The Present Court of Spain: OR, The Modern GALLANTRY of the Spanish Nobility unfolded.  
In several HISTORIES And Seventy Five LETTERS FROM The enamoured TERESA, To her Beloved The Marquis of MANSERA.  
By the Ingenious Lady— Author of The Memoirs and Travels into Spain.  
Done into English, By J. P.  
LONDON, Printed for H. Rhodes next Bride-Lane in Fleet-street; And J. Harris at the Harrow in the poultry. 1693.   

licenced,  
Octob. 24th. 1692.   

TO THE READER.  
THE Reader would take it unkindly, should I amuse him with a tedious and impertinent Preface. It is incomparably much better in my Opinion, to tell him in few Words, to the end he may be sensible before-hand of the pleasure he will have in reading it, that the Piece which I have here exposed to public View was written by the same Lady who composed the Memoirs, and the Relation of the Spanish Travels. It will be so much the more useful to Foreigners, in regard no Person in the World was better acquainted then she who made it, with the Spirit and Genius of the Spanish Nation. And 'tis no small thing to understand well how to paint forth to the Life the Characters of People. They then who are desirous to converse with those of that Court, which is so different from all others in Europe, all things being there carried with no less Mystery then Pomp and Ostentation, by the Knowledge of these short Stories, will have a most easy Insight into it. For Examples make Impressions much more quick and lively, then all that a Man can speak in long Discourses. So that there will be no need to venture Prolixity upon the Merits of this History. It will be sufficient for me to assure the Reader only, that if it has been acceptable to those Illustrious Persons who have with pleasure and approbation red this Piece in Manuscript, other Persons will have the less reason to scruple the adorning their Libraries with it. And before I conclude, I shall add this further, which cannot be displeasing to the public, that in a little time, there will appear some other Pieces of the same Author, which will at least be no less grateful then this, or those other which she has already set forth, and of which there have been printed already several Impressions, as is well known to all the World.   

A New HISTORY OF THE COURT of SPAIN. The History of the Marquis of LEMOS; and of DONA ELEONORA, of Monteleon.  
DOna Eleonora of Monteleon was carried so young to the Court of Spain, that she hardly knew she had any other place of Nativity. She had already lost her Mother, and her Father died in a very short time after. For these Reasons therefore, the Duke of Hixar her Uncle, found himself engaged to take care of her Education. She had also a Brother elder then her self, who began betimes to exercise akind of Paternal Authority over her, with so much rigour that she stood more in awe of him, then of all the rest of her Relations together. His Name was Don Alvare de Monteleon; and as for the young Lady, she was made choice of to be one of the Queen Mother's Minions, and to that purpose immediately sent for to the Court, where her Lodgings were provided for her. The Marquis of Lemos at the same time was also one of the King's Minions. These are Children of Honour, of both Sexes, placed about the Persons of the King and Queen, to delight 'em with their Company, and to do 'em some little sorts of Service proper for their years, and therefore always selected out of the Prime Nobility of the Kingdom. Eleonora was about Fourteen years of Age; the Marquis about Eighteen; and they were so eminently remarkable above others, as well for Beauty of Body, as the Perfections of Mind, that they became the Wonders of the Court; so that all other Persons of both Sexes were enforced to yield 'em the Superiority in all things: and it must be agreed on all hands, that Spain never yet beholded any thing so perfect From the first moment therefore, that the Marquis saw the young Eleonora, he felt something of a Passion for her, which he had never felt before for any other of the Children of Honour that were his Companions; and the Freedom which he had to see her often, served only to render him still the more enamoured. In her Company he spent all his time which he could spare from his Duty; and he studied a thousand Gallantries to please and divert her. When the Queen went abroad, he so sedulously watched his Opportunities, that he never failed to be at the Boot of the Train Coach wherein she road. For it is a usual thing at the Court, for the young Gentlemen to follow on foot the Ladies of the palace, for whom they have a particular Kindness; to the end, that by that means they may have the Advantage and Satisfaction of discoursing with' em. All these Sedulities were soon observed; nor were the Contentions of such a friendly War displeasing to Eleonora: Neither was she the last, who was sensible of what she had inspired into the Marquis of Lemos; and therefore suffering her self to be governed by that Inclination which swayed her to have a more particular esteem for him then any other; she allowed that Liberty to Tenderness of Affection, which she thought should have gone no farther then grateful acknowledgements.  
One day that the King was at Aranjues, and that the Queen was gone to take a Walk in Buen Rètiro,( which is a palace Royal so very near to Madrid, that it joins to Alcala) the King wrote a Letter to her, and ordered the Marquis to carry it; and withall to give the Queen an Account of some Business which nearly concerned her: wherein the Marquis discharged himself of his Message with such a Grace, that he had the good Fortune to be looked upon with a favourable Eye. Thereupon the Queen commanded him to stay till the end of the Promenade, for that she had a Present which she intended he should deliver to the King This Opportunity procured him the Happiness of spending some part of the day in Eleonora's Company; of which he took his Advantage, to acquaint her with the Passion he had for her, which alone would prove the Blessing or Misfortune of his Life.  
Were the Sentiments, said he, which I have for your Person, Madam, less submissive, could my Vows and Protestations offend ye, I would condemn myself to an eternal silence; nor should my Eyes presume to take the Liberty to let you understand my Passion; but I adore ye with so profound a Respect, with that Fidelity wherein there is not any thing of common, that I dare adventure to flatter myself, that you will find nothing to merit your Displeasure in the humble Protestation which I make ye. Nevertheless, Madam, 'tis true, that such is the trouble of my mind, so violent are my fears, that I am less afraid of Death, then to incur your Indignation: Vouchsafe therefore, not to look upon that, as an effect of my presumption, which is the effect of your Charms. Indeed, how was it in my power to restrain myself; for are not you, Madam, the most amiable Person in the World, and—  
He was going on, but the Lady interrupting him, Sir, said she, you cannot but well know, that I am not so much the Mistress of my own Heart, as to dispose of it myself: Infant of Honour to the Queen, the Duke of Hixar's niece, and Don Alvares's Sister: these are they who must over-rule my Destiny. How! said the Marquis, with a vehemency somewhat more then usual, should they go about to make you miserable, should they design to engage you with a Person whom you could not love, Would you be willingly submissive to so much Rigour? I never yet, said she, consulted my own Thoughts what I should do in such an Extremity; tho' I am persuaded they are too just to reduce me to it: yet in short, should they be so severe in the Exercise of their Authority, I should not have the Courage to withstand their Power. Ah! Madam, continued the Marquis, with a pensive Aspect, then it seems there would be no distinction made of me in the crowd. Would any Husband be alike in your Affection, so you received him from the Hands of the Queen, or those of your nearest Relations? How importunate Sir, you are, replied the lovely Eleonora, blushing; but wherefore is it that you urge me in this manner to explain myself any farther in this particular? Wherefore is it? replied the Marquis, throwing himself at her feet; alas! most charming Creature, the whole Repose and Happiness of my life depends upon it. If that happiness, replied the Lady, depended upon me only, I am apt to think you never would have any Reason to upbraid me with obstructing it.  
The Marquis at those words was so transported with Joy, that he wanted utterance to express the Condition of his Soul. Dona Eleonora was naturally very timorous; an extraordinary virtue, and an exact Reserv'dness restrained her within such narrow Limits, that she was afraid of having said too much; but yet she could not be uncivil to a Person in whom she found so many noble Qualities; and if she must have been forced to have taken up a Resolution of being either too Indulgent or too Rigorous, she would certainly have inclined to Indulgence. So that where a Lady is thus anticipated in her Thoughts, 'tis an easy thing for Wit and Merit to make fair Progresses toward the winning of her Heart.  
After this, the Queen sent back the young Marquis to Aranjues, with her Dispatches for the King: and in regard the King was frequently accustomed to writ to the Queen his Mother; as also, for that the Marquis was always entrusted to carry the Letters, he always improved those Opportunities, which blessed him as often with the Sight and Company of his beloved Eleonora, to his best advantage.  
It was not long before both Courts return'd to Madrid; which occasioned as much rejoicing, as if their Majesties had taken a longer Progress: in the streets were Bonfires, all sorts of Fire-works, and Masquerades on Horse-back; in the palace they danced the Canaries and the Sarar, or Sarad, which is a Moresco Dance, very delightful to the Eye, wherein the young Ladies and Noble-men hold Flambeaus in their Hands, and where every one appeared at that time in disguise, by the King's Order. Among the rest, the Marquis of Lemos had made him a Habit which had something of more then usual Curiosity; beside that he had added to it something of his own Fancy. Now while the Workmen were making up this Habit, Don Alvare, who was appointed to be one of the Maskers, not knowing what sort of Disguise to contrive for himself, happened to have a sight of the Marquis's Habit, was extremely taken with the Novelty, and ordered another to be made just like it.  
The Children of Honour to the Queen were all clad like Shepherdesses for that day; among whom, there was no need of any long Search for the Marquis to find out Dona Eleonora; her Air and Carriage distinguished her so much to her advantage from the rest of her Companions, and besides he loved her with such a tender Affection, that he no sooner cast his Eyes upon that lovely medley, but he soon singled out his own adored Shepherdess. Presently approaching near her, 'tis in vain Madam, said he, that your Habit is so like to that of the rest of your Companions, and that you put on a Disguise to conceal yourself among many; your Eyes are so lively and so sparkling, the Air of your Deportment so noble, that any Man the least concerned to take notice of your Graces, might easily distinguish and find ye in a greater crowd. Judge then my lovely Shepherdess, by those Emotions of Mind that seized me in my approach to your Person, what my Heart has spoken, and what it may be sensible of. Alas! Sir, said she, with a pensive Air, I am but too well convinced of the Sentiments of value and esteem which you have for me; they begin to make me suffer; you overcast the serene days of my Life, and I have ill News to tell you: you see me here because my Duty and Complacency require it, but had it became me to have dispensed with my coming hither, I should have preferred a Retirement all alone by myself in my Closet, where I might have abandoned myself to my Grief. Such a Discourse as this, very much alarmed the Marquis; but as she was going on, the King beckon'd him to attend his Commands; so that notwithstanding the Disturbance of his Thoughts, occasioned by Eleonora's words, he could not avoid quitting her, to wait upon the King. In a very short time after, Don Alvare, who knew his Sister, though she knew not him, came and placed himself close by her; and I have  told ye already, that his Disguise was just the same with the Marquis's. She therefore not questioning in the least, but that it had been the Marquis, who had made a quick Return from the King, through his impatience to know what she had more to say to him: Hear then, said she, beginning where she ended, the occasion of those Sorrows that almost overwhelm me; for though it be not in your power to rid me absolutely of 'em, yet I find it will become an Alleviation of my Grief to let you share it with me. The Count of Araval, for a long time has had a violent Passion to be my Servant, but after he had made use of all the ways that could be, to engage me to some acknowledgement, seeing I refused him with so much Obstinacy, a Happiness of which he is not worthy, he resolved at length to discover his mind to my Brother. Him, he easily won over to his side, and fastened him to a Compliance, by the tie of his own Interests: he has promised him to make a across Match of it, and give him his own Sister, for whom my Brother has had a Kindness many years. This Proposal put him into an ecstasy of Joy; away he ran to the Duke of Hixar, and so powerfully laid before him the Advantages that both Families would reap by the Alliance, that he drew a Promise from the Duke, that he would mention it to the Queen. Afterwards, he came to me, and  told me, I must prepare to be disposed of, so soon as their Majesties had delivered their Approbation of what would be propounded to them. Now Sir, continued she, be you the Judge of my Condition. While she was thus telling her Story, the Marquis of Lemos, having done what the King had commanded him to do, return'd in all hast to his Mistress. But he was strangely surprised to find her in such a serious Discourse with a Person clad in a Disguise in nothing different from his own: and she was no less astonished, to see two Disguises so much alike, that she could not discern which of the two was her Real Lover. Neither did the Marquis know Don Alvare, but the latter knew the Marquis: so that they looked one upon another with an Eye of Fury, and complemented each other with sharp and cutting Expressions. On the other side, it is not to be imagined how much the Lady was concerned; she had unfolded the Secrets of her mind, but knew not to whom: and it was impossible for her to clear the Mistake, so long as the Ball continued. The Count d' Araval, who had also placed himself next to her, never quitting her so much as one moment. This unseasonable struggling, and his obstinate persecution of the amiable Lady, reduced her under those Severities of ill Success, as brought her to the Brink of Despair: Nor was the Marquis of Lemos less disturbed in his mind; he brooked their Conversation together with a more then ordinary Impatience, and beholded the Person in a Disguise so like his own, with Eyes full of Choler and Vexation; nor had he delayed the Proofs of his Dissatisfaction, but for the Respect which was due to the Presence of the King, and his Mistress, which hindered him from deciding his Quarrel upon the Place. The Ball being ended, Don Alvare de Monteleon, who was really enraged upon what his Sister had discovered to him, sent one of his Friends to the Marquis, to let him know, that the Person in Disguise, with whom he had been so brisk at the Ball, desired to see him with his Sword by his side: That he needed not to bring along with him any more then two Flambeaux; himself intending to have as many, which would afford them light sufficient, by which to determine their Differences. The Marquis of Lemos, being too brave to refuse so bold a Challenge, caused two of his Pages to follow him, and hastened to the Prado, which is a delightful Walk near Buen Retiro, and was the Place appointed where to meet; and tho' he knew not the Person, against whom he fought, yet he was sensible, that he hated him so sufficiently, as to kill him, if he could: In short, they fought with so much Courage, as could be expected from two Men of matchless Prowess, till at length, Don Alvare was dangerously Wounded, and soon reduced to beg his Life. But in what a condition was the Marquis of Lemos, when he pulled off his Antagonist's Vizor? He was ready to expire for Grief, when he perceived him to be Eleonora's Brother. Never was Man so sensibly concerned; and therefore, voided of all Consolation, after so freakish, and yet so unlucky an Accident. So soon therefore, as he had sent for Succour to take Care of Don Alvare, he betook himself to a House of one of his Friends, to whom he imparted his Misfortune, and the little Probability there was, that Don Alvare could recover.  
In the mean time, Eleonora full of restless and troublesone thoughts that hindered her Repose, got up, and desired Dona Laura, her daily Companion and best Friend, to be so kind to her, as to take a Walk with her upon a Terras that looks over into the Great Piazza before the Palace. There they had not been but a ve●y little while, when they beholded several Flambeaux making toward 'em, and observed withal, a Person in a Masquerade Habit, carried easily and gently along, and in a languishing posture. Eleonora, who had as much time as was needful, to view and take notice of the Habit, made no Question, but that it was her dear Marquis of Lemos, and immediately, being no longer Mistress of her Grief, swooned away in Laura's Arms; and it was a long while before they could bring her to Life again, by the assistance of her Women, and several powerful Remedies. But the Lamentations and Moans that she made the remaining part of the Night, would not permit her to close her Eyes one single moment. Scarcely was the Day broken, before she sent to know whither the Marquis were in his Chamber. It was  told her, that he had not lain in the Palace, and that his Attendants were all in a great Consternation. Then having no longer any Room for flattering Thoughts, she believed the suspicions of her own Eyes. But when she heard more truly, that it was her Brother whom she saw in that Extremity, and that it was the Marquis of Lemos who had wounded him, she abandoned her self entirely to her Sorrows; and upon those unwelcome tidings, almost sinking under the Accumulation of her Troubles: My Dearest Laura, said she, to her Companion, pouring forth a deluge of Tears, I could have loved him without a Crime, I could have been really sorry for him, had the Misfortune been his, and could have wished with all my Soul, the recovery of his Health; but now what can I do less than hate him? He is the murderer of my Brother; he has  shed my own blood; and it is I that find myself at length obliged to pursue the Revenge of it. These sad Reflections threw her into utter despair; she ran to her Brother; he refused to speak with her; but ordered the Duke of Hixar to tell her his Mind in severe and upbraiding Language.  
The Marquis of Lemos durst not appear; he had to do with Persons of so great Authority, that he knew not what course to take; however, the Queen being informed of the Danger he was in, if he remained in Spain, sent him in her Name a Friendly Admonition to retire into Flanders, and was graciously also pleased to grant him her Letters to the governor of the Low-Countries. Which done, it behoved him to depart: but he could not resolve to leave Madrid, till he had seen his charming Enemy, and bid her adieu. He had written to her several times, but she refused to receive his Letters, and still sent 'em back again, sealed as they were; yet not without fixing a tender Kiss upon 'em, and moistening 'em with her Tears. Never Virgin loved more; never Virgin with a more noble Violence restrained her Love, to hinder it from appearing, and making too great a Progress in her Heart.  
On the other side, the Count d' Araval, the more to increase her Afflictions, now openly declared his Amours, and paid her most assiduous Visits. One Evening, being in her Closet, quiter dejected by her Misfortunes, and making sad Reflections upon the same, one came and  told her, that one of the Duenna's belonging to the Lord Constable's Lady, desired to speak with her. These Venerable Matrons and Governesses are freely admitted every where, and are always wrapped about over head and shoulders, in a large black Taffata Mantle. So soon as Eleonora and she were perfectly alone together, she discovered her self, and then appeared to be the lovely Marquis of Lemos: nor had his Disguise detracted any thing from his goodly presence; only he was sad and serious, while Grief and Respect shew'd themselves in his Eyes, as well as Love. Immediately he threw himself at her Feet, and notwithstanding all the Resistance which she made, took hold of one of her hands, and pressing it close to his Lips, much more apparently by that Action, assured her of his tender Affection, then by all the amorous Expressions he could have uttered. But at length, after a profound Silence for some time, he thus delivered himself.  
Considering the Condition to which I am reduced, there is no Obligation upon me to be sparing of a miserable Life. I foresee, Madam, all my Misfortunes, but am of none so deeply sensible as of my being constrained to absent myself from your Person. And is it then a thing possible to be done? Can I think, and not die for Grief, that I must love ye; that I must never see ye more? Can you observe without some Pity, the Despair that attends this cruel Necessity of mine to separate from your presence?  
