The Fortunate Mistress (Parts 1 and 2)

This account pleased me very well, especially when I understood that she had been gone from Dover five days. The Quaker comforted me, and said it was lucky this busy creature had passed the road before us, otherwise she might easily have found means to have overtaken us, for, as she observed, the wench had such an artful way of telling her story, that she moved everybody to compassion; and she did not doubt but that if we had been before, as we were behind, she would have got those who would have assisted her with a coach, &c., to have pursued us, and they might have come up with us.

I was of the honest Quaker's sentiments. I grew pretty easy, called Tom, and gave him half a guinea for his diligence; then I and the Quaker went into the parlour to my husband, and soon after supper came in, and I ate moderately, and we spent the remainder of the evening, for the clock had then tolled nine, very cheerfully; for my Quaker was so rejoiced at my good fortune, as she called it, that she was very alert, and exceeding good company; and her wit, and she had no small share of it, I thought was better played off than ever I had heard it before.

My husband asked me how I should choose to go on board; I desired him to settle it as he pleased, telling him it was a matter of very great indifference to me, as he was to go with me. "That may be true, my dear," says he, "but I ask you for a reason or two, which I will lay before you, viz., if we hire a vessel for ourselves, we may set sail when we please, have the liberty of every part of the ship to ourselves, and land at what port, either in Holland or France, we might make choice of. Besides," added he, "another reason I mention it to you is, that I know you do not love much company, which, in going into the packet-boat, it is almost impossible to avoid." "I own, my dear," said I, "your reasons are very good; I have but one thing to say against them, which is, that the packet-boat, by its frequent voyages, must of course be furnished with experienced seamen, who know the seas too well even to run any hazard." (At this juncture the terrible voyage I and Amy made from France to Harwich came so strong in my mind, that I trembled so as to be taken notice of by my husband.) "Besides," added I, "the landlord may send the master of one of them to you, and I think it may be best to hire the state cabin, as they call it, to ourselves, by which method we shall avoid company, without we have an inclination to associate ourselves with such passengers we may happen to like; and the expense will be much cheaper than hiring a vessel to go the voyage with us alone, and every whit as safe."

The Quaker, who had seriously listened to our discourse, gave it as her opinion that the method I had proposed was by far the safest, quickest, and cheapest. "Not," said she, "as I think thou wouldest be against any necessary expense, though I am certain thou wouldest not fling thy money away."

Soon after, my husband ordered the landlord to send for one of the masters of the packet-boats, of whom he hired the great cabin, and agreed to sail from thence the next day, if the wind and the tide answered.

The settling our method of going over sea had taken up the time till the dinner was ready, which we being informed of, came out of a chamber we had been in all the morning, to a handsome parlour, where everything was placed suitable to our rank; there was a large, old-fashioned service of plate, and a sideboard genteelly set off. The dinner was excellent, and well dressed.

After dinner, we entered into another discourse, which was the hiring of servants to go with us from Dover to Paris; a thing frequently done by travellers; and such are to be met with at every stage inn. Our footmen set out this morning on their return to London, and the Quaker and coach was to go the next day. My new chambermaid, whose name was Isabel, was to go through the journey, on condition of doing no other business than waiting on me. In a while we partly concluded to let the hiring of men-servants alone till we came to Calais, for they could be of no use to us on board a ship, the sailor's or cabin boy's place being to attend the cabin passengers as well as his master.

