Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne — 05 - Letters 21-25

SIR,--I do not know that anybody has frighted me, or beaten me, or put me into more passion than what I usually carry about me, but yesterday I missed my fit, and am not without hope I shall hear no more on't. My father has lost his too, and my eldest brother, but we all look like people risen from the dead.

Only my cousin Molle keeps his still; and, in earnest, I am not certain whether he would lose it or not, for it gives him a lawful occasion of being nice and cautious about himself, to which he in his own humour is so much inclined that 'twere not easy for him to forbear it.

You need not send me my Lady Newcastle's book at all, for I have seen it, and am satisfied that there are many soberer people in Bedlam.

I'll swear her friends are much to blame to let her go abroad.

But I am hugely pleased that you have seen my Lady.

I knew you could not choose but like her; but yet, let me tell you, you have seen but the worst of her.

Her conversation has more charms than can be in mere beauty, and her humour and disposition would make a deformed person appear lovely.

You had strange luck to meet my brother so soon.

He went up but last Tuesday.

I heard from him on Thursday, but he did not tell me he had seen you; perhaps he did not think it convenient to put me in mind of you; besides, he thought he told me enough in telling me my cousin Osborne was married.

Why did you not send me that news and a garland?

Well, the best on't is I have a squire now that is as good as a knight.

He was coming as fast as a coach and six horses could carry him, but I desired him to stay till my ague was gone, and give me a little time to recover my good looks; for I protest if he saw me now he would never deign to see me again.

Oh, me!

I can but think how I shall sit like the lady of the lobster, and give audience at Babram.

You have been there, I am sure.

Nobody that is at Cambridge 'scapes it.

But you were never so welcome thither as you shall be when I am mistress on't. In the meantime, I have sent you the first tome of _Cyrus_ to read; when you have done with it, leave it at Mr. Hollingsworth's, and I'll send you another.

I have had ladies with me all the afternoon that are for London to-morrow, and now I have as many letters to write as my Lord General's Secretary.

Forgive me that this is no longer, for I am your.

Addressed-- For Mrs. Paynter, at her house in Bedford Street, next ye Goate, In Covent Garden.

_Letter 22. _--Mr. Fish and Mr. Freeman were probably neighbours of Dorothy.

There is a Mr. Ralph Freeman of Aspedon Hall, in Hertfordshire, mentioned in contemporary chronicles; he died in 1714, aged 88, and was therefore about 37 years of age at this time.

His father seems to have been an ideal country gentleman, "who," says Sir Henry Chauncy, "made his house neat, his gardens pleasant, his groves delicious, his children cheerful, his servants easy, and kept excellent order in his family."

SIR,--You are more in my debt than you imagine.

I never deserved a long letter so much as now, when you sent me a short one.

I could tell you such a story ('tis too long to be written) as would make you see (what I never discover'd in myself before) that I am a valiant lady.

In earnest, we have had such a skirmish, and upon so foolish an occasion, as I cannot tell which is strangest.

The Emperor and his proposals began it;

I talked merrily on't till I saw my brother put on his sober face, and could hardly then believe he was in earnest.

It seems he was, for when I had spoke freely my meaning, it wrought so with him as to fetch up all that lay on his stomach.

All the people that I had ever in my life refused were brought again upon the stage, like Richard the III.'

s ghosts, to reproach me withal; and all the kindness his discoveries could make I had for you was laid to my charge.

My best qualities (if I have any that are good) served but for aggravations of my fault, and I was allowed to have wit and understanding and discretion in other things, that it might appear I had none in this.

Well, 'twas a pretty lecture, and I grew warm with it after a while; in short, we came so near an absolute falling out, that 'twas time to give over, and we said so much then that we have hardly spoken a word together since.

But 'tis wonderful to see what curtseys and legs pass between us; and as before we were thought the kindest brother and sister, we are certainly the most complimental couple in England.

'Tis a strange change, and I am very sorry for it, but I'll swear I know not how to help it.

I look upon't as one of my great misfortunes, and I must bear it, as that which is not my first nor likely to be my last.

'Tis but reasonable (as you say) that you should see me, and yet I know not now how it can well be.

I am not for disguises, it looks like guilt, and I would not do a thing I durst not own.

I cannot tell whether (if there were a necessity of your coming) I should not choose to have it when he is at home, and rather expose him to the trouble of entertaining a person whose company (here) would not be pleasing to him, and perhaps an opinion that I did it purposely to cross him, than that your coming in his absence should be thought a concealment.