Concluding these words, which were often interrupted with profound Sighs, he amorously kissed the fair Eleonora's hands, and moistened them with his Tears: but as she was going to raise him up, and return him an Answer, the Count of Araval entered her Chamber, and had almost surprised her. Not that it is the Custom to take that Liberty in Spain; but the Count was so enamoured, and his Love was authorized to that degree, by the Relations of Dona Eleonora, that he thought it no undecency. However, the Lady quickly recovering her self from her sudden Fright, made a sign to the Marquis to wrap himself up in his Mantle, and with an Aspect more than usually Compassionate, directing her Speech to the Count; See Sir, said she, here prostrate at my feet, one of the Duenna's belonging to the Lord Constable's Lady; she comes hither to conjure me, that I would use my Credit with your Lordship; her Son was an Officer in the Citadel of Oran, but not long since unfortunately taken by the Moors; now in regard you have several Prisoners to release in exchange of such as can make Friends, she begs of you to speak to the Queen, that her Majesty would vouchsafe to grant her that Favour. The Count was overjoyed to find an Opportunity to oblige the only Person that he loved in the World: he promised her more then she desired, and away he flew, without stop or stay, to get the Business done, wherein his Mistress had so artfully employed him. All this while the Marquis of Lemos had much ado to contain himself; so eager was he to have had a Brush with his Rival. For he had understood by Dona Laura, who was one of his Friends, and fast to his Interests, all that had past at the Ball between Eleonora and her Brother; and she had likewise informed him of the Count's Pretensions; but Prudence and good Manners over-ruled his Passion. However, so soon as the Count was gone, he re-approach'd his Mistress; and falling upon his Knees, Madam, said he, with an aweful and affectionate Air, I am now going to leave ye, and to carry my Misfortunes into another Country; you will no more behold that same detested Lover, whose Letters you would not vouchsafe to open; but what is my Crime? Did I know that I fought with Don Alvare? Could I, without rendering myself unworthy your Esteem, refuse the Challenge? Alas! Madam, my Miseries are too weighty already; never heap Affliction upon Affliction; I am persecuted by all your Family; hated by your Brother; banished by the Court; abandoned by yourself; can I survive all these Calamities? Concluding these words, he fixed his Eyes upon Eleonora's: she, on the other side in a languishing posture held down her own all full of Tears, and altogether heartless, I cannot hate ye, Sir, said she, whatever Necessity my Duty imposes upon me; nor can I love ye any longer, considering the Condition to which you have reduced my Brother; we are yet uncertain whether he will live or die; but this you may believe, that tho' my Honour forbids me to be yours, my Heart will never suffer me to be another's; my ardent Vows, and zealous Prayers shall always invoke Heaven in your favour; and if Heaven restores my Brother to me, my Inclination shall do ye Justice. So saying, she would have left him, tho' not without an absolute violence upon her Will; but he stopped her, took her by the hands, and looked as if he would have expired for Grief at her Feet: which, though it did not a little move and mollify the Heart of Eleonora, yet upon other Considerations more prevalent, she wrested her self out of his hands, and forbidding him to follow her, retired into her Chamber, and threw her self, half dead, upon her Couch; while the Marquis, wrapped up in his Mantle departed, without being discovered, and went to his Friend's House; where finding there was no other Remedy, he resolved upon his Journey for Flanders. The Letters which he had from the Queen, and his own Merit, easily acquired him the Favour and Good Will of the governor of the Low-Countries, and the Esteem of all the Court: more then that, he gave signal Proofs of his extraordinary Courage upon several Occasions, and at all times he shew'd himself no Niggard of his Life, which the Absence of his beloved Eleonora rendered irksome to him. In the mean time he wrote several Letters to her, but received no Answer: which continued Severity of Silence afflicting him with a more then ordinary Disquiet of Mind, he directed a Letter to Dona Laura, and besought her to give it his Mistress, her self: who being well acquainted with his Passion, as also no less well informed of the kind Sentiments which Dona Eleonora had for him, failed not to carry her the Letter; and perceiving her in a quandary whether she should open it or no: Is it possible, said she, my dear Companion, you can delay one single moment, the pleasure of hearing from a Person that adores ye, and whom you love yourself so tenderly. 'tis therefore because I love him, replied the fair Eleonora, fetching a deep Sigh, that you see me so irresolute: for in short, it is not to add more painful Sorrows to those which I already feel, to be made still more sensible of the Condition to which he is reduced. could I promise to myself, to afford him any Consolation( Good God! said she, with a kind of Vehemency, would I but knew the way) believe me, Laura, you should have nothing wherewithal to reproach me. But 'tis a difficult thing for me to acquit myself of all my Obligations, on the one side owing to my Duty, on the other, due to my Lover. You know after what manner I have all along expressed my mind; I have still to you disclosed my most secret Thoughts; what Woman could ever be more tenderly affectionate, and more miserable then myself! I have continually to combat with the impatient Importunities of the Duke of Hixar and my Brother; neither of 'em will let me be at quiet one hour in the day. The Count of Araval persecu●es me; the Queen-Mother approves his Passion for me, and I alone am forced to stand the shock of all these different Assaults. In the mean time, the Person for whose sake I undergo all this, believes me faithless; nor have I the Liberty to justify myself against his Accusations: he loads me with Reproaches, and I prefer the Misfortune to be counted Faithless, before the Mischief I should inevitably draw upon my Brother and the Count, by informing the Marquis of their Proceedings. Consider Laura, continued she; letting fall at the same time a shower of Tears, consider the Condition to which I am reduced. So violent my Sufferings are, that Death itself would terrify me less, and my expiring pangs be much more pleasing to me. I condole and pity your hard Fortune, Madam, with a real Compassion, replied Laura, tenderly embracing her; however in hopes to procure ourselves a little Comfort, delay no longer the reading what his Sorrows have indited. And thus at length she over-ruled her to open the Letter; wherein she found these Words.  
HOW happy are you, Madam, that it is in your Power to Hate the Person whom it is your chief Desire to Hate. It would not else be possible that your Heart should be so readily Obedient to your Duty, did not your indifference for me furnish it with all the pronest Inclinations you could wish for. No, Madam, No; you never designed me the Happiness with which you flattered me, though my Respect and Passion deserved more Sincerity. But, alas! what do I say? I accuse ye of the pains I suffer, of which you, perhaps, are not the occasion, but with no less vexation to yourself. Pardon, Madam, the violence of my Grief, which hitherto has made me eager in the search of Death, which yet I cannot find; and sure it cannot be, because that you are my Defence against it.  
Well, now— are ye satisfied? said Eleonora, casting a mournful look upon her: I have red nothing but Reproaches, which, though they be unjust, cannot however incense me against this illustrious Unfortunate. I am satisfied, replied Laura, with what you have done; and I no less approve your Sentiments: but I shall not be so well pleased with your Complaisance, unless you writ an Answer to this Letter. What can you hazard where there is such signal Merit, a Noble Extraction, and a plentiful Estate? The Capricio's of your Family are idly grounded; and had he less of Passion and Respect for your Person, he might have sought out proper ways to have done himself Justice, for the wrongs that have been offered him. Eleonora, held out a while against all these persuasions, but with such a feeble Resistance, that at length she consented to sand these few Lines to the Marquis.  
WHat Injuries have I done ye, Sir, that you tell me of seeking so earnestly after Death, and that you hope to find it? I never thought that without my permission, you would ever go about to be the disposer of a Life, wherein you know I have so great an Interest. But I am to blame; you know it not; you listen to outward Appearances that are against me, and you condemn me; and yet I merit not to be condemned: the lovely Laura will inform you better. Live then, Sir, to Love me, and I will Live to value and esteem your Love.  
Less then this Letter could never have afforded him any Consolation in that excess of Melancholy which he had contracted. All the endeavours of his Friends in Brussels, to divert him, were in vain; so insensible was he of all the sports and pastimes which they propounded to dissipate his pensive humour. Nor did any other Pleasure charm him, but in seeking out the means that might restore him to the presence of his beloved Mistress.  
Now while he lay wasting himself with Grief, Don Alvare de Monteleon, who was by this time perfectly recovered of his wounds, studied nothing so much as to satisfy the mortal Aversion which he had against the Marquis. He knew well that Eleonora had no kindness in the least for the Count of Araval, if she did not rather despise him in her Heart. He also was assured, that if the Count did not espouse his Sister, he could never hope that e're the Count of Araval's Sister could be his Bride. Such thoughts as these threw him into so violent a Despair, and troubled his Reason to that degree, that he resolved to take a journey into Flanders, and find out the Marquis of Lemos, with a Design to put in Execution the most fatal Dictates of his Rage and Malice against him; not questioning but that he was the only Cause of Eleonora's Aversion to the Count of Araval. This Design he imparted to no Person living, but away he went before any body was ware of it; and so private was his Departure, that 'twas impossible to give the Marquis any Notice of it.  
The Court was at Brussels, when Don Alvare arrived there incognito, and where immediately he enquired for the Marquis of Lemos, punctually informing himself of his most familiar Acquaintance, and what manner of Life he led. 'twas  told him, that he was the most Melancholy Person in the World; that he had been in Flanders for some Years; that he walked always alone and musing by himself; that he visited very few Ladies; nevertheless, that his Merit was such as won him the Love and Esteem of all People, though he made that Art the least of his Study. Things thus distinctly understood, Don Alvare remained some Days after this, uncertain where and when to attack him: but understanding by accident, that he was to go to the Canal( which is a walk adjoining to the Gates of Brussels, little frequented in the Morning,) thither he hastened by that time the Sun was up. But he was no sooner alighted from his Horse, with an intention to take a turn or two, when on a sudden he was beset by four Men, who fell upon him with so much Fury, that he must have sunk most certainly under the great disadvantage of Multitude, had not the generous Marquis of Lemos, as he was ready to fall by Reason of the many Wounds he had received, arrived in time. The Marquis so naturally abhorred the inequality of the Match, that he flew immediately to the Succour of a Gentleman, whom he saw rather overlay'd by Number, then mastered by Valour. He was also seconded by a Friend that accompanied him; and being all three thus joined together, they so vigorously assaild, and drove the Ruffian, before 'em, that two being dangerously wounded, the other two betook themselves to hasty slight. Now in, ●egard that such an Encounter as this could never happen without Noise, it was easily heard as far as the Church that stood at the end of the Walk. And this made the People all run out, to see what the Matter was, at the same time, that the Marquis of Lemos, being recovered from those Commotions which Anger and Passion raise in heat of Combat, cast his Eyes upon Don Alvare. There needs no great depth of Reason to judge of the surprise that seized the Marquis, to meet an Accident so extraordinary. He blessed his Good Fortune; he neglected nothing wherein he might be Serviceable to a Person, of whom he had so much Reason to be tender; and he flattered himself that this Accident might work his Enemy to a Reconciliation. In the midst of these thoughts, his Love, which had no need of his natural Generosity to instruct it, caused h●m to act with a more then ordinary Zeal: he caused the Count to be carried home to his Lodgings; he spent whole days, and the greatest part of the Nights in his Chamber; nor did he omit to cause those two Ruffians that were wounded to be seized; and they confes'd in the Prison, That the Count of Araval being reduced to utter Despair, by reason that Dona Eleonora slighted him, had sent 'em to kill the Marquis of Lemos; that they knew him not, but being certainly informed that he was to walk early in the morning by the side of the Canal, they tarried for him in that place: that seeing Don Alvare appear at the same instant, they made no doubt but that he had been the Marquis, and so falling upon him, they had felt the effects of his Deliverer's united Courage. And indeed they were so desperately wounded, that Death, soon after ensuing, prevented the public punishment of their villainy.  
In the mean time Don Alvare was so feelingly touched with the prevaling Motions of acknowledgement for the Marquis, that after he had embraced him several times, and conjured him to forget what had past between 'em, he gave him his word to make use of all his Credit with the Duke of Hixar, and his Sister; to the end he might obtain her for his Wife. I make no question, added he, but to gain her Consent; she knows your worth, Sir, and she has always done it Justice; and as soon as my strength will permit me, I will in writing give her an Account of the Obligations you have laid upon me; I will inform her of the unworthy Treacheries of the Count d'Araval, and am assured she will never deny me what I request in your behalf. Upon this, the Marquis embraced him with those transports of Joy, which cannot be expressed. But, in a short time after, he found his Joy redoubled, perceiving in the Hands of Don Alvare, Letters from the Duke of Hixar, and Dona Eleonora; the Contents of which were, That the Marquis of Lemos might leave Flanders, when he pleased, with an absolute assurance to enjoy the Price of his Love. Don Alvare would have been glad, that his weakness would have suffered him to accompany the Marquis, in a Journey so long wished for, and so pleasing to him; and indeed, the Marquis offered to stay for him; but he uttered that compliment, poor Gentleman! with such an Air, that it was easy to discern, how much a greater kindness Don Alvare would do him, not to retard his departure; and he, on the other side, was so far from desiring him to tarry, that he hastened him away, as much as lay in his Power. And in regard they were afraid, least the violent Count of Araval should engage himself in deeper Crimes, to across the Marriage of the Marquis and Eleonora, the Duke of Hixar resolved to sand her away privately, to an Estate of his, near Lerma; and as for himself and his Friends, they were to take another Road, while the Marquis, in the mean time, had perfect Notice of the Time and Place designed for the accomplishment of his Felicity. And for more certainty, Dona Eleonora stayed at Lerma, in expectation of her dearest Marquis, and to conduct him to the Duke of Hixar's Seat. Her Wit and Heart now both at ease, and satisfied alike, furnished her with a thousand pleasing thoughts; nor did she call to mind the long absence of the Marquis, for any other Reason, but that she might the more sensibly taste the Sweets of his return. I cannot Repent, said she, the Tears which his absence has cost me, since now so near the approaching Moment, that must unite our Destinies for ever. And with such grateful Reflections as these, she continued entertaining her contented mind till the Marquis arrived. Put then— Here it behoves us to make a stop; for it would be a task too difficult to express the Joy of these two faithful Lovers. If the Reader ever loved, he may much better judge, then I can writ. The Nuptials were solemnized with that Freedom, which is more easy to be met with in the country, then in great Cities; and in regard the loving Couple could behold no Objects more Lovely then themselves, they requested the Duke of Hixar, that they might remain for some Months, together at his House.  
The END.   

THE HISTORY OF DONA ORTANSA, of Ventimiglia.  
SEveral Spanish Ladies, and some that were Strangers, being gone all together to Aranjues, to view the Beauties of that Royal Palace, after they had spent a good part of the Night, in walking up and down, as Don Ferdinand de Paredes took Dona Catherina de Palacios by the Hand, to led her to her Coach that stood at the end of the Walk; and that Dona Elvira de Pacheco followed her, lead by Don Estevan de Caravajal, the latter perceived something drop from Don Ferdinand's Pocket, that glitter'd with such a sparkling brightness, as raised her Curiosity. Don Estevan took it up, and then they found it to be a Box of Gold, set with Diamonds: upon which, they withdrew to a place, where the Moon shone free from the coverture of Trees, and observed that it enclosed a small Picture in Miniature, a curious and jolly piece of Workmanship. 'twas the Portraiture of a young Lady, whose Hair was black, all the Lineaments of her Face beautiful and regular, with a Physiognomy gay and lively, that was extremely pleasing.  
Dona Elvira requested Don Estevan, that she might have the delivering of it back again; to which purpose she seated her self in the Boot, where Don Ferdinand de Paredes placed himself by her. After they had for some time discoursed of General Matters, Dona Elvira, whispering to Don Ferdinand, presented him the Picture: I have now, said she, discharged myself of the Obligations you have laid upon me: I make no question but this Portraiture belongs to you; it is too fair and amiable to be beholded with indifferency: I restore it ye back again, continued she, and I am apt to believe, I could not do you a greater Kindness. This brought the Blood into Don Ferdinand's Cheeks, and he blushed, as if she had laid some Crime to his Charge. Outward appearance, Madam, said he, Appearances are against me: But I conjure ye to listen to me. Elvira interrupted him, by falling into a great Fit of Laughter; which being over, she  told him, That his Modesty was altogether out of Season; that it did not become him to be troubled, because she understood, he had a Passion for a delicate Woman, and for that she also knew, the Lady had a Kndness for him: However, if it were a Secret, which might any way turn to his Prejudice, she would be sure it should go no farther. But all these aggravations serving only to perplex him so much the more: Madam, said he, were I enamoured of this fair Lady, I should not be ashamed to aclowledge it; nor would it be any dishonour to be fettered in such Chains as those; but, Madam, since you have time to spare, vouchsafe to hear me for some few Moments, and I will rehearse concisely to you some odd Accidents, that may perhaps, deserve your Attention. And having obtained the Liberty, he thus began:  
The Marquis of Condro, Nephew to the Prince of that Name, is descended from one of the most Illustrious Houses of Sicily; he was Young and Wealthy, goodly of Person, and might be truly said to be Witty withal; he was most affectionately in Love with Dona Ortansa, of Ventimiglia, a Lady most infinitely amiable, and whose Name, Madam, doubtless cannot be unknown to yourself. Their Age, their Estates, their Birth, had so suitably matched 'em together, that the Marquis flattering himself that he could not receive a Repulse, demanded her in Marriage, and obtained his Request, upon Condition of a Dispensation, which was necessary, in regard they were too near a Kin: In pursuance of which, an Agent was forthwith dispatched to Rome, whose return was only expected.  
In the mean time, never were two Persons better satisfied with their happy Fortune then the Marquis and his mistress. And in this charming tranquillity, they lived together, when Don Carlos of the House of Altamira, arrived at Messina. He was a Spaniard, impetuous, and oversway'd by his Passions; but, excepting that, a Person of much Bravery, and One that very well understood the World. He saw Dona Ortansa, and found her so incomparably beautiful, that he fell most desperately in love with her; and his Passion made that progress in a few Days, which in other colder Lovers would have required some Years to have gathered the same force. He knew this lovely Lady was promised to the Marquis of Condro; that it was a Match that could not be brok'n off; and that their Hearts were so united, that it was in vain to pretend to any thing of Courtship, as a Lover. These reflections cast him into a deep despair; never was any Person more in Love, and more Afflicted. Nor had he any Adviser what course to take in these Distractions, but only one Friend, who was called the Cavaliero de Stillana, and who accompanied him from Madrid. Him he acquainted with the Condition of his Heart; from him he kept nothing secret, and he was the only Person to whom he applied himself for the Consolation of his corroding Pains.  
These Two happened one Evening to be together at the Palace of the Viceroy's Lady; where the Company were playing at several Tables. But the young Ladies. who were desirous of Pastimes more suitable to their Age, retired into a large and lightsome Cabinet, hung about with several Instruments which they had skill to play upon; and while they were beginning to make a little Consort among themselves, the Cavaliero de Stillano whispered Dona Ortansa in the Ear, that Don Carlos sung incomparably well. Upon which she begged him that he would please to afford the Company the Satisfaction of hearing him. Presently he took a Theorbo in his Hand, to accompany his Voice; and fixing his Eyes upon those of the fair Person that had charmed his Soul, he began these words in Spanish, 
Mi muero de Amor, mi muero de Amor:  
" I die for Love, I die for Love.  But after he had repeated these words, without being able to go any farther, he felt himself on a sudden, in such a languishing Condition, that letting fall his Theorbo on the one side out of his Hands, he sank down on the other like a Man quiter dead. All the young Ladies were affrighted to behold him in that deplorable Estate But the Cavalier de Stillana having brought him somewhat to himself, persuaded him to take a Turn in the Garden for a little fresh Air. To which purpose they walked forward to a little Grove of Lawrel-Trees, which was embellished with several Fountains; and tho' the Season was very sharp and could, yet it did not appear to have ravished any thing from the Verdure of that delightful Retirement. So that when they found themselves at free liberty to speak their Minds, Don Carlos d'Altamira, addressing himself to the Knight, How cruel a Friend you are, ( said he,) to relieve me, at the very moment that I was about to expire at Ortansa's Feet, and to put an end to my Misfortunes Alas! can you believe me able to make a long Resistance against the Violence of my present Condition? You have only for some Days delayed the Conclusion of my Life. I love, my dearest Knight, with a Passion so extreme, that it is not in my power to express it. I am near the fatal moment of losing all manner of Hope; the fatal moment of seeing my Mistress in the Arms of my Rival. Oh Heaven! Just Heaven, ( cried he,) can there be any Sight more dreadful! What will become of me! What Resolutions shall I take! That of curing yourself, ( replied the Knight,) is the most rational, and the most easy. However, I advice ye to it; and the more readily to obtain your Cure, begin with my Prescription, to avoid the Object that enchants ye: Absence is an approved Remedy against the Dotages of Love. Oh! how unavailable will that be for me,( cried Don Carlos, interrupting him;) a faint and feeble Love is easily indeed extinguished and dissipated by Time and Absence; but when the Strength and Vigour of Love is at the full height, when it burns with all its flames, 'tis quiter another thing. No, my dear Knight, No, 'tis impossible for me to quit her. What will ye then do? ( said he.) I will do( replied Don Carlos, with a precipitate vehemency,) whatever Love and Despair can inspire into a Man of Courage.— Here he was interrupted by some of his Friends, who seeing he did not return, were afraid of worse Effects of his Distemper. But finding how he was, it was not long before they withdrew again, after some general Discourse.  