To divert ourselves, we took a walk after we had dined, round about the town, and coming to the garrison, and being somewhat thirsty, all went into the sutler's for a glass of wine. A pint was called for and brought; but the man of the house came in with it raving like a madman, saying, "Don't you think you are a villain, to ask for a pot of ale when I know you have spent all your money, and are ignorant of the means of getting more, without you hear of a place, which I look upon to be very unlikely?" "Don't be in such a passion, landlord," said my husband. "Pray, what is the matter?" "Oh, nothing, sir," says he; "but a young fellow in the sutling room, whom I find to have been a gentleman's servant, wants a place; and having spent all his money, would willingly run up a score with me, knowing I must get him a master if ever I intend to have my money." "Pray, sir," said my husband, "send the young fellow to me; if I like him, and can agree with him, it is possible I may take him into my service." The landlord took care we should not speak to him twice, he went and fetched him in himself, and my husband examined him before he spoke, as to his size, mien, and garb. The young man was clean dressed, of a middling stature, a dark complexion, and about twenty-seven years old.

"I hear, young man," says he to him, "that you want a place; it may perhaps be in my power to serve you. Let me know at once what education you have had, if you have any family belonging to you, or if you are fit for a gentleman's service, can bring any person of reputation to your character, and are willing to go and live in Holland with me: we will not differ about your wages."

The young fellow made a respectful bow to each of us, and addressed himself to my husband as follows: "Sir," said he, "in me you behold the eldest child of misfortune. I am but young, as you may see; I have no comers after me, and having lived with several gentlemen, some of whom are on their travels, others settled in divers parts of the world, besides what are dead, makes me unable to produce a character without a week's notice to write to London, and I should not doubt but by the return of the post to let you see some letters as would satisfy you in any doubts about me. My education," continued he, "is but very middling, being taken from school before I had well learnt to read, write, and cast accounts; and as to my parentage, I cannot well give you any account of them: all that I know is, that my father was a brewer, and by his extravagance ran out a handsome fortune, and afterwards left my poor mother almost penniless, with five small children, of which I was the second, though not above five years old. My mother knew not what to do with us, so she sent a poor girl, our maid, whose name I have forgot this many years, with us all to a relation's, and there left us, and I never saw or heard of or from them any more. Indeed, I inquired among the neighbours, and all that I could learn was that my mother's goods were seized, that she was obliged to apply to the parish for relief, and died of grief soon after. For my part," says he, "I was put into the hands of my father's sister, where, by her cruel usage, I was forced to run away at nine years of age; and the numerous scenes of life I have since gone through are more than would fill a small volume. Pray, sir," added he, "let it satisfy you that I am thoroughly honest, and should be glad to serve you at any rate; and although I cannot possibly get a good character from anybody at present, yet I defy the whole world to give me an ill one, either in public or private life."

If I had had the eyes of Argus I should have seen with them all on this occasion. I knew that this was my son, and one that, among all my inquiry, I could never get any account of. The Quaker seeing my colour come and go, and also tremble, said, "I verily believe thou art not well; I hope this Kentish air, which was always reckoned aguish, does not hurt thee?" "I am taken very sick of a sudden," said I; "so pray let me go to our inn that I may go to my chamber." Isabel being called in, she and the Quaker attended me there, leaving the young fellow with my spouse. When I was got into my chamber I was seized with such a grief as I had never known before; and flinging myself down upon the bed, burst into a flood of tears, and soon after fainted away. Soon after, I came a little to myself, and the Quaker begged of me to tell her what was the cause of my sudden indisposition. "Nothing at all," says I, "as I know of; but a sudden chilliness seized my blood, and that, joined to a fainting of the spirits, made me ready to sink."

Presently after my husband came to see how I did, and finding me somewhat better, he told me that he had a mind to hire the young man I had left him with, for he believed he was honest and fit for our service. "My dear," says I, "I did not mind him. I would desire you to be cautious who we pick up on the road; but as I have the satisfaction of hiring my maids, I shall never trouble myself with the men-servants, that is wholly your province. However," added I (for I was very certain he was my son, and was resolved to have him in my service, though it was my interest to keep my husband off, in order to bring him on), "if you like the fellow, I am not averse to your hiring one servant in England. We are not obliged to trust him with much before we see his conduct, and if he does not prove as you may expect, you may turn him off whenever you please." "I believe," said my husband, "he has been ingenuous in his relation to me; and as a man who has seen great variety of life, and may have been the shuttlecock of fortune, the butt of envy, and the mark of malice, I will hire him when he comes to me here anon, as I have ordered him."

