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kinder return.' 'Indeed, dear Harriet,' answered Sophia, 'your story is an apology for any neglect; .but indeed I feel that I have been guilty of a remissness, without so good an excuse. -Yet pray proceed; for I long, though I tremble, to hear • the end.'

Thus then Mrs. Fitzpatrick resumed her narrative. My husband now took a second journey to

England, where he continued upwards of three ' months: during the greater part of this time, I led

I ' a life which nothing but having led a worse could

a * make me think tolerable; for perfect solitude can never be reconciled to a social mind, like mine, but when it relieves you from the company of those you hate. What added to my wretchedness, was " the loss of my little infant: not that I pretend to

have had for it that extravagant tenderness, of ' which I believe I might have been capable under other circumstances; but I resolved, in every instance, to discharge the duty of the tenderest 'mother; and this care prevented me from feeling 'the weight of that heaviest of all things, when it can be at all said to lie heavy on our hands.

• I had spent full ten weeks almost entirely by myself, having seen nobody all that time, except my servants and a very few visitors, when a young lady, a relation to my husband, came from a distant part of Ireland to visit me. She had staid 'once before a week at my house, and then I

gave her a pressing invitation to return; for she was a very agreeable woman, and had improved good ' natural parts by a proper educatiun. Indeed she ' was to me a most welcome guest. ' A few days after her arrival

, perceiving me in very low spirits, without inquiring the cause, " which indeed she very well knew, the · fell to compassionating my case. She said,

Though politeness had prevented me from complaining to my husband's relations of his behaviour; yet they all were very sensible of it, and


young lady

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“ felt great concern upon that account; but none

more than herself:” And after some more gene‘ral discourse on this head, which I own I could

not forbear countenancing; at last, after much ' previous precaution, and enjoined concealment, • she communicated to me, as a profound secret' that my husband kept a mistress.

• You will certainly imagine, I heard this news with the utmost insensibility -- Upon my word, ' if you do, your imagination will mislead

you. 'Contempt had not so kept down my anger to my husband, but that hatred rose again on this occasion. What can be the reason of this? Are we so abominably selfish, that we can be concerned at others having possession even of what we despise? or are we not rather abominably vain, and is not this the greatest injury done to our vanity ? What think you, Sophia ?'

'I don't know, indeed,' answered Sophia, 'I ' have never troubled myself with any of these ' deep contemplations; but I think the lady did very ill in communicating to you such a secret.'

* And yet, my dear, this conduct is natural,' replied Mrs. Fitzpatrick; “and when you have seen * and read as much as myself, you will acknowledge it to be so.'

'I am sorry to hear it is natural,' returned So. plia; for I want neither reading nor experience

to convince me, that it is very dishonourable and very ill-natured: nay, it is surely as ill-bred

'to tell a husband or wife of the faults of each • other, as to tell them of cheir own.'

• Well,' continued Mrs. Fitzpatrick, 'my hus• band at last returned ; and if I am thoroughly 'acquainted with my own thoughts, I hated him now more than ever; but I despised him rather less: for certainly nothing so much weakens our contempt, as an injury done to our pride or our 1 vanity.

! He now assumed a carriage to me so very dif

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• ferent from what he had lately worn, and so ‘ nearly resembling his behaviour the first week of

our marriage, that had I now had any spark of ' love remaining, he might, possibly, have rekindled my fondness for him. But though hatred may succeed to contempt, and may, perhaps, get the better of it, love. I believe, cannot. * The truth is, the passion of love is too restless to ' remain contented, without the gratification which ‘it receives from its object: and one can no more 'be inclined to love without loving, than we can ' have eyes without seeing. When a husband,

therefore, ceases to be the object of this passion, “it is most probable some other man-1 say, my dear, if your husband

husband grows indifferent to you‘if you once come to despise him—I say,—that ‘is, --if you have the passion of love in you' · Lud! i have bewildered myself so-but one is apt, in these abstracted considerations, to lose the concatenation of ideas, as A{r. Locke says.'In short, the truth is-in short, I scarce know . what it is; but as I was saying, my husband re

turned, and his behaviour, at first, greatly sur'prised me; but he soon acquainted me with the ·motive, and taught me to account for it. In a word, then, he had spent and lost all the ready money of my fortune; and as he could mortgage * his own estate no deeper, he was now desirous to supply himself with cash for his extravagance, by selling a little estate of mine, which he could 'not do without my assistance; and to obtain 'this favour was the whole and sole motive of all • the fondness which he now put on.

