THE Unfortunate Happy Lady.  
A True HISTORY.  
By Mrs. A. BEHN.  
LONDON: Printed for Samuel Briscoe, in Charles-Street, Covent-Garden, 1698.   

TO EDWARD COOK, of Norfolk, Esquire.  
Honoured SIR,  
IF so considerable a Name as Mrs. Behn's did not justify my Choice of your Patronage, Sir, for the following Novel, I might perhaps be thought too presumptuous, in sheltering the Unhappy Fortunate under your Name: But being secured by her established Reputation from injuring yours, I gave way to that Desire I had to show myself in the Number of your Admirers. For there being a sort of Merit in admiring Merit, every one that has the least Ambition, would desire to show himself Master of that Desert.  
Your Virtues as well as Fortunes are too conspicuous not to be observed by all; your Affability, Generosity, Goodness are what give Hope to your Inferiors, and Comfort and Satisfaction to your Equals, and Admiration to all: For 'tis seldom that Fortune alone can draw our Hearts tho' it draw our Eyes, but when embellished with such Qualifications it makes the Possessor truly Great and Happy, as well as Rich.  
'Tis well, Sir, I am no Panegerist, I should else, on so engaging a Theme, be apt to forget the Violence I did your Modesty, in the Satisfaction I found in the Contemplation of your Excellencies: But I leave that Task to happier Pens, and content myself with the generous Ambition of what my Stars deny me, and only hag leave to subscribe myself, Sir,  
Your most obedient and devoted Servant, SAM. BRISCOE. 
** Place this Epistle Dedicatory next after the Title of the Unhappy Fortunate Lady.    

THE Unfortunate Happy Lady. A True History.  
I Cannot omit giving the world an account, of the uncommon villainy of a Gentleman of a good Family in England practised upon his Sister, which was attested to me by one who lived in the Family, and from whom I had the whole truth of the Story. I shall conceal the unhappy Gentleman's own, under the borrowed names of Sir William Wilding, who succeeded his Father Sir Edward, in an Estate of near 4000 l. a year, inheriting all that belonged to him, except his Virtues. 'Tis true, he was obliged to pay his only Sister a Portion of 6000 l. which he might very easily have done out of his Patrimony in a little time, the Estate being not in the least encumbered. But the death of his good Father gave a lose to the extravagance of his Inclinations, which till then was hardly observable, The first discovery he made of his Humour, was in the extraordinary rich Equipage he prepared for his Journey to London, which was much greater than his fair and plentiful Fortune could maintain, nor were his expenses any way inferior to the figure he made here in Town; insomuch, that in less than a twelve month, he was forced to return to his seat in the Country, to Mortgage a part of his Estate of a thousand pounds a year, to satisfy the debts he had already contracted in his profuse Treats, Gaming and Women, which in a few weeks he effected, to the great affliction of his Sister Philadelphia, a young Lady of excellent Beauty, Education, and Virtue; who, foreseeing the utter ruin of the Estate, if not timely prevented, daily begged of him, with Prayers and Tears, that might have moved a Scythian or wild Arab, or indeed, any thing but him, to pay her her portion. To which however, he seemingly consented, and promised to take her to Town with him, and there give her all the satisfaction she could expect: And having dipped some paltry Acres of Land, deeper than ever Heaven dipped 'em in Rain, he was as good as his word, and brought her to Town with him, where he told her he would place her with an ancient Lady with whom he had contracted a friendship at his first coming to London; adding, that she was▪ Lady of incomparable Morals, and of a matchless Life and Conversation. Philadelphia took him in the best sense, and was very desirous to be planted in the same House with her, hoping she might grow to as great a perfection in such excellent qualifications, as she imagined ' 'em. About four days therefore after they had been in Town, she solicits her Brother to wait on that Lady with her: He replied, that it is absolutely necessary and convenient that I should first acquaint her with my design, and beg that she will be pleased to take you into her care, and this shall be my chief business to day: Accordingly, that very hour he went to the Lady Beldames, his reverend and honourable Acquaintance, whom he prepared for the reception of his Sister, who he told her was a cast Mistress of his, and desired her assistance to prevent the trouble and charge, which she knew such Cattle would bring upon young Gentlemen of plentiful Estates. To morrow morning about eleven, I'll leave her with your Ladyship, who, I doubt not, will give her a wholesome Lesson or two before night, and your reward is certain. My Son (returned she) I know the greatness of your Spirit, the heat of your temper has both warmed and inflamed me! I joy to see you in Town again— Ah! That I could but recall one twenty years for your sake!— Well— no matter.— I won't forget your instructions, nor my duty to morrow: In the mean time, I'll drink your health in a Bottle of Sherry or two. O! Cry your Mercy, good my Lady Beldame, (said the young Debauchee) I had like to have forfeited my title to your Care, in not remembering to leave your an obligation. There are three Guinea's, which I hope will plead for me till to morrow.— So— Your Ladyship's Servant humbly kisses your hand. Your Honour's most Obedient Servant, most gratefully acknowledges your favours.— Your humble Servant, Good Sir William, added she, seeing him leave her in haste.  
Never were three persons better pleased for a time than this unnatural man, his sweet innocent Sister, and the Lady Beldame; upon his return to Philadelphia, who could not rest that night, for thinking on the happiness she was going to enjoy in the conversation of so virtuous a Lady as her Brother's Acquaintance, to whom she was in hopes that she might discover her dearest thoughts and complain of Sir William's extravagance and unkindness, without running the hazard of being betrayed; and at the same time, reasonably expect from so pious a Lady all the assistance within her capacity. On the other side, her Brother hugged himself in the prospect he had of getting rid of his own Sister, and the payment of 6000 l. for the sum of forty or fifty Guineas, by the help and discretion of this sage Matron; who, for her part, by this time, had reckoned up, and promised to herself an advantage of at least three hundred pounds, one way or other by this bargain.  
