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PREFACE.

You never read prefaces, you say. Pray oblige me by giving this a slight perusal; it will not detain you long.

The present work made its appearance about eight years since, in the Boston Weekly Magazine; but it was written at snatches of time, and under the pressure of much care and business incident to my profession; consequently was in a degree incorrect. It has now gone through a revision, and is offered to the public as an example of how much the human mind can bear, when supported by conscious rectitude, and whose every impulse is conformable to the strictest integrity and a love of truth. It may be objected that the example will lose its effect, as my heroine is not in the end rewarded for her exemplary patience, virtue, and forbearance: But it was because I wished to avoid every unnatural appearance, that I left Sarah to meet her reward in a better world. Characters of superlative excellence, tried in the furnace of affliction, and at length crowned by wealth, honor, love, friendship, every sublunary good, are to be found abundantly in every novel, but alas! where shall we find them in real life? Such examples therefore, instead of stimulating the young or inexperienced mind to emulate the virtues represented, misleads it by fallacious hopes and expectations which can never be realized; disappointed in the anticipated temporal felicity, where it is discovered that virtue and integrity may be overlooked by the thoughtless and unfeeling; or left to pine in obscurity by the worldly wise, and ostentatiously prudent; it slackens in its endeavour, and concludes the existence of the character portrayed to be as chimerical as the happiness represented as its reward.

It may be inquired, "Do I then deny the existence of friendship, generosity, compassion, and that first of Christian virtues, Charity?" Oh no! I should be the most ungrateful of human beings if I did; many have been the instances which I have witnessed of this reality, which, like roses scattered in a wilderness, perfumed and sweetened the journey of life; but in that journcy I have also encountered many a thorn, and many a flint, that have lacerated my feelings to the very quick.

Sarah is not a faultless monster; she comes as near perfection as is the lot of humanity; but she was eredulous, impetuous, and apt to decide with too much precipitation. Yet under all her misfortunes she is represented as drawing comfort and consolation from a source that is never fallacious, can never be exhausted. She looks up to her heavenly Father with love and confidence, she endeavours to make his laws the rule of her actions, and trusts in his promises for her reward. Who of common reflection but would prefer the death of Sarah, resigned as she was, and upheld by faith and hope, to all the splendors, wealth and honors that were ever heaped upon the heroine in the last pages of a novel? Here let the young voyagers, just entering on the turbulent ocean of life, fix their eyes, and they will find a comforter in disappointment, a support in the heaviest calamity, a safe and sure passport to eternal peace.

Many of the scenes delineated in the following work are drawn from real life; some of them have occurred within my own knowledge; but it was in another hemisphere, and the characters no longer exist. Darnley was a profligate; his crime became his punishment; for surely no life can be pictured so completely wretched as where two persons, knowing from experience the turpitude of each other's heart, are obliged to wear out the last remnant of existence together, in mutual jealousy, hatred and recrimination.

Beware, ye lovely maidens who are now fluttering on the wing of youth and pleasure, how you select a partner for life. Purity of morals and manners in a husband, is absolutely necessary to the happiness of a delicate and virtuous woman. When once the choice is made and fixed beyond revocation, remember patience, forbearance, and in many cases perfect silence, is the only way to secure domestic peace. What, in all marriages? asks some young friend. Why, in truth, there is seldom any so perfectly felicitous, but that instances may occur where patience, forbearance, and silence, may be practised with good effect.

LETTER I. SARAH TO ANNE.

YES! Anne, the die is cast—I am a wife. But a less cheerful bride, one who looks forward with less hope, perhaps never existed. You were surprised, you say, to hear to whom I had relinquished my hand and heart—leave out the latter, Anne, it had nothing to do with the transaction. Why were you not here, you say, to have prevented a union which you are morally certain will not conduce to my happiness? You cannot be more certain of it, than I am; but what could I do? Frederic gone to India; hemmed round with persuasive meddlers, who, I am more than half convinced, urged me to this measure, fearful I should be burthensome to them; and I was also told it was necessary for the preservation of my reputation that I should accept Darnley. I had no natural protector; my father so far distant he was the same as dead to me; Frederic gone; my health not sufficiently established to enable me to undertake the journey I meditated before you left England; my finances reduced to a very small portion, and though most earnestly entreated to forbear, Darnley continuing his visits. I found I must accede to his proposals, or be thrown on the world, censured by my relations, robbed of my good name, and being poor, open to the pursuits and insults of the profligate. One thing which encouraged me to hope I might be tolerably happy in the union was—though my heart felt no strong emotions in his favor, it was totally free from all partiality towards any other. He always appeared good humored and obliging; and though his mind was not highly cultivated, I thought time might improve him in that particular. However, I was candid with him; told him the situation of my heart, and asked if he could be content with receiving attentions which would be only the result of principle. He seemed to think this only maidenish affectation, and perfectly convinced within himself that I loved him already.

I have read and heard much of the hilarity of a wedding day. Oh, my dear Anne, when my aunt entering my chamber told me it was time to rise, my souls sunk within me, and like a condemned wretch who hears the bell announce the last hour of his existence, an involuntary ejaculation arose, that I might escape from what on its near approach seemed more terrible than death itself.

My aunt Vernon, who had invited me to her house a few days previous to the one which determined my fate; and when she was convinced I should soon have a house of my own, was very officious about dressing me; she observed the languor of my looks, and the redness of my eyes, and attempted to rally me; my spirits could not bear it. I burst into tears, "Oh why!" said I, in an agony, "have I given my assent to a transaction which my better reason disapproves. Aunt, dear aunt, indeed I do not love this man; and I fear"—"Nonsense!" said she hastily, "you are a silly romantic girl, you are too young yet to know any thing about love; marry him first, you will learn to love him afterwards" "But should I see one I may like better?"—Her look petrified me—"Impossible," said she, "impossible, a woman whose passions are kept under the dominion of reason, will never let a thought wander to another, when once she is married, though she may not love her husband, she will not love another." "I am very ignorant in this respect," I replied, "and I hope God will enable me to do my duty in the state I am about to enter." I endeavored to assume a tranquil appearance when I went down to breakfast; Darnley was there; he rose, put a chair to the breakfast table, seated himself beside me and took my hand. Why, my dear girl, said he, your hand is as cold as ice. It is not colder than my heart, said I, and even now, Mr. Darnley, I think you would consult your own happiness by declining this union. I know better, said he, what will promote my own happiness than you do; I love you, I cannot live without you; and I will compel you to love me; nay, you do love me now. A coach was at the door; I strove to swallow a cup of tea; it was impossible; the moment was arrived when I must dash at once into the tempestuous sea of wedlock; or recede and perish in the flames of calumny, reproach and ignominy, that would burst upon me from all sides. I rose hastily; Darnley led me to the coach, my aunt and her daughter followed. At the church we met two gentlemen and the mother of Darnley. I strove to repress my emotions as I knelt before the altar; I prayed for grace to fulfil the duties which would be required of me: Tears rose to my eyes; I endeavored to chase them back to my swelling heart; I succeeded, but the consequence was worse than had I suffered them to flow; for just as the clergyman pronounced us man and wife, my nose gushed out with blood; my handkerchief and clothes were suffused with the crimson torrent; it seemed to relieve the poignancy of my feelings, for my temples had throbbed violently, and my bosom seemed swollen almost to bursting. I felt a faint sickishness come over me, but a glass of water and the air prevented my appearing like a foolish affected girl by fainting. The derangement of my dress obliged a return to my aunt's. When I got into my chamber I begged to be left one hour to myself to compose my spirits. The moment I was alone, I threw myself on my knees by the bed, side, and covering my face in the bed clothes, gave a free vent to my tears. I cannot describe my feelings. I did not pray; I could not collect my thoughts. Oh! that I could call back the last hour, said I—but I cannot, I have vowed; I must, I will submit.

The remainder of the day was spent at Windsor; when we returned to town, an elegant supper was provided at Darnley's own house, and I was placed at the head of the table as its mistress. Henceforth it is my home. I have not seen much company. I have been considerably indisposed; my hectic complaints have returned; I was for a fortnight confined to my chamber; I am now convalescent. Darnley loves society—I must not make his house a dungeon—I will rouse myself from the lethargic stupor which has for more than two months pervaded every sense. I see I may be tolerably happy if I do not wilfully shun the path that leads to peace. Perhaps, Anne, my heart was not formed to be agitated by those violent emotions which some experience. It is probable the passions so forcibly portrayed by the pen of the fabulist, dramatist, or historian, are merely the children of romance, and exist only in a heated imagination. You tell me you shall not return to England until autumn. I anticipate the moment of your return as the moment in which I shall taste pure unmixed felicity. Adieu, my dear Anne; may the pleasures that hover round your head and wait upon your steps, be equal to the purity and integrity of your heart.

S. S. D.

LETTER II. ANNE TO ELENOR.

I AM pleased to find by your favor of the 13th, that you are pleased with your situation. The pleasure I enjoyed in your society during our journey from Brussells, and our little voyage across the channel, has made me anxious to preserve the esteem of a person so amiable. I have no doubt but Lady M—d, will be more than satisfied to have so capable a woman take the charge of her infant daughters. She must soon learn justly to appreciate your value, and by every proper attention endeavor to secure to them, as they advance in life, a continuance of your valuable instructions enforced so powerfully by your example. I will confess, dear madam, that I am so much of an English woman, as to prefer my own country women, in almost every respect; especially where the education of the young mind is concerned, and where the future happiness and respectability of life depends greatly on the morals, manners and general habits of those with whom the early period of youth is past. I am delighted with the vivacity of the French ladies; I am convinced their manners are more captivating than those of the English; but while I have been charmed by their wit, almost fascinated by the very high polish of their manners; I could not help secretly wishing it had been tempered and corrected by the modest reserve, the inobtrusive delicacy, which always characterises a well bred English woman. You, my dear madam, by a long residence abroad, have most agreeably blended the vivacity of the one, with the chaste propriety of the other, and your perfect knowledge of the French and Italian languages, joined to an extensive knowledge of your own, renders you a very able instructor in all. I presume you will accompany the family to town after Christmas, when I shall have an opportunity of renewing an acquaintance so pleasantly commenced, and which I trust will ripen into a lasting friendship. But in the mean time, I am not forgetful of your request to be informed of the principal events in the life of Mrs. Darnley, who so much interested you, the few times you saw her previous to your journey into Berkshire. I do not hesitate to enter on the subject very freely, because there is no incident in her short life, which she could wish concealed, and many that redound to her honor. I fear she is not happily married; but being of a disposition to bear all things with patience, to look on the bright side of the picture, and not think of an approaching storm, while there is one gleam of sunshine left, I think it possible she may draw comfort from various sources, which the irritable or discontented mind would entirely overlook; and be more than contented where another would be little less than wretched.

