ENGL 3300--Fall 2025jobrienf25ENGL3300Fall20258 Wheatley, Phillis and Phillis Wheatley. "On the Death of the Rev. MR. GEORGE WHITEFIELD". Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral, Printed for A. Bell, 1773 , pp 22-24 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z 22 On the Death of the Rev. MR. GEORGE WHITEFIELD. 1770. 1 HAIL, happy saint, on thine immortal throne, 2 Possest of glory, life, and bliss unknown; 3 We hear no more the music of thy tongue, 4 Thy wonted auditories cease to throng. 5 Thy sermons in unequall'd accents flow'd, 6 And ev'ry bosom with devotion glow'd; 7 Thou didst in strains of eloquence refin'd 8 Inflame the heart, and captivate the mind. 9 Unhappy we the setting sun deplore, 10 So glorious once, but ah! it shines no more. 11 Behold the prophet in his tow'ring flight! 12 He leaves the earth for heav'n's unmeasur'd height, 13 And worlds unknown receive him from our sight. 14 There Whitefield wings with rapid course his way, 15 And sails to Zion through vast seas of day. 16 Thy pray'rs, great saint, and thine incessant cries 17 Have pierc'd the bosom of thy native skies. 23 18 Thou moon hast seen, and all the stars of light, 19 How he has wrestled with his God by night. 20 He pray'd that grace in ev'ry heart might dwell, 21 He long'd to see America excel; 22 He charg'd its youth that ev'ry grace divine 23 Should with full lustre in their conduct shine; 24 That Saviour, which his soul did first receive, 25 The greatest gift that ev'n a God can give, 26 He freely offer'd to the num'rous throng, 27 That on his lips with list'ning pleasure hung. 28 "Take him, ye wretched, for your only good, 29 "Take him ye starving sinners, for your food; 30 "Ye thirsty, come to this life-giving stream, 31 "Ye preachers, take him for your joyful theme; 32 "Take him my dear Americans, he said, 33 "Be your complaints on his kind bosom laid: 34 "Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you, 35 "Impartial Saviour is his title due: 36 "Wash'd in the fountain of redeeming blood, 37 "You shall be sons, and kings, and priests to God." 24 38 Great Countess, we Americans revere 39 Thy name, and mingle in thy grief sincere; 40 New England deeply feels, the Orphans mourn, 41 Their more than father will no more return. 42 But, though arrested by the hand of death, 43 Whitefield no more exerts his lab'ring breath, 44 Yet let us view him in th' eternal skies, 45 Let ev'ry heart to this bright vision rise; 46 While the tomb safe retains its sacred trust, 47 Till life divine re-animates his dust. George Whitefield (1714-1770; pronounced "wit-field") was one of the most famous people of the eighteenth-century Anglophone world. As a student at Oxford in the early 1730s, he got to know John and Charles Wesley, the founders of the Methodist movement in the church of England. Whitefield joined them in attempting to "methodize" the faith, returning it to the simple principles of the early church. But more than the Wesley brothers, Whitefield made this reformist movement into a public ministry. A famously charismatic public speaker, Whitefield preached to crowds numbering in the thousands in England and the American colonies, becoming a central figure in what was known as the "Great Awakening," a revival of evangelical Protestantism that was influential on both sides of the Atlantic. Benjamin Franklin and Olaudah Equiano were each impressed (though in very different ways) when they saw Whitefield preach in Philadelphia and Savannah, respectively. Whitefield made several visits to the Boston area, and it seems likely that the Wheatleys saw him preach there. Phillis might very well have joined them, but we cannot be sure. Whitefield died unexpectedly in Newburyport, Massachusetts on September 30, 1770, a few days after he left Boston on what turned out to be his last tour of the colonies. Phillis Wheatley's elegy for Whitefield changed her life, transforming her from a young enslaved woman with a small readership among friends of the Wheatley family to an author with an international readership. The poem was published as a broadside on October 11, 1770, and was an immediate success. It was reprinted several times in colonial cities, as well as London, and also appeared in several newspapers. The poem brought Wheatley to the attention of Selina, the Countess of Huntingdon, who is addressed in the poem itself. A fervent Methodist herself, the Countess was Whitefield's patron, supporting him on his evangelical missions. The Countess became Wheatley's patron as well, sponsoring the publication of her only volume of poems, published in London in 1773. [George Whitefield by an unknown artist, about 1770, National Portrait Gallery, London] wonted: "Accustomed, customary, usual." Oxford English Dictionary; auditory: "An assembly of hearers, an audience." Oxford English Dictionary, hence the meaning here is something like "usual audience." "unequalled accents"; Whitefield was a famously eloquent and compelling public speaker; the sense here is that no other speaker could match the "accent" or style of his voice. Zion is a name in the Hebrew bible for Jerusalem, and the term has often been extended to mean the entirety of what believers think of as the holy land, or even the afterlife. The Countess of Huntingdon, to whom Mr. Whitefield was Chaplain. [Wheatley's note]. Selina Hastings, the countess of Huntingdon (1707-1791), was a major figure in the Methodist movement, using her wealth to support the founding of chapels and a training school for ministers. Whitefield became her personal chaplain in the 1740s. Wheatley sought and recieved her patronage as well, and Wheatley's 1773 volume of poems was published with her support. [Selina Hastings by an unknown artist, about 1770, National Portrait Gallery, London] Whitefield first came to the American colonies in 1738, when he travelled to Savannah, Georgia, where the colony's trustees had hired him to serve as minister. He decided to make his main project in Savannah the establishment of an orphanage, and he returned to England after only four months to raise money for the project. The Bethesda Orphan House was founded in 1740, and Whitefield continued to raise money and to return for visits to the institution throughout his lifetime. Wheatley, Phillis and Phillis Wheatley. "To Macenas". Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral, Printed for A. Bell, 1773 , pp 9-12 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z 9 TO MAECENAS. 1 MAECENASMaecenas was the wealthy patron of classical Roman poets Virgil and Horace, whom Wheatley draws on in complex ways. Wheatley's poem "To Maecenas" opens her collection, which position gives it a powerful significance as she claims the right to speak within this tradition. Like Horace's Odes to Maecenas, Wheatley's offers praise to her patron, but does so in ways that are fraught with the equivocalities of being an enslaved African working within the languge and culture of the colonial master. For a deeper reading of "To Maecenas," see Paula Bennett's journal article, "Phillis Wheatley's Vocation and the Paradox of the 'Afric Muse.'" Following other scholars, Bennett identifies Wheatley's poet-patron as Mather Byles, one of the signatories verifying her authorship. The image included here shows the attestation to the public, included in the 1773 edition of Wheatley's poems, certifying that they were indeed written by "PHILLIS, a young Negro Girl, who was but a few Years since, brought an uncultivated Barbarian from Africa,...and now is, under the Disadvantage of serving as a Slave in a Family in [Boston]." Note Bales' name., you, beneath the myrtle shade, 2 Read o'er what poets sung, and shepherds play'd. 3 What felt those poets but you feel the same? 4 Does not your soul possess the sacred flame? 5 Their noble strains your equal genius shares 6 In softer language, and diviner airs. 7 While HomerHomer is the ancient Greek poet of The Oddyssey and The Illiad. paints, lo! circumfus'd in air, 8 Celestial Gods in mortal forms appear; 10 9 Swift as they move hear each recess rebound, 10 Heav'n quakes, earth trembles, and the shores resound. 11 Great Sire of verse, before my mortal eyes, 12 The lightnings blaze across the vaulted skies, 13 And, as the thunder shakes the heav'nly plains, 14 A deep-felt horror thrills through all my veins. 15 When gentler strains demand thy graceful song, 16 The length'ning line moves languishing along. 17 When great Patroclus courts Achilles' aidAchilles is the main character of The Illiad, which tells the story of the Trojan War and, specifically, Achilles' wrath. Achilles and Patroclus are lovers and friends; angered by Agammemnon, Achilles refuses to fight, but allows Patroclus to wear his armor and lead the Myrmidons against the Trojans. When Patroclus is killed by Hector, Achilles is grief-stricken and, enraged, he returns to battle to destroy the Trojans. The image included here, Gavin Hamilton's Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus (1760-1763), is housed in National Galleries, Scotland., 18 The grateful tribute of my tears is paid; 19 Prone on the shore he feels the pangs of love, 20 And stern PelidesPelides is Achilles' father; therefore, it is also another way of referring to Achilles himself. Achilles is frequently described as "stern" by Homer. tend'rest passions move. 21 Great Maro's strainPublius Vergilius Maro, more commonly known as Virgil, the Augustan Roman poet famed for his Eclogues and the epic poem The Aeneid. in heav'nly numbers flows, 22 The Nine inspireThe nine muses in Greco-Roman mythology are goddesses, daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne who inspire those in the arts and sciences., and all the bosom glows. 23 O could I rival thine and Virgil's page, 24 Or claim the Muses with the Mantuan SageMantua is a city in Italy, and the home of Virgil; the Mantuan sage is the poet Virgil.; 25 Soon the same beauties should my mind adorn, 26 And the same ardors in my soul should burn: 27 Then should my song in bolder notes arise, 28 And all my numbers pleasingly surprize; 11 29 But here I sit, and mourn a grov'ling mind, 30 That fainMeaning "[g]ladly, willingly, with pleasure," according to the OED (fain, adv.B). would mount, and ride upon the wind. 31 Not you, my friend, these plaintive strains become, 32 Not you, whose bosom is the Muses home; 33 When they from tow'ring HeliconMount Helicon in Greece is a mountain believed to be the home of the muses and hence a place sacred to poetry. retire, 34 They fan in you the bright immortal fire, 35 But I less happy, cannot raise the song, 36 The fault'ringAn alternate spelling and contraction, for meter, of "faltering," meaning unsteady or staggering. music dies upon my tongue. 37 The happier TerencePublius Terentius Afer, better known as Terence, is a famous Roman comic playwright, born in northern Africa. As the Encylopedia Britannicanotes, Terence was enslaved and later freed by a Roman senator. Wheatley suggests a connection between herself and Terence, both of African origin; yet, Terence is "happier"--both in his poetic skill, and perhaps also in having been freed.* An African by birth. [Wheatley's note.] all the choir inspir'd, 38 His soul replenish'd, and his bosom fir'd; 39 But say, ye Muses, why this partial grace, 40 To one alone of Afric's sable race; 41 From age to age transmitting thus his name 42 With the first glory in the rolls of fame? 43 Thy virtues, great Maecenas! shall be sung 44 In praise of him, from whom those virtues sprung: 12 45 While blooming wreaths around thy temples spread, 46 I'll snatch a laurelThe leaves of the bay laurel tree were a conventional symbol of poetic fame and acheivement originating in the mythological tale of Daphne and Apollo. The image included here is a portrait of the 18th century poet Alexander Pope, wearing a crown of laurel. The portrait (c.1737), by Jonathan Richardson, is housed in the National Portrait Gallery, London. from thine honour'd head, 47 While you indulgent smile upon the deed. 48 As long as ThamesThe Thames is a major river flowing through southern England and London. in streams majestic flows, 49 Or Naiads/>In Greco-Roman mythology, naiads are female freshwater nymphs. The image included here, by Jean-Francois de Troy, shows part of the Ovidian story of Pan and Syrinx (1722-1724). De Troy's Pan and Syrinx is housed in the Getty Museum. in their oozy beds repose 50 While PhoebusPhoebus Apollo is an important god in the Greco-Roman tradition. He is associated with both the sun and with music and poetry. reigns above the starry train, 51 While bright AuroraIn Greco-Roman mythology, Aurora (called Eos in the Greek) personifies the dawn. purples o'er the main, 52 So long, great Sir, the muse thy praise shall sing, 53 So long thy praise shall make ParnassusParnassus is a mountain in Greece that was seen as the home of the gods, particularly Dionysus and Apollo, as well as the Muses. The Muses are also associated with Mount Helicon. ring: 54 Then grant, Maecenas, thy paternal rays, 55 Hear me propitious, and defend my lays. Bradstreet, Anne and Anne Bradstreet. "Davids Lamentation for Saul, and Jonathan, 2 Sam. 1.19". Several Poems Compiled with Great Variety of Wit and Learning, John Foster, 1678 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z [TP] SEVERAL POEMS Compiled with great variety of Wit and Learning, full of Delight; Wherein especially is contained a compleat Discourse, and Description of The Four { ELEMENTS CONSTITUTIONS, AGES of Man, SEASONS of the Year. Together with an exact Epitome of the three first Monarchyes Viz, The { ASSYRIAN, PERSIAN, GRECIAN. And beginning of the Romane Common-wealth to the end of their last King: With diverse other pleasant & serious Poems, By a Gentlewoman in New-England. The second Edition, Corrected by the Author, and enlarged by an Addition of several other Poems found amongst her Papers after her Death. Boston, Printed by John Foster, 1678. 215 Davids Lamentation for Saul, and Jonathan, 2 Sam. 1.19 In this passage from the Bible, David mourns the loss of King Saul of Israel and his son, Jonathan, who died during the battle of Mount Gilboa against the Philistines. Source: King James Bible 1 Alas, slaine is the head of Israel, 2 Illustrious Saul, whose beauty did excell 3 Upon thy places, mountan'ous and high, 4 How did the mighty fall and falling dye? 5 In GathGath and Ashkelon were two of the five major cities of the Philistines. Source: Encyclopedia Britannica, let not this thing be spoken on, 6 Nor published in the streets of Askelon, 7 Lest Daughters of the PhilistinsThe Philistines were a non-Semitic people that resided in Canaan and posed a significant threat to the Israelites. Source: Encyclopedia Brittanica rejoyce, 8 Lest the uncircumcis'd lift up their voyce David does not want word of the Israelites' defeat at Mount Gilboa to reach the Philistines, who will revel in the death of Judah's king. The "uncircumcised" refers to the Israelites.: 9 O! Gilbo MountsMount Gilboa is a range of mountains located in the Jezreel Valley in modern-day northern Israel. Source: Encyclopedia Britannica, let never pearled dew, 10 Nor fruitfull showres your barren tops bestrew, 11 Nor fields of offerings e're on you grow, 12 Nor any pleasant thing e're may you show; 13 For the mighty ones did soone decay, 14 The Shield of Saul was vilely cast away; 15 There had his dignity so sore a foyle"A repulse, defeat in an onset or enterprise; a baffling check." Source: Oxford English Dictionary , 16 As if his head ne're felt the sacred Oyle"Then Samuel took the flask of oil, poured it on his [Saul's] head, kissed him and said, 'Has not the LORED anointed you ruler over his inheritance?'" Source: 1 Sam. 10:1: 17 Sometimes from crimson, blood of gastly slaine, 18 The bow of JonathonJonathan was the son of Saul and a close friend of David, who made a loyalty pact with him in 1 Sam. 1:42 Source: King James Bible ne're turned in vaine, 19 Nor from the fat, and spoyles, of mighty men, 20 Did Saul with bloodlesse Sword turne back agenBoth Saul and Jonathan were mighty warriors; while they used different weapons, they both wielded them successfully in battle. . 216 21 Pleasant and lovely were they both in life, 22 And in their deaths was found no parting strifeDespite Jonathan's loyalty to David and Saul's jealousy, Saul and Jonathan were united at the battle and united in death.; 23 Swifter than swiftest Eagles, so were they, 24 Stronger than Lions, ramping for their prey. 25 O Israels Dames, o're-flow your beauteous eyes, 26 For valiant Saul, who on Mount Gilbo lyes; 27 Who cloathed you in cloath of richest dye, 28 And choyce delights, full of variety. 29 On your array put ornaments of goldDavid reflects on only the positive qualities of Saul, including the prosperity of Judah under his reign., 30 Which made you yet more beauteous to behold. 31 O! how in battell did the mighty fall, 32 In mid'st of strength not succoured"To help, assist, or aid." Source: Oxford English Dictionary at all: 33 O! lovely Jonathan, how wert thou slaine, 34 In places high, full low thou dost remaine; 35 Distrest I am, for thee, dear Jonathan, 36 Thy love was wonderfull, passing a man; 37 Exceeding all the Love that's FeminineDavid compares the closeness of his friendship with Johnathan to the intimacy and loyalty experienced within marriage. Johnathan accepted David's destiny to become king, and remained loyal to him even after the reproach of his father., 38 So pleasant hast thou been, dear brother mine: 39 How are the mighty falne into decay, 40 And war-like weapons perished away. Behn, Aphra and Aphra Behn. "To the fair Clarinda, who made Love to me, imagin'd more than Woman". Lysidus, or, The lover in Fashion, Joseph Knight and Francis Saunders, 1688 , pp 175-76 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z [TP] LYCIDUS:OR THELover in Fashion. Being an Account fromLYCIDUS to LYSANDER, Of his Voyage from the ISLAND of LOVE. From the French. By the same AUTHOROf the Voyage to the Isle of LOVE. Together with aMISCELLANYOFNew Poems. By Several HANDS. LONDON: Printed for Joseph Knight, and FrancisSaunders, at the Blew Anchor in the Lower Walk ofthe New-Exchange, 1688. 175 To the fair Clarinda, who made Love to me,imagin'd more than Woman. By. Mrs. B. 1 Fair lovely Maid, or if that Title be 2 Too weak, too Feminine for Nobler thee, 3 Permit a Name that more Approaches Truth: 4 And let me call thee, Lovely Charming Youth. 176 5 This last will justifie my soft complaint, 6 While that may serve to lessen my constraint; 7 And without Blushes I the Youth persue, 8 When so much beauteous Woman is in view. 9 Against thy Charms we struggle but in vain 10 With thy deluding Form thou giv'st us pain, 11 While the bright Nymph betrays us to the Swain. 12 In pity to our Sex sure thou wer't sent, 13 That we might Love, and yet be Innocent: 14 For sure no Crime with thee we can commit; 15 Or if we shou'd—thy Form excuses it. 16 For who, that gathers fairest Flowers believes 17 A Snake lies hid beneath the Fragrant Leaves. 18 Thou beauteous Wonder of a different kind, 19 Soft Cloris with the dear Alexis join'd; 20 When e'r the Manly part of thee, wou'd plead 21 Thou tempts us with the Image of the Maid, 22 While we the noblest Passions do extend 23 The Love to Hermes, Aphrodite the Friend. FINIS. O'Brien, John. "Headnote for Alexander Pope." Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z Alexander Pope (1688-1744) was the greatest English poet of the eighteenth century, and one of the greatest of all the poets who have written in the English language. Poets, critics, and general readers since Pope’s own day have recognized just how spectacularly talented he was as a crafter of verse, his sheer skill with the language. And from the start, people also noticed how ambitious he was, how fully he willed himself into becoming a great poet. From his early twenties, when poems like An Essay on Criticism and The Rape of the Lock established him as the most vibrant and interesting young poet of the era, Pope has been considered to be a great writer and the most representative poet of the entire literary period between the works of John Milton and the emergence of the movement called Romanticism at the end of the eighteenth century. What, exactly, does it mean, though, to say that Pope was great and significant? What is “greatness,” anyway? This is not an easy question to answer, because it gets at questions of taste that are always going to be to some degree subjective, and to some degree determined by where you are in history. Works believed to be great in one era or context may seem trite in another, and it is fair to say that the kind of poetry that Pope wrote, with tightly-controlled rhymed heroic couplets, has not been in fashion with readers or critics for a couple of hundred years. And because of that fact, Pope and the poetry of this entire period is less accessible to us than it ought to be. We read less poetry than did eighteenth-century readers and even those who do read poetry in our times are simply not used to verse like this. The end result is that it is hard for us to see what contemporaries recognized in Pope, what they found so striking, and what caused them to admire his works. Unlike us, eighteenth-century readers were used to reading lots of poetry in heroic couplets–it was the dominant form of poetry in English throughout the century. And no writer in English was better at writing heroic couplets than Pope. Again and again, Pope startles the reader by coming up with a wholly original way of composing his lines, of setting up his rhymes, of ordering his words perfectly such that the crucial words seem to fall into place as if there were no other way that they could be arranged. For all that Pope’s heroic couplets are artificial–no one speaks this way, after all–Pope consistently makes it feel as though the words could only be arranged in the order in which he puts them; sound follows sense to an extent that very few other poets of the period were able to achieve. We know from the surviving manuscripts of his poems that this effect–of making a very artificial form seem entirely natural, as if you’re listening to conversation rather than declamation–took a great deal of work. Pope revised his poems again and again, often keeping them in manuscript form, circulating among friends who offered advice, rewriting and recasting over and over, until he was satisfied enough to have them printed. And even then, Pope continued to revise almost all of his poems once they had been issued in print; most of his works were never “finished” in the sense of reaching a final, definitive state. Pope saw composing poetry as a process that never had an end, an ongoing dialogue in poetry between himself, his readers, and the age that they both lived in. Pope was enormously ambitious–-he sought fame, recognition, and the wealth that would give a man like him--middle class, well-educated, but without the kind of family wealth or connections that he could rely upon to provide a steady income--the independence that he needed for his art. He also had a significant physical disability. Pope contracted what is called Pott's disease--essentially a form of tuberculosis that affects the spine--at the age of 12. The condition arrested his growth (in adulthood Pope was well under five feet tall), and was painful and degenerative, weakening his spine to the point where he eventually had to be laced into a corset to stand upright. It also rankled Pope that he could not be the official poet laureate because, as a Roman Catholic, he was barred from holding that kind of state-sponsored post. (And, as a Roman Catholic in a period when English people were in general prejudiced against Catholics, he had to put up with many writers who could not help but make jokes about the fact that this Catholic poet happened to be named “Pope.”) But Pope saw himself as becoming in effect, the real poet laureate of his age, speaking to contemporary events while also tailoring his career according to the careers of classical writers. He started, as the Roman poet Virgil did, writing pastoral poetry, then moved on to translating epics: Pope’s versions of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey were his most popular works in his own lifetime and were the standard translations of both poems for the rest of the century. Pope is the rare case of a person whose skills and ambition matched up. Overcoming his era's prejudices against Catholics as well as a disability that he once referred to as "this long disease, my life," Alexander Pope willed himself into the poet who dominated the verse of his own era, and who would be remembered long after that era was over. O'Brien, John and John O'Brien. "Headnote for Olaudah Equiano." Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano is the first example in English of the slave narrative, the autobiography written by one of the millions of persons from Africa or of African descent who were enslaved in the Atlantic world between the sixteenth and the nineteenth centuries. Equiano’s is an extraordinary memoir, telling the author’s life story from his birth in west Africa, in what was then known as Essaka (in what is now the nation of Nigeria), his kidnapping, the middle passage across the Atlantic ocean in a slave ship, the brutality of the slave system in the American colonies in the Caribbean, the mainland of North America, and at sea. Equiano also tells the story of his life as a free man of color; after he was finally able to purchase his freedom in 1766, he was a merchant, a seaman, a musician, a barber, a civil servant, and, finally, a writer who took to the pages of London newspapers to argue on behalf of his fellow Afro-Britons before publishing this account of his life. Equiano’s book offered the first full description of the middle passage, a description harrowing in its sensory vividness: The stench of the hold while we were on the coast was so intolerably loathsome, that it was dangerous to remain there for any time, and some of us had been permitted to stay on the deck for the fresh air; but now that the whole ship’s cargo were confined together, it became absolutely pestilential. The closeness of the place, and the heat of the climate, added to the number in the ship, which was so crowded that each had scarcely room to turn himself, almost suffocated us. This produced copious perspirations, so that the air soon became unfit for respiration, from a variety of loathsome smells, and brought on a sickness among the slaves, of which many died, thus falling victims to the improvident avarice, as I may call it, of their purchasers. This wretched situation was again aggravated by the galling of the chains, now become insupportable; and the filth of the necessary tubs, into which the children often fell, and were almost suffocated. The shrieks of the women, and the groans of the dying, rendered the whole a scene of horror almost inconceivable. Happily perhaps for myself I was soon reduced so low here that it was thought necessary to keep me almost always on deck; and from my extreme youth I was not put in fetters. In this situation I expected every hour to share the fate of my companions, some of whom were almost daily brought upon deck at the point of death, which I began to hope would soon put an end to my miseries. Often did I think many of the inhabitants of the deep much more happy than myself. I envied them the freedom they enjoyed, and as often wished I could change my condition for theirs. Every circumstance I met with served only to render my state more painful, and heighten my apprehensions, and my opinion of the cruelty of the whites. Equiano’s book is both a personal story and a powerful item of testimony about the larger system of slave-trading that supported the economic system through which Britain developed a global empire. Spanning the transatlantic world, Equiano’s story powerfully captures the lived experience of slavery in the eighteenth century through the eyes of an observer with almost unbelievable resourcefulness and resilience. The book is also interesting as a literary document. Equiano is clearly familiar with the genre of the spiritual autobiography, the Puritan form of self-examination and life writing that shaped works such as Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, and he also cites English poets such as John Milton and Alexander Pope, demonstrating his mastery of the canon of great English literature. Equiano’s Interesting Narrative is one of the most absorbing, indeed interesting first-person stories of the entire century, a work that both narrates a remarkable set of experiences and shrewdly shapes it through the forms available to its author to make the case for the abolition of the slave trade. It is important to note, however, that in the last two decades, scholars have raised doubts about the truth of some parts of Equiano’s Interesting Narrative. Vincent Carretta, probably the leading scholar in the United States on Equiano’s work and life, has discovered documents such as Royal Navy muster rolls where Equiano (who was identified for much of his adult life as “Gustavus Vassa,” the name given to him by Michael Pascal, his first owner) is recorded as having been born in colonial South Carolina. So too does the record of his baptism into Christianity in 1759 at St. Margaret’s Church in London. It is possible, then, that Equiano is misrepresenting his place of birth, perhaps because he believed that his story would be more compelling if he were able to describe himself as a native-born African. Other scholars have suggested that there may be other reasons to account for the discrepancy; Equiano was not responsible for creating these records, and there may be all sorts of reasons why the people who were in charge of these documents, or he, might have decided not to have identified him as having born in Africa, some of which we probably cannot reconstruct from this distance. The question of where Equiano was born will probably remain unresolved until better documentary evidence or new ways of understanding the evidence that we already have become available. What no one has ever questioned is that Equiano’s Interesting Narrative is extremely accurate in its depiction of the way that the eighteenth-century slave system worked, the horrors of the middle passage, and the constant threats to their freedom and well-being experienced by free people of color, particularly in the American colonies. The publication of the Interesting Narrative was an important event in its own right. First issued in the spring of 1789, the book was timed to coincide with a Parliamentary initiative to end Britain’s participation in the international slave trade. This was the goal of the first abolitionist movement, a movement originating largely with Quakers that was adopted and secularized by a combination of evangelical and more secular writers in the 1780s and that found its institutional centers of gravity in the largely white Society for Effecting the Abolition of the Slave Trade, founded in 1787, and in the Sons of Africa, a society of free persons of African descent in Great Britain in which Equiano had a leadership role. This generation of abolitionists focused on ending the slave trade rather than for the ending of slavery as an institution and the emancipation of all enslaved people in large part because they believed it to be unviable politically. Rather, they focused on ending the slave trade, arguing that if slave owners were unable to purchase new slaves kidnapped and transported from Africa, they would be forced to be more benevolent to their own slaves, and the institution would be forced to reform itself. Equiano was active in these abolitionist circles, and his book in part serves the function of a petition to Parliament to end the slave trade, with the names of the book’s subscribers identifying themselves as allies and co-petitioners in the cause. The first edition begins by including the names of 311 people who subscribed to it and thereby subsidized its printing, and later editions (nine in all in Equiano’s lifetime, a testimony to the great demand for his book) added more, eventually totalling over a thousand, as more people wanted both to own the book and to ally themselves with the abolitionist cause. Subscribers were thus taking an interest in this book in the financial sense, publicly advancing resources to support Equiano and the movement that the book was published to support. The Interesting Narrative was first printed in the United States in New York in 1791 (without Equiano’s permission, as was typical for books reprinted from Britain in the early decades of the new republic), and was widely reprinted throughout the first half of the nineteenth century. Equiano toured throughout the British Isles in the early 1790s, making speaking engagements to promote the abolitionist cause, and also to support sales of his book, for which he had retained copyright. This turned out to be a smart business decision; he made a fair amount of money from sales of the Interesting Narrative. Equiano married a woman named Susannah Cullen in 1792; they had two daughters, only one of whom survived to adulthood. But neither Olaudah or Susannah was able to enjoy their married life for very long. Susanna died in 1796 and Olaudah died in 1797. The abolitionist cause to which the Interesting Narrative was a major contributor succeeded only after his death, as Britain ended its participation in the slave trade in 1807, and finally abolished slavery in its colonial holdings in 1833. Slavery in the United States continued until the Emancipation Proclamation of 1863. Pope, Alexander and Alexander Pope. "The Rape of the Lock", B. Lintott, 1714 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z Frontispiece Frontispiece The frontispiece was designed by Louis du Guernier (1677-1716) a well-known illustrator of the period; he also designed the images that appear before each of the five cantos. They were engraved by Claude du Bosc (1682-1745?); both men had been born in France but moved to London, probably in pursuit of the good opportunities for skilled engravers in the London book trade, and worked together on a number of projects for London patrons and booksellers in these years. Illustrations as detailed as these were very time-consuming and therefore expensive to produce, and the presence of six custom-engraved images was a sign that Pope and his publisher Bernard Lintot were trying to create a particularly impressive and beautiful object. Pope, who was a talented amateur painter in his own right, almost certainly had a role in designing the images, although we do not know exactly how he participated. The frontispiece is a composite of major events in the poem to follow. The "sylphs," spirits of vanity and erotic desire, float around Belinda, the heroine of the poem, as she puts on her makeup; they also drop playing cards, alluding to the card game in Canto III, and point to the shooting star that ascends at the end of Canto V. In the front lower right of the image, a satyr, with pointed ears and cloven hoofs, holds the kind of mask that women in the period sometimes wore in public; like many authors in the period, Pope is playing on the homophone between "satyr," the sexually-aggressive half-human, half-animals of Greek mythology, and "satire," the literary form of which "The Rape of the Lock" is an example. Behind the characters is the facade of Hampton Court Palace, the royal home down the Thames from London where much of the action of the poem takes place. Pope clearly intended the images and the poem to be read together, a feature that is not possible in most modern reproductions of the poem, which rely on the poetic text alone. Title Page The Rape of the LockAlexander Pope’s "The Rape of the Lock" is the most famous poem written in English in the eighteenth century. Chances are, if a modern reader knows only one poem from the period, this is the one. Which is a strange thing. The poem’s subject matter is unusual, even unique: the cutting off of a lock of hair from the head of a young woman and the aftermath of that event. And the poem is written in a form, the heroic couplet, that is rarely used today. But "The Rape of the Lock" has endured because it so fully captured, while also satirizing, an image of a particular world, a world of aristocratic ease, but also great anxiety. And it is also an astonishing accomplishment simply as a poem. No poet of the eighteenth century used the heroic couplet more deftly than Alexander Pope (depicted here in a contemporary painting by Charles Jervis; National Portrait Gallery, London), and perhaps nowhere in his career did he craft couplets and the larger units he built from them—verse paragraphs, cantos, the entire poem itself—with greater verve and delicacy. The poem is based on a true story. At a party one day in 1710 or 1711, Robert Petre, a young man from an aristocratic family, crept up behind Arabella Fermor, a young woman also from a prosperous household, and cut off a lock of her hair. Petre may have thought of this as an amusing, or even a flirtatious prank, but she was angry, and the two families started snubbing and sniping at each other. Years later, Pope described what happened next: “The stealing of Miss Belle Fermor’s hair was taken too seriously, and caused an estrangement between the two families, though they had lived long in great friendship before. A common acquaintance and well-wisher to both desired me to write a poem to make a jest of it, and laugh them together again. It was in this view that I wrote my Rape of the Lock, which was well received and had its effect in the two families.” The “common acquaintance” was John Caryll, a friend of Pope’s who was also close to both the Fermor and Petre families. Like all of them, Caryll was also a Catholic who faced persecution in an era when the government of Britain continued to suspect that Catholics were potentially a subversive force whose loyalties to the Protestant monarchy could not be assured. And sometimes with reason; Caryll was a Jacobite, a supporter of the exiled Pretender, the Stuart James III, then living in exile in France. James continued to claim that he was the true king of Britain, and there were Jacobites who called for the restoration of the Stuart monarchy until the movement was finally defeated at the Battle of Culloden in Scotland in 1745. Caryll never joined in any of the conspiracies that took place in the early part of the century to restore the Stuart monarchy, but he did secretly give financial support to a Catholic church in his neighborhood, which was itself illegal. Caryll may have felt that Catholics in Britain had enough problems without feuding among themselves. Pope, who was at this point starting work on a massive translation of Homer’s poem The Iliad, seems quickly to have seen the possibility of re-imagining the incident in epic terms, creating what has been called a “mock epic” for the way in which it uses the conventions of epic poetry to describe what is by comparison a trivial event. Pope’s memory of the happy outcome of the poem was, however, a little rose colored from time. Pope wrote the first version of "The Rape of the Lock" quickly—he said it took two weeks; he may have been exaggerating—and it then circulated among the families and their friends in manuscript for a while. That version of the poem, which was much shorter than the one that has ultimately been most read, was published anonymously in 1712, and at this point things got more complicated. As more and more people read the poem now that it was in print, the double entendres and erotic implications of Pope’s work became clearer, and Arabella Fermor—who had initially agreed with letting the poem be printed—was embarrassed as friends started pointing out to her where the dirty jokes were. Sir Charles Brown, the original for the “Sir Plume” of the poem, was also angry at the way he was portrayed (as an idiot). Pope went back to work, and over the course of the next couple of years, added the elaborate “machinery” of the poem, the sylphs and fairies that hover around the action, embedding the original story in a framework of fantasy that deflects some of the agency of the central characters. (Robert Petre’s response to the publication of the first version of the poem is, by the way, unrecorded. Petre married Catherine Walsmeley in 1712, but he died only a few months later from smallpox.) Pope included a letter of dedication to Arabella Fermor that aimed to defuse some of her anger. That new edition, handsomely printed with engravings accompanying each canto, was published as a separate volume in 1714, and immediately became a best-seller, selling around 3,000 copies in four days, which even now would be an extraordinary total for any book, much less a poem in rhyming couplets. It has been admired, critiqued, and argued with ever since. AN HEROI-COMICAL Pope is the inventor of this term, which first appeared here at the opening of The Rape of the Lock. He is indicating that he will emulate such epics as Homer's Iliad or Milton's Paradise Lost, but in a comic register. POEM. In Five Canto's Written by Mr. POPE. —A tonso est hoc nomen adepta capillo. The full quote, which comes from Book VIII of Ovid's Metamorphoses, should read, "Ciris et, a tonso est hoc nomen adepta capillo": "She acquired the name from the cutting of the hair." Ovid's story, first published in 8 CE, goes like this. Nisus was the King of Alcathous and he had a lock of purple hair on his crown that (somehow) guaranteed the safety of his kingdom. Scylla, his daughter, fell in love with King Minos, who was conquering the kingdom, and in order to gain his favor, Scylla cut off the lock of her father's hair. But, disgusted with her disloyalty, Minos left by ship. As Scylla swam after Minos, King Nisos, having been transformed into a sea eagle, attempted to drown her. Instead of drowning, Scylla was turned to a sea bird and called Ciris, (i.e. "cutter"), being named after the lock that she cut off. See Ovid's Metamorphoses, translated by Anthony S. Kline, http://ovid.lib.virginia.edu/trans/Metamorph8.htm OVID. LONDON Printed for Bernard Lintott, at the Cross-keys in Fleetstreet. 1714. [Epistle.1] TO Mrs. ARABELLA FERMOUR. Arabella Fermor (1696-1737; image credit: Victoria and Albert Museum) was from a prominent Catholic family. She came to public attention in an unwelcome way when Robert Petre, from another prominent Catholic family, surreptitiously cut off a lock of her hair at a party. He may have thought it was a good prank, but she was (justifiably) angry, and the Fermor and Petre families (who may have been in negotiations to marry the two), became estranged. John Caryll, a friend of Pope's who was also Robert Petre's guardian, asked Pope to write about the incident in such a way as to make a joke of it and smooth relations. The Rape of the Lock is Pope's effort to heal the breach. He did not, however, ask Arabella Fermor for her approval before publishing the first version of the poem in 1712, and she was initially unhappy at the poem's double-entendre and the way that it seemed to compare her situation to raped heroines of antiquity like Helen of Troy or Lucrece. This letter, published with the much-enlarged 1714 edition of the poem, can be read in part as Pope's attempt to mollify her. MADAM, It will be in vain to deny that I have some value for this piece, since I dedicate Pope is probably referring to the Latin epigraph that appeared with the first edition of the poem: "Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos, / Sed juvat hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis," by the Roman poet Martial, in his Epigrams xii, 84, translates as, "I was loathe, Belinda, to violate your locks, but I am pleased to have granted that much to your prayers." Pope is insinuating that Arabella Fermor asked for the poem to be written. This was not the case. it to you. Yet you may bear me witness, it was intended only to divert a few young [Epistle.2] Ladies, who have good sense and good Humour enough, to laugh not only at their sex's little unguarded Follies, but at their own. But as it was communicated with the Air of a Secret, it soon found its Way into the World. An imperfect Copy having been offer'd to a Bookseller, You had the Good-Nature for my Sake to consent to the publication of one more correct: This I was forc'd to before I had executed half my Design, for the Machinery Refers to the fairy-like creatures in the poem: the sylphys, the nymphs, the gnomes, the salamanders. As he explains in the next line, they are the portrayals of what we would call in the real world, deities, angels or demons. was entirely wanting to compleat it. The Machinery Madam, is a Term invented by the Critiks, to signify that Part which the Deities, Angels, or Dæmons, are made to act in a poem: For the ancient Poets are in one respect like [Epistle.3] many modern Ladies; Let an Action be never so trivial in it self, they always make it appear of the utmost Importance. These Machines I determin'd to raise on a very new and odd Foundation, the Rosicrucian The Rosicrusians were an occult movement that emerged in the early seventeenth century in Europe. It was an odd combination of Christian mysticism and other kinds of esoteric teaching, such as the Kabbala, which comes out of the Jewish tradition. There were several Rosicrucian manifestos that laid out theories of mystical knowledge, and the movement had adherents and drew curious thinkers to it throughout Europe in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Pope does not seem to have been a serious adherent, but is here using some of the supernatural apparatus associated with Rosicrucianism to frame his story. Doctrine of Spirits. I know how disagreeable it is to make use of hard Words before a Lady It seems unlikely that Pope is aware how unctuous and condescending he sounds here; or perhaps he is aware and does not mind. It's hard to say with Pope.; but 'tis so much the Concern of a Poet to have his Works understood, and particularly by your Sex, that You must give me leave to explain two or three difficult Terms. The Rosicrucians are the People I must bring You acquainted with. The best Account I know of them is in the French Book call'd Le Comte de Gabalis, The Count of Gabala was written by Nicolas-Pierre-Henri of Montfaucon de Villars, a French cleric, and published in 1670. It is an odd book. In it, an anonymous narrator encounters the Comte de Gabalis, who teaches the narrator about the occult, including various beliefs associated with the Rosicrucians. The Count introduces such things as the Sylphs of the Air, the Undines of the Water, the Gnomes of the Earth and the Salamanders of Fire. It is entirely possible that de Villars is satirizing occult sciences, which had a vogue in seventeenth century Europe, as absurd or incompatible with orthodox religion. But it is hard to be sure; this may be an example of a satire that does not make its intentions clear enough. which [Epistle.4] both in its Title and Size is so like a Novel, that many of the fair Sex have read it for one by Mistake. To an English reader of 1714, the word "novel" still sounded like a French import, and it would have denoted a short, perhaps slightly scandalous, love story. The novel was not understood to be a serious genre, a form of literature. Any reading of a novel for more than entertainment is a "mistake." According to these Gentlemen, the four Elements are inhabited by Spirits, which they call Sylphs, Gnomes, Nymphs, and Salamanders. The Gnomes, or Dæmons of Earth, delight in Mischief; but the Sylphs, whose Habitation is Air, are the best-condition'd Creatures imaginable. For the say, any Mortals may enjoy the most intimate Fa miliarities with these gentle Spirits, upon a Condition very easie to all true Adepts, an involate Preservation of Chastity. As to the following Canto's, all the Passages of them are as Fabulous, as the Vision at the beginning, or the Transformation at the End; (except the Loss of your [Epistle.5] Hair, which I always name with Reverence.) The Human Persons are as Fictitious as the Airy ones; and the Character of Belinda, as it is now manag'd, resembles You in nothing but in Beauty. If this Poem had as many Graces as there are in Your Person, or in Your Mind, yet I could never hope it should pass thro' the World half so Uncensured as You have done. But let its Fortune be what it will, mine is happy enough, to have given me this Occasion of assuring You that I am. with the truest Esteem, Madam, Your Most Obedient Humble Servant. A. POPE. [Engraving] Figure 1 1 THE RAPE of the LOCK. CANTO I. 1 WHAT dire Offence from am'rous Causes springs, 2 What mighty Quarrels rise from Trivial Things, 3 I sing -- This Verse to C---l John Caryll, the mutual friend of Pope and the two families involved in the dispute; he seems to have attempted to mediate between them, in part suggesting that Pope write this poem., Muse! is due; 6 This, ev'n Belinda The heroine of the poem, inspired by Arabella Fermor. may vouchsafe to view: 7 Slight is the Subject, but not so the Praise, 8 If She inspire, and He approve my Lays. 2 1 Say what strange Motive, Goddess! cou'd compel 2 A well-bred Lord t'assault a gentle Belle? 3 Oh say what stranger Cause, yet unexplor'd, 4 Cou'd make a gentle Belle reject a Lord ? 5 And dwells such Rage in softest Bosoms then? 6 And lodge such daring Souls in Little Men? 7 Sol Sol is Latin for the Sun. thro' white Curtains did his Beams display, 8 And op'd those Eyes which brighter shine than they; 9 Now Shock Belinda's lapdog. had giv'n himself the rowzing Shake, 10 And Nymphs prepar'd their Chocolate Chocolate, served in this period only as a drink, was enormously popular, especially among those who could afford it as well as the sugar to cut the bitterness. to take; 11 Thrice the wrought Slipper knock'd against the Ground, Belinda stomps her slippered foot on the ground to call for her maid. 12 And striking Watches Striking watches indicate the hour and quarter-hour by means of hammers hitting bells or gongs. The watch rang, announcing that it was 10 o'clock.the tenth Hour resound. 13 Belinda still her downy Pillow prest, 14 Her Guardian Sylph sylphs here are imagined as feminine spirits that stand guard over young women prolong'd the balmy Rest. 15 'Twas he Ariel, Belinda's guardian Sylph, created the dream that she was having.had summon'd to her silent Bed 16 The Morning Dream that hover'd o'er her Head. 17 A Youth more glitt'ring than a Birth-night Beau a young man dressed up for the Queen's birthday, one of highlights of the social calendar in this period., 18 (That ev'n in Slumber caus'd her Cheek to glow) 3 19 Seem'd to her Ear his winning Lips to lay, 20 And thus in Whispers said, or seem'd to say. 21 Fairest of Mortals, thou distinguish'd Care 22 Of thousand bright Inhabitants of Air! 23 If e'er one Vision touch'd thy infant Thought, 24 Of all the Nurse and all the Priest have taught, 25 Of airy Elves by Moonlight Shadows seen, 26 The silver TokenFolklore that says that fairies and elves left silver tokens in rings of dark coarse grass that were supposed to be where fairies danced. The tokens were supposedly left for humans who were favored by fairies. Pat Rogers attributes the use to Jonathan Swift's Dryades: Or, the Nymphs Prophesy, although that probably comes from ancient folklore as well. Rogers, Pat. "Faery Lore and The Rape of the Lock." Essays on Pope. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1993. Print., and the circled Green, 27 Or Virgins visited by Angel-Pow'rs, 28 With Golden Crowns and Wreaths of heav'nly Flowers, 29 Hear and believe! thy own Importance know, 30 Nor bound thy narrow Views to Things below. 31 Some secret Truths from Learned Pride conceal'd, 32 To Maids alone and Children are reveal'd: 33 What tho' no Credit doubting Wits may give? 34 The Fair and Innocent shall still believe. 35 Know then, unnumbered Spirits round thee fly, 36 The light Militiafairy creatures, imagined here as soldiers of the lower Sky; 4 37 These, tho' unseen, are ever on the WingThe creatures are always present (on the wing meaning in flight) in the places where London's society is found., 38 Hang o'er the BoxA ‘box’ in a theatre or opera-house. , and hover round the RingRing - Charles I created a circular track called the Ring in Hyde Park where members of the royal court could drive their carriages. The park was opened to the public in 1637 and it soon became a fashionable place to visit.. 39 Think what an EquipageHere it refers to a carriage with horses and attendants, but can also just mean carriage alone. thou hast in Air, 40 And view with scorn Two Pages and a Chairtwo servants carrying a woman in a sedan chair. 41 As now your own, our Beings were of old, 42 And once inclos'd in Woman's beauteous MoldThe fairy creatures used to be beautiful women like Belinda.; 43 Thence, by a soft TransitionPossibly death, or some (magical) means by which they are transformed from their human selves in to the fairy creatures., we repair 44 From earthly Vehicles to those of Air. 45 Think not, when Woman's transient Breath is fled, 46 That all her Vanities at once are dead: 47 Succeeding Vanities she still regards, 48 And tho' she plays no more, o'erlooks the Cards. After the "transition" spoken of earlier, a former coquette now turned into a sylph still can see and look at the cards although she does not play.. 49 Her Joy in gilded Chariots, when alive, 50 And Love of Ombre A trick-taking card game for three people using forty cards. A game of ombre is played later on and is described in detail in Canto III. It is almost certainly no coincidence that the word ombre is archaic Spanish for "man"; Belinda is literally and figuratively playing the game of man.", after Death survive. 51 For when the Fair in all their Pride expire, 52 To their first Elements the Souls retire; 53 The Sprights of fiery Termagants in Flame Different kinds of women became transformed into different kinds of spirits. The fiery boisterous women became Salamanders. The mild demure women became Nymphs. The prudish women became Gnomes. The flirty girlish women became Sylphs. 54 Mount up, and take a Salamander's Name. 55 Soft yielding Minds to Water glide away, 56 And sip with Nymphs, their Elemental Tea. 5 57 The graver Prude sinks downward to a Gnome , 58 In search of Mischief still on Earth to roam. 59 The light Coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair, 60 And sport and flutter in the Fields of Air. 61 Know farther yet; Whoever fair and chaste 62 Rejects Mankind, is by some Sylph embrac'd: 63 For Spirits, freed from mortal Laws, with ease 64 Assume what Sexes and what Shapes they please. 65 What guards the Purity of melting Maids, 66 In Courtly Balls, and Midnight Masquerades, 67 Safe from the treach'rous Friend, and daring Spark, 68 The Glance by Day, the Whisper in the Dark; 69 When kind Occasion prompts their warm Desires, 70 When Musick softens, and when Dancing fires? 71 'Tis but their Sylph, the wise Celestials know, 72 Tho' Honour That is, women's chastity only seems to be governed by honour; it is really the intervention of the sylphs that sustains chastity. is the Word with Men below. 73 Some Nymphs there are, too conscious of their Face, 74 For Life predestin'd to the Gnomes Embrace 6 75 Who swell their Prospects and exalt their Pride, 76 When Offers are disdain'd, and Love deny'd. 77 Then gay Ideas crowd the vacant Brain; 78 While Peers and Dukes, and all their sweeping Train, 79 And Garters, Stars, and Coronets appear, 80 And in soft Sounds, Your Grace salutes their Ear. 81 'Tis these that early taint the Female Soul, 82 Instruct the Eyes of young Coquettes to roll, 83 Teach Infants Cheeks a bidden Blush to know, 84 And little Hearts to flutter at a Beau. 85 Oft when the World imagine Women stray, 86 The Sylphs thro' mystick Mazes guide their Way, 87 Thro' all the giddy Circle they pursue, 88 And old Impertinence expel by new. 89 What tender Maid but must a Victim fall 90 To one Man's Treat, but for another's Ball? 91 When Florio Not a reference to any specific men. Florio, along with Damon, were common names used in early epic poetry to refer to men in general, the way we use, Tom, Dick, and Harry, today. "The aristocratic young men of the time were, like the ladies, lacking in any serious purpose or morality. Florio and Damon are representatives of those gallants and fops who vie with one another to capture the hearts of the ladies. speaks, what Virgin could withstand, 92 If gentle Damon did not squeeze her Hand? 7 93 With varying Vanities, from ev'ry Part, 94 They shift the moving Toyshop of their Heart; 95 Where Wigs with Wigs, with Sword-knots Sword-knots strive, 96 Beaus banish Beaus, and Coaches Coaches drive. 97 This erring Mortals Levity may call, 98 Oh blind to Truth! the Sylphs contrive it all. 99 Of these am I, who thy Protection claim, 100 A watchful Sprite, and Ariel is my Name. 101 Late, as I rang'd the Crystal Wilds of Air, 102 In the clear Mirror of thy ruling Star 103 I saw, alas! some dread Event impend, 104 E're to the Main the open sea this Morning's Sun descend. 105 But Heav'n reveals not what, or how, or where: 106 Warn'd by thy Sylph, oh Pious Maid beware! 107 This to disclose is all thy Guardian can. 108 Beware of all, but most beware of Man! 109 He said; when Shock, who thought she slept too long, 110 Leapt up, and wak'd his Mistress with his Tongue. 8 111 'Twas then Belinda! if Report say true, 112 Thy Eyes first open'd on a Billet-doux a love letter; 113 Wounds, Charms, and Ardors, were no sooner read 114 But all the Vision vanish'd from thy Head. 114 And now, unveil'd, the Toilet a small dressing table stands display'd, 116 Each Silver Vase in mystic Order laid. 117 First, rob'd in White, the Nymph intent adores 118 With Head uncover'd, the cosmetic Pow'rs. 119 A heav'nly Image in the Glass mirror appears, 120 To that she bends, to that her Eyes she rears; 121 Th' inferior Priestess, at her Altar's Belinda's "toilet" is likened to an "altar" at which Belinda and her maid are now left to worship the priestess, or Belinda's "heav'nly image" as mentioned two lines above this line. By this point, it has become clear that the vanity nurtured by the Gnomes has set in, leaving the mortal human beings to worship a new priestess, Belinda's reflection.side, 122 Trembling, begins the sacred Rites of Pride 123 Unnumber'd Treasures ope at once, and here 124 The various Off'rings of the World During the 18th century, Britain became the dominant empire among European trading empires as it became the first western nation to industrialize. During this time, merchants began trading with both North America and the West Indies, where colonies had been established. This granted Britain access to parts of the world and their amenities that had previously been unbeknownst to them. The ability to interact with far-off countries such as India and Arabia yielded new luxuries and a new understanding of the world outside of Europe. The ability for Belinda to have access to these luxuries further exemplifies her wealth. appear; 125 From each she nicely culls with curious Toil, 126 And decks the Goddess with the glitt'ring Spoil"Glitt'ring spoil" refers directly to the spoils of war, "valuables seized by violence, especially in war," most likely as a result of the colonization of these foreign lands in pursuit of broadening trade opportunities. . 127 This Casket a. A small box or chest for jewels, letters, or other things of value, itself often of valuable material and richly ornamented. India's glowing Gems Since before recorded history, India has been a leading source for precious gems, producing some of the finest gemstones. unlocks, 128 And all Arabia Refers to scented oils or perfumes from the Arabian Peninsula or the middle east. as it is now known. They came in elaborate and ornate containers and were very expensive. breaths from yonder Box. 9 129 The Tortoise here and Elephant Hair combs made from tortoise shell and ivory from elephant tusks.unite, 130 Transform'd to Combs, the speckled and the white. 131 Here Files of Pins extend their shining Rows, 132 Puffs, Powders, Patches"a small disk of black silk attached to the face, especially as worn by women in the 17th and 18th centuries for adornment" (Oxford English Dictionary) This is essentially an artificial beauty mark. , Bibles, Billet-doux. 133 Now awful in the sense of "awe-inspiring"Beauty puts on all its ArmsArms: (n.) weapons With the use of militaristic diction as seen in "puts in all its Arms", Pope has Belinda preparing for battle just as Achilles prepared for the Trojan War in Homer's Iliad.; 134 The Fair each moment rises in her Charms, 135 Repairs her Smiles, awakens ev'ry Grace, 136 And calls forth all the Wonders of her Face; 137 Sees by Degrees a purer Blush arise, 138 And keener Lightnings quicken in her Eyes. 139 The busy Sylphs surround their darling Care; 140 These set the Head, and those divide the Hair, 141 Some fold the Sleeve, while others plait the Gown; 142 And Betty her maid.'s prais'd for Labours not her own. Engraving Figure 2 10 THE RAPE of the LOCK. CANTO II. 1 NOT with more Glories, in th' Etherial Of or relating to heaven, God, or the gods; heavenly, celestial. Oxford English DictionaryPlain, 2 The Sun first rises o'er the purpled Main, 3 Than issuing forth, the Rival that is, Belinda is as bright as the sun of his Beams 4 Lanch'd on the Bosom of the Silver Thames. 5 Fair NymphsThe other women traveling with her (here not the nymphs who are the protectors of her chastity)., and well-drest Youths around her shone, 6 But ev'ry Eye was fix'd on her alone. 7 On her white Breast a sparkling Cross she wore, 8 Which Jews The cross here is stripped of its Christian meaning; it is Belinda who people are now worshipping might kiss, and Infidels adore. 11 9 Her lively Looks a sprightly Mind disclose, 10 Quick as her Eyes, and as unfix'd as those: 11 Favours to none, to all she Smiles extends, 12 Oft she rejects, but never once offends. 13 Bright as the Sun, her Eyes the Gazers strike, 14 And, like the sun,they shine on all alike. 15 Yet graceful Ease, and Sweetness void of Pride, 16 Might hide her Faults, if Belles had faults to hide: 17 If to her share some Female Errors fall, 18 Look on her Face, and you'll forget 'em all. 19 This NymphBelinda, to the Destruction of Mankind, 20 Nourish'd two Locks, which graceful hung behind 21 In equal Curls, and well conspir'd to deck 22 With shining Ringlets her smooth Iv'ry In likening Belinda's neck to ivory, imported from Africa, the narrator again associates her beauty with the products of emergent colonialism and global commerce.Neck. 23 Love in these Labyrinths his Slaves detains, 24 And mighty Hearts are held in slender Chains. 25 With hairy Sprindges a snare used for bird-catching we the Birds betray, 26 Slight Lines of Hair surprize the Finny Prey Finny, adj., "Provided with or having fins; finned." The "Finny Prey> refers to fish, which are also caught with a hair-like line, reiterating the comparison of beauty as a deadly trap. "finny, adj.1." Oxford English Dictionary, 12 27 Fair Tresses " A plait or braid of the hair of the head, usually of a woman. A long lock of hair (esp. that of a woman), without any sense of its being plaited or braided; mostly in pl. tresses." "tress, n." Oxford English Dictionary Man's Imperial Race insnare, 28 And Beauty draws us with a single Hair. 29 Th' Adventrous Baron the bright Locks admir'd, 30 He saw, he wish'd, and to the Prize aspir'd: 31 Resolv'd to win, he meditates the way, 32 By Force to ravish, or by Fraud betray; 33 For when Success The "Success" of a "Lover's Toil" in this era would be marriage. a Lover's Toil attends, 34 Few ask, if Fraud or Force attain'd his Ends. 35 For this, e're Phaebus Variant spelling of Phoebus, a common name for Apollo, god of the sun. Oxford English Dictionary rose, he had implor'd 36 Propitious Heav'n, and ev'ry Pow'r ador'd, 37 But chiefly Love ---to Love an Altar built, 38 Of twelve vast French Romances, neatly gilt. 39 There lay the Sword-knot "n. a ribbon or tassel tied to the hilt of a sword (originating from the thong or lace with which the hilt was fastened to the wrist, but later used chiefly as a mere ornament or badge)." "sword-knot, n." Oxford English Dictionary Sylvia's Hands had sown, 40 With Flavia's Busk "A strip of wood, whalebone, steel, or other rigid material attached vertically to the front section of a corset so as to stiffen and support it." "busk, n.3." Oxford English Dictionary that oft had rapp'd his own: 41 A Fan, a Garter, half a Pair of Gloves; 42 And all the Trophies of his former Loves. 43 With tender Bilet-doux love letters he lights the Pyre, 44 And breaths three am'rous Sighs to raise the Fire. 13 45 Then prostrate "Of a person: lying with the face to the ground, in token of submission or humility, as in adoration, worship, or supplication; (hence more generally) lying stretched out on the ground, typically with the face downwards. Freq. in predicative or quasi-adverbial use, as in to fall prostrate, to lie prostrate, etc." Oxford English Dictionary falls, and begs with ardent Eyes 46 Soon to obtain, and long possess the Prize "The Prize" refers to Belinda's lock of hair.: 47 The Pow'rs gave Ear "Gave Ear" means that they (the ambiguous supernatural entities) listened to the Baron., and granted half his Pray'r, 48 The rest, the Winds dispers'd in empty Air. 49 But now secure the painted Vessel The "painted Vessel" refers to the boat gliding across the river Thames, carrying Belinda to Hampton Court.glides, 50 The Sun-beams trembling on the floating Tydes, 51 While melting Musick steals upon the Sky, 52 And soften'd Sounds along the Waters die. 53 Smooth flow the Waves, the Zephyrs "The west wind, esp. as personified, or the god of the west wind." Oxford English Dictionary gently play 54 Belinda smil'd, and all the World was gay. 55 All but the Sylph ----With careful Thoughts opprest, 56 Th' impending Woe sate heavy on his Breast. 57 He summons strait his Denizens That is, the other sylphs.of Air; 58 The lucid "Bright, shining, luminous, resplendent." Oxford English DictionarySquadrons round the Sails repair: 59 Soft o'er the Shrouds Aerial Whispers breath, 60 That seem'd but Zephyrs to the Train beneath. 61 Some to the Sun their Insect-Wings unfold, 62 Waft on the Breeze, or sink in Clouds of Gold. 14 63 Transparent Forms, too fine for mortal Sight, 64 Their fluid Bodies half dissolv'd in Light. 65 Loose to the Wind their airy Garments flew, 66 Thin glitt'ring Textures of the filmy Dew; 67 Dipt in the richest Tincture "A colouring matter, dye, pigment; spec. a dye used as a cosmetic." Oxford English Dictionaryof the Skies, 68 Where Light disports in ever-mingling Dies Variant spelling of "dyes.", 69 While ev'ry Beam new transient Colours flings, 70 Colours that change whene'er they wave their Wings. 71 Amid the Circle, on the gilded Mast, 72 Superior by the Head, was Ariel plac'd; 73 His Purple Pinions "A bird's wing; esp. (chiefly poet. and rhetorical) the wing of a bird in flight. Also: the terminal segment of a bird's wing, bearing the primary flight feathers." Oxford English Dictionary.opening to the Sun, 74 He rais'd his Azure bright blue Wand, and thus begun. 75 Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your Chief That is, Arial, who goes on to give a speech to the other spirits.give Ear, 76 Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Daemons hear! 77 Ye know the Spheres and various Tasks assign'd, 78 By Laws Eternal, to th' Aerial Kind. 79 Some in the Fields of purest AEther play, 80 And bask and whiten in the Blaze of Day. 15 81 Some guide the Course of wandring Orbs Celestial bodies not in a regular orbit, such as comets. on high, 82 Or roll the Planets thro' the boundless Sky. 83 Some less refin'd, beneath the Moon's pale Light 84 Hover, and catch the shooting stars by Night; 85 Or suck the Mists in grosser Air below, 86 Or dip their Pinions in the painted Bow Rainbow, 87 Or brew fierce Tempests on the wintry Main. 88 Or on the Glebe Soil distill the kindly Rain. 89 Others on Earth o'er human Race preside, 90 Watch all their Ways, and all their Actions guide: 91 Of these the Chief the Care of Nations own, 92 And guard with Arms Divine the British Throne. 93 Our humbler Province is to tend the Fair Young women, such as Belinda, 94 Not a less pleasing, tho' less glorious Care. 95 To save the Powder Face-powder from too rude a Gale, 96 Nor let th' imprison'd Essences exhale, 97 To draw fresh Colours from the vernal "Of, pertaining or belonging to, the springtime; appropriate to the spring; spring-like: Of weather, scenery, etc." Oxford English Dictionary Flow'rs, 98 To steal from Rainbows ere they drop in Show'rs 16 99 A brighter Wash; to curl their waving Hairs, 100 Assist their Blushes, and inspire their Airs; 101 Nay oft, in Dreams, Invention we bestow, 102 To change a Flounce "An ornamental appendage to the skirt of a lady's dress, consisting of a strip gathered and sewed on by its upper edge around the skirt, and left hanging and waving.’ Oxford English Dictionary, or add a Furbelo Variant spelling of "furbelow: "A piece of stuff pleated and puckered on a gown or petticoat; a flounce; the pleated border of a petticoat or gown." Oxford English Dictionary.. 103 This Day, black Omens threat the brightest Fair That is, Belinda. 104 That e'er deserv'd a watchful Spirit's Care; 105 Some dire Disaster, or by Force, or Slight, 106 But what, or where, the Fates have wrapt "Concealed, covered, hidden." "wrapped, adj." Oxford English Dictionaryin Night. 107 Whether the Nymph shall break Diana "An ancient Roman female divinity, the moon-goddess, patroness of virginity and of hunting." Oxford English Dictionary "Diana's" law would be the law of chastity or virginity, so to break the law would be to have pre-marital sex.'s Law, 108 Or some frail China Jar receive a Flaw, 109 Or stain her Honour, or her new Brocade "A textile fabric woven with a pattern of raised figures, originally in gold or silver." Oxford English Dictionary, 110 Forget her Pray'rs, or miss a Masquerade, 111 Or lose her Heart, or Necklace, at a Ball; 112 Or whether Heav'n has doom'd that Shock must fall. 113 Haste then ye Spirits! to your Charge repair; 114 The flutt'ring Fan be Zephyretta The nymphs' names are invented, each derived from a word related to the object entrusted to it. "Zephyretta," from "zypher" has care of the breeze-producing fan.'s Care; 115 The Drops to thee, Brillante "Brillante," from 'brilliant', is entrusted with Belinda's shining earrings., we consign; 116 And Momentilla "Momentilla" is the nymph in charge of the pocket-watch., let the Watch be thine; 17 117 Do thou, Crispissa "Crispissa," from "crisp," has charge of the two precise curls of hair., tend her fav'rite Lock; 118 Ariel himself shall be the Guard of Shock. 119 To Fifty chosen Sylphs, of special Note, 120 We trust th' important Charge, the Petticoat : 121 Oft have we known that sev'nfold Fence to fail; 122 Tho' stiff with Hoops, and arm'd with Ribs of Whale Whalebone was used to form the ribs in women's corsets and skits.. 123 Form a strong Line about the Silver Bound, 124 And guard the wide Circumference around. 125 Whatever spirit, careless of his Charge, 126 His Post neglects, or leaves the Fair at large, 127 Shall feel sharp Vengeance soon o'ertake his Sins, 128 Be stopt "That is, stopped or blocked. in Vials "A vessel of a small or moderate size used for holding liquids; in later use spec., a small glass bottle" Oxford English Dictionary, or transfixt with Pins; 129 Or plung'd in Lakes of bitter Washes lie, 130 Or wedg'd whole Ages in a Bodkin's "A needle-like instrument with a blunt knobbed point, having a large (as well as a small) eye, for drawing tape or cord through a hem, loops, etc." Oxford English Dictionary. Eye: 131 Gums and Pomatums "An ointment for the skin or hair; = pomade" "pomatum, n." Oxford English Dictionary shall his Flight restrain, 132 While clog'd he beats his silken Wings in vain; 133 Or Alom- Stypticks A "styptic" is a kind of medicine used to contract organic tissue (for example, to stop a cut bleeding), frequently made out of "alum," a type of mineral salt. Oxford English Dictionary with contracting Power 134 Shrink his thin Essence like a rivell'd Flower. 18 135 Or as Ixion "Ixion, in Greek legend, murdered his father-in-law and could find no one to purify him until Zeus did so. Ixion abused his pardon by trying to seduce Zeus’s wife, Hera. Zeus, to punish him, bound him on a fiery wheel, which rolled unceasingly through the air or, according to the more common tradition, in the underworld." "Ixion | Greek Mythology." Encyclopedia Britannica Online fix'd, the Wretch shall feel 136 The giddy Motion of the whirling Mill Compares being trapped in the grinder of a coffee mill to the mythological figure Ixion, who was fixed to a fire wheel spinning in the air of the underworld forever. 137 Midst Fumes of burning Chocolate shall glow, 138 And tremble at the Sea This is referring to the hot coffee in the grinder/pot.that froaths below! 139 He That is, Arial, the leader of the spirits.spoke; the Spirits from the Sails descend; 140 Some, Orb in Orb, around the Nymph That is, Belinda.extend, 141 Some thrid That is, the spirits "threaded" her hair.the mazy Ringlets of her Hair, 142 Some hang upon the Pendants of her Ear; 143 With beating Hearts the dire Event they wait, 144 Anxious, and trembling for the Birth of Fate. [Engraving] Figure 3 19 THE RAPE of the LOCK. CANTO III. 1 CLOSE by those Meads That is, meadows.for ever crown'd with Flow'rs, 2 Where Thames with Pride surveys his rising Tow'rs, 3 There stands a Structure of Majestick Frame, 4 Which from the neighb'ring Hampton Hampton Court Palace, a royal palace on the banks of the Thames River, about twelve miles from central London. The palace was originally built by Cardinal Wolsey starting in 1514. He gave it to Henry VIII as a way of trying to get back in Henry's good graces, but it did not work; Wolsey was executed anyway for failing to get Henry the divorce he wanted. Henry built Hampton Court into an enormous royal palace. In the late 1600s, the great architect Christopher Wren built an enormous extension for William III. They tore down part of the earlier palace and added on in what was then the modern style, creating a large Baroque palace designed to emulate the Palace of Versailles in France, at that time the grandest royal palace in Europe. In the early part of the eighteenth century, when this poem takes place, Hampton Court was the most important royal palace in England, where the monarch usually lived, and courtiers like Belinda and the Baron would have flocked there to make their presence known at court. Image: Hampton Court Palace by Andreas Tille, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons takes its Name. 5 Here Britain's Statesmen oft the Fall foredoom 6 Of Foreign Tyrants, and of Nymphs at home; 7 Here Thou, great Anna Queen Anne (1665-1714), the last Stuart monarch of Great Britain. She took the throne upon the death of her father, William III in 1702. She died the year that the poem was published. [Image: Queen Anne, painted by Michael Dahl, around 1705 (National Portrait Gallery)].! whom three Realms obey, 8 Dost sometimes Counsel take--and sometimes Tea. 20 9 Hither the Heroes and the Nymphs resort, 10 To taste awhile the Pleasures of a Court; 11 In various Talk th' instructive hours they past, 12 Who gave a Ball, or paid the Visitlast: 13 One speaks the Glory of the British Queen, 14 And one describes a charming Indian Screen; 15 A third interprets Motions, Looks, and Eyes; 16 At ev'ry Word a Reputation dies. 17 Snuff, or the Fan, supply each Pause of Chat, 18 With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that. 19 Mean while declining from the Noon of Day, 20 The Sun obliquely shoots his burning Ray; 21 The hungry Judges soon the Sentence sign, 22 And Wretches hang that Jury-men may Dine; 23 The Merchant from th' Exchange returns in Peace, 24 And the long Labours of the Toilette cease ---- 25 Belinda now, whom Thirst of Fame invites, 26 Burns to encounter two adventrous Knights, 21 27 At Ombre Ombre was a popular three-player card game similar to the modern game of Bridge. Each game can have nine rounds (“tricks”). The most straightforward way to win is by taking five tricks (drawing the highest-ranked card in each round), after which the game ends. The game begins with an auction to decide the trump suit. The highest-bidding player is the “ombre” (from the Spanish “hombre” for "man"), and the other two play against her while trying to ensure their individual successes. The penalty enacted on each of the two non-ombres is greater if the ombre wins than if the other non-ombre wins. Similarly, the ombre will lose more if either of the two gains five tricks than if no one has won five at the end of nine rounds. The game was popular among the aristocratic class throughout Europe. The joke throughout is that Belinda is in effect playing the game of "man," both on the card table and in life. The game as it plays out over the next section of the poem is an entirely plausible game, with each move following according to the actual rules of ombre. Belinda, for example, wins the starting auction and becomes the "ombre" for duration of this game. See Alban George Henry Gibbs, The Game of Ombre. London: privately printed, 1874, 3rd edition (expanded) 1902, upon which we rely in tracing the course of the game. singly to decide their Doom; 28 And swells her Breast with Conquests yet to come. 29 Strait the three Bands prepare in Arms to join, 30 Each Band the number of the Sacred Nine. 31 Soon as she spreads her Hand, th' Aerial Guard 32 Descend, and fit on each important Card, 33 First Ariel perch'd upon a Matadore The matadores (spadillio, manillio, and basto) are the three highest-ranking cards in the trump suit. The matadore would be the ace of spades; the manillio card is the lowest ranking card in the trump suit (the suit would vary from game to game, identified by the winner of the auction at the start), and the basto is the ace of clubs. Belinda controls all three., 34 Then each, according to the Rank they bore; 35 For Sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient Race, 36 Are, as when Women, wondrous fond of place. 37 Behold, four Kings in Majesty rever'd, 38 With hoary Whiskers and a forky Beard; 39 And four fair Queens whose hands sustain a Flow'r, 40 Th' expressive Emblem of their softer Pow'r; 41 Four Knaves in Garbs succinct, a trusty Band, 42 Caps on their heads, and Halberds in their hand; 43 And Particolour'd Troops, a shining Train, 44 Draw forth to Combat on the Velvet Plain That is, the cloth covering the three-sided card table on which Belinda and the two men are playing the game. The Kings, Queens, Jacks, and other cards are imagined as being arranged like soldiers on a battlefield.. 22 45 The skilful Nymph reviews her Force Belinda’s starting hand is made up of spadillio, manillio, basto: the king of spades, the king and queen of hearts, and the 5 and 4 of diamonds. The Baron begins the game with the king of clubs, the jack, 7, 5, and 3 of spades (the trump suit), the king, queen, and jack of diamonds, and the ace of hearts. Belinda and the Baron both have extremely strong hands, while the third character has no strong cards.with Care; 46 Let Spades be Trumps Having won the "auction" at the start of the game by outbidding the other two players, Belinda chooses the trump suit., she said, and Trumps they were. 47 Now move to War her Sable matadores, 48 In Show like Leaders of the swarthy Moors. 49 Spadillio first, unconquerable Lord! 50 Led off two captive Trumps, and swept the Board 51 As many more Manillio forc'd to yield, 52 And march'd a Victor from the verdant Field. 53 Him Basto follow'd, but his Fate more hard 54 Gain'd but one Trump and one Plebeian Card. 55 With his broad Sabre next, a Chief in Years, 56 The hoary Majesty of Spades appears; 57 Puts forth one manly Leg, to fight reveal'd; 58 The rest his many-colour'd Robe conceal'd. 59 The Rebel- Knave, that dares his Prince engage, 60 Proves the just Victim of his Royal Rage. 61 Ev'n mighty Pam that Kings and Queens o'erthrow, 62 And mow'd down Armies in the Fights of Lu, 63 And Chance of War! now, destitute of Aid, 64 Falls undistinguish'd by the Victor Spade Belinda quickly wins the first five rounds or "tricks" of the game by playing her cards skilfully.! 23 65 Thus far both Armies to Belinda yield; 66 Now to the Baron In the following three stanzas, the Baron begins to threaten Belinda’s winning streak. He wins tricks five through eight, tying their scores. His first move is with the Queen of Spades. Fate inclines the Field. 67 His warlike Amazon her Host invades, 68 Th' Imperial Consort of the Crown of Spades. 69 The Club's black Tyrant first her Victim dy'd, 70 Spite of his haughty Mien, and barb'rous Pride: 71 What boots the Regal Circle on his Head, 72 His Giant Limbs in State unwiedly spread? 73 That long behind he trails his pompous Robe, 74 And of all Monarchs only grasps the Globe The King of Clubs is often pictured holding an orb, or globe.? 75 The Baron now his Diamonds pours apace; 76 Th' embroider'd King who shows but half his Face, 77 And his refulgent Queen, with Pow'rs combin'd, 78 Of broken Troops an easie Conquest find. 79 Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild Disorder seen, 80 With Throngs promiscuous strow the level Green. 81 Thus when dispers'd a routed Army runs, 82 Of Asia's Troops, and Africk's Sable Sons, 24 83 With like Confusion different Nations fly, 84 In various habits and of various Dye, 85 The pierc'd Battalions dis-united fall, 86 In Heaps on Heaps; one Fate o'erwhelms them all. 87 The Knave of Diamonds now exerts his Arts, 88 And wins (oh shameful Chance!) the Queen of Hearts. 89 At this, the Blood the Virgin's Cheek forsook, 90 A livid Paleness spreads o'er all her Look; 91 She sees, and trembles at th' approaching Ill, 92 Just in the Jaws of Ruin, and Codille A "codille" would be a loss at the game, if the Baron were to win the final trick. Belinda must either win trick nine, or hope that the third player does, in order to avoid losing to the Baron.. 93 And now, (as oft in some distemper'd State) 94 On one nice Trick A trick is a round. As explained above, a game consists of nine tricks; whoever takes five wins the game. At this point, with Belinda and the Baron tied with four tricks each, the game is down to the final round. depends the gen'ral Fate, 95 Lurk'd in her Hand, and mourn'd his captive Queen The Baron mourns that he has already played a Queen that could win the round. He plays an Ace; Belinda counters with a King (which in ombre outranks an Ace) and wins final trick and thus the game.. 96 He springs to Vengeance with an eager pace, 97 And falls like Thunder on the prostrate Ace. 98 The Nymph exulting fills with Shouts the Sky, 99 The Walls, the Woods, and long Canals reply. 25 100 Oh thoughtless Mortals! ever blind to Fate, 101 Too soon dejected, and too soon elate! 102 Sudden these Honours shall be snatch'd away, 103 And curs'd for ever this Victorious Day. 104 For lo! the Board with Cups and Spoons is crown'd, 105 The Berries Coffee beans, which are being ground in a mill to make fresh coffee. crackle, and the Mill turns round. 106 On shining Altars of Japan "Japan" was a style of wooden furniture, highly polished and often decorated in a vaguely Asian style; hence the name. Japan-style furtniture was expensive, and therefore fashionable among wealthy people in Europe at this time. they raise 107 The silver Lamp, and fiery Spirits blaze. 108 From silver Spouts the grateful Liquors glide, 109 And China's Earth receives the smoking Tyde. 110 At once they gratify their Scent and Taste, 111 While frequent Cups prolong the rich Repast. 112 Strait hover round the Fair her Airy Band; 113 Some, as she sip'd, the fuming Liquor fann'd, 114 Some o'er her Lap their careful Plumes display'd, 115 Trembling, and conscious of the rich Brocade. 116 Coffee, (which makes the Politician wise, 117 And see thro' all things with his half shut Eyes) 26 118 Sent up in Vapours to the Baron's Brain 119 New Stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain. 120 Ah cease rash Youth! desist e'er 'tis too late, 121 Fear the just Gods, and think of Scylla Nisus, king of Megara, was at war against Crete, but it was decreed by fate that his kingdom would be safe as long as a purple lock of hair remained on his head. His daughter Scylla fell in love with the king of Crete, Minos, and cut off her father's purple lock to give to him. Minos rejected the gift, and both Nisus and Scylla turned into birds.'s Fate! 122 Chang'd to a Bird, and sent to flit in Air, 123 She dearly pays for Nisus' injur'd Hair! 124 But when to Mischief Mortals bend their Mind, 125 How soon fit Instruments of Ill they find? 126 Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting Grace 127 A two-edg'd Weapon from her shining Case; 128 So Ladies in Romance assist their Knight, 129 Present the Spear, and arm him for the Fight. 130 He takes the Gift with rev'rence, and extends 131 The little Engine on his Finger's Ends, 132 This just behind Belinda's Neck he spread, 133 As o'er the fragrant Steams she bends her Head: 134 Swift to the Lock a thousand Sprights repair, 135 A thousand Wings, by turns, blow back the Hair, 27 136 And thrice they twitch'd the Diamond in her Ear, 137 Thrice she look'd back, and thrice the Foe drew near. 138 Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought 139 The close Recesses of the Virgin's Thought; 140 As on the Nosegay A nosegay is a small flower bouquet, worn like a corsage.in her Breast reclin'd, 141 He watch'd th' Ideas rising in her Mind, 142 Sudden he view'd, in spite of all her Art, 143 An Earthly Lover lurking at her Heart. 144 Amaz'd, confus'd, he found his Pow'r expir'd, 145 Resign'd to Fate, and with a Sigh retir'd. 146 The Peer now spreads the glitt'ring Forfex Latin for scissors. wide, 147 T'inclose the Lock; now joins it, to divide. 148 Ev'n then, before the fatal Engine clos'd, 149 A wretched Sylph too fondly interpos'd; 150 Fate urg'd the Sheers, and cut the Sylph in twain, 151 (*But Airy Substance soon unites again) A reference to John Milton's Paradise Lost, where Satan is injured in the war in heaven when a sword "Passed through him, but th' Ethereal substance closed/ Not long divisible." 152 The meeting Points that sacred Hair dissever 153 From the fair Head, for ever and for ever! 28 154 Then flash'd the living Lightnings from her Eyes, 155 And Screams of Horror rend th' affrighted Skies. 156 Not louder Shrieks by Dames to Heav'n are cast, 157 When Husbands or when Monkeys In eighteenth-century England, the wealthy kept many kinds of pets, including monkeys. The lower classes sometimes kept performing monkeys, which could earn them extra money.breath their last, 158 Or when rich China Vessels, fal'n from high, 159 In glittring Dust and painted Fragments lie! 160 Let Wreaths of Triumph In ancient Greece, laurel wreaths were worn as a symbol of victory or honor.now my Temples twine, 161 (The Victor cry'd) the glorious Prize is mine! 162 While Fish in Streams, or Birds delight in Air, 163 Or in a Coach and Six the British Fair, 164 As long as Atalantis Secret Memoirs and Manners of Several Persons of Quality, of Both Sexes, from the New Atalantis, an Island in the Mediterranean, published in 1709, was a scandalous but very popular work of fiction by Delarivier Manley. With its salacious details of politicians' private lives, the story satirizes the corruption of the aristocracy. shall be read, 165 Or the small Pillow grace a Lady's Bed, 166 While Visits shall be paid on solemn Days, 167 When numerous Wax-lights in bright Order blaze, 168 While Nymphs take Treats, or Assignations give, 169 So long my Honour, Name, and Praise shall live! 170 What Time wou'd spare, from Steel receives its date, 171 And Monuments, like Men, submit to Fate! 29 172 Steel did the Labour of the Gods destroy, 173 And strike to Dust th' Imperial Tow'rs of Troy; 174 Steel cou'd the Works of mortal Pride confound, 175 And hew Triumphal Arches to the Ground. 176 What Wonder then, fair Nymph! thy Hairs shou'd feel 177 The conqu'ring Force of unresisted Steel? [Engraving] Figure 4 30 THE RAPE of the LOCK. CANTO IV. 1 BUT anxious Cares the pensive Nymph opprest, 2 And secret Passions labour'd in her Breast. 3 Not youthful Kings in Battel seiz'd alive, 4 Not scornful Virgins who their Charms survive, 5 Not ardent Lovers robb'd of all their Bliss, 6 Not ancient Ladies when refus'd a Kiss, 7 Not Tyrants fierce that unrepenting die, 8 Not Cynthia when her Manteau's pinn'd awry, 31 9 E'er felt such Rage, Resentment and Despair, 10 As Thou, sad Virgin! for thy ravish'd Hair. 11 For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew, 12 And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, 13 Umbriel, a dusky melancholy Spright, 14 As ever fully'd the fair face of Light, 15 Down to the Central Earth, his proper Scene, 16 Repairs to search the gloomy Cave of Spleen According to the humours theory of human psychology, which held sway from the middle ages into the early modern period, a person's temperament was set by the mixture of various fluids--humours--in the body. The spleen was thought to produce yellow bile, an excess of which would lead to depression. So by analogy "the spleen" became shorthand for a state of depression, which Belinda is experiencing in the wake of the theft of her lock of hair. Umbriel's journey through the Cave of Spleen is analogous to the journeys, fraught with many perils, which Aeneas (in Vergil's Aeneid) and Odysseus (Homer's Odyssey) made to the underworld in those epics.. 17 Swift on his sooty Pinions flitts the Gnome, 18 And in a Vapour reach'd the dismal Dome That is, a domed building.. 19 No cheerful Breeze this sullen Region knows, 20 The dreaded East is all the Wind that blows. 21 Here, in a Grotto, sheltred close from Air, 22 And screen'd in Shades from Day's detested Glare, 23 She sighs for ever on her pensive Bed, 24 Pain at her side, and Languor at her Head. 25 Two Handmaids wait the Throne: Alike in Place, 26 But diff'ring far in Figure and in Face. 32 27 Here stood Ill-nature like an ancient Maid, 28 Her wrinkled Form in Black and White array'd; 29 With store of Pray'rs, for Mornings, Nights, and Noons, 30 Her Hand is fill'd; her Bosom with Lampoons "Lampooning" in seventeenth and eighteenth century England was a scathing form of satire that attacked a specific person's appearance. It originates from the French word "lampons," which means "let's drink," and Alexander Pope himself lampooned a fellow writer, Joseph Addison, in his work "An Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot." The form fell into disuse soon after this time but the term "lampoon" still refers to an insult directed at a specific person or institution. Werlock, Abby H. P. The Facts on File Companion to the American Short Story. 2nd ed. New York NY: Facts On File, 2010. Print.. 31 There Affectation with a sickly Mien 32 Shows in her Cheek the Roses of Eighteen, 33 Practis'd to Lisp, and hang the Head aside, 34 Faints into Airs, and languishes with Pride; 35 On the rich Quilt sinks with becoming Woe, 36 Wrapt in a Gown, for Sickness, and for Show. 37 The Fair ones feel such Maladies as these, 38 When each new Night-Dress gives a new Disease. 39 A constant Vapour o'er the Palace flies; 40 Strange Phantoms rising as the Mists arise; 41 Dreadful, as Hermit's Dreams in haunted Shades, 42 Or bright as Visions of expiring Maids. 43 Now glaring Fiends, and Snakes on rolling Spires spirals, 44 Pale Spectres, gaping Tombs, and Purple Fires: 33 45 Now Lakes of liquid Gold, Elysian A reference to Elysium/Elysian Fields/Elysian Plain of classical mythology, where mortals favored by the gods for their rectitude were sent to dwell after they had departed from the land of the living. Elysium was originally the exclusive province of the heroes who had acquired immortality from the gods Elysian in the context of this passage means like "paradise." Scenes, 46 And Crystal Domes, and Angels in Machines. 47 Unnumber'd Throngs on ev'ry side are seen 48 Of Bodies chang'd to various Forms by Spleen. 49 Here living Teapots stand, one Arm held out, 50 One bent; the Handle this, and that the Spout: 51 A Pipkin According to Samuel Johnson's 1755 A pipkin is "A small earthen boiler." there like Homer's Tripod The automatons (or "tripods"), twenty in all, fashioned with rivets and gold wheels by the lame god Vulcan in his workshop so that they might be dispatched whenever the gods congregated at Mt. Olympus, returning to the workshop afterwards to be at the beck and call of Vulcan. From Book XVIII of Homer's Iliad. walks; 52 Here sighs a Jar, and there a Goose-pye Gooseberry pietalks; 53 Men prove with Child, as pow'rful Fancy works, 54 And Maids turn'd Bottels, call aloud for Corks. 55 Safe past the Gnome thro' this fantastick Band, 56 A Branch The branch of spleenwort, a humble fern, is a parodic reference to the golden bough bore by Aeneas during his journey, accompanied by the Cumaean Sibyl, through the underworld. Aeneas, having been guided by a pair of doves to a place in a forest where the golden bough had been long obscured from the sight of man, had plucked the golden bough in order to obtain safe passage through the underworld. He and the Sibyl were ferried to the underworld across the Acheron River. Spleenwort got its name because it was believed to have medicinal properties, particularly in treating "spleen" or, in our terms, depression.of healing Spleenwort in his hand. 57 Then thus addrest the Pow'r--Hail wayward Queen; 58 Who rule the Sex to Fifty from Fifteen, 59 Parent of Vapors and of Female Wit, 60 Who give th' Hysteric or Poetic Fit, 61 On various Tempers act by various ways, 62 Make some take Physick, others scribble Plays; 34 63 Who cause the Proud their Visits to delay, 64 And send the Godly in a Pett According to Samuel Johnson's 1755 Dictionary, "pett" is "A slight passion; a slight fit of anger.", to pray. 65 A Nymph there is, that all thy Pow'r disdains, 66 And thousands more in equal Mirth maintains. 67 But oh! if e'er thy Gnome could spoil a Grace, 68 Or raise a Pimple on a beauteous Face, 69 Like Citron-Waters Brandy based on citrus wine.Matron's Cheeks inflame, 70 Or change Complexions at a losing Game; 71 If e'er with airy Horns "Horns" were associated with being cuckolded.I planted Heads, 72 Or rumpled Petticoats, or tumbled Beds, 73 Or caus'd Suspicion when no Soul was rude, 74 Or discompos'd the Head-dress of a Prude, 75 Or e'er to costive Constipated.Lap-Dog gave Disease, 76 Which not the Tears of brightest Eyes could ease: 77 Hear me, and touch Belinda with Chagrin; 78 That single Act gives half the World the Spleen. 79 The Goddess with a discontented Air 80 Seems to reject him, tho' she grants his Pray'r. 35 81 A wondrous Bag with both her Hands she binds, 82 Like that where once Ulysses In Homer's Odyssey, Odysseus receives a bag of winds from Aeolus, the god of wind. held the Winds; 83 There she collects the Force of Female Lungs, 84 Sighs, Sobs, and Passions, and the War of Tongues. 85 A Vial next she fills with fainting Fears, 86 Soft Sorrows, melting Griefs, and flowing Tears. 87 The Gnome rejoicing bears her Gift away, 88 Spreads his black Wings, and flowly mounts to Day. 89 Sunk in Thalestris' Thalestris was a queen of the Amazons, the mythological race of warrior women. Arms the Nymph he found, 90 Her Eyes dejected and her Hair unbound. 91 Full o'er their Heads the swelling Bag he rent, 92 And all the Furies Three mythological goddesses of revenge.issued at the Vent. 93 Belinda burns with more than mortal Ire Intense anger., 94 And fierce Thalestris fans the rising Fire. 95 O wretched Maid! she spread her hands, and cry'd, 96 (While Hampton's Ecchos wretched Maid reply'd) 97 Was it for this you took such constant Care 98 The Bodkin, Comb, and Essence to prepare; 36 99 For this your Locks in Paper-Durance In this period, women used paper, often heated and shaped with lead, to curl their hair.bound, 100 For this with tort'ring Irons wreath'd around? 101 For this with Fillets A headband, here being used to shape a hairstyle.strain'd your tender Head, 102 And bravely bore the double Loads of Lead Lead was heated to curl women's hair.? 103 Gods! shall the Ravisher display your Hair, 104 While the Fops "Fop" was a contemporary slang term for man overly concerned with his outer appearance to the point that it bothers other people. It originated in this context in seventeenth-century England to refer to a generally foolish, effeminate man incapable of engaging in intellectual conversation. In this line, the definition of a "fop" is exemplified by the fact that they and ladies are both jealous of Belinda's hair.envy, and the Ladies stare! 105 Honour forbid! at whose unrival'd Shrine 106 Ease, Pleasure, Virtue, All, our Sex resign. 107 Methinks already I your Tears survey, 108 Already hear the horrid things they say, 109 Already see you a degraded Toast The term "toast" originated as a term for a lady for whose health a group of people dedicated a drink, similar to how people propose toasts today. This lady's name was seen as adding a special flavor to the drink in question, similar in function to a spiced toast that would have been a common feature in alcoholic drinks at the time. Oxford English Dictionary., 110 And all your Honour in a Whisper lost! 111 How shall I, then, your helpless Fame defend? 112 'Twill then be Infamy to seem your Friend! 113 And shall this Prize, th' inestimable Prize, 114 Expos'd thro' Crystal to the gazing Eyes, 115 And heighten'd by the Diamond's circling Rays, 116 On that Rapacious Hand for ever blaze? 117 Sooner shall Grass in Hide-Park Circus The Ring-Road in Hyde Park, at this time a fashionable area to take a carriage on a nice day to see and be seen by those who could afford carriages. grow, 118 And Wits take Lodgings in the Sound of Bow The bells of St Mary-le-Bow, a church which was located in the Cheapside district of London. This was not a fashionable area; it was for a long time traditionally associated with working-class Cockneys from the East End. 37 119 Sooner let Earth, Air, Sea, to Chaos fall, 120 Men, Monkies, Lap-dogs, Parrots, perish all! 121 She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs, 122 And bids her Beau demand the precious Hairs: 123 (Sir Plume, of Amber Snuff-box High society gentlemen of this time generally stored their "snuff," or sniffing tobacco, in jeweled boxes made from precious materials such as porcelain, ebony, and, in this case, amber. Sir Plume is very vain about his fancy snuff-box. justly vain, 124 And the nice Conduct of a clouded Cane A walking stick, perhaps made of glass or porcelain, and "clouded" in a decorative way. ) 125 With earnest Eyes, and round unthinking Face, 126 He first the Snuff-box open'd, then the Case, 127 And thus broke out--- "My Lord, why, what the Devil? 128 "Z---ds! "Zounds" is a euphemism for "by God's wounds," that is, the wounds that Jesus received when being nailed to the cross. That was considered blasphemous, so "zounds" became a work-around. In context, a mild expletive, like "damn."damn the Lock! 'fore Gad, you must be civil! 129 "Plague on't! 'tis past a Jest---nay prithee, Pox"Pox" refers either to small-pox or to venereal disease; here it is being used as an expletive without so specific a meaning.! 130 "Give her the Hair---he spoke, and rapp'd his Box. 131 It grieves me much (reply'd the Peer again) 132 Who speaks so well shou'd ever speak in vain. 133 But * by this LockThis passage may to a passage from Homer (Iliad, book 23) in which Achilles cuts off a lock of his own hair to mourn and commemorate the death of Patroclus. Many of his men follow suit and cut off locks of their own hair, and Achilles then cuts off another lock of his hair that he had been growing for the river Spercheus to make his trip home safer. This continues the trend throughout the poem of using military conquest language to describe the event of cutting off a lock of Belinda's hair., this sacred Lock I swear. 134 (Which never more shall join its parted Hair, 38 135 Which never more its Honours shall renew, 136 Clipt from the lovely Head where once it grew) 137 That while my Nostrils draw the vital Air, 138 This Hand, which won it, shall for ever wear. 139 He spoke, and speaking in proud Triumph spread 140 The long-contended Honours of her Head. 141 But Umbriel, hateful Gnome! forbears not so; 142 He breaks the Vial whence the Sorrows flow. 143 Then see! the Nymph in beauteous Grief appears, 144 Her Eyes half languishing, half drown'd in Tears; 145 On her heav'd Bosom hung her drooping Head, 146 Which, with a Sigh, she rais'd; and thus she said. 147 For ever curs'd be this detested Day, 148 Which snatch'd my best, my fav'rite Curl away! 149 Happy! ah ten times happy, had I been, 150 If Hampton-Court these Eyes had never seen! 151 Yet am not I the first mistaken Maid, 152 By Love of Courts to num'rous Ills betray'd. 39 153 Oh had I rather un-admir'd remain'd 154 In some lone Isle, or distant Northern Land; 155 Where the gilt Chariot May be a reference to the chariot driven by Helios (whose identity was later subsumed into that of Apollo), the god of the sun and a Titan, in order to mark the waxing and waning of daylight. He was complemented by his sisters, Eos and Selene, who personified the Dawn and the Moon, respectively. never mark'd the way, 156 Where none learn Ombre, none e'er taste Bohea A black tea that originated in China's Buyi hills, for which it is named, and was of relatively low quality. (Oxford English Dictionary! 157 There kept my Charms conceal'd from mortal Eye, 158 Like Roses that in Desarts bloom and die. 159 What mov'd my Mind with youthful Lords to rome? 160 O had I stay'd, and said my Pray'rs at home! 161 'Twas this, the Morning Omens did foretel; 162 Thrice from my trembling hand the Patch-box A small and rectangular (at times oval) box with beauty patches, small pieces of class with a sticky side, which were worn by ladies of fashion during the eighteenth century for decorative purposes or to cover a blemish. A patch box was bejeweled and made of gold, and could also be painted/enameled with amorous scenes. A patch could have the appearance of a star, an animal, a insect, a figure, a crescent, or a spot. The location of a patch also contributed to its signification. "Patch Box." Encyclopedia Britannica Online. Encyclopedia Britannica. Web. 3 Dec. 2015. http://www.britannica.com/topic/patch-box. fell; 163 The tott'ring China "China" in this context refers to porcelain dishes that came via trade routes from China. These trade routes between China and England first began to flourish during the eighteenth century, and many rich English citizens were obsessed with obtaining as many exotic Chinese goods as they could to show off their wealth. Chinese porcelain was much finer and of higher quality than anything that European makers could produce for a few more decades. Chang, Elizabeth. "The Chinese Taste in Eighteenth-Century England." Eighteenth-Century Fiction 25 (2012): 248-50. University of Toronto Press. Web. 8 Dec. 2015. shook without a Wind, 164 Nay, Poll Short for "Polly," surely the name of a pet parrot owned by Belinda. sate mute, and Shock was most Unkind! 165 A Sylph too warn'd me of the Threats of Fate, 166 In mystic Visions, now believ'd too late! 167 See the poor Remnants of this slighted Hair! 168 My hands shall rend what ev'n thy own did spare. 169 This, in two sable Ringlets taught to break, 170 Once gave new Beauties to the snowie Neck. 171 The Sister-Lock now sits uncouth, alone, 172 And in its Fellow's Fate foresees its own; 40 173 Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal Sheers demands; 174 And tempts once more thy sacrilegious Hands. 175 Oh hadst thou, Cruel! been content to seize 176 Hairs less in sight, or any Hairs but these! [Engraving] Figure 5 41 THE RAPE of the LOCK. CANTO V. 1 SHE said: the pitying Audience melt in Tears, 2 But Fate and Jove Jove, also known as Jupiter, was the king of the Roman gods. He is the roman equivalent to the Greek god Zeus. had stopp'd the Baron's Ears That is, the reason that the Baron cannot hear Belinda's cries is because of the intervention of the gods Fate and Jove. Just as the gods intervene in the lives of heroic characters from epic, here they interfere in the lives of trivial British aristocrats.. 3 In vain Thalestris with Reproach assails, 4 For who can move when fair Belinda fails? 5 Not half to fixt the Trojan cou'd remain, 6 While Anna begg'd and Dido In the Aeneid by Virgil, Aeneas, the lover of Dido, queen of Carthage, is told by Zeus he must leave Italy because of fate. As a last effort Dido sends her sister Anna to persuade him to stay in Italy, but she fails. rag'd in vain. 7 To Arms, to Arms! the bold Thalestris cries, 8 And swift as Lightning to the Combate flies. 42 9 All side in Parties, and begin th' Attack; 10 Fans clap, Silks russle, and tough Whalebones Whalebone was used to stiffen women's clothing, such as corsets and hoop skirts.crack; 11 Heroes and Heroins Shouts confus'dly rise, 12 And base, and treble Voices strike the Skies. 13 No common Weapons in their Hands are found, 14 Like Gods they fight, nor dread a mortal Wound. 15 * So when bold Homer makes the Gods engage Homer makes the gods fight in his tales similar to the way Pope forces the characters in the poem to fight., 16 And heav'nly Breasts with human Passions rage; 17 'Gainst Pallas Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom,Mars, Mars was the Roman god of war.; Latona In Greek mythology, Latona was the mother of Apollo and Diana and the mistress of Zeus., Hermes Hermes was the messenger god of Greek mythology, known as Mercury in Roman mythology. , Arms; 18 And all Olympus rings with loud Alarms. 19 Jove's Thunder roars, Heav'n trembles all around; 20 Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing Deeps resound; 21 Earth shakes her nodding Tow'rs, the Ground gives way; 22 And the pale Ghosts start at the Flash of Day! 23 Triumphant Umbriel on a Sconce's A lantern with a handle and a shield, so that you could carry the light around.Height 24 Clapt his glad Wings, and sate to view the Fight That is, perched. Pope adds in a footnote: "Minerva in like manner, during the Battle of Ulysses with the Suitors in Odyss. perches on a beam of the roof to behold it.", 25 Propt on their Bodkin Spears the Sprights survey 26 The growing Combat, or assist the Fray. 43 27 While thro' the Press enrag'd Thalestries flies, 28 And scatters Deaths around from both her Eyes, 29 A Beau A dandy; a many perhaps overly concerned with his appearance and Witling Someone who aspiring to become a wit (and probably failing at it. perish'd in the Throng, 30 One dy'd in Metaphor, and one in Song. 31 O cruel Nymph! a living Death I bear, 32 Cry'd Dapperwit A character in William Wycherley's 1671 play Love in a Wood., and sunk beside his Chair. 33 A mournful Glance Sir Fopling Reference to Sir Fopling Flutter, a character in George Etherege's 1677 play The Man of Mode. upwards cast, 34 * Those Eyes are made so killing Pope later added a footnote: "The Words of a Song in the Opera of Camilla" Camilla was a popular opera, first staged in London in 1706 and frequently revived after that. Unlike many operas of the period, which were sung in Italian, this was in English, based on an Italian opera by Silvio Stampiglio. ---was his last: 35 Thus on Meander in Greek Mythology, Meander was both the name of a river god and for the river that was his home. "Meander" now is a general turn for a bend in a river, or to describe anything or anyone that takes a roundabout route to a destination. 's flow'ry Margin lies 36 Th' expiring Swan, and as he sings he dies. 37 As bold Sir Plume The name gives insight to the character. A plume is an arrangement of feathers used by a bird for display or worn by a person for ornament. Plume is also used as a verb 'to plume oneself' synonymous to the action of preening at one's looks. Oxford English Dictionary had drawn Clarissa down, 38 Chloe stept in, and kill'd him with a Frown; 39 She smil'd to see the doughty Brave, capable, and determined, also marked by fearless resolution. Oxford English DictionaryHero slain, 40 But at her Smile, the Beau reviv'd again. 41 + Now Jove Jove, the head of the Roman system of deities, is here responsible for putting the social order back into balance, and is weighing the contending claims of the men and the women. These lines refer to a moment in Homer's Iliad where Zeus had used scales to balance the claims of Hector and Achilles and determined their fates. suspends his golden Scales in Air, 42 Weighs the Mens Wits against the Lady's Hair; 44 43 The doubtful Beam long nods from side to side; 44 At length the Wits mount up, the Hairs subside Jove weighs the battle in the men's favor, but Belinda overcomes this by tossing snuff in the Baron's face.. 45 See fierce Belinda on the Baron flies, 46 With more than usual Lightning in her Eyes; 47 Nor fear'd the Chief th' unequal Fight to try, 48 Who sought no more than on his Foe to die "to die" is a common euphemism for orgasm. It was a common poetical term in the 16th and 17th centuries. Oxford English Dictionary. 49 But this bold Lord, with manly Strength indu'd, 50 She with one Finger and a Thumb subdu'd, 51 Just where the Breath of Life his Nostrils drew, 52 A Charge of Snuff A fine-ground tobacco, intended for consumption by being sniffed or snorted into the nose. the wily Virgin threw; 53 The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry Atome Pope is referring to the ancient theory that posited the "atom" as an infinitely small piece of matter that could not be further divided.just, 54 The pungent Grains of titillating Dust. 55 Sudden, with starting Tears each Eye o'erflows, 56 And the high Dome re-ecchoes to his Nose. 57 Now meet thy Fate, th' incens'd Virago A man-like, heroic woman. Oxford English Dictionarycry'd, 58 And drew a deadly Bodkin from her Side. 59 (*The same, his ancient Personage Pope adds in a footnote: "In imitation of the progress of Agamemnon's sceptre in Homer" Source: Pope, Alexander, and Adolphus William Ward. The Poetical Works of Alexander Pope. London: Macmillan, 1907. Print. to deck, 60 Her great great Grandsire wore about his Neck 45 61 In three Seal-Rings a finger ring bearing a seal; signet ring. Oxford English Dictionary; which after melted down, 62 Form'd a vast Buckle for his Widow's Gown: 63 Her infant Grandame's grandmother Whistle next it grew, 64 The Bells she gingled, and the Whistle blew; 65 Then in a Bodkin grac'd her Mother's Hairs, 66 Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.) 67 Boast not my Fall (he cry'd) insulting Foe! 68 Thou by some other shalt be laid as low. 69 Nor think, to die dejects my lofty Mind; 70 All that I dread, is leaving you behind! 71 Rather than so, ah let me still survive, 72 And burn in Cupid 's Flames,---but burn alive. 73 Restore the Lock! she cries; and all around 74 Restore the Lock! the vaulted Roofs rebound. 75 Not fierce Othello In Shakespeare's Othello, the titular character is tricked into believing his wife Desdemona has been unfaithful by his ensign Iago. A key piece of evidence is Desdemona's handkerchief, which Iago has planted in the room of Othello's lieutenant, Cassio. in so loud a Strain 76 Roar'd for the Handkerchief that caus'd his Pain. 77 But see how oft Ambitious Aims are cross'd, 78 And Chiefs contend 'till all the Prize is lost! 46 79 The Lock, obtain'd with Guilt, and kept with Pain, 80 In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in vain: 81 With such a Prize no Mortal must be blest, 82 So Heav'n decrees! with Heav'n who can contest? 83 Some thought it mounted to the Lunar Sphere, 84 * Since all things lost on Earth, are treasur'd there. 85 There Heroe's Wits are kept in pondrous Vases, 86 And Beau's in Snuff-boxes and Tweezer-Cases. 87 There broken Vows, and Death-bed Alms gifts of money extended as charityare found, 88 And Lovers Hearts with Ends of Riband a ribbonbound; 89 The Courtiers Promises, and Sick Man's Pray'rs, 90 The Smiles of Harlots, and the Tears of Heirs, 91 Cages for Gnats, and Chains to Yoak a Flea; 92 Dry'd Butterflies, and Tomes of Casuistry Thick books of meaningless philosophy through the use of clever but unsound reasoning, especially in relation to moral questions. Oxford English Dictionary. 93 But trust the Muse---she saw it upward rise, 94 Tho' mark'd by none but quick Poetic Eyes:That is, Pope's eyes; he is the only person who can "see" what has happened, as the lock of hair has been transformed into a star in the sky. Buried here is the play on words: "coma," the Latin word for hair, is the root for "comet," celestial bodies that were so named because of the long hair-like trail that followed the main body. There is such a comet depicted in the upper-left hand corner of the plate that precedes this canto. 95 (So Rome's great Founder In popular myth and legend, Rome was founded by Romulus, who ruled for 37 years and then mysteriously disappeared, apparently taken up to the heavens in a whirlwind. Proculus, a friend of Romulus, swore that he saw Romulus ascending to heaven. 96 To Proculus alone confess'd in view.) 47 97 A sudden Star, it shot thro' liquid Air, 98 And drew behind a radiant Trail of Hair. 99 Not Berenice Berenice II was the wife of Ptolemy III, the Pharoah of Egypt in the third century BCE. The legend went that Berenice offered to cut off her hair as an offering to the goddess Aphrodite if Ptolemy would return safely home from a dangerous battle. After his safe return, she placed her hair in the temple. But the next morning, the hair had vanished. The court astronomy Conon suggested that the hair had been transformed into a constellation in the night sky, a star cluster that became (and is still) known as the "Coma Berenices," Latin for "Berenice's hair." 's Locks first rose so bright, 100 The Skies bespangling with dishevel'd Light. 101 The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, 102 And pleas'd pursue its Progress thro' the Skies. 103 This the Beau-monde High society. shall from the Mall A broad, tree-lined promenade in St. James's Park in London, where courtiers and other aristocrats would aim to see and be seen. [ Image: View of the Mall in Saint James, around 1710, by an unknown artist. National Gallery, Public Domain.] survey, 104 And hail with Musick its propitious Ray. 105 This, the blest Lover shall for Venus take, 106 And send up Vows from Rosamonda Rosamonda's Pond was a body of water in St. James's Park in London, on the site of what is now Buckingham Palace. The pond was named for Rosamund Clifford, the semi-legendary mistress of Henry II in the twelfth century whose relationship with the king became a byword for doomed love affairs. In the eighteenth century, the Pond was apparently well known as a place for lovers to meet secretly.'s Lake. 107 This Partridge John Partridge (1644-c.1714) an astrologer known for publishing almanacs with (generally incorrect) yearly predictions of deaths of notable individuals like the King of France (during a time where France and England were at war). soon shall view in cloudless Skies, 108 When next he looks thro' Galilaeo's Eyes i.e., the telescope, developed by Galileo Galilei; 109 And hence th' Egregious Wizard shall foredoom 110 The Fate of Louis Louis XIV (1638-1715), the King of France. He was for a long time the most powerful and feared ruler in Europe. But the threat that Louis and France posed to their neighbors was checked by the Treaty of Utrecht, signed in 1713, and he died the year after this poem was published. His "Fate," then, was very much up in the air at the time that Pope was writing. [Image: Portrait of Louis XIV by Hyacynthe Rigaud, 1701. Wikimedia Commons, and the Fall of Rome. 111 Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn the ravish'd Hair 112 Which adds new Glory to the shining Sphere! 113 Not all the Tresses that fair Head can boast 114 Shall draw such Envy as the Lock you lost. 48 115 For, after all the Murders of your Eye, 116 When, after Millions slain, your self shall die; 117 When those fair Suns shall sett, as sett they must, 118 And all those Tresses shall be laid in Dust; 119 This Lock, the Muse The Muses are the nine Greek goddesses devoted to the arts; they are often imagined as a source of inspiration for a poet.shall consecrate to Fame, 120 And mid'st the Stars inscribe Belinda's Name! 121 FINIS. Bradstreet, Anne and Anne Bradstreet. "The Prologue". Several Poems Compiled with Great Variety of Wit and Learning, John Foster, 1678 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z [Title Page] SEVERAL POEMS Compiled with great variety of Wit and Learning, full of Delight; Wherein especially is contained a compleat Discourse, and Description of The Four { ELEMENTS CONSTITUTIONS, AGES of Man, SEASONS of the Year. Together with an exact Epitome of the three first Monarchyes Viz, The { ASSYRIAN, PERSIAN, GRECIAN. And beginning of the Romane Common-wealth to the end of their last King: With diverse other pleasant & serious Poems, By a Gentlewoman in New-England. The second Edition, Corrected by the Author, and enlarged by an Addition of several other Poems found amongst her Papers after her Death. Boston, Printed by John Foster, 1678. 3 The Prologue 1. To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings, Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun, For my mean pen are too superiour things: Or how they all, or each their dates have run Let Poets and Historians set these forth, My obscure Lines shall not so dim their worth. 2. But when my wondring eyes and envious heart Great Bartas sugar'd lines, do but read o're Fool I do grudg the Muses did not part 'Twixt him and me that overfluent store, A BartasGuillaume de Salluste du Bartas, a contemporary French poet whom Bradstreet admired. can, do what a Bartas will But simple I according to my skill. 3. From school-boyes tongue no rhet'rick we expect Nor yet a sweet Consort from broken strings, Nor perfect beauty, where's a main defect: My foolish, broken blemish'd Muse so sings And this to mend, alas, no Art is able, 'Cause nature, made it so irreparable. 4. Nor can I, like that fluent sweet tongu'd Greek, Who lisp'd at first, in future times speak plain By Art he gladly found what he did seek A full requital of his, striving pain. 4 Art can do much, but this maxime's most sure A weak or wounded brain admits no cure. 5. I am obnoxious to each carping tongue Who says my hand a needle better fits, A Poets pen all scorn I should thus wrong, For such despite they cast on Female wits: If what I do prove well, it won't advance, They'l say it's stoln, or else it was by chance. 6. But sure the Antique Greeks were far more mild Else of our Sexe, why feigned they those Nine And poesy made, Calliope'sCalliope, one of the nine Muses, the female demigods of the arts in Greek mythology, was the Muse of epic poetry. own Child; So 'mongst the rest they placed the Arts Divine. But this weak knot, they will full soon untie, The Greeks did nought, but play the fools & lye. 7. Let Greeks be Greeks, and women what they are Men have precedency and still excell, It is but vain unjustly to wage warre; Men can do best, and women know it well Preheminence in all and each is yours; Yet grant some small acknowledgement of ours. 8. And oh ye high flown quills that soar the Skies, And ever with your prey still catch your praise, If e're you daigne these lowly lines your eyes Give Thyme or Parsley wreath I ask no bayes, This mean and unrefined ore of mine Will make your glistring gold, but more to shine. Franklin, Benjamin and Benjamin Franklin. Silence Dogood, James Franklin, 1722 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z The "Silence Dogood" Essays Benjamin Franklin was sixteen years old and working as an apprentice in the Boston print shop of his older brother James when, in April 1722, he began writing a series of essays to be published in the New-England Courant (which his brother published) under the pseudonym of "Silence Dogood." In his Autobiography, Benjamin remembered slipping these essays, written in disguised handwriting, under the door of the Courant's office; he assumed (probably correctly) that James would refuse to print an essay from him if he simply asked or submitted it under his own name. James published the essays, which became very popular among the newspaper's readers. Benjamin kept his authorship of the series a secret, even from his brother, until after he finished writing them in October 1722, at which point James printed an advertisement asking for "Silence Dogood" to come forth. Benjamin confessed that he was the author, which seems to have annoyed his older brother. It was not too long after that that Benjamin left his brother's shop--breaking his apprenticeship--and moved to Philadelphia. The Silence Dogood essays are written in the persona of a middle-aged woman, but the title character is very clearly indebted to Mr. Spectator, the avatar of Addison and Steele's Spectator series, published a decade earlier. It is testimony to how widely influential the Spectator was that even in colonial America, teenaged boys were reading it and taking it as a model for their own writing. In the Autobiography, Franklin remembers how much he loved the Spectator, and how he first came across it at the age of sixteen: "an odd volume of the Spectator fell into my hands. This was a publication I had never seen. I bought the volume, and read it again and again. I was enchanted with it, thought the style excellent, and wished it were in my power to imitate it. With this view I selected some of the papers, made short summaries of the sense of each period, and put them for a few days aside. I then, without looking at the book, endeavoured to restore the essays to their true form, and to express each thought at length, as it was in the original, employing the most appropriate words that occurred to my mind. I afterwards compared my Spectator with the original; I perceived some faults, which I corrected." If the Spectator gave Franklin a model for his prose style, so too did it give him a persona to inhabit; the "Silence" in Silence Dogood's name clearly alludes to the taciturn Mr. Spectator as invented by Addison and Steele. The surname "Dogood" also alludes to a famous writer, in this case a colonial writer: the prolific Boston cleric Cotton Mather, whose 1710 collection Bonifacius: or, Essays to Do Good, advocating the reader to undertake charitable works, Franklin also remembered as a book that had a great impact on him as a young man. The startling thing about the Silence Dogood essays (in addition to the fact that they were written by a sixteen-year-old), is that Franklin adopts the persona of a woman, a persona that enables him adopt, but also gently mock, the kinds of sentiments expressed by authority figures like Mather. Franklin would continue to use personae, male and female, throughout his career, the most famous of these being the Poor Richard of his Almanack. And there's a sense in which the "Benjamin Franklin" of the Autobiography and of history was also a persona, a role that Franklin played on the public stage of the trans-Atlantic world. There were fourteen Silence Dogood essays in all, published every two weeks in the pages of the New England Courant, for which, as we have seen, James Franklin was the publisher. The New England Courant was the first independently-published newspaper in colonial America; that is, it operated independently of government authority. So much so that the colonial government in Massachusetts frequently attempted to censor the newspaper and jailed James Franklin several times when he published articles that were thought to defame public officials (Cotton Mather, for example). During these periods, Benjamin was listed as the official publisher of the newspaper. It was finally closed for good in 1726. Benjamin had long since moved on, and was at this point finishing a stint as a journeyman printer in London and preparing to return to Philadelphia, where he opened a print shop of his own. April 2, 1722 [No. 1] To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, It may not be improper in the first place to inform your Readers, that I intend once a Fortnight to present them, by the Help of this Paper, with a short Epistle, which I presume will add somewhat to their Entertainment. And since it is observed, that the Generality of People, now a days, are unwilling either to commend or dispraise what they read, until they are in some measure informed who or what the Author of it is, whether he be poor or rich, old or young, a Schollar or a Leather Apron Man, &c and give their Opinion of the Performance, according to the Knowledge which they have of the Author's Circumstances, it may not be amiss to begin with a short Account of my past Life and present Condition, that the Reader may not be at a Loss to judge whether or no my Lucubrations are worth his reading. At the time of my Birth, my Parents were on Ship-board in their Way from London to N. England. My Entrance into this troublesome World was attended with the Death of my Father, a Misfortune, which tho' I was not then capable of knowing, I shall never be able to forget; for as he, poor Man, stood upon the Deck rejoycing at my Birth, a merciless Wave entred the Ship, and in one Moment carry'd him beyond Reprieve. Thus, was the first Day which I saw, the last that was seen by my Father; and thus was my disconsolate Mother at once made both a Parent and a Widow. When we arrived at Boston (which was not long after) I was put to Nurse in a Country Place, at a small Distance from the Town, where I went to School, and past my Infancy and Childhood in Vanity and Idleness, until I was bound out Apprentice, that I might no longer be a Charge to my Indigent Mother, who was put to hard Shifts for a Living. My Master was a Country Minister, a pious good-natur'd young Man, and a Batchelor: he labour'd with all his Might to instil vertuous and godly Principles into my tender Soul, well knowing that it was the most suitable Time to make deep and lasting Impressions on the Mind, while it was yet untainted with Vice, free and unbiass'd. He endeavour'd that I might be instructed in all that Knowledge and Learning which is necessary for our Sex, and deny'd me no Accomplishment that could possibly be attained in a Country Place; such as all Sorts of Needle-Work, Writing, Arithmetick, &c. and observing that I took a more than ordinary Delight in reading ingenious Books, he gave me the free Use of his Library, which tho' it was but small, yet it was well chose, to inform the Understanding rightly, and enable the Mind to frame great and noble Ideas. Before I had liv'd quite two Years with this Reverend Gentleman, my indulgent Mother departed this Life, leaving me as it were by my self, having no Relation on Earth within my Knowledge. I will not abuse your Patience with a tedious Recital of all the frivolous Accidents of my Life, that happened from this Time until I arrived to Years of Discretion, only inform you that I liv'd a chearful Country Life, spending my leisure Time either in some innocent Diversion with the neighbouring Females, or in some shady Retirement, with the best of Company, Books. Thus I past away the Time with a Mixture of Profit and Pleasure, having no affliction but what was imaginary, and created in my own Fancy; as nothing is more common with us Women, than to be grieving for nothing, when we have nothing else to grieve for. As I would not engross too much of your Paper at once, I will defer the Remainder of my Story until my next Letter; in the mean time desiring your Readers to exercise their Patience, and bear with my Humours now and then, because I shall trouble them but seldom. I am not insensible of the Impossibility of pleasing all, but I would not willingly displease any; and for those who will take Offence were none is intended, they are beneath the Notice of Your Humble Servant, SILENCE DOGOOD. April 16, 1722 [No. 2] To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, Histories of Lives are seldom entertaining, unless they contain something either admirable or exemplar: And since there is little or nothing of this Nature in my own Adventures, I will not tire your Readers with tedious Particulars of no Consequence, but will briefly, and in as few Words as possible, relate the most material Occurrences of my Life, and according to my Promise, confine all to this Letter. My Reverend master who had hitherto remained a Batchelor, (after much meditation on the Eighteenth verse of the Second Chapter of Genesis,) took up a Resolution to marry; and having made several unsuccessful fruitless Attempts on the more topping Sort of our Sex, and being tir'd with making troublesome Journeys and Visits to no Purpose, he began unexpectedly to cast a loving Eye upon Me, whom he had brought up cleverly to his Hand. There is certainly scarce any Part of a Man's Life in which he appears more silly and ridiculous, than when he makes his first Onset in Courtship. The aukward Manner in which my Master first discover'd his Intentions, made me, in spite of my Reverence to his Person, burst out into an unmannerly Laughter: However, having ask'd his Pardon, and with much ado compos'd my Countenance, I promis'd him I would take his Proposal into serious Consideration, and speedily give him an Answer. As he had been a great Benefactor (and in a Manner a Father to me) I could not well deny his Request, when I once perceived he was in earnest. Whether it was Love, or Gratitude, or Pride, or all Three that made me consent, I know not; but it is certain, he found it no hard Matter, by the Help of his Rhetorick, to conquer my Heart, and perswade me to marry him. This unexpected Match was very astonishing to all the Country round about, and served to furnish them with Discourse for a long Time after; some approving it, others disliking it, as they were led by their various Fancies and Inclinations. We lived happily together in the Heighth of conjugal Love and mutual Endearments, for near Seven Years, in which Time we added Two likely Girls and a Boy to the Family of the Dogoods: But alas! When my Sun was in its meridian Altitude, inexorable unrelenting Death, as if he had envy'd my Happiness and Tranquility, and resolv'd to make me entirely miserable by the Loss of so good an Husband, hastened his Flight to the Heavenly World, by a sudden unexpected Departure from this. I have now remained in a State of Widowhood for several Years, but it is a State I never much admir'd, and I am apt to fancy that I could be easily perswaded to marry again, provided I was sure of a good-humour'd, sober, agreeable Companion: But one, even with these few good Qualities, being hard to find, I have lately relinquish'd all Thoughts of that Nature. At present I pass away my leisure Hours in Conversation, either with my honest Neighbour Rusticus and his Family, or with the ingenious Minister of our Town, who now lodges at my House, and by whose Assistance I intend now and then to beautify my Writings with a Sentence or two in the learned Languages, which will not only be fashionable, and pleasing to those who do not understand it, but will likewise be very ornamental. I shall conclude this with my own Character, which (one would think) I should be best able to give. Know then, That I am an Enemy to Vice, and a Friend to Vertue. I am one of an extensive Charity, and a great Forgiver of private Injuries: A hearty Lover of the Clergy and all good Men, and a mortal Enemy to arbitrary Government and unlimited Power. I am naturally very jealous for the Rights and Liberties of my Country; and the least appearance of an Incroachment on those invaluable Priviledges, is apt to make my Blood boil exceedingly. I have likewise a natural Inclination to observe and reprove the Faults of others, at which I have an excellent Faculty. I speak this by Way of Warning to all such whose Offences shall come under my Cognizance, for I never intend to wrap my Talent in a Napkin. To be brief; I am courteous and affable, good humour'd (unless I am first provok'd,) and handsome, and sometimes witty, but always, Sir, Your Friend and Humble Servant, SILENCE DOGOOD. April 30, 1722 [No. 3] To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir. It is undoubtedly the Duty of all Persons to serve the Country they live in, according to their Abilities; yet I sincerely acknowledge, that I have hitherto been very deficient in this Particular; whether it was for want of Will or Opportunity, I will not at present stand to determine: Let it suffice, that I now take up a Resolution, to do for the future all that lies in my Way for the Service of my Countrymen. I have from my Youth been indefatigably studious to gain and treasure up in my Mind all useful and desireable Knowledge, especially such as tends to improve the Mind, and enlarge the Understanding: And as I have found it very beneficial to me, I am not without Hopes, that communicating my small Stock in this Manner, by Peace-meal to the Publick, may be at least in some Measure useful. I am very sensible that it is impossible for me, or indeed any one Writer to please all Readers at once. Various Persons have different Sentiments; and that which is pleasant and delightful to one, gives another a Disgust. He that would (in this Way of Writing) please all, is under a Necessity to make his Themes almost as numerous as his Letters. He must one while be merry and diverting, then more solid and serious; one while sharp and satyrical, then (to mollify that) be sober and religious; at one Time let the Subject be Politicks, then let the next Theme be Love: Thus will every one, one Time or other find some thing agreeable to his own Fancy, and in his Turn be delighted. According to this Method I intend to proceed, bestowing now and then a few gentle Reproofs on those who deserve them, not forgetting at the same time to applaud those whose Actions merit Commendation. And here I must not forget to invite the ingenious Part of your Readers, particularly those of my own Sex to enter into a Correspondence with me, assuring them, that their Condescension in this Particular shall be received as a Favour, and accordingly acknowledged. I think I have now finish'd the Foundation, and I intend in my next to begin to raise the Building. Having nothing more to write at present, I must make the usual excuse in such Cases, of being in haste, assuring you that I speak from my Heart when I call my self, The most humble and obedient of all the Servants your Merits have acquir'd, SILENCE DOGOOD. May 14, 1722 [No. 4] An sum etiam nunc vel Graecè loqui vel Latinè docendus? Cicero. To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, Discoursing the other Day at Dinner with my Reverend Boarder, formerly mention'd, (whom for Distinction sake we will call by the Name of Clericus,) concerning the Education of Children, I ask'd his Advice about my young Son William, whether or no I had best bestow upon him Academical Learning, or (as our Phrase is) bring him up at our College: He perswaded me to do it by all Means, using many weighty Arguments with me, and answering all the Objections that I could form against it; telling me withal, that he did not doubt but that the Lad would take his Learning very well, and not idle away his Time as too many there now-a-days do. These Words of Clericus gave me a Curiosity to inquire a little more strictly into the present Circumstances of that famous Seminary of Learning; but the Information which he gave me, was neither pleasant, nor such as I expected. As soon as Dinner was over, I took a solitary Walk into my Orchard, still ruminating on Clericus's Discourse with much Consideration, until I came to my usual Place of Retirement under the Great Apple-Tree; where having seated my self, and carelessly laid my Head on a verdant Bank, I fell by Degrees into a soft and undisturbed Slumber. My waking Thoughts remained with me in my Sleep, and before I awak'd again, I dreamt the following Dream. I fancy'd I was travelling over pleasant and delightful Fields and Meadows, and thro' many small Country Towns and Villages; and as I pass'd along, all Places resounded with the Fame of the Temple of Learning: Every Peasant, who had wherewithal, was preparing to send one of his Children at least to this famous Place; and in this Case most of them consulted their own Purses instead of their Childrens Capacities: So that I observed, a great many, yea, the most part of those who were travelling thither, were little better than Dunces and Blockheads. Alas! alas! At length I entred upon a spacious Plain, in the Midst of which was erected a large and stately Edifice: It was to this that a great Company of Youths from all Parts of the Country were going; so stepping in among the Crowd, I passed on with them, and presently arrived at the Gate. The Passage was kept by two sturdy Porters named Riches and Poverty, and the latter obstinately refused to give Entrance to any who had not first gain'd the Favour of the former; so that I observed, many who came even to the very Gate, were obliged to travel back again as ignorant as they came, for want of this necessary Qualification. However, as a Spectator I gain'd Admittance, and with the rest entred directly into the Temple. In the Middle of the great Hall stood a stately and magnificent Throne, which was ascended to by two high and difficult Steps. On the Top of it sat Learning in awful State; she was apparelled wholly in Black, and surrounded almost on every Side with innumerable Volumes in all Languages. She seem'd very busily employ'd in writing something on half a Sheet of Paper, and upon Enquiry, I understood she was preparing a Paper, call'd, The New-England Courant. On her Right Hand sat English, with a pleasant smiling Countenance, and handsomely attir'd; and on her left were seated several Antique Figures with their Faces vail'd. I was considerably puzzl'd to guess who they were, until one informed me, (who stood beside me,) that those Figures on her left Hand were Latin, Greek, Hebrew, &c. and that they were very much reserv'd, and seldom or never unvail'd their Faces here, and then to few or none, tho' most of those who have in this Place acquir'd so much Learning as to distinguish them from English, pretended to an intimate Acquaintance with them. I then enquir'd of him, what could be the Reason why they continued vail'd, in this Place especially: He pointed to the Foot of the Throne, where I saw Idleness, attended with Ignorance, and these (he informed me) were they, who first vail'd them, and still kept them so. Now I observed, that the whole Tribe who entred into the Temple with me, began to climb the Throne; but the Work proving troublesome and difficult to most of them, they withdrew their Hands from the Plow, and contented themselves to sit at the Foot, with Madam Idleness and her Maid Ignorance, until those who were assisted by Diligence and a docible Temper, had well nigh got up the first Step: But the Time drawing nigh in which they could no way avoid ascending, they were fain to crave the Assistance of those who had got up before them, and who, for the Reward perhaps of a Pint of Milk, or a Piece of Plumb-Cake, lent the Lubbers a helping Hand, and sat them in the Eye of the World, upon a Level with themselves. The other Step being in the same Manner ascended, and the usual Ceremonies at an End, every Beetle-Scull seem'd well satisfy'd with his own Portion of Learning, tho' perhaps he was e'en just as ignorant as ever. And now the Time of their Departure being come, they march'd out of Doors to make Room for another Company, who waited for Entrance: And I, having seen all that was to be seen, quitted the hall likewise, and went to make my Observations on those who were just gone out before me. Some I perceiv'd took to Merchandizing, others to Travelling, some to one Thing, some to another, and some to Nothing; and many of them from henceforth, for want of Patrimony, liv'd as poor as Church Mice, being unable to dig, and asham'd to beg, and to live by their Wits it was impossible. But the most Part of the Crowd went along a large beaten Path, which led to a Temple at the further End of the Plain, call'd, The Temple of Theology. The Business of those who were employ'd in this Temple being laborious and painful, I wonder'd exceedingly to see so many go towards it; but while I was pondering this Matter in my Mind, I spy'd Pecunia behind a Curtain, beckoning to them with her Hand, which Sight immediately satisfy'd me for whose Sake it was, that a great Part of them (I will not say all) travel'd that Road. In this Temple I saw nothing worth mentioning, except the ambitious and fraudulent Contrivances of Plagius, who (notwithstanding he had been severely reprehended for such Practices before) was diligently transcribing some eloquent Paragraphs out of Tillotson's Works, &c., to embellish his own. Now I bethought my self in my Sleep, that it was Time to be at Home, and as I fancy'd I was travelling back thither, I reflected in my Mind on the extream Folly of those Parents, who, blind to their Childrens Dulness, and insensible of the Solidity of their Skulls, because they think their Purses can afford it, will needs send them to the Temple of Learning, where, for want of a suitable Genius, they learn little more than how to carry themselves handsomely, and enter a Room genteely, (which might as well be acquir'd at a Dancing-School,) and from whence they return, after Abundance of Trouble and Charge, as great Blockheads as ever, only more proud and self-conceited. While I was in the midst of these unpleasant Reflections, Clericus (who with a Book in his Hand was walking under the Trees) accidentally awak'd me; to him I related my Dream with all its Particulars, and he, without much Study, presently interpreted it, assuring me, That it was a lively Representation of Harvard College, Etcetera. I remain, Sir, Your Humble Servant, SILENCE DOGOOD. May 28, 1722 [No. 5] Mulier Mulieri magis congruet. Ter. To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, I shall here present your Readers with a Letter from one, who informs me that I have begun at the wrong End of my Business, and that I ought to begin at Home, and censure the Vices and Follies of my own Sex, before I venture to meddle with your's: Nevertheless, I am resolved to dedicate this Speculation to the Fair Tribe, and endeavour to show, that Mr. Ephraim charges Women with being particularly guilty of Pride, Idleness, &c. wrongfully, inasmuch as the Men have not only as great a Share in those Vices as the Women, but are likewise in a great Measure the Cause of that which the Women are guilty of. I think it will be best to produce my Antagonist, before I encounter him. "Madam "My Design in troubling you with this Letter is, to desire you would begin with your own Sex first: Let the first Volley of your Resentments be directed against Female Vice; let Female Idleness, Ignorance and Folly, (which are Vices more peculiar to your Sex than to our's,) be the Subject of your Satyrs, but more especially Female Pride, which I think is intollerable. Here is a large Field that wants Cultivation, and which I believe you are able (if willing) to improve with Advantage; and when you have once reformed the Women, you will find it a much easier Task to reform the Men, because Women are the prime Causes of a great many Male Enormities. This is all at present from Your Friendly Wellwisher, Ephraim Censorious After Thanks to my Correspondent for his Kindness in cutting out Work for me, I must assure him, that I find it a very difficult Matter to reprove Women separate from the Men; for what Vice is there in which the Men have not as great a Share as the Women? and in some have they not a far greater, as in Drunkenness, Swearing, &c.? And if they have, then it follows, that when a Vice is to be reproved, Men, who are most culpable, deserve the most Reprehension, and certainly therefore, ought to have it. But we will wave this Point at present, and proceed to a particular Consideration of what my Correspondent calls Female Vice. As for Idleness, if I should Quaere, Where are the greatest Number of its Votaries to be found, with us or the Men? it might I believe be easily and truly answer'd, With the latter. For notwithstanding the Men are commonly complaining how hard they are forc'd to labour, only to maintain their Wives in Pomp and Idleness, yet if you go among the Women, you will learn, that they have always more Work upon their Hands than they are able to do; and that a Woman's Work is never done, &c. But however, Suppose we should grant for once, that we are generally more idle than the Men, (without making any Allowance for the Weakness of the Sex,) I desire to know whose Fault it is? Are not the Men to blame for their Folly in maintaining us in Idleness? Who is there that can be handsomely Supported in Affluence, Ease and Pleasure by another, that will chuse rather to earn his Bread by the Sweat of his own Brows? And if a Man will be so fond and so foolish, as to labour hard himself for a Livelihood, and suffer his Wife in the mean Time to sit in Ease and Idleness, let him not blame her if she does so, for it is in a great Measure his own Fault. And now for the Ignorance and Folly which he reproaches us with, let us see (if we are Fools and Ignoramus's) whose is the Fault, the Men's or our's. An ingenious Writer, having this Subject in Hand, has the following Words, wherein he lays the Fault wholly on the Men, for not allowing Women the Advantages of Education. "I have (says he) often thought of it as one of the most barbarous Customs in the World, considering us as a civiliz'd and Christian Country, that we deny the Advantages of Learning to Women. We reproach the Sex every Day with Folly and Impertinence, while I am confident, had they the Advantages of Education equal to us, they would be guilty of less than our selves. One would wonder indeed how it should happen that Women are conversible at all, since they are only beholding to natural Parts for all their Knowledge. Their Youth is spent to teach them to stitch and sew, or make Baubles: They are taught to read indeed, and perhaps to write their Names, or so; and that is the Heighth of a Womans Education. And I would but ask any who slight the Sex for their Understanding, What is a Man (a Gentleman, I mean) good for that is taught no more? If Knowledge and Understanding had been useless Additions to the Sex, God Almighty would never have given them Capacities, for he made nothing Needless. What has the Woman done to forfeit the Priviledge of being taught? Does she plague us with her Pride and Impertinence? Why did we not let her learn, that she might have had more Wit? Shall we upbraid Women with Folly, when 'tis only the Error of this inhumane Custom that hindred them being made wiser." So much for Female Ignorance and Folly, and now let us a little consider the Pride which my Correspondent thinks is intollerable. By this Expression of his, one would think he is some dejected Swain, tyranniz'd over by some cruel haughty Nymph, who (perhaps he thinks) has no more Reason to be proud than himself. Alas-a-day! What shall we say in this Case! Why truly, if Women are proud, it is certainly owing to the Men still; for if they will be such Simpletons as to humble themselves at their Feet, and fill their credulous Ears with extravagant Praises of their Wit, Beauty, and other Accomplishments (perhaps where there are none too,) and when Women are by this Means perswaded that they are Something more than humane, what Wonder is it, if they carry themselves haughtily, and live extravagantly. Notwithstanding, I believe there are more Instances of extravagant Pride to be found among Men than among Women, and this Fault is certainly more hainous in the former than in the latter. Upon the whole, I conclude, that it will be impossible to lash any Vice, of which the Men are not equally guilty with the Women, and consequently deserve an equal (if not a greater) Share in the Censure. However, I exhort both to amend, where both are culpable, otherwise they may expect to be severely handled by Sir, Your Humble Servant, SILENCE DOGOOD N.B. Mrs. Dogood has lately left her Seat in the Country, and come to Boston, where she intends to tarry for the Summer Season, in order to compleat her Observations of the present reigning Vices of the Town. June 11, 1722 [No. 6] Quem Dies videt veniens Superbum, Hunc Dies vidit fugiens jacentem. Seneca. To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, Among the many reigning Vices of the Town which may at any Time come under my Consideration and Reprehension, there is none which I am more inclin'd to expose than that of Pride. It is acknowledg'd by all to be a Vice the most hateful to God and Man. Even those who nourish it in themselves, hate to see it in others. The proud Man aspires after Nothing less than an unlimited Superiority over his Fellow-Creatures. He has made himself a King in SoliloquyS; fancies himself conquering the World; and the Inhabitants thereof consulting on proper Methods to acknowledge his Merit. I speak it to my Shame, I my self was a Queen from the Fourteenth to the Eighteenth Year of my Age, and govern'd the World all the Time of my being govern'd by my Master. But this speculative Pride may be the Subject of another Letter: I shall at present confine my Thoughts to what we call Pride of Apparel. This Sort of Pride has been growing upon us ever since we parted with our Homespun Cloaths for Fourteen Penny Stuffs, &c. And the Pride of Apparel has begot and nourish'd in us a Pride of Heart, which portends the Ruin of Church and State. Pride goeth before Destruction, and a haughty Spirit before a Fall: And I remember my late Reverend Husband would often say upon this Text, That a Fall was the natural Consequence, as well as Punishment of Pride. Daily Experience is sufficient to evince the Truth of this Observation. Persons of small Fortune under the Dominion of this Vice, seldom consider their Inability to maintain themselves in it, but strive to imitate their Superiors in Estate, or Equals in Folly, until one Misfortune comes upon the Neck of another, and every Step they take is a Step backwards. By striving to appear rich they become really poor, and deprive themselves of that Pity and Charity which is due to the humble poor Man, who is made so more immediately by Providence. This Pride of Apparel will appear the more foolish, if we consider, that those airy Mortals, who have no other Way of making themselves considerable but by gorgeous Apparel, draw after them Crowds of Imitators, who hate each other while they endeavour after a Similitude of Manners. They destroy by Example, and envy one another's Destruction. I cannot dismiss this Subject without some Observations on a particular Fashion now reigning among my own Sex, the most immodest and inconvenient of any the Art of Woman has invented, namely, that of Hoop-Petticoats. By these they are incommoded in their General and Particular Calling, and therefore they cannot answer the Ends of either necessary or ornamental Apparel. These monstrous topsy-turvy Mortar-Pieces, are neither fit for the Church, the Hall, or the Kitchen; and if a Number of them were well mounted on Noddles-Island, they would look more like Engines of War for bombarding the Town, than Ornaments of the Fair Sex. An honest Neighbour of mine, happening to be in Town some time since on a publick Day, inform'd me, that he saw four Gentlewomen with their Hoops half mounted in a Balcony, as they withdrew to the Wall, to the great Terror of the Militia, who (he thinks) might attribute their irregular Volleys to the formidable Appearance of the Ladies Petticoats. I assure you, Sir, I have but little Hopes of perswading my Sex, by this Letter, utterly to relinquish the extravagant Foolery, and Indication of Immodesty, in this monstrous Garb of their's; but I would at least desire them to lessen the Circumference of their Hoops, and leave it with them to consider, Whether they, who pay no Rates or Taxes, ought to take up more Room in the King's High-Way, than the Men, who yearly contribute to the Support of the Government. I am, Sir, Your Humble Servant, SILENCE DOGOOD. June 25, 1722 [No. 7] Give me the Muse, whose generous Force, Impatient of the Reins, Pursues an unattempted Course, Breaks all the Criticks Iron Chains. Watts. To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, It has been the Complaint of many Ingenious Foreigners, who have travell'd amongst us, That good Poetry is not to be expected in New-England. I am apt to Fancy, the Reason is, not because our Countreymen are altogether void of a Poetical Genius, nor yet because we have not those Advantages of Education which other Countries have, but purely because we do not afford that Praise and Encouragement which is merited, when any thing extraordinary of this Kind is produc'd among us: Upon which Consideration I have determined, when I meet with a Good Piece of New-England Poetry, to give it a suitable Encomium, and thereby endeavour to discover to the World some of its Beautys, in order to encourage the Author to go on, and bless the World with more, and more Excellent Productions. There has lately appear'd among us a most Excellent Piece of Poetry, entituled, An Elegy upon the much Lamented Death of Mrs. Mehitebell Kitel, Wife of Mr. John Kitel of Salem, &c. It may justly be said in its Praise, without Flattery to the Author, that it is the most Extraordinary Piece that ever was wrote in New-England. The Language is so soft and Easy, the Expression so moving and pathetick, but above all, the Verse and Numbers so Charming and Natural, that it is almost beyond Comparison, The Muse disdains Those Links and Chains, Measures and Rules of vulgar Strains, And o'er the Laws of Harmony a Sovereign Queen she reigns. I find no English Author, Ancient or Modern, whose Elegies may be compar'd with this, in respect to the Elegance of Stile, or Smoothness of Rhime; and for the affecting Part, I will leave your Readers to judge, if ever they read any Lines, that would sooner make them draw their Breath and Sigh, if not shed Tears, than these following. Come let us mourn, for we have lost a Wife, a Daughter, and a Sister, Who has lately taken Flight, and greatly we have mist her. In another Place, Some little Time before she yielded up her Breath, She said, I ne'er shall hear one Sermon more on Earth. She kist her Husband some little Timebefore she expir'd, Then lean'd her Head the Pillow on, just out of Breath and tir'd. But the Threefold Appellation in the first Line a Wife, a Daughter, and a Sister, must not pass unobserved. That Line in the celebrated Watts, Gunston the Just, the Generous, and the Young, is nothing Comparable to it. The latter only mentions three Qualifications of one Person who was deceased, which therefore could raise Grief and Compassion but for One. Whereas the former, (our most excellent Poet) gives his Reader a Sort of an Idea of the Death of Three Persons, viz. a Wife, a Daughter, and a Sister, which is Three Times as great a Loss as the Death of One, and consequently must raise Three Times as much Grief and Compassion in the Reader. I should be very much straitned for Room, if I should attempt to discover even half the Excellencies of this Elegy which are obvious to me. Yet I cannot omit one Observation, which is, that the Author has (to his Honour) invented a new Species of Poetry, which wants a Name, and was never before known. His Muse scorns to be confin'd to the old Measures and Limits, or to observe the dull Rules of Criticks; Nor Rapin gives her Rules to fly, nor Purcell Notes to sing. Watts. Now 'tis Pity that such an Excellent Piece should not be dignify'd with a particular Name; and seeing it cannot justly be called, either Epic, Sapphic, Lyric, or Pindaric, nor any other Name yet invented, I presume it may, (in Honour and Remembrance of the Dead) be called the Kitelic. Thus much in the Praise of Kitelic Poetry. It is certain, that those Elegies which are of our own Growth, (and our Soil seldom produces any other sort of Poetry) are by far the greatest part, wretchedly Dull and Ridiculous. Now since it is imagin'd by many, that our Poets are honest, well-meaning Fellows, who do their best, and that if they had but some Instructions how to govern Fancy with Judgment, they would make indifferent good Elegies; I shall here subjoin a Receipt for that purpose, which was left me as a Legacy, (among other valuable Rarities) by my Reverend Husband. It is as follows, A RECEIPT to make a New-England Funeral ELEGY. For the Title of your Elegy. Of these you may have enough ready made to your Hands; but if you should chuse to make it your self, you must be sure not to omit the Words Aetatis Suae, which will Beautify it exceedingly. For the Subject of your Elegy. Take one of your Neighbours who has lately departed this Life; it is no great matter at what Age the Party dy'd, but it will be best if he went away suddenly, being Kill'd, Drown'd, or Froze to Death. Having chose the Person, take all his Virtues, Excellencies, &c. and if he have not enough, you may borrow some to make up a sufficient Quantity: To these add his last Words, dying Expressions, &c. if they are to be had; mix all these together, and be sure you strain them well. Then season all with a Handful or two of Melancholly Expressions, such as, Dreadful, Deadly, cruel cold Death, unhappy Fate, weeping Eyes, &c. Have mixed all these Ingredients well, put them into the empty Scull of some young Harvard; (but in Case you have ne'er a One at Hand, you may use your own,) there let them Ferment for the Space of a Fortnight, and by that Time they will be incorporated into a Body, which take out, and having prepared a sufficient Quantity of double Rhimes, such as, Power, Flower; Quiver, Shiver; Grieve us, Leave us; tell you, excel you; Expeditions, Physicians; Fatigue him, Intrigue him; &c. you must spread all upon Paper, and if you can procure a Scrap of Latin to put at the End, it will garnish it mightily; then having affixed your Name at the Bottom, with a Moestus Composuit, you will have an Excellent Elegy. N.B. This Receipt will serve when a Female is the Subject of your Elegy, provided you borrow a greater Quantity of Virtues, Excellencies, &c. Sir, Your Servant, Silence Dogood p.s. I shall make no other Answer to Hypercarpus's Criticism on my last Letter than this, Mater me genuit, peperit mox filia matrem.. July 9, 1722 [No. 8] To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, I prefer the following Abstract from the London Journal to any Thing of my own, and therefore shall present it to your Readers this week without any further Preface. "Without Freedom of Thought, there can be no such Thing as Wisdom; and no such Thing as publick Liberty, without Freedom of Speech; which is the Right of every Man, as far as by it, he does not hurt or controul the Right of another: And this is the only Check it ought to suffer, and the only Bounds it ought to know. "This sacred Privilege is so essential to free Goverments, that the Security of Property, and the Freedom of Speech always go together; and in those wretched Countries where a Man cannot call his Tongue his own, he can scarce call any Thing else his own. Whoever would overthrow the Liberty of a Nation, must begin by subduing the Freeness of Speech; a Thing terrible to Publick Traytors. "This Secret was so well known to the Court of King Charles the First, that his wicked Ministry procured a Proclamation, to forbid the People to talk of Parliaments, which those Traytors had laid aside. To assert the undoubted Right of the Subject, and defend his Majesty's legal Prerogative, was called Disaffection, and punished as Sedition. Nay, People were forbid to talk of Religion in their Families: For the Priests had combined with the Ministers to cook up Tyranny, and suppress Truth and the Law, while the late King James, when Duke of York, went avowedly to Mass, Men were fined, imprisoned and undone, for saying he was a Papist: And that King Charles the Second might live more securely a Papist, there was an Act of Parliament made, declaring it Treason to say that he was one. "That Men ought to speak well of their Governours is true, while their Governours deserve to be well spoken of; but to do publick Mischief, without hearing of it, is only the Prerogative and Felicity of Tyranny: A free People will be shewing that they are so, by their Freedom of Speech. "The Administration of Government, is nothing else but the Attendance of the Trustees of the People upon the Interest and Affairs of the People: And as it is the Part and Business of the People, for whose Sake alone all publick Matters are, or ought to be transacted, to see whether they be well or ill transacted; so it is the Interest, and ought to be the Ambition, of all honest Magistrates, to have their Deeds openly examined, and publickly scann'd: Only the wicked Governours of Men dread what is said of them; Audivit Tiberius probra queis lacerabitur, atque perculsus est. The publick Censure was true, else he had not felt it bitter. Freedom of Speech is ever the Symptom, as well as the Effect of a good Government. In old Rome, all was left to the Judgment and Pleasure of the People, who examined the publick Proceedings with such Discretion, and censured those who administred them with such Equity and Mildness, that in the space of Three Hundred Years, not five publick Ministers suffered unjustly. Indeed whenever the Commons proceeded to Violence, the great Ones had been the Agressors. "Guilt only dreads Liberty of Speech, which drags it out of its lurking Holes, and exposes its Deformity and Horrour to Daylight." Horatius, Valerius, Cincinnatus, and other vertuous and undesigning Magistrates of the Roman Commonwealth, had nothing to fear from Liberty of Speech. Their virtuous Administration, the more it was examin'd, the more it brightned and gain'd by Enquiry. When Valerius in particular, was accused upon some slight grounds of affecting the Diadem; he, who was the first Minister of Rome, does not accuse the People for examining his Conduct, but approved his Innocence in a Speech to them; and gave such Satisfaction to them, and gained such Popularity to himself, that they gave him a new Name; inde cognomen factum Publicolae est; to denote that he was their Favourite and their Friend. Latae deinde leges — Ante omnes de provocatione Adversus Magistratus Ad Populum, Livii, lib. 2. Cap. 8. "But Things afterwards took another Turn. Rome, with the Loss of its Liberty, lost also its Freedom of Speech; then Mens Words began to be feared and watched; and then first began the poysonous Race of Informers, banished indeed under the righteous Administration of Titus, Narva, Trajan, Aurelius, &c. but encouraged and enriched under the vile Ministry of Sejanus, Tigillinus, Pallas, and Cleander: Queri libet, quod in secreta nostra non inquirant principes, nisi quos Odimus, says Pliny to Trajan. "The best Princes have ever encouraged and promoted Freedom of Speech; they know that upright Measures would defend themselves, and that all upright Men would defend them. Tacitus, speaking of the Reign of some of the Princes abovemention'd, says with Extasy, Rara Temporum felicitate, ubi sentire quae velis, & quae sentias dicere licetA blessed Time when you might think what you would, and speak what you thought. "I doubt not but old Spencer and his Son, who were the Chief Ministers and Betrayers of Edward the Second, would have been very glad to have stopped the Mouths of all the honest Men in England. They dreaded to be called Traytors, because they were Traytors. And I dare say, Queen Elizabeth's Walsingham, who deserved no Reproaches, feared none. Misrepresentation of publick Measures is easily overthrown, by representing publick Measures truly; when they are honest, they ought to be publickly known, that they may be publickly commended; but if they are knavish or pernicious, they ought to be publickly exposed, in order to be publickly detested." Yours, &c., SILENCE DOGOOD. July 23, 1722 [No. 9] Corruptio optimi est pessima. To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, It has been for some Time a Question with me, Whether a Commonwealth suffers more by hypocritical Pretenders to Religion, or by the openly Profane? But some late Thoughts of this Nature, have inclined me to think, that the Hypocrite is the most dangerous Person of the Two, especially if he sustains a Post in the Government, and we consider his Conduct as it regards the Publick. The first Artifice of a State Hypocrite is, by a few savoury Expressions which cost him Nothing, to betray the best Men in his Country into an Opinion of his Goodness; and if the Country wherein he lives is noted for the Purity of Religion, he the more easily gains his End, and consequently may more justly be expos'd and detested. A notoriously profane Person in a private Capacity, ruins himself, and perhaps forwards the Destruction of a few of his Equals; but a publick Hypocrite every day deceives his betters, and makes them the Ignorant Trumpeters of his supposed Godliness: They take him for a Saint, and pass him for one, without considering that they are (as it were) the Instruments of publick Mischief out of Conscience, and ruin their Country for God's sake. This Political Description of a Hypocrite, may (for ought I know) be taken for a new Doctrine by some of your Readers; but let them consider, that a little Religion, and a little Honesty, goes a great way in Courts. 'Tis not inconsistent with Charity to distrust a Religious Man in Power, tho' he may be a good Man; he has many Temptations "to propagate publick Destruction for Personal Advantages and Security": And if his Natural Temper be covetous, and his Actions often contradict his pious Discourse, we may with great Reason conclude, that he has some other Design in his Religion besides barely getting to Heaven. But the most dangerous Hypocrite in a Common-Wealth, is one who leaves the Gospel for the sake of the Law: A Man compounded of Law and Gospel, is able to cheat a whole Country with his Religion, and then destroy them under Colour of Law: And here the Clergy are in great Danger of being deceiv'd, and the People of being deceiv'd by the Clergy, until the Monster arrives to such Power and Wealth, that he is out of the reach of both, and can oppress the People without their own blind Assistance. And it is a sad Observation, that when the People too late see their Error, yet the Clergy still persist in their Encomiums on the Hypocrite; and when he happens to die for the Good of his Country, without leaving behind him the Memory of one good Action, he shall be sure to have his Funeral Sermon stuff'd with Pious Expressions which he dropt at such a Time, and at such a Place, and on such an Occasion; than which nothing can be more prejudicial to the Interest of Religion, nor indeed to the Memory of the Person deceas'd. The Reason of this Blindness in the Clergy is, because they are honourably supported (as they ought to be) by their People, and see nor feel nothing of the Oppression which is obvious and burdensome to every one else. But this Subject raises in me an Indignation not to be born; and if we have had, or are like to have any Instances of this Nature in New England, we cannot better manifest our Love to Religion and the Country, than by setting the Deceivers in a true Light, and undeceiving the Deceived, however such Discoveries may be represented by the ignorant or designing Enemies of our Peace and Safety. I shall conclude with a Paragraph or two from an ingenious Political Writer in the London Journal, the better to convince your Readers, that Publick Destruction may be easily carry'd on by hypocritical Pretenders to Religion. "A raging Passion for immoderate Gain had made Men universally and intensely hard-hearted: They were every where devouring one another. And yet the Directors and their Accomplices, who were the acting Instruments of all this outrageous Madness and Mischief, set up for wonderful pious Persons, while they were defying Almighty God, and plundering Men; and they set apart a Fund of Subscriptions for charitable Uses; that is, they mercilessly made a whole People Beggars, and charitably supported a few necessitous and worthless Favourites. I doubt not, but if the Villany had gone on with Success, they would have had their Names handed down to Posterity with Encomiums; as the Names of other publick Robbers have been! We have Historians and Ode Makers now living, very proper for such a Task. It is certain, that most People did, at one Time, believe the Directors to be great and worthy Persons. And an honest Country Clergyman told me last Summer, upon the Road, that Sir John was an excellent publick-spirited Person, for that he had beautified his Chancel. "Upon the whole we must not judge of one another by their best Actions; since the worst Men do some Good, and all Men make fine Professions: But we must judge of Men by the whole of their Conduct, and the Effects of it. Thorough Honesty requires great and long Proof, since many a Man, long thought honest, has at length proved a Knave. And it is from judging without Proof, or false Proof, that Mankind continue Unhappy." I am, Sir, Your humble Servant, SILENCE DOGOOD. August 13, 1722 [No. 10] Optimè societas hominum servabitur. Cic. To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, Discoursing lately with an intimate Friend of mine of the lamentable Condition of Widows, he put into my Hands a Book, wherein the ingenious Author proposes (I think) a certain Method for their Relief. I have often thought of some such Project for their Benefit my self, and intended to communicate my Thoughts to the Publick; but to prefer my own Proposals to what follows, would be rather an Argument of Vanity in me than Good Will to the many Hundreds of my Fellow-Sufferers now in New-England. “We have (says he) abundance of Women, who have been Bred well, and Liv’d well, Ruin’d in a few Years, and perhaps, left Young, with a House full of Children, and nothing to Support them; which falls generally upon the Wives of the Inferior Clergy, or of Shopkeepers and Artificers. “They marry Wives with perhaps £300 to £1000 Portion, and can settle no Jointure upon them; either they are Extravagant and Idle, and Waste it, or Trade decays, or Losses, or a Thousand Contingences happen to bring a Tradesman to Poverty, and he Breaks; the Poor Young Woman, it may be, has Three or Four Children, and is driven to a thousand shifts, while he lies in the Mint or Fryars under the Dilemma of a Statute of Bankrupt; but if he Dies, then she is absolutely Undone, unless she has Friends to go to. “Suppose an Office to be Erected, to be call’d An Office of Ensurance for Widows, upon the following Conditions; “Two thousand Women, or their Husbands for them, Enter their Names into a Register to be kept for that purpose, with the Names, Age, and Trade of their Husbands, with the Place of their abode, Paying at the Time of their Entring 5s. down with 1s. 4d. per Quarter, which is to the setting up and support of an Office with Clerks, and all proper Officers for the same; for there is no maintaining such without Charge; they receive every one of them a Certificate, Seal’d by the Secretary of the Office, and Sign’d by the Governors, for the Articles hereafter mentioned. “If any one of the Women becomes a Widow, at any Time after Six Months from the Date of her Subscription, upon due Notice given, and Claim made at the Office in form, as shall be directed, she shall receive within Six Months after such Claim made, the Sum of £500 in Money, without any Deductions, saving some small Fees to the Officers, which the Trustees must settle, that they may be known. “In Consideration of this, every Woman so Subscribing, Obliges her self to Pay as often as any Member of the Society becomes a Widow, the due Proportion or Share allotted to her to Pay, towards the £500 for the said Widow, provided her Share does not exceed the Sum of 5s. “No Seamen or Soldiers Wives to be accepted into such a Proposal as this, on the Account before mention’d, because the Contingences of their Lives are not equal to others, unless they will admit this general Exception, supposing they do not Die out of the Kingdom. “It might also be an Exception, That if the Widow, that Claim’d, had really, bona fide,left her by her Husband to her own use, clear of all Debts and Legacies, £2000 she shou’d have no Claim; the Intent being to Aid the Poor, not add to the Rich. But there lies a great many Objections against such an Article: As “1. It may tempt some to forswear themselves. “2. People will Order their Wills so as to defraud the Exception. “One Exception must be made; and that is, Either very unequal Matches, as when a Woman of Nineteen Marries an old Man of Seventy; or Women who have infirm Husbands, I mean known and publickly so. To remedy which, Two things are to be done. “[1.] The Office must have moving Officers without doors, who shall inform themselves of such matters, and if any such Circumstances appear, the Office should have 14 days time to return their Money, and declare their Subscriptions Void. “2. No Woman whose Husband had any visible Distemper, should claim under a Year after her Subscription. “One grand Objection against this Proposal, is, How you will oblige People to pay either their Subscription, or their Quarteridge. “To this I answer, By no Compulsion (tho’ that might be perform’d too) but altogether voluntary; only with this Argument to move it, that if they do not continue their Payments, they lose the Benefit of their past Contributions. “I know it lies as a fair Objection against such a Project as this, That the number of Claims are so uncertain, That no Body knows what they engage in, when they Subscribe, for so many may die Annually out of Two Thousand, as may perhaps make my Payment £20 or 25 per Ann., and if a Woman happen to Pay that for Twenty Years, though she receives the £500 at last she is a great Loser; but if she dies before her Husband, she has lessened his Estate considerably, and brought a great Loss upon him. “First, I say to this, That I wou’d have such a Proposal as this be so fair and easy, that if any Person who had Subscrib’d found the Payments too high, and the Claims fall too often, it shou’d be at their Liberty at any Time, upon Notice given, to be released and stand Oblig’d no longer; and if so, Volenti non fit Injuria; every one knows best what their own Circumstances will bear. “In the next Place, because Death is a Contingency, no Man can directly Calculate, and all that Subscribe must take the Hazard; yet that a Prejudice against this Notion may not be built on wrong Grounds, let’s examine a little the Probable hazard, and see how many shall die Annually out of 2000 Subscribers, accounting by the common proportion of Burials, to the number of the Living. “Sir William Petty in his Political Arithmetick, by a very Ingenious Calculation, brings the Account of Burials in London, to be 1 in 40 Annually, and proves it by all the proper Rules of proportion’d Computation; and I’le take my Scheme from thence. If then One in Forty of all the People in England should Die, that supposes Fifty to Die every Year out of our Two Thousand Subscribers; and for a Woman to Contribute 5s. to every one, would certainly be to agree to Pay £12 10s. per Ann. upon her Husband’s Life, to receive £500 when he Di’d, and lose it if she Di’d first; and yet this wou’d not be a hazard beyond reason too great for the Gain. “But I shall offer some Reasons to prove this to be impossible in our Case; First, Sir William Petty allows the City of London to contain about a Million of People, and our Yearly Bill of Mortality never yet amounted to 25000 in the most Sickly Years we have had, Plague Years excepted, sometimes but to 20000, which is but One in Fifty: Now it is to be consider’d here, that Children and Ancient People make up, one time with another, at least one third of our Bills of Mortality; and our Assurances lies upon none but the Midling Age of the People, which is the only age wherein Life is any thing steady; and if that be allow’d, there cannot Die by his Computation, above One in Eighty of such People, every Year; but because I would be sure to leave Room for Casualty, I’le allow one in Fifty shall Die out of our Number Subscrib’d. “Secondly, It must be allow’d, that our Payments falling due only on the Death of Husbands, this One in Fifty must not be reckoned upon the Two thousand; for ’tis to be suppos’d at least as many Women shall die as Men, and then there is nothing to Pay; so that One in Fifty upon One Thousand, is the most that I can suppose shall claim the Contribution in a Year, which is Twenty Claims a Year at 5s. each, and is £5 per Ann. and if a Woman pays this for Twenty Year, and claims at last, she is Gainer enough, and no extraordinary Loser if she never claims at all: And I verily believe any Office might undertake to demand at all Adventures not above £6 per Ann. and secure the Subscriber £500 in case she come to claim as a Widow.” I would leave this to the Consideration of all who are concern’d for their own or their Neighbour’s Temporal Happiness; and I am humbly of Opinion, that the Country is ripe for many such Friendly Societies, whereby every Man might help another, without any Disservice to himself. We have many charitable Gentlemen who Yearly give liberally to the Poor, and where can they better bestow their Charity than on those who become so by Providence, and for ought they know on themselves. But above all, the Clergy have the most need of coming into some such Project as this. They as well as poor Men (according to the Proverb) generally abound in Children; and how many Clergymen in the Country are forc’d to labour in their Fields, to keep themselves in a Condition above Want? How then shall they be able to leave any thing to their forsaken, dejected, and almost forgotten Wives and Children. For my own Part, I have nothing left to live on, but Contentment and a few Cows; and tho’ I cannot expect to be reliev’d by this Project, yet it would be no small Satisfaction to me to see it put in Practice for the Benefit of others. I am, Sir, &c. SILENCE DOGOOD August 20, 1722 [No. 11] Neque licitum interea est meam amicam visere. To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, From a natural Compassion to my Fellow-Creatures, I have sometimes been betray'd into Tears at the Sight of an Object of Charity, who by a bear [sic] Relation of his Circumstances, seem'd to demand the Assistance of those about him. The following Petition represents in so lively a Manner the forlorn State of a Virgin well stricken in Years and Repentance, that I cannot forbear publishing it at this Time, with some Advice to the Petitioner. To Mrs. Silence Dogood. "1. That your Petitioner being puff'd up in her younger Years with a numerous Train of Humble Servants, had the Vanity to think, that her extraordinary Wit and Beauty would continually recommend her to the Esteem of the Gallants; and therefore as soon as it came to be publickly known that any Gentleman address'd her, he was immediately discarded. "2. That several of your Petitioners Humble Servants, who upon their being rejected by her, were, to all Apperance in a dying Condition, have since recover'd their Health, and been several Years married, to the great Surprize and Grief of your Petitioner, who parted with them upon no other Conditions, but that they should die or run distracted for her, as several of them faithfully promis'd to do. "3. That your Petitioner finding her self disappointed in and neglected by her former Adorers, and no new Offers appearing for some Years past, she has been industriously contracting Acquaintance with several Families in Town and Country, where any young Gentlemen or Widowers have resided, and endeavour'd to appear as conversable as possible before them: She has likewise been a strict Observer of the Fashion, and always appear'd well dress'd. And the better to restore her decay'd Beauty, she has consum'd above Fifty Pound's Worth of the most approved Cosmeticks. But all won't do. "Your Petitioner therefore most humbly prays, That you would be pleased to form a Project for the Relief of all those penitent Mortals of the fair Sex, that are like to be punish'd with their Virginity until old Age, for the Pride and Insolence of their Youth. "And your Petitioner (as in Duty bound) shall ever pray, &c. Margaret Aftercast" Were I endow'd with the Faculty of Match-making, it should be improv'd for the Benefit of Mrs. Margaret, and others in her Condition: But since my extream Modesty and Taciturnity, forbids an Attempt of this Nature, I would advise them to relieve themselves in a Method of Friendly Society; and that already publish'd for Widows, I conceive would be a very proper Proposal for them, whereby every single Woman, upon full Proof given of her continuing a Virgin for the Space of Eighteen Years, (dating her Virginity from the Age of Twelve,) should be entituled to £500 in ready Cash. But then it will be necessary to make the following Exceptions. 