University of Virginia Library

[OMITTED]

JULIET TO SARAH.

Yes, my dear Sarah, I am married. A new state of
being, full of obligation and solemnity, is open to me.
The man that I have chosen---nay, I can hardly say that
I have chosen him, for it seems rather, as if heaven, in

its compassion to me, had thrown him in my way, and made
it necessary for me to fly to him for protection,---is a
man of integrity---and talent. We were married precipitately;
and, I assure you, my dear sister, very unexpectedly;
yet, at present, I am not at liberty to disclose
the transactions that led to it. I should be sorry
to suspect him, of having countenanced any part of them;
and his conduct has been so uniformly respectful, and
kind; so affectionate even, that if he have had any hand in
them, I am persuaded that it was out of tenderness to
me. Perhaps he may have permitted something of cruelty
and—nay, this is a manner unworthy of me, either
as his wife, or as your friend, Sarah; and so, I shall say
no more about it, until I can relate all the particulars.—
You will hear that I eloped with Mr. Grenville. It is
not true; nor, would I take the trouble to contradict it,
were there not some other reports in circulation, which
would seem to corroborate that. Nay—the very improbability
and extravagance of a story have been to me,
heretofore, a reason for believing that there must have
been some foundation for it. For, when people invent
a falsehood, you know that they generally try to give it
an air of probability.

You will hear also, that our marriage was private,
and unexpected. That is true. Four hours before it
took place, there seemed little likelihood, I declare to
you, that I should ever be the wife of Mr. Grenville.

Would you believe it?—There are some cruel slanders
in circulation respecting me, the extent of which I
have no kind, good-natured friend to inform me of. Perhaps,
I may get them more directly from you. Tell me
what they are, without fearing to wound me. My heart
is not easily wounded of late—continual laceration has
destroyed its sensibility. It is nearly callous. Of one
thing, however, I may venture to inform you. You
know my reluctuance to marriage. I intended to live
and die, alone. Yet—such was the humiliation, the
cruelty, that I have experienced of late, that even marriage,
marriage with a stranger, was a relief to me.—
You must not doubt Sarah, that I love my husband. No

—had I not loved him, I never would have married him,
under any consideration; but, no matter how much I had
loved him, had I been left free to choose for myself, I would
never have married him—never! He knows this. I
have used no concealment with him; and he has married
me, I verily believe, from a feeling of heroick generosity.
He was willing to be my friend—my dearest friend.
He deserved to be; and there was but one way. We had
often reasoned of the past—the present, and the future.
I respected him for his honesty; and, perhaps, loved him,
because he loved me; and, because there was such a considerate
delicacy in his love. He was never obtrusive---
never capricious; and throughout, had dealt with me
like an honest man. But now we are married; and I
shall endeavour to make him happy. Ah, my dear
Sarah! it is, indeed, no light natter, this undertaking—
to be the partner of another, in heart and spirit, forever
and ever. I tremble, when I think of it; and I should
sink into the very earth, if I could reproach myself with
any concealment. But no—there is none---none! He
is master even of some of the wretched slanders, in circulation
against me—but he has the magnanimity to smile
at them,—ah—my husband calls me. I will return in
a moment—

Sarah! I have scarcely the power to hold my pen.—
That man, that bad man—he, whom I never meant to
name again—Molton, has been with us. What can it
portend? Several hours have passed; but, I am yet so
agitated, that I can hardly keep my hand upon the paper.
When I entered the room, he stood fronting the
door. He bowed, without any emotion. Mr. Grenville,
I thought, manifested a good deal of perturbation. Mr.
Molton asked me, if it were true, that Jane had shut her
door against me; one evening when Mr. G. and I had
been taking a walk. I answered, reluctantly, yes.—
“Madam,” said he, “I do not come to alarm you. My
errand is one of peace. I have been conversing with
your husband, and I respect him.” (It was said with
emphasis; and, coming from Edward Molton, I confess
that it did my heart good.) “I was not surprised to

learn from him that you had communicated the whole,
the whole, madam, that ever transpired between us. This
was wise. It will prevent misinterpretation, slander, or
unkind feeling, hereafter. I was willing to see you once
more;—but I chose that your husband should be present.
You have been slandered; and I have my share, I find, in
the calumny. For myself, that were nothing, but while
I have breath, Juliet—Ma—Madam—Mrs. Grenville, I
mean---no human being shall breathe any slander upon
your name. Pardon me—I see that it distresses you;
but, I have the traducer in my own power. Your husband
did not know the extent of these atrocious calumnies,
until I communicated them to him. For some
things, that he did, I blame him; but, these were consequences
that he could not foresee---and his love—and love
madam, where it does not debase, enables and consecrates
like divinity—his love made him wander. Farewell. I
shall probably never trouble you again. You have both
an ill opinion of me. I am sorry for it; but I do not
blame you; and it is hardly worth while, at my age, and
in my state of health, to—Sir, your wife had better sit, I
think—(Indeed I could hardly stand) to disturb the consciences
or the hearts of them that slumber--unless, indeed,
I were sure that they would be the happier for it. You
will not see me again—but you will hear from me, in
a few days too, I hope. Farewell.”

He passed my husband, who shook him cordially, very
cordially by the hand;---and as he passed me—what could
I do-it was probably the last time-we had never parted before,
even in our anger, without it. I put mine into his.
He appeared surprised---touched--and he relinquished it,
very gently. “What am I to think of this,” Mr. G. said
to me---the first words that he spoke. “Is that the man
Juliet?” I stammered a little, I verily believe;---but, nevertheless,
I was able to articulate a faint yes, at last.---
“By heaven!” said he---“he is a most extraordinary being.”

Farewell! Sarah. Tell me what to do, or think.