The unfortunate happy lady a true history / by Mrs. A. Behn.

The unfortunate happy lady a true history / by Mrs. A. Behn.

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Title page

TO EDWARD COOK, of Norfolk, Eſquire.

THE Unfortunate Happy Lady. A True Hiſtory.

THE Unfortunate Happy Lady. A True Hiſtory.

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I Cannot omit giving the world an account, of the uncommon villany of a Gentleman of a good Family in England practic'd upon his Siſter, which was atteſted to me by one who liv'd in the Family, and from whom I had the whole truth of the Story. I ſhall conceal the unhappy Gentleman's own, under the borrow'd names of Sir William Wilding, who ſucceeded his Father Sir Edward, in an Eſtate of near 4000 l. a year, inheriting all that belong'd to him, except his Virtues. 'Tis true, he was oblig'd to pay his only Siſter a Portion of 6000 l. which he might very eaſily have done out of his Patrimony in a little time, the Eſtate being not in the leaſt incumbred. But the death of his good Father gave a looſe to the extravagance of his Inclinations, which till then was hardly obſervable, The firſt [Page] diſcovery he made of his Humour, was in the extraordinary rich Equipage he prepar'd for his Journey to London, which was much greater than his fair and plentiful Fortune could maintain, nor were his expences any way inferiour to the figure he made here in Town; inſomuch, that in leſs than a twelve month, he was forc'd to return to his ſeat in the Country, to Mortgage a part of his Eſtate of a thouſand pounds a year, to ſatisfy the debts he had already contracted in his profuſe Treats, Gaming and Women, which in a few weeks he effected, to the great affliction of his Siſter Philadelphia, a young Lady of excellent Beauty, Education, and Virtue; who, fore-ſeeing the utter ruin of the Eſtate, if not timely prevented, daily begg'd of him, with Prayers and Tears, that might have mov'd a Scythian or wild Arab, or indeed, any thing but him, to pay her her portion. To which however, he ſeemingly conſented, and promis'd to take her to Town with him, and there give her all the ſatisfaction ſhe could expect: And having dipp'd ſome paltry Acres of Land, deeper than ever Heaven dipp'd 'em in Rain, he was as good as his word, and brought her to Town with him, where he told her he would place her with an ancient Lady with whom he had contracted a friendſhip at his firſt coming to London; adding, that ſhe was ▪ Lady of incomparable Morals, and of a matchleſs Life and Converſation. Philadelphia took him in the beſt ſenſe, and was [Page] very deſirous to be planted in the ſame Houſe with her, hoping ſhe might grow to as great a perfection in ſuch excellent qualifications, as ſhe imagined 'em. About four days therefore after they had been in Town, ſhe ſollicits her Brother to wait on that Lady with her: He reply'd, that it is abſolutely neceſſary and convenient that I ſhould firſt acquaint her with my deſign, and beg that ſhe will be pleas'd to take you into her care, and this ſhall be my chief buſineſs to day: Accordingly, that very hour he went to the Lady Beldams, his reverend and honourable Acquaintance, whom he prepar'd for the reception of his Siſter, who he told her was a caſt Miſtreſs of his, and deſir'd her aſſiſtance to prevent the trouble and charge, which ſhe knew ſuch Cattle would bring upon young Gentlemen of plentiful Eſtates. To morrow morning about eleven, I'll leave her with your Ladyſhip, who, I doubt not, will give her a wholeſome Leſſon or two before night, and your reward is certain. My Son (return'd ſhe) I know the greatneſs of your Spirit, the heat of your temper has both warm'd and inflam'd me! I joy to ſee you in Town again—Ah! That I could but re-call one twenty years for your ſake!—Well—no matter.—I won't forget your inſtructions, nor my duty to morrow: In the mean time, I'll drink your health in a Bottle of Sherry or two. O! Cry your Mercy, good my Lady Beldam, (ſaid the young Debauchee) I had like to [Page] have forfeited my title to your Care, in not remembring to leave your an obligation. There are three Guinea's, which I hope will plead for me till to morrow.—So—Your Ladyſhip's Servant humbly kiſſes your hand. Your Honours moſt Obedient Servant, moſt gratefully acknowledges your favours.—Your humble Servant, Good Sir William, added ſhe, ſeeing him leave her in haſte.

Never were three perſons better pleas'd for a time than this unnatural man, his ſweet innocent Siſter, and the Lady Beldam; upon his return to Philadelphia, who could not reſt that night, for thinking on the happineſs ſhe was going to enjoy in the converſation of ſo virtuous a Lady as her Brothers Acquaintance, to whom ſhe was in hopes that ſhe might diſcover her deareſt thoughts and complain of Sir William's extravagance and unkindneſs, without running the hazzard of being betray'd; and at the ſame time, reaſonably expect from ſo pious a Lady all the aſſiſtance within her capacity. On the other ſide, her Brother hugg'd himſelf in the proſpect he had of getting rid of his own Siſter, and the payment of 6000 l. for the ſumm of forty or fifty Guineas, by the help and diſcretion of this ſage Matron; who, for her part, by this time, had reckon'd up, and promis'd to herſelf an advantage of at leaſt three hundred pounds, one way or other by this bargain.

About ten the next morning, Sir William took Coach with his Siſter, for the old Lady's [Page] Enchanted Caſtle, taking only one Trunk of hers with 'em for the preſent, promiſing her to ſend her other things to her the next day. The young Lady was very joyfully and reſpectfully received by her Brother's venerable acquaintance, who was mightily charm'd with her Youth and Beauty. A Bottle of the beſt was then ſtrait brought in, and not long after a very ſplendid Entertainment for Breakfaſt: The Furniture was all very modiſh and rich, and the Attendance was ſuitable. Nor was the Lady Beldam's Converſation leſs oliging and modeſt, than Sir William's diſcourſe had given Philadelphia occaſion to expect. After they had eaten and drank what they thought convenient, the reverend old Lady led 'em out of the Parlour to ſhew 'em the Houſe, every Room of which they found anſwerably furniſh'd to that whence they came. At laſt, ſhe led 'em into a very pleaſant Chamber, richly hung, and curiouſly adorn'd with the Pictures of ſeveral beautiful young Ladies, wherein there was a Bed which might have been worthy the reception of a Dutcheſs: This, Madam, (ſaid ſhe) is your Apartment, with the Anti chamber, and little Withdrawing-room. Alas, Madam! (return'd the dear innocent unthinking Lady) you ſet too great a value on your ſervant; but I rather think your Ladyſhip deſigns me this Honour for the ſake of Sir William, who has had the happineſs of your acquaintance for ſome months: Something [Page] for Sir William, (return'd the venerable Lady Beldam) but much more for your Ladyſhips own, as you will have occaſion to find hereafter. I ſhall ſtudy to deſerve your Favours and Friendſhip, Madam, reply'd Philadelphia: I hope you will, Madam, ſaid the barbarous man. But my buſineſs now calls me hence; to morrow at Dinner I will return to you, and order the reſt of your things to be brought with me. In the mean while (purſu'd the Traytor, kiſſing his Siſter, as he thought and hop'd, the laſt time) be as chearful as you can, my Dear! and expect all you can wiſh from me. A thouſand thanks, my deareſt Brother, return'd ſhe, with tears in her Eyes: and Madam, (ſaid he to his old miſchievous Confederate, giving her a very rich Purſe which held 50 Guineas) be pleas'd to accept this trifle, as an humble acknowledgement of the great favour you do this Lady, and the care of her, which you promiſe; and I'm ſure ſhe cannot want.—So once more, (added he) my Dear! And Madam! I am your humble ſervant, Juſqu' a Revoir, and went out bowing. Heavens bleſs my dear Brother! (cry'd Philadelphia) your Honours moſt Faithful and Obedient Servant, ſaid the venerable Beldam.