1. That no Woman shall be admitted into the Society after she is Twenty Five Years old, who has made a Practice of entertaining and discarding Humble Servants, without sufficient Reason for so doing, until she has manifested her Repentance in Writing under her Hand. 2. No Member of the Society who has declar'd before two credible Witnesses, That it is well known she has refus'd several good Offers since the Time of her Subscribing, shall be entituled to the £500 when she comes of Age; that is to say, Thirty Years. 3. No Woman, who after claiming and receiving, has had the good Fortune to marry, shall entertain any Company with Encomiums on her Husband, above the Space of one Hour at a Time, upon Pain of returning one half the Money into the Office, for the first Offence; and upon the second Offence to return the Remainder. I am, Sir, Your Humble Servant, SILENCE DOGOOD September 10, 1722 [No. 12] Quod est in cordi sobrii, est in ore ebrii. To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, It is no unprofitable tho' unpleasant Pursuit, diligently to inspect and consider the Manners and Conversation of Men, who, insensible of the greatest Enjoyments of humane Life, abandon themselves to Vice from a false Notion of Pleasure and good Fellowship. A true and natural Representation of any Enormity, is often the best Argument against it and Means of removing it, when the most severe Reprehensions alone, are found ineffectual. I would in this letter improve the little Observation I have made on the Vice of Drunkeness, the better to reclaim the good Fellows who usually pay the Devotions of the Evening to Bacchus. I doubt not but moderate Drinking has been improv'd for the Diffusion of Knowledge among the ingenious Part of Mankind, who want the Talent of a ready Utterance, in order to discover the Conceptions of their Minds in an entertaining and intelligible Manner. 'Tis true, drinking does not improve our Faculties, but it enables us to use them; and therefore I conclude, that much Study and Experience, and a little Liquor, are of absolute Necessity for some Tempers, in order to make them accomplish'd Orators. Dic. Ponder discovers an excellent Judgment when he is inspir'd with a Glass or two of Claret, but he passes for a Fool among those of small Observation, who never saw him the better for Drink. And here it will not be improper to observe, That the moderate Use of Liquor, and a well plac'd and well regulated Anger, often produce this same Effect; and some who cannot ordinarily talk but in broken Sentences and false Grammar, do in the Heat of Passion express themselves with as much Eloquence as Warmth. Hence it is that my own Sex are generally the most eloquent, because the most passionate. "It has been said in the Praise of some Men, (says an ingenious Author,) that they could talk whole Hours together upon any thing; but it must be owned to the Honour of the other Sex, that there are many among them who can talk whole Hours together upon Nothing. I have known a Woman branch out into a long extempore Dissertation on the Edging of a Petticoat, and chide her Servant for breaking a China Cup, in all the Figures of Rhetorick." But after all it must be consider'd, that no Pleasure can give Satisfaction or prove advantageous to a reasonable Mind, which is not attended with the Restraints of Reason. Enjoyment is not to be found by Excess in any sensual Gratification; but on the contrary, the immoderate Cravings of the Voluptuary, are always succeeded with Loathing and a palled Appetite. What Pleasure can the Drunkard have in the Reflection, that, while in his Cups, he retain'd only the Shape of a Man, and acted the Part of a Beast; or that from reasonable Discourse a few Minutes before, he descended to Impertinence and Nonsense? I cannot pretend to account for the different Effects of Liquor on Persons of different Dispositions, who are guilty of Excess in the Use of it. 'Tis strange to see Men of a regular Conversation become rakish and profane when intoxicated with Drink, and yet more surprizing to observe, that some who appear to be the most profligate Wretches when sober, become mighty religious in their Cups, and will then, and at no other Time address their Maker, but when they are destitute of Reason, and actually affronting him. Some shrink in the Wetting, and others swell to such an unusual Bulk in their Imaginations, that they can in an Instant understand all Arts and Sciences, by the liberal Education of a little vivifying Punch, or a sufficient Quantity of other exhilerating Liquor. And as the Effects of Liquor are various, so are the Characters given to its Devourers. It argues some Shame in the Drunkards themselves, in that they have invented numberless Words and Phrases to cover their Folly, whose proper Significations are harmless, or have no Signification at all. They are seldom known to be drunk, tho' they are very often boozey, cogey, tipsey, fox'd, merry, mellow, fuddl'd, groatable, Confoundedly cut, See two Moons, are Among the Philistines, In a very good Humour, See the Sun, or, The Sun has shone upon them; they Clip the King's English, are Almost froze, Feavourish, In their Altitudes, Pretty well enter'd, &c. In short, every Day produces some new Word or Phrase which might be added to the Vocabulary of the Tiplers: But I have chose to mention these few, because if at any Time a Man of Sobriety and Temperance happens to cut himself confoundedly, or is almost froze, or feavourish, or accidentally sees the Sun, &c. he may escape the Imputation of being drunk, when his Misfortune comes to be related. I am Sir, Your Humble Servant, SILENCE DOGOOD September 24, 1722 [No. 13] To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, In Persons of a contemplative Disposition, the most indifferent Things provoke the Exercise of the Imagination; and the Satisfactions which often arise to them thereby, are a certain Relief to the Labour of the Mind (when it has been intensely fix'd on more substantial Subjects) as well as to that of the Body. In one of the late pleasant Moon-light Evenings, I so far indulg'd in my self the Humour of the Town in walking abroad, as to continue from my Lodgings two or three Hours later than usual, and was pleas'd beyond Expectation before my Return. Here I found various Company to observe, and various Discourse to attend to. I met indeed with the common Fate of Listeners, (who hear no good of themselves,) but from a Consciousness of my Innocence, receiv'd it with a Satisfaction beyond what the Love of Flattery and the Daubings of a Parasite could produce. The Company who rally'd me were about Twenty in Number, of both Sexes; and tho' the Confusion of Tongues (like that of Babel) which always happens among so many impetuous Talkers, render'd their Discourse not so intelligible as I could wish, I learnt thus much, That one of the Females pretended to know me, from some Discourse she had heard at a certain House before the Publication of one of my Letters; adding, That I was a Person of an ill Character, and kept a criminal Correspondence with a Gentleman who assisted me in Writing. One of the Gallants clear'd me of this random Charge, by saying, That tho' I wrote in the Character of a Woman, he knew me to be a Man; But, continu'd he, he has more need of endeavouring a Reformation in himself, than spending his Wit in satyrizing others. I had no sooner left this Set of Ramblers, but I met a Crowd of Tarpolins and their Doxies, link'd to each other by the Arms, who ran (by their own Account) after the Rate of Six Knots an Hour, and bent their Course towards the Common. Their eager and amorous Emotions of Body, occasion'd by taking their Mistresses in Tow, they call'd wild Steerage: And as a Pair of them happen'd to trip and come to the Ground, the Company were call'd upon to bring to, for that Jack and Betty were founder'd. But this Fleet were not less comical or irregular in their Progress than a Company of Females I soon after came up with, who, by throwing their Heads to the Right and Left, at every one who pass'd by them, I concluded came out with no other Design than to revive the Spirit of Love in Disappointed Batchelors, and expose themselves to Sale to the first Bidder. But it would take up too much Room in your Paper to mention all the Occasions of Diversion I met with in this Night's Ramble. As it grew later, I observed, that many pensive Youths with down Looks and a slow Pace, would be ever now and then crying out on the Cruelty of their Mistresses; others with a more rapid Pace and chearful Air, would be swinging their Canes and clapping their Cheeks, and whispering at certain Intervals, I'm certain I shall have her! This is more than I expected! How charmingly she talks! &c. Upon the whole I conclude, That our Night-Walkers are a Set of People, who contribute very much to the Health and Satisfaction of those who have been fatigu'd with Business or Study, and occasionally observe their pretty Gestures and Impertinencies. But among Men of Business, the Shoemakers, and other Dealers in Leather, are doubly oblig'd to them, inasmuch as they exceedingly promote the Consumption of their Ware: And I have heard of a Shoemaker, who being ask'd by a noted Rambler, Whether he could tell how long her Shoes would last; very prettily answer'd, That he knew how many Days she might wear them, but not how many Nights; because they were then put to a more violent and irregular Service than when she employ'd her self in the common Affairs of the House. I am, Sir, Your Humble Servant, SILENCE DOGOOD October 8, 1722 [No. 14] Earum causarum quantum quaeque valeat, videamus. Cicero. To the Author of the New-England Courant. Sir, It often happens, that the most zealous Advocates for any Cause find themselves disappointed in the first Appearance of Success in the Propagation of their Opinion; and the Disappointment appears unavoidable, when their easy Proselytes too suddenly start into Extreams, and are immediately fill'd with Arguments to invalidate their former Practice. This creates a Suspicion in the more considerate Part of Mankind, that those who are thus given to Change, neither fear God, nor honour the King. In Matters of Religion, he that alters his Opinion on a religious Account, must certainly go thro' much Reading, hear many Arguments on both Sides, and undergo many Struggles in his Conscience, before he can come to a full Resolution: Secular Interest will indeed make quick Work with an immoral Man, especially if, notwithstanding the Alteration of his Opinion, he can with any Appearance of Credit retain his Immorality. But, by this Turn of Thought I would not be suspected of Uncharitableness to those Clergymen at Connecticut, who have lately embrac'd the Establish'd Religion of our Nation, some of whom I hear made their Professions with a Seriousness becoming their Order: However, since they have deny'd the Validity of Ordination by the Hands of Presbyters, and consequently their Power of Administring the Sacraments, &c. we may justly expect a suitable Manifestation of their Repentance for invading the Priests Office, and living so long in a Corah-like Rebellion. All I would endeavour to shew is, That an indiscreet Zeal for spreading an Opinion, hurts the Cause of the Zealot. There are too many blind Zealots among every Denomination of Christians; and he that propagates the Gospel among Rakes and Beaus without reforming them in their Morals, is every whit as ridiculous and impolitick as a Statesman who makes Tools of Ideots and Tale-Bearers. Much to my present Purpose are the Words of two Ingenious Authors of the Church of England, tho' in all Probability they were tainted with Whiggish Principles; and with these I shall conclude this Letter. "I would (says one) have every zealous Man examine his Heart thoroughly, and, I believe, he will often find that what he calls a Zeal for his Religion, is either Pride, Interest or Ill-nature. A Man who differs from another in Opinion sets himself above him in his own Judgment, and in several Particulars pretends to be the wiser Person. This is a great Provocation to the Proud Man, and gives a keen Edge to what he calls his Zeal. And that this is the Case very often, we may observe from the Behaviour of some of the most Zealous for Orthodoxy, who have often great Friendships and Intimacies with vicious immoral Men, provided they do but agree with them in the same Scheme of Belief. The Reason is, because the vicious Believer gives the Precedency to the virtuous Man, and allows the good Christian to be the worthier Person, at the same Time that he cannot come up to his Perfections. This we find exemplified in that trite Passage which we see quoted in almost every System of Ethicks, tho' upon another Occasion; --Video meliore proboque Deteriora sequor-- On the contrary, it is certain if our Zeal were true and genuine, we should be much more angry with a Sinner than a Heretick, since there are several Cases which may excuse the latter before his great Judge, but none which can excuse the former." "I have (says another) found by Experience, that it is impossible to talk distinctly without defining the Words of which we make use. There is not a Term in our Language which wants Explanation so much as the Word Church. One would think when People utter it, they should have in their Minds Ideas of Virtue and Religion; but that important Monosyllable drags all the other Words in the Language after it, and it is made use of to express both Praise and Blame, according to the Character of him who speaks it. By this means it happens, that no one knows what his Neighbour means when he says such a one is for or against the Church. It has happen'd that he who is seen every Day at Church, has not been counted in the Eye of the World a Churchman; and he who is very zealous to oblige every one to frequent it but himself, has been a very good Son of the Church. This Praepossession is the best Handle imaginable for Politicians to make use of, for managing the Loves and Hatreds of Mankind to the Purposes to which they would lead them. But this is not a Thing for Fools to meddle with, for they only bring Disesteem upon those whom they attempt to serve, when they unskilfully pronounce Terms of Art. I have observed great Evils arise from this Practice, and not only the Cause of Piety, but also the secular Interest of Clergymen, has extreamly suffered by the general unexplained Signification of the Word Church." I am, Sir, Your Humble Servant. SILENCE DOGOOD Fourteen nights or two weeks. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Letter. Source: Oxford English Dictionary The opposite of praise. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A working class man, what might later be called a blue-collar worker. An abbreviation for et cetera. Source: Wikipedia An early form of "whether or not." "Lucubrations" are writings produced by candle-light; so, these would be essays written alone at night after a day's work. The word itself already sounded a bit pompous in the early eighteenth century, so the speaker is to some degree making fun of herself. New England Inconsolable, despondent. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Young women were sometimes bound as apprentices, usually in trades that were traditionally gendered female (like weaving), but the vast majority of apprentices in this era were young men. At the time of this writing, Franklin was serving an apprenticeship in the printshop of his older brother James. Poor, destitute. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Trying to determine how many people in colonial America could read in the early eighteenth century is an enormous challenge. The evidence is scanty and fragmentary. The best evidence, though, would suggest that literacy rates among English settler-colonists would have been highest in New England, because of the history of Puritanism in the colony. Puritans had long prized the ability for individuals to read the Bible on their own, and literacy was correspondingly comparatively high in places where Puritanism dominated. The time in a person's life when they are presumed to be able to make sound judgements. That is, "where". "And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone: I will make him an help meet for him." King James Bible, Genesis 2:18 That is, upper-class women, who were probably socially more highly ranked than a country clergyman could expect to marry. That is, when I was in the prime of life. That is, this world. Tirelessly. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Piece by piece, or in small bits. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Soften; make tender. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Censures or Rebukes; subject to blame or scorn. Source: Oxford English Dictionary "Should I be taught to speak either Greek or Latin?" Franklin is quoting here from the Roman orator Cicero. The essay that follows, taking the form of a dream vision, is a satire on Harvard College and its requirement that students study Greek and Latin. A place of education such as a school or a college. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Green; of vegetation. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Gatekeepers. Source: Oxford English Dictionoary A nod to the series of periodical essays, The Spectator, which Franklin used as a model for his Silence Dogood letters. Ready to be taught; submissive to instruction. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Near or almost. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Happy, please. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A fruitcake packed full of different types of candied and dried fruits such as plums, raisins, and orange peel. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A large clumsy idiot who is often lazy and idle. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Engaged in the selling and trade of goods. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Property that, by ancient right, belongs to an institution. Source: Oxford English Dictionary The expression "church mice" is used to describe people who are poor and quiet. Source: Oxford English Dictionary The Study of God, and God's relations with man and the universe. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Latin for money or wealth. A personification of plagiarism, here referring to clerics stealing from the sermons of more established ministers. John Tillotson was the Archbishop of Canterbury in late seventeenth century. In the manner of the gentry. Source: Oxford English Dictionary "One woman agrees the most with another." The line is from the Roman playwright Terence. A form of writing that mocks or ridicules something. The word actually comes from the Latin word "satura," meaning a full plate of varied foods. But the spelling "satyr" derives from a false etymology, which imagined that the term came from the Greek word for a mythological demon that was often depicted as a half-human, half-goat creature. The demon is generally a representation of lust and rage. For this reason, "satire" was often been associated with writing that was fierce and agressive. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Deviation in behavior, often from moral or legal normality. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Ephraim: The second son of Joseph and Asenath, as shown by Book of Genesis. The name Ephraim became related to the idea of "being fruitful." Censorious: one who gives constant censure and finds faults. Source: Oxford English Dictionary and Wikipedia Rebuke; express disapproval. Source: Oxford English Dictionary To question or query. Source: Oxford English Dictionary People bound to a religious life or a certain vow. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Ostentatious display; boastful, prideful with a negative connotation. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Scolds or censures. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Capable of being converted. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A showy trinket that's of little worth, often made for children to play with. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Irrelevance. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Censure An innocent, rose-coloured country lover, such as one found in pastoral poetry. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A woman or lover with sexual power or magic over a man. Coming from mythology, nymphs are spirits that take the form of women who, similarly to sirens, were said to charm men and lead them to sin or death. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Ready or willing. Source: Oxford English Dictionary To urge earnestly. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Guilty. Source: Oxford English Dictionary To linger or stay. Source: Oxford English Dictionary "A man who stands proudly at the start of the day is flattened by its end." Franklin is quoting here from the Roman tragedian Seneca. A speech or talk given alone or aloud without addressing any person. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Expensive, probably imported fabric, as opposed to cloth made inexpensively at home. Has given rise to. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Fortells as an omen or other supernatural means. Source: Oxford English Dictionary To overcome. Source: Oxford English Dictionary An undergarment, more commonly known as a hoop skirt, that is worn underneath a womans skirt. The skirt is constructed with rigid hoops that flare out and grow larger as one travels downward from the top of the skirt so as to give a domed shape to the bottom of a dress. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Subjected to inconveience; troubled. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A mortar is a hard-walled bowl that is used to grind things with a pestle. Here Franklin is saying the hoop-skirts are like thick, over-turned bowls. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Historically one of Boston Harbor Islands, that has now been reconnected to the mainland by filling the strait that used to separate it from the mainland. Noddle's Island now makes up the southern part of the East Boston neighborhood. Having used Latin quotations for his epigraphs to this point, Franklin here switches to a contemporary poem, drawing an extract from a 1709 poem called "The Adventurous Muse" by the English poet Isaac Watts. Grand expression of praise. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Calling of Names. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Rene Rapin (1621-1687) was a French cleric, poet, and critic, whose essays on poetry gave "rules" on composition. Henry Purcell (1669-1695) was considered to be the greatest English composer of the era. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A series of common poetical styles of the time. Source: Oxford English Dictionary That is, a new genre based on this poem about Mehitabel Kitel. Add to the end of a statement. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Recipe Latin: "Of his or her age" Skull Latin: "a mourner composed it" "N.B." is used to signify something important in a text; "note well." Source: Oxford English Dictionary "Dogood" is responding to a piece in the June 18th issue of the Courant by a writer who went by the pseudonym "Hypercarpus," (something like "great complainer"). There, Hypercarpus had complained that Dogood's claim in her sixth letter that wearing elaborate clothing like hoop skirts was making women proud had it backwards--that the pride came first, and then wearing skirts was simply an expression of it. It's an argument about cause and effect; Hypercarpus thinks that vanity causes people to try to distinguish themselves in the world with clothing; Dogood argues that the clothing leads to vanity. Dogood's last word here is a Latin tag that responds to the criticism with a kind of a riddle that describes cause and effect as an infinite loop, sort of like the question of which comes first, a chicken or an egg: a woman gives birth to a daughter, who in turn gives birth to a woman who herself becomes a mother. A cause becomes an effect that in turn becomes a cause. Latin: "My mother gave birth to me, and then a daughter gave birth to a mother." Charles I of England reigned from 1625-1649 until his execution. Charles I was defeated in the English Civil War and was eventually beheaded by Oliver Cromwell's army after being found guilty of high treason. Source: Wikipedia Hostility or animosity. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Mutiny or rebellion. Source: Oxford English Dictionary James II (1633-1701) became king upon the death of his brother, Charles II. During his short reign, he made it clear that he intended to return the country to Roman Catholicism, prompting his removal by Parliament in 1688 and replacement by William and Mary. A Roman Catholic. Source: Oxford English Dictionoary After Oliver Cromwell's death in 1658 the monarchy was restored with Charles II in 1660. Although he restored the Church of England, he secretly and increasingly became sympathatic to Roman Catholicism. Source: Wikipedia Happiness. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Latin: "Tiberius heard reproaches that wounded and upset him." The quote is from the Roman poet Tacitus, but Franklin is almost certainly lifting it from the London periodical entitled Cato's Letters, a series of political essays published by John Trenchard and Thomas Gordon, who put this quote in the issue 15, February 15, 1721. The series was widely read throughout the British colonial world. Marcus Valerius Volusus was a consul of the Roman Republic in 505 BC. Roman senator remembered for his public virtue. A crown. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Latin: "friend of the people" Franklin is again lifting a Latin quotation from Cato's Letters, number 15, which is here citing a line from the Roman historian Livy: "Laws were proposed, the first of them an appeal from the people to the government." Once again Franklin is lifting from Cato's Letters issue 15, which cites this alleged Latin quotation: "We may well complain that only those leaders who inquire into our secrets are those we hate." Roman historian. Edward II of England reigned from 1284-1327. He was forced to abdicate the throne after losing power, being betrayed by his own wife Isabella, the daughter of King Philip IV of France. Source: Wikipedia Francis Walsingham was principal secretary to Queen Elizabeth I of England. He was famously known as her 'spymaster,' a man who used gathered intelligence from across Europe to disrupt attempts on the Queen's life, penetrated the Spanish Military, and secured the Execution of Mary, Queen of Scots. Source: Wikipedia Vulgar or villainous; mischievous. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Wicked, intending harm. Source: Oxford English Dictionary "The corruption of the best is the worst." This is a proverbial Latin expression. (draft-Does he mean 'atheist" by this?) Trickery, deceit. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Metaphorically one who praises and advocates for. Source: Oxford English Dictionary The apparent or de facto authority, as opposed to the actual authority established. Frequently said with negative connotations, suggesting that the authority is just a pretext for corrupt behavior. Source: Oxford English Dictionary High-flown expressions of praise. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Disdain or contempt. Source: Oxford English Dictionary The section of a church that is used by the offiates, such as the clergy or a priest, during their performance of the services of the church. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A dishonest or villainous man. Source: Oxford English Dictionary "The society of men will best be preserved." Again, Franklin cites the Roman orator Cicero. Artisans or craftsmen. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A fair amount of money given as a dowry or a gift to the husband along with the wife upon marriage. Source: Oxford English Dictionary An estate for the wife to be used upon the death of the husband. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A place where money is coined, usually under the authority of a government. Source: Oxford English Dictionary The quarters of a certain religious order. Source: Oxford English Dictionary £sd, known as "pounds, shillings, and pence" is the name for the pre-decimal currency system common in the British Empire. In the system there are twelve pence in a shilling twenty shilling in a pound. Source: Oxford English Dictionary and Wikipedia In good faith. Source: Oxford English Dictionary To renounce or abandon forever. Source: Oxford English Dictionary To deprive someone what is rightfully theirs with fraud. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Weak, feeble, or sick. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Illness or disorder. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Payment made quarterly. Source: Oxford English Dictionary 'Per year.' Source: Oxford English Dictionary A common law doctrine which states that is one willingly puts themselves in a place where harm may occur, knowing that harm may occur, then they are unable to bring a claim against the other party. More shortly: To a willing person, injury is not done. Source: Wikipedia Temporary. Source: Oxford English Dictionary "And in the meantime it is not legal to see my friend." Franklin is quoting the Roman playwright Plautus. A parenthetical insertion used to call attention to something anomalous in the original work. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Fine gentlemen. Source: Oxford English Dictionary That would have been a lot of money. You could live on fifty pounds a year. That repents with sincere desire to amend the sin. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Habitual silence or reservedness in speech. Source: Oxford English Dictionary High-flown expressions of praise. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Whatever is in the heart of the sober person, is in the mouth of the drunkard. The Roman god of wine. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A red wine. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Of the moment, without preparation or premeditation. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A petticoat is an underskirt worn underneath a gown that is given a decorative bottom edge for in case the dress is ever lifted and the petticoat is shown. Source: Oxford English Dictionoary and Wikipedia To scold. Source: Oxford English Dictionary of or pertaining to sensuous or luxurious pleasures. Weakened or impaired. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Irrelevance. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Immoral or promiscuous. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Reckless, extravagant, and wasteful. Source: Oxford English Dictionary To insult deliberately. Source: Oxforod English Dictionary Here the phrase is being used to mean: when drunk or inebriated. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Life-giving or animating in a physical and/or mental manner. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Here Franklin is giving a list of euphemistic ways drunkards will describe themselves to avoid using the negatively connotated word "drunk." A habitual drinker; a drunk. Source: Oxford English Dictionary The attribution or assignment of a fault or crime. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Covers or coats. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Characterized by rapid, forceful, and/or violent motion. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Fine, brave gentlemen. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Ones who are recreationally out walking or wandering. Source: Oxford English Dictionary A slang term for seamen or sailors. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Unmarried mistresses; prostitutes. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Here a knot stands in for a nautical mile. A nautical mile is equal to 1.15 miles, thus six knots an hour is equivalent to about seven miles in an hour. Source: Oxford English Dictionary The action of steering something such as a boat, ship, or airship. Here Franklin is most likely using a play on words to show how the seamen brought their women around. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Aimless wandering for recreation. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Irrelevancies, trivialities. Source: Oxford English Dictionary "Let us see how much each of these causes is worth." from the Latin orator Cicero Converts. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Korah led a revolt against Moses and his brother Aaron, as recounted in the book of Numbers. Such a rebellion, that is, goes against the leaders of the established faith. Immoral or promiscuous people. Source: Oxford English Dictionary The suitors of ladies. Source: Oxford English dictionary One who gossips or blackmails. Source: Oxford English Dictionary The Whig party was a political faction in the British Empire, opposed by the rival faction: the Tory Party. The origin of the Whigs lay in constitutional monarchism as opposed to absolute monarchy. Source: Oxford English Dictionary and Wikipedia "I see a better thing and approve of it, but I follow something worse." from Ovid's Metamorphoses Anyone who has religious opinions or practices that don't fall in line with the Catholic or orthodox doctrine of the Christian Church. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Prepossession: having take possession beforehand. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Disregard, low esteem, and/or low expectations. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Gray, Thomas and Thomas Gray. "An Elegy Wrote in a Country Church Yard". "An Elegy Wrote in a Country Church Yard", R. Dodsley, 1751 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z [Title Page] AN ELEGY"An Elegy Wrote in a Country Church Yard" is probably the most well-known and beloved poem in English from the eighteenth century. It was immediately popular with readers when it was first printed in 1751, and has been reprinted (usually often the later, slightly revised title "An Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard"), anthologized, recited, translated, memorized, studied, parodied, and quoted ever since. The poem's publication kicked off an entire movement of what has been known as "graveyard poetry," poems centered around a figure--usually a man--walking quietly through a graveyard, musing on his place in the cosmos and on his own mortality. The poem's author, Thomas Gray (1716-1771), did not write a great deal of poetry compared to many other canonical poets, and he published only a handful of poems in his own lifetime. He led a fairly quiet life as an academic in Cambridge. But the "Elegy" has been enough to ensure Gray a lasting place in English literary history. b What made Gray's "Elegy" stand out then and makes it significant now? Perhaps the most important clue is in the word "elegy" itself. An elegy is a poem of praise for the a dead person, and poets of this period very frequently wrote elegies to commemorate a death. Sometimes these were elegies for a famous person; other elegies were written to mark the passing of a family member or friend. Gray does something different. Rather than writing about an individual person and describing their virtues in the manner of most elegies, Gray offers praise for the long-gone, ordinary people whose lives are now largely forgotten, commemorated only by the names on the headstones in an undistinguished cemetary next to a typical small church in an unnamed English village. The poem praises ordinary, not extraordinary people, people whom the poet walking through the graveyard never knew. In its final stanzas, the poem then turns in another direction, as it offers an epitaph (that is, a poem that would be inscribed on a gravestone) that seems to be the future epitaph for the poet himself. WROTE IN A Country Church Yard. LONDON Printed by R. DODSLEY in Pall-mall; And sold by M. COOPER in Pater-noster-row. 1751. [Price Six-pence.] Advertisement. THE following POEM came into my Hands by Accident, if the general Approbation with which this little Piece has been spread, may be call'd by so slight a Term as Accident. It is this Approbation which makes it unnecessary for me to make any Apology but to the Author: As he cannot but feel some Satisfaction in having pleas'd so many Readers already, I flatter myself he will forgive my communicating that Pleasure to many more. The EDITOR.Although he is not identified here, the "editor" is surely Horace Walpole, Gray's friend for many years. When Gray learned that the poem was going to be published against his wishes in a periodical, the Magazine of Magazines, he wrote from his home in Cambridge to Walpole asking him to supervise getting a separate edition printed by a more respectable London printer. (There's a good chance, too, that it was Walpole's handwritten copy of the the poem that somehow made its way to William Owen, the publisher of the magazine, so it was his responsbility to make things right.) Walpole turned to Robert Dodsley, one of the most prestigious publishers in London at the time, and expedited the process. The magazine version and this stand-alone version came out at roughly the same time in February 1751. AN ELEGY, &, 1 THE CurfeuA bell rung at the end of the working day, signaling the "curfew," the time when people should return home. Curfew bells continued to be rung in some villages well into the nineteenth century. tolls the Knell of parting Day, 2 The lowing Herd winds slowly o'er the Lea, 3 The Plow-man homeward plods his weary Way, 4 And leaves the World to Darkness, and to me. 5 Now fades the glimmering Landscape on the Sight, 6 And all the Air a solemn Stillness holds; 7 Save where the Beetle wheels his droning Flight, 8 And drowsy Tinklings lull the distant Folds. 9 Save that from yonder Ivy-mantled Tow'r 10 The mopeing Owl does to the Moon complain 11 Of such, as wand'ring near her sacred Bow'r, 12 Molest her ancient solitary Reign. 6 13 Beneath those rugged Elms, that Yew-Tree's Shade, 14 Where heaves the Turf in many a mould'ring Heap, 15 Each in his narrow Cell for ever laid, 16 The rude Forefathers of the Hamlet sleep. 17 The breezy Call of Incense-breathing Morn, 18 The Swallow twitt'ring from the Straw-built Shed, 19 The Cock's shrill Clarion, or the ecchoing Horn, 20 No more shall wake them from their lowly Bed. 21 For them no more the blazing Hearth shall burn, 22 Or busy Houswife ply her Evening Care: 23 No Children run to lisp their Sire's Return, 24 Or climb his Knees the envied Kiss to share. 25 Oft did the Harvest to their Sickle yield, 26 Their Furrow oft the stubborn Glebe has broke; 27 How jocund did they they drive their Team afield! 28 How bow'd the Woods beneath their sturdy Stroke! 29 Let not Ambition mock their useful Toil, 30 Their homely Joys and Destiny obscure; 31 Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful Smile, 32 The short and simple Annals of the Poor. 7 33 The Boast of Heraldry, the Pomp of Pow'r, 34 And all that Beauty, all that Wealth e'er gave, 35 Awaits alike th' inevitable Hour. 36 The Paths of Glory lead but to the Grave. 37 Forgive, ye Proud, th' involuntary Fault, 38 If Memory to these no Trophies raise, 39 Where thro' the long-drawn Isle and fretted Vault 40 The pealing Anthem swells the Note of Praise. 41 Can storied Urn or animated Bust 42 Back to its Mansion call the fleeting Breath? 43 Can Honour's Voice provoke the silent Dust, 44 Or Flatt'ry sooth the dull cold Ear of Death! 45 Perhaps in this neglected Spot is laid 46 Some Heart once pregnant with celestial Fire, 47 Hands that the Reins of Empire might have sway'd, 48 Or wak'd to Extacy the living Lyre. 49 But Knowledge to their Eyes her ample Page 50 Rich with the Spoils of Time did ne'er unroll; 51 Chill Penury repress'd their noble Rage, 52 And froze the genial Current of the Soul. 8 53 Full many a Gem of purest Ray serene, 54 The dark unfathom'd Caves of Ocean bear: 55 Full many a Flower is born to blush unseen, 56 And waste its Sweetness on the desart Air. 57 Some Village -HampdenJohn Hampden (1594-1643) was a prominent member of Parliament who led the opposition against Charles I, helping to prompt the start of the English Civil War in the 1640s. Hampden was killed in a battle between Parliamentary forces and those of the King. that with dauntless Breast 58 The little Tyrant of his Fields withstood; 59 Some mute inglorious MiltonThe poet John Milton (1608-1674), author of Paradise Lost, and also a prominent supporter of the Parliament's side in the English Civil War. here may rest, 60 Some Cromwell guiltless of his Country's Blood. 61 Th' Applause of list'ning Senates to command, 62 The Threats of Pain and Ruin to despise, 63 To scatter Plenty o'er a smiling Land, 64 And read their Hist'ry in a Nation's Eyes 65 Their Lot forbad: nor circumscrib'd alone 66 Their growing Virtues, but their Crimes confin'd; 67 Forbad to wade through Slaughter to a Throne, 68 And shut the Gates of Mercy on Mankind, 69 The struggling Pangs of conscious Truth to hide, 70 To quench the Blushes of ingenuous Shame, 71 Or heap the Shrine of Luxury and Pride 72 With Incense, kindled at the Muse's Flame. 9 73 Far from the madding Crowd's ignoble Strife, 74 Their sober Wishes never learn'd to stray; 75 Along the cool sequester'd Vale of Life 76 They kept the noiseless Tenor of their Way. 77 Yet ev'n these Bones from Insult to protect 78 Some frail Memorial still erected nigh, 79 With uncouth Rhimes and shapeless Sculpture deck'd, 80 Implores the passing Tribute of a Sigh. 81 Their Name, their Years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, 82 The Place of Fame and Elegy supply: 83 And many a holy Text around she strews, 84 That teach the rustic Moralist to dye. 85 For who to dumb Forgetfulness a Prey, 86 This pleasing anxious Being e'er resign'd, 87 Left the warm Precincts of the chearful Day, 88 Nor cast one longing ling'ring Look behind! 89 On some fond Breast the parting Soul relies, 90 Some pious Drops the closing Eye requires; 91 Ev'n from the Tomb the Voice of Nature cries 92 Awake, and faithful to her wonted Fires. 10 93 For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead 94 Dost in these Lines their artless Tale relate; 95 If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, 96 Some hidden Spirit shall inquire thy Fate, 97 Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say, 98 'Oft have we seen him at the Peep of Dawn 99 'Brushing with hasty Steps the Dews away 100 'To meet the Sun upon the upland Lawn. 101 'There at the Foot of yonder nodding Beech 102 'That wreathes its old fantastic Roots so high, 103 'His listless Length at Noontide wou'd he stretch, 104 'And pore upon the Brook that babbles by. 105 'Hard by yon Wood, now frowning as in Scorn, 106 'Mutt'ring his wayward Fancies he wou'd rove, 107 'Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, 108 'Or craz'd with Care, or cross'd in hopeless Love. 109 'One Morn I miss'd him on the custom'd Hill, 110 'Along the Heath, and near his fav'rite Tree; 111 'Another came; nor yet beside the Rill, 112 'Nor up the Lawn, nor at the Wood was he. 11 113 'The next with Dirges due in sad Array 114 'Slow thro' the Church-way Path we saw him born. 115 'Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the Lay, 116 'Grav'd on the Stone beneath yon aged Thorn. The EPITAPH. 117 HERE rests his Head upon the Lap of Earth 118 A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown: 119 Fair Science frown'd not on his humble Birth, 120 And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 121 Large was his Bounty, and his Soul sincere, 122 Heav'n did a Recompence as largely send: 123 He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a Tear: 124 He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a Friend. 125 No farther seek his Merits to disclose, 126 Or draw his Frailties from their dread Abode, 127 (There they alike in trembling Hope repose) 128 The Bosom of his Father and his God. FINIS. Swift, Jonathan and Jonathan Swift. "The Lady's Dressing-Room". "The Lady's Dressing-Room", J. Roberts, 1732 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z The Lady's Dressing-Room To which is added, A POEM ON Cutting down the Old Thorn at Market Hill. By the Rev. Dr. S____T. LONDON: Printed for J. Roberts at the Oxford Arms in Warwick Lane MDCCXXXIII (Price Six Pence.) Five Hours (and who can do it less in?) By haughty Caelia spent in Dressing; The Goddess from her Chamber issues Array'd in Lace, Brocade and Tissues: Strephon, who found the Room was void, And Bettyotherwise employ'd Stole in, and took a strict Survey, Of all the Litter, as it lay. Whereof, to make the Matter clear, An Inventory follows here. And first, a dirty Smock appear'd Beneath the Armpits well besmear'd Strephon, the Rogue, display'd it wide, And turn'd it round on ev'ry Side: In such a Case, few Words are best, And Strephon bids us guess the rest; But swears how damnably the Men lye, In calling Caelia sweet and cleanly. Now listen, while he next produces The various Combs for various Uses, Fill'd up with Dirt so closely fixt, No Brush cou'd force a Way betwixt. A Paste of Composition rare, Sweat, Dandriff, Powder, Lead and Hair A Forehead-Cloath with Oyl upon't To smooth the Wrinkles on her Front: Here, Alum Flower to stop the Steams, Exhal'd from sour unsavoury Streams; There, Night-Gloves made of Tripsey's Hide, Bequeath'd by Tripsey when she dy'd With Puppy-Water, Beauty's Help, Distill'd from Tripsey's darling Whelp Here gally-pots and Vials plac't, Some filld' with Washes, some with Paste; Some with Pomatums, Paints, and Slops, And Ointments good for scabby Chops. Hard by, a filty Bason stands Foul'd with the scou'ring of her Hands; The Bason takes whatever comes, The Scrapings from her Teeth and Gums, A nasty Compound of all Hues, For here she spits, and here she spues. But O! it turn'd poor Strephon's Bowels, When he beheld and smelt the Towels; Begumm'd besmatter'd, and beslim'd; With Dirt, and Sweat and Ear-wax grim'd. No Object Strephon's Eye escapes; Here, Pettycoats in frowsy Heaps; Nor be the Handkerchiefs forgot, All varnish'd o'er with Snuff and Snot. The Stockings why should I expose Stain'd with the Moisture of her Toes;, Or greasy Coifs, and Pinners reeking, Which Caelia slept at least a Week in A Pair of Tweezers next he found To pluck her Brows in Arches found; Or Hairs that sink the Forehead low, Or on her Chin like Bristles grow. The Virtues we must not let pass, Of Caelia's magnifying Glass; When frighted Strephon cast his Eye on't, It shew'd the Visage of a Gyant: A Glass that can to Sight disclose The smallest Worm in Caelia's Nose, And faithfully direct her Nail To squeeze it out from Head to Tail; For, catch it nicely by the Head, It must come out, alive or dead. Why Strephon, will you tell the rest? And must you needs describe the Chest? That careless Wench! No Creature warn her, To move it out from yonder Corner But leave it standing full in Sight, For you to exercise your Spite! In vain the Workman shew'd his Wit, With Rings and Hinges counterfeit To make it seem in this Disguise, A Cabinet to vulger Eyes; Which Strephon ventured to look in, Resolv'd to go thro' thick and thin, He lifts the Lid: There need no more, He smelt it all the Time before. As, from within Pandora's Box, When Epimetheus op'd the Locks A sudden universal Crew Of human Evils, upward flew; He still was comforted to find, That Hope at last remain'd behind. So, Strephon, lifting up the Lid, To view what in the Chest was hid, Teh Vapours flew from out the Vent; But Strephon, cautious, never meant The Bottom of the Pan to grope And foul his Hands in search of Hope. O! NE'ER may such a vile Machine Be once in Caelia's Chamber seen! O! may she better learn to keep "Those Secrets of the hoary Deep!Milton [Swift's note.] As Mutton-Cutlets, prime of Meat, Which tho' with Art you salt and beat, As Laws of Cookery Require, And roast them at the clearest Fire; If from a-down the hopeful Chops, The Fat upon a Cinder drops, To stinking Smoke it turns the Flame, Pois'ning the Flesh from whence it came, And up exhales a greazy Stench, For which you curse the careless Wench: So, Things which must not be exprest, When plumpt into the reeking Chest Send up an excremental Smell, To taint the Parts from whence they fell; The Pettycoats and Gown perfume, And waft a Stink round ev'ry Room. THUS finishing his grand Survey, The Swain disgusted slunk away. Repeating in his amorous Fits, Oh! Caelia, Caelia, Caelia, shits! But Vengeance, Goddess, never sleeping, Soon punish'd Strephon for his peeping. His foul Imagination links Each Dame he sees with all her Stinks; And, if unsavoury Odours Fly, Conceives a Lady standing by. All Women his Description fits, And both Ideas jump like Wits, by vicious Fancy coupled fast, And still appearing in Contrast. I PITY wretched Strephon, blind To all the Charms of Woman-Kind. Should I the Queen of Love refuse, Because she rose from stinking Ooze? To him that looks behind the Scene, Statira's but some pocky Quean. When Caelia all her Glory shows, If Strephon would but stop his Nose, who now so impiously blasphemes Her Ointments, Daubs, and Paints, and Creams; With which he makes so foul a Rout; He soon would learn to think like me, And bless his ravish'd Eyes to see Such Order from Confusion sprung, Such gaudy Tulips rais'd from Dung. Foster, Hannah Webster and Hannah Webster Foster. The Coquette; Or, The History of Eliza Wharton, , 1797 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z THE COQUETTE;OR, THEHISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON; A NOVEL;FOUNDED ON FACT. BY A LADY OF MASSACHUSETTS. Boston: PRINTED BY SAMUEL ETHERIDGE,FOR E. LARKIN,NO. 47, CORNHILL. 1797. THECOQUETTEOR, THEHISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER I. TO MISS LUCY FREEMAN.NEW-HAVEN. AN unusual sensation possesses my breast; a sensation, which I once thought could never pervade it on any occasion whatever. It is pleasure; pleasure, my dear Lucy, on leaving my paternal roof! Could you have believed that the darling child of an indulgent and dearly beloved mother would feel a gleam of joy at leaving her? But so it is. The melancholy, the gloom, the condolence, which surrounded me for a month after the death of Mr. Haly, had depressed my spirits, and palled every enjoyment of life. Mr. Haly was a man of worth; a man of real and substantial merit. He is therefore deeply, and justly regreted by his friends; he was chosen to be a future guardian, and companion for me, and was, therefore, beloved by mine. As their choice; as a good man, and a faithful friend, I esteemed him. But no one acquainted with the disparity of our tempers and dispositions, our views and designs, can suppose my heart much engaged in the alliance. Both nature and education had instilled into my mind an implicit obedience to the will and desires of my parents. To them, of course, I sacrificed my fancy in this affair; determined that my reason should concur with theirs; and on that to risk my future happiness. I was the more encouraged, as I saw, from our first acquaintance, his declining health; and expected, that the event would prove as it has. Think not, however, that I rejoice in his death. No; far be it from me; for though I believe that I never felt the passion of love for Mr. Haly; yet a habit of conversing with him, of hearing daily the most virtuous, tender, and affectionate sentiments from his lips, inspired emotions of the sincerest friendship, and esteem. He is gone. His fate is unalterably, and I trust, happily fixed. He lived the life, and died the death of the righteous. O that my last end may be like his! This event will, I hope, make a suitable and abiding impression upon my mind; teach me the fading nature of all sublunary enjoyments, and the little dependence which is to be placed on earthly felicity. Whose situation was more agreeable; whose prospects more flattering, than Mr. Haly's? Social, domestic, and connubial joys were fondly anticipated, and friends, and fortune seemed ready to crown every wish! Yet animated by still brighter hopes, he cheerfully bid them all adieu. In conversation with me, but a few days before his exit; "There is" said he, "but one link in the chain of life, undissevered; that, my dear Eliza, is my attachment to you. But God is wise and good in all his ways; and in this, as in all other respects, I would cheerfully say, His will be done." You, my friend, were witness to the concluding scene; and therefore, I need not describe it. I shall only add, on the subject, that if I have wisdom and prudence to follow his advice and example; if his prayers for my temporal and eternal welfare be heard and answered, I shall be happy indeed. The disposition of mind, which I now feel, I wish to cultivate. Calm, placid, and serene; thoughtful of my duty, and benevolent to all around me, I wish for no other connection than that of friendship. This Letter is all egotism, I have even neglected to mention the respectable, and happy friends, with whom I reside; but will do it in my next. Write soon, and often; and believe me sincerely yours, ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER II. TO THE SAME. NEW-HAVEN TIME, which effaces every occasional impression, I find gradually dispelling the pleasing pensiveness, which the melancholy event, the subject of my last, had diffused over my mind. Naturally cheerful, volatile, and unreflecting, the opposite disposition, I have found to contain sources of enjoyment, which I was before unconscious of possessing. My friends, here, are the picture of conjugal felicity. The situation is delightful. The visiting parties perfectly agreeable. Everything tends to facilitate the return of my accustomed vivacity. I have written to my mother, and received an answer. She praises my fortitude, and admires the philosophy which I have exerted, under, what she calls, my heavy bereavement. Poor woman! She little thinks that my heart was untouched; and when that is unaffected, other sentiments and passions make but a transient impression. I have been, for a month or two, excluded from the gay world; and, indeed, fancied myself soaring above it. It is now that I begin to descend, and find my natural propensity for mixing in the busy scenes and active pleasures of life returning. I have received your letter; your moral lecture rather; and be assured, my dear, your monitorial lessons and advice shall be attended to. I believe I shall never again resume those airs; which you term coquettish, but which I think deserve a softer appellation; as they proceed from an innocent heart, and are the effusions of a youthful, and cheerful mind. We are all envited to spend the day, to morrow, at Col. Farington's, who has an elegant seat in the neighbourhood. Both he and his Lady are strangers to me; but the friends, by whom I am introduced, will procure me a welcome reception. Adieu. ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER III. TO THE SAME. NEW-HAVEN IS it time for me to talk again of conquests? or must I only enjoy them in silence? I must write to you the impulses of my mind; or I must not write at all. You are not so morose, as to wish me to become a nun, would our country, and religion allow it. I ventured yesterday to throw aside the habiliments of mourning, and to array myself in those more adapted to my taste. We arrived at Col. Farington's about one o'clock. The Col. handed me out of the carriage, and introduced me to a large company assembled in the Hall. My name was pronounced with an emphasis; and I was received with the most flattering tokens of respect. When we were summoned to dinner, a young gentleman in a clerical dress offered his hand, and led me to a table furnished with an elegant, and sumptuous repast, with more gallantry, and address than commonly fall to the share of students. He sat opposite me at the table; and whenever I raised my eye, it caught his. The ease, and politeness of his manners, with his particular attention to me, raised my curiosity, and induced me to ask Mrs. Laiton who he was? She told me that his name was Boyer; that he was descended from a worthy family; had passed with honor and applause through the university where he was educated; had since studied divinity with success; and now had a call to settle as a minister in one of the first parishes in a neighbouring state. The gates of a spacious garden were thrown open, at this instant; and I accepted with avidity an invitation to walk in it. Mirth, and hilarity prevailed, and the moments fled on downy wings; while we traced the beauties of art and nature, so liberally displayed, and so happily blended in this delightful retreat. An enthusiastic admirer of scenes like these, I had rambled some way from the company, when I was followed by Mrs. Laiton to offer her condolence on the supposed loss, which I had sustained, in the death of Mr. Haly. My heart rose against the woman, so ignorant of human nature, as to think such conversation acceptable at such a time. I made her little reply, and waved the subject, though I could not immediately dispel the gloom which it excited. The absurdity of a custom, authorising people at a first interview to revive the idea of griefs, which time has lulled, perhaps obliterated, is intolerable. To have our enjoyments arrested by the empty compliments of unthinking persons, for no other reason, than a compliance with fashion is to be treated in a manner, which the laws of humanity forbid. We were soon joined by the gentlemen, who each selected his partner, and the walk was prolonged. Mr. Boyer offered me his arm, which I gladly accepted; happy to be relieved from the impertinence of my female companion. We returned to tea, after which the ladies sung, and played by turns on the Piano Forte; while some of the gentlemen accompanied with the flute, the clarinet, and the violin, forming in the whole a very decent concert. An elegant supper, and half an hour's conversation after it, closed the evening; when we returned home, delighted with our entertainment and pleased with ourselves and each other. My imagination is so impressed with the scenes of the day, that Morpheus waves his ebon-wand in vain. The evening is fine beyond the power of description! all nature is serene and harmonious; in perfect unison with my present disposition of mind. I have been taking retrospect of my past life; and a few juvenile follies excepted, which I trust the recording angel had blotted out with the tear of charity, find an approving conscience, and a heart at ease. Fortune, indeed, has not been very liberal of her gifts to me; but I presume on a large stock in the bank of friendship, which, united with health and innocence, give me some pleasing anticipations of future felicity. Whatever my fate may be, I shall always continue your ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER IV. TO MR. SELBY. NEW-HAVEN YOU ask me, my friend, whether I am in pursuit of truth, or a lady? I answer, both. I hope and trust they are united; and really expect to find truth and the virtues and graces besides in a fair form. If you mean by the first part of your question, whether I am searching into the sublimer doctrines of religion? To these I would by no means be inattentive; but to be honest, my studies of that kind have been very much interrupted of late. The respectable circle of acquaintances with which I am honored here, has rendered my visits very frequent and numerous. In one of these I was introduced to Miss Eliza Wharton; a young lady whose elegant person, accomplished mind, and polished manners have been much celebrated. Her fame has often reached me; but, as the queen of Sheba said to Solomon, the half was not told me. You will think, that I talk in the style of a lover. I confess it, nor am I ashamed to rank myself among the professed admirers of this lovely fair one. I am in no danger, however, of becoming an enthusiastic devotee. No, I mean to act upon just and rational principals. Expecting soon to settle in an eligible situation, if such a companion as I am persuaded she will make me, may fall to my lot, I shall deem myself as happy as this state of imperfection will admit. She is now resident at Gen. Richman's. The general and his lady are her particular friends. They are warm in her praises. They tell me, however, that she is naturally of a gay disposition. No matter for that; it is an agreeable quality, where there is discretion sufficient for its regulation. A cheerful friend, much more a cheerful wife is peculiarly necessary to a person of a studious and sedentary life. They dispel the gloom of retirement, and exhilerate the spirits depressed by intense application. She was formerly addressed by the late Mr. Haly of Boston. He was not, it seems, the man of her choice; but her parents were extremely partial to him, and wished the connection to take place. She, like a dutiful child, sacrificed her own inclination to their pleasure, so far as to acquiesce in his visits. This she more easily accomplished, as his health, which declined from their first acquaintance, led her to suppose, as the event has proved, that he would not live to enter into any lasting engagements. Her father, who died some months before him, invited him to reside at his house, for the benefit of a change of air, agreeably to the advice of his physicians. She attended him during his last illness, with all the care and assiduity of a nurse; and with all the sympathising tenderness of a sister. I have had several opportunities of conversing with her. She discovers an elevated mind, a ready apprehension, and an accurate knowledge of the various subjects which have been brought into view. I have not yet introduced the favorite subject of my heart. Indeed she seems studiously to avoid noticing any expression which leads towards it. But she must hear it soon. I am sure of the favor and interest of the friends with whom she resides. They have promised to speak previously in my behalf. I am to call as if accidentally this afternoon, just as they are to ride abroad. They are to refer me to Miss Wharton for entertainment, till their return. What a delightful opportunity for my purpose! I am counting the hours, nay, the very moments. Adieu. You shall soon hear again from your most obedient, J. BOYER. LETTER V. TO MISS LUCY FREEMAN. NEW-HAVEN THESE bewitching charms of mine have a tendency to keep my mind in a state of perturbation. I am so pestered with these admirers; not that I am so very handsome neither; but I don't know how it is, I am certainly very much the taste of the other sex. Followed, flattered, and caressed; I have cards and compliments in profusion. But I must try to be serious; for I have, alas! one serious lover. As I promised you to be particular in my writing, I suppose I must proceed methodically. Yesterday we had a party to dine. Mr. Boyer was of the number. His attention was immediately engrossed; and I soon perceived that every word, every action, and every look was studied to gain my approbation. As he sat next to me at dinner, his assiduity and politeness were pleasing; and as we walked together afterwards, his conversation was improving. Mine was sentimental and sedate; perfectly adapted to the taste of my gallant. Nothing, however, was said particularly expressive of his apparent wishes. I studiously avoided every kind of discourse which might lead to this topic. I wish not for a declaration from any one, especially from one whom I could not repulse and do not intend to encourage at present. His conversation, so similar to what I had often heard from a similar character, brought a deceased friend to mind, and rendered me somewhat pensive. I retired directly after supper. Mr. Boyer had just taken leave. Mrs. Richman came into my chamber as she was passing to her own. Excuse my intrusion, Eliza, said she; I thought I would just step in and ask you if you have passed a pleasant day? Perfectly so, madam; and I have now retired to protract the enjoyment by recollection. What, my dear, is your opinion of our favorite Mr. Boyer? Declaring him your favorite, madam, is sufficient to render me partial to him. But to be frank, independent of that, I think him an agreeable man. Your heart, I presume, is now free? Yes, and I hope it will long remain so. Your friends, my dear, solicitous for your welfare, wish to see you suitably and agreeably connected. I hope my friends will never again interpose in my concerns of that nature. You, madam, who have ever known my heart, are sensible, that had the Almighty spared life, in a certain instance, I must have sacrificed my own happiness, or incurred their censure. I am young, gay, volatile. A melancholy event has lately extricated me from those shackles, which parental authority had imposed on my mind. Let me then enjoy that freedom which I so highly prize. Let me have opportunity, unbiassed by opinion, to gratify my natural disposition in a participation of those pleasures which youth and innocence afford. Of such pleasures, no one, my dear, would wish to deprive you. But beware, Eliza!–Through strowed with flowers, when contemplated by your lively imagination, it is, after all, a slippery, thorny path. The round of fashionable dissipation is dangerous. A phantom is often pursued, which leaves its deluded votary the real form of wretchedness. She spoke with an emphasis, and taking up her candle, wished me a good night. I had not power to return the compliment. Something seemingly prophetic in her looks and expressions, cast a momentary gloom upon my mind! But I despise those contracted ideas which confine virtue to a cell. I have no notion of becoming a recluse. Mrs. Richman has ever been a beloved friend of mine; yet I always thought her rather prudish. Adieu, ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER VI. TO THE SAME. NEW-HAVEN I HAD scarcely seated myself at the breakfast table this morning, when a servant entered with a card of invitation from Major Sanford, requesting the happiness of my hand this evening, at a ball, given by Mr. Atkins, about three miles from this. I shewed the billet to Mrs. Richman, saying, I have not much acquaintance with this gentleman, madam; but I suppose his character sufficiently respectable to warrant an affirmative answer. He is a gay man, my dear, to say no more, and such are the companions we wish, when we join a party avowedly formed for pleasure. I then stepped into my apartment, wrote an answer, and dispatched the servant. When I returned to the parlour, something disapprobating appeared in the countenances of both my friends. I endeavored without seeming to observe, to dissipate it by chit chat; but they were better pleased with each other than with me; and soon rising, walked into the garden, and left me to amuse myself alone. My eyes followed them through the window. Happy pair, said I. Should it ever be my fate to wear the hymenial chain, may I be thus united! The purest and most ardent affection, the greatest consonance of taste and disposition, and the most congenial virtue and wishes distinguish this lovely couple. Health and wealth, with every attendant blessing preside over their favored dwelling, and shed their benign influence without alloy. The consciousness of exciting their displeasure gave me pain; but I consoled myself with the idea that it was ill founded. They should consider, said I, that they have no satisfaction to look for beyond each other. There every enjoyment is centered; but I am a poor solitary being, who need some amusement beyond what I can supply myself. The mind, after being confined at home for a while, sends the imagination abroad in quest of new treasures, and the body may as well accompany it, for ought I can see. General Richman and lady have ever appeared solicitous to promote my happiness since I have resided with them. They have urged my acceptance of invitations to join parties, though they have not been much themselves, of late; as Mrs. Richman's present circumstances render her fond of retirement. What reason can be assigned for their apparent reluctance to this evening's entertainment is to me incomprehensible; but I shall apply the chymical powers of friendship and extract the secret from Mrs. Richman to morrow, if not before. Adieu. I am now summoned to dinner, and after that shall be engaged in preparation till the wished for hour of hilarity and mirth engrosses every faculty of your ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER VII. TO MR. SELBY. NEW-HAVEN DIVINES need not declaim, nor philosophers expatiate on the disappointments of human life! Are they not legibly written on every page of our existence? Are they not predominantly prevalent over every period of our lives? When I closed my last letter to you, my heart exulted in the pleasing anticipation of promised bliss; my wishes danced on the light breezes of hope, and my imagination dared to arrest the attention, and even claim a return of affection from the lovely Eliza Wharton! But imagination only, it has proved; and that dashed with the bitter ranklings of jealousy and suspicion. But to resume my narrative. I reached the mansion of my friend about four. I was disagreeably stuck with the appearance of a carriage at the door, as it raised an idea of company which might frustrate my plan; but still more disagreeable were my sensations, when, on entering the parlour, I found Major Sanford evidently in a waiting posture. I was very politely received; and when Eliza entered the room with a brilliance of appearance and gaiety of manner, which I had never connected with her character, I rose, as did Major Sanford who offered his hand, and led her to a chair. I forgot to sit down again, but stood transfixed by the pangs of disappointment. Miss Wharton appeared somewhat confused; but soon resuming her vivacity, desired me to be seated; inquired after my health, and made some common place remarks on the weather. Then apologizing for leaving me, gave her hand again to Major Sanford, who had previously risen, and reminded her that the time and their engagements made it necessary to leave the good company; which, indeed, they both appeared very willing to do. General Richman and the lady took every method in their power to remove my chagrin, and atone for the absence of my fair one, but ill did they succeed. They told me that Miss Wharton had not the most distant idea of my visiting there, this afternoon; much less of the design of my visit; that for some months together, she had been lately confined by the sickness of Mr. Haly, whom she attended during the whole of his last illness; which confinement had eventually increased her desire of indulging her natural disposition for gaiety. She had, however, they said, an excellent heart and reflecting mind, a great share of sensibility, and a temper peculiarly formed for the enjoyments of social life. But this gentleman, madam, who is her gallant this evening–is his character unexceptionable? Will a lady of delicacy associate with an immoral, not to say profligate man? The rank and fortune of Major Sanford, said Mrs. Richman, procure him respect. His specious manners render him acceptable in public company; but I must own that he is not the person with whom I wish my cousin to be connected, even for a moment. She never consulted me so little on any subject as on that of his card this morning. Before I had time to object, she dismissed the servant; and I forbore to destroy her happiness, by acquainting her with my disapprobation of her partner. Her omission was not design; it was juvenile indiscretion. We must, my dear sir, continued she, look with a candid eye on such excentricities. Faults, not foibles, require the severity of censure. Far, madam, be it from me to censure any conduct, which as yet I have observed in Miss Wharton; she has too great an interest in my heart to admit of that. We now went into more general conversation. Tea was served; and I soon after took leave. General Richman, however, insisted on my dining with him on Thursday, which I promised. And here I am again over head and ears in the hypo. A disease, you will say, peculiar to students. I believe it peculiar to lovers, and with that class I must now rank myself, though I did not know, until this evening, that I was so much engaged as I find I really am. I knew, indeed, that I was extremely pleased with this amiable girl; that I was interested in her favor; that I was happier in her company than any where else, with innumerable other circumstances, which would have told me the truth, had I examined them. But be that as it may; I hope, and trust that I am, and ever shall be a reasonable creature; and not suffer my judgment to be misled by the operations of a blind passion. I shall now lay aside this subject, endeavor to divest even my imagination of the charmer, and return until Thursday, to the contemplation of those truths and duties, which have a happy tendency to calm the jarring elements which compose our mortal frame. Adieu. J. BOYER. LETTER VIII. TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON. NEW-HAVEN WE had an elegant ball, last night, Charles; and what is still more to the taste of your friend, I had an elegant partner; one exactly to please my fancy; gay, volatile, apparently thoughtless of everything but present enjoyment. It was Miss Eliza Wharton, a young lady, whose agreeable person, polished manners, and refined talents, have rendered her the toast of the country around for these two years; though for half that time she has had a clerical lover imposed on her by her friends; for I am told it was not agreeable to her inclination. By this same clerical lover of hers, she was for several months confined as a nurse. But his death has happily relieved her, and she now returns to the world with redoubled lustre. At present she is a visitor to Mrs. Richman, who is a relation. I first saw her on a party of pleasure at Mr. Frazier's where we walked, talked, sung, and danced together. I thought her cousin watched her with a jealous eye; for she is, you must know, a prude; and immaculate, more so than you or I must be the man who claims admission to her society. But I fancy this young lady is a coquette; and if so, I shall avenge my sex, by retaliating the mischiefs, she meditates against us. Not that I have any ill designs; but only to play off her own artillery, by using a little unmeaning gallantry. And let her beware of the consequences. A young clergyman came in at Gen. Richman's yesterday, while I was waiting for Eliza, who was much more cordially received by the general and his lady, than was your humble servant; but I lay that up. When she entered the room, an air of mutual embarrasment was evident. The lady recovered her assurance much more easily than the gentleman. I am just going to ride, and shall make it in my way to call and inquire after the health of my dulcinea. Therefore, adieu for the present. PETER SANFORD. LETTER IX. TO MISS LUCY FREEMAN. NEW-HAVEN I AM not so happy to day in the recollection of last evening's entertainment, as I was in the enjoyment. The explanation which I promised you from Mrs. Richman yesterday, I could not obtain. When I went down to dinner, some friends of General Richman's had accidentally dropped in, which precluded all particular conversation. I retired soon to dress, and saw Mrs. Richman no more, till I was informed that Major Sanford waited for me. But I was surprised on going into the parlour to find Mr. Boyer there. I blushed and stammered; but I know not why; for certain I am, that I neither love nor fear the good man yet, whatever I may do some future day. I would not be understood that I do not respect and esteem him; for I do both. But these are calm passions, which sooth rather than agitate the mind. It was not the consciousness of any impropriety of conduct; for I was far from feeling any. The entertainment for which I was prepared was such as virtue would not disapprove, and my gallant was a man of fortune, fashion, and for ought I knew, of unblemished character. But Mr. Boyer was much more disconcerted than myself. Indeed he did not recover his philosophy while I staid. I believe, by some hints I have received since, that he had some particular views, in which he was disappointed. Our ball had every charm which could render a ball delightful. My partner was all ease, politeness, and attention; and your friend was as much flattered and caressed as variety itself could wish. We returned to General Richman's about two. Major Sanford asked leave to call and inquire after my health, this morning, and I am now expecting him. I rose to breakfast. The late hour of retiring to rest had not depressed, but rather exhilerated my spirits. My friends were waiting for me in the parlour. They received me sociably, inquired after my health, my last evening's entertainment, the company, &c. When, after a little pause, Mrs. Richman said, and how do you like Major Sanford, Eliza? Very well indeed, madam: I think him a finished gentleman. Will you, who are a connoisieur, allow him that title? No, my dear: in my opinion, he falls far below it; since he is deficient in one of the great essentials of the character, and that is, virtue. I am surprised, said I: but how has he incurred so severe a censure? By being a professed libertine; by having but too successfully practised the arts of seduction; by triumphing in the destruction of innocence and the peace of families! Oh, why was I not informed of this before? But, perhaps, these are old affairs; the effects of juvenile folly; crimes of which he may have repented, and which charity ought to obliterate. No, my dear, they are recent facts; facts which he dares not deny; facts for which he ought to be banished from all virtuous society. I should have intimated this to you before, but your precipitate acceptance of his invitation deprived me of an opportunity, until it was too late to prevent your going with him; and we thought it best to protract your enjoyment as long as possible, not doubting but your virtue and delicacy would, in future, guard you against the like deception. Must I then become an avowed prude at once; and refuse him admission, if he call, in compliance with the customary forms? By no means. I am sensible, that even the false maxims of the world must be complied with in a degree. But a man of Major Sanford's art can easily distinquish between a forbidding, and an encouraging reception. The former may, in this case, be given without any breach of the rules of politeness. Astonished, and mortified, I knew not what further to say. I had been so pleased with the man, that I wished to plead in his favor; but virtue and prudence forbade. I therefore rose and retired. He is this moment, I am told, below stairs. So that I must bid you adieu, until the next post. ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER X. TO THE SAME. NEW-HAVEN UPON closing my last, I walked down, and found Major Sanford alone. He met me at the door of the parlor; and taking my hand with an air of affectionate tenderness, led me to a seat, and took one beside me. I believe the gloom of suspicion had not entirely forsaken my brow. He appeared, however, not to notice it; but after the compliments of the day had passed, entered into an easy and agreeable conversation on the pleasures of society: a conversation perfectly adapted to my taste, and calculated to dissipate my chagrin, and pass the time imperceptibly. He inquired the place of my native abode; and having informed him, he said he had thoughts of purchasing the seat of Capt. Pribble, in that neighborhood, for his residence; and could he be assured of my society and friendship, his resolution would be fixed. I answered his compliment only by a slight bow. He took leave, and I retired to dress for the day, being engaged to accompany my cousin to dine at Mr. Laurence's, a gentleman of fortune and fashion, in this vicinity. Mr. Laurence has but one daughter, heiress to a large estate, with an agreeable form, but a countenance, which to me, indicates not much soul. I was surprised in the afternoon to see Major Sanford alight at the gate. He entered with the familiarity of an old acquaintance; and, after accosting each of the company, told me, with a low bow, that he did not expect the happiness of seeing me again so soon. I received his compliment with a conscious awkwardness. Mrs. Richman's morning lecture still rung in my head; and her watchful eye now traced every turn of mine, and every action of the major's. Indeed, his assiduity was painful to me; yet I found it impossible to disengage myself a moment from him, till the close of the day brought our carriage to the door; when he handed me in, and pressing my hand to his lips, retired. What shall I say about this extraordinary man? Shall I own to you, my friend, that he is pleasing to me? His person, his manners, his situation, all combine to charm my fancy; and to my lively imagination, strew the path of life with flowers. What a pity, my dear Lucy, that the graces and virtues are not oftner united! They must, however, meet in the man of my choice; and till I find such a one, I shall continue to subscribe my name ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XI. TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON. NEW-HAVEN WELL, Charles, I have been manoeuving to day, a little revengefully. That, you will say, is out of character. So baleful a passion does not easily find admission among those softer ones, which you well know I cherish. However, I am a mere Proteus, and can assume any shape that will best answer my purpose. I called this forenoon, as I told you I intended, at Gen. Richman's. I waited some time in the parlor alone, before Eliza appeared; and when she did appear, the distant reserve of her manners and the pensiveness of her countenance convinced me that she had been vexed, and I doubted but Peter Sanford was the occasion. Her wise cousin, I could have sworn, had been giving her a detail of the vices of her gallant; and warning her against the danger of associating with him in future. Notwithstanding, I took no notice of any alteration in her behavior; but entered with the utmost facetiousness into a conversation which I thought most to her taste. By degrees, she assumed her usual vivacity; cheerfulness and good humor again animated her countenance. I tarried as long as decency would admit. She having intimated that they were to dine at my friend Lawrence's, I caught at this information; and determined to follow them, and teaze the jealous Mrs. Richman, by playing off all the gallantry I was master of in her presence. I went, and succeeded to the utmost of my wishes, as I read in the vexation, visible in the one; and the ease and attention displayed by the other. I believe too, that I have charmed the eye at least, of the amiable Eliza. Indeed, Charles, she is a fine girl. I think it would hurt my conscience to wound her mind or reputation. Were I disposed to marry, I am persuaded she would make an excellent wife; but that you know is no part of my plan, so long as I can keep out of the noose. Whenever I do submit to be shackled, it must be from a necessity of mending my fortune. This girl would be far from doing that. However, I am pleased with her acquaintance, and mean not to abuse her credulity and good nature, if I can help it. PETER SANFORD. LETTER XII. TO MISS LUCY FREEMAN. NEW-HAVEN THE heart of your friend is again besieged. Whether it will surrender to the assailants or not, I am unable at present to determine. Sometimes I think of becoming a predestinarian, and submitting implicitly to fate, without any exercise of free will; but, as mine seems to be a wayward one, I would counteract the operations of it, if possible. Mrs. Richman told me this morning, that she hoped I should be as agreeably entertained this afternoon, as I had been the preceding; that she expected Mr. Boyer to dine, and take tea; and doubted not but he would be as attentive and sincere to me, if not as gay and polite as the gentleman who obtruded his civilities yesterday. I replied that I had no reason to doubt the sincerity of the one, or the other, having never put them to the test, nor did I imagine I ever should. Your friends, Eliza, said she, would be very happy to see you united to a man of Mr. Boyer's worth; and so agreeably settled, as he has a prospect of being. I hope, said I, that my friends are not so weary of my company, as to wish to dispose of me. I am too happy in my present connections to quit them for new ones. Marriage is the tomb of friendship. It appears to me a very selfish state. Why do people, in general, as soon as they are married, centre all their cares, their concerns, and pleasures in their own families? former acquaintances are neglected or forgotten. The tenderest ties between friends are weakened, or dissolved; and benevolence itself moves in a very limited sphere. It is the glory of the marriage state, she rejoined, to refine, by circumscribing our enjoyments. Here we can repose in safety. "The friendships of the world are oft Confed'racies in vice, or leagues in pleasure: Our's has the purest virtue for its basis; And such friendship ends not but with life." True, we cannot always pay that attention to former associates, which we may wish; but the little community which we superintend is quite as important an object; and certainly renders us more beneficial to the public. True benevolence, though it may change its objects, is not limited by time or place. Its effects are the same, and aided by a second self, are rendered more diffusive and salutary. Some pleasantry passed, and we retired to dress. When summoned to dinner, I found Mr. Boyer below. If what is sometimes said to be true, that love is diffident, reserved, and unassuming, this man must be tinctured with it. These symptoms were visible in his deportment when I entered the room. However, he soon recovered himself, and the conversation took a general turn. The festive board was crowned with sociability, and we found in reality, "The feast of reason, and the flow of soul." After we rose from table, a walk in the garden was proposed, an amusement we are all peculiarly fond of. Mr. Boyer offered me his arm. When at a sufficient distance from our company, he begged leave to congratulate himself on having an opportunity which he had ardently desired for some time, of declaring to me his attachment; and of soliciting an interest in my favor; or, if he might be allowed the term, affection. I replied, that, Sir, is indeed laying claim to an important interest. I believe you must substitute some more indifferent epithet for the present. Well then, said he, if it must be so, let it be esteem, or friendship. Indeed, Sir, said I, you are intitled to them both. Merit has always a share in that bank; and I know of none, who has a larger claim on that score, than Mr. Boyer. I suppose my manner was hardly serious enough for what he considered a weighty cause. He was a little disconcerted; but soon regaining his presence of mind, entreated me, with an air of earnestness, to encourage his suit, to admit his addresses, and, if possible, to reward his love. I told him, that this was rather a sudden affair to me; and that I could not answer him without consideration. Well then, said he, take what time you think proper, only relieve my suspense as soon as may be. Shall I visit you again to morrow? O, not so soon, said I. Next Monday, I believe will be early enough. I will endeavor to be at home. He thanked me even for that favor, recommended himself once more to my kindness; and we walked towards the company, returned with them to the house, and he soon took leave. I immediately retired to write this letter, which I shall close, without a single observation on the subject, until I know your opinion. ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XIII. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. HARTFORD AND so you wish to have my opinion before you know the result of your own. This is playing a little too much with my patience. But, however, I will gratify you this once, in hopes that my epistle may have a good effect. You will ask, perhaps, whether I would influence your judgment? I answer, no; provided you will exercise it yourself: but I am a little apprehensive that your fancy will mislead you. Methinks I can gather from your letters, a predilection for this Major Sanford. But he is a rake, my dear friend; and can a lady of your delicacy and refinement, think of forming a connection with a man of that character? I hope not. Nay, I am confident you do not. You mean only to exhibit a few more girlish airs, before you turn matron. But I am persuaded, if you wish to lead down the dance of life with regularity, you will not find a more excellent partner than Mr. Boyer. Whatever you can reasonably expect in a lover, husband, or friend, you may perceive to be united in this worthy man. His taste is undebauched, his manners not vitiated, his morals uncorrupted. His situation in life is, perhaps, as elevated as you have a right to claim. Forgive my plainness, Eliza. It is the task of friendship, sometimes to tell disagreeable truths. I know your ambition is to make a distinguished figure in the first class of polished society; to shine in the gay circle of fashionable amusements, and to bear off the palm amidst the votaries of pleasure. But these are fading honors, unsatisfactory enjoyments; incapable of gratifying those immortal principles of reason and religion, which have been implanted in your mind by nature; assiduously cultivated by the best of parents, and exerted, I trust, by yourself. Let me advise you then, in conducting this affair; an affair, big, perhaps, with your future fate, to lay aside those coquettish airs which you sometimes put on; and remember that you are not dealing with a fop, who will take advantage of every concession; but with a man of sense and honor, who will properly estimate your condescension, and frankness. Act then with that modest freedom, that dignified unreserve which bespeaks conscious rectitude and sincerity of heart. I shall be extremely anxious to hear the process and progress of this business. Relieve my impatience, as soon as possible, and believe me yours, with undissembled affection. LUCY FREEMAN. LETTER XIV. TO MISS LUCY FREEMAN. NEW-HAVEN I HAVE received, and read again and again, your friendly epistle. My reason and judgment entirely coincide with your opinion; but my fancy claims some share in the decision: and I cannot yet tell which will preponderate. This was the day fixed for deciding Mr. Boyer's cause. My friends here gave me a long dissertation on his merits. Your letter, likewise, had its weight, and I was candidly summing up the pros and cons in the garden, whither I had walked (Gen. Richman and lady having rode out) when I was informed that he was waiting in the parlor. I went immediately in (a good symptom, you will say) and received him graciously. After the first compliments were over, he seemed eager to improve the opportunity to enter directly on the subject of his present visit. It is needless for me to recite to you, who have long been acquainted with the whole process of courtship, the declarations, propositions, protestations, intreaties, looks, words and actions of a lover. They are, I believe, much the same, in the whole sex, allowing for their different dispositions, educations, and characters. But you are impatient I know for the conclusion. You have hastily perused the preceding lines, and are straining your eye forward to my part of the farce; for such it may prove after all. Well, then, not to play too long with the curiosity, which I know to be excited, and actuated by real friendship, I will relieve you. I think you would have been pleased to have seen my gravity, on this important occasion. With all the candor and frankness which I was capable of assuming, I thus answered his long harangue, to which I had listened, without interrupting him. Self-knowledge, sir, that most important of all sciences, I have yet to learn. Such have been my situations in life, and the natural volatility of my temper, that I have looked but little into my own heart, in regard to its future wishes and views. From a scene of constraint and confinement, ill suited to my years and inclination, I have just launched into society. My heart beats high in expectation of its fancied joys. My sanguine imagination paints, in alluring colors, the charms of youth and freedom, regulated by virtue and innocence. Of these, I wish to partake. While I own myself under obligations for the esteem which you are pleased to profess for me, and in return, acknowledge, that neither your person nor manners are disagreeable to me, I recoil at the thought of immediately forming a connection, which must confine me to the duties of domestic life, and make me dependent for happiness, perhaps too, for subsistence, upon a class of people, who will claim the right of scrutinising every part of my conduct; and by censuring those foibles, which I am conscious of not having prudence to avoid, may render me completely miserable. While, therefore, I receive your visits, and cultivate towards you sentiments of friendship and esteem, I would not have you consider me as confined to your society, or obligated to a future connection. Our short acquaintance renders it impossible for me to decide what the operations of my mind may hereafter be. You must either quit the subject, or leave me to the exercise of my free will, which perhaps may coincide with your present wishes. Madam, said he, far is the wish from me to restrain your person or mind. In your breast I will repose my cause. It shall be my study to merit a return of affection; and I doubt not, but generosity and honor will influence your conduct towards me. I expect soon to settle among a generous and enlightened people, where I flatter myself I shall be exempt from those difficulties, and embarrassments, to which too many of my brethren are subject. The local situation is agreeable, the society refined and polished; and if, in addition, I may obtain that felicity which you are formed to bestow, in a family connection, I shall be happy indeed. He spoke with emphasis. The tear of sensibility sparkled in his eye. I involuntarily gave him my hand, which he pressed with ardor to his lips. Then rising, he walked to the window to conceal his emotion. I ran the bell and ordered tea; during, and after which, we shared that social converse, which is the true zest of life, and which, I am persuaded, none but virtuous minds can participate. General Richman and lady returned with the shades of the evening. The penetrating eye of my cousin traced in our countenances the progress of the cause, and the smile of approbation animated hers. Mr. Boyer asked the favor of my company to ride to morrow morning, which was granted. He tarried to supper, and took his leave. I retired immediately to my chamber, to which I was followed by Mrs. Richman. I related to her the conversation, and the encouragement which I had given to Mr. Boyer. She was pleased; but insisted that I should own myself somewhat engaged to him. This, I told her I should never do to any man, before the indissoluble knot is tied. That, said I, will be time enough to resign my freedom. She replied that I had wrong ideas of freedom, and matrimony; but she hoped that Mr. Boyer would happily rectify them. I have now, my dear friend, given you an account of my present situation, and leave you to judge for yourself concerning it. Write me your opinion, and believe me ever yours. ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XV. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. HARTFORD I CONGRATULATE you, my dear Eliza, on the stability of your conduct towards Mr. Boyer. Pursue the system which you have adopted, and I dare say, that happiness will crown your future days. You are indeed very tenacious of your freedom, as you call it; but that is a play about words. A man of Mr. Boyer's honor and good sense will never abridge any privileges which virtue can claim. When do you return to embellish our society, here? I am impatient to see you, and likewise this amiable man. I am much interested in his favor. By the way, I am told that Major Sanford has been to look at the seat of Captain Pribble, which is upon sale. It is reported that he will probably purchase it. Many of our gentry are pleased with the prospect of such a neighbor. As an accomplished gentleman, say they, he will be an agreeable addition to our social parties; and as a man of property, and public spirit, he will be an advantage to the town; but, from what I have heard of him, I am far from supposing him a desirable acquisition in either of these respects. A man of a vicious character cannot be a man of probity, and honor. Of these qualifications, if I mistake not, this gallant of yours cannot boast. But I shall not set up for a censor. I hope neither you nor I shall have much connection with him. My swain interests himself very much in your affairs. You will possibly think him impertinent; but I give his curiosity a softer name. Should I own to you that I place great confidence in his integrity and honor, you would, perhaps, laugh at my weakness; but, my dear, I have pride enough to keep me above coquettry, or prudery; and discretion enough, I hope, to secure me from the errors of both. With him I have determined to walk the future round of life. What folly then would it be to affect reserve and distance, relative to an affair in which I have so much interest? Not that I am going to betray your secrets. These I have no right to divulge; but I must be the judge what may, and what may not be communicated. I am very much pressed for an early day of consummation; but I shall not listen to a request of that kind, till your return. Such is my regard for you, that a union of love would be imperfect, if friendship attended not the rites. Adieu. LUCY FREEMAN. LETTER XVI. TO MISS LUCY FREEMAN. NEW-HAVEN WE go on charmingly here; almost as soft and smooth as your ladyship. It seems to me that love must stagnate, if it have not a light breeze of discord once in a while to keep it in motion. We have not tried any yet, however. We had a lovely tour this forenoon; were out three long hours, and returned to dinner in perfect harmony. Mr. Boyer informed me that he should set out to morrow morning, for his future residence, and soon put on the sacred bands. He solicited an epistolary correspondence, at the same time, as an alleviation of the care which that weighty charge would bring on his mind. I consented; telling him, that he must not expect any thing more than general subjects from me. We were somewhat interrupted in our confidential intercourse, in the afternoon, by the arrival of Major Sanford. I cannot say that I was not agreeably relieved. So sweet a repast, for several hours together, was rather sickening to my taste. My enamorato looked a little mortified at the cheerful reception which I gave the intruder, and joined not so placidly in the social conversation, as I could have wished. When Mr. Boyer, after the Major took leave, pressed me to give him some assurance of my constancy, I only reminded him of the terms of our engagement. Seeing me decided, he was silent on the subject, and soon bid me an affectionate adieu; not expecting, as he told me, the pleasure of a personal interview again, for two or three months. Thus far we have proceeded in this sober business. A good beginning, you will say. Perhaps it is. I do not, however, feel myself greatly interested in the progress of the negociation. Time may consolidate my affections, and enable me to fix them on some particular object. At present the most lively emotions of my heart are those of friendship; that friendship which I hope you will soon participate with your faithful ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XVII. TO MR. SELBY. NEW-HAVEN I HAVE succeeded in my addresses to the lovely Eliza Wharton; as far at least as I had any reason to expect from our short acquaintance. I find the graces of her person and mind rise in my esteem; and have already enjoyed, in her society, some of the happiest hours of my life. She is kind, affable, and condescending; yet I must own that I have not been able to infuse into her bosom, the ardor which I feel in my own. I know that the native modesty of the sex would restrain the discovery; but there is an animation of countenance, which betrays the sensations of the heart, that I find wanting in hers on this occasion. I have just taken leave of my fair, and propose returning to morrow morning; to take upon me the solemn charge, which lies with such weight upon my mind, that I need every support, both human and divine. Eliza has promised to correspond with me. From this I anticipate a source of pleasure, which alone can atone for her absence. I am, &c. J. BOYER. LETTER XVIII. TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON. NEW-HAVEN DO you know, Charles, that I have commenced lover? I was always a general one; but now I am somewhat particular. I shall be the more interested, as I am likely to meet with difficulties; and it is the glory of a rake, as well as a Christian to combat obstacles. This same Eliza, of whom I have told you, has really made more impression on my heart, than I was aware of; or than the sex, take them as they rise, are wont to do. But she is besieged by a priest (a likely lad though.) I know not how it is, but they are commonly successful with the girls, even the gayest of them. This one, too, has the interest of all her friends, as I am told. I called yesterday, at General Richman's, and found this pair together, apparently too happy in each other's society for my wishes. I must own, that I felt a glow of jealousy, which I never experienced before; and vowed revenge for the pain it gave me, though but momentary. Yet Eliza's reception of me was visibly cordial; nay, I fancied my company as pleasing to her as that which she had before. I tarried not long, but left him to the enjoyment of the pleasure which I flatter myself will be short-lived. O, I have another plan in my head; a plan of necessity, which, you know, is the mother of invention. It is this: I am very much courted and caressed by the family of Mr. Lawrence, a man of large property in this neighborhood. He has only one child; a daughter, with whom I imagine the old folks intend to shackle me in the bonds of matrimony. The girl looks very well. She has no soul though, that I can discover. She is heiress, nevertheless, to a great fortune; and that is all the soul I wish for in a wife. In truth, Charles, I know of no other way to mend my circumstances. But lisp not a word of my embarrassments for your life. Show and equipage are my hobby-horse; and if any female wish to share them with me, and will furnish me with the means of supporting them, I have no objection. Could I conform to the sober rules of wedded life, and renounce those dear enjoyments of dissipation, in which I have so long indulged, I know not the lady in the world with whom I would sooner form a connection of this sort than with Eliza Wharton. But it will never do. If my fortune, or hers were better, I would risk a union; but as they are, no idea of the kind can be admitted. I shall endeavor, notwithstanding, to enjoy her company as long as possible. Though I cannot possess her wholly myself, I will not tamely see her the property of another. I am now going to call at General Richman's, in hopes of an opportunity to profess my devotion to her. I know I am not a welcome visitor to the family; but I am independent of their censure or esteem, and mean to act accordingly. PETER SANFORD. LETTER XIX. TO MISS LUCY FREEMAN. NEW-HAVEN I FIND the ideas of sobriety, and domestic solitude, I have been cultivating for three days past, somewhat deranged by the interruption of a visitor, with whom, I know, you will not be pleased. It is no other than Major Sanford. I was walking alone in the garden yesterday, when he suddenly appeared to my view. How happy am I, said he, seizing my hand, in this opportunity of finding you alone; an opportunity, Miss Wharton, which I must improve in expatiating on a theme, that fills my heart, and solely animates my frame. I was startled at his impetuosity, and displeased with his freedom. Withdrawing my hand, I told him, that my retirement was sacred. He bowed submissively; begged pardon for his intrusion, alledged, that he found no body but the servants in the house; that they informed him, I was alone in the garden, which intelligence was too pleasing for him to consult any forms of ceremony for the regulation of his conduct. He then went on rhapsodically to declare his passion, his suspicions, that I was forming a connection with Mr. Boyer, which would effectually destroy all his hopes of future happiness. He painted the restraint, the confinement, the embarrassments to which a woman, connected with a man of Mr. Boyer's profession, must be subjected; however agreeable his person might be. He asked if my generous mind could submit to cares and perplexities like these; whether I could not find greater sources of enjoyment in a more elevated sphere of life, or share pleasures better suited to my genius and disposition, even in a single state? I listened to him involuntarily. My heart did not approve of his sentiments, but my ear was charmed with his rhetoric, and my fancy captivated by his address. He invited my confidence, by the most ardent professions of friendship, and labored to remove my suspicions by vows of sincerity. I was induced by his importunity, gradually to disclose the state of affairs between Mr. Boyer and myself. He listened eagerly; wished not, he said, to influence me unduly; but if I were not otherwise engaged, might he presume to solicit a place in my friendship and esteem; be admitted to enjoy my society, to visit me as a acquaintance, and to attend my excursions and amusements, as a brother, if no more? I replied, that I was a pensioner of friendship, at present; that my friends were extremely refined in their notions of propriety, and that I had no right to receive visitants independent of them. I understand you, madam, said he. You intimate that my company is not agreeable to them: but I know not why. Surely my rank in life is as elevated; and my knowledge of, and acceptance in the world, are as extensive as General Richman's. I hope, said I, since we are engaged in the conversation, that you will excuse my frankness, if I tell you, that the understanding and virtue of this worthy couple, induce them, without any regard to rank, to bestow their esteem wherever it is merited. I cannot say that you are not a sharer. Your own heart can best determine, whether upon their principles, you are, or not! He appeared mortified, and chagrined; and we had walked some distance without exchanging a word, or a look. At last, he rejoined, I plead guilty to the charge, madam, which they have undoubtedly brought against me, of imprudence and folly in many particulars; yet of malignancy and vice I am innocent. Brought up in affluence; innured from my infancy to the gratification of every passion; the indulgence of every wish, it is not strange, that a life of dissipation and gaiety should prove alluring to a youthful mind, which had no care but to procure what it deemed enjoyment. In this pursuit I have perhaps deviated from the rigid rules of discretion, and the harsher laws of morality. But let the veil of charity be drawn over my faults; let the eye of candor impartially examine my present behavior; let the kind and lenient hand of friendship assist in directing my future steps; and, perhaps, I may not prove unworthy of associating with the respectable inhabitants of this happy mansion; for such I am sure it must be, while honored with Miss Wharton's presence. But, circumstanced as you and I are, at present, I will not sue for your attention, as a lover; but rest contented, if possible with that share of kindness, and regard, which your benevolence may afford me as a friend. I bowed in approbation of his resolution. He pressed my hand with ardor to his lips; and at that instant General Richman entered the garden. He approached us cheerfully, offered Major Sanford his hand with apparent cordiality, and told us pleasantly, that he hoped he should not be considered as an intruder. By no means, sir, said Major Sanford. It is I who have incurred that imputation. I called this afternoon to pay you my respects; when being informed that you and your lady were abroad, and that Miss Wharton was in the garden, I took the liberty to invade her retirement. She has graciously forgiven my crime, and I was just affixing the seal to my pardon as you entered. We then returned into the house. Mrs. Richman received us politely. During tea, the conversation turned on literary subjects, in which I cannot say that the Major bore a very distinguished part. After he was gone, Mrs. Richman said, I hope you have been agreeably entertained, Miss Wharton? I did not chuse my company, madam, said I. Nor, said she, did you refuse it, I presume. Would you not have me respect the rights of hospitality towards your guests, when you are absent, madam? If you had acted from that motive, I own my obligations to you, my dear; but even that consideration can hardly reconcile me to the sacrifice of time, which you have made to the amusement of a seducer. I hope, madam, you do not think me an object of seduction! I do not think you seducible; nor was Richardson's Clarissa, till she made herself the victim, by her own indiscretion. Pardon me, Eliza, this is a second Lovelace. I am alarmed by his artful intrusions. His insinuating attention to you are characteristic of the man. Come, I presume you are not interested to keep his secrets, if you know them. Will you give me a little sketch of his conversation? Most willingly, said I; and, accordingly, related the whole. When I had concluded, she shook her head, and replied, beware, my friend, of his arts. Your own heart is too sincere to suspect treachery and dissimulation in another; but suffer not your ear to be charmed by the syren voice of flattery; nor your eye to be caught by the phantom of gaiety and pleasure. Remember your engagements to Mr. Boyer. Let sincerity and virtue be your guides, and they will lead you to happiness and peace. She waited not for an answer, but immediately rising, begged leave to retire, alledging that she was fatigued. Gen. Richman accompanied her, and I hastened to my apartment, where I have written thus far, and shall send it on for your comments. I begin to think of returning soon to your circle. One inducement is, that I may be free from the intrusions of this man. Adieu. ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XX. TO MRS. M. WHARTON. NEW-HAVEN FROM the conversation of the polite, the sedate, the engaging and the gay; from corresponding with the learned, the sentimental and the refined, my heart and my pen turn with ardor and alacrity to a tender and affectionate parent, the faithful guardian and guide of my youth; the unchanging friend of my riper years. The different dispositions of various associates, sometimes perplex the mind, which seeks direction; but in the disinterested affection of the maternal breast, we fear no dissonance of passion, no jarring interests, no disunion of love. In this seat of felicity is every enjoyment which fancy can form, or friendship, with affluence, bestow; but still my mind frequently returns to the happy shades of my nativity. I wish there to impart my pleasures and share the counsels of my best, my long tried and experienced friend. At this time, my dear mamma, I am peculiarly solicitous for your advice. I am again inportuned to listen to the voice of love; again called upon to accept the addresses of a gentleman of merit and respectability. You will know the character of the man, when I tell you, it is Mr. Boyer. But his situation in life! I dare not enter it. My disposition is not calculated for that sphere. There are duties arising from the station, which I fear I should not be able to fulfil; cares and restraints to which I could not submit. This man is not disagreeable to me; but if I must enter the connubial state, are there not others, who may be equally pleasing in their persons, and whose profession may be more conformable to my taste? You, madam, have passed through this scene of trial, with honor and applause. But alas! Can your volatile daughter ever acquire your wisdom; ever possess your resolution, dignity and prudence? I hope soon to converse with you personally upon the subject, and to profit by your precepts and example. I anticipate the hour of my return to your bosom, with impatience. My daily thoughts and nightly dreams restore me to the society of my beloved mamma; and, till I enjoy it in reality, I subscribe myself your dutiful daughter. ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XXI. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. HARTFORD HOW welcome to me, my dear Eliza, are the tidings of your return? My widowed heart has mourned your absence, and languished for the company of its now, dearest connection. When stript of one dependence, the mind naturally collects, and rests itself in another. Your father's death deprived me, for a while, of every enjoyment. But a reviving sense of the duties which I owed to a rising family, roused me from the lethargy of grief. In my cares I found an alleviation of my sorrows. The expanding virtues of my children soothed and exhilerated my drooping spirits; and my attention to their education, and interest, was amply rewarded by their proficiency and duty. In them, every hope, every pleasure now centres. They are the axis on which revolves the temporal felicity of their mother. Judge then, my dear, how anxiously I must watch, how solicitously I must regard every circumstance which relates to their welfare and prosperity! Exquisitely alive to these sensations, your letter awakens my hopes and my fears. As you are young and charming, a thousand dangers lurk unseen around you. I wish you to find a friend and protector, worthy of being rewarded by your love and your society. Such a one, I think, Mr. Boyer will prove. I am, therefore, sorry, since there can be no other, that his profession should be an objection in your mind. You say, that I have experienced the scenes of trial, connected with that station. I have, indeed; and I will tell you the result of this experience. It is, that I have found it replete with happiness. No class of society has domestic enjoyment more at command, than clergymen. Their circumstances are generally a decent competency. They are removed alike from the perplexing cares of want, and from the distracting parade of wealth. They are respected by all ranks, and partakers of the best company. With regard to its being a dependent situation, what one is not so? Are we not all links in the great chain of society, some more, some less important; but each upheld by others, throughout the confederated whole? In whatever situation we are placed, our greater or less degree of happiness must be derived from ourselves. Happiness is in a great measure the result of our own dispositions and actions. Let us conduct uprightly and justly; with propriety and steadiness; not servilely cringing for favor, nor arrogantly claiming more attention and respect than our due; let us bear with fortitude the providential, and unavoidable evils of life, and we shall spend our days with respectability and contentment, at least. I will not expatiate on the topic of your letter, till we have a personal interview, for which I am, indeed, impatient. Return, my daughter, as soon as politeness will allow, to your expecting friends; more especially, to the fond embraces of your affectionate mother. M. WHARTON. LETTER XXII. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. HAMPSHIRE CAN time, can distance, can absence allay, or extinguish the sentiments of refined affection, the ardor of true love? No, my dear Eliza. If I may judge by my own heart, I shall say they cannot. Amidst the parade which has attended me, the interesting scenes in which I have been engaged, and the weighty cares, which have occupied my attention, your idea has been the solace of my retired moments; the soother of every anxious thought. I recal, with pleasure, the conversation which we have shared. I dwell with rapture on the marks of favor which I have received from you. My first wish is the continuance and increase of these favors; my highest ambition, to deserve them. I look forward and anticipate with impatience, the future enjoyment of your society; and hope we shall one day experience the reality of those beautiful lines of Thompson: "An elegant sufficiency, Content, retirement, rural quiet, friendship; Books, ease and alternate labor, useful life; Progressive virtue, and approving heaven; These are the matchless joys of virtuous love." Mr. Selby, my particular friend, will have the honor of delivering this letter. He will be able to give you any information, relative to our public transactions, which you may wish. May I solicit the favor of a line, through him, in return? It will relieve, in some measure, the tediousness of this separation. I intend to pay my respects to you personally, in about a fortnight; till when, I subscribe myself your sincere and affectionate friend, J. BOYER. LETTER XXIII. TO THE REV. J. BOYER. NEW-HAVEN I HAVE executed your commission, and been amply rewarded for my trouble, by the pleasure I enjoyed in the society of the agreeable family to which I was introduced; especially of the amiable and accomplished lady, who is the object of your particular regard. I think she fully justifies your partiality to her. She appears to possess both the virtues and the graces. Her form is fine, and her countenance interests us at once in her favor. There is a mixture of dignity and ease, which commands respect, and conciliates affection. After these encomiums, will you permit me to say, there is an air of gaiety in her appearance and deportment, which favors a little of coquetry. I am persuaded, however, that she has too much good sense to practice its arts. She received your letter very graciously, asked leave to retire a few moments; and returned with a smile of complacency on her brow, which I construe favorably to you. There was a Mr. Laurence, with his lady and daughter, and a certain Major Sanford, at the house. The latter, I believe in the modern sense of the phrase, is much of a gentleman, that is, a man of show and fashion. Miss Wharton asked me, when I should leave town, and when I should return, or have an opportunity of conveyance to Hampshire? I told her I should write by the next post, and if she had any commands, would be happy to execute them. She would send a line to her friend, she said, if I would take the trouble to inclose it in my letter. I readily consented; and told her, that I would call and receive her favor to morrow morning. This chit-chat was a little aside, but I could not but observe, that the foresaid Major Sanford had dropped his part in the conversation of the rest of the company, and was attending to us, though he endeavored to conceal his attention, by looking carelessly over a play, which lay on the window by him. Yet he evidently watched every word and action of Miss Wharton, as if he were really interested in her movements. It is said she has many admirers, and I conceive it very possible that this may be one of them; though, truly, I do not think that she would esteem such a conquest any great honor. I now joined in the general topic of conversation, which was politics. Mrs. Richman and Miss Wharton judiciously, yet modestly bore a part; while the other ladies amused themselves with Major Sanford, who was making his sage remarks on the play, which he still kept in his hand. General Richman at length observed, that we had formed into parties. Major Sanford, upon this, laid aside his book. Miss Laurence simpered; and looked as if she was well pleased with being in a party with so fine a man; while her mother replied, that she never meddled with politics; she thought they did not belong to ladies. Miss Wharton and I, said Mrs. Richman, must beg leave to differ from you, madam. We think ourselves interested in the welfare and prosperity of our country; and, consequently, claim the right of inquiring into those affairs, which may conduce to, or interfere with the common weal. We shall not be called to the senate or the field to assert its privileges, and defend its rights, but we shall feel for the honor and safety of our friends and connections, who are thus employed. If the community flourish and enjoy health and freedom, shall we not share in the happy effects? if it be oppressed and disturbed, shall we not endure our proportion of the evil? Why then should the love of our country be a masculine passion only? Why should government, which involves the peace and order of the society, of which we are a part, be wholly excluded from our observation? Mrs. Laurence made some slight reply and waved the subject. The gentlemen applauded Mrs. Richman's sentiments as truly Roman; and what was more, they said, truly republican. I rose to take leave, observing to Miss Wharton, that I should call to morrow as agreed. Upon this, Gen. Richman politely requested the favor of my company at dinner. I accepted his invitation, and bid them good night. I shall do the same to you for the present; as I intend, to morrow to scribble the cover, which is to inclose your Eliza's letter. T. SELBY. LETTER XXIV. TO THE REV. J. BOYER. NEW-HAVEN I RESUME my pen, having just returned from Gen. Richman's; not with an expectation, however, of your reading this, till you have perused, and reperused the inclosed. I can bear such neglect, in this case, as I have been alike interested myself. I went to Gen. Richman's at twelve o'clock. About a mile from thence, upon turning a corner, I observed a gentleman and lady on horseback, some way before me, riding a very moderate pace, and seemingly in close conversation. I kept at the same distance from them, till I saw them stop at the General's gate. I then put on, and coming up with them, just as they alighted, and was surprised to find them no other than Major Sanford and Miss Wharton. They were both a little disconcerted at my salutation; I know not why. Miss Wharton invited him in; but he declined, being engaged to dine. Gen. Richman received us at the door. As I handed Miss Wharton in, he observed jocosely, that she had changed company. Yes sir, she replied, more than once, since I went out, as you doubtless observed. I was not aware, said Mrs. Richman, that Major Sanford was to be of your party to day. It was quite accidental, madam, said Miss Wharton. Miss Laurence and I had agreed last evening, to take a little airing, this forenoon. A young gentleman, a relation of her's, who is making them a visit, was to attend us. We had not rode more than two miles, when we were overtaken by Major Sanford, who very politely asked leave to join our party. Miss Laurence very readily consented; and we had a very sociable ride. The fineness of the day induced me to protract the enjoyment of it abroad; but Miss Laurence declined riding so far as I proposed, as she had engaged company to dine. We therefore parted till evening, when we are to meet again. What, another engagement! said Mrs. Richman. Only to the assembly, madam. May I inquire after your gallant, my dear? But I have no right, perhaps, to be inquisitive, said Mrs. Richman. Miss Wharton made no reply; and the conversation took a general turn. Miss Wharton sustained her part with great propriety. Indeed, she discovers a fund of useful knowledge, and extensive reading, which render her peculiarly entertaining; while the brilliancy of her wit, the fluency of her language, the vivacity and ease of her manners, are inexpressibly engaging. I am going myself to the assembly this evening, though I did not mention it to General Richman; I therefore took my leave soon after dinner. I have heard so much in praise of Miss Wharton's penmanship, in addition to her other endowments, that I am almost tempted to break the seal of her letter to you; but I forbear. Wishing you much happiness in the perusal of it, and more in the possession of its writer, I subscribe myself, yours, &c. T. SELBY. LETTER XXV. TO THE REV. J. BOYER. NEW-HAVEN SIR, YOUR favor of the 4th inst. came to hand yesterday. I received it with pleasure, and embrace this early opportunity of contributing my part to a correspondence, tending to promote a friendly and social intercourse. An epistolary communication between the sexes has been with some, a subject of satire and censure; but unjustly, in my opinion. With persons of refinement and information, it may be a source of entertainment and utility. The knowledge and masculine virtues of your sex may be softened, and rendered more diffusive by the inquisitiveness, vivacity, and docility of ours; drawn forth and exercised by each other. In regard to the particular subject of your's I shall be silent. Ideas of that kind are better conveyed, on my part, by words, than by the pen. I congratulate you on your agreeable settlement, and hope it will be productive of real and lasting happiness. I am convinced that felicity is not confined to any particular station, or condition in life; yet methinks some are better calculated to afford it to me, than others. Your extract from a favorite poet is charmingly descriptive; but is it not difficult to ascertain what we can pronounce "an elegant sufficiency?" Perhaps you will answer as some others have done, We can attain it by circumscribing our wishes within the compass of our abilities. I am not very avaricious; yet I must own that I should like to enjoy it without so much trouble as that would cost me. Excuse my seeming levity. You have flattered my cheerfulness by commending it; and must, therefore, indulge me in the exercise of it. I cannot conveniently be at the pains of restraining its sallies, when I write in confidence. Is a sprightly disposition, in your view, indicative of a giddy mind, or an innocent heart? Of the latter, I presume; for I know you are not a misanthrope. We expect the pleasure of Mr. Selby's company to dinner. You are, certainly, under obligations to his friendship for the liberal encomiums he bestowed on you, and your prospects yesterday. Mrs. Richman rallied me after he was gone, on my listening ear. The General and she unite in requesting me to present their respects. Wishing you health and happiness, I subscribe myself your friend, ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XXVI. TO MISS LUCY FREEMAN. NEW-HAVEN I AM perplexed and embarrassed, my friend, by the assiduous attentions of this Major Sanford. I shall write circumstantially, and frankly to you, that I may have the benefit of your advice. He came here, last Monday, in company with Mr. Laurence, his wife, and daughter, to make us a visit. While they were present, a Mr. Selby, a particular friend of Mr. Boyer, came in, and delivered me a letter from him. I was really happy in the reception of this proof of his affection. His friend gave a very flattering account of his situation and prospects. The watchful eye of Major Sanford traced every word and action, respecting Mr. Boyer, with an attention, which seemed to border on anxiety. That, however, did not restrain, but rather accellerate my vivacity and inquisitiveness on the subject; for I wished to know whether it would produce any real effect upon him, or not. After Mr. Selby's departure, he appeared pensive, and thoughtful, the remainder of the evening; and evidently sought an opportunity of speaking to me aside; which I studiously avoided. Miss Laurence and I formed an engagement to take an airing in the morning on horseback; attended by a relation of hers, who is now with them. They called for me about ten, when we immediately set out upon our preconcerted excursion. We had not proceeded far, before we were met by Major Sanford. He was extremely polite, and finding our destination was not particular, begged leave to join our party. This was granted, and we had an agreeable tour for several miles; the time being passed in easy, and unstudied remarks upon obvious occurrences. Maj. Sanford could not, however, conceal his particular attention to me, which rather nettled Miss Laurence. She grew somewhat serious, and declined riding so far as we had intended; alledging that she expected company to dine. Major Sanford understanding that she was going to the assembly in the evening with Mr. Gordon, solicited me to accept a ticket and form a party with them. The entertainment was alluring, and I consented. When we had parted with Miss Laurence, Major Sanford insisted on my riding a little farther; saying, he must converse with me on a particular subject; and if I refused him this opportunity, that he must visit me, at my residence, let it offend whom it would. I yielded to his importunity; and we rode on. He then told me that his mind was in a state of suspense and agitation, which was very painful to bear; and which I only could relieve; that my cheerful reception of Mr. Boyer's letter, yesterday, and deportment respecting him, had awakened in his breast all the pangs of jealousy, which the most ardent love could feel; that my treatment of Mr. Boyer's friend convinced him that I was more interested in his affairs than I was willing to own; that he foresaw himself to be condemned to an eternal separation; and the total loss of my favor and society, as soon as time and circumstances would allow. His zeal, his pathos, alarmed me. I begged him to be calm. To you, said I, as a friend, I have intrusted my situation in relation to Mr. Boyer. You know that I am under no special obligation to him; and I do not intend to form any immediate connection. Mr. Boyer must have different ideas, madam; and he has reason for them, if I may judge by appearances. When do you expect another visit from him? In about a fortnight. And is my fate to be then decided; and so decided, as I fear it will be, through the influence of your friends, if not by your own inclination? My friends, sir, will not control; they will only advise to what they think most for my interest; and I hope, that my conduct will not be unworthy of their approbation. Pardon me, my dear Eliza, said he, if I am impertinent; it is my regard for you which impels me to the presumption. Do you intend to give your hand to Mr. Boyer? I do not intend to give my hand to any man at present. I have but lately entered society; and wish, for a while, to enjoy my freedom, in the participation of pleasures, suited to my age and sex. These, said he, you are aware, I suppose, when you form a connection with that man, you must renounce; and content yourself with a confinement to the tedious round of domestic duties, the pedantic conversation of scholars, and the invidious criticisms of a whole town. I have been accustomed, said I, and am therefore attached to men of letters; and as to the praise or censure of the populace, I hope always to enjoy that approbation of conscience, which will render me superior to both. But you forget your promise, not to talk in this style; and have deviated far from the character of a friend and brother, with which you consented to rest satisfied. Yes, but I find myself unequal to the task. I am not stoic enough, tamely to make so great a sacrifice. I must plead for an interest in your favor, till you banish me from your presence, and tell me plainly that you hate me. We had by this time reached the gate; and as we dismounted, were unexpectedly accosted by Mr. Selby, who had come agreeably to his promise, to dine with us, and receive my letter to Mr. Boyer. Mr. Sanford took his leave as General Richman appeared at the door. The General and his lady rallied me on my change of company; but very prudently concealed their sentiments of Major Sanford, while Mr. Selby was present. Nothing material occurred before, and during dinner; soon after which, Mr. Selby went away. I retired to dress for the assembly; and had nearly completed the labor of the toilet, when Mrs. Richman entered. My friendship for you, my dear Eliza, said she, interests me so much in your affairs, that I cannot repress my curiosity to know who has the honor of your hand, this evening. If it be any honor, said I, it will be confered on Major Sanford. I think it far too great to be thus bestowed, returned she. It is perfectly astonishing to me, that the virtuous part of my sex will countenance, caress, and encourage those men, whose profession it is to blast their reputation, destroy their peace, and triumph in their infamy! Is this, madam, the avowed design of Major Sanford? I know not what he avows; but his practice too plainly bespeaks his principles and views. Does he now practice the arts you mention; or do you refer to past follies? I cannot answer for his present conduct; his past has established his character. You, madam, are an advocate for charity; that, perhaps, if exercised in this instance might lead you to think it possible for him to reform; to become a valuable member of society; and, when connected with a lady of virtue and refinement, to be capable of making a good husband. I cannot conceive that such a lady would be willing to risk her all upon the slender prospect of his reformation. I hope the one with whom I am conversing, has no inclination to so hazardous, an experiment. Why, not much. Not much! If you have any, why do you continue to encourage Mr. Boyer's addresses? I am not sufficiently acquainted with either yet, to determine which to take. At present, I shall not confine myself in any way. In regard to these men, my fancy and my judgment are in scales. Sometimes one preponderates, sometimes the other. Which will finally outweigh, time alone can reveal. O my cousin, beware of the delusions of fancy! Reason must be our guide, if we would expect durable happiness. At this instant a servant opened the door, and told me that Major Sanford waited in the parlor. Being ready, I wished Mrs. Richman a good evening, and went down. Neither General Richman nor his lady appeared. He therefore handed me immediately into his phaeton, and we were soon in the assembly room. I was surprised, on my entrance, to find Mr. Selby there, as he did not mention, at dinner, his intention of going. He attached himself to our party; and, in the intervals of dancing, took every opportunity of conversing with me. These, however, were not many; for Major Sanford assiduously precluded the possibility of my being much engaged by any one else. We passed the evening very agreeably; but the Major's importunity was rather troublesome, as we returned home. He insisted upon my declaring whether Mr. Boyer really possessed my affections; and whether I intended to confer myself on him or not. If, said he, you answer me in the affirmative, I must despair; but if you have not absolutely decided against me, I will still hope, that my persevering assiduity, my faithful love, may at last be rewarded. I told him that I was under no obligation to give him any account of my disposition towards another; and that he must remember the terms of our present association, to which he had subscribed. I therefore begged him to wave the subject now, if not forever. He asked my pardon, if he had been impertinent; but desired leave to renew his request, that I would receive his visits, his friendly visits. I replied, that I could not grant this; and that he must blame himself, not me, if he was an unwelcome guest at General Richman's. He lamented the prejudices which my friends had imbibed against him; but flattered himself that I was more liberal than to be influenced by them, without any positive proof of demerit; as it was impossible that his conduct towards me should ever deviate from the strictest rules of honor and love. What shall I say now, my friend? This man, to an agreeable person has superadded, graceful manners, an amiable temper, and a fortune sufficient to ensure the enjoyments of all the pleasing varieties of social life. Perhaps a gay disposition, and a lax education may have betrayed him into some scenes of dissipation. But is it not an adage generally received, that "a reformed rake makes the best husband? " My fancy leads me for happiness to the festive haunts of fashionable life. I am at present, and know not but I ever shall be, too volatile for a confinement to domestic avocations, and sedentary pleasures. I dare not, therefore, place myself in a situation where these must be indispensable. Mr. Boyer's person, and character are agreeable. I really esteem the man. My reason and judgment, as I have observed before, declare for a connection with him, as a state of tranquillity and rational happiness. But the idea of relinquishing those delightful amusements and flattering attentions, which wealth and equipage bestow, is painful. Why were not the virtues of the one, and the graces and affluence of the other combined? I should then have been happy indeed! But, as the case now stands, I am loath to give up either; being doubtful which will conduce most to my felicity. Pray write me impartially; let me know your real sentiments, for I rely greatly upon your opinion. I am, &c. ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XXVII. TO THE REV. MR. BOYER. NEW-HAVEN I AM quite a convert to Pope's assertion, that "Every woman is, at heart, a rake." How else can we account for the pleasure which they evidently receive from the society, the flattery, the caresses of men of that character? Even the most virtuous of them seem naturally prone to gaiety, to pleasure, and, I had almost said, to dissipation! How else shall we account for the existence of this disposition, in your favorite fair? It cannot be the result of her education. Such a one as she has received, is calculated to give her a very different turn of mind. You must forgive me, my friend, for I am a little vexed, and alarmed on your account. I went last evening to the assembly, as I told you in my last that I intended. I was purposely without a partner, that I might have the liberty to exercise my gallantry, as circumstances should invite. Indeed, I must own, that my particular design was, to observe Miss Wharton's movements, being rather inclined to jealousy in your behalf. She was handed into the assembly room by Major Sanford. The brilliance of their appearance, the levity of their manners, and the contrast of their characters I found to be a general subject of speculation. I endeavored to associate with Miss Wharton, but found it impossible to detach her a moment from the coxcomb who attended her. If she has any idea of a connection with you, why does she continue to associate with another, especially with one of so opposite a description? I am seriously afraid, that there is more intimacy between them, than there ought to be, considering the encouragement she has given you. I hope you will not be offended by my freedom in this matter. It originates in a concern for your honor and future happiness. I am anxious, lest you should be made the dupe of a coquette, and your peace of mind fall a sacrifice to an artful debauchee. Yet I must believe, that Miss Wharton has, in reality, all that virtue and good sense of which she enjoys the reputation; but her present conduct is mysterious. I have said enough (more than I ought, perhaps) to awaken your attention to circumstances, which may lead to important events. If they appear of little, or no consequence to you, you will at least ascribe the mention of them to motives of sincere regard, in your friend and humble servant, T. SELBY. LETTER XXVIII. TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON. NEW-HAVEN I GO on finely with my amour. I have every encouragement that I could wish. Indeed my fair one does not verbally declare in my favor; but then, according to the vulgar proverb, that actions speak louder than words, I have no reason to complain; since she evidently approves my gallantry, is pleased with my company, and listens to my flattery. Her sagatious friends have undoubtedly given her a detail of my vices. If, therefore, my past conduct has been repugnant to her notions of propriety, why does she not act consistently, and refuse at once to associate with a man whose character she cannot esteem? But no; that, Charles, is no part of the female plan: our entrapping a few of their sex, only discovers the gaiety of our dispositions, the insinuating graces of our manners, and the irresistible charms of our persons and address. These qualifications are very alluring to the sprightly fancy of the fair. They think to enjoy the pleasures which result from this source; while their vanity and ignorance prompt each one to imagine herself superior to delusion; and to anticipate the honor of reclaiming the libertine, and reforming the rake! I dont know, however, but this girl will really have that merit with me; for I am so much attached to her, that I begin to suspect I should sooner become a convert to sobriety than lose her. I cannot find that I have made much impression on her heart as yet. Want of success in this point mortifies me extremely, as it is the first time I ever failed. Besides, I am apprehensive that she is prepossessed in favor of the other swain, the clerical lover, whom I have mentioned to you before. The chord, therefore, upon which I play the most, is the dissimilarity of their dispositions and pleasures. I endeavor to detach her from him, and disaffect her towards him; knowing, that if I can separate them entirely, I shall be more likely to succeed in my plan. Not that I have any thoughts of marrying her myself; that will not do at present. But I love her too well to see her connected with another for life. I must own myself a little revengeful too in this affair. I wish to punish her friends, as she calls them, for their malice towards me; for their cold and negligent treatment of me whenever I go to the house. I know that to frustrate their designs of a connection between Mr. Boyer and Eliza would be a grievous disappointment. I have not yet determined to seduce her, though, with all her pretensions to virtue, I do not think it impossible. And if I should, she can blame none but herself, since she knows my character, and has no reason to wonder if I act consistently with it. If she will play with a lion, let her beware of his paw, I say. At present, I wish innocently to enjoy her society; it is a luxury which I never tasted before. She is the very soul of pleasure. The gayest circle is irradiated by her presence, and the highest entertainment receives its greatest charm from her smiles. Besides, I have purchased the seat of Capt. Pribble, about a mile from her mother's; and can I think of suffering her to leave the neighborhood, just as I enter it? I shall exert every nerve to prevent that, and hope to meet with the usual success of PETER SANFORD. LETTER XXIX. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. HARTFORD YOU desire me to write to you, my friend; but if you had not, I should by no means have refrained. I tremble at the precipice on which you stand; and must echo, and re-echo the seasonable admonition of the excellent Mrs. Richman, "Beware of the delusions of fancy!" You are strangely infatuated by them! Let not the magic arts of that worthless Sanford lead you, like an ignis fatuus from the path of rectitude and virtue! I do not find, in all your conversations with him, that one word about marriage drops from his lips. This is mysterious? No, it is characteristic of the man. Suppose, however, that his views are honorable; yet what can you expect, what can you promise yourself from such a connection? "A reformed rake," you say, "makes the best husband;" a trite, but a very erroneous maxim, as the fatal experience of thousands of our sex can testify. In the first place, I believe that rakes very seldom do reform, while their fortunes and constitutions enable them to pursue their licentious pleasures. But even allowing this to happen, can a woman of refinement and delicacy enjoy the society of a man, whose mind has been corrupted, whose taste has been vitiated, and who has contracted a depravity both of sentiment and manners, which no degree of repentance can wholly efface? Besides, of true love they are absolutely incapable. Their passions have been too much hackneyed to admit so pure a flame. You cannot anticipate sincere and lasting respect from them. They have been so long accustomed to the company of those of our sex, who observe no esteem; that the greatest dignity and purity of character can never excite it in their breasts. They are naturally prone to jealousy. Habituated to an intercourse with the baser part of the sex, they level the whole, and seldom believe any to be incorruptible. They are always hard hearted and cruel. How else could they triumph in the miseries which they frequently occasion? Their specious manners may render them agreeable companions abroad; but at home the evil propensities of their minds will invariably predominate. They are steeled against the tender affections, which render domestic life delightful; strangers to the kind, the endearing sympathies of husband, father, and friend! The thousand nameless attentions which soften the rugged path of life, are neglected; and deemed unworthy of notice by persons who have been innured to scenes of dissipation and debauchery! and is a man of this description to be the partner, the companion, the bosom friend of my Eliza? Forbid it heaven! Let not the noble qualities, so lavishly bestowed upon her, be thus unworthily sacrificed! You seem to be particularly charmed with the fortune of Major Sanford; with the gaiety of his appearance; with the splendor of his equipage; with the politeness of his manners; with what you call the graces of his person! These, alas! are superficial, ensnaring endowments. As to fortune, prudence, economy, and regularity are necessary to preserve it, when possessed. Of these Major Sanford is certainly destitute; unless common fame (which more frequently tells truth than some are willing to allow) does him great injustice. As to external parade, it will not satisfy the rational mind, when it aspires to those substantial pleasures for which yours is formed. And as to the graces of person and manners, they are but a wretched substitute for those virtues which adorn and dignify human life. Can you, who have always been used to serenity and order in a family, to rational, refined and improving conversation, relinquish them, and launch into the whirlpool of frivolity, where the correct taste and the delicate sensibility which you possess must constantly be wounded by the frothy and illiberal sallies of licentious wit? This, my dear, is but a faint picture of the situation to which you seem inclined! Reverse the scene, and you will perceive the alternative, which is submitted to your option, in a virtuous connection with Mr. Boyer. Remember that you are acting for life; and that your happiness in this world, perhaps in the next, depends on your present choice! I called, last evening, to see your mamma. She is fondly anticipating your return, and rejoicing in the prospect of your agreeable and speedy settlement. I could not find it in my heart to distress her by intimating that you had other views. I wish her benevolent bosom never more to feel the pangs of disappointed hope. I am busily engaged in preparing for my nuptials. The solemn words "as long as ye both shall live," render me thoughtful and serious. I hope for your enlivening presence soon; which will prove a seasonable cordial to the spirits of your LUCY FREEMAN. LETTER XXX. TO MISS LUCY FREEMAN. NEW-HAVEN I BELIEVE your spirits need a cordial indeed, my dear Lucy; after drawing so dreadful a portrait of my swain. But I call him mine no longer. I renounce him entirely. My friends shall be gratified. And if their predictions are verified, I shall be happy in a union with the man of their choice. General Richman and lady have labored abundantly to prove that my ruin was inevitable if I did not immediately break all intercourse with Major Sanford. I promised a compliance with their wishes; and have accomplished the task, though a hard one I found it. Last Thursday he was here, and desired leave to spend an hour with me. I readily consented, assuring my friends it should be the last hour, which I would ever spend in his company. He told me that he was obliged to leave town for a few days; and, as I should probably see Mr. Boyer, before his return, he could not depart in peace without once more endeavoring to interest me in his favor; to obtain some token of esteem, some glimpse of hope, that I would not utterly reject him, to support him in his absence. I thanked him for the polite attention he had paid me, since our acquaintance; told him that I should ever retain a grateful sense of his partiality to me; that he would ever share my best wishes; but that all connection of the kind, to which he alluded, must from that time, for ever cease. He exerted all his eloquence to obtain a retraction of that sentence, and ran, with the greatest volubility, through all the protestations, prayers, entreaties, professions and assurances which love could feel or art contrive. I had resolution, however, to resist them, and to command my own emotions on the occasion, better than my natural sensibility gave me reason to expect. Finding every effort vain, he rose precipitately, and bade me adieu. I urged his tarrying to tea; but he declined, saying, that he must retire to his chamber, being, in his present state of mind, unfit for any society, as he was banished from mine. I offered him my hand, which he pressed with ardor to his lips, and bowing in silence, left the room. Thus terminated this affair; an affair, which, perhaps, was only the effect of mere gallantry on his part, and of unmeaning pleasantry on mine; and which, I am sorry to say, has given my friends so much anxiety and concern. I am under obligations to them for their kind solicitude, however causeless it may have been. As an agreeable companion, as a polite and finished gallant, Major Sanford is all that the most lively fancy could wish. And as you have always affirmed that I was a little inclined to coquetry, can you wonder at my exercising it upon so happy a subject? Besides, when I thought more seriously, his liberal fortune was extremely alluring to me, who, you know, have been hitherto confined to the rigid rules of prudence and economy, not to say, necessity in my finances. Miss Laurence called on me yesterday, as she was taking the air, and asked me whether Major Sanford took leave of me when he left town? He was here last week, said I, but I did not know that he was gone away. O yes, she replied, he is gone to take possession of his seat, which he has lately purchased of Captain Pribble. I am told it is superb; and it ought to be, if it have the honor of his residence. Then you have a great opinion of Major Sanford, said I. Certainly; and has not every body else? said she. I am sure he is a very fine gentleman. Mrs. Richman smiled rather contemptuously, and I changed the subject. I believe that the innocent heart of this simple girl is a little taken in. I have just received a letter from Mr. Boyer, in the usual style. He expects the superlative happiness of kissing my hand next week. O dear! I believe I must begin to fix my phiz. Let me run to the glass and try if I can make up one that will look madamish. Yes, I succeed very well. I congratulate you on your new neighbor; but I advise friend George to have the guardian knot tied immediately, lest you should be ensnared by his bewitching 'squire. I have been trying to seduce General Richman to accompany me to the assembly, this evening, but cannot prevail. Were Mrs. Richman able to go with us, he would be very happy to wait on us together; but to tell the truth, he had rather enjoy her company at home, than any which is to be found abroad. I rallied him on his old fashioned taste; but my heart approved and applauded his attachment. I despise the married man or woman, who harbors an inclination to partake of separate pleasures. I am told, that a servant man inquires for me below; the messenger of some enamoured swain, I suppose. I will step down and learn what message he brings– Nothing extraordinary; it is only a card of compliments from a Mr. Emmons, a respectable merchant of this city, requesting the honor to wait on me to the assembly this evening. A welcome request, which I made no hesitation to grant. If I must resign these favorite amusements, let me enjoy as large a share as possible, till the time arrive. Adieu. I must repair to the toilet and adorn for a new conquest, the person of ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XXXI. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. HARTFORD I AM very happy to find you are in so good spirits, Eliza, after parting with your favorite swain. For I perceive that he is really the favorite of your fancy, though your heart cannot esteem him; and, independent of that, no sensations can be durable. I can tell you some news of this strange man. He has arrived, and taken possession of his seat. Having given general invitations, he has been called upon and welcomed by most of the neighboring gentry. Yesterday he made an elegant entertainment. Friend George (as you call him) and I were of the number, who had cards. Twenty one couple went, I am told. We did not go. I consider my time too valuable to be spent in cultivating acquaintance with a person from whom neither pleasure nor improvement are to be expected. His profuseness may bribe the unthinking multitude to show him respect; but he must know, that though "Places and honors have been bought for gold, Esteem and love were never to be sold.' I look upon the vicious habits, and abandoned character of Major Sanford, to have more pernicious effects on society, than the perpetrations of the robber and the assassin. These, when detected, are rigidly punished by the laws of the land. If their lives be spared, they are shunned by society, and treated with every mark of disapprobation and contempt. But to the disgrace of humanity and virtue, the assassin of honor; the wretch, who breaks the peace of families, who robs virgin innocence of its charms, who triumphs over the ill placed confidence of the inexperienced, unsuspecting, and too credulous fair, is received, and caressed, not only by his own sex, to which he is a reproach, but even by ours, who have every conceivable reason to despise and avoid him. Influenced by these principles, I am neither ashamed nor afraid openly to avow my sentiments of this man, and my reasons for treating him with the most pointed neglect. I write warmly on the subject; for it is a subject in which I think the honor and happiness of my sex concerned. I wish they would more generally espouse their own cause. It would conduce to the public weal, and to their personal respectability. I rejoice, heartily, that you have had resolution to resist his allurements, to detect and repel his artifices. Resolution, in such a case, is absolutely necessary; for, "In spite of all the virtue we can boast, The woman that deliberates is lost." As I was riding out, yesterday, I met your mamma. She wondered that I was not one of the party at our new neighbor's. The reason, madam, said I, is that I do not like the character of the man. I know nothing of him, said she; he is quite a stranger to me, only as he called at my house, last week, to pay me his respects, as he said, for the sake of my late husband, whose memory he revered; and because I was the mother of Miss Eliza Wharton, with whom he had the honor of some little acquaintance. His manners are engaging, and I am sorry to hear that his morals are corrupt. This, my dear, is a very extraordinary visit. I fear that he has not yet laid aside his arts. Be still on your guard, is the advice of your sincere and faithful friend, LUCY FREEMAN. LETTER XXXII. TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON. HARTFORD I AM really banished and rejected; desired never more to think of the girl I love, with a view of indulging that love, or of rendering it acceptable to its object! You will perhaps, dispute the propriety of the term, and tell me it is not love, it is only gallantry, and a desire to exercise it with her, as favorite nymph. I neither know, nor care by what appellation you distinguish it, but it truly gives me pain. I have not felt one sensation of genuine pleasure since I heard my sentence; yet I acquiesced in it, and submissively took my leave; though I doubt not but I shall retaliate the indignity one time or other. I have taken possession of my new purchase, an elegant and delightful residence. It is rendered more so by being in the vicinity of my charmer's native abode. This circumstance will conduce much to my enjoyment, if I can succeed in my plan of separating her from Mr. Boyer. I know that my situation and mode of life are far more pleasing to her than his, and shall therefore trust to my appearance and address for a reestablishment in her favor. I intend, if possible, to ingratiate myself with her particular friends. For this purpose, I called last week at her mother's, to pay my respects to her (so I told the good woman) as an object of my particular regard; and as the parent of a young lady, whom I had the honor to know and admire. She received me very civilly, thanked me for my attention, and invited me to call whenever I had opportunity; which was the very thing I wanted. I intend likewise, to court popularity. I don't know but I must accept, by and by, some lucrative office in the civil department. Yet I cannot bear the idea of confinement to business. It appears to me quite inconsistent with the character of a gentleman; I am sure it is, with that of a man of pleasure. But something I must do; for I tell you, in confidence, that I was obliged to mortgage this place, because I had not wherewithal to pay for it. But I shall manage matters very well, I have no doubt, and keep up the appearance of affluence, till I find some lady in a strait for a husband, whose fortune will enable me to extricate myself from these embarrassments. Do come and see me, Charles; for, notwithstanding all my gaiety and parade, I have some turns of the hypo, some qualms of conscience, you will call them; but I meddle not with such obsolete words. And so good bye to you, says PETER SANFORD. LETTER XXXIII. TO MISS LUCY FREEMAN. NEW-HAVEN MY DEAR FRIEND, I BELIEVE I must begin to assume airs of gravity; and they will not be quite so foreign to my feelings now, as at some other times. You shall know the reason. I have been associated for three days, with sentiment and sobriety, in the person of Mr. Boyer. I don't know but this man will seduce me into matrimony. He is very eloquent upon the subject; and his manners are so solemn, that I am strongly tempted, yet I dare not to laugh. Really, Lucy, there is something extremely engaging and soothing too, in virtuous and refined conversation. It is a source of enjoyment which cannot be realised by the dissolute and unreflecting. But then, this particular theme of his, is not a favorite one to me; I mean, as connected with its consequences, care and confinement. However, I have compounded the matter with him, and conditioned that he shall expatiate on the subject, and call it by what name he pleases, platonic or conjugal, provided he will let me take my own time for the consummation. I have consented that he shall escort me, next week, to see my mamma and my Lucy. O, how the idea of returning to that revered mansion, to those beloved friends, exhilerates my spirits! General Richman's politeness to me has induced him to invite a large party of those gentlemen and ladies who have been particularly attentive to me, during my residence here, to dine and take tea, to morrow. After that, I expect to be engaged in making farewell visits, till I leave the place. I shall, therefore, forego the pleasure of telling you any occurrences, subsequent to this date, until you see and converse with your sincere friend, ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XXXIV. TO MRS. RICHMAN. HARTFORD DEAR MADAM, THE day after I left your hospitable dwelling, brought me safe to that of my honored mamma; to the seat of maternal and filial affection; of social ease and domestic peace; of every species of happiness which can result from religion and virtue; from refinement in morals, and manners. I found my brother and his wife, with Lucy Freeman and Mr. Sumner, waiting to receive and bid me welcome. I flew with extacy to the bosom of my mamma, who received me with her accustomed affection, testified by the expressive tears of tenderness which stole silently down her widowed cheek. She was unable to speak. I was equally so. We therefore indulged, a moment, the pleasing emotions of sympathising sensibility. When disengaged from her fond embrace, I was saluted by the others in turn; and having recovered myself, I presented Mr. Boyer to each of the company, and each of the company to him. He was cordially received by all, but more especially by my mamma. The next day I was called upon and welcomed by several of my neighboring acquaintance; among whom I was not a little surprised to see Major Sanford. He came in company with Mr. Stoddard and Lady, whom he overtook, as he told me, near by; and, as they informed him that the design of their visit was to welcome me home, he readily accepted their invitation to partake of the pleasure which every one must receive on my return. I bowed slightly at his compliment, taking no visible notice of any peculiarity of expression either in his words or looks. His politeness to Mr. Boyer, appeared to be the result of habit. Mr. Boyer's to him, to be forced by respect to the company to which he had gained admission. I dare say, that each felt a conscious superiority; the one on the score of merit; the other on that of fortune. Which ought to outweigh, the judicious mind will easily decide. The scale, as I once observed to you, will turn as fancy or reason preponderates. I believe the esteem which I now have for Mr. Boyer, will keep me steady; except, perhaps, some little excentricities, now and then, just by way of variety. I am going to morrow morning to spend a few days with Lucy Freeman; to assist in the preparation for, and the solemnization of her nuptials. Mr. Boyer, in the mean time, will tarry among his friends in town. My mamma is excessively partial to him; though I am not yet jealous that she means to rival me. I am not certain, however, but it might be happy for him if she should. For I suspect, notwithstanding the disparity of her age, that she is better calculated to make him a good wife than I am or ever shall be. But to be sober. Please, madam, to make my compliments acceptable to those of your neighbors, whose politeness and attention to me, while at your house, have laid me under particular obligations of gratitude and respect. My best regards attend General Richman. Pray tell him, that though I never expect to be so good a wife as he is blessed with; yet I intend, after a while (when I have sowed all my wild oats) to make a tolerable one. I am anxious to hear of a wished for event and of your safety. All who know you, feel interested in your health and happiness; but none more warmly than your obliged and affectionate ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XXXV. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. NEW-HAVEN I WRITE a line, at Mrs. Richman's request, just to inform you, Eliza, that yesterday, that lovely and beloved woman presented me with a daughter. This event awakens new sensations in my mind; and calls into exercise a kind of affection which had before lain dormant. I feel already the tenderness of a parent; while imagination fondly traces the mother's likeness in the infant form. Mrs. Richman expects to receive your congratulations, in a letter by the next post. She bids me tell you, moreover, that she hopes soon to receive an invitation, and be able to attend to the consummation you talk of. Give Mrs. Richman's and my particular regards to your excellent mother; and to the worthy Mr. Boyer. With sentiments of esteem and friendship,I am, &c. S. RICHMAN. LETTER XXXVI. TO MRS. RICHMAN. HARTFORD FROM the scenes of festive mirth, from the conviviality of rejoicing friends, and from the dissipating amusements of the gay world, I retire with alacrity, to hail my beloved friend on the important charge which she has received; on the accession to her family, and, may I not say, on the addition to her care; since that care will be more than counterbalanced by the pleasure it confers. Hail happy babe! Ushered into the world by the best of mothers; entitled by birth-right to virtue and honor; defended by parental love, from the weakness of infancy and childhood, by guardian wisdom from the perils of youth, and by affluent independence from the griping hand of poverty, in more advanced life! May these animating prospects be realised by your little daughter; and may you long enjoy the rich reward of seeing her all that you wish! Yesterday, my dear friend, Lucy Freeman gave her hand to the amiable and accomplished Mr. George Sumner. A large circle of congratulating friends were present. Her dress was such as wealth and elegance required. Her deportment was every thing that modesty and propriety could suggest. They are, indeed, a charming couple. The consonance of their dispositions, the similarity of their tastes, and the equality of their ages are a sure pledge of happiness. Every eye beamed with pleasure on the occasion, and every tongue echoed the wishes of benevolence. Mine only was silent. Though not less interested in the felicity of my friend than the rest, yet the idea of a separation; perhaps, of an alienation of affection, by means of her entire devotion to another, cast an involuntary gloom over my mind. Mr. Boyer took my hand, after the ceremony was past. Permit me, Miss Wharton, said he, to lead you to your lovely friend; her happiness must be heightened by your participation of it. Oh no; said I, I am too selfish for that. She has conferred upon another that affection which I wished to engross. My love was too fervent to admit a rival. Retaliate then, said he, this fancied wrong, by doing likewise. I observed that this was not a proper time to discuss that subject; and, resuming my seat, endeavored to put on the appearance of my accustomed vivacity. I need not relate the remaining particulars of the evening's entertainment. Mr. Boyer returned with my mamma, and I remained at Mrs. Freeman's. We are to have a ball here, this evening. Mr. Boyer has been with us, and tried to monopolize my company; but in vain. I am too much engaged by the exhilerating scenes around, for attending to a subject which affords no variety. I shall not close this till to morrow. —I am rather fatigued with the amusements of last night, which were protracted to a late hour. Mr. Boyer was present; and I was pleased to see him not averse to the entertainment, though his profession prevented his taking an active part. As all the neighboring gentry were invited, Mr. Freeman would, by no means, omit Major Sanford, which his daughter earnestly solicited. It happened (unfortunately, shall I say?) that I drew him for a partner. Yet I must own, that I felt very little reluctance to my lot. He is an excellent dancer, and well calculated for a companion in the hours of mirth and gaiety. I regretted Mr. Boyer's being present, however; because my enjoyment seemed to give him pain. I hope he is not inclined to the passion of jealousy. If he is, I fear it will be somewhat exercised. Lucy Freeman, now Mrs. Sumner, removes, next week, to Boston. I have agreed to accompany her, and spend a month or two in her family. This will give variety to the journey of life. Be so kind as to direct your next letter to me there. Kiss the dear little babe for me. Give love, compliments, &c. as respectively due; and believe me, with every sentiment of respect, your affectionate ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XXXVII. TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON. HARTFORD DEAR CHARLES, MY hopes begin to revive. I am again permitted to associate with my Eliza; invited to the same entertainment! She does not refuse to join with me in the mazy dance, and partake the scenes of festive mirth. Nay, more; she allows me to press her hand to my lips; and listens to the sighing accents of love. Love her, I certainly do. Would to heaven I could marry her! Would to heaven I had preserved my fortune; or she had one to supply its place! I am distracted at the idea of losing her forever. I am sometimes tempted to solicit her hand in serious earnest; but if I should, poverty and want must be the consequence. Her disappointment in the expectation of affluence and splendor, which I believe her ruling passion, would afford a perpetual source of discontent and mutual wretchedness. She is going to Boston with her friend, Mrs. Sumner. I must follow her. I must break the connection, which is rapidly forming, between her and Mr. Boyer; and enjoy her society a while longer, if no more. I have had a little intimation from New-Haven, that Miss Laurence is partial to me, and might easily be obtained, with a handsome property into the bargain. I am neither pleased with, nor averse to the girl. But she has money, and that may supply the place of love, by enabling me to pursue independent pleasures. This she must expect, if she marries a man of my cast. She doubtless knows my character; and if she is so vain of her charms or influence, as to think of reforming or confining me, she must bear the consequences. However, I can keep my head up, at present, without recourse to the noose of matrimony; and shall, therefore, defer any particular attention to her, till necessity requires it. I am, &c. PETER SANFORD. LETTER XXXVIII. TO MRS. M. WHARTON. BOSTON YOU commanded me, my dear mamma, to write you. That command, I cheerfully obey, in testimony of my ready submission and respect. No other avocation could arrest my time, which is now completely occupied in scenes of amusement. Mrs. Sumner is agreeably settled and situated. She appears to be possessed of every blessing which can render life desirable. Almost every day, since our arrival, has been engrossed by visitants. Our evenings, we have devoted to company abroad; and that more generally than we should otherwise have done, as my stay is limited to so short a period. The museum, the theatres, the circus and the assemblies have been frequented. Mrs. Sumner has made me several presents, notwithstanding which, the articles requisite to a fashionable appearance, have involved me in considerable expense. I fear that you will think me extravagant when you are told how much. Mr. Boyer tarried in town about a week, having business. He appeared a little concerned at my taste for dissipation, as he once termed it. He even took the liberty to converse seriously on the subject. I was displeased with his freedom; and reminded him that I had the disposal of my own time, as yet; and that while I escaped the censure of my own heart, I hoped that no one else would presume to arraign it. He apologised, and gave up his argument. I was much surprised, the first time I went to the play, to see Major Sanford in the very next box. He immediately joined our party; and wherever I have been since, I have been almost sure to meet him. Mr. Boyer has taken his departure; and I do not expect to see him again, till I return home. O mamma! I am embarrassed about this man. His worth I acknowledge; nay, I esteem him very highly. But can there be happiness with such a disparity of dispositions? I shall soon return to the bosom of domestic tranquillity, to the arms of maternal tenderness, where I can deliberate and advise at leisure, about this important matter. Till when, I am, &c. ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XXXIX. TO MR. T. SELBY. HAMPSHIRE DEAR SIR, I BELIEVE that I owe you an apology for my long silence. But my time has been much engrossed of late; and my mind much more so. When it will be otherwise, I cannot foresee. I fear, my friend, that there is some foundation for your suspicions respecting my beloved Eliza. What pity it is, that so fair a form, so accomplished a mind, should be tarnished, in the smallest degree, by the follies of coquetry! If this be the fact, which I am loth to believe, all my regard for her shall never make me the dupe of it. When I arrived at her residence, at New-Haven, where, I told you in my last, I was soon to go, she gave me a most cordial reception. Her whole behavior to me was correspondent with those sentiments of esteem and affection which she modestly avowed. She permitted me to accompany her to Hartford, to restore her to her mother, and to declare my wish to receive her again from her hand. Thus far, all was harmony and happiness. As all my wishes were consistent with virtue and honor, she readily indulged them. She took apparent pleasure in my company, encouraged my hopes of a future union, and listened to the tender accents of love. But the scenes of gaiety, which invited her attention, reversed her conduct. The delightful hours of mutual confidence, of sentimental converse, and of the interchange of refined affection, were no more! Instead of these, parties were formed, unpleasing to my taste; and every opportunity was embraced to join in diversions, in which she knew I could not consistently take a share. I, however, acquiesced in her pleasure, though I sometimes thought myself neglected, and even hinted it to her mother. The old lady apologised for her daughter, by alledging that she had been absent for a long time; that her acquaintances were rejoiced at her return, and welcomed her by striving to promote her amusement. One of her most intimate friends was married during my stay; and she appeared deeply interested in the event. She spent several days in assisting her, previous to the celebration. I resided, in the mean time, at her mamma's, visiting her at her friend's, where Major Sanford, among others, was received as a guest. Mrs. Sumner acquainted me that she had prevailed on Miss Wharton to go and spend a few weeks with her at Boston, whither she was removing; and urged my accompanying them. I endeavored to excuse myself, as I had been absent from my people a considerable time, and my return was now expected. But their importunity was so great, and Eliza's declaration that it would be very agreeable to her, so tempting, that I consented. Here I took lodgings and spent about a week, taking every opportunity to converse with Eliza, striving to discover her real disposition towards me. I mentioned the inconvenience of visiting her so often as I wished, and suggested my desire to enter, as soon as might be, into a family relation. I painted in the most alluring colours the pleasures resulting from domestic tranquillity, mutual confidence, and conjugal affection; and insisted on her declaring frankly whether she designed to share this happiness with me, and when it should commence. She owned that she intended to give me her hand; but when she should be ready, she could not yet determine. She pretended a promise from me to wait her time; to consent that she should share the pleasures of the fashionable world, as long as she chose, &c. I then attempted to convince her of her mistaken ideas of pleasure; that the scenes of dissipation, of which she was so passionately fond, afforded no true enjoyment; that the adulation of the coxcomb could not give durability to her charms, or secure the approbation of the wise and good; nor could the fashionable amusements of brilliant assemblies, and crouded theatres furnish the mind with "That which nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart felt joy." These friendly suggestions, I found were considered as the theme of a priest; and my desire to detach her from such empty pursuits, as the selfishness of a lover. She was even offended at my freedom; and warmly affirmed, that no one had a right to arraign her conduct. I mentioned Major Sanford who was then in town, and who (though she went to places of public resort with Mr. and Mrs. Sumner) always met and gallanted her home. She rallied me upon my jealousy, as she termed it; wished that I would attend her myself, and then she should need no other gallant. I answered that I had rather resign that honor to another; but wished, for her sake, that he might be a gentleman whose character would not disgrace the company with which he associated. She appeared mortified and chagrined in the extreme. However, she studiously suppressed her emotions; and even soothed me with the blandishments of female softness. We parted amicably. She promised to return soon, and prepare for a compliance with my wishes. I cannot refuse to believe her! I cannot cease to love her! My heart is in her possession. She has a perfect command of my passions. Persuasion dwells on her tongue. With all the boasted fortitude and resolution of our sex, we are but mere machines. Let love once pervade our breasts; and its object may mould us into any form that pleases her fancy, or even caprice. I have just received a letter from Eliza, informing me of her return to Hartford. To morrow I shall set out on a visit to the dear girl; for, my friend, notwithstanding all her foibles, she is very dear to me. Before you hear from me again, I expect that the happy day will be fixed; the day which shall unite, in the most sacred bands, this lovely maid, and your faithful friend, J. BOYER. LETTER XL. TO MR. T. SELBY. HAMPSHIRE I HAVE returned; and the day, indeed, is fixed; but Oh! How different from my fond expectations! It is not the day of union, but the day of final separation; the day which divides me from my charmer; the day which breaks asunder the bands of love; the day on which my reason assumes its empire, and triumphs over the arts of a finished coquette! Congratulate me, my friend, that I have thus overcome my feelings, and repelled the infatuating wiles of a deceitful girl. I would not be understood to impeach Miss Wharton's virtue; I mean her chastity. Virtue in the common acceptation of the term, as applied to the sex, is confined to that particular, you know. But in my view, this is of little importance, where all other virtues are wanting! When I arrived at Mrs. Wharton's, and inquired for Eliza, I was told that she had rode out; but was soon expected home. An hour after, a phaeton stopped at the door, from which my fair one alighted, and was handed into the house by Major Sanford, who immediately took leave. I met her and offered my hand, which she received with apparent tenderness. When the family had retired after supper, and left us to talk on our particular affairs, I found the same indecision, the same loathness to bring our courtship to a period, as formerly. Her previous excuses were renewed, and her wishes to have a union still longer delayed, were zealously urged. She could not bear the idea of confinement to the cares of a married life at present; and begged me to defer all solicitation on that subject to some future day. I found my temper rise, and told her plainly, that I was not thus to be trifled with; that if her regard for me was sincere; if she really intended to form a connection with me, she could not thus protract the time, try my patience, and prefer every other pleasure to the rational interchange of affection, to the calm delights of domestic life. But in vain did I argue against her false notions of happiness; in vain did I represent the dangerous system of conduct, which she now pursued, and urge her to accept, before it was too late, the hand and heart which were devoted to her service. That, she said, she purposed, ere long to do; and hoped amply to reward my faithful love; but she could not fix the time this evening. She must consider a little further; and likewise consult her mother. Is it not Major Sanford whom you wish to consult, madam? said I. She blushed, and gave me no answer. Tell me, Eliza, I continued, tell me frankly, if he has not supplanted me in your affections; if he be not the cause of my being thus evasively, thus cruelly treated? Major Sanford, sir, replied she, has done you no harm. He is a particular friend of mine; a polite gentleman, and an agreeable neighbor; and therefore I treat him with civility; but he is not so much interested in my concerns, as to alter my disposition towards any other person. Why, said I, do you talk of friendship with a man of his character? Between his society and mine, there is a great contrast. Such opposite pursuits and inclinations cannot be equally pleasing to the same taste. It is therefore necessary, that you renounce the one, to enjoy the other. I will give you time to decide which. I am going to a friend's house to spend the night; and will call on you to morrow, if agreeable, and converse with you further upon the matter. She bowed assent, and I retired. The next afternoon I went as agreed; and found her mamma and her alone in the parlor. She was very pensive and appeared to have been in tears. The sight affected me. The idea of having treated her harshly, the evening before, disarmed me of my resolution to insist on her decision that day. I invited her to ride with me and visit a friend, to which she readily consented. We spent our time agreeably. I forebore to press her on the subject of our future union; but strove rather to soothe her mind, and inspire her with sentiments of tenderness towards me. I conducted her home, and returned early in the evening to my friend's, who met me at the door; and jocosely told me, that he expected I should now rob them of their agreeable neighbor. But, added he, we have been apprehensive that you would be rivalled, if you delayed your visit much longer. I did not suspect a rival, said I. Who can the happy man be? I can say nothing from personal observation, said he; but fame, of late, has talked loudly of Major Sanford and Miss Wharton. Be not alarmed, continued he, seeing me look grave. I presume no harm is intended. The major is a man of gallantry, and Miss Wharton is a gay lady; but I dare say that your connection will be happy, if it be formed. I noticed a particular emphasis on the word if; and as we were alone, I followed him with questions, till the whole affair was developed. I informed him of my embarrassment; and he gave me to understand that Eliza's conduct had, for some time past, been a subject of speculation in the town; that formerly, her character was highly esteemed; but that her intimacy with a man of Sanford's known libertinism; more especially as she was supposed to be engaged to another, had rendered her very censurable; that they were often together; that wherever she went, he was sure to follow, as if by appointment; that they walked, talked, sung and danced together in all companies; that some supposed he would marry her; others, that he only meditated adding her name to the black catalogue of deluded wretches, whom he had already ruined! I rose, and walked the room in great agitation. He apologized for his freedom; was sorry if he had wounded my feelings; but friendship alone had induced him frankly to declare the truth, that I might guard against duplicity and deceit. I thanked him for his kind intensions; and assured him that I should not quit the town till I had terminated this affair, in one way or another. I retired to bed, but sleep was a stranger to my eyes. With the dawn I rose; and after breakfast walked to Mrs. Wharton's, who informed me, that Eliza was in her chamber, writing to a friend, but would be down in a few minutes. I entered into conversation with the old lady on the subject of her daughter's conduct; hinted my suspicions of the cause, and declared my resolution of knowing my destiny immediately. She endeavored to extenuate, and excuse her as much as possible; but frankly owned that her behavior was mysterious; that no pains had been wanting, on her part, to alter and rectify it; that she had remonstrated, expostulated, advised and entreated, as often as occasion required. She hoped that my resolution would have a good effect, as she knew that her daughter esteemed me very highly. In this manner we conversed till the dock struck twelve; and Eliza, not appearing, I desired her mamma to send up word that I waited to see her. The maid returned with an answer that she was indisposed, and had lain down. Mrs. Wharton observed, that she had not slept for several nights, and complained of the head ache in the morning. The girl added, that she would wait on Mr. Boyer in the evening. Upon this information I rose and abruptly took my leave. I went to dine with a friend, to whom I had engaged myself the day before; but my mind was too much agitated to enjoy either the company or the dinner. I excused myself from tarrying to tea, and returned to Mrs. Wharton's. On inquiry, I was told that Eliza had gone to walk in the garden; but desired that no person might intrude on her retirement. The singularity of the request awakened my curiosity, and determined me to follow her. I sought her in vain, in different parts of the garden, till, going towards an arbor, almost concealed from sight, by surrounding shrubbery, I discovered her, sitting in close conversation with Major Sanford! My blood chilled in my veins, and I stood petrified with astonishment, at the disclosure of such baseness and deceit. They both rose in visible confusion. I dared not trust myself to accost them. My passions were raised, and I feared that I might say or do something unbecoming my character. I therefore gave them a look of indignation and contempt, and retreated to the house. I traversed the parlor hastily, overwhelmed with chagrin and resentment! Mrs. Wharton inquired the cause. I attempted to tell her, but my tongue refused utterance! While in this situation, Eliza entered the room. She was not less discomposed than myself. She sat down at the window and wept. Her mamma wept likewise. At length she recovered herself, in a degree, and desired me to sit down. I answered no; and continued walking. Will you, said she, permit me to vindicate my conduct and explain my motives? Your conduct, said I, cannot be vindicated; your motives need no explanation; they are too apparent! How, Miss Wharton, have I merited this treatment from you? But I can bear it no longer. Your indifference to me proceeds from an attachment to another; and forgive me, if I add, to one, who is the disgrace of his own sex, and the destroyer of yours. I have been too long the dupe of your dissimulation and coquetry. Too long has my peace of mind been sacrificed to the arts of a woman, whose conduct has proved her unworthy of my regard; insensible to love, gratitude and honor! To you, madam, said 1, turning to her mother, I acknowledge my obligations for your friendship, politeness and attention. I once hoped for the privilege of rocking for you the cradle of declining age. I am deprived of that privilege; but I pray that you may never want a child, whose love and duty shall prove a source of consolation and comfort! Farewell! If we never meet again in this life, I hope and trust we shall in a better; where the parent's eye shall cease to weep for the disobedience of a child; and the lover's heart to bleed for the infidelity of his mistress! I turned to Eliza, and attempted to speak; but her extreme emotion softened me, and I could not command my voice. I took her hand, and bowing, in token of an adieu, went precipitately out of the house. The residence of my friend, with whom I lodged, was at no great distance, and thither I repaired. As I met him in the entry, I rushed by him, and betook myself to my chamber. The fever of resentment, and the tumult of passion began now to give place to the softer emotions of the soul. I found myself perfectly unmanned. I gave free scope to the sensibility of my heart; and the effeminate relief of tears materially lightened the load which oppressed me. After this arduous struggle I went to bed; and slept more calmly than for several nights before. The next morning I wrote a farewell letter to Eliza (a copy of which I shall inclose to you) and ordering my horse to be brought, left town immediately. My resentment of her behavior has much assisted me in erasing her image from my breast. In this exertion I have succeeded beyond my most sanguine expectations. The more I reflect on her temper and disposition, the more my gratitude is enlivened towards the wise disposer of all events for enabling me to break asunder the snares of the deluder. I am convinced, that the gaiety and extravagance of her taste, the frivolous levity of her manners disqualify her for the station in which I wished to have placed her. These considerations, together with that resignation to an overruling providence which the religion I profess, and teach, requires me to cultivate, induce me cheerfully to adopt the following lines of an ingenious poet: "Since all the downward tracts of time, God's watchful eye surveys, Oh, who so wise to choose our lot, Or regulate our ways? Since none can doubt his equal love, Unmeasurably kind, To his unerring gracious will, Be every wish resign'd. Good, when he gives, supremely good, Not less when he denies; E'en crosses from his sovereign hand, Are blessings in disguise." I am, &c. J. BOYER. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. Enclosed in the foregoing. HARTFORD MADAM, FEARING, that my resolution may not be proof against the eloquence of those charms, which have so long commanded me, I take this method of bidding you a final adieu. I write not as a lover. That connection between us is for ever dissolved; but I address you as a friend; a friend to your happiness, to your reputation, to your temporal and eternal welfare. I will not rehearse the innumerable instances of your imprudence and misconduct, which have fallen under my observation. Your own heart must be your monitor! Suffice it for me to warn you against the dangerous tendency of so dissipated a life; and to tell you that I have traced (I believe aright) the cause of your dissimulation and indifference to me. They are an aversion to the sober, rational, frugal mode of living, to which my profession leads; a fondness for the parade, the gaiety, not to say, the licentiousness of a station calculated to gratify such a disposition; and a prepossession for Major Sanford, infused into your giddy mind by the frippery, flattery and artifice of that worthless and abandoned man. Hence you preferred a connection with him, if it could be accomplished; but a doubt, whether it could, together with the advice of your friends, who have kindly espoused my cause, have restrained you from the avowal of your real sentiments, and led you to continue your civilities to me. What the result of your coquetry would have been, had I waited for it, I cannot say, nor have I now any desire or interest to know. I tear from my breast the idea which I have long cherished of future union and happiness with you in the conjugal state. I bid a last farewell to these fond hopes, and leave you for ever! For your own sake, however, let me conjure you to review your conduct, and before you have advanced beyond the possibility of returning to rectitude and honor, to restrain your steps from the dangerous path in which you now tread! Fly Major Sanford. That man is a deceiver. Trust not his professions. They are certainly insincere; or he would not affect concealment; he would not induce you to a clandestine intercourse! Many have been the victims of his treachery! O Eliza! Add not to the number! Banish him from your society, if you wish to preserve your virtue unsullied, your character unsuspicious! It already begins to depreciate. Snatch it from the envenomed tongue of slander, before it receive an incurable wound! Many faults have been visible to me; over which my affection once drew a veil. That veil is now removed. And, acting the part of a disinterested friend, I shall mention some few of them with freedom. There is a levity in your manners, which is inconsistent with the solidity and decorum becoming a lady who has arrived to years of discretion. There is also an unwarrantable extravagance betrayed in your dress. Prudence and economy are such necessary, at least, such decent virtues, that they claim the attention of every female, whatever be her station or her property. To these virtues you are apparently inattentive. Too large a portion of your time is devoted to the adorning of your person. Think not that I write thus plainly from resentment. No; it is from benevolence. I mention your foibles, not to reproach you with them, but that you may consider their nature and effects, and renounce them. I wish you to regard this letter as the legacy of a friend; and to improve it accordingly. I shall leave town before you receive it. O, how different are my sensations at going, from what they were when I came! but I forbear description. Think not, Eliza, that I leave you with indifference! The conflict is great; the trial is more than I can calmly support! Yet the consciousness of duty, affords consolation. A duty I conceive it to be, which I owe to myself; and to the people of my charge, who are interested in my future connection. I wish not for an answer; my resolution is unalterably fixed. But should you hereafter be convinced of the justice of my conduct; and become a convert to my advice, I shall be happy to hear it. That you may have wisdom to keep you from falling, and conduct you safely through this state of trial to the regions of immortal bliss, is the fervent prayer of your sincere friend, and humble servant, J. BOYER. LETTER XLI. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD THE retirement of my native home is not so gloomy, since my return from Boston, as I expected, from the contrast between them. Indeed, the customs and amusements of this place are materially altered, since the residence of Major Sanford among us. The dull, old fashioned sobriety which formerly prevailed, is nearly banished; and cheerfulness, vivacity, and enjoyment are substituted in its stead. Pleasure is now diffused through all ranks of the people, especially the rich; and surely it ought to be cultivated, since the wisest of men informs us, that "a merry heart doth good like a medicine." As human life has many diseases, which require medicines, are we not right in selecting the most agreeable and palatable? Major Sanford's example has had great influence upon our society in general; and though some of our old dons think him rather licentious; yet, for ought I can see, he is as strict an observer of decorum, as the best of them. True, he seldom goes to church; but what of that? The Deity is not confined to temples made with hands. He may worship him as devoutly elsewhere, if he chuses; and who has a right to say he does not? His return from Boston was but a day or two after mine. He paid me an early visit; and, indeed, has been very attentive ever since. My mamma is somewhat precise in her notions of propriety; and of course, blames me for associating so freely with him. She says, that my engagements to Mr. Boyer ought to render me more sedate; and more indifferent to the gallantry of mere pleasure-hunters, to use her phrase. But I think otherwise. If I am to become a recluse, let me, at least, enjoy those amusements, which are suited to my taste, a short time first. Why should I refuse the polite attentions of this gentleman? They smoothe the rugged path of life, and wonderfully accelerate the lagging wheels of time. Indeed, Lucy, he has an admirable talent for contributing to vary, and increase amusement. We have few hours unimproved. Some new plan of pleasure, and sociability is constantly courting our adoption. He lives in all the magnificence of a prince; and why should I, who can doubtless share that magnificence if I please, forego the advantages and indulgences it offers, merely to gratify those friends who pretend to be better judges of my happiness than I am myself. I have not yet told my mamma that he entertains me with the lover's theme; or, at least, that I listen to it. Yet I must own to you, from whom I have never concealed an action or idea, that his situation in life charms my imagination; that the apparent fervor and sincerity of his passion affect my heart. Yet there is something extremely problematical in his conduct. He is very urgent with me to dissolve my connection with Mr. Boyer, and engage not to marry him without his consent; or knowledge, to say no more. He warmly applauds my wish, still longer to enjoy the freedom and independence of a single state; and professedly adopts it for his own. While he would disconnect me from another, he mysteriously conceals his own intentions and views. In conversation with him yesterday, I plainly told him that his conduct was unaccountable; that if his professions and designs were honorable he could not neglect to mention them to my mamma; that I should no longer consent to carry on a clandestine intercourse with him; that I hourly expected Mr. Boyer, whom I esteemed, and who was the favorite of my friends; and that unless he acted openly in this affair before his arrival, I should give my hand to him. He appeared thunderstruck at this declaration. All his words and actions were indicative of the most violent emotions of mind. He entreated me to recall the sentence; for I knew not, he said, his motives for secrecy; yet he solemnly swore that they were honorable. I replied in the words of the poet, "Trust not a man, they are by nature cruel, False, deceitful, treacherous, and inconstant. When a man talks of love, with caution hear him; But if he swear, he'll certainly deceive you." He begged that he might know by what means he had provoked my suspicions; by what means he had forfeited my confidence? His importunity vanquished my fortitude; and before we parted, I again promised to make him acquainted, from time to time, with the progress of my connection with Mr. Boyer. Now, my dear friend, I want your advice more than ever. I am inadvertently embarrassed by this man; and how to extricate myself, I know not. I am sensible that the power is in my hands; but the disposition (shall I confess it) is wanting! "I know the right, and I approve it too; I know the wrong, and yet the wrong pursue!" I have just received a card from Major Sanford, inviting me to ride this afternoon. At first I thought of returning a negative answer; but recollecting that Mr. Boyer must soon be here, I concluded it best to embrace this opportunity, of talking further with him. I must now prepare to go; but shall not close this letter, for I intend writing in continuation, as events occur, till this important business is decided. Tuesday evening. The little tour which I mentioned to you this afternoon, was not productive of a final determination. The same plea was repeated over, and over again, without closing the cause. On my return I found Mr. Boyer waiting to receive me. My heart beat an involuntary welcome. I received him very cordially, though with a kind of pleasure mixed with apprehension. I must own that his conversation and manners are much better calculated to bear the scrutinising eye of a refined understanding and taste, than Major Sanford's. But whether the fancy ought not to be consulted about our settlement for life, is with me a question. When we parted last, I had promised Mr. Boyer, to inform him positively, at this visit, when my hand should be given. He therefore came, as he told me in the course of our conversation, with the resolution of claiming the fulfilment of this promise. I begged absolution; told him, that I could not possibly satisfy his claim; and sought still to evade, and put off the important decision. He grew warm; and affirmed that I treated him ungenerously, and made needless delays. He even accused me of indifference towards him; and of partiality to another. Major Sanford he believed, was the man who robbed him of the affection which he had supposed his due. He warned me against any intercourse with him, and insisted that I must renounce the society of the one or the other immediately. He would leave me, he said, this evening and call to morrow to know the result of my determination. It was late before he bade me good night; since which I have written these particulars. It is now time to lay aside my pen, and deliberate what course to take. Wednesday Evening. Last night I closed not my eyes. I rose this morning with the sun, and went into the garden till breakfast. My mamma doubtless saw the disorder of my mind, but kindly avoided any inquiry about it. She was affectionately attentive to me, but said nothing of my particular concerns. I mentioned not my embarrassment to her. She had declared herself in favor of Mr. Boyer; therefore I had no expectation, that she would advise impartially. I retired to my chamber, and remained in a kind of reverie, for more than an hour; when I was roused by the rattling of a carriage at the door. I hastened to the window, and saw Major Sanford just driving away. The idea of his having been to converse with my mamma, gave me new sensations. A thousand perplexities occurred to my mind relative to the part most proper for me to act in this critical situation. All these might have been avoided, had I gone down and inquired into the matter; but this I delayed till dinner. My mamma then informed me, that Major Sanford had been with her, and inquired for me; but that she thought it unnecessary to call me, as she presumed I had no particular business with him. I knew the motives by which she was actuated, and was vexed at her evasions. I told her plainly, that she would never carry her point in this way; that I thought myself capable of conducting my own affairs; and wished her not to interfere, except by her advice, which I should always listen to, and comply with when I could possibly make it consistent with my inclination and interest. She wept at my undutiful anger (of which I have severely repented since) and affectionately replied, that my happiness was the object of her wishes and prayers; conformably to which she felt constrained, freely to speak her mind, though it incurred my displeasure. She then went through again with all the comparative circumstances and merits of the two candidates for my favor, which have perpetually rung in my ears for months. I shed tears at the idea of my embarrassment; and in this condition Mr. Boyer found us. He appeared to be affected by my visible disorder; and without inquiring the cause, endeavored to dissipate it. This was kindly done. He conversed upon indifferent subjects; and invited me to ride, and take tea with your mamma, to which I readily consented. We found her at home; and passed the time agreeably, excepting the alloy of your absence. Mr. Boyer touched lightly on the subject of our last evening's debate; but expatiated largely on the pleasing power of love; and hoped that we should one day both realize and exemplify it in perfection. When we returned, he observed that it was late, and took his leave; telling me that he should call to morrow; and begged that I would then relieve his suspense. As I was retiring to bed, the maid gave me a hint that Major Sanford's servant had been here and left a letter. I turned instantly back to my mamma, and telling her my information, demanded the letter. She hesitated, but I insisted on having it; and seeing me resolute, she reluctantly gave it into my hand. It contained the following words: "Am I forsaken? Am I abandoned? Oh my adorable Eliza, have you sacrificed me to my rival? Have you condemned me to perpetual banishment, without a hearing? I came this day, to plead my cause at your feet; but was cruelly denied the privilege of seeing you! My mind is all anarchy and confusion! My soul is harrowed up with jealousy! I will be revenged on those who separate us, if that distracting event take place! But it is from your lips only that I can hear my sentence! You must witness its effects! To what lengths my despair may carry me, I know not! You are the arbitress of my fate! Let me conjure you to meet me in your garden to morrow at any hour you shall appoint. My servant will call for an answer in the morning. Deny me not an interview; but have pity on your faithful Sanford." I wrote for answer, that I would meet him to morrow, at five o'clock in the afternoon. I have now before me another night for consideration; and shall pass it in that employment. I purpose not to see Mr. Boyer, till I have conversed with Major Sanford. Thursday Morning. The morning dawns, and ushers in the day; a day, perhaps big with the fate of your friend! What that fate may be is wrapped in the womb of futurity; that futurity which a kind Providence has wisely concealed from the penetration of mortals! After mature consideration; after revolving and re-revolving every circumstance on both sides of the question, I have nearly determined, in compliance with the advice of my friends, and the dictates of my own judgment, to give Mr. Boyer the preference, and with him to tread the future round of life. As to the despair of Major Sanford, it does not much alarm me. Such violent passions are seldom so deeply rooted, as to produce lasting effects. I must, however, keep my word, and meet him according to promise. Mr. Boyer is below. My mamma has just sent me word that he wished to see me. My reply was that I had lain down, which was a fact. One o'Clock. My mamma, alarmed by my indisposition, has visited my apartment. I soon convinced her that it was but trifling, owing principally to the want of sleep; and that an airing in the garden, which I intended towards night, would restore me. Ten o'clock, at night. The day is past! and such a day it has been, as I hope never more to see! At the hour appointed, I went tolerably composed and resolute into the garden. I had taken several turns, and retired into the little arbor, where you and I have spent so many happy hours, before Major Sanford entered. When he appeared, a consciousness of the impropriety of this clandestine intercourse suffused my cheek, and gave a coldness to my manners. He immediately penetrated the cause, and observed that my very countenance told him he was no longer a welcome guest to me. I asked him if he ought so to be; since his motives for seeking admission, were unworthy of being communicated to my friends? That he said was not the case, but that prudence in the present instance required a temporary concealment. He then undertook to exculpate himself from blame, assuring me that as soon as I should discountenance the expectations of Mr. Boyer, and discontinue the reception of his address, his intentions should be made known. He was enlarging upon this topic, when we heard a footstep approaching us; and looking up saw Mr. Boyer within a few paces of the arbor.–Confusion seized us both! We rose involuntarily from our seats, but were mute as statues! He spoke not a word, but casting a look of indignant accusation at me, a glance which penetrated my very soul, turned on his heel, and walked hastily back to the house. I stood a few moments, considering what course to take, though shame and regret had almost taken from me the power of thought. Major Sanford took my hand. I withdrew it from him. I must leave you, said I. Where will you go? said he. I will go and try to retrieve my character. It has suffered greatly by this fatal interview. He threw himself at my feet and exclaimed, leave me not, Eliza, I conjure you not to leave me. Let me go now, I rejoined, or I bid you farewell for ever. I flew precipitately by him, and went into the parlor, where I found Mr. Boyer and my mamma, the one traversing the room in the greatest agitation; the other in a flood of tears! Their appearance affected me; and I wept like an infant! when I had a little recovered myself, I begged him to sit down; He answered no. I then told him, that however unjustifiable my conduct might appear, perhaps I might explain it to his satisfaction, if he would hear me; that my motives were innocent, though they doubtless wore the aspect of criminality, in his view. He sternly replied, that no palliation could avail; that my motives were sufficiently notorious! He accused me of treating him ill, of rendering him the dupe of coquetting artifice, of having an intrigue with Major Sanford, and declared his determination to leave me for ever, as unworthy of his regard, and incapable of love, gratitude, or honor!–There was too much reason in support of his accusations for me to gainsay them, had his impetuosity suffered me to attempt it. But in truth I had no inclination to self defence. My natural vivacity had forsaken me; and I listened without interrupting him to the fluency of reproachful language, which his resentment inspired. He took a very solemn and affectionate leave of my mamma; thanking her for her politeness, and wishing her much future felicity. He attempted to address me, I suppose somewhat in the same way, but his sensibility overcame him; and he only took my hand, and bowing in silence, departed. The want of rest for two long nights together, the exercise of mind, and conflict of passions, which now tortured my breast, were too much for me to support! When I saw that he was gone; that he had actually forsaken me, I fainted. My mamma, with the assistance of the maid, soon restored me. When I opened my eyes, and beheld this amiable and tender parent, watching and attending me with the most anxious concern; without one reproachful word, without one accusing look, my reflections upon the part I had acted, in defeating her benevolent wishes, were exquisitely afflictive! But we mutually forbore to mention the occasion of my illness; and I complied with her advice to take some refreshment, and retire to my chamber. I am so much fatigued by the exertions of the day, that rest is absolutely necessary; and I lay aside my pen to seek it. Friday Morning. When I shall again receive the balmy influence of sleep, I know not. It has absolutely forsaken me at present. I have had a most restless night. Every awakening idea presented itself to my imagination; whether I had sustained a real loss in Mr. Boyer's departure; reflections on my own misconduct, with the censure of my friends, and the ill-natured remarks of my enemies, excited the most painful anxiety in my mind! I am going down, but how shall I see my mamma? To her will I confess my faults, in her maternal breast repose my cares, and by her friendly advice regulate my conduct. Had I done this before, I might have escaped this trouble, and saved both her and myself many distressing emotions! Friday Evening. I have had a long conversation with my mamma, which has greatly relieved my mind. She has soothed me with the most endearing tenderness. Mr. Atkins, with whom Mr. Boyer lodged, while in town, called here this afternoon. I did not see him, but he told my mamma that Mr. Boyer had returned home, and left a letter for me, which he had promised to convey with his own hand. By this letter I am convinced that the dye is absolutely cast, with respect to him, and that no attempts on my part to bring about a reconciliation would be either prudent or successful. He has penetrated the cause of my proceedings; and such is his resentment, that I am inclined not much to regret his avoiding another interview. My excuses would be deemed utterly insufficient, and truth would not befriend and justify me. As I know you are impatient to hear from me, I will now dispatch this long letter without any other addition, than that I am your sincere friend, ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XLII. TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON. HARTFORD WELL, Charles, the show is over, as we yankees say; and the girl is my own. That is, if I will have her. I shall take my own time for that, however. I have carried my point, and am amply revenged on the whole posse of those dear friends of hers. She was entangled by a promise (not to marry this priest without my knowledge,) which her conscience would not let her break. Thank God, I have no conscience. If I had, I believe it would make wretched work with me! I suppose she intended to have one, or the other of us; but preferred me. I have escaped the noose, this time, and I'll be fairly hanged, if I ever get so near it again. For indeed Charles, I was seriously alarmed. I watched all their motions; and the appearances of harmony between them awakened all my activity and zeal. So great was my infatuation, that I verily believe I should have asked her in marriage, and risked the consequences, rather than to have lost her! I went to the house, while Mr. Boyer was in town, but her mamma refused to call her, or to acquaint her that I was there. I then wrote a despairing letter, and obtained a conference with her in the garden. This was a fortunate event for me. True, Eliza was very haughty, and resolutely insisted on immediate declaration or rejection. And I cannot say what would have been the result, if Mr. Boyer had not surprized us together. He gave us a pretty harsh look and retired without speaking a word. I endeavored to detain Eliza, but in vain. She left me on my knees, which are always ready to bend on such occasions. This finished the matter, it seems. I rose, and went into a near neighbor's to observe what happened; and in about half an hour saw Mr. Boyer come out, and go to his lodgings. This, said I to myself, is a good omen. I went home, and was informed next day, that he had mounted his horse and departed. I heard nothing more of her till yesterday, when I determined to know how she stood affected towards me. I therefore paid her a visit, her mamma being luckily abroad. She received me very placidly, and told me, on inquiry, that Mr. Boyer's resentment at her meeting me in the garden was so great, that he had bid her a final adieu. I congratulated myself on having no rival; hoped that her favor would now be unbiassed, and that in due time I should reap the reward of my fidelity. She begged me not to mention the subject; said she had been perplexed by our competition, and wished not to hear any thing further about it at present. I bowed in obedience to her commands and changed the discourse. I informed her, that I was about taking a tour to the southward; that I should be absent several months, and trusted that on my return her embarrassments would be over. I left her with regret. After all, Charles, she is the summum bonum of my life. I must have her in some way or other. No body else shall, I am resolved. I am making preparations for my journey; which between you and me, is occasioned by the prospect of making a speculation, by which I hope to mend my affairs. The voyage will at least lessen my expenses, and screen me from the importunity of creditors till I can look about me. PETER SANFORD. LETTER XLIII. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. NEW-HAVEN MY DEAR ELIZA, THROUGH the medium of my friends at Hartford I have been informed of the progress of your affairs, as they have transpired. The detail which my sister gave me of your separation from Mr. Boyer was painful; as I had long contemplated a happy union between you. But still more disagreeable sensations possessed my breast, when told that you had suffered your lively spirits to be depressed, and resigned yourself to solitude and dejection! Why, my dear friend, should you allow this event thus to affect you? Heaven, I doubt not, has happiness still in store for you–perhaps greater than you could have enjoyed in that connection. If the conviction of any misconduct on your part, give you pain, dissipate it by the reflection, that unerring rectitude is not the lot of mortals, that few are to be found who have not deviated in a greater or less degree from the maxims of prudence. Our greatest mistakes may teach lessons which will be useful through life. But I will not moralize. Come and see us; and we will talk over the matter once, and then dismiss it for ever. Do prevail on your mamma to part with you a month or two at least. I wish you to witness how well I manage my nursery business. You will be charmed with little Harriot. I am already enough of the mother to think her a miniature of beauty and perfection. How natural, and how easy the transition from one stage of life to another! Not long since I was a gay, volatile girl; seeking satisfaction in fashionable circles and amusements; but now I am thoroughly domesticated. All my happiness is centered within the limits of my own walls; and I grudge every moment that calls me from the pleasing scenes of domestic life. Not that I am so selfish as to exclude my friends from my affection or society. I feel interested in their concerns, and enjoy their company. I must own, however, that conjugal and parental love are the main springs of my life. The conduct of some mothers in depriving their helpless offspring of the care and kindness which none but a mother can feel, is to me unaccountable. There are many nameless attentions which nothing short of maternal tenderness, and solicitude can pay; and for which the endearing smiles, and progressive improvements of the lovely babe are an ample reward. How delightful to trace from day to day the expansion of reason and the dawnings of intelligence! Oh, how I anticipate the time, when these faculties shall be displayed by the organs of speech; when the lisping accent shall heighten our present pleasure, and the young idea be capable of direction "how to shoot"! General Richman is not less interested by these enjoyments than myself. All the father beams in his eye! All the husband reigns in his heart, and pervades his every action! Miss Lawrence is soon to be married to Mr. Laiton. I believe he is a mere fortune-hunter. Indeed she has little to recommend her to any other. Nature has not been very bountiful, either to her body, or mind. Her parents have been shamefully deficient in her education; but have secured to her what they think the chief good; not considering that happiness is by no means the invariable attendant of wealth. I hope this incoherent scroll will amuse, while it induces you speedily to favor us with another visit. My best wishes attend your honored mamma, while I subscribe myself, &c. A. RICHMAN. LETTER XLIV. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD I AM extremely depressed, my dear Lucy! The agitating scenes, through which I have lately passed, have broken my spirits, and rendered me unfit for society. Major Sanford has visited me, and taken his leave. He is gone to the southward on a tour of two or three months. I declined any further conversation with him, on the subject of love. At present, I wish not to hear it mentioned by any one. I have received a very friendly and consolatory letter from Mrs. Richman. She invites me to spend a few months with her; which with my mamma's consent I shall do. I hope the change of situation and company will dissipate the gloom which hangs over my mind. It is a common observation, that we know not the value of a blessing but by deprivation. This is strictly verified in my case. I was insensible of my regard for Mr. Boyer, till this fatal separation took place. His merit and worth now appear in the brightest colors. I am convinced of that excellence which I once slighted; and the shade of departed happiness haunts me perpetually! I am sometimes tempted to write him, and confess my faults; to tell him the situation of my mind, and to offer him my hand. But he has precluded all hopes of success, by the severity of his letter to me. At any rate, I shall do nothing of the kind, till my return from New Haven. I am the more willing to leave home, as my affairs are made a town talk. My mamma persuades me to disregard it. But how can I rise superior to "The world's dread laugh, which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn?" Pray remember me to Mr. Sumner. You are happy, my friend, in the love and esteem of a worthy man; but more happy still, in deserving them. Adieu. ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XLV. TO THE SAME. HARTFORD I HAVE returned to the once smiling seat of maternal affection; but I find not repose and happiness, even there! In the society of my amiable friends at New-Haven, I enjoyed every thing that friendship could bestow; but rest to a disturbed mind was not in their power. I was on various parties of pleasure, and passed through different scenes of amusement; but with me they have lost their charms. I relished them not as formerly. Mrs. Richman advises me to write to Mr. Boyer, and I have concluded to act accordingly. If it answer no other purpose, it will be a relief to my mind. If he ever felt for me the tenderness and regard which he professed, methinks they cannot be entirely obliterated. If they still remain, perhaps I may rekindle the gentle flame, and we may both be happy. I may at least recal his esteem, and that will be a satisfaction to my conscious mind. I wonder what has become of Major Sanford! Has he too forsaken me? Is it possible for him wilfully to neglect me? I will not entertain so injurious a suspicion. Yet, if it were the case, it would not affect me like Mr. Boyer's disaffection; for I frankly own, that my fancy, and a taste for gaity of life, induced me to cherish the idea of a connection with Major Sanford; while Mr. Boyer's real merit has imprinted those sentiments of esteem and love in my heart, which time can never efface. Instead of two, or three, more than twelve months have elapsed, and I have not received a line from Major Sanford in all that time, which I fully expected, though he made no mention of writing; nor have I heard a syllable about him, except a report circulated by his servants, that he is on the point of marrying, which I do not believe. No, it is impossible! I am persuaded that his passion for me, was sincere, however deceitful he may have been with others. But I will not bestow an anxious thought upon him. My design relative to Mr. Boyer, demands my whole attention. My hopes and fears alternately prevail, and my resolution is extremely fluctuating. How it finally terminates you shall hear in my next. Pray write to me soon. I stand in need of the consoling power of friendship. Nothing can beguile my pensive hours, and exhilerate my drooping spirits, like your letters. Let me know how you are to be entertained this winter at the theatre. That, you know, is a favorite amusement of mine. You see I can step out of myself a little. Afford an assisting hand, and perhaps I may again be fit for society. ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XLVI. TO THE REV. J. BOYER. HARTFORD SIR, IT is partly in compliance with your desire, in your last letter to me, in which you tell me, "that when I am convinced of the justice of your conduct, and become a convert to your advice, you shall be happy to hear it;" and partly from a wish to inform you, that such is in truth my present state of mind, that I now write to you. I cannot but hope that this letter coming from the hand which you once sought, will not be unacceptable. Pope very justly observes, "that every year is a critic on the last." The truth of this observation is fully exemplified in my years! How severely this condemns the follies of the preceding, my own heart alone can testify! I shall not offer any palliation, or apology for my misconduct. You told me it admitted none. I frankly confess it; and if the most humble acknowledgement of my offences, with an assurance that they have cost me the deepest repentance, can in any degree atone for them, I now make that atonement. Casting off the veil of dissimulation, I shall write with frankness; believing you possessed of more honor than to make any ungenerous use of the confidence reposed in you. To say that I ever esteemed you, may, perhaps, appear paradoxical, when compared with certain circumstances which occurred during our acquaintance; but to assert that I loved you, may be deemed still more so. Yet these are real facts, facts of which I was then sensible, and by which I am now more than ever affected. I think you formerly remarked, that absence served but to heighten real love. This I find by experience. Need I blush to declare these sentiments, when occasion like this, calls for the avowal? I will go even further, and offer you that heart which once you prized; that hand which you once solicited. The sentiments of affection, which you then cultivated, though suppressed, I flatter myself are not wholly obliterated. Suffer me then to rekindle the latent flame; to revive that friendship and tenderness, which I have so foolishly neglected. The endeavor of my future life shall be to reward your benevolence, and perhaps we may yet be happy together. But let not this offer of myself constrain you. Let not pity influence your conduct. I would have you return, if that pleasing event take place, a voluntary act. Receive or consent not to confer happiness. I thought it a duty which I owed to you, and to myself, to make this expiation; this sacrifice of female reserve, for the wrongs I have done you. As such I wish you to accept it; and if your affections are intirely alienated, or otherwise engaged; if you cannot again command the respect and love which I would recal, do not despise me for the concessions I have made. Think as favorably of my past faults, and of my present disposition, as charity will allow. Continue, if possible, to be my friend, though you cease to be my lover. Should this letter find you in the full possession of happiness, let not the idea of your once loved Eliza, thus intruding itself again upon your thoughts, interrupt your enjoyments. May some distinguished female, as deserving, as fair, partake with you of that bliss which I have forfeited. Whatever may be my destiny, my best wishes shall ever attend you, and a pleasing remembrance of your honorable attentions preside, till death, in the breast of, ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XLVII. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. HAMPSHIRE MADAM, AS I was sitting last evening in my study, a letter was handed me by a servant; upon which I no sooner cast my eye, than I recognized, with surprise, the hand and seal of my once loved, but to me long lost Eliza! I opened it hastily, and with still greater surprise, read the contents! You write with frankness. I shall answer in the same manner. On reviewing our former intercourse, be assured, that I have not an accusing thought in my heart. The regard which I felt for you was tender and animated, but it was not of that passionate kind which ends in death or despair. It was governed by reason, and had a nobler object in view, than mere sensual gratification. It was excited by the appearance of excellent qualities. Your conduct, at length, convinced me it was misplaced; that you possessed not, in reality, those charms which I had fondly ascribed to you. They were inconsistent, I conceived, with that artifice and dissimulation, of which you strove to render me the dupe. But thank heaven, the snare was broken. My eyes were opened to discover your folly; and my heart, engaged, as it was, exerted resolution and strength to burst asunder the chain by which you held me enslaved, and to assert the rights of an injured man. The parting scene, you remember. I reluctantly bade you adieu. I tore myself from you, determined to eradicate your idea from my breast! Long and severe was the struggle. I at last vanquished, as I thought, every tender passion of my soul, (for they all centered in you) and resigned myself to my God, and my duty; devoting those affections to friendship, which had been disappointed in love. But they are again called into exercise. The virtuous, the amiable, the accomplished Maria Selby possesses my entire confidence and esteem; and I trust I am not deceived, when I think her highly deserving of both. With her I expect soon to be united in the most sacred and endearing of human relations; with her to pass my future days in serenity and peace. Your letter, therefore, came too late; were there no other obstacle to the renewal of our connection. I hope at the close of life, when we take a retrospect of the past, that neither of us shall have reason to regret our separation. Permit me to add, that for your own sake, and for the sake of your ever valued friends, I sincerely rejoice that your mind has regained its native strength and beauty; that you have emerged from the shade of fanciful vanity. For although to adopt your own phrase, I cease to style myself your lover, among the number of your friends, I am happy to be reckoned. As such, let me conjure you, by all that is dear and desirable, both in this life, and another, to adhere, with undeviating exactness, to the path of rectitude and innocence; and to improve the noble talents, which heaven has liberally bestowed upon you, in rendering yourself amiable, and useful to your friends. Thus will you secure your own, while you promote the happiness of all around you. I shall ever cherish sentiments of kindness towards you, and with gratitude remember your condescension, in the testimony of regard, which you have given me in your last letter. I hope soon to hear that your heart and hand are bestowed on some worthy man, who deserves the happiness you are formed to communicate. Whatever we may have called errors, will, on my part, be for ever buried in oblivion; and for your own peace of mind, I entreat you to forget that any idea of a connection between us ever existed. I shall always rejoice at the news of your welfare, and my ardent prayers will daily arise for your temporal and eternal felicity. I am, &c. J. BOYER. LETTER XLVIII. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD HEALTH, placid serenity, and every domestic pleasure, are the lot of my friend; while I, who once possessed the means of each, and the capacity of tasting them, have been tossed upon the waves of folly, till I am shipwrecked on the shoals of despair! Oh my friend, I am undone! I am slighted, rejected by the man who once sought my hand, by the man who still retains my heart! and what adds an insupportable poignancy to the reflection, is self-condemnation! From this inward torture, where shall I flee? Where shall I seek that happiness which I have madly trifled away? The inclosed letters, will show you whence this tumult of soul arises. But I blame not Mr. Boyer. He has acted nobly. I approve his conduct, though it operates my ruin! He is worthy of his intended bride, and she is what I am not, worthy of him. Peace and joy be their portion, both here and hereafter! But what are now my prospects? what are to be the future enjoyments of my life? Oh that I had not written to Mr. Boyer! by confessing my faults, and by avowing my partiality to him, I have given him the power of triumphing in my distress; of returning to my tortured heart all the pangs of slighted love! and what have I now to console me? my bloom is decreasing; my health is sensibly impaired. Those talents, with the possession of which I have been flattered, will be of little avail when unsupported by respectability of character! My mamma, who knows too well the distraction of my mind, endeavors to sooth and compose me, on Christian principles; but they have not their desired effect. I dare not converse freely with her on the subject of my present uneasiness, lest I should distress her. I am therefore, obliged to conceal my disquietude, and appear as cheerful as possible in her company, though my heart is ready to burst with grief! Oh that you were near me, as formerly, to share and alleviate my cares! to have some friend in whom I could repose confidence, and with whom I could freely converse, and advise, on this occasion, would be an unspeakable comfort! Such a one, next to yourself, I think Julia Granby to be. With your leave and consent I should esteem it a special favor if she would come and spend a few months with me. My mamma joins in this request. I would write to her on the subject, but cannot compose myself at present. Will you prefer my petition for me? If I have not forfeited your friendship, my dear Mrs. Sumner, write to me, and pour its healing balm into the wounded mind of your ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER XLIX. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. BOSTON YOUR truly romantic letter came safe to hand. Indeed, my dear, it would make a very pretty figure in a novel. A bleeding heart, slighted love, and all the et ceteras of romance, enter into the composition! Excuse this raillery; and I will now write more seriously. You refer yourself to my friendship for consolation. It shall be exerted for the purpose. But I must act the part of a skilful surgeon, and probe the wound, which I undertake to heal. Where, O Eliza Wharton! Where is that fund of sense, and sentiment which once animated your engaging form? Where that strength of mind, that independence of soul, that alacrity and sprightliness of deportment, which formerly raised you superior to every adverse occurrence? Why have you resigned these valuable endowments, and suffered yourself to become the sport of contending passions? You have now emerged from that mist of fanciful folly, which, in a measure obscured the brilliance of your youthful days. True, you figured among the first rate coquettes; while your friends, who knew your accomplishments, lamented the misapplication of them; but now they rejoice at the returning empire of reason. True, you have erred; mislead by the gaiety of your disposition, and that volatility, and inconsideration, which were incident to your years; but you have seen, and nobly confessed your errors. Why do you talk of slighted love? True, Mr. Boyer, supposing you disregarded him, transferred his affections to another object; but have you not your admirers still among men of real merit? Are you not esteemed, and caressed by numbers, who know you capable of shining in a distinguished sphere of life? Turn then, my friend, from the gloomy prospect, which your disturbed imagination has brought into view. Let reason and religion erect their throne in your breast; obey their dictates and be happy. Past experience will point out the quicksands which you are to avoid in your future course. Date then, from this, a new era of life; and may every moment be attended with felicity. Follow Mr. Boyer's advice, and forget all former connections. Julia accepts your invitation. Nothing short of your request could induce me to part with her. She is a good girl; and her society will amuse and instruct you. I am, &c.LUCY SUMNER. LETTER L. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD MY Julia Granby has arrived. She is all that I once was; easy, sprightly, debonair. Already has she done much towards relieving my mind. She endeavors to divert, and lead my thoughts into a different channel from that to which they are now prone. Yesterday, we had each an invitation to a ball. She labored hard to prevail on me to go; but I obstinately refused. I cannot yet mix with gay and cheerful circles. I therefore alledged that I was indisposed, and persuaded her to go without me. The events of my life have always been unaccountably wayward. In many instances I have been ready to suppose that some evil genius presided over my actions, which has directed them contrary to the sober dictates of my own judgment. I am sometimes tempted to adopt that sentiment expressed in the following lines of the poet, "To you, great gods, I make my last appeal; O, clear my conscience, or my crimes reveal! If wand'ring through the paths of life I've run; And backward trod the steps, I sought to shun, Impute my errors to your own decree; My feet were guilty, but my heart was free." I suppose you will tell me, that the fate I accuse, through the poet, is only the result of my own imprudence. Well, be it what it may; either the impulse of my own passions, or some higher efficiency; sure I am, that I pay dear for its operation. I have heard it remarked, that experience is the preceptor of fools; but that the wise need not its instruction. I believe I must be content to rank accordingly, and endeavor to reap advantage from its tuition. Julia urges me to revisit the scenes of amusements and pleasure; in which she tells me, she is actuated by selfish motives. She wishes it for her own sake. She likes neither to be secluded from them, nor to go alone. I am sometimes half inclined to seek, in festive mirth, a refuge form thought and reflection. I would escape, if possible, from the idea of Mr. Boyer. This I have never been able to accomplish, since he dropped a tear upon my hand, and left me. I marked the spot with my eye; and twenty times in a day, do I view it, and fondly imagine it still there! How could I give him pain! I hope his happy Maria never will! I hope she will reward that merit, which I have slighted! but I forbear. This theme carries away my pen, if I but touch upon it. And no wonder; for it is the sole exercise of my thoughts! Yet I will endeavor to divert them. Send me some new books; not such, however, as will require much attention. Let them be plays or novels, or any thing else, that will amuse and extort a smile. Julia and I have been rambling in the garden. She insisted upon my going with her into the arbor, where I was surprised with Major Sanford. What a croud of painful ideas rushed upon my imagination! I believe she repented her rashness. But no more of this. I must lay aside my pen; for I can write nothing else! ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER LI. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD DEAR MADAM, YOU commanded me to write you respecting Miss Wharton; and I obey. But I cannot describe to you the surprising change, which she has undergone. Her vivacity has entirely forsaken her; and she has actually become, what she once dreaded above all things, a recluse! She flies from company, as eagerly as she formerly sought it! Her mamma is exceedingly distressed by the settled melancholy which appears in the darling child; but neither of us think it best to mention the subject to her. We endeavor to find means to amuse her; and we flatter ourselves that the prospect of success rather increases. It would add greatly to my happiness, to contribute, in any degree, to restore her to herself, to her friends, and to society. We are all invited to dine abroad to morrow; and to oblige me, she has consented to go. Pray madam, write to her often. Your letters may do much for her. She is still feelingly alive to the power of friendship; and none can exercise it upon her to greater acceptance, or with more advantage than yourself. Major Sanford's house is undergoing a complete repair. The report is, that he is soon to be married. Miss Wharton has heard, but does not believe it. I hope, for her sake, it will prove true. For, at any rate, he is about returning; and from her mamma's account of his past conduct towards Eliza, were he to return unconnected, he would probably renew his attentions; and though they might end in marriage, her happiness would not be secured. She has too nice a sense of love and honor, to compound with his licentious principles. A man, who has been dissolute before marriage, will very seldom be faithful afterwards. I went into Eliza's chamber the other day, and found her with a miniature picture in her hand. You pretend to be a physiognomist, Julia, said she. What can you trace in that countenance? I guessed whose it was; and looking wistfully at it, replied, I believe the original is an artful, designing man. He looks to me like a Chesterfieldian. Pray who is he? Major Sanford, said she; and I am afraid you have hit his character exactly. Sure I am, that the appearance of those traits in it has made my heart ache! She wept, as she spoke it. Poor girl! I wish he may never give you greater cause to weep! She is strongly blind to the vices and imperfections of this man. Though naturally penetrating, he has some how or other, cast a deceptious mist over her imagination, with respect to himself. She professes neither to love, nor esteem him; and owns that his ungenerous artifice mislead her in her treatment of Mr. Boyer. Yet she has forgiven him, and thinks him a pleasing companion! How prone to error is the human mind! How much lighter than the breath of zephyrs the operations of fancy! Strange then, it should ever preponderate over the weightier powers of the understanding! But I will not moralize. My business here is to dissipate, not to collect ideas; and I must regulate myself accordingly. I am endeavoring to prepare Eliza, by degrees, to accompany me to Boston, the ensuing winter; but think it doubtful whether I shall succeed. I shall, however, return myself; till when, I am, &c. JULIA GRANBY. LETTER LII. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. BOSTON MY DEAR ELIZA, I RECEIVED yours of the 24th ult. and thank you for it; though it did not afford me those lively sensations of pleasure, which I usually feel at the perusal of your letters. It inspired me both with concern, and chagrin. With concern, lest your dejection of mind should affect your health; and with chagrin at your apparent indulgence of melancholy. Indeed, my friend, your own happiness and honor, require you to dissipate the cloud which hangs over your imagination. Rise then above it; and prove yourself superior to the adverse occurrences which have befallen you. It is by surmounting difficulties, not by sinking under them, that we discover our fortitude. True courage consists not in flying from the storms of life; but in braving and steering through them with prudence. Avoid solitude. It is the bane of a disordered mind; though of great utility to a healthy one. Your once favorite amusements court your attention. Refuse not their solicitations. I have contributed my mite, by sending you a few books; such as you requested. They are of the lighter kind of reading; yet perfectly chaste; and if I mistake not, well adapted to your taste. You wish to hear from our theatre. I believe it will be well supplied with performers this winter. Come and see whether they can afford you any entertainment. Last evening I attended a tragedy; but never will I attend another. I have not yet been able to erase the gloom which it impressed upon my mind. It was Romeo and Juliet. Distressing enough to sensibility this! Are there not real woes (if not in our own families, at least among our own friends, and neighbors) sufficient to exercise our sympathy and pity, without introducing fictitious ones into our very diversions? How can that be a diversion, which racks the soul with grief, even though that grief be imaginary. The introduction of a funeral solemnity, upon the stage, is shocking indeed! Death is too serious a matter to be sported with! An opening grave cannot be a source of amusement to any considerate mind! The closing scene of life can be no pastime, when realized! it must therefore awaken painful sensations, in the representation! The circus is a place of fashionable resort of late, but not agreeable to me. I think it inconsistent with the delicacy of a lady, even to witness the indecorums, which are practised there; especially, when the performers of equestrian feats are of our own sex. To see a woman depart so far from the female character, as to assume the masculine habit and attitudes; and appear entirely indifferent, even to the externals of modesty, is truly disgusting, and ought not to be countenanced by our attendance, much less by our approbation. But setting aside this circumstance, I cannot conceive it to be a pleasure to sit a whole evening, trembling with apprehension, lest the poor wight of a horseman, or juggler, or whatever he is to be called, should break his neck in contributing to our entertainment. With Mr. Bowen's museum, I think you were much pleased. He has made a number of judicious additions to it, since you were here. It is a source of rational and refined amusement. Here the eye is gratified, the imagination charmed, and the understanding improved. It will bear frequent reviews without palling on the taste. It always affords something new; and for one, I am never a weary spectator. Our other public, and private places of resort, are much as you left them. I am happy in my present situation; but when the summer returns, I intend to visit my native home. Again, my Eliza, will we ramble together in those retired shades which friendship has rendered so delightful to us. Adieu, my friend, till then. Be cheerful, and you will yet be happy. LUCY SUMNER. LETTER LIII. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD GRACIOUS Heaven! What have I heard? Major Sanford is married! Yes, the ungrateful, the deceitful wretch, is married! He has forsworn, he has perjured, and given himself to another! That, you will say, is nothing strange. It is characteristic of the man. It may be so; but I could not be convinced of his perfidy, till now! Perhaps it is all for the best. Perhaps, had he remained unconnected, he might still have deceived me; but now I defy his arts! They tell me, he has married a woman of fortune. I suppose he thinks, as I once did, that wealth can ensure happiness. I wish he may enjoy it. This event would not affect me at all, were it not for the depression of spirits which I feel, in consequence of a previous disappointment; since which, every thing of the kind agitates and overcomes me. I will not see him. If I do, I shall betray my weakness, and flatter his vanity; as he will doubtless think he has the power of mortifying me by his connection with another. Before this news discomposed me, I had attained to a good degree of cheerfulness. Your kind letter, seconded by Julia's exertions, has assisted me in regulating my sensibility. I have been frequently into company, and find my relish for it gradually returning. I intend to accept the pleasure to which you invite me, of spending a little time with you, this winter. Julia and I will come together. Varying the scene may contribute effectually to dissipate the gloom of my imagination. I would fly to almost any resort, rather than my own mind. What a dreadful thing it is to be afraid of one's own reflections, which ought to be a constant source of enjoyment! But I will not moralize. I am sufficiently melancholy, without any additional cause to increase it! ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER LIV. TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON. HARTFORD DEAR DEIGHTON, WHO do you think is writing to you? Why, it is your old friend, metamorphosed into a married man! You stare, and can hardly credit the assertion. I cannot realize it myself; yet, I assure you, Charles, it is absolutely true! Necessity, dire necessity, forced me into this dernier resort. I told you, some time ago, it would come to this. I stood aloof, as long as possible; but in vain did I attempt to shun the noose. I must either fly to this resource; or give up all my show, equipage, and pleasure, and degenerate into a downright plodding money-catcher, for a subsistance. I chose the first; and who would not? yet I feel some remorse at taking the girl to wife, from no better motives. She is really too good for such an imposition. But she must blame herself, if she suffer hereafter; for she was visibly captivated by my external appearance; and wanted but very little solicitation to confer herself, and fortune on so charming a fellow. Her parents opposed her inclination, for a while, because I was a stranger, and rather too gay for their taste. But she had not been used to contradiction, and could not bear it; and therefore they ventured not to cross her. So I bore off the prize; and a prize she really is. Five thousand pounds in possession, and more in reversion, if I do not forfeit it. This will compensate for some of my past mistakes, and set matters right for the present. I think it doing much better than to have taken the little Laurence girl, I told you of, with half the sum. Besides, my Nancy is a handsomer, and more agreeable person. But that is of little consequence to me, you know. "Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover." Were I a lover, it would be of no great avail. A lover I am; yet not of my wife. The dart which I received from Miss Wharton, sticks fast in my heart; and I assure you, I could hardly persuade myself even to appear unfaithful to her. O, Eliza, accuse me not of infidelity; for your image is my constant companion! A thousand times have I cursed the unpropitious stars, which withheld from her a fortune. That would have enabled me to marry her; and with her, even wedlock would have been supportable. I am told, that she is still single. Her sober lover never returned. Had he loved as I did, and do, he could not have been so precipitate. But these stoic souls are good for nothing, that I know of, but "Fix'd like a plant, to one peculiar spot, To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot." I want to see Eliza, and I must see her; yet I dread an interview. I shall frankly confess my motives for marrying; and the reasons of my conduct, before I went away. I shall own that my circumstances would not allow me to possess her; and yet that I could not resign her to another. When I make up the matter with her, I shall solicit her friendship for my wife. By this mean I may enjoy her society, at least, which will alleviate the confinement of a married state. To my spouse I must be as civil as possible. I really wish she has less merit, that I might have a plausible excuse for neglecting her. To morrow I shall go to Mrs. Wharton's. I am very much taken up with complimental visits, at present. What a difference is always paid to equipage! They may talk of this virtue, their learning, and what not; but without either of them, I shall bear off the palm of respect from those, who have them, unadorned with gold, and its shining appendages. Every thing hereabouts recals Eliza to my mind. I impatiently anticipate the hour, which will convey me to her presence. PETER SANFORD. LETTER LV. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD A NEW scene has opened upon us to day, my dear Mrs. Sumner; a visit from Major Sanford. My mamma, Miss Granby, and myself, were sitting together in the chamber. Miss Granby was entertaining us by reading aloud in Millot's elements of history, when a servant rapped at the door, and handed in the following billet. "Will Miss Wharton condescend a few moments with her once favored Sanford? He is but too sensible that he has forfeited all claim to the privilege. He therefore presumes not to request it on the score of merit, or of former acquaintance; but solicits it from her benevolence, and pity." I read and showed it to my mamma, and Julia. What, said I, shall I do? I wish not to see him. His artifice has destroyed my peace of mind; and his presence may open the wounds which time is closing. Act, said my mamma, agreeably to the dictates of your own judgment. I see no harm in conversing with him, said Julia. Perhaps it may remove some disagreeable thoughts, which now oppress and give you pain. And as he is no longer a candidate for your affections, added she, with a smile, it will be less hazardous than formerly. He will not have the insolence to speak; nor you the folly to hear, the language of love. He was accordingly invited in. When I rose to go down, I hesitated, and even trembled. I fear, said I, to myself, it will be too much for me; yet why should it? Conscious innocence will support me. This he has not. When I entered the room he stepped forward to meet me. Confusion and shame were visibly depicted in his countenance. He approached me hastily; and without uttering a word, took my hand. I withdrew it. O! Miss Wharton, said he, despise me not. I am convinced that I deserve your displeasure, and disdain; but my own heart has avenged your cause. To your own heart, then, said I, I will leave you! But why do you seek an interview with own whom you have endeavored to mislead; with one whom you have treated with unmerited neglect? Justice to myself required my appearing before you; that by confessing my faults, and obtaining your forgiveness, I might soften the reproaches of my own mind. Will you be seated, sir? said I. Will you, rejoined he, condescend to sit with me, Eliza? I will, sir, answered I. The rights of hospitality I shall not infringe. In my own house, therefore, I shall treat you with civility. Indeed, said he, you are very severe; but I have provoked all the coldness and reserve which you can inflict! I am a married man, Eliza. So I understand, said I; and I hope you will never treat your wife with the dissimulation and falsehood, which you have exercised towards me. Would to heaven, exclaimed he, that you were my wife! I should not then fail in my love or duty as a husband! Yet she is an amiable girl; and, had I a heart to give her, I might still be happy! but that, alas! I can never recal. Why, then, said I, did you marry her? You were doubtless master of your own actions. No, said he, I was not. The embarrassed state of my affairs precluded the possibility of acting as I wished. Loving you most ardently, I was anxious to prevent your union with another, till I could so far improve my circumstances, as to secure you from poverty and want in a connection with me. My regard was too sincere to permit me to deceive you, by a marriage which might have proved unhappy for us both. My pride forbad my telling you the motives of my delay; and I left you to see if I could place myself in a situation worthy of your acceptance. This I could not effect; and therefore have run the risk of my future happiness, by marrying a lady of affluence. This secures to me the externals of enjoyment; but my heart, I fear, will never participate it. Yet it affords me some degree of satisfaction that I have not involved you in distress. The only alleviation of which my banishment from you is capable, is your forgiveness. In compassion, then, refuse it not! It cannot injure you! To me it will be worth millions! He wept! Yes, Lucy, this libertine; this man of pleasure and gallantry wept! I really pitied him from my heart. I forgive you, said I, and wish you happy; yet, on this condition only, that you never again pollute my ears with the recital of your infamous passion. Yes, infamous, I call it, for what softer appellation can be given to such professions from a married man? Harbor not an idea of me, in future, inconsistent with the love and fidelity which you owe your wife; much less, presume to mention it, if you wish not to be detested by me; and for ever banished from my presence. He expressed gratitude for his absolution even upon these terms; and hoped his future conduct would entitle him to my friendship and esteem. That, I replied, time only can determine. One favor more he begged leave to solicit; which was, that I would be a neighbor to his wife. She was a stranger, he said, and would deem my society a particular privilege. This, I told him, I could not grant, at present, whatever I might do hereafter. He did not urge it any further, but inquired after my mamma, and expressed a wish to see her. I rung the bell, and ordered her and Miss Granby to be called. When they came, he was very polite to them both; and, after usual compliments, told my mamma that he was to be happy in having obtained my forgiveness, to which he was anxious to have her seal affixed. My daughter, said she, is the injured party; and if she be satisfied, I shall not complain. He thanked her for her condescention; informed her that he was married, and requested her to visit his wife. We then conversed upon different subjects for a short time, and he took his leave. A sigh escaped him as he departed; and a gloom was visible in his countenance, which I never observed before. I must acknowledge that this interview has given me satisfaction. I have often told you that if I married Major Sanford, it would be from a predilection for his situation in life. How wretched must have been my lot, had I discovered, too late, that he was by no means possessed of the independence, which I fondly anticipated. I knew not my own heart, when I contemplated a connection with him. Little did I think that my regard for Mr. Boyer was so deeply rooted, as I now find it. I foolishly imagined that I could turn my affections into what channel I pleased. What then must have been my feelings, when I found myself deprived both of inward peace, and outward enjoyment! I begin now to emerge from darkness, in which I have been long benighted! I hope the tragic comedy, in which I have acted so conspicuous a part, will come to a happy end. Julia and I talk, now and then, of a journey to Boston. As yet I have not resolution to act with much decision upon the subject. But, wherever I am, and whatever may be my fate, I shall always be your's in truth, ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER LVI. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD I BEGIN to hope we shall come to rights here, by and by. Major Sanford has returned; has made us a visit; and a treaty of peace, and amity (but not of commerce,) is ratified. Eliza appears to be rapidly returning to her former cheerfulness, if not gaity. I hope she will not diverge too far from her present sedateness and solidity; yet I am not without apprehensions of danger, on that score. One extreme commonly succeeds another. She tells me, that she assiduously cultivates her natural vivacity; that she finds her taste for company and amusements increasing; that she dreads being alone, because past scenes arise to view which vex and discompose her. These are indications of a mind not perfectly right. I flatter myself, however, that the time is not far distant, when her passions will vibrate with regularity. I need not repeat to you any thing relative to Major Sanford's conciliatory visit. Eliza has given you a particular, and I believe, a faithful detail. I was called down to see this wonderful man; and disliked him exceedingly. I am astonished that Eliza's penetrating eye, has not long since read his vices in his very countenance. I am told by a friend, who has visited them, that he has an agreeable wife; and I wish she may find him a husband of the same description; but I very much doubt the accomplishment of my wish. For I have no charity for these reformed rakes. We were walking abroad the other afternoon, and met Major Sanford and lady. Eliza did not see them till they were very near us. She started, turned pale, and then colored like crimson. I cannot but think, a little envy rankled in her heart. Major Sanford very politely accosted us; and congratulated Mrs. Sanford on this opportunity of introducing her to a particular friend; presenting Eliza. She received her with an easy dignity, and bid her welcome to this part of the country. Mrs. Sanford answered her modestly; hoped for the pleasure of a further acquaintance; and urged us, as we were not far from their house, to return with them to tea. We declined; and, wishing each other a good evening, parted. Major Sanford's eyes were rivetted on Eliza, the whole time we were together; and he seemed loath to remove them, when we separated. I suspect there is some truth in his tale of love. I shall therefore discourage Eliza from associating with him under any pretext whatever. She appeared more pensive and thoughtful than common, as we returned home; and said little the rest of the evening; but next morning was as chatty as ever. She is warm in the praises of Mrs. Sanford, thinks her an accomplished woman, and wonders that the major could suggest an idea of marrying her for her money. She intends, she says, to visit her soon; and wishes me to accompany her. This, for her own sake, I shall defer, as long as possible. I am, &c.JULIA GRANBY. LETTER LVII. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD BY Julia's advice, we have neglected the repeated invitations of Major Sanford, to visit and commence neighborhood with them, till yesterday; when we received a polite billet, requesting the honor of our company to dine. My mamma declined going; but said she had no objection to our compliance with the message, if we thought proper. Julia and I accordingly went. We found a large company assembled in a spacious hall, splendidly furnished and decorated. They were all very polite and attentive to me; but none more so than Major Sanford and his lady, who jointly strove to dissipate the pensiveness of my mind, which I found it impossible to conceal. When we were summoned to dinner, the major being near me, offered his hand, and leading me into the dining room, seated me at a table furnished with all the variety which could please the eye, or regale the taste of the most luxurious epicure. The conversation turned on various subjects, literary, political, and miscellaneous. In the evening we had a ball. Major Sanford gave the hand of his wife to a Mr. Grey, alledging that he was a stranger, and therefore, entitled to particular attention; and then solicited mine for himself. I was on the point of refusing him, but recollecting that it might have the appearance of continued resentment, contrary to my declaration of forgiving what was past, I complied. He was all kindness, and assiduity; the more so, I imagine, with a view to make amends for his former ingratitude and neglect. Tenderness is now peculiarly soothing to my wounded heart. He took an opportunity of conversing with his wife and me together; hoped she would be honored with my friendship, and acquaintance; and begged, for her sake, that I would not be a stranger at his house. His Nancy, he said, was far removed from her maternal friends; but I could supply their place, if I would generously undertake the task. She joined in expressing the same sentiments and wishes. Alas! Sir, said I, Eliza Wharton is not now what she once was! I labor under a depression of spirits, which must render my company rather painful than pleasing to my friends. The idea of what I had been, contrasted with what I then was, touched my sensibility; and I could not restrain the too officious tear from stealing down my cheek. He took me by the hand, and said, you distress me, Miss Wharton, indeed, you distress me! Happiness must, and shall attend you! Cursed be the wretch, who could wound a heart like your's! Julia Granby now joined us. An inquisitive concern was visible in her countenance. I related this conversation to her, after we returned home; but she approved it not. She thought Major Sanford too particularly attentive to me considering what had previously happened. She said it would be noticed by others, and the world would make unfavorable remarks upon any appearance of intimacy between us. I care not for that, said I. It is an ill-natured, misjudging world; and I am not obliged to sacrifice my friends to its opinion. Were Major Sanford a single man I should avoid his society; but since he is married; since his wife is young, beautiful and lovely, he can have no temptation to injure me. I therefore see no evil, which can arise from the cultivation of friendship with her, at least. I relish company so little, that I may surely be indulged in selecting that which is most agreeable to my taste, to prevent my becoming quite a misanthrope. I thank you, my dear Mrs. Sumner, for your kind letter. It was a reasonable cordial to my mind; and I will endeavor to profit by your advice. Your remarks on the public entertainments are amusing, and as far as I am a judge, perfectly just. I think it a pity they have not female managers for the theatre. I believe it would be under much better regulations, than at present. With cordial respects to Mr. Sumner, I subscribe myself, yours in sincerity, ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER LVIII. TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON. HARTFORD REJOICE with me, my friend, that I have made peace with the mistress of my heart. No devotee could have been more sincere in his penitence, than I was in mine. Indeed, Charles, I never knew I had so much sensibility before! Why, I was as much a woman as the very weakest of the sex! But I dealt very plainly and sincerely with her, to be sure; and this atones for all the past offences, and procures absolution for many others yet to be committed. The dear girl was not inexorable; she was as placable and condescending as I could expect, considering the nature of the crime, which was apparently slighting her person and charms, by marrying another. This you know is one of the nicest points with the ladies. Attack their honor, that is their chastity, and they construe it to be the effect of excessive love, which hurries you a little beyond the bounds of prudence. But touch their vanity, by preferring another, and they will seldom pardon you. You will say I am very severe upon the sex. And have I not reason to be so, since I have found so many frail ones among them. This, however, is departing from my subject. Eliza is extremely altered! Her pale dejected countenance, with the sedateness of her manners, so different from the lively glow of health, cheerfulness and activity which formerly animated her appearance and deportment, struck me very disagreeably. With all my gallantry, and fluency in love matters, I was unable to acquit myself tolerably; or to address her with any degree of ease and confidence. She was very calm; and spoke with great indifference about my marriage, &c. which mortified me exceedingly. Yet I cannot consent to believe that her present depression of spirits arises solely from Mr. Boyer's infidelity. I flatter myself that I am of sufficient consequence to her, to have contributed in a degree. When I inquired after her health, she told me she had been indisposed; but was now much better. This indisposition, I am informed, was purely mental; and I am happy to observe her recovering from it. I frequently visit her, sometimes with, and sometimes without my wife; of whom, through my mediation, she has become a favorite. I have married, and according to the general opinion, reformed. Yet I suspect my reformation, like most others of the kind, will prove instable as "the baseless fabric of vision;" unless I banish myself entirely from her society. But that I can never do; for she is still lovely in my eyes, and I cannot control my passions. When absent from her, I am lost to everything but her idea. My wife begins to rally me on my fondness for Miss Wharton. She asked me the other day if she had a fortune? No, said I, if she had I should have married her. This wounded her sensibility. I repented of my sincerity, and made my peace for that time. Yet, I find myself growing extremely irritable, and she must take heed how she provokes me; for I do not love her; and I think the name of wife becomes more and more distasteful to me every day. In my mind Eliza has no competitor. But I must keep up appearances, though I endeavor to regain her love. I imagine that the enjoyment of her society, as a neighbor and friend may content me for the present, and render my condition supportable. Farewell, Charles. I hope you will never be embarrassed with a wife, nor lack some favorite nymph to supply the place of one. PETER SANFORD. LETTER LIX. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD DEAR LUCY, I INTENDED, this week, to have journeyed to Boston with Julia Granby; but my resolution fails me. I find it painful even to think of mixing again with the gay multitude. I believe the melancholy reflections, by which I am oppressed, will be more effectually, if not more easily surmounted, by tarrying where they are rendered familiar, than by going from them awhile, and then returning. Julia will therefore go without me. I envy her no enjoyment there, except your company. The substitution of friendship in the place of love for Major Sanford, I find productive of agreeable sensations. With him, he assures me, it is a far more calm, and rational pleasure. He treats me with affection and tenderness of a brother; and his wife, who exceeds him in professions of regard, with all the consoling softness, and attention of a sister. Indeed, their politeness has greatly contributed to revive the cheerfulness of my natural disposition. I believe the major's former partiality to me, as a lover, is entirely obliterated; and for my part, I feel as little restraint in his company, and his lady's, as in that of any other in the neighborhood. I very much regret the departure of Julia; and hope you will permit her to return to me again, as soon as possible. She is a valuable friend. Her mind is well cultivated; and she has treasured up a fund of knowledge and information, which renders her company both agreeable and useful in every situation of life. We lately spent the afternoon and evening at Mr. Smith's. They had a considerable number of visitants; and among the rest, Major Sanford. His wife was expected, but did not come, being indisposed. I believe, my friend, you must excuse me if my letters are shorter than formerly. Writing is not so agreeable to me as it used to be. I love my friends as well as ever; but I think they must be weary of the gloom and dulness which pervades my present correspondence. When my pen shall have regained its original fluency and alertness, I will resume and prolong the pleasing task. I am, my dear Lucy, your most affectionately, ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER LX. TO THE SAME. HARTFORD DEAR MADAM, AGREEABLY to your desire, every art has been tried, every allurement held out, every argument used, and every plan adopted which Mrs. Wharton and I could devise to induce Eliza to accompany me to Boston; but all in vain. Sometimes she has been almost persuaded to a compliance with our united request; but soon has resolutely determined against it. I have observed her sentiments to be suddenly changed after being in company with Major Sanford. This alarms us exceedingly. Indeed the major seems to have insinuated himself into her good opinion more than ever. She is flattered into the belief that his attention to her is purely the result of friendship and benevolence. I have not so favorable an opinion of the man, as to suppose him capable of either. He has become very familiar here. He calls in almost every day. Sometimes he but just inquires after our health; and sometimes makes long visits. The latter is his invariable practice, when he finds Eliza alone. Mrs. Wharton always avoids seeing him if she can. She dreads, she says, his approaching the house. I entered the parlor the other day, somewhat suddenly, and found him sitting very near Eliza, in a low conversation. They both rose in apparent confusion, and he soon retired. When he was gone; I suspect, said I, that the major was whispering a tale of love, Eliza? Do you imagine, said she, that I would listen to such a theme from a married man? I hope not, said I; but his conduct towards you indicates a revival of his former sentiments, at least. I was not aware of that, said she. As yet I have observed nothing in his behavior to me, inconsistent with the purest friendship. We drank tea not long since at Mr. Smith's. Late in the afternoon, Major Sanford made his appearance to apologize, as he said, for Mrs. Sanford, who was indisposed, and could not enjoy the pleasure of the visit she had contemplated. He was very gay, the whole evening; and when the company separated, he was the first to present his arm to Eliza, who accepted it without hesitation. A Mr. Newhall attended me, and we endeavored to keep them company; but they evidently chose to walk by themselves. Mr. Newhall observed, that if Major Sanford were not married, he should suspect he still intended a union with Miss Wharton. I replied, that their former intercourse having terminated in friendship, rendered them more familiar with each other, than with the generality of their acquaintance. When we reached the house, Mr. Newhall chose not to go in, and took his leave. I waited at the door for Eliza and Major Sanford. At some little distance I saw him press her hand to his lips. It vexed me exceedingly; and no sooner had they come up, than I suddenly bade him good night, and walked directly in. Eliza soon followed me. I sat down by the fire in a thoughtful posture. She did the same. In this situation we both remained for some time, without speaking a word. At length she said, you seem not to have enjoyed your walk, Miss Granby; did you not like your gallant? Yes, said I, very well; but I am mortified that you were not better provided for. I make no complaint, rejoined she; I was very well entertained. That is what displeases me, said I; I mean your visible fondness for the society of such a man. Were you averse to it, as you ought to be, there would be no danger. But he has an alluring tongue, and a treacherous heart. How can you be pleased and entertained by his conversation? to me it appears totally repugnant to that refinement and delicacy for which you have always been esteemed. His assiduity, and obtrusion ought to alarm you. You well know what his character has been. Marriage has not changed his disposition. It is only a cloak which conceals it. Trust him not then, my dear Eliza! If you do, depend upon it, you will find his professions of friendship to be mere hypocricy, and deceit! I fear that he is acting over again the same unworthy arts, which formerly mislead you. Beware of his wiles! Your friends are anxious for you. They tremble at your professed regard, and apparent intimacy with that unprincipled man. My friends, said she, are very jealous of me, lately. I know not how I have forfeited their confidence, or incurred their suspicion. By encouraging that attention, I warmly replied, and receiving those caresses from a married man, which are due from him to none but his wife! He is a villian, if he deceived her into marriage by insincere professions of love. If he had then an affection for her, and has already discarded it, he is equally guilty! Can you expect sincerity from the man, who withholds it from an amiable, and deserving wife? No, Eliza; it is not love, which induces him to entertain you with the subject! It is a baser passion; and if you disdain not his artifice; if you listen to his flattery, you will, I fear, fall victim to his evil machinations! If he conducted like a man of honor, he would merit your esteem; but his behavior is quite the reverse! Yet vile as he is, he would not dare to lisp his insolent hopes of your regard, if you punished his presumption with the indignation it deserves; if you spurned from your presence the ungrateful wretch, who would requite your condescension by triumphing in your ruin! She now burst into tears, and begged me to drop the subject. Her mind, she said, was racked by her own reflections. She could bear but little. Kindness deceived, and censure distressed her! I assured her of my good intentions; that as I saw her danger, I thought it a duty of the friendship and affection I bore her, solemnly to warn her against it before we parted. We talked over the matter more calmly, till she professed herself resolved in future to avoid his company, and reject his insinuations. The next day, as I walked out, I met Major Sanford. He accosted me very civilly. I barely bid him good morning, and passed on. I made it in my way to call at his house, and bid Mrs. Sanford adieu; not expecting another opportunity equally favorable. When I entered the parlor, she was playing a melancholy air on the harpsicord. She rose, and gave me a polite and graceful reception. I told her, as I was soon to leave town, I called to take my leave of her; a compliment, which her attention to me required. Are you going o leave us then, Miss Granby? said she. I shall regret your departure exceedingly. I have so few friends in this part of the country, that it will give me sensible pain to part with one I so highly value. I told her in the course of conversation, that I expected the pleasure of seeing her yesterday at Mr. Smith's; and was very sorry for the indisposition, which prevented her favoring us with her company. Indeed, said she, I did not know I was expected there! Were you there pray? Yes, said I; and Major Sanford excused your not coming, on the account I have mentioned. Well, said she, this is the first word I ever heard about it; he told me that business led him abroad! Did he gallant any lady? O, said I, he was with us all together. We had no particular gallants. Seeing her curiosity excited, I heartily repented saying any thing of the matter, and waved the subject. Little did I suspect him to have been guilty of so base an artifice! It was evidently contrived to facilitate an interview with Eliza. When I returned I related this affair to Mrs. Wharton and her daughter. The old lady and I expatiated largely on the vileness of this conduct; and endeavored to expose it to Eliza's view in its true colors. She pretended not to justify it. Yet she looked as if she wished it in her power. I am now preparing for my journey to Boston; which I must however defer another week, for the sake of a more agreeable passage in the stage. I regret leaving Eliza! I tremble at her danger! She has not the resolution to resist temptation, which she once possessed. Her mind is surprisingly weakened! She appears sensible of this; yet adds to it by yielding to her own imbecility. You will receive a letter from her with this; though I had much difficulty to persuade her to write. She has unfortunately become very averse to this, her once favorite amusement. As I shall soon have the pleasure of conversing with you personally, I conclude without any other addition to this scroll, than the name of your obliged JULIA GRANBY. LETTER LXI. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. BOSTON MY DEAR FRIEND, I HAVE received your letters, and must own to you that the perusal of them gave me pain. Pardon my suspicions, Eliza: they are excited by real friendship. Julia, you say, approves not Major Sanford's particular attention to you. Neither do I. If you recollect, and examine his conversation in his conciliatory visit, you will find it replete with sentiments, for the avowal of which, he ought to be banished from all virtuous society. Does he not insidiously declare that you are the only object of his affections; that his union with another is acknowledged to be amiable and excellent, still he has not a heart to bestow, and expects not happiness with her? Does this discover even the appearance of amendment? Has he not, by false pretensions, mislead a virtuous woman, and induced her to form a connection with him? She was a stranger to his manner of life; and doubtless allured, as you have been, by flattery, deceit, and external appearance, to trust his honor; little thinking him wholly devoid of that sacred tie! What is the reward of her confidence? Insensibility to her charms, neglect of her person, and professed attachment to another! Is he the man, my dear Eliza, whose friendship you wish to cultivate? Can that heavenly passion reside in a breast, which is the seat of treachery, duplicity, and ingratitude? You are too sensible of its purity and worth, to suppose it possible. The confessions of his own mouth condemn him. They convince me that he is still the abandoned libertine; and that marriage is but the cloak of his intrigues. His officious attentions to you are alarming to your friends. You own your mind weakend, and peculiarly susceptible of tender impressions. Beware how you receive them from him. Listen not a moment to his flattering professions. It is an insult upon your understanding for him to offer them. It is derogatory to virtue for you to hear them. Slight not the opinion of the world. We are dependent beings; and while the smallest traces of virtuous sensibility remain, we must feel the force of that dependence, in a greater or less degree. No female, whose mind is uncorrupted, can be indifferent to reputation. It is an inestimable jewel, the loss of which can never be repaired. While retained, it affords conscious peace to our own minds, and ensures the esteem and respect of all around us. Blessed with the company of so disinterested and faithful a friend, as Julia Granby, some deference is certainly due to her opinion and advice. To an enlarged understanding, a cultivated taste, and an extensive knowledge of the world, she unites the most liberal sentiments, with a benevolence, and candor of disposition, which render her equally deserving of your confidence and affection. I cannot relinquish my claim to a visit from you this winter. Marriage has not alienated, or weakend my regard for my friends. Come, then, to your faithful Lucy. Have you sorrows? I will sooth, and alleviate them. Have you cares? I will dispel them. Have you pleasures? I will heighten them. Come then, let me fold you to my expecting heart. My happiness will be partly suspended till your society render it complete. Adieu. LUCY SUMNER. LETTER LXII. TO MISS JULIA GRANBY. HARTFORD DEAR JULIA, I HOPE Mrs. Sumner and you will excuse my writing but one letter, in answer to the number I have received from you both. Writing is an employment, which suits me not at present. It was pleasing to me formerly, and therefore, by recalling the idea of circumstances and events which frequently occupied my pen in happier days, it now gives me pain. Yet I have just written a long consolatory letter to Mrs. Richman. She has buried her babe; her little Harriot, of whom she was doatingly fond. It was a custom with some of the ancients, we are told, to weep at the birth of their children. Often should we be impelled to a compliance with this custom, could we foresee the future incidents of their lives. I think, at least, that the uncertainty of their conduct and condition in more advanced age, may reconcile us to their removal to a happier state, before they are capable of tasting the bitterness of woe. "Happy the babe, who, privledg'd by fate, To shorter labors, and a lighter weight, Receiv'd but yesterday the gift of breath; Order'd to morrow, to return to death." Our domestic affairs are much as when you left us. Nothing remarkable has occurred in the neighborhood, worth communicating. The company and amusements of the town are as usual, I suppose. I frequent neither of them. Having incurred so much censure by the indulgence of a gay disposition, I am now trying what a recluse and solitary mode of life will produce. You will call me splenetic. I own it. I am pleased with nobody; still less with myself. I look around for happiness, and find it not. The world is to me a desart! If I indulge myself in temporary enjoyment, the consciousness or apprehension of doing amiss, destroys my peace of mind. And, when I have recourse to books, if I read those of serious description, they remind me of an awful futurity, for which I am unprepared; if history, it discloses facts in which I have no interest; if novels, they exhibit scenes of pleasures which I have no prospect of realizing! My mamma is solicitously attentive to my happiness; and though she fails of promoting it; yet I endeavor to save her the pangs of disappointment, by appearing what she wishes. I anticipate, and yet I dread your return; a paradox this, which time alone can solve. Continue writing to me, and entreat Mrs. Sumner, in my name, to do likewise. Your benevolence must be your reward. ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER LXIII. TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. BOSTON A PARADOX, indeed, is the greater part of your letter to us, my dear Eliza. We had fondly flattered ourselves that the melancholy of your mind was exterminated. I hope no new cause has revived it. Little did I intend, when I left you, to have been absent so long; but Mrs. Sumner's disappointment, in her plan of spending the summer at Hartford, induced me, in compliance with her request, to prolong my residence here. But for your sake, she now consents to my leaving her, in hopes I may be so happy as to contribute to your amusement. I am both pleased and instructed by the conduct of this amiable woman. As I always endeavored to imitate her discreet and modest behavior in a single state; so likewise shall I take her for a pattern, should I ever enter a married life. She is most happily united. Mr. Sumner, to all the graces and accomplishments of the gentleman, adds the still more important and essential properties of virtue, integrity, and honor. I was once present when a person was recommended to her for a husband. She objected that he was a rake. True, said the other, he has been, but he has reformed. That will never do for me, rejoined she; I wish my future companion to need no reformation: a sentiment worthy the attention of our whole sex; the general adoption of which, I am persuaded, would have a happy influence upon the manners of the other. I hope neither you, nor I, Eliza, shall ever be tried by a man of debauched principles. Such characters I conceive to be totally unfit for the society of women, who have any claim to virtue and delicacy. I intend to be with you, in about a month. If agreeable to you, we will visit, and spend a few weeks with the afflicted Mrs. Richman. I sincerely sympathize with her, under her bereavement. I know her fondness for you will render your company very consoling to her; and I flatter myself that I should not be an unwelcome guest. Make my respects to your mamma; and believe me ever yours, JULIA GRANBY. LETTER LXIV. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD DEAR MADAM, I HAVE arrived in safety, to the mansion of our once happy and social friends. But I cannot describe to you, how changed, how greatly changed this amiable family appears since I left it. Mrs. Wharton met me at the door; and tenderly embracing, bade me a cordial welcome. You are come, Julia, said she, I hope, to revive and comfort us. We have been very solitary during your absence. I am happy madam, said I, to return; and my endeavors to restore cheerfulness and content, shall not be wanting. But, where is Eliza? By this time we had reached the back parlor, whither Mrs. Wharton led me; and the door being open, I saw Eliza, reclined in a settee, in a very thoughtful posture. When I advanced to meet her, she never moved; but sat "like patience on a monument, smiling at grief!" I stopped involuntarily, and involuntarily raising my eyes to heaven, exclaimed, is that Eliza Wharton! She burst into tears, and attempted to rise, but sunk again into her seat. Seeing her thus affected, I sat down by her; and throwing my arms about her neck, why these tears? said I. Why this distress, my dear friend? Let not the return of your Julia give you pain! She comes to sooth you with the consolations of friendship! It is not pain, said she, clasping me to her breast; it is pleasure, too exquisite for my weak nerves to bear! See you not, Julia, how I am altered? Should you have known me for the sprightly girl, who was always welcome at the haunts of hilarity and mirth? Indeed, said I, you appear indisposed, but I will be your physician. Company, and the change of air will, I doubt not, restore you. Will these cure disorders of the mind, Julia? They will have a powerful tendency to remove them, if rightly applied; and I profess considerable skill in that art. Come, continued I, we will try these medicines in the morning. Let us rise early, and step into the chaise; and after riding a few miles, call and breakfast with Mrs. Freeman. I have some commissions from her daughter. We shall be agreeably entertained there, you know. Being summoned to supper, I took her by the hand, and we walked into another room, where we found her brother, and his wife, with her mamma waiting for us. We were all very chatty; even Eliza resumed, in a degree, her former sociability. A settled gloom, notwithstanding, brooded on her countenance; and a deep sigh often escaped her, in spite of her evident endeavors to suppress it. She went to bed before us; when her mamma informed me that her health had been declining for some months, that she never complained, but studiously concealed every symptom of her indisposition. Whether it were any real disorder of the body, or whether it arose from her depression of spirits, she could not tell; but supposed they operated together, and mutually heightened each other. I inquired after Major Sanford; whether he and Eliza had associated together during my absence? Sometimes, she said, they seemed on good terms; and he frequently called to see her; at others, they had very little, if any correspondence at all. She told me that Eliza never went abroad, and was very loath to see company at home; that her chief amusement consisted in solitary walks; that the dreadful idea of her meeting Major Sanford in these walks, had now and then intruded upon her imagination; that she had not the least evidence of the fact, however; and indeed, was afraid to make any inquiries into the matter, lest her own suspicions be discovered; that the major's character was worse than ever; that he was much abroad, and frequently entertained large parties of worthless baccanalians at his house, that common report said he treated his wife with indifference, neglect, and ill nature; with many other circumstances, which it is not material to relate. Adieu, my dear friend, for the present. When occasion requires, you shall hear again from your affectionate JULIA GRANBY. LETTER LXV. TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON. HARTFORD GOOD news, Charles, good news! I have arrived to the utmost bound of my wishes; the full possession of my adorable Eliza! I have heard a quotation from a certain book; but what book it was I have forgotten, if I ever knew. No matter for that; the quotation is, that "stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant." If it has references to the pleasures, which I have enjoyed with Eliza, I like it hugely, as Tristam Shandy's father said of Yorick's sermon; and I think it fully verified. I had a long and tedious siege. Every method which love could suggest, or art invent, was adopted. I was sometimes ready to despair, under an idea that her resolution was unconquerable, her virtue impregnable. Indeed, I should have given over the pursuit long ago, but for the hopes of success I entertained from her parleying with me, and in reliance upon her own strength, endeavoring to combat, and counteract my designs. Whenever this has been the case, Charles, I have never yet been defeated in my plan. If a lady will consent to enter the lists against the antagonist of her honor, she may be assured of losing the prize. Besides, were her delicacy genuine, she would banish the man at once, who presumed to doubt, which he certainly does, who attempts to vanquish it! But, far be it from me to criticize the pretensions of the sex. If I gain the rich reward of my dissimulation and gallantry, that you know is all I want. To return then to the point. An unlucky, but not a miraculous accident, has taken place, which must soon expose our amour. What can be done? At the first discovery, absolute distraction seized the soul of Eliza, which has since terminated in a fixed melancholy. Her health is too much impaired. She thinks herself rapidly declining; and I tremble when I see her emaciated form! My wife has been reduced very low, of late. She brought me a boy a few weeks past, a dead one though. These circumstances give me neither pain nor pleasure. I am too much engrossed by my divinity, to take an interest in any thing else. True, I have lately suffered myself to be somewhat engaged here and there by a few jovial lads, who assist me in dispelling the anxious thoughts, which my perplexed situation excites. I must, however, seek some means to relieve Eliza's distress. My finances are low; but the last fraction shall be expended in her service, if she need it. Julia Granby is expected at Mrs. Wharton's every hour. I fear her inquisitorial eye will soon detect our intrigue, and obstruct its continuation. Now there's a girl, Charles, I should never attempt to seduce; yet she is a most alluring object, I assure you. But the dignity of her manners forbid all assaults upon her virtue. Why, the very expression of her eye, blasts in the bud, every thought, derogatory to her honor; and tells you plainly, that the first insinuation of the kind, would be punished by with eternal banishment and displeasure! Of her there is no danger! But I can write no more, except that I am, &c. PETER SANFORD. LETTER LXVI. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD OH, my friend! I have a tale to unfold; a tale which will rend every nerve of sympathizing pity, which will rack the breast of sensibility, and unspeakably distress your benevolent heart! Eliza–Oh the ruined, lost Eliza! I want words to express the emotions of indignation, and grief which oppress me! But I will endeavor to compose myself; and relate the circumstances as they came to my knowledge. After my last letter, Eliza remained much in the same gloomy situation as I found her. She refused to go, agreeably to her promise, to visit your mamma; and under one pretext or another, has constantly declined accompanying me any where else, since my arrival. Till last Thursday night she slept in the same bed with me; when she excused herself, by saying she was restless, and should disturb my repose. I yielded to her humor of taking a different apartment, little suspecting the real cause! She frequently walked out, and though I sometimes followed, I very seldom found her. Two or three times, when I happened to be awake, I heard her go down stairs; and on inquiry in the morning, she told me she was very thirsty, and went down for water. I observed a degree of hesitancy in her answers, for which I could not account. But last night, the dreadful mystery was developed! A little before day, I heard the front door opened with great caution. I sprang from my bed, and running to the window, saw by the light of the moon, a man going from the house. Soon after I perceived a footstep upon the stairs, which carefully approached and entered Eliza's chamber. Judge of my astonishment, my surprise, my feelings upon this occasion! I doubted not but Major Sanford was the person I had seen; and the discovery of Eliza's guilt, in this infamous intrigue, almost deprived me of thought and recollection! My blood thrilled with horror at this sacrifice of virtue! After a while I recovered myself, and put on my clothes. But what to do, I knew not; whether to go directly to her chamber, and let her know that she was detected; or to wait another opportunity. I resolved on the first. The day had now dawned. I tapped at her door; and she bid me come in. She was sitting in an easy chair by the side of her bed. As I entered she withdrew her hankerchief from her face; and looking earnestly at me, said, what procures me the favor of a visit, at this early hour, Miss Granby? I was disturbed, said I, and wished not to return to my bed. But what breaks your rest; and calls you up so unseasonably, Eliza? Remorse, and despair, answered she, weeping. After what I have witnessed, this morning, rejoined I, I cannot wonder at it! Was it not Major Sanford whom I saw go from the house some time ago? She was silent, but tears flowed abundantly. It is too late, continued I, to deny, or evade. Answer my question sincerely; for, believe me, Eliza, it is not malice, but concern for you, which prompts it. I will answer you, Julia, said she. You have discovered a secret, which harrows up my very soul! A secret, which I wished you to know, but could not exert resolution to reveal! Yes! It was Major Sanford; the man who has robbed me of my peace; who has triumphed in my destruction; and who will cause my sun to sit at noon! I shudder, said I, at your confession! Wretched, deluded girl! Is this a return for your parent's love, and assiduous care; for your friends' solicitude, and premonitory advice? You are ruined, you say! You have sacrificed your virtue to an abandoned, despicable profligate! And you live to acknowledge and bear your infamy! I do, said she; but not long shall I support this burden! See you not, Julia, my decaying frame, my faded cheek, and tottering limbs? Soon shall I be insensible to censure and reproach! Soon shall I be sequestered in that mansion, "where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest!" Rest! said I, can you expect to find rest either in this world, or another, with such a weight of guilt on your head? She exclaimed, with great emotion, add not to the upbraidings of a wounded spirit! Have pity upon me, Oh! my friend, have pity upon me! Could you know what I suffer, you would think me sufficiently punished! I wish you no other punishment, said I, than what may effect your repentance and reformation. But your mother, Eliza! She cannot long be ignorant of your fall; and I tremble to think of her distress! It will break her widowed heart! How has she loved; how has she doated upon you! Dreadful is the requital which you have made! My mother, rejoined she–Oh, name her not! The very sound is distraction to me! Oh! my Julia, if your heart be not shut against mercy and compassion towards me, aid me through this trying scene! Let my situation call forth your pity, and induce you, undeserving as I am, to exert it on my behalf! During this time, I had walked the chamber. My spirits had been raised above their natural key, and were exhausted. I sat down, but thought I should have fainted, till a copious flood of tears gave me relief. Eliza was extremely affected. The appearance of calamity which she exhibited would have softened the most obdurate anger. Indeed, I feared some immediate and fatal effect. I therefore seated myself beside her; and assuming an air of kindness, compose yourself, Eliza, said I; I repeat what I told you before, it is the purest friendship, which thus interests me in your concerns. This, under the direction of charity, induces me to again offer you my hand. Yet you have erred against knowledge and reason; against warning and counsel. You have forfeited the favor of your friends; and reluctant will be their forgiveness. I plead guilty, said she, to all your charges. From the general voice I expect no clemency. If I can make my peace with my mother, it is all I seek and wish on this side of the grave. In your benevolence I confide for this. In you, I hope to find an intercessor. By the remembrance of our former affection and happiness, I conjure you, refuse me not. At present, I entreat you to conceal from her this distressing tale. A short reprieve is all I ask. Why, said I, should you defer it? When the painful task is over, you may find relief in her lenient kindness. After she knows my condition, I cannot see her, resumed she, till I am assured of her forgiveness. I have not strength to support the appearance of her anger and grief. I will write to her what I cannot speak. You must bear the melancholy message, and plead for me, that her displeasure may not follow me to the grave; whither I am rapidly hastening. Be assured, replied I, that I will keep your secret as long as prudence requires. But I must leave you now; your mamma will wonder at our being thus closetted together. When opportunity presents, we will converse further on the subject. In the mean time, keep yourself as composed as possible, if you would avoid suspicion. She raised her clasped hands, and with a piteous look, threw her hankerchief over her face, and reclined in her chair, without speaking a word. I returned to my chamber, and endeavored to dissipate every idea which might tend to disorder my countenance, and break the silence I wished to observe, relative to what had happened. When I went down, Mrs. Wharton desired me to step up, and inform Eliza that breakfast was ready. She told me she could not yet compose herself sufficiently to see her mamma; and begged me to excuse her absence as I thought proper. I accordingly returned for answer to Mrs. Wharton, that Eliza had rested but indifferently, and being somewhat indisposed, would not come down, but wished me to bring her a bowl of chocolate, when we had breakfasted. I was obliged studiously to suppress even my thoughts concerning her, lest the emotions they excited might be observed. Mrs. Wharton conversed much of her daughter, and expressed great concern over her health and state of mind. Her return to this state of dejection, after having recovered her spirits and cheerfulness, in a great degree, was owing, she feared, to some cause unknown to her; and she entreated me to extract the secret, if possible. I assured her of my best endeavors, and doubted not, I told her, but I should be able in a few days to effect what she wished. Eliza came down and walked in the garden before dinner; at which she commanded herself much better than I expected. She said that a little ride might, she imagined, be of service to her; and asked me if I would accompany her a few miles in the afternoon. Her mamma was much pleased with the proposition; and the chaise was accordingly ordered. I observed to Eliza, as we rode, that with her natural and acquired abilities, with her advantages of education, with her opportunities of knowing the world, and of tracing the virtues and vices of mankind to their origin, I was surprised at her becoming the prey of an insidious libertine, with whose character she was well acquainted, and whose principles she was fully apprised would prompt him to deceive and betray her. Your surprise is very natural, said she. The same will doubtless be felt and expressed by every one to whom my sad story is related. But the cause may be found in that unrestrained levity of disposition, that fondness for dissipation and coquetry which alienated the affections of Mr. Boyer from me. This event fatally depressed, and enfeebled my mind. I embraced with avidity the consoling power of friendship, ensnaringly offered by my seducer; vainly inferring from his marriage with a virtuous woman, that he had seen the error of his ways, and forsaken his licentious practices, as he affirmed, and I, fool that I was, believed it! It is needless for me to rehearse the perfidious arts, by which he insinuated himself into my affections, and gained my confidence. Suffice it to say, he effected his purpose! But not long did I continue in the delusive dream of sensual gratification. I soon awoke to a most poignant sense of his baseness, and of my own crime and misery. I would have fled from him; I would have renounced him for ever; and by a life of sincere humility and repentance, endeavored to make my peace with heaven, and to obliterate, by my future conduct, the guilt which I had incurred; but I found it too late! My circumstances called for attention; and I had no one to participate in my cares, to witness my distress, and to alleviate my sorrows, but him. I could not therefore prevail on myself, wholly to renounce his society. At times I have admitted his visits; always meeting him in the garden, or grove adjoining; till of late, the weather, and my ill health induced me to comply with his solicitations, and receive him into the parlor. Not long, however, shall I be subject to these embarrassments. Grief has undermined my constitution. My health has fallen a sacrifice to a disordered mind. But I regret not its departure! I have not a single wish to live. Nothing which the world affords can restore my former serenity and happiness! The little innocent I bear, will quickly disclose its mother's shame! God Almighty grant it may not live as a monument to my guilt, and a partaker of infamy and sorrow, which is all I have to bequeath it! Should it be continued in life, it will never know the tenderness of a parent; and, perhaps, want and disgrace may be its wretched portion! The greatest consolation I can have, will be to carry it with me to a state of eternal rest; which, vile as I am, I hope to obtain, through the infinite mercy of heaven, as revealed in the gospel of Christ. I must see Major Sanford again. It is necessary to converse further with him, in order to carry my plan of operation into execution. What is this plan of operation, Eliza? said I. I am on the rack of anxiety for your safety. Be patient, continued she, and you shall soon be informed. To morrow I shall write my dreadful story to my mother. She will be acquainted with my future intentions; and you shall know, at the same time, the destination of your lost friend. I hope, said I, that you have formed no resolution against your own life. God forbid, rejoined she. My breath is in his hands, let him do what seemeth good in his sight! Keep my secret one day longer, and I will never more impose so painful a silence upon you. By this time we had reached home. She drank tea with composure, and soon retired to rest. Mrs. Wharton eagerly inquired whether I had found out the cause of Eliza's melancholy. I have urged her, said I, on the subject; but she alledges that she has particular reasons for present concealment. She has, notwithstanding, promised to let me know, the day after to morrow. Oh, said she, I shall not rest till the period arrives. Dear, good woman, said I to myself, I fear you will never rest afterwards! This is our present situation. Think what a scene rises to the view of your Julia! She must share the distresses of others, though her own feelings, on this unhappy occasion, are too keen to admit a moment's serenity! My greatest relief is in writing to you; which I shall do again by the next post. In the mean time, I must beg leave to subscribe myself, sincerely, yours, JULIA GRANBY. LETTER LXVII. TO THE SAME. HARTFORD ALL is now lost; lost, indeed! She is gone! Yes, my dear friend, our beloved Eliza, is gone! Never more shall we behold this once amiable companion, this once innocent and happy girl. She has forsaken, and, as she says, bid an everlasting adieu to her home, her afflicted parent, and her friends! But I will take up my melancholy story where I left it in my last. She went, as she told me she expected, into the garden, and met her detestable paramour. In about an hour she returned, and went directly to her chamber. At one o'clock I went up, and found her writing, and weeping. I begged her to compose herself, and go down to dinner. No; she said, she could not eat; and was not fit to appear before any body. I remonstrated against her immoderate grief; represented the injury she must sustain by the indulgence of it, and conjured her to suppress the violence of its emotions. She entreated me to excuse her to her mamma; said she was writing to her, and found it a task too painful to be performed with any degree of composure; that she was almost ready to sink under the weight of her affliction; but hoped and prayed for support, both in this, and another trying scene, which awaited her. In compliance with her desire, I now left her; and told her mamma that she was very busy in writing; wished not to be interrupted at present; but would take some refreshment, an hour or two hence. I visited her again, about four o'clock; when she appeared more calm and tranquil. It is finished, said she, as I entered her apartment, it is finished. What said I, is finished? No matter, replied she; you will know all to morrow, Julia. She complained of excessive fatigue, and expressed an inclination to lie down; in which I assisted her, and then retired. Some time after her mamma went up, and found her still on the bed. She rose, however, and accompanied her down stairs. I met her at the door of the parlor, and taking her by the hand, inquired how she did? Oh, Julia, miserably indeed, said she. How severely does my mother's kindness reproach me! How insupportably it increases my self-condemnation! She wept; she wrung her hands, and walked the room in the greatest agony! Mrs. Wharton was exceedingly distressed by her appearance. Tell me, Eliza, said she, tell me the cause of your trouble! Oh kill me not by your mysterious concealment! My dear child, let me, by sharing, alleviate your affliction! Ask me not, madam, said she; O my mother, I conjure you not to insist on my divulging to night, the fatal secret which engrosses and distracts my mind! To morrow I will hide nothing from you. I will press you no further, rejoined her mamma. Chuse your own time, my dear; but remember, I must participate your grief, though I know not the cause. Supper was brought in, and we endeavored to prevail on Eliza to eat, but in vain. She sat down, in compliance with our united importunities; but neither of us tasted food. It was removed untouched. For a while, Mrs. Wharton and I gazed in silent anguish upon the spectacle of woe, before us! At length, Eliza rose to retire. Julia, said she, will you call at my chamber, as you pass to your own? I assented. She then approached her mamma, fell upon her knees before her, and clasping her hand, said, in broken accents, Oh madam! can you forgive a wretch, who has forfeited your love, your kindness, and your compassion? Surely, Eliza, said she, you are not that being! No, it is impossible! But however great your transgression, be assured of my forgiveness, my compassion, and my continued love! Saying this, she threw her arms about her daughter's neck, and affectionately kissed her. Eliza struggled from her embrace, and looking at her with wild despair, exclaimed, this is too much! Oh, this unmerited goodness is more than I can bear! She then rushed precipitately out of the room, and left us overwhelmed in sympathy and astonishment! When Mrs. Wharton had recovered herself a little, she observed, that Eliza's brain was evidently disordered. Nothing else, continued she, could impel her to act in this extraordinary manner. At first she was resolved to follow her; but I dissuaded her from it, alledging, that as she had desired me to come to her chamber, I thought it better for me to go alone. She acquiesced; but said she should not think of going to bed; but would, however, retire to her chamber, and seek consolation there. I bade her good night; and went up to Eliza, who took me by the hand and led me to the toilet, upon which she laid the two inclosed letters, the one to her mamma, and the other to me. These, said she, contain what I had not resolution to express. Promise me, Julia, that they shall not be opened until to morrow morning. I will, said I. I have thought and wept, continued she, till I have almost exhausted my strength, and my reason. I would now obtain a little respite, that I may prepare my mind for the account I am one day to give at a higher tribunal than that of earthly friends. For this purpose, what I have written, and what I shall yet say to you, must close the account between you and me. I have certainly no balance against you, said I. In my breast you are fully acquitted. Your penitential tears have obliterated your guilt, and blotted out your errors with your Julia. Henceforth, be they all forgotten. Live, and be happy. Talk not, said she, of life. It would be a vain hope, though I cherished it myself. "That I must die, it is my only comfort; Death is the privilege of human nature; And life without it were not worth our taking. Thither the poor, the prisoner and the mourner Fly for relief, and lay their burdens down!" You have forgiven me, Julia; my mother has assured me of her forgiveness, and what have I more to wish? My heart is much lightened by these kind assurances; they will be a great support to me in the dreadful hour which awaits me! What mean you, Eliza? said I. I fear some desperate purpose labors in your mind. Oh, no, she replied; you may be assured that your fear is groundless. I know not what I say; my brain is on fire; I am all confusion! Leave me, Julia; when I have had a little rest, I shall be composed. These letters have almost distracted me; but they are written, and I am comparatively easy. I will not leave you, Eliza, said I, unless you will go directly to bed, and endeavor to rest. I will, said she, and the sooner the better. I tenderly embraced her, and retired, though not to bed. About an hour after, I returned to her chamber, and opening the door very softly, found her apparently asleep. I acquainted Mrs. Wharton with her situation, which was a great consolation to us both; and encouraged us to go to bed. Having suffered much in my mind, and being much fatigued, I soon fell asleep; but the rattling of a carriage, which appeared to stop at a little distance from the house, awoke me. I listened a moment, and heard the door turn slowly on its hinges. I sprang from my bed, and reached the window just in time to see a female handed into a chaise by a man who hastily followed her, and drove furiously away! I at once concluded they could be no other than Eliza and Major Sanford. Under this impression I made no delay, but ran immediately to her chamber. A candle was burning on the table; but Eliza was not there! I thought it best to acquaint her mamma with the melancholy discovery; and steping to her apartment for the purpose, found her rising. She had heard me walk, and was anxious to know the cause. What is the matter, Julia, said she; what is the matter? Dear madam, said I, arm yourself with fortitude! What new occurrence demands it? rejoined she. Eliza has left us! Left us! what mean you? She is just gone! I saw her handed into a chaise, which instantly disappeared! At this intelligence she gave a shriek, and fell back on her bed! I alarmed the family, and by their assistance soon recovered her. She desired me to inform her of every particular relative to her elopement, which I did; and then delivered her the letter which Eliza had left for her. I suspect, said she, as she took it; I have long suspected, what I dared not believe! The anguish of my mind as been known only to myself, and my God! I could not answer her, and therefore withdrew. When I had read Eliza's letter to me, and wept over the sad fall; and, as I fear, the total loss of this once amiable and accomplished girl, I returned to Mrs. Wharton. She was sitting in her easy chair; and still held the fatal letter in her hand. When I entered, she fixed her streaming eyes upon me, and exclaimed, O Julia, this is more than the bitterness of death! True, madam, said I, your affliction must be great; yet that all-gracious Being, who controls every event, is able, and I trust, disposed to support you! To Him, replied she, I desire humbly to resign myself; but I think I could have borne almost any other calamity with greater resignation and composure than this. With how much comparative ease could I have followed her to the grave, at any period since her birth! Oh, my child, my child! very dear hast thou been to my fond heart! Little did I think it possible for you to prepare so dreadful a cup of sorrow for your widowed mother! But where, continued she, where can the poor fugitive have fled? Where can she find that protection and tenderness, which, notwithstanding her great apostacy, I should never have withheld? From whom can she receive those kind attentions, which her situation demands. The agitation of her mind had exhausted her strength; and I prevailed on her to refresh, and endeavor to compose herself to rest; assuring her of my utmost efforts to find out Eliza's retreat, and restore her to a mother's arms. I am obliged to suppress my own emotions; and to bend all my thoughts towards the alleviation of Mrs. Wharton's anxiety and grief. Major Sanford is from home, as I expected; and I am determined, if he return, to see him myself, and extort from him the place of Eliza's concealment. Her flight, in her present state of health, is inexpressibly distressing to her mother; and, unless we find her soon, I dread the effects! I shall not close this, till I have seen or heard from the vile miscreant who has involved a worthy family in wretchedness! Friday Morning –Two days have elapsed without affording us much relief. Last evening, I was told that Major Sanford was at home. I immediately wrote him a billet, entreating and conjuring him to let me know where the hapless Eliza had fled. He returned me the following answer. "Miss Granby need be under no apprehensions, respecting the situation of our beloved Eliza. She is well provided for, conveniently accommodated, and has every thing to make her happy, which love or affluence can give. Major Sanford has solemnly sworn not to discover her retreat. She wishes to avoid the accusations of her friends, till she is better able to bear them. Her mother may rest assured of immediate information, should any danger threaten her amiable daughter; and also of having seasonable notice of her safety." Although little dependence can be placed upon this man; yet these assurances have, in a great degree, calmed our minds. We are, however, contriving means to explore the refuge of the wanderer; and hope, by tracing his steps, to accomplish our purpose. This we have engaged a friend to do. I know, my dear Mrs. Sumner, the kind interest you take in this disastrous affair. I tremble to think what the event may be! To relieve your suspense, however, I shall write you every circumstance, as it occurs. But at present, I shall only enclose Eliza's letters to her mamma, and me, and, subscribe myself your sincere and obliged friend, JULIA GRANBY. LETTER LXVIII. TO MRS. M. WHARTON. TUESDAY. MY HONORED AND DEAR MAMMA, IN what words, in what language shall I address you? What shall I say on a subject which deprives me of the power of expression? Would to God I had been totally deprived of that power before so fatal a subject required its exertion! Repentance comes too late, when it cannot prevent the evil lamented. For your kindness, your more than maternal affection towards me, from my infancy to the present moment, a long life of filial duty and unerring rectitude could hardly compensate. How greatly deficient in gratitude must I appear then, while I confess, that precept and example, counsel and advice, instruction and admonition, have been all lost upon me! Your kind endeavours to promote my happiness have been repaid by the inexcusable folly of sacrificing it. The various emotions of shame, and remorse, penitence and regret, which torture and distract my guilty breast, exceed description. Yes, madam, your Eliza has fallen; fallen, indeed! She has become the victim of her own indiscretion, and of the intrigue and artifice of a designing libertine, who is the husband of another! She is polluted, and no more worthy of her parentage! She flies from you, not to conceal her guilt, that she humbly and penitently owns; but to avoid what she has never experienced, and feels herself unable to support, a mother's frown; to escape the heart-rending sight of a parent's grief, occasioned by the crimes of her guilty child! I have become a reproach and disgrace to my friends. The consciousness of having forfeited their favor, and incurred their disapprobation and resentment, induces me to conceal from them the place of my retirement; but, lest your benevolence should render you anxious for my comfort in my present situation, I take the liberty to assure you that I am amply provided for. I have no claim even upon your pity; but from my long experience of your tenderness, I presume to hope it will be extended to me. Oh, my mother, if you knew what the state of my mind is, and has been, for months past, you would surely compassionate my case! Could tears efface the stain, which I have brought upon my family, it would, long since have been washed away! But, alas, tears are vain; and vain is my bitter repentance! It cannot obliterate my crime, nor restore me to innocence and peace! In this life I have no ideas of happiness. These I have wholly resigned! The only hope which affords me any solace, is that of your forgiveness. If the deepest contrition can make an atonement; if the severest pains, both of body and mind, can restore me to your charity, you will not be inexorable! Oh, let my sufferings be deemed a sufficient punishment; and add not the insupportable weight of a parent's wrath! At present, I cannot see you. The effect of my crime is too obvious to be longer concealed, to elude the invidious eye of curiosity. This night, therefore, I leave your hospitable mansion! This night I become a wretched wanderer from thy paternal roof! Oh, that the grave were this night to be my lodging! Then should I lie down and be at rest! Trusting in the mercy of God, through the mediation of his son; I think I could meet my heavenly father with more composure and confidence, than my earthly parent! Let not the faults and misfortunes of your daughter oppress your mind. Rather let the conviction of having faithfully discharged your duty to your lost child, support and console you in this trying scene. Since I wrote the above, you have kindly granted me your forgiveness, though you knew not how great, how aggravated was my offence! You forgive me, you say: Oh, the harmonious, the transporting sound! It has revived my drooping spirits; and will enable me to encounter, with resolution, the trials before me! Farewell, my dear mamma! pity and pray for your ruined child; and be assured, that affection and gratitude will be the last sentiments, which expire in the breast of your repenting daughter, ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER LXIX. TO MISS JULIA GRANBY. TUESDAY. MY DEAR FRIEND, BY that endearing title you permit me still to address you, and such you have always proved yourself, by a participation of my distresses, as well as by the consoling voice of pity and forgiveness. What destiny Providence designs for me, I know not; but I have my forebodings that this is the last time I shall ever accost you! Nor does this apprehension arise merely from a disturbed imagination. I have reason to think myself in a confirmed consumption, which commonly proves fatal to persons in my situation. I have carefully concealed every complaint of the kind from my mamma, for fear of distressing her; yet I have never been insensible of their probable issue, and have bidden a sincere welcome to them, as the harbingers of my speedy release from a life of guilt and woe! I am going from you, Julia. This night separates us, perhaps, for ever! I have not resolution to encounter the tears of my friends; and therefore seek shelter among strangers; where none knows, or is interested in my melancholy story. The place of my seclusion I studiously conceal; yet I shall take measures that you may be apprized of my fate. Should it please God to spare and restore me to health, I shall return, and endeavour, by a life of penitence and rectitude, to expiate my past offences. But should I be called from this scene of action; and leave behind me a helpless babe, the innocent sufferer of its mother's shame, Oh, Julia, let your friendship for me extend to the little stranger! Intercede with my mother to take it under her protection; and transfer to it all her affection for me; to train it up in the ways of piety and virtue, that it may compensate her for the afflictions which I have occasioned! One thing more I have to request. Plead for me with my two best friends, Mrs. Richman and Mrs. Sumner. I ask you not to palliate my faults; that cannot be done; but to obtain, if possible, their forgiveness. I cannot write all my full mind suggests on this subject. You know the purport; and can better express it for me. And now, my dear Julia, recommending myself again to your benevolence, to your charity and (may I add?) to your affection; and entreating that the fatal consequences of my folly, now fallen upon my devoted head, may suffice for my punishment; let me conjure you to bury my crimes in the grave with me, and to preserve the remembrance of my former virtues, which engaged your love and confidence; more especially of that ardent esteem for you, which will glow till the last expiring breath of your despairing ELIZA WHARTON. LETTER LXX. TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON. HARTFORD I HAVE, at last, accomplished the removal of my darling girl, from a place where she thought every eye accused, and every heart condemned her. She has become quite romantic in her notions. She would not permit me to accompany her, lest it should be reported that we had eloped together. I provided amply for her future exigencies, and conveyed her by night to the distance of ten or twelve miles, where we met the stage, in which I had previously secured her a seat. The agony of her grief at being thus obliged to leave her mother's house, baffles all description. It very sensibly affected me, I know. I was almost a penitent. I am sure I acted like one, whether I were sincere or not. She chose to go where she was totally unknown. She would leave the stage, she said, before it reached Boston, and take passage in a more private carriage to Salem, or its vicinity, where she would fix her abode; chalking the initials of my name over the door, as a signal to me of her residence. She is exceedingly depressed; and says she neither expects nor wishes to survive her lying in. Insanity, for aught I know, must be my lot, if she should die. But I will not harbor the idea. I hope, one time or another, to have the power to make her amends, even by marriage. My wife may be provoked, I imagine, to sue for a divorce. If she should, she would find no difficulty in obtaining it; and then I would take Eliza in her stead. Though I confess that the idea of being thus connected with a woman whom I have been able to dishonor would be rather hard to surmount. It would hurt even my delicacy, little as you may think me to possess, to have a wife whom I know to be seducible. And, on this account, I cannot be positive that even Eliza would retain my love. My Nancy and I have lived a pretty uncomfortable life, of late. She has been very suspicious of my amour with Eliza; and now and then expressed her jealous sentiments a little more warmly than my patience would bear. But the news of Eliza's circumstances and retirement, being publicly talked of, have reached her ears, and rendered her quite outrageous. She tells me she will no longer brook my indifference and infidelity; intends soon to return to her father's house, and extricate herself from me intirely. My general reply to all this, is, that she knew my character before we married, and could reasonably expect nothing less than what has happened. I shall not oppose her leaving me, as it may conduce to the execution of the plan I have hinted above. To morrow I shall set out to visit my disconsolate fair one. From my very soul I pity her; and wish I could have preserved her virtue consistently with the indulgence of my passion. To her I lay not the principal blame, as in like cases, I do to the sex in general. My finesse was too well planned for detection, and my snares too deeply laid for any one to escape who had the least warmth in her constitution, or affection in her heart. I shall, therefore, be the less whimsical about a future connection, and the more solicitous to make her reparation, should it ever be in my power. Her friends are all in arms about her. I dare say I have the imprecations of the whole fraternity. They may thank themselves in part; for I always swore revenge for their dislike and coldness towards me. Had they been politic, they would have conducted more like the aborigines of the country, who are said to worship the devil out of fear. I am afraid I shall be obliged to remove my quarters; for Eliza was so great a favorite in town, that I am looked upon with an evil eye. I plead with her before we parted last, to forgive my seducing her; alledged my ardent love, and my inability to possess her in any other way. How, said she, can that be love which destroys its object? But granting what you say, you have frustrated your own purpose. You have deprived yourself of my society, which might have been innocently enjoyed. You have cut me off from life in the midst of my days. You have rendered me the reproach of my friends, the disgrace of my family, and a dishonor to virtue and my sex! but I forgive you, added she. Yes, Sanford, I forgive you; and sincerely pray for your repentance and reformation. I hope to be the last wretched female, sacrificed by you to the arts of falsehood and seduction! May my unhappy story serve as a beacon to warn the American fair of the dangerous tendency and destructive consequences of associating with men of your character, of destroying their time, and risking their reputation by the practice of coquetry and its attendant follies! But for these, I might have been honorably connected; and capable, at this moment, of diffusing and receiving happiness! But for your arts, I might have remained a blessing to society, as well as the delight and comfort of my friends! Your being a married man unspeakably aggravates both your guilt and mine. This circumstance annexes indelible shame to our crime! You have rent asunder the tenderest ties of nature! You have broken the bonds of conjugal love, which ought ever to be kept sacred and inviolate! You have filled with grief and discontent the heart of your amiable wife, whom gratitude, if no other principle, should have induced you to cherish with tenderness; and I, wretch that I am, have been your accomplice! But I cease to reproach you. You have acted but too consistently with the character, which I was sufficiently apprised you sustained. The blame then may be retorted on myself, for disregarding the counsels, warnings and admonitions of my best friends. You have prided yourself in the character of a libertine. Glory no longer in your shame! You have accomplished your designs; your dreadful designs against me! Let this suffice. Add not to the number of those deluded creatures, who will one day rise up in judgment against you, and condemn you. By this time we had nearly reached the inn, and were soon to part. I seized her hand and exclaimed, you must not leave me, Eliza, with that awful anathema on your lips! Oh, say that you will forget my past faults. That, said she, I shall soon do; for in the grave there is no remembrance! This to my mind, was a harsher sentence than the other; and almost threw me into despair. Never was I so wrought upon before! I knew not what to say or do! She saw my distress, and kindly softened her manner. If I am severe, said she, it is because I wish to impress your mind with such a sense of your offences against your Maker, your friends and society in general, as may effect your repentance and amendment. I wish not to be your accuser, but your reformer. On several accounts, I view my own crime in a more aggravated light than yours; but my conscience is awakened to a conviction of my guilt. Yours, I fear is not. Let me conjure you to return home, and endeavor by your future kindness and fidelity to your wife, to make her all the amends in your power. By a life of virtue and religion, you may yet become a valuable member of society, and secure happiness both here and hereafter. I begged leave to visit her retirement next week, not in continuation of our amour, but as a friend, solicitous to know her situation and welfare. Unable to speak, she only bowed assent. The stage being now ready, I whispered some tender things in her ear, and kissing her cheek, which was all she would permit, suffered her to depart. My body remains behind; but my soul, if I have any, went with her! This was a horrid lecture, Charles! She brought every charge against me, which a fruitful and gloomy imagination could suggest! But I hope, when she recovers, she will resume her former cheerfulness, and become as kind and agreeable as ever. My anxiety for her safety is very great. I trust, however, it will soon be removed; and peace and pleasure be restored to your humble servant, PETER SANFORD. LETTER LXXI. TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER. HARTFORD THE drama is now closed! A tragical one indeed it has proved! How sincerely, my dear Mrs. Sumner, must the friends of our departed Eliza, sympathize with each other; and with her afflicted, bereaved parent! You have doubtless seen the account, in the public papers, which gave us the melancholy intelligence. But I will give you a detail of circumstances. A few days after my last was written, we heard that Major Sanford's property was attached, and he a prisoner in his own house. He was the last man, to whom we wished to apply for information respecting the forlorn wanderer; yet we had no other resource. And after waiting a fortnight in the most cruel suspense, we wrote a billet, entreating him, if possible, to give some intelligence concerning her. He replied, that he was unhappily deprived of all means of knowing himself; but hoped soon to relieve his own, and our anxiety about her. In this situation we continued, till a neighbor (purposely, we since concluded) sent us a Boston paper. Mrs. Wharton took it, and inconscious of its contents, observed that the perusal might divert her, a few moments. She read for some time; when it suddenly dropped upon the floor. She clasped her hands together, and raising her streaming eyes to heaven, exclaimed, It is the Lord; let him do what he will! Be still, O my soul, and know that he is God! What, madam, said I, can be the matter? She answered not; but with inexpressible anguish depicted in her countenance, pointed to the paper. I took it up, and soon found the fatal paragraph. I shall not attempt to paint our heart felt grief and lamentation upon this occasion; for we had no doubt of Eliza's being the person described, as a stranger, who died at Danvers, last July. Her delivery of a child; her dejected state of mind; the marks upon her linen; indeed, every circumstance in the advertisement convinced us beyond dispute that it could be no other. Mrs. Wharton retired immediately to her chamber, where she continued overwhelmed with sorrow that night and the following day. Such, in fact, has been her habitual frame ever since; though the endeavors of her friends, who have sought to console her, have rendered her somewhat more conversable. My testimony of Eliza's penitence, before her departure, is a source of comfort to this disconsolate parent. She fondly cherished the idea, that having expiated her offence by sincere repentance and amendment, her deluded child finally made a happy exchange of worlds. But the desperate resolution, which she formed, and executed of becoming a fugitive; of deserting her mother's house and protection, and of wandering and dying among strangers, is a most distressing reflection to her friends; especially to her mother, in whose breast so many painful ideas arise, that she finds it extremely difficult to compose herself to that resignation, which she evidently strives to exemplify. Eliza's brother has been to visit her last retreat; and to learn the particulars of her melancholy exit. He relates, that she was well accommodated, and had every attention and assistance, which her situation required. The people where she resided appear to have a lively sense of her merit and misfortunes. They testify her modest deportment, her fortitude under the sufferings to which she was called, and the serenity and composure, with which she bid a last adieu to the world. Mr. Wharton has brought back several scraps of her writing, containing miscellaneous reflections on her situation, the death of her babe, and the absence of her friends. Some of these were written before, some after her confinement. These valuable testimonies of the affecting sense, and calm expectation she entertained of her approaching dissolution, are calculated to sooth and comfort the minds of mourning connections. They greatly alleviate the regret occasioned by her absence, at this awful period. Her elopement can be equalled only by the infatuation which caused her ruin. "But let no one reproach her memory. Her life has paid the forfeit of her folly. Let that suffice." I am told that Major Sanford is quite frantic. Sure I am that he has reason to be. If the mischiefs he has brought upon others return upon his own head, dreadful indeed must be his portion! His wife has left him, and returned to her parents. His estate, which has been long mortgaged, is taken from him; and poverty and disgrace await him! Heaven seldom leaves injured innocence unavenged! Wretch, that he is, he ought for ever to be banished from human society! I shall continue with Mrs. Wharton, till the lenient hand of time has assuaged her sorrows; and then make my promised visit to you. I will bring Eliza's posthumous papers with me, when I come to Boston, as I have not time to copy them now. I foresee, my dear Mrs. Sumner, that this disastrous affair will suspend your enjoyments, as it has mine. But what are our feelings, compared with the pangs which rend a parent's heart? This parent, I here behold, inhumanly stripped of the best solace of her declining years, by the ensnaring machinations of a profligate debauchee! Not only the life, but what was still dearer, the reputation and virtue of the unfortunate Eliza, have fallen victims at the shrine of libertinism! Detested be the epithet! Let it henceforth bear its true signature, and candor itself shall call it lust and brutality! Execrable is the man, however arrayed in magnificence, crowned with wealth, or decorated with the external graces and accomplishments of fashionable life, who shall presume to display them, at the expense of virtue and innocence! Sacred names! attended with real blessings; blessings too useful and important to be trifled away! My resentment at the base arts, which must have been employed to complete the seduction of Eliza, I cannot suppress. I wish them to be exposed, and stamped with universal ignominy! Nor do I doubt but you will join with me in execrating the measures by which we have been robbed of so valuable a friend; and society, of so ornamental a member. I am, &c. JULIA GRANBY. LETTER LXXII. TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON. HARTFORD CONFUSION, horror and despair are the portion of your wretched, unhappy friend! Oh, Deighton, I am undone! Misery irremediable is my future lot! She is gone; yes, she is gone for ever! The darling of my soul, the centre of all my wishes and enjoyments is no more! Cruel fate has snatched her from me; and she is irretrievably lost! I rave, and then reflect; I reflect, and then rave! I have not patience to bear this calamity, nor power to remedy it! Where shall I fly from the upbraidings of my mind, which accuses me as the murderer of my Eliza? I would fly to death, and seek a refuge in the grave; but the forebodings of a retribution to come, I cannot away with! Oh, that I had seen her; that I had once more asked her forgiveness! But even that privilege, that consolation was denied me! The day on which I meant to visit her, most of my property was attached, and to secure the rest, I was obliged to shut my doors, and become a prisoner in my own house! High living, and old debts, incurred by extravagance, had reduced the fortune of my wife to very little, and I could not satisfy the clamorous demands of my creditors. I would have given millions, had I possessed them, to have been at liberty to see, and to have had power to preserve Eliza from death! But in vain was my anxiety; it could not relieve; it could not liberate me! When I first heard the dreadful tidings of her exit, I believe I acted like a madman! Indeed, I am little else now! I have compounded with my creditors, and resigned the whole of my property. Thus, that splendor and equipage, to secure which, I have sacrificed a virtuous woman, is taken from me; that poverty, the dread of which prevented my forming an honorable connection with an amiable and accomplished girl, the only one I ever loved, has fallen, with redoubled vengeance, upon my guilty head; and I must become a vagabond in the earth! I shall fly my country as soon as possible; I shall go from every object which reminds me of my departed Eliza! But never, never shall I eradicate from my bosom the idea of her excellence; or the painful remembrance of the injuries I have done her! Her shade will perpetually haunt me! The image of her, as she appeared when mounting the carriage which conveyed her for ever from my sight, she waved her hand in token of a last adieu, will always be present to my imagination! The solemn counsel she gave me before we parted, never more to meet, will not cease to resound in my ears! While my being is prolonged, I must feel the disgraceful, and torturing effects of my guilt in seducing her! How madly have I deprived her of happiness, of reputation, of life! Her friends, could they know the pangs of contrition, and the horror of conscience which attend me, would be amply revenged! It is said, she quitted the world with composure and peace. Well she might! She had not that insupportable weight of iniquity, which sinks me to despair! She found consolation in that religion, which I have ridiculed as priestcraft and hypocrisy! But whether it be true, or false, would to heaven I could now enjoy the comforts, which its votaries evidently feel! My wife has left me. As we lived together without love, we parted without regret. Now, Charles, I am to bid you a long, perhaps, a last farewell. Where I shall roam in future, I neither know nor care; I shall go where the name of Sanford is unknown; and his person and sorrows unnoticed. In this happy clime I have nothing to induce my stay. I have not money to support me with my profligate companions; nor have I any relish, at present, for their society. By the virtuous part of the community, I am shunned as the pest and bane of social enjoyment. In short I am debarred from every kind of happiness. If I look back, I recoil with horror from the black catalogue of vices, which have stained my past life, and reduced me to indigence and contempt. If I look forward, I shudder at the prospects which my foreboding mind presents to view, both in this and a coming world! This is a deplorable, yet just picture of myself! How totally the reverse of what I once appeared! Let it warn you, my friend, to shun the dangerous paths which I have trodden, that you may never be involved in the hopeless ignominy and wretchedness of PETER SANFORD.LETTER LXXIII. TO MISS JULIA GRANBY. BOSTON A MELANCHOLY tale have you unfolded, my dear Julia; and tragic indeed is the concluding scene! Is she then gone! gone in this most distressing manner! Have I lost my once loved friend; lost her in a way which I could never have conceived to be possible. Our days of childhood were spent together in the same pursuits, in the same amusements. Our riper years encreased our mutual affection, and maturer judgment most firmly cemented our friendship. Can I then calmly resign her to so severe a fate! Can I bear the idea of her being lost to honor, to fame, and to life! No; she shall still live in the heart of her faithful Lucy; whose experience of her numerous virtues and engaging qualities, has imprinted her image too deeply on the memory to be obliterated. However she may have erred, her sincere repentance is sufficient to restore her to charity. Your letter gave me the first information of this awful event. I had taken a short excursion into the country, where I had not seen the papers; or if I had, paid little or no attention to them. By your directions I found the distressing narrative of her exit. The poignancy of my grief, and the unavailing lamentations which the intelligence excited, need no delineation. To scenes of this nature, you have been habituated in the mansion of sorrow, where you reside. How sincerely I sympathize with the bereaved parent of the dear, deceased Eliza, I can feel, but have not power to express. Let it be her consolation, that her child is at rest. The resolution which carried this deluded wanderer thus far from her friends, and supported her through her various trials, is astonishing! Happy would it have been, had she exerted an equal degree of fortitude in repelling the first attacks upon her virtue! But she is no more; and heaven forbid that I should accuse or reproach her! Yet, in what language shall I express my abhorrence of the monster, whose detestable arts have blasted one of the fairest flowers in creation? I leave him to God, and his own conscience! Already is he exposed in his true colors! Vengeance already begins to overtake him! His sordid mind must now suffer the deprivation of those sensual gratifications, beyond which he is incapable of enjoyment! Upon your reflecting and steady mind, my dear Julia, I need not inculcate the lessons which may be drawn from this woe-fraught tale; but for the sake of my sex in general, I wish it engraved upon every heart, that virtue alone, independent of the trappings of wealth, the parade of equipage, and the adulation of gallantry, can secure lasting felicity. From the melancholy story of Eliza Wharton, let the American fair learn to reject with disdain every insinuation derogatory to their true dignity and honor. Let them despise, and for ever banish the man, who can glory in the seduction of innocence and the ruin of reputation. To associate, is to approve; to approve, is to be betrayed! I am, &c.LUCY SUMNER. LETTER LXXIV. TO MRS. M. WHARTON. BOSTON DEAR MADAM, WE have paid the last tribute of respect to your beloved daughter. The day after my arrival, Mrs. Sumner proposed that we should visit the sad spot which contains the remains of our once amiable friend. The grave of Eliza Wharton, said she, shall not be unbedewed by the tears of friendship. Yesterday we went accordingly, and were much pleased with the apparent sincerity of the people, in their assurances that every thing in their power had been done to render her situation comfortable. The minutest circumstances were faithfully related; and from the state of her mind, in her last hours, I think much comfort may be derived to her afflicted friends. We spent a mournful hour, in the place where she is interred, and then returned to the inn, while Mrs. Sumner gave orders for a decent stone to be erected over her grave, with the following inscription: "THIS HUMBLE STONE, IN MEMORY OF ELIZA WHARTON, IS INSCRIBED BY HER WEEPING FRIENDS, TO WHOM SHE ENDEARED HERSELF BY UNCOMMON TENDERNESS AND AFFECTION. ENDOWED WITH SUPERIOR ACQUIREMENTS, SHE WAS STILL MORE DISTINQUISHED BY HUMILITY AND BENEVOLENCE. LET CANDOR THROW A VEIL OVER HER FRAILTIES, FOR GREAT WAS HER CHARITY TO OTHERS. SHE SUSTAINED THE LAST PAINFUL SCENE, FAR FROM EVERY FRIEND; AND EXHIBITED AN EXAMPLE OF CALM RESIGNATION. HER DEPARTURE WAS ON THE 25TH DAY OF JULY, A.D. —. IN THE 37TH YEAR OF HER AGE, AND THE TEARS OF STRANGERS WATERED HER GRAVE." I hope, madam, that you will derive satisfaction from these exertions of friendship, and that, united to the many other sources of consolation with which you are furnished, they may alleviate your grief; and while they leave the pleasing remembrance of her virtues, add the supporting persuasion, that your Eliza is happy. I am, &c. JULIA GRANBY. FINIS. Addison, Joseph and Joseph Addison. "The Spectator, #10. The Spectator, Samuel Buckley, 1711 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z Recto THE SPECTATOR, Issue 10, Monday, March 12, 1711 Non aliter quam qui adverso vix flumine lembum Remegiis subigit: si brachia forte remisit, Atque illum in praeceps prono rapit alveus amni. Virg "It is just like when a rower is trying to pull his boat upstream with his oars; as soon as he relaxes, the current pulls him downstream." From the first of the Georgics by the Roman poet Virgil Monday, March 12, 1711. It is with much Satisfaction that I hear this great CityLondon inquiring Day by Day after these my Papers, and receiving my Morning Lectures with a becoming Seriousness and Attention. My Publisher tells me, that there are already Three Thousand of them distributed every Day: So that if I allow Twenty Readers to every Paper, which I look upon as a modest Computation, I may reckon about Threescore thousandScore equals twenty; thus threescore thousand would be sixty thousand readers. Papers would be sold to coffeehouses, where, Addison is claiming, an average of twenty readers would read each copy in the course of a day. Addison is probably being accurate in the number of copies being printed, and 3000 was a large print run at the time, especially for a new journal. The figure of twenty readers for each issue is probably a best guess, perhaps a very optimistic one. Disciples in London and Westminster, who I hope will take care to distinguish themselves from the thoughtless Herd of their ignorant and unattentive Brethren. Since I have raised to myself so great an Audience, I shall spare no Pains to make their Instruction agreeable, and their Diversion useful. For which Reasons I shall endeavour to enliven Morality with Wit, and to temper Wit with Morality, that my Readers may, if possible, both Ways find their account in the Speculation of the Day. And to the End that their Virtue and Discretion may not be short transient intermitting Starts of Thought, I have resolved to refresh their Memories from Day to Day, till I have recovered them out of that desperate State of Vice and Folly, into which the Age is fallen. The Mind that lies fallowbarren or uncultivated but a single Day, sprouts up in Follies that are only to be killed by a constant and assiduousdiligent Culture. It was said of Socrates, that he brought Philosophy down from Heaven, to inhabit among Men; and I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that I have brought Philosophy out of Closets and Libraries, Schools and Colleges, to dwell in Clubs and Assemblies, at Tea-tables, and in Coffee houses. I would therefore in a very particular Manner recommend these my Speculations to all well-regulated Families, that set apart an Hour in every Morning for Tea and Bread and Butter; and would earnestly advise them for their Good to order this Paper to be punctually served up, and to be looked upon as a Part of the Tea Equipagethat is, part of the equipment for serving tea. Sir Francis Bacon observes, that a well-written Book, compared with its Rivals and Antagonists, is like Moses's Serpent, that immediately swallow'd up and devoured those of the Egyptians. I shall not be so vain as to think, that where the SPECTATOR appears, the other publick Prints will vanish; but shall leave it to my Readers Consideration, whether, Is it not much better to be let into the Knowledge of ones-self, than to hear what passes in MuscovyBefore the Russian empire was founded by Peter the Great in 1721, the Russian state was often referred to as "Muscovy" as its central city was Moscow. or Poland; and to amuse our selves with such Writings as tend to the wearing out of Ignorance; Passion, and Prejudice, than such as naturally conduce to inflame Hatreds, and make Enmitiesill will irreconcileable. In the next Place, I would recommend this Paper to the daily Perusal of those Gentlemen whom I cannot but consider as my good Brothers and Allies, I mean the Fraternity of Spectators who live in the World without having any thing to do in it; and either by the Affluence of their Fortunes, or Laziness of their Dispositions, have no other Business with the rest of Mankind but to look upon them. Under this Class of Men are comprehended all contemplative Tradesmen, titular Physicians, Fellows of the Royal SocietyA British learned society, founded in 1660, that is the oldest national scientific institution in the world. The society is still around today., TemplersLaw students at the Middle Temple, one of the Inns of Court where lawyers were trained. The stereotype of law students in this period was that they were loafers without a lot to do, which may or may not have been merited. that are not given to be contentious, and Statesmen that are out of business. In short, every one that considers the World as a Theatre, and desires to form a right Judgment of those who are the Actors on it. There is another Set of Men that I must likewise lay a Claim to, whom I have lately called the Blanks of Society, as being altogether unfurnish'd with Ideas, till the Business and Conversation of the Day has supplied them. I have often considered these poor Souls with an Eye of great Commiserationsympathy, when I have heard them asking the first Man they have met with, whether there was any News stirring? and by that Means gathering together Materials for thinking. These needy Persons do not know what to talk of; till about twelve a Clock in the Morning; for by that Time they are pretty good Judges of the Weather, know which Way the Wind sits, and whether the Dutch Mailmail from the Netherlands, carrying key financial information from the markets in that country be come in. As they lie at the Mercy of the first Man they meet, and are grave or impertinentirrelevant or disconnected. all the Day long, according to the Notions which they have imbibedabsorbed or taken in, probably with a literal sense of drinking, since he is thinking of men who hang out all day in coffee-houses in the Morning, I would earnestly entreatrequest or ask, with a sense of urgency them not to stir out of their Chambers till they have read this Paper, and verso do promise them that I will daily instil into them such sound and wholesome Sentiments, as shall have a good Effect on their Conversation for the ensuing twelve Hours. But there are none to whom this Paper will be more useful than to the female World. I have often thought there has not been sufficient Pains taken in finding out proper Employments and Diversions for the Fair ones. Their Amusements seem contrived for them rather as they are Women, than as they are reasonable Creatures; and are more adapted to the Sex, than to the Species. The Toilet a small table with makeup, brushes, combs and other things a woman would use in getting dressed is their great Scene of Business, and the right adjusting of their Hair the principal Employment of their Lives. The sorting of a Suit of Ribbons is reckoned a very good Morning's Work; and if they make an Excursion to a Mercer'sa person who deals in fabrics and textiles. or a Toy-shop, so great a Fatigue makes them unfit for any thing else all the Day after. Their more serious Occupations are Sowingthat is, sewing and Embroidery, and their greatest Drudgerytoil or wearisome labor the Preparation of Jellies and Sweet-meats A type of confection that is made by preserving fruits or flowers in honey or sugar.. This, I say, is the State of ordinary Women; tho' I know there are Multitudes of those of a more elevated Life and Conversation, that move in an exalted Sphere of Knowledge and Virtue, that join all the Beauties of the Mind to the Ornaments of Dress, and inspire a kind of Awe and Respect, as well as Love, into their Male-Beholders. I hope to encrease the Number of these by publishing this daily Paper, which I shall always endeavour to make an innocent if not an improving Entertainment, and by that Means at least divert the Minds of my female Readers from greater Trifles. At the same Time, as I would fain give some finishing Touches to those which are already the most beautiful Pieces in humane Nature, I shall endeavour to point out all those Imperfections that are the Blemishes, as well as those Virtues which are the Embellishments, of the Sex. In the mean while I hope these my gentle Readers, who have so much Time on their Hands, will not grudge throwing away a Quarter of an Hour in a Day on this Paper, since they may do it without any Hindrance to Business. I know several of my Friends and Well-wishers are in great Pain for me, lest I should not be able to keep up the Spirit of a Paper which I oblige myself to furnish every Day: But to make them easy in this Particular, I will promise them faithfully to give it over as soon as I grow dull. This I know will be Matter of great RailleryGood-humoured banter; jest. Source: Oxford English Dictionary to the small Wits; who will frequently put me in mind of my Promise, desire me to keep my Word, assure me that it is high Time to give over, with many other little Pleasantries of the like Nature, which men of a little smart Genius cannot forbear throwing out against their best Friends, when they have such a Handle given them of being witty. But let them remember, that I do hereby enter my Caveat against this Piece of Raillery. C. Bradstreet, Anne and Anne Bradstreet. "A Dialogue Between Old England and New". Several Poems Compiled with Great Variety of Wit and Learning, John Foster, 1678 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z [Title Page] SEVERAL POEMS Compiled with great variety of Wit and Learning, full of Delight; Wherein especially is contained a compleat Discourse, and Description of The Four { ELEMENTS CONSTITUTIONS, AGES of Man, SEASONS of the Year. Together with an exact Epitome of the three first Monarchyes Viz, The { ASSYRIAN, PERSIAN, GRECIAN. And beginning of the Romane Common-wealth to the end of their last King: With diverse other pleasant & serious Poems, By a Gentlewoman in New-England. The second Edition, Corrected by the Author, and enlarged by an Addition of several other Poems found amongst her Papers after her Death. Boston, Printed by John Foster, 1678. 