before me, as she was a few brief months ago in the flower of youth and health, I turn with loathing from the corruption of the heartless and artificial society, among whose rocks and shallows her peace has been wrecked. The only desire she manifests is to leave London, though her physiciaus think that she has not sufficient strength to bear the journey, however slowly performed; but she evinces such anxiety to undertake it, that her unhappy father and mother intend to suffer her to make the effort. A dormeuse, with additional springs, is preparing for her; and I trust that she will thus be able to reach the home of her childhood.

A strong sense of religion appears to have arisen in the mind of my poor dear Augusta; and its tranquillising effects are visible in all she says or does. It seems as though she considers the trials that have overtaken her as an atonement for her errors, and, as such, she shrinks not from enduring them; displaying a patience and resig nation as touching as it is edifying.

Lord

Intelligence has just reached us of the death of poor Mrs. Wickenham, under the most harrowing circumstances: but as, doubtless, the papers will have apprised you of the dreadful event, I shall add no more. and Lady Vernon are greatly afflicted by the appalling occurrence; but we carefully conceal it from poor Augusta.

That ill-directed, and, I fear, wicked person, Miss Montressor, will now be left free from all restraint, and will be likely to make an improper use of her lately acquired liberty. Strong as is my antipathy towards her, I cannot help pitying her present forlorn and unprotected state; and I hope her aunt has, at least, secured her a provision.

I shall accompany Augusta to the country, and think it likely we may set out in a couple of days. We shall make very short stages. How I long to see you again, my beloved! and to assure you, once more, vivá voce, how entirely and fondly I am your own MARY.

MISS MONTRESSOR TO LA MARQUISE DE VILLEROI.

SINCE I last wrote to you, chère Delphine, I have approached the gates of death. Would that I had entered them, instead of waking to life, with all the consciousness of intolerable and interminable misery. A violent sever assailed me soon after I despatched my last letter to you; and, during three weeks, I have been insensible to all around me. The most terrific visions haunted my excited imagination during that epoch. My murdered aunt seemed continually to stand before me, with her face swollen and distorted by the assassin's grasp. The grisly ruffian, himself, too, was ever present; either dragging me to the altar, where grinning fiends officiated, or on the point of hurling me from some stupendous rock into the angry abyss of waters that yawned to drown me. gusta-the wronged, the innocent Augusta-robed in white, interposed to save me; but the grim murderer, with a demoniac laugh, plunged a dagger in her heart.

Au

Such were the dreadful phantoms that, during three long and dreary weeks, haunted my disordered mind, with a vividness so terrific, that even now I shudder at the bare recollection, and fear to sleep, lest they should return to appal me.

The steward of my aunt has been arrested, and thrown into prison, on suspicion of the murder. He, it seems, had paid into her hands a large sum of money the day before this fatal event, the whole of which had disappeared, with her diamonds; and, as her possession of this sum was known only to himself, and that he slept in the house the night of the murder, he is, consequently, suspected, and viewed with abhorrence by all the neighbourhood, He is to stand his trial; and I-1, who alone

could prove his innocence, must not dare to justify him. Is not this compulsory acquiescence, which may terminate in another murder, too, too dreadful? and where will end the painful consequences of my crimes?

The clergyman of the parish has been repeatedly to see me; for, my despair and illness have led those around me to attribute to grief the sufferings which are produced by horror and remorse. Consequently, I have met with a sympathy and kindness which I do not merit; and which those who evince it would shrink with dismay from bestowing, did they but dream of the horrific truth.

It appears, that, on that fatal and never to be forgotten night, my poor aunt, impressed with a but too just presentiment of my falseness to Augusta, whom she so tenderly loved, added a codicil to her will, by which she revoked the bequest of her fortune to me; and left me only two thousand pounds, vested in the funds, to be laid out in the purchase of an annuity for me. Even this circumstance has increased the sympathy and kindness of her friends and neighbours for me,- -so that I find myself well treated by all. How little do I deserve it!