* With this I peremptorily refused to comply. ' I told him, and I told him truly, that had I been

possessed of the Indies at our first marriage, he might have commanded it all: for it had been a 'constant maxim with me, that where a woman disposes of her heart, she should always deposit her fortune; but as he had been so kind, long

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ago, to restore the former into my possession, I was resolved likewise to retain what little re'mained of the latter.

'I will not describe to you the passion into ' which these words, and the resolute air in which

they were spoken, threw him: nor will I trouble ' you

with the whole scene which succeeded between us. Out came, you may be well assured, the story of the mistress; and out it did come, with all the embellishments which anger and disdain could bestow upon it.

• Mr. Fitzpatrick seemed a little thunderstruck with this, and more confused than I had seen him; though his ideas are always confused enough, 'heaven knows. He did not, however, endeavour 'to exculpate himself; but took a method which • almost equally confounded me. What was this 'but recrimination! He affected to be jealous: 'he may, for aught I know, be inclined enough to

jealousy in his natural temper: nay, he must . have had it from nature, or the devil must have put it into his head; for I defy all the world to cast a just aspersion on my character: nay,

. 'the most scandalous tongues have never dared ' censure my reputation. My fame, I thank hea- ' ven, hath been always as spotless as my life;

, * and let falsehood itself accuse that, if it dare.

No, my dear Graveairs, however provoked, how' ever ill-treated, however injured in my love, I ' have firmly resolved never to give the least room • for censure on this account.- And yet, my dear, ' there are some people so malicious, some longues 'so venomous, that no innocence can escape them. * The most undesigned word, the most accidental

look, the least familiarity, the most innocent free• dom, will be misconstrued, and magnified into I

know not what, by some people. But I despise, 'my dear Graveairs, I despise all such slander.

No such malice, I assure you, ever gave me an 4 uneasy moment. No, no, I promise you I am ļ



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. above all that. But where was I? O let me see, I told you my husband was jealous-And of

— 'whom, pray?-Why of whom but the lieutenant • I mentioned to you before! He was obliged to ' resort above a year and more back, to find any

object for this unaccountable passion, if indeed ' he really felt any such, and was not an arrant counterfeit, in order to abuse me.

' But I have tired you already with too many particulars. I will now bring my story to a very speedy conclusion. In short, then, after many 'scenes very unworthy to be repeated, in which my cousin engaged so heartily on my side, that

Fitzpatrick at last turned her out of doors; when he found I was neither to be soothed nor ' bullied into compliance, he took a very violent 'method indeed. Perhaps you will conclude he * beat me; but this, though he hath approached

very near to it, he never actually did." He con'fined me to my room, 'without suffering me to have either pen, ink, paper, or book: and a servant every day made my bed, and brought me

"When I had remained a week under this imprisonment, he made me a visit, and, with the voice of a schoolmaster, or, what is often much the same, ? of a tyrant, asked me, "If I would yet comply?"

“ • I answered very stoutly, “That I would die first, "Then so you shall, and be d-ned,” cries he: " for you shall never go alive out of this room.”

* Here I remained a fortnight longer; and, to say the truth, my constancy was almost subdued, ' and I began to think of submission; when one day, in the absence of my husband, who was gone abroad for some short time, by the greatest good fortune in the world, an accident happened, PI-at a time when I began to give way to the

utmost despair-everything would be ex'cusable at such a time—at that very time I re

!ceived— But iç would take up an hour to tell

my food.


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