INTRODUCTION.

In presenting the following pages to the Public, I conceive it to be incumbent on me to say, that Miss Cowley’s letters to her friend will be found to contain nearly the whole of a narrative, from which, I trust, my readers may draw a lesson of morality, as well as of gratification to that curiosity which a new Novel often excites, but sometimes disappoints. My claims to candour are consequently few; for as the Editor, rather than the Author, I beg leave to observe, that with the materials before me, I have balanced, pretty equally as I think, my hopes of my readers’ favour, with my fears of their frowns; and I stand chargeable with ivno more than an error in judgment, or too much partiality for Miss Cowley’s talents, in having preferred her pen to my own.

It is, however, indispensably necessary, that I should prepare the way for her appearance as a candidate for public notice; and with as much of brevity as of fidelity, do I intend to make my first chapter useful to this purpose, by detailing such particulars of her family, birth, and circumstances of fortune, as are requisite for the better knowledge and illustration of those occurrences which engaged her time and attention, and furnished the principal subjects for her pen.

CHAP. I.

Mr. Cowley, father of Miss Cowley, was, at an early age, left an orphan, with an ample inheritance in Jamaica, the place of his birth. He was consigned by the will of his father, who had survived his mother, to the guardianship of a gentleman who resided in London, and who, in his commercial concerns, had for a course of years evinced an integrity, founded on the liberal principles of an enlightened mind and a cultivated understanding. The care of his estate was left in the hands of a friend, not less 2qualified for this more subordinate office. He lived on the spot; and was enriched by the vigilance and honesty with which he discharged his duty. His first care after his benefactor’s decease, was to send the young heir to England, for the purpose of his improvement; and his London guardian, not only placed him within the reach of the attainments requisite for his future happiness, but by his truly parental care and tenderness, gave him the fairest example of the influence and benefits resulting from a conduct governed by virtue and solid wisdom. Thus

secured on all sides by a gracious Providence, Henry Cowley lived to reach his twenty-first year; when, by the sudden death of his benevolent friend, he found himself master of his time, his fortune, and his amusements. But love had provided an armour of defence against the seductions of the world; and the difficulties he had to surmount in 3attaining the object of his affections, gave to his youthful ardour pursuits far remote from the dangers of dissipation. To conquer the reluctance of Mrs. Dawson, the young lady’s mother, to her daughter’s marrying him, or any other pretender to her favour, was a trial, not only of his patience and perseverance, but also of her daughter’s health and spirits; for she had long since given her heart to young Cowley, and well knew that the only impediment in the way to her union with the man she loved, was the excessive and fond attachment of her mother to her society, and the wish of having no competitor for a heart which she conceived to be made only for herself. The young lady’s declining spirits, and the arguments

urged by her lover, at length gained a cold consent, to which were annexed conditions that Cowley cheerfully agreed to. These were principally confined to the young couple’s residence under her 4roof, and a promise, never to hazard a voyage to Jamaica without her concurrence. Satisfied on these essential points, she hastened the nuptials, in order to expedite her removal with her daughter to Bristol Hot-Wells, whither she was ordered by her physician; and entirely regardless of procuring settlements, her daughter being an only child, the party proceeded from the altar to their destined abode at Clifton; where health, peace, and gaiety met the happy pair. Mrs. Dawson’s apprehensions for the life of her beloved daughter had not long subsided before she became alarmed for herself: the honey-moon continued longer than her forbearance; she imagined herself neglected. Fears and explanations were succeeded by altercations, and fits of sullenness and even rudeness to poor Cowley; who, in consideration of his wife’s tranquillity, redoubled his attentions to

her mother. This tribute of true affection 5gained him nothing with Mrs. Dawson, for it unfortunately gave her daughter an opportunity of observing, more than once, that “Mr. Cowley’s behaviour to her mother was of itself sufficient to engage her love, her esteem and gratitude.”

