June 20th, 1783.

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Though I have taken up my pen to address
the mo&longs;t benevolent woman on
earth, I &longs;hudder to think in what a de&longs;picable
light I &longs;hall appear.—Oh! Madam, the heart
not entirely rendered callous by guilt, &longs;hrinks
from the &longs;crutinizing eye of &longs;uperior virtue,
yet painful as the ta&longs;k is, I feel it is a duty I
owe, to you, to my&longs;elf, and to my dear forsaken
children.—I am not, madam, as my
&longs;i&longs;ter-in-law repre&longs;ented to Mr. Rook&longs;by,
the daughter of a decayed officer; Alas! my
friend&longs;hip with this cruel &longs;i&longs;ter, has been the
chief cau&longs;e of all my guilt and mi&longs;ery. My
father was a gentleman of genteel fortune,
and un&longs;ullied reputation. I was his only
child, and at the age of thirteen having lo&longs;t
my mother was placed at a boarding &longs;chool
near Oxford, where I received a genteel education;
and to my utter regret formed an
acquaintance with Eleanor Ram&longs;ay, &longs;he was

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five years older than my&longs;elf and was a teacher
in this &longs;chool, &longs;he had an expen&longs;ive ta&longs;te for
dre&longs;s, and was pa&longs;&longs;ionately fond of gaiety and
plea&longs;ure. My father made me a liberal allowance
for my pocket expen&longs;es. Eleanor
was not &longs;o amply &longs;upplied, &longs;he told me that
her father had been dead for &longs;ome years and
her mother's income was extremely confined
tho' &longs;he &longs;trained it to the utmo&longs;t in order
that her&longs;elf and brother might have the
benefit of a liberal education.—Young Ramsay
was a genteel engaging youth, and at
that time employed in the &longs;tudy of the law.
He frequently came to vi&longs;it his &longs;i&longs;ter, and
&longs;ometimes took her to places of public entertainment,
in which excur&longs;ions I was imprudently
allowed to accompany them. Ram&longs;ay
pretended to be &longs;truck with my per&longs;on; but
I have &longs;ince been convinced the fortune my
father po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed and of which I was &longs;uppo&longs;ed
heire&longs;s, was the chief incentive to the pa&longs;&longs;ion
he &longs;o ardently pro&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed. Eleanor was plain
in her per&longs;on, but artful and in&longs;inuating in
her manner. She con&longs;tantly contrived parties
of plea&longs;ure, in which I was included: and
in return I &longs;upplied her with money to purchase
any article of finery which her own
narrow allowance would not afford.—

In this manner we proceeded till I reached
my &longs;ixteenth year, when on receiving a

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summons from my father to prepare to quit &longs;chool
entirely, Ram&longs;ay and his &longs;i&longs;ter &longs;hewed &longs;uch
marks of affliction at our approaching separation,
the former declaring his exi&longs;tence
depended on my con&longs;tancy and affection;
that giddy, thoughtle&longs;s, and ea&longs;ily per&longs;uaded,
I con&longs;ented to an elopement and accompanied
the&longs;e fal&longs;e friends to Scotland, where
I &longs;ealed my&longs;elf the mo&longs;t wretched of womankind,
by uniting my&longs;elf to an unprincipled
wretch, in who&longs;e whole family there was
not one atom of honour or genero&longs;ity.—On
our return we ha&longs;tened to my father and
humbly reque&longs;ted his pardon and ble&longs;&longs;ing.—
Alas! I had forfeited all claim to both. He
&longs;purned me from him, and declared he
would never &longs;ee my face again. Overwhelmed
with afflicton, I had now no cour&longs;e
to take, but to repair with my hu&longs;band to London
to his mother and &longs;i&longs;ter, who, I thought,
received me very coldly, con&longs;idering how eagerly
they had &longs;trove to promote the union.
Even Ram&longs;ay him&longs;elf was much altered in his
manner and I began to perceive, that they considered
me as a burthen. I wrote a mo&longs;t penetential
letter to my father, reque&longs;ting to be
received, and offering to quit a man, whom
I found my heart was by no means attached
to; but the an&longs;wer I received was, that as
I had voluntarily quitted his protection for
that of a hu&longs;band, and taken the liberty to

