The position of Perdita Robinson at this time was peculiar: her husband was living in profligacy upon the wages of her labour, and she had refused the most brilliant offers made to her on condition of separating from him. She refused them all; but lent too ready an ear to the princely suitor, who now besieged her with indifferently-written letters and promises of never-dying affection. An interview was contrived, first in a boat moored off Kew, and afterwards in Kew Gardens by moonlight, at which the Bishop of Osnaburgh was present-- by way of playing propriety, perhaps--and at which there appears to have been little said, but much feared, lest the parties should be found out. The prince and Perdita became so attached to each other after a few more interviews that _she_ declared she should never forget the magic with which she was wooed, and _he_ presented her with a bond for 20,000_l._, to be paid on his coming of age. When that period arrived--it happened in a few months--‘Florizel’ would not pay the money, and had grown weary of the lady. To modify her despair, he granted a last interview, in which he declared that his affection for her was as great as ever; and the poor lady, who trusted in the declaration, was passed by on the following day, in the park, without a sign of recognition on the part of her princely betrayer. The remark which she made on this conduct was worthy of Talleyrand for its sting, smartness, and application--but it is as well, perhaps, to leave it unquoted. She had quitted the stage to please him, and now, in her embarrassment, sought refuge abroad, living in straitened circumstances in Paris, till, by the intervention of Mr. Fox, an annuity was settled upon her of 500_l._ a-year. With this she maintained some splendour, and she was even noticed by Marie Antoinette as _La belle Anglaise_. The gift of a purse netted by the royal hand of that unfortunate Queen, and conferred by her on Perdita, showed at once the sovereign lady’s admiration and lack of judgment and propriety. For some time she resided alternately in England and France, but ultimately, she settled at Brighton, about the time that Mrs. Fitzherbert was there in the brightest of her beauty and the height of her splendour. The ex-actress wrote pretty poetry, and was the authoress of a dozen novels: poetry and romances are now forgotten; but the former does not want for tenderness of sentiment and expression, nor the latter for power and good sense. Finally, in 1799, she undertook the poetical department of the _Morning Post_, retained her office for a few months, and died in the year 1800.