JANE TALBOT.

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To Henry Colden.
Philadelphia, Monday Evening, October 3.

I am very far from being a wise girl. So conscience
whispers me, and though vanity is eager to refute the charge,
I must acknowledge that she is seldom successful. Conscience
tells me it is folly, it is guilt to wrap up my existence
in one frail mortal; to employ all my thoughts, to lavish all
my affections upon one object; to dote upon a human being,
who, as such, must be the heir of many frailties, and whom
I know to be not without his faults; to enjoy no peace but
in his presence, to be grateful for his permission to sacrifice
fortune, ease, life itself for his sake.

From the humiliation produced by these charges, vanity
endeavors to relieve me by insinuating that all happiness
springs from affection; that nature ordains no tie so strong
as that between the sexes; that to love without bounds is to
confer bliss not only on ourselves but on another; that conjugal
affection is the genuine sphere not only of happiness but
duty.

Besides, my heart will not be persuaded but that its fondness
for you is nothing more than simple justice. Ought I
not to love excellence, and does my poor imagination figure
to itself any thing in human shape more excellent than thou?

But yet there are bounds beyond which passion cannot
go without counteracting its own purposes. I am afraid
mine goes beyond those bounds. So far as it produces

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rapture, it deserves to be cherished, but when productive of
impatience, repining, agony, on occasions too that are slight,
trivial, or unavoidable, 'tis surely culpable.

Methinks, my friend, I would not have had thee for a
witness of the bitterness, the tumult of my feelings, during
this day; ever since you left me. You cannot conceive
any thing more forlorn, more vacant, more anxious than
this weak heart has been and still is. I was terrified at my
own sensations, and, with my usual folly began to construe
them into omens of evil; so inadequate, so disproportioned
was my distress to the cause that produced it.

Ah! my friend! a weak—very weak creature is thy
Jane. From excess of love arises that weakness; that must
be its apology with thee, for, in thy mind, my fondness, I
know, needs an apology.

Shall I scold you a little? I have held in the rein a long
time, but my overflowing heart must have relief, and I shall
find a sort of comfort in chiding you. Let me chide you
then, for coldness, for insensibility—but no; I will not. Let
me enjoy the rewards of self-denial, and forbearance, and
seal up my accusing lips. Let me forget the coldness of
your last salute, your ill-concealed effort to disengage yourself
from my foolishly fond arms. You have got at your
journey's end, I hope. Farewell,

To Henry Colden.
Tuesday Morning, October 4.

I must write to you, you said, frequently, and copiously;
you did not mean, I suppose that I should always be scribbling,
but I cannot help it. I can do nothing but converse with
you. When present, my prate is incessant; when absent,
I can prate to you with as little intermission; for the pen, used
as carelessly and thoughtlessly as I use it, does but prate.

Besides, I have not forgotten my promise. 'Tis true the
story you wished me to give you, is more easily

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communicated by the pen, than by the lips. I admit your claim to
be acquainted with all the incidents of my life, be they momentous
or trivial. I have often told you that the retrospect
is very mournful, but that ought not to prevent me from
making it, when so useful a purpose as that of thoroughly
disclosing to you the character of one, on whom your future
happiness is to depend, will be effected by it. I am not
surprised that calumny has been busy with my life, and am
very little anxious to clear myself from unjust charges,
except to such as you.

At this moment, I may add, my mood is not unfriendly
to the undertaking. I can do nothing in your absence but
write to you. To write what I have, ten thousand times,
spoken, and which can be perfectly understood only when
accompanied by looks and accents, seems absurd. Especially
while there is a subject, on which my tongue can never
expatiate, but on which it is necessary that you should know
all that I can tell you.

The prospect of filling up this interval with the relation of
the most affecting parts of my life, somewhat reconciled me
to your necessary absence, yet I know my heart will droop.
Even this preparation, to look back, makes me shudder
already. Some reluctance to recall tragical or humiliating
scenes, and by thus recalling, to endure them, in some sense,
a second time, I must expect to feel.

But let me lay down the pen for the present. Let me
take my favorite and lonely path, and by a deliberate review
of the past, refresh my memory and methodize my recollections.
Adieu till I return.

To Henry Colden.
Tuesday Morning, 11 o'clock.

I am glad I left not word how soon I meant to return, for
here has been, it seems, during my short absence, a pair of

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gossips. They have just gone, lamenting the disappointment,
and leaving me a world of complimentary condolences.

I shall take care to prevent future interruption by shutting
up the house and retiring to my chamber, where I am resolved
to remain till I have fully disburthened my heart.
Disburthen it, said I? I shall load it, I fear, with sadness,
but I will not regret an undertaking which my duty to you
makes indispensable.

One of the earliest incidents that I remember, is an expostulation
with my father. I saw several strange people
enter the chamber where my mother was. Somewhat suggested
to my childish fancy that these strangers meant to
take her away, and that I should never see her again. My
terror was violent, and I thought of nothing but seizing her
gown or hand, and holding her back from the rude assailants.
My father detained me in his arms, and endeavored to
sooth my fears, but I would not be appeased. I struggled
and shrieked, and, hearing some movements in my mother's
room, that seemed to betoken the violence I so much dreaded,
I leaped, with a sudden effort, from my father's arms,
but fainted before I reached the door of the room.

This may serve as a specimen of the impetuosity of my
temper. It was always fervent and unruly; unacquainted with
moderation in its attachments, violent in its indignation, and
its enmity, but easily persuaded to pity and forgiveness.

When I recovered from my swoon, I ran to my mother's
room, but she was gone. I rent the air with my cries, and
shocked all about me with importunities to know whither
they had carried her. They had carried her to the grave, and
nothing would content me, but to visit the spot three or four
times a day, and to sit in the room in which she died, in
stupid and mopeful silence all night long.

At this time I was only five years old, an age at which,
in general, a deceased parent is quickly forgotten; but, in
my attachment to my mother, I shewed none of the volatility
of childhood. While she lived, I was never at ease but
when seated at her knee, or with my arms round her neck.
When dead, I cherished her remembrance for years, and
have paid, hundreds of times, the tribute of my tears at the
foot of her grave.

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My brother, who was three years older than myself, behaved
in a very different manner. I used to think the difference
between us was merely that of sex; that every boy
was boisterous, ungrateful, imperious, and inhuman, as
every girl was soft, pliant, affectionate. Time has cured
me of that mistake, and as it has shewn me females, unfeeling
and perverse, so it has introduced me to men full of
gentleness and sensibility. My brother's subsequent conduct
convinced me that he was at all times, selfish and irascible
beyond most other men, and that his ingratitude and
insolence to his mother were only congenial parts of the
character he afterwards displayed at large.

My brother and I passed our infancy in one unintermitted
quarrel. We were never together, but he played
some cruel and mischievous prank, which I never failed to
resent to the utmost of my little power. I soon found that
my tears only increased his exultation, and my complaints
only grieved my mother. I, therefore, gave word for word
and blow for blow, but being always worsted in such conflicts
I shunned him whenever it was possible, and whatever
his malice made me suffer, I endeavored to conceal it
from her.

My mother, on her death-bed, was anxious to see him,
but he had strolled away after some boyish amusement,
with companions as thoughtless as himself. The news of
her death scarcely produced an hour's seriousness. He
made my affliction a topic of sarcasm and contempt.

To soften my grief, my father consented to my living
under the care of her, whom I now call my mother. Mrs.
Fielder was merely the intimate from childhood of my own
mother, with whom, however, since her marriage, contracted
against Mrs. Fielder's inclination and remonstrances,
she had maintained but little intercourse. My mother's
sudden death and my helpless age, awakened all her early
tenderness, and induced her to offer an asylum to me.
Having a considerable fortune and no family, her offer, notwithstanding
ancient jealousies, was readily accepted by my
father.

My new residence was, in many respects, the reverse of
my former one. The treatment I received from my new
parent, without erasing the memory of the old one, quickly

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excited emotions as filial and tender as I had ever experienced.
Comfort and quiet, peace and harmony, obsequious
and affectionate attendants and companions, I had
never been accustomed to under the paternal roof.

From this period till I was nearly sixteen years of age, I
merely paid occasional visits to my father. He loved me
with as much warmth as his nature was capable of feeling,
which I repaid him in gratitude and reverence. I never
remitted my attention to his affairs, and studied his security
and comfort as far as these were within my power.

My brother was not deficient in talents, but he wanted
application. Very early he shewed strong propensities to
active amusements and sensual pleasures. The school and
college were little attended to, and the time that ought
to have been appropriated to books and study, was wasted
in frolics and carousals. As soon as he was able to manage
a gun and a horse, they were procured, and these and the
company to which they introduced him, afforded employment
for all his attention and time.

My father had devoted his early years to the indefatigable
pursuit of gain. He was frugal and abstemious, though
not covetous, and amassed a large property. This property
he intended to divide between his two children, and to
secure my portion to his nephew, whom his parents had
left an orphan in his infancy, and whom my father had taken
and treated as his own child by marrying him to me. This
nephew passed his childhood among us. His temper being
more generous than my brother's, and being taught mutually
to regard each other as destined to a future union, our
intercourse was cordial and affectionate.

