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Title: Olinda's Adventures: or the Amours of a Young Lady
Author: Anonymous
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Olinda's Adventures: or the Amours of a Young Lady" ***

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Transcriber's Notes:

This book contains inconsistent punctuation and various misspellings
which have been retained as they appear in the original. An Errata List
with unresolved printer errors can be found at the end of the book.
Superscripts are preceded by the [^] sign and enclosed in braces if more
than one letter is in superscript. The illustration at page 136 was
placed at the end of the section so as not to disrupt the text.

  Mark up: _italics_



Or the Amours of a Young Lady


_Introduction by_ ROBERT ADAMS DAY






William E. Conway, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_

George Robert Guffey, _University of California, Los Angeles_

Maximillian E. Novak, _University of California, Los Angeles_


David S. Rodes, _University of California, Los Angeles_


Richard C. Boys, _University of Michigan_

James L. Clifford, _Columbia University_

Ralph Cohen, _University of Virginia_

Vinton A. Dearing, _University of California, Los Angeles_

Arthur Friedman, _University of Chicago_

Louis A. Landa, _Princeton University_

Earl Miner, _University of California, Los Angeles_

Samuel H. Monk, _University of Minnesota_

Everett T. Moore, _University of California, Los Angeles_

Lawrence Clark Powell, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_

James Sutherland, _University College, London_

H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., _University of California, Los Angeles_

Robert Vosper, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_


Edna C. Davis, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_


Mary Kerbret, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_


A standard modern history of the English novel speaks of "the appearance
of the novel round about 1700. Nothing that preceded it in the way of
prose fiction can explain it."[1] Though today many scholars would
assert that "nothing" is too strong a term, just how much of the
original fiction written under the later Stuarts could "explain" Defoe
and Richardson? Most late seventeenth-century novels, it is true, are
rogue biographies, scandal-chronicles, translations and imitations of
French _nouvelles_, or short sensational romances of love, intrigue, and
adventure with fantastic plots and wooden characters. Only occasionally
was a tale published which showed that it was not examples of the
novelist's craft that were wanting to inspire the achievement of a
Defoe, but rather the sustained application of that craft over hundreds
of pages by the unique combination of talents of a Defoe himself.

Such a novel is _Olinda's Adventures_, a brief epistolary narrative of
1693, a minor but convincing demonstration of the theory that a literary
form such as the novel develops irregularly, by fits and starts, and of
the truism that a superior mind can produce superior results with the
most seemingly ungrateful materials. Of Defoe, _Olinda's Adventures_
must appear a modest precursor indeed; but measured, as a
realistic-domestic novel, against the English fiction of its day, it is
surprisingly mature; and if we believe the bookseller and assign its
authorship to a girl of fourteen, we must look to the juvenilia of Jane
Austen for the first comparable phenomenon.

_Olinda's Adventures_ seems to owe what success it had entirely to the
bookseller Samuel Briscoe. It appeared in 1693 in the first volume of
his epistolary miscellany _Letters of Love and Gallantry and Several
Other Subjects_. _All Written by Ladies_, the second volume following in
1694.[2] It may have been the nucleus of the collection, however, since
it begins the volume, and since Briscoe states in "The Bookseller to the
Reader" (sig. A2) that various ladies, hearing that he was going to
print Olinda's letters, have sent in amorous correspondence of their
own--a remark that could indicate some previous circulation in
manuscript. Another edition (or issue) of the miscellany, with a
slightly altered title, was advertised in 1697, but no copy of this is
recorded.[3] Nothing further is heard of _Olinda_ for some years, but
meanwhile Briscoe became something of a specialist in popular epistolary
miscellanies, perhaps because he was a principal employer of Tom Brown,
much of whose output consisted of original and translated "familiar
letters." In 1718 Briscoe assembled a two-volume epistolary collection
with the title _Familiar Letters of Love, Gallantry and Several
Occasions_; this collection was apparently made up of the best and most
popular items in his miscellanies of the past twenty-five years.[4] Here
_Olinda_ appears in much more impressive company than the anonymous
"ladies," for the collection includes the first letter of Heloise to
Abelard (said to be translated by L'Estrange) with actual correspondence
and epistolary fiction by Butler, Mrs. Behn, Dennis, Otway, Etherege,
Dryden, Tom Brown, Mrs. Mary Manley, Farquhar, Mrs. Centlivre, and other
wits. Another edition (or issue) was advertised for W. Chetwood in 1720;
and if the edition of 1724 ("Corrected. With Additions") is really the
sixth, as Briscoe's title-page states, _Olinda_ must have reached a
respectable number of readers.

_Olinda_ enjoyed another distinction, nearly unique for English popular
fiction before 1700. While by the middle of the eighteenth century
novel-readers in France were reveling in the adventures of the English
epigones of Pamela and Clarissa, defending their virtue or exhibiting
their sensibility in translation, the current of literary influence
before Defoe ran overwhelmingly in the opposite direction. _Olinda_
anticipated the Miss Sally Sampsons of sixty years later by appearing in
1695 in a French translation as _Les Amours d'une belle Angloise: ou la
vie et les avantures de la jeune Olinde: Ecrites par Elle mesme en forme
de lettres à un Chevalier de ses amis_.[5] Whether merit or mere chance
accounted for this unusual occurrence it is impossible to say; the
translation of _Olinda_ is a faithful one, though the text is at times
expanded by the insertion of poems into Olinda's letters, with brief
interpolated passages which rather awkwardly account for their presence.
Curiously, the volume closes with a list of books printed for Briscoe,
indicating either that the French translator would do anything to fill
up space, or that Briscoe may have been exploring the possibilities of a
French market for his wares.

While _Olinda_ was ascribed merely to an anonymous "young lady" in the
first edition, the editions of 1718 and 1724 gave it to "Mrs. Trotter."
This lady, who since 1707 had been the wife of the Reverend Patrick
Cockburn, a Suffolk curate, was then living in relative obscurity (her
husband, having lost his living at the accession of George I, was
precariously supporting his family by teaching), though she had enjoyed
a certain literary success in King William's time and would later be
heard from as a "learned lady" and writer on ethics. The fact that her
maiden name was used, though not likely in 1718 to add very much luster
to Briscoe's collection, and the similarities between the heroine's
situation and Mrs. Trotter's own early life (to be discussed later) make
Briscoe's attribution seem worthy of acceptance. It is true that if Mrs.
Trotter wrote _Olinda_ she did it at fourteen. But she had been a child
of astonishing precocity; she had produced a successful blank-verse
tragedy at sixteen, and both Lady Mary Wortley Montagu and Jane Austen
were to perform similar novelistic feats (to say nothing of Daisy

Catherine Trotter (1679-1749)[6] was the daughter of David Trotter, a
naval commander who died on a voyage in 1683, and Sarah Bellenden (or
Ballenden), whose connections with the Maitland and Drummond families
seem to have helped support her and her daughter in genteel poverty
until she gained a pension of £20 per year under Queen Anne; Bishop
Burnet was also her friend and patron. Catherine, a child prodigy,
learned Latin and logic, and is said to have taught herself French; she
extemporized verses in childhood, and at fourteen composed a poem on Mr.
Bevil Higgons's recovery from the smallpox which is no worse than many
"Pindarics" of the period. In 1695, however, Catherine Trotter
established herself as a female wit with the impressive success of her
tragedy _Agnes de Castro_, adapted from Mrs. Behn's retelling of an
episode from Portuguese history. It was produced at the Theatre Royal in
Drury Lane in December, with a prologue by Wycherley and with Mr. and
Mrs. Verbruggen and Colley Cibber in the cast. _The Fatal Friendship_, a
tragedy produced at Lincoln's Inn Fields in 1698, had a moderate
success; two later plays did not. But Mrs. Trotter gained the
acquaintance of Congreve, Dryden, and Farquhar, and was well enough
known to be lampooned in _The Female Wits_ (1704; acted 1696) along with
Mrs. Pix and Mrs. Manley. In 1702 she turned to more serious writing,
and her _Defence of the Essay of Humane Understanding_ and other
treatises defending Locke's theories against the charge of materialism
were impressive enough to earn her a flattering letter from Locke
himself; she also corresponded with Leibniz, who analyzed her theories
at some length. _The History of the Works of the Learned_ printed an
essay of hers on moral obligation in 1743, and in 1747 Warburton
contributed a preface to one of her treatises.

If we are willing to admit that _Olinda_ is Mrs. Trotter's work, its
virtues may be explained in part by seeing it as romanticized
autobiography. Olinda, like Mrs. Trotter, is a wit and something of a
beauty in adolescence, a fatherless child living with a prudent mother
who is anxious to marry her off advantageously, and a solicitor of
favors from noble or wealthy connections. Of the details of her
character and circumstances at this time, however, no information is
certain, and we must rely upon two presumably biased contemporary
portraits. Mrs. Trotter gets off lightly in _The Female Wits_; she is
represented (in "Calista," a small role) as being somewhat catty and
pretentious, vain of her attainments in Latin and Greek (she has read
Aristotle in the original, she says), but her moral character is not
touched upon.[7] Another account of her early life, in Mrs. Manley's
fictionalized autobiography and scandal-chronicle, _The Adventures of
Rivella_ (1714), may be entirely unreliable; but its author was
certainly well acquainted with Mrs. Trotter, and what she says of her
life in the 1690's, what is narrated in _Olinda_, and what Mrs.
Trotter's scholarly memoirist Thomas Birch relates are similar in
outline, similar enough so that we may speculate that the same set of
facts has been "improved" in _Olinda_, perhaps maliciously distorted in
_Rivella_. Cleander, the Platonic friend of the novel, Orontes, the
kidnapped bridegroom, and Cloridon, the inconveniently married noble
lover, appear to be three aspects of the same person; for Mrs. Manley
tells at length (pp. 64-71) of "Calista's" relationship with "Cleander"
(identified in the "key" to _Rivella_ as Mrs. Trotter and Mr. Tilly).[8]
John Tilly, the deputy warden of the Fleet prison, whose mistress Mrs.
Manley became and remained until 1702, first met her, she says, through
Mrs. Trotter, who sought her aid in interceding with her cousin John
Manley, appointed chairman of a committee to look into alleged
misdemeanors of Tilly as prison administrator. Mrs. Trotter, says Mrs.
Manley, was a prude in public, not so in private; she was the first,
"Cleander" said, who ever made him unfaithful to his wife. Mrs. Manley
goes on, with a tantalizing lack of clarity (pp. 101-102):

     [Calista's] Mother being in Misfortunes and indebted to him, she
     had offered her Daughter's Security, he took it, and moreover the
     Blessing of one Night's Lodging, which he never paid her back
     again.... [Calista] had given herself Airs about not visiting
     _Rivella_, now she was made the Town-Talk by her Scandalous
     Intreague with _Cleander_.

Whatever the truth about Mrs. Trotter's adolescent amours may have been,
or whether they have any connection with Olinda's fictional ones, must
remain a matter for speculation; but the artistic merits of _Olinda_ are
in no such doubt. Although technically it may be called an epistolary
novel, its author is no Richardson in marshalling the strategies of the
epistolary technique. Nevertheless, although it is actually a fictional
autobiography divided somewhat arbitrarily into "letters," the
postponement of the letter to Cloridon until the end, the introduction
of what might be called a subplot as Olinda tries to promote Cleander's
courtship of Ambrisia and notes its progress, the breaking off of the
letters at moments of (mild) suspense, the bringing up of the action to
an uncompleted present, all these show an awareness of fictional
mechanics that is far from elementary. Indeed, a contemporary critic
might go so far as to see in the novel's conclusion an anticipation of
the "open-ended" realism of plotting so much applauded at present; for
though Orontes has been got out of the way, Olinda has not yet been
rewarded with Cloridon's hand by a similarly happy turn of fate, and
must patiently await the demise of his inconvenient wife as anyone
outside of melodrama might have to do. The contretemps and
misunderstandings, the trick played on Olinda with regard to Cloridon's
fidelity and her subsequent undeceiving, the closet-scene and its
embarrassments, may smack of the hackneyed devices of stage comedy, but
they are not clumsily handled, and they never make emotional mountains
out of molehills.

Perhaps the most salient qualities of _Olinda_, in contrast to the
fiction of its day, are restraint and control. With the exception of the
rather ridiculous way in which the complications are resolved at the end
(Orontes's sequestration and death from smallpox), everything in the
novel is planned and motivated with some care. Inclinations develop
slowly and believably; the springs of action, barring a few not very
fantastic coincidences and accidents, are anti-romantic--almost too much
so. Indeed, such criteria of the "modern novel" as those proposed by Ian
Watt[9] are all modestly but adequately met. Most important, the
situation and behavior of the heroine, her values, and the world in
which she lives are (but for their sketchy development) what a reader of
Jane Austen might take for granted, yet are all but unique before 1740.

Here is a middle-class heroine who is fully as moral as Pamela, but with
a wry sense of humor; she defers to her mother as a matter of course
when marriage is in question, yet would willingly evade parental
decrees; she is capable of Moll Flanders's examinations of motive, yet
sees through her own hypocrisies; she lives in London in reduced
circumstances and agrees to a marriage of convenience although tempted
to engage in a dashing adultery; and she endures the onset of both love
and jealousy without melodramatic or sentimental posturings.

Other technical achievements of _Olinda_ aside, the portrait of the
heroine as she reveals herself to her confidant is the novel's most
significant feature. A fictional heroine of this early date who can be
sententious without being tedious, who is moderately and believably
witty, who is courted by a goldsmith (even though, conformably to the
times, he is named Berontus) rather than a prince borrowed from
_Astrée_, and who satirizes herself soberly for scorning him, who meets
her ideal lover with a business letter rather than in a shipwreck, and
who level-headedly fends him off because he is both married and a
would-be philanderer, is a rarity indeed.

_Olinda_ commends itself to the student of English literary history
principally for two reasons: because it so ably anticipates in embryo so
many features which the English domestic and realistic novel would
develop in its age of maturity and popularity, and because we do not yet
understand, and need to investigate, the cultural factors--literary,
social, and economic--which prevented the kind of achievement it
represents from being duplicated with any frequency for several decades.

  Queens College,
  City University of New York


1. Walter Allen, _The English Novel_ (New York, 1968), p. 4.

2. Advertised in the _Term Catalogues_, Trinity Term, 1693 (II, 466);
Wing L1784, L1785.

3. It is listed in Harold C. Binkley, "Letter Writing in English
Literature" (unpublished Harvard dissertation, 1923).

4. They included _Familiar Letters [of] Rochester_ (2 vols., 1697),
_Familiar and Courtly Letters [of] Voiture_ (2 vols., 1700), _A Pacquet
from Will's_ (2nd ed., 1705), _The Works of Mr. Thomas Brown_ (2-4
vols., 1707--), and _The Lady's Pacquet of Letters_ (1710). Briscoe was
not in every case the printer of the first edition.

5. "A Cologne. Chez *****. MDCXCV." A copy of the volume is in the
Bibliothèque de l'Arsénal in Paris.

6. See DNB, _s. v._ "Cockburn, Catherine"; Edmund Gosse, "Catharine
Trotter, the First of the Bluestockings," _Fortnightly Review_, N. S.,
No. 594 (June 1916), pp. 1034-1048; Alison Fleming, "Catherine
Trotter--'the Scots Sappho,'" _Scots Magazine_, XXXIII (1940), 305-314.
The source from which all three are derived is Thomas Birch's _The Works
of Mrs. Catherine Cockburn_ (2 vols., 1751), including letters and a
prefatory biography.