'Twas one reason more than I told you why I resolv'd not to go to Epsom this summer, because I knew he would imagine it an agreement between us, and that something besides my spleen carried me thither; but whether you see me or not you may be satisfied I am safe enough, and you are in no danger to lose your prisoner, since so great a violence as this has not broke her chains.

You will have nothing to thank me for after this; my whole life will not yield such another occasion to let you see at what rate I value your friendship, and I have been much better than my word in doing but what I promised you, since I have found it a much harder thing not to yield to the power of a near relation, and a greater kindness than I could then imagine it.

To let you see I did not repent me of the last commission, I'll give you another.

Here is a seal that Walker set for me, and 'tis dropt out; pray give it him to mend.

If anything could be wonder'd at in this age, I should very much how you came by your informations.

'Tis more than I know if Mr. Freeman be my servant.

I saw him not long since, and he told me no such thing.

Do you know him?

In earnest, he's a pretty gentleman, and has a great deal of good nature, I think, which may oblige him perhaps to speak well of his acquaintances without design.

Mr. Fish is the Squire of Dames, and has so many mistresses that anybody may pretend a share in him and be believed; but though I have the honour to be his near neighbour, to speak freely, I cannot brag much that he makes any court to me; and I know no young woman in the country that he does not visit often.

I have sent you another tome of _Cyrus_, pray send the first to Mr. Hollingsworth for my Lady.

My cousin Molle went from hence to Cambridge on Thursday, and there's an end of Mr. Bennet.

I have no company now but my niece Peyton, and my brother will be shortly for the term, but will make no long stay in town.

I think my youngest brother comes down with him.

Remember that you owe me a long letter and something for forgiving your last.

I have no room for more than Your.

_Letter 23. _ SIR,--I will tell you no more of my servants.

I can no sooner give you some little hints whereabouts they live, but you know them presently, and I meant you should be beholding to me for your acquaintance.

But it seems this gentleman is not so easy access, but you may acknowledge something due to me, if I incline him to look graciously upon you, and therefore there is not much harm done.

What has kept him from marrying all this time, or how the humour comes so furiously upon him now, I know not; but if he may be believed, he is resolved to be a most romance squire, and go in quest of some enchanted damsel, whom if he likes, as to her person (for fortune is a thing below him),--and we do not read in history that any knight or squire was ever so discourteous as to inquire what portions their ladies had,--then he comes with the power of the county to demand her, (which for the present he may dispose of, being Sheriff), so I do not see who is able to resist him.

All that is to be hoped is, that since he may reduce whomsoever he pleases to his obedience, he will be very curious in his choice, and then I am secure.

It may be I dreamt it that you had met my brother, or else it was one of the reveries of my ague; if so, I hope I shall fall into no more of them.

I have missed four fits, and had but five, and have recovered so much strength as made me venture to meet your letter on Wednesday, a mile from home.

Yet my recovery will be nothing towards my leaving this place, where many reasons will oblige me to stay at least all this summer, unless some great alteration should happen in this family; that which I most own is my father's ill-health, which, though it be not in that extremity it has been, yet keeps him still a prisoner in his chamber, and for the most part to his bed, which is reason enough.

But, besides, I can give you others.

I am here much more out of people's way than in town, where my aunt and such as pretend an interest in me, and a power over me, do so persecute me with their good nature, and take it so ill that they are not accepted, as I would live in a hollow tree to avoid them.

Here I have nobody but my brother to torment me, whom I can take the liberty to dispute with, and whom I have prevailed with hitherto to bring none of his pretenders to this place, because of the noise all such people make in a country, and the tittle-tattle it breeds among neighbours that have nothing to do but to inquire who marries and who makes love.

If I can but keep him still in that humour Mr. Bennet and I are likely to preserve our state and treat at distance like princes; but we have not sent one another our pictures yet, though my cousin Molle, who was his agent here, begged mine very earnestly.

But, I thank God, an imagination took him one morning that he was falling into a dropsy, and made him in such haste to go back to Cambridge to his doctor, that he never remembers anything he has to ask of me, but the coach to carry him away.

I lent it most willingly, and gone he is.

My eldest brother goes up to town on Monday too; perhaps you may see him, but I cannot direct you where to find him, for he is not yet resolved himself where to lie; only 'tis likely Nan may tell you when he is there.

He will make no stay, I believe.

You will think him altered (and, if it be possible) more melancholy than he was.

If marriage agrees no better with other people than it does with him, I shall pray that all my friends may 'scape it.

Yet if I were my cousin, H. Danvers, my Lady Diana should not, if I could help it, as well as I love her: I would try if ten thousand pound a year with a husband that doted on her, as I should do, could not keep her from being unhappy.

