I Am got (as they tell me) sixteen Miles from you and London; but I can't help fancying 'tis so many Degrees. Tho' Midsummer to all besides, in my Breast there's nothing but frozen Imagina­tions. The Resolutions I have taken of quitting London (which is as much as to say, the World) for ever, starts back, and asks my gayer Part if 't has well weigh'd the Sense of Ever? Nor does your Letter, which I receiv'd this Morning, (taking [Page 2]Coach) less influence me, than when I first form'd the Design. You shou'd have us'd but half these Arguments, and they had undoubtedly prevail'd: 'Tis of the latest now to ask me why I leave the crowded Market, and retire to starve alone in Soli­tude? Whereas you quote the Poet,

I am too much afraid Sloth and Sadness are going to be my E­ternal Companions; and you know my Soul's unfitted for such Guests, till upon the Road to Execution: I fancy'd Dying to [Page 3]the World; Horace, Cowley, all those Illustrious Lovers of Soli­tude, debauch'd my Opinion, against my Reason: I took Coach with Mr. Granvill's Words in my Mouth,

Yet you see how great a Change two Hours has produced: All [Page 4]my Constancy is not Proof a­gainst the Thoughts, I am go­ing to have no Lover but my self for ever. The green invi­ting Grass (upon which I pro­mised to pass many pleasing so­litary Hours) seems not at all entertaining: The Trees, with all their blooming, spreading Beauties, appear the worst sort of Canopy; because, where I am going, they can offer their Shade to none but solitary me. But 'tis not reasonable my Dul­ness shou'd extend to you, who have every thing in your Na­ture just and pleasing. You ask'd, and I eagerly engag'd (because you desir'd) to give an Account of my self and Tra­vels, every Stage. I have not [Page 5]forgot (when I told you) 'Twas too often, how you answer'd, Not for a Mind so fruitful as mine in Variety of Inconstant Thoughts. You find at present, they run all upon melancholy Apprehensions, which have so wholly possess'd me, I have not had time to observe my wretch­ed Fellow-Travellers, only a pert Sir in the Company, that will make himself be taken no­tice of by his Dulness. They most unmercifully set us to Dinner at Ten-a-Clock, upon a great Leg of Mutton. 'Tis the Custom of these Dining Stages, to prepare one Day Beef, and another our present Fare; 'tis ready against the Coach comes: And tho' you shou'd have a [Page 4] [...] [Page 5] [...] [Page 6]perfect Antipathy, there's no Re­medy but Fasting: The Coach­man begs your Pardon; hed not stay dressing a Dinner for the King, (God bless him) shou'd he travel in his Coach. I have left the Limb of the Sheep to the Mercy of my Companions, (whose Stomachs are thus early prepar'd for any Digestion) to tell you, with what unfeigned Respect I shall be ever

I am got safe to Hartley-Row, and in a little bet­ter Humour than when I writ my last. Our Landlord is a perfect Beaux, and most exqui­sitely performs the Honours of his House. I am in pain for his Assiduity: I can't fetch a Step, no not to the Window, from the Table, &c. but he is Squi­ring me; and so dress'd, and so conceited, that nothing but Serving a loose Apprenticeship, cou'd have set him up a Master in the Trade of Foppery. He was a Goldsmith's Apprentice, where he studied more his Plea­sure, than Profit. This House [Page 8]fell to him, and he wisely re­solv'd to keep it himself, with the Help of his Sister, who is a neat, houswifely, obliging sort of Woman. I suppose 'tis, by much, the best Entertainment this Road affords. They have a tollerable Cook; and I was glad to find something I cou'd eat at Three-a-Clock, for we came in here at Two, and I can give you a little better Account of my Fellow-Travellers. The Sir I spoke of is a Baronet's Son, as he has carefully given me to un­derstand: I take it for granted, he likes me; and wou'd have me do the same by him. As he came in he put off his Tra­velling Suit, for a Coat and Vest, design'd to dazzle the Cu­rate [Page 9]and all his Congregation. The Way I took to mortifie his Foppery, was, not to speak a Word of the Change; which made him extream uneasie: At length, out of all Patience, he desired my Opinion, If his Tay­lor had used him well? What the Brocade was worth a Yard? How many Ounces of Silver-Fringe? And recommended to my Curiosity the exquisite Work­manship of the Loops; and then gave me the Sum Total of his Cost. I answer'd him, That Finery was lost upon me; I nei­ther was, nor pretended to be a Judge. He pertly answer'd, He perceiv'd by my Sullenness, that I had a great deal of Wit; though I understood he had but [Page 10]little by his Remark.—Well, all this did not do: He wou'd fain have had me enquir'd into his Family, Intrigues, and For­tune; which when he perceiv'd I had no Curiosity for, 'Faith, Madam, said he, I beg your Lady­ship's Opinion, if I am not the most unfortunate Man breathing: I'll tell you a most mortifying Adven­ture—Nay, you must hear me—I vow, this Indifferency does not look natural to you; your eyes pro­mise us much more Fire. I'll shut 'em, thought I, for ever, rather than such a Fop shall find any thing to like them for—What! no Answer, Madam, said he; I per­ceive your Attention by your Silence. Gad, I love a Person of your Breed­ing, that know themselves better [Page 11]than to interrupt a good Story. Perhaps Madam is not well with her Journey, answer'd Mrs. Mayoress of Tatness—Alas! I wonder Ri­ding in the Coach shou'd not have got you a better Stomach—Poor Gentlewoman, she has scarce eat any thing. I'll recompence that by a Feast of the Mind, answer'd my Fop. How say you, Madam? Shall I begin the Regalio?—I had as good consent, quoth I: With or without my Leave, I see you are resolv'd upon't. Well then, Madam, said he, since you are dis­posed to be delighted, I'll about it instantly.

