University of Virginia Library

THE trouble I am about to give your lordship
may, perhaps, be deemed an impertinent
intrusion; and an apologizing introduction, might
by some, be thought indispensible; but I trust
your lordship will admit the cause, when I have
explained it, of itself a sufficient excuse for the
liberty I take, without my offering any other.

I have, my lord, for many years, been in habits
of the strictest intimacy with a lady of the
name of Darnley, who, from a concurrence of
unfortunate circumstances, was an inmate in
Mrs. Bellamy's family during last winter, where,
I have been informed, your lordship became acquainted
with her, and judging of her character
from the character of those in whose society you
found her, (a fair criterion, I own, in general, but
in her case very erroneous,) you made her a proposal,
which, though it evinced much love,
breathed very little respect. The receipt of that
letter, drove Mrs. Darnley precipitately from
Mrs. Bellamy's, and forced a virtuous woman
on a prejudiced and misjudging world, without
money, without even a single friend being near,
to whom she could apply for relief. These particulars
I had from her own hand, since when, I
have heard nothing from her. Anxious, unhappy,
I employed a person in Dublin, to make inquiries
concerning her, and have had the misfortune to
hear, that her character has been vilely traduced
by those, who, shamed by her unshaken virtue,
endeavor to bring her to a level with themselves.
As I presume your lordship was uncommonly
pleased with the person of Mrs. Darnley, I am
led to imagine, when she left the house of that
dishonor to her sex, Mrs. Bellamy, you would
naturally make some inquiries concerning her,
and perhaps may have some knowledge of her
present situation. If you have, my lord, have
the goodness to inform her, that her silence has

almost broken my heart, and beg her to make
use of a letter of credit, which she will find at
Mr. John Gallaghan's, the banker, to discharge
any debts she may have contracted, and return
home to the bosom of friendship. If indeed, you
do not know where she is, will your lordship
condescend to make use of the influence, your
rank and fortune give you, and cause her to be
sought for; and if you will permit one of your
people to inform me of the success of the inquiry
you will enhance the obligation. Indeed, my
lord, you will never have cause to repent any
interference in her behalf; or any assistance you
may give her; for in serving Sarah Darnley, you
are serving the cause of virtue.

I have the honor to be, my lord, your lordship's
most obedient humble servant,

Marquis of H—, to Anne.

I WAS honored with your favor of July 17,
and feel myself impelled to admire a friendship
so ardent and sincere, as that which you profess
to feel for the charming Mrs. Darnley. You
were right in your conjecture, that I should
make instant inquiry after the lovely fugitive,
who had taken such alarm at my letter, and fled
from what she termed my persecution. In that

letter, I told her I would see her in the evening;
and at the hour I had appointed, I repaired to
Mrs. Bellamy's house. Judge of my surprize at
hearing she was gone, and had taken her trunks
with her, leaving no message I inquired how
she was conveyed from the house; and learning
that she went in a hackney coach, on my return
home, I employed one of my servants to
inquire at the stands around, for the man who
had taken up a fare at such an hour, in such a
street—by this man I discovered where he had
taken her, and went in the evening of the following
day, to the lane where he directed me;
intending, if I could not prevail on your fair
friend to favor my suit, to insist upon being her
banker, and serve her even against her will.

Upon my inquiry for the lady who lodged
there, I feared there was some mistake; for the
woman of the house shewed me into a little parlor,
and said, she would call Miss Beetham—
however, I thought I might as well stop, and see
what kind of a being Miss Beetham was. But
my doubts were soon removed, for I heard her
soft voice say, “It must be a mistake, no gentleman
can want me” “It is no mistake, dear
madam,” said I, advancing up two or three
stairs, for from a room at the top of which the
voice had proceeded. “It is no mistake; it is you
I am inquiring for, permit me to say the few
words I have to offer you.” “You give yourself
needless touble,” said she, coming out of the
chamber, alarmed, I imagine, at hearing my step

