declared his illness proceeded from the accounts
be had beard of me and R., and that be was now
going into tbe country to die. You may be
assured I was greatly affected witb his words,
but as I bad suffered so much in my reputation
by my being seen with him, I would not stay to
explain myself, or upbraid him with his
behaviour to me. I merely told him that tbe only
way to convince me of his sincerity was to
leave me, and never see me more. I left him,
and immediately went home, where soon after a
lady informed me be had fainted in the Long
Room, and that his friends had taken him to
Wales, given over by all.

"This news made me relapse, and had very
nearly cost me my life, till I heard again that he
was well and in good spirits, laughing at my
distress, and exulting in tbe success of his
scheme. This once more raised my resentment,
and I was resolved to encourage Mr. R.; and
though I could not consent to go off with him,
I told him, with my father's consent, that when
it was in his power, if he still retained his love
for me, and I was free from any other engagement,
I would marry him. When I returned to
Bath he followed me; but as he was very much
talked of, I would not suffer him to be so
particular."

But R. proved, after all, worthless, and Miss
Linley began now to think no man was worthy of
a woman's heart. In this state of mortification,
she was again compelled by her parents to
see Mathews, who soon succeeded in
vindicating himself and regaining her love. Our
story is but the history of a woman's heart—its
storms, its sunshine, and its final peace. Again
Mathews's attentions become particular, and
people begin again to whisper to old purblind
Linley.

Let the persecuted young lady herself relate,
in a picture worthy of Stothard, what then
happened:

"I was one night going to bed, when I heard
my father and mother talking very loud, and my
name and Mathews's were repeated very often;
this induced me to listen, and I heard my mother
tell my father that I was miserable, and that
Mathews was equally wretched—that we had
loved each other for some years, and that she
was sure it would be my death. My father
seemed sometimes to pity and sometimes to
condemn me; but at last he resolved I should never
see him again. In the morning, when I came
down to breakfast, my spirits were very low,
and I could not refrain from tears; this soon
brought on an explanation with my father, to
whom I confessed everything that had passed.
His behaviour was tender to a degree, and
by that method he gained more upon me
than if he had treated me harshly. Anger I
can withstand, but tenderness I never could.
My father, after many arguments, wherein he
convinced me of the folly, if not wickedness,
of such a connexion, made me promise never
to see him more, and told me he would break
off all intercourse with the family immediately."

The poor girl's heart was quite lost—she still
had not the courage to turn deaf ears to
Mathews's feigned penitence and sham sufferings
but a good genius, stealthy as
Mercury, and with a brain brimming with
romantic and dramatic contrivances, was
approaching fast, and with the cautious softness of
a tiger-cat. A winged Perseus was already
hovering far above and unseen over the timid
and tortured Andromeda. Silently, noiselessly,
inflexibly, Sheridan had pursued his purpose of
winning the Beauty of Bath, with whom he had
been secretly in love ever since he had left Harrow.
He had long ago won her confidence and
respect, but, "obscure and penniless," as he then
described himself, he had not dared to present
himself openly in the arena, nor had he had the
opportunities granted to the rich gentlemen of
fortune, who bought reckless numbers of concert
tickets. He had jealously watched Mathews,
and was waiting for the opportunity of
openly proclaiming himself the lover of Elizabeth
Linley. He had at first been won by
Mathews's manner, but, detecting his base arts,
had retained the character of his confidant, in
order the better to discover his designs and
frustrate his purposes. Mathews had even
boasted to him how cleverly he had deceived the
girl, and vaunted that she still believed him to
be an angel.

The poor girl still believed in her worthless
lover. In a letter, describing the whole
unhappy affair, she says:

"When Mr. Sheridan came to me in the
evening, I only told him something had happened
to make me uneasy, but bade him tell Mathews
that I would write to him. I accordingly wrote,
and told him every circumstance that had
happened; showed him how impossible it was for
us to continue any such connexion, and begged
—for still I thought him worthy—that he would
write to tell me he was convinced by my
arguments, and that we might part friends, though
unhappy ones. He wrote to me, and comforted
me greatly by assuring me of his approbation
of my conduct, and that he was ready to
acquiesce in anything that would make me happy,
as he was unwilling to see my father.

"Mr. Sheridan was appointed to settle everything.
He accordingly came to my father and
told him what Mathews had said, and that he
intended to write to my father, and bind
himself in the most solemn manner never to see me
again. My father was satisfied with this, and
pitied Mathews greatly. He kept his word,
and my father was happy that he had settled
everything so amicably."

The letter was written, and the foolish father
was satisfied that he had ended the matter for
ever.

Sheridan prepared to unmask the rascal,
by telling Miss Linley that if Mathews broke
his word (which he must secretly have known
he would), he, as a man of honour, engaged in
the affair, would never be seen in company with
him again. The very next day Miss Linley
discovered on what a shifting shoal she had
planted her love. A letter came from Mathews