π1r π1v

Three women sit at a table, books open before them. Two of them hold writing instruments. A painting of Hermes hangs on the wall, alongside the busts of two women whose labels are illegible


Female Spectator.

Vol. I.

“Ill Customs, by Degrees, to Habits rise, Ill Habits soon become exalted Vice.” Dryden.
Emblazon of A. Cowley with flowers and banners. A. Cowley Printed by T. Gardner

Printed and published by T. Gardner, at
Cowley’s Head, opposite St. Clement’s Church
in the Strand, 1745MDCCXLV.

π2v a1r

Her Grace

May it please Your Grace,

As the chief View in Publishing
these Monthly Essays is to rectify
some Errors, which, small
as they may seem at first, may, if indulged,
grow up into greater, till they at last become
Vices, and make all the Misfortunes of our
Lives, it was necessary to put them under a the a1v
the Protection of a Lady, not only of an
unblemish’d Conduct, but also of an exalted
Virtue, whose Example may enforce the
Precepts they contain, and is Herself a shining
Pattern for others to copy after, of all
those Perfections I endeavour to recommend.

It is not therefore, Madam, that You
are descended from a Marlborough or a
Godolphin, dear as those Patriot Names will
ever be while any Sense of Liberty remains
in Britons; nor on the Account of the high
Rank You hold in the World, nor for those
Charms with which Nature has so profusely
adorn’d Your Person; but for those innate
Graces which no Ancestry can give, no
Titles can embellish, nor no Beauty attone
for the Want of, that Your Grace has an
undisputed Right to this Offering, as the
Point aim’d at by the Work itself gives it
in some measure a Claim to Your Acceptance.

That Promise which the first Years
of Life gave of a glorious Maturity, we
have seen compleated long before Your
Grace arrived at an Age, which in others is B1r
is requisite to ripen Wit into Wisdom, and
concile the sparkling Ideas of the one with
the correcting Judgment of the other. — We
beheld with Admiration, how Reason outstrip’d
Nature even in the most minute
Circumstances and Actions; but the Crown
of all, was the happy Choice of a Partner
in that State which is the chief End of our
Beings. — There shone Your Penetration,
when among so many Admirers, You singled
out Him who alone was worthy of You. —
One, who Great as he is, is yet more Good
than Great, and who has given such Instances
how much it is in the Power of Virtue
to ennoble Nobility, as all must admire, tho’
few I fear will imitate.

Marriage, too long the Jest of
Fools, and prostituted to the most base and
sordid Aims, to You, Illustrious Pair! owes
its recovered Fame, and proves its Institution
is indeed divine!

But this is no more than what every one
is full of; and in entreating your Grace’s
Protection to the following Sheets, I can only B1v
only boast of being one among the Millions
who pray that Length of Days and uninterrupted
Health may continue that Happiness
to which nothing can be added,
and that

I am,
With the most profound Duty and Submission,
May it please your Grace,
Your Grace’s,
Most Humble,
Most Obedient, and most
Faithfully Devoted Servant,

The Female Spectator.


Female Spectator.

Book I.

It is very much, by the Choice
we make of Subjects for our Entertainment,
that the refined Taste
distinguishes itself from the vulgar
and more gross: Reading is universally
allowed to be one of the most improving,
as well as agreeable Amusements; but
then to render it so, one should, among the
Number of Books which are perpetually issuing
from the Press, endeavour to single out such as
promise to be most conducive to those Ends. In
order to be as little deceived as possible, I, for
my own part, love to get as well acquainted as
I can with an Author, before I run the risque
of losing my Time in perusing his Work; and
as I doubt not but most People are of this way B2 of B2v 4
of thinking, I shall, in imitation of my learned
Brother of ever precious Memory, give some
Account of what I am, and those concerned
with me in this Undertaking; and likewise of
the chief Intent of the Lucubrations hereafter
communicated, that the Reader, on casting his
Eye over the four or five first Pages, may judge
how far the Book may, or may not be qualified
to entertain him; and either accept, or throw it
aside as he thinks proper: And here I promise,
that in the Pictures I shall give of myself and
Associates, I will draw no flattering Lines, assume
no Perfection that we are not in reality
possessed of, nor attempt to shadow over any
Defect with an artificial Gloss.

As a Proof of my Sincerity, I shall, in the
first place, assure him, that for my own Part
I never was a Beauty, and am now very far
from being young; (a Confession he will find few
of my Sex ready to make:) I shall also acknowledge,
that I have run through as many Scenes
of Vanity and Folly as the greatest Coquet of
them all. — Dress, Equipage, and Flattery, were
the Idols of my Heart. — I should have thought
that Day lost which did not present me with
some new Opportunity of shewing myself. —
My Life, for some Years, was a continued Round
of what I then called Pleasure, and my whole
Time engrossed by a Hurry of promiscuous
Diversions. — But whatever Inconveniences such
a manner of Conduct has brought upon myself,
I have this Consolation, to think that the Publiclic B3r 5
may reap some Benefit from it: — The
Company I kept was not, indeed, always so
well chosen as it ought to have been, for the
sake of my own Interest or Reputation; but
then it was general, and by Consequence furnished
me, not only with the Knowledge of
many Occurrences, which otherwise I had been
ignorant of, but also enabled me, when the too
great Vivacity of my Nature became tempered
with Reflection, to see into the secret Springs
which gave rise to the Actions I had either heard,
or been Witness of, — to judge of the various
Passions of the human Mind, and distinguish
those imperceptible Degrees by which they become
Masters of the Heart, and attain the Dominion
over Reason. — A thousand odd Adventures,
which at the Time they happened
made slight Impression on me, and seemed to
dwell no longer on my Mind than the Wonder
they occasioned, now rise fresh to my Remembrance,
with this Advantage, that the Mystery
I then, for want of Attention, imagined they
contained, is entirely vanished, and I find it easy
to account for the Cause by the Consequence.

With this Experience, added to a Genius
tolerably extensive, and an Education more
liberal than is ordinarily allowed to Persons of
my Sex, I flattered myself that it might be in
my Power to be in some measure both useful
and entertaining to the Public; and this
Thought was so soothing to those Remains of
Vanity, not yet wholly extinguished in me, that I B3v 6
I resolved to pursue it, and immediately began
to consider by what Method I should be most
likely to succeed: To confine myself to any
one Subject, I knew, could please but one kind
of Taste, and my Ambition was to be as universally
read as possible: From my Observations
of human Nature, I found that Curiosity had,
more or less, a Share in every Breast; and my
Business, therefore, was to hit this reigning Humour
in such a manner, as that the Gratification
it should receive from being made acquainted
with other People’s Affairs, should at the same
time teach every one to regulate their own.

Having agreed within myself on this
important Point, I commenced Author, by setting
down many Things, which, being pleasing
to myself, I imagined would be so to others;
but on examining them the next Day, I found
an infinite Deficiency both in Matter and Stile,
and that there was an absolute Necessity for me
to call in to my Assistance such of my Acquaintance
as were qualified for that Purpose. —
The first that occured to me, I shall distinguish
by the Name of Mira, a Lady descended from
a Family to which Wit seems hereditary, married
to a Gentleman every way worthy of so
excellent a Wife, and with whom she lives in so
perfect a Harmony, that having nothing to ruffle
the Composure of her Soul, or disturb those
sparkling Ideas she received from Nature and
Education, left me no room to doubt if what
she favoured me with would be acceptable to the Public. B4r 7
Public. — The next is a Widow of Quality,
who not having buried her Vivacity in the
Tomb of her Lord, continues to makes one in
all the modish Diversions of the Times, so far,
I mean, as she finds them consistent with Innocence
and Honour; and as she is far from having
the least Austerity in her Behaviour, nor is
rigid to the Failings she is wholly free from herself,
those of her Acquaintance, who had been
less circumspect, scruple not to make her the
Confidante of Secrets they conceal from all the
World beside. — The third is the Daughter of a
wealthy Merchant, charming as an Angel, but
endued with so many Accomplishments, that
to those who know her truly, her Beauty is the
least distinguished Part of her. — This fine young
Creature I shall call Euphrosine, since she has all
the Chearfulness and Sweetness ascribed to that

These three approved my Design, assured
me of all the Help they could afford, and soon
gave a Proof of it in bringing their several
Essays; but as the Reader, provided the Entertainment
be agreeable, will not be interested
from which Quarter it comes, whatever Productions
I shall be favoured with from these
Ladies, or any others I may hereafter correspond
with, will be exhibited under the general Title
of The Female Spectator; and how many Contributors
soever there may happen to be to the
Work, they are to be considered only as several Members B4v 8
Members of one Body, of which I am the

It is also highly proper I should acquaint
the Town, that to secure an eternal Fund of Intelligence,
Spies are placed not only in all the
Places of Resort in and about this great Metropolis,
but at Bath, Tunbridge, and the Spaw,
and Means found out to extend my Speculations
even as far as France, Rome, Germany,
and other foreign Parts, so that nothing curious
or worthy of Remark can escape me; and this
I look upon to be a more effectual way of penetrating
into the Mysteries of the Alcove, the
Cabinet, or Field, than if I had the Power of
Invisibility, or could with a Wish transport myself
wherever I pleased, since with the Aid of
those supernatural Gifts, I could still be in no
more than one Place at a Time; whereas now,
by tumbling over a few Papers from my Emissaries,
I have all the Secrets of Europe, at least
such of them as are proper for my Purpose, laid
open at one View.

I would, by no means, however, have what
I say be construed into a Design of gratifying a
vicious Propensity of propagating Scandal: —
Whoever sits down to read me with this View,
will find themselves mistaken; for tho’ I shall
bring real Facts on the Stage, I shall conceal the
Actors Names under such as will be conformable
to their Characters; my Intention being only to C1r 9
to expose the Vice, not the Person. — Nor shall I
confine myself to modern Transactions: — Whenever
I find any Example among the Antients
which may serve to illustrate the Topic I shall
happen to be upon, I shall make no scruple to
insert it. — An Instance of shining Virtue in any
Age, can never be too often proposed as a Pattern,
nor the Fatality of Misconduct too much
impressed on the Minds of our Youth of both
Sexes; and as the sole Aim of the following
Pages is to reform the Faulty, and give an innocent
Amusement to those who are not so, all
possible Care will be taken to avoid every thing
that might serve as Food for the Venom of Malice
and Ill-nature. Whoever, therefore, shall
pretend to fix on any particular Person the Blame
of Actions they may happen to find recorded
here, or make what they call a Key to these Lucubrations,
must expect to see themselves treated
in the next Publication with all the Severity so
unfair a Proceeding merits.

And now having said as much as I think
needful of this Undertaking, I shall, without
being either too greatly confident, or too anxious
for the Success, submit it to the Publick Censure.
“Of all the Passions giv’n us from Above,The noblest, softest, and the best is Love,”
Says a justly celebrated Poet; and I readily agree
that Love in itself, when under the Direction of C Reason, C1v 10
Reason, harmonizes the Soul, and gives it a
gentle, generous Turn; but I can by no means
approve of such Definitions of that Passion as
we generally find in Romances, Novels, and
Plays: In most of those Writings, the Authors
seem to lay out all their Art in rendering that
Character most interesting, which most sets at
Defiance all the Obligations, by the strict Observance
of which Love can alone become a Virtue.
— They dress their Cupid up in Roses, call him
the God of soft Desires, and ever-springing Joys,
yet at the same time give him the vindictive
Fury, and the Rage of Mars. — Shew him impatient
of Controul, and trampling over all the
Ties of Duty, Friendship, or natural Affection,
yet make the Motive sanctify the Crime. — How
fatal, how pernicious to a young and unexperienced
Mind must be such Maxims, especially
when dressed up in all the Pomp of Words!
The Beauty of the Expression steals upon the
Senses, and every Mischief, every Woe that
Love occasions, appears a Charm. — Those who
feel the Passion are so far from endeavouring to
repel its Force, or being ashamed of their Attachment,
however opposite to Reason, that
they indulge and take a Pride in turning into
Ridicule the Remonstrances of their more discerning
Friends. But what is yet more preposterous,
and more evidently shews the ill
Effects of writing in this manner is, that we
often see Girls too young, either to be addressed
to on the Score of Love, or even to know what
is meant by the Passion, affect the Languishment they C2r 11
they read of, — roll their Eyes, sigh, fold their
Arms, neglect every useful Learning, and attend
to nothing but acquiring the Reputation of being
enough a Woman to know all the Pains and
Delicacies of Love.

Miss Tenderilla is one of those I have described:
She was the other Day invited to a
Concert, and as soon as the Music began to
strrike up, cried out in a kind of dying Tone,
yet loud enough to be heard by a great Part of
the Assembly, “‘If Music be the Food of Love, play on.’”
A young Lady happened to be near her, who
is supposed to be very near entering into the Marriage-State,
but contents herself with discovering
what Sentiments she is possessed of in favour of
her intended Bridegroom only to those interested
in them. — She blushed extremely at the Extravagance
of her Companion, and the more so, as
she found the Eyes of every one turned upon
her, and by their Smiles and Whispers to each
other, shewed that they imagined Miss had burst
into this Exclamation merely on her Account. A
smart Gentleman, on the next Bench to them,
took this Opportunity of rallying her very wittily,
as he thought, on the Discovery the young
Confidante had made; and the poor Lady was
in the utmost Confusion, ’till she who had occasioned
it being vexed to find what she had said
so much mistaken, and that no Notice was taken C2 of C2v 12
of herself, behaved in such a manner as left no
room to doubt which of them was the proper
Object for Ridicule.

How easy were it now for a designing Fortune-Hunter
to make a Prey of this Bib-and-
Apron Heroine! — The less qualified he was to
render her Choice of him approved, and the
more averse her Friends appeared to such a
Match, the more would she glory in a noble
Obstinacy of contemning their Advice, and sacrificing
her Person and Fortune to an imaginary
Passion for him; and one has no need of being
a very great Prophet to foretel, that if she is not
speedily removed from those who at present have
the Care of her, and some other Methods taken
than such as hitherto have been made use of, to
give her a more rational way of thinking, that
Wealth her frugal Parents hoarded up, in order
to purchase for her a lasting Happiness, will only
prove the Bait for her Destruction.

I am sorry to observe, that of late Years this
Humour has been strangely prevalent among our
young Ladies, some of whom are scarce entered
into their Teens before they grow impatient
for Admiration, and to be distinguished in Love-
Songs and Verses, expect to have a great Bustle
made about them, and he that first attempts to
perswade them he is a Lover, bids very fair for
carrying his Point. — The Eagerness of their
Wishes to be addressed, gives Charms to the
Address itself, which otherwise it would not have; C3r 13
have; and hence it follows, that when a young
Creature has suffered herself to fall a Victim to
the Artifices of her pretended Lover, and her
own giddy Whim, and is afterwards convinced
of her Error, she looks back with no less Wonder
than Shame on her past Conduct, detests the
Object of her former imaginary Passion, and
wishes nothing more than to be eternally rid of
the Presence of him she once with so much
Eagerness pursued.

It is not, therefore, from that Inconstancy of
Nature which the Men charge upon our Sex, but
from that romantic Vein which makes us sometimes
imagine ourselves Lovers before we are so,
that we frequently run such Lengths to shake
off a Yoke we have so precipitately put on. —
When once we truly love, we rarely change:
We bear the Frowns of Fortune with Fortitude
and Patience: — We repent not of the Choice
we have made, whatever we suffered by it; and
nothing but a long continued Series of Slights
and ill Usage from the Object of our Affection
can render him less dear.

To be well convinced of the Sincerity of the
Man they are about to marry, is a Maxim, with
great Justice, always recommended to a young
Lady; but I say it is no less material for her
future Happiness, as well as that of her intended
Partner, that she should be well assured of her
own Heart, and examine, with the utmost Care,
whether it be real Tenderness, or a bare Liking she C3v 14
she at present feels for him; and as this is not to
be done all at once, I cannot approve of hasty
Marriages, or before Persons are of sufficient
Years to be supposed capable of knowing their
own Minds.

Could fourteen have the Power of judging
of itself, or for itself, who that knew the beautiful
Martesia at that Age, but would have depended
on her Conduct! — Martesia, descended of the
most illustrious Race, possessed of all that Dignity
of Sentiment befitting her high Birth,
endued by Nature with a surprizing Wit, Judgment,
and Penetration, and improved by every
Aid of Education. — Martesia, the Wonder and
Delight of all who saw or heard her, gave the
admiring World the greatest Expectations that
she would one Day be no less celebrated for all
those Virtues which render amiable the conjugal
State, than she at that Time was for every other
Perfection that do Honour to the Sex.

Yet how, alas, did all these charming Hopes
vanish into Air! Many noble Youths, her Equals
in Birth and Fortune, watched her Increase
of Years for declaring a Passion, which they
feared as yet would be rejected by those who
had the Disposal of her; but what their Respect
and Timidity forbad them to attempt, a more
daring and unsuspected Rival ventured at, and
succeeded in. — Her unexperienced Heart approved
his Person, and was pleased with the
Protestations he made her of it. — In fine, the Novelty C4r 15
Novelty of being addressed in that manner, gave
a double Grace to all he said, and she never
thought herself so happy as in his Conversation.
His frequent Visits at length were taken notice
of; he was denied the Privilege of seeing her,
and she was no longer permitted to go out without
being accompanied by some Person who was
to be a Spy upon her Actions. — She had a great
Spirit, impatient of Controul, and this Restraint
served only to heighten the Inclination she before
had to favour him: — She indulged the most
romantic Ideas of his Merit and his Love: —
Her own flowing Fancy invented a thousand
melancholly and tender Soliloquies, and set them
down as made by him in this Separation: It is
not, indeed, to be doubted, but that he was very
much mortified at the Impediment he found in
the Prosecution of his Courtship; but whether
he took this Method of disburthening his Affliction,
neither she nor any body else could be
assured. It cannot, however, be denied, but
that he pursued Means much more efficacious
for the Attainment of his Wishes. By Bribes,
Promises, and Entreaties, he prevailed on a Person
who came frequently to the House to convey
his Letters to her, and bring back her Answers. —
This Correspondence was, perhaps, of greater
Service to him, than had the Freedom of their
Interviews not been prevented: — She consented
to be his, and to make good her Word, ventured
her Life, by descending from a two Pair of Stairs
Window, by the Help of Quilt, Blankets, and
other Things fastened to it, at the Dead of Night. C4v 16
Night. — His Coach and Six waited to receive
her at the End of the Street, and conveyed her
to his Country Seat, which reaching soon after
Break of Day, his Chaplain made them too fast
for any Authority to separate.

As he was of an antient honourable Family,
and his Estate very considerable, her Friends in
a short time were reconciled to what was now
irremedible, and they were looked upon as an
extreme happy Pair. — But soon, too soon the
fleeting Pleasures fled, and in their room Anguish
and Bitterness of Heart succeeded.

Martesia, in a Visit she made to a Lady
of her intimate Acquaintance, unfortunately happened
to meet the young Clitander; he was just
returned from his Travels, had a handsome Person,
an Infinity of Gaiety, and a certain Something
in his Air and Deportment which had been
destructive to the Peace and Reputation of many
of our Sex. — He was naturally of an amorous
Disposition, and being so, felt all the Force of
Charms, which had some Effect even on the most
Cold and Temperate. — Emboldened by former
Successes, the Knowledge Martesia was another’s,
did not hinder him from declaring to her
the Passion she had inspired him with. — She
found a secret Satisfaction in hearing him, which
she was yet too young to consider the Dangers
of, and therefore endeavoured not to suppress ’till
it became too powerful for her to have done so,
even had she attempted it with all her Might; but D1r 17
but the Truth is, she now experienced in reality
a Flame she had but imagined herself possessed
of for him who was now her Husband, and was
too much averse to the giving herself Pain to
combat with an Inclination which seemed to her
fraught only with Delights.

The House where their Acquaintance first
began, was now the Scene of their future Meetings:
— The Mistress of it was too great a Friend
to Gallantry herself to be any Interruption to the
Happiness they enjoyed in entertaining each
other without Witnesses. — How weak is Virtue
when Love and Opportunity combine! — Tho’
no Woman could have more refined and delicate
Notions than Martesia, yet all were ineffectual
against the Sollicitations of her adored Clitander.
— One fatal Moment destroyed at once all her
own exalted Ideas of Honour and Reputation,
and the Principles early instilled into her Mind
by her virtuous Preceptors.

The Consequence of this Amour was a total
Neglect of Husband, House, and Family. —
Herself abandoned, all other Duties were so too.
— So manifest a Change was visible to all that
knew her, but most to her Husband, as most interested
in it. — He truly loved, and had believed
himself truly beloved by her. — Loth he was to
think his Misfortune real, and endeavoured to
find some other Motive for the Aversion she now
expressed for staying at Home, or going to any
of those Places where they had been accustomed D to D1v 18
to visit together; but she either knew not how
to dissemble, or took so little Pains to do it, that
he was, in spite of himself, convinced all that
Affection she so lately had professed, and given
him Testimonies of, was now no more. — He
examined all his Actions, and could find nothing
in any of them that could give occasion for so
sad a Reverse. — He complained to her one Day,
in the tenderest Terms, of the small Portion she
had of late allowed him of her Conversation: —
Entreated, that if by any Inadvertency he had
offended her, she would acquaint him with his
Fault, which he assured her he would take care
never to repeat. — Asked if there was any thing
in her Settlement or Jointure she could wish to
have altered, and assured her she need but let
him know her Commands to be instantly

To all this she replied with the most stabbing
Indifference. — That she knew not what he meant.
— That as she had accused him with nothing, he
had no Reason to think she was dissatisfied. —
But that People could not be always in the same
Humour, and desired he would not give himself
nor her the Trouble of making any farther Interrogatories.

He must have been as insensible, as he is
known to be the contrary, had such a Behaviour
not opened his Eyes; he no longer doubted of
his Fate, and resolving, if possible, to find out
the Author of it, he caused her Chair to be watched D2r 19
watched wherever she went, and took such effectual
Methods, as soon informed him of the Truth.

In his first Emotions of his Rage he was for
sending a Challenge to this Destroyer of his
Happiness; but in his cooler Moments he rejected
that Design as too injurious to the Reputation
of Martesia, who was still dear to him,
and whom he flattered himself with being able
one Day to reclaim.

It is certain he put in Practice every tender
Stratagem that Love and Wit could furnish him
with for that Purpose; but she appearing so far
from being moved at any thing he either said or
did, that, on the contrary, her Behaviour was
every Day more cold; he at last began to expostulate
with her, gave some Hints that her late
Conduct was not unknown to him, and that tho’
he was willing to forgive what was past, yet as a
Husband, it was not consistent with his Character
to bear any future Insults of that nature. This
put her beyond all Patience. — She reproached
him in the bitterest Terms for daring to harbour
the least Suspicion of her Virtue, and censuring
her innocent Amusements as Crimes; and perhaps
was glad of this Opportunity of testifying
her Remorse for having ever listened to his Vows,
and cursing before his Face the Hour that joined
their Hands.

They now lived so ill a Life together, that
not having sufficient Proofs for a Divorce, he D2 parted D2v 20
parted Beds, and tho’ they continued in one
House, behaved to each other as Strangers:
never eat at the same Table but when Company
was there, and then only to avoid the Questions
that would naturally have been asked had it been
otherwise; neither of them being desirous the
World should know any thing of their Disagreement.

But while they continued to treat each other
in a manner so little conformable to their first
Hopes, or their Vows pledged at the Holy
Altar, Martesia became pregnant: This gave
the first Alarm to that Indolence of Nature she
hitherto had testified; her Husband would now
have it in his Power to sue out a Divorce; and
tho’ she would have rejoiced to have been separated
from him on any other Terms, yet she
could not support the Thoughts of being totally
deprived of all Reputation in the World. —
She was not ignorant of the Censures she incurr’d,
but had Pride and Spirit enough to
enable her to despise whatever was said of her,
while it was not backed by Proof; but the
glaring one she was now about to give struck
Shame and Confusion to her Soul. — She left no
Means untried to procure an Abortion; but failing
in that, she had no other Resource than to
that Friend who was the sole Confidante of her
unhappy Passion, who comforted her as well as
she could, and assured her, that when the Hour
approached she need have no more to do than
to come directly to her House, where every thing D3r 21
thing should be prepared for the Reception of a
Woman in her Condition.

To conceal the Alteration in her Shape, she
pretended Indisposition, saw little Company,
and wore only loose Gowns. — At length the so
much dreaded Moment came upon her at the
dead of Night; and in the midst of all that
Rack of Nature, made yet more horrible by
the Agonies of her Mind, she rose, rung for
her Woman, and telling her she had a frightful
Dream concerning that Lady, whom she knew
she had the greatest Value for of any Person
upon Earth, ordered her to get a Chair, for she
could not be easy unless she went and saw her
herself. The Woman was strangely surprized,
but her Lady was always absolute in her Commands.
— A Chair was brought, and without
any other Company or Attendance than her own
distracted Thoughts, she was conveyed to the
only Asylum where she thought her Shame
might find a Shelter.

A Midwife being prepared before, she was
safely delivered of a Daughter, who expired almost
as soon as born; and to prevent as much as
possible all Suspicion of the Truth, she made
herself be carried Home the next Morning,
where she went to Bed, and lay several Days under
Pretence of having sprained her Ancle.

But not all the Precautions she had taken
were effectual enough to prevent some People from D3v 22
from guessing and whispering what had happened.
— Those whose Nearness in Blood gave
them a Privilege of speaking their Minds,
spared not to tell her all that was said of her;
and those who dared not take that Liberty,
shewed by their distant Looks and reserved Behaviour,
whenever she came in Presence, how
little they approved her Conduct. — She was too
discerning not to see into their Thoughts, nor
was her innate Pride of any Service to keep up
her Spirits on this Occasion. — To add to her
Discontents, Clitander grew every Day more
cool in his Respects, and she soon after learned
he was on the Point of Marriage with one far
inferior to herself in every Charm both of Mind
and Person. — In short, finding herself deserted
by her Relations, and the greatest Part of her
Acquaintance, without Love, without Respect,
and reduced to the Pity of those, who, perhaps,
had nothing but a greater Share of Circumspection
to boast of, she took a Resolution to quit
England for ever, and having settled her Affairs
with her Husband, who by this Time had entered
into other Amusements, and, it is probable,
was very well satisfied to be eased of the Constraint
her Presence gave him, readily agreed to
remit her the Sum agreed between them, to be
paid yearly to whatever Part of the World she
chose to reside in, she then took leave of a Country
of which she had been the Idol, and which
now seemed to her as too unjust in not being
blind to what she desired should be concealed.

Behold D4r 23

Behold her now in a voluntary Banishment
from Friends and Country, and roaming round
the World in fruitless Search of that Tranquillity
she could not have failed enjoying at Home in
the Bosom of a Consort equally beloved as loving.
— Unhappy charming Lady, born and endued
with every Quality to attract universal Love and
Admiration, yet by one inadvertent Step undone
and lost to every thing the World holds dear,
and only more conspicuously wretched by having
been conspicuously amiable.

But methinks it would be hard to charge
the Blame of indiscreet Marriages on the young
Ladies themselves: — Parents are sometimes, by
an over Caution, guilty of forcing them into
Things, which otherwise would be far distant
from their Thoughts. I am very certain it is
not because the Italian, Spanish, or Portuguese
Women are so much warmer in their Constitutions
than those of other Nations, but because
they are so cruelly debarred from all Conversation
with the Men, that makes them so readily accept
the first Offer that presents itself. — Where
Opportunities are scarce, they are glad to speak
their Minds at once, and fear to deny lest it
should not be in their Power afterward to grant.
Even in Turkey, where our Travellers boast of
having had such Success among the Women, I
have known several that were married to English
Gentlemen, and permitted to live after the
Custom of our Country, who have made very
excellent Wives. — In France, the People are, questionless, D4v 24
questionless, the gayest and most alert in the
World, and allow the greatest Liberties to their
Women; yet to hear of a clandestine Marriage
among them is a kind of Prodigy, and tho’ no
Place affords Scenes of Gallantry equal to it in
any Degree of Proportion, yet I believe there is
none where fewer false Steps are made, or Husbands
have less Reason to complain of the want
of Chastity in their Wives. Nature in all Ages
is abhorrent of Restraint, but in Youth especially,
as more headstrong and impetuous, it will
hazard every thing to break through Laws it had
no Hand in making. It therefore betrays a
want of Policy, as well as an unjust Austerity,
to seclude a young Lady, and shut her up from
all Intercourse with the Men, for fear she should
find one among them who might happen to
please her too well. — Chance may in a Moment
destroy all that the utmost Care can do; and I
say a Woman is in far less Danger of losing
her Heart, when every Day surrounded with a
Variety of gay Objects, than when by some Accident
she falls into the Conversation of a single
one. — A Girl, who is continually hearing fine
Things said to her, regards them but as Words
of course; they may be flattering to her Vanity
for the present, but will leave no Impression behind
them on their Mind: But she, who is a
Stranger to the gallant Manner with which polite
Persons treat our Sex, greedily swallows the first
civil thing said to her, takes what perhaps is
meant as a mere Compliment for a Declaration
of Love, and replies to it in Terms which either expose E1r 25
expose her to the Designs of him who speaks,
if he happens to have any in reality, or if he
has not, to his Ridicule in all Company he comes

For this Reason the Country-bred Ladies,
who are never suffered to come to Town for fear
their Faces should be spoiled by the Small-Pox,
or their Reputations ruined by the Beaux, become
an easier Prey to the Artifices of Mankind,
than those who have had an Education more at
large: As they rarely stir beyond their Father’s
Pales, except to Church, the Parson, if he be a
forward Man, and has Courage to throw a Love
Song, or Copy of Verses to Miss over the Wall,
or slip it into her Hand in a Visit he pays the
Family, has a rare Opportunity of making his
Fortune; and it is well when it happens no
worse; many a ’Squire’s Daughter has clambered
over Hedge and Stile, to give a rampant Jump
into the Arms of a young jolly Haymaker or

Our London Ladies are indeed very rarely laid
under such Restrictions; but whenever it happens
to be the Case, as Nature is the same in all,
the Consequence will be so too. — Would Miss
have ever condescended to marry the
greasy Footman that run before her Chair, had
he not been the only Man her over-careful Father
permitted her to speak to? — Or would Armonia
have found any Charms in a Mousetrap or LeathernE thern E1v 26
, had she been indulged the Conversation
of a White Staff?

Seomanthe, to her Misfortune, was
brought up under the Tuition of her Aunt Negratia,
a Woman extremely sour by Nature,
but rendered yet more so by Age and Infirmity:
Past all the Joys of Life herself, she looked with a
malicious Eye on every one who partook of
them; censured the most innocent Diversions in
the severest manner, and the least Complaisance
between Persons of different Sexes was, with
her, scandalous to the last Degree. — Her Character
was so well known, that none but Prudes,
whose Deformity was an Antidote to Desire, —
worn-out superannuated Rakes, who had out-lived
all Sense of Pleasure, — and canting Zealots, whose
Bread depended on their Hypocrisy, frequented
her House: — To this sort of Company was the
young, beautiful, and naturally gay Seomanthe
condemned. — She heard nothing but railing
against that way of Life she knew was enjoyed
by others of equal Rank and Fortune with herself,
and which she had too much good Sense to
look on as criminal: — She thought People might
be perfectly innocent, yet indulge themselves in
sometimes going to a Play or Opera; nor could
be brought to believe the Court such a Bugbear
as she was told it was: — A laced Coat and a
Tupee Wig had double Charms for her, as they
were every Day so much preached against, and
she never saw a Coach pass by wherein were Gentlemen E2r 27
Gentlemen and Ladies, but she wished to be
among them, or a well-dress’d Beau, that she
did not languish to be acquainted with.

At length her Desires were fulfilled: Close
as she was kept, the Report that Negratia had
a young Lady in the House, who was Mistress
of a large Fortune on the Day of Marriage,
reached the Ears of one of those Harpies who
purchase to themselves a wretched Sustenance,
by decoying the Unwary into everlasting Ruin.
— This Creature, who had been employed by
one so far a Gentleman as to be bred to no Business,
and whose whole Estate was laid out on his
Back, in hopes of appearing charming in the
Eyes of some money’d Woman, too truly guess’d
she had found in Seomanthe what she sought. —
She came to the House under the Pretence of
offering some Lace, Holland, and fine Tea, extraordinary
cheap: Negratia being a good Housewife,
and a great Lover of Bargains, readily admitted
her; and while she was examining some
of the Goods at a Window some Distance off,
the artful Woman put a Letter into Seomanthe’s
Hand, telling her it came from the finest Gentleman
in the World, who she was sure would die if
she did not favour him with an Answer. The
young Lady took it, blushed, and put it in her
Bosom, but had not Time to make any Reply to
the Woman, Negratia that Instant coming toward
them. As nobody understood her Business better,
she managed it so that she was ordered to
come again the next Day, when she said she E2 should E2v 28
should have greater Variety to shew their Ladyships.
While she was packing up her Bundles,
she winked on Seomanthe, and at the same time
gave her the most beseeching Look; the Meaning
of which, young and unexperienced as she
was, the destined Victim but too well comprehended,
and was, perhaps, no less impatient for
the Success of an Adventure, the Beginning of
which afforded her an infinite Satisfaction.

She ran immediately to her Chamber, shut
herself in, and broke open her Billet, which she
found stuffed with Flames, Darts, Wounds,
Love, and Death: — The highest Encomiums
on her Beauty, and the most vehement Imprecations
of not outliving his Hope of obtaining her
Favour. — Expressions which would have excited
only the Laughter of a Woman who knew the
World, but drew Tears into the Eyes of the
innocent Seomanthe. — She imagined he had seen
her either at Church, or looking out of the
Window, for she was permitted to shew herself
in no other Place; and doubted not but all he
had wrote to her of his Love and Despair, was
no less true than what she heard delivered from
the Pulpit. She looked on herself as too much
obliged by the Passion he had for her, not to
write an Answer full of Complaisance, and very
dexterously gave it to the Woman on her coming
the next Day.

On the ensuing Sunday she saw a strange
Gentleman in the next Pew to her, and by the Glances E3r 29
Glances he stole at her every Time he could do
it without being taken Notice of, she fancied
him the Person who had declared himself her
Lover, and was convinced her Conjecture had
not deceiv’d her, when being kneel’d down at
her Devotions, he found Means, while every one
had their Fans before their Faces, to drop a Letter
on the Bench she lean’d upon; she was not so
much taken up with the Business she was employed
about as not to see it immediately, and
throwing her Handkerchief over it, clap’d it
into her Pocket. — The Looks that past between
them afterwards, during the Time of Divine Service,
confirm’d her in the Opinion, that he was
no less charm’d with her than he said he was;
and him, that the Sight of him had not destroy’d
the Impression his Letter by the old Woman
had made on her.