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choo&longs;e for my&longs;elf, without con&longs;ulting him
on the propriety of my choice, I mu&longs;t take
the con&longs;equence of my precipitancy: but,
he feared, if I paid as little regard to the
duties of a wife, as I had done to tho&longs;e of a
daughter, my hu&longs;band would &longs;oon have reason
to repent our union. He enclo&longs;ed me a
note for two hundred pounds, declaring it
was all I mu&longs;t ever expect, as he had made
his will in favour of a &longs;i&longs;ter's &longs;on then abroad
in the navy. This money proved a seasonable
relief, as Mrs. Ram&longs;ay's affairs were
greatly deranged; but it was &longs;oon expended,
and I was again reduced to bear the illnature
of all the family; for Ram&longs;ay never
entertained a thought of giving me even an
apartment to my&longs;elf, nor indeed was it in
his power, as he had no employment by
which we could hope to be &longs;upported. We
had been married about a twelve-month,
when he received an offer of accompanying
a young gentleman abroad. This he eagerly
accepted, and I was left with Mrs. Ramsay.
My &longs;ituation was as uncomfortable as
you can po&longs;&longs;ibly imagine, I had not money
even for nece&longs;&longs;ary expences, and I could not
help perceiving, that even my food was
grudged by my mother-in-law. I thought
once more of making a per&longs;onal application
to my father, but to my great affliction,
he at that time died &longs;uddenly, and all his

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property devolved to the relation I have already
mentioned. Though Mrs. Ram&longs;ay's
finances were very confined, &longs;he lived in an
expen&longs;ive manner, kept a good deal of company
and went frequently into public. One
night being with her at the play, we were
acco&longs;ted by an elderly gentleman, who &longs;at
in the box with us, &longs;hewed us many civilities
during the evening, and when the entertainment
was ended, in&longs;i&longs;ted on &longs;etting us down
at our own door in his carriage, I thought
there was an impropriety in accepting the&longs;e
civilities from a perfect &longs;tranger; but as my
mother and &longs;i&longs;ter acquie&longs;ced, I knew it would
only be deemed prudery in me to re&longs;i&longs;t.—I,
therefore, followed their example, and steped
into the carriage. When we arrived at
home, the gentleman a&longs;ked permi&longs;&longs;ion to
enquire after our health the en&longs;uing morning,
which was granted. On our entering the
hou&longs;e I began to rally Eleanor on the conquest
&longs;he had made, as I naturally imagined
the&longs;e civilities were intended for her, but
Mrs. Ram&longs;ay cried with more good humour
than I had heard her &longs;peak for &longs;ome time.&longs;
“No, no! my dear, Eleanor has no right
to the glory of the conque&longs;t, I fancy it is
you, my pretty Clara, who have attracted
the old gentleman's notice; Eleanor's per&longs;on
is not adapted for making conque&longs;ts.—“I
hope you are mi&longs;taken, madam,” I replied;

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“for I &longs;hould greatly rejoice in any good
fortune which may happen to my &longs;i&longs;ter. For
my own part, my lot is ca&longs;t.”

The next morning, Mr. Millar (for it was
he, who had acco&longs;ted us the night before)
called, and after chatting &longs;ome time on indifferent
&longs;ubjects, offered to take us that
evening to Ranelagh. From this time an intimacy
commenced, and I &longs;oon really understood,
that my unfortunate per&longs;on had
been the object of his pur&longs;uit. It was in
vain I remon&longs;trated on the impropriety of a
married woman li&longs;tening to overtures of love.
Mrs. Ram&longs;ay treated the remon&longs;trance as
folly and romance. What &longs;hall I &longs;ay, my
dear madam, ill treated at home, di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ed
in my circum&longs;tances, no friend near to whom
I could apply for advice or a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance. I insensibly
gave way to the delu&longs;ions of &longs;plendor
and affluence, and one evening at a masquerade
con&longs;ented to my ruin.—A few days after
this fatal night, I went with Mr. Millar
to Oxford, which was the place of his residence.
Eleanor accompanied me and I assumed
the name of Millar. As I had not
received a line from my hu&longs;band &longs;ince his
departure from England, I imagined he had
totally forgot me and would be as happy to
be relea&longs;ed from the burthen of maintaining

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me, as he once pretended he &longs;hould be in
obtaining my hand.

