Louisa Clifton to Her Brother, Coke Clifton

Rose-Bank

It is long, my dear brother, since I received a letter from you; and still longer since I had the pleasure to see you. How many rivers, seas, valleys, and mountains have you traversed, since that time! What various nations, what numerous opposite and characteristic countenances have you beheld! From all and each of them I hope you have learned something. I hope the succession of objects has not been so quick as to leave vacuity in the mind.

My propensity to moralize used formerly [And our formerlies you know, brother, are not of any long duration.] to tease and half put you out of temper. Indulge me once more in hoping it will not do so at present; for I believe I am more prone to this habit than ever. What can I say to my brother? Shall I tattle to him the scandal of the village, were I mistress of it? Shall I describe to him the fashion of a new cap; or the charms of a dress that has lately travelled from Persia to Paris, from Paris to London, and from London to Rose-Bank? Or shall I recount the hopes and fears of a sister; who has sometimes the temerity to think; who would be so unfashionable as to love her brother, not for the cut of his coat, not for the French or Italian phrases with which he might interlard his discourse, not for any recital of the delight which foreign ladies took in him and which he took in foreign ladies, not for a loud tongue and a prodigious lack of wit, not for any of the antics or impertinences which I have too frequently remarked in young men of fashion, but for something directly the reverse of all these: for well-digested principles, an ardent desire of truth, incessant struggles to shake off prejudices; for emanations of soul, bursts of thought, and flashes of genius. For such a brother, oh how eager would be my arms, how open my heart!

Do not think, my dear Clifton, I am unjust enough to mean any thing personal; to satirize what I can scarcely be said to have seen, or to condemn unheard. No. Your faculties were always lively. You have seen much, must have learned much, and why may I not suppose you are become all that a sister's heart can desire? Pardon me if I expect too much. Do we not all admire and seek after excellence? When we are told such a person is a man of genius, do we not wish to enquire into the fact? And, if true, are we not desirous of making him our intimate? And do not the ties of blood doubly enforce such wishes, in a brother's behalf? From what you were, I have no doubt but that you are become an accomplished man. But I hope you are also become something much better. I hope that, by the exertion of your talents, acquirements, and genius, I shall see you the friend of man, and the true citizen of the world.

If you are all that I hope, I think you will not be offended with these sisterly effusions. If you are not, or but in part, you may imagine me vain and impertinent. But still I should suppose you will forgive me, because you are so seldom troubled with such grave epistles; and one now and then, if not intolerably long, may be endured from an elder sister.

Yet why do I say elder? Neither age nor station have any just claim; for there can be none, except the claims of truth and reason; against which there is no appeal. I am eighteen months older than my brother, and up rises the claim of eldership! Such are the habits, the prejudices we have to counteract.

My dear mamma has mentioned Sir Arthur St. Ives, in her letter, and his lovely daughter, Anna; more lovely in mind even than in form, and of the latter a single glance will enable you to judge. I need not request you to be attentive and civil to her, for it is impossible you should be otherwise. Your own gratification will induce you to shew her the public places, and render her every service in your power; which will be more than overpaid by associating with her; for it is indeed a delight to be in her company. For grace and beauty of person, she has no equal; and still less can she be equalled, by any person of her age, for the endowments of wit and understanding. I am half angry with myself for pretending to recommend her; when, as you will see, she can so much more effectually recommend herself.

I have nothing to add except to say that, when my dear brother has a moment's leisure, I shall be glad to hear from him; and that I remain his very affectionate sister,

L. CLIFTON

P.S. On recollection, I am convinced it is a false fear which has prevented me from mentioning another person, very eminently deserving of esteem and respect; a fear of doing harm where I meant to do good. We ought to do our duty, and risk the consequences. The absurd pride of ancestry occasions many of our young gentlemen to treat those whom they deem their inferiors by birth with haughtiness, and often with something worse; forgetting that by this means they immediately cut themselves off as it were from society: for, by contemning those who are a supposed step below them, they encourage and incur contempt from the next immediately above them. This is in some measure the practice: and, were it true that birth is any merit, it would be a practice to which we ought to pay a still more strict attention. The young gentleman however whom I mean to recommend, for his great and peculiar worth, is Mr. Frank Henley, the son of a person who is gardener and steward to Sir Arthur; or rather what the people among whom you are at present would call his homme d'affaires. But I must leave my friends to speak for themselves; which they will do more efficaciously than can be done by any words of mine.

END OF VOLUME I