man, unhappy or prosperous; and in the middle of what she thinks is her happiness and prosperity, she is engulfed in misery and beggary, which she had not the least notice, knowledge, or suspicion of.

How often have I seen a woman living in all the splendor that a plentiful fortune ought to allow her! with her coaches and equipages, her family and rich furniture, her attendants and friends, her visiters and good company, all about her to-day; to-morrow surprised with a disaster, turned out of all by a commission of bankrupt, stripped-to the clothes on her back, her jointure, suppose she had it, is sacrificed to the creditors, so long as her husband lived, and she turned into the street, and left to live on the charity of her friends, if she has any, or follow the monarch, her husband, into the Mint, and live there on the wreck of his fortunes till he is forced to run away from her, even there; and then she sees her children starve, herself miserable, breaks her heart, and cries herself to death? This," says I, "is the state of many a lady that has had ten thousand pounds to her portion."

He did not know how feelingly I spoke this, and what extremities I had gone through of this kind; how near I was to the very last article | above, viz. crying myself to death; and how I really starved for almost two years together.

But he shook his head, and said, "Where had I lived? and what dreadful families had I lived among, that had frightened me into such terrible apprehensions of things? that these things indeed might happen where men run into hazardous things in trade, and without prudence or due consideration, launch their fortunes in a degree beyond their strength, grasping at adventures beyond their stocks, and the like; but that, as he was stated in the world, if I would embark with him, he had a fortune equal with mine; that together we should have no occasion of engaging in business any more, but that in any part of the world where I had a mind to live, whether England, France, Holland, or where I would, we might settle, and live as happily as the world could make any one live; that if I desired the management of our estate, when put together, if I would not trust him with mine, he would trust me with his; that we would be upon one bottom, and I should steer.-" Ay," says I, "you'll allow me to steer, that is, hold the helm, but you'll con the ship, as they call it; that is, as at sea, a boy serves to stand at the helm, but but he that gives him the orders is pilot. He laughed at my simile; No," says he, you shall be pilot then, you shall con the ship." Ay," says I, as long as you please, but you can take the helm out of my hand when you please, and bid me go spin. It is not you," says I, "that I suspect, but the laws of matrimony puts the power into your hands, and bids you do it; commands you to command; and binds me, forsooth, to obey; you, that are now upon even terms with me, and I with you," says I," are the next hour set upon the throne, and the humble wife placed at your footstool: all the rest, all that you call oneness of interest, mutual affection, and the like, is courtesy and kindness then, and a woman is indeed infinitely obliged where she meets with it, but cannot help herself where

64

it fails.

99

66

66

Well, he did not give it over yet, but came to the serious part, and there he thought he should be too many for me; he first hinted that mar. riage was decreed by heaven; that it was the fixed state of life, which God had appointed for man's felicity, and for establishing a legal posterity; and there could be no legal claim of estates by inheritance, but by children born in wedlock; that all the rest sunk under scandal and illegitimacy; and very well he talked upon that subject indeed.

But it would not do; I took him short there. "Look you, sir," said I, "you have the advantage of me there indeed, in my particular case; but it would not be generous to make use of it. I readily grant, that it were better for me to have married you, than to admit you to the liberty I have given you; but as I could not reconcile my judgment to marriage, for the reasons above, and had kindness enough for you, and obligation too much on me to resist you, I suffered your rudeness, and gave up my virtue; but I have two things before me to heal up that breach of honour without that desperate one of marriage, and those are, repentance for what is past, and putting an end to it for time to come."

He seemed to be concerned to think that I should take him in that manner; he assured me that I misunderstood him, that he had more manners as well as more kindness for me, and more justice than to reproach me with what he had been the aggressor in, and had surprised me into. That what he spoke referred to my words above, that the woman, if she thought fit, might entertain a man, as the man did a mistress; and that I seemed to mention that way of living as justifiable, and setting it as a lawful thing, and in the place of matrimony.

