LETTER XVII.
SARAH TO ANNE.
In continuation.
WHEN the soul is oppressed by calamity, how
little refreshment does sleep afford? The eyes
close, the senses lay dormant; but the soul, ever
active, finds no repose; it broods over past or
present misery, anticipates future, or again realizes
past pleasures. Could a rational being for
one moment doubt the immortality of that intellectual
spark which informs and animates this
mass of clay, let him ask himself, and clearly
answer this question—why, when excessive weariness,
or the natural exhaustion of nature, or
the more powerful effects of soporifie medicine,
has deadened, or suspended for awhile the animal
functions, the soul still preserves (if I
may be allowed the expression) its elasticity, and
bounds with joy, sinks with anguish, trembles
with horror, starts with terror, and that in so
great a degree, as frequently to force the body
to partake its emotions, and laugh, weep, and
even give articulation to the impulses, by which
it is then actuated? The deepest casnist could
not satisfactorily solve the enigma, and yet support
the doctrine of total annihilation at the
hour of death. And oh, my dear Anne, what a
blessing it is to the wretched, that it is not possible
for human sophistry to wrest from them
that sure, that supporting hope?
I return to the scene I was with my pen faintly
portraying, when I broke off to indulge the lassitude
of weary nature. We again joined our
party in the public walk, and soon after the orchestra
closed, we sat down to supper. Darnley
appeared to be in excellent spirits, but I shuddered
when I noticed the quantities of Madeira
he poured down, for a state of inebriation ever
rendered him more rude and insolent to me, as
he fancied the only way to shew his superiority,
and convince the world of his magisterial authority,
is to use positive will and won't upon all
occasions, without condescending to give any
reason why he will or won't. However, for this
time, he was so taken up with Mrs. Romain,
that I was totally unnoticed. To be sure, Anne,
I must acknowledge she appeared in all her fascinations,
her dress elegant, her fine eyes and
features beaming with animation, her manners
all life, all wit and whim, I could not help acknowledging
how superior she must appear in
the eyes of all surrounding, to the depressed,
heart-broken wife, who sat beside her. She
laughed, sung and displayed all her powers of
charming.
At a very late hour, the whole party arose to
quit the gardens. At the gate were a number
of carriages, and we were obliged to walk some
paces before we could get to the coach. Darnley
led Mrs. Romain, and I was obliged to accept
the arm of the young officer, much against
my inclination; for being flushed with liquor, I
saw he was inclined to be impertinent.
We had proceeded but a very little way,
when I saw a man touch Darnley on the shoulder,
and heard Mrs. Romain exclaim, “Heavens,
what's the matter?” In a moment, all was confusion.
The bailiff, for such he proved to be,
obliged him to go into a coach which he had
ready, and into which I followed him, accompanied
by two of the most uncouth, vulgar looking
men that ever I beheld. Jessey either did,
or pretended to faint, as we drove away. We
were conveyed to a miserable house, kept by the
man who served the writ; a room was provided,
the hostess taking care to assure herself that we
had money to pay for it. Darnley threw himself
on the bed, and spite of his situation, spite of
the dreadful gulf of ruin which now gaped ready
to receive him, in less than twenty minutes was
in a profound sleep. I traversed the chamber
for some time, and eased my almost bursting
heart, by an uninterrupted flood of tears.
About daylight, I laid down for half an hour,
but the noise in the house and street soon chased
the slumber that had fallen on my heavy eyelids.
I perceived he was awake. “At whose
suit are you arrested, Mr. Darnley?” said I.
“At the suit of one of your tradesmen, madam,”
he replied, “I always thought your extravagance
would bring me to a prison.” “If there is no
deficiency but what my thoughtlessness may have
occasioned,” said I, “the amount of the whole is
so trifling, I should imagine it would not be difficult
to raise the requisite sum.” “But there
are deficiencies every where,” said he furiously,
“and I must be a bankrupt, house, furniture,
every thing must be given up; we must go to
lodgings, and God knows how we are to live
when we get there.”
He seemed a little softened at this reflection,
and continued in a milder key: “I think, Sarah,
you had better go home this morning; perhaps
the ruin has not reached so far as a general execution,
and you may snatch a few trifles for
yourself and me from the general desolation.”
“I will take a few clothes,” said I, “but I will
not touch any thing valuable; the sale of which
might assist in satisfying the creditors. As to the
future means of subsistence, I have no doubt but
some way will open, and you will again see prosperity;
I shall be willing to join your efforts.”
“Oh! to be sure,” he cried hastily,—“you are
very willing, and very able to work, you, who
are too proud to fetch water to wash your own
hands.” “But I could have done it, Mr. Darnley,
and will cheerfully perform that necessary office
for you and myself too, since we shall no longer
be able to keep a servant; and not only that,
but engage in any employment which might be
serviceable.” “And what the devil can you do?”
he replied, “come, I wish you would go home.”
I rang the bell. “What do you want?” said
he `Some one to call me a coach.' “Why cannot
you walk?” “What, at this hour in the morning?
In this dress?—nearly a mile and a half through
London streets?” “Aye, there it is, I suppose
this is a specimen of your humility and economy!”
“Good heavens, Mr. Darnley,” said I, “how can
you be so unfeeling? we are likely to be involved
in much actual misery, do not let us augment
it by our own fretfulness and impatience. I cannot,
will not walk this morning—In future,
you shall see I can bring myself to submit to
every situation in which it shall please Providence
to place me.”