7. The play is reproduced in the Augustan Reprint Society's
Publication No. 124 (Los Angeles, 1967), with an introduction by Lucyle

8. Page references are to the "second edition" of 1715. See Paul B.
Anderson, "Mistress Delariviere Manley's Biography," _MP_, XXXIII
(1935-36), 270-271, for further details.

9. _The Rise of the Novel_ (London, 1957), Chapter I.


The text of this facsimile of _Olinda's Adventures_ (from the second
volume of _Familiar Letters of Love, Gallantry and Several Occasions_
[1718]) is published with the permission of the Trustees of the Newberry
Library. The unique recorded copy (in the Bodleian Library) of the
duodecimo first edition of 1693 is too small and too poorly printed to
be reproduced in the present series.



    _Familiar Letters_



    And several OCCASIONS,

      BY THE

    WITS _of the Last and Present Age_.

    With the best of _VOITURE_'s Letters, Translated
    by Mr. DRYDEN and Mr. T. BROWN.



      Of the Celebrated

    Mr. =T. BROWN;=


    on the TIMES, not Printed in his


    Printed for =SAM. BRISCOE.= 1718.


  _Olinda's_ Adventures:


  Of a Young LADY.

By _Mrs._ TROTTER.


  _Dear Cleander_,

I Hope I need not tell you how uneasie this tedious Absence makes me;
for I must confess as troublesome as I find it, and as much as I Value
you, I can't but wish you may be able to guess at it by what you suffer
your self: A strange Effect of the highest degree of Friendship; for if
I had less for you, I shou'd not so earnestly desire to hear you are in
Pain; but such Contradictions are no Mysteries to you, who understand
so well the little Niceties of Friendship. That you may see I study
nothing more in this Solitude than to oblige you; I've resolv'd to
employ most part of my time in complying with that Request you've often
made me, of giving you a particular account of all that has happen'd to
me in my Life; tho' I fear I shall lose part of that Esteem which you
have hitherto preserved for me, by acquainting you with some Passages of
it, which yet I hope have nothing in 'em so ill, that the kindness of a
Friend mayn't find out something in the Circumstances of the Story to
Excuse: For tho' perhaps I have not always been so nicely cautious as a
Woman in strictness ought, I have never gone beyond the bounds of solid
Virtue. To put all to the hazard then, I will give you a faithful
Account of all my Weaknesses. My Father dying, left me when I was very
young, to the Tuition of a Mother, who as you know is qualify'd for such
a Charge equal to any of her Sex; and she indeed perform'd her part as
well as her small Fortune wou'd permit her, which was scarce sufficient
to maintain her, in that Rank her Birth had placed her. However, she
gave me all the Education that was necessary; but I believe you'll
excuse me if I pass over all that occurr'd till I was Thirteen, for
about that time I began to fancy my self a Woman, and the more to
perswade me to it, I happen'd to be acquainted with a Gentleman whose
Name was _Licydon_, who the first or second time I saw him, seem'd to
have so much confidence in me, that he told me a long story of his Love,
and ever after shew'd me all the Letters he either Writ to, or received
from his Mistress: This you must think did not a little please me. and I
thought my self as Wise as the Gravest Politician, when he ask'd my
Advice in any of his Affairs, especially when I heard him commended by
many for a Man of great Parts. One day that we were by our selves, we
fell into a Discourse of Womens making Love; he Argu'd that 'twas very
unjust to deprive 'em of the satisfaction of discovering a Passion,
which they were as much subject to as Men: I said as much against him as
I cou'd, but he had more dexterity to manage his Argument than I; so
that I was easily brought to agree with him; but said 'twas well that
custom was observ'd, since the complaisance which was paid by their Sex
to ours, would sometimes oblige 'em to comply contrary to their
Inclination; for I cou'd not imagine how they cou'd civily refuse a
Lady's Intreaties. He told me if I wou'd write a Declaration of Love to
him, he wou'd shew me how it might be Answer'd with a great deal of
Respect, without any Love. I consented to do it, and accordingly did the
next day, and he return'd me an Answer which satisfied me: This, tho' it
may seem a trivial thing, you will find by the sequel, had like to have
produc'd but ill Effects. Some time after this, he brought a Friend of
his to Visit us, who was of a good Family; but according to the
_English_ custom of breeding the younger Sons to Trades; he was a
Goldsmith, but a great _Beaux_, and one who seem'd to have a Soul above
his calling: He ask'd _Licydon_ if he had any pretensions to me, which
when he assur'd him he had not, he told him he was very glad he had not
a Rival in a Friend; for he was hugely smitten, and shou'd need his
Assistance in his design; for he had observ'd such an intimacy between
us, as gave him Reason to think he had great influence over me; and he
was sure he wou'd not deny him, if he was not my Lover. _Licydon_
assur'd him he had only a Friendship for me, and that he wou'd use all
his Credit with me to perswade me to receive all His Addresses
favourably; which he did as soon as he had an opportunity. He said all
of him that he could imagine most engaging, and especially of the
Violence of his Passion. I was well enough pleas'd with the Love, tho'
not with the Lover; for 'tis natural at that unthinking Age to covet a
croud of Admirers, tho' we despise them: But I believe I need not
confine that Vanity to Youth, many of our Sex are troubled with it, when
one wou'd think they were Old enough to be sensible of the Folly, and
inconvenience of being continually Courted, and haunted by Men they have
an indifference, or perhaps an aversion for For my part I think there is
no greater Torment; but I was of another Opinion then, and therefore
Rally'd at the Love, and seem'd not to blelieve it; which I warrant you
gave great Encouragement to my new Lover, when he heard of it; for 'tis
a great Sign one wou'd be convinc'd. So I'd best prepare my self for an
Attack, which I did not expect long: It was begun by a _Billet Doux_,
which came first to my Mother's Hands; and when she gave it me, she
ask'd what Answer I wou'd return. I told her I was wholly to be Govern'd
by her; but if I was to follow my own inclination I wou'd not answer it
at all: My Mother reply'd, she thought it fit I shou'd Answer it; for
she believ'd I cou'd have no aversion to him, and she did not think it
an ill Match, considering my Circumstances. Then I desir'd her to indite
a Letter for me, for I saw well enough I shou'd not please her. She gave
me a Copy of one, that without saying any thing that was kind, gave him
cause enough to despair; but I cou'd not dissemble my Looks and Actions,
in which he observ'd so much Coldness, that tho' several Letters pass'd
between us, that wou'd have given hopes to a Man the least apt to
presume; he was often half an hour with me alone, without speaking one
Word to me. At last he complain'd to _Licydon_ of the strange
contradictions in what I did, and what I Writ; for whenever he begun to
speak to me of his Love, I check'd him with such severe Looks, and
turn'd the Discourse in such a manner, that he durst proceed no further,
tho' my Letters seem'd much to his Advantage. _Licydon_ perswaded him
(as perhaps he thought himself) that 'twas only my Modesty, and that
perhaps I shou'd be more emboldned, if he cou'd get my Mother's consent
to his Proposals. _Berontus_, for that was his Name, was as well
satisfy'd with this, as if I had told him so my self; and away goes he
immediately to my Mother, and tells her he's stark staring mad in Love
with her Daughter: The next thing they talk of is Joynture, and
Settlements, _&c._ and in fine they agree; So I am call'd for, and
commanded to look upon this Spark as one that must shortly be my
Husband; to give us the more freedom, my Mother leaves us together.
'Well, Madam, (says he) I have no Opposites to struggle with, your
Mother has given me her consent, and you have given me hopes that you
will not refuse me yours. What shou'd I do in this perplexity? I had a
firm Resolution never to Marry him; but I found my Mother so much set
upon it, that I durst not let it be known; besides, I had engag'd my
self so far in Obedience to her, that I did not know how to come off;
but for the present I wou'd be whimsical, and take time to consider what
I shou'd do hereafter. So I put on a pet, and said, _Berontus_, I don't
know what advantage you think you have more than before; but I'm sure a
Lover wou'd have found another way of Courting his Mistress, than by her
Mother; and it may be you'll find your self never the nearer my Heart
for having gain'd her: I hate a Man that will depend upon any other for
my Favour than my self. 'Cruel Creature, _says he_, what pleasure do you
take in tormenting me? You know that I love you with the greatest
respect imaginable, and that I can't be happy but by you alone. I never
had Recourse to your Mother till you had encourag'd me, and gave me
leave to say it; your usage of me is very unjust. I knew well enough he
was in the Right; but I wou'd not know it: So that we parted both much
dissatisfied. How his Thoughts were employ'd I can't pretend to tell
you; but I was continually contriving how to get out of this troublesome
Affair. I cou'd find no way but to tell him sincerely, that all that I
had writ in his favour was by constraint; that I was too young to think
of Love, or Marriage, and so trust to his Generosity; and prevail with
him, if possible, to let it fall of his side. The first time I had an
opportunity of putting my design in Execution, I thought the poor Lover
wou'd never have liv'd to see me beyond those Years which serv'd for a
pretence for my refusal; but he was Wise enough to baulk me, 'If, _says
he_ (after he was come out of his Dumps; for he was a quarter of an hour
without saying any thing. You see he was much given to silence) 'If I
did not imagine it your Hate that only study'd an Excuse, I shou'd wait
with a great deal of satisfaction, till you were pleas'd to make me
happy: But as it is, I shall die a thousand times with fear, that some
other more happy in your inclinations than I, will rob me of you for
ever. He said in fine, abundance of fine things, to perswade me to
engage my self to him; but I wou'd not consent to it; and all I could
say to him, was as little prevalent to make him desist his suit. He
wou'd wait the Patriarch's Prenticeship rather than lose his Angel:
Would it not be a sad Business if he should lose her after all? But I am
afraid he's like, for her thoughts cannot be brought so low; they towre
a little above his Shop, perhaps too high for her Fortune; but she's
something too young to consider that, or to prefer her Interest to her
Humour. But to go on with my Story; my Mother was well enough satisfied
to have the Match delay'd; so that I thought I had nothing to do for a
Year or two, but to wish some Accident might intervene to hinder it. But
it was not long before a Servant we had in the House found me other
Employment; I had complain'd of some Negligences she had been guilty of,
when my Mother was out of Town, which were occasion'd by a fondness she
had for one that waited upon _Licydon_: Upon which she had been like to
be turn'd away, and being of a revengeful Spirit, she cou'd never
forgive it. She had observ'd, that _Licydon_ often gave me, and I him,
Letters in private; for when he had no other opportunity, he us'd to
give me those he sent, or receiv'd from his Mistress, as we were taking
leave, when I conducted him to the Door; which I often did, whilst my
Mother was entertaining other Company; and I return'd 'em when I saw him
again. This malicious Wench hoping to find something in 'em that might
prejudice me, to _Licydon_'s Man (over whom it seems she had a great
Influence) that she heard his Master was a great Poet, and that she had
a great mind to see some of his Works, if he could contrive to let her
into his Closet when he was abroad: The Servant who suspected nothing,
promis'd her he wou'd let her know the first time his Master left his
Key, which he very seldom did. He kept his Word with her, and after she
had look'd over all his Papers, at last she found that Letter which I
spoke of at the beginning. She knew my Hand well enough, and no doubt
with Joy, put it into her Pocket, without being perceiv'd by the Fellow;
and to lose no time, went presently to _Berontus_; to whom she said,
That she was extreamly concern'd to see him deceiv'd by two that he
rely'd so much upon, as her young Mistress and _Licydon_: And therefore
she could not forbear telling him, that she had discover'd an Intrigue
between 'em, and that they were so familiar, that if they were not
Married already, she was sure they wou'd be very suddenly; with
abundance of Circumstances of her own Invention, to make the Story more
plausible. He did not believe her at first; but when she show'd him the
Letter, it put him beyond doubt; so that after he had given her his
Word, whatever Measures he took, not to discover her, she went away very
well pleas'd, that she had depriv'd me of a Husband, and receiv'd a good
Reward for it. _Berontus_ did not give his Rage and Grief leave to
abate; but in the height of both, writ a Letter to _Licydon_, and
another to me. You can't imagine how much I was surprized when I read
it, and found it was a Chalenge, (for in that Confusion he had mistaken
the Direction) to one whom he accus'd of betraying him in what was
dearer to him than his Life: I cou'd not guess who it was design'd for,
till _Licydon_ came in, and show'd me a Letter he had just receiv'd,
which he believ'd was for me; and desir'd me to tell him who that happy
Man was _Berontus_ complain'd so much of. I saw plainly then he was
jealous of _Licydon_; but was not able to Divine the Cause: He gave me
the Letter which contain'd these Words;

_Wou'd to Heaven you had told me Truth, when you said you were too young
to think of Love; you have thought of it too much_ Olinda, _for my
quiet; but you were born to Torment me. It is my Fate, why do I complain
of you? Pity me, if I fall by my happy Rivals Hand, and if you can,
forgive me if I survive him. This is the last time I design to trouble
you: I wish he may be more faithful to you than he has been to me:
Adieu, Madam, pity the unfortunate_ Berontus.

The Letter seem'd so full of Distraction, that I cou'd not chuse but
pity him; for I really thought him Mad: But I did not think fit to shew
_Licydon_ that which was design'd for him. When he was gone I sent for
_Berontus_, but he refus'd to come, and 'twas with much ado after three
or four times sending he was prevail'd with. I told him by what means I
had seen both his Letters; but that they appear'd so great Mysteries to
me, that I sent for him to explain 'em. 'Twas long before he wou'd let
me know the Cause of his suspicions; but I was so importunate, that at
last he show'd me the Love Letter I had writ to _Licydon_: Can I have a
greater Proof than this, says he? I confess, reply'd I, you have Reason
to think as you do; but you are much deceiv'd; and then I told him upon
what occasion it was writ: I saw very well he did not believe me, and I
knew not how to convince him, unless I cou'd find _Licydon_'s Answer,
which at least wou'd clear him. I found it by good Fortune, and brought
it to _Berontus_. Read this, said I, and you'll see whether it be true,
that I Writ to _Licydon_ in earnest: You have nothing to accuse him of.
After he had read it, he cry'd out in a violent manner, I have wrong'd
the innocent _Olinda_, and I deserve to be hated by her for ever. Be not
so transported I return'd coldly enough, I may love _Licydon_, tho' he
be so indifferent: The Postscript fully clears you, reply'd _Berontus_,
and makes me not dare to ask you to forgive me: Upon which I took it,
and read these Words, which I had quite forgot. _I did not think one
cou'd write so prettily of Love, and be so insensible of it; How happy
wou'd that Man be, that shou'd receive such a one dictated by your
Heart, as well as Hand._ I am sure none cou'd return such an Answer to
_Olinda_. This Complement did me so much Kindness, that one wou'd think
I shou'd be a better Friend to 'em than you know I am. _Berontus_ left
me almost as angry at himself, as he was before at us; and did not come
near me for some time after. When I told _Licydon_ what had pass'd
between us, he was amaz'd: He Examin'd his Man, who had been in the
Chamber, who confess'd the Truth; and our Servant, when she was tax'd
with it, hardly deny'd it; and thus the whole Matter was discover'd;
which had it not been for a happy Mistake, had probably cost one, or
both of them, their Lives, and me my Honour. Two days after _Licydon_
was Married, and so our Acquaintance broke off; for tho' his Wife came
to see me and often press'd me to keep a Correspondence with her; I
never did, for I knew she had been very Jealous of me before she
Marry'd, and I would not hazard the reviving it. _Berontus_ easily
obtain'd his Pardon of me (for you know I'm very good Natur'd) and so he
continu'd to Visit me, taking all the pains he could to please me,
without any thing remarkable happening, till three Monthes after, his
Elder Brother, who had been at his Travels, and was reported to be dead,
return'd; so that he was no longer able to keep the Conditions he had
made with my Mother; for he had nothing to live upon but his Trade;
which I afterwards heard he neglected very much, and took to that usual
remedy of Cares, Drinking: He said it was to cure his Grief for the loss
of his Mistress, and truly that is to be lamented, when the loss of a
good Estate is the Cause of it. However he is comforted for both now,
and Married to a Woman with a great Fortune. I was very glad to be rid
of my Lover, tho' I was sorry 'twas by his misfortune.

