LETTERS Written by Mrs. MANLEY. To which is Added A LETTER from a supposed NUN in Portugal, to a GENTLEMAN in France, in Imitation of the NUN's Five LETTERS in Print, by Colonel Pack.  
LONDON, Printed for R. B. and Sold by the Booksellers of London and Westminster, 1696.   

TO THE Incomparably Excellent Mrs. DELARIVIER MANLEY.  
MADAM,  
FOnd of the Vanity of having your Ladyship's Friendship, I cannot rest easy with the vast Blessing, unless the World know me favoured by a Person so extraordinary: And whilst the Town is big to see what a Genius so proportionate can produce, whilst Sir Thomas Skipwith and Mr. Betterton are eagerly contending, who shall first bring you upon the Stage, and which shall be most applauded, your Tragic or Comic Strain, I could not refuse the Vanity (my Soul whispered to me) of stealing you from the expecting Rivals, and dexterously throw you first into the World, as one that honoured me with your Friendship before you thought of theirs. Doubtless, you will speak me a vainglorious Rascal, and unworthy of that Esteem I betray. Perhaps you may most justly object, These Letters which I expose, were not proper for the Public; the Droppings of your Pen, fatigued with Thought and Travel. But let them who are of that Opinion imagine what Ease and Leisure could produce, when they find themselves (as they necessarily must) so well entertained by these.  
That Honour, Esteem and Friendship I had for Sir Roger Manley, (who has left a kind of Immortality behind him, in his Books, his Memory, and his extraordinary Daughter:) That old and true Kindness, which grew up with you, and made me with Veneration and Wonder heedfully observe what others neglected as Childish, I confess, has most warmly opposed your Design of Writing Plays; and more, that of Making them Public. I would have had a happy Nature, such as yours, taken up with more Sublime and Elevated Thoughts; and Time better spent, than in such Trifles. But since I could but combat (not overcome) your Desires, my Friendship engages me to serve what I cannot approve; and I have thought this one Way, by giving the Town a true Taste of your Thoughts and Sense; I say, a true Taste; for here you cannot but be supposed to speak for yourself.  
Should I follow the Business of all Dedications, which is Encomium, mine must be as boundless as the Theme: I should tell the World, how separate you are from all the Weakness of your Sex; what a Nobleness and Generosity of Temper is yours; how distant from the Shadow of Interest, or mean Design: How have I heard you (compassionately) regretting the Miseries of others, and never your own, but when they prevented your exalted Charity to them!  
And now let us descant a little upon the Injustice of Fortune, that has not (with Nature) made you her choicest Favourite. Why did she not place you in a Station as exalted as your Merit? Why thrown your Chance in the Country, who might have adorned a Court, and taught a Nation? Herein all cannot but commend you, suiting your Inclinations to her Caprice; and by withdrawing from the Possibility of tempting others, put it beyond your own of being tempted.  
Now, Madam, 'tis time to ask your Pardon for venturing to make any thing of yours public, without your Leave: 'Twas what I knew I should never procure, and therefore have presumed upon that Sweetness of Temper, which never shows you vindictive against an Enemy; most obliging to your Friends, and happily calm to yourself. Years of Friendship, and Veneration, can plead mine no Design of exposing you; nor can my Life be easy, when it has lost the Relish of being esteemed  
Your Foremost Admirer, and Most Devoted, Humble And Obedient Servant. J. H.   

LETTER I.  
Egham, June 24. 1694.  
I Am got (as they tell me) sixteen Miles from you and London; but I can't help fancying 'tis so many Degrees. Tho' Midsummer to all besides, in my Breast there's nothing but frozen Imaginations. The Resolutions I have taken of quitting London (which is as much as to say, the World) for ever, starts back, and asks my gayer Part if it has well weighed the Sense of Ever? Nor does your Letter, which I received this Morning, (taking Coach) less influence me, than when I first formed the Design. You should have used but half these Arguments, and they had undoubtedly prevailed: 'Tis of the latest now to ask me why I leave the crowded Market, and retire to starve alone in Solitude? Whereas you quote the Poet, 
All your Beauty no more Light will have  
Than a Sundial in a Grave.  I am too much afraid Sloth and Sadness are going to be my Eternal Companions; and you know my Soul's unfit for such Guests, till upon the Road to Execution: I fancied Dying to the World; Horace, Cowley, all those Illustrious Lovers of Solitude, debauched my Opinion, against my Reason: I took Coach with Mr. Granvill's Words in my Mouth, 
Place me, ye Gods, in some obscure Retreat:  
Oh! keep me innocent: Make others Great:  
In quiet Shades, content with Rural Sports,  
Give me a Life, remote from guilty Court:  
Where free from Hopes and Feans, at humble Ease,  
Unheard of, I may live and die in Peace.  Yet you see how great a Change two Hours has produced: All my Constancy is not Proof against the Thoughts, I am going to have no Lover but myself for ever. The green inviting Grass (upon which I promised to pass many pleasing solitary Hours) seems not at all entertaining: The Trees, with all their blooming, spreading Beauties, appear the worst sort of Canopy; because, where I am going, they can offer their Shade to none but solitary me. But 'tis not reasonable my Dulness should extend to you, who have every thing in your Nature just and pleasing. You asked, and I eagerly engaged (because you desired) to give an Account of myself and Travels, every Stage. I have not forgot (when I told you) 'Twas too often, how you answered, Not for a Mind so fruitful as mine in Variety of Inconstant Thoughts. You find at present, they run all upon melancholy Apprehensions, which have so wholly possessed me, I have not had time to observe my wretched Fellow-Travellers, only a pert Sir in the Company, that will make himself be taken notice of by his Dulness. They most unmercifully set us to Dinner at Ten-a-Clock, upon a great Leg of Mutton. 'Tis the Custom of these Dining Stages, to prepare one Day Beef, and another our present Fare; 'tis ready against the Coach comes: And tho' you should have a perfect Antipathy, there's no Remedy but Fasting: The Coachman begs your Pardon; head not stay dressing a Dinner for the King, (God bless him) should he travel in his Coach. I have left the Limb of the Sheep to the Mercy of my Companions, (whose Stomaches are thus early prepared for any Digestion) to tell you, with what unfeigned Respect I shall be ever  
Your True Faithful Servant, Dela. MANLEY.   

LETTER II.  
