The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

THE HISTORY OF
MISS BETSY
THOUGHTLESS

ELIZA HAYWOOD

CONTENTS

VOLUME THE FIRST

CHAPTER I

Gives the reader room to guess at what is to ensue, though ten to one but he finds himself deceived

It was always my opinion, that fewer women were undone by love than vanity; and that those mistakes the sex are sometimes guilty of, proceed, for the most part, rather from inadvertency, than a vicious inclination. The ladies, however, I am sorry to observe, are apt to make too little allowances to each other on this score, and seem better pleased with an occasion to condemn than to excuse; and it is not above one, in a greater number than I will presume to mention, who, while she passes the severest censure on the conduct of her friend, will be at the trouble of taking a retrospect on her own. There are some who behold, with indignation and contempt, those errors in others, which, unhappily, they are every day falling into themselves; and as the want of due consideration occasions the guilt, so the want of due consideration also occasions the scandal: and there would be much less room either for the one or the other, were some part of that time which is wasted at the toilette, in consulting what dress is most becoming to the face, employed in examining the heart, and what actions are most becoming of the character.

Betsy Thoughtless was the only daughter of a gentleman of good family and fortune in L——e, where he constantly resided, scarce ever going to London, and contented himself with such diversions as the country afforded. On the death of his wife, he sent his little favourite, then about ten years old, to a boarding-school, the governess of which had the reputation of a woman of great good sense, fine breeding, and every way qualified for the well-forming of the minds of those young persons who were entrusted to her care.

The old gentleman was so well pleased with having placed his daughter where she was so likely to improve in all the accomplishments befitting her sex, that he never suffered her to come home, even at breaking-up times, when most of the other young ladies did so: but as the school was not above seven or eight miles from his seat, he seldom failed calling to see her once or twice a week.

Miss Betsy, who had a great deal of good-nature, and somewhat extremely engaging in her manner of behaviour, soon gained the affection not only of the governess, but of all the young ladies; but as girls, as well as women, have their favourites, to whom they may communicate their little secrets, there was one who above all the others was distinguished by her. Miss Forward, for so she was called, was also very fond of Miss Betsy. This intimacy beginning but in trivial things, and such as suited their age, continued as they advanced nearer to maturity. Miss Forward, however, had two years the advantage of her friend, yet did not disdain to make her the confidante of a kind of amorous intrigue she had entered into with a young lad, called Master Sparkish, the son of a neighbouring gentleman: he had fallen in love with her at church, and had taken all opportunities to convince her of his passion; she, proud of being looked upon as a woman, encouraged it. Frequent letters passed between them, for she never failed to answer those she received from him, both which were shewn to Miss Betsy; and this gave her an early light into the art and mystery of courtship, and consequently a relish for admiration. The young lover calling his mistress angel and goddess, made her long to be in her teens, that she might have the same things said to her.

This correspondence being by some accident discovered, the governess found it behoved her to keep a strict eye upon Miss Forward: all the servants were examined concerning the conveying any letters, either to or from her: but none of them knew any thing of the matter; it was a secret to all but Miss Betsy, who kept it inviolably. It is fit, however, the reader should not remain in ignorance.

Master Sparkish had read the story of Pyramus and Thisbe; he told his mistress of it, and in imitation of those lovers of antiquity, stuck his letters into a little crevice he found in the garden-wall, whence she pulled them out every day, and returned her answers by the same friendly breach, which he very gallantly told her in one of his epistles, had been made by the God of Love himself, in order to favour his suit: so that all the governess's circumspection could not hinder this amour from going on without interruption; and could they have contented themselves with barely writing to each other, they might probably have done so till they both had been weary: but though I will not pretend to say that either of them had any thing in their inclinations that was not perfectly consistent with innocence, yet it is certain they both languished for a nearer conversation, which the fertile brain of Miss Forward at last brought about.

She pretended, one Sunday in the afternoon, to have so violent a pain in her head, that she could not go to church; Miss Betsy begged leave to stay and keep her company, and told the governess she would read a sermon or some other good book to her: the good old gentlewoman, little suspecting the plot concerted between them, readily consented.

Nobody being left in the house but themselves, and one maid-servant, young Sparkish, who had previous notice at what hour to come, was let in at the garden-door, the key being always in it. Miss Betsy left the lovers in an arbour, and went into the kitchen, telling the maid she had read Miss Forward to sleep, and hoped she would be better when she waked. She amused the wench with one little chat or other, till she thought divine service was near over, then returned into the garden to give her friends warning it was time to separate.

They had after this many private interviews, through the contrivance and assistance of Miss Betsy; who, quite charmed with being made the confidante of a person older than herself, set all her wits to work to render herself worthy of the trust reposed in her. Sometimes she made pretences of going to the milliner, the mantua-maker, or to buy something in town, and begged leave that Miss Forward should accompany her; saying, she wanted her choice in what she was to purchase. Sparkish was always made acquainted when they were to go out, and never failed to give them a meeting.

Miss Forward had a great deal of the coquette in her nature; she knew how to play at fast-and-loose with her lover; and, young as she was, took a pride in mingling pain with the pleasure she bestowed. Miss Betsy was a witness of all the airs the other gave herself on this occasion, and the artifices she made use of, in order to secure the continuance of his addresses: so that, thus early initiated into the mystery of courtship, it is not to be wondered at, that when she came to the practice, she was so little at a loss.

This intercourse, however, lasted but a small time; their meetings were too frequent, and too little circumspection used in them not to be liable to discovery. The governess was informed that, in spite of all her care, the young folks had been too cunning for her: on which she went to the father of Sparkish, acquainted him with what she knew of the affair, and intreated he would lay his commands on his son to refrain all conversation with any of the ladies under her tuition. The old gentleman flew into a violent passion on hearing his son had already begun to think of love; he called for him, and after having rated his youthful folly in the severest manner, charged him to relate the whole truth of what had passed between him and the young lady mentioned by the governess. The poor lad was terrified beyond measure at his father's anger, and confessed every particular of his meetings with Miss Forward and her companion; and thus Miss Betsy's share of the contrivance was brought to light, and drew on her a reprimand equally severe with that Miss Forward had received. The careful governess would not entirely depend on the assurance the father of Sparkish had given her, and resolved to trust neither of the ladies out of her sight, while that young gentleman remained so near them, which she knew would be but a short time, he having finished his school-learning, and was soon to go to the university. To prevent also any future strategems being laid between Miss Betsy and Miss Forward, she took care to keep them from ever being alone together, which was a very great mortification to them: but a sudden turn soon after happened in the affairs of Miss Betsy, which put all I have been relating entirely out of her head.

CHAPTER II

Shews Miss Betsy in a new scene of life, and the frequent opportunities she had of putting in practice those lessons she was beginning to receive from her young instructress at the boarding-school

Though it is certainly necessary to inculcate into young girls all imaginable precaution in regard to their behaviour towards those of another sex, yet I know not if it is not an error to dwell too much upon that topick. Miss Betsy might, possibly, have sooner forgot the little artifices she had seen practised by Miss Forward, if her governess, by too strenuously endeavouring to convince her how unbecoming they were, had not reminded her of them: besides, the good old gentlewoman was far stricken in years; time had set his iron fingers on her cheeks, had left his cruel marks on every feature of her face, and she had little remains of having ever been capable of exciting those inclinations she so much condemned; so that what she said seemed to Miss Betsy as spoke out of envy, or to shew her authority, rather than the real dictates of truth.

I have often remarked, that reproofs from the old and ugly have much less efficacy than when given by persons less advanced in years, and who may be supposed not altogether past sensibility themselves of the gaieties they advise others to avoid.

Though all the old gentlewoman said, could not persuade Miss Betsy there was any harm in Miss Forward's behaviour towards young Sparkish, yet she had the complaisance to listen to her with all the attention the other could expect or desire from her.

She was, indeed, as yet too young to consider of the justice of the other's reasoning; and her future conduct shewed, also, she was not of a humour to give herself much pains in examining, or weighing in the balance of judgment, the merit of the arguments she heard urged, whether for or against any point whatsoever. She had a great deal of wit, but was too volative for reflection; and as a ship without sufficient ballast is tossed about at the pleasure of every wind that blows, so was she hurried through the ocean of life, just as each predominant passion directed.

But I will not anticipate that gratification which ought to be the reward of a long curiosity. The reader, if he has patience to go through the following pages, will see into the secret springs which set this fair machine in motion, and produced many actions which were ascribed, by the ill-judging and malicious world, to causes very different from the real ones.

All this, I say, will be revealed in time; but it would be as absurd in a writer to rush all at once into the catastrophe of the adventures he would relate, as it would be impracticable in a traveller to reach the end of a long journey, without sometimes stopping at the inns in his way to it. To proceed, therefore, gradually with my history.

The father of Miss Betsy was a very worthy, honest, and good-natured man, but somewhat too indolent; and, by depending too much on the fidelity of those he entrusted with the management of his affairs, had been for several years involved in a law-suit; and, to his misfortune, the aversion he had to business rendered him also incapable of extricating himself from it; and the decision was spun out to a much greater length than it need to have been, could he have been prevailed upon to have attended in person the several courts of justice the cause had been carried through by his more industrious adversary. The exorbitant bills, however, which his lawyers were continually drawing upon him, joining with the pressing remonstrances of his friends, at last rouzed him from that inactivity of mind which had already cost him so dear, and determined him not only to take a journey to London, but likewise not to return home, till he had seen a final end put to this perplexing affair.

Before his departure, he went to the boarding-school, to take his leave of his beloved Betsy, and renew the charge he had frequently given the governess concerning her education; adding, in a mournful accent, that it would be a long time before he saw her again.

These words, as it proved, had somewhat of prophetick in them. On his arrival in London, he found his cause in so perplexed and entangled a situation, as gave him little hopes of ever bringing it to a favourable issue. The vexation and fatigue he underwent on this account, joined with the closeness of the town air, which had never agreed with his constitution even in his younger years, soon threw him into that sort of consumption which goes by the name of a galloping one, and, they say, is the most difficult of any to be removed. He died in about three months, without being able to do any great matters concerning the affair which had drawn him from his peaceful home, and according to all probability hastened his fate. Being perfectly sensible, and convinced of his approaching dissolution, he made his will, bequeathing the bulk of his estate to him whose right it was, (his eldest son) then upon his travels through the greatest part of Europe; all his personals, which were very considerable in the Bank, and other public funds, he ordered should be equally divided between Francis his second son, (at that time a student at Oxford) and Miss Betsy; constituting, at the same time, as trustees to the said testament, Sir Ralph Trusty, his near neighbour in the country, and Mr. Goodman, a wealthy merchant in the city of London; both of them gentlemen of unquestionable integrity, and with whom he had preserved a long and uninterrupted friendship.

On the arrival of this melancholy news, Miss Betsy felt as much grief as it was possible for a heart so young and gay as hers to be capable of; but a little time, for the most part, serves to obliterate the memory of misfortunes of this nature, even in persons of a riper age; and had Miss Betsy been more afflicted than she was, something happened soon after which would have very much contributed to her consolation.

Mr. Goodman having lived without marrying till he had reached an age which one should have imagined would have prevented him from thinking of it at all, at last took it into his head to become a husband. The person he made choice of was called Lady Mellasin, relict of a baronet, who having little or no estate, had accepted of a small employment about the court, in which post he died, leaving her ladyship one daughter, named Flora, in a very destitute condition. Goodman, however, had wealth enough for both, and consulted no other interest than that of his heart.

As for the lady, the motive on which she had consented to be his wife may easily be guessed; and when once made so, gained such an absolute ascendancy over him, that whatever she declared as her will, with him had the force of a law. She had an aversion to the city; he immediately took a house of her chusing at St. James's, inconvenient as it was for his business. Whatever servants she disapproved, though of ever so long standing, and of the most approved fidelity, were discharged, and others, more agreeable to her, put in their places. In fine, nothing she desired was denied; he considered her as an oracle of wit and wisdom, and thought it would be an unpardonable arrogance to attempt to set his reason against hers.

This lady was no sooner informed of the trust imposed in him, than she told him, she thought it would be highly proper for Miss Betsy to be sent for from the school, and boarded with them, not only as her daughter would be a fine companion for that young orphan, they being much of the same age, and she herself was more capable of improving her mind than any governess of a school could be supposed to be; but that, also, having her under her own eye, he would be more able to discharge his duty towards her as a guardian, than if she were at the distance of near an hundred miles.

There was something in this proposal which had, indeed, the face of a great deal of good-nature and consideration for Miss Betsy, at least it seemed highly so to Mr. Goodman; but as Sir Ralph Trusty was joined with him in the guardianship of that young beauty, and was at that time in London, he thought it proper to consult him on the occasion; which having done, and finding no objection on the part of the other, Lady Mellasin, to shew her great complaisance to the daughter of her husband's deceased friend, sent her own woman to bring her from the boarding-school, and attend her up to London.

Miss Betsy had never seen this great metropolis; but had heard so much of the gay manner in which the genteel part of the world passed their time in it, that she was quite transported at being told she was to be removed thither. Mrs. Prinks (for so Lady Mellasin's woman was called) did not fail to heighten her ideas of the pleasures of the place to which she was going, nor to magnify the goodness of her lady, in taking her under her care, with the most extravagant encomiums: it is not, therefore, to be wondered at, that neither the tears of the good governess, who truly loved her, nor those of her dear Miss Forward, nor of any of those she left behind, could give her any more than a momentary regret to a heart so possessed with the expectations of going to receive every thing with which youth is liable to be enchanted. She promised, however, to keep up a correspondence by letters; which she did, till things, that seemed to her of much more importance, put her L——e acquaintance entirely out of her head.

She was met at the inn where the stage put up, by Mr. Goodman, in his own coach, accompanied by Miss Flora: the good old gentleman embraced her with the utmost tenderness, and assured her that nothing in his power, or in that of his family, would be wanting to compensate, as much as possible, the loss she had sustained by the death of her parents. The young lady also said many obliging things to her; and they seemed highly taken with each other at this first interview, which gave the honest heart of Goodman an infinite satisfaction.

The reception given her by Lady Mellasin, when brought home, and presented to her by her husband, was conformable to what Mrs. Prinks had made her expect; that lady omitting nothing to make her certain of being always treated by her with the same affection as her own daughter.

Sir Ralph Trusty, on being informed his young charge was come to town, came the next day to Mr. Goodman's to visit her: his lady accompanied him. There had been a great intimacy and friendship between her and the mother of Miss Betsy, and she could not hold in her arms the child of a person so dear to her without letting fall some tears, which were looked upon by the company as the tribute due to the memory of the dead. The conjecture, in part, might be true, but the flow proceeded from the mixture of another motive, not suspected—that of compassion for the living. This lady was a woman of great prudence, piety, and virtue: she had heard many things relating to the conduct of Lady Mellasin, which made her think her a very unfit person to have the care of youth, especially those of her own sex. She had been extremely troubled when Sir Ralph told her that Miss Betsy was sent for from the country to live under such tuition, and would have fain opposed it, could she have done so without danger of creating a misunderstanding between him and Mr. Goodman, well knowing the bigotted respect the latter had for his wife, and how unwilling he would be to do any thing that had the least tendency to thwart her inclinations. She communicated her sentiments, however, on this occasion, to no person in the world, not even to her own husband; but resolved, within herself, to take all the opportunities that fell in her way, of giving Miss Betsy such instructions as she thought necessary for her behaviour in general, and especially towards the family in which it was her lot to be placed.

Miss Betsy was now just entering into her fourteenth year, a nice and delicate time in persons of her sex; since it is then they are most apt to take the bent of impression, which, according as it is well or ill directed, makes or mars the future prospect of their lives. She was tall, well-shaped, and perfectly amiable, without being what is called a compleat beauty; and as she wanted nothing to render her liable to the greatest temptations, so she stood in need of the surest arms for her defence against them.

But while this worthy lady was full of cares for the well doing of a young creature who appeared so deserving of regard, Miss Betsy thought she had the highest reason to be satisfied with her situation; and how, indeed, could it be otherwise? Lady Mellasin kept a great deal of company; she received visits every morning, from ten to one o'clock, from the most gay and polite of both sexes; all the news of the town was talked on at her levee, and it seldom happened that some party of pleasure was not formed for the ensuing evening, in all which Miss Betsy and Miss Flora had their share.

Never did the mistress of a private family indulge herself, and those about her, with such a continual round of publick diversions! The court, the play, the ball, and opera, with giving and receiving visits, engrossed all the time that could be spared from the toilette. It cannot, therefore, seem strange that Miss Betsy, to whom all these things were entirely new, should have her head turned with the promiscuous enjoyment, and the very power of reflection lost amidst the giddy whirl; nor that it should be so long before she could recover it enough to see the little true felicity of such a course of life.