‘'It happen'd at Oxford three Months ago, (where I often came, my Father's Estate be­ing [Page 12]not far distant) I saw a Lady, and fell in Love with her; [...]y Gad, Madam, down­right in Love with her. She was a Person Gentilely bred, had seen the Beaux Monde, made the Tour of all the Places of Gallantry, shin'd in the Drawing-Room, languish'd in the Boxes, adorn'd the Park; in a Word, was all a Man of my Circumstances cou'd desire in one he was resolv'd to make an Oblation of his Heart to. But as her Honour was my Care, and not Marrying my De­sign, I search'd for a dexterous Pretence to visit, and be happy. I took Mr. Sly with me, a Gen­tleman of the Town, who had a Wife: To give you the Cha­racter [Page 13]of my Friend, He was naturally amorous, had a hand­som Person, and Strains of na­tural Wit beyond whatever I saw in the most Acquir'd; and your Ladyship must allow me to be a Judge of Wit, by so dexterously finding out yours, Maugre your Silence.'’ I bow'd for this extraordinary Compli­ment; and thought I cou'd not more agreeably return it, than by continuing my Silence; and, as the Poet has it, left him to his dear Mistake. ‘'Mr. Sly, continued he, was to propose a Marriage be­tween me and my Lady Conquest, to the old People, her Rela­tions, whom she was just come to live with: But as soon as he saw her, if I was her first Ox­ford-Victim, [Page 14]he was certainly the second; and, as I found, presently took with her. She had a very fine Hand, which Mr. Sly, according to the Country-Liberty, kiss'd; and then, with Cleveland, said, So soft, tis Air; but once remov'd, Tender, as 'twere a Jelly Glov'd. She gave him a Look, which seem'd to say, she wonder'd in that Place at such a Piece of Gallantry; and then pursuing with her Wit the Victory of her Eyes, charm'd my Friend to that Degree, that he told me, he must enjoy her, or die. Gad, Madam, was not this a very odd Turn? I carried him to speak [Page 15]for me; and he comes to make me the Confident of his Designs? We agreed, tho' as Friends shou'd, to keep our mutual Confidence secret from her, and to endeavour each of us to make himself happy, and faith­fully to relate the Progress of our Amours. But because the Country is much given to Tat­ling, the Pretensions of Mar­riage went on. Lady Conquest was Airy and Coquet; lov'd Company and Gallantry, if they cou'd be purchas'd with Safety: But she knew so well how to manage every body, that none durst speak to her, more than she had a mind to hear. I was one of the aw'd Fools. Gad! Wou'd you be­lieve, [Page 16]Madam, that Love cou'd make so great an Ass of a Man of my Ʋnderstanding? And yet 'twas not altogether that nei­ther, my Pride was concern'd; I was resolv'd not to serve for her Diversion, till I was sure she was consenting to be mine; but cou'd no more keep out of her Company, than I cou'd hang my self. I desired her to walk: She consented, with a Crony she pick'd up, upon Con­dition I wou'd engage Mr. Sly of the Party. I was jealous, but to no purpose; either my Rival's Company, or not my Mistress's. Sly pretended Fear of his Wife, that he durst not appear in publick with any other Woman; for she already began [Page 17]to have Apprehensions of my Lady Conquest, whose Way of Living was remote to those of Country-Gentlewomen's; and therefore he was resolv'd to think no more of her, tho' in­finitely pleasing to him; for his Fortune depended, in a great measure, upon his Wife's Mo­ther. I came back with this doleful News to Lady Conquest. Go tell him, answer'd she, He who has pretended to love me, shou'd fear nothing more than not being belov'd; and that I com­mand him to meet us at the ap­pointed place. I ran, like a Fool, to do her Message, which I believ'd Raillery, because she ought to have been more cau­tious of a Married Man's Love, [Page 18]if serious. Sly wanted but In­treaty: He consented, and we met, but not to my Comfort; tho' the Expence was mine, he had the Profit: She was not ea­sie unless he sat nigh her; she talk'd to him, star'd at him, did every thing to shew she was pleas'd; whilst I, by a Notion of Pride, wou'd pretend no­thing, for fear I shou'd not have all: For, Gad, Madam, I don't love being baulk'd thus. Several times we met, but all as little to the purpose. Undoubtedly, she saw I lov'd her, but wou'd not see, because I was of Use in her Affair with Sly. The whole Town talk'd of our approach­ing Wedding, and I began to be Fool enough to resolve on't [Page 19]through Sly's Persuasion, who continually extoll'd her Ho­nour and Vertue, and tickl'd my Pride with the News of her Love; but that she wanted a Declaration from me, before I cou'd expect a Confession from her. I told him, I wou'd think on't; and so we parted.