During the space of three years the amiable wife bore with patience these jealous caprices of her mother; not so acquiescent was the husband: he was weary of the contest, and the tender Marian trembled for her husband’s peace and her own future happiness. The death of Mr. Cowley’s faithful agent in Jamaica, which happened at this period, rendered a voyage thither indispensible to Mr. Cowley. He explicitly placed before his wife and her mother his intentions to visit his patrimony; and left them to decide whether he was to go unaccompanied by the only person who could solace him in his absence from England. 6Mrs. Cowley firmly declared her purpose of going with him, and to every argument and entreaty used by her mother, applied the same answer:—“My duty, my affection, my very life, urge me to undertake a voyage which my husband hazards; and were it round the world I would cheerfully share the dangers with my Cowley.” Let it suffice that Mrs. Cowley persevered, and from the hour of her daughter’s departure, her mother nourished an irreconcilable hatred to Mr.

Cowley; attributing to his cruelty and undue authority the absence of his wife, “who was not permitted to love even her mother, nor that mother to shelter her from his tyrannical temper.”

Candour, as well as the proofs before me, exact from my pen, however, some qualifications, which will soften down to the weakness of human nature these severe traits in Mrs. Dawson’s character; for it would be unjust not to give it more 7favourable lineaments, and amongst several, it is proper to distinguish one, namely, her generous cares in sheltering under her roof a young lady, who was left an orphan for more than three years, at the end of which period she married happily. As this act of friendship and benevolence on Mrs. Dawson’s part produced a course of active and important duties on the young lady’s, and as these are materially connected with my narrative, it must be allowed me to mention more particularly the advantages which had, at this period of my history, accrued to Mrs. Dawson from her kind protection of Miss Otway. Her age, her various talents, and her attractive virtues, had contributed to form Marian Dawson’s mind, and to obviate the evils of her mother’s unlimited indulgence. Till her marriage with Mr. Hardcastle, to whom she had been engaged

before she lost her father, and whom from prudential motives she refused 8to marry when deprived of this support, her whole attention had been given to Miss Dawson’s education; and although the instructress and the pupil differed not in age more than two or three years, nothing less than the blindest folly could have overlooked the rich recompence which Mrs. Dawson derived from her kindness to Miss Otway: the most perfect friendship and confidence subsisted between the young women. Cowley was the intimate friend of Mr. Hardcastle, though several years younger than himself, and few of Mrs. Dawson’s connections doubted of the share which the Hardcastles had taken in the unhappy dissentions caused by Mrs. Dawson’s ill-regulated fondness to her child. It is certain, that both Mr. and Mrs. Cowley had the concurrence of these friends in regard to the measures they pursued; and with the most sanguine hopes of succeeding, they both engaged to spare 9no pains in reconciling Mrs. Dawson to the temporary absence of her son and daughter, nor in preparing her to expect Mr.

Cowley to have an establishment of his own at his return. Faithful to their engagements, they in part effected their purpose. Their attentions soothed the afflicted mother. She found that she was not wholly abandoned; she talked of her poor unhappy child till compassion had subdued resentment, and time had banished tears and bewailings; and Mrs. Dawson again tasted the comforts of health, affluence, and friendship, although still dead to the pleasure of forgiveness, probably, because it was less painful to hate Cowley than to reproach herself.

Mr. Hardcastle’s succession to his uncle’s estate of about five or six hundred pounds per annum, induced a change in his plans of life. He gave up his profession in the law, and retired to his inheritance 10with his lady and child, then an infant, Mrs. Dawson suffered little from this change, for she passed months at a time with them in the country, and enjoyed the variety of the seasons with health, and few regrets beyond her usual topic for discontent. “Seven years a wife without the chance of being a mother,” had not been unfrequently adverted to by Mrs. Dawson, as a proof of Mr. Cowley’s demerits in the sight of Heaven. “He, that so fervently wished for children! But his wretched temper would have its punishments.” Alas! his fond and too eager wishes had most unquestionably their disappointment in the hour of their fruition; for, in consequence of a fever which no skill could overcome, he lost his wife six weeks after she had given him a daughter. Mrs. Dawson sunk under this heavy stroke. Nothing remained but her enmity to Cowley; and in

