University of Virginia Library

Editor's Note

Here, to the editor's great disappointment, Mrs. Arnold's interesting story broke off; that unhappy lady not having continued her journal any farther.

But as this seemed to be one of the most affecting periods of her life, his curiosity induced him to enquire of the gentleman from whom he received those papers, whether he could give him any farther light into her story; as he thought it not improbable that he might have learned, from his mother, some other particulars relating to her.

His friend told him, that he knew his mother had drawn up a narrative of the

subsequent remarkable events in the life of Mrs. Arnold, at the request of a particular friend; that he had once heard it read; but, as he was then a boy, it made but little impression upon him; that afterwards, when he wanted to have his curiosity gratified, his mother told him, she could not find the manuscript, and feared it was lost. However, he said, he would search her papers, and, if he recovered it, it should be at his service.

After some time, the gentleman informed the editor, that he had made the strictest scrutiny into his mother's papers, and could find nothing relative to the subject of Mrs. Arnold, excepting a few loose sheets, which seemed to have been the foul copy of the beginning of her narrative; and, at the same time, put them into his hands.

These the editor offers to the publick, as he received them, without any alteration or addition.

CECILIA'S NARRATIVE &c.

Being

A Supplement to Mrs. ARNOLD'S

Journal.

I SET out on my return to England, immediately after the receipt of her last journal, the melancholy close of which had exceedingly terrified and afflicted me.

Immediately on my arrival in London, I flew to the dear friend of my heart; she was still at her house, in Pall-mall.

I found the dear Sidney alone, in her bed-chamber. She had been prepared to receive me; but, though I had endeavoured to arm myself with resolution for this affecting interview, I was not mistress of my-self at the sight of her.

The tears I shed did not spring from that sweet emotion, which long severed friends feel at seeing each other again; I wept in

sorrow for the heavy misfortunes of the best of women.

But Mrs. Arnold, still herself, and superior to adversity, received me with the tenderest marks of friendship, and with a composure that amazed me.

Piety, meekness, and patience, were ever Mrs. Arnold's characteristics; and they now all appeared blended, and so strongly impressed on her beautiful face, that I could not look at her without admiration.

As I was astonished to find her so calm under so trying an affliction, I could not help expressing myself to that purpose; but Mrs. Arnold checked me, with this reply: I have been set up as a mark, my Cecilia; let me fulfil the intention of my Maker, by shewing a perfect resignation to His will. I hope, my task is almost finished, and that he will soon permit me to return to the dust from which I came.'

Frederick Hildy had arrived from Ireland above a fortnight before, with Master Faulkland, a beautiful child of about five years old. They were both lodged in Mrs. Arnold's house.

She told me, that Sir George Bidulph and Mr. Warner had set out together for Holland, immediately after the receipt of the letter, which informed them of Mrs. Faulkland's being alive.

My brother, said Mrs. Arnold, thought it necessary himself to be the bearer of news so fatal in its import to his friend. He hoped besides he should be able to persuade him to return and stand his trial for having killed Major Smyth, as there is no doubt of his being acquitted; all Mr. Bond's family being now convinced, from Mrs. Faulkland's own confession, that there was nothing premeditated in this fatal event, and that what Mr. Faulkland did was in defence of his own life.

I have writ, continued she, to Mr. Faulkland, to endeavour to console him under our mutual misfortune.

At my request, she shewed me a copy of this letter; wherein she assured him, she would take the tenderest care of his son, 'till the child could be delivered safe into his hands; and conjured him, for that child's sake, to be careful of his own interest

and preservation; adding, that as their ill fated marriage was an absolute secret to every one but the persons immediately concerned, she hoped he would not suffer the thoughts of it to break in upon his future quiet; and concluded with beseeching him to forget her, as they were never more to meet.

This was the substance of what she wrote. There were no murmurings at her fate, no womanish complainings, mixed with the tender, yet noble sentiments of her heart. She endeavoured to conceal her own anguish under the mask of contentment, that Mr. Faulkland might the better support this final destruction of all his hopes.