I am got safe to Hartley-Row, and in a little better Humour than when I writ my last. Our Landlord is a perfect Beaux, and most tightly performs the Honours of his House. I am in pain for his Assiduity: I can't fetch a Step, no not to the Window, from the Table, etc. but he is Squiring me; and so dressed, and so conceited, that nothing but Serving a lose Apprenticeship, could have set him up a Master in the Trade of Foppery. He was a Goldsmith's Apprentice, where he studied more his Pleasure, than Profit. This House fell to him, and he wisely resolved to keep it himself, with the Help of his Sister, who is a neat, housewifely, obliging sort of Woman. I suppose 'tis, by much, the best Entertainment this Road affords. They have a tolerable Cook; and I was glad to find something I could eat at Three-a-Clock, for we came in here at Two, and I can give you a little better Account of my Fellow-Travellers. The Sir I spoke of is a Baronet's Son, as he has carefully given me to understand: I take it for granted, he likes me; and would have me do the same by him. As he came in he put off his Travelling Suit, for a Coat and Vest, designed to dazzle the Curate and all his Congregation. The Way I took to mortify his Foppery, was, not to speak a Word of the Change; which made him extreme uneasy: At length, out of all Patience, he desired my Opinion, If his Tailor had used him well? What the Brocade was worth a Yard? How many Ounces of Silver-Fringe? And recommended to my Curiosity the exquisite Workmanship of the Loops; and then gave me the Sum Total of his Cost. I answered him, That Finery was lost upon me; I neither was, nor pretended to be a Judge. He pertly answered, He perceived by my Sullenness, that I had a great deal of Wit; though I understood he had but little by his Remark.— Well, all this did not do: He would fain have had me enquired into his Family, Intrigues, and Fortune; which when he perceived I had no Curiosity for, I'faith, Madam, said he, I beg your Ladyship's Opinion, if I am not the most unfortunate Man breathing: I'll tell you a most mortifying Adventure— Nay, you must hear me— I vow, this Indifferency does not look natural to you; your eyes promise us much more Fire. I'll shut 'em, thought I, for ever, rather than such a Fop shall find any thing to like them for— What! no Answer, Madam, said he; I perceive your Attention by your Silence. Gad, I love a Person of your Breeding, that know themselves better than to interrupt a good Story. Perhaps Madam is not well with her Journey, answered Mrs. Mayoress of Tatness— Alas! I wonder Riding in the Coach should not have got you a better Stomach— Poor Gentlewoman, she has scarce eat any thing. I'll recompense that by a Feast of the Mind, answered my Fop. How say you, Madam? Shall I begin the Regalio?— I had as good consent, quoth I: With or without my Leave, I see you are resolved upon't. Well then, Madam, said he, since you are disposed to be delighted, I'll about it instantly.  
‛ It happened at Oxford three Months ago, (where I often came, my Father's Estate being not far distant) I saw a Lady, and fell in Love with her; ●y Gad, Madam, downright in Love with her. She was a Person Gently bred, had seen the Beaux Monde, made the Tour of all the Places of Gallantry, shined in the Drawing-Room, languished in the Boxes, adorned the Park; in a Word, was all a Man of my Circumstances could desire in one he was resolved to make an Oblation of his Heart to. But as her Honour was my Care, and not Marrying my Design, I searched for a dexterous Pretence to visit, and be happy. I took Mr. Sly with me, a Gentleman of the Town, who had a Wife: To give you the Character of my Friend, He was naturally amorous, had a handsome Person, and Strains of natural Wit beyond whatever I saw in the most Acquired; and your Ladyship must allow me to be a Judge of Wit, by so dexterously finding out yours, Maugre your Silence. ' I bowed for this extraordinary Compliment; and thought I could not more agreeably return it, than by continuing my Silence; and, as the Poet has it, left him to his dear Mistake. ‛ Mr. Sly, continued he, was to propose a Marriage between me and my Lady Conquest, to the old People, her Relations, whom she was just come to live with: But as soon as he saw her, if I was her first Oxford-Victim, he was certainly the second; and, as I found, presently took with her. She had a very fine Hand, which Mr. Sly, according to the Country-Liberty, kissed; and then, with Cleveland, said, 
So soft, 'tis Air; but once removed,  
Tender, as 'twere a Jelly Gloved.  She gave him a Look, which seemed to say, she wondered in that Place at such a Piece of Gallantry; and then pursuing with her Wit the Victory of her Eyes, charmed my Friend to that Degree, that he told me, he must enjoy her, or die. Gad, Madam, was not this a very odd Turn? I carried him to speak for me; and he comes to make me the Confident of his Designs? We agreed, tho' as Friends should, to keep our mutual Confidence secret from her, and to endeavour each of us to make himself happy, and faithfully to relate the Progress of our Amours. But because the Country is much given to Tattling, the Pretensions of Marriage went on. Lady Conquest was Airy and Coquet; loved Company and Gallantry, if they could be purchased with Safety: But she knew so well how to manage every body, that none durst speak to her, more than she had a mind to hear. I was one of the awed Fools. Gad! Would you believe, Madam, that Love could make so great an Ass of a Man of my Understanding? And yet 'twas not altogether that neither, my Pride was concerned; I was resolved not to serve for her Diversion, till I was sure she was consenting to be mine; but could no more keep out of her Company, than I could hang myself. I desired her to walk: She consented, with a Crony she picked up, upon Condition I would engage Mr. Sly of the Party. I was jealous, but to no purpose; either my Rival's Company, or not my Mistress'. Sly pretended Fear of his Wife, that he durst not appear in public with any other Woman; for she already began to have Apprehensions of my Lady Conquest, whose Way of Living was remote to those of Country-Gentlewomen's; and therefore he was resolved to think no more of her, tho' infinitely pleasing to him; for his Fortune depended, in a great measure, upon his Wife's Mother. I came back with this doleful News to Lady Conquest. Go tell him, answered she, He who has pretended to love me, should fear nothing more than not being beloved; and that I command him to meet us at the appointed place. I ran, like a Fool, to do her Message, which I believed Raillery, because she ought to have been more cautious of a Married Man's Love, if serious. Sly wanted but Entreaty: He consented, and we met, but not to my Comfort; tho' the Expense was mine, he had the Profit: She was not easy unless he sat nigh her; she talked to him, stared at him, did every thing to show she was pleased; whilst I, by a Notion of Pride, would pretend nothing, for fear I should not have all: For, Gad, Madam, I don't love being balked thus. Several times we met, but all as little to the purpose. Undoubtedly, she saw I loved her, but would not see, because I was of Use in her Affair with Sly. The whole Town talked of our approaching Wedding, and I began to be Fool enough to resolve on't through Sly's Persuasion, who continually extolled her Honour and Virtue, and tickled my Pride with the News of her Love; but that she wanted a Declaration from me, before I could expect a Confession from her. I told him, I would think on't; and so we parted.