Mrs. Darnley is the daughter of a gentleman who held a post under government which yielded him above a thousand pounds per annum. She lost her mother at a very early period, and her father's household was conducted by a maiden sister of her father's, forbidding in her looks, rigid in her principles, and harsh and unbending in her manners. She had herself enjoyed little of the advantages of a polite education, thinking and asserting at all times, that if a woman could read, write, execute various needlework, superintend domestic arrangements, understood the etiquette of the dining table, and drawing room, knew how to give every person their proper place, and pay them the proper degree of respect due to their rank or wealth, she had attained the summit of female excellence. Having no taste for the fine arts herself, she laughed at as ridiculous every pursuit of the kind, and as to a learned woman, she treated the idea as a mere chimera, or if existing, a monster in nature, which, though wonderful, was only laughed at by one sex, feared and shunned by the other. Sarah, for so I shall call her, shewed early talents for music and drawing, and was delighted with reading the best English poets. I have heard her father say, that at ten years old, she read with propriety, and seemed fully to comprehend all the beauties of Pope's Homer, Dryden's Virgil, and other works of the same tendency; Spenser and Shakespeare were great favorites with her. Sarah is an only child: she inherited from her mother a small patrimony, about fifteen hundred pounds. It was in the funds, and the interest would have been sufficient to keep her at a very genteel school, but her father had an utter aversion to schools; she was therefore attended by masters in all the polite branches, her aunt documented her about economy, sewing, flourishing muslin, &c. &c. but the larger part of her time, (her father being engaged in business or pleasure, her aunt in scolding the servants, dressing, and paying or receiving visits), Sarah was left to amuse herself with the servants, or read any books which her father's library afforded, or chance threw in her way, without any one to direct her choice, or correct her taste. Possessed of an ardent imagination, it may easily be conceived that works of fancy were read with uncommon pleasure: but this was not the worst; she read books of religious controversy, nor did the pernicious writings of fashionable sceptics escape. Her mind, eager in the pursuit of information, embraced it with avidity, in whatever shape it offered itself. Nor is it surprising that from such a heterogeneous jumble, her ideas became a chaos of romantic sensibility, enthusiastic superstition, and sceptical boldness; yes, contrary as those sentiments are, they each in turn, predominated in the mind of Sarah. Her father saw a great deal of company, chiefly gentlemen. A girl sensible, witty, and with an understanding uncommonly expanded for her age, introduced into the company of men, becomes early accustomed to the delicious and intoxicating poison of adulation, and too often falls a victim to the sentiments those flatterers awaken in her soul, before reason and fixed principle have power to counteract and repel the powerful impulses of youthful passion. Had Sarah been of a temperature easily called into action, she could not have escaped contamination in the scenes to which she was too often a witness. Her father was not a man of strict morals; he had supported a woman as a mistress for many years, and was frequently so imprudent as to take his daughter with him, in his visits to this woman. But Sarah's soul naturally revolted at the approach of vice, and when she understood the character of her father's chere amie, she resolutely refused ever again to enter her house. Her aunt was so far serviceable to her that she early inspired her with a love of virtue, and a veneration for religion, which I have no doubt through her life, in spite of her eccentricities, will ever be the leading trait in her character. She was just turned of thirteen when I became acquainted with her, and though there were seven years difference in our age, her sense was so matured, her conversation so superior to the generality of women, even at a more advanced period, that I courted her friendship, obtained it, and found her tender, ardent, and sincere, (if I may be allowed the expression,) even to a fault. Totally unacquainted with the world, she believed it to be such as the books she had read represented; she believed every profession of love or regard made to her, and would give her last farthing to relieve an object of distress, without staying to inquire whether the distress was feigned or real. I have said her father was dissipated; he was, besides, thoughtless to a superlative degree in his expenses, so that when Sarah had reached her seventeenth year, involved in debt, severely blamed by his friends, and deserted by his dissolute companions, she saw him deprived of his place, the duties of which he had for some time scandalously neglected. About six months previous to this deplorable change in her situation, Sarah had buried her aunt; and when her father, to avoid his creditors, went off to India, she found herself cast unprotected on the world, for having declared her resolution to liquidate the most pressing of her father's debts, the moment she could sell out money sufficient for the purpose: her relations declared their disapprobation of a conduct which they plainly saw would leave her a very small stipend, and were cautious of inviting to their houses, a person likely to become in some degree a burthen to them. I spoke to Sarah on the subject; her answer was, "I am fully aware, Anne, that no one can oblige me to pay these sums, and that by retaining my little fortune, I shall be secure from dependence; but one of my father's creditors is a poor tradesman, who has a large family of children and a sick wife; another is a widow, in very depressed circumstances; what right have I to retain my fortune, while they, whose actual property I have helped to waste, are driven to extreme necessity, when by paying them what is lawfully their due, I restore them to a state of comparative comfort." This argument was unanswerable; I did not attempt to dissuade her. She sold out a thousand pounds at a considerable loss, paid those she thought were most in need of the money, and remitted the remainder to her father. If you still feel interested in my narrative, I will renew it in a short period; but do not expect any romantic scenes, flaming lovers, or cruel false friends; what I have to relate, are incidents, perhaps, frequently to be met with in common life; but I love Sarah, and all that concerns her is interesting to me. Adieu, my dear madam.

ANNE.

LETTER III. ANNE TO ELENOR.

YOU flatter me by the satisfaction you express at the receipt of my last. I am at once gratified by the praises bestowed on my friend, and the approbation you so delicately conveyed, of the style of the narrator; for I will frankly own I possess a good portion of that self love, which occasions my heart to dilate with pleasure, when I am applauded by those whom I respect, and of whose discriminating judgment I have an high opinion.

Sarah having thus discharged those duties which the strong sense she entertained of moral rectitude imposed on her, began to think of some method to enlarge her income by industry, and thus prevent her becoming troublesome to her friends; I earnestly entreated her to live with me, but in vain. "What is the reason," said she, "that I must not be allowed to support myself? Why should I become a charge to you? It is kind of you to offer it, but what right have I to avail myself of your generosity? when I have health and abilities to render myself independent? You have a mother to support, and not the most plentiful fortune to do it with; you have also a brother who can always find employment for any little sums you have to spare; continue to me those sentiments of esteem which it has been my honor to excite, and my pride to endeavor to deserve, and I shall be happier in eating the bread of industry, than I could possibly be in dependent idleness."

Her plan was to get recommended as a teacher in a boarding school. Her aunt strongly opposed it—"I wonder, Sarah," said she to her one day, "you have not more pride, than to be willing to live in a state of servitude; I am ashamed, I blush for your meanness of spirit." "I should have more cause to blush for myself, aunt," she replied—"were I, with the education I have received, to become a useless burthen to my friends. That is poor pride indeed, which, to avoid active employment, sinks into a servile being, who, to purchase the necessaries of life, must cringe to a benefactor, take the lowest place in the room, never speak but when spoken to, and be required to perform fifty menial offices, which, were that being in any other but a state of dependence, would be rejected with disdain." Mrs. Vernon colored deeply, and Sarah was allowed to follow her own plan. A young women, whose mind was so highly cultivated as Sarah's, whose manners were so captivating, and who had abilities to be so eminently useful, was an acquisition to any school, and it proved that to the one in which she engaged, she was so in a superlative degree. The governess was not possessed of many engaging qualities; she could speak French, and understood something of the fashionable needlework; and these were the vast stock of qualifications with which she presumed to take upon herself the care and instruction of young ladies. She had been brought up in rather a low walk in life; had married a reputable tradesman, and at the age of forty-five, was left a widow, with very little provision, but a house full of handsome furniture; for having been of an expensive turn, she had found means to dissipate money as fast, and sometimes faster, than her husband could accumulate it. She had one daughter rather more accomplished than her mother, for she could play on the harpsichord, and make filligree. Mrs. Harrop was advised to take a school; and, as in seminaries of this kind, the teachers have all the care and labor while the governess takes all the credit to herself; her want of abilities, either natural or acquired, was no obstacle to her following the counsel. They had been settled in a very fine situation about five miles from London, nearly three years, when having lost their head teacher by her accepting a more advantageous offer, Mrs. Harrop heard of Sarah's design, and having had her character very favorably represented by a gentleman who was intimate in her father's family, she made application to her to take the superintendance of the school. Her offers were liberal, and Sarah having consulted me, determined to wait on the lady, to settle preliminaries; and I, fearing my young enthusiastic friend would engage to perform more than her strength would support, resolved to accompany her. This visit produced some singular circumstances, and indeed, as things have terminated, may be termed the great period which gave the coloring to my dear Sarah's future life. You have observed the dignity of Sarah's carriage—at that period it was more conspicuous than it is at present. At times when she supposed herself not treated with proper respect by those whose wealth or situation in life gave them a fancied superiority, it would rise into something like hauteur; but to her equals she was ever affable, and to her inferiors, her manners were so sweetly conciliating, that while they forgot the disparity custom and education made between them, the affectionate respect her conduct inspired, never permitted them to treat her with improper familiarity. Her dress was always the habit of a woman of fashion, without the smallest affectation of finery. As I knew to visit a school during the hours of study must be an interruption, I ordered it so as to arrive at Mrs. Harrop's, about twelve o'clock. Miss Julia received us with a profusion of civility. We were conveyed thither in a handsome job coach, and I made my own foot boy mount behind, being aware how much first appearances strike, so much so, that frequently the impressions made on a first interview, are never after entirely effaced. The young lady having ushered us into the drawing room, with many obsequious courtesies, requested to be honored with our commands; I perceived her mistake, and simply replied we wished to speak with Mrs. Harrop on particular business. She immediately rose, and said she would inform her mamma, who would come to receive our orders, and left the room. I laughed, Sarah smiled, and observed, that she was wondrous polite. Yes, my dear, said I, a great deal more so, than she would have been, had she guessed the nature of our business. Here we were interrupted by the rustlidg of silk, and Madam la Governante entered in all the consequence of rich padusoy, lace ruffles, and an enormous head, where gauze, wire, pompoons, and ribbon, strove for pre-eminence. She was a tall, masculine figure, dark complexioned, her cheeks just lightly tinged with best vegetable rouge, large black eyes, and very strong brows of the same color, meeting over her nose, which was inclined to the aquiline. "Pray be seated, ladies," said she, seating herself at the same time, "I am extremely honored by this visit, and I hope, upon the inspection of the work, &c. that has been executed in the school, you will be so far satisfied, as to give me the preference, in the placing any young lady from home for the purpose of education. To be sure, I have unfortunately lost my head teacher; but I have great hope of having her place supplied by a young person, who has been strongly recommended as a young woman of taste, genius, and respectability; for you know, ladies, we cannot be too cautious who we engage in such a situation." I perceived the vermilion of Sarah's complexion begin to heighten, so interrupted the loquacious governess with, "True, madam, and I flatter myself my friend, Miss Osborn here, will do honor to those who spoke so favorably of her."

The broad face of Mrs. Harrop now resembled the tints of a full blown pioni. "Madam," said she, "did I understand you—this the young—" "Yes, madam," said Sarah, bowing with composure and dignity, "I am the young person to whom you addressed this letter; I feel myself competent to the business therein mentioned, and shall only add, that if I engage in the situation, I shall strive to discharge my duty conscientiously." "Upon my word, well to be sure, I thought," said the confused lady, then rising hastily, she rung the bell, and then seating herself familiarly on the sofa, between Sarah and myself—"I dare say, my dear," she continued addressing Sarah, "you will do very well; Mr. Lewis said you had a great deal of taste, was patient and good natured." "I am so, I trust, madam," said Sarah, coloring, "when not imposed on." "Certainly, no one likes to be imposed on," said Mrs. Harrop, a little disconcerted by the firmness of her reply; a servant just then entering, relieved her—"Bid Miss Julia send some of the work and painting into the back parlor; we'll go down, child, and you can judge if you think you can teach in the same manner." But before this proposal could be complied with, steps were heard ascending the stairs. The door opened, and George Darnley and his mother entered; Mrs. Darnley had a daughter at the school, whom they had come to visit. As I wished to converse with Sarah, before she made any positive engagement, I made a motion to go. "We will see you again in the evening, Mrs. Harrop," said I. "Permit me, ladies," said Darnley, with a respectful bow, "to call up your carriage, and do me the honor," presenting his hand to Sarah! she accepted it, and with a slight courtesy to the governess, and one more respectful to Mrs. Darnley, tripped down stairs, and left Mrs. Harrop to explain to her visitor, who and what she was, at her leisure. Are you weary? No—you say! well, but really I am— so peace be with you, until the next post.

