 1704. January the 10th. I begin to find my thoughts so much dissipated that I am angry with myself. Mr Arnold's excessive indulgence will spoil me, is always contriving new scenes of pleasure, and hurries me from one to the other. I do not wish to be petrally fluttering about. The calm domestic life you know has always been my choice, but I will not oppose my kind Mr Arnold in his fond desire of pleasing me. Besides, I find that by his constantly galanting me to public places he begins himself to acquire a sort of relish for them, which he did not used to have, at least his prudence made him so to conform to the necessity of his circumstances while his fortune was small, that he never indulged himself in any of the fashionable expensive amusements, nor does he now in any but such as I partake of with him. I find he is by nature open and liberal to excess. I must take care without his being conscious of it to be a gentle check upon his bounteous spirit. I mean only so far as it regards myself. Indeed, this is the most material point, for in every other instance his generosity is regulated by prudence. I am every hour more obliged to him, and I should hate myself if I did not find that he had an entire possession of my love. Sir George hardly ever comes near us but by formal invitation, and then his behaviour to Mr Arnold is so very civil and so very distant that it mortifies me exceedingly. Mr Arnold cannot but perceive it, but either his tenderness for me makes him take no notice of it, or else not being well enough acquainted with my brother to know his disposition, he may impute his coldness to his natural temper. My mother says he never names Mr Falkland or Miss Birchle to her. I wish that George could entirely forget that unhappy affair. February the first. There is a story propagated by the widow Arnold about the meeting between her and her husband, the circumstances of which are as follows. She says she had dined one day in the city and was returning home to her lodgings in York Building in a Hackney coach, that the driver by his carelessness in coming along the Strand had one of his four wheels taken off by a wagon which accident obliged her to a light. The foot boy, who was behind the coach had by the jolt been thrown off and received a hurt, which made it necessary to have him carried into a shop for assistance. That the lady herself being no otherwise injured and by a little fright found that she was so near home that she did not think it worth while to wait for another carriage but pursued her way on foot. It was a fine dry evening about nine o'clock and though there was no light but what the lamps afforded, yet as the streets were full of people she had no apprehensions of danger. In this situation she was accosted by two gentlemen who, seeing a lady well dressed and alone insisted on seeing her safe to her lodgings. However disagreeable such an encounter was, she said she did not give herself much concern about it as she was so near home and expected to shake off her new acquaintance at the door of the house where she lodged and accordingly when she got there she told them she was at home and wished them a good night. But the impertinence were not so easily to be put off. The door having been opened by the maid of the house they both rushed in. Her landlady, a single woman, happened to be abroad and there was not a man in the house. Mrs. Arnold thought she had no way left but to run up to her dining-room and lock herself in. But in this she was prevented as the gentleman whom the servant of the house vainly endeavoured to oppose got upstairs almost as soon as she did. Her own maid on hearing the wrap at the door had lighted candles in the dining-room. The two sparks entered with her but how was she surprised to find that one of them was her husband. Her fright, she said, had prevented her from discovering this sooner as she had not looked in either of their faces, though there was a light in the hall, and Mr. Arnold's being half-drunk, she supposed, was the reason of his not perceiving sooner who she was. The astonishment that they both were in and the exclamation that each made in their turn soon informed the companion of Mr. Arnold who the lady was. He congratulated them both on this fortunate mistake and saying, since chance had been so propitious to Mr. Arnold as to throw him into the arms of so charming a woman, he hoped his discovering her to be his wife would not render her the less agreeable to him, but that this unexpected meeting might be a means of reuniting them in their former amity. Mr. Arnold, she says, in the presence of this gentleman advanced with open arms to embrace her, which she, not declining, his friend having again felicitated them on their reconciliation, took his leave, and Mr. Arnold remained with his lady. That at parting, which was not till late, as she would not on account of her reputation permit him to pass the night at her lodgings, he promised to bring her home to his house in a day or two. But unfortunately for her he was taken ill in the interim, which she did not know of till she had an account that Mr. Arnold had lost his senses. The reason she assigned for not inquiring after him sooner was that her pride would not suffer her to make any advances to a man who had been so injurious as to part with her, and she thought it his duty to recall her without her taking any steps towards it. This story seems plausible, yet none of our friends believe a word of it, and imagine somebody has contrived it for her. The gentleman who was the companion of Mr. Arnold that night, she says, can, at a proper time, be produced as a witness, as also her own maid, who can testify the truth of this story. In the meantime, this maid is kept out of the way, and nobody can guess at the gentleman, but his name is kept a profound secret. I am delighted at the sweetness of Mr. Arnold's temper, vexatious as this affair is likely to be even at the best. He does not suffer it to interrupt our pleasures, or his own good humour. On the contrary, he is the more studious of promoting everything which he thinks will entertain me. February the 28th. At length, the poor Miss Bertul is happily rid of her birthing. A pretty little boy, my mother says it is. It was immediately after his birth at which my mother was present, privately baptised by the name of Orlando, and sent away with its nurse, a careful body who had been before provided for it. It passes for the son of a Captain Jeffress, abroad with the army. Miss Bertul would never suffer the nurse to see her, for, as she intends to reassume her own name as soon as she shall be in a condition to leave her present retirement, she would choose not to be known by the woman, in case of her going to see her child. Everything was managed with so much privacy, and Miss Bertul has lived so perfectly recluse, nobody ever visiting her but my mother, that in all probability this affair will always remain an entire secret. My mother says, that as soon as Miss Bertul, to whom she considers herself a kind of patroness, is tolerably recovered, she will go down to Sydney Castle, for she thinks herself in a strange land anywhere but there. And would you believe it, my dear? She has taken such a fancy to Miss Bertul, that she talks of inviting her down with her, if she can obtain her uncle's leave. The girl must certainly have some very amiable qualities, so to captivate my mother, or she has an immensity of art. I daresay the young lady will gladly accept her invitation, it will undoubtedly be a most eligible situation for her. I do not know what Sir George may say to her carrying her humanity so far, as he hates the name of this poor girl. But no matter, it may be a means of preserving her character, which probably she might not long keep, if she returned to live with so vile a woman, as I conclude her aunt to be. Nor can she have any colour for quitting her while her uncle lives, for I find she is an orphan, and has no relation but him. She must however go home for a while, in order to get leave from him for this visit to Sydney Castle. March the 26th. I am told the widow Arnold computes the time of her lying in about the latter end of the next month. If it should happen she saves her distance, as her husband died in July, a little before we went to Grimstone Hall. Mr. Arnold treats the affair very lightly, and is only concerned at seeing my mother so much affected by it. For my part I form my behaviour upon Mr. Arnold's contact, and as long as he appears easy, I shall certainly be so too. My brother throws out some unkind reflections. He says he wonders the old Sibyl at Grimstone Hall did not foresee this, and congratulates me on my good fortune in having my jointure settled on that part of the estate, which is not disputed. I really think he shows a sort of ill-natured triumph, even in his condolments, for he generally concludes them with thanking his stars that he had no hand in the match. I trust in God we shall none of us have any cause to repent it. I am sure I never shall, for if Mr. Arnold were reduced to the lowest ebb of fortune, I should find my consolation in his kindness and affection. March the 27th. My mother is preparing to leave town. Miss Bertrel is quite recovered, and purpose is going down to the country to obtain her uncle's consent for the intended visit. She says she can easily tell him she made an acquaintance with Lady Bidolf in her late excursion to Bath, from whom she received an invitation, and she is sure he will not refuse to let her accept it. Sir George laughs exceedingly at this plan. He says his mother ought not to be surprised at Falklands falling into the girl's snares, since she herself has done the same. But he supposes my mother thinks she is doing a very meritorious action in affording an asylum to this injured innocence. I give you my brother's words, for I assure you, as to myself, I approve of my mother's kindness to her, and think it may be a means of preserving the girl from future mischief. April the 2nd. Miss Bertrel has gone into the country, and this morning for the first time severed me from the best of mothers. I cannot recover my spirits, and I have wept all day. Mr. Arnold, ever