At this time, the fair Mariana de Suffo was come to spend some some few Days at Messina. She is one of the most amiable and most delicate Creatures in the World; and she happened to be in the Room when Don Darlos fell ill. Something also she felt of a favourable Inclination for him; nor could she resist the vehement Desire she had to follow him into the Garden, believing he might speak some things to the Cavalier de Stillana, which might concern her self; or which, at least, she was willing might concern her. And to this purpose she requested Dona Constantia di Vintimiglia, who was one of her intimate Friends, to go along with her. Both thus agreed, they went softly stealing along without discovery, by reason of the Trees that stood thick and close together. But Good God! in what a Condition was Constantia in, when she heard the Moans and Lamentations of that despairing Lover. They struck her with such a quick and piercing Grief, as supasses Imagination. Nor was Dona Mariana less afflicted; so that after she had stood in a deep silence a good while, as soon as Don Carlos was gone, the lovely Fair One's tenderly both embraced each other; and then Dona Constantia said, What Course shall I resolve to take, my dearest Marina,( said she to her Friend;) If I discover Don Carlos's Passion to the Marquis of Condro, have I not reason to fear the fatal Accidents that may ensue? And if I conceal it from him, will it not be a Breach of that Sincerity which I owe him? Dona Mariana likewise had too great a Respect for Don Carlos, not to be apprehensive, that if the Marquis should come to have the least ink'ling of Don Carlos's Affection, it might produce bloody Work, and therefore out of that foresight, she most earnestly requested Dona Constantia not to let any Person living know of the Discourse which they had over-heard. What can you be afraid of,( said Mariana to her;) you are forthwith to mary the Marquis; and when you are his Wife, then all your Lover's Hopes will utterly vanish: and we generally find 'tis Hope that feeds and nourishes Love. Believe me, ( continued she,) a Maiden Lady, that has her Reason about her, never ought to let the World know that any Person has a Passion for her; and that which you have inspired into Don Carlos, would soon excite unquiet Jealousies in your Husband, should he be once informed of it. Forbear that Discovery, and you will find, that Altamira's Love will be like Lightning, that extinguishes at the same instant that it is perceived.  
Dona Constantia had so great an Inclination to believe her Friend, that she readily took her Advice. And with this Resolution they retired, both extremely pensive; and after many sad reflections, which cost Mariana as many painful Sighs, she could not think of any better Remedy to cure her Pains, then to forget the Person whom she had fancied already too amorously for her repose, especially not finding him concerned in the least for her. So that the dishonour of Loving, without reciprocal Returns of Affection, and the secret Scorn of such an Ignominy, made her hasten back to Palermo sooner then she thought to have done. There she remained with the young Princess of Condro, who, for the most part, was wont to make that City her usual Place of Residence. And this Pretence seemed to her sufficiently plausible, to prevent busy Curiosity from prying into the real Causes of her Departure. Away she went therefore, without seeing Don Carlos. And indeed there was need enough for her to summon up all her Reason, to persuade her to abandon a Design that so pleasingly flattered her Inclinations.  
In the mean time, Don Carlos durst not so much as mention his Passion to Dona Constantia; well knowing, that as things stood, such an open Discovery of his Mind would have been but ill received, and moreover, altogether out of season. However, he saw her every Day; and he never beholded her, but he felt a redoubled Augmentation of his Love; which at length became so violent, that he must either Die, or seek some way to assuage the Fury of it. To this purpose, he informed himself exactly of the Time that the Agent was expected from Rome. Nor was it a difficult thing for him to be rightly instructed of that, in regard that at least in outward appearance he was looked upon as one of the Marquis of Condro's best and most intimate Friends. Being therefore satisfied in his first inquiries, away he went himself to wait upon the Marquis at his House. Whither being come, My dear Altamira,( said the Marquis,) you have testified yourself so obligingly solicitous for every thing that concerns my Marriage, that you are the first Person whom it behoves me to acquaint that the Dispensation is come, and that within three Days, I shall be the most happy Person in the World. This dreadful News so terribly alarmed Don Carlos, that he was about to break forth into a Fury: but at last, concealing the trouble of his Soul with all the force and might of his Reason, he embraced the Marquis, and cunningly dissembled those Ma●ks of outward Joy, which were far remote from his Heart.  
Now as he well foresaw this fatal Blow, he had resolved himself to have recourse to the most violent Remedies; and to bring about his Designs, he  told the Marquis, That being so much his Friend as he was, he was resolved for his sake to give an Entertainment to Dona Constantia, and all the rest of the Ladies: to which end, he had provided on purpose several small Calashes very trimm and gay; that against the next Evening all things should be ready for the Divertisement which he devoted to his Mistress; only he begged the Marquis to give himself the trouble of inviting the Ladies.  
The Marquis of Condro thought himself most highly obliged to his Friend, for a Testimony so particular of his Joy: and after he had return'd him sincere and cordial Thanks, away he went to acquaint his Mistress with Don Carlos's Design. I find ( said she) you are not so precise and dainty as you should be; for, how can you endure that any other Man should proffer to galaunt your Mistress, but yourself? I must be free to tell ye, that I cannot but think myself wounded in my Reputation by it; and therefore to revenge myself, I will be none of the Company.' Whatever Injustice ( replied the Marquis) you do me, I cannot blame your Prudence in a point so nice and tender: but I beseech you consider that Altamira is one of my choicest Friends, and that you will do me a real Diskindness, if you refuse to appear at a Banquet, which he makes only for your sake. Dona Constantia, who could not forget the Discourse which she had over-heard in the Palace Garden, still continued obstinate not to go; and there appeared in this Refusal something of a Humour so full of Discontent, that the Marquis was almost at his wits end. But at length he besought her with so much Importunity, to afford her this single Proof of her Affection, that she was no longer able to resist his Entreaties. Alas! how weak are they that love! Affection most frequently masters Reason: so that all the counsels that Reason gives, prove in vain and fruitless, when our Inclinations comply not with it.  
The next day the Ladies met at Dona Constantia's House, having Pages to attend 'em, that carried Flambeaux to light 'em when they were in the Wood: where were to be seen in all the chief Walks, Illuminations very well ordered. Every Lady took her Calash, with a Noble-man to drive it; and Don Carlos, who had caused a magnificent one to be made for Dona Constantia, would needs be her Conductor, notwithstanding all her Reluctancy, and the Excuses which she made to the contrary. There is nothing so gay and jolly as these sort of razes; the Horses are trapped with Housses, and hung with silver Bells: the Calashes are painted with several amorous Devices; they are gilded all over; and tho' they fly along with a prodigious Swiftness, yet they are easy beyond Imagination. It was now within some hours of Night, and dark; but the flaming Light of an infinite Number of Flambeaux made another truly artificial Day. Now for some time Don Carlos driven as the rest did; but gaining Ground insensibly, all of a sudden he lashed on his Horses, and galloped away full speed, with such an extraordinary swiftness, that no Body durst presume to follow him. Every body expected, that so soon as the frolic was over, he would have return'd again; but they were all deciev'd. For Don Carlos being in a trice got out of sight, and finding the Cavalier de Stillana, and his Servants ready at the place appointed, notwithstanding all her cries, her tears, her lamentations and prayers, he pulled the unfortunate Constantia out of the Calash, and in despite of all her feeble Resistance, put her into a Post-Litter; and having Horses laid upon the Road, he flew to Palermo with a more then ordinary speed. There he embarked with her in a Vessel before-hand engaged for his purpose; and after a long and dangerous Voyage, arrived at Cadiz, which was the nearest Port to his Estate. And now neither the Hatred of that fair Virgin, nor her threatenings, nor the Reproaches, wherewith she loaded him, signified any thing, to stem his farther Resolutions He practised all the ways of humility and submission at first, and courted her with all the marks of an extreme and violent Passion, flattering himself by that means to find the way to her Heart. But finding, at length, all such Caresses ineffectual, he desired the Cavalier de Stillana to let her know, that she was no longer Mistress of her own Destiny; that she might well believe, a Man who had ventured all to carry her away by Force, would hazard all to consummate his Felicity; and therefore, that the best and safest course she could take, considering the Condition she was in, would be, to give her free Consent to mary him. Upon this serious Admonition, notwithstanding the excess of Sorrow which that lovely Lady suffered for being thus rudely torn from her dear Marquis of Condro, she found her Honour too deeply concerned in the Accident which had befallen her, to make any longer resistance. And therefore well knowing her self to be in the Power of a Person enamoured, Young and Violent, the terrible Consequences which she had reason to fear, enforced her to a compliance with what she most detested in the World.  
Thus married, Don Carlos loved her more entirely after she became his Wife, then when she was his Mistress. But notwithstanding all the Sweets he tasted by her Side, he was constrained to quit her for a time, there being an indispensible Necessity which drew him to Madrid, to prepossess the King's Ear in his hehalf, and at the same time, to acquaint his Friends and Relations with the true State of his Business.  
But now to return to the enamoured Marquis of Condro: He, poor Gentleman! after he had long waited in vain for the coming back of his Mistress, and spent the rest of the Night in searching after her, full of anxious Cares, and restless Fears, lest some unlucky Accident should have befallen her, next Morning was informed of the perfidiousness of a Person whom he had always looked upon as his most faithful and entire Friend. Transported with Rage, he cursed the Treason and the traitor; he sent every way in pursuit of him, and road himself from place to place to overtake the Ravisher: His Despair and his Fury were not easy to be represented; and at length he resolved for Spain, to demand Justice of the King for the Rape of his Constantia.  
The Count of Ventimiglia, also Brother to the fair Lady, found his Honour too deeply engaged in this Affair, to refuse accompanying the Marquis to Madrid. thereupon they departed both together, incensed alike against the Marquis of Altamira; for that Title he assumed immediately after his Marriage. The Count of Ventimiglia was a Gentleman of a sweet Temper, Witty, Vigorous, and capable to entertain a strong Passion. His Hair was Flaxen, his Head rarely well proportioned, and all his Lineaments regular. It may be said he was too Fair for a Man, if too Fair may be thought a Defect in any Person: He danced and Sung as became a Gentleman; he was also Poetical, and few there were that wrote better then he did. These two Sparks quitted their disconsolate Families, in Prosecution of the Person who had occasioned their Distresses, and they arrived at Madrid the Evening of a Day, the next to which was appointed for the usual Pastime of Coursing the Bull. This Solemnity brought together infinite multitudes of People into the Great Piazza; at what time the Ladies in their Balconies richly hung with Tapestry, made the most beautiful Show, and might be truly said to be the most admired and gaz'd-on Ornament of the Festival. The Marquis of Condro could not be persuaded to see the Sight: His Vexations would not permit him to take his share of any public Pastime. But the Count of Ventimiglia, whose Thoughts were not so much encumbered, and whose Genius was more free and sociable, made one of the number, and met with the convenience of a Balcony. Where presently, by the Magnificence of his Habit, and his Comely Presence, he was readily conjectured to be some Stranger of Great Quality. For this reason he drew the Eyes of many Considerable Persons upon him; but more particularly of a Noble Young Lady, who seemed so charming to him, that he had not leisure to admire any other but Her only. He striven in vain to inform himself of her Name; for the Persons of whom he enquired, either could not, or would not satisfy his Curiosity. Nor could he have an Opportunity to have her watched home, in regard he had none of his Attendants about him; and at the same time that he thought to have followed her himself, and was got clear of the Throng to that purpose, he perceived a Back-door through which, in all probability, she had escaped his farther pursuit: So that he return'd to the Marquis of Condro, full freighted with the Object that had enchanted him. He talked of nothing but this unknown Miracle of Beauty: but for several Days together he was still in the dark, not knowing which way in the World to gratify his impatient Anxiety; though he used all the diligence imaginable, in the Morning going to the Churches, in the Afternoon visiting the frequented Walks, and haunting the most celebrated Comedies, to try whether he could meet with her.  
However, all these restless Perplexities, wherein the fair Unknown had involved the Count of Ventimiglia, did no way hinder him from assisting the Marquis of Condro with a fervent Zeal in his Prosecution of the Marquis of Altamira. They had both the Honour to kiss the King's Hand, and the leisure to aggravate whatever might incense his Indignation against the Marquis; so that while he thought himself secure, by means of the private Friends which he had made at Court, the King caused him to be seized and kept under a very severe Guard. He also appointed Commissioners to draw up an Information against him, in order to his trial. And this Affair was carried on with so much hast and vigour, that it it was apparent the Marquis's Life was in great danger.  
In this posture of the Judicial Proceedings, Word was brought to the Count of Ventimiglia, that two Ladies, who would not tell their Names, desired to speak with him in private. With that, he left the Marquis of Condro, in whose Chamber at that present he was, and retiring to his own Apartment, sent for 'em in. No sooner was the Room cleared, but they threw themselves at his Feet, and discovering their Faces, which before were wrapped up in their Veils, let him see that the one was his Sister, the Marchioness of Altamira, and the other that same charming Lady that had so long disquieted his Thoughts. A sight so unexpected and amusing, put him into such a pleasing Consternation as could by no means be unwelcome to a Person so prepossessed as he was. He embraced his Sister with a most tender Affection, after he had raised upon her feet the charming Unknown, who delivered her self to him in these words.  
The Condition of the unfortunate Marquis of Altamira, is reduced to that Extremity, that we have no other Hopes but in your Lordship's Compassion. You see his Wife, you see his Sister, and I dare presume to tell ye, that if you prosecute your Resentment to the utmost Rigour, the Consequences will be alike Tragical both to yourself and us. For tho' the new Alliance by him contracted with your Family was sought against your Will, and brought to pass by violent means, yet has it still the Honour to be a Branch of yours; and will you be so cruel Sir, to imbrue your hands in my blood? Concluding those Words, she looked upon him with such a moving and suppliant Aspect, that a Person less enamoured then he, would have yielded without farther Contest. The Marchioness of Altamira also, seconding her Sister in her Turn, conjured him to grant her the Life of her Husband. She  told him withal, that tho' she had not married him by choice, his present Relation obliged her to do all she could to save him: and then throwing her self a second time at his Knees, she tenderly embraced 'em, withal protesting that she would never leave him till he had made her some favourable promise. Never did any Man labour under a greater agitation of Mind then the Count of Ventimiglia; while at the same time the various and struggling Sentiments of Honour, Love, and Piety, divided his Heart; but those of Love at length prevailed. What possibility to resist Emilia's charming Eyes( for that was Altamira's Sister's Name) those lovely Eyes, said he, commanded on the one side like superior Lords and Tyrants, while on the other side her Lips besought him with melting Supplications. What is it, Madam, you would have me to do: Madam, ( said he,) I am not the only Person concerned in this Affair: the Marquis of Condro is come on purpose; our Honour, and the Honour of our Family depend upon the Prosecutions we are making: is it possible that having received so bloody an Affront as I have done, I should all of a sudden abjure my Honour and my Indignation. I beg your Pardon, Madam; command me nothing that may redound to my Ignominy. But oh!— how feeble was he when he maintained this petty Combat between his Inclination and his virtue. A Mistress with all the Charms of Beauty triumphs with ease, and whatsoever she desires, she is certain to obtain. Emilia soon, alas! dispersed the turbulent Scruples that so powerfully turmoiled the Count of Ventimiglia's Breast; she called to mind how earnestly he gazed upon her, all the time that the Bulls were cours'd; she beholded his Eyes full of Love and Respect. For these Reasons she flattered her self with Success; and in a word, the Resolution of the Count surrendered to the Charms of young Emilia: he consented for her sake to betray the Marquis of Condro, and to abandon his own proper Interests. And now the only question was, which way to go about it: but soon ingenious Love instructed him, and put it into his head to tell the Marquis of Condro, that he had a shrewd suspicion of Altamira's Guards; that they were certainly bribed, and therefore there was an absolute necessity to have 'em changed; and that Province he took himself: so that in a short time the Old Guards were removed, and such others made choice of according to Emilia's Direction, as easily connived at her Brother's Escape; who was got far enough out of the way, before the Marquis of Condro had any notice of it: but so soon as he understood it, he was in a dreadful Rage; he run to tell the Count of Ventimiglia, not in the least suspecting him to be the Contriver of his Vexation. He was almost beside himself, that his Enemy had escaped him, and he neglected no Sedulity or means to have him re-taken. He was in such disorder after the flight of the Marquis of Altamira, that he renounced all manner of Society; he never stirred out in the day-time, but when his Occasions were such as could not be dispensed with; and he spent the greatest part of the night in La Florida, which is a pleasant and solitary Garden, not far from his Lodging, to which he had a Key, and where remote and retired from all the World, he wholly abandoned himself to his just Grief.  
In the mean time, the Count of Ventimiglia, who acted by concert with Emilia, went every day privately to her House, and the Marchioness of Altamira, the Count's Sister, so ordered it, that he had always free and easy Access to her. The Obligations which he had laid upon that young Lady were so essential, that he needed no other Motives to engage her to prefer him before all her more familiar Acquaintance at the Gourt. To which, if we may add the personal Merit of the Count, his extreme Passion for her, and the kind Offices which the Marchioness of Altamira did him to her Brother; it may be readily apprehended that Emilia could not easily defend her Heart against his amorous Assaults.  
He knew his Happiness consisted in her, and he had a perfect Relish of it. He was free to converse with the Person whom he loved, and by whom he knew he was beloved again: she favoured him with all that more then ordinary Respect, with all those charming Glances, all that Confidence, which were requisite to nourish and support a strong Passion. My lovely Emilia,( would he sometimes say to her) I am afraid you pay to your Acknowledgement, what I would have only owing to the motions of your Heart. Whatever Reason I have to think myself the most happy among Men, by reason of those Favours which you show me; yet my Passion is so ingenious, that it causes me to fear, your Affection is not the only source of all those Kindnesses which are the Felicity of my Life. I permit ye to be nice and delicate,( replied Emilia,) but I forbid ye to mistrust my heart. No, Sir, I felt the Effects of your Merit, before I was beholden to ye for my Brother's Life; and thus far, the Obligations which you have laid upon me, have not been the Motives that induced me to prefer your Person to my k●nd Opinion. For if I may presume to speak it without blushing, my Inclination prevented my recognisance. Such soft and winning Disputes as th●●e, and their frequent Converse together, enchanted both the one and the other. Nor did they mistrust any unlucky Turn of Fortune; as if they thought it behoved her to respect a flamme so pure, and burning with such an equal Ardour. But there is no Felicity so fixed, as to be exempted from the Crosses of ill Fortune. Hear now how it happened.  
