For another year we went on in the same manner; till at last, finding it impossible to conquer my inclinations, he soon brought me to a confession of my weakness, which has been the cause of all my distress. That obstacle removed, many others fell of course, and the next season he prevailed on me to meet him at the house of a friend, as we were not permitted to talk together in public. During this time I had many offers of marriage, very much to my advantage; but I refused them all. So far had he gained my love, that I resolved never to marry. About this time Mr. Long addressed me*. You know by what means I was induced to suffer his visits, though you do not know likewise that another great motive was the hope of forgetting Mathews, and retiring into solitude. After I had consented to receive Mr. Long's visits, I forbade Mathews ever to speak to me; to the consequences of which you yourself were witness. He immediately pretended to be dying, and by that artifice very nearly made me really so. You know how ili I was for a long time. At last he wrote me word, that he must see me once more; that he would then take a final leave of me, and quit the kingdom directly; but he could not resolve to go without seeing me. I was weak enough to comply with his request, as I thought it would be the last time.

Some way or other my mother was told of it, when she taxed me with it. I immediately confessed every thing that had passed since I first acquainted her with his behaviour. She was at first greatly enraged; but on my telling her how unexceptionably he had behared, she was pacified, and consented to conceal it from my father. And indeed, my dear, had any impartial person been present at our meeting, they would have thought Mathews the most unhappy but amiable man in the world; his behaviour was always consistent with the strictest honour;

nor did he ever in the smallest degree give me any reason to think he had any intentions that were in the least alarming to my virtue. Deceived by such conduct, his merit shone more conspicuous; nor did I wish to get the better of my passion for one whom I thought every way so worthy of it. I considered myself as the cause of all his wretchedness, and thought it would be the height of cruelty if I did not endeavour to alleviate it. But to proceed; my mother resolved to see Mathews herself, and therefore insisted that I should write, and desire to see him again that evening. I did so, and my mother went in my place. You may imagine he was very much surprised at seeing her. She went with a full resolution to upbraid him; yet so far did his arts prevail, that he not only made her forgive, but pity him, and promise that this should never make any alteration in our behaviour to him; and we would still continue our visits and intimacy with him. He promised, however, that he never would for the future attempt to see me.

About this time my marriage with Mr. Long broke off, and my father went to London, to commence a lawsuit. During the time he was absent, I went on a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Norton, where you saw me. She had been informed by undoubted authority that my father would not only lose his suit, but that I should be exposed in the public court; as Mr. Long had been informed of my meeting Mathews, and intended to make use of that as a plea in court. This being told me suddenly, and at a time when my spirits were greatly distressed, flung me into a high fever. I lost my senses some time, and when I recovered was so weak, and had such strong symptoms of a rapid decline that, when my father returned, I was sent to the Wells to drink the waters. While I was there I was told that Mathews during my illness had spoken disrespectfully

GENT. MAG. October, 1825.

of

of me in public, and had boasted it was owing to my love for him I was so ill. This behaviour from one for whom I had suffered so much, shocked me greatly, and I resolved in my first heat of passion that he should not have it in his power to triumph over my weakness. The resentment I felt was of service to me, as it roused me from a state of stupid despondence, which perhaps would have occasioned my death. It was then that you received my first letter, which must have shown you in what a wretched state of mind I was.

When I had so far recovered my spirits and health as to be able to walk and ride, I became acquainted with Mr. R, who from the first time he saw me was particular in his behaviour to me. I did not at first observe it, and as I thought him an agreeable man, and one who I was told bore au unexceptionable character, I did not avoid him so much as I certainly ought. I wished likewise, by turning my attention to him, to eradicate every impression of Mathews; but though Mr. R. behaved with the greatest delicacy, I found it impossible for me to love him. I went on in this manner some time, and by Mr. R's attention to me, incurred the ill will of all the ladies, who did not spare to censure my conduct; but as I was conscious in my own heart of no ill, and wished to convince Mathews he had not so much reason to boast of his conquest, I paid very little attention to the envy of the

women.

