THE VOYAGES, TRAVELS, AND MEMOIRS OF WILLIAM OWEN GWIN VAUGHAN, Eſq

THE Day I was born, was the firſt of my Misfortunes; for the Moment that gave me Birth, robb'd my dear Mother of Life, and I came into the World an innocent Murderer, the laſt of five Sons.

Tho' my Father had a conſiderable Eſtate, yet, as I was the youngeſt of all, there was [2] but little to expect for me; and ere I arriv'd to my fourth Year, a Mother-in-law was brought into the Family, that had one Son, and two Daughters; but ſhe ſecur'd to my Father a conſiderable Eſtate while ſhe liv'd, tho' after her Death it was to devolve on her own Chil⯑dren; and I am pretty well inform'd, that was the chief Motive of my Father's wiſhing her a long Life.

Sure Marriage muſt be an unfortunate State on ſuch Conditions, eſpecially on one Side; for every body agreed my Mother-in-law (from her outward Behaviour) was very fond of my Father; but ſhe laid out her whole Portion of Good-Nature upon him, ſhe ha⯑ving not one Grain left for any of his Chil⯑dren, and, between 'em both, good Houſe-keeping was baniſh'd, that liv'd with us in my Mother's Days.

My Father, give him his Due, was ra⯑king enough to provide for his Children; and his Wife was not an Ace behind him in ta⯑king Care for hers.

My Mother-in-law's Son was much of my own Age, ſo to School we were ſent together, which was the happieſt Time of my Life; for my good Mother-in-law being over-fond of her only Son, allow'd him handſomly of [3] every thing; and my Father, that there ſhould be no Difference between us, did the like by me; ſo we both far'd the better by their Emulation, and whatever Brother Jack had one Day, to be ſure Billy (meaning my⯑ſelf) had the next: But, tho' it favours of Vanity to praiſe myſelf, yet I will declare, I was a better Proficient in Learning than my School-fellow, for I took a great Pleaſure in my Studying; but, on the contrary, my Brother was very idle, and I often receiv'd good part of his Money for the Week, to make his Exerciſe for him; ſo by this Me⯑thod, our Parents imagin'd him a better Scho⯑lar than he was.

Our Maſter, tho' a rigid one, was ſome⯑thing deceiv'd in him; for I was very cau⯑tious of letting any one underſtand the Helps I gave him, well knowing, if it was once diſcover'd, I ſhou'd loſe my Perquiſites, as I call'd 'em. But one Chriſtmas it all came out.

The Parſon of the Pariſh being at Din⯑ner, and, as it prov'd, which does not al⯑ways happen, a good Scholar, was deſir'd to examine the Yonkers, as they call'd us, my Mother being gone out of the Room juſt be⯑fore; Domine ſet upon me firſt, paying, as [4] he thought, a Compliment to my Father, and I went thro' my Examination ſo readily, that my Father gave me a Crown-piece to encourage me; but, at the ſame time, whiſ⯑per'd me to put it up before the good Wo⯑man, my Mother-in-law, came back a⯑gain.

When the Parſon had finiſh'd ſeveral ela⯑borate Speeches on the Ripeneſs of my Ge⯑nius, and what not, adding among the reſt, He did not fear in time but he ſhou'd ſee me a great Stateſman; he took my Schoolfellow John to Task, who came to Examination like a Thief to his Trial: I ſtood juſt behind him, and prompted him unheard by the reſt of the Company; yet he made ſo many Blunders, that, like Sir Martin and his Man Warner, we were both diſcover'd; at which I was very much griev'd, for I ſoon ap⯑prehended ſuch Care wou'd be taken of Mr. Dunce, that I ſhou'd finger no more of his Money, and all the Praiſes I receiv'd from the Company for the Aptneſs of my Parts, &c. cou'd not extinguiſh the Thoughts on't. But, to mend the matter, my Mo⯑ther-in-law, who happen'd to come in juſt as he was beginning his Firy Trial, big with Expectation of her Son Johnny proving a [5] Prodigy of Learning, and finding herſelf ſo much diſappointed, cou'd not contain her Temper, but flew out in a manner little plea⯑ſing to the Company. She did not doubt, ſhe ſaid, but there had been much Pains ta⯑ken with that Jackanapes (meaning my Wor⯑ſhip) but ſhe wou'd take care for the future to chooſe a Maſter that was in her Intereſt, to inſtruct her Child; that it was much a⯑gainſt her Inclination at firſt to let him go where all my Brothers had gone before, be⯑ing the Teacher was in my Father's Inte⯑reſt, and a thouſand ſuch Speeches, which ſtruck my Father into Amazement; and tho' the Parſon with a great deal of Reaſon (that perhaps you'll ſay is a Wonder) us'd many fine Speeches to qualify this Matter, yet they all prov'd like Words utter'd in a Deſart; but when Brother Jack, in Tears, told her my Father had given me a Crown, ſhe grew outragious, and with a great deal of Dexterity gave me a handſome Box on the Ear, leſs gentle, I believe, than the Boor gives the Duke of ^* Carinthia at his Inſtalla⯑tion. [6] My Father, to be even with her, re⯑turn'd my Brother John one as like it as a couple of Billiard-Balls. My good Mother-in-law perceiving it, was reſolv'd to be even with him, and gave it me handſomly on both ſides my Ears, which was return'd ſmartly back upon the Chops of my Schoolfellow by my Father, till we got handſomly cuff'd be⯑tween 'em.

My Father ſeeing his Wife's Rage rather increas'd, than diminiſh'd, laid hold of both her Hands; ſhe ſtruggling to get looſe, and [7] finding it impoſſible, ſpit in my Father's Face, who was ſo much confounded, that he let her go, and ſhe waddled out of the Room like a Gooſe upon a Common.

When ſhe was gone, my Father ſat him down in his Chair without ſpeaking for ſome time; but at laſt broke out with an exalted Voice, This is the firſt time I ever wiſh'd myſelf unmarry'd, and I am very much in fear it will not be the laſt; for when once Man and Wife have broke thro' the Reſpect they owe each other, continual Jarrs will ſuc⯑ceed, and the firſt Quarrel will ſoon be fol⯑low'd by many others. I have no Notion (continu'd he) after this Breach, we can ever be properly reconcil'd.

The good Parſon ſaid many things in or⯑der to excuſe both Parties, but my Father gave him no manner of Anſwer. He ſeeing things in ſo much Confuſion, took his Leave.

When he was gone, my Father began to examine me about my Brother Jack, and the Reaſon why my Maſter did not acquaint him with his Indocibility; I well knowing he ab⯑horr'd a Lye, declar'd to him the whole Truth; but begg'd his Pardon, telling him, my young Apprehenſion cou'd not conceive ſuch Confuſion wou'd follow.

[8]Well, return'd my Father, I have Reaſon to believe you will never be guilty of ſuch Inadvertencies again, therefore I freely par⯑don you; but for the future you muſt go to School by yourſelf, at leaſt, 'till this Matter is blown over, and my Wife and I are tho⯑roughly reconcil'd, if there is a Poſſibility of it. Upon ſaying this, he wav'd his Hand, that I might leave him to himſelf.

As ſoon as I got into the Courtyard be⯑fore the Houſe, my Brother Jack met me. Ah! ſaid he, my Mother has given me a Crown, as well as my Father did you. I am glad on't, return'd I. I believe that's a Lye, ſaid my Mother, who was coming out of the Garden, and had ſtaid to liſten, as I ſuppoſe. Madam, I have learnt, ſaid I, to ſpeak Truth, whatever may be the Conſe⯑quence, and in moſt of the Books we are to learn, we are inform'd our Tongue and Heart ſhou'd always go together. Ha! ſaid ſhe, What, I ſuppoſe you are ſetting up for a young Philoſopher! But I believe you have got a few Sentences by rote, as Parrots have, that you ſputter out unſeaſonably. I told her, whatever I had learnt, I wou'd take care never to ſay any thing to offend her. No, ſaid ſhe, you will always be an Offence to [9] me, ſilent, or ſpeaking. I told her I was ve⯑ry ſorry for't, and went back again, with the Tears running down my Cheeks, intending to go up into the Room where I lay, but was met by my Father, who ſeeing the Tears trickling down my Face, ask'd me haſtily the Reaſon of my Grief? I told him, No⯑thing.

Come, ſaid he, you know I will have the Truth, therefore tell me without Delay. I then, finding he wou'd be ſatisfy'd, told all that had paſs'd between my Mother and me, tho' in as tender Terms as I cou'd. When my Father had heard me out, he ſeem'd very much concern'd, and making a long Pauſe, at laſt cry'd, Well, I will have a Remedy! And to-morrow, continu'd he, you ſhall go to your Uncle's, who deſires to ſee you, where you ſhall remain till the Time of your Breaking-up is over.

The next Morning I had Orders to prepare for my Journey. When I was ready to get on Horſeback, I waited on my Father, who bid me go to my Mother and take my Leave of her. I went, but I muſt confeſs very un⯑willingly. When I came to her Dreſſing-Room, I kneel'd down as uſual, upon which ſhe ſaid haſtily, Bleſs you! Bleſs you! which I [10] underſtood, by her Manner of ſpeaking, was Dammee! Dammee!

I am come, Madam, ſaid I, to take my Leave of you, by my Father's Command. Why, pray Sir, return'd my Mother, very ſcornfully, Where are you going? To my Uncle's, Madam, ſaid I. Go then, ſaid ſhe, and a good Riddance. I made my Honours, and down Stairs I went again to my Father.

Well, Will, ſaid he, what ſaid your Mo⯑ther to you? Did ſhe give you any thing? No Sir, ſaid I, ſhe only gave me Leave to go about my Buſineſs. Well, ſaid my Fa⯑ther, you ſhall never trouble her again, in the Mind I am in. Go, ſaid he, get on Horſeback, I'll ride before, and conduct you ſome part of the Way.

When I went into the Stable, I heard my Brother Jack tell the Groom I muſt not have the Little Horſe, for it was his, and he was to go abroad with his Mother: Brother, ſaid I, I muſt have him, for my Father's gone be⯑fore, and will wait for me. No matter for that, ſaid he, you ſhan't have him. Many Words paſs'd between us, and all the while he was endeavouring to get the Bridle out of my Hand, but finding he was not ſtrong enough, he let go. Juſt as I had got one [11] Foot in the Stirrup, with a Prong that he had got out of the Stable, he ran me into the Thigh with one of the Points, the other piercing the Horſe in the Flank, who, feel⯑ing himſelf hurt, gave a Spring, and before I cou'd get upon his Back, he dragg'd me with one Foot in the Stirrup out into the Road, and wou'd have certainly beat me to pieces, if my Father coming back, wonder⯑ing at my Delay, had not ſtop'd him. The Servant told him I was certainly wounded, for there were Streams of Blood upon the Ground: Examining my Hurt, they found my Boot was full of Blood. I was carry'd in again; tho' with Loſs of Blood, the Vio⯑lence of the Fall, together with the Drag⯑ging of the Horſe, I was deprived of my Senſes for ſome time.

A Surgeon was immediately ſent for; yet my Father was not preſently inform'd how I came by the Hurt: But when he knew the Truth of it, he was ſo very much pro⯑vok'd, that juſt that Inſtant meeting with my Brother Jack coming up Stairs, he kick'd him down again, and in the Fall he broke his Arm. I mention theſe little Circum⯑ſtances, only as they were the Occaſion of [...]-right Breach in the Family.

[12]When the Surgeon came, he inform'd us there was no Danger but Loſs of Blood; and, with a great many hard Words, told 'em what a narrow Eſcape I had, for if it had been an Inch higher, and touch'd ſuch and ſuch a Thing, all the World cou'd not have ſav'd my Life to be ſure.

When he had made an end of dreſſing my Wound, he went to the Aſſiſtance of my Brother. The Servants had taken him up, and brought him into the ſame Room where I was, for our Beds were together. I muſt own the Sight of him, inſtead of moving my Pity, ſtirr'd my Indignation, and I was inwardly ſatisfy'd with my Father's juſt Re⯑venge. But while they were ſetting his Arm, my Mother came among us (alarm'd it ſeems with his Cries) like one of the Furies, with her Hair about her Ears, out of her Dreſſing-Room, not having been acquainted with the Matter thro' the Confuſion of the Family. She caſt many furious Eyes towards me, and I believe, if ſhe had not been pre⯑vented by my Father, had made me feel the Effects of her Indignation. Madam, ſaid he, I am ſorry for the Accident that has hap⯑pen'd to your Son, not but he deſerves it for his young wicked Intention, tho' I don't [13] doubt but he was inſtigated by his Mother: By me, thou barbarous Wretch! ſaid ſhe. — You are ſorry for the Accident! What Acci⯑dent? Did not you do it for the Purpoſe? with an Intention to break his Neck I ſup⯑poſe: But I'll be reveng'd on your young Darling, with all his Learning! Upon ſay⯑ing that ſhe ruſh'd upon me in ſpite of 'em, and ſeiz'd violently upon me, endeavouring to tear me out of the Bed, notwithſtanding my weak Condition. But my Father laid hold of her, and with a Pull, ſwung her to the far⯑ther end of the Room. Now, Madam, ſaid he, ſince I ſee the Inveteracy of your Malice, and having broke the Bonds of Duty, Love, and Tenderneſs, I'll make you feel the Power of a Husband; you ſhall be cloſe confin'd to your Apartment, never once to converſe with Me, or Mine. You ſhall want nothing, but your Liberty, where you will have Time enough to reflect upon your Conduct, and what it is to injure a Husband by your violent Proceedings. So ſaying, he ſeiz'd upon her, maugre her Strugglings, carry'd her to the Nurſery, and lock'd her in: The Reaſon of his putting her there, was, as he ſaid after⯑wards, to prevent her making any Attempts to get out of the Windows, being there were [14] Bars fix'd for fear of any Accident among us, when we were under the Nurſe's Care.

Notwithſtanding her Violence of Temper, ſhe had certainly (at leaſt in every Body's Opinion) a tender Regard for my Father; and if he did not return it, he gave her no Cauſe to complain. He had too much Hu⯑manity to uſe any one ill, much leſs a Wife. I have often heard him ſay, While my Wife continues her Good-humour to me, ſhe ſhall never find me in the leaſt to blame in my Conduct to her; but whenever that alters, I ſhall have ſo much Regard to myſelf, to be eaſy.

During my Illneſs, my Father was hardly ever from me. I did not think it was pro⯑per for one of my Years to ask him any Queſtions concerning his Matrimonial War⯑fare; but as he was ſitting upon my Bed, a⯑bout the fifth Day of my Illneſs, my Mo⯑ther's Maid brought him a Letter, which my Father perus'd, then read it to me, as fol⯑lows:

Confinement, I find, ſaid my Father, is a good Mortifier; but I ſhall very willingly comply with her Requeſt, upon your Ac⯑count, for I can't ſuppoſe it is very pleaſing to you, to have always before your Eyes the Cauſe of your Pain and Illneſs. Sir, ſaid I, there is no Motive more prevalent with me, than the Satisfaction of my Mother; be⯑ſides, I hope I have it not in my Nature to bear Malice, therefore I have long ſince for⯑given my Brother, imagining it to be only the Heat of Paſſion, and Want of Years. My Child, ſaid my Father, your Years are the [16] ſame, both in your Thirteenth; and yet I am convinc'd he has not the Conſideration that thou haſt, which I am pleas'd with, not for his Want of Underſtanding, but that thine ſeems to exceed thy Years: Pray Heaven continue it! Sir, ſaid I, 'tis all I ask, the Bleſſing of Heaven and You; in having them, I ſhall want nothing; but, poſſeſs'd with all the Gifts of Fortune, wanting them, I ſhall be poor indeed! My Boy (ſaid my Father, and kiſs'd me) once more Heaven bleſs thee! Grant that I may be able to provide for thee according to my Inclination!

By this time the Maid, who had retir'd while my Father was peruſing the Letter, came in to expect an Anſwer. Tell your Miſtreſs, ſaid my Father, I ſhall comply with her Requeſt, as I ſhall to all others that are reaſonable. Upon this Anſwer, the Maid went out, and my Father gave immediate Orders to remove the Boy: Then, with a gentle Preſs by the Hand, took his Leave of me. I muſt own I was very much de⯑lighted at his Expreſſions of Kindneſs to me, being it was what I never receiv'd from him before: 'Tis true, he never us'd me harſhly, but he did not ſeem to me to have the leaſt Regard, or playing and toying with Children, [17] as I have known Parents do; his Manner of Behaviour to me before, begot Reſpect in me; it was enough if he did but look at me, to make me obſerve him; tho' I can't fan⯑ſy it is a proper Carriage from a Parent to a Child, neither the way to beget Obedience; there is a kind of Indulgence to the harmleſs Follies of Children, that inſenſibly wins the Affections of the Child. I remember my own Brother, that was one Year elder than me, never car'd to come in my Father's Sight, which proceeded from his ſtiff Beha⯑viour to us. But I am not laying down Rules or Examples between Parents and Children, tho' really I think ſome Parents want as much Inſtruction that way as their Children. Tho' I am well-aſſur'd my Father had a tender Regard for his, notwithſtanding his rigid Behaviour, for he puniſh'd ſevere⯑ly for Faults openly, and, as I found after⯑wards, rewarded 'em ſecretly when they did well: But my Readers may with Reaſon ſay, this is but little to the Purpoſe.

In the next Viſit my Father made me, he told me he fanſy'd my Mother had a great mind to be making her Peace; but, added he, Will, I'll take care, if it comes to that, you ſhall be included in the Treaty. I told [18] him I ſhould be pleas'd, let it go which way it wou'd, if he wou'd be ſo. I have receiv'd another Letter ſince Morning, ſaid he, with her Deſire to ſpeak with me; in the Evening I ſhall comply with her Requeſt; and the Re⯑ſult of our Conference thou ſhalt know to⯑morrow Morning; for, added he, it will be late before I can go to her, for I expect your Schoolmaſter this Evening, who is to ſtay all Night on purpoſe to ſee you, as he ſends me Word. And, accordingly, before Night, the good old Man came to condole with me, and in ſome ſort to chide me, in neglecting to tell him of my Brother's Want of Learning: However, ſaid he, I forgive you, and have prevail'd on your Father that I may have you again; for I ſhould be much concern'd to loſe the Flower of my Flock; as he was pleas'd to call me: As for your Brother Jack, added he, I have advis'd with your Father, to prevail on your Mother to put him out to ſome creditable Trade, and not longer to loſe his Time in fruitleſs Endeavours to learn what he can never attain to; for, continu'd he, I have juſt now been examining him in the Gar⯑den (for as he had the Uſe of his Legs, he cou'd go any where) but I am in the utmoſt Confuſion to find him ſuch a Dunce, and [19] that I cou'd be ſo long impos'd on between you.

I begg'd my Maſter to mention my Folly no more, for I aſſur'd him it was Want of Thought, and Tenderneſs to him, that oc⯑caſion'd the Deceit; I had ſufficiently repent⯑ed of it, and if it was to come over again, wou'd ſooner die than be guilty of any ſuch Proceedings. I added, It was the great⯑eſt Grief I ever did, or ever ſhou'd feel, that from ſo trivial a thing, as I thought, ſuch Difference ſhou'd be created between my Fa⯑ther and Mother. Reſt contented, reply'd my Maſter: Thy Mother-in-law has prov'd what I always thought her, a turbulent-ſpi⯑rited Woman, only ſhe had Art enough to hide it ſo long from your Father. Indeed her firſt Husband, Sir Charles, many Years ago hinted ſome ſuch thing to me. I am pleas'd ſhe has declar'd herſelf upon ſo ſlight an Oc⯑caſion, that your good Father may be arm'd in time againſt her Contrivances; for I am apt to believe, even her Affection to him is only counterfeited, and once Women can counterfeit Love, I give 'em loſt to all vir⯑tuous Principles; their Endearments are the worſt of Crimes, and the greateſt Affront they can put upon a Man. I have known [20] ſome Women who have prov'd falſe to their Husband's Bed, yet have carry'd it with ſuch a Tenderneſs and Regard to them, that if the World had not been convinc'd of their Baſe⯑neſs, 'twere enough to call Truth a Lyar.

I interrupted my Maſter, by telling him I thought there was no Grounds even for Suſpicion of any ſuch thing concerning my Mother. I hope ſo too, reply'd my School-maſter.

After ſome other Diſcourſe of the Weak⯑neſſes of Women, he left me to my own Thoughts, but I muſt own they were not very pleaſing ones. I began to conſider my Con⯑dition. If my Mother prov'd an ill Woman, as I had ſome reaſon to ſuſpect from the Hints and Diſcourſes of my Maſter, I ſhou'd cer⯑tainly ſuffer in the end; for if my Father was reconcil'd to her, through her Cunning, I did not doubt but ſhe would improve it, and make me the Butt of her Reſentment; and, notwithſtanding my Father's good Senſe, and Knowledge of the World, there was not an Impoſſibility but he might fall into the Snares of a ſubtle deſigning Woman: The Thought of this ſpread a melancholy Cloud over my Face, which was perceiv'd by my Father, who enter'd in the midſt of my Cogitations.

[21]How now, Will, ſaid he, does thy Wound pain thee, that thou look'ſt with ſuch a ſor⯑rowful Countenance? No, Sir, ſaid I, I was only enter'd into thinking of what may hap⯑pen for the future, and the Fear of loſing your Kindneſs, made me ſad. Well, ſaid he, as I am aſſur'd from your Behaviour, that will never happen, I hope your Concern will ceaſe. I told you (continu'd my Father) when I parted with you laſt, that I wou'd not let thee know the Reſult of the Interview till the Morning; but as we are reconcil'd, I cou'd not ſo long delay thee thy Part of the Satisfaction. To-morrow in the Morning thy Mother, thy Maſter, and all of us, are to come into thy Room to Breakfaſt, where I hope all Animoſities will ceaſe. On my Side, Sir, ſaid I, they were never begun, nor ever ſhall, without my Temper and Inclination ſhou'd be inverted. I believe there's no Dan⯑ger of that, reply'd my Father; and ſo, my good Boy, Good-night.

As ſoon as my Father was gone, my Ma⯑ſter came in again: Billy, ſaid he, I cou'd not go to Bed without ſeeing you, to deſire, ſince your Father and Mother are reconcil'd, to take no manner of Notice of the Diſcourſe you and I had together concerning her. If [22] told him, without any Caution, it ſhou'd have been as ſecret as if no one had known it but himſelf; I believe it, ſaid he, yet I thought Caution might have been neceſſary; and ſo bid me Good-night.

When I was once more left alone, Re⯑flexion began to be ſtronger than before, and weighing, according to my young Judgment, the Affairs and Condition of the Family, thought verily my Circumſtances wou'd ſuffer by it. I was in the midſt of a thouſand con⯑fus'd ungrateful Thoughts, when the Sur⯑geon came in to dreſs me, and viewing my Wound, was very much ſurpriz'd to ſee it look ſo angry: I am afraid, young Gentle⯑man, ſaid he, you have met with ſomething to-day that makes you uneaſy, or have taſted ſomething that you ſhou'd not have done, which occaſions this Alteration in your Hurt. Pray, ſaid he, what have you had to eat to⯑day? When I inform'd him, That, ſaid he, cou'd never hurt you; the Alteration I perceive muſt proceed from ſome Diſturbance of Mind, and I value my Patient ſo much, that I muſt know the Cauſe, that I may ſpeak to your Father to have it remedy'd. I found him ſo preſſing, that I was oblig'd to tell him Some little Accidents in the Family had given [23] me ſome Uneaſineſs, which were now recon⯑cil'd, and wou'd ſoon be forgot. Yes, ſaid he, I hear your Father and Mother are come to an Agreement, and I can't ſay I am over well pleas'd at it, for if ſhe does not play him, and all of you, ſome Trick, I'll be hang'd; I have Reaſons beſt known to myſelf for what I ſay.

I am ſorry, ſaid I, you have any ſecret Reaſon to ſuſpect my Mother's future Con⯑duct; and without you diſcloſe 'em to me, I ſhall imagine they are Chimaeras of your own Brain, that flow from your too much Drinking (for he was fam'd for a great To⯑ [...]er) or otherwiſe from her refuſing you the Cure of my Brother Jack; for when my Mother-in-law heard he was my Surgeon, her Reſentment run ſo high, that ſhe wou'd not employ him.

Nothing of all this, I can aſſure you, re⯑turn'd the Surgeon; but I ſhall ſay no more at preſent, 'till I have obſerv'd her future Be⯑haviour, and if ſhe deſerves it, I ſhall diſ⯑cloſe ſome things that will be very ſurprizing [...]o all of you. I wiſh, ſaid I, you wou'd ei⯑ [...]her have mention'd nothing of it now, or wou'd reſolve to tell me what it is you know, or I fear, if you leave me in doubt, it will not at all help me in the Cure.

[24]I am ſorry, return'd the Surgeon, I have inadvertently ſaid any thing to make you un⯑eaſy; but, to reconcile you to your Reſt to⯑night, be aſſur'd, whenever I diſcloſe it, 'twill help you rather than injure you; and tho' I have many Follies, I have Diſcretion enough to keep this a Secret, till it ſhall prove advantageous to your Father and you.

I us'd many Arguments to perſuade him to let me know this great Secret, but all to no purpoſe; ſo after he had dreſs'd me, he left me with more Cauſe of Uneaſineſs than I had before, which I too plainly ſhew'd by my Countenance. The Maid who attended me in my Illneſs, who was one that liv'd with my Mother in her Life-time, and had the bringing of me up, told me I ſhould not be uneaſy at what the Surgeon ſaid, he was nothing but a meer Rattle, for it was his uſual way to make People imagine he knew ſomething concerning their Affairs, and when he came to be ſtrictly examin'd, de⯑ny'd it all, or made an Excuſe that he ſup⯑pos'd he was drunk when he ſaid ſo.

What the Maid ſaid ſeem'd probable e⯑nough; yet I cou'd not put it out of my Head, that notwithſtanding his Character, there was ſomething in his Knowledge concerning our Family.

[25]The Thought of this, with other Affairs, kept me from ſleeping many Hours, and when I did, it was broken, and interrupted with frightful Dreams. In one, I thought my Mother invited my Father and me to walk with her in a Garden, at the End there was a prodigious high Mountain, which we aſ⯑cended with much Difficulty, and when we had gain'd the Summit, my Mother gave my Father a Puſh down the Brow of the Mountain, on the other Side, where my trou⯑bled Fancy gave him for loſt. She then flew towards me, and violently thruſt me down the ſame way we came up; I thought I fell to the Bottom much bruis'd, as alſo ſcratch'd by Brambles and Stones that lay in my way, that the Pain I felt awak'd me. I told my Dream to the Maid that ſat up with me; ſhe reply'd, it was nothing but a diſturb'd Fancy with the Pain of my Hurt, and begg'd I wou'd compoſe myſelf to Sleep, which after ſome time I did.

I reaſſum'd my Dream where I left off. My ſleeping Imagination repreſented my Mother on the Brow of the Hill, hurling Stones and Clods of Earth at me, yet I thought none of 'em came near me to do me any Damage; and as ſhe was endeavouring [26] to come down the Hill, in order, as I thought, to hurt me, ſhe vaniſh'd away, but I cou'd not perceive which way ſhe went. Upon the Inſtant I awoke, in a very great Agony, when I told the Maid the Cauſe of my Uneaſineſs; ſhe laugh'd at me, and ſaid 'twas only form'd from my uneaſy Thoughts. Whatever ſhe cou'd ſay to me upon the Inva⯑lidity of Dreams, I cou'd not put this out of my Head, nor go to ſleep again; and the reſt of our Diſcourſe till Morning was Sto⯑ries of Dreams proving true, which I had oft heard repeated, but ſhe call'd thoſe things Viſions; I would have perſuaded her mine was ſuch, but ſhe laugh'd me out of it, or at leaſt I had Diſcretion enough to ſay no more to her concerning it, whatever were my Thoughts about it.

When the Time of Breakfaſt came, my Father enter'd the Room, and ask'd me how I had reſted laſt Night; the Maid an⯑ſwer'd for me, that I had been diſturb'd by frightful Dreams; my Father return'd, he had none of the beſt; but, continu'd he, Dreams were the only Work of a diſturb'd Fancy, and were as far from Truth, as the Glow-Worm's dim Shine from Light and Heat; the Creatures of the drowſy Brain.

[27]But, Sir, ſaid I, many have been fore⯑warn'd by Dreams of Accidents that have happen'd to 'em; witneſs Calphurnia's Dream of the Butchery of Caeſar, and Ceaſar's Dream before he overcame Pompey, or that men⯑tion'd by Valerius Maximus of the two Ar⯑cadians ^*. Nothing, Child, reply'd my Fa⯑ther, [28] but the Fancy of Poets and Hiſtorians, and I hope you have Underſtanding enough to ſlight 'em; 'tis nothing but ſuperſtitious Opinion that gives any Credit to Dreams and Omens; but, continu'd he, I wou'd have thee put on a more pleaſing Countenance, for thy Mother, Brother, and I, are coming pre⯑ſently to Breakfaſt with thee, in order for a Reconciliation on all Hands, and if ſhe per⯑ceives that Cloud upon thy Face, ſhe will be apt to conjecture her Preſence is irkſome to thee. I reply'd, I would do my Endeavour to be compos'd, as indeed I had Reaſon; but I told him, I wou'd ever have my Face the Index of my Heart, for I ſhou'd find it a ve⯑ry hard Task to counterfeit any Paſſion. Well, ſaid my Father, ſmiling, we ſhall be with you preſently, and went out.

When he was gone, I reſolv'd to riſe, and put on my Gown, in order to receive ſuch a Viſit decently, tho' the Maid wou'd have diſ⯑ſuaded me. I was but juſt dreſs'd, and ſet down in mv Chair (for I was not able to ſtand) when my Father, Mother, and her Son, en⯑ter'd [29] the Chamber. As ſoon as my Mother came in, ſhe ſaid to my Father, he had in⯑form'd her I had kept my Bed: Indeed, my Dear, return'd my Father, I am ſomething ſurpriz'd, for I left him in Bed not a Quar⯑ter of an Hour ago. I anſwer'd, that I thought it my Duty to come as near my Knees as I cou'd, and I hop'd my Mother wou'd pardon the Poſture I was in; but I threw an humble Heart at her Feet, and hop'd ſhe wou'd give me her Bleſſing with her Pardon. Heaven bleſs thee (ſaid ſhe) my Dear; and for Pardon, 'tis I ought to ask that of thee, who have really offended; but acknowledg⯑ing a Fault is the Way to Repentance, and all my Hope is we ſhall bury in Oblivion paſt Tranſactions. She then brought my Brother forward, who told me with a cloudy Countenance, He begg'd my Pardon, and wou'd do ſo no more. I told him I had long ſince learnt to forget every thing, for For⯑giveneſs was not a Word became a Child's Mouth. We all kiſs'd round.

When our mutual Careſſes were over, I cou'd perceive Tears of Joy ſtand in my Fa⯑ther's Eyes for this our Reconciliation, and I imagin'd my Mother's Countenance look'd with a pleaſing Contentment in't. But alas! [30] 'tis hard to know the Heart of Woman! A fair Face, with a ſmiling Countenance, often harbour Rancour in the Soul; and as they ſtudy to ſet off their Features, they alſo ſtu⯑dy to make their Face a Mask to their Mind.

They ſtaid with me ſome time, nor per⯑haps had gone ſo ſoon, if Word had not been brought in, that the Surgeon was come to dreſs me. My Mother begg'd Leave to retire, telling me ſhe had not Courage e⯑nough to ſupport the Sight of my Hurt; ſo my Father led her out, and my Brother fol⯑low'd 'em.

Immediately after the Surgeon came in, Well, ſaid he, I find all's right again; I met your Father leading your Mother through the Hall, as if he had juſt begun to court her. I wiſh it may hold on her Side. I hope there is no Fear of it, ſaid I, but I can aſſure you, what you hinted to me Yeſterday, has given me a great deal of Uneaſineſs.

Think on't no more, return'd the Surgeon, think on't no more, Maſter; I am very ſor⯑ry I mention'd any thing to you, and beg you wou'd ſpeak of it no more. How, ſaid I! do you endeavour to calumniate Perſons out of a Whim of your Brain, and not ex⯑pect [31] to be call'd to an Account for it? I have been inform'd of your Temper, or rather the Villainy of your opprobrious Tongue, and can farther aſſure you, that the chimeri⯑cal Aſperſions you wou'd endeavour to fix upon my Mother-in-law, ſhall not go unpu⯑niſh'd, if my Father retains his uſual Spirit, unleſs you this Moment tell the Truth, and either make out what you wou'd inſinuate, or clear her by asking Pardon for the Injury you wou'd have done her.

The Surgeon ſeem'd very much in Confu⯑ſion during my Speech to him, which I ob⯑ſerving, did not doubt but it was, as the Maid ſaid, his conſtant Cuſtom to calumniate every Body.

I ſee, ſaid I, by the Confuſion in your Countenance, you ſeem'd to confeſs your Er⯑ror; I'll give you my Word to mention what has paſt between you and I to no one, on condition, for the future, you'll leave off that vile Cuſtom of aſperſing the Characters of every Body you know; for it may prove of dangerous Conſequence to other People, as well as yourſelf, and it's a Crime neither be⯑coming a Chriſtian, or a Man.

Sir, return'd the Surgeon, I muſt own to you, you have open'd my Eyes more by your [32] Diſcourſe, than all that I have ever had ſaid to me upon the like Occaſion, and the vile Trick has crept upon me through Cuſtom, for come where you will, even all Sexes, Ages, and Degrees, are fond of hearing a little Scandal, and willing to know the Frail⯑ties of their Neighbours, not conſidering, the Paraſite, to the next Company, makes as free with the laſt he came from; and I muſt own the Succeſs I have met with, or indeed the Willingneſs of my Hearers, have often put me upon inventing Stories to pleaſe my Pa⯑tients and their Families. But I now repent, and am reſolv'd never to be guilty of the like again, and my Repentance is owing to your Advice. After this he ran on with many Encomiums of the Ripeneſs of my Under⯑ſtanding, and a long Rigmerole of nothing to the Purpoſe: But, ſaid he, concerning your Mother, I know ſomething that I am ſure wou'd cauſe great Uneaſineſs in the Fa⯑mily; yet I beg you wou'd not inſiſt upon knowing any thing farther, for the Character I perceive I have got in the World, wou'd fly in my Face, and ſpoil my Evidence, till I can plainly prove what I ſay, which if I ever ſee there is a Neceſſity for it, I can in a few Days bring to paſs. I ſtrove many ways [33] to get ſomething out of him, but it prov'd to no purpoſe, yet I verily believ'd he knew ſomewhat againſt the Reputation of my Mo⯑ther-in-law.

When he was gone, I began to loſe my⯑ſelf in confus'd Thoughts and Notions, as I had formerly done, which gave me vail Un⯑eaſineſs, that led me to imagine my Mother's Conduct to my Father and me all an Arti⯑fice; this put me upon a Reſolution of ob⯑ſerving nicely her Carriage, that I might be able to form my Behaviour afterwards.

We liv'd very lovingly together a whole Year, and I began to bury all my Fears, imagining ſtill the Surgeon had wrongfully aſpers'd my Mother: Therefore I apply'd myſelf hard to my Studies with my Tutor, for ſince the firſt Falling out, my Father wou'd not let us go to School any more, but provided a Tutor for us in the Houſe; tho' he cou'd make nothing of my Brother John, for he was reſolv'd to remain a Dunce, which did not a little grieve both my Father and Mother, but there was no Remedy. Therefore John was reſolv'd for behind the Counter. The Time was fix'd to put him Apprentice to a Mercer, and me to the Univerſity. I cou'd eaſily perceive this Re⯑ſolution, [34] tho' both Father and Mother-in-law ſeem'd to conſent to it, was a great Grief to my Mother, and in a few Days I was con⯑firm'd in't.

At the End of our Garden was a large Summer-Houſe, which I frequently made my Place of Study; having juſt made an end of Claudian, I was going into the Houſe to fetch another Book, but perceiving my Mo⯑ther at the End of one of the Walks, in or⯑der, as I ſuppos'd, to come into the Summer-Houſe, I ſtep'd behind it, that I might not meet her. When ſhe came near me, I cou'd perceive by her Countenance ſhe was mighti⯑ly diſturb'd: She ſtaid in the Walk for her Maid, a few Minutes; when ſhe came to her, they both went up into the Summer-Houſe; I found they were deep in Diſcourſe, there⯑fore muſt own I had Curioſity enough to liſten awhile; but they ſpoke ſo low, that I cou'd only hear now and then a Word, but yet enough to pick out it concern'd my Bro⯑ther John and my Self.

I had left my Claudian above in the Win⯑dow of the Summer-Houſe, which my Mo⯑ther perceiving, took it up. Ha! ſaid ſhe, this, I ſuppoſe, is ſome of the Jackanapes's Books! Ay, 'tis Latin, I believe, 'tis his. [35] Well, I'll take care he ſhall have Reading e⯑nough, I'll warrant him. And then ſpoke ſo low, that I cou'd not hear the reſt. I liſten'd farther, but whether they miſtruſted ſome⯑body was near 'em, or they were conſulting ſomething that was wicked, I can't tell, but they ſpoke ſo low, that I cou'd not hear any thing but a continual Humming between 'em.

I went to my Study, but had no Inclina⯑tion to read; my Head run too much upon what I had heard, and what I ſuggeſted; the more I thought, the more Reaſon I had to be uneaſy. I ſent a Servant to the Summer-Houſe for the Book I had forgot; when he return'd, I ask'd him if there was any body in the Summer-Houſe; he anſwer'd, There was my Lady, and Mrs. Betty in cloſe Con⯑ference; and farther added, they look'd up⯑on him with damn'd four Countenances for diſturbing 'em, as he ſuppos'd.

I found every thing concurr'd with my Thoughts, which added very much to my diſcontented Mind. When my Tutor came in, he perceiv'd by my Looks my Spirits were diſcompos'd, and preſſing me to know the Reaſon, I told him I was not very well. At Supper (for my Tutor being a Gentleman of [36] a good Family, that had ſuffer'd many Mis⯑fortunes in the World, my Father allow'd him the Privilege of eating with us) he de⯑ſir'd my Father to order me a little Phyſick, for I had complain'd I was indiſpos'd. My Father preſs'd me to take it on the next Morning, but I told him it was nothing but too much Reading, and I ſhou'd be well pre⯑ſently; but if I found myſelf worſe, I wou'd take Phyſic in a Day or two. Ay, ſays my Mother, whether you are better or no, you ought to take Phyſic this Spring-time, and Johnny ſhall take ſome along with you. So it was agreed in two Days to take it, and Word was ſent to the Apothecary's accord⯑ingly; tho' I reſolv'd with myſelf not to take any, as believing I wanted none, mine being an Illneſs of the Mind. When the Time came, the Doſes were ſent us, but I convey'd mine away without taking it.

At Dinner, my Mother ſeem'd, as I thought, to look thro' me, and ask'd me many Queſtions concerning the Operation. I anſwer'd her as I thought proper. As ſhe ask'd her Maid (who always waited on her alone) for a Glaſs of Wine, I obſerv'd ſhe look'd upon her with an odd ſort of a Coun⯑tenance; the Maid ſeem'd to return her ano⯑ther [37] Look, which plainly told me there was a Meaning between 'em. But the Diſcourſe was turn'd on another Subject, as being not altogether ſo proper at Dinner; yet every now and then my Mother wou'd come out with — Sure, Billy, you did not take your Phyſic! I confidently told her I did, tho' I abhor a Lye. Many odd Looks paſs'd every Moment between the Miſtreſs and the Maid during Dinner. When it was ended, they both went up into her Dreſſing-Room; I cou'd not help following 'em with my Eyes, and ſecretly wiſh'd I cou'd have been near enough to hear their Converſation; but as that could not be, I was oblig'd to be contented without it.