Among the many topicks with which this brilliant society entertained each other, it may easily be supposed that love and gallantry were not excluded. Lady Mellasin, though turned of forty, had her fine things said to her; but both heaven and earth were ransacked for comparisons in favour of the beauty of Miss Flora and Miss Betsy: but as there was nothing particular in these kind of addresses, intended only to shew the wit of those who made them, these young ladies answered them only with raillery, in which art Miss Betsy soon learned to excel. She had the glory, however, of being the first who excited a real passion in the heart of any of those who visited Lady Mellasin; though, being accustomed to hear declarations which had the appearance of love, yet were really no more than words of course, and made indiscriminately to every fine woman, she would not presently persuade herself that this was more serious.

The first victim of her charms was the only son of a very rich alderman; and having a fortune left him by a relation, independent of his father, who was the greatest miser in the world, he was furnished with the means of mingling with the beau monde, and of making one at every diversion that was proposed.

He had fancied Miss Flora a mighty fine creature, before he saw Miss Betsy; but the imaginary flame he had for her was soon converted into a sincere one for the other. He truly loved her, and was almost distracted at the little credit she gave to his professions. His perseverance, his tremblings whenever he approached her, his transports on seeing her, his anxieties at taking leave, so different from what she had observed in any other of those who had pretended to lift themselves under the banner of her charms, at length convincing her of the conquest she had made, awakened in her breast that vanity so natural to a youthful mind. She exulted, she plumed herself, she used him ill and well by turns, taking an equal pleasure in raising or depressing his hopes; and, in spite of her good-nature, felt no satisfaction superior to that of the consciousness of a power of giving pain to the man who loved her: but with how great a mortification this short-lived triumph was succeeded, the reader shall presently be made sensible.

CHAPTER III

Affords matter of condolence, or raillery, according to the humour the reader happens to be in for either

We often see, that the less encouragement is given to the lover's suit, with the more warmth and eagerness he prosecutes it; and many people are apt to ascribe this hopeless perseverance to an odd perverseness in the very nature of love; but, for my part, I rather take it to proceed from an ambition of surmounting difficulties: it is not, however, my province to enter into any discussion of so nice a point; I deal only in matters of fact, and shall not meddle with definition.

It was not till after Miss Betsy had reason to believe she had engaged the heart of her lover too far for him to recal it, that she began to take a pride in tormenting. While she looked on his addresses as of a piece with those who called themselves her admirers, she had treated him in that manner which she thought would most conduce to make him really so; but no sooner did she perceive, by the tokens before mentioned, that his passion was of the most serious nature, than she behaved to him in a fashion quite the reverse, especially before company; for as she had not the least affection, or even a liking towards him, his submissive deportment under the most cold, sometimes contemptuous, carriage, could afford her no other satisfaction, than, as she fancied, it shewed the power of her beauty, and piqued those ladies of her acquaintance, who could not boast of such an implicit resignation and patient suffering from their lovers; in particular, Miss Flora, who she could not forbear imagining looked very grave on the occasion. What foundation there was for a conjecture of this nature was nevertheless undiscoverable till a long time after.

As this courtship was no secret to any of the family, Mr. Goodman thought himself obliged, both as the guardian of Miss Betsy, and the friend of Alderman Saving, (for so the father of this young enamorato was called) to enquire upon what footing it stood. He thought, that if the old man knew and approved of his son's inclinations, he would have mentioned the affair to him, as they frequently saw each other; and it seemed to him neither for the interest nor reputation of his fair charge, to receive the clandestine addresses of any man whatsoever. She had a handsome fortune of her own, and he thought that, and her personal accomplishments, sufficiently entitled her to as good a match as Mr. Saving; but then he knew the sordid nature of the alderman, and that all the merits of Miss Betsy would add nothing in the balance, if her money was found too light to poise against the sums his son would be possessed of. This being the case, he doubted not but that he was kept in ignorance of the young man's intentions; and, fearing the matter might be carried too far, resolved either to put a stop to it at once, or permit it to go on, on such terms as should free him from all censure from the one or the other party.

On talking seriously to the lover, he soon found the suggestions he had entertained had not deceived him. Young Saving frankly confessed, that his father had other views for him; but added, that if he could prevail on the young lady to marry him, he did not despair but that when the thing was once done, and past recal, the alderman would by degrees receive them into favour. 'You know, Sir,' said he, 'that he has no child but me, nor any kindred for whom he has the least regard; and it cannot be supposed he would utterly discard me for following my inclinations in this point, especially as they are in favour of the most amiable and deserving of her sex.'

He said much more on this head, but it had no weight with the merchant; he answered, that if the alderman was of his way of thinking, all the flattering hopes his passion suggested to him on that score, might be realized; but that, according to the disposition he knew him to be of, he saw but little room to think he would forgive a step of this kind. 'Therefore,' continued he, 'I cannot allow this love-affair to be prosecuted any farther, and must desire you will desist visiting at my house, till you have either conquered this inclination, or Miss Betsy is otherwise disposed of.'

This was a cruel sentence for the truly affectionate Saving; but he found it in vain to solicit a repeal of it, and all he could obtain from him, was a promise to say nothing of what had passed to the alderman.

Mr. Goodman would have thought he had but half compleated his duty, had he neglected to sound the inclination of Miss Betsy on this account; and in order to come more easily at the truth, he began with talking to her in a manner which might make her look on him rather as a favourer of Mr. Saving's pretensions than the contrary, and was extremely glad to find, by her replies, how indifferent that young lover was to her. He then acquainted her with the resolution he had taken, and the discourse he had just had with him; and, to keep her from ever after encouraging the addresses of any man, without being authorized by the consent of friends on both sides, represented in the most pathetick terms he was able, the danger to which a private correspondence renders a young woman liable. She seemed convinced of the truth of what he said, and promised to follow, in the strictest manner, his advice.

Whether she thought herself, in reality, so much obliged to the conduct of her guardian in this, I will not take upon me to say; for though she was not charmed with the person of Mr. Saving, it is certain she took an infinite pleasure in the assiduities of his passion: it is, therefore, highly probable, that she might imagine he meddled in this affair more than he had any occasion to have done. She had, however, but little time for reflection on her guardian's behaviour, an accident happening, which shewed her own to her in a light very different from what she had ever seen it.

Lady Mellasin had a ball at her house; there was a great deal of company, among whom was a gentleman named Gayland: he was a man of family—had a large estate—sung, danced, spoke French, dressed well—frequent successes among the women had rendered him extremely vain, and as he had too great an admiration for his own person to be possessed of any great share of it for that of any other, he enjoyed the pleasures of love, without being sensible of the pains. This darling of the fair it was, that Miss Betsy picked out to treat with the most peculiar marks of esteem, whenever she had a mind to give umbrage to poor Saving; much had that faithful lover suffered on the account of this fop; but the fair inflictor of his torments was punished for her insensibility and ingratitude, by a way her inexperience of the world, and the temper of mankind in general, had made her far from apprehending.

While the company were employed, some in dancing, and others in particular conversation, the beau found an opportunity to slip into Miss Betsy's hand a little billet, saying to her at the same time, 'You have got my heart, and this little bit of paper will convey to you the sentiments it is inspired with in your favour.' She, imagining it was either a sonnet or epistle, in praise of her beauty, received it with a smile, and put it in her pocket. After every body had taken leave, and she was retired to her chamber, she examined it, and found, to her great astonishment, the contents as follows—

'Dear Miss,

I must either be the most ungrateful, or most consumedly dull fellow upon earth, not to have returned the advances you have been so kind to make me, had the least opportunity offered for my doing so; but Lady Mellasin, her daughter, the fool Saving, or some impertinent creature or other, has always been in the way, so that there was not a possibility of giving you even the least earnest of love: but, my dear, I have found out a way to pay you the whole sum with interest; which is this—you must invent some excuse for going out alone, and let me know by a billet, directed for me at White's, the exact hour, and I will wait for you at the corner of the street in a hackney-coach, the window drawn up, and whirl you to a pretty snug place I know of, where we may pass a delicious hour or two without a soul to interrupt our pleasures. Let me find a line from you to-morrow, if you can any way contrive it, being impatient to convince you how much I am, my dear creature, yours, &c. &c.

J. Gayland.'

Impossible it is to express the mingled emotions of shame, surprize, and indignation, which filled the breast of Miss Betsy, on reading this bold invitation; she threw the letter on the ground, she stamped upon it, she spurned it, and would have treated the author in the same manner, had he been present; but the first transports of so just a resentment being over, a consciousness of having, by a too free behaviour towards him, emboldened him to take this liberty, involved her in the utmost confusion, and she was little less enraged with herself, than she had reason to be with him. She could have tore out her very eyes for having affected to look kindly upon a wretch who durst presume so far on her supposed affection; and though she spared those pretty twinklers that violence, she half drowned their lustre in a deluge of tears. Never was a night passed in more cruel anxieties than what she sustained; both from the affront she had received, and the reflection that it was chiefly the folly of her own conduct which had brought it on her; and what greatly added to her vexation, was the uncertainty how it would best become her to act on an occasion which appeared so extraordinary to her. She had no friend whom she thought it proper to consult; she was ashamed to relate the story to any of the discreet and serious part of her acquaintance; she feared their reproofs for having counterfeited a tenderness for a man, which she was now sensible she ought, if it had been real, rather to have concealed with the utmost care both from him and all the world; and as for Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora, though their conduct inspired her not with any manner of awe, yet she thought she saw something in those ladies which did not promise much sincerity, and shewed as if they would rather turn her complaints into ridicule, than afford her that cordial and friendly advice she stood in need of.

These were the reasons which determined her to keep the whole thing a secret from every one. At first she was tempted to write to Gayland, and testify her disdain of his presumption in terms which should convince him how grossly his vanity had imposed upon him; but she afterwards considered that a letter from her was doing him too much honour, and though ever so reproachful, might draw another from him, either to excuse and beg pardon for the temerity of the former, or possibly to affront her a second time, by defending it, and repeating his request. She despised and hated him too much to engage in a correspondence with him of any kind, and therefore resolved, as it was certainly most prudent, not to let him have any thing under her hand, but when next she saw him to shew her resentment by such ways as occasion should permit.

He came not to Mr. Goodman's, however, for three days, possibly waiting that time for a letter from Miss Betsy; but on the fourth he appeared at Lady Mellasin's tea-table. There were, besides the family, several others present, so that he had not an opportunity of speaking in private to Miss Betsy; but the looks she gave him, so different from all he had ever seen her assume towards him, might have shewn any man, not blinded with his vanity, how much she was offended: but he imagining her ill-humour proceeded only from the want of means to send to him, came again the next day, and happening to find her alone in the parlour, 'What, my dear,' said he, taking her in a free manner by the hand, 'have you been so closely watched by your guardian and guardianesses here, that no kind moment offered for you to answer the devoirs of your humble servant?'—'The surest guardians of my fame and peace,' replied she, snatching her hand away, 'is the little share of understanding, I am mistress of, which I hope will always be sufficient to defend my honour in more dangerous attacks, than the rude impertinences of an idle coxcomb.'

These words, and the air with which they were spoke, one would think should have struck with confusion the person to whom they were directed: but Gayland was not so easily put out of countenance; and, looking her full in the face—'Ah, child!' cried he, 'sure you are not in your right senses today! "Understanding—impertinences—idle coxcomb!" Very pleasant, i'faith! but, upon my soul, if you think these airs become you, you are the most mistaken woman in the world!'—'It may be so,' cried she, ready to burst with inward spite at his insolence; 'but I should be yet more mistaken if I were capable of thinking a wretch like you worthy of any thing but contempt.' With these words she flung out of the room, and he pursued her with a horse-laugh, till she was out of hearing, and then went into the dining room, where he found Lady Mellasin, and several who had come to visit her.

Miss Betsy, who had gone directly to her own chamber, sent to excuse coming down to tea, pretending a violent headache, nor would be prevailed upon to join the company till she heard Gayland had taken his leave, which he did much sooner than usual, being probably a good deal disconcerted at the shock his vanity had received.

CHAPTER IV

Verifies the old proverb, that one affliction treads upon the heels of another

As Miss Betsy was prevented from discovering to any one the impudent attempt Gayland had made on her virtue, by the shame of having emboldened him to it by too unreserved a behaviour; so also the shame of the disappointment and rebuff he had received from her, kept him from saying any thing of what had passed between them; and this resolution on both sides rendered it very difficult for either of them to behave to the other, so as not to give some suspicion. Betsy could not always avoid seeing him when he came to Lady Mellasin's, for he would not all at once desist his visits for two reasons; first, because it might give occasion for an enquiry into the cause; and, secondly, because Miss Betsy would plume herself on the occasion, as having, by her scorn, triumphed over his audacity, and drove him from the field of battle. He therefore resolved to continue his visits for some time; and to pique her, as he imagined, directed all the fine things his common-place-book was well stored with, to Miss Flora, leaving the other wholly neglected.

But here he was little less deceived than he had been before in the sentiments of that young lady; the hatred his late behaviour had given her, and the utter detestation it had excited in her towards him, had for a time extinguished that vanity so almost inseparable from youth, especially when accompanied with beauty; and she rather rejoiced, than the contrary, to see him affect to be so much taken up with Miss Flora, that he could scarce say the least complaisant thing to her, as it freed her from the necessity of returning it in some measure. Her good sense had now scope to operate; she saw, as in a mirror, her own late follies in those of Miss Flora, who swelled with all the pride of flattered vanity on this new imaginary conquest over the heart of the accomplished Gayland, as he was generally esteemed, and perceived the errors of such a way of thinking and acting in so clear a light, as, had it continued, would doubtless have spared her those anxieties her relapse from it afterwards occasioned.

In these serious reflections let us leave her for a time, to see in what situation Mr. Saving was, after being denied access to his mistress. As it was impossible for a heart to be more truly sincere and affectionate, he was far from being able to make any efforts for the banishing Miss Betsy's image thence; on the contrary, he thought of nothing but how to continue a correspondence with her, and endeavour, by all the means in his power, to engage her to a private interview. As his flame was pure and respectful, he was some days debating within himself how to proceed, so as not to let her think he had desisted from his pretensions, or to continue them in a manner at which she should not be offended. Love, when real, seldom fails of inspiring the breast that harbours it with an equal share of timidity; he trembled whenever he thought of soliciting such a meeting; yet, without it, how could he hope to retain any place in her memory, much less make any progress in gaining her affection! At length, however, he assumed enough courage to write to her, and by a bribe to one of the servants, got his letter delivered to her, fearing if he had it sent by the post, or any publick way to the house, it would be intercepted by the caution he found Mr. Goodman had resolved to observe in this point.

Miss Betsy knowing his hand by the superscription, was a little surprized, as perhaps having never thought of him since they parted, but opened it without the least emotion either of pain or pleasure: she knew him too well to be under any apprehensions of being treated by him as she had been by Gayland, and was too little sensible of his merit to feel the least impatience for examining the dictates of his affection; yet, indifferent as she was, she could not forbear being touched on reading these lines—

'Most adored of your sex,

I doubt not but you are acquainted with Mr. Goodman's behaviour to me; but, oh! I fear you are too insensible of the agonies in which my soul labours through his cruel caution. Dreadful is the loss of sight, yet what is sight to me, when it presents not you! Though I saw you regardless of my ardent passion, yet still I saw you—and while I did so, could not be wholly wretched! What have I not endured since deprived of that only joy for which I wish to live! Had it not been improper for me to have been seen near Mr. Goodman's house, after having been forbid entrance to it, I should have dwelt for ever in your street, in hope of sometimes getting a glimpse of you from one or other of the windows: this I thought would be taken notice of, and might offend you; but darkness freed me from these apprehensions, and gave me the consolation of breathing in the same air with you. Soon as I thought all watchful eyes were closed, I flew to the place, which, wherever my body is, contains my heart and all it's faculties. I pleased myself with looking on the roof that covers you, and invoked every star to present me to you in your sleep, in a form more agreeable than I can hope I ever appeared in to your waking fancy. Thus I have passed each night; and when the morning dawned, unwillingly retired to take that rest which nature more especially demands, when heavy melancholy oppresses the heart. I slept—but how? Distracting images swam in my tormented brain, and waked me with horrors inconceivable. Equally lost to business, as to all social commerce, I fly mankind; and, like some discontented ghost, seek out the most solitary walks, and lonely shades, to pour forth my complaints. O Miss Betsy! I cannot live, if longer denied the sight of you! In pity to my sufferings, permit me yet once more to speak to you, even though it be to take a last farewel. I have made a little kind of interest with the woman at the habit-shop in Covent Garden, where I know you sometimes go; I dread to intreat you would call there to-morrow; yet, if you are so divinely good, be assured I shall entertain no presuming hopes on the condescension you shall be pleased to make me, but acknowledge it as the mere effect of that compassion which is inherent to a generous mind. Alas! I must be much more worthy than I can yet pretend to be, before I dare flatter myself with owing any thing to a more soft emotion, than that I have mentioned. Accuse me not, therefore, of too much boldness in this petition, but grant to my despair what you would deny to the love of your most faithful, and everlasting slave,

H. Saving.

P. S. The favour of one line, to let me know whether I may expect the blessing I implore, will add to the bounty of it. The same hand that brings you this, will also deliver your commands to yours as above.'