Mr. Millar was extremely fond of me, I
endeavoured as much as was in my power
to return this affection with gratitude; but
alas! madam, I was far from happy. Conscious
guilt had fixed her fangs in my bo&longs;om
and knowing my&longs;elf unworthy the attentions
I daily received from the virtuous part of my
&longs;ex. I began to envy a &longs;uperiority, the
con&longs;ciou&longs;ne&longs;s of which had given me &longs;o
much pain; but though I was far from happy
I had not yet ta&longs;ted the mi&longs;ery of loving
one object, while I felt my&longs;elf bound to
another. That &longs;uperlative exce&longs;s of angui&longs;h
was re&longs;erved for me, 'till accident introduced
Mr. Millar to Mr. Rook&longs;by. I will not
repeat the &longs;teps I took, (tears of contrition
bathe my cheeks while I write it) to deceive
the worthy Mr. Millar, and indulge my tenderness
for Rook&longs;by. Suffice it to &longs;ay I
gave a loo&longs;e to love, and experienced its
effects with more violence, as it was the
fir&longs;t time my heart had ever been &longs;en&longs;ible of
the pa&longs;&longs;ion; and certain it is, when we have
taken one &longs;tep in guilt we never pau&longs;e at a second
or a third, when either intere&longs;t or pleasure
urges our pur&longs;uit. You have no doubt
been informed of my leaving Mr. Millar
and following Mr. Rock&longs;by to town; I

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&longs;hall therefore pa&longs;s over every circum&longs;tance
that en&longs;ued until my acquaintance with you,
(then Mi&longs;s Howard) at Mrs. La Cours, and
your &longs;ub&longs;equent removal to Ken&longs;ington. At
that time I had relinqui&longs;hed the name of
Millar; but as I had an invincible aver&longs;ion
to that of Ram&longs;ay, and Mr. Rook&longs;by refused
me his, I a&longs;&longs;umed my own maiden name
of Moreton. While I re&longs;ided at Kensington,
I received Mr. Rook&longs;by's vi&longs;its very
privately, as he was anxious for me to preserve
my character, and I wi&longs;hed to appear
to you in the light of an amiable woman.
I &longs;aw you regarded me with e&longs;teem, and I
knew your heart too well to &longs;uppo&longs;e that
e&longs;teem would be continued, if you knew
I was a &longs;lave to guilty pa&longs;&longs;ion.—Believe me,
deare&longs;t, be&longs;t of womankind, I never entertained
an idea to your di&longs;advantage. I wished
from my &longs;oul to promote your welfare,
and have taught my heart to rejoice in your
pro&longs;perity, though that pro&longs;perity has torn
from my agonized heart every earthly good:
but to proceed—The day before I called on
you and be&longs;poke the linen for my &longs;i&longs;ter Eleanor,
I had received a note from Mrs. Ramsay
informing me that a particular relation
was come to town, and as they were unacquainted
with my connection with Mr. Millar,
&c. and &longs;till regarded me as the wife
of her &longs;on, &longs;he wi&longs;hed me to come to town

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and make them a vi&longs;it, taking the elde&longs;t
child with me. On the morning preceding
the day on which this vi&longs;it was to be paid, Eleanor
let my watch fall, and without acquainting
me with the circum&longs;tance &longs;ent it to
have the damage repaired. You know
what followed. I went to town; but, alas!
on my arrival at my mother's, who &longs;hould
I meet but my unworthy hu&longs;band. I now
too late di&longs;covered that my &longs;i&longs;ter had been
in the plot to betray me. He in&longs;tantly
claimed me, as his lawful wife, and in&longs;i&longs;ted
on my accompanying him abroad, from
whence, he &longs;aid, he had only returned to
fetch me; as he had through the intere&longs;t of
his friend, obtained a very re&longs;pectable place
under the French government. It was in
vain to remon&longs;trate. I was was obliged to
comply, and early the next morning we &longs;et
off for Dover, leaving the children with
Mrs. Ram&longs;ay. On our arrival in that place,
it was too late to think of cro&longs;&longs;ing the channel
that night. We therefore be&longs;poke a
pa&longs;&longs;age on board a packet, and as it was to
&longs;ail by five o'clock the next morning, we
retired early to bed. But judge, dear madam,
if po&longs;&longs;ible, my angui&longs;h and &longs;urprize,
when awaking about &longs;even o'clock, I found
my hu&longs;band and &longs;i&longs;ter had left me, and taken
with them my trunks containing all my
clothes, jewels, money, &c. leaving me