In a little time my Mother came down a⯑gain; after ſome ſhort Stay in the Dining-Room, my Father, Mother, Brother John, and I, as uſual, went to walk in the Gar⯑den: John, as was his Cuſtom, ran ſcamper⯑ing before, and plaid many of his childiſh Tricks. Why, Billy, ſaid my Father, why don't you do as your Brother Jacky does, 'twill make you ſtrong and luſty; all Study will ſpoil you, weaken your Conſtitution, ay, and impair your Health. So it will re⯑ply'd my good Mother, I don't think he has [38] a good State of Health, for he ſeems to me as if he were in a Conſumption; obſerve how pale he looks: Ay, but return'd my Fa⯑ther, that may be his Phyſic. I don't know but it may, ſays ſhe; but, if I might ad⯑viſe, he ſhou'd take more in a few Days, as well as Jacky, for I am aſſur'd 'twill do 'em good: Nay, further, my Dear (ſaid ſhe to my Father) I intend to ſee Billy take his, for it runs in my Head he made away that he was to take in the Morning, for I know he hates Phyſic. I endeavour'd to convince her of the contrary, which ſhe ſeem'd to be⯑lieve.

The Time drew near that we were to take Phyſic again, and I was putting my Inven⯑tion on the Stretch how to avoid it, for I found ſhe had reſolv'd to be by when we were to take it, which accordingly happen'd. When ſhe gave me mine, I let it ſlip out of my Hand upon the Ground; this put her into ſuch a Paſſion, that ſhe gave me a Box on the Ear; but in a little time after ſhe begg'd my Pardon, kiſs'd me, put her Hand to her Purſe, and gave me half a Guinea, deſiring I wou'd forget it; I promis'd her I wou'd, tho' I really cou'd not.

[39]When my Father came in, ſhe told him in a merry Manner, I was reſolv'd not to take any Phyſic, for the young Rogue, ſaid ſhe, let it ſlip through his Fingers, which con⯑vinces me he play'd the ſame Trick with that the other Morning. I told my Father it was purely Accident. Well, well, Billy, ſaid my Mother-in-law, let it be what it will, we ſhall take care of the next, I warrant you. I don't know when that can be, my Dear, ſaid my Father, for he muſt go to his Uncle's this Afternoon, who begs to ſee him, and I can't tell when he will return. My Mo⯑ther made no Anſwer to it, but ſeem'd to be in much Confuſion.

I was very well pleas'd to go to my Un⯑cle's, not only to get rid of my Mother's Phyſic, but to ſee him, who was more in⯑dulgent to me than my own Father, and it was thought by every one that I ſhou'd be his Heir, for he was an old Batchelor, and never intended to marry.

While I was in my Study, pleaſing myſelf with the Thoughts of going to my Uncle's, my Father came in to me. Billy, ſaid he, thy Mother has convinc'd me 'tis neceſſary you ſhou'd take Phyſic before you go, ſo that I have ſent an Excuſe to your Uncle, and let [40] him know you will wait on him in two or three Days at fartheſt. I was confounded at what he ſaid, yet I anſwer'd him, What he pleas'd. I cou'd not tell him what I thought of my Mother, and that I believ'd ſhe in⯑tended to give me ſomething to injure me, for as it cou'd not be prov'd, it wou'd look only like Fear, or Malice; ſo I e'en ſet my⯑ſelf to think how to avoid it.

At laſt I thought to get a Phial, the ſame Size of that ſhe brought me in the Morning, and fill it with ſomething near the Colour, which ſeem'd to me to be a dark Brown. But then the Difficulty wou'd be, how to put the Change upon her. In the Morning I had prepar'd my Phial, and when my Mother was going to pour it into a Glaſs for me to drink, I begg'd ſhe wou'd be pleas'd to let me drink it out of the Phial, for the Sight of it in a Glaſs turn'd my Stomach againſt it. Ay, my Dear, with all my Heart; any how, ſo thou doſt but take it, reply'd my good Mother. When I had got it, I put the Change upon her, and drank what I had prepar'd. My Mother ſeem'd mightily pleas'd, taking her Leave of me with a It's a good Child; keep thyſelf warm, my Dear. When ſhe was gone, I went into my Study, [41] and began to examine the Bottle my Mother wou'd have had me taken. I found it had no ill Smell; but as I had not any Inclina⯑tion to taſte it, I had Thoughts of trying the Experiment upon ſome dumb Creature, but cou'd not find in my Heart to be ſo cru⯑el, yet had a vaſt Inclination to know its Effects. At laſt I reſolv'd to give it to a Greyhound Bitch, whoſe Surlineſs had given me Occaſion enough not to have any great Compaſſion for her. I did not think it pro⯑per to do it in the Houſe, ſo took my Op⯑portunity to wheedle her into the Stable, when no one was there, but going to open her Jaws to pour it into her Mouth, ſhe flew at me, and ran away. In the Surprize, I let the Phial fall out of my Hand, which broke with the Fall. I was very uneaſy I cou'd not make Proof of what I deſign'd, for I knew it wou'd be to no purpoſe to diſ⯑cover my Suſpicions only.

When Dinner-time came I was call'd down, and obſerv'd the Confuſion of Faces were increas'd between the Miſtreſs and the Maid, inſomuch that my Father cou'd not help taking Notice of it. Pray, my Dear, what has Betty (ſaid my Father) done, for you look at her as if ſhe had committed ſome [42] great Crime? What, I warrant, ſhe has not waſh'd your Headcloaths to pleaſe you, or ſome ſuch Trifle. She knows what ſhe has done, ſaid my Mother-in-law, well enough; but I don't think it worth my While to be an⯑gry about it. Well, but don't give her ſuch ſour Look then (return'd my Father) but pardon her, you'll ſpoil her Stomach to her Dinner, Child. My Father went on in a jocoſe manner all Dinner-time, yet notwith⯑ſtanding now and then Looks paſt between 'em, that no body cou'd interpret but my⯑ſelf, or at leaſt I thought I cou'd. I ſee, my Dear, cry'd my Father, the Peace is not made up between you; give me Leave to be the Judge in this Matter; but firſt let me know the Caſe: Come, Betty, continu'd my Father, you ſeem to be the Offender, con⯑feſs your Crime, and that's the Way to find Pardon the ſooner. Why, Sir, return'd the Maid, I have forgot to waſh my Miſtreſs's Lac'd Pinners, for which ſhe has been an⯑gry with me all this Morning. And is this the full and whole Hiſtory of her Crime, my Dear, ſaid my Father to my Mother-in-law? Yes, return'd the good Woman. Why then I proceed to Judgment, ſaid my Father.

[43]You, Mrs. Betty, not having the Fear of God before your Eyes, &c. (here my Father ran on with the whole Sentence that a Judge repeats to one arraign'd for Murder, and du⯑ring the time of Speaking, I obſerv'd Betty to be very much ſtartled) ſhall for your Puniſhment, before you ſleep, waſh and ſtarch theſe ſame Headcloaths, and in ſo do⯑ing, it ſhall remain as a ſufficient Puniſh⯑ment for your heinous Crime, tho' you know you deſerve much worſe; and be ſure for the future, you are never guilty of the like. Bet⯑ty promis'd, in a great deal of Confuſion, to mend for the future.

The next Day was deſign'd for me to wait on my Uncle, and tho' I had a great Deſire to go, yet I was not ſatisfy'd; I was in va⯑rious Minds; ſometimes I fully intended to inform my Father with my Suſpicions, with all the Circumſtances and Grounds for't. But then again, I conſider'd my Suſpicions might ſtrengthen my Opinion, and they might be really innocent. While I was wrapt in my Cogitations, I obſerv'd my Mother and her Maid were going into the Garden, and I did not doubt but they wou'd get into the Sum⯑mer Houſe, in order to another Conference. I ſlipt into the Garden, and got to my Hi⯑ding-Place [44] behind the Jeſſamine-Hedge, be⯑fore they came. As ſoon as they were up the Stairs of the Summer-Houſe, my Mother ask'd her Maid if ſhe were aſſur'd there was no one in the Garden; ſhe told her, No, nor none cou'd come in but ſhe cou'd perceive 'em from the Window where ſhe ſat.

What can be the Meaning, ſaid my Mo⯑ther, that this deviliſh Brat does not feel the Effects of what he has taken? I am afraid either the Apothecary, or you, have betray'd me. Madam, return'd the Maid, I can aſ⯑ſure you we are both innocent of your Suſpi⯑cion: As for his Part, he does not know who, or what it's for: Yet, Madam, I don't doubt but you'll be ſurpris'd at what I am going to ſay to you.

I wou'd not, continu'd Betty, be guilty of what before Dinner I made no Scruple of, for the whole World. If you had obſerv'd my Countenance, while my Maſter was judging my fictitious Crime, with the formal Introductions in Caſes of Murder, you might have read my Guilt in my Face. I am aſ⯑ſur'd Maſter Billy obſerv'd me moſt heedful⯑ly, and, to my thinking, his Eyes told me he knew my real Crime in the Intention. I was ſome time before I cou'd recover my [45] Confuſion, and I then weigh'd in the Scales of Juſtice, the Reaſon of your Reſentment [...]o him, and found the Intention to be the ut⯑moſt Wickedneſs, and I thank'd my God our [...]nhuman Deſigns had not taken effect. You ſee Heaven is diſpleas'd, and ſhews the Ab⯑horrence of the Fact, by hindring the Effect. I look'd in his Face during the latter Part of Dinner, and wonder'd how we cou'd plot to take away the Life of ſo mucn Innocence, that never injur'd us. I thank Heaven, my Eyes are open'd, nor even the worſt of Torments ſhou'd make me once think of ſuch a Crime. Therefore let me beg of you, my dear Miſtreſs, to forget it, bury even the Thought of it: Conſider the Crime; Murder is the greateſt Sin againſt God; 'tis even ſtriking at him, by murdering his Image. Let my Repentance be as the Alarm to yours. I am ſure, if you will give yourſelf time to think, your Conſcience muſt awake, and teach you to abhor the Crime. No one knows our wicked Intention, but all-ſeeing Heaven, which will pardon us on a ſincere Repentance. We are oblig'd to keep each other's Counſel; therefore let me conjure you, by the Love you ought to owe your Hus⯑band! by your Duty to Heaven! which I [46] ſhou'd have mention'd firſt; by the Worth of your eternal Soul! by the Affection you ought to owe your Children! for thoſe of your Husbands muſt be yours, ſince you are but One: Conſider what it is to have a clear and a quiet Conſcience, 'tis the only Happineſs on this ſide the Grave, 'tis that which ſweet⯑ens all the Ills of Life; the Innocent will be happy, let Fortune empty her Quiver of Ma⯑lice on 'em. If the Weight of this will have no Conſideration with you, think on the Welfare of this World, if you can lull to ſleep your Conſcience. Murder has many Tongues to ſpeak, even things inanimate have divulg'd the Guilty; and when once re⯑veal'd, think on the Puniſhment that muſt follow. I beg, Madam, take ſome little time to ruminate on what I have ſaid, before you anſwer me; weigh it well, for it is of the laſt Importance; for tho' a poor, igno⯑rant, weak Woman, you'll find what I ut⯑ter to be the Oracle of Heaven.

Here Betty paus'd, as expecting an An⯑ſwer; and during the Interval of Speech, the Agonies I felt at the intended Wickedneſs, were next to Death itſelf. After about a Mi⯑nute's Silence, my Mother ſpoke as follows.

[47] Betty, Words can hardly ſpeak the Tor⯑ments of my Mind; yet I have this to com⯑fort me, 'tis in Repentance to ſet my Soul at reſt, and I do repent from the Bottom of my Heart. What a Fiend had I entertain'd in my Breaſt! How very near the Brink of Hell, his proper Habitation, had he brought me! Thou wert my Guardian-Angel, that ſav'd me from Deſtruction! To Heaven and Thee I owe my Thanks. Now this Fury is gone forth my Boſom, I think, with thee, how it cou'd be poſſible to harbour ſuch a Helliſh Thought againſt the poor Child; but, now I feel reviving Love, even equal to that of my own Son, I long to embrace and kiſs him with a real Mother's Fondneſs.

The Joy I felt at this Declaration, had al⯑moſt made me diſcover myſelf, and it was hard to keep my Legs from running to my Mother to accept the long'd-for Bleſſing; but Reaſon got the better of my Tranſport; That told me, I ought to conceal from all the World my Knowledge of the whole Affair. While I was in my Muſing, I cou'd hear Betty ſay, Madam, my Maſter's coming up the Walk, I beg you will compoſe yourſelf. I'll do what I can, reply'd my Mother-in-law, but no one can imagine what Torments [48] I feel. Then ſit here, Madam, ſaid Betty, for here it's dark, and my Maſter cannot per⯑ceive your Diſorder. My Mother, as I ſup⯑pos'd, remov'd to the Place ſhe deſir'd her. Immediately after my Father came in, and ask'd 'em if they had ſeen me, for they had been ſearching me all over the Houſe, but cou'd not find me. My Brother's Man, ſaid my Father, is waiting for him. My Mother reply'd I had not been there, but muſt cer⯑tainly be in the Study. No, ſaid my Father, he is not there, neither can I imagine where he can be, and the not finding him makes me very uneaſy.

Upon ſaying this, my Father went up and down the Walks calling me. When he had left the two Women, Betty cry'd out, I hope in Heaven my Repentance is accepted, and he has not now felt the Effect of the Poiſon. You fright me out of my Senſes, return'd my Mother; let's run to ſeek him. Away they went. When I was certain they were out of Sight, I clamber'd over the Wall, and came in the Street way, juſt as my Mother with her Maid came out of the Garden. As ſoon as my Mother met me, ſhe claſp'd me about the Neck, and kiſs'd me with as much Tranſport as if I had been her own Son; [49] which affected me in ſuch a manner, I could not help weeping with Exceſs of Satisfaction. What means theſe Tears, my Child, ſaid my Mother? Madam, ſaid I, be not offended, they are Tears of Joy, to ſee you ſo kind. Bleſs thee! my dear Boy, return'd my Mo⯑ther, I hope always to prove ſo.

When my Father came in, he ask'd me where I had been; I told him, only to take a Walk in the Fields after my Phyſic. We thought we had loſt you, ſaid my Father, and were ſending for the Cryer to cry a great Boy of Fifteen Years of Age? But come, continu'd he, mount! your Uncle's Man waits for you, and has done this Hour. Your Things ſhall be there to-morrow Morning. I begg'd Leave only to pack up a few Books, and I wou'd wait on him inſtantly.

As I was in my Study, putting together what I intended to take with me, Betty came up to me. Well, Sir, ſaid me, how do you find yourſelf after your Phyſic? Better than was expected this Morning, Betty, ſaid I. I am very glad on't, reply'd Betty, I now believe you are, ſaid I; but there's a great Alteration ſince Morning, and I hope it will continue. While I ſaid this, I look'd ſted⯑faſtly in her Face; ſhe obſerving me, bluſh'd [50] very much. Come, Betty, ſaid I, 'tis ne⯑ver too late to repent, Repent, Sir! reply'd Betty, of what? Of doing Ill, I return'd, or even thinking Ill. I had but an ill Opi⯑nion of you this Morning; but I have Rea⯑ſon to think I have done you Wrong, and I ask you Pardon; be ſatisfy'd, I can ſome⯑times read Peoples Thoughts. Why then, ſaid Betty, if it be ſo, you know you have no Reaſon to ask my Pardon, for I am ſure you never offended me. But if I have ever offended you, I ask you, and Heaven, Par⯑don, and I hope I ſhall obtain both. Be aſſur'd you will, I reply'd. She ſeeing me ready to go down, took her Leave of me, modeſtly begging leave to kiſs me. As I was going away; Sir, ſaid ſhe, if we both are alive ten Year hence, and I have the Honour to ſee you, I may make you ac⯑quainted with ſomething very extraordinary. Nothing but what I partly underſtand alrea⯑dy, I return'd; keep in the honeſt Path you are in, then Heaven will bleſs you.

I got on Horſeback, after taking Leave of the Family, and obſerv'd Betty in much Con⯑fuſion; I ſhook my Head at her, with a Smile, and rid away.

[51]When I arriv'd at my Uncle's, which was about fourteen Miles from my Father's, I was told by the Servants he was gone out a little way, not expecting me ſo ſoon; but he wou'd return in a Quarter of an Hour. Du⯑ring his Stay, a Coach came to the Door with a couple of old Ladies, and a young one about thirteen Years of Age, the beau⯑tifulleſt Creature my Eyes ever beheld: I cou'd not help gazing upon her, with a great deal of Delight. They came to viſit my Uncle, but finding he was gone out, wou'd not ſtay. I look'd after the Coach which car⯑ry'd this young Angel away, as far as ever I cou'd ſee, and began to feel a certain Ten⯑derneſs, which People, I thought, of my Years, had but little Knowledge of.

I was pleaſing myſelf with the charming Idea, when my Uncle came in, who expreſt a great deal of Satisfaction to ſee me. After the firſt Civilities were over, I told him there was a Coach with ſome Ladies to wait upon him, but not meeting with him at home, wou'd not come in. My Uncle being a mer⯑ry jocoſe Man, ſaid to me, Sirrah, you ſhou'd have done the Duties of my Houſe, and made 'em come in. But who were they? I told him I cou'd not tell. But the Servant [52] reply'd, They were my Lady — her Siſ⯑ter and Daughter. Odſo! you young Dog, return'd my Uncle, there wou'd be a fine Wife, if you had but Money enough; ſhe's an Heireſs, and will be worth Fifty Thou⯑ſand Pounds. Well Sir, ſaid I, when I think on Marriage, I muſt not turn my Thoughts that way. No! why ſo? reply'd my Uncle; a Woman with a Fortune is as ſoon got as one without; and when I die, you don't know what may happen.

Sir, ſaid I, if I never marry till I wiſh your Death, I hope to live ſingle a great while. I believe thee, Will, ſaid my Uncle: But 'tis time enough to talk of theſe things ten Year hence; I wou'd have no Man mar⯑ry till they are paſt Twenty, nor Women till paſt Sixteen. I wonder, Sir, ſaid I, you never thought of that State! Why, you young Rogue, ſo I have, reply'd my Uncle, ſo much on't, that I reſolve to live ſingle all my Life; and I am of the Opinion, few People marry only to better their Condition. That's a little too hard, Sir, ſaid I: Do you ima⯑gine no one marries for Love? O yes, a great many, reply'd my Uncle; but it does not laſt long: Lovers have large Stomachs, but are ſoon cloy'd, they very often ſurfeit the [53] firſt Meal I told him, My Mother, his Siſter, I thought, lov'd my Father till the Day of her Death. She was contented, I believe, reply'd my Uncle. But come, young Man, this Diſcourſe is a little too wiſe for one of your Years. Not at all, ſaid I, Uncle; I hope you will not take it ill, if I declare your Notions of Matrimony won't hinder me to try my Fortune, when my Inclination ſerves, and a good Match ſhou'd offer. No, ſaid my Uncle, I hope to ſee thee wedded to a good Fortune before I die; therefore I intend to carry thee to my Lady S — and there you may grow acquainted with the young Lady; your Age is much the ſame, and your Correſpondence may be continu'd as your Years increaſe; beſide, I wou'd have you have ſome Place to go to, for it wou'd be hard to have nothing but an old muſty Un⯑cle to converſe with. Age does not very well agree with Youth.

Our Converſation laſted much longer upon this Topic; and it might have laſted longer than it did, if Supper had not come in to ſtop my Uncle's Mouth. His Houſekeeper ſat down at Supper with us, which I thought a little odd; but I ſoon found how Matters went, and, young as I was, I cou'd perceive [54] Madam was Miſtreſs of the Family. She ap⯑pear'd extremely civil to me, even, as I thought, too civil; for her Behaviour ſeem'd to ſay, Obſerve! I am Miſtreſs of the Houſe, and 'tis to me you are beholden for your Enter⯑tainment.

The next Day I cou'd not help hinting to my Uncle, ſomething of his Houſekeeper's Behaviour. Why, Billy, ſaid my Uncle, this Woman is a good Woman, in her Way, and I ſhou'd be at a great Loſs without her; for, as I have many Servants, and being a ſingle Man, I ſhou'd be but a ſcurvy Mana⯑ger of 'em: Now this Woman, being pru⯑dent and diſcreet, knows how to manage ſuch a Kennel of wild Hounds as I am forc'd to keep, out of State indeed, for I have not Service for 'em half: But a Man of Fortune muſt live ſomething anſwerable to it, or he will be deſpis'd by his Neighbours. Once a Man has got in that Road, he muſt not get out of it again.

Sir, ſaid I, I beg your Pardon for being ſo inquiſitive, and, may be, impertinent. Billy, reply'd my Uncle, you may ſay and do juſt what you will here, for I wou'd have you to underſtand, this Houſe, and all that's in it, is not only yours when I die, but the [55] Eſtate that belongs to it, which is upward of Two Thouſand Pounds a Year; and to con⯑vince you of it, I deſign to make my Will forthwith. I have ſo much Confidence in you, to believe I ſhall never have Occaſion to alter it. I beg you, Sir, ſaid I, don't talk of making of Wills, and Death, 'tis a me⯑lancholy Subject, and whatever you will be pleas'd to leave me, will not compenſate the Grief I ſhou'd feel for the Loſs of ſo good an Uncle. Why, you Fool, reply'd my Un⯑cle, I believe you; but I hope a Man is ne⯑ver the nearer Death for talking on't, or ma⯑king his Will!

We were interrupted in our Diſcourſe, by a Servant's giving my Uncle a Letter, which he read to himſelf, and ſmil'd. Here, ſaid my Uncle, read that, there's a Billet, whoſe Style may be altogether new to you; 'tis wrote by a young Lady, and a fine Lady, tho' dictated by an old one. I took it, and read as follows:

A very merry, free Epiſtle, indeed, Sir, ſaid I. 'Tis the Style, ſaid my Uncle, we uſe in Writing to one another; and if any other Form ſhou'd paſs between us, we ſhou'd fanſy each other offended at ſomething. But come, Youth, continu'd my Uncle, you muſt ſmug up yourſelf, and go along with me, for this is the Place I intend to bring you ac⯑quainted in; for now they have honour'd me with the Title of Knight of the Shire, I am now and then oblig'd to be with ſome Bot⯑tle-Companions, which will not altogether a⯑gree with your Age, or Conſtitution; ſo that I hope you will like the Company I ſhall provide for you; and tho' the One is the Mother, and the Other Aunt to the young Creature I was ſpeaking of, yet they are nei⯑ther of 'em Forty; the one is a Widow, and [57] the other an old Maid, if we may call her one at Eight and Thirty; but ſhe has no⯑thing of the Stiffneſs or Formality of that State, but is as eaſy and good-humour'd, as if ſhe had loſt that weighty Burden, a Maidenhead, twenty Year ago; and, what is more ſurpriſing, reſolves to die a Maid, ex⯑cept ſome brawny Raſcal does her the Favour to raviſh her. The Widow, and Mother to the young Lady, has been in the State of Widowhood near Fourteen Year, for her Daughter was Poſthumous-born; yet, tho' ſhe is Miſtreſs of a vaſt Fortune, and conſe⯑quently been ſought by many in Marriage, (for Money is the Loadſtone that draws all the World) yet ſhe reſolves never to change her State. Theſe Three, with their Family, live as contentedly as any Three in the Uni⯑verſe. 'Tis here I go, when I have a mind to be innocently merry, without bringing any Scandal to the Family, becauſe I am an old Fellow. They have fitted up an Apartment for me in particular, and I very often ſtay all Night. Sir, ſaid I, I ſuppoſe the Reaſon why the Widow does not marry again, is the Love ſhe bears to the Memory of her former Husband. Rather, I believe, the Vexation ſhe receiv'd from him, reply'd my Uncle, hin⯑ders [58] her; for I have heard her often ſay, he us'd to lead her a damn'd ſort of Life; and his Behaviour to her has confirm'd the Siſter in the ſame Mind. She often declares to me, in her Thoughts, the beſt of Husbands are but Plagues, which I return by imagining the ſame thing by the Wives; ſo we ſtrengthen each other's Opinion by our Converſation; which is ſomething odd, you'll ſay.

But I forget, continu'd my Uncle, that I am talking to a School-Boy all this time. Sir, I return'd, whatever you ſay to me, ſhall do me no Injury, but rather improve my Under⯑ſtanding; Things of Moment, I ſhall juſtly weigh; and what is not neceſſary to be re⯑member'd, ſhall be forgot. My Uncle made me many Compliments of my forward Senſe; but at the Tag of all, to qualify 'em, told me, Ripe Fruit was ſoon rotten; and ſo we both went to equip ourſelves for our ſhort Journey.

In the Coach, my Uncle told me, I ſhould do well to ingratiate myſelf with the Family; for if I was ever to enter into the Matrimo⯑nial State, I cou'd not do better for myſelf; for, added he, tho' Marriage is a very bit⯑ter Pill, yet there's Gold enough to gild it over, and a handſome young Lady to-boot. [59] I told him, whenever that Time came, I ſhou'd value his Advice at the higheſt Rate. Come, come, reply'd the old Gentleman, I don't love Compliments, they ſavour of In⯑ſincerity. I return'd, my Tongue and Heart ever did, and I hop'd ever wou'd, go toge⯑ther; and whatever I ſaid, it ſhou'd be Truth. Ay, but Boy, anſwer'd the old Gentleman, you know the old Saying, Truth is not to be ſpoke at all Times; many a poor Man has ſuf⯑fer'd for ſpeaking Truth.

When we came to the End of our ſhort Journey, the two Siſters (who were both comely Women) came to the Gate to bid us welcome; the young Lady, they gave us to underſtand, was walking in the Garden. When we were brought into the Parlour, af⯑ter the uſual Civilities, my Uncle told 'em, he had brought along with him a Perſon that he deſign'd one of their Acquaintance, and if they balk'd his Intention, he threaten'd 'em ſeverely with his Indignation. The Ladies reply'd, I ſhou'd be welcome upon my own Account, without his Recommendation. Well, well, reply'd my Uncle, I don't care how it's done, ſo it is done. But hold, cry'd the Aunt, won't it be ſomething dangerous to al⯑low him the Converſation and Acquaintance [60] of Iſabella? (meaning the young Lady) he'll perhaps, in time, wipe away from her Me⯑mory the good Advice againſt Matrimony, we have taken much Time and Labour to in⯑culcate.

Fear not that, reply'd my Uncle, for I have, and ſhall take as much Pains with the Youth, that they may be on a Footing. Up⯑on this, the young Lady came in, to whoſe Acquaintance I was introduc'd. Tho' ſhe was the handſomeſt Creature my Eyes e'er beheld, the Charms of her Perſon were e⯑quall'd by thoſe of her Underſtanding; and I ſoon found, young as I was, Love had ta⯑ken full Poſſeſſion of my Heart.

The Converſation of the Day was chiefly compos'd of Mirth, and laughing at former Tranſactions, which were larded, every now and then, with Contempt upon the connubial State; and I was almoſt ready to die with Deſpair, to hear the fair Iſabella join with 'em, with more than ordinary Malice and Sa⯑tyr.

My Uncle deſir'd ſhe wou'd not be ſo in⯑veterate, for ſhe was taking the only Method for him to fall directly in Love with her. And that's the only way, reply'd the Siſter, to get rid of your troubleſome Company. I [61] told the Lady, I hop'd my Uncle wou'd not prove troubleſome, 'till ſuch a Declaration. I believe not, young Gentleman, reply'd the Lady; but I fear there's much more Danger from your Worſhip, than your Uncle; your Years will bring you forward, but his will make him lag behind. I told her, I ſhou'd always endeavour to keep myſelf in the good Graces of that Family; and that nothing but Deſtiny ſhou'd make me forfeit it.

Oh then, return'd the Lady, if it ever comes to that, the Fault muſt be laid on De⯑ſtiny, Fate, Ill Stars, and I know not what! I tell you, continu'd the Siſter, ſmiling, if your Years did not plead for you, I ſhou'd begin to think you guilty. I muſt own, tho' this was but Rallying, I cou'd not help bluſh⯑ing at what ſhe ſaid, as knowing myſelf a Criminal already.

Bed-time broke up our Company, and e⯑very one retir'd to their ſeveral Apartments. When I was alone, Reflexion began to make me very uneaſy. The blind God had wound⯑ed me, tho' not ſo deep as if I had more Years over my Head, yet enough to break my Reſt, and trouble and confuſe my young Imagination. I got up at the Dawn of Day, as uneaſy as I went to Bed, and walk'd in the [62] Garden alone, for none of the Family were ſtirring. All my Thoughts were buſied on the fair Object of my Wiſhes. I continu'd, in my uneaſy Contemplation, ſeveral Hours.

The firſt that interrupted my Meditations, was the Charmer of my Heart, who came to me, with a ſmiling Countenance. I am in⯑form'd, Sir, ſaid ſhe, you were early up this Morning, I fear you did not like your Lodg⯑ing! There's nothing in this Houſe, I re⯑ply'd, but what I have the utmoſt Regard for; but (I continu'd) it was my uſual Cu⯑ſtom of riſing early to my Studies. We fell inſenſibly into the Affairs of the Family, for I had not Courage once to mention what I felt within my Breaſt; neither did I imagine ſhe cou'd have a right Conception of what my Inclination wou'd have declar'd to her. Among other things, I told her, we ſhou'd have the World unpeopled, if every body was of her Mother, Aunt, and my Uncle's Mind. She reply'd, there was no Danger of that, for the Men wou'd find Means to have Heirs to their Eſtates, without trou⯑bling the Parſon

I was a little confus'd at her Anſwer, for I imagin'd ſhe inſinuated I was deſign'd my Uncle's Heir, and therefore cou'd hardly [63] make her an Anſwer; for my Uncle told me, when he mention'd making his Will, that I was the firſt that knew his Inclina⯑tion, and gave me a particular Charge to keep it a Secret from every one, till he him⯑ſelf divulg'd it. It was ſome time before I cou'd recover my Confuſion; for I was not aſſur'd they might not hint ſomething of it to my Uncle, and do me a Prejudice with him; not as to the Eſtate, for I little regarded my Intereſt, but fearing I was not capable of keeping a Secret, even of the utmoſt Conſe⯑quence.

The young Lady, finding ſhe had created ſome Confuſion in my Thoughts, began to comfort me, with telling me, my Uncle's Mind might alter; and tho, he was ſtiff in his Opinion concerning Matrimony, did not doubt but his Eyes wou'd be open enough to ſee Merit, where it was ſo conſpicuous. Her endeavouring to bring me out of Confuſion, plung'd me farther into it, and ſometimes I was thinking ſhe was uttering Riddles, and I knew not how to anſwer upon the Topic: But at laſt I told her, Whatever my Uncle ſhou'd think fit to do concerning his world⯑ly Affairs, ſhou'd never trouble me, while he continu'd to do things correſpondent with [64] Honour and Honeſty. I am very glad to hear it, reply'd the young Lady; and I fan⯑ſy young Gentlemen, like you, who ſtudy much, acquire Underſtanding, Fortitude, and Reſolution, and all other Manly Virtues, before their Years write 'em Men. Madam, I reply'd, in ſome it might be ſo; but I had made no Progreſs in any of 'em, but one, and that I fear'd will be rather counted a Weakneſs.

I fanſy then, return'd the Lady, ſince you own it a Frailty, you will make me your Confeſſor; and if I judge it to be, as you call it, a Weakneſs, I'll tell you what Pe⯑nance you ſhall undergo for Pardon. Ma⯑dam, I reply'd, you are the only Perſon in the World that I will confeſs to; but then, you muſt promiſe me, like a true Confeſſor, to keep it for ever a Secret from all the World, whether it diſpleaſes you, or not; tho' I am under diſmal Apprehenſions of lo⯑ſing your Favour, more dear to me than all the World.

Heyday! reply'd Iſabella, if we were not both too young, I ſhou'd imagine you were going to make Love to me. Madam, I an⯑ſwer'd, you have gueſs'd the very Secret of my Heart. The tender Thoughts my Breaſt [65] contains, are all for you. Don't think it a Boyiſh Paſſion, apt to change; for whatever Uſage I meet with from you, I muſt conti⯑nue to adore you. I have weigh'd our Years; yours and your Family's Averſion to Matri⯑mony, by your Yeſterday's Diſcourſe; and no Conſideration can put a Stop to my Paſ⯑ſion: All the Favour I ask, or deſire, is on⯑ly Leave ſilently to adore you; and if you find your Heart averſe to my conſtant Wiſhes, let me beg you to grant me Pity for all that I ſhall ſuffer, and I ſhall rejoice at every Pang I feel, becauſe they are for you. I am con⯑vinc'd your Underſtanding far exceeds your Years, therefore I intreat you to think be⯑you ſpeak; and conſider this, 'tis in your Power alone, to make me live, or die. I own our Fortunes are at preſent unequal, but Time may produce many things; inſpir'd by you, I wou'd aim at every thing that is ho⯑nourable to deſerve you that Way, nor ſhou'd I doubt ſucceeding. I ſaid every thing my Tongue cou'd utter, prompted by Love, and had this Satisfaction, to obſerve her Face was not dreſs'd in Frowns. After many rallying Speeches, finding me continue in my Di⯑ſtreſs:

[66]Well, ſaid ſhe, as I promis'd to be your Confeſſor, I'll keep it a Secret, as we agreed on; and perhaps, if I thought you in ear⯑neſt, I ſhou'd think of ſome Puniſhment e⯑qual to what your Crime deſerves: But you have been reading Ovid lately, I ſuppoſe, and you wou'd be endeavouring to put ſome of his Rules in practice upon me. It is a pleaſing Satisfaction to me, I reply'd, to hear you underſtand Ovid ſo well; and, by your Choice, I hope you will remember all his Rules. What! return'd the young La⯑dy, becauſe I have read that Author, as our Engliſh Tranſlators have given him to us (for I own I am not ſo happy to underſtand the Original) wou'd you interpret for me, that I like the Subject? No, continu'd Iſabella, I have read Reynolds on Murder, and yet I hope you will believe I abhor the Facts related there. I hope fo too, Madam, I reply'd; therefore you will conſider, that what my Tongue utter'd, was from the very Bottom of my Soul; and if you will not receive my Declaration favourably, you will be the Death of me, which will make you a paſſive Mur⯑derer.

Few People, I believe, die for Love, in this Age, reply'd Iſabella; however, our [67] Years will protect both of us. I told her, the Tree that took deepeſt Root, ſtood the longeſt. Yes, returned Iſabella, and the Im⯑preſſions cut in young Barks, ſooneſt wear out; and often kill the Tree, Madam, ſaid I. Well, well, cry'd Iſabella, we have had enough on this Subject for once. Madam, ſaid I, does the Word Once imply you wou'd pardon me whenever Fortune will give me another Opportunity of declaring my Paſſion? I have not Time now to anſwer you (ſaid Iſabella) for I perceive your Uncle, my Mo⯑ther, and Aunt, are coming towards us. But I thought her Words were accompanied with ſo ſweet a Look, that bid me hope; and Hope is all the Pleaſure of our Lives.

When we had join'd Company, we were the Theme of the old Folks Raillery for ſome time. Hark you, young Man, ſaid my Un⯑cle, how came you to riſe ſo early this Morn⯑ing? Only becauſe I do it every Morning, Sir, ſaid I, to read. Why, Sirrah, ſaid my Uncle, if I had thought you had brought a Book along with you here, I wou'd have ta⯑ken it from you, and burnt it. Is not here Contemplation enough for you? pointing to the Ladies. Yes, Sir, reply'd the Mother, I think he does well to have ſomething to en⯑tertain [68] his Thoughts, alone, for I don't much reliſh the young Ones getting together ſo ear⯑ly; I don't well know how they cou'd enter⯑tain themſelves, without talking of Love. Why, if we ſhou'd, reply'd Iſabella, 'twou'd be only to fortify each other againſt that Paſ⯑ſion. Well, well, ſaid the Aunt, your Ages ſecure you at preſent; but I ſhou'd be loth to truſt you five or ſix Years hence. Ay but, ſaid my Uncle, Will ſtudies the Mathematics, and he knows every thing of Geography and Navigation already, but juſt going to Sea; and can tell you in what Latitude the Cape of Good Hope lies under, tho' he was never there; he has all the Theory, and only wants the Practice.

None of your Allegories, reply'd the Mo⯑ther; I have a very good Opinion of the young Gentleman, therefore hold your Tongue, for what you can ſay for him, will only leſſen it. Come, come, the Tea ſtays for us, ſaid the Aunt. I'm glad on't, cry'd my Uncle, for now we ſhall have a little Scandal, Tea has no Reliſh without it.

My Uncle having no Buſineſs at home, we continu'd in this agreeable Company three whole Days; and tho' we were to receive a Viſit from them in two more, yet the Sepa⯑ration [69] from that I held moſt dear on Earth, was very irkſome to me; but the Hope of ſeeing her ſo ſoon, mitigated my Grief.

When we came home to my Uncle's, I obſerv'd a Youth walking in the Garden, ve⯑ry near my own Age, as I cou'd gueſs at the Diſtance I ſaw him; for as ſoon as he per⯑ceiv'd me, he walk'd another way, as not being willing I ſhou'd ſee him. I ask'd one of the Servants that happen'd to be in the Garden, who that Youth was I juſt before ſaw at the Fountain. He reply'd, it was the Houſekeeper's Son. What, is the Houſe⯑keeper marry'd then, ſaid I? Not now, re⯑ply'd the Servant, and ſmil'd. Obſerving the Humour of the Man, by his Counte⯑nance, I ask'd him many Queſtions concern⯑ing the Houſekeeper and her Child, but could not learn who was the Father poſitive⯑ly; yet he gave me Hints enough to ima⯑gine my Uncle had ſome Intereſt in the Af⯑fair, which created in me a great deal of Un⯑eaſineſs; for it ſoon occurr'd to my Memory what the divine Iſabella told me in her Mo⯑ther's Garden, that Heirs to Eſtates might be procur'd without the Help of the Parſon. My Uneaſineſs did not proceed from any Diſap⯑pointment relating to the Eſtate, any farther [70] than I thought it might have reconcil'd me to Iſabella's Family; for I imagin'd if ever I cou'd move her Heart to love me, ſhe wou'd as much deſpiſe Riches as myſelf; for even, young as I was, I cou'd have been contented to have got my Subſiſtence from my daily Labour, if Iſabella wou'd have ſubmitted to have ſhar'd my Fortune; for I never once thought of hers, but I wiſh'd it much leſs, or rather none at all, that I might have been more on the Equality.

While I was muſing on the State of my Love, I was interrupted by my Uncle's Houſekeeper, who, with a familiar Air, in⯑quir'd concerning our Entertainment at the Widow's: I found, by her Diſcourſe, the poor Creature was jealous of my Uncle, and to increaſe her Opinion, I told her, I fanſy'd we ſhou'd ſhortly have a Wedding, for it look'd very like it. Between whom? ask'd the Houſekeeper, haſtily; why, between my Uncle and the Widow, I anſwer'd. I ob⯑ſerv'd her Countenance change at what I ſaid, and a very great Diſorder appear'd about her. But I did not think fit to have any further Converſation with her, ſo left her to her own diſorder'd Thoughts.

[71]When my Uncle and I were together, he ask'd me how I lik'd the young Lady (for he had not an Opportunity to ask me in the Coach as we came home, becauſe we brought a neighbouring Gentleman home with us, that came to make a Viſit at the Widow's) I told him, I had a very great Regard for her, and I did not doubt but my Years wou'd in⯑creaſe it. I wou'd adviſe you, ſaid my Un⯑cle, to make your Addreſſes there, but ſe⯑cretly, for I am convinc'd you won't meet with a more beneficial Match. I anſwer'd my Uncle, I was of his Opinion; tho' not from the Greatneſs of her Fortune, but from the Charms of her Perſon and Underſtanding. Why, I wou'd have you affect what you marry; but, I hope you don't imagine, young Man, ſaid my Uncle, a good For⯑tune will be any Hindrance. Not in the leaſt, Sir, ſaid I; but I wou'd have no Two join in that holy Ceremony, if they cou'd not de⯑ſpiſe Fortune. Well, well, reply'd my Un⯑cle, Experience will tell you another Tale, when you have a few Years more over your Head, which is now fill'd with Notions of Honour, and I know not how many chime⯑rical Ideas, that have their Being in thy Brain; You read too much.

[72]I hope, Sir, ſaid I, Reading is deſign'd to cultivate the Underſtanding, and raiſe our Imaginations above the Vulgar. I am of the Opinion, a Man of Quality with a Plebeian Soul, is a Plebeian; and on the contrary, a Plebeian with exalted Merit, ought to change Fortunes with him. But you forget, with all your Learning and Philoſophy, that For⯑tune's blind, young Man, reply'd my Uncle, and diſtributes her Favours as blindly. I have ſeen Dullneſs and Stupidity in a Coach and Six, while Virtue, Merit, and a whole Library of Learning walk on Foot. The more Shame to the degenerate Age, you'll ſay, young Man. True, Sir, ſaid I; and if I had a Fortune anſwerable to my Inclina⯑tion, I wou'd never ſee one of thoſe you men⯑tion'd laſt, twice in the ſame Condition.

