state of health. But on that day, which was about half a year after
her last departure from London, at one o'clock in the morning, she was
taken very ill. This giving me, who always lay with her, great
uneasiness, I immediately got up, and called her maid., who instantly
appeared; and then she got out of bed, and retired. When she came into
bed again, she said, "My dear Molly, don't fright yourself: You know
there is now no danger." In order to understand which words, it will
be proper to observe, that, when my mother was in labour of me, she
received a hurt; which made me apprehensive of ill consequences, which
either the cholick, which was her present disorder, or any
obstructions in the parts contiguous to those which are the seat of
that distemper, happened. She lay pretty easy till six, when I
dispatched a messenger for Mr. Norton, the apothecary to the family,
who lived in Henley. When he came, she complained of a pain in her
bowels; upon which he took some blood from her, and ordered her some
gentle physic. She seemed better after this, but nothing passed
through her. It being Friday, and many country gentlemen meeting to
bowl at the Bell Inn, the Rev. Mr. Stevens of Fawley, my mother's
brother, came thither that day, paid a visit to his sister, and found
her greatly indisposed. When he left the room, in which she lay, for
she kept her bed, I followed him out, and asked him, if he thought
there was any danger; telling him how she then was, the manner in
which she was first seized, and what had been prescribed her. As she
before had had several such fits of cholick, Mr. Stevens did not
apprehend any immediate danger. I said, "If my mamma was not better
soon, I would send for a physician." To which he replied, "You are
much in the right of it; but stay a little, and see what effects the
physic will have." He called again in the evening, and found her
better, tho' nothing had yet passed through her. About twelve o'clock
at night my mother obliged me, who was then myself indisposed, to get
into another bed; and promised to send to me, if she found herself
worse. Soon after this, she grew much worse; but would not send to her
daughter, saying, "She would know her fate too soon." She farther said
in Mr. Norton, who was then with her, "My daughter loves me so well,
that I wish my decease may not be the death of her." Between five and
six o'clock in the morning, on Saturday Sept. 30th, 1749, my mother's
maid came up to me, and told me, that, "If I would see my mother
alive, I must come immediately into her chamber." I leaped out of bed,
put on my shoes, and one petticoat only, and ran thither in the
greatest confusion imaginable. When my mother saw me, she put out her
hand, and said, "Now, Molly, shew yourself a Christian, and submit to
what God is pleased to order. I must die, my dear: God will enable you
to bear it, if you pray to Him." On which I turned about in a state of
distraction, ran to my father's room, and said to him, "For God's
sake, sir, come to my mother's room: she is this instant dying." Then
I ran, with great inquietude, into the kitchen, where I found my
footman, and sent him immediately to Fawley for the Rev. Mr. Stevens,
my uncle, and his brother, Mr. Henry Stevens, of Doctors Commons, who
was then at his house in Henley. I also, at the same time, dispatched
a messenger to Dr. Addington, who lived at Reading. After which I went
upstairs, and found my father sitting by my mother's bedside. She took
him and me both by the hand, joining our hands together, and saying to
him, "Be both a father and a mother to her: I have long tried and
known her temper, Mr. Blandy. She is all your heart can wish for, and
has been the best of daughters to me. Use her with a generous
confidence, and she will never abuse it. She has set her heart upon
Cranstoun; when I am gone, let no one set you against this match." To
these last words Mr. Blandy immediately made answer, "It shall not be
my fault, if this does not take place; but they must stay, you know,
till the unhappy affair in Scotland is decided." "God bless you,"
replied she, "and thank you for that promise; God bless you, Mr.