No ſooner was the treacherous Brother gone, than the old Lady taking Philadelphia by the hand, led her into the Parlour; where ſhe began to her to this effect. If I miſtake not, Madam, you were pleas'd to call Sir [Page] William Brother once or twice of late in Converſation: Pray be pleas'd to ſatisfy my Curioſity ſo far, as to inform me in the truth of this matter? Is it really ſo or not? Philadelphia reply'd bluſhing, your Ladyſhip ſtrangely ſurprizes me with this Queſtion: For, I thought it had been paſt your doubt that it is ſo. Did not he let you know ſo much himſelf? I humbly beg your pardon, Madam, (return'd the true Off-ſpring of old Mother Eve) that I have ſo viſibly diſturb'd you by my Curioſity: But, indeed, Madam, Sir William did not ſay your Ladyſhip was his Siſter, when he gave me charge of you, as of the neareſt and deareſt Friend he had in the world. Now our Father and Mother are dead, (ſaid the ſweet Innocent) who never had more Children than us two, who can be a nearer or dearer Friend unto me, than my Brother Sir William, or than I his Siſter to him? None? certainly, you'll excuſe me, Madam, (anſwer'd t'other) a Wife or Miſtreſs may. A Wife indeed, (return'd the beautiful Innocent) has the pre-eminence, and perhaps, a Miſtreſs too, if honourably lov'd and ſought for in Marriage: But (ſhe continu'd) I can aſſure your Ladyſhip that he has not a Wife; nor did I ever hear he had a Miſtreſs yet. Love in youth (ſaid old Venerable) is very fearful of diſcovery. I have known, Madam, a great many fine young Gentlemen and Ladies, who have conceal'd their violent paſſions and greater affection, under the notion and appellation of Brother and [Page] Siſter. And your Ladyſhip imagins Sir William and I do ſo? reply'd Philadelphia, by way of queſtion. 'Twere no imprudence, if you did, Madam, return'd old Lady Beldam, with all the ſubtilty ſhe had learn'd from the Serpent. Alas, Madam! (reply'd ſhe) there is nothing like ſecrecy in Love: 'Tis the very Life and Soul of it! I have been young my ſelf, and have known it by Experience. But all this, Madam, (interrupted Philadelphia, ſomething nettl'd at her diſcourſe) all this can't convince me, that I am not the true and only Siſter both by Father and Mother of Sir William Wilding; however he wou'd impoſe upon your Ladyſhip, for what ends, indeed, I know not, unleſs (unhappily, which Heaven forbid!) He deſigns to gain your Ladyſhips aſſiſtance in defeating me of the Portion left me by my Father: But (ſhe continu'd with tears) I have too great an aſſurance of your virtue, to fear that you will conſent to ſo wicked a Practice. You may be confident, Madam, (ſaid t'other) I never will. And, ſuppoſing that he were capable of perpetrating ſo baſe an act of himſelf, yet if your Ladyſhip will be guided and directed by me, I will ſhew you the means of living happy and great, without your Portion, or your Brothers help; ſo much I am charm'd with your Beauty and Innocence.

But, pray Madam, (purſu'd ſhe) what is your Portion? And what makes you doubt your Brother's kindneſs? Philadelphia then [Page] told her how much her Brother was to pay her, and gave her an account of his Extravagancies, as far as ſhe knew 'em; to which t'other was no ſtranger; and (doubtleſs) cou'd have put a period to her ſorrows with her life, had ſhe given her as perfect a relation of his Riotous and Vicious practices, as ſhe was capable of: but ſhe had farther buſineſs with her Life, and, in ſhort, bid her be of good comfort, and lay all her care on her; and then ſhe cou'd not miſs of continual happineſs. The ſweet Lady took all her promiſes for ſterling, and kiſſing her Impious hand, humbly return'd her thanks. Not long after they went to dinner; and in the afternoon three or four young Ladys came to viſit the Right Reverend the Lady Beldam; who told her new Gueſt, that theſe were all her Relations, and no leſs than her own Siſter's Children. The Diſcourſe among 'em was general and very modeſt, which laſted for ſome hours: For, our ſex ſeldom wants matter of tattle. But, whether their Tongues were then miraculouſly wearied, or that they were tir'd with one continu'd ſcene of place, I won't pretend to determin: But they left the Parlour for the Garden, where after about half an hour's walk, there was a very fine Diſert of Sweetmeats and Fruits brought into one of the Arbours. Cherbetts, Ros Solis, rich and ſmall Wines, with Tea, Chocolace, &c. compleated the old Lady's Treat; the pleaſure of which was much heighten'd by the Voices of two of her [Page] Ladyſhips Sham-Neices, who ſung very charmingly. The dear, ſweet Creature, thought ſhe had happily got into the company of Angels: But (alas!) they were Angels that had fall'n more than once. She had heard talk of Nunneries, and having never been out of her own Country till within four or five days, ſhe had certainly concluded ſhe had been in one of thoſe Religious-houſes now, had ſhe but heard a Bell ring, and ſeen 'em kne [...]l to Prayers, and make uſe of their Bead [...] as ſhe had been told thoſe happy people do. However it was, ſhe was extreamly [...]d with the place and company. So nearly do's Hell counterfeit Heaven ſometimes. [...]t laſt, ſaid one of the white Devils, wou'd my dear Tommy were here! O, Siſter! (cry'd another) you won't be long without your wiſh: For my Husband and he went out together, and both promis'd to be here after the Play. Is my Brother Sir Francis with him there? (ask'd the firſt) yes, (anſwer'd a third) Sir Thomas and Sir Francis took Coach from St. James's, about two hours ſince: we ſhall be excellent company when they come, ſaid a fourth; I hope they'll bring the Fiddlers with 'em, added the firſt: Don't you love Muſick, Madam? (ask'd the old Lady Beldam) Sometimes, Madam (reply'd Philadelphia) but now I am out o' tune my ſelf. A little harmleſs mirth will chear your drooping Spirits, my dear, (return'd t'other, taking her by the hand) Come! theſe are all my Relations, [Page] as I told you Madam; and ſo conſequently are their Husbands. Are theſe Ladys all Marry'd, Madam? Philadelphia ask'd. All, all, my dear Soul! (reply'd the inſinuating Mother of Iniquity;) and thou ſhalt have a Husband too, e're long. Alas Madam! (return'd the fair Innocent) I have no Merit, nor Money: Beſides, I never yet could love ſo well as to make choice of one man before another.

