COUNTESS OF BESBOROUGH. Engrowd for the He Winberg Be Belle Esemble Nord Cercar Pub. by F. Scdl Sruthiumption LA BELLE ASSEMBLÉE; FOR APRIL, 1810. A NEW SERIES. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF ILLUSTRIOUS LADIES. The Fourth Pumber. THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE COUNTESS OF BESBOROUGH. THE Right Honourable Frances Hen- || rietta Ponsonby, is the second daughter of John, first Earl Spencer, and sister to the late Duchess of Devonshire. Educated under the care of the present Dowager Countess Spencer, whose many amiable qualities are so well appreciated, she acquired, early in life, a sober and steady principle of action, which served as a shield against the flattery of the world Her Ladyship was married in the year 1780, to the present Earl of Besborough, then Viscount Duncannon. Her Lady-and the seducements of fashion. Her ship has issue by the present marriage | Ladyship, therefore, has used the world of ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS. three sons and one daughter. Her eldest son, Lord Duncannon, was married to Maria, third daughter of the Earl of Westmoreland, in 1805. Her Ladyship's daughter is married to the eldest son of Lord Melburne. The Countess of Besborough has so long been intermixed with the fashionable world that there is little to be communicated respecting her which is not already known. fashion as not abusing it; she has drank the cup without intoxication; she has not endeavoured to drain it to its dregs, or been content to banish for it the consolations of domestic life and judicious friendships. Lady Besborough is a woman of a refined and delicate taste; and like her sister, the late Duchess of Devonshire, is a distinguished ornament in upper life. HYMENEA IN SEARCH OF A HUSBAND. [Continued from page 119.] "Is there be one quality which should peculiarly characterize woman," said my aunt, "it should be prudence." "Suppose you say virtue, aunt," said I; "for I must suppose that you mean it." iuled in the French writers as the offspring of the ancient romances, but the offspring of the modern romances and novels are infinitely worse. They are mongrel beings, between the ancient heroines and the modern deniteps. They have the extravagance of the Clelias and the Mandanes without their elegance and dignity, and they have so much of modern manners and of modern accomplishments, as are inconsistent with the true female character, with feminine simplicity, and "Virtue, in the rigid sense in which you take it, is a sacrifice," continued my aunt; "you demand a degree of modesty which, inasmuch as it is contrary to nature, calls for great restraints. A young woman, in my opinion, should guard her character as a soldier guards his honour, for a woman without character is like a sol-with feminine softness. I have a letter in dier without honour." "You surely cannot intend to say that modesty is an unnatural restraint," continued I. " Certainly not," said my aunt;" as far as it is necessary to our honour." "Nor as far as is necessary to virtue, properly so called, -to our duty as Christians and reasonable beings," added I. "Why will you take a pleasure to confound things. Why will you reason your self out of just notions of your duty." "Be so kind as to inform me," said my aunt, " in what respect Clarissa had offended.-Her union was justified and sanctified | by the church." "Be it so," said I,-" her mystery and concealment were not necessary, any more than her haste to satisfy her lover. As to the happiness of the young Baronet, it was a fanciful and silly notion, one of those romantic follies which are madness in common life. But the young ladies of the day take the code of their duties from some circulating library, and form themselves to the whole duty of women upon the model of some of the heroes of the Minerva. It is really inconceivable what mischief has been done by this circulating trash. The popular manners of a nation have often been imputed to their popular songs, and the manners of the women most certainly belong to these wretched works -We have not indeed those Clelias which have been my pocket from one of these young ladies, a young friend of mine, who, from being a good humoured, easy, intelligent girl, but having fallen into the hands of one of these modern heroines, has become a most formal fool,-argues on the plainest points, and gives a reason where no one but herself can have a doubt. She has an excellent fortune of her own, and is addressed by the son of a neighbouring gentleman, of equal expectations; she was even on the point of being married to him, and I am persuaded had an ardent affection for him, when she suddenly at least interrupted the match. She took it into her head, that it would be more generous to prefer his rival, a young man without a penny; and by this inconceivable folly has rendered herself the contempt and ridicule of the county. She has written me a long nonsensical letter arguing the point, and requesting my opinion after she has made up her own. -Now, my dear aunt, without being severe on your favourite Clarissa, it does appear to me that she is one of these modern heroines who have formed their taste and their judgment on a wrong model, and act on their novels and romances, as if they were their prayerbooks and rules of life." "To return, however to my story,"continued my aunt,-" Edward and Clarissa, as I informed you, had been privately ınar-ried before the former left England, and had easily excused themselves to each (tler for the unreasonable mystery, and indolicate abruptness of this union, by a romantic consideration for the passion of Sir Wiliam. ' It is unnecessary', argued Clarissa, that William should have the pain of knowing my preference. Our marriage may be concealed till he himself shall have gone abroad to make his grand tour. Ile will then fail into other connections, and in the variety of images and pur suits, either wholly forget me, or at least lose that violence of love for me which, under present circumstances would tender him miserable. And how could you and myself, Edward, be happy, if we saw our friend as miserable as disappointed love would make Lim? How would you feel in the same circumstance? "Edward fully assented to this argument, and it was agreed, on the evening of the departure of Edward, that the marriage should be kept secret til the return of Edward from St. Petersburgh. But it happens in love, as in war,-fortune, or rather our own imprudence, disappoints all previous calculations, and asserts the "No, Heaven has spared her the misery of having an orphan child. The child was not born alive.' "And is she acquainted with the loss of her husband?' "She is; her grief at first was nearly equal to madness. But youth, her na tural spirits, and the time that has elapsed have softened these emotions; she has too inuch energy to lose herself in useless sorrow, she has returned to the duties of life, and is now in the house." "Clarissa,-my Clarissa, in the house!!" exclaimed Sir William. "My dearest young friend,' said the Doctor, you must calm these transports, render yourself tranquil, every thing may yet be well, and Clarissa and yourseaf enjoy many happy years. If there be any one who can compensate to her the virtues of Edward, it is you. You now know my purpose of Heaven allow me the life to accomplish it. You shall see ('larissa tomorrow. She is eager to see you, and from some cause or other, the natural levity of youth I suppose, forgets the grounds which event to herself. One very slight circum-you have of oflence. Do not remind her stance foiled all this excellent scheme. By a very natural course of things, Clarissa became pregnant, and within less than a year after his marriage Edward, being still absent, was about to be a father.