1. |
2. |
Miss Howard.. |
the Earl of Belmont.. |
Henry Mandeville, Esq;. |
George Mordaunt, Esq;. |
Henry Mandeville, Esq;. |
the Earl of Belmont.. |
Lord Viscount Fondville.. |
Colonel Bellville.. |
Colonel Bellville.. |
George Mordaunt, Esq;. |
Colonel Bellville.. |
George Mordaunt, Esq;. |
Henry Mandeville, Esq;. |
Colonel Bellville.. |
Colonel Bellville.. |
George Mordaunt, Esq;. |
Colonel Bellville.. |
Lady Anne Wilmot.. |
George Mordaunt, Esq;. |
Henry Mandeville, Esq;. |
Lady Anne Wilmot.. |
Colonel Bellville.. |
Henry Mandeville, Esq;. |
Colonel Bellville.. |
Colonel Mandeville.. |
Colonel Bellville.. |
Colonel Bellville.. |
the Countess Melespini.. |
George Mordaunt, Esq;. |
Colonel Bellville.. |
Henry Mandeville, Esq;. |
Colonel Bellville.. | To Colonel Bellville.
Thursday Morning.
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Col. Bellville.. |
Colonel Bellville.. |
the Earl of Belmont.. |
the Earl of Rochdale.. |
Col. Bellville.. |
The history of Lady Julia Mandeville | ||
To Colonel Bellville.
Thursday Morning.
THE most lovely of men is no more; he expired early this morning, after having in my presence owned to my Lord, that jealousy was the true cause of his attacking Lord Melvin, who only fought in his own defence; which he intreated him publicly to attest, and to beg Lord Melvin's pardon, in his name, for insults which madness alone could excuse, and which it was not in man to bear; he owned Lord Melvin's behavior in the duel had been noble; and that he had avoided giving him the least wound, till, urged by fury and despair, and aiming at the life of his generous enemy rather than at his own defence, he had rushed on the point of his sword.
He expressed great indifference for life on his own account, but dreaded the effect his death might have on the most tender of fathers: intreated my Lord to soften so painful a stroke by preparing him for it by degrees, and, if possible, to conceal from him the shocking manner of it. "How ill, said he, has my rashness repaid him for all his anxious cares, his indulgent goodness! I suffer justly; but for him– Great God! support him in the dreadful trial, and pour all thy blessings on his head!"
He then proceeded to expostulate gently with Lord Belmont on his supposed design of forcing the heart of his daughter, and on that neglect of himself which had planted the furies of jealousy in his breast, and occasioned this shocking event. These reproaches brought on an explanation of the situation to which his danger had reduced Lady Julia, of my Lord's intention
Till now, he had appeared perfectly composed; but, from the moment my Lord began to speak, a wildness had appeared in his countenance, which rose, before he ended, to little less than distraction; he raved, he reproached Heaven itself; then, melting into tears, prayed with fervor unspeakable for Lady Julia's recovery: the agitation of his mind caused his wounds to bleed afresh; successive faintings were the consequence, in one of which he expired.
Lord Belmont is now writing to Colonel Mandeville. How many has this dreadful event involved in misery!
Who shall tell this to Lady Julia? Yet how conceal it from her? I dread the most
Ten o'Clock.
The physician is gone; he thinks Lady Julia in danger, but has not told this to the family: I am going again to her apartment; she has not yet taken notice of any body.
I had been about half an hour in Lady Julia's room, when, having sent the last attendant away for something I wanted, she looked round, and saw we were alone;
May Heaven restore her to her wretched Parents, whose life is wrapt in hers! May it inspire her with courage to bear this stroke, the severest a feeling mind can suffer! Her youth, her sweetness of temper, her unaffected piety, her filial tenderness, sometimes flatter me with a hope of her recovery; but when I think on that melting sensibility, on that exquisitely tender heart,
Lady Julia has sent to speak with me: I will not a moment delay attending her. How blest should I be, if the sympathizing bosom of Friendship could soften by partaking her sorrows!
Oh! Bellville! what a request has she made! my blood runs back at the idea.
She received me with a composed air, begged me to sit down by her bedside, and, sending away her attendants, spoke as follows; "You are, I doubt not, my dear Lady Anne, surprized at the seeming tranquil manner in which I bear the greatest of all misfortunes–Yes, my heart doated on him, my love for him was unutterable–But it is past; I can no longer be deceived by the fond delusion
"I have been to blame; not in loving the most perfect of human beings; but in concealing that love, and distrusting the indulgence of the best of parents. Why did I hade my passion? Why conceal sentiments only blameable on the venal maxims of a despicable world? Had I been unreserved, I had been happy: but Heaven had decreed otherwise, and I submit.
"But whither am I wandering? I sent for you to make a request; a request in which I will not be denied. Lady Anne, I would see him; let me be raised and carried to his apartment before my mother returns; let me once more behold
Overcome by the earnestness of her air and manner, I had not resolution to refuse her; her maids are now dressing her, and I have promised to attend her to his apartment.
I am summoned. Great God! How shall I bear a scene like this? I tremble, my limbs will scarce support me.
Twelve o'Clock.