Both thought they had Reason to be highly
satisfy’d with this Interview, but poor Seomanthe
was up to the Head and Ears in Love. — The
Person of the Man was agreeable enough, and,
compared to those Negratia had suffer’d her to
converse with, angelick. — The Prepossession she
had for him, at least, render’d him so in her Eyes,
and she thought every Moment an Age ’till she
got home to read this second Billet; the Contents
of which were of the same Nature with the
former, only a Postscript added, entreating she
would contrive some Means to let him entertain
her with his Passion by Word of Mouth. — He men- E3v 30
mention’d the Woman who sold the Things,
and by whose Means he had first made a Discovery
of it, and gave the Directions where she
lived, beg’d a Meeting there, if possible; at
least an Answer, whether he might be so happy
or not, which he told her he would wait for
himself early the next Morning under her Window,
if she would be so good to throw it out.

She sigh’d at reading it, thought her Fate
very hard that it was not in her Power to comply
with the first Part of his Request, but hesitated
not in the least if she ought to grant the
other. — She snatch’d the first Opportunity she
could lay hold on to prepare a Letter, in which
she let him know how impossible it was for her
to come out, but express’d a Regret for not being
able to do so, as shew’d it would be no
difficult Matter to prevail on her to run the
greatest Lengths.

By the Help of his old Adviser, he carried
on a Correspondence with her, which ended in her
consenting to quit Negratia for ever, and put
herself under his Protection: In fine, she pack’d
up all her Cloaths and Jewels, threw the former
from the Window to the Woman, who stood
ready to receive them on an appointed Night,
and having put the other into her Pocket, exchang’d
one Scene of Hypocrisy for another,
and flew from a Life irksome for the present,
to enter into one of lasting Misery. Early E4r 31
Early in the Morning they were married,
and ’tis possible pass’d some Days in the usual
Transports of a Bridal State; but when their
Place of Abode was discover’d by the Friends
and Kindred of Seomanthe, who, distracted at
her Elopement, had search’d the whole Town,
in how wretched a Condition was she found! —
The Villain had drawn her whole Fortune out
of the Bank, and robb’d her of all her Jewels,
and the best of her Apparel, had shipp’d every
thing off, and was himself embark’d she knew
not to what Place. — The People of the House
where they lodg’d, perceiving him whom they
expected to have been their Paymaster gone,
seiz’d on the few Trifles he had left behind, as
Satisfaction for their Rent, and were going to
turn the unfortunate Seomanthe out of Doors.

Not the Sight of her Distress, nor the Lamentations
she made, which were pitiful enough to
have soften’d the most rugged Hearts, had any Effect
on that of Negratia, who thought no Punishment
too severe for a Person who had deceiv’d
her Caution; but some others were of a more
compassionate Disposition, they took her home
with them, and comforted her as well as they
were able. — She still lives with them a Dependant
on their Courtesy, which she is oblig’d
to purchase the Continuance of by rendering
herself subservient to all their Humours. — No
News is yet arriv’d what Course her wicked
Husband took; but it is suppos’d he is retired
either to France or Holland, being almost as much E4v 32
much in Debt here, as all he wrong’d Seomanthe
of would discharge; so that there is little Probability
of his ever returning, or if he did,
that it would be at all to the Satisfaction of his
unhappy Wife.

I was going on to recite some other Instances
of the Mischiefs, which, for the most part,
are the Consequence of laying young People
under too great a Restraint, when Mira came
in, and seeing what I was about, took the Pen
out of my Hand, and told me I had already said
enough; if I proceeded to expatiate any farther
on that Head, I should be in Danger of being
understood to countenance an Extreme on the
other Side, which was much more frequently
fatal to our Sex.

I yielded to her superior Judgment, and
needed but few Arguments to be convinced, that
if unbridled Youth were indulg’d in all the Liberties
it would take, we should scarce see any
thing but unhappy Objects before Maturity

The great Encouragement these later Times
afford to Luxury of every kind, can never be
too much guarded against by those who are
charged with the first forming of the Mind.
Nature is in itself abhorrent of Vice; but the
ingenious Contrivers of some of our modish
Entertainments have found such ways to take
off the Deformity, that there requires a more strong F1r 33
strong Discernment than Youth will ordinarily
admit of, to distinguish it from Innocence. —
The Glitter with which it is adorn’d strikes the
Eye at a Distance, and you perceive not the
Serpent within, ’till, by too near an Approach,
you are in Danger of being infected with its
Venom. It was not in Diversions, such as our
modern Masquerades in Winter, and Ridottoes
al Fresco
in Summer, that our Ancestors pass’d
their Evenings; both which, agreeable as they
may seem for the present to the Senses, have
often given Source to the most bitter Agonies
in the reflecting Mind. — They appear to me as
a daring Attempt to invert the very Order of
Nature, especially the former, which begins at
those Hours when Recreations ought to cease,
and encroaches on the Time we should be preparing
for that Repose the Mind and Body stand
in need of. — Those who escape the best, are sure
to lose one Day from Life after every Masquerade;
but others more delicate in their Constitution
contract Colds, and various Disorders,
which hang upon them a long while, and sometimes
are never got rid of. — Yet how severely
treated would our young Gentlemen and Ladies
think themselves, were they to be deprived of
this elegant Entertainment, as they term it! —
“What can be more innocent,” (say they) “than to
see such a Number of People together, all dress’d
in different Habits, some talking, some dancing,
some gaming, and the Musick all the Time sweetly
playing.――Then the Repartees among us so
whet the Wit!――”

F It F1v 34

It is certain, indeed, that some great Families,
who continue the whole Winter in the
Country, frequently have what they call a Masquerade
at their Houses, to which all the neighbouring
Gentry are invited, and nothing can be
more agreeable than those kind of Entertainments.
— Where a select Company are disguised so as
not to be known for a Time to each other, a
Round of Wit is perpetually played off, and
affords Matter, by the pleasant Mistakes sometimes
made, for Conversation afterwards; for
where every one is obliged to pluck off his Mask,
and own himself for what he is, as soon as the
Ball is over, nothing will be said or done improper
or indecent: But here it is quite otherwise;
in these mercenary Entertainments, the most
abandon’d Rake, or low-bred Fellow, who has
wherewithal to purchase a Ticket, may take the
Liberty of uttering the grossest Things in the
chastest Ear, and safe in his Disguise go off without
incurring either the Shame or Punishment
his Behaviour deserves. But, besides being subjected
to the Insults of every pert Coxcomb, who
imagines himself most witty when he is most
shocking to Modesty, I wonder Ladies can reflect
what Creatures of their own Sex they vouchsafe
to blend with in these promiscuous Assemblies,
without blushing to Death.

A witty Gentleman of my Acquaintance,
but somewhat wild, told me, he never was so
much diverted in his Life as one Night, when he
saw the greatest Prude in the Nation, after having been F2r 35
been accosted with some very odd Expressions
by one, who, doubtless, mistook her for another,
run, as if to shield herself from his Importunities,
to a certain Fille de Joy, to whom he
had given a Ticket, and cry out, “O, Madam,
did you hear the filthy Creature”

I could not forbear acknowledging the
Ridicule this Lady incurred, was a just Punishment
for her appearing in a Place so little conformable
to the Austerity she professed in other
Things, but at the same time took this Opportunity
of telling him, that I thought Women
of Honour had little Obligations to him, or to
any of those Gentlemen, who by making Presents
of Tickets to such loose Creatures, introduced
them into Company they otherwise would
never have the Assurance to approach. — I added,
that in my Opinion, a greater Affront could not
be put upon the Sex; and that it was also
strangely impolitick to bring their Mistresses
into an Assembly, where Chance might possibly
engage them in Conversation with their own
Wives or Sisters.

To these last Words he answered with a kind
of malicious Smile, “No, Madam, we never give
Masquerade Tickets to them.”
Intimating, that it
was not with the Approbation of the Men, that
the Ladies of their own Family should frequent
such Places; and therefore, if they happened
to be affronted there, they must condemn themselves.

F2 This F2v 36

This put me in Mind of an Acquaintance
of mine, who is accounted a very good Husband,
and in effect is so, tho’ he took somewhat an
extraordinary Method to cure his Wife of a too
great Passion she had expressed, on their first
Marriage, for going to these nocturnal Revels.
Notice was no sooner given of a Masquerade,
than her Eyes sparkled with Joy, the Habit-
Maker was immediately sent for, and nothing
was either talked or thought on, but the Dress
she should wear on the approaching happy
Night. Not but he was convinced her Intentions
were perfectly innocent, as she never desired
to go without him, and even testified an
Eagerness that he would participate of a Pleasure
which had so many Charms for herself; but he
was a Man who knew the Town, and the Dangers
to which many Women had been exposed
in these Assemblies; besides, the Expence was
what he could by no means relish, and fearing to
draw on himself the Character of a churlish, or a
jealous Husband, if he gave either of these Reasons
for restraining her, he bethought himself of
a Stratagem, which should render her avoiding
going for the future entirely her own Act and

He caused, unknown to her, one of his intimate
Friends to put on a Habit so exactly the
same with what he wore himself, that being of a
pretty equal Stature, they could not be distinguished
from each other when the Masks were on.
This Gentleman, in the midst of a Dance, slip’d into F3r 37
into the Husband’s Place, who immediately
withdrew, and absconded till the Ball was over.
The poor Lady, little suspecting the Deception,
kept close to her supposed Spouse the whole
Time, and when the Company broke up, was
put by him into a Hackney Coach, which had
Orders to drive to a Tavern in Pall-Mall. She
was a little surprized at finding where she was;
but thinking it a Whim of him, whom it was
her Duty to comply with, suffered herself to be
conducted into a Room, where he, plucking off
his Mask, the Sight of his Face, and his desiring
she would do the same, with some Expressions
not very becoming the Person she had taken him
for, so alarmed and terrified her, that she gave a
great Shriek. — The Husband, who had followed
them in another Coach, came in that Moment,
and found her ringing the Bell, calling for the
People of the House, and for a Chair, that she
might be carried Home, the Gentleman struggling
with her, and endeavouring all he could to
prevail on her to unmask. — He so well acted his
Part, that the Person who employed him was
highly diverted, and had suffered the Farce to
go on some time longer, had not the excessive
Fright his Wife was in obliged him to put an
End to it, which he did, by plucking off his
Vizard, and taking her in his Arms, conjured her
to compose herself: “This Accident,” said he, “might
have proved of ill Consequence indeed, had it
not happened with my particular Friend: — I saw,
and followed you with a Resolution to revenge
the Affront I imagined offered to me; but I am now F3v 38
now convinced it was all a Mistake on his Side,
as well as your’s. — See here,”
continued he, taking
off his Wife’s Mask, “who it is you have
gallanted, and were about to be so free with.”

The Gentleman affected to start, and be very
much amazed and ashamed of what he had done,
begg’d his Friend’s Pardon, and the Lady’s,
who he said he had accosted, as thinking her a
fine Woman, and meeting with no manner of
Repulse, but on the contrary, that she was very
desirous of keeping as near him as possible, and
shunning all other Conversation, he had all the
Reason in the World to flatter himself, she
would be no less satisfied with his Company in
another Place. — “But,” said he, “I now perceive it
was the Likeness of Habits deceived her, and
that while I imagined I was gaining a Mistress,
she doubted not but she was following a Husband.”

This adventure occasioned a good deal of
Merriment among them, but it had all the Effect
my Friend wished it should have on his Wife. —
The imagin’d Danger she had been in, and the
real Terror it had given her, dwelt so much upon
her Mind, that she resolved never more to set her
Foot within a Place where Virtue and Reputation
were liable to such Hazards. — He had the
Discretion, however, to maintain inviolably the
Secret of the Trick he had put upon her, which
had it been so much as guessed at by her, might,
perhaps, have occasioned a Resentment more to the F4r 39
the Prejudice of his Peace, than the Continuance
of that immoderate Love of an Amusement he
did not approve could have been.

But what this Gentleman contrived the
Appearance of, has not been without its Parallel
in reality. — Two noble Families owe the Ruin
of their Peace, as well as an Enmity with each
other, which there is little Likelihood will easily
cease, to a fatal Mistake, occasioned by the unfortunate
Similitude of Habits at one of these

Alcales and Palmyra were married
young, the Match was made by the Kindred on
both Sides, and their Hearts not consulted in the
Affair: — They lived together, notwithstanding,
in very good Harmony, neither of them having
any Attachment elsewhere; and tho’ no more
than a calm Indifference seemed to subsist between
them, yet either through Chance or Caution,
nothing happened for a long Time that could
give the least Umbrage to the one, or the other.
— His favourite Amusements were reading,
walking, and the Play-houses. — Her’s were giving
and receiving Visits, and going to Opera’s and
Masquerades. — He never examined into what
Company she went, nor did she ever give herself
the Trouble to enquire in what manner he passed
his Time. — She was infinitely gay and free in
Conversation, but behaved so equally to all the
Men of her Acquaintance, that Malice had found
no room to censure her, as guilty of a particular Regard F4v 40
Regard for any one. — The Conduct of Alcales
was much the same; he did Justice to the Charms
of every Lady, but seemed affected by none; so
that Jealousy was a Passion which this happy insensible
Pair as yet had never known. With how
much Tranquillity might Life have glided on,
till both had dropp’d into Eternity, and left the
fairest Reputation on their Tomb, had they continued
as they were a few Years longer? But their
ill Fate ordained it otherwise, and all the Unity
between them was nearest to a Dissolution when
most it seemed established and confirmed.

Palmyra, as she never missed a Masquerade,
was there one Night, when Alcales, after
she was gone, was also dragg’d thither by some
Friends, who would not be denied. — Tho’ he
had not the least Relish for that Diversion, yet
being there, he thought he should be laugh’d at
not to behave in the same Fashion he saw others
did, and presently singled out a Lady, who he
found had some Wit and Address, for his Partner.
— A Lady, who had accompanied Palmyra, and
happened to stand near, discovered him by his
Voice, which he did not attempt to conceal. She
ran immediately with the News to his Wife, who
at first did not believe it; but the other made so
many Protestations, that he was not only there,
but was also so deeply engaged with his Partner,
that she was sure there was an Intrigue between
them, that Palmyra, at last, resolved to be convinced,
and went to that Part of the Room where
her officious Informer had told her he was, and where G1r 41
where she found him, still entertaining the Lady.
— A Passion she had never before experienced,
now took Possession of her Heart. — She knew
she was not deceived, she heard the Voice of her
Husband distinctly, and to find him in a Place
he had always pretended an Aversion to, made
her look upon him as a Dissembler, and that he
but feigned a Dislike, in order to come with the
greater Privacy, and carry on his Amours. — In
fine, she had now the most disadvantagious Ideas
of him, that a Wife, imagining herself not only
injured, but imposed upon, could entertain. —
She had, sometimes, an Inclination to speak to
him, and let him see he was detected, but her
ill Genius prevented her from doing any thing
that might have cleared up this Affair, and represented
to her, that to shew her Resentment in
that publick Place, would draw on her the Ridicule
of her Acquaintance, and that it would be
more prudent to observe his Behaviour during the
Ball, and afterwards follow him, and in case he
went not Home, pursue him to the very Place of
his Rendezvous.

Accordingly she kept her Eye upon
him wherever he turned, as much as it was possible
for her to do, amidst the Throng which happened
to be there that Night, and at length saw
him, as she thought, quit the Room before the
Assembly broke up. — As she had before lost
Sight of the Lady he had been talking to, she
doubted not but that there was an Assignation
between them, and finding he step’d into a G Chair, G1v 42
Chair, she took another, and followed till she
found he entered into a House near Covent-Garden.
— She considered but a Moment what she
should do before she ordered the Chairman to
knock at the Door, which being opened, she desired
the Servant to shew her to the Gentleman
who was just come in. The Fellow, not doubting
but his Master expected this fair Visitor,
conducted her up Stairs, where she waited not
long before a very handsome Gentleman, habited
exactly in the same manner as she had seen her
Husband, but now without a Mask, came to her,
and in the most complaisant Terms begged to
know her Commands.

Vexed and confused without Measure at the
Disappointment, she replied abruptly, that she
had mistaken him for another, and turned hastily
away, in order to go down Stairs, but he seized
her by the Garment, and told her, he should ill
deserve the Bounty Fortune had thrown in his
Way, if he suffered her to depart without letting
her know, she could come in Search of no Man
who would set a greater Value on any Condescension
she should be pleased to grant him.

In spite of the ill Humour she was in, there
was somewhat in the Person and Address of this
Stranger that pleased her, and it just then entring
into her Head, that there was a Possibility he
might have changed Habits with Alcales, as People
sometimes do at a Masquerade, either out of
a Frolick, or the better to carry on an Intrigue, she G2r 43
she asked him, if he had worn that Habit the
whole Evening; to which he answering in the
Affirmative, she grew more and more perplexed,
but was certain she had not been deceived in the
Voice she had heard, which was that of her Husband,
and very different from his who now spoke
to her. — She then asked farther, if he had not
taken Notice of a Gentleman in the same Habit
with himself? To which he said, that he had
observed such a one, and that the Person she
meant was very much taken up with a fair Lady;
“but,” added he, with a Smile, “that Lady was not
she, who now does him the Honour to appear so
much concerned about him.”

These Words pique’d Palmyra to the Soul,
and flattering herself that she might learn something
farther, by entering into a Conversation
with him, suffered herself to be prevailed on to
sit down, and having told him she was the Wife
of the Person she enquired for, plucked off her
Mask, in order to shew, that her Face was not
such as might justify the Slight he had put upon
her, and conjured him not to conceal any thing
he knew of the Perfidy of her Husband.

This Gentleman, whom I shall call Lysimon,
assured her, with a great deal of Truth, that the
Person who happened to be in the same Dress
with himself, and which made him take the
greater Notice of him, was utterly unknown to
him; but so exaggerated the Compliments he had
heard him make to the Lady, that Palmyra was G2 quite G2v 44
quite lost in Spite and jealous Rage, which he
perceiving, artfully blended his Praises of her
Beauty, with his Exclamations on the Ingratitude
of a Husband, who having such a Wife, could
have Eyes for any other Charms, ’till Vanity on
the one Side, and Revenge on the other, rendered
her in a fit Disposition to listen to the Pleas
of a new Flame; which he so successfully pursued,
that before Morning he not only gained
the entire Possession of her Person, but of a
Heart, which, ’till now, had been insensible either
of the Pains or Joys of Love.

It was some Hours past Day-break when she
came Home; Alcales had not got rid of the
Company, who had carried him Abroad, ’till
pretty near the same Time, so was return’d but
just before her, and not yet in Bed. He seem’d
not, however, the least surpriz’d at her staying
so much beyond the Time she was accustom’d
to come from the Masquerade, nor ask’d any
Questions concerning it; and she was too much
engross’d by the Thoughts of Lysimon, to take
any Notice that she knew he had been there, and
all, perhaps, had passed over, if the Sister of
Alcales, whose House was directly opposite to
that where Lysimon lodg’d, had not unluckily
seen her at his Window, adjusting her Dress,
before she took her Leave. This Lady had secretly
a Passion for him, and had taken all Opportunities
to throw herself in his Way, in hope
of engaging him; but he having either not understood,
or neglected the Advances she made, the G3r 45
the Sight of Palmyra made her not doubt, but
it was for her sake he had appear’d so stupid
and ungrateful. — Fired with all the Rage of
Jealousy, Revenge, and Disappointment, she
came the next Day to the House of Alcales, and,
before his Face, flew on Palmyra, as a Woman
that had brought Dishonour on their Family, and
was unworthy of so good a Husband; — repeated
all she knew of her having been with Lysimon,
and said she would bring her Woman and a
Man-Servant, whom she had call’d to see her
at his Window, to be Witness to the Truth of
what she said. — So home a Charge, and given by
his Sister, rous’d Alcales from that Indolence of
Temper he had hitherto behav’d with. — His
Cheeks glow’d, but his Heart was yet more
inflam’d. — Palmyra, at first, deny’d the Accusation,
but finding the Proofs were too plain
against her, she turned the whole Blame of this
cruel Censure on her Husband. — Confess’d, that
Jealousy and Grief at seeing his Engagement at
the Masquerade, had made her follow a Person
whom she mistook for him, but that as to having
any Acquaintance with that Gentleman, on
whose Score she was reproach’d, she utterly denied
it, or even that she knew his Name.

Alcales listen’d to all she said, without
offering to give her the least Interruption, but
perceiving she had done, reply’d, with a Smile
that had something in it which denoted a mingled
Malice and Disdain, — “’Tis wondrous strange,
Madam, since your excessive Love for me, and the Terror G3v 46
Terror you were in of a Rival’s supplanting you
in my Affections, had carry’d you such Lengths,
how you could immediately, and without being
convinc’d your Suspicions were groundless, assume
such a Composedness in your Behaviour;
you must, certainly, have a more than ordinary
Command over your Passions, never so much as
to mention what gave you so much Pain.”

Palmyra had little to alledge against so
critical an Observation, but what she wanted in
Argument, she made up with Railing, endeavouring,
as is common in such Cases, to conceal
her own Faults by exaggerating those of her
Husband. — At last the Quarrel arrived to such a
Height, that she flew to her Chamber, pack’d up
her Jewels, and went to her Brother’s House,
where she complain’d loudly of the Injustice she
had receiv’d, and made bitter Imprecations never
to return to Alcales again.

In the mean time, he was fully convinc’d
of the Injury that had been done him, and, in the
Heat of his Resentment, sent a Challenge to
Lysimon, who was too brave not to answer it. —
They fought, and were both of them dangerously
wounded. — The whole Time that Alcales was
confin’d to his Bed, neither Palmyra, nor any of
her Friends, once sent to enquire after his
Health; this Want of even common Complaisance,
neither himself, nor Relations, have ever
forgiven, especially as they heard Lysimon was
treated by them with more Respect. — Nothing could G4r 47
could be more inveterate than the Hatred which
has from that Time been between the two Families.
Palmyra kept her Word, and never saw
her Husband after; the only thing, perhaps, she
could have oblig’d him in. — Assur’d as he was
of her Infidelity, Proofs were wanting for a Divorce;
therefore it was agreed, by Lawyers appointed
by each Party, that she should have the
Interest of her Fortune to live upon, in what
Manner was most agreeable to her. They parted
with the same Indifference, tho’ with less
Tranquillity, than they met. — He retired to his
Country Seat, where he still drags on a solitary,
gloomy Life. — She went to France, where her
beloved Lysimon was gone, soon after the Recovery
of his Wounds; but whether she continues
to find in his Conversation sufficient to attone
for her Loss of Innocence and Reputation,
is very much to be question’d.

But of all who ever suffer’d by their Curiosity
or Attachment to this dangerous Diversion,
the Case of the innocent Erminia was
most truly pityable.

This young Lady, and her Brother, were the
only Issue of a very happy Marriage, and both
shar’d equally the Tenderness of their indulgent
Parents. — They were educated in the strictest
Rudiments of Piety and Virtue, and had something
so innately good in their Dispositions, as
made the Practice of those Duties, which to
others seem most severe, to them a Pleasure. — The G4v 48
The Family lived in the Country, and came not
to London but once in two or three Years, and
then stay’d but a short Time, ’till the young
Gentleman having finish’d his Studies at Cambridge,
it was thought proper he should see more
of the World, than he could possibly do in that
retir’d Part. But, fearing he should fall into the
Vices of the Age, in case he were left too much
to himself, they resolv’d on removing to Town,
in order to have him still under their own

Accordingly a House was taken in a certain
Square, and the whole Family came up, and,
not to seem particular, were oblig’d to live after
the Manner People do in Town: Erminia was
not now above Sixteen, and (as all new Faces
are, if tolerably handsome,) was extremely taken
Notice of, yet was not her young Heart puff’d
up with the least Pride or Vanity; and tho’ she
had all that Chearfulness which is the inseparable
Companion of Innocence and Good-nature, yet
did it never transport her so far as to take, or
permit, any of those Liberties, which she saw
some of her new Acquaintance make no Scruple

Soon after their Arrival Winter came on,
and wherever either she or her Brother went,
nothing was talk’d on but the Masquerade;
neither of them had ever seen one, and the
Eagerness they observed in others, excited a Curiosity
in them. — Their Parents would not oppose the H1r 49
the Inclination they express’d, and consented they
should go together, but gave their Son a strict
Charge to be watchful over his Sister, and never
to quit Sight of her ’till he brought her home
to them again. — Tho’ this was an Entertainment
unknown in England in their gay Time of Life,
and, consequently, they were Strangers to the
Methods practised at it, yet having heard somewhat
of the Dangers, they repeated over and
over the same Injunction to the young Gentleman,
who assured them, he would take the same
Care as if themselves were present.

Alas! he little knew how impracticable it
was to keep his Promise: They were no sooner
enter’d, than both were bewilder’d amidst the
promiscuous Assembly; — the strange Habits, —
the Hurry, — the Confusion quite distracted their
Attention. — They kept close to each other, indeed,
for some Time, but were soon separated
by a Crowd that came rushing between them,
some accosting the Brother, others the Sister. —
Those who talk’d to them easily found they were
Strangers to the Conversation of the Place, and
whispering it about, our young Country Gentry
serv’d as Butts for the Company to level all the
Arrows of their Wit against.

Erminia had lost her Brother for a considerable
Time, and was encompassed by Persons
of both Sexes, whose Mode of Speech was neither
pleasing to her, nor did she know how to
answer; at last, the Sight of a Blue Domine, H which H1v 50
which was the Habit he went in, revived her,
and she ran to the Person who wore it, and
catching fast hold of him, “Dear Brother,” (cry’d
she) “let us go home, I have been frighted to
Death by those noisy People yonder. — I wonder
what Pleasure any body can take in being here.”

The Person she accosted made no Reply;
but taking her under the Arm, conducted her
out as she had desired, and went with her into a
Hackney Coach. Little suspecting the Accident
that had befallen her, she attended not to what
Orders he gave the Coachman; and, glad to find
herself out of a Place which for her had so few
Charms, entertain’d her suppos’d Brother with a
Repetition of what had been said to her, ’till the
Coach stopp’d at the Door of a great House:
As it was not yet light, she distinguish’d it not
from their own, and innocently jump’d out,
and was within the Entry before she discover’d
her Mistake; but as soon as she did, “Bless me,”
(cry’d she) “where have you brought me, Brother?”
She followed him, however, up Stairs,
where he, pulling off his Vizard, discover’d a
Face she had never seen before.

Never was Surprize and Terror greater
than that which now seiz’d the Heart of this
unfortunate young Lady: — She wept, she
pray’d, she conjur’d him by every thing that is
called sacred or worthy of Veneration, to suffer
her to depart; but he was one, to whom, had she
been less beautiful, her Innocence was a sufficient Charm. H2r 51
Charm.— The more averse and shock’d she
seem’d at the rude Behaviour with which he immediately
began to treat her, the more were
his Desires inflam’d, and having her in his
Power, and in a House where all her Shrieks and
Cries were as unavailing as her Tears and Entreaties,
he satiated, by the most barbarous
Force, his base Inclinations, and for a Moment’s
Joy to himself, was the eternal Ruin of a poor
Creature, whose Ignorance of the World, and
of the Artifices of Mankind, alone had betray’d

The cruel Conquest gain’d, he was at a
Loss how to dispose of his Prey; a thousand
times she begg’d he would compleat the Villany
he had begun, and kill the Wretch he had made;
but this was what neither his Safety, nor perhaps
his Principle, wicked as he was, would permit him to do. —
He easily found she was a Girl of
Condition, and doubted not but she had Friends
who would revenge the Injury he had done
her, could they, by any Means, discover the
Author; he therefore, after having in vain endeavour’d
to pacify her, and prevail on her to
comply with his Desires of holding a secret Correspondence
with him, compell’d her to let him
bind a Handkerchief over her Eyes, that she
might not be able to describe either the House
or Street where she had been abused; then put
her into a Hackney Coach, which he order’d to
drive into an obscure dirty Lane in the Strand,
near the Water Side, where he made her be set H2 down, H2v 52
down, and immediately drove away with all the
Speed the Horses could make.

She no sooner found herself at Liberty, than
she pluck’d the Bandage from her Eyes, — she
cast a disconsolate Look about, — she knew not
where she was; but the Sight of the Water at
some little Distance from her, tempted her more
than once, as she has since confess’d, to throw
herself into it. — The Precepts of Religion, however,
restrain’d her, and she wander’d backwards
and forwards for some Time, uncertain what to
do; at length she came to a more populous
Place, and seeing a Chair, made herself be carried
home, tho’ with what Agonies of Shame and
Grief is easier to imagine than describe.

The young Gentleman, her Brother, had all
this Time been in the utmost Distraction; he no
sooner miss’d, than he went in search of her
round and round the Room, and through all the
little Avenues that led to it, describ’d her Habit
to the Servants, and ask’d if they had seen such
a Lady; but all his Endeavours being fruitless,
he ran home, flattering himself, that missing
him, she was gone before. — Not finding her
there, he flew back again to the Haymarket, —
made a second Search, a second Enquiry, and
that being ineffectual as the first, his Grief and
his Despair was beyond all Bounds. — He truly
lov’d his Sister, and doubted not but some very
unhappy Accident had befallen her; but what
involved him in greater Horrors, was how he H3r 53
he should answer to his Parents his so ill acquitting
himself of the Charge they laid on him
concerning her. — Dreading their Reproaches, and
even yet more the Agonies they would feel at
seeing him return without her, he flew about the
Streets like one totally deprived of Reason, ’till
Day being far advanc’d, and every body he met
staring at him as a Person whom Drink or Madness
had render’d an Object of Derision, Shame,
at last, got the better of his Vexations, and he
ventur’d to encounter what was more dreadful
to him than Death itself.

The anxious Parents could not think of
going to their Repose ’till their dear Children
were return’d in Safety; they had Apprehensions
which they could not account for, none having
dared to inform them that Erminia was missing,
or that her Brother, many Hours before, had
called at the Door to ask if she was come, but
when they now saw him enter with that confus’d
and dejected Air, and found their Daughter
was not with him, they both at once cry’d out,
in a Transport of mingled Rage and Grief, “—
Where is your Sister? — What is become of Erminia?
— Dare you approach us without her?”

The Condition this poor Youth was in,
would be very difficult to express: — He trembled,
hung down his Head, and his flowing
Eyes let fall a Shower of Tears upon his Breast,
but had not Power to speak, ’till his Father,
impatient of knowing even the worst that could befal, H3v 54 befal, commanded him either to repeat what had
happen’d, or that Instant leave his Sight for
ever. “O Sir,” (then cry’d he) “What can I say! —
My Sister is gone, — all my Care in obeying your
Commands was vain, and I am wholly ignorant
how this Misfortune happened.”

Scarce had he spoke these Words, when
the ruin’d Maid appear’d.— Father, Mother,
Brother, all ran at once to catch her in their
Arms; but the Shock of returning to them as
she now was render’d, work’d too powerfully
on the Weakness of her Spirits, to leave her in
a Condition to receive their Embraces, and she
fell into a Swoon, in which she continu’d a long
Time, tho’ they immediately undress’d, put her
to Bed, and used all possible Means for her

On the Return of her Senses, she fell into
the most lamentable Complaints, but could not
be prevail’d upon, while her Father and Brother
were in the Room, to reveal any thing of the
Occasion. Her Mother observing their Presence
was a Restraint, desir’d them to withdraw; after
which, partly by Commands, and partly by Intreaties,
but more by mentioning all the Evils
that her Imagination could suggest, at last the
whole sad Secret was reveal’d.

Never was so disconsolate a Family, and
the more so, as they could by no Means discover
the brutal Author of their Misfortune; the Precautionscautions H4r 55
he had taken render’d all their Search in
vain; and when some Days after they prevail’d
on Erminia to go with them in a Coach almost
throughout all London, yet could she not point
out either the House or Street where her Ravisher
had carried her.

To fill the Measure of her Woes, a young
Gentleman arriv’d in Town who long had lov’d,
and had the Approbation of her Friends, and
for whom she also felt all of that Passion that can
inspire a virtuous Mind; he had by some Business
been prevented from accompanying the Family
in their Removal, but was now come full of the
Hopes of having his Desires compleated, by a
happy Marriage with the sweet Erminia.

Melancholy Reverse of Fate! instead of
being receiv’d with open Arms, and that chearful
Welcome he had been accustom’d to, and
had Reason to expect, the most heavy Gloom
appear’d on all the Faces of those he was permitted
to see; but Erminia no sooner heard
of his Arrival, than she shut herself up in her
Chamber, and would, by no means, be prevail’d
upon to appear before him. — To excuse her
Absence they told him she was indispos’d; but
this seem’d all Pretence, because the Freedom
with which they had always liv’d together, might
very well have allow’d him the Privilege of visiting
her in her Chamber.— He complain’d of
this Alteration in their Behaviour, and doubted
not, at first, but it was occasion’d by the Preferenceference H4v 56
they gave to some new Rival. — The true
Reason, however, could not be kept so much a
Secret, but that it was whisper’d about, and he
soon got a Hint of it. — How sensible a Shock it
must give him may easily be conceiv’d; but he
got the better of it, and after a very little Reflection,
went to her Father, told him the afflicting
News he had heard, but withal assur’d him,
that as his Love for Erminia was chiefly founded
on her Virtue, an Act of Force could not be
esteem’d any Breach of it, and was still ready to
marry her, if she would consent.

This Generosity charm’d the whole Family,
but Erminia could not think of accepting the
Offer; — the more she found him worthy of her
Affection in her State of Innocence, the less
could she support the Shame of being his, in the
Condition she now was. — She told her Parents,
that she had taken a firm Resolution never to
marry, and begg’d their Permission to retire to
an Aunt, who was married to an old Clergyman,
and lived in one of the most remote Counties in
England. Dear as her Presence was, they found
something so truly noble in her way of Thinking,
that they would not oppose it; and even her
Lover, in spite of himself, could not forbear
applauding what gave a thousand Daggers to his

Erminia in a short time departed for
her Country Residence; nothing was ever more
mournful than the Leave she took of her Parents and I1r 57
and Brother; but not all the Intreaties of her
Lover, by Messages and Letters, could gain so
far upon her Modesty, as to prevail on her to
see him; she sent him, however, a Letter, full
of the most tender Acknowledgments of his
Love and Generosity, and with this he was
oblig’d to be content.