About ten the next morning, Sir William took Coach with his Sister, for the old Lady's Enchanted Castle, taking only one Trunk of hers with 'em for the present, promising her to send her other things to her the next day. The young Lady was very joyfully and respectfully received by her Brother's venerable acquaintance, who was mightily charmed with her Youth and Beauty. A Bottle of the best was then straight brought in, and not long after a very splendid Entertainment for Breakfast: The Furniture was all very modish and rich, and the Attendance was suitable. Nor was the Lady Beldame's Conversation less oliging and modest, than Sir William's discourse had given Philadelphia occasion to expect. After they had eaten and drank what they thought convenient, the reverend old Lady led 'em out of the Parlour to show 'em the House, every Room of which they found answerably furnished to that whence they came. At last, she led 'em into a very pleasant Chamber, richly hung, and curiously adorned with the Pictures of several beautiful young Ladies, wherein there was a Bed which might have been worthy the reception of a Duchess: This, Madam, (said she) is your Apartment, with the Anti chamber, and little Withdrawing-room. Alas, Madam! (returned the dear innocent unthinking Lady) you set too great a value on your servant; but I rather think your Ladyship designs me this Honour for the sake of Sir William, who has had the happiness of your acquaintance for some months: Something for Sir William, (returned the venerable Lady Beldame) but much more for your Ladyships own, as you will have occasion to find hereafter. I shall study to deserve your Favours and Friendship, Madam, replied Philadelphia: I hope you will, Madam, said the barbarous man. But my business now calls me hence; to morrow at Dinner I will return to you, and order the rest of your things to be brought with me. In the mean while (pursued the Traitor, kissing his Sister, as he thought and hoped, the last time) be as cheerful as you can, my Dear! and expect all you can wish from me. A thousand thanks, my dearest Brother, returned she, with tears in her Eyes: and Madam, (said he to his old mischievous Confederate, giving her a very rich Purse which held 50 Guineas) be pleased to accept this trifle, as an humble acknowledgement of the great favour you do this Lady, and the care of her, which you promise; and I'm sure she cannot want.— So once more, (added he) my Dear! And Madam! I am your humble servant, Jusqu ' a Revoir, and went out bowing. Heavens bless my dear Brother! (cried Philadelphia) your Honour's most Faithful and Obedient Servant, said the venerable Beldame.  
No sooner was the treacherous Brother gone, than the old Lady taking Philadelphia by the hand, led her into the Parlour; where she began to her to this effect. If I mistake not, Madam, you were pleased to call Sir William Brother once or twice of late in Conversation: Pray be pleased to satisfy my Curiosity so far, as to inform me in the truth of this matter? Is it really so or not? Philadelphia replied blushing, your Ladyship strangely surprises me with this Question: For, I thought it had been past your doubt that it is so. Did not he let you know so much himself? I humbly beg your pardon, Madam, (returned the true Offspring of old Mother Eve) that I have so visibly disturbed you by my Curiosity: But, indeed, Madam, Sir William did not say your Ladyship was his Sister, when he gave me charge of you, as of the nearest and dearest Friend he had in the world. Now our Father and Mother are dead, (said the sweet Innocent) who never had more Children than us two, who can be a nearer or dearer Friend unto me, than my Brother Sir William, or than I his Sister to him? None? certainly, you'll excuse me, Madam, (answered t'other) a Wife or Mistress may. A Wife indeed, (returned the beautiful Innocent) has the pre-eminence, and perhaps, a Mistress too, if honourably loved and sought for in Marriage: But (she continued) I can assure your Ladyship that he has not a Wife; nor did I ever hear he had a Mistress yet. Love in youth (said old Venerable) is very fearful of discovery. I have known, Madam, a great many fine young Gentlemen and Ladies, who have concealed their violent passions and greater affection, under the notion and appellation of Brother and Sister. And your Ladyship imagines Sir William and I do so? replied Philadelphia, by way of question. 'Twere no imprudence, if you did, Madam, returned old Lady Beldame, with all the subtlety she had learned from the Serpent. Alas, Madam! (replied she) there is nothing like secrecy in Love: 'Tis the very Life and Soul of it! I have been young myself, and have known it by Experience. But all this, Madam, (interrupted Philadelphia, something nettled at her discourse) all this can't convince me, that I am not the true and only Sister both by Father and Mother of Sir William Wilding; however he would impose upon your Ladyship, for what ends, indeed, I know not, unless (unhappily, which Heaven forbidden!) He designs to gain your Ladyship's assistance in defeating me of the Portion left me by my Father: But (she continued with tears) I have too great an assurance of your virtue, to fear that you will consent to so wicked a Practice. You may be confident, Madam, (said t'other) I never will. And, supposing that he were capable of perpetrating so base an act of himself, yet if your Ladyship will be guided and directed by me, I will show you the means of living happy and great, without your Portion, or your Brother's help; so much I am charmed with your Beauty and Innocence.  
But, pray Madam, (pursued she) what is your Portion? And what makes you doubt your Brother's kindness? Philadelphia then told her how much her Brother was to pay her, and gave her an account of his Extravagancies, as far as she knew 'em; to which t'other was no stranger; and (doubtless) could have put a period to her sorrows with her life, had she given her as perfect a relation of his Riotous and Vicious practices, as she was capable of: but she had farther business with her Life, and, in short, bid her be of good comfort, and lay all her care on her; and then she could not miss of continual happiness. The sweet Lady took all her promises for sterling, and kissing her Impious hand, humbly returned her thanks. Not long after they went to dinner; and in the afternoon three or four young Ladies came to visit the Right Reverend the Lady Beldame; who told her new Guest, that these were all her Relations, and no less than her own Sister's Children. The Discourse among 'em was general and very modest, which lasted for some hours: For, our sex seldom wants matter of tattle. But, whether their Tongues were then miraculously wearied, or that they were tired with one continued scene of place, I won't pretend to determine: But they left the Parlour for the Garden, where after about half an hour's walk, there was a very fine Disert of Sweetmeats and Fruits brought into one of the Arbours. Cherbetts, Ros Solis, rich and small Wines, with Tea, Chocolace, etc. completed the old Lady's Treat; the pleasure of which was much heightened by the Voices of two of her Ladyships Sham-Neices, who sung very charmingly. The dear, sweet Creature, thought she had happily got into the company of Angels: But (alas!) they were Angels that had fallen more than once. She had heard talk of Nunneries, and having never been out of her own Country till within four or five days, she had certainly concluded she had been in one of those Religious-houses now, had she but heard a Bell ring, and seen 'em kne●l to Prayers, and make use of their Bead● as she had been told those happy people do. However it was, she was extremely 〈…〉 d with the place and company. So nearly does Hell counterfeit Heaven sometimes. 〈…〉 t last, said one of the white Devils, would my dear Tommy were here! O, Sister! (cried another) you won't be long without your wish: For my Husband and he went out together, and both promised to be here after the Play. Is my Brother Sir Francis with him there? (asked the first) yes, (answered a third) Sir Thomas and Sir Francis took Coach from St. James', about two hours since: we shall be excellent company when they come, said a fourth; I hope they'll bring the Fiddlers with 'em, added the first: Don't you love Music, Madam? (asked the old Lady Beldame) Sometimes, Madam (replied Philadelphia) but now I am out o' tune myself. A little harmless mirth will cheer your drooping Spirits, my dear, (returned t'other, taking her by the hand) Come! these are all my Relations, as I told you Madam; and so consequently are their Husbands. Are these Lady's all Married, Madam? Philadelphia asked. All, all, my dear Soul! (replied the insinuating Mother of Iniquity;) and thou shalt have a Husband too, e'er long. Alas Madam! (returned the fair Innocent) I have no Merit, nor Money: Besides, I never yet could love so well as to make choice of one man before another.  