order to gratify this, she made her will. 11To Rachel Marian Cowley, her grand-daughter, she bequeathed all her property; but subjected it to conditions, which sufficiently marked her hatred to the infant’s father. In case Mr. Cowley submitted to relinquish the rights of a parent, and to place his daughter under Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle’s care, the child was immediately after her decease to be conveyed to England, and given into their protection. On this condition, she was entitled to the annual interest resulting from the sum which constituted her fortune, and which was vested in the public funds, to the amount of a capital which produced more than six hundred pounds per annum. The father’s refusal to concede to these terms, restricted her from the fortune till she was twenty-one, or till she married with the consent of Mr. Hardcastle and the other trustee appointed to this duty. In case of her death before she could claim her fortune, the 12whole sum, with its accumulations, was left to Mr. Hardcastle and his family. Satisfied with this disposition of her worldly

possessions, she appeared to have recovered her usual health and composure, except when speaking of her grand-child. On these affecting occasions, her only consolation appeared to rise from Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle’s reiterated promises to receive the child, whenever Mr. Cowley should think it proper to claim their kind offices. They repeated this assurance in the most solemn terms, and Mrs. Hardcastle, with ceaseless labour, endeavoured to fix on her mind the persuasion, that Mr. Cowley would think of no one but himself for so precious a charge. Mrs. Dawson was suddenly removed by an apoplectic fit the following winter; and Counsellor Steadman, her executor and trustee, in communicating to Mr. Hardcastle the contents of Mrs. Dawson’s last will and testament, was neither surprised 13nor offended at the sentiments his old friend so warmly expressed, though they were so opposite to the gratitude usually bestowed even on contingent donations; and having informed Mr. Cowley of this event, and its consequences, he left him to determine at his leisure, on the fitness

of Mrs. Dawson’s arrangements for his daughter’s benefit and security.

During this period of time, the unhappy Mr. Cowley was giving the most unequivocal and melancholy proofs to those about him, of the affection he cherished for his amiable and lost Marian. A long and dangerous illness had succeeded to her death, the consequence of his attendance, fatigue, and grief; and when rescued from the grave by the vigour of his constitution, his friends found his mind sunk into the deepest gloom. From this deplorable condition, he was gradually roused by the sight of his infant daughter. 14Happily the child was healthy, and had for its preservation an attendant well qualified to supply a mother’s cares. Mrs. Cowley, on quitting England, had fortunately secured in the female attendant who accompanied her, more than the talents and fidelity of a domestic. Mrs. Allen was a widow; she had been well instructed in her youth, and matured in wisdom and knowledge by a natural good sense, and the discipline of adversity. The femme de chambre was forgotten in the usual friend and companion of the voyage, and Mrs. Cowley introduced

Mrs. Allen to her new circle in a manner suitable to her merits. To this excellent woman she in some sort bequeathed her infant, engaging her, in the most affecting terms, to watch over the child till it was safe with Mrs. Hardcastle, who had promised her to be its parent when in England. This request was enforced by Mr. Cowley also; and Mrs. Allen forgot 15not her obligations in the performance of her duty. From the time of her lady’s death, as she always called Mrs. Cowley, she regularly corresponded with Mrs. Hardcastle; and from her letters to this lady, I have learned to judge both of Mr. Cowley’s attachment to his wife and child, and of Mrs. Allen’s good sense. I shall transcribe a part of one of the letters she wrote to Mrs. Hardcastle, when the child was something more than three years old: it delineates the condition of a father seeking refuge from sorrow in the indulgence of fondness, the fruits of which are too often found in bitter repentance. After an account of Mr. Cowley’s improved health, and incessant demands on her little charge for the cheerfulness he

still needed, she thus proceeds: “Judge, my dear Madam, what must be the result of this excessive fondness! what must be the condition of a being, liable to contradiction and disappointment from 16the very tenure on which she holds her being, who must never be controuled in her will, whose tears put Mr. Cowley into a fever, and whose infant caprices are laws which no one dare to disobey. Nature, my dear Madam, has formed her for a better purpose, than subduing her father’s judgment by her attractive person and irresistible vivacity. But with all the sportive charms of infancy, with, I may say, redundant health and activity, with beauty to dazzle all sober judgment that views her in her happy moments, she cannot impose on me, nor quiet my apprehensions for her future life; for she has passions which need the curb, and those are hourly strengthening. Already she is more despotic with her father than he is with his slaves; and my influence with her depends only on her generous nature. She cannot bear to see me ‘grieve,’ to use her language: she has