good and obliging, would need a company her some miles on her journey. You may be sure I was not left behind. Sir George was so polite as to say he would escort her down to Sydney Castle. I was surprised at it, for he does not often do obliging things. My mother gladly accepted of his company and said she would make him her prisoner when she had him there, for she should be quite melancholy without me for a while. Now, though I should be very unwilling not to allow the merit of a good-natured action to Sir George, yet do I attribute this in some measure to its answering a purpose of convenience to himself? You know before his illness sent him to the spa he always spent his summers with us at the castle, though he has another very convenient house on his estate. When he was in London he never had anything but lodgings, for which I have often been angry with him. My mother, since his return, made him a compliment of her house, but as the time she took it for is now expired and it is let to another family he could not longer continue in it. Mr Arnold, in the most affectionate manner, pressed him to accept of an apartment with us, which he declined. Now, as he could not without showing us an apparent slight continuing town in other lodgings, I believe he for this reason preferred going down with my mother. Be it as it may, I am very glad that she will have his company, for I make no doubt of his staying with her some time, unless Miss Birchell should frighten him away. April the fifth. I have been so cast down since my mother's departure that Mr Arnold's obliging, tender assiduity to please and entertain me seems redoubled. But indeed I am, worried, with a continual round of noisy pleasures, and long to get back to Arnold Abbey. I hope to be there in about three weeks, or a month at farthest. My mother has dispensed with our going down to her this summer. She thinks it might be attended with inconveniences to me, and talks of coming to town again in a few months. But I shall insist on her not giving herself the fatigue of so long a journey, unless she comes to stay all the next winter with us. April the 20th. My mother writes me word that Miss Birchell has obtained leave of her uncle, and is coming to Sydney Castle. She says she never saw a better behaved young creature. Sir George has taken so much offence at her coming that he talks of going to his own house. My mother outs. He behaves, however, with manners. But I shall not press him to stay. May the 6th. An important birth, my Cecilia. The widow Arnold has produced a young miss. I assure you the little damsel has been ushered into life with all the ceremony due to a young heiress. And her mother introduces her as one whom an unjust uncle debars of her right. Now, you must know that upon an exact calculation this little girl has made her appearance just twelve days later than she ought to have done to prove her legitimacy. Dating the possibility of her being, Mr. Arnold, from the very day wherein he took that illness of which he died, and which confined him for five days to his bed. In all that time his servants never left him for a minute. This is occasioned various speculations. Our lawyers say that it is enough to destroy her pretensions. But some physicians who have been consulted on the occasion are of a contrary opinion, and declare they have known instances of children being born even so long after the stated time allotted by nature for their coming into life. It is a very unlucky affair and has involved us in a lawsuit. Who the person is that secretly abets the widow we cannot find out. But it is certain she has somebody. Everyone believes this is an infamous and unjust claim, and the woman's folly almost frees her from the suspicion of its being her own contriving. May the tenth. You cannot imagine, my Cecilia, how happy I think myself after such a hurrying winter as I have had to find myself once more restored to my favourite pleasures. The calm delights of solitude. Arnold Abbey seems a paradise to me now. Lady Grimston showed me a specimen of her humour this morning in talking of the widow Arnold. She said, she was an harlot, that having already disgraced the family now wanted to beg of them, but that if Mr. Arnold did not make an example of her she would never own him for a kinsman. My cheerful old Dean says he is now completely happy having lived to see his daughter married, while we were in town, very much to his and her satisfaction. I am heartily glad of it, neither am I sorry for her sake that she has left the country. May the eleventh. Mrs. Vier has come to spend a few weeks with me according to her promise. She is a truly amiable creature, her disposition so gentle, her temper so mild, such a sweet humility in her whole deportment, that it astonishes me her mother can still persist in her unkindness to her. But the eldest daughter was always her darling, who I understand is pretty much of her mother's own caste, and makes a very termigant wife to her very turbulent husband, so that notwithstanding their title, for he is a baronet, and immense riches, they are a very miserable pair. They were lately to pay Lady Grimstone a visit, but there happens such a fracar that probably it may be the last she will ever receive from them. The husband, it seems, though very rough and surly in his nature, is notwithstanding a well-meaning man, and not void of humanity, which had induced him to give a small portion to a young girl, a distant relation of his own who had been left an orphan. She was beloved by the son of a substantial farmer, a tenant of the baronets, and had an equal affection for him. But the young man, depending entirely on his father for his future prospects, dost not take a wife without something to begin the world with, for his father had just put him into management of one of his farms. The young lady and her mother, who was a widow and is but lately dead, had boarded for some years at this honest farmer's house, and in that time mutual love had been contracted between the young people. The old man himself liked the girl so well for a daughter-in-law that his only objection was her want of money, that this was such an obstacle as was not to be surmounted by a man who, being accustomed to earn money by interfatigable industry, put the utmost value upon it. His regard to his son's happiness, however, made him resolve to try an experiment in his favour, and accordingly he plucked up courage and went to his landlord. He told him in his own blunt way that he came to speak to him in behalf of a poor young gentleman that was his, Sir William's, relation. I have a son that loves her, said he, and she loves him, but I cannot afford to let the boy marry a wife that has nothing, and you know she has no portion. I would not desire much with her, for she is a good girl and very house-wifely, but if you will be so kind to give something, to set them a-going a little, I shall be content. If not, you will be the cause of my son's losing a wife, for he swears he will never marry any other woman, and she poor thing may pine away for love. I do not desire this match out of the ambition of having my boy related to you, but because I think the girl is an honest girl and may make him happy. The rough honesty of the farmer pleased his landlord so well that he gave the young woman five hundred pounds to set them a-going as the old young man termed it. Though this son was but a trifle to a man of his fortune, and the giving it was a praiseworthy action, yet did it exceedingly displease his lady, especially as he had not thought proper to consult her on the occasion. She was not contented with venting her indignation on her husband at home, but she renewed the quarrel by complaining to Lady Grimstone that her opinion and advice were not only despised, but that Sir William was lavishing away the fortune she had brought him upon a tribe of poor relations of his own. Lady Grimstone immediately took fire. She could not bear the thoughts of having her daughter's authority of less weight in his family than her own had been, and she attacked her son-in-law with acrimony on the subject. His answer to her was short. Look ye, Lady Grimstone, you made a very obstreperous wife to a very peaceable husband. Your daughter, I find, is mightily disposed to follow your example. But, as I am not quite so tame as my father-in-law was, I will suffer her to see as little of it as may be. With this he turned from her, and, ordering his coach and six to be got ready immediately, with very little ceremony, he forced his wife into it, and carried her home directly, leaving Lady Grimstone foaming with rage. The altercation had been carried on with so little caution that the servants heard it, and the story is the jest of the neighbourhood. I confess I am not sorry for this breach. It may be the better for poor Mrs. Veer. For though her mother's jointure reversed her male relation, on whom the estate was settled, yet, as Lady Grimstone has a large personal fortune, it is in her power to make her daughter full of men's for the injury she did her. May the twentieth. Mr. Arnold is improving his gardens and taking in a great deal more ground to enlarge them. I do not express the least dissatisfaction at this, though I own I could wish you would not engage in new expenses on an estate which is now in litigation. But our lawyers are so sanguine that they encourage him to proceed. Editors note the following is written the hand of the lady who gave the editor these papers. Here follows an interval of four months in which time, though the journal was regularly continued, nothing material to her story occurred but the birth of a daughter, after which she proceeds. The Journal September 1704 How delightful are the new sensations, my dear Cecilia, that I feel hourly springing in my heart. Surely the tenderness of a mother can never be sufficiently repaid, and I now more than ever rejoice in having, by an obedience which perhaps I once thought had some little merit in it, contributed so much to the repose of a parent to whom I have such numberless obligations. I never see, my dear little girl, but I think such were the tender sentiments, the sweet anxieties, that