It is not every Woman would have resented
such an Injury in the same manner with Erminia;
and it must be confess’d, that her Notions
of Honour and Virtue had somewhat superlatively
delicate in them. — What a Loss then
to the World to be depriv’d of so amiable an
Example, as she would have doubtless prov’d,
of conjugal Truth, Tenderness, and a strict
Observance of every Duty the Men so much
desire to find in her they make a Partner for
Life! How can her brutal Ravisher reflect, as
it is impossible but he sometimes must, on the
Mischiefs he has occasion’d, without Horrors,
such as must render Life a Burthen! — Tho’ he
yet is hid in Darkness, and left no Traces by
which the Publick may point the Villain out,
and treat him with the Abhorrence he deserves,
his own Thoughts must surely be the Avengers
of his Crime, and make him more truly
wretched than any exterior Punishment could

’Tis true, that Accidents of this dreadful
Nature but rarely happen, and Heaven forbid
they should ever be more frequent! Yet I am I afraid I1v 58
afraid they are much more so than is publickly
known. Methinks, therefore, Youth and Innocence
cannot be too much upon its Guard, even
against Dangers that seem most remote: The
Snares laid for it are sometimes so well conceal’d,
that the most penetrating Eye cannot
discover them; and she who boasts the greatest
Discernment, is often entangled in them the
soonest. The Inadvertent and Unwary are, indeed,
to be pitied; but those who run wilfully,
and in Defiance, as it were, of all Temptations,
even tho’ they should escape, merit little Thanks
from their own Sex, because they set an ill Precedent
for others, who, perhaps, may be less

I cannot say our Summer Evenings publick
Entertainments, of which I think Vaux-Hall not
only the most pleasant, but also most frequented
by the great World, are liable to such unlucky
Accidents: — Every one there appears with the
same Face which Nature gave him, and if Intrigues
are carried on, it must, at least, be with
the Consent of both Parties; yet here are dangerous
Excitements, — Musick, Flattery, delightful
Groves, and sweet Recesses to lull asleep
the Guardians of Honour. — A certain wellknown
Gentleman, whose Acquaintance Bodes
no Good to the Young and Beautiful of our Sex,
has often boasted, that Vaux-Hall was the Temple
of Flora, of which he has long been constituted
High-Priest. — I wish there may not be too
much Truth in what he says; but for the Vindicationcation I2r 59
of some Ladies who have been Lovers of
a Ramble cross the Water, I must recite one
Instance of a Disappointment he met with, much
to his Mortification, and which, for some Time,
brought him under Disgrace with the most illustrious
of all his Patrons.

As his chief Employment is the Search of
Beauty, in which our modern fine Gentlemen
allow him to have an exquisite Taste, he one
Night singled out a young Girl, who seem’d
to have compriz’d in her every thing that could
inspire an amorous Inclination. Flavia, for so
I shall call her, had two Companions with her of
her own Sex. — He artfully introduc’d himself
into their Conversation, and found, that she
whom he had pitch’d upon had no less Wit
and Address, than she had Beauty. — This, he
thought to himself, was a Conquest worth obtaining,
and resolv’d to spare no Pains in the
Attempt; being certain, that if he was so happy
to succeed in it, his Reward would be proportionate
to the Service.

The modest and grave Deportment, with
which he behaved towards her and her Friends,
made them, as they had no Male Acquaintance
with them, glad of his Protection to see them
into a Boat when the Company broke up; and
the great Crowd and Hurry which there always
is, rendered him, indeed, so very useful, that
they could not, without being guilty of too
prudish a Reserve, refuse permitting him a PassageI2 sage I2v 60
with them to the other Side; by this Means
he got Knowledge where they all liv’d, for his
Complaisance would needs extend itself so far as
to see each to her respective Habitation.

Flavia being the only Person on whom
he had a Design, he went to wait on her the
next Day, under Pretence of enquiring after her
Health, the Evening happening to be more cool
than ordinary, he said he fear’d might have had
some ill Effect on a Constitution so delicate as
her’s. Flavia, who suspected not the Serpent
that lay hid under such fair Behaviour, receiv’d
him with the utmost Civility, but her Mother
with infinitely more; she had been a Woman of
Gallantry in her Youth, and did not think herself
yet past it, so was very ready to encourage
the Visits of any Person who made a good Appearance.
She thank’d him a thousand times
over for the Care he had taken of her Daughter,
and when encourag’d by her manner of treating
him, he ask’d Permission to wait on them sometimes
at Tea-drinking; she assur’d him, nothing
could do her more Honour and Pleasure, than to
cultivate an Acquaintance with a Gentleman of
his Merit.

He now look’d on half his Work as done,
and by the Disposition of the Mother, judg’d
he should find little Difficulty in his Designs on
the Daughter, especially, as on an Enquiry into
their Circumstances, he found they were very
low; that the Father of Flavia, at his Death, had I3r 61
had left a numerous Family unprovided for, and
that the other Children were dispers’d, some with
one Relation, and some with another, the Mother
being able to support no more than this one. In
this Confidence he went immediately to the illustrious
Rinaldo, and, after magnifying his own
Zeal and Industry to serve his Pleasures, told him
he had discover’d a Treasure of Charms, fit only
for his Possession, and with such luscious Phrases
painted to him every Grace the beautiful Flavia
was Mistress of, that Rinaldo was all on Fire to
see her. “If I find her such as you describe,” (said
he) “and I enjoy her by your Means, I will deny
you nothing you can ask.”
The other bow’d, and
assur’d him he would bring her into the Mall
the next Day, where his own Eyes should convince
him of the Truth.

This being agreed to, he went to the Mother
of Flavia, and entreated they would favour
him with their Company to the Park, for he
would not hazard a Refusal, by asking the one
without the other; and, besides, thought it would
be imprudent to give them any room to suspect
his Intentions, ’till he should know Rinaldo’s

They now look’d on him as one of their
Acquaintance, and were not at all displeas’d to be
gallanted by a Person who made the Figure he
did. — In fine, they went; Rinaldo was there,
met them at several Turns, and found nothing
in Flavia but what attracted his Admiration. — The I3v 62
The last Time he passed by them, “You are a happy
(said he, calling him by his Name,) “to
have the Conduct of so much Beauty.”

This Purveyor for the Vices of other Men
was highly pleas’d to find the Choice he had
made approv’d. — Flavia blush’d, but her Mother
was transported to see by whom they were
taken notice of. — All the Time they continu’d
walking afterwards, they were entertain’d with
nothing but the Praises of Rinaldo, — his fine
Shape, his genteel Air, but above all his Goodnature,
Generosity, and Liberality to the Ladies,
were expatiated on with all the Pomp that Words
could give them.

He proceeded no farther at that Time, but
the next Day, when he waited on Rinaldo to
know his Commands, he found him all Impatience
for the Possession of Flavia; on which he
went directly to her, and made no Scruple of
acquainting both herself and Mother with the
Passion that illustrious Person was inspired with,
and at the same time made them the most formal
Compliments of Congratulation on their good

The Mother listen’d to him with the most
raptur’d Attention. — She already fancy’d herself
in her Coach and Six, and a thousand wild
Ideas of Grandeur, Homage, and Magnificence
ran through her Head in an Instant. — She told
him, that she knew her Duty better than to opposepose I4r 63
any thing the great Rinaldo wish’d, and she
hop’d her Daughter would also receive the
Honour he did her with a becoming Obedience.

Flavia all this Time spoke not a Word:
the Surprize of such an Offer at first, and the
Shock it gave her to hear her Mother’s Reply
afterwards, kept her silent: But the Blushes,
which, in reality, were excited by her Disdain,
were taken only as the Effect of her Modesty. —
Both of them urg’d her to speak, and the Emissary
of Rinaldo entreated to know from her own
Mouth, what Answer he should give his Patron;
at last, “Sir,” (said he) “I am utterly unworthy
of any Regard from so great a Person,
and equally ignorant how to repay it any otherwise
than by my Prayers and good Wishes. — This
is all I can say as to Rinaldo; by as to yourself,
from whom I little expected such a Proposal, be
assur’d I am, and will be virtuous.”

With these Words she flung out of the
Room, leaving the Person she address’d them to
in a good deal of Consternation: But her Mother
soon brought him into a better Humour; she
told him the Girl had got some romantick Notions
in her Head, but she should easily bring her
to a more just Sense of her Duty, when she talk’d
to her in private; and therefore beg’d he would
not mention her foolish Behaviour to Rinaldo,
for she would undertake to prepare her to receive
his Commands whenever he pleas’d.

It I4v 64

It was then concluded between them, that
she should remove with her Daughter to a small
but pleasant House they had on the Banks of the
River, and which, indeed, was their usual Habitation,
they having only Lodgings in Town for
the present, on Account of a Law-suit the Mother
of Flavia came to sollicit. — That she would
have two or three Days, in order to bring her
into such a Disposition as they wish’d; and that
when every thing was ready, she should let him
know by a Letter, after which Rinaldo might
come privately to their House by Water.

Our modern Pandarus was no sooner gone,
than she flew to her Daughter’s Chamber, where
she found her in Tears. — She call’d her a thousand
Fools, “— What!” (cry’d she) “do you grieve for
what any other than yourself would rejoice in!
— Do you consider who Rinaldo is? — What he
will hereafter be? And what your Sons, if you
have any by him, will be?”

To this Flavia reply’d as became a Maid devoted
to Virtue, — beg’d she would insist no farther
on a Thing she was determin’d never to consent
to; and concluded with assuring her, that
she should prefer the lowest State in Life, to all
the Grandeur in the World, if purchased at the
Expence of her Innocence.

The old Lady’s Vexation was inexpressible
at finding her so refractory to her Desires, but
resolute not to lose the Advantages she promised to K1r 65
to herself and Family by this Proposal, she left
no means untry’d to bend, or perswade her to

When they got to their little Country-Seat,
she set before her Eyes the Misfortunes they were
at present involved in, and endeavour’d to convince
her, that the Passion Rinaldo had for her,
seem’d a peculiar Mark of Divine Providence in
their Favour; and that what would be a Crime
to grant to any other Man, was entirely sanctify’d
by his Degree, and would be approved on both
by Heaven and Earth. But finding these Arguments
of no Weight, and that all the Sophistry
she made use of was in vain, she proceeded to
Threats, and even to Blows, nay, deny’d her
necessary Food, and us’d her with a Cruelty
scarce to be parallel’d in a Mother. This Method
also failing, and the virtuous Maid remaining
fix’d in her Resolution, she again had recourse
to Perswasion, ’till Flavia, quite tir’d out
with hearing the same Things so often repeated,
at last left off making any Reply, but was all the
Time meditating how she should avoid the Ruin
intended her.

The Mother now look’d on her Silence as a
kind of Consent, and that it was only owing
to an Obstinacy of Nature, that she did not give
it in plain Words. — In this Opinion, she set her
House in the greatest Order, and wrote to her
good Friend, as she term’d him, intimating that K her K1v 66
her Daughter seem’d now to have repented of her
Folly, and was in a Disposition to receive the
Honour of a Visit from Rinaldo whenever he
pleas’d. To this she had a speedy Answer, and
a Day appointed for the coming of that great

Flavia was soon appriz’d of it by the
Preparations making in the House, and the Orders
given her to dress, and to appear in the best
manner she was able. — “Who am I then to see,
demanded she, in a dejected Tone; her
Mother then told her, that her illustrious Lover
intended them the Honour of a Visit; “but,”
(continu’d she) “I will leave it to yourself how to
behave towards him, and hope you have Discretion
enough to manage him so, as that the Friendship
he now vouchsafes to have for us, may not be
wholly lost.”

This artful Woman had two Reasons for
now speaking to her in these mild Terms; the
one was, that if she made use of the Authority of
a Mother, it might ruffle her Features, and consequently
render her less amiable in the Eyes of
Rinaldo; and the other, that by pretending every
thing would be left to her own Choice, she
would be less averse to entertaining him, which
was all she wanted, firmly believing a Girl of her
Years would not dare to refuse a Person like him
any thing he should ask, tho’ she might have
Courage to do it to those employ’d by him.

The K2r 67

The poor young Creature, in the mean time,
labor’d under the greatest Distraction of Mind
how to avoid an Interview, in which she could
not be assur’d of not losing, by Force, that which
she was always determin’d never to yield. — She
had no Friend on whom she could enough depend
to reveal the Secret. — At last it came into
her Head to apply to a certain Clergyman, who
lived about two Miles distant from their House.
— He was a Man pretty far advanced in Years,
and had the Reputation of all the Purity of Manners
befitting his sacred Function: She thought
there could not be a more proper Person for one
in her Circumstances to consult, or better able to
advise her how to shun the Toils laid for her

Accordingly she rose extremely early,
and before any of the Family were awake, stole
out of her Mother’s House, and made the best
of her way to that of this Reverend Guide, to
whom, after some Tears and Sighs, and with a
sad Compulsion of being oblig’d to reveal the
Shame of one so near to her in Blood, she related
the whole Pity-moving Story; and concluded
with begging his Protection, ’till she could find
some Means of getting her Bread, either in Service,
or by working with her Needle.

The good Doctor, who, indeed, answer’d
the Character given of him, heard her with
Amazement and Admiration; and after he had
paus’d some Time, told her, that considering K2 who K2v 68
who were her Seducers, he questioned whether
ever any Age could afford an Example of the
like Virtue; “but,” (said he) “how can I protect you
against the Authority of a Mother, seconded by
the Power of Rinaldo? There is”
(continued he)
“but one way, and that is, by making you my Wife.
— I know the Disparity of our Years, and that
such an Union may be as irksome to your Inclinations,
as the other is to your Virtue. — I will
not, therefore, urge it; but fear, that all the
Endeavours I can make will be unavailing, without
that Tie, which even Rinaldo himself will
not presume to violate.”

Flavia was too much astonish’d to be
able to make any immediate Reply, yet testify’d
nothing in her Countenance that could give him
room to think she was averse to his Proposal;
nor had she, in reality, any Reason to be so. He
had a good Benefice, a small Estate in Land, no
Children, and a very graceful Person, tho’ his
Face was somewhat furrow’d by Time. But
what weigh’d more with her than all other Considerations
was, that a Marriage with him would
be a sure Defence from all Attacks upon her
Honour, and deliver her from the Power of a
Mother, who, she had too much Reason to believe,
would, one time or other, give her up to

But, not to be longer in relating this Affair,
than they were in agreeing on it, she neither had,
nor affected any Scruples; and the Coach that Morning L1r 69
Morning setting out for London, they took their
Passage in it, and were married the next Day.

The Distraction which the Mother of Flavia
was in when she was not to be found, may easily
be guess’d; but when Rinaldo came, and receiv’d
such a Baulk to his Expectations, he was extremely
incensed at first against the Person who had so
much assur’d him of a Reception answerable to
his warmest Wishes. The Negotiator had little
to say in his Defence, but that “the Girl was certainly
run mad”
, that “he had never thought himself
more secure,”
and begg’d Pardon in the most servile
manner. — That great Person too much despis’d
him to take any other Revenge on him,
than reporting how much he had prov’d unfit
for the Employment he valued himself upon:
This was, however, a very severe Punishment;
for whenever he attempted any thing of the like
nature, he was always reproach’d with Flavia,
and all he could do was insufficient to retrieve
his Credit for a long time.

The Virtue of Flavia has its Reward in the
greatest Blessing Heaven can give, a Mind perfectly
content. — She lives pleas’d and happy in
her Lot, and by her Behaviour justifies her Husband’s
Choice, and puts to Shame all those who
at first pretended to censure so unequal a Match.

It is certain the Ideas that arise in our Minds
when we reflect on Temptations we have had
the Power to shun, are, beyond all Description, sweet. L1v 70
sweet. — There is a laudable Pride in triumphing
over the Artifices of those that would seduce us,
which diffuses the highest Satisfaction to the Soul;
but yet we ought to beware how we court Dangers
in the Assurance of overcoming them. —
We may flatter ourselves too far; there is nothing
more frequently deceives us than our own
Hearts; and it is, methinks, venturing too far to
stake that innate, settled Peace, which conscious
Innocence, tho’ untry’d, unmagnify’d, affords,
against the precarious Hope of purchasing a publick
Fame, which, however just, is yet in Danger
of being blasted by Envy and Detraction.

End of the First Book.


Female Spectator.

Book II.

When first myself and Assistants
set about this Undertaking, we
agreed to lay down certain Rules
to be observed among us, in order
to preserve that Harmony, which
it is necessary should exist in all Societies, whether
composed of a great or small Number. —
One of the most material of which is to devote
two Evenings in every Week to the Business we
have engaged in. — In the first of these Meetings
we communicate to each other what Intelligence
we receive, and consider on what Topicks we
shall proceed. — In the second, we lay our
several Productions on the Table, which being
read over, every one has the Liberty of exceptingL2 ing L2v 72
against, or censuring whatever she disapproves;
nothing being to be exhibited to the
Publick, without the joint Concurrence of all. —
The Rendezvous is kept at my Lodgings, and
I give strict Orders, that no Person whatever
shall be admitted to interrupt our Consultations;
but you may as well attempt to exclude the
Lightning, as the Impertinence of some People.
— I dare say, there are few of my Readers who
have not, some Time or other in their Lives,
been plagu’d with a buzzing, fluttering kind of
Animal, whose Love, for the Time it lasts, is
more troublesome, than the Hate of any other
created Being that I know of. — I mean a Race
of Mortals, who will tell you all their own
Secrets in two Hours Acquaintance, and from
thence imagine, they have a Right to expect
you should be as communicative to them. —
They will see one, whether one will or not; —
there is no shutting one’s self from them; —
they burst in upon one at all Hours, and pursue
one wherever one goes; — they come galloping
to repeat every thing they see or hear of; and
one must either be wholly rude, or banish all
Thoughts of one’s own, however agreeable or
necessary, to listen to the vociferous Trifle they
are big with; — and the only Consolation one has,
is the Certainty of getting rid of them the next
new Acquaintance they make.

It was lately my Misfortune to be fasten’d
upon by one of those Tempo-Amyarians, (if I
may venture to call them so, without offending the L3r 73
the Criticks) and during the Zenith of her Fondness
of me, had not a Moment I could call my
own. — She came one of those Evenings we had
set apart for the Entertainment of the Publick,
and in spite of the Charge I had given, forced
her Passage through my Servants, and flew directly
to the Room where we were sitting. —
As she enter’d without Ceremony, so she made
no Apology for the Abruptness, tho’ she found
I had Company, and might easily have seen by
my Countenance, how little I was pleas’d with
her Visit, if she had not been too tenacious of a
Welcome for the News she brought, which she
told me, was of so much Consequence, that she
could not have slept all Night, without making
me Partaker of it.

As it was not from a Lady of her degree
of Understanding, that I expected any Intelligence
fit for my Purpose, and was very much
out of Humour at her Presence, I return’d no
Answer to the Compliment she made me; but
she seem’d to take no Notice of my Indolence
in this Point, and without waiting to see whether
I should grow more inquisitive or not, began
immediately to unlade herself of the Fardle she
had brought with her.

She inform’d us she had been at Court that
Day, had seen the fine Lady Bloometta, it being
the first Time of her Appearance there since her
Marriage, — describ’d every Article of her Dress,
— told us how charming she look’d, — how all the L3v 74
the young Peers envy’d the Happiness of old
Pompilius, yet at the same Time sneer’d at the
unequal Match, and seem’d to promise themselves
some agreeable Consequences from it. —
How some, as he led her to the Presence, cry’d
out — “May and December!” — others, “Fire and
and a thousand such like petty Reflections,
which the new-wedded Pair could not but expect,
and any one might be assur’d would be
made, without being an Ear-witness of.

After having said all she could on this
Affair, she started up, and with a Promise, neither
wish’d nor requested by me, of calling
upon me early the next Morning, took her Leave
with as little Ceremony as she had come in, and
left us the Liberty of pursuing our own Discourse.

However, as Good springs sometimes out
of Evil, this very Interruption occasion’d the
Conversation to turn on a Subject, which never
can be too much attended to, and the too great
Neglect of which is the Source of almost all the
Evils we either feel, or are witness of in private

I believe I shall easily be understood to
mean Marriage, since there is no one Thing, on
which the Happiness of Mankind so much depends;
it is indeed the Fountain-Head of all the
Comforts we can enjoy ourselves, and of those
we transmit to our Posterity. — It is the Band which L4r 75
which unites not only two Persons, but whole
Families in one common inseparable Interest. —
It is that which prevents those numberless Irregularities
and Confusions, that would else overthrow
all Order, and destroy Society; but then
not to pervert the Intention of so necessary and
glorious an Institution, and rob it of every
Blessing it is full of, lies only in ourselves. — No
violated Vows, before pledg’d to another, —
no clandestine Agreements made up by hasty
and ungovern’d Passion, — no sordid Bargains,
where Wealth, not Merit, is the chief Inducement,
— no notorious Disparity of Years, of Family,
or Humours, can ever be productive of a
lasting Concord, either between the Principals
themselves, or those in Alliance with them.
Dirges, rather than Epithalamiums, should be
sung at Nuptials such as these, and their Friends
pity, not congratulate their Lot.

Pompilius had lived in very good
Harmony with his former Lady, and none would
have condemned him for paying his Vows a
second Time at the Altar of Hymen, provided
he had made Choice of a Partner more agreeable
to his present Years. — His Inclinations might
not, indeed, have been gratify’d to so exquisite
a Degree, but then his Judgment had not been
arraigned, nor had he forfeited in Age, that Reputation
of good Sense he had acquired in Youth.
How great a Pity is it then, that he should give
way to the Dictates of a Passion, the Gratifications
of which can afford him but a short-liv’d Joy L4v 76
Joy — must be injurious to his own Character,
and doubly so to the Object of his Affections.

What, if the charming Bloometta had been
disappointed in her first Wishes — What if the
too insensible Palemon had preferr’d a little sordid
Dross to the Possession of the finest Woman upon
Earth, and her Resentment at the Indignity
offer’d to her Youth and Beauty, joined with
the Ambition of her Parents, had set the Pretentions
of Pompilius in an advantageous Light,
a Moment’s Reflection might have served to convince
him of the Motives, and if he truly loved,
have made him chuse to recommend some noble
Youth of his own Family, whose Merits might
have obliterated whatever Sentiments she had
been possess’d of in Favour of Palemon: This
indeed would have been a Proof of the most
generous Affection, and at the same Time of
that Command over himself, which is expected
from Persons in his Station.

But how much soever the united Joys of
Love and Wine, may be able to lull all Thoughts
of Remorse in a Heart, which seems intent only
on indulging its own Desires, be they ever so
extravagant, that of the sweet Bloometta must
endure Pangs, which every Day will become
more severe, by the Efforts of her Prudence to
conceal them; — what Conflicts between Sincerity
and Duty must rend her gentle Breast, when her
doating Lord exacts from her a Return of his
Endearments! — How must she regret the sad Necessity M1r 77
Necessity of being oblig’d to feign what Nature
will not grant! — Those tender Languishments,
which when mutual, afford mutual Transport,
seem awkward and nauseous in the Man we do
not love; and instead of more endearing him
to us, turn the Indifference we before had to him,
into Aversion and Contempt. — In fine, there are
no Words to express the Miseries of a loath’d
Embrace; and she who sacrifices to Pride or
Pique the Pleasures of her Youth, by marrying
with the Man she hates, will soon, tho’ too late
to repair the irremedable Mischief, repent in the
utmost Bitterness of Soul what she has done.

Methinks it is with great Injustice that
the Generality of the World condemn Aristobulus
of Ingratitude, Perfidiousness, and Cruelty;
he is indeed an Instance, that Love is not in our
Power, and tho’ his Lady’s Fate is much to be
commiserated, his own is, in reality, no less deserving
our Compassion. This Nobleman, who,
for the Graces of his Person had few Equals,
made many Conquests, without the Artillery of
one single Sigh or Protestation: — Celinda, to
his great Misfortune, was among the Number —
Celinda, of illustrious Race, Heiress to vast
Possessions, and endu’d with many Perfections
of Mind and Body; yet Celinda, whose Love
has been the Bane of all his Happiness —
long did she conceal the Secret of her Passion
from the whole World, as well as from him who
was the Object of it; yet indulging the Pleasure
of seeing him as much as possible, frequented M all M1v 78
all Places where there was a Probability of meeting
him, ’till finding that he paid her no other
Civilities, than what her Rank demanded, those
soft Emotions, which in the Beginning afforded
only delightful Images, now degenerated into
Horrors, as they approached nearer to Despair. —
She fell sick, — the Physicians soon perceiv’d her
Disorder was of the Mind, and perswaded those
about her, to use their utmost Endeavours for
discovering the Cause. — In vain were all the
Intreaties of her Friends, in vain the Commands
of the most tender Father; her Modesty
resisted all, and it was not ’till she was judg’d
by every one that saw her, as well as by herself,
to be at the Point of Death, that she was prevail’d
upon to confess, that she desired Life only
to behold Aristobulus.

Her Father, who had before suspected the
Disease, tho’ not the Person from whom the Infection
came, was rejoiced to find, that her Inclinations
had not disgraced his Dignity; and
assured her, that if to see Aristobulus was of so
much Consequence, she should not only see, but
live with him, ’till Death should put a Period
to that Happiness.

He made this Promise, in Confidence that
the Father of Aristobulus would gladly accede to
the Union of their Families; nor was he deceiv’d
in his Conjecture; the Proposal he made was
receiv’d with the utmost Satisfaction, and the
Marriage Writings were drawn between them, before M2r 79
before the young Lord, who happen’d at that
Time to be on a Party of Pleasure in the Country,
knew that any such Thing was in Agitation.

Celinda was immediately made acquainted
with this Agreement, and from that
Moment the long absent Roses resumed their
Places in her Cheeks, her wonted Strength and
Vivacity return’d, and she was again the Joy of
all who knew her.

But a far different Effect, alas! had the
News of this Affair on him, who was with so
much Vehemence beloved by her. — A special
Messenger being dispatch’d to bring him up to
London, he no sooner was inform’d of the Occasion,
than he was seiz’d with the most mortal
Anguish; — he threw himself at his Father’s
Feet, and with all the moving Rhetorick of
dutiful Affection, conjur’d him by that paternal
Tenderness he had ever treated him with, and
which he had never been guilty of doing any
thing to forfeit, not to insist on his fulfilling an
Engagement, than which Death could not be
more terrible.

Never was Surprize greater than that of
the Father of Aristobulus, to hear him speak in
this manner; but it yet received a considerable
Increase, when on demanding the Reasons of his
Refusal, and what Objections he had to make
against becoming the Husband of so well M2 descended, M2v 80
descended, so rich, so virtuous, and so young a
Lady, he had none to offer, but that he was not
inclined to marry, or if he were, had something
in his Nature, which oppos’d any Inclination
in her Favour.

The Match was too advantageous to their
Family, for the old Peer to be put off with what
seem’d to him so trifling a Motive, as mere want
of Love; he therefore resolved, that his Son
should comply with his Commands, and to that
End enforced them by the most terrible Menaces
of never seeing him more, and of cutting him
off from all his Inheritance, excepting what
was entail’d upon the Title, which was very
small, and little able to support it.

This was a very great Shock to one, who
had the highest Notions of Grandeur, and a
Relish for all the expensive Pleasures of the
Young and Gay. — He knew his Father rigid,
and obstinate to be obey’d by all who had any
Dependance on him; and doubted not, but his
Resentment would sway him to do as he said:
he therefore repented he had irritated him so far,
and began to feign a less Aversion to the Marriage;
— he begg’d to be forgiven, and promised
to visit Celinda, in the Hope, he said, that he
should discover more Charms in her Conversation,
than he yet had been sensible of. His
Father seem’d somewhat pacify’d with this
Assurance, and bid him go and offer her a Heart M3r 81
Heart she well deserved, and he had too long
delayed bestowing.

He did not, it is certain, deceive his Father
in this Point; — he went, but went with a
View very different from what any one could
have imagin’d he would ever have conceiv’d: —
In the room of entertaining her with soft Professions,
which, perhaps, are sometimes made
by those, who mean them as little as himself
could have done, he frankly confess’d, he had
an Aversion to the married State; that it was
not in his Power to make a Husband, such as
she had Reason to expect; and entreated that
she would order it so, that the Nuptials, which
his Father seem’d so bent on compleating, might
be broke off on her Side.

How alarming such a Request must be to
one who loved as she did, any one may judge;
but the Excess of her Tenderness over-ruled all
that Pride and Spirit, which is so natural to
Women on such Occasions; — she paus’d a while,
probably to suppress the rising Sighs, but at
length told him, that what he desired was the
only thing she could refuse him; — that her Father
was no less zealous than his own for an
Alliance, and that she had been too much accustom’d
to Obedience, to dare to dispute his
Will in a Thing he seem’d so bent upon.

As nothing but his eternal Peace could have
enforc’d him to have acted in this manner, with a M3v 82
a Lady of her Birth and Fortune, and whose
Accomplishments, in spite of the little Effect
they had upon him, he could not but acknowledge,
he was astonished at the Calmness with
which she bore it; and judging by that, her
Affection could not be less tender than he had
been told, he left no Arguments untry’d to make
that very Affection subservient to his Aim, of
being freed from all Engagement with her; —
but she still pleading the Duty she owed to him
who gave her Being, he grew quite desperate,
and throwing off that Complaisance he had
hitherto behaved with, told her, that if for the
Preservation of his Birthright he were compell’d
to marry her, he neither could, nor would even
endeavour to love her as a Wife; — that she must
expect only uncomfortable Days, and lonely
widow’d Nights; — and that it was not in the
Power of the Ceremony, nor in either of their
Fathers, to convert an utter Dislike into Inclination.

To this cruel Declaration she reply’d coldly,
that as they were destin’d for each other, by
those who had the sole Power of disposing their
Hands, it was a very great Misfortune their
Hearts could not comply with the Injunction;
but as for her Part, she was determined to follow
Duty, tho’ she fell a Martyr to it.

Tho’ under the Obedience of a Daughter,
she had the Opportunity of veiling the Fondness
of a Lover, the Honour of our Sex greatly suffered M4r 83
suffered by such a Behaviour; but, poor Lady,
the Excess of her Passion hinder’d her from
seeing into the Meanness of it, and at the same
Time flatter’d her with the Belief, that in spite
of the Aversion he now expressed, her Treatment
of him, and the Tenderness she should
make no Scruple of revealing to him in all its
Force, when she became his Wife, would make
an entire Change in his Sentiments, and it would
not be in his Power to avoid recompensing, with
some degree of Affection, so pure, so constant,
and so violent a Flame, as he would then be convinced
she long had felt for him.

Aristobolus, after he had left her,
again essay’d to work upon his Father’s Mind;
but all he could urge being ineffectual, he yielded
to be a Husband, rather than suffer himself to be
cut off from being an Heir. — A Day was appointed
for the Celebration of their Nuptials, and
they were married with a Pomp more befitting
their Quality, than the Condition of their
Minds. — At Night they were put to Bed, with
the usual Ceremonies; but the Moment the
Company withdrew, he rose, and chose rather
to pass the Hours ’till Morning on a Couch
alone, than in the Embraces of a Woman, who
had indeed Perfections sufficient to have made
any Man happy, who had not that Antipathy in
Nature, which there is no accounting for, nor
getting rid of.

It M4v 84

It is not to be doubted but Celinda, not
only that Night, but for a long Time afterward,
continued to put in Practice every tender Stratagem,
and used every Argument that her Love,
and the Circumstances they now were in, could
inspire, but all were equally in vain, as the Poet
says, “Love scorns all Ties but those that are his own.”

Aristobolus remain’d inflexible,
and obstinately bent, never to be more of a
Husband than the Name: — Neither Time, nor
her patient enduring the Indignity put upon her,
have wrought the least Alteration in her Favour.
— They live together in one House, but lie not
in the same Bed; eat not at the same Table, rarely
see each other, and their very Servants appear
as if of different Families. — Years after Years
have rolled on in this Manner, yet she continues
still a Virgin Bride; while he, regardless of her
Love or Grief, endeavours to lose in the Arms of
other Women, the Discontent which a forced
Marriage has involved him in.

Few Men, indeed, have acted with that
early Sincerity, and openly declared their Hatred,
like Aristobulus, before Marriage; but too
many have done it afterwards, and prov’d by
their Behaviour, that they look’d upon the sacred
Ceremony but as a Thing necessary to be done,
either for the sake of propagating their Families, or N1r 85
or for clearing their Estates from Mortgages,
or for the Payment of younger Children’s Fortunes.
These, and various other Motives might
be assigned for the Alliances daily on Foot; but
to hear of one that promises an Accomplishment
of all the Ends proposed by the first Intention of
this Institution, is a kind of Prodigy, and to
say, there goes a truly happy Pair, after the first
Month, would call the Speaker’s Veracity in

Fame either swells the Number beyond
its just Extent, or there are now no less than
Twenty-three Treaties of Marriage either concluded,
or on the Carpet, between Persons of
Condition, of which scarce the odd Three afford
the least Prospect of Felicity to the Parties concern’d.

Can Mrs. Tulip, in the Autumn of her Age,
tho’ in her Dress gaudy as the Flower whose
Name she bears, imagine her antiquated Charms
will be able to reclaim the wild, the roving
Heart of young Briskcommon? Not but that
Gentleman has Sense, Honour, and Good-nature,
Qualities which could not fail of making him
know what was due to the Merits of Claribella,
had the Condition of his Fortune permitted him
to marry her. — But his intended Bride must become
more contemptible in his Eyes, than even
her grey Hairs could make her, when he reflects
on the Vanity which infatuates her so far, as to
deprive her lovely Neice of what might have N made N1v 86
made the Happiness of her Life, only to purchase
to herself the Name of Wife, to one
young enough to be her Son.

Who sees Philimont and Daria together,
without perceiving that nothing can be more
adored by Philimont, than Daria; — nothing
more dear to Daria than Philimont? — Do not
the equally enamour’d Pair seem to shoot their
very Souls to each other at every Glance? — Is
Daria ever at the Opera, the Park, the Play,
without her Philimont? — Or does Philimont
think any Company entertaining, if Daria is absent?
— Yet Philimont is on the Point of Marriage
with Emilia, and Daria has been long betroth’d
to Belmour: — Strange Chequer-work of
Love and Destiny!

What Reason has Sabina to boast of
Charms superior to the rest of her Sex, or flatter
herself with being always the Object of Theomenes’s
Wishes? — Have not his Vows been prostituted
to half the fine Women in Town, and
if he persisted in those he made to her so far as
Marriage, is it not because her Fortune is larger
than theirs, and more enables him to discharge
those Debts his Extravagancies had contracted!

How bitterly does Dalinda repent her giving
way to an inconsiderate Passion, which hurried
her to throw herself into the Arms of the meanborn,
but meaner-soul’d, ill-natur’d Macro. —
She imagin’d, as she has since confess’d, that by N2r 87
by marrying one so infinitely beneath her, she
would have been sole Mistress of herself and
Fortune; that he would never dare to take any
Privileges with the one, without her Permission,
nor pretend to have the least Command over
the other; and that instead of being under the
Authority of a Husband, she should have found
in him an obsequious Slave: — But, poor
mistaken Woman! Macro no sooner was possess’d
of the Power, than he made her see a sad Reverse
to all her Expectations: — He was so far
from regulating the Affairs of her Estate and
Family according to her Pleasure, or as she
had been accustom’d to do, that he plainly
shew’d he took a Pride in contradicting her; —
he consulted her Inclinations in nothing, and even
before her Face gave Commands, which he knew
would be the most disagreeable to her, and which
if she offer’d to oppose, told her in the rudest
manner, that he was Master, and as such would
be obey’d. — At first she rav’d, reproach’d him
with Ingratitude, and vow’d Revenge; — but
what, alas! could she do! — she had taken no
Care that proper Settlements, in case of Accidents,
should be made, and was asham’d to have
recourse to any of her Kindred, whom she had
disgraced and disobliged, by so unworthy a
Match. — The Resentment she testify’d therefore
only served to render her Condition worse, and
add new Weight to the galling Yoke she had so
precipitately put on; — he retrench’d her Equipage
and Table; set Limits even to her Dress; —
would suffer her neither to visit, nor be visited, N2 but N2v 88
but by those he approved, which were all Creatures
or Relations of his own, and such as she had
been little used to converse with; — deny’d her
even Pocket-Money; — took every Measure he
could invent to break her Spirit, and make her
wholly subservient to his Will, ’till at last his
Tyranny got the better, and has now reduced her
to the most abject Slavery.