Mr. R had not as yet made any professions; but one day he confessed to me that he loved me, but that it was not in his power to marry publicly, as he was entirely dependent on his father, except a pension which he

had; but at the same time begged me to consent to marry him privately, and to go off with him to any part of the world, till his father died; when he said he would marry me again in the face of the world. This proposal, had I loved him, I should certainly have rejected; but in the state of mind I then was, I was very angry, and refused seeing him for a great while.

At this time Mr. and Mrs. Norton came over to be with me, as they had heard of R. Through his means, Mr. R entreated me to forgive him, and permit him to be on the footing of a friend, and assured me I

never should have further cause to be offended with him. As Mr. Norton, under whose protection I then was, had no objection, and as I really had an esteem for Mr. R-, and thought him a good young man, I consented, and we continued to walk and ride together, but never without Mr. Norton. I was thus situated when Mathews came to the Wells in his road to Wales. He had been extremely ill at Bath, and when I saw him in the public walk at the Wells, I could scarce keep myself from fainting. There was such an alteration in his person that I could not believe it possible. He spoke to me once in the walk, and asked me if I resolved to be his death; declared his illness proceeded from the accounts he had heard of me and R, and that he was now going into the country to die. You may be sure I was greatly affected with his words; but as I had suffered so much in my reputation by being seen with him, I would not stay to explain myself, or upbraid him with his behaviour to me; I merely told him that the only way to convince me of his sincerity was to leave me, and never see me more. I left him immediately and went home, where soon after a lady informed me he had fainted in the Long Room, and that his friends had taken him to Wales given over by all. This news made me relapse, and had very nearly cost me my life, till I heard again that he was well, and in good spirits, laughing at my distress, and exulting in the success of his scheme. This once more raised my resentment, and I was resolved to encourage Mr. R--; and though I could not consent to go off with him, I told him (with my father's consent), that when it was in his power, if he still retained his love for me, and I was free from any other engagements, I would marry him. When I returned to Bath, he followed me, but as he was very much talked of, I would not suffer him to be so particular. When he was going to D, he begged me to give him a letter to you, that he might by you sometimes hear from me; as I had refused to correspond with him. As I wished to have my dear girl's opinion of him, I was not unwilling to trust him with a letter, in which I mentioned something relative to my misfortunes; but luckily mentioned no names, nor could he, if he did read it,

under

understand whom or what it meant. He wrote to me that he was in D, but never mentioned your name, which I was surprised at, and as I had not heard any thing from you, was a good deal hurt, thinking you would not keep your word with me. In answer to his letter, I desired to know if he had seen you, and begged to be in formed of some other circumstances in his letter, which made me uneasy. To this I received no answer, and the account you gave me afterwards, convinced me that he was like all other men-deceitful. I then gave him entirely up, and contented myself with thinking how unworthy all men were of a woman's affection!

I was in this state of mind when Mathews returned; when in spite of all I could do or say I was obliged to visit them, and scarcely a day passed without my having some conversation with him. In these conversations he cleared himself of the imputations alledged against him, and set my conduct in such a point of view, that he made me appear the criminal and himself the injured person. This and being constantly with him, joined to his engaging behaviour, soon regained him that love which had never been quite extinguished. That gained, I was soon prevailed on to see him, but this did not hinder him from behaving so particular in publick that at last every body talked of it, and many people spoke to my father.

I was one night going to bed, when I heard my father and mother talking very loud, and my name and Mathews were repeated very often; this induced me to listen, and I heard my mother tell my father that I was miserable, and that Mathews was equally wretched; that we had loved one another for these some years, and that she was sure it would be my death. My father

seemed sometimes to pity and sometimes to condemn me, but at last he resolved I should never see him again. In the morning when I came to breakfast, my spirits were low, and I could not refrain from tears; this soon brought on an explanation with my father, to whom I confessed every thing that had passed; his behaviour was tender to a degree, and by that method he gained more upon me than if he had treated me harshly. Anger I can withstand, but tenderness I never could. My father, after many arguments, wherein he convinced me of the folly, if not wickedness of such a connexion, made me promise never to see him more, and told ine he would break off all intercourse with the family immediately. In the afternoon of this day Mrs. Sheridan called by Mathews's desire to know the reason why they had not seen me that day.