ascending the stairs. “I beg you will leave me,
you can offer nothing I can or will accept.” I
took her hand and led her down to the little parlor.
She shut the door, and seating herself opposite
me, said, “My lord, I force myself to
speak to you, that you may not, though you have
discovered the place of my retreat, entertain any
chimerical hopes, that I shall be wrought on, by
the fear of poverty, to yield to your insulting
proposal; I am, it is true, unfortunate, but I
have ever maintained a conscience at peace with
itself, and hope ever to do so; permit me to tell
you, it is cruel, unmanly conduct, thus to persecute
a woman who has no protector—even your
being here this evening, if you were known,
would ruin me in the opinion of those with whom
I reside, and to whom I must look for a character
when I can get employment: I must insist
on your not repeating your visits.” I would have
argued, she was deaf; I offered her my purse,
bills to any amount, but she would touch neither.
I endeavored to hold her in conversation, to obtain
leave to visit her: but she was as impenetrable
as marble; and having, with the most
persuasive earnestness, entreated me to leave
her in peace, she darted out of the room, ran up
stairs, and fastened the chamber door; nor
would any thing I could say, induce her to open
it.

“Bless me,” said the officious landlady, bursting
out of a little back room, which seemed a
kind of kitchen, “bless me, what has put the

lady in such a taking?” “I have brought some
unpleasant news, madam,” said I, and thinking
it was as well to have a friend at court, I took
two or three guineas from my purse, and presenting
them to the woman, who eyed them with
inexpressible pleasure, I continued, “Miss Beetham
is rather unfortunate in some respects, and
will require much of your attention to keep up
her spirits. I am glad to see she is in the house
of a person so interested for her, as you appear
to be. Pray take these as a mark of my good
will, and be assured, you shall be no loser by any
attention you pay her. I hope she will not think
of removing from you, if she should, I will thank
you to let me know.” I then gave her an address,
with a feigned name, in order to her
sending me intelligence of the motions of her
fair lodger.

The next day, happening to meet Mrs. Bellamy
at Mrs. O`Donnell's lodgings, whither I
went with my friend lord Linden; the conversation
turned on your charming friend; when to
my great surprise, the old woman asserted, that,
however far Mrs. Darnley might carry her affectation
(as she chose to term it) she was certain
in the end, my offers would be accepted. And
you may believe me, madam, had it not been for
their insinuations, and her being a resident in the
house of a woman, of more than doubtful character,
I should never have presumed to have
offended Mrs. Darnley's delicacy, by a tender of
my services, upon terms which I might have

been certain any woman of honor would reject
with scorn. They laughed at me, for having
been so easily baffled, and imposed on by her
assumed virtue; told me she had been guilty of
some lapses which were the cause of her separation
from her husband; and so effectually argued
me out of the respect I began to experience for
her, that I was resolved not to have my schemes
foiled by an artful baggage, who, in all probability,
would laugh in her sleeve, at finding me so
easily imposed on.

Having received intelligence from my talkative
friend, the landlady, that Mrs. Darnley, or as
she called herself, Miss Beetham, had advertized
herself for a situation to wait on a lady, or to take
care of and instruct one or more young children,
I therefore dispatched an old trusty servant,
(who no more than myself would have engaged
in the pursuit of a virtuous woman) I told him it
was her whim to be treated with respect, and be
considered as a pattern of purity, and that the
very semblance of virtue was so charming, that
I would have her indulged. He was to represent
himself as the steward of a lady who lived a
small distance from the city, who wanted a companion;
that he should engage her at a liberal
salary, and take her to a seat of mine in the
environs of Dublin, where I meant to engage a
quondam acquaintance of mine to personate the
lady, and thought time and concurring circumstances
would smoothe the way to settlement.

But this plan was not so easily put in execution
as I imagined it would be. She would make
no engagements without letters from the principal;
and much time was spent in this ideal correspondence:
at length when all preliminaries
were settled, the pretended lady chose to take a
jaunt into the country, with a chere amie of hers,
and Mrs. Darnley was obliged to be sent to the
care of the house-keeper, until her intended lady
should return. At length she did return, and I
resolved to accompany her home, to shew my
charmer, as early as possible, that I was upon a
footing of easy familiarity in the family; but no
sooner had she entered the parlor, and cast her
eyes towards us, than uttering an exclamation of
surprise, she sunk on the floor in a state of inanimation.
I flew towards her, raised and
supported her in my arms until some female attendants,
obeying the summons of the bell, conveyed
her out of the room, when, turning to my
companion, I beheld her pale, and every mark of
astonishment on her countenance. “Is this your
Miss Beetham?” said she, ironically. “Yes—
did you ever see her before?” “Oh yes! I fancy
I know her better than your lordship does—I do
not imagine you will find much difficulty in persuading
her to accept your terms without any
interposition of mine.” “Was it surprise at
the sight of you, do you imagine, occasioned her to
faint?” “No—I rather think it was joy at the
sight of your lordship; for according to the plan
you have pursued, she must have supposed she

