The Sylph Part 18

LETTER L.

TO Sir GEORGE BRUDENEL.

Woodley-vale.

My dear Sir George,

It is with the utmost pleasure, I a.s.sure you of my niece having borne her journey with less fatigue than we even could have hoped for. The pleasing expectation of meeting with her beloved relations contributed towards her support, and combated the afflictions she had tasted during her separation from them and her native place. As we approached the last stage, her conflict increased, and both Miss Finch and myself used every method to re-compose her fluttered spirits; but, just as we were driving into the inn-yard where we were to change horses for the last time, she clasped her hands together, exclaiming, "Oh, my G.o.d! my father's chaise!" and sunk back, very near fainting. I tried to laugh her out of her extreme agitation. She had hardly power to get out of the coach; and, hobbling as you know me to be with the gout, an extraordinary exertion was necessary on my part to support her, tottering as she was, into a parlour. I shall never be able to do justice to the scene which presented itself. Miss Grenville flew to meet her trembling sister. The mute expression of their features, the joy of meeting, the recollection of past sorrows, oh! it is more than my pen can paint; it was more than human nature could support; at least, it was with the utmost difficulty it could be supported till the venerable father approached to welcome his lovely daughter. She sunk on her knees before him, and looked like a dying victim at the shrine of a much-loved saint. What agonies possessed Mr. Grenville! He called for a.s.sistance; none of the party were able, from their own emotions, to afford him any. At last the dear creature recovered, and became tolerably calm; but this only lasted a few minutes. She was seated between her father and sister; she gazed fondly first on one, and then the other, and would attempt to speak; but her full heart could not find vent at her lips; her eyes were rivers, through which her sorrows flowed. I rose to retire for a little time, being overcome by the affecting view. She saw my intentions, and, rising likewise, took my hand--"Don't leave us--I will be more myself--Don't leave us, my second father!--Oh! Sir," turning to Mr. Grenville, "help me to repay this generous, best of men, a small part of what my grateful heart tells me is his due." "I receive him, my Julia," cried her father, "I receive him to my bosom as my brother." He embraced me, and Lady Stanley threw an arm over each of our shoulders. Our spirits, after some time, a little subsided, and we proceeded to this place. I was happy this meeting was over, as I all along dreaded the delicate sensibility of my niece.

Oh! Sir George! how could my unhappy nephew be blind to such inestimable qualities as Julia possesses? Blind!--I recall the word: he was not blind to them; he could not, but he was misled by the cursed follies of the world, and entangled by its snares, till he lost all relish for whatever was lovely and virtuous. Ill-fated young man! how deplorable was thy end! Oh! may the mercy of Heaven be extended towards thee! May it forget its justice, _nor be extreme to mark what was done amiss!_

I find Julia was convinced he was hurried out of this life by his own desperate act, but she forbears to enquire into what she says she dreads to be informed of. She appears to me (who knew her not in her happier days) like a beautiful plant that had been chilled with a nipping frost, which congealed, but could not destroy, its loveliness; the tenderness of her parent, like the sun, has chaced away the winter, and she daily expands, and discovers fresh charms. Her sister too--indeed we should see such women now and then, to reconcile us to the trifling s.e.x, who have laboured with the utmost celerity, and with too much success, to bring an odium on that most beautiful part of the creation. You say you are tired of the women of your world. Their caprices, their follies, to soften the expression, has caused this distaste in you. Come to Woodley-vale, and behold beauty ever attended by (what should ever attend beauty) native innocence. The lovely widow is out of the question. I am in love with her myself, that is, as much as an old fellow of sixty-four ought to be with a young girl of nineteen; but her charming sister, I must bring you acquainted with her; yet, unless I was perfectly convinced, that you possess the best of hearts, you should not even have a glance from her pretty blue eyes.

Indeed, I believe I shall turn monopolizer in my dotage, and keep them all to myself. Julia is my child. Louisa has the merit with me (exclusive of her own superlative one) of being _her_ sister. And my little _Finch_ is a worthy girl; I adore her for her friends.h.i.+p to my darling. Surely your heart must be impenetrable, if so much merit, and so much beauty, does not a.s.sert their sway over you.

Do you think that infamous fellow (I am sorry to express myself thus while speaking of a peer of our realm) Lord Biddulph is sincere in his reformation? Perhaps returning health may renew in him vices which are become habitual from long practice. If he reflects at all, he has much, very much, to answer for throughout this unhappy affair. Indeed, he did not spare himself in his conversation with me. If he sees his errors in time, he ought to be thankful to Heaven, for allowing that _time_ to him, which, by his pernicious counsels, he prevented the man he called _friend_ from availing himself of. Adieu! my dear Sir George. May you never feel the want of _that peace which goodness bosoms ever!_

EDWARD STANLEY.

LETTER LI.

To Miss FINCH.

You are very sly, my dear Maria. Mr. Stanley a.s.sures me, you went to Lady Barton's purposely to give her nephew, Sir George, the meeting. Is it so? and am I in danger of losing my friend? Or is it only the jocularity of my uncle on the occasion? Pray be communicative on this affair. I am sure I need not urge you on that head, as you have never used any reserve to me. A mind of such integrity as your's requires no disguises. What little I saw of Sir George Brudenel shews him to be a man worthy of my Maria. What an encomium I have paid him in one word!