Tremble Mariana, lest your Father’s
Clerk should prove another Macro, and rather
endure the short-liv’d Pangs of combating an
unhappy Inclination, than by yielding to it, run
the Hazard of Miseries, which Death alone can
put a Period to.

A few Days hence, ’tis said, will crown
the mutual Wishes of Myrtano, and the amiable
Cleora. — The Friends on both Sides are consenting;
— the Marriage Articles are sign’d; —
the sumptuous Equipage prepar’d; — the Country
Seat new beautify’d; — the bridal Bed adorn’d,
and every thing compleated, that industrious
Ostentation can invent, to make the Ceremony,
affected to be called private, as pompous and
magnificent as possible: — Yet, how can Cleora
assure herself of being always happy in the
Constancy of her Myrtano, when she is not insensible
a Lady equal to herself in Birth and Fortune,
and no Way her Inferior in the Perfections
either of Mind or Person, is a melancholly Instance
of an unfortunate Mutability in his Nature.
Did he not once pursue Brilliante with all those dying N3r 89
dying Ardors he has lately done Cleora? — Was
not the whole Town witness of the Adoration
with which he treated her? — Nay, did he not
for her Sake commit some Extravagancies,
which as nothing but the most violent and real
Passion could occasion, so could be excused by
nothing less? — Yet did he not, without even a
Pretence for it, all at once forsake, renounce,
seem to forget he had ever lov’d this Brilliante,
and declare himself the Votary of Cleora?

Ah Cleora! you triumph now, ’tis true, and
may you ever triumph, since the divine Rites
of Marriage make it criminal to wish otherwise;
— yet much is to be fear’d, and very little
to be hop’d. — Nothing is more uncertain than
Inclination, and a Heart that once has varied,
without being able to assign any Motive for its
Change, may possibly do the like again; and a
Time arrive, in which yourself may stand in
need of that Commiseration, your Vanity and
Joy now hinders you from bestowing on a luckless,
tho’ not undeserving Rival; while she,
cured of her abused and ill-requited Tenderness,
may fill the Arms of a more constant Man, and
taste the Felicities of mutual Truth, with higher
Relish, by having been once deceiv’d.

Bellair is a very accomplish’d Gentleman,
has a large Estate, and lives up to his Income,
without going beyond it; — is charitable
to the Poor; — liberal to Merit, especially in
Distress; — hospitable and generous to his Friends; — punctual N3v 90
— punctual in the Payment of his Tradesmen; —
keeps a handsome Equipage, and a yet better
Table; — is a Lover of Pleasure, but a Hater of
Vice; and, in a Word, has nothing in his
Character that might not make a prudent, and
good-natur’d Woman happy in a Husband: —
He had many oblique Hints given him to that
Purpose, but he listen’d to none for a long Time,
nor seem’d inclined to alter his Condition, ’till
he saw Miseria. He had the Pleasure, I cannot
say the Happiness, to meet this young Lady
at a Ball; she was tall, well-shap’d, had something
extremely graceful in her Air in Dancing;
a Face, tho’ not exquisitely beautiful, yet very
agreeable, and the most winning Softness in her
Conversation and Manner. — Such as she is,
however, the Heart of Bellair gave her the
Preference to all he had ever seen before, and
having made some slight Enquiry into her
Character and Fortune, desired her Father’s
Permission to visit her in Quality of a Lover;
— the Offer was too advantageous to be refused;
— the old Gentleman hesitated not to give his
Consent, and Miseria receiv’d her new Adorer
with as much Complaisance, as the Modesty of
her Sex admitted.

A few Weeks compleated the Courtship,
Bellair married, and after some Days, carried
her Home; — but, good God! what a Change
did she immediately cause in his House! a Bill
of Fare being by her Orders brought to her every
Morning, she struck out three Parts in four of the N4r 91
the Articles; and when Bellair, on finding his
Table thus retrench’d, remonstrated gently to
her, that there was not sufficient for the Servants,
she told him, that she would therefore have the
Number of them diminished; — that she thought
it a Sin to keep so many idle Fellows, who
might serve their Country either Abroad in the
Wars, or in Husbandry at Home; and as
for the Maid-Servants, instead of Five, she was
determin’d to keep no more than two. — She
even took the Liberty to desire he would make
less frequent Invitations to his Friends and Kindred;
and as for the Poor, they were presently
driven from the Gate, nor dare appear in Sight
of it again, for fear of being sent to the House
of Correction.

This kind of Behaviour makes him extremely
uneasy; his Discontent increases every
Day, as none pass over without affording him
some fresh Occasion. — His Reason and his Love
are continually at War; but the former has so
much the Advantage, that tho’ he is loth to do
any thing which may give Offence to a Wife
so dear to him, yet he is still more loth to become
the Jest of his Acquaintance, for bearing
farther with her Failings than becomes a Man of
Sense and Spirit. — He begins of late to exert the
Authority of a Husband, and in spite even of
her Tears, has re-taken some of those Servants
she had displaced, and put many Things relating
to the Oeconomy of his Family nearer to their
former Footing. — As for Miseria, she frets incessantly;cessantly; N4v 92
— all that Softness in her Eyes, which
once was so enchanting, is now converted to a
sullen Gloom; — her Voice, her Manner is quite
changed; she either sits in his Company obstinately
silent, or speaks in such a Fashion, as it
would better become her to be mute. — The little
Satisfaction he finds at Home, drives him to
seek it Abroad, and every Thing between them
seems drawing towards a mutual Dislike. — And
if that should happen, what Consequences may
possibly ensue — reciprocal Revilings on the sacred
Ceremony which united them! — Every Act of
Resentment against each other! — Remorse! —
Hatred! — Separation! — Ruin, and eternal Loss
of Peace to both!

A Simpathy of Humours is therefore no
less to be consulted, than a Sympathy of Inclination,
and indeed I think more so; for I have
known several married People, who have come
together, without any thing of what we call the
Passion of Love; who by happening to think
the same Way, have afterwards become extremely
dear to each other: whereas, on the contrary,
some who have met all Fire and Flame, have
afterwards, through an unhappy Disagreement
even in the very Trifles, become all Frost and Snow.
There is a Vanity in human Nature which flatters
us that we always judge right, and by Consequence,
creates in us an Esteem for those, who
are wise enough to be of the same Opinion we
are: In a word, a Parity of Sentiment is the
Cement of that lasting Friendship, as well as mutual O1r 93
mutual Confidence, in which the Comforts of a
married State chiefly consist.

But tho’ daily Experience might convince
us how necessary an Ingredient this is to Happiness,
and that without it all the others are ineffectual,
yet is it the least of any thing examin’d
into; as if the Attainment of a present Satisfaction
was the sole Intent of Marriage, and it
matter’d not what Consequences ensu’d.

It cannot indeed be in an Acquaintance of
a Week or a Month that one can be able to
judge of the Disposition of a Person; — Parents,
therefore, are highly to blame when they condemn
their Children to the Arms of those, whom
perhaps they have never seen ’till a few Days
before the Ceremony passes, which is to unite
them for ever.

What I have said on this Score, may
possibly be look’d upon as urg’d in Defence of a
late Wedding, which gives just Matter for Astonishment
to all the World; since it certainly
could have been brought about by nothing (will
they say) but a perfect Knowledge of that mutual
Sympathy of Humour, which I have been recommending
as so great an Essential to the Felicity
of the Marriage State. It must be confess’d,
the artful Vulpone prevail’d on the charming
Lindamira to think as he did in one Point; but
that is what no more than Thousands have done,
or they could never have been united to the O Object O1v 94
Object of their Wishes, and is the Consequence
only of that Passion which arises from a Liking
of the Person.

This, therefore, I am far from taking to be
the Case; and I believe the Reader will be of my
Opinion, when I relate the Progress of these
mysterious Nuptials, as it was communicated to
me by a Sylph, whose Business it is to attend
every Motion of those, whom Nature has distinguish’d
by superior Beauty.

Lindamira from her very Infancy gave
a Promise of Charms, which, as she drew nearer
to Maturity, ripen’d into the utmost Perfection;
— descended by her Father’s Side from a Prince,
who, while he lived, was justly the Darling of
his People; and by her Mother’s, from a Hero,
whose Name will ever be remember’d with
Honour; — bred up in the strictest Principles of
Virtue, and never from under the Eye of Parents
distinguish’d for every shining Quality befitting
their high Dignity, but for nothing more than
conjugal Affection.

Vulpone has no Family to boast of,
being no more than what one may call of the
modern Gentry, of which Heaven knows these
latter Ages have been very fertile in producing;
but to do Justice to him, he is no less indebted
to his own Merit, than to Favour, for the Promotions
he has attain’d; — what he wants in
Birth is made up in Education, and Envy cannot deny O2r 95
deny him the Character of an accomplish’d Gentleman.

He had frequently the Honour of visiting
the illustrious Parents of Lindamira, and was
treated by them with that Civility, which they
thought his good Qualities deserved; — little,
alas! did they foresee the Consequence, or that
their Complaisance would embolden him to lift
his Eyes to the Possession of their lovely Daughter,
much less that a young Lady scarce Eighteen,
the Idol of the Court, and Object of universal
Admiration, should ever condescend to entertain
the least tender Emotions for a Man, by some
Years past the Meridian of his Age, and in every
other respect so infinitely her inferior, that the
Distance between them would admit no degree
of Comparison.

Yet so it happen’d — the God of soft Desires
gave a Proof how much his Power can do
in overturning what has ever been look’d upon
as even an Antethesis in Nature, and made this
blooming Charmer, who daily saw unmov’d the
loveliest, noblest, and most accomplish’d Youths
die at her Feet, unable to resist the Sollicitations
of an Adorer older than her Father!

Few were the Opportunities he had of addressing
her, but those he so well improv’d, that
before one could well imagine she had forgiven
his Presumption in declaring the Passion he had
for her, he prevail’d on her to reward it, by an O2 Assurance, O2v 96
Assurance, she would never consent to give her
Hand to another.

It is not to be doubted, but the Correspondence
they held together was carried on with the
extremest Circumspection; but Love, like Fire,
is difficult to be conceal’d, not all the Caution in
the World can hinder it from breaking out in
one place or another; — some of the Family,
before whom ’tis possible they might be less upon
their Guard, as not thinking them of Capacities
to penetrate into the Secret, took Notice of
some Passages, which seem’d to them as derogatory
to the Dignity of their young Lady, and
immediately discover’d it to her Mother, who
that Moment acquainted her Lord with what she
had been told; — after consulting together, tho’
the Thing appear’d incredible, yet they judg’d
it improper to admit any future Visits from a
Person of his Station, after having even been
suspected of daring to hold an Intelligence of that
Nature with their Daughter. Vulpone was
therefore in very civil Terms, tho’ without acquainting
him with the Motives of this Change
of Behaviour, desired to refrain coming to their
House, and a strict Watch at the same Time set
over every Motion of Lindamira.

They gave her not the least room however
to guess they had any Doubts as to her Conduct,
as believing, that if there was any Truth in the
Information had been given them, she would be
less cautious, by not thinking herself suspected, and O3r 97
and consequently they should arrive at the Certainty
much easier, than by a formal Accusation.

It must be acknowledg’d, indeed, that this
manner of acting was extremely prudent, but
Lindamira had also her Intelligence; — those
very Servants who made the Discovery to her
Mother, could not help speaking of it among
themselves; her Woman over-heard what they
said, and acquainted her Lady, who by that
Means knew so well how to disguise her Sentiments,
and affect an Unconcern at what secretly
wrung her very Heart-strings, that her careful
Parents were deceiv’d by it, and in Time perfectly
assured in their own Minds, that there
was not the least Grounds for what they had been
told, while the Lovers had this Consolation,
in Absence, to converse by Letters, which were
secretly convey’d to each other by the Means of
a Confidante.

Three whole Months pass’d over in this
manner, in all which Time Vulpone fed not his
famish’d Eyes with one Sight of his adorable
Lindamira; that artful young Lady, the better
to lull all Suspicion, enjoining him never to
come to any publick Place when she was to be
there, which she always took care to inform
him; because as she seldom went but with her
Mother, or some Person who might probably
be a Spy on her Actions, and could not answer
how far either her own Countenance, or that of her O3v 98
her Lover might betray what she so much desired
to conceal, she resolved to leave nothing to
Chance, or give even the least Shadow of an
Excuse for being sent, as otherwise ’tis likely she
would have been, to some Place, where it
might have been impossible for her either to
give or receive the Satisfaction she now enjoy’d
of writing to her dear Vulpone, and receiving
from him every Day fresh Protestations of his
Love and Constancy.

At length an Opportunity long languish’d
for arriv’d; her Mother had bespoke a front
Row in the Stage-Box at the Play-house, but
happening to be a little indispos’d that Day, or
not in a Humour for the Entertainment, Lindamira
could not be excus’d from going, a young
Lady, for whom the Family had a great Regard,
having been engag’d to accompany them. — She
immediately apprized Vulpone of it, and also,
that they might speak to each other with all the
Freedom they could wish, as the Person who
would be with her was wholly unacquainted with

Accordingly, they had not been in the
Box three Minutes before he came in, and the
House not being very full that Night, there was
nobody in the Box but themselves, so that they
were not in Danger of having any thing they
said over-heard, the Lady who came with Lindamira
being wholly intent on the Play.

How- O4r 99

However it was, what he whisper’d in her
Ear that Night had the Efficacy to draw from
her a Promise of running all Hazards, and marrying
him the next Morning. Accordingly,
under Pretence of taking the Air, she went out
early, and a Place being appointed for their
Meeting, the indissoluble Knot was ty’d; after
which she return’d Home, and all that Day
pass’d over without the least Suspicion of what
was done.

On the next, some Person, either through
Design or Accident, acquainted her Mother,
that she had been observ’d in very close Conference
with Vulpone in the Box, and that they
seem’d so much taken up with each other, that
they regarded neither the Play, nor the Audience;
that excellent Lady was a little alarm’d
at the Intelligence, yet not knowing but that
it might be of a Piece with that which she had
formerly receiv’d, and saw no Proof of it’s being
true, resolv’d not to give any Credit to this ’till
she had more Certainty; which she thought she
might easily procure, by examining the Lady
who went with her to the Play-house.

But how greatly did her Fears and her
Astonishment increase, when sitting at her Toilette
undressing herself for Bed, her illustrious
Consort came into the Room, and with a Countenance
more troubled than she had ever seen
him wear, commanded her Woman to quit the
Room, then ask’d in a kind of confus’d and hasty O4v 100
hasty Voice, where Lindamira was? To which
she replying, that she had lately left her, and
was retired to her own Apartment, he rejoined
with a Sigh, that he doubted much if any
Apartment in his House was her Choice at present;
then proceeded to tell her, that he was
well assured, by those whose own Eyes had convinc’d
them of the Truth, that Lindamira had
been with Vulpone the Morning before; — that
they were together in a Hackney-Coach, and
drove very fast towards the City. From which
he could not but conclude they were either already
married, or too far engag’d for her
Honour and Reputation to break off. He had
doubtless said more in the Extremity of Rage
and Discontent his Soul was then inflam’d with,
had not the Tenderness he had for his Lady,
and the Disorder which was visible in all her
Looks and Gestures, restrained him.

After the first Emotions were a little over,
the Servants were one by one call’d up, and
strict Enquiry made concerning the Delivery of
any Letters or Messages to Lindamira, but all
were either really ignorant, or pretended to be
so, and no Light could be got from them into
this Affair, but that she had gone out early the
Morning before, attended only by one Footman,
whom she left at the Park Gate, and he
saw her no more, ’till she return’d Home in a

The P1r 101

The whole Night was pass’d in examining
and debating in what manner they should proceed
to come at the Truth; — the Passion they
both were in would not suffer them to see her
with any degree of Moderation; — so it was at
last determin’d, that her Father should write to
her, which he did in these Terms:

“Lindamira, I Hear strange Things of you; if conscious
of having done nothing to offend Parents,
to whom you have been so dear, nor
to degrade the Dignity of your Birth, delay
not to justify yourself, and convince us you
have carried on no clandestine Correspondence
with Vulpone, or any other Man; but if guilty,
beware how you attempt to deceive us, lest
a second Fault should render the first even less
to be forgiven; — you have been educated in
the Love of Truth, prove at least that you
have not swerved from all the Virtues inculcated
into you by your careful Instructors.”

This he sent to her by her Woman, who,
in a small Space of Time, return’d with this
Reply, seal’d as the other had been.

“Most ever honour’d Parents, It is possible some busy Person may have
inform’d you of what I neither can nor
will deny, tho’ by acknowledging I have no
other Merit than my Sincerity to plead my P “Par- P1v 102
Pardon. — I confess, then, I have ventur’d to
dispose of myself without your Permission,
which be assur’d I never would have done,
could I have entertain’d the least Hope of
obtaining it; or if any thing less than the
Ruin of my eternal Peace threaten’d me in
being depriv’d of him who is now my Husband.
Pity, therefore, I beseech you, the sad
Extreme which enforc’d this Action in her,
who in every other Thing will always be
Lindamira Vulpone.”

Suspence now ceas’d; — this illustrious
Pair now knew all that their Care would have
prevented, was irrevocably pass’d; — how greatly
they were troubled, none but Parents in the
like Circumstances can conceive; yet did their
Anger surmount even their Grief; — the Answer
she sent seem’d to them somewhat too bold, and
tho’ they had commanded her to declare the
Truth, they thought she might have done it
in more submissive Terms; and looking on her
as one that had abused their Indulgence, affronted
their Authority, disgrac’d their Family,
and in a manner, renounc’d all Pretensions to
their Favour, they sent an immediate Order to
her to quit the House that Instant, and never
presume to see them more.

Lindamira, on receiving this Command,
sent repeated Messages, imploring their Pardon P2r 103
Pardon and Blessing, but they were deaf to all
Entreaties on that Score, and she was oblig’d to
depart; after which they retir’d to their Country
Seat to give a loose to their Disquiet, and
avoid hearing any thing on so disagreeable a
Subject. Vulpone also carried his amiable Bride
into a sweet Recess he had prepared for her, in
case any Accident should discover their Marriage
before they intended it.

The Town abounds with various Conjectures
on what the Event will be; but I am
of Opinion it cannot but be happy, provided
that Lindamira continues to find in Vulpone the
same Charms as first induced her to make Choice
of him, and her noble Parents vouchsafe to give
a Sanction to their Love.

Great Preparations are now making for the
Nuptials of Beau Belfont and Miss Tittup: — As
they are both of the same way of thinking, and
too much in Love with their own dear selves to be
in much Concern about each other, they may
agree well enough while they continue as they are;
but if a Reformation should happen on one Side
without the other, then what in any different
Circumstance would be the greatest Blessing to
the Party chang’d, would prove a Curse to
both; since it is only by persisting in Follies of
our own, we can be able to endure them in those
we are oblig’d to live with; — the best Wish can
be given them, therefore, as a mutual Conversion
is not to be expected, is, that they may both be P2 always P2v 104
always the same vain, fluttering, thoughtless
Creatures they have ever been; so will they pass
their Days with Ease and Peace at Home, and
only be ridiculous Abroad.

The Case of Altizeera is extremely unhappy,
who, endu’d with an excellent Understanding
herself, was compell’d, by the arbitrary Will of
her Father, to become the Bride of the veryest
Fop in Town, a Fool by Nature, and render’d
yet more so by a wrong Education; he thinks
he must have a Judgment superior to his Wife,
because he is a Man, and that it becomes him to
contradict every thing she says and does, because
he is a Husband. Her good Sense makes her
submit to him as such; but she fears to open her
Mouth in any Company if he is present, lest he
should expose his Folly, by attempting to shew
his Wit in finding Fault with what she utters. —
I know not how she may forgive him in her
own Mind, but I am sure her Acquaintance
neither can nor ought to do it, for depriving
them of the Pleasure they might receive in her
Conversation, by his Stupidity and Arrogance.

I remember, that some Years ago I heard a
Lady say, she imagin’d it was owing to our
long Peace, that every publick Place abounded
so much with Coxcombs and Finikins; and that
if we once came to have a War again, a more
manly Air and Dress would be so much the
Fashion, that those Gentlemen who stay’d at
Home would naturally affect it, and exchange their P3r 105
their foreign Silk Brocades for downright English
Cloth. — Some Accidents in Life have since that
Time broke off our Acquaintance, it would
else have given me some Pleasure to rally her
Mistake. — We are now engag’d in three Wars —
threaten’d with Invasions — Popish Pretenders —
Plots, and what not; — great Fleets are equipping;
— huge Armaments getting ready; — pressing
for Land and Sea Service; — our Fields are
cover’d with Tents; — our Streets swarm with
Soldiers; — in every Quarter we hear Drums
beating — Trumpets sounding — nothing but military
Preparations going forward; yet in my
Opinion, our fine Gentlemen appear every whit
as clean, as calm and unconcern’d as ever, except
when they labour under the Want of any
of those Commodities, the Interruption of our
Commerce prevents from being imported; and
then indeed they complain bitterly against the
Times. — One who can endure no Cloaths that
are not of the French Cut, cries, he is made a
Monster by a Dunce of an English Taylor. —
Another is poison’d with ill Scents, and dies for
some fresh Orangerie and Bergamot; — a Third
says, Pax on the Spanish War, and those that
forced our late Minister into it; there is not a
Bit of right Vermillion Paste now to be had!

How long this Over-Delicacy will continue,
Heaven knows; but it is yet far from being
extirpated; — even among the military Gentlemen,
there are some, who being infected with
it before they became so, find it an insuperable Difficulty P3v 106
Difficulty to bring themselves to that Hardiness
and Neglect of personal Ornaments, which suits
with the Life of a Soldier.

A Person who has had great Dealings with
the Beau Monde, and has lately been oblig’d to
deliver up her Books, on Account of a Statute
of Bankruptcy awarded against her, one of the
Assignees, who happens to be a particular Acquaintance
of mine, took the Pains to transcribe,
as a great Curiosity, the Copy of a Bill owing
to her from a Gentleman now in the Army,
and made me a Present of it; — as I am convinc’d
all the Items in it are genuine, it afforded me a
good deal of Diversion, and I believe will not
be unacceptable to the Publick.

Cornet Lovely Debtor to Rebecca Facemend,
1743-06-06June 6, 1743.

  • For a Riding Mask to prevent Sunburn
    1 1 0
  • For a Night Mask to take away Freckles 1 1 0
  • For 6 Pounds of Jessamin Butter for
    the Hair 6 6 0
  • For 12 Pots of cold Cream 1 10 0
  • For 4 Bottles of Benjamin Water 1 0 0
  • For 30 Pounds of perfum’d Powder 1 10 0
  • For 3 Boxes of Tooth-Powder 0 15 0
  • For a Sponge Tooth-Brush 0 2 6
  • For a Hair Tooth-Brush 0 1 0
  • For 6 Bottles of perfum’d Mouth-water 1 4 0
  • For P4r 107
  • For a Silver Comb for the Eye-brows 0 5 0
  • For 2 Ounces of Jet Powder for ditto 0 18 0
  • For 4 Boxes of fine Lip-salve 1 0 0
  • For an Ounce of best Carmine 3 0 0
  • For 6 Bottles of Orange Flower-Water 1 10 0
  • For 12 Pounds of Almond Paste 6 6 0
  • For 2 Pounds of Bergamot Snuff 8 0 0
  • For 3 Bottles of Essence ditto 1 10 0
  • For 6 Pair of Dog-skin Gloves 1 10 0
  • Total 38 9 6

Such was the Ammunition this doughty Hero;
it seems, took with him; the Loss of which, had
it happen’d to have fallen into the Enemy’s
Hands, would probably have given him more
Concern than the routing of the whole Army,
provided his own dear Person had escaped without
a Scar.

Frequent Campaigns, however, ’tis to
be hop’d, will wear this Effeminacy off, and the
Example of others teach such new-fledg’d Warriors,
that if they would soar to Glory, they
must entirely throw aside all the softening
Luxuries of their silken Youth.

Not that there is any Necessity that a Man
must be a Sloven, because he is a Soldier, and
neglect all the Decencies of Life to prove his
Attachment to his Vocation; — there is an Affectation
in this also, as well as the other; and I P4v 108
I should say that Officer, who, when he might
have a good Tent to defend him from the Weather,
chose to lie on the bare Earth, exposed to
all the Inclemencies of the Air, had an equal
Share of Vanity with him who had his Pavilion
hung with Velvet and Embroidery; — to endure
all the Toils and Hardships of the Field with
Patience and Intrepidity, — to be fearless of Dangers,
when the Duties of his Post commands,
is highly laudable and emulative; but to run
into them without a Call, and when Bravery can
be of no Service, is altogether idle; and Courage
in such a one, like all other Virtues, degenerates
into a Vice, by being carried to an Extreme.

But I am most of all concern’d when I hear
a Man, having done a gallant Action in the Field,
is so far puff’d up with it, that he looks upon
himself as a little Deity, and that he may, in
Consideration of having been able to fulfil his
Duty in one Point, dispense with all other

Some Time before the opening of the last
Campaign, Amaranthus, a brave young Officer,
made his Addresses to Aminta; — his Passion had
all the Effect he wish’d it should have on her
tender Heart; — she either had too much Confidence
in his Honour, or too little Artifice to
conceal the Sentiments he had inspired her with;
— He was ravish’d at the Discovery, — swore
never to be but her’s, — and there pass’d between them Q1r 109
them a solemn Promise of Marriage on his Return
from Germany, for which Place it was
expected his Regiment would have Orders
speedily to embark.

Each Day seem’d to bring with it an Increase
of mutual Tenderness, and scarce ever was
there a Pair, whose Love in its Beginning promised
more lasting Felicity. — Amaranthus, in
every Action, testify’d he had no Will but that
of his Aminta; and Aminta, by all her Behaviour
proved, that whatever she commanded or
entreated of her Amaranthus, was only what
she knew he wish’d she should do.

At length the fatal Hour of Separation arriv’d,
accompanied with all those Agonies, which
none but those who love are able to conceive; —
Glory, which ’till now had been the darling Idol
of Amaranthus’s Soul, lost all its Charms, since
it tore him from the Society of Aminta; and
Aminta, in being about to be deprived of the
Presence of Amaranthus, seem’d to have no
Life but for Complaints.

The cruel Necessity, however, must be submitted
to; — Tears, Sighs, Embraces, and mutual
Protestations of everlasting Constancy compleated
the tender, but melancholly Farewel; —
none that had seen them part could have well
distinguish’d which felt the deepest Anguish;
but if we consider the Nature of the Circumstance,
we shall find the Difference must be wide. Q — Ama Q1v 110
Amaranthus, doubtless, loved with the utmost
Passion at that Time, and was going to lose, he
knew not for how long, the Sight of her who
was the Object of his Flame; but then that Absence
was the sole Misfortune he had to struggle
with; whereas, Aminta had not only the same in
an equal Degree, but attended with others of a
more dreadful Kind: — the Dangers to which a
Life, far dearer to her than her own, must inevitably
be exposed, fill’d her with Apprehensions
which she was scarce able to support. — After
his Departure, she pass’d the greatest Part of her
Time at the Foot of the Altar, offering up her
Vows and Prayers for his Protection, nor could
the Entreaties of her dearest Friends and Companions
prevail on her to partake with them any
of those Diversions and Entertainments her Youth
had formerly delighted in; — all the Conversation
she coveted, was such as inform’d her concerning
the Army; — she was continually asking
Questions on that Head; — was only pleas’d or
sad according as she heard they were near, or at
a Distance from the Enemy; — the Arrival of
every Courier gave a Palpitation to her Heart,
’till the Receipt of a Letter from Amaranthus
convinced her, that her Terrors as yet had been
without Foundation.

He wrote to her several times before the
Battle of Dettingen, in the last of which he acquainted
her, that they were on the Point of
leaving Aschaffenburgh, in order to join the
Forces at Hanau, from which the Place she might expect Q2r 111
expect to hear from him again. Welcome as
all his Letters were, this afforded her a double
Portion of Satisfaction, because, in case of an
Engagement with the French, the Number of
the Combin’d Armies would give her less to
fear for him who took up all her Care.

But what became of her, when instead of
receiving the joyful Intelligence she hop’d, of
having made the Enemy fly before them without
a Blow, she heard there had been a terrible Rencounter;
— that great Numbers of brave Men
had fallen on both Sides, and that Amaranthus
was among the Number of the Slain!

It would be in vain to go about to describe
what ’twas she felt; — her Grief and her Despair
were above all Representation, as they were beyond
all Bounds, so I shall only say, that both
were too violent to endure long Continuance, but
must have found a Period with her Life, had
she not been relieved by different and more comfortable

The Wounds which had occasion’d the Report
of his Death, were dangerous indeed, but
not mortal; and his Friends had greater Reason
to congratulate than condole them, since the
Manner in which they were received, purchased
him immortal Honour.

’Tis certain he behaved with the utmost Intrepidity,
and was so far from being daunted by Q2 the Q2v 112
the Fall of others, that he seem’d rather animated
with fresh Courage to revenge their Fate; and
tho’ the Regiment he was in suffer’d greatly, and
he was himself wounded in many Places, yet
he would not be prevail’d upon to quit the
Field, ’till an unlucky Blow upon the Head
quite stunn’d him, and he fell, in all Appearance,

As his Valour had gain’d him Friends, even
among those who were ’till now the least acquainted
with his Person, he was immediately
taken up, but for some Hours discover’d no
Symptoms of Breath; so that it was not strange,
in the Confusion every one was after the Battle,
that in the Accounts transmitted of it, this young
Hero’s Name should be inserted in the List of
those who were kill’d.

Aminta heard of his Recovery, and the
Praises which every one gave to his Merit, with
a Pleasure conformable to the Love she had for
him; but could not help being a little alarm’d
when she found he had wrote to others, and she,
who flatter’d herself with being the first to whom
he would employ his Pen, had received not the
least Line from him since the Battle: But it is not
without great Difficulty we bring ourselves to
have an ill Opinion of those we love; — her Tenderness
invented Excuses for him, which, ’tis
possible, he would not have had Artifice to invent
for himself, and chose to impute his Silence
to any Cause, rather than Neglect; — the Distance between Q3r 113
between them was great; — Couriers might not
have Opportunity to wait his writing; — the Post
might miscarry, or he might possibly be detach’d
to some Place, whence neither Courier nor Post
could pass, and what Letters he sent might
pass through Hands, which he did not judge
proper to entrust with the Secret of his Correspondence
with her.

In this manner did she beguile Despair ’till
his Return; and tho’ she resolved to accuse him,
doubted not but he would give such Reasons for
his seeming Unkindness, that she would be
oblig’d to ask his Pardon for having been unjust
enough to suspect him.

Far was she from being truly unhappy, ’till
after she was inform’d of his Arrival, and several
Days pass’d over without either seeing or receiving
any Message from him: — This was, indeed,
what all her Love and Tenderness wanted
Ingenuity to account for, and she was now
compell’d, even in spite of herself, to think him
ungrateful and perfidious. Amazement, and
some little Share of Pride, which never fails to
exert itself in Love abused, prevented her some
Time from sending to him; at last she wrote,
reproach’d him with the Alteration in his Behaviour,
yet mingled her Upbraidings with so
much Sweetness, as shew’d her ready to forgive
whenever he came to entreat it.

To this he return’d an Answer extremely com- Q3v 114
complaisant, but far from any thing that express’d
the Ardours of a Lover; — excused himself
by the Hurry of his Affairs, for having not
yet been able to wait upon her; but assur’d her
he would not fail of paying his Respects the
first leisure Hour; concluded with telling her,
that nobody could have a greater Regard for her
than himself, and that he should be proud of any
Opportunity to convince her of it, and subscribed
himself, not as he was accustom’d, her “eternal
, but her “most humble and obedient Servant.”

She must have been the dullest and most
infatuated of her Sex, had she not now seen she
had entirely lost a Heart she thought herself so
secure of, and had so much gloried in; — Rage
and Grief had alternately the Possession of her
Soul, yet Love still retain’d a Part, and was so
blended with them both, that it would not suffer
the one to grow into Disdain, nor the other to
destroy some little Remains of Hope, that she
should one Day be able to reclaim him.

She was apt to imagine, that if once she
saw him, he could not behold those Eyes, which
he a thousand times had sworn were the Lights
of his Life, now drown’d in Tears, of which he
was the Cause, without resuming those Emotions
they had formerly inspir’d him with; but having
waited his expected Visit longer indeed than is
ordinarily consistent with the Impatience of a
Lover, and finding he came not, she wrote a second Q4r 115
second time, conjuring him not to let her languish
in this Uncertainty, and told him, that she only
begg’d to know, from his own Mouth, her
Fate, and after that would never ask to see him

This pressing Mandate he comply’d with;
the Fashion in which she receiv’d him may
easily be guess’d at, by what has been said of the
Violence of her Affection; but the excessive
Coldness, and distant Air of his Replies to all
she said, could not be express’d even by her,
who was the Witness of it; but the Sum of what
he gave her to understand was, that he was convinc’d
a tender Intercourse with the Ladies took
up too much of a Soldier’s Mind, and that he
had made a Resolution to employ all his in the
Duties of his Function; — he told her, that were
he in any other Situation, or could think it compatible
with that Pursuit of Fame he was engaged
in, to continue an amorous Correspondence,
Aminta should have the Preference of all her
Sex; but as he was circumstanc’d, he flatter’d
himself her good Sense would induce her to pardon
this Change of Temper in him, since his
Zeal for the Service of his King and Country
was the only Rival which had occasion’d it.

It must be acknowledg’d he deceiv’d her
not in this last Article, for in fact, the Promotion
he had acquir’d — the Applause of the whole
Army — the Praise bestow’d on him by the
General, and the Compliments made him by Ladies Q4v 116
Ladies of the first Quality at his Return, on
Account of his Behaviour at Dettingen, have so
much elated him, that he is no longer the same
Person; — his once soft beseeching Air is now
converted into one all reserved and haughty; —
a scornful Toss of the Head, a careless Fling of
the Arms; — Eyes that seem intent rather on
Things within himself, than any thing he can
find without; — in fine, there appears so thorough
a Change in his whole Manner, that if the
Gestures of the Body may be look’d upon as any
Indication of the Affections of the Mind, as
questionless they may, his are full of Self-sufficiency;
he seems to think what he has done
commands, as his Due, the Love and Respect
of all who see him, and that it is beneath him
even to regard, much less imagine himself oblig’d
by it.

Aminta had, therefore, the less to mortify
her, as it was not because the superior Beauty
of any other had supplanted her in his Affections,
but because he in reality now thought no Woman
worthy of the serious Passion of a Man like himself.

She was, notwithstanding, utterly unable to
support the Shock, and no sooner found his
Heart was irrecoverable, than despising all other
Conquests, tho’ she has Youth, Beauty and Fortune
enough to make many, retired to a lone
Country House, where she endeavours among
rural Pleasures to forget those of the great World, and R1r 117
and in the Melody of the sweet Inhabitants of
the Woods and Groves, lose the Memory of that
Voice by which she was undone.