One Evening that the Count of Ventimiglia was dispatching certain Letters about important Business, the Marquis of Condro, solely taken up with his Love, and the Wrongs he had received, had locked himself into La Florida, attended only by a page.; and there he had spent the greatest part of the Night: but as he was returning home, with a slow and musing place, abandoned to his own melancholy, he found himself near his own Lodgings, and was thinking to go in, when he perceived a large and stately Palace all on fire. With that he hastened to the place, and by the profound Silence which his listening Ear observed within, he readily conjectured, that all the People were asleep, and was afraid least the House should be burnt before they waked. Upon this, a true sense of Pity and Compassion obliged him to seek which way he might get in. To this intent he diligently searched the Garden Walls, and having found a little Door( as it is the Custom of Madrid, to have an Out-let always from the Garden into the street) he forced it open with his foot: and entering farther, he perceived another by the Light of the Flames, which was the upper half of it enlightened with a Glass-Window, and opened into a Terrass, enclosed with a marble Ballister. This Door he also broken open with some difficulty, and then entered into a magnificent Apartment, which the Flames began to surround on every side; at what time seeing a Bed in the Room, he drew near it, and there beholded a young Lady, transcendently beautiful, fast asleep. He had not time to observe all the Charms that accompanied her Beauty as she lay: only he knew her at length to be Emilia, the Marquis of Altamira's Sister, the Sister of his Enemy that of all Men in the World he hated most. This seemed to him, as if that Chance had held a Correspondence with his Anger, and furnished him with an Opportunity to revenge himself; and willing to take his advantage of the Right of Reprizalls, he snatched her hastily up in his Arms, and carried her away.  
In the mean time, the noise which he made, raised several of Emilia's Women that lay in the Rooms adjoining; but when they saw the dismal Flames about their Ears, they minded nothing but to save themselves, and to cry out for Help. As for Emilia, the Marquis of Condro had ordered his page. to throw his Cloak about her, and slipping out of the Garden at the same Door that gave him entrance, he took his Prey along with him, and all in a hurry conveyed her to his own Lodgings, that were close by. The Fright wherein that lovely Lady was to see her House on fire; her Astonishment to find her self in a Man's Arms, and the shane of being almost naked, took from her, for a time, the use of her Speech; she durst not so much as lift up her Eyes; she looked pale, and trembled every Joint of her: but at length striving with her self, I make no question, Sir, ( said she to the Marquis) but that you are both generous and ready to assist the Distressed; what you have done for me is a certain Proof of it; I am beholden to you for my Life, and therefore I conjure ye that I may be your Debtor for something more, I mean my Honour and Reputation. What would the World think, should it be known that the Marquis of Altamira's Sister was alone, at this time of the Night, in the Chamber of a strange Gentleman? All the Fire which now consumes my House, would not suffice to purify me from the Scandal. Concluding those words, she cast her Eyes upon the Marquis, having, by this, recovered her self from her Fears, and the disturbance of her Senses. But in what a Condition was she, when she understood him to be the mortal Enemy of her Family! She thought of nothing then, but how to get from him; and the Marquis made it his business to oppose her with so much Violence, that the Lady's Out-cries began to alarm the rest of the House. She made most bitter Lamentations, and when nothing else would do, she cried out with all her Strength for help. The noise which they made both together, was so loud, that the Count of Ventimiglia, hearing it from his Apartment, and fearing least some Mischief had befallen the Marquis of Condro, ran with all speed to his Chamber to assist him, if occasion were. But in what a surprising astonishment was he, to see the only Person that he loved most tenderly in the World, with her Hair about her Ears, her Eyes blubbered, and her Countenance changed. However, no sooner she perceived him, but wresting her self out of the Marquis's Arms, who held her, she ran to the Count, and with her Hands clasped together, and her Eyes lifted up to Heaven, Oh Sir! said she, deliver me from the Fury of this tiger. Upon those words, the Count of Ventimiglia fell into such a Rage, that he was never known to be so violently transported, so that had he been capable of a base or cowardly Action, he had immediately torn the very Heart of the Marquis from his Breast. But he rather choose by affrontive and reproachful Language to provoke him to stand upon his Guard; so that they fought before Emilia's Face, without stirring out of the Room. You may easily conjecture what a dreadful Spectacle this was for a young Virgin to behold; what Affrights, what Terrors, what Disturbances assailed her Soul! she disputed with her self, whether to lay hold of the opportunity, and fly for it or no; but her Interest which had tied her to the Count of Ventimiglia, detained her by him, to assist him with her Prayers. But he was so well warmed and animated by Anger and his Love, that it was not long before the Marquis of Condro lay weltering at his Feet in a stream of blood, run through in several places.  
Immediately the Count took up the fair Emilia in his Arms, and carried her safe to her own House, where by that time they also found the Marchioness of Altamira, to whom he recounted the Tragical Accident that had happened. Which pierced her with a lively sorrow to the Heart; in regard that still she had a tender Kindness for the Marquis. How! is it you, Brother, ( cried she, with a mournful Accent,) is it you that have given the Marquis his Mortal Wounds? I began, and you have completed his Misfortunes: What a fatal Mishap it was for him to have ever known me, to have loved me, and never to have changed his Affection, when he left off being my Husband! Wo is me! He followed me to Madrid; he preserves a Fidelity for me beyond Example; and my own Brother now is the Person that has bereaved him of his Life. Her Tears and her Sighs would not permit her to proceed in her Lamentations; and the Count of Ventimiglia, no less voided of Consolation, to behold the Marchioness so deeply afflicted, and to have contributed himself to her Sorrows, retired quiter overwhelmed with Grief.  
By this time the fire was quenched; but not till it had occasioned great Disorders, and burnt down the one half of that same spacious Pile. And now 'twas impossible for the Count to abide any longer with his Mistress, considering what had happened; so that he was forced to seek for shelter in the Duke of Uceda's House, who was his intimate and bosom Friend; a truly sincere and honest Gentleman, and Son-in-Law to the Duke of Ossuna. He gave him a full Account of all that had fallen out between the Marquis of Condro and himself; and withal desired him, so soon as he could do it without being taken notice of, to go and learn whether he were alive or no: and likewise to inform himself what was the general Discourse of the Court concerning the Quarrel, and the Consequences of it. He observed his Directions punctually, and brought him back Word, That the Marquis was dangerously Ill; That he was generally believed to have been Assassinated; and, That the King had commanded diligent Enquiry to be made after the Murtherers, as being resolved to make severe Examples of those who had committed so bloody an Act. With that the Count of Ventimiglia, lifting up his Eyes to Heaven, besought the Duke to protect his Innocence. Had it been in my Nature to have done a thing so unworthy a Man of Honour, I would have freely surrendered myself into the Hands of Justice, to expiate my Crime; but in regard I have nothing whereof to accuse myself, I cannot think I have deserved to be treated as a Criminal.  
He gave Notice to his dearest Emilia, and the Marchioness of Altamira, how Affairs stood; and never considering the Danger to which he exposed himself, in going to see his Mistress, away he slip't to her House, in the Evening, disguised from Head to Foot in the most altered shape that he could think of. Their Meeting was full of Tenderness, yet intermixed with sad reflections. Emilia was laid down upon the Bed, o'erwhelm'd with a Thousand different Vexations: Where, as she lay, after some short Discourse of the Marquis of Condro's Misfortune, Certainly, ( said she,) 'tis my unhappy Fate to be the most miserable Person in the World; 'tis I that have brought you into this Danger, while a generous Action, which would otherwise deserve Applause, is looked upon as an enormous Crime that merits the severity of Punishment. Oh, Sir! forbear to Love me, if you desire to regain your former Happiness. Surcease to Love ye, Madam! ( replied the Count, with a brisk and passionate Emotion,) is it possible that you should give me such Advice! What have I done, to draw upon me such cruel Marks of your Hatred? My Hatred!( cried Emilia, interrupting him,) Do you not perceive it rather to be an Effect of my tender Affection, that I am willing to sacrifice my own Repose to yours? and, that if you should cease to Love me, I should cease to Live?— Oh! Charming Emilia,( again replied the Count,) never fear my sinking under the weight of my Misfortunes; so long as you assure me the Continuance of your Favours, I shall be always Contented with my Destiny.  
The greatest part of several Days insensibly slipped away in such amorous Expostulations and Protestations as these; which greatly assuaged the Count's corroding Anguish and Vexation of Mind. But the fair Marchioness of Altamira enjoyed no such delightful Hours, for she lamented, without ceasing, her Own and the Marquis of Condro's Disasters. And all this while, notwithstanding all the strict Pursuits and Searches without intermission after the Count, he was so truly satisfied with the Company of his Mistress, that his Troubles and his Dangers little concerned him. He had a Great Soul, and an Undaunted Courage, insomuch that he could not believe any Body so hardy as to assail him. But the Plot was so laid, one Evening, just as he was entering into Emilia's House, that he had certainly been taken, had he not defended himself with a Courage which astonished those that were appointed to seize him. The Duke of Uceda also, who loved him dearly, had the good hap to be at a place close by, with another Gentleman, a faithful Friend of his; who hearing a Noise of People Fighting, arrived to the Count's Rescue, at the same time that Emilia, who had beholded the Scuffle out at a Window by the Light of the Moon, had sent all her Servants to assist him: so that he was quickly dis-engag'd from the greatest Danger that ever he had run.  
After this Encounter, all his Friends  told him, That it was absolutely necessary for him to be gone, and to leave the Success of his Business and Justification to Time and Opportunity: That if the Marquis of Condro should not die, which was very doubtful, he would certainly be so generous, as to tell the real Truth of the whole Story; and that it would be more easy for him to vindicate himself in a Place of Security, then venture the King's incensed Anger under the Power of his Enemies. The fair Marchioness of Altamira likewise wrote to him several times, conjuring him to depart. She would before have followed her Husband; but the Condition of his Affairs would not permit him to continue long in a place, and therefore he desired her to stay at Madrid, though it were with utmost reluctancy that she obeyed; but at last she yielded, and lived with Emilia.  
However, at length o'ercome with Grief, by reason of the sad Condition to which the Marquis of Condro was reduced, she alleged for her Excuse, That a Woman of her youthful Years, could not enjoy the World with any Credit, while her Husband was overwhelmed with Misfortunes for her sake, and so she retired into the Nunnery of St. Domingo.  
And in that Solitude it was, that without ceasing she set before her Eyes all his Misfortunes; where she considered, that she was designed to have married a Man whom she loved beyond her own Life, but was torn from his Embraces by the rude Hand of boisterous Fate: That he was reduced to utmost Extremity by a Brother whom she tenderly loved: That she was the Wife of a Person whom she could not look upon but as her Ravisher: That she saw her Fortune ranvers'd, and all the Tranquillity of her Life at a fatal Conclusion. These mournful reflections threw her into such a violent Despair, that never was any poor Lady so worthy of Compassion. She wrote sometimes to the Count of Ventimiglia, to ease her Pains by venting her innocent Lamentations, and to press him to secure himself in some place of safety. Nor were his Friends less importunate with him to that purpose: And he apprehended the force of their Reasons well enough. But, in short, this would oblige him to quit Emilia; this would constrain him to a Separation from her, and there was no Danger that appeared so dreadful to him as that.  
The Duke of Uceda, despairing to work any thing upon him, went to Emilia with all the Zeal of a cordial Friend, and conjured her to make use of all her Power to oblige the Count to withdraw: he  told her she was more engaged then any other Person, to be concerned for his Preservation, considering what he had done for her. Emilia promised to neglect nothing that she could think of to effect it; and in short, when she saw him next, she spoken to him of his Departure, and that with such a commanding Vehemency, that for fear of Displeasing her, he consented to whatever she desired. How much afflicted soever, ( said she to him) you may be to leave me, you cannot be more grievously sensible of the Separation, then myself. I am to accuse myself of being the innocent Cause of this Confusion of our Affairs; 'tis for defending my Honour that you are now to be a straggler and a Fugitive; yet might it be permitted me to bear ye Company, ( continued she, with showers of Tears at the same instant trickling from her Eyes,) and to partake the Troubles I have drawn upon ye, such an Appeasement would make amends for all; but what I owe to Decency restrains me here.— I should be more than happy, ( replied the Count, pierced to the Quick with an excess of Grief;) I should be more then happy, Madam, could I be blessed with your Society: But I must leave ye; you yourself command my Absence; and while you take care to preserve my Life, condemn me to a sudden Death.— And thus the Pangs of their Affliction wee equally the same in Both. However, it was agreed between 'em, that the Count should retire to Bourdeaux, to the end they might with more convenience correspond together; and at parting, she gave him her Picture, as an Essential Pledge of her Affection; and he received it with all the Transports that Love could inspire into a Person desperately in Love. He observed all necessary Cautions for his Departure; and that cruel minute being come, he bid adieu to his dear Emilia: He said but little to her; his Silence was the Interpreter of his Grief: and on the other side, he received from her all the Testimonies that a virtuous Virgin could give, of the most sincere and passionate Affection in the World. Nor did he forbear to writ to her till he arrived at Bourdeaux, but was very diligent to let her hear from him upon the Road, wherever he met with a Convenience; and when he got to Bourdeaux, he found several Letters there, which had made hast before him. Nor will it be amiss to show you some of those he wrote, to let ye see the extraordinary Passion he had for that most amiable Lady.  
WHen every day I kept you company, Madam, I thought I could sometimes have dispensed with such a Fondness. But alas! what I now suffer, apparently convinces me, that my Reason was deluded by my Love. I search for ye where-e'er I come, but can find ye no where but in my Heart. Nevertheless, in that same Heart you are so truly adored, and so entirely Absolute, that there is nothing which I can desire from yours, unless it be a mutual Return of Tenderness.  
See there another.— Said Don Ferdinand.  
HOW! Is our Common Enemy recovered, and past danger, and yet no talk of my Return? I can no longer endure your Absence, and therefore have resolved once more to re-enjoy your Company. For is it Just, that I should lose my Life, to satisfy the Humour of the World? I value not Worth or Merit, but to serve you, Madam: Nor do I wish for Happy Days, unless you may be the Sharer of my Felicities.  
I will trouble you no more then with only this,( added the Rehearser of the Story.)  
HOW Tender and Affectionate your Letters are! How do they rejoice my very Soul! What mournful Sighs they cost me! What sad reflections attend the pleasure of receiving them! They serve to make me yet more deeply sensible of your remoteness from me. I have already  told ye, Madam, of my Intentions to return: And when we are together, is it possible that Fortune can do us any Mischief?  
In the mean time, the Marquis of Condro was perfectly recovered, and still continued his Prosecutions against the Marquis of Altamira, with the same Heat and Fury as at first. He had also learned the place where he lay concealed; at what time he likewise understood that he was near the Period of his Life. The continual Restlessness that turmoyl'd his Mind, and the Care he took to keep out of the way, or rather, to live like a Vagabond, had so impaired his Health, that he fell dangerously sick; of which he sent word to the Marchioness, who hastened to him with all speed. But when she came, she found him drawing on; and all the Comfort he had, was to expire in her arms. However, in the midst of so many Misfortunes, that generous Lady had still preserved a fortitude of Mind, and a virtuous Integritiy, above what was common among Women. After she had performed her last Duties to her Husband, she return'd to Madrid; and then it was that the Marquis of Condro made no question but to have completed his Felicity. With this Conceit, away he went to her House, and desired admittance to speak with her. But she sent him word, That the Marchioness of Altamira had a quiter different course to steer, then Dona di Ventimiglia; That she was the Widow of a Person whom he had persecuted; and, That she did not think that her Reputation would permit her to renew any Familiarity with him. He received his Answer like a Thunder-Clap, that had felled him almost to the Earth. Nevertheless, he listened not to his Resentment, which secretly incensed him to throw off that Respect which he owed her; he only bid the Messenger tell her, That her Injustice was too severe; but that he made no doubt, but after she had seriously reflected upon the Motives which engaged him in her Quarrel, she would repent of her Cruelty toward him.  
But notwithstanding this Denial, her Grief for his Affliction had already taken too deep a Root; there was no need of augmenting it by the Testimonies of Submission that were more near her Heart. The Complaisance which she had for her Husband, and all those Duties which she performed with so much Conjugal Exactness, proceeded only from the Friendship she had for him: She had always looked upon him as her Ravisher, and as the Man that with a barbarous Violence had torn her from the only Person that she loved in the World. So that when she refused to see the Marquis of Condro, she felt the Throws of an extraordinary Compunction; but for Decency's sake, she became a Victim to the public.  
The Persuasions of Dona Emilia, were very importunate to prevail with her to see him again. And indeed she had a particular Interest which obliged her to it, in kindness to the Count of Ventimiglia, which rendered her most ingenious to furnish the fair Widow with Reasons sufficient, why she should restore her Affection to the Marquis of Condro. Besides that, Love never loses any of its Privileges; so that the Marchioness of Altamira might well think the Pretence of Reconciling her Brother with her Lover, was plausible enough to thanked him, without incurring the Censures of the World.  
Immediately therefore she sent away to the Duke of Useda, to come to her; and  told him, That if the Marquis of Condro would condescend to a Reconciliation with her Brother, she would again receive him into favour. You may be sure there needed then no great Persuasions to hasten his most officious Sedulities to engage the Count of Ventimiglia. Immediately he wrote him a most melting Letter: He conjured him, without delay, to hasten to Madrid; and that he might assure him that both their Interests were now the same, he gave him to understand, that he had been informed of his Passion for Emilia; and that he would leave nothing omitted to complete the Felicity to which he aspired. He also sent a Gentleman on purpose to let him know how impatiently he was expected at Madrid.  