Miss Betsy read this letter several times, and, the oftener she did so, the more she saw into the soul of him that sent it. How wide the difference between this and that she received from Gayland! 'Tis true, they both desired a meeting, each made the same request; but the manner in which the former was asked, and the end proposed by the grant of it, she easily perceived were as distant as heaven and hell. She called to mind the great respect he had always treated her with; she was convinced both of his honour and sincerity, and thought something was due from her on that account. In fine, after deliberating a little within herself, she resolved to write to him in these terms—

'Sir,

Though it is my fixed determination to encourage the addresses of no man whatever, without the approbation of my guardians, yet I think myself too much obliged to the affection you have expressed for me, to refuse you a favour of so trifling a nature as that you have taken the pains to ask. I will be at the place you mention to-morrow, some time in the forenoon; but desire you will expect nothing from it but a last farewel, which you have promised to be contented with. Till then, adieu.'

After finishing this little billet, she called the maid, whom Saving had made his confidante, into the chamber, and asked her, when she expected he would come for an answer. To which the other replied, that he had appointed her to meet him at the corner of the street very early in the morning, before any of the windows were open. 'Well, then,' said Miss Betsy, smiling, and putting the letter into her hands, 'give him this. I do it for your sake, Nanny; for, I suppose, you will have a double fee on the delivery.'—'The gentleman is too much in love,' answered she, 'not to be grateful.'

Miss Betsy passed the remainder of that day, and the ensuing night, with that tranquillity which is inseparable from a mind unincumbered with passion; but the next morning, remembering her promise, while Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora were engaged with the beaux and belles at their levee, she slipped out, and taking a chair at the end of the street, went to the milliner's according to appointment. She doubted not but the impatience of her lover would have brought him there long before her, and was very much amazed to find herself the first comer. She knew not, however, but some extraordinary accident, unforeseen by him, might have happened to detain him longer than he expected; and from the whole course of his past behaviour, could find no shadow of reason to suspect him of a wilful remissness. She sat down in the shop, and amused herself with talking to the woman on the new modes of dress, and such like ordinary matters; but made not the least mention of the motive which had brought her there that morning: and the other, not knowing whether it would be proper to take any notice, was also silent on that occasion; but Miss Betsy observed she often turned her head towards the window, and ran to the door, looking up and down the street, as if she expected somebody who was not yet come.

Miss Betsy could not forbear being shocked at a disappointment, which was the last thing in the world she could have apprehended. She had, notwithstanding, the patience to wait from a little past eleven till near two o'clock, expecting, during every moment of that time, that he would either come or send some excuse for not doing so; but finding he did neither, and that it was near the hour in which Mr. Goodman usually dined, she took her leave of the woman, and went home full of agitations.

The maid, who was in the secret, happening to open the door, and Miss Betsy looking around and perceiving there was nobody in hearing, said to hear, 'Nanny, are you sure you delivered my letter safe into Mr. Saving's hand?'—'Sure, Miss!' cried the wench, 'yes, as sure as I am alive; and he gave me a good Queen Anne's guinea for my trouble. I have not had time since to put it up,' continued she, taking it out of her bosom; 'here it is.'—'Well, then, what did he say on receiving it?' said Miss Betsy. 'I never saw a man so transported,' replied she; 'he put it to his mouth, and kissed it with such an eagerness, I thought he would have devoured it.' Miss Betsy asked no farther questions, but went up to her chamber to pull off her hood, not being able to know how she ought to judge of this adventure.

She was soon called down to dinner; but her mind was too much perplexed to suffer her to eat much.

She was extremely uneasy the whole day for an explanation of what at present seemed so mysterious, and this gave her little less pain than perhaps she would have felt had she been possessed with an equal share of love; but in the evening her natural vivacity got the better, and not doubting but the next morning she should receive a letter with a full eclaircissement of this affair, she enjoyed the same sweet repose as if nothing had happened to ruffle her temper.

The morning came, but brought no billet from that once obsequious lover: the next, and three or four succeeding ones, were barren of the fruit she so much expected. What judgment could she form of an event so odd? She could not bring herself to think Saving had taken pains to procure a rendezvous with her, on purpose to disappoint and affront her; and was not able to conceive any probable means by which he could be prevented from writing to her. Death only, she thought, could be an excuse for him, and had that happened she should have heard of it. Sometimes she fancied that the maid had been treacherous; but when she considered she could get nothing by being so, and that it was, on the contrary, rather her interest to be sincere, she rejected that supposition. The various conjectures, which by turns came into her head, rendered her, however, excessively disturbed, and in a situation which deserved some share of pity, had not her pride kept her from revealing the discontent, or the motives of it, to any one person in the world.

CHAPTER V

Contains nothing very extraordinary, yet such things as are highly proper to be known

I think it is generally allowed that there are few emotions of the mind more uneasy than suspense. Not the extreme youth of Miss Betsy, not all her natural cheerfulness, nor her perfect indifference for the son of Alderman Saving, could enable her to throw off the vexation in which his late behaviour had involved her: had the motive been the most mortifying of any that could be imagined to her vanity, pride and resentment would then have come to her assistance; she would have despised the author of the insult, and in time have forgot the insult itself; but the uncertainty in what manner she ought to think of the man, and this last action of his, made both dwell much longer on her mind than otherwise they would have done. As the poet truly says—

'When puzzling doubts the anxious bosom seize,
To know the worst, is some degree of ease.'

This is a maxim which will hold good, even when the strongest and most violent passions operate; but Miss Betsy was possessed of no more than a bare curiosity, which as she had as yet no other sensation that demanded gratification, was sufficiently painful to her.

It was about ten or twelve days that she continued to labour under this dilemma; but, at the expiration of that time, was partly relieved from it by the following means.

Mr. Goodman, happening to meet Alderman Saving, with whom he had great business, upon Change, desired he would accompany him to an adjacent tavern; to which the other complied, but with an air much more grave and reserved than he was accustomed to put on with a person whom he had known for a great number of years, and was concerned with in some affairs of traffick, they went together to the Ship Tavern.

After having ended what they had to say to each other upon business—'Mr. Goodman,' said the alderman, 'we have long been friends; I always thought you an honest, fair-dealing man, and am therefore very much surprized you should go about to put upon me in the manner you have lately done.'—'Put upon you, Sir!' cried the merchant; 'I know not what you mean; and am very certain I never did any thing that might call in question my integrity, either to you or to any one else.'—'It was great integrity, indeed!' resumed the alderman, with a sneer, 'to endeavour to draw my only son into a clandestine marriage with the girl you have at your house.' Mr. Goodman was astonished, as well he might, at this accusation; and perceiving, by some other words that the alderman let fall, that he was well acquainted with the love young Saving had professed for Miss Betsy, frankly related to him all that he knew of the courtship, and the method he had taken to put a stop to it. 'That was not enough, Sir,' cried the alderman, hastily; 'you should have told me of it. Do you think young folks, like them, would have regarded your forbidding? No, no! I'll warrant you they would have found some way or other to come together before now; and the boy might have been ruined, if I had not been informed by other hands how things were carried on, and put it out of the power of any of you to impose upon me. The girl may spread her nets to catch some other woodcock, if she can. Thanks to Heaven, and my own prudence, my son is far enough out of her reach!'

Mr. Goodman, though one of the best-natured men in the world, could not keep himself from being a little ruffled at the alderman's discourse; and told him, that though he had been far from encouraging Mr. Saving's inclinations, and should always think it the duty of a son to consult his father in every thing he did, especially in so material a point as that of marriage, yet he saw no reason for treating Miss Betsy with contempt, as she was of a good family, had a very pretty fortune of her own, and suitable accomplishments.

'You take a great deal of pains to set her off,' said the alderman; 'and since you married a court-lady not worth a groat, have got all the romantick idle notions of the other end of the town as finely as if you had been bred there. A good family!—Very pleasant, i'faith. Will a good family go to market? Will it buy a joint of mutton at the butcher's, or a pretty gown at the mercer's?—Then, a pretty fortune! you say—Enough, it may be, to squander away at cards or masquerades for a month or two. She has suitable accomplishments too!—Yes, indeed, they are suitable ones, I believe!—I suppose she can sing, dance, and jabber a little French; but I'll be hanged if she knows how to make a pye, or a pudding, or to teach her maid to do it!'

The reflection on Lady Mellasin, in the beginning of this speech, so much incensed Mr. Goodman, that he could scarce attend to the latter part of it: he forbore interrupting him, however; but, as soon as he had done speaking, replied in terms which shewed his resentment. In fine, such hot words passed between them, as, had they been younger men, might have produced worse consequence; but the spirit of both being equally evaporated in mutual reproaches, they grew more calm, and at last talked themselves into as good harmony as ever. Mr. Goodman said he was sorry that he had been prevailed upon, by the young man's intreaties, to keep his courtship to Miss Betsy a secret; and the alderman begged pardon, in his turn, for having said any thing disrespectful of Lady Mellasin.

On this they shook hands; another half-pint of sherry was called for; and, before they parted, the alderman acquainted Mr. Goodman, that to prevent entirely all future correspondence between his son and Miss Betsy, he had sent him to Holland some days ago, without letting him know any thing of his intentions till every thing was ready for his embarkation. 'I sent,' said he, 'the night before he was to go, his portmanteau, and what other luggage I thought he would have occasion for, to the inn where the Harwich stage puts up; and, making him be called up very early in the morning, told him he must go a little way out of town with me upon extraordinary business. He seemed very unwilling; said he had appointed that morning to meet a gentleman, and begged I would delay the journey to the next day, or even till the afternoon. What caused this backwardness I cannot imagine, for I think it was impossible he could know my designs on this score; but, whatever was in his head, I took care to disappoint it. I listened to none of his excuses, nor trusted him out of my sight; but forced him to go with me to the coach, in which I had secured a couple of places. He was horribly shocked when he found where he was going, and would fain have persuaded me to repeal his banishment, as he called it. I laughed in my sleeve; but took no notice of the real motive I had for sending him away, and told him there was an absolute necessity for his departure; that I had a business of the greatest importance at Rotterdam, in which I could trust nobody but himself to negociate; and that he would find, in his trunk, letters, and other papers, which would instruct him how to act.

'In fine,' continued the alderman, 'I went with him aboard, staid with him till they were ready to weigh anchor, then returned, and stood on the beach till the ship sailed quite out of sight; so that if my gentleman had a thought of writing to his mistress, he had not the least opportunity for it.' He added, that he did not altogether deceive his son, having, indeed, some affairs to transact at Rotterdam, though they were not of the mighty consequence he had pretended; but which he had, by a private letter to his agent there, ordered should be made appear as intricate and perplexing as possible, that the young gentleman's return might be delayed as long as there was any plausible excuse for detaining him, without his seeing through the reason of it.

Mr. Goodman praised the alderman's discretion in the whole conduct of this business; and, to atone for having been prevailed upon to keep young Saving's secret from him, offered to make interest with a friend he had at the post-office, to stop any letter that should be directed to Miss Betsy Thoughtless, by the way of Holland: 'By which means,' said he, 'all communication between the young people will soon be put an end to; he will grow weary of writing letters when he receives no answers; and she of thinking of him as a lover, when she finds he ceases to tell her he is so.'

The alderman was ready to hug his old friend for this proposal, which, it is certain, he made in the sincerity of his heart; for they no sooner parted, then he went to the office, and fulfilled his promise.

When he came home, in order to hinder Miss Betsy from expecting to hear any thing more of Mr. Saving, he told her he had been treated by the alderman pretty roughly, on account of the encouragement that had been given in his house to the amorous addresses which had been made to her by his son: 'And,' added he, 'the old man is so incensed against him, for having a thought of that kind in your favour, that he has sent him beyond sea—I know not to what part: but, it seems, he is never to come back, till he has given full assurance the liking he has for you is utterly worn off.'

'He might have spared himself the pains,' said Miss Betsy, blushing with disdain, 'his son could have informed him how little I was inclinable to listen to any thing he said, on the score of love; and I myself, if he had asked me the question, would have given him the strongest assurances that words could form, that if ever I changed my condition, (which Heaven knows I am far from thinking on as yet) I should never be prevailed upon to do it by any merits his son was possessed of.'

Mr. Goodman congratulated her on the indifference she expressed; and told her, he hoped she would always continue in the same humour, till an offer which promised more satisfaction in marriage should happen to be made.

Nothing more was said on this head; but Miss Betsy, upon ruminating on what Mr. Goodman had related, easily imagined, that the day in which he had been sent away, was the same on which he had appointed to meet her, and therefore excused his not coming as a thing unavoidable; yet, as she knew not the precaution his father had taken, was not so ready to forgive him for not sending a line to prevent her waiting so long for him at the habit-shop. She could not, however, when she reflected on the whole tenor of his deportment to her, think it possible he should all at once become guilty of wilfully omitting what even common good manners and decency required. She soon grew weary, however, of troubling herself about the matter; and a very few days served to make her lose even the memory of it.

CHAPTER VI

May be of some service to the ladies, especially the younger sort, if well attended to

Miss Betsy had now no person that professed a serious passion for her; but, as she had yet never seen the man capable of inspiring her with the least emotions of tenderness, she was quite easy as to that point, and wished nothing beyond what she enjoyed, the pleasure of being told she was very handsome, and gallanted about by a great number of those who go by the name of very pretty fellows. Pleased with the praise, she regarded not the condition or merits of the praised, and suffered herself to be treated, presented, and squired about to all publick places, either by the rake, the man of honour, the wit, or the fool, the married as well as the unmarried, without distinction, and just as either fell in her way.

Such a conduct as this could not fail of laying her open to the censure of malicious tongues: the agreeableness of her person, her wit, and the many accomplishments she was mistress of, made her envied and hated, even by those who professed the greatest friendship for her. Several there were who, though they could scarce support the vexation it gave them to see her so much preferred to themselves, yet chose to be as much with her as possible, in the cruel hope of finding some fresh manner wherewith to blast her reputation.

Certain it is, that though she was as far removed as innocence itself from all intent or wish of committing a real ill, yet she paid too little regard to the appearances of it, and said and did many things which the actually criminal would be more cautious to avoid. Hurried by an excess of vanity, and that love of pleasure so natural to youth, she indulged herself in liberties, of which she foresaw not the consequences.

Lady Trusty, who sincerely loved her, both for her own sake, and that of her deceased mother, came more often to Mr. Goodman's than otherwise she would have done, on purpose to observe the behaviour of Miss Betsy: she had heard some accounts, which gave her great dissatisfaction; but, as she was a woman of penetration, she easily perceived, that plain reproof was not the way to prevail on her to reclaim the errors of her conduct; that she must be insensibly weaned from what at present she took so much delight in, and brought into a different manner of living, by ways which should rather seem to flatter than check her vanity. She therefore earnestly wished to get her down with her into L——e, where she was soon going herself; but knew not how to ask her without making the same invitation to Miss Flora, whose company she no way desired, and whose example, she was sensible, had very much contributed to give Miss Betsy that air of levity, which rendered her good sense almost useless to her.

This worthy lady happening to find her alone one day, (a thing not very usual) she asked, by way of sounding her inclination, if she would not be glad to see L——e again; to which she replied, that there were many people for whom she had a very great respect; but the journey was too long to be taken merely on the score of making a short visit; for she owned she did not like the country well enough to continue in it for any length of time.

Lady Trusty would fain have persuaded her into a better opinion of the place she was born in, and which most of her family had passed the greatest part of their lives in; but Miss Betsy was not to be argued into any tolerable ideas of it, and plainly told her ladyship, that what she called a happy tranquil manner of spending one's days, seemed to her little better than being buried alive.