Well, in earnest, if I were a prince, that lady should be my mistress, but I can give no rule to any one else, and perhaps those that are in no danger of losing their hearts to her may be infinitely taken with one I should not value at all; for (so says the Justinian) wise Providence has ordained it that by their different humours everybody might find something to please themselves withal, without envying their neighbours.

And now I have begun to talk gravely and wisely, I'll try if I can go a little further without being out.

No, I cannot, for I have forgot already what 'twas I would have said; but 'tis no matter, for, as I remember, it was not much to the purpose, and, besides, I have paper little enough left to chide you for asking so unkind a question as whether you were still the same in my thoughts.

Have you deserved to be otherwise; that is, am I no more in yours?

For till that be, it's impossible the other should; but that will never be, and I shall always be the same I am.

My heart tells me so, and I believe it; for were it otherwise, Fortune would not persecute me thus.

Oh, me!

she's cruel, and how far her power may reach I know not, only I am sure, she cannot call back time that is past, and it is long since we resolved to be for ever Most faithful friends.

_Letter 24. _--Tom Cheeke is Sir Thomas Cheeke, Knight, of Purgo, in the county of Essex, or more probably his son, from the way Dorothy speaks of him; but it is difficult to discriminate among constant generations of Toms after a lapse of two hundred years.

We find Sir Thomas's daughter was at this time the third wife of Lord Manchester; and it appears that Dorothy's great-grandfather married Catherine Cheeke, daughter of the then Sir Thomas.

This will assist us to the connection between Dorothy, Tom Cheeke, and Lord Manchester.

Sir Richard Franklin, Knight, married a daughter of Sir Thomas Cheeke.

He purchased Moor Park, Hertfordshire, about this time.

The park and the mansion he bought in 1652 from the Earl of Monmouth, and the manor in 1655 from Sir Charles Harbord.

The gardens had been laid out by the Countess of Bedford, who had sold the place in 1626 to the Earl of Pembroke.

The house was well known to Temple, who describes the gardens in his Essay on Gardening;

and when he retired in later years to an estate near Farnham in Surrey, he gave to it the name of Moor Park.

Lord Manchester was Edward Montagu, second Earl of Manchester.

He was educated at Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, and sat for Huntingdonshire in the first two Parliaments of Charles I. He was called to the Upper House as Lord Kimbolton in 1626, and succeeded his father in 1642. His name is well known in history as that of the leader of the Puritans in the House of Lords, and as the only peer joined with the five members impeached by the King.

He raised a regiment and fought under Essex at Edgehill, reconquered Lincolnshire, and took part in the battle of Marston Moor.

At this time Cromwell was his subordinate, and to his directions Lord Manchester's successes are in all probability due.

At the second battle of Newbury, Lord Manchester showed some hesitation in following up his success, and Cromwell accused him of lukewarmness in the cause from his place in the House of Commons.

An inquiry was instituted, but the Committee never carried out their investigations, and in parliamentary language the matter then dropped.

He afterwards held, among other offices, that of Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, and inducted a visitation and reform of that University.

He resisted the trial of the King and the foundation of the Commonwealth, refused to sit in Cromwell's new House of Lords, and was among those Presbyterians who helped to bring about the Restoration.

Cooper and Hoskins were famous miniature painters of the day.

Samuel Cooper was a nephew of John Hoskins, who instructed him in the art of miniature painting, in which he soon out-rivalled his master.

Cooper, who is styled by contemporary eulogists the "prince of limners," gave a strength and freedom to the art which it had not formerly possessed; but where he attempted to express more of the figure than the head, his drawing is defective.

His painting was famous for the beauty of his carnation tints, and the loose flowing lines in which he described the hair of his model.

He was a friend of the famous Samuel Butler.

Hoskins, though a painter of less merit, had had the honour of painting His Majesty King Charles I. , his Queen, and many members of the Court; and had passed through the varying fortunes of a fashionable portrait-painter, whose position, leaning as it does on the fickle approbation of the connoisseurs, is always liable to be wrested from him by a younger rival.

It is noticeable that this is the first letter in which we have intimation of the world's gossip about Dorothy's love affairs.

We may, perhaps not unfairly, trace the growth of Dorothy's affection for Temple by the actions of others.

First her brother raises his objections, and then her relations begin to gossip; meanwhile the letters do not grow less kind.

SIR,--You amaze me with your story of Tom Cheeke.

I am certain he could not have had it where you imagine, and 'tis a miracle to me that he remember that there is such a one in the world as his cousin D. O.

I am sure he has not seen her this six year, and I think but once in his life.