Blandy, for all your kindnesses to me and my girl. God grant that you
may both live long, that you may be a blessing to each other. Whatever
little unkindnesses may have passed I freely forgive you. Now, if you
please to go down, Mr. Blandy, for my spirits fail me." My father then
kissed her, and retired in tears, saying, as he went, "The doctor
still may think of something that may be of service to you." At this
she smiled and said, "Not without you can give me a new inside." When
my father was gone, my mother took hold of my hand, drew me to her,
and kissed me. Taking notice that I had no cloaths on, she ordered my
maid to bring 'em down, and dress me. This being done, she ordered her
servants out of the room; and told me, "she had many things, if her
strength would permit, to say to me. Be sure then," said she, "Molly,
when I am gone, to remember the lessons I have taught you. Be dutiful
to your father; and if you think I have been sometimes a little hardly
used, do not remember it in wrath; but defend my character if
aspersed. I owe some more money, Molly, God knows how you will get it
paid. I wish your uncles would stand your friends. If your father
should know it, I am only fearful for you. Indeed, my dear, I never
spent it in extravagancies. I was in hopes you would have been
married; I then would have told your father all, as I could have come
to you till his passion had been over." On my being drowned In tears,
she catched me in her arms, and cried, "I leave the world with the
greatest pleasure, only thee makes me sorry to go. Oh that I could but
take you along with me!--But then what would poor Cranstoun do? Be
sure, child, you behave with honour in that affair; don't, either
thro' interest or terror, violate the promises you have made." To this
I reply'd, "You may be sure, madam, I never will. I will do all I can
to act as you would wish your daughter to do. Oh mamma, you have been
the best of mothers to me! How can I survive you, and go thro' all the
miseries I must meet with after your death, without a friend to advise
with on any emergency or occasion." "My dear," returned she, "your
uncle John, in things you cannot speak to your papa about, will help
and advise you in the tenderest manner; and you may repose an absolute
confidence in him."
Soon after Mr. Stevens of Fawley came, and I conducted him into my
mother's chamber. At his approach to her, he was so overwhelmed with
grief, that he could not speak a word. She took him by the hand, and
said, "I am glad to see you, my dear brother. You must help to comfort
your poor niece, who will stand in need of your assistance. Never
forsake her, my dear brother. All that gives me pain in death is the
leaving of her behind me." Then turning to me, "Your uncle Jack, my
dear, will take care of you, and look on you as his own," At which Mr.
Stevens took hold of his sister's and niece's hands, and, with tears,
told 'em both he would. Then turning about, he asked me if the
physician was not yet come? My mother said, "They would send for him,
but he could be of no service to her"; giving her brother at the same
time such reasons for her despondency as convinced him, that there
were little or no hopes of her recovery. He found himself so moved at
this, that he was obliged to go down stairs, and retire to my father
and Mr. Henry Stevens, who were at that time both in the parlour. The
physician, Dr. Addington, of Reading, soon arrived, and went directly
to my mother's room. When he came in, she showed him the inflammation
and swelling on her bowels. He prescribed her some physic, to be taken
once in every two hours, and ordered her to be blooded immediately.
Her bowels also, according to his direction, were to be fomented and
poulticed once in every four hours. This operation I took upon myself,
and punctually performed it. I also gave her every medicine she took
till she was at the point of death, and I myself was forced to be
carried out of the room in a fit. Dr. Addington, before he prescribed
anything, went with me out of the room, and told me he was afraid he
could do nothing for her; repeating the same afterwards both to my
father and my two uncles. Notwithstanding which, he thought fit to
order the above mentioned poultices and fomentations; which, according
to his direction, were applied, tho' without producing any good
effect. In fine, my dear mother died Sept. 30, 1749, about nine
o'clock at night.
For six months preceding her sickness, or thereabouts, being the
interval between her last departure from London and the time her
indisposition seized her, my mother never saw Mr. Cranstoun; tho' I
constantly, and even almost every post, corresponded with him. It must
here be observed, that Lady Cranstoun had wrote to my mother some time
before, to return her thanks for the civilities her son had received
from her. It must also be remembered, that a little before my mother
went last to town, I and my father both received letters from Miss
Murray, signed "N. Cranstoun," to inform us, that she was his lawful
wife. The decree of the Court of Scotland in her favour was sent with
these letters. When I received them, I carried them to my father.
After he had read them, I asked him "what I was to do." His answer
was, "I do not trouble my head about it." On which I went to my
mother, and consulted with her about what was to be done; and, by her
advice, wrote to Mr. Cranstoun, begging him, as he was a man of
honour, to let me know the truth. At the same time, I sent him the
letters that came from Scotland, and occasioned this epistle. In
answer to this, he said, "It was certainly her hand; but that she
never was his wife, nor has any right to the name": And, in order to
gain credit to his assertion, he made the strongest protestations.