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nothing but about &longs;ix guineas which I had
in my pocket.

I aro&longs;e with a heavy heart, and ordered
&longs;ome breakfa&longs;t. While I was taking my
&longs;olitary meal, I thought I heard a voice that
was familiar to my ears, and inquiring of
the maid who attended what company was
then in the hou&longs;e, I learnt that Mr. Rook&longs;by
was there on his way to France, and that
the packet he had taken for him&longs;elf and servants
did not &longs;ail till the next ride. I then
remembered his informing me at his la&longs;t
vi&longs;it, that he &longs;hould be obliged to vi&longs;it the
continent before he could &longs;ee me again, and
overjoyed to find him in the &longs;ame hou&longs;e
with me, con&longs;idered the treatment I had
&longs;uffered from my hu&longs;band as a fortunate circumctance,
as it would probably procure me
the plea&longs;ure of accompanying my adored
Rook&longs;by abroad. Pardon, madam, the&longs;e
involuntary expre&longs;&longs;ions of affection, I will
&longs;trive to re&longs;train my pen: but when the
heart has once been &longs;trongly attached, it is
hard to break it of its u&longs;ual effu&longs;ions of
tenderne&longs;s. I bid the &longs;ervent &longs;hew me to
the room where he was, and ru&longs;hing into it,
overcome with the various emotions, which
agitated my bo&longs;om, I fainted in his arms.
It will be needle&longs;s to repeat our conversation.
I mu&longs;t only remark, that as I had

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never informed him of my unfortunate marriage
with Ram&longs;ay, and, as he had always
&longs;uppo&longs;ed me the wife of Mr. Millar,
I did not dare explain to him the real cau&longs;e
of my abrupt appearance at Dover. He attributed
it &longs;olely to my affection to him&longs;elf,
and I ble&longs;t the chance which had led me to
him.

On our return from the continent, I made
many enquiries concerning my dear Mi&longs;s
Howard, for whom I had &longs;uffered many an
anxious hour; but could not by any means
learn where you had taken refuge after
the inhuman treatment you had experienced
at Ken&longs;ington. I make no doubt, madam,
but you are acquainted with every
circum&longs;tance, preceding the time in which
I had hoped to be united to Mr. Rook&longs;by.
I had previou&longs;ly wrote to Mrs. Ram&longs;ay, requesting,
&longs;he would u&longs;e her intere&longs;t with her
&longs;on to relinqui&longs;h all claim to me as his wife,
and indeed, I had been informed I could
refute that claim by pleading infancy at the
time of my imprudent elopement. To the&longs;e
letters I received the mo&longs;t &longs;atisfactory answers,
&longs;igned by both Ram&longs;ay and his mother,
declaring they were heartily weary of
the connection and would gladly renounce it,
on condition of my paying a &longs;tipulated &longs;um of
money, to which I readily agreed, and began

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to look forward with hope to days of future
happine&longs;s, and let me add innocence, for I felt
my heart &longs;o firmly attached to the generous
Rook&longs;by, as to render it impo&longs;&longs;ible for me
ever to injure him even in thought. But, ah!
my dear madam, how &longs;oon were the&longs;e bright
pro&longs;pects overclouded, how quickly was this
charming hope &longs;natched from me, and, my
bo&longs;om left a chearle&longs;s and de&longs;olate chaos,
which peace or joy can never more enliven.
When I endeavour to retrace this mo&longs;t heart
rending period of my life: &longs;uch agonizing
feelings overpower me, that my tears flow in
&longs;calding torrents down my cheeks; and &longs;ighs
of acute angui&longs;h rend my bo&longs;om. I cannot
at pre&longs;ent proceed in my recital.—Oh! heavens,
that one who knows &longs;o well the ju&longs;t
value of virtue, &longs;hould be irre&longs;i&longs;tibly impelled
to actions from which her &longs;oul &longs;hrinks
with horror. The innocent may pity, but
they cannot have the remote&longs;t idea of my
&longs;ufferings.