How long have you liv'd then, Madam? (ask'd the Lady Beldam) too long by almoſt ſixteen years, (reply'd Philadelphia) had Heaven ſeen good. This converſation laſted till word was brought that Sir Francis and Sir Thomas, with two other Gentlemen were juſt lighted at the Gate: which ſo diſcompos'd the fair Innocent, that trembling, ſhe begg'd leave to retire to her Chamber. To which, after ſome perſwaſion to the contrary, the venerable Beldam waited on her. For, theſe were none of the Sparks to whom Philadelphia was deſign'd to be ſactifie'd. In her retirement, the beautiful dear Creature had the ſatisfaction of venting her grief in Tears, and addreſſing her ſelf to Heaven, on which only ſhe truſted, notwithſtanding all the fair promiſes of her reverend Hoſteſs; ſhe had not been retir'd above an hour, e're a ſhe-attendant waited on her, to know if ſhe wanted any thing, and what ſhe wou'd pleaſe to have for her ſupper; if ſhe wou'd not give her Lady the honor of her company below? To which ſhe return'd, that ſhe wou'd [Page] not ſup, and that ſhe wanted nothing but reſt, which ſhe wou'd preſently ſeek in bed. This anſwer brought up the officious old Lady her ſelf; who, by all means wou'd needs ſee her undreſs'd, for other reaſons more than a bare Compliment; which ſhe perform'd with a great deal of Ceremony, and a diligence that ſeem'd more than double. For ſhe had then the opportunity of obſerving the delicacy of her Skin, the fine turn of her Limbs, and the richneſs of her Night-dreſs, part of the furniture of her Trunk. Aſſcon as ſhe had cover'd her ſelf, ſhe kiſs'd and wiſh'd her a good repoſe. The dear ſoul, as innocent and white as her Linnen, return'd her thanks, and addreſs'd her ſelf to ſleep; out of which ſhe was waken'd by a loud Conſort of Muſick, in leſs than two hours time, which continu'd till long after midnight. This occaſion'd ſtrange and doubtful thoughts in her, tho' ſhe was altogether ſo unskill'd in theſe myſteries, that ſhe cou'd not gueſs the right meaning. She apprehended, that (poſſibly) her Brother [...]ſtreſs, from the Lady Beldam's [...]e, and that this was their place of Aſſignation: ſuſpecting too, that either Sir Francis, or Sir Thomas, of whom ſhe had heard not long before, was Sir William, her Brother. The Muſick and all the noiſe in the houſe ceas'd about four a clock in the morning; when ſhe again fell into a ſleep that took away the ſenſe of her ſorrows, and doubts till nine; when ſhe was [Page] again viſited from her Lady, by the ſame ſhe-attendant, to know how ſhe had reſted, and if ſhe wou'd pleaſe to command her any ſervice. Philadelphia reply'd, That ſhe had reſted very well moſt part of the morning, and that ſhe wanted nothing, but to know how her Lady had ſlept, and whether ſhe were in health, unleſs it were the ſight of her Brother. The Servant return'd with this anſwer to her Lady, while Philadelphia made ſhift to riſe, and begin to dreſs without an aſſiſtant; but ſhe had hardly put on any thing more than her Night-gown, e're the Lady Beldam her ſelf came in her Diſhabille, to aſſure her of her Brother's company with 'em at Dinner, exactly at one a clock; and finding Philadelphia doing the office of a Waiting-woman to her ſelf, call'd up the ſame Servant, and in a great heat (in which however ſhe took care to make uſe of none of her familiar deviliſh dialect) ask'd the reaſon that ſhe durſt leave the Lady when ſhe was riſing. The wench trembling, reply'd, That indeed the Lady did not let her know that ſhe had any thoughts of riſing. Well then (ſaid her ſeeming offended Lady) ſtir not from her now, I charge you, till ſhe ſhall think fit to diſmiſs you, and command your abſence. Dear Madam, Good morrow to you, (ſaid ſhe to Philadelphia) I'll make haſte and dreſs too. Good morrow to your Ladyſhip (return'd the deſign'd victim) when ſhe was Habille, ſhe deſir'd the Servant to withdraw▪ [Page] after which ſhe betook her ſelf to her Devotion; at the end of which the Lady Beldam return'd, attended by a Servant, who brought ſome Bread and Wine for her Breakfaſt; which might then be ſeaſonable enough to Philadelphia; who cou'd not forbear diſcovering the apprehenſions ſhe had of her Brother's unkindneſs, ſtill entertaining her Reverence, with the fear ſhe had of his diſappointment that day at dinner; which t'other oppos'd with all the ſeeming reaſons her Art cou'd ſuggeſt, till the Clock had ſtruck twelve; when a Servant came to tell the Lady Beldam, that one Sir William Wilding wou'd certainly wait on her preciſely at one, and deſir'd that he might dine in the young Lady's Apartment, to avoid being ſeen by any viſitants that might come; and beſides, that he had invited a Gentleman, his particular friend, to dinner with him there. This meſſage being deliver'd aloud by the Servant, was no little ſatisfaction to the poor deſponding young Lady, who diſcours'd very chearfully of indifferent matters, till the Clock gave 'em notice that the hour was come; within three minutes after which word was brought to the Lady Beldam, that a Gentleman below enquir'd for Sir William Wilding, whom ſhe immediately went down to receive, and led up to Philadelphia. Madam, (cry'd the great miſtreſs of her Art) this is the Gentleman whom Sir William has invited to dinner with us; and I am very happy to ſee him, for he is my worthy friend, [Page] and of a long acquaintance. Truſt me, Madam, he is a Man of Honor, and has a very large Eſtate: I doubt not (added ſhe) that you will find his merits in his Converſation. Here Gracelove, for that was the Gentleman's name, ſaluted Philadelphia, and acquitted himſelf like a perſon of good Senſe and Education, in his firſt Addreſs to her; which ſhe return'd with all the modeſty and ingenuous ſimplicity that was ſtill proper to her. At laſt, ſhe ask'd him how long he thought it wou'd be e're Sir William came? To which he reply'd, that Sir William told him, unleſs he were there exactly at half an hour after one, they ſhou'd not ſtay dinner for him; that he had not parted with him much above a quarter of an hour, when he left him engag'd with particular Company, about ſome weighty buſineſs: But however, that, if he ſhou'd be ſo unhappy as to loſe their Converſation at dinner, he wou'd not fail to wait on 'em by four at fartheſt. The young Lady ſeem'd a little uneaſie at this; but the Gentleman appearing ſo very modeſt, and ſpeaking it with ſuch an aſſur'd gravity, took away all thoughts of ſuſpicion. To ſay truth, Gracelove was a very honeſt, modeſt, worthy and handſome perſon; and had the command, at preſent, of many a thouſand pounds, he was by profeſſion a Turkey Merchant: He had travell'd much, for his Age, not having then reach'd thirty, and had ſeen moſt of the Courts in Chriſtendom: He had was a man of a ſweet temper, of [Page] juſt principles, and of inviolable friendſhip, where he promis'd; which was no where, but where 'twas merited. The minute came then at length, but without any Sir William; ſo dinner was ſerv'd up in the Room next to Philadelphia's Bed-chamber. What they had was nice and ſeaſonable; and they were all three as pleaſant as cou'd be expected, without Sir William; to whoſe health the Glaſs went round once or twice. Dinner over, and the Table clear'd, the old Lady Beldam entreated Mr. Gracelove to entertain the young Lady with a diſcourſe of his Travels, and of the moſt remarkable paſſages and encounters of 'em, which he perform'd with a modeſty and gravity peculiar to himſelf; and in ſome part of his diſcourſe mov'd the innocent paſſions of the beauteous and compaſſionate Philadelphia; who was as attentive as ſhe us'd to be in Church at Divine Service. When the old Lady perceiv'd that he had made an end, or at leaſt, that he deſir'd to proceed no farther, ſhe took occaſion to leave 'em together, in haſte; pretending, that ſhe had forgotten to give orders to one of her Servants, about a buſineſs of moment, and that ſhe wou'd return to 'em in a very little time. The Gentleman, you may believe, was very well pleas'd with her retreat, ſince he had a diſcourſe to make to Philadelphia of a quite contrary nature to the preceding, which requir'd privacy: But how grateful her abſence was to Philadelphia, we may judge by the ſequel. Madam, (ſaid [Page] Gracelove) how do you like the Town? Have you yet ſeen any man here whom you cou'd love? Alas Sir! (ſhe reply'd) I have not ſeen the Town, only in a Coach, as I paſt along, nor ever was in any Houſe, except this and another, where my Brother lodg'd: And to your other queſtion I muſt anſwer, that I love all men. That's Generous, indeed, Madam! (cry'd he) there is then ſome hope that I am one of the number. No doubt, Sir (ſhe return'd) that I love you as well as any, except Sir William. Is he the happy man then, Madam? (ſaid Gracelove.) If to be lov'd beſt by me may make any man happy, doubtleſs it muſt be he, for he is my own Brother. I fancy, Madam, (return'd he) that you may make me as dear a Relation to you, as Sir William. How is that poſſible, Sir? ſhe ask'd. Thus, Madam (reply'd he, drawing cloſer to her) by our nearer approaches to one another. O, Heaven defend me! (cry'd ſhe aloud) what do you mean? Take away your hand; you uncivil Man! Help! Madam! my Lady! O, (ſaid Gracelove) ſhe's gone purpoſely out of hearing. Am I betray'd then? ſhe cry'd. Betray'd! as if your pretty Innocent Ladyſhip did not know where you were lodg'd. Ah, Lady, (ſaid he) this faint will will never do. Come, Child, (purſu'd he) here are an hundred Guineas for you; and I promiſe you yearly as much, and two hundred with every Child that I ſhall get on thy ſweet Body: 'Faith I love thee, thou pretty Creature. [Page] Come! let's be better acquainted! you know my meaning. Hell does, no doubt of (ſhe return'd:) O Monſter a man! I hate the ſight of you. With that ſhe flung from him, and ran into the Bed-chamber, where ſhe thought to have lock'd her ſelf in; but the Key was convey'd into his Pocket. Thither therefore he purſu'd her, crying, Ah, Madam, this is the proper field for our diſpute. Perceiving her error, and animated by deſpair, ſhe ruſh'd between him and the door, into the outward Room again, he ſtill following, and dodging her from Chair to Chair; ſhe ſtill ſhrieking. At laſt (cry'd he) a Parley, Madam, with you. Let me ask you one queſtion; and will you anſwer me directly and truly to it? Indeed I will, (ſaid ſhe) if it be civil. Don't you know then, that you are in a naughty-houſe, and that old Beldam is a rank Procureſs, to whom I am to give two hundred Guinea's for your Maiden-head? O Heaven (cry'd ſhe, kneeling with tears guſhing out from her dear eyes) thou aſſerter and guardian of Innocence! protect me from the impious practices intended againſt me! Then looking ſtedfaſtly on him, Sir, (purſu'd ſhe) I can but difficultly gueſs what you mean: But I find▪ that unleſs you prove what at firſt you ſeem'd to me, I wou'd ſay, an honeſt, worthy Gentleman, I ſhall be in danger of eternal Ruin. You, Sir, are the only perſon that may yet preſerve me. Therefore I beſeech you, Sir, hear my ſtory—, with the [Page] injuries and afflictions that ſo dreadfully torment me; of which, I am ſure, none of thoſe Barbarians, of which you had occaſion to ſpeak but now, wou'd have been guilty! O, hear and help me! for Heaven's ſake, hear and help me! I will, poor Creature! (return'd be;) methinks I now begin to ſee my crime and thy innocence, in thy words and looks. Here ſhe recounted to him all the accidents of her Life, ſince her Father's deceaſe, to that very day, e're Gracelove came to Dinner. And now (cry'd ſhe, ſobbing and weeping) how dare I truſt this naughty Brother again? can I be ſafe with him, think you, Sir! O, no; thou dear ſweet Creature! by no means. O Infernal monſters! Brother and Bawd! If you diſtruſt that I am yet his Siſter, here, Sir, take this Key (ſaid ſhe) and open that Trunk within, where you will find Letters from him to me in his own hand; and from my own dear dead Father too, Sir Edward, that gracious, that good Man! He ſhew'd us both the paths of Virtue; which I have not yet forſaken. Pray ſatisfie me, Sir, and ſee the truth! For your ſatisfaction I will, Madam, (ſaid he) but I am now fully convinc'd that you have greater Beauties within, than thoſe I admire without. Saying this, he open'd the Trunk, where he read a line or two from her Father, and as many from her Brother, which having again laid down, return'd to her, with this advice: I ſee, Madam, (ſaid he) that you have Money [Page] there, and ſeveral things of value; which I deſire you to ſecure about you this moment; for I mean to deliver you out of this curſed place; if you dare put any confidence in a ſtranger, after your own Brother has acted the part of ſo great a Villain; if you dare truſt a ſtranger too, Madam, who had himſelf a deſign upon you; heaven forgive me for it! but by all things ſacred, I find my error: I pity you, and I fear I ſhall love you. Do you fear that, Sir, (ſaid ſhe) why I love you dearly now, becauſe I ſee you are going to be good again: that is, you are going to be your ſelf again. I hope, nay, I reſolve I will; tho' it coſt me my Life (ſaid he.) Can you ſubmit, Madam, to attend on a young Lady of my acquaintance here in Town, till I can provide better for you? O I can be any thing, a Chambermaid, a Cook maid, a Scullion, what you ſhall think ſit, tho' never ſo mean, that is not naughty. Well, Madam, (ſaid he) compoſe your ſelf then, and ſeem a little pleaſant when I bring up that old Factoreſs of Hell. I will endeavour it, Sir, ſhe return'd; and he went down to the Devil's chief agent, to whom he ſaid, that the poor thing was at firſt very uneaſie, but that now ſhe had conſented to go along with him for an hour or two to ſome other place, doubting your ſecrecy; for ſhe wou'd not have her Brother know it, as ſhe calls him, for a thouſand worlds, and more Money. Well, my Son! (reply'd old Beldam) you may take her with [Page] you: But you remember your bargain. O fie Mother! (cry [...]d he) Did you ever know me falſe to you? No, no, you ſmock-fac'd wag (ſaid ſhe) but be ſure you bring her again to night, for fear Sir William ſhou'd come. Never doubt it! Come up with me, (cry'd he) you'll ſee a ſtrange alteration, I believe. To Philadelphia they came then, whom they found walking about the Room, and looking ſomething more pleaſantly than ſhe had ever done ſince ſhe came thither. After ſhe had taken her Money and other things of value, ſo, Madam, (ſaid Beldam) how does your Ladyſhip now? I find, the ſight of a young, handſom Gentleman has work'd wonders with you in a little time: I underſtand you are going to take a walk with my worthy friend here, and 'tis well done: I dare truſt you with him, but with no other man living, except Sir William. Madam, (return'd the fair afflicted Lady) I am ſtrangely oblig'd to you for your care of me; and am ſure I ſhall never be able to return your obligations as I ought, and as I cou'd wiſh. You won't ſtay late, Mr. Gracelove? (ſaid the Mother of miſchief.) No, no, (reply'd he) I will only ſhew the Lady a Play, and return to Supper. What is play'd to Night? (ask'd the old one) The Cheats, Mother, the Cheats (anſwer'd Gracelove.) Ha (ſaid Beldam laughing) a very pretty Comedy, indeed! Ay, if well play'd, return'd he. At theſe words they went down, where a Coach was call'd; which [Page] carry'd 'em to Councellour Fairlaw's Houſe, in Great Lincolns-Inn-Fields; whom they found accidently at home; but his Lady and Daughter were juſt gone to Chapel, being then turn'd of five. Gracelove began his Apology to the good old Councellour, who was his Relation, for bringing a ſtrange Lady thither with a deſign to place her in his Family: But Sir, continu'd he, if you knew her ſorrowful ſtory, you wou'd be as ambitious of entertaining her, as I am earneſt to entreat it of you. A very beautiful Lady 'tis, (return'd the Councellour) and very modeſt, I believe. That I can witneſs (reply'd t'other.) Alas Sir! (ſaid the Fair, unfortunate) I have nothing but my modeſty and honeſt education to recommend me to your regard. I am wrong'd and forſaken by my neareſt Relation; then ſhe wept extravagantly: That Gentleman can give you an account of my misfortunes, if he pleaſe, with greater eaſe, and leſs trouble than my ſelf. Not with leſs trouble, believe me, Madam, (return'd Gracelove) and then began to inform Fairlaw in every point of her unhappy circumſtances. The good old Gentleman heard 'em with amazement and horror; but told her however, that ſhe need not deſpond, for he would take care to right her againſt her Brother: And, that in the mean time ſhe ſhould be as welcome to him, as any of his neareſt Kindred, except his Wife and Daughter. Philadelphia would have knelt to thank him; but he told [Page] her, that humble poſture was due to none but Heaven, and the King ſometimes. In a little while after, the Lady Fairlaw and her Daughter came home, who were ſurpriz'd at the ſight of a ſtranger, but more at her Beauty; and moſt of all at her ſtory, which the good old Gentleman himſelf could not forbear relating to 'em: which ended, the Mother and Daughter both kindly and tenderly embrac'd her, promiſing her all the aſſiſtance within their power, and bid her a thouſand welcomes. Gracelove ſtay'd there till after Supper, and left her extremely ſatisfy'd with her new ſtation. 'Twas here ſhe fix'd then; and her deportment was ſo obliging, that they would not part with her for any conſideration. About three days after her coming from that lewd womans Houſe, Gracelove took a Conſtable and ſome other aſſiſtants, and went to Beldam's to demand the Trunk, and what was in it, which at firſt her reverence deny'd to return, till Mr Conſtable produc'd the emblem of his Authority; upon which it was deliver'd, without ſo much as re-minding Gracelove of his bargain; who then pretended he would ſearch the Houſe for Sir William Wilding, but her graceleſs reverence ſwore moſt devoutly that he had never been there, and that ſhe had neither ſeen nor heard from him, ſince the day he left Philadelphia with her. With theſe things, and this account he return'd to Councellour Fairlaw's, who deſir'd Gracelove, if poſſible, [Page] to find out Sir William, and imploy'd ſeveral others on the ſame account. In leſs than a months time Gracelove had the good fortune to find him at his Lodgings in Soho Square, where he diſcours'd him about his Siſters Portion, and deſir'd Sir William to take ſome ſpeedy care for the payment of it; otherwiſe ſhe had friends that would oblige him to it, tho never ſo contrary to his intentions. Wilding ask'd where ſhe was? t'other inquir'd where he left her? Sir William reply'd, that he had plac'd her with an old grave Gentlewoman of his acquaintance, and that he thought ſhe was there ſtill. No, Sir, (return'd Gracelove) I have deliver'd her out of the jaws of Perdition and Hell. Come, Sir William, (anſwer'd he) 'twas impiouſly done, to leave your beautiful, young, and virtuous Siſter, to the management of t [...]at pernicious woman. I found her at old Beldam's, who would have proſtituted her to me for two hundred Guinea's; but her heavenly virtues might have ſecur'd and guarded her from more violent attempts than mine. Bluſn if you can, Sir! And repent of this! It will become you. If not, Sir, you will hear farther from your Servant, added he, and left him, ſtaring after him. This diſcourſe was a great mortification to the Knight, whoſe Conſcience, hardned as it was, felt yet ſome pain by it. He found he was not like to continue ſafe or at eaſe there, wherefore he immediately retreated into a place of Sanctuary, call'd the Savoy, [Page] whither his whole Equipage was remov'd as ſoon as poſſible, he having left order with his Servants, to report that he went out of Town that very afternoon for his own Country. Gracelove in the mean time return'd to the Councellours, with a great deal of joy, for having diſcover'd Sir William at his Lodgings, which was likewiſe no little ſatisfaction to Fairlaw, his Lady and Daughter; Philadelphia only was diſturb'd when ſhe heard the good old Gentleman threaten to lay her Brother faſt enough: but alas! he was too cunning for 'em; for in a whole twelvemonth after, all which time they made enquiry and narrowly ſearch'd for him, they could not ſee him, nor any one that could give an account of him, for he had chang'd his true name and title, for that of Squire Sportman. The farther purſuit of him then ſeem'd fruitleſs to 'em, and they were forc'd to be contented with their wiſhes to find him.