had lost you. I fancy her fit will not prove dangerous—she
will tell you to-morrow, how violent,
yet how delightful her emotions were.” This
was delivered in such a tone of ridicule, that I
began to think I must appear very contemptible
to suffer myself thus to be played upon. I retired
to my chamber, in a very ill humor, resolving
to converse with Mrs. Darnley in the morning,
and if she would not comply with my proposals,
to make her a present and take a final leave of
her. Still in the midst of my vexation, there
was something flattering in idea that she might
feel some emotions in my favor; and that being
taken by surprise, she was thrown off her guard,
and her sensibility, at my unexpected appearance,
overcame her caution. I was kept waking until
a late hour, by various reflections, and extraordinary
conjectures, and slept the next morning
longer than usual. When I descended to the
breakfast room, I found my travelling companion
waiting for me. “Go,” said I to the footman, “tell
Miss Beetham that breakfast waits, and if she is
able to leave her apartment, we shall be glad of
her company to make our tea.” “Your lordship
may save yourself the trouble,” said the lady,
“Miss Beetham has taken herself off. I sent to inquire
after her when I came down, but behold, the
delicate, fainting, tender creature is no where
to be found.” “Gone?” said I, “impossible!”
I ordered the house, the grounds, the servants'
offices, and every adjoining place to be searched,
but in vain. A small trunk, with a few changes
of linen in it, (the only baggage she brought with
her) was left behind in her chamber.

You may easily imagine, madam, that this
intelligence gave me great uneasiness; I was
sensible it could only be a wish to avoid me that
prompted her flight, and that whatever might be
the motive for her conduct, she had now carried
it too far to be any longer attributed to affectation.
I returned to Dublin, and employed the
same man who had negociated the business of a
place, &c. as related, to watch round the house
where she had lodged, and if she returned thither
to offer her money, of which I was sure she must
be in great need; and a letter of apology for my
former conduct, entreating her to pardon a fault
I had been led to commit, by the malignity of
her enemies. I professed my full conviction of
the purity of her heart, and requested she would
permit me to nominate some proper person to
protect and conduct her in safety to her friends
in England. But he returned in the evening,
informing me, she had not been there. I could
not, upon reflecting on the circumstances of the
preceeding evening, help suspecting that Mrs.
Ryan, the woman whom I mentioned to have
been with me, had deceived me, as well as the
detested Bellamy; and that she knew more of
Mrs. Darnley than she chose to declare. Accordingly
the next day, I repaired to her house, in
order to make more minute inquiries. I found
her surrounded by several gentlemen, but my
impatience would brook no delay. I however