Before my mother wrote last to him, and that a considerable time, he
had sent me a solemn Contract of Marriage, wherein he declared he
never had been married before, and stiled me therein "Mrs. Cranstoun."
But to put an end to this digression, and proceed to what happened
after my mother's death.
On the day following her decease, which was Sunday, Mr. Stevens of
Fawley was desired to write Mr. Cranstoun word of this sorrowful
event; which he did, I being incapable of either knowing or doing any
thing. Mrs. Stevens, the Rev. Mr. Stevens's wife, staid with me from
Saturday night, when my mother died, till the Sunday night following.
Then Mrs. Mounteney, a friend of my late mother's, came to me, and
staid with me some time. My mother, on her deathbed, had begged me not
to oppose the match between my father and this Mrs. Mounteney, if,
after her death, he discovered an inclination to marry her; as she was
a woman of honour, and would use me well for her sake. On the Tuesday
following my mother's death Mr. Cranstoun sent his footman express to
Henley, with letters to me and my father. When my father opened his
letter and read it, the tears ran down his checks, and he cried out,
"How tenderly does he write!" Then he gave Mrs. Mounteney the letter
to read, who, after having read it, said it was as pretty a letter as
could have been wrote on such an occasion; "He has lost a friend
indeed," said she, "but I don't doubt," speaking to my father, "but
you will make up her loss to them both." Then, my father said to me,
"Pray read your letter to us." This I did, and the letter contained an
earnest desire, that if I could not write myself, I would let his
footman see me, that he might know how I really was; since he was
almost distracted for fear of my being ill after so great a shock. He
also begged me to remember, "That there was one left still, who loved
me as tenderly as my mother could do, and whose whole happiness in
this world depended upon my life." My father told me, tho' my mother
was to be buried that night, "I must write a line to him, in order to
ease the poor soul as much as I could; and let him know that he was as
welcome to my father's house, whenever he would please to come, as he
was before." On this I wrote to him, and shewed the letter to my
father. The footman set out with it for London the same night, or very
early the next morning. Mr. Cranstoun not coming down so soon as was
expected, my father one day, being alone with me, seemed to express
himself as if he thought it wrong; upon which I wrote a very pressing
letter to him, to come immediately to Henley. To this he in a letter
replied, that he was not able to go out at that time for debt, and was
fearful if he should come, the Bailiffs might follow him; his fortune
being seized in Scotland, for the maintenance of Miss Murray and her
child. The debt that occasioned this perplexity, he said, was near
fifteen guineas. I having borrowed forty pounds of Mrs. Mounteney, to
pay off part of my mother's debts, sent him up fifteen guineas out of
this sum; on which he came down to Henley, and staid some weeks with
my father, who received him with great marks of affection and esteem.
During this interval, he acquainted me with the great skill of the
famous Mrs. Morgan, who had described me and my father, tho' she had
never seen us, in the most perfect and surprising manner possible. He
further acquainted me, that she had given him some powders to take,
which she called Love-powders. Some time after this conversation, my
father seemed much out of humour, and said several unkind things, both
to Mr. Cranstoun and me. This induced Mr. Cranstoun, when alone with
me not long after, to say, "I wish I could give your father some of
the love-powders." "For what?" said I. "Because," replied he, "they
would make him love me." "Are you weak enough," said I, "to think that
there is such a power in any powders?" "Yes, I really do," replied he,
"for I took them myself, and forgave a friend soon after; tho' I never
intended to have spoke to him again." This subject dropped for some
days, and no more said of it: but on my father's being very much out
of humour one night, Mr. Cranstoun said, "If I had any of these
powders, I would put them into something that Mr. Blandy should
drink." To which I answered, "I am glad you have not, for I have no
faith in such things." "But I have," replied he. Just before he
returned to London, he received a dunning letter. This was on a
Sunday, when my father was at church. I perceiving him to look dull,
begged to know the reason. He said he must leave me the next day. On
which I asked him what could occasion such a sudden departure? He then
told me he had received a letter, concerning a debt he owed, that he
had no money to pay; and that if he staid in Henley, the bailiffs
might come down in quest of him thither; and you know your father's
temper, said he, if that should happen. This induced me to desire a
sight of the letter; which having perused, I immediately gave him the
money he wanted on this occasion, winch amounted to fifteen pounds,
and was part of the sum I had before borrowed of Mrs. Mounteney. This,
with the other fifteen pounds sent him from Henley, made up thirty of
the forty pounds he had formerly lent my mother. As soon as he had
received this money, he wrote a letter to his creditor in London,
informing him, that he would pay him on a day therein mentioned. A few
days after this, he set out for London, and kept up his correspondence
with me for several months, not returning to Henley till August 1750.
