University of Virginia Library

LETTER XXV.
SARAH TO ANNE.

THE veil once drawn aside from a depraved
character, when it is no longer conceived necessary
to assume the semblance of virtue, how
soon it is wholly thrown off, and vice suffered to
appear in her own disgusting form. So it is with
Mrs. Bellamy. She permitted the mask to be
withdrawn for a moment on the morning when
the child pointed out his father; it was still
further dropped at the play, and after the relation
of her daughter's history; after she had the
effrontery to confess herself the adviser and
abettor of her child's infamy, she had no longer
any measures to keep I was shocked to find
into whose hands I had fallen; for I had been
so improvident as to come from England with
her, without any written agreement, or any
specified sum being agreed on for my services,
and I discovered upon mentioning the morning
after the conversation repeated in my last, that
I must return to my friends. She said, she imagined
I should not think of leaving her until she
had provided some one to supply my place, in
regard to Caroline. `I perfectly remember,
madam,' said I, `that I promised not to leave
you, without giving you a month's time to provide
another governess for your grand-daughter,
or give up a month's salary; the latter I am

willing to do; but I must quit your family this
evening.'

`Upon my word, Mrs. Darnley, you give yourself
fine airs,” cried the haughty dame, with a
contemptuous sneer, her large black eyes flashing
malignity, `and pray what is the occasion of this
mighty hurry?'

`My reason is, madam, that I feel a repugnance
to remaining in a family, the mistress of which
professes principles which I have ever been
taught to hold in abhorrence.'

`You are more plain than polite, methinks.'

`Where would be the use of what you call
politeness in this case? Let me allege what
reason I please for quitting your family, after the
relation you gave me last night, your own heart
would immediately suggest to you the real one.
I am sorry to offend you; I do not mean it; you
certainly have a right to act as you please; and
surely you will allow me the same liberty. I
wish not to influence you by my opinions and
conduct, nor while I retain my reason, shall
yours influence me.'

`And in what manner do you propose returning
to England? It is a long, and I think, go
the cheapest way you can, you will find it rather
an expensive journey—and you have not an immense
sum to receive from me. You have been
with me four months, which, at the rate of
twenty guineas a year, which is the utmost I can
afford to give, is but seven pounds; though to be
sure,' she continued with affected indifference,

`you may have resources of your own which I
know nothing of; and indeed, I hope you have,
for I cannot make it convenient to pay you just
now; I have overrun my income, and have but
a few guineas to last me until next quarter day.'

I was thunderstruck by this unexpected declaration;
my heart swelled, my eyes were ready
to overflow—but pride struggled hard to suppress
them; and though I thought I should have
choaked, I did not allow them to appear. As
soon as I could command my voice, so as to speak
firm, I said,

`I thought, madam, you knew my situation,
when I agreed to come with you; it was the
depression of my circumstances forced me from
my native land; I brought but three guineas
with me, half of which I have spent, and I have
now only a guinea and a few shillings in the
world.'

`Why, Heavens! Mrs. Darnley,' said she, with
a look of astonishment, `is it possible that you
have come here without any money in your
pocket? suppose you had been taken sick, did
you intend to throw yourself entirely on me?'

`No, madam! nor shall now trouble you; I
will, even with the trifle I possess, quit your
house this night; I will send word where I may
be found, and when you can make it convenient
you can send the money to me.'

`Quite independent and spirited, I declare.
But reputable house-keepers are pretty tenacious
who they admit in their families; you

will not find it very easy to procure lodgings in a
respectable house, and I should suppose the immaculate
Mrs. Darnley would not go into any
other.'

`Not when I know the family to be disreputable,
would I enter such a house; or if I had been
deceived in becoming an inmate with such a family,
would I voluntarily remain after I had discovered
my error.'

