 | Randolph |  |
CHARLES GRENVILLE TO HIS MOTHER.
After all my wandering and trial; after so many vicissitudes
and disappointments; so many changes in myself,
and so much caprice in others, I have at last, I think,
a prospect of being happy. Yes, mother, I have, at last,
found the woman, whom, I believe, fitted by heaven, for
my happiness. My feelings are serious and devout. The
hey-day of my boyhood is past; and I have learnt to distrust
and tremble at those sudden prepossessions and
prejudices, which, once, were well nigh shaking my reason
to the centre. I have found the woman, at last, that
I can love and reverence. One, I had seen, before, whom
I could have loved, and did love, as you know; but oh,
she would not permit me to respect her; she would not
permit that I should enshrine her, and sanctify the place
of her dwelling, as a spot unapproachable to aught of
sensuality or corruption.—I found another, however,
heaven forever bless her, for her goodness! whom I believed
to contain within her bosom, the noblest principles,
the most generous sentiments, the most devoted and sublime
affection—I waited, only till her heart were in blossom,
and fruitage, to offer her mine. But the vine was
lovely and estimable women; but I had not the courage to
think of either, as my wife, as the head of my table;—or,
as the mother of my children. They had no experience,
none; and I would not trust, unthinking as I am, the
everlasting happiness of my babes, to them, whose experience
went scarcely so far, as the fashioning of a cap, or
the plaiting of a ruffle. But, there was one—one, about
whom, you felt so sensible an alarm, when we were last
together, whom I could have borne to think of, in that
solemn and sublime capacity—a wife and a mother.—
She was trained to the office. The large family, so long
subjected to her watchfulness; her character, its impressive
seriousness; her sincerity, as manifested in her advice
to me;—all these things were of weight; and though
my situation and honour forbade me to think of her then,
in any other light, than that of a friend; yet, since then,
and often since her marriage, have I thought of her, as
better fitted for my happiness, than any other woman,
whom I ever met.
But, I have found another; and, as I cannot bear that
an emotion of my heart should be unknown to the most
excellent of mothers, and the kindest of sisters, I have
thought fit, thus early, to apprise you, that I have now
found the woman, whom, if I can marry, I will.
Do not charge me with precipitation. It is true, that
I have not known her long; and have no surety that my
suit will be acceptable; but, I have long known her character;
and long, long since, met her, under circumstances,
that can never be effaced from my remembrance,
which established the goodness of her temper. Her disposition
is what it should be; gentle, and patient, perhaps,
beyond example; certainly, beyond any example, within
the reach of my experience. But, contrary to the general
rule, she does not want for spirit; and her talent is of
the highest order. There is no pretension about her; but,
I am justified in saying, that, in some matters, she has no
rival. Her family are unexceptionable; or rather, were
so; for, she is an orphan, and is now left upon the charity
of some distant relatives. This state of dependance, is
mind. Yet, she is discreet enough to be cautious,
in leaving it, for one, from which there is no escape, but
by death. She has had many offers, and some, that few
would have had the wisdom to reject.
My temper has undergone a radical improvement since
I have known her. It is only a few months, to be sure;
and there is something not a little ridiculous, I confess,
in ascribing such an effect, to the influence of a young
girl, upon a man of my settled habit; yet, it is the simple
truth. She has done more toward effecting a reformation
in me, in several points, within this short time, than
all the admonition, and all the entreaty of them, that I
most love, continued, without intermission, for many
years. Judge of her influence, then. If you were to see
her, you would love her. “Her name! her name!” I hear
you ask; by you there, I mean Anne; for I can see her
blue eyes laughing brightly over the page, and her red
lips parting impatiently, to practice the name of her intended
sister. Well, her name is Juliet R. Gracie. “Is
she rich?” No—not worth a dollar, thank heaven. “Is
she handsome?” No. “Smart?” No. “Fashionable?”
No. “Of high family?” No. “Then, what is she?” I'll
tell you, Anne, if you will only listen to me, a moment.
She is modest and sensibe;—pure of heart, and gifted
with a beautiful spirit. She has genius, and true natural
sensibility, gushing out for the real, not the imaginary
affliction of life;—she has patience, that sweet tranquilising
spirit, which makes martyrdom contagious. She
has an affectionate disposition; fine, intelligent eyes, bashful
as love, and instinct with the subdued expression of
a passionate, deep, and settled spirit, darkening to their
very centre, with the secret of her bosom; sweet lips, full
of wisdom and gentleness; a countenance, where there is
nothing to strike you, nothing to dazzle, nothing to intoxicate,
or astonish; but every thing to love, for it is innocent
and lofty. Her person is excellent, without
being showy. It is, like her faculties, good, but unfitted
for display,—withal, however, so delicate, that I tremble
for her. Her constitution may not be broken; but the
cheek; and the paleness upon her forehead, too, alarms
me.
Her fortitude—would that I could speak of it, as it deserves!—but
I cannot. Of her sincerity, that noblest of
virtues, however, without betraying her confidence, I
may be permitted to say, that it is positively sublime.
She has dared to tell me, what few women
would tell any man. I respect her for it. It has
given me more confidence in her. She has loved before.
The object, I have heard of. It is no light thing to
be his successor, in the heart that he has ravaged and devastated.
Yet so it is—and I shall be, if it be permitted
unto me. I am now waiting my doom. My happiness
is in her keeping. Heaven bless her! Whatever be her
determination, heaven bless her!
| Randolph | |