From declaring her aversion to a country life, she ran into such extravagant encomiums on those various amusements which London every day presented, that Lady Trusty perceived it would not be without great difficulty she would be brought to a more just way of thinking; she concealed, however, as much as possible, the concern it gave her to hear her express herself in this manner; contenting herself with saying, calmly, that London was indeed a very agreeable place to live in, especially for young people, and the pleasures it afforded were very elegant; 'But then,' said she, 'the too frequent repetition of them may so much engross the mind as to take it off from other objects, which ought to have their share in it. Besides,' continued she, 'there are but too frequent proofs that an innate principle of virtue is not always a sufficient guard against the many snares laid for it, under the shew of innocent pleasures, by wicked and designing persons of both sexes; nor can it be esteemed prudence to run one's self into dangers merely to shew our strength in overcoming them: nor, perhaps, would even the victory turn always to our glory; the world is censorious, and seldom ready to put the best construction on things; so that reputation may suffer, though virtue triumphs.'

Miss Betsy listened to all this with a good deal of attention; the impudent attempt Gayland had made on her came fresh into her mind, and made this lady's remonstrances sink the deeper into it. The power of reflection being a little awakened in her, some freedoms also, not altogether consistent with strict modesty, which others had offered to her, convinced her of the error of maintaining too little reserve; she thanked her kind adviser, and promised to observe the precepts she had given.

Lady Trusty, finding this good effect of what she had said, ventured to proceed so far as to give some hints that the conduct of Miss Flora had been far from blameless; 'And therefore,' pursued she, 'I should be glad, methinks, to see you separated from that young lady, though it were but for a small time;' and then gave her to understand how great a pleasure it would be to her to get her down with her to L——e, if it could be any way contrived that she should go without Miss Flora.

'As I have been so long from home,' said she, 'I know I shall have all the gentry round the country to welcome me at my return; and if you should find the company less polite than those you leave behind, it will at least diversify the scene, and render the entertainments of London new to you a second time, when you come back.'

Miss Betsy found in herself a strong inclination to comply with this proposal; and told Lady Trusty, she should think herself happy in passing the whole summer with her; and as to Miss Flora, the same offer might be made to her without any danger of her accepting it. 'I am not of your opinion,' said the other: 'the girl has no fortune, but what Mr. Goodman shall be pleased to give her, which cannot be very considerable, as he has a nephew in the East Indies whom he is extremely fond of, and will make his heir. Lady Mellasin would, therefore, catch at the opportunity of sending her daughter to a place where there are so many gentlemen of estates, among whom she might have a better chance for getting a husband than she can have in London, where her character would scarce entitle her to such a hope. I will, however,' pursued she, 'run the risque, and chuse rather to have a guest whose company I do not so well approve of, than be deprived of one I so much value.'

Miss Betsy testified the sense she had of her ladyship's goodness in the most grateful and obliging terms; and Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora coming home soon after, Lady Trusty said she was come on purpose to ask permission for Miss Flora and Miss Betsy to pass two or three months with her down in L——e.

Lady Mellasin, as the other had imagined, seemed extremely pleased with the invitation; and told her, she did her daughter a great deal of honour, and she would take care things should be prepared for both the young ladies to attend her on her setting out. Lady Trusty then told her she had fixed the day for it, which was about a fortnight after this conversation; and some other matters relating to the journey being regulated, took her leave, highly pleased with the thoughts of getting Miss Betsy to a place, where she should have an opportunity of using her utmost endeavours to improve the good she found in her disposition, and of weaning her, by degrees, from any ill habits she might have contracted in that Babel of mixed company she was accustomed to at Lady Mellasin's.

CHAPTER VII

Is a medley of various particulars, which pave the way for matters of more consequence

Miss Flora had now nothing in her head but the many hearts she expected to captivate when she should arrive in L——e; and Lady Mellasin, who soothed her in all her vanities, resolved to spare nothing which she imagined would contribute to that purpose. Miss Betsy, who had the same ambition, though for different ends, made it also pretty much her study to set off, to the best advantage, the charms she had received from nature. The important article of dress now engrossed the whole conversation of these ladies. The day after that in which Lady Trusty had made the invitation to the two young ones, Lady Mellasin went with them to the mercer's to buy some silks; she pitched on a very genteel new-fashioned pattern for her daughter, but chose one for Miss Betsy which, though rich, seemed to her not well fancied; she testified her disapprobation, but Lady Mellasin said so much in the praise of it, and the mercer, either to please her, or because he was desirous of getting it sold, assured Miss Betsy that it was admired by every body; that it was the newest thing he had in his shop, and had already sold several pieces to ladies of the first quality. All this did not argue Miss Betsy into a liking of it; yet between them she was over-persuaded to have it. When these purchases were made, they went home, only stopping at the mantua-maker's in their way, to order her to come that afternoon: Lady Mellasin did no more than set them down, and then went in the coach to make a visit.

The young ladies fell to reviewing their silks; but Miss Betsy was no way satisfied with hers: the more she looked upon it, the worse it appeared to her. 'I shall never wear it with any pleasure,' said she; 'I wish the man had it in his shop again, for I think it quite ugly.' Miss Flora told her, that she wondered at her; that the thing was perfectly handsome, and that my lady's judgment was never before called in question. 'That may be,' replied Miss Betsy; 'but certainly every one ought to please their own fancy in the choice of their cloaths: for my part, I shall never endure to see myself in it.'—'Not when their fancy happens to differ from that of those who know better than themselves what is fit for them,' cried Miss Flora; 'and, besides, have the power over them.' She spoke this with so much pertness, that Miss Betsy, had had a violent spirit, was highly provoked. 'Power over them!' cried she, 'I do not know what you mean, Miss Flora; Mr. Goodman is one of my guardians, indeed; but I don't know why that should entitle his lady to direct me in what I shall wear.'

Mr. Goodman, who happened to be looking over some papers in a little closet he had within his parlour, hearing part of this dispute, and finding it was like to grow pretty warm, came out, in hopes of moderating it. On hearing Miss Betsy's complaint, he desired to see the silk; which being shewn him, 'I do not pretend,' said he, 'to much understanding in these things; but, methinks, it is very handsome.'—'It would do well enough for winter, Sir,' replied Miss Betsy; 'but it is too hot and heavy for summer; besides, it is so thick and clumsy, it would make me look as big again as I am: I'll not wear it, I am resolved, in the country, whatever I do when I come to town, in the dark weather.'

'Well,' said Mr. Goodman, 'I will speak to my lady to get it changed for something else.'—'Indeed, Sir,' cried Miss Flora, 'I am sure my mamma will do no such thing, and take it very ill to hear it proposed.'—'You need not put yourself in any heat,' replied Miss Betsy; 'I don't desire she should be troubled any farther about it—but, Sir,' continued she, turning to Mr. Goodman, 'I think I am now at an age capable of chusing for myself, in the article of dress; and as it has been settled between you and Sir Ralph Trusty, that, out of the income of my fortune, thirty pounds a year should be allowed for my board, twenty pounds for my pocket expences, and fifty for my cloaths, I think I ought to have the two latter entirely at my own disposal, and to lay it out as I think fit, and not be obliged, like a charity-child, to wear whatever livery my benefactor shall be pleased to order.' She spoke this with so much spleen, that Mr. Goodman was a little nettled at it, and told her, that what his wife had done was out of kindness and good-will; which since she did not take as it was meant, she should have her money to do with as she would.

'That is all I desire,' answered she, 'therefore be pleased to let me have twenty guineas now, or, if there does not remain so much in your hands, I will ask Sir Ralph to advance it, and you may return it to him when you settle accounts.'—'No, no,' cried the merchant hastily, 'I see no reason to trouble my good friend, Sir Ralph, on such a frivolous matter. You shall have the sum you mention, Miss Betsy, whether so much remains out of the hundred pounds a year set apart for your subsistence, or not, as I can but deduct it out of the next payment: but I would have you manage with discretion, for you may depend, that the surplus of what was at first agreed upon, shall not be broke into, but laid up to increase your fortune; which, by the time you come of age, I hope will be pretty handsomely improved.'

Miss Betsy then assured him, that she doubted not of his zeal for her interest, and hoped she had not offended him in any thing she had said. 'No, no,' replied he, 'I always make allowances for the little impatiences of persons of your sex and age, especially where dress is concerned.' In speaking these words, he opened his bureau, and took out twenty guineas, which he immediately gave her, making her first sign a memorandum of it. Miss Flora was all on fire to have offered something in opposition to this, but durst not do it; and the mantua-maker that instant coming in, she went up stairs with her into her chamber, leaving Miss Betsy and Mr. Goodman together; the former of whom, being eager to go about what she intended, ordered a hackney-coach to be called, and taking the silk with her, went directly to the shop where it was bought.

The mercer at first seemed unwilling to take it again; but on her telling him she would always make use of him for every thing she wanted in his way, and would then buy two suits of him, he at last consented. As she was extremely curious in everything relating to her shape, she made choice of a pink-coloured French lustring, to the end, that the plaits lying flat, she would shew the beauty of her waist to more advantage; and to atone for the slightness of the silk, purchased as much of it as would flounce the sleeves and the petticoat from top to bottom; she made the mercer also cut off a sufficient quantity of a rich green Venetian sattin, to make her a riding-habit; and as she came home bought a silver trimming for it of Point D'Espagne: all which, with the silk she disliked in exchange, did not amount to the money she had received from Mr. Goodman.

On her return, she asked the footman, who opened the door, if the mantua-maker was gone; but he not being able to inform her, she ran hastily up stairs, to Miss Flora's chamber, which, indeed, was also her own, for they lay together: she was about to bounce in, but found that the door was locked, and the key taken out on the inside. This very much surprized her, especially as she thought she had heard Miss Flora's voice, as she was at the top of the stair-case; wanting, therefore, to be satisfied who was with her, she went as softly as she could into Lady Mellasin's dressing-room, which was parted from the chamber but by a slight wainscot; she put her ear close to the pannel, in order to discover the voices of them who spoke, and found, by some light that came through a crack or flaw in the boards, her eyes, as well as ears, contributed to a discovery she little expected. In fine, she plainly perceived Miss Flora and a man rise off the bed: she could not at first discern who he was; but, on his returning to go out of the room, knew him to be no other than Gayland. They went out of the chamber together as gently as they could; and though Miss Betsy might, by taking three steps, have met them in the passage, and have had an opportunity of revenging herself on Miss Flora for the late airs she had given herself, by shewing how near she was to the scene of infamy she had been acting, yet the shock she felt herself, on being witness of it, kept her immoveable for some time; and she suffered them to depart without the mortification of thinking any one knew of their being together in the manner they were.

This young lady, who though, as I have already taken notice, was of too volatile and gay a disposition, hated any thing that had the least tincture of indecency, was so much disconcerted at the discovery she had made, that she had not power to stir from the place she was in, much less to resolve how to behave in this affair; that is, whether it would be best, or not, to let Miss Flora know she was in the secret of her shame, or to suffer her to think herself secure.

She was however, beginning to meditate on this point, when she heard Miss Flora come up stairs, calling at every step, 'Miss Betsy! Miss Betsy! where are you?' Gayland was gone; and his young mistress being told Miss Betsy was come home, guessed it was she who had given an interruption to their pleasures, by coming to the door; she, therefore, as she could not imagine her so perfectly convinced, contrived to disguise the whole, and worst of the truth, by revealing a part of it; and as soon as she had found her, 'Lord, Miss Betsy!' cried she, with an unparalleled assurance, 'where have you been? how do you think I have been served by that cursed toad Gayland? He came up into our chamber, where the mantua-maker and I were, and as soon as she was gone, locked the door, and began to kiss and touze me so, that I protest I was frighted almost out of my wits. The devil meant no harm, though, I believe, for I got rid of him easy enough; but I wish you had rapped heartily at the door, and obliged him to open it, that we both might have rated him for his impudence!—'Some people have a great deal of impudence, indeed,' replied Miss Betsy, astonished at her manner of bearing it off. 'Aye, so they have, my dear,' rejoined the other, with a careless air; 'but, pr'ythee, where have you been rambling by yourself?'—'No farther than Bedford Street,' answered Miss Betsy; 'you may see on what errand,' continued she, pointing to the silks which she had laid down on a chair. Miss Flora presently ran to the bundle, examined what it contained, and either being in a better humour, or affecting to be so, than when they talked on this head in the parlour, testified no disapprobation of what she had done; but, on the contrary, talked to her in such soft obliging terms, that Miss Betsy, who had a great deal of good-nature, when not provoked by any thing that seemed an affront to herself, could not find in her heart to say any thing to give her confusion.

When Lady Mellasin came home, and was informed how Miss Betsy had behaved, in relation to the silk, she at first put on an air full of resentment: but finding the other wanted neither wit nor spirit to defend her own cause, and not caring to break with her, especially as her daughter was going with her to L——e, soon grew more moderate; and, at length, affected to think no more of it. Certain it is, however, that this affair, silly as it was, and, as one would think, insignificant in itself, lay broiling in the minds of both mother and daughter; and they waited only for an opportunity of venting their spite, in such a manner as should not make them appear to have the least tincture of so foul and mean a passion; but as neither of them were capable of a sincere friendship, and had no real regard for any one besides themselves, their displeasure was of little consequence.

Preparations for the journey of the young ladies seemed, for the present, to employ all their thoughts, and diligence enough was used to get every thing ready against the time prefixed, which wanted but three days of being expired, when an unforeseen accident put an entire stop to it.

Miss Betsy received a letter from her brother, Mr. Francis Thoughtless, accompanied with another to Mr. Goodman, acquainting them, that he had obtained leave from the head of the college to pass a month in London; that he should set out from Oxford in two days, and hoped to enjoy the satisfaction of being with them in twelve hours after this letter. What could she now do? it would have been a sin, not only against natural affection, but against the rules of common good manners, to have left the town, either on the news of his arrival, or immediately after it: nor could Lady Trusty expect, or desire she should entertain a thought of doing so; she was too wise and too good not to consider the interest of families very much depended on the strict union among the branches of it, and that the natural affection between brothers and sisters could not be too much cultivated. Far, therefore, from insisting on the promise Miss Betsy had made of going with her into the country, she congratulated her on the happy disappointment; and told her, that she should receive her with a double satisfaction, if, after Mr. Francis returned to Oxford, she would come and pass what then remained of the summer-season with her. This Miss Betsy assured her ladyship she would do; so that, according to all appearance, the benefits she might have received, by being under the eye of so excellent an instructress were but delayed, not lost.

CHAPTER VIII

Relates how, by a concurrence of odd circumstances, Miss Betsy was brought pretty near the crisis of her fate, and the means by which she escaped

Mr. Francis Thoughtless arrived in town the very evening before the day in which Sir Ralph Trusty and his lady were to set out for L——e. They had not seen this young gentleman since the melancholy occasion of his father's funeral, and would have been glad to have spent some time with him, but could no way put off their journey, as word was sent of the day in which they expected to be at home; Sir Ralph knew very well that a great number of his tenants and friends would meet them on the road, and a letter would not reach them soon enough to prevent them from being disappointed: they supped with him, however, at Mr. Goodman's, who would not permit him to have any other home than his house during his stay in town. Lady Trusty, on taking leave of Miss Betsy, said to her, she hoped she would remember her promise when her brother was returned to Oxford; on which, she replied, that she could not be so much an enemy to her own happiness as to fail.

Miss Betsy and this brother had always been extremely fond of each other; and the length of time they had been asunder, and the improvement which that time had made in both, heightened their mutual satisfaction in meeting.

All that troubled Miss Betsy now was, that her brother happened to come to London at a season of the year in which he could not receive the least satisfaction: the king was gone to Hanover, all the foreign ministers, and great part of the nobility attended him; and the rest were retired to their country seats; so that an entire stop was put to all publick diversions worth seeing. There were no plays, no operas, no masquerades, no balls, no publick shews, except at the Little Theatre in the Hay Market, then known by the name of F——g's scandal shop, because he frequently exhibited there certain drolls, or, more properly, invectives against the ministry; in doing which it appears extremely probably that he had two views; the one to get money, which he very much wanted, from such as delighted in low humour, and could not distinguish true satire from scurrility; and the other, in the hope of having some post given him by those whom he had abused, in order to silence his dramatick talent. But it is not my business to point out either the merit of that gentleman's performances, or the motives he had for writing them, as the town is perfectly acquainted both with his abilities and success; and has since seen him, with astonishment, wriggle himself into favour, by pretending to cajole those he had not the power to intimidate.

