JULIA STANLEY.
LETTER LIX.
TO Lady BRUDENEL.
Stanley-park.
Yes! my dear Maria, you shall be made acquainted with the extraordinary change in your friend! You had all the mournful particulars of my past life before you. I was convinced of your worth, nor could refuse you my confidence. But what is all this? I cannot spend my time, my precious time, in prefacing the scenes which now surround me.
You know how depressed my mind was with sorrow at the earnestness with which my father and sister espoused the cause of Mr. Woodley. I was ready to sink under the dejection their perseverance occasioned, aggravated too by my tender, long-cherished attachment to the unfortunate Baron. [This is the first time my pen has traced that word.]
I was sitting yesterday morning in an alcove in the garden, ruminating on the various scenes which I had experienced, and giving myself up to the most melancholy presages, when I perceived a paper fall at my feet. I apprehended it had dropped from my pocket in taking out my handkerchief, which a trickling tear had just before demanded. I stooped to pick it up; and, to my surprize, found it sealed, and addressed to myself. I hastily broke it open, and my wonder increased when I read these words:
"I have been witness to the perturbation of your mind. How will you atone to your Sylph, for not availing yourself of the privilege of making application to him in an emergency? If you have lost your confidence in him, he is the most wretched of beings. He flatters himself he may be instrumental to your future felicity. If you are inclined to be indebted to him for any share of it, you may have the opportunity of seeing him in five minutes. Arm yourself with resolution, most lovely, most adored of women; for he will appear under a semblance not expected by you. You will see in him the most faithful and constant of human beings."
I was seized with such a trepidation, that I could hardly support myself; but, summoning all the strength of mind I could assume, I said aloud, though in a tremulous voice, "Let me view my amiable Sylph!"—But oh! what became of me, when at my feet I beheld the most wished-for, the most dreaded, Ton-hausen! I clasped my hands together, and shrieked with the most frantic air, falling back half insensible on the seat. "Curse on my precipitance!" he cried, throwing his arms round me. "My angel! my Julia! look on the most forlorn of his sex, unless you pity me." "Pity you!" I exclaimed, with a faint accent—"Oh! from whence, and how came you here?"