Thus _Cleander_, you have an account of the first Adventures of my Life;
which made me early know some uneasie Hours: By the next Post I'll
acquaint you with a Catalogue of Lovers (that is, they were my _En
passant_, in taking their Rounds, and serv'd better to divert me than
the most Romantick Constancy, without giving themselves, or me any
trouble) but it's indeed time to make an end. Adieu my Friend, think of
me always, and, Write as often as you can to _Olinda_.


[Illustration: _M. V^{dr} Gucht Sculp_


_Vol. 2_ _pag. 136_]


TO proceed in Order to my Relation, I must begin with one, who in
respect of his Years as well as the time in which I knew him, demands
the Pre-eminence. He was a _Dutch_ Coll. about Threescore; Don't you
think one of his Country and Years, will make a pretty Lover? But Old as
he was, he had a Mistress in the House with him. I was younger than she,
and I believe I may say, without Vanity, I had some other Advantages
over her; so that the Old Spark had a Month's mind to me; and I, partly
to plague her, and partly to divert my self, received all his Addresses
with a great deal of complaisance. I cou'd perceive her fret within her
self, tho she durst not shew it. She was in great fear of losing him;
for the Man's Money had such Charms as aton'd for his want of 'em, tho'
he was Ugliness in perfection; (if that ben't Nonsense) and 'twas the
best Jest in the World to me, to see him squint an Amorous Glance upon
me with one Eye, whilst 'tother was watching whether she took Notice of
him; for we Lodg'd in one House together; so that I cou'd not avoid
often being with them both, nor indeed did I endeavour it; for I took a
malicious pleasure in laughing at their Follies: Since there's nothing
so ridiculous as an Antiquated Lover, who has the Vanity to believe he
is belov'd, and a Jealous Woman, who has not Discretion enough to hide
it. That I might be sufficiently entertain'd with both, one day I began
a Discourse of Young and old Lovers, preferring the last as more
Constant, more Fond, and more Solid than the First: He Smil'd, and took
me by the Hand, and gave me a thousand Commendations for the Wisdom of
my choice; Nay, and so far forgot himself, that he apply'd it to
himself, and said such passionate things as wou'd have been extravagant
from a young Fellow. She with a great deal of Heat contradicted all I
had said, and told all the Impertinences and Inconveniences one finds in
an Old Man (which she experimentally knew better than I) without
considering how far it touch'd him, she was so earnest against me. This
made him so Angry, and her so out of Countenance when she reflected so
upon what she had said, that I was never better diverted: So she did not
know what Excuse to make for her self; and in fine, the Dispute grew so
high, that at last they parted. Upon this the Coll. was hotter upon me
than ever; he pester'd me continually with his Visits, and the Brute so
little understood my Raillery, that he pretended an Interest in me, and
wou'd check me when he saw any body younger than himself with me; but I
gave him such Answers, that he did not know what to make of me. When he
had Orders for _Flanders_, he told me I must prepare my self to go with
him, and I should live as great and happy as a Queen; I said I wou'd go
withal my Heart, upon Condition his Son should be always with us: The
Old Man started, my Son, Child, what would you do with him? I think he
is fitter company for me than you, says I, and so I left him, so
asham'd, that he shunn'd seeing me ever after. He e'en went to
_Flanders_ without me, and vow'd, young as he was, he wou'd never have
any thing to do with Woman more. Thus I was rid of my Old Impertinent,
whose place was soon supply'd by one of those gay youths who never wait
for the slow gifts of pity, but Ravish little Favours from us, as if
they were their due; who make it impossible for us to think it a Crime
to give what they ask with so much boldness; and who are always
endeavouring to divert her they design to please. He Courted me with
Balls, Musick, and Entertainments, and in the midst of 'em wou'd now and
then whisper some pretty Love Maggots. I was first acquainted with him
at a Relations of mine at _Greenwich_: He was an Officer in the Army,
and was then in the Camp upon _Black-Heath_; and being very well known
in the House where I was, he came often there. He had heard several
things of me to my Advantage, (for Fame generally flatters or detracts)
as, that I sung well, was Handsom, and so forth: And I was told, that he
was very well accomplish'd, and the Neatest, Prettiest, Gentilest young
fellow that was to be seen in the whole Army: So that we had both a
great desire to see one another, and were very well acquainted the first
time we met: He told me he had a violent Passion for me, and he did not
doubt but I had a little Love for him; he came to see me every Day
whilst I was there; carried me to all the Diversions that were to be had
about the Country; and when I was going to _London_, he told me he would
soon follow me: But as soon as you come to Town, Faith _Olinda_, you
shall Write to me, as you hope to see me again; for I can't live without
hearing you Arriv'd safe. So I Writ a thousand little mad things, and
he Answer'd me at the same Rate, only a great deal of Airy Love mingled
with it. The following Week he came to see me, and from that day I was
never suffered to rest for one frolick or other: All the time he staid,
I liv'd a pleasant sort of a Life, till he went to Fight abroad, and got
two or three new Mistresses to divert, for those sort of Men never
remember the Absent; their Love never enters the Heart, nor do they
often gain ours; they seldom fail to please indeed, and they force us to
think of 'em sometimes whether we will or not; but they are neither
Discreet, nor Constant enough to go any further: I suppose he forgot me
as soon as he left me, and I was not much behindhand with him. After he
was gone, I had scarce a breathing time before another of his
Profession, more serious, and more designing, succeeded him: He had a
good Estate, and pass'd in the World for a Man of Honour, and therefore
was Received by my Mother favourably enough. I neither lik'd, nor
dislick'd him; but treated him with Civility, till I found out that his
designs were not very Honourable; and then I thought it time to alter my
Behaviour: I forbid him to see me, and when he came to our Lodgings, I
was deny'd to him, tho' he knew I was at home; upon which he left off
coming, and when some of his Comrades ask'd him the Reason, he told
them, he knew me too well, and that he did not think a Creature so young
cou'd be so Lew'd. Observe, my Friend, how unhappy Women are, who are
thus expos'd to lose either their Virtue, or their Honour; if I had
comply'd with him, perhaps none wou'd have been more careful of my Fame
than he: But how much my Choice is to be preferr'd, none but those who
have experienced the unexpressible satisfaction it gives can know. I
heard of it with a great deal of indifference, and did not so much as
hate the Author of the scandal. The next in waiting was a _French
Beaux_: He had a great stock of Wit, but more Vanity, a mighty
Flatterer, and one who took much pains to perswade credulous Women that
he lov'd them; and if he succeeded, he always forsook 'em, and sometimes
gratify'd his Vanity to their Cost, who had been indiscreet enough to
give him occasion. He laid his Baits to catch me, he Vow'd, and Swore,
and Danc'd, and Sung eternally by turns; but I was too wary to be
caught, tho' he made me a hundred Protestations, I was the only Woman he
ever did, or ever cou'd Love; follow'd me where ever I went, and in
spight of the greatest Rigour I cou'd use, wou'd not forbear haunting
me. I did not know how to free my self from the Impertinence of this
Fop; but I thought if I cou'd convince him of one Act of Inconstancy, he
wou'd not have the Confidence to trouble me any more: I had many
contrivances in Order to it, but at last I fix'd upon one that was
probable enough to take with one of his Humour. I Writ a Letter
(disguising my Hand) as from a Woman extreamly in Love with him, and
desir'd him to tell me sincerely whither he was engaged or not; for I
was too just to rob any Woman of his Heart, and too nice to be content
with a part of it. I told him if he was free, I wou'd meet him, the next
day at the Bird-Cage in the Park: He sent a very obliging answer to the
unknown Lady; and said, he was passionately in Love with her Wit; that
if her Beauty were Answerable, he must be undone; however 'twould be
such a pleasing Ruin, that he waited with the highest impatience for the
appointed hour, when he might assure her by word of Mouth, his Heart was
wholly at her dispose. Just as I had done Reading this Letter he came
in, and for a Proof of his Constancy, shew'd me that which I had sent
him, with another, which he said was the Answer he design'd to send;
wherein he told her, he was already so deeply in Love, 'twas impossible
for him to change; with abundance of fine things of the Person he
Lov'd. This was good sport for me, and I had much ado to keep my
Countenance; I us'd all my Rhetorick to perswade him to stay with me; a
thing I had never desir'd of him before, and now 'twas in vain: He
pretended earnest business, and went long before the Hour, he was so
very impatient. When he was gone, I chang'd my Clothes, took a Lady with
me, who was Privy to the Affair, and went to the aforesaid Place. We
were in Masks, and it being duskish, he did not know us; but after I had
banter'd him for some time, I discover'd my self: I cannot describe to
you the different Passions that affected him; sometimes he was in a Rage
with me for putting such a Deceit upon him, sometimes he wou'd frame
weak Excuses for what he had done, and sometimes he was not able to
speak at all for Grief, that he was not only disappointed of a new
Mistress, but had lost all hopes of gaining one he had Courted so long,
with so much Assiduity. I went home, as well pleas'd with losing one, as
I have sometimes been with making a Conquest, in full hopes I shou'd be
plagued with him no more, and I was not deceiv'd. You see, _Cleander_,
what a Miscellany of Lovers, if I may call 'em so, I have had, all of
different humours, but none that had found out the Secret to please me:
They have done enough if they contribute any thing to your diversion,
and made a sufficient Recompence for all their former Impertinence to

  _Your faithful Friend_




  _My Friend_,

THE Reflections you made upon my two last are so Just, so Profitable,
and so Pleasant, that thro' them I see the Author's great Capacity, that
can make so good use of such little things; and while I read, bless my
kind Fate that made you my Friend, when the Good and Wise are so scarce;
and wonder how so particular a Blessing came to be my Lot; which more
than doubly satisfies for all I suffer'd by _Clarinda_'s falseness. I
believe you think it strange I never mention'd her, in any of the
Passages of my Life, since it was before many that I have told you of,
that I knew and lov'd her: But I could not have Nam'd her without some
Marks of kindness, that I either show'd, or receiv'd from her, which I
would willingly forget, and cou'd not now speak of her, but when I put
your Friendship in compensation with her Ingratitude. But since I am
fall'n upon this Subject, I will let you know a little better than you
do, the only Woman that I ever trusted, not with any Secret, for you see
I then had none of consequence; but with my Love, and in that she
betray'd me. Her Sister often told me, she was sorry to see so sincere a
Friendship bestow'd upon one that knew so little how to Value it; that
_Clarinda_ was the same to all, which she pretended to be only for me:
That she was always fondest of her new acquaintance, and wou'd
Sacrifice, or Ridicule the Old, the better to Caress 'em: But I knew
there had been some Quarrels betwixt them, and therefore wou'd not
believe it, till I found it too true; and then my partiality for her,
chang'd into as great an Error on the other hand, for I involv'd the
whole Sex in her Faults, and with _Aristotle_ (I hope one may condemn
ones self with _Aristotle_) Repented that I had ever Trusted a Woman. I
don't know whether I forgot I was one, or whither I had the Vanity to
think my self more perfect than the rest; but I resolv'd none of the Sex
was capable of Friendship; and continu'd in that Opinion till I knew
_Ambrisia_, who (if one may judge by the Rule of Contraries, convinces
me of injustice) for she is just _Clarinda_'s Antipodes. _Clarinda_
loves new Faces, and professes a particular kindness at first sight;
_Ambrisia_ is a long time before she goes beyond Civility, and never
does but to those whom she has well observ'd, and found 'em Worthy:
_Clarinda_ will Rail at one Friend to engage another: _Ambrisia_ cant
hear an innocent person, tho' her Enemy, accus'd without defending 'em:
_Clarinda_ will be one day fond to extravagance, and the next as
indifferent for the same person: _Ambrisia_ is always the same, and
where once she loves, she never changes: _Clarinda_ is easily angry:
_Ambrisia_ is perhaps too mild. _Clarinda_ has Wit indeed, but 'tis not
temper'd by Judgment, so that it makes her often do, and say a hundred
things that call her discretion in question: _Ambrisia_ has a Solid and
piercing Judgment, one wou'd thing all she says was the Result of
premeditation, she speaks such Wise and such surprizing things, and yet
her Answers are so ready, that one wou'd Swear she did not think at all;
her Actions are always most regular; I believe she never cou'd accuse
her self of an imprudent one. This is a true and unprejudic'd Character
of both; and if you wonder how I cou'd love a Woman with such gross
Faults, I must tell you, some of them I did not know then; some I
excus'd, for I did not expect perfection, and some my partial kindness
made me cover with the Name of some Neighbouring Virtue. You know,
_Ambrisia_ has as great advantages of _Clarinda_ in Body as in Mind: I
have often heard you praise her outward Beauty, and now I have shew'd
you the Beauties of her Soul, tho' they are far greater than I can
express, give me leave to wish her yours. Forgive me if I mingle a
little self-Interest in my wishes for you, I can't resist a thought of
joy for the hopes of finding two Noble Friends in one, by such a happy
Union: Think of it _Cleander_; you only deserve one another. I know you
will bid me take your advice, and shew you the way; but I shall tell you
things that will convince you, my refusal is reasonable. I was just
fifteen years old when a particular Friend of my Mothers buried her
Husband; whose Grief was so great, that my Mother durst hardly leave
her; she staid with her Night and Day, and manag'd all her Affairs for
her. She went to _Cloridon_'s, who had had a Friendship for the
Deceas'd; (for they were forc'd to make use of that, and his Authority
in a business, wherein the Widdow had lik'd to be wrong'd) but Men of
his Quality are not always at Leisure, and must be waited on; so that
tho' my Mother went two or three times, she did not see him, and having
other Affairs of her own, and her Friends in hand, besides being oblig'd
to be much with her, she cou'd not Watch his Hours: However 'twas a
thing of too great consequence to be neglected: So she Writ a Letter to
him, and Order'd me to carry it, and to deliver it into his own Hand. I
went often to his Lodgings before I cou'd speak with him, and carry'd
_Clarinda_ with me: At last I was appointed an hour when I shou'd
certainly meet with him, and she happen'd to be so engag'd, she cou'd
not possibly go with me. I knew no body else I cou'd use so much freedom
with, and was forc'd to go alone. I did not wait long before I was
admitted, and he approach'd me with that awful Majesty which is peculiar
to him; and that commands respect from all that see him. Whilst he he
held the Letter I gave him, I look'd at him sometimes; but still I met
his Eyes, so that I cou'd not view him well, tho' I saw enough to think
him the Charming'st Man in the World: He ask'd my Name, and whose
Daughter I was? which when I told him, he said he knew my Father very
well; that he was a Worthy Man, and that for his sake he wou'd do any
thing for me that lay within his Power. I thank'd him, tho' I took it
for a Courtier's Complement, and desir'd an Answer to the business I
came about. _I will go my self instantly_, says he, _to see what can be
done in it, and give you an Account of it in the Afternoon; but there's
so much Company at my Lodgings, that 'tis not a convenient place for
you: Can't you come somewhere else?_ Yes my Lord, _says I_, very
innocently, where you please: _if you will be in a Hackney Coach then,
at Five a Clock by_ Covent-Garden _Church, I will come to you, and let
you know what I can do for your Friend_. I told him I would, and went
away very well satisfy'd with him, for I had no apprehensons of any
design, from a Man of his Character. You know all the World thinks him
the fondest Husband upon Earth, and that he never had a thought of any
Woman but his Wife, since he Marry'd her. This made me secure, and I did
not fail to go at the appointed hour. My Mother knew nothing of it till
afterwards; for I did not see her that day. When he came to me, he told
me, what he had done; inform'd himself of some things that were
necessary for him to know, that related to the business, and assur'd me
he wou'd do the Widow Justice. Then he renew'd his Promise to me with
Protestations, that I shou'd command him as far as his Authority or
Interest cou'd go; and beg'd me to make use of him either for my
Relations, or my self, when ever I had occasion. After he had made me
some Speeches of my Wit and Beauty, we parted, and as soon as I saw my
Mother, I told her all that pass'd between us. She was extreamly pleas'd
to have so great a Man her Friend; especially, one that she had no
Reason to suspect of any ill Design, since he had taken no advantage of
so favourable an opportunity as I had given him to discover himself, if
he had any; nor had not so much as desir'd to continue the
Correspondence. The next day the business was concluded more to our
satisfaction than was expected. Sometime after this, a Gentleman of my
Mothers acquaintance told her, he had a mind for a Commission in the
Army, and that he would give a considerable sum of Money to any Body
that would procure it. My Mother said she'd try her Interest, and made
me Write to _Cloridon_ about it. He sent me an obliging Answer, and
desir'd to see me at the same Place where we met before, that I might
give him an exact Account of the Person I recommended, and Answer some
Questions about him more particularly than I cou'd do by Writing. I did
so in the first part of our Conversation; and then he began to talk of
the many ills that Attend greatness, of which he said Flattery was the
chief; for it was the greatest Unhappiness to be sooth'd in ones Faults:
_But_ Olinda, continu'd he, _in you I see all that Sincerity and
Ingenuity that is requisite for a Friend, and I shou'd think my self
very Happy, if you wou'd let me see you sometimes; if you wou'd tell me
of my Faults, and what the World says of me_. You Honour me to much my
Lord, _says I_, but you have taken such care to make all Virtues your
own, that there's no room left for Flattery, or Correction. To be short,
after a great many Compliments of this Nature he told me, 'twou'd be an
Act of so great goodness, that he was sure I cou'd not deny him. But
what will the World think, _says I_, of such private Meetings? _If
neither you, nor I, tell it, it won't be known_, says he, _as it should
if I came to Visit: you. So that I may have the same Innocent Pleasure
of seeing you, which you wou'd not deny me in Publick, without making
any Noise: And since I assure you I have only a Friendship for you, it
can't shock your Virtue_. I neither granted, nor deny'd him his Request;
for I did not know whither I shou'd do the first, and cou'd not resolve
to do the last; both because it might be a hindrance to our business,
and because I was very well pleas'd with his Conversation. Nothing cou'd
be more agreeable; he is a Man of as much Sense, and as great Address,
as any I ever knew: But what is more to be commended and wondred at in a
Statesman, he never promis'd any thing that he did not perform. He gave
me his Word for the Commission I desir'd; appointed me a day when I
shou'd meet him to receive it; and kept it punctually. These were such
great Obligations, that I cou'd not but have some acknowledgments for
'em. There was nothing talk'd of in our House, but _Cloridon_'s
Generosity; and about that time, all the Town rung of some great Actions
he had then perform'd: So that all things Contributed to encrease my
Esteem of him. I Writ him a Letter of Thanks, and he told me in his
Answer, that he desir'd no other Recompence for all he cou'd do for me,
but to see me sometimes. I consider'd, that there was no danger in
seeing a Man, that was so great a Lover of his Lady; and that profess'd
only a Friendship for me: That if ever he shou'd change, I cou'd easily
forbear it, and that whatever happen'd, my Virtue was a sufficient
Guard. So I consented to it, without letting my Mother know any thing of
it. But I must delay telling you what these secret Meetings produc'd;
for time and Paper fails me, and will scarce give me leave to assure you
that I am

