not above half like it, and think a ramble, arm in arm with you upon our
native mountains, worth it all. However, my lot is drawn; and, perhaps,
as times and husbands go, _I have no cause of complaint_.
Your's most sincerely,
JULIA STANLEY.
LETTER IX.
TO Lady STANLEY.
My Dearest Child,
The task you set your father is a heavy one; but I chearfully comply
with any request of my Julia's. However, before I enter upon it, let me
say a little to you: Are you happy, my child? Do you find the world such
as you thought it while it was unknown to you? Do the pleasures you
enjoy present you with an equivalent for your renunciation of a fond
father, and tender sister? Is their affection amply repaid by the love
of your husband? All these, and a thousand other equally important
questions, I long to put to my beloved. I wish to know the true state of
your heart. I then should be able to judge whether I ought to mourn or
rejoice in this separation from you. Believe me, Julia, I am not so
selfish to wish you here, merely to augment my narrow circle of
felicity, if you can convince me you are happier where you are. But can
all the bustle, the confusion you describe, be productive of happiness
to a young girl, born and educated in the lap of peaceful retirement?
The novelty may strike your mind; and, for a while, you may think
yourself happy, because you are amused, and have not time to define what
your reflections are: but in the sober hour, when stillness reigns, and
the soul unbends itself from the fatigues of the day; what judgment then
does cool reason form? Are you satisfied? Are your slumbers peaceful and
calm? Do you never sigh after the shades of Woodley, and your rural
friends? Answer these questions fairly and candidly, my Julia--prove to
me you are happy, and your heart as good and innocent as ever; and I
shall descend to the silent tomb with peaceful smiles.
Perhaps the resolution I formed of retiring from a world in which I had
met with disgust, was too hastily concluded on. Be that as it may--it
was sacred, and as such I have, and will, keep it. I lost my confidence
in mankind; and I could find no one whose virtues could redeem it. Many
years have elapsed since; and the manners and customs change so
frequently, that I should be a total stranger among the inhabitants of
this present age.
You have heard me say I was married before I had the happiness of being
united to _your_ amiable mother. I shall begin my narrative from the
commencement of that union; only premising, that I was the son of the
younger branch of a noble family, whose name I bear. I inherited the
blood, but very little more, of my ancestors. However, a taste for
pleasure, and an indulgence of some of the then fashionable follies,
which in all ages and all times are too prevalent, conspired to make my
little fortune still more contracted. Thus situated, I became acquainted
with a young lady of large fortune. My figure and address won her heart;
her person was agreeable and although I might not be what the world
calls in love, I certainly was attached to her. Knowing the inferiority
of my fortune, I could not presume to offer her my hand, even after I
was convinced she wished I should; but some circumstances arising, which
brought us more intimately acquainted, at length conquered my scruples;
and, without consulting any other guide than our passions, we married.
My finances were now extremely straitened; for although my wife was
heiress of upwards of thirty thousand pounds, yet, till she came of age,
I could reap no advantage of it; and to that period she wanted near four
years. We were both fond of pleasure, and foolishly lived as if we were
in actual possession of double that income. I found myself deeply
involved; but the time drew near that was to set all to rights; and I
had prevailed on my wife to consent to a retrenchment. We had formed a
plan of retiring for some time in the country, to look after her estate;
and, by way of taking a polite leave of our friends (or rather
acquaintance; for, when they were put to the test, I found them
undeserving of that appellation); by way, I say, of quitting the town
with _éclat_, my wife proposed giving an elegant entertainment on her
birth-day, which was on the twenty-fourth of December. Christmas-day
fell that year upon a Monday: unwilling to protract this day of joy till
the Tuesday, my wife desired to anticipate her natal festival, and
accordingly Saturday was appointed. She had set her heart on dancing in
the evening, and was extremely mortified on finding an extreme pain in
her ancle, which she attributed to a strain. It was so violent during
dinner-time, that she was constrained to leave the table. A lady, who
retired with her, told her, the surest remedy for a strain, was to
plunge the leg in cold water, and would procure instant relief.