my honoured and beloved mother felt when her Sydney was such a brat as this. Then I say, surely I have a right to all the duty, all the filial love that this creature can show me, in return for my fondness. As for Mr Arnold, he idolises it, you never saw so good a nurse as he makes. Lady Grimstone declares we are both in a fair way of ruining the child, and advises us to send it out of the house, that we may not grow too fond of it. But we shall hardly take her counsel. September the 28th. I informed you before that Miss Burchell had been summoned home by her uncle, who was then very ill. She has lately written an account to my mother of his death, and that as she has now her fortune in her own hands, she intends immediately to quit her aunt, and look out for some gentile and reputable family in London, where it seems she chooses to reside, to lodge with. My mother, in her letter to me, expresses great satisfaction at her resolution to leave her aunt, but is not without her fears, that so prettier young woman, left to her own guidance, may be liable to danger, though she thinks both her natural disposition and her good sense, sufficient to guard her against actual evil. Our lawyer writes us word that he has had an offer of a composition, proposed by the widow Arnold's people. He says, though the sum they mention is a very round one, yet it plainly indicates the weakness of their hopes, and concludes with telling Mr. Arnold that, if six pence would buy them off, he should not with his consent give it to them, as it would tacitly admit the legality of their claim, and might be productive of troublesome consequences hereafter, and therefore he would by all means have the issue fairly tried. Mr. Arnold laughs heartily at the proposal, but says he is very much obliged to the lady for condescending to give up more than half, when her daughter has a right to the whole. Without whose consent he supposes it is not in the mother's power to make terms. I wish we were rid of this troublesome affair, as it must hurry us to town, sooner than we intended, and the country is still delightful. London, October the 1st. Again we have quitted our sweet retirement for the noise and bustle of London, but this law business, it seems, must be closely pursued, though our antagonist motions seem a little dilatory. We cannot find out the secret spring that sets the machine are going. The wheels, however, do not seem to move with such alacrity as they did. Though the widow still talks big, and says we shall repent of having rejected her offer. October the 3rd. My brother is arrived in town, but took care to settle himself in handsome commodious lodgings before he paid us a visit. For fear, I suppose, that we should again press him to accept of apartments in our house. I see he is determined to keep up nothing more than an intercourse barely civil. Mr. Arnold cannot but be disgusted with his behaviour, but he is too delicate to take notice of it to me. October the 7th. I am disappointed of my hopes of seeing my dear mother in time this winter. Her apartment was ready for her, and I delighted myself with the thoughts of seeing her in possession of it, at least for a few months. But she writes me word that her old rheumatic complaint is returned on her, with such violence that she cannot think of undertaking the journey. Sadly am I grieved at this news, and shall long to have the winter over that Mr. Arnold and I may fly to Sydney Castle. He has promised me this satisfaction early in the summer. My mother informs me that Miss Birchell constantly corresponds with her. She tells her that her aunt has come to town to solicit for her pension, but that she never sees her, and as she means to drop all correspondence with her, she does not intend even to let her know where she lodges. I commend Miss Birchell highly for this, as the acquaintance of such a woman may be hurtful to her reputation. Editors note. Here ensues another interval of nine months in which nothing particular is related, but that Mrs. Arnold became mother to a second child. This last circumstance, with a few others preceding and succeeding the event, are related in the journal by her maid, Patti, after which Mrs. Arnold herself proceeds. The Journal July 1st, 1705 Again my dear Cecilia, I am able to reassume my pen. I have read what Patti has written, find she is admirable at the anecdotes of a nursery. Am I not rich, thank you, two daughters and both perfect beauties, and great wits, you may be sure. The newborn damsel was baptized this day by the dear-loved name of Cecilia. I am angry with Mr. Arnold. He takes so little notice of this young stranger. His affections are all engaged by Dolly. Indeed, I am almost jealous of her, for he spends most of the time he's at home in the nursery. Our antagonist has grown alert again, and has renewed her efforts, which we thought began to flag a little, with fresh vigor. Whence she derives, those revived hopes is still a mystery. But she now says she would not accept of a composition if it were offered. My poor Mr. Arnold begins to fret a little. It now and then makes him thoughtful. Not that he says he has the least doubt about his success, but he has been much harassed with the necessary attendance that the cause requires, and downright tired with dangling after lawyers. Besides, they say the cause cannot come to a hearing in the ensuing term, though they before made us hope that it would be at an end long before this time. July 3 I am mortified exceedingly, my dear Cecilia. I find I'm not likely to see my mother this summer. I thought I could not have lived so long from her sight. Indeed, it was purely in the hope of making her this visit that I prevented her coming to town in the spring, which she purposed doing, though far from being well enough to undertake the journey. I own I have been impatient under my confinement, as that and my previous circumstances detained us so long in town, and I this day asked Mr. Arnold when we should set out for Sidney Castle. He answered me that he feared it would not be in his power this season to pay the intended visit to my mother. He says he has not been near his estate in Kent these five years, except for a day or two at a time, and that he thinks it necessary to see what condition it is in. I believe I told you that there is a pretty house on it, the place is called South Park, and is that which my mother chose for my settlement. Mr. Arnold, who always preferred Arnold Abbey to it, hardly ever visited this place, and as he never resided there and only lay at an inn when he went down, the house is unfurnished, accepting a room or two, which a man who receives his rent has just made habitable for his own convenience. But that I have laid it down as a rule never to oppose so good, so indulgent a husband as Mr. Arnold is, in any instance wherein I do not think a superior duty requires me to do so, I should certainly show some disapprobation of what he now purposes doing. It will be attended by so much trouble, so much expense too. He has ordered the house at South Park to be completely furnished, and says he hopes I shall like it so well as to be induced to pass the remainder of the summer there. Most sure it is, every place will be delightful to me where I can enjoy his company and have my dear little babes with me, but me thinks two country houses are an unnecessary charge, and more than suits our fortune. I pray God this tender husband may not have a strong and prudent reason for this conduct, which out of kindness he conceals. Perhaps he thinks this little spot at South Park may some time hence be the whole of our dependence, and he has a mind to be beforehand with ill fortune in rendering that retreat agreeable to me, and rather an object of choice than of necessity. If this be his motive how much am I obliged to him he is not hinted anything like it, nor would I dash the pleasure he seems to promise himself there by insinuating the least suspicion of what his reasons are for going to it. If we lose Arnold Abbey and the whole estate belonging to it, I shall only regret it for his sake. End of Section 12. Section 13 of Memoirs of Miss Sydney Bidolf. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Memoirs of Miss Sydney Bidolf by Francis Sheridan. Volume 1 continued. July 8. July 8. We are to set out to morrow my Cecilia for our place in Kent. I have made the best apology that I could to my mother, and Mr. Arnold too has writ to her, but I know she will be extremely disappointed at not seeing us. July 12. We are safely arrived at South Park. Mr. Arnold in high spirits and my two young travellers bore their fatigue extremely well. I am not surprised that Mr. Arnold liked the old family seat better than this. I cannot say I am much charmed with it, but I will not let him see that. I effect to admire and seem pleased with everything that affords me the least opportunity of commendation. The house is a very neat one. It has not been many years built, and is in perfectly good repair. It is gentile, though plainly furnished, and we have tolerable gardens. But as the whole domain is let, we are obliged to take a few fields from one of our tenants to supply our immediate wants. We are in a very gentile and populous neighbourhood, and within a mile of a good market-town. July 20. I have regretted nothing so much in my absence from Arnold Abbey as the being cut off from the hope of seeing my amiable Mrs. Veer. We can have but one friend to share our heart, to whom we have no reserve and whose loss is irreparable, but I perceive the absence of a pleasing acquaintance, whose society is no farther necessary to us than as it contributes to enliven solitude, and gets a preference to others merely by comparison, is a loss easily supplied. This I find by experience. There are Mrs. Veer's everywhere, but alas, there is but one Cecilia. I was visited to-day by two ladies that I am charmed with, though it is the first time I have seen either of them. The one is Lady Veer, of whom you have formerly heard. Her Lord and she came together. Their seat is within a mile of us, and Mr. Arnold has a slight acquaintance with Lord Veer before. My lady is about forty, and has that