Sarah :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE receipt of your letter, which assured me
of your health and safe arrival at the end of your
journey, was welcome, but I have felt little inclination
to write, as I had no pleasant subject to
employ my pen. You have engaged me to write
all that occurs in regard to Darnley and Mrs.
Romain; it is an ungrateful subject, yet when
the heart is overflowing with anguish, it naturally
seeks relief by pouring out its complaints to one
who sympathizes in its pains, and ever was ready
to increase and partake its joys. Ah! my dear
Anne, how many of the former, how few of the
latter have fallen to my share. I review my past
life, and strive to recall some pleasing remembrance;
but it is in vain; for even in my happiest
hours, when the vivacity of youth, united
with the ease and plenty which reigned in my
father's house, might have been expected to have
crowned every hour with felicity, the unkindness
of my aunt, and some other painful circumstances,

prevented my youth passing with that hilarity,
which in general is the attendant of that gay
season At present, the uncertainty I am in, in
regard to the fate of my father, does not a little
increase the painful solicitude of my situation.
Had he not left England, I should never have
been what I am. And indeed, when I dare think
at all, I can only wonder how I ever voluntarily
put on a chain, which had not even the shadow of
a rose to hide the points and goads with which
every link was armed. As to Frederic, I am
happy he is not here; were he to return at this
period, I know not what would be the consequence;
but of this I am certain, he would call
Darnley to a very severe account; and I should
become the object of public animadversion; perhaps
public censure; and certainly (humiliating
idea) of public pity. Anne, to be pitied for the
neglect of a husband, is something so nearly bordering
on contempt, that I think were Darnley's
delinquency very generally known, I should wish
to shrink into oblivion, and hide myself in the
shade of obscurity.

But while I am thus blaming Darnley, may not
the fault have been in some measure my own?
Yes! yes! I feel the fault is mine, and mine be
it submissively to bear the punishment. You
wonder, perhaps, to hear me thus criminate myself.
My friend, was it not highly criminal to
promise to love, honor and obey—when my
heart sunk cold in my bosom and refused to ratify
the sacred oath? It is true, I have endeavored

to conform to his humor, to make his home the
happiest place; but I ought to have known our
thoughts, opinions, propensities, and pursuits
were so diametrically opposite, that they could
never meet in one point. I think it is not improbable,
had he married a woman more similar to
his own disposition, a woman, who loving him
with her whole soul, would have not discovered
his errors, or have been ready to overlook them,
he might have made a more respectable member
of society; but I have thrown away my own
happiness, and embittered his. Why was he so
precipitately ardent? And why, oh! why, was
I so pusillanimously weak and tame? Had he
been at liberty when Jessey became a widow, he
would undoubtedly have married her, and both
would have been saved from that gulf of infamy
and perdition into which they are now plunged.

But I forget I have as yet given you no information
concerning the time and manner of his
return; it was as extraordinary as his departure.
After you left me, I remembered your advice,
and did not accept many of the invitations that
were daily poured upon me; nor could any entreaty
prevail on me to stay in a party after the
close of the evening, lest I should lay myself
open to the officious attendance of some person
whose company might not be altogether pleasing,
or proper. My time did not pass heavily:
for I knew the necessity of endeavoring to bend
my mind to my circumstances; and felt among
other things, how happy I was, since free from

tender feelings towards the person to whom duty
and propriety would direct them, I had not been
so unfortunate as to experience them towards any
other, for that must be the height of human
misery; to be wretched, and involuntarily
guilty, to know you daily err, yet feel the
total incapacity to suppress that error. From
such a state, may Heaven, in its mercy, ever protect
me. Ardent as my feelings are, what would
be my sufferings? I say, the error is involuntary,
because I believe it is not in our own power
to awaken affection; and if we cannot call it into
existence, it follows of course, when accident or
an intercourse with a person of similar disposition
with ourselves, or whose various attractions
have aroused it, it is not in our power to annihilate
it.

Yet do not misunderstand me; I am by no
means an advocate for those who suffer themselves
to be hurried away by their passions, and
plead an inability to conquer them. No, Anne,
this is the spirit of romance and folly. That the
emotions of our hearts are not always in our own
power, I allow, but our actions always are; besides,
I do not think but that those who rush into
guilt, and plead love as an excuse, are mistaken
in regard to the passion by which they are actuated.
Darnley says Jessey loves him; he is
deceived; I cannot believe it possible for a woman,
who loves a man with that pure, yet sacredly
tender emotion, which I at present imagine
real love to be, to suffer him to degrade

himself in the eyes of the world, break the
commands of his Creator, and infringe every
moral obligation. Nor would she, I am certain,
unless self gratification was the motive, render
herself, by a breach of the first great feminine
virtue, chastity, an object of contempt to the
man she professes to love, and whose affection
must in that case form her whole felicity But
how tedious I am, how unwilling to commence
the tale you wish to hear; and so it is ever,
when we have any thing to communicate that
humbles us, and mortifies our self love.

Darnley had been absent early three weeks,
when one morning, when I descended to breakfast,
I perceived him sitting with his back towards
the door, reading the paper, apparently
with as much nonchalance, as if he had been at
home all the time, and nothing disagreeable had
taken place. I felt an involuntary shudder, and
something like indignation arose in my bosom,
and burnt upon my cheek—but prudence bade
me repress these emotions, and receive him with
that complacency, as might make him feel I had
forgiven past transactions, and wished to live in
peace.

“You are welcome home, Mr. Darnley,” said
I, half extending my hand towards him. He
arose, took it with an appearance of cordiality,
and saluting me, said, “he was glad to see me
look so well. I came into town very late last
night,” said he, “and would not disturb your repose
by knocking you up at three o'clock”—

(very considerate all at once, was he not, Anne?)
I smiled, and inquired if he had had a pleasant
journey? “Yes,” was the reply, “only he was
detained by some disagreeable business longer
than he expected.” We chatted on indifferent
subjects during breakfast, with much complacency
on both sides; he told me he had invited a large
party of gentlemen to dinner. “I will order preparations
to be made,” said I, “but now I have
an opportunity, Mr. Darnley, permit me to mention
that our house-keeping bills run very high;
the trades-people want their money; and some
of them are quite importunate. I have received
no money on that account for some time, and am
really entirely out of cash.” “You must be very
extravagant then,” said he, petulantly, “how
much do you think you owe?” “I cannot tell
exactly, but I believe between three and four hundred
pounds.” “And where the devil, Sarah,
do you thing I can get three or four hundred
pounds? I did not expect you owed more than
one.” “I am sorry you think me extravagant,
but”—“Oh, you have an excuse ready, I dare
say; women are never at a loss for that; but I
will not be teazed and dunned in this manner
whenever I am at home. When it is convenient,
I will pay the people; until then, they must be
patient. There are ten guineas”—continued he,
throwing the money on the table; “make the
most of it; for I do not know when I can give
you any more.”

He then took his hat, and went immediately
out I went into the kitchen to give the necessary
orders for dinner—as I came up the stairs, I
met the head clerk in much consternation; he
followed me into the breakfast parlor, and entreating
my pardon for the pain he was about to
give me, said he was afraid Mr. Darnley was
likely to break—for that bills had been presented
the day before, to a great amount; and that
he had gone out this morning, without giving any
orders how they were to be provided for

I hear Darnley below—I will resume my pen
to-morrow. Adieu,

SARAH.