— That Night (as Chance would have it) I passed along by the House where she lived, and I found the Gate open: I know not what Devil of Curiosity carried me in; and when in, to go to her Chamber: I did both unseen, and concealed myself behind the Bed, which I saw fitted for Night. I resolved to wait till she should be in Bed, and then to take Advantage of her Woman's Absence, (who lay in the Antichamber) and there to declare my Love, and offer her Marriage. Long I had not waited, (Though, Gad, Madam, I was very impatient, and thought every Minute Seven,) when the charming Fair came from her Dressing-Room, with nothing on but her Nightgown and Slippers, which were soon thrown off, and the Goddess appeared more beauteous than the naked Queen of Love. The happy Bed soon received her; and she cried, Haste, and bring my Lover to me. At these Words her Woman went into the Antichamber, and returned softly with Sly; who flew to her Arms, sighed, kissed, and died there.— Imagine my Surprise! 'Twas so great, I could not in a long time show myself, to interrupt 'em: At length, seeing him undress for Bed, Gad, Madam, my Patience was quite expired; Traitor, said I in showing myself, Is it thus thou preservest thy feigned Duty to thy Wife? I laid my Hand upon my Sword, and he did the like on his; and we had certainly drawn, had not the Amorous Fair thrown herself out of Bed between us, and conjured us on her Knees to make no noise; else she was lost for ever. I raised her naked Beauties, and carried them whence they came, but complained at my hard Fortune, which had made me the Instrument of my own Ruin. She saw I was extremely touched at it; and after her Shame and Surprise was a little over, You have no Reason, Sir, said she, to complain of me: I could have no Engagements with a Man who never pretended to love me. Tho' you have given me the Glory of refusing you as a Husband (in the Eyes of the Town) it could not but nettle me, to know there was nothing serious on your side, but done like a Gentleman, to secure my Reputation amongst Illbred Fools, who know not the Charms of Conversation, and won't permit it (without Censure) to those that do. But, Gad, Madam, answered I, your Ladyship is not so dull, but to know I loved you: All my Assiduities, uneasiness, Sighs and Oaglings must have informed you. Our Sex dares hardly believe yours, she replied, when you take pains to speak: And sure 'twere an unpardonable Vanity to draw such Consequences without it. Those Circumstances you pretend, I have found common to all Gentlemen: Therefore must I conclude the whole World is in Love with me; and deny myself to those who tell me they are my Servants, for the vain Imagination that another is silently so? Gad, Madam, answered I, I can't possibly forgive the Preference of a dull, silly, sober Married Man, to an Airy, Well-dressed, Young, Amorous one. I'll be gone to London by Break of day, for fear I should not conceal my Resentments, and so injure your Ladyship irreparably: For, Gad, Madam, I must repeat again, you were to blame to slight all the Pains I took to breed you for nobler Game. ' This last, I confess, broke my Splenetic Silence, and I could not hold laughing hearty; which amply paid my Squire for the Pains he had taken in his Relation. He concluded it with telling me his Journey to London, and short Stay there, only to accouter, his Design of visiting a Lady-Sister, married into Devonshire: And closed with laud's to his good Fortune, that had thrown him into a Coach with a Lady of my Charms and Sense to whom he had sacrificed the Relics of Lady Conquest the first Minute that he saw me. I answered him, That I found Experience had made him resolve against losing a second Mistress for want of speaking.— He had Manners sufficient (or rather Conscience) to think he had given me enough of his: Beaux-self for one Day, and withdrew.  
I could not forbear, late as it was, sending you an Account: If you laugh in your Turn, I am paid for my Pains, as well as the Squire. 'Tis now past Eleven, and they'll call us by Two: Good Night; I am going to try if I can drown in Sleep that which most sensibly affects me, the cruel Separation we have so lately suffered.  
Hartley-Row, Jun. 22. 1694.   

LETTER III.  
DOn't you think I am more constant than your Friendship could hope, or mine pretend to? I think it a great Proof of it, amidst the Fatigues of a West-Country Journey, to give you thus duly an Account of my insignificant self, and Travels. We parted from Hartley-Row at Three this Morning, through a Crowd of Beggars, who watch your Coach for Alms; and will never leave it unblessed. Hence my Beaux took Occasion of Simile; Bid me to observe how wakeful those Wretches were for small Charities; That he would do the like, in hopes of greater; And that my Divine Idea had so filled his Sight, he could not resolve to let Sleep intrude, for fear of shutting me out. I perceived he took pains to be thought uneasy, and I have more good Manners than to disappoint him. Mrs. Moyoress, now she is acquainted, has all the low, disagreeble Familiarity of People of her Rank. She entertained us all the Morning with a sorry Love-business about her Second Husband; Stuff so impertinent, I remember nothing of it. Beaux continueth his Assiduities: I think none was ever so plagued with dying Eyes; his are continually in that posture, and my Opposites, that I am forced to take a good deal of pains to avoid 'em. The two other Fellow-Travellers were never so promoted before, and are much troubled their Journey is to last no longer, and wish the four Days four Months. I hope every Jolt will squash their Guts, and give 'em enough on't: But they are Proof against any such Disasters, and hugely delighted with what they are pleased to call Riding in State. After this ridiculous Account, you need not doubt but I am throughly mortified.— The Trout are just brought upon the Table, which are the only good thing here; they look inviting, and won't stay for Cooling Compliments. I hope Time will show it none, to say,  
I am unalterably yours. SUTTON, Jun. 23. 1694.   

LETTER IU.  