How long have you lived then, Madam? (asked the Lady Beldame) too long by almost sixteen years, (replied Philadelphia) had Heaven seen good. This conversation lasted till word was brought that Sir Francis and Sir Thomas, with two other Gentlemen were just lighted at the Gate: which so discomposed the fair Innocent, that trembling, she begged leave to retire to her Chamber. To which, after some persuasion to the contrary, the venerable Beldame waited on her. For, these were none of the Sparks to whom Philadelphia was designed to be sactifieed. In her retirement, the beautiful dear Creature had the satisfaction of venting her grief in Tears, and addressing herself to Heaven, on which only she trusted, notwithstanding all the fair promises of her reverend Hostess; she had not been retired above an hour, ere a she-attendant waited on her, to know if she wanted any thing, and what she would please to have for her supper; if she would not give her Lady the honour of her company below? To which she returned, that she would not sup, and that she wanted nothing but rest, which she would presently seek in bed. This answer brought up the officious old Lady herself; who, by all means would needs see her undressed, for other reasons more than a bare Compliment; which she performed with a great deal of Ceremony, and a diligence that seemed more than double. For she had then the opportunity of observing the delicacy of her Skin, the fine turn of her Limbs, and the richness of her Night-dress, part of the furniture of her Trunk. Asscon as she had covered herself, she kissed and wished her a good repose. The dear soul, as innocent and white as her Linen, returned her thanks, and addressed herself to sleep; out of which she was wakened by a loud Consort of Music, in less than two hours' time, which continued till long after midnight. This occasioned strange and doubtful thoughts in her, tho' she was altogether so unskilled in these mysteries, that she could not guests the right meaning. She apprehended, that (possibly) her Brother 〈…〉 stress, from the Lady Beldame's 〈…〉 e, and that this was their place of Assignation: suspecting too, that either Sir Francis, or Sir Thomas, of whom she had heard not long before, was Sir William, her Brother. The Music and all the noise in the house ceased about four a clock in the morning; when she again fell into a sleep that took away the sense of her sorrows, and doubts till nine; when she was again visited from her Lady, by the same she-attendant, to know how she had rested, and if she would please to command her any service. Philadelphia replied, That she had rested very well most part of the morning, and that she wanted nothing, but to know how her Lady had slept, and whether she were in health, unless it were the sight of her Brother. The Servant returned with this answer to her Lady, while Philadelphia made shift to rise, and begin to dress without an assistant; but she had hardly put on any thing more than her Nightgown, ere the Lady Beldame herself came in her Dishabille, to assure her of her Brother's company with 'em at Dinner, exactly at one a clock; and finding Philadelphia doing the office of a Waiting-woman to herself, called up the same Servant, and in a great heat (in which however she took care to make use of none of her familiar devilish dialect) asked the reason that she durst leave the Lady when she was rising. The wench trembling, replied, That indeed the Lady did not let her know that she had any thoughts of rising. Well then (said her seeming offended Lady) stir not from her now, I charge you, till she shall think fit to dismiss you, and command your absence. Dear Madam, Good morrow to you, (said she to Philadelphia) I'll make haste and dress too. Good morrow to your Ladyship (returned the designed victim) when she was Habille, she desired the Servant to withdraw▪ after which she betook herself to her Devotion; at the end of which the Lady Beldame returned, attended by a Servant, who brought some Bread and Wine for her Breakfast; which might then be seasonable enough to Philadelphia; who could not forbear discovering the apprehensions she had of her Brother's unkindness, still entertaining her Reverence, with the fear she had of his disappointment that day at dinner; which t'other opposed with all the seeming reasons her Art could suggest, till the Clock had struck twelve; when a Servant came to tell the Lady Beldame, that one Sir William Wilding would certainly wait on her precisely at one, and desired that he might dine in the young Lady's Apartment, to avoid being seen by any visitants that might come; and besides, that he had invited a Gentleman, his particular friend, to dinner with him there. This message being delivered aloud by the Servant, was no little satisfaction to the poor desponding young Lady, who discoursed very cheerfully of indifferent matters, till the Clock gave 'em notice that the hour was come; within three minutes after which word was brought to the Lady Beldame, that a Gentleman below enquired for Sir William Wilding, whom she immediately went down to receive, and led up to Philadelphia. Madam, (cried the great mistress of her Art) this is the Gentleman whom Sir William has invited to dinner with us; and I am very happy to see him, for he is my worthy friend, and of a long acquaintance. Trust me, Madam, he is a Man of Honour, and has a very large Estate: I doubt not (added she) that you will find his merits in his Conversation. Here Gracelove, for that was the Gentleman's name, saluted Philadelphia, and acquitted himself like a person of good Sense and Education, in his first Address to her; which she returned with all the modesty and ingenuous simplicity that was still proper to her. At last, she asked him how long he thought it would be ere Sir William came? To which he replied, that Sir William told him, unless he were there exactly at half an hour after one, they should not stay dinner for him; that he had not parted with him much above a quarter of an hour, when he left him engaged with particular Company, about some weighty business: But however, that, if he should be so unhappy as to lose their Conversation at dinner, he would not fail to wait on 'em by four at farthest. The young Lady seemed a little uneasy at this; but the Gentleman appearing so very modest, and speaking it with such an assured gravity, took away all thoughts of suspicion. To say truth, Gracelove was a very honest, modest, worthy and handsome person; and had the command, at present, of many a thousand pounds, he was by profession a Turkey Merchant: He had travelled much, for his Age, not having then reached thirty, and had seen most of the Courts in Christendom: He had was a man of a sweet temper, of just principles, and of inviolable friendship, where he promised; which