"I would not neg'ect doing you right on all occafions. But "I beg it again for Christ Jesus's fake, that you would ne

66

ver name it any more to me; for, be affured, if you should "ever do fo cruel a thing as to leave me, from that mo"ment I shall never enjoy one quiet hour. And should you do it without asking my consent (which if I ever

66

give you may I never fee the face of heaven !) I will shut myfelf up, and never fee the world more, but live where "I may be forgotten by human kind.”

What think you of this letter? If it fhould have been written by a woman to a woman, furely you will allow H. to write a little tenderly to his own M. This was really the cafe. It is tranfcribed from “an account of the conduct of the Dowager Duchefs of Marlborough," printed for W. Smith in Dame-street, Dublin, 1742, which I bought at Wilson's in Dame-street yefterday. The pamphlet contains others as loving. This I find page 40. It was written to Lady Marlborough by her Mistress (one would have thought the word mistress in one fenfe did belong to one of the parties) when she was only Princess of Denmark. It refers to the quarrel between the Princess and her royal sister and brother-in-law, because she would not part with her favourite, upon Lord Marlborough's having displeased the King.

5

Thefe

Thefe two female lovers always corresponded, under the names of Mrs. Freeman and Mrs. Morley, at the particular defire of the Princess, who fixed upon the names. And this, after she was Queen Anne.-Be affured, my M. that, although I write to you with almost the same madnefs of affection, I will ever imitate her example, for all its royalty, and exchange you for a mushroom of your own raising (Mrs. Masham).

LETTER

XXXVIII.

To the SAME.

Ireland, .6 Feb. 1777.

My laft was merry, you know. I can't say as much for your laft. To-day you must suffer me to indulge my present turn of mind in transcribing fomething which was left behind her by a Mrs. Dixon, who poifoned herfelf not long fince at Inniskillen. It was communicated to me by a gentleman, after a dinner yesterday, who is come hither about business, and lives in the neighbourhood of Inniskillen,

The unhappy woman was not above nineteen years of age. She had been married about two years, and lived with her husband all that time with feeming ease and chearfulness.

-She was remarkably chearful all the fatal day,

had

had company to dine with her, made tea for them, in the evening, fet them down to cards, retired to her chamber, and drank her cup of arfenick.

-She left a writing on her table, in which is obfcurely hinted the fad circumstance which urged her impatience to this desperate act.

Enclosed is an exact copy even to the spelling.

"This is to let all the world know, that hears of me, that it's no crime I ever committed occafions this my untimly end; but despair of ever being happy in this world, as I have fufficient reasons to think fo. I own 'tis a finful remedy, and very uncertain to seek happiness, but I hope that God will forgive my poor foul; Lord have mercy on it! But ali I beg is to let none reproach my friends with it, or fufpect my virtue or my honour in the least, though I am

to be no more.

Comfort my poor unhappy mother, and brothers and fifters, and let all mothers take care, and never a force a child as mine did me: but I forgive her, and hopes God will forgive me, as I believe fhe meant my good by my marriage.

Oh! that unfortunate day I gave my hand to one, whilst my heart was another's, but hoping that time and prudence would at length return my former peace and tranquility of mind, which I wanted for a long time: but oh! it grieves me to think of the length of eternity; and the Lord fave me from eternal damnation! Let no one blame Martin Dixon, for he is in no fault of it.

I have a few articles which I have a greater regard for than any thing else that's mine, on account of him that gave them to me (but he is not to be mentioned)—and I have fome well-wishers that I think proper to give them to.

* Her husband.

First,

First, to Betty Balfour, my filver buckles; to Polly Deeryn, my diamond ring; to Betty Mulligan, my laced fuit, cap, handkerchief, and ruffles; to Peggy Delap, a new muflin handkerchief not yet hemmed, which is in my drawer, and hope for my fake those perfons will accept of these trifles, as a testimony of my regard for them.

I would advife* Jack Watson to behave himself in an honest and obedient manner in respect to his mother and family, as he is all she has to depend upon now.

I now go in God's name, though against his commands, without wrath or fpleen to any one upon earth. The very perfon I die for, I love him more than ever, and forgives him. I pray God grant him more content and happiness than he ever had, and hopes he will forgive me, only to remember fuch a one died for him.

There was, not long ago, fome perfons pleafed to talk fomething against my reputation, as to a man in this town; but now, when I ought to tell the truth, I may be believed: if ever I knew him, or any other but my husband, may I never enter into glory; and them I forgive who faid fo; but let that man's wife take care of them that told her fo; for they meant her no good by it.

With love to one, friendship to few, and good will to all the world, I die, faying, Lord have mercy on my foul; with an advice to all people never to suffer a passion of any fort to command them as mine did in spite of me. I pray God blefs all my friends and acquaintance, and begs them all to comfort my mother, who is unhappy in having fuch a child as I, who is afhamed to fubfcribe myself an unworthy and difgraceful member of the church of Scotland,

Her brother.

Jane Watfon, otherwife, Dixon.”

My

My pen fhall not interrupt your meditations hereon, by making a fingle reflection. We both of us have made, I dare say, too many on it.— She too was Jenny, and had her Robin Gray.

LETTER XXXIX.

To the SAME.

Ireland, 27 March, 77:

If you write as you wrote last week, I cannot bear this distance. Pofitively you must think of what I proposed last month.

That I may not difobey your commands this morning by writing too tenderly, I will transcribe you fomething in return for the contents of your laft. It is in a different ftile, but full as capital. Tell me whether you don't think my French Robin Gray a good companion to your English one. The young Abbé who gave it me, affured me it is almoft totally unknown even in France. Louis Petit (a friend of Cor neille) wrote it, who died in 1693. Do let me fet you the task of tranflating it, when you will of course give Jeremiah leave to go and mind his own affairs.

Dès