Impatient of the disappointment and anguish, she too fatally consented.
I knew nothing of what was doing in my wife's dressing-room, till my
attention was roused by repeated cries. Terribly alarmed--I flew
thither, and found her in the agonies of death. Good God! what was my
distraction at that moment! I then recollected what she had often told
me, of all her family being subject to the gout at a very early age.
Every medical assistance was procured--with all speed. The physician,
however, gave but small hopes, unless the disorder could be removed from
her head and stomach, which it had attacked with the greatest violence.
How was all our mirth in one sad moment overthrown! The day, which had
risen with smiles, now promised to set in tears. In the few lucid
intervals which my unhappy wife could be said to have, she instantly
prayed to live till she could secure her fortune to my life; which could
be done no other way than making her will; since, having had no
children, the estate, should she die before she came of age--or even
then, without a bequest--would devolve upon a cousin, with whose family
we had preserved no intimacy, owing to the illiberal reflections part of
them had cast on my wife, for marrying a man without an answerable
fortune. My being allied to a noble family was no recommendation to
those who had acquired their wealth by trade, and were possessed of the
most sordid principles. I would not listen to the persuasion of my
friends, who urged me to get writings executed, to which my wife might
set her hand: such measures appeared to me both selfish and cruel; or,
rather, my mind was too much absorbed in my present affliction, to pay
any attention to my future security.
In her greatest agonies and most severe paroxysms, she knew and
acknowledged her obligations to me, for the unremitted kindness I had
shewn her during our union. "Oh! my God!" she would exclaim, "Oh! my
God! let me but live to reward him! I ask not length of years--though in
the bloom of life, I submit with chearful resignation to thy will. My
God! I ask not length of days; I only petition for a few short hours of
sense and recollection, that I may, by the disposition of my affairs,
remove all other distress from the bosom of my beloved husband, save
what he will feel on this separation."
Dear soul! she prayed in vain. Nay, I doubt her apprehension and
terrors, lest she should die, encreased the agonies of her body and
mind.
Unknown to me, a gentleman, by the request of my dying wife, drew up a
deed; the paper lay on the bed: she meant to sign it as soon as the
clock struck twelve. Till within a few minutes of that time, she
continued tolerably calm, and her head perfectly clear; she flattered
herself, and endeavoured to convince us, she would recover--but, alas!
this was only a little gleam of hope, to sink us deeper in despair. Her
pain returned with redoubled violence from this short recess; and her
senses never again resumed their seat. She suffered the most
excruciating agonies till two in the morning--then winged her flight to
heaven--leaving me the most forlorn and disconsolate of men.
I continued in a state of stupefaction for several days, till my friends
rouzed me, by asking what course I meant to pursue. I had the whole
world before me, and saw myself, as it were, totally detached from any
part of it. My own relations I had disobliged, by marrying the daughter
of a tradesman. They were, no doubt, glad of an excuse, to rid
themselves of an indigent person, who might reflect dishonour on their
nobility--of them I had no hopes. I had as little probability of success
in my application to the friends of my late wife; yet I thought, in
justice, they should not refuse to make me some allowances for the
expenses our manner of living had brought on me--as they well knew they
were occasioned by my compliance with her taste--at least so far as to
discharge some of my debts.
I waited on Mr. Maynard, the father of the lady who now possessed the
estate, to lay before him the situation of my affairs. He would hardly
hear me out with patience. He upbraided me with stealing an heiress; and
with meanly taking every method of obliging a dying woman to injure her
relations. In short, his behaviour was rude, unmanly, and indecent. I
scorned to hold converse with so sordid a wretch, and was leaving his
house with the utmost displeasure, when his daughter slipped out of the
room. She begged me, with many tears, not to impute "her father's
incivility to her--wished the time was come when she should be her own
mistress; but hoped she should be able to bring her father to some terms
of accommodation; and assured me, she would use all her influence with
him to induce him to do me justice."
