Thus on all hands were the snares of sophistry laid, and the delusions of love held out before me. My only sentiment was love storms of life, and the agonizing reflections that vexed my solitary moments. I soon lost that elation: of mind with which I welcomed an -my only duty to obey the entice-approaching friend. Conscience o pened to me the excess of my folly, and sunk me into the most contemptuous disesteem with myself. I knew not where or how to hide my guilt from the world. Life and all its duties, exigencies, and pleasures, began to present themselves, but I had no inheritence in them. I had neither the prospects nor the hopes of youth. Abandoned by myself, afraid to look into my own mind--afraid to look back on the past, yet trembled to cast an eye towards my future days. Penorse and shame planted daggers in my soul, made me weary of so. By this train of infamy was the happiness of my days mournfullyciety, yet more weary of solitude. ended. By these means was I sc. duced from the paths of innocence and virtue, to be bewildered in mazes, from which no reputation can be extricated, and in which no peace of mind can have permanent security. Yet so well planned were the devices of my enemy, that the delusions which made me guilty for a time kept me so. A succes sion of guilt was as a pleasing dream, in which all my senses were fast locked. Such seeming serenity was of short duration. The garments of vice, although pleasing on first putting on, soon became cumbrous and uneasy, for I had rejected that vesture which alone could have protected me against the # My undoer became indifferent, in proportion as I became wretched, and in a very short time entirely withdrew himself from our family. This was the only circumstance that now was wanting to open my eyes effectually. I could not trace to its source every artifice that conspired in my destruction, and viewed the consequence of my casy compliance with every horror that blasted fame and self reproach could accumulate. I viewedas a fiend, who had sought my happiness, to devour it with a savage barbarity. My rears daily betrayed an unspeakable anguish greater than bodily pain (to which my parents ascribed it) and 'I courted the retired hauntsofsilence and meditazion, there to indulge a and break their peace. I do not tue or even malice can advance on my unhappy fate. When the world, of which I am unworthy, shall see me no more, my name will be mentiotted with some tenderness. perpetuity of sorrow, that over- that is impossible. sorrow and inpowered and weakened my mind. || dignation must occupy their minds A deadly consumption seized my weak frame-with gladness I perpload against what indignant vir ceived its progress; I looked on it as the harbinger of my best friend--an end all my griefs of death. Could it be otherwise than acceptable? Deprived of every hope of future happiness, I dared not recount the days of in. nocence, nor review that integrity of manners, which was my early pride. The contrast between my former and my present situation, shook my very reason, The insanity of reiterated, though momentary despair reduced me to that misery, which no language can express. Beyond the conviction of my crime, I had not, could not, have a wish to lie. The speedy hand of death beckoned me to leave a world in which I was unfit to live, and where my only distinction was, that I had attained the dismal priviledge of ranking first on the list of the miserable, having ceased to move in the honorable, though humble sphere of goodness & wisdom. Yes, my dear friend the lightest man. sion to which I am hastening will bury all. There I may find that compassion, which the relentless modes of censure never grant to wretches like me. There whatever good 1 possessed, whatever amiss I have done, shall be remembered, if remembered at all, with equal sym pathy. Thinking on me when there, some in an hour of tenderness may allow my claims on better days. Let me comfort myself at this dying hour with those hopes--for all earthly friendship can only reach by memory. Nature almost already exhausted, must soon yield to her enemy-grief. I have no interest in the pleasing scenes of life-They disappear-I have an interest above them. Think not, Lucinda, however, while I view my approsobing dissolution with composure, that death is wholly drest in smiles. No while I have sense and recollection, every hour has a portion of the bitter, and is only tolerable as allevi. ated by those hopes, which the world can neither give nor take away. Before my trembling hand closes this letter, let me for once more turn my eyes towards him, who has