However some People may approve this
Action in Amaranthus, I cannot help thinking
there is more of the savage than the true Hero
in it; and I am certain we must give the Lye to
our Senses, and many modern great Examples,
as well as to Numbers in Antiquity, if we should
say, that Love and Glory are Things incompatible,
or that a wise and prudent Wife, be her
Passion never so violent, will not always be too
tender of her Husband’s Interest and Reputation,
to desire, that to prove his Regard to her, he
should neglect any Part of what he owes to

That Fiction of the Poets concerning the
Loves of Mars and Venus, seems built on a very
just Foundation; Women, in general, are observ’d
to be most fond of military Gentlemen—
and wherefore is it so? — surely not because they
wear red Coats? — that many others do, who
sometimes sit behind a Counter, and what is
worse, have not the Heart to draw a Sword, or
fire a Pistol; but it is because a Soldier is supposed,
at least, to have Courage to defend, in any
Exigence, all who are under his Protection; and
also, because the Character of a brave Man is, of
all other, most esteem’d in the World, as that
of a Coward is the most contemn’d: — Will a
Woman, therefore, by Artifice or Perswasion, R either R1v 118
either directly or indirectly, attempt to make
the Man she loves guilty of any thing that might
sully the Lustre of that Character for which she
loves him? — Would she not rather push him
on to Actions, which may justify the Choice she
made of him? And whatever she may suffer in
Absence for him, or from the Fears her Tenderness
suggest as to the Dangers he encounters,
will she not value herself on surmounting them,
and take a laudable Pride in proving how worthy
she is of her gallant Husband’s Affection, by the
Regard she has for his Fame?

I remember to have been one Night at the
Play, when the Wife and two Sons of a great
Admiral came into the Box; — some who knew
them whisper’d it to others, ’till a general Murmur
ran throughout the House; — all Eyes — all
Tongues — all Hands were immediately employ’d
to shew the Love and Gratitude the Assembly
had for that illustrious Hero to his Family; —
the Voice of the People is the best Trump of
Fame; it is not by fulsome Panegyricks, or by the
Praises of an interested few, or by Rewards,
often partially bestow’d, that true Merit is distinguished,
but by the unsought, unbias’d
Prayers and Blessings of the whole; — the Acclamations
bestow’d on him sprang from the Heart;
— his excellent Lady saw and felt an inward
Satisfaction at it, which diffus’d itself through
all her Features, and gave an additional Lustre
to her Eyes; — and yet, no doubt, she mourn’d
his tedious Absence, languish’d for his Return, had R2r 119
had often wept in private, and given a Loose
to all the tender Anxiety the Knowledge of
those numberless and imminent Dangers, with
which he was at that Time surrounded, must involve
her in; — yet his Glory, dearer to her than
all the Satisfaction his Presence could have bestow’d,
dearer to her than even his Life, since
it was so to him, enabled her to take a Pleasure
even in the Sufferings by which he purchased it.

Many such Examples, which I have either
heard or read of, I could produce for the Honour
of my Sex in this Point; but what the Eye is
Witness of strikes the most, and makes the most
deep and lasting Impression; — I chose, therefore,
rather to mention this Lady, because I doubt not
but many of my Readers were Spectators, as
well as myself, of her amiable Behaviour on this
Occasion, and perhaps also on many others,
when I was not so happy to be present.

Some Women, I know, have not Strength
of Spirits to support the parting from a beloved
and loving Husband, without such Agonies as
might stagger the Resolution of the boldest
Man, render him scarce able to tear himself
away, and when he does, compell’d by cruel
Duty, seem as if he had left half his Soul behind
him; and yet those very Ladies may be far from
thinking the Softness of their Sex ought to be
comply’d with, or would think that Husband
more worthy their Affection, who, to the PrejudiceR2 judice R2v 120
of his Honour, should humour their

But in such Cases I would recommend the
Wife of a late General as an Example; — never
Woman loved a Husband to a greater Degree
of Fondness, nor received a more grateful Return
of Tenderness and Affection; — she was
one of those who could not bear the Shock of
parting without those Emotions I have been
describing; and perceiving the Sight of her
Disorders had a greater Effect on him than she
wish’d them to have, entreated, that for the future,
whenever they were oblig’d to separate, he
would take no Leave of her: — He seem’d surpriz’d
that a Greatness of Soul, such as she testify’d
in making this Request, could not enable
her to endure, with equal Firmness, a Misfortune
which was irremedible in the Station he was, and
would fain have refused what she desired; — “How
said he, “and how unjust to your Merits
must I appear, if I should do as you would have
me! — and how shall I flatter myself you will
suffer less when the News of my Departure is
brought to you, than if you actually saw me on
“No Matter,” reply’d she, “what I
shall suffer, since the foolish Timidity of my Nature
will not permit me to govern myself as becomes
a Person who has the Honour to be your Wife, it
will be more for my Reputation, and your Ease,
that the Loose I give my Griefs may be in private.”

With R3r 121

With these kind of Arguments she prevail’d
on him, and Orders soon after arriving,
that he must repair to the Army, every thing
was got ready for his Departure with all the Secrecy
imaginable; not the least mention made
of it in the Family, nor by any one who came
to the House, and on a Time prefix’d, his Equipage
attended him at the City Gates, and he
went forth with no other Ceremony, than he was
accustom’d to use when he was to return the same

All the tender Adieus he had to make,
were sent to her by Letter, and how much soever
she endured, none but her Woman was a Witness;
she could command her Pen, tho’ not
her Eyes, and return’d him Answers, such as
convinc’d him nothing was so much desired by
her as new Additions to that Reputation he had
in so many Battles, and amidst so many Dangers

The parting of Friends and Lovers, is like
the parting of the Soul and Body, always most
easy when least warn’d of it; — the Preparations
are more terrible than the Thing itself, and as
Reason is oftentimes too weak to overcome a
natural Timidity, ’tis infinitely best to be wholly
ignorant of the Shock we are to sustain, ’till it

I wish, however, there were more Occasion
than there seems to be for this Caution; — it is my R3v 122
my Business, as a Spectator, to let as little as
possible escape me, and I am sorry to observe,
that my Researches present me with few Instances
of that conjugal Tenderness, which require
such a Command over themselves, as the abovemention’d
Lady endeavour’d to attain.

The Farewels married People ordinarily take
of each other, seem little more than meer Matters
of Form; and some there are, who, after
the Moment of Separation, appear like a Prisoner
just got rid of his Fetters; they frisk and
skip about, as if they knew not how enough to
repair, by a present Jollity, the Anxiety of their
late Confinement.

Melinda no sooner finds herself freed
from the Presence of Romero, than she hurries
from Assembly to Assembly; — gallants it with
every pretty Fellow she comes in Company
with; — drives from one End of the Town to the
other; — sends for Gentlemen out of Chocolate
Houses, and is the veryest Rattle in Nature.

Silax pretends the Town is full of Distempers,
and perswades his Wife to go to their
Country Seat for the Benefit of the Air; but the
Coach which carries her is scarcely out of Sight,
before he sends for half a Dozen Friends of his
own Way of thinking, as many Ladies of Pleasure
to entertain them, converts every Room
in his House into a Brothel, — nothing but Feasting,
Drinking, Dancing, and Rioting is to be seen R4r 123
seen; ’till tir’d with Debauchery, and not ’till
then, he retires to his Wife, and lives regular by
Way of Penance.

Lelia adored Macrobius while present
with her, but the Service of his Country no
sooner oblig’d him to quit her Arms, than she
sought Consolation in the Embraces of his own
Brother; yet Macrobius had married her without
a Fortune, and still continues to love her too
well for his Repose.

Doriman had made a Figure little to be
envy’d by his Neighbours, had he not been fortunate
enough to appear agreeable in the Eyes of
the young, rich, and beautiful Clotilda; — in spite
of all the Disswasions of her Friends, she married
him, makes him the most obsequious and
tender Wife; yet the ungrateful Dorimon, quite
insensible of the Obligations he has to her, as
well as of the Charms which could not fail to
bind any other Man, is continually finding Pretences
to be absent from her, and passes the
greatest Part of his Time with a loose Creature,
whom Chance brought him acquainted with at a
House of ill Fame.

Can any one believe that Souls like these
were ever pair’d in Heaven! — Might one not
rather be tempted to imagine, that some Dæmon,
Enemy to Mankind, had been permitted to dispose
them! — Those who seem most form’d for
each other, and suited for mutual Happiness, are very R4v 124
very rarely suffer’d to give any Testimonies here
below of that divine and pre-existing Union so
much talk’d on, but still by some cross intervening
Accident, sever’d and doom’d to Lots of
different kind.

Who can reflect on the strange Circumstance
which parted Panthea from her dear and betroth’d
Fidelio, without being seiz’d with the
utmost Amazement! But as there is somewhat
very remarkable in the Story of this young
Lady, and few have been able to attain a perfect
Knowledge of the Truth, I think I should not
fill the Province I have undertaken, if I omitted
giving the Publick a full Account of the Particulars;
and to do that, I must trace her Misfortunes
to their Fountain Head, which, indeed,
was from the first Moment of her Being.

Miletta, her Mother, was Mistress to
the subtle and opulent Lacroon, many Years before
the Death of his Lady, but had the Artifice
to engage him in a Covenant, that if he ever
happened to be a Widower, he should either
marry her, or forfeit to her a very large Sum of
Money therein specified. — Fate seem’d to favour
her Wishes; — he became in a Condition for her
to demand either the one or the other. — He knew
himself bound, and hesitated not long before he
consented to be the Husband of one, for whom
his Passion was then greatly abated, rather than
suffer so much Money to go out of his Family.
Panthea was at that Time about eleven or twelve Years S1r 125
Years old, but had been bred in the most private
Manner, and utterly ignorant of her Parents;
a Person, who had been Servant to Miletta, being
intrusted with the Care of her, whatever she
received was transmitted through her Hands,
to whom she imagin’d herself some distant Relation.

Miletta, who had always preserved
some Sense of Reputation, was now more averse
than ever to acknowledging her, and the poor
Girl was not at all the happier for her Mother’s

A strange Caprice in some Women! they
are asham’d of the Fruits of their Sin, tho’
not of the Sin itself: Every body knew she was
kept by Lacroon, for the Gratification of his
looser Hours, nor was she so weak as to imagine
it a Secret; yet could she not support the
Thoughts of being call’d a Mother, without
being a Wife; or, that even after she was so,
that so glaring a Proof should appear of her
former Transgression.

But it was for a very short Time she enjoy’d
the Title she had so much desired; — scarce had
she shewn herself in her Splendor, before she
was seiz’d with a Distemper which puzzled the
Physicians Art to give a Name to; — such as it
was, however, it affected both her Mind and
Body; — she became delirious, and at some Times
had such violent Fits of Frenzy, that they were S oblig’d S1v 126
oblig’d to tye her in her Bed; yet was all this
without any Symptoms of a Fever; an inward
wasting at the same Time prey’d on her Vitals,
and so decay’d her whole Frame, that in a few
Weeks she grew the most pity-moving Object
that ever was beheld, and dy’d little lamented by
any, except those who reap’d the Advantage of
her Secrets.

After her Death, Lacroon took it into
his Head to call Panthea Home, acquainted
her with her Birth, and not only own’d her as
his Daughter in the Face of the World, but
treated her with all the Marks of a paternal Care
and Affection.

A Change of Fortune so undream’d of,
so prodigious, could not but be transporting to
a young Heart; — she had now a Crowd of Servants,
all obsequious, and flying to obey her
least Commands; — her Person was adorn’d with
Jewels, and the most skilful Masters in their
several Professions attended her every Morning,
to perfect her in all the Accomplishments of her
Sex, and the Station to which she now was
rais’d; yet was she not elated so far as to give
herself any unbecoming Airs; and all this serv’d
only to make her pleas’d, not vain, or arrogant.

Envy must allow, that tho’ she is far from
being a Beauty, there is somewhat of a Sweetness
in all her Air and Features that is very attractive,tractive S2r 127
and those who were the least inclinable
to converse with her on the Score of her Birth,
if by chance they happen’d into her Company,
were insensibly engaged not only to continue in
it, but also to wish the Pleasure they took in being
with her, might be renew’d.

She had scarce reach’d fifteen before her
youthful Charms were taken Notice of by many
worthy Persons of the other Sex, but the most
powerful Effect they had to boast was on the
Heart of the noble and accomplish’d Fidelio. —
The Passion he had for her made him overlook
all the Scruples others rais’d on the Account of
her Mother’s Character, and indeed on that of
her Father also, who, for many Reasons, was little
esteem’d by the Generality of Mankind.

Lacroon was highly pleased with his
Addresses on the Score of his Quality; but
Panthea for that of his Person and Conversation.
— She loved him long before her Modesty would
permit her to confess it; but at length her Passion
broke through all Restraints, and she repaid the
Pains she had given him by acknowledging she
felt an equal Share. After this Declaration they
engaged themselves by a solemn Vow to live only
for each other. — Alass, little did either of
them think they err’d in doing so, Fidelio was
entirely at his own Disposal, and Panthea had
received her Father’s positive Commands to
omit nothing in her Power for the better confirming
his Affections.

S2 The S2v 128

The Consent, however, was to be ask’d in
Form; which Fidelio did not fail to do in the
most submissive Terms; and Lacroon, tho’ he at
first, to disguise his Satisfaction, affected to delay
the Ceremony on account of Panthea’s extreme
Youth, was easily prevailed upon to fix
the Day, which was no longer than was requisite
to prepare for it in a Manner befitting the Quality
of the one, and the Riches of the other.

But see the Uncertainty of all human Events!
This equally-enamour’d Pair, when they thought
themselves most secure, and near being join’d to
each other, were on the Point of being seperated
eternally; and that too by a Way the most severe
and shocking to them both, that the extremest
Malice of their Fate could have invented.

Lacroon, to acquire the Wealth he now
is in Possession of, has done such Things as perhaps
no Man before him ever did with Impunity.
— Not but he has frequently been call’d to
Account by those whom he had injur’d, but his
Cunning and the Corruption of the Times still
got him off; and those frequent Escapes having
render’d him more bold in Vice, he at length arrived
at that Height as to add Insults to Injustice,
which so provoked some Persons of greater Credit
than any who had yet appear’d against him,
that they resolv’d to undertake the Cause, and
either sink themselves, or procure that Punishment
on him his Crimes deserved.

This S3r 129

This happen’d some few Days before that
which was assign’d for the Nuptials of Fidelio
and Panthea. — The Lovers were wholly ignorant
of this Misfortune, and pass’d their Hours in
all the Joys which mutual Affection, join’d with
Innocence, affords; while Lacroon was calling all
his Invention to his aid for Means to remedy the
so much dreaded Evil. He had no Hope but in
Imperio, whose Power was uncontestable, and had
on many less Occasions stood his Friend; but
how to assure himself that he wou’d exert it in
this, he was for some Time at a Loss. — At last
the Titular Dæmon, who had hitherto never left
him without some Subterfuge, inspired him with
one, if possible, more black and horrid than ever
yet he had been Master of.

He remember’d to have heard Imperio praise
the innocent Charms of Panthea, and resolv’d to
make no Scruple to offer her up a Sacrifice to
Shame, if by her Prostitution he could be preserved
from the just Prosecution of his Enemies.
— In fine, he went directly to that great Person,
and entreated he would interpose between him
and those who sought his Ruin, and slyly insinuated
that Panthea would think herself blest to be
the Slave of him who was the Deliverer of her

Imperio, just in his own Nature, had not
that ill Opinion of Lacroon which he deserved,
and doubtless would have done all he could for
him in his Exigence, without this Offer; but being
one of the most amorous Men on Earth, could S3v 130
could not refuse so sweet a Bribe as the Possession
of a young Virgin, whom he had frequently
look’d upon with desiring Eyes. He therefore
took Lacroon at his Word, and promised in Return
to use all the Influence he had to make up
Matters between him and those Antagonists from
whom he had most to fear.

Lacroon return’d Home with a joyful
Heart, as being certain those who had the
greatest Malice to him, lov’d and respected
Imperio too much to disoblige him; but when
he broke the Matter to Panthea, and told her,
that instead of being the Bride of Fidelio, she
must prepare herself to be the Mistress of Imperio,
he found Difficulties which he expected not from
one so young, and so entirely a Dependant on
him. — She had even the Courage to tell him, she
would die rather than forfeit her Virtue; to
which he scornfully reply’d, “If your Mother had
been a Girl of such squeamish Principles, you had
not come into the World to contradict my Will.”

This cruel Reproach on her Birth, and
coming from a Father, join’d with the Part he
acted in this Affair, struck her to the Heart; —
she burst into Tears, was unable to speak another
Word, and was ready to sink on the Floor. —
He then repented what he had said, and finding
the Softness of her Nature would be more easily
prevail’d upon by gentle Means, — “Be comforted,
my Child,”
resum’d he, “your Mother was the
more dear to me, as I found her the more ready to S4r 131
to recompence my Love; — I meant not what I
said should give you Pain; — you know I have
the greatest Tenderness for you; — I have proved
it, and hope you have Gratitude enough to be
obedient, especially in a Thing where my whole
Fortune, nay, even my Life’s concern’d.”

He then proceeded to let her know he had
many Enemies, and had no Friend capable of
serving him but Imperio; — made use by turns of
Perswasions and Menaces, ’till at length her Virtue
had not Strength to resist their united Force,
and she yielded to do what in reality her Soul
abhor’d, rather than, by refusing, be the Occasion
of her Father’s Ruin, and, at the same
Time, be driven out to Misery herself.

His Point thus gain’d, Lacroon conducted
her himself to the House of Imperio, where sh e
still resides; but whether any better reconcil’d
to her Fate, none but her own Heart can determine.

As for Fidelio, it would be utterly impossible
to express the Force of his Grief and Rage, when
he found his tender Expectations of a lasting
Happiness thus vanish’d into Air: — As his Passion
for Panthea had made him think her the most
perfect of her Sex, to find her false has given
him an Antipathy to all Woman-kind; — he
shuns all Conversation, but such as join with him
in Invectives against Love and Marriage; — yet
sometimes, when he thinks himself alone, cries out S4v 132
out, “O Panthea! lovely, bewitching Maid! —
wherefore did Heaven join so fair a Face with
so unchaste and perfidious a Heart.”

In hope to cure the Disorders of his Mind,
some Friends prevail’d on him to quit the Town;
but this Change of Place has wrought no other
Change in him, than to convert the Wildness
of his Behaviour into a profound Melancholly,
which, ’tis fear’d, will be lasting.

I must confess the Fate of this young Gentleman
is greatly to be lamented; but, methinks,
the World is too severe on poor Panthea; her
Youth, and the Authority of a Father, than
whom she had no other Friend, may plead some
Excuse for her Want of that Fortitude and Resolution,
which alone could have preserv’d her
Virtue: — ’Tis on Lacroon alone that the just
Censures of her Fall should light: — Lacroon,
guilty of Crimes unnumber’d, yet of none more
unnatural, more detestable than this of separating
two Hearts, which seem’d by Heaven united,
and seducing and betraying his own Child to Infamy
and Perdition.

End of the Second Book.


Female Spectator.

Book III.

Methinks it is with great Impropriety
that People, when they
see an unsocial Person, cry out,
How ill-natur’d such a one is!—Nature
in itself delights in Harmony,
is loving, grateful, benevolent, pleased in itself, and
pleased to see others so. — Every one is born with
Qualities suited to Society; and when they deviate,
it is not the Effect of Nature, but of the
Influence of those vicious Passions which by their
ill Conditions corrupt Nature, and render it no
longer what it was: — Avarice, Ambition, Rage,
Envy, and Jealousy are the Weeds that grow up
in the Soul; and, if indulged, will by degrees
choak all the nobler Principles. — How beautiful
is Nature in Infancy, before those turbulentlent T1v 134
Passions gather Strength! and how beautiful
would she also be in Maturity, could those
Passions be always under the Government of

Some may perhaps object, that I pretend to
divide what Heaven in our Composition has
thought fit to blend: — That Passions are in reality
a Part of Nature, and that none are born
without some Share of them. — They may say,
that in Childhood we are no less affected for
such Trifles as are conformable to our Years than
at a riper Age we are for what we then look on
as more substantial Benefits. — They will quote
against me this Line of one of the most excellent
of our English Poets, “Men are but Children of a larger Growth.”

To all this I readily agree; but then the
Passions of Childhood are too weak to hurry
us to any thing that can be called a Vice, unless
strongly indulg’d indeed by those who have the
Care of us; and as they increase in Strength,
our own Reason, which is given us for a Guide,
increases in proportion also; so that it is the
undoubted Business of our Parents and Governors
to keep all dangerous Propensities in us
under the greatest Subjection, and preserve Nature
in its Purity while we are young; and our
own to do it afterwards, since the infallible Consequences
of any Neglect on this score are no less than T2r 135
than to render us obnoxious to the World, and
irksome to our selves.

I would not here be thought to mean that the
Reserved, the Sullen, the Peevish, or even the
Morose, are always under the Dominion of vicious
Passions.—A continued Series of Disappointments,
Calamities, Ill-usage, (which, I am sorry
to say, is the sure Attendant on Misfortune) or a
long Fit of Sickness, may in time make sour
the sweetest Temper; but then the Gloom which
they occasion will not render the Person, so affected,
cruel, base, covetous, perfidious, or in
fine any way wicked: — Such a one may be
tiresome, and look’d upon as a dead Weight in
Company, but will never be found dangerous,
and the only Mischief he does is to himself.

But where Avarice prevails, all that is injurious
to Mankind may be expected: I think under this
Head almost whatever is pernicious to Society
may be ranged, since where it does not find other
bad Qualities, it certainly creates them. — It indeed
destroys the very End of our Being. — A mean
Distrust, Envy, Hatred, and Malice, will neither
suffer us to enjoy a Moment’s Peace ourselves,
nor allow it to others, when but suspected of a
bare Possibility of standing between us and our
darling Interest. — Concord, that universal Good,
is entirely abolish’d by it;—every publick Virtue,
every private Obligation of Duty, Gratitude, and
natural Affection, are sacrificed to particular
Views, which center all in Self, and to attain, neitherther T2v 136
secret Fraud nor open Violence are spared.
How many Wars have been render’d unsuccessful!
— how many well-laid Schemes disconcerted! —
how many Communities broken and dissolved!
— how many once-flourishing Families reduced
to Beggary, meerly by the Avarice of one Person,
who found his Interest in the Ruin of the
whole.—Nothing is more known than this Truth,
and we often see that those of the same Blood,
nay who have suck’d the same Milk, have proved
the most cruel and inveterate Enemies to each
other. — Shocking Reflection!—let us quit it and
turn our eyes on the Contrast.

The worthy Family, of which Euphrosine is a
Part, has in a very late Instance given us a most
amiable one, and will, I hope, be an Example for
many others to imitate.

This beautiful young Lady was address’d
by a Gentleman immensely rich, but of more
than twice her Age, and besides had nothing
either in his Person or Conversation capable of
rendering him agreeable to a delicate and refin’d
Taste, such as her’s. He made his Court to her
Father before he mentioned any thing of his
Passion to herself, and at the same Time accompanied
his Declaration with Offers of a nature
few Parents but would have readily accepted. —
But he referr’d him to his Daughter’s Inclinations,
only assuring him that he would lay his Commands
on her to receive his Visits; and that if
she consented, he for his Part should be extremely
proud of his Alliance.

With T3r 137

With this the old Lover was oblig’d to be
content; and since he found it must be by his
Rhetoric his Point was to be gain’d, endeavour’d
to prove his Passion, and inspire one in her by
those Ways he thought most likely to succeed: —
He entertain’d her with all the amorous Speeches
he could remember out of Plays; — brought her
all the favourite Airs in the Opera for her Spinet,
— carryed her to Vaux-Hall-Gardens and Ruckholt,
— and told her, that wherever she came she
was the Venus of the Place.

Euphrosine, who is all Obedience,
knowing her Father authorized his Suit, durst
neither repulse nor make a Jest of it, but accepted
his fine Speeches, Treats, and Presents, as
coming from a Man, who, in all probability, she
was destined for:—The Contempt she had for him
she kept as an inviolable Secret; and never spoke
of him to her dearest Companions, nor even her
Brothers and Sisters, but with all imaginable Respect.
The Constraint she put on herself by this
Behaviour, however, took away great Part of that
Chearfulness and Vivacity which had used to
sparkle in her Eyes; — she grew much more reserved
in Company than she had been, and was
often surprized with Tears running down her
Cheeks, when she had thought herself alone.

She was too dear to all belonging to her for
so visible a Change not to be taken notice of,
yet none mentioned the least Word to her concerning
it; and the Courtship continued for near
a Month, when the Impatience of the Lover, emboldened T3v 138
emboldened by his Mistress’s obliging Reception,
made him very pressing for a Day being fixed to
consummate his Happiness: — The Answers she
gave him on that Head were, that she was entirely
at her Father’s Disposal, and that it would
not be becoming in her either to anticipate or delay
his Pleasure. — When he talked to her Father,
he told him, that he had not yet examined his
Daughter’s Heart; but when he had done so, he
would either hasten or prolong the Time, according
as he found her in a Disposition for it: —
always concluding with reminding him, that to
render them both happy, it was necessary nothing
should have the least Air of Constraint on either

This did not satisfy the other; for, as
Lovers naturally flatter themselves, he took all
the Civilities paid him by Euphrosine, in Obedience
to her Father, for so many Proofs of her
liking of his Person; and as he doubted not but
she was no less desirous than himself for a Conclusion
of this Affair, seemed to resent these Delays,
as much as he durst, to him who had the
sole Disposal of his Mistress: He became however
so urgent, that the Father of Euphrosine at
length promised him to sound her Inclinations the
next Day, and that he should then know his Resolution.

Accordingly he sent for her to his
Closet, and having made her sit down by him,
told her how impatient her Lover was for the
Completion of his Wishes, and the Promise he had U1r 139
had given him of a definitive Answer, — set
forth the Passion he had for her in much better
Terms than he had ever done for himself, and
added, that he was so far from desiring any Portion
with her, that on the first Declaration he
had made to him of his Love, he had protested
he would accept of nothing from him but his

“This Euphrosine,” continued he, “is the State
of the Case, and such the disinterested Kindness he
has for you: — You know that I have several
Children, and that Part of my Fortune, which I
should give with you to a Man who required it,
will be a considerable Addition to their Portions:
— You may believe also, that there are not many
Fathers who would consult your Inclination in this
Point; but, my dear Child, I am not one of those:
— I am sensible that true Felicity does not consist in
Wealth alone, and think it both unjust and cruel to
make those wretched to whom I have given Being:
— Tell me, therefore, without Reserve, or Fears
of offending me, what your Thoughts of this Gentleman
are, and whether you can love him, as it
will be your Duty to do if you become his Wife?”

The virtuous Maid hung down her Head at
these Words, and faintly replied, that the Education
she had received would always instruct her
to fulfil her Duty.

Her Father on this told her, there were two
ways of fulfilling a Duty; — the one merely becauseU cause U1v 140
it was so; and the other, because it afforded
a Pleasure to oneself: — “and,” resumed he, “I should
be sorry to see you sacrifice your Peace to the former.
— The Melancholly I have observed in you
ever since this Gentleman has had my Permission
to visit you as a Lover, makes me think that the
Proposal is far from being agreeable; but as I
may possibly be mistaken, I would be convinced by
your laying open your whole Heart to me on this

Emboldened by so much Goodness, she at last
ventured to declare, that if she never happened
to see a Man more agreeable, she would chuse
always to live single: “However, Sir,” continued she

“as the Match affords some Conveniency to you,
and you approve it, I resolved from the first
Moment to offer nothing in Opposition to your
Will, but to endeavour to merit, in some measure,
the Indulgence you have treated me with by an
implicit Obedience.”

“No, no, my dear Child,” replied this excellent
Father, “you well deserve to be left to the Freedom
of your Choice, by your Readiness to resign it. —
You shall no more be troubled with the Sollicitations
of a Person whom I never expected you could
regard in the manner his Vanity has made him
hope. — This Day shall put an End to all your
Disquiets on that score.”

Euphrosine was about to thank him,
as the Consideration he had of her Peace deservedserved U2r 141
from her, when the sudden Entrance of
her two Brothers and three Sisters obliged her to
delay it. — They had heard of the Proposal her
Lover had made of relinquishing her Portion;
and finding she was now sent for by their Father,
and shut up with him, doubted not but it was in
order to enforce her, by his Command, to make
a Choice it was easy for them to perceive was
utterly against her Inclinations. Urged by the
Necessity they thought there was of their Interposition,
they came together in a Body, and all at
once falling at their Father’s Feet, conjured him
not to suffer any Considerations of Interest to them
to prevail on him to render a Sister, so justly dear
to them, unhappy, by a Match which they were
well convinced, tho’ never from herself, could
not be agreeable to her. — Some hung about his
Feet, some kissed his Hands, and all lifted up
their Eyes, streaming with Tears, as dreading the
Answer he should give to this Request.

The tender Father listened to so uncommon a
Testimony of fraternal Affection with a Transport
mixed with Astonishment; but unwilling to
indulge the Pleasure he took in seeing them thus,
at the Expence of the Pain Suspence inflicted on
them; — “Rise! — Rise, my dear, my worthy Children!”
cried he, embracing them one after another,
“your Suit is granted before you thought of
asking it: — Neither Euphrosine, nor any one of
you, shall ever be compelled by my Authority, as
a Father, to give your Hands where your Hearts
do not first lead the way.”

U2 Nothing U2v 142

Nothing could equal the Joy they felt at
hearing him speak in this manner, except the Satisfaction
their mutual Tenderness to each other
afforded him. — Euphrosine, on her Part, knew
not how to express her Gratitude and Love either
to the one or the other. — In fine, there was nothing
to be seen among this endearing Family,
but Embraces, Kisses, and all the Demonstrations
of the most fond, unfeigned Affection, flowing
from Minds perfectly at Ease and satisfied with
each other.

Oh! what could the greatest Acquisitions of
Fortune bestow, in any degree of Competition
with those pure and unmixed Raptures, which
arise from the disinterested Love and Friendship
between Persons of the same Blood! — It is sure
a Pleasure which no Words can paint; — no
Heart unfeeling it conceive! — A Pleasure inspired
by Nature, confirmed by Reason, heavenly
in itself, and laudable before God and Man.

But besides this Satisfaction we feel within
ourselves, and the Esteem we acquire in the
World by living with our Kindred in Concord,
there is a Policy in it, even as to the Gratification
of our most sordid Views, which I wonder
any body can be so blind as not to see, I mean
that of fulfilling the old Proverb, — “Laying up
against a rainy Day.”
— There are few Families
so unfortunate as to have none among them prosper;
and when all are governed by one common Interest U3r 143
Interest, will not the Success of one be the Advantage
of the other? — Life is an uncertain
Ocean, numberless, nameless Dangers lurk beneath
the fairest Surface: — None, at his first
Embarkation, can promise to himself he shall go
through his Voyage unruffled with the Storms
which from above, below, and every where impend.
— Who then would not be glad to secure
some friendly Bark at hand, whose kind Assistance,
in case of a Wreck, might save him and
the Remnants of his scattered Fortune!

How well known, yet how little attended to,
is that excellent Story of him, who having many
Children, and finding the Hour of his Dissolution
approaching, sent for them all to come to
his Bed’s Side; then ordered a Bundle of Sticks
well tied up to be brought, and giving it into the
Hands of the eldest, commanded him to break
it; which having vainly essayed to do, the second
Brother took it; then the third, and so on, till
they had all tried their several Strengths with
equal Success.—“The Thing is impracticable,” said
one of them, “unless we cut the Bandage; —
singly we may easily break them.”
“True,” replied
the Father; “and so my Sons will it be impossible to
hurt any of you, while you continue in the Bandage
of Love and Unity; but if that should be
once dissolved, your Strength is lost, and you are in
danger of becoming a Prey to every Artifice of
designing Men.”

Love and Friendship, they say, will admit no U3v 144
no Sharers in the Heart; — where either are sincere
and without Reserve, it must be between
two Persons; — when a third comes in for any
Part, that Interest which ought to be entire is
divided, weakened, and perhaps, by different
Views, thrown into Confusion: The Maxim
questionless is just as to the general, but has nothing
to do with the Union which ought to subsist
among those of the same Family, who, like
so many young Branches of the same Tree, if
closely knit together, are best defended from the
Inclemency of the Weather for being numerous.

It is odd, methinks, that even Pride of
Blood should not influence those descended from
an illustrious House, to support, in some measure
answerable to the Dignity of their Birth, those
of their own Kindred who may have happened
to fall into Misfortunes: — Are they not sensible
that all the Contempt they are treated with by
mean-soul’d Creatures, points obliquely at themselves?
And can they know the miserable Shifts to
which they are frequently reduced to for Bread,
without reflecting that the Grandeur of the whole
Family suffers in these unhappy Branches?

Strange Infatuation! To what can be
ascribed so total a Neglect of that which we owe
to Heaven, ourselves, and those belonging to us?
— Where is the fatal Spell that stops up all the
Avenues of the Soul, and suffers neither the Dictates
of Religion, the Pleas of soft Compassion,
nor the more powerful Impulses of Nature to our own U4r 145
own Flesh and Blood, to gain the least Admittance?
— Where but in Luxury, and a false Pride
of being able to outvye each other in those expensive
Vices former Ages would have blushed
to be found guilty of?

Did not the once discreet and virtuous Lucillia
refuse so poor a Gift as half a Guinea to a
very near Relation, who once had been her Equal
in Fortune, but now in the extremest Exigence
took the Liberty of petitioning her, yet went the
same Evening to an Assembly, where she lost
a thousand Pistoles at Play!

Wonderful are the Changes which Difference
of Times create! A few Years since, a
Gamester was the most despicable Character in
Life; — now whose Society more coveted than
People of that Profession! — All who had any
Reputation to lose, or desired to be thought well
of by their Neighbours, took care, whenever
they indulged themselves in that Diversion, to do
it with as much Privacy as possible. — But now,
not to love Play is to be unpolite: — Cards were
then made use of only as the Amusement of a
tedious Winter’s Evening: — Now all Seasons
are alike, they are the Employment of the Year;
and at some of our great Chocolate-Houses,
many thousand Acres are often swallowed up before
Dinner. — Persons, who were observed to
have superior Skill in Play, were then distinguished
by the odious Name of Sharpers, and as
such avoided by all Men of Sense: — Now they are U4v 146
are complimented with the Title of great Connoiseurs,
applauded for their Understanding in all
the Niceties of the Game, and that is looked
upon as the most useful kind of Learning, which
teaches how to circumvent an Adversary at the
important Business of Whist.

This Vice of Gaming, originally descended
from the worst of Passions, is certainly the most
pernicious of any to Society. — How great a
Misfortune is it therefore that it should become
the Mode, and by being encouraged by Persons
of Figure and Condition, render the lower Class
of People (who are always fond of imitating
their Superiors) ambitious, as it were, of being
undone in such good Company.