As I knew he was to be hired, I resolved to be out of the way when he came to my husband; so about five o'clock I proposed to the Quaker to take a walk on the pier and see the shipping, while the tea-kettle was boiling. We went, and took Isabel with us, and as we were going along I saw my son Thomas (as I shall for the future call him) going to our inn; so we stayed out about an hour, and when we returned my husband told me he had hired the man, and that he was to come to him as a servant on the morrow morning. "Pray, my dear," said I, "did you ask where he ever lived, or what his name is?" "Yes," replied my husband, "he says his name is Thomas – ; and as to places, he has mentioned several families of note, and among others, he lived at my Lord – 's, next door to the great French lady's in Pall Mall, whose name he tells me was Roxana." I was now in a sad dilemma, and was fearful I should be known by my own son; and the Quaker took notice of it, and afterwards told me she believed fortune had conspired that all the people I became acquainted with, should have known the Lady Roxana. "I warrant," said she, "this young fellow is somewhat acquainted with the impertinent wench that calls herself thy daughter."

I was very uneasy in mind, but had one thing in my favour, which was always to keep myself at a very great distance from my servants; and as the Quaker was to part with us the next day or night, he would have nobody to mention the name Roxana to, and so of course it would drop.

We supped pretty late at night, and were very merry, for my husband said all the pleasant things he could think of, to divert me from the supposed illness he thought I had been troubled with in the day. The Quaker kept up the discourse with great spirit, and I was glad to receive the impression, for I wanted the real illness to be drove out of my head.

The next morning, after breakfast, Thomas came to his new place. He appeared very clean, and brought with him a small bundle, which I supposed to be linen tied up in a handkerchief. My husband sent him to order some porters belonging to the quay to fetch our boxes to the Custom-house, where they were searched, for which we paid one shilling; and he had orders to give a crown for head money, as they called it; their demand by custom is but sixpence a head, but we appeared to our circumstances in everything. As soon as our baggage was searched, it was carried from the Custom-house on board the packet-boat, and there lodged in the great cabin as we had ordered it.

This took up the time till dinner, and when we were sitting together after we had both dined, the captain came to tell us that the wind was very fair, and that he was to sail at high water, which would be about ten o'clock at night. My husband asked him to stay and drink part of a bottle of wine with him, which he did; and their discourse being all in the maritime strain, the Quaker and I retired and left them together, for I had something to remind her of in our discourse before we left London. When we got into the garden, which was rather neat than fine, I repeated all my former requests to her about my children, Spitalfields, Amy, &c., and we sat talking together till Thomas was sent to tell us the captain was going, on which we returned; but, by the way, I kissed her and put a large gold medal into her hand, as a token of my sincere love, and desired that she would never neglect the things she had promised to perform, and her repeated promise gave me great satisfaction.

The captain, who was going out of the parlour as we returned in, was telling my husband he would send six of his hands to conduct us to the boat, about a quarter of an hour before he sailed, and as the moon was at the full, he did not doubt of a pleasant passage.

Our next business was to pay off the coachman, to whom my husband gave half a guinea extraordinary, to set the Quaker down at the house he took us all up at, which he promised to perform.

As it was low water, we went on board to see the cabin that we were to go our voyage in, and the captain would detain us to drink a glass of the best punch, I think, I ever tasted.

When we returned to the inn, we ordered supper to be ready by eight o'clock, that we might drink a parting glass to settle it, before we went on board; for my husband, who knew the sea very well, said a full stomach was the forerunner of sea-sickness, which I was willing to avoid.