Well, we strained some compliments upon those points not worth repeating; and I added, I supposed when he got to bed to me he thought himself sure of me; and, indeed, in the ordinary course of things, after he had lain with me he ought to think so, but that, upon the same foot of argument which I had discoursed with him upon, it was just the contrary; and when a woman had been weak enough to yield up the last point before wedlock, it would be adding one weakness to another to take the man afterwards, to pin down the shame of it upon herself all the days of her life, and bind herself to live all her time with the only man that could upbraid her with it. That in yielding at first she must be a fool, but to take the man is to be sure to be called a fool; that to resist a man is to act with courage and vigour, and to cast off the reproach, which, in the course of things, drops out of knowledge and dies. The man goes one way and the woman another, as Fate and the circumstances of living direct; and if they keep one another's counsel, the folly is heard no more of; but to take the man," says I, "is the most preposterous thing in nature, and (saving your presence) is to befoul one's self, and live always in the smell of it. No, no," added I, "after a man has lain with me as a mistress, he ought never to lie with me as a wife. That's not only preserving the crime in memory, but it is recording it in the family; if the woman marries the man afterwards, she bears the reproach of it to the last

hour; if her husband is not a man of a nundred thousand, he sometime or other upbraids her with it; if he has children, they fail not one way or other to hear of it: if the children are virtuous, they do their mother the justice to hate her for it; if they are wicked, they give her the mortification of doing the like, and giving her for the example. On the other hand, if the man and the woman part, there is an end of the crime, and an end of the clamour; time wears out the memory of it, or a woman may remove but a few streets, and she soon outlives it, and hears no more of it."

He was confounded at this discourse, and told me he could not say but that I was right in the main. That as to that part relating to managing estates, it was arguing à la cavalier, it was in some sense right, if the women were able to carry it on so, but that in general the sex were not capable of it; their heads were not turned for it, and they had better choose a person capable and honest, that knew how to do them justice, as women, as well as to love them; and that then the trouble was all taken off of their hands.

I told him it was a dear way of purchasing their ease, for very often when the trouble was taken off their hands, so was their money too; and that I thought it was far safer for the sex not to be afraid of the trouble but to be really afraid of their money, and that if no body was trusted, nobody would be deceived; and the staff in their own hands was the best security in the world.

He replied, that I had started a new thing in the world; that however I might support it by subtle reasoning, yet it was a way of arguing that was contrary to the general practice, and that he confessed he was much disappointed in it; that had he known I would have made such an use

of it, he would never attempted what he did, which he had no wicked design in, resolving to make me reparation, and that he was very sorry he had been so unhappy; that he was very sure he should never upbraid me with it hereafter, and had so good an opinion of me as to believe I did not suspect him; but seeing I was positive in refusing him, notwithstanding what had passed, he had nothing to do but to secure me from reproach, by going back again to Paris, that so, according to my own way of arguing, it might die out of memory, and I might never meet with it again to my disadvantage.

I was not pleased with this part at all, for I had no mind to let him go neither; and yet I had no mind to give him such hold of me as he would have had; and thus I was in a kind of suspense, irresolute, and doubtful what course to take.

I was in the house with him, as I have observed, and I saw evidently that he was preparing to go back to Paris; and particularly, I found he was remitting money to Paris, which was, as I understood afterwards, to pay for some wines, which he had given order to have bought for him at Troyes in Champagne; and I knew not what course to take; and besides that I was very loth to part with him, I found also that I was with child by him, which was what I had not yet told him of; and sometimes I thought not to tell him of it at all; but I was in a strange place, and had no acquaintance, though I had a

great deal of substance, wnich indeed, having no friends there, was the more dangerous to me.

This obliged me to take him one morning when I saw him, as I thought, a little anxious about his going, and irresolute; says I to him, I fancy you can hardly find in your heart to leave me now."-"The more unkind is it in you," said he, "severely unkind, to refuse a man that knows not how to part with you."