We parted at an age at which nothing like passion could
be felt. He went to Europe, in circumstances very favorable
to his improvement, leaving behind him the expectation
of his returning in a few years. Meanwhile, my father
was anxious that we should regard each other, and
maintain a correspondence as persons betrothed. In persons
at our age, this scheme was chimerical. As soon as
I acquired the power of reflection, I perceived the folly of
such premature bonds, and though I did not openly oppose
my father's wishes, held myself entirely free to obey any
new impulse which circumstances might produce. My

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mother, so let me still call Mrs. Fielder, fully concurred in
my views.

You are acquainted, my friend, with many events of my
early life. Most of those not connected with my father and
his nephew, I have often related. At present, therefore, I
shall omit all collateral and contemporary incidents, and
confine myself entirely to those connected with these two
persons.

My father, on the death of his wife, retired from business,
and took a house in an airy and secluded situation.
His household consisted of a housekeeper, and two or three
servants, and apartments were always open for his son.

My brother's temper grew more unmanageable as he increased
in years. My father's views with regard to him
were such as parental foresight and discretion commonly
dictate. He wished him to acquire all possible advantages
of education, and then to betake himself to some liberal
profession, in which he might obtain honor as well as riches.
This sober scheme by no means suited the restless temper
of the youth. It was his maxim that all restraints were
unworthy of a lad of spirit, and that it was far more wise
to spend freely what his father had painfully acquired, than
by the same plodding and toilsome arts, to add to the heap.

I scarcely know how to describe my feelings in relation
to this young man. My affection for him was certainly
without that tenderness which a good brother is sure to excite.
I do not remember a single direct kindness that I ever
received from him, but I remember innumerable ill offices
and contempts. Still there was some inexplicable charm
in the mere tie of kindred, which made me more deplore
his errors, exult in his talents, rejoice in his success, and
take a deeper interest in his concerns than in those of any
other person.

As he advanced in age, I had new cause for my zeal in
his behalf. My father's temper was easy and flexible; my
brother was at once vehement and artful. Frank's arguments
and upbraidings created in his father an unnatural
awe, an apprehension and diffidence in thwarting his wishes
and giving advice, which usually distinguish the filial character.
The youth perceived his advantages, and employed

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them in carrying every point on which his inclination was
set.

For a long time this absurd indulgence was shewn in
allowing his son to employ his time as he pleased; in refraining
from all animadversions on his idleness and dissipation,
and supplying him with a generous allowance of pocket
money. This allowance required now and then to be increased.
Every year and every month, by adding new
sources of expense, added something to the stipend.

My father's revenue was adequate to a very splendid establishment,
but he was accustomed to live frugally, and
thought it wise to add his savings to the principal of his estate.
These savings gradually grew less and less, till at
length my brother's numerous excursions, a French girl
whom he maintained in expensive lodgings, his horses, dogs,
and friends, consumed the whole of it.

I never met my brother but by accident. These interviews
were, for the most part, momentary, either in the
street or at my father's house, but I was too much interested
in all that befel him, not to make myself, by various means,
thoroughly acquainted with his situation.

I had no power to remedy the evil; as my elder brother
and as a man, he thought himself entitled to govern and despise
me. He always treated me as a frivolous girl, with
whom it was waste of time to converse, and never spoke to
me at all except to direct or admonish. Hence I could do
nothing but regret his habits. Their consequences to himself
it was beyond my power to prevent.

For a long time I was totally unaware of the tendencies
of this mode of life. I did not suspect that a brother's passions
would carry him beyond the bound of vulgar prudence,
or induce him to encroach on those funds, from which his
present enjoyments were derived. I knew him to be endowed
with an acute understanding, and imagined that this
would point out, with sufficient clearness, the wisdom of
limiting his expenses to his income.

In my daily conversations with my father, I never voluntarily
introduced Frank as our topic, unless by the harmless
and trite questions of “when was he here?” “where has
he gone?” and the like. We met only by accident, at his
lodgings; when I entered the room where he was, he never

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thought of bestowing more than a transient look on me, just
to know who it was that approached. Circumstances, at
length, however, occurred, which put an end to this state
of neutrality.

I heard, twice or thrice a year, from my cousin Risberg.
One day a letter arrived in which he obscurely intimated
that the failure of remittances from my father, for more
than half a year, had reduced him to great distress. My
father had always taught him to regard himself as entitled
to all the privileges of a son; had sent him to Europe under
express conditions of supplying him with a reasonable stipend,
till he should come of age, at which period it was
concerted that Risberg should return and receive a portion
with me, enabling him to enter advantageously on the profession
of the law, to which he was now training. This stipend
was far from being extravagant; or more than sufficient for
the decent maintenance of a student at the temple, and
Risberg's conduct had always been represented, by those
under whose eye he had been placed, as regular and exemplary.

This intimation surprised me a good deal; I could easily
imagine the embarrassments to which a failure of this kind
must subject a generous spirit, and thought it my duty to
remove them as soon as possible. I supposed that some
miscarriage or delay had happened to the money, and that
my father would instantly rectify any error, or supply any
deficiency. I hastened, therefore, to his house, with the
opened letter. I found him alone, and immediately showed
him that page of the letter which related to this affair. I
anxiously watched his looks while he read it.

I observed marks of great surprise in his countenance,
and as soon as he laid down the letter, I began to expatiate
on the inconveniences which Risberg had suffered. He
listened to me, in gloomy silence, and when I had done,
made no answer but by a deep sigh and downcast look.

Pray, dear sir, continued I, what could have happened
to the money which you sent? You had not heard, I suppose,
of its miscarriage.

No, I had not heard of it before. I will look into it, and
see what can be done. Here further conversation was suspended
by a visitant. I waited with impatience till the guest

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had retired, but he had scarcely left the room when my
brother entered. I supposed my father would have immediately
introduced this subject, and as my brother usually
represented him in every affair of business, and could of
course throw some light upon the present mystery, I saw
no reason why I should be excluded from a conference in
which I had some interest, and was, therefore, somewhat
surprised when my father told me he had no need of my
company for the rest of the day, and wished to be alone
with Francis. I rose, instantly to depart, but said, pray, sir,
tell my brother what has happened. Perhaps he can explain
the mystery.

What, cried my brother, with a laugh, has thy silly brain
engendered a mystery which I am to solve? Thou mayest
save thyself the trouble of telling me, for, really, I have no
time to throw away on thee or thy mysteries.

There was always something in my brother's raillery
which my infirm soul could never support. I ought always
to have listened and replied without emotion, but a fluttering
indignation usually deprived me of utterance. I found my
best expedient was flight, when I could fly, and silence
when obliged to remain; I therefore made no answer to
this speech, but hastily withdrew.

Next morning, earlier than usual, I went to my father.
He was thoughtful and melancholy. I introduced the subject
that was nearest my heart, but he answered me reluctantly,
and in general terms, that he had examined the affair, and
would take the necessary measures.

But, dear sir, said I, how did it happen? How did the
money miscarry?

Never mind, said he, a little peevishly, we shall see things
put to rights, I tell you, and let that satisfy you.

I am glad of it. Poor fellow! Young, generous, disdaining
obligation, never knowing the want of money, how must
he have felt on being left quite destitute, pennyless, running
in arrear for absolute necessaries; in debt to a good woman
who lived by letting lodgings, and who dunned him, after so
long a delay, in so indirect and delicate a manner.—What
must he have suffered, accustomed to regard you as a
father, and knowing you had no personal calls for your large
revenue, and being so solemnly enjoined by you not to stint

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himself in any rational pleasure, for you would be always
ready to exceed your stated remittances, when there should
be just occasion. Poor fellow! my heart bleeds for him.
But how long will it be before he hears from you? His letter
is dated seven weeks ago. It will be another six or
eight weeks before he receives an answer, at least three
months in all, and during all this time he will be without
money. But perhaps he will receive it sooner.

My father frequently changed countenance, and shewed
great solicitude. I did not wonder at this, as Risberg had
always been loved as a son. A little consideration, therefore,
ought to have showed me the impropriety of thus descanting
on an evil without remedy; yet I still persisted. At
length, I asked to what causes I might ascribe his former
disappointments, in the letter to Risberg, which I proposed
writing immediately.

This question threw him into much confusion. At last
he said, peevishly, “I wish, Jane, you would leave these
matters to me; I don't like your interference.”

This rebuke astonished me. I had sufficient discernment
to suspect something extraordinary, but was for a few minutes
quite puzzled and confounded. He had generally
treated me with tenderness and even deference, and I saw
nothing peculiarly petulant or improper in what I had said.

“Dear sir, forgive me, you know I write to my cousin,
and as he stated his complaints to me, it will be natural to
allude to them in my answer to his letter, but I will only tell
him that all difficulties are removed, and refer him to your
letter for further satisfaction; for you will no doubt write to
him.”

I wish you would drop the subject. If you write, you
may tell him—but tell him what you please, or rather it
would be best to say nothing on the subject—but drop the
subject, I beseech you.

Certainly, if the subject displeases you, I will drop it.—
Here a pause of mutual embarrassment succeeded, which
was, at length, broken by my father.