I Can't give myself any Reason why these Coachmen are such unreasonable Rogues: They make us rise at Two in the Morning, to bring us into our Inn at the same Hour in the Afternoon. After we were reposed a little, Beaux shined again, as yesterday, and waited upon me to Evening-Prayers. I need say nothing to you of Salisbury-Cathedral: If in a Foreign Country, as the Lady in her Letters of Spain, I could entertain you with a noble Description; but you have either seen, or may see it; and so I'll spare my Architecture. There are abundance of pretty, innocent-looked Women, genteel enough; but I have lost my Heart to a handsome Churchman. I never thought before that Dress was tolerable; but so wore, it seems a mighty Ornament. He was placed behind me; but I turned my Devotion, and kneeled to him, imagining him no less than (as in Antique Days) some High Priest of the Sun. The Canon gave me Cause to think he had dined too well, and was obliged to his Snuff, more than Religion, for keeping him awake.— Well, Devotion done, I was forced to break up mine, and leave him without a Knowledge of his Conquest. As we were walking to our Inn, I asked Beaux what we should do to pass the next day without being very weary of each other, for Sunday does not permit Travelling. He, you may be sure, did not fail to tell me, He could never be weary of me, tho' (himself) expiring by my Sight and Cruelty. I waved his Compliment, and told him my Design of engaging the People in the Exeter Coach (if they seemed worth it) to live with us for the time. When we returned, we were told it was not yet come in, occasioned by the breaking of the Axletree five Miles off; but that a Fellow was gone to mend it, and they were expected every Moment. My Chamber-Window answered the Court; I risen to it at the Noise of the Coach, and presently saw alight a tall, blustering, big-boned, raw Thing, like an overgrown Schoolboy, but conceited above any thing. He had an Appurtenance, called a Wife, whom he suffered to get out as well as she could; as long as he had lain with her, he did not think her worth the Civility of his Hand. She seemed a Giant of a Woman, but very fine, with a right Citt Air. He blustered presently for the best Lodging, which he saw taken up by her that held the fine Fan before her Face: You may guests this was your humble Servant. The Chamberlain told him, 'Twas their Custom, First come, first served; but that there were very good Chambers besides. The rest of the Company were two Things that looked pert and awkard; Trades-men's Daughters I judged 'em. But methoughts, casting my Eyes upon a Gentlewoman and her Servant, that came out last, I found something pleased me; whether it were because she really deserved it, or that the Stuff she was with set her off. I had a Basin of fine Heart-Cherries before me, just come from the Garden: I caused 'em to be brought after me, into the Gallery, and designed 'em as a Bait to the Woman whom I was to begin the Acquaintance with; for Beaux designed to set up to get a Fortune in Devonshire, and was unwilling to show any Irregularity;— and I thought myself above their Reflections. The first that appeared was the Wife, with a Rising Belly: This seemed a good Hint; I offered 'em to her, not knowing but she might long. The Sight, I suppose, did not displease her, for she readily accepted, and eat very greedily. The Gentile looked Lady had much to do to be persuaded. As for the other two, they were gone to choose a Lodging. We presently grew acquainted, taking Traveller's Liberty and Supped together. But, shall I tell you? The Wife grew jealous of me. It seems, her Temper was such. And her Husband (no small Man in his Country, tho' himself just set up in Merchandizing at London; his Father one of the Canons at Exeter;) thought he might carry all Hearts before him, as well as the Country-Lasses. They were come from visiting their Friends, and returning to their House in London. Mrs. Stanhope, for that was the Lady's Name that I liked, told me, I was not to count upon the Conquest, for he had given her Douceurs all the Way, and made her extreme uneasy, because his Wife appeared to be such. We grew into an Intimacy, and left the Company. My Beaux was to me faithless and inconstant. One of the awkard little Things I told you of, and who had a tolerable Face, was a Goldsmith's Daughter of Exeter, and acquainted with his Lady-Sister; that began their Acquaintance. She seemed free and fond: He took the Hint, and applied himself to her; which I was very glad of. Mrs. Stanhope went with me to my Chamber; and after much Discourse, offered Friendship, and mutual Knowledge of each other; she gave me this Account of her last Adventures.  
‛ I came now from Falmouth, (said she) where I have been since the Beginning of the Spring, to visit a Brother and his Wife that lives there. Till within these Six Weeks I saw nothing that pleased me: At lost, 'twas a Captain of a Man of War had the Chance; my Brother brought him to his House: And for my Excuse, I must tell you, he is a very pretty, genteel young Gentleman, of a good Family and Education, and in prospect of coming to very good Fortune. They talked of the Town and Country-Beauties: At last, a young Creature was named, whom I had not seen; but the Captain set her before every thing he had. I was concerned at his Opinion, and asked him his of the Duchess of Grafton? He gave her her due Praise; but yet, in his Esteem, this exceeded. I could not but think him extremely in the wrong; and was angry when I heard him wish himself a Man of mighty Fortune, to deserve her. He sailed that Night; and after Ten Days Cruise, came in again. His first Visit was to me. I asked him if he had seen his Mistress. He said, he had none. I remembered him of what he had spoke. He answered, That I had taught him better. He continued his Applications, visited me Three Times a Day: And because I was still jealous of his Words, I had him watched, and an Account brought of all his Visits. The young Lady's Uncle made a Ball; but because my Brother and him were not well together, there was no Hopes of my being invited; which my Lover very well knew, and therefore said, he would not be there, having received Orders to Sail. He took his Leave with transporting Sorrow; and had the Glory to find mine was real. However, I would not lose the Ball, because I desired to see my reputed Rival. I forgot to tell you, he had never seen her but once, when he praised her to that Degree; and dexterously told me a second Sight had undeceived him. I dressed myself like a Farmer's Wife, with a Basket on my Arm; and, by the help of one of the Servants, was placed like a Country-Gazer, at a Corner of the Room. I needed not to be told my Rival; a Thousand dazzling Charms distinguished her; and, though I looked with jealous Eyes, must acknowledge, I never saw any Beauty more perfect. All my Hopes lay in a certain Softness, which did not promise much Wit. In a little time, my Traitor (whom I imagined in the wide Ocean) came to the Ball, danced with his Mistress, and was as Assiduous as she deserved. I was so well pleased at the Discovery, I stayed not for any more, for fear I should not 'scape myself. About Midnight he came (for a Minute) to see me; and told me, he was just come Ashore, the Ship under Sail; yet without another Sight, 'twas impossible for him to departed. I confounded him with telling him what had so lately passed at the Ball: Yet he drew himself out of the Embarrass, and said every thing, to make me think he loved me; and we were seriously treating upon the Affairs of Matrimony. I told him, he must get my Father's Consent, who lived at London, where I was going. He begged me to defer my Journey till he came in; which I too readily promised; and so we parted. I knew my Fortune fairer than my Rival's, and began to be persuaded I had the better of her. For, What else could draw him to address me? When I saw him return, 'twas with mutual Joy: But he was ordered that same Night to sail to Plymouth, and did not expect to be back in a Week; therefore we agreed upon my Journey. He swore an inviolable Love; and would have contracted himself, if I durst without my Father's Consent: He intended to write to his Friends above, to ask it. And thus we once more parted, but not till he had severely exclaimed against any Designs upon my Rival, before a whole Crew of Town-Gossips, that I was sure would tell her. You may conclude, we agreed upon Writing. I took my Journey, and stayed at an Aunt's House in Exeter Ten Days; where I heard, that within Four of my Departure, my Lover returned; and in Three more was publicly married to my Rival. I writ to thank him for ridding me of a Knavish Husband, wished him Joy, took Coach, and resolved against too easily believing any Man again. '  
The Post has just brought me a Letter from you: I find you curse me with the Continuation of Egham-Uneasiness, till I return to (the World in) London. Methinks 'tis unreasonable to impose the continued Slavery of Writing: I assure you, I shall take Truce with it till at my Journey's End, unless something happen worth our Notice. General Talmash's Body was brought in here this Evening: His Secretary I am acquainted with, and have sent to desire the Favour of his Company to Morrow to Dinner; and if any thing in his Relation be Entertaining, you shall not fail of it from  
Your Sincere Faithful Servant. Saturday Night, from Salisbury.   