—That Night (as Chance wou'd have it) I pass'd along by the House where she liv'd, and I found the Gate open: I know not what Devil of Curiosity carry'd me in; and when in, to go to her Chamber: I did both unseen, and conceal'd my self behind the Bed, which I saw fit­ted for Night. I resolv'd to wait till she shou'd be in Bed, and then to take Advantage of [Page 20]her Woman's Absence, (who lay in the Antichamber) and there to declare my Love, and offer her Marriage. Long I had not waited, (Though, Gad, Madam, I was very impatient, and thought every Minute Seven,) when the charming Fair came from her Dressing-Room, with nothing on but her Night-Gown and Slippers, which were soon thrown off, and the God­dess appear'd more beauteous than the naked Queen of Love. The happy Bed soon receiv'd her; and she cry'd, Haste, and bring my Lover to me. At these Words her Woman went into the Antichamber, and return'd softly with Sly; who flew to her Arms, sigh'd, kiss'd, and [Page 21]dy'd there.—Imagine my Sur­prize! 'Twas so great, I cou'd not in a long time shew my self, to interrupt 'em: At length, seeing him undress for Bed, Gad, Madam, my Patience was quite expir'd; Traytor, said I in shewing my self, Is it thus thou preservest thy feign'd Duty to thy Wife? I laid my Hand upon my Sword, and he did the like on his; and we had certainly drawn, had not the Amorous Fair thrown her self out of Bed between us, and conjur'd us on her Knees to make no noise; else she was lost for ever. I rais'd her naked Beauties, and carry'd them whence they came, but complain'd at my hard For­tune, which had made me the [Page 22]Instrument of my own Ruin. She saw I was extreamly touch'd at it; and after her Shame and Surprize was a little over, You have no Reason, Sir, said she, to complain of me: I cou'd have no Engagements with a Man who ne­ver pretended to love me. Tho' you have given me the Glory of refusing you as a Husband (in the Eyes of the Town) it cou'd not but nettle me, to know there was nothing serious on your side, but done like a Gentleman, to se­cure my Reputation amongst Ill­bred Fools, who know not the Charms of Conversation, and won't permit it (without Censure) to those that do. But, Gad, Ma­dam, answer'd I, your Ladiship is not so dull, but to know I lov'd [Page 23]you: All my Assiduities, Ʋneasi­ness, Sighs and Oaglings must have inform'd you. Our Sex dares hardly believe yours, she reply'd, when you take pains to speak: And sure 'twere an unpardonable Vanity to draw such Consequences without it. Those Circumstances you pretend, I have found common to all Gentlemen: Therefore must I conclude the whole World is in Love with me; and deny my self to those who tell me they are my Servants, for the vain Imagina­tion that another is silently so? Gad, Madam, answer'd I, I can't possibly forgive the Preference of a dull, silly, sober Married Man, to an Airy, Well-dress'd, Young, Amo­rous one. I'll be gone to London by Break of day, for fear I shou'd [Page 24]not conceal my Resentments, and so injure your Ladyship irrepara­bly: For, Gad, Madam, I must repeat again, you were to blame to slight all the Pains I took to breed you for nobler Game.'’ This last, I confess, broke my Splene­tick Silence, and I cou'd not hold laughing heartily; which amply paid my Squire for the Pains he had taken in his Relation. He concluded it with telling me his Journey to London, and short Stay there, only to accouter, his De­sign of visiting a Lady-Sister, marry'd into Devonshire: And clos'd with Lauds to his good Fortune, that had thrown him into a Coach with a Lady of my Charms and Sense to whom he had sacrific'd the Relicks of La­dy [Page 25] Conquest the first Minute that he saw me. I answer'd him, That I found Experience had made him resolve against losing a second Mistress for want of speaking.—He had Manners sufficient (or ra­ther Conscience) to think he had given me enough of his: Beaux-self for one Day, and withdrew.