192 A Dialogue between Old England and New; concerning their present Troubles, Anno, 1642.1642 marked the start of the English Civil War, a long and violent power conflict between the Royalist forces loyal to the Start monarchy headed by Charles I, and Parliamentary forces. The War would eventually end with the defeat of the Royalists and the execution of Charles, which took place in 1649. At the time of the writing of this poem (which might not have been exactly in 1642, but was probably pretty close to it), the outcome was undecided, but the fact that England had fallen into civil conflict was already reason for lamentation. New-England. Alas dear Mother, fairest Queen and best, With honour, wealth, and peace, happy and blest; What ails thee hang thy head, & cross thine arms? And sit i'th' dust, to sigh these sad alarms? What deluge of new woes thus over-whelme The glories of thy ever famous Realme? What means this wailing tone, this mournful guise? Ah, tell thy daughter, she may sympathize. Old England. Art ignorant indeed of these my woes? Or must my forced tongue these griefs disclose? And must my self dissect my tatter'd state, Which 'mazed Christendome stands wondring at? And thou a Child, a Limbe and dost not feel My fainting weakned body now to reel? 193 This Physick purging potion, I have taken, Will bring consumption, or an Ague quaking, Unless some Cordial, thou fetch from high, Which present help may ease my malady. If I decease, dost think thou shalt survive? Or by my wasting state dost think to thrive? Then weigh our case, if 't be not justly sad; Let me lament alone, while thou art glad. New-England. And thus (alas) your state you much deplore In general terms, but will not say wherefore: What medicine shall I seek to cure this woe, If th' wound so dangerous I may not know. But you perhaps, would have me ghess it out: What hath some Hengist like that Saxon stout By fraud or force usurp'd thy flowring crown, Or by tempestuous warrs thy fields trod down? Or hath Canutus, that brave valiant Dane The Regal peacefull Scepter from thee tane? Or is't a Norman, whose victorious hand With English blood bedews thy conquered land? Or is't Intestine warrs that thus offend? Do Maud and Stephen for the crown contend? Do Barons rise and side against their King, And call in foraign aid to help the thing? Must Edward be depos'd? or is't the hour That second Richard must be clapt i'th tower? Or is't the fatal jarre, again begun That from the red white pricking roses sprung? 194 Must Richmonds aid, the Nobles now implore? To come and break the Tushes of the Boar, If none of these dear Mother, what's your woe? Pray do you fear Spains bragging Armado ? Doth your Allye, fair France, conspire your wrack, Or do the Scots play false, behind your back? Doth Holland quit you ill for all your love? Whence is the storm from Earth or Heaven above? Is't drought, is't famine, or is't pestilence? Dost feel the smart, or fear the Consequence? Your humble Child intreats you, shew your grief, Though Arms, nor Purse she hath for your relief, Such is her poverty: yet shall be found A Suppliant for your help, as she is bound. Old England. I must confess some of those sores you name, My beauteous body at this present maime; But forreign foe, nor feigned friend I fear, For they have work enough (thou knowst) else- where Nor is it Alcies Son, nor Henryes daughter; Whose proud contention cause this slaughter, Nor Nobles siding, to make John no King, French Jews unjustly to the Crown to bring; No Edward, Richard, to lose rule and life, Nor no Lancastrians to renew old strife: No Duke of York, nor Earl of March to soyle Their hands in kindreds blood whom they did foil No crafty Tyrant now usurps the Seat. Who Nephews slew that so he might be great; 195 No need of Tudor, Roses to unite, None knows which is the red, or which the white; Spains braving Fleet a second time is sunk, France knows how oft my fury she hath drunk: By Edward third and Henry fifth of fame. Her Lillies in mine Arms avouch the same. My Sister Scotland hurts me now no more. Though she hath been injurious heretofore; What Holland is I am in some suspence? But trust not much unto his excellence. For wants, sure some I feel, but more I fear, And for the Pestilence, who knows how near; Famine and Plague, two Sisters of the Sword, Destruction to a Land, doth soon afford: They're for my punishment ordain'd on high, Unless our tears prevent it speedily. But yet I Answer not what you demand. To shew the grievance of my troubled Land? Before I tell th' Effect, I'le shew the Cause Which are my sins the breach of sacred Laws, Idolatry supplanter of a Nation, With foolish Superstitious Adoration, Are lik'd and countenanc'd by men of might, The Gospel troden down and hath no right: Church Offices were sold and bought for gain, That Pope had hope to find, Rome here again, For Oaths and Blasphemies, did ever Ear. From Belzebub himself such language hear; What scorning of the Saints of the most high? What injuries did daily on them lye? 196 What false reports, what nick-names did they take Not for their own, but for their Masters sake? And thou poor soul, wert jeer'd among the rest, Thy flying for the truth was made a jest. For Sabbath-breaking, and for drunkenness, Did ever land profaness more express? From crying blood yet cleansed am not I, Martyres and others, dying causelesly. How many princely heads on blocks laid down For nought but title to a fading crown? 'Mongst all the crueltyes by great ones done Of Edwards youths, and Clarence hapless son, O Jane why didst thou dye in flowring prime? Because of royal stem, that was thy crime. For bribery Adultery and lyes. Where is the nation, I can't parallize. With usury, extortion and oppression, These be the Hydraes of my stout transgression. These be the bitter fountains, heads and roots, Whence flow'd the source, the sprigs, the boughs & fruits Of more then thou canst hear or I relate, That with high hand I still did perpetrate: For these were threatned the wofull day, I mockt the Preachers, put it far away; The Sermons yet upon Record do stand That cri'd destruction to my wicked land: I then believ'd not, now I feel and see, The plague of stubborn incredulity. Some lost their livings, some in prison pent, Some fin'd from house & friends to exile went. 197 Their silent tongues to heaven did vengeance cry. Who saw their wrongs & hath judg'd righteously And will repay it seven-fold in my lap: This is fore-runner of my Afterclap. Nor took I warning by my neighbours falls, I saw sad Germanyes dismantled walls, I saw her people famish'd, Nobles slain, Her fruitfull land, a barren Heath remain. I saw unmov'd, her Armyes foil'd and fled, Wives forc'd, babes toss'd, her houses calcined. I saw strong Rochel yielded to her Foe, Thousands of starved Christians there also. I saw poor Ireland bleeding out her last, Such crueltyes as all reports have past; Mine heart obdurate stood not yet agast. Now sip I of that cup, and just't may be The bottome dreggs reserved are for me. New-England. To all you've said, sad Mother I assent. Your fearfull sins great cause there's to lament, My guilty hands in part, hold up with you, A Sharer in your punishment's my due. But all you say amounts to this effect, Not what you feel, but what you do expect, Pray in plain terms, what is your present grief? Then let's joyn heads & hearts for your relief. 198 Old England. Well to the matter then, there's grown of late 'Twixt King and Peers a Question of State, Which is the chief, the Law, or else the King. One said, it's he, the other no such thing. 'Tis said, my beter part in Parliament To ease my grouning Land, shew'd their intent, To crush the proud, and right to each man deal. To help the Church, and stay the Common-weal. So many Obstacles came in their way, As puts me to a stand what I should say; Old customes, new Prerogatives stood on, Had theyot held Law fast, all had been gone: Which by their prudence stood them in such stead They took high Strafford lower by the head. And to their Laud be't spoke, they held i'th tower All Englands Metropolitane that hour; This done, an act they would have passed fain, No Prelate should his Bishoprick retain; Here tugg'd they hard (indeed,) for all men saw This must be done by Gospel not by Law. Next the Militia they urged sore, This was deny'd, (I need not say wherefore) The King displeas'd at York, himself absents, They humbly beg return, shew their intents; The writing, printing, posting too and fro, Shews all was done, I'le therefore let it go. But now I come to speak of my disaster, Contention grown, 'twixt Subjects & their Master; 199 They worded it so long, they fell to blows, That thousands lay on heaps, here bleeds my woes, I that no wars so many years have known, Am now destroy'd and slaught'red by mine own; But could the Field alone this strife decide, One Battel two or three I might abide: But these may be beginnings of more woe Who knows, but this may be my overthrow. Oh pity me in this sad perturbation, My plundred Towns, my houses devastation, My weeping Virgins and my young men slain; My wealthy trading fall'n, my dearth of grain. The seed-times come, but ploughman hath no hope Because he knows not, who shall inn his Crop: The poor they want their pay, their children bread, Their woful Mothers tears unpittied, If any pity in thy heart remain, Or any child-like love thou dost retain, For my relief, do what there lyes in thee, And recompence that good I've done to thee. New-England. Dear Mother cease complaints, & wipe your eyes, Shake off your dust, chear up, and now arise, You are my Mother Nurse, and I your flesh, Your sunken bowels gladly would refresh, Your griefs I pity, but soon hope to see, Out of your troubles much good fruit to be; To see those latter dayes of hop'd for good, Though now beclouded all with tears and blood: 200 After dark Popery the day did clear, But now the Sun in's brightness shall appear. Blest be the Nobles of thy noble Land, With ventur'd lives for Truths defence that stand. Blest be thy Commons, who for common good, And thy infringed Laws have boldly stood. Blest be thy Counties, who did aid thee still, With hearts and States to testifie their will. Blest be thy Preachers, who do chear thee on, O cry the Sword of God and Gideon ; And shall I not on them wish Mero 's curse, That help thee not with prayers, Arms and purse? And for my self let miseries abound, If mindless of thy State I e're be found. These are the dayes the Churches foes to crush, To root out Popelings head, tail, branch and rush; Let's bring Baals vestments forth to make a fire, Their Mytires, Surplices, and all their Tire, Copes, Rotchets, Crossiers, and such empty trash, And let their Names consume, but let the flash Light Christendome, and all the world to see We hate Romes whore, with all her trumpery. Go on brave Essex with a Loyal heart, Not false to King, nor to the better part; But those that hurt his people and his Crown, As duty binds, expel and tread them down. And ye brave Nobles chase away all fear, And to this hopeful Cause closely adhere; O Mother can you weep, and have such Peers, When they are gone, then drown your self in tears 201 If now you weep so much, that then no more The briny Ocean will o'reflow your shore. These, these are they I trust, with Charles our King, Out of all mists such glorious dayes shall bring; That dazled eyes beholding much shall wonder At that thy setled peace, thy wealth and splendor. Thy Church and weal establish'd in such manner, That all shall joy, that thou display'dst thy Banner; And discipline erected so I trust, That nursing Kings shall come and lick thy dust: Then Justice shall in all thy Courts take place, Without respect of person, or of case; Then Bribes shall cease, & Suits shall not stick long Patience and purse of Clients oft to wrong: Then high Commissions shall fall to decay, And Pursivants, and Catchpoles want their pay. So shall thy happy Nation ever flourish, When truth & righteousnes they thus shall nourish When thus in peace, thine Armies brave send out, To sack proud Rome, and all her Vassals rout; There let thy Name, thy fame, and glory shine, As did thine Ancestors in Palestine: And let her spoyls full pay, with Interest be, Of what unjustly once she poll'd from thee. Of all the woes thou canst, let her be sped, And on her pour the vengeance threatned; Bring forth the Beast that rul'd the World with's beck, And tear his flesh, &c; set your feet on's neck; And make his filthy Den so desolate, To th' stonishment of all that knew his state: 202 This done with brandish'd Swords to Turky goe, For then what is't, but English blades dare do, And lay her waste for so's the sacred Doom, And do to Gog as thou hast done to Rome. Oh Abraham 's seed lift up your heads on high, For sure the day of your Redemption's nigh; The Scales shall fall from your long blinded eyes, And him you shall adore who now despise, Then fulness of the Nations in shall flow, And Jew and Gentile to one worship go; Then follows dayes of happiness and rest; Whose lot doth fall to live therein is blest: No Canaanite shall then be found i'th' Land, And holiness on horses bells shall stand. If this make way thereto, then sigh no more, But if at all, thou didst not see't before; Farewel dear Mother, rightest cause prevail, And in a while, you'le tell another tale. Montagu, Mary Wortley, Lady and Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. The Dean's Provocation for Writing the Lady's Dressing-Room, T. Cooper, 1734 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z The Dean's Provocation FOR WRITING the Lady's Dressing-Room A POEM LONDON: Printed for T. Cooper in Ivy-Lane, MDCCXXXIV 3 THE Dean's PROVOCATION For WRITING the DRESSING-ROOM. The Doctor, in a clean starch'd Band A Golden Snuff-box in his Hand With Care his Diamond Ring displays And artful shows its various Rays; While grave, he stalks down______ Street, His dearest_________ to meet. 4 Long had he waited for this Hour, Nor gain'd Admittance to the Bow'r; Had jok'd, and punn'd, and Swore, and writ, Try'd all his Gallantry and Wit; Had told her oft what part he bore In OXFORD's Robert Harley, the earl of Oxford, was a prominent politician and the leader of the British government between 1711 and 1714. Swift worked closely with Harley during those years, serving as a political advisor and the author of pamphlets and essays in support of government policies. Both men fell from power when Queen Anne died in 1714 and was succeeded by George I. It was at this point that Swift was in effect exiled to Ireland, where he lived and worked the rest of his life. Swift was proud of his time in government, and looked back at that period with a mixture of bitterness and nostalgia. Two decades later, Montagu implies, Swift's references to that period in his life had gotten tiresome, and were not exactly the thing to impress a possible lover. Schemes in Days of yore; But Bawdy, Politicks, nor Satyr Could touch this dull hard-hearted Creature. JENNY, her maid, could taste a Rhyme, And griev'd to see him lose his time, Had kindly whisper'd in his Ear, For twice two Pounds you enter here; My Lady vows without that Sum, It is in vain you write or come. The destin'd Off'ring now he brought, And in a Paradise of Thought; With a low Bow approach'd the Dame, Who smiling heard him preach his Flame. His Gold she took (such Proofs as these Convince most unbelieving Shees) And in her Trunk rose up to lock it, (Too wise to trust it to her Pocket) 5 And then return'd with blushing Grace, Expects the Doctor's warm Embrace. And now this is the proper Place, When Morals stare me in the Face; And for the sake of fine Expression I'm forced to make a small Digression. Alas! for wretched Human-kind, With Wisdom mad, with Learning blind The Ox thinks he's for Saddle fit. (As long ago friend Horace in his 14th verse Epistle, the Roman poet Horace (65-8 BCE), uses the figure of speech of an ox wishing that he could wear a saddle to observe that people often are interested in pursuing things that do not fit their natural talents. And Men their Talents still mistaking, The Stutterer fancys his is speaking. With Admiration oft we see Hard Features heighten'd by Toupee The Beau affects the Politician, Wit is the Citizen's Ambition; Poor P---- Alexander Pope, who at this point was writing more philosophical poems than in his early eareer, most notably his Essay on Man, which Montagu refers to a couple of lines later, (sort of) quoting that poem's line "Whatever is, is right." Pope and Montagu had been friends at one point, but had fallen out for reasons now lost to history. Philosophy displays on With so much Rhyme and little Reason, But tho' he preaches ne'er so long That all is right, his Head is wrong. None strive to know their proper Merit But strain for Wisdom, Beauty, Spirit. 6 Nature to ev'ry thing alive, Points out the Path to shine or thrive, But Man, vain Man, who grasps the whole, Shows in all Heads a Touch of Fool; Who lose the Praise that is their due, While they've th'Impossible in view. [So I have seen the Injudicious Heir, To add one Window, the whole House impair.] Instinct the Hound does better teach, Who never undertood to preach; The frighted Hare from Dogs does run But not attempts to bear a Gun------ Here, many noble Thoughts occur, But I Prolixity abhor; And will pursue th' instructive Tale, To show the Wise in some things fail. The Rev'rend Lover, with surprise Peeps in her Bubbies and her Eyes, And kisses both--- and tries---- and tries---- The Ev'ning in this hellish Play, Besides his Guineas thrown away; 7 Provok'd the Priest to that degree. He swore, The Fault is not in me. Your damn'd Close-stool so near my Nose, Your dirty Smock, and stinking Toes, Would make a Hercules as tame As any Beau that you can name. The Nymph grown furious, roar'd by G-d, The Blame lies all in Sixty odd;" And scornful, pointing to the Door, Sai'd, "Fumbler see my Face no more." "With all my Heart, I'll go away, But nothing done, I'll nothing pay; Give back the Money"----"how, cry'd she, Should you palm such a Cheat on me? I've lock'd it in the Trunk stands there, Go break it open if you dare; For poor four Pounds to roar and Bellow Why sure you want some new Prunella? What if your Verses have not sold, Must therefore I return your Gold? Perhaps you have no better Luck in The Knack of Rhyming than of -------- 8 I won't give back one single Crown, To wash your Band, or turn your Gown." I'll be reveng'd you sawcy Quaen, (Replys the disapointed Dean) I'll so describe your Dressing-Room, The very Irish shall not come; She answer'd short, I'm glad you'll write, You'll furnish Paper when I Sh---e. Finis Wheatley, Phillis and Phillis Wheatley. "On the Death of J. C. an Infant". Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral, Printed for A. Bell, 1773 , pp 92-93 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z 92 On the Death of J. C. an Infant. 1 NO more the flow'ry scenes of pleasure rise, 2 Nor charming prospects greet the mental eyes, 3 No more with joy we view that lovely face 4 Smiling, disportive, flush'd with ev'ry grace. 5 The tear of sorrow flows from ev'ry eye, 6 Groans answer groans, and sighs to sighs reply; 7 What sudden pangs shot thro' each aching heart, 8 When, Death, thy messenger dispatch'd his dart? 9 Thy dread attendants, all-destroying Pow'r, 10 Hurried the infant to his mortal hour. 11 Could'st thou unpitying close those radiant eyes? 12 Or fail'd his artless beauties to surprize? 13 Could not his innocence thy stroke controul, 14 Thy purpose shake, and soften all thy soul? 93 15 The blooming babe, with shades of Death o'erspread, 16 No more shall smile, no more shall raise its head, 17 But, like a branch that from the tree is torn, 18 Falls prostrate, wither'd, languid, and forlorn. 19 "Where flies my James?" 'tis thus I seem to hear 20 The parent ask, "Some angel tell me where 21 "He wings his passage thro' the yielding air?" 22 Methinks a cherub bending from the skies 23 Observes the question, and serene replies, 24 "In heav'ns high palaces your babe appears: 25 "Prepare to meet him, and dismiss your tears." 26 Shall not th' intelligence your grief restrain, 27 And turn the mournful to the chearful strain? 28 Cease your complaints, suspend each rising sigh, 29 Cease to accuse the Ruler of the sky. 30 Parents, no more indulge the falling tear: 31 Let Faith to heav'n's refulgent domes repair, 32 There see your infant, like a seraph glow: 33 What charms celestial in his numbers flow 94 34 Melodious, while the soul-enchanting strain 35 Dwells on his tongue, and fills th' ethereal plain? 36 Enough -- for ever cease your murm'ring breath; 37 Not as a foe, but friend converse with Death, 38 Since to the port of happiness unknown 39 He brought that treasure which you call your own. 40 The gift of heav'n intrusted to your hand 41 Chearful resign at the divine command: 42 Not at your bar must sov'reign Wisdom stand. O'Brien, John and John O'Brien. "Headnote for Anne Bradstreet." Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672) is one of the finest poets whose writings have survived from seventeenth-century New England. She was born Anne Dudley in England in 1612 to a wealthy and influential family. Her father, Thomas Dudley, was a Puritan who became a founding member of the Massachusetts Bay Company in the late 1620s. The Company was eager to develop a Puritan-oriented colony in north America, and when they launched their their first ship, the Arbella, in 1630, Thomas Dudley went with the expectation that he would serve as the colony’s deputy governor once they arrived. Anne, who was by this point married to Simon Bradstreet, a young man who had worked with her father, joined her father and husband on the journey, arriving in what is now Salem, Massachusetts in June 1630. She spent the rest of her life in New England. The Bradstreets were an important family in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Her father served in a number of significant administrative positions, and her husband was for many years the secretary of the colony, among many other things. Each also served as governor of the colony. Bradstreet remembered many years later that upon arrival in Massachusetts that “I came into this country, where I found a new World and new manners at which my heart rose.” The language is ambiguous: did her heart rise with pleasure or with unhappiness and resistance? But Anne also wrote that she made her peace with her new life, accepting it as “the way of God.” The Bradstreets lived in eastern Massachusetts, in what are now Boston, Cambridge, Ipswich, and North Andover, where Simon and Anne raised eight children. Anne died in 1672, having suffered for several years from poor health, the result of smallpox and possibly tuberculosis. In ascribing her uprooting to North America as the will of God, Bradstreet shows her loyalty to the Puritanism that infused her life, her family, her writings, and the mission of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. The Puritan colonists who founded the Massachusetts Bay Colony were eager to create a world apart, what John Winthrop, the first governor of the colony called “a city upon a hill” in a sermon he gave to the assembled colonists on the Arbella as they arrived. The Massachusetts Bay Colony was a Puritan enclave run more as a theocracy than as representative democracy. The colony was officially intolerant of other religious denominations, and the colonists were eager to “civilize” the native peoples of the area (including members of the Massachusetts tribe, from which the Company and Colony took its name) by converting them to Christianity. (The Company’s seal, reproduced here, depicts, incredibly, a native American asking for such help.) Nonetheless, the Colony grew rapidly in the 1630s, with perhaps as many as 40,000 people emigrating to it from England. What place did poetry have in such a culture? A surprisingly significant one. We tend to think of Puritans as opposed to sensual things and to aesthetic pleasures like those found in art and literature. But that is a false stereotype; the truth is closer to the opposite. Puritans worried about the sensuality of the world because they had such a healthy respect for its power that they felt the need to keep strict controls over how people interacted with and thought about it. Puritan leaders feared that indulgence in sensual things for their own sake interfered with the goal of seeing the world around us as a conduit to the divine. Human senses were a gift from God, and were thus so potent that they demanded proper control, education, and discipline. Poetry was a one way of channeling humans’ inherently sensual nature into worthwhile and uplifting pursuits, of learning how to see the world around us as so many signs of the immanent presence of God, and of shaping language so as to be able to share that insight with others. A fair number of Puritans, in both England and its colonial outpost in Massachusetts, wrote verse both for pleasure and as an expression of their faith. The famous Puritan minister Cotton Mather worried, in fact, that young ministers might spend neglect their scholarly studies by spending too much time reading and composing poetry. He observed in 1726 that the “Rickety Nation” of the Puritan people now “swarms withal” with a “Boundless and Sickly Appetite for poetry.” Bradstreet may have written poetry from childhood, but none of that work has survived. What we do know is that she composed poetry throughout her adult life. In most modern anthologies, the bulk of the poems reproduced concern either domestic subjects (such as “To My Dear and Loving Husband” and “Verses upon the Burning of our House,” which are probably her most two famous poems for modern readers) or her observations of the natural world in her series entitled Contemplations. And these are indeed wonderful poems, rich with observation, intimacy, and emotion. But Bradstreet also wrote on more public subjects. Her book The Tenth Muse includes different series of poems on the natural elements, the four humours, the four seasons, and also “histories” of the four great monarchies. This last is a poem that is based (at least in part) on Sir Walter Raleigh’s History of the World. These were the poems that contemporaries noticed; in his Theatrum Poetarum (1675), an enormous book that compiled the names of all of the significant poets, ancient and modern, Edward Philips identified precisely these long political poems as the ones by which “Anne Broadstreet, a New-England Poetess,” would be remembered. Her poem “A Dialogue between Old and New England” is an explicitly political work, lamenting the crisis that befell the home country in the 1640s and hoping that the godliness of its colonial offspring might help renew it. Even on the frontier, Bradstreet kept engaged with the world beyond New England through her reading and her poetry, which addressed public and private subjects alike. As was typical in this period, Bradstreet’s poems circulated among her family and friends in New England in manuscript form, and there is no evidence that she was interested in having them printed for wider publication. But The Tenth Muse was published in London when her brother in law John Woodbridge brought a manuscript copy of her poetry to a publisher there. The point of the title, which was probably not Bradstreet’s idea, is that the new world has produced a new, tenth muse to add to the nine muses of the classical world, the female goddesses who, according to the Greek mythological system that early modern Europeans loved, inspired poetry. The flattering implication in 1650, a year when England was suffering from the aftermath of a terrible civil war, a war that had seen the execution of the king only the year before, was that Bradstreet was such a goddess, and that her poetry, produced in a distant land that had been spared the conflict, might help redeem the fractured culture of the home country. Bradstreet may or may not have wanted these poems published—the evidence is ambiguous—but once they were out in the world, she worked on revising her poetry and adding to her body of writing with an eye towards producing a more authoritative edition. That edition, called Several Poems Compiled with Great Variety of Wit and Learning, was published posthumously in 1678. Equiano, Olaudah and Olaudah Equiano. The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano: or Gustavus Vassa, the African, Olaudah Equiano, 1789 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z Frontispiece Olaudah Equiano or Gustavus Vassa, the African Published March 1 1789 by G. Vassa [Title Page] THEINTERESTING NARRATIVE OF THE LIFE OF OLAUDAH EQUIANO, OR GUSTAVUS VASSA, THE AFRICAN. WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. VOL 1. Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid, for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and my song; he also is become my salvation. And in that day shall ye say, Praise the Lord, call upon his name, declare his doings among the people, Isaiah xii. 2, 4. SECOND EDITION. LONDON: Printed and sold for the AUTHOR, by T. Wilkins, No. 23, Aldermanbury; sold also by Mr. Johnson, St. Paul's Church-Yard; Mr. Buckland, Paternoster-Row; Messrs. Robson and Clark, Bond-street; Mr. Davis, opposite Gray's-Inn, Holborn; Mr. Matthews, Strand; Mr Stockdale, Piccadilly; Mr. Richardson, Royal Exchange; Mr. Kearsley, Fleet-street; and the Booksellers in Oxford and Cambridge. [Entered at stationers-hall.] iii To the Lords spiritual and Temporal, and the Commons of the Parliament of Great Britain. My Lords and Gentlemen, PERMIT me, with the greatest deference and respect, to lay at your feet the following genuine Narrative; the chief design of which is to excite in your august assemblies a sense of compassion for the miseries which the Slave-Trade has entailed on my unfortunate countrymen. By the horrors of that trade was I first torn away from all the tender connexions that were naturally dear to my heart; but these, iv through the mysterious ways of Providence, I ought to regard as infinitely more than compensated by the introduction I have thence obtained to the knowledge of the Christian religion, and of a nation which, by its liberal sentiments, its humanity, the glorious freedom of its government, and its proficiency in arts and sciences, has exalted the dignity of human nature. I am sensible I ought to entreat your pardon for addressing to you a work so wholly devoid of literary merit; but, as the production of an unlettered African, who is actuated by the hope of becoming an instrument towards the relief of his suffering countrymen, I trust that such a man, pleading in such a v cause, will be acquitted of boldness and presumption. May the God of heaven inspire your hearts with peculiar benevolence on that important day when the question of Abolition is to be discussed, when thousands, in consequence of your Determination, are to look for Happiness or Misery! I am, MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN, Your most obedient, And devoted humble servant, OLAUDAH EQUIANO, OR GUSTAVUS VASSA. No. 10, Union-Street, Mary-le-bone, Dec. 24, 1789. vi A LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. His Royal Highness the Duke of York. His Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland. A The Right Hon. the Earl of Ailesbury Admiral Affleck Mr. William Abington, 2 copies Mr. John Abraham James Adair, Esq. vii The Reverend Charles Adams Miss Mary Adams John Ady The Reverend Mr. Aldridge Mr. John Almon Mrs. Arnot Mr. Joseph Armitage Mr. Joseph Ashpinshaw Mrs. Ashman Mr. Samuel Atkins Mr John Attwood Mr. Thomas Attwood Mr. Ashwell J. C. Ashworth, Esq. Mr. Audley Mr. Aufrere B His Grace the Duke of Bedford Her Grace the Duchess of Buccleugh The Right Reverend the Lord Bishop of Bangor The Right Hon. Lord Belgrave The Reverend Doctor Baker Mrs. Baker Matthew Baillie, M. D. Mrs. Baillie Miss Baillie Miss J. Baillie David Barclay, Esq. Mr. Robert Barrett Mr. William Barrett Mr. John Barnes Mr. John Basnett Mr. Bateman viii Mrs. Baynes, 2 copies Mr. Thomas Bellamy Admiral George Belfour Mr. J. Benjafield Mr, William Bennett Mr. Bensley Mr. Samuel Benson Mrs. Benton The Reverend Mr. Bently Mr. Thomas Bentley Mr. J. P Berthon Sir John Berney, Bart. Alexander Blair, Esq. James Bocock, Esq. Mrs. Bond Miss Bond Mrs. Borckhardt Mrs. E. Boverie Alderman Boydell Mr. Harris Bottisham ——— Brand, Esq. Mr. Martin Brander F. J. Brown, Esq. M. P. 2 copies W. Buttall, Esq. Mr. Buxton Mr. R. L. B. Mr. Thomas Burton, 6 copies Mr. W. Button Mr. Barton Edward Burch, Esq. R. A. Mr Marcus Butcher C The Right Hon. Lord Cathcart The Right Reverend Lord Bishop of Chester ix The Right Hon. H. S. Conway Lady Almiria Carpenter Charles Carter, Esq. Mr. James Chalmers Mr. Child Captain John Clarkson, of the Royal Navy The Rev. Mr. Thomas Clarkson, 2 copies Mr. R. Clay Mr. William Clout Mr. George Club Mr. John Cobb Miss Calwell Mr. Thomas Cooper Mr. Thomas Cooper, Jun. Richard Cosway, Esq. Mr. James Coxe Mr. J. C. Mr. Croucher Mr. Cruickshanks Ottobah Cugoano, or John Stewart Mr. Joseph Chamberlain D The Right Hon. the Earl of Dartmouth The Right Hon. the Earl of Derby sir William Dolben, Bart. Mr. John Dalby Mrs. M. Davey Mr. Davis The Reverend C. E. De Coetlogon John Delamain, Esq. Mrs. Delamain, x Mr. William Denton Mr. T. Dickie Mr. William Dickson Mr. Charles Dilly, 2 copies Andrew Drummond, Esq. Mr. George Durant Mr. E. O. Donovan The Reverend Mr. William Dunn E The Right Hon. the Earl of Essex The Right Hon. the Countess of Essex Sir Gilbert Elliot, Bart. 2 copies Lady Ann Erskine G. Noel Edwards, Esq. M. P. 2 copies Mr. Durs Egg Mr. Ebenezer Evans The Reverend Mr. John Eyre Mr. William Eyre Mr. John Elgar F Mr. George Fallowdown Mr. John Fell Mrs. William Fielding F. W. Foster, Esq. The Reverend Mr. Foster Mr. J. Frith W. Fuller, Esq. xi G The Right Hon. the Earl of Gainsborough The Right Hon. the Earl of Grosvenor The Right Hon. Viscount Gallway The Right Hon. Viscountess Gallway —-- Gardener, Esq. Mrs. Garrick Mr. John Gates Mr. Samuel Gear Mr. Richard George Sir Philip Gibbes, Bart. 6 copies Miss Gibbes Mr. Edward Gilbert Mr Jonathan Gillett W. P. Gilliess, Esq. Mrs. Gordon Mr. Grange Mr. William Grant Mr. John Grant Mr. Adam Graham Mr. R. Greening s. Griffiths John Grove, Esq. Mrs. Guerin The Reverend Mr. Gwinnup H The Right Hon. the Earl of Hopetoun The Right Hon. Lord Hawke The Right Hon. Countess Harrington Right Hon. Dowager Countess of Huntingdon xiii Mr. Benjamin Haigh Charles Hamilton, Esq. Thomas Hall, Esq. Mr. Hall Mr. Haley Thomas Hammersley, Esq. Mr. Timothy Hansfield Hugh Josiah Hansard, Esq. Mrs. Harben Mr. Moses Hart Mr. Thomas Hardy Mr. Haszelegrove Mrs. Hawkins Mr. Haysom Mr. Hearne Mr. William Hepburn Mr. J. Hibbert Mr. Jacob Higman Sir Richard Hill, Bart. Reverend Mr. Rowland Hill Miss Hill Captain John Hills, Royal Navy Edmund Hill, Esq. The Reverend Mr. Edward Hoare William Hodges, Esq. Mrs. Hogflesh The Reverend Mr. John Holmes, 3 copies Mr. Martin Hopkins Mr. Thomas Howell Mr. R. Huntley Mr. J. Hunt Mr. Philip Hurlock, Sen. Mr. Hutson Mr. Hodgkinson Mr. Abraham Horsfall Mr. John Horsfall Mr. John Horsfall Mr. Robert Hudson Mr. George Hutton xiii J Mr. T. W. J. Esq. Mr. James Jackson Mr. Thomas Jackson Mr. John Jackson Mr. James Jacobs Reverend Mr. James Mr. Jefferys, Royal Navy Mrs. Anne Jennings The Reverend Dr. Jowett Mr. Johnson Mrs. Johnson Mr. William Jones Mr. James Jones Thomas Irving, Esq. 3 copies Mr. William Justins Edward Ind, Esq. Robert Ind, Esq. James Johnson, Esq. K The Right Hon. Lord Kinnaird William Kendal, Esq. James Karr, Esq. Mr. William Ketland Mr. Edward King Mr. Thomas Kingston The Reverend Dr. Kippis Mr. William Kitchener Mr. John Knight xiv L The Right Reverend the Lord Bishop of London Mr. John Laisne Mr. John Lamb Bennet Langton, Esq. Mr. s. Lee Mr. Walter Lewis Mr. Walter Lewis, Jun. Mr. J. Lewis Mr. J. Lindsey Mr. T. Litchfield Edward Loveden Loveden, Esq. M. P. Charles Lloyd, Esq. Mr. William Lloyd Mr. Samuel Lucas Mr. J. B. Lucas Mr. James Luken Henry Lyte, Esq. Mrs. Lyon M His Grace the Duke of Marlborough His Grace the Duke of Montague The Right Hon. Lord Mulgrave Sir Herbert Mackworth, Bart. Sir Charles Middleton, Bart. Lady Middleton Mr. Thomas Macklane Mr. George Markett xv James Martin, Esq. M. P. Master Martin, Hayes-Grove, Kent Mr. William Massey Mr. Joseph Massingham Mr. Matthews, 6 copies John M'Intosh, Esq. Paul Le Mesurier, Esq. M. P. 3 copies Mr. James Mewburn The Reverend H. Michell Mr. N. Middleton T. Mitchell, Esq. Mrs. Montague, 2 copies Miss Hannah More Mr. George Morrison Thomas Morris, Esq. Miss Morris Morris Morgann, Esq. Mr Musgrove Mr. Thomas Musgrove Mr. P. M. N His Grace the Duke of Northumberland Henry Naylor, Esq. Francis Noble, Esq. Captain Norman, Royal Navy Captain Nurse O Edward Ogle, Esq. James Ogle, Esq. xvi Robert Oliver, Esq. The Reverend Mr. J. Owen P The Right Hon. William Pickett, Esq. Lord Mayor of London Mr. D. Parker Mr. W. Parker Mr. O Parry Mr. Richard Packer, Jun. The Reverend Dr Peckard of Cambridge Mr. James Pearse Mr. J. Pearson J. Penn, Esq. George Peters, Esq. Mr. W. Phillips J. Phillips, Esq. Mrs. Pickard Mr. Charles Pilgrim The Hon. George Pitt, M. P. Mr. Thomas Pooley Patrick Power, Esq. Mr. Michael Power Joseph Pratt, Esq. Mr. Samuel Purle Mr. M. P. Q His Grace the Duke of Queensberry Robert Quarme, Esq. xvii R The Right Hon. Lord Rawdon The Right Hon. Lord Rivers, 2 copies Lieutenant General Rainsford Reverend James Ramsay, 3 copies Mr. S. Remnant, Jun. Mr. William Richards, 2 copies Mr. J. C. Robarts Mr. James Roberts Dr. Robinson Mr. Robinson Mr. C. Robinson Admiral Roddam George Rose, Esq. M. P. Mr. W. Ross Mr. William Rouse Mr. Walter Row s His Grace the Duke of St. Albans Her Grace the Duchess of St. Albans The Right Reverend the Lord Bishop of St. David's The Right Hon. Earl Stanhope, 3 copies The Right Hon. the Earl of Scarbrough Mr Sampson William, the Son of Ignatius Sancho Mrs. Mary Ann Sandiford Mr. William Sawyer Mr. Thomas Seddon W. Seward, Esq. xviii Reverend Mr. Thomas scott Granville Sharp, Esq. 2 copies Mr. Richard Shepherd Mr. William Shill Captain Sidney Smith, of the Royal Navy Colonel Simcoe Mr John Simco General Smith John Smith, Esq. Mr. George Smith Mr. William Smith John James Smith Reverend Mr. Southgate Thomas Spalding John Spratt Mr. Charles Starkey Thomas Steel, Esq. M. P. Mr. Staples Steare Mr. Joseph Stewardson Mr. Henry Stone, Jun. 2 copies Mr. John Strickland John Symmons, Esq. Mr. William Symonds T Dr. Thackeray Henry Thornton, Esq. M. P. The Reverend Robert Thornton Mr. Abraham Thorp Alexander Thomson, M. D. The Reverend Mr. John Till Mr. Samuel Townly Mr. Daniel Trinder xix The Reverend Mr. C. La Trobe Clement Tudway, Esq. Mrs. Twisden U Mr. M. Underwood V Mr. John Vaughan Mrs. Vendt W The Right Hon. Earl of Warwick The Right Reverend the Lord Bishop of Worcester The Hon. William Windham, Esq. M. P. Mr. C. B. Wadstrom Mr. George Walne The Reverend Mr. Ward Mr. S. Warren Mr. J. Waugh Josiah Wedgwood, Esq. The Reverend Mr. John Wesley Mr. J. Wheble Samuel Whitbread, Esq. M P. The Reverend Mr. Thomas Wigzell Mr. W. Wilson The Reverend Mr. Wills Mr. Thomas Wimsett Mr. William Winchester The Reverend Elhanan Winchester, 6 copies xx John Wollaston, Esq. Mr. Charles Wood Mr. Joseph Woods Mr. John Wood J. Wright, Esq. Mr. William Watson Mr. James Welch Mrs. Willmott Mr. George Wille Y Mr. Yeo Mr. Samuel Yockney Mr. Thomos Young xxi ERRATA. VOL. I. Page 4, line 15, for intertior read interior VOL. I. Page 206, line 19, for ptostitute read prostitute VOL. I. Page 259, line 6, for him read me. xxii CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. CHAP. I. The author's account of his country, their manners and customs, &c. — Page 1 CHAP. II. The author's birth and parentage—His being kidnapped with his sister—Horrors of a slave ship — Page 45 CHAP. III. The author is carried to Virginia—Arrives in England—His wonder at a fall of snow — Page 89 xxiii CHAP. IV. A particular account of the celebrated engagement between Admiral Boscawen and Monsieur Le Clue — Page 130 CHAP. V. Various interesting instances of oppression, cruelty, and extortion — Page 180 CHAP. VI. Favourable change in the author's situation—He commences merchant with threepence — Page 227 1 THE LIFE, &c. CHAPTER I. The author's account of his country, and their manners and customs, Administration of Justice—Embrenché—Marriage ceremony, and public entertainments—Mode of living—Dress—Manufactures Buildings—Commerce—Agriculture—War and religion—Superstition of the natives—Funeral ceremonies of the priests or magicians—Curious mode of discovering poison—some hints concerning the origin of the author's countrymen, with the opinions of different writers on that subject. I BELIEVE it is difficult for those who publish their own memoirs to escape the imputation of vanity; nor is this 2 the only disadvantage under which they labour: it is also their misfortune, that what is uncommon is rarely, if ever, believed, and what is obvious we are apt to turn from with disgust, and to charge the writer with impertinence. People generally think those memoirs only worthy to be read or remembered which abound in great or striking events; those, in short, which in a high degree excite either admiration or pity: all others they consign to contempt and oblivion. It is therefore, I confess, not a little hazardous in a private and obscure individual, and a stranger too, thus to solicit the indulgent attention of the public; especially when I own I offer here the history of neither a saint, a hero, nor a tyrant. I believe there are a few events in my life, which have not happened to many: it is true the incidents of it are numerous; and, did I consider myself an European, 3 I might say my sufferings were great: but when I compare my lot with that of most of my countrymen, I regard myself as a particular favourite of Heaven, and acknowledge the mercies of Providence in every occurrence of my life. If then the following narrative does not appear sufficiently interesting to engage general attention, let my motive be some excuse for its publication. I am not so foolishly vain as to expect from it either immortality or literary reputation. If it affords any satisfaction to my numerous friends, at whose request it has been written, or in the smallest degree promotes the interests of humanity, the ends for which it was undertaken will be fully attained, and every wish of my heart gratified. Let it therefore be remembered, that, in wishing to avoid censure, I do not aspire to praise. 4 That part of Africa, known by the name of Guinea, to which the trade for slaves is carried on, extends along the coast above 3400 miles, from Senegal to Angola, and includes a variety of kingdoms. Of these the most considerable is the kingdom of Benin, both as to extent and wealth, the richness and cultivation of the soil, the power of its king, and the number and warlike disposition of the inhabitants. It is situated nearly under the line, and extends along the coast about 170 miles, but runs back into the interior part of Africa to a distance hitherto I believe unexplored by any traveller; and seems only terminated at length by the empire of Abyssinia, near 1500 miles from its beginning. This kingdom is divided into many provinces or districts: in one of the most remote and fertile of which, 5 I was born, in the year 1745, situated in a charming fruitful vale, named Essaka. The distance of this province from the capital of Benin and the sea coast must be very considerable; for I had never heard of white men or Europeans, nor of the sea; and our subjection to the king of Benin was little more than nominal; for every transaction of the government, as far as my slender observation extended, was conducted by the chiefs or elders of the place. The manners and government of a people who have little commerce with other countries are generally very simple; and the history of what passes in one family or village, may serve as a specimen of the whole nation. My father was one of those elders or chiefs I have spoken of, and was styled Embrenché; a term, as I remember, importing the highest distinction, and 6 signifying in our language a mark of grandeur. This mark is conferred on the person entitled to it, by cutting the skin across at the top of the forehead, and drawing it down to the eye-brows; and while it is in this situation applying a warm hand, and rubbing it until it shrinks up into a thick weal across the lower part of the forehead. Most of the judges and senators were thus marked; my father had long borne it: I had seen it conferred on one of my brothers, and I also was destined to receive it by my parents. Those Embrenché or chief men, decided disputes and punished crimes; for which purpose they always assembled together. The proceedings were generally short; and in most cases the law of retaliation prevailed. I remember a man was brought before my father, and the other judges, for kidnapping a boy; 7 and, although he was the son of a chief or senator, he was condemned to make recompense by a man or woman slave. Adultery, however, was sometimes punished with slavery or death; a punishment which I believe is inflicted on it throughout most of the nations of Africa*: so sacred among them is the honour of the marriage bed, and so jealous are they of the fidelity of their wives. Of this I recollect an instance—-a woman was convicted before the judges of adultery, and delivered over, as the custom was, to her husband to be punished. Accordingly he determined to put her to death: but it being found, just before her execution, that she had an infant at her breast; and no woman being prevailed on to perform the part of a nurse, she was spared on * See Benezet's "Account of Guinea" throughout. [Equiano's note] 8 account of the child. The men, however, do not preserve the same constancy to their wives, which they expect from them; for they indulge in a plurality, though seldom in more than two. Their mode of marriage is thus:—both parties are usually betrothed when young by their parents, (though I have known the males to betroth themselves). On this occasion a feast is prepared, and the bride and bridegroom stand up in the midst of all their friends, who are assembled for the purpose, while he declares she is thenceforth to be looked upon as his wife, and that no other person is to pay any addresses to her. This is also immediately proclaimed in the vicinity, on which the bride retires from the assembly. Some time after she is brought home to her husband, and then another feast is made, to which 9 the relations of both parties are invited: her parents then deliver her to the bridegroom, accompanied with a number of blessings, and at the same time they tie round her waist a cotton string of the thickness of a goose-quill, which none but married women are permitted to wear: she is now considered as completely his wife; and at this time the dowry is given to the new married pair, which generally consists of portions of land, slaves, and cattle, household goods, and implements of husbandry. These are offered by the friends of both parties; besides which the parents of the bridegroom present gifts to those of the bride, whose property she is looked upon before marriage; but after it she is esteemed the sole property of her husband. The ceremony being now ended the festival begins, which is 10 celebrated with bonfires, and loud acclamations of joy, accompanied with music and dancing. We are almost a nation of dancers, musicians, and poets. Thus every great event, such as a triumphant return from battle, or other cause of public rejoicing is celebrated in public dances which are accompanied with songs and music suited to the occasion. The assembly is seperated into four divisions, which dance either apart or in succession, and each with a character peculiar to itself. The first division contains the married men, who in their dances frequently exhibit feats of arms, and the representation of a battle. To these succeed the married women, who dance in the second division. The young men accupy the third: and the maidens the fourth. Each represents some interesting scene 11 of real life, such as a great achievement, domestic employment, a pathetic story, or some rural sport; and as the subject is generally founded on some recent event, it is therefore ever new. This gives our dances a spirit and variety which I have scarcely seen elsewhere*. We have many musical instruments, particularly drums of different kinds, a piece of music which resembles a guitar, and another much like a stickado. These last are chiefly used by betrothed virgins, who play on them on all grand festivals. As our manners are simple, our luxuries are few. The dress of both sexes is nearly the same. It generally consists of a long piece of calico, or muslin, wrapped loosely round the body, somewhat in the form of a * When I was in Smyrna I have frequently seen the Greeks dance after this manner. [Equiano's note] 12 highland plaid. This is usually dyed blue, which is our favorite colour. It is extracted from a berry, and is brighter and richer than any I have seen in Europe. Besides this, our women of distinction wear golden ornaments, which they dispose with some profusion on their arms and legs. When our women are not employed with the men in tillage, their usual occupation is spinning and weaving cotton, which they afterwards dye, and make into garments. They also manufacture earthen vessels, of which we have many kinds. Among the rest tobacco pipes, made after the same fashion, and used in the same manner, as those in Turkey*. Our manner of living is entirely plain; for as yet the natives are unacquainted * The bowl is earthen, curiously figured, to which a long reed is fixed as a tube. This tube is sometimes so long as to be borne by one, and frequently out of grandeur, by two boys. [Equiano's note] 13 with those refinements in cookery which debauch the taste: bullocks, goats, and poultry, supply the greatest part of their food. These constitute likewise the principal wealth of the country, and the chief articles of its commerce. The flesh is usually stewed in a pan; to make it savoury we sometimes use also pepper, and other spices, and we have salt made of wood ashes. Our vegetables are mostly plantains, eadas, yams, beans, and Indian corn. The head of the family usually eats alone; his wives and slaves have also their separate tables. Before we taste food we always wash our hands: indeed our cleanliness on all occasions is extreme; but on this it is an indispensible ceremony. After washing, libation is made, by pouring out a small portion of the drink on the floor, and tossing a small quantity of the food 14 in a certain place, for the spirits of departed relations, which the natives suppose to preside over their conduct, and guard them from evil. They are totally unacquainted with strong or spirituous liquors; and their principal beverage is palm wine. This is got from a tree of that name, by tapping it at the top, and fastening a large gourd to it; and sometimes one tree will yield three or four gallons in a night. When just drawn it is of a most delicious sweetness; but in a few days it acquires a tartish and more spirituous flavour: though I never saw any one intoxicated by it. The same tree also produces nuts and oil. Our principal luxury is in perfumes; one sort of these is an odoriferous wood of delicious fragrance: the other a kind of earth; a small portion of which thrown 15 into the fire diffuses a most powerful odour.* We beat this wood into powder, and mix it with palm oil; with which both men and women perfume themselves. In our buildings we study convenience rather than ornament. Each master of a family has a large square piece of ground, surrounded with a moat or fence, or enclosed with a wall made of red earth tempered: which, when dry, is as hard as brick. Within this are his houses to accommodate his family and slaves; which, if numerous, frequently present the appearance of a village. In the middle stands the principal building, appropriated to the sole use of the master, and consisting * When I was in Smyrna I saw the same kind of earth, and brought some of it with me to England; it resembles musk in strength, but is more delicious in scent, and is not unlike the smell of a rose. [Equiano's note.] 16 of two apartments; in one of which he sits in the day with his family, the other is left apart for the reception of his friends. He has besides these a distinct apartment in which he sleeps, together with his male children. On each side are the apartments of his wives, who have also their separate day and night houses. The habitations of the slaves and their families are distributed throughout the rest of the enclosure. These houses never exceed one story in height: they are always built of wood, or stakes driven into the ground, crossed with wattles, and neatly plastered within and without. The roof is thatched with reeds. Our dayhouses are left open at the sides; but those in which we sleep are always covered, and plastered in the inside, with a composition mixed with cow dung, to keep off the different insects, 17 which annoy us during the night. The walls and floors also of these are generally covered with mats. Our beds consist of a platform, raised three or four feet from the ground, on which are laid skins, and different parts of a spungy tree called plantain. Our covering is calico or muslin, the same as our dress. The usual seats are a few logs of wood; but we have benches, which are generally perfumed, to accommodate strangers: these compose the greater part of our household furniture. Houses so constructed and furnished require but little skill to erect them. Every man is a sussicient architect for the purpose. The whole neighbourhood afford their unanimous assistance in building them, and in return receive, and expect no other recompense than a feast. As we live in a country where nature 18 is prodigal of her favours, our wants are few and easily supplied; of course we have few manufactures. They consist for the most part of calicoes, earthen ware, ornaments, and instruments of war and husbandry. But these make no part of our commerce, the principal articles of which, as I have observed, are provisions. In such a state, money is of little use; however we have some small pieces of coin, if I may call them such. They are made something like an anchor; but I do not remember either their value or denomination. We have also markets, at which I have been frequently with my mother. These are sometimes visited by stout mahogany-coloured men from the south west of us: we call them Oye-Eboe, which term signifies red men living at a distance. They generally bring us fire-arms, gunpowder, 19 hats, beads, and dried fish. The last we esteemed a great rarity, as our waters were only brooks and springs. These articles they barter with us for odoriferous woods and earth, and our salt of wood ashes. They always carry slaves through our land; but the strictest account is exacted of their manner of procuring them before they are suffered to pass. Sometimes indeed we sold slaves to them, but they were only prisoners of war, or such among us as had been convicted of kidnapping, or adultery, and some other crimes, which we esteemed heinous. This practice of kidnapping induces me to think, that, notwithstanding all our strictness, their principal business among us was to trepan our people. I remember too they carried great sacks along with them, which not long after I had an 20 opportunity of fatally seeing applied to that infamous purpose. Our land is uncommonly rich and fruitful, and produces all kinds of vegetables in great abundance. We have plenty of Indian corn, and vast quantities of cotton and tobacco. Our pine apples grow without culture; they are about the size of the largest sugar-loaf, and finely flavoured. We have also spices of different kinds, particularly pepper; and a variety of delicious fruits which I have never seen in Europe; together with gums of various kinds, and honey in abundance. All our industry is exerted to improve those blessings of nature. Agriculture is our chief employment; and every one, even the children and women, are engaged in it. Thus we are all habituated to labour from our earliest years. Every one contributes something to the common 21 stock; and as we are unacquainted with idleness, we have no beggars. The benefits of such a mode of living are obvious. The West India planters prefer the slaves of Benin or Eboe, to those of any other part of Guinea, for their hardiness, intelligence, integrity, and zeal. Those benefits are felt by us in the general healthiness of the people, and in their vigour and activity; I might have added too in their comeliness. Deformity is indeed unknown amongst us, I mean that of shape. Numbers of the natives of Eboe now in London, might be brought in support of this assertion: for, in regard to complexion, ideas of beauty are wholly relative. I remember while in Africa to have seen three negro children, who were tawny, and another quite white, who were universally regarded by myself, and the natives in 22 general, as far as related to their complexions, as deformed. Our women too were in my eyes at least uncommonly graceful, alert, and modest to a degree of bashfulness; nor do I remember to have ever heard of an instance of incontinence amongst them before marriage. They are also remarkably cheerful. Indeed cheerfulness and affability are two of the leading characteristics of our nation. Our tillage is exercised in a large plain or common, some hours walk from our dwellings, and all the neighbours resort thither in a body. They use no beasts of husbandry; and their only instruments are hoes, axes, shovels, and beaks, or pointed iron to dig with. Sometimes we are visited by locusts, which come in large clouds, so as to darken the air, and destroy our harvest. This however happens rarely, but when 23 it does, a famine is produced by it. I remember an instance or two wherein this happened. This common is often the theatre of war; and therefore when our people go out to till their land, they not only go in a body, but generally take their arms with them for fear of a surprise; and when they apprehend an invasion, they guard the avenues to their dwellings, by driving sticks into the ground, which are so sharp at one end as to pierce the foot, and are generally dipped in poison. From what I can recollect of these battles, they appear to have been irruptions of one little state or district on the other, to obtain prisoners or booty. Perhaps they were incited to this by those traders who brought the European goods I mentioned amongst us. Such a mode of obtaining slaves in Africa is common; and I believe more 24 are procured this way, and by kidnaping, than any other. When a trader wants slaves, he applies to a chief for them, and tempts him with his wares. It is not extraordinary, if on this occasion he yields to the temptation with as little firmness, and accepts the price of his fellow creatures liberty with as little reluctance as the enlightened merchant. Accordingly he falls on his neighbours, and a desperate battle ensues. If he prevails and takes prisoners, he gratifies his avarice by selling them; but, if his party be vanquished, and he falls into the hands of the enemy, he is put to death: for, as he has been known to foment their quarrels, it is thought dangerous to let him survive, and no ransom can save him, though all other prisoners may be redeemed. We have firearms, bows and arrows, broad two-edged * See Benezet's Account of Africa throughout. [Equiano's note.] 25 swords and javelins: we have shields also which cover a man from head to foot. All are taught the use of these weapons; even our women are warriors, and march boldly out to fight along with the men. Our whole district is a kind of militia: on a certain signal given, such as the firing of a gun at night, they all rise in arms and rush upon their enemy. It is perhaps something remarkable, that when our people march to the field a red flag or banner is borne before them. I was once a witness to a battle in our common. We had been all at work in it one day as usual, when our people were suddenly attacked. I climbed a tree at some distance, from which I beheld the sight. There were many women as well as men on both sides; among others my mother was there, and armed with a broad sword. After 26 fighting for a considerable time with great fury, and many had been killed, our people obtained the victory, and took their enemy's Chief prisoner. He was carried off in great triumph, and, though he offered a large ransom for his life, he was put to death. A virgin of note among our enemies had been slain in the battle, and her arm was exposed in our market-place, where our trophies were always exhibited. The spoils were divided according to the merit of the warriors. Those prisoners which were not sold or redeemed we kept as slaves: but how different was their condition from that of the slaves in the West Indies! With us they do no more work than other members of the community, even their master; their food, clothing and lodging were nearly the same as theirs, (except that they were not permitted 27 to eat with those who were free-born); and there was scarce any other difference between them, than a superior degree of importance which the head of a family possesses in our state, and that authority which, as such, he exercises over every part of his household. some of these slaves have even slaves under them as their own property, and for their own use. As to religion, the natives believe that there is one Creator of all things, and that he lives in the sun, and is girted round with a belt that he may never eat or drink; but, according to some, he smokes a pipe, which is our own favourite luxury. They believe he governs events, especially our deaths or captivity; but, as for the doctrine of eternity, I do not remember to have ever heard of it: some however believe in the transmigration of souls in 28 a certain degree. Those spirits, which are not transmigrated, such as their dear friends or relations, they believe always attend them, and guard them from the bad spirits or their foes. For this reason they always before eating, as I have observed, put some small portion of the meat, and pour some of their drink, on the ground for them; and they often make oblation of the blood of beasts or fowls at their graves. I was very fond of my mother, and almost constantly with her. When she went to make these oblations at her mother's tomb, which was a kind of small solitary thatched house, I sometimes attended her. There she made her libations, and spent most of the night in cries and lamentations. I have been often extremely terrified on these occasions. The loneliness of the place, the darkness of the night, and the ceremony 29 of libation, naturally awful and gloomy, were heightened by my mother's lamentations; and these concurring with the doleful cries of birds, by which these places were frequented, gave an inexpressible terror to the scene. We compute the year from the day on which the sun crosses the line, and on its setting that evening, there is a general shout throughout the land; at least I can speak from my own knowledge, throughout our vicinity. The people at the same time make a great noise with rattles, not unlike the basket rattles used by children here, though much larger, and hold up their hands to heaven for a blessing. It is then the greatest offerings are made; and those children whom our wise men foretel will be fortunate are then presented to different people. I remember 30 many used to come to see me, and I was carried about to others for that purpose. They have many offerings, particularly at full moons; generally two at harvest before the fruits are taken out of the ground: and when any young animals are killed, sometimes they offer up part of them as a sacrifice. These offerings, when made by one of the heads of a family, serve for the whole. I remember we often had them at my father's and my uncle's, and their families have been present. Some of our offerings are eaten with bitter herbs. We had a saying among us to any one of a cross temper, 'That if they were to be eaten, they should be eaten with bitter herbs.' We practised circumcision like the Jews, and made offerings and feasts on that occasion in the same manner as they did. Like them also, our 31 children were named from some event, some circumstance, or fancied foreboding at the time of their birth. I was named Olaudah, which, in our language, signifies vicissitude, or fortunate also; one favoured, and having a loud voice and well spoken. I remember we never polluted the name of the object of our adoration; on the contrary, it was always mentioned with the greatest reverence; and we were totally unacquainted with swearing, and all those terms of abuse and reproach which find their way so readily and copiously into the language of more civilized people. The only expressions of that kind I remember were, 'May you rot, or may you swell, or may a beast take you.' I have before remarked that the natives of this part of Africa are extremely cleanly. This necessary habit 32 of decency was with us a part of religion, and therefore we had many purifications and washings; indeed almost as many, and used on the same occasions, if my recollection does not fail me, as the Jews. Those that touched the dead at any time were obliged to wash and purify themselves before they could enter a dwelling-house. Every woman too, at certain times, was forbidden to come into a dwelling-house, or touch any person, or any thing we eat. I was so fond of my mother I could not keep from her, or avoid touching her at some of those periods, in consequence of which I was obliged to be kept out with her, in a little house made for that purpose, till offering was made, and then we were purified. Though we had no places of public worship, we had priests and magicians, or wise men. I do not remember 33 whether they had different offices, or whether they were united in the same persons, but they were held in great reverence by the people. They calculated our time, and foretold events, as their name imported, for we called them Ah-affoe-way-cah, which signifies calculators or yearly men, our year being called Ah-affoe. They wore their beards, and when they died they were suceeded by their sons. Most of their implements and things of value were interred along with them. Pipes and tobacco were also put into the grave with the corpse, which was always perfumed and ornamented, and animals were offered in sacrifice to them. None accompanied their funerals but those of the same profession or tribe. These buried them after sunset, and always returned from the grave by 34 a different way from that which they went. These magicians were also our doctors or physicians. They practised bleeding by cupping; and were very successful in healing wounds and expelling poisons. They had likewise some extraordinary method of discovering jealousy, theft, and poisoning; the success of which no doubt they derived from the unbounded influence over the credulity and superstition of the people. I do not remember what those methods were, except that as to poisoning: I recollect an instance or two, which I hope it will not be deemed impertinent here to insert, as it may serve as a kind of specimen of the rest, and is still used by the negroes in the West Indies. A young woman had been poisoned, but it was not known by whom: the doctor ordered the corpse to be taken up by 35 some persons, and carried to the grave. As soon as the bearers had raised it on their shoulders, they seemed seized with some* sudden impulse,See also Leiut. Matthew's Voyage, p. 123. [Equiano's note] Equiano is referring to John Matthews, A Voyage to the River Sierra-Leone (London: B. White and Son; and J. Sewell, 1788). and ran to and fro unable to stop themselves. At last, after having passed through a number of thorns and prickly bushes unhurt, the corpse fell from them close to a house, and defaced it in the fall; and the owner being taken up, he immediately confessed the poisoning.† An instance of this kind happened at Montserrat in the West Indies in the year 1763. I then belonged to the Charming Sally, Capt. Doran.—The chief mate, Mr. Mansfield, and some of the crew being one day on shore, were present at the burying of a poisoned negro girl. Though they had often heard of the circumstance of the running in such cases, and had even seen it, they imagined it to be a trick of the corpse-bearers. The mate therefore desired two of the sailors to take up the coffin, and carry it to the grave. The sailors, who were all of the same opinion, readily obeyed; but they had scarcely raised it to their shoulders, before they began to run furiously about, quite unable to direct themselves, till, at last, without intention, they came to the hut of him who had poisoned the girl. The coffin then immediately fell from their shoulders against the hut, and damaged part of the wall. The owner of the hut was taken into custody on this, and confessed the poisoning.— I give this story as it was related by the mate and crew on their return to the ship. The credit which is due to it I leave with the reader. [Equiano's note] 36 The natives are extremely cautious about poison. When they buy any eatable the seller kisses it all round before the buyer, to shew him it is not poisoned; and the same is done when any meat or drink is presented, particularly to a stranger. We have serpents of different kinds, some of which are esteemed ominous when they appear in our houses, and these we never molest. I remember two of those ominous snakes, each of which was as thick as the calf of a man's leg, and in colour resembling a dolphin in the water, crept at different times into my 37 mother's night-house, where I always lay with her, and coiled themselves into folds, and each time they crowed like a cock. I was desired by some of our wise men to touch these, that I might be interested in the good omens, which I did, for they were quite harmless, and would tamely suffer themselves to be handled; and then they were put into a large open earthen pan, and set on one side of the highway. Some of our snakes, however, were poisonous: one of them crossed the road one day as I was standing on it, and passed between my feet without offering to touch me, to the great surprise of many who saw it; and these incidents were accounted by the wise men, and likewise by my mother and the rest of the people, as remarkable omens in my favour. Such is the imperfect sketch my 38 memory has furnished me with of the manners and customs of a people among whom I first drew my breath. And here I cannot forbear suggesting what has long struck me very forcibly, namely, the strong analogy which even by this sketch, imperfect as it is, appears to prevail in the manners and customs of my countrymen and those of the Jews, before they reached the Land of Promise, and particularly the patriarchs while they were yet in that pastoral state which is described in Genesis—an analogy, which alone would induce me to think that the one people had sprung from the other. Indeed this is the opinion of Dr. Gill, who, in his commentary on Genesis, very ably deduces the pedigree of the Africans from Afer and Afra, the descendants of Abraham by Keturah his wife and concubine (for both these titles are 39 applied to her). It is also conformable to the sentiments of Dr. John Clarke, formerly Dean of Sarum, in his Truth of the Christian Religion: both these authors concur in ascribing to us this original. The reasonings of those gentlemen are still further confirmed by the scripture chronology; and if any further corroboration were required, this resemblance in so many respects is a strong evidence in support of the opinion. Like the Israelites in their primitive state, our government was conducted by our chiefs or judges, our wise men and elders; and the head of a family with us enjoyed a similar authority over his household with that which is ascribed to Abraham and the other patriarchs. The law of retaliation obtained almost universally with us as with them: and even their religion appeared to have shed upon us a ray of 40 its glory, though broken and spent in its passage, or eclipsed by the cloud with which time, tradition, and ignorance might have enveloped it; for we had our circumcision (a rule I believe peculiar to that people:) we had also our sacrifices and burnt-offerings, our washings and purifications, on the same occasions as they had. As to the difference of colour between the Eboan Africans and the modern Jews, I shall not presume to account for it. It is a subject which has engaged the pens of men of both genius and learning, and is far above my strength. The most able and Reverend Mr. T. Clarkson, however, in his much admired Essay on the Slavery and Commerce of the Human Species, has ascertained the cause in a manner that at once solves every objection on that account, and, on my mind at least, 41 has produced the fullest conviction. I shall therefore refer to that performance for the theory** Page 178 to 216. [Equiano's note], contenting myself with extricating a fact as related by Dr. Mitchel†.† Philos. Trans. No. 476, Sect. 4, cited by Mr Clarkson, p. 205. [Equiano's note] "The Spaniards, who have inhabited America, under the torrid zone, for any time, are become as dark coloured as our native Indians of Virginia; of which "I myself have been a witness." There is also another instance‡‡ Same page. [Equiano's note] of a Portuguese settlement at Mitomba, a river in Sierra Leona; where the inhabitants are bred from a mixture of the first Portuguese discoverers with the natives, and are now become in their complexion, and in the woolly quality of their 42 hair, perfect negroes, retaining however a smattering of the Portuguese language. These instances, and a great many more which might be adduced, while they shew how the complexions of the same persons vary in different climates it is hoped may tend also to remove the prejudice that some conceive against the natives of Africa on account of their colour. Surely the minds of the Spaniards did not change with their complexions! Are there not causes enough to which the apparent inferiority of an African may be ascribed without limiting the goodness of God and supposing he forbore to stamp understanding on certainly his own image because "carved in ebony." Might it not naturally be ascribed to their situation? When they come among Europeans, they are ignorant of their 43 language, religion, manners, and customs. Are any pains taken to teach them these? Are they treated as men? Does not slavery itself depress the mind, and extinguish all its fire and every noble sentiment? But, above all, what advantages do not a refined people possess over those who are rude and uncultivated. Let the polished and haughty European recollect that his ancestors were once, like the Africans, uncivilized, and even barbarous. Did Nature make them inferior to their sons? and should they too have been made slaves? Every rational mind answers, No. Let such reflections as these melt the pride of their superiority into sympathy for the wants and miseries of their sable brethren, and compel them to acknowledge, that understanding is not confined to feature or colour. If, when they look round the 44 world, they feel exultation, let it be tempered with benevolence to others, and gratitude to God, "who hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth** Acts xvii. 26. [Equiano's note]; and whose wisdom is not our wisdom, neither are our ways his ways." 45 CHAP. II. The author's birth and parentage—His being kidnapped with his sister—Their separation—Surprise at meeting again—Are finally separated—Account of the different places and incidents the author met with till his arrival on the coast—The effect the sight of a slave ship had on him—He sails for the West Indies—Horrors of a slave ship—Arrives at Barbadoes, where the cargo is sold and dispersed. I HOPE the reader will not think I have trespassed on his patience in introducing myself to him with some account of the manners and customs of my country. They had been implanted 46 in me with great care, and made an impression on my mind, which time could not erase, and which all the adversity and variety of fortune I have since experienced, served only to rivet and record; for, whether the love of one's country be real or imaginary, or a lesson of reason, or an instinct of nature, I still look back with pleasure on the first scenes of my life, though that pleasure has been for the most part mingled with sorrow. I have already acquainted the reader with the time and place of my birth. My father, besides many slaves, had a numerous family, of which seven lived to grow up, including myself and a sister; who was the only daughter. As I was the youngest of the sons, I became, of course, the greatest favourite with my mother, and was always with her; and she used to take particular 47 pains to form my mind. I was trained up from my earliest years in the art of war: my daily exercise was shooting and throwing javelins; and my mother adorned me with emblems, after the manner of our greatest warriors. In this way I grew up till I was turned the age of eleven, when an end was put to my happiness in the following manner:—Generally when the grown people in the neighbourhood were gone far in the fields to labour the children assembled together in some of the neighbours' premises to play; and commonly some of us used to get up a tree to look out for any assailant, or kidnapper, that might come upon us; for they sometimes took those opportunities of our parents absence to attack and carry off as many as they could seize. One day, as I was watching at the top of a tree in our yard, I saw one of those people 48 come into the yard of our next neighbour but one, to kidnap, there being many stout young people in it. Immediately on this I gave the alarm of the rogue, and he was surrounded by the stoutest of them, who entangled him with cords, so that he could not escape till some of the grown people came and secured him. But alas! ere long it was my fate to be thus attacked, and to be carried off, when none of the grown people were nigh. One day, when all our people were gone out to their works as usual, and only I and my dear sister were left to mind the house, two men and a woman got over our walls, and in a moment seized us both, and, without giving us time to cry out, or make resistance, they stopped our mouths, and ran off with us, into the nearest wood. Here they tied our hands, and continued to carry us as 49 far as they could, till night came on, when we reached a small house, where the robbers halted for refreshment and spent the night. We were then unbound, but were unable to take any food; and, being quite overpowered by fatigue and grief, our only relief was some sleep, which allayed our misfortune for a short time. The next morning we left the house, and continued travelling all the day. For a long time we had kept the woods, but at last we came into a road which I believed I knew. I had now some hopes of being delivered; for we had advanced but a little way before I discovered some people at a distance, on which I began to cry out for their assistance; but my cries had no other effect than to make them tie me faster and stop my mouth, and then they put me into a large sack. They also 50 stopped my sister's mouth, and tied her hands; and in this manner we proceeded till we were out of the sight of these people. When we went to rest the following night they offered us some victuals; but we refused it; and the only comfort we had was in being in one another's arms all that night, and bathing each other with our tears. But alas! we were soon deprived of even the small comfort of weeping together. The next day proved a day of greater sorrow than I had yet experienced; for my sister and I were then separated, while we lay clasped in each others arms. It was in vain that we besought them not to part us; she was torn from me, and immediately carried away, while I was left in a state of distraction not to be described. I cried and grieved continually; and for several days, did not 51 eat any thing but what they forced into my mouth. At length, after many days travelling, during which I had often changed masters, I got into the hands of a chieftain, in a very pleasant country. This man had two wives and some children, and they all used me extremely well, and did all they could to comfort me; particularly the first wife, who was something like my mother. Although I was a great many days journey from my father's house, yet these people spoke exactly the same language with us. This first master of mine, as I may call him, was a smith, and my principal employment was working his bellows, which were the same kind as I had seen in my vicinity. They were in some respects not unlike the stoves here in gentlemen's kitchens; and were covered over with leather; and in the 52 middle of that leather a stick was fixed, and a person stood up, and worked it, in the same manner as is done to pump water out of a cask with a hand pump. I believe it was gold he worked, for it was of a lovely bright yellow colour, and was worn by the women on their wrists and ancles. I was there I suppose about a month, and they at last used to trust me some little distance from the house. This liberty I used in embracing every opportunity to inquire the way to my own home: and I also sometimes, for the same purpose, went with the maidens, in the cool of the evenings, to bring pitchers of water from the springs for the use of the house. I had also remarked where the sun rose in the morning, and set in the evening, as I had travelled along; and I had observed that my father's house was towards the 53 rising of the sun. I therefore determined to seize the first opportunity of making my escape, and to shape my course for that quarter; for I was quite oppressed and weighed down by grief after my mother and friends; and my love of liberty, ever great, was strengthened by the mortifying circumstance of not daring to eat with the free-born children, although I was mostly their companion. While I was projecting my escape, one day an unlucky event happened, which quite disconcerted my plan, and put an end to my hopes. I used to be sometimes employed in assisting an elderly woman slave, to cook and take care of the poultry: and one morning, while I was feeding some chickens, I happened to toss a small pebble at one of them, which hit it on the middle, and directly killed it. The old slave, having 54 soon after missed the chicken, inquired after it; and on my relating the accident (for I told her the truth, because my mother would never suffer me to tell a lie) she flew into a violent passion, threatened that I should suffer for it; and, my master being out, she immediately went and told her mistress what I had done. This alarmed me very much, and I expected an instant flogging, which to me was uncommonly dreadful; for I had seldom been beaten at home. I therefore resolved to fly; and accordingly I ran into a thicket that was hard by, and hid myself in the bushes. soon afterwards my mistress and the slave returned, and, not seeing me, they searched all the house, but not finding me, and I not making answer when they called to me, they thought I ad run away, and the whole neighbourhood 55 was raised in the pursuit of me. In that part of the country (as in ours) the houses and villages were skirted with woods, or shrubberies, and the bushes were so thick that a man could readily conceal himself in them, so as to elude the strictest search. The neighbours continued the whole day looking for me, and several times many of them came within a few yards of the place where I lay hid. I expected every moment, when I heard a rustling among the trees, to be found out, and punished by my master: but they never discovered me, though they were often so near that I even heard their conjectures as they were looking about for me; and I now learned from them, that any attempt to return home would be hopeless. Most of them supposed I had fled towards home; 56 but the distance was so great, and the way so intricate, that they thought I could never reach it, and that I should be lost in the woods. When I heard this I was seized with a violent panie, and abandoned myself to despair. Night too began to approach, and aggravated all my fears. I had before entertained hopes of getting home; and had determined when it should be dark to make the attempt; but I was now convinced it was fruitless, and began to consider that, if possibly I could escape all other animals, I could not those of the human kind; and that, not knowing the way, I must perish in the woods. Thus was I like the hunted deer: —"Ev'ry leaf and ev'ry whisp'ring breath "Convey'd a foe, and ev'ry foe a death." I heard frequent rustlings among the leaves; and being pretty sure they were 57 snakes, I expected every instant to be stung by them. This increased my anguish, and the horror of my situation became now quite insupportable. I at length quitted the thicket, very faint and hungry, for I had not eaten or drank any thing all the day; and crept to my master's kitchen, from whence I set out at first, and which was an open shed, and laid myself down in the ashes with an anxious wish for death to relieve me from all my pains. I was scarcely awake in the morning, when the old woman slave, who was the first up, came to light the fire, and saw me in the fire place. She was very much surprised to see me, and could scarcely believe her own eyes. She now promised to intercede for me, and went for her master, who soon after came, and, having slightly reprimanded 58 me, ordered me to be taken care of, and not ill treated. Soon after this my master's only daughter, and child by his first wife, sickened and died, which affected him so much that for some time he was almost frantic, and really would have killed himself, had he not been watched and prevented. However, in a small time afterwards he recovered, and I was again sold. I was now carried to the left of the sun's rising, through many dreary wastes and dismal woods, amidst the hideous roarings of wild beasts. The people I was sold to used to carry me very often, when I was tired, either on their shoulders or on their backs. I saw many convenient well-built sheds along the road, at proper distances, to accommodate the merchants and travellers, who lay in those buildings along with 59 their wives, who often accompany them; and they always go well armed. From the time I left my own nation I always found somebody that understood me till I came to the sea coast. The languages of different nations did not totally differ, nor were they so copious as those of the Europeans, particularly the English. They were therefore easily learned; and, while I was journeying thus through Africa, I acquired two or three different tongues. In this manner I had been travelling for a considerable time, when one evening to my great surprise, whom should I see brought to the house where I was but my dear sister! As soon as she saw me she gave a loud shriek, and ran into my arms—I was quite overpowered: neither of us could speak; but, for a considerable time, 60 clung to each other in mutual embraces, unable to do any thing but weep. Our meeting affected all who saw us; and indeed I must acknowledge, in honour of those sable destroyers of human rights, that I never met with any ill treatment, or saw any offered to their slaves, except tying them, when necessary, to keep them from running away. When these people knew we were brother and sister, they indulged us to be together; and the man, to whom I supposed we belonged, lay with us, he in the middle, while she and I held one another by the hands across his breast all night; and thus for a while we forgot our misfortunes in the joy of being together: but even this small comfort was soon to have an end; for scarcely had the fatal morning appeared, when she was again torn from me for ever! I was now more miserable, 61 if possible, than before. The small relief which her presence gave me from pain was gone, and the wretchedness of my situation was redoubled by my anxiety after her fate, and my apprehensions lest her sufferings should be greater than mine, when I could not be with her to alleviate them. Yes, thou dear partner of all my childish sports! thou sharer of my joys and sorrows! happy should I have ever esteemed myself to encounter every misery for you, and to procure your freedom by the sacrifice of my own. Though you were early forced from my arms, your image has been always rivetted in my heart, from which neither time nor fortune have been able to remove it; so that, while the thoughts of your sufferings have damped my prosperity, they have mingled with adversity and increased its bitterness. 62 To that Heaven which protects the weak from the strong, I commit the care of your innocence and virtues, if they have not already received their full reward, and if your youth and delicacy have not long since fallen victims to the violence of the African trader, the pestilential stench of a Guinea ship, the seasoning in the European colonies, or the lash and lust of a brutal and unrelenting overseer. I did not long remain after my sister. I was again sold, and carried through a number of places, till, after travelling a considerable time, I came to a town called Tinmah, in the most beautiful country I had yet seen in Africa. It was extremely rich, and there were many rivulets which flowed through it, and supplied a large pond in the centre of the town, where the people washed. Here I first saw and tasted cocoa nuts, 63 which I thought superior to any nuts I had ever tasted before; and the trees, which were loaded, were also interspersed amongst the houses, which had commodious shades adjoining, and were in the same manner as ours, the insides being neatly plastered and whitewashed, Here I also saw and tasted for the first time sugar-cane. Their money consisted of little white shells, the size of the finger nail. I was sold here for one hundred and seventy-two of them by a merchant who lived and brought me there. I had been about two or three days at his house, when a wealthy widow, a neighbour of his, came there one evening, and brought with her an only son, a young gentleman about my own age and size. Here they saw me; and, having taken a fancy to me, I was bought of the merchant, and went home with them. Her house and 64 premises were situated close to one of those rivulets I have mentioned, and were the finest I ever saw in Africa: they were very extensive, and she had a number of slaves to attend her. The next day I was washed and perfumed, and when meal-time came, I was led into the presence of my mistress, and eat and drank before her with her son. This filled me with astonishment; and I could scarce help expressing my surprise that the young gentleman should suffer me, who was bound, to eat with him who was free; and not only so, but that he would not at any time either eat or drink till I had taken first, because I was the eldest, which was agreeable to our custom. Indeed every thing here, and all their treatment of me, made me forget that I was a slave. The language of these people resembled ours so nearly, that we understood 65 each other perfectly. They had also the very same customs as we. There were likewise slaves daily to attend us, while my young master and I with other boys sported with our darts and bows and arrows, as I had been used to do at home. In this resemblance to my former happy state, I passed about two months; and I now began to think I was to be adopted into the family, and was beginning to be reconciled to my situation, and to forget by degrees my misfortunes, when all at once the delusion vanished; for, without the least previous knowledge, one morning early, while my dear master and companion was still asleep, I was awakened out of my reverie to fresh sorrow, and hurried away even amongst the uncircumcised. Thus, at the very moment I dreamed of the greatest happiness, I found my self 66 most miserable; and it seemed as if fortune wished to give me this taste of joy, only to render the reverse more poignant. The change I now experienced was as painful as it was sudden and unexpected. It was a change indeed from a state of bliss to a scene which is inexpressible by me, as it discovered to me an element I had never before beheld, and till then had no idea of, and wherein such instances of hardship and cruelty continually occurred as I can never reflect on but with horror. All the nations and people I had hitherto passed through resembled our own in their manners, customs, and language: but I came at length to a country, the inhabitants of which differed from us in all those particulars. I was very much struck with this difference, especially when I came among 67 a people who did not circumcise, and eat without washing their hands. They cooked also in iron pots, and had European cutlasses and cross bows, which were unknown to us, and fought with their fists amongst themselves. Their women were not so modest as ours, for they eat, and drank, and slept, with their men. But above all, I was amazed to see no sacrifices or offerings among them. In some of those places the people ornamented themselves with scars, and likewise filed their teeth very sharp. They wanted sometimes to ornament me in the same manner, but I would not suffer them; hoping that I might some time be among a people who did not thus disfigure themselves, as I thought they did. At last I came to the banks of a large river, which was covered with canoes, in which the people appeared to live 68 with their household utensils and provisions of all kinds. I was beyond measure astonished at this, as I had never before seen any water larger than a pond or a rivulet: and my surprise was mingled with no small fear when I was put into one of these canoes, and we began to paddle and move along the river. We continued going on thus till night; and when we came to land, and made fires on the banks, each family by themselves, some dragged their canoes on shore, others stayed and cooked in theirs, and laid in them all night. Those on the land had mats, of which they made tents, some in the shape of little houses: in these we slept: and after the morning meal, we embarked again and proceeded as before. I was often very much astonished to see some of the women, as well as the men, jump into the water, dive to the 69 bottom, come up again, and swim about. Thus I continued to travel, sometimes by land, sometimes by water, through different countries and various nations, till, at the end of six or seven months after I had been kidnapped, I arrived at the sea coast. It would be tedious and uninteresting to relate all the incidents which befell me during this journey, and which I have not yet forgotten; of the various hands I passed through, and the manners and customs of all the different people among whom I lived: I shall therefore only observe, that in all the places where I was, the soil was exceedingly rich; the pomkins, aedas, plantains, yams, &c. &c. were in great abundance, and of incredible size. There were also vast quantities of different gums, though not used for any purpose; and every where a great deal of 70 tobacco. The cotton even grew quite wild; and there was plenty of red-wood. I saw no mechanics whatever in all the way, except such as I have mentioned. The chief employment in all these countries was agriculture, and both the males and females, as with us, were brought up to it, and trained in the arts of war. The first object which saluted my eyes when I arrived on the coast was the sea, and a slave ship, which was then riding at anchor, and waiting for its cargo. These filled me with astonishment, which was soon converted into terror when I was carried on board. I was immediately handled, and tossed up to see if I were sound, by some of the crew; and I was now persuaded that I had gotten into a world of bad spirits, and that they were going to kill me. Their complexions too 71 differing so much from ours, their long hair, and the language they spoke, (which was very different from any I had ever heard) united to confirm me in this belief. Indeed such were the horrors of my views and fears at the moment, that, if ten thousand worlds, had been my own, I would have freely parted with them all to have exchanged my condition with that of the meanest slave in my own country. When I looked round the ship too and saw a large furnace or copper boiling, and a multitude of black people of every description chained together, every one of their countenances expressing dejection and sorrow, I no longer doubted of my fate; and, quite overpowered with horror and anguish, I fell motionless on the deck and fainted. When I recovered a little I found some black people about me, who I believed were 72 some of those who brought me on board, and had been receiving their pay; they talked to me in order to cheer me, but all in vain. I asked them if we were not to be eaten by those white men with horrible looks, red faces, and long hair. They told me I was not: and one of the crew brought me a small portion of spirituous liquor in a wine glass; but, being afraid of him, I would not take it out of his hand. One of the blacks therefore took it from him and gave it to me, and I took a little down my palate, which, instead of reviving me, as they thought it would, threw me into the greatest consternation at the strange feeling it produced, having never tasted any such liquor before. Soon after this the blacks who brought me on board went off, and left me abandoned to despair. I now saw myself deprived 73 of all chance of returning to my native country, or even the least glimpse of hope of gaining the shore, which I now considered as friendly; and I even wished for my former slavery in preference to my present situation, which was filled with horrors of every kind, still heightened by my ignorance of what I was to undergo. I was not long suffered to indulge my grief; I was soon put down under the decks, and there I received such a salutation in my nostrils as I had never experienced in my life: so that, with the loathsomeness of the stench, and crying together, I became so sick and low that I was not able to eat, nor had I the least desire to taste any thing. I now wished for the last friend, death, to relieve me; but soon, to my grief, two of the white men offered me eatables; and, on my refusing to eat, 74 one of them held me fast by the hands, and laid me across, I think the windlass, and tied my feet, while the other flogged me severely. I had never experienced any thing of this kind before; and although not being used to the water, I naturally feared that element the first time I saw it, yet nevertheless, could I have got over the nettings, I would have jumped over the side, but I could not; and, besides, the crew used to watch us very closely who were not chained down to the decks, lest we should leap into the water: and I have seen some of these poor African prisoners most severely cut for attempting to do so, and hourly whipped for not eating. This indeed was often the case with myself. In a little time after, amongst the poor chained men, I found some of my own nation, which in a small degree gave ease to my mind. I 75 inquired of these what was to be done with us? They gave me to understand we were to be carried to these white people's country to work for them. I then was a little revived, and thought, if it were no worse than working, my situation was not so desperate: but still I feared I should be put to death, the white people looked and acted, as I thought, in so savage a manner; for I had never seen among any people such instances of brutal cruelty; and this not only shewn towards us blacks, but also to some of the whites themselves. One white man in particular I saw, when we were permitted to be on deck, flogged so unmercifully with a large rope near the foremast, that he died in consequence of it; and they tossed him over the side as they would have done a brute. This made me fear these people the more; and I expected 76 nothing less than to be treated in the same manner. I could not help expressing my fears and apprehensions to some of my countrymen: I asked them if these people had no country, but lived in this hollow place (the ship)? they told me they did not, but came from a distant one. 'Then,' said I, 'how comes it in all our country we never heard of them?' They told me because they lived so very far off. I then asked where were their women? had they any like themselves? I was told they had: 'And why,'said I, 'do we not see them?' they answered, because they were left behind. I asked how the vessel could go? they told me they could not tell; but that there were cloth put upon the masts by the help of the ropes I saw, and then the vessel went on; and the white men had some spell or magic they put in the water 77 when they liked in order to stop the vessel. I was exceedingly amazed at this account, and really thought they were spirits. I therefore wished much to be from amongst them, for I expected they would sacrifice me: but my wishes were vain; for we were so quartered that it was impossible for any of us to make our escape. While we stayed on the coast I was mostly on deck; and one day, to my great astonishment, I saw one of these vessels coming in with the sails up. As soon as the whites saw it, they gave a great shout, at which we were amazed; and the more so as the vessel appeared larger by approaching nearer. At last she came to an anchor in my sight, and when the anchor was let go I and my countrymen who saw it were lost in astonishment to observe the vessel stop; and were now convinced it was 78 done by magic. Soon after this the other ship got her boats out, and they came on board of us, and the people of both ships seemed very glad to see each other. Several of the strangers also shook hands with us black people, and made motions with their hands, signifying I suppose, we were to go to their country; but we did not understand them. At last, when the ship we were in, had got in all her cargo, they made ready with many fearful noises, and we were all put under deck, so that we could not see how they managed the vessel. But this disappointment was the least of my sorrow. The stench of the hold while we were on the coast was so intolerably loathsome, that it was dangerous to remain there for any time, and some of us had been permitted to stay on the deck for the fresh air; but now that the whole ship's cargo were 79 confined together, it became absolutely pestilential. The closeness of the place, and the heat of the climate, added to the number in the ship, which was so crowded that each had scarcely room to turn himself, almost suffocated us. This produced copious perspirations, so that the air soon became unfit for respiration, from a variety of loathsome smells, and brought on a sickness among the slaves, of which many died, thus falling victims to the improvident avarice, as I may call it, of their purchasers. This wretched situation was again aggravated by the galling of the chains, now become insupportable; and the filth of the necessary tubs, into which the children often fell, and were almost suffocated. The shrieks of the women, and the groans of the dying, rendered the whole a scene of horror almost inconceivable. Happily perhaps 80 for myself I was soon reduced so low here that it was thought necessary to keep me almost always on-deck; and from my extreme youth I was not put in fetters. In this situation I expected every hour to share the fate of my companions, some of whom were almost daily brought upon deck at the point of death, which I began to hope would soon put an end to my miseries. Often did I think many of the inhabitants of the deep much more happy than myself, I envied them the freedom they enjoyed, and as often wished I could change my condition for theirs. Every circumstance I met with served only to render my state more painful, and heighten my apprehensions, and my opinion of the cruelty of the whites. One day they had taken a number of fishes; and when they had killed and satisfied themselves with as many as 81 they thought fit, to our astonishment who were on the deck, rather than give any of them to us to eat, as we expected, they tossed the remaining fish into the sea again, although we begged and prayed for some as well as we could, but in vain; and some of my countrymen, being pressed by hunger, took an opportunity, when they thought no one saw them, of trying to get a little privately; but they were discovered, and the attempt procured them some very severe floggings. One day, when we had a smooth sea and moderate wind, two of my wearied countrymen who were chained together (I was near them at the time), preferring death to such a life of misery, somehow made through the nettings and jumped into the sea: immediately another quite dejected fellow, who on account of his illness, was suffered to be out of irons, 82 also followed their example; and I believe many more would very soon have done the same if they had not been prevented by the ship's crew, who were instantly alarmed. Those of us that were the most active were in a moment put down under the deck, and there was such a noise and confusion amongst the people of the ship as I never heard before, to stop her, and get the boat out to go after the slaves. However two of the wretches were drowned, but they got the other, and afterwards flogged him unmercifully, for thus attempting to prefer death to slavery. In this manner we continued to undergo more hardships than I can now relate, hardships which are inseparable from this accursed trade. Many a time we were near suffocation from the want of fresh air, which we were often without for whole days together. This, 83 and the stench of the necessary tubs, carried off many. During our passage I first saw flying fishes, which surprised me very much: they used frequently to fly across the ship, and many of them fell on the deck. I also now first saw the use of the quadrant; I had often with astonishment seen the mariners make observations with it, and I could not think what it meant. They at last took notice of my surprise: and one of them, willing to increase it, as well as to gratify my curiosity, made me one day look through it. The clouds appeared to me to be land, which disappeared as they passed along. This heightened my wonder; and I was now more persuaded than ever that I was in another world, and that every thing about me was magic. At last we came in sight of the island of Barbadoes, at which the whites on board gave a great 84 shout, and made many signs of joy to us. We did not know what to think of this; but as the vessel drew nearer we plainly saw the harbour, and other ships of different kinds and sizes; and we soon anchored amongst them off Bridge Town. Many merchants and planters now came on board, though it was in the evening. They put us in separate parcels, and examined us attentively. They also made us jump, and pointed to the land, signifying we were to go there. We thought by this we should be eaten by these ugly men, as they appeared to us; and, when soon after we were all put down under the deck again, there was much dread and trembling among us, and nothing but bitter cries to be heard all the night from these apprehensions, insomuch that at last the white people got some old slaves from the land to pacify us. They 85 told us we were not to be eaten, but to work, and were soon to go on land, where we should see many of our country people. This report eased us much; and sure enough, soon after we were landed, there came to us Africans of all languages. We were conducted immediately to the merchant's yard, where we were all pent up together like so many sheep in a fold, without regard to sex or age. As every object was new to me every thing I saw filled me with surprise. What struck me first was that the houses were built with bricks and stories, and in every other respect different from those I had seen in Africa: but I was still more astonished on seeing people on horseback. I did not know what this could mean; and indeed I thought these people were full of nothing but magical arts. While I was in this astonishment one of my 86 fellow prisoners spoke to a countryman of his about the horses, who said they were the same kind they had in their country. I understood them, though they were from a distant part of Africa, and I thought it odd I had not seen any horses there; but afterwards, when I came to converse with different Africans, I found they had many horses amongst them, and much larger than those I then saw. We were not many days in the merchant's custody before we were sold after their usual manner, which is this:—On a signal given, (as the beat of a drum) the buyers rush at once into the yard where the slaves are confined, and make choice of that parcel they like best. The noise and clamour with which this is attended, and the eagerness visible in the countenances of the buyers, serve not a little to increase the apprehension of the 87 terrified Africans, who may well be supposed to consider them as the ministers of that destruction to which they think themselves devoted. In this manner, without scruple, are relations and friends separated, most of them never to see each other again. I remember in the vessel in which I was brought over, in the men's apartment, there were several brothers, who, in the sale, were sold in different lots; and it was very moving on this occasion to see and hear their cries at parting. O, ye nominal Christians! Might not an African ask you, learned you this from your God, who says unto you, do unto all men as you would men should do unto you? Is it not enough that we are torn from our country and friends, to toil for your luxury and lust of gain? Must every tender feeling be likewise sacrificed to your avarice? 88 Are the dearest friends and relations, now rendered more dear by their separation from their kindred, still to be parted from each other, and thus prevented from cheering the gloom of slavery with the small comfort of being together and mingling their sufferings and sorrows? Why are parents to lose their children, brothers their sisters, or husbands their wives? Surely this is a new refinement in cruelty, which, while it has no advantage to atone for it, thus aggravates distress, and adds fresh horrors even to the wretchedness of slavery. 89 CHAP. III. The author is carried to Virginia—His distress—surprise at seeing a picture and a watch—Is bought by Captain Pascal, and sets out for England—His terror during the voyage—Arrives in England—His wonder at a fall of snow—Is sent to Guernsey, and in some time goes on board a ship of war with his master—Some account of the expedition against Louisbourg under the command of Admiral Boscawen, in 1758. I now totally lost the small remains of comfort I had enjoyed in conversing with my countrymen; the women too, who used to wash and take care of me, were all gone different 90 ways, and I never saw one of them afterwards. I stayed in this island for a few days; I believe it could not be above a fortnight; when I and some few more slaves, that were not saleable amongst the rest, from very much fretting, were shipped off in a sloop for North America. On the passage we were better treated than when we were coming from Africa, and we had plenty of rice and fat pork. We were landed up a river a good way from the sea, about Virginia county, where we saw few or none of our native Africans, and not one soul who could talk to me. I was a few weeks weeding grass, and gathering stones in a plantation; and at last all my companions were distributed different ways, and only myself was left. I was now exceedingly miserable, and thought myself worse off 91 than any of the rest of my companions; for they could talk to each other, but I had no person to speak to that I could understand. In this state I was constantly grieving and pining, and wishing for death rather than any thing else. While I was in this plantation the gentleman, to whom I suppose the estate belonged, being unwell, I was one day sent for to his dwelling house to fan him; when I came into the room where he was I was very much affrighted at some things I saw, and the more so as I had seen a black woman slave as I came through the house, who was cooking the dinner, and the poor creature was cruelly loaded with various kinds of iron machines; she had one particularly on her head, which locked her mouth so fast that she could scarcely speak; and could not eat nor drink. I was much astonished and shocked at 92 this contrivance, which I afterwards learned was called the iron muzzle. Soon after I had a fan put into my hand, to fan the gentleman while he slept; and so I did indeed with great fear. While he was fast asleep I indulged myself a great deal in looking about the room, which to me appeared very fine and curious. The first object that engaged my attention was a watch which hung on the chimney, and was going. I was quite surprised at the noise it made, and was afraid it would tell the gentleman any thing I might do amiss: and when I immediately after observed a picture hanging in the room, which appeared constantly to look at me, I was still more affrighted, having never seen such things as these before. At one time I thought it was something relative to magic; and not seeing it move I thought it might be some way 93 the whites had to keep their great men when they died, and offer them libations as we used to do to our friendly spirits. In this state of anxiety I remained till my master awoke, when I was dismissed out of the room, to my no small satisfaction and relief; for I thought that these people were all made up of wonders. In this place I was called Jacob; but on board the African scow I was called Michael. I had been some time in this miserable, forlorn, and much dejected state, without having any one to talk to, which made my life a burden, when the kind and unknown hand of the Creator (who in very deed leads the blind in a way they know not) now began to appear, to my comfort; for one day the captain of a merchant ship, called the Industrious Bee, came on some business to my master's house. This gentleman, whose name was Michael 94 Henry Pascal, was a lieutenant in the royal navy, but now commanded this trading ship, which was somewhere in the confines of the county many miles off. While he was at my master's house it happened that he saw me, and liked me so well that he made a purchase of me. I think I have often heard him say he gave thirty or forty pounds sterling for me; but I do not now remember which. However, he meant me for a present to some of his friends in England: and I was sent accordingly from the house of my then master, (one Mr. Campbell) to the place where the ship lay; I was conducted on horseback by an elderly black man, (a mode of travelling which appeared very odd to me). When I arrived I was carried on board a fine large ship, loaded with tobacco, &c. and just ready to sail for England. 95 I now thought my condition much mended; I had sails to lie on, and plenty of good victuals to eat; and every body on board used me very kindly, quite contrary to what I had seen of any white people before; I therefore began to think that they were not all of the same disposition. A few days after I was on board we sailed for England. I was still at a loss to conjecture my destiny. By this time, however, I could smatter a little imperfect English; and I wanted to know as well as I could where we were going. some of the people of the ship used to tell me they were going to carry me back to my own country, and this made me very happy. I was quite rejoiced at the idea of going back; and thought if I should get home what wonders I should have to tell. But I was reserved for another 96 fate, and was soon undeceived, when we came within sight of the English coast. While I was on board this ship, my captain and master named me Gustavus Vasa. I at that time began to understand him a little, and refused to be called so, and told him as well as I could that I would be called Jacob; but he said I should not, and still called me Gustavus: and when I refused to answer to my new name, which at first I did, it gained me many a cuff; so at length I submitted, and by which I have been known ever since. The ship had a very long passage; and on that account we had very short allowance of provisions. Towards the last we had only one pound and a half of bread per week, and about the same quantity of meat, and one quart of water a-day. We spoke with only one vessel the whole time we were 97 at sea, and but once we caught a few fishes. In our extremities the captain and people told me in jest they would kill and eat me; but I thought them in earnest, and was depressed beyond measure, expecting every moment to be my last. While I was in this situation one evening they caught, with a good deal of trouble, a large shark, and got it on board. This gladdened my poor heart exceedingly, as I thought it would serve the people to eat instead of their eating me; but very soon, to my astonishment, they cut off a small part of the tail, and tossed the rest over the side. This renewed my consternation; and I did not know what to think of these white people, though I very much feared they would kill and eat me. There was on board the ship a young lad who had never been at sea before, about 98 four or five years older than myself; his name was Richard Baker. He was a native of America, had received an excellent education, and was of a most amiable temper. Soon after I went on board he shewed me a great deal of partiality and attention, and in return I grew extremely fond of him. We at length became inseparable; and, for the space of two years, he was of very great use to me, and was my constant companion and instructor. Although this dear youth had many slaves of his own, yet he and I have gone through many sufferings together on shipboard; and we have many nights lain in each other's bosoms when we were in great distress. Thus such a friendship was cemented between us as we cherished till his death, which to my very great sorrow, happened in the year 1759, when he was up the 99 Archipelago, on board his majesty's ship the Preston: an event which I have never ceased to regret, as I lost at once a kind interpreter, an agreeable companion, and a faithful friend; who, at the age of fifteen, discovered a mind superior to prejudice; and who was not ashamed to notice, to associate with, and to be the friend and instructor of one who was ignorant, a stranger, of a different complexion, and a slave! My master had lodged in his mother's house in America: he respected him very much, and made him always eat with him in the cabin. He used often to tell him jocularly that he would kill and eat me. Sometimes he would say to me—the black people were not good to eat, and would ask me if we did not eat people in my country. I said, No: then he said he would kill Dick (as he always called him) first, 100 and afterwards me. Though this hearing relieved my mind a little as to myself, I was alarmed for Dick, and whenever he was called I used to be very much afraid he was to be killed; and I would peep and watch to see if they were going to kill him: nor was I free from this consternation till we made the land. One night we lost a man overboard; and the cries and noise were so great and confused, in stopping the ship, that I, who did not know what was the matter, began, as usual, to be very much afraid, and to think they were going to make an offering with me, and perform some magic; which I still believed they dealt in. As the waves were very high I thought the Ruler of the seas was angry, and I expected to be offered up to appease him. This filled my mind with agony, and I could not any more 101 that night close my eyes again to rest. However, when daylight appeared was a little eased in my mind; but still every time I was called I used to think it was to be killed. some time after this we saw some very large fish, which I afterwards found were called grampusses. They looked to me extremely terrible, and made their appearance just at dusk; and were so near as to blow the water on the ship's deck. I believed them to be the rulers of the sea; and as the white people did not make any offerings at any time, I thought they were angry with them: and, at last, what confirmed my belief was, the wind just then died away, and a calm ensued, and in consequence of it the ship stopped going. I supposed that the fish had performed this, and I hid myself in the fore part of the ship, through fear of being 102 offered up to appease them, every minute peeping and quaking: but my good friend Dick came shortly towards me, and I took an opportunity to ask him, as well as I could, what these fish were. Not being able to talk much English, I could but just make him understand my question; and not at all, when I asked him if any offerings were to be made to them: however, he told me these fish would swallow any body; which sufficiently alarmed me. Here he was called away by the captain, who was leaning over the quarter-deck railing and looking at the fish; and most of the people were busied in getting a barrel of pitch to light, for them to play with. The captain now called me to him, having learned some of my apprehensions from Dick; and having diverted himself and others for some time with my fears 103 which appeared ludicrous enough in my crying and trembling, he dismissed me. The barrel of pitch was now lighted and put over the side into the water: by this time it was just dark, and the fish went after it; and, to my great joy, I saw them no more. However, all my alarms began to subside when we got sight of land; and at last the ship arrived at Falmouth, after a passage of thirteen weeks. Every heart on board seemed gladdened on our reaching the shore, and none more than mine. The captain immediately went on shore, and sent on board some fresh provisions, which we wanted very much: we made good use of them, and our famine was soon turned into feasting, almost without ending. It was about the beginning of the spring 1757, when I arrived in England, and I was near twelve years of age at that 104 time. I was very much struck with the buildings and the pavement of the streets in Falmouth; and, indeed, every object I saw filled me with new surprise. One morning, when I got upon deck, I saw it covered all over with the snow that fell over-night: as I had never seen any thing of the kind before, I thought it was salt; so I immediately ran down to the mate and desired him, as well as I could, to come and see how somebody in the night had thrown salt all over the deck. He, knowing what it was, desired me to bring some of it down to him: accordingly I took up a handful of it, which I found very cold indeed; and when I brought it to him he desired me to taste it. I did so, and I was surprised beyond measure. I then asked him what it was; he told me it was snow: but I could not in anywise understand him. He 105 asked me if we had no such thing in my country; and I told him, No. I then asked him the use of it, and who made it; he told me a great man in the heavens, called God: but here again I was to all intents and purposes at a loss to understand him; and the more so, when a little after I saw the air filled with it, in a heavy shower, which fell down on the same day. After this I went to church; and having never been at such a place before, I was again amazed at seeing and hearing the service. I asked all I could about it; and they gave me to understand it was worshipping God, who made us and all things. I was still at a great loss, and soon got into an endless field of inquiries, as well as I was able to speak and ask about things. However, my little friend Dick used to 106 be my best interpreter; for I could make free with him, and he always instructed me with pleasure: and from what I could understand by him of this God, and in seeing these white people did not sell one another as we did, I was much pleased; and in this I thought they were much happier than we Africans. I was astonished at the wisdom of the white people in all things I saw; but was amazed at their not sacrificing, or making any offerings, and eating with unwashed hands, and touching the dead. I likewise could not help remarking the particular slenderness of their women, which I did not at first like; and I thought they were not so modest and shamefaced as the African women. I had often seen my master and Dick employed in reading; and I had a great curiosity to talk to the books, as 107 I thought they did; and so to learn how all things had a beginning: for that purpose I have often taken up a book, and have talked to it, and then put my ears to it, when alone, in hopes it would answer me; and I have been very much concerned when I found it remained silent. My master lodged at the house of a gentleman in Falmouth, who had a fine little daughter about six or seven years of age, and she grew prodigiously fond of me; insomuch that we used to eat together, and had servants to wait on us. I was so much caressed by this family that it often reminded me of the treatment I had received from my little noble African master. After I had been here a few days, I was sent on board of the ship; but the child cried so much after me that nothing could pacify her till I was sent for again. 108 It is ludicrous enough, that I began to fear I should be betrothed to this young lady; and when my master asked me if I would stay there with her behind him, as he was going away with the ship, which had taken in the tobacco again, I cried immediately, and said I would not leave him. At last, by stealth, one night I was sent on board the ship again; and in a little time we sailed for Guernsey, where she was in part owned by a merchant, one Nicholas Doberry. As I was now amongst a people who had not their faces scarred, like some of the African nations where I had been, I was very glad I did not let them ornament me in that manner when I was with them. When we arrived at Guernsey, my master placed me to board and lodge with one of his mates, who had a wife and family there; and some months afterwards 109 he went to England, and left me in care of this mate, together with my friend Dick: This mate had a little daughter, aged about five or six years, with whom I used to be much delighted. I had often observed that when her mother washed her face it looked very rosy; but when she washed mine it did not look so: I therefore tried oftentimes myself if I could not by washing make my face of the same colour as my little play-mate (Mary), but it was all in vain; and I now began to be mortified at the difference in our complexions. This woman behaved to me with great kindness and attention; and taught me every thing in the same manner as she did her own child, and indeed in every respect treated me as such. I remained here till the summer of the year 1757; when my master, being appointed first lieutenant 110 of his majesty's ship the Roe buck, sent for Dick and me, and his old mate: on this we all left Guernsey, and set out for England in a sloop bound for London. As we were coming up towards the Nore, where the Roebuck lay, a man of war's boat came alongside to press our people; on which each man ran to hide himself. I was very much frightened at this, though I did not know what it meant, or what to think or do. However I went and hid myself also under a hencoop. Immediately afterwards the press-gang came on board with their swords drawn, and searched all about, pulled the people out by force, and put them into the boat. At last I was found out also; the man that found me held me up by the heels while they all made their sport of me, I roaring and crying out all the time most lustily; but at 111 last the mate, who was my conductor, seeing this, came to my assistance, and did all he could to pacify me; but all to very little purpose, till I had seen the boat go off. soon afterwards we came to the Nore, where the Roebuck lay; and, to our great joy, my master came on board to us, and brought us to the ship. When I went on board this large ship, I was amazed indeed to see the quantity of men and the guns. However my surprise began to diminish as my knowledge increased; and I ceased to feel those apprehensions and alarms which had taken such strong possession of me when I first came among the Europeans, and for some time after. I began now to pass to an opposite extreme; I was so far from being afraid of any thing new which I saw, that, after I had been some time in this ship, I even began to long for an engagement. 112 My griefs too, which in young minds are not perpetual, were now wearing away; and I soon enjoyed myself pretty well, and felt tolerably easy in my present situation. There was a number of boys on board, which still made it more agreeable; for we were always together, and a great part of our time was spent in play. I remained in this ship a considerable time, during which we made several cruises, and visited a variety of places: among others we were twice in Holland, and brought over several persons of distinction from it, whose names I do not now remember. On the passage, one day, for the diversion of those gentlemen, all the boys were called on the quarter deck, and were paired proportionably, and then made to fight; after which the gentlemen gave the combatants from five to nine shillings each. This was 113 the first time I ever fought with a white boy; and I never knew what it was to have a bloody nose before. This made me fight most desperately; I suppose considerably more than an hour: and at last, both of us being weary, we were parted. I had a great deal of this kind of sport afterwards, in which the captain and the ship's company used very much to encourage me. Sometime afterwards the ship went to Leith in Scotland, and from thence to the Orkneys, where I was surprised in seeing scarcely any night: and from thence we sailed with a great fleet, full of soldiers, for England. All this time we had never come to an engagement, though we were frequently cruising off the coast of France: during which we chased many vessels, and took in all seventeen prizes. I had been learning many of the manoeuvres of the ship 114 during our cruise; and I was several times made to fire the guns. One evening, off Havre de Grace, just as it was growing dark, we were standing off shore, and met with a fine large French-built frigate. We got all things immediately ready for fighting; and I now expected I should be gratified in seeing an engagement, which I had so long wished for in vain. But the very moment the word of command was given to fire, we heard those on board the other ship cry 'Haul down the jib;' and in that instant she hoisted English colours. There was instantly with us an amazing cry of—'Avast!' or stop firing; and I think one or two guns had been let off, but happily they did no mischief. We had hailed them several times; but they not hearing, we received no answer, which was the cause of our firing. The boat was then sent 115 on board of her, and she proved to be the Ambuscade man of war, to my nosmall disappointment. We returned to Portsmouth, without having been in any action, just at the trial of Admiral Byng (whom I saw several times during it): and my master having left the ship, and gone to London for promotion, Dick and I were put on board the savage sloop of war, and we went in her to assist in bringing off the St. George man of war, that had ran ashore somewhere on the coast. After staying a few weeks on board the savage, Dick and I were sent on shore at Deal, where we remained some short time, till my master sent for us to London, the place I had long desired exceedingly to see. We therefore both with great pleasure got into a waggon, and came to London, where we were received by a Mr. Guerin, a relation of my master. This 116 gentleman had two sisters, very amiable ladies, who took much notice and great care of me. Though I had desired so much to see London, when I arrived in it I was unfortunately unable to gratify my curiosity; for I had at this time the chilblains to such a degree that I could not stand for several months, and I was obliged to be sent to st. George's Hospital. There I grew so ill, that the doctors wanted to cut my left leg off at different times, apprehending a mortification; but I always said I would rather die than suffer it; and happily (I thank God) I recovered without the operation. After being there several weeks, and just as I had recovered, the small pox broke out on me, so that I was again confined; and I thought myself now particularly unfortunate. However I soon recovered again; and by this time my 117 master having been promoted to be first lieutenant of the Preston man of war of fifty guns, then new at Deptford, Dick and I were sent on board her, and soon after we went to Holland to bring over the late Duke of — to England.—While I was in this ship an incident happened, which, though trifling, I beg leave to relate, as I could not help taking particular notice of it, and considering it then as a judgment of God. One morning a young man was looking up to the fore-top, and in a wicked tone, common on shipboard, d—d his eyes about something. Just at the moment some small particles of dirt fell into his left eye, and by the evening it was very much inflamed. The next day it grew worse; and within six or seven days he lost it. From this ship, my master was appointed a lieutenant on board the Royal George. 118 When he was going he wished me to stay on board the Preston, to learn the French horn; but the ship being or dered for Turkey I could not think of leaving my master, to whom I was very warmly attached; and I told him if he left me behind it would break my heart. This prevailed on him to take me with him; but he left Dick on board the Preston, whom I embraced at parting for the last time. The Royal George was the largest ship I had ever seen; so that when I came on board of her I was surprised at the number of people, men, women, and children, of every denomination; and the largeness of the guns, many of them also of brass, which I had never seen before. Here were also shops or stalls of every kind of goods, and people crying their different commodities about the ship as in a town. To me it appeared a little 119 world, into which I was again cast with out a friend, for I had no longer my dear companion Dick. We did not stay long here. My master was not many weeks on board before he got an appointment to be sixth lieutenant of the Namur, which was then at spithead, fitting up for Vice-admiral Boscawen, who was going with a large fleet on an expedition against Louisburgh. The crew of the Royal George were turned over to her, and the flag of that gallant admiral was hoisted on board, the blue at the maintop gallant mast head. There was a very great fleet of men of war of every description assembled together for this expedition, and I was in hopes soon to have an opportunity of being gratified with a sea-fight. All things being now in readiness, this mighty fleet (for there was also Admiral Cornish's fleet in company, 120 destined for the East Indies) at last weighed anchor, and failed. The two fleets continued in company for several days, and then parted; Admiral Cornish, in the Lenox, having first saluted our admiral in the Namur, which he returned. We then steered for America; but, by contrary winds, we were driven to Teneriffe, where I was struck with its noted peak. Its prodigious height, and its form, resembling a sugar loaf, filled me with wonder. We remained in sight of this island some days, and then proceeded for America, which we soon made, and got into a very commodious harbour called St. George, in Halifax, where we had fish in great plenty, and all other fresh provisions. We were here joined by different men of war and transport ships with soldiers; after which, our fleet being increased to a 121 prodigious number of ships of all kinds, we sailed for Cape Breton in Nova Scotia. We had the good and gallant General Wolfe on board our ship, whose affability made him highly esteemed and beloved by all the men. He often honoured me, as well as other boys, with marks of his notice; and saved me once a flogging for fighting with a young gentleman. We arrived at Cape Breton in the summer of 1758: and here the soldiers were to be landed, in order to make an attack upon Louisbourgh. My master had some part in superintending the landing; and here I was in a small measure gratified in seeing an encounter between our men and the enemy. The French were posted on the shore to receive us, and disputed our landing for a long time: but at last they were driven from their trenches, and a complete landing was effected. Our 122 troops pursued them as far as the town of Louisbourgh. In this action many were killed on both sides. One thing remarkable I saw this day:—A lieutenant of the Princess Amelia, who, as well as my master, superintended the landing, was giving the word of command, and while his mouth was open a musquet ball went through it, and passed out at his cheek. I had that day in my hand the scalp of an indian king, who was killed in the engagement: the scalp had been taken off by an Highlander. I saw this king's ornaments too, which were very curious, and made of feathers. Our land forces laid siege to the town of Louisbourgh, while the French men of war were blocked up in the harbour by the fleet, the batteries at the same time playing upon them from the land. This they did with such effect, that one 123 day I saw some of the ships set on fire by the shells from the batteries, and I believe two or three of them were quite burnt. At another time, about fifty boats belonging to the English men of war, commaded by Captain George Belfour of the Aetna fire ship, and Mr. Laforey another junior captain, attacked and boarded the only two remaining French men of war in the harbour. They also set fire to a seventy-gun ship, but a sixty-four, called the Bienfaisant, they brought off. During my stay here I had often an opportunity of being near captain Belfour, who was pleased to notice me, and liked me so much that he often asked my master to let him have me, but he would not part with me; and no consideration could have induced me to leave him. At last Louisbourgh was taken, and the English men of war came into the harbour 124 before it, to my very great joy; for I had now more liberty of indulging myself, and I went often on shore. When the ships were in the harbour we had the most beautiful procession on the water I ever saw. All the admirals and captains of the men of war, full dressed, and in their barges, well ornamented with pendants, came alongside of the Namur. The vice-admiral then went on shore in his barge, followed by the other officers in order of seniority, to take possession, as I suppose, of the town and fort. some time after this the French governor and his lady, and other persons of note, came on board our ship to dine. On this occasion our ships were dressed with colours of all kinds, from the topgallant-mast head to the deck; and this, with the firing of guns, formed a most grand and magnificent spectacle. 125 As soon as every thing here was settled, Admiral Boscawen sailed with part of the fleet for England, leaving some ships behind with Rear admirals Sir Charles Hardy and Durell. It was now winter; and one evening, during our passage home, about dusk, when we were in the channel, or near soundings, and were beginning to look for land, we descried seven sail of large men of war, which stood off shore. Several people on board of our ship said, as the two fleets were (in forty minutes from the first sight) within hail of each other, that they were English men of war; and some of our people even began to name some of the ships. By this time both fleets began to mingle, and our admiral ordered his flag to be hoisted. At that instant the other fleet, which were French, hoisted their ensigns, and gave us a broadside as they 126 passed by. Nothing could create greater surprise and confusion among us than this: the wind was high, the sea rough, and we had our lower and middle deck guns housed in, so that not a single gun on board was ready te be fired at any of the French ships. However, the Royal William and the somerset, being our sternmost ships, became a little prepared, and each gave the French ships a broadside as they passed by. I afterwards heard this was a French squadron, commanded by Mons. Conflans; and certainly had the Frenchmen known our condition, and had a mind to fight us, they might have done us great mischief. But we were not long before we were prepared for an engagement. Immediately many things were tossed overboard; the ships were made ready for fighting as soon as possible; and about ten at night we had bent a new 127 main sail, the old one being split. Being now in readiness for fighting, we wore ship, and stood after the French fleet, who were one or two ships in number more than we. However we gave them chase, and continued pursuing them all night; and at day-light we saw six of them, all large ships of the line, and an English East Indiaman, a prize they had taken. We chased them all day till between three and four o'clock in the evening, when we came up with, and passed within a musquet shot of one seventy-four gun ship, and the Indiaman also, who now hoisted her colours, but immediately hauled them down again. On this we made a signal for the other ships to take possession of her; and, supposing the man of war would likewise strike, we cheered, but she did not; though if we had fired into her, from being so near, we must have taken her. To my utter surprise, 128 the Somerset, who was the next ship a-stern of the Namur, made way like wise; and, thinking they were sure of this French ship, they cheered in the same manner, but still continued to follow us. The French Commodore was about a gun-shot ahead of all, running from us with all speed; and about four o'clock he carried his foretop mast overboard. This caused another loud cheer with us; and a little after the topmast came close by us; but, to our great surprise, instead of coming up with her, we found she went as fast as ever, if not faster. The sea grew now much smoother; and the wind lulling, the seventy-four gun ship we had passed came again by us in the very same direction, and so near, that we heard her people talk as she went by; yet not a shot was fired on either side; and about five or six o'clock, just as it grew dark, she joined her 129 commodore. We chased all night; but the next day we were out of sight, so that we saw no more of them; and we only had the old Indiaman (called Carnarvon I think) for our trouble. After this we stood in for the channel, and soon made the land; and, about the close of the year 1758-9, we got safe to St. Helen's. Here the Namur ran aground; and also another large ship astern of us; but, by starting our water, and tossing many things overboard to lighten her, we got the ships off without any damage. We stayed for a short time at spithead, and then went into Portsmouth harbour to refit: from whence the admiral went to London; and my master and I soon followed, with a press-gang, as we wanted some hands to complete our complement. 