I asked her, whether she had heard since from Mr. Faulkland? She told me, she had as yet received no answer from him to this letter, but that she had heard severally from Sir George and Mr. Warner, who both informed her, that Mr. Faulkland, after his first transports of surprize and grief were over, at receiving this new and unexpected blow, had grown more calm, and seemed inclined to return with them to England.

Sir George added, in the last letter she had from him, that they only waited 'till Mr. Warner had accomplished the business that he had to do in Holland, and hoped, before a fortnight was at an end, to return home, and to have the pleasure of conducting Mr. Faulkland back.

It is ten days, continued Mrs. Arnold, since I received this account, and I flatter myself, that they may be now on their journey homeward.

Mrs. Arnold said, that she waited but for Sir George's return, in order to deliver Master Faulkland into his hands, and that she then meant to retire into the country, with her two children, and Patty, the faithful companion and partner of her grief.

Lady Sarah Bidulph, who would gladly have gone with Sir George to Holland, had been persuaded by him to stay behind, in order to bear his sister company in her affliction; and Mrs. Arnold said, she had dedicated much of her time to that friendly purpose.

Her Ladyship came to pay her a visit whilst I was there. I had never seen Lady

Sarah before; and we were introduced to each other.

I took my leave of Mrs. Arnold, and promised to see her again the next day.

In the morning, as I was preparing to go to her, I received a note from Lady Sarah Bidulph, earnestly requesting the favour of seeing me, at her house, in St. James's Square, before I went to Mrs. Arnold.

I obeyed this unexpected summons, and immediately waited on her.

I took the liberty, Madam, said she, of desiring to see you here this morning, at Sir George's request: He arrived late last night, and brings most melancholy news from Holland.

Sir George entered the room while she spoke. After the first greetings of friends long parted were over, I am afraid to ask, Sir George, said I, yet am impatient to learn something of Mr. Faulkland, your lady has terribly alarmed me; Mr. Faulkland is not returned; I dare not enquire the reason. Tears instantly sprung into Sir George's eyes. He returns no more, said he, his remains

are soon to be conveyed to England to be laid with his ancestors.

Ah, Sir, cried I, what will poor Mrs. Arnold say to this fresh misfortune?

It was on that account Madam, he replied, that we now requested to speak with you, before you saw my sister. You, who are her bosom friend, can more tenderly disclose this melancholy event than any one. I have not the courage to see her. We must beg of you, dear Madam, to prepare the unhappy Sidney for the news.

I asked him the manner of Mr. Faulkland's death. I cannot positively say, answered Sir George, but much I fear he precipitated his own fate.

Mr. Warner, or I, constantly staid with him from the time we disclosed the fatal account we brought concerning Mrs. Faulkland. Knowing as we did the violence of his temper, we were apprehensive of sudden and dreadful consequences; but he deceived us both; for after the first starts of passion were over, which though they shocked, did not alarm us, as we expected them, he assumed a calm resignation to his fate;

and talked with such a rational composure of the strange circumstances of this incident, than we began to entertain hopes, that the efforts of his reason, joined to our constant endeavours to sooth and console him, would in time so far succeed, as though we never expected to see him restored to a tranquil state of mind, we yet flattered ourselves he would submit to life upon such terms as Providence thought fit to impose on him.

I was with him, proceeding Sir George, when he received a letter from my sister. His hands shook so on perceiving by the superscription that it came from her, that he let the letter drop. Read it for me, Bidulph, said he, and tell me how it fares with Mrs. Arnold.

I instantly complied with his request. I found by the date of the letter that it had been delayed much longer than it ought to have been, which I immediately observed to him, as he had often expressed his uneasiness at not hearing from my sister.

Mrs. Arnold is well, said I, giving him

the letter; read what she says, and let her teach you fortitude.

He withdrew to a window to peruse it. After he had read it, I admire your sister's stoicism, said he, stepping back to his chair. This is true philosophy, laying his finger on the letter which he still held in his hand. Her heroic soul is still unmoved, and above the reach of adversity. Happy Mrs. Arnold—What a vain fool was I to think that such a mind as hers could be subdued. He paused and seemed for a while buried in thought. Then putting the letter up in his pocket, he began to discourse on some other topic.