"I am so far from being unkind to you," said I," that I will go over all the world with you, if you desire me, except to Paris, where you know I can't go."

"It is a pity so much love," said he, “ on both sides should ever separate."

66

me ?"

Why, then," said I, "do you go away from

"Because," said he, " you won't take me." "But if I won't take you," said I, "you may take me anywhere but to Paris."

He was very loth to go anywhere, he said, without me; but he must go to Paris or to the East Indies.

I told him I did not use to court, but I durst venture myself to the East Indies with him, if there was a necessity of his going

He told me, God be thanked, he was in no necessity of going any where, but that he had a tempting invitation to go to the Indies.

I answered, I would say nothing to that; but that I desired he would go anywhere but to Paris, because there he knew I must not go.

could not go; for he could not bear to see me, He said he had no remedy but to go where I

if he must not have me.

I told him that was the unkindest thing he could say of me, and that I ought to take it very ill, seeing I knew how very well to oblige him to stay, without yielding to what he knew I could not yield to.

This amazed him, and he told me I was! pleased to be mysterious; but that he was sure it was in nobody's power to hinder him going, if he resolved upon it, except me, who had influence enough upon him to make him do anything.

Yes, I told him, I could hinder him, because I knew he could no more do an unkind thing by me than he could do an unjust one; and to put him out of his pain, I told him I was with child.

He came to me, and taking me in his arms, and kissing me a thousand times almost, said, Why would I be so unkind not to tell him that before?

I told him 'twas hard, that to have him stay, I should be forced to do as criminals de to avoid the gallows, plead my belly; and that I thought I had given him testimonies enough of an affection equal to that of a wife, if I had not only lain with him; been with child by him, shown myself unwilling to part with him. but offered to go the East Indies with him; and except one thing that I could not grant, what could he ask more?

He stood mute a good while, but afterwards told me, he had a great deal more to say, if I

could assure him that I would not take ill whatever freedom he might use me in his discourse.

I told him that he might use any freedom words; for a woman who had given leave to such

other freedoms, as I had done, but left herself no room to take anything ill, let it be what it would. "Why then," he said, "I hope you believe,|| madam, I was born a Christian, and that I have some sense of sacred things upon my mind. When I first broke in upon my own virtue and assaulted yours; when I surprised, and, as it were, forced you to that which neither you intended or I designed but a few hours before; it was upon a presumption that you would certainly marry me, if once I could go that length with you; and it was with an honest resolution to make you my wife.

"But I have peen surprised with such a denial that no woman in such circumstances ever gave to a man; for certainly it was never known that any woman refused to marry a man that had first lain with her, much less a man that had gotten her with child; but you go upon different notions from all the world, and though you reason upon it so strongly that a man knows hardly what to answer, yet I must own there is something in it shocking to nature, and something very unkind to yourself: but above all, it is unkind to the child that is yet unborn, who, if we marry, will come into the world with advantage enough, but if not, is ruined before it is born; must bear the eternal reproach of what it is not guilty of; must be branded from its cradle with a mark of infamy; be loaded with the crimes and follies of its parents, and suffer for sins that it never committed. This I take to be very hard, and, indeed, cruel to the poor infant not yet born, whom you cannot think of with any patience, if you have the common affection of a mother, and not do that for it which should at once place it on a level with the rest of the world, and not leave it to curse its parents for what also we ought to be ashamed of. I cannot, therefore," says he, "but beg and intreat you, as you are a Christian and a mother, not to let the innocent lamb you go with be ruined before it is born, and leave it to curse and reproach us hereafter, for what may be so easily avoided.