kind of countenance that at once invites your confidence. I never saw integrity, benevolence, and good sense more strongly pictured in a face. Her address is so plain, so perfectly free from affectation, or any of the little supercilious forms of ceremony, that a person ignorant of what true politeness consists in would imagine she wanted breeding. Yet she received her education in a court, but she seems to let good sense and good nature preside over all her words and actions, rather than form. She told me she had deferred her visit to me longer, perhaps, than the laws of decorum would admit of, as we were such near-neighbours, but said she, I was determined not to be overlooked in the crowd of visitors that have been thronging to you every day since you came down. The character I have heard of you makes me wish for an intimacy with you, and you are not to look upon this as a visit of ceremony, but as an advance towards the friendship I wish to cultivate. She spoke this with so frank an air that, flattering as a compliment appeared, I could not help believing her sincere, and thought myself, that my appearance did not diminish that good opinion which she said she had conceived of me from report. Lord V. is many years older than his lady, a robust man, as plain in his way as her lady is in hers, though his way and hers are very different, for he is frank even to bluntness, but the best-humoured man living. The other lady whom I mentioned is a widow, her name is Gerard, and she lives upon a little estate she has in this neighbourhood. I think I never be held so fine a creature, she is about six and twenty. Her stature, which is much above the common size, is rendered perfectly graceful and majestic by one of the finest shapes in the world. If her face is not altogether so regularly beautiful as her person, it is, however, handsome enough to render any woman charming who has nothing else to boast of. Whether her understanding be of a peace with the rest, I have not yet been able to discover. Her visit to me was but short, for she had not sat with me an hour when Lady V came in, and she then took her leave. But by what I could observe in that little time, she seems to have as much vivacity and agreeable humour as I ever met within anyone. She pressed me to dine with her at her cottage as she calls it to-morrow, and I like her too well to refuse the invitation. These two charming women, I think, I shall single out for my chief intimates, from the crowd which have been to complement me on my coming into this country. Mr. Arnold is mightily pleased with them both, but he gives the preference to Lady V, whom, though he had a slight acquaintance with her Lord, he never knew before. But he is almost as great a stranger in this place as I am. He is highly delighted at my having met with people who are likely to render it agreeable to me. July 21st We dine to-day according to appointment with Mrs. Gerard. A cottage, she called her house, nor does it appear much better at the outside, but within it is a fairy palace. Never was anything so neat, so elegant, so perfectly well fancied as the fitting-up of all her rooms. Her bed-champions are furnished with fine chints, and her drawing-room with the prettiest Indian satin I ever saw. Her little villa is called Ashby, and her husband, she told me, purchased it for her some time before his death, and left it to her. But she has since had a considerable addition to her fortune by the death of a relation. Our entertainment was splendid almost to profusion, though there was no company but Mr. Arnold and I. I told her, if she always gave such dinners, it would frighten me away from her. Indeed, it was the only circumstance in her whole conduct that did not please me, for I was charmed with the rest of her behaviour. They must surely be of a very childish disposition who are not pleased, where a manifest desire to oblige is conspicuous in every word and action. If Mrs. Gerard is not as highly polished as some women are, who perhaps have a more enlarged education, she makes full amends for it by a perfect good humour, a sprightliness always entertaining, and a quickness of thought that gives her conversation an air of something very like-wit, and which I dare say passes for the thing itself with most people. July 24th I have returned Lady V's visit, and am more delighted with her than before. Mr. Arnold went with me, but my lord not being at home, he went to ramble about the grounds, so that I had a long tet-a-tet with Lady V. She is an admirable woman, so fine an understanding, such delicacy of sentiment, and such an unaffected complacence in her manner, that I do not wonder my lord perfectly adores her. There is a tenderness, a maternal kindness in her behaviour towards me, that fills me at once with love and reverence for her, and next to my Cecilia, I think I never met with any woman who I could so highly esteem as Lady V. She is an admirable mistress of her needle, and every room in her house exhibits some production of a very fine genius, united with very great industry. For there are beds, chairs, and carpets, beside some very pretty rural prospects in panels, executed with inimitable skill, and very excellent taste. She tells me, if I would give her leave to bring her work with her, she will live whole days with me. I am rejoiced now that Mr. Arnold thought of coming to South Park, how valuable is the acquaintance of such a woman as Lady V, and I might never have known her but for a circumstance to which I was at first so averse, and then my agreeable, lively Mrs. Gerard. My acquaintance, at Arnold Abbey, begin to fade upon my memory, to say the truth I think of none of them with pleasure but Mrs. Via, and my good-humoured old Dean. August the 4th. Mrs. Gerard is a little saucy monopolist, she grumbles if I do not see her every day, and is downright jealous of my intimacy with Lady V. They are acquainted, but I do not find there is a very close intercourse between them. Mrs. Gerard says, her ladyship is too good a housewife for her, and, as she is not very fond of needlework herself, she cannot endure people that are always pouring over a frame. I find, indeed, that this sprightly rogue is fonder of cards than of work. She draws Mr. Arnold and me in very often for a pool at P.K. At her house I am obliged to submit, but at my own I often take up a book, when she and Mr. Arnold are engaged at their game, and make them decide the contest between themselves. Nay, I threaten that I will some night or other steal to bed and leave them, for she is unconscionable at late hours, and as she lives very near us and keeps a chariot she does not scruple to go home at any hour of the night. What a pity it is so amiable a woman should be thus fondly attached to so unprofitable an amusement, for I begin to see play as her foyball, though to do her justice she never engages but for very trifling sums, and that only in our own little domestic way. But this passion may grow upon her, and she may be led unawares into the losing more than her fortune can bear. August the 12th I never was so disconcerted as I have been this day. You will be surprised when I tell you. It was by my good Lady V. She came to pass the day with me, Mr. Arnold, being engaged abroad. We were both sitting at work in the parlour. Lady V had continued silent for a good while, at last looking at me with a most benign smile for I had at the same instant cast my eyes at her. I was just then thinking, my dear Mrs. Arnold, said she, that I once, though perhaps you did not know it, flattered myself with the hopes of being related to you. Her words threw me into confusion, though I did not know their meaning. It would have been both an honour and a happiness to me, madam, I replied, though I don't know by what means I was ever likely to possess it. She continued smiling, but seemed in suspense whether she should proceed. You will pardon my curiosity, my dear, said she, but give me leave to ask whether Mr. Arnold was not once near losing the happiness he now enjoys. I felt my face glow as she spoke. There was once a treaty of marriage on foot, madam, I answered, between me and another gentleman. I am sorry I mentioned it, said my lady, observing my confusion. But as I was no stranger to the affair while it was transacting, and Mr. Falkland is a kinsman of mine, I hope you will forgive my inquisitiveness. For I own I have a curiosity, which I believe nobody but yourself can gratify, and if I did not think you the most candid as well as the best tempered creature living, I dost not push my inquiry. My lord, you are to know, was in London at the time Mr. Falkland was first introduced to you, and as they are extremely fond of each other, Mr. Falkland did not scruple to disclose his passion to him, nor the success it then appeared likely to be crowned with, giving him at the same time such a character of you, as I have since found you deserve. When my lord returned to V. Hall, which he was obliged to do very soon after Mr. Falkland had made his discovery to him, he informed me of the alliance my cousin Falkland was going to make, and we were pleasing ourselves with the thoughts of congratulating him on his happiness, when we received a letter from him that put an end to all our expectations. This letter contained but four distracted lines. He told my lord in broken sentences that he had lost all hopes of Miss Bidolf, that an act of indiscretion had been construed into a capital crime, and that being banished from the presence of the woman he adored, he was immediately about to bid adieu to England, perhaps for ever. This was the substance of what he wrote to us. We have heard from him since a few times, but he never cleared up the matter to us, nor ever so much as mentioned it. I have not been in London since. My lord has, but he never could get any light into the mystery. He heard from some of our friends who knew of the intended match that it was broke off nobody knew why. There were, however, several idols Somaise's thrown out. Some laid the blame on Mr. Falkland, and some on you, but the truth, I believe, remains still a secret. Now, my dear, if my curiosity is improper, or if there was any particular