Julia (Chapter_7)

Chaper seventh 63 Imperceptibly, but fataly, had as [?] conversations of this nature had under mined her principles And, there was something in this specific advice from which Julia's whole soul revolted. Not that she deemed it criminal, but because she felt it to be cruel, thus to use the affections of another for so selfish a purpose, as her own relief, from the very sufferings she thus inflicted. -- the sufferings of unparticipated, unreturned affection. Tho' her whole life had been governed rather by the impulse of feeling, than principles of morality, yet, while living in the security of domestic life & under the watchful care of her fond parents, no feeling had been excited, whose in Julia had led her astray. Far different was her situation in the dazzling, seductive & tumultuous scenes of gay & fashionable life.

When a bark is launched on a peaceful & shallow stream it may be left with out danger to float upon its surface, & fathoms But when this stream mingles with the sea, & the Bark born by its current is cast upon the wide ocean the sport of wind & waves, it must inevitably be lost, unless garded by a skilful Pilot.

Moral sentiment, which in a pure & uninitiated mind is a gaurd & guide to human conduct, too often loses it. purer when it comes in contact with the pernicious habits of fashionable life. In Julia's mind at least, those keen sensibilities, mere perceptions of right & wrong which had in early youth secured her virtue, were blunted & obscured, tho' as yet not entirely destroyed. The downward path to vice is so gradual in its descent, & it is so strewed with flowers by a deceitful world, that innocence is sometimes destroyed to ruin, before it is suspicious of danger.

And never was any one more exposed to such a result, than Mrs Clifton now was. -- There was a time when she would have recoiled with as much horror from the idea of a lover, as from that of a criminal, & yet, by imperceptible degrees she was led to the very verge of this precipice, which she no longer con -templated with horror or detestation. -- True, she hesitated, her soul revolted from the plan proposed by Madam Luneville, not, as it has been [??] because she deemed it criminal -- but because she thought it cruel. Moral sentiment had lost its force, but the sensibility of a kind & tender heart yet remained. Feeble & impotent barrier

64 to the overwhelming tide of passion! If she was as yet safe, it was because she was yet indifferent. But had the object with whose feelings she now triffled, excited kindred feelings in her own heart, whome would have been her security? --

While reflecting in the solitude of her chamber, on the conversation that had just passed, the benevolence of her nature easily conquered the suggestions of a vicious selfishness; but when again assaulted by temptation; again she yeilded, & while secretly indulging the delusions of self-love & vanity, she persuaded herself she was using the only means she possessed of regaining the affections of her husband. What a subtle & insinuating poison lurks in the honied-cup of flattery -- how delicious, yet alass how fatal is the draught. Self-love is intoxicated, Reason is [??], & too often virtue is destroyed by its baneful influence. Of for some kind friend whose wisdom could save the inexperience of Julia from the dangers of her own vanity & the conceit of her treacherous advcier.

D'Aubyni would have been that friend, had she not from motives of delicacy concealed from him her situation in regard to her husband, & the [errours?] & perturbations to which that situation gave rise.

When he returned from his long & lonely ramble, he sought for Julia in the apartment where they usually passed their mornings; but the Library was deserted; & locked with in her chamber, she gave way to her own tumultuous feelings, forgetful of her friend & children.

The little Rosa was her only companion at the dinner table, & when it was [??], unable to listen to her prattle, or to return her carresses. D'aubigni again took up his hat & wandered in the neyhbouring ward, until he was recalled by a servant, who told him the garriage was ready & his mistress waiting for him. --

He started from the gloomy reverry into which he had been lost, & percieved with surprise the stars twinkling in the sky, which when he had last looked at it, was glowing with the rays of the setting sun.

When he entered the drawing-room, the gloom of twilight concealed from him the countenance of his friend, but her pensive attitude, as she leaned against the

65 window frame, & the softened & languid tone of her voice, betrayed to him her melancholy. Disregarding the servant, who handed him coffee, he took Julia's hand, & in accents that harmonized with her feelings, tenderly enquired the cuase of her seclusion. She evaded any answer, but taking a cup of coffee from the waiter, handed it to him, & took another herself. Lights were brought in, & he saw with sur-prise she was in full dress. Julia understood the astonish ment his countenance expressed, & said with a languid smile, "Have you yet to learn, that society is the best reme-dey for the nerves, & truly my dear Henry, like Lady Louisa Larpent, "I am nervie all over" today & fit for nothing but the solitude of a crowd."

"You are at least paradoxical, my dear Julia, you seek society, in the solitude of a crowd."

