I made no doubt then but that I should soon hear of him, and began to

comfort myself with my circumstances being, as I thought, recovered. I

waited a week, and two weeks, and with much surprise and amazement I

waited near two months and heard nothing, but that, being recovered, he

was gone into the country for the air, and for the better recovery

after his distemper. After this it was yet two months more, and then I

understood he was come to his city house again, but still I heard

nothing from him.

I had written several letters for him, and directed them as usual, and

found two or three of them had been called for, but not the rest. I

wrote again in a more pressing manner than ever, and in one of them let

him know, that I must be forced to wait on him myself, representing my

circumstances, the rent of lodgings to pay, and the provision for the

child wanting, and my own deplorable condition, destitute of

subsistence for his most solemn engagement to take care of and provide

for me. I took a copy of this letter, and finding it lay at the house

near a month and was not called for, I found means to have the copy of

it put into his own hands at a coffee-house, where I had by inquiry

found he used to go.

This letter forced an answer from him, by which, though I found I was

to be abandoned, yet I found he had sent a letter to me some time

before, desiring me to go down to the Bath again. Its contents I shall

come to presently.

It is true that sick-beds are the time when such correspondences as

this are looked on with different countenances, and seen with other

eyes than we saw them with, or than they appeared with before. My lover

had been at the gates of death, and at the very brink of eternity; and,

it seems, had been struck with a due remorse, and with sad reflections

upon his past life of gallantry and levity; and among the rest,

criminal correspondence with me, which was neither more nor less than a

long-continued life of adultery, and represented itself as it really

was, not as it had been formerly thought by him to be, and he looked

upon it now with a just and religious abhorrence.

I cannot but observe also, and leave it for the direction of my sex in

such cases of pleasure, that whenever sincere repentance succeeds such

a crime as this, there never fails to attend a hatred of the object;

and the more the affection might seem to be before, the hatred will be

the more in proportion. It will always be so, indeed it can be no

otherwise; for there cannot be a true and sincere abhorrence of the

offence, and the love to the cause of it remain; there will, with an

abhorrence of the sin, be found a detestation of the fellow-sinner; you

can expect no other.

I found it so here, though good manners and justice in this gentleman

kept him from carrying it on to any extreme but the short history of

his part in this affair was thus: he perceived by my last letter, and

by all the rest, which he went for after, that I was not gone to Bath,

that his first letter had not come to my hand; upon which he write me

this following:—

“MADAM,—I am surprised that my letter, dated the 8th of last month,

did not come to your hand; I give you my word it was delivered at

your lodgings, and to the hands of your maid.

I need not acquaint you with what has been my condition for some

time past; and how, having been at the edge of the grave, I am, by

the unexpected and undeserved mercy of Heaven, restored again. In

the condition I have been in, it cannot be strange to you that our

unhappy correspondence had not been the least of the burthens which

lay upon my conscience. I need say no more; those things that must

be repented of, must be also reformed.

I wish you would think of going back to the Bath. I enclose you

here a bill for £50 for clearing yourself at your lodgings, and

carrying you down, and hope it will be no surprise to you to add,

that on this account only, and not for any offence given me on your

side, I can _see you no more_. I will take due care of the child;

leave him where he is, or take him with you, as you please. I wish

you the like reflections, and that they may be to your advantage.—I

am,” etc.

I was struck with this letter as with a thousand wounds, such as I

cannot describe; the reproaches of my own conscience were such as I

cannot express, for I was not blind to my own crime; and I reflected

that I might with less offence have continued with my brother, and

lived with him as a wife, since there was no crime in our marriage on

that score, neither of us knowing it.

But I never once reflected that I was all this while a married woman, a

wife to Mr. —— the linen-draper, who, though he had left me by the

necessity of his circumstances, had no power to discharge me from the

marriage contract which was between us, or to give me a legal liberty

to marry again; so that I had been no less than a whore and an

adulteress all this while. I then reproached myself with the liberties

I had taken, and how I had been a snare to this gentleman, and that

indeed I was principal in the crime; that now he was mercifully

snatched out of the gulf by a convincing work upon his mind, but that I

was left as if I was forsaken of God’s grace, and abandoned by Heaven

to a continuing in my wickedness.

Under these reflections I continued very pensive and sad for near

month, and did not go down to the Bath, having no inclination to be

with the woman whom I was with before; lest, as I thought, she should

prompt me to some wicked course of life again, as she had done; and

besides, I was very loth she should know I was cast off as above.

And now I was greatly perplexed about my little boy. It was death to me

to part with the child, and yet when I considered the danger of being

one time or other left with him to keep without a maintenance to

support him, I then resolved to leave him where he was; but then I

concluded also to be near him myself too, that I then might have the

satisfaction of seeing him, without the care of providing for him.

I sent my gentleman a short letter, therefore, that I had obeyed his

orders in all things but that of going back to the Bath, which I could

not think of for many reasons; that however parting from him was a

wound to me that I could never recover, yet that I was fully satisfied

his reflections were just, and would be very far from desiring to

obstruct his reformation or repentance.

Then I represented my own circumstances to him in the most moving terms

that I was able. I told him that those unhappy distresses which first

moved him to a generous and an honest friendship for me, would, I hope,

move him to a little concern for me now, though the criminal part of

our correspondence, which I believed neither of us intended to fall

into at the time, was broken off; that I desired to repent as sincerely

as he had done, but entreated him to put me in some condition that I

might not be exposed to the temptations which the devil never fails to

excite us to from the frightful prospect of poverty and distress; and

if he had the least apprehensions of my being troublesome to him, I

begged he would put me in a posture to go back to my mother in

Virginia, from when he knew I came, and that would put an end to all

his fears on that account. I concluded, that if he would send me £50

more to facilitate my going away, I would send him back a general

release, and would promise never to disturb him more with any

importunities; unless it was to hear of the well-doing of the child,

whom, if I found my mother living and my circumstances able, I would

send for to come over to me, and take him also effectually off his

hands.

This was indeed all a cheat thus far, viz. that I had no intention to

go to Virginia, as the account of my former affairs there may convince

anybody of; but the business was to get this last £50 of him, if

possible, knowing well enough it would be the last penny I was ever to

expect.

However, the argument I used, namely, of giving him a general release,

and never troubling him any more, prevailed effectually with him, and

he sent me a bill for the money by a person who brought with him a

general release for me to sign, and which I frankly signed, and

received the money; and thus, though full sore against my will, a final

end was put to this affair.

And here I cannot but reflect upon the unhappy consequence of too great

freedoms between persons stated as we were, upon the pretence of

innocent intentions, love of friendship, and the like; for the flesh

has generally so great a share in those friendships, that is great odds

but inclination prevails at last over the most solemn resolutions; and

that vice breaks in at the breaches of decency, which really innocent

friendship ought to preserve with the greatest strictness. But I leave

the readers of these things to their own just reflections, which they

will be more able to make effectual than I, who so soon forgot myself,

and am therefore but a very indifferent monitor.

I was now a single person again, as I may call myself; I was loosed

from all the obligations either of wedlock or mistress-ship in the

world, except my husband the linen-draper, whom, I having not now heard

from in almost fifteen years, nobody could blame me for thinking myself

entirely freed from; seeing also he had at his going away told me, that

if I did not hear frequently from him, I should conclude he was dead,

and I might freely marry again to whom I pleased.

I now began to cast up my accounts. I had by many letters and much

importunity, and with the intercession of my mother too, had a second

return of some goods from my brother (as I now call him) in Virginia,

to make up the damage of the cargo I brought away with me, and this too

was upon the condition of my sealing a general release to him, and to

send it him by his correspondent at Bristol, which, though I thought

hard of, yet I was obliged to promise to do. However, I managed so well

in this case, that I got my goods away before the release was signed,

and then I always found something or other to say to evade the thing,

and to put off the signing it at all; till at length I pretended I must

write to my brother, and have his answer, before I could do it.

Including this recruit, and before I got the last £50, I found my

strength to amount, put all together, to about £400, so that with that

I had about £450. I had saved above £100 more, but I met with a

disaster with that, which was this—that a goldsmith in whose hands I

had trusted it, broke, so I lost £70 of my money, the man’s composition

not making above £30 out of his £100. I had a little plate, but not

much, and was well enough stocked with clothes and linen.

With this stock I had the world to begin again; but you are to consider

that I was not now the same woman as when I lived at Redriff; for,

first of all, I was near twenty years older, and did not look the

better for my age, nor for my rambles to Virginia and back again; and

though I omitted nothing that might set me out to advantage, except

painting, for that I never stooped to, and had pride enough to think I

did not want it, yet there would always be some difference seen between

five-and-twenty and two-and-forty.