Gracelove by this time had entertain'd the ſincereſt affections and nobleſt paſſion that man can be capable of, for Philadelphia; of which he had made her ſenſible, who had at that time comply'd with his honourable demands, had ſhe not entreated him to expect a kind turn of providence, which might (happily) e're long put her in poſſeſſion of her right; without which, ſhe told him, ſhe could not conſent to marry him, who had ſo plentiful a fortune, and ſhe nothing but her perſon and innocence. How, Madam! [Page] (cry'd he) have you no love in ſtore for me! Yes, Sir, (return'd ſhe) as much as you can wiſh, I have in ſtore for you, and ſo I beg it may be kept till a better opportunity. Well, Madam, (ſaid he) I muſt leave you for ſome months, perhaps for a whole year; I have receiv'd Letters of Advice that urge the neceſſity of my going to Turkey; I have not a weeks time to endeavour ſo dreaded a ſeparation as I muſt ſuffer; therefore, thou beautiful, thou dear, thou virtuous creature; let me begin now! Here, thou tendereſt part of my Soul! (cohtinu'd he, giving her a rich Diamond Ring) wear this till my return! I hope the ſight of it may ſometimes re-call the dying memory of Gracelove, to your better buſi'd thoughts. Ah Gracelove! (ſaid ſhe) nothing can ſo well, nothing I'm ſure can better employ my thoughts, than thy dear ſelf: Heaven only excepted. They enlarg'd a great deal more on this ſubject at that time; but the night before this departure was entirely ſpent in ſighs, vows, and tears on both ſides. In the morning, after he had again entreated his Couſin's, and the Lady's and her Daughter's care and kindneſs to Philadelphia, the remaining and beſt part of his Soul, with one hearty Kiſs, accompany'd with tears, he took a long farewel of his dear Miſtreſs, who purſu'd him with her Eyes, till they could give her no farther intelligence of him; and they helpt her kindneſs to him, and eas'd her grief for his abſence [Page] in weeping for above a week together, when in private. He never omitted writing to her and his Couſin by every opportunity for near nine months, as he touch'd at any Port; but, afterwards they cou'd not hear from him for above half a year; when, by accident, the Councellour met a Gentleman of Gracelove's acquaintance at a Coffeehouſe, who gave him an account, that the Ship and he were both caſt away, near five months ſince; that moſt, if not all of the Ship's company periſh'd; of which, 'twas fear'd, Gracelove was one; having never ſince been heard of. That his loſs in that Ship amounted to above 12 thouſand pounds: with this dreadful and amazing news, the good old Gentleman returns home, afflicts his poor ſorrowful Lady and Daughter, and almoſt kills unhappy Philadelphia; who the next day, by meer chance, and from a ſtranger, who came on buſineſs to the Councellour, heard, that one Sir William Wilding, an extravagant, mad, young Spark of ſuch a County, who lately went by the borrow'd name and title of Eſquire Sportman, had mortgag'd all his Eſtate, which was near four thouſand a year; and carry'd the Money over with him into France on Saturday laſt. This, added to the former news, put ſo great a check on her ſpirits that ſhe immediately dropt down in a ſwoon; whence ſhe only recover'd, to fall into what was of a much more dangerous conſequence, a violent Feaver, which held her for near ſix weeks, [Page] e're ſhe cou'd get ſtrength enough to go down ſtairs: In all which time, Madam Fairlaw and Eugenia her Daughter attended her as carefully and conſtantly, as if they had been her own Mother and Siſter: The good old Councellour ſtill commending and encouraging their care. The Roſes and Lillys at laſt took their places again; but the clouds of her ſorrow were ſtill but too viſible. Two years more paſt without one word of advice from Gracelove, or any account of him from any one elſe; inſomuch, that they all concluded, he was certainly dead: And, 'twas true, indeed, that his Ship and he were caſt away, much about that time that the Gentleman gave Fairlaw a relation: That 'twas certain he had loſt above 12000 l. and had like to have loſt his Life, but being very expert in ſwimming, he got to ſhoar upon the coaſt of Barbary, the wrack happening not to be above three leagues thence; he was in almoſt as bad a condition as if he had been drown'd, for here he was made a Priſoner to one of the Natives; in which miſerable circumſtance he languiſh'd for above ſix years, for want of a Ranſom; which he had often endeavour'd to raiſe by Letters, that he ſent hither to his friends (in England); amongſt which Councellour Fairlaw was one of his moſt particular and aſſur'd. But however, Providence or Accident, if you pleaſe, order'd it, not a line came to the hands of any of his friends: ſo that, had not Heaven had ye [...] [Page] a future bleſſing in ſtore for him, he had certainly have better periſh'd in the Sea, than to have fall'n into the power of a people leſs merciful, than Seas, Winds, or hungry wild Beaſts in purſuit of their Prey. But this cou'd not be learn'd (it ſeems) from any man but himſelf, upon his return, after his Redemption.