IN CONTINUATION.

My heart is more at ea&longs;e, tears are a &longs;weet
relief to the unfortunate, and when I remembered
the words of con&longs;olation which I had

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li&longs;tened to from the lips of angelic purity,
when the benevolent Mrs. Rook&longs;by cheared
me with her pre&longs;ence, a &longs;oothing reflection,
&longs;omething like hope, pervaded my bo&longs;om,
and though tears &longs;till continued to fall, they
fell without pain. I will now proceed in my
narrative.

On the evening preceding the day on
which I flattered my&longs;elf with becoming the
happie&longs;t of my &longs;ex, I expected Mrs. Ram&longs;ay
to receive the money which I had promi&longs;ed
to pay her, and therefore, de&longs;ired the &longs;ervants
to deny me, even to the cho&longs;en ma&longs;ter of my
affections. Unfortunate hour, of what &longs;cenes
of mi&longs;ery wert thou the harbinger, but I will
not complain, I acknowledge I de&longs;erved it all,
for had I not deceived the be&longs;t the worhie&longs;t
of mankind, by daring to accept his honourable
offers, when I knew my&longs;elf already
&longs;acrificed(I will not &longs;ay united) to a villain.
But what will not a woman do, who loves,
who doats to madne&longs;s and fears to be separated
forever from the object of her adoration,
what errors will not the heart involuntarily
commit when under the influence of hood-winked
pa&longs;&longs;ion?—

It was about nine o'clock as I was &longs;itting
in the nur&longs;ery, with my two dear boys, that
a &longs;ervant informed me the per&longs;on whom I

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

expected was below, I ki&longs;&longs;ed my &longs;weet cherubs
bade them good night and repaired to the
parlour, which I had appointed to receive
Mrs. Ram&longs;ay in; but how great was my
a&longs;toni&longs;hment on entering the room to &longs;ee my
inexorable tormenter and his &longs;i&longs;ter Eleanor,
with their mother. I gave a &longs;hriek and
&longs;unk trembling on the neare&longs;t chair. Ram&longs;ay
approached me with feigned tenderne&longs;s—
“why the&longs;e alarms, my dear Clara,” &longs;aid
he “why &longs;hould you &longs;tart thus to behold the
man who adores you, and who though you
have cruelly de&longs;erted and injured, is ready
again to receive you to his arms, and willing
to forget all that is pa&longs;t.”—“would to heaven”
&longs;aid I, “that every pa&longs;t action of my life
could be buried in eternal oblivion, particularly
that to which I was artfully led by you
and your in&longs;inuating &longs;i&longs;ter, of giving you my
hand, when a moment's reflection would
have convinced me you had no &longs;hare in my
heart.”—

“It is well, madam,” &longs;aid he, “you have
made a frank confe&longs;&longs;ion; but know it is amply
in my power to revenge the repeated in&longs;ults
and injuries I have received from you.—You
flatter your&longs;elf it is in your power to annual
a marriage contracted in your minority, but
it is not; and unle&longs;s you con&longs;ent to make me
ma&longs;ter of all the money and jewels at pre&longs;ent