I cast about innumerable ways for my future state of life, and began to

consider very seriously what I should do, but nothing offered. I took

care to make the world take me for something more than I was, and had

it given out that I was a fortune, and that my estate was in my own

hands; the last of which was very true, the first of it was as above. I

had no acquaintance, which was one of my worst misfortunes, and the

consequence of that was, I had no adviser, at least who could assist

and advise together; and above all, I had nobody to whom I could in

confidence commit the secret of my circumstances to, and could depend

upon for their secrecy and fidelity; and I found by experience, that to

be friendless is the worst condition, next to being in want that a

woman can be reduced to: I say a woman, because ’tis evident men can be

their own advisers, and their own directors, and know how to work

themselves out of difficulties and into business better than women; but

if a woman has no friend to communicate her affairs to, and to advise

and assist her, ’tis ten to one but she is undone; nay, and the more

money she has, the more danger she is in of being wronged and deceived;

and this was my case in the affair of the £100 which I left in the

hands of the goldsmith, as above, whose credit, it seems, was upon the

ebb before, but I, that had no knowledge of things and nobody to

consult with, knew nothing of it, and so lost my money.

In the next place, when a woman is thus left desolate and void of

counsel, she is just like a bag of money or a jewel dropped on the

highway, which is a prey to the next comer; if a man of virtue and

upright principles happens to find it, he will have it cried, and the

owner may come to hear of it again; but how many times shall such a

thing fall into hands that will make no scruple of seizing it for their

own, to once that it shall come into good hands?

This was evidently my case, for I was now a loose, unguided creature,

and had no help, no assistance, no guide for my conduct; I knew what I

aimed at and what I wanted, but knew nothing how to pursue the end by

direct means. I wanted to be placed in a settled state of living, and

had I happened to meet with a sober, good husband, I should have been

as faithful and true a wife to him as virtue itself could have formed.

If I had been otherwise, the vice came in always at the door of

necessity, not at the door of inclination; and I understood too well,

by the want of it, what the value of a settled life was, to do anything

to forfeit the felicity of it; nay, I should have made the better wife

for all the difficulties I had passed through, by a great deal; nor did

I in any of the time that I had been a wife give my husbands the least

uneasiness on account of my behaviour.

But all this was nothing; I found no encouraging prospect. I waited; I

lived regularly, and with as much frugality as became my circumstances,

but nothing offered, nothing presented, and the main stock wasted

apace. What to do I knew not; the terror of approaching poverty lay

hard upon my spirits. I had some money, but where to place it I knew

not, nor would the interest of it maintain me, at least not in London.

At length a new scene opened. There was in the house where I lodged a

north-country woman that went for a gentlewoman, and nothing was more

frequent in her discourse than her account of the cheapness of

provisions, and the easy way of living in her country; how plentiful

and how cheap everything was, what good company they kept, and the

like; till at last I told her she almost tempted me to go and live in

her country; for I that was a widow, though I had sufficient to live

on, yet had no way of increasing it; and that I found I could not live

here under £100 a year, unless I kept no company, no servant, made no

appearance, and buried myself in privacy, as if I was obliged to it by

necessity.

I should have observed, that she was always made to believe, as

everybody else was, that I was a great fortune, or at least that I had

three or four thousand pounds, if not more, and all in my own hands;

and she was mighty sweet upon me when she thought me inclined in the

least to go into her country. She said she had a sister lived near

Liverpool, that her brother was a considerable gentleman there, and had

a great estate also in Ireland; that she would go down there in about

two months, and if I would give her my company thither, I should be as

welcome as herself for a month or more as I pleased, till I should see

how I liked the country; and if I thought fit to live there, she would

undertake they would take care, though they did not entertain lodgers

themselves, they would recommend me to some agreeable family, where I

should be placed to my content.

If this woman had known my real circumstances, she would never have

laid so many snares, and taken so many weary steps to catch a poor

desolate creature that was good for little when it was caught; and

indeed I, whose case was almost desperate, and thought I could not be

much worse, was not very anxious about what might befall me, provided

they did me no personal injury; so I suffered myself, though not

without a great deal of invitation and great professions of sincere

friendship and real kindness—I say, I suffered myself to be prevailed

upon to go with her, and accordingly I packed up my baggage, and put

myself in a posture for a journey, though I did not absolutely know

whither I was to go.

And now I found myself in great distress; what little I had in the

world was all in money, except as before, a little plate, some linen,

and my clothes; as for my household stuff, I had little or none, for I

had lived always in lodgings; but I had not one friend in the world

with whom to trust that little I had, or to direct me how to dispose of

it, and this perplexed me night and day. I thought of the bank, and of

the other companies in London, but I had no friend to commit the

management of it to, and keep and carry about with me bank bills,

tallies, orders, and such things, I looked upon at as unsafe; that if

they were lost, my money was lost, and then I was undone; and, on the

other hand, I might be robbed and perhaps murdered in a strange place

for them. This perplexed me strangely, and what to do I knew not.

It came in my thoughts one morning that I would go to the bank myself,

where I had often been to receive the interest of some bills I had,

which had interest payable on them, and where I had found a clerk, to

whom I applied myself, very honest and just to me, and particularly so

fair one time that when I had mistold my money, and taken less than my

due, and was coming away, he set me to rights and gave me the rest,

which he might have put into his own pocket.

I went to him and represented my case very plainly, and asked if he

would trouble himself to be my adviser, who was a poor friendless

widow, and knew not what to do. He told me, if I desired his opinion of

anything within the reach of his business, he would do his endeavour

that I should not be wronged, but that he would also help me to a good

sober person who was a grave man of his acquaintance, who was a clerk

in such business too, though not in their house, whose judgment was

good, and whose honesty I might depend upon. “For,” added he, “I will

answer for him, and for every step he takes; if he wrongs you, madam,

of one farthing, it shall lie at my door, I will make it good; and he

delights to assist people in such cases—he does it as an act of

charity.”

I was a little at a stand in this discourse; but after some pause I

told him I had rather have depended upon him, because I had found him

honest, but if that could not be, I would take his recommendation

sooner than any one’s else. “I dare say, madam,” says he, “that you

will be as well satisfied with my friend as with me, and he is

thoroughly able to assist you, which I am not.” It seems he had his

hands full of the business of the bank, and had engaged to meddle with

no other business than that of his office, which I heard afterwards,

but did not understand then. He added, that his friend should take

nothing of me for his advice or assistance, and this indeed encouraged

me very much.

He appointed the same evening, after the bank was shut and business

over, for me to meet him and his friend. And indeed as soon as I saw

his friend, and he began but to talk of the affair, I was fully

satisfied that I had a very honest man to deal with; his countenance

spoke it, and his character, as I heard afterwards, was everywhere so

good, that I had no room for any more doubts upon me.

After the first meeting, in which I only said what I had said before,

we parted, and he appointed me to come the next day to him, telling me

I might in the meantime satisfy myself of him by inquiry, which,

however, I knew not how well to do, having no acquaintance myself.

Accordingly I met him the next day, when I entered more freely with him

into my case. I told him my circumstances at large: that I was a widow

come over from America, perfectly desolate and friendless; that I had a

little money, and but a little, and was almost distracted for fear of

losing it, having no friend in the world to trust with the management

of it; that I was going into the north of England to live cheap, that

my stock might not waste; that I would willingly lodge my money in the

bank, but that I durst not carry the bills about me, and the like, as

above; and how to correspond about it, or with whom, I knew not.

He told me I might lodge the money in the bank as an account, and its

being entered into the books would entitle me to the money at any time,

and if I was in the north I might draw bills on the cashier and receive

it when I would; but that then it would be esteemed as running cash,

and the bank would give no interest for it; that I might buy stock with

it, and so it would lie in store for me, but that then if I wanted to

dispose if it, I must come up to town on purpose to transfer it, and

even it would be with some difficulty I should receive the half-yearly

dividend, unless I was here in person, or had some friend I could trust

with having the stock in his name to do it for me, and that would have

the same difficulty in it as before; and with that he looked hard at me

and smiled a little. At last, says he, “Why do you not get a head

steward, madam, that may take you and your money together into keeping,

and then you would have the trouble taken off your hands?” “Ay, sir,

and the money too, it may be,” said I; “for truly I find the hazard

that way is as much as ’tis t’other way”; but I remember I said

secretly to myself, “I wish you would ask me the question fairly, I

would consider very seriously on it before I said No.”

