Memoirs of Emma Courtney

re sufficiency oppressive.'-Alas! had I known the nature of those vexations, could I have merited such a reproof? The Augustus, I had so long and so tenderly loved, no longer seemed to exist. Som

ne, sad, desolate, no one heeded my sorrows-no eye pitied me-no friendly voice cheered my wounded spirit! The social prope

emaining friend, Mrs Harley. I snatched it hastily; my heart, lacerated by the seeming unkindness of him in whom it had confided, yearned to imb

age, three years before, with a foreigner, with whom he had become acquainted during his travels; that this marriage had been kept a secret, and, but very lately, by an accidental concurrence of circumstances, revealed to the person most concerned in the detection. Undoubted proofs of the truth o

veins-and I sat motionless-my faculties suspended, stunned, locked up! My friend spake to me-embraced, shed tears over, me-but she could not excite mine;-my mind was pervaded by a s

most criminal in my own eyes-he had risqued, at once, by a disingenuous and cruel reserve, the virtue and the happiness of three beings. What is virtue, but a calculation of the consequences of our actions? Did we allow ourselves to reason on this principle, to reflect on its tr

disposition. I saw him not-I was incapable of seeing any one-but, informed by my kind hostess of his humane attentions, soothed by the idea of having yet a friend who seemed to interest himself

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has been suspended over my head, days, weeks, months, years, has at length fallen-still I live! My tears flow-I struggle

misery-All nature is to me a blank-an envenomed shaft rankles in my bos

ows, for your kindness, while I was yet a stranger to you, inspired

upon me, then, for the few incidents of my life-I will relate them simply, and without disguise. There is

erful-is he benevolent? If he be, can he sport himself in the miseries of poor, feeble, impotent, beings, forced into existence, without their choice-impelled, by the iron hand of necessity, through mistake, into calamity?-Ah! my friend, who will condemn the poor solitary wanderer, whose feet are pierced with many a thorn, should he turn s

ve me, and worthless to every one. Weakened by long suspence-preyed upon, by a combination of imperious feelings-I fea

ed a momentary relief: If your heart be inaccessible to tender sym

mm

t. In compliance with this request, and to beguile my melancholy thoughts, I drew up a sketch of the events of my past life, and unfolded a history of the sentiments of my mind (from wh

by passion. Even in the moment of disappoint