thus desolated a mind that might have been fruitful in rectitude and happiness--if I am guilty what is be? If I be despised by the world, can there be any who căn misery and starvation sak the streets, and rattle at the poor's windows. Then shall you and I, who through the mer cy of Heaven, have something to spare; shall we shut our hearts against human. countenance him? Yet 'tis said he still exalts in the pride of fortune, gallantry. and snsinuation-Be it so-Let him live that he may repent. Low as he has Jail me in the estimation of mankind, aity? Shall we afraid of popularity, or prayer for his recovery sits on my quiv ering lips when I think on him. fond of ease--and refuse to budge? No: Let the proper authorities move, ( as I know they will) and we will aid them. Let our HONORABLE MAOR speak, (as I am confident he has, and acted likewise,) and we will attend him. CHRISTIANS. Farewell, then, Lucinda- A few hours are wanting before I be numbered with those that have been. When you read my sad story, wish, like myself that our sex, surrounded as they are with dangers, may never need another inducement to guard their honor--B ut Igrow faint-My feeble hand shakes--the 23th ult. by the rea Mr. Richards, my eyes grow dim-I bow in resigna, tion-Again, farewell-Think frequent. ly on me. Lucinda; let your poor friend have a monument in your bosom-Weep not for me-Dry up the tears of my sympathizing friends-We will meet a gain, my dear friend, where no enemy can enter-May all happiness attend you-I have laid my head on the pillow to raise it no more, for in a very short time it may be said. There once lived the unfortunate EMILIA. LADYS MISCELLANY NEW-YORK, February 8. 1812. Be it our task, To note the passing tidings of the times. The following communication appeared in a Baltimore paper (the Federal Gaz eite), and is truly applicable to this city. REMEMBER THE POOR. A Have you a suiïiciency of clothing? No, indad, ner fire wood, nor bread! reply a thousand shivering fellow mo:tals, An infant pines and dies breause its perishing mother has no nourishment nor has she strength to come out of her miserable hut, in search of alms. wife impiores, in vain, the common necossaries of life--because her husband is without employ and without means: Winter, with his frosty face, as unfeeling as his blustering blasts are chilling, has locked up the harbor, stopping our little trade. No work-No money Married. At Newark, NJ. on Tuesday evening Hugh H. Rolston, esq. to Miss Lydia At Troy, Mr. Ralph Day, printer, of that Village, to Miss Mary Miller, of Waterford. On Saturday 25th ult. Mr. Hugh Anderson, aged 35. On Wednesday last, after a shart illne $3, Mr. Jonathan Puffer, aged 33 years On Wednesday evening last, after a lin gering allness, which she bore with chris tian fortitude. Mrs. Catharine Cole, aged 21 years, wife of Burnet Cole, and ebirst daughter of the late Alexander P. Waldron, of this city. At Newark, the pious and venerable Mrs. Mary Robertson, the mother of Mrs Pope wife of Henry Pope, merchant of this city in the 76th year of her age. On Sunday Morning last, of a lingering illnese, which she bore with true christian fortitude and resignatim, Miss Jane Ga!braith, aged 18 years, daughter and only child of Mr. Allen Galbraith,of this eity. Like good Samaira's son, inay we, For the Lady's Miscellany. O! Glorious Architect above, Shining in yonder regions bright, "While Earth will join, and as it rolls, Glowing with thy benignat grace, 'Tis there the naked raiment found, Still to thy sons, O GOD, dispense, FLY NOT YET. "By Thomas Moore, Esq. Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour. And maids who love the moon! 'Twas but to bless these hours of shade, That beauty and the moon were made; 'Tis then the soft attractions glowing, Set the tides and goblets flowing Oh! stay-Oh! stay Joy so seldom weaves a chain To break its links so soon. Thomas H. Brantingham, has removed to No. 145 Broadway, where he conti nues to procure money on Mortgages, notes of hand & deposits, buys & sells houses, improved farms, & tracts of land Also lets & leases houses & lots, on rea. sonable commision.Also the lease of 2 houses, & an annuity. Also for sale 30 farms, several with good improvements. will be sold low, goods & property of every sort taken in payment, or any who forms a company tickets & draw for the diffe: ent farms will be liberaly paid for it Also a kilfull farming man with a good character, will meet with encouragement by applying as above. PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY No. 317 Water-street, New-York AT TWO DOLLARS PER ANNUM |