130 CHAP. IV. The author is baptized—Narrowly escapes drowning—Goes on an expedition to the Mediterranean—Incidents he met with there—Is witness to an engagement between some English and French ships—A particular account of the celebrated engagement between Admiral Boscawen and Mons. Le Clue, off Cape Logas, in August 1759—Dreadful explosion of a French ship—The author sails for England—His master appointed to the command of a fire-ship—Meets a negro boy, from whom he experiences much benevolence—Prepares for an expedition against Belle-Isle—A remarkable story of a disaster which befel his ship—Arrives at Belle-Isle—Operations of the landing 131 and siege—The author's danger and distress, with his manner of extricating himself—Surrender of Belle-Isle—Transactions afterwards on the coast of France—Remarkable instance of kidnapping—The author returns to England—Hears talk of peace, and expects his freedom—His ship sails for Deptford to be paid off, and when he arrives there he is suddenly seized by his master and carried forcibly on board a West India ship and sold. IT was now between two and three years since I first came to England, a great part of which I had spent at sea; so that I became inured to that service, and began to consider myself as happily situated; for my master treated me always extremely well; and my attachment and gratitude to him were very great. From the various scenes I had 132 beheld on ship-board, I soon grew a stranger to terror of every kind, and was, in that respect at least, almost an Englishman. I have often reflected with surprise that I never felt half the alarm at any of the numerous dangers I have been in, that I was filled with at the first sight of the Europeans, and at every act of theirs, even the most trifling, when I first came among them, and for some time afterwards. That fear, however, which was the effect of my ignorance, wore away as I began to know them. I could now speak English tolerably well, and I perfectly understood every thing that was said. I not only felt myself quite easy with these new countrymen, but relished their society and manners. I no longer looked upon them as spirits, but as men superior to us; and therefore I had the stronger desire to resemble 133 them; to imbibe their spirit, and imitate their manners; I therefore embraced every occasion of improvement; and every new thing that I observed I treasured up in my memory. I had long wished to be able to read and write; and for this purpose I took every opportunity to gain instruction, but had made as yet very little progress. However, when I went to London with my master, I had soon an opportunity of improving myself, which I gladly embraced. Shortly after my arrival, he sent me to wait upon the Miss Guerins, who had treated me with much kindness when I was there before; and they sent me to school. While I was attending these ladies, their servants told me I could not go to Heaven, unless I was baptized. This made me very uneasy; for I had now some faint idea of a future state: 134 accordingly I communicated my anxiety to the eldest Miss Guerin, with whom I was become a favourite, and pressed her to have me baptized; when to my great joy, she told me I should. She had formerly asked my master to let me be baptized, but he had refused; however she now insisted on it; and he being under some obligation to her brother complied with her request; so I was baptized in St. Margaret's church, Westminster, in February 1759, by my present name. The clergyman at the same time, gave me a book, called a Guide to the Indians, written by the Bishop of Sodor and Man. On this occasion, Miss Guerin did me the honour to stand as godmother, and afterwards gave me a treat. I used to attend these ladies about the town, in which service I was extremely happy; as I had thus many opportunities of 135 seeing London, which I desired of all things. I was sometimes, however, with my master at his rendezvous-house, which was at the foot of Westminster-Bridge. Here I used to enjoy myself in playing about the bridge stairs, and often in the watermen's wherries, with other boys. On one of these occasions there was another boy with me in a wherry, and we went out into the current of the river: while we were there, two more stout boys came to us in another wherry, and, abusing us for taking the boat, desired me to get into the other wherry-boat. Accordingly I went to get out of the wherry I was in; but just as I had got one of my feet into the other boat, the boys shoved it off, so that I fell into the Thames; and, not being able to swim, I should unavoidably have been drowned, but for the assistance of some 136 watermen who providentially came to my relief. The Namur being again got ready for sea, my master, with his gang, was ordered on board; and, to my no small grief, I was obliged to leave my schoolmaster, whom I liked very much, and always attended while I stayed in London, to repair on board with my master. Nor did I leave my kind patronesses, the Miss Guerins, without uneasiness and regret. They often used to teach me to read, and took great pains to instruct me in the principles of religion and the knowledge of God. I therefore parted from those amiable ladies with reluctance: after receiving from them many friendly cautions how to conduct myself, and some valuable presents. When I came to Spithead, I found we were destined for the Mediterranean, 137 with a large fleet, which was now ready to put to sea. We only waited for the arrival of the admiral, who soon came on board; and about the beginning of the spring 1759, having weighed anchor, and got under way, sailed for the Mediterranean; and in eleven days, from the Land's End, we got to Gibraltar. While we were here I used to be often on shore, and got various fruits in great plenty, and very cheap. I had frequently told several people, in my excursions on shore, the story of my being kidnapped with my sister, and of our being separated, as I have related before; and I had as often expressed my anxiety for her fate, and my sorrow at having never met her again. One day, when I was on shore, and mentioning these circumstances to some persons, one of them told me he knew 138 where my sister was, and, if I would accompany him, he would bring me to her. Improbable as this story was, I believed it immediately, and agreed to go with him, while my heart leaped for joy; and, indeed, he conducted me to a black young woman, who was so like my sister, that at first sight, I really thought it was her: but I was quickly undeceived; and, on talking to her, I found her to be of another nation. While we lay here the Preston came in from the Levant. As soon as she arrived, my master told me I should now see my old companion, Dick, who was gone in her when she sailed for Turkey. I was much rejoiced at this news, and expected every minute to embrace him; and when the captain came on board of our ship, which he did immediately after, I ran to inquire after my friend; but, with inexpressible 139 sorrow, I learned from the boat's crew that the dear youth was dead! and that they had brought his chest, and all his other things, to my master: these he afterwards gave to me, and I regarded them as a memorial of my friend, whom I loved, and grieved for, as a brother. While we were at Gibralter, I saw a soldier hanging by the heels, at one of the moles**He had drowned himself in endeavouring to desert. [Equiano's note] "Moles" are large stone piers or wharfs.: I thought this a strange sight, as I had seen a man hanged in London by his neck. At another time I saw the master of a frigate towed to shore on a grating, by several of the men of war's boats, and discharged the fleet, which I understood was a mark of disgrace for cowardice. On board the same ship there was also a sailor hung up at the yard-arm. After lying at Gibralter for some 140 time, we sailed up the Mediterranean a considerable way above the Gulf of Lyons; where we were one night overtaken with a terrible gale of wind, much greater than any I had ever yet experienced. The sea ran so high that, though all the guns were well housed, there was great reason to fear their getting loose, the ship rolled so much; and if they had it must have proved our destruction. After we had cruised here for a short time, we came to Barcelona, a Spanish sea-port, remarkable for its silk manufactures. Here the ships were all to be watered; and my master, who spoke different languages, and used often to interpret for the admiral, superintended the watering of ours. For that purpose he and the officers of the other ships, who were on the same service, had tents pitched in the bay; and the Spanish soldiers were stationed along the shore, I suppose 141 to see that no depredations were committed by our men. I used constantly to attend my master; and I was charmed with this place. All the time we stayed it was like a fair with the natives, who brought us fruits of all kinds, and sold them to us much cheaper than I got them in England. They used also to bring wine down to us in hog and sheep skins, which diverted me very much. The Spanish officers here treated our officers with great politeness and attention; and some of them, in particular, used to come often to my master's tent to visit him; where they would sometimes divert themselves by mounting me on the horses or mules, so that I could not fall, and setting them off at full gallop; my imperfect skill in horsemanship all the while affording them no small entertainment. After the ships were 142 watered, we returned to our old station of cruizing off Toulon, for the purpose of intercepting a fleet of French men of war that lay there. One Sunday, in our cruise, we came off a place where there were two small French frigates lying in shore; and our admiral, thinking to take or destroy them, sent two ships in after them—the Culloden and the Conqueror. They soon came up to the Frenchmen; and I saw a smart fight here, both by sea and land: for the frigates were covered by bat teries, and they played upon our ships most furiously, which they as furiously returned, and for a long time a constant firing was kept up on all sides at an amazing rate. At last one frigate sunk; but the people escaped, though not without much difficulty: and a little after some of the people left the other frigate also, which was a mere 143 wreck. However, our ships did not venture to bring her away, they were so much annoyed from the batteries, which raked them both in going and coming: their topmasts were shot a way, and they were otherwise so much shattered, that the admiral was obliged to send in many boats to tow them back to the fleet. I afterwards sailed with a man who fought in one of the French batteries during the engagement, and he told me our ships had done considerable mischief that day on shore and in the batteries. After this we sailed for Gibraltar, and arrived there about August 1759. Here we remained with all our sails unbent, while the fleet was watering and doing other necessary things. While we were in this situation, one day the admiral, with most of the principal officers, and many people of all stations, 144 being on shore, about seven o'clock in the evening we were alarmed by signals from the frigates stationed for that purpose; and in an instant there was a general cry that the French fleet was out, and just passing through the streights. The admiral immediately came on board with some other officers; and it is impossible to describe the noise, hurry and confusion throughout the whole fleet, in bending their sails and slipping their cables; many people and ships' boats were left on shore in the bustle. We had two captains on board of our ship who came away in the hurry and left their ships to follow. We shewed lights from the gun-wales to the main top mast-head; and all our lieutenants were employed amongst the fleet to tell the ships not to wait for ther captains, but to put the sails to the yards, slip their cables 145 and follow us; and in this confusion of making ready for fighting, we set out for sea in the dark after the French fleet. Here I could have exclaimed with Ajax, "Oh Jove! O father! if it be thy will "That we must perish, we thy will obey, "But let us perish by the light of day." They had got the start of us so far that we were not able to come up with them during the night; but at day-light we saw seven sail of the line of battle some miles ahead. We immediately chased them till about four o'clock in the evening, when our ships came up with them; and, though we were about fifteen large ships, our gallant admiral only fought them with his own division, which consisted of seven; so that we were just ship for ship. We passed by the whole of the enemy's fleet in order to come at their commander, 146 Mons. La Clue, who was in the Ocean, an eighty-four gun ship: as we passed they all fired on us; and at one time three of them fired together, continuing to do so for some time. Notwithstanding which our admiral would not suffer a gun to be fired at any of them, to my astonishment; but made us lie on our bellies on the deck till we came quite close to the Ocean, who was ahead of them all; when we had orders to pour the whole three tiers into her at once. The engagement now commenced with great fury on both sides: the Ocean immediately returned our fire, and we continued engaged with each other for some time; during which I was frequently stunned with the thundering of the great guns, whose dreadful contents hurried many of my companions into awful eternity. At last the French 147 line was entirely broken, and we obtained the victory, which was immediately proclaimed with loud huzzas and acclamations. We took three prizes, La Modeste, of sixty-four guns, and Le Temeraire and Centaur, of seventy-four guns each. The rest of the French ships took to flight with all the sail they could crowd. Our ship being very much damaged, and quite disabled from pursuing the enemy, the admiral immediately quitted her, and went in the broken and only boat we had left on board the Newark, with which, and some other ships, he went after the French. The Ocean, and another large French ship, called the Redoubtable, endeavouring to escape, ran ashore at Cape Logas, on the coast of Portugal; and the French admiral and some of the crew got ashore; but we, finding it impossible to get the ships 148 off, set fire to them both. About midnight I saw the Ocean blow up, with a most dreadful explosion. I never beheld a more awful scene. In less than a minute, the midnight for a certain space seemed turned into day by the blaze, which was attended with a noise louder and more terrible than thunder, that seemed to rend every element around us. My station during the engagement was on the middle-deck, where I was quartered with another boy, to bring powder to the aftermost gun; and here I was a witness of the dreadful fate of many of my companions, who, in the twinkling of an eye, were dashed in pieces, and launched into eternity. Happily I escaped unhurt, though the shot and splinters flew thick about me during the whole fight. Towards the latter part of it my master was wounded, 149 and I saw him carried down to the surgeon; but though I was much alarmed for him and wished to assist him I dared not leave my post. At this station my gun-mate (a partner in bringing powder for the same gun) and I ran a very great risk for more than half an hour of blowing up the ship. For, when we had taken the cartridges out of the boxes, the bottoms of many of them proving rotten, the powder ran all about the deck, near the match tub: we scarcely had water enough at the last to throw on it. We were also, from our employment, very much exposed to the enemy's shots; for we had to go through nearly the whole length of the ship to bring the powder. I expected therefore every minute to be my last; especially when I saw our men fall so thick about me; but, wishing to guard as much against 150 the dangers as possible, at first I thought it would be safest not to go for the powder till the Frenchmen had fired the broadside; and then, while they were charging, I could go and come with my powder: but immediately afterwards I thought this caution was fruitless; and, cheering myself with the reflection that there was a time allotted for me to die as well as to be born, I instantly cast off all fear or thought whatever of death, and went through the whole of my duty with alacrity; pleasing myself with the hope, if I survived the battle, of relating it and the dangers I had escaped to the Miss Guerins, and others, when I should return to London. Our ship suffered very much in this engagement; for, besides the number of our killed and wounded, she was almost torn to pieces, and our rigging so 151 much shattered, that our mizen-mast, main-yard, &c. hung over the side of the ship; so that we were obliged to get many carpenters, and others from some of the ships of the fleet, to assist in setting us in some tolerable order; and, notwithstanding which, it took us some time before we were completely refitted; after which we lest Admiral Broderick to command, and we, with the prizes steered for England. On the passage, and as soon as my master was something recovered of his wounds, the admiral appointed him captain of the Aetna fire-ship, on which he and I left the Namur, and went on board of her at sea. I liked this little ship very much. I now became the captain's steward, in which situation I was very happy: for I was extremely well treated by all on board; and I had leisure to improve myself in 152 reading and writing. The latter I had learned a little of before I left the Namur, as there was a school on board. When we arrived at Spithead, the Aetna went into Portsmouth harbour to refit, which being done, we returned to Spithead and joined a large fleet that was thought to be intended against the Havannah; but about that time the king died; whether that prevented the expedition I know not; but it caused our ship to be stationed at Cowes, in the isle of Wight, till the beginning of the year sixty-one. Here I spent my time very pleasantly; I was much on shore all about this delightful island, and found the inhabitants very civil. While I was here, I met with a trifling incident, which surprised me agreeably. I was one day in a field belonging to a gentleman who had a black boy about my own size; this boy 153 having observed me from his master's house, was transported at the sight of one of his own countrymen, and ran to meet me with the utmost haste. I not knowing what he was about, turned a little out of his way at first, but to no purpose: he soon came close to me and caught hold of me in his arms as if I had been his brother, though we had never seen each other before. After we had talked together for some time he took me to his master's house, where I was treated very kindly. This benevolent boy and I were very happy in frequently seeing each other till about the month of March 1761, when our ship had orders to fit out again for another expedition. When we got ready, we joined a very large fleet at spithead, commanded by Commodore Keppel, which was destined against Belle-Isle, and with a number of transport 154 ships with troops on board to make a descent on the place, we sailed once more in quest of fame. I longed to engage in new adventures and see fresh wonders. I had a mind on which every thing uncommon made its full impression, and every event which I considered as marvellous. Every extraordinary escape, or signal deliverance, either of myself or others, I looked upon to be effected by the interposition of Providence. We had not been above ten days at sea before an incident of this kind happened; which, whatever credit it may obtain from the reader, made no small impression on my mind. We had on board a gunner, whose name was John Mondle; a man of very indifferent morals. This man's cabin was between the decks, exactly over where I lay, abreast of the quarter-deck 155 ladder. One night, the 5th of April, being terrified with a dream, he awoke in so great a fright that he could not rest in his bed any longer, nor even remain in his cabin; and he went upon deck about four o'clock in the morning extremely agitated. He immediately told those on the deck of the agonies of his mind, and the dream which occasioned it; in which he said he had seen many things very awful, and had been warned by St. Peter to repent, who told him time was short. This he said had greatly alarmed him, and he was determined to alter his life. People generally mock the fears of others when they are themselves in safety; and some of his shipmates who heard him only laughed at him. However, he made a vow that he never would drink strong liquors again; and he immediately got a light, and gave away his sea-stores 156 of liquor. After which, his agitation still continuing, he began to read the scriptures, hoping to find some relief; and soon afterwards he laid himself down again on his bed, and endeavoured to compose himself to sleep, but to no purpose; his mind still continuing in a state of agony. By this time it was exactly half after seven in the morning: I was then under the half-deck at the great cabin door; and all at once I heard the people in the waist cry out, most fearfully—'The Lord have mercy upon us! We are all lost! The Lord have mercy upon us!' Mr. Mondle hearing the cries, immediately ran out of his cabin; and we were instantly struck by the Lynne, a fortygun ship, Captain Clark, which nearly ran us down. This ship had just put about, and was by the wind, but had not got full headway, or we must all 157 have perished; for the wind was brisk. However, before Mr Mondle had got four steps from his cabin door, she struck our ship with her cutwater right in the middle of his bed and cabin, and ran it up to the combings of the quarter deck hatchway, and above three feet below water, and in a minute there was not a bit of wood to be seen where Mr. Mondle's cabin stood; and he was so near being killed that some of the splinters tore his face. As Mr. Mondle must inevitably have perished from this accident had he not been alarmed in the very extraordinary way I have related, I could not help regarding this as an awful interposition of Providence for his preservation. The two ships for some time swinged alongside of each other; for ours being a fireship, our grappling-irons caught the Lynne every way, and the yards and rigging 158 went at an astonishing rate. Our ship was in such a shocking condition that we all thought she would instantly go down, and every one ran for their lives, and got as well as they could on board the Lynne; but our lieutenant being the aggressor, he never quitted the ship. However, when we found she did not sink immediately, the captain came on board again, and encouraged our people to return and try to save her. Many on this came back, but some would not venture. some of the ships in the fleet, seeing our situation; immediately sent their boats to our assistance; but it took us the whole day to save the ship with all their help. And by using every possible means, particularly frapping her together with many hawsers, and putting a great quantity of tallow below water where she was damaged, she was kept together: 159 but it was well we did not meet with any gales of wind, or we must have gone to pieces; for we were in such a crazy condition that we had ships to attend us till we arrived at Belle-Isle, the place of our destination; and then we had all things taken out of the ship, and she was properly repaired. This escape of Mr. Mondle, which he, as well as myself, always considered as a singular act of Providence, I believe had a great influence on his life and conduct ever afterwards. Now that I am on this subject I beg leave to relate another instance or two which strongly raised my belief of the particular interposition of Heaven, and which might not otherways have found a place here, from their insignificance. I belonged for a few days in the year 1758, to the Jason, of fifty-four guns, at Plymouth; and one night, when I 160 was on board, a woman, with a child at her breast, fell from the upper-deck down into the hold, near the keel. Every one thought that the mother and child must be both dashed to pieces; but, to our great surprise, neither of them was hurt. I myself one day fell headlong from the upper-deck of the Aetna down the after-hold, when the ballast was out; and all who saw me fall cried out I was killed: but I received not the least injury. And in the same ship a man fell from the masthead on the deck without being hurt. In these, and in many more instances, I thought I could plainly trace the hand of God, without whose permission a sparrow cannot fall. I began to raise my fear from man to him alone, and to call daily on his holy name with fear and reverence: and I trust he heard my supplications, and graciously 161 condescended to answer me according to his holy word, and to implant the seeds of piety in me, even one of the meanest of his creatures. When we had refitted our ship, and all things were in readiness for attacking the place, the troops on board the transports were ordered to disembark; and my master as a junior captain, had a share in the command of the landing. This was on the 12th of April. The French were drawn up on the shore, and had made every disposition to oppose the landing of our men, only a small part of them this day being able to effect it; most of them, after fighting with great bravery, were cut off; and General Crawford, with a number of others, were taken prisoners. In this day's engagement we had also our lieutenant killed. On the 21st of April we renewed our 162 efforts to land the men, while all the men of war were stationed along the shore to cover it, and fired at the French batteries and breast works from early in the morning till about four o'clock in the evening, when our soldiers effected a safe landing. They immediately attacked the French; and, after a sharp encounter, forced them from the batteries. Before the enemy retreated they blew up several of them, lest they should fall into our hands. Our men now proceeded to besiege the citadel, and my master was ordered on shore to superintend the landing of all the materials necessary for carrying on the siege; in which service I mostly attended him. While I was there I went about to different parts of the island; and one day, particularly, my curiosity almost cost me my life. I wanted very much to see the mode of charging the 163 mortars and letting off the shells, and for that purpose I went to an English battery that was but a very few yards from the walls of the citadel. There, indeed, I had an opportunity of completely gratifying myself in seeing the whole operation, and that not without running a very great risk, both from the English shells that burst while I was there, but likewise from those of the French. One of the largest of their shells bursted within nine or ten yards of me: there was a single rock close by, about the size of a butt; and I got instant shelter under it in time to avoid the fury of the shell. Where it burst the earth was torn in such a manner that two or three butts might easily have gone into the hole it made, and it threw great quantities of stones and dirt to a considerable distance. Three shot were also fired at me and another 164 boy who was along with me, one of them in particular seemed "Wing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage;" for with a most dreadfull sound it hissed close by me, and struck a rock at a little distance, which it shattered to pieces. When I saw what perilous circumstances I was in, I attempted to return the nearest way I could find, and thereby I got between the English and the French centinels. An English serjeant, who commanded the outposts, seeing me, and surprised how I came there, (which was by stealth along the seashore), reprimanded me very severely for it, and instantly took the centinel off his post into custody, for his negligence in suffering me to pass the lines. While I was in this situation I observed at a little distance a French horse, belonging to some islanders, which I thought I would now mount, 165 for the greater expedition of getting off. Accordingly I took some cord which I had about me, and making a kind of bridle of it, I put it round the horse's head, and the tame beast very quietly suffered me to tie him thus and mount him. As soon as I was on the horse's back I began to kick and beat him, and try every means to make him go quick, but all to very little purpose: I could not drive him out of a slow pace. While I was creeping along, still within reach of the enemy's shot, I met with a servant well mounted on an English horse, I immediately stopped; and, crying, told him my case; and begged of him to help me, and this he effectually did; for, having a fine large whip, he began to lash my horse with it so severely, that he set off full speed with me towards the sea, while I was quite unable to hold or manage him. In 166 this manner I went along till I came to a craggy precipice. I now could not stop my horse; and my mind was filled with apprehensions of my deplorable fate should he go down the precipice, which he appeared fully disposed to do: I therefore thought I had better throw myself off him at once, which I did immediately with a great deal of dexterity, and fortunately escaped unhurt. As soon as I found myself at liberty I made the best of my way for the ship, determined I would not be so fool-hardy again in a hurry. We continued to besiege the citadel till June, when it surrendered. During the siege I have counted above sixty shells and carcases in the air at once. When this place was taken I went through the citadel, and in the bombproofs under it, which were cut in the solid rock; and I thought it a surprising 167 place, both for strength and building: notwithstanding which our shots and shells had made amazing devastation, and ruinous heaps all around it. After the taking of this island, our ships with some others commanded by commodore Stanhope in the Swiftsure, went to Basse-road, where we blocked up a French fleet. Our ships were there from June till February following; and in that time I saw a great many scenes of war, and stratagems on both sides to destroy each others fleet. Sometimes we would attack the French with some ships of the line; at other times with boats; and frequently we made prizes. Once or twice the French attacked us by throwing shells with their bomb-vessels; and one day as a French vessel was throwing shells at our ships she broke from her springs, behind the isle of I de Re: the tide being 168 complicated, she came within a gun shot of the Nassau; but the Nassau could not bring a gun to bear upon her, and thereby the Frenchman got off. We were twice attacked by their fire floats, which they chained together, and then let them float down with the tide; but each time we sent boats with graplings, and towed them safe out of the fleet. We had different commanders while we were at this place, Commodores Stanhope, Dennis, Lord Howe, &c. From hence, before the Spanish war began, our ship and the Wasp sloop were sent to St. Sebastian in Spain, by Commodore Stanhope; and Commodore Dennis afterwards sent our ship as a cartel to Bayonne in France** Among others whom we brought from Bayonne, were two gentlemen, who had been in the West Indies, where they sold slaves; and they confessed they had made at one time a false bill of sale, and sold two Portuguese white men among a lot of slaves. [Equiano's note], after 169 which †† Some people have it, that sometimes shortly before persons die, their ward has been seen; that is, some spirit exactly in their likeness, though they are themselves at other places at the same time. One day while we were at Bayonne, Mr. Mondle saw one of our men, as he thought, in the gun-room; and a little after, coming on the quarter-deck, he spoke of some circumstances of this man to some of the officers. They told him that the man was then out of the ship, in one of the boats with the Lieutenant: but Mr. Mondle would not believe it, and we searched the ship, when he found the man was actually out of her; and when the boat returned some time afterwards, we found the man had been drowned at the very time Mr. Mondle thought he saw him. [Equiano's note] we went in February in 1762, to Belle-Isle, and there stayed till the summer, when we lest it, and returned to Portsmouth. After our ship was fitted out again for service, in September she went to Guernsey, where I was very glad to see 170 my old hostess, who was now a widow, and my former little charming companion, her daughter. I spent some time here very happily with them, till October, when we had orders to repair to Portsmouth. We parted from each other with a great deal of affection; and I promised to return soon, and see them again; not knowing what all-powerful fate had determined for me. Our ship having arrived at Portsmouth, we went into the harbour, and remained there till the latter end of November, when we heard great talk about a peace; and, to our very great joy, in the beginning of December we had orders to go up to London with our ship to be paid off. We received this news with loud huzzas, and every other demonstration of gladness; and nothing but mirth was to be seen throughout every part of the 171 ship. I too was not without my share of the general joy on this occasion. I thought now of nothing but being freed, and working for myself, and thereby getting money to enable me to get a good education; for I always had a great desire to be able at least to read and write; and while I was on ship-board I had endeavoured to improve myself in both. While I was in the Aetna particularly, the captain's clerk taught me to write, and gave me a smattering of arithmetic as far as the rule of three. There was also one Daniel Queen, about forty years of age, a man very well educated, who messed with me on board this ship, and he likewise dressed and attended the captain. Fortunately this man soon became very much attached to me, and took very great pains to instruct me in many things. He taught 172 me to shave and dress hair a little, and also to read in the Bible, explaining many passages to me, which I did not comprehend. I was wonderfully surprised to see the laws and rules of my own country written almost exactly here; a circumstance which I believe tended to impress our manners and customs more deeply on my memory. I used to tell him of this resemblance; and many a time we have sat up the whole night together at this employment. In short, he was like a father to me; and some even used to call me after his name; they also styled me the black Christian. Indeed I almost loved him with the affection of a son. Many things I have denied myself that he might have them; and when I used to play at marbles or any other game, and won a few halfpence, or got any little money, which I sometimes 173 did, for shaving any one, I used to buy him a little sugar or tobacco, as far as my stock of money would go. He used to say, that he and I never should part; and that when our ship was paid off, as I was as free as himself or any other man on board, he would instruct me in his business, by which I might gain a good livelihood. This gave me new life and spirits; and my heart burned within me, while I thought the time long till I obtained my freedom. For though my master had not promised it to me, yet, besides the assurances I had received that he had no right to detain me, he always treated me with the greatest kindness, and reposed in me an unbounded confidence; he even paid attention to my morals; and would never suffer me to deceive him, or tell lies, of which he used to tell me the consequences; and 174 that if I did so God would not love me; so that from all this tenderness, I had never once supposed, in all my dreams of freedom, that he would think of detaining me any longer than I wished. In pursuance of our orders we sailed from Portsmouth for the Thames, and arrived at Deptford the 10th of December, where we cast anchor just as it was high water. The ship was up about half an hour, when my master ordered the barge to be manned; and all in an instant, without having before given me the least reason to suspect any thing of the matter, he forced me into the barge; saying, I was going to leave him, but he would take care I should not. I was so struck with the unexpectedness of this proceeding, that for some time I did not make a reply, only I made an offer to go for my 175 books and chest of clothes, but he swore I should not move out of his sight; and if I did he would cut my throat, at the same time taking his hanger. I began, however, to collect myself; and, plucking up courage, I told him I was free, and he could not by law serve me so. But this only enraged him the more; and he continued to swear, and said he would soon let me know whether he would or not, and at that instant sprung himself into the barge from the ship, to the astonishment and sorrow of all on board. The tide, rather unluckily for me, had just turned downward, so that we quickly fell down the river along with it, till we came among some outward-bound West Indiamen; for he was resolved to put me on board the first vessel he could get to receive me. The boat's crew, who pulled against 176 their will, became quite faint different times, and would have gone ashore; but he would not let them. Some of them strove then to cheer me, and told me he could not sell me, and that they would stand by me, which revived me a little; and I still entertained hopes; for as they pulled along he asked some vessels to receive me, but they would not. But, just as we had got a little below Gravesend, we came alongside of a ship which was going away the next tide for the West Indies; her name was the Charming Sally, Captain James Doran; and my master went on board and agreed with him for me; and in a little time I was sent sor into the cabin. When I came there Captain Doran asked me if I knew him: I answered that I did not; 'Then,' said he, 'you are now my slave.' I told him my master could not sell me 177 to him, nor to any one else. 'Why,' said he, 'did not your master buy you?' I confessed he did. 'But I have served him,' said I,'many years, and he has taken all my wages and prize-money, for I only got one sixpence during the war; besides this I have been baptized; and by the laws of the land no man has a right to sell me:' And I added, that I had heard a lawyer and others at different times tell my master so. They both then said that those people who told me so were not my friends; but I replied—'It was very extraordinary that other people did not know the law as well as they.' Upon this Captain Doran said I talked too much English; and if I did not behave myself well, and be quiet, he had a method on board to make me. I was too well convinced of his power over me to doubt what he said; 178 and my former sufferings in the slaveship presenting themselves to my mind, the recollection of them made me shudder. However, before I retired I told them that as I could not get any right among men here I hoped I should hereafter in Heaven; and I immediately left the cabin, filled with resentment and sorrow. The only coat I had with me my master took away with him, and said, "If your prize-money had been 10,000l. I had a right to it all, and would have taken it.' I had about nine guineas, which, during my long sea-faring life, I had scraped together from trifling perquisites and little ventures; and I hid it that instant, lest my master should take that from me likewise, still hoping that by some means or other I should make my escape to the shore; and indeed some of my old snipmates told me not to 179 despair, for they would get me back again; and that, as soon as they could get their pay, they would immediately come to Portsmouth to me, where this ship was going: but, alas! all my hopes were baffled, and the hour of my deliverance was as yet far off. My master, having soon concluded his bargain with the captain, came out of the cabin, and he and his people got into the boat and put off; I followed them with aching eyes as long as I could, and when they were out of sight I threw myself on the deck, with a heart ready to burst with sorrow and anguish. 180 CHAP. V. The author's reflections on his situation—Is deceived by a promise of being delivered—His despair at sailing for the West Indies—Arrives at Montserrat, where he is sold to Mr. King—Various in teresting instances of oppression, cruelty, and extortion, which the author saw practised upon the slaves in the West Indies during his captivity from the year 1763 to 1766—Address on it to the planters. THUS, at the moment I expected all my toils to end, was I plunged, as I supposed, in a new slavery; in comparison of which all my service hitherto 181 had been perfect freedom; and whose horrors, always present to my mind, now rushed on it with tenfold aggravation. I wept very bitterly for some time: and began to think that I must have done something to displease the Lord, that he thus punished me so severely. This filled me with painful reflections on my past conduct; I recollected that on the morning of our arrival at Deptford I had rashly sworn that as soon as we reached London I would spend the day in rambling and sport. My conscience smote me for this unguarded expression: I felt that the Lord was able to disappoint me in all things, and immediately considered my present situation as a judgment of Heaven on account of my presumption in swearing: I therefore, with contrition of heart, acknowledged my transgression to God, and poured out 182 my soul before him with unfeigned repentance, and with earnest supplications I besought him not to abandon me in my distress, nor cast me from his mercy for ever. In a little time my grief, spent with its own violence, began to subside; and after the first confusion of my thoughts was over I reflected with more calmness on my present condition: I considered that trials and disappointments are sometimes for our good, and I thought God might perhaps have permitted this in order to teach me wisdom and resignation; for he had hitherto shadowed me with the wings of his mercy, and by his invisible but powerful hand brought me the way I knew not. These reflections gave me a little comfort, and I rose at last from the deck with dejection and sorrow in my countenance, yet mixed with some faint hope that 183 the Lord would appear for my deliverance. soon afterwards, as my new master was going on shore, he called me to him, and told me to behave myself well, and do the business of the ship the same as any of the rest of the boys, and that I should fare the better for it; but I made him no answer. I was then asked If I could swim, and I said, No, however I was made to go under the deck, and was well watched. The next tide the ship got under way, and soon after arrived at the Mother Bank, Portsmouth; where she waited a few days for some of the West India convoy. While I was here I tried every means I could devise amongst the people of the ship to get me a boat from the shore, as there was none suffered to come alongside of the ship; and their own, whenever it was used, 184 was hoisted in again immediately. A sailor on board took a guinea from me on pretence of getting me a boat; and promised me, time after time, that it was hourly to come off. When he had the watch upon deck I watched also; and looked long enough, but all in vain; I could never see either the boat or my guinea again. And what I thought was still the worst of all, the fellow gave information, as I afterwards found, all the while to the mates, of my intention to go off, if I could in any way do it; but, rogue like, he never told them he had got a guinea from me to procure my escape. However, after we had sailed, and his trick was made known to the ship's crew, I had some satisfaction in seeing him detested and despised by them all for his behaviour to me. I was still in hopes that my old shipmates would 185 not forget their promise to come for me to Portsmouth: and, indeed, at last, but not till the day before we sailed, some of them did come there, and sent me off some oranges, and other tokens of their regard. They also sent me word they would come off to me themselves the next day or the day after; and a lady also, who lived in Gosport, wrote to me that she would come and take me out of the ship at the same time. This lady had been once very intimate with my former master: I used to sell and take care of a great deal of property for her, in different ships; and in return she always shewed great friendship for me, and used to tell my master that she would take me away to live with her: but, unfortunately for me, a disagreement soon afterwards took place between them; and she was succeeded in my master's 186 good graces by another lady, who appeared sole mistress of the Aetna, and mostly lodged on board. I was not so great a favourite with this lady as with the former; she had conceived a pique against me on some occasion when she was on board, and she did not fail to instigate my master to treat me in the manner he did*.*Thus was I sacrificed to the envy and resentment of this woman for knowing that the lady whom she had succeeded in my master's good graces designed to take me into her service; which, had I once got on shore, she would not have been able to prevent. She felt her pride alarmed at the superiority of her rival in being attended by a black servant: it was not less to prevent this than to be revenged on me, that she caused the captain to treat me thus cruelly. [Equiano's note.] However, the next morning, the 30th of December, the wind being brisk and easterly, the Aeolus frigate, which was to escort the convoy, made a signal for failing. All the ships 187 then got up their anchors; and, before any of my friends had an opportunity to come off to my relief, to my inexpressible anguish our ship had got under way. What tumultuous emotions agitated my soul when the convoy got under sail, and I a prisoner on board, now without hope! I kept my swimming eyes upon the land in a state of unutterable grief; not knowing what to do, and despairing how to help myself. While my mind was in this situation the fleet sailed on, and in one day's time I lost sight of the wished-for land. In the first expressions of my grief I reproached my fate, and wished I had never been born. I was ready to curse the tide that bore us, the gale that wasted my prison, and even the ship that conducted us; and I called on death to relieve me from the horrors I felt and dreaded, 188 that I might be in that place "Where slaves are free, and men oppress no more, "Fool that I was, inur'd so long to pain, "To trust to hope, or dream of joy again. "* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "Now dragged once more beyond the western main, "To groan beneath some dastard planter's chain; "Where my poor countrymen in bondage wait "The long enfranchisement of a ling'ring fate; "Hard ling'ring fate! while, ere the dawn of day, "Rous'd by the lash they go their cheerless way; "And as their soul with shame and anguish burn, "Salute with groans unwelcome morn's return, "And, chiding ev'ry hour the slow-pac'd sun, "Pursue their toils till all his race is run. "No eye to mark their sufferings with a tear; "No friend to comfort, and no hope to cheer: "Then, like the dull unpity'd brutes, repair "To stalls as wretched, and as coarse a fare, "Thank heaven one day of mis'ry was o'er, "Then sink to sleep, and wish to wake no more‡.‡ "The Dying Negro," a poem originally published in 1773. Perhaps it may not be deemed impertinent here to add, that this elegant and pathetic little poem was occasioned, as appears by the advertisement prefixed to it, by the following incident. "A black, who, a few days before had ran away from his master, and got himself christened, with intent to marry a white woman his fellow-servant, being taken and sent on board a ship in the Thames, took an opportunity of shooting himself through the head." [Equiano's note] Equiano is quoting (imperfectly) from "The Dying Negro, A Poem", by Thomas Day and John Bicknell; as he notes, the poem was first published in 1773, and widely reprinted afterwards. 189 The turbulence of my emotions however naturally gave way to calmer thoughts, and I soon perceived what fate had decreed no mortal on earth could prevent. The convoy sailed on without any accident, with a pleasant gale and smooth sea, for six weeks, till February, when one morning the Aeolus ran down a brig, one of the convoy, and she instantly went down and was ingulfed in the dark recesses of the ocean. The convoy was immediately thrown into great confusion till it was day-light; and the Aeolus was illumined with lights to prevent any farther mischief. On the 13th of February 1763, from the masthead, we descried our destined island Montserrat: and soon after I beheld those "Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace "And rest can rarely dwell. Hope never comes "That comes to all, but torture without end "still urges." 190 At the sight of this land of bondage, a fresh horror ran through all my frame, and chilled me to the heart. My former slavery now rose in dreadful review to my mind, and displayed nothing but misery, stripes, and chains; and, in the first paroxysm of my grief, I called upon God's thunder, and his avenging power, to direct the stroke of death to me, rather than permit me to become a slave, and be sold from lord to lord. In this state of my mind our ship came to an anchor, and soon after discharged her cargo. I now knew what it was to work hard; I was made to help to unload and load the ship. And, to comfort me in my distress in that time, two of the sailors robbed me of all my money, and ran away from the ship. I had been so long used to an European climate, that at 191 first I felt the scorching West India sun very painful, while the dashing surf would toss the boat and the people in it frequently above high water mark. sometimes our limbs were broken with this, or even attended with instant death, and I was day by day mangled and torn. About the middle of May, when the ship was got ready to sail for England, I all the time believing that Fate's blackest clouds were gathering over my head, and expecting their bursting would mix me with the dead, Captain Doran sent for me ashore one morning, and I was told by the messenger that my fate was then determined. With trembling steps and fluttering heart I came to the captain, and found with him one Mr. Robert King, a quaker, and the first merchant in the place. The captain then told 192 me my former master had sent me there to be sold; but that he had desired him to get me the best master he could, as he told him I was a very deserving boy, which Captain Doran said he found to be true; and if he were to stay in the West Indies he would be glad to keep me himself; but he could not venture to take me to London, for he was very sure that when I came there I would leave him. I at that instant burst out a crying, and begged much of him to take me to England with him, but all to no purpose. He told me he had got me the very best master in the whole island, with whom I should be as happy as if I were in England, and for that reason he chose to let him have me, though he could sell me to his own brother-in-law for a great deal more money than what he got from this gentleman. 193 Mr. King, my new master, then made a reply, and said the reason he had bought me was on account of my good character; and, as he had not the least doubt of my good behaviour, I should be very well off with him. He also told me he did not live in the West Indies, but at Philadelphia, where he was going soon; and, as I understood something of the rules of arithmetic, when we got there he would put me to school, and fit me for a clerk. This conversation relieved my mind a little, and I left those gentlemen considerably more at ease in myself than when I came to them; and I was very thankful to Captain Doran, and even to my old master, for the character they had given me; a character which I afterwards found of infinite service to me. I went on board again, and took leave of all my shipmates; and the next day 194 the ship sailed. When she weighed anchor I went to the waterside and looked at her with a very wishful and aching heart, and followed her with my eyes until she was totally out of sight. I was so bowed down with grief that I could not hold up my head for many months; and if my new master had not been kind to me I believe I should have died under it at last. And indeed I soon found that he fully deserved the good character which Captain Doran had given me of him; for he possessed a most amiable disposition and temper, and was very charitable and humane. If any of his slaves behaved amiss he did not beat or use them ill, but parted with them. This made them afraid of disobliging him; and as he treated his slaves better than any other man on the island, so he was better and more faithfully served 195 by them in return. By this kind treatment I did at last endeavour to compose myself; and with fortitude, though moneyless, determined to face whatever fate had decreed for me. Mr. King soon asked me what I could do; and at the same time said he did not mean to treat me as a common slave. I told him I knew something of seamanship, and could shave and dress hair pretty well; and I could refine wines, which I had learned on shipboard, where I had often done it; and that I could write, and understood arithmetic tolerably well as far as the Rule of Three. He then asked me if I knew any thing of gauging; and, on my answering that I did not, he said one of his clerks should teach me to guage. Mr. King dealt in all manner of merchandize, and kept from one to 196 six clerks. He loaded many vessels in a year; particularly to Philadelphia, where he was born, and was connected with a great mercantile house in that city. He had besides many vessels and droggers, of different sizes, which used to go about the island; and others to collect rum, sugar, and other goods. I understood pulling and managing those boats very well; and this hard work, which was the first that he set me to, in the sugar seasons used to be my constant employment. I have rowed the boat, and slaved at the oars, from one hour to sixteen in the twenty-four; during which I had fifteen pence sterling per day to live on, though sometimes only ten pence. However this was considerably more than was allowed to other slaves that used to work often with me, and belonged to other gentlemen on the 197 island: those poor souls had never more than nine-pence per day, and seldom more than six-pence, from their masters or owners, though they earned them three or four pisterinesThese pisterines are of the value of a shilling. [Equiano's note.]: for it is a common practice in the West Indies for men to purchase slaves though they have not plantations themselves, in order to let them out to planters and merchants at so much a piece by the day, and they give what allowance they chuse out of this produce of their daily work to their slaves for subsistence; this allowance is often very scanty. My master often gave the owners of these slaves two and a half of these pieces per day, and found the poor fellows in victuals himself, because he thought their owners did not feed them well enough according to the 198 work they did. The slaves used to like this very well; and, as they knew my master to be a man of feeling, they were always glad to work for him in preference to any other gentleman; some of whom after they had been paid for these poor people's labours, would not give them their allowance out of it. Many times have I even seen these unfortunate wretches beaten for asking for their pay; and often severely flogged by their owners if they did not bring them their daily or weekly money exactly to the time; though the poor creatures were obliged to wait on the gentlemen they had worked for sometimes for more than half the day before they could get their pay; and this generally on Sundays, when they wanted the time for themselves. In particular, I knew a countryman of mine who once did not 199 bring the weekly money directly that it was earned; and though he brought it the same day to his master, yet he was staked to the ground for his pretended negligence, and was just going to receive a hundred lashes, but for a gentleman who begged him off fifty. This poor man was very industrious; and, by his frugality, had saved so much money by working on shipboard, that he had got a white man to buy him a boat, unknown to his master. Some time after he had this little estate, the governor wanted a boat to bring his sugar from different parts of the island; and, knowing this to be a negro-man's boat, he seized upon it for himself, and would not pay the owner a farthing. The man on this went to his master, and complained to him of this act of the governor; but the only satisfaction he received 200 was to be damned very heartily by his master, who asked him how dared any of his negroes to have a boat. If the justly-merited ruin of the governor's fortune could be any gratification to the poor man he had thus robbed, he was not without consolation. Extortion and rapine are poor providers; and some time after this the governor died in the King's Bench in England, as I was told, in great poverty. The last war favoured this poor negro-man, and he found some means to escape from his Christian master: he came to England; where I saw him afterwards several times. Such treatment as this often drives these miserable wretches to despair, and they run away from their masters at the hazard of their lives. Many of them, in this place, unable to get their pay when they have earned it, and fearing 201 to be flogged, as usual, if they return home without it, run away where they can for shelter, and a reward is often offered to bring them in dead or alive. My master used sometimes, in these cases, to agree with their owners, and to settle with them himself; and thereby he saved many of them a flogging. Once, for a few days, I was let out to fit a vessel, and I had no victuals allowed me by either party; at last I told my master of this treatment, and he took me away from it. In many of the estates, on the different islands where I used to be sent for rum or sugar, they would not deliver it to me, or any other negro; he was therefore obliged to send a white man along with me to those places; and then he used to pay him from six to ten pisterines a day. From being thus employed, 202 during the time I served Mr. King, in going about the different estates on the island, I had all the opportunity I could wish for to see the dreadful usage of the poor men; usage that reconciled me to my situation, and made me bless God for the hands into which I had fallen. I had the good fortune to please my master in every department in which he employed me; and there was scarcely any part of his business, or houshold affairs, in which I was not occasionally engaged. I often supplied the place of a clerk, in receiving and delivering cargoes to the ships, in tending stores, and delivering goods: and, besides this, I used to shave and dress my master when convenient, and take care of his horse; and when it was necessary, which was very often, I worked likewise on board of different 203 vessels of his. By these means I became very useful to my master; and saved him, as he used to acknowledge, above a hundred pounds a year. Nor did he scruple to say I was of more advantage to him than any of his clerks; though their usual wages in the West Indies are from sixty to a hundred pounds current a year. I have sometimes heard it asserted that a negro cannot earn his master the first cost; but nothing can be further from the truth. I suppose nine tenths of the mechanics throughout the West Indies are negro slaves; and I well know the coopers among them earn two dollars a day; the carpenters the same, and oftentimes more; as also the masons, smiths, and fishermen, &c. and I have known many slaves whose masters would not take a thousand pounds current for them. 204 But surely this assertion refutes itself; for, if it be true, why do the planters and merchants pay such a price for slaves? And, above all, why do those who make this assertion exclaim the most loudly against the abolition of the slave trade? So much are men blinded, and to such inconsistent arguments are they driven by mistaken interest! I grant, indeed, that slaves are some times, by half-feeding, half-clothing, over-working and stripes, reduced so low, that they are turned out as unfit for service, and left to perish in the woods, or expire on a dunghill. My master was several times offered by different gentlemen one hundred guineas for me; but he always told them he would not sell me, to my great joy: and I used to double my diligence and care for fear of getting into the hands of those men who did not 205 allow a valuable slave the common support of life. Many of them even used to find fault with my master for feeding his slaves so well as he did; although I often went hungry, and an Englishman might think my fare very indifferent; but he used to tell them he always would do it, because the slaves thereby looked better and did more work. While I was thus employed by my master I was often a witness to cruelties of every kind, which were exercised on my unhappy fellow slaves. I used frequently to have different cargoes of new negroes in my care for sale; and it was almost a constant practice with our clerks, and other whites, to commit violent depredations on the chastity of the female slaves; and these I was, though with reluctance, obliged to submit to at all times, being unable to 206 help them. When we have had some of these slaves on board my master's vessels to carry them to other islands, or to America, I have known our mates to commit these acts most shamefully, to the disgrace, not of Christians only, but of men. I have even known them gratify their brutal passion with females not ten years old; and these abominations some of them practised to such scandalous excess, that one of our captains discharged the mate and others on that account. And yet in Montserrat I have seen a negro man staked to the ground, and cut most shockingly, and then his ears cut off bit by bit, because he had been connected with a white woman who was a common prostitute: as if it were no crime in the whites to rob an innocent African girl of her virtue; but most heinous in a black man only to gratify a 207 passion of nature, where the temptation was offered by one of a different colour, though the most abandoned woman of her species. One Mr. D— told me that he had sold 41000 negroes, and that he once cut off a negro-man's leg for running away—I asked him if the man had died in the operation, how he as a christian could answer for the horrid act before God? and he told me, answering was a thing of another world; what he thought and did were policy. I told him that the christian doctrine taught us to do unto others as we would that others should do unto us. He then said that his scheme had the desired effect—it cured that man and some others of running away. Another negro-man was half hanged, and then burnt, for attempting to poison 208 a cruel overseer. Thus by repeated cruelties are the wretched first urged to despair, and then murdered, because they still retain so much of human nature about them as to wish to put an end to their misery, and retaliate on their tyrants! These overseers are indeed for the most part persons of the worst character of any denomination of men in the West Indies. Unfortunately, many humane gentlemen, by not residing on their estates, are obliged to leave the management of them in the hands of these human butchers, who cut and mangle the slaves in a shocking manner on the most trifling occasions, and altogether treat them in every respect like brutes. They pay no regard to the situation of pregnant women, nor the least attention to the lodging of the field negroes. Their huts, which ought to be well covered, and the place dry where they 209 take their little repose, are often open sheds, built in damp places; so that, when the poor creatures return tired from the toils of the field, they contract many disorders, from being exposed to the damp air in this uncomfortable state, while they are heated, and their pores are open. This neglect certainly conspires with many others to cause a decrease in the births as well as in the lives of the grown negroes. I can quote many instances of gentlemen who reside on their estates in the west Indies, and then the scene is quite changed; the negroes are treated with lenity and proper care, by which their lives are prolonged, and their masters profited. To the honour of humanity, I knew several gentlemen who managed their estates in this manner; and they found that benevolence was their true interest. 210 And, among many I could mention in several of the islands, I knew one in Montserrat* whose slaves looked remarkably well, and never needed any fresh supplies of negroes; and there are many other estates, especially in Barbadoes, which, from such judicious treatment, need no fresh stock of negroes at any time. I have the honour of knowing a most worthy and humane gentleman, who is a native of Barbadoes, and has estates there. This gentleman has written a treatise on the usage of his own slaves. He allows them two hours for refreshment at mid-day; and many other indulgencies and comforts, particularly in their lying; and, besides this, he raises more provisions on his estate than they can destroy; so that by these attentions * Mr. Durbury, and many others, Montserrat. [Equiano's note] Sir Philip Gibbes, Baronet, Barbadoes. [Equiano's note.} 211 he saves the lives of his negroes, and keeps them healthy, and as happy as the condition of slavery can admit. I myself, as shall appear in the sequel, managed an estate, where, by those attentions, the negroes were uncommonly cheerful and healthy, and did more work by half than by the common mode of treatment they usually do. For want, therefore, of such care and attention to the poor negroes, and otherwise oppressed as they are, it is no wonder that the decrease should require 20,000 new negroes annually to fill up the vacant places of the dead. Even in Barbadoes, notwithstanding those humane exceptions which I have mentioned, and others I am acquainted with, which justly make it quoted as a place where slaves meet with the best treatment, and need fewest recruits of any in the West Indies, yet this 212 island requires 1000 negroes annually to keep up the original stock, which is only 80,000. so that the whole term of a negro's life may be said to be there but sixteen years*? And yet the climate here is in every respect the same as that from which they are taken, except in being more wholesome. Do the British colonies decrease in this manner? And yet what a prodigious difference is there between an English and West India climate? While I was in Montserrat I knew a negro man, named Emanuel Sankey, who endeavoured to escape from his miserable bondage, by concealing himself on board of a London ship: but fate did not favour the poor oppressed man; for, being discovered when the vessel was under sail, he was delivered up again to his master. This Christian * Benezet's Account of Guinea, p. 16. [Equiano's note]. Anthony Benezet's Some Historical Account of Guinea,first published in Philadelphia in 1771, was a widely-known and much reprinted text in this period. 213 master immediately pinned the wretch down to the ground at each wrist and ancle, and then took some sticks of sealing wax, and lighted them, and droped it all over his back. There was another master who was noted for cruelty; and I believe he had not a slave but what had been cut, and had pieces fairly taken out of the flesh: and after they had been punished thus, he used to make them get into a long wooden box or case he had for that purpose, in which he shut them up during pleasure. It was just about the height and breadth of a man; and the poor wretches had no room, when in the case to move. It was very common in several of the islands, particularly in St. Kitt's, for the slaves to be branded with the initial letters of their master's name; and a load of heavy iron hooks hung about their necks. Indeed on the most 214 trifling occasions they were loaded with chains; and often instruments of torture were added. The iron muzzle, thumb-screws, &c. are so well known, as not to need a description, and were sometimes applied for the slightest faults. I have seen a negro beaten till some of his bones were broken, for only letting a pot boil over. Is it surprising that usage like this should drive the poor creatures to despair, and make them seek a refuge in death from those evils which render their lives intolerable—while, "With shuddering horror pale, and eyes aghast, "They view their lamentable lot, and find "No rest!" This they frequently do. A negro-man on board a vessel of my master, while I belonged to her, having been put in irons for some trifling misdemeanor, and kept in that state 215 for some days, being weary of life, took an opportunity of jumping overboard into the sea; however, he was picked up without being drowned. Another, whose life was also a burden to him, resolved to starve himself to death, and refused to eat any victuals: this procured him a severe flogging: and he also, on the first occasion which offered, jumped overboard at Charles Town, but was saved. Nor is there any greater regard shewn to the little property than there is to the persons and lives of the negroes. I have already related an instance or two of particular oppression out of many which I have witnessed; but the following is frequent in all the islands. The wretched field-slaves, after toiling all the day for an unfeeling owner, who gives them but little victuals, steal sometimes a few moments from 216 rest or refreshment to gather some small portion of grass, according as their time will admit. This they commonly tie up in a parcel; either a bit's worth (six-pence) or half a bit's worth; and bring it to town, or to the market, to sell. Nothing is more common than for the white people on this occasion to take the grass from them without paying for it; and not only so, but too often also, to my knowledge, our clerks, and many others, at the same time have committed acts of violence on the poor, wretched, and helpless females; whom I have seen for hours stand crying to no purpose, and get no redress or pay of any kind. Is not this one common and crying sin enough to bring down God's judgment on the islands? He tells us the oppressor and the oppressed are both in his hands; and if these are not the 217 poor, the broken-hearted, the blind, the captive, the bruised, which our saviour speaks of, who are they? One of these depredators once, in st. Eustatia, came on board of our vessel, and bought some fowls and pigs of me; and a whole day after his departure with the things, he returned again and wanted his money back: I refused to give it; and, not seeing my captain on board, he began the common pranks with me; and swore he would even break open my chest and take my money. I therefore expected, as my captain was absent, that he would be as good as his word: and he was just proceeding to strike me, when fortunately a British seaman on board, whose heart had not been debauched by a West India climate, interposed and prevented him. But had the cruel man struck me I certainly should have defended 218 myself at the hazard of my life; for what is life to a man thus oppressed? He went away, however, swearing; and threatened that whenever he caught me on shore he would shoot me, and pay for me afterwards. The small account in which the life of a negro is held in the West Indies, is so universally known, that it might seem impertinent to quote the following extract, if some people had not been hardy enough of late to assert that negroes are on the same footing in that respect as Europeans. By the 329th Act, page 125, of the Assembly of Barbadoes, it is enacted 'That if any negro, or other slave, under punishment by his master, or his order, for running away, or any other crime or misdemeanor towards his said master, unfortunately shall suffer in life or member, no person whatsoever 219 shall be liable to a fine; but if any man shall out of wantonness, or only of bloody-mindedness, or cruel iniention, wilfully kill a negro, or other slave, of his own, he shall pay into the public treasury fifteen pounds sterling.' And it is the same in most, if not all, of the West India islands. Is not this one of the many acts of the islands which call loudly for redress? And do not the Assembly which enacted it deserve the appellation of savages and brutes rather than of christians and men? It is an act at once unmerciful, unjust, and unwise; which for cruelty would disgrace an assembly of those who are called barbarians; and for its injustice and insanity would shock the morality and common sense of a Samaide or Hottentot. Shocking as this and many more acts of the bloody West India code at first 220 view appear, how is the iniquity of it heightened when we consider to whom it may be extended! Mr. James Tobin, a zealous labourer in the vineyard of slavery gives an account of a French planter of his acquaintance, in the island of Martinico, who shewed him many mulattoes working in the fields like beasts of burden; and he told Mr. Tobin these were all the produce of his own loins! And I myself have known similar instances. Pray, reader, are these sons and daughters of the French planter less his children by being begotten on black women? And what must be the virtue of those legislators, and the feelings of those fathers, who estimate the lives of their sons, however begotten, at no more than fifteen pounds; though they should be murdered, as the act says, out of wantonness and bloody-mindedness! But is 221 not the slave trade entirely a war with the heart of man? And surely that which is begun by breaking down the barriers of virtue involves in its continuance destruction to every principle, and buries all sentiments in ruin! I have often seen slaves, particularly those who were meagre, in different islands, put into scales and weighed; and then sold from three pence to six pence or nine pence a pound. My master, however, whose humanity was shocked at this mode, used to sell such by the lump. And at or after a sale it was not uncommon to see negroes taken from their wives, wives taken from their husbands, and children from their parents, and sent off to other islands, and wherever else their merciless lords choose; and probably never more during life see each other! Oftentimes my heart has bled at these 222 partings; when the friends of the departed have been at the water side, and, with sighs and tears, have kept their eyes fixed on the vessel, till it went out of sight. A poor Creole negro I knew well, who, after having been often thus transported from island to island, at last resided in Montserrat. This man used to tell me many melancholy tales of himself. Generally, after he had done working for his master, he used to employ his few leisure moments to go a fishing. When he had caught any fish, his master would frequently take them from him without paying him; and at other times some other white people would serve him in the same manner. One day he said to me, very movingly, 'sometimes when a white man take away my fish I go to my maser, and he get me my right; 223 and when my maser by strength take away my fishes, what me must do? I can't go to any body to be righted; then,' said the poor man, looking up above, 'I must look up to God Mighty in the top for right.' This artless tale moved me much, and I could not help feeling the just cause Moses had in redressing his brother against the Egyptian. I exhorted the man to look up still to the God on the top, since there was no redress below. Though I little thought then that I myself should more than once experience such imposition, and need the same exhortation hereafter, in my own transactions in the islands; and that even this poor man and I should some time after suffer together in the same manner, as shall be related hereafter. Nor was such usage as this confined to particular places or individuals; for, 224 in all the different islands in which I have been (and I have visited no less than fifteen) the treatment of the slave, was nearly the same; so nearly indeed, that the history of an island, or even a plantation, with a few such exceptions as I have mentioned, might serve for a history of the whole. Such a tendency has the slave-trade to debauch men's minds, and harden them to every feeling of humanity! For I will not suppose that the dealers in slaves are born worse than other men—No; it is the fatality of this mistaken avarice, that it corrupts the milk of human kindness and turns it into gall. And, had the pursuits of those men been different, they might have been as generous, as tender-hearted and just, as they are unfeeling, rapacious and cruel. Surely this traffic cannot be good, which spreads like a pestilence, and taints what it touches! which 225 violates that first natural right of mankind, equality and independency, and gives one man a dominion over his fellows which God could never intend! For it raises the owner to a state as far above man as it depresses the slave below it; and, with all the presumption of human pride, sets a distinction between them, immeasurable in extent, and endless in duration! Yet how mistaken is the avarice even of the planters. Are slaves more useful by being thus humbled to the condition of brutes, than they would be if suffered to enjoy the privileges of men? The freedom which diffuses health and prosperity through out Britain answers you—No. When you make men slaves you deprive them of half their virtue, you set them in your own conduct an example of fraud, rapine, and cruelty, and compel them to live with you in a state of war; and 226 yet you complain that they are not honest or faithful! You stupify them with stripes, and think it necessary to keep them in a state of ignorance; and yet you assert that they are incapable of learning; that their minds are such a barren soil or moor, that culture would be lost on them; and that they come from a climate, where nature, though prodigal of her bounties in a degree unknown to yourselves, has left man alone scant and unfinished; and incapable of enjoying the treasures she has poured out for him!—An as sertion at once impious and absurd. Why do you use those instruments of torture? Are they fit to be applied by one rational being to another? And are ye not struck with shame and mortification, to see the partakers of your nature reduced so low? But, above all, are there no dangers attending this 227 mode of treatment? Are you not hourly in dread of an insurrection? Nor would it be surprising: for when "—No peace is given "To us enslav'd, but custody severe; "And stripes and arbitrary punishment "Inflicted—What peace can we return? "But to our power, hostility and hate; "Untam'd reluctance, and revenge, though slow. "Yet ever plotting how the conqueror least "May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice "In doing what we most in suffering feel." But by changing your conduct, and treating your slaves as men, every cause of fear would be banished. They would be faithful, honest, intelligent and vigorous; and peace, prosperity, and happiness, would attend you. 228 CHAP. VI. some account of Brimstone-Hill in Montserrat—Favourable change in the author's situation—He commences merchant with three pence—His various success in dealing in the different islands, and America, and the impositions he meets with in his transactions with Europeans—A curious imposition on human nature—Dan er of the surfs in the West Indies—Remarkable instance of kidnapping a free mulatto—Ths author is nearly murdered by Doctor Perkins in savannah. IN the preceding chapter I have set before the reader a few of those many instances of oppression, extortion, and cruelty, which I have been a witness 229 to in the West Indies: but, were I to enumerate them all, the catalogue would be tedious and disgusting. The punishments of the slaves on every trifling occasion are so frequent, and so well known together with the different instruments with which they are tortured, that it cannot any longer afford novelty to recite them; and they are too shocking to yield delight either to the writer or the reader. I shall therefore here after only mention such as incidentally befell myself in the course of my adventures. In the variety of departments in which I was employed by my master, I had an opportunity of seeing many curious scenes in different islands; but, above all, I was struck with a celebrated curiosity called Brimstone-Hill, which is a high and steep mountain, some few miles from the town of Plymouth in Montserrat. I had often heard of some 230 wonders that were to be seen on this hill, and I went once with some white and black people to visit it. When we arrived at the top, I saw under different cliffs great flakes of brimstone, occasioned by the steams of various little ponds, which were then boiling naturally in the earth. Some of these ponds were as white as milk, some quite blue, and many others of different colours. I had taken some potatoes with me, and I put them into different ponds, and in a few minutes they were well boiled. I tasted some of them, but they were very sulphurous; and the silver shoe buckles, and all the other things of that metal we had among us, were, in a little time turned as black as lead. Some time in the year 1763, kind Providence seemed to appear rather more favourable to me. One of my master's vessels, a Bermudas sloop, about sixty tons burthen was commanded by one 231 Captain Thomas Farmer, an English man, a very alert and active man, who gained my master a great deal of money by his good mangement in carrying passengers from one island to another; but very often his sailors used to get drunk and run away from the vessel, which hindered him in his business very much. This man had taken a liking to me; and many different times begged of my master to let me go a trip with him as a sailor; but he would tell him he could not spare me, though the vessel sometimes could not go for want of hands, for sailors were generally very scarce in the island. However, at last, from necessity or force, my master was prevailed on, though very reluctantly, to let me go with this captain; but he gave him great charge to take care that I did not run away, for if I did he would make him pay for me. This being the case, the captain had for 232 some time a sharp eye upon me whenever the vessel anchored; and as soon as she returned I was sent for on shore again. Thus was I slaving as it were for life, sometimes at one thing, and sometimes at another; so that the captain and I were nearly the most useful men in my master's employment. I also became so useful to the captain on shipboard, that many times, when he used to ask for me to go with him, though it should be but for twenty four hours, to some of the islands near us, my master would answer he could not spare me, at which the captain would swear, and would not go the trip; and tell my master I was better to him on board than any three white men he had; for they used to behave ill in many respects, particularly in getting drunk; and then they frequently got the boat stove, so as to hinder the vessel from coming back as soon as she 233 might have done. This my master knew very well; and at last, by the captain's constant entreaties, after I had been several times with him, one day to my great joy, told me the captain would not let him rest, and asked whether I would go aboard as a sailor, or stay on shore and mind the stores, for he could not bear any longer to be plagued in this manner. I was very happy at this proposal, for I immediately thought I might in time stand some chance by being on board to get a little money, or possibly make my escape if I should be used ill: I also expected to get better food, and in greater abundance; for I had oftentimes felt much hunger, though my master treated his slaves, as I have observed, uncommonly well. I therefore, without hesitation, answered him, that I would go and be a sailor if he pleased. Accordingly I was ordered on board 234 directly. Nevertheless, between the vessel and the shore, when she was in port, I had little or no rest, as my master always wished to have me along with him. Indeed he was a very pleasant gentleman, and but for my expectations on shipboard I should not have thought of leaving him. But the captain liked me also very much, and I was entirely his right-hand man. I did all I could to deserve his favour, and in return I received better treatment from him than any other I believe ever met with in the West Indies in my situation. After I had been sailing for some time with this captain, at length I endeavoured to try my luck and commence merchant. I had but a very small capital to begin with; for one single half bit, which is equal to three-pence in England, made up my whole stock. However I trusted to the Lord to be 235 with me; and at one of our trips to St. Eustatia, a Dutch island, I bought a glass tumbler with my half bit, and when I came to Montserrat I sold it for a bit, or six-pence. Luckily we made several successive trips to St. Eustatia (which was a general mart for the West Indies, about twenty leagues from Montserrat) and in our next, finding my tumbler so profitable, with this one bit I bought two tumblers more; and when I came back I sold them for two bits equal to a shilling sterling. When we went again I bought with these two bits four more of these glasses, which I sold for fout bits on our return to Montserrat: and in our next voyage to St. Eustatia, I bought two glasses with one bit, and with the other three I bought a jug of Geneva, nearly about three pints in measure. When we came to Montserrat, I sold the gin for eight bits, and the tumblers for two, so that 235 my capital now amounted in all to a dollar, well husbanded and acquired in the space of a month or six weeks, when I blessed the Lord that I was so rich. As we sailed to different islands, I laid this money out in various things occasionally, and it used to turn to very good account, especially when we went to Guadaloupe, Grenada, and the rest of the French islands. Thus was I going all about the islands upwards of four years, and ever trading as I went, during which I experienced many instances of ill usage, and have seen many injuries done to other negroes in our dealings with whites: and, amidst our recreations, when we have been dancing and merry-making, they, without cause, have molested and insulted us. Indeed I was more than once obliged to look up to God on high, as I had advised the poor fisherman some time before. And I had not 237 been long trading for myself in the manner I have related above, when I experienced the like trial in company with him as follows: This man being used to the water, was upon an emergency put on board of us by his master to work as another hand, on a voyage to Santa Cruz; and at our sailing he had brought his little all for a venture which consisted of six bits' worth of limes and oranges in a bag; I had also my whole stock, which was about twelve bits' worth of the same kind of goods, separate in two bags; for we had heard these fruits sold well in that island. When we came there, in some little convenient time he and I went ashore with our fruits to sell them; but we had scarcely landed when we were met by two white men, who presently took our three bags from us. We could not at first guess what they meant to do; and for some time we thought 238 they were jesting with us; but they too soon let us know otherwise, for they took our ventures immediately to a house hard by, and adjoining the fort, while we followed all the way begging of them to give us our fruits, but in vain. They not only refused to return them but swore at us, and threatened if we did not immediately depart they would flog us well. We told them these three bags were all we were worth in the world, and that we brought them with us to sell when we came from Montserrat, and shewed them the vessel. But this was rather against us, as they now saw we were strangers as well as slaves. They still therefore swore, and desired us to be gone, and even took sticks to beat us; while we, seeing they meant what they said, went off in the greatest confusion and despair. Thus, in the very minute of gaining more by three times than I ever did 239 by any venture in my life before, was I deprived of every farthing I was worth. An insupportable misfortune! but how to help ourselves we knew not. In our consternation we went to the commanding officer of the fort, and told him how we had been served by some of his people; but we obtained not the least redress: he answered our complaints only by a volley of imprecations against us, and immediately took a horse-whip, in order to chastise us, so that we were obliged to turn out much faster than we came in. I now, in the agony of distress and indignation, wished that the ire of God in his forked lightning might transfix these cruel oppressors among the dead. Still however we persevered; went back again to the house, and begged and besought them again and again for our fruits, till at last some other people that were in the house asked if we would be 240 contented if they kept one bag and gave us the other two. We, seeing no remedy whatever, consented to this; and they, observing one bag to have both kinds of fruit in it, which belonged to my companion, kept that; and the other two, which were mine they gave us back. As soon as I got them, I ran as fast as I could, and got the first negro man I could to help me off; my companion, however, stayed a little longer to plead; he told them the bag they had was his, and likewise all that he was worth in the world; but this was of no avail, and he was obliged to return without it. The poor old man wringing his hands, cried bitterly for his loss; and, indeed, he then did look up to God on high, which so moved me with pity for him, that I gave him nearly one third of my fruits. We then proceeded to the markets to sell them; and Providence 241 was more favourable to us than we could have expected, for we sold our fruits uncommonly well; I got for mine about thirty-seven bits. such a surprising reverse of fortune in so short a space of time seemed like a dream, and proved no small encouragement for me to trust the Lord in any situation. My captain afterwards frequently used to take my part, and get me my right, when I have been plun dred or used ill by these tender Christian depredators; among whom I have shuddered to observe the unceasing blasphemous execrations which are want only thrown out by persons of all ages and conditions, not only without occasion, but even as if they were indulgences and pleasure. At one of our trips to St. Kitt's, I had eleven bits of my own; and my friendly captain lent me five more, 242 with which I bought a Bible. I was very glad to get this book, which I scarcely could meet with any where. I think there was none sold in Montserrat; and, much to my grief, from being forced out of the Aetna in the manner I have related, my Bible, and the Guide to the Indians, the two books I loved above all others, were left behind. While I was in this place, St. Kitt's, a very curious imposition on human nature took place:—A white man wanted to marry in the church a free black woman that had land and slaves in Montserrat: but the clergyman told him it was against the law of the place to marry a white and a black in the church. The man then asked to be married on the water, to which the parson consented, and the two lovers went in one boat, and the parson and 243 clerk in another, and thus the ceremony was performed. After this the loving pair came on board our vessel, and my captain treated them extremely well, and brought them safe to Montserrat. The reader cannot but judge of the irksomeness of this situation to a mind like mine, in being daily exposed to new hardships and impositions, after having seen many better days, and been as it were, in a state of freedom and plenty; added to which, every part of the world I had hitherto been in, seemed to me a paradise in comparison of the West Indies. My mind was therefore hourly replete with inventions and thoughts of being freed, and, if possible, by honest and honourable means; for I always remembered the old adage; and I trust it has ever been my ruling principle, that "Honesty 244 is the best policy;" and likewise that other golden precept—"To do unto all men as I would they should do unto me." However, as I was from early years a predestinarian, I thought whatever fate had determined must ever come to pass; and therefore, if ever it were my lot to be freed nothing could prevent me, although I should at present see no means or hope to obtain my freedom; on the other hand, if it were my fate not to be freed I never should be so, and all my endeavours for that purpose would be fruitless. In the midst of these thoughts I therefore looked up with prayers anxiously to God for my liberty; and at the same time used every honest means, and did all that was possible on my part to obtain it. In process of time I became master of a few pounds, and in a fair way of making more, which 245 my friendly captain knew very well; this occasioned him sometimes to take liberties with me; but whenever he treated me waspishly I used plainly to tell him my mind, and that I would die before I would be imposed upon as other negroes were, and that to me life had lost its relish when liberty was gone. This I said although I foresaw my then well-being or future hopes of freedom (humanly speaking) depended on this man. However, as he could not bear the thoughts of my not failing with him, he always became mild on my threats. I therefore continued with him; and, from my great attention to his orders and his business, I gained him credit, and through his kindness to me I at last procured my liberty. While I thus went on, filled with the thoughts of freedom, and resisting oppression as well as I was able, my life hung daily 246 in suspence, particularly in the surfs I have formerly mentioned, as I could not swim. These are extremely violent throughout the West Indies, and I was ever exposed to their howling rage and devouring fury in all the islands. I have seen them strike and toss a boat right up an end, and maim several on board. Once in the Grenada islands, when I and about eight others were pulling a large boat with two puncheons of water in it, a surf struck us, and drove the boat and all in it about half a stone's throw, among some trees, and above the high water mark. We were obliged to get all the assistance we could from the nearest estate to mend the boat, and launch it into the water again. At Montserrat one night, in pressing hard to get off the shore on board, the punt was overset with us four times; the first time I was very near being drowned; 247 however the jacket I had on kept me up above water a little space of time, while I called on a man near me who was a good swimmer, and told him I could not swim; he then made haste to me, and, just as I was sinking, he caught hold of me, and brought me to sounding, and then he went and brought the punt also. As soon as we had turned the water out of her, lest we should be used ill for being absent, we attempted again three times more, and as often the horrid surfs served us as at first; but at last, the fifth time we attempted, we gained our point, at the eminent hazard of our lives. One day also, at Old Road in Montserrat, our captain, and three men besides myself, were going in a large canoe in quest of rum and sugar, when a single surf tossed the canoe an amazing distance from the water, 248 and some of us, near a stone's throw from each other: most of us were very much bruised; so that I and many more often said, and really thought, that there was not such another place under the heavens as this. I longed therefore much to leave it, and daily wished to see my master's promise performed of going to Philadelphia. While we lay in this place a very cruel thing happened on board of our sloop which filled me with horror; though I found afterwards such practices were frequent. There was a very clever and decent free young mulatto-man who sailed a long time with us: he had a free woman for his wife, by whom he had a child; and she was then living on shore, and all very happy. Our captain and mate, and other people on board, and several elsewhere, even the natives of Bermudas, all knew this 249 young man from a child that he was always free, and no one had ever claimed him as their property: however, as might too often overcomes right in these parts, it happened that a Bermudas captain, whose vessel lay there for a few days in the road, came on board of us, and seeing the mulatto man, whose name was Joseph Clipson, he told him he was not free, and that he had orders from his master to bring him to Bermudas. The poor man could not believe the captain to be in earnest; but he was very soon undeceived, his men laying violent hands on him; and although he shewed a certificate of his being born free in St. Kitt's, and most people on board knew that he served his time to boat building, and always passed for a free man, yet he was forcibly taken out of our vessel. He then asked to be carried 250 ashore before the secretary or magistrates, and these infernal invaders of human rights promised him he should; but, instead of that, they carried him on board of the other vessel: and the next day, without giving the poor man any hearing on shore, or suffering him even to see his wife or child, he was carried away, and probably doomed never more in this world to see them again. Nor was this the only instance of this kind of barbarity I was a witness to. I have since often seen in Jamaica and other islands, free men, whom I have known in America, thus villainously trepanned and held in bondage. I have heard of two similar practices even in Philadelphia: and were it not for the benevolence of the quakers in that city, many of the sable race, who now breathe the air of liberty, would, I believe, be groaning indeed 251 under some planter's chains. These things opened my mind to a new scene of horror to which I had been before a stranger. Hitherto I had thought only slavery dreadful; but the state of a free negro appeared to me now equally so at least, and in some respects even worse, for they live in constant alarm for their liberty; which is but nominal, for they are universally insulted and plundered without the possibility of redress; for such is the equity of the West Indian laws, that no free negro's evidence will be admitted in their courts of justice. In this situation is it surprising that slaves, when mildly treated, should prefer even the misery of slavery to such a mockery of freedom? I was now completely disgusted with the West Indies, and thought I never should be entirely free until I had left them. 252 "With thoughts like these my anxious boding mind "Recall'd those pleasing scenes I left behind; "Scenes where fair Liberty in bright array "Makes darkness bright, and e'en illumines day; "Where nor complexion, wealth, or station, can "Protect the wretch who makes a slave of man." I determined to make every exertion to obtain my freedom, and to return to Old England. For this purpose I thought a knowledge of navigation might be of use to me; for, though I did not intend to run away unless I should be ill used; yet, in such a case, if I understood navigation, I might attempt my escape in our sloop, which was one of the swiftest sailing vessels in the West Indies, and I could be at no loss for hands to join me: and if I should make this attempt, I had intended to have gone for England; but this, as I said, was only to be in the event of my meeting with any ill usage. I 253 therefore employed the mate of our vessel to teach me navigation, for which I agreed to give him twenty-four dollars, and actually paid him part of the money down; though when the captain, some time after, came to know that the mate was to have such a sum for teaching me, he rebuked him, and said it was a shame for him to take any money from me. However, my progress in this useful art was much retarded by the constancy of our work. Had I wished to run away I did not want opportunities, which frequently presented themselves; and particularly at one time, soon after this. When we were at the island of Gaudaloupe there was a large fleet of merchantmen bound for Old France; and, seamen then being very scarce, they gave from fifteen to twenty pounds a man for the run. Our mate, and all the white sailors, 254 left our vessel on this account, and went on board of the French ships. They would have had me also to go with them, for they regarded me; and swore to protect me, if I would go: and, as the fleet was to sail the next day, I really believe I could have got safe to Europe at that time. However, as my master was kind, I would not attempt to leave him; still remembering the old maxim, that 'honesty is the best policy,' I suffered them to go without me. Indeed my captain was much afraid of my leaving him and the vessel at that time, as I had so fair an opportunity: but, I thank God, this fidelity of mine turned out much to my advantage hereafter, when I did not in the least think of it; and made me so much in favour with the captain, that he used now and then to teach me some parts of navigation 255 himself; but some of our passengers, and others, seeing this, found much fault with him for it, saying it was a very dangerous thing to let a negro know navigation; thus I was hindered again in my pursuits. About the latter end of the year 1764, my master bought a larger sloop, called the Prudence, about seventy or eighty tons, of which my captain had the command. I went with him into this vessel, and we took a load of new slaves for Georgia and Charles Town. My master now left me entirely to the captain, though he still wished for me to be with him; but I, who always much wished to lose sight of the West Indies, was not a little rejoiced at the thoughts of seeing any other country. Therefore, relying on the goodness of my captain, I got ready all the little venture I could; and, when the vessel 256 was ready, we sailed to my great joy. When we got to our destined places, Georgia and Charles Town, I expected I should have an opportunity of selling my little property to advantage: but here, particularly in Charles Town, I met with buyers, white men, who imposed on me as in other places. Notwithstanding, I was resolved to have fortitude; thinking no lot or trial too hard when kind Heaven is the rewarder. We soon got loaded again, and returned to Montserrat; and there, amongst the rest of the islands, I sold my goods well; and in this manner I continued trading during the year 1764; meeting with various scenes of imposition, as usual. After this, my master fitted out his vessel for Philadelphia, in the year 1765; and during the time we were loading her, and getting 257 ready for the voyage, I worked with redoubled alacrity, from the hope of getting money enough by these voyages to buy my freedom, in time, if it should please God; and also to see the town of Philadelphia, which I had heard a great deal about for some years past; besides which, I had always longed to prove my master's promise the first day I came to him. In the midst of these elevated ideas, and while I was about getting my little merchandize in readiness, one Sunday my master sent for me to his house. When I came there I found him and the captain together; and, on my going in, I was struck with astonishment at his telling me he heard that I meant to run away from him when I got to Philadelphia: 'And therefore,' said he, 'I must sell you again: you cost me a great deal of money, no less than 258 forty pounds sterling; and it will not do to lose so much. You are a valuable fellow,' continued he; 'and I can get any day for you one hundred guineas, from many gentlemen in this island.' And then he told me of Captain Doran's brother-in-law, a severe master, who ever wanted to buy me to make me his overseer. My captain also said he could get much more than a hundred guineas for me in Carolina. This I knew to be a fact; for the gentleman that wanted to buy me came off several times on board of us, and spoke to me to live with him, and said he would use me well. When I asked what work he would put me to, he said, as I was a sailor, he would make me a captain of one of his rice vessels. But I refused: and fearing at the same time, by a sudden turn I saw in the captain's temper, he might 259 mean to sell me, I told the gentleman I would not live with him on any condition, and that I certainly would run away with his vessel: but he said he did not fear that, as he would catch him again; and then he told me how cruelly he would serve me if I should do so. My captain, however, gave him to understand that I knew something of navigation: so he thought better of it; and, to my great joy, he went away. I now told my master I did not say I would run away in Philadelphia; neither did I mean it, as he did not use me ill, nor yet the captain: for if they did I certainly would have made some attempts before now; but as I thought that if it were God's will I ever should be freed it would be so, and, on the contrary, if it was not his will it would not happen; so I hoped if ever I were freed, whilst I was used 260 well, it should be by honest means; but as I could not help myself, he must do as he pleased; I could only hope and trust to the God of Heaven; and at that instant my mind was big with inventions and full of schemes to escape. I then appealed to the captain whether he ever saw any sign of my making the least attempt to run away; and asked him if I did not always come on board according to the time for which he gave me liberty; and, more particularly, when all our men left us at Gaudaloupe and went on board of the French fleet, and advised me to go with them, whether I might not, and that he could not have got me again. To my no small surprise, and very great joy, the captain confirmed every syllable that I had said: and even more: for he said he had tried different times to see if I 261 would make any attempt of this kind, both at St. Eustatia and in America, and he never found that I made the smallest; but on the contrary, I always came on board according to his orders; and he did really believe, if I ever meant to run away, that, as I could never have had a better opportunity, I would have done it the night the mate and all the people left our vessel at Guadaloupe. The captain then informed my master, who had been thus imposed on by our mate, (though I did not know who was my enemy,) the reason the mate had for imposing this lie upon him; which was, because I had acquainted the captain of the provisions the mate had given away or taken out of the vessel. This speech of the captain was like life to the dead to me, and instantly my soul glorified God; and still more so 262 on hearing my master immediately say that I was a sensible fellow, and he never did intend to use me as a common slave; and that but for the entreaties of the captain, and his character of me, he would not have let me go from the stores about as I had done: that also, in so doing, he thought by carrying one little thing or other to different places to sell I might make money. That he also intended to encourage me in this, by crediting me with half a puncheon of rum and half a hogshead of sugar at a time; so that, from being careful, I might have money enough, in some time, to purchase my freedom; and, when that was the case, I might depend upon it he would let me have it for forty pounds sterling money, which was only the same price he gave for me. This sound gladdened my poor heart beyond measure; though 263 indeed it was no more than the very idea I had formed in my mind of my master long before, and I immediately made him this reply: 'Sir, I always had that very thought of you, indeed I had, and that made me so diligent in serving you.' He then gave me a large piece of silver coin, such as I never had seen or had before, and told me to get ready for the voyage, and he would credit me with a tierce of sugar, and another of rum; he also said that he had two amiable sisters in Philadelphia, from whom I might get some necessary things. Upon this my noble captain desired me to go aboard; and, knowing the African metal, he charged me not to say any thing of this matter to any body; and he promised that the lying mate should not go with him any more. This was a change indeed; in the same hour to 264 feel the most exquisite pain, and in the turn of a moment the fullest joy. It caused in me such sensations as I was only able to express in my looks; my heart was so overpowered with gratitude that I could have kissed both of their feet. When I left the room I immediately went, or rather flew, to the vessel, which being loaded, my master, as good as his word, trusted me with a tierce of rum, and another of sugar, when we sailed, and arrived safe at the elegant town of Philadelphia. I soon sold my goods here pretty well; and in this charming place I found every thing plentiful and cheap. While I was in this place a very extraordinary occurrence befell me. I had been told one evening of a wise woman, a Mrs. Davis, who revealed secrets, foretold events, & I put little faith in this story at first, as I could 265 not conceive that any mortal could foresee the future disposals of Providence, nor did I believe in any other revelation than that of the Holy Scriptures; however, I was greatly astonished at seeing this woman in a dream that night, though a person I never before beheld in my life; this made such an impression on me, that I could not get the idea the next day out of my mind, and I then became as anxious to see her as I was before indifferent; accordingly in the evening, after we left off working, I inquired where she lived, and being directed to her, to my inexpressible surprise, beheld the very woman in the very same dress she appeared to me to wear in the vision. She immediately told me I had dreamed of her the preceding night; related to me many things that had happened 266 with a correctness that astonished me; and finally told me I should not be long a slave: this was the more agreeable news, as I believed it the more readily from her having so faithfully related the past incidents of my life. She said I should be twice in very great danger of my life within eighteen months, which, if I escaped, I should afterwards go on well; so giving me her blessing, we parted. After staying here some time till our vessel was loaded, and I had bought in my little traffic, we sailed from this agreeable spot for Montserrat, once more to encounter the raging surfs. We arrived safe at Montserrat, where we discharged our cargo; and soon after that we took slaves on board for St. Eustatia, and from thence to Georgia. I had always exerted myself and did double work, in order to 267 make our voyages as short as possible; and from thus overworking myself while we were at Georgia I caught a fever and ague. I was very ill for eleven days and near dying; eternity was now exceedingly impressed on my mind, and I feared very much that awful event. I prayed the Lord therefore to spare me; and I made a promise in my mind to God, that I would be good if ever I should recover. At length, from having an eminent doctor to attend me, I was restored again to health; and soon after we got the vessel loaded, and set off for Montserrat. During the passage, as I was perfectly restored, and had much business of the vessel to mind, all my endeavours to keep up my integrity, and perform my promise to God, began to fail; and, in spite of all I could do, as we drew nearer and nearer to the 268 islands, my resolutions more and more declined, as if the very air of that country or climate seemed fatal to piety. When we were safe arrived at Montserrat, and I had got ashore, I forgot my former resolutions.—Alas! how prone is the heart to leave that God it wishes to love! and how strongly do the things of this world strike the senses and captivate the soul!—After our vessel was discharged, we soon got her ready, and took in, as usual, some of the poor oppressed natives of Africa, and other negroes; we then set off again for Georgia and Charlestown. We arrived at Georgia, and, having landed part of our cargo, proceeded to Charlestown with the remainder. While we were there I saw the town illuminated; the guns were fired, and bonfires and other demonstrations of joy shewn, on account of the repeal of the stamp 269 act. Here I disposed of some goods on my own account; the white men buying them with smooth promises and fair words, giving me, however, but very indifferent payment. There was one gentleman particularly who bought a puncheon of rum of me, which gave me a great deal of trouble; and, although I used the interest of my friendly captain, I could not obtain any thing for it; for, being a negro man, I could not oblige him to pay me. This vexed me much, not knowing how to act; and I lost some time in seeking after this Christian; and though, when the Sabbath came (which the negroes usually make their holiday) I was much inclined to go to public worship, I was obliged to hire some black men to help to pull a boat across the water to go in quest of this gentleman. When I found him, after much entreaty, both 270 from myself and my worthy captain, he at last paid me in dollars; some of them, however, were copper, and of consequence of no value; but he took advantage of my being a negro man, and obliged me to put up with those or none, although I objected to them. Immediately after, as I was trying to pass them in the market, amongst other white men, I was abused for offering to pass bad coin; and, though I shewed them the man I got them from, I was within one minute of being tied up and flogged without either judge or jury; however, by the help of a good pair of heels, I ran off, and so escaped the bastinadoes I should have received. I got on board as fast as I could, but still continued in fear of them until we sailed, which I thanked God we did not long after; and I have never been amongst them since. 271 We soon came to Georgia, where we were to complete our lading; and here worse fate than ever attended me: for one Sunday night, as I was with some negroes in their master's yard in the town of Savannah, it happened that their master, one Doctor Perkins, who was a very severe and cruel man, came in drunk; and not liking to see any strange negroes in his yard, he and a ruffian of a white man, he had in his service, beset me in an instant, and both of them struck me with the first weapons they could get hold of. I cried out as long as I could for help and mercy; but, though I gave a good account of myself, and he knew my captain, who lodged hard by him, it was to no purpose. They beat and mangled me in a shameful manner, leaving me near dead. I lost so much blood from the wounds I received, 272 that I lay quite motionless, and was so benumbed that I could not feel any thing for many hours. Early in the morning they took me away to the jail. As I did not return to the ship all night, my captain, not knowing where I was, and being uneasy that I did not then make my appearance, he made inquiry after me; and, having found where I was, immediately came to me. As soon as the good man saw me so cut and mangled, he could not forbear weeping; he soon got me out of jail to his lodgings, and immediately sent for the best doctors in the place, who at first declared it as their opinion that I could not recover. My captain on this went to all the lawyers in the town for their advice, but they told him they could do nothing for me as I was a negro. He then went to Doctor Perkins, the hero who had vanquished 273 me, and menaced him, swearing he would be revenged of him, and challenged him to fight.—But cowardice is ever the companion of cruelty—and the Doctor refused. However, by the skilfulness of one Doctor Brady of that place, I began at last to amend; but, although I was so sore and bad with the wounds I had all over me that I could not rest in any posture, yet I was in more pain on account of the captain's uneasiness about me than I otherwise should have been. The worthy man nursed and watched me all the hours of the night; and I was, through his attention and that of the doctor, able to get out of bed in about sixteen or eighteen days. All this time I was very much wanted on board, as I used frequently to go up and down the river for rafts, and other parts of our cargo, and stow them, 274 when the mate was sick or absent. In about four weeks I was able to go on duty; and in a fortnight after, having got in all our lading, our vessel set sail for Montserrat; and in less than three weeks we arrived there safe towards the end of the year. This ended my adventures in 1764; for I did not leave Montserrat again till the beginning of the following year. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. Frontispiece 1 THE LIFE, &c. CHAP. VII. The author's disgust at the West Indies—Forms schemes to obtain his freedom—Ludicrous disappointment he and his Captain meet with in Georgia—At last, by several successful voyages, he acquires a sum of money sufficient to purchase it—Applies to his master, who accepts it, and grants his manumission, to his great joy—He afterwards enters as a freeman on board one of Mr. King's ships, and sails for Georgia—Impositions on free negroes 2 as usual—His venture of turkies—sails for Montserrat, and on his passage his friend the Captain, falls ill and dies. EVERY day now brought me nearer my freedom, and I was impatient till we proceeded again to sea, that I might have an opportunity of getting a sum large enough to purchase it. I was not long ungratified; for, in the begining of the year 1766, my master bought another sloop, named the Nancy, the largest I had ever seen. She was partly laden, and was to proceed to Philadelphia; our Captain had his choice of three, and I was well pleased he chose this, which was the largest; for, from his having a large vessel, I had more room, and could carry a larger quantity of goods with me. Accordingly, when we had delivered our old vessel, the Prudence, and completed the lading of 3 the Nancy, having made near three hundred per cent, by four barrels of pork I brought from Charlestown, I laid in as large a cargo as I could, trusting to God's providence to prosper my undertaking. With these views I sailed for Philadelphia. On our passage, when we drew near the land, I was for the first time surprised at the sight of some whales, having never seen any such large sea monsters before; and as we sailed by the land, one morning I saw a puppy whale close by the vessel; it was about the length of a wherry boat, and it followed us all the day till we got within the Capes. We arrived safe and in good time at Philadelphia, and I sold my goods there chiefly to the quakers. They always appeared to be a very honest discreet sort of people, and never attempted to impose on me; I therefore liked them, and ever after chose to deal 4 with them in preference to any others. One sunday morning while I was here, as I was going to church, I chanced to pass a meeting-house. The doors being open, and the house full of people, it excited my curiosity to go in. When I entered the house, to my great surprise, I saw a very tall woman standing in the midst of them, speaking in an audible voice something which I could not understand. Having never seen any thing of this kind before, I stood and stared about me for some time, wondering at this odd scene. As soon as it was over, I took an opportunity to make inquiry about the place and people, when I was informed they were called Quakers. I particularly asked what that woman I saw in the midst of them had said, but none of them were pleased to satisfy me, so I quitted them, and soon after, as I was returning, I came to a church 5 crowded with people; the church-yard was full likewise, and a number of people were even mounted on ladders, looking in at the windows. I thought this a strange sight, as I had never seen churches, either in England or the West Indies crowded in this manner before. I therefore made bold to ask some people the meaning of all this, and they told me the Rev. Mr. George Whitfield was preaching. I had often heard of this gentleman, and had wished to see and hear him; but I had never before had an opportunity. I now therefore resolved to gratify myself with the sight, and pressed in amidst the multitude. When I got into the church I saw this pious man exhorting the people with the greatest fervour and earnestness, and sweating as much as I ever did while in slavery on Montserrat beach. I was very much struck and impressed with 6 this; I thought it strange I had never seen divines exert themselves in this manner before, and was no longer at a loss to account for the thin congregations they preached to. When we had discharged our cargo here, and were loaded again, we left this fruitful land once more, and set sail for Montserrat. My traffic had hitherto succeeded so well with me, that I thought by selling my goods when we arrived at Montserrat, I should have enough to purchase my freedom. But as soon as our vessel arrived there, my master came on board, and gave orders for us to go to St. Eustatia, and discharge our cargo there, and from thence proceed for Georgia. I was much disappointed at this; but, thinking as usual, it was of no use to encounter with the decrees of fate, I submitted without repining, and we went to St. Eustatia. After we 7 had discharged our cargo there, we took in a live cargo, (as we call a cargo of slaves.) Here I sold my goods tolerably well; but, not being able to lay out all my money in this small island to as much advantage as in many other places, I laid out only part, and the remainder I brought away with me neat. We sailed from hence for Georgia, and I was glad when we got there, though I had not much reason to like the place from my last adventure in Savannah; but I longed to get back to Montserrat and procure my freedom, which I expected to be able to purchase when I returned. As soon as we arrived here I waited on my careful doctor, Mr. Brady, to whom I made the most grateful acknowledgments in my power for his former kindness and attention during my illness. While we remained here an odd circumstance happened to the captain 8 and me, which disappointed us both a good deal. A silversmith, whom we had brought to this place some voyages before, agreed with the Captain to return with us to the West Indies, and promised at the same time to give the Captain a great deal of money, having pretended to take a liking to him, and being, as we thought, very rich. But while we stayed to load our vessel, this man was taken ill, in a house where we worked, and in a week's time became very bad. The worse he grew the more he used to speak of giving the Captain what he had promised him, so that he expected something considerable from the death of this man, who had no wife or child, and he attended him day and night. I used also to go with the Captain, at his own desire, to attend him: especially when we saw there was no appearance of his recovery: and, in 9 order to recompense me for my trouble, the Captain promised me ten pounds, when he should get the man's property. I thought this would be of great service to me, although I had nearly money enough to purchase my freedom, if I should get safe this voyage to Montserrat. In this expectation I laid out above eight pounds of my money for a suit of superfine clothes to dance in at my freedom, which I hoped was then at hand.--- We still continued to attend this man, being with him the last day he lived till very late at night. After we were got to bed, about one or two o'clock in the morning, the Captain was sent for, and informed the man was dead. On this he came to my bed, and, waking me, informed me of it, and desired me to get up and procure a light, and immediately go with him. I told him I 10 was very sleepy, and wished he would take somebody else with him; or else, as the man was dead, and could want no farther attendance, to let all things remain as they were till the next morning. 'No, no,' said he, 'we will have the money to night, I cannot wait till to-morrow; so let us go.' Accordingly I got up and struck a light, and away we both went, and saw the man as dead as we could wish. The Captain said he would give him a grand burial, in gratitude for the promised treasure; and desired that all the things belonging to the deceased might be brought forth. Amongnst others there was a nest of drawers, of which he had kept the keys whilst the man was ill, and we opened them with no small eagerness and expectation; and as there were a great number within one another, with much impatience we 11 took them one out of the other. At last, when we came to the smallest, and had opened it, we perceived it to be full of papers, and supposed to be notes; at the sight of which our hearts leapt for joy; and that instant the Captain clapping his hands, cried out, 'Thank God here it is.' But when we came to the supposed treasure and long-looked-for bounty, (alas! alas! how uncertain and deceitful are all human affairs!) what had we found? While we thought we were embracing a substance, we grasped an empty nothing. The whole amount in the nest of drawers being only one dollar and a half; and all that the man possessed would not pay for his coffin! Our sudden and exquisite joy was now succeeded by a sudden and exquisite pain; and my Captain and I exhibited, for some time, most ridiculous 12 figures—pictures of chagrin and disappointment! We returned greatly mortified, and left the deceased to do as well as he could for himself, as we had taken so good care of him when alive for nothing. We set sail once more for Montserrat, and arrived there safe; but much out of humour with our friend the silversmith. When we had unladen the vessel, and I had sold my venture, finding myself master of about forty-seven pounds, I consulted my true friend, the Captain, how I should proceed in offering my master the money for my freedom. He told me to come on a certain morning, when he and my master would be at breakfast together. Accordingly, on that morning I went, and met the Captain there, as he had appointed. When I went in I made my obeisance to my master, and with my money in my hand, and many fears in my heart, 13 I prayed him to be as good as his offer to me, when he was pleased to promise me my freedom as soon as I could purchase it. This speech seemed to confound him; he began to recoil; and my heart that instant sunk within me. 'What,' said he, 'give you your freedom? Why, where did you get the money? Have you got forty-pounds sterling?' 'Yes, sir,' I answered. 'How did you get it?' replied he. I told him, very honestly. The Captain then said he knew I got the money very honestly and with much industry, and that I was particularly careful. On which my master replied, I got money much faster than he did; and said he would not have made me the promise which he did if he had thought I should have got money so soon. 'Come, come,' said my worthy Captain, clapping my master on the back, 'Come, 14 Robert, (which was his name) I think you must let him have his freedom;—you have laid your money out very well; you have received good interest for it all this time, and here is now the principal at last. I know Gustavas has earned you more than an hundred a-year, and he will still save you money, as he will not leave you:—Come, Robert, take the money.' My master then said, he would not be worse than his promise; and, taking the money, told me to go to the secretary at the Register Office, and get my manumission drawn up. These words of my master were like a voice from heaven to me: in an in stant all my trepidation was turned into unutterable bliss, and I most reverently bowed myself with gratitude, unable to express my feelings, but by the overflowing of my eyes, and a heart replete 15 with thanks to God; while my true and worthy friend the Captain, congratulated us both with a peculiar degree of heart-felt pleasure. As soon as the first transports of my joy were over, and that I had expressed my thanks to these my worthy friends in the best manner I was able, I rose with a heart full of affection and reverence, and left the room, in order to obey my master's joyful mandate of going to the Register Office. As I was leaving the house I called to mind the words of the Psalmist, in the 126th Psalm, and like him, 'I glorified God in my heart, in whom I trusted.' These words had been impressed on my mind from the very day I was forced from Deptford to the present hour; and I now saw them, as I thought, fulfilled and verified. My imagination was all rapture as I flew to the Register Office; and, in this respect, 16 like the apostle Peter, (whose deliverance from prison was so sudden and ex traordinary, that he thought he was in a vision) I could scarcely believe I was awake. Heavens! who could do justice to my feelings at this moment! Not conquering heroes themselves, in the midst of a triumph—Not the tender mother who has just regained her long lost infant, and presses it to her heart—Not the weary hungry mariner, at the sight of the desired friendly port—Not the lover, when he once more embraces his beloved mistress, after she has been ravished from his arms!—All within my breast was tumult, wildness, and delirium! My feet scarcely touched the ground; for they were winged with joy, and, like Elijah, as he rose to Heaven, they 'were with lightning sped as I went on.' Every one I met I told of Acts xii. 9. [Equiano's note] 17 my happiness and blazed about the virtue of my amiable master and captain. When I got to the office and acquainted the Register with my errand, he congratulated me on the occasion, and told me he would draw up my manumission for half-price, which was a guinea. I thanked him for his kindness; and, having received it and paid him, I hastened to my master to get him to sign it, that I might be fully released. Accordingly he signed the manumission that day; so that, before night I, who had been a slave in the morning, trembling at the will of another, was become my own master and completely free. I thought this was the happiest day I had ever experienced; and my joy was still heightened by the blessings and prayers of many of the sable race, particularly the aged, to whom my heart had ever been attached with reverence. 18 As the form of my manumission has something peculiar in it, and expresses the absolute power and dominion one man claims over his fellow. I shall beg leave to present it before my readers at full length: Montserrat.—To all men unto whom these presents shall come; I Robert King, of the parish of St. Anthony in the said island, merchant, send greeting: Know ye that I the aforesaid Robert King, for and in consideration of the sum of seventy pounds current money of the said island, to me in hand paid, and to the intent that a negro man-slave, named GUSTAVUS VASA, shall and may become free, have manumitted, emancipated, enfranchised, and set free, and by these presents do manumit, emancipate, enfranchise, and set free, the aforesaid negro man-slave, 19 named GUSTAVUS VASA, for ever; hereby giving, granting, and releasing unto him, the said GUSTAVUS VASA, all right, title, dominion, sovereignty, and property, which, as lord and master over the aforesaid Gustavus Vasa, I had, or now have, or by any means whatsoever I may or can hereafter possibly have over him the aforesaid negro, for ever. In witness whereof, I the abovesaid Robert King have unto these presents set my hand and seal, this tenth day of July, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and sixty six. ROBERT KING. Signed, sealed, and delivered in the presence of Terry Legay, Montserrat. Registered the within manumission at full length, this eleventh day of July, 1766, in liber D. TERRY LEGAY, Register. 20 In short, the fair as well as black people immediately styled me by a new appellation, to me the most desirable in the world, which was Freeman, and at the dances I gave, my Georgia superfine blue clothes made no indifferent appearance as I thought. Some of the sable females, who formerly stood aloof, now began to relax and appear less coy; but my heart was still fixed on London, where I hoped to be ere long. So that my worthy captain and his owner my late master, finding that the bent of my mind was towards London, said to me, 'We hope you won't leave us, but that you will still be with the vessels.' Here gratitude bowed me down; and none but the generous mind can judge of my feelings, struggling between in clination and duty. However, notwithstanding my wish to be in London, I obediently answered my benefactors 21 that I would go in the vessel, and not leave them; and from that day I was entered on board as an able-bodied seaman, at thirty-six shillings per month, besides what perquisites I could make. My intention was to make a voyage or two entirely to please these my honoured patrons; but I determined that the year following, if it pleased God, I would see Old England, once more, and surprise my old master, Capt. Pascal, who was hourly in my mind; for I still loved him, notwithstanding his usage of me, and I pleased myself with thinking of what he would say when he saw what the Lord had done for me in so short a time, instead of being, as he might perhaps suppose, under the cruel yoke of some planter. With these kind of reveries I used often to entertain my self, and shorten the time till my return; and now, being as in my original free 22 African state, I embarked on board the Nancy, after having got all things ready for our voyage. In this state of serenity we sailed for St. Eustatia; and having smooth seas and calm weather, we soon arrived there; after taking our cargo on board, we proceeded to Savannah in Georgia, in August, 1766. While we were there, as usual, I used to go for the cargo up the rivers in boats; and on this business have been frequently beset by Alligators, which were very numerous on that coast; and shot many of them when they have been near getting into our boats; which we have with great difficulty sometimes prevented, and have been very much frightened at them. I have seen a young one sold in Georgia alive for sixpence. During our stay at this place, one evening a slave belonging to Mr. 23 Read, a merchant of Savannah, came near our vessel, and began to use me very ill. I entreated him to desist, as I knew there was little or no law for a free negro here; but the fellow, instead of taking my advice, persevered in his insults, and even struck me. At this I lost all temper, and fell on him, and beat him soundly. The next morning his master came to our vessel as we lay alongside the wharf, and desired me to come ashore that he might have me flogged all round the town, for beating his negro slave! I told him he had insulted me, and had given the provocation, by first striking me. I had told my captain also the whole affair that morning, and desired him to go along with me to Mr. Read, to prevent bad consequences: but he said that it did not signify, and if Mr. Read said 24 any thing he would make matters up, and desired me to go to work, which I accordingly did. The Captain being on board when Mr. Read came and applied to him to deliver me up, he said he knew nothing of the matter, I was a free man. I was astonished and frightened at this, and thought I had better keep where I was than go ashore and be flogged round the town, with out judge or jury. I therefore refused to stir; and Mr. Read went away, swearing he would bring all the con stables in the town, for he would have me out of the vessel. When he was gone, I thought his threat might prove too true to my sorrow; and I was confirmed in this belief, as well by the many instances I had seen of the treatment of free negroes, as from a fact that had happened within my own knowledge here a short time before. 25 There was a free black man, a carpenter, that I knew, who for asking a gentleman that he worked for, for the money he had earned, was put into gaol; and afterwards this oppressed man was sent from Georgia, with false accusations, of an intention to set the gentleman's house on fire, and run away with his slaves. I was therefore much embarrassed, and very apprehensive of a flogging at least. I dreaded, of all things, the thoughts of being striped, as I never in my life had the marks of any violence of that kind. At that instant a rage seized my soul, and for a little I determined to resist the first man that should offer to lay violent hands on me, or basely use me without a trial; for I would sooner die like a free man, than suffer myself to be scourged by the hands of ruffians, and my blood drawn like a slave. The captain and others, 26 more cautious, advised me to make haste and conceal myself; for they said Mr. Read was a very spiteful man, and he would soon come on board with constables and take me. At first I refused this counsel, being determined to stand my ground; but at length, by the prevailing entreaties of the Captain and Mr. Dixon, with whom he lodged, I went to Mr. Dixon's house, which was a little out of town, at a place called Yea-ma-chra. I was but just gone when Mr. Read, with the constables, came for me, and searched the vessel; but, not finding me there, he swore he would have me dead or alive. I was secreted about five days; however, the good character which my captain always gave me as well as some other gentlemen who also knew me, procured me some friends. At last some of them told my Captain that he did not use me 27 well, in suffering me thus to be imposed upon, and said they would see me redressed, and get me on board some other vessel. My Captain, on this, immediately went to Mr. Read, and told him, that ever since I eloped from the vessel his work had been neglected, and he could not go on with her loading, himself and mate not being well; and, as I had managed things on board for them, my absence must retard his voyage, and consequently hurt the owner; he therefore begged of him to forgive me, as he said he never heard any complaint of me before, during the several years I had been with him. After repeated entreaties, Mr. Read said I might go to hell, and that he would not meddle with me; on which my Captain came immediately to me at his lodging, and, telling me how pleasantly matters had gone on, desired me to go on board. 28 Some of my other friends then asked him if he had got the constable's warrant from them; the Captain said, No. On this I was desired by them to stay in the house; and they said they would get me on board of some other vessel before the evening. When the Captain heard this he became almost distracted. He went immediately for the warrant, and, after using every exertion in his power, he at last got it from my hunters; but I had all the expences to pay. After I had thanked all my friends for their kindness, I went on board again to my work, of which I had always plenty. We were in haste to complete our lading, and were to carry twenty head of cattle with us to the West-Indies, where they are a very profitable article. In order to encourage me in working, and to make up for the time I had lost, my Captain promised me the privilege of carrying two bullocks of 29 my own with me; and this made me work with redoubled ardour. As soon as I had got the vessel loaded, in doing which I was obliged to perform the duty of the mate as well as my own work, and that the bullocks were near coming on board, I asked the Captain leave to bring my two, according to his promise; but, to my great surprise, he told me there was no room for them. I then asked him to permit me to take one; but he said he could not. I was a good deal mortified at this usage, and told him I had no notion that he intended thus to impose on me; nor could I think well of any man that was so much worse than his word. On this we had some disagreement, and I gave him to understand, that I intended to leave the vessel. At this he appeared to be very much dejected; and our mate who had been very sickly, and whose 30 duty had long devolved upon me, advised him to persuade me to stay: in consequence of which he spoke very kindly to me, making many fair promises, telling me, that, as the mate was so sickly, he could not do without me; and that, as the safety of the vessel and cargo depended greatly upon me, he therefore hoped that I would not be offended at what had passed between us, and swore he would make up all matters when we arrived in the West-Indies; so I consented to slave on as before. Soon after this, as the bullocks were coming on board, one of them ran at the Captain, and butted him so furiously in the breast, that he never recovered of the blow. In order to make me some amends for his treatment about the bullocks, the Captain now pressed me very much to take some turkeys, and other fowls, with me, and gave me liberty to 31 take as many as I could find room for: but I told him he knew very well I had never carried any turkeys before, as I always thought they were such tender birds that they were not fit to cross the seas. However, he continued to press me to buy them for once; and, what seemed very surprising to me, the more I was against it, the more he urged my taking them, insomuch that he ensured me from all losses that might happen by them, and I was prevailed on to take them; but I thought this very strange, as he had never acted so with me before. This, and not being able to dispose of my paper-money any other way, induced me at length to take four dozen. The turkeys, however, I was so dissatisfied about that I determined to make no more voyages to this quarter, nor with this captain; and was very apprehensive that my free voyage would be the worst I had ever made. 32 We set sail for Montserrat. The captain and mate had been both complaining of sickness when we sailed, and as we proceeded on our voyage they grew worse. This was about November, and we had not been long at sea before we began to meet with strong northerly gales and rough seas; and in about seven or eight days all the bullocks were near being drowned, and four or five of them died. Our vessel, which had not been tight at first, was much less so now: and, though we were but nine in the whole, including five sailors and myself, yet we were obliged to attend to the pumps every half or three quarters of an hour. The captain and mate came on deck as often as they were able, which was now but seldom; for they declined so fast, that they were not well enough to make observations above four or five times the whole voyage. 33 The whole care of the vessel rested, therefore upon me, and I was obliged to direct her by mere dint of reason, not being able to work a traverse. The captain was now very sorry he had not taught me navigation, and protested, if ever he should get well again, he would not fail to do so; but in about seventeen days his illness increased so much, that he was obliged to keep his bed, continuing sensible, however, till the last, constantly having the owner's interest at heart; for this just and benevolent man ever appeared much concerned about the welfare of what he was intrusted with. When this dear friend found the symptoms of death approaching, he called me by my name; and, when I came to him, he asked (with almost his last breath) if he had ever done me any harm? 'God forbid I should think so,' replied I, 'I should 34 then be the most ungrateful of wretches to the best of benefactors.' While I was thus expressing my affection and sorrow by his bedside, he expired without saying another word; and the day following we committed his body to the deep. Every man on board loved him, and regretted his death; but I was exceedingly affected at it, and found that I did not know, till he was gone, the strength of my regard for him. Indeed I had every reason in the world to be attached to him; for, besides that he was in general mild, affable, generous, faithful, benevolent, and just, he was to me a friend and father; and had it pleased Providence, that he had died about five months before, I verily believe I should not have obtained my freedom when I did; and it is no improbable that I might not have been able to get it at any rate afterwards. 35 The captain being dead, the mate came on the deck, and made such observations as he was able, but to no purpose. In the course of a few days more, the few bullocks that remained were found dead; but the turkies I had, though on the deck, and exposed to so much wet and bad weather, did well, and I afterwards gained near three hundred per cent, on the sale of them; so that in the event it proved a happy circumstance for me that I had not bought the bullocks I intended, for they must have perished with the rest; and I could not help looking on this, otherwise trifling circumstance, as a particular providence of God, and was thankful accordingly. The care of the vessel took up all my time, and engaged my attention entirely. As we were now out of the variable winds, I thought I should not be much puzzled to 36 hit upon the islands. I was persuaded I steered right for Antigua, which I wished to reach, as the nearest to us; and in the course of nine or ten days we made this island, to our great joy; and the day after we came safe to Montserrat. Many were surprised when they heard of my conducting the sloop into the port, and I now obtained a new appellation, and was called Captain. This elated me not a little, and it was quite flattering to my vanity to be thus styled by as high a title as any freeman in this place possessed. When the death of the captain became known, he was much regretted by all who knew him; for he was a man universally respected. At the same time the sable Captain lost no fame; for the success I had met with increased the affection of my friends in no small measure. 37 CHAP. VIII. The author, to oblige Mr. King, once more embarks for Georgia in one of his vessels—A new captain is appointed—They sail, and steer a new course—Three remarkable dreams—The vessel is shipwrecked on the Bahama Bank, but the crew are preserved, principally by means of the author—He sets out from the island with the captain, in a small boat, in quest of a ship—Their distress—Meet with a wrecker—Sail for Providence—Are overtaken again by a terrible storm, and are all near perishing—Arrive at New Providence—The author, after some time, sails from thence to Georgia—Meets with another storm, and is obliged to put back and resit—Arrives at Georgia—Meets new impositions—Two white men attempt 38 to kidnap him—Officiates as a parson at a funeral ceremony—Bids adieu to Georgia, and sails for Martinico. As I had now, by the death of my captain, lost my great benefactor and friend, I had little inducement to remain longer in the West Indies, except my gratitude to Mr. King, which I thought I had pretty well discharged in bringing back his vessel safe, and delivering his cargo to his satisfaction. I began to think of leaving this part of the world, of which I had been long tired, and returning to England, where my heart had always been; but Mr. King still pressed me very much to stay with his vessel; and he had done so much for me that I found myself unable to refuse his requests, and consented to go another voyage to Georgia, as the mate, from his ill state of health, 39 was quite useless in the vessel. Accordingly a new captain was appointed, whose name was William Phillips, an old acquaintance of mine; and, having refitted our vessel, and taken several slaves on board, we set sail for St. Eustatia, where we stayed but a few days: and on the 30th of January 1767, we steered for Georgia. Our new captain boasted strangely of his skill in navigating and conducting a vessel; and in consequence of this he steered a new course, several points more to the westward than we ever did before; this appeared to me very extraordinary. On the fourth of February, which was soon after we had got into our new course, I dreamt the ship was wrecked amidst the surfs and rocks, and that I was the means of saving every one on board; and on the night following I dreamed the very same dream. These 40 dreams however made no impression on my mind; and the next evening, it being my watch below, I was pumping the vessel a little after eight o'clock, just before I went off the deck, as is the custom; and being weary with the duty of the day, and tired at the pump, (for we made a good deal of water) I began to express my impatience, and uttered with an oath, 'Damn the vessel's bottom out.' But my conscience instantly smote me for the expression. When I left the deck I went to bed, and had scarcely fallen asleep when I dreamed the same dream again about the ship as I had dreamt the two preceeding nights. At twelve o'clock the watch was changed; and, as I had always the charge of the captain's watch, I then went upon deck. At half after one in the morning the man at the helm saw something under 41 the lee-beam that the sea washed against, and he immediately called to me that there was a grampus, and desired me to look at it. Accordingly I stood up and observed it for some time; but, when I saw the sea wash up against it again and again, I said it was not a fish but a rock. Being soon certain of this, I went down to the captain, and, with some confusion, told him the danger we were in, and desired him to come upon deck immediately. He said it was very well, and I went up again. As soon as I was upon deck, the wind, which had been pretty high, having abated a little, the vessel began to be carried sideways towards the rock, by means of the current. Still the captain did not appear. I therefore went to him again, and told him the vessel was then near a large rock, and desired he would come up with all speed. 42 He said he would, and I returned to the deck. When I was upon the deck again I saw we were not above a pistol shot from the rock, and I heard the noise of the breakers all around us. I was exceedingly alarmed at this; and the captain having not yet come on the deck I lost all patience; and, growing quite enraged, I ran down to him again, and asked him why he did not come up, and what he could mean by all this? 'The breakers,' said I, 'are round us, and the vessel is almost on the rock.' With that he came on the deck with me, and we tried to put the vessel about, and get her out of the current, but all to no purpose, the wind being very small. We then called all hands up immediately; and after a little we got up one end of a cable, and fastened it to the anchor. By this time the surf was foamed round us, and 43 made a dreadful noise on the breakers, and the very moment we let the anchor go the vessel struck against the rocks. One swell now succeeded another, as it were one wave calling on its fellow; the roaring of the billows increased, and, with one single heave of the swells, the sloop was pierced and transfixed among the rocks! in a moment a scene of horror presented itself to my mind, such as I never had conceived or experienced before. All my sins stared me in the face; and especially, I thought that God had hurled his direful vengeance on my guilty head for cursing the vessel on which my life depended. My spirits at this forsook me, and I expected every moment to go to the bottom: I determined if I should still be saved that I would never swear again. And in the midst of my distress, while the dreadful 44 surfs were dashing with unremitting fury among the rocks, I remembered the Lord, though fearful that I was undeserving of forgiveness, and I thought that as he had often delivered he might yet deliver; and, calling to mind the many mercies he had shewn me in times past, they gave me some small hope that he might still help me. I then began to think how we might be saved; and I believe no mind was ever like mine so replete with inventions and confused with schemes, though how to escape death I knew not. The captain immediately ordered the hatches to be nailed down on the slaves in the hold, where there were above twenty, all of whom must unavoidably have perished if he had been obeyed. When he desired the man to nail down the hatches I thought that my sin was the cause of this, and that God would 45 charge me with these people's blood. This thought rushed upon my mind that instant with such violence, that it quite overpowered me, and I fainted. I recovered just as the people were about to nail down the hatches; perceiving which, I desired them to stop. The captain then said it must be done: I asked him why? He said that every one would endeavour to get into the boat, which was but small, and thereby we should be drowned; for it would not have carried above ten at the most. I could no longer restrain my emotion, and I told him he deserved drowning for not knowing how to navigate the vessel; and I believe the people would have tossed him overboard if I had given them the least hint of it. However the hatches were not nailed down; and, as none of us could leave the vessel then on account of the darkness, 46 and as we knew not where to go, and were convinced besides that the boat could not survive the surfs, we all said we would remain on the dry part of the vessel, and trust to God till daylight appeared, when we should know better what to do. I then advised to get the boat prepared against morning, and some of us began to set about it; but others abandoned all care of the ship and themselves, and fell to drinking. Our boat had a piece out of her bottom near two feet long, and we had no materials to mend her; however, necessity being the mother of invention, I took some pump leather and nailed it to the broken part, and plastered it over with tallow-grease. And, thus prepared, with the utmost anxiety of mind we watched for day-light, and thought every minute an hour till it appeared. 47 At last it saluted our longing eyes, and kind Providence accompanied its approach with what was no small comfort to us; for the dreadful swells began to subside; and the next thing that we discovered to raise our drooping spirits, was a small key or desolate island, about five or six miles off; but a barrier soon presented itself; for there was not water enough for our boat to go over the reefs, and this threw us again into a sad consternation; but there was no alternative, we were therefore obliged to put but few in the boat at once; and, what was still worse, all of us were frequently under the necessity of getting out to drag and lift it over the reefs. This cost us much labour and fatigue; and, what was yet more distressing, we could not avoid having our legs cut and torn very much with the rocks. There were only four people 48 that would work with me at the oars; and they consisted of three black men and a Dutch creole sailor; and, though we went with the boat five times that day, we had no others to assist us. But, had we not worked in this manner, I really believe the people could not have been saved; for not one of the white men did any thing to preserve their lives; indeed they soon got so drunk that they were not able, but lay about the deck like swine, so that we were at last obliged to lift them into the boat, and carry them on shore by force. This want of assistance made our labour intolerably severe; insomuch, that, by going on shore so often that day, the skin was partly stript off my hands. However, we continued all the day to toil and strain our exertions, till we had brought all on board safe to the 49 shore, so that out of thirty-two people we lost not one. My dream now returned upon my mind with all its force; it was fulfilled in every part; for our danger was the same I had dreamt of; and I could not help looking on myself as the principal instrument in effecting our deliverance: for, owing to some of our people getting drunk, the rest of us were obliged to double our exertions; and it was fortunate we did, for in a very little time longer the patch of leather on the boat would have been worn out, and she would have been no longer fit for service. Situated as we were, who could think that men should be so careless of the danger they were in? for, if the wind had but raised the swell as it was when the vessel struck, we must have bid a final farewel to all hopes of deliverance; and though, I warned the people 50 who were drinking, and entreated them to embrace the moment of deliverance, nevertheless they persisted, as if not possessed of the least spark of reason. I could not help thinking, that, if any of these people had been lost, God would charge me with their lives, which, perhaps, was one cause of my labouring so hard for their preservation, and indeed every one of them afterwards seemed so sensible of the service I had rendered them, that while we were on the key I was a kind of chieftian amongst them. I brought some limes, oranges, and lemons a shore; and, finding it to be a good soil where we were, I planted several of them as a token to any one that might be cast away hereafter. This key, as we afterwards found, was one of the Bahama islands, which consist of a cluster of large islands, with 51 smaller ones or keys, as they are called, interspersed among them. It was about a mile in circumference, with a white sandy beach running in a regular order along it. On that part of it where we first attempted to land there stood some very large birds, called flamingoes: these, from the reflection of the sun, appeared to us at a little distance as large as men; and, when they walked backwards and forwards, we could not conceive what they were: our captain swore they were cannibals. This created a great panic among us; and we held a consultation how to act. The captain wanted to go to a key that was within sight, but a great way off; but I was against it, as in so doing we should not be able to save all the people; 'And therefore,' said I, 'let us go on shore here, and perhaps these cannibals may take to the water.' 52 Accordingly we steered toward them; and when we approached them, to our very great joy and no less wonder, they walked off one after the other very deliberately; and at last they took flight and relieved us entirely from our fears. About the key there were turtles and several sorts of fish in such abundance that we caught them without bait, which was a great relief to us after the salt provisions on board. There was also a large rock on the beach, about ten feet high, which was in the form of a punch-bowl at the top; this we could not help thinking Providence had ordained to supply us with rain-water; and it was something singular that, if we did not take the water when it rained, in some little time after it would turn as salt as sea-water. Our first care, after refreshment, was to make ourselves tents to lodge in 53 which we did as well as we could with some sails we had brought from the ship. We then began to think how we might get from this place, which was quite uninhabited; and we determined to repair our boat, which was very much shattered, and to put to sea in quest of a ship or some inhabited island. It took us up however eleven days before we could get the boat ready for sea in the manner we wanted it, with a sail and other necessaries. When we had got all things prepared, the captain wanted me to stay on shore while he went to sea in quest of a vessel to take all the people off the key; but this I refused; and the captain and myself, with five more, set off in the boat towards New Providence. We had no more than two musket load of gun-powder with us if any thing should happen; and our stock of provisions 54 consisted of three gallons of rum, four of water, some salt beef, some biscuit; and in this manner we proceeded to sea. On the second day of our voyage, we came to an island called Abbico, the largest of the Bahama islands. We were much in want of water; for by this time our water was expended, and we were exceedingly fatigued in pulling two days in the heat of the sun; and it being late in the evening, we hauled the boat ashore to try for water and remain during the night: when we came ashore we searched for water, but could find none. When it was dark, we made a fire around us for fear of the wild beasts, as the place was an entire thick wood, and we took it by turns to watch. In this situation we found very little rest, and waited with impatience for the morning. As 55 soon as the light appeared we set off again with our boat, in hopes of finding assistance during the day. We were now much dejected and weakened by pulling the boat; for our sail was of no use, and we were almost famished for want of fresh water to drink. We had nothing left to eat but salt beef, and that we could not use without water. In this situation we toiled all day in sight of the island, which was very long; in the evening, seeing no relief, we made shore again, and fastened our boat. We then went to look for fresh water, being quite faint for the want of it; and we dug and searched about for some all the remainder of the even ing, but could not find one drop, so that our dejection at this period became excessive, and our terror so great, that we expected nothing but death to deliver us. We could not touch our 56 beef, which was salt as brine, without fresh water; and we were in the greatest terror from the apprehension of wild beasts. When unwelcome night came we acted as on the night before; and the next morning we set off again from the island in hopes of seeing some vessel. In this manner we toiled as well as we were able till four o'clock, during which we passed several keys, but could not meet with a ship; and, still famishing with thirst, went ashore on one of those keys again in hopes of finding some water. Here we found some leaves with a few drops of water in them, which we lapped with much eagerness; we then dug in several places, but without success. As we were digging holes in search of water there came forth some very thick and black stuff; but none of us could touch it, except the poor Dutch Creole, 57 who drank above a quart of it as eagerly as if had been wine. We tried to catch fish, but could not; and we now began to repine at our fate, and abandon ourselves to despair; when, in the midst of our murmuring, the captain all at once cried out. 'A sail! a sail! a sail!' This gladdening sound was like a reprieve to a convict, and we all instantly turned to look at it; but in a little time some of us began to be afraid it was not a sail. However, at a venture, we embarked and steered after it; and, in half an hour to our unspeakable joy, we plainly saw that it was a vessel. At this our drooping spirits revived, and we made towards her with all the speed imaginable. When we came near to her, we found she was a little sloop about the size of a Gravesend hoy, and quite full or people; a circumstance which 58 we could not make out the meaning of. Our captain, who was a Welchman, swore that they were pirates, and would kill us. I said, be that as it might, we must board her if we were to die by it; and, if they should not receive us kindly, we must oppose them as well as we could; for there was no alternative between their pe rishing and ours. This counsel was immediately taken; and I really believe that the captain, myself, and the Dutchman, would then have faced twenty men. We had two cutlasses and a musquet, that I brought in the boat; and in this situation, we rowed alongside, and immediately boarded her. I believe there were about forty hands on board; but how great was our surprise, as soon as we got on board, to find that the major part of 59 them were in the same predicament as ourselves. They belonged to a whaling schooner that was wrecked two days before us about nine miles to the north of our vessel. When she was wrecked some of them had taken to their boats and had left some of their people and property on a key, in the same manner as we had done; and were going, like us, to New Providence in quest of a ship, when they met with this little sloop, called a wrecker; their employment in those seas being to look after wrecks. They were then going to take the remainder of the people be longing to the schooner; for which the wrecker was to have all things belonging to the vessel, and likewise their people's help to get what they could out of her, and were then to carry the crew to New Providence. 60 We told the people of the wrecker the condition of our vessel, and we made the same agreement with them as the schooner's people; and, on their complying, we begged of them to go to our key directly, because our people were in want of water. They agreed, therefore, to go along with us first; and in two days we arrived at the key, to the inexpressible joy of the people that we had left behind, as they had been reduced to great extremities for want of water in our absence. Luckily for us, the wrecker had now more people on board than she could carry or victual for any moderate length of time; they therefore hired the schooner's people to work on the wreck, and we left them our boat, and embarked for New Providence. Nothing could have been more fortunate than our meeting with this 61 wrecker, for New Providence was at such a distance that we never could have reached it in our boat. The island of Abbico was much longer than we expected; and it was not till after sailing for three or four days that we got safe to the farther end of it, towards New Providence. When we arrived there we watered, and got a good many lobsters and other shellfish; which proved a great relief to us, as our provisions and water were almost exhausted. We then proceeded on our voyage; but the day after we left the Island, late in the evening, and whilst we were yet amongst the Bahama keys, we were overtaken by a violent gale of wind, so that we were obliged to cut away the mast. The vessel was very near foundering; for she parted from her anchors, and struck several times on the 62 shoals. Here we expected every minute that she would have gone to pieces, and each moment to be our last; so much so, that my old captain and sickly useless mate, and several others, fainted; and death stared us in the face on every side. All the swearers on board now began to call on the God of Heaven to assist them: and, sure enough, beyond our comprehension he did assist us, and in a miraculous manner delivered us! In the very height of our extremity the wind lulled for a few minutes; and, although the swell was high beyond expression, two men, who were expert swimmers, attempted to go to the buoy of the anchor, which we still saw on the water, at some distance, in a little punt that belonged to the wrecker, which was not large enough to carry more than two. She failed at different times in their 63 endeavours to get into her alongside of our vessel; and they saw nothing but death before them, as well as we; but they said they might as well die that way as any other. A coil of very small rope, with a little buoy, was put in along with them; and, at last, with great hazard, they got the punt clear from the vessel; and these two intrepid water heroes paddled away for life towards the buoy of the anchor. Our eyes were fixed on them all the time, expecting every minute to be their last: and the prayers of all those that remained in their senses were offered up to God, on their behalf, for a speedy deliverance, and for our own, which depended on them; and he heard and answered us! These two men at last reached the buoy; and, having fastened the punt to it, they tied one end of their rope to the small buoy 64 that they had in the punt, and sent it adrift towards the vessel. We on board observing this threw out boat-hooks and leads fastened to lines, in order to catch the buoy: at last we caught it, and fastened a hawser to the end of the small rope; we then gave them a sign to pull, and they pulled the hawser to them, and fastened it to the buoy: which being done we hauled for our lives; and, through the mercy of God, we got again from the shoals into deep water, and the punt got safe to the vessel. It is impossible for any to conceive our heart-felt joy at this second deliverance from ruin, but those who have suffered the same hardships. Those whose strength and senses were gone, came to themselves, and were now as elated as they were before depressed. Two days after this the wind ceased, and the water became smooth. The punt 65 then went on shore, and we cut down some trees; and having found our mast and mended it we brought it on board, and fixed it up. As soon as we had done this we got up the anchor, and away we went once more for New Providence, which in three days more we reached safe, after having been above three weeks in a situation in which we did not expect to escape with life. The inhabitants here were very kind to us; and, when they learned our situation, shewed us a great deal of hospitality and friendship. soon after this every one of my old fellow-sufferers that were free parted from us, and shaped their course where their inclination led them. One merchant, who had a large sloop, seeing our condition, and knowing we wanted to go to Georgia, told four of us that his vessel was going there; and, if we 66 would work on board and load her, he would give us our passage free. As we could not get any wages whatever, and sound it very hard to get off the place, we were obliged to consent to his proposal; and we went on board and helped to load the sloop, though we had only our victuals allowed us. When she was entirely loaded, he told us she was going to Jamaica first, where we must go if we went in her. This, however, I refused; but my fellow-sufferers not having any money to help themselves with, necessity obliged them to accept of the offer, and to steer that course, though they did not like it. We stayed in New Providence about seventeen or eighteen days; during which time I met with many friends, who gave me encouragement to stay there with them, but I declined it; 67 though, had not my heart been fixed on England, I should have stayed, as I liked the place extremely, and there were some free black people here who were very happy, and we passed our time pleasantly together, with the melodious sound of the catguts, under the lime and lemon trees. At length Captain Phillips hired a sloop to carry him and some of the slaves that he could not sell to Georgia; and I agreed to go with him in this vessel, meaning now to take my farewel of that place. When the vessel was ready we all embarked; and I took my leave of New Providence, not without regret. We sailed about four o'clock the morning with a fair wind, for Georgia; and about eleven o'clock the same morning, a sudden and short gale sprung up and blew away most of our fails; and, as we were still among the keys, in 68 a very few minutes it dashed the sloop against the rocks. Luckily for us the water was deep; and the sea was not so angry, but that, after having for some time laboured hard, and being many in number, we were saved, through God's mercy: and, by using our greatest exertions, we got the vessel off. The next day we returned to Providence, where we soon got her again refitted. some of the people swore that we had spells set upon us by somebody in Montserrat; and others that we had witches and wizzards amongst the poor helpless slaves; and that we never should arrive safe at Georgia. But these things did not deter me; I said, 'Let us again face the winds and seas, and swear not, but trust to God, and he will deliver us.' We therefore once more set sail; and, 69 with hard labour in seven days time arrived safe at Georgia. After our arrival we went up to the town of Savannah; and the same evening I went to a friend's house to lodge, whose name was Mosa, a black man. We were very happy at meeting each other; and after supper we had a light till it was between nine and ten o'clock at night. About that time the watch or patrol came by; and, discerning a light in the house, they knocked at the door: we opened it; and they came in and sat down and drank some punch with us: they also begged some limes of me, as they understood I had some, which I readily gave them. A little after this they told me I must go to the watch-house with them: this surprised me a good deal, after our kindness to them; and I asked them, Why so? They said that all negroes who had a 70 light in their houses after nine o'clock were to be taken into custody, and either pay some dollars or be flogged. some of those people knew that I was a free man; but, as the man of the house was not free, and had his master to protect him, they did not take the same liberty with him they did with me. I told them that I was a free man, and just arrived from Providence; that we were not making any noise, and that I was not a stranger in that place, but was very well known there: 'Besides,' said I, 'what will you do with me?'—'That you shall see, 'replied they, 'but you must go to the watch-house with us.' Now whether they meant to get money from me or not I was at a loss to know; but I thought immediately of the oranges and limes at santa Cruz: and seeing that nothing would pacify them I went 71 with them to the watch-house, where I remained during the night. Early the next morning these imposing ruffians flogged a negro-man and woman that they had in the watch-house, and then they told me that I must be flogged too. I asked why? and if there was no law for free men? and told them if there was I would have it put in force against them. But this only exasperated them the more, and instantly swore they would serve me as Doctor Perkins had done; and were going to lay violent hands on me; when one of them, more humane than the rest, said that as I was a free man they could not justify stripping me by law. I then immediately sent for Doctor Brady, who was known to be an honest and worthy man; and on his coming to my assistance they let me go. 72 This was not the only disagreeable incident I met with while I was in this place; for, one day, while I was a little way out of the town of Savannah, I was beset by two white men, who meant to play their usual tricks with me in the way of kidnapping. As soon as these men accosted me, one of them said to the other, 'This is the very fellow we are looking for, that you lost:' and the other swore immediately that I was the identical person. On this they made up to me, and were about to handle me; but I told them to be still and keep off; for I had seen those kind of tricks played upon other free blacks, and they must not think to serve me so. At this they paused a little, and one said to the other—it will not do; and the other answered that I talked two good English. I replied, I believed I did; and I had also with me a 73 revengeful stick equal to the occasion; and my mind was likewise good. Happily however it was not used; and, after we had talked together a little in this manner, the rogues left me. I stayed in savannah some time, anxiously trying to get to Montserrat once more to see Mr. King, my old master, and then to take a final farewel of the American quarter of the globe. At last I met with a sloop called the speedwell, Captain John Bunton, which be longed to Grenada, and was bound to Martinico, a French island, with a cargo of rice, and I shipped myself on board of her. Before I left Georgia, a black woman who had a child lying dead, being very tenacious of the church burial service, and not able to get any white person to perform it, applied to me for that purpose. I told her I was no parson; 74 and besides, that the service over the dead did not affect the soul. This however did not satisfy her; she still urged me very hard: I therefore complied with her earnest entreaties, and at last consented to act the parson for the sirst time in my life. As she was much respected, there was a great company both of white and black people at the grave. I then accordingly as sumed my new vocation, and performed the funeral ceremony to the satisfaction of all present; after which I bade adieu to Georgia, and sailed for Martinico. 75 CHAP. IX. The author arrives at Martinico—Meets with new difficulties—Gets to Montserrat, where he takes leave of his old master, and sails for England—Meets Capt. Pascal—Learns the French horn—Hires himself with Doctor Irving, where be learns to freshen sea water—Leaves the doctor, and goes a voyage to Turkey and Portugal; and afterwards goes a voyage to Grenada, and another to Jamaica—Returns to the Doctor, and they embark together on a voyage to the North Pole, with the Hon. Capt. Phipps—some account of that voyage, and the dangers the author was in—He returns to England. I THUS took a final leave of Georgia; for the treatment I had received in it 76 disgusted me very much against the place; and when I left it and sailed for Martinico I determined never more to revisit it. My new captain conducted his vessel safer than my former one; and, after an agreeable voyage, we got safe to our intended port. While I was on this island I went about a good deal, and found it very pleasant: in particular I admired the town of St. Pierre, which is the principal one in the island, and built more like an European town than any I had seen in the West Indies. In general also, slaves were better treated, had more holidays, and looked better than those in the English islands. After we had done our business here, I wanted my discharge, which was necessary; for it was then the month of May, and I wished much to be at Montserrat to bid farewel to Mr. King, and all my 77 other friends there, in time to sail for Old England in the July fleet. But, alas! I had put a great stumbling block in my own way, by which I was near losing my passage that season to England. I had lent my captain some money, which I now wanted to enable me to prosecute my intentions. This I told him; but when I applied for it, though I urged the necessity of my occasion, I met with so much shuffling from him, that I began at last to be afraid of losing my money, as I could not recover it by law; for I have already mentioned, that throughout the West Indies no black man's testimony is admitted, on any occasion, against any white person whatever, and therefore my own oath would have been of no use. I was obliged, therefore, to remain with him till he might be disposed to return it to me. Thus we 78 sailed from Martinico for the Grenades. I frequently pressing the captain for my money to no purpose; and, to render my condition worse, when we got there, the captain and his owners quarrelled; so that my situation became daily more irksome: for besides that we on board had little or no victuals allowed us, and I could not get my money nor wages, as I could then have gotten my passage free to Montserrat had I been able to accept it. The worst of all was, that it was growing late in July, and the ships in the islands must sail by the 26th of that month. At last, however, with a great many entreaties, I got my money from the captain, and took the first vessel I could meet with for St Eustatia. From thence I went in another to Basseterre in St. Kitts, where I arrived on the 19th of July. On the 22d, having met with a 79 vessel bound to Montserrat, I wanted to go in her; but the captain and others would not take me on board until I should advertise myself, and give notice of my going off the island. I told them of my haste to be in Montserrat, and that the time then would not admit of advertising, it being late in the evening, and the vessel about to sail; but he insisted it was necessary, and otherwise he said he would not take me. This reduced me to great perplexity; for if I should be compelled to submit to this degrading necessity, which every black freeman is under, of advertising himself like a slave, when he leaves an island, and which I thought a gross imposition upon any freeman, I feared I should miss that opportunity of going to Montserrat, and then I could not get to England that year. The vessel was just going off, and no time could be lost; 80 I immediately therefore set about, with a heavy heart, to try who I could get to befriend me in complying with the demands of the captain. Luckily I found, in a few minutes, some gentlemen of Montserrat whom I knew; and, having told them my situation, I requested their friendly assistance in helping me off the island. some of them, on this, went with me to the captain, and satisfied him of my freedom; and, to my very great joy, he desired me to go on board. We then set sail, and the next day, 23d, I arrived at the wished-for place, after an absence of six months, in which I had more than once experienced the delivering hand of Providence, when all human means of escaping destruction seemed hopeless. I saw my friends with a gladness of heart which was increased by my absence and the dangers I had escaped, and I was received with great friendship by 81 them all, but particularly by Mr. King, to whom I related the fate of his sloop, the Nancy, and the causes of her being wrecked. I now learned with extreme sorrow, that his house was washed away during my absence, by the bursting of a pond at the top of a mountain that was opposite the town of Plymouth. It swept great part of the town away, and Mr. King lost a great deal of property from the inundation, and nearly his life. When I told him I intended to go to London that season, and that I had come to visit him before my departure, the good man expressed a great deal of affection for me, and sorrow that I should leave him, and warmly advised me to stay there; insisting, as I was much respected by all the gentlemen in the place, that I might do very well, and in a short time have land and slaves of my own. I thanked him for this 82 instance of his friendship; but, as I wished very much to be in London, I declined remaining any longer there, and begged he would excuse me. I then requested he would be kind enough to give me a certificate of my behaviour while in his service, which he very readily comp ied with, and gave me the following: Montserrat, January 26, 1767. The bearer hereof, Gustavus Vasa, was my slave for upwards of three years, during which he has always behaved himself well, and discharged his duty with honesty and assiduity. ROBERT KING. To all to whom this may concern. Having obtained this, I parted from my kind master, after many sincere professions of gratitude and regard, 83 and prepared for my departure for London. I immediately agreed to go with one Capt. John Hamer, for seven guineas (the passage to London) on board a ship called, the Andromache; and on the 24th and 25th, I had free dances, as they are called, with some of my countrymen, previous to my setting off; after which I took leave of all my friends, and on the 26th I embarked for London, exceedingly glad to see myself once more on board of a ship; and still more so, in steering the course I had long wished for. With a light heart I bade Montserrat farewell, and never had my feet on it since; and with it I bade adieu to the sound of the cruel whip, and all other dreadful instruments of torture; adieu to the offensive sight of the violated chastity of the sable females, which has too often accosted my eyes; adieu to oppressions (although 84 to me less severe than most of my countrymen); and adieu to the angry howling, dashing surfs. I wished for a grateful and thankful heart to praise the Lord God on high for all his mercies! in this extasy I steered the ship all night. We had a most prosperous voyage, and, at the end of seven weeks, arrived at Cherry-Garden stairs. Thus were my longing eyes once more gratified with a sight of London, after having been absent from it above four years. I immediately received my wages, and I never had earned seven guineas so quick in my life before; I had thirty-seven guineas in all, when I got cleared of the ship. I now entered upon a scene quite new to me, but full of hope. In this situation my first thoughts were to look out for some of my former friends, and amongst the first of those were the Miss Guerins. As soon, therefore, as I had regaled myself I went in 85 quest of those kind ladies, whom I was very impatient to see; and with some difficulty and perseverance, I found them at May's-hill, Greenwich. They were most agreeably surprised to see me, and I quite overjoyed at meeting with them. I told them my history, at which they expressed great wonder, and freely acknowledged it did their cousin, Capt. Pascal, no honour. He then visited there frequently; and I met him four or five days after in Greenwich park. When he saw me he appeared a good deal surprised, and asked me how I came back? I answered, 'In a ship.' To which he replied dryly, 'I suppose you did not walk back to London on the water. 