We invited the landlord, his wife, and daughter, to supper with us, and having sat about an hour afterwards, the captain himself, with several sailors, came to fetch us to the vessel. As all was paid, we had nothing to hinder us but taking a final leave of the Quaker, who would go to see us safe in the vessel, where tears flowed from both our eyes; and I turned short in the boat, while my husband took his farewell, and he then followed me, and I never saw the Quaker or England any more.

We were no sooner on board than we hoisted sail; the anchors being up, and the wind fair, we cut the waves at a great rate, till about four o'clock in the morning, when a French boat came to fetch the mail to carry it to the post-house, and the boat cast her anchors, for we were a good distance from the shore, neither could we sail to the town till next tide, the present one being too far advanced in the ebb.

We might have gone on shore in the boat that carried the mail, but my husband was sleeping in the cabin when it came to the packet-boat, and I did not care to disturb him; however, we had an opportunity soon after, for my husband awaking, and two other boats coming up with oars to see for passengers, Thomas came to let us know we might go on shore, if we pleased. My husband paid the master of the packet-boat for our passage, and Thomas, with the sailors' assistance, got our boxes into the wherry, so we sailed for Calais; but before our boat came to touch ground, several men, whose bread I suppose it is, rushed into the water, without shoes or stockings, to carry us on shore; so having paid ten shillings for the wherry, we each of us was carried from the boat to the land by two men, and our goods brought after us; here was a crown to be paid, to save ourselves from being wet, by all which a man that is going a travelling may see that it is not the bare expense of the packet-boat that will carry him to Calais.

It would be needless to inform the reader of all the ceremonies that we passed through at this place before we were suffered to proceed on our journey; however, our boxes having been searched at the Custom-house, my husband had them plumbed, as they called it, to hinder any further inquiry about them; and we got them all to the Silver Lion, a noted inn, and the post-house of this place, where we took a stage-coach for ourselves, and the next morning, having well refreshed ourselves, we all, viz., my husband, self, and chambermaid within the coach, and Thomas behind (beside which my husband hired two horsemen well armed, who were pretty expensive, to travel with us), set forward on our journey.

We were five days on our journey from Calais to Paris, which we went through with much satisfaction, for, having fine weather and good attendance, we had nothing to hope for.

When we arrived at Paris (I began to be sorry I had ever proposed going to it for fear of being known, but as we were to stay there but a few days, I was resolved to keep very retired), we went to a merchant's house of my husband's acquaintance in the Rue de la Bourle, near the Carmelites, in the Faubourg de St. Jacques.

This being a remote part of the city, on the south side, and near several pleasant gardens, I thought it would be proper to be a little indisposed, that my husband might not press me to go with him to see the curiosities; for he could do the most needful business, such as going to the bankers to exchange bills, despatching of letters, settling affairs with merchants, &c., without my assistance; and I had a tolerable plea for my conduct, such as the great fatigue of our journey, being among strangers, &c.; so we stayed at Paris eight days without my going to any particular places, except going one day to the gardens of Luxembourg, another to the church of Notre Dame on the Isle of Paris, a third to the Hôtel Royale des Invalides, a fourth to the gardens of the Tuileries, a fifth to the suburbs of St. Lawrence, to see the fair which was then holding there; a sixth to the gardens of the Louvre, a seventh to the playhouse, and the eighth stayed all day at home to write a letter to the Quaker, letting her know where I then was, and how soon we should go forwards in our journey, but did not mention where we intended to settle, as, indeed, we had not yet settled that ourselves.

One of the days, viz., that in which I went to the gardens of the Tuileries, I asked Thomas several questions about his father, mother, and other relations, being resolved, notwithstanding he was my own son, as he did not know it, to turn him off by some stratagem or another, if he had any manner of memory of me, either as his mother, or the Lady Roxana. I asked him if he had any particular memory of his mother or father; he answered, "No, I scarce remember anything of either of them," said he, "but I have heard from several people that I had one brother and three sisters, though I never saw them all, to know them, notwithstanding I lived with an aunt four years; I often asked after my mother, and some people said she went away with a man, but it was allowed by most people, that best knew her, that she, being brought to the greatest distress, was carried to the workhouse belonging to the parish, where she died soon after with grief."