I will speak to you tomorrow, Jane, on this subject. I
grant your curiosity is natural, and will then gratify it. Tomorrow,
I may possibly explain why Risberg has not

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received what, I must own, he had a right to expect. We'll
think no more of it at present, but play a game at draughts.

I was impatient, you may be sure, to have a second
meeting. Next day my father's embarrassment and perplexity
was very evident. It was plain that he had not forgot
the promised explanation, but that something made it a
very irksome task. I did not suffer matters to remain long
in suspense, but asked him, in direct terms, what had caused
the failure of which my cousin complained, and whether he
was hereafter to receive the stipulated allowance?

He answered hesitatingly, and with downcast eyes—why—
he did not know. He was sorry. It had not been
his fault. To say truth, Francis had received the usual
sums to purchase the bills. Till yesterday, he imagined
they had actually been purchased and sent. He always
understood them to have been so from Francis. He had
mentioned, after seeing Risberg's complaining letter, he had
mentioned the affair to Francis. Francis had confessed
that he had never sent the bills. His own necessities compelled
him to apply the money given him for this purpose
to his own use. To be sure, Risberg was his nephew; had
always depended on him for his maintenance, but somehow
or another the wants of Francis had increased very much
of late years, and swallowed up all that he could rap and
rend without encroaching on his principal. Risberg was but
his nephew, Frank was his own and only son. To be sure,
he once thought that he had enough for his three children,
but times, it seems, were altered. He did not spend on his
own wants more than he used to do; but Frank's expenses
were very great, and swallowed up every thing. To be
sure, he pitied the young man, but he was enterprising and
industrious, and could, no doubt, shift for himself; yet he
would be quite willing to assist him, were it in his power,
but really it was no longer in his power.

I was, for a time, at a loss for words to express my surprise
and indignation at my brother's unfeeling selfishness. I could
no longer maintain my usual silence on his conduct, but inveighed
against it, as soon as I could find breath, with the
utmost acrimony.

My father was embarrassed, confounded, grieved. He
sighed, and even wept.—Francis, said he, at last, to be

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sure, has not acted quite right. But what can done? Is
he not my child, and if he has faults, is he altogether without
virtue? No, if he did not find a lenient and forgiving
judge in me, his father, in whom could he look for one.
Besides, the thing is done, and therefore without remedy.
This year's income is nearly exhausted, and I really fear
before another quarter comes round, I shall want myself.

I again described, in as strong and affecting terms as I
could, Risberg's expectations and disappointment, and insinuated
to him, that, in a case like this, there could be no impropriety
in selling a few shares of his bank stock.

This hint was extremely displeasing, but I urged him
so vehemently that he said, Francis will perhaps consent to
it; I will try him this evening.

Alas! said I, my brother will never consent to such a
measure. If he has found occasion for the money you
had designed for my poor cousin, and of all your current
income, his necessities will not fail to lay hold of
this.

Very true, (glad, it seemed of an excuse for not thwarting
his son's will,) Frank will never consent. So you see,
it will be impossible to do any thing.

I was going to propose that he should execute this business
without my brother's knowledge, but instantly perceived
the impossibility of that. My father had for some
years devolved on his son the management of all his affairs,
and habit had made him no longer qualified to act for himself.
Frank's opinion of what was proper to be done, was
infallible, and absolute in all cases.

I returned home with a very sad heart. I was deeply
afflicted with this new instance of my brother's selfishness
and of my father's infatuation—poor Risberg! said I,
what will become of thee. I love thee as my brother. I
feel for thy distresses. Would to heaven I could remove
them. And cannot I remove them? As to contending
with my brother's haughtiness in thy favor, that is a hopeless
task. As to my father, he will never submit to my
guidance.

After much fruitless meditation, it occurred to me that I
might supply Risberg's wants from my own purse. My
mother's indulgence to me was without bounds. She openly

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considered and represented me as the heiress of her fortunes,
and confided fully in my discretion. The chief uses
I had hitherto found for money were charitable ones. I
was her almoner. To stand in the place of my father,
with respect to Risberg, and supply his customary stipend
from my own purse, was an adventurous undertaking for a
young creature like me. It was impossible to do this clandestinely;
at least, without the knowledge and consent of
Mrs. Fielder. I therefore resolved to declare what had
happened, and request her counsel. An opportunity suitable
to this did not immediately offer.

Next morning, as I was sitting alone in the parlor, at
work, my brother came in. Never before had I received a
visit from him. My surprise, therefore, was not small.
I started up with the confusion of a stranger, and requested
him, very formally, to be seated.

I instantly saw in his looks marks of displeasure, and
though unconscious of meriting it, my trepidation increased.
He took a seat without speaking, and after some pause addressed
me thus.

So girl, I hear that you have been meddling with things
that do not concern you; sowing dissension between the
old man and me; presuming to dictate to us how we are
to manage our own property. He retailed to me, last night,
a parcel of impertinence with which you had been teazing
him, about this traveller Risberg, assuming, long before
your time, the province of his care taker. Why, do you
think, continued he, contemptuously, he'll ever return to
marry you? Take my word for't, he's no such fool. I
know that he never will.

The infirmity of my temper, has been a subject of eternal
regret to me; yet it never displayed itself with much
force, except under the lash of my brother's sarcasms.
My indignation on those occasions had a strange mixture of
fear in it, and both together suffocated my speech. I made
no answer to this boisterous arrogance.

But come, continued he, pray let us hear your very wise
objections to a man's applying his own property to his own
use. To rob himself, and spend the spoil upon another is
thy sage maxim, it seems, for which, thou deservest to be
dubbed a she Solomon, but let's see if thou art as cunning

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in defending as in coining maxims. Come there is a chair;
lay it on the floor, and suppose it a bar or rostrum, which
thou wilt, and stand behind it, and plead the cause of foolish
prodigality against common sense.

I endeavored to muster up a little spirit, and replied, I
could not plead before a more favorable judge. An appeal
to my brother on behalf of foolish prodigality, could hardly
fail of success. Poor common sense must look for justice
at some other tribunal.

His eyes darted fire. Come, girl, none of your insolence.
I did not come here to be insulted.

No, you rather came to commit than to receive an
insult.

Paltry distinguisher! to jest with you, and not chide you
for your folly, is to insult you, is it? Leave off romance, and
stick to common sense, and you will never receive any
thing but kindness from me. But come, if I must humor
you, let me hear how you have found yourself out to be
wiser than your father and brother.

I do not imagine, brother, any good will result from our
discussing this subject. Education, or sex, if you please, has
made a difference in our judgments, which argument will
never reconcile.

With all my heart. A truce everlasting let there be, but
in truth, I merely came to caution you against intermeddling
in my affairs, to tell you to beware of sowing jealousy and
ill will between the old man and me. Prate away on other
subjects as much as you please, but on this affair of Risberg's,
hold your tongue for the future.

I thank you for your brotherly advice, but I am afraid I
never shall bring myself to part with the liberty of prating
on every subject that pleases me; at least, my forbearance
will flow from my own discretion, and not from the imperious
prohibition of another.

He laughed. Well said, oddity. I am not displeased to
see you act with some spirit; but I repeat my charge; be
quiet. Your interference will do no good.

Indeed, I firmly believe that it will not; and that will be
a motive for my silence, that shall always have its due

[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]

weight with me. Risberg, I see, must look elsewhere for
a father and a brother.

Poor thing! do; put its finger in its eye and weep. Ha!
ha! ha! poor Risberg! how would he laugh to see these
compassionate tears. It seems he has written in a very
doleful strain to thee; talked very pathetically about his
debts, to his laundress and his landlady. I have a good
mind to leave thee in this amiable ignorance, but I'll prove
for once a kind brother, by telling you that Risberg is a profligate
and prodigal; that he neglects every study, but that
of dice; that this is the true reason why I have stood in
the way of the old man's bounty to him. I have unquestionable
proofs of his worthlessness, and see no reason to
throw away money upon London prostitutes and gamblers.
I never mentioned this to the old man, because I would not
needlessly distress him, for I know he loves Jack at least as
well as his own children. I tell it you to justify my conduct,
and hope that I may for once trust to your good
sense not to disclose it to your father.

My heart could not restrain its indignation at these words.

'Tis false, I exclaimed, 'tis a horrid calumny against
one who cannot defend himself; I will never believe the
depravity of my absent brother, till I have as good proof of
it, as my present brother has given me of his.

Bravo! my girl, who could have thought you could
give the lie with such a grace? why don't you spit in the
face of the vile calumniator?—But I am not angry with you,
Jane; I only pity you; yet I'll not leave you before I tell
you my mind. I have no doubt Risberg means to return.
He knows on what footing you are with Mrs. Fielder, and
will take care to return; but, mind me; Jane, you shall
never throw yourself and your fortune away upon Risberg,
while I have a voice or an arm to prevent it; and now—
good bye to you.

So ended this conversation. He left me in a hurry and
confusion of spirits not to be described. For a time I felt
nothing but indignation and abhorrence for what, I thought,
a wicked and cruel calumny, but in proportion as I regained
my tranquillity, my reflections changed. Did not my brother
speak truth? Was there not something in his manner
very different from that of an impostor? How unmoved

[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]

was he by the doubts which I ventured to insinuate of his
truth! Alas! I fear 'tis too true.