The morning he left Henley, my father parted with him with the
greatest tenderness; yet the moment he was gone, he used me very
cruelly on his account. This had such an effect upon me, that it threw
me into hysteric fits. His conduct for some time was very uncertain;
sometimes extremely tender, and at other times the reverse; he on
certain occasions saying very bitter and cruel things to me.
During this interval, my father received a present of some dried
salmon from Lady Cranstoun in Scotland, and a very civil letter, which
he did not answer, tho' he seemed pleased with the contents of it. The
first of August 1750, as I apprehend, Mr. Cranstoun wrote to my
father, that he would wait upon him, and I carried the letter up to
him, he then being in his bed-chamber. After he had opened and read
it, he made no manner of answer. I then asked him what answer I should
write. To which he replied, "He must come, I suppose." On this I wrote
to him, giving him to understand, that I should be glad to see him.
This produced an answer from him, wherein he told me, he would be with
me on the Monday following; but he came on Sunday, whilst we were at
dinner. My father received him with great tenderness seemingly, and
said, "He was sorry he had not seen him half an hour sooner, for he
was afraid the dinner was quite cold." My father after dinner went to
church, and left Mr. Cranstoun and me together: after church was over,
my father returned, drank tea with us, and seemed to be in perfect
good humour; and so he remained for several weeks; but afterwards
changed so much in his temper, that I seldom arose from table without
tears. This gave Mr. Cranstoun great pain; so that he one time said to
me, "Why will you not permit me to give your father some of the
powders which I formerly mentioned? If I was to give him them,"
continued he, "they are quite innocent, and will do him no harm, if
they did not produce the desired effect." He had no sooner spoke those
words than my father came in; upon which a profound silence ensued.
Next morning I went into my father's study, and found him very much
out of humour: he had spent the evening at the coffee-house, as he
frequently did, and generally came home in a bad humour from thence. I
went from him into the parlour where I found Mr. Cranstoun: he
insisted upon knowing what was the matter, I appearing to him to have
been lately in tears: I told him the whole affair. He replied, "I hate
he should go to that house, he always comes home from thence in a very
ill humour." I had made the tea, and got up to fetch some sugar, which
was in a glass scrutore at the farther end of the room; and when I
rose up, Mr. Cranstoun said to me, "I will now put in some of the
powder--upon my soul it will not hurt him." My father was in his study
at the time these words were spoken. I made answer, "Don't do it,
Cranstoun; it will make me uneasy, and can do you no good." To this he
replied, "It can do no hurt, and therefore I will mix it." After I had
got the sugar, I returned to the tea-table, and was going to throw
away the tea, in which Mr. Cranstoun had put some of the powder; but
my father came in that moment, and prevented me from executing my
design. My father seemed very much out of humour all breakfast-time;
and, soon after breakfast was over, retired to his study. Mr.
Cranstoun and I then took a walk. At dinner my father appeared in the
best of humours, and continued so all the time Mr. Cranstoun stayed
with him. Mr. Cranstoun and I used to walk out every day. On one of
those days, Mr. Cranstoun told me he had a secret to impart to me, and
begg'd me not to be angry with him for it; adding, he knew I had too
much good sense to be so. The secret in short was this: he had had a
daughter by one Miss Capel, a year before he knew me; and, as he
pretended, all his friends had insisted upon his telling me of it. To
this I replied, "Your follies, Cranstoun, have been very great; but I
hope you see them." "That I do," said he, "with penitence and shame."
"Then, sir," replied I, "I freely forgive you; but never shall, if you
repeat these follies now after our acquaintance." "If I do," said he,
"I must be a villain; you alone can make me happy in this world; and,
by following your example, I hope I shall be happy in the next." Mr.