considered it would be doing the object of my
search an injury to inquire after her, of such a
woman; for I must not pretend to disguise from
you, that this Mrs. Ryan was a Cyprian votary,
who some years since, took a trip with me from
London to the continent; and from thence came
with me to Dublin, where we parted by mutual
consent; though I had never entirely foreborn
to visit her. I therefore inquired for her by her
assumed name. “What, have you not found
your little run-away yet?” said she, “it seems to
be my lot to fall in with the admirers of the
eccentric Sarah.” “Sarah! Sarah! who?”
exclaimed a young naval officer, with a look of
alarmed tenderness. “Oh! what—here is
another lover I suppose,” said she, laughing;
“who would have thought the homely Sarah
would ever have become so formidable?” “But
what was her other name?” said the young
officer with increased vehemence. “Oh, I dare
not call her by her right name,” said she, scornfully,
“my lord H— will never forgive me if
I do; but to satisfy you, and that you may be
convinced, whether it is your Sarah or not, I
will shew you her picture, which I stole one
evening in sport from a lover of mine, and he
never after demanded it, to let me see how indifferent
he was to the original.” The agitation
of the stranger was extreme, while she was gone
up stairs to get the picture. “Here,” said she,
presenting it, “it is a great likeness, I assure
you, though I think her handsomer now than
when it was taken.” He took it—he gazed on
it—he clasped it in his hands, and elevated them
towards heaven with a look of indescribable anguish—exclaimed,
“Oh God! Oh God! my
sister. Where is she? how came she here?
Lead me to her—Yet—no! no! tell me she is
no longer in existence, for I should rather hear
she was dead, than find her what every thing I
hear and see leads me to fear she is. Dear, unhappy
Sarah, well might you neglect to answer
my letters. God of heaven, can it be my sister!
my sister!” All this was uttered with a vehemence
and rapidity that totally precluded interruption;
but at the end, his heart's anguish
overflowed at his eyes, and throwing himself on
the sofa, he hid his face and gave a free course
to his feelings. Mrs Ryan, when she preceived
what she had done, was frightened. “Lord bless
me,” said she, “who would have thought Mrs.
Darnley was your sister?” “Peace, woman,”
said I, “leave me a few minutes with the gentleman;
your unfeeling thoughtlessness has pierced
him to the heart.” She withdrew to another
apartment with her other visitors, and I seated
myself by the brother of Mrs Darnley; silently
waiting a pause in his grief to speak and administer
consolation. At length he raised his head,
and looked at me, said, “Do you know my wretched
sister? but why do I ask? perhaps it it to you
she owes—” His countenance reddened, and I
perceived what past in his mind. “Do not form,
sir,” said I gravely, “hasty and erroneous conclusions.
I have had the honor of being in Mrs.
Darnley's company, and do not hesitate to profess
myself one of her warmest admirers; I
believe her to be unfortunate, but I would pledge
my life that she is innocent.” I then related to
him all that had taken place after my first seeing
her at O`Donnel's, not in the least sparing myself,
though I pleaded the characters of the
women with whom I found her as some extenuation
of my offence; he was willing to allow it,
but was lost in conjecture bow it was possible she
could be thrown among such people. We questioned
Ryan as to what she knew about Mrs.
Darnley, and could get nothing from her, but
that she once lived in the same neighborhood
where she resided. Mr. Lewis had heard of his
sister's marriage, but had not received a line
from her, nor any intelligence concerning her,
for eighteen months past; however, he resolved
to go to Mrs. Bellamy's and insist on learning
from her, what had induced his sister to accompany
her to Ireland. We went immediatly, but
found to our great mortification, that she was
gone on a jaunt of pleasure with her daughter,
and would not return under a fortnight or three
weeks.

Disappointed in the point we aimed at, that
of forcing Mrs. Bellamy to tell Mr. Lewis
all she knew concerning his sister; I found it
almost impossible to bring his perturbed spirits
to any tolerable degree of composure. I accompanied
him to the place where she had lodged;

but there the woman gave such a strange account
of her, as threw him almost into a paroxysm of
phrenzy. He did not expect to remain in Dublin
more than a week or ten days, (the ship he
belonged to coming toIreland having been entirely
accidental.) I found by his conversation, that
Mrs. Darnley is only a nominal sister, he having
been adopted by her father. I was led to suspect
from that circumstance, that it might be more
than fraternal affection which made him so anxious;
but he soon dissipated that doubt, by an
assurance to the contrary, in such terms as necessarily
enforced belief. He wrote to her husband
a letter of such bitter reproach, demanding
his sister at his hands in terms so peremptory,
that if Darnley is a man of the least spirit, whenever
they meet, a duel will most probably ensue.
He inserted an advertisement in the papers,
couched in such terms, as if it fell into her hands,
and she wished to return to her friends, she
could not but understand it; yet so delicate as
not to wound her feelings by making her situation
a topic for public animadversion. But before
either an answer could arrive to the letter, or
any good effect arise from the latter expedient,
his ship was ordered away—and he departed,
earnestly conjuring me to continue my endeavors
to find and succour Mrs. Darnley, and have
her conveyed in safety to England, where he expected
to be in the course of a few months. On
taking leave, he requested me to inquire for his
letter and open it, whenever it should arrive. I
did so—it contained these lines:

THE woman you call sister, and who has, to
my misfortune, been for some years my wife, having
voluntarily separated herself from me; after
having by her love of dissipation and thoughtless
extravagance, combined with other circumstances,
reduced me to bankruptcy; and having
been absent now five months without writing to
me above twice, which was in the early period
of her absence, I cannot inform you of any thing
concerning her; nor do I desire ever to be troubled
on her account; I hold myself in no degree
whatever accountable for her actions, nor will I
pay any debts of her contracting. I have heard
from Mrs. Bellamy, the person with whom she
left England, that she has left her protection;
has given herself up to folly and infamy; and
from this hour, I renounce any connexion
whatever with her.