Thus passed the dismal hours, till my retreat could no longer be
delayed. It was pretended that my relations had sent for me to a distant
county, and I entered upon a state which shall be described in my next
letter.
I am, &c.
MISELLA.
No. 171. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1751.
_Taedet coeli convexa tueri_. VIRG. AEn. iv. 451.
Dark is the sun, and loathsome is the day.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
Misella now sits down to continue her narrative. I am convinced that
nothing would more powerfully preserve youth from irregularity, or guard
inexperience from seduction, than a just description of the condition
into which the wanton plunges herself; and therefore hope that my letter
may be a sufficient antidote to my example.
After the distraction, hesitation, and delays which the timidity of
guilt naturally produces, I was removed to lodgings in a distant part of
the town, under one of the characters commonly assumed upon such
occasions. Here being by my circumstances condemned to solitude, I
passed most of my hours in bitterness and anguish. The conversation of
the people with whom I was placed was not at all capable of engaging my
attention, or dispossessing the reigning ideas. The books which I
carried to my retreat were such as heightened my abhorrence of myself;
for I was not so far abandoned as to sink voluntarily into corruption,
or endeavour to conceal from my own mind the enormity of my crime.
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