Nothing could give me more satisfaction than what Thomas had related; so now, I thought I would ask about the Lady Roxana (for he had been my next-door neighbour when I had that title conferred on me). "Pray, Thomas," said I, "did not you speak of a great person of quality, whose name I have forgot, that lived next door to my Lord – 's when you was his valet? pray who was she? I suppose a foreigner, by the name you called her." "Really, my lady," replied he, "I do not know who she was; all I can say of her is, that she kept the greatest company, and was a beautiful woman, by report, but I never saw her; she was called the Lady Roxana, was a very good mistress, but her character was not so good as to private life as it ought to be. Though I once had an opportunity," continued he, "of seeing a fine outlandish dress she danced in before the king, which I took as a great favour, for the cook took me up when the lady was out, and she desired my lady's woman to show it to me."

All this answered right, and I had nothing to do but to keep my Turkish dress out of the way, to be myself unknown to my child, for as he had never seen Roxana, so he knew nothing of me.

In the interval, my husband had hired a stage-coach to carry us to the city of Menin, where he intended to go by water down the river Lys to Ghent, and there take coach to Isabella fort, opposite the city of Anvers, and cross the river to that place, and go from thence by land to Breda; and as he had agreed and settled this patrol, I was satisfied, and we set out next day. We went through several handsome towns and villages before we took water, but by water we went round part of the city of Courtrai, and several fortified towns. At Anvers we hired a coach to Breda, where we stayed two days to refresh ourselves, for we had been very much fatigued; as Willemstadt was situated so as to be convenient for our taking water for Rotterdam, we went there, and being shipped, had a safe and speedy voyage to that city.

As we had resolved in our journey to settle at the Hague, we did not intend to stay any longer at Rotterdam, than while my husband had all our wealth delivered to him from the several merchants he had consigned it to. This business took up a month, during which time we lived in ready-furnished lodgings on the Great Quay, where all the respect was shown us as was due to our quality.

Here my husband hired two more men-servants, and I took two maids, and turned Isabel, who was a well-bred, agreeable girl, into my companion; but that I might not be too much fatigued, my husband went to the Hague first, and left me, with three maids and Thomas, at Rotterdam, while he took a house, furnished it, and had everything ready for my reception, which was done with great expedition. One of his footmen came with a letter to me one morning, to let me know his master would come by the scow next day to take me home, in which he desired that I would prepare for my departure. I soon got everything ready, and the next morning, on the arrival of the scow, I saw my husband; and we both, with all the servants, left the city of Rotterdam, and safely got to the Hague the afternoon following.

It was now the servants had notice given them to call me by the name of "my lady," as the honour of baronetage had entitled me, and with which title I was pretty well satisfied, but should have been more so had not I yet the higher title of countess in view.

I now lived in a place where I knew nobody, neither was I known, on which I was pretty careful whom I became acquainted with; our circumstances were very good, my husband loving, to the greatest degree, my servants respectful; and, in short, I lived the happiest life woman could enjoy, had my former crimes never crept into my guilty conscience.

I was in this happy state of life when I wrote a letter to the Quaker, in which I gave her a direction where she might send to me. And about a fortnight after, as I was one afternoon stepping into my coach in order to take an airing, the postman came to our door with letters, one of which was directed to me, and as soon as I saw it was the Quaker's hand, I bid the coachman put up again, and went into my closet to read the contents, which were as follows:

"Dear Friend, – I have had occasion to write to thee several times since we saw each other, but as this is my first letter, so it shall contain all the business thou wouldst know. I got safe to London, by thy careful ordering of the coach, and the attendants were not at all wanting in their duty. When I had been at home a few days, thy woman, Mrs. Amy, came to see me, so I took her to task as thou ordered me, about murdering thy pretended daughter; she declared her innocence, but said she had procured a false evidence to swear a large debt against her, and by that means had put her into a prison, and fee'd the keepers to hinder her from sending any letter or message out of the prison to any person whatever. This, I suppose, was the reason thou thought she was murdered, because thou wert relieved from her by this base usage. However, when I heard of it, I checked Amy very much, but was well satisfied to hear she was alive. After this I did not hear from Amy for above a month, and in the interim (as I knew thou wast safe), I sent a friend of mine to pay the debt, and release the prisoner, which he did, but was so indiscreet as to let her know who was the benefactress. My next care was to manage thy Spitalfields business, which I did with much exactness. And the day that I received thy last letter, Amy came to me again, and I read as much of it to her as she was concerned in: nay, I entreated her to drink tea with me, and after it one glass of citron, in which she drank towards thy good health, and she told me she would come to see thee as soon as possible. Just as she was gone, I was reading thy letter again in the little parlour, and that turbulent creature (thy pretended daughter) came to me, as she said, to return thanks for the favour I had done her, so I accidentally laid thy letter down in the window, while I went to fetch her a glass of cordial, for she looked sadly; and before I returned I heard the street door shut, on which I went back without the liquor, not knowing who might have come in, but missing her, I thought she might be gone to stand at the door, and the wind had blown it to; but I was never the nearer, she was sought for in vain. So when I believed her to be quite gone, I looked to see if I missed anything, which I did not; but at last, to my great surprise, I missed your letter, which she certainly took and made off with. I was so terrified at this unhappy chance that I fainted away, and had not one of my maidens come in at that juncture, it might have been attended with fatal consequences. I would advise thee to prepare thyself to see her, for I verily believe she will come to thee. I dread your knowing of this, but hope the best. Before I went to fetch the unhappy cordial, she told me, as she had often done before, that she was the eldest daughter, that the captain's wife was your second daughter, and her sister, and that the youngest sister was dead. She also said there were two brothers, the eldest of whom had never been seen by any of them since he run away from an uncle's at nine years of age, and that the youngest had been taken care of by an old lady that kept her coach, whom he took to be his godmother. She gave me a long history in what manner she was arrested and flung into Whitechapel jail, how hardly she fared there; and at length the keeper's wife, to whom she told her pitiful story, took compassion of her, and recommended her to the bounty of a certain lady who lived in that neighbourhood, that redeemed prisoners for small sums, and who lay for their fees, every return of the day of her nativity; that she was one of the six the lady had discharged; that the lady prompted her to seek after her mother; that she thereupon did seek thee in all the towns and villages between London and Dover; that not finding thee at Dover she went to Deal; and that at length, she being tired of seeking thee, she returned by shipping to London, where she was no sooner arrived but she was immediately arrested and flung into the Marshalsea prison, where she lived in a miserable condition, without the use of pen, ink, and paper, and without the liberty of having any one of her friends come near her. 'In this condition I was,' continued she, 'when you sent and paid my debt for me, and discharged me.' When she had related all this she fell into such a fit of crying, sighing, and sobbing, from which, when she was a little recovered, she broke out into loud exclamations against the wickedness of the people in England, that they could be so unchristian as to arrest her twice, when she said it was as true as the Gospel that she never did owe to any one person the sum of one shilling in all her life; that she could not think who it was that should owe her so much ill-will, for that she was not conscious to herself that she had any ways offended any person in the whole universal world, except Mrs. Amy, in the case of her mother, which, she affirmed, she was acquitted of by all men, and hoped she should be so by her Maker; and that if she (Mrs. Amy) had any hand in her sufferings, God would forgive her, as she heartily did. 'But then,' she added, 'I will not stay in England, I will go all over the world, I will go to France, to Paris; I know my mother did once live there, and if I do not find her there, I will go through Holland, to Amsterdam, to Rotterdam; in short, I will go till I find my mother out, if I should die in the pursuit.' I should be glad to hear of thine and thy spouse's welfare, and remain with much sincerity, your sincere friend,

"M.P.