He went on a good way with me, and I thought once or twice he was in

earnest, but to my real affliction, I found at last he had a wife; but

when he owned he had a wife he shook his head, and said with some

concern, that indeed he had a wife, and no wife. I began to think he

had been in the condition of my late lover, and that his wife had been

distempered or lunatic, or some such thing. However, we had not much

more discourse at that time, but he told me he was in too much hurry of

business then, but that if I would come home to his house after their

business was over, he would by that time consider what might be done

for me, to put my affairs in a posture of security. I told him I would

come, and desired to know where he lived. He gave me a direction in

writing, and when he gave it me he read it to me, and said, “There

’tis, madam, if you dare trust yourself with me.” “Yes, sir,” said I,

“I believe I may venture to trust you with myself, for you have a wife,

you say, and I don’t want a husband; besides, I dare trust you with my

money, which is all I have in the world, and if that were gone, I may

trust myself anywhere.”

He said some things in jest that were very handsome and mannerly, and

would have pleased me very well if they had been in earnest; but that

passed over, I took the directions, and appointed to attend him at his

house at seven o’clock the same evening.

When I came he made several proposals for my placing my money in the

bank, in order to my having interest for it; but still some difficulty

or other came in the way, which he objected as not safe; and I found

such a sincere disinterested honesty in him, that I began to muse with

myself, that I had certainly found the honest man I wanted, and that I

could never put myself into better hands; so I told him with a great

deal of frankness that I had never met with a man or woman yet that I

could trust, or in whom I could think myself safe, but that I saw he

was so disinterestedly concerned for my safety, that I said I would

freely trust him with the management of that little I had, if he would

accept to be steward for a poor widow that could give him no salary.

He smiled and, standing up, with great respect saluted me. He told me

he could not but take it very kindly that I had so good an opinion of

him; that he would not deceive me, that he would do anything in his

power to serve me, and expect no salary; but that he could not by any

means accept of a trust, that it might bring him to be suspected of

self-interest, and that if I should die he might have disputes with my

executors, which he should be very loth to encumber himself with.

I told him if those were all his objections I would soon remove them,

and convince him that there was not the least room for any difficulty;

for that, first, as for suspecting him, if ever I should do it, now

is the time to suspect him, and not put the trust into his hands, and

whenever I did suspect him, he could but throw it up then and refuse

to go any further. Then, as to executors, I assured him I had no

heirs, nor any relations in England, and I would have neither heirs

nor executors but himself, unless I should alter my condition before

I died, and then his trust and trouble should cease together, which,

however, I had no prospect of yet; but I told him if I died as I was,

it should be all his own, and he would deserve it by being so faithful

to me as I was satisfied he would be.

He changed his countenance at this discourse, and asked me how I came

to have so much good-will for him; and, looking very much pleased, said

he might very lawfully wish he was a single man for my sake. I smiled,

and told him as he was not, my offer could have no design upon him in

it, and to wish, as he did, was not to be allowed, ’twas criminal to

his wife.

He told me I was wrong. “For,” says he, “madam, as I said before, I

have a wife and no wife, and ’twould be no sin to me to wish her

hanged, if that were all.” “I know nothing of your circumstances that

way, sir,” said I; “but it cannot be innocent to wish your wife dead.”

“I tell you,” says he again, “she is a wife and no wife; you don’t know

what I am, or what she is.”

“That’s true,” said I; “sir, I do not know what you are, but I believe

you to be an honest man, and that’s the cause of all my confidence in

you.”

“Well, well,” says he, “and so I am, I hope, too. But I am something

else too, madam; for,” says he, “to be plain with you, I am a cuckold,

and she is a whore.” He spoke it in a kind of jest, but it was with

such an awkward smile, that I perceived it was what struck very close

to him, and he looked dismally when he said it.

“That alters the case indeed, sir,” said I, “as to that part you were

speaking of; but a cuckold, you know, may be an honest man; it does not

alter that case at all. Besides, I think,” said I, “since your wife is

so dishonest to you, you are too honest to her to own her for your

wife; but that,” said I, “is what I have nothing to do with.”

“Nay,” says he, “I do not think to clear my hands of her; for, to be

plain with you, madam,” added he, “I am no contented cuckold neither:

on the other hand, I assure you it provokes me the highest degree, but

I can’t help myself; she that will be a whore, will be a whore.”

I waived the discourse and began to talk of my business; but I found he

could not have done with it, so I let him alone, and he went on to tell

me all the circumstances of his case, too long to relate here;

particularly, that having been out of England some time before he came

to the post he was in, she had had two children in the meantime by an

officer of the army; and that when he came to England and, upon her

submission, took her again, and maintained her very well, yet she ran

away from him with a linen-draper’s apprentice, robbed him of what she

could come at, and continued to live from him still. “So that, madam,”

says he, “she is a whore not by necessity, which is the common bait of

your sex, but by inclination, and for the sake of the vice.”

Well, I pitied him, and wished him well rid of her, and still would

have talked of my business, but it would not do. At last he looks

steadily at me. “Look you, madam,” says he, “you came to ask advice of

me, and I will serve you as faithfully as if you were my own sister;

but I must turn the tables, since you oblige me to do it, and are so

friendly to me, and I think I must ask advice of you. Tell me, what

must a poor abused fellow do with a whore? What can I do to do myself

justice upon her?”

“Alas! sir,” says I, “’tis a case too nice for me to advise in, but it

seems she has run away from you, so you are rid of her fairly; what can

you desire more?” “Ay, she is gone indeed,” said he, “but I am not

clear of her for all that.”

“That’s true,” says I; “she may indeed run you into debt, but the law

has furnished you with methods to prevent that also; you may cry her

down, as they call it.”

“No, no,” says he, “that is not the case neither; I have taken care of

all that; ’tis not that part that I speak of, but I would be rid of her

so that I might marry again.”

“Well, sir,” says I, “then you must divorce her. If you can prove what

you say, you may certainly get that done, and then, I suppose, you are

free.”

“That’s very tedious and expensive,” says he.

“Why,” says I, “if you can get any woman you like to take your word, I

suppose your wife would not dispute the liberty with you that she takes

herself.”

“Ay,” says he, “but ’twould be hard to bring an honest woman to do

that; and for the other sort,” says he, “I have had enough of her to

meddle with any more whores.”

It occurred to me presently, “I would have taken your word with all my

heart, if you had but asked me the question”; but that was to myself.

To him I replied, “Why, you shut the door against any honest woman

accepting you, for you condemn all that should venture upon you at

once, and conclude, that really a woman that takes you now can’t be

honest.”

“Why,” says he, “I wish you would satisfy me that an honest woman would

take me; I’d venture it”; and then turns short upon me, “Will you take

me, madam?”

“That’s not a fair question,” says I, “after what you have said;

however, lest you should think I wait only for a recantation of it, I

shall answer you plainly, No, not I; my business is of another kind

with you, and I did not expect you would have turned my serious

application to you, in my own distracted case, into a comedy.”

“Why, madam,” says he, “my case is as distracted as yours can be, and I

stand in as much need of advice as you do, for I think if I have not

relief somewhere, I shall be made myself, and I know not what course to

take, I protest to you.”

“Why, sir,” says I, “’tis easy to give advice in your case, much easier

than it is in mine.” “Speak then,” says he, “I beg of you, for now you

encourage me.”

“Why,” says I, “if your case is so plain as you say it is, you may be

legally divorced, and then you may find honest women enough to ask the

question of fairly; the sex is not so scarce that you can want a wife.”

“Well, then,” said he, “I am in earnest; I’ll take your advice; but

shall I ask you one question seriously beforehand?”

“Any question,” said I, “but that you did before.”

“No, that answer will not do,” said he, “for, in short, that is the

question I shall ask.”

“You may ask what questions you please, but you have my answer to that

already,” said I. “Besides, sir,” said I, “can you think so ill of me

as that I would give any answer to such a question beforehand? Can any

woman alive believe you in earnest, or think you design anything but to

banter her?”

“Well, well,” says he, “I do not banter you, I am in earnest; consider

of it.”

“But, sir,” says I, a little gravely, “I came to you about my own

business; I beg of you to let me know, what you will advise me to do?”

“I will be prepared,” says he, “against you come again.”

“Nay,” says I, “you have forbid my coming any more.”

“Why so?” said he, and looked a little surprised.

“Because,” said I, “you can’t expect I should visit you on the account

you talk of.”

“Well,” says he, “you shall promise me to come again, however, and I

will not say any more of it till I have gotten the divorce, but I

desire you will prepare to be better conditioned when that’s done, for

you shall be the woman, or I will not be divorced at all; why, I owe it

to your unlooked-for kindness, if it were to nothing else, but I have

other reasons too.”

