_Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_
_London, Grosvenor Street_
You did not expect, dear Oliver, to receive a letter from me dated at
this distance. By the luckiest accident in the world, I have been
allowed to accompany her thus far, have ridden all day with my eye
fixed upon her, and at night have had the ecstatic pleasure to defend,
to fight for her! Perhaps have saved her life! Have been wounded for
her!--Would I had been killed! Was there ever so foolish, so wrong, so
romantic a wish? And yet it has rushed involuntarily upon me fifty
times. To die for her seems to be a bliss which mortal man cannot
merit! Truth, severe truth, perhaps, will not justify these effusions.
I will, I do, endeavour to resist them.--Indeed I am ashamed of
myself, for I find I am very feeble. Yet let not thy fears be too
violent for thy friend: he will not lightly desert his duty.
Let me tell thee, before I proceed, that my wound is slight.--We were
stopped by a couple of highwaymen. Thou never wert a witness of such
angelic sensibility as the divine creature discovered, when she found I
had received some hurt. She alarmed me beyond description, by the
excess of her feelings. Oh! She has a soul alive to all the throbs of
humanity! It shoots and shivers in every vein!--Then too when we
arrived, when candles were brought [I had bled somewhat freely, and I
suppose looked rather pale] thou hast no conception of, it is
impossible to conceive the energy with which she insisted on sending
for the best and most immediate help.
We had another battle of sensibility; for I assure thee I was almost as
much [Did I not know her I should say more.] alarmed for her as she
could be for me.
Yet do not imagine I am fool enough to flatter myself with any false
hopes. No: it was humanity; it was too deep a sense of a slight benefit
received; it was totally distinct from love.--Oh no! Love, added to
such strong, such acute sensations, surely, Oliver, it would have
shrieked, would have fainted, would have died!--Her fears and feelings
were powerful I grant, but they were all social, and would have been
equally awakened for any creature whom she had known, and had equal
cause to esteem. And she esteems all who have but the smallest claims
to such respect; even me!--Did I tell thee it was she who petitioned
Sir Arthur to lay his commands on me to attend them to London, knowing
I wished it; and that this was in return for the trifling favour I had
done her, in galloping after her with her favourite bird? Oh! She is
all benignity! All grace! All angel!
Never did I feel such raptures as since I have received this fortunate,
this happy wound!--Yet why?--Is not her heart exactly what it was? It
is. I should be an idiot not to perceive it is. Strange contradiction!
Hopeless yet happy!--But it is a felicity of short duration.
Would it were possible for me to accompany her to France! My restless
foreboding imagination has persuaded me she will be in danger the
moment she is from under my protection. Vain fool! Who, what am
I?--Because a couple of dastardly highwaymen have galloped away at the
first report of a pistol, my inflated fancy has been busy in persuading
me that I am her hero!
Yet I wish I might go with her! Tell me, Oliver, wouldst not thou wish
so too? Would not all the world wish the same? Didst thou ever in thy
life behold her without feelings unusual, throbs, doubts, desires, and
fears; wild, incoherent, yet deriving ecstasy from that divinity which
irradiates her form and beams on every object around her?--Do!--Think
me a poor, raving, lovesick blockhead! And yet it is true! All I have
said of her, and infinitely more, is true! Thou nor the world cannot
disprove it! Would I might go with her!
I have seen the fellow with whom I had the rencounter. His wound is
much more severe than mine. Sir Arthur sent information to the office
in Bow Street. Wouldst thou think a highwayman could be so foolish a
coxcomb as to rob in a bright scarlet coat, and to ride a light grey
horse? The bloodhunters [I am sorry that our absurd, our iniquitous
laws oblige me to call them so] the bloodhunters soon discovered the
wounded man. Forty pounds afforded a sufficient impulse. They were
almost ready to quarrel with me, because I did not choose to swear as
heartily as they thought proper to prompt. Thou knowest how I abhor the
taking away the life of man, instead of seeking his reformation.
After persisting that it was impossible for me to identify the person
of the highwayman, as indeed it really was, and luckily prevailing on
Sir Arthur to do the same [though he, like most folks who have any
thing to lose, was convinced it would be an excellent thing if all
rogues could be instantly hanged, like dogs, out of the way] I paid the
poor wretch a visit, privately, and gave him such a lecture as, I
should hope, he would not easily forget. It was not all censure:
soothing, reasoning, and menace were mingled. My greatest effort was to
convince him of the folly of such crimes; he had received some proof of
the danger. He was in great pain, and did not think his life quite
secure. He promised reformation with all the apparent fervour of
sincerity, prayed for me, blessed me very heartily, and praised me for
my bravery. He says the Bow Street runners will leave nothing
unattempted to secure the reward, and take away his life. I have
therefore engaged to hire a lodging, and bring a hackney coach for him
myself, at seven in the morning, the hour least likely for him to be
watched or traced. I believe I was more earnest to prevent harm
happening to him than he himself was; for, having met a man upon the
stairs, whose physiognomy, dress and appearance led me to suspect him,
I questioned my penitent, who owned it was his accomplice; a determined
fellow, according to his account; an Irish gambler, whose daring
character led him, after a run of ill luck, to this desperate resource.
It was with some difficulty I could persuade him the fellow might
betray him, and join the Bow Street people. The gambler, as he says,
expects a supply, and has promised him money. But he has consented to
leave his lodging; and I think I have convinced him of the folly,
danger, and guilt of such connections.
I found he was poor, and, except a few shillings, left him the trifle
of money which I had; endeavouring by every means to restore a lost
wretch to virtue and society. The fellow was not flint. The tears
gushed into his eyes, and I own I came away with hopes that my efforts
had not been wholly ineffectual.
I have written by the first post, that you mayst know what is become of
me. Farewell.