I have found two or three letters from Lord Annandale, that arrived here during my illness. He tells me that the action is advancing; though the pretended illness of Lady Annandale was put forward by some of her friends as a motive for retarding it. Good heavens! if she should be really ill! If I have this calamity, also, to answer for! It is it must be so; were she not ill, she surely would have written to me, unknowing, as she still must be, of the odious, the wicked part I have taken in wounding her peace, and destroying her reputation. My mind is in a fearful state: I dare not anticipate the future -and I shudder at the past.

Here I cannot long remain; for a relative of my aunt, to whom she has bequeathed this place, will soon arrive to take possession of it, when I, of course, must depart. Had I inherited my aunt's fortune, I do believe that I

should still have had the grace to have rendered justice to Augusta, by declaring to Lord Annandale the base and treacherous part I have acted towards her, and thus have stopped all legal proceedings against her; for I could then have retired to France or Italy, to live in affluence and liberty, without depending, as I now must, on a marriage with Lord Annandale, which is my sole and last resource for securing that wealth and station, for the possession of which I have bartered my hopes of peace here, and pardon hereafter. Had I been born with the riches and rank for which, from my earliest youth, I have pined, I might have passed through life unstained by crime; for I am not worse disposed than the generality of my fellow-mortals: but the want of these, and the ungovernable desire to possess them, have plunged, me in guilt too deep ever now to be expiated.

I sometimes endeavour to consider my recent transgressions as the result of the first crime which I perpetrated; and thus heap on the head of the vile wretch who incited me to it, the entire responsibleness of my subsequent career. But I cannot wholly cheat myself with this sophistry; for, conscience whispers but too distinctly, that it was not he who urged me to counsel a young and inexperienced girl, while yet a mere child, to contract a marriage, when she had discovered that she was even more than indifferent to him who sought her hand: or to plot, alas! too successfully, against her happiness and honour, when she, unsuspicious of my treachery, was prodigally lavishing on me all the affectionate kindness of her gentle and noble nature!

How dreadful, how apalling it is, to be fully conscious of one's crimes! to tremble at their consequences, and to loathe one's baseness, yet be compelled, by force of circumstances, to persevere in the career of guilt!

Would that I could delude myself into a blindness of my own wickedness; or that the remorse which consumes me could atone for past, and preserve me from future crimes. I sometimes think I am mad, and almost

wish I were; for any physical suffering or debasement would be preferable to the fearful state of mind in which I exist.

Lord Annandale's letters inflict a bitter pang. When he praises the delicacy of my conduct towards my guilty friend, as he unjustly styles poor Augusta, contrasting it with that of the Comtesse Hohenlinden's, and the other ladies of her coterie, which has disgusted him, think what I must-what I do feel! Were he to know the truth, how would he loathe and spurn me! for he is only weak, and not malignant, and fully believes the culpability of his wife, or never would he have denounced her. Should he not live to discover her innocence in this world, there is another, where all secrets stand revealed; and there she will appear pure as angels, while I-oh, God! I dare not contemplate this dreadful retribution.

My head is so confused, that I know not whether I told you that, at the inquest after the tragical death of my aunt, the person keeping the alehouse, where that monster took up his abode, came forward and stated, that for two days before the murder, a foreigner, of most suspicious appearance, had lodged at his house. That, on the day of his arrival, he had sent me a letter, which they supposed to be a petition; and that, during the day, he had loitered in the immediate vicinity of the park. That, on the night of the murder, however, he had not left the house, having retired to bed early, and only departed at seven o'clock the next morning.

How well do I recollect his telling me that, fearing to excite suspicion, he had fastened his door on the inside, and quitted the chamber by the window! It is harrowing to my feelings to hear my femme de chambre recount the belief entertained by the whole household and neighbourhood, of the guilt of poor Davenant, the steward; an old and faithful servant, who stood peculiarly high in the esteem of his mistress. What adds to the appearances against him is, that on him was found a pocket-book, known to be purchased by my unhappy