He could not have said anything in the world that pleased me better;

however, I knew that the way to secure him was to stand off while the

thing was so remote, as it appeared to be, and that it was time enough

to accept of it when he was able to perform it; so I said very

respectfully to him, it was time enough to consider of these things

when he was in a condition to talk of them; in the meantime, I told

him, I was going a great way from him, and he would find objects enough

to please him better. We broke off here for the present, and he made me

promise him to come again the next day, for his resolutions upon my own

business, which after some pressing I did; though had he seen farther

into me, I wanted no pressing on that account.

I came the next evening, accordingly, and brought my maid with me, to

let him see that I kept a maid, but I sent her away as soon as I was

gone in. He would have had me let the maid have stayed, but I would

not, but ordered her aloud to come for me again about nine o’clock. But

he forbade that, and told me he would see me safe home, which, by the

way, I was not very well pleased with, supposing he might do that to

know where I lived and inquire into my character and circumstances.

However, I ventured that, for all that the people there or thereabout

knew of me, was to my advantage; and all the character he had of me,

after he had inquired, was that I was a woman of fortune, and that I

was a very modest, sober body; which, whether true or not in the main,

yet you may see how necessary it is for all women who expect anything

in the world, to preserve the character of their virtue, even when

perhaps they may have sacrificed the thing itself.

I found, and was not a little pleased with it, that he had provided a

supper for me. I found also he lived very handsomely, and had a house

very handsomely furnished; all of which I was rejoiced at indeed, for I

looked upon it as all my own.

We had now a second conference upon the subject-matter of the last

conference. He laid his business very home indeed; he protested his

affection to me, and indeed I had no room to doubt it; he declared that

it began from the first moment I talked with him, and long before I had

mentioned leaving my effects with him. “’Tis no matter when it began,”

thought I; “if it will but hold, ’twill be well enough.” He then told

me how much the offer I had made of trusting him with my effects, and

leaving them to him, had engaged him. “So I intended it should,”

thought I, “but then I thought you had been a single man too.” After we

had supped, I observed he pressed me very hard to drink two or three

glasses of wine, which, however, I declined, but drank one glass or

two. He then told me he had a proposal to make to me, which I should

promise him I would not take ill if I should not grant it. I told him I

hoped he would make no dishonourable proposal to me, especially in his

own house, and that if it was such, I desired he would not propose it,

that I might not be obliged to offer any resentment to him that did not

become the respect I professed for him, and the trust I had placed in

him in coming to his house; and begged of him he would give me leave to

go away, and accordingly began to put on my gloves and prepare to be

gone, though at the same time I no more intended it than he intended to

let me.

Well, he importuned me not to talk of going; he assured me he had no

dishonourable thing in his thoughts about me, and was very far from

offering anything to me that was dishonourable, and if I thought so, he

would choose to say no more of it.

That part I did not relish at all. I told him I was ready to hear

anything that he had to say, depending that he would say nothing

unworthy of himself, or unfit for me to hear. Upon this, he told me his

proposal was this: that I would marry him, though he had not yet

obtained the divorce from the whore his wife; and to satisfy me that he

meant honourably, he would promise not to desire me to live with him,

or go to bed with him till the divorce was obtained. My heart said yes

to this offer at first word, but it was necessary to play the hypocrite

a little more with him; so I seemed to decline the motion with some

warmth, and besides a little condemning the thing as unfair, told him

that such a proposal could be of no signification, but to entangle us

both in great difficulties; for if he should not at last obtain the

divorce, yet we could not dissolve the marriage, neither could we

proceed in it; so that if he was disappointed in the divorce, I left

him to consider what a condition we should both be in.

In short, I carried on the argument against this so far, that I

convinced him it was not a proposal that had any sense in it. Well,

then he went from it to another, and that was, that I would sign and

seal a contract with him, conditioning to marry him as soon as the

divorce was obtained, and to be void if he could not obtain it.

I told him such a thing was more rational than the other; but as this

was the first time that ever I could imagine him weak enough to be in

earnest in this affair, I did not use to say Yes at first asking; I

would consider of it.

I played with this lover as an angler does with a trout. I found I had

him fast on the hook, so I jested with his new proposal, and put him

off. I told him he knew little of me, and bade him inquire about me; I

let him also go home with me to my lodging, though I would not ask him

to go in, for I told him it was not decent.

In short, I ventured to avoid signing a contract of marriage, and the

reason why I did it was because the lady that had invited me so

earnestly to go with her into Lancashire insisted so positively upon

it, and promised me such great fortunes, and such fine things there,

that I was tempted to go and try. “Perhaps,” said I, “I may mend myself

very much”; and then I made no scruple in my thoughts of quitting my

honest citizen, whom I was not so much in love with as not to leave him

for a richer.

In a word, I avoided a contract; but told him I would go into the

north, that he should know where to write to me by the consequence of

the business I had entrusted with him; that I would give him a

sufficient pledge of my respect for him, for I would leave almost all I

had in the world in his hands; and I would thus far give him my word,

that as soon as he had sued out a divorce from his first wife, he would

send me an account of it, I would come up to London, and that then we

would talk seriously of the matter.

It was a base design I went with, that I must confess, though I was

invited thither with a design much worse than mine was, as the sequel

will discover. Well, I went with my friend, as I called her, into

Lancashire. All the way we went she caressed me with the utmost

appearance of a sincere, undissembled affection; treated me, except my

coach-hire, all the way; and her brother brought a gentleman’s coach to

Warrington to receive us, and we were carried from thence to Liverpool

with as much ceremony as I could desire. We were also entertained at a

merchant’s house in Liverpool three or four days very handsomely; I

forbear to tell his name, because of what followed. Then she told me

she would carry me to an uncle’s house of hers, where we should be

nobly entertained. She did so; her uncle, as she called him, sent a

coach and four horses for us, and we were carried near forty miles I

know not whither.

We came, however, to a gentleman’s seat, where was a numerous family, a

large park, extraordinary company indeed, and where she was called

cousin. I told her if she had resolved to bring me into such company as

this, she should have let me have prepared myself, and have furnished

myself with better clothes. The ladies took notice of that, and told me

very genteelly they did not value people in their country so much by

their clothes as they did in London; that their cousin had fully

informed them of my quality, and that I did not want clothes to set me

off; in short, they entertained me, not like what I was, but like what

they thought I had been, namely, a widow lady of a great fortune.

The first discovery I made here was, that the family were all Roman

Catholics, and the cousin too, whom I called my friend; however, I must

say that nobody in the world could behave better to me, and I had all

the civility shown me that I could have had if I had been of their

opinion. The truth is, I had not so much principle of any kind as to be

nice in point of religion, and I presently learned to speak favourably

of the Romish Church; particularly, I told them I saw little but the

prejudice of education in all the difference that were among Christians

about religion, and if it had so happened that my father had been a

Roman Catholic, I doubted not but I should have been as well pleased

with their religion as my own.

This obliged them in the highest degree, and as I was besieged day and

night with good company and pleasant discourse, so I had two or three

old ladies that lay at me upon the subject of religion too. I was so

complaisant, that though I would not completely engage, yet I made no

scruple to be present at their mass, and to conform to all their

gestures as they showed me the pattern, but I would not come too cheap;

so that I only in the main encouraged them to expect that I would turn

Roman Catholic, if I was instructed in the Catholic doctrine as they

called it, and so the matter rested.

I stayed here about six weeks; and then my conductor led me back to a

country village, about six miles from Liverpool, where her brother (as

she called him) came to visit me in his own chariot, and in a very good

figure, with two footmen in a good livery; and the next thing was to

make love to me. As it had happened to me, one would think I could not

have been cheated, and indeed I thought so myself, having a safe card

at home, which I resolved not to quit unless I could mend myself very

much. However, in all appearance this brother was a match worth my

listening to, and the least his estate was valued at was £1000 a year,

but the sister said it was worth £1500 a year, and lay most of it in

Ireland.

I that was a great fortune, and passed for such, was above being asked

how much my estate was; and my false friend taking it upon a foolish

hearsay, had raised it from £500 to £5000, and by the time she came

into the country she called it £15,000. The Irishman, for such I

understood him to be, was stark mad at this bait; in short, he courted

me, made me presents, and ran in debt like a madman for the expenses of

his equipage and of his courtship. He had, to give him his due, the

appearance of an extraordinary fine gentleman; he was tall,

well-shaped, and had an extraordinary address; talked as naturally of

his park and his stables, of his horses, his gamekeepers, his woods,

his tenants, and his servants, as if we had been in the mansion-house,

and I had seen them all about me.