ANNE.

LETTER IV. ANNE TO ELENOR.

A PRETTY good period of time, you say, I have taken, before I bring Miss Osborn back to Mrs. Harrop's, though I only left that lady to take a few hours ride with my little friend. Well, I hate apologies when a person from either inclination or necessity, has been remiss in a correspondence; where indeed is the use of them? If inclination caused the silence, the excuses will appear forced and awkward; if necessity has occasioned it, we must have but a very poor opinion of the friend who would need an apology for what they must know is as painful to ourselves as to them; this, by way of preamble— and now to proceed with my narrative.

When young Darnley had handed Sarah into the carriage, the bow of profound respect which accompanied the action, and the fixed attitude in which he remained on the steps of the door, until the carriage drove off, occasioned me to smile, and ask her if she knew the gentleman? and if she did not think him handsome? "I am sure I don't know," answered she gravely, "whether he is handsome or ugly; I never saw him before, and have no wish ever to see him again." "I am much mistaken, Sarah," said I, "if he is quite so indifferent in regard to seeing you again." "Do not let us talk like a couple of girls," said she, with a half smile, "who never received the smallest degree of polite attention from a man in their lives before." She then turned the conversation upon Mrs. Harrop, Miss Julia, the work, &c. "I am much deceived," said she, "if I do not shew them some work and painting, at the end of the next term, superior to the daubs she so ostentatiously displayed: the work is very well, but there is a want of taste in the arrangement of the colors, the flowers want that lightness which is the greatest beauty of needlework."

I then gave her the necessary hints for not engaging to perform more than her strength would admit; she replied, "that if she was paid for her time, it would become a duty not to waste a moment, but to fill it up assiduously for the benefit of her employer." We dined with a friend, and in the evening returned to Mrs. Harrop's, made the necessary arrangements, and it was agreed that Sarah should take her new situation on the Saturday following.

She had not long superintended the school, before Mrs. Harrop discovered what a treasure she had got; the scholars naturally attached themselves to her, especially those who had been accustomed to associate with well bred persons; her manners were so gentle, yet commanding; her language and appearance were so superior to the governess and her daughter, that they loved, while they dared not disobey her. But this, while it enhanced her value, created a kind of envy in the bosoms of both the mother and Miss Julia, which sometimes shewed itself unpleasantly; and when Sarah would give her opinion, which she often did, contrary to that of these ladies, a degree of fretfulness apparent in their answers, would evince their consciousness of her superiority; yet though they opposed her arguments, they generally adopted her plans. During her residence here, she was frequently seen by George Darnley; his sister was extremely attached to her; his mother was pleased with her attentions to her daughter, and George himself fancied he was in love with her.

George Darnley had, in early life, been remarkable for the heaviness of his intellect, and the extreme difficulty with which he attained even useful acquirements. As he advanced toward manhood, he shewed a propensity for expensive pleasures, mixed with an unwillingness to procure them for himself; for dearly as he loved pleasure, he loved money better; every scene of amusement was joined with eagerness, if at the expense of another. Such a disposition was by no means likely to please Sarah; her chief pleasures were retired; she loved society, indeed, but did not often mix in it, because she could not often meet with such as afforded her satisfaction.

I have mentioned that she had no brother. There was a young man whom Mr. Osborn had educated, and got into the navy, by the name of Frederic Lewis; indeed, it was thought he was her natural brother, but of this her father never gave her any intimation. This young man felt all the fraternal love for her, which a man of sense might be supposed to feel for a sister like her; he thought her one of the most superior women the world afforded, and when on returning from a three year's station in the West-Indies, he found the great change which had taken place in Mr. Osborn's family, saw his sister (for so he always called her) employed as a teacher in a boarding school—his sensations were poignant beyond description; but alas, Frederic was but a lieutenant, and what could he do? His pay was scarcely sufficient to support the appearance of a gentleman; and prize money was not to be obtained in the service he had been engaged in. I am interrupted, adieu for the present.

ANNE.

LETTER ANNE TO ELENOR.

EXACTLY what I apprehended, came to pass: Sarah, anxious to exert herself for the advantage of her employers, went beyond her strength, was constantly at her needle or pencil, when the cessation of school business might even have allowed her recreation. She uniformly declined visiting any where, except now and then spending a day with me; her aunt's family, pretending offence at her entering into what they termed a servile employment, were, whenever she chanced to see them, cold and distant; it was not therefore likely that she could reap much satisfaction from visiting them; her other acquaintance had, some of them, chosen to forget her, and the rest treated her with a haughty familiarity, inquiring into the employments, and lamenting the fatigues of her new situation, sometimes mingling with these humiliating questions and observations, oblique sarcasms on her father; which her high sense of filial duty could ill brook. This being the case, she frequently undertook the business of the other teacher, in order that she might reap the benefit of time, which, to Sarah herself, was of no value; that is, of no value to be employed as usual with persons in her situation Such unwearied application, added to little air, and less exercise; at least proper exercise, weakened a constitution not naturally robust, and extreme languor, difficulty of breathing, and a hectic cough were symptoms too alarming to be beheld by me with indifference; but she herself treated them lightly, and would smiling say, "I am not sick; you want me to play the fine lady, which would be very unbecoming in a person in my station;" and when I have remonstrated, her reply would be, "Dear Anne, tell me where would be the loss of such an atom in creation as I am? Who would miss me, except Frederic and yourself? And to your affectionate hearts I am only a source of constant anxiety. Unconnected in the world as I am, my early prospects clouded, my future ones dreary aud comfortless, what is there to make me wish existence lengthened? Do not think me discontented, or quarrelling with life because the path I am to tread is not marked out exactly as I could wish it; no, I am very sensible that I enjoy many comforts, which thousands more deserving than myself are deprived of; but feeling as I do, my desolate, unprotected state, though God forbid that I should by wilful neglect of my health, or any other means, hasten the moment of my release; yet I cannot form the smallest wish that its approach should be retarded."

Miss Darnley had, at her mother's desire, invited Sarah to pass a few months with them at a small house they had at Turnham Green, and said her daughter should continue her studies at home under her inspection; but this, from the consideration of young Darnley's pointed assiduities, she positively, though politely, rejected; nor did I blame her.

Among the many who visited the school, to inspect the improvement of pupils, whom they had placed there, was Lady Bentley; she had two children sent from the West-Indies to her care, and having had some slight personal knowledge of Sarah Osborn, during her father's prosperity, hearing that she was the principal teacher at Mrs. Harrop's, gave that school the preference. This amiable and worthy woman saw with regret the visible alteration in her interesting countenance. "My dear young lady," said she one day, when they were alone in the drawing room, "you are not well; I wish you had some situation that would be less fatiguing, and more congenial to your nature. Sir James Bentley was well acquainted with your father, and regretted to me the other day, that the daughter of his old friend was not placed in some family of rank, where she might meet associates, such as she has been accustomed to, and be useful to society, by imparting her fine talents to two or three pupils at most, without, by incessant application, endangering her health. Tell me, Miss Osborn, could such a situation be found, would it meet with your approbation?"

This was addressing Sarah, in the style which was to lead her to whatever was desired. Tears started to her eyes, she acknowledged Lady Bentley's goodness; the mention of her father's name, accompanied with expressions of respect, was so soothing to her heart, that she readily agreed to do whatever might be thought necessary for the establishment of her health. A Mrs. Beaumont, a widow lady, with two daughters, one twelve, and the other fourteen years of age, was going for the winter to Bath. Lady Bentley thought it would be the very thing for Sarah; the lady wanted a companion, who would case her of the constant care she thought necessary to be paid to girls of the age of her daughters. To be with them at the hours when their masters attended them; walk with them, visit with them, read and work with them—all which Mrs. Beaumont found it inconvenient to do herself, as (though not a dissipated woman) she kept a good deal of company, and the late hours of the preceding evening often prevented her rising in time to superintend their morning studies, or accompany their morning rambles.

She was a woman of a lively disposition, conciliating in her manners, perfectly well bred, and not likely to make any person feel a state of dependence. She was introduced to Sarah, was charmed with her demeanor, and made her such offers as were honorable to her own liberal nature, and highly advantageous to my friend. Mrs. Harrop was thunderstruck when she found Miss Osborn actually intended leaving her; yet she could not but be sensible that her health required it. She strove to draw her into a promise to return to her in the spring, but this Sarah was too wise to accede to. Previous to her taking her journey, she spent three weeks with me, and Frederic being with us, the lively parties and excursions he was continually contriving, helped to restore a great portion of her health and cheerfulness. Mr. Lewis himself was much better pleased with his sister's situation; he had been with her on a morning visit to Mrs. Beaumont, and was satisfied, that she was a perfectly wellbred woman; which to a person of a delicate mind, is one guarantee for happiness; for it is a certainty, no person accustomed to the forms of good breeding, and to that suavity of manners, which is dictated by a polished understanding, especially when accompanied by even the smallest portion of good nature, can be happy in the society of ill bred persons. Of her situation during her stay at Bath, I refer you to her own letter, which I enclose.

ANNE.

LETTER VI. SARAH TO ANNE.

YOU are dissatisfied with my short letter, what can I say to fill a long one? I am in better health than when I left London; Mrs. Beaumont is attentively polite, her daughters are pleasant children, and could I spend my time wholly with them, I should be extremely happy; yet, even as it is, I am far from being unhappy. I love company, but it must be the company of my equals. You will say, are not those with whom you associate so? Yes, but the generality of them think themselves so vastly my superiors, and when they pay me any civility, let me know in such a pointed manner, that I owe their attentions entirely to my connection with Mrs. Beaumont, that I sometimes feel inclined almost to reject their supercilious kindness. I have been to the rooms; I would gladly have been excused, but no apologies would be admitted. I was particularly careful that my dress should be as simple as possible; I never loved finery, and in my present circumstances, the smallest appearance of it, would be highly ridiculous; yet, simple as my appearance was, I was unfortunate enough to attract attention. Now, could I find it in my heart to play the romantic girl, and write you the whole occurrences of the evening, tell you how elegantly I danced, and how finely I was complimented; describe the dresses of half the company, some from memory, and supply the rest by invention; tell you of the handsome men, and affected women; but I do so despise the general style of girlish letters, and hear them so often and so deservedly ridiculed by men of understanding, that the very fear of having a letter of mine meet the eye of a man of discernment, will ever keep me from writing nonsense. Observe the compliment I pay myself, in supposing I can at any time write sense. Anne, last post brought me another letter besides your valued favor—that Darnley—what does he write for? I wish he would not trouble himself about me. Have you seen Frederic lately? When does he sail? Dear worthy Frederic, how anxious he is about my health and ease, how gladly would he sacrifice all his little earnings to place me in what he calls independence? But his ideas and mine, on that subject, are different; while by any laudable exertion of my own, I avoid being a burthen to my friends, or a tax upon society in general, I am, in my own opinion, perfectly independent.

