CORRESPONDENCE
Master Humphrey has been favoured with the following letter written onstrongly-scented paper, and sealed in light-blue wax with therepresentation of two very plump doves interchanging beaks. It does notcommence with any of the usual forms of address, but begins as is hereset forth.
Bath, Wednesday night.
Heavens! into what an indiscretion do I suffer myself to be betrayed! Toaddress these faltering lines to a total stranger, and that stranger oneof a conflicting sex!—and yet I am precipitated into the abyss, and haveno power of self-snatchation (forgive me if I coin that phrase) from theyawning gulf before me.
Yes, I am writing to a man; but let me not think of that, for madness isin the thought. You will understand my feelings? O yes, I am sure youwill; and you will respect them too, and not despise them,—will you?
Let me be calm. That portrait,—smiling as once he smiled on me; thatcane,—dangling as I have seen it dangle from his hand I know not how oft;those legs that have glided through my nightly dreams and never stoppedto speak; the perfectly gentlemanly, though false original,—can I bemistaken? O no, no.
Let me be calmer yet; I would be calm as coffins. You have published aletter from one whose likeness is engraved, but whose name (andwherefore?) is suppressed. Shall _I_ breathe that name! Is it—but whyask when my heart tells me too truly that it is!
I would not upbraid him with his treachery; I would not remind him ofthose times when he plighted the most eloquent of vows, and procured fromme a small pecuniary accommodation; and yet I would see him—see him did Isay—_him_—alas! such is woman’s nature. For as the poet beautifullysays—but you will already have anticipated the sentiment. Is it notsweet? O yes!
It was in this city (hallowed by the recollection) that I met him first;and assuredly if mortal happiness be recorded anywhere, then thoserubbers with their three-and-sixpenny points are scored on tablets ofcelestial brass. He always held an honour—generally two. On thateventful night we stood at eight. He raised his eyes (luminous in theirseductive sweetness) to my agitated face. ‘_Can_ you?’ said he, withpeculiar meaning. I felt the gentle pressure of his foot on mine; ourcorns throbbed in unison. ‘_Can_ you?’ he said again; and everylineament of his expressive countenance added the words ‘resist me?’ Imurmured ‘No,’ and fainted.
They said, when I recovered, it was the weather. _I_ said it was thenutmeg in the negus. How little did they suspect the truth! How littledid they guess the deep mysterious meaning of that inquiry! He callednext morning on his knees; I do not mean to say that he actually came inthat position to the house-door, but that he went down upon those jointsdirectly the servant had retired. He brought some verses in his hat,which he said were original, but which I have since found were Milton’s;likewise a little bottle labelled laudanum; also a pistol and asword-stick. He drew the latter, uncorked the former, and clicked thetrigger of the pocket fire-arm. He had come, he said, to conquer or todie. He did not die. He wrested from me an avowal of my love, and letoff the pistol out of a back window previous to partaking of a slightrepast.
Faithless, inconstant man! How many ages seem to have elapsed since hisunaccountable and perfidious disappearance! Could I still forgive himboth that and the borrowed lucre that he promised to pay next week!Could I spurn him from my feet if he approached in penitence, and with amatrimonial object! Would the blandishing enchanter still weave hisspells around me, or should I burst them all and turn away in coldness!I dare not trust my weakness with the thought.
My brain is in a whirl again. You know his address, his occupations, hismode of life,—are acquainted, perhaps, with his inmost thoughts. You area humane and philanthropic character; reveal all you know—all; butespecially the street and number of his lodgings. The post is departing,the bellman rings,—pray Heaven it be not the knell of love and hope to
BELINDA.
P.S. Pardon the wanderings of a bad pen and a distracted mind. Addressto the Post-office. The bellman, rendered impatient by delay, is ringingdreadfully in the passage.
P.P.S. I open this to say that the bellman is gone, and that you must notexpect it till the next post; so don’t be surprised when you don’t getit.
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Master Humphrey does not feel himself at liberty to furnish his faircorrespondent with the address of the gentleman in question, but hepublishes her letter as a public appeal to his faith and gallantry.
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