  _Your tenderest Friend_




YOU wou'd pity rather than chide me, _Cleander_, if you knew the Cause
of my not Writing to you all this while. I have not been one moment
alone for this Fortnight past, but condemn'd to entertain a mix'd
company, all of different Humours, different ways of Living, and of
Conversing; so that 'twas almost impossible to please one without
Contradicting anothers Humour. You may judge how uneasie this was to me;
for I've often told you, I had rather be all my Life alone, than with a
Company that is not chosen: That I sometimes prefer Solitude even to the
best, and that I had now retir'd to avoid the World: But I find one
never enjoys any thing without disturbance that one places one's
happiness in; and I was to blame to expect a singular Fate shou'd be cut
out for me. But whatever Accident deprives me of any thing else I Love,
I can never be unfortunate, if _Cleander_ continues to be my Friend. You
may remember I broke off my last, where I had resolv'd to see
_Cloridon_, as he desir'd. We met as often as we cou'd, extreamly to
both our satisfactions: He told me all his little uneasinesses, and had
so great a Confidence, in me, that he discover'd some Intreagues of
State to me, that are yet unknown to some that think they are not
strangers to the most secret transactions of the Court; and he never
undertook any of his own Affairs of greatest moment, without asking my
Advice. Thus we liv'd for two Months, and nothing past that gave me
Reason to repent an Action, that was not ill in it self; but might be
so by the Consequences of it, till one day, when he had been telling me
several things which concern'd him nearly: _But there's one Secret_,
says he, Olinda, _that I have never told you yet, tho' it takes up all
my Heart: But 'tis that I believe you know it too well already_. I said,
I cou'd not so much as guess at it. _What_, Olinda _interrupted, is it
possible you shou'd be Ignorant, that I am the most in Love of any Man
in the World? How cou'd you imagine, I that knew you so well cou'd have
only a Cold Respect or Friendship for you? No no_, Olinda, _I Love you;
I love you Ardently; I cannot live unless you give me leave to tell you
so; and to hope that you will one day return it_. I was so amaz'd at
this Discourse, I did not know what to Answer: It vex'd me to be oblig'd
to alter my way of Living with him; but I did not find my self so Angry
at his Love as I ought. However, I disguis'd my thoughts, and put on all
the Severity that is needful in such Cases. I have more Reason to be
displeas'd with such a Declaration from you my Lord, _said I_, than any
other: You that say you knew me so well; What have you seen in me to
Encourage it? Have I ever given you occasion to suspect my Virtue? Or is
it that you are tired with my Conversation, and therefore take this most
effectual means to be freed from it? _Inhumane Fair!_ said he, _Must you
hate me because I love you? can you Resolve not to let me see you, only
because you know I desir'd it more than before?_ In short, he said the
most passionate things that a Lover can imagine; and tho' I found he
mov'd my Heart too much, I dissembled well enough to hide it from him.
Nothing he said, cou'd prevail with me to see him, and I hop'd Absence
wou'd help me to forget him. He Writ many melancholly Letters to me,
telling me all the Court took notice of his Grief; that it would shortly
be his death, if I would not see him; and beg'd me to live with him as I
had done, and he wou'd never speak to me of his Love. But still I
refus'd, tho' unwillinglly. I was Angry at my self for thinking of him,
and for being pleas'd, when some told in Company where I was, that he
had been so out of Humour for some time, that no Body durst speak to him
of Business. I lov'd to think it was for me, and ask'd a hundred
Questions about him. But now the Publick Affairs oblig'd him to go to
_Flanders_, where he perform'd Actions Worthy of himself. His Valour,
Generosity, and Liberality were talk'd of everywhere, which still more
and more engag'd me. I cou'd not but have some Inclination for so fine a
Man, when I consider'd that he lov'd me too: However, I believ'd I had
only that Esteem for him which I thought due to his Merit, and that
Gratitude which the Obligations I had to him requir'd. But I grew
insensibly more Melancholy than Usual. One Evening that my Mother and I
were taking a serious Walk by the Canal in St. _James_'s Park, a
Gentleman of her Country, and Acquaintance, seeing us at a distance,
came to bear us Company: The Air being pretty Cool, we wore our Masks,
and after we had made two or three Turns, he saw a Friend of his, of the
same Nation, coming towards us. _That_, says he, _is_ Antonio, _Son to
my Lord ---- He is a very well Accomplish'd Gentleman, and has a good
Estate, I wish he were Married to_ Olinda. I know the Family, and have
hear'd of him, _Replyed my Mother_, I shou'd not dislike the Match. By
this time he was come up to us, and after having beg'd Pardon for
intruding, and leave to Walk with us, he turn'd of my side. He had not
seen my Face, for it was duskish, and I only made a Fashion of lifting
my Mask upon our first Compliments; but yet he said abundance of fine
things, of my Beauty and Charms. After half an Hours Conversation we
were going home, and they would needs wait upon us, but one of his
Servants met him, and told him he had been looking for him a long time;
some Friends of his that were going out of _England_ the next day, staid
for him in the Mall, and must speak with him immediately. So he left us
to the tothers Care, and went back. The first time _Antonio_ met with
his Friend, with whom he had seen us; he told him, he was so Charm'd
with the Ladies Conversation, that he could not rest till he saw her
again. He Answer'd, that he wou'd not like her if he had seen her, but
he wou'd carry him to Visit one, whose Beauty wou'd soon make him forget
her. _Antonio_ said that Wit and good Humour had far greater Charms for
him, than the finest Face in the World: But that you mayn't think me
obstinate, I will see her upon condition, that if her Eyes have not that
influence which you expect, you will make me acquainted with that Lady
whose Wit has engag'd me more perhaps than you imagine. He promis'd he
wou'd, and so left him, and came to our Lodging: He gave us an Account
of this Conversation, and desir'd us to continue the Humour, and not let
him know we had seen him before; for he fancy'd a great deal of Pleasure
in seeing me Rival my self. We agreed to it, and when they came, I
entertain'd him with the greatest simplicity imaginable: For you must
know I had an Aversion for him, which I cou'd give no Reason for (that
Passion is as unaccountable as Love) and therefore I was pleas'd he
shou'd think me a Fool, that he might not desire to see me again. I was
glad to perceive he was uneasie in my Company, and to make him the more
so, I talk'd very much, and very little to the purpose. When he was
gone, he said to his Friend, _That if_ Olinda _had the other Ladies
Soul, she wou'd be a dangerous Person; but that as she was, he cou'd no
more Love her than a fair Picture: That her Folly had only made him the
more eager to see the unknown, and therefore he claim'd his Promise_. He
_Answer'd_, that he did not know what a second sight of _Olinda_ might
do; but however not to be worse than his Word, he wou'd endeavour to
contrive a Meeting, but he cou'd not promise he shou'd see her Face, for
she was very shy of that, as she had some Reason. I was extreamly averse
to seeing him again, but this Gentleman was so earnest with me, and my
Mother said so much for it, for she was desirous to have us acquainted,
that I was almost forc'd to go; but Resolv'd not to shew my Face. He
carry'd _Antonio_ to the Park, at an appointed hour, when he said, he
heard the Lady say she wou'd be there; and we met 'em as if by chance.
We had a Conversation that wou'd have been diverting enough, if my
Hatred for him had not made me think, all he did or said disagreeable:
He told me I had been continually in his thoughts since he saw me, and
that I had made such an Impression in his Heart, as cou'd never be
alter'd. I said he must have a strange Opinion of my Credulity if he
thought I cou'd believe he was in Love with a Woman he never saw. _Ah!
Madam_, says he _how much more Charming are you Veil'd as you are than a
Beautiful Fool that can only please ones Eyes: Such a one as my Friend
here made me Visit the other day; and then he gave me a long Description
of_ Olinda, _and Related all her Discourse; which indeed was very
insipid_. We made some Satyrical Remarks upon the poor Lady, and then we
parted, tho' _Antonio_ wou'd fain have gone home with us; but we wou'd
not permit him. He was very importunate with his Friend after this, to
make him acquainted with the unknown; but he said, he durst not carry
him to see her without her leave; but he wou'd try to gain it, if he
continu'd to desire it, after seeing _Olinda_ two or three times. He
Reply'd, he wou'd endure so much Mortification, in hopes of so great a
Blessing as he promis'd him, but it must be speedy, for a Lover was
impatient; and he shou'd be better satisfied with seeing the Ugliest
Face he could imagine; than with that doubt he was in. In short, he
brought him to our Lodgings several times, and still I acted the Foolish
part; but yet he confess'd to his Friend, that I had mov'd him a little;
and he Refus'd to see me again for fear he said, that he shou'd Love a
Woman that he cou'd not Esteem: But one moments interview with his other
Charmer wou'd deprive _Olinda_ of that little part she had gain'd of his
Heart. A little after some young Ladies that I knew, were going to the
Play, and begg'd me to go with them: I was so chagrin, I cou'd not think
of any diversions; but that made them the more pressing, urging it wou'd
cure my Melancholy. So I went with them, and the first sight I saw was
_Antonio_ and his Friend. The last seeing a Lady that was not handsome
with me; it came into his thoughts to say, that was she that _Antonio_
was in Love with. He gaz'd upon her with the greatest eagerness
imaginable, for a long time; then turning to another that was with them;
which of those two, _says he_, (pointing to her and me) do you like
best? You amaze me with that Question, _Returned he_, for I think there
is too great a Disparity between them, to leave any doubt that it must
be _Olinda_: (for he new my Name.) You wou'd alter your Opinion, says
_Antonio_, if you knew them both as well as I; for _Olinda_'s Beauty is
more than doubly Valu'd by the others Wit, and solid Judgment. But
_Olinda_ has both, _Replyed the Gentleman_; which I believe you can't
but know if you have ever talk'd with, or heard of her: For every body
gives her that Character. They Wrong her extreamly, says _Antonio_, for
she is really Foolish to deserve Pity; I never Conversed with a Woman
whose Company was so tiresome; she talks Eternally, and not one Word of
Common Sense. 'Tis impossible your Friend here, who is a very good
Judge, has often said such things of her to me, that I must think you
mistake the Woman. I have been too often with her for that, says
_Antonio_, you may rather believe my Friend Jear'd her. Then they
question'd him about it; but he Laugh'd, and said, He never saw a pretty
Woman, but he thought she had Wit enough; so that they did not know what
to make of him; but _Antonio_, who would not have been sorry to find as
much Wit in _Olinda_, as he imagin'd in one, whose outside did not
please him so well; took some pleasure in fancying himself deceiv'd;
tho' when he consider'd it seriously, he could not believe it. However
he enquired diligently of all that cou'd inform him any thing of me,
which did more confound him: For they agreed, that I was far from being
a Fool, and he cou'd not imagine to what end I shou'd pretend it: But
was Resolv'd to find it out. He came often to see us, and still found me
the same Fool, till one day when we had a great deal of Company, I was
extreamly put to it; for I did not care for making my self ridiculous to
so many; and 'twas not good Manners to be silent; however, I chose
rather to be Rude, than undeceive him: I often made as if I did not hear
when I was spoke to; but I was obliged to Answer, when one said to me,
what's the matter with you _Olinda_, that you are Dumb of a sudden? I am
sure you ought not; for if it were pardonable in any Woman to talk
always, 'twould be in you, that do it so well. I was so confused at this
Compliment, that came so _male a propos_; that I believe I did not
Answer it over wisely; but as my ill Fate would have it, a Lady in the
Company took a Paper out of her Pocket, saying, _I am resolved to make_
Olinda _speak whether she will or not; and I will leave you to judge,
whether she does not do it well in this Song_. So she read one that I
had Writ at her desire; for she sung very well. I would fain have denyed
it, but I saw it was in vain, for Wit will out one way or other.
_Antonio_ seemed overjoyed at this Discovery, and I was as much grieved:
For no Woman had ever a greater desire to be thought Wise, than I to be
thought otherwise. He came to see me every day from that time, and when
his Friend told him, that he hoped he would not dispute _Olinda_'s Power
any longer, since she made him so absolutely forget her, whom he had
once preferred so much to her; he said, that it was not the same
_Olinda_ whom he loved, for she had chang'd her Soul. Nor had he forgot
the other, for it was that Wit, that same turn of Thought, and agreeable
Conversation which he admir'd in her, that he ador'd in _Olinda_. I do
not know, whether he ever knew, that they were both one Person, but he
did not desire to see the other. When he discovered his Love to me, I
entertained it so coldly, that he could have little hopes, but that is
the last thing that quite forsakes a Lover: And it did not hinder him
from persisting. He watched his opportunity, when he saw any thing had
pleased me, but still he was Repulsed with greater Scorn. I took delight
when he was with me, to Repeat often those Words in _Sophonisba; The
Fort's impregnable, break up your Siege, there is one for you too mighty
entered in; the Haughtiest, Bravest, foremost Man on Earth_. He
importuned me extreamly to know who this Happy Man was; and Vowed if I
would tell him, he'd never mention his Passion to me again; but I told
him, if there was such a Man, it was the same Reason he should trouble
me no more, as if he knew who he was; since that could make no
alteration in my heart: And perhaps it was a Secret; however, that I
would hear no more of his Love. He Begg'd, and Sigh'd, and Whin'd, an
Hour or two to make me Reverse my Doom; but in vain; and I was pleas'd
that he believed me in Love, tho' I did not think it my self. He
continued to Visit me without saying any thing of particular to me; and
without suspecting the Object of my Love; 'till my Mother and some
Company were talking of the great Actions _Cloridon_ had done; just as
they Named him, he looked at me, (by chance it may be) but I being a
little Guilty, thought it was designed, Blushed, looked down, and was
confused, which made me blush the more; and that was enough to fix a
Jealousie that had long possest him, and that Watched for the least
shadow of Reason to place it upon any particular person. I was so
ashamed of my self, that I was not able to stay in the Room, and when I
was gone, _Antonio_ kept up the Discourse of _Cloridon_; begun to praise
his Person, and ask'd my Mother what she thought of him. She said, 'twas
so long since she had seen him, that she had almost forgot him; but that
her Daughter had seen him lately, (and so told upon what occasion) and
that she Extolled him for the finest Man she ever saw. This confirmed
his Jealousie; and the first Opportunity he had with me, he told me some
News of _Cloridon_: And then asked me if I had ever seen him, and how I
liked him. I knew nothing of what my Mother had said; and not being
willing he should believe what I found he suspected; I answered, that I
had seen him two or three times in Walks at a distance: That I thought
he was well enough, but not so handsome as Fame had made him. There
needed no more to remove all doubt that he was his Rival; but how to
know the particular Terms we were in, was the difficulty; he knew his
Character, and thought me Virtuous, and therefore could not fear any
thing Criminal betwixt us; but he resolved to try if my Affections were
strongly engaged; and to that end he shew'd me a Letter from _Flanders_,
wherein it was told him, that _Cloridon_ (to the great wonder of all
there) had a young Lady disguised in Men's Cloaths with him all the
Campagne, and that it was discovered by an Accident, which he gave a
large Account of. I found my self seized with an unusual I know not
what, and did all my endeavours to conceal it, but I changed Colour two
or three times, and he having his Eyes continually upon me 'twas
impossible but he must observe my concern: However, he said nothing of
it to me, and I forced my self to talk of things indifferent. As soon as
I was alone, I examined my self upon the matter. Why should this trouble
me (said I within my self) who would not entertain his Love, when it was
offered me, and I have often Resolved never to see him, even when I
thought him Constant? How comes it then, that I am so Grieved and Angry
that he loves another? And that I wish with such impatience for his
Return? In fine, I discovered, that what I had called Esteem and
Gratitude was Love; and I was as much ashamed of the Discovery, as if it
had been known to all the World. I fancyed every one that saw me, read
it in my Eyes; And I hated my self, when Jealousie would give me leave
to Reason, for my extravagant thoughts and wishes: Mean while _Antonio_
would not be Idle, he thought this was the time for him; when my Anger
was Raised against _Cloridon_; that that and my Obedience to my Mother
(if he could get her of his side, which he did not much doubt) would
induce me to Marry him; and then he did not fear, but Reason and Duty
would overcome my Love. Accordingly he had my Mother's Consent, and
entreated her to intercede for him; but all this was so far from having
that effect which he expected, that I hated him the more: I was so
unjust as to look upon him as the Cause of my Affliction, and I was so
Angry to see him take such Measures, as I foresaw must make me very
uneasie, that I treated him ill, even to Rudeness. But I will leave him
and _Olinda_ equally unhappy, till the next Post; and then give you an
Account of some Alteration in their Affairs, which if it gave her ease,
I believe a little encreased his pains. In the mean time believe, that I