LETTER V.  
THE Account of so great a Man's Death as Mr. Talmash (in the middle of all his Erterprises, when Fortune seemed to promise him much greener Laurels than he had yet gathered) has so added to my Melancholy, that I will not describe his Misfortune to you, for fear it be contagious; but rather suffer you to expect the public Account; for I am one of those that esteem you more, than to make you uneasy; as I think none can be otherwise, that hears the Particulars of his Loss. Something there was, extreme touching.—  
After this doleful Subject, methinks my Beaux may justly complain I have so long a time neglected his most singular self. We parted this Morning from our Sunday-Acquaintance. Fop told me (when I gently reproached him for Inconstancy,) Gad, Madam, 'tis but to make myself the newer to your Ladyship to Morrow. I rather thought 'twas to keep me such to him. He has given me a Relation of his Success with the Damsel. She treated him (in her Chamber) with Rosa Solis, and what he calls Sucket. The rest he would willingly have acquainted me with, but I recommended Discretion in Ladies Affairs; and he, almost bursting, is yet forced to be silent. How long he will keep such, I do not know, for he has often offered at breaking his most painful Penance. We have passed Dorchester and Blandford to Day, but nothing I found in either worth your notice. The Toils of the Body influence the Mind: I suppose, by my Dulness, you find I speak woeful Truths. We are lodged at Bridgport, and very ill; but 'tis but for a Night. Here's just come into the Inn an Acquaintance of Beauxes, who promises yielding Matter for to Morrow's Letter. This was infected in the Beginning by General Talmash; and the most uneasy Journey as dully concludes it.  
Your ever Constant and Obliged Servant. Bridgport, Jun. 25. 1694.   

LETTER VI.  
BEaux is now grown so insipid, that I shall say very little of him for the future; and I have Reason to believe myself such to him; for these two last Evenings, contrary to Custom, he has not Redressed: The Fatigue, which he seems more sensible of than any of us, has tarnished the Lustre of his Eyes; and, instead of any further Oagling, drowns all his Amorous Pretensions in as profound Sleep as the uneasy Jolting of the Coach will permit. This is what I can never be so happy to gain. But to tell you something of our last Night's Entertainment: Whilst Supper was getting ready, the Gentleman I told you of, at Beauxes Entreaty, gave us an Account of what Affairs were carrying him to London: The short of it is this.  
‛ Your Ladyship, said he, may soon perceive by my Accent that I am a Foreigner. I had the Glory of following the Prince of Orange, (now our Auspicious King) in his Expedition into England. We landed in the West, with all those Particulars, which are needless to repeat. During our Stay at Exeter, I rendered my constant Devotion at the Cathedral; and in coming thence one Evening, an old Woman (with a Look as mean as a Beggar) presented me a Letter; which, when I had opened, I found from an Unknown, who styled himself my Friend, and gave me this Advice, That a Lady of good Country-Quality and Fortune, (and who was then in Exeter) was going to be disposed of by her Mother, to a Man she no way affected: But that she had been heard to say, If the handsome Swisser were in his place, she should obey without Reluctancy. And concluded the Letter with giving me Advice, like a good Friend, to improve my growing Fortune: For so considerable an one as Twelve Thousand Pounds was not every Day thrown into a Soldier's Lap. I had forgot to tell your Ladyship the Letter was writ in French, and Directions of the Lady's Name and Lodgings. My Heart gave me a secret Presage that the Matter would not be lucky to me, which I followed, and therefore took no notice of the Letter. Three Days after, the same Old Woman brought me another much more pressing: Upon which, I gave myself blindly up to my Destiny. I visited, and found the Lady, tho' not a Beauty, yet Genteel and Taking. 'Twas easy to guests by my Reception, that the Letters came from her. I'll omit the Discourse we had, and only rest upon Matter of Fact. She obliged me to leave my Command, and go with her to her Estate. Her Mother looked upon me with an evil Eye; but my Mistress was transportingly kind, and much concerned that none of the Ministers round durst marry us, for fear of the Old Lady. Whereupon, we concluded I should pretend to take my Leave, as designing for London; but instead of that, go directly into Cornwall, where she had a considerable Estate, and would meet me. The Matter happened as we had agreed; but for fear her Mother should pursue us, she consented to take me for her Husband before the Parson could be got to make us such. That happy Night I had all the Reason in the World to believe myself agreeable to her; and all was confirmed in the Morning, by the Priest. Thus caressed, and blessed, we returned to her House. The Old Lady (who had no Command of her Daughter's Fortune, and saw the Business beyond Remedy) was with the first to make her Court to me, and wish me Joy. Three happy Months I had all the Satisfaction that innocent Marriage and excessive Love in a Bride could give me. Then I began to consider a little my Affairs, and proposed to my Wife my being Naturalised, that I might look after hers. She swooned at the Name; and when she recovered, she snatched a Bayonet of mine, and wounded herself under the Left Breast, but not much. I can't express my Surprise: We hushed the Matter, for fear of her Mother; and I employed some of my Soldier Skill to cure it, which had the Effect. I enquired into the Reason of this Extravagancy. She told me, The Discovery of Interest in me, when she had believed Love was the only Motive to our Marriage. Some Days passed and as often as I offered at it, she received such mighty Disgust, that I resolved to get it done without her Notice; for she took me not as a Husband, but a Lover. 