I cou'd not forbear, late as it was, sending you an Account: If you laugh in your Turn, I am paid for my Pains, as well as the Squire. 'Tis now past Eleven, and they'll call us by Two: Good Night; I am going to try if I can drown in Sleep that which most sensibly affects me, the cruel Se­paration we have so lately suffer'd.

Hartley-Row, Jun. 22. 1694.

DOn't you think I am more constant than your Friend­ship cou'd hope, or mine pretend to? I think it a great Proof of it, amidst the Fatigues of a West-Country Journey, to give you thus duly an Account of my insignificant self, and Travels. We parted from Hartley-Row at Three this Morning, through a Croud of Beggars, who watch your Coach for Alms; and will never leave it unbless'd. Hence my Beaux took Occasion of Si­mile; Bid me to observe how wakeful those Wretches were for small Charities; That he wou'd do the like, in hopes of greater; [Page 27]And that my Divine Idea had so fill'd his Sight, he cou'd not re­solve to let Sleep intrude, for fear of shutting me out. I per­ceiv'd he took pains to be thought uneasie, and I have more good Manners than to disappoint him. Mrs. Moyoress, now she is ac­quainted, has all the low, dis­agreeble Familiarity of Peo­ple of her Rank. She enter­tain'd us all the Morning with a sorry Love-business about her Second Husband; Stuff so im­pertinent, I remember nothing of it. Beaux continues his Assi­duities: I think none was ever so plagu'd with dying Eyes; his are continually in that posture, and my Opposites, that I am forc'd to take a good deal of pains to [Page 28]avoid 'em. The two other Fel­low-Travellers were never so pro­moted before, and are much troubl'd their Journey is to last no longer, and wish the four Days four Months. I hope eve­ry Jolt will squash their Guts, and give 'em enough on't: But they are Proof against any such Dis­asters, and hugely delighted with what they are pleas'd to call Ri­ding in State. After this ridi­culous Account, you need not doubt but I am throughly mor­tify'd.—The Trouts are just brought upon the Table, which are the only good thing here; they look inviting, and won't stay for Cooling Complements. I hope Time will shew it none, to say,

I Can't give my self any Rea­son why these Coach-men are such unreasonable Rogues: They make us rise at Two in the Morning, to bring us into our Inn at the same Hour in the Af­ternoon. After we were repos'd a little, Beaux shin'd again, as yesterday, and waited upon me to Evening-Prayers. I need say nothing to you of Salisbury-Ca­thedral: If in a Foreign Coun­try, as the Lady in her Letters of Spain, I cou'd entertain you with a noble Description; but you have either seen, or may see it; and so I'll spare my Ar­chitecture. There are abundance [Page 30]of pretty, innocent-look'd Wo­men, genteel enough; but I have lost my Heart to a handsom Church-man. I never thought before that Dress was tolerable; but so wore, it seems a mighty Ornament. He was plac'd be­hind me; but I turn'd my De­votion, and kneel'd to him, ima­gining him no less than (as in Antique Days) some High Priest of the Sun. The Canon gave me Cause to think he had din'd too well, and was oblig'd to his Snuff, more than Religion, for keeping him awake.—Well, Devotion done, I was forc'd to break up mine, and leave him without a Knowledge of his Conquest. As we were walking to our Inn, I ask'd Beaux what [Page 31]we shou'd do to pass the next day without being very weary of each other, for Sunday does not permit Travelling. He, you may be sure, did not fail to tell me, He cou'd never be weary of me, tho' (himself) expiring by my Sight and Cruelty. I wav'd his Complement, and told him my Design of engaging the Peo­ple in the Exeter Coach (if they seem'd worth it) to live with us for the time. When we re­turn'd, we were told it was not yet come in, occasion'd by the breaking of the Axle-tree five Miles off; but that a Fellow was gone to mend it, and they were expected every Moment. My Chamber-Window answer'd the Court; I rose to it at the Noise [Page 32]of the Coach, and presently saw alight a tall, blustring, big-bon'd, raw Thing, like an over-grown School-Boy, but conceited a­bove any thing. He had an Ap­purtenance, call'd a Wife, whom he suffer'd to get out as well as she cou'd; as long as he had layn with her, he did not think her worth the Civility of his Hand. She seem'd a Giant of a Woman, but very fine, with a right Citt Air. He bluster'd pre­sently for the best Lodging, which he saw taken up by her that held the fine Fan before her Face: You may guess this was your humble Servant. The Chamberlain told him, 'Twas their Custom, First come, first serv'd; but that there were very [Page 33]good Chambers besides. The rest of the Company were two Things that look'd pert and aw­kard; Trades-men's Daughters I judg'd 'em. But methoughts, casting my Eyes upon a Gentle­woman and her Servant, that came out last, I found some­thing pleas'd me; whether it were because she really deserv'd it, or that the Stuff she was with set her off. I had a Basin of fine Heart-Cherries before me, just come from the Garden: I caus'd 'em to be brought after me, in­to the Gallery, and design'd 'em as a Bait to the Woman whom I was to begin the Acquaintance with; for Beaux design'd to set up to get a Fortune in Devon­shire, and was unwilling to shew [Page 34]any Irregularity;—and I thought my self above their Re­flections. The first that appear'd was the Wife, with a Rising Bel­ly: This seem'd a good Hint; I offer'd 'em to her, not know­ing but she might long. The Sight, I suppose, did not displease her, for she readily accepted, and eat very greedily. The Gentile look'd Lady had much to do to be persuaded. As for the other two, they were gone to chuse a Lodging. We presently grew acquainted, taking Travellers Li­berty and Sup'd together. But, shall I tell you? The Wife grew jealous of me. It seems, her Temper was such. And her Hus­band (no small Man in his Coun­try, tho' himself just set up in [Page 35]Merchandizing at London; his Father one of the Canons at Exe­ter;) thought he might carry all Hearts before him, as well as the Country-Lasses. They were come from visiting their Friends, and returning to their House in London. Mrs. Stanhope, for that was the Lady's Name that I lik'd, told me, I was not to count up­on the Conquest, for he had given her Douceurs all the Way, and made her extream uneasie, because his Wife appear'd to be such. We grew into an Intima­cy, and left the Company. My Beaux was to me faithless and inconstant. One of the awkard little Things I told you of, and who had a tollerable Face, was a Goldsmith's Daughter of Exe­ter, [Page 36]and acquainted with his La­dy-Sister; that began their Ac­quaintance. She seem'd free and fond: He took the Hint, and apply'd himself to her; which I was very glad of. Mrs. Stanhope went with me to my Chamber; and after much Discourse, offer'd Friendship, and mutual Know­ledge of each other; she gave me this Account of her last Ad­ventures.