Don't think, reply'd my Uncle, that I am endeavouring to blot out thoſe Notions of Virtue that I ſee wrote in thy Soul; for it is on the Conſideration of thy noble Inclinations, that I have lately reſolv'd in my Will, to leave thee a conſiderable Fortune, being aſ⯑ſur'd thou wilt make the right Uſe of it. The Bulk of my Eſtate was left me by an Uncle, an old Batchelor as I am, which I intend to leave to thee in the ſame manner. [73] Neither can I think thy good Underſtanding, Boy, continu'd my Uncle, will receive any Prejudice from our Contempt of the Mar⯑riage State; tho' the Reaſon why I have not chang'd my Condition, is, that the firſt Ob⯑ject of my Wiſhes was, by Fate, deny'd me. But I ſuppoſe you have heard your Father often repeat the Story. Never in my Life, I reply'd; for I have been at School ever ſince Five Years old, and very ſeldom con⯑vers'd with any of the Family; and I may juſtly ſay, Sir, that I am almoſt as great a Stranger in the Knowledge of my Anceſtors, as one that never heard of us: Well then, ſaid my Uncle, I'll let you into as much as I know of 'em.

We are originally Welch: Many of our Anceſtors have flouriſh'd in the Church, as well as State, and left a ſweet Scent of Vir⯑tue in their Aſhes. I was the youngeſt of three; the eldeſt dying in the Wars, when he had gain'd many ever-living Laurels. Your Father prov'd Heir to the Eſtate, who is one Year elder than myſelf. My Father's Brother having acquir'd a great Eſtate by Merchandize, in the Indies, and having an In⯑clination for me, always declar'd me his Heir, and I liv'd with him as ſuch; there⯑fore [74] I think it almoſt your Due to be Heir to mine. About the Age of Seventeen, I fell in Love with a young Lady of a very ſmall Fortune, but that was ſupply'd by the Charms of her Mind and Perſon. Her Mo⯑ther (for her Father had been dead many Years) was averſe to my Paſſion. She wou'd often tell her Daughter, I was but a younger Brother; and tho' every Body imagin'd I was to be Heir to my Uncle, yet no body was aſſur'd of it. Old Men were as ſubject to change their Minds, as young ones; therefore ſhe wou'd by no means conſent to my Courtſhip; but when ſhe found I conti⯑nu'd my Addreſſes, ſhe ſecretly inform'd my Uncle, who took me to task on the other ſide; with many Arguments, prov'd I ſhou'd be much to blame to think of a Woman of ſuch a narrow Fortune, when, in Proſpect, I was Maſter of ſuch a large one; and hint⯑ed to me, if I continu'd in my Folly, as he call'd it, I might be balk'd of my Expecta⯑tion.

Tho' my Love was as great as cou'd be, yet I thought it was but common Prudence to diſſemble; and I told my Uncle, I hop'd I ſhou'd never give him any Occaſion to for⯑feit the good Opinion he had already con⯑ceiv'd [75] of me. He gave me very good Ad⯑vice, which I promis'd to follow. But every thing muſt ſubmit to Love; Fortune, Inte⯑reſt, Relations, and Friendſhip, muſt give way to that ſoft Paſſion. And I doubt not, young Man, notwithſtanding your Learning and pretended Fortitude, but Time will con⯑vince you of what I ſay. I ſigh'd, and was in ſome Confuſion at my Uncle's Diſcourſe, but made him no Anſwer, becauſe I wou'd not interrupt him.

By ſecret Interviews, continu'd my Uncle, I gain'd the Heart of the young Lady, un⯑biaſs'd by her Intereſt; for in the mean time ſhe was courted by a Gentleman, poſ⯑ſeſs'd of a Fortune much beyond the Hopes of her Family, who ſoon gain'd the Mo⯑ther's Conſent, and, being an obſtinate Wo⯑man, ſhe promis'd him her Daughter's. In the mean time we met almoſt every Night, by the Help of the Maid, who by Bribes and Promiſes was in my Intereſt; and one Even⯑ing among the reſt, I took Poſſeſſion of the willing Fair One.

Our Amours were not ſo ſecret as we ima⯑gin'd; for my Rival being inform'd of our Correſpondence, tho' he had no Notion how far our Intimacy was carry'd, ſent me a Chal⯑lenge, [76] which I accepted of, tho' unwillingly; for I am of that Opinion, Men's Honour of⯑ten prompts 'em on to thoſe Acts their Con⯑ſciences and Wills wou'd leave undone. We met, and Fortune declar'd in my Favour, by dangerouſly wounding my Adverſary, with⯑out my receiving the leaſt Hurt. The Mo⯑ther to the Fair One was exaſperated to the laſt Degree, and, in the Heat of her blind Rage, took her Daughter along with her to viſit her intended Son-in-law, where ſhe a⯑greed, notwithſtanding his Wounds, and her Daughter's Cries and Lamentations, to mar⯑ry 'em immediately, which was perform'd.

You may gueſs what we both felt at this Shock of Fate, for Poſſeſſion had heighten'd my Paſſion. I tore and rav'd like a Mad⯑man, and was almoſt inconſolable; and no⯑thing but the Regard I ow'd my Uncle, kept me from doing ſome raſh Act. But Time, that cures moſt Sorrows, gave me ſome Con⯑ſolation, as imagining I ſhou'd have ſtill a Correſpondence with the diſconſolate Fair One, for her continu'd Sorrow convinc'd me ſhe mourn'd for the ſame Cauſe.

I took an Opportunity, and got a Letter convey'd to her; but what was my Surprize and Sorrow at her Anſwer! I have read it [77] ſo often, and 'tis ſo well imprinted in my Memory, that I can repeat it verbatim.

I ſtrove many ways to come to a better Underſtanding; but ſhe as carefully avoided it. I linger'd out many Days in this Inter⯑val of Life, if I may call it ſo; for I cou'd not ſay I was alive. One Morning her Maid brought me a Letter; and tho' I of⯑fer'd her Gold to ſtay the Reading of it, yet ſhe wou'd not. The Contents of this laſt were as ſurpriſing as the firſt.

I was ſo far plung'd in Grief at the Know⯑ledge of her State, that I went into the Fields to have more Freedom for Contempla⯑tion; and tho' it was Morning when I re⯑ceiv'd the Letter, I had not thought of re⯑turning, if the Curtain of the Night had not began to ſpread the Hemiſphere; but ere I cou'd get out of the Fields, I heard ſome⯑body walk very faſt behind me, and turning about, I was ſomewhat ſurpriz'd to ſee the Husband of Maria, with his Sword drawn in his Hand, as ready to attack me. Tho' I was weary of Life, I had no Thought of rendering it to one I had no very kind Thoughts for: Yet I was reſolv'd to parly with him, and do my Endeavour to bring him to Temper; for I conſider'd, he had Matter enough to gall him. But Words ſig⯑nify'd nothing; and he preſs'd ſo violently upon me, that I was oblig'd to oppoſe him, [79] and in a little time left him dead upon the Ground.

I immediately got home to my Uncle's, who waited for me, and was going to chide me; but ſeeing me look ſo pale and confus'd, and without my Sword (for in the laſt Thruſt, that gave him his Death, he fell down to⯑wards me, and I let it fall out of my Hand, and his Body fell upon't) he very tenderly ask'd me the Cauſe of my Concern. When I had inform'd him: Well, ſaid my Uncle, be not ſo troubled; ſince you have kill'd him fairly, I'll warrant thy Pardon. But were there any Witneſſes of the Action? Se⯑veral, ſaid I, on the other ſide of the River, tho' I know not who they were, I was in ſo much Confuſion. However, he deſerv'd Death, ſaid my Uncle, for killing the un⯑fortunate Maria, and her innocent Infant. I did not hear what more my Uncle ſaid, for the Uſe of my Senſes was taken from me, and I fell into a Swoon; yet, when I reco⯑ver'd, I found myſelf in Bed; for my Un⯑cle, imagining I had receiv'd ſome Wound in the Encounter, order'd a Surgeon to be brought; but when he was inform'd of the Truth, he was convinc'd that 'twas pure Grief that had overcome me, and almoſt [80] compell'd me to be let Blood. I was in ſuch a Condition, that Deſpair had got the Aſ⯑cendant over me, and had reſolv'd with my⯑ſelf not to live: And in order to put my De⯑ſign in Execution (being inform'd my Uncle was gone out upon ſome urgent Affairs) I order'd my Man to go to another Surgeon of my Acquaintance, and bring him along with him; which was quickly done. I then took an Occaſion to ſend my Servant out of the way, and deſir'd the Surgeon to let me Blood in the other Arm, which he comply'd with, not knowing I had been let Blood before.

As ſoon as he was gone, I undid both the Bandages; the Blood pour'd out of my Veins, and I ſoon became inſenſible. Heaven for⯑give me! for I now declare I had no other Thought, but following my dear Miſtreſs, whom it was plain, I lov'd more than Life; which that Day wou'd have put an End to, if it had not been purely for an Accident; for the laſt Surgeon meeting with him that firſt bled me, among other Diſcourſe, told him he was going to ſee how I did after my Bleeding by the Order of my Uncle, who was oblig'd to go out, and that he was to ſtay with me till his Return.

[81]The laſt Surgeon, in a ſort of Surprize, told him, he had not been long come from me, and had let me Blood; and ſoon finding there muſt be ſome extraordinary Meaning in my Proceeding, came both together, and broke open the Door, that I had lock'd before I let looſe my Arms. I was ſo far gone, that they gave my Uncle no Hopes of Life, which, I was inform'd, almoſt put him into my Condition. 'Twas two whole Days ere I open'd my Eyes; and three more before I re⯑cover'd my Underſtanding; and the Thoughts of the Cataſtrophe of my dear Maria, had made me reſolve to take nothing to ſupport Life, if I had not been prevail'd upon by my Uncle, whoſe Sorrow quite confounded me, and a religious Man, who ſet before me the heinous Sin of Self-Murder, a Sin he told me cou'd never be pardon'd, for it was directly flying in the Face of Heaven, without a Poſ⯑ſibility of repenting the Action.

The Thoughts of Eternity made me re⯑pent of the Act, and reſolve to live. By de⯑grees, I recover'd my former Strength; and meeting one Day with Maria's Maid, by Accident, I deſir'd ſhe wou'd give me ſome Account of the melancholy Action.

[82]Sir, ſaid ſhe, when my poor Miſtreſs felt the Pangs and Throes of Labour upon her, ſhe wrote that Letter, and order'd me to re⯑turn upon the Inſtant I had deliver'd it, for ſhe ſhou'd want me in her unhappy Condi⯑tion. When I came back, I found her Pains grew worſe. When I found how it was, I told her I wou'd go and ſend for the Midwife. Do then, ſaid ſhe; for tho' I wiſh for Death, the poor Innocent has done nothing to deſerve it; That may live to meet with a better Fate than its unhappy Mother; and in her utmoſt Pangs, ſhe ſoftly utter'd your Name. The Midwife came, and ſhe was deliver'd (after great Agonies) of a fine Girl, whoſe early Features promis'd to exceed her Mother's Beauty.

Maria's Mother, and the reſt of her Rela⯑tions, were in the utmoſt Confuſion at what they ſaw; for ſeeing it a beautiful full-grown Child, they were well convinc'd the Husband was not the Father of it. The Mother came up to her, and, notwithſtanding her weak Condition, gave her all the ill Language ſhe cou'd think of. The poor Lady, at laſt faintly told her, it was her own Fault, to force her to that Marriage: That ſhe was join'd to you by Heaven: And ſhe believ'd [83] ſhe had no Guilt to anſwer for what ſhe had done; for ſhe had ever liv'd with her Hus⯑band virtuouſly, and ceas'd all Correſpon⯑dence with you, ſince the Day of her unfor⯑tunate Marriage, which I witneſs'd for her in the Letter ſhe had wrote to you. She was brought to Bed pretty early in the Morning. Her Husband was gone to Hunt with ſome Gentlemen of the Country. But when he return'd, he ſoon came to the Truth of every thing, for there was no concealing how Mat⯑ters went. Is is ſo? cry'd he, all enrag'd; And am I an antedated Cuckold? I'll have no Man ſay I keep a Whore, or Baſtard of his. Therefore, upon the Inſtant, he flew to the Bed, firſt ran his Sword into the unfortunate Maria's Breaſt; and, ſnatching the lovely In⯑fant from the Nurſe's Arms, threw it againſt the Ground, and daſh'd out its innocent Brains.

It was ſome time before either of us cou'd proceed in the ſad Narration, for Tears, at the unhappy Act. When the Maid had a little recover'd herſelf, ſhe proceeded.

The Wound the barbarous Wretch gave the unfortunate Maria, did not immediately rob her of Life; but ſhe liv'd to make all the Hearers weep at what ſhe related; [84] even her unkind Mother cou'd not refrain Tears; wiſhing a thouſand times, ſhe had dy'd, before ſhe had forc'd her to that un⯑lucky Match. Dear Mother, reply'd the fainting Fair One, do not repine, but learn to forget Me, and this unhappy Day. Con⯑ſider, Fate is in every thing. I beg yours and Heaven's Forgiveneſs: And then began to faint. She wou'd ſee the Infant, tho' in that piteous Condition: After looking upon it for ſome time, Poor Babe! ſaid ſhe, thou haſt ſeverely paid, tho' Innocent, for the Crime of thy Father and Mother, which I hope is forgiven by Heaven. Here ſhe began to faint again, and only ſaid, Heaven forgive me; preſerve, and ſupport my Dear — Here her Tongue fail'd; ſhe only gave a Groan, and expir'd. We all ſuppos'd it was your Name ſhe wou'd have utter'd, but Death ſtept between.

This Relation had almoſt brought me to my former Deſpair; and I often wiſh'd the Wretch alive once more, that had been the Cauſe of poor Maria's Death, that I might have kill'd him again.

'Twas ſeveral Years before I cou'd wipe a⯑way the Thoughts of my dear Maria: Nay, I can never forget her, nor ſeldom remember [85] her without bringing Tears into my Eyes, as I have at this Repetition of my former Sorrow (for, indeed, we both cou'd not re⯑frain from weeping) but for her ſake only, I am reſolv'd to live and die a Batchelor, which, ſaid he, (reaſſuming ſome of his for⯑mer Gaiety) is the better for you. Tho' my Uncle often told me, added the old Gentle⯑man, if he had known my Paſſion had been ſo ſtrong and ſincere, he wou'd not have been againſt our Marriage. Since, I have aſſum'd a freer Air, and having got acquainted in this Family, rail along with 'em, they hav⯑ing known nothing of my Story; for it did not make any great Noiſe, becauſe my Un⯑cle procur'd Witneſſes enough that heard our Diſcourſe; and the barbarous Act ſpoke ſo much, that I was never try'd for it; which was, in ſome ſort too, prevented by my Ill⯑neſs, and weak Condition.

This Story of my Uncle's, ſeem'd to me an Introductory Hiſtory to my Misfortunes, which caus'd me much ſorrowful Thinking; yet I had ever ſome ſecret Hoping, that kept up my ſinking Spirits. When we went to Dinner, Madam, the Houſekeeper, look'd very glum upon my Uncle, tho' ſhe conti⯑nu'd her Civility to me, yet I took but little [86] Notice of it. After Dinner, I went to Fiſh in a River at the bottom of the Gar⯑den, and in an Hour's time my Uncle came to me.

Hark you, young Man, ſaid he, I have a Crow to pluck with you: What is the Rea⯑ſon, good young Spark, that you have di⯑ſturb'd my Houſekeeper with a Story of a Cock and a Bull, about Marriage, and I know not what, with I know not who? Why really, Sir, ſaid I, ſhe examin'd me ſo ſtrict⯑ly this Morning, that I hope you will par⯑don me if I tell you, I thought her imperti⯑nent; neither did I imagine ſhe had any Right to be angry, or pleas'd, at what I ſaid; tho', I muſt own, I ſaw it diſorder'd her; but I ſuppoſe that only proceeded from her Intereſt; for if ſhe imagin'd you marry'd, you wou'd have no Occaſion for a Houſe⯑keeper; for, added I, ſmiling, my Lady wou'd take that Work off her Hands. Well, young Spark, ſaid my Uncle, I find you are a prying young Gentleman; and ſince you reſolve to know all my Secrets, I'll declare another to you: This Woman is now and then pleas'd to Tuck me up; and, moreover, has laid a Child to me, but the Boy is ſo unlike the reputed Father, I have no Notion I had any [87] Hand in the forming him. Now this makes her aſſume an Authority. And, to let you know further, 'tis the very Maid that liv'd with the unfortunate Maria. I thought it was my Duty to do ſomething for her, and, at my Uncle's Death, I took her into the Houſe. The Freedom I gave her in talking now and then, of that melancholy Adven⯑ture, grew at laſt into an Intimacy; Fleſh and Blood being frail, and different Sexes at all Hours of opportunity together, will ſhow themſelves.

Sir, ſaid I, what you have entruſted me with, ſhall only teach me to pay her more Reſpect than I have done, without letting her know I am let into the Secret. And, for the future, I ſhall not tell her any thing that will perplex her, upon your Account. Nay, ſaid my Uncle, ſmiling, I ſhall ever make her know the Difference between the Hand⯑maid and the Maſter: And whether her Child be mine, or not, whenever I die, I ſhall provide handſome enough for 'em both; tho', perhaps, not according to her Expec⯑tation. The Boy is ignorant who his Father is, purſuant to my Inſtruction to the Mo⯑ther; and I am apt to believe ſhe has kept it a Secret, for he is not yet of Age to be [88] truſted with it; tho' the Lad is forward e⯑nough in every thing, but juſt Learning, which makes me the more ſuſpect, I am none of his Father.

Our Converſation has laſted for Six and Twenty Years; and in Fifteen of my juve⯑nile Years, ſhe never pretended to make me a Father. I know ſhe has fed herſelf with vain Hopes, I wou'd make a Will, and put him down for Heir: But, I can aſſure you, it never was my Intention, nor ever will be; and I ſhall leave 'em the leſs for Imperti⯑nence. Whatever you pleaſe, Sir, ſaid I; but don't leave 'em the leſs upon my Account. Well, a few Days, anſwer'd my Uncle, will put an End to their Hopes, or Fears; and tho' when an Heir is ſettled to an Eſtate, he looks like a Coffin to ſome People, yet, Youth, I don't know how to part with you to the Univerſity; I am convinc'd you will have little to learn, but ill Cuſtoms, which many Scholars imbibe, where they ſhou'd a⯑void 'em: But I am not at all in pain for you; I believe the Tenets of Virtue ſuffici⯑ently ſtampt in your Mind: Therefore I have ſome Thoughts of riding over to your Fa⯑ther, to prevail upon him to let you and your Tutor live with me. I'll take care you [89] ſhan't want Books; I have a good Library of my own, and if that won't do, let me but know your Wants, and they ſhall be ſupply'd. I gave him Thanks ſuitable to ſo agreeable an Offer; but hinted to him, a Perſon is not ſo well eſteem'd in the World with⯑out a Univerſity-Education. That's but a ſmall Conſideration, reply'd my Uncle, and if we meet with no other Difficulties, I hope we ſhall get over that.

From this Subject, we proceeded to that of the Widow's Family. I believe, Sir, ſaid I, Iſabella is, and will be, as averſe to Mar⯑riage (at leaſt by her Diſcourſe) as her Mo⯑ther, or Aunt. I fanſy, young Man, re⯑ply'd my Uncle, you begin to fear it. Come, come, continue your Correſpondence; there's a great deal in the firſt Impreſſion, and Na⯑ture will prevail. But enough of this; I'll now ſhew you my Library, which you have not yet ſeen; and give you the Key, that you may make uſe of it when you pleaſe; but, added he, if you uſe it too much, I'll take it from you again.

When we came into the Library, which was a ſpacious Room built on purpoſe, I was ſurpriz'd to find it ſo well ſtor'd with ſuch Variety, and valuable Books, eſpecially [90] all the Claſſics of the beſt Editions. I told my Uncle, I lik'd my Situation ſo well, that if he wou'd give me Leave, I wou'd employ myſelf a few Hours to look 'em over. That was one Reaſon why I brought you here now, reply'd my Uncle, for I am oblig'd to go for ſome Hours upon ſome urgent Af⯑fairs; and imagining I ſhou'd bring you in⯑to Company you wou'd like, made me the more willing to introduce you to 'em, and if you find yourſelf tir'd, and their Converſa⯑tion ſhou'd not pleaſe you, they won't be diſ⯑oblig'd at your leaving 'em. So ſaying, he gave me the Key, and ſhut me in. While I was in high Delight, for I had even for⯑got the fair Iſabella, I heard Whiſpering in the next Cloſet, which made me awake from my pleaſing Amuſement; and in a little time I cou'd hear the good Houſekeeper ſay, You may ſpeak louder, for I am aſſur'd there's no one within hearing, for the old Gentle⯑man's gone out. Ay, but, reply'd the Man's Voice, What's become of the young One? Gone with him to be ſure, return'd the Houſe⯑keeper, for he does not ſtir a Foot without him, and therefore let us make good Uſe of our Time, for I fear our Meetings will be leſs frequent. I am convinc'd this young [91] Gentleman will be a Thorn in our Side, for when he and his Uncle were together the Day that he came, I heard him inform him, that he wou'd make his Will ſhortly, and put him down his Heir. Now, as you, no doubt, are to draw the Writings, I wou'd have you find ſome Means to provide for our Child, which he imagines to be his. That, I think, will be impoſſible, anſwer'd the Man; for, be aſſur'd he will read it over before he Signs it; or if he does not do it then, he may at ſome other Time. No, no, that will never do. We muſt e'en wait with Patience till his Death, and I'll find it eaſy enough to make a Will for our Advantage, of a later Date than what he intends to make. I own, ſaid the Houſekeeper, it goes againſt me to think of defrauding the young Gentle⯑man. But when you conſider, reply'd the Man, you do it for your own Fleſh and Blood, you ought to have no Scruple. Well, return'd the Houſekeeper, I muſt leave the whole Affair to you. I ſhou'd be contented to ſhare the Eſtate between the two Boys; and I think, if he does otherwiſe, as he ima⯑gines our Child his, he will not do Juſtice. We ſhall ſee what he intends to do, when he makes his Will, reply'd the Man, and, in [92] ſhort, till then, we can't make a Judgment on any one thing.

I found, afterwards, they had left ſpeak⯑ing aloud, and were making themſelves as merry as they cou'd. They were ſo boiſte⯑rous, that ſeveral Folios I had lean'd againſt the Wainſcot, tumbled down, which alarm'd 'em very much. Bleſs me! cry'd Forſooth, What's that? I can't tell, return'd the Man; I hope the Squire is not in his Study. No, that I am ſure of, ſaid the Houſekeeper. Now I recollect myſelf, continu'd ſhe, 'tis ſome of the Books tumbled off the Shelves. They made themſelves eaſy with that Suppo⯑ſition, and continu'd their Game. After ſome time, I cou'd hear 'em go ſoftly down Stairs. I waited at the Window ſome time, and at laſt ſaw him go thro' the Court-yard. He was a tall thin Man, had a Caſt of an Eye, and ſeem'd about Forty.

As ſoon as I found all was ſtill, I went ſoft⯑ly out of the Library, and went into my own Room, a pair of Stairs higher, to avoid all Suſpicion. When I was there, I reſolv'd to acquaint my Uncle with the whole Truth; for I thought it wou'd be Injuſtice to conceal it, if it had not concern'd myſelf. When my Uncle came in, he was in a very good [93] Humour, and wou'd often ſmile at his own Imagination. I told him, it was a great Pity he ſhou'd ſtay at home as he uſually did, if going abroad made him ſo merry. Billy, reply'd my Uncle, I have ſo much Reaſon to be merry, at leaſt in my own Opinion, that I'll tell you the Cauſe of my Mirth; and I have ſo good a Regard for your Under⯑ſtanding, that I'll rule my Riſibility, for this once, by it; and if you declare I am in the wrong to be merry, I'll do my Endeavour to be otherwiſe.

Sir, ſaid I, if that is the only Reaſon in letting me into the Secret of your Mirth, you need not give yourſelf that Trouble, for I am apt to believe, you will be right in every thing you do. No Compliments, Boy, re⯑ply'd my Uncle; I have told you before, I don't like 'em. But to proceed.

You remember that Gentleman we brought in the Coach from the Widow's, yeſterday. That Gentleman is about Five and Thirty: Three Years ago, he was one of the moſt eminent Merchants upon the Exchange, and his Credit wou'd have ſtretch'd as far as the beſt of 'em.

In the Time, of his Proſperity, he fell in Love with a Widow-Lady of a vaſt For⯑tune, [94] without the Incumbrances of Children upon't. The Lady gave him all the Encou⯑ragement he cou'd expect. The Day of their Eſpouſals was fix'd, and near approaching, when the uncomfortable News was brought him, of the Loſs of almoſt all his Fortune; for three of his richeſt Veſſels were taken by Pirates. This, as you may ſuppoſe, was a very great Shock to him; but being a Per⯑ſon of the utmoſt Philoſophy, he calmly re⯑ſign'd himſelf to the Will of Heaven. He immediately left off Trade; and when his Debts were paid, he that was but ten Days before, in every Body's Opinion, worth a Hundred Thouſand Pounds, found himſelf Maſter of Seventy Pounds a Year, and his Country Houſe, which he inſtantly ſold, and, as I thought it a good Bargain, I became the Purchaſer. His greateſt Satisfaction in his Misfortunes, was the Thoughts of the Wi⯑dow's proving conſtant to him; and he did not doubt, but with her Aſſiſtance, to reco⯑ver his Loſſes. But few Women, my Boy, are ſincere in their Proteſtations. 'Tis true, ſometimes the blind Spark ſtings 'em in the Tail, that they become as blind as Fortune; or otherwiſe they are as hard to deal with, as a Parſon for his Tithes.

[95]The Gentleman, after his Misfortunes, I can with Juſtice declare, was more welcome to me than before; for it wou'd be a Hard⯑ſhip indeed to have the Unfortunate ſlighted; and I am aſſur'd that generous Minds reſent things that are offer'd 'em in their Adverſity, that they wou'd not have regarded in their Proſperity. One Morning, at Breakfaſt, I obſerv'd him very melancholy, inſomuch that he refus'd his Chocolate; I encourag'd him as much as I cou'd, as imagining the Thoughts of his Loſſes had attack'd him. But I was very much ſurpriz'd to hear him ſay, his former Loſſes were nothing to what then oppreſs'd him. I muſt own, ſaid he, I had ſome Omens of it Yeſterday; for when I went to viſit the Widow, as uſual, I was told, ſhe was not at home; but returning by the Garden-Wall, I heard her talking to her Maid; and when I call'd to her, cou'd get no Anſwer. This Morning my Suſpicions are confirm'd, for ſhe has juſt now ſent me a Letter, where ſhe tells me, She is very much grieved at my Loſſes; and as Merchandizing is ſo very precarious, ſhe hopes I will pardon her if ſhe intends to keep her For⯑tune to herſelf; and endeavour to mend my Cre⯑dit with ſomebody elſe. The Loſs of her Mo⯑ney [96] does not vex me half ſo much, as her in⯑ſulting me; and tho', I muſt own, I have a very great Regard for her Perſon, yet I wou'd not wed her now, if ſhe ſhou'd repent of her Uſage.

I believe there's little Danger of that, ſaid I. Women have Obſtinacy enough to keep bad Reſolutions. All I cou'd ſay to him, gave him but little Comfort; and, I muſt confeſs, his Uneaſineſs infected me. But, as I have told you, Time is an excellent Doctor, for the almoſt bald Gentleman wrought a Cure, ſo that he often wiſh'd it in his Power to be reveng'd on the Widow.

Many Weeks paſs'd on, and his Inclina⯑tion ſtrengthen'd, tho' no Accident cou'd aſ⯑ſiſt him, till about two Months ago, an old Barn that belong'd to the Houſe, I order'd to be pull'd down, with an Intention to make an Addition to my Garden; for I had ſome Overtures made me by a Nobleman, concern⯑ing a Purchaſe, in which I ſhou'd make a conſiderable Profit, tho' with a ſecret Inten⯑tion to give it to the Gentleman I had bought it of. The Barn, in reality, did ſtill belong to him, for it ſerv'd a Farm near the Houſe I had bought, which was the Remainder of the Gen⯑tleman's Eſtate, and the ſame he liv'd in.

[97]In digging the Earth of the Foundation, there was found a Pot of Money that contain'd up⯑wards of a Hundred Pound, which was gi⯑ven the Gentleman. As we were at Supper, and pretty merry at the Accident, an odd Thought came into my Head. Why may we not, ſaid I, to the Gentleman, report, we have found a larger Sum? No one knows what we have found, but the Man that dug it up, and we can inſtruct him to favour the Deceit. But to what End, return'd the Gen⯑tleman? Why, to be reveng'd on the Wi⯑dow, ſaid I. I am aſſur'd 'twas covetous In⯑tereſt at firſt made her comply with your Addreſſes; and when once ſhe finds it her Intereſt, ſhe'll receive 'em willingly again; and if we can bring Matters about, to com⯑pleat your Revenge, you muſt e'en marry her. The Gentleman ſmil'd at my Project, but thought it wou'd be impoſſible to bring it to any thing. Well, ſaid I, you ſhall have little to do; I warrant, I'll make your Part ea⯑ſy enough. Accordingly, I went to work. We reported about the Country, that ſuch a Gen⯑tleman had found a vaſt Treaſure in his Barn, ſuppos'd to be hid there in the Civil Wars, even enough to recompenſe all his Loſſes. The Fellow that dug up the Money, was an [98] arch Rogue, one fit for our Deſign; I took care to inſtruct him; and, to carry every thing on with a good Face, as I want⯑ed a Coach, I bought a new one, ſent the Gentleman to his Houſe again, as if he had made a new Purchaſe of it, in the new Coach, and Attendance ſuitable. I alſo let the Siſter to Iſabella's Mother into the Secret, who, by her Contrivance, receiv'd the Addreſſes of the Gentleman. You muſt imagine, this ſur⯑priz'd every Body, and ſoon came to the fickle Widow's Ear: She, it ſeems, began to be very inquiſitive, had ſent for the Fellow that dug the Money up, and examin'd him. He afterwards came and inform'd us what paſs'd between 'em. I was very much pleas'd to hear it; and we inſtructed him how he ſhou'd behave to her. We order'd him to let her know, that we were to meet to ſettle our Matters at a neighbouring Tavern in the Town, and ſeveral People, along with the fortunate Squire.

When the Fellow came back from her, we took him into Examination again. As ſoon as I came before her (ſaid the Fellow) ſhe ask'd me, if I was the Man that had found the Money. Yes, Madam, ſaid I. Well, and is it as much as the World reports? Re⯑ally, [99] I can't tell, forſooth, ſaid I. There was ſixteen great Pots, that wou'd hold about a Gallon a-piece; and in one of 'em there was abundance of ſuch Stuff as your Ladyſhip has about your Neck, forſooth, and in your Ears; I can't tell what they are good for, not I; but they ſay they are worth Twenty Thou⯑ſand Pounds. Well but, ſaid the Lady to him, do you know what was in the Pots? Why, in nine Pots, forſooth, ſaid I, there was nothing but Pieces of old Gold; and the reſt had all Silver in 'em. But I did ſay, Sir, I thought it was too good for you, for you gave me but Ten Pounds in old Jacobus's for my Honeſty; for you know, Madam, ſaid I, I cou'd have ſecur'd a Pot or two for my⯑ſelf. But when I told her you were to meet at the Tavern, ſhe gave me a Crown, and ſaid ſhe wou'd give me another, if I cou'd find means to bring her into the next Room to where you were. I am to bring her Word to-morrow, when you are all met, and ſhe'll be ready to come with me.

Well, what ſay you now? ſaid I, to the Gentleman; our Plot begins to thicken. Why indeed, he reply'd, I begin to conceive ſome Hopes of it. We gave the Fellow his Inſtructions; and I told him, I wou'd make [100] one of his Lyes a Truth, if we ſucceeded, and that ſhou'd be the Ten Pounds. He gave us good Aſſurance, that he wou'd not fail in his Part.

The next Day we met at the Place ap⯑pointed, with Gentlemen that we had let into the Secret; and, among the reſt, one to re⯑preſent a Lawyer; for we did not much care to truſt a real One, there is ſo little Honeſty among 'em. The Fellow was to give Notice when the Widow was come, by ſhutting a Caſement in the Room where ſhe was to be; for it was an old-faſhion'd Window, and made Noiſe enough in the Shutting to be heard all over the Houſe. We at laſt heard the Signal to begin our Farce. I had provided a great Number of old Writings and Papers, that if ſhe ſhou'd have the Curioſity to peep, ſhe might perceive we had all our Implements. One of our Company told our Gentleman, the moſt that cou'd be made of his Jewels, was Eighteen Thouſand Five Hundred Pounds. Another cry'd, There's your Bills for the Forty Thouſand Pounds from the Goldſmiths. And there's the Five Thou⯑ſand Bank Notes; but, added he, the Tel⯑lers were ſurpriz'd! they had not ſeen ſo ma⯑ny Pieces of old Gold in their Lives, nei⯑ther [101] wou'd they accept 'em, but by Weight. It can't be help'd, cry'd our Gentleman, they will have a good Profit by it, for I ſuppoſe it will all be paid out to the full Currency.

Every body play'd their Parts to Admira⯑tion. And when our Buſineſs was over, we ſat in to Drinking, with many Healths to the Gentleman, as Top of our Company. We had not been at it long, ere our Emiſſa⯑ry came in, who told us, Madam had got Intelligence enough, he believ'd; for after we were ſet in to Drinking, ſhe preſently re⯑tir'd, firſt giving me a Guinea, as a golden Key to lock up my Tongue; which I pro⯑mis'd her faithfully to perform; and, Ma⯑ſters, you may perceive, I intend to keep my Word. We ſpent the reſt of the Evening with good Wine (tho' at a Tavern) and the Hopes of ſucceeding in our Deſign.

The next Morning we found it began to work; for this Letter (pulling one out of his Pocket) came from the Widow to the Gentleman.

Why now, Friend, ſaid I, ſhe begins to nibble, and it's your own Fault if you don't catch her; I'll engage ſhe takes the Bait, if you'll be but careful in playing her. Why, what wou'd you have me to do, ſaid the Gentleman? Do! ſaid I; do as you ſhou'd do; marry her, for you can't be ſufficiently reveng'd without it. I can't do that, he re⯑ply'd, that will be too full-grown a Cheat; you muſt conſider, that Station laſts for Life, and to have all my Hours imbitter'd with Upbraidings, wou'd prove a Hell upon Earth. Why, ſaid I, the World will but laugh at the Trick; I mean, thoſe that know it; and for thoſe that don't know the Arti⯑fice we have us'd, they will have the better Regard for your Wife. Beſides, when ſhe finds the Impoſition, her Underſtanding will make her quiet; for my Part, I think it will be a fit⯑ting [103] Puniſhment: Beſides, I am aſſur'd ſhe muſt have ſome Inclination for you, or ſhe wou'd not have accepted your firſt Addreſſes; but that her Avarice prov'd too weighty for her Love. This ought to reconcile you to the Deſign. If you have any Regard for her, you'll ſoon find means to make all even; and if you've none, your Conſcience will not long trouble you. I'll aſſure you, if I thought there was the leaſt Guilt in't, I wou'd not have any Hand in't: Beſides, in the long Run, ſhe may not prove a Loſer; Fortune has fair Looks, as well as Frowns, and her Ill Humour may be worn out. The Conſi⯑deration of that, ſaid he, has wip'd away all Scruples, and I'll venture thro' all Dangers. In ſhort, he made his Viſit, and in all his Diſcourſe hinted, that the Report of finding ſo much Wealth was falſe; and told her the Truth, in hopes not to be believ'd. To cut my Story ſhort, he once more gain'd her Conſent; and this Evening they were marry'd. Now this is the great Buſineſs I have been about. What makes me ſmile, is, the Lady's mighty Inclination to live in the Houſe where the Money was found, imagin⯑ing there were more Mines of Wealth to be work'd out yet. To-morrow I intend to vi⯑ſit [104] 'em, and let her know the whole Truth of the Matter, which I did not care to do till after Conſummation. And now, conti⯑nu'd my Uncle, I have let you into the Se⯑cret of my Mirth, tho' it is impoſſible to in⯑form you of all the merry Circumſtances. I wiſh, ſaid I, Sir, your Puniſhment is not too ſevere for the poor Woman. I warrant you, ſaid my Uncle, ſhe'll ſoon forget her Reſent⯑ment. A Bleſſing, you know, Billy, muſt al⯑ways follow Wedlock. I wiſh it may, Sir, ſaid I.

Our Diſcourſe was interrupted by a loud Ringing at the Door. We all ran to the Win⯑dow to ſee who it was in ſuch Haſte; and ſaw a Perſon at the Door, with his Horſe all in a Foam, enquiring for Squire Bridgford, which was the Name of the Gentleman who was marry'd that Evening. The Wedding being a Secret, my Uncle told him he would not be in Town till the Morning. He ſeem'd very uneaſy; which my Uncle perceiving, began to enquire into his Concern. Sir, ſaid the Man, I bring him welcome News, and the ſooner he knows it, the ſooner I ſhall be eaſy. He was invited in, and his Horſe ta⯑ken care of. The Perſon told my Uncle, he had brought the Squire News of above Forty [105] Thouſand Pounds. That's News indeed! reply'd my Uncle, and welcome, if it be true. It's true, by G—d! ſaid the Perſon, being a blunt Sailor; for I am an Eye-Wit⯑neſs of it. After the Man was refreſh'd, he told my Uncle, that one of his Ships had made her Eſcape from the Pirates. We were all taken, ſaid the Tar, near the Coaſt of Ma⯑labar, by French Pirates, who us'd thoſe Men that refus'd to make Part of their Crew, vile⯑ly; ſome they cut their Noſes off, ſome their Ears, &c. which the major Part conſidering, reſolv'd to ſeem to comply, 'till a fitter Op⯑portunity ſhou'd offer, to get out of their Clutches. I underſtanding a little French, was their Spokeſman; I told 'em, we did not comply out of the Fear of Puniſhment, but that it was what we all choſe. Many of us had, a long time before, Thoughts of run⯑ning away with the Ship. They receiv'd us very kindly, gave us good Uſage, and thoſe that did not come into their Meaſures, were not only tortur'd, as I ſaid before, but put under Confinement in Fetters. We took an Opportunity to inform the poor Wretches of our Intention, which made 'em repent they had not thought of the ſame Method: Moſt of 'em, hoping for better Uſage, begg'd to [106] be admitted; but the wily Frenchman utterly deny'd 'em, well knowing they wou'd not be true Pirates.

They carry'd all their Prizes to their Ren⯑dezvous, into a Bay upon the Iſland of Ma⯑dagaſcar, where we had the Liberty to go on Shore, and conſort among their Helliſh Crew. We fitted out again, and took ſeveral Chineſe Joncks, richly laden, and in every En⯑gagement behav'd ſo well, that the Captain of the Pirates ſet very much by us. When we came back to our Rendezvous, there was ſome Diſturbance among 'em, concerning ſome former Shares; but we thought it was all huſh'd. They had loaded one of the larg⯑eſt Ships that was taken from us, with Goods out of the other Two, in order to go and trade with the Dutch at Batavia; and one Night, Seventy of the diſcontented Party got in her, cut ſome that were on Board in Pie⯑ces, ſlip'd their Anchors, and ſtole away in the Night. The next Morning, the Cap⯑tain was out of his Wits, and the reſt of the Men were as mad as himſelf. But, in ſhort, the whole Fleet, which conſiſted of four ſtout Ships, were ſent after 'em different Ways.

[107]We ſteer'd N. N. W. three Days, and on the fourth diſcover'd a Sail; we crouded all we cou'd to come up with her, and ſoon per⯑ceiv'd 'twas She we wanted. While they were buſied in getting ready to engage, I ſtole down into the Powder-Room, which I had the Care of, open'd all the Barrels, and pour'd Water into moſt of 'em, and with the reſt I mix'd ſome of the Ballaſt of the Ship.