Last week, Mrs. Beaumont went with a party to Clifton, and left me with my little companions to pass the time as I pleased, and a delightful time I had. As soon as the morning lessons were over, I sallied out to the library, provided myself with a good quantity of books, in the instructive yet amusing style, and ordering a fire in my own apartment, took out my drawing apparatus, and sat down to copy a beautiful landscape which I had transported from the drawing room for that purpose, while Eliza and Lucy read to me alternately. The day passed charmingly, we never left the room but to dine, and take tea; after which, music filled up the time till nine o'clock, when my companions retired to rest, and after an hour's indulgence with Spenser's "Fairy Queen," I followed their example. The next day, and the following, we took long walks on the parade and the crescent, and I will own, agreeable as Mrs. Beaumont is, I almost regretted when Saturday brought her home; for now we are going on as usual, dressing, visiting, and turning night into day; for though the public rooms are not allowed to keep open later than twelve o'clock, yet there are constantly large private parties. I have some suspicion that the gay and amiable widow will ere long again enter the hymeneal pale, and that with a person much younger than herself. Her kind friends sneer at the attentions he pays her, but for my own part I do not wonder at the preference given her by the men in general; her person still retains much fascination, her face is handsome, her manners engaging, her understanding highly cultivated, and her temper uncommonly good. This is not the only professed admirer who dangles after us to the theatre, dances attendance at the tea-table, and lounges with us at the libraries and pump-rooms—a Sir Watkin Alden, a baronet, young, rich, handsome, and a libertine. I can see the title has no charms with Mrs. Beaumont. The native unadorned merit of Mr. Frankly has made a serious impression on her mind, and without being what is called in love, I believe she is very sincerely attached to him. And now I am on this subject, I feel myself impelled to mention a circumstance which has given me some pain, because it has humbled me. This Sir Watkin has dared, (shall I confess it, even to you, dear Anne?) whilst openly addressing Mrs Beaumont, to make professions of love to your humiliated friend; and when my replies were such, as affronted delicacy and wounded honor dictated, he laughed in my face, and asked me what I meant to do with my pretty person, high breeding, and splendid accompl hments? The men are not in haste to marry, except interest impels. "Oh that I were a man," said I, and my indignant passion so choked me that I could not utter another syllable, and could with difficulty restrain my tears. "Why, what would you do?" said he, catching my hands as I was rising to quit the room— "Strike you to the earth, for your base, your unmannerly conduct." "Would you so, fair tyrant?" cried he, insultingly. "But, my dear, if you were a man, recollect, I should not give you this cause for anger." "Wretch!" cried I, in a stifled voice, and wrenching my hands from his grasp. In the exertion I made to disengage them, my right hand suddenly burst from his hold and struck his face. The blow was not intentional, but it was not a light one; his nose gushed out with blood. I darted out of the room, and left him to make what excuses he could to Mrs. Beaumont, whose footsteps I heard ascending the first flight of stairs as I hastily ran up the second. This man's insolence has given such a wound to my sensibility, to my pride, and self love, that the remembrance embitters all my moments of retirement and reflection. What can I have done or said, what action of my life can have given him leave to hope he might succeed in his unworthy attempts upon my honor? Heaven be praised, my heart is not made of inflammable matter; it is a quiet, rational kind of heart, and has never yet fluttered at the fine speeches of a handsome man, or bounded at the pressure of a hand, sending its vital fluid to kiss the fingers which enfolded mine. Yet, these are sensations I have heard described by others; have read of in romances and novels. Perhaps you will say he might have succeeded in awakening these emotions, had he proceeded cautiously. I do not think he would; I believe I have a very sure guard against imbibing any foolish passion—I am poor, Anne, but I am proud, very proud—Oh, my full heart!— Pardon my troubling you with this silly affair; but it gave me pain, and I know you ever sympathize in the pains and pleasures of your honored and obliged,

SARAH.

LETTER VII. ANNE TO ELENOR.

YOU perceive by the letter I enclosed in my last, that my young friend's situation was not entirely congenial to her feelings, though she would not complain. She says she is proud; it is true, she is so, but it is that kind of proper pride, which is the safeguard of female virtue. I heard from an acquaintance, who was at Bath at the period she was there, that she was an object of admiration, ill nature and envy. This you will say is a strange assertion, yet it was actually so. The simplicity and frankness of her manner, the brilliancy of her understanding, and high cultivation of her talents, made her society courted by the men, and rendered her an object of general dislike to the women, for it is a humiliating circumstance to confess, that beauty, wit and talents, are by no means possessions to secure a friend in our own sex. Why is this? Why do women suffer that degrading quality envy, to predominate in their bosoms? Men naturally esteem those who are most worthy esteem; to be brave, generous, learned, magnanimous, will gain a man the respect, the veneration of all; his society is courted, his friendship thought an honor, even though his person should not be a perfect model of the Apollo Belvidere. But no, I beg your pardon, I recollect a celebrated wit and satiric modern poet, avers that,

And here is no particular sex aimed at, it is then the wicked, the weak and the vain of both, who envy merits they strive not themselves to acquire. But I am running from my subject.

Sarah, so far from being flattered by the attentions of the men, was, as she herself forcibly expresses it, humbled; the situation of her mind, together with the irregular hours Mrs. Beaumont kept, rendered the medicinal virtues of the Bath waters of no effect. You may ask perhaps why did she not decline parties so prejudicial to her health? She did on her first entering the family make an effort to that purpose; but Mrs. Beaumont, who thought society necessary to amend the spirits of her young companion, pressed so earnestly, that there was no opposing her desires without rudeness, and let her have been up ever so late at night, she always rose in time to attend the young ladies at their lessons. In March they returned to London. But I was shocked at the appearance of Sarah; every bad symptom was evidently increased, and I was assured by a physician whom I had requested to call as by accident to see her, nothing but quiet and regular living would have any chance of restoring her. Mrs. Beaumont was unwilling to part with her, said she should not be plagued with the children, she would send them to school. Sarah smiled. The dear children, madam, said she, are my comforts; I could not have remained with you so long, had not my heart been strongly drawn towards those interesting young ladies. I am honored by your friendship, venerate and respect your virtues, am grateful for the many favors you have conferred on me; but neither my health, spirits, nor situation in life, render it proper for me to be continually mixing in scenes to which your rank make you familiar, and of which you are an ornament. And this fine flattering speech, replied Mrs. Beaumont, is to gild over the positive rejection of my proposal, and let me know as politely as possible, you are determined to leave me; well, I must submit, only belive me, should you ever want a friend, you will be sure to find one in me. When Sarah left this amiable woman, she presented her with an elegant pocket book, which on opening, was found to contain a note of fifty guineas, together with a most affectionate letter, recommending her to a widow lady, who resided at Islington, who would be glad to take her as a boarder, where she might enjoy pure air, quiet, and the exercise of walking, whenever she felt inclined, in a large garden. I should have insisted on her going with me on some tour of pleasure, but business of an important nature obliged me to visit Paris, and the speed with which I was obliged to travel, as well as the length of the journey, made it impossible she should accompany me thither. The evening before my departure, I passed a few hours with her at her new habitation, and discovered that the old lady with whom she had taken up her abode, was a distant relation of the Darnley family. This was an unpleasant circumstance to Sarah, but she was every way else so comfortably accommodated, and reflecting wherever she was, Mrs. Darnley would claim a sight of visiting her, she made no attempt to remove. Whilst I was sitting with her, we were greatly surprised by the entrance of Frederic Lewis, who had returned unexpectedly from a cruise, and I left her in better spirits, than I otherwise should, from the idea that she had in him a proper and affectionate protector. His ship was coming up to Deptford, to undergo a thorough repair; he would therefore be enabled to visit her every two or three days, and would, I was certain, in case of increasing ill health, suffer her to want neither medical, nor other assistance, which he had the power of procuring for her. She had a prospect,should she be restored to health,of being placed in a family of rank, as governess to the children, and to reside entirely with them, at the family seat in Merionethshire. I remained on the continent six months, and added to the satisfaction of having completed the business for which I took the journey the felicity of forming an acquaintance with you, dear madam, an acquaintance which time has ripened into a tender esteem, and has laid the foundation of a friendly intercourse, which I flatter myself is equally pleasurable to both.

I received several letters from Sarah, during my residence abroad; the last I received previous to my leaving Paris shocked me by announcing her marriage with George Darnley. I enclose the letter, as it will best inform you of her motives, her prospects, her feelings and anxieties, at this eventful period.

ANNE.

Footnotes

[1] The reader is referred to Letter I.

LETTER VIII. SARAH TO ANNE.

WHY do you tarry so long from town, dear Anne? Yet I need not inquire; you find health and pleasure in the retired shades of Wiltshire, nor once let your fancy wander to the smoke, noise, and confusion of London. Not once, do I say? Pardon me, Anne; you sometimes think on me, mentally inquire how I do, what I am about, and whether I am happy.

I want you in town, I want your advice—yet cannot wait to receive it. I will tell you what has happened, what I have heard, and what I am about to do; and though before you receive this, I shall have done it past recal, I pray you do not spare me if you think I have erred, speak to me in the language of sincerity, correct my faults, severely lash and ridicule my follies, for it is my firm opinion, Anne, that more than half the vices and follies with which this sublunary sphere so plentifully abounds, owe their origin to the want of truth, in the intercourse between the animated atoms with which it is peopled; every vice that can disgrace humanity, is dignified with some specious name, and decorated with such tinsel finery, that it almost assumes the appearance of a virtue. Why can we not speak plain, openly avow the detestation we feel toward a deviation from rectitude, and treat profligacy of all kinds, with the contempt it deserves. But this is not proceeding in a direct line with the story I was about to commence; no matter, mariners say there is more pleasure in traverse sailing, when by dexterous management they reach in safety the intended port, than in proceeding in a straight course with a fair wind.

Last Monday evening, Darnley was gone to his club. Anne, I don't like these clubs; they smoke, drink and dispute, until they fancy themselves statesmen, heroes, and demigods, and go home to their wives in a state little removed from brutality; preach about the prerogative and dignity of man, the great lord of creation, and expect their simply rational companions to bow with submission, and acknowledge their supremacy. Well, Darnley, was at his club. Mary Melbourn had past the evening with me; she is on a visit of two or three months to Darnley's mother, and having a bad head ache, had retired early. I had played until I was weary, and was sitting in a kind of listless half sleep and awake manner, when a single rap at the street door made me start; the servant, who was sitting up in the kitchen, ran to the door, but had the precaution to put the chain across before she opened it. "Does not Mr. George Darnley live here?" said a faint female voice. Betty replied in the affirmative. "Is he at home?" asked the same voice. "No," she replied, "but my mistress is." "Your mistress, what, Mr. Darnley's mother?" "No, his wife." "His wife?" she exclaimed shrilly, and seemed choked with an hysteric affection,— then pausing a moment or two, she said,— "I am to blame—I have business of importance, young woman, to transact with your master; pray give him this letter, and request him not to fail coming early in the morning, to the place I have mentioned, for I am come off a long journey,fatigued, ill, distressed, and can only look to him for comfort and repose." At every sentence the agitated female uttered, I had drawn nearer and nearer the head of the stairs, and when she had finished the last, was actually half way down, but before I could speak, she was gone, having left the letter in Betty's hands. The girl met me on the stairs, and offered to give me the folded paper: that almost irresistible propensity, which undid madam Eve, had nearly compelled me to take it; but before I had touched it I recalled my better reason. "Go," said I, "put it in the card racks in your master's counting house. I will go to bed,"—and I actually did go to bed, lest I might be tempted to pry into a letter which might be only on business, and in no way whatever concern me. There was something strange in the woman's coming at that hour of the night, for it was past ten o'clock; her voice, too, seemed the voice of wounded sensibility. These reflections kept me waking, and when Darnley came home, I told him of the letter, and bade the maid bring it to him. I am interrupted.

