CONCLUSION.

HAVING thus dismissed the inferior part of the dramatis personæ from the stage, it only remains for me, the principal actor, to say a few words, by way of taking leave for ever of the gracious reader.

This work, then, I should say, was originally a mere journal, exhibiting a history of my life, a record of my reflections upon various occasions, and the progress and changes of my character and opinions. It will be seen, that it commenced life with a preconceived notion of the meanness of human nature. This prejudice was fostered by my early experience, and I persuaded myself into misanthropy. I have said at the commencement of my memoirs, that I was a person of a cold heart, with a vivid apprehension of the odious and ridiculous. Nay, I even persuaded myself that virtue was incapable of exciting an interest in me, and that I delighted in the contemplation of the baser features of human nature. I internally disapproved of and regretted these propensities, and with a view to correct them, went abroad, like Diogenes, in search of honesty ;—with what success the reader of the two former volumes of these memoirs may judge. Virtue I found to be a cloak assumed to conceal the foulest deformities. Many who take up this book will, I am aware, soon throw it away, under the impression that the writer is a cold-blooded dissolute person, who sat down with the deliberate design of villifying human nature; but I confidently hope that the more patient and discerning readers, who may bear with me throughout, will admit the justice of my applying to my own character the following passage from one of the invaluable essays of a profound thinker and accurate observer of man :

"I am far from thinking that all those who have depreciated our species have been enemies to virtue, and have exposed the frailties of their fellow-creatures with any bad intention. On the contrary, I am sensible that a delicate sense of morals, especially when attended with a splenetic temper, is apt to give a man a disgust to the world, and to

make him consider the common course of human affairs with too much indignation."

Such sentiments as I professed in the earlier part of my memoirs, I am happy to say, are now in a great measure, supplanted by more liberal and kindly feelings. Vice, selfishness, and folly, are, no doubt, the predominant characteristics of that society, which calls itself, by excellence, the World; but it would be exceedingly erroneous to take that as a specimen of the world and human nature in general. Still I am by no means an optimist; I still see much to disgust and displease me, nor can I ever be brought, after what I have experienced, to place any confidence in outward appearances; I have only ceased to presume ill of every person who approaches until I have received most ample and satisfactory proof to the contrary.

Reader, I will not detain you by dry and stale morality, but, in bidding you farewell, content myself with expressing my cordial wish that my fair admirers (forgive the presumption of Matthew Sydenham!) may not think it beneath them to cultivate the virtues and graces of her who is, in my eyes, perfection; and that my male friends will take a lesson from the authentic memoirs of one, who may say that he has occupied a very high and brilliant station in the eye of the world, how inadequate are such hollow and precarious gratifications to solid and permanent happiness.

NOTE.

THE Right Honourable Baronet's Memoirs here close somewhat abruptly, and as it is possible that the reader may have some curiosity to obtain a degree of insight into the domestic life of the autobiographer, the Editor takes the liberty of publishing a few letters which afford sufficient information upon that subject. How he obtained possession of the subjoined documents is a story with which the reader will hardly care to be troubled.

LETTER I.

Mrs. Trefusis, to Lady Sydenham.

"MY DEAR ALICE,-I cannot suffer a day to pass after our return to England, without writing to you, such is my anxiety and curiosity to know with what aspect fortune seems disposed to regard your marriage. It is now of more than four months' date; the novelty, therefore, is nearly worn, and you may now be enabled to form some notion of your prospects. To you, who never can find happiness abroad, marriage is indeed a matter of vital importance, and I know that you entered upon it with fear and trembling; but I hope and believe, that your mind has, by this time, been convinced, that there is no cause for apprehension. You know that I never considered your mari such a formidable person, as you and most other people did. I always said he was a person who would require a very little management to make and keep him tractable. Yet you would persist in disturbing the favourable opinion of his character, which you derived from your own discernment and good sense, and in making yourself miserable by listening to the gossip and folly of other people, because you looked upon him with partial eyes. You

had been told that dissimulation was at the head of his catalogue of imperfections; that his character had no settled shade, but took its colour from the society he was among; that he was heartless, malicious, and unprincipled. To my dismay, I must confess his subsequent conduct to you seemed to corroborate all these impressions; but the cause was happily explained, and then you appreciated those traits of a noble and a kind nature, which I told you of him. Still you could not reconcile to your beau ideal, some passages in the life of your hero; and seemed to think that I was excusing immorality, when I said that I doubted whether it was to be considered a bad symptom for a young man not to set out in life with too much sobriety and prudence; and when, by way of apologizing for any little irregularities and vanities of our friend, I reminded you that he had been for two years the most admired man in London, with a provoking perverseness you answered, that such a person would be ill calculated to appreciate the happiness of private life.

I only remind you of all this, my dear, because I am convinced that you will, by this time, feel persuaded that my opinions and advice were not those of an ill-judging friend. Still you must not be alarmed, should you have found him as yet quite broken in; a little management-now do not start away at the word, as if 1 was going to recommend female art to usurp the office of love a little management then, I repeat, may still be necessary to keep him in order. Your baronet is, no doubt, a very incomparable person; but at the same time he, like every body else, has his little faults. If anything can be regarded in two lights, he will be apt to take the unfavourable point of view. Now you must not, upon these occasions, gravely set about arguing him out of such an error, but rally him upon it, and laugh it off. He is somewhat capricious too, permit me to say, and takes disgusts into his head for no sufficient reason; and if you were to be straitlaced upon all occasions, it is probable that he would take offence at it. These little things, believe me, are worth attending to, and do more to maintain the harmony of married life, than is dreamt of in your philosophy: therefore, do not disdain to employ tact, which I know you have been in the habit of regarding as an unworthy instrument.

"Let me hear from you soon, my dear Alice, and believe me ever,

"Your affectionate,

"C. TREFUSIS.

"P. S. I saw poor George Axford at Paris. He looked distracted, and told me he was going to offer his services to the Emperor. Poor creature, he must be dreadfully in love! What you have to answer for!”

LETTER II.

Lady Sydenham, to the Lady Eleanor Palmer.

"My dearest friend's last letter was most welcome, because it encouraged me to hope that I should soon see her as my guest. Indeed I am most anxious that you, who have had so large a share in promoting, should come and witness, my happiness. Your kind heart will, I know, find its richest reward in being an eye-witness of that happiness which, but for your exertions, might never have been experienced.

"I may indeed venture to say that, with respect to myself personally, I have not a wish ungratified. I have found him, in every respect, to be such as you described. Everything that you said of the generosity and nobility of the mind, the ignorance of every low and petty feeling, has been amply proved. But you could not be aware of the unwearied and delicate consideration which is so inexpressibly delightful, because it can proceed from nothing but the warmest attachment, and the utmost refinement of mind. I need not tell you of the brilliancy and variety of his conversation; but, perhaps you are yet to learn that those unrivalled powers of instruction and amusement are constantly exerted for my sole benefit; yet I once supposed that these dazzling accomplishments were displayed only for admiration, or for the purpose of sacrificing the other sex to his vanity. I blush with remorse to think how I have wronged him, but in reflection I find additional cause of love and gratitude to you, my friend, for disabusing me. Our marriage is certainly as yet recent, and forgive me, dear Lady Eleanor, if I sometimes am unable to prevent a fear from crossing my mind, that time may make an alteration-that this happiness is not to last—that this life will grow monotonous to him. O pray persuade me out of such a fearful apprehension. I had a kind letter, a few days since, from Charlotte Trefusis, who cautions me to guard against such a possibility as I have named. I shall endeavour to profit by her hints, which are excellent. My