Old Mr. Sheridan (who is now in Dublin) is my father's particular friend. When they came to settle in Bath*, the strictest intimacy commenced between our families. Miss Sheridan is the only person (besides yourself) that I would place any confidence in; she is one of the worthiest girls breathing, and we have been always united in the strictest friendship. The same connexion subsists between our two younger sisters. There are two brothers, who on our first acquaintance both professed to love me; but, though I had the greatest esteem for them, I never gave either of them the least hope that I should ever look on them in any other light than as the brothers of my friend; I own I preferred the youngest, as he is by far the most agreeable in person, understanding, and accomplishments. He is a very amiable young man, beloved by every one, and greatly respected by all the better sort of people in Bath. He be

came

came acquainted with Mathews, and was at first deceived in him, but he soon discovered the depravity of his heart, under the specious appearance of virtue, which he at times assumed; but perceiving the attachment between us, he resolved to make use of a little art to endeavour if he could to save me from such a villain. For this purpose he disguised his real sentiments, and became the most intimate friend of Mathews, who at last intrusted him with all his designs in regard to me, and boasted to him how cleverly he had deceived me; for that I believed him to be an angel.

Excuse my being thus tedious, but it was necessary to let you so far into my connexion with the Sheridans before I could account for my behaviour latterly.

When Mr. Sheridan came to me in the evening, I only told him something had happened to make me uneasy; but bid him tell Mathews I would write to him. I accordingly wrote, and told him every circumstance that had happened, shewed him how impossible it was for us to continue any such connexion, and begged (for still I thought him worthy) that he would write to tell me he was convinced by my arguments, and that we might part friends, though unhappy ones. He wrote to me, and comforted me greatly, by assuring me of his approbation of my conduct, and that he was ready to acquiesce in any thing to make me happy, as he was unwilling to see my father. Mr. Sheridan was appointed to settle every thing, he accordingly came to my father, and told him what Mathews had said, and that he intended to write to my father and bind himself in the most solemn manner never to see me again. My father was satisfied with this, and pitied Mathews greatly. He kept his word, and my father was happy that he had settled every thing so amicably.

Mr. Sheridan was with me every day, and did every thing in his power to make me happy. He said if Mathews ever broke his word to my father, he never would be seen with him again; as he had engaged him in the affair, he was resolved to act the part of a man of honour. I applauded his sentiments, but said I thought it impossible that Mathews ever should; -the next day convinced me how eruelly I had deceived myself. I re

ceived a letter from Mathews, wherein he told me he was going to London, but would return in less than two months, and if I did not consent to see him sometimes, he would shoot himself that instant. He said my answer would determine his fate. This letter flung me into fits, as I must either break my word to my father, or consent to the death of the man on whose life my own depended. At last I wrote and expostulated with him once more on the baseness of such a proceeding. This letter, instead of having the wished effect, produced another still more alarming; in this he flung off the tender behaviour for which I always loved him, and put on the language of a tyrant-told me he would see me, that no father on earth should hinder him, and if I would not consent, he would take me off by force. I answered this with some warmth, as I began to see I had been deceived in him. I then insisted he should never write to me again; but he contrived to make me read a letter directed in another hand, wherein he told me we had both been deceived through some mistake; said he had something to communicate of the utmost conse quence to my future happiness; and if I would indulge him with ten minutes conversation, he never after would desire to see me again; but if I refused this last request, I must expect the

worst.

