Part 19 (1/2)

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.