Two years more paſt on, towards the latter of which the old Lady Fairlaw took her bed, deſperately ſick, inſomuch that ſhe was given over by all her Phyſicians; ſhe continu'd in great miſery for near two months, in all which time Philadelphia was conſtantly with her all the day, or all the night; much about that time ſhe dy'd, and dying, told her Husband, that ſhe had obſerv'd he had a particular eſteem or kindneſs Philadelphia, which was now a great ſatiſfaction to her; ſince, ſhe was aſſur'd, that if he marry'd her, ſhe wou'd prove an excellent Nurſe to him, and prolong his life by ſome years. As for Eugenia (added ſhe) you need not be concern'd; I'm ſure, ſhe will conſent to any thing that you ſhall propoſe, having already ſo plentifully provided for her. The good old Gentleman anſwer'd, that he wou'd fulfil her Will, as far as lay in his power: and not long after, ſhe departed this life. Her burial was very handſome and honourable. Half a year was now expir'd ſince her Interrment, when the old Counſellour began to plead his own Cauſe to young Philadelphia, reminding her [Page] that now the death of Gracelove was out of queſtion, and that therefore ſhe was as much at her liberty to make her own choice of an Husband as he was of a Wife; not forgetting at the ſame time, to let her know, that his Widow, who ever had the good fortune to be ſo, wou'd be worth above thirty thouſand pounds, in ready Money: Beſides a thouſand a year. But above all, he urg'd his dying Ladys laſt advice to him, that he wou'd marry her; and hop'd ſhe wou'd ſee the Will of the Dead ſatisfy'd. The young Lady, being broken in ſorrows, and having mortify'd all her Appetites to the enjoyments of this World, and not knowing where to meet with ſo fair an overture, tho' at firſt, in modeſty ſhe ſeem'd to refuſe it as too great an honour, yet yeilded to leſs than a quarter of an hour's Courtſhip: And the next Sunday marry'd they were, with the conſent, and to the perfect ſatisfaction of his Daughter, Madam Eugenia; who lov'd Philadelphia ſincerely. They kept their wedding very nobly for a month at their own houſe, in Great Lincolns-Inn Fields; but the memory of the old Lady was ſtill ſo freſh with the young Lady Fairlaw, that ſhe prevail'd with him to remove to another, more convenient as ſhe fancy'd, in Covent Garden. They had dwelt there not much more than four months e're the good old Gentleman fell ſick and dy'd. Whether it were the change of an old Houſe for a new, or an old Wife for a young, is yet uncertain, tho' his Phyſicians ſaid, and are ſtill [Page] of opinion, that (doubtleſs) it was the laſt. 'Tis paſt all doubt, that ſhe did really mourn for, and lament his Death; for ſhe lov'd him perfectly, and pay'd him all the dutiful reſpect of a Virtuous Wife, while ſhe liv'd within that ſtate with him; which he rewarded, as I have ſaid before. His Funeral was very ſumptuous and honourable indeed! and aſſoon as it was over, Eugenia deſir'd her young, beautiful Mother-in-Law, to retreat a little with her into the Country, to a pleaſant houſe ſhe had not twenty Miles diſtant from Town: urging, that ſhe cou'd by no means enjoy her ſelf under that Roof, where her dear Father dy'd. The obliging Stepmother, who might more properly have been call'd her Siſter, being exactly of the ſame Age with her, readily comply'd, and ſhe paſs'd away all that Summer with Eugenia, at their Country-ſeat, and moſt part of the Winter too: For Eugenia cou'd by no means be prevail'd on to lye one night in her Mother's houſe; 'twas with ſome Reluctancy that ſhe conſented to dine there ſometimes. At length the whole year of Philadelphia's Widow-hood was expir'd; during which you can't but imagin that ſhe was ſollicited and addreſs'd to by as many Lovers, or pretended Lovers, as our dear King Charles, whom God grant long to Reign, was lately by the Presbyterians, Independants, Anabaptiſts, and all thoſe canting Whiggiſh Brethren! But ſhe had never lik'd any man ſo well as to make him her Husband by Inclination, unleſs it was Gracelove, devoured by the greedy inhabitants of the Sea.

