innocent I was of the smallest conjugal infidelity. I make this solemn
asseveration because there have been malevolent spirits who, in the
plenitude of their calumny, have slandered me by suspecting my fidelity
even at this early period of my existence. These pages are the pages of
truth, unadorned by romance and unembellished by the graces of
phraseology, and I know that I have been sufficiently the victim of
events too well to become the tacit acquiescer where I have been grossly
misrepresented. Alas! of all created beings, I have been the most
severely subjugated by circumstances more than by inclination.

About this time a party was one evening made to Vauxhall. Mr. Fitzgerald
was the person who proposed it, and it consisted of six or eight
persons. The night was warm and the gardens crowded. We supped in the
circle which has the statue of Handel in its centre. The hour growing
late,--or rather early in the morning,--our company dispersed, and no
one remained excepting Mr. Robinson, Mr. Fitzgerald, and myself.
Suddenly a noise was heard near the orchestra. A crowd had assembled,
and two gentlemen were quarrelling furiously. Mr. R. and Fitzgerald ran
out of the box. I rose to follow them, but they were lost in the throng,
and I thought it most prudent to resume my place, which I had just
quitted, as the only certain way of their finding me in safety. In a
moment Fitzgerald returned. "Robinson," said he, "is gone to seek you at
the entrance-door. He thought you had quitted the box."

"I did for a moment," said I, "but I was fearful of losing him in the
crowd, and therefore returned."

"Let me conduct you to the door; we shall certainly find him there,"
replied Mr. Fitzgerald. "I know that he will be uneasy."