At that time, I had been about Two Days at Bourdeaux, where the Count of Ventimiglia had given me a full Relation of his Passion for Emilia; and of all the Particulars I have hear repeated to your Ladyship. He also shew'd me her Picture and her Letters; and appeared to me so deeply in Love, that I never saw a Man so sincerely and passionately concerned. You may judge, by that, of his extraordinary Joy, to see himself of a sudden so near the Haven of his amorous Desires, and just returning to his beloved Mistress. It was the Subject of all his Discourse. In what a sad Condition are you, ( said he to me,) that you have no Engagement: You know not the chiefest Pleasures which the Heart enjoys: You are not sensible, that even the Pains of Love surpass all other Pleasures that proceed not from the same Original.— I listened to him with Attention, and was charmed to see him so well satisfied, and his Heart so jocondly at rest. At the same time also, he received a large packet of Letters from Emilia; wherein she conjured him to set forward with all speed; and nothing could be added to the Marks which she gave him of her Favour, and tender Affection. You have no farther need of me, ( said I to him;) your Mistress's Letters are a sufficient Supply for all your Wants, and therefore I'll go and prepare all things ready for my departure; be sure you writ to her.'— Be sure to writ to her! ( cried he:) In truth, you little understand my fervent Assiduity; we'll set forward both together; and never question but I shall be able to bear ye company; nay, I intend to be there before ye; for Love will lend me his Wings.— Thus we embraced each other, and I return'd betimes next Morning. But woe is me! How terribly was I surprised next Morning! How dismally afflicted, to find him seized with a Pestilential Fever, and full of Purple Spots! I went to his Bed-side like one in a Trance; for I loved him with a particular Affection. He reached me his Hand; and looking upon me, with his Eyes sunk in his Head, a certain Symptom of his Condition; Ah! my dear Paredes,( said he,) how deceitful are the Felicities of this World! Yesterday in the Evening I thought myself the most happy among Men: I would not have exchanged my Fortune for a Monarchy. Last Night I thought myself within a Span of seeing Emilia; and from that happy moment, to have enjoyed the only Blessing of my Life, by me so passionately desired: But now I find my Hopes are all deceived, and I shall never, never see her more. Behold me here, a miserable Creature, covered over with Pestilential Spots: I must die in a very short time; I must die Unmarry'd to Emilia, and e'er I could persuade my Sister to complete the Happiness of her constant Lover. My dear Friend, ( continued he, grasping my Hand in his,) I conjure you to contribute to my Consolation: Assure Emilia, that I die her most sincere Adorer, and that she has been all along the only Object of my Vows: Her Letters and her Picture lie under the Bolster; and I must beg of you to give yourself the trouble of restoring 'em, together with these few Jewels; which I conjure her to accept, and keep in remembrance of her faithful Servant. As to what remains, I cannot think you will forsake me in this Condition; the Friendship that is been between us, assures me the contrary, and I give you full power to order all things, after I am dead, as I shall see convenient.— I was unwilling to interrupt him till then, because he found some sort of Consolation in what he said to me; and in regard that, for my own part, I was so overwhelmed with Sorrow, that I stood in need of some Time, and all the Succour of my Reason, to recollect myself; and because I was unwilling to augment his Despair, by an Excess of hopeless Grief. But finding, at length, that these mournful reflections weakened him, I bid him be of good cheer; and  told him withall, That, in my Opinion, he was too careful; That his Distemper was not so violent as he imagined, and that his Youth might overcome it. I assure you Sir, ( said he, with something a more ready utterance,) I am afraid of nothing: I know what the Physitians have said to me, and I know better then they in what Condition I am: I have no more to say to you, my Business is now, to think of more Essential Things: I am afraid of being surprised; for when we are so near our Ends, every Minute is precious; and we look upon Things with a far different Eye, then when we are in perfect Health.— Concluding these words, I observed that he faulter'd in his Speech, and that his Eyes grew dimmer and dimmer. These mortal Symptoms made me advice him to sand for a Confessor; but he had thought upon that before, and  told me he expected one every minute.  
But not to detain you any longer, Madam, in the most unpleasant Part of my Rehearsal, the poor Count of Ventimiglia died within Six Days; and after I had paid him those last Duties to which our Friendship engaged me, I came away. I thought to have found Dona Emilia at Madrid, and to have shared with her in her Grief: But I heard she was gone to Grenada, where she had shut her self up a Nunnery. My stay by the way, was the reason that she heard the fatal News without any Preparation, by one of the Count of Ventimiglia's Gentlemen, who sent her word of it by the Post. She was ready to expire for Grief; nor would her Sorrows admit of any alloy; so that in Four and twenty Hours after she left Madrid, not able to endure the Court, nor the World itself; and I must take a Journey to Grenada, on purpose to restore her back the Picture which you took up. I will show you, Madam, when you please to command me, all that most amiable Person's Letters; and when you shall permit me to make ye those Assurances which concern myself, be sure I shall not tell ye that I love Emilia.  
Alas! how sorry am I for her! ( cried Dona Elvira:) She has lost the Man she loved; no more shall she behold the Object of her Affection: Eternal Night now parts' em. Are you sensible, Don Ferdinand, of the Horror of this Separation?'—' I have experienced it, ( replied he,) after so cruel a manner, that I wonder I am yet alive in the World: For I dare presume to say, The Spaniards know better how to Love, then any other Nation in the Universe.— Thus, for a while, they stood speechless, in a pensive and profound Amusement; till Dona Elvira first of all broke silence, and desired Don Ferdinand to tell her what became of the Marchioness of Altamira. She, ( said he,) is gone to sevill, as it is conjectured, that she may have the more liberty to converse with the Marquis of Condro, till her Year of Mourning is out. And that which confirms the general surmise, is this, That he followed her; and without question, within a Year, he will be happy.'—' All outward Appearances,( said Dona Elvira,) seem to assure it, and his Fidelity deserves it; but the Example of the Count of Ventimiglia, shows us, that there is nothing certain in this World.'—' You are too long upon, your Moral reflections,( replied Don Ferdinand,) which are altogether unseasonable, during the most lovely Night in the World, and in the midst of our Recreations.'— 'twas yourself, ( said she,) that put me in the Humour: Wherefore did you tell us such a doleful Story?—' And wherefore, ( cried he, with a smiling Countenance,) did you suspect me, upon the score of Emilia's Picture?'— Never say that I suspected ye, ( replied Elvira, interrupting him:) Nor is the Expression any way pertinent; for as I had nothing of Curiosity, you were at your own disposal to have said nothing of it. What you add, is much more disobliging, ( continued he;) you very ill repay me for my good Intentions; and which can never be unpleasing to ye, if you would but look upon 'em with an Eye of Justice. However, 'twas no more then what I always thought. 'twas enough that I was born a Spaniard, for me to expect from you, whatever you can say to my Prejudice.— Upon these words, she fell into such a violent Fit of Laughter, that she raised the Curiosity of all the Ladies that were present. They demanded the reason of her Mirth: Of which when Dona Elvira had informed 'em, the Discourse ran generally upon that Theme.  
The End of the Second History.   

THE HISTORY Of the MARQUIS of MANSERA, And DONA TERESA. The FIRST PART.  
DOna Eleonora, and Dona Teresa, who for several Years together had tied themselves in a League of Friendship more affectionate and more sincere then is usual among Ladies, went in the Spring-time to take a walk in the delightful Gardens of the Palace of Alhambra. At what time the last of the Two appeared so melancholy, and so violently oppressed, that her Friend for some time not daring to take notice of it, at length could not forbear to demand the Reason of such an extraordinary Disturbance. 'tis a long while, ( said she,) that I have withstood my eager desire to know the Cause of your continual Anguish, and which now seems to me much greater then it was; but I was always afraid of being too impertinent; and I had still observed the same Reserv'dness, did not those overwhelming Sorrows which I observe in your Countenance, enforce me to be thus inquisitive, that, if possible, I may be able to apply some Lenitive to ease your Pains.— They are such things,( replied Teresa,) that a Woman would willingly conceal 'em from her self; and the not disclosing 'em to her Friends, is not to be thought a Mark of Distrust, but rather that it is a difficult Task to express' em.— There can be no Reason,( replied Eleonora,) to be so cautious of a Friend whose Tenderness and Discretion have been equally and upon all occasions experienced; and for my part, I should think it a Defect of Friendship, if any thing lay heavy at my Heart which I should not communicate to your knowledge.'— ' Forbid it, Heaven,( cried Teresa;) it behoves me not to justify my Silence at the expense of your Esteem: You importune me, and perhaps my Heart is not at all offended that you put this Constraint upon me. But let us retire to some private Place, where we may talk by ourselves, without being over-heard.— With that they quitted the public Walk, and betaking themselves to a kind of Labyrinth, sate down upon the Pedestal of a Statue, in the midst of a large Round, that was covered with green Turf. They could not have made choice of a Place that more fully called to Dona Teresa's Mind the remembrance of what she had to say: For she had there accompanied the Person more than once, who was to be the Subject of her Discourse.  
Immediately she gave her Friend to understand, by the Tears that trickl'd from her Eyes, that she had nothing but Misfortunes to entrust her with: and for some time she sate in a profound study; but at length giving the full swinge to her Sorrows, she thus began.  
I was born with a Heart the most sensible and most tender that e'er was formed by Love. The severe Education that was carefully bestowed upon me, was enough to have enfeebl'd so dangerous an Inclination; and no question but my Reason and virtue had triumphed over my natural Tenderness, had my Heart had time to listen to' em. But I loved, before I understood that I was to combat Love; and that same mischievous Passion had made itself Master of my Soul, long before I had the judgement to know or fear it.  
You have seen the Marquis of Mansera, and I have heard you say, you found him to be the Person of the World whom you could most affect. But he begins to be quiter another Man from what he was, when Love was first the occasion of my knowing him. The first time that e'er I saw him, he had all the Perfections that flourish in brisk and active Youth; and his Actions that were already accompanied with that Politeness of which you were a Testimony, were so lively and frolicksome, as only became the Years to which he was then arrived. He was curiously built, his Person was noble, his Aspect beautiful enough for a Man, and his Head completely shaped. In short, the Marquis more amiable in my Eyes, then I can well depaint him, struck my Heart at an Age that People are not usually sensible but of the first Amusements of Childhood. From that time forth, methought I could never behold nor gaze upon him sufficiently; and his Demeanour and his Discourse were all along so actually present in my Mind, that I talked of no body but him, though he were out of my sight; and in regard I was too Young, and too shallow of understanding, to distinguish what it was that particularly infused into me such an Excess of Kindness for him, I admired both his Person, and whatever he did, never fearing that a Sentiment so reasonable should prove the first Motion of the most dangerous of all the Passions.  
That Winter that the Governor of Grenada caused the Tamerlane of Pedro Calderon to be acted, there was likewise a great Ball at his House; and in regard he was a particular Friend of my Family, my Mother would needs have me appear among the rest, notwithstanding the Spanish Severity which she professes. Thither came the Marquis also, with a Troop of other young Sparks. But Heavens! how easy was it to distinguish him from all his Companions! He never appeared, to my sight, so full of Charms as then. So soon as I beholded him, I felt those Emotions which before I never understood; and I was sensible of one Pleasure in Dancing with him, that was altogether a Stranger to my Heart before; and it made such an Impression upon me, that my Love which lay till then disguised under other Sentiments, now violently flamed out with an Ardency and Tenderness as great as ever heightened Woman's Love. Hardly was the Ball at an end, but I sought to shut myself up in my Chamber, there to ponder by myself, while the Assembly were in the heat of their Pastime, upon the Disorders which had happened in my Breast. But then, when it was too late, I understood that I had too great an Affection for the Marquis, not being able at the same time to flatter myself that he had any Kindness for me. And indeed he shew'd nothing of any eager Passion for me. Not one of his Actions could persuade me, that I was capable to infuse into his Breast that Tenderness for me, which I already had for him. Methought also he looked upon me only as a Child. I was so, 'tis true; but my Heart was full of Sentiments, that I am apt to believe, no Person ever understood before me in their Infancy. I was ashamed of my Weakness, when I came to be sensible of it; and from that time forward, I looked upon my Love with that despite and scorn, which made me suffer all the Pains and Torments of an unfortunate Passion.  
Love, after this fatal Day, was not long before it became a serious Affair in my Heart. I was soon sensible not only of the Despair, but of the shane of Loving alone. My continual Thoughts and Cares reduced me to a languishing Condition; nor was I perceived any longer to have that eager longing for that which had till then so much amused me. The desire which I had to win the Marquis's Love, produced in me a singular Effect, considering my Years. It came into my Head, to acquire Merit, by applying myself to Study; so that I betook myself to the Love of Books and Sciences: I employed myself in nothing else but Reading: In that I spent the Days and Nights; and I improved myself with such a Promptness as soon informed me that Love was the Principle which caused me to act.  
Scarcely did I think my Understanding better cultivated then was usual for Persons of my Age, when I flattered myself that the Marquis perceived it; and the particular Notice, which as it seemed to me, he took of my Actions, coax'd my Vanity and my Passion to that degree, that I abandoned myself to the Pleasure of being in his Company, and discoursing with him, with such violent Transports, that I had like to have displayed the vehement Ardour that burned within me.  
However, I had done nothing hitherto that could give him any Suspicion: But when a Woman has no longer the Command of her Heart, it is a difficult thing to be much longer the Mistress of her Actions. One Morning, as I was standing at my Chamber-Window, I saw the Marquis crossing the Piazza of Elvira, and going to Mass in great hast. I stopped him, on purpose to ask him whether he carried his Prayer-Book along with him. To which he replied, That his Heart was all the Prayer-Book he made use of; and that he deemed it more respectful to enclose his Vows and Wishes within himself, then to unfold himself in dull and clownish Words. This quick and courtly Retort struck me immediately to the Heart: Nor did I know whether it behoved me to understand his meaning; and therefore, not to perplex myself for an Answer, I presently threw him Pastor Fido which I had by chance in my Hand, and  told him, as I retired from the Window, That since he loved Meditation better then Prayer, that Book would afford his Contemplation work enough. But hardly had I played this Prank, when I was afraid lest I had done more then if I had made him a Reply. I was afraid lest a Person accustomed to the Company and Favours of Ladies, had apprehended more then I was willing to tell him. I was sensible of the Consequences; and the shane of being exposed, to discover my Weakness, caused me for the future to act with more Reserv'dness. So that although at the same moment he had penetrated something of the Truth, his Suspicions would have come to nothing. But soon after I understood, that I was not yet so happy as to have the honour to be so much as Suspected by the Person that caused such violent Commotions within me; and I came to the knowledge of this by an Information so cruel, that the remembrance of it makes me tremble still to think of it.  
A certain Person who had a Dependence upon our Family, desired my Mother that she would give me leave to be Godmother to one of his Children, in Partnership with the Marquis of Mansera. I had not been in his Company of a long time, and therefore desired to see him with an unparallelled Impatience. But good God! how dearly did my passionate Ardour sell me that slight Pleasure! I was never so taken with the Accomplishments of his Person and his Wit; and it seemed as if my Love that Day had rendered him more amiable, to make me the more sensible of the Grief that had invaded my Heart. Upon my returning from this same fatal Ceremony, my Mother in the Evening, recounting to my Father the several Circumstances of the Christ'ning, fell a blaming the Marquis of Mansera, who was looked upon as a polite Courtier, for making the Company tarry so long. To which my Father, in his excuse, replied, That a Man who had his Thoughts taken up with a violent Passion, had enough to do to observe a regular Exactness in other things: And at the same time, he acquainted my Mother, that the Marquis had been for several Years most desperately in Love with one of his near Relations, who was lately shut up in a Monastery, to prevent their farther Familiarity: That she was one of the most lovely Persons in the World, and the most worthy to inflame the Heart of a Noble and virtuous Gentleman; and that the Marquis devoted a● his time to Her, that he could spare from looking after his Affairs.  
Certainly it is impossible to die for Grief, my dearest Eleonora, because I did not presently expire so soon as I heard this killing News. Till then I was ignorant whether Mansera's Heart were capable of being moved, and I found it was by the certain Information that he loved a Rival, who till then was utterly unknown to me. I understood it, at a time when it was not in my power to vanquish the Passion which he had infused into me; and I lost all my hopes for ever, of being beloved, yet not able to overcome my own Desires. Never did jealousy more furiously turmoil the Heart of any Woman, as at that very moment it tormented mine. It caused such a violent Commotion within me that in a few days after, I fell sick of a dangerous and tedious Distemper; and would to God it had laid me in my Grave; and all the while it continued, I was haunted with the ho●rors of my jealousy. Sometimes I took up a Resolution to discover my Passion to the Marquis, and to die before his Eyes, so soon as I had let him understand the Ardour of my Sentiments, Sometimes I applauded the Power I had over myself, to forbear speaking to him: and it was a secret Pleasure to me, that by my Death I should deprive him of the knowledge of my weakness. But my youthful vigour prevailed over my desire to die: for I recovered; though I could find no other Remedy for my Misfortunes, then to endeavour by all imaginable ways to expel the Marquis from my Heart.  
Scarcely was I recovered, but Fortune seemed willing to favour me with an Opportunity. My Mother was engaged to take a long Journey; and I obtained the favour to be put into a Nunnery, during her Absence. Nor had I long been there, before I flattered myself that I should find the succour which I stood in need of. And indeed, my Assurance that I should not be troubled with the Marquis of Mansera's Company in that place, and my remoteness from any thing that could recall him to my remembrance, afforded some Relaxation to the Violence of my Passion, of which my Reason now believed her self become the Mistress. I saw how impossible it was for me to think of living with him; and the Thought of living with another, was so dreadful to me, that Solitude, and the Objects which I there beholded, so different from the pompous gaiety of the World, having confirmed me in my Designs, I determined to be a Nun, and to conceal for ever from Mansera the knowledge of my Love, and Course of Life. All which I signified in writing to my Brother, who was much concerned and surprised at my Resolution. He opposed it by all the ways he could imagine, but in vain: so that he was enforced to sand for my Mother back again, to take me, whether I would or no, out of the Nunnery where I had determined to end my Days.  
However, I thought my Passion so well cured, and the Marquis obliterated in my Heart, that I was really persuaded, when I left the Nunnery, that I should return thither again, so soon as I had tendered my Mother those Marks of my Obedience which my Duty would not permit me to refuse her. But I had hardly travelled above Two or Three Leagues, when passing through a place where by chance I heard the Marquis was, together with the governor of Grenada, I felt such a violent Agitation of my Spirits, and the present Idea of his Person, and of all that I admired in him, return'd so swiftly, that I began to find it would be more easy for me to renounce the World then my Love.  
So soon as my Mother had me in her power, she declared, that she would not admit me, so young as I was, to take so difficult a Resolution, which would lock me up from the World as long as I lived. It was in vain for me to oppose her Reasons and Commands: It behoved me to obey; and I secretly perceived that the hope of seeing the Marquis, which already flattered me, had weakened my Resolution; and that was the true Reason which rendered me so pliable to the good-pleasure of my Parents.  
How does Absence( my dearest Eleonora,) re-enliven the delight of meeting those again for whom we have a real Fondness. Within a few Days after, they carried me to Alhamar; and there I once more saw the Marquis, who had a n●ar Relation married to the Marquis of Compo● j●r, who vaunted his Descent from the last King of Grenada. And then, methought, I discovered those new Charms in his Person that I had not seen before. In vain my Reason represented to my Heart that he was in Love with another; for in a short time I loved him with a greater Passion then I had done before my Retirement and my Resolutions.  
In a short while after, I entered into a strict Friendship with a Relation to our Family, who had lived all her Life time in the Queen-Mother's Court, and where she remained all along till she was banished to Toledo. Now in regard she had an infinite deal of Wealth, and was a Woman of great Wit, and had in her Person those particular Graces which rendered her Beauty more alluring in her, then in any Woman that ever I knew, I imagined that 'twas impossible for her to live so long at Court, and not understand what Love was; and I persuaded myself, that if I could gain her Affection so far, as to dare discover my Heart to her, I should find all the Assistance I could expect from an understanding and sensible Friendship. Nor was I deceived; and the Marchioness of Puebla was pleased to be of my Opinion; and in regard she understood far better the Misfortunes into which I had plung,' d myself, she bewailed my being enslav d so early to the Violence of a Passion which is generally attended with cruel Consequences.  