But though there were none of the diversions I have mentioned, nor Ranelagh at that time thought of, nor Vauxhall, Marybone, nor Cuper's Gardens, in the repute they since have been, the young gentleman found sufficient to entertain him: empty as the town was, Lady Mellasin was not without company, who made frequent parties of pleasure; and when nothing else was to be found for recreation, cards filled up the void.

Nothing, material enough to be inserted in this history, happened to Miss Betsy during the time her brother stayed; till one evening, as the family were sitting together, some discourse concerning Oxford coming on the tapis, Mr. Francis spoke so largely in the praise of the wholesomeness of the air, the many fine walks and gardens with which the place abounded, and the good company which were continually resorting to it, that Miss Betsy cried out, she longed to see it—Miss Flora said the same.

On this the young gentleman gave them an invitation to go down with him when he went; saying, they never could go at a better time, as both the assizes and races were to be in about a month. Miss Betsy said, such a jaunt would vastly delight her. Miss Flora echoed her approbation; and added, she wished my lady would consent. 'I have no objection to make to it,' replied Lady Mellasin, 'as you will have a conductor who, I know, will be very careful of you.' Mr. Goodman's consent was also asked, for the sake of form, though every one knew the opinion of his wife was, of itself, a sufficient sanction.

Though it is highly probable that Miss Betsy was much better pleased with this journey than she would have been with that to L——e, yet she thought herself obliged, both in gratitude and good manners, to write to Lady Trusty, and make the best excuse she could for her breach of promise; which she did in these terms.

'To Lady Trusty Most dear and honoured madam,

My brother Frank being extremely desirous of shewing Miss Flora and myself the curiosities of Oxford, has obtained leave from Mr. Goodman, and Lady Mellasin, for us to accompany him to that place. I am afraid the season will be too far advanced to take a journey to L——e at our return; therefore flatter myself your ladyship will pardon the indispensible necessity I am under of deferring, till next spring, the happiness I proposed in waiting on you. All here present my worthy guardian, and your ladyship, with their best respects. I beg mine may be equally acceptable, and that you will always continue to favour with your good wishes, her, who is, with the most perfect esteem, Madam, your ladyship's most obliged, and most obedient servant,

E. Thoughtless.'

The time for the young gentleman's departure being arrived, they went together in the stage, accompanied by a footman of Mr. Goodman's, whom Lady Mellasin would needs send with them, in order to give the young ladies an air of dignity.

They found, on their arrival at that justly-celebrated seat of learning, that Mr. Francis had given no greater eulogiums on it than it merited: they were charmed with the fine library, the museum, the magnificence of the halls belonging to the various colleges, the physick-garden, and other curious walks; but that which, above all the rest, gave the most satisfaction to Miss Betsy, as well as to her companion, was that respectful gallantry with which they found themselves treated by the gentlemen of the university. Mr. Francis was extremely beloved amongst them, on account of his affability, politeness, and good-humour, and they seemed glad of an opportunity of shewing the regard they had for the brother, by paying all manner of civilities to the sister: he gave the ladies an elegant entertainment at his own rooms, to which also some of those with whom he was the most intimate were invited. All these thought themselves bound to return the same compliment: the company of every one present was desired at their respective apartments; and as each of these gentlemen had, besides, other particular friends of their own, whom they wished to oblige, the number of guests was still increased at every feast.

By this means, Miss Betsy and Miss Flora soon acquired a very large acquaintance; and as, through the care of Mr. Francis, they were lodged in one of the best and most reputable houses in town, their families known, and themselves were young ladies who knew how to behave, as well as dress, and receive company in the most elegant and polite manner, every one was proud of a pretence for visiting them.

The respect paid to them would, doubtless, have every day increased during the whole time they should have thought proper to continue in Oxford, and on quitting it, have left behind them the highest idea of their merit, if, by one inconsiderate action, they had not at once forfeited the esteem they had gained, and rendered themselves the subjects of ridicule, even to those who before had regarded them with veneration.

They were walking out one day, about an hour or two before the time in which they usually dined, into the park, where they were met by a gentleman-commoner and a young student, both of whom they had been in company with at most of the entertainments before mentioned. The sparks begged leave to attend them, which was readily granted: they walked all together for some time; but the weather being very warm, the gentleman-commoner took an occasion to remind the ladies how much their beauties would be in danger of suffering from the immoderate rays of Phœbus; and proposed going to some gardens full of the most beautiful alcoves and arbours, so shaded over that the sun, even in his meridian force, could, at the most, but glimmer through the delightful gloom; he painted the pleasures of the place, to which he was desirous of leading them, with so romantick an energy, that they immediately, and without the least scruple or hesitation, consented to be conducted thither.

This was a condescension which he who asked it, scarce expected would be granted; and, on finding it so easily obtained, began to form some conjectures no way to the advantage of those ladies reputations. It is certain, indeed, that as he professed a friendship for the brother, he ought not, in strict honour, to have proposed any thing to the sister which would be unbecoming her to agree to; but he was young, gay to an excess, and in what he said or did took not always consideration for his guide.

They went on laughing, till they came to the place he mentioned, where the gentlemen, having shewed their faire companions into the gardens, in which were, indeed, several recesses, no less dark than had been described: on entering one of them, Miss Betsy cried, 'Bless me! this is fit for nothing but for people to do what they are ashamed of in the light.'—'The fitter then, Madam,' replied the gentleman-commoner, 'to encourage a lover, who, perhaps, has suffered more through his own timidity than the cruelty of the object he adores.' He accompanied these words with a seizure of both her hands, and two or three kisses on her lips. The young student was no less free with Miss Flora: but neither of these ladies gave themselves the trouble to reflect what consequences might possibly attend a prelude of this nature, and repulsed the liberties they took in such a manner as made the offenders imagine they had not sinned beyond a pardon.

They would not, however, be prevailed upon to stay, or even to sit down in that darksome recess, but went into a house, where they were shewn into a very pleasant room which commanded the whole prospect of the garden, and was sufficiently shaded from the sun by jessamine and honeysuckles, which grew against the window: here wine, cakes, jellies, and such like things, being brought, the conversation was extremely lively, and full of gallantry, without the least mixture of indecency.

The gentlemen exerted all their wit and eloquence, to persuade the ladies not to go home in the heat of the day; but take up with such entertainment as the place they were in was able to present them with. Neither of them made any objection, except that, having said they should dine at home, the family would wait in expectation of their coming: but this difficulty was easily got over; the footman, who had attended Miss Betsy and Miss Flora, in their morning's walk, was in the house, and might be sent to acquaint the people that they were not to expect them. As they were neither displeased with the company, nor place they were in, they needed not abundance of persuasions; and the servant was immediately dispatched. The gentlemen went out of the room, to give orders for having something prepared, but staid not two minutes; and on their return, omitted nothing that might keep up the good-humour and sprightliness of their fair companions.

Persons of so gay and volatile a disposition as these four, could not content themselves with sitting still, and barely talking; every limb must be in motion, every faculty employed. The gentleman-commoner took Miss Betsy's hand, and led her some steps of a minuet, then fell into a rigadoon, then into the louvre, and so ran through all the school-dances, without regularly beginning or ending any one of them, or of the tunes he sung; the young student was not less alert with Miss Flora; so that, between singing, dancing, and laughing, they all grew extremely warm. Miss Betsy ran to a window to take breath, and get a little air; her partner followed, and taking up her fan, which lay on a table, employed it with a great deal of dexterity, to assist the wind that came in at the casement for her refreshment. 'Heavens!' cried he, 'how divinely lovely do you now appear! the goddess of the spring, nor Venus's self, was ever painted half so beautiful! What eyes! what a mouth! and what a shape!' continued he, surveying her, as it were, from head to foot, 'How exquisitely turned! How taper! how slender! I don't believe you measure half a yard round the waist.' In speaking these words, he put his handkerchief about her waist; after which he tied it round his head, repeating these lines of Mr. Waller's—

'That which her slender waist confin'd
Shall now my joyful temples bind;
No monarch but would give his crown,
His arms might do what this has done.'

'O fie upon it!' said Miss Betsy, laughing, and snatching it from his head, 'this poetry is stale; I should rather have expected from an Oxonian some fine thing of his own extempore, on this occasion, which, perhaps, I might have been vain enough to have got printed in the monthly magazine.'

'Ah, Madam!' replied he, looking on her with dying languishments, 'where the heart is deeply affected, the brain seldom produces any thing but incongruous ideas. Had Sacharissa been mistress of the charms you are, or had Waller loved like me, he had been less capable of writing in the manner he did.'

The student perceiving his friend was entering into a particular conversation with Miss Betsy, found means to draw Miss Flora out of the room, and left them together, though this young lady afterwards protested she called to Miss Betsy to follow; but if she did it was in such a low voice that the other did not hear her, and continued her pleasantry, raillying the gentleman-commoner on every thing he said, till he finding the opportunity he had of being revenged, soon turned his humble adoration into an air more free and natural to him. As she was opening her mouth to utter some sarcasm or other, he catched her in his arms, and began to kiss her with so much warmth and eagerness that surprized her; she struggled to get loose, and called Miss Flora, not knowing she was gone, to come to her assistance. The efforts she made at first to oblige him to desist, were not, however, quite so strenuous as they ought to have been on such an occasion; but finding he was about to proceed to greater liberties than any man before had ever taken with her, she collected all her strength, and broke from him; when looking round the room, and seeing nobody there, 'Bless me,' cried she, 'what is the meaning of all this! Where are our friends!'—'They are gone,' said he, 'to pay the debt which love and youth, and beauty challenge; let us not be remiss, nor waste the precious moments in idle scruples. Come, my angel!' pursued he, endeavouring to get her once more into his arms, 'make me the happiest of mankind, and be as divinely good as you are fair.'

'I do not understand you, Sir,' replied she; 'but neither desire, nor will stay to hear, an explanation.' She spoke this with somewhat of an haughty air, and was making towards the door, but he was far from being intimidated; and, instead of suffering her to pass, he seized her a little roughly with one hand, and with the other made fast the door. 'Come, come, my dear creature,' cried he, 'no more resistance; you see you are in my power, and the very name of being so is sufficient to absolve you to yourself, for any act of kindness you may bestow upon me; be generous, then, and be assured it shall be an inviolable secret.'

She was about to say something, but he stopped her mouth with kisses, and forced her to sit down in a chair; where, holding her fast, her ruin had certainly been compleated, if a loud knocking at the door had not prevented him from prosecuting his design.

This was the brother of Miss Betsy, who having been at her lodgings, on his coming from thence met the footman, who had been sent to acquaint the family the ladies would not dine at home; he asked where his sister was, and, the fellow having told him, came directly to the place. A waiter of the house shewed him to the room: on finding it locked he was strangely amazed; and both knocked and called to have it opened, with a great deal of vehemence.

This gentleman-commoner knowing his voice, was shocked to the last degree, but quitted that instant his intended prey, and let him enter. Mr. Francis, on coming in, knew not what to think; he saw the gentleman in great disorder, and his sister in much more. 'What is the meaning of this?' said he. 'Sister, how came you here?'—'Ask me no questions at present,' replied she, scarce able to speak, so strangely had her late fright seized on her spirits; 'but see me safe from this cursed house, and that worst of men.' Her speaking in this manner made Mr. Francis apprehend the whole, and perhaps more than the truth. 'How, Sir,' said he, darting a furious look at the gentleman-commoner, 'what is it I hear?—Have you dared to—' 'Whatever I have dared to,' interrupted the other, 'I am capable of defending.'—'It is well,' rejoined the brother of Miss Betsy, 'perhaps I may put you to the trial: but this is not a time or place.' He then took hold of his sister's hand, and led her down stairs: as they were going out, Miss Betsy stopping a little to adjust her dress, which was strangely disordered, she bethought herself of Miss Flora; who, though she was very angry with, she did not chuse to leave behind at the mercy of such rakes, as she had reason to think those were whom she had been in company with. Just as she was desiring of her brother to send a waiter in search of that young lady, they saw her coming out of the garden, led by the young student who, as soon as he beheld Mr. Francis, cried, 'Ha! Frank, how came you here? you look out of humour.'—'How I came here, it matters not,' replied he sullenly; 'and as to my being out of humour, perhaps you may know better than I yet do what cause I have for being so.'

He waited for no answer to these words; but conducted his sister out of the house as hastily as he could: Miss Flora followed, after having taken leave of her companion in what manner she thought proper.

On their coming home, Miss Betsy related to her brother, as far as her modesty would permit, all the particulars of the adventure, and ended with saying, that sure it was Heaven alone that gave her strength to prevent the perpetration of the villain's intentions. Mr. Francis, all the time she was speaking, bit his lips, and shewed great tokens of an extraordinary disturbance in his mind; but offered not the least interruption. When he perceived she had done, 'Well, sister,' said he, 'I shall hear what he has to say, and will endeavour to oblige him to ask your pardon.' And soon after took his leave.

Miss Betsy did not very well comprehend his meaning in these words; and was, indeed, still in too much confusion to consider on any thing; but what the consequences were of this transaction, the reader will presently be informed of.

CHAPTER IX

Contains such things as might be reasonably expected, after the preceding adventure

When in any thing irregular, and liable to censure, more persons than one are concerned, how natural is it for each to accuse the other; and it often happens, in this case, that the greatest part of the blame falls on the least culpable.

After Mr. Francis had left the ladies, in order to be more fully convinced in this matter, and to take such measures as he thought would best become him for the reparation of the affront offered to the honour of his family, Miss Flora began to reproach Miss Betsy for having related any thing of what had passed to her brother: 'By your own account,' said she, 'no harm was done to you: but some people love to make a bustle about nothing.'—'And some people,' replied Miss Betsy, tartly, 'love nothing but the gratification of their own passions; and having no sense of virtue and modesty themselves, can have no regard to that of another.'—'What do you mean, Miss?' cried the other, with a pert air. 'My meaning is pretty plain,' rejoined Miss Betsy: 'but since you affect so much ignorance, I must tell you, that the expectations of a second edition of the same work Mr. Gayland had helped you to compose, though from another quarter, tempted you to sneak out of the room, and leave your friend in danger of falling a sacrifice to what her soul most detests and scorns.' These words stung Miss Flora to the quick; her face was in an instant covered with a scarlet blush, and every feature betrayed the confusion of her mind: but recovering herself from it much sooner than most others of her age could have done; 'Good lack,' cried she, 'I fancy you are setting up for a prude: but, pray, how came Mr. Gayland into your head?—What! because I told you he innocently romped with me one day in the chamber, are you so censorious as to infer any thing criminal passed between us?'—'Whatever I infer,' replied Miss Betsy, disdainfully, 'I have better vouchers for the truth of, than your report; and would advise you, when you go home, to get the chink in the pannel of the wainscot of my lady's dressing room stopped up, or your next rendezvous with that gentleman may possibly have witnesses of more ill-nature than myself.'—'That can scarcely be,' said Miss Flora, ready to burst with vexation: 'but don't think I value your little malice; you are only angry because he slighted the advances you made him, and took all opportunities to shew how much his heart and judgment gave the preferences to me.' These words so piqued the vanity of Miss Betsy, that, not able to bear she should continue in the imagination of being better liked than herself, though even by the man she hated, told her the solicitations he had made to her, the letter she had received from him, and the rebuff she had given him upon it; 'So that,' pursued she, 'it was not till after he found there was no hope of gaining me, that he carried his devoirs to you.'

Miss Flora was more nettled at this eclaircissement than she was at the discovery she now perceived the other had made of her intrigue: she pretended, however, not to believe a word of what she had said; but willing to evade all farther discourse on that head, returned to the adventure they had just gone through with the Oxonians. 'Never expect,' said she, 'to pass it upon any one of common sense, that if you had not a mind to have been alone with that terrible man, as you now describe him, you would have staid in the room after I was gone, and called to you to follow.'

It was in vain that Miss Betsy denied she either heard her speak, or knew any thing of her departure, till some time after she was gone, and the gentleman-commoner began to use her with such familiarities as convinced her he was sensible no witnesses were present. This, though no more than truth, was of no consequence to her justification, to one determined to believe the worst, or at least seem to do so: Miss Flora treated with contempt all she said on this score, derided her imprecations; and, to mortify her the more, said to her, in a taunting manner, 'Come, come, Miss Betsy, it is a folly to think to impose upon the world by such shallow artifices. What your inclinations are, is evident enough: any one may see, that if it had not been for your brother's unseasonable interruption, nobody would ever have heard a word of these insults you so heavily complain of.'