I told you before that we parted at an age when love
could not be supposed to exist between us. If I know
myself, I felt no more for him than for a mere brother; but
then I felt all the solicitude and tenderness of a sister. I
knew not scarcely how to act in my present situation; but at
length determined to disclose the whole affair to my mother.
With her approbation I enclosed an order on a London merchant
in a letter to this effect:

“I read your letter my friend, with the sentiments of
one who is anxious for your happiness. The difficulties
you describe, will, I am afraid, be hereafter prevented only
by your own industry. My father's and brother's expenses
consume the whole of that income in which you have
hitherto had a share, and I am obliged to apprize you that
the usual remittances will no longer be made. You are
now advancing to manhood, and, I hope will soon be able
to subsist upon the fruits of your own learning and industry.

“I have something more to say to you, which I scarcely
know how to communicate. Somebody here has loaded
your character with very heavy imputations. You are said
to be addicted to gaming, sensuality and the lowest vices.
How much grief this intelligence has given to all who love
you, you will easily imagine. To find you innocent of these
charges would free my heart from the keenest solicitude it
has hitherto felt. I leave to you the proper means of doing
this, if you can do it, without violation of truth.

“I am very imperfectly acquainted with your present
views. You originally designed, after having completed
your academical and legal education, to return to America.
If this should still be your intention, the enclosed will obviate
some of your pecuniary embarrassments, and my
mother enjoins me to tell you that, as you may need a few
months longer to make the necessary preparations for returning,
you may draw on her for an additional sum of five
hundred dollars. Adieu.”

My relation to Risberg was peculiarly delicate. His
more lively imagination had deceived him already into a belief
that he was in love. At least, in all his letters, he
seemed fond of recognising that engagement which my

[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]

father had established between us, and exaggerated the
importance to his happiness, of my regard. Experience
had already taught me to set their just value on such professions.
I knew that men are sanguine and confident, and
that the imaginary gracefulness of passion naturally prompts
them to make their words outstrip their feelings. Though
eager in their present course, it is easy to divert them from
it, and most men of an ardent temper can be dying of love
for half a dozen different women in the course of a year.

Women feel deeply, but boast not. The supposed indecency
of forwardness makes their words generally fall short
of their sentiments, and passion, when once thoroughly imbibed,
is as hard to be escaped from, as it was difficultly
acquired. I felt no passion, and endeavored not to feel
any for Risberg, till circumstances should make it proper
and discreet. My attachment was to his interest, his happiness,
and not to his person, and to convince him of this,
was extremely difficult. To persuade him that his freedom
was absolute and entire; that no tie of honor or compassion
bound him to me, but that, on the contrary, to dispose of
his affections elsewhere, would probably be most conducive
to the interests of both.

These cautious proceedings were extremely unpleasing
to my cousin, who pretended to be deeply mortified at any
thing betokening indifference, and terribly alarmed at the
possibility of losing me. On the whole, I confess to you,
that I thought my cousin and I were destined for each other,
and felt myself, if I may so speak, not in love with him,
but prepared, at the bidding of discretion, to love him.

My brother's report, therefore, greatly distressed me.
Should my cousin prove a reprobate, no power on earth
should compel me to be his. If his character should prove
blameless, and my heart raise no obstacles, at a proper
time, I should act with absolute independence of my brother's
inclinations. The menace, that while he had voice
or arm he would hinder my choice of Risberg, made the
less impression as it related to an event, necessarily distant,
and which probably might never happen.

The next letter from Risberg put an end to all further
intercourse between us. It informed us of his being on
the eve of marriage into an opulent family. It expressed

[figure description] Page 021.[end figure description]

much indignation at the calumny which had prevailed with
my father to withdraw his protection; declared that he
deemed himself by no means equitably or respectfully
treated by him; expressed gratitude to my mother for the
supply she had remitted, which had arrived very seasonably
and prevented him from stooping to humiliations which
might have injured his present happy prospects; and promised
to repay the sum as soon as possible. This promise
was punctually performed, and Risberg assured me that he
was as happy as a lovely and rich wife could make him.

I was satisfied with this result, and bestowed no further
thought on that subject. From morn to midnight have I
written, and have got but little way in my story. Adieu.

To Henry Colden.
Wednesday Morning, October 5.

I continued my visits to my father as usual. Affairs
proceeded nearly in their old channel. Frank and I never
met but by accident, and our interviews began and ended
merely with a good morrow. I never mentioned Risberg's
name to my father, and observed that he as studiously
avoided lighting on the same topic.

One day a friend chanced to mention the greatness of my
fortune, and congratulated me on my title to two such
large patrimonies as those of Mrs. Fielder and my father.
I was far from viewing my condition in the same light with
my friend. My mother's fortune was indeed large and permanent,
but my claim to it was merely through her voluntary
favor, of which a thousand accidents might bereave me.
As to my father's property, Frank had taken care very early
to suggest to him that I was amply provided for in Mrs.
Fielder's good graces, and that it was equitable to bequeath
the whole inheritance to him. This disposition indeed was
not made without my knowledge; but though I was sensible
that I held of my maternal friend but a very precarious

[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]

tenure; that my character and education were likely to secure
a much wiser and more useful application of money
than my brother's habits, it was impossible for me openly to
object to this arrangement; so that, as things stood, though
the world, in estimating my merits, never forgot that my
father was rich, and that Frank and I were his only children,
I had in reality no prospect of inheriting a farthing from
him.

Indeed, I always entertained a presentiment that I should
one day be poor, and have to rely for subsistence on my
own labor. With this persuasion, I frequently busied my
thoughts in imagining the most lucrative and decent means
of employing my ingenuity, and directed my inquiries to
many things of little or no use, but on the irksome supposition,
that I should one day live by my own labor. But this
is a digression.

In answer to my friend's remarks, I observed that my
father's property was much less considerable than some
people imagined, that time made no accession to it, and
that my brother's well known habits, were likely to reduce
it much below its present standard, long before it would
come to a division.

There, Jane, you are mistaken, said my friend, or rather
you are willing to mislead me; for you must know that,
though your father appears to be idle, yet your brother is
speculating with his money at an enormous rate.

And pray, said I, for I did not wish to betray all the surprise
that this intelligence gave me, in what speculations is
he engaged?

How should I tell you, who scarcely know the meaning
of the word. I only heard my father say that young Talbot,
though seemingly swallowed up in pleasure, knew how
to turn a penny as well as another, and was employing his
father's wealth in speculation; that, I remember, was his
word, but I never, for my part, took the trouble to inquire
what speculation meant. I know only that it is some hazardous
or complicated way of getting money.

These hints, though the conversation passed immediately
to other subjects, made a deep impression on my mind.
My brother's character, I knew to be incompatible with any
sort of industry, and had various reasons for believing my

[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]

father's property to be locked up in bank stock. If my friend's
story were true, there was a new instance of the influence
which Frank had acquired over his father. I had very indistinct
ideas of speculation, but was used to regard it as
something very hazardous, and almost criminal.

I told my mother all my uneasiness. She thought it
worth while to take some means of getting at the truth, in
conversation with my father. Agreeably to her advice, on
my next visit, I opened the subject, by repeating exactly
what I heard. I concluded by asking if it were true.

Why yes, said he, it is partly true, I must confess. Some
time ago Frank laid his projects before me, and they appeared
so promising and certain of success, that I ventured
to give him possession of a large sum.

And what scheme, sir, was it, if I may venture to ask?

Why child, these are subjects so much out of thy way,
that thou wouldst hardly comprehend any explanation that
I could give.

Perhaps so; but what success, dear sir, have you met
with?

Why I can't but say, that affairs have not been quite as
expeditious in their progress as I had reason, at first, to expect.
Unlooked for delays and impediments will occur in
the prosecution of the best schemes, and these, I must own,
have been well enough accounted for.

But, dear sir, the scheme I doubt not was very beneficial
that induced you to hazard your whole fortune. I thought
you had absolutely withdrawn yourself from all the hazards
and solicitudes of business.

Why, indeed, I had so, and should never have engaged
again in them, of my own accord. Indeed, I trouble not
myself with any details at present. I am just as much at
my ease as I used to be. I leave every thing to Frank.

But sir, the hazard; the uncertainty of all projects. Would
you expose yourself at this time of life, to the possibility of
being reduced to distress. And had you not enough already.

Why what you say, Jane, is very true; these things did
occur to me, and they strongly disinclined me, at first, from
your brother's proposals; but, I don't know how it was, he
made out the thing to be so very advantageous; the

[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]

success of it so infallible; and his own wants were so numerous
that my whole income was insufficient to supply them; the
Lord knows how it has happened. In my time, I could
live upon a little. Even with a wife and family; my
needs did not require a fourth of the sum that Frank, without
wife or child, contrives to spend, yet I can't object neither.
He makes it out that he spends no more than his
rank in life, as he calls it, indispensably requires. Rather
than encroach upon my funds, and the prospects of success
being so very flattering, and Frank so very urgent and so
very sanguine, whose own interest it is to be sure of his
footing, I even, at last, consented.