This dreadful visit is yet unpaid: three times she approached the door, and returned as often to her apartment, unable to enter the room; the third time she fainted away: her little remaining strength being exhausted, she has consented to defer her
I have been enquiring at Lady Julia's door; she is in a sweet sleep, from which we have every thing to hope: I fly to tell this to Lady Belmont–She will live; Heaven has heard our prayers.–
I found the wretched mother pouring out her soul before her God, and imploring his mercy on her child–She heard me, and tears of tender transport–she raised her grateful hands to Heaven–
I am interrupted; Dr. Evelin is at the gate; he is come to my apartment, and desires me to accompany him to Lady Julia.
We found her still in a gentle sleep, composed as that of an infant; we approached the bead; Dr. Evelin took her hand, he stood some time looking on her with the most fixed attention, when, on my expressing my hopes from her sleep, "Madam," said he, "it is with horror I tell you, that sleep will probably be her last; nature is worn out, and seeks a momentary repose before her last dreadful struggle."
Not able to bear this, I left the room.– Bellville! is it possible! Can Heaven thus overwhelm with affliction, the best, the noblest of its creatures? shall the amiable, the reverend pair, the business of whose lives has been to make others happy, be doomed in age to bear the severest of all sorrows? to see all their hopes blasted in one dreadful moment? To believe this, is to blaspheme Providence. No, it is not possible: Heaven will yet restore her: look down, O God of Mercy––
Dr. Evelin is now with the wretched parents, breaking to them the danger of their child: I dread seeing them after this interview: yet he will not sure plunge them at once into despair.
She is awake; I have been with her; her looks are greatly changed; her lips have a dying paleness; there is a dimness in her eyes which alarms me; she has desired to speak a moment with Dr. Evelin; she would know how long he thinks it probable she may live.
Six o'Clock.
She is gone, Bellville, she is gone: those lovely eyes are closed in everlasting night. I saw her die, I saw the last breath quiver on her lips; she expired, almost without a pang, in the arms of her distracted mother.
She felt her approaching dissolution, of which she had been warned, at her own earnest request, by Dr. Evelin; she summoned us all to her apartment; she embraced us with the most affecting tenderness; she called me to her, and, giving me her picture for Colonel Mandeville, begged me to tell him, she, who murdered his son, died for him: entreated me to stay some time at Belmont, to comfort her disconsolate parents; conjured Emily to be a child to them, and never to let them miss their Julia.
She begged forgiveness of her wretched parents, for the only instance in which she had ever forgot her duty, and for which she now so severely suffered: entreated them to submit to the hand of Heaven, and not give way to immoderate affliction; to consider that, if they were about to lose a child, thousands were at that moment suffering under the same distress; that death
Let me draw a veil over the ensuing scene, to which words cannot do justice. With difficulty have we forced Lady Belmont from the body. I have left Emily Howard with the venerable pair, whose sorrow would melt the most obdurate heart;
Bellville! where are now all our gay schemes? Where the circle of happy friends?
How vain are the designs of man! unmindful of his transitory state, he lays plans of permanent felicity; he sees the purpose of his heart ready to prosper; the air-drawn building rises; he watches it with a beating heart; it touches the very point at which he aimed, the very summit of imagined perfection,
Friday Morning.
Not an eye has been closed this night; the whole house is a scene of horror: the servants glide up and down the apartments, wildness in their look, as if the last day was come.
Scarce have we been able to keep life in Lady Belmont; she asks eagerly for her child, her Julia; she conjures us to lead her to her; she will not believe her dead; she starts up, and fancies she hears her voice: then, recollecting the late dreadful scene, lifts her expostulating hands to Heaven, and sinks motionless into the arms of her attendants.
Six o'Clock.
Worn out by her long watchings and the violence of her emotions, Lady Belmont is fallen into a slumber: it is now two days and nights since she has attempted rest. May that gracious God, who alone has the power, calm and tranquillize her mind!
Eight o'Clock.
I have been standing an hour looking on the breathless body of my angel friend: lovely even in death, a serene smile sits on that once charming face: her paleness excepted, she looks as if in a tranquil sleep: Bellville, she is happy, she is now a saint in Heaven.
How persuasive is such a preacher! I gaze on the once matchless form, and all vanity dies within me: who was ever lovely like her? yet she lies before me a clod of
Look here, ye proud, and be humble! which you all can vie with her? Youth, health, beauty, birth, riches, all that men call good, were hers: all are now of no avail; virtue alone bids defiance to the grave.
Great Heaven! Colonel Mandeville is at the gate; he knows not the cup of sorrow which awaits him; he cannot yet have received my Lord's letter. He alights with a smile of transport: the exultation of hope is in his air. Alas! how soon to be destroyed! He comes to attend the bridal-
The servants bring him this way; they leave to me the dreadful talk–Bellville, I cannot go through it.
I have seen the most unhappy of fathers; I have followed him whither my heart shuddered to approach. Too soon informed of his wretched fate, he shot like lightning to the apartment of his son; he kissed his pale lifeless lips; he pressed his cold hand to his bosom; he bathed it with a torrent of tears: then, looking round with the dignity of affliction, waved his hand for us all to retire. We have left him to weep at liberty over the son on whom his heart doated, to enjoy alone and undisturbed the dreadful banquet of despair.
He has been now two hours alone with the body; not an attendant has dared to
Great God! What a meeting! How different from that which their sanguine hopes had projected! The bridal couch is the bed of death!
Oh! Bellville!–But shall presumptuous man dare to arraign the ways of Heaven!
The history of Lady Julia Mandeville | ||