MISS MONTRESSOR TO LA MARQUISE DE VILLEROI.

My reception from my aunt was as disagreeable. as I anticipated, ma chère amie. She suspects that there is some hidden motive for my return, and has assailed me with a thousand questions. When she learns the cause, she will be furious; for she always seems prepared to judge me as unfavourably as possible on every occasion, and loves Augusta so much, that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to persuade her that she could do, nay, dream of, wrong.

I asked Augusta to write to me, but she has not yet complied with my request: I have a fearful presentiment that she is ill; and this apprehension haunts me so continually, that there are moments when I would give worlds that I had never interfered in her ill-assorted marriage, or plotted for its annulment. I have heard from Lord Annandale, who says he has put all en train for the action. I threw his letter from me with dislike and contempt; yet it is to wed this man that I have stooped to destroy the reputation, perhaps the peace of mind, of one of the most faultless of her sex! And yet, how far less unworthy is he than am I! for he is the dupe of my vile artifice, and knows not that his wronged wife is innocent. We are strange creatures; for I, who have the heart and head to plot against Augusta, have not the courage to contemplate the possible results of my scheme. Should she continue as wretched as when I saw her, or should she die-but I will not, dare not, anticipate so fearful a catastrophe-a catastrophe that would preclude me from ever again knowing a moment's peace.

I am become strangely nervous of late; my sleep, too,

is troubled by dreams, all of which have Augusta for their object. I see her ever, with that pale, but beautiful face, which reproaches me for having wronged her. A thousand recollections of her affection and confidence rise up to upbraid me; but, above all, the memory of the noble manner in which she received my assertion of innocence of the charge, but too well-founded, of my first and fatal error.

Now that the hope, which has hitherto cheered me, of eventually securing her happiness in a union with Lord Nottingham has disappeared, the consciousness of the atrocity of my guilty scheme weighs heavily on my mind. Would to heaven I had never entered on it! Too late do I feel that I did not comprehend this pure-minded woman I believed her, like too many of those we have known, incapable of resisting the dangerous ordeal of love. But even this almost omnipotent passion she has partly vanquished: for the sentiment, in her, partook of the purity that characterises her so peculiarly; and, though she could not entirely extirpate it, yet it could not pervert her noble nature.

Yes, I now begin to be aware that virtue and passionate love may abide together in the female heart; and that those who, like me, have been doubtful of the existence of the union, only because they had been too stubbornly blind to observe it, may live to discover and deplore the pernicious fallacy of their system. I look back on the days of my early youth with horror, stained with one degrading crime, the consciousness of which has blighted every hope, and rendered torpid every virAll my thoughts addressed to the concealment, instead of being directed to the correction, of errors, how have I strayed from the path of truth and peace! Yes, I cannot disguise from myself that I am despicable; and to you alone, who have been a witness, nay, a partaker, of the sins of my early youth, dare I draw aside the dark veil that shrouds them from others, and relieve my oppressed heart by the disclosure of its torments.

tue.

How could I live in intercourse with Augusta for months without discerning the delicacy and purity of her mind! Fool, fool that I was, to imagine that the power of bestowing her hand where I know her heart is placed, would console her for the loss of fame! Many-too many women would be so consoled, but she is not of them; and I am sensible, too late, that I have, by my wicked, my inhuman scheme, destroyed her peace of mind for ever.

A letter has just been given to me: its contents have almost made me expire with horror. Fancy my feelings, Delphine, when I tell you that the artful and vicious man who betrayed me in early youth, and who has avoided me ever since-he who, not content with triumphing over my virtue, exposed my infatuation and shame-is now in England! yes, even here, within a short distance -poor, degraded, and desperate. All that Florestan had heard of his ruin is but too true. He has spent the whole of his small fortune, and has exhausted all resources except the infamous one he now adopts, of compelling me to marry him, under pain of disclosing all to my aunt, and to the world. He has ascertained that my aunt is rich, and that I am considered heiress to her wealth. This is his inducement to his present plan; and I know too well of what he is capable to doubt his putting his threat into execution. What am I to do? where turn for support in this fearful dilemma? He says he will arrive at the post-town nearest this to-morrow; and that, if I do not meet him, he will directly seek my aunt, and inform her of all his rights over me. Oh, Heavens! what is to become of me? who will, who can, protect me from this unprincipled, ruthless being? How I shudder at the thoughts of beholding him, knowing how wholly I am in his power! I am overpowered by terror, and feel faintness that compels me to leave this unfinished.