I said this with pointed acrimony, and receiving
no further answer than, `Do as you please,'
in a tone of petulant disappointment. I retired
to my own apartment, and began arranging my
few moveables, ready to make a retreat as soon
as I had secured a place to retreat to. About
eleven o'clock Mrs. O `Donnel came, and in a
few moments madam went away with her in the
carriage. I descended to the drawing-room for
some work I had left on the table; the maid was
setting the room to rights, rubing the furniture,
&c. Seeing that she had turned up the carpet as
if going to scour the floor, I inquired if Mrs. Bellamy
was going to dine out.' `Yes,' said the
girl, `there be a piece of cold beef mistress said
we might fetch up for your dinner.'

The morning was tolerably fine, I put on my
hat and cloak, and sallied out to look for a lodging.
Though I have been here long, I am almost a
stranger to the streets of Dublin. Mrs. Bellamy
seldom walks, and I have an objection to parading
the streets alone. I felt awkward—my poverty
ill according with my appearance. I feared

to ask the price of any apartments in genteel
looking houses, and felt an instinctive repugnance
to entering the abodes of poverty and
wretchedness. It also appeared to my harrassed
and depressed imagination, that having resided
four months with such a woman as Mrs Bellamy,
would throw such an odium on my good
name, that none who set a just value on their
reputation, would admit me into their houses.
Irresolute, oppressed in spirit, and fatigued from
the long disuse of the exercise of walking; I
wandered up one street and down another, without
having courage to knock at a single door,
though I saw on several “Lodgings to Let;” at
length in a small chandler's shop, in a narrow
lane, I ventured to make the desired inquiry.
The shop was small, the lane was dirty; but
the woman who stood behind the counter was
perfectly neat in her person, her clothes were
very coarse, but withal very clean and free from
rags. A little girl about seven years old sat knitting
in an inner room. When I asked the question,
“have you a chamber to let?” the woman
eyed me from head to foot, not with any appearance
of ill nature, but as if judging from my
dress, what my character might be.

`I have a chamber to let,' said she, in a mild
civil voice, `but I do not think it will suit you.'

`I should like to look at it,' said I, pleased
with her manner. `It would be giving yourself
trouble to no purpose,' said she, `for I do not
think we should agree.' `And why not?' `I am

not used to let my chamber to fine ladies, my
little back room will not suit fine white muslin
gowns and lace handkerchiefs.' I was just going
to assure her that I was a woman of character,
when I recollected I had no person to refer to,
who would confirm my assertions; for it appeared
that the very mention of Bellamy and O'Donnell
would ruin me with every one. As I
paused on the step of the door, a woman came
in to purchase some trifle; I turned to the
mistress of the shop, and said, `Since you think
we cannot agree, can you tell me of any place,
where I shall be likely to get a room?' `What
does the gentlewoman want a lodging?' said the
woman customer. `Yes,' was the answer, `my
room would not suit her.' `Dear me, ma'am, how
lucky,' said she, coming up to me, `if you will
just step to my house, only a little bit further up
the lane, I've got a nice room, I would not wish
to disparage neighbor Truely's, but mine is for
sure, a great deal more neaterer, and I does
not keep a shop—but has a pretty little bit of a
parlor, where you can sit and work, or read, or
see an acquaintance. You know, ma'am, every
body has acquaintances, tho'f they be poor, as I
often tells neighbor Truely here, if one is poor,
they may be merry sometimes.” “It is likely,”
said Mrs. Truely, “that your house will suit the
young person better than mine.” “I will go and
look at it,” said I.

Upon examination, I found the room was tolarably
comfortable, and presently agreeing

about the price, I took down the name of my
landlady, and the lane where she lived; paid
her a week's advance, and told her I would come
in the evening—passing Mrs. Truely's shop, I
was turning to inquire the character of the woman
in whose house I was going to reside, when
conscience said, `What right have you to inquire
the character of another, who have no vouchers
for your own?'

Humbled, weary, and faint, I pursued my way
back to Mrs. Bellamy's; where a fresh scene
of mortification and humiliation awaited me.
Anne, Anne, my heart is swollen nearly to bursting,
with mingled grief and resentment. Alas!
what am I? whom can I look to for comfort? to
whom shall I fly for protection, from indignity
and insult? Adieu.