Adieu until next post.

SARAH.

LETTER VIII. SARAH TO ANNE. [In continuation.]

I WAS unable to restrain the inclination I felt to watch the countenance of Darnley, whilst he perused the letter; he appeared considerably agitated; he crumpled it up, and turning hastily to me, asked, "Who brought this letter?" "A woman." "Did you see her?" "No, I did not, but if I could judge from the tone of her voice, she was in great distress." "She is in great distress," he replied. "I hope then, you will do what you can to serve her." "You hope, Sarah?" "Yes, Mr. Darnley; are you surprised at my expressing an interest for an afflicted woman?" "No, but she is an entire stranger to you, and why should you wish or care about her?" "Only as a distressed fellow creature." "Well, I shall think about her in the morning." "And visit her, won't you? She seemed very anxious to see you." "Yes, and visit her, if you desire it." I perceived he was in one of those kind of humors, which only waits the opportunity of saying ill natured things, and is ready to catch and repeat every word, in order to cavil at it, so imagined I should shew most prudence in remaining silent. You have never been married, Anne; so cannot inform me whether it is so or not, but if every married man is so captious, and petulant, so angry at their wives' only expressing a difference in opinions in the mildest words: I wonder how any woman can be so passionately attached to them. But, perhaps, that passionate attachment prevents their seeing any fault in them, and they, supposing all the man, thus idolized, says, does, or thinks is right, never take the trouble of contradicting him; assent implicitly to his opinions, however absurd, and will not exert their own mental powers to think or decide for themselves. Happy beings! but this is a kind of felicity in which I shall never be a partaker. Yet Darnley is not what the world calls an ill tempered man, nor of the lowest order in point of understanding; and heaven is my judge, I try to view every action, every word, in the fairest point of view, and I really think if he was to take a different method from what he does, I should in time teach my heart to feel for him every sentiment, which it is necessary to form a complete system of permanent happiness, at least, as far as it depends on a mutual interchange of kind offices, and that solicitude to promote each other's peace of mind, which ought to be constantly kept in view, by persons residing continually under the same roof, and destined to pass their lives together. But to return, I have reason to think that neither of us passed a very pleasant night. Darnley was restless, and slept little, sighed frequently, and seemed anxiously watching for daylight, as he arose several times, and unclosed the shutter to look out; this being the case, it cannot be supposed I rested very well; however, about four o'clock, I fell into a sound sleep, and on awaking at half past eight, found he was risen and gone out. I dressed hastily, that I might be ready for breakfast when he returned: it was near ten o'clock when he came in. "Well," said he, throwing his hat into a chair, "why have you waited breakfast? I have been to see Mrs. Romain, and have breakfasted with her." "Been to see who, cousin George?" said Miss Melbourn, looking hastily up from a book, which she had been reading. "Mrs. Romain, my pretty Polly," said he, facetiously chucking her under the chin, "you know she was formerly a flame of mine." "So the world said," replied Mary, her face in a glow, and her large black eyes speaking a vast deal more than she permitted her tongue to utter. "Well, cousin Mary, don't you be jealous, if my wife gives me leave to visit an old sweetheart, surely you will not forbid me, and upon my honor, the last words she said to me last night, was to desire me to visit Mrs. Romain early." "And I am very glad, my dear," said I, "you obeyed my commands; and though you have breakfasted with her, seeing you are in such an obedient humor, I command you now to sit down and breakfast again with me."

He sat down, and took up the newspaper. I I did not intend to have said a word more concerning the letter or lady, I felt no uneasiness; if she had once been a favorite, he had given a positive proof that I had been preferred, and why should I teaze him with an affectation of jealousy, which, when proceeding from affection, however it may be thought a proof of the wife's love, pays the husband's integrity, a very ill compliment? But Mary Melbourn could not let the matter rest. "How long has Mrs.Romain been in town?" said she, addressing Darnley. "She arrived late last night from Dover." "I heard she was gone to be a boarder in the convent of St. Omers." "So she was, but her husband is lately dead? she has therefore no longer a tyrant to immure her in a prison she detested." "I heard Romain was dead, but think she had better have remained where she was; I never saw her but once in my life, I was not then pleased with her, and from what the world has said, I think the more I had known her the less I should have liked her." "I do believe, Sarah," said he, turning laughing towards me, "our cousin Mary here is in love with me, she seems so uneasy at the return of Jessey. But what will she say, when she knows I have offered her and her child an apartment in my family until she can get some business settled, which a friend of mine at Calais, has written to me to transact for her concerning her late husband's effects?" "I have nothing to say to it," said she, "if Mrs. Darnley has no objection to such a companion, it can be no business of mine; besides, I return to your mother's today, and leave town on Saturday." "So soon?" said he, carelessly. "Yes," was the reply, and the subject was dropped. When she had finished her breakfast, I told Mr. Darnley, that I hoped he had not from my silence imagined I should not be glad to receive any person he should think proper to invite to his house; and would, if he thought it necessary, wait on the lady in question, and second his invitation, as without that, she might be unwilling to avail herself of it." "Will you be so very good, my kind hearted Sarah?" said he; "it will indeed gratify me very much; she is a distressed woman, has been calumniated by the world, and ill treated by her husband's relations, who are endeavoring to wrest the little property her husband left, from her and her infant daughter, in order to secure it to her son, whom they have taken from her. Your countenancing her, will give her an air of respectability, and restore her to that rank in society, from which she has unjustly been driven by the ill nature and jealousy of a brutal husband."

"I think, Mr. Darnley," said I, "that the respect due to your own honor, will prevent your wishing to asseciate your wife with a person whose good name had been tarnished by any wilful act of guilt; in that confidence I shall cheerfully do what seems to be so agreeable to your wishes. If you will accompany me at twelve o'clock, I will pay the proposed visit, and while I see no cause to think Mrs. Romain guilty or imprudent, every mark, every office of kindness in my power, I shall be happy to shew her."

When I went up stairs to arrange my dress, Mary tapped at the dressing-room door; when she entered, I perceived that her eyes were red with weeping. "What is the matter, Mary?" "Matter, nothing, only I don't like George's design of bringing that woman here; the world has been very loud in their censures of her." "The world often censures the innocent; but even supposing she has been imprudent, may she not have seen her errors, and may she not, if countenanced by women of character, return to rectitude?" "Did you never hear of her before you were married?" "No." "Well, the world said she was very liberal of her favors to cousin George." "Again I repeat, the world often says more than is true; but were that even the case, as she is now situated, she had better be under my protection, than thrown entirely on his." Mr. Darnley at that moment called me; I went with him, gave the requested invitation; it was accepted, and last evening she became an inmate of my family. Her person is fine, though she is past thirty; her manners graceful, and her mind highly accomplished. I hope and trust the world have censured her unjustly. I shall be anxious to hear from you; write soon, for your approbation is, next to that of my own heart, of the utmost importance to

SARAH.

LETTER IX. ANNE TO ELENOR.

I ENCLOSE you two letters, which I have received from Mrs. Darnley, and they will sufficiently account for my not paying you my intended visit. You will perceive when you have perused them, that all is not right in the family of our friend. I am angry with Darnley; he has led his wife into an improper connexion, and I strongly suspect his motives are not such as would bear a strict scrutiny. I am not better pleased with the officious meddling of Miss Melbourn. She might, and indeed ought to have hinted to her cousin, the impropriety of his introducing a woman to his wife whose character was suspicious; and who had been sent into France by her husband, because he had reasons to suppose that too great an intimacy subsisted hetween her and Darnley. This, I say, would have been a duty; but she ought by no means to have awakened suspicions in Mrs Darnley's bosom derogatory to her husband's honor. There might have been methods taken to have shamed him out of his folly, (not to give it a harsher name,) without interrupting the peace of his wife. I do not think Sarah is of a jealous temper, but the inuendos of Mary Melbourn might awaken suspicion; and where suspicion is once called into action, every word, look and movement is considered through a false medium, and even the most innocent, construed into proofs of guilt I am convinced that more than half the uneasinesses that subsist between married persons have originated in meddling friends of either sex; but to our shame, I must own, I believe our own sex more addicted to this folly than the other. Let persons think what they will, unless they have proofs beyond the possibility of doubt, they ought to be silent; and even in that case, it is better to reason with the offending party, than to hint their discoveries to the husband or wife, whom either ardent affection, or perfect indifference, may have rendered blind; for though in the latter case, there is no fear of lacerating the heart of the person to whom the information is given; yet wounded pride will often, nay, perhaps oftener, lead to fatal consequences than slighted affection.

This Mrs. Romain bears the character of a very artful woman. Her husband was a Frenchman, and she herself, having been educated in that country, had imbibed much of that lightness and flippancy which frequently characterize the women of that nation. Her mind is cultivated; but it did not in early life receive a proper bias. She had no kind parent to restrain the exuberance of her vivacity, to teach her to keep her passions under the subjection of reason and religion. Natural consequence followed; the former hurried her into imprudencies, the latter plunged her into guilt. I say guilt, because there is no reason to doubt of her criminal intimacy with Darnley. The summer before he became acquainted with Sarah, this woman had a small house near the summer residence of Darnley's family. Her manners being polished, her temper naturally sweet, her cheerfulness exhilarating to all with whom she associated, she soon became a favorite with Mrs. Darnley, who, having met her several times at visits in the neighborhood, invited her to her house, and an intimacy ensued. Mr. Romain was considerably older than herself, but his affection to her was evident in all his actions. The difference in their age was not so great as to make their union appear preposterous; he might have been fifteen years the elder; but he was a man whom any woman might respect, and when treated by him as his wife ever was, whom it would, one would imagine, be next to impossible not to love. He was sensible, had the manners of a gentleman; was of an easy temper, and unbounded benevolence. Mrs. Romain, at the time she became intimate in Mr. Darnley's family, was the mother of a fine boy, and on the eve of again becoming a parent. Indulged by a fond husband, to whom she owed every thing, in every wish of her heart, adored, caressed; never opposed; is it not wonderful that she could be so depraved, as wilfully to throw from her this inexhaustible mine of happiness, and court ruin and infamy? I write not from hear-say; I write from incontestible proofs. My mother's sister lived in the next house, and was unwillingly made a party in the scene of confusion which followed the discovery of her lapse from virtue. Mr. Romain having confided some papers to her care, when first he began to fear his wife's affections were estranged from him, without mentioning his suspicions; when those suspicions were fully confirmed, relieved his almost breaking heart, by relating many circumstances, which might otherwise have never transpired. My aunt never mentioned the affair until after Darnley was married to my friend Sarah; and then a sudden exclamation, that he was unworthy so good a wife, led to the relation. I will continue my narrative next week. Adieu.

ANNE.

LETTER X. ANNE TO ELENOR.

THE autumn of the summer mentioned to you in my last, business of a very particular nature, took Mr. Romain to Paris. His wife having just recovered from her confinement, was not able to undertake the journey with him; though her perfect state of convalescence was evinced very shortly after his departure. George Darnley had visited there frequently, while the husband was at home; his visits were, after he was gone, as frequent as ever; this would not have been noticed by the neighbors had it rested there; but he took her often out to ride in a chaise, perhaps as often as twice a week; sometimes they would go out in the morning and remain out all day; sometimes he waited on her to the play, to the opera, and once to a masquerade, from whence they did not return until day light in the morning.