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

in your po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ion, and leaving this hou&longs;e accompany
me wherever I choo&longs;e to go, I
will to-morrow follow you to the Church
and in the face of the whole congregation
expo&longs;e your infamous conduct, and claim my
prior right not only to your per&longs;on, but to
all the wealth your infatuated lover has heaped
upon you.”—What were my &longs;ufferings
at this horrid moment. Turn either way,
infamy &longs;tared me in the face. I was unable
to determine what plan to pur&longs;ue. To remain
in London was impo&longs;&longs;ible, after what
had pa&longs;t as I &longs;hould undoubtedly have been
the je&longs;t even of my own &longs;ervants. At length
I concluded, whatever might be my fate, the
generous Rook&longs;by &longs;hould not be involved in
the &longs;hame that would con&longs;equently en&longs;ue on
a public expo&longs;ure of my guilt, I therefore
told Ram&longs;ay I was ready to accompany him
wherever he plea&longs;ed; but as to the pre&longs;ents
I had received from Mr. Rook&longs;by, I did not
conceive I had any right to take them with
me.—

This was not what the wretch wanted
Horrible menaces and threats were u&longs;ed to
prevail on me to give him my ca&longs;h and jewels,
I was intirely in the power of the&longs;e three
wretches, nor did I dare even to call for the
a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance of my &longs;ervants, as they all declared
my life &longs;hould pay the forfeit of &longs;uch an

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

attempt: and when they had gained their
point, and I attempted to go up &longs;tairs to fetch
the jewels, both Mrs. Rain&longs;ay and Eleanor
accompanied me. On returning to the parlour,
they de&longs;ired me to &longs;end for a Hackney
Coach.—Then it was, dear madam that my
innocent infants darted acro&longs;s my memory.
“I mu&longs;t have my children,” &longs;aid I.—“Indeed,
&longs;aid the unfeeling Ram&longs;ay, but you
will not. The brats are none of mine; leave
them then to him who has a right to maintain
them.”

To de&longs;cribe my angui&longs;h at this cruel &longs;peech
is impo&longs;&longs;ible.—You, madam, are a mother,
and it is only a mother can conceive my sufferings.
I knelt, I bathed his feet with tears,
and embraced his knees, but in vain. Too
much under the dominion of fear to exert
my&longs;elf to in&longs;i&longs;t on their being taken with
me, I &longs;uffered my&longs;elf to be led more dead
than alive to the coach; and that very night
we all &longs;et out for Cornwall. What arts they
made u&longs;e of to deceive my &longs;ervant, I know
not; but before our departure from London
my trunks were brought to Mrs. Ramsay's,
and one &longs;mall one containing every
nece&longs;&longs;ary for travelling was opened that I
might dre&longs;s my&longs;elf in a proper manner for
&longs;o long a journey. I never could learn how
they had contrived this, but am rather led

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

to imagine they had bribed my own woman
to their intere&longs;t.—During my comfortle&longs;s
journey, all my thoughts were occupied by
my beloved children, who were left entirely
to the humanity of a man, whom I had deceived
and injured in the gro&longs;&longs;e&longs;t manner,
and who might avenge the mother's crimes
by de&longs;erting her offspring. I was &longs;en&longs;ible
Rook&longs;by po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed a benevolent heart, but
when I remembered the provocations I had
given him—I trembled for the fate of my
poor infants, who&longs;e only birth-rights were
poverty, &longs;hame, and the contempt of the
world. It is impo&longs;&longs;ibe for any one, who has
not been in the &longs;ame &longs;ituation to judge of my
di&longs;tre&longs;s. The anxiety of my mind affected
my health, and before we arrived at our
journey's end I was in a high fever. We
&longs;topped at a village near Salta&longs;h, where my
di&longs;order increa&longs;ed to &longs;uch a degree that it
was dangerous to think of removing me. A
delirium en&longs;ued and I raved (as I have been
&longs;ince informed) ince&longs;&longs;antly for Rook&longs;by and
my children. At length, youth and a good
con&longs;titution combated the &longs;trength of my
di&longs;order; and after a profound &longs;leep of many
hours, I awoke to perfect rea&longs;on; but
Gracious Heaven! what were my feelings,
to learn when I enquired for Ram&longs;ay and
Eleanor, that they were gone, and with them
all my property. The clergyman of the

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

parish a humane &longs;en&longs;ible man had frequently
vi&longs;ited me, during my illne&longs;s, and now entered
the room with an intent to &longs;ee if I yet
lived. It was to him I had been indebted
for all the attentions that had been &longs;hewn
me: and when he found me capable of reading,
he put into my hands a letter which he
&longs;aid my brother had left for me. At the
word brother I expre&longs;&longs;ed &longs;ome a&longs;toni&longs;hment:
but my curio&longs;ity and impatience to read the
letter would not then permit an explanation.
This was the letter

TO MRS. MORETON.

