No; it was real. I revoke nothing that I have said or done. Do not, Frank, for the love of truth and justice do not think me insensible of your excellence, dead to your virtues, or blind to mind and merit which I never yet saw equalled!--Think not it is pride, or base insensibility of your worth! Where is the day in which that worth has not increased upon me?--Unjust to you?--Oh!--No, no, no!--My heart bleeds at the thought!--No!--It is my love of you, my love of your virtues, your principles, and these alone are lovely, which has rendered me thus inflexible. If any thing could make you dearer to me than you are, it must be weakness; it must be something which neither you nor I ought to approve. All the good, or rather all the opportunities of doing good which mortal or immortal being can enjoy do I wish you! Oh that I had prayers potent enough to draw down blessings on you!--Love you?--Yes!--The very idea bursts into pa.s.sion. [The tears, Louisa, were streaming down my cheeks.] Why should you doubt of all the affection which virtue can bestow? Do you not deserve it?--Oh yes!--Love you in the manner you could wish I must not, dare not, ought not: but, as I ought, I love you infinitely! Ay, dear, dear Frank, as I ought, infinitely!

Louisa!--Blame me if thou wilt--But I kissed him!--The chast.i.ty of my thoughts defied misconstruction, and the purity of the will sanctified the extravagance of the act. A daring enthusiasm seized me. I beheld his pa.s.sions struggling to attain the very pinnacle of excellence. I wished to confirm the n.o.ble emulation, to convince him how different the pure love of mind might be from the meaner love of pa.s.sion, and I kissed him! I find my affections, my sensibilities, peculiarly liable to these strong sallies. Perhaps all minds of a certain texture are subject to such rapid and almost resistless emotions; and whether they ought to be encouraged or counteracted I have not yet discovered. But the circ.u.mstance, unexpected and strange as it was, suffered no wrong interpretation in the dignified soul of Frank. With all the ardour of affection, but chastened by every token of delicacy, he clasped me in his arms, returned my kiss, then sunk down on one knee, and exclaimed--Now let me die!--

After a moment's pause, I answered--No, Frank! Live! Live to be a blessing to the world, and an honour to the human race!

I took a turn to the window, and after having calmed the too much of feeling which I had suffered to grow upon me, I continued the conversation.

I hope, Frank, we now understand each other; and that, as this is the first, so it will be the last contention of the pa.s.sions in which we shall indulge ourselves.

Madam, though _I still think, nay feel a certainty of conviction, that you act from mistaken principles_, yet you support what you are persuaded is truth with such high such self-denying virtue, that not to applaud, not to imitate you would be contemptible. You have and ought to have a will of your own. You practise what you believe to be the severest precepts of duty, with more than human fort.i.tude. You resolve, in this particular, not to offend the prejudices of your family, and the world. I submit. To indulge sensibility but a little were to be heart-broken! But no personal grief can authorise me in deserting the post I am placed in; nor palliate the crime of neglecting its duties.

_To the end of time I shall persist in thinking you mine by right_; but I will never trouble you more with an a.s.sertion of that right--Never!--Unless some new and unexpected claim should spring up, of which I see no probability.

He bowed and was retiring.

Stay, Frank, I have something more to say to you--I have a requisition to make which after what has pa.s.sed would to common minds appear unfeeling and almost capricious cruelty; but I have no fear that yours should be liable to this mistake. Recollect but who and what you are, remember what are the best purposes of existence, and the n.o.blest efforts of mind, and then refuse me if you can--I have formed a project, and call upon you for aid--Cannot you guess?

Mr. Clifton, madam--?

Yes.

I fear it is a dangerous one; and, whether my fears originate in selfishness or in penetration, they must be spoken. Yes, madam, I must warn you that the pa.s.sions of Mr. Clifton are, in my opinion, much more alarming than the resentment of your father.

But they are alarming only to myself. And ought danger to deter me?

Not if the good you design be practicable.

And what is impracticable, where the will is resolved?

Perhaps nothing--But the effort must be great, must be uncommon.

Has he not a mind worthy of such an effort? Would not his powers highly honour truth and virtue?

They would.

Will not you give me your a.s.sistance?

I would, madam, most willingly, would he but permit me. But I am his antipathy; a something noxious; an evil augury.

You have been particular in your attentions to me.

And must those attentions cease, madam?

They must be moderated; they must be cool, dispa.s.sionate, and then they will not alarm.--I cannot possibly be deceived in supposing it a duty, an indispensable duty to restore the mind of Clifton to its true station. If I fail, the fault must be my own. I am but young, yet many men have addressed me with the commonplace language of admiration, love, and I know not what; or rather they knew not what; and, except yourself, Frank, I have not met with one from whom half so much might be hoped as from Clifton. He is the brother of my bosom friend. Surely, Frank, it is a worthy task--Join with me!--There is but one thing I fear. Clifton is haughty and intemperate. Are you a duellist, Frank?