To this unhappy Propensity is greatly owing
that so many Shops lately well stock’d and flourishing,
are now shut up even in the Heart of the
City, and their Owners either Bankrupts or miserable
Refugees in foreign Parts: — Nor is it to
be wondered at, when the honest Profit that
might be made of Trade is neglected, for the
precarious Hopes of getting more by Play; the
Citizen will have but little Share with the Courtier,
and, to add to his Mortification, will find
that the Misfortunes which attend this going out
of his own Sphere, serves only as a Matter of
Ridicule to those very Persons who reap the
Advantage of his Folly.

We may date this extravagant Itch of Gaming,ing X1r 147
which, like the Plague, has spread its Contagion
through all Degrees of People, from the
fatal Year 17201720. The alluring Prospect of making
a great Fortune at once, and without any
Labour or Trouble, so infatuated the Minds of all
the Ambitious, the Avaricious, and the Indolent,
that for a Time there seemed an entire Stagnation
of all Business but what was transacted by the
Brokers in Change-Alley. — Then it was that
Sharping began to flourish in the Nation, and has
ever since continued under various Shapes. —
The great Bubble of the South Sea dissipated,
a thousand lesser ones, tho’ equally destructive to
honest Industry, sprung up: — New Modes of
Ruin were every Day invented: Lotteries on
Lotteries were continually drawing, in which few
beside those who set them up had any thing but
Blanks. — These the Wisdom of the Legislature
thought fit to put to a Stop to, but had not Power
to extirpate the unhappy Influence which a long
Inattention to Business had gained. — The People
had been too much accustomed to Idleness to
return with any Spirit to their former Avocations:
— They wanted the golden Fruit to drop
into their Laps, and fresh Opportunities of renewing
those chimerical Expectations, by which
already three Parts in four of the middling Class
had been undone. — Chance was the Idol of their
Souls, and when any of their more sober Friends
remonstrated to them the Madness of quitting a
certain settled way of getting a moderate Living;
for the fleeting visionary Schemes of a luxurious
, — they all returned this common cant Answer,X swer X1v 148
that “they were willing to put themselves in
Fortune’s Way”
, — and, “that they might possibly be
as lucky as some others, who, being very poor before,
had now set up great Equipages, and made
a fine Figure in the World.”

This it was that converted Gaming from an
Amusement into a Business, it being the only
Matter now remaining out of which their so
much-beloved Castles in the Air could be
formed: — One Night’s good Run at Cards, or
a lucky Cast of the Dice, would repair all that
had been lost in other Ventures, and every one
thought it worth his while to stake his last Remains.

There are always a Set of artful People who
watch to take Advantage of any public Frenzy.
— These soon discovered the general Bent, and
to humour it with Novelty, contrived various
kinds of Gaming, which never had before been
dreamed of; by which every one, if it so happened,
might arrive at the End of his Desires.
Numbers, by this Stratagem, were taken in, who
otherwise perhaps, by a conscious Want of Skill
in the old Games, would have been restrained,
since it requires neither Thought nor Ingenuity
to be successful at these new-invented Tables.

I could name a certain Spot of Ground
within the Liberties of Westminster, which contains
no less than fourteen public Gaming-
Houses in the Compass of two hundred Yards;
all which are every Night crowded with a promiscuousmiscuous X2r 149
Company of the great Vulgar and the
Small, as Congreve elegantly and justly calls all
such Assemblies.

To hurl the Tennis-Ball, or play a Match at
Cricket, are certainly robust and manly Exercises;
— they were originally invented to try and preserve
Strength and Activity, and to keep those
of our Youth, who were not born to meaner
Labours, from Idleness and Effeminacy. — The
playing at the latter also, County against County,
was designed to inspire a noble Emulation to
excel each other in those Feats which might render
them more able to serve their King and
Country, when the Defence of either required
them to take up Arms. — No mercenary Views
had any Share in the Institution of these Games:
— Honour was the only Excitement, — Applause
the only End proposed by each bold Attemptor.
These, alas! of later Days, are but empty Names;
— a thousand Pound has more real Charms than
any are to be found in Glory: — Gain, sordid
Gain, is all that engrosses the Heart, and adds
Transport to Success. Without that, Numbers,
who throng to give Proofs of their Activity,
would rather chuse to pass the Time away in
lolling over a Lady’s Toilet while she is dressing,
or in his own Easy-Chair at Home, listening
to the Music of his Footman’s French Horn.

Will any one say that this is true Nature?
— No, it is the Vices which deform Nature, and
only by being too general and customary, may be X2 called X2v 150
called a second Nature. — Would Nature ever
direct us to search into the Bosom of the Earth
for Gold! — Or when found, to idolize the Ore
our Hands had dug! — to pride ourselves more
or less according to the Quantity of the shining
Pelf we are Masters of, and to place all Honour,
Virtue, and Renown in being Rich!

However, since the World is so much
altered from what it was in the true State of
Nature, and there is now no subsisting without
some Portion of this Gold, we must not affect to
despise it too much: But as we ought not to
listen to the Calls of Avarice, in acquiring it by
any indiscreet or scandalous Means, so when possessed
of it, we ought not to lavish it away in
Trifles we have no Occasion for, and perhaps
had better be without. — We should reflect, that
our Posterity will have need of it as well as ourselves,
and look on every Extravagancy we are
guilty of as a Robbery of them; that we are no
more than Tenants for Life in whatever descends
to us from our Parents; and that we should leave
it as entire and unembezled as we received it from
them. — Nor is the Injustice less when we needlesly,
and to gratify any inordinate Appetite, dissipate
those Goods of Fortune we may have acquired
by our own Industry. — Children, being
Part of ourselves, are born to share in our Possessions;
and nothing is more absurd, in my Opinion,
than the Saying of some People, that “their Children
may labour for themselves as they have done.”

— How are such Parents certain they will be able X3r 151
able to do so? A thousand Accidents may happen
to render the utmost Efforts they can make of no
effect; and when that is the Case, how hardly
must a Son think of a Father, who, by a profuse
and riotous manner of Living, has reduced to
starving those who derive their Being from him!

Not that I would wish any one to deny himself
the Necessaries, nor even the Pleasures of
Life, for the sake of his Posterity; but in all these
Things there is a golden Mean to be observed,
which is indeed no other than to follow Nature,
enjoy ourselves while we live, and prudently reserve
something for those to enjoy who are to live
after us.

It is certain that no Age, no Nation ever
were equal to us in Luxury of all kinds. — The
most private low-bred Man would be a Heliogabalus
in his Table; and too many Women there
are, who, like Cleopatra, would not scruple to
swallow a whole Province at a Draught.

Then as to Dress, they seem to study now
not what is most becoming, but what will cost
the most: — No Difference made between the
young Nobleman and the City-Prentice, except
that the latter is sometimes the greater Beau: —
Gold-headed Canes, Watches, Rings, Snuff-
Boxes, and lac’d Wastcoats, run away with the
Fortune that should set him up in Business, and
frequently tempt him to defraud his Master, who
perhaps also, taken up with his own private Pleasures,sures X3v 152
examines too little into his Shop-Affairs,
and when the Till is drained, borrows a while to
support his darling Pride, then sinks at once to
Ruin and Contempt.

Our Sex is known to be so fond of appearing
fine and gay, that it is no wonder the Tradesmen’s
Wives should even exceed their Husbands
in the Article of Dress; but it is indeed prodigious
that so many of them should, merely for
the sake of being thought able to afford any
thing, destroy the reasonable End of Finery, and
render themselves awkward, nay preposterous,
instead of genteel and agreeable. — When a Gold
and Silver Stuff, enough to weigh a Woman
down, shall be loaded yet more with heavy Trimmings,
what Opinion can we have either of the
Fancy or Judgment of her that wears it? —
And is not her Neighbour, whom to out-shine,
perhaps, she has strained her Husband’s Purse-
Strings for this costly Garment, infinitely more
to be liked in a plain Du Cape or Almazeen!

I am sorry to observe that this false Delicacy
in Eating, Drinking, Apparel, Furniture and
Diversions, so prevalent among us, has not only
undone half the Nation, but rendered us extremely
ridiculous to Foreigners who are Witnesses
of it. — Thus Avarice introduced Luxury,
Luxury leads us to Contempt, and Beggary
comes on apace.

I fear what I have said on these Topics will be X4r 153
be but ill relished by a great many of my Readers;
but if I have the good Fortune to find it
has had an Effect on any one of them, so far
as to cause them to see the Error they have been
guilty of, I shall be the less chagrin’d at the Resentment
of the wilfully Blind. — Times like
these require Corrosives, not Balsams to amend:
— The Sore has already eaten into the very
Bowels of Public Happioness, and they must tear
away the infected Part, or become a Nusance to
themselves and all about them.

I remember to have formerly heard a Story
of one Adulphus, the Truth of which was
strongly asserted. — This Man, who it seems had
an Estate of 300 l. per Annum, lived happy and
contented on it, till one Afternoon as he was
sleeping in his Garden, he dreamed a Person of
a very venerable Aspect came to him, and said,
“Adulphus! your Integrity, Hospitality, and those
other Virtues you are possessed of, entitles you to a
Reward from above. — This Day Twelvemonth,
and at this Hour precisely, you shall receive from
my Hands the Sum of 30,000l.”

This Dream made a strong Impression on
him: He sat it down in his Pocket-Book the
Moment he awoke; and believing as firmly it
would come to pass, as if an Angel from Heaven
had really descended to him with this Promise,
he began to consider in what manner he
should live, and how the Treasure should be employed.
— A thousand grand Ideas presently came into X4v 154
into his Head: — He looked on his House, he
found it old, decayed, and infinitely too small for
a Man of the Fortune he was to receive. — To
lose no Time therefore, he sent for Workmen,
and contracted with them to build it up anew
after a Plan he drew up himself, and was extremely
elegant. —

A Garden, which before was planted with all
Things useful in a Kitchen, was now converted
into a large Court-Yard in a Semi-Circle, and
encompassed with a Wall ornamented with gilded
Flower-Pots; a fine Portico raised with five
Steps, led to a Hall one hundred and fifty Foot
square, lined with Cedar, and supported by twelve
Marble-Pillars, curiously carved and cornished
after the Doric and Ionic Manner: — The Ceiling
was lofty, and painted with the Story of Orpheus
and the Bacchanalian Dames, who, in their
wild Fury, tore both the Musician and his Lyre
to Pieces. — On each Side, a little Avenue led to
a Range of handsome Parlours; and some few
Paces farther two noble Stair-Cases, which by an
easy Ascent brought you, the one to the right,
and the other to the left Wing of the House, both
which contained an equal Number of Lodging-
Rooms. — Over the great Portico and Hall was
a Gallery with Windows on both Sides, so that
there was a thorough Prospect from the great
Court-Yard to the Gardens behind the House,
which had seven Descents all laid out in different
Parterres, and embellished with Statues and Fountains.
— The last of them terminated in a Wilderness,derness Y1r 155
in which was a Fish-Pond, and near it
several curious Grotts, where, in the Noontide
Heats of August, you might feel all the Coolness
and the Sweets of a May Morning.

A great Number of Hands being employed,
the Building was soon finished, and
against it was so, Adulphus had bespoke Furniture
suitable to it. — He indeed shewed his good
Taste in every thing he did; — every body allowed
nothing could be more compleat; but at
the same time as his Income was known all about
the Country, it afforded Matter of Discourse by
what Means he was become so suddenly rich, as
to be able to erect such an Edifice of such Expence.
— They took upon them to calculate how much
it cost, and found, that tho’ there were many
Things in the old Building which might contribute,
yet the whole of what he must infallibly
lay out could not be less than 10,000 l. — Some
thought he had found hidden Treasures; some,
that he was privately married to a rich Wife;
others, less inclined to judge favourably, said he
dealt with the Devil. — Various were the Conjectures
of what he was about; but all were far
distant from the Truth. — Alas! they knew not
that he had been up in London, and deeply mortgaged
his paternal Estate to purchase Marble,
Cedar, and other Things which were not to be
procured without; and as to the Artificers, he
had set the Day of Payment according to his
Dream; and as his Character was fair, and he had Y always Y1v 156
always been accounted an honest frugal Man,
not one of them but were perfectly satisfied.

He trusted not his most intimate Friends
however with the Secret, by what Means so great
an Accession of Fortune was to befal him; but
was always so gay and easy, that none doubted
but he was well assured of it himself.

At length with the wish’d-for Day arrived, against
which Time he had ordered a great Collation to
be prepared; all his Kindred, and several of the
neighbouring Gentry were invited, before whom
he intended to discharge all his Tradesmen’s Bills.

The Hour appointed by the Vision was, as
near as I can remember the Story, about Five;
and he no sooner heard the Clock strike, than he
begged the Company’s Pardon for a Moment
and went into his Closet, not in the least doubting
but he should return loaded with Wealth. — He
sat for some time in the most pleased Expectation,
till the Hour elapsing, his Heart began to
be invaded with some slight Palpitations: — But
what became of him, when not only six, but seven
o’Clock passed over, and no Guardian Angel,
nor any Message from him, arrived? —

Persons of his sanguine Complection, however,
do not easily give way to Despair. — To
excuse the Disappointment, he flattered himself
that this Delay had been entirely his own Fault, and Y2r 157
and that as the Promise had been made to him
while he was sleeping, so he ought to have waited
the Performance of it in the same Situation;
besides, he did not know but the Noise and
Hurry he had in his House might not be pleasing
to those intellectual Beings who delight in
Solitude and Privacy. These were the Imaginations
which enabled him to return to his Friends
with a composed Countenance; and firmly believing
that in the Night he should receive what
his Inadvertency in the Day had deprived him
of, he told his Creditors that an Accident had
postponed the Satisfaction he proposed in discharging
the Obligations he had to them till the
next Morning, but that if they pleased to come
at that Time they might depend on being paid.
On this they all retired well satisfied, and Adulphus
passed the Remainder of the Evening
among his Guests, with the same Jollity and good
Humour he had been in the whole Day.

This indeed was the last Night of his Tranquillity.
— He went to Bed and fell asleep, but
no delightful Ideas presented themselves to him:
He awoke, and by the Light of a Candle which
he kept burning in the Chimney, looked round
the Room in hopes of seeing the dear Money-
Bags lying ready for him on the Table, but found
every thing just as he had left it: — He then put
out the Candle, still flattering himself that Darkness
would be more favourable. — A little Rustling
which some Accident soon after occasioned,
made him certain that his Wishes were now compleated:Y2 pleated: Y2v 158
— Out of Bed he jumps in Transport,
and feels in every Corner, but found nothing of
what he sought; then lay down again, in vain
endeavouring to compose himself to rest. — At
length the Morning broke, and he once more
with wishful Eyes and akeing Heart renewed his
Search, — alas! to the same Purpose as before:
— All he could see were Pictures, Glasses, and
other rich Furniture, which being unpaid for,
served only as so many Mementoes of his Misfortune.
— He now began to tremble for the
Consequences of his too credulous Dependance
on a Vision; yet still unwilling to believe what
gave him so much Horror, a new Matter of
Hope started into his Head. — The Promise was
made to him that Day Twelvemonth, which it
was certain was gone without any Effect of what
he had been made to expect; but then he reflected
that it was not the same Day of the Week,
and that possibly this might bring him better

He therefore ventured to tell his Creditors
that tho’ a second Delay had happened, they
should be all paid on the Morrow. — His Character,
and the Assurance with which he spoke,
prevented them from being uneasy as yet; but
when they came the third time, and found that,
instead of having their Demands answered, Adulphus
would not be seen by them, but had shut
himself up in his Chamber, and ordered his Servants
to say he was indisposed, they began to murmur;
and some of them who had been informed of Y3r 159
of his having mortgaged his Estate, thought it
was best for them to take some other Method of
getting their Money than barely asking for it,
before all was gone.

Several Processes were presently made
out against him, and Officers continually watching
about his House to take him; but he kept
himself so close, that all their Endeavours were
in vain for a long Time. — His Friends being
informed of all this, could not conceive what
had induced him to act in the manner he had
done, and came often to his House on purpose to
interrogate him concerning his Affairs, and offer
their Assistance in making them up, in case there
was a Possibility; but none of them could ever
get Access to him; — his Grief, his Shame, and
his Despair at finding the Imposition he had put
upon himself, the Injustice it had made him guilty
of to others, and the inevitable Ruin that stared
him in the Face, would not suffer him to see
even those for whom he had the most Good-will;
and nothing is more strange than, that in the
Agonies of his Soul he did not lay violent Hands
on his own Life.

In spite of all his Caution he was at last arrested
and thrown into Prison; and this occasioning
a thorough Enquiry into his Circumstances,
it was soon discovered that he had made every
thing away; but the Motive which had induced
a Man, who had all his Life, till this unhappy
Infatuation, behaved with the greatest Prudence and Y3v 160
and Moderation, was still a Secret; and this so
incensed all who had any Dealings with him, as
making them think he had only a Design to defraud
them from the Beginning, that they would
listen to no Terms of Accommodation.

The Truth is, he was become too sensible
of his Folly to be able to declare it, till from a
full Belief that he had been mad, he grew so in
reality, and in his Ravings disclosed what Shame,
while he had any Remains of Reflection, made
him so carefully conceal.

His golden Dream, and the sad Effect it had
on him, were now the Talk of the whole Town;
and those how had been most exasperated against
him, now pitied him. — His Friends consulted
together, and the fine House and Furniture were
sold, as was also his Estate, after clearing the
Mortgage, to pay the Creditors as far as the Money
would go, and on this he was discharged
from Prison, but naked, pennyless, and in no Condition
of doing any thing for his Subsistence.

In this miserable Condition, it was thought
the greatest Charity could be shewn to him, was
to put him into Bethlem, where, as I was informed,
he regained his Senses enough to relate the
whole Particulars of what before he had but by
Starts imperfectly discovered; but the Mildness
of his late Disorder being succeeded by a deep
Melancholly, he never once desired to quit the
Place and Company he was in, and after languishingguishing Y4r 161
some Months, died a sad Example of
indulging Prospects which are merely speculative.

I am afraid one need not give oneself much
Trouble to find many Adulphus’s in this Kingdom;
and that if all who have acted like him,
on as little a Foundation, were to be accounted
Lunatics, new Hospitals must be erected, for that
in Moor-Fields would not contain a thousandth

It is indeed a dreadful thing when People
cannot resolve to content themselves with the
Sphere in which they are placed by Heaven and
Nature. — It is this Restlessness of the Mind that
occasions half the Mischiefs that befal Mankind;
— and yet we are all, more or less, apt to have
some Share of it: — Every one wishes for something
he has not, and that hinders him from enjoying
properly what he is possessed of.—We
fancy we know better than him that made us,
what would befit us, and accuse Providence of
Partiality in the Lot assigned us; and how fond
soever we may be of the Writings of the late
celebrated Mr. Pope, it is but rarely we remember
this Maxim of his, and acknowledge, with
him, that
“――Whatever is, is right.”

But this, as I said before, is wholly owing to
the Dominion we suffer ill Passions to get over us Y4v 162
us, and not to Nature, which is easily satisfied,
and never craves a Superfluity of any thing.—I
have often observed that the Attachment of what
we have pursued with the most Eagerness, has
proved our greatest Curse; and I dare answer,
that there are scarce any of my Readers but have
some time or other, in the Course of their Lives,
experienced this Truth.

Thousands are there in this great Metropolis,
who have with the utmost Ardency wished
the Death of a Parent, an elder Brother, a Husband
or a Wife, and yet a small Time after have
found the Loss of them the severest Misfortune
could have befallen them.

In the Designs Men have upon our Sex,
I appeal to themselves, if the seducing a Wife or
Daughter of a Friend, has not brought on them
worse Consequences, than the Refusal of the Gratification
of their Passion could possibly have

Even in less unwarrantable Aims we often
find that the Grant of what we ask is a greater
Cruelty than the Denial.—Suppose the partial
Favour of a Prince should confer any of the great
Offices of State on a Person who had not Abilities
to discharge his Trust with any tolerable degree
of Honour, would it not have been better
for such a one to have continued in a private Life,
rather than, by this Exaltation, have his Ignorancerance Z1r 163
exposed, and become the Jest of a sneering
World, who rejoice in an Opportunity of ridiculing
the Foibles of the Great!

In fine, there is no one Thing, let it wear
ever so fair a Face of Happiness, but the Possession
of may render us miserable, either by its not
being essentially so in itself, or by our own Want
of Capacity to use it as we ought.

Not to be too anxious after any thing, is
therefore the only sure Means of enjoying that
Tranquillity we but vainly depend upon in the
Acquisition of what our Passions make us look
on for a Time as our greatest Good.

“O But”, some People will cry, “these are stupid
Maxims: Nature, in accustoming itself to such
a State of Indolence and Inactivity, would fall
into a Lethargy, and we should be little better
than walking Statues.—Passions were given us to
invigorate the Mind, and rouse us to noble and
great Actions; and he that is born without them,
or mortifies them too much, is incapable of doing
any thing to serve his God, his Country, or

This is undoubtedly true; and whoever understands
what I have said in a contrary Sense,
does an Injury to my Meaning.—I am for having
every one endeavour to excel in whatever
Station or Profession he has been bred; but I am
for having none attempt to go out of it, or to Z regard Z1v 164
regard Promotion more than the Means by which
he aims to acquire it.—He ought to have Ambition
enough to do all that might make him worthy
of being raised, but not so much as to make
him capable of overleaping all the Barriers of
Virtue to attain his End.—I would not have a
Lieutenant in the Army shoot his Captain in the
Back for the sake of getting into his Post; but I
would have him behave so as to deserve a better.

But there is one very unfortunate Propensity
in most of us, for I know not whether it may be
called a Passion, and that is the Vanity of imagining
we deserve much more than in reality we do.
—This Vanity, when not gratified, makes us
murmur and repine at those who have it in their
Power to grant what we desire, and yet withhold
it from us;—it excites in us an Envy and
Hatred against those who are in Possession of
what we think is due to us alone;—it inspires
us with a thousand base Artifices to undermine
and ruin all who have a fairer Prospect than ourselves.
—When a Person of this Stamp happens
to succeed in his Aim, you may know him by a
haughty Strut, and contemptuous Toss of the
Head to his Inferiors, an Air of Importance to
his Equals, and a servile Fawn on all who can
any way contribute to exalting him yet higher;
for there are no Bounds to the Ambition of a
self-sufficient Man. “What Crowds of these do we see ev’ry Day,At Park, at Opera, at Court and Play!” A Z2r 165
A Person who, on the contrary, really rises by
his Merit, is affable and mild to all beneath him,
sociable among those of his own Rank, and pays
that Regard to those above him, which their Stations
or intrinsic Worth demand, but no farther.
—Such a one is rejoiced at his good Fortune,
but not altered in his Humour:—He forgets not
what he was, nor his former Companions, and
thinks himself not at all the better Man for being
a greater. “What Pity ’tis that such no more aboundWhose modest Merit Recompence has found.”

That Consideration, however, nor a thousand
Rebuffs which a virtuous Man often meets
with in the Discharge of his Duty, or the Attainment
of what he has really purchased by his
good Behaviour, will not deter him from going
on in the same laudable Course, because it is pleasing
to himself, and renders him infinitely more
at Ease in his own Breast, than he can ever feel,
who, by indirect Means, arrives at the highest
Summit of his ambitious Views.

Xeuxis, by a long Series of Hypocrisy,
Treachery and Deceit, pretended Menaces on
the one Side, equally false Friendships on the
other, and every Artifice of wicked Policy, has
at last forced himself, as it were, into a Seat
which neither his Birth, his Parts, nor the most
sanguine Wishes of his best Friends could ever
promise; yet how wretchedly does his new Z2 Gran- Z2v 166
Grandeur sit upon him!—Do not his sullen
Looks and contracted Brow denote a secret Remorse
that preys upon his Soul, when, instead of
the Respect he flattered himself with, he meets
only with Insults, and that the Dignity, so unworthily
conferred upon him, has served but to render
him the Object of all good Men’s Contempt,
and the Detestation of the Vulgar!

From this Lump of glutted Avarice and
swollen Ambition, let us turn our Eyes on brave
Timoleon, whose untainted Virtue would honour
the highest Dignities, yet is possessed of none but
those derived to him from his illustrious Ancestors:
—Uncourting, unindebted to Favour, a
native Greatness shines through his whole Deportment;
conscious Worth, and innate Peace of
Mind, smile in his Eyes, at once commanding
Homage and Affection:—His Name is never
mentioned but with Blessings; and the Love and
Admiration of all Degrees of People give him
that solid Grandeur which empty Titles, and
all the Pomp of Arrogance would but in vain

Who then would say it is not better to deserve
than to receive?—Who would not chuse to be a
Timoleon rather than a Xeuxis, did they well
weigh the Difference of Characters before too
far entered into the guilty Labyrinth to be able
to retreat?

There are, indeed, a sort of People in the World Z3r 167
World who are too proud to be obliged,—
who think it their Glory to refuse Favours, even
tho’ they stand in the greatest need of them,
and with a Cinical Surliness affront, instead of
thanking, those who make Offers of their Friendship.
—This is a Disposition which has nothing
in it commendable; but as it arises only from
too much Greatness of Mind, or what one may
call Honour over-strained, such a Person can never
be dangerous to Society; and how little
Good soever he may be capable of doing to himself,
he will be sure to do no Hurt to others.

In an Age so selfish and gain-loving as this of
our’s, there are but few Examples of the kind I
have mentioned; I shall therefore present my
Readers with one which happened very lattely,
and is, I think, pretty extraordinary.

Leolin, a Gentleman descended from one
of the best Families in Wales, and born to a considerable
Estate, had from his very early Years
been attached by the most tender Passion to a
young Lady called Elmira, an Heiress of 1,600 l.
a Year.—His Vows had all the Success he
could desire; and if he thought that all the
Charms of the whole Sex were united in his Elmira,
she could find nothing worthy of her Affection
but her Leolin. Their Fathers, who had
been long intimate Friends, approved their mutual
Flame; and when Leolin arrived at his twentieth
Year, and Elmira at that of sixteen, they
resolved to join the Hands of two Persons, whose Hearts Z3v 168
Hearts had been united even before they knew
either the Nature or the Aim of the Passion they
were inspired with.

Accordingly the Marriage-Articles were
drawn, and great Preparations were making to
solemnize the Nuptials, when, within two or
three Days of that which was intended to compleat
it, the Father of Elmira had the Misfortune
to fall off his Horse and break his Leg, which
turning to a Mortification, was obliged to be cut
off.—Either Want of Skill in the Surgeons, or
his own Obstinancy in not suffering the Amputation
to be above the Knee, proved fatal to him,
and he died in four and twenty Hours after the

This occasioned a melancholy Delay of our
Lover’s Happiness.—The virtuous and discreet
Elmira could not think of devoting herself to
the Joys and Gaiety of a bridal State immediately
after the Loss of a Parent to whom she had
been extremely dear, and whose Indulgence she
had always repaid with the most sincere filial
Duty and Affection.—Leolin himself, who shared
in all her Sorrows, durst not presume to press it;
and his Father was too great an Observer of Decency,
as well as too much concerned for the
Death of his good old Friend, to urge the Completion
of an Affair, which tho’ he very much
desired, yet he thought might be more agreeable
to all the Parties concerned, when Time had
a little worn off the present Poignancy of Grief.

The Z4r 169

The first Mourning being over, and the white
Garments accompanied with somewhat of a more
chearful Aspect, the passionate Leolin began by
degrees to remind his charming Mistress of her
Engagement; and she was half consenting to
put an End to all his Languishments, when a second,
and, in its Consequences, more fatal Disappointment
than the former came between them
and the Felicity they expected.

The Father of Leolin was suddenly ill:
—His Indisposition terminated in a violent Fever,
which in a very few Days took him from the
World; but even this Event, afflicting as it was
to his Son, proved a slight Misfortune to that
which immediately ensued,—The Funeral Obsequies
were no sooner over, than the House of the
young Gentleman was forcibly entered by Officers,
who came to seize on all he had by vertue
of a Deed of Gift made, as they said, by his
Father some Years before to his Brother’s Son.
Leolin, impetuous by Nature, opposed their
Passage all he could; but the Number they
brought with them by far exceeded those of his
Servants, and they took Possession:—On which
he went to the House of a neighbouring Gentleman,
who had been an intimate Acquaintance
of his Father, complained to him of his Wrongs,
and intreated his Advice.

Not only this Person, but the chief Gentlemen
of the Country, perswaded him to have recourse
to Law;—it seeming highly improbable that Z4v 170
that any Father should give away the Inheritance
of an only Son, and such a Son as Leolin, who
had never done any thing to disoblige him, and
of whom he had always seemed extremely fond.

The Kinsman, however, had his Pretences,
which, for the better understanding this mysterious
Affair, I must not pass over in Silence.—
The Mother of Leolin, when he was not above
four or five Years old, eloped from her Husband,
and took Refuge in France with a Gentleman
who had formerly courted her, and whom she
continued to love to the eternal Ruin of all that
ought to be dear to Womankind.—

So manifest a Proof of her Unchastity, it is
certain, made him disregard the young Leolin for
a time, as dubious if he were really of his Blood;
—and Witnesses were produced, who swore they
had heard him say, “the Bastard never should
inherit an Acre of his Land;”
and when they answered,
“that it would not be in his Power to cut
him off,”
he rejoined, “No matter, there were other
Courses to be taken.”

This they deposed that they understood as meant
by the Deed of Gift now produced; and that tho’
since then he had treated Leolin as his Son, and
seemed to use him well, it was only to avoid any
farther Noise being made in the World of his
Dishonour while he lived, referring shewing his
Resentment to the Mother on the Son till after
his Decease.

In Aa1r 171

In fine, after a long Process, the Trial came
on, and the Kinsman had so well concerted his
Measures, that, in spite of all the Probabilities
that were against him, he got the better of Leolin;
—the Judge only in Consideration of his
having been bred a Gentleman, and in the Expectation
of so large an Estate, ordering he
should be allowed 200 l. per Annum out of so
many Thousands.

Few there were, however, who did not believe
him greatly wronged; nor could the Jury
themselves reconcile, to their own Reason, the
Verdict they were obliged to give on the Evidence,
who swore so positively, and corroborated
their Depositions with so many Circumstances,
that, in Law, there was no Possibility for the Court
to act otherwise than it did on this Occasion.

Leolin, who for his many good Qualities
had always been highly esteemed and beloved
in the County where he was born, had many
friendly Offers made him, and continual Invitations
from one House to another; but he would
accept of none, avoided all Conversation with
those he was once intimate with, and shut himself
up in a little Farm-House, ordering the People
belonging to it to suffer no Person whatever
to come to him.

But his Behaviour with regard to Elmira was
the most astonishing, and what indeed excited me
to give this melancholy Detail of his Adventures. Aa — During Aa1v 172
—During the Continuance of the Law-Suit, and
while he had Hope of overcoming his Adversary,
he was scarce ever from her, and, in spite of the
Vexation this cruel Invasion of his Birthright had
involved him in, found always a Satisfaction in
her unaltered and endearing Conversation, which
more than compensated for all the Frowns of
Fortune.—But the Moment he was cast, that
he was certain his Ruin was compleated, he shun’d
her even more than all the World beside; and
tho’ her Love and the Engagements between
them, made her not to look upon it as a Breach
of Modesty to write to him, to conjure him in
the most pressing Terms to come to her, and
assured him the Change in his Circumstances had
wrought no change in her Affection; that her
Estate was a sufficient Competency for both, and
that she was ready to make him a Present of
that with herself, yet could she not prevail on
him to see her.

In fine, from the most affable and obliging
of Mankind, he was now become the most stern,
morose, and ill-temper’d, according to the Poet, “Great Souls grow always haughty in Distress.”

In vain a Mistress so lately loved, admired,
almost adored, now condescended to sollicit him
to accept all in her Power to give:—All the
Proofs she gave him of her Tenderness, her Constancy,
her disinterested Passion, served but to
add now Matter for his Discontent; and to get rid Aa2r 173
rid of her Importunities, he at last sent one Letter
in answer to the many obliging ones he had
received from her.—A Friend of mine happened
to be with her when it arrived, and assured
me it contained these Lines.

“Madam, Ibelieve there is no Occasion for any
Asseverations that no Man has ever loved
with greater Sincerity than I have done, or
more passionately desired to be united to you
for ever, while there remained the least Hope
of being so without rendering both of us the
Subject of Ridicule.—In fine, I have still too
much Regard for you to have it said ‘you
bought a Husband’
, and for myself to think of
submitting to the slavish Dependance on a
Wife’s Fortune
—Were the Balance on my
Side, I should not act in this manner; but as
Things are now circumstanced between us, I
beg you will give neither yourself nor me any
further Trouble on this score:—The most
prudent Step you can take for the Peace of
both is to think of me no more, since I never
can be, in the manner I once flattered myself
with being,
Yours, &c. Leolin. Aa2 P.S. Aa2v 174 P.S. I quit the Place I am in this very Moment,
nor shall make any Person in the
World the Confidant of my Retirement,
so that no Letters can possibly come to
my Hands; but have ordered the honest
Man, who has been my Host for some time,
to pay you 300 l. which you may remember
I borrowed of you while my unhappy
Law-Affair was in Agitation, and the Interest
due upon the Loan.—Adieu for ever:
Be assured I wish you much better than you
do yourself. ”

Poor Elmira read the Letter with Tears in
her Eyes, and cried out, “O what a Noble Mind is
here perverted!—Quite changed from what it
was, by an ill-judging and injurious World!”
when she came to the Postscript, and the Man
counted the Money to her on the Table, she grew
beyond all Patience.—“How meanly must he think
of me!”
said she.“—How little does he know Elmira!”
—And then again, “What! am I turned
Usurer then!”
This little Indignation, however,
soon subsided, and gave way to the softer Dictates
of her Love and Friendship:—She asked
the Farmer a thousand Questions concerning his
Behaviour;—conjured him to deal sincerely with
her, and to inform her whether he had really left
his House or not, and if he had, what Road he

To all this he replied with a great deal of Truth, Aa3r 175
Truth, that he had never seen a Man so changed
as to his Humour, but that he did not think his
Brain was any way disordered:—That some time
past he sent for a Money-Scrivener, and sold the
Annuity ordered him for Life for 1000 l.. Part of
which he had disposed of in paying all the little
Debts he had contracted since his Misfortune, and
had taken the Remainder with him; that he went
on Horseback, but could not say what Road,
because he was forbid accompanying him even
to the Lane’s End that led up to his House.

In the present Emotions of her various Passions,
she would certainly have followed him herself,
could she have known what Rout to take,
and either brought him back or died before him;
but as this was impossible, she dispatched Men
and Horses every where she could think of, to
each of whom she gave little Billets, beseeching
him by all he ever did or could love, to return to
her, and not make them both miserable by a
foolish Punctilio, which the Sense of the Injuries
he had sustained alone had put into his Head.

The Servants knowing their Mistress’s Attachment,
and besides having a very great Respect
for Leolin, who had been always extremely
affable and liberal to them, spared no Pains to
execute their Commission.

But all their Endeavours were fruitless; Leolin
doubtless suspecting what would be the Consequence
of his Letter, and obstinate in his Resolution,lution, Aa3v 176
to suffer any thing rather than be under
the least Obligation even to the Woman he
loved, passed through such Bye-ways as eluded
all their Search.