When we came up with 'em, a deſperate Fight enſu'd, as long as the good Powder laſted; then I ran up to the Captain, call'd him into the Cabbin, where I told him, in a ſeeming Confuſion, I was certain ſome of the Men were in the Intereſt of the other Ship. I then inform'd him what was done to the Pow⯑der. The Captain ask'd me, What was to be done? Board 'em, Sir, ſaid I, and fight 'em Sword in Hand. What ſhall I do? ſaid he. There's no truſting our own Men. Why, ſaid I, there's ſixty Engliſh of us, I'll en⯑gage we ſhall ſoon overcome 'em. I wou'd have you, reply'd the Captain, inform 'em of it, and tell them they ſhall be well re⯑warded.

We bore off a little, while we were con⯑ſulting, for we cou'd overtake the other Ship when we wou'd, becauſe ſhe was heavy-laden. [108] I acquainted all my Ship-Mates with the Reſolution I had taken, and they, one and all came into it. When we had conſult⯑ed proper Meaſures, we bore after 'em again. I inform'd the Captain, when we had over⯑come the other Ship, I wou'd put him in a Way to find out the Knaves that had plaid him that Trick. He thank'd me, and away we went to work. We boarded her upon the Starboard-Quarter, enter'd her Pellmell, and ſoon cut to Pieces thoſe that made Re⯑ſiſtance, with the Loſs of Seven Frenchmen and One Engliſhman; for we had Fifteen French to aſſiſt us. Six and Twenty of our Oppoſers call'd for Quarter, but it was not granted, before the inveterate Frenchmen had knock'd in the Head Nine of 'em. Five more were ſo wounded, it was thought they cou'd not live, which ſtill anſwer'd my Pur⯑poſe. The others were clap'd under Hatches, and a Guard put over them.

The next Day, the Captain put me in mind of my Promiſe, to find out the Guilty. Sir, ſaid I, call all the Men upon the Quarter-Deck; all I put on the Larboard-Side, Or⯑der to be ſeiz'd, and clap'd under Hatches; you may tax 'em with their Crime when they are ſecur'd; tho' they deny it, I'll prove [109] what I ſay upon every one of 'em before Night. My Advice was follow'd; the Men were call'd up, to the Number of Sixty Eight, Forty One I plac'd on the Larboard-Side, of thoſe Men that were out of the Captain's Sight during the Engagement, tho' doing their Duty. The other Twenty Seven were on the Starboard. The Men on both Sides, cou'd not imagine the Meaning of this Divi⯑ſion. All the Engliſhmen were upon the main Deck; and, by ſome Means or other, accord⯑ing to my Directions, had their Arms about 'em; thoſe that cou'd not conceal 'em, made as if they were cleaning 'em. The Captain told thoſe on the Larboard-Side, they were ſuſpected to be in the Confederacy with the Runaways, therefore, he wou'd not have 'em take it ill, if they were confin'd till their Guilt, or Innocence, were made to appear.

They were all amaz'd at the Captain's Speech, which he took for the Signs of Guilt. Some were refractory; but at laſt, they con⯑ſented to be confin'd, well knowing their In⯑nocence. They were put under Hatches ac⯑cordingly. As they were going down, the Captain ſaid, the Innocent ſhall be rewarded. When they were below, a Guard was ſet up⯑on 'em, and I had taken care to have all their Arms ſecur'd.

[110]The Captain then told the Starboard-Side Men the whole Story, and that it was by my Advice and Conduct the Ship was taken, &c. The Men were ſurpriz'd, to be ſure. It was pleaſant to hear their Diſcourſe; they found 'em Guilty: I always thought there was ſomething in the Wind, in ſuch a Meſs, ſays one; ſays another, I even heard ſomething of their Deſign laſt Night, but as I was not ſure, I did not care to ſpeak on't; nay, ſays another, I believe Jaques ſuch-a-one had a great mind to corrupt me, for he follow'd me every where Yeſterday, and only wanted an Opportunity of breaking his Mind to me. In ſhort, moſt of 'em had ſomething to ſay, and all to prove 'em guilty. It was Matter ſufficient for our Mirth afterwards, but I was a little too much concern'd to laugh then.

The remaining Frenchmen were got into Ca⯑bals by Fives and Sixes all over the Deck; and our Engliſhmen were impatiently expect⯑ing the Word of Command to ſeize 'em.

When we had proceeded thus far, I told the Captain, if he wou'd pleaſe to go into the great Cabbin, I wou'd convince him how he ſhou'd prove 'em. When we two were there by ourſelves, I took a Piſtol out of my [111] Pocket, and told him, I was the Man that had damag'd his Powder, in order to bring that to paſs, which was happily effected. I let him know, I had gone too far not to take his Life, if he reſiſted, or call'd out; and inform'd him, it wou'd ſignify nothing if he did, for I had two Signals to my Countrymen, one to ſeize his Men, and do 'em no further Hurt, and the other to kill 'em all immedi⯑ately. And I farther added, Not one of 'em ſhou'd ſuffer, if they wou'd be quiet; and that we only contriv'd this Stratagem to gain our Liberty.

The Captain thank'd me, and told me he cou'd not blame me for what I had done; but wonder'd at himſelf that he ſhou'd be im⯑pos'd upon in ſuch a manner. He ſubmitted himſelf to be ty'd very patiently.

When I had done, I went upon the Deck, and gave the Word, Now, which was to ſeize 'em only; the other was, Now do your Work; tho' I did not intend to uſe thoſe Words, except I had found Reſiſtance. Up⯑on the Word, the Frenchmen were all ſeiz'd. It's impoſſible to tell their Aſtoniſhment; but their Surprize was heighten'd, when I brought out their Captain, bound, who ſoon let 'em into the whole Matter. They were all ſtruck [112] dumb for ſome time, and then fell a gab⯑bling out their Mort de ma vie, like ſo many diſturb'd Geeſe. But tho' their Tongues were at Liberty, we did 'em the Favour to bind 'em all by the Hands. Some of our Men whom the others had releas'd (thoſe, I mean, that were ill us'd for not conſenting to turn Pirates, who, by good Fortune, were all in our Ship, tho' in the Frenchmen's Reign, did all the ſervile Offices of the Veſſel) were for cutting to Pieces thoſe that were inſtru⯑mental in their ill Uſage; but as they gave me the Command, I order'd, not one ſhou'd be touch'd, which the Frenchmen thank'd me for.

The One and Forty below ſoon found what we were at, and we as ſoon prevail'd upon 'em to be ty'd to their good Behaviour. When we had ſecur'd 'em all in the Steer⯑age and Great Cabbin, and order'd Centries, with a great Gun charg'd with Muſquet-Ball to fire in upon 'em, if they ſeem'd to make any Reſiſtance, we went on Board our Prize, and took care of the other ten Frenchmen that were ſet on as a Guard to the Thieves, as the reſt call'd 'em, as if they were none. We carry'd 'em all on Board. When every thing was quiet, we directed our Courſe for Eng⯑land; [113] and in two Days more, we took every thing out of the Pirate that wou'd be uſeful to us in our Voyage, leaving 'em a Month's Proviſion. We ſecur'd all their Arms and Ammunition, and cut ſome of their Rigging, leaving 'em only a Foreſail, with a Main Topſail, to prevent their getting into Har⯑bour too ſoon for us, and cauſe us to be purſu'd.

Thus every thing being order'd, as we hop'd, for the beſt, we Engliſhmen went on Board our own Ship, and left them to ſteer their Courſe back to Pirates Harbour, as we call'd it. We continu'd our Voyage to England, where we happily arriv'd, meeting nothing to moleſt us all the way.

We were mightily pleas'd with his Nar⯑rative, and highly commended his Under⯑taking and Reſolution. Said my Uncle, Mr. Bridgford is oblig'd to you for his good Fortune; and I doubt not but he will reward you accordingly. He told us, he was a Re⯑lation of Mr. Bridgford's, and Mate of the Ship, the Captain dying when he was in the Pirates Hands; and all he deſir'd was, only to make his Promiſe good to the Sailors, which was, to allow 'em double Wages for the whole Voyage. My Uncle told him, he [114] wou'd aſſure him of that. After a little Converſation and Repaſt, the Meſſenger was ſent to Reſt, for he had come ſixty Miles that Day, upon one Horſe.

When he was gone, we cou'd not but ad⯑mire at his Conduct in the Affair, and the Providence of God to Mr. Bridgford. This good Fortune, ſaid my Uncle, will be a great Means of bringing on a Reconcilement. Now you ſee, Sir, ſaid I, there is a Bleſſing attends the Marriage-State. Yes, ſaid my Uncle, but nothing to provoke me to enter into the Nooſe. It muſt bring ſome Cares along with it, be the Comforts ever ſo ma⯑ny. I fanſy, Sir, ſaid I, there's Cares at⯑tend your preſent Way of Living. It may be ſo, ſaid my Uncle, but none that I am ty'd to bear.

I finding a fit Opportunity, thought it a pro⯑per Time to inform him of what I had heard in the Library; but conjur'd him not to take any Notice of it, 'till we cou'd find an Oc⯑caſion of his being an Ear-Witneſs. Well then, ſaid my Uncle, I'll take your Advice, and let it reſt 'till after my Friend Bridgford's Affair is over, and then we'll contrive ſome Way or other to catch 'em in their own Snares.

[115]The next Morning, my Uncle took me a⯑long with him, to wait upon the new-mar⯑ry'd Couple, and the Sailor with us. We gave him Inſtructions to wait till we call'd for him. When we came to the Lady's Houſe, we were uſher'd up into the Bed-Chamber, where we found the Bride in Tears; for tho' it was agreed not to open the Affair till my Uncle came, yet the Husband cou'd not be eaſy till he had told her all. She took it ve⯑ry heinouſly at firſt; but, weighing every thing well, ſhe had only Recourſe to her Tears, which ſhe wip'd away as ſoon as ſhe perceiv'd us.

Come, Sir, ſaid ſhe to my Uncle, I can now forgive your Plot upon me; tho' I muſt own, the Diſappointment caus'd me much Uneaſineſs; yet I find what is appointed by Heaven, muſt be; I am ſatisfy'd we have enough, and I begin already to loath my for⯑mer Temper. Why now, Madam, ſaid my Uncle, you ſtrike a true Harmony, and, to indulge it, I have brought you a Preſent; one muſt never come empty-handed to a new-marry'd Pair, Billy, continu'd my Uncle, call in the Man. When he came in, Mr. Bridgford was ſurpriz'd: Couſin Brooks! ſaid he, I am very much pleas'd to ſee you; [116] and this is a very acceptable Preſent, for I thought you in the Hands of Pirates. Pray how got you from them? Why, to bring home to you the good Ship Elizabeth, re⯑ply'd Mr. Brooks. We then let him into the whole Story, and he bore his Joy, as he did his Grief, with a Serenity of Temper he was (as my Uncle ſaid) always Maſter of. I am pleas'd with this Preſent from a Fortune, Ma⯑dam, ſaid he, only that it may be a Means to make you forget ſome Part of your Loſs in your Chimerical One. She made him a ſuitable Reply, and all paſt Actions were ſoon forgot.

Mr. Bridgford gave his Couſin Brooks a Ring off his Finger, with a Promiſe of a Thouſand Pounds, and to make him Captain of the Ship he had ſo worthily ſav'd. But, my Dear, ſaid the Lady, you give the Gen⯑tleman a Preſent, which I ſuppoſe he is not to diſpoſe of, but never conſider he has been in the Hands of Pirates, and perhaps all his Ready-Money's gone; and, added ſhe, ſmi⯑ling, you have not receiv'd the Money for your Jewels yet, therefore I muſt do ſome⯑thing for you; with that ſhe went out, and immediately return'd with a hundred Guineas, which ſhe gave to Mr. Brooks; there, Sir, [117] ſaid ſhe, that's ſomething better than Pro⯑miſes; however, it's only as Earneſt, my Husband ſhall keep his Word.

We finding her in ſo good a Humour, took our Leaves: She much intreated us to ſtay Dinner, but my Uncle told her, her Husband's old Sweetheart was to dine with him, who long'd to hear how Matters went. What, more Confederates? return'd the Lady; but I forgive all, and thank you for tricking me into my Happineſs.

As we were going home, my Uncle told me he was very well pleas'd he had been in⯑ſtrumental in converting one Woman; but I had almoſt forgot, that I have one at home out of the Pale of Salvation: Yet I ſhall not take any Pains in her Converſion, if it is as you ſay) which I believe) continu'd my Un⯑cle; I ſhall turn her, and her Cub, to Graſs, tho' with a moderate Maintenance, yet much more than they deſerve. But we'll let all Thoughts of that Affair ſleep awhile, for the Ladies will be here by and by, and I have never any thing that looks like Diſcontent when we are together.

I found a ſecret Pleaſure in the Hopes I had of ſeeing the amiable Iſabella; but then, intruding Fears wou'd creep in to diſturb my [118] Thoughts. I imagin'd I ſhou'd be ſlighted, or perhaps ſhe might diſcloſe my Paſſion to her Mother, or Aunt, and then all my Hopes wou'd be intirely loſt; for I had not any No⯑tion they wou'd, either of 'em, conſent to my Deſires. The Time was ſpent between Hopes and Fears, 'till the Arrival of the Ladies. When they came in, any one might have perceiv'd my Paſſion by my Counte⯑nance; but they were ſo much taken up with their Diſcourſe about Mr. Bridgford's Affairs, they had not the Leiſure to mind any thing elſe. My Concern was redoubled at the lit⯑tle Notice Iſabella took of me, and her en⯑tring ſo readily into the Converſation, with⯑out ſo much as vouchſafing me a ſingle Look, almoſt diſtracted me; ſo that I took a pro⯑per Opportunity to retire, to conceal my Confuſion. I went into the Garden to in⯑dulge my Melancholy: Finding ſo many Reaſons to increaſe it, that had almoſt di⯑ſtracted me, I was ſo loſt in Thought, that I did not conſider how the Time went a⯑way; and 'tis poſſible I might have remain'd in my Muſing till Night, if a Servant had not told me Dinner was ſerv'd.

I was in ſome Confuſion, to think what Excuſe I ſhou'd make for my long Ab⯑ſence. [119] When I came into the Dining-Room, my Uncle ask'd me where I had been ſo long. I told him, I found them ſo very deeply engag'd in their Story, that, as I knew my Company wou'd not contribute any thing to the Converſation, I choſe to take a Walk in the Garden, and my Imagination wandring, I had loſt myſelf for ſome time. I was very much rally'd for my Speech, by every body. I thought, ſaid the Aunt, the Company of Iſabella wou'd have had ſuffi⯑cient Strength to have held you here. I ſup⯑poſe, return'd Iſabella, the young Gentleman has been ſo well tutor'd by his Uncle, that he is beginning to put his Advice in Practice, by ſhunning the Women. I told her, what⯑ever Advice I follow'd of my Uncle's, I was aſſur'd neither his Inclination, or mine, wou'd debar me of the Satisfaction of their Conver⯑ſation, whatever I ſuffer'd in Perſon, or Cenſure. I continu'd my Excuſe, by telling 'em, the Story was not new to me, and I thought it wou'd be ſome time before they wou'd have Leiſure to enter upon any other Subject. Whatever I had to ſay in my Ju⯑ſtification, had not ſtopt their Mouths, if Dinner had not. While it laſted, I narrow⯑ly obſerv'd Iſabella, but cou'd not get one [120] Look from her. I had but little Stomach, as thoſe in my Circumſtances may eaſily ima⯑gine, tho' none made any Obſervation upon it. When Dinner was over, we all walk'd in the Garden, and my Endeavours to ſingle out Iſabella prov'd fruitleſs, which much in⯑creas'd my Agony of Mind.

In the Afternoon, Mr. Bridgford, his new Wife, and Mr. Brooks the Sailor, came to viſit my Uncle. Tho', ſaid Mr. Bridg⯑ford, it is not uſual for new-marry'd People, the Day after their Wedding, to make Vi⯑ſits, yet my Wife and I thought it partly our Duty to wait upon this good Company, to take our Leaves of 'em; for, continu'd he, tho' a Week paſt I was no Man of Buſineſs, yet now I find I have Work enough on my Hands, not to mention my Matrimonial Af⯑fair. I am oblig'd to leave you for Twenty Days. The Smiles of Fortune muſt be re⯑garded, or ſhe may change her Countenance. I have experienc'd it, therefore am reſolv'd to keep up her Good-Humour, if it lies in my Power. I muſt own, the Sorrows that touch me at preſent, are rais'd from what I feel in parting (tho' but for a ſhort Time) with ſuch Company as will always be very dear to me. Many Compliments paſs'd be⯑tween [121] the Parties, but they were ended by ta⯑king Leave, for Mr. Bridgford ſet out for London from my Uncle's, with his Spouſe, and his Kinſman the Sailor, who found it neceſ⯑ſary for his immediate Preſence. After the uſual Compliment of Tea, the Ladies were reſolv'd to go Fiſh; it ſeems it was their common Recreation; and accordingly, their Implements were carry'd to the River, no far⯑ther than the Bottom of my Uncle's Garden. I was reſolv'd to be only a Looker-on, as not being compos'd enough to follow the Paſtime; and perhaps I might have run the Hooks in⯑to my Fingers, inſtead of the Baits. Every one had tolerable good Sport, but Iſabella, and her ill Luck made her fret much. Billy, ſaid my Uncle, this is a Diverſion you de⯑light in. You know the Fiſhes retiring Holes; pray ſee if you can help the young Lady to a little better Fortune. I told my Uncle, I wou'd contribute all I cou'd to Iſa⯑bella's Entertainment, with a very good In⯑clination. Come, Madam, ſaid I, if you will be pleas'd to walk a little farther, we'll ſee if Change of Place may not change your Luck. She made me no Anſwer, but with a condeſcending Nod, follow'd me. I took care to take her out of the Sight and Hearing [122] of the reſt of the Company. I then look'd a little carefully after her Bait and Tackle, and ſhe caught a Fiſh preſently.

Well, ſaid ſhe, I find my Luck is chang'd; but yet I am but half reconcil'd to the barba⯑rous Diverſion; it does not ſuit with the ten⯑der Sentiments of our Sex, to rob any thing of Life; neither can I ſee the Death of a poor Partridge, or the moſt diminutive Bird, widiout a ſecret Tenderneſs and Sorrow for its being robb'd of Life, which it is not in our Power to reſtore again. But yet, Ma⯑dam, ſaid I, with all this Tenderneſs of Soul, you can ſee a poor ſuffering Wretch in all the Agonies of Deſpair, without thinking once of Pity. I am ſorry, reply'd Iſabella, you ſhou'd tax me with a Crime I moſt ab⯑hor; but, as I am innocent, it does not give me much Uneaſineſs. Madam, I reply'd, I ſpeak of Proof; I am the poor ſuffering Wretch, wounded by your reſiſtleſs Charms, which you know very well, and you'll neither give me Death, nor Eaſe. Why indeed, young Gentleman, return'd Iſabella, this Play⯑ing at Lovers is what we now ſhou'd leave off. We are too young to act in Reality, and too old to act in Jeſt. I'll allow, your Underſtanding runs ſomething before your [123] Years; but, to tell you ingenuouſly, if it were otherwiſe, I don't think for myſelf, I have a Mother and Aunt, who have the Pri⯑vilege to think for me, and they ſo worthily deſerve thoſe Characters, I hope I ſhall ne⯑ver have a Thought againſt their Inclination. I reply'd, it was my Deſire ſhe never ſhou'd, I only wiſh'd ſhe wou'd have a favourable Regard for me, and give me the ſmalleſt Grounds to hope I was not hateful to her. She reply'd, Hate was not in her Nature; and that ſhe cou'd ſay no more, than that ſhe eſteem'd me equally with all Mankind, and enough to be concern'd at any ill Accident that ſhou'd happen to me.

I was ſo tranſported at this faint Glimpſe of Hope ſhe gave me, that my Tongue broke out in extravagant Expreſſions of Thanks. Hold, Sir, ſaid ſhe, you'll diſturb the Fiſh, and ſpoil the Diverſion I expect; beſide, my Mother and Aunt will hear ypu, and I have kept your former Confeſſion from them, according to your Deſire; but will not promiſe Secrecy for the Future, it is a great Task for one of my Years. I had not time to make her a Reply, for the reſt of the Company had near join'd us, to know whe⯑ther Iſabella's Luck was chang'd or no. Tru⯑ly, [124] ſaid ſhe, I have no Reaſon to complain, I have caught two, with the Aſſiſtance of this young Gentleman; and had like to have caught another, but, for want of Experience, had let him go again. Ay, but Billy, ſaid my Uncle, can teach you how to play a Fiſh up and down the Stream, when once you have it faſt, and be in no Danger of loſing it. You muſt manage a Fiſh, as you will here⯑after do Hearts; tho', I muſt own, if hand⯑ſome Women are mere Fools (which is not Iſabella's Caſe) they ſoon learn that. We don't allow you to be a Judge, reply'd Iſa⯑bella, your Heart has been Eye-proof all your Life; or elſe you have conceal'd that Part of it from us. Why, reply'd my Un⯑cle, if I have never lov'd, I might have had Attempts made upon me, enough to find out the Cunning of the Sex; as your Aunt, I ſuppoſe, may anſwer for ours. I don't de⯑ſire to have the Queſtion begg'd, reply'd the Aunt; but this I am ſure of, there's no knowing whether a Man courts the Purſe, or the Perſon. For my Part, return'd my Un⯑cle, I think a Woman, without a Purſe, is but a deſpicable Creature. I wiſh we cou'd find out ſome other Diſcourſe, return'd the Widow; I think, when we meet, we can [125] never talk upon any other Subject, and, be⯑cauſe we deſpiſe it, I think it the beſt way quite to forget it.

While this Diſcourſe laſted, I obſerv'd Iſa⯑bella more thoughtful than uſual, and I cou'd not help ſecretly hoping, I might have ſome Concern in her Muſing. Yet I was very un⯑eaſy I cou'd not get an Opportunity to ſpeak to her the whole Evening. As we were ta⯑king Leave, my Uncle promis'd to Dine with 'em the third Day following, and the Thought gave me ſome Conſolation.

When the Company was gone, my Uncle and I walk'd in the Garden again. Well, ſaid he, I muſt own the Thoughts of the Per⯑ſidy of this ungrateful Woman do not ſit ſo eaſy upon me, as I cou'd have wiſh'd; in ſpite of all my Fortitude, it ſtole in upon the Pleaſure of the Day, and ſour'd my Satisfac⯑tion. But, continu'd he, I am reſolv'd to have an End put to every thing on that Ac⯑count, to-morrow, if it's poſſible; but I am a little at a Nonplus about it; it wou'd vex me, if we cou'd not bring it about, for Doubt is a very uneaſy Companion. Sir, ſaid I, you have a back Way up to your Study, and I believe it will be no great Difficulty to ſteal in unobſerv'd of any body. You muſt [126] give it out to-night, that you will be abroad to-morrow, all the Morning, and I muſt wait on you. That ſhall be done at Supper, ſaid my Uncle. 'Till that Time came, my diſtracted Thoughts were roving on the dear Iſabella, and Hope and Fear, by turns, poſ⯑ſeſs'd my Soul. Young as I was, I perceiv'd Death wou'd be more welcome to me, than her Diſdain. At Supper, my Uncle told me we ſhou'd riſe betimes to go a Hunting, with ſome Gentlemen that he nam'd; and, added he, I deſign to take my Leave of that Diver⯑ſion, for ſome time, having ſome Buſineſs will keep me at home for a few Days. I obſev'd the Countenance of the Houſekeeper, and thought I ſaw her ſhut up in her Brain ſome ſecret Intention. When ſhe was gone from Table, my Uncle ſaid, he did not know how to order it, for it's poſſible ſhe may go to this Rogue of a Lawyer, and conſult there; and then our Project will come to nothing. We muſt truſt to that, Sir, ſaid I; we ſhall ſoon find it out, and if it proves ſo, we muſt wait till ſome fitter Opportunity. Well, ſaid my Uncle, we ſhall ſee how it proves to⯑morrow. But, Billy, I'd have you go up into the Study, unbolt the Door that leads to the Back-Stairs, lock it only, then bring me the Key.

[127]As I was coming from doing what he or⯑der'd me, I took Notice the Houſekeeper was buſy in Talk with her Son. Immediate⯑ly after, the Boy took his Hat, and went out. I told my Uncle what I had ſeen. We both imagin'd the Boy was gone to give No⯑tice of our going abroad the next Day, for Mr. — the Lawyer, liv'd but a little way from my Uncle's. Why, ſaid my Un⯑cle, after all, Suſpicion ſtrengthens our Ima⯑gination, and every Action of a ſuſpected Perſon alarms us; I wiſh I cou'd be ſure he is gone there. That you ſhall preſently, Sir, ſaid I. Upon ſaying that, I immediately fol⯑low'd him, and walking a good round Pace, got Sight of him juſt as he rung at the Door. I got time enough at the back-ſide of the Porch, unobſerv'd, juſt as the Door was o⯑pen'd. The Boy ask'd for Mr. — who came out to him preſently. As ſoon as he ſaw him, I underſtood he was very fond of him, and call'd him his Dear Boy. Sir, ſaid the Boy, my Mother gives her Service to you, and ſent me to tell you, that the Squire goes out to-morrow to Hunt, 'till Dinner-time, and will expect you by Ten in the Morning. My Love, ſaid he, I'll be ſure to come; I won't ask you to ſtay now, becauſe I have [128] ſome Company with me. So away went the Boy, whiſtling home; and I follow'd, a more ſlow Pace than I went out.

When I came to my Uncle, I inform'd him all I had heard. Well, ſaid he, I find it will come to the Cataſtrophe to-morrow. I'll go to Bed, and think over my Part. So we parted. And I am apt to believe, both our Pillows were uneaſy enough. Tho' my Paſſion kept me long awake, yet I cou'd not chuſe having ſome Concern at what wou'd happen on the Morrow. When we roſe in the Morning, we both mounted, with a Ser⯑vant; and after riding about a Quarter of a Mile, my Uncle (as we had concerted) told me, he had no very great Goût to the Sport, therefore wou'd e'en go back again. But you, ſaid he to me, and Tom (meaning the Man) may go, if you pleaſe. No, Sir, ſaid I, I don't care for going without you. So we turn'd our Horſes Heads homewards; and as we were going ſlowly along, my Uncle order'd the Man to take all the three Horſes to Town (about two Mile from my Uncle's) and beſpeak new Saddles. So we alighted, walk'd over the Park, and got into the Li⯑brary, unperceiv'd of any. When we were in, we bolted the Door on the Inſide, and [129] each of us took a Book in our Hands, to paſs away the Time till the Play was to be⯑gin, for it was not proper to talk to each other; but yet, I believe, we neither of us well knew what we were reading.

The private Door we came in at, was con⯑triv'd by my Uncle, that he might more conveniently make Madam a Viſit, unobſerv'd by the Family, when his Concerns call'd him, and the Door of her Apartment join'd to it, upon the Head of the Stairs, which we ſoon heard open; the Lawyer enter'd alone, where he ſtaid ſome time, and diverted himſelf with humming a Song. At laſt, the Lady came to him, who inform'd him, ſhe cou'd not come ſooner, being ſhe was oblig'd to ſee the Coaſt a little clear.

We ſoon found, by the Lawyer's Diſcourſe, he had ſome Inclination to be merry, before they talk'd of their Affairs. Come, come, ſaid Madam, let's mind Buſineſs firſt; we ſhall have time enough to divert ourſelves, I'll warrant you. Ay, but reply'd the Law⯑yer, 'tis better to be caught in Converſation, than the other Affair; therefore let's make an End of that firſt. And we ſoon found, he was reſolv'd not to be deny'd.

[130]During this Buſineſs, 'twas pleaſant to ſee my Uncle's Countenance, which was com⯑pos'd of half a Smile, about one fourth Part Shame (as I ſuppoſe, to have me a ſort of an Auditor in this unlook'd-for dumb Work,) and the other Fourth, Anger. I believe ſuch a Face cou'd not be compounded out of Le Brun's Paſſions. When their loving Affair was over, Conſultation came on.

Well, ſaid the Lady, what's to be done? I have Reaſon to fear every thing; for I find this Boy grows upon him every Day. To tell you the Truth, reply'd the Lawyer, I'm at a Fault, and have loſt the Scent, and know not how to proceed. I know you Wo⯑men are more fruitful in Inventions of this kind. Indeed, if the Squire's Head were once laid, I cou'd find an Expedient to ſe⯑cure the beſt Part of the Eſtate, without Danger, or finding out. 'Tis not the firſt time I have diſinherited the True Heir, with⯑out the Conſent of the Predeceſſor, even for a ſmall Sum; and you may be ſure I ſhou'd uſe my utmoſt Skill for Thomas, who is our own Child; tho' the Squire, I believe, ima⯑gines himſelf ſole Proprietor in You and Him. It's a very perplexing thing, I vow! reply'd the Houſekeeper; I wiſh both their Necks [131] broke to-day in Hunting, with all my Heart! Ay, that wou'd do, reply'd the Lawyer. I'd find a Will by to-morrow Night (like Moſ⯑cas in the Fox) ſhou'd diſappoint every bo⯑by elſe, without coming near his Puniſhment. Well, I hope it's no Crime, return'd the Houſekeeper to wiſh 'em both in Heaven; nay, if I lent a helping Hand to fit 'em for their Journey, I believe my Conſcience wou'd be as drowſy, as if it had ſip'd off a Doſe of Laudanum. Oh fy! return'd the Lawyer; let us not think of Murder, however; tho', if we were in Italy, I cou'd ſoon procure a Tradeſman or two that deal that way, wou'd do the Work neatly, and very cheap too. But let us not think of that any farther, than in our good Wiſhes. And now let me hear what you can propoſe. What Ready-money does he generally keep at home? (Not that I purpoſe to rob him, I have a better Prin⯑ciple.) Or what Bank or Goldſmiths Notes has he at a time. I don't know, reply'd the Houſekeeper, he keeps himſelf very cloſe as to thoſe Matters, and I ſeldom ſee any of his Money, but his paltry Hundred a Year that he allows me, and what I can ſhip out of Houſekeeping, cutting off Tradeſmen's Bills, and ſo ſorth, which does not amount to above Fifty more.

[132]Come, come, return'd the Lawyer, that's good Pay only for rubbing a Man's Head that's turn'd of Fifty; he does not give you much Trouble, I believe. I wonder how you wou'd conceal your Joy, to ſee that Head we ſpeak of dangling over the Horſe's Tail, brought home as Crook-back'd Richard's was, with his Neck, broke. That wou'd be a joyful Sight indeed, return'd the virtuous Houſekeeper. My Uncle cou'd bear no more, but ruſh'd in upon them, juſt as ſhe had ended. But ſince I have ſav'd my Neck hitherto, return'd my Uncle, I am reſolv'd to hunt leſs, that I may not cauſe ſuch an Alteration in your Minds, for thoſe violent Emotions of the Soul often endanger the Body.

Perſeus's Shield cou'd not have a greater Effect on thoſe that ſaw it, than the Preſence of my Uncle had upon thoſe two Wretches, for they both ſtood like Statues; but my Uncle put a little Life into the Lawyer with his Cane; yet not being fully reviv'd, he ran round the Room ſeveral times, before he cou'd find the Door. At every Stroke of Ac⯑knowledgment my Uncle gave him for the Favours deſign'd him, he expoſtulated with him; and, to end his Favours, kick'd him down Stairs, telling him, he wou'd not take [133] any other Revenge, becauſe, indeed, he did not think it worth while; but bid him go like a Villain as he was, and let his Crime be his Puniſhment. But if he offer'd to make any Words in the Affair, he wou'd find ſome other Method, beſides expoſing him, to have him puniſh'd.

The Lawyer made no Reply, and, I be⯑lieve, thought himſelf very well off. Nei⯑ther was there much Fear of his Tattling, be⯑cauſe it wou'd only expoſe himſelf. Now came the Lady's Share of the Matter, who ſtood quaking and trembling in a Corner of the Room. Will your Ladyſhip be pleas'd, ſaid my Uncle, with your utmoſt Expedi⯑tion, to pack up your Trumpery, and walk off? All the ill Uſage you may expect from me, is to forget you; tho' I think no Pu⯑niſhment bad enough for you. Neither ſhall I leave you, or your Brat, to ſtarve (who in deed is innocent) but allow him the Hundred Pounds a Year for his Life, that he may not ſuffer for the Faults of his Parents. Go, con⯑tinu'd my Uncle; let me have no Reply; take what, you can with you, and ſend for the reſt when you think fit. She went down Stairs, follow'd by my Uncle; and when ſhe had taken a few Things, went out, without [134] opening her Mouth; but whether Grief, or Anger, ty'd her Tongue, I can't tell. When ſhe was gone, my Uncle order'd all her Things to be put together, ready againſt they were ſent for, to the great Surprize of the reſt of the Servants.

After Dinner, my Uncle took me with him to Town, to a Lawyer of his Acquaintance, and order'd him to fill up a Deed, that made his Eſtate liable to a Hundred Pounds per An⯑num, to be paid during the Life of the Houſe⯑keeper's Son, tho' not quite Fourteen. I was made one of the Witneſſes. The next Morn⯑ing, my Uncle order'd it to be ſent to his Mother, for her to be ſatisfy'd; but the Law⯑yer that made it, was to be the Truſtee, whoſe Honeſty and Probity were as great as the other's Villainy. We then ſet out for the Widow's Houſe; and my Uncle told me in the Coach, he was reſolv'd to be merry, not⯑withſtanding this Buſtle that happen'd: And, young Man, ſaid he, You have ſufficient Cauſe for Mirth at what has fall'n out, for your Eſtate will be increas'd; for if I had made my Will before, or not have found 'em out, I ſhou'd have left 'em more conſiderably.

When we came to the Widow's, my Un⯑cle told 'em the whole Story, and they all [135] ſeem'd mightily pleas'd upon my Account; for they imagin'd the Son of the Houſekeeper was to have been Heir. Yet I fanſy'd Iſa⯑bella's Countenance ſeem'd the leaſt concern'd, which ſtruck me to the Soul. After Dinner, I got the happy Opportunity of being alone with her, tho' I imagin'd it was with much Regret on her Side. Madam, ſaid I, my Uncle's expected Fortune does not give me half that Satisfaction, as this Opportunity, if you wou'd be pleas'd to conſider my Paſſion. I have conſider'd it ſo far, Sir, return'd Iſa⯑bella, that I deſire we may think of it no more. The Anſwer ſhe gave, ſtruck me dumb with Grief; and it was ſome time be⯑fore my troubled Heart permitted my Tongue to ſpeak. Well, Madam, then, ſaid I, you have reſolv'd my Death. I own, even the Hopes of Fortune do not give me Merit enough to raiſe my Eyes to ſuch a Pitch of Happineſs. But Time, that produces very ſtrange things, may befriend me in That. I have told you, Sir, return'd the young La⯑dy, our Years are too few to admit of Love; but whenever I ſhall feel the gentle Flame, I have very good Reaſons to believe, I ſhall not much conſult Fortune; I am convinc'd that Money-Matches are not always the hap⯑pieſt; [136] yet the firſt thing ask'd in this Age is, What Fortune has ſhe? If that anſwers their Expectations, then they proceed; if not, they look out farther, and barter for a Wife, as they wou'd for a Set of Coach-Horſes.

In all our Diſcourſe, I had ſome Hope, becauſe I cou'd not find any Grounds for ha⯑ting me; neither cou'd I prevail upon her to declare any thing in favour of me. Her ge⯑neral Anſwer was her Want of Years; yet ſhe told me, ſhe had Diſcretion enough to conceal my Paſſion for her; and ſhe wou'd often ſay her Reaſon was, that if a Perſon cou'd not have an Inclination for a Lover, yet they ought to have ſome Regard for 'em. I was preſſing her to give me ſome Token that I was not indifferent to her, when my Uncle came in, and interrupted us. It was, I own, the firſt time I ever thought his Company a Trouble. Come, young Man, ſaid he, you'll be ſuſpected, you have been together a long time. The Mother and Aunt ſent me to part you. Beſides, yonder's Matter for the young Lady's Tears, the Bu⯑rial of two Lovers. We all went into the Garden, and ſaw two Coffins bearing to the Church. We were told, the young Man [137] had liv'd in the Neighbourhood, and court⯑ing a young Woman of the next Pariſh, her Father had prevail'd upon her to marry ano⯑ther of a better Eſtate, which occaſion'd the young Man's Death, for the Morning of the Marriage was the laſt of his Life, ma⯑king the River his Winding-Sheet. The Bride and Bridegroom coming from Church, were ſtop'd by his Corpſe lying in their Way; the melancholy Object had ſuch an Effect upon the Bride, that ſhe fell down ſpeechleſs on the Body, and in a few Days expir [...]d with Grief. And her laſt Requeſt was, to be bury'd together.

The Story made us all very melancholy, and Iſabella cou'd not forbear ſhedding Tears at the Relation; but we rally'd one another out of our Sorrow. Methinks, ſaid the Mo⯑ther, this Story wou'd make a very good tender Ballad. You need not fear the Bal⯑lad, reply'd the Aunt, by ſome Grub-ſtreet Bard or other. Why, ſaid my Uncle, can't you make a Ballad, Billy? I have ſeen ſome of your Tranſlations from Ovid's Ele⯑gies, and ſuch a diſmal Subject, in my Ima⯑gination, will fit your Muſe to a Hair. Iſa⯑bella ſeem'd mighty fond of ſuch a Thing; tho' I declin'd it, as having never drank of [138] the Streams of Helicon. But when we came home, I ſat down, and lanch'd out, tho' I did not underſtand how to ſteer my Muſe. But the Hopes of pleaſing Iſabella, made me embark; and the next Day, I ſent her the following Letter, by a Servant of my Un⯑cle's, with a Charge to deliver it into her own Hands.

When the Servant return'd, he inform'd me, he had given it into her own Hands, unperceiv'd of any one. I ſhew'd my Uncle the Song, who told me, he believ'd it as good as any of the Grub-ſtreet Quill-drivers cou'd write; but he wou'd not allow it to be a Degree better; however, ſaid he, it may pleaſe the Women well enough, who ſeldom conſider Senſe, but Sound. I reply'd, I was to be excus'd, it being my firſt Eſſay, and very probably might be my laſt.

[144]While we were at Dinner, a Meſſenger came with a Letter from my Father, deſiring my Uncle to let me come home for a few Days, in order to get every thing ready for the Univerſity; when that was done, I ſhou'd return, and ſtay with him till I was to go there. My Uncle agreed to it, and wou'd accompany me himſelf. Sir, ſaid I, wou'd it not be proper to wait upon the Ladies, to take Leave? Ho! return'd my Uncle, are you ſo loth to part with 'em for ſo ſhort a Time? What will you do, when you are at the Univerſity, where you muſt not return for the firſt Year? For a whole Year, Sir? ſaid I: Is there a Neceſſity for ſtaying ſo long, before I wait on you, or any of my Relations? Yes, reply'd my Uncle, if you wou'd be thought to mind your Studies; but I can't perceive, continu'd he, there is a Ne⯑ceſſity for going there at all; and that is the Reaſon why I ſhall wait on your Worſhip to your Father, to endeavour to perſuade him to let you and your Tutor be with me; I dare anſwer for you, it will not hinder the Progreſs of your Learning; you ſhall want neither Maſters, Books, nor Money; and I am convinc'd the Univerſities often ſpoil more Youth, than they cultivate with good Edu⯑cation. [145] Youth is like Wax, fit for any Im⯑preſſion; they as ſoon take an ill, as a good one. Tho', I muſt own, I have nothing to fear from you; and I freely confeſs, 'tis the Regret I have to part with you, makes me deſire your not going to the Univerſity; tho' if it does not agree with your Sentiments, I ſhall ſay no more about it. I told him, I was very well inclin'd to it, and cou'd not but a⯑gree with his Thoughts. Well then, ſaid my Uncle, we'll away immediately, and, if it's poſſible, return to-morrow. I hope that ſhort Abſence from the Ladies will not break your Heart.