If he has spread his opinion in that family, I shall quickly hear on't, for my cousin Molle is now gone to Kimbolton to my Lord Manchester, and from there he goes to Moor Park to my cousin Franklin's, and in one, or both, he will be sure to meet with it.

The matter is not great, for I confess I do naturally hate the noise and talk of the world, and should be best pleased never to be known in't upon any occasion whatsoever; yet, since it can never be wholly avoided, one must satisfy oneself by doing nothing that one need care who knows.

I do not think _à propos_ to tell anybody that you and I are very good friends, and it were better, sure, if nobody knew it but we ourselves.

But if, in spite of all our caution, it be discovered, 'tis no treason nor anything else that's ill; and if anybody should tell me that I have had a greater kindness and esteem for you than for any one besides, I do not think I should deny it; howsoever you do, oblige me by not owning any such thing, for as you say, I have no reason to take it ill that you endeavour to preserve me a liberty, though I'm never likely to make use on't. Besides that, I agree with you too that certainly 'tis much better you should owe my kindness to nothing but your own merit and my inclination, than that there should lie any other necessity upon me of making good my words to you.

For God's sake do not complain so that you do not see me; I believe I do not suffer less in't than you, but 'tis not to be helped.

If I had a picture that were fit for you, you should have it.

I have but one that's anything like, and that's a great one, but I will send it some time or other to Cooper or Hoskins, and have a little one drawn by it, if I cannot be in town to sit myself.

You undo me by but dreaming how happy we might have been, when I consider how far we are from it in reality.

Alas!

how can you talk of defying fortune; nobody lives without it, and therefore why should you imagine you could?

I know not how my brother comes to be so well informed as you say, but I am certain he knows the utmost of the injuries you have received from her.

'Tis not possible she should have used you worse than he says.

We have had another debate, but much more calmly.

'Twas just upon his going up to town, and perhaps he thought it not fit to part in anger.

Not to wrong him, he never said to me (whate'er he thought) a word in prejudice of you in your own person, and I never heard him accuse any but your fortune and my indiscretion.

And whereas I did expect that (at least in compliment to me) he should have said we had been a couple of fools well met, he says by his troth he does not blame you, but bids me not deceive myself to think you have any great passion for me.

If you have done with the first part of _Cyrus_, I should be glad Mr. Hollingsworth had it, because I mentioned some such thing in my last to my Lady; but there is no haste of restoring the other unless she should send to me for it, which I believe she will not.

I have a third tome here against you have done with that second; and to encourage you, let me assure you that the more you read of them you will like them still better.

Oh, me!

whilst I think on't, let me ask you one question seriously, and pray resolve me truly;--do I look so stately as people apprehend?

I vow to you I made nothing on't when Sir Emperor said so, because I had no great opinion of his judgment, but Mr. Freeman makes me mistrust myself extremely, not that I am sorry I did appear so to him (since it kept me from the displeasure of refusing an offer which I do not perhaps deserve), but that it is a scurvy quality in itself, and I am afraid I have it in great measure if I showed any of it to him, for whom I have so much respect and esteem.

If it be so you must needs know it; for though my kindness will not let me look so upon you, you can see what I do to other people.

And, besides, there was a time when we ourselves were indifferent to one another;--did I do so then, or have I learned it since?

For God's sake tell me, that I may try to mend it.

I

could wish, too, that you would lay your commands on me to forbear fruit: here is enough to kill 1000 such as I am, and so extremely good, that nothing but your power can secure me; therefore forbid it me, that I may live to be Your.

_Letter 25. _--Dorothy's dissertations on love and marriage are always amusing in their demureness.

Who Cousin Peters was we cannot now say, but she was evidently a relation and a gossip.

The episode concerning Mistress Harrison and the Queen is explained by the following quotation from the autobiography of the Countess of Warwick.

She is writing of Mr. Charles Rich, and says: "He was then in love with a Maid of Honour to the Queen, one Mrs. Hareson, that had been chamber-fellow to my sister-in-law whilst she lived at Court, and that brought on the acquaintance between him and my sister.

He continued to be much with us for about five or six months, till my brother Broghill then (afterwards Earl of Orrery) grew also to be passionately in love with the same Mrs. Hareson.

My brother then having a quarrel with Mr. Thomas Howard, second son to the Earl of Berkshire, about Mrs. Hareson (with whom he also was in love), Mr. Rich brought my brother a challenge from Mr. Howard, and was second to him against my brother when they fought, which they did without any great hurt of any side, being parted.