He came up London, where having furnished
himself with all Things necessary for a
Campaign, he went a Voluntier into the Army.
—The little Regard he had for Life, joined to
his natural Impetuosity, hurried him into the
thickest Dangers, and he fell among many other
gallant Men at the Battle of Dettingen.

An old Officer, who had been an Acquaintance
of his Father’s, saw and knew him on his
first coming into the Camp, and having heard
the Story of his Misfortunes, offered him all the
Services in his Power; but Leolin rejected every
thing that might afford him any Advantage, and
continued determined to the last to be obliged
to none but himself.

It was this Gentleman who, on the Account
of his great Age, and many Wounds, returning
to England after the Campaign was over, brought
the Account of him, who else perhaps might till
this Moment have been vainly sought by the disconsolate

So anxious, so unhappy had she been from the
Time of his Departure, that to hear he was no
more could scarce add to it.—The News, however,
encouraged several Gentlemen to make their Addresses Aa4r 177
Addresses to her, which while he was living, in
any Circumstances, they knew would have been
in vain; but they found his Death of no Service
to their Suite:—His Memory was still a Rival,
which all their Efforts were too weak to surmount;
—to that she assures them she is wedded, and to
that will to her last Breath continue constant.

What now can we say of this Leolin, but
that he was an honest, brave and worthy Man?—
Can we help admiring him at the same time that
we condemn him!—And had not that unhappy
Obstinancy, to which he fell a Martyr, wounded at
the same time the Breast of the generous, the
sweet Elmira, should we not have greatly compassionated
a Foible, which, if we examine to the
Bottom, we shall find had its Rise from a Virtue
in Excess!

The Love of Freedom and Independency, it
seems, was his darling Propensity; and tho’ he
had nothing in reality to fear from the Excellence
of Elmira’s Nature, yet to know himself
obliged, and that there was even a Possibility for
her some time or other to think he was so, had
somewhat in it which the Greatness of his Spirit
could not submit to bear.—I am apt to believe,
that had she been reduced in the manner he was,
and he been possessed of as many Millions as he
was born to Thousands, he would with the utmost
Pleasure have thrown them at her Feet, and
found his greatest Felicity in her Acceptance.

Such Aa4v 178

Such a Man must certainly have made a very
great Figure in the Senate, had he ever arrived
at being a Member of it; and for the Good of
my Country, I sincerely wish there were five hundred
of the same Way of Thinking:—What in
private Life was his greatest Misfortune, would
in a public one have rendered him of the highest
Service to the present Age, and endeared his
Name to late Posterity.—No Caresses,—no
Pensions,—no Ribbands,—no Preferments would
have had any Influence over a Person of his
Principles:—Resolute to support the native
Freedom of an Englishman, he would have uttered
his Mind without Reserve; and the more had
been offered by a Court-Parasite for his Silence,
the more warmly had he spoke in the Cause of
Liberty.—Perhaps indeed he might have been
too bold, and for his particular Mortification have
occasioned the Habeas Corpus Act to be suspended;
but what of that! it might have hurt some
Individuals, but must have been of general Service,
and have opened the Eyes of those who,
more through Indolence and Luxury, than Corruption,
were made blind.

So far I blame him, in refusing a fine Woman
whom he loved, and who had an Estate
which would have put it in his Power to be of
Use to his Country, which, Heaven knows, and
he could not have been ignorant of, stands in need
of such Supports; but as he was very young,
and the Consideration of these Things had not
time to make the Impression it ought, I cannot but Bb1r 179
but pity him, and lament the Loss which the
Public have in a Friend so qualified to serve the
common Interest

All the Young and Gay of both Sexes who
are Advocates for the tender Passion, I know,
cannot find in their Hearts to forgive him.—
As to the Considerations I have mentioned, they
will have indeed but very little Weight with
them:—The Griefs of Elmira will be accounted
of infinite more Consequence, and he will be
looked upon as a Man of a savage and barbarous
Soul, who, to gratify his Pride, could forsake a
Lady that so truly loved, and had made him such
Condescentions. I grant that there was something
cruel in the Effects of his Behaviour to
her, yet I cannot help vindicating the Cause; and
I think I cannot do it more effectually, than by
setting a Character of quite opposite nature in
the same Point of Light with him.—White is
best illustrated by being near to Black; and the
rough Diamond, which at present appears of so
little Value, will rise in a more just Estimation
when placed near a common Pebble.

Cleophil is what the World calls a
fine Gentleman; he is tall, well made, has a gay
and lively Air, a good Fancy in Dress, dances to
Perfection, tells a thousand agreeable Stories, and
is very entertaining in Conversation.

Belliza, the only Daughter of a late
very eminent Tradesman in the City, was the Bb Object Bb1v 180
Object of his Flame; for tho’ he was the most
gallant Man imaginable among all the Ladies he
came in Company with, yet to this alone he
made his Addresses.—It is certain, indeed, that
nobody could condemn the Choice he made of
her; for besides the large Fortune it was expected
would be given her by her Father, she had 2000 l.
left by her Grandmother, which was entirely
at her own Disposal.—Her Wealth, however,
was the least Motive to that Envy with which
many young Gentlemen saw the favourable Reception
Chleophil was treated with by her. The
most detracting of her own Sex cannot but
allow her to have Beauty, Wit, Virtue, Good-
nature, and all the Accomplishments that can
attract both Love and Respect; and as for those
of the other, there are few that see, without feeling
for her somewhat more than bare Admiration.

Never was a more passionate Lover, to all
Appearance, than Cleophil; he seemed jealous
even of the Hours allowed for Repose, because
they deprived him of her Presence, and would
sometimes encroach on them by bringing Musicians
under her Window, to serenade her with
Songs either of his own composing, or which he
pretended were so.

She was extremely young, ignorant of the
Artifices and Inconstancy of Mankind, and as
the Person of this Adorer was agreeable to her,
readily believed all he said, and returned his Professionsfessions Bb2r 181
with the most tender and sincere ones on
her Part:—Nothing seemed wanting to complete
their mutual Felicity but her Father’s Consent,
whom she was too dutiful to disobey, and
could not yet obtain.

The old Gentleman had an Idea of Cleophil
very different from what his Daughter had entertained:
—He looked on him as a Man who had
too much Regard for Interest to be so much in
Love as he pretended:—He had a penetrating
Judgment, and easily discovered a great Fund of
Self-sufficiency; and that Arrogance and Hypocrisy
were hid beneath the specious Shew of Honour,
Generosity and Tenderness; but as he found
the young Belliza gave him the Preference to all
who had made Offers of the nature he did, he
would not suddenly thwart her Inclinations, but
only seemed to delay what indeed he was very unwilling
should ever come to pass:—He imagined
that by repeated Prolongations of giving any definitive
Answer, either the Patience of the Lover
would be worn out, or his Daughter find something
in him which might give her Cause to alter
her present favourable Opinion:—He wisely
considered that all Youth is headstrong, and
that whatever Bent it takes, Opposition only
serves to render it more obstinate and blind to
Conviction; and tho’ the Temper of Belliza, in
other Things, might render her an Exception to
this general Rule, yet he knew not how far she
might be transported by her Passion to act in a Bb2 different Bb2v 182
different manner from what any other Motive
could have excited her to do. He therefore
thought, by neither seeming to contradict nor approve
her Desires, to give her an Opportunity of
discovering herself, what would not perhaps have
gained the least Credit with her from any other

The indifferent Opinion he had of Cleophil,
and his Knowledge of Human-Nature, which can
seldom carry on a Course of Deceit for any long
time, without elapsing into something that betrays
itself, made him not doubt but this would
happen; as indeed it did, but by a way little foreseen,
or even apprehended by him.

He had at that Time two Ships of his own
at Sea very richly laden, the Return of which he
was daily expecting, when the melancholly News
arrived that the one was wrecked; and the other
taken by the Spaniards:—Several others also,
in which he had considerable Shares, met with
the same Fate, so that his Credit, as well as his
Spirits, was very much sunk:—Bills came thick
upon him, and he soon became unable to discharge
them, a Shock which in the whole Course of his
Dealing he had never known before! Belliza, in
this Exigence, entreated him to accept of her
2000 l. but he refused it, telling her he knew not
but his other Ventures Abroad might be as unsuccessful
as the last had been, and if so, the Sum
she was the Mistress of would be incapable of doing him Bb3r 183
him any real Service, and it would add to his
Misfortune, to think that for a short Respite for
himself he had involved her in Ruin with him.

This did not satisfy the dutiful and tenderly
affectionate Belliza; she continued to press him
with the utmost Ardency not to reject her Suit,
till he at last assured her that the Demands on
him were so large and numerous, that less than
4000 l. would not preserve his Credit till the
Time in which he might reasonably hope to hear
from Hamburgh, Turky, and some other Places
where he traffick’d.—She then proposed to break
the Matter to Cleophil, who she knew had a considerable
Sum in the Bank, and doubted not but
he would be glad of such an Opportunity to shew
the Love and Respect he had for their Family.

The Father coolly answered, that she might
do as she thought proper, and that if the young
Gentleman obliged him in this Point, he should
take all the Care he could not to let him be a

It was not that he imagined his Daughter
would have any Success in this Negotiation that
he permitted her to attempt it; but because he
was willing she should put a Friendship she had
so much Confidence in to the Test.

Having obtained his Permission, she sent
immediately for her Lover, and in a few Words
related to him the present Occasion there was for her Bb3v 184
her Father to be supplied with so much ready
Cash, and then added, that as she was in Possession
of no more than half the Sum required, she did
not doubt but he would lay down the other Part.

As she had no Anxiety in making this Request,
because assured in her own Mind of its
being granted, she never thought of examining
his Countenance while she was speaking; which
if she had, it would have been easy for her to
perceive the Change that was in it.—All the
Rapture with which he flew to receive her Commands
was now no more, and in its Place was
substituted an Air of Distance mixed with Surprize.
—When she had done speaking, he told
her he was extremely sorry for her Father’s Misfortunes,
but doubted not, as he was a Man very
much beloved among the Persons he dealt with,
they would have Patience with him till he could
hear from Abroad, and would advise him rather
to make Trial of their Good-Nature, than put
himself to any Straits for the Money to pay them

How, Cleophil! cried she, quite thunderstruck
to hear him speak in this manner, do you call it
Straits to make use for a short time of what his
own Daughter, and a Person who has pretended
he wishes nothing more than to be his Son, have
it in their Power to furnish him with!—Sure he
has a Right to demand all we can do to serve

No Bb4r 185

No Doubt he has, Madam, answered he, still
more reserved, and I should rejoice in any Opportunity
to oblige him, but I am under an unfortunate
Engagement never to lend Money on any
Account whatever:—My Father at his Death
exacted an Oath from me, which there is no
Possibility of my dispensing with, nor do I believe
you would desire it of me.

No, Cleophil, resumed she, almost bursting
with inward Rage and Grief, you never shall be
perjured at my Request:—Too much already
you are so in the false Vows you have made of
disinterested and inviolable Love.

He made some faint Efforts to convince her
of the Sincerity of his Passion; but she easily
saw they were but Words of course, and such
as no Man could well avoid speaking to a Woman
he had ever pretended to love, and therefore
replied to them accordingly.

As he found now there was no Probability of
her being Mistress of that Fortune, which as it
proved was the chief Motive of his Addresses,
he was not at all concerned that his Excuses had
no greater Effect upon her, and tho’ when she
told him she was ashamed to remember that she
ever had any Confidence in him, or Regard for
him, he replied, that when she ceased to think
well of him, he should be the most miserable of
Mankind; yet his Eyes and the Accent of his
Voice so little corresponded with his Words, that what Bb4v 186
what he said seemed rather meant in Irony than

In fine, they entirely broke off:—She
obliged him to take back all the Presents he had
made her, and the Letters she had received from
him, and desired he would return those she had
sent to him as soon as possible.—At parting, to
preserve the fine Gentleman, as he thought, he
affected an Infinity of Grief, which, as she easily
saw through, she but the more despised him for,
and for his sake almost the whole Sex.

Now will I appeal to those who have been the
least willing to excuse the Behaviour of my Welsh
Hero, if the Character of Leolin is not amiable
when compared with that of Cleophil.—Belliza
indeed was less unhappy than Elmira, because
the Meanness of Soul which she discovered in her
Lover, gave an immediate Cure to the Inclination
she had for his Person; whereas the true
Greatness of Leolin’s way of thinking preserved
a lasting Tenderness in his Mistress, which made
her partake in all his Sufferings, and even continue
devoted to his Memory when himself was
no more.—But to return:—

When the Father of Belliza thought his Affairs
most desperate, and there seemed not the least
Probability of his being able to retrieve himself,
Heaven by an unexpected way sent him Relief.
—A Brother of his, who had lived a long time
in the East-Indies, and by his honest Industry and Frugality Cc1r 187
Frugality acquired a large Fortune, died without
Issue, and left him the sole Heir of all his Wealth.
—The News arrived just as a Statute of Bankrupcy
was about to be taken out against him,
which, according to the Custom of the World,
made a great Change.—He might now command
what Sums he pleased;—nobody was in
haste to have their Bills discharged:—all, like
Timon’s Friends in the Play, endeavoured to gloss
over the Errors of their former Treatment of
him, and nothing was omitted to regain that
Good-will from him they had but too justly deserved
to lose for ever.

Cleophil, above all, cursed his ill Stars:
—What would he not now have done to reinstate
himself in Belliza’s Favour? Belliza, now a
greater Fortune than ever, was more than ever
adored by him.—He wrote;—he prevailed on
several that visited her to speak in his behalf;—
he pretended to fall sick on her Account;—
ordered it to be given out that he had many
times since their Quarrel attempted to destroy
himself;—tried every Stratagem;—employed
every Artifice, but all alike in vain:—The
Contempt she had for him increased by the
Means he took to lessen it, and by much exceeded
all the Inclination she ever had for him while she
believed he merited it:—She blessed the Misfortunes
which had shewn him to her in his proper
Colours, and made a firm Resolution never
more to suffer herself to give Credit to the ProfessionsCc fessions Cc1v 188
of any Man, till her Father should have
made a sufficient Scrutiny into his Character and
Humour, to be able to judge of their Sincerity.

She found the happy Effects of the prudent
Reserve with which she now behaved to all Mankind.
—She was in a short time addressed by a
young Gentleman much superior in Birth, Fortune,
and good Sense to Cleophil, and had as great
a Share of real Affection for her as that unworthy
Lover had pretended.—Her Father approved
highly of him for a Son, and she could not refuse
her Heart to so accomplished a Person, after
being told, by him whose Judgment she was
determined to rely upon, that she could not err
in doing so.

They have been married somewhat more
than a Year, in which Time he has made her
Mother of a fine Son, who is the only Rival
either of them has in the Tenderness of the
other.—The old Gentleman has received all the
Effects he expected from Abroad:—They all
live together in the most perfect Harmony;
and the short Anxiety of Mind they had endured on
the Score of his Losses, serves only to give their
present Happiness a higher Relish.

The Story of this Family, and many other
such like Instances which daily happen in the
World, methinks, should make whatever Misfortunes
we may labour under for the present sit more Cc2r 189
more easy on us, in the Hope that while the Play
of Life continues we have yet a Chance for better

I have somewhere read of an antient Philosopher,
who, whenever any very ill Accident
befel him, made Invitations to his Friends, entertained
them in the most chearful Manner, and
appeared extremely happy in his Mind.—And,
on the contrary, on the Arrival of any thing for
which other People expect Congratulations, he
shut himself up in his Chamber, fasted, wept,
and in his whole Deportment had all the Tokens
of a Person under some inconsolable Affliction.
On being asked the Reason of a Behaviour so
contradictory to that of all Mankind besides, he
replied, “Those who wonder to see me merry in
Adversity, and sad in a more prosperous Condition,
do not consider what Fortune is, or do not rightly
understand the Nature of that fickle Deity.—Is
she not ever fleeting,—ever changing, and generally
from one Extreme to the other?—How
then, when any Good befals me, can I avoid being
under the most terrible Apprehensions that an adequate
Evil will immediately ensue?—And when
any Mischief has happened to me, have not I Reason
to rejoice in the Expectation that the same
Proportion of Happiness is at Hand?”

The Humour of this Philosopher was very
extraordinary indeed, and one may justly say he
strained the Point beyond what it will well bear; Cc2 yet Cc2v 190
yet upon the whole there is somewhat of Reason
in it, according to Mr. Dryden, “Good unexpected, Evil unforeseen,Appear by Turns as Fortune shifts the Scene.”

But not to have Recourse to Caprice or Fiction
to enable us to support the Calamities which
Heaven sometimes inflicts on us; we ought to
consider, that by well-bearing them we have the
better Claim to hope an Alternative in our Favour.
A desponding Temper is, of all others,
the least pleasing both to God and man; its shews
a Diffidence in the one, and to the other a Want
of that Complaisance which is due from us to

Can any thing; if we consider rightly, be
more rude than to disturb the Chearfulness of
whatever Conversation we come into, with the
melancholly Detail of our private Misfortunes?
—They are our own, and ours alone, and a Man
ought no more to wish to infect others with his
Griefs than with his Diseases.

Those who imagine they find Ease in complaining
are of a very mean and selfish Disposition.
—A great Spirit is almost as much ashamed
of Pity as of Contempt; and a generous one
will never endure to excite that Sorrow from
which Pity naturally flows.

Indeed Cc3r 191

Indeed, where Proximity of Blood, or the
more binding Ties of Friendship afford a reasonable
Expectation of Relief in any Exigence of
Fortune, it would be a foolish Pride to withhold
the Knowledge of it, and what they might
justly suspect was owing to a Want of that Confidence
which is the only Cement of a true Affection,
and also betrays somewhat of a Despondency,
which it is much better to try every thing,
depend on every thing, and even cheat ourselves
into a Belief of Impossibilities, rather than give
way to.

Foreigners will have it, that there is somewhat
in our Climate which renders this unhappy
Propensity more natural to us than to any other
Nation; and I believe the frequent Changes in
the Weather, and a certain Heaviness in the Air
at some Seasons of the Year, may indeed contribute
greatly to it; but I fear there may also be
other Causes assigned, which it lies solely in ourselves
to remove, and which, if we do not speedily
do, the Reflections made upon us Abroad
will carry a severer Sting than we are yet aware

Our Climate, I suppose, is the same it ever
was:――Our Hemisphere is no more clouded
with Vapours:—Our Winds no more variable
than some Ages past:—Yet I challenge any of
the foreign ones to produce half the Number
of sad Examples of Despondency that these latter
ones have done.

Let Cc3v 192

Let us not therefore lay the whole Blame
of those unhappy Actions we daily hear of, on
elementary Causes, nor depreciate a Climate which
has, and, I hope, again may be productive of the
brightest Genius’s, and bravest Spirits that ever
any Country had to boast of.—It is not the ill
Aspect of the Stars, nor the unkindly Influence
of the Moon has wrought this Effect on us, but
our falling off from the Virtues of our Ancestors:
—The Change is in ourselves;—and
while all seem eager to undo, or be undone, it is
not to be wondered at that the Horrors of conscious
Guilt on the one Hand, and the Contempt
and Miseries of Poverty on the other, should
hurry many of us to Deeds of Desperation.

The fatal Source of all the Calamities we labour
under is an Indulgence of those destructive
Passions, which in their Beginnings might
be easily rooted out; but once suffered to get
Head, not all our Resolution will have Power to
subdue.—Avarice, Ambition, Luxury and Pride
are the very Tyrants of the Mind, they act without
Council, are above all Restraint, and having
once deposed Reason from her Throne, render
her even subservient to their basest Aims.

How then can those who have the Care of
Youth answer to themselves the Neglect of so
material a Point, as not inculcating early into them
an Abhorrence of these destructive Vices?—
This is a Duty which principally belongs to Parents,
but when other no less indispensable Avocationscations Cc4r 193
deny them Leisure for discharging it.—
Sickness or old Age renders them unable, or Indolence
unwilling, to do it; the least they can do is
to chuse Persons properly qualified for this mighty

Few People of Condition, indeed, but take
care that those they set over their Children shall
be such as are capable of instructing them in all
the modish Accomplishments of Life; but however
necessary that may be towards procuring
them a Character of good Breeding, it ought not
to come in Competition with that of good Reputation.
Governors and Governesses, therefore,
should not so much be chose for their Skill in
Languages,—for Fencing,—Dancing,—Playing
on Music, or having a perfect Knowledge
of the Beau-Monde, as for their Sobriety, Morality
and good Conduct.—Their Example ought
to be such as should enforce their Precepts, and
by shewing the Beauty of a regular Life in themselves,
make their Pupils fall in Love with it,
and endeavour an Imitation.

It were almost as well, if not entirely so, to
leave a young Gentleman to his own Management,
as to put him under the Care of one who,
to endear himself to him, shall flatter his Vices,
because it is giving him a Sanction, as it were, for
all the Irregularities he may take it in his Head
to commit.—Too many Instances of this may
be found among those who are at an infinite Expence
in travelling for Improvement, yet bring Home Cc4v 194
Home little besides the worst Part of the Nations
where they have been.

Would People of Fashion but give themselves
Time to reflect how great an Ascendant
the very Name of Governor has over their Children,
they would certainly be more cautious on
whom they conferred it. Methinks the Story of
the young rich Mercator, yet recent in every
one’s Memory, should be a Warning not only to
the Friends, but even to every Gentleman himself
who is going to travel, to be well acquainted
with the Character and Principles of
him who is to attend him in the above-mentioned

He was the only Son of a wealthy foreign
Merchant, who losing both his Parents while he
was yet an Infant, he was left to the Guardianship
of two Persons, of whose Integrity his Father had
many Proofs.――Nor had the young Mercator
any Reason to complain of their deceiving the
Trust reposed in them.

They used him with the same Tenderness
they could have done had he been their own Son:
—They put him to the best Schools:—They
saw that the Masters did their Duty by him;
and when he had finished all that a Home-Education
could bestow, they thought fit to send him
for his greater Improvement to make the Tour
of Europe.

The Dd1r 195

The only Care they now had upon their
Hands, was to find a Person whose Abilities for
a Governor were well attested.—It is certain
they spared no Pains for that Purpose, and were
at last recommended to one who had all the Appearance
of a sober Gentleman,—had travelled
before in that Capacity, and was well acquainted
both with the Languages and Customs of those
Places which they intended their young Charge
should see.

It gave them a very great Satisfaction to
imagine they had found one who so well answered
their Desires; but Mercator much more,
to be under the Direction of a Person who he
was well convinced would not be severe on his
Pleasures. This young Gentleman was of an
amorous Constitution, and had contracted an Intimacy
with a Woman, who tho’ far from being
handsome in her Person, and of a Character the
most infamous that could be, he was nevertheless
fond on to a very great degree. He had happened
to be in Company with the Person who was afterwards
made Choice of for his Governor, at the
Lodgings of this Prostitute, and some others of
the same Profession, and when he saw him with
his Guardians, tho’ he had now assumed a very
different Air, well remembered he was the same
with whom he had passed more than one Night
in Rioting and Debauchery.

In fine, they soon came to a perfect Understanding
of each other; and when the Time Dd arrived Dd1v 196
arrived for their Departure, the complaisant Governor
was far from opposing his Pupil’s taking
this Fille de Joy with him.

Paris was the first Place at which they
stayed at any time; and our young Traveller was
so taken up with the Gaieties he found there,
that he was in no Haste to quit it, which his Governor
perceiving thought fit to humour him in,
and accordingly they took a fine Hotel, lived in
the most voluptuous manner, and Marian, for so
I shall call the Partner of the looser Pleasures of
the unhappy Mercator, shared with them in all
the wild Frolics they were continually inventing
for the passing away those Hours, which the careful
Guardians at Home flattered themselves were
employed in a far different way.

After having wasted near a Year in this
manner, Mercator was taken suddenly sick; whether
the Disease he laboured under was brought
on him by his Excesses, or by any other more secret
Cause, I will not take upon me to determine,
nor do I hear of nay one that can be more positive;
but this is certain, that his Disorder lay
greatly in his Head, and he was often very delirious.

It is to be supposed that in one of these Fits
it was that the Governor wrought on him to send
for a Priest and a Notary-Public at the same time;
the one married him to Marian, and the other
drew up a Testament, in which he bequeathed that Dd2r 197
that Woman, by the Name and Title of his
Wife, the Sum of 60,000 l. and 40,000 l. which
was the whole Remainder of his Fortune, to his
dear Friend and Governor, as a Recompence for
the great Care he had taken both of his Soul
and Body.

These were the Words of the Will, which
being signed, sealed, and in all Points duly executed
in the Presence of several Witnesses, the
Testator, as having no more to do with Life, or
those he was among having no more for him to
do, expired, as I have been told, in the most intolerable

Marian, in those altered Circumstances,
soon after returned to England with him who
shared in poor Mercator’s Fortune, and whom
she married the Moment the Decency she now
affected in her new Grandeur would permit.

The Guardians, and other Friends of the
deceased Gentleman, made all imaginable Enquiry
into this Business, but could only receive
dark Hints, and such Conjectures as were not
sufficient to commence a Process upon: But with
what Vexation they see this wicked Pair roll in
their Coach and Six, and triumph in their Guilt,
any one may imagine.

It will not be expected I should comment on
this Action, because I have already said the Truth
of the Particulars is yet hid in Darkness: What Dd2 Time Dd2v 198
Time may produce I know not, but at present
every one is at Liberty to judge as they think
most agreeable to the nature of the Thing. All
I propose by relating it, is to remind all those
who have any young Gentlemen to send Abroad,
that they cannot be too scrutinous into the Principles
of the Persons entrusted with the Direction
of them.

End of the Third Book.


Female Spectator.

Book IV.

How glorious a Privilege has Man
beyond all other sublunary Beings!
who, tho’ indigent, unpitied, forsaken
by the World, and even
chain’d in a Dungeon, can, by the
Aid of Divine Contemplation, enjoy all the
Charms of Pomp, Respect, and Liberty!—
Transport himself in Idea to whatever Place he
wishes, and grasp in Theory imagin’d Empires!

Unaccountable is it, therefore, that so
many People find an Irksomeness in being alone,
tho’ for never so small a Space of Time!—Guilt
indeed creates Perturbations, which may well
make Retirement horrible, and drive the selftormented
Wretch into any Company to avoid Ee the Ee1v 200
the Agonies of Remorse; but I speak not of
those who are afraid to reflect, but of those who
seem to me not to have the Power to do it.

There are several of my Acquaintance of
both Sexes, who lead Lives perfectly inoffensive,
and when in Company appear to have a Fund
of Vivacity capable of enlivening all the Conversation
they come into; yet if you happen to
meet them after half an Hour’s Solitude, are for
some Minutes the most heavy lumpish Creatures
upon Earth: Ask them if they are indispos’d?
they will drawl out—“No, they are well enough”.—
If any Misfortune has befallen them? still they
answer—“No”, in the same stupid Tone as before,
and look like Things inanimate till something is
said or done to reinspire them.—One would imagine
they were but half awoke from a deep Sleep,
and indeed their Minds, during this Lethargy,
may be said to have been in a more inactive State
than even that of Sleep, for they have not so
much as dream’d; but I think they may justly
enough be compar’d to Clock-work, which has
Power to do nothing of itself till wound up by

Whatever Opinion the World may have
of the Wit of Persons of this Cast, I cannot help
thinking there is a Vacuum in the Mind;—that
they have no Ideas of their own, and only
through Custom and a genteel Education are
enabled to talk agreeably on those of other People.
—A real fine Genius can never want Matter to Ee2r 201
to entertain itself, and tho’ on the Top of a
Mountain without Society, and without Books,
or any exterior Means of Employment, will always
find that within which will keep it from being
idle: Memory and Recollection will bring
the Transactions of past Times to View;—Observation
and Discernment point out the present
with their Causes; and Fancy, temper’d with
Judgment, anticipate the future.—This Power of
Contemplation and Reflection it is that chiefly
distinguishes the Human from the Brute Creation,
and proves that we have Souls which are in reality
Sparks of that Divine, Omniscient, Omnipresent
Being whence we all boast to be deriv’d.

The Pleasures which an agreeable Society bestows
are indeed the most elegant we can taste;
but even that Company we like best would grow
insipid and tiresome were we to be for ever in it;
and to a Person who knows how to think justly,
it would certainly be as great a Mortification
never to be alone, as to be always so.

Conversation, in effect, but furnishes
Matter for Contemplation;—it exhilerates the
Mind, and fits it for Reflection afterward:—
Every new thing we hear in Company raises in us
new Ideas in the Closet or on the Pillow; and as
there are few People but one may gather something
from, either to divert or improve, a good
Understanding will, like the industrious Bee,
suck out the various Sweets, and digest them in
Retirement. But those who are perpetually hurryingrying Ee2v 202
from one Company to another, and never
suffer themselves to be alone but when weary Nature
summonses them to Repose, will be little
amended, tho’ the Maxims of a Seneca were to
be deliver’d to them in all the enchanting Eloquence
of a Tully.

But not to be more improved, is not the
worst Mischief that attends an immoderate Aversion
to Solitude.—People of this Humour, rather
than be alone, fly into all Company indiscriminately,
aund sometimes fall into such as they
have Reason to repent their whole Lives of having
ever seen; for tho’ they may not possibly reap
any Advantage from the Good, their Reputations
must certainly, and perhaps their Morals and
Fortunes too, will suffer very much from the Bad;
and where we do not give ourselves Leisure to
chuse, it is rarely we happen on the former, as
they being infinitely the smaller Number, and
also less easy of Access to those whose Characters
they are unacquainted with.

Many young Persons of both Sexes owe
their Ruin to this one unfortunate Propensity of
loving to be always in Company; and it is the
more dangerous, as nobody takes any Pains to
conquer it in themselves, but on the contrary are
apt to mistake it for a laudable Inclination, and
look on those who preach up the Happiness of a
more retir’d Life, as phlegmatic and vaporish.—
I doubt not but I shall pass for such in the Opinion
of many of my Readers, who are too volatile to consider Ee3r 203
consider that it is not a sullen, cynical, total avoiding
of Society that I recommend, but a proper
Love of Solitude at some Times, to enable us to
relish with more Pleasure, as well as to be essentially
the better for Conversation at others, and also
to select such for our Companions as may be
likely to answer both these Ends.

Nor is it only where there is a Difference of Sex
that I think Youth ought to be upon its Guard:
—The Dangers in that Case are too universally
allowed to stand in need of any Remonstrances,
and yet perhaps are not greater than others which
both may happen to fall into among those of
their own.—Are not almost all the Extravagancies
Parents with so much Grief behold their Children
guilty of, owing to ill-chosen Company?—
Great is the Privilege of Example, and some are
so weak as to think they must do as they see
others do.—The Fear of being laughed at has
made many a young Gentleman run into Vices
to which his Inclination was at first averse; but,
alas! by Habitude become more pleasing to him:
He has in his Turn too play’d the Tempter’s Part,
and made it his Glory to seduce others as himself
had been seduced.—It is this Love of Company,
more than the Diversions mentioned in
the Bills, that makes our Ladies run galloping in
Troops every Evening to Masquerades, Balls, and
Assemblies in Winter, and in the Summer to Vaux-
, Ranelagh, Cuper’s-Gardens, Mary le Bon,
Sadler’s-Wells, both old and new, Goodman’s-
, and twenty other such like Places, which, in Ee3v 204
in this Age of Luxury, serve as Decoys to draw
the Thoughtless and Unwary together, and, as it
were, prepare the Way for other more vicious
Excesses: For there are, and of Condition too,
not a few (as I am informed by the Gnomes who
preside over Midnight Revels) that, going with
no other Intention than to partake what seems an
innocent Recreation, are prevail’d upon by the
Love of Company either to remain in these
Houses, or adjourn to some other Place of Entertainment
till the sweet Harbinger of Day,
Aurora, wakes, and blushes to behold the Order
of Nature thus perverted; nor then perhaps
would separate, did not wearied Limbs, heavy
languid Eyes, and dirty Linnen remind them of
repairing to their respective Habitation, where
having lain a while, they rise, they dress, and go
again in quest of new Company and new Amusements.

Heaven forbid, and I am far from suggesting
that to run such Lengths as these should
be common to all who hate Retirement and Reflection:
Fortune is sometimes kinder than our
Endeavours merit, and by not throwing any
Temptations in our way, renders our Carelesness
of no worse Consequence than being deprived of
those solid Pleasures which flow from a Consciousness
of having behaved according to the
Dictates of Honour and Reason.

But suppose we make some Allowances to a
few of the very Young and Gay, especially the Beautiful Ff1r 205
Beautiful and High-born, who, by a mistaken
Fondness in their Parents, from the Moment
they were capable of understanding what was
said to them, heard nothing but Flattery, and are
made to believe they came into the World for
no other Purpose than to be adored and indulged,
what can we say for those who had a different
Education, and are of riper Years?—How
little Excuse is there for a gadding Matron, or
for a Woman who ought to have the Care of a
House and a Family at Heart!—How odd a Figure
does the Mother of five or six Children
make at one of these nocturnal Rambles; and
how ridiculous is it for a Person in any Trade or
Avocation, to be, or affect to be, above the
Thought of all Œconomy, and make one in
every Party of Pleasure that presents itself?—
Yet such as these are no Prodigies.—All kinds
of Regulation and Management require some
small Reflection and Recess from Company, and
these are two Things so terrible to some People,
that they will rather suffer every thing to be
ruined than endure the Fatigue of Thought.

A young Widow of my Acquaintance,
rich, beautiful and gay, had scarce sully’d the
Blackness of her Weeds, before she ventur’d to
take for a second Husband a Man, who, had she
once consider’d on what she was about to do, she
would have found had no one Quality that could
promise her any Felicity with him.—He had
not been married a Month before he loaded her
with the most gross Abuse, turned her innocent Ff Babes Ff1v 206
Babes out of Doors, and affronted all her Friends
who came to reason with him on the Injustice and
Cruelty of his Behaviour.—The unadvised Step
she had taken indeed but little merited Compassion
for the Event, but the Sweetness of Disposition
with which she had always treated all who
knew her, render’d it impossible not to have a
Fellow-feeling of the Calamities she labour’d under.
A particular Friend of her’s, however, took
one Day the Liberty of asking how she could
throw away herself on a Person so every way
undeserving of her? To which she made this
short, but sincere Reply:—“Ah!” said she, “it is a
sad thing to live alone.”
To this the other might
have returned, that she could not be said to be
alone who had a Mother to advise, and three
sweet Children to divert her most melancholly
Hours; but this would have been only adding
to her Affliction, and her Condition being now
irremidable required Consolation.

Perhaps the reading this short Detail of
the Misfortune her Inadvertency had brought
upon her, may give her some Palpitations which
I should be sorry to occasion; but as she is a
much-lamented Instance of the Danger to which
any one may be subjected through want of a due
Reflection, I could not forbear mentioning it as a
Warning to others.

When this immoderate Desire of Company
remains in Persons of an advanced Age, tho’ it
threatens less Mischief, is more ridiculous than in the Ff2r 207
the younger sort. I know a Lady, who, by her
own Confession, is no less than sixty-five, yet in
all that long Length of Time has treasured up
nothing in her Mind wherewith she can entertain
herself two Minutes.—She has been a Widow
for several Years, has a Jointure sufficient to
support a handsome Equipage, is without Children,
or any other Incumbrance, and might live
as much respected by the World as she is really
contemned, could she prevail on herself to reflect
what sort of Behaviour would be most becoming
in a Woman of her Age and Circumstances.