  _Your Friend_, Olinda.



'TIS not possible for you to imagine, much less for me to express what I
endur'd, by my own Jealousie, and _Antonio_'s Persecution: Either of 'em
wou'd have been grievous enough, but together they were intolerable; and
I cou'd expect no Remedy, for I knew not what I wou'd have. I did not
continue one moment in the same Mind; I long'd for _Cloridon_'s Return,
and yet I resolv'd not to see him, tho' when I thought that perhaps he
would not desire it, I almost dy'd with the Fear; but that was soon
over, for a Week after _Antonio_ had shew'd me the Letter I mention'd in
my last, he came to Town, and sent me a Letter the first Night, fill'd
with the tenderest expressions of Love, and Vows, that all his Fortune
and Conquests abroad could not give him the least Joy, whilst I remained
inexorable; and a hundred Entreaties to see him once, and he shou'd die
contented. This was some satisfaction to me; but 'twas but imperfect:
Sometimes I believ'd all he said, and presently after call'd him false
and Perjur'd: One while I resolv'd not to answer him, and the next
Minute chang'd my Mind; but I was long before I cou'd fix upon what to
say. At last I writ with a great deal of affected coldness, only I gave
him some dark Hints of the Lady I had heard was with him, which in his
Answer he said, he did not understand. He writ several times to me by
private Direction, which I had given him when I believ'd he was only my
Friend; but a little after he sent to our Lodgings, to tell me, that he
had a Place at his disposal, which if I had any Friend that wou'd accept
of it, was at my Service. My Mother made me return him Thanks, and tell
him, that I had a Relation who was very fit for the Employment, who
shou'd wait upon him, but he was not now in Town. _Cloridon_, who
desir'd no better occasion, sent me word, that if I wou'd let him see
me, he wou'd tell me what was to be done in it; for it was not a thing
to be neglected, because there were a great many pretended to it, who
might get it by some other means, since it did not wholly depend on him.
I did not know what pretence to make to hinder my going, for I durst not
tell my Mother of our Meeting without her knowledge: And perhaps I was
glad of the necessity of seeing him, since it took away the Fault, and
serv'd for an excuse both to my self and him; tho' I was sorry to be
forc'd to receive new Obligations from him. I never saw a Man in such an
extasie of Joy, as he appear'd to be in at this Interview: He was
Speechless and Motionless for a long time, and when he spoke, 'twas with
so passionate and charming Words and Air, that I was not able to say
those severe things I design'd. I check'd him for obliging me to see
him, after I had refus'd him so often, that he might know 'twas contrary
to my Inclinations; but (as he told me since) he saw something in my
Eyes which made him think, I was not very Angry with him: And when I
explain'd that part of my Letter which hinted of the Lady, I did it in
such a manner, that he believ'd me Jealous. At first he seem'd amaz'd at
what I told him, but afterwards he deny'd it so coldly, and took so
little pains to perswade me 'twas false, that I was enrag'd; which still
discover'd my Weakness the more. He found one pretence or other for
delaying the Business, and for seeing me two or three times, and took
pleasure in heightning my Jealousie; till he thought, if he trifled with
me any longer, he might lose me for ever: And then he begun to protest
seriously, There was no such thing, that it must be the invention of
some particular Enemy of his; for if I wou'd give my self the trouble to
enquire, I should find it was no general Report, and 'twere impossible
it shou'd not be known by every Body, if what I had heard was true. We
easily believe what we wish; and when I consider'd from whom I had the
Story, I much doubted the truth of it: And whilst I saw him, and heard
him Swear, he had never had the least inclination for any other Woman
since he saw me. I was firmly perswaded of his Fidelity; but my
suspicions return'd a little, as soon as I left him. He told me, he
cou'd willingly forgive the Invention, since it had occasion'd the
discovery of my Sentiments, which were to his Advantage; but reply'd,
That he need not much boast of what my Weakness had reveal'd; for tho' I
cou'd not now deny that my Heart took too great a part in what concern'd
him, yet since he knew it, nothing shou'd prevail with me to see him
again; and so I left him: But I cou'd not forbear saying at parting,
that he had made me very unhappy, and I wish'd I had never seen him,
tho' I condemn'd my self a hundred times for it afterwards. I ask'd of
all I knew that had been in _Flanders_, or had any Correspondence there,
if they heard of _Cloridon_'s having a Lady Disguis'd with him; but they
assur'd me, there was not so much as the least Report of it, which
pretty well satisfied me as to that: For every Action of a Man of his
Quality, and in his Post, is so narrowly observ'd, that a thing so
extraordinary cou'd not have been a Secret; but yet I was very desirous
to know upon what ground that Letter was writ to _Antonio_. However I
wou'd not examine him about it, because I saw he suspected my Love
already, tho' he had never told me; but still continued my most
assidious Humble Servant and Tormentor: And I think I was not much in
his Debt, for I really treated the poor Man Barbarously. My Mother gave
him all the opportunities she could, and one day that she had some
business that would keep her out till Night; she left me at home, and
gave Orders that no body should be admitted to see me but _Antonio_. I
was so vexed at this Command, that I resolved to revenge my self upon
him, and when I heard the Noise of one coming up Stairs, I prepared to
give him the rudest Reception I could: I sate Reading with my back
towards the Door, and did not rise when he came in, till I saw a Man
kneeling by my side; and then without looking towards him, I got up and
walked to the other end of the Room. _What, Madam_, says he, _is my
Offence so great? Or do you hate me so much, that you will not hear me
ask for Pardon?_ I found something in the Voice soft, and moving, which
struck me like one I was accustomed to be pleased with; and turning
about, I was amazed, Good God, _cryed I_, is it possible? Are you
_Cloridon_; or do I Dream? How could you come here?----, _How could I
forbear coming so long?_ interuppted he, _or how can I live a moment
from you? I must see you_ Olinda, _whatever I hazard, and since you
refused to let me a securer way, how could I neglect so favourable an
opportunity_? Then I desired to know by what means he knew, that I was
alone; and he told me, that since the last time he saw me, and that I
had been so good as to own my self sensible of his Love, he had had a
hundred Plots and Contrivances to see me; but found none so feasible as
that, which he had put in Execution. He sent a Servant whom he confided
much in, and Ordered him to try all means possible to know my Motions
when I went out, and when I was at home alone; and he had found the way
to gain the favour of a Servant that belonged to the Landlord of the
House, (no doubt he feted her well,) and she had engaged to be secret,
and to send him word when I was alone; but she did not know for whom she
did this Service; only he had told her, that it was a Man of Quality
that was in Love with me, and desired to see me privately, to know how I
was affected towards him, before he declared himself publickly. He came
to her that morning, and she told him, my Mother was gone out, and that
she heard her say, she should not come Home 'till Night; so that if he
would come with the Person that was to see me, she would be at the Door
to conduct him to me: When they came, she told them, that a Gentleman
that courted me had been there just now, but she denied that I was at
home on purpose to oblige him. I was angry that he should take so little
care of my Reputation; but he said, that it was not at all in danger,
for no body knew of it but that Servant who would not tell it for her
own sake; or if she did, she saw that 'twas all without my Knowledge.
That if I would not give my Consent to see him abroad, he should do
something more extravagant that might expose both me and him: But if I
would, he'd promise never to speak of his Love to me. In sine, by
Threatnings and Intreaties, and my own Inclination, I was prevailed
with, after I had made him swear not to mention his pretended Passion.
Forgive my Frailty, dear _Cleander_, it was not possible for me to
refuse the Man I loved any thing that could admit of excuse, and I found
or made Arguments enough to sooth my Inclination, and persuade me it was
no Fault only to see him. I hastned him away for fear he should be seen
with me, but he lingred on for two or three hours and just as he was
going I heard _Antonio_'s Voice asking for me, so that he could not go
out without meeting him. I was extreamly vexed, but this was no time to
fret or chide. I desired him to step into a Closet, which I had in the
Room; where I kept my Books, and told him I would contrive a way to be
rid of the other quickly. When I had Locked him in, I took my Hoods and
seemed to be putting them on, in order to go abroad, so that _Antonio_
could not in good Manners stay; but he desired, since he was so unhappy
as to be deprived of that satisfaction he expected in my Company, that I
would lend him some Book to divert his Melancholy. I told him, that he
would have found so little in my Company, that he needed not much mourn
for the loss of it: But as my ill Fate would have it, he was so pressing
to borrow a Book, that I knew not how to refuse it; I turned the
Discourse and sat down, and said, I had altered my Resolution, and would
stay at home. _Antonio_ wondred at this mighty Favour, he was so unused
to receive any from me, that he was Transported at it: He thanked me for
it a hundred times, and I believe presaged no little good Fortune for
him from such a Change, tho' my way of entertaining him, gave him no
great encouragement. If I should give you a particular Account of our
Conversation, it would be as impertinent to you, as it was troublesome
to me; I will only tell you, I never passed an Hour with half so much
pain as that, having for addition to the usual uneasiness his Company
made me endure, that of the unseasonableness of the time. Whilst I was
fretting at this unhappy Accident, and fearing he would not go away till
my Mother came home, our Landlord's Maid came to tell me, there was one
below would speak with me: I went down and saw it was that Servant of
_Cloridon_'s, which he had spoke of to me; he told me, that the King had
sent twice for his Lord, and desired me to tell him, that he must of
necessity go presently, for the business was of importance. This was a
new Vexation; and I staid some time to deliberate what I should do, and
at last, resolved to say I was sent for by a Lady that was Sick, that so
_Antonio_ might be obliged to leave me. But how was I surprized, when I
returned and found _Cloridon_ in the Room! I needed not dissemble an
astonishment, for I was as much amazed to see him there, as if I had not
known he was in the House. He advanced towards me, with a Ceremonious
Bow, saying, _You have Reason, Madam, to wonder, and to be Angry at me?
but when you know, that it is the general Frailty of Mankind that
brought me hither, your goodness sure will pardon me: I mean Love,
Madam, Love which makes the Wisest Men guilty of the greatest
Irregularities_. I blushed at what he said, not apprehending his design,
and told him his being there, and his Discourse were both so mysterious
to me, that I did not know what to answer him. He said, he thought
himself obliged to tell the Truth, since my Reputation would be in
danger by concealing it: But first he must beg me to pardon the Servant
of the House, and not to let her Master know of it; for he having taken
a fancy to her, had wheedled her into a Consent, to let him come and see
her, tho' the Wench was very honest: That our Family being all abroad,
she had brought him into that Room, and hearing me returned, she had put
him into the Closet, believing I would go out again: But finding I staid
long, he had entertained himself with my Books, and in removing some had
thrown down others, the noise of which had made _Antonio_ open the Door;
and since it was his Fortune to be discovered in a Foolish thing, he
hop'd the Gentleman and I, would let it go no further. We gave him our
Word for it; and when he was gone, we both sat silent for a long time,
each expecting what t'other would say: At last he begun. _Cloridon_ was
hard put to it, to be forced to discover such a secret; he that has
acquired the Reputation of Chast, found out to be so little Nice, as to
take such pains, for one of so mean Quality, and one that has not many
things to recommend her. You have the Luck, _said I_, to find out
_Cloridon_'s Intreagues, when no body else knows any thing of 'em: And
he may thank his Good Stars his secret falls into such hands; if you are
as careful of this, as you have been of that in _Flanders_, which no
body but you has ever heard of. _I shall certainly conceal it Madam_,
replyed he, _for your Fame sake; for the malicious World would be apt to
fancy his thoughts were something higher than a Dirty Wench, when he was
put into your Closet: But I am to believe what you please, and if you
tell me you never saw him before, but in Walks at a distance, I won't
doubt of it_. I am not much concerned what you, or any thinks of me,
_says I_, my satisfaction does not depend upon Opinion: And I shall be
always happy, as long as I am innocent; whether you believe me so or
not. However I owe so much to Truth, to assure you, that whatever
designs _Cloridon_ had, I knew no more of his coming here than you did,
and that I am very Angry at him for it. _If you had not told me so
Madam, I should, it may be, have thought you would rather have lent me a
Book, than endured my Company so long (which you always used to avoid)
but that you feared I should see him, if you opened the Closet; but I am
very glad, you will have me interpret your staying with me more to my
advantage._ I was vexed he should think it was to oblige him; and since
I found he was Master against my Will, of the greatest part of my
Secret, I thought it best to make him a Confident of it, which would
prevent his Addresses to me, and engage him to the greater Fidelity. I
told him then, all that was betwixt us; and he gave me some good
Counsels, not to cherish a Love, or entertain a Correspondence that
might in the end prove dangerous, considering his Circumstances; but I
was too far gone to take them, and besides, coming from a Rival, I did
not make much Reflexion upon them. Advices by an interested Person, tho'
never so reasonable, are not minded, or at least are much suspected,
especially when they contradict the inclination of the Advised. I did
not tell him, I had consented to see _Cloridon_, because I resolved not
to tell him any thing, but what I could not conceal. I did not see
_Antonio_ in a Month after, but he sent often to ask how we did, and
said, _he was very ill himself_. He Writ once to me, to tell me he was
endeavouring to overcome a Passion, which he found was displeasing to
me, and which therefore must make him very unhappy; and to beg me, if he
could effect it, to accept him as a Friend, and not continue that hatred
for him then, which I had for my Lover. Mean while, the too Charming
_Cloridon_ and I met together often: At first we entertained one another
with all the News, and little Intreagues of the Town; he put so entire a
Confidence in me, was so pleased to see me, and so obliging to me, and
my Relations upon all Occasions, that I then thought my self happy, to a
degree that left no Room for Wish; for he gave me the greatest evidences
of his Love, without speaking of it to me, which was all I could desire
from a Man, whose Love I preferred to every thing but Virtue; and who I
could not hear talk of it without a Crime: But how easily are we drawn
in by such steps as these, to things we had made the strongest
Resolutions against. In some time he made Complaints to me, and spoke of
his Passion in a third Person, so that I might understand him, but I
could not be angry with him; and I knew not how insensibly, and by
degrees I accustomed my self to hear of his Love; at first defending my
self against it, and chiding him for breaking his Word; but his Excuses
seemed to me stronger Reason than my Accusations; and at last I
suffered it with Pleasure, and without Reluctancy. Thus my unwary Heart
entangled it self more and more, pleasing it self with its own Folly,
without looking backward or forward; happy for the present on all sides,
for now I was no longer troubled with _Antonio_. He after a Months
absence came to see me, and told me, he desired nothing of me now but my
Friendship, and to convince me, he was not my Lover, he would tell me a
secret in favour of _Cloridon_, if I would promise to forgive him; I
told him I would, and then he gave me that Account which I have given
you, of his first suspecting my Love, and how to try it, he had feigned
that Letter which he shewed me; that he had resolved to undeceive me, as
soon as he had discovered what Sentiments I had for him; but when he saw
how it affected me, Jealousie would not give him leave, and love
prompted him to make use of it to his own Advantage. He added, that tho'
Love had made him guilty of Treachery so much contrary to his Nature,
yet I should always find him the most sincere, and the most faithful of
his Friends. Tho' I believed before that Story to be an invention; you
cannot imagine how much I was pleased, to be sure of it now. I easily
pardon'd him, since I had promised it, and since I thought he deserved
it, having told it voluntary. From that time I received him more
favourably than I used to do, and took some pleasure in his
Conversation, because he was the only Man that knew of my Love, and that
I could talk with freely of _Cloridon_. But now my Mother perceived I
had some more complaisance than before for _Antonio_; she wondred he
talked nothing of Marriage to her, and told me her thoughts, which put
me upon new contrivances, how I might shun her Anger, and yet _Antonio_
come off with Honour. I found him raise scruples against all the Methods
I would invent, and often he asked me, if I design'd never to Marry,
and what Reasons I could always give for not doing it; which made me
apprehend he was not altred so much as he seemed; and fear I should have
some trouble in this Affair, he had told me, that when he was very
young, his Father had contracted him to a kinswoman of his, that lived
in the House with them, who had a great Fortune, and he heard was
handsome, and witty; but he went to his Travels before it could be
known, whether she was either so; that he had never had any Love for
her: I had a great mind to let my Mother know this, for I knew she was
scrupulous in such things, and would not consent to Marry me to a Man,
that had any engagement to another; but I was loath to do it, without
his leave, since he was so sincere as to tell it me, and because I was
afraid to exasperate him. I took a great deal of Pains to flatter him
into a complyance; I told him my Mother could not have the worse Opinion
of him for it, since it was a thing done when he was so young, and that
he could have no other Reason to hinder him, now that he had no design
upon me, which if he had, I should find other ways to disappoint them,
tho' perhaps they might make me more uneasie. At last, with much
difficulty he agreed to it, and when I told it to my Mother, I found her
affected as I wish'd; which when _Antonio_ knew, he fetched a great
Sigh, and only said, _Have I lost all my hope then, Madam?_ and so went
away extreamly discomposed. A while after he came to take leave of us,
and said his Father had sent for him in haste, to go to his own Country;
but he told me in private, that he could stay no longer in a place,
where he grew every day more and more unhappy; and that now he had
resolved to leave it: He could not forbear telling me, that he had only
concealed his Love all this while, to get into my Favour, and in hopes
of finding something which might give him hopes. But since I had now
deprived him of all, he would not encrease his Misery, by seeing every
day the Objects of his Love, and of his Hate, his cruel Mistress, and
his happy Rival. I am told his Father presses him extreamly to Marry,
being his only Son, but he waves it. I should think I had given you a
Description of a Miracle of Constancy in spight of Rigours and Absence;
but that in this Age, kindness is a more effectual way to cure Love; an
unlucky thing, since no body will attempt it, that has that design; but
I, (or Fortune for me,) found you see, a less dangerous way to free my
self, with more ease than I could hope, and I think it is time to
deliver you now, and give you a little respite till next Post, when you
may expect the continuance of the History of