He never so much as asked me about my fortune or estate, but assured me

that when we came to Dublin he would jointure me in £600 a year good

land; and that we could enter into a deed of settlement or contract

here for the performance of it.

This was such language indeed as I had not been used to, and I was here

beaten out of all my measures; I had a she-devil in my bosom, every

hour telling me how great her brother lived. One time she would come

for my orders, how I would have my coaches painted, and how lined; and

another time what clothes my page should wear; in short, my eyes were

dazzled. I had now lost my power of saying No, and, to cut the story

short, I consented to be married; but to be the more private, we were

carried farther into the country, and married by a Romish clergyman,

who I was assured would marry us as effectually as a Church of England

parson.

I cannot say but I had some reflections in this affair upon the

dishonourable forsaking my faithful citizen, who loved me sincerely,

and who was endeavouring to quit himself of a scandalous whore by whom

he had been indeed barbarously used, and promised himself infinite

happiness in his new choice; which choice was now giving up herself to

another in a manner almost as scandalous as hers could be.

But the glittering shoe of a great estate, and of fine things, which

the deceived creature that was now my deceiver represented every hour

to my imagination, hurried me away, and gave me no time to think of

London, or of anything there, much less of the obligation I had to a

person of infinitely more real merit than what was now before me.

But the thing was done; I was now in the arms of my new spouse, who

appeared still the same as before; great even to magnificence, and

nothing less than £1000 a year could support the ordinary equipage he

appeared in.

After we had been married about a month, he began to talk of my going

to West Chester in order to embark for Ireland. However, he did not

hurry me, for we stayed near three weeks longer, and then he sent to

Chester for a coach to meet us at the Black Rock, as they call it, over

against Liverpool. Thither we went in a fine boat they call a pinnace,

with six oars; his servants, and horses, and baggage going in the

ferry-boat. He made his excuse to me that he had no acquaintance in

Chester, but he would go before and get some handsome apartment for me

at a private house. I asked him how long we should stay at Chester. He

said, not at all, any longer than one night or two, but he would

immediately hire a coach to go to Holyhead. Then I told him he should

by no means give himself the trouble to get private lodgings for one

night or two, for that Chester being a great place, I made no doubt but

there would be very good inns and accommodation enough; so we lodged at

an inn in the West Street, not far from the Cathedral; I forget what

sign it was at.

Here my spouse, talking of my going to Ireland, asked me if I had no

affairs to settle at London before we went off. I told him No, not of

any great consequence, but what might be done as well by letter from

Dublin. “Madam,” says he, very respectfully, “I suppose the greatest

part of your estate, which my sister tells me is most of it in money in

the Bank of England, lies secure enough, but in case it required

transferring, or any way altering its property, it might be necessary

to go up to London and settle those things before we went over.”

I seemed to look strange at it, and told him I knew not what he meant;

that I had no effects in the Bank of England that I knew of; and I

hoped he could not say that I had ever told him I had. No, he said, I

had not told him so, but his sister had said the greatest part of my

estate lay there. “And I only mentioned it, me dear,” said he, “that if

there was any occasion to settle it, or order anything about it, we

might not be obliged to the hazard and trouble of another voyage back

again”; for he added, that he did not care to venture me too much upon

the sea.

I was surprised at this talk, and began to consider very seriously what

the meaning of it must be; and it presently occurred to me that my

friend, who called him brother, had represented me in colours which

were not my due; and I thought, since it was come to that pitch, that I

would know the bottom of it before I went out of England, and before I

should put myself into I knew not whose hands in a strange country.

Upon this I called his sister into my chamber the next morning, and

letting her know the discourse her brother and I had been upon the

evening before, I conjured her to tell me what she had said to him, and

upon what foot it was that she had made this marriage. She owned that

she had told him that I was a great fortune, and said that she was told

so at London. “Told so!” says I warmly; “did I ever tell you so?” No,

she said, it was true I did not tell her so, but I had said several

times that what I had was in my own disposal. “I did so,” returned I

very quickly and hastily, “but I never told you I had anything called a

fortune; no, not that I had £100, or the value of £100, in the world.

Any how did it consist with my being a fortune,” said I, “that I should

come here into the north of England with you, only upon the account of

living cheap?” At these words, which I spoke warm and high, my husband,

her brother (as she called him), came into the room, and I desired him

to come and sit down, for I had something of moment to say before them

both, which it was absolutely necessary he should hear.

He looked a little disturbed at the assurance with which I seemed to

speak it, and came and sat down by me, having first shut the door; upon

which I began, for I was very much provoked, and turning myself to him,

“I am afraid,” says I, “my dear” (for I spoke with kindness on his

side), “that you have a very great abuse put upon you, and an injury

done you never to be repaired in your marrying me, which, however, as I

have had no hand in it, I desire I may be fairly acquitted of it, and

that the blame may lie where it ought to lie, and nowhere else, for I

wash my hands of every part of it.”

“What injury can be done me, my dear,” says he, “in marrying you. I

hope it is to my honour and advantage every way.” “I will soon explain

it to you,” says I, “and I fear you will have no reason to think

yourself well used; but I will convince you, my dear,” says I again,

“that I have had no hand in it”; and there I stopped a while.

He looked now scared and wild, and began, I believe, to suspect what

followed; however, looking towards me, and saying only, “Go on,” he sat

silent, as if to hear what I had more to say; so I went on. “I asked

you last night,” said I, speaking to him, “if ever I made any boast to

you of my estate, or ever told you I had any estate in the Bank of

England or anywhere else, and you owned I had not, as is most true; and

I desire you will tell me here, before your sister, if ever I gave you

any reason from me to think so, or that ever we had any discourse about

it”; and he owned again I had not, but said I had appeared always as a

woman of fortune, and he depended on it that I was so, and hoped he was

not deceived. “I am not inquiring yet whether you have been deceived or

not,” said I; “I fear you have, and I too; but I am clearing myself

from the unjust charge of being concerned in deceiving you.

“I have been now asking your sister if ever I told her of any fortune

or estate I had, or gave her any particulars of it; and she owns I

never did. Any pray, madam,” said I, turning myself to her, “be so just

to me, before your brother, to charge me, if you can, if ever I

pretended to you that I had an estate; and why, if I had, should I come

down into this country with you on purpose to spare that little I had,

and live cheap?” She could not deny one word, but said she had been

told in London that I had a very great fortune, and that it lay in the

Bank of England.

“And now, dear sir,” said I, turning myself to my new spouse again, “be

so just to me as to tell me who has abused both you and me so much as

to make you believe I was a fortune, and prompt you to court me to this

marriage?” He could not speak a word, but pointed to her; and, after

some more pause, flew out in the most furious passion that ever I saw a

man in my life, cursing her, and calling her all the whores and hard

names he could think of; and that she had ruined him, declaring that

she had told him I had £15,000, and that she was to have £500 of him

for procuring this match for him. He then added, directing his speech

to me, that she was none of his sister, but had been his whore for two

years before, that she had had £100 of him in part of this bargain, and

that he was utterly undone if things were as I said; and in his raving

he swore he would let her heart’s blood out immediately, which

frightened her and me too. She cried, said she had been told so in the

house where I lodged. But this aggravated him more than before, that

she should put so far upon him, and run things such a length upon no

other authority than a hearsay; and then, turning to me again, said

very honestly, he was afraid we were both undone. “For, to be plain, my

dear, I have no estate,” says he; “what little I had, this devil has

made me run out in waiting on you and putting me into this equipage.”

She took the opportunity of his being earnest in talking with me, and

got out of the room, and I never saw her more.

I was confounded now as much as he, and knew not what to say. I thought

many ways that I had the worst of it, but his saying he was undone, and

that he had no estate neither, put me into a mere distraction. “Why,”

says I to him, “this has been a hellish juggle, for we are married here

upon the foot of a double fraud; you are undone by the disappointment,

it seems; and if I had had a fortune I had been cheated too, for you

say you have nothing.”

“You would indeed have been cheated, my dear,” says he, “but you would

not have been undone, for £15,000 would have maintained us both very

handsomely in this country; and I assure you,” added he, “I had

resolved to have dedicated every groat of it to you; I would not have

wronged you of a shilling, and the rest I would have made up in my

affection to you, and tenderness of you, as long as I lived.”

This was very honest indeed, and I really believe he spoke as he

intended, and that he was a man that was as well qualified to make me

happy, as to his temper and behaviour, as any man ever was; but his

having no estate, and being run into debt on this ridiculous account in

the country, made all the prospect dismal and dreadful, and I knew not

what to say, or what to think of myself.