Terrified as I was, with no friend to advise me, I at last consented, and appointed an hour, but the moment he saw me he locked the door, and drawing a pistol from his pocket uttered the most horrid imprecations; and swore if I would not bind myself by the most solemn oaths to see him again on his return from London, he would shoot himself before my face. Think, my dear girl, on my cruel situation; what could I do? Half distracted, I told him I would do any thing rather than see him commit so rash an action. This was Saturday, and I promised him (if I was alive) to see him on Wednesday evening during the Concert. On this condition he let

me go.

I was to spend the day with Miss Sheridan, who was ill with the toothache. All the time I was with her, I was resolving in my own mind what way I was to act. To break my word with my father was impossible. If I

did not see Mathews, I expected worse to ensue. What resource was there left? At length (I tremble while I write) I came to the horrid resolution of destroying my own wretched being, as the only means to prevent my becoming still more guilty, and saving my parents from still more distress. With these horrid thoughts, I searched Miss Sheridan's room for some laudanum, which I knew she had for the tooth-ache; I found a small bottle full and put it in my pocket.

The next day (Sunday) after Church, I left my mother and sisters walking. I sat down, made my will, and wrote a letter to my father, and one to Ma thews. While I was about it Mr. Sheridan came in; he had observed me taking the laudanum, and when he saw me writing, he seemed very much alarmed. At last, after swearing him to secrecy, I told him what I intended to do, and begged him to take charge of the letters. He used every argument in the world to dissuade me from it; but finding them all useless, he entreated me at least not to take it till the afternoon, as he then would tell me something which he was sure would make me lay aside such thoughts entirely. Fearful of his betraying me, I consented; but the moment he was gone took half the quantity, and after dinner, finding it had no effect, I took the rest. My fears were true. He had gone to Dr. Harington and Dr. W., and begged of them for God's sake to go to our house that night, in case I should have taken it before he returned in the evening. When he came I was on the settee in a state of lethargy. He immediately ran for the Doctors; but before they could give me any assistance, I dropped down, as they thought,-dead. I lay for some time in that dreadful state, till by force they opened my teeth, and poured something down my throat, which made me bring up a great deal of the poison.

To describe the distress of my family at this time is impossible; but such a scene by all accounts cannot be conceived or imagined. It was happy for me that I was insensible of it, as it would certainly have had a severer effect upon me than all the poison.

After I had taken every thing that was proper, I was put to bed, where I passed the night in the most dreadful

agonies of mind, at the thoughts of what would be the consequence of this affair.

Monday evening Sheridan came to me. He expostulated with me, with the greatest tenderness, and shewed me the dreadful crime I had been about to commit, and for one who was every way unworthy of my least consideration. He then told me every circumstance relative to myself, which Mathews had told him. He shewed me letters he had received from him, aud wherein his villainy was fully explained.

Judge what must be my feelings, on finding the man, for whom I had sacrificed life, fortune, reputation, every thing that was dear, the most abandoned wretch that ever existed. In his last letter to Sheridan he had told him that I had given him so much trouble that he had the greatest inclination to give me up, but his vanity would not let him do that without having gained his point. He therefore said he was resolved the next time I met him to throw off the mask, and if I would not consent to make myself still more infamous, to force me, and then leave me to repent at leisure. He then told how he had acted on Saturday; and that 1 had promised to see him on Wednesday. He then said he would sufficiently revenge himself for all the trouble I had given him; but if I changed my mind, and would not see him, he was resolved to carry me off by force. The moment I read this horrid letter I fainted, and it was sometime before I could recover my senses sufficiently to thank Mr. Sheridan for his opening my eyes. He said he had made Mathews believe he was equally infamous, that he might the sooner know his designs; but he said it was not in his power to appear on a friendly footing any longer with such a villain. Mr. Sheridan then asked me what I designed to do. I told him my mind was in such a state of distraction, between anger, remorse, and fear, that I did not know what I should do; but as Mathews had declared he would ruin my reputation, I was resolved never to stay in Bath. He then first proposed my going to France, and entering a Convent, where he said I should be safe from all kind of danger, and in time I might recover my peace and tranquillity of mind; his sister would give me letters of recommendation to St. Quintin, where she had

been