Poor Miss Betsy could not refrain letting fall some tears at so unjust and cruel an inuendo: but the greatness of her spirit enabled her in a few moments to overcome the shock it had given her; she returned reproaches with reproaches; and, as she had infinitely more of truth and reason on her side, had also much the better in this combat of tongues: nevertheless the other would not give out; she upbraided and exaggerated with the most malicious comments on it every little indiscretion Miss Betsy had been guilty of, repeating every censure which she had heard the ill-natured part of the world pass on her conduct, and added many more, the invention of her own fertile brain.

Some ladies they had made acquaintance with in town coming to visit them, put an end to the debate; but neither being able presently to forget the bitter reflections cast on her by the other, both remained extremely sullen the whole night; and their mutual ill-humour might possibly have lasted much longer, but for an accident more material, which took off their attention, as it might have produced much worse consequences than any quarrel between themselves could be attended with. It happened in this manner.

The brother of Miss Betsy was of a fiery disposition; and though those who were entrusted with the care of his education were not wanting in their pains to correct this propensity, which they thought would be the more unbecoming in him, as he was intended for the pulpit, yet did not their endeavours for that purpose meet with all the success they wished. Nature may be moderated, but never can be wholly changed: the seeds of wrath still remained in his soul; nor could the rudiments that had been given him be sufficient to hinder them from springing into action, when urged by any provocation. The treatment his sister had received from the gentleman-commoner, seemed to him so justifiable a one, that he thought he ought not, without great submissions on the part of the transgresser, to be prevailed upon to put up with it.

The first step he took was to sound the young student, as to what he knew relating to the affair; who freely told him, as Miss Betsy had done, where they met the ladies, and the manner in which they went into the house; protesting, that neither himself, nor (according to the best of his belief) the gentleman-commoner, had at that time any designs in view but mere complaisance and gallantry.

'How then, came you to separate yourselves?' cried Mr. Francis, with some earnestness. 'That also was accidental,' replied the other; 'your sister's companion telling me she liked the garden better than the room we were in, I thought I could do no less than attend her thither. I confess I did not consult whether those we left behind had any inclination to follow us or not.'

The air with which he spoke of this part of the adventure, had something in it which did not give Mr. Francis the most favourable idea of Miss Flora's conduct; but that not much concerning him, and finding nothing wherewith he could justly reproach the student, he soon after quitted him, and went to the gentleman-commoner, having been told he might find him in his rooms.

Had any one been witness of the manner in which these two accosted each other, they would not have been at a loss to guess what would ensue; the brother of Miss Betsy came with a mind full of resentment, and determined to repair the affront which had been offered to him in the person of a sister, who was very dear to him, by calling the other to a severe account for what he had done. The gentleman-commoner was descended of a noble family, and had an estate to support the dignity of his birth, and was too much puffed up and insolent on the smiles of fortune: he was conscious the affront he had given demanded satisfaction, and neither doubted of the errand on which Mr. Francis was come, nor wondered at it; but could not bring himself to acknowledge he had done amiss, nor think of making any excuse for his behaviour. Guilt, in a proud heart, is generally accompanied with a sullen obstinacy; for, as the poet says—

'Forgiveness to the injur'd does belong;
But they ne'er pardon who have done the wrong.'

He therefore received the interrogatories Mr. Francis was beginning to make, with an air rather indignant than complying; which the other not being able to brook, such hot words arose between them as could not but occasion a challenge, which was given by Mr. Francis. The appointment to meet was the next morning at six o'clock; and the place, that very field in which the gentleman-commoner and his friend had so unluckily happened to meet the ladies in their morning's walk.

Neither of them wanted courage, nor communicated their rendezvous to any one person, in hopes of being disappointed without danger of their honour; but each being equally animated with the ambition of humbling the arrogance of the other, both were secret as to the business, and no less punctual as to the time.

The agreement between them was sword and pistol; which both having provided themselves with, they no sooner came within a proper distance, than they discharged at each other the first course of this fatal entertainment: that of the gentleman-commoner was so well aimed, that one of the bullets lodged in the shoulder, and the other grazing on the fleshy part of the arm of his antagonist, put him into a great deal of pain. But these wounds rather increased than diminished the fury he was possessed of: he instantly drew his sword, and ran at the other with so well-directed a force, that his weapon entered three inches deep into the right-side of the gentleman-commoner. Both of them received several other hurts, yet still both continued the fight with equal vehemence; nor would either of them, in all probability, have receded, till one or other of them had lain dead upon the place, if some countrymen, who by accident were passing that way, had not, with their clubs, beat down the swords of both, and carried the owners of them, by mere force, into the village they were going to; where they were no sooner entered, than several people who knew them, seeing them pass by in this manner, covered all over with their own blood, and guarded by a pack of rusticks, ran out to enquire what had happened; which being informed of, they took them out of the hands of these men, and provided proper apartments for them.

By this time they were both extremely faint through the anguish of their wounds, and the great effusion of blood that had issued from them. Surgeons were immediately sent for; who, on examining their hurts, pronounced none of them to be mortal, yet such as would require some time for cure.

Mr. Francis suffered extreme torture in having the bullet extracted from his shoulder; yet, notwithstanding that, and the weak condition he was in, he made a servant support him in his bed while he scrawled out these few lines to his sister; which, as soon as finished, were carried to her by the same person.

'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.

My dear sister,

I have endangered my life, and am now confined to my bed by the wounds I have received, in endeavouring to revenge your quarrel: do not think I tell you this by way of reproach; for, I assure you, would the circumstances of the affair have permitted it to have been concealed, you never should have known it.

I should be glad to see you; but think it not proper that you should come to me, till I hear what is said concerning this matter. I shall send to you every day: and that you will be perfectly easy, is the earnest request of, dear Betsy, your most-affectionate brother, and humble servant,

F. Thoughtless.'

The young ladies were that morning at breakfast in the parlour, with the gentlewoman of the house, when the maid came running in, and told her mistress she had heard, in a shop where she had been, of a sad accident that had just happened: 'Two gentlemen,' cried she, 'of the university, have been fighting, and almost killed one another; and they say,' continued she, 'it was about a young lady that one of them attempted to ravish.'

Miss Betsy and Miss Flora, at this intelligence, looked at each other with a good deal of confusion, already beginning to suspect who the persons were, and how deeply themselves (one of them especially) were interested in this misfortune. The gentlewoman asked her servant if she knew the names of those who fought. 'No, Madam,' answered she, 'I could not learn that as yet: but the people in the street are all talking of it; and I doubt not but I shall hear the whole story the next time I go out.'

The good gentlewoman, little imagining how much her guests were concerned in what she spoke, could not now forbear lamenting the ungovernableness of youth; the heedless levities of the one sex, and the mad-brained passions of the other. The persons to whom she directed this discourse, would not, at another time, have given much ear to it, or perhaps have replied to it with raillery: but the occasion of it now put both of them in too serious a temper to offer any interruption; and she was still going on, inveighing against the follies and vices of the age, when Miss Betsy received the above letter from her brother, which confirmed all those alarming conjectures the maid's report raised in her mind.

The mistress of the house perceiving the young man who brought the letter came upon business to the ladies, had the good-manners to leave the room, that they might talk with the greater freedom. Miss Betsy asked a thousand questions; but he was able to inform her of no farther particulars than what the letter contained.

The moment he was gone, she ran up to her chamber, threw herself upon the bed, and in a flood of tears gave a loose to the most poignant vexation she had ever yet experienced. Miss Flora followed; and, seeing her in this condition, thought she could do no less, in decency, than contribute everything in her power for her consolation.

By the behaviour of this young lady in other respects, however, the reader will easily perceive it was more through policy than real good-nature, she treated her afflicted companion with the tenderness she did now: she knew that it was not by an open quarrel with Miss Betsy she could wreak any part of the spite she had conceived against her; and was therefore glad to lay hold of this opportunity to be reconciled.

'I was afraid, my dear,' said she, 'that it would come to this, and that put me in so great a passion with you yesterday, for telling Mr. Francis any thing of the matter: the men are such creatures, that there is no trusting them with any thing. But come,' continued she, kissing her cheek, 'don't grieve and torment yourself in this manner; you find there is no danger of death on either side; and as for the rest, it will all blow off in time.' Miss Betsy said little to this; the sudden passion of her soul must have it's vent; but, when that was over, she began to listen to the voice of comfort, and by degrees to resume her natural vivacity, not foreseeing that this unhappy adventure would lay her under mortifications which, to a person of her spirit, were very difficult to be borne.

CHAPTER X

Gives the catastrophe of the Oxford ramble, and in what manner the young ladies returned to London

If the wounds Mr. Francis had received, had been all the misfortune attending Miss Betsy in this adventure, it is probable, that as she every day heard he was in a fair way of recovery, the first gust of passion would have been all she had sustained; but she soon found other consequences arising from it, which were no less afflicting, and more galling to her pride.

The quarrel between the two young gentlemen, and the occasion of it, was presently blazed over the whole town: it spread like wild fire; every one made their several comments upon it; and few there were who endeavoured to find any excuse for the share Miss Betsy and Miss Flora had in it.

The ladies of Oxford are commonly more than ordinarily circumspect in their behaviour; as indeed, it behoves them to be, in a place where there are such a number of young gentlemen, many of whom pursue pleasure more than study, and scruple nothing for the gratification of their desires. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at, that being from their infancy trained up in the most strict reserve, and accustomed to be upon their guard against even the most distant approaches of the other sex, they should be apt to pass the severest censures on a conduct, which they had been always taught to look upon as the sure destruction of reputation, and frequently fatal to innocence and virtue.

This being pretty generally the characteristick of those ladies who were of any distinction in Oxford, Miss Betsy and Miss Flora immediately found, that while they continued there, they must either be content to sit at home alone, or converse only with such as were as disagreeable to them, as they had now rendered themselves to those of a more unblemished fame.

They had received several visits, all of which they had not yet had time or leisure to return; but now going to pay the debt, which complaisance demanded from them, they were denied access at every place they went to; all the persons were either abroad or indisposed: but the manner in which these answers were given, easily convinced Miss Betsy and Miss Flora that they were no more than mere pretences to avoid seeing them. In the publick walks, and in passing through the streets, they saw themselves shunned even to a degree of rudeness: those of their acquaintance, who were obliged to meet them, looked another way, and went hastily on without vouchsafing a salute.

This was the treatment their late unhappy adventure drew on them from those of their own sex; nor did those of the other seem to behave to them with greater tenderness or respect, especially the younger students, who all, having got the story, thought they had a fine opportunity of exercising their poetick talents: satires and lampoons flew about like hail. Many of these anonymous compositions were directed to Miss Betsy, and thrown over the rails into the area of the house where she lodged; others were sung under the windows by persons in disguise, and copies of them handed about throughout the whole town, to the great propagation of scandal, and the sneering faculty.

Never, certainly, did pride and vanity meet with a more severe humiliation, than what these witticisms inflicted on those who, by their inconsiderate behaviour, had laid themselves open to them. Neither the assurance of Miss Flora, nor the great spirit of Miss Betsy, could enable them to stand the shock of those continual affronts which every day presented them with. They dreaded to expose themselves to fresh insults, if they stirred out of the doors; and at home they were persecuted with the unwearied remonstrances of their grave landlady: so that their condition was truly pitiable.

Both of them were equally impatient to get out of a place where they found their company was held in so little estimation: but Miss Betsy thought her brother would not take it well, should she go to London and leave him in the condition he then was. Miss Flora's importunities, however, joined to the new occasions she every day had for increasing her discontent on staying, got the better of her apprehensions; and she wrote to her brother in the following terms.

'To Mr. Francis Thoughtless.

Dear Brother,

Though I am not, to my great affliction, permitted to see you, or to offer that assistance which might be expected from a sister in your present situation; yet I cannot, without the extremest regret, resolve to quit Oxford before you are perfectly recovered of those hurts you have received on my account. However, as by your judging it improper for me to come to you, I cannot suppose you are wholly unacquainted with the severe usage lately given me, and must look on every affront offered to me as an indignity to you. I am apt to flatter myself you will not be offended, that I wish to remove from a place where innocence is no defence against scandal, and the shew of virtue more considered than the reality.

Nevertheless, I shall determine nothing till I hear your sentiments; which, if I find conformable to mine, shall set out for London with all possible expedition. I would very fain see you before I go; and, if you consent, will come to you so muffled up as not to be known by any who may happen to meet me. I shall expect your answer with the utmost impatience; being, my dear brother, by friendship, as well as blood, most affectionately yours,

E. Thoughtless.'

When this letter was dispatched, Miss Flora made use of all the arguments she was mistress of, in order to persuade Miss Betsy to go for London, even in case her brother should not be altogether so willing for it as she wished he would. Miss Betsy, though no less eager than herself to be out of a place she now so much detested, would not be prevailed upon to promise any thing on this score; but persisted in her resolution of being wholly directed how to proceed, by the answer she should receive from Mr. Francis.

Miss Flora was so fretted at this perverseness, as she called it, that she told her, in a very great pet, that she might stay if she pleased, and be the laughing-stock of the town; but, for her own part, she had more spirit, and would be gone the next day. Miss Betsy coolly replied, that if she thought proper to do so, she was doubtless at liberty; but believed Mr. Goodman, and even Lady Mellasin herself, would look on such a behaviour as neither consistent with generosity nor common good-manners.

It is, indeed, scarce possible, that the other had the least intention to do as she had said, though she still continued to threaten it, in the most positive and peremptory terms; and this, if we consider the temper of both these young ladies, we may reasonably suppose, might have occasioned a second quarrel between them, if the servant, whom Mr. Francis always sent to his sister, had not that instant come in, and put an end to the dispute, by delivering a letter to Miss Betsy; which she hastily opening, found it contained these lines.

'To Miss Thoughtless.

My dear sister,

It is with an inexpressible satisfaction that I find your own inclinations have anticipated the request I was just about to make you. I do assure you, the moment I received your letter, I was going to write, in order to persuade you to do the very thing you seem to desire. Oxford is, indeed, a very censorious place: I have always observed it to be so; and have frequently told the ladies, between jest and earnest, that I thought it was a town of the most scandal, and least sin, of any in the world. I am pretty confident some of those who pretend to give themselves airs concerning you and Miss Flora, are as perfectly convinced of your innocence as I myself am: yet, after all that has happened, I would not have you think of staying; and the sooner you depart the better. You need be under no apprehensions on account of my wounds: those I received from the sword of my antagonist are in a manner healed; and that with the pistol-shot in my shoulder is in as fine a way as can be expected in so short a time. Those I had the fortune to give him, are in a yet better condition; so that I believe, if it was not for the over-caution of our surgeon, we might both quit our rooms to-morrow. I hear that our grave superiors have had some consultations on our duel, and that there is a talk of our being both expelled: but, for my part, I shall certainly save them the trouble, and quit the university of my own accord, as soon as my recovery is compleated. My genius is by no means adapted to the study of divinity: I think the care of my own soul more than sufficient for me, without taking upon me the charge of a whole parish; you may, therefore, expect to see me shortly at London, as it is highly necessary I should consult Mr. Goodman concerning my future settlement in the world. I should be extremely glad of a visit from you before you leave Oxford; more especially as I have something of moment to say to you, which I do not chuse to communicate by letter; but cannot think it at all proper, for particular reasons, that you should come to me, some or other of the gentlemen being perpetually dropping into my chamber; and it is impossible for you to disguise yourself so as not to be distinguished by young fellows, whose curiosity would be the more excited by your endeavours to conceal yourself. As this might revive the discourse of an affair which I could wish might be buried in an eternal oblivion, must desire you will defer the satisfaction you propose to give me till we meet at London; to which I wish you, and your fair companion, a safe and pleasant journey. I am, with the greatest tenderness, my dear sister, your affectionate brother,'

F. Thoughtless.'

The receipt of this letter gave an infinity of contentment to Miss Betsy; she had made the offer of going to take her leave of him, chiefly with the view of keeping him from suspecting she wanted natural affection; and was no less pleased with his refusing the request she made him on that account, than she was with his so readily agreeing to her returning to London. Miss Flora was equally delighted: they sent their footman that instant to take places in the stagecoach; and early the next morning set out from a place, which, on their entering into it, they did not imagine they should quit either so soon, or with so little regret.

CHAPTER XI

Lays a foundation for many events to be produced by time, and waited for with patience

Miss Betsy and Miss Flora, on their coming home, were in some perplexity how to relate the story of their Oxford adventure to Lady Mellasin and Mr. Goodman; and it is very likely they would have thought it proper to have kept it a secret, if the unlucky duel between Mr. Francis and the gentleman-commoner, which they were sensible would be a known thing, had not rendered the concealment of the whole utterly impracticable.