Her influence over the mind of such a man as her father had like to have
little weight--as it proved. She used all her eloquence in my favour,
which only served to instigate him against me. He sent a very rude and
abrupt message to me, to deliver up several articles of household
furniture, and other things, which had belonged to my wife; which,
however, I refused to do, unless I was honoured with the order of Miss
Maynard. Her father could not prevail on her to make the requisition;
and, enraged at my insolence, and her obstinacy, as he politely styled
our behaviour, he swore he would be revenged. In order to make his words
good, he went severally to each of the trades-people to whom I was
indebted, and, collecting the sums, prevailed on them to make over the
debts to him; thereby becoming the sole creditor; and how merciful I
should find him, I leave you to judge, from the motive by which he
acted.
In a few days there was an execution in my house, and I was conveyed to
the King's-Bench. At first I took the resolution of continuing there
contentedly, till either my cruel creditor should relent, or that an act
of grace should take place. A prison, however, is dreadful to a free
mind; and I solicited those, who had, in the days of my prosperity,
professed a friendship for me: some few afforded me a temporary relief,
but dealt with a scanty hand; others disclaimed me--none would bail me,
or undertake my cause: many, who had contributed to my extravagance, now
condemned me for launching into expences beyond my income; and those,
who refused their assistance, thought they had a right to censure my
conduct. Thus did I find myself deserted and neglected by the whole
world; and was early taught, how little dependence we ought to place on
the goods of it.
When I had been an inmate of the house of bondage some few weeks, I
received a note from Miss Maynard. She deplored, in the most pathetic
terms, "the steps her father had taken, which she had never discovered
till that morning; and intreated my acceptance of a trifle, to render my
confinement less intolerable; and if I could devise any methods, wherein
she could be serviceable, she should think herself most happy." There
was such a delicacy and nobleness of soul ran through the whole of this
little _billet_, as, at the same time that it shewed the writer in the
most amiable light, gave birth to the liveliest gratitude in my bosom. I
had, till this moment, considered her only as the daughter of Mr.
Maynard; as one, whose mind was informed by the same principles as his
own. I now beheld her in another view; I looked on her only in her
relation to my late wife, whose virtues she inherited with her fortune.
I felt a veneration for the generosity of a young girl, who, from the
narrow sentiments of her father, could not be mistress of any large sum;
and yet she had, in the politest manner (making it a favour done to
herself), obliged me to accept of a twenty-pound-note. I had a thousand
conflicts with myself, whether I should keep or return it; nothing but
my fear of giving her pain could have decided it. I recollected the
tears she shed the last time I saw her: on reading over her note again,
I discovered the paper blistered in several places; to all this, let me
add, her image seemed to stand confessed before me. Her person, which I
had hardly ever thought about, now was present to my imagination. It
lost nothing by never having been the subject of my attention before. I
sat ruminating on the picture I had been drawing in my mind, till,
becoming perfectly enthusiastic in my ideas, I started up, and, clasping
my hands together,--"Why," exclaimed I aloud, "why have I not twenty
thousand pounds to bestow on this adorable creature!" The sound of my
voice brought me to myself, and I instantly recollected I ought to make
some acknowledgment to my fair benefactress. I found the task a
difficult one. After writing and rejecting several, I at last was
resolved to send the first I had attempted, knowing that, though less
studied, it certainly was the genuine effusions of my heart. After
saying all my gratitude dictated, I told her, "that, next to her
society, I should prize her correspondence above every thing in this
world; but that I begged she would not let compassion for an unfortunate
man lead her into any inconveniencies, but be guided entirely by her own
discretion. I would, in the mean time, intreat her to send me a few
books--the subject I left to her, they being her taste would be their
strongest recommendation." Perhaps I said more than I ought to have
done, although at that time I thought I fell infinitely short of what I
might have said; and yet, I take God to witness, I did not mean to
engage her affection; and no thing was less from my intention than
basely to practice on her passions.