I made him no Reply, but went to prepare for my Journey with a good Inclination, for, I muſt own, I long'd to ſee my Father, and obſerve how Matters were carry'd on at home, not doubting but my Mother-in-law was ſtill in the Way of Goodneſs; tho' I had receiv'd no Recommendation from her, ei⯑ther in my Father's Letter, or by the Meſſen⯑ger, but I knew my Father ſeldom regarded thoſe formal Matters.

As we came within three Mile of my Fa⯑ther's, my Uncle's Servant ſtopt a Horſe that was running away without his Rider, and a little farther, we cou'd perceive a Man lying [146] weltring in Blood; when we approach'd him, we found him ſenſeleſs; and I was ſomething ſurpriz'd to find it the Surgeon that had the Care of me, when I was wound⯑ed by my Brother. My Uncle was as much concern'd as I was, when he knew who it was. We took him up, and found his Scull was fractur'd; but we did not doubt, if we cou'd get timely Aid, but he might be reco⯑ver'd. We put him into my Uncle's Coach, and drove to the next Town, with all the Expedition was conſiſtent with the Surgeon's Condition; by good Fortune, we met with one of his own Acquaintance and Profeſſion, who took him in Hand, dreſs'd him, and brought him to his Senſes, tho' with much Fear of his Life; he being a groſs Man, a Fever had ſeiz'd the Blood; and all agreed, his Life was in Danger. However, he ſeem'd very much pleas'd to find me ſo near him; and I had ſome Thoughts it might prove a convenient Opportunity to work out that Se⯑cret he inform'd me he knew of my Mother-in-law; but finding it not proper to talk much, I reſolv'd with myſelf to come to him again: So we took our Leaves, and arriv'd ſafe at my Father's, who, not expecting us the ſame Day he ſent to us, was gone to viſit a neighbouring Gentleman.

[147]My Mother ſeem'd very much rejoic'd at our Arrival, and welcoming me with Tears, her Tenderneſs gave me no ſmall Satisfaction. My Brother John, indeed, look'd as glum upon me, as if I had been come to rob him of his Birth-right. My Uncle perceiving his Behaviour, rattled him, in his merry way; but it had no other Effect, than bringing Tears into his Eyes, and running to tell Ma⯑ma. Zounds! ſays my Uncle (when he was gone) what a Country Cub it is! Why don't they put him Prentice to a Farmer, for he'll never be fit for any thing, but to follow the Plough.

When my Father came home, he told my Uncle, he did not think he ſhou'd have com⯑ply'd with his Deſires ſo ſoon, as not expect⯑ing me in two or three Days. Why, ſaid my Uncle, we made the more Expedition here, that we may return the ſooner; and, becauſe you ſhou'd not keep him too long, I came with him, to carry him back. In ſhort, the Matter was made up that Night. It was agreed my Tutor and I ſhou'd go back with my Uncle. I muſt own, I was not a little pleas'd, for I fear'd the good Woman, my Mother-in-law, might oppoſe it; but ſhe readily conſented, to ſave Charges, I ſup⯑poſe.

[148]While I was walking in the Garden alone, Betty came up to me, and wept for Joy to ſee me. Well, ſaid I, Betty, how go Mat⯑ters between you and my Mother? Is the Affair made up? I hope I am to take no more Phyſic! The poor Girl was ready to ſink at the Word Phyſic. Indeed, Sir, ſaid ſhe (after a long Pauſe) I believe you know every thing of former Affairs; but if you do, you alſo know I have ſufficiently repented of my Part, and I hope my Miſtreſs has of hers. I gave her ſo many Hints, that ſhe confeſs'd every thing. I was ſtruck with Horror at her Relation, for ſhe diſcover'd ſuch Traps they had deſign'd to get rid of me, that I thought it almoſt impoſſible they ſhou'd en⯑ter into the Minds of Women. Sir, ſaid Betty, you may find, by my Story, I am at a true Confeſſion; nay, I wou'd kneel down at your Feet for Pardon, if it might not be obſerv'd by any body. I told her, I had pardon'd her long ago, as well as my Mo⯑ther, who might have had ſomething of a ſtronger Tye to uſe me well, than ſhe. I hope, ſaid Betty, ſhe has forgot what is paſt, or if ſhe remembers it, 'tis only as I do, to think with Horror on what was deſign'd, and a high Satisfaction in knowing we are in⯑nocent [149] of the Fact; tho', purſu'd ſhe, there does not ſeem to be that Candour and Free⯑dom between us, as there was when we were wickedly caballing againſt your innocent Life; therefore I have ſome Intention of leaving her Service, and going to my Rela⯑tions in Wales, where, I hope, I have e⯑nough to laſt me moderately all my Life. I told her, I was aſſur'd my Uncle wou'd ac⯑cept of her for his Houſekeeper, upon my Recommendation, if ſhe thought fit, for at preſent he had never a one. She ſeem'd mightily rejoic'd at the Propoſal, telling me, it was the only Thing ſhe ſhou'd deſire. I bid her not take any Notice of it to any body, till ſhe heard from me again; which ſhe pro⯑mis'd, and we parted.

The next Day, I took an Opportunity, early in the Morning, to viſit the Surgeon, and found him much better than any one ex⯑pected, tho' he himſelf had no Thoughts of Recovery. He told me, he was very much oblig'd to me, for the Care I had taken of him; and, notwithſtanding he was convinc'd his End was near, yet he thought Providence had a Hand in ſending me to his Aſſiſtance; therefore, as I wou'd not willingly go out of the World (ſaid he) without acquainting you [150] with what I had formerly hinted to you, for fear you ſhou'd nouriſh the Opinion, that I wanted only to create Uneaſineſs, without any Grounds; therefore, if you pleaſe, now I find I have Strength enough, I'll acquaint you with all I know, if you'll order the Room to be clear'd for a little while; which was ſoon done. I ſat down by his Bedſide, when he began as follows.

You know, we Country-Surgeons are ge⯑nerally bred Apothecaries. I ſerv'd my Time with one, eminent in both Faculties, and it was allow'd by every body, I was not behind⯑hand in my Maſter's Experience. He us'd to truſt his Patients, in general, to me, after my Capacity had been thought equal to ſuch a Charge.

Sir Charles, your Mother-in-law's former Husband, liv'd near die Town, and my Ma⯑ſter was very great there; inſomuch, that it was thought the Knight was in a fair Road to Heaven, with my Maſter's Aſſiſtance; but it is often the Fate of Cuckolds, to be one of the laſt in diſcovering his own Horns. For ſeveral Years, the Knight and my Maſter were very gracious: They often rid a Hunt⯑ing together. But one Day, when it was ſuppos'd my Maſter wanted an Opportunity [151] of converſing with the Knight's Wife, took an Occaſion of leaving him, making all the Haſte he cou'd to viſit the Lady. The Knight miſſing my Maſter, tho' not miſtruſt⯑ing any thing of the Matter, went home like⯑wiſe, and going up to his Lady's Chamber, found the Door ſhut; but peeping thro' the Keyhole, perceiv'd ſhe had got his Compa⯑nion with her, and both in a Poſture not ve⯑ry decent. The Knight, being neither a Hercules nor an Ajax, ſtood ſome time to conſider what he ſhou'd do (as he told me af⯑terwards) but at laſt, ſummoning all his Courage, he burſt the Door open, and ſur⯑priz'd 'em very diſadvantageouſly, giving my Maſter ſeveral Strokes upon the naked Buttocks, ere he cou'd put up the proper Covering; but, being a good-humour'd eaſy Man, and a Wittol to boot, at their Tears and Entreaties, forgave 'em both; but wou'd not allow of my Maſter's Correſpondence any more. When any thing was wanted from the Shop, I always carry'd it; till, by de⯑grees, I got into the good Graces of the Knight, and rid out a Hunting with him; tho' not ſo often as my Maſter us'd to do; but I believe he gave me Leave more readily, that he might have a better Opportunity of viſiting the Lady,

[152]In one of the Knight's drunken Moods, he diſcover'd what I have told you, between his Wife and my Maſter, which I was igno⯑rant of before; but, ſaid he, they have pro⯑mis'd me never to do the like again. I only ſmil'd at his Simplicity, and confirm'd him in his Belief; tho' I was pretty well convinc'd, when I look'd a little backwards, they only met as often as they had an Opportunity. In a few Days after this Confeſſion, when I was a Hunting with him, he ſeem'd to be leſs merry than uſual: I ask'd him the Reaſon: He told me, he believ'd his Wife continu'd to ſee my Maſter in a criminal manner; tho' he was not convinc'd by Proof. I ask'd him the Reaſon of his Belief. Said he, going in⯑to my Wife's Chamber this Morning, as ſhe was dreſſing herſelf, a Letter drop'd from her Boſom, which I took up, and was well aſſur'd 'twas your Maſter's Hand; I open'd it, and had but juſt time to read, My Dear, when my Wife, in ſome Confuſion, ſnatch'd it out of my Hand, and told me it was a Letter from a Relation of hers. I told her, I was aſſur'd it was the Doctor's Hand. Well, ſaid ſhe, if you are jealous, you ſhan't ſee it now; but I'll give you Leave to read it when you come back from Hunting. I [153] was forc'd to be ſatisfy'd, continu'd the Knight; but I ſhall be convinc'd 'tis ſo, if ſhe pretends to have loſt the Letter. The Knight took an Opportunity of ſeeing me the ſame Evening. He told me, with a great deal of Joy in his Countenance, that he was deceiv'd. See here the Letter that gave me ſo much Uneaſineſs. I took it from him, and ſoon knew my Maſter's Hand, tho' he had endeavour'd to write not like himſelf.

I cou'd not chuſe but ſmile at the Cheat that was put upon him; it was plain enough that ſhe had acquainted my Maſter with the Matter, and while the Knight was gone a Hunting, he wrote her another in a Woman's Name, beginning as the other did, about no⯑thing at all to any Purpoſe. I was convinc'd in my Suppoſition when I came home, for my Maſter pulling out a Parcel of Papers, gave me one to take Directions for com⯑pounding ſome Medicines; I ſoon found it was the Father to the Letter the Knight ſhewed ſome time before, for it began as the other did, and Sir Charles's Name was men⯑tion'd in it. I told my Maſter, ſmiling, I cou'd find no Directions there for me. Odſo! ſaid he, I have given you the wrong Letter; that neither concerns you nor me. He immedi⯑ately [154] fumbled out the right one, and went away in ſome Confuſion of Countenance. I was very uneaſy myſelf, that he knew I had diſcover'd the Secret of his Intrigue, tho' it cou'd not properly be call'd a Secret, that was whiſper'd every where.

Some time after, my Maſter was caught a⯑gain, making the Beaſt with two Backs with the Knight's Wife; which ſo enrag'd the Cuckold, that he reſolv'd to have Recourſe to Law for Redreſs; but, as I was now his Oracle, I perſuaded him from it, tho' with ſome Difficulty, and in a little time his Re⯑ſentment began to ſleep again; tho' he watch'd his Wife ſo narrowly, there cou'd be no Time to graft another Antler; for I muſt own to you, I did all I cou'd to prevent it, giving him Notice, when I ſuſpected any Movement that way. Yet, I muſt confeſs, had it been my own Caſe, I ſhou'd ſooner have thought of revenging myſelf on the Cuckold-maker, than bore it ſo patiently; but there is nothing to be ſaid for the Tem⯑pers of Men.

This Strictneſs continu'd for near half a Year, and, I verily believe, much to the Diſcontent of the Lady. At laſt the Knight fell ſick, perhaps thro' his Perturbation of [155] Spirit, or for want of his uſual Exerciſe; for he had undertaken a voluntary Confinement, in order to inſpect the Actions of his Wife. During his Illneſs, ſhe ſeem'd very tender of him, hardly ever being from his Bedſide; which the good-natur'd Knight took ſo kind⯑ly, that I even fanſy'd he was reſolv'd, when he was recover'd, to leave her to her own Conduct; for ſhe expreſs'd ſo much Sorrow for her paſt Actions, that I was myſelf de⯑ceiv'd. The Diſpoſition to Goodneſs of the Wife, had an extraordinary Effect on the Husband, and he began to mend apace: He left his Bed, where, thro' Weakneſs, he had remain'd for ten Days, and walk'd about his Chamber, gathering Strength hourly, in leſs Time than his Illneſs had kept him in Bed. He had recover'd his former Strength, and had fixt a Day with me to ride out; but, in the mean time he was to take ſome Phyſic which I ſent him; but, to my great Surprize and Confuſion, the Day he had taken it, I found him expiring in the utmoſt Agonies. He was ſpeechleſs when I came to him, and in leſs than five Minutes breath'd his laſt.

The Lady was all in Tears, rav'd at me, telling me I had certainly given him ſome⯑thing by Miſtake. I aſſur'd her to the con⯑trary, [156] and inform'd her it was compos'd by my Maſter, before my Face, and what he had taken cou'd not hurt an Infant. She held her Tongue, when ſhe underſtood who it was that had made up what he took, which immediately ſtruck my Fancy there was ſome Villainy in the Caſe.

My Maſter hearing of the Knight's Death, came while I was there, and examining the Body, ſeem'd in very great Confuſion. We both went home together, without one Word paſſing between us. When we had been there ſome time, my Maſter told me he had ſome⯑thing to diſcloſe, if I wou'd ſwear ſolemnly to keep it a Secret. I anſwer'd him, if he was in any doubt of my Fidelity, to keep the Secret to himſelf. Well then, ſaid he, give me your Word not to diſcover it, and I will tell you; which I did.

I am afraid, ſaid he, the Knight has not had fair Play for his Life; for, viewing his Body, I cou'd eaſily perceive ſtrong Symp⯑toms of Poiſon; and what ſtrengthens my Opinion is, that ſome time ago ſhe prevail'd upon me to let her have ſome Ratsbane, in order, as ſhe ſaid, to clear the Granary of Vermin. I eaſily came into my Maſter's Opinion; and, by his declaring it to me, [157] was well aſſur'd he was innocent. I am ſo ſhock'd, ſaid my Maſter, at the Barbarity of the Woman, that I am reſolv'd never to go near her more; neither will I make any further En⯑quiry into the Buſineſs, but leave her to her own wicked Thoughts. Tho' perhaps I have not, in my paſt Days, had any great Regard for Religion, and might leave it to be deci⯑ded by Chance, as the King of Macaſar did ^*: Yet ſhe has ſo alarm'd my drowſy [158] Conſcience, that I ſhall, for the future, en⯑deavour to lead a Life conſonant to one that thinks of Futurity. We both agreed, it was the beſt way to be ſilent in the unhappy Af⯑fair.

In a few Days the Knight was bury'd, without the leaſt Suſpicion of any thing but a Natural Death. My Maſter and I were invited to the Funeral, but neither of us went. And, for my own Part, I never car'd to go near the Houſe; for the Thought of its har⯑bouring ſo cruel a Woman, made me abhor it. My Maſter, I believe, imagin'd the ſame, for he never made the Widow a Viſit. In a Fortnight after the Funeral, ſhe ſent a Let⯑ter to my Maſter, which was to this Effect; (for he gave it to me to read, having before that, freely declar'd to me the Correſpondence that had paſt between 'em.) She wonder'd [159] mightily at his long Abſence; and that ſhe wou'd have come to him long before, if Decency wou'd have permitted her; but ſhe hop'd to ſee him that Evening, having diſpos'd every thing to favour their Meeting.

My Maſter return'd her an Anſwer, I be⯑lieve, little to her Expectation; telling her plainly, he reſolv'd never to ſee her more; alſo hinting her unnatural Barbarity to her Husband. I can't tell you what Effect it had upon her, but ſhe ſent no more Letters or Meſſages. I often told my Maſter, I was a⯑fraid ſhe wou'd reſent his ſlighting of her, to his Prejudice: He laugh'd at that, as ima⯑gining himſelf out of her Power. But, in leſs than a Month's time, my unfortunate Maſter going to viſit a Relation, about ten Miles from the Place where we liv'd, was found murder'd and thrown into a Copſe near the Road. He lay ſeveral Days before he was found; and might have laid longer, if a Gentleman had not gone thro' that Way a Hunting. I muſt confeſs, my Heart forbod⯑ed ſome ſuch Miſchance, when ſending to ſeek him at his Relation's, was inform'd he went from thence the ſame Evening he came there.

[160]Great Inquiſition was made after the Mur⯑derer, but was never found to this Day; yet, whoever did it, I was well aſſur'd within my ſelf, the Widow had put 'em on; but as I cou'd not bring any Proof, I kept my Opi⯑nion to myſelf, well knowing, if I ſhou'd endeavour to proſecute her, it wou'd be a cer⯑tain Charge to me, and perhaps diſcover no⯑thing. Yet, I muſt own, I cou'd never give her a good Word; and tho' I had always a Watch upon my Tongue, yet I cou'd not avoid raving againſt her in all Companies.

Some time after the Death of my Maſter, I imagin'd I had found out the Murderer. A Trooper that was quarter'd in the Town, of a ſudden had got into the Equipage of a Gen⯑tleman, and it was ſhrewdly ſuſpected he oc⯑cupy'd the Widow. I was convinc'd in my Suſpicion. One Morning early being call'd to one that was taken ſuddenly ill, and being oblig'd to paſs by the Widow's Door, I cou'd perceive, tho' dark, her Door open, and this Trooper, mention'd before, let in by the Wi⯑dow herſelf. This Fellow, whenever he paſs'd by our Shop, I cou'd perceive always a ſudden Turn of Countenance from what he had on before. One Day, as he was paſſing by, ſome of my Neighbours were talking [161] with me concerning the Murder of my late Maſter; and I cou'd not help ſaying, loud enough to be heard by the Trooper, that I ſuſpected a Perſon that often paſs'd by our Door, had been his Murderer, and look'd full in the Fellow's Face. He chang'd as pale as Aſhes. But all the while I ſtaid in that Town, which was upward of two Years afterwards, I never ſet Eyes on him; and the next time I ſaw him, I found him lurk⯑ing about your Father's Houſe, which con⯑vinces me not only that he was the Murderer of my Maſter, but that he correſponds with your Mother-in-law at this Time.

Now, Sir, added the Doctor, I have told you this Secret, which I have kept near Se⯑venteen Years; neither ſhou'd I have diſco⯑ver'd it now, if I did not firmly believe I am going into another World; for, notwith⯑ſtanding every one tells me I am much bet⯑ter, I am convinc'd I have not ten Days to live. I endeavour'd to put him out of that idle Conceit, but all to no purpoſe. So I took my Leave, after promiſing him to keep his Secret; and within the Time he mention'd, I was inform'd he dy'd, after telling the very Hour of his Death. I return'd home, full of many disjointed Thoughts, wondering [162] how Providence had order'd my Father to marry ſuch a wicked Woman. But then a⯑gain, I did not doubt but ſhe had repented of her former Wickedneſs, and walk'd in the Paths towards Grace, which gave me ſome Comfort, but not enough to hinder my wiſh⯑ing ſhe never had been one of our Family.

Betty had told me nothing of this Affair, neither was I aſſur'd ſhe liv'd with her at that time; but I was reſolv'd to be inform'd the firſt Opportunity. In the Afternoon, I took an Occaſion to get my Tutor out of the way, and being alone, beckon'd Betty to come to me. Pray, ſaid I, Betty, do you know any thing of my Mother's former Husband, Sir Charles? No, Sir, ſaid ſhe, I came to live with my Lady not long before her Marriage to your Father. But, ſaid I, know you no⯑thing of a Galant of my good Mother-in-law's? for I have ſome Reaſon to ſuſpect her of being guilty that way. Indeed, ſaid ſhe, bluſhing, that is the only Thing I have kept a Secret from you, and, I believe, the very Reaſon of my Lady's Coldneſs to me; for the Perſon ſhe correſponds with, or rather, the Perſon ſhe has correſponded with, for I have great Hopes ſhe has left it off, coming to me as uſual, I flatly deny'd him Entrance, [163] and farther told him, I was aſſur'd my Lady wou'd break off with him, being aſham'd of the Injury ſhe had done ſo good a Hus⯑band. I never acquainted my Lady with what I ſaid to him; but I obſerv'd her Cold⯑neſs took beginning ſome time after this. I ask'd her what ſort of Perſon he was? She told me, a young Gentleman of a very good Family, fallen to Decay, who ſhe believ'd was forc'd, thro' Neceſſity, to what he did. That can't be the Perſon, ſaid I, that I ſu⯑ſpect; for he I mean, muſt be above Forty. There is, ſaid Betty, ſometimes, a Man of that Age with my Lady; but ſhe ever took care to keep their Affair private, even from me; but however, I am aſſur'd there is no criminal Converſation between 'em.

I did not tell Betty any thing that I knew of what the Doctor inform'd me; but we parted with an Aſſurance of my ſucceeding with my Uncle in what I promis'd her. In the Afternoon my Uncle rid out with me, when I broke the Matter about Betty. I thought, ſaid my Uncle, you had enough of Houſekeepers already. Sir, ſaid I, I have enough of ſuch a one as your laſt; neither am I afraid of any great Familiarity between you, for Betty is neither young, nor handſome. [164] Nay, ſaid my Uncle, I can give you a bet⯑ter Reaſon than all that, which I am aſſur'd you'll ſoon come into, and that is, I am not ſo young, by Twenty Years, as I was Twen⯑ty Years ago. That's true, Sir, ſaid I; but I am flatter'd I can give you a better Reaſon that you ſhou'd accept of Betty, that is, it is the only Thing I can deſire of you. Well, ſaid my Uncle, your Deſires ſhall be grant⯑ed. But we muſt limit Betty's Power; for you know the former had all in her own Hands. I told him, I wanted nothing elſe, but that ſhe might be accepted; we would both leave the Terms to him. But hold, ſaid my Uncle, I have one Scruple juſt now aroſe, concerning this Affair, which muſt be got over, and that is, whether my Siſter will be willing to part with her. Sir, ſaid I, if you will hear me a little while with Patience, and give me your Word never to diſcloſe what I ſhall tell you, I will inform you of ſomething will very much ſurprize you. Well, ſaid my Uncle, I ſhall come to your Terms, be they what they will.

I then related to him all that had happen'd while I was at home, in every Circumſtance. When I had finiſh'd, my Uncle was quite confounded! Is it poſſible, ſaid he, there [165] can be ſuch a Woman breathing? If I did not give Credit to you, continu'd he, I ſhou'd have imagin'd I had heard a Ro⯑mance. But, however, I am convinc'd, and think my Service for Betty but poor Recom⯑pence for her Return to Virtue. But I know not how to look on that injurious Woman, who may, under the Cover of Affection, ſtill retain her Barbarity. I think it wou'd be but juſt and reaſonable to give my Brother ſome Hint of her former Inhumanity. A Woman of her Cunning may counterfeit Vir⯑tue, when ſhe is replete with Vice. I beg'd my Uncle not to take any farther Notice of it, 'till we had ſome Grounds of her return⯑ing to Wickedneſs; and if we ſhou'd find the leaſt ſwerving from Virtue, to bring Bet⯑ty for Proof of what was paſt, and put my Father out of all manner of Danger from her Wiles, or Reſentment.

I know not, ſaid my Uncle; I like it not, and ſhall hardly be perſuaded to conceal the Knowledge of her Perfidy. You know the old Saying, Boy, What's bred in the Bone, is never out of the Fleſh. Dear Uncle, ſaid I, let me intreat you to conceal what I have told you, till we perceive ſomething in her Conduct to give us Cauſe to ſuſpect her a⯑gain, [166] and then you may do juſt as you pleaſe, He promis'd to comply with my Requeſt, which gave me no ſmall Satisfaction.

When we came home, we found my Fa⯑ther, and Mother-in-law, very merry in the Garden; but finding myſelf little inclin'd to Mirth, I left my Uncle to make one of the Company. Beſide, I wanted to confer with Betty, but cou'd not find her all over the Houſe. I imagin'd ſhe might be walking under the Trees before the Houſe, ſo, upon that Suppoſition, went to ſeek her; when I had got thro' the Court-Yard, I perceiv'd Betty was not there; but I cou'd not help ob⯑ſerving an old Woman prying about the Houſe, with a Basket upon her Arm: I went to her, and demanding of her, whether ſhe had any Buſineſs there, ſhe anſwer'd ſhe had ſome fine Oranges for my Lady. My Lady is at preſent buſy, ſaid I; but pray let me ſee your Oranges; which ſhe did, after ſome aukward Difficulty. Her Reluctance in ſhewing me her Fruit, rais'd a Suſpicion in my Mind, which made me reſolve to be ſatisfy'd, if poſſible. They are fine Oranges, good Woman, ſaid I; and I believe my La⯑dy will buy 'em all: But I wiſh you had ſome Peaches, for I have a great Mind to [167] ſome, and wou'd give a good Price for 'em. I wiſh I had known that, ſaid the old Wo⯑man, I cou'd have brought you ſome of the fineſt in England. I told her, if ſhe wou'd go back and fetch 'em, I ſhou'd be very much oblig'd to her. You may leave your Basket in that Green-Houſe, to ſecure 'em; I'll lock the Door, and give you the Key. She ſeem'd willing to conſent to that; ſo I did as I ſaid, gave her the Key, and away ſhe went. As ſoon as ſhe was out of Sight, I went the Back-way, and got into the Green-Houſe thro' the Window. I began to examine her Basket very narrowly, yet found nothing that I expected to find; but hand⯑ling the Oranges, I perceiv'd one of 'em to be very light, and at laſt found it was hol⯑low. I undid it, with much Difficulty, for it was put together with Pins without Heads. In it I found a Slip of Paper roll'd up, whoſe Contents I tranſcrib'd with a Pencil:

When I had done, I put it up again, and, with much Difficulty, left it in the ſame Or⯑der as I found it. I then return'd to expect the Woman. I really imagin'd by this Let⯑ter, that my Mother-in-law deſign'd to be honeſt, and what ſhe had wrote to her Ga⯑lant, was only a Pretext to keep him quiet. However I did deſign to ſuſpend my Judg⯑ment [169] till the next Day; and if I perceiv'd my Mother went to the Place appointed, it wou'd not be unnatural to believe her ſtill guilty.

When the Woman brought me the Peaches, I ask'd her, if I ſhou'd acquaint my Mother that ſhe was there. Yes, Sir, ſaid ſhe, if you pleaſe, and thank you too. I immedi⯑ately went, and met her coming out of the Garden. When I told her who wanted her, I cou'd perceive her Countenance change; but ſhe hid her Confuſion, by wiping her Face with her Handkerchief. I wou'd fain have follow'd her, to have obſerv'd (tho' at a Diſ⯑tance) her Behaviour to the Woman; but ſhe took her into a back Parlour, ſhutting the Door after her. They were a pretty while to⯑gether, and, when they parted, I cou'd per⯑ceive a great deal of Diſcontent in the Coun⯑tenance of my Mother-in-law. When the Woman was gone, I reſolv'd to follow her, and try, if by any Stratagem I cou'd find my Mother's Reſolutions. I ſoon overtook her, at which ſhe ſeem'd ſomething ſurpriz'd. Good Woman, ſaid I, I came after you to know whereabouts you dwell, for your Fruit was ſo good, as I ride out now and then, I deſign to call upon you, to buy ſome more; [170] for tho', added I, we have Fruit enough in our own Garden, it is ſo narrowly watch'd by the Gardener, according to my Mother's Directions, that I can never get any. That is (reply'd the old Go-between) for fear you ſhou'd eat too much. However, if you have a mind to traffick that way with me, I live in ſuch a Place, I am eaſy enough to be found, every Child knows Goody — Well then, ſaid I, I'll come to ſee you to-morrow in the Afternoon. Odſo! return'd the old Woman, now I think on't, I ſhan't be at home to-morrow; but any other time you'll be ſure to find me. Why, if you are not, ſaid I, I ſuppoſe you have ſomebody at your Houſe that can ſerve me. No, indeed han't I, return'd the Woman. I ask'd her ſo ma⯑ny Queſtions, that, tho' a Woman ignorant enough, ſhe began to ſmell a Rat, and ſeem'd ſo very ſhy in her Anſwers afterwards, that plainly inform'd me ſhe was tir'd of my Com⯑pany. She at laſt told me, ſhe wou'd not ſell me any Fruit if I came for it, for fear it ſhou'd do me an Injury. I try'd many Ways to bring her into Humour again, but to no Purpoſe, and I did not care to ſay any more, for fear ſhe ſhou'd be confirm'd in her Suſpicions. However, I kept her ſo long in [171] Talk, that a Man met us, who I obſerv'd wanted to diſcourſe the old Woman. When he came up with us, I cou'd perceive the old Woman wink at him, and ſeem'd to exact from him a cautious Behaviour. The Perſon ſeem'd to be in ſome Confuſion; however, he call'd her by her Name, and ask'd whoſe Child I was; with a great many common Words of Pretty Youth, and ſo forth; but when ſhe told him who I was, his Counte⯑nance expreſs'd the utmoſt Confuſion. He ask'd her, in a haſty manner, What Buſineſs I had with her? I don't know (ſaid the old Woman) Maſter wants to buy ſome Fruit of me, and wou'd fain come to-morrow, and I have told him, I ſhan't be in the Way. If that be all, anſwer'd the Gentleman, looking wiſtfully on the old Woman, you may com⯑ply with the young Man, for I ſuppoſe you will not be abroad all Day. No, ſaid the old Woman, only in the Afternoon. Why, ſaid I, 'tis only in the Morning that I can come out; but you ſeem, ſaid I to the old Woman, not very willing to part with what you deal in, to me, as perhaps doubting my Pay. But to convince you I am ſincere in what I ſay, there's Money beforehand, and I deſire you will ſave me two Dozen of the [172] ſame I had of you to-day, and I'll be with you by Seven a Clock in the Morning.

She made ſeveral aukward Speeches in re⯑ceiving my Money; but I found the Sight of it pleas'd her very well; and ſo we parted. I had a ſtrong Deſire to know their Confe⯑rence, but I was oblig'd to be contented till the next Day. I did not doubt of my Mo⯑ther-in-law's going to the Place of Rendez⯑vous; but then I imagin'd ſhe might go to pacify that Burleigh mention'd in the Note. However, I reſolv'd with myſelf to keep it a Secret from my Uncle, and uſe my utmoſt Endeavour to know ſomething of their Con⯑ference the next Day.

I aroſe next Morning, without ſleeping a Wink all Night, my Thoughts were ſo con⯑fus'd and troubleſome to me. I got out be⯑fore my Uncle, or any of the Family were ſtirring, except ſome of the Servants. I di⯑rected my Steps towards the Town, and met the old Woman before I had got half way. I was ſomewhat ſurpriz'd, becauſe it was not much paſt Six, which was an Hour before I promis'd to come. So, ſaid I, good Woman, you are reſolv'd to ſave me a Walk, I ſee. No, Sir, ſaid ſhe, not for that; but I have a freſh Parcel of Oranges come in laſt Night, [173] and my Lady order'd me to bring ſome of the firſt I had. Why, good Woman, ſaid I, ſhe can't want any yet, ſure; you brought her a ſufficient Quantity Yeſterday, to ſerve her a great while, even as long as they will laſt good. I can't tell for that, ſaid ſhe, but as long as ſhe order'd me to bring her ſome, I'll e'en carry 'em. But, ſaid I, why did not you bring my Fruit at the ſame time. Laud! ſaid the old Woman, I proteſt I for⯑got it. But I ſhall be back preſently, and then I'll gather 'em freſh for you; for as yet, I'll aſſure you, they are growing. I ſoon found, by all this Hurry, there was another Letter to be deliver'd, and I was reſolv'd to read it by fair means, or otherwiſe. Pray, ſaid I, good Woman, how do you ſell your Ware a Dozen? Why truly, Sir, ſaid ſhe, Half a Crown. Why then, ſaid I, I'll give you the Money, and make my Mother a Preſent of 'em.

The Woman was ſtruck dumb at what I ſaid. But at laſt ſhe recover'd her Confuſion, and, with a ſtammering Tongue, told me ſhe wou'd not do ſuch a Thing for all the World. Pray, good Woman, ſaid I, can you, out of your Wiſdom, tell me what Reaſon you have for refuſing me your O⯑ranges, [174] when I offer to pay you for 'em, and carry 'em home myſelf, without giving you any farther Trouble? She cou'd not give me any reaſonable Anſwer to my Que⯑ſtion; ſo I e'en reſolv'd to declare to her my Knowledge of her Affair, which, when I had done, ſhe fell down upon her Knees, and begg'd I wou'd forgive her; telling me, ſhe wou'd never be guilty of the like again. Good Woman, ſaid I, the Way to make me excuſe you, and keep this a Secret, (tho' ſuch a guilty Commerce is the greateſt Crime) is to deliver me your whole Affair, and deal in⯑genuouſly with me. I have given you con⯑vincing Proofs that I know your Proceedings hitherto, and ſhall be able to judge whether you are ſincere or no. Why then, truly, Sir, ſaid ſhe, all I have done was merely out of Neceſſity. Mr. Wigmore, you know, has a very perſuaſive Tongue, eſpecially back'd with his Money. Well, good Woman, ſaid I, go on, for at preſent, I have no Ac⯑quaintance with the Perſon you mention. Really, nor I neither, but that he has come often to our Houſe to meet my Lady; and it was the ſame Perſon you ſaw with me Yeſter⯑day.

[175]I was too eager to ask many Queſtions, therefore, I bid her tell me what was her preſent Errant. Nothing, Sir, but to carry a Letter in an Orange, as I did Yeſterday in the Afternoon. Upon that, I took out the Orange ſhe told me it was in, and read as follows:

When I had read the Note, I was well convinc'd my Mother was return'd to her for⯑mer Vice; but cou'd not determine which was the beſt Way, either to ſend the Letter, or keep it to ſhew my Father and Uncle, to convince 'em of her Perfidy. While I was reading the Epiſtle, the Woman had time to come to herſelf; and ask'd me how ſhe ſhou'd behave in the Affair. For, ſaid ſhe, if I go back, Mr. Wigmore will certainly diſ⯑cover me; therefore, if you will pleaſe to in⯑ſtruct me in what I ſhall ſay to him, I will be ſure to follow your Directions. Well, good Woman, ſaid I, ſince you are ſo conde⯑ſcending, I'll ask your Advice, for I don't doubt, however you expreſs yourſelf in Words, you have Cunning enough in your Buſineſs to adviſe me. If you think ſo, Sir, ſaid ſhe, you ſhall have my Counſel, ſuch as it is. Hold then, ſaid I, ſince it is ſo, let me do as a Client ſhou'd do, pay my Fee beforehand. Upon ſaying this, I gave her a Crown. She was very much ſurpriz'd at it, and view'd me from Head to Foot, as if ſhe had ſaid, ſhe cou'd not imagine I was [177] Maſter of ſuch a Sum. When ſhe had reco⯑ver'd her Speech (for old Women don't want Tongue long) I find, ſaid ſhe, by your Fee, you expect good Counſel; therefore I wou'd adviſe you, if you can counterfeit a Hand any thing like your Mother's, to ſend him an Anſwer, that ſhall forewarn him to come to her any more. I fear, ſaid I, good Wo⯑man, we ſhall be found out, for ſuch an An⯑ſwer will be too ſudden for the kind Return ſhe ſent him Yeſterday. Why, I think you are in the right there, reply'd the old Wo⯑man; and I believe it was kind enough, for he kiſs'd it ſeveral times when he firſt had it, ſeeming greatly pleas'd; and ſince you don't approve of my Advice, I dare ſwear you can tell what to do without me. Pr'y-thee, ſaid I, good Woman, know you any thing of the Affair between my Mother-in-law and this Wigmore? Your Sincerity in your Confeſſion ſhall oblige me to find a Re⯑compence. Really, reply'd the Woman, I know nothing more, than that they have met at my Houſe about ſome Dozen times; and I was ſo well paid, that I muſt freely own, I wiſh it had been oftner; for indeed, young Sir, I am a very poor Woman, and Money, as I told you before, carries a great deal of [178] Perſuaſion with it; tho' I muſt needs own, I wou'd much rather have gotten Money ho⯑neſtly: But then again, if I had not under⯑taken the Affair, ſomebody elſe wou'd; ſo I thought it was as much my Buſineſs as — Well, well, Miſtreſs, I am not asking what was the Motive that induc'd you to it; I am pretty well acquainted with it already: But I wou'd know what Correſpondence has been carry'd on between the Parties. Indeed, Sir, I know no more than I have told you before, that they meet at my Houſe, and have a pri⯑vate Room to themſelves. Mr. Wigmore and your Mother, both were Strangers to me a Twelvemonth ago; and I know no more of Mr. Wigmore now, but that he comes to our Town almoſt every Day, and they ſay he lives at a Lord's about ten Mile off, but I have forgot his Name. But, Sir, I wou'd not have you defer what you intend to do, any longer, for Mr. Wigmore will think me long a coming, and perhaps come to meet me, as he has often done. You adviſe well, I return'd; one Word more, and I have done. Have you no Knowledge of one Bur⯑leigh that is mention'd in this Note? No re⯑ally, Sir, ſaid ſhe; but I know there has been a Man with Mr. Wigmore, and his Vi⯑ſits [179] have given him much Uneaſineſs; but I don't know the Reaſon of it.

I was convinc'd by the Woman's manner of ſpeaking, that ſhe was ſincere in what ſhe ſaid; and as ſhe knew nothing more, I was reſolv'd to ask her no more Queſtions; but being fortunately provided with a Pencil and ſome Paper, I wrote the following Words:

I read the Note to the old Woman, who approv'd of it. I had counterfeited my Mo⯑ther's Hand ſo well, that it cou'd hardly be diſtinguiſh'd, eſpecially being wrote with a Pencil And I order'd the Woman to tell Mr. Wigmore, that my Mother was in a Chamber where ſhe had not the Conveniency of Pen and Ink. The old Woman put it up in the room of the other, giving me her Promiſe to be very faithful in her new Com⯑miſſion. [180] I gave her Aſſurance of being well rewarded for her Pains, and ſo we parted.

As I was going home, I began to conſider what I had done, and ſoon imagin'd this Affair of my Mother's cou'd not be long a Secret; therefore I reſolv'd within myſelf to take an Opportunity of diſcloſing it to her, with a faithful Account of all the Proceed⯑ings, as well as the Knowledge I had of her intended barbarous Deſign againſt me. I did not know, but this might deter her from her cruel Intentions. But then I began to con⯑ſider, that in all my Readings I had learnt, the Cruelty of a Woman was hard to be re⯑mov'd. Therefore I determin'd to declare all to my Uncle, and take his Advice upon't.

When I came home, the Family were at Breakfaſt, which was ſomething earlier than uſual; but I was ſoon acquainted with the Reaſon, for my good Mother-in-law, it ſeems, did deſign to ſet out immediately to ſee a Friend that was dangerouſly Ill. As this was no new thing, ſo it alarm'd no one but me; for the good Woman pretended to underſtand abundance of things, and was a ſe⯑cond Lady Bountiful. This Practice, I ſuppoſe, ſhe took up to blind the Eyes of my Father [181] and Family, that they might not look too narrowly into her Actions. When I was ſat among 'em, I was ask'd to drink Tea, but I excus'd myſelf, by telling 'em I had my Breakfaſt already, and look'd my Mother full in the Face; but ſhe regarded me not, having, I ſuppoſe, her Thoughts taken up concerning that Day's Buſineſs. Pray, ſaid my Uncle, have you broke your Faſt with Homer, or Virgil, this Morning? Neither, Sir, ſaid I; I have kept no other Company but Juvenal to-day. And why ſo fond of Satyr, Sir? ſaid my Uncle; that favours of Ill-Nature. True, Sir, I return'd; for I cannot think the Writings of either Juvenal or Petronius, true Copies of thoſe Times: I cannot imagine either the Men, or the Wo⯑men, ſuch Monſters of Iniquity, as thoſe Authors repreſent 'em. That, reply'd my Uncle, proceeds from the ſimple Innocence of thy own Thoughts: But we have In⯑ſtances every Day of the Inhumanity, and all other vicious Principles, of either Sex. Are not the Seſſions-Papers frequently fill'd with barbarous and inhuman Murders, Men of their Wives, and Wives of their Hus⯑bands and Children? But the crying Sin of Murder is oftner perpetrated by the Women [182] than the Men, being their Paſſions are more violent and vindictive, and once enter'd in the Road of Wickedneſs, they generally travel to the End on't.

