speak, I believe, my dear, of Mrs. Clarke, as of a careful good woman, and a great favourite with my dear mamma, when living. She was then our housekeeper in the country, but has lately been left in the town house; because the furniture is too valuable to be entrusted to a less attentive person. This Mrs. Clarke had a sister whose name was Webb, and who left a son and a daughter, who are both married. The son, as you will soon hear, has been a wild and graceless fellow; but the daughter is one of the most agreeable and engaging young creatures I think I ever saw.

Yesterday my good Mrs. Clarke and her niece were shut up together in close conversation for a considerable time; and I perceived that their cheeks were swelled, their eyes red, and that they had been crying violently. I almost revere Mrs. Clarke as my mother, because of the excellence of her heart and the soundness of her understanding. I therefore could not forbear earnestly enquiring whether it were possible for me to remove her cause of grief; for grieved, I told her, I could plainly perceive she was. She burst into tears again on my questioning her, and endeavoured to express feelings that were too big for utterance. Turning to her niece she said—'I must inform my dear young lady.' 'For God's sake don't! For the Lord's sake don't!' cried the terrified creature. 'I must,' replied the aunt. 'It is proper.' 'He will have no mercy shewn him! He will be hanged!' exclaimed the other, in an agony. 'You do not know this lady,' said the aunt. 'Indeed she does not,' added I, 'if she supposes I would have any creature upon earth hanged.' 'Retire, Peggy,' said the aunt, 'while I relate the vile, the dreadful tale.' 'No, no! For mercy's sake no!' replied the niece. 'I must stay, and beg, and pray, and down on my knees for my brother! He is a wild and a wicked young man, but he is my brother.' 'Pray let her stay,' said I to the aunt. 'And fear nothing, my kind-hearted Peggy. Be assured I will not hurt a hair of your brother's head. I will do him good if I can, but no injury.' 'The God of Heaven bless and reward your angelic ladyship!' cried the half frantic grateful Peggy.

Mrs. Clarke attempted to begin her story. She was almost suffocated. I never heard so heart-rending a groan as she gave, when she came to the fatal sentence! Would you believe it, Louisa? This nephew of the worthy Mrs. Clarke, this brother of the good Peggy, is the very highwayman who shot Frank Henley!

His benevolent aunt has been with him, for he is still under the surgeon's hands; and he has confessed to her [I am angry with myself, Louisa, to find I wonder at it] he has confessed that the brave, the humane, the noble-minded Frank has visited him several times, and has set the folly of his wicked pursuits in so true and so strong a light, that the man protests, with the utmost vehemence, if he can but escape punishment for the faults he has committed, he will sooner perish than again be guilty of his former crimes.

The first time Frank visited him he gave the poor wretch a guinea; and went himself in search of another lodging for him, as well to remove him from the knowledge of his wicked companions as to protect him from the forty pound hunters. The man wants to escape over to the continent; and appears to be so sincere, in his resolves of reformation, that Frank has undertaken to furnish him with the means.

You cannot imagine, Louisa, the heart-felt praises which the worthy Mrs. Clarke bestowed on the youth. And Peggy said that she hoped she should some time or another live to see him, that she might fall down and kiss his footsteps! But, added she, with great ardor, I find indeed there are very good men in the world!

Still there appeared something enigmatical to me, between Frank and the money account. I could not conceive how he should want the means immediately to furnish such a sum as would have been sufficient for the poor fugitive. And this again reminded me how assiduously Frank had lately avoided every occasion of expence.

While we were in the midst of our discourse, who should enter the room but Frank! Never was I present at such a scene!—'Good God Almighty!' exclaimed Peggy, the moment she saw him. 'This is he! This is the very blessed, dear gentleman, that saved my poor Harry from those terrible jailors.'

'Is it possible?' cried Mrs. Clarke.

'It is, it is he! He himself!' said the full-hearted Peggy, falling down on her knees, and catching the flap of his coat, which she kissed with inconceivable enthusiasm.

Poor Frank did not know which way to look. Good deeds are so uncommon, and so much the cause of surprise, that virtue blushes at being detected almost as deeply as vice. I knew Frank had a noble heart; and I own, Louisa, I was not much amazed when Peggy, with abundance of kind expressions and a flow of simple eloquence, related the manner in which Frank had saved her husband from the bailiffs, by paying a debt which with costs amounted to upward of eighteen pounds.

I did not however forbear severely to reprove myself, for having dared so much as to imagine that a youth with such high virtues could not, in a city like London, find opportunities of expending so small a sum as twenty pounds in acts of benevolence. I ought at least to have supposed the thing probable; yet it never once entered my mind.

The thanks, blessings, and prayers of Peggy were endless. Finding him not only to be what she knew, the man who relieved her from the most poignant distress, but likewise the vanquisher and the saviour of her brother, she said and protested she was sure there was not such another angel upon earth! She was sure there was not! Frank was ashamed of and almost offended at her incessant praise. It was so natural and so proper for him to act as he did, that he is surprised to find it can be matter of wonder.

I must insist however upon seeing him reimbursed; and I persuade myself there is one thought which will make him submit to it quietly. I have but to remind him that the good of others requires that men, who so well know the use of it, should never be without money.

Adieu. I have not time to write more at present.—Yet I must, for I ought to add, that, though I thought myself so fully convinced when I began this letter, concerning Frank and the only right mode of acting, doubts have several times intruded themselves upon me, while I have been writing. I will think when the fancy is not so busy as at present; and when I have thought do not fear my resolution.

Ever most affectionately yours,

A. W. ST. IVES