motive to this disappointment of my kinsman's hopes, which you don't choose to reveal, forgive my inquiry, and think no more of it, but take out that book, and read to me while I work. Though my lady gave me this kind opportunity of evading her question, I did not lay hold of it. I did not, indeed, choose to reveal the whole of this affair, because I did not think myself at liberty to divulge Miss Birchell's secret, however I might discover my own. I told my lady in general terms, that though Mr. Falkland might pretend to a lady every way my superior, yet there was an objection to him of no small weight with us, that my mother had been informed of a very recent piece of gallantry he had had with a person of some condition, and that it had disgusted her so much, she could not think of uniting me with a man whose passions were not a little more staid, and that this was the sole reason of her dislike to a gentleman who was in every other respect unexceptionable. I am glad it was no worse, said Lady V, smiling. I am sure Mr. Falkland is not capable of a base action, youthful follies he may have had, though I believe as few even of those to answer for as most men of his years. I make not the least doubt, however, that Lady Bidoff was guided by prudence in what she did. She certainly could not be too cautious in the disposal of such a child as you, and whatever Mr. Falkland's disappointment may be, you, I hope, are happy. Lady V looked at me as she pronounced these words with an inquisitive though tender regard. I was glad of an opportunity of enlarging on the merits of Mr. Arnold, and told her I was as happy as my heart could wish all the worthiest of men could make me. I am glad of it, said she, with a quickness in her voice, but don't imagine, my dear Mrs. Arnold, and she took me by the hand, that I introduced this conversation many to gratify her curiosity, which I fear you must condemn in your private thoughts, though you have been so good as to satisfy it. I had another reason, a much stronger one. What is it, dear madam? Almost starting with apprehensions of I did not know what. Don't be alarmed, said she, smiling. It is only this. A great aunt of Mr. Falkland's is lately dead, who has left him a considerable personal estate, and he is coming over to take possession of it. Otherwise I don't know when we should have seen him in England. My Lord had a letter very lately from him. He was there at Turin, where he had met with our eldest son who is now on his travels. He told us he had letters and some tokens of love to deliver us from him, and that he should immediately on his arrival in England come to V. Hall, where he would pass a month with us. Now, as we expect him daily, I had a mind to apprise you of his intended visit, that you might not be surprised by perhaps unexpectedly meeting him at my house. I thanked her ladyship for her obliging caution, though I thought it had something in it that mortified me. I told her that, though I should not seek to renew my acquaintance with Mr. Falkland, I had yet no reason to avoid him. Lady V, who was extremely quick of apprehension, replied, Without doubt, madam, you have not. But you might be surprised at seeing him, not withstanding. She presently turned the discourse, but made me happy the whole day by that inexhaustible fund of good sense in improving knowledge of which she is mistress. Mr. Arnold came not home till very late. He complains that he has got into a no of acquaintance that liked the bottle too well. But I am sure his natural sobriety is such that it will not be in the power of example to lead him into intemperance. Though I am vexed he has fallen into such acquaintance because I know drinking is disagreeable to him. Yet a country gentleman must sometimes give a little into it to avoid the character of being singular. August 22nd. Surprised I was not because I came prepared, but I was abashed at seeing Mr. Falkland to-day. Mr. Arnold and I were invited to dine at Lord V's, and his lordship and his guest came in from the fields where they had been walking, just as we were ready to sit down to table. There happened to be a good deal more company. Mr. Falkland was not introduced, so that there was no room for anything constrained or improper of either side. I presently recovered the little embarrassment that his first entrance into the room occasioned. I am sure nobody took notice of it, for dinner being immediately served there was a sort of bustle in hurrying out of the drawing-room. The crowd we had at table destroyed all conversation, and nothing particular was said during dinner. Lady V soon withdrew and all her female friends followed her. I observed she frequently glanced her penetrating eyes at Mr. Falkland while we were at table, but I did not choose to make any observations on him. We had not been long seated at our coffee when four of the gentlemen slipped from their company and came to us. These were Mr. Arnold, Mr. Falkland, and two others. My lord is pretty free at his bottle, and none of these gentlemen I suppose were fond of that entertainment. Lady V and I were sitting on a couch. I called to Mr. Arnold and placed him between us. Mr. Falkland approached me and then for the first time, with a respectful distance, inquired after my mother and Sir George, telling me he had missed of the latter when he was in London, being told he was at Sydney Castle. After a few more indifferent questions he took a dish of coffee and retired with it to a window. Mr. Arnold asked me in a whisper if I was acquainted with Mr. Falkland. I could only answer that I was formally very well acquainted with him. Nothing more passed between Mr. Falkland and me the whole evening. He returned soon to the company in the next room, and I saw no more of him. I can, with the utmost sincerity, assure my Cecilia that I now behold Mr. Falkland with as much indifference as I do any other man of my acquaintance. Time, joined to my own efforts, must, without any other help, have entirely subdued an inclination which was always restrained by prudential motives, and rendered subservient to my duty. But I have, besides this, now acquired a shield that must render me invulnerable. I mean the perfect and tender affection I bear my husband. This has completely secured me against the most distant apprehensions of being alarmed from any other quarter. Yet, notwithstanding all this, I can say that I am quite satisfied at this renewal of my acquaintance with Mr. Falkland. I hope, and indeed it is reasonable to suppose, that I have now as little interest in his heart as he has in my mind. It is but natural to believe that a gay young man like him should not be so weak as to nourish a hopeless passion for more than two years, especially as he has never once seen the object of it in all that time, and must without doubt have had his attention engaged to others in all likelihood much preferable to her, so that I think I have reason to be as easy on his account as on my own. But still I am disquieted in my mind. I have a delicacy that takes alarm at the various trifles, and has been a source of pain to me my whole lifetime. It makes me unhappy to think that I am now under an almost unavoidable necessity of sometimes seeing and conversing with a man who once had such convincing proofs that he was not indifferent to me. Mr. Arnold's ignorance of our former connections makes it still worse. At the time I was so averse to his knowing anything of this affair, I flattered myself that I should never see Mr. Falkland more, or at least never be obliged to have any intercourse with him. But I now lament that I did not take my mother's advice and disclose the whole affair at first. Oh, my Cecilia, when the smallest deviations from candor which we suppose discretion are thus punished with remorse, what must they feel whose whole life is one continued act of dissimulation? If Mr. Arnold had been acquainted with my former engagements, my heart would be more at ease, and I should then converse with this man with all the disengaged freedom of a common friend. I wish Mr. Arnold's curiosity would excite him to ask me some questions relative to my acquaintance with Mr. Falkland, that I might have an opportunity of telling him the secret. But the inquiry he made at Lady V's was in a careless manner. He was satisfied with my reply, and spoke not of him since. You will laugh, perhaps, when I tell you that I have not courage to mention it first. Mr. Falkland is reckoned a very fine gentleman, and I think it would have such an air of vanity to tell my husband that I refused him. Then it would bring on such a train of explanations, and poor Miss Birchell's history must come out. For a husband on such a subject might be disgusted with concealments of any kind, and I doubt whether even some circumstances in my particular share of this story might not displease him. In short, I am bewildered and know not what to wish for, but must even let things take their course, and rest assured in the integrity of my own heart. August the 26th. Oh, my dear, I am mortified to the last degree, lest Mr. Arnold should from some indiscreet tongue have received a hint of my former engagement. He may think me disingenuous for never having mentioned it, especially since Mr. Falkland has been in the neighbourhood. I think his nature is too open to entertain any suspicions essentially injurious to me. Yet may this affair circumstance as it is make an unfavourable impression on him. He has got so much abroad that the story may have reached his ears. God forbid it should affect his mind with causeless uneasiness. I would, Mr. Falkland, was a thousand miles from V. Hall. I think Mr. Arnold has altered since his arrival there. Colder he appears to be. I hope but fancy it. Yet there is a change. His looks are less kind. His voice has lost that tenderness that it used to have in speaking to me. Yet this may only prove to be his temper, and man cannot always be a lover. Oh, I sicken at the very thought of Mr. Arnold's entertaining a doubt of my true affection for him. I would not live in this suspense for millions. I would rather he should treat me roughly if I discovered that to be his humour, though it would frighten me. Yet should I patiently conform to it? August the 30th. That which was ever the terror of my thoughts has come upon me. Mr. Arnold. Oh, my dear Cecilia, Mr. Arnold is no longer the same. Coldness and indifference have at length succeeded to love, to complacency and the fondest attention. What a change! But the cause, my dear, that remains a secret locked up in his own breast. It cannot be that a whisper and idle rumour should have affected him thus. What if he has heard that Mr. Falkland loved me once, that we were to have been married? Cannot he ask me the question? I long to set his heart at ease, yet cannot mention the affair first after so long a silence. It would look like a consciousness. Consciousness of what? I have nothing to accuse myself of. End of Section 13. Section 14 of Memoirs of Miss Sydney Bidolf. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Memoirs of Miss Sydney Bidolf by Francis Sheridan. Volume 1 continued. September the 1st. I am no longer in doubt. The cause, the fatal cause of Mr. Arnold's change, is discovered. This miserable day has disclosed the secret to me. A black, a complicated scene of mischief. Mr. Arnold rode out this morning. He told me he was to dine with a gentleman at some miles distance, and should not return till late in the evening. He was but just gone, when a lady of my acquaintance called in upon me to request I would go with her to a play that was to be performed at night. You must know we have had a company of players in the neighbourhood for some time past, and it was to one of these poor people's benefits that she desired my company. I promise to attend her, though you know I don't much admire those sort of entertainments in the country, and seldom go to them. The lady and her husband called upon me at the appointed hour, and I went with them in their coach. The place which the players had fitted up for their purpose, had formerly been a pretty large schoolroom, and could with the addition of a gallery, which they had made, with ease contain above three hundred people. The play had been bespoke by some of the principal ladies in the neighbourhood, who had used all their interest for the performer, so that the house was as full as it could hold. The audience consisting chiefly of fashionable people, it was with difficulty that we reached the places which were kept for us in the pit, as they happened to be on the bench next to the stage, and the door was at the other end of the house. The first object that I observed on my coming in was Mr. Falkland. He bowed to me at a distance, but made no attempts to approach me. The play was come to the latter end of the fourth act, and the curtain was let down to make some preparation on the stage, when we were alarmed with a cry of fire. It happened that the carpenters, who had been employed in fitting up this extemporary theatre, had left a heap of shavings in a little place behind the stage, which had been converted into a dressing-room. A little boy belonging to the company had found a candle in it, and having piled up the shavings, set them on fire, and left them burning. The flame communicated itself to some dry boards which lay in the room, and in a few minutes the hole was in a blaze. Some persons who heard the crackling of wood opened the door, when the flame burst out with such violence that the scenes were presently on fire, and the curtain, which as I told you was dropped, soon caught it. The consternation and terror of the poor people, whose all was being destroyed, is not to be described. The women, shrieking, threw themselves off the stage into the pit, as the smoke and flames terrified them from attempting to get out any other way, though there was a door behind the stage. The audience were in little less confusion than they, for as the house was composed chiefly of wood, everyone expected it would soon be consumed to ashes. The horror and distraction of my mind almost deprived me of the power of motion. My life was in imminent danger, for I was scorched with the fire, before I could get any distance from the stage, though the people were rushing out as fast as they could. The lady who was with me was exceedingly frightened, but being under her husband's care had a little more courage than I. He caught her round the waist and lifted her over the benches, which were very high, giving me what assistance he could with his other hand, but the terror and hurry I was in occasioned my foot to slip, and I fell between two of the benches and sprained my ankle. Some people, pushing to get out, rushed between me and my company. The excessive pain I felt joined to my fright made me faint away. In this condition Mr. Falkland found me, and carried me out in his arms. For my companion was too anxious for her own safety to suffer her husband to stay, to give me any assistance, so that he had only time to beg of the men about him, not to let me perish. I soon recovered upon being carried into the open air, and found myself seated on some planks at a little distance from the booth. Mr. Falkland supporting me and two or three other people about me, whom he had called to my assistance. Indettered to him as I was for saving my life, my spirits were at that time too much agitated to thank him as I ought. He told me he had stepped behind the scenes to speak to somebody, and was there when the stage took fire, that he then ran to give what assistance he could to the ladies that were in the house. Observe he distinguished not me in particular, and to just come in when he saw me meet with the accident which had occasioned my fainting away, and when the gentleman who was with me was calling for help, but at that same time getting out as fast as he could. I now began to recollect myself. I was uneasy at Mr. Falkland's presence. I wished him away. I beseeched him to return once more to the booth, to see if every one had got out safe, for I told him I had seen several of my female acquaintance there for whom I was alarmed. With the assistance of the people who were about me, I said I could make a shift to get to the nearest house, which was not above a hundred yards off, from whence I should send home for my chariot, which I had ordered to come for me after the play. He begged I would give him leave to see me safe to that house, but I would not permit him, and he left me in the care of two women and a man who had come to be spectators of the fire. With the help of these people I contrived to hobble, for my ankle pained me exceedingly, to the place I mentioned, which happened to be a public house. All the rooms below were full, and the woman of the house very obligingly helped me upstairs into her own chamber. I called for a glass of water, which was immediately brought me, and I desired the woman to send someone to my house, which was about a mile's distance, to order my chariot to come for me immediately. While the woman went to execute my instructions, I had thrown myself into a chair which stood close to the Wainscot. I heard a bell ring, and presently a waiter entered and asked if I wanted anything. I told him no. He ran hastily out of the room and entering the next to that where I was sitting, I heard a voice, which I knew to be Mr. Arnold's, ask were the servants found? The man replying that they were not. Then said Mr. Arnold, tell your mistress she will oblige me if she will let me have her shades, to carry this lady home. The waiter presently withdrew, and without reflecting on the particularity of Mr. Arnold's being there with a lady, about whom I formed no conjectures, I was about to rise off my chair to go into him, but being almost disabled from walking, I was obliged to creep along holding by the Wainscot, when a tender exclamation of Mr. Arnold stopped me. My dearest creature, said he to his companion, you have not yet recovered your fright. A female voice answered him with some fond expressions, which I could not hear distinctly enough to discover whose it was, but I was soon put out of doubt when the lady added in a louder tone. Do you know that your wife was at the play tonight? Mr. Arnold answered, no, I hope she did not see me. Mrs. Gerard, for I perceived it was she who spoke, replied, I hope not, because perhaps she might expect you home after the play. Though Mr. Arnold, in his first emotion of surprise at hearing that I was at the play, was only anxious lest I should have observed him, yet he was not so lost to humanity as to be indifferent whether I escaped the flames or not. I am surprised I did not see her, said he. I wish she may have got out of the house safe. You are very solicitous about her, replied Mrs. Gerard, peevishly. There was one there perhaps as anxious for her preservation as you are. The conversation I found here was likely to become extremely critical for me, but I was prevented from hearing any more by the woman of the house, who just then entered the room to ask me how I did, and to know if I wanted anything. I had heard enough to convince me that my presence would be very unacceptable, both to Mr. Arnold and his companion, and I resolved not to interrupt them, nor if possible ever let Mr. Arnold know that I had made a discovery so fatal to my own peace, and so disadvantageous to him and his friend. The messenger who had been dispatched for my chariot met it by the way, and was now returned with it. I was told that it was at the door, and it was with difficulty I got downstairs leaning on the woman of the house. I found Mr. Fultland at the door. He saw that I wished to disengage myself from him after he had carried me out of the booth, and though probably he did not take the trouble to execute the sham commission I gave him, which was indeed with no other view than to get him away, yet I believe he had too much respect to intrude on me, and came then with no other design than to inquire if my chariot had come for me, and how I was after the terrible condition he had left me in, sitting at night in the open air with nobody but two or three ordinary people about me, and those strangers. This was a piece of civility which humanity, had politeness been out of the question, would have obliged him to. He told me the fire was extinguished, and happily