'As I saw, by his manner, that he did not seem to be sorry for his behaviour to me, and that I had not much reason to expect any favour from him, I told him that he 86 had used me very ill, after I had been such a faithful servant to him for so many years; on which, without saying any more, he turned about and went away. A few days after this I met Capt. Pascal at Miss Guerin's house, and asked him for my prize-money. He said there was none due to me; for, if my prize-money had been 10,000l. he had a right to it all. I told him I was informed otherwise: on which he bade me defiance; and in a bantering tone, desired me to commence a law suit against him for it: 'There are lawyers enough,' said he, 'that will take the cause in hand, and you had better try it.' I told him then that I would try it, which enraged him very much; however, out of regard to the ladies, I remained still, and never made any farther demand of my right. Some time afterwards these friendly ladies asked 87 me what I meant to do with myself, and now they could assist me. I thanked them, and said, if they pleased, I would be their servant; but if not, I had thirty-seven guineas, which would support me for some time, I would be much obliged to them to recommend me to some person who would teach me a business whereby I might earn my living. They answered me very politely, that they were sorry it did not suit them to take me as their servant, and asked me what business I should like to learn? I said, hair-dressing. They then promised to assist me in this; and soon after they recommended me to a gentleman whom I had known before, one Capt. O'Hara, who treated me with much kindness, and procured me a master, a hair-dresser, in Coventry-court, Haymarket, with whom he placed me. I was with this man from September 88 till the February following. In that time we had a neighbour in the same court who taught the French-horn. He used to blow it so well that I was charmed with it, and agreed with him to teach me to blow it. Accordingly he took me in hand, and began to instruct me, and I soon learned all the three parts. I took great delight in blowing on this instrument, the evenings being long; and besides that I was fond of it, I did not like to be idle, and it filled up my vacant hours innocently. At this time also I agreed with the Rev. Mr. Gregory, who lived in the same court, where he kept an academy and an evening-school, to improve me in arithmetic. This he did as far as barter and alligation; so that all the time I was there I was entirely employed. In February 1768, I hired myself to Dr. Charles Irving, in Pallmall, 89 so celebrated for his successful experiments in making seawater fresh; and here I had plenty of hair dressing to improve my hand. This gentleman was an excellent master; he was exceedingly kind and good tempered; and allowed me in the evenings to attend my schools, which I esteemed a great blessing; therefore I thanked God and him for it, and used all my diligence to improve the opportunity. This diligence and attention recommended me to the notice and care of my three preceptors, who on their parts bestowed a great deal of pains in my instruction, and besides were all very kind to me. My wages, however, which were by two thirds less than ever I had in my life (for I had only 12l. per annum) I soon found would not be sufficient to defray this extraordinary expence of masters, and my own necessary expences; 90 my old thirty-seven guineas had by this time worn all away to one. I thought it best, therefore, to try the sea again in quest of more money, as I had been bred to it, and had hitherto found the profession of it successful. I had also a very great desire to see Turkey, and I now determined to gratify it. Accordingly, in the month of May, 1768, I told the doctor my wish to go to sea again, to which he made no opposition; and we parted on friendly terms. The same day I went into the city in quest of a master. I was extremely fortunate in my inquiry; for I soon heard of a gentleman who had a ship going to Italy and Turkey, and he wanted a man who could dress hair well. I was overjoyed at this, and went immediately on board of his ship, as I had been directed, which I found to be fitted up with great taste, and I already 91 foreboded no small pleasure in sailing in her. Not finding the gentleman on board, I was directed to his lodgings, where I met with him the next day, and gave him a specimen of my dressing. He liked it so well that he hired me immediately, so that I was perfectly happy; for the ship, master, and voyage, were intirely to my mind. The ship was called the Delawar, and my master's name was John Jolly, a neat smart good humoured man, just such an one as I wished to serve. We sailed from England in July following, and our voyage was extremely pleasant. We went to Villa Franca, Nice, and Leghorn; and in all these places I was charmed with the richness and beauty of the countries, and struck with the elegant buildings with which they abound. We had always in them plenty of extraordinary good wines and 92 rich fruits, which I was very fond of; and I had frequent occasions of gratify ing both my taste and curiosity; for my captain always lodged on shore in those places, which afforded me opportunities to see the country around. I also learned navigation of the mate, which I was very sond of. When we left Italy we had delightful sailing among the Archipelago islands, and from thence to smyrna in Turkey. This is a very ancient city; the houses are built of stone, and most of them have graves adjoining to them; so that they sometimes present the appearence of church-yards. Provisions are very plentiful in this city, and good wine less than a penny a pint. The grapes, pomegranates, and many other fruits, were also the richest and largest I ever tasted. The natives are well looking and strong made, and treated me al ways 93 with great civility. In general I believe they are fond of black people; and several of them gave me pressing invitations to stay amongst them, although they keep the franks, or Christians, separate, and do not suffer them to dwell immediately amongst them. I was astonished in not seeing women in any of their shops, and very rarely any in the streets; and when ever I did they were covered with a veil from head to foot, so that I could not see their faces, except when any of them out of curiosity uncovered them to look at me, which they sometimes did. I was surprised to see how the Greeks are, in some measure, kept under by the Turks, as the negroes are in the West Indies by the white people. The less refined Greeks, as I have already hinted, dance here in the same manner as we do in our nation. 94 On the whole, during our stay here, which was about five months, I liked the place and the Turks extremely well. I could not help observing one very remarkable circumstance there: the tails of the sheep are flat, and so very large, that I have known the tail even of a lamb to weigh from eleven to thirteen pounds. The fat of them is very white and rich, and is excellent in puddings, for which it is much used. Our ship being at length richly loaded with silk, and other articles, we sailed for England. In May 1769, soon after our return from Turkey, our ship made a delightful voyage to Oporto in Portugal, where we arrived at the time of the carnival. On our arrival, there were sent on board of us thirty-six articles to observe with very heavy penalties if we should break any of them; and none of us even dared to go on board any other 95 vessel or on shore, till the Inquisition had sent on board and searched for every thing illegal, especially Bibles. Such as were produced, and certain other things were sent on shore till the ships were going away; and any person in whose custody a bible was found concealed, was to be imprisoned and flogged, and sent into slavery for ten years. I saw here many very magnificent sights, particularly the garden of Eden, where many of the clergy and laity went in procession in their several orders with the host, and sung Te Deum. I had a great curiosity to go into some of their churches, but could not gain admittance without using the necessary sprinkling of holy water at my entrance. From curiosity, and a wish to be holy, I therefore complied with this ceremony, but its virtues were lost upon me, for I found myself nothing 96 the better for it. This place abounds with plenty of all kinds of provisions. The town is well built and pretty, and commands a fine prospect. Our ship having taken in a load of wine, and other commodities, we sailed for London, and arrived in July following. Our next voyage was to the Mediterranean. The ship was again got ready, and we sailed in september for Genoa. This is one of the finest cities I ever saw; some of the edifices were of beautiful marble, and made a most noble appearance; and many had very curious fountains before them. The churches were rich and magnificent, and curiously adorned both in the inside and out. But all this grandeur was in my eyes disgraced by the galley slaves, whose condition both there and in other parts of Italy is truly piteous and wretch ed. After we had stayed there some 97 weeks, during which we bought many different things we wanted, and got them very cheap, we sailed to Naples, a charming city, and remarkably clean. The bay is the most beautiful I ever saw; the moles for shipping are excellent. I thought it extraordinary to see grand operas acted here on Sunday nights, and even attended by their majesties. I too, like these great ones, went to those sights, and vainly served God in the day while I thus served mammon effectually at night. While we remained here, there happened an eruption of mount Vesuvius, of which I had a perfect view. It was extremely awful; and we were so near that the ashes from it used to be thick on our deck. After we had transacted our business at Naples, we sailed with a fair wind once more for Smyrna, where we arrived in December. A seraskier 98 or officer, took a liking to me here, and wanted me to stay, and offered me two wives; however I resused the temptation, thinking one was as much as some could manage, and more than others would venture on. The merchants here travel in caravans or large companies. I have seen many caravans from India, with some hundreds of camels, laden with different goods. The people of these caravans are quite brown. Among other articles, they brought with them a great quantity of locusts, which are a kind of pulse, sweet and pleasant to the palate, and in shape resembling French beans, but longer. Each kind of goods is sold in a street by itself, and I always found the Turks very honest in their dealings. They let no Christians into their mosques or churches, for which I was very sorry; as I was always fond of going to see 99 the different modes of worship of the people wherever I went. The plague broke out while we were in smyrna, and we stopped taking goods into the ship till it was over. she was then richly laden, and we sailed in about March 1770, for England. One day in our passage we met with an accident which was near burning the ship. A black cook, in melting some fat, overset the pan into the fire under the deck, which immediately began to blaze, and the flame went up very high under the foretop. With the fright, the poor cook became almost white, and altogether speechless. Happily however we got the fire out without doing much mischief. After various delays in this passage, which was tedious, we arrived in standgate creek in July; and, at the latter end of the year, some new event 100 occurred, so that my noble captain, the ship, and I all separated. In April 1771, I shipped myself as a steward with Capt. Wm. Robertson of the ship Grenada Planter, once more to try my fortune in the West Indies; and we sailed from London for Madeira, Barbados, and the Grenades. A white man, an islander, bought some goods of me to the amount of some pounds, and made me many fair promises as usual, but without any intention of paying me. He had likewise bought goods from some more of our people, whom he intended to serve in the same manner; but he still amused us with promises. However, when our ship was loaded, and near sailing, this honest buyer discovered no intention 101 or sign of paying for any thing he had bought of us; but on the contrary, when I asked him for my money he threatened me and another black man he had bought goods of, so that we found we were like to get more blows than payment. On this we went to complain to one Mr. M'Intosh, a justice of the peace; we told his worship of the man's villainous tricks, and begged that he would be kind enough to see us redressed: but being negroes, although free, we could not get any remedy; and our ship being then just upon the point of sailing, we knew not how to help ourselves, though we thought it hard to lose our property in this manner. Luckily for us however, this man was also indebted to three white sailors, who could not get a farthing from him; they therefore readily joined us, and we all went together in 102 search of him. When we found where he was, I took him out of a house and threatened him with vengeance; on which, finding he was likely to be handled roughly, the rogue offered each of us some small allowance, but nothing near our demands. This exasperated us much more; and some were for cutting his ears off; but he begged hard for mercy, which was at last granted him, after we had entirely stripped him. We then let him go, for which he thanked us, glad to get off so easily, and ran into the bushes, after having wished us a good voyage. We then repaired on board, and shortly after set sail for England. I cannot help remarking here a very narrow escape we had from being blown up, owing to a piece of negligence of mine. Just as our ship was under sail, I went down under the cabin to do some business, 103 and had a lighted candle in my hand, which, in my hurry, without thinking, I held in a barrel of gunpowder. It remained in the powder until it was near catching sire, when fortunately I observed it and snatched it out in time, and providentially no harm happened; but I was so overcome with terror that I immediately fainted at this deliverance. In twenty-eight days time we arrived in England, and I got clear of this ship. But, being still of a roving disposition, and desirous of seeing as many different parts of the world as I could, I shipped myself soon after, in the same year, as steward on board of a fine large ship, called the Jamaica, Captain David Watt; and we sailed from England in December 1771, for Nevis and Jamaica. I found Jamaica to be a very fine large island, well peopled, and the most considerable 104 of the West India islands. There was a vast number of negroes here, whom I found as usual exceedingly imposed upon by the white people, and the slaves punished as in the other islands. There are negroes whose business it is to flog slaves; they go about to different people for employment, and the usual pay is from one to four bits. I saw many cruel punishments inflicted on the slaves in the short time I stayed here. In particular I was present when a poor fellow was tied up and kept hanging by the wrists at some distance from the ground, and then some half hundred weights were fixed to his ankles, in which posture he was flogged most unmercifully. There were also, as I heard, two different masters noted for cruelty on the island, who had staked up two negroes naked, and in two hours the vermin stung them 105 to death. I heard a gentleman, I well knew, tell my captain that he passed sentence on a negro man to be burnt alive for attempting to poison an overseer. I pass over numerous other instances, in order to relieve the reader by a milder scene of roguery. Before I had been long on the island, one Mr. Smith at Port Morant, bought goods of me to the amount of twenty-five pounds sterling; but when I demanded payment from him, he was going each time to beat me, and threatened that he would put me in goal. One time he would say I was going to set his house on fire; at another, he would swear I was going to run away with his slaves. I was astonished at this usage from a person who was in the situation of a gentleman, but I had no alternative; and was therefore obliged to submit. When I came to Kingston, I was surprised to 106 see the number of Africans who were assembled together on Sundays; particularly at a large commodious place, called spring Path. Here each different nation of Africa meet and dance after the manner of their own country. They still retain most of their native customs: they bury their dead, and put victuals, pipes and tobacco, and other things, in the grave with the corpse, in the same manner as in Africa. Our ship having got her loading we sailed for London, where we arrived in the August following. On my return to London, I waited on my old and good master, Dr. Irving, who made me an offer of his service again. Being now tired of the sea I gladly accepted it. I was very happy in living with this gentleman once more; during which time we were daily employed in reducing old Neptune's dominions 107 by purifying the briny element and making it fresh. Thus I went on till May 1773, when I was roused by the sound of fame, to seek new adventures, and find, towards the north pole, what our Creator never intended we should, a passage to India. An expedition was now fitting out to explore a north-east passage, conducted by the Honourable Constantine John Phipps, since Lord Mulgrave, in his Majesty's sloop of war the Race Horse. My master being anxious for the reputation of this adventure, we therefore prepared every thing for our voyage, and I attended him on board the Race Horse, the 24th day of May, 1773. We proceeded to Sheerness, where we were joined by his Majesty's sloop the Carcass, commanded by Captain Lutwidge. On the 4th of June, we sailed towards our destined place, the 108 pole; and on the 15th of the same month we were off Shetland. On this day I had a great and unexpected deliverance from an accident which was near blowing up the ship and destroying the crew, which made me ever after during the voyage uncommonly cautious. The ship was so filled that there was very little room on board for any one, which placed me in a very aukward situation. I had resolved to keep a journal of this singular and interesting voyage; and I had no other place for this purpose but a little cabin, or the doctor's store-room, where I slept. This little place was stuffed with all manner of combustibles, particularly with tow and aquafortis, and many other dangerous things. Unfortunately it happened in the evening as I was writing my journal, that I had occasion to take the candle out of the 109 lanthorn, and a spark having touched a single thread of the tow, all the rest caught the flame, and immediately the whole was in a blaze. I saw nothing but present death before me, and expected to be the first to perish in the flames. In a moment the alarm was spread, and many people who were near, ran to assist in putting out the fire. All this time I was in the very midst of the flames; my shirt, and the handkerchief on my neck, were burnt, and I was almost smothered with the smoke. However, through God's mercy, as I was nearly giving up all hopes, some people brought blankets and mattresses and threw them on the flames, by which means in a short time the fire was put out. I was severely reprimanded and menaced by such of the officers who knew it, and strictly charged never more to go there with a 110 light: and, indeed, even my own fears made me give heed to this command for a little time—but at last, not being able to write my journal in any other part of the ship, I was tempted again to venture by stealth with a light in the same cabin, though not without considerable fear and dread on my mind. On the 20th of June, we began to use Dr. Irving's apparatus for making salt water fresh; I used to attend the distillery: I frequently purified from twenty-six to forty gallons a day. The water thus distilled was perfectly pure, well tasted, and free from salt; and was used on various occasions on board the ship. On the 28th of June, being in lat. 78, we made Greenland, where I was surprized to see the sun did not set. The weather now became extremely cold; and as we sailed between north and east, which was our 111 course, we saw many very high and curious mountains of ice; and also a great number of very large whales, which used to come close to our ship, and blow the water up to a very great height in the air. One morning we had vast quantities of sea-horses about the ship, which neighed exactly like any other horses. We fired some harpoon guns amongst them, in order to take some; but we could not get any. The 30th, the captain of a Greenland ship came on board, and told us of three ships that were lost in the ice; however we still held on our course till July the 11th, when we were stopt by one compact impenetrable body of ice. We ran along it from east to west above ten degrees; and on the 27th we got as far north as 80, 37; and in 19 or 20 degrees; east longitude from London. On the 29th and 30th of 112 July, we saw one continued plain of smooth unbroken ice, bounded only by the horizon; and we fastened to a piece of ice that was eight yards eleven inches thick. We had generally sunshine, and constant daylight; which gave cheerfulness and novelty to the whole of this striking, grand, and uncommon scene; and, to heighten it still more, the reflection of the sun from the ice gave the clouds a most beautiful appearance. We killed many different animals at this time, and among the rest nine bears. Though they had nothing in their paunches but water yet they were all very fat. We used to decoy them to the ship sometimes by burning feathers of skins. I thought them coarse eating, but some of the ship's company relished them very much. Some of our people once, in the boat, fired at and wounded a seahorse, 113 which dived immediately; and in a little time after, brought up with it a number of others. They all joined in an attack upon the boat, and were with difficulty prevented from staving or oversetting her; but a boat from the Carcass having come to assist ours, and joined it, they dispersed, after having wrested an oar from one of the men. One of the ship's boats had before been attacked in the same manner, but happily no harm was done. Though we wounded several of these animals we never got but one. We remained hereabouts until the 1st of August; when the two ships got completely fastened in the ice, occasioned by the loose ice that set in from the sea. This made our situation very dreadful and alarming; so that on the 7th day, we were in very great apprehension of having the ships squeezed to pieces. 114 The officers now held a council to know what was best for us to do in order to save our lives; and it was determined that we should endeavour to escape by dragging our boats along the ice towards the sea; which, however, was farther off than any of us thought. This determination filled us with extreme dejection, and confounded us with despair; for we had very little prospect of escaping with life. However, we sawed some of the ice about the ships, to keep it from hurting them; and thus kept them in a kind of pond. We then began to drag the boats as well as we could towards the sea; but, after two or three days labour, we made very little progress; so that some of our hearts totally failed us, and I really began to give up myself for lost, when I saw our surrounding calamities. While we were 115 at this hard labour, I once fell into a pond we had made amongst some loose ice, and was very near being drowned; but providentially some people were near who gave me immediate assistance, and thereby I escaped drowning. Our deplorable condition, which kept up the constant apprehension of our perishing in the ice, brought me gradually to think of eternity in such a manner as I never had done before. I had the fears of death hourly upon me, and shuddered at the thoughts of meeting the grim king of terrors in the natural state I then was in, and was exceedingly doubtful of a happy eternity if I should die in it. I had no hopes of my life being prolonged for any time; for we saw that our existence could not be long on the ice after leaving the ships, which were now out of sight, and some miles from the boats. 116 Our appearance now became truly lamentable; pale dejection seized every countenance; many, who had been before blasphemers, in this our distress began to call on the good God of heaven for his help; and in the time of our utter need he heard us, and against hope or human probability, delivered us! It was the eleventh day of the ships being thus fastened, and the fourth of our drawing the boats in this manner, that the wind changed to the E. N. E. The weather immediately became mild, and the ice broke towards the sea, which was to the S. W. of us. Many of us on this got on board again, and with all our might we hove the ships into every open water we could find, and made all the sail on them in our power: and now, having a prospect of success, we made signals for the boats and the remainder 117 of the people. This seemed to us like a reprieve from death; and happy was the man who could first get on board of any ship, or the first boat he could meet. We then proceeded in this manner till we got into the open water again, which we accomplished in about thirty hours, to our infinite joy and gladness of heart. As soon as we were out of danger, we came to anchor and refitted; and on the 19th of August, we sailed from this uninhabited extremity of the world, where the inhospitable climate affords neither food nor shelter, and not a tree or shrub of any kind grows amongst its barren rocks; but all is one desolate and expanded waste of ice, which even the constant beams of the sun for six months in the year, cannot penetrate or dissolve. The sun now being on the decline, the days shortened as 118 we sailed to the southward; and, on the 28th, in latitude 73, it was dark by ten o'clock at night. September the 10th, in latitude 58-59, we met a very severe gale of wind and high seas, and shipped a great deal of water in the space of ten hours. This made us work exceedingly hard at all our pumps a whole day; and one sea, which struck the ship with more force than any thing I ever met with of the kind before, laid her under water for some time, so that we thought she would have gone down. Two boats were washed from the booms, and the long-boat from the chucks: all other moveable things on the decks were also washed away, among which were many curious things of different kinds which we had brought from Greenland; and we were obliged, in order to lighten the ship, to toss some of our guns overboard. 119 We saw a ship at the same time, in very great distress, and her masts were gone; but we were unable to assist her. We now lost sight of the Carcass till the 26th, when we saw land about Orfordness, off which place she joined us. From thence we sailed for London, and on the 30th came up to Deptford. And thus ended our Arctic voyage, to the no small joy of all on board, after having been absent four months; in which time, at the imminent hazard of our lives, we explored nearly as far towards the Pole as 81 degrees north, and 20 degrees east longitude; being much farther, by all accounts, than any navigator had ever ventured before; in which we fully proved the impracticability of finding a passage that way to India. 120 CHAP. X. The author leaves Doctor Irving, and engages on board a Turkey ship—Account of a black man's being kidnapped on board and sent to the West Indies, and the author's fruitless endeavours to procure his freedom—some account of the manner of the author's conversion to the faith of Jesus Christ. Our voyage to the North Pole being ended, I returned to London with Doctor Irving, with whom I continued for some time, during which I began seriously to reflect on the dangers I had escaped, particularly those of my last voyage, which made a lasting impression on my mind; and, by the grace of God, 121 proved afterwards a mercy to me; it caused me to reflect deeply on my eternal state, and to seek the Lord with full purpose of heart ere it was too late. I rejoiced greatly; and heartily thanked the Lord for directing me to London, where I was determined to work out my own salvation, and in so doing, procure a title to heaven; being the result of a mind blended by ignorance and sin. In process of time I left my master, Doctor Irving, the purifier of waters. I lodged in Coventry-court, Haymarket, where I was continually oppressed and much concerned about the salvation of my soul, and was determined (in my own strength) to be a first-rate Christian. I used every means for this purpose; and, not being able to find any person amongst those with 122 whom I was then acquainted that acquiesced with me in point of religion, or, in scripture language, that would shew me any good, I was much dejected, and knew not where to seek relief; however, I first frequented the neighbouring churches, st. James's, and others, two or three times a day, for many weeks: still I came away dissatisfied: something was wanting that I could not obtain, and I really found more heart-felt relief in reading my bible at home than in attending the church; and, being resolved to be saved, I pursued other methods. First I went among the quakers, where the word of God was neither read or preached, so that I remained as much in the dark as ever. I then searched into the Roman Catholic principles, but was not in the least edified. I at length had recourse to the Jews, which availed me 123 nothing, as the fear of eternity daily harassed my mind, and I knew not where to seek shelter from the wrath to come. However this was my conclusion, at all events, to read the four evangelists, and whatever sect or party I found adhering thereto, such I would join. Thus I went on heavily without any guide to direct me the way that leadeth to eternal life. I asked different people questions about the manner of going to heaven, and was told different ways. Here I was much staggered, and could not find any at that time more righteous than myself, or indeed so much inclined to devotion. I thought we should not all be saved (this is agreeable to the holy scriptures) nor would all be damned. I found none among the circle of my acquaintance that kept wholly the ten commandments. so righteous was I in my own 124 eyes, that I was convinced I excelled many of them in that point, by keeping eight out of ten; and finding those who in general termed themselves Christians not so honest or so good in their morals as the Turks, I really thought the Turks were in a safer way of salvation than my neighbours: so that between hopes and fears I went on, and the chief comforts I enjoyed were in the musical French horn, which I then practised, and also dressing of hair. Such was my situation some months, experiencing the dishonesty of many people here. I determined at last to set out for Turkey, and there to end my days. It was now early in the spring 1774. I sought for a master, and found a captain John Hughes, commander of a ship called Anglicania, fitting out in the river Thames, and bound to Smyrna in Turkey. I shipped myself with him as a 125 steward; at the same time I recommended to him a very clever black man, John Annis, as a cook. This man was on board the ship near two months doing his duty: he had formerly lived many years with Mr. William Kirkpatrick, a gentleman of the island of St. Kitts, from whom he parted by consent, though he afterwards tried many schemes to inveigle the poor man. He had applied to many captains who traded to St. Kitts to trepan him; and when all their attempts and schemes of kidnapping proved abortive, Mr. Kirkpatrick came to our ship at Union stairs, on Easter Monday, April the fourth, with two wherry boats and six men, having learned that the man was on board; and tied, and forcibly took him away from the ship, in the presence of the crew and the chief mate, who had detained him after he had information 126 to come away. I believe this was a combined piece of business: but, be that as it may, it certainly reflected great disgrace on the mate and captain also, who, although they had desired the oppressed man to stay on board, yet this vile act on the man who had served him, he did not in the least assist to recover or pay me a farthing of his wages, which was about five pounds. I proved the only friend he had, who attempted to regain him his liberty if possible, having known the want of liberty myself. I sent as soon as I could to Gravesend, and got knowledge of the ship in which he was; but unluckily she had sailed the first tide after he was put on board. My intention was then immediately to apprehend Mr. Kirkpatrick, who was about setting off for scotland; and, having obtained a habeas corpus for him, and got a tipstaff to 127 go with me to st. Paul's church-yard, where he lived, he, suspecting something of this kind, set a watch to look out. My being known to them, obliged me to use the following deception: I whitened my face, that they might not know me, and this had the desired effect. He did not go out of his house that night, and next morning I contrived a well plotted stratagem, notwithstanding he had a gentleman in his house to personate him. My direction to the tipstaff, who got admittance into the house, was to conduct him to a judge, accord ing to the writ. When he came there, his plea was, that he had not the body in custody, on which he was admitted to bail. I proceeded immediately to that well known philanthropist, Granville sharp, Esq who received me with the utmost kindness, and gave me every instruction that was needful on 128 the occasion. I lest him in full hope that I should gain the unhappy man his liberty, with the warmest sense of gratitude towards Mr. sharp, for his kindness; but alas! my attor ney proved unfaithful; he took my money, lost me many months employ, and did not do the least good in the cause; and when the poor man arrived at st. Kitts, he was, according to custom, staked to the ground with four pins through a cord, two on his wrists, and two on his ancles, was cut and flogged most unmercifully, and afterwards loaded cruelly with irons about his neck. I had two very moving letters from him, while he was in this situation; and made attempts to go after him at a great hazard, but was sadly disappointed: I also was told of it by some very respectable families now in London, who saw him in st. Kitts, in the same state, in which he remained till kind death released 129 him out of the hands of his ty rants. During this disagreeable busi ness I was under strong convictions of sin, and thought that my state was worse than any man's; my mind was unaccountably disturbed; I often wished for death, though at the same time con vinced I was altogether unprepared for that awful summons. suffering much by villains in the late cause, and being much concerned about the state of my soul, these things (but particularly the latter) brought me very low; so that I became a burden to myself, and viewed all things around me as emptiness and vanity, which could give no satisfaction to a troubled conscience. I was again determined to go to Turkey, and resolved, at that time, never more to return to England. I engaged as steward on board a Turkeyman (the Wester Hall, Capt. Lina) but was prevented by means of my late captain, Mr. Hughes, and others. All this appeared 130 to be against me, and the only comfort I then experienced was, in reading the holy scriptures, where I saw that 'there is no new thing under the sun,' Eccles. i. 9; and what was appointed for me I must submit to. Thus I continued to travel in much heaviness, and fre quently murmured against the Almighty, particularly in his providential dealings; and, awful to think! I be gan to blaspheme, and wished often to be any thing but a human being. In these severe conflicts the Lord answered me by awful 'visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, in slumberings upon the bed,' Job xxxiii. 15. He was pleased, in much mercy, to give me to see, and in some measure understand, the great and awful scene of the judgment-day, that 'no unclean person, no unholy thing, can enter into the kingdom of God, Eph. 131 v. 5. I would then, if it had been possible, have changed my nature with the meanest worm on the earth; and was ready to say to the mountains and rocks 'fall on me,' Rev. vi. 16; but all in vain. I then in the greatest agony requested the divine Creator, that he would grant me a small space of time to repent of my follies and vile iniquities, which I felt were grievous. The Lord, in his manifold mercies, was pleased to grant my request, and being yet in a state of time the sense of God's mercies were so great on my mind when I awoke, that my strength entirely failed me for many minutes, and I was exceedingly weak. This was the first spiritual mercy I ever was sensible or, and being on praying ground, as soon as I recovered a little strength, and got out of bed and dressed myself, I invoked Heaven from my inmost soul, and servently begged that God would never 132 again permit me to blaspheme his most holy name. The Lord, who is long suffering, and full of compassion to such poor rebels as we are, condescended to hear and answer. I felt that I was al together unholy, and saw clearly what a bad use I had made of the faculties I was endowed with: they were given me to glorify God with; I thought, therefore, I had better want them here, and enter into life eternal, than abuse them and be cast into hell sire. I prayed to be directed, if there were any holier than those with whom I was acquaint ed, that the Lord would point them out to me. I appealed to the searcher of hearts, whether I did not wish to love him more, and serve him better. Notwithstanding all this, the reader may ea sily discern, if a believer, that I was still in nature's darkness. At length I hated 133 the house in which I lodged, because God's most holy name was blasphemed in it; then I saw the word of God verified, viz. 'Before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.' I had a great desire to read the bible the whole day at home; but not having a convenient place for retirement, I left the house in the day, rather than stay amongst the wicked ones; and that day as I was walking, it pleased God to direct me to a house where there was an old sea-faring man, who experienced much of the love of God shed abroad in his heart. He began to discourse with me; and, as I desired to love the Lord, his conversation rejoiced me greatly; and indeed I had never heard before the love of Christ to believers set forth in such a manner, and in so clear a point of view. Here I had more questions to 134 put to the man than his time would permit him to answer: and in that memor able hour there came in a dissenting minister; he joined our discourse, and asked me some few questions; among others, where I heard the gospel preached? I knew not what he meant by hearing the gospel; I told him I had read the gospel: and he asked where I went to church, or whether I went at all or not? To which I replied 'I attended St. James's, St. Martin's, and St. Ann's soho;' 'so,' said he, 'you are a churchman?' I answered, I was. He then invited me to a love feast at his chapel that evening. I ac cepted the offer, and thanked him; and soon after he went away, I had some further discourse with the old Christian, added to some profitable reading, which made me exceedingly happy. When I left him he reminded me 135 of coming to the feast; I assured him I would be there. Thus we parted, and I weighed over the heavenly conversation that had passed between these two men, which cheered my then heavy and drooping spirit more than any thing I had met with for many months. However, I thought the time long in going to my supposed banquet. I also wished much for the company of these friendly men; their company pleased me much; and I thought the gentleman very kind in asking me, a stranger, to a feast; but how singular did it appear to me, to have it in a chapel! When the wished for hour came I went, and happily the old man was there, who kindly seated me, as he belonged to the place. I was much astonished to see the place filled with people, and no signs of eating and drinking. There were many ministers in the company. At last they began 136 by giving out hymns, and between the singing, the ministers engaged in prayer: in short, I knew not what to make of this sight, having never seen any thing of the kind in my life before now. some of the guests began to speak their experience, agreeable to what I read in the scriptures: much was said by every speaker of the providence of God, and his unspeakable mercies, to each of them. This I knew in a great measure, and could most heartily join them. But when they spoke of a future state, they seemed to be altogether certain of their calling and election of God; and that no one could ever seperate them from the love of Christ, or pluck them out of his hands. This filled me with utter consternation, intermingled with admiration. I was so amazed as not to know what to think of the com pany; my heart was attracted, and my 137 affections were enlarged. I wished to be as happy as them, and was persuaded in my mind that they were different from the world 'that lieth in wickedness,' 1 John v. 19. Their language and singing, &c. did well harmonize; I was entirely overcome, and wished to live and die thus. Lastly, some persons in the place produced some neat baskets full of buns, which they distributed about; and each person communicated with his neighbour, and sipped water out of different mugs, which they handed about to all who were present. This kind of Christian fellow ship I had never seen, nor ever thought of seeing on earth; it fully reminded me of what I had read in the holy scrip tures, of the primitive Christians, who loved each other and broke bread; in partaking of it, even from house to house. This entertainment (which lasted about four hours) ended in singing 138 and prayer. It was the first soul feast I ever was present at. This last twenty-four hours produced me things, spiritual and temporal, sleeping and waking, judgment and mercy, that I could not but admire the goodness of God, in directing the blind, blasphem ous sinner in the path that he knew not of, even among the just; and instead of judgment he has shewed mercy, and will hear and answer the prayers and supplications of every returning prodigal: O! to grace how great a debtor Daily I'm constrain'd to be! After this I was resolved to win Heaven if possible; and if I perished I thought it should be at the feet of Jesus, in praying to him for salvation. After having been an eye-witness to some of the happiness which attended those who feared God, I knew not how, with any 139 propriety, to return to my lodgings, where the name of God was continually profaned, at which I felt the greatest horror; I paused in my mind for some time, not knowing what to do; whether to hire a bed elsewhere, or go home again. At last fearing an evil report might arise, I went home, with a farewel to card-playing and vain jesting, &c. I saw that time was very short, eternity long, and very near; and I viewed those persons alone blessed who were found ready at midnight call, or when the judge of all, both quick and dead, cometh. The next day I took courage, and went to Holborn, to see my new and worthy acquaintance, the old man, Mr. C—; he, with his wife, a gracious woman, were at work at silk weaving; they seemed mutually happy, and both quite glad to see me, and I 140 more so to see them. I sat down and we conversed much about soul matters, &c. Their discourse was amazingly delightful, edifying, and pleasant. I knew not at last how to leave this agreeable pair, till time summoned me away. As I was going they lent me a little book, entitled "The conversion of an Indian." It was in questions and answers. The poor man came over the sea to London, to inquire after the Christian's God, who, (through rich mercy) he found, and had not his journey in vain. The above book was of great use to me, and at that time was a means of strengthening my faith; however, in parting, they both invited me to call on them when I pleased. This delighted me, and I took care to make all the improvement from it I could; and so far I thanked God for such com pany and desires. I prayed that the 141 many evils I felt within might be done away, and that I might be weaned from my former carnal acquaintances. This was quickly heard and answered, and I was soon connected with those whom the scripture calls the excellent of the earth. I heard the gospel preached, and the thoughts of my heart and actions were laid open by the preachers, and the way of salvation by Christ alone was evidently set forth. Thus I went on happily for near two months; and I once heard, during this period, a reverend gentleman Mr. G. speak of a man who had departed this life in full assurance of his going to glory I was much asto nished at the assertion; and did very deliberately inquire how he could get at this knowledge. I was answered fully, agreeable to what I read in the oracles of truth; and was told also, that if I did not experience the new birth, 142 and the pardon of my sins, through the blood of Christ, before I died, I could not enter the kingdom of heaven. I knew not what to think of this report, as I thought I kept eight commandments out of ten; then my worthy interpreter told me I did not do it, nor could I; and he added, that no man ever did or could keep the commandments, without offending in one point. I thought this sounded very strange, and puzzled me much for many weeks; for I thought it a hard saying. I then asked my friend Mr. L—d, who was a clerk in a chapel, why the commandments of God were given, if we could not be saved by them? To which he replied, 'The law is a schoolmaster to bring us to Christ,' who alone could and did keep the commandments, and fulfilled all their requirements for his elect people, even those to whom he had given 143 a living faith, and the sins of those chosen vessels were already atoned for and forgiven them whilst living; and if I did not experience the same before my exit, the Lord would say at that great day to me, 'Go, ye cursed,' &c. &c. for God would appear faithful in his judgments to the wicked, as he would be faithful in shewing mercy to those were ordained to it before the world was; therefore Christ Jesus seemed to be all in all to that man's soul. I was much wounded at this discourse, and brought into such a dilemma as I never expected. I asked him, if he was to die that moment, whether he was sure to enter the kingdom of God? and added, 'Do you know that your sins are forgiven you?' He answered in the affirmative. Then confusion, anger, and discontent seized me, and I staggered much at this sort of doctrine; it 144 brought me to a stand, not knowing which to believe, whether salvation by works, or by faith only in Christ. I requested him to tell me how I might know when my sins were forgiven me. He assured me he could not, and that none but God alone could do this. I told him it was very mysterious; but he said it was really matter of fact, and quoted many portions of scripture immediately to the point, to which I could make no reply. He then desired me to pray to God to shew me these things. I answered, that I prayed to God every day? He said, 'I perceive you are a churchman. I answered, I was. He then entreated me to beg of God to shew me what I was, and the true state of my soul. I thought the prayer very short and odd; so we parted for that time. I weighed all these things well over, and could not help thinking how it was possible for a man to know 145 that his sins were forgiven him in this life. I wished that God would reveal this self same thing unto me. In a short time after this I went to Westminster chapel; the Rev. Mr. P— preached from Lam. iii. 39. It was a wonderful sermon; he clearly shewed that a living man had no cause to complain for the punishments of his sins; he evidently justified the Lord in all his dealings with the sons of men; he also shewed the justice of God in the eternal punishment of the wicked and impenitent. The discourse seemed to me like a two-edged sword cutting all ways; it afforded me much joy, intermingled with many fears about my soul; and when it was ended, he gave it out that he intended, the ensuing week, to examine all those who meant to attend the Lord's table. Now I thought much of my good works, and at the same time was doubtful 146 of my being a proper object to re ceive the sacrament; I was full of me ditation till the day of examining. However, I went to the chapel, and, though much distressed, I addressed the reverend gentleman, thinking if I was not right, he would endeavour to convince me of it. When I conversed with him, the first thing he asked me, was, what I knew of Christ? I told him I believed in him, and had been baptized in his name. 'Then,' said he, 'when were you brought to the knowledge of God? and how were you convinced of sin?' I knew not what he meant by these questions; I told him I kept eight commandments out of ten; but that I sometimes swore on board ship, and sometimes when on shore, and broke the sabbath. He then asked me if I could read? I answered, 'Yes.' 'Then,' said he, 'do you not read in the bible 147 he that offends in one point is guilty of all?' I said, 'Yes.' Then he assured me, that one sin unatoned for was as sufficient to damn a soul as one leak was to sink a ship. Here I was struck with awe; for the minister exhorted me much, and reminded me of the shortness of time, and the length of eternity, and that no unregenerate soul, or any thing unclean, could enter the kingdom of Heaven. He did not admit me as a communicant; but recommended me to read the scriptures, and hear the word preached, not to neglect fervent prayer to God, who has promised to hear the suppli cations of those who seek him in godly sincerity; so I took my leave of him, with many thanks, and resolved to follow his advice, so far as the Lord would condescend to enable me. During this time I was out of employ, nor was I 148 likely to get a situation suitable for me, which obliged me to go once more to sea. I engaged as steward of a ship called the Hope, Capt. Richard strange, bound from London to Cadiz in spain. In a short time after I was on board I heard the name of God much blas phemed, and I feared greatly, lest I should catch the horrible infection. I thought if I sinned again, after having life and death set evidently before me, I should certainly go to hell. My mind was uncommonly chagrined, and I murmured much at God's providential dealings with me, and was discontented with the commandments, that I could not be saved by what I had done; I hated all things, and wished I had never been born; confusion seized me, and I wished to be annihilated. One day I was standing on the very edge of the stern of the ship, thinking to drown 149 myself; but this scripture was instantly impressed on my mind—'That no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him,' 1 John iii. 15. Then I paused, and thought myself the unhappiest man living. Again I was convinced that the Lord was better to me than I deserved, and I was better off in the world than many. After this I began to fear death; I fretted, mourned, and prayed, till I became a burden to others, but more so to myself. At length I concluded to beg my bread on shore rather than go again to sea amongst a people who feared not God, and I entreated the captain three different times to discharge me; he would not, but each time gave me greater and greater encouragement to continue with him, and all on board shewed me very great civility: notwithstanding all this I was unwilling to embark again. At last some of my 150 religious friends advised me, by saying it was my lawful calling, consequently it was my duty to obey, and that God was not confined to place, &c. &c. particularly Mr. G. S. the governor of Tothil-fields Bridewell, who pitied my case, and read the eleventh chapter of the Hebrews to me, with exhortations. He prayed for me, and I believed that he prevailed on my behalf, as my burden was then greatly removed, and I found a heartfelt resignation to the will of God. The good man gave me a pocket Bible and Alleine's Alarm to the Unconverted . We parted, and the next day I went on board again. We sailed for Spain, and I found favour with the captain. It was the fourth of the month of September when we sailed from London; we had a delightful voyage to Cadiz, where we arrived the twenty-third of the same month. The place 151 is strong, commands a fine prospect, and is very rich. The Spanish galloons frequent that port, and some arrived whilst we were there. I had many opportunities of reading the scriptures. I wrestled hard with God in fervent prayer, who had declared in his word that he would hear the groanings and deep sighs of the poor in spirit. I found this verified to my utter astonishment and comfort in the following manner: On the morning of the 6th of October, (I pray you to attend) all that day, I thought that I should either see or hear something supernatural. I had a secret impulse on my mind of something that was to take place, which drove me continually for that time to a throne of grace. It pleased God to enable me to wrestle with him, as Jacob did: I prayed that if sudden death were to happen, and I perished, it might be at Christ's feet. 152 In the evening of the same day, as I was reading and meditating on the fourth chapter of the Acts, twelfth verse , under the solemn apprehensions of eternity, and reflecting on my past actions, I began to think I had lived a moral life, and that I had a proper ground to believe I had an interest in the divine favour; but still meditating on the subject, not knowing whether salvation was to be had partly for our own good deeds, or solely as the sovereign gift of God;—in this deep consternation the Lord was pleased to break in upon my soul with his bright beams of heavenly light; and in an instant as it were, removing the veil, and letting light into a dark place, I saw clearly with the eye of faith the crucified Saviour bleeding on the cross on mount Calvary: the scriptures became an unsealed book, I saw myself a condemned criminal under the law, 153 which came with its full force to my conscience, and when 'the commandment came sin revived, and I died.' I saw the Lord Jesus Christ in his humiliation, loaded and bearing my reproach, sin, and shame. I then clearly perceived that by the deeds of the law no flesh living could be justified. I was then convinced that by the first Adam sin came, and by the second Adam (the Lord Jesus Christ) all that are saved must be made alive. It was given me at that time to know what it was to be born again, John iii. 5. I saw the eighth chapter to the Romans, and the doctrines of God's decrees, verified agreeable to his eternal, everlasting, and unchangeable purposes. The word of God was sweet to my taste, yea sweeter than honey and the honeycomb. Christ was revealed to my soul as the chiefest among ten thousand. These heavenly moments 154 were really as life to the dead, and what John calls an earnest of the spirit*. This was indeed unspeakable, and I firmly believe undeniable by many. Now every leading providential circumstance that happened to me, from the day I was taken from my parents to that hour, was then in my view, as if it had but just then occurred. I was sensible of the invisible hand of God, which guided and protected me when in truth I knew it not: still the Lord pursued me although I slighted and disregarded it; this mercy melted me down. When I considered my poor wretched state I wept, seeing what a great debtor I was to sovereign free grace. Now the Ethiopian was willing to be saved by Jesus Christ, the sinner's only surety, and also to rely on none other person or thing for salvation. * John xvi. 13, 14. &c. [Equiano's note] 155 Self was obnoxious, and good works he had none, for it is God that worketh in us both to will and to do. Oh! The amazing things of that hour can never be told—it was joy in the Holy Ghost! I felt an astonishing change; the burden of sin, the gaping jaws of hell, and the fears of death, that weighed me down before, now lost their horror; indeed I thought death would now be the best earthly friend I ever had. Such were my grief and joy as I believe are seldom experienced. I was bathed in tears, and said, What am I that God should thus look on me the vilest of sinners? I felt a deep concern for my mother and friends, which occasioned me to pray with fresh ardour, and in the abyss of thought, I viewed the unconverted people of the world in a very awful state, being without God and without hope. 156 It pleased God to pour out on me the Spirit of prayer and the grace of supplication, so that in loud acclamations I was enabled to praise and glorify his most holy name. When I got out of the cabin, and told some of the people what the Lord had done for me, alas, who could understand me or believe my report!—None but to whom the arm of the Lord was revealed. I became a barbarian to them in talking of the love of Christ: his name was to me as ointment poured forth; indeed it was sweet to my soul, but to them a rock of offence. I thought my case singular, and every hour a day until I came to London, for I much longed to be with some to whom I could tell of the wonders of God's love towards me, and join in prayer to him whom my soul loved and thirsted after. I had uncommon commotions within, such as few can tell aught about. Now the bible was my 157 only companion and comfort; I prized it much, with many thanks to God that I could read it for myself, and was not left to be tossed about or led by man's devices and notions. The worth of a soul cannot be told.—May the Lord give the reader an understanding in this. Whenever I looked in the bible I saw things new, and many texts were immediately applied to me with great comfort, for I knew that to me was the word of salvation sent. Sure I was that the spirit which indited the word opened my heart to receive the truth of it as it is in Jesus—that the same spirit enabled me to act faith upon the promises that were precious to me, and enabled me to believe to the salvation of my soul. By free grace I was persuaded that I had a part in the first resurrection, and was enlightened with the 'light of the living,' Job xxxiii. 30. 158 I wished for a man of God with whom I might converse: my soul was like the chariots of Aminadab, Canticles vi. 12. These among others, were the precious promises that were so powerfully applied to me: 'All things whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive,' Matt. xxi. 22. 'Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you,' John xiv. 27. I saw the blessed Redeemer to be the fountain of life, and the well of salvation. I experienced him to be all in all; he had brought me by a way that I knew not, and he had made crooked paths straight. Then in his name I set up my Ebenezer, saying, Hitherto he hath helped me: and could say to the sinners about me, Behold what a saviour I have! Thus I was, by the teaching of that all-glorious Deity, the great One in Three, and Three in One, confirmed in the truths of the bible, those oracles 159 of everlasting truth, on which every soul living must stand or fall eternally, agreeable to Acts iv. 12. 'Neither is there salvation in any other, for there is none other name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved, but only Christ Jesus.' May God give the reader a right understanding in these facts! 'To him that believeth, all things are possible, but to them that are unbelieving nothing is pure, Titus i. 15. During this period we remained at Cadiz until our ship got laden. We sailed about the fourth of November; and, having a good passage, we arrived in London the month following, to my comfort, with heartfelt gratitude to God for his rich and unspeakable mercies. On my return I had but one text which puzzled me, or that the devil 160 endeavoured to buffet me with, viz. Rom. xi. 6. and, as I had heard of the Reverend Mr. Romaine, and his great knowledge in the scriptures, I wished much to hear him preach. One day I went to Blackfriars church, and, to my great satisfaction and surprise, he preached from that very text. He very clearly shewed the difference between human works and free election, which is according to God's sovereign will and pleasure. These glad tidings set me entirely at liberty, and I went out of the church rejoicing, seeing my spots were those of God's Children. I went to Westminster Chapel, and saw some of my old friends, who were glad when they perceived the wonderful change that the Lord had wrought in me, particularly Mr. G— s—, my worthy acquaintance, who was a man of a choice spirit, and had great zeal 161 sor the Lord's service. I enjoyed his correspondence till he died in the year 1784. I was again examined at that same chapel, and was received into church-fellowship amongst them: I rejoiced in spirit, making melody in my heart to the God of all my mercies, Now my whole wish was to be dissolved, and to be with Christ—but, alas! I must wait mine appointed time. 162 MISCELLANEOUS VERSES, OR, Reflections on the state of my Mind during my first Convictions, of the Necessity of believing the Truth, and experiencing the inestimable Benefits of Christianity. Well may I say my life has been One scene of sorrow and of pain; From early days I griefs have known, And as I grew my griefs have grown: Dangers were always in my path; And fear of wrath, and sometimes death; While pale dejection in me reign'd I often wept, by grief constrain'd. When taken from my native land, By an unjust and cruel band, How did uncommon dread prevail! My sighs no more I could conceal. To ease my mind I often strove, And tried my trouble to remove: I sung, and utter'd sighs between— Assay'd to stifle guilt with sin. 163 But O' not all that I could do Would stop the current of my woe; Conviction still my vileness shew'd; How great my guilt—how lost to good! ' Prevented, that I could not die, ' Nor could to one sure refuge fly; ' An orphan state I had to mourn,— ' Forsook by all, and left forlorn.' Those who beheld my downcast mein, Could not guess at my woes unseen: They by appearance could not know The troubles that I waded through. Lust, anger, blasphemy, and pride, With legions of such ills beside, ' Troubled my thoughts,' while doubts and fears Clouded and darken'd most my years. 'Sighs now no more would be confin'd— 'They breath'd the trouble of my mind:' I wish'd for death, but check'd the word, And often pray'd unto the Lord. Unhappy, more than some on earth, I thought the place that gave me birth— strange thoughts oppress'd—while I replied " Why not in Ethiopia died?" 164 And why thus spar'd when nigh to hell?— God only knew—I could not tell! ' A tott ring fence a bowing wall,' ' I thought myself ere since the fall.' Oft times I mus'd, and nigh despair, While birds melodious fill'd the air: ' Thrice happy songsters, ever free,' How blest were they, compar'd to me! Thus all things added to my pain, While grief compell'd me to complain; When sable clouds began to rise My mind grew darker than the skies. The English nation call'd to leave, How did my breast with sorrows heave! I long'd for rest—cried "Help me, Lord! " some mitigation, Lord, afford!" Yet on, dejected, still I went— Heart-throbbing woes within me pent; Nor land, nor sea, could comfort give, Nor aught my anxious mind relieve. Weary with troubles yet unknown To all but God and self alone, Numerous months for peace I strove, Numerous foes I had to prove. 165 Inur'd to dangers, griefs, and woes, Train'd up midst perils, death, and foes, said, "Must it thus ever be?— " No quiet is permitted me." Hard hap, and more than heavy lot! I pray'd to God "Forget me not— " What thou ordain'st help me to bear; " But O! deliver from despair!" strivings and wrestling seem'd in vain; Nothing I did could ease my pain: Then gave I up my work and will, Consess'd and own'd my doom was hell! Like some poor pris'ner at the bar, Conscious of guilt, of sin and fear, Arraign'd, and self-condemn'd, I stood— ' Lost in the world and in my blood!' Yet here, 'midst blackest clouds confin'd, A beam from Christ, the day-star shin'd; surely, thought I, if Jesus please, He can at once sign my release. I, ignorant of his righteousness, set up my labours in its place; ' Forgot for why his blood was shed, ' And pray'd and fasted in its stead.' 166 He dy'd for sinners—I am one! Might not his blood for me atone? Tho' I am nothing else but sin, Yet surely he can make me clean! Thus light came in, and I believ'd; Myself forgot, and help receiv'd! My saviour then I know I found, For, eas'd from guilt no more I groan'd. O, happy hour, in which I ceas'd To mourn, for then I found a rest! My soul and Christ were now as one— Thy light, O Jesus, in me shone! Bless'd be thy name, for now I know I and my works can nothing do; "The Lord alone can ransom man— "For this the spotless Lamb was slain!" When sacrifices, works, and pray'r, Prov'd vain, and ineffectual were, " Lo, then I come!" the savior cry'd, And bleeding, bow'd his head and dy'd! He dy'd for all who ever saw No help in them, nor by the law:— I this have seen; and gladly own "Salvation is by Christ alone*!" * Act. iv. 12. [Equiano's Note] 167 CHAP. XI. The author embarks on board a ship bound for Cadiz—Is near being shipwrecked—Goes to Malaga—Remarkable fine cathedral there—The author disputes with a popish priest—Picking up eleven miserable men at sea in returning to England—Engages again with Doctor Irving to accompany him to Jamaica and the Musquito shore—Meets with an Indian prince on board—The author attempts to instruct him in the truths of the Gospel—Frustrated by the bad example of some in the ship—They arrive on the Musquito shore with some slaves they purchased at Jamaica, and begin to cultivate a plantation—some account of the manners and customs of the Musquito 168 Indians—successful device of the author's to quell a riot among them—Curious entertainment given by them to Doctor Irving and the author, who leaves the shore and goes for Jamaica—Is barbarously treated by a man with whom he engaged for his passage—Escapes and goes to the Musquito admiral, who treats him kindly—He gets another vessel and goes on board—Instances of bad treatment—Meets Doctor Irving—Gets to Jamaica—Is cheated by his captain—Leaves the Doctor and goes for England. WHEN our ship was got ready for sea again, I was intreated by the captain to go in her once more; but, as I felt myself now as happy as I could with to be in this life, I for some time refused; however, the advice of my friends at last prevailed; and, in full resignation to the will of God, I again 169 embarked for Cadiz in March 1775. We had a very good passage, without any material accident, until we arrived off the Bay of Cadiz; when one Sunday, just as we were going into the harbour, the ship struck against a rock and knocked off a garboard plank, which is the next to the keel. In an instant all hands were in the greatest confusion, and began with loud cries to call on God to have mercy on them. Although I could not swim, and saw no way of escaping death, I felt no dread in my then situation, having no desire to live. I even rejoiced in spirit, thinking this death would be sudden glory. But the fulness of time was not yet come. The people near to me were much astonished in seeing me thus calm and resigned; but I told them of the peace of God, which through sovereign grace I enjoyed, and 170 these words were that instant in my mind: "Christ is my pilot wise, my compass is his word; "My soul each storm desies, while I have such a Lord. "I trust his faithfulness and power, "To save me in the trying hour. "Though rocks and quicksands deep through all my passage lie, "Yet Christ shall safely keep and guide me with his eye, "How can I sink with such a prop, "That bears the world and all things up?" At this time there were many large Spanish flukers or passage-vessels full of people crossing the channel; who seeing our condition, a number of them came alongside of us. As many hands as could be employed began to work; some at our three pumps, and the rest unloading the ship as fast as possible. There being only a single rock called the Porpus on which we struck, we soon got off it, and providentially it was then high water, we therefore run the ship 171 ashore at the nearest place to keep her from sinking. After many tides, with a great deal of care and industry, we got her repaired again. When we had dispatched our business at Cadiz, we went to Gibraltar, and from thence to Malaga, a very pleasant and rich city, where there is one of the finest cathedrals I had ever seen. It had been above fifty years in building, as I heard, though it was not then quite finished; great parts of the inside, however, was completed and highly decorated with the richest marble columns and many superb paintings; it was lighted occasionally by an amazing number of wax tapers of different sizes, some of which were as thick as a man's thigh; these, however, were only used on some of their grand festivals. I was very much shocked at the custom of bull-baiting, and other diversions 172 which prevailed here on Sunday evenings, to the great scandal of Christianity and morals. I used to express my abhorrence of it to a priest whom I met with. I had frequent contests about religion with the reverend father, in which he took great pains to make a proselyte of me to his church; and I no less to convert him to mine. On these occasions I used to produce my Bible, and shew him in what points his church erred. He then said he had been in England, and that every person there read the Bible, which was very wrong; but I answered him that Christ desired us to search the scriptures. In his zeal for my conversion, he solicited me to go to one of the universities in Spain, and declared that I should have my education free; and told me, if I got myself made a priest, I might in time 173 become even pope; and that Pope Benedict was a black man. As I was ever desirous of learning, I paused for some time upon this temptation; and thought by being crafty I might catch some with guile; but I began to think that it would be only hypocrisy in me to embrace his offer, as I could not in conscience conform to the opinions of his church. I was therefore enabled to regard the word of God, which says, 'Come out from amongst them,' and refused Father Vincent's offer. so we parted without conviction on either side. Having taken at this place some fine wines, fruits, and money, we proceeded to Cadiz, where we took about two tons more of money, &c. and then sailed for England in the month of June. When we were about the north latitude 42, we had contrary wind for 174 several days, and the ship did not make in that time above six or seven miles strait course. This made the captain exceeding fretful and peevish: and I was very sorry to hear God's most holy name often blasphemed by him. One day, as he was in that impious mood, a young gentleman on board, who was a passenger, reproached him, and said he acted wrong; for we ought to be thankful to God for all things, as we were not in want of any thing on board; and though the wind was contrary for us, yet it was fair for some others, who, perhaps, stood in more need of it than we. I immediately seconded this young gentleman with some boldness, and said we had not the least cause to murmur, for that the Lord was better to us than we deserved, and that he had done all things well. I expected that the captain 175 would be very angry with me for speaking, but he replied not a word. However, before that time on the following day, being the 21st of June, much to our great joy and astonishment, we saw the providential hand of our benign Creator, whose ways with his blind creatures are past finding out. The preceding night I dreamed that I saw a boat immediately off the starboard main shrouds; and exactly at half past one o'clock, the following day at noon, while I was below, just as we had dined in the cabin, the man at the helm cried out, A boat! which brought my dream that instant into my mind. I was the first man that jumped on the deck; and looking from the shrouds onward, according to my dream, I descried a little boat at some distance; but, as the waves were high, it was as much as we could do sometimes to discern 176 her; we however stopped the ship's way, and the boat, which was extremely small, came alongside with eleven miserable men, whom we took on board immediately. To all human appearance, these people must have perished in the course of one hour or less, the boat being small, it barely contained them. When we took them up they were half drowned, and had no victuals, compass, water, or any other necessary whatsoever, and had only one bit of an oar to steer with, and that right before the wind; so that they were obliged to trust entirely to the mercy of the waves. As soon as we got them all on board, they bowed themselves on their knees, and, with hands and voices lifted up to heaven, thanked God for their deliverance; and I trust that my prayers were not wanting amongst them at the same 177 time. This mercy of the Lord quite melted me, and I recollected his words, which I faw thus verified in the 107th Psalm, 'O give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good, for his mercy endureth for ever. Hungry and thirsty, their souls fainted in them. They cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and he delivered them out of their distressess. And he led them forth by the right way, that they might go to a city of habitation. O that men would praise the Lord for his goodness and for his wonderful works to the children of men! For he satisfieth the longing soul, and silleth the hungry soul with goodness. 'Such as sit in darkness and in the shadow of death: 'Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them out of their distresses. They that go down 178 to the sea in ships; that do business in great waters: these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep. Whoso is wise and will observe these things, even they shall understand the loving kindness of the Lord.' The poor distressed captain said, 'that the Lord is good; for, seeing that I am not fit to die, he therefore gave me a space of time to repent.' I was very glad to hear this expression, and took an opportunity when convenient of talking to him on the providence of God. They told us they were Portuguese, and were in a brig loaded with corn, which shifted that morning at five o'clock, owing to which the vessel sunk that instant with two of the crew; and how these eleven got into the boat (which was lashed to the deck) not one of them could tell. 179 We provided them with every necessary, and brought them all safe to Lon don: and I hope the Lord gave them repentance unto life eternal. I was happy once more amongst my friends and brethren, till November, when my old friend, the celebrated Doctor Irving, bought a remarkable fine sloop, about 150 tons. He had a mind for a new adventure in cultivating a plantation at Jamaica, and the Musquito shore; asked me to go with him, and said that he would trust me with his estate in preference to any one. By the advice, therefore, of my friends, I accepted of the offer, knowing that the harvest was fully ripe in those parts, and hoped to be an instrument under God, of bringing some poor sinner to my well beloved master, Jesus Christ. Before I embarked, I found with the Doctor four Masquito 180 Indians, who were chiefs in their own country, and were brought here by some English traders for some selfish ends. One of them was the Musquito king's son; a youth of about eighteen years of age; and whilst he was here he was baptized by the name of George. They were going back at the government's expense, after having been in England about twelve months, during which they learned to speak pretty good English. When I came to talk to them about eight days before we sailed, I was very much mortified in finding that they had not frequented any churches since they were here, to be baptized, nor was any attention paid to their morals. I was very sorry for this mock Christianity, and had just an opportunity to take some of them once to church before we sailed. We embarked in the month of November 181 1776, on board of the sloop Morning star, Captain David Miller, and sailed for Jamaica. In our passage, I took all the pains that I could to instruct the Indian prince in the doctrines of Christianity, of which he was entirely ignorant; and, to my great joy, he was quite attentive, and received with gladness the truths that the Lord enabled me to set forth to him. I taught him in the compass of eleven days all the letters, and he could put even two or three of them together and spell them. I had Fox's Martyrology with cuts, and he used to be very fond of looking into it, and would ask many questions about the papal cruelties he saw depicted there, which I explained to him. I made such progress with this youth, especially in religion, that when I used to go to bed at different hours of the night, if he was in his bed, he would 182 get up on purpose to go to prayer with me, without any other clothes than his shirt; and before he would eat any of his meals amongst the gentlemen in the cabin, he would sirst come to me to pray as he called it. I was well pleased at this, and took great delight in him, and used much supplication to God for his conversion. I was in full hope of seeing daily every appearance of that change which I could wish; not knowing the devices of satan, who had many of his emissaries to sow his tares as fast as I sowed the good seed, and pull down as fast as I built up. Thus we went on nearly four fifths of our passage, when satan at last got the upper hand. some of his messengers, seeing this poor heathen much advanced in piety, began to ask him whether I had converted him to Christianity, laughed and made their 183 jest at him, for which I rebuked them as much as I could; but this treatment caused the prince to halt between two opinions. some of the true sons of Belial, who did not believe that there was any hereafter, told him never to fear the devil, for there was none existing; and if ever he came to the prince, they desired he might be sent to them. Thus they teazed the poor innocent youth, so that he would not learn his book any more! He would not drink nor carouse with these ungodly actors, nor would he be with me, even at prayers. This grieved me very much. I endeavoured to persuade him as well as I could, but he would not come; and entreated him very much to tell me his reasons for acting thus. At last he asked me, 'How comes it that all the white men on board who can read and write, and observe the sun, 184 and know all things, yet swear, lie, and get drunk, only excepting yourself?' I answered him, the reason was, that they did not fear God; and that if any one of them died so they could not go to, or be happy with God. He replied, that if these persons went to hell he would go to hell too. I was sorry to hear this; and, as he sometimes had the tooth-ach, and also some other persons in the ship at the same time, I asked him if their tooth-ach made his easy: he said, No. Then I told him if he and these people went to hell together, their pains would not make his any lighter. This answer had great weight with him: it depressed his spirits much; and he became ever after, during the passage, fond of being alone. When we were in the latitude of Martinico, and near making the land, one morning we had a brisk gale 185 of wind, and, carrying too much sail, the main-mast went over the side. Many people were then all about the deck, and the yards, masts, and rigging, came tumbling all about us, yet there was not one of us in the least hurt, although some were within a hair's breadth of being killed: and, particularly, I saw two men who, by the providential hand of God, were most miraculously preserved from being smashed to pieces. On the fifth of January we made Antigua and Montserrat, and ran along the rest of the islands: and on the fourteenth we arrived at Jamaica. One sunday while we were there I took the Musquito Prince George to church, where he saw the sacrament administered. When we came out we saw all kinds of people, almost from the church door for the space of half a mile down to the waterside, buying and selling all 186 kinds of commodities: and these acts afforded me great matter of exhortation to this youth, who was much astonished. Our vessel being ready to sail for the Musquito shore, I went with the Doctor on board a Guinea-man, to purchase some slaves to carry with us, and cul tivate a plantation; and I chose them all my own countrymen. On the twelfth of February we sailed from Jamaica, and on the eighteenth arrived at the Musquito shore, at a place called Du peupy. All our Indian guests now, after I had admonished them and a few cases of liquor given them by the Doctor, took an affectionate leave of us, and went ashore, where they were met by the Musquito king, and we never saw one of them afterwards. We then sailed to the southward of the shore, to a place called Cape Gracias a Dios, where there was a large lagoon or 187 lake, which received the emptying of two or three very fine large rivers, and abounded much in fish and land tortoise. Some of the native Indians came on board of us here; and we used them well, and told them we were come to dwell amongst them, which they seemed pleased at. So the Doctor and I, with some others, went with them ashore; and they took us to different places to view the land, in order to choose a place to make a plantation of. We fixed on a spot near a river's bank, in a rich soil; and, having got our necessaries out of the sloop, we began to clear away the woods, and plant different kinds of vegetables, which had a quick growth. While we were employed in this manner, our vessel went northward to Black River to trade. While she was there, a spanish guarda costa met with and took her. This proved very hurtful, 188 and a great embarrassment to us. However, we went on with the culture of the land. We used to make fires every night all around us, to keep off wild beasts, which, as soon as it was dark, set up a most hideous roaring. Our habitation being far up in the woods, we frequently saw different kinds of animals; but none of them ever hurt us, except poisonous snakes, the bite of which the Doctor used to cure by giving to the patient as soon as possible, about half a tumbler of strong rum, with a good deal of Cayenne pepper in it. In this manner he cured two natives and one of his own slaves. The Indians were exceedingly fond of the Doctor, and they had good reason for it; for I believe they never had such an useful man amongst them. They came from all quarters to our dwelling; and some woolwow or flat-headed Indians, who lived fifty or 189 sixty miles above our river, and this side of the south sea, brought us a good deal of silver in exchange for our goods. The principal articles we could get from our neighbouring Indians, were turtle oil, and shells, little silk grass, and some provisions; but they would not work at any thing for us, except fishing; and a few times they assisted to cut some trees down, in order to build us houses; which they did exactly like the Africans, by the joint labour of men, women, and children. I do not recollect any of them to have had more than two wives. These always accompanied their husbands when they came to our dwelling, and then they generally carried whatever they brought to us, and always squatted down behind their husbands. Whenever we gave them any thing to eat, the men and their wives eat seperate. I never saw the 190 least sign of incontinence amongst them. The women are ornamented with beads, and fond of painting themselves; the men also paint, even to excess, both their faces and shirts: their favourite colour is red. The women generally cultivate the ground, and the men are all fishermen and canoe makers. Upon the whole, I never met any nation that were so simple in their manners as these people, or had so little ornament in their houses. Neither had they, as I ever could learn, one word expressive of an oath. The worst word I ever heard amongst them when they were quarrelling, was one that they had got from the English, which was 'you rascal.' I never saw any mode of worship among them; but in this they were not worse than their European brethren or neighbours, for I am sorry to say that there was not one white person in our dwelling, nor 191 any where else, that I saw, in different places I was at on the shore, that was better or more pious than those unenlightened indians; but they either worked or slept on sundays: and, to my sorrow, working was too much sun day's employment with ourselves; so much so, that in some length of time we really did not know one day from another. This mode of living laid the foundation of my decamping at last. The natives are well made and warlike; and they particularly boast of having never been conquered by the spaniards. They are great drinkers of strong liquors when they can get them. We used to distil rum from pineapples, which were very plentiful here; and then we could not get them away from our place. Yet they seemed to be singular, in point of honesty, above any other nation I was ever amongst. The 192 country being hot, we lived under an open shed, where we had all kinds of goods, without a door or a lock to any one article; yet we slept in safety, and never lost any thing, or were disturbed. This surprised us a good deal; and the Doctor, myself, and others, used to say if we were to lie in that manner in Europe we should have our throats cut the first night. The Indian governor goes once in a certain time all about the province or district, and has a number of men with him as attendants and assistants. He settles all the differences among the people, like the judge here, and is treated with very great respect. He took care to give us timely notice before he came to our habitation, by sending his stick as a token, for rum, sugar, and gunpowder, which we did not refuse sending; and at the same time we made the utmost preparation to receive 193 his honour and his train. When he came with his tribe, and all our neighbouring chieftans, we expected to sind him a grave reverend judge, solid and sagacious; but instead of that, before he and his gang came in sight, we heard them very clamorous; and they even had plundered some of our good neighbouring Indians, having intoxicated themselves with our liquor. When they arrived we did not know what to make of our new guests, and would gladly have dispensed with the honour of their company. However, having no alternative, we feasted them plentifully all the day till the evening; when the governor, getting quite drunk, grew very unruly, and struck one of our most friendly chiefs, who was our nearest neighbour, and also took his gold-laced hat from him. At this a great commotion taken place; and the 194 Doctor interfered to make peace, as we could all understand one another, but to no purpose; and at last they became so outrageous that the Doctor, fearing he might get into trouble, left the house, and made the best of his way to the nearest wood, leaving me to do as well as I could among them. I was so enraged with the Governor, that I could have wished to have seen him tied fast to a tree and flogged for his behaviour; but I had not people enough to cope with his party. I therefore thought of a stratagem to appease the riot. Recollecting a passage I had read in the life of Columbus, when he was amongst the Indians in Mexico or Peru, where on some occasion, he frightened them, by telling them of certain events in the heavens, I had recourse to the same expedient; and it succeeded beyond my most sanguine expectations. 195 When I had formed my determination. I went in the midst of them; and, taking hold of the Governor, I pointed up to the heavens. I menaced him and the rest: I told them God lived there, and that he was angry with them, and they must not quarrel so; that they were all brothers, and if they did not leave off, and go away quietly, I would take the book (pointing to the Bible) read, and tell God to make them dead. This operated on them like magic.—The clamour immediately ceased, and I gave them some rum and a few other things; after which they went away peaceably; and the Governor afterwards gave our neighbour, who was called Captain Plasmyah, his hat again. When the Doctor returned, he was exceedingly glad at my success in thus getting rid of our troublesome guests. The Musquito 196 people within our vicinity, out of respect to the Doctor, myself, and his people, made entertainments of the grand kind, called in their tongue tourrie or dryckbot. The English of this expression is, a feast of drinking about, of which it seems a corruption of language. The drink consisted of pine apples roasted, and casades chewed or beaten in mortars; which, after lying some time, ferments, and becomes so strong as to intoxicate, when drank in any quantity. We had timely notice given to us of the entertainment. A white family, whithin five miles of us, told us how the drink was made, and I and two others went before the time to the village, where the mirth was appointed to be held, and there we saw the whole art of making the drink, and also the kind of animals that were to be eaten there. I cannot say the sight 197 of either the drink or the meat were enticing to me. They had some thousands of pine apples roasting, which they squeezed dirt and all, into a canoe they had there for the purpose. The casade drink was in beef barrels, and other vessels, and looked exactly like hog-wash. Men, women, and children, were thus employed in roasting the pine apples, and squeezing them with their hands. For sood they had many land torpins or tortoises, some dried turtle, and three large alligators alive, and tied fast to the trees. I asked the people what they were going to do with these alligators; and I was told they were to be eaten. I was much surprised at this, and went home, not a little disgusted at the preparations. When the day of the feast was come, we took some rum with us, and went to the appointed place, where we found a great 198 assemblage of these people, who received us very kindly. The mirth had begun before we came; and they were dancing with music: and the musical instruments were nearly the same as those of any other sable people; but, as I thought much less melodious than any other nation I ever knew. They had many curious gestures in dancing, and a variety of motions and postures of their bodies, which to me were in no wise attracting. The males danced by themselves, and the females also by themselves, as with us. The Doctor shewed his people the example, by immediately joining the women's party, though not by their choice. On perceiving the women disgusted, he joined the males. At night there were great illuminations, by setting fire to many pine trees, while the dryckbot went round merrily by calabashes or gourds: but the liquor might more justly be 199 called eating than drinking. One Owden, the oldest father in the vicinity, was dressed in a strange and terrifying form. Around his body were skins adorned with different kinds of feathers, and he had on his head a very large and high head-piece, in the form of a grenadier's cap, with prickles like a porcupine: and he made a certain noise which resembled the cry of an alligator. Our people skipped amongst them out of complaisance, though some could not drink of their tourrie; but our rum met with customers enough, and was soon gone. The alligators were killed and some of them roasted. Their manner of roasting is by digging a hole in the earth, and filling it with wood, which they burn to coal, and then they lay sticks across, on which they set the meat. I had a raw piece of the alligator in my hand: it was very rich: I thought it looked like fresh salmon, and it had a 200 most fragrant smell, but I could not eat any of it. This merry-making at last ended without the least discord in any person in the company, although it was made up of different nations and complexions. The rainy season came on here about the latter end of May, which continued till August very heavily; so that the rivers were overflowed, and our provisions then in the ground were washed away. I thought this was in some measure a judgment upon us for working on sundays, and it hurt my mind very much. I often wished to leave this place and sail for Europe; for our mode of procedure and living in this heathenish form was very irksome to me. The word of God saith, 'What does it avail a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?' This was much and heavily impressed on my mind; and though 201 I did not know how to speak to the Doctor for my discharge, it was disagreeable for me to stay any longer. But about the middle of June I took courage enough to ask him for it. He was very unwilling at first to grant my request; but I gave him so many reasons for it, that at last he consented to my going, and gave me the following certificate of my behaviour: The bearer, Gustavus Vassa, has served me several years with strict honesty, sobriety, and fidelity. I can, therefore with justice recommend him for these qualifications; and indeed in every respect I consider him as an excellent servant. I do hereby certify that he always behaved well, and that he is perfectly trust-worthy. CHARLES IRVING. Musquito shore, June 15, 1776. 202 Though I was much attached to the Doctor, I was happy when he consented. I got every thing ready for my departure, and hired some Indians, with a large canoe, to carry me off. All my poor countrymen, the slaves, when they heard of my leaving them, were very sorry, as I had always treated them with care and affection, and did every thing I could to comfort the poor creatures, and render their condition easy. Having taken leave of my old friends and companions, on the 18th of June, accompanied by the Doctor, I left that spot of the world, and went southward above twenty miles along the river. There I found a sloop, the captain of which told me he was going to Jamaica. Having agreed for my passage with him and one of the owners, who was also on board, named Hughes, the Doctor and I parted, not without shedding 203 tears on both sides. The vessel then sailed along the river till night, when she stopped in a lagoon within the same river. During the night a schooner belonging to the same owners came in, and, as she was in want of hands, Hughes, the owner of the sloop asked me to go in the schooner as a sailor, and said he would give me wages. I thanked him; but I said I wanted to go to Jamaica. He then immediately changed his tone, and swore, and abused me very much, and asked how I came to be freed. I told him, and said that I came into that vicinity with Dr. Irving; whom he had seen that day. This account was of no use; he still swore exceedingly at me, and cursed the master for a fool that sold me my freedom, and the doctor for another in letting me go from him. Then he desired me to go in the schooner, or else I should 204 not go out of the sloop as a free-man. I said this was very hard, and begged to be put on shore again; but he swore that I should not. I said I had been twice amongst the Turks, yet had never seen any such usage with them, and much less could I have expected any thing of this kind among the Christians. This incensed him exceedingly; and, with a volley of oaths and imprecations, he replied, 'Christians! damn you, you are one of st. Paul's men; but by G—, except you have st. Paul's or st. Peter's faith, and walk upon the water to the shore, you shall not go out of the vessel;' which I now learnt was going amongst the spaniards towards Carthagena, where he swore he would sell me. I simply asked him what right he had to sell me? but, without another word, he made some of his people tie ropes round each of 205 my ancles, and also to each wrist, and another rope round my body, and hoisted me up without letting my feet touch or rest upon any thing. Thus I hung, without any crime committed, and without judge or jury; merely because I was a free man, and could not by the law get any redress from a white person in those parts of the world. I was in great pain from my situation, and cried and begged very hard for some mercy; but all in vain. My tyrant, in a great rage brought a musquet out of the cabin and loaded it before me and the crew, and swore that he would shoot me if I cried any more. I had now no alternative; I therefore remained silent, seeing not one white man on board who said a word on my behalf. I hung in that manner from between ten and eleven o'clock at night till about one in the morning; 206 when, finding my cruel abuser fast asleep, I begged some of his slaves to slack the rope that was round my body, that my feet might rest on something. This they did at the risk of being cruelly used by their master, who beat some of them severely at first for not tying me when he commanded them. Whilst I remained in this condition, till between five and six o'clock next morning, I trust I prayed to God to forgive this blasphemer, who cared not what he did, but when he got up out of his sleep in the morning was of the very same temper and disposition as when he left me at night. When they got up the anchor, and the vessel was getting under way, I once more cried and begged to be released; and now, being fortunately in the way of their hoisting the sails, they released me. When I was let down, I spoke to one Mr. Cox, 207 a carpenter, whom I knew on board, on the impropriety of this conduct. He also knew the doctor, and the good opinion he ever had of me. This man then went to the captain, and told him not to carry me away in that manner? that I was the doctor's steward, who regarded me very highly, and would resent this usage when he should come to know it. On which he desired a young man to put me ashore in a small canoe I brought with me. This sound gladdened my heart, and I got hastily into the canoe and set off, whilst my tyrant was down in the cabin; but he soon spied me out, when I was not above thirty or forty yards from the vessel, and running upon the deck with a loaded musket in his hand, he presented it at me, and swore heavily and dreadfully, that he would shoot me that instant, if I did not come back on 208 board. As I knew the wretch would have done as he said, without hesitation, I put back to the vessel again; but, as the good Lord would have it, just as I was alongside he was abusing the captain for letting me go from the vessel; which the captain returned, and both of them soon got into a very great heat. The young man that was with me now got out of the canoe; the vessel was sailing on fast with a smooth sea: and I then thought it was neck or no thing, so at that instant I set off again, for my life, in the canoe, towards the shore; and fortunately the confusion was so great amongst them on board, that I got out of the reach of the musket shot unnoticed, while the vessel sailed on with a fair wind a different way; so that they could not overtake me without tacking: but even before that could be done I should have been 209 on shore, which I soon reached, with many thanks to God for this unexpected deliverance. I then went and told the other owner, who lived near that shore (with whom I had agreed for my passage) of the usage I had met with. He was very much astonished and appeared very sorry for it. After treating me with kindness, he gave me some refreshment, and three heads of roasted Indian corn, for a voyage of about eighteen miles south, to look for another vessel. He then directed me to an Indian chief of a district, who was also the Musquito admiral, and had once been at our dwelling; after which I set off with the canoe across a large lagoon alone (for I could not get any one to assist me), though I was much jaded, and had pains in my bowels, by means of the rope I had hung by the night before. I was therefore at different 210 times unable to manage the canoe, for the paddling was very laborious. However, a little before dark I got to my destined place, where some of the Indians knew me, and received me kindly. I asked for the admiral; and they conducted me to his dwelling. He was glad to see me, and refreshed me with such things as the place afforded; and I had a hammock to fleep in. They acted towards me more like Christians than those whites I was amongst the last night, though they had been baptised. I told the admiral I wanted to go to the next port to get a vessel to carry me to Jamaica; and requested him to send the canoe back which I then had, for which I was to pay him. He agreed with me, and sent five able Indians with a large canoe to carry my things to my intended place, about fifty miles; and we set off 211 the next morning. When we got out of the lagoon and went along shore, the sea was so high that the canoe was oftentimes very near being filled with water. We were obliged to go ashore and drag across different necks of land; we were also two nights in the swamps, which swarmed with musquito flies, and they proved troublesome to us. This tiresome journey of land and water ended, however, on the third day, to my great joy; and I got on board of a sloop commanded by one Captain Jenning. she was then partly loaded, and he told me he was expecting daily to sail for Jamaica; and having agreed with me to work my passage, I went to work accordingly. I was not many days on board before we sailed; but to my sorrow and disappointment, though used to such tricks, we went to the southward along the Musquito shore, 212 instead of steering for Jamaica. I was compelled to assist in cutting a great deal of mahogany wood on the shore as we coasted along it, and load the vessel with it, before she sailed. This fretted me much; but, as I did not know how to help myself among these deceivers, I thought patience was the only remedy I had left, and even that was forced. There was much hard work and little victuals on board, except by good luck we happened to catch turtles. On this coast there was also a particular kind of fish called manatee, which is most excellent eating, and the flesh is more like beef than fish; the scales are as large as a shilling, and the skin thicker than I ever saw that of any other fish. Within the brackish waters along shore there were likewise vast numbers of alligators, which made the fish scarce. I was on board this sloop sixteen days, 213 during which, in our coasting, we came to another place, where there was a smaller sloop called the Indian Queen, commanded by one John Baker. He also was an Englishman, and had been a long time along the shore trading for turtle shells and silver, and had got a good quantity of each on board. He wanted some hands very much; and, understanding I was a freeman, and wanted to go to Jamaica, he told me if he could get one or two, that he would sail immediately for that Island: he also pretended to shew me some marks of at tention and respect, and promised to give me forty-five shillings sterling a a month if I would go with him. I thought this much better than cutting wood for nothing. I therefore told the other captain that I wanted to go to Jamaica in the other vessel; but he would not listen to me; and, seeing me resolved 214 to go in a day or two, he got the vessel to sail, intending to carry me away against my will. This treatment mortified me extremely. I immediately, according to an agreement I had made with the captain of the Indian Queen, called for her boat, which was lying near us, and it came alongside; and, by the means of a north-pole shipmate which I met with in the sloop I was in, I got my things into the boat, and went on board of the Indian Queen, July the 10th. A few days after I was there, we got all things ready and sailed: but again, to my great mortification, this vessel still went to the south, nearly as far as Carthagena, trading along the coast, instead of going to Jamaica, as the captain had promised me: and, what was worst of all, he was a very cruel and bloody-minded man, and was a horrid blasphemer. Among others, 215 he had a white pilot, one stoker, whom he beat often as severely as he did some negroes he had on board. One night in particular, after he had beaten this man most cruelly, he put him into the boat, and made two negroes row him to a desolate key, or small island; and he loaded two pistols, and swore bitterly that he would shoot the negroes if they brought stoker on board again. There was not the least doubt but that he would do as he said, and the two poor fellows were obliged to obey the cruel mandate; but, when the captain was asleep, the two negroes took a blanket and carried it to the unfortunate stoker, which I believe was the means of saving his life from the annoyance of insects. A great deal of entreaty was used with the captain the next day, before he would consent to let stoker come on board; and when 216 the poor man was brought on board he was very ill, from his situation during the night, and he remained so till he was drowned a little time after. As we sailed southward we came to many uninhabited islands, which were overgrown with fine large cocoa nuts. As I was very much in want of provisions, I brought a boat load of them on board, which lasted me and others for several weeks, and afforded us many a delicious repast in our scarcity. One day, before this, I could not help ob serving the providential hand of God, that ever supplied all our wants, though in the ways and manner we know not. I had been a whole day without food, and made signals for boats to come off, but in vain. I therefore earnestly prayed to God for relief in my need; and at the close of the evening I went off the deck. Just as I laid down I heard a 217 noise on the deck; and, not knowing what it meant, I went directly on the deck again, when what should I see but a fine large fish about seven or eight pounds, which had jumped aboard! I took it, and admired, with thanks, the good hand of God; and, what I considered as not less extraordinary, the captain, who was very avaricious, did not attempt to take it from me, there being only him and I on board; for the rest were all gone ashore trading. Sometimes the people did not come off for some days: this used to fret the captain, and then he would vent his fury on me by beating me, or making me feel in other cruel ways. One day especially, in his wild, wicked, and mad career, after striking me several times with different things, and once across my mouth, even with a red burning stick out of the fire, he got a barrel of 218 gunpowder on the deck, and swore that he would blow up the vessel. I was then at my wit's end, and earnestly prayed to God to direct me. The head was out of the barrel; and the captain took a lighted stick out of the fire to blow himself and me up, because there was a vessel then in sight coming in, which he supposed was a Spaniard, and he was afraid of falling into their hands. Seeing this I got an axe, unnoticed by him, and placed myself between him and the powder, having resolved in myself as soon as he attempted to put the fire in the barrel to chop him down that instant. I was more than an hour in this situation; during which he struck me often, still keeping the fire in his hand for this wicked purpose. I really should have thought myself justifiable in any other part of the world if I had killed him, 219 and prayed to God, who gave me a mind which rested solely on himself. I prayed for resignation, that his will might be done: and the following two portions of his holy word, which oc cured to my mind, buoyed up my hope, and kept me from taking the life of this wicked man. 'He hath determined the times before appointed, and set bounds to our habitations,' Acts xvii. 26. And, 'Who is there among you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the voice of his servant, that walketh in darkness and hath no light? let him trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon his God,' Isaiah l. 20. And thus by the grace of God I was enabled to do. I found him a present help in the time of need, and the captain's fury began to sub side as the night approached: but I found, 220 " That he who cannot stem his anger's tide " Doth a wild horse without a bridle ride." The next morning we discovered that the vessel which had caused such a fury in the captain was an English sloop. They soon came to an anchor where we were, and, to my no small surprise, learned that Doctor Irving was on board of her on his way from the Musquito shore to Jamaica. I was for going immediately to see this old master and friend, but the captain would not suffe me to leave the vessel. I then informe the Doctor, by letter, how I was treated and begged that he would take me out of the sloop: but he informed me that it was not in his power, as he was a passenger himself; but he sent me some rum and sugar for my own use. I now learned that after I had left the estate which I managed for this gentleman 221 on the Musquito shore, during which the slaves were well fed and comfortable, a white overseer had supplied my place: this man through inhumanity and ill-judged avarice, beat and cut the poor slaves most unmercifully; and the consequence was, that every one got into a large Puriogua canoe, and endeavoured to escape; but not knowing where to go, or how to manage the canoe, they were all drowned; in consequence of which the Doctor's plantation was left uncultivated, and he was now returning to Jamaica to purchase more slaves, and stock it again. On the 14th of October, the Indian Queen arrived at Kingston in Jamaica. When we were unloaded I demanded my wages, which amounted to eight pounds five shillings sterling; but Captain Baker refused to give me one farthing, although it was the hardest earned 222 money I ever worked for in my life. I found out Doctor Irving upon this, and acquainted him of the captain's knavery. He did all he could to help me to get my money; and we went to every magistrate in Kingston (and there were nine) but they all refused to do any thing for me, and said my oath could not be admitted against a white man. Nor was this all; for Baker threatened that he would beat me severely if he could catch me for attempting to demand my money; and this he would have done, but that I got, by means of Doctor Irving, under the protection of Captain Douglas, of the squirrel man of war. I thought this exceeding hard usage; though indeed I found it to be too much the practice there to pay free negro men for their labour in this manner. One day I went with a free negroe taylor, named Joe Diamond, to one 223 Mr. Cochran, who was indebted to him some trifling sum; and the man, not being able to get his money, began to murmur. The other immediately took a horse-whip to pay him with it, but, by the help of a good pair of heels, the taylor got off. Such oppressions as these made me seek for a vessel to get off the island as fast as I could: and by the mercy of God, I found a ship in November bound for England, when I embarked with a convoy, after having taken a last farewell of Doctor Irving. When I left Jamaica he was employed in refining sugars; and some months after my arrival in England I learned, with much sorrow, that this my amiable friend was dead, owing to his having eaten some poisoned fish. We had many very heavy gales of wind in our passage; in the course of 224 which no material incident occurred, except that an American privateer, falling in with the fleet, was captured and set sire to by his Majesty's ship the squirrel. On January the seventh, 1777, we arrived at Plymouth. I was happy once more to tread upon English ground; and, after passing some little time at Plymouth and Exeter, among some pious friends, whom I was happy to see, I went to London with a heart replete with thanks to God for past mercies. 225 CHAP. XII. Different transactions of the author's life till the present time—His application to the late Bishop of London to be appointed a missionary to Africa—some account of his share in the conduct of the late expedition to Sierra Leone—Petition to the Queen—Conclusion. SUCH were the various scenes which I was a witness to, and the fortune I experienced until the year 1777. Since that period, my life has been more uniform, and the incidents of it fewer, than in any other equal number of years preceding; I therefore hasten to the conclusion of a narrative, which I 226 fear the reader may think already sufficiently tedious. I had suffered so many impositions in my commercial transactions in different parts of the world, that I became heartily disgusted with the seafaring life, and was determined not to return to it, at least for some time. I therefore once more engaged in service shortly after my return, and continued for the most part in this situation until 1784. Soon after my arrival in London, I saw a remarkable circumstance relative to African complexion, which I thought so extraordinary, that I beg leave just to mention it: A white negro woman, that I had formerly seen in London and other parts, had married a white man, by whom she had three boys, and they were every one mullattoes, and yet they had fine light hair. In 1779, 227 I served Governor Macnamara, who had been a considerable time on the coast of Africa. In the time of my service, I used to ask frequently other servants to join me in family prayer; but this only excited their mockery. However, the Governor, understanding that I was of a religious turn, wished to know what religion I was of; I told him I was a Protestant of the Church of England, agreeable to the thirty nine articles of that church; and that whomsoever I found to preach according to that doctrine, those I would hear. A few days after this, we had some more discourse on the same subject; when he said he would, if I chose, as he thought I might be of service in converting my countrymen to the Gospel faith, get me sent out as missionary to Africa. I at first refused going, and told him how I had been served on a like occasion 228 by some white people the last voyage I went to Jamaica, when I attempted (if it were the will of God) to be the means of converting the Indian prince; and said I supposed they would serve me worse than Alexander the coppersmith did St. Paul, if I should attempt to go amongst them in Africa. He told me not to fear, for he would apply to the Bishop of London to get me ordained. On these terms I consented to the Governor's proposal to go to Africa in hope of doing good, if possible, amongst my countrymen; so, in order to have me sent out properly, we immediately wrote the following letters to the late Bishop of London: 229 To the Right Reverend Father in God, ROBERT, Lord Bishop of London: The MEMORIAL of Gustavus Vassa SHEWETH, THAT your memorialist is a native of Africa, and has a knowledge of the manners and customs of the inhabitants of that country. That your memorialist has resided in different parts of Europe for twenty-two years last past, and embraced the Christian faith in the year 1759. That your memorialist is desirous of returning to Africa as a missionary, if encouraged by your Lordship, in hopes of being able to prevail upon his countrymen to become Christians; and your memorialist is the more induced to undertake the same, from the success that has attended the like undertakings when encouraged by the Portugeuse 230 through their different settlements on the coast of Africa, and also by the Dutch: both governments encouraging the blacks, who, by their education are qualified to undertake the same, and are found more proper than European clergymen, unacquainted with the language and customs of the country. Your memorialist's only motive for soliciting the office of a missionary is, that he may be a means, under God, of reforming his countrymen and persuading them to embrace the Christian religion. Therefore your memorialist humbly prays your Lordship's encouragement and support in the undertaking. Gustavus Vassa. At Mr. Guthrie's, Taylor, No. 17, Hedge-lane. 231 MY LORD, I have resided near seven years on the coast of Africa, for most part of the time as commanding officer. From the knowledge I have of the country and its inhabitants, I am inclined to think that the within plan will be attended with great success, if countenanced by your Lordship. I beg leave further to represent to your Lordship, that the like attempts, when encouraged by other governments, have met with uncommon success; and at this very time I know a very respectable character a black priest at Cape Coast Castle. I know the within named Gustavus Vassa, and believe him a moral good man. I have the honour to be, My Lord, Your Lordship's Humble and obedient servant, MATT. MACNAMARA. Grove, 11th March 1779. 232 This letter was also accompanied by the following from Doctor Wallace, who had resided in Africa for many years, and whose sentiments on the subject of an African mission were the same with Governor Macnamara's. March 13, 1779. MY LORD, I have resided near five years on Senegambia on the coast of Africa, and have had the honour of silling very considerable employments in that province. I do approve of the within plan, and think the undertaking very laudable and proper, and that it deserves your Lordship's protection and encouragement, in which case it must be attended with the intended success. I am, my Lord, Your Lordships Humble and obedient servant, THOMAS WALLACE. 233 With these letters, I waited on the Bishop by the Governor's desire, and presented them to his Lordship. He received me with much condescension and politeness; but, from some certain scruples of delicacy, and saying the Bishops were not of opinion of sending a new missionary to Africa, he declined to ordain me. My sole motive for thus dwelling on this transaction, or inserting these papers, is the opinion which gentlemen of sense and education, who are acquainted with Africa, entertain of the probability of converting the inhabitants of it to the faith of Jesus Christ, if the attempt were countenanced by the legislature. shortly after this I left the Governor, and served a nobleman in the Dorsetshire militia, whith whom I was encamped at Coxheath for some time; 234 but the operations there were too minute and uninteresting to make a detail of. In the year 1783, I visited eight counties in Wales, from motives of curiosity. While I was in that part of the country I was led to go down into a coal-pit in Shropshire, but my curiosity nearly cost me my life; for while I was in the pit the coals fell in, and buried one poor man, who was not far from me: upon this I got out as fast as I could, thinking the surface of the earth the safest part of it. In the spring of 1784, I thought of visiting old ocean again. In consequence of this I embarked as steward on board a fine new ship called the London, commanded by Martin Hopkin, and sailed for New-York. I admired this city very much; it is large and well-built, and abounds with provisions 235 of all kinds. While we lay here a circumstance happened which I thought extremely singular:—One day a malefactor was to be executed on a gallows; but with a condition that if any woman, having nothing on but her shift, married the man under the gallows, his life was to be saved. This extraordinary privilege was claimed; a woman presented herself; and the marriage ceremony was performed. Our ship having got laden were turned to London in January 1785. When she was ready again for another voyage, the captain being an agreeable man, I sailed with him from hence in the spring, March 1785, for Philadelphia. On the 5th of April, we took our departure from the land's-end, with a pleasant gale; and about nine o'clock that night the moon shone bright, and the sea was smooth, while our ship 236 was going free by the wind, at the rate of about four or five miles an hour.—At this time another ship was going nearly as fast as we on the opposite point, meeting us right in the teeth, yet none on board observed either ship until we struck each other forcibly head and head, to the astonishment and consternation of both crews. She did us much damage, but I believe we did her more; for when we passed by each other, which we did very quickly, they called to us to bring to, and hoist out our boat, but we had enough to do to mind ourselves; and in about eight minutes we saw no more of her. We refitted as well as we could the next day, and proceeded on our voyage, and in May arrived at Philadelphia. I was very glad to see this favorite old town once more; and my pleasure was much increased in seeing the worthy 237 Quakers freeing and easing the burthens of many of my oppressed African brethren. It rejoiced my heart when one of these friendly people took me to see a free-school they had erected for every denomination of black people, whose minds are cultivated here, and forwarded to virtue; and thus they are made useful members of the community. Does not the success of this practice say loudly to the planters, in the language of scripture—"Go ye and do likewise!" In October 1585, I was accompanied by some of the Africans, and presented this address of thanks to the gentlemen called Friends or Quakers, in Gracechurch-Court, Lombard-street: GENTLEMEN, By reading your book, entitled a Caution to Great Britain and 238 her Colonies, concerning the Calamitous state of the enslaved Negroes: We part of the poor, oppressed, needy, and much degraded negroes, desire to approach you with this address of thanks, with our inmost love and warmest acknowledgment; and with the deepest sense of your benevolence, unwearied labour, and kind interposition, towards breaking the yoke of slavery, and to administer a little comfort and ease to thousands and tens of thousands of very grievously afflicted, and too heavy burthened negroes. Gentlemen, could you, by perseverance, at last be enabled under God, to lighten in any degree the heavy burthen of the afflicted, no doubt it would in some measure, be the possible means, under God, of saving the souls of many of the oppressors; and if so, sure we are that the God, whose eyes are ever upon 239 all his creatures, and always rewards every true act of virtue, and regards the prayers of the oppressed, will give to you and yours those blessings which it is not in our power to express or conceive, but which we as a part of those captivated, oppressed, and afflicted people, most earnestly wish and pray for. These gentlemen received us very kindly, with a promise to exert themselves on behalf of the oppressed Africans, and we parted. While in town, I chanced once to be invited to a Quaker's wedding. The simple and yet expressive mode used at their solemnizations is worthy of note. The following is the true form of it: After the company have met, they have seasonable exhortations by several of the members; the bride and bridegroom stand up, and, taking each other 240 by the hand in a solemn manner,the man declares to this purpose: "Friends, in the fear of the Lord, and in the presence of this assembly, whom I desire to be my witnesses, I take this my friend, M. N. to be my wife; promising, through divine assistance, to be unto her a loving and faithful husband till death separate us:" and the woman makes the like declaration. Then the two first sign their names to the record, and as many more witnesses as have a mind. I had the honour to subscribe mine to a register in Gracechurch-Court, Lombard-street.—My hand is ever free—if any female Debonair wishes to obtain it, this mode I recommend. We returned to London in August; and our ship not going immediately to sea, I shipped as a steward in an American ship called the Harmony, Captain 241 John Willet, and left London in March 1786, bound to Philadelphia. Eleven days after sailing, we carried our foremast away. We had a nine weeks passage, which caused our trip not to succeed well, the market for our goods proving bad; and to make it worse, my commander began to play me the like tricks as others too often practise on free negroes in the West Indies. But I thank God I found many friends here, who in some measure prevented him. On my return to London in August, I was very agreeably surprised to find that the benevolence of government had adopted the plan of some philanthropic individuals to send the Africans from hence to their native quarter; and that some vessels were then engaged to carry them to sierra Leona; an act which redounded to the honour of all concerned in its promotion, 242 and filled me with prayers and much rejoicing. There was then in the city, a select committee of gentlemen for the black poor, to some of whom I had the honour of being known; and, as soon as they heard of my arrival, they sent for me to the committee. When I came there, they informed me of the intention of government; and as they seemed to think me qualified to superintend part of the undertaking, they asked me to go with the black poor to Africa. I pointed out to them many objections to my going; and particularly I expressed some difficulties on the account of the slave dealers, as I would certainly oppose their traffic in the human species by every means in my power. However these objections were over-ruled by the gentlemen of the committee, who prevailed on me to consent to go; and recommended me to the honourable 243 Commissioners of his Majesty's Navy, as a proper person to act as commissary for government in the intended expedition; and they accordingly appointed me in November 1786, to that office, and gave me sufficient power to act for the government in the capacity of commissary, having received my warrant and the following order. By the principal Officers and Commissioners of his Majesty's Navy. WHEREAS you were directed, by our warrant of the 4th of last month, to receive into your charge from Mr. Joseph Irwin, the surplus provisions remaining of what was provided for the voyage, as well as the provisions for the support of the black poor, after the landing at Sierra Leone, with the cloathing, tools, and all other articles 244 provided at government's expence; and as the provisions were laid in at the rate of two months for the voyage, and for four months afrer the landing, but the number embarked being so much less than we expected, whereby there may be a considerable surplus of provisions, cloathing, &c. These are, in addition to former orders, to direct and require you to appropriate or dispose of such surplus to the best advantage you can for the benefit of government, keeping and rendering to us a faithful account of what you do herein. And for your guidance in preventing any white persons going, who are not intended to have the indulgence of being carried thither, we send you herewith a list of those recommended by the Committee for the balck poor, as proper persons to be permitted to embark, and acquaint you that you are not to suffer 245 any others to go who do not produce a certificate from the committee for the black poor, of their having their permission for it. For which this shall be your warrant. Dated at the Navy-Office, January 16, 1787. J.HINSLOW, GEO. MARSH, W. PALMER. To Mr. Gustavus Vassa, Commissary of Provisions and stores for the Black Poor going to sierra Leona. I proceeded immediately to the executing of my duty on board the vessels destined for the voyage, where I continued till the March following. During my continuanee in the employment of government, I was struck with the flagrant abuses committed by the agent, and endeavoured to remedy 246 them, but without effect. One instance, among many which I could produce, may serve as a specimen. Government had ordered to be provided all necessaries (slops, as they are called, included) for 750 persons; however, not being able to muster more than 426, I was ordered to send the superfluous slops, &c. to the king's stores at Portsmouth; but, when I demanded them for that purpose from the agent, it appeared they had never been bought, though paid for by government. But that was not all, government were not the only objects of peculation; these poor people suffered infinitely more; their accommodations, were most wretched; many of them wanted beds, and many more cloathing and other necessaries. For the truth of this, and much more, I do not seek credit from my own assertion. I appeal to the testimony of Capt. 247 Thompson, of the Nautilus, who convoyed us, to whom I applied in February 1787, for a remedy, when I had remonstrated to the agent in vain, and even brought him to be a witness of the injustice and oppression I complained of. I appeal also to a letter written by these wretched people, so early as the beginning of the preceding January, and published in the Morning Herald, on the 4th of that month, signed by twenty of their chiefs. I could not silently suffer government to be thus cheated, and my countrymen plundered and oppressed, and even lest destitude of the necessaries for almost their existence. I therefore informed the Commissioners of the Navy of the agent's proceeding; but my dismission was soon after procured, by means of a gentleman in the city, whom the agent, conscious of his peculation, 248 had deceived by letter, and who, moreover, empowered the same agent to receive on board, at the government expence, a number of persons as passengers, contrary to the orders I received. By this I suffered a considerable loss in my property: however, the commissioners were satisfied with my conduct, and wrote to Capt. Thompson, expressing their opprobation of it. Thus provided, they proceeded on their voyage; and at last, worn out by treatment, perhaps not the most mild, and wasted by sickness, brought on by want of medicine, cloaths, bedding, &c. they reached Sirrea Leona just at at the commencement of the rains. At that season of the year it is impossible to cultivate the lands; their provisions therefore were exhausted before they could derive any benefit from agriculture; and it is not surprising 249 that many, especially the lascars, whose constitutions are very tender, and who had been cooped up in ships from October to June, and accommodated in the manner I have mentioned, should be so wasted by their confinement as not long to survive it. Thus ended my part of the long-talked of expedition to sierra Leona; an expedition which, however unfortunate in the event, was humane and politic in its design, nor was its failure owing to government: every thing was done on their part; but there was evidently sufficient mismanagement attending the conduct and execution of it to defeat its success. I should not have been so ample in my account of this transaction, had not the share I bore in it been made the subject of partial animadversion, and even my dismission from my employment 250 thought worthy of being made by some a matter of public triumph*. The motives which might influence any person to descend to a petty contest with an obscure African, and to seek gratification by his depression, perhaps it is not proper here to inquire into or relate, even if its detection were necessary to my vindication; but I thank Heaven it is not. I wish to stand by my own integrity, and not to shelter myself under the impropriety of another; and I trust the behaviour of the Commissioners of the Navy to me entitle me to make this assertion; for after I had been dismissed, March 24, I drew up a memorial thus: * See the Public Advertiser, July 14, 1787. [Equiano's Note] 251 To the Right Honourable the Lords Commissioners of his Majesty's Treasury: The Memorial and Petition of GUSTAVUS VASSA a black Man, late Commissary to the black Poor going to AFRICA. HUMBLY SHEWETH, THAT your Lordships memorialist was, by the Honourable the Commissioners of his Majesty's Navy on the 4th of December last, appointed to the above employment by warrant from that board; That he accordingly proceeded to the execution of his duty on board of the Vernon, being one of the ships appointed to proceed to Africa with the above poor; That your memorialist, to his great grief and astonishment, received a letter 252 of dismission from the Honourable Commissioners of the Navy, by your Lordships orders; That, conscious of having acted with the most perfect fidelity and the greatest assiduity in discharging the trust reposed in him, he is altogether at a loss to conceive the reasons of your Lordships having altered the favourable opinion you were pleased to conceive of him, sensible that your Lordships would not proceed to so severe a measure without some apparent good cause; he therefore has every reason to believe that his conduct has been grossly misrepresented to your Lordships, and he is the more confirmed in his opinion, because, by opposing measures of others concerned in the same expedition, which tended to defeat your Lordships humane intentions, and to put the government to a very considerable 253 additional expence, he created a number of enemies, whose misrepresentations, he has too much reason to believe, laid the foundation of his dismission. Unsupported by friends; and unaided by the advantages of a liberal education, he can only hope for redress from the justice of his cause, in addition to the mortification of having been removed from his employment, and the advantage which he reasonably might have expected to have derived therefrom. He has had the misfortune to have sunk a considerable part of his lit tle property in fitting himself out, and in other expences arising out of his situation, an account of which he here annexes. Your memorialist will not trouble your Lordships with a vindication of any part of his conduct, because he knows not of what crimes he is accused; he, however, earnestly entreats 254 that you will be pleased to direct an inquiry into his behaviour during the time he acted in the public service; and, if it be found that his dismission arose from salse representations, he is confident that in your Lordships justice he shall find redress. Your petitioner therefore humbly prays that your Lordships will take his case into consideration, and that you will be pleased to order payment of the above referred-to account, amounting to 32l. 4s. and also the wages intended, which is most humbly submitted. London, May 12, 1787. The above petition was delivered into the hands of their Lordships, who were kind enough, in the space of some few months afterwards, without hearing, to order me 50l. sterling—that is, 18l. wages for the time (upwards of four 255 months) I acted a faithful part in their service. Certainly the sum is more than a free negro would have had in the western colonies!!! From that period, to the present time, my life has passed in an even tenor, and great part of my study and attention has been to assist in the cause of my much injured countrymen. March the 21st, 1788, I had the honour of presenting the Queen with a petition on behalf of my African brethren, which was received most graciously by Her Majesty*: To the QUEEN's most Excellent Majesty. MADAM, YOUR Majesty's well known benevolence and humanity emboldens * At the request of some of my most particular friends, I take the liberty of inserting it here. [Equiano's note] 256 me to approach your royal presence, trusting that the obscurity of my situa tion will not prevent your Majesty from attending to the sufferings for which I plead. Yet I do not solicit your royal pity, for my own distress; my sufferings, although numerous, are in a measure forgotten. I supplicate your Majesty's compassion for millions of my African countrymen, who groan under the lash of tyranny in the West Indies. The oppression and cruelty exercised to the unhappy negroes there, have at length reached the British legislature, and they are now deliberating on its redress; even several persons of pro perty in slaves in the West Indies, have petitioned parliament against its continuance, sensible that it is as impolitic as it is unjust—and what is inhuman must ever be unwise. 257 Your Majesty's reign has been hitherto distinguished by private acts of benevolence and bounty; surely the more extended the misery is, the greater claim it has to your Majesty's com passion, and the greater must be your Majesty's pleasure in administering to its relief. I presume, therefore, gracious Queen, to implore your interposition with your royal consort, in favour of the wretch ed Africans; that, by your Majesty's benevolent influence, a period may now be put to their misery; and that they may be raised from the condition of brutes, to which they are at present degraded, to the rights and situation of freemen, and admitted to partake of the blessings of your Majesty's happy government; so shall your Majesty enjoy the heart-felt pleasure of procuring happiness to millions, and be rewarded 258 in the grateful prayers of themselves, and of their posterity. And may the all-bountiful Creator shower on your Majesty, and the Royal Family, every bleffing that this world can afford, and every fulness of joy which divine revelation has promised us in the next. I am your Majesty's most dutiful and devoted servant to command, GUSTAVUS VASSA, The Oppressed Ethiopian. No. 53. Baldwin's Gardens. The negro consolidated act, made by the assembly of Jamaica last year, and the new act of amendment now in agitation there, contain a proof of the existence of those charges that have been made against the 259 planters relative to the tratment of their slaves. I hope to have the satisfaction of seeing the renovation of liberty and justice, resting on the British government, to vindicate the honour of our common nature. These are concerns which do not perhaps belong to any particular office: but, to speak more seriously to every man of sentiment, actions like these are the just and sure foundation of future fame; a reversion, though remote, is coveted by some noble minds as a substantial good. It is upon these grounds that I hope and expect the attention of gentlemen in power. These are designs consonant to the elevation of their rank, and the dignity of their stations: they are ends suitable to the nature of a free and ge nerous government; and, connected with views of empire and dominion, 260 suited to the benevolence and solid merit of the legislature. It is a pursuit of substantial greatness.—May the time come—at least the speculation to me is pleasing—when the sable people shall gratefully commemorate the au spicious aera of extensive freedom. Then shall those persons* particularly be named with praise and honour, who generously proposed and stood forth in the cause of humanity, liberty, and good policy; and brought to the car of the legislature designs worthy of royal patronage and adoption. May Heaven make the British senators the dispersers of light, liberty, and science, to the uttermost parts of the earth: * Granville Sharp, Esq the Reverend Thomas Clarkson; the Reverend James Ramsay; our approved friends, men of virtue, are an honour to their country, ornamental to human nature, happy in themselves, and benefactors to mankind! [Equiano's note] 261 then will be glory to God on the highest, on earth peace, and good-will to men:—Glory, honour, peace, &c. to every soul of man that worketh good, to the Britons first, (because to them the Gospel is preached) and also to the nations. 'Those that honour their Maker have mercy on the poor.' 'It is righteousness exalteth a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people; destruction shall be to the workers of iniquity, and the wicked shall fall by their own wickedness.' May the blessings of the Lord be upon the heads of all those who commiserated the cases of the oppressed negroes, and the fear of God prolong their days; and may their expectations be filled with gladness! 'The liberal devise liberal things, and by liberal things shall stand,' Isaiah xxxii. 8. They can say with pious Job, 'Did not I weep for 262 him that was in trouble? was not my soul grieved for the poor?' Job xxx. 25. As the inhuman traffic of slavery is to be taken into the consideration of the British legislature, I doubt not, if a system of commerce was established in Africa, the demand for manufactures will most rapidly augment, as the na tive inhabitants will insensibly adopt the British fashions, manners, customs, &c. In proportion to the civilization, so will be the consumption of British manufactures. The wear and tear of a continent, nearly twice as large as Europe, and rich in vegetable and mineral productions, is much easier conceived than calculated. A case in point.—It cost the Aborigines of Britain, little or nothing in clothing, &c. The difference between their forefathers and the present generation, 263 in point of consumption, is literally infinite. The supposition is most obvious. It will be equally im mense in Africa—The same cause, viz. civilization, will ever have the same effect. It is trading upon safe grounds. A commercial intercourse with Africa opens an inexhaustible source of wealth to the manufacturing interests of Great Britain, and to all which the slave trade is an objection. If I am not misinformed, the manufacturing interest is equal, if not superior, to the landed interest, as to the value, for reasons which will soon appear. The abolition of slavery, so diabolical, will give a most rapid extension of manufactures, which is totally and diametrically opposite to what some interested people assert. 264 The manufactures of this country must and will, in the nature and reason of things, have a full and constant employ by supplying the African mar kets. Population, the bowels and surface of Africa, abound in valuable and use ful returns; the hidden treasures of cen turies will be brought to light and into circulation. Industry, enterprize, and mining, will have their full scope, pro portionably as they civilize. In a word, it lays open an endless field of commerce to the British manufactures and merchant adventurer. The manufacturing interest and the general inte rests are synonymous. The abolition of slavery would be in reality an universal good. Tortures, murder, and every other imaginable barbarity and iniquity, are practised upon the poor slaves with impunity. 265 I hope the slave trade will be abolished. I pray it may be an event at hand. The great body of manufacturers, uniting in the cause, will considerably facilitate and expedite it; and, as I have already stated, it is most substantially their interest and advantage, and as such the nation's at large, (except those persons concerned in the manufacturing neck-yokes, collars, chains, hand-cuffs, leg-bolts, drags, thumbscrews, iron muzzles, and coffins; cats, scourges, and other instruments of torture used in the slave trade). In a short time one sentiment alone will prevail, from motives of interest as well as justice and humanity. Europe contains one hundred and twenty millions of inhabitants. Query—How many millions doth Africa contain? supposing the Africans, collectively and individually, to expend 5l. a head in raiment 266 and furniture yearly when civilized, &c. an immensity beyond the reach of imagination! This I conceive to be a theory founded upon facts, and therefore an infallible one. If the blacks were permitted to remain in their own country, they would double themselves every fifteen years. In proportion to such increase will be the demand for manufactures. Cotton and indigo grow spontaneously in most parts of Africa; a consideration this of no small consequence to the manufacturing towns of Great Britain. It opens a most immense, glorious, and happy prospect—the clothing, &c. of a continent ten thousand miles in circumference, and immensely rich in productions of every denomination in return for manufactures. 267 I have only therefore to request the reader's indulgence and conclude. I am far from the vanity of thinking there is any merit in this narrative: I hope censure will be suspended, when it is considered that it was written by one who was as unwilling as unable to adorn the plainness of truth by the colouring of imagination. My life and fortune have been extremely chequered, and my adventures various. Even those I have related are considerably abridged. If any incident in this little work should appear uninteresting and trifling to most readers, I can only say, as my excuse for mentioning it, that almost every event of my life made an impression on my mind, and influenced my conduct. I early accus tomed myself to look for the hand of God in the minutest occurrence, and to learn from it a lesson of morality 268 and religion; and in this light, every circumstance I have related was to me of importance. After all, what makes any event important, unless by its observation we become better and wiser, and learn 'to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly before God?' To those who are possessed of this spirit, there is scarcely any book or incident so trifling that does not afford some profit, while to others the experience of ages seems of no use; and even to pour out to them the treasures of wisdom is throwing the jewels of instruction away. THE END. Equiano published the book by subscription, subsidizing the printing of the book by soliciting payment up front from people who would then receive their copy of the book (or copies; some people ordered multiple copies) when it was published. This was a shrewd move on Equiano's part, as it enabled him to retain copyright in his book, which meant that he received all of the profits, rather than, as was more typical in the period, receiving a lump sum in advance for his copyright. At the same time, the subscribers were able to associate themselves with the abolitionist cause; becoming a subscriber, and having your name published in this list, was like signing a petition in favor of ending the slave trade. The Interesting Narrative was a great success, going into nine editions in Equiano's lifetime. With each edition, the list of subscribers grew; the first edition had 321 subscribers, which grew to 804 in the ninth edition, published in 1794. Here we print the list of subscribers for the second edition, published in 1789. A prime area for the slave trade during this time due to its economic and military prowess. The upper hand in warfare was an important factor in the African slave trade because of the tradition in which African tribes would enslave other Africans after battles, viewing them as spoils of war. The best color to wear in Europe during this time was purple since the color was hard to extract and get a hold of. If one was to wear purple it was usually because they were royal. Interesting to note that they are living in an egalitarian culture when it comes to agriculture, the backbone to their existence. The narrator appears to be proud that it is his land that is most commonly used for the slave trade due to his people's hardiness and work ethic. Grisly account that does not parallel the thriving and forward thinking culture of the narrator's home that he described earlier. Oblation: (the act of making a religious offering; specifically capitalized : the act of offering the eucharistic elements to God. The act of making a religious offering; specifically capitalized : the act of offering the eucharistic elements to God (Merriam-Webster). Religious laws require Jewish people to take part in ritual washing, including an immersion of the whole body (tevilah) and the pouring water over the hands (netilat yadayim). There is no specific correlation or proof that this contributed to higher hygiene levels among the Jewish population, however, so Equiano's statement is likely based on stereotypes of the time (Wikipedia). John Gill (1697-1771) was a prominent biblical scholar of the time, know most commonly for his in-depth biblical analysis in An Exposition of the New Testament (3 vols., 1746–8), and Exposition of the Old Testament (6 vols., 1748–63)(Wikipedia). In Dr. Gill's analysis of Genesis 25:4, he mentions an Aphra and Apher, not an Afer and Afra, which is a potential error on Equiano's part. Dr. Gill contextualizes them by saying that they are the sons of Abraham by Keturah...and all Africa, had their names, and that these accompanied Hercules into Lybia (Christianity.com). Thomas Clarkson (1760-1846) was an English abolitionist that participated heavily in anti-slavery campaigns worldwide (Wikipedia). Black or dark. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, relating to epidemic disease. Can be defined as amazement and terror, or dismay (Oxford English Dictionary). The Spartans, from ancient Greece, performed this same practice. The men stayed away from the women most of the time so they could focus on war and studying with their brothers. This practice helps the men stay sharp and not have either of the sexes be distracted by each other. The use of the word "barbarity" is significant because during this time period, slaves were usually the ones that were dehumanized and deemed savages, whereas white people were considered civilized. Oxford English Dictionary refers to a "sloop" as a "small, one-masted fore-and-aft rigged vessel" or a "relatively small ship-of-war carrying guns on the upper deck only." Oxford English Dictionary refers to a "bastinado" as a "blow with a stick, usually on the soles of the feet." A 15 to 20 foot long boat traditionally used to carry cargo and passengers in rivers and canals in England. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. By which Equiano means his trade history. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. In good condition. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. Deference or submission to a superior. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. Formal release from slavery or servitude. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. Allusion to Peter's escape from King Herrod's prison, when God sent an angel to miraculously save him. Source: King James Bible. Allusion to story in 2 Kings when God mysteriously took Elijah and Enoch to Heaven before they died. Source: King James Bible. A jail. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. To keep secret, conceal, hide. Source: Oxford English Dictionary The loading of a ship with its cargo. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Bull calves. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. Watertight. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. A designation, name, or title given. Source: Oxford English Dictioonary. Designating the side of a vessel or sideward direction: the side away from the wind. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. The popular name of various delphinoid cetaceans, having a high falcate dorsal fin and a blunt rounded head, and remarkable for the spouting and blowing which accompanies their movements. Source: Oxford English Dictioanry. These islands traded heavily in sugar cane. Barbados had one of the largest sugar industries in the world during the eighteenth century. Source: Oxford English Dictionary and Wikipedia. A small island in the Caribbean. Source: Wikipedia. Sheerness is a port to the east of London. See link for photo http://www.weather-forecast.com/locations/Sheerness. Nitric Acid, Latin for Strong Water, it is a highly corrosive substance. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. Lantern. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. Walruses. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. A sand bar off the eastern coast of England. Source: Wikipedia. Known today as Izmir, Turkey, this large port was an Ancient Greek city that’s strategically advantageous position has maintained it as a trading port to this day. Source: Wikipedia. Persuade. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. This does not refer to the surgical definition of trepan which means to dig a hole in the scull. This is a lesser known definition meaning to ensnare or trap. Reference to Joseph Alleine’s 1671 "An Alarm to the Unconverted," which was commonly referred to as the "Sure Guide to Heaven," that outlined the need for religious conversion of all people. Source: King James Bible. 'Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.' Source: Acts 4:12. Jesus answered, "Very truly I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless they are born of water and the Spirit." Source: John 3:5. Heat of passion or desire, vehemence, ardent desire; warmth of emotion, zeal, fervour, eagerness, enthusiasm. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. A humble plea; an earnest request or entreaty or the action of addressing a solemn request to God. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. To utter, suggest, or inspire a form of words which is to be repeated or written down. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. A person mentioned in Canticles 6:12 whose chariots were famed for their swiftness. Source: Bible Study Tools. Burdened, loaded, weighed down. Source: Oxford English Dictionary). 'For we know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body ruled by sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves to sin.' Source: Romans 6:6. An area of central London, which lies in the south-west corner of the City of London. The name Blackfriars was first used in 1317 and derives from the black cappa worn by the Dominican Friars who moved their priory from Holborn to the area between the River Thames and Legate Hill in 1276. Source: Blackfriars, Oxford, England. A spelling of the word "showed." Source: Oxford English Dictionary. A feeling of revulsion; disgusted loathing. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. Sly or cunning intelligence. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. Showing lack of respect for God or religion. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. Bradstreet, Anne and Anne Bradstreet. "Youth". Several Poems Compiled with Great Variety of Wit and Learning, John Foster, 1678 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z [Title Page] SEVERAL POEMS Compiled with great variety of Wit and Learning, full of Delight; Wherein especially is contained a compleat Discourse, and Description of The Four { ELEMENTS CONSTITUTIONS, AGES of Man, SEASONS of the Year. Together with an exact Epitome of the three first Monarchyes Viz, The { ASSYRIAN, PERSIAN, GRECIAN. And beginning of the Romane Common-wealth to the end of their last King: With diverse other pleasant & serious Poems, By a Gentlewoman in New-England. The second Edition, Corrected by the Author, and enlarged by an Addition of several other Poems found amongst her Papers after her Death. Boston, Printed by John Foster, 1678. Youth 1 MY goodly cloathing, and my beauteous skin, 2 Declare some greater riches are within; 3 But what is best i'le first present to view, 4 And then the worst, in a more ugly hue; 5 For thus to do, we on this Stage assemble, 6 Then let not him, which hath most craft dissemble; 7 Mine education, and my learning's such, 8 As might my self, and others, profit much: 9 With nurture trained up in vertues Schools, 10 Of Science, Arts, and Tongues, I know the rules, 11 The manners of the Court, I likewise know, 12 Nor ignorant what they in Country do; 13 The brave attempts of valiant Knights I prize, 14 That dare climbe BattlementsThe summit of a mountain or a parapet at the top of a wall. Source: Oxford English Dictionary, rear'd to the skies; 15 The snorting Horse, the Trumpet, Drum I like, 16 The glistring Sword, and wel advanced Pike; 17 I cannot lye in trench, before a Town, 18 Nor wait til good advice our hopes do crown; 19 I scorn the heavy Corsset, Musket-proof, 20 Though thus in field, at home, to all most kind, 21 So affable that I do suit each mind; 22 I can insinuate into the brest, 23 And by my mirth can raise the heart deprest. 24 Sweet Musick rapteth my harmonious Soul, 25 And elevates my thoughts above the Pole. 26 My wit, my bounty, and my courtesie, 27 Makes all to place their future hopes on me. 28 This is my best, but youth (is known) alas, 29 To be as wilde as is the snuffing Asse, 30 As vain as froth, as vanity can be, 31 That who would see vain man, may look on me: 32 My gifts abus'd, my education lost, 33 My woful Parents longing hopes all crost, 34 My wit, evaporates in meriment: 35 My valour, in some beastly quarrel's spent; 36 Martial deeds I love not, 'cause they're vertuous, 37 But doing so, might seem magnanimous. 38 My Lust doth hurry me, to all that's ill, 39 I know no Law, nor reason, but my wil; 40 Sometimes lay wait to take a wealthy purse, 41 Or stab the man, in's own defence, that's worse, 42 Sometimes I cheat (unkind) a female Heir, 43 Of all at once, who not so wise, as fair, 44 Trusteth my loving looks, and glozing tongue, 45 Until her freinds, treasure, and honour's gone. 46 Sometimes I sit carousing others health, 47 Until mine own be gone, my wit, and wealth; 48 From pipe to pot, from pot to words, and blows, 49 For he that loveth Wine, wanteth no woes; 50 Dayes, nights, with Ruffins, Roarers, Fidlers spend; 51 To all obscenity, my eares I bend. 52 All counsel hate, which tends to make me wise, 53 And dearest freinds count for mine enemies; 54 If any care I take, 'tis to be fine, 55 For sure my suit more then my vertues shine; 56 If any time from company I spare, 57 'Tis spent in curling, frisling up my hair; 58 Some young Adonis I do strive to be, 59 Sardana PallasSardanapallas is legendary tragic king of Assyria. Source: Encyclopedia Brittanica., now survives in me: 60 Cards, Dice, and Oaths, concomitant, I love; 61 To Masques, to Playes, to Taverns stil I move; 62 And in a word, if what I am you'd heare, 63 Seek out a Brittish, bruitish Cavaleer; 64 Such wretch, such monster am I; but yet more, 65 I want a heart all this for to deplore. 66 Thus, thus alas! I have mispent my time, 67 My youth, my best, my strength, my bud, and prime: 68 Remembring not the dreadful day of Doom, 69 Nor yet that heavy reckoning for to come; 70 Though dangers do attend me every houre, 71 And gastly death oft threats me with her power, 72 Sometimes by wounds in idle combates taken, 73 Sometimes by AguesSickness with a high fever. Source: Oxford english Dictionary all my body shaken; 74 Sometimes by Feavers, all my moisture drinking, 75 My heart lyes frying, and my eyes are sinking; 76 Sometimes the Cough, Stitch, painful PlurisiePleurisy is an illness characterized by chest pains often accompanied with coughing and inflammation. Source: Oxford English Dictionary, 77 With sad affrights of death, doth menace me; 78 Sometimes the loathsome PoxSmallpox, which was endemic in this period. Smallpox frequently causes facial scarring. The passage suggests that Bradstreet herself had contracted it., my face be-mars, 79 With ugly marks of his eternal scars; 80 Sometimes the Phrensie, strangely madds my Brain, 81 That oft for it, in BedlamA truncation of Bethlehem Hospital, a facility in London for the supposed insane. Source: Oxford English Dictionary I remain. 82 Too many's my Diseases to recite, 83 That wonder 'tis I yet behold the light, 84 That yet my bed in darknesse is not made, 85 And I in black oblivions den long laid; 86 Of Marrow ful my bones, of Milk my breasts, 87 Ceas'd by the gripes of Serjeant Death's Arrests: 88 Thus I have said, and what I've said you see, 89 Child-hood and youth is vaine, yea vanity. O'Brien, John and John O'Brien. "Headnote for Thomas Gray." Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z Students and faculty at eighteenth-century English universities wrote a good deal of poetry, sometimes as work, but very often for pleasure. Students would be assigned to translate poetry from Latin and Greek, the study of which made up a major part of the curriculum. They would also compose original poetry of their own in the classical languages, sometimes as part of an assignment, but sometimes for pleasure, including the pleasure of showing off their skill. Colleges might hold competitions for the best poem in Latin or Greek in a given year. More often, students would also write satirical poems, religious poetry, or love poetry, which could be addressed to real or to imaginary lovers. Faculty members and fellows at both universities would also write poems. Poems written by men associated with universities would largely circulate in manuscript copies among their friends in and outside the colleges, sometimes for years and over great distances. Such poems would sometimes reach print, perhaps in a miscellany collection of poems by various authors, sometimes in periodicals and newspapers. This could be intentional—a poet sending in a poem to a newspaper for the purpose of seeing his work published—but was also sometimes unintentional or accidental, as publishers were always on the look-out for material and might print a poem they liked that made its way to them through the various networks by which manuscript poetry circulated. Of all of these writers of verse associated with eighteenth-century academia, Thomas Gray (1716-1771) is perhaps the only one whose work became famous in his own day, and has been read and taught continuously since then. Gray’s best-remembered poem, “An Elegy Wrote in a Country Church-Yard,” has probably been the most popular poem of the era ever since it was first published in 1751, and remains one of the most widely-read, taught, translated, and studied poems in English literature, and Gray one of the most influential poets in English. But Gray probably thought of himself first and foremost, not as a poet, but as an independent scholar. He inherited enough from his father to live comfortably as a gentleman of leisure, and he took up residence as what was called a “fellow-commoner” at Cambridge University, first residing at Peterhouse College and then at Pembroke College. Gray spent his time at Cambridge reading widely: law, classical literature and philosophy, science, travel, botany, the history of poetry in the romance languages and the languages of the British Isles, medieval art and architecture. He kept meticulous notes on his reading, participated in the life of the colleges, and had a wide correspondence with friends. But Gray never taught students or published his scholarship in the way that modern scholars do. Rather, he put learning into poems such as “The Progress of Poesy” and “The Bard,” which grew out of his studies in Greek poetic form (which provided the Pindaric ode), and the history of European poetry since the classical period. Modern scholars now view these works as brilliant and significant works that tell us a lot about how an erudite man and a skilled poet brought together the period’s understanding of poetry’s history and place in the world. Gray was born in the city of London, and his parents both practiced trades there; his father Philip was a scrivener (that is, a copier of legal and business documents), and his mother Dorothy ran a millinery shop (that, a shop that sold women’s hats) with her sister Mary. That would seem to suggest a certain level of domestic stability, but Thomas Gray’s childhood sounds more like something out of a Dickens novel. His mother bore twelve children, but Thomas was the only one who survived infancy; child mortality was high in this period, but that kind of loss was extraordinary. Gray’s father was verbally and physically abusive; his mother went to court for a legal separation on the grounds of her husband’s cruelty, but the legal system was so biased against women that she was forced to stay with her husband. What rescued Thomas from seems to have been a desperately miserable household was being sent to Eton College when he was nine years old; two of his mother’s brothers taught there and were able to look after him. It was also at Eton that Gray first started reading—and writing—Latin poetry. He met several people who would be important friends: Richard West, the son of a man who had been the lord chancellor of Ireland; Thomas Ashton, and, most importantly, Horace Walpole, the son of the-then first minister Sir Robert Walpole. It was after Eton that Gray went to Cambridge, and although he never completed a degree, and while there was a period when he was preparing for a legal career in London (probably at the insistence of his parents), he stayed at Cambridge most of the rest of his life. In 1739, Gray and Walpole went together on what was called “Grand Tour” of continental Europe. Eighteenth-century English male aristocrats like Walpole routinely spent a couple of years touring Europe, gaining skills in languages (especially French and Italian), sightseeing, meeting their counterparts in continental countries, buying up art to bring home, and having romantic affairs, before returning home to England to manage their family’s estates. After about a year and half, Gray and Walpole had a fight while on their way from Florence to Venice (we still do not know what prompted it), and split up, returning home separately. It took a few years for the rift between the friends to be healed, but Walpole eventually became a great advocate for Gray and helped him get his works, including “An Elegy Wrote on a Country Churchyard,” published in London. That poem, commemorating the dead, seems to come out of several losses that Gray suffered in the 1740s. The first and most prominent was that of another friend from Eton, Richard West, with whom Gray was studying for a legal career. West died in 1742 at the age of 26 (we don’t know the cause, but he had been sick for a while); Gray composed a sonnet called On the Death of Richard West and, many scholars think, began sketching a more comprehensive elegy. In 1749 Gray’s aunt Mary died, and it seems possible that this was a prompt for Gray to complete the poem, which he finished in 1750 and sent in manuscript to Walpole. (Another prompt may have been Walpole’s own brush with death at the hands of robbers that year; he was attacked in Hyde Park and a bullet just missed his head, burning his wig.) Walpole’s copy of the poem was in turn either stolen or copied by someone and ended in up in the hands of William Owen, the publisher of a short-lived journal called The Magazine of Magazines. When Gray learned that Owen planned to publish it, he asked Walpole to rescue the situation by getting an authorized version in print immediately. The poem was an instant success, and has never been out of print since. But Gray did not rush to capitalize on the success; he stayed in Cambridge, continuing his studies and working on other poems. Gray never married, and the fact that all of his most intense relationships were with other men inevitably leads to speculation about his sexuality. About which we know virtually nothing for certain; there is no evidence that he ever had sex with a woman or a man. But same-sex behavior was condemned in this period, and so strictly forbidden that it was possible for a man to be hanged if caught having sex with another man. So we should not expect to find the kind of evidence that would serve as proof. (We know that after Gray’s death, Horace Walpole and William Mason went through his correspondence and expurgated them heavily; there’s a reasonable chance that part of their goal was to eliminate any passages that might raise suspicion.) The modern scholar George Haggerty has argued persuasively that Gray’s turn to elegy is a way of expressing his sense of loss at being unable to pursue romantic love with other men: “the expression of same-sex desire…. always constitutes desire within a close-like framework that couches desire itself in terms—melancholy, madness, sensation, platonic love—that culture provides for the purposes of naturalization and accommodation.” In “Elegy Wrote in a Country Churchyard,” Gray articulates the perfect tone for expressing a kind of desire that he knows he cannot make public. Image: Thomas Gray by John Giles Eccardt (1747-48), National Portrait Gallery, London Rowlandson, Mary and Mary White Rowlandson. The soveraignty and goodness of God, together, with the faithfulness of his promises displayed; being a narrative of the captivity and restauration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson. , Printed by Samuel Green, 1682 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z Title Page THE Soveraignty &; Goodness OF GOD, Together, With the Faithfulness of His Promises Displayed; Being a NARRATIVE Of the Captivity and Restauration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson. Mary Rowlandson’s gripping account of her experience as a captive of native Americans was enormously popular in her own time and became widely influential as the paradigm for the “captivity narrative,” a genre that would have hundreds of examples over the next two centuries and would also help shape works like Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe. The book was originally printed in 1682, first in Massachusetts and then, quickly, in London as well, and was reprinted over and over again for the next century and more. For good reason. Rowlandson’s work taps into colonial fears about the indigenous population, Puritan conceptions of the relationship between the material world and the unseen world of the divine, and the perennial fears of all patriarchal cultures about women’s sexuality. Her experience is compelling and she writes vividly about it. Rowlandson was born Mary White in England in around 1637, and her family moved to the Massachusetts Bay Colony when she was in her early teens. She married Joseph Rowlandson, a Puritan minister, in the 1650s, and they moved to Lancaster, in central Massachusetts, which was then essentially frontier territory for the English colonial settlers. In 1675, the native American leader Metacomet, head of the Wampanoag confederation of indigeneous peoples, led a series of attacks on English settlements. The conflict that followed for the next three years is remembered by English-speaking historians as “Prince Philip’s War,” because “Philip” was the name that the English settlers used for Metacomet. Metacomet’s forces attacked Lancaster on the morning of February 11, 1675, killing thirteen people, including Rowlandson’s sister and her sister’s children, as well as her brother-in-law. The natives took twenty-four English settlers prisoner, including Rowlandson and her three children. (Rowlandson’s husband Joseph was at this moment in Boston, trying to secure appropriations from the Massachusetts legislature to strengthen Lancashire’s defenses against the Wampanoag.) Rowlandson’s six-year-old daughter Sarah died of wounds suffered in the fight. Mary and her surviving children were held captive for eleven weeks, where they were moved progressively further away from the colonial settlements, into what is now the state of Vermont. She was eventually ransomed with funds raised by women in Boston. Joseph Rowlandson died in 1678, and Mary moved with her children to Boston. She remarried there, and published the first edition of her Narrative with the Cambridge, Massachusetts printer Samuel Greene. This version was entitled The Sovereignty and Goodness of God, together with the Faithfulness of His Promises Displayed, being a Narrative of the Captivity and Restauration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson. It included a preface that was probably written by Increase Mather, the leading Puritan minister in the colonies at the time, and also the author of a narrative account of the war with Metacomet, A Brief History of the War with the Indians, in New-England, published in Boston in 1676. The first London edition of Rowlandson’s more personal account, printed in 1682, came out under the title A True History of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson. The fact that this book was printed three times in a single year on both sides of the Atlantic attests to its significance among the settler-colonists of North America and those in England who were interested in their experience. It also, however, reminds us of the partial and one-sided nature of this account; it is largely because Rowlandson, as a high-ranking woman in the colonial heirarchy, had access to publication that her story was recorded in this way. The native peoples who allied against the colonists preserved their version of the conflict in oral accounts that were, at best, fragmented in the course of the progressive destruction of their culture over the next years and decades. We have much still to learn and understand about the often-violent encounters in this period between European settler-colonists and the indigenous peoples of the land that still typically goes--strangely, if you think about it for a moment--by the name "New England." Commended by her, to all that desires to know the Lords doings to, and dealings with Her. Especially to her dear Children and Relations, The second Addition Corrected and amended. Written by Her own Hand for Her private Use, and now made Publick at the earnest Desire of some Friends, and for the benefit of the Afflicted. Deut. 32.29 See now that I, even I am he, and there is no God with me: I kill and I make alive, I wound and I heal neither is there any can deliver out of my hand. CAMBRIDGE: Printed by Samuel Green, 1682 The Preface to the READER. Increase Mather (1639-1723), a Puritan minister, is widely considered to be the author of this preface. He was active in soliciting and collecting accounts of what English-speakers referred to as “King Philip’s War,” including his own “A Brief History of the Warr with the Indians in New England.” Mather also collected essays on miracles and illustrations of divine providence among New Englanders. It is likely that he encouraged Rowlandson to publish this account of her experience. IT was on Tuesday, Feb. 1. 