"Well," said she giving him her hand, to lead her to the carriage, "In Mrs -----s blazing drawing room we will see whether these apparent contraditions cannot be reconciled." --

The brilliancy & gaiety of the scene, dispersed for a while the vapours of melancholy, & Mrs Clifton seem'd the gayest among the gay, to those who saw not beneath the surface. But to D'aubignis penetrating glance, it was obvious she was only acting a part, & afte rthe first flow of compliment was over, and a mutual interchange of civilities had taken place, she gradualy withdrew from the crowd that surrounded her, & on pretence of examining some fine fruits that were scattered on a table, seated herself in a corner, & seemed deeply engaged in turning over the contents of a port-folio. With her eyes fixed on the engravings, which she however saw not -- her head supported on her hand, she was soon lost in her own thoughts & heard not -- the strains of lively musick, & noticed not the moves of the gay dance; & as D'augini watched her every motion, he understood what she meant by the solitude of a crowd. -- Another object soon caught his attentions It wsa that of some young officer he had seen before standing opposite to Julia, & leaning himself against the wall.

His eyes were fixed intently on the down cast countenance of Mrs Clifton. He frequently drew a long and deep sigh, and once D'aubigne saw him draw his hand across his brow. The room was so thronged, the company so engaged in dancing, or in watching those who danced, that this mute scene passed unobserved nad D'aubigne rejoiced that he was its only witness. His anxiety and apprehension were increased beyond endurance. All he had heard from the artless Rosa, all he had himself observed, convinced him that the friend, the center of his soul was miserable. Perhaps--the suggestion was too dreadful to be indulged for a moment. "No no," he exclaimed to himself, no, Julia may be unfortunate, but it is impossible she can be guilty.--But she is in dangeralas, that is now too evident--And not I save, cannot I snatch her from the precipice on which she stands. for surely she is on its very verge--else why such sympathetic sadness between her and that interesting stranger. Yet this may be accidental--he may be affected, as I am affected by the sight of so much youth and beauty thus {depressed?}! But who is he? may it not be the frequent and assiduous visitor of whom Rosa spokeyet the description answers--tall -- handsome---blue eyes-and light hair. Uncertainty was too painful, voluntarily to be endured, and he mingled in the crowd intending as soon as the stranger should quit his present situation, to enquire his name--Now, he would not, however intolerable might be his impatience, lest he might betray, what he wished to conceal from the observation of others. Altho' he conversed with the circle whom he joined, his eye frequently glanced to the spot where Julia sat, and it was not without strong emotion, he saw the start she gave, in hearing a sigh from the stranger--when he saw the deadly paleness that came over her face when lifting it up to see from whence that sigh proceeded, she discovered who stood near her.--The next moment, the stranger drew a chair close to Mrs Clifton; and while he turned over the prints, as if engaged imagining them, entered into an agitating conversation, the interesting nature of which could be easily{ grasped,guessed?} from the varying expression

of her expressive countenance. D'aubigne's attention became so riveted that he forgot the presence of the gentleman with whom he had been conversing, nor heard what was addressed to him, till he was startled by an enquiry from that gentleman, "Whether he knew the persons on whom he was so intently gazing?" "No," said D'aubigne, thinking only of the stranger, "can you tell me? he is a fine looking man." "And surely you will own a fine looking woman too," replied the gentleman, smiling archly. "Certainly," replied D'aubigne, somewhat embarrassed by his mistake, "Mrs Clifton is an uncommonly fine woman." "The universal admiration she excites decides that," said the gentleman, "she is without comparison the most dangerous woman I know." "Dangerous?", repeated D'aubigne. "Yes dangerous--not on account of her beauty, for there are many as beautiful, but from her manners, which join to the most captivating frankness, a softness and sensibility that are irresistible, and there, when united to so much genius, so much enthusiasm, romance, as worldlings call it--so much ardour--so much ingenuousness, so much simplicity--so much--what shall I call it? benevolence? kindness? tenderness? With whatever it is, so much of something that makes one love her, whether one will or not. I have explained myself wretchedly, and without using an expression of Moore's I know not how to do better. She has then, that something without which, as he says, "Venus, would not be venus""Upon my word," said D'aubigne smiling, "you have a surprising knack at description, and altho' you have not told me what this something is, nor can I explain it either, yet I will frankly own I feel it. Yes, this etherial, undescribable grace, is felt, tho' not seen,--I know exactly what you mean, so pray go on." "This, then, it is which makes her the most dangerous