been just making her dear Allen ‘well.’ 17This was the occasion: a young and sweet-tempered negro girl in the house, has been with my concurrence promoted to her nursery; she plays with her, and is docile to my instructions. This, with the singular beauty she possesses, have gained her an interest with me, and I have taught her to read, and the habits of order. Marian was busy in making a cap for her doll this morning, when summoned to romp with her little tyrant. She begged for a moment—it was granted; but Marian still plied her needle: a blow on her face was the rebuke her tardiness met with, and the poor girl’s tears followed it. No ways softened, ‘her dear Missee’ cuffed and kicked her, till I interposed, and, with a sorrowful tone, said, ‘I must leave you, my child, you will make me sick and sorrowful, for I cannot love you.’ The storm was allayed; and taking Marian by the hand, she left me without speaking a single 18word. In a short time she returned, leading the poor girl laden with toys and her finery. ‘Marian loves me now,’

said she, creeping to my knees, ‘she has kissed me—will not you? I am sorry. I will be good, if it will make you well;—do smile, only smile once.’ Such is the child that claims your forming hand: have pity on her, Madam; use your influence over her father, urge him to perform his duty; every day she remains with him will render your task of love and friendship more difficult.”

This letter produced its desired effect; for, some months after its date, the following one appears to have been addressed to Mr. Hardcastle, from Mr. Cowley. As it will serve to ascertain his character, I shall transcribe its contents.—“Your wife has conquered, my dear friend. I have at length summoned up resolution to be a parent and a man. Good God! thou 19only knowest the price of the sacrifice to my duty! and thou only canst render it propitious to thy creature! But I will still hope in thy mercies. My child, Hardcastle, has been spared hitherto; she has happily encountered, not only the diseases peculiar to her tender age, but also the small-pox, which she has had, since our last dispatches, in the mildest form, and is now in perfect health. To what purpose has she been thus preserved? Not to be the victim of my doating fondness. My promise to her dear mother shall be fulfilled, and whilst it is yet time to save her from a father’s weakness. Captain Vernon, who loved her mother, and whose attachment to this child is little less than my own, shall be entrusted with her;

and Mrs. Allen will attend her. You may expect to see her with the next Jamaica fleet.”

“I have only to observe to you, as I 20have done to Counsellor Steadman, that I consider Mrs. Dawson’s legacy to my daughter, as totally remote from any calculations of her expences as my child; I shall never interfere with him as to the disposal of the money. I have long since forgotten Mrs. Dawson’s weaknesses and prejudices, nor did I need any inducement for my conduct of the nature she supposed. My wife’s dying request in regard to her infant, shall be religiously observed; and it is an unspeakable consolation to me to know, that the friend whom she appointed as her substitute, is as willing to engage in the duty as she expected. I shall remit you annually eight hundred per annum for her and Mrs. Allen’s maintenance under your roof. You know that this excellent woman is bound by her engagement to her mother to serve her. You know the station she has filled in my house since the death of my wife. Mrs. Hardcastle is prepared to 21meet in her a valuable addition to her family: she will not be disappointed; for her modest worth will ensure her a welcome

in any abode where virtue dwells.

“I entreat you, my dear Hardcastle, to curb your disinterested spirit, whilst I indulge my provident one, as it relates to my child’s accommodations. She must have a nursing maid, she will need a carriage; and I have explained myself fully to the counsellor on these points. In regard to my expectations as these relate to my child’s advantage, they are incalculable! I fondly hope when we meet again to behold her adorned in the attractive graces of modesty and gentleness, rich in piety, and principled in duty: such was her mother, and to Mrs. Hardcastle was she indebted for the example she rivalled. Forget not to prepare her for wealth, she will be probably amongst the number of those whom the world envies. Teach her, 22Hardcastle, the duties annexed to wealth, and give her those treasures that will amply supply the want of gold.”