In October, Mrs. Darnley and her family returned to London, but George found various pretences for sleeping in the country, and at length they were so lost to all sense of propriety, that he passed every night at her house, alleging by way of excuse, that as the nights grew long, she was afraid to sleep alone in a house so far from town, to which place, her health and that of her infant, (who was indeed extremely indisposed) would not permit her to return.

Thus the autumn, and almost the whole winter wore away: in February, Mr. Romain came unexpectedly home. It was evening when he arrived, and expressed some astonishment at seeing George Darnley there, quite in a family way, for as it was late, he had his slippers on. But whatever he might think, he said but little. A few days after his arrival, he called on my aunt, and putting a packet of papers into her hands, requested her to keep them until he called for them, saying, they were of great consequence, and he would not have her part with them to any person whatever.

My aunt had very little commerce with Mrs. Romain, but now and then, she would come of a morning, and sit an hour or two when the weather prevented her from making longer excursions, or perhaps, when she wished to avoid any company whom she had reason to think would call at that time. In one of these chance visits, she informed my aunt, that Mr. Romain had thoughts of removing to St. Omer's; that he had a sister settled there, and wanted his family to be near her. "I do not want to go," continued she, "his sister is a stiff, formal old maid, who has lived all her life in a convent, though she is not a nun; he only wants to be there, that she may be a spy upon my conduct; and when he makes a journey, he may clap me into the stupid nunnery; for he says no woman ought to remain in society, receiving and paying visits, and going to public places, when her husband is absent."

My aunt could make no reply to such a remark, she had thought herself that Mrs. Romain would have shewn most prudence by remaining more at home, and not admitting young Darnley to be so constantly with her: she had thought her conduct very reprehensible, but she was not upon such intimate terms as could authorize a remonstrance, which, however, delicately given, or friendly designed, might have been deemed impertinence.

Mr. Romain had been home but a short time, when the death of their youngest child seemed to recal the mother to some degree of reflection, for several weeks she led a retired life, and all company was excluded the house. But the heart that has once become the slave of a depraved affection, soon grows insensible to those which do honor to humanity. A retirement with a husband who almost idelized his children, and who most severely felt the death of this little girl, by no means suited the levity of her disposition. She had made some acquaintances with women of doubtful reputation; her husband remonstrated, but she was incorrigible, and persisted even in appearing with them in public. This hastened his preparations for a removal, though in the mean time, he harbored the most tormenting suspicions; these suspicions were at length fully confirmed.

It was late one evening, my aunt was just preparing to retire for the night, when Mrs. Romain's upper servant came running into the house, and with a terrified aspect, begged her to go to her mistress, whom she believed was dying—"There has been dreadful work at our house, ma'am," said the young woman, "but master begs you will come in." My aunt threw on a shawl hastily, and followed the maid. She found Mr. Romain pale, and dreadfully agitated, leaning over a sofa, on which lay his imprudent wife, deprived of sense and motion. "Come, madam," said he, in a voice almost choaked with contending passions, "come, and do something for this unhappy woman, whom fear, shame, and anxiety for an unworthy villain, whom I have horsewhipped out of my house, have thrown into this situation." They applied volatiles to her nose, temples, and wrists, loosened her clothes, and in about half an hour, she began to have some recollection: the moment she saw her husband, who had been, spite of his injuries, anxiously assiduous about her, while in a state of insensibility; she raised her hands, clasped them in an agony, covered her face, and burst into tears. "Do not leave her, madam, I entreat you," said the distracted husband, "I cannot speak to her now, but will endeavor to regain some composure, and return to her in an hour or two." He left them, and shut himself up in his study. Mrs. Romain was led to her bed chamber; she spoke not a word, but her tears flowed so violently, that it appeared like hysterical affection. They prevailed upon her to take some wine and water, into which they put a few drops of a composing nature, which my aunt had sent for from her own house; this, in a measure, stilled the agitation of her frame, and towards morning, she dropped into a broken slumber. At day light, Mr. Romain sent a request to speak to my aunt; she went to his study, giving the servant a strict charge not to quit her mistress.

"You see, madam," said he, as my aunt entered, "a man almost driven to distraction, by the infidelity of a woman he adores; when I brought you those papers some few weeks since, I had great reason to suppose my wife had forfeited her good name, and made a sacrifice of my honor on the altar of illicit passion. I had picked up a paper folded in the form of a letter, but without superscription or signature, I thought the writing to be that of Jessey's; but the hand was so disguised, I could not be certain. This infamous scrawl expressed a thorough dislike to one person, whom I suspected was myself, and a most passionate regard for another, whom I imagined to be that insidious villain, Darnley. It expressed a strong desire to be released from the fetters which bound the writer to one, and set her at liberty to devote herself to the other; an offer to quit her legal protector, and go to any part of the world with her paramour; concluding with saying, she could take with her papers, which would secure her independence. This, I imagine, referred to the writings of an estate, which, previous to our marriage, I had settled on Jessey. I shewed her this diabolical paper; but she denied all knowledge of it, with such asseverations, and resented my suspicions with such an appearance of conscious innocence. that I almost doubted the evidence of my own senses, which had noticed familiarities between her and Darnley, which were very unbecoming a virtuous, married woman. Determined to put the writings mentioned beyond her reach, I placed them with you. The death of our poor little girl, whose decease I now rejoice in, as she was snatched from the obloquy which ever attends the daughter of a vicious mother; I say, madam, the death of her child made some alteration in her conduct, which was very pleasant to me; and I began to hope she would see the folly and guilt of her past behavior."—

Elenor, I know you are interested in this narrative, but I must drop my pen for the present. It is a beautiful evening, and my charming little friend Sarah waits at the door in a coach, to take me to Kensington gardens. Adieu!

ANNE.

LETTER XI. ANNE TO ELENOR.

I PURSUE my subject. Suppose Mr. Romain again speaking. "Last night, madam, I was fatally convinced, all my suspicions were just; suffer me to remain silent concerning the scene to which I was an excruciating witness. I rushed into the room, with a horsewhip in my hand, (for I had rode from town,) and made the dishonorable reptile feel its lash pretty severely. It is my firm resolution never to live with my lost Jessey again; but I will not expose her to the world. I will not drive her from me, and by so doing, plunge her into the abyss of shame and infamy; I am resolved to protect her against her will. I have feared, and I am now convinced, that a living witness of her defection will appear. But my friends in France will know nothing of what has passed, and I will place her in the convent at St. Omer's, where my sister has been from choice many years a boarder; here she may remain until the unfortunate little being sees the light. I will then consider what is best to be done. I shall leave this place, and if possible, England, this very day; aud must request you to see to the packing of the plate, linen, &c. in order to their being sent after us. I shall empower a person to sell the furniture, and remit me the proceeds. I think it will be best not to take any of our present domestics, as they are but too well acquainted with Jessey's frailty; I have sent to the inn for a post chaise, and must beg you to go and prepare the unhappy woman for her removal."

My aunt returned to Mrs. Romain; she found her awake and rising. It was an awkward task to inform her of her husband's resolution. She stood with her face from my aunt while she was speaking; but when she found she was silent, she turned and thus addressed: "I am obliged to you, madam, for the trouble you have taken; I understand you have been in the house all night; and I have no doubt but it is to your advice I owe this hastly determination of Mr. Romain. I must confess I think you have been unnecessarily officious, and must beg the few moments I have to tarry in my house, I may remain unmolested."

As she was speaking, the chaise drove up to the door, and Mr. Romain entered the room. "Come, madam," said he to his wife in a solemn voice, "give orders to your servant to pack up a change of clothes, and do you prepare yourself for a journey; breakfast is ready in the parlor; take from your drawers what you want, and then deliver your keys to this lady, who will take care that every thing is sent after you." "Sir," said she in a haughty tone, "I do not choose that any stranger should have the liberty of examining my drawers." "If, madam," he replied, in a firm and pointed manner, "you have any thing is them you are afraid or ashamed of having seen, it were best you removed or destroyed it before you went away; but I desire you to be quick, as I must depart within the hour." She colored; a few tears forced themselves down her cheeks; while in an unsteady voice, she begged to be left alone ten minutes; her request was complied with; she then came down stairs, with a forced appearance of composure, habited ready for her journey. She drank a cup of chocolate with difficulty; and, when her husband inquired if she was ready to go, arose from her seat, saying, "No—neither ready nor willing; but it is your pleasure, and I must obey." She trembled so, she could scarcely stand; the color left her cheeks, and it was with unequal steps, and a bosom that throbbed almost to suffocation, that she seated herself in the chaise. Mr. Romain drew up the glasses; and a few hours took her out of England; to which, had she been prudent, she would never have returned. These circumstances, being made known to me, when it was too late to prevent Sarah from forming a connexion which, I greatly fear, will prove the ruin of her peace, I thought best not to mention them; nor have I, since my return, permitted her to think I am in the least acquainted with any circumstance concerning Mrs. Romain. But I am determined to keep a strict eye upon her, and if I see her laying any plans to regain her ascendancy over Darnley, I shall speak my mind both to him and her, in a manner that will not be very pleasing.

Mrs. Darnley, at present, seems inclined to think all the reports which she has heard, were groundless. Jessey, (as I shall henceforth call her,) is a specious woman; very insinuating in her manner; and my dear Sarah, with all her good sense, is very credulous, and open to deception; but I do earnestly hope that the film will not fall from her eyes on this occasion; for what situation in life is more mortifying, than that of a neglected wife? A knowledge of treachery on the part of her husband, would awaken all her resentment. I know her, she would never reproach him; she would never consider his breach of duty as an apology for any failure of her own. She would continue immoveable in the path of rectitude; but such an exertion would cause her many bitter tears; and her sufferings would be more poignant, because she would conceal them in her own bosom, and wear the mask of serenity over a lacerated heart. I shall let you know what discoveries I make; I shall not be inquisitively prying, but I shall observe and draw conclusions from those observations, not to gratify any impertinent curiosity, but in order to guard the peace of the invaluable Sarah.

London, at this period, is not very pleasant; Darnley talks of taking a lodging at Islington; I think I see through his plans; his wife acquiesces in all that he proposes; she is pleased with the idea of being in the country—I hope it will, in the end, contribute to her felicity; but I greatly fear it will not. One remark I have made since my return is, that Darnley lives very freely, and has a number of men always after him, who look like professed gamblers; they are ill bred, and by no means society fit for his delicate, gentle wife. Adieu.

ANNE.

LETTER XII. ANNE TO ELENOR.

THIS Jessey is more artful than I believed her to be; she has gained such an ascendancy over Sarah, that she leads her into all manner of dissipation and extravagance. She is ever on the wing, always in a crowd; a good way, you will say, of making her inattentive to her own particular conduct. The autumnal amusements have commenced, and the play, the opera, or some fashionable party occupies every evening; this leads to great expenses, constantly appearing in public requiring numerous changes of dress. Sarah, indulged from infancy in elegant habiliments, though her own taste prevents her dressing fine, is thoughtlessly extravagant; elegant laces, rich satins, with gloves, caps, shoes, &c. suitable, are not procured for a trifling sum in the course of a year; and Sarah is, perhaps, not so careful of her clothes, or attentive to the expenditures of her house keeping as she ought to be; her heart is naturally liberal; she has no idea of being imposed on by her servants, and when sometimes a slight suspicion will cross her mind, that her provisions are wasted, or her clothes wilfully lost, any plausible excuse will quiet her, and from a native love of peace, she will cease to inquire concerning her domestic concerns, or appear satisfied, when in faet, she is not convinced; she exerts but little authority in the management of her family: dressing, making and receiving visits, late hours at night, and, consequently, late mornings, have, in appearance, totally altered the character of the late interesting Sarah.