'Tis true, I was received as a Guest, but not a Master; and my Circumstance (having left my Command) required that. I got her Leave for my Journey: She showed such extravagant Passion at our Separation, that I swore a speedy Return; and resolved to leave my Naturalisation depending, look after my other Affairs, and return within a Fortnight to her: But before that time I had a dangerous Fit of Sickness in London. I writ often to her, and gave her an Account, that the Act was Passed, and I could now happily call myself an English Husband. She only answered, She knew how to interpret it; but she was out in her Cunning, if I should find an English Wife at my Service, who knew not the true Value and Use of one. This Letter damped me; but trusting to the Greatness of that Power Love had given me in her Heart, I did not question but my Presence would make all things easy. I took Post, my Impatience would not stay the Coach, tho' the Remains of my Fever seemed to expect it. I gave myself not Rest during the whole Journey. I sent to give her notice of my Arrival: But what was my Surprise, to find all shut at home! I called under her Window, where I perceived Light: 'Twas a heavy Night of Rain: I knocked at the Gates, and stormed, but all to no purpose; I was glad to take up my Lodging in the Porch. At Six in the Morning an Under-Servant appeared: I asked for her Lady. She told me, She was gone none known whither, and had conveyed away her Plate, etc. So that, if I pleased, an empty House was at my Service. I calmly bore all this, imagining it but a Trial; sought her round the Country, but in vain; she often shifted Places and went disguised. Not long after she commenced a Process against me, and by a Pretence, (which will for ever make her notorious) rendered me to the Court as Incapable. I was still so tender of her Fame, as to suffer the Aspersion. Common Law separated us: She got the better, by my refusing to vindicate myself, and I Fifteen Hundred Pounds of her Fortune, and the Charges of the Court. 'Tis since last August that this has happened. I have vainly tried to remove her implacable Aversion, or to learn the Cause of it: But I see my Endeavours are all fruitless; and I am now going to leave England, I think for ever. '  
I complemented him upon his Misfortunes, and really, in my Opinion, he could not be deserving of them. Gad, Madam, speaks Beaux, See what unconstant Things you Ladies are! I happened to be at this Gentleman's House when he was first married, and never saw any thing so fond of him as his Wife. Gad, I don't believe, whatever Woman I make happy, tho' her Esteem be equal to my Merit, she can possibly be fonder.  
I am now got safely, weary, into Exeter; and, I thank God, rid of the Impertinency of my Fellow-Travellers, Beaux excepted, who will see me safe home, tho' distant from his. The Cathedral here is very fine; the Bishop's Seat in it surpasses Salisbury, tho' short in every thing else. Forgive me for leaving you thus abruptly, since 'tis more pleasingly to entertain myself with a Letter of yours just brought to me.  
I am Most Constantly and Sincerely yours. EXETER, Jun. 26. 1694.   

LETTER VII.  
IF I have omitted answering your Three last, it proceeded from nothing but the Desire of doing something new; and you know 'tis extremely so in●…e, not eagerly to show you all Testimonies of Friendship.— My Solitude is much more pleasing than I fancied it: As yet I am not weary of that happy Indifferency, which leaves me nothing either to hope or fear. 
Thus empty, and thus Idle do I live;  
Nor Loved, nor Loving, can nor take, nor give.   
I have most Foppish Letters from Beaux, who parted with a World of seeming Regret; and yet I hear he is endeavouring at a Mistress. I suppose I may bid his Impertinence Farewell for ever: I think I bade you hope (in one of mine) to hear no more of him; I know not how I am fallen upon the nauseous Repetition. Themistocles refused Simonides, when he would have taught him the Art of Memory; pertinently saying, He had more need of Forgetfulness than Memory. I remember what I would not, but I cannot forget what I would. My Study has fallen upon Religion; I am searching into all sorts: You shall not fail to hear what that Chance-Medley produces. I can now with cold Indifferency shake Hands with all Things beyond this Solitude. How long the extraordinary Humour may last, I can't inform you at present. I repeat with Stoical Pride, 
Keep me, ye Bounteous Gods, my Caves and Woods  
In Peace: Let Tares and Acorns be my Food.   
Yours. July 10. 1694.  
POSTSCRIPT.  
I Forgot to leave Orders with the Jew about the Chocolate: Pray, take care that it be sent me, and excuse this Trouble.   

☞ There happened a long Intercouse between these Letters; but Business unfit for the Public keeps 'em at present concealed.   

LETTER VIII.  
I Am sorry I can't make good my Promise to so endearing a Friend as yourself. Looking over my Papers, I find but one of Colonel Packs Letters in Imitation of the Portugal-Nuns: I certainly had Three, which he sent to me for my Opinion; but Two are lost, which I very much regret; and the more, because I know not where he is, to repair it. I would hear how you approve his Style. I think Imitation the hardest Part of Writing: It confines a Freeborn Genius, which naturally loves Untrod wild's; at least, if I may guests at another's by my own. And now I am speaking of that, let me tell you, all those Romantic Ideas of Retirements, which viewed at a distance, gives a ravishing Prospect, now I am Wedded, Bedded too, prove the worst sort of Matrimony; but 'tis only to such a particular Friend as yourself, that I dare complain; to the remoter Sort I assume a Stoical Appetite and Air:— Tell them, the World, with all its gaudy Pleasures, are but rich Delusions, which at once corrupts our Senses, and our Fame: That the little Spot of Earth I have chose to fix my Face in, has more solid Entertainments, more real Innate Delights, than the Glories of Kensington: Then sigh, and seem to pity the more Elevated Part of the World, that can bury themselves in Noise and Crowd.— But, let me tell you, there's no real Satisfaction without Conversation. I have had so much of the Dead since I settled here, and (as I may say) nothing of the Living, for I find none deserves the Name, that I wish for the Conjuring Art; and would rather converse with the Ghosts of the Departed, than always with their Books, or with myself.— But I forget I detain you from better Company; I mean, the Enclosed. Writ to me still, but nothing of News; I mean to hear none, till I see London again; and when that will be, I have not the Pleasure so much as to imagine: 'Twill be new (to lie forgotten, and forgetting, and, as it were, be born with Understanding) to all the Vanities and Virtues (if any) of that Hydra.  