I obſerv'd, my Mother-in-law did not ve⯑ry well reliſh the Diſcourſe, therefore order'd her Pad to be ready. What, ſaid my Uncle, does my Siſter go alone? Sure, it will not be improper for a Servant to wait on her, No Sir, reply'd my Mother, I always viſit my Patients alone, for this Reaſon; if I ſhou'd take a Servant with me, they wou'd preſume on the Benefit the Patient might hope to re⯑ceive, expecting ſome Reward; which to a⯑void, I never take one with me. Beſide, I am ſo well known round me Country, that I never met with any Inſults from any one. Nay, ſaid my Uncle, ſmiling, Innocence and Virtue are ſufficient Guards; and thoſe, I don't doubt, but my Siſter takes along with her. She made him no Anſwer, but imme⯑diately mounted, and rode away. As ſoon as ſhe was gone, I ran up to the Top of the Houſe, where was a Cupola that command⯑ed a large Proſpect. I perceiv'd, ere ſhe had got a Quarter of a Mile from our Houſe, ſhe met a Countryman, who ſtop'd, and diſcours'd together. I had a Perſpective in [183] my Study, which I had brought up with me, and I cou'd plainly perceive they were very earneſt in Diſcourſe; for I cou'd di⯑ſtinguiſh their Countenances as plain as if they had not been forty Yards from me. Af⯑ter talking ſome time, I obſerv'd my Mother ſtoop down to kiſs him (firſt looking about if the Coaſt was clear) then turn'd her Horſe's Head, in order to come home again, as I thought. Upon this I immediately went down to acquaint my Uncle with my Morn⯑ing's Adventure, but was inform'd that my Father and He were ſhut up together in his Cloſet. As they had lock'd the Door, I ſuppos'd they had no mind to be diſturb'd, therefore retir'd, with a Mind in the utmoſt Confuſion of Thought; for I imagin'd, with Probability enough, that my Uncle was acquainting my Father with what I had in⯑form'd him of my Mother-in-law.

The Anxiety I felt for what I ſuppos'd wou'd follow, when all was diſcover'd, al⯑moſt robb'd me of my Underſtanding. I took ſeveral haſty Turns in the Court-Yard, without knowing where I was. At laſt it occur'd to my Memory, that I had ſeen my Mother-in-law turn her Horſe's Head, in or⯑der, as I imagin'd, to come Home, but won⯑der'd [184] at her Delay, for more time was paſt than was neceſſary for her Return, at a mo⯑derate Pace. After waiting, and not ſeeing her, I began to think ſhe had alter'd her Re⯑ſolution, and proceeded on her intended wicked Journey. While I was ruminating on this wretched Affair, my Father and Uncle came to me. My Uncle told me, he had been depoſiting a Copy of his Will into my Father's Hands, that if Death ſhou'd pay him a Viſit unexpectedly, and the Lawyer out of the way, we might, by having Re⯑courſe to that Copy, know how far I was be⯑holden to him.

After ſome Talk, I took an Opportunity to let my Uncle know I had ſomething to communicate to him, who was as forward to give me an Occaſion of talking with him. When we were diſengag'd from my Father, I acquainted my Uncle with what I had done Yeſterday, and this Morning, and what Ob⯑ſervations I had made on my Mother-in-law. Certainly, ſaid my Uncle, this Woman as far exceeds the laſcivious Queen of Naples in Wickedneſs, as ſhe did the reſt of her Sex. What think you, Sir, ſaid I, if we take Horſe, and follow her? It may be we may have the Fortune of finding the Bottom of [185] this Intrigue; or at leaſt, from thence, know how to form your Behaviour to her and my Father. My Uncle lik'd my Advice ſo well, that we immediately mounted our Horſes, without letting my Father know of our go⯑ing. Ere we had gone half a Mile, the Horſe my Uncle rode on, which was one of my Father's, fell a neighing, and was an⯑ſwer'd by another in a neighbouring Thicket. As we went forward, the Horſe ſeem'd wil⯑ling to go that way. Nay, ſaid my Uncle, if you have ſuch a Mind to go out of the Road, I'll humour you for once; it may be, as we are Knights-Errant, we may meet with ſome extraordinary Adventure. According⯑ly, he gave the Horſe the Reins, and he readily enter'd the Copſe. The firſt thing our Eyes encounter'd, was my Mother's Pad ty'd to a Tree; and a little farther, behind ſome Shrubs, we diſcover'd my good Mother-in-law, and a likely Country-Fellow, very familiar together. You may gueſs their Sur⯑prize at the Sight of us; and ours was al⯑moſt as great. But my Mother-in-law reco⯑ver'd herſelf the ſooneſt, ran to Horſe, mounted without any Help, and rode off. On my Conſcience, ſaid my Uncle, the ho⯑neſt Countryman has put Vigour into her [186] Ladyſhip; but I think it a Pity he ſhou'd go unrewarded, and that he may be the fitter for running, we'll make him ſomething lighter.

The Man found it was to no Purpoſe to attempt running away, as he was on Foot, therefore he approach'd us with a ſubmiſſive Behaviour, and beg'd our Pardon, imagin⯑ing we were Strangers to my Father and his Wife; telling us, he hop'd we wou'd not ex⯑poſe a Lady to an injur'd Husband's Reſent⯑ment. Sir, ſaid I, I remember you now, notwithſtanding your Diſguiſe, and this is not the firſt time you have ſeen me: Call to mind Yeſterday; look in my Face, and then conſider the Injury you have done my worthy Father and his Family. I then in⯑form'd my Uncle, this was the Perſon that met me Yeſterday converſing with the old Woman who was the Letter-Carrier. Then, ſaid the diſguis'd Countryman, I find all is diſcover'd! But, if you are Perſons of Ho⯑nour, you will not oppreſs a naked Man. I own my Guilt, nay, will confeſs the whole Progreſs of it, if you will forgive me: Do but keep it a Secret from the Husband, and I farther vow, never to be guilty that way again.

[187]I am a Gentleman of a good Family, but fallen to Decay. Neceſſity firſt drew me in⯑to this criminal Converſation with the Lady; tho' I muſt own, notwithſtanding our Diſpa⯑rity of Years, I have a tender Regard for her. Youth do not always weigh their Ac⯑tions, and, for want of Thought, plunge in⯑to Crimes, we are afterwards aſham'd of. Well, young Man, ſaid my Uncle, tho' you have injur'd a noble Family, yet, as you ſeem to repent of your paſt Folly, and if you fulfill your Promiſe of revealing this black Correſpondence, I ſhall freely pardon you, and deſire never to ſee you more. I thank you, reply'd the Offender; but I muſt farther beg you to mend your Promiſe, by concealing this Affair from all the World. Well, ſaid my Uncle, notwithſtanding this Woman's Wickedneſs, which you are a Stranger to, at leaſt, the worſt Part of her vile Intentions, I will, with this young Gen⯑tleman's Conſent (pointing at me) keep this a Secret, till we have Reaſon to ſuſpect ſhe continues in her wicked Courſes. That's all I ask, or can well deſire, ſaid the Gentle⯑man in Diſguiſe, and began as follows.

I was born younger Brother to a numerous Iſſue, and therefore deſign'd for a Tradeſ⯑man. [188] I was put Prentice to a Mercer in the City, where I learnt little elſe but Idleneſs and Intriguing; and wronging my Maſter, by miſpending his Time and Money. You may perceive, Gentlemen, ſaid he, I intend to be ſincere, by revealing the Crimes of my firſt ſetting out in the World. My Fellow-Prentices, I believe, had no more Honeſty than myſelf, tho' we were never privy to each others Secrets. Before I had ſerv'd three Years of my Time, my Maſter found his Buſineſs in a very declining Condition; as indeed how cou'd it be otherwiſe, when he had ſo many Harpies about him. His Friends, to do him Service, had a Statute of Bankrup⯑cy taken out againſt him, which, in a Year or two turn'd much to his Advantage; for by that means he got rid of his Creditors, and his Servants.

He has ſince marry'd a good Fortune, and drives a flouriſhing Trade. My Relations preſs'd him to accept of me for the Remain⯑der of my Time, but he had too juſt an Opinion of me, to comply with their Re⯑queſts. The Character I bore, was the Ob⯑ſtacle that no one of the Trade wou'd enter⯑tain me; and my Relations perceiving how Matters went, thought it was to no Purpoſe [189] to think of the Counter for me, therefore prevail'd upon a noble Lord to accept me for his Gentleman, who, out of Regard to my Family, us'd me like one. 'Tis needleſs to inform you of the many Intrigues I went thro' while I was a Retainer with this noble Peer; but I ſhall proceed to the Affair with this Lady.

The firſt time I ſaw her, was at a neigh⯑bouring Gentlewoman's, a Relation to our Family, and a Lover of Intrigues. Once every Week ſhe had an Aſſembly, where all the idle People of Faſhion reſorted to Game, and make merry. I obſerv'd, ſhe often caſt a favourable Eye upon me, tho' it was ſome time before I took any Notice of it. But one Day loſing a conſiderable Sum at Qua⯑drille, I was walking very melancholy alone in the Garden, with troubled Thoughts how to get more; I was interrupted in my Medi⯑tations by this Lady, who, after much Talk of indifferent Matters, told me, a young Gentleman without Money, made but a diſ⯑mal Figure. Come, come, ſaid ſhe, don't let's loſe your Company for want of a little Traſh. Gameſters have various Fortune; ſhe may caſt a more favourable Eye upon you, at your next Trial; therefore there's a [190] Hundred Pieces to tempt her; I don't doubt but you will ſoon be in a Capacity to pay me.

I was ſo overjoy'd at the Sight of the Mo⯑ney, that I was too eager for Play, to return her then the ſuitable Thanks for ſo great a Favour; but immediately hurry'd among the Gameſters, and in leſs than an Hour, reco⯑ver'd my own Money, and a handſom Sum beſide, at Baſſet. Immediately after, the Company broke up Play, and went to Sup⯑per. My good Fortune had ſo much eleva⯑ted me, that I had no Stomach to eat (for I believe Extremes either way, for ſome time, ſpoil the Appetite) therefore I took a Walk in the Garden again, in a far better Temper than when I was there before. I had not walked long, ere I perceiv'd the Lady in the ſame Walk; but whether ſhe had conti⯑nu'd there, or had come after me, I cou'd not tell, for my good Fortune had quite blinded me. However, I went up to her, and thank'd her for the great Favour I had receiv'd; and was fumbling for the Money to repay her. Come, ſaid ſhe, I am not in ſuch Haſte, we'll find a Time to be paid; after Supper, no doubt, you'll try the fickle Dame again, therefore keep it, till I demand [191] it of you; it's very poſſible I may ſoon ſtand in as much need of it, as you did ſome time ago; till then, you ſhall be my Banker.

I don't know how much farther we ſhou'd have proceeded, if we had not been interrupt⯑ed by ſome of the Company; which ſhe per⯑ceiving coming towards us, gave me a gentle Preſs by the Fingers, and left me. It was not very difficult to gueſs, ſhe had a farther Meaning in leaving her Money in my Hands, and I muſt own I was not diſpleas'd with the Thoughts of it, for even her Perſon did not ſeem deſpicable to me; ſo, on that Score, I ſhou'd not need much Conſtraint in my Com⯑pliance; but the Pleaſure of being paid for whatever Trouble I ſhou'd be at, was the moſt prevailing Argument. The next Aſ⯑ſembly I was prevented in making one of the Company, becauſe my Lord took me out a Hunting. The Morning following, an old Woman brought me this Letter (pulling one out of his Boſom) which I took from him, by my Uncle's Order. See, Billy, ſaid he, if it be that ill Woman's Hand; when I aſ⯑ſur'd him it was, I read the Contents as fol⯑lows;

I was very well pleas'd with this Billet, and took Inſtructions where to wait on the La⯑dy. When Evening came, I went to the Place appointed, where I found her waiting with ſome Impatience, as ſhe told me. The old Woman left us alone; and it was not long ere we came to a right Underſtanding, which Acquaintance has continu'd upwards of four Years; yet I muſt own to you, her Conver⯑ſation was always agreeable to me, ſetting a⯑ſide my Intereſt. But, Sir, ſaid I, in one of your Letters you ſent a Day or two ago, you mention one Burleigh, and that you fear'd ſome raſh Proceedings from him. Pray what do you know of him? Really, very little, re⯑ply'd Wigmore: But I am very much ſur⯑priz'd [193] that you know any thing of that Let⯑ter; I never thought the old Woman wou'd have betray'd me. No, ſaid I, ſhe has not betray'd you, ſhe was only over-reach'd; tho' now, I believe, ſhe repents of her paſt Actions. Why then, ſaid Wigmore, the Hand of Heaven has pointed her out as a Mark for my Repentance, which I will ſincerely, for all my paſt Follies. Well, Sir, ſaid my Uncle, I am inclin'd to believe you. But pray, to make me ſtronger in that Faith, deliver us what Letters you have of hers. Upon my Ho⯑nour, I'll never put 'em to a wrong Uſe. I ſhall confide in you, reply'd Mr. Wigmore, and therefore put 'em into your Hands. I carry 'em always about me, that no Accident ſhou'd diſcover our Affair: But I am con⯑vinc'd Heaven will not let ſuch Actions be ever a Secret. You may ſee, added he, how they follow'd one another, becauſe I have number'd 'em as I receiv'd 'em. After my Uncle had given him ſome wholſome Ad⯑vice relating to Conduct in Life, we left him.

Well, ſaid my Uncle, now let's examine the Contents of theſe fine Epiſtles. Come, Billy, your Eyes are younger than mine, read 'em. I then open'd Numb. 2. (having read Numb. 1. before) which was as follows:

Well ſaid! cry'd my Uncle; the Woman was well pleas'd, I find. She writes pretty plain. But what will not Women do, when they abandon Modeſty! But come, to the next. Let's have ſome more of her Wit and Parts.

O Woman, Woman! ſaid my Uncle, how ripe in Wickedneſs! The moſt profligate of Man wou'd not have been open-hearted ſo ſoon. But come, let's make an End with her as faſt as we can, for I have almoſt enough of her.

Sure, ſaid my Uncle, this is the Quinteſ⯑ſence of all ill Women put together! But on.

Pray, ſaid my Uncle, is there no Date to theſe loving Epiſtles? No Sir, ſaid I; but we may gueſs pretty near the Time by my Brother's having the Small-Pox, which is near three Years ago. Well, on to the next, ſaid my Uncle.

Oh the Devil! ſaid my Uncle; ſhall ſuch a wicked Wretch as this Woman, pretend to taſte of the heavenly Drops of Poetry, when all Hell is in her Soul! It is the greateſt [199] Profanation to the Muſes. Yet tho' Clio can⯑not tune her Lyre, Melpomene preſides over her black Soul, together with Alecto, and the reſt of the Furies. This Woman wou'd have been well pleas'd to have been a Samorin Wife ^*. But I hope, continu'd my Uncle, there is not many more. Yes, Sir, ſaid I, there's Five more; and I find by the Num⯑bers, there's ſome wanting, for the next is Numb. 9. Thoſe, reply'd my Uncle, no doubt, contain'd ſomething too dangerous to be kept. As we were preparing to read the next Letter, we cou'd perceive running to⯑wards us, the Perſon they were ſent to. We were ſomething ſurpriz'd at his Return; but when he came up to us (for we ſtood ſtill to [200] read the Letters,) he told us (almoſt out of Breath with running) that Burleigh was com⯑ing the ſame way, and no doubt, for no good, for I know he has been diſappointed by my Lady, concerning the receiving of Money, which Diſappointment has ſo much exaſpera⯑ted him, that he reſolves to ruin my Lady, tho' I know not by what Means. We per⯑ceived a Man about a Quarter of a Mile be⯑hind us, bending his Courſe towards our Houſe, the Foot-Way. My Uncle ask'd what was beſt to be done? Why Sir, ſaid Mr. Wigmore, if you will give me Leave to adviſe you, I wou'd have you prevent his getting to my Lady's, if poſſible, for this Time; who knows what may follow? I in⯑tend, if you approve of it, to write to my Lady, which Letter, if you pleaſe, you ſhall ſee firſt; wherein I will declare all Correſpon⯑dence, for the future, ſhall be intirely broke off between us; and, to convince her I am ſincere in what I write, to cruſh all her Hopes at once, in a few Days I intend to embark for Virginia, where I have ſome Relations in Power, that I am aſſur'd will provide for me. Do ſo, ſaid my Uncle. But how ſhall we ſee this Letter? Why, return'd Mr. Wig⯑more, I'll be walking before the Court-Gate, [201] under the great Trees, three Hours hence. My Diſguiſe will prevent my being known by any one, but you two Gentlemen, or my Lady; and if I can meet with my Lady, I ſhou'd be pleas'd to deliver the Letter to her myſelf. Well, ſaid my Uncle, let it be ſo. But Will tells me, there's ſome Letters miſ⯑ſing, as you have number'd 'em. Pray what might they contain, if it is not improper to know? Really, reply'd Mr. Wigmore, I can't very well remember the Contents, but, in groſs, they were ſomething too free for a Woman's Pen. I believe, ſaid my Uncle, if the Story of the Norman Monk was true ^*, and this Woman was in his Condi⯑tion, [202] it wou'd not be hard to gueſs which Angel wou'd have the Guardianſhip of her Ladyſhip. Come, Sir, ſaid Mr. Wigmore, may be Heaven intends all for the beſt. I hope ſo too, reply'd my Uncle; but I fear, without a Miracle, ſhe'll go the other Way, for all that. However, I'll wait patiently, tho' with little Hope; more for the Peace and Quiet of my Brother and his Family, than any good Will to ſuch a wicked Woman.

I fear, Sir, ſaid I, you will not have Time enough for Reflexion now, for Burleigh walks at a very great Rate; therefore, the ſooner we think how to prevent his getting to the Houſe, the better. Od ſo! ſaid my Uncle, that's true; then let us be gone, and leave Mr. Wigmore to think of his Epiſtle.

[203]The Horſe-Road to our Houſe was even with the Foot-Road, 'till within a Furlong of the Gate, and then there was no other Way but the common Road. We kept juſt before Burleigh all the way, and as he came over the laſt Style, he ſtumbled, and fell on his Face. Why, how now! honeſt Friend, ſaid my Uncle, you ſeem ſo much in haſte, that you don't regard your Way. Take care. Re⯑member the old Saying, The more Haſte, the worſe Speed; which has indeed no other Mean⯑ing, than when People go about things un⯑lawful, they ſhou'd not ſucceed. If you were a Roman now, you ſhou'd take that for an ill Omen. Why, (reply'd Burleigh, ſomething ſurlily) what Matter is it to you, or any bo⯑dy elſe, whether I am a Roman, or a Prote⯑ſtant, a Diſſenter, or a Muggletonian, an Ana⯑baptiſt, or a Quaker, or — Hold, hold! cry'd my Uncle (ſmiling at his Abſurdity) you ſeem to be pretty perfect in the Names of many Opinions; and yet I fancy you are a mere Stranger to the Tenets of any of 'em. I am well skill'd in Phyſiognomy, and to aſſure you that I am, you are now going about a black Work, that, let it go which way it will, muſt, of mere Neceſſity, bring you into ex⯑treme Danger and Trouble.

[204]Why, the Devil's in the Gentleman, (re⯑ply'd Burleigh, with a leſs-aſſur'd Tone than at firſt) or if the Devil is not in you, you muſt be the Devil himſelf, or at leaſt a Con⯑juror. Good Friend, return'd my Uncle, I am neither the Devil, nor a Conjuror; and yet I can tell, and foretell; and farther, I aſ⯑ſure you (looking him full in the Face, which put the other out of Countenance) if you pro⯑ceed in this Buſineſs, you'll be in ſome Dan⯑ger of a Halter. Examine your Conſcience. You know if what I ſay be true, or no. Re⯑turn from whence you came: And, for the future, amend your Life, and know me for your Friend. Amend your Life, and know me for your Friend! cry'd Burleigh, muttering; ſure I am aſleep, and all this is a Dream. He ſtood ſome time gazing at my Uncle, and then at me. Pray Sir, ſaid he, after a Pauſe, who the Devil are you, and what Buſineſs have you with me? I am going about my Affairs, and ſhan't ſtay any longer loſing my Time. Up⯑on ſaying this, he was preſſing on. But my Uncle croſs'd him with his Horſe, and cal⯑ling him by his Name, with a menacing Tone, told him, he ſhou'd ſeverely repent it, if he mov'd a Step farther towards that Houſe, pointing at my Father's; neither is the Lady [205] whom you go to ſeek, at home, ſhe's gone to viſit a ſick Perſon. Return three Days hence, and it may be you will meet with better Suc⯑ceſs than you expect. Whether my Uncle's ſtern Looks frighted him, or that he really thought him the Devil, I can't tell; but at thoſe laſt Words, he went back again over the Style, turn'd to give us another Look, and ran back the Way he came, as faſt as his Legs cou'd carry him.

There is more, ſaid my Uncle, in a guilty Conſcience, than a Brace of Evidences. 'Tis not impoſſible but this is the ſure Means of your Mother's getting rid of this troubleſome Retainer; ſo I ſuppoſe there will be an annual Penſion ſav'd. But what ſhall we do with this Woman? If ſhe has any Grace left, the beſt way of ſhewing it will be, to hang herſelf out of the way; for, I muſt own, I cannot find any other Method to give Peace to the Fami⯑ly. If we ſhou'd conceal theſe horrible Crimes in Hopes of her Amendment, and ſhe ſhou'd commit more, we are in ſome ſort acceſſary. But Heaven guide us for the beſt! We muſt proceed as Things occurr. When the Groom had taken our Horſes, my Uncle ask'd him, if he knew where his Maſter was. He an⯑ſwer'd, that he rid out preſently after us, be⯑ing [206] inform'd we were taking the Air, and that he took the ſame Road as we had done. Sure, ſaid my Uncle, ſoftly to me, Provi⯑dence, by its ſecret Workings, intends to re⯑claim this Woman; or, by its myſterious Darkneſs, will have her ſtumble into more Wickedneſs; for my Brother's miſſing us muſt be almoſt a Miracle. Pr'ythee let's go into the Summer-Houſe, and think on theſe wretched Accidents over again.

As we went thro' the Hall, I ſaw Betty at work, and letting my Uncle go before, I in⯑form'd her, in brief, of the Day's Affair. She ſeem'd quite dead with my Relation. For God's ſake! ſaid ſhe, if you have any Value for your own Life, get out of her Power; for if ſhe can be ſo wicked to do as you ſay, I fear ſhe'll arrive at the ſame Pitch ſhe was at before. I muſt own, continu'd ſhe, my own Life is but of ſmall Value, and I wou'd free⯑ly part with it to atone for my paſt Crimes, if it cou'd ſave my dear Maſter's; but, me⯑thinks, I wou'd not have it made a Sacrifice to a revengeful Woman, who will be ſure to rid her Hands of me, becauſe ſhe remembers I know her former wicked Intention.

Well, Betty, ſaid I, reſt contented, you are provided for, if you can like my Uncle's Ser⯑vice; [207] for I have prevail'd upon him to accept you for his Houſekeeper; therefore, whenever you think fit, you may leave my Lady, and be receiv'd there, without any other Recom⯑mendation. She was very much rejoic'd at the agreeable News, telling me, ſuch good For⯑tune was far beyond her Hopes; yet nothing, ſhe told me, cou'd make her eaſy, till I was entirely out of my Mother-in-law's Reach. Well, Betty, I return'd, I hope every thing will be determin'd in a few Days, and ſo fol⯑low'd my Uncle.

When I came into the Summer-Houſe to him, he ask'd me why I ſtaid? When I in⯑form'd him, he did not ſeem pleas'd. It had not been much matter (ſaid he) Billy, whether Betty had been let into the Secret ſo ſoon; but however, it can't be help'd; I muſt own ſhe knows enough already to be truſted with every thing. We canvaſs'd the Matter over ſeveral times, but cou'd make very little of it; and before we cou'd come to any Reſolution, Betty interrupted us, by bringing a Letter directed to my Uncle, which ſhe ſaid, the Meſſenger that brought it told her, it required no An⯑ſwer. Pr'ythee, Billy, ſaid my Uncle, read it, for I have no Secrets ſhall be hid from you. As ſoon as I had caſt my Eyes on the Direc⯑tions, [208] I told him it was my Mother-in-law's Hand. Odſo! ſaid he, this is an Honour in⯑deed! for I never was favour'd ſo far before. But let us hear what her Ladyſhip can ſay for herſelf. May be it's a Letter of leave to diſ⯑poſe of her ſweet Perſon; or rather, now I think on't, to be careful of her dear Wig⯑more. But read it, that we may be acquainted with her Commands.

That Word, Affectionate, at laſt, ſaid my Uncle, puts me out of Conceit with all the reſt. However, we'll comply, and beg the Hand of Heaven to guide us. While we were debating, my Father came in. I thought, ſaid he, you were both run away, you diſap⯑pear'd ſo ſuddenly. Pray, which way went you? And how was it poſſible for me to miſs you? We only rid into the Copſe after a Hare, reply'd my Uncle, that a Country⯑man inform'd us he ſaw there, but the Grey⯑hound loſt her.

We took ſeveral Turns in the Garden, and I cou'd not look upon my Father without the Tears coming into my Eyes. How different, [210] thought I, is this Woman from my dear Mo⯑ther! And how unhappy has a ſecond Mar⯑riage made the Family! My Father took Notice of my Melancholy, asking if I was out of Order? But my Uncle made him an Anſwer; for the Queſtion came ſo much un⯑look'd for, that I cou'd not tell what to ſay. Billy, ſaid he, I believe is out of Humour, be⯑cauſe I hinder'd his going to pore over his Books, for he thinks every Hour loſt out of ſuch Company. I made him no Anſwer, which confirm'd what my Uncle ſaid. I hope, Billy, return'd my Father, has read e⯑nough not to take any thing Ill his Uncle ſays. My Uncle finding he cou'd not make me diſſipate that Diſcontent that ſat on my Countenance, turn'd the Diſcourſe, and by that brought me out of my Confuſion. Our uneaſy Converſation was broke by the Ring⯑ing of the Bell for Dinner, where I was forc'd to eat againſt my Stomach, for fear my Fa⯑ther ſhou'd take more Notice of me.

When we had din'd, my Father went to take a Nap, as uſual, which gave my Uncle and me an Opportunity of waiting, without Obſervation, for Mr. Wigmore, with his Letter. About Three in the Afternoon, we ſaw him approach us, in the ſame Diſguiſe, he had on [211] in the Morning. We went out to meet him, that we might not be obſerv'd by the Servants of the Houſe. When he was within hear⯑ing, my Uncle bid him turn back, and we wou'd follow to the Copſe.

When we came there, ſaid Mr. Wigmore, This Place ſtrengthens the Memory of my Crimes I have already repented of, and ſhall to my dying Breath. Here, Sir, is the Let⯑ter I promis'd in the Morning, and whatever Fault you find with it, I'll do my Endeavour to mend it. My Uncle took the Letter, and gave it me to read, which was as fol⯑lows:

Well, ſaid my Uncle, as there is, I hope, Truth in it, there's no Want of Rhetoric. But how muſt this be deliver'd to the good Gentlewoman now? It will not be at all proper for either my Nephew, or me, to have a Hand in't, for that may raiſe Suſpi⯑cions. Suppoſe, reply'd Mr. Wigmore, we ſhou'd give it Mrs. Betty: With all my Heart, ſaid my Uncle, if Billy approves on't. I muſt own (I reply'd) that is the ſafeſt Method we can take; but, as the Caſe ſtands, Betty muſt know the Contents, or ſhe will not deliver it. We agreed it ſhou'd be ſo, and took our Leaves of Mr. Wigmore, with Thoughts of [213] never ſeeing him more. I muſt confeſs, I cou'd not look upon him without the utmoſt Horror, tho' his Guilt was not near of ſo black a Dye as my Mother-in-law's. And I had ſuch a Conflict between Reaſon and Rage, that I had often Thoughts, young as I was, to call him to a more ſtrict Account; but the Hopes of his going abroad, laid aſleep my Reſentment. I thought I made but an odd Figure in tamely liſtening to theſe Inter⯑views; and told my Uncle afterwards what I had ſuffer'd. 'Tis well, Boy, ſaid he, ſmi⯑ling, he that conquers his Paſſions, over⯑comes his greateſt Enemy. Even Scipio cou'd do no more.

When we came home, we were told my Father was ſtill aſleep. I therefore went to find out Betty, to give her the Letter, and proper Inſtructions; firſt acquainting her with the Contents. This, Betty, may work upon her. I pray Heaven it may (ſays Betty) for if ſhe ſtill continues her ill Life, there's no farther Hopes, we muſt diſcover all to your Father, to prevent her Ill Deſigns for the future. While I was talking with Betty, my Uncle came to us, and, in a merry man⯑ner, told her, he ſhou'd ſoon have Occaſion for her; nay, he wou'd be ſure to manage it, [214] that her Miſtreſs ſhou'd give her Conſent. But, ſaid my Uncle, I think I ought to li⯑mit your Power, for my laſt Lady had ſome⯑thing too much. However, I'll take your Word, and William's Bond, for the Perform⯑ance of Articles. But, to think of more ſe⯑rious Matters, continu'd my Uncle, I wiſh my Brother cou'd be got out of the way, when his good Lady arrives, that we may have a little more Freedom of Converſation; for I am not yet fully determin'd what to do with her. Sir, ſaid I, I know the ready way to ſend him abroad; only tell him, in ſuch a Place is a Covy of Partridges, and he and his Man will ſoon leave us; neither is it a Falſhood, for the other Morning, as I was going to meet the old Woman, a Covy ſprung up almoſt under my Feet. Be it ſo then, ſaid my Uncle; and here he comes, get him out of the way as faſt as you can. I then went to my Father, and inform'd him of what I knew; who immediately call'd for his Man, his Dog, and his Gun, and out he went, firſt asking us if we wou'd accompany him, but my Uncle excus'd himſelf, and me too.

He had not been gone above half a Hour, but my Mother-in-law came in, with a Coun⯑tenance full of penitential Sorrow. As ſoon [215] as ever ſhe had an Opportunity, ſhe fell at my Uncle's Feet, and with her Face ſprinkled with Tears, and a broken Voice, interrupted with Sighs, ſpoke to my Uncle after this man⯑ner.

How ſhall I look up? or what ſhall I do to gain Credit for what I am going to ſay? It is but juſtice to ſuſpect the Sincerity of my Words, after what your Eyes have ſeen. But be aſſur'd, from this Day, I will take my Date of Virtue. While I have Life, never will I wrong my worthy Husband, even with a Thought. What a gaping Ruin have I a⯑voided, if you will be prevail'd upon by Re⯑pentance, to believe me! And to gain more Credit from you, I am oblig'd to let you know, that even Adultery is not my greateſt Sin. I have, ſince you ſaw me laſt, weigh'd well my paſt Crimes, and think there is not ſuch another wicked Woman breathing. But Heaven, I hope, has in its infinite Stock of Mercy, Forgiveneſs in ſtore for a ſincere Re⯑pentance. If my Words cannot gain Credit, let your Sword blot out with my Blood, my former Wickedneſs! I know I have deſerv'd Death, and ſhall with Satisfaction reſign my ſelf to your Puniſhment; if you can conceal my Crimes, you may term it Accident, or [216] whatever you think fit, for I am even weary of this World, made burdenſome to me by the Weight of Sin I have laid upon myſelf, and wou'd freely make an End of this wretch⯑ed Being with my own Hands, but that I conſider, I ſhou'd commit a Crime never to be repented of; and take away all Hopes of Salvation, even in the very Act. Tho' I doubt not but Sorrow, in a few Days, will end my Crimes with my Life, and the ſooner that Day comes, the ſooner I ſhall be rid of a terrible Load of Reflexion, even worſe than Death itſelf. Here Tears choak'd her Words, and ſhe ſunk to the Ground, quite overwhelm'd with Sorrow.

Well, Madam, ſaid my Uncle, raiſing her, if all this Grief is not real, you are an excellent Counterfeit: But I am willing to be⯑lieve you ſincere in your Confeſſion. And, for my own Part, I'll ſtrive to forget all that's paſt, or think of it as a Dream. But you muſt pardon me, if I am more careful for the future, in obſerving your Actions; for if you ſhou'd make an ill Uſe of my Credulity, I ſhou'd, in ſome ſort, be guilty. Sir, ſaid my Mother-in-law, Words are too poor to ſpeak my Thanks, but you ſhall find my Sin⯑cerity by my Actions. If in the leaſt of all [217] my future ones, you find me erring, I ſhall expect no Admonition from you, but to be deliver'd up to the Hands of Juſtice. And that you may have it in your Power to call me to an Account when you pleaſe, I ſhall ſuc⯑cinctly tell you which way I deſerve the worſt of Deaths. She then related what you have read already, concerning her firſt Husband's Death, but ſolemnly proteſted, the Poiſon was given him by Miſtake; for tho' ſhe pro⯑cur'd it for that Intent, yet ſhe had repented of her wicked Deſign; and it being put into the Cloſet by Miſtake, among ſome Cordials, the Nurſe gave it her Husband as ſuch; for ſhe was ſo far from believing that he came by his Death thro' her Means, that ſhe accus'd the Apothecary's Man, and had follow'd the Accuſation, if ſhe had not found out the Miſ⯑take. I muſt own, I had a guilty Commerce with the Apothecary, who left off making his Viſits after my Husband's unfortunate End. This Proceeding exaſperated me ſo far, that I often wiſh'd his Death; and the Devil, to back my Wiſhes, brought me acquainted with one Burleigh, who us'd to work in the Gar⯑dens, as Helper to the Gardener, tho' other⯑wiſe a Trooper. He undertook the black Deed; and the Day he firſt knew my Mind, [218] he put me paſt the Power to recall it, by ma⯑king an End of the unfortunate Man; for e⯑ven as ſoon as I parted with him, I repented of the Crime; and tho' I ſought him all the Day after, to prevent the Deed, I never ſet Eyes on him, till he came to tell me my Com⯑mands were obey'd. The Concern I felt at the wicked News, cou'd hardly be expreſs'd by Words; but the Wretch, taking hold of my Weakneſs, made me comply with every thing he deſir'd, and even to this Day com⯑pels me to maintain him.

All the while ſhe was relating her horrid Deeds, my Uncle ſeem'd perfectly Thunder⯑ſtruck. Who wou'd think, ſaid he, one Wo⯑man cou'd be ſo wicked! Sir, ſaid ſhe, that is not all. Then ſhe proceeded to tell us of her Deſigns againſt me; but that, ſaid ſhe, I have long ſince repented of, as my worſt of Crimes.

Well, ſaid my Uncle, I hope by this Con⯑feſſion, we ſhall find your future Sincerity. But what do you propoſe to do with this Bur⯑leigh? It was with ſome Difficulty I prevent⯑ed his coming here to-day. Tho' I am a⯑maz'd to find you know any thing of him, ſaid my Mother-in-law, yet I ſhou'd be much oblig'd to you for your Advice in this Af⯑fair. [219] Well, ſaid my Uncle, in Hopes of fu⯑ture Amendment, I have it in my Head to get rid of him, which ſhall be done to-mor⯑row, if you'll let me know where to find him. This, Sir, ſaid ſhe, will double all my Obli⯑gations to you. I'll give you a Direction in Writing. While ſhe was writing the Direc⯑tion, Betty brought her Mr. Wigmore's Let⯑ter, which ſhe took and read. Well, ſaid ſhe, I take Heaven to have a Hand in my Converſion, for here's another Convert, which very much pleaſes me, becauſe I was troubled before how to make an End with him. She then related what had paſt between 'em. And all her Relations agreed ſo well with what we knew before, that we thought it a Crime in us, not to believe her Promiſes for her future Be⯑haviour.

A little while after, Word was brought us my Father was come home. How, ſaid my Mother-in-law, ſhall I look upon that dear injur'd Face, without betraying my Guilt? When I was envelop'd in Sin, without Thought of Repentance, I cou'd form my Behaviour as I thought fit, without any Difficulty; but now, I cannot tell how to appear before him, without the utmoſt Confuſion. Pray, ſaid my Uncle, let this be the laſt Act of Diſſembling, [220] and hide from him the Combat in your Mind. Time will bring you to the Tranquillity of Virtue again.

When my Father came to us, he ſeem'd very much pleas'd with his Diverſion. What, ſaid he, you muſt be idling at home, while I am oblig'd to go abroad to procure you a Sup⯑per. Well, I have got every Man his Bird. 'Tis your Duty, reply'd my Uncle, to pro⯑vide for your Family; tho' Billy and I are, at preſent, Interlopers. Heyday! cry'd my Fa⯑ther, What's the matter with Jane! (mean⯑ing his Wife) are your Patients got well upon your Hands, my Dear, that you have not an Opportunity of ſhewing your Art, you look ſo melancholy? I am not very well, my Dear, reply'd my Mother, in ſome Confuſion. I am ſorry for that, return'd my Father. But as you can cure other People, I hope you know what's good for yourſelf. Yes, Sir, ſaid ſhe, I have been troubled with it a great while; 'tis a Heavineſs of Heart, but I have taken that I hope will cure it. A Heavineſs of Heart, reply'd my Father! there's nothing cures that Diſtemper like a Glaſs or two of good Wine; nay, I think it a general Cure for all Diſeaſes, and the ſooner you take the Remedy, the ſooner you'll get rid of your [221] Malady. I think, ſaid my Uncle, that Phy⯑ſic is good for us all, therefore let's have it. While the Wine was gone for, my Father ſeem'd to careſs his Wife, which occaſion'd her burſting into Tears. Pray, ſaid he, my Dear, tell me what is it diſturbs you. In Truth, Sir, ſaid ſhe, I am not very well, and beg leave I may go to Bed; perhaps Reſt may help me. So ſaying, ſhe took leave of the Company, and retir'd. When my Fa⯑ther had drank a Glaſs of Wine, he follow'd her to know how ſhe did, and left my Uncle and me together.

Well, Billy, ſaid he, what think you of Affairs? Do you believe ſhe is ſincere in her Proteſtations? Yes, really Sir, ſaid I, if ſhe does continue it. I am confounded, return'd my Uncle, at what I have heard. If ſhe ſhou'd be as good as her Word, and let murdering Sorrow make an End of her, I muſt confeſs I ſhou'd be very eaſy, notwithſtanding her Peni⯑tence. However, we muſt find out Burleigh to-morrow, and get rid of him: And tho' I am aſſur'd he deſerves an Halter, yet I'll give him a few Pieces to ſend him into another Part of the World, with all my Heart, and then, ſure, ſhe will be eaſy. I am of your Opinion, Sir, ſaid I; I fanſy her Decline of [222] Years will prevent her ſeeking another Lover. I do not know that, reply'd my Uncle, that itching Folly never conſiders Years; howe⯑ver, I believe we have nothing to fear from her; but if we ſhou'd be deceiv'd, I ſhou'd never forgive myſelf. I muſt own, 'tis but ſeldom Virtue ſucceeds Vice, yet ſuch things have been, and therefore may happen again. We have all the Proſpect we can deſire, in the Confeſſion of her Guilt; for as ſhe was igno⯑rant of our Knowledge of it, ſhe might have ſpar'd the Relation, if ſhe had not intended for the future to amend her Life. We had much Diſcourſe concerning her, till interrupt⯑ed by my Father, who told us, his Wife ſeem'd very much indiſpos'd, but he hop'd Reſt wou'd reſtore her. For my own Part, I freely declare, her Death wou'd certainly have griev'd me; but the Content I ſhou'd have found from the Family's being intirely out of her Power, wou'd have ſoon wip'd a⯑way my Tears.

After Supper, I inform'd Betty of all Paſ⯑ſages, whoſe Hopes and Fears agreed with mine, tho' our Hopes, by far, over-balanc'd our Fears.