1675. Rowlandson followed the Julian calendar for her dates. In the Georgian calendar, this would be February 1st, 1676. The same is true for the years given throughout the narrative. in the afternoon, when the Narrhagansets Archeological evidence indicates that ancestors of the Narragansett people lived along what is now the southern New England coast for thousands of years. At their greatest extent, the tribe controlled most of what is now Rhode Island. In “King Philip’s War,” as the English-speakers termed it, the Narragansetts initially tried to stay neutral. They entered the conflict after the English attacked a large Narragansett and Wampanoag fortification in December of 1675. The war was possibly one of the bloodiest in American history; the Narragansetts were decimated, and the end of the war marked the end of most of their resistance to English settlement in southern New England. quarters (in or toward the Nipmug The Nipmuc nation once controlled a large territory in central Massachusetts. The town of Lancaster, where the Rowlandsons lived, was located in the Nipmuc territory of “Nashaway.” In “King Philip’s war,” the Nipmucs joined the Wampanoags and Narragansetts to combat the spreading influence of English settlers. In 1676, in a series of raids that included Lancaster, they forced the colonists to abandon the settlements on Nipmuc land. The English tried to settle again in 1701, abandoned the area a second time, and in a third attempt in 1713, formed a permanent settlement of what is now Worcester County. Nipmucs continue to live in and around Worcester today. Country, whither they are now retyred for fear of the English Army lying in their own Country) were the second time beaten up by the Forces of the united Colonies, who thereupon soon betook themselves to flight, and were all the next day pursued by the English, some overtaken and destroyed, But on Thursday, Feb. 3. The English having now been six dayes on their march, from their head quarters, at Wickford, in the Narrhaganset Country, toward, and after the Enemy, and provision grown exceeding short, insomuch that they were fain to kill some Horses for the supply, especially of their Indian friends, they were necessitated to consider what was best to be done: And about noon (having hitherto followed the chase as hard as they might) a Councill was called, and though some few were of another mind, yet it was concluded by far the greater part of the Councill of War, that the Army should desist the pursuit, and retire: the Forces of Plimouth and the Bay to the next Town of the Bay, and Connecticut Forces to their own next Towns: Which determination was immediately put in execution. The consequent whereof, as it was not difficult to be foreseen by those that knew the causless enmity of these Barbarians, against the English, and the malicious and revengefull spirit of these Heathen: so it soon proved dismall. The Narrhagansets were now driven quite from their own Countrey, and all their provisions there hoarded up, to which they durst not at present return, and being so numerous as they were, soon devoured those to whom they went, whereby both the one and other were now reduced to extream straits, and so necessitated to take the first and best opportunity for supply, and very glad, no doubt of such an opportunity as this, to provide for themselves, and make spoil of the English at once; and seeing themselves thus discharged of their pursuers, and a little refreshed after their flight, the very next week on Thurseday, Feb. 10. Forces made up of Narragansett, Wampanoag, and Nipmuc men attacked Lancaster on the morning of February 10th, 1676. They set fire to the town’s bridge and many homes, including the Rowlandson’s. The attackers secured food and supplies for the winter and took twenty-four captives, including Rowlandson and her three children. Lancaster was mostly abandoned after the raid. they fell with mighty force and fury upon Lancaster: which small Town, remote from aid of others, and not being Gerisoned as it might, the Army being now come in, and as the time indeed required (the design of the Indians against that place being known to the English some time before) The English had been warned of plans to attack Lancaster by James Quannapohit and Job Kattenanit, two Nipmuc men reportedly converted to Christianity by Daniel Gookin. Even with this advance information, the English did not garrison the town quickly or effectively enough to counter the attack. Daniel Gookin went on to write an account of his efforts to convert native peoples in his “An historical account of the doings and sufferings of the Christian Indians in New England in the years 1675, 1676, 1677.” was not able to make effectual resistance: but notwithstanding utmost endeavour of the Inhabitants, most of the buildings were turned into ashes; many People (Men, Women and Children) slain, and others captivated. The most solemn and remarkable part of this Trajedy, may that justly be reputed, which fell upon the Family of that reverend Servant of God, Mr. Joseph Rolandson, the faithfull Pastor of Christ in that place, who being gone down to the Councill of the Massachusets to seek aid for the defence of the place, at his return found the Town in flames, or smoke, his own house being set on fire by the Enemy, through the disadvantage of a defective Fortification, and all in it consumed: his precious yoke-fellow, and dear Children, wounded and captivated (as the issue evidenced, and following Narrative declares) by these cruel and barbarous Salvages. A sad Catestrophe! Thus all things come alike to all: None knows either love or hatred by âll that is before him. It is no new thing for Gods precious ones to drink as deep as others, of the Cup of common Calamity: Take just Lot (yet captivated) for instance beside others. But it is not my business to dilate on these things, but only in few words introductively to preface to the following script, which is a Narrative of the wonderfully awfull, wise, holy, powerfull, and gracious providence of God, towards that worthy and precious Gentle woman, the dear Consort of the said Reverend Mr. Rowlandson, and her Children with her, as in casting of her into such a waterless pit, so in preserving, supporting, and carrying thorow so many such extream hazards, unspeakable difficulties and disconsolateness, and at last delivering her out of them all, and her surviving Children also. It was a strange and amazing dispensation, that the Lord should so afflict his precious Servant, and Hand maid: It was as strange, if not more, that he should so bear up the spirits of his Servant under such bereavments, and or his handmaid under such captivity, travels and hardships (much too hard for flesh and blood) as he did, and at length deliver and restore. But he was their Saviour, who hath said, When thou passest through the Waters, I will be with thee, and thorough the Rivers, they shall not overflow thee: When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burnt, nor shall the flame kindle upon thee, Isa. 93. ver. 2. and again. He woundeth and his hands make whole. He shall deliver thee in troubles, yea in seven there shall no evil touch thee: In Famine he shall redeem thee from Death, and in War from the power of the sword, Job 5.18, 19, 20. Methinks this dispensation doth bear some resemblance to those of Joseph, David and Daniel; yea, and of the three Children too, the Stories whereof do represent us with the excellent textures of divine providence, curious pieces of divine work: and truly so doth this, and therefore not to be forgotten, but worthy to be exhibited to, and viewed, and pondered by all, that disdain not to consider the operation of his hands. The works of the Lord (not only of Creation, but of Providence also, especially those that do more peculiarly concern his dear ones, that are as the Apple of his Eye, as the Signet upon His Hand, the Delight of his Eyes, and the Object of his tenderest Care and great, sought out of all those that have pleasure therein. And of these verily this is none of the least. This Narrative was penned by the Gentlewoman her self, to be to her a memorandum of Gods dealing with her, that she might never forget, but remember the same, & the severall circumstances thereof, all the dayes of her life. A pious scope which deserves both commendation and imitation: Some friends having obtained a sight of it, could not but be so much affected with the many passages of working providence discovered therein, as to judge it worthy of publick view, and altogether unmeet that such works of God should be hid from present and future Generations: And therefore though this Gentlewomans modesty would not thrust it into the Press, yet her gratitude unto God made her not hardly perswadable to let it pass, that God might have his due glory, and others benefit by it as well as her self. I hope by this time none will cast any reflection upon this Gentlewoman, on the score of this publication of her affliction and deliverance. If any should, doubtless they may be reckoned with the nine lepers, Luke 17:11-10.of whom it is said, Were there not ten cleansed, where are the nine? but one returning to give God thanks. Let such further know that this was a dispensation of publick note, and of universall concernment, and so much the more, by how much the nearer this Gentlewoman stood related to that faithfull Servant of God, whose capacity and employment was publick in the house of God, and his name on that account of a very sweet savour in the Churches of Christ, who is there of a true Christian spirit, that did not look upon himself much concerned in this bereavment, this Captivity in the time thereof, and in his deliverance when it came, yea more then in many others; and how many are there, to whom so concerned, it will doubtless be a very acceptable thing to see the way of God with this Gentlewoman in the aforesaid dispensation, thus laid out and pourtrayed before their eyes. To conclude whatever any coy phantasies may deem, yet it highly concerns those that have so deeply tasted, how good the Lord is, to enquire with David, What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits to me. Psal. 116.12. He thinks nothing too great; yea, being sensible of his own disproportion to the due praises of God he cals in help. Oh, magnifie the Lord with me, let us exalt his Name together, Psal. 34.3 And it is but reason, that out praises should hold proportion with our prayers: and that as many hath helped together by prayer for the obtaining of his Mercy, so praises should be returned by many on this behalf; And forasmuch as not the generall but particular knowledge of things makes deepest impression upon the affections, this Narrative particularizing the several passages of this providence will nor a little conduce thereunto. And therefore holy David in order to the attainment of that end, accounts himself concerned to declare what God had done for his soul, Psal. 66.16. Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what God hath done for my soul, i. e. for his life, see v. 9, 10. He holdeth our soul in life, and suffers not our feet to be moved, for thou our God hast proved us, thou hast tryed us, as silver is tryed. Life-mercies, are heart-affecting-mercies, of great impression and force, to enlarge pious hearts in the praises of God, so that such know not how but to talk of Gods acts, and to speak of and publish his wonderfull works. Deep troubles, when the waters come in unto thy soul, are wont to produce vowes: vowes must be paid, It is better not vow, than vow and not to pay. See Ecclesiastes 5:5-12. I may say, that as none knows what it is to fight and pursue such an enemy as this, but they that have fought and pursued them: so none can imagine what it is to be captivated, and enslaved to such atheisticall proud, wild, cruel, barbarous, bruitish (in one word) diabolicall creatures as these, the worst of the heathen; nor what difficulties, hardships, hazards, sorrows, anxieties and perplexities do unavoidably wait upon such a condition, but those that have tryed it. No serious spirit then (especially knowing any thing of this Gentlewomans piety) can imagine but that the vows of God are upon her. Excuse her then if she come thus into publick, to pay those vows. Come and hear what she hath to say. I am confident that no Friend of divine Providence will ever repent his time and pains, spent in reading over these sheets, but will judg them worth perusing again and again. Hear Reader, you may see an instance of the Soveraignty of God, who doth what he will with his own as well as others; and who may say to him, What dost thou? See Job 9:12. Here you may see an instance of the faith and patience of the Saints, under the most heart-sinking tryals; here you may see, the promises are breasts full of consolation, when all the world besides is empty, and gives nothing but sorrow. That God is indeed the supream Lord of the world, ruling the most unruly, weakening the most cruel and salvage, granting his People mercy in the sight of the unmercifull, curbing the lusts of the most filthy, holding the hands of the violent, delivering the prey from the mighty, and gathering together the out casts of Israel. Once and again you have heard, but hear you may see, that power belongeth unto God; that our God is the God of Salvation, and to him belong the issues from Death. That our God is in the Heavens, and doth what ever pleases him. Here you have Sampsons Riddle See Judges 14:14. examplified, and that great promise, Rom. 8.28. verified, Out of the Eater comes forth meat, and sweetness out of the strong; The worst of evils working together for the best good. How evident is it that the Lord hath made this Gentlewoman a gainer by all this affliction, that she can say, 'tis good for her, yea better that she hath been, then that she should not have been, thus afflicted. Oh how doth God shine forth in such things as these; Reader, if thou gettest no good by such a Declaration as this, the fault must needs be thine own. Read therefore, Peruse, Ponder, and from hence lay up something from the experience of another, against thine own turn comes, that so thou also through patience and consolation of the Scripture mayest have hope. 1 A Narrative of the CAPTIVITY AND RESTAURATION OF Mrs. Mary Rowlandson. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith ON the tenth of February 1675 came the Indians with great numbers upon Lancaster: Their first coming was about Sun-rising; hearing the noise of some Guns, we looked out; several Houses were burning, and the Smoke ascending to Heaven. There were five persons taken in one house, the Father, and the Mother and a sucking Child, they knockt on the head; the other two they took and carried away alive. Their were two others, who being out of their Garison upon some occasion were set upon; one was knockt on the head, the other escaped: Another their was who running along was shot and wounded, and fell down; he begged of them his life, promising them Money (as they told me) but they would not hearken to 2 him but knockt him in head, and stript him naked, and split open his Bowels. Another seeing many of the Indians about his Barn, ventured and went out, but was quickly shot down. There were three others belonging to the same Garison who were killed; the Indians getting up upon the roof of the Barn, had advantage to shoot down upon them over their Fortification. Thus these murtherous wretches went on, burning, and destroying before them. At length they came and beset our own house, and quickly it was the dolefullest day that ever mine eyes saw. The House stood upon the edge of a hill; some of the Indians got behind the hill, others into the Barn, and others behind any thing that could shelter them; from all which places they shot against the House, so that the Bullets seemed to fly like hail; and quickly they wounded one man among us, then another, and then a third, About two hours (according to my observation, in that amazing time) they had been about the house before they prevailed to fire it (which they did with Flax and Hemp, which they brought out of the Barn, and there being no defence about the House, only two Flankers at two opposite corners, and one of them not finished) they fired it once, and one ventured out and quenched it, but they quickly fired it again, and that took. Now is that dreadfull hour come, that I have often heard of (in time of War, as it was the case of others) but now mine eyes see it. Some in our house were fighting 3 for their lives, others wallowing in their blood, the House on fire over our heads, and the bloody Heathen ready to knock us on the head, if we stired out: Now might we hear Mothers & Children crying out for themselves, and one another, Lord, What shall we do? Then I took my Children (and one of my sisters, hers) to go forth and leave the house: but as soon as we came to the dore and appeared, the Indians shot so thick that the bulletts rattled against the House, as if one had taken an handfull of stones and threw them, so that we were fain to give back. We had six stout Dogs belonging to our Garrison, but none of them would stir, though another time, if any Indian had come to the door, they were ready to fly upon him and tear him down. The Lord hereby would make us the more to acknowledge his hand, and to see that our help is alwayes in him. But out we must go, the fire increasing, and coming along behind us, roaring, and the Indians gaping before us with their Guns, Spears and Hatchets to devour us. No sooner were we out of the House, but my Brother in Law (being before wounded, in defending the house, in or near the throat) fell down dead, wherat the Indians scornfully shouted, and hallowed, and were presently upon him, stripping off his cloaths, the bulletts flying thick, one went through my side, and the same (as would seem) through the bowels and hand of my dear Child in my arms. One of my elder Sisters Children, named William, had then his Leg broken, which the Indians perceiving, 4 they knockt him on head. Thus were we butchered by those merciless Heathen, standing amazed, with the blood running down to our heels. My eldest Sister being yet in the House, and seeing those wofull sights, the Infidels haling Mothers one way, and Children another, and some wallowing in their blood: and her elder Son telling her that her Son William was dead, and my self was wounded, she said, And, Lord let me dy with them; which was no sooner said, but she was struck with a Bullet, and fell down dead over the threshold. I hope she is reaping the fruit of her good labours, being faithfull to the service of God in her place. In her younger years she lay under much trouble upon spiritual accounts, till it pleased God to make that precious Scripture take hold of her heart, 2 Cor. 12.9. And be said unto me my Grace is sufficient for thee. More then twenty years after I have heard her tell how sweet and comfortable that place was to her, But to return: The Indians laid hold of us, pulling me on way, and the Children another, and said, Come go along with us; I told them they would kill me: they answered, If I were willing to go along with them, they would not hurt me. Oh the dolefull sight that now was to behold at this House! Come, behold the works of the Lord, what dissolations he has made in the Earth. See Psalm 46:8-10. Of thirty seven persons who were in this one House, none escaped either present death, or a bitter captivity, save only one, who might say as he. Job 1.15. And I only am escaped alone to tell the News. There 5 were twelve killed, some shot, some stab'd with their Spears, some knock'd down with their Hatchets. When we are in prosperity, Oh the little that we think of such dreadfull sights, and to see our dear Friends, and Relations ly bleeding out their heart-blood upon the ground. There was one who was chopt into the head with a Hatchet, and stript naked, and yet was crawling up and down. It is a solemn sight to see so many Christians lying in their blood, some here, and some there, like a company of Sheep torn by Wolves. All of them stript naked by a company of hell-hounds, roaring, singing, ranting and insulting, as if they would have torn our very hearts out; yet the Lord by his Almighty power preserved a number of us from death, for there were twenty-four of us taken alive and carried Captive. I had often before this said, that if the Indians should come, I should chuse rather to be killed by them then taken alive but when it came to the tryal my mind changed; their glittering weapons so daunted my spirit, that I chose rather to go along with those (as I may say) ravenous Beats, beasts then that moment to end my dayes; and that I may the better declare what happened to me during that grievous Captivity I shall particularly speak of the severall Removes we had up and down the Wilderness. The first Remove. Rowlandson tells her story in a series of removals, or “removes,” that mark changes to her location as the raiding party traveled across New England. Lisa Brooks, professor of English and American Studies at Amherst College and the author of Our Beloved Kin: New History of King Philip's War created an interactive map of their movements as part of that project that is available here. Now away we must go with those Barbarous 6 Creatures, with our bodies wounded and bleeding, and our hearts no less than our bodies. About a mile we went that night, up upon a hill within sight of the Town where they intended to lodge. There was hard by a vacant house (deserted by the English before, for fear of the Indians) I asked them whither I might not lodge in the house that night? to which they answered, what will you love English men still? this was the dolefullest night that ever my eyes saw. Oh the roaring, and singing and danceing, and yelling of those black creatures in the night, which made the place a lively resemblance of hell. And as miserable was the wast that was there made, of Horses, Cuttle, Sheep, Swine, Calves, Lambssia, Roasting Pigs, and Fowls [which they had plundered in the Town] some roasting, some lying and burning, and some boyling to feed our merciless Enemles; who were joyfull enough though we were disconsolate. To add to the dolefulness of the former day, and the dismalness of the present night: my thoughts ran upon my losses and sad bereaved condition. All was gone, my Husband gone (at least separated from me, he being in the Bay; and to add to my grief, the Indians told me they would kill him as he came homeward) my Children gone, my Relations and Friends gone, our House and home and all our comforts within door, and without, all was gone, (except my life) and I knew not but the next moment that might go too. There remained nothing to me but one poor wounded 7 babe, and it seemed at present worse than death that it was in such a pitiful condition, bespeaking, Compassion, and I had an refreshing for it, nor suitable things to revive it, Little do many think what is the savageness and bruitishness of this barbarous Enemy! even those that seem to profess more than others among them, when the English have fallen into their hands. Those seven that were killed at Lancaster the summer before upon a Sabbath day Rowlandson is referring to an attack on Lancaster in August of 1675 that left seven colonists dead. The attack is thought to have been led by the Nipmuc sachem Monoco, who the Anglo-Americans referred to as “One-Eye’d John.”, and the one that was afterward killed upon a week day, were slain and mangled in a barbarous manner, by one-ey'd John, and Marlborough's Praying Indians, Suspicion for the Lancaster attack also fell on the “Praying Indians” (Indians who had converted to Christianity and allied with the colonists) of whom there was a large community in nearby Marlborough. This was one of many “Christian Indian” communities in the Bay Colony at the time. At the beginning of the war, their men were recruited to fight for the colonists; already by this time, however, fear that their true loyalties lay with the other side led Bay colony officials to remove them from service and to form five “praying towns” at a greater distance from English settlers. Later, fears that even these plantations were too close to colonists’ homes resulted in a further removal to Deer Island, where hundreds of the interned inhabitants died in the harsh winter that followed. which Capt. Mosely Captain Moseley was an infamous military figure who earned his fame by fighting pirates on the New England coast. In August 1675, he arrived in Marlborough. Based on controversial evidence, Moseley accused fifteen of the “Praying Indians” of the Lancaster attack. He took the accused to Boston to parade them through the streets, “pinioned and fastened with lines from neck to neck” as Daniel Gookin wrote. Gookin thought that the affair marked "a foundation and beginning of much trouble, that befell both the English and the Indians afterward." brought to Boston, as the Indians told me. The second Remove. But now, the next morning, I must turn my back upon the Town, and travel with them into the vast and isolate Wilderness, I knew not whether. It is not my tongue, or pen can express the sorrows of my heart, and bitterness of my spirit, that I had at this departure: but God was with me, in a wonderfull manner, carrying me along, and bearing up my spirit, that it did not quite fail One of the Indians carried my poor wounded Babe upon a horse, it went moaning all along, I shall dy, I shall dy. I went on foot after it, with sorrow that cannot be exprest. At length I took it off the horse, and carried it in my armes till my strength failed, and I 8 fell down with it: Then they set me upon a horse with my wounded Child in my lap, and there being no furniture upon the horse back; as we were going down a steep hill, we both fell over the horses head, at which they like inhumane creatures laught, and rejoyced to see it, though I thought we should there have ended our dayes, as overcome with so many difficulties. But the Lord renewed my strength still, and carried me along, that I might see more of his Power; yea, so much that I could never have thought of, had I not experienced it. After this it quickly began to snow, and when night came on, they stopt: and now down I must sit in the snow, by a little fire, and a few boughs behind me, with my sick Child in my lap; and calling much for water, being now (through the wound) fallen into a violent Fever. My own wound also growing so stiff, that I could scarce sit down or rise up; yet so it must be, that I must sit all this cold winter night upon the cold snowy ground, with my sick Child in my armes, looking that every hour would be the last of its life; and having no Christian friend near me, either to comfort or help me. Oh, I may see the wonderfull power of God, that my Spirit did not utterly sink under my affliction: still the Lord upheld me with his gracious and mercifull Spirit, and we were both alive to see the light of the next morning. The third remove. The morning being come, they prepared to go 9 their way: One of the Indians got up upon a horse, and they set me up behind him, with my poor sick Babe in my lap. A very wearisome and tedious day I had of it; what with my own wound, and my Childs being so exceeding sick, and in a lamentable condition with her wound. It may be easily judged what a poor feeble condition we were in, there being not the least crumb of refreshing that came within either of our mouths, from Wednesday night to Saturday night, except only a little cold water. This day in the afternoon, about an hour by Sun, we came to the place where they intendded, viz. an Indian Town, called Wenimesset, Menimiset was an important Nipmuc refuge and gathering place along the Ware River. It had operated as a sanctuary for councils since the beginning of the war, and marked the first “Indian Town” that Rowlandson encountered. She was surprised at how many people lived there. Norward of Quabaug. When we were come, Oh the number of Pagans (now merciless enemies) that there came about me, that I may say as David, Psal. 27.13, I had fainted, unless I had believed, &c The next day was the Sabbath: I then remembred how careless I had been of Gods holy time: how many Sabbaths I had lost and mispent, and how evily I had walked in Gods sight; which lay so close unto my spirit, that it was easie for me to see how righteous it was with God to cut off the threed of my life, and cast me out of his presence for ever. Yet the Lord still shewed mercy to me, and upheld me; and as he wounded me with one hand, so he healed me with the other. This day there came to me one Robbert Pepper Robert Pepper was captured on September 4th, 1675, when Captain Beers and a group of 36 colonists were ambushed on their way to reinforce the garrison in Northfield, Massachusetts. Beers and many of his soldiers were killed in the conflict. (a man belonging to Roxbury ) who was taken in Captain Beers his Fight, and had been now a considerable time with the Indians; and up with them almost as far as Albany to see king Philip, Wampanoag leader Metacom, called “King Philip” by the English settlers. as he told me, and was now very lately come into these parts. Hearing, I say, that I was in this Indian Town, he obtained leave to come and see me. He told me, he himself was wounded in the leg at Captain Beers his Fight; and was not able some time to go, but as they carried him, and as he took Oaken leaves and laid to his wound, and through the blessing of God he was able to travel again. Then I took Oaken leaves and laid to my side, and with the blessing of God it cured me also; yet before the cure was wrought, I may say, as it is in Psal. 38.5, 6. My wounds stink and are corrupt, I am troubled, I am bowed down greatly, I go mourning all the day long. I sat much alone with a poor wounded Child in my lap, which moaned night and day, having nothing to revive the body, or cheer the spirits of her, but in stead of that, sometimes one Indian would come and tell me one hour, that your Master will knock your Child in the head, and then a second, and then a third, your Master will quickly knock your Child in the head. This was the comfort I had from them, miserable comforters are ye all, as he said. See Job 16:2. Thus nine dayes I sat upon my knees, with my Babe in my lap, till my flesh was raw again; my Child being even ready to depart this sorrowfull world, they bade me carry it out to another Wigwam (I suppose because they would not be troubled with such spectacles) Whither I went with a very heavy heart, and down I sat with the picture of death in my lap. 9 About two houres in the night, my sweet Babe, like a Lambe departed this life, on Feb. 18. 1675. It being about six yeares, and five months old. It was nine dayes from the first wounding, in this miserable condition, without any refreshing of one nature or other, except a little cold water. I cannot but take notice, how at another time I could not bear to be in the room where any dead person was, but now the case is changed; I must and could ly down by my dead Babe, side by side all the night after. I have thought since of the wonderfull goodness of God to me, in preserving me in the use of my reason and senses, in that distressed time, that I did not use wicked and violent means to end my own miserable life. In the morning, when they understood that my child was dead they sent for me home to my Masters Wigwam: (by my Master in this writing, must be understood Quanopin, Quanopin, or Quanopen, was a Narragansett leader. He had three wives, one of whom, Weetamoo (or Weetamoe) was Metacom's sister-in-law and herself a sachem of the ​​Pocasset Wampanoag. Rowlandson was sold to Quanopin by the Narragansett man who had first captured her.who was a Saggamore, Like “Sachem,” “Sagamore” is an anglicization of the Indigenous term for a tribal leader. The word can be used to denote: 1. the leader of a regional tribe or 2. the leader of a confederation of tribes. and married King Phillips wives Sister; not that he first took me, but I was sold to him by another Narrhaganset Indian, who took me when first I came out of the Garison) I went to take up my dead child in my arms to carry it with me, but they bid me let it alone: there was no resisting, but goe I must and leave it. When I had been at my masters wigwam, I took the first opportunity I could get, to go look after my dead child: when I came I askt them what they had done with it? then they told me it was upon the hill: then they went and 10 shewed me where it was, where I saw the ground was newly digged, and there they told me they had buried it: There I left that at Child in the Wilderness, and must commit it, and my self also in this Wilderness-condition, to him who is above all. God having taken away this dear Child, I went to see my daughter Mary, who was at this same Indian Town, at a Wigwam not very far off, though we had little liberty or opportunity to see one another: she was about ten years old, & taken from the door at first by a Praying Ind & afterward sold for a gun. When I came in sight, she would fall a weeping; at which they were provoked, and would not let me come near her, but bade me be gone; which was a heart-cutting word to me. I had one Child dead, another in the Wilderness, I knew not where, the third they would not let me come near to: Me (as he said) See Genesis 42:36. have ye bereaved of my Children, Joseph is not, and Simeon is not, and ye will take Benjamin also, all these things are against me. I could not for still in this condition, but kept, walking from one place to another. And as I was going along, my heart was even overwhelm'd with the thoughts of my condition, and that I should have Children, and a Nation which I knew not ruled over them. Whereupon I earnestly entreated the Lord, that he would consider my low estate, and shew me a token for good, and if it were his blessed will, some sign and hope of some relief. And indeed quickly the Lord answered, in some measure, my poor prayers: 11 For as I was going up and down mourning and lamenting my condition, my Son came to me, and asked me how I did; I had not seen him before, since the destruction of the Town, and I knew not where he was, till I was informed by himself, that he was amongst a smaller percel of Indians, whose place was about six miles off; with tears in his eyes, he asked me whether his Sister Sarah was dead; and told me he had seen his Sister Mary; and prayed me, that I would not be troubled in reference to himself. The occasion of his coming to see me at this time, was this: There was, as I said, about six miles from us, a smal Plantation of Indians, where it seems he had been during his Captivity: and at this time, there were some Forces of the Ind. gathered out of our company, and some also from them (among whom was my Sons master) to go to assault and burn Medfield: In this time of the absence of his master, his dame brought him to see me. I took this to be some gracious answer to my earnest and unfeigned desire. The next day, viz. to this, the Indians returned from Medfield, all the company, for those that belonged to the other smal company, came thorough the Town that now we were at But before they came to us, Oh! the outragious Rowlandson means something like “full of rage.”roaring and hooping that there was: They began their din about a mile before they came to us. By their noise and hooping they signified how many they had destroyed (which was at that time twenty three) Those that were with us at home, were 12 gathered together as soon as they heard the hooping, and every time that the other went over their number, these at home gave a shout, that the very Earth rung again: And thus they continued till those that had been upon the expedition were come up to the Sagamores Wigwam; and then, Oh, the hideous insulting and triumphing that there was over some English mens scalps that they had taken (as their manner it) and brought with them. I cannot but take notice of the wonderfull mercy of God to me in those afflictions, in sending me a Bible one of the Indians that came from Medfield fight, had brought some plunder, came to me, and asked me, if I would have a Bible, he had got one in his Basket, I was glad of it, and asked him, whether be thought the Indians would let me read? he answered, yes; so I took the Bible, and in that melancholy time, it came into my mind to read first the 28. Chap. of Deut. which I did, and when I had read it, my dark heart wrought on this manner, That there was no mercy for me, that the blessings were gone, and the Curses Came in their room, and that I bad lost my opportunity. But the Lord helped me still to go one reading till I came to Chap. 30 the seven first verses, where I sound, There was mercy promised again, if we would return to him by reportance; and though we were scartered from one end of the Earth to the other, yet the Lord would gather us together, and turn all those curses upon our Enemies, I do not desire to live to forget this Scripture, and what comfort it was to me. 13 Now the Ind. began to talk of removing from this place, some one way, and some another. There were now besides my self nine, English Captives in this place (all of them Children, except one Woman) I got an opportunity to go and take my leave of them; they being to go one way, and I another, I asked them whether they were earnest with God for deliverance, they told me, they did as they were able, and it was some comfort to me, that the Lord stirred up Children to look to him. The Woman viz. Goodwife Jostin told me, she should never see me again, and that she could find in her heart to run away; I wisht her not to run away by any means, for we were near thirty miles from any English Town, and she very big with Child, and had but one week to reckon; and another Child in her Arms, two years old, and bad Rivers there were to go over, & we were feeble, with our poor & course entertainment. I had my Bible with me, I pulled it out, and asked her whether she would read; we opened the Bible and lighted on Psal. 27. in which Psalm we especially took notice of that, ver. alt, Wait on the Lord, Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine Heart, wait I say on the Lord. The fourth Remove. And now I must part with that little Company I had. Here I parted from my Daughter Mary, (whom I never saw again till I saw her in Dorcester, returned from Captivity, and from four little Cousins 14 and Neighbours, some of which I never saw afterward: the Lord only knows the end of them. Amongst them also was that poor Woman before mentioned, who came to a sad end, as some of the company told me in my travel: She having much grief upon her Spirit, about her miserable condition, being so near her time, she would be often asking the Indians to let her go home; they not being willing to that, and yet vexed with her importunity, gathered a great company together about her, and stript her naked, and set her in the midst of them; and when they had sung and danced about her (in their hellish manner) as long as they pleased, they knockt her on head, and the child in her arms with her: when they had done that, they made a fire and put them both into it, and told the other Children that were with them, that if they attempted to go home, they would serve them in like manner: The Children said, she did not shed one tear, but prayed all the while. But to return to my own Journey; we travelled about half a day or little more, and came to a desolate place in the Wilderness, where there were no Wigwams or Inhabitants before; we came about the middle of the afternoon to this place; cold and wet, and snowy, and hungry, and weary, and no refreshing, for man, but the cold ground to sit on, and our poor Indian cheer. Heart-aking thoughts here I had about my poor Children, who were scattered up and down among the 15 wild beasts of the forrest: My head was light & dissey (either through hunger or hard lodging, or trouble or altogether) my knees feeble, my body raw by sitting double night and day, that I cannot express to man the affliction that lay upon my Spirit, but the Lord helped me at that time to express it to himself. I opened my Bible to read, and the Lord brought that precious Scripture to me, Jer. 31.16. Thus saith the Lord, refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears, for thy work shall be rewarded, and they shall come again from the land of the Enemy. This was a sweet Cordial to me, when I sat down, and weept sweetly over this Scripture. At this place we continued about four dayes. The fifth Remove. The occasion (as I thought) of their moving at this time, was, the English Army it being near and following them: For they went, as if they had gone for their lives, for some considerable way, and then they made a stop, and chose some of their stoutest men, and sent them back to hold the English Army in play whilst the rest escaped: And then, like Jehu, Jehu is one of the Israelite kings in the Book of Kings, said to have reigned around 841-814 B.C.; in 2 Kings 9:20, he is said to "drive furiously." they marched on furiously, with their old, and with their young: some carried their old decrepit mothers, some carried one, and some another. Four of them carried a great Indian upon a Bier; but going through a thick Wood with him, they were hindred, and could make no hast; whereupon they took 16 him upon their backs, and carried him, one at a time, till they came to Bacquaug River. Paquaug River, now called Miller's River. If it refers to the river, “Paquaug” may translate to “clear water.” The word may also refer to the town, Athol, near where the travelers were likely to have crossed. Athol was originally called Pequiog or Pequoiag (“cleared land”) by Nipmuc inhabitants. Upon a Friday, a little after noon we came to this River. When all the company was come up, and were gathered together, I thought to count the number of them, but they were so many, and being somewhat in motion, it was beyond my skil. In this travel, because of my wound, I was somewhat favoured in my load; I carried only my knitting work and two quarts of parched meal: Being very faint I asked my mistriss to give me one spoonfull of the meal, but she would not give me a taste. They quickly fell to cutting dry trees, to make Rafts to carry them over the river: and soon my turn came to go over. By the advantage of some brush which they had laid upon the Raft to sit upon, I did not wet my foot (which many of themselves at the other end were mid-leg deep) which cannot but be acknowledged as a favour of God to my weakned body, it being a very cold time. I was not before acquainted with such kind of doings or dangers. When thou passest through the water I will be with thee, and through the Rivers they overflow thee, Isai. 43.2. A certain number of us got over the River that night, but it was the night after the Sabbath before all the company was got over. On the Saturday they boyled an old Horses leg which they had got, and so we drank of the broth, as soon as they thought it was ready, and when it was almost all gone, they filled it up again. 17 The first week of my being among them, I hardly ate any thing; the second week, I found my stomach grow very faint for want of something; and yet it was very hard to get down their filthy trash: but the third week, though I could think how formerly my stomach would turn against this or that, and I could starve and dy before I could eat such things, yet they were sweet and savoury to my taste. I was at this time knitting a pair of white cotton stockins for my mistriss: and had not yet wrought upon a Sabbath day; when the Sabbath came they bade me go to work; I told them it was the Sabbath-day, and desired them to let me rest, and told them I would do as much more to morrow; to which they answered me, they would break my face. And here I cannot but take notice of the strange providence of God in preserving the heathen: They were many hundreds, old and young, some sick, and some lame many had Papooses Now generally regarded as an offensive term, “papoose” is a borrowing from Algonquin to describe a young North American indigenous child. In more recent use, it can also refer to cloth baby carriers that wrap around the torso.at their backs, the greatest number at this time with us, were Squaws, Now generally regarded as an offensive term, “squaw” refers to a North American indigenous woman or wife. The term has a split history: as it derives from the Mohawk language, adapted by French and Canadian settlers, it was always offensive. As it derives from the Algonquin, “squaw” was originally a neutral term that took on racist connotations through its Anglo-American usage through the eighteenth century and afterwards.and they travelled with all they had, bag and baggage, and yet they got over this River aforesaid; and on Munday they set their Wigwams on fire, and away they went: On that very day came the English Army after them to this River, and saw the smoak of their Wigwams, and yet this River put a stop to them. God did not give them courage or activity to go over after us; we were not ready for so great a mercy as victory and deliverance; if we had been, God would have sound out a way for the English 18 to have passed this River, as well as for the Indians with their Squaws and Children, and all their Luggage: Oh that my People had hearkened to me, and Israel had walked in my ways, I should soon have subdued their Enemies, and turned my hand against their Adversaries, Psal. 81.13.14. The sixth Remove. On Munday ( as I said ) they set their Wigwams on fire, and went away. It was a cold morning, and before us there was a great Brook with ice on it; some waded throgh it, up to the knees & higher, but others went till they came to a Beaver-dam, and I amongst them, where through the good providence of God, I did not wet my foot. I went along that day mourning and lamenting, leaving farther my own Country, and travelling into the vast and howling Wilderness, and I understood something of Lot 's Wife's Temptation, when she looked back In the Old Testament, as Lot and his family fled their burning cities, Lot’s wife looked back. They had been warned not to do so and she was turned into a pillar of salt. In Luke 17:32, Jesus references the story: “Remember Lot’s Wife!” The lesson of the tale is ambiguous, and has been interpreted in different ways by various traditions. : we came that day to a great Swamp, by the side of which we took up our lodging that night. When I came to the brow of the hill, that looked toward the Swamp, I thought we had been come to a great Indian Town (though there were none but our own Company) The Indians were as thick as the trees: it seemd as if there had been a thousand Hatchets going at once: if one looked before one, there was nothing but Indians, and behind one, nothing but Indians, and so on either hand, I my self in the midst, and no Christian soul near me, and yet how 19 hath the Lord preserved me in safety? Oh the experience that I have had of the goodness of God, to me and mine! The seventh Remove. After a restless and hungry night there, we had a wearisome time of it the next day. The Swamp by which we lay, was, as it were, a deep Dungeon, and an exceeding high and steep hill before it. Before I got to the top of the hill, I thought my heart and legs, and all would have broken, and failed me. What through faintness, and soreness of body, it was a grievous day of travel to me. As we went along, I saw a place where English Cattle had been: that was comfort to me, such as it was: quickly after that we came to an English Path, which so took with me, that I thought I could have freely lyan down and dyed. That day, a little after noon, we came to Squaukheag, The travelers were here moving through Sokoki territory. The colonists referred to the southernmost Sokoki town as Squaukheag. Colonists later named it “Northfield,” as it was the northernmost “field” habitat that they settled. Rowlandson was happy to see the signs of settlement; she notes with hope a “place where English cattle had once been.”where the Indians quickly spread themselves over the deserted English Fields, gleaning what they could find; some pickt up ears of Wheat that were crickled down, some found ears of Indian Corn, some found Ground-nuts Groundnuts refers to the plant Apios Americana, which is native to North America. Its tubers resemble potatoes and the plant was a common source of starch for Indigenous peoples., and others sheaves of Wheat that were frozen together in the shock, A shock, or stook, is a pile of cut-grain (usually wheat, oats, or barley) arranged in a conical stack to allow the stalks to dry before threshing. Threshing is the process by which farmers loosen the edible part of the grain from the husk and straw. & went to threshing of them out. My self got two ears of Indian Corn, and whilst I did but turn my back, one of them was stolen from me, which much troubled me. There came an Indian to them at that time, with a basket of Horse-liver; I asked him to give me a piece: What, sayes he, can you eat Horse-liver? I told him, I would try, 20 if he would give a piece, which he did, and I laid it on the coals to rost; but before it was half ready, they got half of it away from me, so that I was fain to take the rest and eat it as it was, with the blood about my mouth, and yet a savoury bit it was to me: For to the hungry Soul every bitter thing is sweet. A solemn sight methought it was, to see Fields of wheat and Indian Corn forsaken and spoiled: and the remainders of them to be food for our merciless Enemies. That night we had a mess of wheat for our Supper. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith The eighth Remove. On the morrow morning we must go over the River, i. e. Connecticot, The Connecticut River.to meet with King Philip, two Cannoos full, they had carried over, the next Turn I my self was to go; but as my foot was upon the Cannoo to step in, there was a sudden out-cry among them, and I must step back; and instead of going over the River, I must go four or five miles up the River farther Northward. Some of the Indians ran one way, and some another. The cause of this rout was, as I thought, their espying some English Scouts, who were thereabout. In this travel up the River; about noon the Company made a stop, and sate down; some to eat, and others to rest them. As I sate amongst them, musing of things past, my Son Joseph unexpectedly came to me: we asked of each others welfare, bemoaning our dolefull condition, and the change that had come upon us: We had Husbands and 21 Father, and Children, and Sisters, and Friends, and Relations, and House, and Home, and many Comforts of this Life: but now we may say, as Job, See Job 1:21. Naked came I out of my Mothers Womb, and naked shall I return: The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, Blessed be the Name of the Lord. I asked him whither he would read; he told me, he earnestly desired it, I gave him my Bible, and he lighted upon that comfortable Scripture, Psal. 18.17, 18. I shall not dy but live, and declare the works of the Lord: the Lord hath chastened me sore, yet he hath not given me over to death. Look here, Mother (sayes he) did you read this? And here I may take occasion to mention one principall ground of my setting forth these Lines: even as the Psalmist sayes, To declare the Works of the Lord, and his wonderfull Power in carrying us along, preserving us in the Wilderness, while under the Enemies hand, and returning of us in safety again. And His goodness in bringing to my hand so many comfortable and suitable Scriptures in my distress. But to Return, We travelled on till night; and in the morning, we must go over the River to Philip's Crew. When I was in the Cannoo, I could not but be amazed at the numerous crew of Pagans that were on the Bank on the other side. When I came ashore, they gathered all about me, I sitting alone in the midst: I observed they asked one another questions, and laughed, and rejoyced over their Gains and Victories. 22 Then my heart began to fail: and I fell a weeping; which was the first time to my remembrance, that I wept before them. Although I had met with so much Affliction, and my heart was many times ready to break, yet could I not shed one tear in their sight: but rather had been all this while in a maze, and like one astonished: but now I may say as, Psal 137.1. By the Rivers of Babylon, there we sate down: yea, we wept when we remembred Zion. There one of them asked me, why I wept, I could hardly tell what to say: yet I answered, they would kill me: No, said he, none will hurt you. Then came one of them and gave me two spoon-fulls of Meal to comfort me, and another gave me half a pint of Pease Peas (archaic).; which was more worth than many Bushels at another time. Then I went to see King Philip, he bade me come in and sit down, and asked me whether I would smoke it (a usual Complement now adayes amongst Saints and Sinners) but this no way suited me. For though I had formerly used Tobacco, yet I had left it ever since I was first taken. It seems to be a Bait, the Devil layes to make men loose their precious time: I remember with shame, how formerly, when I had taken two or three pipes, I was presently ready for another, such a bewitching thing it is: But I thank God, he has now given me power over it: surely there are many who may be better imployed than to ly sucking a stinking Tobacco-pipe. Now the Indians gather their Forces to go against 23 North-Hampton: over-night one went about yelling and hooting to give notice of the design. Whereupon they fell to boyling of Ground-nuts, and parching of Corn (as many as had it) for their Provision: and in the morning away they went: During my abode in this place, Philip spake to me to make a shirt for his boy, which I did, for which he gave me a shilling: I offered the mony to my master, but he bade me keep it: and with it I bought a piece of Horse flesh. Afterwards he asked me to make a Cap for his boy, for which he invited me to Dinner. I went, and he gave me a Pancake, about as big as two fingers; it was made of parched wheat, beaten, and fryed in Bears grease, but I though I never tasted pleasanter meat in my life. There was a Squaw who spake to me to make a shirt for her Sannup A borrowing from Massachusett, Sannup refers to a North American indigenous husband or alternately to a man with authority under that of a chief., for which she gave me a piece of Bear. Another asked me to knit a pair of Stockins, for which she gave me a quart of Pease: I boyled my Pease and Bear together, and invited my master and mistriss to dinner, but the proud Gossip, because I served them both in one Dish, would eat nothing, except one bit that he gave her upon the point of his knife. Hearing that my son was come to this place, I went to see him, and found him lying flat upon the ground: I asked him how he could sleep so? he answered me, That he was not asleep, but at Prayer; and lay so that they might not observe what he was doing. I pray God he may remember these things now he is returned in safety. At 24 this Place (the Sun now getting higher) what with the beams and heat of the Sun, and the smoak of the Wigwams, I thought I should have been blind, I could scarce discern one Wigwam from another, There was here one Mary Thurston of Medfield, who seeing how it was with me, lent me a Hat to wear: but as soon as I was gone, the Squaw (who owned that Mary Thurston ) came running after me, and got it away again. Here was the Squaw that gave me one spoonfull of Meal. I put it in my Pocket to keep it safe: yet notwithstanding some body stole it, but put five Indian Corns in the room of it: which Corns were the greatest Provisions I had in my travel for one day. The Indians returning from North-Hamptom, brought with them some Horses, and Sheep, and other things which they had taken: I desired them, that they would carry me to Albany, upon one of those Horses, and sell me for Powder: for so they had sometimes discoursed. I was utterly hopless of getting home on foot, the way that I came. I could hardly bear to think of the many weary steps I had taken, to come to this place. The ninth Remove. But in stead of going either to Albany or homeward, we must go five miles up the River, and then go over it. Here we abode a while. Here lived a sorry Indian, who spoke to me to make him a shirt, when I had done it, he would pay me nothing. But 25 he living by the River side, where I often went to fetch water, I would often be putting of him in mind, and calling for my pay: at last he told me, if I would make another shirt, for a Papoos not yet born, he would give me a knife, which he did when I had done it. I carried the knife in, and my master asked me to give it him, and I was not a little glad that I had any thing that they would accept of, and be pleased with. When we were at this place, my Masters maid came home, she had been gone three weeks into the Narrhaganset Country, to fetch Corn, where they had stored up some in the ground: she brought home about a peck and half of Corn. This was about the time that their great Captain, Naananto Better known as Canonchet, he was a Narragansett sachem who, in 1675, signed a treaty with the colonists that his people would remain neutral in Metacom’s War. In defiance of that signature, he became a war leader as the Narragansetts joined the fight. Canonchet was captured by the English on April 2, 1676 and killed the next day in a public execution. News of his death was shared and celebrated throughout the Bay Colony., was killed in the Narrhaganset Countrey. My Son being now about a mile from me, I asked liberty to go and see him, they bade me go, and away I went: but quickly lost my self, travelling over Hills and thorough Swamps, and could not find the way to him. And I cannot but admire at the wonderfull power and goodness of God to me, in that, though I was gone from home, and met with all sorts of Indian, and those I had no knowledge of, and there being no Christian soul near me; yet not one of them offered the least imaginable miscarriage to me. I turned homeward again, and met with my master, he shewed me the way to my Son: When I came to him I found him not well; and withall he had a boyl on his side, which much troubled him: We bemoaned one another 26 while, as the Lord helped us, and then I returned again. When I was returned, I found my self as unsatisfied as I was before. I went up and down mourning and lamenting: and my spirit was ready to sink, with the thoughts of my poor Children: my Son was ill, and I could not but think of his mournfull looks, and no Christian-Friend was near him, to do any office of love for him, either for Soul or Body. And my poor Girl, I knew not where she was, nor whither she was sick, or well, or alive, or dead. I repaired under these thoughts to my Bible (my great comfort in that time) and that Scripture came to my hand, Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee, Psal. 55.22. But I was fain to go and look after something to satisfie my hunger, and going among the Wigwams, I went into one, and there found a Squaw who, shewed her self very kind to me, and gave me a piece of Bear. I put it into my pocket, Rowlandson wore a pocket typical for a New England woman, which was not part of her clothing but rather a small bag tied around her waist. In it, she carried essentials: her Bible, needles and yarn, and at times, morsels of food.and came home, but could not find an opportunity to broil it, for fear they would get it from me, and there it lay all that day and night in my stinking pocket. In the morning I went to the same Squaw, who had a Kettle of Ground nuts boyling; I asked her to let me boyle my piece of Bear in her Kettle, which she did, and gave me some Ground-nuts to eat with it: and I cannot but think how pleasant it was to me. I have sometime seen Bear bake very handsomly among the English, and some liked it, but the thoughts that it was Bear, made me 27 tremble: but now that was savoury to me that one would think was enough to turn the stomach of a bruit Creature. One bitter cold day, I could find no room to sit down before the fire: I went out, and could not tell what to do, but I went in to another Wigwam, where they were also sitting round the fire, but the Squaw laid a skin for me, and bid me sit down, and gave me some Ground-nuts, and bade me come again: and told me they would buy me, if they were able, and yet these were strangers to me that I never saw before. The tenth Remove. That day a small part of the Company removed about three quarters of a mile, intending further the next day. When they came to the place where they intended to lodge, and had pitched their wigwams; being hungry I went again back to the place we were before at, to get something to eat: being encouraged by the Squaws kindness, who bade me come again; when I was there, there came an Indian to look after me, who when he had found me, kickt me all along: I went home and found Venison roasting that night, but they would not give me one bit of it. Sometimes I met with favour, and sometimes with nothing but frowns. The eleventh Remove. The next day in the morning they took their Travel, intending a dayes journey up the River, I took 28 my load at my back, and quickly we came to wade over the River: and passed over tiresome and wearisome hills. One hill was so steep that I was fain to creep up upon my knees, and to hold by the twiggs and bushes to keep my self from falling backward. My head also was so light, that I usually reeled as I went; but I hope all these wearisome steps that I have taken, are but a forewarning of me to the heavenly rest. I know, O Lord, that thy Judgements are right, and that thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me, Psal. 119 71. The twelfth Remove. It was upon a Sabbath-day-morning, that they prepared for their Travel. This morning I asked my master whither he would sell me to my Husband; he answered me Nux, Translates to “Yes” in Narragansett.which did much rejoyce my spirit. My mistriss, before we went, was gone to the burial of a Papoos, and returning, she found me sitting and reading in my Bible; she snatched it hastily out of my hand, and threw it out of doors; I ran out and catcht it up, and put it into my pocket, and never let her see it afterward. Then they packed up their things to be gone, and gave me my load: I complained it was too heavy, whereupon she gave me a slap in the face, and bade me go; I lifted up my heart to God, hoping that Redemption was not far off: and the rather because their insolency grew worse and worse. But the thoughts of my going homeward (for we bent our course) much cheared my Spirit, and 29 made my burden seem light, and almost nothing at all. But (to my amazment and great perplexity) the scale was soon turned: for when we had gone a little way, on a sudden my mistriss gives out, she would go no further, but turn back again, and said. I must go back again with her, and she called her Sannup, and would have had him gone back also, but he would not, but said, He would go on, and come to us again in three dayes. My Spirit was upon this, I confess, very impatient, and almost outragious. I thought I could as well have dyed as went back: I cannot declare the trouble that I was in about it; but yet back again I must go. As soon as I had an opportunity, I took my Bible to read, and that quieting Scripture came to my hand, Psal. 46.10. Be still, and know that I am God. Which stilled my spirit for the present: But a sore time of tryal, I concluded, I had to go through. My master being gone, who seemed to me the best friend that I had of an Indian, both in cold and hunger, and quickly so it proved. Down I sat, with my heart as full as it could hold, and yet so hungry that I could not sit neither: but going out to see what I could find, and walking among the Trees, I found six Acorns, and two Ches-nuts, which were some refreshment to me. Towards Night I gathered me some sticks for my own comfort, that I might not ly a-cold: but when we came to ly down they bade me go out, and ly some-where-else, for they had company (they said) come in more than 30 their own: I told them, I could not tell where to go, they bade me go look; I told them, if I went to another Wigwam they would be angry, and send me home again. Then one of the Company drew his sword, and told me he would run me thorough if I did not go presently. Then was I fain to stoop to this rude fellow, and to go out in the night, I knew not whither. Mine eyes have seen that fellow afterwards walking up and down Boston, under the appearance of a Friend-Indian, and severall others of the like Cut. I went to one Wigwam, and they told me they had no room. Then I went to another, and they said the same; at last an old Indian bade me come to him, and his Squaw give me some Ground-nuts; she gave me also something to lay under my head, and a good fire we had: and through the good providence of God, I had a comfortable lodging that night. In the morning, another Indian bade me come at night, and he would give me six Ground nuts, which I did. We were at this place and time about two miles from Connecticut River. We went in the morning to gather Ground nuts, to the River, and went back again that night. I went with a good load at my back (for they when they went, though but a little way, would carry all their trumpery with them) I told them the skin was off my back, but I had no other comforting answer from them than this, That it would be no matter if my head were off too. 31 The thirteenth Remove. Instead of going toward the Bay, which was that I desired, I must go with them five or six miles down the River into a mighty Thicket of Brush: where we abode almost a fortnight. Here one asked me to make a shirt for her Papoos, for which she gave me a mess of Broth, which was thickened with meal made of the Bark of a Tree, and to make it the better, she had put into it about a handfull of Pease, and a few roasted Ground-nuts, I had not seen my son a pritty while, and here was an Indian of whom I made inquiry after him, and asked him when he saw him: he answered me, that such a time his master roasted him, and that himself did eat a piece of him, as big as his two fingers, and that he was very good meat: But the Lord upheld my Spirit, under this discouragement; and I considered their horrible addictedness to lying, and that there is not one of them that makes the least conscience of speaking of truth. In this place, on a cold night, as I lay by the fire, I removed a stick that kept the heat from me, a Squaw moved it down again, at which I lookt up, and she threw a handfull of ashes in mine eyes; I thought I should have been quite blinded, and have never seen more: but lying down, the water run out of my eyes, and carried the dirt with it, that by the morning, I recovered my sight again. Yet upon this, and the like occasions, I hope it is not too much to say with Job, Job 19:21. Have pitty upon me, have pitty upon me, O ye my Friends, for the Hand 32 of the Lord has touched me. And here I cannot but remember how many times sitting in their Wigwams, and musing on things past, I should suddenly leap up and run out, as if I had been at home, forgetting where I was, and what my condition was: But when I was without, and saw nothing but Wilderness, and Woods, and a company of barbarous heathens: my mind quickly returned to me, which made me think of that, spoken concerning Sampson, who said Judges 16:20. , I will go out and shake myself as at other times, but he wist not that the Lord was departed from him. About this time I began to think that all my hopes of Restoration would come to nothing. I thought of the English Army, and hoped for their coming, and being taken by them, but that failed. I hoped to be carried to Albany, at the Indians had discoursed before, but that failed also. I thought of being sold to my Husband, as my master spake, but in stead of that, my master himself was gone, and I left behind, so that my Spirit was now quite réady to sink. I asked them to let me go out and pick up some sticks, that I might get alone, And poure out my heart unto the Lord. Then also I took my Bible to read, but I found no comfort here neither: which many times I was went to find: So easie a thing it is with God to dry up the Streames of Scripture-comfort from us. Yet I can say, that in all my sorrows and afflictions, God did not leave me to have my impatience work towards himself, as if his wayes were unrighteous. 33 But I knew that he laid upon me less then I deserved Afterward, before this dolefull time ended with me, I was turning the leaves of my Bible, and the Lord brought to me some Scriptures, which did a little revive me, as that Isai. 55.8 For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your wayes my ways saith the Lord. And also that, Psal. 37.5. Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in him, and he shal bring it to pass. About this time they came yelping from Hadly, where they had killed three English men, and brought one Captive with them, viz. Thomas Read. They all gathered about the poor Man, asking him many Questions. I desired also to go and see him; and when I came, he was crying bitterly: supposing they would quickly kill him. Whereupon I asked one of them, whether they intended to kill him; he answered me, they would not: He being a little cheared with that, I asked him about the welfare of my Husband, he told me he saw him such a time in the Bay, and he was well, but very melancholly. By which I certainly understood (though I suspected it before) that whatsoever the Indians told me respecting him was vanity and lies. Some of them told me, he was dead, and they had killed him: some said he was Married again, and that the Governour wished him to Marry; and told him he should have his choice, and that all perswaded I was dead. So like were these barbarous creatures to him who was a lyar from the beginning. 34 As I was sitting once in the Wigwam here, Philips Maid came in with the Child in her arms, and asked me to give het a piece of my Apron, to make a flap for it, I told her I would not: then my Mistriss bad me give it, but still I said no: the maid told me if I would not give her a piece, she would tear a piece off it: I told her I would tear her Coat then with that my Mistriss rises up, and takes up a stick big enough to have killed me, and struck at me with it, but I stept out, and she struck the stick into the Mat of the Wigwam. But while she was pulling of it out, I ran to the Maid and gave her all my Apron, and so that storm went over. Hearing that my Son was come to this place, I went to see him, and told him his Father was well, but very melancholly: he told me he was as much grieved for his Father as for himself; I wondred at his speech, for I thought I had enough upon my spirit in reference to my self, to make me mindless of my Husband and every one else: they being safe among their Friends. He told me also, that a while before, his Master (together with other Indians) where going to the French for Powder; but by the way the Mohawks The Mohawk people were one of six nations that formed the confederation of the Haudenosaunee people (often referred to as the Iroquois Confederacy in Anglo-American or French Canadian terms). The Mohawk were the easternmost nation of the Haudenosaunee: at their peak, they controlled most of New York state, southern Ontario, and eastern Quebec. In Metacom’s war, the Mohawk allied with the Bay Colony. met with them, and killed four of their Company which made the rest turn back again, for which I desire that myself and he may bless the Lord; for it might have been worse with him, had he been sold to the French, The French in Canada were Catholic. Rowlandson and her fellow Puritans despised them for this reason. than it proved to be in his remaining with the Indians. I went to see an English Youth in this place, one 35 John Gilberd of Spring field I found him lying without dores, upon to ground; I asked him how he did? he told me he was very sick of a flux Flux was a common term for dysentery, a highly contagious, and potentially dangerous, infection of the intestines. , with eating so much blood: They had turned him out of the Wigwam, and with him an indian Papoos, almost dead, (whose Parents had been killed) in a bitter cold day, without fire or clothes: the young man himself had nothing on, but his shirt & wastcoat. This sight was enough to melt a heart of flint. There they lay quivering in the Cold, the youth round like a dog; the Papoos stretcht out, with his eyes and nose and mouth full of dirt, and yet alive, and groaning. I advised John to go and get to some fire: he told me he could not stand, but I perswaded him still, left he shouldly there and die: and with much adoe I got him to a fire, and went my self home. As soon as I was got home, his Masters Daughter came after me, to know what I had done with the English man, I told her I had got him to a fire in such a place. Now had I need to pray Pauls Prayer, 2 Thess. 3.2. That we may be delivered from unreasonable and wicked men. For her satisfaction I went along with her, and brought her to him; but before I got home again, it was noised about, that I was running away and getting the English youth along with me: that as soon as I came in, they began to rant and domineer: asking me where I had been, and what I had been doing? and saying they would knock him on the head: I told them, I had been seeing 36 the English Youth, and that I would not run away, they told me I lyed, and taking up a Hatchet, they came to me, and said they would knock me down if I stirred out again; and so confined me to the Wigwam. Now may I say with David, 2 Sam. 24.14. I am in a great strait. If I keep in, I must dy with hunger, and if I go out, I must be knockt in head. This distressed condition held that day, and half the next; And then the Lord remembred me, whose mercyes are great. Then came an Indian to me with a pair of stockings that were too big for him, and he would have me ravel them out, and knit them fit for him. I shewed my self willing, and bid him ask my mistriss if I might go along with him a little way; she said yes, I might, but I was not a little refresht with that news, that I had my liberty again. Then I went along with him, and he gave me some roasted Ground-nuts, which did again revive my feeble stomach. Being got out of her sight: I had time and liberty again to look into my Bible: Which was my Guid by day, and my Pillow by night. Now that comfortable Scripture presented it self to me, Isa. 54.7. For a smal moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I gather thee. Thus the Lord carried me along from one time to another, and made good to me this precious promise, and many others. Then my Son came to see me, and I asked his master to let him stay a while with me, that I 37 might comb his head, and look over him, for he was almost over come with lice. He told me, when I had done, that he was very hungry, but I had nothing to relieve him; but bid him go into the Wigwams as he went along, and see if he could get any thing among them. Which he did, and it seemes tarried a little too long; for his Master was angry with him, and beat him, and then sold him. Then he came running to tell me he had a new Master, and that he had given him some Ground-nuts already. Then I went along with him to his new Master who told me he loved him: and he should not want. So his Master carried him away, & I never saw him afterward. till I saw him at Pascataqua in Portsmouth. The Piscataqua River divides New Hampshire and Maine. The name is a borrowing from Abenaki which refers both to the river and the land around it. More specifically, the term may refer to where the river branches into two or three channels: one theory of its etymology divides the word into “peske” for branch and “tegwe” for a river with a strong current. That night they bade me go out of the Wigwam again: my Mistrisses Papoos was sick, and it died that night, and there was one benefit in it, that there was more room. I went to a Wigwam, and they bade me come in, and gave me a skin to ly upon, and a mess of Venson and Ground-nuts, which was a choice Dish among them. On the morrow they burried the Papoos, and afterward, both morning and evening, there came a company to mourn and howle with her: though I confess, I could not much condole with them. Many sorrowfull dayes I had in this place: often getting alone; like a Crane, or a Swallow so did I chatter: I did mourn as a Dove, mine eyes fail with looking upward Oh, Lord I am oppressed, undertake for me, Isa. 38 14 38 I could tell the Lord as Hezekiah, ver. 3. Isaiah 38:3. Remember now O Lord, I beseech thee, how I have walked before thee in truth. Now had I time to examine al my wayes: my Conscience did not accuse me of un-righteousness toward one or other: yet I saw how in my walk with God, I had been a careless creature. As David said Psalm 51:4., Against thee, thee only have I sinned: & I might say with the poor Publican The tax collector speaks these words in Luke 18:13. , God be merciful unto me a sinner. On the Sabbath-dayes, I could look upon the Sun and think how People were going to the house of God, to have their Souls refresht; & then home, and their bodies also: but I was destitute of both; & might say as the poor Prodigal, he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the Swine did eat, and no mwaan gave unto him, Luke 15.16 For I must say with him, Father I have sinned against Heaven, and in thy sight, ver 21. Luke 15:21. I remembred how on the night before & after the Sabbath, when my Family was about me, and Relations and Neighbours with us, we could pray and sing, and then refresh our bodies with the good creatures of God; and then have a comfortable Bed to ly down on: but in stead of all this, I had only a little Swill for the body, and then like a Swine, must ly down on the ground. I cannot express to man the sorrow that lay upon my Spirit, the Lord knows it. Yet that comfortable Scripture would often come to my mind, For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I gather thee. 39 The fourteenth Remove. Now must we pack up and be gone from this Thicket, bending our course toward the Bay-towns. I haveing nothing to eat by the way this day, but a few crumbs of Cake, that an Indian gave my girle the same day we were taken. She gave it me, and I put it in my pocket: there it lay, till it was so mouldy (for want of good baking) that one could not tell what it was made of; it fell all to crumbs, & grew so dry and hard, that it was like little flints; & this refreshed me many times, when I was ready to faint. It was in my thoughts when I put it into my mouth; that if ever I returned, I would tell the World what a blessing the Lord gave to such mean food. As we went along, they killed a Deer, with a young one in her, they gave me a piece of the Fawn, and it was so young and tender, that one might eat the bones as well as the flesh, and yet I thought it very good. When night came on we sate down; it rained, but they quickly got up a Bark Wigwam, where I lay dry that night. I looked out in the morning, and many of them had line in the rain all night That is, laid in the rain., I saw by their Reaking. Thus the Lord dealt mercifully with me many times, and I fared better than many of them. In the morning they took the blood of the Deer, and put it into the Paunch, and so boyled it. I could eat nothing of that, though they ate it sweetly. And yet they were so nice in other things, Rowlandson uses an older definition of “nice” to mean overly exacting or fastidious. 40 that when I had fetcht water, and had put the Dish I dipt the water with, into the Kettle of water which I brought, they would say, they would knock me down; for they said, it was a sluttish trick. The fifteenth Remove. We went on our Travel. I having got one handfull of Ground-nuts, for my support that day they gave me my load, and I went on cheerfully [with the thoughts of going homeward] haveing my burden more on my back than my spirit: we came to Baquang River again that day, near which we abode a few dayes. Sometimes one of them would give me a Pipe, another a little Tobacco, another a little Salt: which I would change for a little Victuals. I cannot but think what a Wolvish appetite persons have in a starving condition: for many times when they gave me that which was hot, I was so greedy, that I should burn my mouth, that it would trouble me hours after, and yet I should quickly do the same again. And after I was thorougly hungry, I was never again satisfied. For though sometimes it fell out, that I got enough, and did eat till I could eat no more, yet I was as unsatisfied as I was when I began. And now could I see that Scripture verified (there being many Scriptures which we do not take notice of, or understand till we are afflicted) Mic. 6.14. Thou shalt eat and not be satisfied. Now might I see more than ever before, the miseries that 41 sin hath brought upon us: Many times I should be ready to run out against the Heathen, but the Scripture would quiet me again, Amos, 3. 6. Shal there be evil in the City, and the Lord hath not done it? The Lord help me to make a right improvment of His Word, and that I might learn that great lesson, Mic. 6.8, 9. He hath shewed thee (Oh Man) what is good, and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and love mercy, and walk humbly with thy God? Hear ye the rod, and who hath appointed it. The sixteenth Remove. We began this Remove with wading over Baquag River: the water was up to the knees, and the stream very swift, and so cold that I thought it would have cut me in sunder. I was so weak and feeble, that I reeled as I went along, and thought there I must end my dayes at last, after my bearing and getting thorough so many difficulties; the Indians stood laughing to see me staggering along: but in my distress the Lord gave me experience of the truth, and goodness of that promise, Isai. 43.2. When thou passest thorough the Waters, I will be with thee, and through the Rivers, they shall not overflow thee. Then I sat down to put on my stockins and shoos, with the teares running down mine eyes, and many sorrowfull thoughts in my heart, but I gat up to go along with them. Quickly there came up to us an Indian, who informed them, that I must go to Wachuset Wachusett was a Nipmuc refuge and gathering place. The name refers both to a stand-alone mountain (Wachusett Mountain in Massachusetts) and the land around it, which is still an important place in Nipmuc culture today. In the spring of 1676, Quinnapin, Weetamo, and many other tribal leaders met for a council that discussed, among other things, the possibilities of peacemaking. to my master, for there was a Letter come from 42 the Council to the Saggamores, about redeeming the Captives, and that there would be another in fourteen dayes, and that I must be there ready. My heart was so heavy before that I could scarce speak or go in the path; and yet now so light, that I could run. My strength seemed to come again, and recruit my feeble knees, and aking heart: yet it pleased them to go but one mile that night, and there we stayed two dayes. In that time came a company of Indians to us, near thirty, all on horse-back. My heart skipt within me, thinking they had been English men at the first sight of them, for they were dressed in English Apparel, with Hats, white Neckcloths, and Sashes about their wasts, and Ribbonds upon their shoulders: but when they came near, their was a vast difference between the lovely faces of Christians, and the foul looks of those Heathens, which much damped my spirit again. The seventeenth Remove. A comfortable Remove it was to me, because of my hopes. They gave me a pack, and along we went chearfully; but quickly my will proved more than my strength; having little or no refreshing my strength failed me, and my spirits were almost quite gone. Now may I say with David, Psal. I 19.22, 23, 24. This line in fact comes from Psalm 109. I am poor and needy, and my heart is wounded within me. I am gone like the shadow when it declineth: I am tossed up and down like the locusts: my knees are weak through fasting, and my flesh faileth 43 of fatness. At night we came to an Indian Town, and the Indians sate down by a Wigwam discoursing, but I was almost spent, and could scarce speak. I laid down my load, and went into the Wigwam, and there sat an Indian boyling of Horses feet (they being wont to eat the flesh first, and when the feet were old and dried, and they had nothing else, they would cut off the feet and use them) I asked him to give me a little of his Broth, or Water they were boiling in; he took a dish, and gave me one spoonfull of Samp A porridge made of corn., and bid me take as much of the Broth as I would. Then I put some of the hot water to the Samp, and drank it up, and my spirit came again. He gave me also a piece of the Ruff or Ridding of the small Guts, The tough parts of the meat, or the parts that would normally have been disposed, because they were considered too hard to eat or inedible.and I broiled it on the coals; and now may I say with Jonathan, See, I pray you, how mine eyes have been enlightened, because I tasted a little of this honey, 1 Sam. 14.29. Now is my Spirit revived again, though means be never so inconsiderable, yet if the Lord bestow his blessing upon them, they shall refresh both Soul and Body. The eighteenth Remove. We took up our packs and along we went, but a wearisome day I had of it. As we went along I saw an English-man stript naked, and lying dead upon the ground, but knew not who it was. Then we came to another Indian Town, where we stayed all night. In this Town there were four English Children, Captives; and one of them my own Sisters. In other words, her sister’s child, Rowlandson's niece. 44 I went to see how she did, and she was well, considering her Captive-condition. I would have tarried that night with her, but they that owned her would not suffer it. Then I went into another Wigwam, where they were boyling Corn and Beans, which was a lovely sight to see, but I could not get a taste thereof. Then I went to another Wigwam, where there were two of the English Children; the Squaw was boyling Horses feet, then she cut me off a little piece, and gave one of the English Children a piece also. Being very hungry I had quickly eat up mine, but the Child could not bite it, it was so tough and sinewy, but lay sucking, gnawing, chewing and slabbering of it in the mouth and hand, then I took it of the Child, and eat it my self, and savoury it was to my taste. Then I may say as Job Chap. 6.7. The things that my soul refused to touch, are as my sorrowfull meat. Thus the Lord made that pleasant refreshing, which another time would have been an abomination. Then I went home to my mistresses Wigwam; and they told me I disgraced my master with begging, and if I did so any more, they would knock me in head: I told them, they had as good knock me in head as starve me to death. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith The ninteenth Remove. They said, when we went out, that we must travel to Wachuset this day. But a bitter weary day I had of it, travelling now three dayes to gether, without resting any day between. At last, after many weary 45 steps, I saw Wachuset hills, but many miles off. Then we came to a great Swamp, through which we travelled up to the knees, in mud and water, which was heavy going to one tyred before. Being almost spent, I thought I should have sunk down at last, and never gat out; but I may say, as in Psal. 94.18. When my foot slipped, thy mercy, O Lord held me up. Going along, having indeed my life, but little spirit, Philip, who was in the Company, came up and took me by the hand, and said, Two weeks more and you shal be Mistress again. I asked him, if he spake true? he answered, Yes, and quickly you shal come to your master again; who had been gone from us three weeks. After many weary steps we came to Wachuset, where he was Quanopin, Rowlandson's “master” at this point.: and glad I was to see him. He asked me, When I washt me? I told him not this month, then he fetcht me some water himself, and bid me wash, and gave me the Glass to see how I lookt; and bid his Squaw give me something to eat: so she gave me a mess of Beans and meat, and a little Ground-nut Cake. I was wonderfully revived with this favour shewed me, Psal. 106.46 He made them also to be pittied, of all those that carried them Captives. My master had three Squaws, living sometimes with one, and sometimes with another one, this old Squaw, at whose Wigwan I was, and with whom my Master had been those three weeks. Another was Wettimore, with whom I had lived and served all this while: A severe and proud Dame she was; 46 bestowing every day in dressing her self neat as much time as any of the Gentry of the land: powdering her hair, and painting her face, going with Neck-laces, with Jewels in her ears, and Bracelets upon her hands: When she had dressed her self, her work was to make Girdles of Wampom and Beads. The third Squaw was a younger one, by whom he had two Papooses. By that time I was refresht by the old Squaw, with whom my master was, Wettimores Maid came to call me home, at which I fell a weeping. Then the old Squaw told me, to encourage me, that if I wanted victuals, I should come to her, and that I should ly there in her Wigwam. Then I went with the maid, and quickly came again and lodged there. The Squaw laid a Mat under me, and a good Rugg over me; the first time I had any such kindness showed me. I understood that Wettimore thought, that if she should let me go and serve with the old Squaw, she would be in danger to loose, not only my service, but the redemption pay also. And I was not a little glad to hear this; being by it raised in my hopes, that in Gods due time there would be an end of this sorrowfull hour. Then came an Indians and asked me to knit him three pair of Stockins, for which I had a Hat, and a silk handkerchief. Then another asked me to make her a shift, for which she gave me an Apron. Then came Tom and Peter, with the second Letter from the Council, about the Captives. Though they were Indians, I gat them by the hand, and 47 burst out into tears; my heart was so full that I could not speak to them; but recovering my self, I asked them how my husband did, & all my friends and acquaintance? they said, They are all very well but melancholy. They brought me two Biskets, and a pound of Tobacco. The Tobacco I quickly gave away; when it was all gone, one asked me to give him a pipe of Tobacco, I told him it was all gone; then began he to rant and threaten. I told him when my Husband came I would give him some: Hang him Rogue (sayes he) I will knock out his brains, if he comes here. And then again, in the same breath they would say, That if there should come an hunddred without Guns, they would do them no hurt. So unstable and like mad men they were. So that fearing the worst, I durst not send to my Husband, though there were some thoughts of his coming to Redeem and fetch me, not knowing what might follow; For there was little more trust to them then to the master they served. When the Letter was come, the Saggamores met to consult about the Captives, and called me to them to enquire how much my husband would give to redeem me, when I came I sate down among them, as I was wont to do, as their manner is: Then they bade me stand up, and said, they were the General Court. They bid me speak what I thought he would give, Now knowing that all we had was destroyed by the Indians, I was in a great strait: I thought if I should speak of but a little, it would be slighted, and hinder 48 the matter; if of a great sum, I knew not where it would be procured: yet at a venture, I said Twenty pounds, It is pretty much impossible to translate the value of twenty pounds into modern money, but this would be a substantial though not astronomical sum, the equivalent of perhaps tens of thousands of dollars in twenty-first century purchasing power. yet desired them to take less; but they would not hear of that, but sent that message to Boston, that for Twenty pounds I should be redeemed. It was a Praying- Indian that wrote their Letter for them. There was another Praying Indian, who told me, that he had a brother, that would not eat Horse; his conscience was so tender and scrupulous (though as large as hell, for the destruction of poor Christians) Then he said, he read that Scripture to him, 2 Kings, 6.25. There was a famine in Samatia, and behold they besieged it, untill an Asses head was sold for fourscore pieces of silver, and the fourth part of a Kab An ancient Hebrew measurement of about two liters.of Doves dung, for five pieces of silver. He expounded this place to his brother, and shewed him that it was lawfull to eat that in a Famine which is not at another time. And now, sayes he, he will eat Horse with any Indiann of them all. There was another Praying- Indian, who when he had done all the mischief that he could, betrayed his own Father into the English hands, thereby to purchase his own life. Another Praying- Indian was at Sudbury-fight, The battle of Sudbury took place on April 21st, 1676. It is now generally considered the last major victory for Indigenous forces, who successfully raided the town of Sudbury and then ambushed the colonists who came to help. Indigenous fortunes in battle declined from there, a narrative Rowlandson herself reinforced: she described the return of the indigenous fighters who, though they had won, seemed strangely unhappy, like “Dogs. . . which have lost their ears.” though, as he deserved, he was afterward hanged for it. There was another Praying Indian, so wicked and cruel, as to wear a string about his neck, strung with Christians fingers. Another Praying-Indian, when they went to Sudbury-fight, went with them, and his Squaw also with him, with her Papoos at her 49 back: Before they went to that fight, they got a company together to Powaw; The term pow wow originated from the Algonquian “pau wau” for “medicine man.” English settlers used the term to refer to meetings of Indigenous medicine men or Indigenous gatherings of any kind, which is how the word is still understood today. the manner was as followeth. There was one that kneeled upon a Deer-skin, with the company round him in a ring who kneeled, and striking upon the ground with their hands, and with sticks; and muttering or humming with their mouths, besides him who kneeled in the ring, there also stood one with a Gun in his hand: Then he one the Deer-skin made a speech, and all manifested assent to it: and so they did many times together. Then they bade him with the Gun go out of the ring, which he did, but when he was out, they called him in again; but he seemed to make a stand, then they called the more earnestly, till he returned again: Then they all sang. Then they gave him two Guns, in either hand one: And so he on the Deer-skin began again; and at the end of every sentence in his speaking, they all assented, humming or muttering with their mouthes, and striking upon the ground with their hands. Then they bade him with the two Guns go out of the ring again; which he did, a little way. Then they called him in again, but he made a stand; so they called him with greater earnestness; but he stood reeling and wavering as if he knew not whither he should stand or fall, or which way to go. Then they called him with exceeding great vehemency, all of them, one and another: after a little while he turned in, staggering as he went, with his Armes stretched out, in 50 either hand a Gun. As soon as he came in, they all sang and rejoyced exceedingly a while. And then he opened the Deer-skin, made another speech unto which they all assented in a rejoicing manner: and so they ended their business, and forthwith went to Sudbury fight. To my thinking they went without any scruple, but that they should prosper, and gain the victory: And they went out not so rejoycing, but they came home with as great a Victory. For they said they had killed two Captains, and almost an hundred men. One English-man they brought along with them: and he said, it was too true, for they had made sad work at Sudbury, as indeed it proved. Yet they came home without that rejoycing and triumphing over their victory, which they were wont to shew at other times: but rather like Dogs (as they say) which have lost their cars. Yet I could not pereceive that it was for their own loss of men: They said, they had not lost above five or six: and I missed none, except in one Wigwam. When they went, they acted as if the Devil had told them that they should gain the victory: and now they acted, as if the Devil had told them they should have a fall. Whither it were so or no, I cannot tell, but so it proved, for quickly they began to fall, and so held on that Summer, till they came to utter ruine. They came home on a Sabbath day, and the Powaw that kneeled upon the Deer-skin came home (I may say, without abuse) as black as the Devil. 51 When my master came home, be came to me and bid me make a shirt for his Papoos, of a hollandlaced Pillowbeer. About that time there came an Indian to me and bid me come to his Wigwam, at night, and he would give me some Pork & Ground nuts. Which I did, and as I was eating, another Indian said to me, he seems to be your good Friend, but he killed two Englishmen at Sudbury, and there ly their Cloaths behind you: I looked behind me, and there I saw bloody Cloaths, with Bullet holes in them; yet the Lord suffered not this wretch to do me any hurt; Yea, instead of that, he many times refresht me: five or six times did he and his Squaw refresh my feeble carcass. If I went to their Wigwam at any time, they would alwayes give me something, and yet they were strangers that I never saw before. Another Squaw gave me a piece of fresh Pork, and a little Salt with it, and lent me her Pan to Fry it in; and I cannot but remember what a sweet, pleasant and delightfull relish that bit had to me, to this day. So little do we prize common mercies when we have them to the full. The twentieth Remove. It was their usual manner to remove, when they bad done any mischief, lest they should be found out: and so they did at this time. We went about three or four miles, and there they built a great Wigwam, big enough to hold an hundred Indians, which they did in preparation to a great day of Dancing. 52 They would say now amongst themselves, that the Governour would be so angry for his loss at Sudbury, that he would send no more about the Captives, which made me grieve and tremble. My Sister being not far from the place where we now were: and hearing that I was here, desired her master to let her come and see me, and he was willing to it, and would go with her: but she being ready before him, told him she wonld go before, and was come within a Mile or two of the place; Then he overtook her, and began to rant as if he had been mad; and made her go back again in the Rain; so that I never saw her till I saw her in Charlestown. But the Lord requited many of their ill doings, for this Indian her Master, was hanged afterward at Boston. The Indians now began to come from all quarters, against their merry dancing day. Among some of them came one Good wife Kettle: Elizabeth Kettle, who had been captured in Lancaster. I told her my heart was so heavy that it was ready to break: so is mine too said she, but yet said, I hope we shall hear some good news shortly. I could hear how earnestly my Sister desired to see me, & I as earnestly desired to see her: and yet neither of us could get an opportunity. My Daughter was also now about a mile off, and I had not seen her in nine or ten weeks, as I had not seen my Sister since our first taking. I earnestly desired them to let me go and see them: yea, I intreated, begged, and perswaded them, but to let me see my Daughter; and yet so hard hearted were they, that they would not 53 suffer it. They made use of their tyrannical power whilst they had it: but through the Lords wonderfull mercy, their time was now but short. On a Sabbath day, the Sun being about an hour high in the afternoon; came Mr. John Hoar John Hoar was a lawyer enlisted by Mr. Rowlandson to negotiate the return of his wife. ( the Council permitting him, and his own foreward spirit inclining him) together with the two forementioned Indians, Tom and Peter with their third Letter from the Council. When they came near, I was abroad. though I saw them not, they presently called me in, and bade me sit down and not stir. Then they catched up their Guns, and away they ran, as if an Enemy had been at hand; and the Guns went off apace I manifested some great trouble, and they asked me what was the matter? I told them, I thought they had killed the English-man (for they had in the mean time informed me that an English-man was come) they said, No; They shot over his Horse and under, and before his Horse; and they pusht him this way and that way, at their pleasure: shewing what they conld do: Then they let them come to their Wigwams. I begged of them to let me see the English man, but they would not. But there was I fain to sit their pleasure. When they had talked their fill with him, they suffered me to go to him. We asked each other of our welfare, and how my Husband did, and all my Friends? He told me they were all well, and would be glad to see me. Amongst other things which my Husband sent me, there came a pound of Tobacco: which I sold for nine shillings in 54 Money: for many of the Indians for want of Tobacco, smoaked Hemlock, and Ground-Ivy. It was a great mistake in any, who thought I sent for Tobacco: for through the savour of God, that desire was overcome. I now asked them, whither I should go home with Mr. Hoar? They answered No, one and another of them: and it being night, we lay down with that answer; in the morning, Mr Hoar invited the Saggamores to Dinner; but when we went to get it ready, we fond that they had stollen the greatest part of the Provision Mr. Hoar had brought, out of his Bags, in the night: And we may see the wonderfull power of God, in that one passage, in that when there was such a great number of the Indians together, and so greedy of a little good food; and no English there, but Mr. Hoar and my self: that there they did not knock us in the head, and take what we had: there being not only some Provision, but also Trading-cloth, a part of the twenty pounds agreed upon: But instead of doing us any mischief, they seemed to be ashamed of the fact, and said, it were some Matchit Indian "Matchit" translates to “bad.” that did it. Oh, that we could believe that there is no thing too hard for God! God shewed his Power over the Heathen in this, as he did ever the hungry Lyons when Daniel Daniel 6:22. was cast into the Den. Mr. Hoar called them betime to Dinner, but they are very little, they being so busie in dressing themselves, and getting ready for their Dance: which was carried one by eight of them; four Men and 55 four Squaws: My master and mistriss being two. He was dressed in his Holland shirt, with great Laces sewed at the cail of it, he had his silver Buttons, his white Stockins, his Garters were hung round with Shillings, and he had Girdles of Wampom upon his head and shoulders. She had a Kersey A coarse woolen cloth. Coat, and covered with Girdles of Wampom from the Loins upward: her armes from her elbows to her hands were covered with Bracelets; there were handfulls of Neck-laces about her neck, and severall sorts of Jewels in her ears. She had fine red Stokins, and white Shoos, her hair powdered and face painted Red, that was alwayes before Black. And all the Dancers were after the same manner. There were two other singing and knocking on a Kettle for their musick. They keept hopping up and down one after another, with a Kettle of water in the midst, standing warm upon some Embers, to drink of when they were dry. They held on till it was almost night, throwing out Wampom to the standers by. At night I asked them again, if I should go home? They all as one said No, except my Husband would come for me. When we were lain down, my Master went out of the Wigwam, and by and by sent in an Indian called James the Printer, who told Mr. Hoar, that my Master would let me go home to morrow, if he would let him have one pint of Liquors. Then Mr. Hoar called his own Indians, Tom and Peter, and bid them & go and see whither he would promise it before 56 them three: and if he would, he should have it; which he did, and he had it. Then Philip smeling the business cal'd me to him, and asked me what I would give him, to tell me some good news, and speak a good word for me, I told him, I could not tell what to give him, I would anothing I had, and asked him what he would have? He said, two Coats and twenty shillings in Mony, and half a bushel of seed Corn, and some Tobacco. I thanked him for his love: but I knew the good news as well as the crafty Fox. My Master after he had had his drink, quickly came ranting into the Wigwam again, and called for Mr. Hoar, drinking to him, and saying, He was a good man: and then again he would say, Hang him Rogue: Being almost drunk, he would drink to him, and yet presently say he should be hanged. Then he called for me, I trembled to hear him, yet I was fain to go to him, and he drank to me, shewing no incivility. He was the first Indian I saw drunk all the while that I was amongst them. At last his Squaw ran out, and he after her, round the Wigwam, with his mony jingling at his knees: But she escaped him: But having an old Squaw he ran to her: and so through the Lords mercy, we were no more troubled that night. Yet I had not a comfortable nights rest: for I think I can say, I did not sleep for three nights together. The night before the Letter came from the Council, I could not rest. I was so full of feares and troubles, God many times leaving us most in the dark, when deliverance 57 is nearest: yea, at this time I could not rest, night nor day. The next night I was overjoyed, Mr. Hoar being come, and that with such good tidings. The third night I was even swallowed up with the thoughts of things, viz. that ever I should go home again; and that I must go, leaving my Children behind me in the Wilderness; so that sleep was now almost departed from mine eyes. On Tuesday morning they called their General Court (as they call it) to consult and determine, whether I should go home or no: And they all as one man did seemingly consent to it, that I should go home; except Philip, Metacom did not agree with the strategy to trade captives as part of the negotiations with the English settlers. who would not come among them. But before I go any further, I would take leave to mention a few remarkable passages of providence, which I took special notice of in my afflicted time. 1. Of the fair opportunity lost in the long March, a little after the Fort-fight, Rowlandson is referring to what is now called the “Great Swamp Fight,” which occurred in December 1675 when colonists attacked a large Narragansett and Wampanoag settlement in Rhode Island. Narragansett forces joined the war effort after this attack. The battle itself which was one of the bloodiest of the war and hugely destructive to both sides. when our English Army was so numerous, and in pursuit of the Enemy, and so near as to take several and destroy them: and the Enemy in such distriss for food, that our men might track them by their rooting in the earth for Groundnuts, whilest they were flying for their lives. I say, that then our Army should want Provision, and be forced to leave their pursuit and return homeward: and the very next week the Enemy came upon our Town, like Bears bereft of their whelps, or so many ravenous Wolves, rending us and our Lambs to 58 death. But what shall I say? God seemed to leave his People to themselves, and order all things for his own holy ends. Shal there be evil in the City Amos 3:6, 6:6-7, Psalm 118:23. and the Lord hath not done it? They are not grieved for the affliction of Joseph, therefore shal they go Captive, with the first that go Captive. It is the Lords doing, and it should be marvelous in our eyes. 2. I cannot but remember how the Indians derided the slowness, and dulness of the English Army, in its setting out. For after the desolations at Lancaster and Medfield, as I went along with them, they asked me when I thought the English Army would come after them? I told them I could not tell: It may be they will come in May, said they. Thus did they scoffe at us, as if the English would be a quarter of a year getting ready 3. Which also I have hinted before, when the English Army with new supplies were sent forth to pursue after the enemy, & they understanding it: fled before them till they came to Baquaug River, where they forthwith went over safely: that that River should be impassable to the English. I can but admire to see the wonderfull providence of God in preserving the heathen for farther affliction to our poor Countrey. They could go in great numbers over, but the English must stop: God had an over-ruling hand in all those things. 4. It was thought, if their Corn were cut down, they would starve and dy with hunger: and all their Corn that could be found, was destroyed, and 59 they driven from that little they had in store, into the Woods in the midst of Winter; and yet how to admiration did the Lord preserve them for his holy ends, and the destruction of many still amongst the English! strangely did the Lord provide for them; that I did not see (all the time I was among them) one Man, Woman, or Child, die with hunger. Though many times they would eat that, that a Hog or a Dog would hardly touch; yet by that God strengthned them to be a scourge to his People. The chief and commonest food was Ground-nuts: They eat also Nuts and Acorns, Harty choaks, Lilly roots, Ground beans, and several other weeds and roots, that I know nor. They would pick up old bones, and cut them to pieces at the joynts, and if they were full of wormes and magots, they would scald them over the fire to make the vermine come out, and then boile them, and drink up the Liquor, and then beat the great end, of them in a Morter, and so eat them. They would eat Horses guts, and ears, and all sorts of wild Birds which they could catch: also Bear, Venison, Beaver, Tortois, Frogs, Squirrels, Dogs, Skunks, Rattle-snakes; yea, the very Bark of Trees; besides all sorts of creatures, and provision which they plundered from the English. I can but stand in admiration to see the wonderful power of God, in providing for such a vast number of our Enemies 60 in the Wilderness, where there was nothing to be seen, but from hand to mouth. Many times in a morning, the generality of them, would eat up all they had, and yet have some further supply against they wanted. It is said, Psal. 81.13, 14. Oh, that my People bad hearkned to me, and Israel had walked in my wayes, I should soon have subdued their Enemies, and turned my hand against their Adversaries. But now our perverse and evil carriages in the sight of the Lord, have so offended him, that instead of turning his hand against them, the Lord feeds & nourishes them up to be a scourge to the whole Land. 5. Another thing that I would observe is, the strange providence of God in turning things about when the Indians was at the highest, and the English at the lowest. I was with the Enemy eleven weeks and five dayes, and not one Week passed without the fury of the Enemy, and some desolation by fire and sword upon one place or other. They mourned (with their black faces) for their own losses: yet triumphed and rejoyced in their inhumane, and many times devilish cruelty to the English. They would boast much of their Victories; saying, that in two hours time they had destroyed such a Captain, and his Company at such a place; and such a Captain and his Company in such a place; and such a Captain and his Company in such a place: and boast how many Towns they had destroyed, and then scoffe, and say, They had done them a 61 good turn, to send them to Heaven so soon. Again, they would say, This Summer that they would knock all the Rogues in the head, or drive them into the Sea, or make them flie the Countrey: thinking surely, Agag-like Agag is a title for a biblical king, and the quote comes from the first book of Samuel 15:32. , The bitterness of Death is past. Now the Heathen begins to think all is their own, & the poor Christians hopes to fail (as to man) and now their eyes are more to God, and their hearts sigh heaven-ward: and to say in good earnest, Help Lord, or we perish: When the Lord had brought his people to this, that they saw no help in any thing but himself; then be takes the quarrel into his own hand: and though they had made a pit, in their own imaginations, as deep as hell for the Christians that Summer, yet the Lord hurll'd them selves into it. And the Lord had not so many wayes before to preserve them, but now he hath as many to destroy them. But to return again to my going home, where we may see a remarkable change of Providence: At first they were all against it, except my Husband would come for me; but afterwards they assented to it, and seemed much to rejoyce in it; some askt me to send them some Bread, others some Tobacco, others shaking me by the hand, offering me a Hood and Scarfe to ride in; not one moving hand or tongue against it. Thus hath the Lord answered my poor desire, and the many earnest requests of others put up unto God for me. In my travels an Indian came to me, and told me, if I were willing, 62 he and his Squaw would run away, and go home along with me: I told him No: I was not willing to run away, but desired to wait Gods time, that I might go home quietly, and without fear. And now God hath granted me my desire. O the wonderfull power of God that I have seen, and the experience that I have had: I have been in the midst of those roaring Lyons, and Salvage Bears, that feared neither God, nor Man, nor the Devil, by night and day, alone and in company: sleeping all sorts together, and yet not one of them ever offered me the least abuse of unchastity to me, in word or action. Though some are ready to say, I speak it for my own credit; But I speak it in the presence of God, and to his Glory. Gods Power is as great now, and as sufficient to save, as when he preserved Daniel in the Lions Den; or the three Children in the fiery Furnace. I may well say as his Psal. 107.12 Oh give thanks unto the Lord for he is good, for his mercy endureth for ever. Let the Redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he hath redeemed from the hand of the Enemy, especially that I should come away in the midst of so many hundreds of Enemies quietly and peacably, and not a Dog moving his tougue. So I took my leave of them, and in coming along my heart melted into tears, more then all the while I was with them, and I was almost swallowed up with the thoughts that ever I should go home again. About the Sun going down, Mr. Hoar, and my self, and the two 63 Indians came to Lancaster, and a solemn sight it was to me. There had I lived many comfortable years amongst my Relations and Neighbours, and now not one Christian to be seen, nor one house lest standing. We went on to a Farm house that was yet standing, where we lay all night: and a comfortable lodging we had, though nothing but straw to ly on. The Lord preserved us in safety that night, and raised us up again in the morning, and carried us along, that before noon, we came to Concord. Now was I full of joy, and yet not without sorrow: joy to see such a lovely sight, so many Christians together, and some of them my Neighbours: There I met with my Brother, and my Brother in Law, who asked me, if I knew where his Wife was? Poor heart! he had helped to bury her, and knew it not; she being shot down by the house was partly burnt: so that those who were at Boston at the desolation of the Town, and came back afterward, and buried the dead, did not know her. Yet I was not without sorrow, to think how many were looking and longing, and my own Children amongst the rest, to enioy that deliverance that I had now received: and I did not know whither ever I should see them again. Being recruited with food and raiment, we went to Boston that day, where I met with my dear Husband, but the thoughts of our dear Children, one being dead, and the other we could not tell where, abated our comfort each to other. I 64 was not before so much hem'd in with the merciless and cruel Heathen, but now as much with pittiful, tender-hearted, and compassionate Christians. In that poor, and destressed, and beggerly condition I was received in, I was kindly entertained in severall Houses: so much love I received from several (some of whom I knew, and others I knew not] that I am not capable to declare it. But the Lord knows them all by name: The Lord reward them seven fold into their bosoms of his spirituals, for their temporals. The twenty pounds the price of my redemption was raised by some Boston Gentlemen, and Ms.Usher There is likely a typographical error here, since "Ms." was not in use in seventeenth-century English. So whether this reference is to a man or a woman named Usher is uncertain. , whose bounty and religious charity, I would not forget to make mention of. Then Mr. Thomas Shepard of Charlstown received us into his House, where we continued eleven weeks; and a Father and Mother they were to us. And many more tender-hearted Friends we met with in that place. We were now in the midst of love, yet not without much and frequent heaviness of heart for our poor Children, and other Relations, who were still in affliction. The week following, after my coming in, the Governour and Gouncil sent forth to the Indians again; and that not without saccess; for they brought in my Sister, and Good-wife Kettle: Their not knowing where our Children were, was a sore tryal to us still, and yet we were not without secret hopes that we should see them again. That which was dead lay heavier upon my spirit, than those which were alive 65 mercy on both hands. Now hath God fulfiled that precious Scripture which was such a comfort to me in my distressed condition, When my heart was ready to sink into the Earth [my Children being gone I could not tell whither] and my knees trembled under me, And I was walking through the valley of the shadow of Death: Then the Lord brought, and now has fulfilled that reviving word unto me: Thus saith the Lord Jeremiah 31:16., Refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears. for thy Work shall be rewarded, saith the Lord, and they shall come again from the Land of the Enemy. Now we were between them, the one on the East, and the other on the West: Our Son being nearest, we went to him first, to Portsmouth, where we met with him, and with the Major also: who told us he had done what he could, but could not redeem him under seven ponnds; which the good People thereabouts were pleased to pay. The Lord reward the Major, and all the rest, though unknown so me, for their labour of Love. My Sitters Son was redeemed for four pounds, which the Council gave order for the payment of Having now received one of our Children, we hastened toward the other: going back through Newbury, my Husband Preached there on the Sabbath-day: for which they rewarded him many fold. On Monday we came to Charlstown, where we heard that the Governour of Road-Island had sent over for our Daughter, to take care of her, being now 67 within his Jurisdiction: which should not pass without our acknowledgments. But she being nearer Rehoboth than Road-Island, Mr. Newman went over, and took care of her, and brought her to his own House. And the goodness of God was admirable to us in our low estate, in that he raised up passionate Friends on every side to us, when we had nothing to recompance any for their love. The Indians were now gone that way, that it was apprehended dangerous to go to her: But the Carts which carried Provision to the English Army, being guarded, brought her with them to Dorchester, where we received her safe: blessed be the Lord sor it, For great is his Power, and he can do whatsoever seemeth him good. Her coming in was after this manner: She was travelling one day with the Indians, with her basket at her back; the company of Indians were got before her, and gone out of sight, all except one Squaw; she followed the Squaw till night, and then both of them lay down, having nothing over them but the heavens, and under them but the earth. Thus she travelled three dayes together, not knowing whither she was going: having nothing to eat or drink but water, and green Hirtle-berries. At last they came into Providence, where she was kindly entertained by several of that Town. The Indians often said, that I should never have her under twenty pounds: But now the Lord hath brought her in upon free-cost, and given her to me the second 68 time. The Lord make us a blessing indeed, each to others. Now have I seen that Scripture also fulfilled, Deut. 30: 4, 7. If any of thine be driven out to the outmost parts of heaven, from thence will the Lord thy God gather thee, and from thence will he fetch thee. And the Lord thy God will put all these curses upon thine enemies, and on them which hate thee, which persecuted thee. Thus hath the Lord brought me and mine out of that horrible pit, and hath set us in the midst of tender-hearted and compassionate Christians. It is the desire of my soul, that we may walk worthy of the mercies received, and which we are receiving. Our Family being now gathered together (those of us that were living) the South Church in Boston hired an House for us: Then were moved from Mr. Shepards, those cordial Friends, and went to Boston, where we continued about three quarters of a year: Still the Lord went along with us, and provided graciously for us. I thought it somewhat strange to set up House keeping with bare walls; but as Solomon sayes, Ecclesiastes 10:19. Mony answers all things; and that we had through the benevolence of Christian friends, some in this Town, and some in that, and others: And some from England, that in a little time we might look, and see the House furnished with love. The Lord hath been exceeding good to us in our low estate, in that when we had neither house nor home, nor other necessaries; the Lord so moved the hearts of these and those towards us, 69 that we wanted neither food, nor raiment for our selves or ours, Prov. 18.24. There is a Friend which sticketh closer than a Brother. And how many such Friends have we found, and now living amongst? And truly such a Friend have we found him to be unto us, in whose house we lived, viz. Mr. James Whitcomb, a Friend unto us near hand, and afar off. I can remember the time, when I used to sleep quietly without workings in my thoughts, whole nights together, but now it is other wayes with me. When all are fast about me, and no eye open, but his who ever waketh, my thoughts are upon things past, upon the awfull dispensation of the Lord towards us; upon his wonderfull power and might, in carrying of us through so many difficulties, in returning us in safety, and suffering none to hurt us. I remember in the night season, how the other day I was in the midst of thousands of enemies, & nothing but death before me: It was then hard work to perswade my self, that ever I should be satisfied with bread again. But now we are fed with the finest of the Wheat, and, as I may say, With honey out of the rock: Psalm 81:16. In stead of the Husk, we have the fatted Calf See Luke 15:11-32.: The thoughts of these things in the particulars of them, and of the love and goodness of God towards us, make it true of me, what David said of himself, Psal. 6.6. I watered my Couch with my tears. Oh! the wonderfull power of God that mine eyes have seen, affording 70 matter enough for my thoughts to run in, that when others are sleeping mine eyes are weeping. I have seen the extrem vanity of this World: One hour I have been in health, and wealth, wanting nothing: But the next hour in sickness and wounds, and death, having nothing but sorrow and affliction. Before I knew what affliction meant, I was ready sometimes to wish for it. When I lived in prosperity; having the comforts of the World about me, my relations by me, my Heart chearfull: and taking little care for any thing; and yet seeing many, whom I preferred before my self, under many tryals and afflictions, in sickness, weakness, poverty, losses, crosses, and cares of the World, I should be sometimes jealous least I should have my portion in this life, and that Scripture would come to my mind, Heb. 12.6. For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every Son whom he receiveth. But now I see the Lord had his time to scourge and chasten me. The portion of some is to have their afflictions by drops, now one drop and then another; but the dregs of the Cup, the Wine of astonishment: like a sweeping rain that leaveth no food, did the Lord prepare to be my portion Affliction I wanted, and affliction I had, full measure (I thought) pressed down and running over: yet I see, when God calls a Person to any thing, and through never so many difficulties 71 yet he is fully able to carry them through and make them see, and say they have been gainers thereby. And I hope I can say in some measure, As David did Psalm 119:71., It is good for me that I have been afflicted: The Lord hath shewed me the vanity of these outward things. That they are the Vanity of vanities, and vexation of spirit; Ecclesiastes 1:2, 14. that they are but a shadow, a blast, a bubble, and things of no continuance. That we must rely on God himself, and our whole dependance must be upon him. If trouble from smaller matters begin to arise in me, I have something at hand to check my self with, and say, why am I troubled? It was but the other day that if I had had the world, I would have given it for my freedom, or to have been a Servant to a Christian. I have learned to look beyond present and smaller troubles, and to be quieted under them, as Moses said, Exod. 14.13. Stand still and see the salvation of the Lord. FINIS. Addison, Joseph and Joseph Addison. "Issue 1, Thursday, March 1, 1711". The Spectator, Samuel Buckley, 1711 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z Recto THE SPECTATOR #1 The Spectator is the most famous work of journalism of the eighteenth century in English. It helped define what journalism could be. The series of daily essays, published like a newspaper, set the pattern for a kind of writing that persists to the present day. Comparatively short essays on topics of interest to middle-class readers (politics, fashion, the arts), written in straightforward, unfussy prose without professional jargon: this is a mode of writing that is still standard in print and online journalism. A collaboration between Joseph Addison and Richard Steele, The Spectator was for a long time after its initial run in 1711 and 1712 held up to English students and readers as a model of prose style, and although to our eyes there are moments where the prose feels a little archaic, Addison and Steele's version of English prose is much closer to the way that we write now than the prose from a hundred, or even fifty years earlier (Elizabathan prose, for example, is far more challenging to most modern readers than that period's poetry, which is a reversal from what we might expect.) Addison and Steele's main influence on writers and readers over the last three hundred years may lie mostly in the way that the two of them developed and popularized a style of English prose that is more or less the one that we still use in much expository writing. In modern times, The Spectatorhas been credited with being essential to the formation of what the sociologist Jürgen Habermas has influentially dubbed “the bourgeois public sphere.” Habermas describes the bourgeois public sphere as being made up of private individuals coming together to constitute a public, in this case a public that was not affiliated with the government or the church, but an independent body that could discuss important issues on its own. Gathered together in coffee houses, over tea tables, or simply in their homes, readers of The Spectator were among the first citizens to have a print publication that became a common frame of reference for middle-class English-speaking people. The journal set an agenda and a way of thinking about society and the arts that seemed derived, not from the aristocracy or the church, but from the shared world of the readers themselves. The Spectator followed on the heels of The Tatler, which had run from April 12, 1709 to December 30, 1710. Steele had taken the lead with The Tatler, asking for help from Addison and others on occasion to fill out the pages. But it was Addison who seems to have been the leader for The Spectator, supplying the first issue and many others after that. In this case, timing was everything. Addison and his Whig party had just lost a parliamentary election towards the end of 1710. Addison was a cabinet member, at the center of government policy-making, so he suddenly found himself kicked out of office with time on his hands; writing in collaboration with his old friend Richard Steele was just the thing to keep his hand in the public conversation. The Spectator differed in format in significant ways from its immediate predecessor. It was published daily, except for Sunday; The Tatler had come out three days a week. Where The Tatler had generally had several items in each issue, most issues of The Spectator focused on a single topic. The new journal also had a different framing device than the older one. Where Steele had arranged the articles in The Tatler by the imagined location in London from which various “correspondents” were sending him information (theater news coming from Will's Coffee House, political news from the St. James Coffee House, the whole thing being a parody of the way that official newspapers published correspondence from foreign cities), The Spectator had a fictional “club” that would come up with ideas. Steele described its members in the second issue: there was a country squire, Sir Roger de Coverly, a lawyer, a businessman (Sir Andrew Freeport), a soldier (Major Sentry), an aging libertine (Will Honeycomb), and a clergyman. Between them, the Club represented many of the important segments of middle-class culture in the eighteenth century. The Spectator Club never worked quite as it seems to have been intended—relatively few issues feature it in any central way—but it was another means by which the journal was projecting itself as giving a voice to a variety of contemporary interests. And the journal occasionally referred to the coffee-house culture that middle-class people (well, middle-class men, since women were generally not welcome) had developed in this period, a milieu (depicted here), where men met to socialize, gossip, talk over issues of the day, read from the coffee-shop's stock of newspapers and journals (which were expensive enough that individuals might not subscribe), and get their caffeine fix satisfied. Most importantly, The Spectator introduces a new kind of persona, what critics call an eidolon, in the figure of “Mr. Spectator,” in whose voice all of the essays were composed, no matter which of the two men was the actual author. The Spectator did not invent the concept of the eidolon, but it provided perhaps its most influential model, one imitated over and over again in works such as Benjamin Franklin’s “Silence Dogood” pieces in The New England Courant (1721), Samuel Johnson’sRambler essays (1750-52), and even the Federalist essays composed by Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, and John Jay to defend the U. S. Constitution. Mr. Spectator projected himself as a civilized man of the world, an observer looking on society like a fly on the wall. He is well educated, but not a specialist in anything, which enables him to comment on all sorts of things. In the course of its run, The Spectator offers essays on fashion, on politics, on religion, on literature. Steele’s essay on Inkle and Yarico (#11) popularized the story to eighteenth-century readers; it would become a cultural phenomenon, with plays, musicals, and poems about the doomed pair of lovers abounding in English-speaking culture over the next few decades. Addison’s essays on John Milton's epic Paradise Lost and the series generally known as “the pleasures of the imagination” became widely influential works of literary criticism and aesthetic theory that to some extent established a paradigm for what modern criticism could be. To be sure, this is a very male eidolon, and it is no surprise to discover that The Spectator’s essays are very frequently condescending towards women readers. In the 1740s, Eliza Haywood published a journal called The Female Spectator http://www2.scc.rutgers.edu/spectator/haywood/, one that forms a nice counterweight to the bluff masculinity of Addison and Steele’s journal. The Spectator ran from March 3, 1711 to December 6, 1712, comprising 555 issues in all. (On his own, Addison revived The Spectator briefly for a few months in 1714, but these essays were generally not as popular.) Of these, about 250 issues each were written by Addison and Steele; Addison’s cousin Eustace Budgell contributed a small number, as did the poet John Hughes. Over time, we hope to add more issues of both The Tatler and The Spectator to this digital anthology.Thursday, March 1, 1711. Non fumum exfulgere, sed ex fumo dare lucem Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat.--Hor. "He intends not smoke from the flame, but fire from the smoke, so as to reveal wonderful things. Horace." Addison is quoting here from "The Art of Poetry," a verse treatise by the Roman poet Horace that was widely read in the eighteenth century. Addison could count on most of his educated readers knowing the allusion, since the poem was so widely taught in secondary schools. The joke here is that Addison is imagining this essay as being read aloud in smoke-filled coffeehouses. To be Continued every Day. I HAVE observed, that a Reader seldom peruses a Book with Pleasure 'till he knows whether the Writer of it be a black or a fair ManThis is not a racial category in Addison's day; the distincion is between having dark or light hair and complexion., of a mild or cholerick DispositionA relaxed or angry disposition., Married or a Batchelor, with other Particulars of the like nature, that conduceContribute to. very much to the right Understanding of an Author. To gratify this Curiosity, which is so natural to a Reader, I design this Paper, and my next, as Prefatoryintroductory. Discourses to my following Writings, and shall give some Account in them of the several persons that are engaged in this Work. As the chief trouble of Compiling, Digesting, and Correcting will fall to my Share, I must do myself the Justice to open the Work with my own History. I was born to a small Hereditary Estate, which according to the tradition of the village where it lies, was bounded by the same Hedges and Ditches in William the Conqueror'sThe Norman warlord who defeated the English king Harold at the Battle of Hastings in 1066 and became William I. Time that it is at present, and has been delivered down from Father to Son whole and entire, without the Loss or Acquisition of a single Field or Meadow, during the Space of six hundred Years. There runs a Story in the Family, that when my Mother was gone with Child of me about three Months, she dreamt that she was brought to Bed of a Judge. Whether this might proceed from a Law-suit which was then depending in the Family, or my Fathers being a Justice of the Peace, I cannot determine; for I am not so vain as to think it presagedPredict or foretell. any Dignity that I should arrive at in my future Life, though that was the Interpretation the Neighbourhood put upon it. The Gravity of my Behaviour at my very first Appearance in the World, and all the Time that I suckedbreastfed, seemed to favour my Mothers Dream: For, as she has often told me, I threw away my Rattle before I was two Months old, and would that was the Interpretation which the Neighbourhood put upon not make use of my CoralThat is, his teething ring; these were often made of coral in this period. till they had taken away the Bells from it. As for the rest of my Infancy, there being nothing in it remarkable, I shall pass it over in Silence. I find that, during my NonageYouth or childhood. Source: Oxford English Dictionary, I had the reputation of a very sullen Youth, but was always a Favourite of my School-master, who used to say, that my partsCharacteristics or elements of a person. were solid and would wear well. I had not been long at the University, before I distinguished myself by a most profound Silence: For, during the Space of eight Years, excepting in the publick Exercises of the College, I scarce uttered the Quantity of an hundred Words; and indeed do not remember that I ever spoke three Sentences together in my whole Life. Whilst I was in this Learned Body, I applied myself with so much Diligence to my Studies, that there are very few celebrated Books, either in the Learned or the Modern Tongues, which I am not acquainted with. Upon the Death of my Father I was resolved to travel into Foreign Countries, and therefore left the University, with the Character of an odd unaccountable Fellow, that had a great deal of Learning, if I would but show it. An insatiable Thirst after Knowledge carried me into all the Countries of Europe, in which there was any thing new or strange to be seen; nay, to such a Degree was my curiosity raised, that having read the controversies of some great Men concerning the Antiquities of Egypt, I made a Voyage to Grand Cairo, on purpose to take the Measure of a Pyramid; and, as soon as I had set my self right in that Particular, returned to my Native Country with great Satisfaction. I have passed my latter Years in this City, where I am frequently seen in most publick Places, tho there are not above half a dozen of my select Friends that know me; of whom my next Paper shall give a more particular Account. There is no place of general Resort wherein I do not often make my appearance; sometimes I am seen thrusting my Head into a Round of Politicians at WillsWills was a popular coffee shop. Coffee-drinking was comparatively new to England, havinug arrived as a practice, probably from Turkey, a few decades before. But coffee shops were everywhere in London in the early eighteenth century, becoming popular places for men (and they were almost-always male dominated domains) to socialize while they satisfied their cravings for caffeine and (since smoking pipes was also popular) nicotine. Over the next few lines, Mr. Spectator names several of the most popular coffee shops in central London at the time., and listening with great Attention to the Narratives that are made in those little Circular Audiences. Sometimes I smoak a Pipe at Childs; and, while I seem attentive to nothing but the Post-manone of the daily newspapers in London at that time, over-hear the Conversation of every Table in the Room. I appear on Sunday nights at St. James's Coffee House, and sometimes join the little Committee of Politicks in the Inner-Room, as one who comes there to hear and improve. My Face is likewise very well known at the Grecian, the Cocoa-Tree, and in the Theaters both of Drury Lane and the Hay-MarketThe theaters on Drury Lane and the Hay-Market were the two state-licensed playhouses in central London. As Mr. Spectator implies here, theaters were as much places to be seen by others as to see a play; they were intensely social spaces, where theatergoers enjoyed the spectacle of other audience members almost as much--and sometimes more--than they enjoyed the performances on the stage.. I have been taken for a Merchant Verso upon the Exchange for above these ten Years, and sometimes pass for a Jew in the Assembly of Stock-Jobbersstockbrokers, but the sense here is more pejorative than the word is today; selling stock in private companies was comparatively new, and looked at with suspicion by some at Jonathans. In short, where-ever I see a Cluster of People, I always mix with them, tho I never open my Lips but in my own Club. Thus I live in the World, rather as a Spectator of Mankind, than as one of the Species; by which means I have made my self a Speculative Statesman, Soldier, Merchant, and Artizan, without ever medling with any Practical Part in Life. I am very well versed in the Theory of an Husband, or a Father, and can discern the Errors in the Oeconomy, Business, and Diversion of others, better than those who are engaged in them; as Standers-by discover BlotsExposed pieces in a game like backgammon, checkers, or chess. Source: Oxford English Dictionary, which are apt to escape those who are in the Game. I never espoused any Party with Violence, and am resolved to observe an exact Neutrality between the Whigs and ToriesThe Whigs and the Tories were the two main political factions of the day. The Spectator positioned itself as a neutral journal, and part of the reason why Addison and Steele tried to stay anonymous was to keep up that pretense, since they were both well known to be Whigs., unless I shall be forcd to declare myself by the Hostilities of either side. In short, I have acted in all the parts of my Life as a Looker-on, which is the CharacterAddison is punning here on the sense of character as personal identity and character as a printed mark on a page. I intend to preserve in this Paper. I have given the Reader just so much of my History and Character, as to let him see I am not altogether unqualified for the Business I have undertaken. As for other Particulars in my Life and Adventures, I shall insert them in following Papers, as I shall see occasion. In the mean time, when I consider how much I have seen, read, and heard, I begin to blame my own Taciturnitysilence; and since I have neither Time nor Inclination to communicate the Fulness of my Heart in Speech, I am resolved to do it in Writing; and to Print my self out, if possible, before I Die. I have been often told by my Friends that it is Pity so many useful Discoveries which I have made, should be in the possession of a Silent Man. For this Reason therefore, I shall publish a Sheet full of Thoughts every Morning, for the Benefit of my Contemporaries; and if I can any way contribute to the Diversion or Improvement of the Country in which I live, I shall leave it, when I am summoned out of it, with the secret Satisfaction of thinking that I have not Lived in vain. There are three very material Points which I have not spoken to in this Paper, and which, for several important Reasons, I must keep to my self; at least for some Time: I mean, an Account of my Name, my Age, and my Lodgings. I must confess I would gratify my Reader in any thing that is reasonable; but as for these three Particulars, though I am sensible they might tend very much to the Embellishment of my Paper, I cannot yet come to a Resolution of communicating them to the Publick. They would indeed draw me out of that Obscurity which I have enjoyed for many Years, and expose me in Publick Places to several Salutes and Civilities, which have been always very disagreeable to me; for the greatest pain I can suffer, is the being talked to, and being stared at. It is for this Reason likewise, that I keep my Complexion and Dress, as very great Secrets; tho it is not impossible, but I may make Discoveries of both in the Progress of the Work I have undertaken. After having been thus particular upon my self; I shall in tomorrows Paper give an Account of those Gentlemen who are concerned with me in this Work. For, as I have before intimatedshared confidentially, a Plan of it is laid and concertedarranged or contrived by two or more people working "in consert" (as all other Matters of Importance are) in a Club. However, as my Friends have engaged me to stand in the Front, those who have a mind to correspond with me, may direct their Letters To the Spectator, at Mr. Buckleys, in Little Britain.Samuel Buckley was the printer and publisher of the new journal. His print-shop was on Little Britain, a street in London where a number of printers congregated at this time. For I must further acquaint the Reader, that tho' our Club meets only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we have appointed a Committee to sit every Night, for the Inspection of all such Papers as may contribute to the Advancement of the Public Wealwelfare and happiness . C.Addison identified the essays that he wrote with the letters C, L, I, or O, which collectively spell out Clio, the muse of history. Philips, Katherine and Katherine Philips. "Upon the Double Murder of King Charles I". Poems by the most deservedly admired Mrs. Katherine Philips, the matchless Orinda; to which is added Monsieur Corneille's Pompey & Horace, tragedies; with several other translations out of French, Printed by J.M. for H. Herringman, 1667 , pp 1-2 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z 1 Upon the double Murder of K. CHARLES I.Charles I was beheaded on January 30th, 1649. in Answer to a Libellous Copy of Rimes made by Vavasor PowellVavasor Powell was a nonconformist Puritan preacher who published poetry in praise of the execution of Charles I. Philips wrote in respond to Powell's poem. 1 I think not on the State, nor am concern’d 2 Which way soever the great Helm is turn'd 3 But as that son whose father's dangers nigh 4 Did force his native dumbness, and untie 5 The fetter'dShackled or chained (Oxford English Dictionary). organs; so here's a fair cause 6 That will excuse the breach of Nature's laws. 7 Silence were now a sin, nay Passion now 8 Wise men themselves for Merit would allow. 9 What noble eye could see (and careless pass) 10 The dying Lion kick'd by every AssPhilips is referencing an Aesop fable in which a dying lion is attacked by several animals seeking their revenge on him. After being kicked by an ass, the lion declares: "this is a double death."? 11 Has Charles so broke God's Laws, he must not have 12 A quiet Crown, nor yet a quiet Grave? 13 Tombs have been Sanctuaries; Thieves lie there 14 Secure from all their penalty and fear. 15 Great Charles his double misery was this, 16 Unfaithful Friends, ignoble Enemies. 17 Had any Heathen been this Prince's foe, 18 He would have wept to see him injur'd so. 19 His Title was his Crime, they'd reason good 20 To quarrel at the Right they had withstood. 21 He broke God's Laws, and therefore he must die; 22 And what shall then become of thee and I? 23 Slander must follow Treason; but yet stay, 24 Take not our Reason with our King away. 25 Though you have seiz'd upon all our defence, 26 Yet do not sequesterTo confiscate or take forcibly (Oxford English Dictionary). our common Sense. 2 27 But I admire not at this new supply: 28 No bounds will hold those who at Sceptres fly. 29 Christ will be King, but I ne're understood 30 His Subjects built his Kingdom up with blood, 31 Except their own; or that he would dispence 32 With his own commands, though for his own defense. 33 Oh! to what height of horrour are they come 34 Who dare pull down a Crown, tear up a Tomb! Philips, Katherine and Katherine Philips. "Content, To my dearest Lucasia". Poems by the most deservedly admired Mrs. Katherine Philips, the matchless Orinda; to which is added Monsieur Corneille's Pompey & Horace, tragedies; with several other translations out of French, Printed by J.M. for H. Herringman, 1667 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z 22 Content, To my dearest Lucasia "Lucasia" refers to Ann Owen, Philips's closest friend and the person to whom many of her poems are addressed. The poem is a meditation on where and how they might find true "contentment." Content, the false World's best disguise, The search and faction of the Wise Is so abstruse Difficult to understand; obscure, recondite. (Oxford English Dictionary) and hid in night, That, like that Fairy Red-cross KnightThe Red Cross Knight is the protagonist of Book I of Edmund Spenser's The Faerie Queene, published in the 1590s. Philips is referring to a passage where the Red Cross Knight mistakes "treacherous falsehood" in the form of a character named Duessa for the "clear Truth" of Fidessa. The Red Cross Knight is a symbol for purity and the Anglican church, and Duessa can be read as a symbol of the false or duplicitous Roman Catholic church., Who treacherous Falshood for clear Truth had got, Men think they have it when they have it not. For Courts Content would gladly own, But she ne'er dwelt about a Throne: 23 And to be flatter'd, rich, and great, Are things which do Mens senses cheat. But grave Experience long since this did see, Ambition and Content would ne'er agree. Some vainer would Content expect From what their bright Out-sides reflect: But sure Content is more Divine Than to be digg'd from Rock or MineThat is, Philips views contentment as being more valuable than any jewel that can be mined from the earth.: And they that know her beauties will confess, She needs no lustre from a glittering dress. In mirth some place her, but she scorns Th'assistance of such crackling thorns, Nor owes her self to such thin sport, That is so sharp and yet so short: And Painters tell us they the same strokes place, To make a laughing and a weeping face. Others there are that place Content In Liberty from Government: But whomsoe're Passions deprave, Though free from shackles, he's a slave. Content and Bondage differ only then, When we are chain'd by Vices, not by Men. Some think the Camp Content does know, And that she sits o'th'Victor's brow: But in his LaurelThe foliage of the laurel tree is an emblem of victory or of distinction in poetry, as well as military conquest. (Oxford English Dictionary) there is seen Often a Cypress-bowCypress is a common material for archery bows, but also associated with mourning. between. 24 Nor will Content her self in that place give, Where Noise and Tumult and Destruction live. But yet the most Discreet believe, The Schools this Jewel do receive, And thus far's true without dispute, Knowledge is still the sweetest fruit But whilst men seek for Truth they lose their Peace; And who heaps Knowledge, Sorrow doth increaseEcclesiastes 1:18.. But now some sullen Hermite Alternative spelling for hermit: one who from religious motives has retired into solitary life (Oxford English Dictionary). smiles, And thinks he all the World beguiles, And that his Cell and DishRefers to the religious hermits who slept in a cell and used one dish for meals. contain What all mankind wish for in vain. But yet his pleasure's follow'd with a Groan, For man was never born to be alone. Content her self best comprehends Betwixt two souls, and they two friends, Whose either joyes in both are fix'd, And multiply'd by being mix'd: Whose minds and interests are so the same; Their Griefs, when once imparted, lose that name. These far remov'd from all bold noise, And (what is worse) all hollow joyes, Who never had a mean design, Whose flame is serious and divine, And calm, and even, must contented be, For they've both Union and Society. 25 Then, my Lucasia, we who have Whatever Love can give or crave; Who can with pitying scorn survey The Trifles which the most betray; With innocence and perfect friendship fir'd By Vertue joyn'd, and by our Choice retir'd.Retired in the sense of having retired to the countryside, where Philips and Owen were living, having left London during the Civil War. Whose Mirrours are the crystal Brooks, Or else each others Heart and Looks; Who cannot wish for other things Then"Then" as in "Than":"Than that which privacy and friendship bring." Privacy and Friendship brings: Whose thoughts and persons chang'd and mixt are one, Enjoy Content, or else the World hath none. Wycherley, William and William Wycherley. The Country-Wife, Thomas Dring, 1675 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z The Country-Wife,Theater was central to the culture of Restoration London. The restored monarch, Charles II, wanted to assert the centrality of the theater in English culture as a way of harkening back to the glory days of the Stuart dynasty in the early part of the century, when his grandfather James I had been the patron of William Shakespeare’s theatrical company, and when Ben Jonson and Inigo Jones had designed extravagant “masques” for performance at court. But Charles and his courtiers also brought back many of the norms of the Continental stage with them when they returned to power in 1660: proscenium arched, indoor playhouses with moveable scenery, for example, and actresses in the women’s parts. These changes marked a decisive break with the norms of the professional theaters of the Elizabethan era in England, where scenery was minimal to nonexistent, and where the women's parts were played by young men. During his first years in power, Charles supported the new theaters in a number of ways: he was the official patron of the company performing at the playhouse in Drury Lane where The Country Wife was first staged; he attended plays at both state-licensed playhouses frequently; he even occasionally suggested plots to dramatists. Even more important than this personal connection was an ideological alliance between the theater and the culture; this era found in the playhouse a mirror of its own highly performative character. The seventeenth and eighteenth centuries found themselves confronting an issue that has haunted culture ever since: how can we know if people are real and authentic, or if they are merely performers, acting social roles in the manner of an actor in a theater? The Country Wife is one of many literary works from this period that probes this question. William Wycherley became a courtier in the 1670s, and his plays are set in the world of fashionable London libertines like himself. Horner, the antihero at the center of The Country Wife, is a familiar type of the period: a rake, for “rake-hell,” so called from the hellfire that such men seemed to be daring themselves to by their scandalous behavior. At the time, some observers thought that Wycherley had modeled Horner on the notorious libertine the Earl of Rochester. That might be the case, or it might simply be that Rochester was so famous and notorious in these years that he could readily be associated with any libertine figure. In any case, Horner is certainly following the libertine’s central ethical imperative--to pursue his own pleasures wherever they may lead him, and to use his “wit,” which in this period meant simply intellect, to get what he wants. Here, he advances his desire to pursue sexual relationships with the wives of men he knows by feigning impotence; men will think that he is not a threat, and women will be assured that they can conduct an affair with no damage to their reputations. What follows surprises even Horner, though, as he discovers that women--both Town women like Lady Fidget and even young Margery Pinchwife, the country wife of the title--have desires of their own, and cannot be as easily manipulated as he thought. The Country Wife is one of the most powerful expressions of late seventeenth-century English culture, and it remained a popular play for decades in theaters throughout the English-speaking world. This play has often been classed by theater historians as a “sex comedy,” for reasons that are obvious. But Wycherley is also interested in complex social issues, such as the confrontation between the values of the town and those of the country, the male anxiety over women’s agency and autonomy, and language as the medium through which all of these social norms are expressed and fought over. Some of this concern over language is apparant in the names of the play’s characters. Some characters--Horner, Pinchwife, the Fidgets, Quack, etc.--have names reminiscent of the allegorical names in a contemporary religious text like John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress. Such names suggest a fairly direct correspondence between a person’s name and their nature--Horner “horns in on” other relationships, for example, attempting to put the horns of the cuckold on a man guilty of being excessively controlling of his wife--such as the equally-aptly named Pinchwife. At the same time, and going against the grain of such directness, Wycherley is concerned with how many words lend themselves to misunderstanding because they can signify different things: starting with the vulgar pun in its title that practically dares the reader not to notice it, The Country Wife includes plays on words like “honour,” “civil,” “business,” “frank,” and, most famously “china,” which accumulates multiple, increasingly sexual associations in the play’s central scene. As a general rule of thumb, while you are reading The Country Wife, if you think that you see a dirty joke or a double-entendre, you are probably not mistaken; Wycherley has almost certainly indeed put it there. Yet that free play of language that the characters revel in, and that is so productive of The Country Wife's success as a comedy, leads to a serious question. With language itself so unpredictable, so uncontrollable, Wycherley seems to be saying, how can people communicate honestly with each other? Beneath the play’s scandalous subject matter, the play seems designed to provoke serious questions about social norms, communication, and the possibilities for cohesion and harmony in his culture. Image: Miniature portrait of William Wycherley, c. 1675, by Peter Cross (National Portrait Gallery, London) A COMEDY, Acted at the THEATRE ROYAL Written by Mr. Wycherley Indignor quicquam reprehendi, non quia crassè Compositum illepidéve putetur, sed quia nuper: Nec veniam Antiquis, sed honorem &c præmia possi. "I'm indignant that work is censured, not because it's thought crudely or badly made, but because it's new, while what's old claims honours and prizes not indulgence." Horace, EpistleII:1, translated A. S. Kline Horat. LONDON, Printed for Thomas Dring, at the Harrow, at the Corner of Chancery-Lane in Fleet-street. 1675. PROLOGUE, spoken by Mr Hart. Poets like Cudgel'd Bullys, never do At first, or second blow, submit to you; But will provoke you still, and ne're have done, Till you are weary first, with laying on: The late so basted Scribler of this day, Though he stands trembling, bids me boldly say, What we, before most Playes are us'd to do, For Poets out of fear, first draw on you; In a fierce Prologue, the still Pit defie, And e're you speak, like Castril, give the lye; But though our Bayses Batles oft I've fought, And with bruis'd knuckles, their dear Conquests bought; Nay, never yet fear'd Odds upon the Stage, In Prologue dare not Hector with the Age, But wou'd take Quarter from your saving hands, Though Bayse within all yielding Countermands, Says you Confed'rate Wits no Quarter give, Ther'fore his Play shan't ask your leave to live: Well, let the vain rash Fop, by hussing so, Think to obtain the better terms of you; But we the Actors humbly will submit, Now, and at any time, to a full Pit; Nay, often we anticipate your rage, And murder Poets for you, on our Stage: We set no Guards upon our Tyring-Room, But when with flying Colours, there you come, We patiently you see, give up to you, Our Poets, Virgin, nay our Matrons too. The Persons. Mr. Horner, Mr. Hart. Mr. Harcourt, Mr. Kenaston. Mr. Dorilant, Mr. Lydal. Mr. Pinchwife, Mr. Mohun. Mr. Sparkish, Mr. Haynes. Sir Jaspar Fidget, Mr. Cartwright. Mrs. Margery Pinchwife, Mrs. Bowtel. Mrs. Alithea, Mrs. James. My Lady Fidget, Mrs. Knep. Mrs. Dainty Fidget, Mrs. Corbet. Mrs. Squeamish. Mrs. Wyatt. Old Lady Squeamish. Mrs. Rutter. Waiters, Servants, and Attendants. A Boy. A Quack, Mr. Schotterel. Lucy, Alithea's Maid, Mrs. Cory. The SCENE London. 1 The Country-Wife Act 1. Scene 1. Enter Horner To anyone attending or reading the play in this period, the name "Horner" would have immediately evoked the "horns" that traditionally were associated with cuckoldry, the practice of men having sex with the wives of other men. A man whose wife was unfaithful in this way was called a "cuckold," a term that comes from the cuckoo bird, which was believed to lay its eggs in another bird's nest. The horns were associated with male animals; to "horn" another man was to show your superior virility. , and Quack following him at a distance. Horner A Quack A fraudulent doctor.is as fit for a Pimp, as a Midwife for a BawdThe keeper of a brothel.; they are still but in their way, both helpers of Nature.— asideA speech spoken directly to the audience, breaking the fourth wall; the idea is that audience members hear this speech, but characters on stage do not.. —— Well, my dear Doctor, hast thou done what I desired. Quack I have undone you for ever with the Women, and reported you throughout the whole Town as bad as an EunuchA castrated man. , with as much trouble as if I had made you one in earnest. Horner But have you told all the Midwives you know, the Orange Wenches at the PlayhousesOranges sweet enough to eat out of your hand were comparatively new in England in the 1600s, and they became a popular snack-food. They were sold as snacks at theaters by young women, who became known as "orange wenches." These young women were also responsible for passing messages between playgoers, or between playgoers and performers. But some "orange wenches" were also sex workers, selling more than oranges to the single young men who made up a substantial part of the audience in this period., the City Husbands, and old Fumbling Keepers of this end of the Town, for they'l be the readiest to report it. Quack I have told all the Chamber-maids, Waiting women, Tyre womenA dresser, a woman who helps others get their clothes (their "attire") on., and Old women of my acquaintance; nay, and whisper'd it as a secret to'em, and to the Whisperers of WhitehalWhitehall is the street in the Westminster where, in this period as in the modern day, much of the bureaucracy of the British government was located. And with government bureaucracy goes lots of rumor-mongering; hence the "whisperers of Whitehal," who will be sure to spread false rumors about Horner.; so that you need not doubt 'twill spread, and you will be as odious to the handsome young Women, as— Horner As the small Pox.— Well— 2 Quack And Women of this end of the Town, as— Horner As the great onesThat is, the "great pox," syphilis. In short, Horner has asked Quack to spread the rumor that he is impotent as a result of syphilis. This will make women unwilling to have sex with him. The truth, of course, is that Horner is fine, and is having this rumor spread so that husbands will not be concerned about Horner's being so intimate with their wives.; nay, as their own Husbands. Quack And to the City Dames as Annis-seed RobinAnnis-seed Robin, sometimes known as "Annis-seed Water Robin," was a real person in seventeenth-century London who received that nickname because they sold aniseed water, a derivative of hemlock that was used as medicine for a variety of ailments, particularly digestive issues. More to the point here, Annis-Seed Robin was reputed to be a hermaphrodite. By 1675, when this play was first staged, they were almost certainly dead, but their reputation had passed into a kind of folk memory. of filthy and contemptible memory; and they will frighten their Children with your name, especially their Females. Horner And cry Horner's coming to carry you away : I am only afraid 'twill not be believ'd; you told'em 'twas by an English-French disaster, and an English-French ChirurgeonA now-archaic spelling of "surgeon.", who has given me at once, not only a Cure, but an Antidote for the future, against that damn'd malady, and that worse distemper, love, and all other Womens evils. Quack Your late journey into France has made it the more credible, and your being here a fortnight before you appear'd in publick, looks as if you apprehended the shame, which I wonder you do not: Well I have been hired by young Gallants to bely'em t'other way; but you are the first wou'd be thought a Man unfit for Women. Horner Dear Mr. Doctor, let vain Rogues be contented only to be thought abler Men than they are, generally 'tis all the pleasure they have, but mine lyes another way. Quack You take, methinks, a very preposterous way to it, and as a ridiculous as if we Operators in Physick"Physick" corresponds roughly to the modern idea of internal medicine; it is where we get the term "physician." In this period, the medical profession was divided by between practitioners of physick, who treated illness with medicine, and surgeons, who operated on the body with tools and sharp instruments. Surgeons also cut hair and pulled teeth. At this time, practioniors of physick would have far outranked surgeons, who were associated with more working-class or artisinal professions since they worked with their hands., shou'd put forth Bills to disparage our Medicaments, with hopes to gain Customers. Horner Doctor, there are Quacks in love, as well as Physick, who get but the fewer and worse Patients, for their boastings a good name is seldom got by giving it ones self, and Women no more than honour are compass'd by bragging : Come, come Doctor, the wisest Lawyer never discovers the merits of his cause till the tryal; the wealthiest Man conceals his riches, and the cunning Gamster his play; Shy Husbands and Keepers like old Rooks are not to be cheated, but by a new unpractis'd trick; false friendship will pass now no more than false dice upon'em, no, not in the City. Enter Boy. Boy. There are two Ladies and a Gentleman coming up. 3 Horner A Pox, some unbelieving Sisters of my former acquaintance, who I am afraid, expect their sense shou'd be satisfy'd of the falsity of the report. Enter Sir Jaspar Fidget, Lady Fidget, and Mrs. Dainty Fidget. No—this formal Fool and Women! Quack His Wife and Sister. Sir Jaspar My Coach breaking just now before your door Sir, I look upon as an occasional repremand to me Sir, for not kissing your hands Sir, since your coming out of France Sir; and so my disaster Sir, has been my good fortune Sir; and this is my Wife, and Sister Sir. Horner What then, Sir? Sir Jaspar My Lady, and Sister, Sir.— Wife, this is Master Horner. Lady Fidget Master Horner, Husband ! Sir Jaspar My Lady, my Lady Fidget, Sir. Horner So, Sir. Sir Jaspar Won't you be acquainted with her Sir? [So the report is true, I find by his coldness or aversion to the Sex; but I'll play the wag with him.] Aside. Pray salute my Wife, my Lady, Sir. Horner I will kiss no Mans Wife, Sir, for him, Sir; I have taken my eternal leave, Sir, of the Sex already, Sir. Sir Jaspar Hah, hah, hah; I'll plague him yet. aside. Not know my Wife, Sir? Horner I do know your Wife, Sir, she's a Woman, Sir, and consequently a Monster, Sir, a greater Monster than a Husband, Sir. Sir Jaspar A Husband; how, Sir? Horner So, Sir; but I make no more Cuckholds, Sir. makes horns. Sir Jaspar Hah, hah, hah, Mercury, Mercury.Mercury was one of the most common treatments for syphilis and other venereal diseases in this period; it could be ingested like a medicine, or rubbed over the body. The so-called cure was sometimes as bad as the disease. Sir Jaspar is joking to himself that Horner has probably taken mercury to cure his rumored bout with syphilis, and is therefore impotent. Lady Fidget Pray, Sir Jaspar, let us be gone from this rude fellow. Mrs. Dainty Who, by his breeding, wou'd think, he had ever been in France? Lady Fidget Foh, he's but too much a French fellow, such as hate Women of quality and virtue, for their love to their 4 Husbands, Sr. Jaspar; a Woman is hated by'em as much for loving her Husband, as for loving their Money: But pray, let's be gone. Horner You do well, Madam, for I have nothing that you came for: I have brought over not so much as a Bawdy Picture, new Postures, nor the second Part of the Escole des FillesThat is, Horner is saying that he is so disinterested in sex now that he has not bothered to bring back any pornography from France, such as erotic pictures, "postures" in the form of books outlining sexual positions, or copies of the "Escole des Filles", or "The Girl's School," a French erotic work first published in 1655 that was translated into English as "The School of Venus." ; Nor— Quack Hold for shame, Sir; what d'y mean? you'l ruine your self for ever with the Sex— apart to Horner. Sir Jaspar Hah, hah, hah, he hates Women perfectly I find. Dainty What pitty 'tis he shou'd. Lady Fidget Ay, he's a base rude Fellow for't; but affectation makes not a Woman more odious to them, than Virtue. Horner Because your Virtue is your greatest affectation, Madam. Lady Fidget How, you sawcy Fellow, wou'd you wrong my honour? Horner If I cou'd. Lady Fidget How d'y mean, Sir? Sir Jaspar Hah, hah, hah, no he can't wrong your Ladyships honour, upon my honour; he poor Man—hark you in your ear—a meer Eunuch. Lady Fidget O filthy French Beast, soh, soh; why do we stay? let's be gone; I can't endure the sight of him. Sir Jaspar Stay, but till the Chairs come, they'l be here presently. Lady Fidget No, no. Sir Jaspar Nor can I stay longer; 'tis—let me see, a quarter and a half quarter of a minute past elevenPocket watches with minute hands were a very new (and expensive) piece of high tech in 1675. Up until that point, watches would only have had an hour hand. Jaspar is showing off his fancy new gadget.; the Council will be sate, I must away: business must be preferr'd always before Love and Ceremony with the wise Mr. Horner. Horner And the Impotent Sir Jaspar Sir Jaspar Ay, ay, the impotent Master Horner, hah, ha, ha. Lady Fidget What leave us with a filthy Man alone in his lodgings? Sir Jaspar He's an innocent Man now, you know; pray stay, I'll hasten the Chaires That is, a sedan chair, an enclosed chair for hire that would be carried on the shoulders of two men. In this era, traveling by chair was an expensive way to get around London, but in a period when the streets would have been pretty muddy and filthy, it was the best way to travel in style and also keep your clothes from getting dirty.to you. —Mr. Horner your Servant, 5 shou'd be glad to see you at my house; pray, come and dine with me, and play at Cards with my Wife after dinner, you are fit for Women at that game; yet hah, ha—['Tis as much a Husbands prudence to provide innocent diversion for a Wife, as to hinder her unlawful pleasures; and he had better employ her, than let her employ her self. Aside. Farewel. Exit Sir Jaspar Horner Your Servant Sr. Jaspar Lady Fidget I will not stay with him, foh— Horner Nay, Madam, I beseech you stay, if it be but to see, I can be as civil to Ladies yet, as they wou'd desire. Lady Fidget No, no, foh, you cannot be civil to Ladies. Dainty You as civil as Ladies wou'd desire. Lady Fidget No, no, no, foh, foh, foh. Exeunt Lady Fidget and Dainty. Quack Now I think, I, or you your self rather, have done your business with the Women. Horner Thou art an Ass, don't you see already upon the report and my carriage, this grave Man of business leaves his Wife in my lodgings, invites me to his house and wife, who before wou'd not be acquainted with me out of jealousy. Quack Nay, by this means you may be the more acquainted with the Husbands, but the less with the Wives. Horner Let me alone, if I can but abuse the Husbands, I'll soon disabuse the Wives: Stay—I'll reckon you up the advantages, I am like to have by my Stratagem: First, I shall be rid of all my old Acquaintances, the most insatiable sorts of DunsCreditors showing up with unpaid bills. , that invade our Lodgings in a morning: And next, to the pleasure of making a New Mistriss is that of being rid of an old One, and of all old Debts; Love when it comes to be so, is paid the most unwillingly. Quack Well, you may be so rid of your old Acquaintances; but how will you get any new Ones? Horner Doctor, thou wilt never make a good Chymist, thou art so incredulous and impatient; ask but all the young Fellows of the Town, if they do not loose more time like Huntsmen, in starting the game, than in running it down; one 6 knows not where to find'em, who will, or will not; Women of Quality are so civil, you can hardly distinguish love from good breeding, and a Man is often mistaken; but now I can be sure, she that shews an aversion to me loves the sport, as those Women that are gone, whom I warrant to be right: And then the next thing, is your Women of Honour, as you call'em, are only chary of their reputations, not their Persons, and 'tis scandal they wou'd avoid, not Men: Now may I have, by the reputation of an Eunuch, the Priviledges of One; and be seen in a Ladies Chamber, in a morning as early as her Husband; kiss Virgins before their Parents, or Lovers; and may be in short the Pas par toutFrench for "pass through everything" or "pass everywhere": a pass key or master-key that opens every lock. Horner is saying that he will now be able to go into every house he wants. of the Town. Now Doctor. Quack Nay, now you shall be the Doctor; and your Process is so new, that we do not know but it may succeed. Horner Not so new neither, Probatum estLatin for "it is proven." Doctor. Quack Well, I wish you luck and many Patients whil'st I go to mine. Exit Quack. Enter Harcourt, and Dorilant to Horner. Harcourt Come, your appearance at the Play yesterday, has I hope hardned you for the future against the Womens contempt, and the Mens raillery; and now you'l abroad as you were wont. Horner Did I not bear it bravely? Dorilant With a most Theatrical impudence; nay more than the Orange-wenches shew there, or a drunken vizard In this period, it had become fashionable for women to black "vizard masks" in public, disguising their identity and creating an aura of mystery. They were worn by respectable women, but a women known *as* a "Vizard Mask" was likely to be a sex worker. Mask, or a great belly'd Actress; nay, or the most impudent of Creatures, and ill Poet; or what is yet more impudent, a secondhand Critick. Horner But what say the Ladies, have they no pitty? Harcourt What Ladies? the vizard Masques you know never pitty a Man when all's gone, though in their Service. Dorilant And for the Women in the boxes, you'd never pitty them, when 'twas in your power. Harcourt They say 'tis pitty, but all that deal with common Women shou'd be serv'd so. Dorilant Nay, I dare swear, they won't admit you to play at 7 Cards with them, go to Plays with'em, or do the little duties which other Shadows of men, are wont to do for'em. Horner Who do you call Shadows of Men? Dorilant Half Men. Horner What Boyes? Dorilant Ay your old Boyes, old beaux Garcons, who like superannuated Stallions are suffer'd to run, feed, and whinney with the Mares as long as they live, though they can do nothing else. Horner Well a Pox on love and wenching, Women serve but to keep a Man from better Company; though I can't enjoy them, I shall you the more: good fellowship and friendship, are lasting, rational and manly pleasures. Harcourt For all that give me some of those pleasures, you call effeminate too, they help to relish one another. Horner They disturb one another. Harcourt No, Mistresses are like Books; if you pore upon them too much, they doze you, and make you unfit for Company; but if us'd discreetly, you are the fitter for conversation by'em. Dorilant A Mistress shou'd be like a little Country retreat near the Town, not to dwell in constantly, but only for a night and away; to tast the Town the better when a Man returns. Horner I tell you, 'tis as hard to be a good Fellow, a good Friend, and a Lover of Women, as 'tis to be a good Fellow, a good Friend, and a Lover of Money : You cannot follow both, then choose your side; Wine gives you liberty, Love takes it away. Dorilant Gad, he's in the right on't. Horner Wine gives you joy, Love grief and tortures; besides the Chirurgeon's Wine makes us witty, Love only Sots: Wine makes us sleep, Love breaks it. Dorilant By the World he has reason, Harcourt. Horner Wine makes— Dorilant Ay, Wine makes us—makes us Princes, Love makes us Beggars, poor Rogues, y gad—and Wine— Horner So, there's one converted.