nobody had received any hurt, and that he had only called at the house to know if I were safe, and recovered from the fright and pain he had left me in. I thanked him, and was just stepping, assisted by Mr. Fultland into the chariot, when Mr. Arnold appeared at the door. He was alone, and I concluded, that having heard the chariot rattle up the courtyard, he supposed it was the carriage he had ordered for Mrs. Gerard, and had come down to see if it was ready to receive her. The light which the servant who attended me out held in his hand immediately discovered Mr. Arnold and me to each other. I could easily distinguish surprise, mixed with displeasure in his countenance. He asked me abruptly how I came to that place, which I told him in a few words. The cold civility of a grave bow passed between him and Mr. Fultland, who, leaving me in my husband's hands, wished me a good night, and got into my Lord V's coach which waited for him. Though I knew from the discourse I had heard that Mr. Arnold did not mean to go home with me, yet as I was now seated in the chariot I could not avoid asking him. He told me he was engaged to sup with company at that house, and that probably he should not be at home till late. I knew this beforehand, and without troubling him with any further questions drove home. I have thrown together the strange occurrences of this evening, as well as the tumult of my spirits would give me leave. I shall now lay down my pen to consider of them a little more calmly. My heart sinks in me. Oh, that I had remained in ignorance. Is it possible, my Cecilia, that Mr. Arnold, so good a man, one who married me, too, for love, and who, for these two years, has been the tendrest, the kindest husband, and to whom I never gave the most distant shadow of offence, should at last be led into—I cannot name it. Dare not think of it. Yet a hundred circumstances recur to my memory which now convince me I am unhappy. If I had not been blind, I might have seen it sooner. I recollect some passages which satisfy me that Mr. Arnold's acquaintance with Mrs. Gerard did not commence at South Park. I remember Lady V once asked me, had she and I been acquainted in London, I said no. My Lord laughed, and in his blunt way said, I will swear your husband was, for I have seen him hander out from the play more than once. I never asked Mr. Arnold about this. It made no impression on me at the time it was spoke, and went quickly out of my thoughts. It is one o'clock. I hear Mr. Arnold's ring at the outer gate. I tremble all over and feel as if I feared to see him. Yet why should I fear? I have not injured him. September 2 Mr. Arnold stayed long enough in his dressing room after he came in last night to give me time to go to bed before he came upstairs—not a word passed between us. I slept not the whole night, whether he did or not I cannot tell. He asked me this morning when I rose how I did. I told him in great pain. My ankle was prodigiously swelled and turned quite black, for I had neglected it last night. He said, you had better let a surgeon see it, and went carelessly out of the room. How new is unkindness to me, my friend! You know I have not been used to it. Mr. Arnold adds cruelty to—but let it be so. Far be reproaches or complaints from my lips. To you only, my second self, shall I utter them. To you I am bound, by solemn promise, and reciprocal confidence, to disclose the inmost secrets of my soul, and with you they are as safe as in my own breast. I am once more composed and determined on my behaviour. I have not a doubt remaining of Mr. Arnold's infidelity, but let me not aggravate my own griefs, nor to a vicious world justify my husband's conduct by bringing any reproach on my own. The silent sufferings of the injured must, to a mind not ungenerous, be a sharper rebuke than it is in the power of language to inflict. But this is not all. I must endeavour, if possible, to screen Mr. Arnold from censure. I hope his own imprudence may not render these endeavours ineffectual. I am resolved not to drop my acquaintance with Mrs. Gerard, while we continue upon a footing of seeming intimacy the frequent visits which I am sure Mr. Arnold makes at her house will be less taken notice of. House of George would triumph at the knowledge of Mr. Arnold's deviating from virtue, how my poor mother would be amazed and afflicted. But I will, as far lies in my power, disappoint the malice of my stars. My mother shall have no cause to grieve, nor my brother to rejoice. The secret shall die with me in my own bosom, and I will wait patiently till the hand of time applies a remedy to my grief. Mrs. Gerard sent a message to inquire how I did. Conscious woman! She would not come herself, though she knew not I had discovered her. My dear good Lady V. hurried to see me the instant she had breakfasted. Mr. Folkland had told her of my disaster, and her tenderness soothed and comforted me much. She sat by my bedside two hours, and her discourse alleviated the pain both of my mind and body. But now she has left me, I must again recur to the subject that rings my heart. Mr. Arnold is enslaved to one of the most artful of her sex. I look upon his attachment to be the more dangerous, as I believe it is the first of the kind he ever had, and no woman was ever more formed to please and to deceive than she who now holds him in her chains. Into what hands am I fallen? Mrs. Gerard must have heard my story, and by the hint I heard her drop what cruel misrepresentations may she have made to Mr. Arnold. Mr. Folkland she can have no enmity to, but me she certainly hates, for she has injured me. Tis noon I have not seen Mr. Arnold since morning. He has been abroad ever since he rose. Good God, is this the life I am condemned to lead? A new scene of affliction opened to me. Surely my fate is drawing towards a crisis. Mr. Arnold has just left me. What a conversation have we had! After entering my room he walked about for some minutes without speaking, at last stopping short and fixing his eyes upon me. How long have you, said he, been acquainted with Mr. Folkland? I told him my acquaintance began with him some months before I was married. He was once your lover, I am informed. He was, and a treaty of marriage was concluded on between us. You would have been happier, perhaps, madam, if it had taken place. I do not think so, Mr. Arnold. You have no reason to suppose I do. I had a very great objection to Mr. Folkland, and obeyed my mother willingly when she forbid me to see him. I asked not what that object was, said he, but I suppose, madam, you will without reluctance obey me if I make the same request to you? Most cheerfully, you cannot make a request with which I should more readily comply. But let me beseech you, Mr. Arnold, to tell me what part of my behaviour has given you cause to think such a prohibition necessary? I do not say, answered Mr. Arnold, that I have any suspicion of your virtue, but your acquiescence in this particular is necessary to my peace, and your own honour. A lady's being married does not cut off the hopes of a gay man. You give me your promise that you will not see him any more. I do, said I. I will give up Lady V, whose acquaintance I so much esteem. I will go no more to her house while Mr. Folkland continues there, and I know of no other family where I visit that he is acquainted with. My pride would not suffer me to inquire where he had got his information, I already knew too well, and fearing he would rather descend to an untruth and tell me his author, I declined any further questions. He seemed satisfied with my promise, but quickly left me as if the whole end of his visit to me was accomplished in having obtained it. September the 8th. What painful minutes am I obliged to sustain? Mrs. Gerard has been to see me, gay and assured as ever. She effected to condole with us on the accident that happened to my foot, with such an overstrained concern, such a tender solicitude, that her insincerity disgusted me, if possible more than the other part of her behaviour. She told me she herself had been at the play, but very luckily had got out without receiving any injury. I said I was surprised I had not seen her there. Oh! replied she, I was in a little snug corner, where nobody could see me. For having refused to go with some ladies that asked me, I did not choose to be visible in the house, and so squeezed myself up into what they called their gallery, for I took nobody with me but my maid. Audacious woman! Is it not strange, my dear, that Mr. Arnold could be so weak as to humour her in the absurd frolic of going with her to such a place? For so it must have been, or perhaps she appointed him only to call for her at the play, and he might have arrived but just in time to a sister in getting out. No matter which it was. September the 9th. I was born to sacrifice my own peace to that of other people. My life has become miserable, but I have no remedy for it, but patience. Mr. Arnold spends whole days abroad. At night we are separated on account of my indisposition, so that we hardly ever converse together. What a dreadful prospect have I before me! O Cecilia, may you never experience the bitterness of having your husband's heart alienated from you. Lady V, that best of creatures, is with me constantly. She presses me to come to her house, as my ankle is now pretty well. Yet I am obliged to excuse myself. I am distressed to the last degree at the conduct I should be forced to observe towards her. Yet dare not explain the motive. Causeless jealousy is always the subject of ridicule and at all events. Mr. Arnold must not be exposed to this. September the 12th. I am weary of inventing excuses for absenting myself from V Hall. My lady is done soliciting me, yet continues her friendly and affectionate visits. I fear she guesses my situation, though she is not as yet hinted at it, but her forebearing to press me any more on the subject of going to her, and at the same time not requiring a reason for this breach of civility, as well as friendship, convinces me that she suspects the cause of my restraint. I am now perfectly recovered. Yet do I still confine myself to my house, to avoid as much as possible giving