But I hope, dear sir, your prudence provided in some
degree against the possibility of failure. No doubt, you reserved
something which might serve as a stay to your old
age in case this hopeful project miscarried. Absolutely to
hazard all on the faith of any project whatever, was unworthy
of one of your experience and discretion.

My father, Henry, was a good man. Humane, affectionate,
kind, and of strict integrity, but I scarcely need to
add, after what I have already related, that his understanding
was far from being vigorous, or his temper firm. His
foibles, indeed, acquired strength as he advanced in years,
while his kindness and benevolence remained undiminished.

His acquiescence in my brother's schemes can hardly be
ranked with follies; you, who know what scheme it was,
who know the intoxicating influence of a specious project,
and especially, the wonderful address and plausibility of
Catling, the adventurer, who was my brother's prime minister
and chief agent in that ruinous transaction, will not consider
their adopting the phantom as any proof of the folly of
either father or son. But let me return. To my compliment
to his experience and discretion, my father replied—
why, truly, I hardly know how it may turn out in the long
run. At first, indeed, I only consented to come down with
a few thousands, the total loss of which would not break my
heart; but this, it seems, though it was all they at first demanded,
did not prove quite sufficient. Some debts they
were obliged to contract, to no great amount, indeed, and
these must be paid or the scheme relinquished. Having

[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]

gone so far into the scheme it was absurd to let a trifle stop
me. I must own, had I foreseen all the demands that have
been made, from time to time, I should never have engaged
in it, but I have been led on from one step to another, till I
fear, it would avail me nothing to hesitate or hold back; and
Frank's representations are so very plausible!

Does your whole subsistence then, my dear sir, depend
on the success of this scheme? Suppose it should utterly
fail, what will be the consequences to yourself.

Fail! That is impossible. It cannot fail, but through
want of money, and I am solemnly assured that no more
will be necessary.

But how often, sir, has this assurance been given? No
doubt with as much solemnity the first time as the last.

My father began to grow impatient—It is useless, Jane,
to start difficulties and objections now. It is too late to go
back, even if I were disinclined to go forward, and I have no
doubt of ultimate success. Be a good girl, and you shall
come in for a share of the profit. Mrs. Fielder and I, between
us, will make you the richest heiress in America.
Let that consideration reconcile you to the scheme.

I could not but smile at this argument. I well knew that
my brother's rapacity was not to be satisfied with millions.
To sit down and say, “I have enough,” was utterly incompatible
with his character. I dropped the conversation for
the present.

My thoughts were full of uneasiness. The mere sound
of the word “project,” alarmed me. I had little desire of
knowing the exact nature of the scheme, being nowise
qualified to judge of its practicability; but a scheme in
which my brother was the agent, in which my father's
whole property was hazarded, and which appeared, from
the account I had just heard, at least, not to have fulfilled
the first expectations, could not be regarded with tranquillity.

I took occasion to renew the subject with my father, some
time after this. I could only deal in general observations
on the imprudence of putting independence and subsistence
to hazard; though the past was not to be recalled, yet the
future was his own, and it would not be unworthy of him to
act with caution. I was obliged to mingle this advice with

[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]

much foreign matter, and convey it in the most indirect and
gentle terms. His pride was easily offended at being thought
to want the counsel of a girl.

He replied to my remarks with confidence, that no farther
demand would be made upon him. The last sum was
given with extreme reluctance, and nothing but the positive
assurance that it would absolutely be the last, had prevailed
with him.

Suppose, sir, said I, what you have already given should
prove insufficient. Suppose some new demand should be
made upon you.

I cannot suppose that, after so many solemn and positive
assurances.

But were not assurances as positive and solemn on every
former occasion as the last.

Why, yes, I must own they were, but new circumstances
arose that could not be foreseen.

And, dear sir, may not new circumstances arise hereafter
that could not be foreseen.

Nay, nay, (with some impatience) I tell you there cannot
be any.

I said no more on this subject at this time, but my father,
notwithstanding the confidence he expressed, was far from
being at ease.

One day I found him in great perturbation. I met my
brother, who was going out as I entered, and suspected the
cause of his disquiet. He spoke less than usual, and sighed
deeply. I endeavored, by various means, to prevail on him
to communicate his thoughts, and, at last succeeded. My
brother, it seems, had made a new demand upon his purse,
and he had been brought reluctantly, to consent to raise the
necessary sum by a mortgage on his house, the only real
property he possessed. My brother had gone to procure a
lender and prepare the deeds.

I was less surprised at this intelligence than grieved. I
thought I saw my father's ruin was inevitable, and knew not
how to prevent or procrastinate it. After a long pause, I
ventured to insinuate that, as the thing was yet to be done,
as there was still time for deliberation—

No, no, interrupted he, I must go on. It is too late to
repent. Unless new funds are supplied, all that we have

[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]

hitherto done will go for nothing, and Frank assures me that
one more sacrifice, and all will be well.

Alas! sir, are you still deceived by that language? Can
you still listen to assurances, which experience has so often
shown to be fallacious. I know nothing of this fine project,
but I can see, too clearly, that unless you hold your hand
you will be undone. Would to heaven you would hesitate
a moment.—I said a great deal more to the same purpose,
and was at length interrupted by a message from my brother,
who desired to see me a few minutes in the parlor below.
Though at a loss as to what could occasion such an unusual
summons, I hastened down.

I found my brother with a strange mixture of pride, perplexity
and solicitude in his looks. His “how d'ye” was
delivered in a graver tone than common, and he betrayed a
disposition to conciliate my good will, far beyond what I had
ever witnessed before. I waited with impatience to hear
what he had to communicate.

At last, with many pauses and much hesitation, he said;
Jane, I suppose your legacy is untouched. Was it two or
three thousand Mrs. Mathews put you down for in her will?

The sum was three thousand dollars. You know that,
though it was left entirely at my own disposal, yet the bequest
was accompanied with advice to keep it unimpaired
till I should want it for my own proper subsistence. On
that condition I received, and on that condition shall keep it.

I am glad of it with all my heart, replied he, with affected
vivacity. I was afraid you had spent it by this time on
dolls, trinkets, and babythings. The sum is entire you say?
In your drawer? I am surprised you could resist the temptation
to spend it. I wonder nobody thought of robbing you.

You cannot suppose, brother, I would keep that sum in
my possession. You know it was in bank at my Aunt's
death, and there it has remained.

At what bank pr'ythee?

I told him.

Well, I am extremely glad thou hadst wit enough to keep
it snug, for now the time has come to put it to some use.
My father and I have a scheme on foot by which we shall
realize immense profit. The more engines we set to work,
the greater and more speedy will be the ultimate advantage.

[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]

It occurred to me that you had some money, and that, unless
it were better employed, it would be but justice to allow you
to throw it into stock. If, therefore, you are willing, it shall
be done. What say you, Jane?

This proposal was totally unexpected. I harbored not
a moment's doubt as to the conduct it became me to pursue,
but how to declare my resolutions, or state my reasons for
declining his offer, I knew not.

At last, I stammered out, that, my aunt had bequeathed
me this money, with views as to the future disposition of it,
from which I did not think myself at liberty to swerve.

And pray, said he, with some heat, what were these profound
views?

They were simple and obvious views. She knew my
sex and education laid me under peculiar difficulties as to
subsistence. As affairs then stood, there was little danger
of my ever being reduced to want or dependence, but still
there was a possibility of this. To insure me against this
possible evil, she left me this sum, to be used only for subsistence,
and when I should be deprived of all other means.

Go on, said my brother. Repeat the clause in which
she forbids you, if at any time the opportunity should be
offered of doubling or trebling your money, and thereby
effectually securing that independence which she wished to
bequeath to you, to profit by the offer. Pray, repeat that
clause.

Indeed, said I, innocently, there is no such clause.

I am glad to hear it. I was afraid that she was silly
enough to insert some such prohibition. On the contrary,
the scheme I propose to you, will merely execute your
aunt's great purpose. Instead of forbidding, she would
have earnestly exhorted you, had she been a prophetess, as
well as a saint, to close with such an offer as I now make
you, in which, I can assure you, I have your own good as
well as my own in view.

Observing my silent and perplexed air—Why, Jane, said
he, surely you cannot hesitate. What is your objection?
Perhaps you are one of those provident animals who look
before they leap, and having gained a monopoly of wisdom,
will take no scheme upon trust. You must examine with
your own eyes, I will explain the affair to you if you choose,

[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]

and convince you beyond controversy that your money may
be trebled in a twelvemonth.

You know brother, I can be no judge of any scheme that
is at all intricate.

There is no intricacy here. All is perfectly simple and
obvious. I can make the case as plain to you, in three
minutes, as that you have two thumbs. In the English
Cottons, in the first place, there is—

Nay, Brother, it is entirely unnecessary to explain the
scheme. My determinations will not be influenced by a
statement which no mortal eloquence will make intelligible
to me.

Well then, you consent to my proposal?

I would rather you would look elsewhere for a partner in
your undertaking.