We passed the evening together, continued Sir George, and though Faulkland was far from being chearful, I thought he appeared more tranquil than he had done since my arrival.

I talked to him of his returning to England with me. He said with a smile, I think I ought to go if it were for no other reason but that I may have my dust mingled with that of my forefathers; and this office,

Bidulph, I expected from you, if you should outlive me.

I laughed at him, and said I thought he had a much more material reason that pressed his return.

Your estate, said I, is unsettled; and if you were to die abroad in the predicament in which you now stand, what is to become of your son?

I have already done for my son, said he, all that I thought in justice was in my power to do: I have long ago settled my personal fortune on him, that in case my next heirs, should on account of the illegitimacy of his birth, claim the family estate, he may have a handsome support without it.

And indeed I never wished to debar my lawful heirs in favour of this child; though I love him tenderly, and they are worthless people, whom I despise, and with whom I never had any intercourse.

I replied, if that were so, as the manner of the child's birth was a secret, I wished he might, undisturbed, inherit his father's fortune, when he should come to pay the last debt to nature.

He answered, where such a vast property was at stake, there would not be people wanting whose interest would engage them to discover the secret; and he doubted not but the irregularity of his wife's conduct, had already occasioned enquiries to be made.

Supposing, said I, you had had another son by Mrs. Faulkland since your marriage —as you could have no objection to the bequeathing your fortune to him, would it not have appeared strange in the eyes of the world that you should disinherit your eldest son.

It might have appeared so, said he, but I certainly should have done it: and for that reason, as I have no child but him, I have made such a disposition of my fortune as I now tell you. If I live, I may increase my son's patrimony; if not, he must be contended with that which I have bequeathed to him, and let my kindred scramble for the rest.

We staid together till it was late; he discoursed on a variety of subjects, but mentioned not my sister's name during the whole time.

I thought I left him well, and his mind tolerably composed. We were to set out on our return in six days; but an account was brought to me in the morning, that Mr. Faulkland was found dead in his bed.

There were no symptoms discovered on the body that could let us into the occasion of his death; but as my own fears suggested too much, I chose not to be particular in my enquiries. Wishing rather that his fatal story should be buried in silence.

Mr. Warner found that his affairs were likely to delay him longer than the time proposed; and as I had nothing farther to detain me in Holland, I set out the day after my unfortunate friend's death, leaving to Mr. Warner, the care of conveying his remains to England, agreeably to the desire he had expressed, which I now considered as his last injunction laid on me.

Thus, proceeded Sir George, by a series of fatal events, each of which was occasioned by motives in themselves laudable, has one of the bravest and most noble-minded men on earth been cut off in the prime of his

youth—Oh! Faulkland, why did you suffer that gallant spirit to be vanquished?—

Sir George's emotions topped his farther speech. I was too much affected to say any thing to him, but took a hasty leave of Lady Sarah, in order to go to Mrs. Arnold.

As soon as I entered my friend's room, Cecilia, said she, if your countenance be as faithful an interpreter of your mind as it used to be, you have some thing disastrous to relate; you may say any thing, misfortune and I have been so familiar, I shall not shrink at its approach.

Sir George is returned, I replied, you will see him to-day.

Is he come alone, she asked? Alone, I replied. You but repeat my words, Cecilia, without adding any thing from yourself.

Shall I interpret the meaning of that mournful echo? Mr. Faulkland no longer lives!

I was silent—Oh I knew him too well, said she, raising her voice with energy, to think he would survive this last blow.

His death was natural, said I, for any thing that appeared to the contrary. God

be praised for that, cried Mrs. Arnold! If so, I am satisfied that he is at peace.

She then enquired after Mr. Warner, and her brother, without making any farther mention of Mr. Faulkland.

Whilst we were in discourse, Master Faulkland ran into the room. He had been at play with the two little Miss Arnolds, who were in pursuit of him, and he flew to Mrs. Arnold to hid him. She folded him tenderly in her arms; then turning to me, Look at this boy, said she, he is the perfect image of his father.

