Sarah :: :: University of Virginia Library

YOU say you are uneasy; I do not wonder at
it; yet I had neither spirit nor power to write
before. When I closed my last letter, it was
my full intention to resume my pen the next
morning; but when that morning came, I could
only add a promissory line, and send it away. I
have now set down with a head and heart so full,
that when I would begin, thought whirls with
such rapidity through my brain, that I am at a

loss where to commence, or how to frame my
narrative. You will not think that strange, when
I tell you, I am actually writing in a spunging
house. My unhappy —, by what name shall
I call him?—no matter. Mr Darnley is sleeping—yes,
Anne, sleeping profoundly; he has
steeped his senses in the Circean bowl, and lies
in unfeeling torpor. I would moralize, but
where would be the use? I would preach of patience,
but alas! alas! I am feelingly convinced
to preach is easier than to practise.

I will take up my narrative from the time when
I broke off my last. The clerk's information
alarmed me, and I resolved, whatever might be
the consequence, to speak to Darnley again upon
the subject of pecuniary concerns, the very first
opportunity. He brought home ten gentlemen
to dinner; we did not sit down until near five,
and they continued drinking until seven; when
they all started the idea of going to Vauxhall,
and unaccountable as it may seem, Darnley insisted
on my accompanying them. It was in
vain I pleaded the want of a female companion;
that was obviated by one, who said he would go
and bring his sister to go with us; and another
went for two cousins; but neither sister nor
cousins were women to my taste; and I shrunk
from the idea of appearing publicly with such
companions; but to argue was vain.

The evening was fine. We took water at Old
Swan Stairs, and entered the gardens about half
past eight o'clock. We had scarcely made two

circuits round the walks, when I observed a party
of three or four women, dressed in high ton,
escorted by an officer of the guards, and amongst
them, Mrs. Romain. As they passed us, I turned
my head the opposite way, and pretended
not to see her; but Darnley touched my arm,
and said, “did you not see Jessey?” “Where?”
said I, looking another way. “She is past now,”
he replied, “but we shall meet her again presently,
and she must not pass again unnoticed.”
I observed he laid an emphasis on the words
must not; and unwilling to do or say any thing
which might awaken the curiosity of my companions,
I resolved, when we met again, civilly
to give her the compliments of the evening. We
met, I courtsied with a manner formally polite;
but judge my surprise, when, advancing with an
air of freedom, she took my hand, and cried,
“My dear madam, how glad I am to see you?
and you wretch,” cried she, turning to Darnley,
“where have you been these hundred years? I
protest I thought you had taken a journey to
the antipodes.” “Probably he has, madam,”
said the young officer, sarcastically, “for he has,
I think, been at your feet.” She looked—but
she made no reply. “Are you going to sup
here?” said she to me, with the most easy effrontery.
“I believe not,” said I, faintly. “But
I believe yes,” said Darnley, rudely. “It is as
you please,” I replied; and, my dear Anne, I
could hardly restrain my tears. “Yes, it is as I
please, and I shall please to stay pretty late, so
hold your tongue.”

As this passed we had turned, and Jessey's
party had actually joined us. Oh! my friendly
Anne, how I wished for your supporting presence:
I think, had you been present, he would
not have dared thus to insult me. Jessey, at
least, would have avoided your penetrating eye;
but surrounded by a gay, unfeeling or unthinking,
(for they are the same as to sympathy) throng,
my very soul sunk within me; and when I saw
the triumphant, scornful looks of that unprincipled
woman, I felt so humiliated, that I wished
the curtain of everlasting oblivion to fall over
me. One of the young ladies who accompanied
us, left the arm of her companion, and coming
round, took hold of mine. “You look ill, Mrs.
Darnley,” said she, “the crowd and heat are too
much for you; let us turn down one of the unfrequented
walks, you will breathe freer and feel
more air.” I gladly accepted her proposal; we
had taken one turn, and were preparing to join
our party, when we met Darnley. “What have
you left your company for?” said he, “are they
disagreeable to you?” “Mrs. Darnley was oppressed
by the heat in that crowded walk,” said
my good natured companion, “and I advised her
to come here to recover.” “Oh! I am obliged
to you, madam,” said my tormentor, “for being
so attentive to her delicate feelings; she has at
command, at all times, the most refined sensibility.”
“Well, Darnley,” said I, endeavoring to
laugh, as if I took what he said in pleasantry, “I
will take care my delicacy intrudes not to interrupt

your evening's pleasure; but if it should,
you must make allowances for the weakness of
human nature, and do as you would be done by.”
“D—n,” said he, in an under voice, and being
on the opposite side to my female companion,
he actually struck my arm with his open hand.
The blow was not heavy, but it was a blow; and
I felt that it had broken the last small link that
remained between us. Dishonored—insulted—
struck! Anne, Anne! I am a woman; the law
will not redress my grievances, and if it would,
could I appeal publicly? No; I can suffer in
silence, but I could not bear to appear openly
as the accuser of the man I had once sworn to
honor.

My heart is full. I have sat down to write
you a long letter; but it must be done at hours
when Darnley sleeps Heavy as my soul is, I
feel at present something like the torpor of sleep
stealing over my faculties; I will indulge it.

Adieu.

SARAH.