IF I did not know to the contrary by my own Experience; you wou'd make
me believe, that Friendship and Love can't be contain'd in one Breast.
Is it possible you can be so much taken up with _Ambrisia_, that you
have not time enough to tell me of it; and that in this Solitude, I
should hear of _Cleander's_ Affairs from two or three, before I knew any
thing of 'em from himself: They tell me you are every day with your New
Mistress, and that you are well receiv'd there. I should be pleas'd with
it, if I did not fear, instead of finding two Friends, to lose that one,
whose Friendship I prefer to all other things: But you'll make me almost
Jealous of her if you don't write quickly, for this is my fourth since
I've heard from you. Tell me _Cleander_, you that search into the Nature
of things, that know the Passions of Men; how they are form'd in the
Soul, and by what means, and what Degrees they rise; tell me how I may
give that Awe, that fear, or that Respect which I hear often talk'd of,
that makes Men not dare to tell a Woman that they love her. Is it the
Grave, the Sour, the Proud, or modest Looks? Or is there no such thing,
but in Songs and Romances? For my part, I could never meet with it; and
tho' perhaps there is some Pleasure in being belov'd, I cannot endure to
be told of it, unless by the Language of the Eyes, or so; for that we
need not understand: But there's nothing so dull, or so troublesome to
me, as a declar'd Lover: This Reflection was occasion'd by an Adventure
happen'd to me two days ago; a Stripling of Eighteen, whose Father and
Mother had been Servants in the Family where I am, said to one in the
House (who told me) that he was in Love with me, and after had the
Insolence to tell me himself, that he was in Love; _But you little think
with whom, Madam_, added he; and just as he was going to finish his
Declaration, by good Fortune he was call'd away: Can any thing be more
provoking? Teach me where to place my Anger, on the Men, or on my self.
_Antonio_ was bashful to a Fault in other things, and yet he did not
fear to say all he thought, and it may be more to me. _Cloridon_, who
treated me with the highest Respect imaginable, discover'd his Love to
me, as soon as he knew it himself; and many have pretended it, that
never felt any, at least for me. The last indeed had encouragement
enough, not to repent of what he had done, and Reason not to despair of
any thing he could ask; so that after being two Years contented with my
Love, he resolv'd to put it to the Trial, and begun to pretend to
Favours, with all the Arguments he could invent, or find, to perswade me
of the innocence and lawfulness of what he ask'd: You may find what
influence they had upon me by the following Lines, which he sent me in a
Letter next day.


  _NOT one kind Word, not one relenting Look?
    The harsh, the cruel Doom to mitigate?
  Your Native Sweetness, ev'n your Eyes forsook;
    They shin'd, but in the fiercest form of Hate._


  _Is't Honour does these Rigid Laws impose;
    That will no sign of gentleness allow;
  That tells you 'tis a Crime to pity Foes,
    And bids you all the utmost Rigour show?_


  _All Praise the Judge, unwilling to Condemn,
    Where Clemency with Justice long Debates:
  But he who Rig'rously insults, we blame,
    And think the Man more than his Sin, he hates._


  _Dare I my Judge accuse of Cruelty?
    When at her Feet she saw her Slave implore,
  With hasty Joy she gave the sad Decree:
    I hate you, and will never see you more._


  _Ay! 'tis too plain, the false_ Olinda'_s pleas'd
    To see the Captive's Death her Eyes had made:
  As what she wish'd, she the Occasion seiz'd;
    No Sigh a kind Reluctancy betray'd._


  _If you intend to try your Power or Skill,
    A Nobler way pursue the great Design:
  The meanest Wretch on Earth knows how to kill;
    But to preserve from Death's an Act Divine._


  _Like Heav'n, you with a Breath can Recreate
    Your Creature, that without you does not Live:
  Say that you Love, and you r'voke my Fate;
    And I'm Immortal if you can forgive._


  _My fiercest Wishes you shall then restrain,
    And Love that tramples o'er my Heart subdue:
  What doubt can of your mighty Pow'r remain,
    When ever that submits and yields to you?_

I believe I spoke from my Heart, when I told him I hated him; I'm sure I
thought so then, when I saw him whom I believ'd to have an Esteem and
Respect for me, act as if he had neither. I said the most violent things
I could imagine against him, and left him without the least Reluctancy:
But my Rage, or Hate, was soon converted to a Quiet Stupid Grief, that
overwhelm'd my Soul, and left me not the Power of easing it the common
way, in Tears or Complaints. I saw that I must resolve never to see him
again, whatever it made me endure: And in fine, I saw all that could
make me unhappy, without any hopes of a Remedy; for tho' he writ to me
often to beg my Pardon, and Vow'd a thousand times he wou'd not be
guilty of the same fault again, tho' he were sure to be successful; yet
I prevail'd with my self absolutely to refuse to see him, with more
Resolution than I thought my self capable of; for I consider'd it was
dangerous to trust him, notwithstanding his Protestations, since he had
broke his Word before: And I don't know if I had not some Reason to
distrust my self, after having gone so far, as not only to suffer him
to talk to me of his Love, but to own mine to him. When he saw this
would not do, he had recourse to his old way of Writing upon Business;
but the Letter came first to my Hands, and so I stifled it, and said
nothing of it to my Mother. A Week after a Porter came to me, and said
he was sent by the Countess of ---- who desir'd me to go immediately to
her Lodgings, for she had something of great Consequence to tell me, and
that he left her at a place where she had Din'd, but she was just going
home. Away I went, and when they told me she was not at home, I thought
she would not fail of being there presently, and went up Stairs to Stay
for her: When I came into the Room, I saw _Cloridon_ there, and wou'd
have retir'd; but he civilly hinder'd me, and told me, he was waiting
for his Cousin (for this Lady was nearly related to him) whom he
expected to come in very soon; but 'twas a great happiness I came
before, and more than he cou'd have hop'd for from Fortune; for at first
he pretended it was Chance brought us together there; but he knew I must
find it out, and so to prevent my discovering it to the Lady, he told
me, that coming to Visit her, and not finding her at Home; it came into
his thoughts to send for me in her Name; for he knew that she us'd to
visit me, and often desir'd me to go abroad with her, or to bear her
Company at home; so that he hop'd he might succeed without being
suspected. I was in great confusion, and very angry at the Trick he had
put upon me; and yet I could not but be a little pleas'd at it too. I
lov'd to see him, and was glad of an opportunity to give him his Pardon,
which I did, but made a Vow never to consent to meet him in private,
tho' he begg'd it upon his Knees above an Hour, and said he would not
rise till I had granted it: I suppose he was not so good as his Word;
but I left him in that posture, and before I went away, and charg'd him
not to write to me any more. This Interview serv'd but to increase my
melancholy; I indulg'd it a long time, and thought upon nothing but what
sooth'd and added to it: But at length considering the occasion of my
misfortune, it represented itself to me, not only as my Folly, but my
Crime; and then I concluded it must be a Crime to grieve for the loss of
that, which 'twas a Crime to Love; and so fix'd a resolution of
overcoming my Passion, which I endeavour'd to do by Reason, and by
Diversions. Had I had you my Friend to assist me with your Counsels, I
had found it much less difficult; but now I had the strongest part of my
self to Combat without any Aid: I often gave Ground, and sometimes
suffer'd my self to be vanquish'd by the bewitching Reflections of what
unequall'd Satisfactions I had found in his Company, and how many happy
hours I enjoy'd with him; but some good Thought would rouse my Soul to
strive again, and then the Victory was mine. I find by Experience 'tis
but bravely, heartily, and thoroughly Resolving upon a thing, and 'tis
half done: There's no Passion, no Temptation so strong, but Resolution
can overcome: All is to be able to Resolve; there's the Point, for one
must lose a little of the first Ardour before one can do that; and many
of our Sex have ruin'd themselves, for want of time to think. 'Tis not a
constant settled purpose of Virtue will do; there must be particular
Resolutions for a particular Attack; 'Tis easie enough to say, no Man
shall prevail with me to do an ill thing; the difficulty is, such a Man
shall not; he that I love, he that 'tis Death for me to deny any thing
to: There I got the better of my self, and as last attain'd to a calm
serenity of Mind, which I have enjoy'd ever since, as much as can be
expected in such a World as this; and which nothing can disturb, if you
continue to have that Friendship for me which you have profess'd, and
which your Silence makes me almost doubt of; but there's hardly any
thing I could not more easily believe, than that _Cleander_ is False or
Inconstant. Write quickly, for I am impatient to know the Cause of this
unkindness to

