"and never knew how much I loved her!" I was almost in a state of madness for some hours--at last, my storm of grief and despair a little subsided, and I, by degrees, became calm and more resigned to my ill fate. I took the resolution, which I shall put in execution as soon as possible, to leave England. I will retire to the remaining part of my Frederic's family--and, in their friendship, seek to forget the pangs which an habitual tenderness has brought upon me.You, who are at ease, may have it in your power to convey some small satisfaction to my wounded breast. But why do I say small satisfaction? To me it will be the highest to hear that my Julia is happy. Do you then, my dear Spencer, enquire, among your acquaintance, the character of this Sir William Stanley. His figure is genteel, nay, rather handsome; yet he does not look the man I could wish for her. I did not discover that look of tenderness, that soft impassioned glance, which virtuous love excites; but you will not expect
a favourable picture from a rival's pen.
I mentioned a disappointment which the sister of my Julia had sustained: it was just before I left England. While on a visit at Abergavenny, she became acquainted with a young gentleman of fortune, who, after taking some pains to render himself agreeable, had the satisfaction of gaining the affections of one of the most amiable girls in the world. She is all that a woman can be, except being my Julia. Louisa was at that time extremely attached to a lady in the same house with her, who was by no means a favourite with her lover. They used frequently to have little arguments concerning her. He would not allow her any merit. Louisa fancied she saw her own image reflected in the bosom of her friend. She is warm in her attachments. Her zeal for her friend at last awakened a curiosity in her lover, to view her with more scrutiny. He had been accustomed to pay an implicit obedience to Louisa's opinion; he fancied he was still acquiescing only in that opinion when he began to discover she was handsome, and to find some farther beauties which Louisa had not painted in so favourable a light as he now saw them. In short, what at first was only a compliment to his mistress, now seemed the due of the other. He thought Louisa had hardly done her justice; and in seeking to repair that fault, he
injured the woman who doated on him. Love, which in some cases is blind, is in others extremely quick-sighted. Louisa saw a change in his behaviour--a studied civility--an apprehension of not appearing sufficiently assiduous--frequent expressions of fearing to offend--and all those mean arts and subterfuges which a man uses, who wants to put in a woman's power to break with him, that he may basely shelter himself behind, what he styles, her cruelty. Wounded to the soul with the duplicity of his conduct, she, one day, insisted on knowing the motives which induced him to act in so disingenuous a manner by her. At first his answers were evasive; but she peremptorily urged an explicit satisfaction. She told him, the most unfavourable certainty would be happiness to what she now felt, and that certainty she now called on him in justice to grant her. He then began by palliating the fatal inconstancy of his affections, by the encomiums which she had bestowed on her friend; that his love for her had induced him to love those dear to her; and some unhappy circumstances had arisen, which had bound him to her friend, beyond his power or inclination to break through. This disappointment, in so early a part of Louisa's life, has given a tenderness to her whole frame, which is of advantage to most women, and her in particular. She has, I question not, long since beheld this unworthy wretch in the light he truly deserved; yet, no doubt, it was not till she had suffered many pangs. The heart will not recover its usual tone in a short time, that has long been racked with the agonies of love; and even when we fancy ourselves quite recovered, there is an aching void, which still reminds us of former anguish.
I shall not be in town these ten days at least, as I find I can be serviceable to a poor man in this neighbourhood, whom I believe to be an object worthy attention. Write me, therefore, what intelligence you can obtain; and scruple not to communicate the result of your inquiry to me speedily. Her happiness is the wish next my heart. Oh! may it be as exalted and as permanent as I wish it! I will not say any thing to you; you well know how dear you are to the bosom of your
HENRY WOODLEY. LETTER VII.
TO HENRY WOODLEY, Esq.
No, my dear Harry, I can never consent to your burying yourself abroad; but I will not say all I could on that subject till we meet. I
think, I shall then be able to offer you some very powerful reasons, that you will esteem sufficient to induce you to remain in your
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native land.--I have a scheme in my head, but which I shall not communicate at present.
Sir William Stanley is quite a man of fashion.--Do you know enough of the world to understand all that title comprehends? If you do, you will sincerely regret your Julia is married to a man of fashion. His passions are the rule and guide of his actions. To what mischiefs is a young creature exposed in this town, circumstanced as Lady Stanley is--without a friend or relation with her to point out the artful and designing wretch, who means to make a prey of her innocence and inexperience of life!
The most unsafe and critical situation for a woman, is to be young, handsome, and married to a man of fashion; these are thought to be lawful prey to the specious of our sex. As a man of fashion, Sir William Stanley would blush to be found too attentive to his wife;--he will leave her to seek what companions chance may throw in her way, while he is associating with rakes of quality, and glorying in those scenes in which to be discovered he should really blush. I am told he is fond of deep play--attaches himself to women of bad character, and seeks to establish an opinion, that he is quite the ton in every thing. I tremble for your Julia.--Her beauty, if she had no other merit, making her fashionable, will induce some of those wretches, who are ever upon the watch to en-snare the innocent, to practice their diabolical artifices to poison her mind. She will soon see herself neglected by her husband,--and that will be the signal for them to begin their attack.--She is totally unhackneyed in the ways of men, and consequently can form no idea of the extreme depravity of their hearts. May the innate virtue of her mind be her guide and support!--but to escape with hon-our and reputation will be a difficult task. I must see you, Harry. I have something in my mind. I have seen more of the world than you have.--For a whole year I was witness of the disorder of this great town, and, with blushes I write, have too frequently joined in some of its extravagances and follies; but, thank heaven! my eyes were opened before my morals became corrupt, or my fortune and constitution impaired.--Your virtue and my Frederic's confirmed me in the road I was then desirous of pursuing,--and I am now convinced I shall never deviate from the path of rectitude.
I expect you in town with all the impatience of a friend zealous for your happiness and advantage: but I wish not to interfere with
any charitable or virtuous employment.--When you have finished your affairs, remember your faithful
J. SPENCER. LETTER VIII.
TO Miss GRENVILLE.
Surrounded with mantua-makers, milliners, and hair-dressers, I blush to say I have hardly time to bestow on my dear Louisa. What a continual bustle do I live in, without having literally any thing to do! All these wonderful preparations are making for my appearance at court; and, in consequence of that, my visiting all the places of public amusement. I foresee my head will be turned with this whirl of folly, I am inclined to call it, in contradiction to the opinion of mankind.--If the people I am among are of any character at all, I may comprise it in few words: to me they seem to be running about all the morning, and throwing away time, in concerting measures to throw away more in the evening. Then, as to dress, to give an idea of that, I must reverse the line of an old song.
"What was our shame, is now our pride."
I have had a thousand patterns of silks brought me to make choice, and such colours as yet never appeared in a rainbow. A very elegant man, one of Sir William's friends I thought, was introduced to me the other morning.--I was preparing to receive him as a visitor; when taking out his pocket-book, he begged I would do him the honour to inspect
