The Sylph Part 19

Mr. Spencer tells me, it is a proof I have great ascendancy over him, since he has made me the _confidante_ of his friend Woodley's attachment. And who do you think is the object of it? To whom has the constant youth paid his vows in secret, and worn away a series of years in hopeless, pining love? Ah! my Julia, who can inspire so tender, so lasting, a flame as yourself? Yes! you are the saint before whose shrine the faithful Woodley has bent his knee, and sworn eternal truth.

You must remember the many instances of esteem we have repeatedly received from him. To me it was friends.h.i.+p; to my sister it was love--and _love_ of the purest, n.o.blest kind.

He left Woodley-vale, you recollect, about five years ago. He left all he held dear; all the soft hope which cherished life, in the flattering idea of raising himself, by some fortunate stroke, to such an eminence, that he might boldly declare how much, how fondly, he adored his Julia.

In the first instance, he was not mistaken--he has acquired a n.o.ble fortune. Plumed with hope and eager expectation, he flew to Woodley-vale, and the first sound that met his ear was--that the object of his tenderest wishes was, a few weeks before his arrival, married. My Julia! will not your tender sympathizing heart feel, in some degree, the cruel anxiety that must take place in the bosom which had been, during a long journey, indulging itself in the fond hope of being happy--and just at that point of time, and at that place, where the happiness was to commence, to be dashed at once from the scene of bliss, with the account of his beloved's being married to another? What then remained for the ill-fated youth, but to fly from those scenes where he had sustained so keen a disappointment; and, without calling one glance on the plains the extravagance of his father had wrested from him, seek in the bosom of his friends an asylum?

He determined not to return till he was able to support the sight of such interesting objects with composure. He proposed leaving England: he travelled; but never one moment, in idea, wandered from the spot which contained all his soul held dear. Some months since, he became acquainted with the event which has once more left you free. His delicacy would not allow him to appear before you till the year was near expired. And now, if such unexampled constancy may plead for him, what compet.i.tor need Harry Woodley fear?

I told you my father was much pleased with Mr. Spencer, but he is more than pleased with his old acquaintance. You cannot imagine how much he interests himself in the hope that his invariable attachment to you may meet its due reward, by making, as he says, a proper impression on your heart. He will return with us to Woodley-vale. My father's partiality is so great, that, I believe, should you be inclined to favour the faithful Harry, he will be induced to make you the eldest, and settle Woodley on you, that it may be transmitted to Harry's heirs; a step, which, I give you my honour, I shall have no objection to. Besides, it will be proving the sincerity of Mr. Spencer's attachment to me--a proof I should not be averse to making; for, you know, _a burnt child dreads the fire._ These young men take up all our attention; but I will not write a word more till I have enquired after my dear old one. How does the worthy soul do?

I doubt you have not sung to him lately, as the gout has returned with so much violence. You know, he said, your voice banished all pain. Pray continue singing, or any thing which indicates returning chearfulness; a blessing I so much wish you. I have had a letter from Lady Brudenel; she calls on me for my promised visit, but I begin to suspect I shall have engagements enough on my hands bye and bye. I doubt my father is tired of us both, as he is planning a scheme to get rid of us at once. But does not this seeming eagerness proceed from that motive which guides all his actions towards us--his extreme tenderness--the apprehension of leaving us unconnected, and the infirmities of life hastening with large strides on himself? Oh! my Julia! he is the best of fathers!

Adieu! I am dressed _en cavalier_, and just going to mount my horse, accompanied by my two beaux. I wish you was here, as I own I should have no objection to a _tete-a-tete_ with Spencer; nor would Harry with you.

But _here_--he is in the way.

Your's,

L. GRENVILLE.

LETTER LV.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

Stanley-park.

Alas! my dearest Louisa, is it to me your last letter was addressed? to me, the sad victim of a fatal attachment? Torn as has been my heart by the strange vicissitudes of life, am I an object fit to admit the bright ray of joy? Unhappy Woodley, if thy destiny is to be decided by my voice! It is--it must be ever against thee. Talk not to me, Louisa, of love--of joy and happiness! Ever, ever, will they be strangers to my care-worn breast. A little calm (oh! how deceitful!) had taken possession of my mind, and seemed to chace away the dull melancholy which habitual griefs had planted there. Ah! seek not to rob me of the small share allotted me. Speak not--write not of Woodley; my future peace depends upon it. The name of _love_ has awakened a thousand, thousand pangs, which sorrow had hushed to rest; at least, I kept them to myself. I look on the evils of my life as a punishment for having too freely indulged myself in a most reprehensible attachment. Never has my hand traced the fatal name! Never have I sighed it forth in the most retired privacy! Never then, my Louisa, oh! never mention the destructive pa.s.sion to me more!

I remember the ill-fated youth--ill-fated, indeed, if cursed with so much constancy! The first predilection I felt in favour of one too dear--was a faint similitude I thought I discovered between him and Woodley. But if I entertained a partiality at first for him, because he reminded me of a former companion, too soon he made such an interest in my bosom, as left him superior there to all others. It is your fault, Louisa, that I have adverted to this painful, this forbidden subject.

