December 20th, 1824. - This is the third anniversary of ourfelicitous union. It is now two months since our guests left us tothe enjoyment of each other's society; and I have had nine weeks'experience of this new phase of conjugal life - two persons livingtogether, as master and mistress of the house, and father andmother of a winsome, merry little child, with the mutualunderstanding that there is no love, friendship, or sympathybetween them. As far as in me lies, I endeavour to live peaceablywith him: I treat him with unimpeachable civility, give up myconvenience to his, wherever it may reasonably be done, and consulthim in a business-like way on household affairs, deferring to hispleasure and judgment, even when I know the latter to be inferiorto my own.

As for him, for the first week or two, he was peevish and low,fretting, I suppose, over his dear Annabella's departure, andparticularly ill-tempered to me: everything I did was wrong; I wascold-hearted, hard, insensate; my sour, pale face was perfectlyrepulsive; my voice made him shudder; he knew not how he could livethrough the winter with me; I should kill him by inches. Again Iproposed a separation, but it would not do: he was not going to bethe talk of all the old gossips in the neighbourhood: he would nothave it said that he was such a brute his wife could not live withhim. No; he must contrive to bear with me.

'I must contrive to bear with you, you mean,' said I; 'for so longas I discharge my functions of steward and house-keeper, soconscientiously and well, without pay and without thanks, youcannot afford to part with me. I shall therefore remit theseduties when my bondage becomes intolerable.' This threat, Ithought, would serve to keep him in check, if anything would.

I believe he was much disappointed that I did not feel hisoffensive sayings more acutely, for when he had said anythingparticularly well calculated to hurt my feelings, he would stare mesearchingly in the face, and then grumble against my 'marble heart'or my 'brutal insensibility.' If I had bitterly wept and deploredhis lost affection, he would, perhaps, have condescended to pityme, and taken me into favour for a while, just to comfort hissolitude and console him for the absence of his beloved Annabella,until he could meet her again, or some more fitting substitute.Thank heaven, I am not so weak as that! I was infatuated once witha foolish, besotted affection, that clung to him in spite of hisunworthiness, but it is fairly gone now - wholly crushed andwithered away; and he has none but himself and his vices to thankfor it.

At first (in compliance with his sweet lady's injunctions, Isuppose), he abstained wonderfully well from seeking to solace hiscares in wine; but at length he began to relax his virtuousefforts, and now and then exceeded a little, and still continues todo so; nay, sometimes, not a little. When he is under the excitinginfluence of these excesses, he sometimes fires up and attempts toplay the brute; and then I take little pains to suppress my scornand disgust. When he is under the depressing influence of theafter-consequences, he bemoans his sufferings and his errors, andcharges them both upon me; he knows such indulgence injures hishealth, and does him more harm than good; but he says I drive himto it by my unnatural, unwomanly conduct; it will be the ruin ofhim in the end, but it is all my fault; and then I am roused todefend myself, sometimes with bitter recrimination. This is a kindof injustice I cannot patiently endure. Have I not laboured longand hard to save him from this very vice? Would I not labour stillto deliver him from it if I could? but could I do so by fawningupon him and caressing him when I know that he scorns me? Is it myfault that I have lost my influence with him, or that he hasforfeited every claim to my regard? And should I seek areconciliation with him, when I feel that I abhor him, and that hedespises me? and while he continues still to correspond with LadyLowborough, as I know he does? No, never, never, never! he maydrink himself dead, but it is NOT my fault!

Yet I do my part to save him still: I give him to understand thatdrinking makes his eyes dull, and his face red and bloated; andthat it tends to render him imbecile in body and mind; and ifAnnabella were to see him as often as I do, she would speedily bedisenchanted; and that she certainly will withdraw her favour fromhim, if he continues such courses. Such a mode of admonition winsonly coarse abuse for me - and, indeed, I almost feel as if Ideserved it, for I hate to use such arguments; but they sink intohis stupefied heart, and make him pause, and ponder, and abstain,more than anything else I could say.

At present I am enjoying a temporary relief from his presence: heis gone with Hargrave to join a distant hunt, and will probably notbe back before to-morrow evening. How differently I used to feelhis absence!