No, madam.

Then you would not fight a duel?

Never, madam, no provocation, not the brand of cowardice itself, shall ever induce roe to be guilty of such a crime.

Frank!--Oh excellent, n.o.ble youth!

Here, Louisa, our conversation abruptly ended. The company had risen from table, and we heard them in the corridor. I requested him to retire, and he instantly obeyed.

Oh! Louisa, with what sensations did he leave my mind glowing!--His conviction equals certainty, _that I act from mistaken principles!--_To the end of time he shall persist in thinking me his by right!_--Can the power of language afford words more strong, more positive, more pointed?--How unjust have I been to my cause!--For surely I cannot be in an error!--'Tis afflicting, 'tis painful, nay it is almost terrifying to remember!--_Persist to the end of time?_--Why did I not think more deeply?--I had a dark kind of dread that I should fail!--It cannot be the fault of my cause!--Wrong him!--Guilty of injustice to him!--Surely, surely, I hope not!--What! Become an example to the feeble and the foolish, for having indulged my pa.s.sions and neglected my duties?--I?--His mind had formed a favourite plan, and could I expect it should be instantly relinquished?--I cannot conceive torment equal to the idea of doing him wrong! Him?--Again and again I hope not!

I hope not! I hope not!

Then the kiss, Louisa? Did I or did I not do right, in shewing him how truly I admire and love his virtues? Was I or was I not guilty of any crime, when, in the very acme of the pa.s.sions, I so totally disregarded the customs of the world? Or rather, for that is the true question, could it produce any other effect than that which I intended? I am persuaded it could not. Nor, blame me who will, do I repent. And yet, my friend, if you should think it wrong, I confess I should then feel a pang which I should be glad not to deserve. But be sincere. Though I need not warn you. No false pity can or ought to induce you to desert the cause of truth.

Adieu--My mind is not so much at its ease as I hoped, from this conversation; but at all times, and in all tempers, believe me to be, ever and ever,

Your own dear

A. W. ST. IVES

LETTER XLII

_Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_

_Chateau de Villebrun_

All is over!--My hopes are at an end!--I am awakened from a dream, in which pain and pleasure were mingled to such excess as to render its continuance impossible.

Nor is this all. This trial, severe as it was, did not suffice. To the destruction of hope has been added the a.s.sault of insolence, accompanied with a portion of obloquy which heart scarcely can sustain--Oh, this Clifton!--But--Patience!

Yet let me do her justice. Mistaken though I am sure she is, the motives of her conduct are so pure that even mistake itself is lovely in her; and a.s.sumes all the energy, all the dignity of virtue. Oh what a soul is hers! Her own pa.s.sions, the pa.s.sions of others, when she acts and speaks, are all in subjection to principle. Yes, Oliver, of one thing at least she has convinced me: she has taught me, or rather made me feel, how poor a thing it is to be the slave of desire.

Not that I do not still adore her!--Ay, more than ever adore! But from henceforth my adoration shall be worthy of herself, and not degrading to me. From her I have learned what true love is; and the lesson is engraven on my heart. She can consider personal gratification with apathy, yet burn with a martyr's zeal for the promotion of universal good.

And shall I not rise equal to the bright example which she has set me?

Shall I admire yet not imitate?

Did she despise me? Did she reject me for my own sake?--No!--All the affection which mind can feel for mind she has avowed for me! And shall I grieve because another may be more happy?--And why more?--In what?--Is not the union of souls the first the most permanent of all alliances? That union is mine! No power can shake it. She openly acknowledges it; and has done, daily, hourly, in every word, in every action. Whither then would my wishes wander?

Oliver, I am a man, and subject to the shakes and agues of his fragile nature!--Yet it is a poor, a wretched plea; a foolish, and a false plea. Man is weak because he is willing to be weak. He crouches to the whip, and like a coward pities while he lashes himself.

His wilful phrensy he calls irresistible, and weeps for the torments which he himself inflicts.

But once again this Clifton!--Read and tell me how I ought to act--I have received a blow from him, Oliver!--Yes, have tamely submitted to receive a blow!--

What intolerable prejudices are these! Why does my heart rebel so sternly, at what virtue so positively approves?

I had just left her; had that instant been rejected by her for his sake; had been summoned to aid her, in weeding out error from his mind.

She shewed me it was a n.o.ble task, and communicated to me her own divine ardour. Yes, Oliver; I came from her, with a warmed and animated heart; partic.i.p.ating all her zeal. The most rigid, the most painful of all abstinence was demanded from me; but should I shrink from a duty because I pity or because I love myself? No. Such pusillanimity were death to virtue. I left her, while my thoughts glowed with the ardour of emulating her heroism; and burned to do him all the good which she had projected.

He was at the end of the corridor, and saw me quit her apartment. His hot spirit caught the alarm instantaneously, and blazed in his countenance. He accosted me--