In your attempts to dupe others you have
been effectually duped your&longs;elf. Vain, foolish
woman, who thought your boa&longs;ted beauty
would in&longs;ure you admirers in all who beheld
you. Ram&longs;ay is not your hu&longs;band. He
was mine long before he &longs;aw you. From
the fir&longs;t moment he beheld you, I &longs;aw you
had &longs;upplanted me in his affections, and
therefore determined on revenge. I have
(thank my kind genius) amply effected it,
and reduced you to the lowe&longs;t aby&longs;s of infamy
and &longs;hame. My mother exults in your
deba&longs;ement, and bids you go vaunt your
fancied &longs;uperiority, and &longs;ee if it will regain
the reputation you have lo&longs;t.

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

You have no right to the name of Ramsay,
nor indeed, to any but that of Moreton,
which you have &longs;hamefully di&longs;graced.
Ram&longs;ay, was my maiden name, and as my
marriage was a private one, my hu&longs;band
when vi&longs;iting me always cho&longs;e to a&longs;&longs;ume
that, and pa&longs;s for my brother. I enclo&longs;e
you ten pounds, if you live it will be of &longs;ome
&longs;ervice to you, if not, whoever opens this
may make u&longs;e of it for pa&longs;t expences. I
&longs;incerely, and from my &longs;oul, wi&longs;h your recovery,
as my triumph will not be complete,
unle&longs;s I know you have felt the misery,
in which I glory to have involved you.

Before I had fini&longs;hed this inhuman letter,
I fell into &longs;trong convul&longs;ions, which occasioned
a relap&longs;e of my di&longs;order, and I was
again reduced to in&longs;anity.

The humane clergyman had me removed
to his own hou&longs;e, and by the kind attentions
of him&longs;elf and a daughter, I was in
time re&longs;tored to health and a keen &longs;en&longs;e of
my deplorable &longs;ituation.

As my &longs;trength returned, my afflictions
recurred to my mind with greater force—
My dear de&longs;erted infants peri&longs;hing for want,

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

or expo&longs;ed to the har&longs;h u&longs;age experienced
by children left to the pari&longs;h, were constantly
before my eyes, and I re&longs;olved at
all events to return to London and learn
their fate. Ill as my benevolent ho&longs;t could
afford it, he lent me three guineas to help
me on my journey, and gave me a letter to
a poor woman, a late pari&longs;hioner of his,
who was married and &longs;ettled in London, requesting
her to render me every &longs;ervice in
her power. With this &longs;lender &longs;um, I &longs;at
forward and after a weari&longs;ome journey, sometimes
riding, &longs;ometimes walking, I arrived
&longs;afe in town, and took up my abode with
the per&longs;on ju&longs;t mentioned. From the enquiries
I made (for I had the temerity to
venture to Mr. Rook&longs;by's hou&longs;e) I learnt
his happy marriage with the amiable Mi&longs;s
Howard, and inwardly rejoiced to think
that in &longs;uch a union, his future happine&longs;s
mu&longs;t be &longs;ecure. I al&longs;o learnt, that my children
were in Devon&longs;hire. The maternal
heart will yearn to pour forth its affection.
I had determined to walk to the environs of
Oak-hall and endeavour to gain a &longs;ight of
my beloved little ones, when a mo&longs;t untoward
accident prevented my putting my
de&longs;igns in execution. This was my kind
landlady falling ill, and as &longs;he kept a &longs;hop,
her hu&longs;band earne&longs;tly entreated me to remain
with them till her recovery; to which