‘'I came now from Falmouth, (said she) where I have been since the Beginning of the Spring, to visit a Brother and his Wife that lives there. 'Till within these Six Weeks I saw nothing that pleas'd me: At lost, 'twas a Captain of a Man [Page 37]of War had the Chance; my Brother brought him to his House: And for my Excuse, I must tell you, he is a very pret­ty, genteel young Gentleman, of a good Family and Educa­tion, and in prospect of com­ing to very good Fortune. They talk'd of the Town and Country-Beauties: At last, a young Creature was nam'd, whom I had not seen; but the Captain set her before every thing he had. I was concern'd at his Opinion, and ask'd him his of the Dutchess of Grafton? He gave her her due Praise; but yet, in his Esteem, this ex­ceeded. I cou'd not but think him extreamly in the wrong; and was angry when I heard [Page 38]him wish himself a Man of mighty Fortune, to deserve her. He sail'd that Night; and af­ter Ten Days Cruise, came in again. His first Visit was to me. I ask'd him if he had seen his Mistress. He said, he had none. I remember'd him of what he had spoke. He an­swer'd, That I had taught him better. He continu'd his Ap­plications, visited me Three Times a Day: And because I was still jealous of his Words, I had him watch'd, and an Ac­count brought of all his Visits. The young Lady's Uncle made a Ball; but because my Brother and him were not well toge­ther, there was no Hopes of my being invited; which my [Page 39]Lover very well knew, and therefore said, he wou'd not be there, having receiv'd Orders to Sail. He took his Leave with transporting Sorrow; and had the Glory to find mine was real. However, I wou'd not lose the Ball, because I de­sir'd to see my reputed Rival. I forgot to tell you, he had never seen her but once, when he prais'd her to that Degree; and dexterously told me a se­cond Sight had undeceiv'd him. I dress'd my self like a Farmer's Wife, with a Basket on my Arm; and, by the help of one of the Servants, was plac'd like a Country-Gazer, at a Corner of the Room. I needed not to be told my Rival; a Thousand daz­ling [Page 40]Charms distinguish'd her; and, though I look'd with jea­lous Eyes, must acknowledge, I never saw any Beauty more perfect. All my Hopes lay in a certain Softness, which did not promise much Wit. In a little time, my Traytor (whom I imagin'd in the wide Ocean) came to the Ball, danc'd with his Mistress, and was as Assi­duous as she deserv'd. I was so well pleas'd at the Discovery, I stay'd not for any more, for fear I shou'd not 'scape my self. About Midnight he came (for a Minute) to see me; and told me, he was just come Ashore, the Ship under Sail; yet with­out another Sight, 'twas impos­sible for him to depart. I con­founded [Page 41]him with telling him what had so lately pass'd at the Ball: Yet he drew himself out of the Embarrass, and said every thing, to make me think he lov'd me; and we were serious­ly treating upon the Affairs of Matrimony. I told him, he must get my Father's Consent, who liv'd at London, where I was going. He beg'd me to defer my Journey till he came in; which I too readily pro­mis'd; and so we parted. I knew my Fortune fairer than my Rival's, and began to be persuaded I had the better of her. For, What else cou'd draw him to address me? When I saw him return, 'twas with mutual Joy: But he was [Page 42]order'd that same Night to sail to Plimouth, and did not ex­pect to be back in a Week; therefore we agreed upon my Journey. He swore an invio­lable Love; and wou'd have contracted himself, if I durst without my Father's Consent: He intended to write to his Friends above, to ask it. And thus we once more parted, but not till he had severely ex­claim'd against any Designs up­on my Rival, before a whole Crew of Town-Gossips, that I was sure wou'd tell her. You may conclude, we agreed upon Writing. I took my Journey, and stay'd at an Aunt's House in Exeter Ten Days; where I heard, that within Four of my [Page 43]Departure, my Lover return'd; and in Three more was pub­lickly married to my Rival. I writ to thank him for ridding me of a Knavish Husband, wish'd him Joy, took Coach, and resolv'd against too easily believing any Man again.'’