As there was no remedy, Miss Flora took it upon her to lay open the matter to her mamma; which she did with so much artifice, that if that lady had been as austere, as she was really the reverse, she could not have found much to condemn, either in the conduct of her daughter or Miss Betsy: as to Mr. Goodman, he left the whole management of the young ladies, in these particulars, entirely to his wife, so said little to them on the score of the adventure; but was extremely concerned for the part Mr. Francis had in it, as he supposed it was chiefly owing to that unlucky incident, that he had taken a resolution to leave the college; and he very well knew, that a certain nobleman, who was a distant relation of his family, and godfather to Mr. Francis, had always promised to bestow a large benefice in his gift upon him, as soon as he should have compleated his studies.

This honest guardian thought he should be wanting in the duty of the trust reposed in him, to suffer his charge to throw away that fine prospect in his view, if by any means he could prevent him from taking so rash and inconsiderate a step; and as to his being expelled, he doubted not, but between him and Sir Ralph, interest might be made to the heads of the university, to get the affair of the duel passed over. The greatest difficulty he had to apprehend, in compassing this point, was from the young gentleman himself, who he had observed was of a temper somewhat obstinate, and tenacious of his own opinion; resolving, however, to try all means possible, he wrote immediately to him, representing to him, in the strongest and most pathetick terms he was master of, the vast advantages the clergy enjoyed, the respect they had from all degrees of people; and endeavoured to convince him that there was no avocation whatever, by which a younger brother might so easily advance his fortune, and do honour to his family.

He also sent a letter to Sir Ralph Trusty, acquainting him with the whole story, and earnestly requesting that he would write to Mr. Francis, and omit nothing that might engage him to desist from doing a thing so contrary to his interest, and the intention of his deceased father, as what he now had thoughts of doing was manifestly so. These efforts, by both the guardians, were often repeated, but without the least success; the young gentleman found arguments to oppose against theirs, which neither of them could deny to have weight, particularly that of his having no call to take upon him holy orders. During these debates, in which Miss Betsy gave herself no manner of concern, she received a letter from her brother, containing these lines.

'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.

My dear sister,

Though I flatter myself all my letters afford you some sort of satisfaction, yet by what little judgment I have been able to form of the temper of your sex, have reason to believe, this I now send will meet a double portion of welcome from you. It brings a confirmation of your beauty's power; the intelligence of a new conquest; the offer of a heart, which, if you will trust a brother's recommendation, is well deserving your acceptance: but, that I may not seem to speak in riddles, you may remember that the first time I had the pleasure of entertaining you at my rooms, a gentleman called Trueworth was with us, and that the next day when you dined with that person, who afterwards treated you with such unbecoming liberties, he made one of the company; since then you could not see him, as he was obliged to go to his seat, which is about thirty miles off, on an extraordinary occasion, and returned not till the day after you left this town. He seemed more than ordinarily affected on my telling him what had happened on your account; and, after pausing a little, "How unhappy was I," said he, "to be absent! had I been here there would have been no need for the brother of Miss Betsy to have exposed his life to the sword of an injurious antagonist, or his character to the censure of the university. I would have taken upon myself to have revenged the quarrel of that amiable lady, and either have severely chastised the insolence of the aggressor, or lost the best part of my blood in the attempt!" I was very much surprized at these words, as well as the emphasis with which they were delivered; but, recovering myself as soon as I could, "We are extremely obliged to you, Sir," said I; "but I know not if such a mistaken generosity might not have been fatal to the reputation of us both. What would the world have said of me to have been tamely passive, and suffer another to revenge the affront offered to my sister? What would they have thought of her, on finding her honour vindicated by one who had no concern in it?"—"No concern!" cried he, with the utmost eagerness; "yes, I have a concern, more deep, more strong, than that of father, brother, or all the ties of blood could give; and that you had before now have been convinced of it, had I not been so suddenly and so unfortunately called hence."

Perceiving I looked very much confounded, as well I might, "Ah, Frank!" cried he, "I love your charming sister; my friends have, for these six months past, been teazing me to think of marriage, and several proposals have been made to me on that score; but never till I saw the amiable Miss Betsy, did I behold the face for whom I would exchange my liberty: in fine, 'tis she, and only she, can make me blest; and I returned to Oxford full of the hopes of an opportunity to lay my heart, my person, and my fortune, at her feet."

It would require a volume, instead of a letter, to repeat half the tender and passionate expressions he uttered in your favour. What I have already said is enough to give you a specimen of the rest. I shall only add, that being impatient to begin the attack he is determined to make upon your heart, he is preparing to follow you to London with all possible expedition. I once had thoughts of accompanying him, but have since thought it proper to have Sir Ralph Trusty's advice in something I have a mind to do, and for that purpose shall take a journey into L——e, as soon as I receive remittances from Mr. Goodman, to pay off some trifling debts I have contracted here, and defray my travelling expences; so that if things happen as I wish they may, my friend's passion will have made a considerable progress before I see you.

Indeed, my dear sister, if you have not already seen a man whose person you like better, you can never have an offer that promises more felicity: he left the college soon after I came into it, beloved and respected by all that knew him, for his discreet behaviour, humanity, and affability; he went afterwards on his travels, and brought home with him all the accomplishments of the several countries he had been in, without being the least tainted with the vices or fopperies of any of them; he has a much larger estate than your fortune could expect, unincumbered with debts, mortgages, or poor relations; his family is ancient, and, by the mother's side, honourable; but, above all, he has sense, honour, and good-nature—rare qualities, which, in my opinion, cannot fail of making him an excellent husband, whenever he comes to be such.

But I shall leave him to plead his own cause, and you to follow your own inclinations. I am, with the most unfeigned good wishes, my dear sister, your affectionate brother, and humble servant,

F. Thoughtless.

P.S. Mr. Trueworth knows nothing of my writing to you in his behalf; so you are at liberty to receive him as you shall think proper.'

Miss Betsy required no less a cordial than this to revive her spirits, pretty much depressed since her ill usage at Oxford.

She had not time, however, to indulge the pleasure of reflecting on this new triumph, on her first receiving the news of it. Lady Mellasin had set that evening apart to make a grand visit to a person of her acquaintance, who was just married; the young ladies were to accompany her, and Miss Betsy was in the midst of the hurry of dressing when the post brought the letter, so she only looked it carelessly over, and locked it in her cabinet till she should have more leisure for the examination. They were all ready; the coach with the best hammer-cloth and harnesses was at the door, and only waited while Mrs. Prinks was drawing on her lady's gloves, which happened to be a little too tight.

In this unlucky instant one of the footmen came running into the parlour, and told Lady Mellasin that there was a very ill-looking woman at the door, who enquired for her ladyship, and that she must needs speak with her, and that she had a letter to deliver, which she would give into nobody's hand but her own. Lady Mellasin seemed a little angry at the insolence and folly of the creature, as she then termed it; but ordered she should be shewed into the back-parlour: they were not above five minutes together before the woman went away, and Lady Mellasin returned to the room where Miss Betsy and Miss Flora were waiting for her. A confusion not to be described sat on every feature in her face; she looked pale, she trembled; and having told the young ladies something had happened which prevented her going where she intended, flew up into her dressing-room, followed by Mrs. Prinks, who appeared very much alarmed at seeing her ladyship in this disorder.

Miss Betsy and Miss Flora were also surprized; and doubtless had their own conjectures upon this sudden turn. It is not likely, however, that either of them, especially Miss Betsy, could hit upon the right: but, whatever their thoughts were, they communicated them not to each other, and seemed only intent on considering in what manner they should dispose of themselves that evening, it not being proper they should make the visit above-mentioned without her ladyship. As they were discoursing on this head, Mrs. Prinks came down; and, having ordered the coach to be put up, and sent a footman to call a hack, ran up stairs again in a great hurry to her lady.

In less time than could almost be imagined, they both came down: Lady Mellasin had pulled off her rich apparel, and mobbed herself up in a cloak and hood, that little of her face, and nothing of her air, could be distinguished; the two young ladies stared, and were confounded at the metamorphosis. 'Is your ladyship going out in that dress?' cried Miss Flora; but Miss Betsy said nothing. 'Aye, child,' replied the lady, somewhat faltering in her speech, 'a poor relation, who they say is dying, has sent to beg to see me.' She said no more, the hackney-coach was come, her ladyship and Mrs. Prinks stepped hastily into it; the latter, in doing so, telling the coachman in so low a voice as nobody but himself could hear, to what place he was to drive.

After they were gone, Miss Flora proposed walking in the Park; but Miss Betsy did not happen to be in a humour to go either there or any where else at that time; on which the other told her she had got the spleen: 'But,' said she, 'I am resolved not to be infected with it, so you must not take it ill, if I leave you alone for a few hours; for I should think it a sin against common sense to sit moping at home without shewing myself to any one soul in the world, after having taken all this pains in dressing.' Miss Betsy assured her, as she might do with a great deal of sincerity, that she should not at all be displeased to be entirely free from any company whatsoever, for the whole evening; and to prove the truth of what she said, gave orders that instant to be denied to whoever should come to visit her. 'Well,' cried Miss Flora, laughing, 'I shall give your compliments, however, where I am going;' and then mentioned the names of some persons she had just then taken into her head to visit. 'As you please for that,' replied Miss Betsy, with the same gay air; 'but don't tell them it is because I am eaten up with the vapours, that I chuse to stay at home rather than carry my compliments in person; for if ever I find out,' continued she, 'that you are so mischievous, I shall contrive some way or other to be revenged on you.'

They talked to each other in this pleasant manner, till a chair Miss Flora had sent for was brought into the hall, in which she seated herself for her intended ramble, and Miss Betsy went into her chamber, where how she was amused will presently be shewn.

CHAPTER XII

Is little more than a continuance of the former

Miss Betsy had no sooner disengaged herself from the incumbrance of a formal dress, and put on one more light and easy, al fresco, as the Spaniards phrase it, than she began to give her brother's letter a more serious and attentive perusal, than she had the opportunity of doing before.

She was charmed and elated with the description Mr. Francis had told her, she had inspired in the breast of his friend: she called to her mind the idea of those persons who were present at the entertainments he mentioned, and easily recalled which was most likely to be the lover, though she remembered not the name; she very well now remembered there was one that seemed both times to regard her with glances, which had somewhat peculiar in them, and which then she had interpreted as the certain indications of feeling something in his heart of the nature her brother had described; but not seeing him afterwards, nor hearing any mention made of him, at least that she took notice of, the imagination went out of her head.

This account of him, however, brought to her memory every thing she had observed concerning him, and was very well convinced she had seen nothing, either in his person or deportment, that was not perfectly agreeable; yet, not withstanding all this, and the high encomiums given of him by a brother, who she knew would not deceive her, she was a little vexed to find herself pressed by one so dear and so nearly related to her, to think of him as a man she ever intended to marry: she thought she could be pleased to have such a lover, but could not bring herself to be content that he ever should be a husband. She had too much good sense not to know it suited not with the condition of wife to indulge herself in the gaieties she at present did; which though innocent, and, as she thought, becoming enough in the present state she now was, might not be altogether pleasing to one who, if he so thought proper, had the power of restraining them. In fine, she looked upon a serious behaviour as unsuitable to one of her years; and therefore resolved not to enter into a condition which demanded some share of it, at least for a long time; that is, when she should be grown weary of the admiration, flatteries, and addresses of the men, and no longer find any pleasure in seeing herself preferred before all the women of her acquaintance.

Though it is certain that few young handsome ladies are without some share of the vanity here described, yet it is to be hoped there are not many who are possessed of it in that immoderate degree Miss Betsy was. It is, however, for the sake of those who are so, that these pages are wrote, to the end they may use their utmost endeavours to correct that error, as they will find it so fatal to the happiness of one who had scarce any other blameable propensity in her whole composition.

This young lady was full of meditation on her new conquest, and the manner in which she should receive the victim, who was so shortly to prostrate himself at the shrine of her beauty, when she heard somebody run hastily up stairs, and go into Lady Mellasin's dressing-room, which being adjacent, as has been already taken notice of on a very remarkable occasion, she stepped out of the chamber to see who was there, and found Mrs. Prinks very busy at a cabinet, where her ladyship's jewels were always kept: 'So, Mrs. Prinks,' said she, 'is my lady come home?'—'No, Miss,' replied the other; 'her ladyship is certainly the most compassionate best woman in the world: her cousin is very bad indeed, and she has sent me for a bottle of reviving drops, which I am going back to carry.' With these words she shuffled something into her pocket, and having locked the cabinet again, went out of the room saying—'Your servant, Miss Betsy; I cannot stay, for life's at stake.'

This put Miss Betsy in the greatest consternation imaginable: she knew Lady Mellasin could have no drops in that cabinet, unless they were contained in a phial of no larger circumference than a thimble, the drawers of it being very shallow, and made only to hold rings, croceats, necklaces, and such other flat trinkets: she thought there was something very odd and extraordinary in the whole affair. A strange woman coming in so abrupt a manner, her refusing to give the letter to any one but Lady Mellasin herself, her ladyship's confusion at the receipt of it, her disguising herself, and going out with Prinks in that violent hurry, the latter being sent home, her taking something out of the casket, and her going back again; all these incidents, I say, when put together, denoted something of a mystery not easily penetrated into.

Miss Betsy, however, was not of a disposition to think too much, or too deeply, on those things which the most nearly concerned herself, much less on such as related entirely to other people; and Miss Flora coming home soon after, and relating what conversation had passed in the visits she had been making, and the dresses the several ladies had on, and such other trifling matters, diverted the other from those serious reflections, which might otherwise, perhaps, have lasted somewhat longer.

When Miss Flora was undressed, they went down together into the parlour, where they found Mr. Goodman extremely uneasy, that Lady Mellasin was not come home. He had been told in what manner she went out, and it now being grown dark, he was frighted lest any ill accident should befal her, as she had no man-servant, nor any one with her but her woman, whom, he said, he could not look on as a sufficient guard for a lady of quality, against those insults, which night, and the libertinism of the age, frequently produced.

This tender husband asked the young ladies a thousand questions, concerning the possibility of guessing to whom, and to what part of the town, she was gone, in order that he might go himself, or send a servant to conduct her safely home: but neither of them were able to inform him any thing farther than what has already been related; that she had been sent for to a sick relation, who, as it appeared to them, had been very pressing to engage her ladyship to that charitable office.

Mr. Goodman then began to endeavour to recollect the names, and places of abode, of all those he had ever heard her say were of her kindred, for she had never suffered any of them to come to the house, under pretence that some of them had not behaved well, and that others being fallen to decay, and poor, might expect favours from her, and that she would suffer nobody belonging to her to be burdensome to him.

He was, notwithstanding, about to send his men in search of his beloved lady, though he knew not where to direct them to go, when she and Mrs. Prinks came home: he received her with all the transports a man of his years could be capable of, but gently chid her for the little care she had taken of herself, and looking on her, as Mrs. Prinks was pulling off her hood, 'Bless me, my dear,' said he, 'what was your fancy for going out in such a dress?'—'My cousin,' replied she, 'is in very wretched circumstances, lives in a little mean lodging, and, besides, owes money; if I had gone any thing like myself, the people of the house might have expected great things from me. I am very compassionate, indeed, to every one under misfortunes; but will never squander Mr. Goodman's money for their relief.'

'I know thou art all goodness,' said the old gentleman, kissing her with the utmost tenderness: 'but something,' continued he, 'methinks, might be spared.'—'Leave it to me, Mr. Goodman,' answered she; 'I know best; they have not deserved it from me.' She then told a long story, how kind she had been to this cousin, and some others of her kindred, in her first husband's time, and gave some instances of the ill use they had made of her bounties. All she said had so much the appearance of truth, that even Miss Betsy, who was far from having a high opinion of her sincerity, believed it, and thought no farther of what had passed; she had, indeed, in a short time, sufficient businesses of her own to take up all her mind.

Mr. Goodman, the very next day, brought home a very agreeable young gentleman to dine with him; who, though he paid an extraordinary respect to Lady Mellasin, and treated her daughter with the utmost complaisance, yet in the compliments he paid to Miss Betsy, there was something which seemed to tell her she had inspired him with a passion more tender than bare respect, and more sincere than common complaisance.

She had very penetrating eyes this way, and never made a conquest without knowing she did so; she was not, therefore, wanting in all those little artifices she had but too much made her study, in order to fix the impression she had given this stranger as indelible as possible: this she had a very good opportunity for doing; he staid the whole afternoon, drank tea with the ladies, and left them not till a crowd of company coming in, he thought good manners obliged him to retire.