The girl's a fool—Why? what do you fear? suspect?
You surely cannot doubt my being faithful to your interest.
You will not insult me so much as to suppose that I would
defraud you of your money. If you do, for, I know, I do
not stand very high in your opinion, if you doubt my honesty,
I will give you the common proofs of having received your
money. Nay, so certain am I of success, that I will give
you my note, bond, what you please; for thrice the amount,
payable in one year.

My brother's bond will be of no use to me; I shall never
go to law with my brother.

Well then, what will satisfy you?

I am easily satisfied, brother. I am contented with things
just as they are. The sum, indeed, is a trifle, but it will
answer all my humble purposes.

Then you will, replied he, struggling with his rage, you
will not agree?

My silence was an unequivocal answer.

You turn out to be what I always thought you, a little,
perverse, stupid, obstinate—but take time (softening his tone,
a little,) take time to consider of it.

Some unaccountable oddity, some freak must have taken
hold of you, just now, and turned your wits out of door. 'Tis
impossible you should deliberately reject such an offer.
Why, girl, three thousand dollars has a great sound, perhaps,

[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]

to your ears, but you'll find it a most wretched pittance, if
you should ever be obliged to live upon it. The interest
would hardly buy you garters and topknots. You live, at
this moment, at the rate of six times the sum. You are
now a wretched and precarious dependant on Mrs. Fielder,
her marriage, (a very likely thing for one of her habits,
fortune and age,) will set you afloat in the world, and then
where will be your port. Your legacy, in any way you can
employ it, will not find you bread. Three times the sum
might answer, perhaps, and that, if you will fall on my
advice, you may now attain in a single twelvemonth. Consider
these things, and I will call on you in the evening for
your final answer.

He was going, but I mustered resolution enough to call
him back. Brother one word. All deliberation in this case
is superfluous. You may think my decision against so plausible
a scheme, perverse and absurd, but, in this instance, I
am fully sensible that I have a right to do as I please, and
shall exert that right whatever censure I may incur.

So, then, you are determined not to part with your paltry
legacy?

I am determined not to part with it.

His eyes sparkled with rage, and stamping on the floor,
he exclaimed—Why then let me tell you, Miss, you are a
damned idiot. I knew you were a fool, but could not believe
that your folly would ever carry you to these lengths—
much more in this style did poor Frank utter on this occasion.
I listened trembling, confounded, vexed; and as
soon as I could recover presence of mind, hastened out of
his presence.

This dialogue occupied all my thoughts during that day
and the following. I was sitting, next evening, at twilight,
pensively, in my own apartment, when, to my infinite surprise,
my brother was announced. At parting with him the
day before, he swore, vehemently, that he would never
see my face again if he could help it. I suppose this resolution
had given way to his anxiety to gain my concurrence
with his schemes, and would fain have shunned a second
interview. This however was impossible. I therefore composed
my tremors as well as I was able, and directed him
be to admitted. The angry emotions of yesterday had

[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]

disappeared from his countenance, and he addressed me, with
his customary carelessness. After a few trifling preliminaries,
he asked me, if I had considered the subject of our
yesterday's conversation. I answered that I had supposed
that subject to have been dismissed forever. It was not
possible for time or argument to bring us to the same way of
thinking on it. I hoped therefore that he would not compel
me to discuss it a second time.

Instead of flying into rage, as I expected, he fixed his
eyes thoughtfully on the floor, and after a melancholy pause,
said—I expected to find you invincible on that head. To
say truth, I came not to discuss that subject with you anew.
I came merely to ask a trifling favor—here he stopped.
He was evidently at a loss how to proceed. His features
became more grave, and he actually sighed.

My heart, I believe, thou knowest, Harry, is the sport,
the mere plaything of gratitude and pity. Kindness will
melt my firmest resolutions in a moment. Entreaty will lead
me to the world's end. Gentle accents, mournful looks in
my brother, was a claim altogether irresistible. The mildness,
the condescension which I now witnessed, thrilled to
my heart. A grateful tear rushed to my eye, and I almost
articulated, “dear, dear brother, be always thus kind and
thus good, and I will lay down my life for you.”

It was well for us both that my brother had too much
pride or too little cunning to profit by the peculiarities of my
temper. Had he put a brotherly arm around me, and
said, in an affectionate tone, “dear sister, oblige me,” I
am afraid I should have instantly complied with the most
indiscreet and extravagant of his requests.

Far otherwise, however, was his deportment. This
condescension was momentary. The words had scarcely
escaped him before he seemed to recollect them as having
been unworthy of his dignity. He resumed his arrogant
and careless air, half whistled “Ca ira” and glanced at the
garden, with “a tall poplar, that. How old?”

Not very old, for I planted it.

Very likely. Just such another giddy head and slender
body as the planter's.—But now I think of it, Jane, since
your money is idle, suppose you lend me five hundred dollars
of it till tomorrow. Upon my honor, I'll repay it then.

[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]

My calls just now are particularly urgent. See here, I have
brought a check ready filled. It only wants your signature.

I felt instant and invincible repugnance to this request. I
had so long regarded my brother as void of all discretion, and
as habitually misapplying money to vicious purposes, that
I deemed it a crime of no inconsiderable degree, to supply
the means of his prodigality. Occasions were daily occurring
in which much good was effected by a few dollars, as
well as much evil produced by the want of them. My
imagination pondered on the evils of poverty much oftener
than perhaps was useful, and had thence contracted a terror
of it not easily controled. My legacy I had always regarded
as a sacred deposit; an asylum in distress which
nothing but the most egregious folly would rob or dissipate.
Yet now I was called upon to transfer, by one stroke of the
pen, to one who appeared to me to be engaged in ruinous
vices or chimerical projects, so large a portion as five hundred
dollars.

I was no niggardly hoarder of the allowance made me
by my mother, but so diffident was I of my own discernment,
that I never laid out twenty dollars without her knowledge
and concurrence. Could I then give away five hundred
of this sacred treasure, bestowed on me for very different
purposes, without her knowledge? It was useless to
acquaint her with my brother's request, and solicit her permission.
She would never grant it.

My brother, observing me hesitate, said—Come, Jane;
make haste. Surely this is no such mighty favor that you
should stand a moment. 'Twill be all the same to you,
since I return it tomorrow. May I perish, if I don't.

I still declined the offered pen—For what purpose, brother,
surely I may ask? so large a sum.

He laughed; a mere trifle, girl. 'Tis a bare nothing;
but much or little, you shall have it again, I tell you, tomorrow.
Come; time flies. Take the pen, I say, and
make no more words about the matter.

Impossible! till I know the purpose. Do not urge me
to a wrong thing.

His face reddened with indignation. A wrong thing!
you are fool enough to tire the patience of a saint. What
do I ask, but the loan of a few dollars, for a single day?

[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]

Money that is absolutely idle; for which you have no use.
You know that my father's property is mine; and that my
possessions are twenty times greater than your own; yet you
refuse to lend this paltry sum for one day. Come, Jane,
sister; you have carried your infatuation far enough. Where
a raw girl should gain all these scruples and punctilios I
can't imagine. Pray, what is your objection?

In these contests with my brother, I was never mistress
of my thoughts. His boisterous, negligent, contemptuous
manners, awed, irritated, embarrassed me. To say any
thing which implied censure of his morals or his prudence,
would be only raising a storm which my womanish spirit
could not withstand. In answer to his expostulations, I
only repeated—impossible! I cannot.

Finding me inflexible, he once more gave way to indignation—
What a damn'd oaf! to be thus creeping and cringing
to an idiot; a child; an ape. Nothing but necessity,
cruel necessity, would have put me on this task. Then turning
to me, he said in a tone half supplicating, half threatening;
let me ask you once more; will you sign this check? Do
not answer hastily; for much, very much depends on it.
By all that is sacred I will return it to you tomorrow. Do
it, and save me and your father from infamy; from ruin;
from a prison; from death. He may have cowardice
enough to live and endure his infamy, but I have spirit
enough to die and escape it.

This was uttered with an impetuosity that startled me.
The words ruin, prison, death, rung in my ears, and almost
out of breath, I exclaimed—what do you mean? my
father go to prison? my father ruined? what do you mean?

I mean what I say. Your signing this check may save
me from irretrievable ruin. This trifling supply, which I
can no where else procure, if it comes to night, may place
us out of danger. If delayed till tomorrow morning, there
will be no remedy. I shall receive an adequate sum tomorrow
afternoon, and with that I will replace this.

My father ruined! In danger of a goal! Good Heaven!
Let me fly to him. Let me know from himself the full
extent of the evil—I left my seat with this purpose, but he
stopped me. Are you mad, girl? He does not know the

[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]

full extent of the evil. Indeed the evil will be perfectly
removed by this trifling loan. He need not know it.

Ah! my poor father, said I, I see thy ruin, indeed.
Too fatally secure hast thou been; too doating in thy confidence
in others. These words, half articulated, did not
escape my brother. He was, at once, astonished and enraged
by them, and even in these circumstances could not
suppress his resentment.

He had, however, conjured up a spirit in me which made
me deaf to his invective. I made towards the door.

Where are you going? You shall not leave the room till
you have signed this paper.

Nothing but force shall keep me from my father. I will
know his true situation, this instant from his own lips. Let
me go. I will go.

I attempted to rush by him, but he shut the door and
swore I should not leave the room till I had complied with
his request.