I told him it was very unhappy that so much love, and so much good

nature as I discovered in him, should be thus precipitated into misery;

that I saw nothing before us but ruin; for as to me, it was my

unhappiness that what little I had was not able to relieve us week, and

with that I pulled out a bank bill of £20 and eleven guineas, which I

told him I had saved out of my little income, and that by the account

that creature had given me of the way of living in that country, I

expected it would maintain me three or four years; that if it was taken

from me, I was left destitute, and he knew what the condition of a

woman among strangers must be, if she had no money in her pocket;

however, I told him, if he would take it, there it was.

He told me with a great concern, and I thought I saw tears stand in his

eyes, that he would not touch it; that he abhorred the thoughts of

stripping me and make me miserable; that, on the contrary, he had fifty

guineas left, which was all he had in the world, and he pulled it out

and threw it down on the table, bidding me take it, though he were to

starve for want of it.

I returned, with the same concern for him, that I could not bear to

hear him talk so; that, on the contrary, if he could propose any

probable method of living, I would do anything that became me on my

part, and that I would live as close and as narrow as he could desire.

He begged of me to talk no more at that rate, for it would make him

distracted; he said he was bred a gentleman, though he was reduced to a

low fortune, and that there was but one way left which he could think

of, and that would not do, unless I could answer him one question,

which, however, he said he would not press me to. I told him I would

answer it honestly; whether it would be to his satisfaction or not,

that I could not tell.

“Why, then, my dear, tell me plainly,” says he, “will the little you

have keep us together in any figure, or in any station or place, or

will it not?”

It was my happiness hitherto that I had not discovered myself or my

circumstances at all—no, not so much as my name; and seeing these was

nothing to be expected from him, however good-humoured and however

honest he seemed to be, but to live on what I knew would soon be

wasted, I resolved to conceal everything but the bank bill and the

eleven guineas which I had owned; and I would have been very glad to

have lost that and have been set down where he took me up. I had indeed

another bank bill about me of £30, which was the whole of what I

brought with me, as well to subsist on in the country, as not knowing

what might offer; because this creature, the go-between that had thus

betrayed us both, had made me believe strange things of my marrying to

my advantage in the country, and I was not willing to be without money,

whatever might happen. This bill I concealed, and that made me the

freer of the rest, in consideration of his circumstances, for I really

pitied him heartily.

But to return to his question, I told him I never willingly deceived

him, and I never would. I was very sorry to tell him that the little I

had would not subsist us; that it was not sufficient to subsist me

alone in the south country, and that this was the reason that made me

put myself into the hands of that woman who called him brother, she

having assured me that I might board very handsomely at a town called

Manchester, where I had not yet been, for about £6 a year; and my whole

income not being about £15 a year, I thought I might live easy upon it,

and wait for better things.

He shook his head and remained silent, and a very melancholy evening we

had; however, we supped together, and lay together that night, and when

we had almost supped he looked a little better and more cheerful, and

called for a bottle of wine. “Come, my dear,” says he, “though the case

is bad, it is to no purpose to be dejected. Come, be as easy as you

can; I will endeavour to find out some way or other to live; if you can

but subsist yourself, that is better than nothing. I must try the world

again; a man ought to think like a man; to be discouraged is to yield

to the misfortune.” With this he filled a glass and drank to me,

holding my hand and pressing it hard in his hand all the while the wine

went down, and protesting afterwards his main concern was for me.

It was really a true, gallant spirit he was of, and it was the more

grievous to me. ’Tis something of relief even to be undone by a man of

honour, rather than by a scoundrel; but here the greatest

disappointment was on his side, for he had really spent a great deal of

money, deluded by this madam the procuress; and it was very remarkable

on what poor terms he proceeded. First the baseness of the creature

herself is to be observed, who, for the getting £100 herself, could be

content to let him spend three or four more, though perhaps it was all

he had in the world, and more than all; when she had not the least

ground, more than a little tea-table chat, to say that I had any

estate, or was a fortune, or the like. It is true the design of

deluding a woman of fortune, if I had been so, was base enough; the

putting the face of great things upon poor circumstances was a fraud,

and bad enough; but the case a little differed too, and that in his

favour, for he was not a rake that made a trade to delude women, and,

as some have done, get six or seven fortunes after one another, and

then rifle and run away from them; but he was really a gentleman,

unfortunate and low, but had lived well; and though, if I had had a

fortune, I should have been enraged at the slut for betraying me, yet

really for the man, a fortune would not have been ill bestowed on him,

for he was a lovely person indeed, of generous principles, good sense,

and of abundance of good-humour.

We had a great deal of close conversation that night, for we neither of

us slept much; he was as penitent for having put all those cheats upon

me as if it had been felony, and that he was going to execution; he

offered me again every shilling of the money he had about him, and said

he would go into the army and seek the world for more.

I asked him why he would be so unkind to carry me into Ireland, when I

might suppose he could not have subsisted me there. He took me in his

arms. “My dear,” said he, “depend upon it, I never designed to go to

Ireland at all, much less to have carried you thither, but came hither

to be out of the observation of the people, who had heard what I

pretended to, and withal, that nobody might ask me for money before I

was furnished to supply them.”

“But where, then,” said I, “were we to have gone next?”

“Why, my dear,” said he, “I’ll confess the whole scheme to you as I had

laid it; I purposed here to ask you something about your estate, as you

see I did, and when you, as I expected you would, had entered into some

account with me of the particulars, I would have made an excuse to you

to have put off our voyage to Ireland for some time, and to have gone

first towards London.

“Then, my dear,” said he, “I resolved to have confessed all the

circumstances of my own affairs to you, and let you know I had indeed

made use of these artifices to obtain your consent to marry me, but had

now nothing to do but ask to your pardon, and to tell you how

abundantly, as I have said above, I would endeavour to make you forget

what was past, by the felicity of the days to come.”

“Truly,” said I to him, “I find you would soon have conquered me; and

it is my affliction now, that I am not in a condition to let you see

how easily I should have been reconciled to you, and have passed by all

the tricks you had put upon me, in recompense of so much good-humour.

But, my dear,” said I, “what can we do now? We are both undone, and

what better are we for our being reconciled together, seeing we have

nothing to live on?”

We proposed a great many things, but nothing could offer where there

was nothing to begin with. He begged me at last to talk no more of it,

for, he said, I would break his heart; so we talked of other things a

little, till at last he took a husband’s leave of me, and so we went to

sleep.

He rose before me in the morning; and indeed, having lain awake almost

all night, I was very sleepy, and lay till near eleven o’clock. In this

time he took his horses and three servants, and all his linen and

baggage, and away he went, leaving a short but moving letter for me on

the table, as follows:—

“MY DEAR—I am a dog; I have abused you; but I have been drawn into

do it by a base creature, contrary to my principle and the general

practice of my life. Forgive me, my dear! I ask your pardon with

the greatest sincerity; I am the most miserable of men, in having

deluded you. I have been so happy to possess you, and now am so

wretched as to be forced to fly from you. Forgive me, my dear;

once more I say, forgive me! I am not able to see you ruined by

me, and myself unable to support you. Our marriage is nothing; I

shall never be able to see you again; I here discharge you from

it; if you can marry to your advantage, do not decline it on my

account; I here swear to you on my faith, and on the word of a man

of honour, I will never disturb your repose if I should know of it,

which, however, is not likely. On the other hand, if you should not

marry, and if good fortune should befall me, it shall be all yours,

wherever you are.

I have put some of the stock of money I have left into your pocket;

take places for yourself and your maid in the stage-coach, and

go for London; I hope it will bear your charges thither, without

breaking into your own. Again I sincerely ask your pardon, and will

do so as often as I shall ever think of you.

Adieu, my dear, for ever,

I am, your most affectionately,

J.E.”

Nothing that ever befell me in my life sank so deep into my heart as

this farewell. I reproached him a thousand times in my thoughts for

leaving me, for I would have gone with him through the world, if I had

begged my bread. I felt in my pocket, and there found ten guineas, his

gold watch, and two little rings, one a small diamond ring worth only

about £6, and the other a plain gold ring.

I sat me down and looked upon these things two hours together, and

scarce spoke a word, till my maid interrupted me by telling me my

dinner was ready. I ate but little, and after dinner I fell into a

vehement fit of crying, every now and then calling him by his name,

which was James. “O Jemmy!” said I, “come back, come back. I’ll give

you all I have; I’ll beg, I’ll starve with you.” And thus I ran raving

about the room several times, and then sat down between whiles, and

then walking about again, called upon him to come back, and then cried

again; and thus I passed the afternoon, till about seven o’clock, when

it was near dusk, in the evening, being August, when, to my unspeakable

surprise, he comes back into the inn, but without a servant, and comes

directly up into my chamber.