Miss Betsy was filled with the most impatient curiosity to know the name and character of this person, whom she had already set down in her mind as a new adorer: she asked Miss Flora, when they were going to bed, as if it were a matter of indifference to her, and merely for the sake of chat, who that gentleman was who had dined with them, and made so long a visit; but that young lady had never seen him before, and was as ignorant of every thing concerning him as herself.

Miss Betsy, however, lost no part of her repose that night, on this account, as she doubted not but she should very soon be informed by himself of all she wished to know: she was but just out of bed the next morning, when a maid-servant came into the chamber and delivered a letter to her, which she told her was brought by a porter, who waited for an answer.

Miss Betsy's heart fluttered at the mention of a letter, flattering herself it came from the person who at present engrossed her thoughts; but on taking it from the maid, found a woman's hand on the superscription, and one perfectly known to her, though at that instant she could not recollect to whom it belonged: she was a good deal surprized, when, on breaking the seal, she found it came from Miss Forward, with whom, as well as the best of the boarding-school ladies, she had ceased all correspondence for many months. The contents were these.

'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.

Dear Miss Betsy,

Though, since I had the pleasure of seeing or hearing from you, so many accidents and odd turns of fortune have happened to me, as might very well engross my whole attention, yet I cannot be so far forgetful of our former friendship as to be in the same town with you, without letting you know, and desiring to see you. Were there a possibility of my waiting on you, I certainly should have made you the first visit; but, alas! at present there is not. Oh, Miss Betsy! I have strange things to tell you; things fit only to be trusted to a person whose generosity and good-nature I have experienced. If, therefore, you are so good to come, I must intreat you will bring no companion with you, and also that you will allow me that favour the first leisure hour, because I am in some hopes of returning to L——e in a short time. Please to enquire for the house of one Mrs. Nightshade, in Chick Lane, near Smithfield; where you will find her who, in spite of time, absence, and a thousand perplexing circumstances, is, with the most tender regard, my dear Miss Betsy, your very sincere, though unfortunate friend,

A. Forward.

P.S. Be so good to let me know, by a line, whether I may flatter myself with the hopes of seeing you, and at what time.'

Though Miss Betsy, through the hurry of her own affairs, had neglected writing to this young lady for a considerable time, yet she was extremely pleased at hearing from her: she could not imagine, however, what strange turns of fortune they were she mentioned in her letter, and which she supposed had brought her to London. Equally impatient to satisfy her curiosity in this point, as to see a person with whom she had contracted her first friendship, she took pen and paper, and immediately wrote this answer.

'To Miss Forward.

Dear Miss Forward,

The satisfaction of hearing you were so near me would be compleat, were it not allayed by the hints you give, that some accidents, not altogether pleasing, had occasioned it. I long to hear what has happened to you since last we saw each other, and will not fail to wait on you this afternoon. I know nothing of the part of the town you are in, but suppose a hackney coach will be able to find it's way. I will detain your messenger no longer than to tell you that I am, with the most perfect amity, dear Miss Forward, your very affectionate friend, and humble servant,

E. Thoughtless.'

Miss Flora had not been present when the maid delivered the letter to Miss Betsy; but coming into the chamber just as she had finished, and was sealing up the answer to it, 'So,' said she, 'have I catched you? Pray what new lover have you been writing to this morning?' It was in vain that Miss Betsy told her she never had yet seen the man she thought worthy of a letter from her on the score of love: the other persisted in her asseverations; and Miss Betsy, to silence her raillery, was obliged to shew her some part of the letter she had received from Miss Forward.

It being near breakfast-time they went down together into the parlour, and as they were drinking their coffee, 'Well, pretty lady,' said Mr. Goodman to Miss Betsy, with a smile, 'how did you like the gentleman that dined here yesterday?' This question so much surprized her that she could not help blushing. 'Like him, Sir!' replied she, 'I did not take any notice of him. I remember a stranger was here, and staid a good while, and that is all; for I neither observed any thing he said or did, or thought on him since.'—'The agreeable confusion,' cried Mr. Goodman, gaily, 'you are in at my mentioning him, makes me believe you remarked him more than you are willing to acknowledge, and I am very glad of it: you do him but justice, I assure you; for he is very much in love with you.'

'Lord, Sir!' said Miss Betsy, blushing still more, 'I cannot imagine what makes you talk so; I don't suppose the man thinks of me any more than I do of him.'—'That may be,' rejoined he, laughing outright. Lady Mellasin then took up the word, and told her husband he was very merry this morning. 'Aye,' said he, 'the hurry of spirits I have put poor Miss Betsy in has made me so; for I can assure you the thing is very serious: but,' continued he, 'you shall know the whole of it.'

He then proceeded to inform them, that the person he had been speaking of was the son of one who had formerly been a merchant; but who, having acquired a large fortune by his industry, had for several years past left off business, and lived mostly in the country; that the young gentleman had seen Miss Betsy at St. Paul's Rehearsal, when they were all there to hear the musick; that the next day after, he had come to him at a coffee-house, which it was known he frequented, and after asking many questions concerning Miss Betsy, and hearing she was not engaged, declared he was very much charmed with her, and entreated his permission, as being her guardian, to make his addresses to her. Mr. Goodman remembered the affront he had received from Alderman Saving on a like occasion, and was determined not to lay himself open to the same from Mr. Staple, (for so he was called) and plainly told the young lover that he would encourage nothing of that sort without the approbation of his father; that after this he had a meeting with the old gentleman, who being fully satisfied by him of Miss Betsy's family, fortune, and character, had no objections to make against his son's inclination. 'Having this sanction,' continued Mr. Goodman, 'and believing it may be a very proper match for both of you, I brought him home with me to dinner yesterday; and should be glad to know how far you think you can approve of the offer, before I give him my consent to make it.'

'I have already told you, Sir,' replied Miss Betsy, 'that I took but little notice of the gentleman; or if I had, should never have asked myself the question, whether I could like him or not; for, as to marriage, I do assure you, Sir, it is a thing that has never yet entered into my head.'—'Nay, as to that,' returned he, 'it is time enough, indeed. A good husband, however, can never come unseasonably. I shall tell him he may visit you; and leave you to answer the addresses according to the dictates of your heart.'

Miss Betsy neither opposed nor gave consent to what her guardian said on this score; but her not refusing seemed to him a sufficient grant: so there passed nothing more, except some little pleasantries usual on such subjects.

CHAPTER XIII

Contains some part of the history of Miss Forward's adventures, from the time of her leaving the boarding-school, as related by herself to Miss Betsy

Miss Betsy had now her head, though not her heart, full of the two new conquests she had made: Mr. Trueworth was strongly recommended by her brother, Mr. Staple by her guardian; yet all the ideas she had of either of them, served only to excite in her the pleasing imagination, how, when they both came to address her, she should play the one against the other, and give herself a constant round of diversion, by their alternate contentment or disquiet. 'As the barometer,' said she to herself, 'is governed by the weather, so is the man in love governed by the woman he admires: he is a mere machine—acts nothing of himself—has no will or power of his own, but is lifted up or depressed, just as the charmer of his heart is in the humour. I wish,' continued she, 'I knew what day these poor creatures would come—though it is no matter—I have got, it seems, possession of their hearts, and their eyes will find graces in me, let me appear in what shape soever.'

These contemplations, however, enchanting as they were to her vanity, did not render her forgetful of the promise she had made Miss Forward; and as soon as dinner was over, she ordered a hackney-coach to be called, and went to the place Miss Forward's letter had directed.

It is scarce possible for any one to be more surprized than she was, on entering the house of Mrs. Nightshade. The father of Miss Forward was a gentleman of a large estate, and of great consideration in the county where he lived, and she expected to have seen his daughter in lodgings suitable to her birth and fortune; instead of which, she found herself conducted by an old ill-looked mean woman, who gave her to understand she was the mistress of the house, up two pair of stairs, so narrow that she was obliged to hold her hoop quite under her arm, in order to gain the steep and almost perpendicular ascent: she was then shewed into a dirty little chamber, where, on a wretched bed, Miss Forward lay, in a most melancholy and dejected posture. 'Here is a lady wants you,' said the hag, who ushered in Miss Betsy. These words, and the opening of the door, made Miss Forward start from the bed to receive her visitor in the best manner she could: she saluted, she embraced her, with all the demonstrations of joy and affection; but Miss Betsy was so confounded at the appearance of every thing about her, that she was almost incapable of returning her caresses.

Miss Forward easily perceived the confusion her friend was in; and having led her to a chair, and seated herself near her, 'My dear Miss Betsy,' said she, 'I do not wonder you are alarmed at finding me in a condition so different from what you might have expected: my letter, indeed, gave you a hint of some misfortunes that had befallen me; but I forbore letting you know of what nature they were, because the facts, without the circumstances, which would have been too long to communicate by writing, might have made me appear more criminal than I flatter myself you will think I really am, when you shall be told the whole of my unhappy story.'

Miss Betsy then assured her she should take a friendly part in every thing that had happened to her, and that nothing could oblige her more than the confidence she mentioned: on which the other taking her by the hand, and letting fall some tears, said, 'O Miss Betsy! Miss Betsy! I have suffered much; and if you find a great deal to blame me for, you will find yet much more to pity.' Then, after having paused a little, as if to recollect the passages she was about to relate, began in this manner.

'You must remember,' said she, 'that when you left us to go for London, I was strictly watched and confined, on account of my innocent correspondence with Mr. Sparkish; but that young gentleman being sent to the university soon after, I had the same liberty as ever, and as much as any young lady in the school. The tutoress who was with us in your time, being in an ill state of health, went away, and one Mademoiselle Grenouille, a French woman, was put in her place: the governess had a high opinion of her, not only on the score of the character she had of her, but also for the gravity of her behaviour. But as demure, however, as she affected to be before her, she could be as merry and facetious as ourselves when out of her sight, as you will soon perceive by what I have to tell you.

'Whenever any of us took an evening's walk, this was the person to whose care we were entrusted, the governess growing every day more infirm, and indeed unable to attend us.

'It was towards the close of a very hot day, that myself, and two more, went with Mademoiselle Grenouille, to take a little air in the lane, at the back side of the great road that leads up to Lord ——'s fine seat. We were about in the middle of the lane, when we heard the sound of French horns, double curtalls, and other instruments of wind-musick: Mademoiselle at this could not restrain the natural alertness of her country, but went dancing on till we came very near those that played.

'You must know, my dear Miss Betsy,' continued she, 'that my Lord ——s park-wall reaches to the bottom of this lane, and has a little gate into it: having, it seems, some company with him, he had ordered two tents to be erected in that part of the park; the one for himself and friends, the other for the musick, who sounded the instruments to the healths that were toasted; but this we being ignorant of, and delighted with the harmony, wandered on till we came close to the little gate I mentioned, and there stood still listening to it. Some one or other of the gentlemen saw us, and said to the others, "We have eve's-droppers!" On which they quitted their seats, and ran to the gate. On seeing them all approach, we would have drawn back, but they were too quick for us; the gate was instantly thrown open, and six or seven gentlemen, of whom my lord was one, rushed out upon us. Perceiving we endeavoured to escape them, they catched hold of us—"Nay, ladies," said one of them, "you must not think to avoid paying the piper, after having heard his musick."

'Mademoiselle, on this, addressed herself to my Lord ——, with as much formality as she could assume, and told him we were young ladies of distinction, who were placed at a boarding-school just by, and at present were under her care; so begged no rudeness might be offered. His lordship protested, on his honour, none should; but insisted on our coming into the park, and drinking one glass of whatever wine we pleased; upon which—"What say you, ladies?" cried Mademoiselle; "I believe we may depend on his lordship's protection." None of us opposed the motion, as being as glad to accept it as herself. In a word, we went in, and were conducted to the tent in the midst of which were placed bottles, glasses, jellies, sweetmeats, pickles, and I know not what other things, to regale and quicken the appetite. Servants, who attended, cooled the glasses out of a silver fountain, on a little pedestal at one end of the tent, and filled every one a glass with what each of us chose. One of the company perceiving our conductress was a French woman, talked to her in her own language, and led her a minuet around the table; and, in the mean time, the others took the opportunity of entertaining us: he that had hold of me, so plied me with kisses and embraces, that I scarce knew where I was. Oh! the differences between his caresses and the boyish insipid salutes of Master Sparkish! The others, I suppose, were served with the same agreeable robustness I was; but I had not the power of observing them, any more than, as I afterwards found, they had of me.

'In short, never were poor innocent girls so pressed, so kissed; every thing but the dernier undoing deed, and that there was no opportunity of compleating, every one of us, our tutoress not excepted, I am certain experienced.'

'Heavens!' cried Miss Betsy, interrupting her, 'how I envied your happiness a moment since, and how I tremble for you now!'

'O Miss Betsy,' replied Miss Forward, 'every thing would have been done in that forgetful hour; but, as I have already said, there was not an opportunity. My lover, notwithstanding, (for so I must call him) would not let me get out of his arms, till I had told him my name, and by what means he should convey a letter to me. I affected to make a scruple of granting this request, though, Heaven knows, I was but too well pleased at his grasping me still faster, in order to compel me to it. I then gave him my name; and told him, that if he would needs write, I knew no other way by which he might be sure of my receiving his letter, but by slipping it into my hand as I was coming out of church, which he might easily do, there being always a great concourse of people about the door: on this he gave me a salute, the warmth of which I never shall forget, and then suffered me to depart with my companions; who, if they were not quite so much engaged as myself, had yet enough to make them remember this night's ramble.

'The tutoress knew well enough how to excuse our staying out so much longer than usual; and neither the governess, nor any one in the family, except ourselves, knew any thing of what had passed. I cannot say but my head ran extremely on this adventure. I heartily wished my pretty fellow might keep his word in writing to me, and was forming a thousand projects how to keep up a correspondence with him. I don't tell you I was what they call in love; but certainly I was very near it, and longed much more for Sunday than ever I had done for a new gown. At last, the wished-for day arrived—my gentleman was punctual—he came close to me in the church-porch—I held my hand in a careless manner, with my handkerchief in it behind me, and presently found something put into it, which I hastily conveyed into my pocket; and, on coming home, found a little three-cornered billet, containing these lines.

"To the charming Miss Forward.

Most lovely of your sex,

I have not slept since I saw you—so deep an impression has your beauty made on my heart, that I find I cannot live without you; nor even die in peace if you vouchsafe not my last breath to issue at your feet. In pity, then, to the sufferings you occasion, grant me a second interview, though it be only to kill me with your frowns. I am too much a stranger in these parts to contrive the means; be, therefore, so divinely good to do it for me, else expect to see me carried by your door a bleeding deathless corpse—the victim of your cruelty, instead of your compassion to your most grateful adorer, and everlasting slave,

R. Wildly."

'In a postscript to this,' pursued Miss Forward, 'he told me that he would be in the church-porch in the afternoon, hoping to receive my answer by the same means I had directed him to convey to me the dictates of his heart.

'I read this letter over and over, as you may easily guess, by my remembering the contents of it so perfectly; but it is impossible for me to express the perplexity I was in how to reply to it. I do not mean how to excuse myself from granting the interview he so passionately requested; for that, perhaps, I wished for with as much impatience as he could do; but I was distracted at not being able to contrive any practicable method for our meeting.

'O Miss Betsy, how did I long for you, or such a friend as you, to assist me in this dilemma! But there was not one person in the whole house I dared trust with such a secret: I could not eat a bit of dinner, nor scarce speak a word to any body, so much were my thoughts taken up with what I should do. I was resolved to see him, and hear what he had to say, whatever should be the consequence: at last I hit upon a way, dangerous indeed in every respect, and shameful in a girl of my condition; yet, as there was no other, the frenzy I was possessed of, compelled me to have recourse to it.

'You must remember, my dear Miss Betsy,' continued she, with a deep sigh, 'the little door at the farther end of the garden, where, by your kind contrivance, young Sparkish was introduced: it was at this door I determined to meet Mr. Wildly. This, you may be sure, could not be done by day without a discovery, some one or other being continually running into the garden: I therefore fixed the rendezvous at night, at an hour when I was positive all the family would be in bed; and ordered it in this manner.

'Chance aided my ill genius in my undoing; I lay at that time alone; Miss Bab, who used to be my bedfellow, was gone home for a fortnight, on account of a great wedding in their family; and I thought I could easily slip down stairs, when every body was asleep, and go through the kitchen, from which, you know, there is a passage into the garden. I took no care for any thing, but to prevent the disappointment of my design; for I apprehended nothing of ill from a man who adored me, and of whose will and actions I foolishly imagined I had the sole command.

'The settling this matter in my mind engrossed all my thoughts, till the bell began to ring for divine service; and I had only time to write these lines in answer to his billet.