was not where, but where 'twas merited. The minute came then at length, but without any Sir William; so dinner was served up in the Room next to Philadelphia's Bedchamber. What they had was nice and seasonable; and they were all three as pleasant as could be expected, without Sir William; to whose health the Glass went round once or twice. Dinner over, and the Table cleared, the old Lady Beldame entreated Mr. Gracelove to entertain the young Lady with a discourse of his Travels, and of the most remarkable passages and encounters of 'em, which he performed with a modesty and gravity peculiar to himself; and in some part of his discourse moved the innocent passions of the beauteous and compassionate Philadelphia; who was as attentive as she used to be in Church at Divine Service. When the old Lady perceived that he had made an end, or at least, that he desired to proceed no farther, she took occasion to leave 'em together, in haste; pretending, that she had forgotten to give orders to one of her Servants, about a business of moment, and that she would return to 'em in a very little time. The Gentleman, you may believe, was very well pleased with her retreat, since he had a discourse to make to Philadelphia of a quite contrary nature to the preceding, which required privacy: But how grateful her absence was to Philadelphia, we may judge by the sequel. Madam, (said Gracelove) how do you like the Town? Have you yet seen any man here whom you could love? Alas Sir! (she replied) I have not seen the Town, only in a Coach, as I passed along, nor ever was in any House, except this and another, where my Brother lodged: And to your other question I must answer, that I love all men. That's Generous, indeed, Madam! (cried he) there is then some hope that I am one of the number. No doubt, Sir (she returned) that I love you as well as any, except Sir William. Is he the happy man then, Madam? (said Gracelove.) If to be loved best by me may make any man happy, doubtless it must be he, for he is my own Brother. I fancy, Madam, (returned he) that you may make me as dear a Relation to you, as Sir William. How is that possible, Sir? she asked. Thus, Madam (replied he, drawing closer to her) by our nearer approaches to one another. O, Heaven defend me! (cried she aloud) what do you mean? Take away your hand; you uncivil Man! Help! Madam! my Lady! O, (said Gracelove) she's gone purposely out of hearing. Am I betrayed then? she cried. Betrayed! as if your pretty Innocent Ladyship did not know where you were lodged. Ah, Lady, (said he) this faint will will never do. Come, Child, (pursued he) here are an hundred Guineas for you; and I promise you yearly as much, and two hundred with every Child that I shall get on thy sweet Body: I'faith I love thee, thou pretty Creature. Come! let's be better acquainted! you know my meaning. Hell does, no doubt of (she returned:) O Monster a man! I hate the sight of you. With that she fling from him, and ran into the Bedchamber, where she thought to have locked herself in; but the Key was conveyed into his Pocket. Thither therefore he pursued her, crying, Ah, Madam, this is the proper field for our dispute. Perceiving her error, and animated by despair, she rushed between him and the door, into the outward Room again, he still following, and dodging her from Chair to Chair; she still shrieking. At last (cried he) a Parley, Madam, with you. Let me ask you one question; and will you answer me directly and truly to it? Indeed I will, (said she) if it be civil. Don't you know then, that you are in a naughty-house, and that old Beldame is a rank Procuress, to whom I am to give two hundred Guinea's for your Maidenhead? O Heaven (cried she, kneeling with tears gushing out from her dear eyes) thou asserter and guardian of Innocence! protect me from the impious practices intended against me! Then looking steadfastly on him, Sir, (pursued she) I can but difficultly guests what you mean: But I find▪ that unless you prove what at first you seemed to me, I would say, an honest, worthy Gentleman, I shall be in danger of eternal Ruin. You, Sir, are the only person that may yet preserve me. Therefore I beseech you, Sir, hear my story—, with the injuries and afflictions that so dreadfully torment me; of which, I am sure, none of those Barbarians, of which you had occasion to speak but now, would have been guilty! O, hear and help me! for Heaven's sake, hear and help me! I will, poor Creature! (returned be;) methinks I now begin to see my crime and thy innocence, in thy words and looks. Here she recounted to him all the accidents of her Life, since her Father's decease, to that very day, ere Gracelove came to Dinner. And now (cried she, sobbing and weeping) how dare I trust this naughty Brother again? can I be safe with him, think you, Sir! O, no; thou dear sweet Creature! by no means. O Infernal monsters! Brother and Bawd! If you distrust that I am yet his Sister, here, Sir, take this Key (said she) and open that Trunk within, where you will find Letters from him to me in his own hand; and from my own dear dead Father too, Sir Edward, that gracious, that good Man! He showed us both the paths of Virtue; which I have not yet forsaken. Pray satisfy me, Sir, and see the truth! For your satisfaction I will, Madam, (said he) but I am now fully convinced that you have greater Beauties within, than those I admire without. Saying this, he opened the Trunk, where he read a line or two from her Father, and as many from her Brother, which having again laid down, returned to her, with this advice: I see, Madam, (said he) that you have Money there, and several things of value; which I desire you to secure about you this moment; for I mean to deliver you out of this cursed place; if you dare put any confidence in a stranger, after your own Brother has acted the part of so great a Villain; if you dare trust a stranger too, Madam, who had himself a design upon you; heaven forgive me for it! but by all things sacred, I find my error: I pity you, and I fear I shall love you. Do you fear that, Sir, (said she) why I love you dearly now, because I see you are going to be good again: that is, you are going to be yourself again. I hope, nay, I resolve I will; tho' it cost me my Life (said he.) Can you submit, Madam, to attend on a young Lady of my acquaintance here in Town, till I can provide better for you? O I can be any thing, a Chambermaid, a Cook maid, a Scullion, what you shall think sit, tho' never so mean, that is not naughty. Well, Madam, (said he) compose yourself then, and seem a little pleasant when I bring up that old Factoress of Hell. I will endeavour it, Sir, she returned; and he went down to the Devil's chief agent, to whom he said, that the poor thing was at first very uneasy, but that now she had consented to go