I was in the greatest confusion imaginable, and so was he too. I could

not imagine what should be the occasion of it, and began to be at odds

with myself whether to be glad or sorry; but my affection biassed all

the rest, and it was impossible to conceal my joy, which was too great

for smiles, for it burst out into tears. He was no sooner entered the

room but he ran to me and took me in his arms, holding me fast, and

almost stopping my breath with his kisses, but spoke not a word. At

length I began. “My dear,” said I, “how could you go away from me?” to

which he gave no answer, for it was impossible for him to speak.

When our ecstasies were a little over, he told me he was gone about

fifteen miles, but it was not in his power to go any farther without

coming back to see me again, and to take his leave of me once more.

I told him how I had passed my time, and how loud I had called him to

come back again. He told me he heard me very plain upon Delamere

Forest, at a place about twelve miles off. I smiled. “Nay,” says he,

“do not think I am in jest, for if ever I heard your voice in my life,

I heard you call me aloud, and sometimes I thought I saw you running

after me.” “Why,” said I, “what did I say?”—for I had not named the

words to him. “You called aloud,” says he, “and said, O Jemmy! O Jemmy!

come back, come back.”

I laughed at him. “My dear,” says he, “do not laugh, for, depend upon

it, I heard your voice as plain as you hear mine now; if you please,

I’ll go before a magistrate and make oath of it.” I then began to be

amazed and surprised, and indeed frightened, and told him what I had

really done, and how I had called after him, as above.

When we had amused ourselves a while about this, I said to him: “Well,

you shall go away from me no more; I’ll go all over the world with you

rather.” He told me it would be a very difficult thing for him to leave

me, but since it must be, he hoped I would make it as easy to me as I

could; but as for him, it would be his destruction that he foresaw.

However, he told me that he considered he had left me to travel to

London alone, which was too long a journey; and that as he might as

well go that way as any way else, he was resolved to see me safe

thither, or near it; and if he did go away then without taking his

leave, I should not take it ill of him; and this he made me promise.

He told me how he had dismissed his three servants, sold their horses,

and sent the fellows away to seek their fortunes, and all in a little

time, at a town on the road, I know not where. “And,” says he, “it cost

me some tears all alone by myself, to think how much happier they were

than their master, for they could go to the next gentleman’s house to

see for a service, whereas,” said he, “I knew not wither to go, or what

to do with myself.”

I told him I was so completely miserable in parting with him, that I

could not be worse; and that now he was come again, I would not go from

him, if he would take me with him, let him go whither he would, or do

what he would. And in the meantime I agreed that we would go together

to London; but I could not be brought to consent he should go away at

last and not take his leave of me, as he proposed to do; but told him,

jesting, that if he did, I would call him back again as loud as I did

before. Then I pulled out his watch and gave it him back, and his two

rings, and his ten guineas; but he would not take them, which made me

very much suspect that he resolved to go off upon the road and leave

me.

The truth is, the circumstances he was in, the passionate expressions

of his letter, the kind, gentlemanly treatment I had from him in all

the affair, with the concern he showed for me in it, his manner of

parting with that large share which he gave me of his little stock

left—all these had joined to make such impressions on me, that I really

loved him most tenderly, and could not bear the thoughts of parting

with him.

Two days after this we quitted Chester, I in the stage-coach, and he on

horseback. I dismissed my maid at Chester. He was very much against my

being without a maid, but she being a servant hired in the country, and

I resolving to keep no servant at London, I told him it would have been

barbarous to have taken the poor wench and have turned her away as soon

as I came to town; and it would also have been a needless charge on the

road, so I satisfied him, and he was easy enough on the score.

He came with me as far as Dunstable, within thirty miles of London, and

then he told me fate and his own misfortunes obliged him to leave me,

and that it was not convenient for him to go to London, for reasons

which it was of no value to me to know, and I saw him preparing to go.

The stage-coach we were in did not usually stop at Dunstable, but I

desiring it but for a quarter of an hour, they were content to stand at

an inn-door a while, and we went into the house.

Being in the inn, I told him I had but one favour more to ask of him,

and that was, that since he could not go any farther, he would give me

leave to stay a week or two in the town with him, that we might in that

time think of something to prevent such a ruinous thing to us both, as

a final separation would be; and that I had something of moment to

offer him, that I had never said yet, and which perhaps he might find

practicable to our mutual advantage.

This was too reasonable a proposal to be denied, so he called the

landlady of the house, and told her his wife was taken ill, and so ill

that she could not think of going any farther in the stage-coach, which

had tired her almost to death, and asked if she could not get us a

lodging for two or three days in a private house, where I might rest me

a little, for the journey had been too much for me. The landlady, a

good sort of woman, well-bred and very obliging, came immediately to

see me; told me she had two or three very good rooms in a part of the

house quite out of the noise, and if I saw them, she did not doubt but

I would like them, and I should have one of her maids, that should do

nothing else but be appointed to wait on me. This was so very kind,

that I could not but accept of it, and thank her; so I went to look on

the rooms and liked them very well, and indeed they were

extraordinarily furnished, and very pleasant lodgings; so we paid the

stage-coach, took out our baggage, and resolved to stay here a while.

Here I told him I would live with him now till all my money was spent,

but would not let him spend a shilling of his own. We had some kind

squabble about that, but I told him it was the last time I was like to

enjoy his company, and I desired he would let me be master in that

thing only, and he should govern in everything else; so he acquiesced.

Here one evening, taking a walk into the fields, I told him I would now

make the proposal to him I had told him of; accordingly I related to

him how I had lived in Virginia, that I had a mother I believed was

alive there still, though my husband was dead some years. I told him

that had not my effects miscarried, which, by the way, I magnified

pretty much, I might have been fortune good enough to him to have kept

us from being parted in this manner. Then I entered into the manner of

peoples going over to those countries to settle, how they had a

quantity of land given them by the Constitution of the place; and if

not, that it might be purchased at so easy a rate that it was not worth

naming.

I then gave him a full and distinct account of the nature of planting;

how with carrying over but two or three hundred pounds value in English

goods, with some servants and tools, a man of application would

presently lay a foundation for a family, and in a very few years be

certain to raise an estate.

I let him into the nature of the product of the earth; how the ground

was cured and prepared, and what the usual increase of it was; and

demonstrated to him, that in a very few years, with such a beginning,

we should be as certain of being rich as we were now certain of being

poor.

He was surprised at my discourse; for we made it the whole subject of

our conversation for near a week together, in which time I laid it down

in black and white, as we say, that it was morally impossible, with a

supposition of any reasonable good conduct, but that we must thrive

there and do very well.

Then I told him what measures I would take to raise such a sum of £300

or thereabouts; and I argued with him how good a method it would be to

put an end to our misfortunes and restore our circumstances in the

world, to what we had both expected; and I added, that after seven

years, if we lived, we might be in a posture to leave our plantations

in good hands, and come over again and receive the income of it, and

live here and enjoy it; and I gave him examples of some that had done

so, and lived now in very good circumstances in London.

In short, I pressed him so to it, that he almost agreed to it, but

still something or other broke it off again; till at last he turned the

tables, and he began to talk almost to the same purpose of Ireland.

He told me that a man that could confine himself to country life, and

that could find but stock to enter upon any land, should have farms

there for £50 a year, as good as were here let for £200 a year; that

the produce was such, and so rich the land, that if much was not laid

up, we were sure to live as handsomely upon it as a gentleman of £3000

a year could do in England and that he had laid a scheme to leave me in

London, and go over and try; and if he found he could lay a handsome

foundation of living suitable to the respect he had for me, as he

doubted not he should do, he would come over and fetch me.

I was dreadfully afraid that upon such a proposal he would have taken

me at my word, viz. to sell my little income as I called it, and turn

it into money, and let him carry it over into Ireland and try his

experiment with it; but he was too just to desire it, or to have

accepted it if I had offered it; and he anticipated me in that, for he

added, that he would go and try his fortune that way, and if he found

he could do anything at it to live, then, by adding mine to it when I

went over, we should live like ourselves; but that he would not hazard

a shilling of mine till he had made the experiment with a little, and

he assured me that if he found nothing to be done in Ireland, he would

then come to me and join in my project for Virginia.

He was so earnest upon his project being to be tried first, that I

could not withstand him; however, he promised to let me hear from him

in a very little time after his arriving there, to let me know whether

his prospect answered his design, that if there was not a possibility

of success, I might take the occasion to prepare for our other voyage,

and then, he assured me, he would go with me to America with all his

heart.

