What and how great a contrast is exhibited between this female’s first appearance on the theatre of the public, and her last fatal ending! Lively, elegant, accomplished, and agreeable, of pleasing person, simple and gentle manners, without pride, or asserting any pretensions to distinction, she received the respect and attention of many of the most considerable persons in this country, both for talent and for rank. What is she now? If she lives, (and whether she does or not, few know, and nobody cares) she is a wanderer—an exile, unnoticed and unknown. The moment that the torch of anarchy was displayed from the turrets of the Thuilleries, she caught the flame, and, as it were by magic, the form of every thing was changed to the visual ray of her understanding. She forgot the lessons of her youth, despised the precepts of her early instructors, and forsook the land of her forefathers. The perfectibility of man, the rights of women, the cap of liberty, alone occupied and overpowered her mind. She must needs go where alone these fascinating idols received the culture and the homage which in her imagination they deserved. To France then she hurried, connected herself instantaneously with the great tragedians of the day, was initiated in their mysteries, and adopted the whole of their gipsy jargon. She became in every particular a French woman. Nothing was in her eyes fair, or wise, or great, or good, but what was French; and as for poor old England, its inhabitants, and its manners, nothing could be more paltry—nothing more contemptible. Her friend, Mrs. W. had taught her, by her example, that female modesty might be laid aside without any compunctious visitations; and, like her prototype, she formed an attachment to a Frenchman, who in Paris was generally considered as a spy of the police; even if he did not sometimes perform in a far less honourable character. This man had a wife living at the time, and Miss W. probably knew it; but this opposed but a trifling obstacle. The morality which then prevailed in the French metropolis, found a very convenient confederate in the facility with which divorces were obtained. But it is far from certain, that even this slight ceremony was observed. Be this as it may, under this paramour’s benignant auspices, she wrote about France, its politics, its new-fangled manners, Robespierre, and Danton, and Marat, and all that Stygian crew, with unrestrained volubility; and with a presumptuousness and impertinence, a determination to palliate and excuse the horrid atrocities she had witnessed, such as to excite a mixture of contempt and resentment. Perhaps the following may be exhibited as an accurate epitome of her creed at this period, (we say at this period) for if she yet lives, she must be a greater fool than we think her, to persist in some of the articles of her political faith:—