[Page]Whilſt her Fortune began to mend thus, her Brother's grew worſe; but that was indeed the effect of his extravagancy: in leſs than two years time, he had ſpent eight thouſand pounds in France: whence he return'd to England, and purſuing his old profuſe manner of living, contracted above 100 l. debts here, in leſs than four months time; which not being able to ſatisfie, he was Arreſted and thrown into a Goal, whence he remov'd himſelf into the Kings-Bench, on that very day that old Fairlaw dy'd. There, at firſt, for about a month he was entertain'd like a Gentleman; but finding no Money coming, nor having a proſpect of any, the Mareſchal and his inſtruments turn'd him to the Common-ſide; where he learnt the Art of Peg-making; a myſtery to which he had been a ſtranger all his life long, till then. 'Twas then he wiſh'd he might ſee his Siſter, hoping that ſhe was in a Condition to relieve him; which he was apt to believe, from the diſcourſe he had with Gracelove ſome years paſt. Often he wiſh'd to ſee her, but in vain: However, the next Eaſter after the old Councellour's death, Philadelphia, according to his cuſtom, ſent her Steward to relieve all the poor Priſoners about Town: Among the reſt he viſited thoſe in the Common ſide of the King`s-Bench; where he heard 'em call Sir William Wilding, to partake of his Lady's Charity. The poor Prodigal was then feeding on the Relief of the Basket, not being yet able to [Page] get his Bread at his new Trade: To him the Steward gave a Crown, whereas the other had but half a Crown apiece. Then he inquir'd of ſome of the unhappy Gentlemen, Sir William's Fellow-Collegians, of what Country Sir William was? how long he had been there? and how much his debts were? all of which he receiv'd a ſatisfactory account. Upon his return to his Lady, he repeated the diſmal news of her Brother's misfortunes to her; who immediately diſpatch'd him back again to the Priſon, with orders to give him twenty Shillings more at preſent, and to get him remov'd to the Maſter's ſide, into a convenient Chamber, for the Rent of which the Steward engag'd to pay, and promis'd him, as ſhe had commanded, twenty Shillings a week, as long as he ſtay'd there, on condition, that he wou'd give the names of all his Creditors, and of all thoſe to whom he had engag'd any part of his Eſtate; which the poor Gentleman did moſt readily and faithfully: After which, the Steward enquir'd for a Taylor, who came and took meaſure of Philadelphia's unkind Brother, and was order'd to provide him Linnen, a Hat, Shoes, Stockings, and all ſuch neceſſaries, not ſo much as omitting a Sword: with all which he acquainted his Lady at his return; who was very much griev'd at her Brother▪s unhappy Circumſtances, and at the ſame time extreamly well pleas'd to find her ſelf in a condition to relieve him. The Steward went conſtantly once a week pay him his Money, [Page] and Sir William was continually very curious to know to whom he was oblig'd for ſo many and great favours: But he was anſwer'd, That they came from a Lady who deſir'd to have her name conceal'd. In leſs than a year Philadelphia had pay'd 25000 l. and taken off the Mortgages on 2500 l. per Ann. of her Brother's Eſtate; and coming to Town from Eugenia's Country-houſe one day, to make the laſt payment of two thouſand pounds, looking out of her Coach on the Road, near Dartford, ſhe ſaw a Traveller on foot, who ſeem'd to be tir'd with his Journey, whoſe face, ſhe thought, ſhe had formerly known: This thought invited her to look on him ſo long, that ſhe, at laſt, perſwaded her ſelf it was Gracelove or his Ghoſt: For to ſay truth, he was very pale and thin, his Complexion ſwarthy, and his Cloaths (perhaps) as rotten as if he had been bury'd in 'em. However, unpleaſant as it was, ſhe could not forbear gazing after this miſerable ſpectacle; and the more ſhe beheld it, the more ſhe was confirm'd it was Gracelove, or ſomething that had uſurp'd his figure. In ſhort, ſhe cou'd not reſt till ſhe call'd to one of her Servants, who rode by the Coach, whom ſhe ſtrictly charg'd to go to that poor Traveller, and mount him on his Horſe, till they came to Dartford; where ſhe order'd him, to take him to the ſame Inn, where ſhe baited, and refreſh him, with any thing that he wou'd eat or drink; and after that, to hire a Horſe for him, to [Page] come to Town with them: That then he ſhou'd be brought home to her own Houſe, and be carefully look'd after, till further orders from her. All which was moſt duly and punctually perform'd.