Why have you mentioned the pernicious theme?

Why should my father be so earnest to have me again enter into the pale of matrimony? If your prospects are flattering--indulge them, and be happy. I have tasted of the fruit--have found it bitter to the palate, and corroding to the heart. Urge me not then to run any more hazards; I have suffered sufficiently. Do not, in pity to Mr. Woodley, encourage in him a hope, that perseverance may subdue my resolves. Fate is not more inexorable. I should despise myself if I was capable, for one moment, of wis.h.i.+ng to give pain to any mortal. He cannot complain of me--he may of _Destiny_; and, oh! what complaints have I not to make of _her!_

I have again perused your letter; I am not free, Louisa, even if my heart was not devoted to the unfortunate exile. Have I not sworn to my attendant Sylph? He, who preserved me in the day of trial? My vows are registered in heaven! I will not recede from them! I believe he knows my heart, with all its weaknesses. Oh! my Louisa, do not distress me more.

Adieu!

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER LVI.

TO Lady STANLEY.

Where has my Julia learnt this inflexibility of mind? or what virtue so rigid as to say, she is not free to enter into other engagements? Are your affections to lie for ever buried in the grave of your unfortunate husband? Heaven, who has given us renewable affections, will not condemn us for making a transfer of them, when the continuance of that affection can be of no farther advantage to the object. But your case is different; you have attached yourself to a visionary idea! the man, whose memory you cherish, perhaps, thinks no longer of you; or would he not have sought you out before this? Are you to pa.s.s your life in mourning his absence, and not endeavour to do justice to the fidelity of one of the most amiable of men?

Surely, my Julia, these sacrifices are not required of you! You condemn my father for being so interested in the fate of his friend Woodley!--he only requests you to see him. Why not see him as an acquaintance? You cannot form the idea of my father's wis.h.i.+ng to constrain you to accept him! All he thinks of at present is, that you would not suffer prejudices to blind your reason. Woodley seeks not to subdue you by perseverance; only give him leave to try to please you; only allow him to pay you a visit. Surely, if you are as fixed as fate, you cannot apprehend the bare sight of him will overturn your resolves! You fear more danger than there really is. Still we say--_see him_. My dearest Julia did not use to be inexorable! My father allows he has now no power over you, even if he could form the idea of using it. What then have you to dread? Surely you have a negative voice! I am called upon--but will end with the strain I began. See him, and then refuse him your esteem, nay more, your tender affection, if you can.

Adieu!

Your's most sincerely,

LOUISA GRENVILLE.

LETTER LVII.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

Oh, my Louisa! how is the style of your letters altered! Is this change (not improvement) owing to your attachment to Mr. Spencer? Can _love_ have wrought this difference? If it has, may it be a stranger to my bosom!--for it has ceased to make my Louisa amiable!--she, who was once all tenderness--all softness! who fondly soothed my distresses, _and felt for weakness which she never knew_--

"It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly; Our _s.e.x_, as well as I, may chide you for it, Though I alone do feel the injury--"

you, to whom I have freely exposed all the failings of my wayward heart!

in whose bosom I have reposed all its tumultuous beatings!--all its anxieties!--Oh, Louisa! can you forget my _confidence_ in you, which would not permit me to conceal even my errors? Why do you then join with men in scorning your friend? You say, _my father has now no power over me, even if he could form the idea of using power_. Alas! you have all too much power over me! you have the power of rendering me forever miserable, either by your persuasions to consign myself to eternal wretchedness; or by my _inexorableness_, as you call it, in flying in the face of persons so dear to me!

How cruel it is in you to arraign the conduct of one to whose character you are a _stranger_! What has the man, who, unfortunately both for himself and me, has been too much in my thoughts; what has he done, that you should so decisively p.r.o.nounce him to be inconstant, and forgetful of those who seemed so dear to him? Why is the delicacy of _your favourite_ to be so much commended for his forbearance till the year of mourning was near expired? And what proof that another may not be actuated by the same delicate motive?

But I will have done with these painful interrogatories; they only help to wound my bosom, even more than you have done.

My good uncle is better.--You have wrung my heart--and, harsh and unbecoming as it may seem in your eyes, I will not return to Woodley-vale, till I am a.s.sured I shall not receive any more persecutions on his account. Would he be content with my esteem, he may easily ent.i.tle himself to it by his still further _forbearance._

My resolution is fixed--no matter what that is--there is no danger of making any one a partic.i.p.ator of my sorrows.

Adieu!

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER LVIII.

To Miss GRENVILLE.

Stanley-park.

Louisa! why was this scheme laid? I cannot compose my thoughts even to ask you the most simple question! Can you judge of my astonishment? the emotions with which I was seized? Oh! no, you cannot--you cannot, because you was never sunk so low in the depths of affliction as I have been; you never have experienced the extreme of joy and despair as I have done. Oh! you know nothing of what I feel!--of what I cannot find words to express! Why don't you come hither?--I doubt whether I shall retain my senses till your arrival.