At the same time that I discovered my Weaknesses to her, I also imparted to her my Design to shut myself up in a Nunnery. What should I do in this World, ( said I to her) where there is but one only Man that I can set my Heart upon, and to whom there is no hopes that I should e'er be Wedded? does it behove me to let him discover the foolish Passion with which he has entangled my Heart? How do I know, but bad Examples, and my long Pains will one day enforce me to make him a full Confession of my Folly? What a shane would it be for a Person of my understanding to be the first Discloser of my Love, and to make it known too, when she is assured, that the Discovery of it can never affect the Person to whom she discloses it? Woe is me! I cannot but think of such an unworthy condescension without trembling; nor do I see any other way, but by retiring into a Nunnery to secure me from the fear of it. For while I have any hopes to see the Marquis of Mansera, I must love him; and therefore it behoves me to guard myself from committing the most scandalous Extravagancies that Love can prompt me to.  
I am glad to see so much Love, and so much Bashfulness together ( said the Marchioness) but Teresa, your want of Experience makes ye look upon your Condition to be far different from what it seems to me. You believe there is nothing can equal your pains, because you are not acquainted with any other. This is a great Misfortune indeed; but the Marquis's Ignorance of it, exempts ye from a great many others, a thousand times more dishonourable. Your Actions are innocent, you have nothing whereof to accuse yourself; nor do you fear the dreadful Vexation to be sacrificed to a Rival that would be always publishing your Follies to enhance the Reputation of her own Charms. Your Condition is intermixed with many Allays; in short you love; but yet you never had any cause to complain of the Person whom you love. I could tell ye of young Ladies much more unhappy: you are but a Novice, dear Teresa,( continued she,) in the course of violent Passions, when you are so much afraid of the future. Do you believe you shall love the Marquis eternally? how strangely you are mistaken: the most fervent and tender Love insensibly decays; the World is full of inconstant and unfaithful Lovers, that had sworn, like you, the Continuance of their Love as long as they lived. I understand, ( said I,) that all our Passions last not all our Life-time; but I believe there are some that never have an end, but with the Conclusion of our Days. Alas! what is there that can ruin mine, seeing I have so long loved Mansera insensible of my pains; and woe is me, enamoured of another? Time, my dear Teresa,( replied the Marchioness,) Time which has a sovereign Power over all things that appear less subject to annihilation. Oh! how would you wish for, then, that Liberty which a Nunnery would have quiter deprived ye of, and how would you deplore the Condition of a Nun without Devotion, continually tormented with a thousand yearning Desires of returning to the World, and a thousand Longings so much the more vehement, by how much the more it is out of their power to content' em. Have a care what Resolutions you take, how you go beyond your strength, so young and tender as you are; or if your Heart enforces ye to throw yourself into Retirement, make choice of only such Recesses that never deprive ye of the Liberty to make advantage of Opportunities.  
These Discourses and Exhortations of the Marchioness, at all times that we could have the freedom to talk together, assuaged the violence of a Passion that I could not mingle-mangle from my Soul, and put me quiter out of Conceit with a Nunnery. But hardly did I begin to profit by the Succour which I reaped from the counsels of an experienced and cordial Friend, but she return'd into the Country, where she spent a good part of her days, and in regard the time that I had conversed with her, was too short to confirm me in those Sentiments which she infused into me, her Remoteness from me was the unhappy Reason that my Heart and Inclinations soon relapsed into the same Troubles that had pestered me before. The impossibility of vanquishing a Passion that was born before my Reason, the Love which the Marquis had for another, and the Charms with which they  told me that same fortunate Rival triumphed over me, made me resume my Resolution, for ever to bury my shane and Love in the Bottom of a cloister; therefore I again declared to my Parents my earnest desire to be a Nun; that what I had observed in the World, since they had brought me back again, had only served to confirm the Reasons which I had to quit it, and that nothing but Retirement would agree with my melancholy Thoughts. But my Reasons, my Tears, my Entreaties not prevailing to obtain their Consent, I resolved to steal away privately from my Father and Mother, and to throw myself into the Nunnery which I had left. But notwithstanding all the caution I had taken for the Execution of my Design, I was stopped upon the Road by my Father, who not finding me at home upon his Return to the Town, immediately guest at the real Truth of my Absence; so that he made all the hast imaginable after me, and having overtaken me, about four Leagues from Grenada, he took me away, and carried me home by force.  
Thus you see me a second time disappointed, whether I would or no, of my Design to become a Nun, notwithstanding all the Reasons that urged me to it; and I return'd into the World, to be again enslaved to the most cruel Destiny, and to the most dreadful Disasters that ever yet you heard of.  
My Design of putting myself into a Nunnery, made my Father jealous least at length I should escape him; and in regard he loved me too well to lose me for ever, he thought of nothing so much as of providing me a Husband out of hand.  
So soon therefore as he had found out a Match for me, as much to the good-liking of my Familiy, as the very Thoughts of him were uneasy to myself, he made up the Business, according to the Custom, without speaking a Syllable of it to me, and then presently came and  told me, there wanted nothing toward the consummation of that dreadful Contract with Don Gaspar de Benavides, but a Consent of mine; which he foresaw not how dear it would cost me. The Proposal which he made me, surprised me in such a manner, and cut me so to the Heart, that I had not the power to return him an Answer: so that my Silence and my Tears discovered a Repugnance, the Cause of which he could not dive into; and my Mother and he, both pressed me to know the Reason, but in vain. I left 'em so overwhelmed with Despair as put 'em into a kind of Dismay, and went to my Chamber, there to abandon myself to the most violent Agonies of Discontent, that ever I felt in all my Life. How! ( said I,) shall I prove so treacherous as to consent to an Engagement that must separate me from him I love, and fix a Criminal Guilt upon my most innocent Affection? No, no; nothing can constrain me to surcease my Love, and I will have it in my Power to love the Marquis all the remainder of my Life, in contempt of all Reproaches that the Censures of severest Honour can lay to my Charge.  
In the midst of such a frightful and threatening Danger, the only Remedy that I could think of, was to put in Execution, in despite of all the World, my Design of betaking myself to a Nunnery. But besides the Opposition of a Father, whom my first Refusals had already put into a Rage, all that the Marchioness of Puebla had formerly said to me, to dissuade me, return'd to my Remembrance; and methought also that virtue itself forbade me to embrace a Course of Life so opposite to those Sentiments, of which I knew too well it was impossible for me to be cured. On the other side, how to engage with a person whom the natural Inclination which I had for the Marquis would embitter me to hate with a mortal Detestation, when he should possess the place which my Desires so long ago had destined to the Person I adored, I could not think of which way, without suffering worse than Death.  
Which side soever I cast my thoughts, nothing appeared before me but the choice of many Miseries. My heart and mind both equally turmoiled, were in a perpetual struggle with my mortal pains. I prolonged this cruel Uncertainty what to do, as long as possibly I could: but at length my Father and Mother commanded my Obedience, after many fruitless Caresses and soft Persuasions, employing Menaces, and the Authority of Parents; so that I was forced to stifle my Reluctancy, and sign the Order for my Death. However I greatly improved the Merit of the Proof of my Obedience, on purpose to gain time, alleging my Youth, and withal protesting resolutely that I would not be married till after the expiration of two years; which was readily granted me. For I was in hopes by that time, that Heaven would have pity on me, so that the Marriage might be broken off, and the Marquis become my Husband.  
So soon as I was affianc'd, I began to languish and pine away, to that degree, that Love might easily have been conjectured to have been the cause of it, had they observed me fond of any particular Person. But because I seldom or never saw the Person whom my Heart adored, and for that I looked upon all other Men with an Indifferency that amounted even to contempt, no body could dive into the Reason that rendered my Mind and Actions so different from the Vivacity of my early Youth.  
But what I well foresaw, that failed not to befall me; for that same bare Dislike of him who was designed me, from the first moment that I saw him, changed in a few days into a most intolerable Hatred. The Idea of the Marquis of Mansera, so different from his to whom they were about to sacrifice me, infused into me such a Detestation of all his Applications, that had he been a Person never so little delicate, he would have repented of his ever having had me in his Thoughts. But my virtue, which never forsook me, notwithstanding the Vehemence of my Affection, made me resolve, in despite of myself, to fix a Kindness upon the Person that was prepared to be my Husband; and summoning up all the remainder of my Reason, I took a Resolution to employ myself so diligently in the Family, and to avoid whatever could re-enliven my Inclinations in favour of the Marquis, that by that means I might insensibly cure my Heart. I banished myself from all Society where I was assured of meeting him, and as if Fortune had been desirous to second my Design, the Marquis came several times to the City, without visiting my Father; whether the Care of his Estate or his Love took up his Thoughts more seriously then before, I am not certain.  
But you shall see,( my dear Eleonora,) how far still my Misfortunes persecuted me. While I kept myself thus close immured within Doors, to purchase Repose at the expense of all that could flatter my Heart, I was so unhappy, that all those whose Company it was not possible for me to avoid, were infinitely taken with me; and as if the Love which I concealed at the bottom of my Heart, had infected all that came near me, I had in a short time as many Lovers as near Relations; nay, an Old Acquaintance of my Father's, at past Sixty Years of Age, would needs be doting, with one Leg in the Grave.  
How! said I to myself, is it not enough that I am enforced to endure the sight of a declared Lover, whom I hate, because I love the Marquis, but that I must be haunted by these Encroachers, that, like so many Enemies, would ravish from him the Felicity that never is like to be any other body's but his own. Sometimes I was ashamed that all those Rivals were so unworthy of him. Methought that his Vanity and mine were not satisfied with such an easy Victory. Sometimes I wished, that whatever was most amiable in the World, would fall in Love with me, to make a Sacrifice to Mansera, which might at least put his own Love in a ferment, if it could not move his Heart. But as much importuned as I was by those impertinent Flames which I kindled myself, I must confess that I could not forbear priding myself with some sort of Pleasure, that it was in my power to inspire Love. I had a kind of envious Joy, that I was able to disperse my feeble Charms upon Objects that I could not Love, in hopes that those Allurements being seconded by the most violent Passion in the World, would find, perhaps one day, the means to work the same Effect upon the Marquis's Heart. That tender Affection which I meditated for the Marquis, notwithstanding the Care which I had taken to banish him from my remembrance, readily caused me to fall into Discourses of Tenderness; which presently they all, like Fools, applied to themselves; and thus, without engaging my own Heart in any danger, I learned to please the Marquis, at the expense of those, who, I was sure, would never please me. But alas! who would have  told me then that all these Fancies of mine were but as so many Tyrants and Spies which my Destiny had prepared for me, to ranverse, one day, the Familiarity which it behoved me to have with the Marquis.  
I had spent some Months without seeing him either at my Father's House, or in any other place; when upon his return from a Journey to Madrid, he came to pay a Visit to my Father; who being intent upon a Business which he could not leave, desired him to walk up into my Chamber, where by chance I was all alone. The Confusion and surprise that I was in, to see the Marquis enter my Apartment, might certainly have been sufficient to have discovered some part of what turmoyl'd my Heart, had he not been so taken up with his own Amours, that he took no notice of any body else. I Complimented him without ceasing, and without any coherence. I talked to him of his Journey; and asked him twenty rambling Questions, without considering what I said. This proved so tiresome to the Marquis, that he was no less chafed with my Impertinencies, then I was embarrass'd and perplexed at his Presence: so that all Discourse hetween us ceasing, he drew out of his Pocket, in a musing Posture, a little Box set round with Diamonds, which he played with in his Hand a good while, never speaking a word, and for some time not taken notice of by myself. But at last it came into my Mind that some body had  told me, that he carried, at the bottom of a little Forsett, the Picture of that amiable Rival of whom you have heard me talk so often; and the remembrance of that, inflamed as well my jealousy as my Curiosity, to get a sight, of it. To which purpose I requested the Marquis to let me see the Devices that were engraved upon the Box. But alas! they all agreed in those short Sentences that only served to fester my secret Wounds; and Love, that never failed of any Opportunity to make me sensible of his most painful Torments, immediately taught me the way to open the Plate that covered the bottom of the Box. Mansera, who never mistrusted my knowing that Secret, would fain have snatched the Box out of my Hands; but he could not do it so quickly, as to hinder me from the sight of the most amiable Portraiture that ever Eyes beholded. But then it was, that in a lucky minute, my Father, who entered the Chamber at the same time, fell into serious Discourse with the Marquis; and in regard their Business would not admit of my Society, gave me a fair opportunity to conceal from their Observance the strange Agitation and Disturbance of my Mind.  
The Beauty of my Rival's Portra●ture Thunder-struck me in such a manner, that I could not be at rest, till I had satisfied myself whether she were really so fair as the Picture made her appear to be; and I soon contrived a way to be carried to the Nunnery, that concealed so much Perfection from the Eyes of the World. But Good God! how strangely was I surprised, when I beholded her a thousand times more Charming then her Portraiture. All the blooming Glories, all the embellishments that brightly flourish in the Flower of early Youth, and all the Charms of all the Graces, were mustered together in her Countenance and her Person. The White of her Complexion so lively and so dazzling, that nothing could equal the Lustre of it. Her Forehead spacious: Her Eyes the most lovely Blue in the World, full, well-shaped, and well enchased, but more quick and sparkling then is usual for Blue Eyes to be: Her Eye-brows large and thick, and which Nature, on purpose to augment the lustre of her Whiteness, had made more darkly Brown then her Hair was Flaxen-bright. The Proportion of her Nose exact, her Mouth little, her Lips vermilion; her Teeth outvy'd the polished Ivory, and in their Rows stood close and even: when she spoken, the Tone of her Voice was music to the Ear, while the whole circuit of her Cheeks empal'd Perfections not to be expressed: Her Neck drew Admiration: Her Stature small, but extremely delicate: Her Conversation and her Disposition brisk and lively; and such an Elegant, such an Alluring, such a majestic Air accompanied her Gestures and Deportment, that many more proper Women, and more regular Beauties, attracted not so much as did those Graces that rendered her so universally delightful.  
In short, she'ad this peculiar Grace,  
Something to have, I know not what to call it:  
And yet a Wonder 'twas  
Did Miracles surpass.  
The Heart Love cannot quell, her Charms enthrall it:  
For his Allurements she wears all about her,  
Her Smiles no Pen or Pencil can depaint;  
An Air too, which all other Women want;  
Which you may see, never know what 'tis without her.  
However, my Vexation to find the Marquis's Mistress so surprising fair, could not restrain me from extoling her Beauty. She, on the other hand, replied to my Encomiums with an extraordinary Politeness; and withal, That since she had been so happy by my finding the way to her Nunnery, I would do her the Honour not to forget it: That she was already sensible my Company would be extremely delightful to her; and that I had no reason to be frighted at the solitude of the grace, for that sometimes I should meet with such good Society in that same lovely Retirement, as would give me no cause to repent my visiting a Recluse. But alas! she was far from understanding how truly she spoken, and that I knew better then she, that I could find in her Room of Entertainment, every Day, the only Person that could please me. But I departed with that Confusion and Despite, which made me resolve never to return thither again, as long as I lived.  
I must aclowledge, That all that wonderful Perfection of Beauty and Allurement which I met with in that amiable Person, struck me with a more sensible Grief, then all that I had undergone before. I found something in the Comparison between her Person and mine, that so strangely humbled me, that I was above a Month before I would see my Face in the Looking-glass. What Hope, said I to myself, remains for me, after the Sight that I have seen? The Marquis loves, with a superlative Affection, the most Charming Person in the World, and will he ever cease to Love her? Or, grant that Time, by some strange Accidents that cannot be fore-seen, should dis-unite Two Lovers so worthy of each other; is it probable it should be Me that the Marquis will Love, when nothing else will serve him but such transcending Objects? No, No,— it behoves me for ever to cure myself; and I meet, in my Curiosity, those Remedies which my Reason never could supply me with. The Charms of my Rival will triumph over the most obstinate Passion that ever was; and I myself would strike a Dagger through my Heart, should it be still so weak to love Mansera.  
The Resolution which I then took to vanquish my unfortunate Fondness, was now more vehement and more sincere then ever it had been. I began more carefully then ever to avoid whatever might put me in Remembrance of the Marquis. Instead of shutting myself up, as formerly, in my Family Retirement, I only sought the dissipation of my Sorrows with the Amusements and Diversions of Company; and I resolved to cast a favourable Eye of Impartiality to consider the Merit of Don Gaspar, in hopes of a Remedy to cure my Heart of that foolish Love which I had so long vainly cherished. But how difficult a thing it is to extirpate a real Passion! All that I could do was so far from abating my Indignation, that it rather augmented my Contempt. All that I could see worthy of my Love in Gaspar de Benavid●z, so little availed to chase Mansera from my Heart, that it only served to fix him deeper in my Memory: there was nothing that appeared most charming to the Eyes of others, that sufficiently resembled him, so as to claim a pre-eminence above him; and all the Merit which Don Gaspar had, seeming no other then the reflection of Mansera's, served only to render me more sensible of his Worth In short, I found that pleasure and variety of lovely Objects were more dangerously contributory to soster a violent Passion, then the reflections of Retirement.  
Nevertheless I ceased not to mortify my own, in some measure; multiplicity of Conversation, and the Hurry of Company, those Enemies to serious Meditation, would not permit me the leisure to think of the Marquis: and it seemed to me, that my Tenderness for him was extremely abated, and that I might flatter myself in a short time to regain that Tranquillity which I had so long thirsted after, tho' in vain, for Ten years together. But Love, who from my Infancy had looked upon me as a Victim devoted to all his Torments, had no intention that I should so soon escape him.  
For no sooner did I begin to applaud the Success of the Care which I had taken to cure myself, but I received tidings which in a moment quiter ranvers'd the whole Progress, which to my thinking I had made. 'twas here, and in this very place, that a Lady came to my Mother, with whom I then was, and  told us, that the lovely Person whom the Marquis adored, was fallen so dangerously ill, that 'twas thought she could not possibly recover. There needed no more for me, to recall to my Heart all that Kindness which I was well in hopes had been expelled; and the Disturbance which this Intelligence gave me, appeared so visible in my Countenance, that Dona Pepa who was walking with my Mother, perceived it, and took me away from the Company, least others should take notice of it. But in regard she was a Stranger altogether to the Reason, nor could dive into it, she persuaded her self that, either the Lady who accosted us was my Rival, or at least, that she was the Confident of the Person whom I loved, and that the sight of her had occasioned that Commotion of my Thoughts; and therefore she used all her utmost Endeavours, to be more clearly satisfied: but I answered her only with my Tears.  
So soon as I came to be alone, I found that Love is never so violent as when it is upheld by some glimmerings of Hope. Wherefore, ( said I to myself,) if my Rival die, should I despair to mary a Person whose Heart is accustomed to Love? the Consideration of my Constancy, and of the vehemency of the Flames that he has kindled in my Breast, would they not move a Soul, the most remote from Loving? Is it possible for me to put him out of Conceit with Love, I that have been more in Love then all the Persons in the World together? and my excess of Tenderness, and the Wit with which I am flattered to be Mistress of, may they not be sufficient to supply the Defects of Beauty? But then ( replied I to myself) if I love the Marquis, is it fair for me to think of building my Felicity upon a Loss which is like to cost him so many Tears, if it rather does not cost him his Life? Can he ever forget the Person he has doted on for so many years; and if he call to mind the multiplicity of her Charms, can he enure himself to a meaner and less alluring Amour? No,— no,— Unfortunate Teresa! No,— wish that thy Rival may live; 'twill be a greater Torment to thee, and a greater shane to be contemned and slighted after her Decease.  