The Post has just brought me a Letter from you: I find you curse me with the Continuation of Egham-Uneasiness, till I re­turn to (the World in) London. Methinks 'tis unreasonable to impose the continu'd Slavery of Writing: I assure you, I shall take Truce with it till at my Journey's End, unless something happen worth our Notice. Ge­neral Talmash's Body was brought [Page 44]in here this Evening: His Secre­tary I am acquainted with, and have sent to desire the Favour of his Company to Morrow to Din­ner; and if any thing in his Re­lation be Entertaining, you shall not fail of it from

THE Account of so great a Man's Death as Mr. Tal­mash (in the middle of all his Enterprizes, when Fortune seem'd to promise him much greener Lawrels than he had yet ga­ther'd) has so added to my Me­lancholy, [Page 45]that I will not describe his Misfortune to you, for fear it be contagious; but rather suf­fer you to expect the publick Ac­count; for I am one of those that esteem you more, than to make you uneasie; as I think none can be otherwise, that hears the Particulars of his Loss. Something there was, extream touching.—

After this doleful Subject, me­thinks my Beaux may justly com­plain I have so long a time neg­lected his most singular self. We parted this Morning from our Sunday-Acquaintance. Fop told me (when I gently reproach'd him for Inconstancy,) Gad, Madam, 'tis but to make my self the newer to your Ladyship to Morrow. I rather [Page 46]thought 'twas to keep me such to him. He has given me a Re­lation of his Success with the Damsel. She treated him (in her Chamber) with Rosa Solis, and what he calls Sucket. The rest he wou'd willingly have ac­quainted me with, but I recom­mended Discretion in Ladies Af­fairs; and he, almost bursting, is yet forc'd to be silent. How long he will keep such, I do not know, for he has often offer'd at breaking his most painful Pe­nance. We have pass'd Dorche­ster and Blandford to Day, but nothing I found in either worth your notice. The Toils of the Body influence the Mind: I sup­pose, by my Dulness, you find I speak woful Truths. We are [Page 47]lodg'd at Bridgport, and very ill; but 'tis but for a Night. Here's just come into the Inn an Ac­quaintance of Beaux's, who pro­mises yielding Matter for to Mor­row's Letter. This was infected in the Beginning by General Tal­mash; and the most uneasie Jour­ney as dully concludes it.

BEaux is now grown so insi­pid, that I shall say very little of him for the future; and I have Reason to believe my self such to him; for these two last Even­ings, [Page 48]contrary to Custom, he has not Re-dress'd: The Fatigue, which he seems more sensible of than any of us, has tarnish'd the Lustre of his Eyes; and, instead of any further Oagling, drowns all his Amorous Pretensions in as profound Sleep as the uneasie Jolting of the Coach will per­mit. This is what I can never be so happy to gain. But to tell you something of our last Night's Entertainment: Whilst Supper was getting ready, the Gentle­man I told you of, at Beaux's Intreaty, gave us an Account of what Affairs were carrying him to London: The short of it is this.