Delphine, I have seen this man, and loathe him as

never mortal loathed another. Yes, I abhor him and despise myself-oh, how immeasurably !-that I could ever have liked such a wretch. The long years that have elapsed since I knew him, he has evidently passed in a career of vice and profligacy, that has rendered him as hideous and disgusting as he was once the reverse. His manners, too, have fallen with his fortunes; for they are low and brutal beyond any that I ever witnessed, and he appears to be reduced to the most extreme poverty. Such was his attire, that I trembled at being seen by any of the peasants in the vicinity conversing with him.

We met in a retired lane outside the park-wall-a place of rendezvous that he indicated to me in a note, soon after his arrival, when he had reconnoitred the precincts of this abode. The person who brought his letter told the footman, that he believed it was a petition from a poor foreigner in distress. Luckily I was alone when it was given me; for had my aunt been present, her suspicious eyes would have detected my emotion. I stole to the appointed place like a culprit, and there I found him. Oh, Delphine, had you seen him!—his face bloated and flushed from the effects of intemperance; his figure attired in a suit of tawdry and threadbare clothes, yet still aiming at fashion; his whole air resembling Frederick le Maitre in Robert Macaire. A gilt chain was drawn conspicuously through the button-holes of a showy, but soiled waistcoat; an old hat on one side of his tangled locks; and a cigar in his mouth but to the expression of his countenance there is no doing justice. The mixture of cunning and reckless daring-oh, it was fearful!

He addressed me in a tone of easy familiarity, calling me his bonne amie, his chère Caroline. "Time," said he, "has dealt more leniently by you, Caroline, than by me; for play, infernal play! tries faces as well as purses; and both, sacre Dieu! have suffered with me. But you appear cold, reserved-not glad to see me. How is this?

Come, come, ma belle, we must be better friends; for I am, as you know, a sort of husband, and, as such, entitled to certain privileges:" and the wretch positively attempted to embrace me. Oh, God! the degradation of that moment punished half the evil actions of my life. "Stand back!" I exclaimed, hoarsely, half choked by indignation.

"Ha, ha, ha!" he said, "mademoiselle seems disposed to act la fière;" and he burst into a contemptuous laugh: "it is a pity that she was not always so prudish. But let that pass: I am not come here to play the lover; such munmery was well enough when mademoiselle was younger, and better worth the trouble-but now it is different. The years that have elapsed since we parted (for you, like myself, are not in your première jeunesse, though, en verité, très bien conservée) have mended your position, and injured mine. You are the heiress of a rich aunt; I am the heir of naught but what the gamingtable has left me, which consists of but a few shillings: for Fortune is even more fickle than your sex, and has played me more scurvy tricks than all womankind put together. England is not the place to live in without money; and, as I mean to live, money I must have: I have, therefore, determined to render a tardy justice to your honour by espousing you, and to act the affectionate nephew to your aunt, do the honours of her triste château, turn chasseur, fermier, gentilhomme Anglais, et bon père, peut-être, pardessus le marché.”

I listened to him, nearly overpowered by disgust and horror; for his words were accompanied by a coarseness of gesture, and reckless impudence of manner, that appertain only to the lowest and vilest of men. The word crapulous is the only one that can adequately describe his appearance.

"You have already exposed me," answered I; "for at Turin you basely betrayed my dishonour, without even concealing my name.'

"Bah, bah! what of that?" replied he, "who could help boasting of such a bonne fortune?"