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

as I was under many obligations to them, I
could not but a&longs;&longs;ent. Her illne&longs;s was painful
and lingering, and in the end terminated
her life. Soon after her decea&longs;e, I proposed
removing from the hou&longs;e, when the very
man, who had &longs;o earne&longs;tly entreated my
&longs;tay, now demanded payment for my board
and lodging. I had neither money nor
friends. What could I do? I thought once
of applying to Mr. Rook&longs;by; but the fear
of giving you pain prevented me. I submitted
to my hard fate in &longs;ilence and was
conveyed to pri&longs;on. Three months did
I linger in this wretched place, huddled
among the mo&longs;t abject and mi&longs;erable of the
human race; and barely exi&longs;ting on the &longs;canty
pittance allowed me, and the charity of the
benevolent. At length, I was one day recognized
by a trade&longs;man, with whom I had
dealt in my days of affluence. He commiserated
my condition, generou&longs;ly paid the
&longs;um for which I had been confined, and
gave me two guineas in my pocket. No
&longs;ooner was I at liberty, than I re&longs;umed my
wi&longs;h of going to my children. I &longs;et forward
and almo&longs;t begged my way to this place;
but alas! when here, what could I do for
&longs;upport, what door would open to receive
a poor wretch like me? I wandered every
day round the environs of the hall, and
once had the extatic plea&longs;ure of catching a

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

glance of my children: but I dared not
&longs;peak to them, though I longed to fold
them to my maternal heart. My little &longs;tock
of money was &longs;oon exhau&longs;ted, though I
lived almo&longs;t upon bread and water, and at
night, re&longs;ted my weary limbs on the damp
ground. But con&longs;cience told me it was all
right, and only a ju&longs;t puni&longs;hment for my
errors; &longs;o I bore it without complaint, and
watered my cold pillow with tears of unfeigned
repentance. One afternoon, as I
was wandering in the adjacent fields, overcome
by hunger and di&longs;tre&longs;s, I &longs;at down
be&longs;ide a brook that ran along the wood&longs;ide
and after reflecting a few moments on the
horrors of my &longs;ituation, I conceived the impious
idea of putting a period to my existence.
I aro&longs;e from my &longs;eat to put my design
in execution, when hearing a ru&longs;tling
on the other &longs;ide the hedge, I &longs;tarted; and
in a moment &longs;aw Mr. Rook&longs;by come acro&longs;s
a &longs;tile into the field where I was. I gave a
faint &longs;cream and &longs;unk to the ground oppressed
by unde&longs;cribable emotions. Urged by
humanity, he approached and rai&longs;ed me
from the earth. I opened my eyes; but
dared not look at him.

“Poor &longs;oul,” &longs;aid he, in the accent of
benevolence, “you &longs;eem ill. Where &longs;hall
I lead you, or what can I do to &longs;erve you.”

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

“Leave me,” I replied, with a look and
voice of de&longs;traction—“Leave me Rook&longs;by
to the fate I merit.”—“Gracious heaven!”
&longs;aid he, “is it po&longs;&longs;ible, or do my &longs;en&longs;es deceive
me?”—“Oh!” &longs;aid I, cla&longs;ping my
hands, “pity the wretched Clara, and leave
her to die in peace.”

“Clara,” cried he, &longs;lackening the arm
that had &longs;upported me, “poor infatuated woman,
how came you thus reduced?”—

I need not repeat what an&longs;wer I made—
&longs;uffice it to &longs;ay, I &longs;aw the tear of compa&longs;&longs;ion
&longs;parkle in his eye, and heard him declare, I
&longs;hould be permitted to &longs;ee my children.—
He gave me relief with a liberal hand, and
at parting, de&longs;ired I would let him know
where to find me, that I might not be again
reduced to &longs;uch mi&longs;ery.

Thus, madam, have I retraced a life of
complicated guilt and &longs;orrow. I am fully
&longs;en&longs;ible of the benevolence and candor of
your heart, and I tru&longs;t my unfeigned penitence
joined to my &longs;ufferings will expunge
from your memory my faults. Teach me,
dear madam, how to convince you of my
gratitude for your great conde&longs;cen&longs;ion in
intere&longs;ting your&longs;elf in the fate of &longs;o worthle&longs;s
a being as I am, and whatever plan your

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goodne&longs;s &longs;hall &longs;trike out, I will invaribly pursue,
in hopes that my future life will convince
you, with what abhorrence I reflect on my
pa&longs;t mi&longs;conduct. I have the honour to be,
&c. &c.