LETTER XLI.

EMILY DOUGLAS TO JULIA SANDFORD.

Dearest Julia,

Here we are, in that truly magnificent street, the Rue Royale, to which we removed immediately after I sent off my last letter. From our hotel we look upon such a world of _monuments_, that every object which the windows open upon seems to beckon like a ghost, and invite one to hear the tales which it could disclose; but you lived so near this spot when you were in Paris, that you can place yourself in the midst of us, and accompany your friends in every excursion.--I am bewildered! The beauty of the buildings, the _foreign air_ of all things around me, the confusion of tongues, the quantity to be seen and heard on the one hand; then the anxiety which presses daily on our hearts, and mamma’s evident apprehension that _the end_ so much dreaded is not far distant, hang a mill-stone round my neck and chequer every enjoyment; but I have a great deal to tell you, of one sort or other.

Here I broke off; my letter, only written thus far, has lain by during upwards of a week. Arthur and his friend are with us; and Time flies on golden pinions. If happiness be not made for mortals, why have we sometimes a cup of such sparkling brilliancy presented to our lips only to make us suffer the fate of Tantalus? I am driven to ask this murmuring discontented question on looking around, and casting up the sum of such treasures as I cannot bear to part with.

You know how we love Arthur, who is so improved that I should scarcely know him; and, oh, what a being is Charles Falkland! It would seem as if Nature, in one of her happiest moods, had sent him into our planet just to shew what she was able to perform. I had heard of him, and read his letters; I therefore expected something unlike the average of human kind, but I was not prepared for such a creature as I find, who seems to have been endowed at his birth by all the fairies, who, according to the ancient legends, used to subscribe “a virtue each, and each a grace,” to produce perfection! I rejoice for Frederick in such a companion; and as for the female part of our circle, every enjoyment afforded by the interminable delights of this surprising Paris, is rendered tenfold attractive by the society which it is our fortune to have assembled here.

We passed two days at Versailles most agreeably, and have been at St. Cloud. After all my resolutions to the contrary, I should find it impossible to avoid dilating on themes so fruitful of reflection, were my mind not too much taken up at present with thoughts that corrode and distress, to admit of musing on more abstract subjects.

Hardly is my dear Arthur happy in a reunion with so many who are dear to him, ere a fatal interruption occurs in a letter from Louisa Howard, and a second from young Annesley, dated Milan. The first informs him that my aunt is seriously ill, and so harassed by applications for money, both on her own and her unfortunate son-in-law’s account, that the most distressing consequences may be apprehended.

Poor Louisa writes in sad spirits, and entreats her brother to lose as little time as possible in setting out for Selby. Mr Annesley’s letter brings the painful tidings that Lord Crayton has had a quarrel with an officer, to whom he had lost a large sum of money. They fought; Lord C. killed his antagonist, and then absconded: Lady Crayton accompanied his flight. They left Milan deeply in debt, and no one is able to trace the fugitives. At this moment the family are in consultation respecting what is to be done; and before I close this, you shall hear the result of the council.

Well, our much loved Arthur, who is greatly depressed, sets out for Calais to-morrow; and Mr. Falkland, who gives your friend Stanley a seat in his carriage, has resolved on accompanying us. We have outstayed the time allotted to Paris, and are to commence our journey in three or four days.

Adieu, dearest Julia!

Your affectionate

EMILY DOUGLAS.