‘'Your Ladyship, said he, may soon perceive by my Accent [Page 49]that I am a Foreigner. I had the Glory of following the Prince of Orange, (now our Au­spicious King) in his Expedition into England. We landed in the West, with all those Parti­culars, which are needless to re­peat. During our Stay at Exe­ter, I render'd my constant De­votion at the Cathedral; and in coming thence one Evening, an old Woman (with a Look as mean as a Beggar) presented me a Letter; which, when I had open'd, I found from an Unknown, who stil'd himself my Friend, and gave me this Advice, That a Lady of good Country-Quality and Fortune, (and who was then in Exeter) was going to be dispos'd of by [Page 50]her Mother, to a Man she no way affected: But that she had been heard to say, If the hand­som Switzer were in his place, she shou'd obey without Reluctancy. And concluded the Letter with giving me Advice, like a good Friend, to improve my grow­ing Fortune: For so consider­able an one as Twelve Thou­sand Pounds was not every Day thrown into a Soldier's Lap. I had forgot to tell your Ladyship the Letter was writ in French, and Directions of the Lady's Name and Lodgings. My Heart gave me a secret Pre­sage that the Matter wou'd not be lucky to me, which I fol­low'd, and therefore took no notice of the Letter. Three [Page 51]Days after, the same Old Wo­man brought me another much more pressing: Upon which, I gave my self blindly up to my Destiny. I visited, and found the Lady, tho' not a Beauty, yet Genteel and Taking. 'Twas easie to guess by my Reception, that the Letters came from her. I'll omit the Discourse we had, and only rest upon Matter of Fact. She oblig'd me to leave my Command, and go with her to her Estate. Her Mother look'd upon me with an evil Eye; but my Mistress was transportingly kind, and much concern'd that none of the Mi­nisters round durst marry us, for fear of the Old Lady. Whereupon, we concluded I [Page 52]shou'd pretend to take my Leave, as designing for Lon­don; but instead of that, go directly into Cornwall, where she had a considerable Estate, and wou'd meet me. The Matter happen'd as we had agreed; but for fear her Mother shou'd pursue us, she consented to take me for her Husband before the Parson cou'd be got to make us such. That happy Night I had all the Reason in the World to believe my self agreeable to her; and all was confirm'd in the Morning, by the Priest. Thus caress'd, and bless'd, we return'd to her House. The Old Lady (who had no Com­mand of her Daughter's For­tune, and saw the Business be­yond [Page 53]Remedy) was with the first to make her Court to me, and wish me Joy. Three hap­py Months I had all the Satisfa­ction that innocent Marriage and excessive Love in a Bride cou'd give me. Then I began to consider a little my Affairs, and propos'd to my Wife my being Naturaliz'd, that I might look after hers. She swounded at the Name; and when she re­cover'd, she snatch'd a Bayonet of mine, and wounded her self under the Left Breast, but not much. I can't express my Sur­prize: We hush'd the Matter, for fear of her Mother; and I employ'd some of my Soldierly Skill to cure it, which had the Effect. I enquir'd into the Rea­son [Page 54]of this Extravagancy. She told me, The Discovery of In­terest in me, when she had be­liev'd Love was the only Mo­tive to our Marriage. Some Days pass'd and as often as I offer'd at it, she receiv'd such mighty Disgust, that I resolv'd to get it done without her No­tice; for she took me not as a Husband, but a Lover. 'Tis true, I was receiv'd as a Guest, but not a Master; and my Cir­cumstance (having left my Command) requir'd that. I got her Leave for my Journey: She shew'd such extravagant Passion at our Separation, that I swore a speedy Return; and resolv'd to leave my Naturali­zation depending, look after [Page 55]my other Affairs, and return within a Fortnight to her: But before that time I had a dan­gerous Fit of Sickness in Lon­don. I writ often to her, and gave her an Account, that the Act was Pass'd, and I cou'd now happily call my self an English Husband. She only answer'd, She knew how to in­terpret it; but she was out in her Cunning, if I shou'd find an Eng­lish Wife at my Service, who knew not the true Value and Ʋse of one. This Letter damp'd me; but trusting to the Greatness of that Power Love had given me in her Heart, I did not question but my Presence wou'd make all things easie. I took Post, my Impatience wou'd not stay [Page 56]the Coach, tho' the Remains of my Fever seem'd to expect it. I gave my self no Rest during the whole Journey. I sent to give her notice of my Arrival: But what was my Surprize, to find all shut at home! I call'd under her Window, where I perceiv'd Light: 'Twas a heavy Night of Rain: I knock'd at the Gates, and storm'd, but all to no purpose; I was glad to take up my Lodging in the Porch. At Six in the Morning an Under-Servant appear'd: I ask'd for her Lady. She told me, She was gone none knew whither, and had convey'd away her Plate, &c. So that, if I pleas'd, an empty House was at my Service. I calmly bore all this, imagining it but [Page 57]a Trial; sought her round the Country, but in vain; she of­ten shifted Places and went dis­guis'd. Not long after she commenc'd a Process against me, and by a Pretence, (which will for ever make her noto­rious) render'd me to the Court as Incapable. I was still so tender of her Fame, as to suffer the Aspertion. Common Law separated us: She got the better, by my refusing to vindi­cate my self, and I Fifteen Hun­dred Pounds of her Fortune, and the Charges of the Court. 'Tis since last August that this has happen'd. I have vainly try'd to remove her implacable Aversion, or to learn the Cause of it: But I see my Endeavours [Page 58]are all fruitless; and I am now going to leave England, I think for ever.'’