along with him for an hour or two to some other place, doubting your secrecy; for she would not have her Brother know it, as she calls him, for a thousand worlds, and more Money. Well, my Son! (replied old Beldame) you may take her with you: But you remember your bargain. O fie Mother! (cry●d he) Did you ever know me false to you? No, no, you smock-faced wag (said she) but be sure you bring her again to night, for fear Sir William should come. Never doubt it! Come up with me, (cried he) you'll see a strange alteration, I believe. To Philadelphia they came then, whom they found walking about the Room, and looking something more pleasantly than she had ever done since she came thither. After she had taken her Money and other things of value, so, Madam, (said Beldame) how does your Ladyship now? I find, the sight of a young, handsome Gentleman has worked wonders with you in a little time: I understand you are going to take a walk with my worthy friend here, and 'tis well done: I dare trust you with him, but with no other man living, except Sir William. Madam, (returned the fair afflicted Lady) I am strangely obliged to you for your care of me; and am sure I shall never be able to return your obligations as I ought, and as I could wish. You won't stay late, Mr. Gracelove? (said the Mother of mischief.) No, no, (replied he) I will only show the Lady a Play, and return to Supper. What is played to Night? (asked the old one) The Cheats, Mother, the Cheats (answered Gracelove.) Ha' (said Beldame laughing) a very pretty Comedy, indeed! Ay, if well played, returned he. At these words they went down, where a Coach was called; which carried 'em to Counsellor Fairlaw's House, in Great Lincolns-Inn-Fields; whom they found accidently at home; but his Lady and Daughter were just gone to Chapel, being then turned of five. Gracelove began his Apology to the good old Counsellor, who was his Relation, for bringing a strange Lady thither with a design to place her in his Family: But Sir, continued he, if you knew her sorrowful story, you would be as ambitious of entertaining her, as I am earnest to entreat it of you. A very beautiful Lady 'tis, (returned the Counsellor) and very modest, I believe. That I can witness (replied t'other.) Alas Sir! (said the Fair, unfortunate) I have nothing but my modesty and honest education to recommend me to your regard. I am wronged and forsaken by my nearest Relation; then she wept extravagantly: That Gentleman can give you an account of my misfortunes, if he please, with greater ease, and less trouble than myself. Not with less trouble, believe me, Madam, (returned Gracelove) and then began to inform Fairlaw in every point of her unhappy circumstances. The good old Gentleman heard 'em with amazement and horror; but told her however, that she need not despond, for he would take care to right her against her Brother: And, that in the mean time she should be as welcome to him, as any of his nearest Kindred, except his Wife and Daughter. Philadelphia would have knelt to thank him; but he told her, that humble posture was due to none but Heaven, and the King sometimes. In a little while after, the Lady Fairlaw and her Daughter came home, who were surprised at the sight of a stranger, but more at her Beauty; and most of all at her story, which the good old Gentleman himself could not forbear relating to 'em: which ended, the Mother and Daughter both kindly and tenderly embraced her, promising her all the assistance within their power, and bid her a thousand welcomes. Gracelove stayed there till after Supper, and left her extremely satisfied with her new station. 'Twas here she fixed then; and her deportment was so obliging, that they would not part with her for any consideration. About three days after her coming from that lewd woman's House, Gracelove took a Constable and some other assistants, and went to Beldame's to demand the Trunk, and what was in it, which at first her reverence denied to return, till Mr Constable produced the emblem of his Authority; upon which it was delivered, without so much as re-minding Gracelove of his bargain; who then pretended he would search the House for Sir William Wilding, but her graceless reverence swore most devoutly that he had never been there, and that she had neither seen nor heard from him, since the day he left Philadelphia with her. With these things, and this account he returned to Counsellor Fairlaw's, who desired Gracelove, if possible, to find out Sir William, and employed several others on the same account. In less than a months time Gracelove had the good fortune to find him at his Lodgings in Soho Square, where he discoursed him about his Sister's Portion, and desired Sir William to take some speedy care for the payment of it; otherwise she had friends that would oblige him to it, though never so contrary to his intentions. Wilding asked where she was? tother enquired where he left her? Sir William replied, that he had placed her with an old grave Gentlewoman of his acquaintance, and that he thought she was there still. No, Sir, (returned Gracelove) I have delivered her out of the jaws of Perdition and Hell. Come, Sir William, (answered he) 'twas impiously done, to leave your beautiful, young, and virtuous Sister, to the management of t●at pernicious woman. I found her at old Beldame's, who would have prostituted her to me for two hundred Guinea's; but her heavenly virtues might have secured and guarded her from more violent attempts than mine. Blusn if you can, Sir! And repent of this! It will become you. If not, Sir, you will hear farther from your Servant, added he, and left him, staring after him. This discourse was a great mortification to the Knight, whose Conscience, hardened as it was, felt yet some pain by it. He found he was not like to continue safe or at ease there, wherefore he immediately retreated into a place of Sanctuary, called the Savoy, whither his whole Equipage was removed as soon as possible, he having left order with his Servants, to report that he went out of Town that very afternoon for his own Country. Gracelove in the mean time returned to the Counsellors, with a great deal of joy, for having discovered Sir William at his Lodgings, which was likewise no little satisfaction to Fairlaw, his Lady and Daughter; Philadelphia only was disturbed when she heard the good old Gentleman threaten to lay her Brother fast enough: but alas! he was too cunning for 'em; for in a whole twelvemonth after, all which time they made enquiry and narrowly searched for him, they could not see him, nor any one that could give an account of him, for he had changed his true name and title, for that of Squire Sportman. The farther pursuit of him than seemed fruitless to 'em, and they were forced to be contented with their wishes to find him.  
