 Seymour, I will own I have been mad; I wake as from a dream: yet why, my kind, my cruel friend, have you recovered me from that delirium, which, like an opiate, while it weakened, soothed my enfeebled sense, and left me scarce a wish to struggle with my malady? Yes, she is gone! my friend repeats it, and it must be true.
MARRIED to Ransford! Can I yet believe it?
"O may the furies light their nuptial torch!"
Dissembling, cruel woman! she saw the anguish of my breaking heart, when honour triumphed over my self-love, and prevented my accepting the sacrifice she offered, to her destruction.


PERHAPS, that stung her pride, perhaps, she loves me still, but could not bear to be rejected by me.—Perhaps, I have undone her peace, as she has mine.—O no! a younger, gayer, newer lover, absorbs all thoughts of me! I am forgotten, and I will forget
— not Isabella! my life, my soul, my love!
Do not detest me, Seymour; I would, but cannot conquer this disease.

THE moment I had sent off Williams, with my last to you, I ordered my horses, and rode off thirty miles, towards London, not only to be so much nearer the return of my express, but to prevent lady Woodville from observing my distraction.
WHEN I had got about five miles from Woodfort, I sent back my servant, to let her know, that I should spend three or four days, in hunting with Sir William atkinson, whom I just then met, going up to London.
I HAD settled my plan with Williams, who returned, even quicker, than I thought is possible. I have now spent three days at a wretched inn, where, were it in my choice, I would remain for ever. Here I can curse, and I can weep—but the innocent lady Woodville may be rendered unhappy, by my stay.—She loves me, as I loved the—Let me not name her.
SIR James Thornton leaves us in a few days. I must return to Woodfort.—O write soon! and once more say, you pity and forgive,





I WRITE to you merely because you desire it; for I am well convinced, that nothing which I, or the greatest philosopher that ever existed, could say to you, would have any effect upon your mind, in its present state; and my own is, at this instant, so extremely agitated, that I am scarce
