Ireland, 6 Feb. 1777.
My last was merry, you know. I can't say as much for your last. Today you must suffer me to indulge my present turn of mind in transcribing something which was left behind her by a Mrs. Dixon, who poisoned herself not long since at Enniskillen. It was communicated to me by a gentleman, after dinner yesterday, who is come hither about business, and lives in the neighbourhood of Enniskillen. The unhappy woman was not above nineteen years of age. She had been married about two years, and lived with her husband all that time with seeming ease and cheerfulness.
She was remarkably cheerful all the fatal day, had company to dine with her, made tea for them, in the evening set them down to cards, retired to her chamber, and drank her cup of arsenic.
She left a writing on her table, in which is obscurely hinted the sad circumstance which urged her impatience to this desperate act.
Enclosed is an exact copy, even to the spelling.
"This is to let all the word know, that hears of me, that it's no crime I ever committed occasions this my untimly end; but dispair of ever being happy in this world, as I have sufficient reasons to think so. I own 'tis a sinful remedy, and very uncertain to seek happiness: but I hope that God will forgive my poor soul; Lord have mercy on it. But all I beg, is to let none reproach my friends with it, or suspect my virtue or any honour in the least, though I am to be no more.
Comfort my poor unhappy mother, and brothers and sisters; and let all mothers take care, and never force a child, as mine did me. But I forgive her, and hopes God will forgive me, as I believe the meant my good by my marriage.
Oh! that unfortunate day I gave my hand to one, whilst my heart was another's, but hoping that time and prudence would at length return my former peace and tranquility of mind, which I wanted for a long time. But oh! it grieves me to think of the length of eternity; and the Lord save me from eternal damnation! Let no one blame Martin Dixon<33>, for he is in no fault of it.
I have a few articles which I have a greater regard for than anything else that's mine, on account of him that gave them to me (but he is not to be mentioned)—and I have some well-wishers that I think proper to give them to.
First, to Betty Balfour, my silver buckles; to Polly Deeryn, my diamond ring; to Betty Mulligan, my laced suit, cap, handkerchief, and ruffles; to Peggy Delap, a new muslin handkerchief, not yet hemmed, which is in my drawer; and hope for my sake those persons will accept of these trifles, as a testimony of my regard for them.
I would advise Jack Watson<34> to behave himself in an honest and obedient manner in respect to his mother and family, as he is all she has to depend upon now.
I now go in God's name, though against his commands, without wrath or spleen to any one upon earth. The very person I die for, I love him more than ever, and forgives him. I pray God grant him more content and happiness than he ever had; and hopes he will forgive me, only to remember such a one died for him.
There was, not long ago, some persons pleased to talk something against my reputation, as to a man in this town; but now, when I ought to tell the truth, I may be believed—If ever I knew him, or any other but my husband, may I never enter into glory.—And them I forgive who said so—But let that man's wife take care of them that told her so; for they meant her no good by it.
With love to one, friendship to a few, and good-will to all the world, I die, saying, Lord have mercy on my soul! with an advice to all people never to suffer a passion of any sort to command them, as mine did, in spite of me. I pray God bless all my friends and acquaintance, and begs them all to comfort my mother, who is unhappy in having such a child as I, who is ashamed to subscribe myself an unworthy and disgraceful member of the church of Scotland,
Jane Watson,
otherwise, Dixon."
My pen shall not interrupt your meditations hereon, by, making reflections. We both of us have made, I dare say, too many on it.—She too was Jenny, and had her Jamie, and her Robin Gray. Neither did she quit her prison, without, like Alberti (whose story you say affected you so), disposing of her miserable wealth to those she left behind her.
Alas! dull as the prison of this world is (especially now that I am separated thus from you), why could not you and I have known this woman, and have persuaded her to live?
YOU ARE READING
Love and Madness by Herbert Croft
Historical FictionIn 1775, Mr James Hackman, an army officer who subsequently became a clergyman, met and fell in love with Martha Ray (or Reay), a singer and for many years the mistress of the Earl of Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty (and inventor of the eponym...