  _Your constant Friend_,




_AMbrisia's_ Cruel, Coy, Disdainful, and you believe she hates you; and
yet _Ambrisia_ took occasion at Play to impose upon you as a Penance,
not to write for a Month to one she believ'd you lov'd. If this had been
another's Case, you wou'd have discover'd that _Ambrisia's_ Jealous.
Trust me, she loves you, and only puts on the usual Disguises of Women
as sincere as she is; and give me leave to justifie her, and the rest of
our Sex in that Case: You have learn'd so well to feign Love, when you
have none, that 'tis very hard to discern Art from Nature; and 'tis but
reasonable we should be allow'd the less Guilty part of concealing ours,
till we can know whether you are sincere: Besides, we know those things
are most valu'd, that are obtain'd with most difficulty; and your
natural Inconstancy gives us Reason to use all means to make you prize
us as much as we can. Your selves too, encourage us in it, for you
despise a Woman that's easily gain'd, tho' you rail at the Dissembler;
and we can't begin to love just when you would have us; so that both for
our own sake and yours, 'tis sometimes necessary to deceive you: And I
believe I may add, that there is a Natural Modesty in some Women, that
makes 'em asham'd to own their Love. Mr. _Dryden_ in his _State of
Innocence_, gives our Mother _Eve_ a little of that; tho' some are of
Opinion, it had its Birth from your faithlessness; and that if you had
not been false, we had never been shie. If it be so, don't you think we
have Reason to be cautious in a thing of such Weight; But I need not
take such pains to defend this Cause, for mine was a Fault on the other
hand, a too easie discovery of my Love: And to speak the Truth, whatever
we are accus'd of, I believe that's the more general one. 'Tis only
those that are as Wise as your Mistress, that can have so much Command
over themselves, as to be guilty of the 'tother; tho' if she knew you as
well as I do, she wou'd find that she has no need to make use of any
Arts to try you, or to preserve you: However don't despair, the Mask
will soon fall off. You have Reason to wonder at my breaking off with
_Orontes_, since by what I have told you, _Cloridon_ cou'd be no
occasion of it: But suspend your amazement a little, tho' my Misfortunes
ended at Seventeen, my Adventures did not, and several things have
happenn'd to me in the Year I have pass'd since, which you are yet a
Stranger to. You neither know how my Acquaintance begun with _Orontes_,
nor why it ended. In the beginning of last Summer, when I was
endeavouring to divert my Love and Grief, I went with a Lady to see a
Play: She was not in humour to Dress, and would needs have me go
_Incognito_; and as we were coming out of the Play-House, we were seiz'd
upon by two Sparks, who swore they would not part with us; but that
either we should Sup with them, or they wou'd go with us. We did not
know how to be rid of these Impertinents, but we saw, if we took Coach,
we could not hinder them from going into it; so we resolv'd to walk to
our Mantua-maker, who liv'd hard by; and when we went in they left us,
as we thought: but a quarter of an hour after, they came up Stairs, and
tho' we were very angry at the Rudeness, yet they staid a pretty while;
and he that had at first apply'd himself to the other Lady, was very
pressing to be acquainted with her; but my Spark sat down just opposite
to me without saying a Word, only sometimes desir'd his Friend to go
away; which after he had plagu'd us half an Hour, they did: The next
Week I went to _Tunbridge_ with my Mother; and the first sight I saw at
the Wells, was this Gentleman: He came towards us very respectfully, and
said he was very glad of this opportunity of begging my Pardon, for the
Insolence he had been guilty of; he hop'd the Lady who was with us, whom
he had the Honour to know, would intercede for him. She that was in the
Country with us, and who you know is an intimate Friend of ours,
happen'd to be very well acquainted with him; and when we came home, she
told me that his Name was _Orontes_; that he was a Gentleman who had but
a small Fortune; but to repair it, he was Marry'd to a rich Widow above
Threescore and ten; that tho' she was very ill Natur'd, he was the best
Husband in the World to her, but he would take his pleasure abroad
sometimes, and she was extreamly Jealous. He came to visit this Lady,
and entreated her to carry him to see me; for he said he was sensible of
the Affront he had given me the first time he saw me, and that he was
very desirous of some Occasion to serve me; and he thought himself
obliged to tell me so, and to seek all Opportunities of doing it. She
consented to it; and he came often to see us, and was very obliging to
us. I will let you know my thoughts of him, because you can tell me if
they are just; for he said he was not the same Man with me as with any
Body else: He seem'd to me to have Wit enough, but 'twas rough and
unpolish'd; nothing of that Politeness which renders a Man agreeable in
Conversation. After the common Theams of the Weather, and News were
discuss'd, playing at Cards, or taking the Air, were certainly propos'd:
But I have heard, that in other places he was very entertaining, and had
a hundred pleasant Stories to divert the Company. What can be the reason
of this? I am sure he stood in no awe of me, as his future Actions
shew'd; and he always told me his Thoughts freely, but plain and blunt,
without giving 'em the turn of Gallantry, which is necessary to take;
and yet he could not want Breeding, for he always convers'd with People
of the First Quality. The Manner is often more look'd upon than the
Thing; and tho' I'm as little pleased with Forms as any Woman, yet in
some things 'tis the essential part; there are few Men, whose Esteem or
Respect I covet; but I would have all Men keep that distance with me, as
if I gave 'em Awe; but I could never obtain it of 'em; tho' none ever
gave me so much occasion to lament it as _Orontes_. Once, when he was at
our Lodging, my Mother was talking of a Journey she design'd the next
day about Ten Miles off, where she was to stay all Night: He asked me if
I went with her: I said _No_; and desired my Mother to return as soon as
she could; because I should be alone till then. It seems (as he told me
since) he had made an Appointment with a particular Friend of his about
Business of Importance; but having been long desired to see me alone, he
would not neglect this Occasion, and sent him an Epistolary Excuse in
these Words:

_My Wife thinks I am with you, but_ Olinda _told me she shall be alone
to day, and I don't know when I shall meet with so favourable an
Opportunity; so that you must excuse me; but I'll certainly see you to

His Wife, being always suspicious of Letters she did not read, went to
the Post-House after this: They made no scruple to give it her; because
they knew 'twas one of their Servants had brought it; and when she had
read it, she went home in all haste, and had her Husband dog'd to my
Lodgings. When he came there he told me, that the first time he saw me,
he lik'd my Shape and Mien, and was extreamly taken with my Face, that
he durst not so much as ask me Pardon whilst he saw me so angry; and
that since he was acquainted with me, my Humour had charm'd him so, that
he could be content to leave all the World for me: And then, Laughing,
ask'd me, If I could live with him, and he would keep me a Coach, and
let me want nothing I could desire. I rally'd with him till he begun to
talk more seriously, and then I check'd him for his Insolence; but it
had no effect upon him; And when he saw that neither Promises nor
Intreaties could move me, and that Opportunity favour'd him, he resolved
to try what Violence would do; he had sent our Servant a Mile off for to
fetch some Fruit, which, he said, was the best about the Country; and we
were in a back Room near no Body in the House, so that I was in great
Fear; however I made all the noise and Resistance I could, and was
happily delivered by his old Lady's coming in: She might easily perceive
we were both in Confusion, tho' she hardly guess'd the true Cause; and I
was so good natur'd as not to tell it her. When she rail'd, we bore it
with a great deal of Patience, and indeed I wonder'd at his Moderation:
I really thought he would have let her beat me to revenge his Cause; but
he was not so much a Brute, he hinder'd her, and very civilly led her
away. The next day I saw him at the Wells, and whilst my Company was
Raffling, he took the opportunity to talk with me, though I avoided him
with all the Diligence I could. _Don't frown upon me, Olinda_, says he,
_you ought to forgive me; Repentance is all that Heaven requires, and I
never in my Life did an Action that troubled me so much; but if you have
not good Nature enough to pardon me upon that, I must say something to
excuse my self: If I believ'd you Virtuous before, it must be by an
implicit Faith; but the way to be sure was to try it; and now I shall
always admire that Virtue I could not subdue: Why then should you be
angry with me any longer than my Fault remains?_ Though I had a little
Prejudice against him, I thought he spoke with more Eloquence, and a
better Grace, than ever I heard him before; it may be his Concern
inspir'd him; but 'twas to little purpose, for I was inexorable. I told
him, _I did not think him worth my Anger, and should easily forgive him,
upon Condition he would never see me any more: No_, Madam, said he, _I'd
rather see you angry, than not see you at all_: But in spight of me, he
visited us often; but I always entertain'd him with a coldness that did
not much please him, though no Body else perceiv'd it. We came to Town
in the beginning of _September_, and he was once at our House, and found
me alone: He began to talk of a violent Passion he had for me; but I
stop'd him, and said, _That was not a Discourse fit for me to hear from
him_. I commanded him to leave me; and told him if he ever came there
again, I wou'd be deny'd to him. He obey'd me, and I did not see him
again till _November_. He came in Mourning, and told us he had had the
misfortune to bury his Wife. He Writ to my Mother to desire her leave
to make his Addresses to me; which she gave him, and then he appear'd a
declar'd Lover. I was so us'd to receive him with Anger and Disdain,
that though I had not the same Reason now, I did not change my Behaviour
to him; and for four Months my Mother let me take my own way, without
speaking one word of _Orontes_ to me: Either she design'd to observe
what I wou'd do of my self, or she did not think it fit to talk of my
Marrying him so soon after his Wife's Death; but when she saw I slighted
him so long, she said to me one day, What do you mean Child, to receive
with equal indifference all the Proposals that are made to you? Do you
resolve to lead a single Life? I should approve of the choice in one of
a better Fortune; but you must conform your self to yours, and consider
that I am not able to maintain you. If you don't hate _Orontes_, I will
have you Marry him, he has given so great proof of his being a good
Husband, that you can't fear he will be otherwise to you; he is Handsome
enough, and very Rich; I believe he loves you, and in fine, I think you
may be as happy with him as with any Man; therefore, don't be
obstinately bent against your own good. He came in at the same time, and
seconded this command of my Mothers with Intreaties and Complaints. I
had no Aversion for him, and since my Circumstances wou'd oblige me to
Marry, and that I knew I could never love any Man; I thought it might as
well be he as any other; so in sometime after I yielded, and the
Wedding-day was appointed to be the Sixteenth of _May_ last. How do you
think 'tis possible to avoid it now; but many things happen betwixt the
Cup and the Lip. You are to know that _Orontes_'s Estate lay near a fine
Seat of _Cloridon_'s, which he often retir'd to; so that they were
acquainted, and much together; and that _Orontes_ went to his Country
House to make some Preparations a Week before the designed Marriage.
_Cloridon_ told him he was extreamly pleas'd to see him there; for they
had made a match for Hunting five or six days after with some Friends of
his, that were wishing for him. I must beg your Pardon my Lord, _says
he_, that I cannot stay so long; for I have business that will call me
to _London_ sooner. If it be not of great importance, _return'd he_,
pray let me prevail with you to stay. 'Tis not to be deferr'd my Lord, I
am to be Marry'd. Marry'd, cry'd my Lord, prithee what Madness possesses
thee, so lately freed, to bind thy self again without any necessity for
it? What Bait next, not another old Rich crabbed Widow, I hope? I have
made a better Choice now, _answer'd Orontes_: She has Youth and Goodness
I'm sure; and I have Money enough for us both. You are in the Right,
_Reply'd Cloridon_; but may I know her Name. You knew her Father my
Lord, _says he_, and then Sir _Martin Marrall_ told him whose Daughter I
was. And are you engag'd to her, _Cloridon_ ask'd? She has promis'd to
marry me the 16th of this Month, _said Orontes_, and therefore my Lord,
I hope you wont take it ill if I leave you upon so weighty an Affair.
_Cloridon_ was not in humour of making many Compliments; but he ask'd
abundance of Questions, of the beginning and progress of his Love, and
how I had us'd him all the time; but he could not much boast of my
Favour, which pleas'd _Cloridon_, and encourag'd him to endeavour to
break off the Match. He told _Orontes_ he should be oblig'd to go to
_London_ that day, but he would come back again before he went away; so
he left him, and immediately took his Journey; and as soon as he
arriv'd, came to our Lodgings, where he found my Mother and I together.
Judge of my surprize at this Sight, my first Thoughts were of _Orontes_;
I sigh'd when I compar'd 'em with one another, and had a thousand
different thoughts which I know not what to make of. _Cloridon_
Addressing himself to my Mother, _said_, Madam, I am come to beg a
Favour of you, which I should hardly have the Confidence to ask, if the
whole satisfaction of my life did not depend upon it. My Mother told
him, that she could not refuse any thing to one whom she ow'd so much
to; and that she should think her self happy if she could serve him in a
thing which he said concern'd him so nearly. He return'd some
Compliments, and then desir'd her to hear him out with Patience, which
she promis'd, and he begun, I have a long time had a great Love and
Respect for your Daughter, and would have given all the World to have
seen her sometimes; but she refus'd it me; and I bore her Rigour without
Murmuring, in hopes the time would come when I could tell her I lov'd
her without offending her Virtue: But I can't live when I have lost that
hope, and therefore am come to beg you not to marry _Olinda_, as I am
told you design; and I will make her Fortune greater than what she can
expect from _Orontes_. How, my Lord, _interrupted my Mother_, what
strange Proposition is this you make me? Be not angry with me, or fear
me, _continu'd he_, for the moment you grant what I intreat of you, I
will leave you, and never desire to see _Olinda_ again, as long as I
continue in the Condition I am in; But 'twill be a great Happiness for
me to think, that she may one Day be mine; and to be assur'd she will
never be any others; and if she be not chang'd, or that I am not much
mistaken in her, she will not be averse to it. He was in the right, for
though I was never an Enemy to Marriage, yet I always preferr'd a single
Life to it; and I found enough of my stifled Flame revive to make my
Wishes comply with his. When my Mother saw me much inclin'd to it, and
knowing I had only consented to marry _Orontes_ in compliance of her;
she began to think of it as a thing might be done, but that she had
given her Word to _Orontes_, and could not go back from it. But
_Cloridon_ told her, she need not be in any Fault in that, if she wou'd
but make use of the occasion would be given her to break off with
_Orontes_ without Examining further. She made some other Objections, but
he Answer'd them all, and upon his Knees Swore, that if I Married
_Orontes_, neither he nor my Husband would survive it: So partly out of
fear of what might happen, and partly out of inclination to oblige him,
and willingness to please me, my Mother consented. _Cloridon_ begg'd
leave to talk with me, before he took his last leave, which he did, and
made me some little tender Reproaches, for having resolv'd to Marry;
which I answer'd with a more reserv'd Kindness than I had sometimes
done; and that was the Subject of many Letters he sent me since; for he
often writes to me. Two Days before we were to be Marry'd, _Orontes_ was
to come to Town, which _Cloridon_ knew, and had provided half a dozen
Soldiers to seize upon him in the King's Name, (for he was suspected for
an Enemy to the Government.) They did so, and told him they were
commanded to keep him a close Prisoner in a House hard by, till further
Order. He would fain have Writ, but they would not let him, for they
said they had Orders to the contrary. There they kept him a Week, and we
wonder'd we heard nothing of him, not knowing what methods were us'd to
hinder us; and to avoid seeing our Friends, who would enquire the
Reason, we thought it best to retire hither, this being a private Place.
When _Cloridon_ knew I was out of Town, he went himself to free him, and
told him things had been misrepresented, and he had been wrong'd; but in
requital he would procure him any Employment he would name; but he did
not accept it. When he came to enquire for me, no Body could tell him
where I was: But a Friend with whom I had left such Orders, told him,
that I had taken it so ill, that he should slight me so far, as neither
to come, nor to send to me, in so long time, that whatever he could say
for himself, I wou'd never forgive him, nor so much as hear him. He was
no doubt troubled at it, but he was not a Man to take any thing much to
Heart; and _Cloridon_ knowing he had not dealt very fairly by him, was
very desirous to oblige him some other way: And indeed he did him a very
considerable Service not long after, for he was really accus'd privately
to the King of a Plot, which wou'd have cost him his Life, if _Cloridon_
had not taken a great deal of pains to free him, more than he could have
expected in such a ticklish Affair as that; and had like to become
himself suspected by it: So that I think he has been more his Friend in
saving his Life, than he was his Enemy in taking his Mistress from him.
This is, _Cleander_, the true Cause of my Retirement, which is very
agreeable to me, whilst I hear often from you, and whilst _Cloridon_
continues to think of me. I have sent you a Copy of Verses which he writ
to me just after I came hither.

