hand fent her to heaven before her time, with all her few foibles on her head. Charles, I faw the expiation-thefe eyes beheld. her undergo the heavenly puniflument. That paft, fhe was called, I thought, to the reward of her ten thoufand virtues. Then, in very deed, began my hell, my worfe than woman ever dreamed of hell. Charles, I faw her, as plainly as I fee the bars of my dungeon, through which the eye of day looks upon me now for almoft the last time. Her face, her perfon were ftill more divine than when on earth-they were caft anew, in angel moulds. Her mind too I beheld, as plainly as her face; and all its features. That was the famme that was not capable of alteration for the better. But, what faw I elfe? That mind, that perfon, that face, that angel-was in the bofom of another angel. Between us was a gulph, à gulph impaffible! I could not go to her, neither could she come to me. No-nor did fhe wish it. There was the curfe. Charles, fhe faw me, where I was, fteeped to the lips in mifery. She faw me; but without a tear, without one figh. One figh from her, I thought-and I could have borne all my fufferings. V A figh, a tear! She fmiled at all my fufferings. Yes, the, even fhe, enjoyed the tortures, the upon the wrackings of my foul. She bade her companion angel too enjoy them. She feemed to feaft my griefs; and only turned away her more than damning eyes, to turn them on her more than bleft companion. .... Flames and brimftone-corporal fufferance-were paradife to fuch eternal mental hell as this. Oh! how I rejoiced, how I wept, fobbed with joy, when I awoke, and difcovered it was only a dream, and found myself in the condemned cell of Newgate. Mr. H. and Dr. V. neither of whom you know, I believe, are exceedingly kind to me. The latter writes to me, the former fees me, continually. Your poor H. finds more friends than he merits. Among my papers you will fee fome lines I wrote on reading Goethe's "Werther," tranflated from German into French, which, while I was in Ireland, • Extract from the French Tranflator's preface to Werther. (Werther, traduit de l'Allemande, Maeftricht. 1776. Second partie, p. 229.). Jeune homme fenfible! quand tu éprouveras la premiere atteinte de la plus violente des paffions pour un objet qui ne peut être à toi, tu diras: tel étoit When I returned to land, fhe refufed to lend me. England, I made her let ne read it. But I never fhewed these lines to her, for fear they should make her uneafy.-Unhappy Werther! * Still lefs pretence hadft thou for fuicide than I. After quietly feeing thy Charlotte marry another man, without so much as offering to marry her thyself; hadft thou a right over thy existence because she was not thy wife? Yet waft thou lefs barbarous than I, for thou didst not seek to die in her prefence-but neither didst thou doubt her love. We can neither of us hope for pardon. Lines found, after Werther's death, upon the ground by the pistol. If chance fome kindred spirit should relate And étoit l'état de Werther, le premier jour qu'il vit Charlotte. Ah! fi je revois cet objet qui porte le trouble dans mes fens, je l'adorerai tous les jours davantage; bientôt je fouffrirai les tourments que Werther éprouva, bientôt la langueur ou le défespoir termineront ma malheureuse carriere! Ou'plus infortuné *Vide, Sorrows of Werther, lately published by C. Jackson. And fhould the affecting page be haply read Nay, much loved M. though a fond defire fortuné encore, peut-être la vertu s'éloignera de mon cœur ; je chercherai á féduire cette femine; and fi mes efforts font vains, je maffacrerai fon époux-elle même-Fuyons! évitons le crime, ou l'infortune: allons chercher dans d'autres climats l'oubli d'un objet trop dangereux, & la jouiffance de plaifirs moins funeftes. And yet, Elle même had no effect on H.: Yet Yet might my gloomy tale full furely shroud Newgate, Sunday, 18 April, 79, 5 o'clock in the afternoon. Since I wrote to you this morning I have more than once taken up my pen. For what can I do, which affords me more pleasure than writing to fuch a friend as you are, and have been, to me? Pleafure! Alas, what bufinefs has fuch a wretch as I with fuch a word as that? However, pouring myself out to you thus upon pâper is, in some meafure, drawing off my forrows-it is not thinking. Cruel G. And yet I can excuse her. She knew not of what materials I was made. Lord S. wished to preserve a treasure which any one would have prized. G. was employed to preferve the treafure. And she suspected not that my foul, my existence, were wrapped up in it. O, my dear Charles, that you could prevail upon yourself to vifit this fad place! And yet our mutual feelings would render the vifit useless. So --it is better thus. Now |