"Then, dear madam," said he, with a world of tenderness (and I thought I saw tears in his eyes), "allow me to repeat it, that I am a Christian, and consequently I do not allow what I have rashly, and without due consideration, done; I say, I do not approve of it as lawful, and therefore, though I did, with the view I have mentioned, one unjustifiable action, I cannot say that I could satisfy myself to live in a continual practice of what in judgment we must both condemn; and though I love you above all the women in the world, and have done enough to convince you of it, by resolving to marry you after what has passed between us, and by offering to quit all pretensions to any part of your estate, so that I should, as it were, take a wife after I had lain with her, and without a farthing portion, which, as my circumstances are, I need not do; I say, notwithstanding my affection to you, which is inexpressible, yet I cannot give up my soul as we'l as body, the interest of this world, and the hopes of another; and you cannot call this my disrespect to you."

If ever any man in the world was truly valuable for the strictest honesty of intention, this was the man; and if ever a woman in her senses rejected a man of merit on so trivial and frivolous

a pretence, I was the woman: but surely it was the most preposterous thing that ever woman did.

He would have taken me as a wife, but would not entertain me as a whore. Was ever woman angry with any gentleman on that head? And was ever woman so stupid to choose to be a whore, where she might have been an honest wife? But infatuations are next to being possessed with the devil. I was inflexible, and pretended to argue upon the point of a woman's liberty as before, but he took me short, and with more warmth than he had yet used with me, though with the utmost respect, replied, "Dear madam, you argue for liberty, at the same time that you restrain yourself from that liberty which God and nature has directed you to take; and to supply the deficiency, propose a vicious liberty, which is neither honourable, no, nor religious. Will you propose liberty at the expense of modesty?"

I returned, that he mistook me: I did not propose it; I only said that those who could not be content without concerning the sexes in that affair, might do so indeed; might entertain a man as men do a mistress, if they thought fit, but he did not hear me say I would do so and though, by what had passed, he might well censure me in that part, yet he should find, for the future, that I should freely converse with him without any inclination that way.

He told me he could not promise that for himself, and thought he ought not to trust himself with the opportunity, for that, as he had failed already, he was loth to lead himself into temptation of offending again, and that this was the true reason of his resolving to go back to Paris; not that he could willingly leave me, and would be very far from waiting my invitation; but if he could not stay upon terms that became him, either as a honest man or a christian, what could he do? And he hoped, he said, I could not blame him, that he was unwilling anything that was to call him father should upbraid him with leaving him in the world to be called bastard; adding, that he was astonished to think how I could satisfy myself to be so cruel to an innocent infant not yet born; professed he could never bear the thoughts of it, much less bear to see it, and hoped I would not take it ill that he could not stay to see me delivered, for that very reason.

I saw he spoke this with a disturbed mind, and that it was with some difficulty that he restrained his passion, so I declined any further discourse upon it; only said I hoped he would consider of it. O madam," says he, "do not bid me consider, 'tis for you to consider: " and with that he went out of the room, in a strange kind of confusion, as was easy to be seen in his countenance.

66

If I had not been one of the foolishest as well as wickedest creatures upon earth, I could never have acted thus. I had one of the honestest, completest gentleman upon earth, at my hand. He had in one sense saved my life, but had saved that life from ruin in a most remarkable manner. He loved me even to distraction, and had come from Paris to Rotterdam on purpose to seek me. He had offered me marriage, even after I was with child by him, and had offered to quit all his pretensions to my estate, and give it up to my own management, having a plentiful estate of his

own. Here I might have settled myself out of the reach even of disaster itself; his estate and mine would have purchased even then above two thousand pounds a year, and I might have lived like a queen, nay, far more happy than a queen; and, which was above all, I had now an opportunity to have quitted a life of crime and debauchery, which I had been given up to for several years, and to have sat down quiet in pienty and honour, and to have set myself apart to the great work, which I have since seen so much necessity and occasion for, I mean that of repentance.

