From the time Walter became more and more dissatisfied with his
situation. He no longer contended with the Baron respecting the length
of his stay, or refused to accompany him whenever he was requested to
any public amusement or private party. But he became so restless and
internally wretched, that it became impossible to conceal entirely how
much he was distressed.--He wrote many letters to Roseline. The
following is a copy of that which he sent a few days after his being so
fortunately saved by Albert from the diabolical plan laid to render him
miserable during life, and at the same time would have made the innocent
Roseline as unhappy as himself.
My ever dear and charming Roseline,
I cannot live much longer in this detestable place, where the women are
artful, the men base and designing. I am pointed at as being a fit dupe
for vice to ensnare: my ignorance often leads me into error, and my own
unsuspecting disposition exposes me to ridicule. If I must learn to be
like the people with whom I often associate here, I shall grow in a
little time so weary of existence, that I shall only wish it preserved
on your account.
The immense distance between this place and the castle you inhabit
renders it doubly detestable. It is a scene of bustle, confusion, and
design; its amusements are all frivolous and trifling; its pleasures are
joyless, unsocial, and unsatisfactory, and I a mere cypher, dull and
alone, amidst a crowd of beings, for whom I feel neither respect nor
friendship. In fact, I am never more alone than when I am surrounded by
hundreds of people, not one of whom cares for my happiness. I had rather
be with you in one of the gloomiest dungeons of Bungay-castle than in
the palace of our king, unless you were by my side.
I have seen a great many young ladies that are called beauties; but I
think none of them half so beautiful as my gentle Roseline; neither do
they appear so good humoured, nor is their dress so becoming, though
they wear as many diamonds as you did on the fortunate morning you went
to be married to my father. And would you think it?--one of them
actually endeavoured to draw me to marry her; though I repeatedly told
her I could love no woman but you.
I have neither spirits nor appetite; I can neither laugh nor sing, and,
if the Baron have a mind to make me polite,--if he wish me to acquire
knowledge,--if he de desirous I should become what he calls an useful
member of society, he must no longer keep us separate. It is your
company only that could give a charm to that of other people, and, if I
could see you, I should love the world for your sake. I shall die, dear
Roseline, unless they permit me to come to you.
Madeline, though she wept, was happy, and looked handsomer than ever;
and Edwin,--ah! how I envied your brother Edwin! He may be thankful he
was not the son of a Baron, compelled like me to go through the tiresome
drudgery of unmeaning ceremonies, and all the disgusting and nonsensical
forms which they tell me belong to a rank.--I am sure rank would be more
valuable and happier without them, and dignity far more pleasant to its
possessors, if they could divest themselves of pride.
Commend be cordially to your parents.--Tell your sisters I love them as
a brother, and make my respects to De Clavering, De Willows, and the
honest Cambrian, to whom I hope one day to be of service.
Sweet Roseline, think of me, dream of me, and love no one but me. My
father is very kind, very indulgent, and Albert very good, for he will
hear me talk of you for hours together; but neither the Baron nor Albert
can guess at the sufferings they inflict on me by this tedious absence
from you, to whom I am indebted for life, hope, and happiness.
Your's forever,