Gracelove by this time had entertained the sincerest affections and noblest passion that man can be capable of, for Philadelphia; of which he had made her sensible, who had at that time complied with his honourable demands, had she not entreated him to expect a kind turn of providence, which might (happily) ere long put her in possession of her right; without which, she told him, she could not consent to marry him, who had so plentiful a fortune, and she nothing but her person and innocence. How, Madam! (cried he) have you no love in store for me! Yes, Sir, (returned she) as much as you can wish, I have in store for you, and so I beg it may be kept till a better opportunity. Well, Madam, (said he) I must leave you for some months, perhaps for a whole year; I have received Letters of Advice that urge the necessity of my going to Turkey; I have not a weeks time to endeavour so dreaded a separation as I must suffer; therefore, thou beautiful, thou dear, thou virtuous creature; let me begin now! Here, thou tenderest part of my Soul! (cohtinued he, giving her a rich Diamond Ring) wear this till my return! I hope the sight of it may sometimes recall the dying memory of Gracelove, to your better busied thoughts. Ah Gracelove! (said she) nothing can so well, nothing I'm sure can better employ my thoughts, than thy dear self: Heaven only excepted. They enlarged a great deal more on this subject at that time; but the night before this departure was entirely spent in sighs, vows, and tears on both sides. In the morning, after he had again entreated his Cousin's, and the Lady's and her Daughter's care and kindness to Philadelphia, the remaining and best part of his Soul, with one hearty Kiss, accompanied with tears, he took a long farewell of his dear Mistress, who pursued him with her Eyes, till they could give her no farther intelligence of him; and they helped her kindness to him, and eased her grief for his absence in weeping for above a week together, when in private. He never omitted writing to her and his Cousin by every opportunity for near nine months, as he touched at any Port; but, afterwards they could not hear from him for above half a year; when, by accident, the Counsellor met a Gentleman of Gracelove's acquaintance at a Coffee-house, who gave him an account, that the Ship and he were both cast away, near five months since; that most, if not all of the Ship's company perished; of which, 'twas feared, Gracelove was one; having never since been heard of. That his loss in that Ship amounted to above 12 thousand pounds: with this dreadful and amazing news, the good old Gentleman returns home, afflicts his poor sorrowful Lady and Daughter, and almost kills unhappy Philadelphia; who the next day, by mere chance, and from a stranger, who came on business to the Counsellor, heard, that one Sir William Wilding, an extravagant, mad, young Spark of such a County, who lately went by the borrowed name and title of Esquire Sportman, had mortgaged all his Estate, which was near four thousand a year; and carried the Money over with him into France on Saturday last. This, added to the former news, put so great a check on her spirits that she immediately dropped down in a swoon; whence she only recovered, to fall into what was of a much more dangerous consequence, a violent Fever, which held her for near six weeks, ere she could get strength enough to go down stairs: In all which time, Madam Fairlaw and Eugenia her Daughter attended her as carefully and constantly, as if they had been her own Mother and Sister: The good old Counsellor still commending and encouraging their care. The Roses and Lillys at last took their places again; but the clouds of her sorrow were still but too visible. Two years more past without one word of advice from Gracelove, or any account of him from any one else; insomuch, that they all concluded, he was certainly dead: And, 'twas true, indeed, that his Ship and he were cast away, much about that time that the Gentleman gave Fairlaw a relation: That 'twas certain he had lost above 12000 l. and had like to have lost his Life, but being very expert in swimming, he got to shore upon the coast of Barbary, the wrack happening not to be above three leagues thence; he was in almost as bad a condition as if he had been drowned, for here he was made a Prisoner to one of the Natives; in which miserable circumstance he languished for above six years, for want of a Ransom; which he had often endeavoured to raise by Letters, that he sent hither to his friends (in England); amongst which Counsellor Fairlaw was one of his most particular and assured. But however, Providence or Accident, if you please, ordered it, not a line came to the hands of any of his friends: so that, had not Heaven had ye● a future blessing in store for him, he had certainly have better perished in the Sea, than to have fallen into the power of a people less merciful, than Seas, Winds, or hungry wild Beasts in pursuit of their Prey. But this could not be learned (it seems) from any man but himself, upon his return, after his Redemption.  
Two years more past on, towards the latter of which the old Lady Fairlaw took her bed, desperately sick, insomuch that she was given over by all her Physicians; she continued in great misery for near two months, in all which time Philadelphia was constantly with her all the day, or all the night; much about that time she died, and dying, told her Husband, that she had observed he had a particular esteem or kindness Philadelphia, which was now a great satisfaction to her; since, she was assured, that if he married her, she would prove an excellent Nurse to him, and prolong his life by some years. As for Eugenia (added she) you need not be concerned; I'm sure, she will consent to any thing that you shall propose, having already so plentifully provided for her. The good old Gentleman answered, that he would fulfil her Will, as far as lay in his power: and not long after, she departed this life. Her burial was very handsome and honourable. Half a year was now expired since her Interment, when the old Counsellor began to plead his own Cause to young Philadelphia, reminding her that now the death of Gracelove was out of question, and that therefore she was as much at her liberty to make her own choice of an Husband as he was of a Wife; not forgetting at the same time, to let her know, that his Widow, who ever had the good fortune to be so, would be worth above thirty thousand pounds, in ready Money: Besides a thousand a year. But above all, he urged his dying Lady's last advice to him, that he would marry her; and hoped she would see the Will of the Dead satisfied. The young Lady, being broken in sorrows, and having mortified all her Appetites to the enjoyments of this World, and not knowing where to meet with so fair an overture, tho' at first, in modesty she seemed to refuse it as too great an honour, yet yielded to less than a quarter of an hour's Courtship: And the next Sunday married they were, with the consent, and to the perfect satisfaction of his Daughter, Madam Eugenia; who loved Philadelphia sincerely. They kept their wedding very nobly for a month at their own house, in Great Lincolns-Inn Fields; but the memory of the old Lady was still so fresh with the young Lady Fairlaw, that she prevailed with him to remove to another, more convenient as she fancied, in Covent Garden. They had dwelled there not much more than four months ere the good old Gentleman fell sick and died. Whether it were the change of an old House for a new, or an old Wife for a young, is yet uncertain, tho' his Physicians said, and are still of opinion, that (doubtless) it was the last. 'Tis past all doubt, that she did really mourn for, and lament his Death; for she loved him perfectly, and paid him all the dutiful respect of a Virtuous Wife, while she lived within that state with him; which he rewarded, as I have said before. His Funeral was very sumptuous and honourable indeed! and assoon as it was over, Eugenia desired her young, beautiful Mother-in-Law, to retreat a little with her into the Country, to a pleasant house she had not twenty Miles distant from Town: urging, that she could by no means enjoy herself under that Roof, where her dear Father died. The obliging Stepmother, who might more properly have been called her Sister, being exactly of the same Age with her, readily complied, and she passed away all that Summer with Eugenia, at their Countryseat, and most part of the Winter too: For Eugenia could by no means be prevailed on to lie one night in her Mother's house; 'twas with some Reluctancy that she consented to dine there sometimes. At length the whole year of Philadelphia's Widowhood was expired; during which you can't but imagine that she was solicited and addressed to by as many Lovers, or pretended Lovers, as our dear King Charles, whom God grant long to Reign, was lately by the Presbyterians, Independants, Anabaptists, and all those canting Whiggish Brethren! But she had never liked any man so well as to make him her Husband by Inclination, unless it was Gracelove, devoured by the greedy inhabitants of the Sea.  