umbrage to Lady V. But this restraint cannot last much longer. Mrs. Gerard teases me to come to her, and I have promised to make her my first visit. September the 15th. Said I not that my fate was near its crisis. Where will this impending ruin end? Take, my Cecilia, the occurrences of this frightful day. Mr. Arnold rode out this morning and told me he should not return till night. He asked me, with that indifference which now accompanies all his words, how I meant to dispose of myself for the day. I told him I had no design of going abroad, and should spend my time in reading, or at my needle. This was my real intention, but Mr. Arnold had but just left the house when I received a message from Mrs. Gerard, to know how I did, and to tell me she was not well and much out of spirits, or she would come and pass the day with me, but that she insisted on my dining with her. As I had told Mr. Arnold I did not mean to go out, I really had neither intention nor inclination to do so, but shall I confess my weakness to you? I suspected that he purposed spending the day, as he often did, with Mrs. Gerard, and the more so from the question he had asked me on his going abroad. He thought I might probably pay her a visit, and this intrusion was a circumstance he had a mind to be guarded against by knowing beforehand my designs. I had not been to see Mrs. Gerard since my recovery, and it was natural to suppose I would return her visit. Possessed as I was with this opinion, her message gave me a secret satisfaction, as it served to convince me Mr. Arnold was not to be with her, for she generally detained me late when I went to her house. From what trivial circumstances will the afflicted draw consolation, or an additional weight of grief? So it was, I felt a sort of pleasure in thinking that for all that day at least, Mr. Arnold would absent himself from my rival. My rival, mean word, she is not worthy to be called so, from his mistress, let it be. In short, I resolved to go, especially as she had sent me word she was not well, and I knew my husband would be pleased with my complacence. I went accordingly to her house a little before her hour of dining, which is much later than anybody else's in this part of the world. I found her dressed out, and seemingly in perfect health. She looked surprised when she saw me, and I then supposed that she hoped to have received a denial from me, and was disappointed at my coming, though I wondered that the answer she received to her message had not prepared her. This thought rushed into my mind in an instant, and I was sure she expected Mr. Arnold. I told her, if I had thought I should have found her so well, that her message should not have brought me to her, for that I had determined not to stir out that day till her invitation prevailed on me to change my mind. Sure, my dear, said she, there must have been some mistake in delivering the message to you, for it was for to-morrow I desired the pleasure of your company to dine with me. For to-day I am absolutely engaged. However, I am very glad you are come, for I shall not go out till seven o'clock. I was vexed and mortified. Either your servant or mine made a mistake, said I, for I was told you desired to see me to-day. Besides, you sent me word you were not well. She seemed a little abashed at this. I was very ill in the morning, she said, and though I was engaged to spend the evening abroad did intend to have sent my excuse, but finding myself better, I changed my purpose. Dinner was immediately served, and I sat down, but with a reluctance that prevented me from eating. I would have taken my leave soon after dinner, but Mrs. Gerard insisted on my staying, and told me if I refused her she should think I had taken something amiss of her. She called for cards. I suffered myself to be persuaded, and we fell to pique. I played with disgust, and without attention, every minute wishing to break away. Coffee was at length brought in. I begged to be excused from staying, telling Mrs. Gerard I was sure I prevented her from going abroad, but she would take no denial. I was constrained to take a dish of coffee, and was hastening to get it down, when the parlour door flew open and low. Mr. Falkland entered the room. If an object the most horrible to human nature had appeared before me, it could not at that instant have shocked me half so much. I let the cup and saucer drop from hand. To say I turned pale, trembled, and was ready to faint, would be too feeble a description of the effect this spectre had on me. I was senseless. I almost died away. Mrs. Gerard pretended to be greatly alarmed. She ran for drops, and having given me a few in a glass of water, I made a shift to rise of my chair, and telling her I should be glad of a little air tottered to the street door. I determined to go home directly, but the universal tremor I was now in disabled me from walking, and I sat down in the porch to recover myself a little. Mr. Falklands, having been a witness to the agony his presence thrown me into, did not a little aggravate the horror and confusion of my thoughts. Whatever his were he had not spoken to me, nor was it possible for me to have remarked his behaviour. I stayed not more than two minutes in the parlour after he entered. In this situation you will think my distress would hardly admit of any addition, but the final blow was yet to come. Mrs. Gerard had stayed a minute in the parlour to speak to Mr. Falklands after I went out, but presently followed me, and was soothing me with the kindest expressions when I heard the trampling of horses, and presently beheld Mr. Arnold alighting at the door. I now gave myself up for lost. My mind suddenly suggested to me that Mrs. Gerard had contrived a plot upon my innocence. But how she had been able to bring it about? My thoughts were not then disengaged enough to conceive. My mind was all a chaos. I was not able to answer Mr. Arnold when he spoke to me. He soon perceived my disorder and inquired the cause. Mrs. Gerard took upon her to answer that I was just preparing to go home, when I was taken suddenly ill. I was going abroad, said she, and as I ordered the chariot much about this hour, I fancy it is ready, and may as well carry Mrs. Arnold home. You had better step into the parlour, my dear, to me, till it is brought to the door. I am now able to walk, madam, said I. There is no occasion to give you that trouble. Mr. Arnold said I should not walk by any means, and Mrs. Gerard immediately calling a servant to order the chariot to the door said, as she was going out, she would leave me at home herself. Mr. Arnold answered it would be the best way and that he should follow soon. The chariot was presently at the door, and I was preparing to get into it when Mrs. Gerard cried, Bless me, I had forgotten. It will not be so civil to leave the gentleman behind without saying anything to him. Mr. Arnold hastily asked, What gentleman? Mrs. Gerard replied, Mr. Falkland, who took it into his head to make me a visit this evening. She went quickly into the parlour and straight returned with Mr. Falkland, who, bowing carelessly to Mr. Arnold, and civilly to me, walked away. Mrs. Gerard stepped into the chariot to me and ordered it to drive to my house, leaving Mr. Arnold standing motionless at her door. A total silence prevailed on my side during our short journey home, except to her answer in mono-syllables Mrs. Gerard's repeated inquiries after my health. She set me down at my own door and took her leave without a lighting. When I found myself alone I began to consider the consequences of this evening's fatal interview, an interview which, though unthought of by me, I judged was contrived to ensnare me. I laid all the circumstances together and endeavoured to unravel the clue. To his plain to me Mr. Arnold was expected by Mrs. Gerard this evening. She sent for me on purpose to betray me. The message, which she pretended was delivered wrong, was only an artifice, in order to impose on Mr. Arnold that he might imagine she did not expect me. Indeed, he could not possibly think she should send for me on the very evening he was to be with her, and she had so well guarded her contrivance that it was not easily to be detected. She had sent her message by word of mouth, though she generally wrote them down on paper, but this way would not have been liable to misconstruction. She had told me she was engaged in the evening yet detained me longer than I meant to stay. From the first of these circumstances it must appear to Mr. Arnold that, as I had come unwished for, she wanted to get rid of me. The latter obviously served her own purpose, for it is as clear as daylight that she laid her plan so that Mr. Arnold should find Mr. Falkland and me together. All this I have deduced from a long train of reasoning on the circumstances, that the inexplicable part of the mystery is how she contrived to get Mr. Falkland, with whom I did not think she was acquainted, to visit her at so fatally critical a juncture. Sure, some evil spirit must have assisted her in this wicked scheme. She knew no doubt of the promise Mr. Arnold had exacted of me never to see him. The apparent breach of this promise, she may have art enough to persuade Mr. Arnold, was concerted on my side, but I hope I should be able to clear myself of this cruel imputation to my husband. Truth must force its way into his mind if he is not resolved on my destruction. Perhaps Mr. Falkland may be secretly Mrs. Gerrard's admirer, and Mr. Arnold is the dupe to her perfidy, as I am the sacrifice to her malice and licentiousness. It is all a strange riddle, but I cannot remain long in this dismal state of suspense. Mr. Arnold perhaps may discover her treachery, while she is endeavouring to destroy me in his good opinion. I am waiting here like a poor criminal, in expectation of appearing before my judge. I wish Mr. Arnold would come in, yet I dread to see him. I might have spared myself the anxiety. Mr. Arnold has just returned, but he has locked himself into another chamber. I will not molest him to-night. Tomorrow, perhaps, he may be in better temper, and I may be able to justify myself to him, and dispel this frightful gloom that hangs over us.