I spent the whole six Months, during which time that most amiable Lady lay ill, under the most terrible Agitation of a vehement Passion; and suffered so many different pains, that I admire I was not as dead as she. And Dona Pepa, whom mutual Friendship had engaged to visit me every day, could conjecture nothing by the change of my Humour; my Sadness being a Riddle not to be unfolded by all her Art.  
Well,— at length I understood this most amiable Person was departed this Life. I likewise discovered that the Marquis had been married to her several years, and that the respect which he had for his Father obliging him to keep the Marriage private, as being without his Consent, that prudent Lady, the more easily to conceal the knowledge of it from the House of Mansera, had for seven years preferred the Solitude of a Nunnery, where she continued till her Death, before all the Delights and Pleasures that her Birth and Beauty had by a free and sociable Enjoyment of the World, entitled her to.  
For my part I was overwhelmed with such a Load of Sorrow, hearing how despairingly the Marquis was dejected at her Death, that I was enforced to shut myself up in my Chamber for several days together, under pretence of being not well; only Dona Pepa was the sole Person that I called to my Aid. She, one day found me bathed all over in my Tears, and so terribly cast down with bitter Anguish, that she conjured me with more Tenderness then ever, to discover the Cause of such a profound and piercing Grief; so that at length, being prest to seek for that assistance from the Counsels of a Friend, which I could not hope for from my own Reason, I surrendered to her Importunities, and laid open the terrible Condition of my Heart.  
'tis no longer, ( said I) convenient for me to dissemble with such a Friend as you are, and therefore, Pepa, give Attention to that which you will hardly believe: This amiable Person, who has now been dead two days, and the Marquis of Mansera, whose Excess of Sorrow all the World compassionates, are the Persons for whom I am the most concerned in the World. The one was my Rival, the other is the only Person that ever touched my Heart. I began to love him as soon as I began to know myself. In vain my Reason, my virtue, Process of Time, and his Passion for another, used all their utmost Endeavours to cure me; I always loved him, and love him still, with a flamme not to be paralleled; and the Death of his Lady reviving that Hope which her Beauty and the Marquis's Love had quiter extinguished in me, I am now no longer Mistress of my Thoughts. I throw myself therefore into your Arms, my dearest Pepa; have pity upon an unfortunate Virgin, that will be liable to commit a thousand Extravagancies, if your counsels cannot call back the Reason she has lost. There is a Necessity the Marquis should know that I have adored him ever since I was born; and I know not what should hinder me, considering my present Transports, from going myself this very moment, to declare it to him. But who has  told me that no other will prevent me, or that a Heart so full of Tenderness and Fidelity as his at present is known to be, will not be coveted by a Thousand Women that are more alluring then myself? No, no,— I'll lose no more time, and tho' I were to die, I am resolved that he shall know I love him.  
Dona Pepa, seeing the Trouble I was in, knew well, 'twas to no purpose to seek the Extirpation of so violent a Passion; only she sought in some measure to appease the Fury of it; and to that purpose feigning to be of my Opinion, she conjured me not to be over-hasty, but to leave to her the Care of my Destiny, which would be much more safe in her hands, then in mine.  
The next morning she return'd to me again, and finding me a little more calm then the Evening before, she thought she might recover my Reason, or put a stop at least, to the Resolution I had taken, of making an open Acknowledgement of my Love to the Marquis. To which purpose she employed all the Reasons that a nimble-witted and judicious Friend could make use of, which she also accompanied both with Prayers and Tears; but in regard she saw there was no Cure for my Folly, she thought her self engaged by her Friendship to moderate at least the Extravagancies which the Blindness of my Passion was going to commit; and to that end, she drew me into a serious Examination and Consideration of all the Resolutions which my troubled Fancy had suggested; and in the midst of so many Extremities into which I resolved to precipitate myself, she persuaded me to choose the least Dangerous and least Terrible.  
All that Night I spent in writing a Letter to the Marquis of Mansera, in a Counterfeit Hand, by which I let him know, that there was a Lady, and a young Virgin, who had been in Love with him for Ten years together, with a Constancy hitherto unparalelled, and who by the Care which still she took to disguise her self in writing to him, sought to reap no other Advantage of the terrible Adventure she had undertaken, then to let him understand, That how unfortunate soever he were in the Loss he had sustained, there was in the World a Lady no less miserable then himself.  
This Letter being delivered to the Marquis upon the first Concussions of his Grief, he was so incensed, that he threatened the Person that carried it, to have him thrown out at Window, if he presumed to bring him any more of the same Nature. The ill Success of this first Attempt was so far from offending me, that it enhanced the Esteem which I had for him: For I did not desire, that in the midst of that Despair wherein it behoved him to be, he should give any better Reception to a Love-Letter from heaven knew whom.  
Two days after, I ventured a Second Letter, the particular Contents of which, one would have thought should have at least awakn'd Mansera's Curiosity. For I spake so much in praise of the Lady he had lost, that he could not choose but be affencted with the reading it; and the Brother of that lovely Person, to whom he had related the Story of my first Letter, being with him at the same time that he received the second, gave it him to red, and desired him to return such an Answer as might free him, for the future, from any more such impertinent and unseasonable Extravagancies.  
This he did with a Witness: for the Answer which he sent me was so harsh and full of contemptuous Language, as if it had been studied to quell my courage for ever writing again; for I  shed more Tears in reading it, then the Marquis had let fall since his Lady first fell sick. Moreover the Mortification to be rejected with so much slight and scorn, presented itself before my Eyes in all the Horror of it, and sometimes I resolved to abandon utterly the mean and unbecoming Project which I had set on foot. But Love in a few days got the Mastery of my Indignation, and of all that little Reason that was return'd to me. I wrote a third Letter to the Marquis, conjuring him by the Charms and by the Remembrance of her whom he had so infinitely adored, to have Pity upon a Passion no way to be avoided, and considering the modest Desires to which it aspired, could no way be offensive to him: I only besought him to take a Turn one Morning in the Garden of Alhambra, and there he should meet the Person unknown, that so passionately loved him. But the Proposal of an Assignation put him into such a Fume, that he tore the Letter into bitts, and forbid his Servants, in the presence of the Messenger, to suffer him any more to come within his Doors.  
The Relation of the ill Reception which my Third Letter met with, made me believe, that so long as I concealed myself under the Name of an unknown Person, I should never be otherwise then slighted and affronted by him; and that on the other side, if I dealt fairly above Board, he could not choose at least but have some Respect for me, when he understood my Name, and that after such a foolish beginning, there was no other way for me, but fully to discover myself. Therefore overcome by this corroding Resolution, I wrote to the Marquis in my own Hand, and in regard he was no more acquainted with it, th●n with my former Writing, I signed with my own Name a Letter which I believe that never any young Lady before me had the Misfortune to subscribe. And in regard the Civilities and Testimonies of Friendship which he had received from my Family since the Loss he had sustained, were such that in gratitude he could not but wait upon my Mother, the time being over that Decency forbid him to pay Visits: and I begged the favour of him, to vouchsafe me that Mark of his Compassion upon a Person, whom perhaps he would not find altogether unworthy of it, when the Purity and Sincerity of her Affection should be known. He confessed to me afterwards, so far from being the Person that I acted, that he could not believe the Letter came from me; persuading himself that it was some Female Enemy of mine, who had made use of my Name, to try whether she could expose me to a Piece of Indiscretion that would have undone me past Recovery.  
The Visit which he made me so soon as he could stir abroad, had like to have confirmed him in this Mistake: for I had appointed him the Hour; and my Father himself brought him into my Chamber, after he had received his first compliments. But he found me a-bed, and two Waiting-Women sitting by me at work; and he could not believe that a young Lady, that was to discourse him about such an important Secret, should be so careful to keep two Women by her. So that after he had return'd me my compliment, and made me an Answer to some Questions which I asked him in reference to the Loss that had reduced him to that mournful Condition wherein he was, he rose up to take his leave, as being fully persuaded, that I could not be the Person who had appointed him the Meeting. But then the Confusion and Perplexity I was in, cannot neither be expressed, nor imagined. I had like, several times, to have begun a most dreadful Discourse, but every time I found that Words failed me. At length, seeing him ready to depart, I asked him, with a trembling utterance, whether he had nothing to say to me? He answered me with more confusion and trouble in his Countenance, That the Habit which he wore, and the Tears that ran down his Cheeks, spoken all that he had to think of; and that he had nothing else to talk of, but his Grief. Oh Sir! ( said I) will you still use me thus unmercifully? is it possible that my Condition cannot move your Pity? what Necessity was there, that I should so afflict myself? and that I have wished a thousand times, that the loss of my Life could have restored to your Embraces, the Person you have lost, that you should be so cruel, as not to afford me one kind Word, to alleviate those dreadful Pains that I have suffered for your sake these Ten years together. I will assure ye at the same time, that you may safely speak your Mind before my Women; and tho' they might be able to understand us, the prudent Conduct I have hitherto observed, would not permit 'em to believe that all which you should say, had any Relation to myself. With that he re-approach'd my Bed, in a Confusion that equalled mine; and after he had wiped from his Eyes the Tears which my Discourse drew in more abundant showers, Is it possible, Madam, ( said he) that you can say, you understand what Love is, and that you should exact from me the Patience to hear it discoursed of? No, Madam, no, nothing can extirpate from my Heart the real Grief that overwhelms me; even Time itself will lose the Power it has over common Afflictions. I cannot but from the bottom of my Heart lament your Misfortune, to be enslaved to so cruel a Destiny. However I can promise ye to keep inviolably secret what you have written to me, and to avoid all Places where I may think to meet ye; for my Grief is to dear bought, and may perhaps be in some danger, by conversing with a Person, who, with your Wit, shall go about to assuage it.  
Having said these Words, he hastily brushed from me, not giving me leisure to reply. Neither do I believe, I could have had the Strength to do it, tho' time had been allowed me. The Confusion wherein I was at that instant, is not to be imagined. To what Disgrace ( said I to myself, reproaching my own Folly) art thou reduced, unfortunate Teresa! Ah! couldst thou have the Confidence to tell a Man thou lovd'st him, and yet survive the Grief to hear him say, that he could never return Love for Love? Woe is me, there is nothing but Death that can obliterate the Ignominy to which thou hast debased thyself. But, ( said I, immediately after) could I expect other from the Marquis, considering his Condition? Would he be worthy of my Heart, should he forget his Sorrows already, to abandon himself to the Transports of a new Passion? Did it not behove me to look for all that has befallen me? It did— and all that he has done, to cut off my Hopes, but renders him more bright in my Esteem, and more strongly engages my Adoration of him. Since then he cannot grant me my Desires, what is it I would have? Alas! I only desire to intermix my Tears with his, and in his Company to seek that Consolation which unfortunate Lovers find in talking of their Miseries; and happy should I be, if in the midst of that which overwhelms his Soul, of all the Sighs it fetches from his Breast, he could but breath one tender blast of Compassion for my Affliction.  
After this baneful Interview, I forbore for some time, to tyre the Marquis with my Letters, and contented myself to meet him sometimes, in certain By-Walks, where he retired conceal his Grief from the Eyes of the World. There, that I might not force him to avoid me, I only entertained him with Discourses of the Merit and Beauty of the Lady he had lost, and to the end I might accustom him to talk of Tenderness with me, I feigned to take Delight in hearing him talk of all that he had suffered for her sake. I applauded his Grief, and instead of going about to Comfort him, I  told him, He had all the Reason in the World to be the most afflicted of Men. But, in regard, it was a difficult thing to abstain from intermixing in our Discourses something that savoured of those Sentiments of Kindness for him, which I had openly professed, for fear of engaging himself too far in my Company, and the surprises of my Discourse, he retired for Three Months to a certain Country Solitude, where, all at leisure, and remote from all converse with Men, he surrendered himself up to the Excesses of his Grief, with more impatience then when he first poured forth his mournful Lamentations for his departed Mistress.  
However, I could not all that time refrain from giving him some Marks of my Remembrance; but the Care which he had taken to conceal the Place of his Retirement, deprived me of the means of sending to him. But what Contrivances are there that can escape the subtle Contrivances of Love? I bethought myself one Day, of going in Disguise to visit a little Daughter of his, the only Child which he had by his Wife. I carried several Toys and Jewels along with me, and after I had made two or three Visits to the Child, feigning to have something of Importance to impart to the Father, I obliged the Governess to let me know the Place where he was gone to discharge his Sorrows. Presently I wrote him Letters full of compliments only, wherein I always flattered his Grief, that he might not grow weary of my Intercourse. These Letters, and what the Governess wrote to him, of the Visits of an unknown Lady, whom he readily conjectured to be myself, drew civil Answers from him, and engaged him to come and return me Thanks at his Return.  
In a short time after his Arrival, I became more courageous. I boldly talked to him of my Affection, and wrote him the fondest and most tender Letters imaginable. He answered smoothly and free from any Froppishness, but with a kind of coldness, and some stroke of Ralliery, which I many times found more galling, then his down-right Anger.  
All this while, this sort of Intercourse, and the Visits which I obliged the Marquis to pay me, from time to time, had infused into me a sort of Vivacity, that had not, for a long while, been observed to be in me, by the Spies that were put upon me in the Family. My Father, also more quicksighted then any body else, soon unraveled the Reason, from the time that my Behaviour had created a Suspicion within him, that I had something in my Head which displeased him; so that the violent Care which he had of every thing that concerned me, blinded him to such a height, that, without considering the Consequences of what he was going to do, he forbid me, upon my Life, to speak to the Marquis of Mansera, and went himself to desire him to forbear his House.  
My Refusal to Obey my Father, enraged his Choler to the highest Extremity. He took my Waiting-Women from me, and set others, more like Guardians then Servants, upon me. He ordered a Watch upon me in his House, and having intercepted a Letter which I wrote to the Marquis, he shew'd it to the Person to whom I was betrothed; no Consideration of the Misfortunes which he was preparing for his Daughter all the rest of her Days being able to stop his Fury.  
Now, in regard I had given private notice to the Marquis of all that I suffered for his sake, and had assured him, that all the most cruel Torments that jealousy could invent, were so far from abating that Passion which he had infused into me, that I would bless my Pains, if they could but force from his Breast one Sigh, in pity of my Sufferings, He was most infinitely concerned for the Hardships I endured, and of which he could not question but that himself was the Cause. He then began to writ to me, as Lenitives to assuage my Pains, more tender Letters, then, as yet, he had ever done; and, at length, vanquished by my Importunities, and by the train of Misfortunes, easily foreseen, which jealousy rendered every Day then other more terrible, he consented to mary me privately. All that I did to bring this to pass, would be a Story too tedious to tell ye: For all that were about me were my Guards; yet all the while I wrote to him Day and Night, and sometimes I made a shift to get into his Company. And thus you see what my Father and Mother got by tormenting me.  
But, good God! how had they been revenged, had they understood the secret Afflictions of my Soul! The Knowledge, and the Compassion of my Sufferings, were the only Motives that caused the Marquis to act: Love had no share in what he did for me; and I had the troublesone Misfortune for a Year together, to find that the most lively Marks of a violent Passion can never gain a Heart which has not a natural Inclination to Surrender.  
But, at length, my Perseverance, and my Importunities, were crowned with Success. By degrees I wrought so effectually with the Marquis, that I made him forget the Excess of his former Grief. His Heart, accustomed to Love, grew Familiar with another Object; and I had Reason to believe, that my Tenderness had absolutely triumphed over his could Indifferencies. I also thought I might Flatter myself, that he loved me, as well as I loved him; and all the Business that employed us both, was only to engage my Father to recall the Promise he had given to Don Gaspar de Benavidez.  
The End of the First PART.   

THE HISTORY Of the MARQUIS of MANSERA And DONA TERESA. The Second and Last PART.  
BY this time, Night had constrained the Fair Teresa and her Friend to part Company, and to refer till another Time, the Continuation of the Story; but the Place where they had sate so long together, had imprinted such an impatient Curiosity in Dona Eleonora, that she wrote to Dona Teresa, to meet her at the same place, where they had so delightfully entertained each other, so soon as the heat of the Day would permit. To which Dona Teresa, readily consenting, they met both together betimes; and after a turn or two in the Walk, retired, and seated themselves upon the same Bank of Turf, where they sate the Evening before; at what time, Dona Teresa reassumed the Recital of her Adventures, in the following manner.  
I concluded my Recital Yesterday, with telling ye, that the sad and deplorable Condition, wherein I had lived for Ten Years together, began to change extremely for the better; and that the Marquis of Mansera, grown sensible of acknowledgement, suffered himself, at length, to be touched with a more lively and tender Compassion. I met with those Returns from his Heart, that left nothing more for me to desire, and sometimes sadden'd me with a real Distrust that my Felicity would not long endure. Is it possible, ( said I) that Love, in pity of my Woes, should wound with the same Shaft the Person for whose sake I have so long been harras'd by such bitter Sufferings? Can it be, that I shall ever see my Destiny and his united together? and that my Passion, authorized by my Duty, will never give me cause to be ashamed of the Excess of it? He will become my Husband, and I, without control, shall be allowed to love him. O Heavens! Grant then that this Felicity may no longer be delayed; accomplish our Vows, and make my Father pliant to my earnest Supplications. These were the Reflections that busied my Thoughts, and thus it was that I reasoned with Dona Pepa: For in regard I had entrusted her with my Secret, I never talked of the Marquis with any other Person. She procured me the Pleasure of seeing him frequently in the Walks, and sometimes of speaking to him through a Lattice-Window, that looked into the Garden, where she gave him certain notice when to meet.  
Now, in regard he has a Wit endued with a wonderful quickness of Penetration, and a Heart withal so tender, that rendered him, both together, the most lovely and most delicate of Men, one Minute's Conversation with him, afforded me so many Charms, that I found wherewithal to employ myself whole Days and Months together. And this was the Posture of our Affairs, when my Father removed to one of his Country Houses: But alas! would ye believe it; a Secret presaging Apprehension whispered to my Heart some part of my ensuing Misfortunes. I could not spare above a quarter of an hour to take my leave of the Marquis; my Father's Severity would permit me no more; and had it not been for my faithful Pepa, I had not seen him at all. I remember that I found him that day still more tender and more obliging then ever yet I had known him to be. My Departure and my Absence afflicted him to Extremity, tho' it was to be but for Six Weeks. Think you, ( said he) that I can possibly remain so long without your Company, my dear Teresa; I will find ye out, in despite of those that oppose our mutual Felicity: for whatsoever Vexation and Trouble they put me to, 'twill be far less disturbance then your Remoteness from me. Good God! ( cried I,) have I attained at length to make you sensible, that the want of my Company will abate something of your Happiness? Now 'tis your Turn to feel those Motions of Tenderness which I felt all alone by myself; and you find yourself in the same Condition I have so long time desired, to partake both of my Hopes and my Afflictions. But how much inferior are my Pains to the sweets which now I taste, since I am certain of the Possession of your Heart. But how much more superior to my Pleasures are my Pains, ( cried he) since I became your Lover! so far as yet remote from a Blessing that can only assure the Happiness of my Life. Yes,— dear Teresa, you are All in All to me. There is an absolute Necessity of dis-engaging yourself from Benavidez; his Wit, his Disposition, and in a word, whatever is not your own faithful Marquis is no way worthy of ye. How deliciously did these Expressions, my dear Eleonora, diffuse themselves to the Bottom of my Heart! I there engraved 'em all; and many times I bathed his Hands with my Tears, tho' he could hardly reach 'em to me through the narrow Lattice: nor was he wanting to lay his amorous Lips to mine; and notwithstanding the dreadful Torture wherein I was obliged to see him, I would not have changed my Condition with the greatest of Queens.  