I am, SIR, With great Esteem, Your Most, etc. March 15. 1695.   

A Second Letter from a supposed Nun in Portugal, to a Gentleman in France, in Imitation of the Five Letters in Print, by Colonel Pack.  
O My fled Heart, and he that so unjustly keeps it from me! Was not your barbarous Resolution sufficient, that I should never possess yours; but you must add the Use of all your best Art to keep me from my own? In what Disorder do I speak and write, for want of a poor tender Heart? That's gone a Pilgrimage to Love, and (the unkind Heavens not hearing its Prayer) has, through Distraction, lost its Way, and never will return again. Fire sets on Fire: Why then does not my Flame make you burn? 'Tis a false Maxim: Extremity of Cold scorches you. Had I at first put on a Behaviour more cool and remote to your pretended Affection, and treated you with Unkindness, how many 〈◊〉 and Vows would you have of-offered at Love's Altar? With what Ardency would you have continued your Protestations? Who would have thought that a Fire (at first) so well kindled as yours, should need Fanning with an infectious Blast, to preserve its Heat? Or that the wholesome Sun should put it out? But that, Alas! was my Misfortune: My Burning was the greater, and drew yours away.— How can I then with any Confidence blame you for what I myself was truly and principally the Occasion of? You too easily perceived how earnestly I was wont to watch your Eyes, that they looked not on others; as if mine took it unkindly they were not gazed on altogether. How perverse are our Fates! Why else was it not contrived that you might be as happy in me, as 'twas possible for me to be in you? Say what you will, you was to blame. What Care you took to assault my Affections, was sufficiently discoverable in the constant Ardour and Formality of your Approaches; contriving to appear at all Times as Engaging as possible. Your Conquest was not so great: You could not well have met with a Heart less fortified for a Defence: Ye Gods! that I should yield upon your very first Summons; and so dishonourably, that I was not allowed Flying Colours! Nay, what's yet more; That I should bear so mean, low, and contemptible a Spirit, as to take infinitely more Delight in my own Vassalage and Captivity, than in the most flourishing Tranquillity! What do I thus rave upon? What would I have? If I am happy in my Condition, why do I not rest, and retain my Senses, like others of my Sex? But that still (and, I fear, ever) I have the same sad Tune to sing: ‛ My Conqueror (whom I adored for being so) is gone; and my Cloister is now as much a Prison to me, as 'twas Heaven, and Liberty, and all things, when I had him there. 'Twas an unworthy Thing to steal my better Part, my Soul, away; and not think this little Frame, its old Companion, worth taking with you. But what you had got, you thought, was of light Carriage, needed little Stowage, paid no Freight, and (I dare stake my Life) was the All ever you intended to have of me: And to be so served, is (it seems) the All I am ever likely to expect from you How grossly did I flatter myself, and abuse you, whenever I imagined you would be kind and true to me! You that are so cruel, that could you reduce any other Woman into my ill Circumstances, if there was a Third in the World, you would certainly leave the former, and there feign fresh Adorations. If there was not, yet purely to gratify your Inhumanity to her, even I, now slighted and neglected, should then have your Company; for you could not brook being put by a Pleasure of that kind, tho' it cost you the Trouble of going to one who loved you more than the World. '—  
How very odd (and as tho' you were writing to some public Place of Intelligence) was that Discourse of yours, in your last Letter, concerning the great Lightning and Thunder which you say happened in your Parts! Also you desire to know what Wether we have had here. Is this fit to stuff in a Love-Letter? Truly, it might have thundered, lightened and reigned, or it might have been very pleasant, delightful Wether, for aught I know; for I am not capable of making any Remarks of that kind: But this I can inform you, being too sure of the Truth of it, that it has been very stormy Wether in my Eyes ever since your Departure; and until you return (the only Sun, whose Influence can disperse these Clouds) I fear 'twill ever be tempestuous. This Account (it may be) pleases you more than if I had sent you Word the ill weather had reached our Country, demolished our Monastery, set me at Liberty, and I was in pursuit of you. Then, then how I would glut my Revenge by the Incursions of my Love! For it should haunt you in all Places and Countries. And since it wore so much the Visage of an Evil Spirit in your Conceit here, as to make you quit the Place, I would try whether Change of Air would alter its Complexion and Features, so as to force you into a better Opinion of it, and be throughly revenged on you that Way: For, to love, I find, is the Unhappiness you would avoid, above all other Things: But your Appetite and Taste is as much depraved, as my Project is vain and impracticable: I find the Sour of France gratifies your Palate above the Sweets of Portugal; and a French Lady (with her distant Regards to your Address, and (at last) sergeant artificial Acceptance shall engage you much more than the Loyalty, Integrity, Truth and Freedom of my unlimited Passion. Will not the World swear we are both mad: You for preferring a Counterfeit, (because it glisters) before the true Metal itself, which is known to every Child, by its Weight: I for my Fidelity to so much Ingratitude. But let the World blame us as it pleases, I am resolved to be as true to you, as you to your unnatural Inconstancy.— To what a Degree of Bliss should I be advanced, if I could find you complaining of the Remissness of my Love, and admiring how intense was your own: And I should be but too happy, if that Fault was not found on your side, as (Alas!) to all the World too visibly it is▪ And the same Conceptions you make of an Immensity will but just serve you to fathom my Zeal, which (altho' cherished and pruned after the most careful manner) is productive of nothing but the most bitter, sour and unpleasant Fruits imaginable.