Perceiving me thoroughly in earnest, and indignant in
my turn at his treatment, he attempted to sooth me, by
saying, that I had misunderstood him in relation to my father;
that he had uttered words at random; that he was
really out of cash at this moment; I should inexpressibly
oblige him by lending him this trifling sum till tomorrow evening.

Brother, I will deal candidly with you. You think me
childish, ignorant and giddy. Perhaps, I am so, but I have
sense enough to resolve, and firmness enough to adhere to
my resolution, never to give money without thoroughly
knowing and fully approving of the purposes to which it is
to be applied. You tell me, you are in extreme want of
an immediate supply. Of what nature is your necessity?
What has occasioned your necessity? I will not withhold,
what will really do you good; what I am thoroughly convinced
will do you good, but I must first be convinced.

What, would you have more than my word? I tell you
it will save your—I tell you it will serve me essentially. It
is surely, needless to enter into long and intricate details,
which, ten to one, you will not understand.

As your please, said I. I have told you that I will not
act in the dark.

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

Well then, I will explain my situation to you as clearly as
possible.

He then proceeded to state transactions of which I understood
nothing. All was specious and plausible, but I
easily perceived the advantages under which he spoke, and
the gross folly of suffering my conduct to be influenced
by representations, of whose integrity I had no means of
judging.

I will not detain you longer by this conversation. Suffice
it to say, that I positively refused to comply with his wishes.
The altercation that ensued was fortunately interrupted by
the entrance of two or three visitants, and after lingering
a few minutes, he left the house gloomy and dissatisfied.

I have gone into these incidents with a minuteness that I
fear has tired you; but I will be more concise for the future.
These incidents are chiefly introductory to others of a more
affecting nature, and to those I must now hasten. Meanwhile
I will give some little respite to my fingers.

To Henry Colden.
Thursday Morning, October 6.

As soon as my visitants had gone, I hastened to my
father. I immediately introduced the subject of which
my heart was full. I related the particulars of my late
interview with my brother; entreated him with the utmost
earnestness to make the proper inquiries into the state of
my brother's affairs, with whose fate it was too plain, that
his own were inextricably involved.

He was seized with extreme solicitude on hearing my
intelligence. He could not keep his chair one moment at
a time, but walked about the floor trembling. He called
his servant, and directed him in a faltering voice to go
to my brother's house, and request him to come immediately.

I was sensible that what I had done was violently adverse

[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]

to my brother's wishes. Nevertheless, I urged my father
to an immediate explanation, and determined to be present
at the conference.

The messenger returned. My brother was not at home.
We waited a little while, and then despatched the messenger
again, with directions to wait till his return. We waited,
in vain, till nine; ten; eleven o'clock. The messenger
then came back, informing us that Frank was still abroad.
I was obliged to dismiss the hope of a conference this night,
and returned in an anxious and melancholy mood to Mrs.
Fielder's.

On my way, while ruminating on these events, I began
to fear that I had exerted an unjustifiable degree of caution;
I knew that those who embark in pecuniary schemes are
often reduced to temporary straits and difficulties; that
ruin and prosperity frequently hang on the decision of the
moment; that a gap may be filled up by a small effort seasonably
made, which if neglected, rapidly widens and irrevocably
swallows up the ill-fated adventurer.

It was possible that all my brother had said was literally
true; that he merited my confidence in this instance, and
that the supply he demanded would save both him and my
father from the ruin that impended over them. The more
I pondered on the subject, the more dissatisfied I became
with my own scruples. In this state of mind I reached
home. The servant, while opening the door, expressed her
surprise at my staying out so late, telling me, that my brother
had been waiting my return for several hours, with marks
of the utmost impatience. I shuddered at this intelligence,
though just before I had almost formed the resolution of going
to his house and offering him the money he wanted.

I found him in my apartment.—Good God! cried he,
where have you been till this time of night?

I told him frankly where I had been, and what had detained
me. He was thunderstruck. Instead of that storm
of rage and invective which I expected, he grew pale with
consternation; and said in a faint voice;

Jane you have ruined me beyond redemption. Fatal,
fatal rashness. It was enough to have refused me a loan which
though useless to you, is as indispensable to my existence as
my heart's blood. Had you quietly lent me the trifling

[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

pittance I asked, all might yet have been well; my father's
peace have been saved and my own affairs been completely
reestablished.

All arrogance and indignation were now laid aside. His
tone and looks betokened the deepest distress. All the
firmness, reluctance and wariness of my temper vanished in
a moment. My heart was seized with an agony of compunction.
I came close to him and taking his hand involuntarily
said—Dear brother! Forgive me.

Strange what influence calamity possesses in softening
the character. He made no answer, but putting his arms
around me, pressed me to his breast while tears stole down
his cheek.

Now was I thoroughly subdued. I am quite an April
girl, thou knowest, Harry, and the most opposite emotions
fill, with equal certainty my eyes. I could scarcely articulate—
O! my dear brother, forgive me. Take what you
ask. If it can be any of service to you, take all I have.

But how, shall I see my father. Infinite pains have I
taken to conceal from him a storm which I thought could
be easily averted; which his knowledge of it would only
render more difficult to resist, but my cursed folly, by saying
more than I intended to you, has blasted my designs.

I again expressed my regret for the rashness of my conduct,
and entreated him to think better of my father, than to
imagine him invincible to argument. I promised to go to him
in the morning, and counteract, as much as I could, the effects
of my evening conversation. At length he departed,
with somewhat renovated spirits, and left me to muse
upon the strange events of this day.

I could not free myself from the secret apprehension of
having done mischief rather than good, by my compliance.
I had acted without consulting my mother, in a case where
my youth and inexperience stood it the utmort need of advice.
On the most trivial occasions I had hitherto held it a
sacred duty, to make her the arbitress and judge of my
whole conduct, and now shame for my own precipitance
and regard for my brother's feelings seemed to join in forbidding
me to disclose what had passed. A most restless
and unquiet night did I pass.

Next morning was I to go to my father, to repair as much

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

as possible the breach I had thoughtlessly made in his happiness.
I knew not what means to employ for this purpose.
What could I say? I was far from being satisfied, myself,
with my brother's representations. I hoped, but had very
little confidence that any thing in my power to do, would
be of permanent advantage.

These doubts did not make me defer my visit. I was
greatly surprised to find my father as cheerful and serene as
usual, which he quickly accounted for, by telling, me that
he had just had a long conversation with Frank, who had
convinced him that there was no ground for the terrors I
had inspired him with the night before. He could not forbear
a little acrimony on the impropriety of my interference,
and I tacitly acquiesced in the censure. I found that he
knew nothing of the sum I had lent, and I thought not
proper to mention it.

That day, notwithstanding his promises of payment, passed
away without hearing from my brother. I had never laid
any stress upon the promise, but drew a bad omen from this
failure.

A few days elapsed without any material incident. The
next occasion on which my brother was introduced into conversation
with Mrs. Fielder, took place one evening after
my friend had returned from spending the day abroad.
After a pause in which there was more significance than
usual—pray have you seen Frank lately?

I made some vague answer.

He has been talked about this afternoon, very little, as
usual, to his advantage.

I trembled from head to foot.

I fear continued she, he is going to ruin, and will drag
your father down the same precipice.

Dearest madam! what new circumstance?

Nothing very new. It seems Mr. Frazer—his wife told
the story—sold him, a twelvemonth ago, a curricle and pair
of horses. Part of the money, after some delay, was paid.
The rest was dunned for unavailingly a long time. At
length curricle and horses scoured the roads under the management
of Mons. Petitgrave, brother to Frank's housekeeper,
the handsome mustee. This gave Frazer uneasiness
and some importunity extorted from Frank a note,

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

which being due last Tuesday was at Frank's importunity,
withdrawn from bank to prevent protest. Next day however
it was paid.

I ventured to ask if Mrs. Frazer had mentioned any sum.

Yes; a round sum; five hundred dollars.

Fortunately the dark prevented my mother from perceiving
my confusion. It was Tuesday evening on which I had
lent the money to Frank. He had given me reason to believe
that his embarrassments arose from his cotton-weaving
scheme, and that the sum demanded from me was to pay
the wages of craving but worthy laborers.

While in the first tumult of these reflections, some one
brought a letter. It was from my brother; this was the
tenor—

“I fear, Jane, I have gained but little credit with you
for punctuality. I ought to have fulfilled my promise,
you will say. I will not excuse my breach of it by saying,
(though I might say so, perhaps, with truth,) that you have
no use for the money; that I have pressing use for it, and
that a small delay, without being of any importance to you,
will be particularly convenient to me; no. The true and
all sufficient reason why I did not return the money, was—
because I had it not. To convince you that I am really in
need, I enclose you a check for another five hundred, which
you'll much oblige me by signing. I can repay you both
sums together by Saturday—if you needs must have it so
soon. The bearer waits.”

In any state of my thoughts, there was little likelihood of
my complying with a request made in these terms. With
my present feelings, it was difficult to forbear returning an
angry and reproachful answer. I sent him back these lines.