Whilst her Fortune began to mend thus, her Brother's grew worse; but that was indeed the effect of his extravagancy: in less than two years' time, he had spent eight thousand pounds in France: whence he returned to England, and pursuing his old profuse manner of living, contracted above 100 l. debts here, in less than four months' time; which not being able to satisfy, he was Arrested and thrown into a Goal, whence he removed himself into the Kings-Bench, on that very day that old Fairlaw died. There, at first, for about a month he was entertained like a Gentleman; but finding no Money coming, nor having a prospect of any, the Marshal and his instruments turned him to the Common-side; where he learned the Art of Peg-making; a mystery to which he had been a stranger all his life long, till then. 'Twas then he wished he might see his Sister, hoping that she was in a Condition to relieve him; which he was apt to believe, from the discourse he had with Gracelove some years past. Often he wished to see her, but in vain: However, the next Easter after the old Councellour's death, Philadelphia, according to his custom, sent her Steward to relieve all the poor Prisoners about Town: Among the rest he visited those in the Common side of the King`s-Bench; where he heard 'em call Sir William Wilding, to partake of his Lady's Charity. The poor Prodigal was then feeding on the Relief of the Basket, not being yet able to get his Bread at his new Trade: To him the Steward gave a Crown, whereas the other had but half a Crown apiece. Then he enquired of some of the unhappy Gentlemen, Sir William's Fellow-Collegians, of what Country Sir William was? how long he had been there? and how much his debts were? all of which he received a satisfactory account. Upon his return to his Lady, he repeated the dismal news of her Brother's misfortunes to her; who immediately dispatched him back again to the Prison, with orders to give him twenty Shillings more at present, and to get him removed to the Master's side, into a convenient Chamber, for the Rent of which the Steward engaged to pay, and promised him, as she had commanded, twenty Shillings a week, as long as he stayed there, on condition, that he would give the names of all his Creditors, and of all those to whom he had engaged any part of his Estate; which the poor Gentleman did most readily and faithfully: After which, the Steward enquired for a Tailor, who came and took measure of Philadelphia's unkind Brother, and was ordered to provide him Linen, a Hat, Shoes, Stockings, and all such necessaries, not so much as omitting a Sword: with all which he acquainted his Lady at his return; who was very much grieved at her Brother▪ s unhappy Circumstances, and at the same time extremely well pleased to find herself in a condition to relieve him. The Steward went constantly once a week pay him his Money, and Sir William was continually very curious to know to whom he was obliged for so many and great favours: But he was answered, That they came from a Lady who desired to have her name concealed. In less than a year Philadelphia had paid 25000 l. and taken off the Mortgages on 2500 l. per Ann. of her Brother's Estate; and coming to Town from Eugenia's Countryhouse one day, to make the last payment of two thousand pounds, looking out of her Coach on the Road, near Dartford, she saw a Traveller on foot, who seemed to be tired with his Journey, whose face, she thought, she had formerly known: This thought invited her to look on him so long, that she, at last, persuaded herself it was Gracelove or his Ghost: For to say truth, he was very pale and thin, his Complexion swarthy, and his clothes (perhaps) as rotten as if he had been buried in ' 'em. However, unpleasant as it was, she could not forbear gazing after this miserable spectacle; and the more she beheld it, the more she was confirmed it was Gracelove, or something that had usurped his figure. In short, she could not rest till she called to one of her Servants, who road by the Coach, whom she strictly charged to go to that poor Traveller, and mount him on his Horse, till they came to Dartford; where she ordered him, to take him to the same Inn, where she baited, and refresh him, with any thing that he would eat or drink; and after that, to hire a Horse for him, to come to Town with them: That then he should be brought home to her own House, and be carefully looked after, till further orders from her. All which was most duly and punctually performed.  