— Your unkind Deal and Actions to me are the Fruits of my extraordinary Passion. What Soul could imagine such dissonant Notes should spring up, to interrupt the Harmony of my Affection? In what had you been the worse, if my extreme Kindness you had retaliated with but a little of yours; and altho' more than a little be my due, yet with the least Grain I could have wrought my own Contentment: But you are so unjust to deny all, and leave me to the harassing of a miserable Despair; one Hours Torment of which I would not wish you should endure, Ages to come, to be set free myself; and yet no otherwise fond of my Condition, but as it is a Gift of yours, and which (for any thing less than your Love) I will never part with. Barbarous, Barbarous! to deny me that, which you take more pains to throw away upon another, than I can do to obtain it. You shall not use me thus; indeed, you must not: 'Tis I say it, but you regard not that, so insensible you are of my Condition; which, tho' never so unfortunate as to my own particular, yet is aggravated with Cares for your Welfare, who are the sole Cause of my Unhappiness. How you will relish this Letter I know not, I fear you will think there are too many Invectives against your Tyranny; in which I will agree with you myself, and ask your Forgiveness: But, alas! they are as gentle as I could possibly persuade my Pen to drop; for, since you take so much pleasure in a hard Heart, I would not for the World any ways cross you, by making you less obdurate; so tenderly I value your Satisfaction, and so little (for your sake) my own. But, Oh! the infinite Pleasures you would find in Love, if you thought them worth the looking after! Love (as it is, or is not mutual) is the truest Epitome of the Supernatural States: If mutual the Joys are lasting, and never cloy; if not, the Torments are intolerable, yet must be endured. Oh, that any thing I could say might dissolve you to a Sense of my miserable Life; or, indeed, rather your own! And yet, if it could, in the least, enter into my Thoughts that you are altogether at Repose, I assure you, I would never interrupt you; no Noise of my Afflictions should ever be your Disturbance: But I am very much mistaken if you are altogether without Remorse for the Sufferings you have brought upon me. I remember, you once was flexible, and of a compassionate Nature, and your Behaviour very like a Gentleman; whatever has misguided you to the Abuse of my Favours, which (if I have Knowledge of my Heart) were (at first) much more for your sake, than my own, you were the Aggressor, and not I; and whatever Kindness I showed you, was more to make me happy, than yourself; that by Charity to a Serpent, I at last was stung. 'Tis said, that venomous Creatures have a Balsamic Quality in themselves, to cure the Wounds they make: But you (more unnatural than all the rest) have none; at least, most cruelly withhold it from me. O Heaven! That I had but Power to contain my ! That I had but Temper to be a little calm! But 'tis a Condition I have long since abandoned, and (till I see you again) will never reassume. In the Rage I am in, I could think you as many unkindnesses, as, by and by, the Fury of Love would find a Task to unravel; for if one Half Hour I blame you, in the next I call it Injustice. So careful I am that no ill Thought of you appear deserving, that were you worse than you are, my Pleasure would consist in being flattered that you are better than I think you: Nay, Sometimes I persuade myself that you are a Man of the greatest Justice in the World; and that 'tis not even in your Nature (wilfully) to do an unequal Thing. But 'tis most certain, I am doomed to a fruitless Love, without the least Possibility of a Deliverance. Indeed, formerly I had a faint Prospect (as I thought) of being in some measure restored; but I looked through false Glasses, that presented me with a wrong Object; and since that, I have done the great Work of learning to be well satisfied with my intolerable Condition. Did my Love run parallel with what is commonly found in the World, it would not be so desperate.— Happy they, who (in a Pett, or upon some small Disgust) can recede from their Passions, and set up for new ones elsewhere; and whatever they pretend, Self-is the greatest Thing. This is the Way of Amouring most in Fashion: This is that Imposture that prevails upon so many tender Hearts: And in Cases of Denial, very artificially can usurp Languishing Eyes, want no expressive passionate Insinuations, counterfeit Melancholy and Distraction; and all to serve some base by-End. If this had been the Quality of my Love, the Vengeance you assign me had then been merited. I verily believe, if it had had but the least Tincture of Treachery, I should have won your Heart, should have made you jealous: And that Temper would have been very inconsistent with your Resolutions to make a thorough Conquest: Nothing less than which (to a Man of Prowess like you) could have been a real Pleasure. Yes, yes; 'tis very plain, If my Passion had been forged, and bore a false Accent, it would certainly much better have agreed with yours, as being much nearer related; but the fatal Consequence (of a true Fervency, returned with fair Assurances, and foul Actions) none knows, but the wretched, solitary I. Upon the whole, I think verily I love you because you make me miserable. If that be true, go on, be signalised to the World for your Unkindness, that the more I may be so, for my unaccountable Affection. That I love you, Heaven knows; you know, else I should see you here again cringing out the feigned Allegations of your Sincerity, tho' much more distant than we are. Oh, that we were to begin again! What Course would I then take! I fear, even fool myself, as I have done; for, since I know no greater Pleasure than the Love of you, I should too willingly run the Risk of any Disadvantage that could happen by it. I die a Thousand Deaths every Hour, and still revive, to die them over again: Adieu. What could not I endure for your sake! I have at this Moment so lively an Idea of you, that I almost fancy you here in Person. Methinks, how very kind you are! How affectionately you condole me for the Torments I have suffered in your Absence; and how thankful I am to you for them! How you press my Hand, and swear you will never part with me! And, Ah, Monsieur! How I believe you, for being hitherto so faithful!— Once more, Adieu. I think I never writ to you in my Life, but their Length made 'em stayed for. The Post (at my Request) has waited a great while, and I am now sent to; I wonder, else, when I should give off. You may judge a little of my Condition, when you see even hurrying Post-haste itself can admit of a Delay, to please me. The Actions of all People that see me, are designedly kind, and of a Desire to divert me. One takes me by the Hand, begging of me to be cheerful, and leave my unprofitable Thinking; showing me good Reason for it: But, Alas! I find Reason and Love two very separate Things, not at all influencing each other. To Day a Sister brought me Variety of the best Fruits; of which, nothing but a piece of a pomegranate could I be persuasuaded to eat. 'Tis possible, I might thank her, but am not sure I had so much Manners: Every Body excuses my Ill Breeding, but much wonder at my Alteration. The Rigour and Severity of our Religion can dispense with many great Faults in me, that it will not allow in others. What shall I do? Well, I have only one thing more (besides a Thousand) to say to you; which is, That if you can have regard for any one Sentence in this Letter, it may be too this last, I implore you to let me see you in Portugal before I die. Adieu, Adieu.  
FINIS.