-Such was the state of things when Sir William made the discovery. The illness of the young Baronet was long and dangerous, he was just upon the point of recovery when the Doctor, one day sitting by his bed, announced to him a most unexpected event. "William,' said he, Edward is no more!' "No more!" replied Sor William, aroused into attention; 'what mean you?" "I have a letter in my hand, which explains it better than I can myself. I have known this event this three months, but your state of health would not suffer me to inform you of it.' "Is it possible that this is true?" said Sir William. "It is unfortunately beyond a doubt,' said he. His death is confirmed by the Petersburgh papers, which accompany this packet.' "And Clarissa,' said Sir William, rising from his pillow. Clarissa is a widow, and her child-,' repeated Sir William. || of them. Return without any formality of explanation or remonstrance, to that state of friendship, intimacy, and brotherhood in which you formerly lived together.-If I know any thing of the heart of women, and more particularly of the character of Clarissa, she will soon find you necessary to fill up the void of her lost husband. There is a tenderness in the nature of women,they must have something to love. There is a mystery, however, which I could wish you to explain.' "Speak, Sir, what mystery?" said Sir William. "No, you are too weak as yet to support the effort. After you have seen Clarissa, I will explain myself more fuily." "On the following day Clarissa and Sir Williaın had the promised interview with each other. Sir William could not but see that her widow's weeds infinitely added to her charms; and her tranquillity, whether real or assumed, was such as surprized bim, till he reflected on the nature of youth and more particularly of women, receiving unpressions quickly and losing them as suddenly. "Clarissa, on her part, was delighted to see the young Baronet, and they had not been ten minutes together before Edward was wholly forgotten on both sides. "You will allow, my dear Hymenæa, that this is not romance." "Most certainly not," said I, "but it is what I expected from Clarissa. I have never known any of these readers of romance who did not want natural feeling in the same proportion in which they abounded in romantic extravagance. But proceed, my dear aunt, I will not interrupt you." "From the moment of this interview Sir William, upon his part, rapidly returned to health; as to Clarissa, I scarcely need say that though she continued to wear her weeds, her first love was entirely banished from her heart, and the image of her new lover received into its place." "If I had known what kind of character Clarissa would have eventually turned out, I would not have troubled you to have re. lated ber story," said I. "Nay, do not judge so harshly," said my aunt; "Clarissa was not a heroine but what hundreds of young women may be daily seen to be. I knew her intimately and loved her much.-She was delightfully handsome, a most charming temper, and of never-failing cheerfulness, elegant with all, and perfectly easy and unaffected; she certainly wanted constancy, but she did not want feeling. I compare her to a child, or rather to girls in general. As long as you were with her, she remembered you and loved you, but her affection was not proof against absence." "Proceed," said I, "in your narrative. This is an easy way of reconciling yourself to the want of that ordinary feeling which should always be natural to women. If Clarissa were a French woman, I should feel no surprize." "Well," replied my aunt, "to return to my narrative. Clarissa and Sir William now daily and almost hourly passed their time together, and Sir William at length mustered up courage enough to declare his passion." "It did not require much courage for that, I think," said I. "Well, Clarissa acknowledged his merit; and it was at length finally arranged to the satisfaction of all parties, that when the year had expired, Clarissa and Sir William should be united." "I'll lay my life on it," said I, " that Clarissa found out some romantic argument to excuse Sir William and herself from waiting the whole of this time." My aunt smiled, and thus continued :"You seem to forget Hymenæa, the circumstances of her union with Edward. She was scarcely married before she was separated from her husband. But not to get into any argument on a subject of this uninteresting nature, I return now to the Doctor's mystery. Sir William-and himself being one day in the parlour together after dinner, the Doctor without further explanation put a packet into his hands. This letter was addressed to the Doctor, from the patron of Edward, the nobleman whom he had accompanied to Petersburgh. Sir William now opened and read as follows: "MY DEAR SIR, nence. Petersburgh. "It gives me the greatest concern that I have to inform you of an event which almost equally interests us both, the death of the young man whom you had the goodness to entrust to my protection. This unhappy event has been attended with some extraordinary circumstances which render it doubly unfortunate. I confess that the merit of the young man has rendered his loss to me irreparable and so much the more to be lamented by his friends, as his talents gave a sure promise that he would sooner or later attain to great emiFor some days before his disappearance and death, he seemed overwhelmed with melancholy, and lost to what was passing around him. It was in vain that I exhausted all my efforts to obtain his confidence; he was inaccessible. In the midst of this state of mind, he was one morning missing, and all search for him was in vain. You will do me the justice to believe that nothing was neglected on my part to procure some intelligence relative to this unhappy and unaccountable affair. The only result obtained by my efforts, however, was, that a letter was stopt on the Russian frontier, the post master, from having lived in my family, being acquainted with the hand-writing of Edward. This letter I have inclosed. You will see that it only involves me deeper in mystery: |