"The ninth of the month called October.

"P.S. – If thou hast any business to transact in this city, pray let me know; I shall use my best endeavours to oblige thee; my daughters all join with me in willing thee a hearty farewell."

I concealed my surprise for a few minutes, only till I could get into the summer-house, at the bottom of our large garden; but when I was shut in, no living soul can describe the agony I was in, I raved, tore, fainted away, swore, prayed, wished, cried, and promised, but all availed nothing, I was now stuck in to see the worst of it, let what would happen.

At last I came to the following resolution, which was to write a letter to the Quaker, and in it enclose a fifty pound bank-bill, and tell the Quaker to give that to the young woman if she called again, and also to let her know a fifty pound bill should be sent her every year, so long as she made no inquiry after me, and kept herself retired in England. Although this opened myself too full to the Quaker, yet I thought I had better venture my character abroad, than destroy my peace at home.

Soon after, my husband came home, and he perceived I had been crying, and asked what was the reason. I told him that I had shed tears both for joy and sorrow: "For," said I, "I have received one of the tenderest letters from Amy, as it was possible for any person, and she tells me in it," added I, "that she will soon come to see me; which so overjoyed me, that I cried, and after it, I went to read the letter a second time, as I was looking out of the summer-house window over the canal; and in unfolding it, I accidentally let it fall in, by which mischance it is lost, for which I am very sorry, as I intended you should see it." "Pray, my dear," said he, "do not let that give you any uneasiness; if Amy comes, and you approve of it, you have my consent to take her into the house, in what capacity you please. I am very glad," continued he, "that you have nothing of more consequence to be uneasy at, I fancy you would make but an indifferent helpmate if you had." Oh! thought I to myself, if you but knew half the things that lie on my conscience, I believe you would think that I bear them out past all example.

About ten days afterwards, as we were sitting at dinner with two gentlemen, one of the footmen came to the door, and said, "My lady, here is a gentlewoman at the door who desires to speak with you: she says her name is Mrs. Amy."

I no sooner heard her name, but I was ready to swoon away, but I ordered the footman to call Isabel, and ask the gentlewoman to walk up with her into my dressing-room; which he immediately did, and there I went to have my first interview with her. She kissed me for joy when she saw me, and I sent Isabel downstairs, for I was in pain till I had some private conversation with my old confidante.

There was not much ceremony between us, before I told her all the material circumstances that had happened in her absence, especially about the girl's imprisonments which she had contrived, and how she had got my letter at the Quaker's, the very day she had been there. "Well," says Amy, when I had told her all, "I find nothing is to ensue, if she lives, but your ruin; you would not agree to her death, so I will not make myself uneasy about her life; it might have been rectified, but you were angry with me for giving you the best of counsel, viz., when I proposed to murder her."

"Hussy," said I, in the greatest passion imaginable, "how dare you mention the word murder? You wretch you, I could find in my heart, if my husband and the company were gone, to kick you out of my house. Have you not done enough to kill her, in throwing her into one of the worst jails in England, where, you see, that Providence in a peculiar manner appeared to her assistance. Away! thou art a wicked wretch; thou art a murderer in the sight of God."

"I will say no more," says Amy, "but if I could have found her, after thy friend the Quaker had discharged her out of the Marshalsea prison, I had laid a scheme to have her taken up for a theft, and by that means got her transported for fourteen years. She will be with you soon, I am sure; I believe she is now in Holland."

While we were in this discourse, I found the gentlemen who dined with us were going, so we came downstairs, and I went into the parlour to take leave of them before their departure. When they were gone, my husband told me he had been talking with them about taking upon him the title of Count or Earl of – , as he had told me of, and as an opportunity now offered, he was going to put it in execution.