This action made Mr. Rich judge it not civil to come to our house, and so for some time forbore doing it; but at last my brother's match with Mrs. Hareson being unhandsomely (on her side) broken off, when they were so near being married as the wedding clothes were to be made, and she after married Mr. Thomas Howard (to my father's great satisfaction), who always was averse to it, though, to comply with my brother's passion, he consented to it."

There is a reference to the duel in a letter of Lord Cork, which fixes the date as 1639-40, but Mr. Nevile's name is nowhere mentioned.

Lord Broghill is well known to the history of that time, both literary and political.

He was Roger Boyle, afterwards Earl of Orrery, the fifth son of the "great Earl of Cork."

He acted for the Parliament against the Catholics in Ireland, but was still thought to retain some partiality for the King's party.

Cromwell, however, considered himself secure in Lord Broghill's attachment; and, indeed, he continued to serve not only Cromwell during his lifetime, but his son Richard, after his father's death, with great fidelity.

Lord Broghill was active in forwarding the Restoration in Ireland, and in reward of his services was made Earl of Orrery.

He died in 1679. SIR,--You have furnished me now with arguments to convince my brother, if he should ever enter on the dispute again.

In earnest, I believed all this before, but 'twas something an ignorant kind of faith in me.

I was satisfied myself, but could not tell how to persuade another of the truth on't; and to speak indifferently, there are such multitudes that abuse the names of love and friendship, and so very few that either understand or practise it in reality, that it may raise great doubts whether there is any such thing in the world or not, and such as do not find it in themselves will hardly believe 'tis anywhere.

But it will easily be granted, that most people make haste to be miserable; that they put on their fetters as inconsiderately as a woodcock runs into a noose, and are carried by the weakest considerations imaginable to do a thing of the greatest consequence of anything that concerns this world.

I was told by one (who pretends to know him very well) that nothing tempted my cousin Osborne to marry his lady (so much) as that she was an Earl's daughter; which methought was the prettiest fancy, and had the least of sense in it, of any I had heard on, considering that it was no addition to her person, that he had honour enough before for his fortune, and how little it is esteemed in this age,--if it be anything in a better,--which for my part I am not well satisfied in.

Beside that, in this particular it does not sound handsomely.

My Lady Bridget Osborne makes a worse name a great deal, methinks, than plain my Lady Osborne would do.

I have been studying how Tom Cheeke might come by his intelligence, and I verily believe he has it from my cousin Peters.

She lives near them in Essex, and in all likelihood, for want of other discourse to entertain him withal, she has come out with all she knows.

The last time I saw her she asked me for you before she had spoke six words to me; and I, who of all things do not love to make secrets of trifles, told her I had seen you that day.

She said no more, nor I neither; but perhaps it worked in her little brain.

The best on't is, the matter is not great, for though I confess I had rather nobody knew it, yet 'tis that I shall never be ashamed to own.

How kindly do I take these civilities of your father's; in earnest, you cannot imagine how his letter pleased me.

I used to respect him merely as he was your father, but I begin now to owe it to himself; all that he says is so kind and so obliging, so natural and so easy, that one may see 'tis perfectly his disposition, and has nothing to disguise in it.

'Tis long since that I knew how well he writ, perhaps you have forgot that you showed me a letter of his (to a French Marquis, I think, or some such man of his acquaintance) when I first knew you; I remember it very well, and that I thought it as handsome a letter as I had seen; but I have not skill it seems, for I like yours too.

I can pardon all my cousin Franklin's little plots of discovery, if she believed herself when she said she was confident our humours would agree extremely well.

In earnest, I think they do; for I mark that I am always of your opinion, unless it be when you will not allow that you write well, for there I am too much concerned.

Jane told me t'other day very soberly that we write very much alike.

I think she said it with an intent to please me, and did not fail in't; but if you write ill, 'twas no great compliment to me.

_À propos de_ Jane, she bids me tell you that, if you liked your marmalade of quince, she would send you more, and she thinks better, that has been made since.

'Twas a strange caprice, as you say, of Mrs. Harrison, but there is fate as well as love in those things.

The Queen took the greatest pains to persuade her from it that could be; and (as somebody says, I know not who) "Majesty is no ill orator;" but all would not do.

When she had nothing to say for herself, she told her she had rather beg with Mr. Howard than live in the greatest plenty that could be with either my Lord Broghill, Charles Rich, or Mr. Nevile,--for all these were dying for her then.

I am afraid she has altered her opinion since 'twas too late, for I do not take Mr. Howard to be a person that can deserve one should neglect all the world for him.

And where there is no reason to uphold a passion, it will sink of itself; but where there is, it may last eternally.

--I am yours.