I could bring him to nothing further than this. However, those

consultations entertained us near a month, during which I enjoyed his

company, which indeed was the most entertaining that ever I met in my

life before. In this time he let me into the whole story of his own

life, which was indeed surprising, and full of an infinite variety

sufficient to fill up a much brighter history, for its adventures and

incidents, than any I ever saw in print; but I shall have occasion to

say more of him hereafter.

We parted at last, though with the utmost reluctance on my side; and

indeed he took his leave very unwillingly too, but necessity obliged

him, for his reasons were very good why he would not come to London, as

I understood more fully some time afterwards.

I gave him a direction how to write to me, though still I reserved the

grand secret, and never broke my resolution, which was not to let him

ever know my true name, who I was, or where to be found; he likewise

let me know how to write a letter to him, so that, he said, he would be

sure to receive it.

I came to London the next day after we parted, but did not go directly

to my old lodgings; but for another nameless reason took a private

lodging in St. John’s Street, or, as it is vulgarly called, St.

Jones’s, near Clerkenwell; and here, being perfectly alone, I had

leisure to sit down and reflect seriously upon the last seven months’

ramble I had made, for I had been abroad no less. The pleasant hours I

had with my last husband I looked back on with an infinite deal of

pleasure; but that pleasure was very much lessened when I found some

time after that I was really with child.

This was a perplexing thing, because of the difficulty which was before

me where I should get leave to lie in; it being one of the nicest

things in the world at that time of day for a woman that was a

stranger, and had no friends, to be entertained in that circumstance

without security, which, by the way, I had not, neither could I procure

any.

I had taken care all this while to preserve a correspondence with my

honest friend at the bank, or rather he took care to correspond with

me, for he wrote to me once a week; and though I had not spent my money

so fast as to want any from him, yet I often wrote also to let him know

I was alive. I had left directions in Lancashire, so that I had these

letters, which he sent, conveyed to me; and during my recess at St.

Jones’s received a very obliging letter from him, assuring me that his

process for a divorce from his wife went on with success, though he met

with some difficulties in it that he did not expect.

I was not displeased with the news that his process was more tedious

than he expected; for though I was in no condition to have him yet, not

being so foolish to marry him when I knew myself to be with child by

another man, as some I know have ventured to do, yet I was not willing

to lose him, and, in a word, resolved to have him if he continued in

the same mind, as soon as I was up again; for I saw apparently I should

hear no more from my husband; and as he had all along pressed to marry,

and had assured me he would not be at all disgusted at it, or ever

offer to claim me again, so I made no scruple to resolve to do it if I

could, and if my other friend stood to his bargain; and I had a great

deal of reason to be assured that he would stand to it, by the letters

he wrote to me, which were the kindest and most obliging that could be.

I now grew big, and the people where I lodged perceived it, and began

to take notice of it to me, and, as far as civility would allow,

intimated that I must think of removing. This put me to extreme

perplexity, and I grew very melancholy, for indeed I knew not what

course to take. I had money, but no friends, and was like to have a

child upon my hands to keep, which was a difficulty I had never had

upon me yet, as the particulars of my story hitherto make appear.

In the course of this affair I fell very ill, and my melancholy really

increased my distemper; my illness proved at length to be only an ague,

but my apprehensions were really that I should miscarry. I should not

say apprehensions, for indeed I would have been glad to miscarry, but I

could never be brought to entertain so much as a thought of

endeavouring to miscarry, or of taking any thing to make me miscarry; I

abhorred, I say, so much as the thought of it.

However, speaking of it in the house, the gentlewoman who kept the

house proposed to me to send for a midwife. I scrupled it at first, but

after some time consented to it, but told her I had no particular

acquaintance with any midwife, and so left it to her.

It seems the mistress of the house was not so great a stranger to such

cases as mine was as I thought at first she had been, as will appear

presently, and she sent for a midwife of the right sort—that is to say,

the right sort for me.

The woman appeared to be an experienced woman in her business, I mean

as a midwife; but she had another calling too, in which she was as

expert as most women if not more. My landlady had told her I was very

melancholy, and that she believed that had done me harm; and once,

before me, said to her, “Mrs. B——” (meaning the midwife), “I believe

this lady’s trouble is of a kind that is pretty much in your way, and

therefore if you can do anything for her, pray do, for she is a very

civil gentlewoman”; and so she went out of the room.

I really did not understand her, but my Mother Midnight began very

seriously to explain what she meant, as soon as she was gone. “Madam,”

says she, “you seem not to understand what your landlady means; and

when you do understand it, you need not let her know at all that you do

so.

“She means that you are under some circumstances that may render your

lying in difficult to you, and that you are not willing to be exposed.

I need say no more, but to tell you, that if you think fit to

communicate so much of your case to me, if it be so, as is necessary,

for I do not desire to pry into those things, I perhaps may be in a

position to help you and to make you perfectly easy, and remove all

your dull thoughts upon that subject.”

Every word this creature said was a cordial to me, and put new life and

new spirit into my heart; my blood began to circulate immediately, and

I was quite another body; I ate my victuals again, and grew better

presently after it. She said a great deal more to the same purpose, and

then, having pressed me to be free with her, and promised in the

solemnest manner to be secret, she stopped a little, as if waiting to

see what impression it made on me, and what I would say.

I was too sensible to the want I was in of such a woman, not to accept

her offer; I told her my case was partly as she guessed, and partly

not, for I was really married, and had a husband, though he was in such

fine circumstances and so remote at that time, as that he could not

appear publicly.

She took me short, and told me that was none of her business; all the

ladies that came under her care were married women to her. “Every

woman,” she says, “that is with child has a father for it,” and whether

that father was a husband or no husband, was no business of hers; her

business was to assist me in my present circumstances, whether I had a

husband or no. “For, madam,” says she, “to have a husband that cannot

appear, is to have no husband in the sense of the case; and, therefore,

whether you are a wife or a mistress is all one to me.”

I found presently, that whether I was a whore or a wife, I was to pass

for a whore here, so I let that go. I told her it was true, as she

said, but that, however, if I must tell her my case, I must tell it her

as it was; so I related it to her as short as I could, and I concluded

it to her thus. “I trouble you with all this, madam,” said I, “not

that, as you said before, it is much to the purpose in your affair, but

this is to the purpose, namely, that I am not in any pain about being

seen, or being public or concealed, for ’tis perfectly indifferent to

me; but my difficulty is, that I have no acquaintance in this part of

the nation.”

“I understand you, madam” says she; “you have no security to bring to

prevent the parish impertinences usual in such cases, and perhaps,”

says she, “do not know very well how to dispose of the child when it

comes.” “The last,” says I, “is not so much my concern as the first.”

“Well, madam,” answered the midwife, “dare you put yourself into my

hands? I live in such a place; though I do not inquire after you, you

may inquire after me. My name is B——; I live in such a street”—naming

the street—“at the sign of the Cradle. My profession is a midwife, and

I have many ladies that come to my house to lie in. I have given

security to the parish in general terms to secure them from any charge

from whatsoever shall come into the world under my roof. I have but one

question to ask in the whole affair, madam,” says she, “and if that be

answered you shall be entirely easy for all the rest.”

I presently understood what she meant, and told her, “Madam, I believe

I understand you. I thank God, though I want friends in this part of

the world, I do not want money, so far as may be necessary, though I do

not abound in that neither”: this I added because I would not make her

expect great things. “Well, madam,” says she, “that is the thing

indeed, without which nothing can be done in these cases; and yet,”

says she, “you shall see that I will not impose upon you, or offer

anything that is unkind to you, and if you desire it, you shall know

everything beforehand, that you may suit yourself to the occasion, and

be neither costly or sparing as you see fit.”

I told her she seemed to be so perfectly sensible of my condition, that

I had nothing to ask of her but this, that as I had told her that I had

money sufficient, but not a great quantity, she would order it so that

I might be at as little superfluous charge as possible.

She replied that she would bring in an account of the expenses of it in

two or three shapes, and like a bill of fare, I should choose as I

pleased; and I desired her to do so.

The next day she brought it, and the copy of her three bills was as

follows:—

1. For three months’ lodging in her house, including my diet, at 10s.

a week . . . . . . . . . . . 6£, 0s., 0d.

2. For a nurse for the month, and use of childbed linen . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . 1£, 10s., 0d.

3. For a minister to christen the child, and to the godfathers and

clerk . . . . . . . . . . . . 1£, 10s., 0d.

4. For a supper at the christening if I had five friends at it . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1£, 0s., 0d.

For her fees as a midwife, and the taking off the trouble of the

parish . . . . . . . . . . . . 3£, 3s., 0d.

To her maid servant attending . . . . . . . . 0£, 10s., 0d.

-------------- 13£, 13s., 0d.