Read that and weep, fellow bloggers.
I'm sure you can all sympathize, because I know I'm not the only one who has suffered the loss of a slaved-over blog post to the greedy, slobbering jaws of Some Computer Server Belonging To Google. It is a solemn, sad thing to see a nicely laid out blog post suddenly chomped and eaten and then spit back in a sickening conglomeration of HTML code and meaningless strings of numbers, never to rise again. (This analogy is getting a bit disgusting and I really should stop now.)
All that simply goes to say that I really should write my posts on Word and then save them before posting them on Blogger. But I am usually in too much of a rush to do that, and I never take my own advice anyway. (Who was it who said he always advised people not to give advice? Was it Algernon in The Importance of Being Earnest? I can't remember.)
Another reason for me to bah-humbug is that I missed my 100th post. That is, I missed marking the event. It was this one, my announcement about the Assembly Rooms. Incidentally, Melody's 100th post on Regency Delight was her announcement about the Assembly Rooms. (I guess two hundred-mark posts on the same topic are better than one, eh, Tween? How swellissimus!) So really it's not a humbug after all, though I should have liked to commemorate the occasion in some way.
Enough blathering. Here is my entry (rewritten, and alas, not quite the way I had it before) for the Period Drama Advice competition. Miss Elizabeth Bennet posted a letter seeking advice from Edward Ferrars of Sense and Sensibility, and I have written a reply from Mrs. Gibson of Wives and Daughters. (If you wish to know more about the Period Drama Advice event, click on the button below.)
Dear Period Drama Advice Column,
I find myself in a predicament. Four years ago, I became secretly engaged to a woman named Lucy Steele, the niece of my tutor in Exeter. I thought myself in love, but it was a foolish, idle inclination on my side. I have recently met my sister's sister-in-law, Elinor, and I like her a great deal. I find myself in love with her, but I cannot break my commitment to Lucy. If I were free, I would tell her that my heart is and always will be hers. Her friendship has been the most important of my life. My mother also wants me to marry the rich Miss Morton with 50,000 pounds: all I want, all I've ever wanted is the quiet of a private life, but my mother wants me distinguished.Do you think I am doing the right thing in keeping my promise to Lucy despite all of this?
Mrs. Gibson’s Response
My Dear Mr. Ferrars,
What a lovely, romantic note you have sent! It quite puts me in mind of my younger days, when half the young men in the local regiment were head over heels for me. I sometimes think it is a pity I was born when I was. I should have liked to belong to this generation.
Now, Mr. Ferrars, about your predicament. It is such a shame that your attentions have turned to another young lady—youth is so very fickle. My daughter Cynthia, for instance, is not very constant. But my dear sir, I am sure you will acknowledge that an engagement is an engagement. If you have given your promise to Miss Steele, you must fulfill your responsibility and marry her.
Perhaps your waning interest in Miss Steele is due to a lack of communication with that young lady? You might try calling at her house one of these days and visiting with the family. Only pray do not call before breakfast, as that sort of thing is quite inconvenient and unappreciated. But if you come bearing flowers, all will be forgiven.
One last thing, Mr. Ferrars—do not be swayed by urgings to marry Miss Morton, despite her 50,000 pounds. Riches are a great snare, you know.
Mrs. Hyacinth Clare Gibson