“I am thoroughly convinced that it is not in my power to
afford you any effectual aid in your present difficulties. It
will be very easy to injure myself. The request you make
can have no other tendency. I must therefore decline
complying.”

The facility with which I had yielded up my first resolutions,
probably encouraged him to this second application,
and I formed very solemn resolutions not to be seduced a
second time.

In a few minutes after despatching my answer, he

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

appeared. I need not repeat our conversation. He extorted from
me without much difficulty, what I had heard through my
mother, and methinks I am ashamed to confess it—by exchanging
his boisterous airs for pathetic ones—by appealing
to my sisterly affection, and calling me his angel and savior;
and especially by solemnly affirming that Frazer's
story was a calumny. I, at length, did as he would have
me; yet only for three hundred; I would not go beyond
that sum.

The moment he left me, I perceived the weakness and
folly of my conduct in the strongest light. I renewed all my
prudent determinations; yet strange to tell, within less than
a week, the same scene of earnest importunity on his side,
and of foolish flexibility on mine was reacted.

With every new instance of folly, my shame and self condemnation
increased, and the more difficult I found it to disclose
the truth to my mother.

In the course of a very few days, one half of my little
property, was gone. A sum sufficient, according to my
system of economy, to give me decent independence of the
world for, at least, three years, had been dissipated by the
prodigality of a profligate woman. At the time, indeed, I
was ignorant of this. It was impossible not to pay some regard
to the plausible statements and vehement asseverations
of my brother, and to suffer them to weigh something against
charges which might possibly be untrue. As soon as accident
had put me in full possession of the truth on this head,
I was no longer thus foolishly obsequious.

The next morning after our last interview I set out as
usual, to bid good morrow to my father. My uneasy
thoughts led me unaware to extend my walk, till I reached
the door of a watch maker with whom my servant had some
time before, left a watch to be repaired. It occurred to me
that since I was now on the spot, I might as well stop and
make some inquiry about it. On entering the shop I almost
repented of my purpose, as two persons were within the bar,
if I may call it so, seated in a lounging posture, by a small
stove, smoking segars and gazing at me with an air of indolent
impertinence. I determined to make my stay as short
as possible, and hurried over a few questions to the artist,
who knew me only as the owner of the watch. My

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

attention was quickly roused by one of the loungers, who, having
satisfied his curiosity, by gazing at me, turned to the other
and said; well; you have hardly been to Frank's this
morning, I suppose?

Indeed, but I have; was the reply.

Why, damn it, you pinch too hard. Well, and what success?

Why, what do you think?

Another put-off, another call-again, to be sure.

I would not go till he downed with the stuff.

No! (with a broad stare) it an't possible.

Seeing is believing I hope—producing a piece of paper.

Why so it is. A check—but—what's that name?—let's
see, stooping to examine the signature—“Jane Talbot,”
who the Devil is she?

Don't you know her? She's his sister. A devilish rich
girl.

But how? does she lend him money?

Yes, to be sure. She's his sister you know.

But how does she get money? Is she a widow?

No. She is a girl, I've heard, not eighteen. 'Tis not
my look out how she gets money, so as her check's good,
and that I'll fix as soon as the door's open.

Why damn it, if I don't think it a forgery. How should
such a girl as that get so much money?

Can't conceive. Coax or rob her aunt of it, I suppose.
If she's such another as Frank, she is able to outwit the
devil. I hope it may be good. If it isn't, he shan't be his
own man one day longer.

But how did you succeed so well?

He asked me yesterday, to call once more. So I called,
you see, by times, and finding that he had a check for a
little more than my debt, I teazed him out of it, promising
to give him the balance. I pity the fellow from my soul.
It was all for trinkets and furniture bought by that prodigal
jade, Mademoiselle Couteau. She would ruin a prince, if
she had him as much at her command as she has Frank.
Little does the sister know for what purpose she gives her
money; however, that, as I said before, be her look out.

During this dialogue, my eye was fixed upon the artist,

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

who with the watch open in one hand, and a piece of wire
in the other, was describing, with great formality, the exact
nature of the defect, and the whole process of the cure;
but though I looked steadfastly at him, I heard not a syllable
of his dissertation. I broke away when his first pause allowed
me.

The strongest emotion in my heart was resentment. That
my name should be prostituted by the foul mouths of such
wretches, and my money be squandered for the gratification
of a meretricious vagabond, were indignities not to be endured.
I was carried involuntarily towards my brother's
house. I had lost all that awe in his presence, and trepidation
at his scorn, which had formerly been so troublesome.
His sarcasms or revilings had become indifferent to me, as
every day's experience had of late convinced me that, in no
valuable attribute was he, any wise, superior to his sister.
The consciousness of having been deceived and wronged
by him, set me above both his anger and his flattery. I
was hastening to his house to give vent to my feelings, when
a little consideration turned my steps another way. I recollected
that I should probably meet his companion, and
that was an encounter which I had hitherto carefully avoided—
I went, according to my first design, to my father's—I
was in hopes of meeting Frank there, some time in the day,
or of being visited by him at Mrs. Fielder's.

My soul was in a tumult that unfitted me for conversation.
I felt hourly increasing remorse at having concealed my
proceedings from my mother. I imagined that had I treated
her, from the first, with the confidence due to her, I should
have avoided all my present difficulties. Now the obstacles
to confidence appeared insurmountable, and my only consolation
was, that by inflexible resolution, I might shun any
new cause for humiliation and regret.

I had purposed to spend the greater part of the day at
my father's, chiefly in the hope of a meeting with my brother,
but after dinner, my mother sent for me home. Something,
methought, very extraordinary, must have happened,
as my mother was well; as, according to the messenger's
account, she had just parted with a gentleman who seemed
to have visited her on private business, my heart misgave
me.

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

As soon as I got home, my mother took me into her
chamber, and told me, after an affecting preface, that a gentleman
in office at — Bank, had called on her and informed
her that checks of my signing to a very large amount
had lately been offered, and that the last made its appearance
to day, and was presented by a man with whom it
was highly disreputable for one in my condition to be
thought to have any sort of intercourse.

You may suppose, that after this introduction, I made
haste to explain every particular. My mother was surprised
and grieved. She rebuked me, with some asperity,
for my reserves. Had I acquainted her with my brother's
demands, she could have apprized me of all that I had since
discovered. My brother, she asserted, was involved beyond
any one's power to extricate him, and his temper, his
credulity were such, that he was forever doomed to poverty.

I had scarcely parted with my mother, on this occasion,
to whom I had promised to refer every future application,
when my brother made his appearance. I was prepared
to overwhelm him with upbraidings for his past conduct, but
found my tongue tied in his presence. I could not bear to
inflict so much shame and mortification, and besides, the
past being irrevocable, it would only aggravate the disappointment
which I was determined every future application
should meet with. After some vague apology for non-payment,
he applied for a new loan. He had borrowed, he
said, of a deserving man, a small sum, which he was now
unable to repay. The poor fellow was in narrow circumstances;
was saddled with a numerous family; had been
prevailed upon to lend, after extreme urgency on my brother's
part; was now driven to the utmost need, and by a
prompt repayment would probably be saved from ruin. A
minute and plausible account of the way in which the debt
originated, and his inability to repay it shewn to have proceeded
from no fault of his.

I repeatedly endeavored to break off the conversation,
by abruptly leaving the room, but he detained me by importunity;
by holding my hand; by standing against the door.

How irresistible is supplication! The glossings and
plausibilities of eloquence are inexhaustible. I found my
courage wavering. After a few ineffectual struggles, I

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

ceased to contend. He saw that little remained to complete
his conquest, and to effect that little, by convincing
me that his tale was true, he stepped out a moment, to
bring in his creditor, whose anxiety had caused him to accompany
Frank to the door.

This momentary respite gave me time to reflect. I ran
through the door, now no longer guarded; up stairs I flew
into my mother's chamber, and told her from what kind of
persecution I had escaped.

While I was speaking, some one knocked at the door.
It was a servant, despatched by my brother to summon me
back. My mother went in my stead. I was left, for some
minutes, alone.

So persuasive had been my brother's rhetoric, that I
began to regret my flight.

I felt something like compunction at having deprived him
of an opportunity to prove his assertions. Every gentle
look and insinuating accent reappeared to my memory, and I
more than half repented my inflexibility.

While buried in these thoughts, my mother returned.
She told me that my brother was gone, after repeatedly requesting
an interview with me, and refusing to explain his
business to any other person.

Was there any body with him, madam?

Yes. One Clarges: a jeweller. An ill looking suspicious
person.

Do you know any thing of this Clarges?

Nothing, but what I am sorry to know. He is a dissolute
fellow, who has broken the hearts of two wives, and
thrown his children for maintenance on their maternal relations.
'Tis the same who carried your last check to the bank.

I, just then, faintly recollected the name of Clarges, as
having occurred in the conversation at the watchmaker's,
and as being the name of him who had produced the paper.
This, then, was the person who was to have been introduced
to me as the friend in need, the meritorious father of a
numerous family, whom the payment of a just debt was to
relieve from imminent ruin! How loathsome, how detestable,
how insecure, are fraud and treachery. Had he been
confronted with me, no doubt he would have recognised the
person whom he stared at, at the watchmaker's.

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]