In one of her letters, she asked me, if my debts were discharged, what
would be my dependence or scheme of life: I freely answered, my
dependence would be either to get a small place, or else serve my king
in the war now nearly breaking out, which rather suited the activity of
my disposition. She has since told me, she shed floods of tears over
that expression--_the activity of my disposition_; she drew in her
imagination the most affecting picture of a man, in the bloom and vigour
of life, excluded from the common benefits of his fellow-creatures, by
the merciless rapacity of an inhuman creditor. The effect this
melancholy representation had on her mind, while pity endeared the
object of it to her, made her take the resolution of again addressing
her father in my behalf. He accused her of ingratitude, in thus repaying
his care for her welfare. Hurt by the many harsh things he said, she
told him, "the possession of ten times the estate could convey no
pleasure to her bosom, while it was tortured with the idea, that he, who
had the best right to it, was secluded from every comfort of life; and
that, whenever it should be in her power, she would not fail to make
every reparation she could, for the violence offered to an innocent,
injured, man." This brought down her father's heaviest displeasure. He
reviled her in the grossest terms; asserted, "she had been fascinated by
me, as her ridiculous cousin had been before; but that he would take
care his family should not run the risk of being again beggared by such
a spendthrift; and that he should use such precautions, as to frustrate
any scheme I might form of seducing her from her duty." She sought to
exculpate me from the charges her father had brought against me; but he
paid no regard to her asseverations, and remained deaf and inexorable to
all her intreaties. When I learnt this, I wrote to Miss Maynard,
intreating her, for her own sake, to resign an unhappy man to his evil
destiny. I begged her to believe, I had sufficient resolution to support
confinement, or any other ill; but that it was an aggravation to my
sufferings (which to sustain was very difficult) to find her zeal for
me had drawn on her the ill-usage of her father. I further requested,
she would never again mention me to him; and if possible, never think of
me if those thoughts were productive of the least disquiet to her. I
likewise mentioned my hearing an act of grace would soon release me from
my bonds; and then I was determined to offer myself a volunteer in the
service, where, perhaps, I might find a cannon-ball my best friend.
A life, so different to what I had been used, brought on a disorder,
which the agitation of my spirits increased so much as to reduce me
almost to the gates of death. An old female servant of Miss Maynard's
paid me a visit, bringing me some little nutritive delicacies, which her
kind mistress thought would be serviceable to me. Shocked at the
deplorable spectacle I made, for I began to neglect my appearance; which
a man is too apt to do when not at peace with himself: shocked, I say,
she represented me in such a light to her lady, as filled her gentle
soul with the utmost terror for my safety. Guided alone by the
partiality she honoured me with, she formed the resolution of coming to
see me. She however gave me half an hour's notice of her intention. I
employed the intermediate time in putting myself into a condition of
receiving her with more decency. The little exertion I made had nearly
exhausted my remaining strength, and I was more dead than alive, when
the trembling, pale, and tottering guest made her approach in the house
of woe. We could neither of us speak for some time. The benevolence of
her heart had supported her during her journey thither; but now the
native modesty of her sex seemed to point out the impropriety of
visiting a man, unsolicited, in prison. Weak as I was, I saw the
necessity of encouraging the drooping spirits of my fair visitor. I
paid her my grateful acknowledgments for her inestimable goodness. She
begged me to be silent on that head, as it brought reflections she could
ill support. In obedience to her, I gave the conversation another turn;
but still I could not help reverting to the old subject. She then
stopped me, by asking, "what was there so extraordinary in her conduct?
and whether, in her situation, would not I have done as much for her?"
"Oh! yes!" I cried, with eagerness, "that I should, and ten times more."
I instantly felt the impropriety of my speech. "Then I have been
strangely deficient," said she, looking at me with a gentle smile. "I
ask a thousand pardons," said I, "for the abruptness of my expression. I
meant to evince my value for you, and my sense of what I thought you
deserved. You must excuse my method, I have been long unused to the
association of human beings, at least such as resemble you. You have
already conferred more favours than I could merit at your hands." Miss
Maynard seemed disconcerted--she looked grave. "It is a sign you think
so," said she, in a tone of voice that shewed she was piqued, "as you
have taken such pains to explain away an involuntary compliment.--But I
have already exceeded the bounds I prescribed to myself in this
visit--it is time to leave you."
