To Mary ——.
Bayam, 20 leagues from St. Jago.
I know your heart, my dear Mary! On the affection which glows for me in that heart, I have counted for the pardon of my errors, and your letter convinces me that I have not been deceived. You know, for you witnessed, my domestic infelicity; yet, how many of my pains did I not conceal, to spare you the anguish of lamenting sorrows which you could not alleviate!
St. Louis, after his arrival at St. Jago, had connected himself with a company of gamesters, and with them passed all his time.—Often returning at a late hour from the gaming table, he has treated me with the most brutal violence,—this you never knew; nor many things which passed in the loneliness of my chamber, where, wholly in his power, I could only oppose to his brutality my tears and my sighs. To his intolerable and groundless jealousy at Cape Francois you were no stranger: it embittered my days. Since our arrival in this island it increased. In every man that approached me he saw a rival! and the more amiable the object, the more terrible were his apprehensions.
He became acquainted, at some of the haunts of gaming, with Don Alonzo de P—— and brought him to our house, but, when his visits had been repeated two or three times, all the tortures of jealousy were awakened in the breast of St. Louis.
If I received this young stranger with pleasure, it was because I found him interesting. If I avoided him it was an acknowledgement of his power!
He had insisted on my learning the Spanish language, yet if I spoke in that language it was to express sentiments I sought to conceal from him. How often, in the bitterness of anguish, have I thought that the direst poverty would be preferable to the ease I had purchased at the expence of my peace! but alas! the colour of my fate was fixed,—I was united to St. Louis by bonds which I had been taught to consider sacred, and, though my heart shuddered at the life-long tie, yet I always recoiled with horror from the idea of breaking it.—That tie however is broken; those bonds are dissolved! and there is no fate so dreadful to which I would not submit, rather than have them renewed.
Believe me when I assure you that my flight was not premeditated. It is true, the eloquent eyes of Don Alonzo often spoke volumes, but I never appeared to understand their language, nor did a look of encouragement ever escape me. For some days previous to my elopement the ill humour of St. Louis had been intolerable. My wearied soul sunk beneath the torments I endured and death would have been preferable to such a state of existence. The night before I left him he came home in a transport of fury, dragged me from my bed, said it was his intention to destroy me, and swore that he would render me horrible by rubbing aqua-fortis in my face. This last menace deprived me of the power of utterance; to kill me would have been a trifling evil, but to live disfigured, perhaps blind, was an insufferable idea and roused me to madness. I passed the night in speechless agony. The only thought I dwelt on was, how to escape from this monster, and, at break of day, I was still sitting, as if rendered motionless by his threats. From this stupor I was roused by his caresses, or rather by his brutal approaches, for he always finds my person provoking, and often, whilst pouring on my head abuse which would seem dictated by the most violent hatred, he has sought in my arms gratifications which should be solicited with affection, and granted to love alone.
You must recollect my unusual sadness that day; for well do I remember the kind efforts you made to divert me.
I awaited the approach of night with gloomy impatience, determined that the dawn of day should not find me beneath that hated roof. When I left you in the evening it was with difficulty I restrained my tears. My heart was breaking at the idea of being separated from you, if not forever at least for a considerable time, and the thought of the pain my flight would occasion you almost determined me to relinquish it.
But St. Louis was in my chamber, and his presence dispelled every idea, except that of avoiding it forever. After seeing me undressed, he left me, as usual, to pass the greatest part of the night abroad. His vigilant guard, the faithful Madelaine, lay down near the door of my apartment, and I, taking a book, appeared to read. At eleven o'clock I knew by her breathing that she was asleep.
Taking off my shoes, I passed her softly—opened the door that leads into the garden, and was instantly in the street.
The moments were precious, for I had the whole town to pass, in order to gain the road to Cobre, where I intended to request an asylum of Madame V——.
I flew with the rapidity of lightning, nor stopped to breathe till I had passed the town. Beginning to ascend the mountain, I paused, and leaning against a tree, reflected for a moment on the singularity of my situation.—Alone, at midnight, on the road to an obscure village, whose inhabitants are regarded as little better than a horde of banditti!—Flying from a husband, whose pursuit I dreaded more than death; leaving behind me a sister, for whom my heart bled, but whom I could never think of involving in my precarious fate!
The night was calm. The town, which lies at the foot of the mountain, was buried in profound repose. The moon-beams glittered on the waves that were rolling in the bay, and shed their silvery lustre on the moving branches of the palm trees. The silence was broken by the melodious voice of a bird, who sings only at this hour, and whose notes are said to be sweeter than those of the European nightingale. As I ascended the mountain, the air became purer. Every tree in this delightful region is aromatic; every breeze wafts perfumes! I had six miles to walk, and wished to reach the village before day, yet I could not avoid frequently stopping to enjoy the delightful calm that reigned around me!
I knew that, as soon as I was missed, the town would be diligently searched for me, but of the retreat I had chosen St. Louis could have no idea, for he was totally unacquainted with the residence of Madame V——. To this lady I had rendered some essential services at the Cape, which gave me a claim on her friendship. She left that place before us, and on her arrival here, bought a little plantation in Cobre, where she lives in the greatest retirement. I had heard of her by accident, and thought it the surest retreat I could find. As the day broke I perceived the straggling huts which compose this village, and, approaching the most comfortable one of the group, found to my great satisfaction, that it was inhabited by the lady I sought. She had just risen, and was opening the door as I drew near it. Her surprise at seeing me was so great, that she doubted for a moment the evidence of her senses; but, seizing my hand, she led me to her chamber, where, pressed in her arms, I felt that I had found a friend, and the tears that flowed on her bosom were proofs of my gratefulness.
I began to explain to her my situation. "I know it all!" she cried, "you have escaped from your husband. My predictions are verified, though a little later than I expected.—But where" continued she, "is your sister?" I replied that my flight had not been premeditated, and that you had not been apprised of it. There was no necessity for giving her a reason for having left my husband. She had always been at a loss to find one for my staying with him so long. The next consideration was my toilette. I was bare-headed, without stockings:—my shoes were torn to pieces by the ruggedness of the road, and I had no other covering than a thin muslin morning gown. The kind friend, who received me, supplied me with clothes, and checked her eagerness to learn the particulars of my story till I had taken the repose I so much required.
Towards evening she seated herself by my bedside, and I related to her all that I had suffered since she left me at the Cape.
But when I spoke of the threat which had determined me to the step I had taken, she made an exclamation of horror.
I told her that my intention was to remain concealed till the search after me was over, and then to embark for the continent.
She approved the project, and said, that I could be no where in greater security than with her; for, though the village is only six miles from town, it is as much secluded as if it was in the midst of a desert, except at the feast of the holy Virgin which is celebrated once a year.
The festival lasts nine days, and all the inhabitants of St. Jago come to assist at its celebration. Unfortunately the season of the feast was approaching, during which it would have been impossible for me to remain concealed in the village. However, as there was still time to consider, she bade me be tranquil, and promised to find me a retreat. Two days after she went to town and at her return I learned that nothing was talked of but my elopement.
St. Louis, in the first transports of his rage, has entered a complaint against Don Alonzo and, declaring that he had carried me off, had him imprisoned!
It was feared this step would be attended with ill consequences, for this young Spaniard, being related to the bishop and some of the most distinguished families, it was supposed the indignity of his imprisonment would be resented by them all!
Besides, he was entirely innocent of the charge exhibited against him, not having had the slightest idea of my flight.
This information filled me with alarm. I felt insecure so near the town and entreated madame V—— to indicate a more remote and safe asylum.
She told me that she had a friend, twenty leagues from town, to whom she had often promised a visit; that the inconvenience of travelling in this barbarous country, had hitherto prevented her going, but that these considerations vanished before the idea of obliging me, and that the pleasure of making the journey in my company would be a sufficient inducement.
Two days were past in procuring horses and making preparations for our departure. In the evening we walked among the rocks, which surround the village, and, had my heart been at ease, I should have wandered with delight in these romantic regions.
The place was once famous for its valuable copper mines, from which it takes its name, but they have been long abandoned. The inhabitants, almost all mulattos, are in the last grade of poverty, and too indolent to make an exertion to procure themselves even the most necessary comforts. Yet, in this abode of wretchedness, there is a magnificent temple, dedicated to the blessed Virgin. Its ornaments and decorations are superb. The image of the Virgin, preserved in the temple, is said to be miraculous and performs often wonderful things. The faith of these people in her power is implicit. The site of the temple is picturesque, and the scenery, that surrounds it, beautiful beyond description, standing near the summit of a mountain, at the foot of which lies the village. You ascend to it by a winding road, and see its white turrets, at a great distance, glittering beneath the palm trees that gracefully wave over it.
After passing through the miserable village and following the winding path through craggy cliffs, over barren rocks and precipices which the eye dares not measure, the mind almost involuntarily yields to the belief of supernatural agency. On entering the church the image of the Virgin, fancifully adorned and reposing on a bed of roses, appears like the presiding genius of the place. The waxen tapers, continually burning, the obscurity that reigns within, occasioned by the impenetrable branches of the trees which overshadow it, and the slow solemn tone of the organ, re-echoed by the surrounding rocks, fill the mind with awe; and we pardon the superstitious faith of the ignorant votaries of this holy lady, cherished as it is by every circumstance that can tend to make it indelible!
At the appointed time, before the dawn of day, our little cavalcade set out. Madame V—— and myself on horseback, preceded by a guide, and followed by a boy, leading two mules charged with provisions, and every thing requisite for the journey. We wore large straw hats, to defend us from the sun, with thick veils, according to the custom of the country. Leaving Cobre behind us, we ascended the mountain. The road passed through groves of majestic trees, intermingled with the orange and the lime, which being in blossom, the senses were almost overpowered by the odours which filled the air. We proceeded slowly and silently.—I thought of you my dear sister!—My tears flowed at the idea of your pain, and I trembled to think that I was not out of danger of being discovered.
About eight o'clock our guide said it was time to breakfast, and, tying our horses, he struck a light, kindled a fire, and made chocolate. The repast finished, we continued on our way through the same delightful country; still breathing the purest air, but without discovering any vestige of a human habitation.
About noon we saw a little hut. The guide, alighting, half opened the door, saying "May the holy virgin bless this house!" This salutation brought out a tall sallow man, who gravely taking his segar from his mouth, bowed ceremoniously, and bid us enter. We followed him, and saw, sitting on an ox hide, stretched on the ground, a woman, whose ragged garments scarcely answered the first purposes of decency. She was suckling a squalid naked child, and two or three dirty children were lolling about, without being disturbed by the appearance of strangers. A hammock, suspended from the roof, was the only article of furniture in the house. Whilst the guide was unloading the mules to prepare our dinner, I went out to seek a seat beneath some trees; for the filth of the house, and the appearance of its inhabitants filled me with disgust.
To my infinite astonishment, the plains which extended behind the house, as far as the eye could reach, were covered with innumerable herds of cattle, and on enquiring of the guide to whom they belonged, I learned, with no less surprise, that our host was their master. Incredible as it may appear, this miserable looking being, whose abode resembled the den of poverty, is the owner of countless multitudes of cattle, and yet it was with the greatest difficulty that we could procure a little milk.
A small piece of ground, where he raised tobacco enough for his own use, was the only vestige of cultivation we could discover. Nothing like vegetables or fruit could be seen. When they kill a beef, they skin it, and, cutting the flesh into long pieces about the thickness of a finger, they hang it on poles to dry in the sun; and on this they live till it is gone, and then kill another.
Sometimes they collect a number of cattle and drive them to town, in order to procure some of the most absolute necessaries of life. But this seldom happens, and never till urged by the most pressing want. As for bread, it is a luxury with which they are entirely unacquainted. After dinner the guide, and the host, and all the family, lay down on the ground to sleep the siesta, which, you know no consideration would tempt a Spaniard to forget. Madame V—— walked with me under the trees, near the house, and remarked the striking difference between this country and St. Domingo. There, every inch of ground was in the highest state of cultivation, and everybody was rich, here, the owners of vast territories are in the most abject poverty.
This she ascribed to the different genius of the people, but I think unjustly, believing that it is entirely owing to their vicious government.
After our guide had taken his nap he led up the horses, and bidding adieu to our hosts, we continued our journey.
We passed during the afternoon several habitations similar to the one where we dined. The same wretchedness; the same poverty exhibited itself, surrounded by troops of cattle, who bathed in plains of the most luxuriant pasturage.
As the sun declined our guide began to sing a litany to the Virgin, in which he was joined by the boy who followed us. The strain was sweet.
At the close of day we stopped at a hut, where the guide told us we must pass the night, and I learned that we had come ten leagues, though we had advanced at a snail's pace. The hut we entered was inhabited by an old man who, retiring with the guide to an adjoining shed, left us the house to ourselves. The couch, which invited us to repose, was a hide laid on the ground. Madame V—— had brought sheets, and, spreading them on the hide, I soon sunk to rest. But my slumbers were interrupted by a most unaccountable noise, which seemed to issue from all parts of the room, not unlike the clashing of swords; and, as I listened to discover what it was, a shriek from Madame V—— increased my terror. In sounds scarcely articulate, she said a large cold animal had crept into her bosom, and in getting it out, it had seized her hand.
Frightened to death I opened the door and called the guide, who discovered by his laughing that he had foreseen our misfortune, and guarded against it by suspending his hammock from the branches of a tree. When I asked for a light to search for what had disturbed us, he said it was nothing but land crabs, which, at this season, descend in countless multitudes from the mountain, in order to lay their eggs on the sea shore.
The ground was covered with them, and paths were worn by them down the sides of the mountain. They strike their claws together as they move with a strange noise, and no obstacle turns them from their course. Had they not found a passage through the house they would have gone over it; and one finding madame V—— in his way, had crept into her bosom. The master of the house gave his hammock to madame V——. I mounted in that of the guide; but the curiosity excited by our visitors, rendered it impossible for us to sleep. I asked the guide if it was common to see them in such numbers. He said that it was; and told me that the English having some years ago made a descent on the island, had seized a Spaniard whom they found in a hut, and threatened to kill him if he would not shew them the way to St. Jago, which they had always wished to possess, but which they could not approach by sea. The terrified Spaniard promised to comply. In the night, as they were encamped on the mountain, waiting for daylight in order to proceed, they heard a noise stealing through the thickets, like that of an approaching host. They asked their prisoner what it meant? he replied, that it could be nothing but a body of Spaniards who, apprized of their descent, were preparing to attack them. The noise increasing on all sides, the English, fearful of being surrounded, embarked, and in their haste suffered the prisoner to escape, who by his address probably prevented them from becoming masters of the island, for the pretended host was nothing more than an army of these crabs.
The man, I understand, received no reward; but the anniversary of this event is still celebrated; and if the crabs have not been canonized, they are at least spoken of with as much reverence as the sacred geese, to which Rome owed its preservation.
During the night their noise prevented me effectually from sleeping. They appeared like a brown stream rolling over the surface of the earth. Towards morning they gradually disappeared, hiding themselves in holes during the day.
At the first peep of dawn we set out, and arrived in the evening at Bayam. The friend of madame V—— received us with great cordiality. She lost her husband soon after her arrival in this country. She is very handsome, and has an air of sadness which renders her highly interesting. She was informed of my story, and requested me to think myself at home in her house.
It was determined that I should pass for a relation of her husband; and soothed by her kindness and attentions I began to hope that beneath her roof I should find repose.
Madame V——, after staying with us eight days, returned to Cobre, promising to inform herself of you, and to write me all that was passing. She wrote me immediately that you had sailed for Jamaica: that Don Alonzo was out of prison; that he had commenced a suit against St. Louis for false imprisonment, and that the latter was actually confined. Don Alonzo is powerfully supported by the bishop and all his family, who have long been at variance with the governor, and gladly seek this opportunity of revenging themselves. She finally told me, my dear Mary, that she had discovered a young man who owned a small vessel in which he goes constantly to Jamaica, and that she had entreated him to find you, to tell you that I am well, and to charge himself with your letter, not doubting but you would write. That kind letter I received yesterday, and it has given me the first agreeable sensation I have known since we parted. I am convinced of your affection for me, but do not let that affection hurry you into imprudencies which may perhaps betray me. Do not think of returning to St. Jago; and, may I add, do not think of leaving Jamaica till I can join you. We will return to the continent together, and I hope together we shall be happy. Two or three doubloons, which I brought with me, prevent my being dependant on the lady in whose house I am, for any thing but her friendship.
I was struck with the resemblance of a Spanish lady who lives near us to Don Alonzo, and found, on enquiring, that she is his sister. She spoke to me of her brother, but is as ignorant of his affairs as if he dwelt in the moon.
This place is the abode of poverty and dullness, yet the people are so hospitable that from the little they possess they can always spare something to offer to a stranger. And they are content with their lot—how many reasons have I not to be so with mine!
To Mary ——.
Bayam.
I thank you a thousand times, my dear sister, for your affectionate letter, and for the parcel that accompanied it. I knew with what pleasure you would share with me all you possess, and to be indebted to you adds to my happiness.
What you have heard of St. Louis is true. The affair of Don Alonzo and himself was made up by the interposition of some of their mutual friends who represented him as half mad; and somebody having spread a report that I had sailed for the city of Santo Domingo, he embarked immediately for that place. What he could think I should seek at Santo Domingo, I am at a loss to imagine.
My retreat has been discovered, and though by one who would not betray me, yet he is the last person on earth, except St. Louis, to whom I could have wished it to be known.
The husband of Donna Maria, the Spanish lady whom I mentioned to you before, had gone to St. Jago, some days previous to my arrival here. Having, as is the universal custom, visited a gaming house, he had a dispute with a gambler of bad reputation, and on leaving the house received a blow with a poinard, which proved mortal.
Such occurrences are too frequent to create much public interest, and it is considered useless to seek the assassin.
When the senora Maria expected the return of her husband, she heard that he existed no longer. The news was brought by her brother. Her house joins the one I live in. Hearing the most lamentable cries from her chamber I ran in. Judge of my surprise at seeing Don Alonzo. His, I believe, was not less, for abandoning his sister, he approached me; but I was too much terrified at her situation, to attend to him. When informed of the cause, I felt that in that moment she could not be consoled, and I saw also that the violence of her sorrow would soon exhaust itself.
Don Alonzo sought an opportunity of speaking to me, which I avoided. Learning afterwards where I lived, he so ingratiated himself with madame St. Clair, that he received an invitation to her house, and in that house he now passes all his time. He has been the innocent cause of much of my suffering, yet I cannot find fault with his conduct; and madame St. Clair, devoting much of her time to his widowed sister, I have no means of escaping from him. He has informed me of many of the follies of St. Louis, of the obstinacy with which he affirmed that Don Alonzo had aided my flight, and of the means he had employed to discover me. And why, he sometimes asks, did you not suffer me to aid you? why did you not repose confidence in me?
You know my dear Mary, how eloquent are his eyes! you know the insinuating softness of his voice! Sometimes, when listening to him, I forget for a moment all I have suffered, and almost persuade myself that a man can be sincere.
The governor of Bayam is an Irish Spaniard, at least he is of an Irish family, and was born in Spain. I have become acquainted with him since the arrival of Don Alonzo, and felt, the instant I beheld him, as if I was in the society of an old acquaintance. His Irish vivacity is a little tempered by Spanish gravity. He speaks English as if he had been raised in his own country, and his mind is stored with literary treasures. He has a handsome collection of books, which he offered me. Judge of my delight at meeting with Shakspeare in the wilds of Cuba.
What could have induced him to accept this sorry government I have not yet learned, but he certainly possesses talents which merit a more important employment, and his elegant manners would add lustre to the most distinguished situation. He laughs heartily at his ragged subjects, by whom however he is regarded as a father and a friend. He says with better laws they would be the best fellows in the world; but situated as they are, their indolence is their best security.
We often make excursions in the beautiful environs of this place and dine beneath the shade of the palm tree, or the tall and graceful cocoa, which offers us in its fruit a delicious dessert, whilst the gaiety of the governor diffuses around us an indescribable charm.
But my dear sister, think not that I forget you in these delightful scenes. On the contrary I long to see you, and am hastening the moment of my departure.
Madame St. Clair, seduced by the description I have made of our peaceful country, and wearied of a place where she has known nothing but misfortune, where the talents she possesses are absolutely lost, intends going with me to Philadelphia, as soon as she can arrange her affairs, and has consented to accompany me to Kingston, from whence we can all sail together. You will love her, I am sure, for her kindness to me; but, independently of that consideration, her beauty, the graceful sweetness of her manners, and her divine voice, render it impossible to behold or listen to her with indifference.
The governor says, if he loses his two most amiable subjects, his little empire will not be worth keeping. Don Alonzo
and sometimes hints, in broken accents, the passion he has felt for me since the first moment he saw me, at all which I laugh. For me, henceforth all men are statues. I was so ill-fated as to meet that phenomenon a jealous Frenchman, and with my wounds still bleeding, would I put my happiness in the power of a Spaniard? Ah! no, let me avoid the dangerous intercourse, let me fly to my sister! Why are you so far removed from me? why did you so hastily leave the island, where you knew I must be, and in a situation too in which your counsel, your support is doubly necessary.
It will be impossible for me to leave Bayam in less than a month. We shall sail for Kingston with Anselmo. Much precaution must be used, for I must embark from St. Jago, and if I was discovered, should certainly be arrested by the governor, who is exasperated against me. Write to me, my dear girl, by the return of the vessel; and believe me that I wait with the utmost impatience for the moment that will reunite us.
To Clara.
Kingston.
Let me entreat you, my dear sister, to leave Bayam as soon as possible. I cannot describe the pain with which I heard of Don Alonzo being near you. You pass hours, days with him; you talk of his eloquent eyes, his sweet voice. Ah! fly, dearest creature, fly from the danger that surrounds you. Listen not to that insinuating Spaniard. If you do you are irrecoverably lost.
Why indeed am I not near you? yet after your flight, to stay in Cuba was impossible, and my leaving it was, I believe, one of the principal reasons which determined St. Louis to leave it also: so far it was fortunate. My heart always acquitted you for having taken the resolution to abandon your home; for though, as you say, I knew not all, I knew enough to awaken in my breast every sensation of pity. Yet it is not sufficient that you are acquitted by a sister, who will always be thought partial; and if you cannot conciliate general approbation, at least endeavour to avoid meriting general censure. Who that hears of your being at Bayam, in the house of the sister of Don Alonzo, knowing that he had been publicly accused of having taken you off, and learns, that as soon as the affair was hushed up in St. Jago, that he went to Bayam, that he passes all his time in your society, that at home and abroad he is ever at your side, who can hear all this, and not believe that it was preconcerted? Ah! Clara, Clara, I believe that it was not, because I love you, and cannot think you would deceive me. But why stay a month, a week, a day, where you are? Why not come to me when Anselmo returns? when with me, my friendship, my affection, will soothe and console you. I will remove from your lacerated breast the thorns which have been planted there by the hand of misfortune. You shall forget your sorrows, and I will aid you against your own heart, for I believe at present that is your most dangerous enemy.
To Mary ——.
Bayam.
You frighten me to death, my dear sister, with your apprehensions. You paint my situation in terrifying colours; yet could I forsee that I should be led into it, when alone and friendless I fled at midnight from a house where I suffered continual torture? Did I imagine that in Bayam I should become acquainted with Don Alonzo's sister, and that I should meet him in her house? Sentence, I know, has been passed against me, and that sentence will be confirmed by what has happened subsequent to my elopement. The testimony of my own heart will be of little avail. But will you also join against me? I cannot believe it. Condemn me not, at least suspend all opinion till we meet, which will be in a fortnight. To avoid the danger of passing through St. Jago, we go by land to a place called Portici, from whence we shall embark. The journey will be delightful. We intend making it on horseback. The governor and Don Alonzo will accompany us. Start not at this, for it cannot be otherwise; nor could I, by refusing his services, discover that I thought it dangerous to accept them.
In my anxiety to see you, every moment seems an age, yet I feel something like regret at leaving this country. The friendliness of the people can never be forgotten. Here, as in Barracoa, they are poor but contented. They sip their chocolate, smoke a segar, and thrum the guitar undisturbed by care. Often, when reviewing the events of my past life, I wish that their calm destiny had been mine; but alas! how different has been my fate.
I write this letter to prepare you for my arrival. When Anselmo goes next, I go with him; and, when I embrace my sister, I shall be happy.
Kingston, Jamaica.
Clara, my dear friend, is at length arrived. I have held that truant girl to my heart, and have forgotten whilst embracing her all the reproaches I intended to make, and which I thought she deserved. I cannot help loving her, though I approve not of all she does; but I will blame her fate rather than herself, for who can behold her and not believe that she is all goodness? who can witness the powers of her mind and withhold their admiration? Whatever subject may engage her attention, she seizes intuitively on what is true, and by a sort of mental magic, arrives instantaneously at the point where, even very good heads, only meet her after a tedious process of reasoning and reflection. Her memory, surer than records, perpetuates every occurrence. She accumulates knowledge while she laughs and plays: she steals from her friends the fruits of their application, and thus becoming possessed of their intellectual treasure, without the fatigue of study, she surprises them with ingenious combinations of their own materials, and with results of which they did not dream. Her heart keeps a faithful account, not only of every word but of every look, of every movement of her friends, prompted by kindness and affection, and never is her society more delightful than in those moments of calm and sublime meditation, when her genius surveys the past, or wanders through a fanciful and novel arrangement of the future. Who that thus knows Clara, and is sensible of her worth, can have known her husband, and condemn her?
It is true, Clara is said to be a coquette, but have not ladies of superior talents and attractions, at all times and in all countries been subject to that censure? unless indeed theirs was the rare fortune of becoming early in life attached to a man equal or superior to themselves! Attachments between such people last through life, and are always new. Love continues because love has existed; interests create interests; parental are added to conjugal affections; with the multiplicity of domestic objects the number of domestic joys increase. In such a situation the heart is always occupied, and always full. For those who live in it their home is the world; their feelings, their powers, their talents are employed. They go into society as they take a ramble; it affords transient amusement, but becomes not a habit. Their thoughts, their wishes dwell at home, and they are good because they are happy. But if on the contrary a woman is disappointed in the first object of her affections, or if separated from him she loved, fate connects her with an inferior being, to what can it lead? You might as well expect to confine a sprightly boy, in all the vigour of health to sedate inaction, as to prevent talents and beauty, thus circumstanced, from courting admiration. A feeling heart seeks for corresponding emotions; and when a woman, like Clara, can fascinate, intoxicate, transport, and whilst unhappy is surrounded by seductive objects, she will become entangled, and be borne away by the rapidity of her own sensations, happy if she can stop short on the brink of destruction.
If Clara's husband had been in every respect worthy of her she would have been one of the best and happiest of human beings, but her good qualities were lost on him; and, though he might have made a very good husband to a woman of ordinary capacity, to Clara he became a tyrant.
Sensible of the impossibility of her leaving him, he took it for granted that she bestowed on another those sentiments he could not hope to awaken himself. Yet Clara never deceived him. There is in her character a proud frankness which renders her averse to, and unfit for intrigue. When at the Cape, she was not dazzled by splendor, though it courted her acceptance; nor could the ill-treatment of her husband force her to seek a refuge from it in the arms of a lover who had the means of protecting her. At St. Jago his conduct became more insupportable, and when at length she fled from his house, alone and friendless, she was unseduced by love, but impelled by a repugnance for her husband which had reached its height, and could no longer be resisted.
Delivered from the weight of this oppressive sentiment, she now enjoys a delightful tranquillity, which even the thought of many approaching struggles with difficulty and distress, cannot disturb.
In such a situation I am more than ever necessary to my sister; and, perhaps, it is the consciousness of this, that has given birth to many of the sentiments expressed in this letter.
We have learned that St. Louis sailed from the city of Santo Domingo to France, from which I hope he may never return.
Clara and myself will leave this for Philadelphia, in the course of the ensuing week. There I hope we shall meet you; and if I can only infuse into your bosom those sentiments for my sister which glow so warmly in my own, she will find in you a friend and a protector, and we may still be happy.
THE END.