She gives dinners and suppers in very high style, and is herself the very soul of the parties she draws around her; while Jessey, satisfied with having persuaded or flattered her into these follies, with an assumed humility, declines joining the parties, and I am well convinced, has more than once instigated Darnley to blame Sarah for a conduct, which I acknowledge very reprehensible. But she should be remonstrated with mildly, and not vulgarly reproached, and taunted with having all the extravagant propensities of a fine lady, without having brought any fortune to support them. Yet this unmanly reproach was made to the humiliated Sarah, in my presence, a few days since. To which she replied, with more sincerity than prudence: "You knew my poverty, and wilfully burthened yourself with a woman, who can neither feel nor think as you do. Yet, Mr. Darnley, let me add, if you had treated me with the confidence due to a wife, you would have always found me conformable in my dress and pursuits, to the circumstances of a husband, whom it is my duty, and would be my pride, to honor if he would let me."

This occasioned a violent altercation. He told her, it was not because he could not afford it, but because he did not choose, that she should lead so gay a life, that he found fault. She flew out of the room, and gave vent to her full heart by tears, (which she ever endeavors to restrain in his presence) in her own apartment. Thither the officious, intrusive Jessey followed her, and I was astonished when we met at dinner, for I was passing the day with her, to find her dressed, and hear her declare, she meant to join a party to the play, from whence she was going to a card party, and that she meant to sup out. She entreated me to accompany her; but I very good naturedly felt at that moment a strong propensity to stay and keep Mrs. Romain company. And stay I did, much to the mortification of that amiable lady, and her more amiable chere amie.

I found a new novel in Sarah's dressing room, and bidding the maid fetch Mrs. Romain's work, told Darnley we did not want him, so he might as well follow his wife to the play; and having partly laughed, and partly satirized him into some sense of shame, I had the pleasure to see him depart, and very composedly begun and finished the novel before twelve o'clock; at which hour, Jessey being no longer able to command her impatience, and pretend pleasure, when in truth she was bursting with vexation, said she was sleepy, rang for candles, and with a profusion of civility, bade me a good night.

About two o'clock Sarah returned, and Darnley with her; he was very petulant, and taking a candle, went immediately to his room. Sarah threw herself on the sofa, and burst into tears. "What is the matter, my dear?" I asked. "Nothing of consequence," said she, "I am ashamed of myself, but—" "I am afraid, my dear Sarah," said I, in a softened, almost hesitating voice, "that you are somewhat to blame, in the little disagreement of to-day; you must not be offended, you have even given me leave to be sincere with you; why, when Mr. Darnley expressed a dislike to your leading so dissipated a life, why did you immediately dress and go out? My dear friend, you must snbmit a little." "Anne," said she, wiping away her tears, "I feel you are right, but I cannot command my temper at all times. I know it is wrong to complain, the die is cast, and I must be silent and unresisting. But, my dear Anne, why does he not treat me with confidence? Why am I kept a stranger in all his concerns? I know not whether he can afford the style in which we live, or whether he is worth a single guinea; sometimes he will give me money unasked; sometimes buy me finery in profusion; at other times, he grudges every thing, and will rail at me for wearing his presents, though it was solely to do him honor that I put them on. It is the last time, Anne, I will ever speak on the subject; but my lot is not a very happy one, even at the best; and, had I entertained the smallest idea of the misery, the certain misery that must attend a woman, married to a man from whom her nature shrinks repugnant; whose every word, opinion and action, is an outrage to her sensibility, I would have submitted to the most menial day labor, before I would have taken upon myself duties I have not the patience and fortitude to fulfil as I ought. Heaven knows," continued she, and her lips began to tremble, and her voice to falter, "Heaven knows I strive to consider him with respect; to behold him with affection; but how can I compel my heart to love a man, who one hour treats me with rudeness and contempt, and the next, with a disgusting fondness, even more repulsive to me than his ill nature? Anne, I have spoken with sincerity; I ever considered you as a second self, and must now entreat you to bury what I have said in your bosom When you see me acting wrong, as I know I have done to-day, do not hesitate to reprove me; but in regard to him, I pray you be silent; he is apparently good natured, liberal and cheerful; the world believes me happy, I would not undeceive them." "I will implicitly regard your prudent injunction," I replied, struck with the magnanimity of her resolution, "but will you allow me to mention one thing more, which I really think it my duty to point out to you, as I believe much of your happiness in future will depend on your attending to my advice on this subject. Be upon your guard against Mrs. Romain; do not let her persuade you to act in opposition to your husband's will, and gloss such a conduct over with the name of spirit, resolution, and proper independence." "Anne," said she, "do you apprehend that Jessey has any interested views in sowing dissention between us?"

I perceived her drift, and, rising, said, "I think nothing, only that Mrs. Romain is not a woman whom I could wish to see the friend of Sarah Darnley. She has a strong tincture of foreign manners, and what is dignified with the appellation of a masculine mind; but she has not one quality which should give her an ascendancy over such a mind as yours Good night," said I, kissing her cheek, "let me see you good friends with that unaccountable being, your husband, to-morrow; and while you have yourself every disposition to make your fetters easy, do not suffer officious meddlers to render them galling. Act always from the impulse of your own heart, and I am sure you will act right."

The next morning I had the pleasure to see them quite composed and civil to each other; and to prevent any interposition that might again stir up discontent, I insisted upon Mrs. Romain's going to spend a few days with me. She went home yesterday, and I have not heard from Sarah since.

ANNE.

LETTER XIII. ANNE TO ELENOR.

IT is some time since I wrote to you. My time has been variously occupied, and that not in the most agreeable manner. Mrs. Darnley has suffered much during the period in which my pen has lain dormant, and I have given myself up to her comfort. Darnley has lost his mother; she was an amiable woman, and in her soicety Sarah often found solace for her afflicted heart. I look upon this bereavement as peculiarly unfortunate for her, as the respectability of his mother's character, her steady, though unassuming love of virtue, made George anxious to preserve some respect to decency; but that slight restraint removed, he will no longer regard appearances. He is going, I fear, the high road to ruin. The sums he lavishes on Jessey are astonishing, while a tradesman is allowed to call repeatedly for his money to no purpose. Sarah's thoughtlessness and folly (for I must give it that harsh term) increases; the more agonized her heart, (and agonized it is I am certain in a very high degree,) the more dissipated her conduct; and to see her in company, you wonld suppose her the happiest of the happy. When alone, she either sits pensive and unemployed, except in reading some work of fancy, or applies to her music, playing and singing the most plaintive airs, while tears roll down her cheeks, and she seems lost to all but exquisite sensibility. Yet from such a state of depression, she will start suddenly up, dress, and fly to some scene of pleasure; often losing very considerable sums at cards, and seldom or ever returning until very late at night—sometimes she is favored with her husband's company, but oftener she is left to herself. I am almost continually with her; for I do not think a young and prepossessing woman can be placed in a more perilous situation, than to be neglected by her husband, and yet constantly mixing in that kind of society which abounds with libertines and flatterers, who think such a woman ever an object of illicit pursuit. Not that I doubt Sarah's principles, I know she loves virtue for its own sake; but she is imprudent, and might inadvertently fall into situations, which may ruin her reputation, and perhaps her peace of mind for ever. I am going this evening to her house, to remain a week with her, and shall not finish my letter until I retire for the night.

The veil is at length rent, Sarah can no longer even pretend blindness to the insult her husband has offered her. How she will conduct on this trying occasion, I cannot think, nor can I dare to advise; I can only commiserate her situation, and weep, not with, (for she has not shed a tear,) but for her. My mind is so agitated, and has been so, since the discovery was made, that I could not write last night, and even now, I hardly know how to frame my account, for the scene of last evening seems in my memory but as the traces of a horrid vision. But I will endeavor to proceed with some degree of regularity.

I have already told you, I was to go to Mrs. Darnley's last evening, with a design to spend a week. I had appointed to meet her in a large party, at a friend's house in Berkley-street, and was to proceed home with her after the party broke up. She was not there when I arrived, but came soon after accompanied by Mrs. Romain. "Where is Darnley?" said I, when she was seated beside me. "He had the head ache," she replied, "and will not come out to-night." "Then why, my dear Sarah," said I, "did you come out?" "Why, Anne," she replied, rather petulantly, "you know my company affords him no pleasure; his conversation is only fit for the gaming table, the race ground, or a worse place. I cannot, will not listen to discourse so offensive to my ears, so degrading to my feelings; and he will listen to no other."

I knew well enough this was the case, and therefore could say no more. She seemed a moment after to recollect herself, and said, "I do not mean to stay late." However she sat down to a commerce table, and forgot her good intentions until near one o clock; I then seeing the pool was out, and that she was preparing to join another party, reminded her of the hour. Mrs. Romain had been engaged in a whist party in another room; we now inquired for her, and found she had been sent for above two hours before, a message coming that her child was ill. I must own my heart sunk at this discovery, and I thought a flash of awakened suspicion kindled upon the check of Sarah. It was full half an hour before the coach could get up to the door, and even when it did, and we were seated in it, whatever were the thoughts of either, we seemed mutually resolved to restrain them within the bounds of silence. When we arrived at home, just as the carriage drove up to the door, it was opened by one of the maids who was letting a visitor out; this prevented the usual rap at the door. "Where is Mrs Romain?" said Sarah, impatiently. "In the drawing room," said the maid. "How is your master?" "Better, I believe, he has been in bed these two hours."

Sarah opened the drawing room door, the candles were burning on the table, but the room was empty. "I will go up and see how Darnley is," said she, taking a chamber candle from the servant, "and will see you again for a few minutes before I go to bed."

She ran hastily up stairs, she is very light of foot, besides which, the stairs are carpeted, so that her ascent seemed no more than the gliding of a shadow. I sat down by the fire; in less than two minutes she returned, her face pale, and positively gasping for breath. Her limbs scarcely supported her to the sofa, where I was sitting, on which she sunk almost insensible. Alarmed, I rang for water; she swallowed a little, and then speaking with difficulty, bade the servant go to bed; she could undress herself, she said, and as she knew where to find her night clothes, there was no occasion for her to go into the room. The poor girl, who suspected what was the matter, began to speak, but Sarah waved her from the room with an emphatic "Go," and a motion of the hand, which, in her, carries with it positive command.

When the maid was gone, she turned to me, and laying her hand on my arm, said, "Jessey is a serpent—Darnley is a wretch." What could I say? I pressed her cold trembling hand, and remained silent. "I will not expose the unprincipled woman, nor humiliate myself by reproaching the man who can thus convince me on what a degrading passion his boasted attachment to me was founded. I hardly know on what to determine, but this I believe to be my duty, not to permit Jessey to remain another day under my roof. I will go into your room," said she, rising mournfully, "and undress; perhaps I may lie down a few moments beside you." This she did, but neither of us slept, I believe, for one moment.