  _Nor cou'd my Rival, when those Charms
  By thee were destin'd to his Arms,
  Be half so bless'd as I, to find
  The lovely Nun for me Confin'd:
  Nor when of all that Bliss bereav'd,
  He saw his full-blown hopes deceiv'd,
  Cou'd be so curst as I to see
  My self Exil'd from Heav'n in thee.
  Strange Contradiction in my Fate,
  At once a blest and wretched State:
  But who--what Lover wou'd not choose
  Thus to gain all, tho' all he lose?
  So Merchants strive their Lives to save,
  Threaten'd by ev'ry Wind and Wave,
  And see with joy the long'd for Coast,
  Tho' all they ventur'd for is lost._

_Cloridon_ has just sent me word that _Orontes_ is dead of the
Small-Pox; so that I shall come to Town sooner than I design'd. The
expectation of seeing you pleases me extreamly; for tho' I find a great
satisfaction in conversing with you by Letters; yet 'tis not so full and
perfect at this distance, as when I am with you. I can't tell you my
Thoughts so well, nor know yours; a Question suddenly started, or
sometimes a Look, will discover more to me than you know of your self;
and I would know you not as you seem to the World, or what you think of
your self, but what you are; for though you are more sincere than other
Men, yet there is no Man but deceives the World in some things, and
himself in more; and therefore to be a good Man, 'tis absolutely
necessary to have a true Friend; and since you have made choice of me, I
can only attone for my want of other Qualifications, by my Fidelity,
which you may always rely upon. Will not the World, when they see so
tender, so constant an Affection betwixt us, be convinced of that
receiv'd Error, that there can be no such intimacy betwixt two of
different Sexes without the Passion of Love; In us I'm sure they can't
suspect it; when they see you have so much Love for _Ambrisia_, and me
so forward to promote its being reciprocal. I wish it may have that
Effect, that the Women may no longer scruple to bestow their Friendship
upon a Worthy Man, for fear of misconstructions; both Sexes will find
their Advantages by it. Yours is more capable to instruct and form our
Minds; than the wisest of our own; and ours will be more apt to curb
that Licentiousness, which Men usually encourage one another in: And
what happiness will it be for us to see our selves the Instruments of
all the Men's becoming Good, and all the Women Wise? (A more
extraordinary Reformation than _Luther_'s.) Let our Friendships then be
so Exemplary, that all may emulate, and wish to live like us; and by
endeavouring, find that there's a purer and more solid Satisfaction one
moment with a Friend, than Ages thrown away upon the Gallantries, which
so take up the Hearts, and steal the Hours of our Youth. Adieu
_Cleander_, correct the Errors of my Life with a gentle Hand of
Friendship, and always be as much my Friend as I am yours,





Olinda _to_ Cloridon.

    _In Answer to a Letter which he sent her with the Copy of Verses in
    the sixth of the foregoing ones._

'TIS not an Hour ago since I believ'd I hated you: I thought I could
have rail'd at you, have call'd you base, seducer of my Honour, Traytor,
that under a pretence of Love, design'd my Ruin; but Ah! those tender
Excuses which you sent me, soon discover'd the mistake, and show'd me it
was only Angry Love, that so Transported me: And now 'tis turn'd to as
violent a Grief, which wou'd fain ease it self in Complaints: But I am
so wretched, that even that poor Comfort is deny'd me; for who can I
complain to, when in lamenting my Misfortune I must expose our Crime:
For yours my Lord, has involv'd me in the guilt; and all those thoughts
and Actions, which were innocent before, must be condemn'd as the Causes
of such ill Effects: For if I had never lov'd you, or if I had never
own'd it, nor consented to see you, you had not desir'd any thing of me
that could shock my Virtue: Now, I can't think of 'em without Shame and
Anger. That Love which shin'd before so Pure and Bright, appears now the
Blackest thing in Nature; and I hate my self for not hating you; for I
own (tho' I blush in owning) that I love you still; Nay, I believe that
I forgive you too; but I must never, never see you more: No, though you
swear you Repent, and that you would not repeat your Crime, if you were
certain of success. Would not you believe I should as easily Pardon your
breach of this Vow, as I did the last, which you made me as solemnly?
Yes, you would, my Lord, and I should be betray'd to things I never
thought of yet: For all is solid, convincing Reason that you speak; and
I should soon believe any thing you would have me. Curse on that fond
Credulity that first deceiv'd me into a belief, that 'twas no Sin to
love you. Yet sure it could not be an unpardonable Fault, to value one
that so infinitely deserves it: To Love, to See, and Talk with one whose
Conversation is so Charming as yours; and that was all I wish'd. All
that know you do the same; Why then am I more guilty? Ah! If your Fame
had been as pure as mine, we had both been Happy and Innocent; so
innocent, that she, that happy she, who claims all your love as her due,
(even she, I think, if she had known our Hearts) could not have been
offended at it: But who is there, the most uninterested, that would not
now condemn us; Nay, the most Partial could not excuse us; even we
should blame our selves. Why will you then importune me still to see
you; ask me no more, what I dare never grant; and believe----but you
know, 'tis not unkindness makes me Refuse you: You know I must be
Wretched in your Absence; yet think me easie and satisfied, if it will
contribute any thing to your quiet; or rather don't think of me at all.
Let us make our selves as happy as we can; I will endeavour to forget
you; don't Write to me, if you love me well enough to forbear it: And if
you can cease to love me, without hating me; for I don't find I have
force enough to bear so great a misfortune, which is the only one can
add to the weight of those which have already almost sunk

  _The Poor_









  16. Henry Nevil Payne, _The Fatal Jealousie_ (1673).

  18. Anonymous, "Of Genius," in _The Occasional Paper_, Vol. III, No. 10
      (1719), and Aaron Hill, Preface to _The Creation_ (1720).


  19. Susanna Centlivre, _The Busie Body_ (1709).

  20. Lewis Theobald, _Preface to the Works of Shakespeare_ (1734).

  22. Samuel Johnson, _The Vanity of Human Wishes_ (1749), and two
      _Rambler_ papers (1750).

  23. John Dryden, _His Majesties Declaration Defended_ (1681).


  31. Thomas Gray, _An Elegy Wrote in a Country Churchyard_ (1751), and
      _The Eton College Manuscript_.


  41. Bernard Mandeville, _A Letter to Dion_ (1732).


  104. Thomas D'Urfey, _Wonders in the Sun; or, The Kingdom of the Birds_


  110. John Tutchin, _Selected Poems_ (1685-1700).

  111. Anonymous, _Political Justice_ (1736).

  112. Robert Dodsley, _An Essay on Fable_ (1764).

  113. T. R., _An Essay Concerning Critical and Curious Learning_ (1698).

  114. _Two Poems Against Pope_: Leonard Welsted, _One Epistle to Mr. A.
       Pope_ (1730), and Anonymous, _The Blatant Beast_ (1742).


  115. Daniel Defoe and others, _Accounts of the Apparition of Mrs.

  116. Charles Macklin, _The Covent Garden Theatre_ (1752).

  117. Sir George L'Estrange, _Citt and Bumpkin_ (1680).

  118. Henry More, _Enthusiasmus Triumphatus_ (1662).

  119. Thomas Traherne, _Meditations on the Six Days of the Creation_

  120. Bernard Mandeville, _Aesop Dress'd or a Collection of Fables_


  123. Edmond Malone, _Cursory Observations on the Poems Attributed to
       Mr. Thomas Rowley_ (1782).

  124. Anonymous, _The Female Wits_ (1704).

  125. Anonymous, _The Scribleriad_ (1742). Lord Hervey, _The Difference
       Between Verbal and Practical Virtue_ (1742).

  126. _Le Lutrin: an Heroick Poem, Written Originally in French by
       Monsieur Boileau: Made English by N. O._ (1682).


  128. Charles Macklin, _A Will and No Will, or a Bone for the Lawyers_
       (1746). _The New Play Criticiz'd, or The Plague of Envy_ (1747).

  129. Lawrence Echard, Prefaces to _Terence's Comedies_ (1694) and
       _Plautus's Comedies_ (1694).

  130. Henry More, _Democritus Platonissans_ (1646).

  131. John Evelyn, _The History of Sabatai Sevi, The Suppos'd Messiah of
       the Jews_ (1669).

  132. Walter Harte, _An Essay on Satire, Particularly on the Dunciad_

    Publications of the first fifteen years of the Society (numbers
    1-90) are available in paperbound units of six issues at $16.00 per
    unit, from the Kraus Reprint Company, 16 East 46th Street, New York,
    N.Y. 10017.

    Publications in print are available at the regular membership rate
    of $5.00 yearly. Prices of single issues may be obtained upon
    request. Subsequent publications may be checked in the annual


  133. John Courtenay, _A Poetical Review of the Literary and Moral
       Character of the Late Samuel Johnson_ (1786). Introduction by
       Robert E. Kelley.

  134. John Downes, _Roscius Anglicanus_ (1708). Introduction by John

  135. Sir John Hill, _Hypochondriasis, a Practical Treatise on the Nature
       and Cure of that Disorder Call'd the Hyp or Hypo_ (1766).
       Introduction by G. S. Rousseau.

  136. Thomas Sheridan, _Discourse ... Being Introductory to His Course of
       Lectures on Elocution and the English Language_ (1759).
       Introduction by G. P. Mohrman.

  137. Arthur Murphy, _The Englishman From Paris_ (1756). Introduction by
       Simon Trefman. Previously unpublished manuscript.

  138. [Catherine Trotter], _Olinda's Adventures_ (1718). Introduction by
       Robert Adams Day.


_After THE TEMPEST_. Introduction by George Robert Guffey.

Next in the continuing series of special publications by the Society
will be _After THE TEMPEST_, a volume including the Dryden-Davenant
version of _The Tempest_ (1670); the "operatic" _Tempest_ (1674); Thomas
Duffet's _Mock-Tempest_ (1675); and the "Garrick" _Tempest_ (1756), with
an Introduction by George Robert Guffey.

Already published in this series are:

1. John Ogilby, _The Fables of Aesop Paraphras'd in Verse_ (1668), with
an Introduction by Earl Miner.

2. John Gay, _Fables_ (1727, 1738), with an Introduction by Vinton A.

3. Elkanah Settle, _The Empress of Morocco_ (1673) with five plates;
_Notes and Observations on the Empress of Morocco_ (1674) by John
Dryden, John Crowne and Thomas Shadwell; _Notes and Observations on the
Empress of Morocco Revised_ (1674) by Elkanah Settle; and _The Empress
of Morocco. A Farce_ (1674) by Thomas Duffet; with an Introduction by
Maximillian E. Novak.

Price to members of the Society, $2.50 for the first copy of each title,
and $3.25 for additional copies. Price to non-members, $4.00. Standing
orders for this continuing series of Special Publications will be
accepted. British and European orders should be addressed to B. H.
Blackwell, Broad Street, Oxford, England.

William Andrews Clark Memorial Library: University of California, Los



_General Editors_: William E. Conway, William Andrews Clark Memorial
Library; George Robert Guffey, University of California, Los Angeles:
Maximillian E. Novak, University of California, Los Angeles

_Corresponding Secretary_: Mrs. Edna C. Davis, William Andrews Clark
Memorial Library

The Society's purpose is to publish rare Restoration and
eighteenth-century works (usually as facsimile reproductions). All
income of the Society is devoted to defraying costs of publication and

Correspondence concerning memberships in the United States and Canada
should be addressed to the Corresponding Secretary at the William
Andrews Clark Memorial Library, 2520 Cimarron Street, Los Angeles,
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membership fee is $5.00 a year in the United States and Canada and
£1.16.6 in Great Britain and Europe. British and European prospective
members should address B. H. Blackwell, Broad Street, Oxford, England.
Copies of back issues in print may be obtained from the Corresponding

Publications of the first fifteen years of the Society (numbers 1-90)
are available in paperbound units of six issues at $16.00 per unit, from
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Make check or money order payable to THE REGENTS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF

Errata List:

  p. viii: "Bibliothèque de l'Arsénal" should be
           "Bibliothèque de l'Arsenal"

  p. 136: "seem'd not to blelieve" should be
          "seem'd not to believe"

  p. 143: "LETTER V." should be
          "LETTER II."

  p. 150: "one wou'd thing" should be
          "one wou'd think"

  p. 150: "_Ambrisia_ cant hear" should be
          "_Ambrisia_ can't hear"

  p. 152: "Whilst he he held" should be
          "Whilst he held"

  p. 152: "I had no apprehensons" should be
          "I had no apprehensions"

  p. 153: "You Honour me to much my Lord" should be
          "You Honour me too much my Lord"

  p. 157: "I refus'd, tho' unwillinglly" should be
          "I refus'd, tho' unwillingly"

  p. 158: "to the tothers Care" should be
          "to the others' Care"

  p. 160: "for he new my Name." should be
          "for he knew my Name."

  p. 164: "that that and my Obedience" should be
          "that and my Obedience"

  p. 176: "in spight of the greatest Rigour" should be
          "in spite of the greatest Rigour"

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