When am I to go to my papa, cried the child, as he hung round her neck? This innocent unexpected demand quite vanished Mrs. Arnold's fortitude. She set him down without being able to answer his question, then said, Excuse me, my Cecilia, I would wish to be alone for to-day. It was not yet a season to administer consolation, and I withdrew.

She staid in London but two days after this; when, as she had before resolved, she retired to an estate in Buckinghamshire,

which her kinsman had purchased and settled on her for ever.

With her brother's consent, she took Master Faulkland with her, and prevailed on Mr. Price to accompany her into the country, to whom she committed the care of the child's education.

Mr. Warner, whom she had acquainted by letter with her intention, approved of the step she had taken. He returned to England in about three weeks after her departure from her house in town, which she had left for his reception just as he had fitted it up for her.

Before I accompany Mrs. Arnold into her solitude, I shall just briefly mention some other persons who were connected with her story.

The relations of Mr. Faulkland, as he had foreseen, claimed his estate, and at length obtained it, the illegitimacy of the child being proved.

The wretched Mrs. Faulkland, abandoned and despised, returned to England; but as she was there hated and shunned by every one, she remained in obscurity for a few

years, and then died unpitied and unlamented.

I now return to Mrs. Arnold, who, settled in her quiet retreat in the country, it might be hoped would have passed the remainder of her days undisturbed by any new calamity.

The only source of true heroism of soul, religion, had all along supported, and prevented her from sinking under the most trying afflictions. Many and bitter were the sufferings she had already endured; but she was, to use her own words, Set up as a mark; and the deep afflictions that still pursued her, and clouded even her latter days with misfortunes, may serve to shew that it is not here that true virtue is to look for its reward. I saw her at a time when this reflection, as it had been her chief, so was it her last and only consolation.

Possessed as she was of an admirable understanding, and an enlarged mind, in the deepest solitude she had always resources of entertainment within herself. Her natural disposition ever sweet and complying, was improved by her sufferings into a patience

very rare in woman; and a resignation imbibed at first from a rigid education, was heightened by religion into an almost saint-like meekness and humility.

I shall pass over the first ten years of her retirement, in which nothing material happened but the marriage of the amiable Patty Main to a gentleman of a large estate, and the death of her worthy kinsman Mr. Warner, who bequeathed her his whole fortune.

Miss Arnold, her eldest daughter, was now something more than fifteen, and fulfilled the promise her childhood gave, of her being a perfect beauty. Miss Cecilia was about a year younger, and though not so handsome as her sister, was accounted one of the finest young ladies of her time.

With what delight have I seen this excellent mother, while these two charming young creatures were all attention, relate to them the extraordinary and affecting incidents of her life.

This, said she, I do, not as a murmurer at my fate, nor to move your pity at my misfortunes, but to teach you by my example, that there is no situation in life exempt from

trouble. It found me under the tender care of the best of parents, it pursued me into my husband's house. In my virgin state, when I was a wife, and in my widowhood, I was equally persecuted.

Poverty, I once thought, would have exempted me from every ill, but what its own hand inflicted; and had it remained my companion, the bitterest misfortune of my life would have been prevented; for, if wealth had not accompanied my hand, the world could not have persuaded me to yield it to Mr. Faulkland.

Do not therefore pride yourselves on the great fortunes you are likely to possess: I have received no other satisfaction in mind, than what arose from the benefits I have conferred on others.

By such lessons as these, did this tender parent endeavour to fortify their young minds against the vicissitudes of fortune, and to teach them not to place their confidence in riches.

She dwelt so often upon this theme, that she seemed to have a presentiment of those evils, which were now ready to pour in like a torrent upon her.

Gracious Heaven! how inscrutable are thy ways! Her affluent fortune, the very circumstance which seemed to promise her, in the eve of life, some compensation for the miseries she had endured in her early days, now proved the source of new and dreadful calamities to her, which, by involving the unhappy daughters of an unhappy mother in scenes of the most exquisite distress, cut off from her even the last resource of hope in this life, and rendered the close of her history still more . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The END of the THIRD VOLUME.