The next morning early she sent for the Steward, whom she ordered to take the Stranger to a Sale-shop, and fit him with a Suit of good clothes, to buy him Shirts and other Linen, and all necessaries as he had provided for her Brother; and gave him charge to use him as her particular friend during his stay there; bidding him withal learn his name and circumstances, if possible, and to supply him with Money for his pocket expenses: All which he most faithfully and discreetly performed, and brought his Lady an account of his sufferings by Sea, and Slavery among the Turks, as I have before related; adding, that his name was Gracelove. This was the greatest happiness, certainly, that ever yet the dear Beautiful Creature was sensible of. On, t'other side Gracelove could not but admire and praise his good Fortune, that had so miraculously and bountifully relieved him; and one day having some private discourse with the Steward, he could not forbear expressing the sense he had of it, declaring that he could not have expected such kind treatment from any body breathing, but from his Cousin, Counsellor Fairlaw, his Lady, or another young Lady whom he placed and left with his Cousins. Counsellor Fairlaw▪ (cried the Steward) why, Sir, my Lady is the old Councellour's Widow; she is very beautiful and young too. What was her name, Sir, before she married the Counsellor? (asked Gracelove.) That I know not (replied t'other,) for the old Steward died presently after the old Lady, which is not a year and a half since; in whose place I succeed; and I have never been so curious or inquisitive, as to pry into former passages of the Family. Do you know, Sir, (said Gracelove) whereabouts in Town they lived before? Yes, Sir, (returned the Steward, who was taught how to answer) in Great Lincolns-Inn-Fields, I think. Alas! (cried Gracelove) 'twas the same Gentleman to whom I designed to apply myself, when I came to England. You need not despair, now, Sir, (said t'other) I dare say, my Lady will supply your wants. O wonderful goodness of a stranger! (cried Gracelove) uncommon and rare amongst Relations and Friends! How have I, or how can I ever merit this! upon the end of their conference, the Steward went to Philadelphia, and repeated it, almost verbatim to her. Who ordered Gracelove should be taken measure of by the best Tailor in Covent-Garden; that he should have three of the most modish rich suits made that might become a private Gentleman of a thousand pounds a year, and Hats, Perukes; Linen, Swords, and all things suitable to 'em, all to be got ready in less than a month, in which time, she took all the opportunity she could either find or make to see him, and not to be seen by him: she obliged her Steward to invite him to a Play; whither she followed 'em, and sat next to Gracelove, and talked with him; but all the while masqued. In this month's time she was daily pestered with the visits of her Addressors; several there were of 'em; but the chief were only a Lord of a very small Estate, tho' of a pretty great Age; a young blustering Knight; who had a place of 500 l. a year at Court, and a Country Gentleman of a very plentiful Estate, a Widower, and of a middle Age. These three only of her Lovers she invited to dinner, on the first day of the next month: In the mean while she sent a rich suit, and equipage proportionable to her Brother; with an Invitation to dine with her on the same day. Then she writ to Eugenia to come and stay in Town, if not in the same house with her, for two or three days before: which her affectionate Daughter obeyed; to whom Philadelphia related all her Brothers past extravagancies, and what she had done for him, in redeeming most part of his Estate; begging of her, that if she could fancy his Person, she would take him into her mercy and marry him. Being assured that such a virtuous Wife, as she would prove, must necessarily reclaim him, if yet he were not perfectly convinced of his Follies; which, she doubted not, his late long sufferings had done. Engenia returned, that she would wholly be directed and advised by her in all things; and that, certainly, she could not but like the Brother, since she loved the Sister so perfectly and truly.  
The day came, and just at twelve Gracelove meeting the Steward on the Stairs, coming from his Lady, Gracelove then told him, that he believed he might take the opportunity of that afternoon, to go over to Putney, and take a game or two at Bowls. The Steward returned, Very well, Sir, I shall let my Lady know it, if she inquires for you. Philadelphia, who overheard what they said, called the Steward in haste, and bid him call Gracelove back, and tell him, she expected his Company at her Table to day; and that she desired, he would appear like himself. The Steward soon overtook him at the door, just going out as Eugenia came in; who looked back on Gracelove: The poor Gentleman was strangely surprised at the sight of her, as she was at his: but the Steward's message did more amaze and confound him. He went directly to his Chamber to dress himself in one of those rich suits lately made for him; but the distraction he was in made him mistake his Coat for his Waistcoat, and put the Coat on first; but, recalling his straggling thoughts, he made shift to get ready time enough to make his appearance without a second summons. Philadelphia was as pleasant at dinner, as ever she had been all her Life: she looked very obligingly on all the Sparks, and drank to every one of 'em particularly, beginning to the Lord— and ending to the stranger; who durst hardly lift up his eyes a second time to here's, to confirm him that he knew her. Her Brother was so confounded, that he bowed and continued his head down till she had done drinking; not daring to encounter her Eyes, that would then have reproached him with his Villainy to her.  
After dinner the Cloth was taken away; she began thus to her Lovers, My Lord! Sir Thomas! and Mr. Fat-acres! I doubt not, that it will be of some satisfaction to you to know whom I have made choice for my next Husband; which now I am resolved no longer to defer.  
The person to whom I shall next drink must be the Man who shall ever command me and my Fortune; were it ten times greater than it is: which I wish only for his sake; since he deserves much more.— Hear (said she to one that waited) put Wine into two Glasses? Then she took the Diamond-Ring from her Finger, and put it into one of 'em, My dear Gracelove, (cried she) I drink to thee; and send thee back thy own Ring with Philadelphia's heart. He startled, blushed and looked wildly; whilst all the company stared on him. Nay, pledge me (pursued she) and return me the Ring; for it shall make us both one the next morning. He bowed, kissed and returned it, after he had taken off his Wine. The defeated Lovers knew not how to resent it; The Lord and Knight were for going; but the Country Gentleman opposed it: and told 'em, 'twas the greatest argument of Folly to be disturbed at the Caprice of a Woman's humour. They sat down again therefore; and she invited 'em to her Wedding on the morrow.  
And now Brother (said she) I have not quite forgotten you, tho' you have not been pleased to take notice of me: I have a dish in reserve for you, which will be more grateful to your fancy, than all you have tasted to day. Here! (cried she to the Steward) Mr. Rightman, do you serve up that Dish yourself! Rightman then set a covered Dish on the Table. What! more tricks yet, (cried my Lord and Sir Thomas,) Come, Sir William! (said his Sister) uncover it! He did so; and cried out, O matchless goodness of a Virtuous Sister! Here are the Mortgages of the best part of my Estate! O, what a Villain! what a monster have I been! No more, dear Brother (said she, with tears in her eyes) I have yet a greater happiness in store for you: This Lady, this beautiful, virtuous Lady, with twenty thousand pounds will make you happy in her Love. Saying this, she joined their hands; Sir William eagerly kissed Eugenia's, who blushed and said, Thus Madam, I hope to show how much I love and honour you. My Cousin Eugenia! (cried Gracelove!) The fame, my dear lost dead Cousin Gracelove! (replied she) O! (said he in a transport) my present joys, are greater than all my past miseries! my Mistress and my Friend are found; and still are mine. Nay, (faith, said my Lord) this is pleasant enough to me, though I have been defeated of the enjoyment of the Lady. The whole company in general went away very well that night; who returned the next morning, and saw the two happy pair firmly united.  
FINIS.