I felt abashed, and found myself incapable of saying any thing to clear
myself from the imputation of insensibility or ingratitude, without
betraying the tenderness which I really possessed for her, yet which I
thought, circumstanced as I was, would be ungenerous to the last degree
to discover, as it would be tacitly laying claim to her's. The common
rules of politeness, however, called on me to say something.--I
respectfully took her hand, which trembled as much as mine. "Dear Miss
Maynard," said I, "how shall I thank you for the pleasure your company
has conveyed to my bosom?" Even then thinking I had said too much,
especially as I by an involuntary impulse found my fingers compress
her's, I added, "I plainly see the impropriety of asking you to renew
your goodness--I must not be selfish, or urge you to take any step for
which you may hereafter condemn yourself."
"I find, Sir," she replied, "your prudence is greater than mine. I need
never apprehend danger from such a monitor."
"Don't mistake me," said I, with a sigh I could not repress. "I doubt I
have," returned she, "but I will endeavour to develop your character.
Perhaps, if I do not find myself quite perfect, I may run the risk of
taking another lesson, unless you should tell me it is imprudent." So
saying, she left me. There was rather an affectation of gaiety in her
last speech, which would have offended me, had I not seen it was only
put on to conceal her real feelings from a man, who seemed coldly
insensible of her invaluable perfections both of mind and body.--Yet how
was I to act? I loved her with the utmost purity, and yet fervour. My
heart chid me for throwing cold water on the tenderness of this amiable
girl;--but my reason told me, I should be a villain to strive to gain
her affections in such a situation as I was. Had I been lord of the
universe, I would have shared it with my Maria. You will ask, how I
could so easily forget the lowness of my fortune in my connexion with
her cousin? I answer, the case was widely different--I then made a
figure in life equal to my birth, though my circumstances were
contracted.--Now, I was poor and in prison:--then, I listened only to my
passions--now, reason and prudence had some sway with me. My love for my
late wife was the love of a boy;--my attachment to Maria the sentiments
of a man, and a man visited by, and a prey to, misfortune. On
reflection, I found I loved her to the greatest height. After passing a
sleepless night of anguish, I came to the resolution of exculpating
myself from the charge of insensibility, though at the expence of losing
sight of her I loved for ever. I wrote her a letter, wherein, I freely
confessed the danger I apprehended from the renewal of her visit.--I
opened my whole soul before her, but at the same time told her, "I laid
no claim to any more from her than compassion; shewed her the rack of
constraint I put on myself, to conceal the emotions of my heart, lest
the generosity of her's might involve her in a too strong partiality for
so abject a wretch. I hoped she would do me the justice to believe, that
as no man ever loved more, so no one on earth could have her interest
more at heart than myself, since to those sentiments I sacrificed every
thing dear to me." Good God! what tears did this letter cost me! I
sometimes condemned myself, and thought it false generosity.--Why should
I, said I to myself, why should I thus cast happiness away from two, who
seem formed to constitute all the world to each other?--How rigorous are
thy mandates, O Virtue! how severe thy decree! and oh! how much do I
feel in obeying thee! No sooner was the letter gone, than I repented the
step I had pursued.--I called myself ungrateful to the bounty of heaven;
who thus, as it were, had inspired the most lovely of women with an
inclination to relieve my distress; and had likewise put the means in
her hands.--These cogitations contributed neither to establish my
health, or compose my spirits. I had no return to my letter; indeed I
had not urged one. Several days I passed in a state of mind which can be
only known to those who have experienced the same. At last a pacquet was
brought me. It contained an ensign's commission in a regiment going to
Germany; and a paper sealed up, on which was written, "It is the
request of M.M. that Mr. Grenville does not open _this_ till he has
crossed the seas."
There was another paper folded in the form of a letter, but not sealed;
_that_ I hastily opened, and found it contained only a few words, and a
bank bill of an hundred pounds. The contents were as follow: