The Sun.
London, England, 1846-02-16 00:00:00

grieved that any such indiscretion of mine should have caused
vexation to ;Mary. _

" Allow me to remain truly yours,
"N. Smith, Esq." "FERRERS.
lie did not send the money, and the people being press-
ing in their demands, the money was obliged to be bor
rowed to pay these bills. Ile would now state something
connected with these bills, which he could not look upon
but with great regret, but it would ill become Earl
Ferrers, who had led her into the scrape, to make it a
matter of reproach against her. It turned out that a
Mrs. Wyman had supplied Miss Smith with a bonnet,
which was not included in the list of bills which had been
made out. When this bill came in her father was ill in
bed, and he had spoken to Miss Smith in terms of great
irritation, and she was induced in consequence to deny
that she had ever ordered the bonnet, for she was afraid
at the time to tell her father. Ile must admit that she
had deceived her parents in a moment of terror, and he
must leave his learned friend to make the most of it.

" Dearest Wary—You will, I fear, think me very remiss in
not sooner replying to your last kind note, but the contents,
thereof, required consideration • and my hand renders me still
an invalid. I have been to Brighton and Warwick since I
wrote, and am now again in town ' • have not as yet been pre-
sented, but still think of it ; though so unfit ; received yours
in the same way as usual,
and much rejoice to hear you are
better, dearest. I think of seen coming down to see you, and
settle all things, as your aunt is so soon coming, and do not
care much to visit you when she is with you. I have heard
much to say to tell you of, and wish, above all things, to see
hou, Mary, my beloved and much thought of one ; in you each
ope is centred, and the future would be but an o'ershadowed
landscape, but for the ray of light you will cast upon it, there i;
one I can turn to with love and affection in this wide world;
one who has loved the orphan, even myself; and is it not
right that all my love should be given in return to that one ;
dearest, doubt me not when I say you are to me everything ; I
love you more than you can do me ; for you have father, mother,
and friends to show you love. Mine are dead, gone ; and my
two-fold love is your's' none other have I thought of even as
my wife ; blessings be with you, dear one, mine own. Oh,
it is so pleasant to have some one to love, and whom you feel
loves you so dear, to feel you could do anything for the one so
loved to watch over, and tend it as one would a flower. And
truly art thou a flower to me ; and thou speakest brightly and
cheeringly when lam dark and sad. I want you, my bird of
Paradise ; and it shall not be many months ere I will claim you
all my own. It is true what you say, best and dearest, that
wealth also brings its individual troubles. Certainly the more
we are entrusted with by God so have we to account for it.
My fortune is small for my rank, and it will not do by extrava-
glauce, &c., to lessen it. Still we have enough to live comfort-
ably upon, and to spare, if required; if that fortune is managed
with prudence. I shall only want my wife, she will constitute
my happiness, and so we shall do delightfully, if we do
but put trust and confidence in each other ; without that
there can be no peace in married life, I am sure, and
trouble and disquietude only be the inmates of each heart ;
but with us it shall, please God, never be so. May peace and
quietness ever dwell with us. Much society we shall not have;
but we shall need it not. If you like the Continent we can stay
there for a time. Your word shall be my law on all these
things. I live bat to see you happy and pleased, what more
can I say ? it is needless, for you know how much I think of
you. I shall certainly come the day before our wedding, dear
Mary, and stay with you at your home, judging it cannot be
objectionable to your paret.ts ? perhaps before that time I may
introduce myself in due form, but this we will talk of when I

come. 'Tis,-as you say, strange for the papa and mamma not
to know the intended husband of their child till so shortly
before the ceremony which unitesthe two, but I hope the here-
after will make up for the now in these things. And now for
news. Evelyn is gone down to Eatington for a day or two,
and lam again going to Brighton. My sister is not ist health.
but they keep much company. I saw some right queer young
ladies there, Scotch women, Miss MacTrevors, very rich, very
ordinary, bold ; in short, anything but nice. And these
are called fashionable women ; Heaven keep one from
such. Oh ! in the evening they exposed to view
such shoulderss ! 'twas more than kind. I quite
longed for Devereux, to see, quiz, and sketch them, which he
would hare done to perfection. But enough of this ; my sister
gives parties, goes out, and, in short, lives in the world—and
wears, for she is out of mourning ! mostly green ! her husband
I can say nothing of ; you must sometime judge him yourself.
Brighton is very gay. Speaking of house and servants, they
must be regulated when 'you come. Chartley will hardly be
fit for you ; but while we are on the Continent, your mamma
will please go over, and see that your future home—but of this
I myself will speak to her. I saw Right the other day in town,
and gave him an order. He was to show' you damask for ap-
proval. I think you will like the pattern. Anything you may
want, do not scruple having. He will send a parcel for you.
I am again confined to my room by my arm, and am really an
invalid. Macpherson is attending me—Evelyn's doctor—and
lam staying with them. He will not allow me to go out, or
use my hand, which I fear may prove some day of serious
consequence. As soon as I can I shall see you, but at present,
I fear, I shall not be able, as lam really not well. Now,
adieu dearest and best ; take every care of yourself, and let
each thing you may want be in a state of preparation. You
would, I am sure, do well to go out somewhere for a month or
so. It would be of the greatest service. Pray do talk to the
governor of it. Right will not mention anything at all, and
our wedding will be quite a surprise to the people in toto.
Adieu. Kind remembrances to Annie. And where is
Louise, tl.e pretty smiling one ? See, I have blotted this.
Good bye. Let me soon hear. From your ever attached friend,
" WASHINGTON FERRERS.

" 26, Park•lane.
"Miss Smith, Anstrey, Atherstone."
Then esme another letter.

" My own Love,—For the last several days I have been filled
with anxiety on account of your non-arrival at Bangor, bu
your letter just received has explained all. So your mamma
did not like the look of Stafford, as she would proceed no fur-
ther. I should have you there, but that thinking of my stay
at Holywell, I thought it best to go forward without delay and
do see you there ; but it seems that we are not to meet tege
ther in romantic Wales—that land of mountains and heath
blossoms. For the important part of your letter, those bills,
shortly after I come home I shall have the pleasure of reim-
bursing your grandfather, or father, for the so paying. of them.
I am mortified beyond expression as to the whole affair, which
proceeded from thorough carelessness on my part. It will be
a lesson to me for the future. I know this must have vexed
and put you about much. Believe me. dearest, when I say I
never again will so commit myself. Also, that lam willing to
pay interest upon the money paid by your friends for me.
I hope this will in no way delay our marriage, which, indeed,
the sooner it takes place the better now, as I have got into this
scrape. Of course you will fix the time, but somewhere about
June the 22d let it be. Then all these disagreeahles will be
put an end to. lam much annoyed about it, and will con'rive
soon to repay the money, but really I have found myself short
from what I talked to you of. Never shall this happen again.
Dear Mary, I shall feel ashamed after all this to come now to
take you away; and your friends least of all would I he under
an obligation to, but still I am grateful to them in this in-
stance, and hope humbly to be able to repay in every sense my
debt of gratitude to them.
" Shortly after I come home, I shall think of coming to your
house, and also order Jessop to make whatever settlement, &c.
" 1 hope you will try and keep your spirits, assured, dear
Mary, of my dearest love, and that is ray fondest wish to
make you my wife right soon, and for us to go to the Con-
tinent.
" After this note you need not show any one, unless you
please, lam writing in such haste, as my cousin is waiting
for me.
" lam now for a day or two at the Deanery. It will be a
week or two ere I come home. On receipt of yours I did think
of coming over directly, but then my friends would think it
very strange, so I shall stay for the present.
" It would have been very delightful to have had you here,
the weather is so fine, and the country pretty ; but of course
your aunt being with you, you would not like to leave, and I
must not do as I will. The spoiled child hates being thwarted.
I have no news to tell you. lam toe hurt and vexed to be in a
humour for writing.
" Pray pardon this. I shall again write shortly. I have had
this sent to you by Joseph, my confidential, and not by post. I
do not think, in this stage of affairs, you ought to doubt me.
Why do you?
" I wish everything to be as quiet as possible. That is the
reason I send the man ; he will not disclose anything. 1 heard
from Theodore Echalaz some days ago, through my sister.
He is trying for Austrey, I hear. Adieu, dear love. From
)nur fondly attached,

" WASHINGTON FERRERS.
" Deanery, Bangor, April 30."

Then there was another letter.

Mary dearest and ever-beloved—l received your note of
yesterday, and thank you for thus writing. I cannot come, and
I have much to say. Why have you ever doubted me ? Is
there not one being who will think well and rightly of me in
this world ?—Must she, whom Phave loved and trusted, dis-
believe and think ill of me, and all, ,or partly, through the mis-
representations of strangers? but perhaps there may be cause
for all this. Heaven knows I have ever loved you—have
thought, as the choicest gift of God, the having yourself for
my wife. Believe me, I adjure you, I implore you? I may
be thoughtless and unwise, and the world may speak hardly of
me—for it is a magnifier of faults—but I will be ever true, will
be ever true to you! have loved you with my whole soul—do
not, then, doubt me. Your father, your mother,--what do
they say that I come not to their house ?-4.1t is enough-1
have not seen either ; I know that I insist 'lee them—as a mat-
ter of course, and after the review{-will do so.-1 will come
and claim you from them.; and 'then, when I have my wife, I
will take her avoy, If you refuse me, I will wed no other ;
rememher,2,ots. are solemnly pledged to me. You may not,
cannot break that pledge, Mary—you must be mine ; care not
for aught else on earth but you— no, I say nothing but you,
you alone for my wife. The papers, they say, repot t you say
whispers of my union with the Welsh lady—what will not
reports say—what lie will not the papers tell. I
solemnly assure you, repeat the assurance, that there
is no truth in it, any of it. If you will not believe my word,
lam sorry I can say no more. If your cousins will not come
to our bridal, let them stay away, we can do without them.
Let mystery cease; when I come to see you it must. After
the review I will come. Let our wedding be put off another
week, then there will be time—l cannot come many times, I
am much engaged now. But of course lam aware I cannot
wed with you without coming to see your parents, without
settlements being made. People must think me a fool and a
rogue. Unless your mamma pleases, she need not finish your
bridal attire, all can be procured in London, or rest till I come.
As for your cousins—but my head aches from relations, never
mind them. What arrant nonsense it seems for a man to
carry such things on if he means nothing. Ak ! when I have
my wife I will take her away. You to whom I have always
looked for comfort when vexed, you who can so much form my
happiness, I believe you will not forsake me. You have
promised to be my wife—l am very vexed now, and I have
not you to tell all my vexations to, and the man seems as
a child again. I desire of you to believe me, I expect it of
you, my faith and firm trust is with you—listen not to all the
people say. Mary, my own beloved, God grant we may here-
after make up to each other for all. Now I will come after
the review, and people may say what they please—l will then
talk to Mr. Smith about our wedding. Adieu.—Your own
truly attached, "WASHINGTON FERRERS.
" Chartley Castle.
" This note is not fit to be seen, for it is illegible, and written
in haste. Adieu.

" To Miss Smith, Austrey."
nen came another letter, to which he would only re.
fer, in which he said circumstanui had occurred which
wou'd make it convenient to put off the marriage for a
few months. There was then another letter.

" Mary, my own that is to be, my wife, be not angry with me
that I have thus written. You know it would not be advisable
to leave England without feeling sure that things at home went
en smoothly. It is indeed hard to me to be obliged thus to
postpone the one thing nearest my own heart ; but what course
can I pursue? And 'twill only be for two short months—
hardly two in that time—and then I shall know your parents.
And people must also know that I come to your house ; but it
signifies not me now. Beloved, dearest one—many and things
have Ito tell you when we meet—l know—not how soon. I
may be at Staunton. I shall try and keep Eld—if possible.
Positively Evelyn must be at the end of all this. Once more
adieu. Send the bearer back instantly, if von meet him.
Adieu.—From yours, till death,
" WASHINGTON FERRERS.
" You had better tell the person you have engaged as waiting-
worran, the first week in August her services will be wanted, cr
ask yottr mamma about it ; or, perhaps, if Ido not come soon, I