Mr. Hargrave is still at the Grove. He and Arthur frequently meetto pursue their rural sports together: he often calls upon ushere, and Arthur not unfrequently rides over to him. I do notthink either of these soi-disant friends is overflowing with lovefor the other; but such intercourse serves to get the time on, andI am very willing it should continue, as it saves me some hours ofdiscomfort in Arthur's society, and gives him some betteremployment than the sottish indulgence of his sensual appetites.The only objection I have to Mr. Hargrave's being in theneighbourhood, is that the fear of meeting him at the Groveprevents me from seeing his sister so often as I otherwise should;for, of late, he has conducted himself towards me with suchunerring propriety, that I have almost forgotten his formerconduct. I suppose he is striving to 'win my esteem.' If hecontinue to act in this way, he may win it; but what then? Themoment he attempts to demand anything more, he will lose it again.

February 10th. - It is a hard, embittering thing to have one's kindfeelings and good intentions cast back in one's teeth. I wasbeginning to relent towards my wretched partner; to pity hisforlorn, comfortless condition, unalleviated as it is by theconsolations of intellectual resources and the answer of a goodconscience towards God; and to think I ought to sacrifice my pride,and renew my efforts once again to make his home agreeable and leadhim back to the path of virtue; not by false professions of love,and not by pretended remorse, but by mitigating my habitualcoldness of manner, and commuting my frigid civility into kindnesswherever an opportunity occurred; and not only was I beginning tothink so, but I had already begun to act upon the thought - andwhat was the result? No answering spark of kindness, no awakeningpenitence, but an unappeasable ill-humour, and a spirit oftyrannous exaction that increased with indulgence, and a lurkinggleam of self-complacent triumph at every detection of relentingsoftness in my manner, that congealed me to marble again as oftenas it recurred; and this morning he finished the business:- I thinkthe petrifaction is so completely effected at last that nothing canmelt me again. Among his letters was one which he perused withsymptoms of unusual gratification, and then threw it across thetable to me, with the admonition, -

'There! read that, and take a lesson by it!'

It was in the free, dashing hand of Lady Lowborough. I glanced atthe first page; it seemed full of extravagant protestations ofaffection; impetuous longings for a speedy reunion - and impiousdefiance of God's mandates, and railings against His providence forhaving cast their lot asunder, and doomed them both to the hatefulbondage of alliance with those they could not love. He gave aslight titter on seeing me change colour. I folded up the letter,rose, and returned it to him, with no remark, but -

'Thank you, I will take a lesson by it!'

My little Arthur was standing between his knees, delightedlyplaying with the bright, ruby ring on his finger. Urged by asudden, imperative impulse to deliver my son from thatcontaminating influence, I caught him up in my arms and carried himwith me out of the room. Not liking this abrupt removal, the childbegan to pout and cry. This was a new stab to my already torturedheart. I would not let him go; but, taking him with me into thelibrary, I shut the door, and, kneeling on the floor beside him, Iembraced him, kissed him, wept over with him with passionatefondness. Rather frightened than consoled by this, he turnedstruggling from me, and cried out aloud for his papa. I releasedhim from my arms, and never were more bitter tears than those thatnow concealed him from my blinded, burning eyes. Hearing hiscries, the father came to the room. I instantly turned away, lesthe should see and misconstrue my emotion. He swore at me, and tookthe now pacified child away.

It is hard that my little darling should love him more than me; andthat, when the well-being and culture of my son is all I have tolive for, I should see my influence destroyed by one whose selfishaffection is more injurious than the coldest indifference or theharshest tyranny could be. If I, for his good, deny him sometrifling indulgence, he goes to his father, and the latter, inspite of his selfish indolence, will even give himself some troubleto meet the child's desires: if I attempt to curb his will, orlook gravely on him for some act of childish disobedience, he knowshis other parent will smile and take his part against me. Thus,not only have I the father's spirit in the son to contend against,the germs of his evil tendencies to search out and eradicate, andhis corrupting intercourse and example in after-life to counteract,but already he counteracts my arduous labour for the child'sadvantage, destroys my influence over his tender mind, and robs meof his very love; I had no earthly hope but this, and he seems totake a diabolical delight in tearing it away.

But it is wrong to despair; I will remember the counsel of theinspired writer to him 'that feareth the Lord and obeyeth the voiceof his servant, that sitteth in darkness and hath no light; let himtrust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon his God!'