I complemented him upon his Misfortunes, and really, in my Opinion, he cou'd not be de­serving of them. Gad, Madam, speaks Beaux, See what unconstant Things you Ladies are! I happen'd to be at this Gentleman's House when he was first marry'd, and ne­ver saw any thing so fond of him as his Wife. Gad, I don't believe, whatever Woman I make happy, tho' her Esteem be equal to my Merit, she can possibly be fonder.

I am now got safely, wea­ry, into Exeter; and, I thank God, rid of the Impertinency of my Fellow-Travellers, Beaux ex­cepted, [Page 59]who will see me safe home, tho' distant from his. The Cathedral here is very fine; the Bishop's Seat in it surpasses Salis­bury, tho' short in every thing else. Forgive me for leaving you thus abruptly, since 'tis more pleasing­ly to entertain my self with a Let­ter of yours just brought to me.

IF I have omitted answering your Three last, it proceeded from nothing but the Desire of [Page 60]doing something new; and you know 'tis extreamly so in [...]e, not eagerly to shew you all Testimo­nies of Friendship.—My Soli­tude is much more pleasing than I fancy'd it: As yet I am not weary of that happy Indifferen­cy, which leaves me nothing ei­ther to hope or fear.

I have most Foppish Letters from Beaux, who parted with a World of seeming Regret; and yet I hear he is endeavouring at a Mistress. I suppose I may bid his Impertinence Farewell for [Page 61]ever: I think I bad you hope (in one of mine) to hear no more of him; I know not how I am fallen upon the nauseous Repeti­tion. Themistocles refus'd Simoni­des, when he wou'd have taught him the Art of Memory; perti­nently saying, He had more need of Forgetfulness than Memory. I remember what I wou'd not, but I cannot forget what I wou'd. My Study has fallen upon Religion; I am searching into all sorts: You shall not fail to hear what that Chance-Medley produces. I can now with cold Indifferen­cy shake Hands with all Things beyond this Solitude. How long the extraordinary Humour may last, I can't inform you at pre­sent. I repeat with Stoical Pride, [Page 62]

I Forgot to leave Orders with the Jew about the Choco­late: Pray, take care that it be sent me, and excuse this Trouble.

I Am sorry I can't make good my Promise to so indearing a Friend as your self. Looking over my Papers, I find but one of Colonel Pack's Letters in Imi­tation of the Portugal-Nuns: I certainly had Three, which he sent to me for my Opinion; but Two are lost, which I very much regret; and the more, because I know not where he is, to repair it. I wou'd hear how you ap­prove his Stile. I think Imita­tion the hardest Part of Writing: It confines a Free-born Genius, which naturally loves Untrod Wilds; at least, if I may guess at anothers by my own. And [Page 64]now I am speaking of that, let me tell you, all those Roman­tick Ideas of Retirements, which view'd at a distance, gives a ravishing Prospect, now I am Wedded, Bedded too, prove the worst sort of Matrimony; but 'tis only to such a particular Friend as your self, that I dare complain; to the remoter Sort I assume a Stoical Appetite and Air:—Tell them, the World, with all its gaudy Pleasures, are but rich Delusions, which at once corrupts our Senses, and our Fame: That the little Spot of Earth I have chose to fix my Face in, has more solid Enter­tainments, more real Innate De­lights, than the Glories of Ken­sington: Then sigh, and seem to [Page 49]pity the more Elevated Part of the World, that can bury them­selves in Noise and Crowd.—But, let me tell you, there's no real Satisfaction without Conver­sation. I have had so much of the Dead since I settled here, and (as I may say) nothing of the Living, for I find none deserves the Name, that I wish for the Conjuring Art; and wou'd ra­ther converse with the Ghosts of the Departed, than always with their Books, or with my self.—But I forget I detain you from better Company; I mean, the Inclosed. Write to me still, but nothing of News; I mean to hear none, till I see London again; and when that will be, I have not the Pleasure [Page 50]so much as to imagine: 'Twill be new (to lie forgotten, and forgetting, and, as it were, be born with Understanding) to all the Vanities and Vertues (if any) of that Hydra.