—No, no, Love and Wine, Oil and Vinegar. 8 Harcourt I grant it; Love will still be uppermost. Horner Come, for my part I will have only those glorious, manly pleasures of being very drunk, and very slovenly. Enter Boy. Boy. Mr. Sparkish is below, Sir. Harcourt What, my dear Friend! a Rogue that is fond of me, only I think for abusing him. Dorilant No, he can no more think the Men laugh at him, than that Women jilt him, his opinion of himself is so good. Horner Well, there's another pleasure by drinking, I thought not of; I shall loose his acquaintance, because he cannot drink; and you know 'tis a very hard thing to be rid of him, for he's one of those nauseous offerers at wit, who like the worst Fidlers run themselves into all Companies. Harcourt One, that by being in the Company of Men of sense wou'd pass for one. Horner And may so to the short-sighted World, as a false Jewel amongst true ones, is not discern'd at a distance; his Company is as troublesome to us, as a Cuckholds, when you have a mind to his Wife's. Harcourt No, the Rogue will not let us enjoy one another, but ravishes our conversation, though he signifies no more to't, than Sir Martin Mar-all's"Martin Mar-all" is the lead character in a popular contemporary comedy of the same name, adapted by John Dryden from a French play by Moliere. As his name suggests, Martin Mar-all is a bit of a fool. In the scene referred to here, he mimes singing while playing a lute to seduce a woman, but the voice is actually coming from his servant offstage; the servant stops, but Mar-all continues miming, thereby messing up the entire plan. gaping, and auker'dawkwardthrumming upon the Lute, does to his Man's Voice, and Musick. Dorilant And to pass for a wit in Town, shewes himself a fool every night to us, that are guilty of the plot. Horner Such wits as he are, to a Company of reasonable Men, like Rooks to the GamestersA rook is someone who cheats at cards, so a "rook" to a group of ordinary "gamesters" would be who is ruining the game for everyone else involved, who only fill a room at the Table, but are so far from contributing to the play, that they only serve to spoil the fancy of those that do. Dorilant Nay, they are us'd like Rooks too, snub'd, check'd, and abus'd; yet the Rogues will hang on. Horner A Pox on'em, and all that force Nature, and wou'd be still what she forbids'em; Affectation is her greatest Monster. Harcourt Most Men are the contraries to that they wou'd seem; your bully you see, is a Coward with a long Sword; the little humbly fawning Physician with his Ebony cane, is he that destroys Men. 9 Dorilant The Usurer, a poor Rogue, possess'd of moldy Bonds, and Mortgages; and we they call Spend-thrifts, are only wealthy, who lay out his money upon daily new purchases of pleasure. Horner Ay, your errantest cheat, is your Trustee, or Executor; your jealous Man, the greatest Cuckhold; your Church-man, the greatest Atheist; and your noisy pert Rogue of a wit, the greatest Fop A man who was overly concerned with his appearance to the point of being ridiculous. The figure of the "fop" was a frequent butt of jokes in this period., dullest Ass, and worst Company as you shall see: For here he comes. Enter Sparkish to them. Sparkish How is't, Sparks, how is't? Well Faith, Harry, I must railly to banter with in a teasing or mocking sensethee a little, ha, ha, ha, upon the report in Town of thee, ha, ha, ha, I can't hold y Faith; shall I speak? Horner Yes, but you'l be so bitter then. Sparkish Honest Dick and Franck here shall answer for me, I will not be extream bitter by the Universe. Harcourt We will be bound in ten thousand pound Bond, he shall not be bitter at all. Dorilant Nor sharp, nor sweet. Horner What, not down right insipid? Sparkish Nay then, since you are so brisk, and provoke me, take what follows; you must know, I was discoursing and raillying with some Ladies yesterday, and they hapned to talk of the fine new signes in Town. Horner Very fine Ladies I believe. Sparkish Said I, I know where the best new sign is. Where, says one of the Ladies? In Covent-Garden, I reply'd. Said another, In what street? In Russel-street Russell Street, where Horner lives, is right in the middle of the Covent Garden neighborhood, close to the playhouses, and a very short walk from theater where this play was first staged., answered I. Lord says another, I'm sure there was, said I again, and it came out of France, and has been there a fortnight. Dorilant A Pox I can hear no more, prethee. Horner No hear him out; let him tune his crowd a while. Harcourt The worst Musick the greatest preparation. Sparkish Nay faith, I'll make you laugh. It cannot be, says a third Lady. Yes, yes, quoth I again. Says a fourth Lady, Horner Look to't, we'l have no more Ladies. 10 Sparkish No.—then mark, mark, now, said I to the fourth, did you never see Mr. Horner; he lodges in Russel-street, and he's a sign of a Man, you know, since he came out of France, heh, hah, he. Horner But the Divel take me, if thine be the sign of a jest. Sparkish With that they all fell a laughing, till they bepiss'd themselves; what, but it do's not move you, methinks? well see one had as good go to Law without a witness, as break a jest without a laugher on ones side.—Come, come Sparks, but where do we dine, I have left at Whitehal an Earl to dine with you. Dorilant Why, I thought thou hadst lov'd a Man with a title better, than a Suit with a French trimming to't. Harcourt Go, to him again. Sparkish No, Sir, a wit to me is the greatest title in the World. Horner But go dine with your Earl, Sir, he may be exceptious; aggrieved, in the sense of "taking exception to"we are your Friends, and will not take it ill to be left, I do assure you. Harcourt Nay, faith he shall go to him. Sparkish Nay, pray Gentlemen. Dorilant We'l thrust you out, if you wo'not, what disappoint any Body for us. Sparkish Nay, dear Gentlemen hear me. Horner No, no, Sir, by no means; pray go Sir. Sparkish Why, dear Rogues. They all thrust him out of the room. Sparkish returns. Sparkish But, Sparks, pray hear me; what d'ye think I'll eat then with gay shallow Fops, and silent Coxcombs? I think wit as necessary at dinner as a glass of good wine, and that's the reason I never have any stomach when I eat alone.—Come, but where do we dine? Horner Ev'n where you will. Sparkish At Chateline's. Chateline's, or, in some accounts, Chatelaine's was a popular French restaurant in the Covent Garden neighborhood. The "Cock" and the "Dog and Partidge" are also local eating places. Dorilant Yes, if you will. Sparkish Or at the Cock. Dorilant Yes, if you please. Sparkish Or at the Dog and Partridge. 11 Horner Ay, if you have mind to't, for we shall dine at neither. Sparkish Pshaw, with your fooling we shall loose the new Play; and I wou'd no more miss seing a new Play the first day, than I wou'd miss setting in the wits Row; therefore I'll go fetch my Mistriss and away. Exit Sparkish. Manent Horner, Harcourt, Dorilant; Enter to them Mr. Pinchwife. Horner Who have we here, Pinchwife? Mr. Pinchwife. Gentlemen, your humble Servant. Horner Well, Jack, by thy long absence from the Town, the grumness of thy countenance, and the slovenlyness of thy habit; I shou'd give thee joy, shou'd I not, of Marriage? Mr. Pinchwife [Death does he know I'm married too? I thought to have conceal'd it from him at least.] Aside. My long stay in the Country will excuse my dress, and I have a suit of Law, that brings me up to Town, that puts me out of humour; besides I must give Sparkish tomorrow five thousand pound to lye with my Sister. Horner Nay, you Country Gentlemen rather than not purchase, will buy any thing, and he is a crackt title, if we may quibble: Well, but am I to give thee joy, I heard thou wert marry'd. Mr. Pinchwife What then? Horner Why, the next thing that is to be heard, is thou'rt a Cuckold. Mr. Pinchwife Insupportable name. Aside. Horner But I did not expect Marriage from such a Whoremaster as you, one that knew the Town so much, and Women so well. Mr. Pinchwife Why, I have marry'd no London Wife. Horner Pshaw, that's all one, that grave circumspection in marrying a Country Wife, is like refusing a deceitful pamper'd Smithfield Jade, to go and be cheated by a Friend in the Country. Mr. Pinchwife A Pox on him and his Simile. Aside. At least we are a little surer of the breed there, know what her keeping has been, whether foyl'd or unsound. Horner Come, come, I have known a clapcase of venereal disease, most typically gonorrhea gotten in Wales and 12 there are Cozens, Justices, Clarks, and Chaplains in the Country, I won't say Coach-men, but she's handsome and young. Pinchwife. I'll answer as I shou'd do. Aside. No, no, she has no beauty, but her youth; no attraction, but her modesty, wholesome, homely, and huswifely, that's all. Dorilant He talks as like a Grasier as he looks. Pinchwife She's too auker'd, ill favour'd, and silly to bring to Town. Harcourt Then methinks you shou'd bring her, to be taught breeding. Pinchwife To be taught; no, Sir, I thank you, good Wives, and private Souldiers shou'd be ignorant.—[I'll keep her from your instructions, I warrant you. Harcourt The Rogue is as jealous, as if his wife were not ignorant. Aside. Horner Why, if she be ill favour'd, there will be less danger here for you, than by leaving her in the Country; we have such variety of dainties, that we are seldom hungry. Dorilant But they have alwayes coarse, constant, swinging stomachs in the Country. Harcourt Foul Feeders indeed. Dorilant And your Hospitality is great there. Harcourt Open house, every Man's welcome. Pinchwife So, so, Gentlemen. Horner But prethee, why woud'st thou marry her? if she be ugly, ill bred, and silly, she must be rich then. Pinchwife As rich as if she brought me twenty thousand pound out of this Town; for she'l be as sure not to spend her moderate portion, as a London Baggage wou'd be to spend hers, let it be what it wou'd; so 'tis all one: then because shes ugly, she's the likelyer to be my own; and being ill bred, she'l hate conversation; and since silly and innocent, will not know the difference betwixt a Man of one and twenty, and one of forty Horner Nine—to my knowledge; but if she be silly, she'l expect as much from a Man of forty nine, as from him of one and twenty: But methinks wit is more necessary than beauty, 13 and I think no young Woman ugly that has it, and no handsome Woman agreable without it. Pinchwife 'Tis my maxime, he's a Fool that marrys, but he's a greater that does not marry a Fool; what is wit in a Wife good for, but to make a Man a Cuckold? Horner Yes, to keep it from his knowledge. Pinchwife A Fool cannot contrive to make her husband a Cuckold. Horner No, but she'l club with a Man that can; and what is worse, if she cannot make her Husband a Cuckold, she'l make him jealous, and pass for one, and then 'tis all one. Pinchwife Well, well, I'll take care for one, my Wife shall make me no Cuckold, though she had your help Mr. Horner; I understand the Town, Sir. Dorilant His help! Aside. Harcourt He's come newly to Town it seems, and has not heard how things are with him. Aside Horner But tell me, has Marriage cured thee of whoring, which it seldom does. Harcourt 'Tis more than age can do. Horner No, the word is, I'll marry and live honest; but a Marriage vow is like a penitent Gamesters Oath, and entring into Bonds, and penalties to stint himself to such a particular small sum at play for the future, which makes him but the more eager, and not being able to hold out, looses his Money again, and his forfeit to boot. Dorilant Ay, ay, a Gamester will be a Gamester, whilst his Money lasts; and a Whoremaster, whilst his vigour. Harcourt Nay, I have known'em, when they are broke and can loose no more, keep a fumbling with the Box in their hands to fool with only, and hinder other Gamesters. Dorilant That had wherewithal to make lusty stakes. Pinchwife Well, Gentlemen, you may laugh at me, but you shall never lye with my Wife, I know the Town. Horner But prethee, was not the way you were in better, is not keeping better than Marriage? Pinchwife A Pox on't, the Jades wou'd jilt me, I cou'd never keep a Whore to my self. 14 Horner So then you only marry'd to keep a Whore to your self; well, but let me tell you, Women, as you say, are like Souldiers made constant and loyal by good pay, rather than by Oaths and Covenants, therefore I'd advise my Friends to keep rather than marry; since too I find by your example, it does not serve ones turn, for I saw you yesterday in the eighteen penny place with a pretty Country-wench. Pinchwife How the Divel, did he see my Wife then? I sate there that she might not be seen; but she shall never go to a play again. Aside. Horner What dost thou blush at nine and forty, for having been seen with a Wench? Dorilant No Faith, I warrant 'twas his Wife; for Men are now there out of sight, for he's a cunning Rogue, and understands the Town. Harcourt He blushes, then 'twas his Wife; for Men are now more ashamed to be seen with them in publick, than with a Wench. Pinchwife Hell and damnation, I'm undone, since Horner has seen her, and they know 'twas she. Aside. Horner But prethee, was it thy Wife? She was exceedingly pretty; I was in love with her at that distance. Pinchwife You are like never to be nearer to her. Your Servant Gentleman. Offers to go. Horner Nay, prethee stay. Pinchwife I cannot, I will not. Horner Come you shall dine with us. Pinchwife I have din'd already. Horner Come, I know thou hast not; I'll treat thee dear Rogue, sha't spend none of thy Hampshire Money to day. Pinchwife Treat me; so he uses me already like his Cuckold. Aside. Horner Nay, you shall not go. Pinchwife I must, I have business at home. Exit Pinchwife. Harcourt To beat his Wife, he's as jealous of her, as a Cheapside Husband of a Covent-garden Wife. 15 Horner Why, tis as hard to find an old Whoremaster without jealousy and the gout, as a young one without fear or the Pox. As Gout in Age, from Pox in Youth proceeds; So Wenching past, then jealousy succeeds: The worst disease that Love and Wenching breeds. Mrs. Margery Pinchwife, and Alithea: Mr. Pinchwife peeping behind at the door. Mrs. Pinchwife Pray, Sister, where are the best Fields and Woods, to walk in in London? Alithea A pretty Question; why, Sister! Mulberry Garden and St. James's Park; and for close walks the New Exchange.,Mulberry Gardens, so called because of mulberry trees that had been planted there decades earlier, were located about where Buckingham Palace is now. St. James's Park is a nearby royal park. The New Exchange was an enclosed shopping arcade on the Strand. Mrs. Pinchwife Pray, Sister, tell me why my Husband looks so grum here in Town? and keeps me up so close, and will not let me go a walking, nor let me wear my best Gown yesterday? Alithea O he's jealous, Sister. Mrs. Pinchwife Jealous, what's that? Alithea He's afraid you shou'd love another Man. Mrs. Pinchwife How shou'd he be afraid of my loving another man, when he will not let me see any but himself. Alithea Did he not carry you yesterday to a Play? Mrs. Pinchwife Ay, but we sate amongst ugly People, he wou'd not let me come near the Gentry, who sate under us, so that I cou'd not see'em : He told me, none but naughty Women sate there, whom they tous'd and mous'd; but I wou'd have ventur'd for all that. Alithea But how did you like the Play? Mrs. Pinchwife Indeed I was aweary of the Play, but I lik'd hugeously the Actors; they are the goodlyest proper'st Men, Sister. 16 Alithea O but you must not like the Actors, Sister. Mrs. Pinchwife Ay, how shou'd I help it, Sister? Pray, Sister, when my Husband comes in, will you ask leave for me to go a walking? Alithea A walking, hah, ha; Lord, a Country Gentlewomans leasure is the drudgery of a foot-post; and she requires as much airing as her Husbands Horses. Aside. Enter Mr. Pinchwife to them. But here comes your Husband; I'll ask, though I'm sure he'l not grant it. Mrs. Pinchwife He says he won't let me go abroad, for fear of catching the Pox. Alithea Fye, the small Pox you shou'd say. Mrs. Pinchwife Oh my dear, dear Bud, welcome home; why dost thou look so fropish, who has nanger'd thee? Mr. Pinchwife Your a Fool. Mrs. Pinchwife goes aside, & cryes. Alithea Faith so she is, for crying for no fault, poor tender Creature! Mr. Pinchwife What you wou'd have her as impudent as your self, as errant a Jilflirt, a gadder, a Magpy, and to say all a meer notorious Town-Woman? Alit. Brother, you are my only Censurer; and the honour of your Family shall sooner suffer in your Wife there, than in me, though I take the innocent liberty of the Town. Mr. Pinchwife Hark you Mistriss, do not talk so before my Wife, the innocent liberty of the Town! Alithea Why, pray, who boasts of any intrigue with me? what Lampoon has made my name notorious? what ill Women frequent my Lodgings? I keep no Company with any Women of scandalous reputations. Mr. Pinchwife No, you keep the Men of scandalous reputations Company. Alithea Where? wou'd you not have me civil? answer'em in a Box at the Plays? in the drawing room at Whitehal? in St. James's Park? Mulberry-garden? or— Mr. Pinchwife Hold, hold, do not teach my Wife, where the Men are to be found; I believe she's the worse for your Town 17 documents already; I bid you keep her in ignorance as I do. Mrs. Pinchwife Indeed be not angry with her Bud, she will tell me nothing of the Town, though I ask her a thousand times a day. Mr. Pinchwife Then you are very inquisitive to know, I find? Mrs. Pinchwife Not I indeed, Dear, I hate London; our Placehouse in the Country is worth a thousand of't, wou'd I were there again. Mr. Pinchwife So you shall I warrant; but were you not talking of Plays, and Players, when I came in? you are her encourager in such discourses. Mrs. Pinchwife No indeed, Dear, she chid me just now for liking the Player Men. Mr. Pinchwife Nay, if she be so innocent as to own to me her likeing them, there is no hurt in't— Aside. Come my poor Rogue, but thou lik'st none better then me? Mrs. Pinchwife Yes indeed, but I do, the Player Men are finer Folks. Mr. Pinchwife But you love none better then me? Mrs. Pinchwife You are mine own Dear Bud, and I know you, I hate a Stranger. Mr. Pinchwife Ay, my Dear, you must love me only, and not be like the naughty Town Women, who only hate their Husbands, and love every Man else, love Plays, Visits, fine Coaches, fine Cloaths, Fidles, Balls, Treates, and so lead a wicked Town-life. Mrs. Pinchwife Nay, if to enjoy all these things be a Town-life, London is not so bad a place, Dear. Mr. Pinchwife How! if you love me, you must hate London. Alithea The Fool has forbid me discovering to her the pleasures of the Town, and he is now setting her a gog upon them himself. Mrs. Pinchwife But, Husband, do the Town-women love the Player Men too? Mr. Pinchwife Yes, I warrant you. Mrs. Pinchwife Ay, I warrant you. Mr. Pinchwife Why, you do not, I hope? 18 Mrs. Pinchwife No, no, Bud; but why have we no Player-men in the Country? Mr. Pinchwife Ha—Mrs. Minx, ask me no more to go to a Play. Mrs. Pinchwife Nay, why, Love? I did not care for going; but when you forbid me, you make me as't were desire it. Alithea So 'twill be in other things, I warrant. Aside. Mrs. Pinchwife Pray, let me go to a Play, Dear. Mr. Pinchwife Hold your Peace, I wo'not. Mrs. Pinchwife Why, Love? Mr. Pinchwife Why, I'll tell you. Alithea Nay, if he tell her, she'l give him more cause to forbid her that place. Aside. Mrs. Pinchwife Pray, why, Dear? Mrs. Pinchwife First, you like the Actors, and the Gallants may like you. Mrs. Pinchwife What, a homely Country Girl? no Bud, no body will like me. Mr. Pinchwife I tell you, yes, they may. Mrs. Pinchwife No, no, you jest—I won't believe you, I will go. Mr. Pinchwife I tell you then, that one of the lewdest Fellows in Town, who saw you there, told me he was in love with you. Mrs. Pinchwife Indeed! who, who, pray, who wast? Mrs. Pinchwife I've gone too far, and slipt before I was aware; how overjoy'd she is! Aside. Mrs. Pinchwife Was it any Hampshire Gallant, any of our Neighbours? I promise you, I am beholding to him. Mr. Pinchwife I promise you, you lye; for he wou'd but ruin you, as he has done hundreds: he has no other love for Women, but that, such as he, look upon Women like BasilicksA mythical serpent-creature that kills by looking at you., but to destroy'em. Mrs. Pinchwife Ay, but if he loves me, why shou'd he ruin me? answer me to that: methinks he shou'd not, I wou'd do him no harm. Alithea Hah, ha, ha. Mr. Pinchwife 'Tis very well; but I'll keep him from doing you any harm, or me either. 19 Enter Sparkish and Harcourt. But here comes Company, get you in, get you in. Mrs. Pinchwife But pray, Husband, is he a pretty Gentleman, that loves me? Mr. Pinchwife In baggage, in. Thrusts her in: shuts the door. What all the lewd Libertines of the Town brought to my Lodging, by this easie Coxcomb! S'death I'll not suffer it. Sparkish Here Harcourt, do you approve my choice? Dear, little Rogue, I told you, I'd bring you acquainted with all my Friends, the wits, and— Harcourt salutes her. Mr. Pinchwife Ay, they shall know her, as well as you your self will, I warrant you. Sparkish This is one of those, my pretty Rogue, that are to dance at your wedding to morrow; and him you must bid welcome ever, to what you and I have. Mr. Pinchwife Monstrous!— Aside. Sparkish Harcourt how dost thou like her, Faith? Nay, Dear, do not look down; I should hate to have a wife of mine out of countenance at any thing. Mr. Pinchwife Wonderful! Sparkish Tell me, I say, Harcourt, how dost thou like her? thou hast star'd upon her enough, to resolve me. Harcourt So infinitely well, that I cou'd wish I had a Mistriss too, that might differ from her in nothing, but her love and engagement to you. Alithea Sir, Master Sparkish has often told me, that his Acquaintance were all Wits and Raillieurs, and now I find it. Sparkish No, by the Universe, Madam, he does not railly now; you may believe him: I do assure you, he is the honestest, worthyest, true hearted Gentleman— A man of such perfect honour, he wou'd say nothing to a Lady, he does not mean. Mr. Pinchwife Praising another Man to Mistriss! Harcourt Sir, you are so beyond expectation obliging, that— Sparkish Nay, I gad, I am sure you do admire her extreamly, I see't in your eyes.— He does admire you Madam.— By the World, don't you? 20 Harcourt Yes, above the World, or, the most glorious part of it, her whole Sex; and till now I never thought I shou'd have envy'd you, or any Man about to marry, but you have the best excuse for Marriage I ever knew. Alithea Nay, now, Sir, I'm satisfied you are of the Society of the Wits, and Raillieurs, since you cannot spare your Friend, even when he is but too civil to you; but the surest sign is, since you are an Enemy to Marriage, for that I hear you hate as much as business or bad Wine. Harcourt Truly, Madam, I never was an Enemy to Marriage, till now, because Marriage was never an Enemy to me before. Alithea But why, Sir, is Marriage an Enemy to you now? Because it robs you of your Friend here; for you look upon a Friend married as one gone into a Monastery, that is dead to the World. Harcourt 'Tis indeed, because you marry him; I see Madam, you can guess my meaning: I do confess heartily and openly, I wish it were in my power to break the Match, by Heavens I wou'd. Sparkish Poor Franck! Alithea Wou'd you be so unkind to me? Harcourt No, no, 'tis not because I wou'd be unkind to you. Sparkish Poor Franck, no gad, 'tis only his kindness to me. Pinchwife Great kindness to you indeed; insensible Fop, let a Man make love to his Wife to his face. Aside. Sparkish Come dear Franck, for all my Wife there that shall be, thou shalt enjoy me sometimes dear Rogue; by my honour, we Men of wit condole for our deceased Brother in Marriage, as much as for one dead in earnest: I think that was prettily said of me, ha Harcourt? —But come Franck, be not not melancholy for me. Harcourt No, I assure you I am not melancholy for you. Sparkish Prethee, Frank, dost think my Wife that shall be there a fine Person. Harcourt I cou'd gaze upon her, till I became as blind as you are. Sparkish How, as I am! how! 21 Harcourt Because you are a Lover, and true Lovers are blind, stockblind. Sparkish True, true; but by the World, she has wit too, as well as beauty: go, go with her into a corner, and trye if she has wit, talk to her any thing, she's bashful before me. Harcourt Indeed if a Woman wants wit in a corner, she has it no where. Alithea Sir, you dispose of me a little before your time.— Aside to Sparkish. Sparkish Nay nay, Madam let me have an earnest of your obedience, or—go, go, Madam— Harcourt courts Alithea aside. Pinchwife How, Sir, if you are not concern'd for the honour of a Wife, I am for that of a Sister; he shall not debauch her: be a Pander to your own Wife, bring Men to her, let'em make love before your face, thrust'em into a corner together, then leav'em in private! is this your Town wit and conduct? Sparkish Hah, ha, ha, a silly wise Rogue, wou'd make one laugh more then a stark Fool, hah, ha: I shall burst. Nay, you shall not disturb'em; I'll vex thee, by the World. Struggles with Pinch. to keep him from Harc. and Alithea Alithea The writings are drawn, Sir, settlements made; 'tis too late, Sir, and past all revocation. Harcourt Then so is my death. Alithea I wou'd not be unjust to him. Harcourt Then why to me so? Alithea I have no obligation to you. Harcourt My love. Alithea I had this before. Harcourt You never had it; he wants you see jealousie, the only infallible sign of it. Alithea Love proceeds from esteem; he cannot distrust my virtue, besides he loves me, or he wou'd not marry me. Harcourt Marrying you, is no more sign of his love, then bribing your Woman, that he may marry you, is a sign of his generosity: Marriage is rather a sign of interest, then love; and he that marries a fortune, covets a Mistress, not loves 22 her: But if you take Marriage for sign of love, take it from me immediately. Alithea No, now you have put a scruple in my head; but in short, Sir, to end our dispute, I must marry him, my reputation wou'd suffer in the World else. Harcourt No, if you do marry him, with your pardon, Madam, your reputation suffers in the World, and you wou'd be thought in necessity for a cloak. Alithea Nay, now you are rude, Sir.—Mr. Sparkish, pray come hither, your Friend here is very troublesom, and very loving. Harcourt Hold, hold— Aside to Alithea. Mr. Pinchwife D'ye hear that? Sparkish Why, d'ye think I'll seem to be jealous, like a Country Bumpkin? Mr. Pinchwife No, rather be a Cuckold, like a credulous Cit.A citizen. A "credulous cit" would be a unsuspecting or overly gullible citizen. Harcourt Madam, you wou'd not have been so little generous as to have told him. Alithea Yes, since you cou'd be so little generous, as to wrong him. Harcourt Wrong him, no Man can do't, he's beneath an injury; a Bubble, a Coward, a sensless Idiot, a Wretch so contemptible to all the World but you, that— Alithea Hold, do not rail at him, for since he is like to be my Husband, I am resolved to like him: Nay, I think I am oblig'd to tell him, you are not his Friend.— Master Sparkish, Master Sparkish. Sparkish What, what; now dear Rogue, has not she wit? Harcourt Not so much as I thought, and hoped she had. Speaks surlily. Alithea Mr. Sparkish, do you bring People to rail at you? Harcourt Madam— Spar How! no, but if he does rail at me, 'tis but in jest I warrant; what we wits do for one another, and never take any notice of it. Alithea He spoke so scurrilously of you, I had no patience to hear him; besides he has been making love to me. 23 Harcourt True damn'd tell-tale-Woman. Aside. Sparkish Pshaw, to shew his parts—we wits rail and make love often, but to shew our parts; as we have no affections, so we have no malice, we— Alithea He said, you were a Wretch, below an injury. Sparkish Pshaw. Harcourt Damn'd, sensless, impudent, virtuous Jade; well since she won't let me have her, she'l do as good, she'l make me hate her. Alithea A Common Bubble. Sparkish Pshaw. Alithea A Coward. Sparkish Pshaw, pshaw. Alithea A sensless driveling Idiot. Sparkish How, did he disparage my parts? Nay, then my honour's concern'd, I can't put up that, Sir; by the World, Brother help me to kill him; [I may draw now, since we have the odds of him:—'tis a good occasion too before my Mistriss]— Aside. Offers to draw. Alithea Hold, hold. Sparkish What, what. Alithea I must not let'em kill the Gentleman neither, for his kindness to me; I am so far from hating him, that I wish my Gallant had his person and understanding:— [Nay if my honour— Aside. Sparkish I'll be thy death. Alithea Hold, hold, indeed to tell the truth, the Gentleman said after all, that what he spoke, was but out of friendship to you. Sparkish How! say, I am, I am a Fool, that is no wit, out of friendship to me. Alithea Yes, to try whether I was concern'd enough for you, and made love to me only to be satisfy'd of my virtue, for your sake. Harcourt Kind however— Aside. Sparkish Nay, if it were so, my dear Rogue, I ask thee pardon; but why wou'd not you tell me so, faith. 24 Harcourt Because I did not think on't, faith. Sparkish Come, Horner does not come, Harcourt, let's be gone to the new Play.—Come Madam. Alithea I will not go, if you intend to leave me alone in the Box, and run into the pit, as you use to do. Sparkish Pshaw, I'll leave Harcourt with you in the Box, to entertain you, and that's as good; if I sate in the Box, I shou'd be thought no Judge, but of trimmings.—Come away Harcourt, lead her down. Exeunt Sparkish, Harcourt, and Alithea. Pinchwife Well, go thy wayes, for the flower of the true Town Fops, such as spend their Estates, before they come to'em, and are Cuckolds before they'r married. But let me go look to my own Free-hold—How— Enter my Lady Fidget, Mistriss Dainty Fidget, and Mistriss Squeamish. Lady Fidget Your Servant, Sir, where is your Lady? we are come to wait upon her to the new Play. Pinchwife New Play! Lady Fidget And my Husband will wait upon you presently. Pinchwife Damn your civility— Madam, by no means, I will not see Sir Jaspar here, till I have waited upon him at home; nor shall my Wife see you, till she has waited upon your Ladyship at your lodgings. Lady Fidget Now we are here, Sir— Pinchwife No, Madam. Dainty Pray, let us see her. Speamish We will not stir, till we see her. Pinchwife A Pox on you all— Aside. Goes to the door, and returns. she has lock'd the door, and is gone abroad. Lady Fidget No, you have lock'd the door, and she's within. Dainty They told us below, she was here. Pinchwife [Will nothing do?]—Well it must out then, to tell you the truth, Ladies, which I was afraid to let you know before, least it might endanger your lives, my Wife has just now the Small Pox come out upon her, do not be frighten'd; 25 but pray, be gone Ladies, you shall not stay here in danger of your lives; pray get you gone Ladies. Lady Fidget No, no, we have all had'em. Speamish Alack, alack. Dainty Come, come, we must see how it goes with her, I understand the disease. Lady Fidget Come. Pinchwife Well, there is no being too hard for Women at their own weapon, lying, therefore I'll quit the Field. Aside. Exit Pinchwife. Speamish Here's an example of jealousy. Lady Fidget Indeed as the World goes, I wonder there are no more jealous, since Wives are so neglected. Dainty Pshaw, as the World goes, to what end shou'd they be jealous. Lady Fidget Foh, 'tis a nasty World. Speamish That Men of parts, great acquaintance, and quality shou'd take up with, and spend themselves and fortunes, in keeping little Play-house Creatures, foh. Lady Fidget Nay, that Women of understanding, great acquaintance, and good quality, shou'd fall a keeping too of little Creatures, foh. Speamish Why, 'tis the Men of qualities fault, they never visit Women of honour, and reputation, as they us'd to do; and have not so much as common civility, for Ladies of our rank, but use us with the same indifferency, and ill breeding, as if we were all marry'd to'em. Lady Fidget She says true, 'tis an errant shame Women of quality shou'd be so slighted; methinks, birth, birth, shou'd go for something; I have known Men admired, courted, and followed for their titles only. Speamish Ay, one wou'd think Men of honour shou'd not love no more, than marry out their own rank. Dainty Fye, fye upon'em, they are come to think cross breeding for themselves best, as well as for their Dogs, and Horses. Lady Fidget They are Dogs, and Horses for't. Speamish One wou'd think if not for love, for vanity a little. 26 Dainty Nay, they do satisfy their vanity upon us sometimes; and are kind to us in their report, tell all the World they lye with us. Lady Fidget Damn'd Rascals, that we shou'd be only wrong'd by'em; to a report a Man has had a Person, when he has not had a Person, is the greatest wrong in the whole World, that can be done to a person. Speamish Well, 'tis an errant shame, Noble Persons shou'd be so wrong'd, and neglected. Lady Fidget But still 'tis an erranter shame for a Noble Person, to neglect her own honour, and defame her own Noble Person, with little inconsiderable Fellows, foh!— Dainty I suppose the crime against our honour, is the same with a Man of quality as with another. Lady Fidget How! no sure the Man of quality is likest one's Husband, and therefore the fault shou'd be the less. Dainty But then the pleasure shou'd be the less. Lady Fidget Fye, fye, fye, for shame Sister, whither shall we ramble? be continent in your discourse, or I shall hate you. Dainty Besides an intrigue is so much the more notorious for the man's quality. Speamish 'Tis true, no body takes notice of a private Man, and therefore with him, 'tis more secret, and the crime's the less, when 'tis not known. Lady Fidget You say true; y faith I think you are in the right on't: 'tis not an injury to a Husband, till it be an injury to our honours; so that a Woman of honour looses no honour with a private Person; and to say truth— Dainty So the little Fellow is grown a private Person— with her— Apart to Squeamish. Lady Fidget But still my dear, dear Honour. Enter Sir Jaspar, Horner, Dorilant. Sir Jaspar Ay, my dear, dear of honour, thou hast still so much honour in thy mouth— Horner That she has none elsewhere— Aside. Lady Fidget Oh, what d'ye mean to bring in these upon us? Dainty Foh, these are bad as Wits, 27 Speamish Foh! Lady Fidget Let us leave the Room. Sir Jaspar Stay, stay, faith to tell you the naked truth. Lady Fidget Fye, Sir Jaspar, do not use that word naked. Sir Jaspar Well, well, in short I have business at Whitehal, and cannot go to the play with you, therefore wou'd have you go— Lady Fidget With those two to a Play? Sir Jaspar No, not with t'other, but with Mr. Horner, there can be no more scandal to go with him, than with Mr. Tatle, or Master Limberham.Mr. Tattle and Mr. Limberham were characters in contemporary comedies on the London stage. Lady Fidget With that nasty Fellow! no—no. Sir Jaspar Nay, prethee Dear, hear me. Whispers to Lady Fidget Horner Ladies. Horner, Dorilant drawing near Squeamish, and Daint. Dainty Stand off. Speamish Do not approach us. Dainty You heard with the wits, you are obscenity all over. Speamish And I wou'd as soon look upon a Picture of Adam and Eve, without fig leaves, as any of you, if I cou'd help it, therefore keep off, and do not make us sick. Dorilant What a Divel are these? Horner Why, these are pretenders to honour, as criticks to wit, only by censuring others; and as every raw peevish, out-of-humour'd, affected, dull, Tea-drinking, Arithmetical Fop sets up for a wit, by railing at men of sence, so these for honour, by railing at the Court, and Ladies of as great honour, as quality. Sir Jaspar Come, Mr. Horner, I must desire you to go with these Ladies to the Play, Sir. Horner I! Sir. Sir Jaspar Ay, ay, come, Sir. Horner I must beg your pardon, Sir, and theirs, I will not be seen in Womens Company in publick again for the World. Sir Jaspar Ha, ha, strange Aversion! Speamish No, he's for Womens company in private. Sir Jaspar He—poor Man—he! hah, ha, ha. Dainty 'Tis a greater shame amongst lew'd fellows to be 28 seen in virtuous Womens company, than for the Women to be seen with them. Horner Indeed, Madam, the time was I only hated virtuous Women, but now I hate the other too; I beg your pardon Ladies. Lady Fidget You are very obliging, Sir, because we wou'd not be troubled with you. Sir Jaspar In sober sadness he shall go. Dorilant Nay, if he wo'not, I am ready to wait upon the Ladies; and I think I am the fitter Man. Sir Jaspar You, Sir, no I thank you for that—Master Horner is a privileg'd Man amongst the virtuous Ladies, 'twill be a great while before you are so; heh, he, he, he's my Wive's Gallant, heh, he; no pray withdraw, Sir, for as I take it, the virtuous Ladies have no business with you. Dorilant And I am sure, he can have none with them: 'tis strange a Man can't come amongst virtuous Women now, but upon the same terms, as Men are admitted into the great Turks SeraglioThe harem of women imagined by Western Europeans to be kept by the "great Turk," that is, the leader of the Ottoman Empire based in Istanbul.; but Heavens keep me, from being an hombre PlayerHombre was a popular card game. with'em: but where is Pinchwife — Exit Dorilant. Sir Jaspar Come, come, Man; what avoid the sweet society of Woman-kind? that sweet, soft, gentle, tame, noble Creature Woman, made for Man's Companion— Horner So is that soft, gentle, tame, and more noble creature a Spaniel, and has all their tricks, can fawn, lye down, suffer beating, and fawn the more; barks at your Friends, when they come to see you; makes your bed hard, gives you Fleas, and the mange sometimes: and all the difference is, the Spaniel's the more faithful Animal, and fawns but upon one Master. Sir Jaspar Heh, he, he. Speamish O the rude Beast. Dainty Insolent brute. Lady Fidget Brutel stinking mortify'd rotter French Weather, to date— Sir Jaspar Hold, an't please your Ladyship; for shame Master, 29 Horner your Mother was a Woman— [Now shall I never reconcile'em] Aside. Hark you, Madam, take my advice in your anger; you know you often want one to make up your droling pack of hombre Players; and you may cheat him easily, for he's an ill Gamester, and consequently loves play: Besides you know, you have but two old civil Gentlemen (with stinking breaths too) to wait upon you abroad, take in the third, into your service; the other are but crazy: and a Lady should have a horse, least sometimes you shou'd be forc'd to stay at home. Lady Fidget But are you sure he loves play, and has money? Sir Jaspar He loves play as much as you, and has money as much as I. Lady Fidget Then I am contented to make him pay for his scurrillity; money makes up in a measure all other wants in Men.— Those whom we cannot make hold for Gallants, we make fine. Aside. Sir Jaspar So, so; now to mollify, to wheedle him,— Aside. Master Horner will you never keep civil Company, methinks 'tis time now, since you are only fit for them: Come, come, Man you must e'en fall to visiting our Wives, eating at our Tables, drinking Tea with our virtuous Relations after dinner, dealing Cards to'em, reading. Plays, and Gazets to'em, picking Fleas out of their shocks for'em, collecting Receipts; New Songs, Women, Pages, and Footmen for'em. Horner I hope they'l afford me better employment, Sir. Sir Jaspar Heh, he, he, 'tis fit you know your work before you come into your place; and since you are unprovided of a Lady to flatter, and a good house to eat at, pray frequent mine, and call my Wife Mistriss, and she shall call you Gallant, according to the custom. Horner Who I?— Sir Jaspar Faith, thou sha't for my sake, come for my sake only. Horner For your sake— Sir Jaspar Come, come, here's a Gamester for you, let him 30 be a little familiar sometimes; nay, what if a little rude; Gamesters may be rude with Ladies, you know. Lady Fidget yes, losing Gamesters have a privilege with Women. Horner I alwayes thought the contrary, that the winning Gamester had most privilege with Women, for when you have lost your money to a Man, you'l loose any thing you have, all you have, they say, and he may use you as he pleases. Sir Jaspar Heh, he, well, win or loose you shall have your liberty with her. Lady Fidget As he behaves himself; and for your sake I'll give him admittance and freedom. Horner All sorts of freedom, Madam? Sir Jaspar Ay, ay, ay, all sorts of freedom thou can'st take, and so go to her, begin thy new employment; wheedle her, jest with her, and be better acquainted one with another. Horner I think I know her already, therefore may venture with her, my secret for hers— Aside. Horner, and Lady Fidget whisper. Sir Jaspar Sister Cuz, I have provided an innocent Play-fellow for you there. Dainty Who he! Speamish There's a play-fellow indeed. Sir Jaspar Yes sure, what he is good enough to play at Cards, Blind-mans buff, or the fool with sometimes. Speamish Foh, we'l have no such Play-fellows. Dainty No, Sir, you shan't choose Play-fellows for us, we thank you. Sir Jaspar Nay, pray hear me. Whispering to them. Lady Fidget But, poor Gentleman, cou'd you be so generous? so truly a Man of honour, as for the sakes of us Women of honour, to cause your self to be reported no Man? No Man! and to suffer your self the greatest shame that cou'd fall upon a Man, that none might fall upon us Women by your conversation; but indeed, Sir, as perfectly, the same Man as before your going into France , Sir; as perfectly, perfectly, Sir. 31 Horner As perfectly, perfectly, Madam; nay, I scorn you shou'd take my word; I desire to be try'd only, Madam. Lady Fidget Well, that's spoken again like a Man of honour, all Men of honour desire to come to the test: But indeed, generally you Men report such things of your selves, one does not know how, or whom to believe; and it is come to that pass, we dare not take your words, no more than your Taylors, without some staid Servant of yours be bound with you; but I have so strong a faith in your honour, dear, dear, noble Sir, that I'd forfeit mine for yours at any time, dear Sir. Horner No, Madam, you shou'd not need to forfeit it for me, I have given you security already to save you harmless my late reputation being so well known in the World, Madam. Lady Fidget But if upon any future falling out, or upon a suspicion of my taking the trust out of your hands, to employ some other, you your self shou'd betray your trust, dear Sir; I mean, if you'l give me leave to speak obscenely, you might tell, dear Sir. Horner I I did, no body wou'd believe me; the reputation of impotency is as hardly recover'd again in the World, as that of cowardise, dear Madam. Lady Fidget Nay then, as one may say, you may do your worst, dear, dear, Sir. Sir Jaspar Come, is your Ladyship reconciled to him yet? have you agreed on matters? for I must be gone to White- hal. Lady Fidget Why, indeed, Sir Jaspar, Master Horner is a thousand, thousand times a better Man, than I thought him: Cosen Squeamish, Sister Dainty, I can name him now, truly not long ago you know, I thought his very name obscenity, and I wou'd as soon have lain with him, as have nam'd him. Sir Jaspar Very likely, poor Madam. Dainty I believe it. Squeamish No doubt on't. Sir Jaspar Well, well—that your Ladyship is as virtuous as any she,—I know, and him all the Town knows—heh, he, 32 he; therefore now you like him, get you gone to your business together; go, go, to your business, I say, pleasure, whilst I go to my pleasure, business. Lady Fidget Come than dear Gallant. Horner Come away, my dearest Mistriss. Sir Jaspar So, so, why 'tis as I'd have it. Exit Sr. Jaspar Horner And as I'd have it. Lady Fidget Who for his business, from his Wife will run; Takes the best care, to have her bus'ness done. Exeunt omnes. Alithea, and Mrs. Pinchwife. Alithea Sister, what ailes you, you are grown melancholy? Mrs. Pinchwife Wou'd it not make any one melancholy, to see you go every day fluttering about abroad, whil'st I must stay at home like a poor lonely, sullen Bird in a cage? Alithea Ay, Sister, but you came young; and just from the nest to your cage, so that I thought you lik'd it; and cou'd be as chearful in't, as others that took their flight themselves early and are hopping abroad in the open Air. Mrs. Pinchwife Nay, I confess I was quiet enough, till my Husband told me, what pure lives, the London Ladies live abroad, with their dancing, meetings, and junketings, and drest every day in their best gowns; and I warrant you, play at nine Pins every day of the week, so they do. Enter Mr. Pinchwife. Mr. Pinchwife Come, what's here to do? you are putting the Town pleasures in her head, and setting her a longing. Alithea Yes, after Nine-pins; you suffer none to give her those longings, you mean, but your self. Mr. Pinchwife I tell her of the vanities of the Town like a Confessor. 33 Alithea A Confessor! just such a Confessor, as he that by forbidding a silly Oastler to grease the Horses teeth, taught him to do't. Mr. Pinchwife Come Mistriss Flippant, good Precepts are lost, when bad Examples are still before us; the liberty you take abroad makes her hanker after it; and out of humour at home, poor Wretch! she desired not to come to London, I wou'd bring her. Alithea Very well. Mr. Pinchwife She has been this week in Town, and never desired, till this afternoon, to go abroad. Alithea Was she not at a Play yesterday? Mr. Pinchwife Yes, but she ne'er ask'd me; I was my self the cause of her going. Alithea Then if she ask you again, you are the cause of her asking, and not my example. Mr. Pinchwife Well, tomorrow night I shall be rid of you; and the next day before 'tis light, she and I'll be rid of the Town, and my dreadful apprehensions: Come, be not melancholly, for thou sha't go into the Country after to morrow, Dearest. Alithea Great comfort. Mrs. Pinchwife Pish, what d'ye tell me of the Country for? Mr. Pinchwife How's this! what, pish at the Country? Mrs. Pinchwife Let me alone, I am not well. Mr. Pinchwife O, if that be all—what ailes my dearest? Mrs. Pinchwife Truly I don't know; but I have not been well, since you told me there was a Gallant at the Play in love with me. Mr. Pinchwife Ha— Alithea That's by my example too. Mr. Pinchwife Nay, if you are not well, but are so concern'd, because a lew'd Fellow chanc'd to lye, and say he lik'd you, you'l make me sick too. Mrs. Pinchwife Of what sickness? Mr. Pinchwife O, of that which is worse than the Plague Jealousy. Mrs. Pinchwife Pish, you jear, I'm sure there's no such disease in our Receipt-book at home. 34 Mr. Pinchwife No, thou never met'st with it, poor Innocent— well, if thou Cuckold me, 'twill be my own fault— for Cuckolds and Bastards, are generally makers of their own fortune. Aside. Mrs. Pinchwife Well, but pray Bud, let's go to a Play to night. Mr. Pinchwife 'Tis just done, she comes from it; but why are you so eager to see a Play? Mrs. Pinchwife Faith Dear, not that I care one pin for their talk there; but I like to look upon the Player-men, and wou'd see, if I could, the gallant you say loves me--that's all, dear bud. Mr. Pinchwife Is that all dear Bud? Alithea This proceeds from my example. Mrs. Pinchwife But if the Play be done, let's go abroad however, dear Bud. Mr. Pinchwife Come have a little patience, and thou shalt go into the Country on Friday. Mrs. Pinchwife Therefore I wou'd see first some sights, to tell my Neighbours of. Nay, I will go abroad, that's once. Alithea I'm the cause of this desire too. Mr. Pinchwife But now I think on't, who was the cause of Horners coming to my Lodging to day? that was you. Alithea No, you, because you wou'd not let him see your handsome Wife out of your Lodging. Mrs. Pinchwife Why, O Lord! did the Gentleman come hither to see me indeed? Mr. Pinchwife No, no;—You are not cause of that damn'd question too, Mistriss Alithea? —[Well she's in the right of it; he is in love with my Wife—and comes after her— 'tis so—but I'll nip his love in the bud; least he should follow us into the Country, and break his Chariot-wheel near our house, on purpose for an excuse to come to't; but I think I know the Town. Mrs. Pinchwife Come, pray Bud, let's go abroad before 'tis late; for I will go, that's flat and plain. Mr. Pinchwife So! the obstinacy already of a Town-wife, and I must, whilst she's here, humour her like one. Aside. Sister, how shall we do, that she may not be seen, or known? Alithea Let her put on her Mask. 35 Mr. Pinchwife Pshaw, a Mask makes People but the more inquisitive, and is as ridiculous a disguise, as a stage-beard; her shape, stature, habit will be known: and if we shou'd meet with Horner, he wou'd be sure to take acquaintance with us, must wish her joy, kiss her, talk to her, leer upon her, and the Devil and all; no I'll not use her to a Mask, 'tis dangerous; for Masks have made more Cuckolds, than the best faces that ever were known. Alithea How will you do then? Mrs. Pinchwife Nay, shall we go? the Exchange will be shut, and I have a mind to see that. Mr. Pinchwife So—I have it—I'll dress her up in the Suit, we are to carry down to her Brother, little Sir James; nay, I understand the Town tricks: Come let's go dress her; a Mask! no—a Woman mask'd, like a cover'd Dish, gives a Man curiosity, and appetite, when, it may be, uncover'd, 'twou'd turn his stomack; no, no. Alithea Indeed your comparison is something a greasie one: but I had a gentle Gallant, us'd to say, a Beauty mask'd, lik'd the Sun in Eclipse, gathers together more gazers, than if it shin'd out. The Scene changes to the new Exchange: Enter Horner, Harcourt, Dorilant. Dorilant Engag'd to Women, and not Sup with us? Horner Ay, a Pox on'em all. Harcourt You were much a more reasonable Man in the morning, and had as noble resolution against'em, as a Widdower of a weeks liberty. Dorilant Did I ever think, to see you keep company with Women in vain. Horner In vain! no —'tis, since I can't love'em, to be reveng'd on'em. Harcourt Now your Sting is gone, you look'd in the Box amongst all those Women, like a drone in the hive, all upon you; shov'd and ill-us'd by'em all, and thrust from one side to t'other. Dar. Yet he must be buzzing amongst'em still, like other old beetle-headed, lycorish drones; avoid'em, and hate'm as they hate you. 36 Horner Because I do hate'em, and wou'd hate'em yet more, I'll frequent'em; you may see by Marriage, nothing makes a Man hate a Woman more, than her constant conversation: In short, I converse with'em, as you do with rich Fools, to laugh at'em, and use'em ill. Dorilant But I wou'd no more Sup with Women, unless I cou'd lye with'em, than Sup with a rich Coxcomb, unless I cou'd cheat him. Horner Yes, I have known thee Sup with a Fool, for his drinking, if he cou'd set out your hand that way only, you were satisfy'd; and if he were a Wine-swallowing mouth 'twas enough. Harcourt Yes, a Man drink's often with a Fool, as he tosses with a Marker, only to keep his hand in Ure"Hand in the business."; but do the Ladies drink? Horner Yes, Sir, and I shall have the pleasure at least of laying'em flat with a Bottle; and bring as much scandal that way upon'em, as formerly t'other. Harcourt Perhaps you may prove as weak a Brother amongst'em that way, as t'other. Dorilant Foh, drinking with Women, is as unnatural, as scolding with'em; but 'tis a pleasure of decay'd Fornicators, and the basest way of quenching Love. Harcourt Nay, 'tis drowning Love, instead of quenching it; but leave us for civil Women too! Dorilant Ay, when he can't be the better for'em; we hardly pardon a Man, that leaves his Friend for a Wench, and that's a pretty lawful call. Horner Faith, I wou'd not leave you for'em, if they wou'd not drink. Dorilant Who wou'd disappoint his Company at Lewis's, for a Gossiping? Harcourt Foh, Wine and Women good apart, together as nauseous as Sack and Sugar: But hark you, Sir, before you go, a little of your advice, an old maim'd General, when unfit for actions is fittest for Counsel; I have other designs upon Women, than eating and drinking with them: I am in 37 love with Sparkish's Mistriss, whom he is to marry to morrow, now how shall I get her? Enter Sparkish, looking about. Horner Why, here comes one will help you to her. Harcourt He! he, I tell you, is my Rival, and will hinder my love. Horner No, a foolish Rival, and a jealous Husband assist their Rivals designs; for they are sure to make their Women hate them, which is the first step to their love, for another Man. Harcourt But I cannot come near his Mistriss, but in his company. Horner Still the better for you, for Fools are most easily cheated, when they themselves are accessaries; and he is to be bubled of his Mistriss, as of his Money, the common Mistriss, by keeping him company. Sparkish Who is that, that is to be bubled? Faith let me snack, I han't met with a buble since Christmas: gad; I think bubles are like their Brother Woodcocks, go out with the cold weather. Harcourt A Pox, he did not hear all I hope. Apart to Horner. Sparkish Come, you bubling Rogues you, where do we sup —Oh, Harcourt, my Mistriss tells me, you have been making fierce love to her all the Play long, hah, ha — but I — Harcourt I make love to her? Sparkish Nay, I forgive thee; for I think I know thee, and I know her, but I am sure I know my self. Harcourt Did she tell you so? I see all Women are like these of the Exchange, who to enhance the price of their commodities, report to their fond Customers offers which were never made'em. Horner Ay, Women are as apt to tell before the intrigue, as Men after it, and so shew themselves the vainer Sex; but hast thou a Mistriss, Sparkish? 'tis as hard for me to believe it, as that thou ever hadst a buble, as you brag'd just now. Sparkish O your Servant, Sir; are you at your raillery, Sir? but we were some of us beforehand with you to day at the 38 Play: the Wits were something bold with you, Sir; did you not hear us laugh? Harcourt Yes, But I thought you had gone to Plays, to laugh at the Poets wit, not at your own. Sparkish Your Servant, Sir, no thank you; gad I go to a Play as to a Country-treat, I carry my own wine to one, and my own wit to t'other, or else I'm sure I shou'd not be merry at either; and the reason why we are so often lowder, than the players, is, because we think we speak more wit, and so become the Poets Rivals in his audience: for to tell you the truth, we hate the silly Rogues; nay, so much that we find fault even with their Bawdy upon the Stage, whilst we talk nothing else in the Pit as lowd. Horner But, why should'st thou hate the silly Poets, thou hast too much wit to be one, and they like Whores are only hated by each other; and thou dost scorn writing, I'am sure. Sparkish Yes, I'd have you to know, I scorn writing; but Women, Women, that make Men do all foolish things, make'em write Songs too; every body does it: 'tis ev'n as common with Lovers, as playing with fans; and you can no more help Rhyming to your Phyllis, than drinking to your Phyllis. Harcourt Nay, Poetry in love is no more to be avoided, than jealousy. Dorilant But the Poets damn'd your Songs, did they? Sparkish Damn the Poets, they turn'd'em into BurlesqueOf the nature of derisive imitation; ironically bombastic, mock-heroic or mock-pathetic; now chiefly said of literary or oratorical compositions and dramatic representations." Oxford English Dictionary. Sparkish is basically saying that the playwrights have taken songs that he wrote sincerely and made them ridiculous, in his mind ruining them., as they call it; that Burlesque is a Hocus-Pocus-trick, they have got, which by the virtue of Hictius doctius, topsey turveySparkish is saying that the playwrights have so completely changed his words that they made his "wise and witty" songs seem foolish, in effect turning them upside down like a magician would in a magic trick.. , they make a wise and witty Man in the World, a Fool upon the Stage you know not how; and 'tis therefore I hate'em too, for I know not but it may be my own case; for they'l put a Man into a Play for looking a Squint: Their Predecessors were contented to make Serving-men only their Stage-Fools, but these Rogues must have Gentlemen, with a Pox to'em, nay Knights: and indeed you shall hardly see a Fool upon the Stage, but he's a Knight; and to tell you the truth, they have kept me these six years from being a Knight in earnest, for fear of being knighted in a Play, and dubb'd a Fool. 39 Dorilant Blame'em not, they must follow their Copy, the Age. Harcourt But why should'st thou be afraid of being in a Play, who expose your self every day in the Play-houses, and as publick Places. Horner 'Tis but being on the Stage, instead of standing on a Bench in the Pit. Dorilant Don't you give money to Painters to draw you like? and are you afraid of your Pictures, at length in a Play-house, where all your Mistresses may see you. Sparkish A Pox, Painters don't draw the Small Pox, or Pimples in ones face; come damn all your silly Authors whatever, all Books and Booksellers, by the World, and all Readers, courteous or uncourteous. Harcourt But, who comes here, Sparkish? Enter Mr. Pinchwife, and his Wife in Mans Cloaths, Alithea, Lucy her Maid. Sparkish Oh hide me, there's my Mistriss too. Sparkish hides himself behind Harcourt. Harcourt She sees you. Sparkish But I will not see her, 'tis time to go to Whitehal, and I must not fail the drawing Room. Harcourt Pray, first carry me, and reconcile me to her. Sparkish Another time, faith the King will have sup't. Harcourt Not with the worse stomach for thy absence; thou art one of those Fools, that think their attendance at the King's Meals, as necessary as his Physicians, when you are more troublesom to him, than his Doctors, or his Dogs. Sparkish Pshaw, I know my interest, Sir, prethee hide me. Horner Your Servant, Pinchwife, —what he knows us not — Mr. Pinchwife Come along. To his Wife aside. Mrs. Pinchwife Pray, have you any Ballads, give me six-penny worth? Claspa. We have no Ballads. Mrs. Pinchwife Then give me Covent-garden-Drollery, and a Play or two —Oh here's Tarugos Wiles, and the Slighted Maiden, I'll have them.Margery is buying a number of works of popular entainment from this ballad-seller's stall. The Covent Garden Drollery was a collection of popular songs; Tarugo's Wiles and The Slighted Maiden were both recent comedies. 40 Mr. Pinchwife No, Playes are not for your reading; come along, will you discover your self? Apart to her. Horner Who is that pretty Youth with him, Sparkish? Sparkish I believe his Wife's Brother, because he's something like her, but I never saw her but once. Horner Extreamly handsom, I have seen a face like it too; let us follow'em. Exeunt Pinchwife, Mistriss Pinchwife. Alithea, Lucy, Horner, Dorilant following them. Harcourt Come, Sparkish, your Mistriss saw you, and will be angry you go not to her; besides I wou'd fain be reconcil'd to her, which none but you can do, dear Friend. Sparkish Well that's a better reason, dear Friend; I wou'd not go near her now, for her's, or my own sake, but I can deny you nothing; for though I have known thee a great while, never go, if I do not love thee, as well as a new Acquaintance. Harcourt I am oblig'd to you indeed, dear Friend, I wou'd be well with her only, to be well with thee still; for these tyes to Wives usually dissolve all tyes to Friends: I wou'd be contented, she shou'd enjoy you a nights, but I wou'd have you to my self a dayes, as I have had, dear Friend. Sparkish And thou shalt enjoy me a dayes, dear, dear Friend, never stir; and I'll be divorced from her, sooner than from thee; come along — Harcourt So we are hard put to't, when we make our Rival our Procurer; but neither she, nor her Brother, wou'd let me come near her now: when all's done, a Rival is the best cloak to steal to a Mistress under, without suspicion; and when we have once got to her as we desire, we throw him off like other Cloaks. Aside. Exit Sparkish, and Harcourt following him. Re-enter Mr. Pinchwife, Mistress Pinchwife in Man's Cloaths. Mr. Pinchwife Sister, if you will not go, we must leave you — To Alithea. The Fool her Gallant, and she, will muster up all the young 41 santerers of this place, and they will leave their dear Seamstresses to follow us; what a swarm of Cuckolds, and Cuckold-makers are here? Aside. Come let's be gone Mistriss Margery. Mrs. Pinchwife Don't you believe that, I han't half my belly full of sights yet. Mr. Pinchwife Then walk this way. Mrs. Pinchwife Lord, what a power of brave signs are hereSigns outside of shops, sort of like logos for the businesses in the New Exchange.! stay —the Bull's-head, the Rams-head, and the Stags-head, Dear — Mr. Pinchwife Nay, if every Husbands proper sign here were visible, they wou'd be all alike. Mrs. Pinchwife What d'ye mean by that, Bud? Mr. Pinchwife 'Tis no matter —no matter, Bud. Mrs. Pinchwife Pray tell me; nay, I will know. Mr. Pinchwife They wou'd be all Bulls, Stags, and Rams heads. Exeunt Mr. Pinchwife, Mrs. Pinchwife. Re-enter Sparkish, Harcourt, Alithea, Lucy, at t'other door. Sparkish Come dear Madam, for my sake you shall be reconciled to him. Alithea For your sake I hate him. Harcourt That's something too cruel, Madam, to hate me for his sake. Sparkish Ay indeed, Madam, too, too cruel to me, to hate my Friend for my sake. Alithea I hate him because he is your Enemy; and you ought to hate him too, for making love to me, if you love me. Sparkish That's a good one, I hate a Man for loving you; if he did love you, 'tis but what he can't help, and 'tis your fault not his, if he admires you: I hate a Man for being of my opinion, I'll ne'er do't, by the World. Alithea Is it for your honour or mine, to suffer a Man to make love to me, who am to marry you tomorrow? Sparkish Is it for your honour or mine, to have me jealous? That he makes love to you, is a sign you are handsome; and that I am not jealous, is a sign you are virtuous, that I think is for your honour. 42 Alithea But 'tis your honour too, I am concerned for. Harcourt But why, dearest Madam, will you be more concern'd for his honour, than he is himself; let his honour alone for my sake, and his, he, he, has no honour — Sparkish How's that? Harcourt But what, my dear Friend can guard himself. Sparkish O ho —that's right again. Harcourt Your care of his honour argues his neglect of it, which is no honour to my dear Friend here; therefore once more, let his honour go which way it will, dear Madam. Sparkish Ay, ay, were it for my honour to marry a Woman, whose virtue I suspected, and cou'd not trust her in a Friends hands? Alithea Are you not afraid to loose me? Harcourt He afraid to loose you, Madam! No, no —you may see how the most estimable, and most glorious Creature in the World, is valued by him; will you not see it? Sparkish Right, honest Franck, I have that noble value for her, that I cannot be jealous of her. Alithea You mistake him, he means you care not for me, nor who has me. Sparkish Lord, Madam, I see you are jealous; will you wrest a poor Mans meaning from his words? Alithea You astonish me, Sir, with your want of jealousie. Sparkish And you make me giddy, Madam, with your jealousie, and fears, and virtue, and honour; gad, I see virtue makes a Woman as troublesome, as a little reading, or learning. Alithea Monstrous! Lucy. [Well to see what easie Husbands these Women of quality can meet with, a poor Chamber-maid can never have such Lady-like luck; besides he's thrown away upon her, she'l make no use of her fortune, her blessing, none to a Gentleman, for a pure Cuckold, for it requires good breeding to be a Cuckold. Behind. Alithea I tell you then plainly, he pursues me to marry me. Sparkish Pshaw — 43 Harcourt Come, Madam, you see you strive in vain to make him jealous of me; my dear friend is the kindest Creature in the World to me. Sparkish Poor fellow. Harcourt But his kindness only is not enough for me, without your favour; your good opinion, dear Madam, 'tis that must perfect my happiness: good Gentleman he believes all I say, wou'd you wou'd do so, jealous of me! I wou'd not wrong him nor you for the World. Sparkish Look you there; hear him, hear him, and do not walk away so. Alithea walks carelessly to and fro. Harcourt I love you, Madam, so — Sparkish How's that! Nay —now you begin to go too far indeed. Harcourt So much I confess, I say I love you, that I wou'd not have you miserable, and cast your self away upon so unworhty, and inconsiderable a thing, as what you see here. Clapping his hand on his breast, points at Sparkish. Sparkish No faith, I believe thou woud'st not, now his meaning is plain: but I knew before thou woud'st not wrong me nor her. Harcourt No, no, Heavens forbid, the glory of her Sex shou'd fall so low as into the embraces of such a contemptible Wretch, the last of Mankind —my dear Friend here — I injure him. Embracing Sparkish. Alithea Very well. Sparkish No, no, dear Friend, I knew it Madam, you see he will rather wrong himself that me, in giving himself such names. Alithea Do not you understand him yet? Sparkish Yes, how modestly he speaks of himself, poor Fellow. Alithea Methinks he speaks impudently of your self, since— before your self too, insomuch that I can no longer suffer his scurrilous abusiveness to you, no more than his love to me. Offers to go. 44 Sparkish Nay, nay, Madam, pray stay, his love to you: Lord, Madam, has he not spoke yet plain enough? Alithea Yes indeed, I shou'd think so. Sparkish Well then, by the World, a Man can't speak civilly to a Woman now, but presently she says, he makes love to her: Nay, Madam, you shall stay, with your pardon, since you have not yet understood him, till he has made an eclaircissment of his love to you, that is what kind of love it is; answer to thy Catechisme: Friend, do you love my Mistriss here? Harcourt Yes, I wish she wou'd not doubt it. Sparkish But how do you love her? Harcourt With all my Soul. Alithea I thank him, methinks he speaks plain enough now. Sparkish You are out still. to Alithea. But with what kind of love, Harcourt? Harcourt With the best, and truest love in the World. Sparkish Look you there then, that is with no matrimonial love, I'm sure. Alithea How's that, do you say matrimonial love is not best? Sparkish Gad, I went too far e're I was aware: But speak for thy self Harcourt, you said you wou'd not wrong me, not her. Harcourt No, no, Madam, e'n take him for Heaven's sake. Sparkish Look you there, Madam. Harcourt Who shou'd in all justice be yours, he that loves you most. Claps his hand on his breast. Alithea Look you there, Mr. Sparkish, who's that? Sparkish Who shou'd it be? go on Harcourt. Harcourt Who loves you more than Women, Titles, or fortune Fools. Points at Sparkish. Sparkish Look you there, he means me still, for he points at me. Alithea Ridiculous! Harcourt Who can only match your Faith, and constancy in love. Sparkish Ay. 45 Harcourt Who knows, if it be possible, how to value so much beauty and virtue. Sparkish Ay. Harcourt Whose love can no more be equall'd in the world, than that Heavenly form of yours. Sparkish No — Harcourt Who cou'd no more suffer a Rival, than your absence, and yet cou'd no more suspect your virtue, than his own constancy in his love to you. Sparkish No — Harcourt Who in fine loves you better than his eyes, that first made him love you. Sparkish Ay —nay, Madam, faith you shan't go, till — Alithea Have a care, left you make me stay too long — Sparkish But till he has saluted you; that I may be assur'd you are friends, after his honest advice and declaration: Come pray, Madam, be friends with him. Enter Master Pinchwife, Mistriss Pinchwife. Alithea You must pardon me, Sir, that I am not yet so obedient to you. Mr. Pinchwife What, invite your Wife to kiss Men? Monstrous, are you not asham'd? I will never forgive you. Sparkish Are you not asham'd, that I shou'd have more confidence in the chastity of your Family, than you have; you must not teach me, I am a man of honour, Sir, though I am frank and free; I am frank, Sir — Mr. Pinchwife Very frank, Sir, to share your Wife with your friends. Sparkish He is an humble menial Friend, such as reconciles the differences of the Marriage bed; you know Man and Wife do not alwayes agree, I design him for that use, therefore wou'd have him well with my Wife. Mr. Pinchwife A menial Friend —you will get a great many menial Friends, by shewing your Wife as you do. Sparkish What then, it may be I have a pleasure in't, as I have to shew fine Clothes, at a Play-house the first day, and count money before poor Rogues. 46 Mr. Pinchwife He that shews his wife, or money will be in danger of having them borrowed sometimes. Sparkish I love to be envy'd, and wou'd not marry a Wife, that I alone cou'd love; loving alone is a dull, as eating alone; is it not a frank age, and I am a frank Person? and to tell you the truth, it may be I love to have Rivals in a Wife, they make her seem to a Man still, but as a kept Mistriss; and so good night, for I must to Whitehal. Madam, I hope you are now reconcil'd to my Friend; and so I wish you a good night, Madam, and sleep if you can, for tomorrow you know I must visit you early with a Canonical GentlemanA priest.. Good night dear Harcourt. Exit Sparkish. Harcourt Madam, I hope you will not refuse my visit to morrow, if it shou'd be earlyer, with a Canonical Gentleman, than Mr. Sparkish's. Mr. Pinchwife This Gentle-woman is yet under my care, therefore you must yet forbear your freedom with her, Sir. Coming between Alithea and Harcourt. Harcourt Must, Sir. Mr. Pinchwife Yes, Sir, she is my Sister. Harcourt 'Tis well she is, Sir —for I must be her Servant, Sir. Madam — Mr. Pinchwife Come away Sister, we had been gone, if it had not been for you, and so avoided these lewd Rakehells"An immoral or dissolute person; a scoundrel; a rake." (Oxford English Dictionary). The image evoked is a demon using a rake to keep the fires of hell burning. , who seem to haunt us. Enter Horner, Dorilant to them. Horner How now Pinchwife? Mr. Pinchwife Your Servant. Horner What, I see a little time in the Country makes a Man turn wild and unsociable, and only fit to converse with his Horses, Dogs, and his Herds. Mr. Pinchwife I have business, Sir, and must mind it; your business is pleasure, therefore you and I must go different wayes. Horner Well, you may go on, but this pretty young Gentleman — Takes hold of Mrs. Pinchwife. Harcourt The Lady — Dorilant And the Maid — 47 Horner Shall stay with us, for I suppose their business is the same with ours, pleasure. Mr. Pinchwife 'Sdeath he knows her, she carries it so sillily, yet if he does not, I shou'd be more silly to discover it first. Aside. Alithea Pray, let us go, Sir. Mr. Pinchwife Come, come — Horner Had you not rather stay with us? to Mrs. Pinchwife. Prethee Pinchwife, who is this pretty young Gentleman? Mr. Pinchwife One to whom I'm a guardian. [I wish I cou'd keep her out of your hands — Aside. Horner Who is he? I never saw any thing so pretty in all my life. Mr. Pinchwife Pshaw, do not look upon him so much, he's a poor bashful youth, you'l put him out of countenance. Come away Brother. Offers to take her away. Horner O your Brother! Mr. Pinchwife Yes, my Wifes Brother; come, come, she'l stay supper for us. Horner I thought so, for he is very like her I saw you at the Play with, whom I told you, I was in love with. Mrs. Pinchwife O Jeminy! is this he that was in love with me, I am glad on't I vow, for he's a curious fine Gentleman, and I love him already too. Aside. Is this he Bud? to Mr. Pinchwife. Mr. Pinchwife Come away, come away. To his Wife. Horner Why, what hast are you in? why wont you let me talk with him? Mr. Pinchwife Because you'l debauch him, he's yet young and innocent, and I wou'd not have him debauch'd for any thing in the World. How she gazes on him! the Divel — Aside. Horner Harcourt, Dorilant, look you here, this is the likeness of that Dowdey he told us of, his Wife, did you ever see a lovelyer Creature? the Rogue has reason to be jealous of his Wife, since she is like him, for she wou'd make all that see her, in love with her. Harcourt And as I remember now, she is as like him here as can be. 48 Dorilant She is indeed very pretty, if she be like him. Horner Very pretty, a very pretty commendation —she is a glorious Creature, beautiful beyond all things I ever beheld. Mr. Pinchwife So, so Harcourt More beautiful than a Poets first Mistriss of Imagination. Horner Or another Mans last Mistriss of flesh and blood. Mrs. Pinchwife Nay, now you jeer, Sir; pray don't jeer me — Mr. Pinchwife Come, come. By Heavens she'l discover herself. Aside. Horner I speak of your Sister, Sir. Mr. Pinchwife Ay, but saying she was handsom, if like him, made him blush. [I am upon a wrack — Aside. Horner Methinks he is so handsom, he shou'd not be a Man. Mr. Pinchwife O there 'tis out, he has discovered her, I am not able to suffer any longer. [Come, come away, I say — To his Wife. Horner Nay, by your leave, Sir, he shall not go yet — Harcourt, Dorilant, let us torment this jealous Rogue a little. To them. Harcourt How? Dorilant Horner I'll shew you. Mr. Pinchwife Come, pray let him go, I cannot stay fooling any longer; I tell you his Sister stays supper for us. Horner Do's she, come then we'l all go sup with her and thee. Mr. Pinchwife No, now I think on't, having staid so long for us, I warrant she's gone to bed — [I wish she and I were well out of their hands — Aside. Come, I must rise early to morrow, come. Horner Well then, if she be gone to bed, I wish her and you a good night. But pray, young Gentleman, present my humble service to her. Mrs. Pinchwife Thank you heartily, Sir. Mrs. Pinchwife S'death, she will discover her self yet in spight of me. Aside. 49 He is something more civil to you, for your kindness to his Sister, than I am, it seems. Horner Tell her, dear sweet little Gentleman, for all your Brother there, that you have reviv'd the love, I had for her at first sight in the Play-house. Mrs. Pinchwife But did you love her indeed, and indeed? Mr. Pinchwife So, so. Aside. Away, I say. Horner Nay stay; yes indeed, and indeed, pray do you tell her so, and give her this kiss from me. Kisses her. Mr. Pinchwife O Heavens! what do I suffer; now 'tis too plain he knows her, and yet — Aside. Horner And this, and this — Kisses her again. Mrs. Pinchwife What do you kiss me for, I am no Woman. Mr. Pinchwife So —there 'tis out. Aside. Come, I cannot, nor will stay any longer. Horner Nay, they shall send your Lady a kiss too; here Harcourt, Dorilant, will you not? They kiss her. Mr. Pinchwife How, do I suffer this? was I not accusing another just now, for this rascally patience, in permitting his Wife to be kiss'd before his face? ten thousand ulcers gnaw away their lips. Aside. Come, come. Horner Good night dear Gentleman; Madam goodnight; farewel Pinchwife. Apart to Harcourt and Dorilant. Did not I tell you, I wou'd raise his jealous gall. Exeunt Horner, Harcourt, and Dorilant. Mr. Pinchwife So they are gone at last; stay, let me see first if the Coach be at this door. Exit. Horner What not gone yet? will you be sure to do as I desired you, sweet Sir? Horner, Harcourt, Dorilant return. Mrs. Pinchwife Sweet Sir, but what will you give me then? Horner Any thing, come away into Exit Horner, haling away Mrs. Pinchwife. Alithea Hold, hold, —what d'ye do? Lucy. Stay, stay, hold — 50 Harcourt Hold Madam, hold, let him present him, he'l come presently; nay, I will never let you go, till you answer my question. Alithea, Lucy strugling with Harcourt, and Dorilant. Lucy. For God's sake, Sir, I must follow'em. Dorilant No, I have something to present you with too, you shan't follow them. Pinchwife returns. Mr. Pinchwife Where? —how?—what's become of? gone— whither? Lucy. He's only gone with the Gentleman, who will give him something, an't please your Worship. Mr. Pinchwife Something —give him something, with a Pox— where are they? Alithea In the next walk only, Brother. Mr. Pinchwife Only, only; where, where? Exit Pinchwife, and returns presently, then goes out again. Harcourt What's the matter with him? why so much concern'd? but dearest Madam — Alithea Pray, let me go, Sir, I have said, and suffer'd enough already. Harcourt Then you will not look upon, nor pitty my sufferings. Alithea To look upon'em, when I cannot help'em, were cruelty, not pitty, therefore I will never see you more. Harcourt Let me then, Madam, have my priviledge of a banished Lover, complaining or railing, and giving you but a farewell reason; why, if you cannot condescend to marry me, you shou'd not take that wretch my Rival. Alithea He only, not you, since my honour is engag'd so far to him, can give me a reason, why shou'd not marry him; but if he be true, and what I think him to me, I must be so to him; your Servant, Sir. Harcourt Have Women only constancy when 'tis a vice, and like fortune only true to fools? Dorilant Thou sha't not stir thou robust Creature, you see I can deal with you, therefore you shou'd stay the rather, 51 and be kind. To Lucy, who struggles to get from him. Enter Pinchwife. Mr. Pinchwife Gone, gone, not to be found; quite gone, ten thousand plagues go with'em; which way went they? Alithea But into t'other walk, Brother. Lucy. Their business will be done presently sure, an't please your Worship, it can't be long in doing I'm sure on't. Alithea Are they not there? Mr. Pinchwife No, you know where they are, you infamous Wretch, Eternal shame of your Family, which you do not dishonour enough your self, you think, but you must help her to do it too, thou legion of Bawds. Alithea Good Brother. Mr. Pinchwife Damn'd, damn'd Sister. Alithea Look you here, she's coming. Enter Mistriss Pinchwife in Mans cloaths, running with her hat under her arm, full of Oranges and dried fruit, Horner following. Mrs. Pinchwife O dear Bud, look you here what I have got, see. Mr. Pinchwife And what I have got here too, Aside rubbing his forehead. Mrs. Pinchwife The fine Gentleman has given me better things yet. Mr. Pinchwife Ha's he so? Aside. Out of breath and colour'd—I must hold yet. Horner I have only given your little Brother an Orange, Sir. Mr. Pinchwife Thank you, Sir. To Horner. You have only squeez'd my Orange, I suppose, and given it me again; yet I must have a City-patience. Aside. Come, come away — To his Wife. Mrs. Pinchwife Stay, till I have put up my fine things, Bud. Enter Sir Jaspar Fidget. Sir Jaspar O Master Horner, come, come, the Ladies stay for you; your Mistriss, my Wife, wonders you make not more hast to her. Horner I have staid this half hour for you here, and 'tis your fault I am not now with your Wife. 52 Sir Jaspar But pray, don't let her know so much, the truth on't is, I was advancing a certain Project to his Majesty, about —I'll tell you. Horner No, let's go, and hear it at your house: Good night sweet little Gentleman; one kiss more, you'l remember me now I hope. Kisses her. Dorilant What, Sir Jaspar, will you separate Friends? he promis'd to sup with us; and if yo take him to your house, you'l be in danger of our company too. Sir Jaspar Alas Gentlemen my house is not fit for you; there are are none but civil Women there, which are not for your turn; he you know can bear with the society of civil Women, now, ha, ha, ha; besides he's one of my Family; —he's— heh, heh, heh. Dorilant What is he? Sir Jaspar Faith my Eunuch, since you'l have it, heh, he, he. Exit Sir Jaspar Fidget, and Horner. Dorilant I rather wish thou wert his, or my Cuckold: Harcourt, what a good Cuckold is lost there, for want of a Man to make him one; thee and I cannot have Horner's privilege, who can make use of it. Harcourt Ay, to poor Horner 'tis like coming to an estate at threescore, when a Man can't be the better for't. Mr. Pinchwife Come. Mrs. Pinchwife Presently Bud. Dorilant Come let us go too: Madam, your Servant. To Alithea Good night Strapper. — To Lucy. Harcourt Madam, though you will not let me have a good day, or night, I wish you one; but dare not name the other half of my wish. Alithea Good night, Sir, for ever. Mrs. Pinchwife I don't know where to put this here, dear Bud, you shall eat it; nay, you shall have part of the fine Gentlemans good things, or treat as you call it, when we come home. Mr. Pinchwife Indeed I deserve it, since I furnish'd the best part of it. Strikes away the Orange. 53 The Gallant treates, presents, and gives the Ball; But 'tis the absent Cuckold, pays for all In Pinchwife's house in the morning. Lucy, Alithea dress'd in new Cloths. Lucy. Well —Madam, now have I dress'd you, and set you out with so many ornaments, and spent upon you ounces of essence, and pulvilioperfume and scented face-powder; and all this for no other purpose, but as People adorn, and perfume a Corps, for a stinking second-hand-grave, such or as bad I think Master Sparkish's bed. Alithea Hold your peace. Lucy. Nay, Madam, I will ask you the reason, why you wou'd banish poor Master Harcourt for ever from your sight? how cou'd you be so hard-hearted? Alithea 'Twas because I was not hard-hearted. Lucy. No, no; 'twas stark love and kindness, I warrant. Alithea It was so; I wou'd see him no more, because I love him. Lucy. Hey day, a very pretty reason. Alithea You do not understand me. Lucy. I wish you may your self. Alithea I was engag'd to marry, you see, another man, whom my justice will not suffer me to deceive, or injure. Lucy. Can there be a greater cheat, or wrong done to a Man, than to give him your person, without your heart, I shou'd make a conscience of it. Alithea I'll retrieve it for him after I am married a while. Lucy. The Woman that marries to love better, will be as much mistaken, as the Wencher that marries to live better. No, Madam, marrying to encrease love, is like gaming to become rich; alas you only loose, what little stock you had before. 54 Alithea I find by your Rhetorick you have been brib'd to betray me. Lucy. Only by his merit, that has brib'd your heart you see against your word, and rigid honour; but what a Divel is this honour? 'tis sure a disease in the head, like the Megrim, or Falling-sicknessmegrim=migraine headache; falling-sickness=seizure, that alwayes hurries People away to do themselves mischief; Men loose their lives by it: Women what's dearer to'em, their love, the life of life. Alithea Come, pray talk you no more of honour, nor Master Harcourt, I wish I may never stick pin more, if he be not an errant Natural, to t'other fine Gentleman. Alithea I own he wants the wit of Harcourt, which I will dispense withal, for another want he has, which is want of jealousie, which men of wit seldom want. Lucy. Lord, Madam, what shou'd you do with a fool to your Husband, you intend to be honest don't you? then that husbandly virtue, credulity, is thrown away upon you. Alithea He only that could suspect my virtue, shou'd have cause to do it; 'tis Sparkish's confidence in my truth, that obliges me to be so faithful to him. Lucy. You are not sure his opinion may last. Alithea I am satisfied, 'tis impossible for him to be jealous, after the proofs I have had of him: Jealousie in a Husband, Heaven defend me from it, it begets a thousand plagues to a poor Woman, the loss of her honour, her quiet, and her — Lucy. And her pleasure. Alithea What d'ye mean, Impertinent? Lucy. Liberty is a great pleasure, Madam. Alithea I say loss of honour, her quiet, nay, her life sometimes; and what's as bad almost, the loss of this Town, that is, she is sent into the Country, which is the last ill usage of a Husband to a Wife, I think. 55 Lucy. O do's the wind lye there? Aside. Then of necessity, Madam, you think a man must carry his Wife into the Country, if he be wise; the Country is as terrible I find to our young English Ladies, as a Monastery to those abroad: and on my Virginity, I think they wou'd rather marry a London -Goaler, than a high Sheriff of a County, since neither can stir from his employment: formerly Women of wit married Fools, for a great Estate, a fine seat, or the like; but now 'tis for a pretty seat only in Lincoln's Inn-fields, St. James's-fields, or the Pall-mall.Fashionable neighborhoods in London. A "seat" would be house, so she is describing a family with a "fine seat" in the country and a nice town-house in a good neighborhood in London. Enter to them Sparkish, and Harcourt dress'd like a Parson. Sparkish Madam, your humble Servant, a happy day to you, and to us all. Harcourt Amen. — Alithea Who have we here? Sparkish My Chaplain faith —O Madam, poor Harcourt remembers his humble service to you; and in obedience to your last commands, refrains coming into your sight. Alithea Is not that he? Sparkish No, fye no; but to shew that he ne're intended to hinder our Match has sent his Brother here to joyn our hands: when I get me a Wife, I must get her a Chaplain, according to the Custom; this is his Brother, and my Chaplain. Alithea His Brother? Lucy. And your Chaplain, to preach in your Pulpit then— Aside. Alithea His Brother! Lucy. And your Chaplain, to preach in your Pulpit then— Aside. Alithea His Brother! Lucy. And your Chaplain, to preach in your Pulpit then— Sparkish Nay, I knew you wou'd not believe it; I told you, Sir, she wou'd take you for your Brother Frank. Alithea Believe it! Lucy. His Brother! hah, ha, he, he has a trick left still it seems — Sparkish Come my dearest, pray let us go to Church before the Canonical hourMarriages could only take place in the Church of England between 8 am and 3 pm, a period that was known as the "Canonical hour."is past. Alithea For shame you are abus'd still. Sparkish By the World 'tis strange now you are so incredulous. Alithea 'Tis strange you are so credulous. 56 Sparkish Dearest of my life, hear me, I tell you this is Ned Harcourt of Cambridge, by the world, you see he has a sneaking College look; 'tis true he's something like his Brother Frank, and they differ from each other no more than in their age, for they were Twins. Lucy. Hah, ha, he. Alithea Your Servant, Sir, I cannot be so deceiv'd, though you are; but come let's hear, how do you know what you affirm so confidently? Sparkish Why, I'll tell you all; Frank Harcourt coming to me this morning, to wish me joy and present his service to you: I ask'd him, if he cou'd help me to a Parson; whereupon he told me, he had a Brother in Town who was in Orders, and he went straight away, and sent him, you see there, to me. Alithea Yes, Frank goes, and puts on a black-coat, then tell's you, he is Ned, that's all you have for't. Sparkish Pshaw, pshaw, I tell you by the same token, the Midwife put her Garter about Frank's neck, to know'em asunder, they were so like. Alithea Frank tell's you this too. Sparkish Ay, and Ned there too; nay, they are both in a Story. Alithea So, so, very foolish. Sparkish Lord, if you won't believe one, you had best trye him by your Chamber-maid there; for Chamber-maids must needs know Chaplains from other Men, they are so us'd to'em. Lucy. Let's see; nay, I'll be sworn he has the Canonical smirk, and the filthy, clammy palm of a Chaplain. Alithea Well, most reverend Doctor, pray let us make an end of this fooling. Harcourt With all my soul, Divine, Heavenly Creature, when you please. Alithea He speaks like a Chaplain indeed. Sparkish Why, was there not, soul, Divine, Heavenly, in what he said. Alithea Once more, most impertinent Black-coat, cease your persecution, and let us have a Conclusion of this ridiculous love. 57 Harcourt I had forgot, I must sute my Stile to my Coat, or I wear it in vain. Aside. Alithea I have no more patience left, let us make once an end of this troublesome Love, I say. Harcourt So be it, Seraphick LadyAngelic lady; the in Christian mythology, the Seraphim are one of the orders of the angels., when your Honour shall think it meet, and convenient so to do. Sparkish Gad I'm sure none but a Chaplain cou'd speak so, I think. Alithea Let me tell you Sir, this dull trick will not serve your turn, though you delay our marriage, you shall not hinder it. Harcourt Far be it from me, Munificent Patroness, to delay your Marriage, I desire nothing more than to marry you presently, which I might do, if you your self wou'd; for my Noble, Good-natur'd and thrice Generous Patron here wou'd not hinder it. Sparkish No, poor man, not I faith. Harcourt And now, Madam, let me tell you plainly, no body else shall marry you by Heavens, I'll die first, for I'm sure I shou'd die after it. Lucy. How his Love has made him forget his Function, as I have seen it in real Parsons. Alithea That was spoken like a Chaplain too, now you understand him, I hope. Sparkish Poor man, he takes it hainously to be refus'd; I can't blame him, 'tis putting an indignity upon him not to be suffer'd, but you'l pardon me Madam, it shan't be, he shall marry us, come away, pray Madam. Lucy. Hah, ha, he, more ado! 'tis late. Alithea Invincible stupidity, I tell you he wou'd marry me, as your Rival, not as your Chaplain. Sparkish Come, come Madam. Pulling her away. Lucy. I pray Madam, do not refuse this reverend Divine the honour and satisfaction of marrying you; for I dare say, he has set his heart upon't, good Doctor. Alithea What can you hope, or design by this? Harcourt I cou'd answer her, a reprieve for a day only, often 58 revokes a hasty doom; at worst, if she will not take mercy on me, and let me marry her, I have at least the Lovers second pleasure, hindring my Rivals enjoyment, though but for a time. Sparkish Come Madam, 'tis e'ne twelve a clock, and my Mother charg'd me never to be married out of the Canonical hours; come, come, Lord here's such a deal of modesty, I warrant the first day. Lucy. Yes, an't please your Worship, married women shew all their Modesty the first day, because married men shew all their love the first day. Exeunt Sparkish, Alithea, Harcourt, and Lucy. The Scene changes to a Bed-chamber, where appear Pinchwife, Mrs. Pinchwife. Mr. Pinch. Come tell me, I say. Mrs. Pinch. Lord, han't I told it an hundred times over. Mr. Pinch. I wou'd try, if in the repetition of the ungrateful tale, I cou'd find her altering it in the least circumstance, for if her story be false, she is so too. Aside. Come how was't Baggage? Mrs. Pinch. Lord, what pleasure you take to hear it sure! Mr. Pinch. No, you take more in telling it I find, but speak how was't? Mrs. Pinch. He carried me up into the house, next to the Exchange. Mr. Pinchwife So, and you two were only in the room. Mrs. Pinchwife Yes, for he sent away a youth that was there, for some dryed fruit, and China Oranges. Mr. Pinchwife Did he so? Damn him for it —and for — Mrs. Pinchwife But presently came up the Gentlewoman of the house. Mr. Pinchwife O 'twas well she did, but what did he do whilest the fruit came? Mrs. Pinchwife He kiss'd me an hundred times, and told me he fancied he kiss'd my fine Sister, meaning me you know, whom he said he lov'd with all his Soul, and bid me be sure to tell her so, and to desire her to be at her window, by eleven of 59 the clock this morning, and he wou'd walk under it at that time. Mr. Pinchwife And he was as good as his word, very punctual, a pox reward him for't. Aside. Mrs. Pinchwife Well, and he said if you were not within, he wou'd come up to her, meaning me you know, Bud, still. Mr. Pinchwife So —he knew her certainly, but for this confession, I am oblig'd to her simplicity. Aside. But what you stood very still, when he kiss'd you? Mrs. Pinchwife Yes I warrant you, wou'd you have had me discover'd my self? Mr. Pinchwife But you told me, he did some beastliness to you, as you call'd it, what was't? Mrs. Pinchwife Why, he put — Mr. Pinchwife What? Mrs. Pinchwife Why he put the tip of his tongue between my lips, and so musl'd me —and I said, I'd bite it. Mr. Pinchwife An eternal canker seize it, for a dog. Mrs. Pinchwife Nay, you need not be so angry with him neither, for to say truth, he has the sweetest breath I ever knew. Mr. Pinchwife The Devil —you were satisfied with it then, and wou'd do it again. Mrs. Pinchwife Not unless he shou'd force me. Mr. Pinchwife Force you, changeling! I tell you no woman can be forced. Mrs. Pinchwife Yes, but she may sure, by such a one as he, for he's a proper, goodly strong man, 'tis hard, let me tell you, to resist him. Mr. Pinchwife So, 'tis plain she loves him, yet she has not love enough to make her conceal it from me, but the sight of him will increase her aversion for me, and love for him; and that love instruct her how to deceive me, and satisfie him, all Ideot as she is: Love, 'twas he gave women first their craft, their art of deluding; out of natures hands, they came plain, open, silly and fit for slaves, as she and heaven intended 'em; but damn'd Love —Well —I must strangle that little Monster, whilest I can deal with him. 60 Go fetch Pen, Ink and Paper out of the next room: Mrs Pinchwife Yes Bud. Exit Mrs. Pinchwife. Mr. Pinchwife Why should Women have more invention in love than men? It can only be, because they have more desires, more solliciting passions, more lust, and more of the Devil. Mistriss Pinchwife returns. Aside. Come, Minks, sit down and write. Mrs. Pinchwife Ay, dear Bud, but I can't do't very well. Mr. Pinchwife I wish you cou'd not at all. Mrs. Pinchwife But what shou'd I write for? Mr. Pinchwife I'll have you write a Letter to your Lover. Mrs. Pinchwife O Lord, to the fine Gentleman a Letter! Mr. Pinchwife Yes, to the fine Gentleman. Mrs. Pinchwife Lord, you do but jeer; sure you jest. Mr. Pinchwife I am not so merry, come write as I bid you. Mrs. Pinchwife What, do you think I am a fool? Mr. Pinchwife She's afraid I would not dictate any love to him, therefore she's unwilling; but you had best begin. Mrs. Pinchwife Indeed, and indeed, but I won't, so I won't. Mr. Pinchwife Why? Mrs. Pinchwife Because he's in Town, you may send for him if you will. Mr. Pinchwife Very well, you wou'd have him brought to you; is it come to this? I say take the pen and write, or you'll provoke me. Mrs. Pinchwife Lord, what d'ye make a fool of me for? Don't I know that letters are never writ, but from the Countrey to London, and from London into the Countrey; now he's in Town, and I am in Town too; therefore I can't write to him you know. Mr. Pinchwife So I am glad it is no worse, she is innocent enough yet Aside. Yes you may when your Husband bids you write Letters to people that are in Town. Mrs. Pinchwife O may I so! Then I'm satisfied. Mr. Pinchwife Come begin —Sir — Dictates. Mrs. Pinchwife Shan't I say, Dear Sir? You know one says always something more than bare Sir. 61 Mr. Pinchwife Write as I bid you, or I will write Whore with this Penknife in your Face. Mrs. Pinchwife Nay good Bud—Sir — She writes. Kisses and Embraces —Write Mrs. Pinchwife Nay, why shou'd I say so, you know I told you, he had a sweet breath. Mr. Pinchwife Write. Mrs. Pinchwife Let me but put out, loath'd. Mr. Pinchwife Write I say. Mrs. Pinchwife Well then. Writes. Mr. Pinchwife Let's see what have you writ? Though I suffer'd last night your kisses and embraces — Takes the paper, and reads. Thou impudent creature, where is nauseous and loath'd? Mrs. Pinchwife I can't abide to write such filthy words. Mr. Pinchwife Once more write as I'd have you, and question it not, or I will spoil thy writing with this, I will stab out those eyes that cause my mischief. Holds up the penknife. Mrs. Pinchwife O Lord, I will. Mr. Pinchwife So —so —Let's see now! Reads. Though I suffer'd last night your nauseous, loath'd kisses, and embraces; Go on—Yet I would not have you presume that you shall ever repeat them—So— She writes. Mrs. Pinchwife I have writ it. Mr. Pinchwife On then —I then conceal'd my self from your knowledge, to avoid your insolencies— She writes. Mrs. Pinchwife So — Mr. Pinchwife The same reason now I am out of your hands — She writes. Mrs. Pinchwife So — Mr. Pinchwife Makes me own to you my unfortunate, though innocent frolick, of being in man's cloths. She writes. Mrs. Pinchwife So — Mr. Pinchwife That you may for ever more cease to pursue her, who hates and detests you — She writes on. 62 Mrs. Pinchwife So —h — Sighs. Mr. Pinchwife What do you sigh? —detests you —as much as she loves her Husband and her Honour — Mrs. Pinchwife I vow Husband he'll ne'er believe, I shou'd write such a letter. Mr. Pinchwife What he'd expect a kinder from you? come now your name only. Mrs. Pinchwife What, shan't I say your most faithful, humble Servant till death? Mr. Pinchwife No, tormenting Fiend; her stile I find wou'd be very soft. Aside. Come wrap it up now, whilest I go fetch wax and a candle; and write on the back side, for Mr. Horner. Exit Pinchwife. Mrs. Pinchwife For Mr. Horner —So, I am glad he has told me his name; Dear Mr. Horner, but why should I send thee such a Letter, that will vex thee, and make thee angry with me; —well I will not send it —Ay but then my husband will kill me —for I see plainly, he won't let me love Mr. Horner —but what care I for my Husband —I won't so I won't send poor Mr. Horner such a Letter —but then my Husband —But oh —what if I writ at bottom, my Husband made me write it —Ay but then my Husband wou'd see't —Can one have no shift, ah a London woman wou'd have had a hundred presently; stay —what if I shou'd write a Letter, and wrap it up like this, and write upon't too; ay but then my Husband wou'd see't —I don't know what to do —But yet y vads I'll try, so I will — for I will not send this Letter to poor Mr. Horner, come what will on't. Dear, Sweet Mr. Horner — So — She writes, and repeats what she hath writ. my Husband wou'd have me send you a base, rude, unmannerly Letter —but I won't — so —and wou'd have me forbid you loving me —but I wont — so —and wou'd have me sav to you, I hate you poor Mr. Horner —but I won't tell a lye for him — there —for I'm sure if you and I were 63 in the Countrey at cards together, — so —I cou'd not help treading on your Toe under the Table— so —or rubbing knees with you and staring in your face, 'till you saw me — very well —and then looking down, and blushing for an hour together— so —but I must make haste before my Husband come; and now he has taught me to write Letters: You shall have longer ones from me, who am Dear, dear, poor dear Mr. Horner, your most Humble Friend, and Servant to command 'till death, Margery Pinchwife. Stay I must give him a hint at bottom — so —now wrap it up just like t'other — so —now write for Mr. Horner,— But oh now what shall I do with it? for here comes my Husband. Enter Pinchwife. Mr. Pinchwife I have been detained by a Sparkish Coxcomb, who pretended a visit to me; but I fear 'twas to my Wife. Aside. What, have you done? Mrs. Pinchwife Ay, ay Bud, just now. Mr. Pinchwife Let's see't, what d'ye tremble for; what, you wou'd not have it go? Mrs. Pinchwife Here —No I must not He opens, and reads the first Letter. give him that, so I had been served if I had given him this. Aside. Mr. Pinchwife Come, where's the Wax and Seal? Mrs. Pinchwife Lord, what shall I do now? Nay then I have it — Aside. Snatches the Letter from him, changes it for the other, seals it, and delivers it to him. Pray let me see't, Lord you think me so errand a fool, I cannot seal a Letter, I will do't, so I will. Mr. Pinchwife Nay, I believe you will learn that, and other things too, which I wou'd not have you. Mrs. Pinchwife So, han't I done it curiously? I think I have, there's my Letter going to Mr. Horner; since he'll needs have me send Letters to Folks. Aside. Mr. Pinchwife 'Tis very well, but I warrant, you wou'd not have it go now? 64 Mrs. Pinchwife Yes indeed, but I wou'd, Bud, now. Mr. Pinchwife Well you are a good Girl then, come let me lock you up in your chamber, 'till I come back; and be sure you come not within three strides of the window, when I am gone; for I have a spye in the street. Exit Mrs. Pinchwife At least, 'tis fit she think so, if we do Pinchwife locks the door. not cheat women, they'll cheat us; and fraud may be justly used with secret enemies, of which a Wife is the most dangerous; and he that has a handsome one to keep, and a Frontier Town, must provide against treachery, rather than open Force —Now I have secur'd all within, I'll deal with the Foe without with false intelligence. Holds up the Letter. Exit Pinchwife. The Scene changes to Horner's Lodging. Quack and Horner. Quack. Well Sir, how fadges the new design; have you not the luck of all your brother Projectors, to deceive only your self at last. Horner No, good Domine Doctor, I deceive you it seems, and others too; for the grave Matrons, and old ridgid Husbands think me as unfit for love, as they are; but their Wives, Sisters and Daughters, know some of 'em better things already. Quack. Already! Horner Already, I say; last night I was drunk with half a dozen of your civil persons, as you call 'em, and people of Honour, and so was made free of their Society, and dressing rooms for ever hereafter; and am already come to the privileges of sleeping upon the Pallats, warming Smocks, tying Shooes and Garters, and the like Doctor, already, already Doctor. Quack. You have made use of your time, Sir. Horner I tell thee, I am now no more interruption to 'em, 65 when they sing, or talk bawdy, than a little squab French Page, who speaks no English. Quack. But do civil persons, and women of Honour drink, and sing bawdy Songs? Horner O amongst Friends, amongst Friends; for your Bigots in Honour, are just like those in Religion; they fear the eye of the world, more than the eye of Heaven, and think there is no virtue, but railing at vice; and no sin, but giving scandal: They rail at a poor, little, kept Player, and keep themselves some young, modest Pulpit Comedian to be privy to their sins in their Closets, not to tell 'em of them in their Chappels. Quack. Nay, the truth on't is, Priests amongst the women now, have quite got better of us Lay Consessors, Physicians. Horner And they are rather their Patients, but — Enter my Lady Fidget, looking about her. Now we talk of women of Honour, here comes one, step behind the Screen there, and but observe; if I have not particular privileges, with the women of reputation already, Doctor, already. Lady Fidget Well Horner , am not I a woman of Honour? you see I'm as good as my word. Horner And you shall see Madam, I'll not be behind hand with you in honour; and I'll be as good as my word too, if you please but to withdraw into the next room. Lady Fidget But first, my dear Sir, you must promise to have a care of my dear Honour. Horner If you talk a word more of your Honour, you'll make me incapacle to wrong it; to talk of Honour in the mysteries of Love, is like talking of Heaven, or the Deity in an operation of Witchcraft, just when you are employing the Devil, it makes the charm impotent. Lady Fidget Nay, fie, let us no be smooty; but you talk of mysteries, and bewitching to me, I don't understand you. Horner I tell you Madam, the word money in a Mistresses mouth, at such a nick of time, is not a more disheartening sound 66 to a younger Brother, than that of Honour to an eager Lover like my self. Lady Fidget But you can't blame a Lady of my reputation to be chary. Horner Chary —I have been chary of it already, by the report I have caus'd of my self. Lady Fidget Ay, but if you shou'd ever let other women know that dear secret, it would come out; nay, you must have a great care of your conduct; for my acquaintance are so censorious, (oh 'tis a wicked censorious world, Mr. Horner ) I say, are so censorious, and detracting, that perhaps they'll talk to the prejudice of my Honour, though you shou'd not let them know the dear secret. Horner Nay, Madam, rather than they shall prejudice your Honour, I'll prejudice theirs; and to serve you, I'll lye with 'em all, make the secret their own, and then they'll keep it: I am a Machiavel in love Madam. Lady Fidget O, no Sir, not that way. Horner Nay, the Devil take me, if censorious women are to be silenc'd any other way. Lady Fidget A secret is better kept I hope, by a single person, than a multitude; therefore pray do not trust any body else with it, dear, dear Mr. Horner. Embracing him. Enter Sir Jaspar Fidget. Sir Jaspar How now! Lady Fidget O my Husband —prevented —and what's almost as bad, found with my arms about another man — that will appear too much —what shall I say? Aside. Sir Jaspar come hither, I am trying if Mr. Horner were ticklish, and he's as ticklish as can be, I love to torment the confounded Toad; let you and I tickle him. Sir Jaspar No, your Ladyship will tickle him better without me, I suppose, but is this your buying China, I thought you had been at the China House? Horner China-House, that's my Cue, I must take it Aside. A Pox, can't you keep your impertinent Wives at home? some men are troubled with the Husbands, but I with the 67 Wives; but I'd have you to know, since I cannot be your Journey-man by night, I will not be your drudge by day, to squire your wife about, and be your man of straw, or scare-crow only to Pyes and Jays; that would be nibling at your forbidden fruit; I shall be shortly the Hackney Gentleman-Usher of the Town. Sir Jaspar Heh, heh, he, poor fellow he's in the right on't faith, to squire women about for other folks, is as ungrateful an employment, as to tell money for other folks; Aside. heh, he, he, ben't angry Horner — Lady Fidget No, 'tis I have more reason to be angry, who am left by you, to go abroad indecently alone; or, what is more indecent, to pin my self upon such ill bred people of your acquaintance, as this is. Sir Jaspar Nay, pr'ythee what has he done? Lady Fidget Nay, he has done nothing. Sir. Jas. But what d'ye take ill, if he has done nothing? Lady Fidget Hah, hah, hah, Faith, I can't but laugh however; why d'ye think the unmannerly toad wou'd not come down to me to the Coach, I was fain to come up to fetch him, or go without him, which I was resolved not to do; for he knows China very well, and has himself very good, but will not let me see it, lest I should beg some; but I will find it out, and have what I came for yet. Exit Lady Fidget, and locks the door, followed by Horner to the door. Horner Lock the door Madam — Apart to Lady Fidget. So, she has got into my chamber, and lock'd me out; oh the impertinency of woman-kind! Well Sir Jaspar , plain dealing is a Jewel; if ever you suffer your Wife to trouble me again here, she shall carry you home a pair of Horns, by my Lord Major she shall; though I cannot furnish you my self, you are sure, yet I'll find a way. Sir Jaspar Hah, ha, he, at my first coming in, and finding her arms about him, tickling him it seems, I was half jealous, but now I see my folly. Aside. Heh, he, he, poor Horner. 68 Horner Nay, though you laugh now, 'twill be my turn e're long: Oh women, more impertinent, more cunning, and more mischievous than their Monkeys, and to me almost as ugly —now is she throwing my things about, and rifling all I have, but I'll get into her the back way, and so rifle her for it — Sir Jaspar Hah, ha, ha, poor angry Horner. Horner Stay here a little, I'll ferret her out to presently, I warrant. Exit Horner at t'other door. Sir Jaspar Wife, my Lady Fidget, Wife, he is coming into you the back way. Sir Jaspar calls through the door to his Wife, she answers from within. Lady Fidget Let him come, and welcome, which way he will. Sir Jaspar He'll catch you, and use you roughly, and be too strong for you. La Fidget Don't you trouble your self, let him if he can. [Behind.] Quack. This indeed, I cou'd not have believ'd from him, nor any but my own eyes. Enter Mistriss Squeamish. Speamish Where's this Woman-hater, this Toad, this ugly, greasie, dirty sloven? Sir Jaspar So the women all will have him ugly, methinks he is a comely person; but he wants make his form contemptible to 'em; and 'tis e'en as my Wife said yesterday, talking of him, that a proper handsome Eunuch, was as ridiculous a thing, as a Gigantick Coward. Speamish Sir Jaspar, your Servant, where is the odious Beast? Sir Jaspar He's within in his chamber, with my Wife; she's playing the wag with him. Speamish Is she so, and he's a clownish beast, he'll give her no quarter, he'll play the wag with her again, let me tell you; come, let's go help her —What, the door's lock't? Sir Jaspar Ay, my Wife lock't it — Speamish Did she so, let us break it open then? Sir Jaspar No, no, he'll do her no hurt. 69 Speamish No —But is there no other way to get into 'em, whither goes this? I will disturb'em. Aside. Exit Squeamish at another door. Enter old Lady Squeamish. Old Lady Speamish Where is this Harlotry, this Impudent Baggage, this rambling Tomrigg? O Sir Jaspar, I'm glad to see you here, did you not see my vil'd Grandchild come in hither just now? Sir Jaspar Yes, Old Lady Squeam Ay, but where is she then? where is she? Lord Sir Jaspar I have e'ne ratled my self to pieces in pursuit of her, but can you tell what she makes here, they say below, no woman lodges here. Sir Jaspar No. Old Lady Speamish No —What does she here then? say if it be not a womans lodging, what makes she here? but are you sure no woman lodges here? Sir Jaspar No, nor no man neither, this is Mr. Horners Lodging. Old Lady Speamish Is it so are you sure? Sir Jaspar Yes, yes. Old Lady Speamish So then there's no hurt in't I hope, but where is he? Sir Jaspar He's in the next room with my Wife. Old Lady Speamish Nay if you trust him with your wife, I may with my Biddy, they say he's a merry harmless man now, e'ne as harmless a man as ever came out of Italy with a good voice, and as pretty harmless company for a Lady, as a Snake without his teeth. Sir Jaspar Ay, ay poor man. Enter Mrs. Squeamish. Speamish I can't find 'em —Oh are you here, Grandmother, I follow'd you must know my Lady Fidget hither, 'tis the prettyest lodging, and I have been staring on the prettyest Pictures. 70 Enter Lady Fidget with a piece of China in her hand, and Horner following. Lady Fidget And I have been toyling and moyling, for the pretti'st piece of China, my Dear. Horner Nay she has been too hard for me do what I cou'd. Speamish Oh Lord I'le have some China too, good Mr. Horner, don't think to give other people China, and me none, come in with me too. Horner Upon my honour I have none left now. Speamish Nay, nay I have known you deny your China before now, but you shan't put me off so, come — Horner This Lady had the last there. Lady Fidget Yes indeed Madam, to my certain knowledge he has no more left. Speamish O but it may be he may have some you could not find. Lady Fidget What d'y think if he had had any left, I would not have had it too, for we women of quality never think we have China enough. Horner Do not take it ill, I cannot make China for you all, but I will have a Rol-waggon for you too, another time. Speamish Thank you dear Toad. To Horn, aside. Lady Fidget What do you mean by that promise? Horner Alas she has an innocent, literal understanding. Apart to Lady Fidget. Old Lady Speamish Poor Mr. Horner, he has enough to doe to please you all, I see. Horner Ay Madam, you see how they use me. Old Ladu Speamish Poor Gentleman I pitty you. Horner I thank you Madam, I could never find pitty, but from such reverend Ladies as you are, he young ones will never spare a man. Speamish Come come, Beast, and go dine with us, for we shall want a man at Hombre after dinner. Horner That's all their use of me Madam you see. Speamish Come Sloven, I'le lead you to be sure of you. Pulls him by the Crevat. 71 Old Lady Speamish Alas poor man how she tuggs him, kiss, kiss her, that's the way to make such nice women quiet. Horner No Madam, that Remedy is worse than the Torment, they know I dare suffer any thing rather than do it. Old Lady Speamish Prythee kiss her, and I'le give you her Picture in little, that you admir'd so last night, prythee do. Horner Well nothing but that could bribe me, I love a woman only in Effigie, and good Painting as much as I hate them —I'le do't, for I cou'd adore the Devil well painted. Kisses Mrs. Speamish Speamish Foh, you filthy Toad, nay now I've done jesting. Old L. Speamish Ha, ha, ha, I told you so. Speamish Foh a kiss of his — Sir Jaspar Has no more hurt in't, than one of my Spaniels. Speamish Nor no more good neither. Quack. I will now believe any thing he tells me. Behind. Enter Mr. Pinchwife. Lady Fidget O Lord here's a man, Sir Jaspar, my Mask, my Mask, I would not be seen here for the world. Sir Jaspar What not when I am with you. Lady Fidget No, no my honour — let's be gone. Speamish Oh Grandmother, let us be gone, make hast, make hast, I know not how he may censure us. Lady Fidget Be found in the lodging of any thing like a man, away. Exeunt Sir Jaspar, Lady Fidget, Old Lady Speamish, Mrs. Squeamish. Quack. What's here another Cuckold — he looks like one, and none else sure have any business with him, Behind. Horner Well what brings my dear friend hither? Mr. Pinch. Your impertinency. Horner My impertinency — why you Gentlemen that have got handsome Wives, think you have a privilege of saying any thing to your friends, and are as brutish, as if you were our Creditors. Mr. Pinch No Sir, I'le ne're trust you any way. Horner But why not, dear Jack, why diffide in me, thou knowst so well. 72 Mr. Pinchwife Because I do know you so well. Horner Han't I been always thy friend honest Jack, always ready to serve thee, in love, or battle, before thou wert married, and am so still. Mr. Pinchwife I believe so you wou'd be my second now indeed. Horner Well then dear Jack, why so unkind, so grum, so strange to me, come prythee kiss me deare Rogue, gad I was always I say, and am still as much thy Servant as — Mr. Pinchwife As I am yours Sir. What you wou'd send a kiss to my Wife, is that it? Horner So there 'tis — a man can't shew his friendship to a married man, but presently he talks of his wife to you, prythee let thy Wife alone, and let thee and I be all one, as we were wont, what thou art as shye of my kindness, as a Lumbart-street Alderman of a Courtiers civility at Lockets. Mr. Pinchwife But you are over kind to me, as kind, as if I were your Cuckold already, yet I must confess you ought to be kind and civil to me, since I am so kind, so civil to you, as to bring you this, look you there Sir. Delivers him a Letter. Horner What is't? Mr. Pinch. Only a Love Letter Sir. Horner From whom — how, this is from your Wife — hum — and hum — Mr. Pinchwife Even from my Wife Sir, am I not wondrous kind and civil to you, now too? But you'l not think her so. Aside. Horner Ha, is this a trick of his or hers Aside. Mr. Pinchwife The Gentleman's surpriz'd I find, what you expected a kinder Letter? Horner No faith not I, how cou'd I. Mr. Pinchwife Yes yes, I'm sure you did, a man so well made as you are must needs be disappointed, if the women declare not their passion at first sight or opportunity. Horner But what should this mean? stay the Postscript. Be sure you love me whatsoever my husband says to the contrary, and let him not see this, lest he should come 73 home, and pinch me, or kill my Squirrel. Reads aside. It seems he knows not what the Letter contains. Aside. Mr. Pinchwife Come ne're wonder at it so much. Horner Faith I can't help it. Mr. Pinchwife Now I think I have deserv'd your infinite friendship, and kindness, and have shewed my self sufficiently an obliging kind friend and husband, am I not so, to bring a Letter from my Wife to her Gallant? Horner Ay, the Devil take me, art thou, the most obliging, kind friend and husband in the world, ha, ha. Mr. Pinchwife Well you may be merry Sir, but in short I must tell you Sir, my honour will suffer no jesting. Horner What do'st thou mean? Mr. Pinchwife Does the Letter want a Comment? then know Sir, though I have been so civil a husband, as to bring you a Letter from my Wife, to let you kiss and court her to my face, I will not be a Cuckold Sir, I will not. Horner Thou art mad with jealousie, I never saw thy Wife in my life, but at the Play yesterday, and I know not if it were she or no, I court her, kiss her! Mr. Pinchwife I will not be a Cuckold I say, there will be danger in making me a Cuckold. Horner Why, wert thou not well cur'd of thy last clap? Mr. Pinchwife I weare a Sword. Horner It should be taken from thee, left thou should'st do thy self a mischiefe with it, thou art mad, Man. Mr. Pinchwife As mad as I am, and as merry as you are, I must have more reason form you e're we part, I say again though you kiss'd, and courted last night my Wife in man's clothes, as she confesses in her Letter. Horner Ha — Aside. Mr. Pinchwife Both she and I say you must not design it again, for you have mistaken your woman, as you have done your man. Horner Oh —I understand something now — Aside. Was that thy Wife? why would'st thou not tell me 'twas she? faith my freedome with her was your fault, not mine. 74 Mr. Pinchwife Faith so 'twas — Aside. Horner Fye, I'de never do't to a woman before her husbands face, sure. Mr. Pinchwife But I had rather you should do't to my wife before my face, than behind my back, and that you shall never doe. Horner No —you will hinder me. Mr. Pinchwife If I would not hinder you, you see by her Letter, she wou'd. Horner Well, I must e'ne acquiess then, and be contented with what she writes. Mr. Pinchwife I'le assure you 'twas voluntarily writ, I had no hand in't you may believe me. Horner I do believe thee, faith. Mr. Pinchwife And believe her too, for she's an innocent creature, has no dissembling in her, and so fare you well Sir. Horner Pray however present my humble service to her, and tell her I will obey her Letter to a tittle, and fulfill her desires be what they will, or with what difficulty soever I do't, and you shall be no more jealous of me, I warrant her, and you — Mr. Pinchwife Well then fare you well, and play with any mans honour but mine, kiss any mans wife but mine, and welcome — Exit Mr. Pinch. Horner Ha, ha, ha, Doctor. Quack. It seems he has not heard the report of you, or does not believe it. Horner Ha, ha, now Doctor what think you? Quack. Pray let's see the Letter —hum —for — deare —love you — Reads the Letter. Horner I wonder how she cou'd contrive it! what say'st thou to't, 'tis an Original. Quack. So are your Cuckolds too Originals: for they are like no other common Cuckolds, and I will henceforth believe it not impossible for you to Cuckold the Grand Signior amidst his Guards of Eunuchs, that I say — Horner And I say for the Letter, 'tis the first love Letter that 75 ever was without Flames, Darts, Fates, Destinies, Lying and Dissembling in't. Enter Sparkish pulling in Mr. Pinchwife. Sparkish Come back, you are a pretty Brother-in-law, neither go to Church, nor to dinner with your Sister Bride. Mr. Pinchwife My Sister denies her marriage, and you see is gone away from you dissatisfy'd. Sparkish Pshaw, upon a foolish scruple, that our Parson was not in lawful Orders, and did not say all the Common Prayer, but 'tis her modesty only I believe, but let women be never so modest the first day, they'l be sure to come to themselves by night, and I shall have enough of her then; in the mean time, Harry Horner, you must dine with me, I keep my wedding at my Aunts in the Piazza. Horner Thy wedding, what stale Maid has liv'd to despaire of a husband, or what young one of a Gallant? Sparkish O your Servant Sir —this Gentlemans Sister then —No stale Maid. Horner I'm sorry for't. Mr. Pinchwife How comes he so concern'd for her — Aside. Sparkish You sorry for't, why do you know any ill by her? Horner No, I know none but by thee, 'tis for her sake, not yours, and another mans sake that might have hop'd, I thought — Sparkish Another Man, another man, what is his Name? Horner Nay since 'tis past he shall be nameless. Poor Harcourt I am sorry thou hast mist her — Aside. Mr. Pinchwife He seems to be much troubled at the match— Aside. Sparkish Prythee tell me —nay you shan't go Brother. Mr. Pinchwife I must of necessity, but I'le come to you to dinner. Exit Pinchwife. Sparkish But Harry, what have I a Rival in my Wife already? but withal my heart, for he may be of use to me hereafter, for though my hunger is now my sawce, and I can fall on heartily without, but the time will come, when a Rival will be as 76 good sawce for a married man to a wife, as an Orange to Veale. Horner O thou damn'd Rogue, thou hast set my teeth on edge with thy Orange. Sparkish Then let's to dinner, there I was with you againe, come. Horner But who dines with thee? Sparkish My Friends and Relations, my Brother Pinchwife you see of your acquaintance. Horner And his Wife. Sparkish No gad, he'l nere let her come amongst us good fellows, your stingy country Coxcomb keeps his wife from his friends, as he does his little Firkin of Ale, for his own drinking, and a Gentleman can't get a smack on't, but his servants, when his back is turn'd broach it at their pleasures, and dust it away, ha, ha, ha, gad I am witty, I think, considering I was married to day, by the world, but come — Horner No, I will not dine with you, unless you can fetch her too. Sparkish Pshaw what pleasure can'st thou have with women now, Harry? Horner My eyes are not gone, I love a good prospect yet, and will not dine with you, unless she does too, go fetch her therefore, but do not tell her husband, 'tis for my sake. Sparkish Well I'le go try what I can do, in the mean time come away to my Aunts lodging, 'tis in the way to Pinchwifes. Horner The poor woman has call'd for aid, and stretch'd forth her hand Doctor, I cannot but help her over the Pale out of the Bryars. Exeunt Sparkish, Horner, Quack. The Scene changes to Pinchwife's house. Mrs. Pinchwife alone A Table, Pen, Ink, and Paper. leaning on her elbow. Mrs. Pinchwife Well 'tis 'ene so, I have got the London disease, they call Love, I am sick of my Husband, and for my Gallant; 77 I have heard this distemper, call'd a Feaver, but methinks 'tis liker an Ague, for when I think of my Husband, I tremble and am in a cold sweat, and have inclinations to vomit, but when I think of my Gallant, dear Mr. Horner, my hot fit come, and I am all in a Feaver, indeed & as in other Feavers, my own Chamber is tedious to me, and would fain be remov'd to his, and then methinks I shou'd be well; ah poor Mr. Horner, well I cannot, will not stay here, therefore I'le make an end of my Letter to him, which shall be a finer Letter than my last, because I have studied it like any thing; O Sick, Sick! Takes the Pen and writes. Enter Mr. Pinchwife who seeing her writing steales softly behind her, and looking over her shoulder, snatches the paper from her. Mr. Pinchwife What writing more Letters? Mrs. Pinchwife O Lord Budd, why d'ye fright She offers to run out: he stops her, and reads. me so? Mr. Pinchwife How's this! nay you shall not stir Madam. Deare, Deare, deare, Mr Horner —very well — I have taught you to write Letters to good purpose —but let's see't. First I am to beg your pardon for my boldness in writing to you, which I'de have you to know, I would not have done, had not you said first you lov'd me so extreamly, which if you doe, you will never suffer me to lye in the arms of another man, whom I loath, nauseate, and detest — Now you can write these filthy words. but what follows — Therefore I hope you will speedily find some way to free me from this unfortunate match, which was never, I assure you, of my choice, but I'm afraid 'tis already too far gone; however if you love me, as I do you, you will try what you can do, but you must help me away before to morrow, or else alass I shall be for ever out of your reach, for I can defer no longer our —our —what is to follow our — speak what? our Journey into The Letter concludes. the Country I suppose —Oh Woman, damnd Woman, 78 and Love, damn'd Love, their old Tempter, for this is one of his miracles, in a moment, he can make those blind that cou'd see, and those see that were blind, those dumb that could speak, and those prattle who were dumb before, nay what is more than all, make these dow-bak'd, sensless, indocile animals, Women, too hard for us their Politick Lords and Rulers in a moment; But make an end of your Letter, and then I'le make an end of you thus, and all my plagues together. Draws his Sword. Mrs. Pinchwife O Lord, O Lord you are such a Passionate Man, Budd. Enter Sparkish. Sparkish How now what's here to doe. Mr. Pinchwife This Fool here now! Sparkish What drawn upon your Wife? you shou'd never do that but at night in the dark when you can't hurt her, this is my Sister in Law is it not? ay faith e'ne our Pulls aside her Handkercheife. Country Margery, one may know her, come she and you must go dine with me, dinner's ready, come, but where's my Wife, is she not come home yet, where is she? Mr. Pinchwife Making you a Cuckold, 'tis that they all doe, as soon as they can. Sparkish What the Wedding day? no, a Wife that designs to make a Cully of her Husband, will be sure to let him win the first stake of love, by the world, but come they stay dinner for us, come I'le lead down our Margery. Mrs. Pinchwife No —Sir go We'l follow you. Sparkish I will not wag without you. Mr. Pinchwife This Coxcomb is a sensible torment to me amidst the greatest in the world. Sparkish Come, come Madam Margery. Mr. Pinchwife No I'le lead her my way, Leads her to t'other door, and locks her in and returns. what wou'd you treat your friends with mine, for want of your own Wife? I am contented my rage shou'd take breath — Aside. Sparkish I told Horner this. 79 Mr. Pinchwife Come now. Sparkish Lord, how shye you are of your Wife, but let me tell you Brother, we men of wit have amongst us a saying, that Cuckolding like the small Pox comes with a fear, and you may keep your Wife as much as you will out of danger of infection, but if her constitution incline her to't, she'l have it sooner or later by the world, say they. Mr. Pinchwife What a thing is a Cuckold, that every fool can make him ridiculous — Aside. Well Sir —But let me advise you, now you are come to be concern'd, because you suspect the danger, not to neglect the means to prevent it, especially when the greatest share of the Malady will light upon your own head, for — How'sere the kind Wife's Belly comes to swell. The Husband breeds for her, and first is ill. Mr. Pinchwife's House. Enter Mr. Pinchwife and Mrs. Pinchwife, a Table and Candle. Mr. Pinchwife Come take the Pen and make an end of the Letter, just as you intended, if you are false in a tittle, I shall soon perceive it, and punish you with this as you deserve, write what was to follow —let's see — Lays his hand on his Sword. You must make haste and help me away before to morrow, or else I shall be for ever out of your reach, for I can defer no longer our — What follows our?— Mrs. Pinchwife Must all out then Budd? — Mrs. Pinchwife takes the Pen and writes. Look you there then. Mr. Pinchwife Let's see —[For I can defer no longer our— 80 Wedding —Your slighted Alithea ] What's the meaning of this, my Sisters name to't, speak, unriddle Mrs. Pinchwife Yes indeed Budd Mr. Pinchwife But why her name to't speak —speak I say. Mrs. Pinchwife Ay but you'l tell her then again, if you wou'd not tell her again. Mr. Pinchwife I will not, I am stunn'd, my head turns round, speak. Mrs. Pinchwife Won't you tell her indeed, and indeed. Mr. Pinchwife No, speak I say. Mrs. Pinchwife She'l be angry with me, but I had rather she should be angry with me than you Budd; and to tell you the truth, 'twas she made me write the Letter, and taught me what I should write. Mr. Pinchwife Ha —I thought the stile was somewhat better than her own, but how cou'd she come to you to teach you, since I had lock'd you up alone. Mrs. Pinchwife O through the key hole Budd. Mr. Pinchwife But why should she make you write a Letter for her to him, since she can write her self. Mrs. Pinchwife Why she said because —for I was unwilling to do it. Mr. Pinchwife Because what —because. Mrs. Pinchwife Because lest Mr. Horner should be cruel and refuse her, or vaine afterwards, and shew the Letter, she might disown it, the hand not being hers. Mr. Pinchwife How's this? ha —then I think I shall come to my self again —This changeling cou'd not invent this lye, but if she cou'd, why should she? she might think I should soon discover it —stay —now I think on't too, Horner said he was sorry she had married Sparkish, and her disowning her marriage to me, makes me think she has evaded it, for Horner's sake, yet why should she take this course, but men in love are fools, women may well be so. — Aside. But hark you Madam, your Sister went out in the morning, and I have not seen her within since. 81 Mrs. Pinchwife A lack a day she has been crying all day above it seems in a corner. Mr. Pinchwife Where is she, let me speak with her. Mrs. Pinchwife O Lord then he'l discover all — Aside. Pray hold Budd, what d'y mean to discover me, she'l know I have told you then, pray Budd let me talk with her first— Mr. Pinchwife I must speak with her to know whether Horner ever made her any promise; and whether she be married to Sparkish or no Mrs. Pinchwife Pray dear Budd don't, till I have spoken with her and told her that I have told you all, for she'll kill me else. Mr. Pinchwife Go then and bid her come out to me. Mrs. Pinchwife Yes, yes Budd— Mr. Pinchwife Let me see— Mrs. Pinchwife I'le go, but she is not within to come to him, I have just got time to know of Lucy her Maid, who first set me on work, what lye I shall tell next, for I am e'ne at my wits end — Exit Mrs. Pinchwife. Mr. Pinchwife Well I resolve it, Horner shall have her, I'd rather give him my Sister than lend him my Wife, and such an alliance will prevent his pretensions to my Wife sure, —I'le make him of kinn to her, and then he won't care for her. Mrs. Pinchwife returns. Mrs. Pinchwife O Lord Budd I told you what anger you would make me with my Sister. Mr. Pinchwife Won't she come hither. Mrs. Pinchwife No no, alack a day, she's asham'd to look you in the face, and she says if you go in to her, she'l run away down stairs and shamefully go her self to Mr. Horner, who has promis'd her marriage she says, and she will have no other, so she won't— Mr. Pinchwife Did he so —promise her marriage —then she shall have no other, go tell her so, and if she will come and discourse with me a little concerning the means, I will about it immediately, go — Exit Mrs. Pinchwife 82 His estate is equal to Sparkish's, and his extraction as much better than his, as his parts are, but my chief reason is, I'd rather be of kin to him by the name of Brother-in-law, than that of Cuckold — Well what says she now Enter Mrs. Pinchwife Mrs. Pinchwife Why she says she would only have you lead her to Horners lodging—with whom she first will discourse the matter before she talk with you, which yet she cannot doe; for alack poor creature, she says she can't so much as look you in the face, therefore she'l come to you in a mask, and you must excuse her if she make you no answer to any question of yours, till you have brought her to Mr. Horner, and if you will not chide her, nor question her, she'l come out to you immediately. Mrs. Pinchwife Let her come I will not speak a word to her, nor require a word from her. Mrs. Pinchwife Oh I forgot, besides she says, she cannot look you in the face, though through a mask, therefore wou'd desire you to put out the Candle. Mr. Pinchwife I agree to all, let her make Exit Mrs. Pinchiwife, puts out the Candle. haste —there 'tis out —My case is something better, I'd rather fight with Horner for not lying with my Sister, than for lying with my Wife, and of the two I had rather find my Sister too forward than my Wife; I expected no other from her free education, as she calls it, and her passion for the Town —well —Wife and Sister are names which make us expect Love and duty, pleasure and comfort, but we find 'em plagues and torments and are equally, though differently troublesome to their keeper; for we have as much a doe to get people to lye with our Sisters, as to keep 'em from lying with our Wives. Enter Mrs. Pinchwife Masked and in Hoods and Scarves, and a night Gown and Petticoat of Alitheas in the dark. What are you come Sister? let us go then —but first let me lock up my Wife, Mrs. Margery where are you Mrs. Pinchwife Here Budd. 83 Mr. Pinchwife Come hither, that I may lock you up, Locks the door. get you in, Come, Sister, where are you now? Mrs. Pinchwife gives him her hand, but when he lets her go, she steals softly on t'other side of him, and is lead away by him for his Sister Alithea. The Scene changes to Horners Lodging. Quack, Horner. Quack. What all alone, not so much as one of your Cuckolds here, nor one of their Wives! they use to take their turns with you, as if they were to watch you. Horner Yes it often happens, that a Cuckold is but his Wifes spye, and is more upon family duty, when he is with her gallant abroad hindring his pleasure, than when he is at home with her playing the Gallant, but the hardest duty a married woman imposes upon a lover is, keeping her husband company always. Quack. And his fondness wearies you almost as soon as hers. Horner A Pox, keeping a Cuckold company after you have had his Wife, is as tiresome as the company of a Country Squire to a witty fellow of the Town, when he has got all his Mony. Quack. And as at first a man makes a friend of the Husband to get the Wife, so at last you are faine to fall out with the Wife to be rid of the Husband. Horner Ay, most Cuckold-makers are true Courtiers, when once a poor man has crack'd his credit for 'em, they can't abide to come neer him. Quack. But at first to draw him in are so sweet, so kind, so dear, just as you are to Pinchwife, but what becomes of that intrigue with his Wife. Horner A Pox he's as surly as an Alderman that has been bit, and since he's so coy, his Wife's kindness is in vain, for she's a silly innocent. Quack. Did she not send you a Letter by him. Horner Yes, but that's a riddle I have not yet solv'd —allow the poor creature to be willing, she is silly too, and he 84 keeps her up so close— Quack. Yes, so close that he makes her but the more willing, and adds but revenge to her love, which two when met seldome faile of satisfying each other one way or other. Horner What here's the man we are talking of I think. Enter Mr. Pinchwife leading in his Wife Masqued, Muffled, and in her Sisters Gown. Horner Pshaw. Quack. Bringing his Wife to you is the next thing to bringing a Love Letter from her. Horner What means this? Mr. Pinchwife The last time you know Sir I brought you a love Letter, now you see a Mistress, I think you'l say I am a civil man to you. Horner Ay the Devil me will I say thou art the civillest man I ever met with, and I have known some; I fancy, I understand thee now, better than I did the Letter, but hark thee in thy eare— Mr. Pinchwife What. Horner Nothing but the usual question man, is she soundfree of venereal disease on thy word. Mr. Pinchwife What you take her for a Wench and me for a Pimp. Horner Pshaw, wench and Pimp, paw words, I know thou art an honest fellow, and hast a great acquaintance among the Ladies, and perhaps hast made love for me rather than let me make love to thy Wife— Mr. Pinchwife Come Sir, in short, I am for no fooling. Horner Nor I neither, therefore prythee let's see her face presently, make show man, art thou sure I don't know her. Mr. Pinchwife I am sure you doe know her. Horner A Pox why dost thou bring her to me then. Mr. Pinchwife Because she's a Relation of mine. Horner Is she faith man, then thou art still more civil and obliging, dear Rogue. 85 Mr. Pinchwife Who desir'd me to bring her to you. Horner Then she is obliging, dear Rogue. Mr. Pinchwife You'l make her welcome for my sake I hope. Horner I hope she is handsome enough to make her self wellcome; prythee let her unmask. Mr. Pinchwife Doe you speak to her, she wou'd never be rul'd by me. Horner Madam — Mrs. Pinchwife whispers to Horner She says she must speak with me in private, withdraw prythee. Mr. Pinchwife She's unwilling it seems I shou'd know all her undecent conduct in this business — Aside. Well then Ile leave you together, and hope when I am gone you'l agree, if not you and I shan't agree Sir.— Horner What means the Fool? —if she and I agree 'tis no matter what you and I do. Whispers to Mrs Pinchwife, who makes signs with her hand for him to be gone. Mr. Pinchwife In the mean time I'le fetch a Parson, and find out Sparkish and disabuse him. You wou'd have me fetch a Parson, would you not, well then —Now I think I am rid of her, and shall have no more trouble with her —Our Sisters and Daughters like Usurers money, are safest, when put out; but our Wifes, like their writings, never safe, but in our Closets under Lock and Key. Exit Mr. Pinchwife Enter Boy. Boy. Sir Jaspar Fidget Sir is coming up Horner Here's the trouble of a Cuckold, now we are talking of, a pox on him, has he not enough to doe to hinder his Wifes sport, but he must other women's too. —Step in here Madam. Exit Mrs. Pinchwife Enter Sir Jaspar Sir Jaspar My best and dearest Friend. Horner The old stile Doctor — Well be short, for I am busie, what would your impertinent Wife have now? 86 Sir Jaspar Well guess'd y' faith, for I do come from her Horner to invite me to supper, tell her I can't come, go. Sir Jaspar Nay, now you are out faith, for my Lady and the whole knot of the virtuous gang, as they call themselves, are resolv'd upon a frolick of coming to you to night in a Masquerade, and are all drest already Horner I shan't be at home. Sir Jaspar Lord how churlish he is to women —nay prythee don't disappoint 'em, they'l think 'tis my fault, prythee don't, I'le send in the Banquet and the Fiddles, but make no noise on't, for the poor virtuous Rogues would not have it known for the world, that they go a Masquerading, and they would come to no mans Ball, but yours Horner Well, well —get you gone, and tell 'em if they come, 'twill be at the peril of their honour and yours Sir Jaspar Heh, he, he —we'l trust you for that, farewell — Exit Sir Jaspar Horner Doctor anon you too shall be my guest. But now I'm going to a private feast. The Scene changes to the Piazza of Covent Garden. Sparkish, Pinchwife. Sparkish But who would have thought a Sparkish with the Letter in his hand. woman could have been false to me, by the world, I could not have thought it. Mr. Pinchwife You were for giving and taking liberty, she has taken it only Sir, now you find in that Letter, you are a frank person, and so is she you see there. Sparkish Nay if this be her hand —for I never saw it. Mr. Pinchwife 'Tis no matter whether that be her hand or no, I am sure this hand at her desire lead her to Mr. Horner, with whom I left her just now, to go fetch a Parson to 'em at their desire too, to deprive you of her for ever, for it seems yours was but a mock marriage. Sparkish Indeed she wou'd needs have it that 'twas Harcourt himself in a Parsons habit, that married us, but I'm sure he told me 'twas his Brother Ned. Mr. Pinchwife O there 'tis out and you were deceiv'd not she 87 for you are such a frank person —but I must be gone— you'l find her at Mr. Horners, goe and believe your eyes. Exit Mr. Pinchwife Sparkish Nay I'le to her, and call her as many Crocodiles, Syrens, Harpies, and other heathenish names, as a Poet would do a Mistress, who had refus'd to heare his suit, nay more his Verses on her. But stay, is not that she following a Torch at t'other end of the Piazza, and from Horners certainly —'tis so — Enter Alithea following a Torch, and Lucy behind. You are well met Madam though you don't think so; what you have made a short visit to Mr. Horner, but I suppose you'l return to him presently, by that time the Parson can be with him. Alithea Mr. Horner, and the Parson Sir— Sparkish Come Madam no more dissembling, no more jilting for I am no more a frank person. Alithea How's this? Lucy. So 'twill work I see — Aside. Sparkish Cou'd you find out no easie Country Fool to abuse? none but me, a Gentleman of wit and pleasure about the Town, but it was your pride to be too hard for a man of parts, unworthy false woman, false as a friend that lends a man mony to lose, false as dice, who undoe those that trust all they have to 'em. Lucy. He has been a great bubble by his similes as they say — Aside. Alithea You have been too merry Sir at your wedding dinner sure. Sparkish What d'y mock me too? Alithea Or you have been deluded. Sparkish By you. Alithea Let me understand you. Sparkish Have you the confidence, I should call it something else, since you know your guilt, to stand my just reproaches? you did not write an impudent Letter to Mr. Horner, who I find now has club'd with you in deluding me with his aversion for women, that I might not forsooth suspect him for my 88 Rival. Lucy. D'y think the Gentleman can be jealous now Madam — Aside. Alithea I write a Letter to Mr. Horner. Sparkish Nay Madam, do not deny it, your Brother shew'd it me just now, and told likewise he left you at Horners lodging to fetch a Parson to marry you to him, and I wish you joy Madam, joy, joy, and to him too much joy, and to my self more joy for not marrying you. Alithea So I find my Brother would break off the match, and I can consent to't, since I see this Gentleman can be made jealous. Aside. O Lucy, by his rude usage and jealousie, he makes me almost afraid I am married to him, art thou sure 'twas Harcourt himself and no Parson that married us. Sparkish No Madam I thank you, I suppose that was a contrivance too of Mr. Horners and yours, to make Harcourt play the Parson, but I would as little as you have him one now, do not for the world, for shall I tell you another truth, I never had any passion for you, 'till now, for now I hate you, 'tis true I might have married your portion, as other men of parts of the Town do sometimes, and so your Servant, and to shew my unconcernedness, I'le come to your wedding, and resign you with as much joy as I would a stale wench to a new Cully nay with as much joy, as I would after the first night, if I had been married to you, there's for you, and so your Servant, Servant. Exit Sparkish Alithea How was I deceiv'd in a man. Lucy. You'l believe then a fool may be made jealous now? for that easiness in him that suffers him to be led by a Wife, will likewise permit him to be perswaded against her by others. Alithea But marry Mr. Horner, my brother does not intend it sure; if I thought he did, I would take thy advice, and Mr. Harcourt for my Husband, and now I wish, that if there be any over-wise woman of the Town, who like me would marry 89 a fool, for fortune, liberty, or title, first that her husband may love Play, and be a Cully to all the Town, but her, and suffer none but fortune to be mistress of his purse, then if for liberty, that he may send her into the Country under the conduct of some housewifely mother-in law; and of for title, may the world give 'em none but that of Cuckold. Lucy. And for her greater curse Madam, may he not deserve it Alithea Away impertinent —is not this my old Lady Lanterlus?Mrs. Lanterlu is presumably Harcourt's landlady. Lucy. Yes Madam. Aside. And here I hope we shall find Mr. Harcourt — Exeunt Alithea, Lucy. The Scene changes again to Horner's Lodging. Horner, Lady Fidget, Mrs. Daynty Fidget, Mrs. Squeamish, a Table, Banquet, and Bottles. Horner A Pox they are come too soon —before I have sent back my new —Mistress, all I have now to do, is to lock her in, that they may not see her — Aside. Lady Fidget That we may be sure of our wellcome, we have brought our entertainment with us, and are resolv'd to treat thee, dear Toad. Dainty And that we may be merry to purpose, have left they should chance to interrupt us. Lady Fidget Let us sit then Horner First that you may be private, let me lock this door, and that, and I'le wait upon you presently Lady Fidget No Sir, shut 'em only and your lips for ever, for we must trust you as much as our women. Horner You know all vanity's kill'd in me, I have no occasion for talking. Lady Fidget Now Ladies, supposing we had drank each of us our two Bottles, let us speak the truth of our hearts. 90 Dainty and Squeamish Agreed Lady Fidget By this brimmer, for truth is no where else to be found. Not in thy heart false man. Aside to Horner Horner You have found me a true man I'm sure. Aside to Lady Fidget Lady Fidget Not every way — Aside to Horner But let us sit and be merry. Lady Fidget sings. I Why should our damn'd Tyrants oblige us to live. On the pittance of Pleasure which they only give. We must not rejoyce, With Wine and with noise. In vaine we must wake in a dull bed alone. Whilst to our warm Rival the Bottle, they're gone. Then lay aside charms, And take up these arms.*The Glasses. [Wycherley's note.] 2 'Tis Wine only gives 'em their Courage and Wit, Because we live sober to men we submit. If for Beauties you'd pass. Take a lick of the Glass. 'Twill mend your complexions, and when they are gone, The best red we have is the red of the Grape. Then Sister lay't on. And dam a good shape. Dainty Dear Brimmer, well in token of our openness and plain dealing, let us throw our Masques over our heads. Horner So 'twill come to the Glasses anon. Squeamish Lovely Brimmer, let me enjoy him first. Lady Fidget No, I never part with a Gallant, till I've try'd him. Dear Brimmer that mak'st our Husbands short sighted. 91 Dainty And our bashful gallants bold. Squeamish And for want of a Gallant, the Butler lovely in our eyes, drink Eunuch. Lady Fidget Drink thou representative of a Husband, damn a Husband. Dainty And as it were a Husband, an old keeper. Squeamish And an old Grandmother. Horner And an English Bawd, and a French Chirurgion. Lady Fidget Ay we have all reason to curse 'em. Horner For my sake Ladies. Lady Fidget No, for our own, for the first spoils all young gallants industry. Dainty And the others art makes 'em bold only with common women. Squeamish And rather run the hazard of the vile distemper amongst them, than of a denial amongst us. Dainty The filthy Toads chuse Mistresses now, as they do Stuffs, for having been fancy'd and worn by others. Squeamish For being common and cheap. Lady Fidget Whilst women of quality, like the richest Stuffs, lye untumbled, and unask'd for. Horner Ay neat, and cheap, and new often they think best. Dainty No Sir, the Beasts will be known by a Mistriss longer than by a suit. Squeamish And 'tis not for cheapness neither. Lady Fidget No, for the vain fopps will take up Druggers, and embroider 'em, but I wonder at the depraved appetites of witty men, they use to be out of the common road, and hate imitation, pray tell me beast, when you were a man, why you rather chose to club with a multitude in a common house, for an entertainment, than to be the only guest at a good Table. Horner Why faith ceremony and expectation are unsufferable to those that are sharp bent, people always eat with the best stomach at an ordinary, where every man is snatching for the best bit. 92 Lady Fidget Though he get a cut over the fingers —but I have heard people eat most heartily of another man's meat, that is, what they do not pay for. Horner When they are sure of their wellcome and freedome, for ceremony in love and eating, is as ridiculous as in sighting, falling on briskly is all should be done in those occasions. Lady Fidget Well then let me tell you Sir, there is no where more freedome than in our houses, and we take freedom from a young person as a sign of good breeding, and a person may be as free as he pleases with us, as frolick, as a gamesome, as wild as he will. Horner Han't I heard you all declaim against wild men. Lady Fidget Yes, but for all that, we think wildness in a man, as desireable a quality, as in a Duck, or Rabbet; a tame man, foh. Horner I Know not, but your Reputations frightned me, as much as your Faces invited me. Lady Fidget Our Reputation, Lord! Why should you not think, that we women make use of our Reputation, as you men of yours, only to deceive the world with less suspicion; our virtue is like the State-man's Religion, the Quakers Word, the Gamesters Oath, and the Great Man's Honour, but to cheat those that trust us. Squeamish And that Demureness, Coyness, and Modesty, that you see in our Faces in the Boxes at Plays, is as much a sign of a kind woman, as a Vizard-mask in the Pit. Dainty For I assure you, women are least mask'd, when they have the Velvet Vizard on. Lady Fidget You wou'd have found us modest women in our denyals only. Squeamish Our Bashfulness is only the reflection of the Men's. Dainty We blush, when they ae shame-fac'd. Horner I beg your pardon Ladies, I was deceiv'd in you devilishly, but why, that mighty pretence to Honour. Lady Fidget We have told you; but sometimess 'twas for the 93 same reason you men pretend business often, to avoid ill company, to enjoy the better, and more privately those you love. Horner But why, wou'd you ne'er give a Friend a wink then? Lady Fidget Faith, your Reputation frightned us as much, as ours did you, you were so notoriously lewd. Horner And you so seemingly honest. Lady Fidget Was that all that deterr'd you? Horner And so expensive —you allow freedom you say. Lady Fidget Ay, ay. Horner That I was afraid of losing my little money, as well as my little time, both which my other pleasures required. Lady Fidget Money, foh —you talk like a little fellow now, do such as we expect money? Horner I beg your pardon, Madam, I must confess, I have heard that great Ladies, like great Merchants, set but the higher prizes upon what they have, because they are not in necessity of taking the first offer. Dainty Such as we, make sale of our hearts? Squeamish We brib'd for our Love? Foh. Horner With your pardon, Ladies, I know, like great men in Offices, you seem to exact flattery and attendance only from your Followers, but you have receivers about you, and such fees to pay, a man is afraid to pass your Grants; besides we must let you win at Cards, or we lose your hearts; and if you make an assignation, 'tis at a Goldsmiths, Jewellers, or China house, where for your Honour, you deposit to him, he must pawn his, to the punctual Citt, and so paying for what you take up, pays for what he takes up. Dainty Wou'd you not have us assur'd of our Gallants Love? Squeamish For Love is better known by Liberality, than by Jealousie. Lady Fidget For one may be dissembled, the other not—but my Jealousie can be no longer dissembled, and they are telling ripe: Aside. 94 Come here's to our Gallants in waiting, whom we must name, and I'll begin, this is my false Rogue. Claps him on the back. Squeamish How! Horner So all will out now — Squeamish Did you not tell me, 'twas for my sake only, you reported your self no man? Aside to Horner. Dainty Oh Wretch! did you not swear to me, 'twas for my Love, and Honour, you pass'd for that thing you do? Aside to Horner. Horner So, so. Lady Fidget Come, speak Ladies, this is my false Villain. Squeamish And mine too. Dainty And mine. Horner Well then, you are all three my false Rogues too, and there's an end on't. Lady Fidget Well then, there's no remedy, Sister Sharers, let us not fall out, but have a care of our Honour; though we get no Presents, no Jewels of him, we are savers of our Honour, the Jewel of most value and use, which shines yet to the world unsuspected, though it be counterfeit. Horner Nay, and is e'en as good, as if it were true, provided the world think so; for Honour, like Beauty now, only depends on the opinion of others. Lady Fidget Well Harry Common, I hope you can be true to three, swear, but 'tis no purpose, to require your Oath; for you are as often forsworn, as you swear to new women. Horner Come, faith Madam, let us e'en pardon one another, for all the difference I find betwixt we men, and you women, we forswear our selves at the beginning of an Amour, you, as long as it lasts. Enter Sir Jaspar Fidget, and old Lady Squeamish. Sir Jaspar Oh my Lady Fidget, was this your cunning, to come to Mr. Horner without me; but you have been no where else I hope. Lady Fidget No, Sir Jaspar. Old Lady Squeamish And you came straight hither Biddy. 95 Squeamish Yes indeed, Lady Grandmother. Sir Jaspar 'Tis well, 'tis well, I knew when once they were throughly acquainted with poor Horner, they'd ne'er be from him; you may let her masquerade it with my Wife, and Horner, and I warrant her Reputation safe. Enter Boy. Boy. O Sir, here's the Gentleman come, whom you bid me not suffer to come up, without giving you notice, with a Lady too, and other Gentlemen — Horner Do you all go in there, whil'st I send 'em away, and Boy, do you desire 'em to stay below 'til I come, which shall be immediately. Exeunt Sir Jaspar, Old Lady Squeamish, Lady Fidget, Mistriss Dainty, Squeamish. Boy. Yes Sir. Exit. Exit Horner at t'other door, and returns with Mistress Pinchwife. Horner You wou'd not take my advice to be gone home, before your Husband came back, he'll now discover all, yet pray my Dearest be perswaded to go home, and leave the rest to my management, I'll let you down the back way. Mrs. Pinchwife I don't know the way home, so I don't. Horner My man shall wait upon you. Mrs. Pinchwife No, don't you believe, that I'll go at all; what are you weary of me already? Horner No my life, 'tis that I may love you long, 'tis to secure my love, and your Reputation with your husband, he'll never receive you again else. Mrs. Pinchwife What care I, d'ye think to frighten me with that? I don't intend to go to him again; you shall be my Husband now. Horner I cannot be your Husband, Dearest, since you are married to him. Mrs. Pinchwife O wou'd you make me believe that —don't I see every day at London here, women leave their first Husbands, and go, and live with other mens their Wives, pish, pshaw, you'd make me angry, but that I love you so mainly. 96 Horner So, they are coming up —In again, Exit Mistris Pinchwife. in, I hear 'em: Well, a silly Mistriss, is like a weak place, soon got, soon lost a man has scarce time for plunder; she betrays her Husband, first to her Gallant, and then her Gallant, to her Husband. Enter Pinchwife, Alithea, Harcourt, Sparkish, Lucy, and a Parson. Mr. Pinchwife Come Madam, 'tis not the sudden change of your dress, the confidence of your asseverations, and your false witness there, shall perswade me, I did not bring you hither, just now; here's my witness, who cannot deny it, since you must be confronted —Mr. Horner, did not I bring this Lady to you just now? Horner Now must I wrong one woman for anothers sake, but that's no new thing with me; for in these cases I am still on the criminal's side, against the innocent. Aside. Alithea Pray, speak Sir. Horner It must be so —I must be impudent, and try my luck, impudence uses to be too hard for truth. Aside. Mr. Pinchwife What, you are studying an evasion, or excuse for her, speak Sir. Horner It must be so —I must be impudent, and try my luck, impudence uses to be too hard for truth. Aside. Mr. Pinchwife What, you are studying an evasion, or excuse for her, speak Sir. Horner No faith, I am something backward only, to speak in womens affairs or disputes. Mr. Pinchwife She bids you speak. Alithea Ay, pray Sir do, pray satisfie him, Horner Then truly, you did bring that Lady to me just now, Mr. Pinchwife O ho — Alithea How Sir — Harcourt How, Horner! Alithea What mean you Sir, I always took you for a man of Honour? Horner Ay, so much a man of Honour, that I must save my Mistriss, I thank you, come what will on't. Aside. Sparkish So if I had had her, she'd have made me believe, the Moon had been made of a Christmans pye. Lucy. Now cou'd I speak, if I durst, and solve the Riddle, who am the Author of it. Aside. 97 Alithea O unfortunate Woman! a combination against my Honour, which most concerns me now, because you share in my disgrace, Sir, and it is your censure which I must now suffer, that troubles me, not theirs. Harcourt Madam, then have no trouble, you shall now see 'tis possible for me to love too, without being jealous, I will not only believe your innocence my self, but make all the world believe it — Horner I must now be concern'd for this Ladies Honour. Apart to Horner. Horner And I must be concern'd for a Ladies Honour too. Harcourt This Lady has her Honour, and I will protect it. Horner My Lady has not her Honour, but has given it me to keep, and will preserve it. Harcourt I understand you not. Horner I wou'd not have you. Mrs. Pinchwife What's the matter with 'em all. Mistress Pinchwife peeping in behind. Mr. Pinchwife Come, come, Mr. Horner, no more disputing. here's the Parson, I brought him not in vain. Horner No Sir, I'll employ him, if this Lady please. Mr. Pinchwife How, what d'ye mean? Sparkish Ay, what does he mean? Horner Why, I have resign'd your Sister to him, he has my consent. Mr. Pinchwife But he has not mine Sir, a womans injur'd Honour, no more than a man's, can be repair'd or satisfied by any, but him that first wrong'd it; and you shall marry her presently, or — Lays his hand on his Sword. Enter to them Mistress Pinchwife. Mrs. Pinchwife O Lord, they'll kill poor Mr. Horner, besides he shan't marry her, whilest I stand by, and look on, I'll not lose my second Husband so. Mr. Pinchwife What do I see. Alithea My Sister in my cloaths! Sparkish Ha! Mrs. Pinchwife Nay, pray now don't quarrel about finding work 98 for the Parson, he shall marry me to Mr. Horner; for now I believe, you have enough of me. To Mr. Pinchwife. Horner Damn'd, damn'd loving Changeling. Mrs. Pinchwife Pray Sister, pardon me for telling so many lyes of you. Harcourt I suppose the Riddle is plain now. Lucy No, that must be my work, good Sir, hear me. Kneels to Mr. Pinchwife, who stands doggedly, with his hat over his eyes. Mr. Pinchwife I will never hear woman again, but make 'em all silent, thus — Offers to draw upon his Wife. Horner No, that must not be. Mr. Pinchwife You then shall go first, 'tis all one to me. Offers to draw on Horner; stopt by Harcourt. Harcourt Hold — Enter Sir Jaspar Fidget, Lady Fidget, Lady Squeamish, Mrs. Dainty Fidget, Mrs. Squeamish. Sir Jaspar What's the matter, what's the matter, pray what's the matter Sir, I beseech you communicate Sir. Mr. Pinchwife Why my Wife has communicated Sir, as your Wife may have done too Sir, if she knows him Sir — Sir Jaspar Pshaw, with him, ha, ha, he. Mr. Pinchwife D'ye mock me Sir, a Cuckold is a kind of a wild Beast, have a care Sir — Sir Jaspar No sure, you mock me Sir —he cuckold you! it can't be, ha, ha, he, why I'll tell you Sir. Offers to whisper. Mr. Pinchwife I tell you again, he has whor'd my Wife, and yours too, if he knows her, and all the women he comes near; 'tis not his dissembling, his hypocrisie can wheedle me. Sir Jaspar How does he dissemble, is he a Hypocrite? nay then —how —Wife —Sister is he an Hypocrite? Old Lady Squeamish An Hypocrite, a dissembler, speak young Harlotry, speak how? Sir Jaspar Nay then —O my head too —O thou libinous Lady! 99 Old La. Speamish O thou Harloting, Harlotry, hast thou don't then? Sir Jaspar Speak good Horner, art thou a dissembler, a Rogue? hast thou — Horner Soh — Lucy. I'll fetch you off, and her too, if she will but hold her tongue. Apart to Horner Horner Canst thou? I'll give thee — Apart to Lucy Lucy to Mr. Pinchwife Pray have but patience to hear me Sir, who am the unfortunate cause of all this confusion, your Wife is innocent, I only culpable; for I put her upon telling you all these lyes, concerning my Mistress, in order to breaking off the match, betweem Mr. Sparkish and her, to make way for Mr. Harcourt. Sparkish Did you so eternal Rotten-tooth, then it seems my Mistress was not false to me, I was only deceiv'd by you, brother that shou'd have been, now an of conduct, who is a frank person now, to bring your Wife to her Lover — ha — Lucy. I assure you Sir, she came not to Mr. Horner out of love, for she loves him no more — Mrs. Pinchwife Hold, I told lyes for you, but you shall tell none for me, for I do love Mr. Horner with all my soul, and no body shall say me nay; pray don't you go to make poor Mr. Horner believe to the contrary, 'tis spitefully done of you, I'm sure. Horner Peace, Dear Ideot. Aside to Mrs. Pinchwife Mrs. Pinchwife Nay, I will not peace. Mr. Pinchwife Not 'til I make you. Enter Dorilant, Quack. Dorilant Horner your Servant, I am the Doctors Guest, he must excuse our intrusion. Quack. But what's the matter Gentlemen, for Heavens sake, what's the matter? Horner Oh 'tis well you are come—'tis a censorious world we live in, you may have brought me a reprieve, or else I 100 had died for a crime, I never committed, and these innocent Ladies had suffer'd with me, therefore pray satisfie these worthy, honourable, jealous Gentlemen —that — Whispers. Quack. O I understand you, is that all —Sir Jaspar, by heavens and upon the word of a Physician Sir, — Whispers to Sir Jasper. Sir Jaspar Nay I do believe you truly —pardon me my virtuous Lady, and dear of honour. Old Lady Squeamish What then all's right again. Sir Jaspar Ay, ay, and now let us satisfie him too. They whisper with Mr. Pinchwife Mr. Pinchwife An Eunuch! pray no fooling with me. Quack. I'le bring half the Chirurgions in Town to swear it. Mr. Pinchwife They —they'l sweare a man that bled to death through his wounds died of an Apoplexy. Quack. Pray hear me Sir —why all the Town has heard the report of him. Mr. Pinchwife But does all the Town believe it. Quack. Pray inquire a little, and first of all these. Mr. Pinchwife I'm sure when I left the Town he was the lewdest fellow in't. Quack. I tell you Sir he has been in France since, pray ask but these Ladies and Gentlemen, your friend Mr. Dorilant, Gentlemen and Ladies, han't you all heard the late sad report of poor Mr. Horner. All Ladies Ay, ay, ay. Dorilant Why thou jealous Fool do'st thou doubt it, he's an errant French Capon. Mrs. Pinchwife 'Tis false Sir, you shall not disparage poor Mr. Horner, for to my certain knowledge — Lucy. O hold — Squeamish Stop her mouth — Aside to Lucy. Lady Fidget Upon my honour Sir, 'tis as true. To Pinchwife Dainty D'y think we would have been seen in his company — Squeamish Trust our unspotted reputations with him! Lady Fidget This you get, and we too, by trusting your 101 secret to a fool — Aside to Horner Horner Peace Madam, —well Doctor is not this a good design that carryes a man on unsuspected, and brings him off safe. — Aside to Quack. Mr. Pinchwife Well, if this were true, but my Wife — Aside Dorilant whispers with Mrs. Pinchwife Alithea Come Brother your Wife is yet innocent you see, but have a care of too strong an imagination, least like an overconcern'd timerous Gamester by fancying an unlucky cast it should come, Women and Fortune are truest still to those that trust 'em. Lucy. And any wild thing grows but the more fierce and hungry for being kept up, and more dangerous to the Keeper. Alithea There's doctrine for all Husbands Mr. Harcourt. Harcourt I edifie Madam so much, that I am impatient till I am one. Dorilant And I edifie so much by example I will never be one. Sparkish And because I will not disparage my parts I'le ne're be one. Horner And I alass can't be one. Mr. Pinchwife But I must be one —against my will to a Country-Wife, with a Country murraina disease, mostly in cattle and other livestock. to me. Mrs. Pinchwife And I must be a Country Wife still too I find, for I can't like a City one, be rid of my musty Husband and doe what I list. Aside. Horner Now Sir I must pronounce your Wife Innocent, though I blush whilst I do it, and I am the only man by her now expos'd to shame, which I will straight drown in Wine, as you shall you suspicion, and the Ladies troubles we'l divert with a Ballet, Doctor where are your Maskers. Lucy. Indeed she's Innocent Sir, I am her witness, and her end of coming out was but to see her Sisters Wedding, and what she has said to your face of her love to Mr. Horner was but the usual innocent revenge on a Husbands jealousie, was it not Madam speak — Mrs. Pinchwife Since you'l have me tell more lyes — Aside to Lucy and Horner. 102 Yes indeed Budd. Mr. Pinchwife For my own sake fain I wou'd all believe. Cuckolds like Lovers shou'd themselves deceive. But — sighs His honour is least safe, (too late I find) Who trusts it with a foolish Wife or Friend. A Dance of Cuckolds. Horner Vain Fopps, but court, and dress, and keep a puther, To pass for Womens men, with one another. But he who aimes by women to be priz'd, First by the men you see must be despis'd. FINIS. EPILOGUE spoken by Mr. Hart: Now you the Vigorous, who dayly here O're Vizard-Mask, in publick domineer, And what you'd doe to her if in Place where; Nay have the confidence, to cry come out, Yet when she says lead on, you are not stout; But to your well-drest Brother straight turn round And cry, Pox on her Ned, she can't be sound: Then slink away, a fresh one to ingage, With so much seeming heat and loving Rage, You'd frighten listning Actress on the Stage: Till she at last seen you huffing come, And talk of keeping in the Tyreing-Room, Yet cannot be provok'd to lead her home: Next you Fallstaffs of fifty, who beset Your Buckram Maidenheads, which your friends get; And whilst to them, you of atchievements boast, They share the booty, and laugh at your cost, In fine, you Essens't Boyes, both Old and Young, Who wou'd be thought so eager, brisk, and strong, Yet do the Ladies, not their Husbands, wrong: Whose Purses for your manhood make excuse, And keep your Flanders Mares for shew, not use; Encourag'd by our Womans Man to day, A Horners part may vainly think to Play; And may Intreagues so bashfully disown That they may doubted be by few or none, May kiss the Cards at Picquet, Hombre, —Lu, And so be thought to kiss the Lady too; But Gallants, have a care faith, what you do. The World, which to no man his due will give, You by experience know you can deceive, And men may still believe you Vigorous, But then we Women, —there's no cous'ning us. FINIS. Philips, Katherine and Katherine Philips. "Rosania to Lucasia on her Letters". Poems by the most deservedly admired Mrs. Katherine Philips, the matchless Orinda; to which is added Monsieur Corneille's Pompey & Horace, tragedies; with several other translations out of French, Printed by J.M. for H. Herringman, 1667 , pp 144-145 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z 144 Rosania to Lucasia on her Letters"Rosania" refers to Mary Aubrey, a friend of Philips's from childhood. "Lucasia" refers to Ann Owen, who was Philips's closest friend and the person to whom many of her poems are addressed. This poem, unusually, sees Philips takes the voice of someone other than herself, imagining two members of her coterie writing to each other. 1 Ah strike outright, or else forbear, 2 Be more kind, or more severe; 3 For in this checquer'dCheckered or full of alteration and varying character (Oxford English Dictionary). mixture I 4 Cannot live, and would not die, 5 And must I neither? tell me why? 6 When thy Pen thy kindness tells, 7 My heart transported leaps and swells. 145 8 But when my greedy eye does stray 9 Thy threat'ned absence to survey, 10 That heart is struck and faints away. 11 To give me title to rich land, 12 And the fruition to withstand, 13 Or solemnly to send the key 14 Of treasures I must never see, 15 Would it contempt or bounty be? 16 This is such refin'd distress, 17 That thy sad Lovers sigh for less, 18 Though thou their hopes hast overthrown, 19 They lose but what they ne're have known, 20 But I am plunder'd from my own. 21 How canst thou thy Rosania prize, 22 And be so cruel and so wise? 23 For if such rigid policy 24 Must thy resolves dispute with me, 25 Where then is friendship's victory? 26 Kindness is of so brave a make 27 'Twil rather death then that is, "than"bondage take, 28 So that if thine no power can have, 29 Give it and me one common grave, 30 But quickly either kill or save. O'Brien, John. "Headnote for Katherine Philips." Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL3300Fall20258.txt. Accessed: 2025-11-04T20:04:20.9Z Katherine Philips (1632-1664) had one of the most interesting and richest–if short–writing careers of any poet in English in the seventeenth century. Philips is remembered now as a coterie poet, that is, a poet whose first audience was family and friends, intimate acquaintances who knew her well. Philips made friendship and family into the major themes and topics of her poetry. She gave her friends code names: her husband James, for example, was known in her poems as “Antenor”; her best female friend Ann Owen was called “Lucasia”; Philips identified herself in her poetry as “Orinda.” Toward the end of her short life (she died of smallpox in 1664; she was only 32), Philips was becoming more widely known to readers in England when her works, which had previously circulated only in manuscript copies, began to be given a wider circulation through being printed for the first time. Critics and readers hailed her as the “matchless Orinda” for the elegance of her writing and the calm intelligence and grace of the persona she constructed for herself in her verse. She also did some translations of French plays into English. She translated Pierre Corneille’s tragedy La Mort de Pompee from French into English and the play was performed in Dublin and then in London. At the time of Philips's death, she was working on a translation of Corneille’s play Horace. For decades to come, the figure of “Orinda” lived on in the memory of readers, becoming the idealized emblem of the female writer, the literary lady whose talent and moral virtue shone through her work. Because so much of Katherine Philips's writing is about her friends, and because her career possibilities were so fully shaped by the political transformations that she witnessed in her lifetime, it is worth giving attention to her life story. Philips was born as Katherine Fowler in London in 1632. Her father was a cloth merchant, and her family seems to have shared the Puritan affinities that were common in middle-class trading circles in that era. But after her marriage to James Philips--a 24-year-old widower who was related to her stepfather--in 1648, Katherine spent most of her adult life in the countryside, in Wales, and seems to have been sympathetic to the royalist cause and to more conventional Anglicanism--even though her husband affiliated with the anti-Royalist Parliamentary cause and the Commonwealth government that ruled Britain from 1649 to 1660. (For many years, it was believed that James Philips was 54 years old at the time of the marriage, but that has been corrected recently; in spite of his comparative youth, however, he was already widowed, and would be again when Katherine died in 1664). In spite of the split in their political sympathies, Katherine and James seem to have had a happy marriage. James’s poetic name “Antenor,” given to him by Katherine, refers to the ancient Trojan who tried to make peace between Greece and Troy during the Trojan War, suggesting that Katherine admired her husband’s moderation and desire to find common ground between opposing camps. Living in Wales, far from her London family, Philips may have used poetry as a means of keeping in contact with her circle of friends and relatives. And, too, writing about friendship, giving pet names to acquaintances, became popular among people associated with the British court during the years of the Commonwealth in the 1650s, when part of the Stuart court was in exile, and when its sympathizers in Britain itself had to lie low. Idealizing friendship and Platonic love was a good way of keeping family bonds and the court culture alive, and coteries such as Philips’s emerged as ways in which the identity of a group was kept alive in spite of distance and political hazards. Philips’s friends read her poems in manuscript, perhaps in a copy that Philips herself wrote out. Such a copy is called an “autograph” copy, and one of these that contains many of Philips’s poems has survived. Other copies would be made by friends or by professional scribes. With so much hand-copying going on, changes, revisions, and mistakes are very common. Poems circulated in this way often exist in multiple versions, as authors revised their works over time, or, perhaps, as others in the coterie amended the original text. Often, the manuscript versions are so different from one another that we will never know which one is the real, authoritative version. Or, maybe even better, the conditions of coterie writing and “publication” remind us that in many cases the idea of a single authoritative text is more an illusion than a reality; texts are always changeable, subject to forces well beyond their originator’s control. In such a context, having one’s poems printed for general readers seems like a violation of privacy, as it exposes texts that were intended for an audience of people you know intimately to a public that you do not know. When Philips’s poems were first printed, it was because an unscrupulous publisher managed to get hold of a manuscript copy and printed them against her will. Philips was angry, and managed to get what she called “this false Edition of my Verses” suppressed. It was only in 1667, three years after her death, that a family friend, Sir Charles Cotterell, probably working in collaboration with James Philips, published a handsome printed edition of her poetry that helped set the terms under which her writing was read and interpreted for generations. For a long time after her death, Katherine Philips lived on in the memory of readers as “Orinda,” the ideal of a woman writer, living a life of elegant retirement and writing beautiful verse on domestic topics. This was an idealization that does not capture the range of Philips’s engagements and interests, which included religion, philosophy, and politics. Philips was a poet of great gifts and complex political affiliations whose career was about to enter a new and more public phase when it was interrupted by her death.