But, joking apart (for I do not believe you entertained an idea of a _rencontre_ with the young Baronet at Barton-house), Mr. Stanley says, with the utmost seriousness, that his friend Brudenel made him the _confidante_ of a _penchant_ for our sweet Maria, some time since, on his inviting him down hither, to pick up a wife _unhackneyed in the ways of the world_. However, don't be talked into a partiality for the swain, for none of us here have a wish to become match-makers.

And now I have done with the young man, permit me to add a word or two concerning the old one; I mean Mr. Stanley. He has, in the tenderest and most friendly manner, settled on me two thousand a year (the sum fixed on another occasion) while I continue the widow of his unfortunate nephew; and if hereafter I should be induced to enter into other engagements, I am to have fifteen thousand pounds at my own disposal.

This, he says, justice prompts him to do; but adds, "I will not tell you how far my affection would carry me, because the world would perhaps call me an _old fool_."

He leaves us next week, to make some preparation there for our reception in a short time. I am to be mistress of his house; and he has made a bargain with my father, that I shall spend half the year with him, either at Stanley-Park or Pemberton-Lodge. You may believe all the happiness of my future life is centered in the hope of contributing to the comfort of my father, and this my second parent. My views are very circ.u.mscribed; however, I am more calm than I expected to have been, considering how much I have been tossed about in the stormy ocean. It is no wonder that I am sometimes under the deepest dejection of spirits, when I sit, as I often do, and reflect on past events. But I am convinced I ought not to enquire too minutely into some fatal circ.u.mstances. May the poor deluded victim meet with mercy! I draw a veil over his frailties. Ah! what errors are they which death cannot cancel? Who shall say, _I will walk upright, my foot shall not slide or go astray_? Who knows how long he shall be upheld by the powerful hand of G.o.d? The most presumptuous of us, if left to ourselves, may be guilty of a lapse. Oh! may _my_ trespa.s.ses be forgiven, as I forgive and forget _his!_

My dear Maria will excuse my proceeding; the last apostrophe will convince you of the impossibility of my continuing to use my pen.

Adieu!

JULIA STANLEY.

[The correspondence, for obvious reasons, is discontinued for some months. During the interval it appears, that an union had taken place between Sir George Brudenel and Miss Finch.--While Lady Stanley was on her accustomed visit to her uncle, she receives the following letter from Miss Grenville.]

LETTER LII.

TO Lady STANLEY. Melford-abbey,

This last week has been so much taken up, that I could not find one day to tell my beloved Julia that _she_ has not been _one day_ out of my thoughts, tho' you have heard from me but once since I obeyed the summons of our friend Jenny Melford, to be witness of her renunciation of that name. We are a large party here, and very brilliant.

I think I never was accounted vain; but, I a.s.sure you, I am almost induced to be so, from the attention of a very agreeable man, who is an intimate acquaintance of Mr. Wynne's; a man of fortune, and, what will have more weight with me, a man of strict principles. He has already made himself some little interest in my heart, by some very benevolent actions, which we have by accident discovered. I don't know what will come of it, but, if he should be importunate, I doubt I should not have power to refuse him. My father is prodigiously taken with him; yet men are such deceitful mortals--well, time will shew--in the mean time, adieu!

Your's, most sincerely,

LOUISA GRENVILLE.

LETTER LIII.

TO Lady STANLEY.

I cannot resist writing to you, in consequence of a piece of intelligence I received this morning from Mr. Spencer, the hero of my last letter.

At breakfast Mr. Spencer said to Mr. Wynne--"You will have an addition to your party tomorrow; I have just had a letter from my friend Harry Woodley, informing me, that he will pay his _devoir_ to you and your fair bride before his journey to London." The name instantly struck me--"Harry Woodley!" I repeated.

"Why do you know Harry Woodley?" asked Mr. Spencer. "I once knew a gentleman of that name," I answered, "whose father owned that estate _my_ father now possesses. I remember him a boy, when he was under the tuition of Mr. Jones, a worthy clergyman in our neighbourhood." "The very same," replied Mr. Spencer. "Harry is my most particular friend; I have long known him, and as long loved him with the tenderest affection--an affection," whispered he, "which reigned unrivalled till I saw you; he _was_ the _first_, but _now_ is _second_ in my heart." I blushed, but felt no anger at his boldness.

I shall not finish my letter till I have seen my old acquaintance; I wish for to-morrow; I expressed my impatience to Mr. Spencer. "I should be uneasy at your earnestness," said he, "did I not know that curiosity is incident to your s.e.x; but I will let you into a secret: Harry's heart is engaged, and has long been so; therefore, throw not away your fire upon him, but preserve it, to cherish one who lives but in your smiles."

He is arrived (Mr. Woodley, I mean); we are all charmed with him. I knew him instantly; tho' the beautiful boy is now flushed with manliness. It is five years since we saw him last--he did not meet us without the utmost emotion, which we attributed to the recollection that we now owned those lands which ought in right to have been his. He has, however, by Mr. Spencer's account, been very successful in life, and is master of a plentiful fortune. He seems to merit the favour of all the world.

Adieu!

Your's most truly,

LOUISA GRENVILLE.

LETTER LIV.

TO Lady STANLEY.

Melford-Abbey.