But instead of living in a regular decent
manner, she roams from Place to Place,—hires
Lodgings at three or four different Houses at the
same time, lies one Night at St. James’s another
at Covent-Garden, a third perhaps at Westminster,
and a fourth in the City:—Nor does she
look on this as a sufficient Variety:—She has at
this Moment Apartments at Richmond,—Hammersmith,
Kensington and Chelsea, each of which
she visits two or three times at least every
Month, so that her Time is pass’d in a continual
Whirl from one Home to another, if any can be
justly called so; but it seems as if she had an
Aversion to the very Name, for the Rooms she
pays for, she dwells in the least; seldom eats in
any of them, and forces herself as it were into
those of other People, where she sends in a Stock
of Provision sufficient for the whole Family,
in order to purchase for herself a Welcome.
But as People of any Figure in the World would Ff2 not Ff2v 208
not accept of such Favours, and those of good
Sense not endure to be depriv’d of the Privilege
of thinking their own Thoughts and entertaining
their own Friends, it can be only the
extremely Necessitous, or those who have as little
in their Heads as herself, that will submit to
have their Lodgings and Time taken up in this

Poor Woman! How does she lavish away a
handsome Income?—How forfeit all Pretensions
to good Understanding and good Breeding,
merely for the sake of being permitted to
talk as much as she pleases without Contradiction,
and being never alone but when asleep.—
I have been told by those who are to be depended
upon, that the Moment she is out of
Bed, she runs with her Stays and Petticoats into
the next Neighbour’s Chamber, not being able
to live without Company even till she is dress’d.

There are People so uncharitable, as to believe
some latent Crime hangs heavy on the
Minds of all those who take so much Pains to
avoid being alone; but I am far from being of
that Number:—It is my Opinion that neither
this old Rattle I have mentioned, nor many
others who act in the same manner, ever did a
real Hurt to any one.—Those who are incapable
of Thinking, are certainly incapable of any premeditated
Mischief; and, as I have already said,
seem to me a Set of Insensibles, who never act
of themselves, but are acted upon by others.

Before Ff3r 209

Before one passes so cruel a Censure, one
should therefore examine, I mean not the Lives
and Characters, for they may deceive us, but at
what Point of Time this Aversion to Solitude
commenced:—If from Childhood, and so continued
even to the extremest old Age, it can proceed
only from a Weakness in the Mind, and is
deserving our Compassion; but if from taking
that Satisfaction in Contemplation and Retirement,
which every reasonable Soul finds in it,
one sees a Person has turned to the reverse,—
starts even while in Company at the bare mention
of quitting it, and flies Solitude as a House
on Fire, one may very well suspect some secret
Crime has wrought so great a Transition, and
that any Conversation, tho’ the most insipid and
worthless, seems preferable to that which the
guilty Breast can furnish to itself.

I am well aware that there is another Motive
besides either a Want of Power to think, or
a Consciousness of having done what renders
Thought a Pain, that induces many People to
avoid being alone as much as possible; and that is,
when the Mind is oppress’d with any very severe
Affliction.—To be able to reflect on our Misfortunes,
goes a great way towards bearing them
with that Fortitude which is becoming the Dignity
of human Nature; but all have not Courage
to do it, and those who have not would
sink beneath the Weight of Grief, were they to
indulge the Memory of what occasion’d it.

This Ff3v 210

This I am sensible is the Case of many who
pass for Persons of very good Understanding,
and the Excuse is allowed by the Generality of
the World as a reasonable one; but yet I must
beg their Pardon when I say, that whatsoever
Share of fine Sense they may shew in other
Things, they betray a very great Deficiency in
this:—The Relaxation which Noise and Hurry
may afford is but short-liv’d, and are so far from
removing that Burthen which the Spirit labours
under, that they afterward make it felt with double

Some are so madly stupid as to attempt to
lose the Thoughts of one Evil by running into
others of perhaps worse Consequence,—I mean
that of Drinking, and some other Excesses
equally pernicious both to Fortune and Constitution;
but how false a Relief this gives I need only
appeal to those who have made the Trial.

Would such People be prevail’d upon to
make a little Reflection before it is too late, they
would certainly have Recourse to more solid
Consolations:—Would not the Works of some
of our celebrated Poets divert a melancholly
Hour much more than all the Rhodomontades
of a vague idle Conversation!—Would not the
Precepts of Philosophy, of which so many excellent
Treatises have been wrote, give them more
true Courage than all the Bottle can inspire!—
And above all, would not the Duties of an entire
Submission and Resignation to the Almighty Disposer Ff4r 211
Disposer of all Things, so often and so strenuously
recommended, be infinitely more efficacious
to quiet all Perturbations of the Mind than any
vain Amusements of what kind soever!

It is not that I would perswade any one to a
continual poreing over Books, too much Reading,
tho’ of the best Authors, is apt to dull the
Spirits, and destroy that Attention which alone
can render this Employment profitable.—A few
good Maxims, well digested by Reflection, dwell
upon the Memory, and are not only a Remedy
for present Ills, but also a kind of Antidote
against any future ones that Fate may have in

But it may be said that this Advice can only
be complied with by Persons of Condition; and
as for the meaner Part, it cannot be imagined
that they have either Time or Capacities to enable
them to square themselves by such Rules:—
This indeed must be allowed; but then it must
also be allowed, that they can the least afford to
waste what Time the have in such fruitless Attempts
as they generally make use of for forgetting
their Cares; and as to their Capacities, we are
to suppose that every one understands the Trade
or Business to which he has been bred, and in my
Opinion, nothing is more plain than that an industrious
Application to that would be his best Relief
for any Vexation he is involved in, as well as
the surest Means of avoiding falling into others.

Upon Ff4v 212

Upon the whole, it denotes a Meanness of
Soul, not to be forgiven even in the lowest Rank
of People, much less in those of a more refined
Education, when to shun the Remembrance of
perhaps a trifling Affliction, they rush into Irregularities,
each of which their Reason might inform
them would be productive of greater Ills than
any they had yet to lament; and is so far from
affording any Relief, that it serves only to give
new Additions to their former Disquiets, according
to the Poet, justly describing this Fever of
the Mind, “Restless they toss, and turn about their feavorish
When all their Ease must come by lying still.”

But what can be more amazing, than that Persons,
who have no one thing on Earth to incommode
them, should not be able to take any Pleasure
in contemplating on the Tranquility of
their Situation!—Yet so it is: There are those in
the World, and in the great World too, who being
possessed of every thing they can wish, and
frequently much more than either they deserve
or could ever expect, seem altogether insensible
of the Benefits they receive from Heaven, or
any Obligations they may have to Man.—This,
methinks, is an Indolence of Nature which can
never be too much guarded against, because
whoever is guilty of it becomes ungrateful and
unjust without knowing he is so, and incurs the
Censure of all who are acquainted with him for Omissions Gg1r 213
Omissions which himself is wholly ignorant of,
and if he were not so, would perhaps be very far
from meriting.

The beautiful and noble Widow, who is so
good never to fail making one in our little Society,
was inclinable to impute this thoughtless
Behaviour in many People to the Negligence of
those who, having the Care of their Education,
did not inspire them with proper Notions of the
Necessity there is for every body to enter sometimes
into themselves: But we were all against
her in this Point, and she was easily convinced
that tho’ this was certainly a Duty incumbent on
all who had the Government of Youth, yet without
some Share of a natural Bent that way, no
Lessons would be effectual; and that where the
Spirits were too volatile, any Confinement, tho’
for never so short a Space of Time, would rather
mope than render them profitably serious.

But after all that has, or can be said, the
World is more inclinable to excuse this Defect
than any other I know of:—A Person who loves
to be always in Company, and accept of any sort
rather than be alone, is accounted a good-natur’d
harmless Creature; and tho’ it is impossible they
can be magnified for any extraordinary Virtues or
Qualifications, what they lose in Respect is for the
most Part made up with Love.—They have
rarely any Enemies, and the Reason is plain, they
are generally merry, never contradict whatever is
said or done, nor refuse any thing that is asked of them: Gg Gg1v 214
them:—People of a middling Understanding
like their Conversation;—the most Weak are in
no Awe of them; and the Wisest will sometimes
suffer themselves to be diverted by them.—In
fine, every body is easy with them, and how easy
they are to themselves in all Events there are innumerable

Belinda is descended of a good Family
among the Gentry;—agreeable without being
a Beauty, and has somewhat of a Sparkle in her
Conversation which with many People passes for
Wit; for as she never gives herself the Trouble
to think what she is about to say, but speaks all
that comes into her Head, some very smart
Things frequently fall from her, which being reported
afterwards in other Companies, serve, in
this undistinguishing Age, to establish her Character.
—She came very early into the great
World, and her Youth and a new Face were sufficient
to make her be taken notice of by Rinaldo,
as his Quality was to make her pleased and vain
of his Addresses; but that great Person looks
upon it as derogatory to his Dignity to attach
himself to any particular Mistress, so that the
Amour between them continued no longer than
just to say there had been one.

Some Women would have been inconsolable
to find themselves no sooner gained than abandoned;
their Pride, if not their Love, would have
made them regret the Loss of so illustrious an
Adorer; but Belinda was just the same laughing, rallying, Gg2r 215
rallying, romping Creature as before; she seem’d
no more affected by this Change, than she had
been at the Reproofs given to her by her Friends
on the first Rumour of her Intimacy with Rinaldo;
and Lavallie, a Man of no less Gallantry
and Inconstancy, succeeded to her Affection, (if
that kind of Liking, which serves only to amuse
an idle Hour, is worthy to be called so.)

EqualIly gay, inconsiderate, and regardless
of the Censure of the World, this Intrigue was
manag’d with so little Circumspection, that it
soon reached the Ears of Manella, the Wife of
Lavallie, a Lady infinitely fond of her Husband,
and so tenacious of the Rights of Love, that
even a tender Glance to any other Woman
seemed the most unpardonable Injury to her.—
But tho’ she had been enough accustomed to
Vexations of that kind, to have inur’d a Person
less vehement in her Passions to have borne them
with more Patience, and the little Advantage she
gained over him, by publishing all the Discoveries
she made of his Amours, might have made her
see that it would have been greater Prudence in
her to be silent; yet the Greatness of her Spirit
would not suffer her to sit tamely down under
the least Indignity offered to her Love or Beauty.
—She reproach’d him on the Score of Belinda
with a Bitterness, which perhaps to revenge he
persisted in his Intrigue with that Lady much
longer than his Inclination, without having been
thus provoked, would have prompted him to;
and the Rage she was in served (being reported Gg2 to Gg2v 216
to Belinda) to make that thoughtless Creature
triumph in the Power of her own Charms, and,
instead of giving her the least Share of Shame
or Remorse, afforded her Matter of Merriment
and Ridicule.

Manella finding all she could say to
her Husband was far from working the Effect
she desir’d, was resolv’d to fly to any Extremities
to break off the Intercourse between him and
this hated Rival:—She knew very well that Ri
had once a Liking to that young Lady,
and tho’ he seem’d at present entirely divested
of his former Inclinations, yet she imagin’d it
might pique him to be told that one he had honour’d
with his Addresses should condescend to
receive those of a Person so much his Inferior;
and therefore flattered herself that he would not
fail to lay his Commands on Lavallie to desist
his Visits to her, especially when he had so plausible
a Pretence for it as the Complaints of a

She therefore threw herself at his Feet, inform’d
him of every thing she had heard, and
with a Shower of Tears beseech’d him to exert
the Authority he had over her perfidious Husband
to oblige him to return to his first Vows,
and not entirely break the Heart of a Woman
who had married him more for Love than Interest,
and had never swerv’d even in Thought
from the Duties of her Place. The Gg3r 217
The noble Rinaldo easily saw into the thing,
but would not seem to do so; and would fain
have perswaded Manella there was no Foundation
for her Suspicions, but she was not to be so easily
put off—She renew’d her Intreaties;—she repeated
the Reasons which convinc’d her of the
Injustice done her, and became so importunate,
that he at last promised to speak to Lavallie to
be at least more circumspect in his Behaviour.

Whether this great Person thought any
farther on it is uncertain, but Chance and the Inadvertency
of the Parties concerned gave the
jealous Manella a sufficient Opportunity to vent
all her enraged Soul was full of on the Persons
who had wronged her.

She happen’d one Day to go to a Milliner’s
where she was accustom’d to buy some Trifles
belonging to her Dress, and finding the Mistress
of the House not in the Shop, ran directly up
Stairs where was kept a kind of Lace-Chamber.
—Tho’ she had been often there, and was perfectly
acquainted with the Room, by Accident
she pushed open the Door of another, which
being but just thrown too, without being lock’d,
easily gave her Admittance, and afforded a Prospect
she little expected;—her Husband and Belinda
in a Posture, such as might have assured her
of their Guilt had she not been so before.

Astonishment at finding them in that
Place for some Moments kept her silent, as Shame Gg3v 218
Shame and Vexation to be thus caught did them;
but the Milliner, who hearing she was come up
Stairs, and fearing the Consequence, came running
into the Room, and was beginning to make
some awkward Excuses,—such as crying to Lavallie
and Belinda, — “Good Heaven, how came you
here!—And you, Madam!”
to Manella;—“Bless
me! sure you have all mistaken the Apartments!
nobody ever comes into this Room but for”
for private Purposes, infamous Woman!”
Manella, in a Voice quite hoarse with Passion,
which rose with so much Vehemence in her
Throat, as to render what she said scarce intelligible,
—then flew at her, at Belinda, and her Husband,
railing, shrieking, scratching, and throwing
promiscuously the Patch, Powder-Boxes, and
every thing that stood upon the Toilette;—till
Lavallie, recover’d from the Confusion which
the Surprize of her first Entrance had thrown
him in, ran to her, held her Hands, and told her,
if she did not behave with more Moderation, he
would oblige her to it by worse Usage.

This Menace only served to give fresh Addition
to her Fury, and that increasing her Strength,
she broke from him, and flying to the Window,
where she perceiv’d he had laid his Sword, instantly
drew it, and made at Belinda with that
Precipitation, that it was as much as Lavalllie
could do to save his Mistress from feeling a fatal
Effect of her Desperation.

By superior Force, however, he disarm’d this enrag’d Gg4r 219
enrag’d Amazon, tho’ not without cutting his
own Hands in the Struggle.—All this Time
there was such a mingled Sound of Curses,
Shrieks, Cries of Murder, and stamping on the
Floor, as must by very alarming to those who
heard it.

As this Milliner got infinitely more by her
private Customers than her publick, and kept a
House chiefly for the Meeting of Persons of
Condition, Rinaldo, who at that Time had a
new Flame, and was come to gratify it with the
beloved Object, heard this Disturbance from an
adjacent Chamber; and wholly unable to guess
the Occasion, ran with his Sword in his Hand to
inform himself of the Truth where the Noise

He came into the Room just as Lavallie had
wrenched from his Wife’s Hand that Weapon
of Destruction, and seeing who was there, was
no longer at a Loss to know what had happen’d:
His Presence, however, obliged every one to
more Moderation, and Belinda took this Opportunity
of running away, which before she could
no way do, the furious Manella being between
her and the Door. The Milliner now began to
account for this Accident in a more plausible
manner than she had done before:—She said
that Belinda being taken with sudden Faintness,
she had desired to lye down on her Bed in order
to recover herself, and that she being afterwards
busy with Customers had not seen Lavallie enter,ter, Gg4v 220
but imagin’d that being but little acquainted
with the House, he had gone into that Room by

Lavallie took the Hint she had given,
and protested, that being directed up to the
Lace-Chamber, he had open’d this Door as being
the first he came to, and seeing a Lady lie on
the Bed, he had the Curiosity to approach, in
order to see if he knew her, and to rally her
for trusting herself in that Posture in an unlock’d
Chamber. “As I drew near,” continu’d he, “I
found it was Belinda, and also by some Groans
that she was indisposed.—Good Manners, as well
as Good-nature, oblig’d me to enquire how she did,
and as I was stooping toward the Bed, that she
might hear what I had to say with the more Ease,
Manella came into the Room with a Rage little
becoming her Character, and loaded that innocent
Lady and myself with the most opprobrious Reflections
Malice could invent.”

All the Time he was speaking, Manella
shook her Head, and bit her Lips till they even
bled with inward Vexation; but the Presence of
Rinaldo forbidding her to continue her Reproaches
in the same Manner she had done before his
Entrance, she only said, that Heaven, who knew
how greatly she was injur’d, would, one Time
or other, revenge her Cause.

The Milliner, who knew Rinaldo had Reasons
to be of her Side, began now in her Turn to resentsent Hh1r 221
the Aspersion Manella endeavour’d to cast
upon her House, and said in plain Terms, that
no Reputation could be safe from the idle Whims
of a jealous Wife. Lavallie affected to beg her
Pardon for the Injustice his Wife was guilty of
to her, and cursed himself for the unhappy Mistake
which had occasion’d all this Confusion.

Rinaldo was highly diverted at this
Scene in his own Mind, but would not add to
Manella’s Affliction, by letting her see how little
he regarded it; she had, however, too much Penetration
not to perceive that neither Complaints
nor Resentment would be of much Service to
her in that Place, and being almost ready to burst
with Spite and Rage, went out of the Room giving
a Look at Lavallie and the Woman of the
House, which testified how ill she was satisfied
with the shallow Excuses they had made, and
was indeed so distracted in her Thoughts, that
she had almost pass’d the Door before she recovered
Presence enough of Mind to pay to Rinaldo
the Respects his Dignity demanded.

Her Absence put an End to all the Constraint
they had been in; Lavallie was obliged
to endure a good deal of Raillery on the Occasion
from Rinaldo, and afterward to double the
Present he always made to the Milliner, on Account
of the Confusion his Wife had caused in
her House.

Whether this Adventure put an End to Hh the Hh1v 222
the Amour he had with Belinda is uncertain;
but if it continued it was with so much Caution,
that the Interviews between them were never afterwards

Manella finding she could no other
way be revenged, took care to render this Affair
as publick as possible; so that Belinda met with
the most severe Reproofs from all her Friends
for her ill Conduct: Yet so insensible was this
unthinking Lady either of Shame or the Prejudice
it might be to her Interest to forfeit the
Love and Esteem of her Family, that tho’ she
heard their Admonitions with her sensual Ears,
those of her Mind seemed wholly deaf, nor could
all that was said to her make the least Alteration
in her Deportment, or prevail on her to give herself
one Moment’s Reflection.

Thus with the same unmoved, unshaken Indolence
she had ever behaved did she go on,
laughing, singing, dancing, coquetting among
the gay World for near two Years, in which Time
no material Incident happen’d to her:—The Truth
is, indeed, whatever was reported of her, so little
concerned her, that her Carelessness blunted
the Edge of Scandal, and had the same Effect as
not to deserve it would have had:—People grew
weary of talking of what every one knew, and
was made no Secret of by the Person whose Interest
it chiefly was to have kept it so.

In a long Course of unregarded Follies might she Hh2r 223
she have continued till Age and Wrinkles had
enforced that Solitude her own Prudence was too
weak to make Choice of, had not Count Loyter
profess’d a Passion of a different Nature for her
than any before him had pretended.

So greatly did he seem enamour’d with her,
that he never was two Hours absent from her;
and his Quality and Attachment obliged all who
were look’d upon as her former Admirers to keep
a greater Distance.—Her Kindred and Friends
were transported to hear with what Respect and
Tenderness the Addresses he made to her were accompanied;
but their rejoicing was very much
abated, when on examining her on this Account,
they could not find that he had ever once mention’d
Marriage to her; and tho’ he swore ten
thousand Oaths that he was utterly unable to live
without possessing her, he had not made one that
it was his Intention to possess her by those ways
which alone could do Honour to their Family.—
As there seemed some Reason, however, to believe
the Regard he had for her was infinitely
more sincere than any who before had called
themselves her Lovers, they advised, nay conjured
her to omit nothing in her Power for improving
it, and converting the Designs he had
upon her into honourable ones, if they were not
so already: All this she promised them to do,
but thought no more of what they had said than
the Time they were speaking, and being herself
quite easy in the Matter made her Lover so too, Hh2 by Hh2v 224
by leaving him to do as Inclination should direct

This Behaviour was an infinite Trouble to all
who wished to see her retrieve, by a happy Marriage,
the Errors of her past Life; but one more
sanguine than the rest for her Interest, resolved
to do that for her which he found there was no
Possibility of prevailing on her to do for herself,
and took an Opportunity of discoursing with
the Count on this Affair. He at first would have
evaded all Talk of it, and made several Efforts
to give a Turn to the Conversation; but finding
himself too closely pressed, he at last replied,
that as Belinda and himself were the chief Persons
concerned, and were perfectly satisfied with
each other’s Intentions, he thought all interfering
between them was wholly unnecessary.

These Words were a little resented by the

Friend of Belinda, and gave Rise to some Expressions
on both Sides, which if neither of them
demanded not that Satisfaction for of the other,
which is usual in such Cases between Gentlemen,
there wanted but little of it.—From this
Time, however, their former Intimacy was broke
off:—Belinda’s Kinsman reproached her for that
Levity which had like to have proved fatal to
him; and Count Loyter, to shew how little he
regarded the Displeasure of any of her Family,
prevailed on that thoughtless Lady to come and
live publickly at his House.

All Hh3r 225

All the World now looked upon her as his
Mistress; and indeed how could it be otherwise:
—She had an Apartment so near his own, that
they could with Ease pass to each other without
being known to do so by any of the Family:—
She went Abroad with him to all Publick Places:
—She had the entire Command of all his Servants:
—She did the Honours of his Table whatever
Company was there, yet was there not the
least Mention of any Marriage between them.—
But in spite of all these Circumstances it is possible
they might be innocent.

After having lived together in this manner
till the Talk of it (which never continues
long on one Subject) began to subside, the Count
all at once declared his Intention of making her
his Wife.—New Equipage and new Habits were
prepar’d,—Invitations sent to the Friends on both
Sides, and they were really married at a Time
when it was least to be hoped or expected.

It must be own’d that there was something
spirituous, and at the same time truly honourable
in the Behaviour of Count Loyter on this Occasion:
—He would not be compelled to give any
definitive Answer as to his Designs on a Woman
of Belinda’s Character; but when he found himself
free from the Persecutions of her Friends,
and that they had entirely given her over for lost,
then did he show the Sincerity of his Passion,
and entirely wipe off all the Aspersions that had
been cast on her upon his Account.

I Hh3v 226

I should be glad there was a Possibility of
excusing Belinda also; but, alas! she consented to
live in his House without any Certainty, or even
a Promise of ever being his Wife, and was perhaps
not the least surprized of any that heard it,
that she was made so.

Her Change of Fortune has wrought no
Change in her Humour or Conduct; and as she
would be commended for being no way elated
with the Grandeur she possesses, so must she also
be highly blamed for not remembering her
Honour is now the Property of her Lord, and
that every light unbecoming Action she is guilty
of, is a Reflection upon him.

I believe it wou’d be very difficult to
prove that she has ever wrong’d him in Fact;
but it is the Duty of every married Woman to
behave so as not even to be suspected.—This Belinda
has Sense enough to know, but not enough
to remember that she knows.

Adonius, no less amorous and inconstant
than his Brother Rinaldo, and much more
endued with those Perfections which charm Womankind,
has found in the new Countess Loyter
Graces, which, till after she was another’s, had
not been discover’d by him.—The Admiration
he expresses to have for her, and the Pleasure his
Conversation affords, are of too much Consequence
to her Happiness not to be indulg’d.—
She forgets the Obligations she has to her Lord, and Hh4r 227
and wholly taken up with this new and illustrious
Lover, is scarce ever at home, but when he
vouchsafes to visit there.—’Tis certain, that in
the Parties of Pleasure she makes with him, her
Husband frequently is one; yet does not his being
seen with them sometimes take off the Censure
which their being together without him at
others too justly incurs.

As yet the Count is under no Uneasiness on this
score;—he looks on the fine things said in his
Presence by Adonius to his Wife, as proceeding
only from an Excess of Complaisance, and imputes
the Satisfaction she takes in hearing them,
meerly to the little Vanity of her Sex:—The
Rambles they take together, to the Levity of
both their Humours, and, instead of being angry,
often laughs at the Recital.

Not so the young, the beautiful, the tender
Amadea supports the being deprived of the Society
of her adored Adonius;—she pines in secret,
without daring to complain, and now too
late regrets her easy Faith, which flatter’d her
with the Hopes of securing to herself so mutable
a Heart.

Rumour will have it that not two Moons
since, deaf to all Considerations but those of gratifying
their mutual Passion, he ran the Risque
of ruining himself for ever with those on whom
he depends, and who had betroth’d him to another;
and she of being shamefully repudiated by that Hh4v 228
that Authority whence there is no Appeal; they
both ventur’d every thing that might ensue, to
be united to each other by a clandestine and unlicens’d
Marriage: If so, how great a Change!—
The sacred Ceremony has no Power to bind
Adonius;—he thinks himself under no Obligations
to continue constant to a Wife so much
beneath him, and where shall she apply for Justice
against a Husband, whom to acknowledge
as such, would only incur the Displeasure of
those she would oblige.

What sad Effects do giving way to
any Passion, tho’ of the most tender Kind, produce,
especially in our Sex! If Amadea thinks
she has satisfied her Virtue, in granting nothing
to her Lover till the Sanction of Marriage has
converted Inclination into Duty; what will such
a Marriage avail, when she durst not avow
it?—When the very Priest that join’d their
Hands, shall be oblig’d to disown his ever having
perform’d that Ceremony between them;
and when Adonius, whose Perseverance in Love,
and Patience in enduring all could be inflicted
on him, could alone obtain Forgiveness;
and a Sanction for ratifying what he had done,
shall be so far from taking any such Measures,
that he shall testify a Joy in having it
made void.—What Woe, what Misery, what
Despair wou’d then be the Lot of so every-way
an abandon’d Wife!

Already has she a Taste of what she may Ii1r 229
may justly apprehend will infallibly arrive in his
present Attachment to Belinda;—already does
she feel the cruel Stings of Jealousy and Disappointment,
and reflects, with Agonies, not to be
express’d, on the approaching Ills, which, following
the Dictates of a blind heedless Inclination,
and perhaps some Mixture of ill-judg’d Ambition,
must involve her in.

’Tis certain she is far from being that vain,
wild, unthinking Creature that Belinda is; yet
had she thought justly, she would never have
consented to marry a Person, where the Character
of Wife must lay her under greater Inconviences,
than even that of Mistress.

As the principal Design of these Speculations
is, therefore, to correct those Errors in the Mind
which are most imperceptible, and for that Reason
the most dangerous, such Examples are not
set down but with a View of shewing how the
Want of a proper Way of Thinking in our Youth
involves our whole future Lives in Misfortunes,
which frequently no Reflection can afterwards retrieve.
The Anatomists, indeed, will tell you,
that where there is a Defect in the Texture of the
Brain, this Incapacity of Reflection is mechanical,
and consequently irremedible; but by this
Way of Reasoning they may also pretend, (as
’tis certain many do) that all Vices are constitutional,
which I never can be brought to allow,
because such an Opinion would be imputing an
Error to the Author of our Formation, wholly Ii de- Ii1v 230
destroying the Doctrine of Free-Will, and, in
fine, levelling Human Nature with the Brutal,
which acts meerly by Instinct. I grant that by
the Structure of our Parts we may have a more or
less Propensity to Good or Evil, and also that
the Soul has greater Power of exerting itself,
in what we call Reason, through the Organs
of some People than it has in others; yet this is
in a great Measure to be help’d, if those who
have the Care of us when young begin the Work,
and we ourselves carry it on afterward with that
Vigour and Application which it requires.

Socrates the Philosopher was an Instance
of this Truth, who being addicted to all
Manner of Intemperance, gain’d the Victory by
his Reason and Resolution over each inordinate
Passion, and was the Pattern of Virtue and Abstemiousness.

To know ourselves, is agreed by all to be the
most useful Learning; the first Lessons, therefore,
given us ought to be on that Subject.— The
Parents or Governors of Children can never answer
to themselves a Neglect in this Point.—
Youth should be try’d and sifted, and when the
favourite Propensity is once found out, it will
be easy either to eradicate or improve it, according
as it tends to Vice or Virtue.

I must confess, that where there is a kind
of heavy Stupidity, or what they call too much
Mercury in the Disposition, the one requires a great Ii2r 231
great deal of Art to enliven, and the other no
less to fix; and as they are direct Contraries, so
contrary Methods should be made use of.—But
this is a Duty which ought not to be dispens’d
with on account of its Difficulty, nor is perhaps
so hard a Matter as it seems, if we consider, that
to give Spirit and Vivacity to the Dull, nothing
but chearful Objects should be presented; and
to the too Wild and Giddy, those of the most serious
and affecting Nature.

Where an Excess of Gaiety and the Love
of Pleasure is predominant, the Mind should be
early season’d with the Knowledge of the many
Disappointments, Disasters, and Calamities which
are the Portion of the greatest Part of Mankind.
—Pity for the Woes of others, and the Certainty,
that no Condition or Degree can assure itself
with being defended from the Frowns of Fate,
will give a more serious Turn to our Ideas, and
serve very much to abate that Impetuosity which
arises from a too great Redundancy of Fire or
Air in Persons of that Disposition.

Few are so happy as to be compos’d of equal
Elements, therefore, what is deficient in the Constitution
ought to be supplied by Judgment.—
The Earthy Stupid, and the Watry Phlegmatic,
are to be rais’d by Exercise, Music, Dancing,
and all sprightly Amusements; as the Fiery Choleric,
and the Airy Giddy, are to be temper’d
with their Contraries.

Ii2 But, Ii2v 232

But, as I have already taken Notice, this
Method, tho’ it must not be omitted by the Tutors,
will fail of Success, if not seconded by the
Endeavours of the Pupils, when left to the Management
of themselves; but where there is a
good Foundation laid by those who have had
the Care of instructing us in our Youth, it will
be intirely our own Fault, if we afterward fall
into any very gross Irregularities.

Reflection, therefore, and Recollection
are as necessary for the Mind as Food is for the
Body; a little Examination into the Affections
of the Heart can be of no Prejudice to the most
melancholly Constitution, and will be of infinite
Service to the too sanguine.—The Unhappy may,
possibly, by indulging Thought, hit on some
lucky Stratagem for the Relief of his Misfortunes,
and the Happy may be infinitely more so by contemplating
on his Condition.

So great a Pleasure do many People find in
retiring sometimes into themselves, that they
would not be denied that Privilege for any other
Enjoyment whatsoever.

I once knew a Gentleman who had a Wife
of whom he was infinitely fond, and whose Society
he preferr’d to all others in the World, at
those Times when he was disposed for Conversation;
—yet if she offer’d to disturb his Meditations,
would grow quite peevish with her.—So
valuable to him was the Freedom of his Thoughts that Ii3r 233
that he could not bear an Interruption, even tho’
he knew it to be a Proof of Love from her who
was by so much the dearest Part of himself.—I
remember I was one Day at his House, when his
Lady thinking he had been too long alone, had,
with a gentle Force, dragg’d him from his
Closet.—I wonder’d to see him more than ordinarily
grave, and on enquiring into the Cause,
was answer’d by him in these Terms. “This dear
said he, “robs me of half the Pleasure
of her Love, by not permitting me to contemplate
on the Blessings I possess in her.”

How then happens it, that such Numbers deny
themselves the greatest Satisfaction a reasonable
Being can enjoy, and which is also of such
high Importance in every Accident in Life, that
without it we have no Power either to attain any
Good, or defend ourselves from any Evil!

But some People are so ignorant as to imagine,
or so wicked as to insinuate, that those who
think much, and are Lovers of Solitude, seclude
themselves, not from the World, but with a View
of doing some Mischief to it.—According to the
Stations they are in, they are judg’d capable of
ruminating on greater or lesser Evils to Mankind.
They will have a sedentary Statesman to be plotting
Treason either against his Prince or Country.
—A Steward studying new Methods to enlarge
his Bills.—A Tradesman to impose upon
his Customers, and so on from the highest to the
lowest Degree.

A Ii3v 234

A Few Examples have, alas, but too much
authoriz’d this Opinion. We have seen great
Thinkers who have thought only to aggrandize
themselves on the Ruins of those they pretended
to serve.—Great Professors who have spar’d
no Pains to gain Confidence, for no other Purpose
than to betray.—Great Advocates for Liberty
only to enslave, and great Preachers up of
Justice only to purchase Security for the worst
of Criminals.

So gross an Abuse of the Faculty of Thinking
is, indeed, turning the Arms of Heaven
against itself, and forcing that sacred Reason,
which was given to us for a Guide to Virtue, to accompany
us in the Paths of Vice.—To think to
such Purposes, I must confess, is infinitely worse
than not to think at all, because the one tends to
injure and oppress Mankind in general, the other
is for the most part hurtful only to the Persons

Hypocrisy is detestable both to God and
Man;—we are told from an unerring Mouth,
that those found guilty of it shall have the lowest
Place in Hell”
, and sure on Earth they merit the
most contemptible Treatment from their Fellow-
Creatures.—When once the Mask of Benevolence
and Sincerity is pluck’d off from the Face
of the seeming Angel, and the grim treacherous
Fiend appears in his native Ugliness, by so much
the more as our Admiration before was of him,
will be our Abhorrence of him afterwards.—We shall Ii4r 235
shall hate and fly him, as we once lov’d and
follow’d him.—Everybody will be ready to catch
up a Stone to throw at him, and no Opportunities
of insulting him will be omitted.

Proteus by sad Experience is convinc’d
that all his Arts are ineffectual to retrieve any
Part of that Esteem he once was happy in from
all Degrees of People.—The Beguiler can beguile
no more.—By mistaken Measures, vainly
aiming at greater Homage, like Lucifer, the
Pride-swoll’n Bubble fell, at once into the Gulph
of endless Infamy and Contempt, whence he can
never hope to rise.

Even the very Ladies take a Pleasure in
giving him all the Mortification in their Power;
and as our Sex has the Privilege of saying whatever
we have a Mind to, without any Danger of
Resentment from the Men, he often meets with
the severest Sarcasms from those who have Wit
enough to make them.

He was one Day at Cards with some Persons
of Condition, when being seized with a sudden
violent Pain in his Side, after distorting his
Face into several disagreeable Positions, he could
not forbear at last crying out, “Oh my Side!—
my Side!”
—On which Tartilla, who was one of
the Company, with a malicious Sneer rejoin’d,
“Your Side, Proteus! I thought you had no Side
These Words, which plainly alluded to
his being abandon’d by both Parties, gave him, perhaps, Ii4v 236
perhaps, an Agony more poignant than that he
complained of, and both together render’d him
so peevish, that he reply’d hastily, and in a
Tone which was far from his accustom’d Politeness,
“Yes, Madam, and a Backside too.” This
Answer, gross as it was, gave not Tartilla the
least Confusion; and without any Hesitation,
“I don’t know that,”