In the Morning, my Uncle told my Fa⯑ther, that he and I had a Viſit to make, and [223] very poſſibly might be oblig'd to ſtay Dinner. Accordingly, we took Horſe, but in order to find out Burleigh, who liv'd in an obſcure Vil⯑lage three Miles from my Father's. When we arriv'd, we cou'd perceive him running out of the Back-Door, at the firſt Sight of us; and I believe wou'd have got away from us, if his Over-haſte had not often made him fall in the Stubble. When we overtook him, my Uncle ask'd him, why he made ſuch Haſte from his beſt Friends? Why, to tell you the Truth, Sir, ſaid he, I don't care for converſing with the Devil, for I can hardly take you for any thing elſe. Why, ſaid my Uncle, were you not afraid of converſing with him, when you made away with Mr. — the Apothecary? for Murder is always inſti⯑gated by the Devil. At theſe Words, the Fellow fell a trembling, and cry'd out, I am a dead Man! No, ſaid my Uncle, tho' Murder ſhou'd never be forgiven, and tho' I am no Devil, yet I have ſufficient Reaſons to aſſiſt you in making your Eſcape; for if you ſtay Four and Twenty Hours, Juſtice will lay hold on you, and there will be no other Road to get away, but that of the Gallows. In ſhort, ſuch a Perſon, naming my Mother-in-law, has diſcover'd it. Now I wou'd ſave [224] both your Lives, which cannot be done with⯑out you fly immediately. Alas! Sir, ſaid Burleigh, whither ſhou'd I fly? I have no Money, or Friends, or I wou'd be gone with all my Heart. For that, ſaid my Uncle, I'll take care. Go and provide yourſelf with what Neceſſaries you have, and then follow me. We were not long before we mounted, and purſu'd our Journey toward Briſtol.

As we rid along, my Uncle ask'd him how he cou'd be ſo inhuman to murder a Man in cold Blood, and one, very probable, almoſt a Stranger to him? Why indeed, reply'd Burleigh, I had but little Knowledge of him; but, as to murdering him, I can't give it that Name, for I fairly fought with him; tho' indeed that can't be proved, becauſe I am only my own Witneſs. What d'ye mean by fighting fairly, cry'd my Uncle; is tak⯑ing a Man's Life, without any Provocation, to be call'd fair? I can't directly argue the Point with you, Sir, return'd Burleigh; but when a Perſon has equal Arms to his Oppo⯑ſer, and the other fairly runs the risk of Death, I ſay it can't be call'd Murder, for he always rode with a Pair of Piſtols, as I did the ſame; and I gave him fair Warning; told him, ei⯑ther he or I had breath'd our laſt Hour. 'Tis [225] true, he was not very willing to fight, but he found it was to no purpoſe; and I muſt own, if he had not, I muſt of Neceſſity have kill'd him; but he fir'd both his Piſtols, and miſs'd me; and I, with one of mine, ſhot him thro' the Throat. After he fell from his Horſe, I drag'd him into the neighbour⯑ing unfrequented Wood, ty'd his Horſe to a Tree in the ſame Wood, and rid home with my own. The ſame Day I got leave to be abſent a few Days, return'd to the Wood, took the Horſe I had left there, and ſold him at Cheſter, with a Pretence I was bound for Ireland; ſo return'd home on Foot. I muſt own, I was too haſty in executing my La⯑dy's Deſire, for ſhe never peremptorily bid me; but I was willing to get him out of the way, that I might have her all to my ſelf. I continu'd my Correſpondence for three or four Years, and conſtantly receiv'd an annual Penſion. But when ſhe was about marry⯑ing, ſhe gave me three Years Allowance to⯑gether, telling me at the ſame time, that what I then receiv'd was the utmoſt ſhe cou'd do for me. And, indeed, gave me good Advice. But my Money was ſoon gone; therefore I apply'd myſelf to her a⯑gain, and almoſt forc'd a Subſiſtence from [226] her, by threatning to declare what ſhe has now done herſelf, like a ſilly Woman as ſhe is. I muſt own, I often threaten'd a young Gentle⯑man, who I am aſſur'd keeps Company with her, of declaring ſomething might en⯑danger her Life; but I can aſſure you it was only to fright ſome Money out of her.

This Talk had brought us to the Town's End. We went directly to my Uncle's Friend, and, by good Fortune, found him at home. My Uncle, in private, declar'd to him the Cauſe of this unexpected Viſit; and the Bargain was ſoon ſtruck for the Diſpoſal of my Friend Burleigh. My Uncle at parting, gave him Twenty Guineas, for his own Uſe; but with a ſtrict Charge to his Friend not to truſt him out of his Sight. And in three Days after we were inform'd, by Letter, that the Ship ſet ſail on her Voyage to New York.

Now, ſaid my Uncle, I hope we have laid an excellent Plan for raiſing your Mother's Virtue; and I hope the Superſtructure will anſwer the Baſis. I am in Heart convinc'd of it, I reply'd. And indeed my Thoughts were now intirely bent on my lovely Iſabella, and the Contemplation of her Perfections produc'd a careful Muſing, which my Uncle [227] took notice of. Why how now, William? ſaid my Uncle, What are thoſe wiſe Thoughts that have ty'd your Tongue up? I hope all Affairs at home are accommodated. Come, let me know the Reaſon of your Rumination. Sir, ſaid I, my Mind was fixt upon the Com⯑pany we left behind us in your Neighbour⯑hood. I hope, reply'd my Uncle, the fair Iſabella is not ſtealing into your Heart? No, Sir, I return'd, I have kept her Image there from the firſt Moment I ſaw her Face, never to be defac'd by Years, or Misfortune. Why how now! Youth, cry'd my Uncle; is your Heart ſuſceptible of Love ſo ſoon? But I thought as much by your Uneaſineſs to leave 'em at our laſt Viſit: But come, we'll make 'em another to-morrow; for I muſt own, I long to be at home too. Indeed, Sir, ſaid I, I freely confeſs, there lies my Loadſtone, and turn which way I will, my Inclinations look that way.

Well, ſaid my Uncle, I muſt own, I am not againſt your embarking on the Sea of Love, if I was ſure you cou'd arrive at your deſired Port, without meeting with Storms in your Voyage. Have you had any Talk with your fair Miſtreſs? Sir (ſaid I) I will never conceal any thing from you, and therefore I [228] ſhall declare all my Proceedings. I then told him the whole Progreſs of my amorous Af⯑fairs. Well, return'd my Uncle, I don't find you have any great Reaſon to deſpair. Nei⯑ther, Sir, ſaid I, can I find any thing to be⯑get a Hope, eſpecially when I think of the implacable Averſion rooted in the Minds of the Mother and the Aunt, againſt Men and Matrimony. Indeed, ſaid my Uncle, they have both ſufficient Reaſons for that Averſion; the one, from the complicated Humours of an ill-natur'd Husband; and the other, from the Ill-uſage of a Man unworthy the Name; which, to beguile the Time, I will relate; I mean, the Story of the Aunt, which I learnt from her own Mouth but the laſt time we were there.

When ſhe had ſcarce ſeen Seventeen, ſhe was courted by a Perſon remarkable for his good Make, and Addreſs, with the Addition of a large Fortune, which in many People, ſerve only as inſtrumental to evil Actions. This Man of the World, by the common Wiles, gain'd the Heart of the young Lady, and by his ſubtle Inſinuations, prevail'd upon her to ſteal from her Relations. His Pretence for it was, his Friends Averſion to the Match; for indeed his Eſtate might have commanded, [229] as the World goes, a more ample Dowry with a Wife. Blinded by Love, and his Hypocri⯑ſy, ſhe comply'd with his Deſire, and ſtole a⯑way from her Father. When he had got her Perſon in his Cuſtody, he endeavour'd to gain his Ends without giving the Prieſt any Trou⯑ble; but the Lady, tho' much in Love, ab⯑horr'd his baſe Intentions, and, by her Re⯑ſentment, ſhew'd the Spark had nothing to hope for from that ungenerous Way. He then got into her good Graces again, by de⯑claring, his Attempt was only to try her; letting her know at the ſame time, how happy he ſhou'd be with a Woman of ſuch an impregnable Virtue. In a few Days after this Trial, he marry'd her, and in a Month after the Wedding, told her he wou'd have her go home to her Friends, for he expected his Wife out of the Country, who was of ſuch a violent Temper, every thing was to be fear'd from her Rage.

The poor Lady was dumb thro' Aſtoniſh⯑ment, and many times fancy'd he had a mind to try her Temper, and gave him to under⯑ſtand as much. Well Madam (ſaid the baſe Wretch) I am reſolv'd to make the Matter as plain as I can to you. Here, John! (cal⯑ling to one of his Servants) this, Madam, [230] ſaid he, is the good Man that gave us a Com⯑miſſion to go to Bed together, and he is come to take his Leave of you, being to attend a Gentleman of my Acquaintance in his Tra⯑vels, in the Quality of his Footman; and I believe he is ſo far from being a Churchman, that he never was in a Church in his Life. I hope, ſaid the Fellow, your Honour will par⯑don my contradicting you in that, for I have been many a Day in Twenty, one after ano⯑ther. The poor Lady too ſoon found the Truth of her Misfortune; and her Rage and Deſpair, vented in the bittereſt Reproaches, had no Effeft on the inhumane Brute. But, inſtead of giving her any Comfort (finding ſhe made no Haſte in leaving him) left her in ſole Poſſeſſion of the Lodging he had taken for that Purpoſe, where ſhe was forc'd to part with every thing ſhe had of Value, to ſupport her in common Neceſſaries of Life; and, if her careful Father had not found her out, was reſolv'd to part with Life, to put an End to her Shame and Misfortunes. The old Gentle⯑man took her home; and, to comfort her, gave her his Word he wou'd forget her Un⯑happineſs, being well aſſur'd of her honeſt In⯑tentions. And this is the Cauſe of the Aunt's Averſion to Men and Matrimony.

[231]I ſhall own, Sir, ſaid I, I can't well blame the Reſolution ſhe has taken. I muſt declare, I wonder how ſuch barbarous Notions can en⯑ter the Minds of Men! and if there were not Inſtances of it every Day, I ſhou'd think ſuch Relations Fables. How is it poſſible that the Nature of Men ſhou'd be ſo very different! Every kind of the Brute Creation are much the ſame; but Man ſympathizes with every Degree of 'em; and are full as va⯑rious. A Man had better not be, than to be born with ſuch Appetites; and the Dignity of his Figure only makes him the greater Mon⯑ſter. I own (reply'd my Uncle) your good Senſe, at ſo early an Age, gives me the ut⯑moſt Contentment; and tho' Philoſophy may be learnt without practiſing, yet I believe I have nothing to fear from your Conduct.

It was late in the Evening before we came home; and we were inform'd by my Father, that his Wife's Indiſpoſition increa&'d. My Father ſeem'd ſo very much concern'd, that he was not very inquiſitive about the Journey we had made that Day. We ſympathiz'd with him. However, my Uncle inform'd him, that we intended to be gone in the Morn⯑ing early; and all his Intreaties cou'd not prevail upon him to ſtay longer. Well then, [232] ſaid my Father, ſince you will go, I wou'd have you take Leave of my Wife to-night; which was agreed to. A Meſſage was ſent to her, to know if it was proper to ſee us; and ſhe ſent Word ſhe ſhou'd take it kindly. When we came into the Room, my Uncle and I ſat on each ſide her Bed, and neither of us ſpoke for ſome Moments. At laſt, my Mother-in-law broke Silence. Well, Sir, ſaid ſhe to my Uncle, has your Journey ſuc⯑ceeded, and am I to number this Day's Work among the many other Obligations I have to your Virtue? Madam, reply'd my Uncle, every thing has fell out, I hope, according to your Deſire; for, I am fully perſuaded, Burleigh will never come more to interrupt your growing Quiet. He then related the Tranſactions of the Day to her. Well then, ſaid my Mother, my Mind's at reſt, and I hope Heaven will pardon me, as you have done; 'tis all I have now to do, to gain it, for I find I am not long to continue in this World, for the Wounds my Virtue, tho' a Conqueror, has receiv'd, in the ſharp Com⯑bat with overgrown Vice, I find will not be heal'd but by the Hand of Death; therefore, when you hear I am no more, bury my Fail⯑ings with my Body, in my Grave, nor never [233] think of me, but as a ſincere and humble Pe⯑nitent.

The Behaviour of my Mother-in-law, brought Tears into my Eyes, which ſhe ob⯑ſerv'd with a Tenderneſs I had never perceiv'd in her before. Dry thy Tears, my Child, ſaid ſhe; thy ſoft Diſpoſition overwhelms me with Confuſion. If I ſurvive, I beg you will look upon me as thy own Mother, for my Actions ſhall ever declare me ſo. And if Death releaſes me from this troubleſome World, remember me as ſuch in every thing, but thy Grief. I cou'd not return any Anſwer, my Heart was ſo overburden'd with Sorrow; which ſhe perceiving, flung her Arms about my Neck, preſt me to her Cheeks, and we mingled our Tears together. We continu'd in this ſorrowful Employment till my Father came in and interrupted us. Come, ſaid he, no more Grieving; by the Grace of God, a few Days will chaſe away this Indiſpoſition; and then we'll come and make my Brother a Viſit. I muſt own, I parted with her in the utmoſt Sorrow, for I found my Tenderneſs in⯑creaſe every Moment; and if the Thoughts of ſeeing my dear Iſabella had not ſtole into my Memory, I ſhou'd have been inconſolable in this Parting: But every thing muſt give [234] way to Love. We alſo took Leave of my Father over-night, that Ceremony might give us no Hindrance in the Morning. When the Veil of Obſcurity was drawn, to let in the chearful Beams of the Sun, my Uncle and I mounted, and purſu'd our Journey. My Uncle, to make the Way leſs tedious, told me many pleaſant Stories; which gave me ſo much Satisfaction, that we got home before I thought we were half way.

After Dinner, my Uncle ask'd me if I had Stomach enough to pay a Viſit to the Ladies? I told him, nothing cou'd be more agreea⯑ble to me. We were ſoon ready, and ſoon on Horſeback. When we arriv'd, we found a great many Female Viſitors, and Iſabella pre⯑ſiding over the Tea-Table, as uſual: I ob⯑ſerv'd a Bluſh in her Cheeks, when ſhe firſt ſaw me; which I interpreted in my Favour at firſt, as Love's a Flatterer. Yet ſhe took ſo little Notice of me, during the reſt of the Day, that my Uneaſineſs was very great. The Company ſtaid Supper; and Iſabella, to compleat my Diſcontent, took all Occaſions to avoid me. One Lady I took particular Notice of, a Woman about Thirty. She ſeem'd to have a languiſhing Sweetneſs in her Countenance, that diſcover'd a Temper with⯑out [235] any Gall. She often took notice of my Sadneſs, without the Heed of Iſabella, or the reſt of the Company. I have heard, ſaid ſhe, many Commendations of this young Gentleman's Underſtanding, which makes me imagine ſomething extraordinary has put him out of Humour. This Speech, I muſt own, put me into ſome Confuſion; and I thought myſelf under the Neceſſity of making a Re⯑ply; but my Uncle gave me time to recover, by anſwering for me. A Man, ſaid he, muſt have a fine Time on't, to give Proofs of his Underſtanding among ſo many Female Tat⯑lers (begging this Lady's Pardon, bowing to the Stranger) but yet I think Billy has made his plain, by holding his Tongue. Women have not Souls capable of edifying by his Diſ⯑courſe. And I am ſure there is nothing learnt by their eternal Clacks, except it gives us an Idea of a Perpetual Motion. We are ſure of your good Word, reply'd the Aunt. Yet I am as much concern'd as you are, if the young Gentleman has met with any thing to put him out of Humour. Perhaps, reply'd the Stran⯑ger Lady, he had rather be in Company more ſuitable to his Years. I think Iſabella ſhou'd entertain him. Really Madam, return'd Iſa⯑bella, I am not of your Opinion; I have left [236] off Play-things for ſome time, therefore I ima⯑gine I ſhall be as dull Company for him, as he will be for me. You are a little too free with the young Gentleman, return'd the Mo⯑ther; and, in general, you are all too hard upon him. I have done, Madam, reply'd Iſabella, I ſhall ſay no more, and ask Par⯑don, if I have offended him. Their Diſ⯑courſe was interrupted, by the ſtrange Lady's Husband's Entrance, who came to fetch her home. When ſhe was gone, my Uncle ask'd who ſhe was, for, to the beſt of his Remem⯑brance, he had never ſeen her before. There is ſomething very extraordinary in that Lady's Fortune, ſaid the Aunt; and if it were not ſo late, Iſabella ſhou'd read her Story, wrote by her Husband, which ſhe has procur'd a Copy of from the Lady's Original. Why then reply'd my Uncle, with Iſabella's Leave, we'll treſpaſs upon the Time, 'tis Moonlight, and we ſhall find our way home without a Candle. I am ready to ſatisfy you, return'd Iſabella, if I once receive my Mother's Com⯑mands. My Commands are at your Service, reply'd the Mother. Upon that Iſabella went out, and return'd immediately, with a Paper in her Hand. This true Story, ſaid ſhe, is call'd, by the Perſon that wrote it,

[257]When Iſabella had finiſh'd this ſhort true Story, her Manner of Reading was approv'd by every one of the Company, but myſelf; for I muſt own, I had not recover'd Spirit enough even to open my Mouth; for I ob⯑ſerv'd ſhe caſt her Eyes, by turns, on all the Company, but ſtill avoided me.

They were ſometimes deſcanting upon the Story, and every Perſon gave their Senti⯑ments; but I was in no Humour to give mine. Immediately after we parted, and as we rode home, Billy, ſaid my Uncle, you ſeem'd very melancholy all the while you were at my Lady's; you hardly took any Notice of thoſe about you, and your dumb Civility when we parted, ſpoke your Mind full of ſome melancholy Thoughts, which I judge were concerning the young Iſabella. To deal ingenuouſly, Uncle (I reply'd) the Car⯑riage of that amiable Creature almoſt diſtracts me, and I find Love ſtrengthens with every Morning's Sun; and tho' I wou'd give all the World for her Eſteem, yet her Behaviour to me to-day, raiſes in me a decent Pride, which Pride will make me ſhew my Reſentments in refraining my Viſits.

Pr'ythee, Will, return'd my Uncle, don't appear more a Man in this Boyiſh Paſſion, [258] than thou doſt in the reſt of thy Actions. I intend to part you and your Miſtreſs, next Spring; therefore prepare your Mind accord⯑ingly, for you and your Tutor ſhall make the Tour of Europe, for three Years; and by that time you may even forget the Name of Iſabella. Nothing, Sir, ſaid I, can make me forget her, or her Uſage; tho' her Scorn will touch me nearer than any thing can fall upon me in this World, after loſing your Affection. Pr'ythee, have done with this Topic then, ſaid my Uncle. The remaining Part of this Summer, I intend you and I ſhall make a Journey over moſt of the cele⯑brated Places in our own Country, that you may not be, as moſt of our young Travel⯑lers are, inquiſitive after the Knowledge of foreign Climates, when you are a Stranger to your own. Sir, the ſooner you make this Journey (I reply'd) the better; and you cou'd not propoſe any thing I like ſo well. Why then, ſaid my Uncle, to-morrow we'll be going, after Dinner; I ſuppoſe you have no⯑thing material to hinder you. Shou'd we not acquaint my Father and Mother with your Intention? ſaid I. No, no matter, reply'd my Uncle, we'll take no Leave of any one, but the Company we have juſt now left; nei⯑ther [259] wou'd I do that, but as their Houſe will ſtand in the way of our firſt Day's Journey. The Thoughts of ſeeing Iſabella ſo ſoon, gave me ſome Satisfaction, tho' mixt with a great deal of Anxiety.

The next Morning we ſet out; my Uncle altering his Reſolution of dining at home, in⯑tending to dine at my Lady's. When we came there, we were inform'd the whole Fa⯑mily were gone to dine with the Husband of Eleanora. This News, and Diſappointment of not ſeeing Iſabella, according to my Ex⯑pectation, almoſt overcame my Spirits; but I bore it outwardly well enough; and my Uncle ſeem'd very well pleas'd with my Calm⯑neſs of Temper; tho', alas! he little gueſs'd the Perturbation of my Thoughts. My Un⯑cle intended the firſt Tour as far as Edinburgh, and accordingly purſu'd our Journey, with one Servant only. My Uncle was ſuch plea⯑ſant Company, that I had not Leiſure to think of Iſabella, till I went to Reſt; and even the Fatigues of the Day wou'd hardly prevent my waking all Night. Sometimes I imagin'd Iſabella might have ſome tender Thoughts of me; eſpecially when I call'd to mind her former Converſation with me, and that my ſudden Abſence might poſſibly create [260] her ſome Uneaſineſs. But then, her late Beha⯑viour to me, cancell'd thoſe pleaſing Hopes. It is needleſs to deſcribe the Towns we paſs'd; but we arriv'd ſafe at Edinburgh, without any Accident, the once Regal Town of Scotland.

Edinburgh, Ag neda, or Edenburgum, was call'd, in the earlier Ages, Caſtrum Alatum. It ſtands on a high Eminence; and the Plan of the City, as it lies, reſembles the Skeleton of a Human Figure. The Caſtle was rec⯑kon'd, before the Uſe of Cannon, impregna⯑ble; and is now of ſufficient Strength to withſtand a powerful Siege. The Buildings are very ſtrong, and large, compos'd of Free-Stone, and Mortar of a hard Cement, moſt of the Houſes eight Stories high. But as we have many Deſcriptions of Scotland, I ſhall take no farther Notice of this City; only it is not very convenient to walk the Streets by Night, without a Perſon before you, who cries as he paſſes along, Hand your Haund! Haud your Haund! otherwiſe you may chance to have upon your Heads ſomething offenſive to the Noſe, as well as your Cloaths. The Streets, in the Morning, are cover'd over with ſomewhat, that every one who walks till Ten of the Clock, may very well expect good Luck, according to our old Engliſh Saying. [261] Before Noon, ſo many People walk the Streets, there is not the leaſt remaining of that ill-cuſtom'd Filth.

In many Parts of the Streets ſtands a Per⯑ſon, with a great Cloak to cover his Cuſtom⯑ers, with another Conveniency, crying, Wha wants me?

After viſiting ſeveral Places in Scotland, we return'd, viewing the noted Places in Eng⯑land, in our Way home. Tho', I muſt own, Curioſity very often took up all my Thoughts, yet my Love was not in the leaſt leſſen'd; and the nearer I came to the Place of the Di⯑vine Iſabella's Abode, the more was the In⯑creaſe of my Anxiety. My Uncle had not once mention'd that Paſſion, thro' our whole Journey, till the Morning of the Day that put an End to our firſt Tour. Now, ſaid my Uncle, I imagine you have ſome Thoughts of your young Miſtreſs. I intend to dine there to-day, but ſhall leave the Conduct of that Part of your Life to yourſelf, and ſay no more upon that Head. But when you ſtand in need of my Advice, or Aſſiſtance, ask it, and you ſhall have it, becauſe I am aſſur'd you will not ask any thing contrary to the Honour of a Gentleman. I return'd ſuit⯑able thanks for ſo kind a Condeſcenſion, and [262] chang'd the Subject, becauſe I thought my Uncle ſeem'd pleas'd to have it ſo.

We came to my Lady's about Twelve o' Clock, and were told they were Dreſſing. My Uncle, notwithſtanding his Freedom, wou'd not interrupt 'em, but went to reſt up⯑on a Couch in the Parlour. I not being ſo much fatigu'd, went into the Garden to in⯑dulge my Thoughts. But what was my Sur⯑priſe, when I found the lovely Iſabella ſitting by the Fountain, with a Book in her Hand, on which ſhe ſeem'd very intent; her Back was towards me, ſo that I came within ſix Paces of her, before ſhe ſaw me. At the Noiſe I made in approaching her, ſhe turn'd about, and upon ſeeing me, gave a Shriek, and put the Book haſtily in her Pocket. Ma⯑dam, ſaid I, if I had thought that my Pre⯑ſence cou'd have created in your Mind any Diſturbance, I wou'd have ſooner cut off theſe Limbs that brought me hither, than have occaſion'd it. Laſt time I ſaw you, has made me think my Sight diſtaſteful to you; but if you will inform me, that I deſerve to be thus puniſh'd, I have Courage enough to put an End to my Life, if it will be any Sa⯑tisfaction to you.

[263]No, Sir, reply'd Iſabella, I ſhou'd grieve to be the Death of any thing of the Brute Creation, much more any thing that bears a Human Form. And I am ſo far from think⯑ing there is any Bravery in putting an End to Life, that, beſide the unrepented Crime, I think it a Poverty of Spirit, and want of For⯑titude to bear the Ills of Life. Both Brutus, and Cato, were, in my Opinion, proud and puſillanimous, and parted with Life, to rid 'em of their Fears. I cou'd, Madam, I re⯑turn'd, bear all the Ills of Life, but ſlighted Love. Young Gentlemen, like you, reply'd Iſabella, talking of Love, is like Fools talk⯑ing Divinity; it will leave but little Impreſ⯑ſion on the Judicious; and I have formerly told you, this Topic is not proper for you to talk of, or me to hear. Well, Madam, ſaid I, if by covering the Flame of Love, I had any Hope Time wou'd kindle that inno⯑cent Fire in you, that Thought wou'd give me Eaſe; and whatever Climate this Body ſhou'd be in, my Soul wou'd be with you. I doubt not, reply'd Iſabella, but your Body and Soul were together in your ſhort Travels, and this new Paſſion, Love, was laid by for Curioſity. I will not deny, I return'd, but Knowledge is what my Mind is bent upon; [264] but even the acquiring that, does but the more indear the Thoughts of you; and all of your Sex that I ſee, does but oblige me to make Compariſons, tho' there is none when I think of you.

Well, Sir, reply'd the Fair One, we'll leave this Diſcourſe, that I may not provoke any more Compliments, and deſire to know the Progreſs of your ſudden Journey. Sud⯑den indeed, I reply'd, for my Uncle did not take a Night to conſider on't; but if you had felt one Particle of the Sorrow, if we may ſo divide it, that I felt, when we were diſappointed of ſeeing you, in our firſt ſetting out, you wou'd have ſome Motion of Pity. Muſt every thing, cry'd Iſabella, ſmiling, adminiſter to this youthful Folly? In me, I reply'd, 'tis a Whirlpool, that ſwallows every thing that comes near it. Well, no more Similies, nor no more Love, return'd Iſabella, but the Account of your Journey. Well, Madam, ſaid I, you muſt be obey'd. I then gave her a Deſcription of every thing curious we had obſerv'd in our ſhort Tra⯑vels, with which ſhe ſeem'd very much pleas'd. I am convinc'd, ſaid Iſabella, that all young Gentlemen that travel, do not make the ſame Improvement; or rather, many do not im⯑prove [265] at all, but bring home greater Fools than they carry'd with 'em; I mean, thoſe that go into foreign Countries, for I take yours to be no more than a Journey, as we call it. But I believe, by this time, my Mother and Aunt are dreſs'd, therefore it will be very proper for me to wait on 'em. Dear, Madam, ſaid I, relieve my Torments, and ſay you do not deſpiſe me. I ſhall ſay no more at this time, reply'd Iſabella, than that I muſt wait on my Mother; therefore come along, and hold your Tongue. Upon this I led her by the Hand, and had not an Opportunity of ſpeaking to her in Return, becauſe there were ſeveral Workmen in the Garden wou'd have heard our Diſcourſe. As we were hurrying a⯑long, the Wind blew her Petticoat upon my Spur, which, ſtooping to untangle haſtily, I prick'd my Fingers with the Rowel, and they bled very much; ſearching my Pocket for a Handkerchief to wrap my Hand in, I re⯑member'd that I had left it in my Hat in the Parlour, when we firſt came in. Iſabella, up⯑on that, took hers out, and gave it me, and at the ſame time let fall a folded Paper, ſhe drew out with the Handkerchief, unſeen by her. I took it up without Obſervation, by letting the Handkerchief fall upon't, and [266] ſecretly convey'd it into my Pocket. When I came in to my Uncle, he was faſt aſleep; upon which, I ſtole out again, not ſeeing the Ladies in the Parlour. As, ſoon as I came to a convenient Place in the Garden, I took out the Paper I had found, and when I had o⯑pen'd it, perceiv'd it was the Letter, and Song I had formerly ſent her; and by being much worn in the Folds, I imagin'd with a pleaſing Satisfaction ſhe had often perus'd it for my Sake. At the Bottom of the Letter, I found theſe Lines of the Poet:

Thoſe Lines I remember'd very well in the celebrated Play of Tamerlane: But the follow⯑ing Verſes, as I cou'd not charge my Memory with, I fancy'd were of her own Com⯑poſition, [267] and ſeem'd as an Anſwer to the others:

I had the Vanity to imagine, the laſt Lines very much concern'd me; which cer⯑tainly wou'd have made me loſe my Senſes with Joy, if a Doubt had not aroſe, that ſome other might be meant. The Thought of that kept the Balance even with Hope, and ſometimes ſeem'd to weigh heavier.

I was upon the Rack of Thought, when a Servant came to acquaint me the Ladies were dreſs'd, and in the Parlour. After the ordi⯑nary Salutations, the Mother and Aunt be⯑gan to rally my Uncle, for going his Jour⯑ney without taking Leave of 'em. Why re⯑ally, reply'd my Uncle, I think it the beſt [268] way to avoid Impertinence, for I hate your formal Parting. However, you are ſuch eternal Gadders, there's no finding you at home; for we did you the Honour to call upon you as we ſet out; and, that we may ſpare ourſelves ſome Trouble, we ſhall now take our Leaves for one Month more; for we ſhall ſet out upon another Tour to mor⯑row. Why this is doing Buſineſs indeed, re⯑ply'd the Aunt! You'll fatigue the young Gentleman too much. Fatigue! return'd my Uncle; ſure if I am able to bear it, he very well may. But my chief Reaſon of this ſudden Journeying is, to ſhew my Nephew ſome of his own Country, before he begins his Foreign Travels, that he may ſatisfy the Curioſity of any Perſon that wants to be in⯑form'd, when he's abroad. Pray, when do you intend he ſhou'd begin his Foreign Tra⯑vels, as you call 'em, ſaid the Mother. Ev'n as ſoon as he has finiſh'd his Home ones, re⯑turn'd my Uncle. At this, I obſerv'd Iſa⯑bella's Colour to change, and riſing haſtily, to hide her Concern, threw up the Saſh, and look'd out of the Window, unobſerv'd by any one but myſelf. The Joy I felt was al⯑moſt without Bounds, and I ſtood in need of the utmoſt Art to conceal it. There were [269] ſeveral Diſcourſes, pro and con, upon young Gentlemen's Travelling; but my Mind was ſo full of the happy Extaſy I had conceiv'd, that I took but little Notice of either. Well, ſaid my Uncle, what you Women ſay upon theſe Subjects, is but whipt Cream, all Froth, and nothing ſubſtantial. But how muſt we employ ourſelves till Dinner, for I can't walk? What think you of Ombre, or Quadrille, ſaid the Aunt? With all my Heart, a Game at Ombre, reply'd my Uncle. But that won't employ us all, ſaid the Mother. Iſabella com⯑plain'd of a Pain in her Head, and therefore was unfit to make one; and for my Part, I declar'd I did not underſtand the Game. So the Mother, the Aunt, and my Uncle, ſat to it. Iſabella went up into her Chamber, and carry'd with her the Object of my Adora⯑tion. When ſhe was gone, I went into the Garden to feed upon Contemplation; and, in my own Imagination, thought myſelf the happieſt Creature in the Univerſe. But my Satisfaction did not laſt long, for, walking upon a Terras that overlook'd the Country, I ſaw a Coach and Six ſtop at the Gate. There came out of it an elderly Gentleman, follow'd by a young one about Twenty, as I gueſs'd; and before I cou'd make any [270] Judgment of 'em, two Fellows that were at work under the Terras-Wall, who did not ſee me. were obſerving the Coach. Adſo! ſaid one to the other, There's young Lady's Suitor, Sir Euſtace, and his Father, com'd again. I had not Power to ſtir, at this un⯑expected Knowledge, and remain'd a conſi⯑derable time like one thunderſtruck. A thou⯑ſand Reſolutions crouded into my Mind, and all to the deſtroying of my Peace. My Ri⯑val was hated with an immortal Hatred, be⯑fore I knew him, and his or my Death was fix'd as irrevocable as Fate. The Perturba⯑tion of my Fancy work'd ſo violently, that my Strength fail'd me, and I fell, almoſt Senſeleſs, upon a Graſs-Plat, where my fee⯑ble Limbs had unknowingly carry'd me. When the Hurry of my confus'd Thoughts was over, they gave me abſolute Deſpair. I was aſſur'd an Hour before, ſhe lov'd, and Hope had flatter'd me, that I was the happy He; but now I as ſurely thought, my Rival was the Object of her Wiſhes. Why then, thought I, why ſhou'd I endeavour to de⯑ſtroy one, whom ſhe wou'd wiſh ſhou'd live? that will not be the way to gain her, but ra⯑ther make her loath me. Death ſeem'd to me the only Friend; yet, thro' a Principle [271] of my Faith, I cou'd not put an End to Life. I only wiſh'd for Death, without the Thought of ſeparating Soul and Body.

Long I lay in my Confuſion of Thought; till at laſt I beheld the divine Iſabella in the Garden, looking about, as for ſomething ſhe had loſt, which I imagin'd to be the Paper I took up. She was within two Paces of me before ſhe ſaw me, ſhe was ſo intent on what ſhe was about; and when her Eyes encoun⯑ter'd mine, ſhe ſtarted back, as tho' ſhe had beheld ſomething baneful to her. Well, Madam, ſaid I, muſt I ever be the Object of Horror to your Eyes? and muſt you always ſtart at the Sight of me, as if you ſaw the Form of one riſe from the Grave? A little Time will take this Bugbear from your Sight, I hope, for ever. I know, I can never deſerve your Love; and yet I cannot bear to ſee you make another happy. For Heaven's ſake! cry'd Iſabella, ſurpris'd, what is it moves you ſo? Why do you lie ſtretch'd on the Ground, and look as if ſome Diſtraction had ſeiz'd you? Come, give me your Hand, and let us walk; have a Queſtion to ask you, which I expect to be truly reſolv'd in. Have you found any Paper of Writing, ſince you came into the Garden? There, Madam, [272] ſaid I; and wou'd to Heaven I had never ſeen it! (giving her the Paper) there, take it. I muſt own, I cannot blame you. Love is not to be forc'd; 'tis a free-born Child of the Mind. I only think the young Gentleman is compleatly bleſs'd. I am ſure, I ſhou'd be diſtracted with the mighty Joy, in ſuch Re⯑turn of Love.

Well, Sir, ſaid Iſabella, this Freedom I can forgive, becauſe I ſee ſomething extraor⯑dinary has ruffled your Temper. I doubt not but you have read theſe Lines (pointing to the Letter) that were writ on the Blank Leaf; 'tis the Thought of a young Gentle⯑woman, a Neighbour of mine; I liking the Lines, tranſcrib d 'em. I was under ſome Concern, I own, for the Loſs of the Paper, becauſe the Ballad that you ſent me was along with it, and I promis'd her to copy it, and ſend it back this Evening.

I ſoon perceiv'd, by ſome Confuſion in the Utterance of theſe Words, that what ſhe ſaid was to diſguiſe the Truth, and that Thought ſtabb'd me to the Heart; tho' her Civility to me, ſeem'd tender enough, yet I imagin'd that was only to blind me, and prevent any farther Enquiry. While we both were in great Confuſion of Thought, we perceiv'd [273] Sir Euſtace coming down out of the Hall, in⯑to the Garden. To let you ſee, your Suſpi⯑cions are unjuſt, ſaid Iſabella, (for I had in⯑form'd her what I heard one of the Work⯑men ſay) I'll inſtantly avoid the Perſon we ſee coming. With that ſhe went into a pri⯑vate Walk, and opening a Door that led into another Garden, took me by the Hand, and pull'd me in after her, then ſhut to the Door again. I muſt confeſs, this Proceeding be⯑gan to revive Hope, that, 'till then, ſeem'd quite expir'd. This Condeſcenſion, ſaid I, does, indeed, ſomething eaſe my Heart, but yet will not cure my Pain. That young Gentleman, no doubt, comes here to make his Addreſſes to you, and coming thus pub⯑lickly attended by that elderly Gentleman, which I ſuppoſe to be his Father, tells me he has the Approbation of your Mother and Aunt.

I will not deny, reply'd Iſabella, but that Sir Euſtace pretends to be my Lover, and my Mother and Aunt do not diſcountenance him. But they have more Tenderneſs for me, than to force my Inclination. And you more Duty, I reply'd, than to contradict 'em. No Sir, return'd Iſabella, I am ſatisfy'd they never will impoſe any one upon me for a Hus⯑band; [274] or ſhou'd they endeavour it, tho' Duty is very prevalent with me, yet in that one on⯑ly Thing, I wou'd dare to diſobey.

Well, Madam, my Deſtiny, I find, has mark'd me for unhappy, for Title and Riches muſt prevail. I have told you before, re⯑ply'd Iſabella, that Fortune I deſpiſe, and Title can no more make a Man Good and Virtuous, in my Opinion, than a good and virtuous Man can make a Title. A King can give Honour, but not Honeſty; yet, like the Sun, it ſhines upon Weeds that are often admir'd for their eminent Worthleſneſs. Your Sentiments of Honour, divine Iſabella, I re⯑ply'd, are ſo juſt, that inſpires me to ask you one Queſtion, and hope an Anſwer. What is it, return'd Iſabella, in ſome Confu⯑ſion? Am I to hope, ſaid I, or deſpair? I wou'd not have made the important Que⯑ſtion ſo abruptly; but the Time of my De⯑parture is ſo ſhort, and my Unhappineſs of not ſeeing you ſo often as my impatient Heart deſires, will, I am aſſur'd from your Good⯑neſs, ſtand excus'd, whatever your Heart can ſay, for, or againſt me. Why will you Preſs me, reply'd Iſabella, now? I have (I re⯑turn'd) told you my Reaſons already. Think, ere you anſwer me, for my whole Peace of [275] Mind depends upon't; and if I am baniſh'd from your Preſence now, with cold Deſpair, I am aſſur'd I cannot ſurvive it. No Love was ever more pure than mine, or ſtronger. A diſtant Hope of once poſſeſſing you, wou'd arm me for all Dangers; and I cou'd wait patiently an Age of Torments, if in the End I ſhou'd be bleſt with your conſenting Love. Do not ſurmiſe my Paſſion, youthful Folly; 'tis rooted in my Soul ſo deep, that no Storm of Fortune can ever ſhake its Foundation. If you cannot love, freely declare it, as you wou'd your Vows to Heaven; I ſhall only blame my Stars, not you; and take for ever from your Sight, an Object hateful to him⯑ſelf as well as you.

Hate, reply'd Iſabella, is not in my Na⯑ture; and ſince you preſs me to declare my⯑ſelf, the Perſon you ſaw me fly from, never ſhall have my Heart; and be aſſur'd, if you remain ever conſtant, I ſhall, no doubt, in time, be willing to reward that Conſtancy. This Declaration, continu'd Iſabella, bluſh⯑ing, is much more than I ſo ſoon intended to let you know; and what Conſtructions you put upon it, keep it a Secret from the whole World: Let not your Uncle, whom I know you can hide nothing from, be acquainted [276] with the leaſt Syllable. This, from a Per⯑ſon of Iſabella's Character, was enough to raiſe me from the Dead. I ſaid all an im⯑patient loving Heart cou'd ſuggeſt; and was ſo extravagant in my tranſporting Joy, that Iſabella check'd me, telling me, I ſhou'd cer⯑tainly diſcover ſomething extraordinary had happen'd to me, if I had not a Heed to my Eyes and Tongue. Before we parted, ſhe open'd all her Soul to me, telling me, her Paſſion did not ſeem ſo violent as mine, but more laſting.

In ſhort, never was a Man more happy than I thought myſelf. However, Prudence oblig'd us to part, tho' I cou'd have liv'd for ever in her Company. She gave me the Key, to let me thro' the ſame Way we came in, while ſhe went another Way; firſt com⯑manding me not to ſhew the leaſt Reſent⯑ment to the young Nobleman, if we ſhou'd meet. I reply'd, I knew ſo well the Nature of his Diſeaſe, that, if he truly lov'd her, he had now a Title to my Pity. We left each other, with a Promiſe to meet in the Afternoon again, in the ſame Place, if an Opportunity offer'd.

When I had parted with the divine Iſa⯑bella, I went up the Walk with the utmoſt [277] Contentment in my Heart; tho' I endea⯑vour'd to conceal it in my Countenance as much as poſſible. Upon the Terras I met Sir Euſtace, whom I ſaluted, and paſs'd him; he return'd it indeed, but with too much Pride, as I thought. However, I paſs'd on, and took no farther Notice of him. When I came into the Parlour, I found the old Gentleman, with the two Ladies and my Un⯑cle, playing at Quadrille, and Iſabella read⯑ing in the Window. Immediately after, Sir Euſtace came in, and finding Iſabella, expreſt abundance of of fulſome Joy at the Sight of her. I muſt own, I was oblig'd to make uſe of all my Philoſophy, to keep my Temper, and ſhou'd very hardly have done it, if Iſa⯑bella had not rally'd him with ſo much Wit, as in the end, gave me a malicious Satis⯑faction. I obſerv'd, all the Company ſeem'd as well pleas'd, only the Gentleman that came with him; but he being ſomething deaf, cou'd not underſtand every thing that was ſaid.