The next morning early ſhe ſent for the Steward, whom ſhe order'd to take the Stranger to a Sale-ſhop, and fit him with a Suit of good Cloaths, to buy him Shirts and other Linnen, and all neceſſaries as he had provided for her Brother; and gave him charge to uſe him as her particular friend during his ſtay there; bidding him withal learn his name and circumſtances, if poſſible, and to ſupply him with Money for his pocket expences: All which he moſt faithfully and diſcreetly perform'd, and brought his Lady an account of his ſufferings by Sea, and Slavery among the Turks, as I have before related; adding, that his name was Gracelove. This was the greateſt happineſs, certainly, that ever yet the dear Beautiful Creature was ſenſible of. On, t'other ſide Gracelove cou'd not but admire and praiſe his good Fortune, that had ſo miraculouſly and bountifully reliev'd him; and one day having ſome private diſcourſe with the Steward, he cou'd not forbear expreſſing the ſenſe he had of it, declaring that he cou'd not have expected ſuch kind treatment from any body breathing, but from his Couſin, Councellour Fairlaw, his Lady, or another young Lady whom he plac'd and left with his Couſins. Councellour Fairlaw▪ [Page] (cry'd the Steward) why, Sir, my Lady is the old Councellour's Widow; ſhe is very beautiful and young too. What was her name, Sir, before ſhe marry'd the Councellour? (ask'd Gracelove.) That I know not (reply'd t'other,) for the old Steward dy'd preſently after the old Lady, which is not a year and a half ſince; in whoſe place I ſucceed; and I have never been ſo curious or inquiſitive, as to pry into former paſſages of the Family. Do you know, Sir, (ſaid Gracelove) whereabouts in Town they liv'd before? Yes, Sir, (return'd the Steward, who was taught how to anſwer) in Great Lincolns-Inn-Fields, I think. Alas! (cry'd Gracelove) 'twas the ſame Gentleman to whom I deſign'd to apply my ſelf, when I came to England. You need not deſpair, now, Sir, (ſaid t'other) I dare ſay, my Lady will ſupply your wants. O wonderful goodneſs of a ſtranger! (cry'd Gracelove) uncommon and rare amongſt Relations and Friends! How have I, or how can I ever merit this! upon the end of their conference, the Steward went to Philadelphia, and repeated it, almoſt verbatim to her. Who order'd Gracelove ſhou'd be taken meaſure of by the beſt Taylor in Covent-Garden; that he ſhou'd have three of the moſt modiſh rich ſuits made that might become a private Gentleman of a thouſand pounds a year, and Hats, Perukes; Linnen, Swords, and all things ſuitable to 'em, all to be got ready in leſs than a month, in which time, ſhe [Page] took all the opportunity ſhe cou'd either find or make to ſee him, and not to be ſeen by him: ſhe oblig'd her Steward to invite him to a Play; whither ſhe follow'd 'em, and ſate next to Gracelove, and talk'd with him; but all the while maſqu'd. In this month's time ſhe was daily peſter'd with the viſits of her Addreſſors; ſeveral there were of 'em; but the chief were only a Lord of a very ſmall Eſtate, tho' of a pretty great Age; a young bluſtering Knight; who had a place of 500 l. a year at Court, and a Country Gentleman of a very plentiful Eſtate, a Widower, and of a middle Age. Theſe three only of her Lovers ſhe invited to dinner, on the firſt day of the next month: In the mean while ſhe ſent a rich ſuit, and equipage proportionable to her Brother; with an Invitation to dine with her on the ſame day. Then ſhe writ to Eugenia to come and ſtay in Town, if not in the ſame houſe with her, for two or three days before: which her affectionate Daughter obey'd; to whom Philadelphia related all her Brothers paſt extravagancies, and what ſhe had done for him, in redeeming moſt part of his Eſtate; begging of her, that if ſhe cou'd fancy his Perſon, ſhe wou'd take him into her mercy and marry him. Being aſſur'd that ſuch a virtuous Wife, as ſhe wou'd prove, muſt neceſſarily reclaim him, if yet he were not perfectly convinc'd of his Follies; which, ſhe doubted not, his late long ſufferings had done. Engenia return'd, that [Page] ſhe wou'd wholly be directed and advis'd by her in all things; and that, certainly, ſhe could not but like the Brother, ſince ſhe lov'd the Siſter ſo perfectly and truly.

