as willing to believe her the precise little puritanical person she
set up for. After exciting her wayward desires by the fondest embraces
and the purest kisses, as if she had been "made my wedded wife
yestreen," or was to become so to-morrow (for that was always my feeling
with respect to her)--I did not proceed to gratify them, or to follow up
my advantage by any action which should declare, "I think you a common
adventurer, and will see whether you are so or not!" Yet any one but a
credulous fool like me would have made the experiment, with whatever
violence to himself, as a matter of life and death; for I had every
reason to distrust appearances. Her conduct has been of a piece from
the beginning. In the midst of her closest and falsest endearments, she
has always (with one or two exceptions) disclaimed the natural inference
to be drawn from them, and made a verbal reservation, by which she might
lead me on in a Fool's Paradise, and make me the tool of her levity, her
avarice, and her love of intrigue as long as she liked, and dismiss me
whenever it suited her. This, you see, she has done, because my
intentions grew serious, and if complied with, would deprive her of THE
PLEASURES OF A SINGLE LIFE! Offer marriage to this "tradesman's
daughter, who has as nice a sense of honour as any one can have;" and
like Lady Bellaston in Tom Jones, she CUTS you immediately in a fit
of abhorrence and alarm. Yet she seemed to be of a different mind
formerly, when struggling from me in the height of our first intimacy,
she exclaimed--"However I might agree to my own ruin, I never will
consent to bring disgrace upon my family!" That I should have spared
the traitress after expressions like this, astonishes me when I look
back upon it. Yet if it were all to do over again, I know I should act
just the same part. Such is her power over me! I cannot run the least
risk of offending her--I love her so. When I look in her face, I cannot
doubt her truth! Wretched being that I am! I have thrown away my heart
and soul upon an unfeeling girl; and my life (that might have been so
happy, had she been what I thought her) will soon follow either
voluntarily, or by the force of grief, remorse, and disappointment. I
cannot get rid of the reflection for an instant, nor even seek relief
from its galling pressure. Ah! what a heart she has lost! All the love
and affection of my whole life were centred in her, who alone, I
thought, of all