Cranstoun gave my father the powder in August 1750, and stayed with
him in Henley, as I believe, till some day in the beginning of
November, the same year. A day or two after the preceding dialogue,
one morning I got, up, and asked my maid, "How Mr. Cranstoun did?" Who
answered, "He is gone out a walking, Madam." Upon this, I, as soon as
I was drest, went up into Mr. Cranstoun's room, to look out his linnen
for my maid to mend. I could not find it on the table, where it used
to lie; and seeing a key in his trunk, I opened it. The first thing I
found there was a letter from a hand I knew not, tho' he used always
to give me his letters to open, and that unasked by me. This I opened
to read, and found it to come from a woman he kept. Having read it, I
shut the trunk, locked it fast, and put the key in my pocket. The
letter I left in the same place where I found it. I then went down to
my father in his study, and asked him to come to breakfast. He said,
"No, not till Cranstoun returns home;" on which I retired into the
parlour. A few minutes after, Mr. Cranstoun and Mr. Littleton, my
father's clerk, both came in together. We all of us then went to
breakfast. My father said to me, soon after we sat down, "You look
very pale, Molly; what is the matter with you?" "I am not very well,
sir," replied I. After we had breakfasted, my father and his clerk
went out of the room. I then gave Mr. Cranstoun the keys of his trunk,
and bade him be more careful for the future, and not leave his letters
so much exposed. At these words he almost fainted away. He got up, and
retired to his room immediately. I was going to my own room, when he
called to me, and begged me, for God's sake, to come to him: which I
instantly did. He then fell down on his knees before me, and begged
me, for God's sake, to forgive him; if I was resolved to see him no
more. On this I told him I forgave him, but intreated him to make some
excuse to leave Henley the next day: "For I will not," said I, "expose
you, if I can help it; and our affair may scorn to go off by degrees."
The last words, seemingly so confounded him, that he made me no
answer, but threw himself on the bed, crying out, "I am ruined, I am
ruined. Oh Molly, you never loved me!" I then was upon the point of
going out of the room, without giving him any answer. Upon which he
got hold of my gown, and swore, "He would not live till night, if I
did not forgive him." He bad me, "Remember my mother's last dying
commands, and reflect upon the pain it would give his mother." He
protested "that he could never forgive himself, if I did; and that he
never would repeat the same provocations." He kept me then two hours,
before he could prevail upon me to declare, that I would not break off
my acquaintance with him. Mr. Cranstoun pretended to be sick two or
three days upon this unlucky event; but I cannot help thinking this
now to have been only a delusion. Some time after this Mr. Cranstoun
had a letter from his brother, the Lord Cranstoun, to desire him to
come immediately to Scotland, in order to settle some of his own
affairs there, and to see his mother, the Lady Cranstoun, who was then
extremely ill. Upon the arrival of this letter Mr. Cranstoun said to
me, "Good God, what shall I do! I have no money to carry me thither
and all my fortune is seized on, but my half-pay!" This made me very
uneasy. He then said, "He would part with his watch, in order to
enable him to raise a sum sufficient to defray the expence of his
journey to Scotland." I told him, "I had no money to give him, but
would freely make him a present of my own watch; as I could not bear
to see him without one." Then I took a picture of himself, which he
had some time before given me, off my watch, and freely made him a
present of it. Two days after this he departed for Scotland, and I
never afterwards saw him. He set out about six o'clock in the morning.
My father got up early that morning to take leave of him before his
departure, at which he seemed vastly uneasy. He took him in his arms,
and said, "God bless you, my dear Cranstoun, when you come next, I
hope your unhappy affair will be decided to our mutual satisfaction."
To this Mr. Cranstoun replied, "Yes, sir, I hope in my favour; or if
this should fail that you should hear of my death. Be tender to,"
continued he, "and comfort this poor thing," turning towards me, "whom
I love better than myself." Then my father look Mr. Cranstoun and
myself in his arms, and we all three shed tears. This was a very
moving scene. My father afterwards went out of the room, and fetched a
silver dram-bottle, holding near half a pint, filled it with rum, and
made a present of both to Mr. Cranstoun; bidding him keep the
dram-bottle for his sake, and drink the liquor on the road; assuring
him, that if he found himself sick or cold, the latter would prove a
cordial to him. Mr. Cranstoun then got into the post-chaise, and took
his leave of Henley.