The day came, and juſt at twelve Gracelove meeting the Steward on the Stairs, coming from his Lady, Gracelove then told him, that he believ'd he might take the opportunity of that afternoon, to go over to Putney, and take a game or two at Bowls. The Steward return'd, Very well, Sir, I ſhall let my Lady know it, if ſhe enquires for you. Philadelphia, who overheard what they ſaid, call'd the Steward in haſte, and bid him call Gracelove back, and tell him, ſhe expected his Company at her Table to day; and that ſhe deſir'd, he would appear like himſelf. The Steward ſoon overtook him at the door, juſt going out as Eugenia came in; who look'd back on Gracelove: The poor Gentleman was ſtrangely ſurpriz'd at the ſight of her, as ſhe was at his: but the Steward's meſſage did more amaze and confound him. He went directly to his Chamber to dreſs himſelf in one of thoſe rich ſuits lately made for him; but the diſtraction he was in made him miſtake his Coat for his Waſtecoat, and put the Coat on firſt; but, recalling his ſtraggling thoughts, he made ſhift to get ready time enough to make his appearance without a ſecond ſummons. Philadelphia was as pleaſant at dinner, as ever ſhe had been all her Life: ſhe look'd very obligingly on all the Sparks, and drank [Page] to every one of 'em particularly, beginning to the Lord—and ending to the ſtranger; who durſt hardly lift up his eyes a ſecond time to her's, to confirm him that he knew her. Her Brother was ſo confounded, that he bow'd and continu'd his head down till ſhe had done drinking; not daring to encounter her Eyes, that wou'd then have reproach'd him with his Villany to her.

After dinner the Cloath was taken away; ſhe began thus to her Lovers, My Lord! Sir Thomas! and Mr. Fat-acres! I doubt not, that it will be of ſome ſatisfaction to you to know whom I have made choice for my next Husband; which now I am reſolv'd no longer to defer.

The perſon to whom I ſhall next drink muſt be the Man who ſhall ever command me and my Fortune; were it ten times greater than it is: which I wiſh only for his ſake; ſince he deſerves much more.—Here (ſaid ſhe to one that waited) put Wine into two Glaſſes? Then ſhe took the Diamond-Ring from her Finger, and put it into one of 'em, My dear Gracelove, (cry'd ſhe) I drink to thee; and ſend thee back thy own Ring with Philadelphia's heart. He ſtartled, bluſh'd and look'd wildly; whilſt all the company ſtar'd on him. Nay, pledge me (purſu'd ſhe) and return me the Ring; for it ſhall make us both one the next morning. He bow'd, kiſ'd and return'd it, after he had taken off his Wine. The defeated Lovers knew not how to reſent [Page] it; The Lord and Knight were for going; but the Country Gentleman oppos'd it: and told 'em, 'twas the greateſt argument of Folly to be diſturb'd at the Caprice of a Woman's humour. They ſate down again therefore; and ſhe invited 'em to her Wedding on the morrow.

And now Brother (ſaid ſhe) I have not quite forgotten you, tho' you have not been pleas'd to take notice of me: I have a diſh in reſerve for you, which will be more grateful to your fancy, than all you have taſted to day. Here! (cry'd ſhe to the Steward) Mr. Rightman, do you ſerve up that Diſh your ſelf! Rightman then ſet a cover'd Diſh on the Table. What! more tricks yet, (cry'd my Lord and Sir Thomas,) Come, Sir William! (ſaid his Siſter) uncover it! He did ſo; and cry'd out, O matchleſs goodneſs of a Virtuous Siſter! Here are the Mortgages of the beſt part of my Eſtate! O, what a Villain! what a monſter have I been! No more, dear Brother (ſaid ſhe, with tears in her eyes) I have yet a greater happineſs in ſtore for you: This Lady, this beautiful, virtuous Lady, with twenty thouſand pounds will make you happy in her Love. Saying this, ſhe joyn'd their hands; Sir William eagerly kiſs'd Eugenia's, who bluſh'd and ſaid, Thus Madam, I hope to ſhew how much I love and honour you. My Couſin Eugenia! (cry'd Gracelove!) The fame, my dear loſt dead Couſin Gracelove! (reply'd ſhe) O! (ſaid he in a tranſport) [Page] my preſent joys, are greater than all my paſt miſeries! my Miſtreſs and my Friend are found; and ſtill are mine. Nay, (faith, ſaid my Lord) this is pleaſant enough to me, tho I have been defeated of the enjoyment of the Lady. The whole company in general went away very well that night; who return'd the next morning, and ſaw the two happy pair firmly united.

FINIS.

§

[Page]

[Page]

THE Unfortunate Happy Lady.

A True HISTORY.

By Mrs. A. BEHN.

LONDON: Printed for Samuel Briſcoe, in Charles-Street, Covent-Garden, 1698.

TO EDWARD COOK, of Norfolk, Eſquire.

[Page]

[Page]

Honour'd SIR,

IF ſo conſiderable a Name as Mrs. Behn's did not juſtifie my Choice of your Patronage, Sir, for the following Novel, I might perhaps be thought too preſumptuous, in ſheltring the Unhappy Fortunate under your Name: But being ſecur'd by her eſtabliſh'd Reputation from injuring yours, I gave way to that Deſire I had to ſhew my ſelf in the Number of your Admirers. For there being a ſort of Merit in admiring Merit, every one that has the least Ambition, wou'd deſire to ſhew himſelf Maſter of that Deſert.

Your Vertues as well as Fortunes are too conſpicuous not to be obſerv'd by all; your Affability, Generoſity, Goodneſs are what give Hope to your Inferiours, and Comfort and [Page] Satisfaction to your Equals, and Admiration to all: For 'tis ſeldom that Fortune alone can draw our Hearts tho' it draw our Eyes, but when embelliſh'd with ſuch Qualifications it makes the Poſſeſſour truly Great and Happy, as well as Rich.

'Tis well, Sir, I am no Panegerist, I ſhou'd elſe, on ſo engaging a Theme, be apt to forget the Violence I did your Modeſty, in the Satisfaction I found in the Contemplation of your Excellencies: But I leave that Task to happier Pens, and content my ſelf with the generous Ambition of what my Stars deny me, and only heg leave to ſubſcribe my ſelf, Sir,

Your moſt obedient and devoted Servant,

SAM. BRISCOE.¹

Notes

1

** Place this Epiſtle Dedicatory next after the Title of the Unhappy Fortunate Lady.

Information about this book

Title statement

The unfortunate happy lady a true history / by Mrs. A. Behn.

Behn, Aphra, 1640-1689.

Edition statement

1698

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2007-10 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A69552

ID [STC]

Wing B1711A

ID [STC]

ESTC R23165

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

11683485

ID [OCLC]

ocm 11683485

ID [VID]

39417

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(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A69552)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 39417)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 12:11)

Source

— The unfortunate happy lady a true history / by Mrs. A. Behn., Behn, Aphra, 1640-1689..

Extent

[4], 21-61 p.

Printed for Samuel Briscoe ...,. London :: 1698.. (This item is identified on film and in reel guide as B1773A (number cancelled in Wing 2nd ed.); it is now included as part of Wing (2nd ed.) B1711A.) (Reproduction of original in Newberry Library.)

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