P. S. We were reading a beautiful work of Mrs. Inchbald’s, called, “The
Simple Story,” when the vagrants returned. Red eyes and defluxions in
the head are the least of these tributes which this novel merits. Ours
escaped all further inquiry.
* * * * *
_Manuscript intended, for Sir Murdoch Maclairn, from his Wife, and
sent to Miss Hardcastle by Miss Cowley._
The vows of fidelity, of obedience, of love, and gratitude, which the
obscure Harriet Flamall plighted at the altar with you, my Maclairn,
were registered in heaven; and I am prepared to answer undismayed,
the inquiry which will be made relatively to my _performance_ of _my
duties as your wife_. Yes, I am prepared and God and man will acquit
me of having deviated from my duty in the course of _that honourable
character_. But to what tribunal shall I appeal, when called upon to
answer to the charge of deceit, of imposition, of falsehood! Of having
imposed on thy generous confidence, and of having worn a _name_ and a
title to which I had _no right_, and which I have _contaminated_? Is
there not a refuge for the penitent? Has not the Almighty promised to
forgive his contrite erring children; and will Maclairn’s noble mind,
refuse pity and compassion to an offender whom he loves? _He cannot_:
for it is his delight to walk in the path his Maker hath appointed, and
to honour him, by imitating him who is perfect in his goodness. The
history of my life will contain all that I have to urge in extenuation
of my errors. I am induced to place it before you, by the hope, that
it may produce on your mind a conviction, that I was not deliberately,
systematically wicked; and that as having been _deceived_, I am an
object for commiseration, though not justified for _having deceived
others_.