When Dinner was ſerv'd in, Sir Euſtace plac'd himſelf next Iſabella, and was conti⯑nually helping her to ſuch Quantities, that wou'd have ſerv'd her a Week. I obſerve, Sir, ſaid Iſabella, you wou'd have me eat for [278] the whole Family; or, if you imagin'd every body in Company had as good a Stomach as you ſuppoſe me to have, by your loading my Plate, they might riſe ready for another Din⯑ner. However, I am oblig'd to you. You miſtake the Gentleman, reply'd my Uncle, he's a young Cannibal, he only fats you as we do Chickens, in hope of feeding upon you. Sir Euſtace took what my Uncle ſaid, as a very good Jeſt, and laugh'd heartily; ſaying, if he ſhou'd feed upon her, ſhe wou'd go very much againſt his Stomach. At the End of his ridiculous Jeſt, he laugh'd ſo im⯑moderately, with his Mouth full, that he ſputter'd it in my Face. I wou'd the Gentle⯑man, ſaid I, had taken an Opportunity of laughing when his Mouth was empty, I ſhou'd have been the more oblig'd to him. Harkye, young Gentleman, reply'd Sir Eu⯑ſtace, you were told before I was a Cannibal, and I can aſſure you, I often eat Youngſters that are too forward. Really, Sir, ſaid I, very calmly, I can't ſee that prodigious Sto⯑mach in your Countenance, or any thing there, wou'd make me afraid to meet you any where faſting.

The Company laugh'd to ſee his Uneaſi⯑neſs at my Reply, but he gave me no An⯑ſwer. [279] Iſabella, I obſerv'd, ſeem'd much con⯑cern'd at what I ſaid, and, with a Look with her Eyes, told me, I ſhou'd carry the Jeſt no farther. Well, Sir, ſaid I, without jeſting, I mean no Harm; if you make any farther Conſtructions on my Words, but as a Jeſt, you go beyond my Meaning. This molli⯑fying Speech ſeem'd to raiſe his Anger more. A Jeſt has often coſt the Maker his Life, re⯑ply'd Sir Euſtace, and ſuch young Gentlemen as you, ſhou'd remember the Smart of the Rod, and curb their Tongues for fear of a Whipping. Sir, ſaid I, I preſume your vo⯑racious Cannibal's Stomach is not quite ap⯑peas'd, therefore I'll take a Walk in the Gar⯑den, for fear you ſhou'd fall foul on me in an improper Place; ſaying this, I aroſe, and taking my Hat and Sword out of the Win⯑dow, went into the Garden.

The whole Company aroſe to ſtop the Ba⯑ron, who offer'd to follow me. My Uncle began to be very much diſturb'd, upon my Account; and, as he told me afterwards, did intend to follow me. But, thinking to oblige me, he deſired the Mother to ſend Iſabella af⯑ter me. When ſhe came up to me, ſhe began to reproach me with my Conduct, telling me, if I had any Hope or Deſire to gain her Heart, [280] I muſt conceal my Paſſion from all the World, and this Proceeding will betray the Secret; if not on your Side, ſaid ſhe, tenderly, I fear my Concern will. Thoſe Words have Force enough to reſtore me to my Senſes, were I in the Grave, ſaid I; and after this Confeſ⯑ſion, that makes me the happieſt of Mortals, even Blows ſhall not make me draw my Sword, if you deſire it. No, ſaid Iſabella, I know what Men of Honour ſhou'd bear; and I ſhou'd deſpiſe the Wretch for being a Coward. Yet, Madam, I reply'd, Cowar⯑dice can no more be help'd, than the Tinc⯑ture of a Skin; 'tis rooted in the Nature, and known Cowards, like Fools, ſhou'd be pity'd. Certainly, no Man wou'd be a Cow⯑ard if he cou'd help it, reply'd Iſabella; but when I ſay I ſhou'd deſpiſe a Coward, I ima⯑gine to myſelf, the Man that has true Cou⯑rage, has every other noble Qualification, that will make him deſerving; as on the con⯑trary, a Coward Soul inherits every weak Failing, and is as incapable of doing a wor⯑thy Action, as the Man of Spirit is of doing a mean one. I ſhall ever ſubmit my Actions, to you, Madam, ſaid I. Then, ſaid Iſabella, immediately return, and be reconcil'd to the hot Spark within, whom the more I know, [281] the more I deſpiſe; and I fanſy that Decla⯑ration won't diſpleaſe you; but I'll have no Reply now. Nothing more but this, ſaid I, you promis'd me a Meeting in the Afternoon, which I fear will be a difficult thing to bring to paſs. Do you ſtart Difficulties, reply'd Iſa⯑bella? Never fear, I warrant we'll bring it about. The ſame River that runs thro' your Garden, runs thro' the Bottom of ours, there⯑fore I'll propoſe Fiſhing. We'll go firſt, and the Man ſhall take us two over to an Iſland in the River, and return. My Mother does not care to go into a Boat, and the reſt of the Company, I ſuppoſe, out of Complain⯑ſance, will ſtay with her. But I fear, Ma⯑dam, the young Spark will come to inter⯑rupt us, ſaid I. Why that's all we have to fear, reply'd Iſabella; but as ſoon as he comes, we'll return; and that, I hope, will give you ſome Satisfaction. Do but conſider my Tem⯑per, and you'll find this is enough to make you eaſy. This I can do, without Suſpicion from any one; for none of my Family ſuſ⯑pects either you or me to be in Love. There have ſo many Accidents odly concurr'd to⯑day, that I will no longer conceal it from you. Firſt, your ſudden Departure, then this Rival, and the diſagreeable Quarrel. [282] Tho' your Rival is the main Motive, join'd with your Foreign Tour, which I underſtand by your Uncle, is for three Years. But I'll ſay no more now, in the Afternoon we ſhall have a better Opportunity. As ſoon as I came into the Dining-Room, Sir Euſtace met me, with a conſtrain'd Smile, and told me, he was ſorry any Uneaſineſs had been crea⯑ted by Words utter'd without Thought, and ſhou'd, for the future, be willing to have more Acquaintance with me. I ſhou'd have con⯑ſider'd indeed, there is ſome Difference in our Years, ſaid he; therefore I own myſelf the Criminal, and ask Pardon for what's paſt. Years, ſaid my Uncle, do not always imply Age or Underſtanding; for ſome at Fifteen have the Diſcretion of Thirty; and Fifty-Five, in a good Conſtitution, is an abler Man than Five and Thirty; I mean, continu'd my Un⯑cle, ſmiling, ſome Men are younger at Sixty, than others at Thirty. That is a Compli⯑ment, reply'd the Aunt, we may very rea⯑ſonably ſuppoſe, deſign'd for yourſelf. How⯑ever, let's have no more of 'em; we'll make an End of our Dinner, and drink a Cup of Oblivion, and then all will be well again. Meaning Tea, I ſuppoſe, reply'd my Uncle, where every Cup is broaching new Scandal, [283] and we ſhall have ſo much Noiſe, and ſo lit⯑tle underſtood, that it will put me in mind of the Confuſion of Babel.

I found the Company were not rightly in Humour, yet I perceiv'd, with ſome Satis⯑faction, that I was not the Occaſion; even the old Gentleman that came with Sir Euſtace, appear'd concern'd for his Behaviour. After we were riſen from Table, the Company di⯑vided into Parties, all but my Uncle, who went to take his uſual Afternoon's Nap. The deaf old Gentleman ſingled me out, and led me into the Garden. Said he, I have the Misfortune of having but an ill Hearing, yet I heard enough to know my Son was much in Fault. Youth, Fortune, and Title, make him too preſuming. I have, with the beſt Advice I am capable of giving him, endea⯑vour'd to ſoften his too turbulent Temper; but, I fear, 'tis rooted too deeply in his Na⯑ture, ever to be eras'd. Honour ſhou'd be tack'd to Nobility; yet, I find Mankind ſo deprav'd in their Nature, that the more Power they have, the greater Propenſity they have to do Evil, which ſhews, to the Judicious, Riches and Titles ill plac'd. But as Nobili⯑ty can be no more inherited than Virtue, ſo, in my Opinion, he is noble that has noble In⯑clinations. [284] I ſhou'd not talk to one ſo little advanc'd in Years, in this manner, as I do to you, if I had not been inform'd by my Lady, of a ripe Underſtanding in ſo early an Age. I expect no Reply in the Complimen⯑tal Way; I only beg you wou'd forgive my Son, and, for the future, know me for your Friend. I ſhou'd deſire your Converſation, but my Infirmity will not admit of it, there⯑fore I ſhall take my Leave of you. Upon this he went from me, and left me full of Re⯑gard for his right Way of Thinking.

While I was muſing upon what he ſaid to me, Iſabella came down the Walks, follow'd by a Servant with Fiſhing-Tackle. Come, Sir, ſaid ſhe, as ſhe paſt me, you are to teach me how to catch Fiſh, for as yet, I am but a mere Bungler. With all my Heart, Ma⯑dam, I reply'd. When the Servant had put us over to the Iſland, Iſabella ſaid to him, John, I deſire you wou'd bring over no Stran⯑gers. No, no, Madam, John reply'd; if you'll be pleas'd to tell me when I ſhall wait on you, to bring you back, I'll lock the Boat on the other ſide, and be out of the way till then. Do, ſaid Iſabella, and fetch us a⯑bout an Hour hence. When John was gone, I fell at the Fair One's Feet, and gave her [285] Thanks for this ſurpriſing Condeſcenſion. What Words, divine Iſabella, ſaid I, ſhall I uſe to expreſs my Gratitude! but there are none that will ſpeak the leaſt Part of what my Mind feels; you have rais'd me from the Bottom of Deſpair, to the Summit of Joy; and when my Heart forgets this Good⯑neſs, may I be for ever miſerable! Your Proteſtations I believe, return'd the divine Iſabella, raiſing me from the Earth, and I will freely declare, if you ever ſhou'd prove falſe, the Knowledge will break my Heart. I was going once more to fall at her Feet, but was interrupted in my exalted Bliſs, by a Noiſe we heard at the Boat.

Sir Euſtace miſſing us in the Garden, and being inform'd by the Aunt where we were gone, follow'd us. But John had made the Boat too faſt for him to undo, without his Aſſiſtance. But in the Buſtle he made to un⯑looſe it, he tumbled into the Water, and by that time I came to the Water-ſide, he was ſunk to the Bottom. All other Paſſions flew immediately from my Breaſt, but Pity, and when I ſaw the Danger he was in, I threw myſelf into the Water, and, by good For⯑tune, caught hold of a Shoulder-Knot he wore, and brought him to the Iſland, with⯑out [286] any Appearance of Life. When I had dragg'd him on Shore, with the Aſſiſtance of Iſabella, I held him up by the Heels againſt a Tree, where he diſgorg'd the Water he had ſwallow'd, and fetching two or three Groans, he came to himſelf; tho' ſo faint, he cou'd not ſtand; and for want of proper Reme⯑dies, we were in Fear he might not ſurvive the Accident, for we were too far from the Houſe to make 'em hear us. I therefore pull'd off my Coat and Waiſtcoat, and ſwam acroſs the River to the Garden, and inform'd the Family of the Accident; but John was no where to be found. The Difficulty we had to get the Boat looſe, took up ſo much time, that Sir Euſtace was almoſt periſh'd with Cold, ere we cou'd bring him Aſſiſtance; and Iſa⯑bella's Fear had almoſt put her in the ſame Condition. It was with much Difficulty, by pouring Cordials into his Mouth, that we brought him once more to his Senſes. He was put to bed; but the Fright, and the Water he drank, threw him into a high Fe⯑ver. The Hurry of my Spirits, and being ſo long in my wet Cloaths, gave me a great deal of Diſorder; and, having no other Cloaths to ſhift me (for my Uncle's Servants were gone home with our Equipage) I was [287] oblig'd to go to Bed too, but had the Satis⯑faction of being laid in Iſabella's Bed; and, what heighten'd that Satisfaction, I was ſtrip'd of my wet Shirt, and, by the Mother's Or⯑der, had one of Iſabella's Shifts put on me. The Joy took away all Thoughts of my Diſ⯑order; but it cou'd not hinder a ſtrong Fever ſeizing me, to the utmoſt Concern of all the Family. The Father of the Nobleman ex⯑preſs'd more Concern for me, than his Son, giving me all the Encomiums due to the moſt conſummate Virtue; that maugre the Diſtaſte I might have juſtly conceiv'd againſt his Son, I had hazarded my own Life to preſerve his. I muſt own, the Action gave me a great deal of Satisfaction, and the Praiſes, tho' no Ad⯑dition to Pride (for that's a Failing I hope I ſhall ever be a Stranger to) yet pleas'd me, becauſe I had done what many of my Age wou'd have neglected, or refus'd.

The following Day, my Fever abated, but Sir Euſtace ſeem'd worſe and worſe. I was griev'd I cou'd not have an Opportu⯑nity of ſeeing the Divine Iſabella alone, du⯑ring my ſhort Illneſs. But I had the Happi⯑neſs of receiving a Letter from her, which ſhe put into my Hand unobſerv'd by any one. But the Joy I felt in reading the following [288] Lines, had more Force than any of the Doc⯑tor's Preſcriptions towards my Cure.

I wiſh'd my Indiſpoſition had continu'd longer, that I might have had the Satisfac⯑tion of being under the ſame Roof with my dear Iſabella. But my Health return'd, and I was oblig'd to go home to my Uncle's, with⯑out converſing in private with her. How⯑ever [289] the Contentment of my Mind appear'd in my Face, and my Uncle ſeveral times took Notice of it, yet I conceal'd, accord⯑ing to her Deſire, even from him, the Rea⯑ſon of it.

When we had been at home a Week, my Uncle told me we ſhou'd make another Tour the next Day; and I gather'd by his Diſ⯑courſe, that we ſhou'd not make any more Vi⯑ſits to Iſabella's Mother, till we came back, which wou'd not be in ſix Weeks. The Heart-breaking I felt, almoſt kill'd me. I did not doubt, but I cou'd have gain'd Leave to make a Viſit alone; but I knew I muſt then have diſcover'd more than Iſabella wou'd like. I caſt about, ſeveral Hours, how to ſend her a Letter without Suſpicion; but, to my Mortification, cou'd not pitch upon an Expedient. But while I was perplexing my Brain to no Purpoſe, I had the unexpected Joy of ſeeing her Coach ſtop at the Door; and before I cou'd recover myſelf from the pleaſing Confuſion, ſhe enter'd, with her Mo⯑ther and Aunt. But underſtanding my Un⯑cle was in the Garden, the Mother and Aunt went to him, and left the divine Iſabella alone with me in the Parlour. The ſudden Sur⯑prize had ty'd my Tongue faſt, and it was [290] ſome time ere I cou'd ſpeak a Word. All I cou'd do, was to fall at her Feet with the utmoſt Tranſport of Joy, which was in⯑creas'd by her raiſing me, and putting her Lily Hand round my Neck, preſſing my Head cloſe to her Boſom. I ſpoke at laſt, but ſuch wild incoherent Speeches, that gave her more Satisfaction, ſhe told me, than if I had utter'd Volumes of regular Nonſenſe, vulgarly call'd, Love. But when I told her of our intended Journey the next Day, her amiable Countenance was overclouded with Sorrow, and ere we cou'd recover ourſelves, my Uncle, her Mother and Aunt came out of the Garden; but before they enter'd the Room where we were, Iſabella told me ſhe had provided a Place where we might ſend Letters to each other, without any Suſpicion; ſhe wou'd ſeek for an Opportunity after Din⯑ner to inform me, and if that ſhou'd not hap⯑pen, ſhe wou'd contrive to let me know by a Line before to-morrow Morning.

After Dinner, Iſabella and I were engag|'d, much againſt our Inclination, to make up a Set at Quadrille; and, to add to our Morti⯑fication, we were oblig'd to part without any further Opportunity of Converſe. How⯑ever, I was forc'd to keep up a chearful [291] Countenance, that my Uncle might not ſu⯑ſpect the Chagrin I felt. The Night prov'd as diſagreeable a one to me, as the Evening; and I cou'd not get any Reſt, till it was al⯑moſt time to riſe. As I was dreſſing myſelf, my Servant told me there was a Boy at the Door, had brought me a Preſent of a Brace of Partridges; I order'd him to come in; when I ask'd him from whence they came, he told me he had a Note in his Pocket wou'd inform me. As ſoon as I receiv'd it, I ſoon knew the dear Character to be Iſabella's. When I had diſmiſs'd the Boy, I open'd the Note, and found the Contents as follows:

The Pleaſure this little Note gave me, was partly taken from me, in that I did not de⯑tain the Boy to ſend an Anſwer. Yet, upon ſecond Thoughts, I imagin'd it wou'd be ſa⯑fer to carry one myſelf. I was ſoon deter⯑min'd, wrote one, and went to the Houſe, and was there before the Boy, who, I ſuppoſe, might loiter by the way. This Woman was a Tenant of the divine Iſabella's, and had for⯑merly been her Nurſe; ſhe cou'd not be ſaid to love her Miſtreſs, but rather doated on her. This Creature was the Picture of Ho⯑neſty; and ſhe was ſo well aſſur'd of her young Lady's Conduct, ſhe made no Scruple to tell me, the Letters I wou'd honour her with, ſhou'd faithfully be convey'd to the proper Hands. Why then to begin, ſaid I, there's one, I don't care how ſoon it was where it ſhou'd be. I don't think it proper till after Dinner, reply'd the good Woman; for tho' I am ever welcome at my young Landlady's Mother's, yet, as I have not been come long from thence, I think it will not [293] be quite ſo well to go ſo ſoon. I agreed with her in that Particular, and took my Leave: firſt making her a handſome Preſent; for tho' thoſe ſort of People may continue un⯑corruptively honeſt, yet it is as well, when it is made their Intereſt to be ſo.

The next Day my Uncle reſolv'd we ſhou'd make a Viſit to my Father and Mother, and I was of the Opinion it wou'd be highly pro⯑per, as well as a Deſire I had to ſee how the Family went on. When we arriv'd there, we found every thing according to our Wiſhes. There was ſuch a Harmony between my Fa⯑ther and my Mother, that my Father told my Uncle, ſmiling, his Wife's late Illneſs had mended her Temper prodigiouſly, and he wou'd not have her be indiſpos'd in the ſame manner again, for ever ſo much; for if, ſaid he, ſhe ſhou'd, and be better in propor⯑tion, ſhe wou'd be too good for him, and only fit for Heaven. We found every thing ſo much to our Liking, that we took our Leave of 'em with a great deal of Satisfac⯑tion; and my Uncle told me, as we were go⯑ing home, that Miracles were not ceas'd, for there was an ill Woman mended.

The next Day we ſet out on our intended Progreſs, and met with nothing extraordinary [294] in our Courſe; only one Thing I thought was odd enough. In a ſmall Village, near the Sea-Coaſt in Suſſex, as we were at Church on a Sunday, with a full Congregation, a Man came to the Church-Door, and cry'd out, A Wreck! A Wreck! The Congregation im⯑mediately unbuckled their Devotions, and were crouding out as fast as they cou'd, tho' the Parſon had not gone thro' half his Ser⯑mon. When the good Man found they were going to leave him to finiſh his Sermon by himſelf, he call'd to 'em with an audible Voice, deſiring his Audience to hear one Word before they went: Upon his earneſt Entrea⯑ty, moſt of 'em turn'd about to hear the one Word. When the Parſon found they ſeem'd willing to hear him, he cry'd out, Pray, good Folks, let us ſtart fair! and upon that, preſt to the Door with all the Expedition he cou'd, and, in a few Minutes, my Uncle and I might have robb'd the Church, for there was not a Soul to hinder us. The Oddity of the Thing very much ſurpriz'd us, tho' it often made us merry afterwards. Well, Will, ſaid my Un⯑cle (when the Church was empty) we may as well ſay our Prayers at home, as ſtay here by ourſelves. What, Sir, ſaid I, have you no Curioſity to ſee the Proceeding of this wild [295] Congregation? Why, I cannot ſay but I have, reply'd my Uncle; let us get our Horſes and follow 'em. When we came to the Gentleman's where we lay, a Friend of my Uncle's, we found the Houſe as empty as the Church; for they were all gone upon the ſame Deſign, and my Tutor, with our Servants along with 'em, as we ſuppos'd. So we were forc'd to be our own Grooms, and follow'd 'em. We cou'd not well miſs our Way, for we ſaw People from all Quarters running before us. When we came within Sight of the Sea, we cou'd perceive ſeveral Veſſels labouring to keep from the Shore, with all their Art and Induſtry; for the Wind was very high, and blew right aſhore, as the Sailors term it. But what Horror had I in my Mind, to ſee in what Anxiety the Wretches on Shore were, for fear they ſhou'd eſcape, and ſave themſelves. At laſt, one of 'em bulg'd upon the Rocks, and ſplit in Pie⯑ces, at which Sight the Barbarians (for I can term 'em no leſs) gave a Shout, and threw one another down for Eagerneſs, who ſhou'd be foremoſt, not the leaſt regarding the poor unfortunate Wretches plung'd in the Waves. But my Uncle and I, with my Tutor, and our Servants (that were there before us) gave [296] 'em all the Aſſiſtance we cou'd, and with much Trouble, and ſome Hazard, ſav'd Five out of Eight that were in the Veſſel; tho' with many a hearty Curſe for our Pains; for it ſeems they cou'd not make the Veſſel a Wreck, if there were any of the Crew alive. However, the inhuman Brutes fell to ſe⯑curing every thing as faſt as ever they cou'd, while we carry'd the poor Shipwreck'd Wretches to the next Village, to give 'em ſome Refreſhment. The Veſſel was a French⯑man, laden with Wine, which they brought to exchange for Corn, the common Cuſtom of all the Sea-Coaſt contiguous to France; which may prove a pernicious Cuſtom, if the Produce of Grain ſhou'd ever fail us in England.

We took our Leaves that Evening of my Uncle's Friend, who, in my Opinion, ſeem'd very glad to be rid of us, for he was as bu⯑ſy about the Wreck, as any of the reſt. A few Miles farther, a Dutch Veſſel was caſt a⯑way, and all the unhappy Sailors drown'd. Our Road lying through the ſame Place three Days afterwards, ſeveral People had ſold Part of a new Fount of Letter, of the Greek Al⯑phabet, at a Penny per Pound, as waſte Me⯑tal, when perhaps the Purchaſer had paid [297] fifty times more for it. What Brutes are theſe Wretches! Had they been their own Countrymen, it had been the ſame. What Horror muſt it be to the poor Sailors, when having weather'd many a Storm, and perhaps eſcap'd from their Enemies, to come in Sight of their native Country, and periſh for want of timely Aſſiſtance from their Countrymen, who wiſh for nothing more than their Deaths. What can the worſt of the Savage Kind do more? Nay, I have been inform'd, that to make a Veſſel a Wreck, they have often murder'd the poor Sailors that have been ſtruggling for Life, lifting their Hands in vain for Succour, to thoſe that have prov'd their Murderers. We ought not to condemn the Heatheniſh Indians, that ſerve the Europeans in the ſame manner, who do it from the Love of Liberty, who ima⯑gine (and not unjuſtly) that the Europeans come to enſlave 'em. Theſe Reflexions caſt a Melancholy upon our whole Company for ſome time after, and the Diverſity of new Objects cou'd hardly wipe away the Thoughts of the other. When my Uncle ask'd a Far⯑mer in that Neighbourhood, how he cou'd be ſo inhuman to feed on the Loſs of his Fellow-Creatures? he anſwer'd, if it were not [298] now and then for ſuch a lucky Hit, he ſhou'd never be able to pay his Landlord his Rent; beſides, Cuſtom had made it natural to him, and he cou'd not call that a Crime, ſo generally follow'd by all his Neighbours. All we cou'd ſay, cou'd not make him think of leaving off ſo profitable a Perquiſite, as he was pleas'd to term it. Which put me in mind of thoſe excellent Verſes of Wal⯑ler's.

Some few Days after, my good Tutor was attack'd with a violent Fever, which we imagin'd he had got by endeavouring to ſave the poor ſhipwreck'd People, tho' we were all as much wet with the Billows of the Sea, as he was. This Accident ſtopt us at St. Ed⯑mund's-Bury in Suffolk, ſeveral Days, and tho' my Uncle ſpar'd no Coſt for his Reco⯑very, yet the good Man expir'd, to the great Grief of us all. We bury'd him decently, tho' privately, not without wetting his Grave [299] with my Tears, for he was a Perſon that deſerv'd, and had a great Share in my Friend⯑ſhip.

After his Funeral, we ſet ourſelves forward for Home; and for my own Part, with a heavy Heart; and my Uncle ſeem'd very much griev'd, becauſe he ever expreſs'd a great deal of Satisfaction in truſting to him the Conduct of my Youth in my Tour of Europe. Yet the Imagination of my Travels being retarded for ſome time, gave me ſome Plea⯑ſure, becauſe I ſhou'd have the Happineſs of ſeeing my dear Iſabella longer. When we came home, Betty inform'd me my Mother-in-law had made her a Viſit, and expreſs'd ſuch a Horror at my former Treatment, that they did nothing but weep all Day. She made her ſeveral Preſents, and ſeem'd very much pleas'd at her Settlement in my Un⯑cle's Family. But the Idea of my charm⯑ing Iſabella took up all my Thoughts, and fatigu'd as I was, I ſent her the following Let⯑ter, as ſoon as I diſmounted.

The next Morning I receiv'd an Anſwer to mine; which gave me more Joy, than a Mariner receives after eſcaping a dangerous Tempeſt, and no Hope left for Safety.

As we were going the next Day to dine at Iſabella's Mother's, my Uncle receiv'd a Let⯑ter from a diſtant Relation, which he gave me to read:

After I had read the Letter, my Uncle told me, it was from a Perſon he cou'd very well confide in, and his Recommendation was ſufficient to him; however, Billy, ſaid my Uncle, you ſhall ſee the Gentleman, for this is your Affair: If you can't like him, I won't force him upon you, no more than I wou'd do a Wife. Well, Sir, ſaid I, to⯑morrow will decide that; tho' I am apt to [305] believe I ſhall like him as well as you do. I am glad to find he is not a Man in Years; for they are generally ſo ill-natur'd, the Pre⯑cepts they teach us favour too much of Se⯑verity. And very often, reply'd my Uncle, Youth borders too much upon Levity. However, I have told you, more than once, that I ſhall leave you to your own Diſcre⯑tion.

When we came to the Houſe, we found the Company together in the Parlour, and the Cloth laid ready for Dinner. I am glad you're come, ſaid Iſabella's Mother, for we are oblig'd to dine very early, becauſe, after Dinner, we are to make a formal Viſit to a Neighbour Lady, but we ſhall leave Iſabella to entertain you. You may imagine, I felt no little Joy, when I underſtood Iſabella was to be left behind; and the Freedom of my Humour had almoſt betray'd my Content⯑ment, for I was rally'd both by the Mother and Aunt. Nay, my Uncle cou'd not help having a Fling at me. Why, good Ladies, ſaid my Uncle, don't be too hard upon my Nephew; do you imagine a young Lad paſt Fifteen, cares a Fig for Womens Company looking hard towards Forty. No, no, it's very ſeldom Youth and Age can agree, except [306] Youth is very ſober indeed; or Age is not tinctur'd with its old Diſtemper, Peeviſh⯑neſs, with a Hatred of all Mirth. Ay, but (I reply'd) we find nothing of that in this good Company; there's none here forgets they were once young. Very true, return'd the Mother, your Uncle, I believe, imagines he is as young now, as he was thirty Years ago. Pray ſpeak for yourſelf, Madam, re⯑turn'd my Uncle, you are as unwilling as I am, to be reckon'd in the Catalogue of Old. Why ſure, reply'd the Aunt, my Siſter has not quite ſo many Years over her Head, as your Worſhip! No, nor ſo much Expe⯑rience neither, return'd my Uncle. Dinner coming in, ended this Diſpute. And after it was over, the Mother and Aunt went to their ſeveral Chambers to dreſs; and my Un⯑cle went to ſleep in the Summer-Houſe; ſo I was left alone with the divine Iſabella. We ſaid all our young Hearts conceiv'd, and I thought myſelf the happieſt of Mortals. But when I touch'd upon my Abſence for ſo long a time, ſhe begg'd we might do ſomething to divert that terrible Thought; for if ſhe gave herſelf leave to look into her Breaſt, ſhe was aſſur'd, ſuch a Torrent of Tears wou'd fol⯑low, that her Sorrow wou'd be taken Notice [307] of by the Company, and perhaps the Cauſe of Grief ſurmis'd, if not in reality found out. Therefore, ſaid ſhe, to divert the Thought, let us play a Party at Picquet. My Uncle, Madam, I reply'd, will not forgo his After⯑noon's Nap, for any thing, therefore we muſt play by ourſelves. Before we had play'd out one Game, the Ladies came down, and the Coach being ready, drove away to their Viſit.

When they were gone, I cou'd not refrain opening my whole Soul to Iſabella, who felt the Pangs of Parting as ſharp as myſelf, and her lovely Face was all bedew'd with Tears. We were ſo long in this tender Scene of Parting, that my Uncle had finiſh'd his Sleep, and was coming towards us. Iſabella at the Sight of him, was oblig'd to retire to hide her Tears; and I was forc'd to have Recourſe to Otway's Orphan, to have a Pre⯑tence for the Gloom that was ſettled upon my Countenance. Why how now, young Man, ſaid my Uncle, when he enter'd, what all alone, and melancholy? Yes, Sir, ſaid I, I never can read the laſt Act of this Play, without being ſenſibly touch'd with the Ca⯑taſtrophe. Pr'ythee read Comedies then, ſaid my Uncle, for I will not have you ſad. [308] Sir, ſaid I, I can't find many Comedies fit to read; for thoſe that are good, I have read ſo often, I'm as well acquainted with them as the Authors, or Actors in them. What's become of the young Lady, ſaid my Un⯑cle, have you not Rhetorick enough to keep her here? So it ſeems, Sir, ſaid I, for ſhe is retir'd. Well then, ſaid my Uncle, ſince we are alone, and the Time ſhort we ſhall be together, let me give you a little Advice before we part; for it is not an Improbabi⯑lity, when we part, we may part for ever. I find, Sir, ſaid I, you intend to increaſe my Melancholy, for if I thought that, by my Conſent, we wou'd never part. Never the nearer Death for talking of it, neither, re⯑turn'd my Uncle. But what I am going to ſay to you, I wou'd have you often think on, to ſtrengthen your Mind in Virtue.

When you have chang'd your Climate, don't change your Nature, but always think England your native Country; and not like ſome young Gentlemen that I know, who return with a Contempt for their own Coun⯑try, with their Underſtandings like a Fool's Coat, patch'd all over, and nothing of the Ground ſeen. Never ſtay long at a Place; for even Rome, with the Help of Books [309] which deſcribe their Antiquities, may be ſeen in three Months, as well as ſo many Years. Converſe with elder People than your ſelf, for their Knowledge will increaſe yours; and do not, as I know ſome of our Countrymen do, becauſe they are brought up in the Pro⯑teſtant Religion, avoid all Converſation with the Clergy abroad; for when I travell'd, I found among all their Holy Bodies, Men of the profoundeſt Learning and Judgment, who never attempted to make me a Proſe⯑lyte, or gave me any Uneaſineſs about my Religion. I wou'd have you go into all Companies, but take care of being too parti⯑cular. Make no Intimates, but as many Friends as you can. The French have too much Levity, the Spaniards too much Mo⯑roſeneſs, the Italians too much Jealouſy, and addicted to overmuch Pleaſure without Mirth; the Germans, tho' learned, love the Juice of the Grape too well; and the Dutch are all Men of Buſineſs; tho' there is no general Rule without an Exception. Always live ſoberly; for as you will be frequently chang⯑ing Place, a ſpare Diet will beſt agree with your Conſtitution, and will learn you never to be diſappointed, If Heaven ſhou'd af⯑flict you with Sickneſs, take my Method. [310] Send for the moſt eminent of the Profeſſion, tell him your Stay in that Place is but ſhort, and agree with him for ſuch a Sum when you are thoroughly cur'd. This Management, will make it his Intereſt to ſet you upon your Legs as faſt as he can. You muſt hire a Native Servant at every Place you intend to make any Stay at. Give him good Wages, but truſt him not; let him know as little of your Affairs as poſſible; and keep him igno⯑rant of your next Station, and the Time you intend to ſet forth; for ſome of 'em, I have prov'd, are Confederates with Robbers, and are as inquiſitive after Foreigners, as ſome Foreigners are after new Faſhions. The Va⯑riety of Dreſs (I mean Faſhions) is what I abhor; yet you muſt put yourſelf in the Garb of every Place you make any Stay at. It will not only prevent your being gaz'd at, but will ingratiate you with the Natives, when you take their Habit upon you. Hear much, and ſpeak little. Be not too intimate with the Feminine Gender; for an Intimacy there, too often creates Diſcontent and Trou⯑ble. Be very cautious in making Acquain⯑tance with your own Countrymen, for moſt of 'em now-a-Days enter into Society, to en⯑ter into all the faſhionable Vices of the Places [311] they go thro'. Be like the induſtrious Bee, ſuck Honey from every Flower, and contemn the gaudy Weeds that bloom and flouriſh to no Uſe. Avoid all Quarrels; but if you ſhou'd unhappily fall into one, behave your ſelf with Courage and Reſolution; and if you ſhou'd ſucceed, don't let your Sword hang the looſer in its Scabbard. A Man of true Spirit will be as cautious how he draws his Sword, as he wou'd be of treading in the Dark over Heaps of Ruins. Be cau [...]ious of every one you deal with, for in many Places they make it a common Practice to over⯑reach Foreigners; and the fairer their Looks, often the fouler their Hearts. Whenever you come to have your Equipage examin'd by Officers of the Cuſtoms, make a handſome Preſent beforehand, which will either prevent their giving you any Trouble, or at leaſt will prevent their tumbling your Things, which often proves of more Damage, than the Pre⯑ſent you make 'em comes to. When you go by Sea, as you muſt, to arrive at ſeveral Places of Italy, bargain with the Maſter of the Veſſel before you imbark; but pay him not before you arrive at the End of your Voyage; nor then, till all your Things are brought to your Lodgings, to anſwer your [312] Bill of Parcels; and be ſure you have two drawn at the ſame time, one for the Maſter, and the other for yourſelf. When you are to imbark, if you can, get a Recommendation from the laſt Place you leave; or, if you can⯑not, enquire out ſome Engliſhman (for there is no fear of finding 'em at all the noted Places) and beg he wou'd recommend you to ſome Native of the Place, where you may reſide; for I have often made it my Obſervation, to have more Reſpect ſhewn me, when I took up my Quarters at one of the Natives, than when I did at one of my own Countrymen's. Tho' it is poſſible I may get you ſeveral re⯑commendatory Letters. One I am ſure of, from the worthy Perſon that we receiv'd a Letter from this Morning concerning your new Tutor; he was Envoy at Florence two Years, and has a good Acquaintance in ſeve⯑ral Courts of Europe. Now, ſaid my Un⯑cle, giving me a Paper, here is written the Heads of what I have been ſpeaking, which I wou'd have you read over once a Week. And I deſire I may hear from you all Op⯑portunities, with a ſuccinct Account of every thing worth Notice you ſee abroad. It will ſerve to kill ſome Part of your Time that may hang heavy on your Hands. Beſides, it will be acceptable to me.

[313]We had ſeveral other Diſcourſes on the ſame Subject; but we were interrupted by the Arrival of the Mother and Aunt. They got into a Chat, no way agreeable to me, of their Viſit, which gave me an Opportunity of looking after my dear Iſabella, who I had obſerv'd ſome time before, to go into the Garden. I found her in a by Summer-Houſe, bathing her lovely Cheeks in Tears. When ſhe ſaw me, ſhe ſtrove to dry her Eyes, but freely confeſs'd, the Thoughts of Parting had rais'd that Sorrow in her. She told me, va⯑rious Objects and Climates might alter my young Heart, and wipe her out from thence. It was with much Perſuaſion I cou'd ſettle her Mind to talk of any thing elſe; and tho' it gave me unconceivable Tranſports to ſee the Strength of her Love, yet it was neceſ⯑ſary we ſhou'd have ſome time to ſettle our future Correſpondence by Letter. When that was finiſh'd, I took my ſolemn leave of her, not without ſhedding Tears at our tender Se⯑paration. But poor Iſabella's Grief quite overcame her, ſhe fainted in my Arms. The tender Proof of her Heart, however, gave me ſome Uneaſineſs, left we ſhou'd be diſco⯑ver'd, for it was ſome time before ſhe came to herſelf. When we had compos'd ourſelves [314] as well as we cou'd, we were troubled to find a Means or Pretence for Iſabella's Tears, for there was no concealing her Grief from the Company within. At laſt ſhe told me, ſhe wou'd make 'em believe a Bee had ſtung her Hand.

We went, with ſome Confuſion, into the Parlour where they were ſitting. Iſabella was ſoon diſcover'd to have been weeping. When ſhe was ask'd the Cauſe, ſhe told 'em, as ſhe went to pluck a Roſe, a Bee, conceal'd, had ſtung her. I thought you had more Philoſo⯑phy, reply'd my Uncle, young Lady, than to ſhed Tears for Pain. Truly, Sir, ſaid ſhe, I ſhall never be ſo much a Stoick, to think Pain is all Fancy, for I am ſure I feel it ſtill. Well, reply'd my Uncle, you find, young Lady, the ſweeteſt thing ſometimes conceals a Sting. However, your Pain will not hold, you long, there is a Balm to cure it; Honey, and a little Time, will ſoon eaſe you, I war⯑rant you. A while after, my Uncle order'd me to take my laſt Leave of the good Com⯑pany, which I did, with ten thouſand Pangs. But as I preſt my Lips to thoſe of my dear Iſabella's, I found 'em tremble ſo much, that I fear'd a Diſcovery; yet ſhe bore it out⯑wardly very well; but did not come out to [315] ſee us to the Coach, tho' no one took Notice of it but myſelf. 'Twas well the Dusk of Evening was approaching, for the Concern in my Countenance was not to be conceal'd; however, I compos'd myſelf as well as I cou'd before we came home.

The next Morning, the Gentleman that was to be my Tutor, arriv'd; and I muſt confeſs, I took an Affection to him at firſt Sight. His Countenance pleas'd me, as well as his Beha⯑viour; and my Uncle ſeem'd as well pleas'd as myſelf. He was not above Five and Twen⯑ty, and tho' young enough for a Tutor, yet we found him old in Experience and Under⯑ſtanding, and anſwer'd fully the Character the Letter gave my Uncle of him. My Uncle was ſo well aſſur'd of his Abilities, that he reſolv'd we ſhou'd begin our Journey in two Days. In the mean time I wrote ſeveral Let⯑ters to my dear Iſabella, and receiv'd Anſwers ſo tender and paſſionate, that my Heart felt all the Joy it cou'd deſire; but that Joy was loſt in the diſmal Thoughts of being ſepara⯑ted from all my Soul held dear, ſo long.

At length the Day came we were to ſet out. My dear Uncle wou'd accompany me to Do⯑ver, where we arriv'd. But the Weather proving a little boiſterous, he wou'd not let [316] me imbark before it was ſettled, tho' the Veſ⯑ſels ſet Sail, as not regarding it; however, as it was his Tenderneſs and Good-Nature, I comply'd with his Deſire, tho' there was no apparent Danger.

The Sight of the Cliffs of Dover, put me in mind of thoſe Lines in King Lear, of our inimitable Shakeſpear:

The next Day, the Weather prov'd ſo calm, that the Sea look'd like poliſh'd Glaſs; or, as the Sailors ſay, ſo ſmooth, you might throw Dice upon't; therefore my Uncle, after ming⯑ling our Tears, gave me leave to embark, with my Tutor and one Servant; and we left the Britiſh Shore behind.