About eight o'clock we heard Darnley's bell ring violently; she immediately left my chamber without speaking. It is almost incredible, yet a certain fact, the treacherous husband had the inhumanity to endeavor to veil his own conduct by arraigning that of his innocent wife. "Where the devil have you been all night, madam?" said he, in a loud, imperious tone. "In Anne's chamber." "And what is the reason you did not come to your own?" "Because," she replied, in a steady, firm voice, "my place was pre-occupied." "It is a lie," said he, vociferously, "but I see your aim; you are jealous, you are envious; but by heaven, if you dare to breathe a word"—"Mr Darnley," said she, "I never loved you well enough to be jealous of you. I told you before our ill fated union took place, that our hearts could never beat in unison. I am now more than ever convinced of it." "But pray, madam," said he, "what put it into your head that your place was occupied; which of the cursed meddling servants?" "Neither of them," said she, "my own eyes convinced me; I came up the moment I returned, and the first thing I saw was Jessey's shoes—" "By the bed side," said he, interrupting her, "and so that is all the reason you have for thinking Jessey was in your place; but, madam, Jessey has twice the tenderness in her nature that you have. When she came home, she found me very ill, advised me to go to bed, made me some whey, brought it up herself, and fearing her shoes might make a noise, put them off her feet; sat down, and bathed my temples in hot vinegar: but you, madam, are a wife, you could go gallanting about, while your husband was sick at home; but I suppose you found more agreeable company and employment abroad, than nursing your husband." "If I loved you, Darnley," said she, what a miserable being I should now be? But thank heaven, that is an agony from which I am spared." She then left him, returned to me, ordered breakfast in my room, and when she heard him go out, went to her own, in hopes of obtaining a few moments' repose. I have taken the opportunity to write thus far, but as I now hear her voice, I must conclude. You shall hear from me again soon.

ANNE.

LETTER XIV. ANNE TO ELENOR.

DARNLEY's dinner hour is four o'clock, the usual time for dining with all mercantile persons. Sarah kept her room until near three. Mrs. Romain had never ventured down. Darnley had been out all the morning. I really so much dreaded the general meeting at dinner, that I was almost ill; one moment my blood ran cold; another, my face flushed like fire: the least stir below made my heart beat quick, and my whole frame tremble.

About a quarter before three, Sarah came into my room; she was dressed as usual for dinner; and from her countenance, no indifferent person could have judged she had been discomposed: it was marked with a peculiar kind of sadness, which rendered it interesting; but to me, who knew her, the effort she made to conceal her emotions, was very evident. "Anne," said she, "I am determined to see and speak to Jessey, before Darnley's return. How will it be best? to go up into her room, or send for her into my dressing room?" I gave my opinion for the latter She thought a verbal message might have a rude appearance, but wrote on a slip of paper: "Mrs. Darnley requests Mrs. Romain to favor her with a few minutes conversation previous to their meeting at dinner." The maid went with it, and, after remaining up stairs about ten minutes, returned with the following answer:

"After the suspicions of the night, and the pointed neglect of the morning, Mrs. Romain cannot suppose a personal interview can be desirable to either party; she begs to be excused seeing Mrs. Darnley, and also declines appearing at dinner; Mrs. R. will not intrude in Mrs. D's family, longer than she can procure a lodging."

Sarah's countenance changed as she perused this haughty scrawl, for the uneven letters betrayed the tremor of the hand that wrote them; she tore off the back of the billet, and wrote with her pencil:

"Madam, a personal interview is not sought from any expected pleasure it may afford, but because I think it necessary to speak a few words to you. I must insist on seeing you; if you cannot come down, I will come to you.

S. D."

The servant brought a verbal message, saying, "As Mrs. Darnley was in her own house, she had a right to go into every apartment, if she pleased; therefore, if she insisted upon coming up, she (Mrs. Romain) must submit."

Sarah walked once or twice across the room. "Anne," said she, "you must go with me; I hope I shall not forget myself; I hope I shall remember I am a rational being, and a christian, and that though this unhappy woman has injured me, I am not myself free from error, and have therefore no right to treat her with unmerciful contempt."

I do assure you, madam, when the magnanimous woman uttered this sentence, I could not help gazing at her, as a being of a superior order. "Heaven support your good resolves, my dear Sarah," said I, and was obliged to turn from her, to hide my own rising emotion. "Do not be a child, Anne," said she, taking my hand, "or you will make a fool of me, and I am weak enough already, heaven knows."

I followed her up stairs without answering. She tapped at Jessey's door; the little girl opened it, and being extremely fond of Sarah, gave an instant exclamation of joy, saying, "Come in, ma Darny; Lyza glad, Lyza want kiss ma Darny." I feared this innocent prattle would be too much for my friend, but I had judged erroneously; she stooped, kissed the child, and, ringing the bell, bade the maid take her down and give her an orange.

Jessey had risen from her seat. I saw, from her flashing eye and crimson cheek, that she expected reproaches; but this mild, dignified manner humbled her to the dust; she turned pale, and her eyes were absolutely full. Sarah seated herself, we followed her example; a pause of about a minute ensued, in which period I am not certain but I felt more than either the injurer or the injured. I perceived that Sarah's heart beat high, she struggled for composure; she attained it. "I come not, Mrs. Romain," said she, in a low, but impressive voice, "to recapitulate past events, or to awaken resentful emotions by reproaches. Whatever were the circumstances which took place last evening, I wish them to be buried in eternal oblivion. I am, from a sense of what is due to myself, under the necessity of informing you, we cannot longer both reside under the same roof; but as I do not desire the private concerns of my family, whether pleasant or otherwise, should become the theme of public animadversion, I wish the removal to take place as quietly as possible. I do not intend that even the domesties should know on what account you quit the family; but I must request you will procure a lodging as early as you can. It is for the respectability of all parties, that the subject be not spoken of, and particularly for your interest. You may rest assured from me, it shall never transpire, and I can answer for this young lady, that through her it will never be made public; but, should such circumstances take place again, I cannot answer for the discretion of others; and you must permit me to say, in that case your reputation will be entirely lost; nor will any woman of character countenance you."

"I am sorry," said Mrs. Romain, in a tremulous voice, "any misunderstanding should have dissturbed your peace of mind." "Do not labor under a mistake, madam," said Sarah, "you have not wounded my peace, though I greatly fear you have forever banished your own; but let us talk no more. I must request you to appear at dinner, and let our separation, when it takes place, preserve the appearance of good breeding." So saying, she left the room, and went to her own, where she remained until dinner was served. Darnley sent word he should dine out; Mrs. Romain came down, but we ate little, and spoke less. In the evening, Jessey sent for a coach, and having thanked Sarah for all favors, and received her wishes for her health, went to a lodging.

The next morning her trunks were sent after her; but the occurrences of that day must be the subject of another letter.

ANNE.

LETTER XV. ANNE TO ELENOR.

THE morning following, the eventful day of which I gave you an account in my last, Sarah appeared at the breakfast table with a pale, languid countenance; she had retired early the night before, and I was in hopes would have obtained some quiet repose—a refreshment which her agitated frame and tortured mind seemed greatly to stand in need of. I learnt that Darnley had not been home all night; he had come home early in the morning, and changed his clothes, but told the maid he did not wish to have her mistress disturbed.

"I am afraid," said she, "he fears reproaches, and so avoids his home; but he need not: if he is content to be silent, I am sure I shall not broach the detestable subject; he is now in the compting house, has sent me word he is very busy, and will have his breakfast sent thither. What can I do? Some method must be taken to make him banish this fear of again meeting me. I had thought of writing a note, dictated in terms which may tend to a reconciliation; for while he retains these fears of reproaches which conscience tells him he deserves, he will hide them under ill nature; and suspecting I shall accost him in taunting language, will, to prevent it, load me with the most illiberal abuse."

I approved the idea, and she wrote while eating her breakfast, the following.

"It is certainly painful to me, Mr. Darnley, to find you voluntarily avoid my society. Perhaps I can divine the cause, and by removing it the effect may happily cease. You think my sex and situation will lead me, when we meet, to recapitulate some late events, and make disagreeable remarks thereon. Such a recapitulation is by no means necessary. Let us meet as though no such events had ever taken place: let the whole pass into eternal oblivion: trust me, it shall not be my fault if it does not. I hope you will dine at home to day; Anne is engaged, and if you should dine out also, I shall dine alone.

S. DARNLEY."

This letter was evidently what it appeared to be, the effect of principle; she would perhaps rather have dined alone, than with her husband in his present frame of mind, but she felt it was her duty to endeavor to draw him back to domestic scenes and domestic peace. No answer was returned until past one o'clock, when one of the clerks brought up the following:

"You are very much mistaken, Mrs. Darnley, if you suppose I dread your reproaches: I know, with all your boasted forbearance, you dare not utter any, or it is not your regard to me would prevent you; but pray understand, madam, if I am not master of my own house, I am of my actions and person, and shall go out when and where I please, without consulting your pleasure; mind your own business, and don't trouble yourself about me; you have got a comfortable home, and may go out or come in, as you please. But you cannot suppose, after the very polite method which you took to turn Jessey out of doors, that I can see you with any degree of temper; and since you have withdrawn from her your protection, I feel doubly bound to afford her mine. She is a woman whom I esteem; she loves me with her whole soul; she has given incontestable proofs, that her affection for me supersedes all other considerations; and had she sooner been freed from her matrimonial shackles, you would never have been the wife of

G. DARNLEY."

Sarah gave vent to her swollen heart in a flood of tears, when she had perused this unmanly epistle; she wrote a few lines, which as near as I can recollect, I subjoin:

"That I am your wife, Mr. Darnley, is more my misfortune, than my fault. But you are under a mistake, in supposing Jessey loves you. No woman can be under the influence of that sacred passion, (whose power I can conceive, though as yet I have never felt its influence) who degrades herself below even the pity of a man of principle, and for self gratification plunges the object of her pretended adoration into infamy, by inciting him to repeated breaches of every sacred and moral obligation. You say I have a comfortable home; can that home be so, from whence domestic peace is banished? You are your own master—It is well you are so. Would to God I was as free.

S. DARNLEY."

He went out at two o'clock; I saw Sarah sinking under her mental sufferings, and put off my engagement to remain at home with her. It was nearly the close of evening, when a message came, saying, Mr. Darnley was going a journey, and desired clothes to be put up to last a fortnight. This was immediately complied with. We sent the next day to inquire for Jessey, and found they were gone together!—that she passed for his wife in the house where they lodged, and went by the name of Hayley; that the maid and child were left at home; and that they said they were going a tour of pleasure.

They having thus exposed themselves to open censure, I no longer hold myself bound to withhold the whole procedure from you. I intend remaining with Sarah during his absence. She has regained her composure, and mixes again in society; but she assures me, there is now no tie between Darnley and herself, but the strong sense she entertains of what is due to moral rectitude. How they will behave to each other on his return, I cannot divine. I have no doubt but he will endeavor to incense her so far, as to make her wish a separation; but she will never do that, as there is no state in the world she thinks so humiliating and pitiable, as a woman in a state of separation from her husband; the world ever ready to condemn, does not fail ever to attach some share of blame to the conduct of a wife who is slighted and forsaken by her legal protector.

I was interrupted an hour since, by the arrival of a letter from Scarborough, where my brother has been for some time; he is dangerously ill— I must leave Sarah immediately; she has promised to write often, you shall have copies of all her letters, as she has allowed me that liberty. Farewell, may heaven bless you, ever prays

ANNE.

LETTER XVI. SARAH TO ANNE.

THE receipt of your letter, which assured me of your health and safe arrival at the end of your journey, was welcome, but I have felt little inclination to write, as I had no pleasant subject to employ my pen. You have engaged me to write all that occurs in regard to Darnley and Mrs. Romain; it is an ungrateful subject, yet when the heart is overflowing with anguish, it