But my measure of wickedness was not yet full. I continued obstinate against matrimony, and yet I could not bear the thoughts of his going away neither. As to the child, I was not very anxious about it. I told him I would promise him that it should never come to him to upbraid him with its being illegitimate; that if it was a boy, I would breed it up like the son of a gentleman, and use it well for his sake: and after a little more such talk as this, and seeing him resolved to go, I retired, but could not help letting him see the tears run down my cheeks. he came to me and kissed me, intreated me, conjured me by the kindness he had shewn me in my distress, by the justice he had done me in my bills and money affairs, by the respect which made him refuse a thousand pistoles from me for his expenses with that traitor the Jew, by the pledge of our misfortunes, so he called it, which I carried with me, and by all the sincerest affection could propose to do, that I would not drive him away. But it would not: I was stupid and senseless,|| deaf to all his importunities, and continued so to the last. So we parted, only desiring me to promise that I would write him word when I was delivered, and how he might give me an answer; and this I engaged I would do. And upon his desiring to be informed which way I intended to dispose of myself, I told him I resolved to go directly to England, and to London, where I proposed to lie in; but since he resolved to leave me, I told him I supposed it would be of no consequence to him what became of me.

He lay in his lodgings that night, but went away early in the morning, leaving me a letter, in which he repeated all he had said, recommended the care of the child, and desired of me that as he had remitted to me the offer of a thousand pistoles, which I would have given him for the recompense of his charges and trouble with the Jew, and had given it me back; so he desired I would allow him to oblige me to set apart that thousand pistoles with its improvement for the child, and for its education, earnestly pressing me to secure that little portion for the abandoned orphan. when I should think fit, as he was sure I would, to throw away the rest upon something as worthless as my sincere friend at Paris. He concluded with moving me to reflect, with the same regret as he did, on our follies we had committed together; asked me forgiveness for being the aggressor in the fact, and forgave me everything, he said, but the cruelty of refusing him, which he owned he could not forgive me so heartily as he should do, because he was satisfied it was an injury to myself, would be an introduction to my ruin, and that I would

seriously repent of it. He foretold some fatal things, which, he said, he was well assured I should fall into, and that at last I should be ruined by a bad husband; bid me be the more wary, that I might render him a false prophet; but to remember, that if ever I came into distress, I had a fast friend at Paris, who would not upbraid me with the unkind things past, but would be always ready to return me good for evil.

This letter stunned me. I could not think it possible for any one that had not dealt with the devil to write such a letter, for he spoke of some particular things which afterwards were to befal me, with such an assurance that it frighted me beforehand; and when those things did come to pass, I was persuaded he had some more than human knowledge. In a word, his advices to me to repent were very affectionate, his warnings of evil to happen to me were very kind, and his promises of assistance, if I wanted him, were so generous, that I have seldom seen the like; and though I did not at first set much by that part, because I looked upon them as what might not happen, and as what was improbable to happen at that time, yet all the rest of his letter was so moving that it left me very me lancholy, and I cried four-and-twenty hours after almost without ceasing about it; and yet even all this while, whatever it was that bewitched me, I had not one serious wish that I had taken him. I wished heartily, indeed, that I could have kept him with me, but I had a mortal aversion to marrying him, or, indeed, anybody else, but formed a thousand wild notions in my head that I was yet gay enough, and young and handsome enough to please a man of quality, and that I would try my fortune at London, come of it what would.

Thus blinded by my own vanity, I threw away the only opportunity I then had to have effectually settled my fortunes, and secured them for this world: and I am a memorial to all that shall read my story, a standing monument of the madness and distraction which pride and infatuations from hell run us into, how ill our passions guide us, and how dangerously we act when we follow the dictates of an ambitions mind.

I was rich, beautiful, and agreeable, and not yet old. I had known something of the influence I had had upon the fancies of men, even of the highest rank. I never forgot that the Prince de

had said with an ecstacy that I was the finest woman in France. I knew I could make a figure at London, and how well I could grace that figure. I was not at a loss how to behave, and having already been adored by princes, thought of nothing less than of being mistress to the king himself. But I go back to my imme diate circumstances at that time.