Well— away we went into the Country, and Benavidez, went with us; my Father would not leave him behind: for he looked upon him as a Person whose Wealth would fulfil his Desires, and satisfy his Covetous Humour. He never minded whether I loved or hated him; as being persuaded that the sovereign Felicity of Man, consisted in the Blessings of Fortune. A miserable Mistake of People far advanced in Years, whose Age has quiter extinguished the Fire of Youth! They know no other Deity but Fortune, and only Sacrifice to her. How unhappy was I, to be the Interested Object of these reflections! but how much more to hear that the Marquis was enforced to go to Court, without being able to give me notice of his departure.  
Now, in regard I knew not at first of his going, I flattered myself continually, that he would contrive some way to come in Disguise to my Father's House: and, with these Hopes, I got up every Morning, before Sun-rising, and waking Dona Pepa, I went with her to hear the Birds sing, in a great High-way that led to my Father's Castle, upon the Road to Grenada: There, with a Heart full of Love, and the Idea of the Marquis's Affection, I took an extreme Delight, to Fancy to myself how joyful I should be to see him appear. But, alas! how my Expectations were deceived when I understood he was gone to Madrid! of which I had notice by a Letter from him, the most affectionate, and most obliging that ever he wrote me. For my dear Eleonora, as he speaks with an Admirable Grace, so he writes with an Eloquence that far surpasses his Elocution.  
His fatal Departure left me almost voided of all Consolation; and this fell out just at the very time, when the Two Years that I had resolved to stay, before I would mary Don Gaspar, were very near expired. Good God! what will become of me, thought I! abandoned to the absolute Power of a Father, and to the Importunities of a Person that would not be repulsed by my Disdains, nor his knowledge of my Affection for his Rival.  
In these, and such like Doleful reflections, all my thoughts were plundg'd; and I sought for Solitude and lonely Retirement, where I might, without Disturbance, and unseen, bewail the terrible Distresses that overwhelmed me.  
One Day, that I was got into the thickest part of a Wood, that hinders the prospect of one side of my Father's House, I stopped by the Bank of a purling charet; and laying myself down upon the Grass, drew out of my bosom, some of the Marquiss's Letters, which I carried along with me, to afford me the Consolation of reading 'em over again. But at the very instant that I thought myself most secure, and under that Protection, had abandoned myself to the Transports of my Grief and Affection, my Father, who was got close to me without being perceived, seeing me all bathed in Tears, with my Eyes fixed upon the Letters, violently snatched 'em out of my Hands; and the first Letter that Chance presented to him discovered all the Contrivances, between the Marquis and myself, to disappoint my Marriage with Benavidez. I shall not stand to tell ye how my Father reviled me; nor trouble ye with his outrageous Threats, or with my own Despair. They are things that better may be imagined then expressed. 'tis sufficient to tell ye that from that Fatal Moment, he took a Resolution, not to leave me so much as one Day together, at my own disposal. He halled me back to the House, as if I had been an Offender. I threw myself a thousand times at his Feet, and conjured my Mother, by all that was most dear to her, to have Compassion upon me. Love and Grief both equally envigour'd my Words and Actions: But nothing could move'em. I was an unfortunate Victim which they were resolved to Sacrifice, and which they sacrificed indeed. I have said enough, to let ye know the vast Dominion which the Marquis had over my Soul; and being assured of that, you must certainly agree with me, that the inevitable necessity of avoiding the Marquis for ever, and surceasing to love him, could not choose but be more terrible to me then Death itself. Oh Barbarous Death! how often did I call in vain upon thee for Succour, when I saw myself upon the brink of being Married to Don Gaspar, notwithstanding my Hatred of him, and that I must be forced to pay him a sort of Affection, by the Constraint of that Necessity which my Duty imposed upon me.  
But Death, no less deaf to my Prayers, then my Father inexorable to my Tears, both equally refused to grant me what I sued for, with so much earnestness. He dragged me to his Chapel in the Castle, where I was stayed for to accomplish the Fatal Ceremony. But presently I swooned away in my Mother's Arms; and would to God my Nuptial Pomp might have proved my Funeral Obsequies.  
Good God! what a most dismal Terror was it to me, when being come to my self, I considered, that the Condition, wherein the violence of my Misfortune had fixed me, obliged me to tear from my Heart the Person whom I loved more tenderly then my own Life? Tear him from my Heart! Alas! was it in my Power do ye think to do it! How was it possible that a Tenderness so deeply rooted, and with which I was familiar before I knew myself, could be so soon eradicated! So dear an Idea, could I so soon deface it from my Memory! Thus I became the Martyr of an Innocent Passion, and I fell into a deep melancholy, which, all of a sudden, deprived me of that little Consolation with which I had flattered both my Mind and Person; and being resolved to apply myself wholly to my Duty, I thought of nothing but spinning out such a sad and sorrowful Life, as with the soonest might bring me to the Grave.  
In the mean time, I most passionately longed to receive Letters from the Marquis, and to be informed after what manner he had entertained the surprising News. I was about, several times, to have wrote to him, in justification of that Levity which he had some seeming Reason to accuse me of. But then, I as suddenly recollected myself, and blamed my fond Desire, to keep any farther Correspondence with a Person whose Temptations were so dangerous. Forbear ( said I) forbear Teresa, to cherish an Idea so dear to thy remembrance: Banish from thy Heart the Person whom thou canst no longer Love without committing a Crime: 'tis not for thee, to see him any more: 'tis not for thee to listen to him any longer; he believes thee Guilty and Faithless; Unconstant and Untrue to thy Promise; and he is going now to hate thee; at least, 'tis what becomes thee most to wish for. Woe is me, dear Eleonora, to what Extremity was I reduced! to wish the Hatred of a Man that I adored! I never schismatical to my Remembrance these tormenting Griefs, but it brings me to Death's door; and I cannot apprehended how my Father and my Husband could keep me alive, considering the Condition, to which my sadness had reduced me.  
Nor was it only with Moans and Lamentations that I thought to ease my Pains: I shut 'em all up close within myself, and the Silence which I imposed upon my Lips, was very much contributory to augment' em.  
Well,— at length my Father's Business re-call'd him to Grenada, and Don Gaspar, more jealous then amorous, carried me to a Castle of Cartagena, on the one side washed by the Sea, and on the other environed by a long Range of Woods and Rocks. Do but think now to what a desert I was confined, with a Husband whom I hated worse then Death. The Marquis, on the other side, was in a Condition not much more happy then my own. He had been informed of my being married to Don Gaspar, after an abrupt and rustic manner, without any preparation in the World. For one of his Friends, going from Grenada to Madrid, and meeting him in Florida Garden, where the Troubles of his Mind obliged him oft to walk and meditate alone by himself,  told him, without any Preambles, that there had been great Doings at Grenada, since he left it, that I was married to Benavidez, and that my Father had made a very Sumptuous Wedding of it, Feasting all Comers and Goers for several Days together. These unwelcome tidings, so unlook'd-for, strook the Marquis with such a strong surprise, and cut him so deeply to the Heart, that he stood as if he had been transformed into a Statue; and in that miserable Condition they carried him back to his own House However, among all the real Obligations which he laid upon me, I must not silence this, that in the very first Motions of his Passion, at what time Reason is but seldom consulted, he was so generous, as to do my Sentiments of Kindness and Affection Justice. He understood how all along I had been forced with naked Daggers to submit to a Choice so unworthy the Caresses of my Love; and when he bemoaned his own hard Fate, he much more lamented mine.  
When these dreadful tidings first were brought him, the Marquis was just upon accepting a considerable Employment, for which Reason his Relations had sent for him to Court. But, in regard he never desired it, but only that I might share the Advantages of it, so soon as he had lost all Hopes of uniting his Destiny and mine together, he quitted the Court, and took Post for Grenada, like a Man in Despair.  
He did not know but that they had brought me back to the City after the Wedding was over; and therefore, away he ran to Dona Pepa, to be informed what was become of me, and to desire her to give me Notice of his Return. But entering into her Apartment, he felt himself seized with that Extremity of Grief, as being beset with all the ideas which the Place had Reason to schismatical into his Memory, he mistook her Chamber, and passing into a Room, the Door of which stood open, the first Object that strook his Eye was a square gilded Frame, that contained both mine and Don Gaspar's Picture; and the sight of that quiter overturned his Constancy. For he could not brook such a Consent of mine, to be painted with my Husband: He thought there was too much of Tenderness in such a Complaisance; and he began to fear that my Inclination, submissive to my Duty, had made me yield to those Complacencies with less Reluctancy then I ought to have done.  
This stroke of jealousy, of which the Instigations were till then unknown to him, cut him so to the Quick, that he stood like one half Dead; when Dona Pepa coming to him, Ah! Madam, ( cried he) come you to be a Witness of my shane as well as Grief? I had thought the Marriage of your Friend had swelled my Despair as high as it could go; but what I here behold has triumphed over all my Reason. Who could have  told me that I should be more Unfortunate still, by coming to your Lodgings? Yet that which I meet with here, surpasses all the Afflictions I have hitherto endured; Dona Teresa loves her Husband; she has condescended to be painted in the same Picture with him. Just heaven! Is it possible that a Person whom I adore, should love any other? Alas! I bemoaned her, when she her self was Guilty: For, what infernal Horrors, incensed Heav'ns, have ye reserved me! But ye have not reserved me to endure it long; for I will pierce the Heart of my unworthy Rival, who thus has ravished from me her I love, and I will stab my own Heart with the same Dagger at her Feet, whom I had so much Weakness, so much want of Honour to Adore.  
Dona Pepa was so far from going about to clear his mistake, or help him out of that Condition, wherein she saw him, by giving him to understand the doleful Plight of my sad Heart, that she thought it rather became her to make the best Advantage she could of the Marquis's Transportment, in order to cure him of a Passion, which could not choose but be attended with more dangerous Consequences. She had seen me so Obstinate in my Resolutions, never to see the Marquis more, that she thought it would be a great piece of Service done us both, to separate for ever both our Minds and Hearts. She had the Cruelty to behold, without Disturbance, the Trouble and Despair of the too Credulous Marquis, and she was very Careful to forbear mentioning him, in the Letters which she wrote me.  
On the other side, the Marquis, wholly taken up with the Transports of his jealousy, minded only to make me sensible of the Violence of it. He was desirous to see what Answer I would make to his Reproaches, and the most lively Marks of his Tenderness. He wrote me Letters every Day, which he gave to Dona Pepa, to be sent to me, and which Dona Pepa never sent, for fear of adding new Strength to the Sentiments of my Heart, which she knew too impetuous already.  
This Silence of mine, completed the full Measure of his Grief, and confirmed him in his Jealousies; while I, for my part, could not forbear, in all the Letters which I wrote to Dona Pepa, to inquire what was become of our Common Friend. She wrote me word, that he was return'd to Grenada about some Business, but so intoxicated with the Court, and with such an eagerness to be gone again, that she made no question, but that he was fettered in the Charms of some young Beauty at Madrid, and that his former Sorrows for the Marriage, were so quickly over, that he seemed to have utterly forgot the Unfortunate Teresa.  
In what a Condition was I, my dearest Eleonora, to hear these dismal tidings! I never was so deeply sensible before, how well I loved the Marquis, as at that very instant, when I thought I had lost his Heart for ever. This dreadful Grief, being joined with those that already overwhelmed me, made such an Impression upon my Health, that I fell dangerously sick; and, in regard the Place, where Don Gaspar kept me close mu'd up, lies a great way from Grenada, and quiter remote from all Intercourse, I was ready to die for want of the Marquis's not having any knowledge my Distemper.  
pierced therefore to the Quick, that he could receive no Answer to the Letters, and now, no longer questioning my Forgetfulness and Indifferency for him, he thought of nothing more then of removing from a place, where every thing recalled me to his Memory. With that, he return'd to Court, where the War, with which the King of France threatened the Low-Countries, put all Spain into a Consternation, and that the Rapidness of his First Victories seemed to have no other Bounds then the Conquest of all Europe. All the young Courtiers at Madrid, were all upon the spur for Flanders or Catalonia. Among the rest, the Marquis was overjoyed to find an Opportunity to go, in search of an Honourable Death; or else, at least, persuading himself, that he should more easily put me out of his Mind, in the Hurry of those Employments, which his Courage and his Ambition would afford him in the War. So that so soon as he arrived at Madrid, he sued for a Commission to serve in Flanders.  
He was just ready to depart, when Don Gaspar arrived at Madrid, to complain of a piece of Injustice, which the Parliament of Grenada had done him, about a Ship richly laden, that was cast away upon the cost of Cartagena, and of which, Don Gaspar pretended, that a great part of the Goods belonged to him.  
The Necessity that Don Gaspar was in, by Reason of this Affair, to make some stay at Madrid, awakened once more the Marquis's Love, and fed him with some Hopes of making his Advantage of my Husband's Absence, to find me out in the midst of my desert. This Design he had laid, the very first Days of his Despair; for he could not altogether habituate himself to the utter Loss of my Heart. Sometimes also, he would justify me in his own Thoughts, and condemn the Accusations of his jealousy. And tho' he could not perceive the least Glimpse that he could ever be Happy, yet he could not forbear Flattering himself, or at least, to wish himself still my Favourite. And, the more he pondered upon this Design, the more eager were his Desires to undertake it. He conjectured right, that there was no consulting me, which way to bring it to pass, and that, however one of his Letters might find me disposed, I would always prefer my Duty before all the Desires of my Heart. Therefore, to find out which way to put his Contrivance in Execution, he held it necessary to inform himself, what course of Life I lead in my Retirement, and what Orders Don Gaspar had left behind him, for my Security, being all alone. And, that he might be fully instructed of all these Things, he employed an unknown Person, to get in with one of the Servants that attended my Husband in his Chamber: By whom that Person understood, how my Husband, that he might be at rest in his Mind, during the time of his Absence, had left me under the Guard of his Brother, who was more vigilant then Argus, and more difficult of Access, if it were possible, then my Husband; that I led a sad and languishing Life; that I spent the Days in Reading, but more frequently in Weeping; and that the latter ill use of my Eyes, had rendered my Sight so weak, that I was many times forced to make others red to me, but that none of my domestic Servants could please my Curiosity, and that Don Gaspar had promised to seek out for a Maid at Madrid, that was capable to serve me in that particular. What the Marquis heard of my weeping, and of the continual sadness wherein I spent my Life, re-kindl'd all his former Flames, as now, no longer doubting, but that I was Innocent. Upon, which, his eagerness to see me, became far more Violent; and revolving in his Mind all that the Valet de chamber had said, he laid such a Contrivance, that the Execution of it had been altogether impossible for any other then a Person really enamoured. He had observed, in one of his Friend's Houses; a young Maid, whose brisk and lively Air betoken'd a Capacity to acquit her self of a nice and delicate Secret entrusted to her Charge. He gave her perfect Instructions what to do, to Fool Don Gaspar into an entire Confidence of her, and ordered her to be carried to him, by a Venerable Duenna, and a Friar, whose Habit alone suffices at Madrid to command Respect.  
This Maid  told Don Gaspar, that she understood he had a Purpose to sand his Lady a Person that could red to her, and that if he pleased to make choice of her, she made no question but to give me Content; that she was willing to quit Madrid, by Reason of the Hurry and Tumult that attended a City Life; that the Country and Retirement was more Delightful to her, then all the Vanities of the Town; and, that having the Happiness to be born to a small Competency, she desired no Wages. Immediately Don Gaspar lays an Embargo upon her, fully satisfied with what the Good Friar and Reverend Matron spoken in her Commendation. And, for fear she should alter her Mind, he  told her, she should be gone with all speed; promising her withal, that his Letters should be ready the next Day: At the same time, he also gave her a private Admonition, that being placed by himself, so near me, he expected she should serve him as a Spy, and that she should sand him an exact Account of all that I did from Morning till Night.  
It would be a difficult Task to express the flattering Hopes, that such lucky and prosperous Beginnings as these, had revived in the Marquis's Soul. He made all the hast he could to dispatch whatever remained for him to do, in order to the pursuance of his Journey into Flanders. He took his Leave of the King and all the Court; and that Don Gaspar might not have the least Suspicion, that he so much as dreamed of going to Cartagena, he undertook to carry packets of great Importance, which must have else been sent by an Express.  
When he was got Ten Leagues from Madrid, he sent away his' Squire, with the King's Orders, into Flanders; and he with Don Gaspar's Letter for myself, and and Don Bertrand,( for that was my Brother-in-Law's Name) he got with that speed to Cartagena, as if he had flown with the Wings of Love. He had no body with him but a Valet de chamber, of whose Fidelity he was assured, and who carried along with him, every Thing that was necessary for his Disguise; and, in regard he had a lovely Head of flaxen Hair, with a Youthful, and delicate complexion, 'twas no difficult Thing for him to pass for what he seemed to be. 'tis true, he was somewhat too tall for a Woman, but he shrunk himself up so Artificially in his long Mantle, and with so much Ingenuity, that I myself was deceived the first time I saw him.  
In this Equipage he arrived at our House, causing himself to be lead by his Valet de chamber, who was said to be one of his Uncles. Presently they asked for Don Bertrand, and the Marquis, wrapped up in his Mantle, and only discovering one of his Eyes delivered him Don Gaspar's Letters. When he had red 'em, he entred my Chamber, and  told me that there was a Maid come, that my Husband had sent to red to me. I would have joyfully received her from any other Hand but his: But when I came to consider that she was a Person wholly at his Devotion, and by him appointed to be always near me, to inform him the more exactly of my most private Thoughts, I had so great an Aversion for the Maid, that I  told Don Bertrand, that there was no Necessity that I should see her; that 'twas sufficient that Don Gaspar, had agreed with her, and that I would call for her when I had occasion for her.  
This Message most terribly afflicted the Marquis; besides, that he had a Chamber appointed for him, far remote from mine, and he stayed Two Days without seeing me. He was in some Hopes he should meet me in some private Walk; but his Misfortune and mine, would needs so order it, that I stirred not out in all those Two Days. I leave you to judge what terrible Convulsions of Fear and Anguish tormented the poor Marquis all this while, as well for the Loss of so many precious Minutes, as out of a dread, least this Delay should prove the Disappointment of his whole Design, should some odd Accident bring Don Gaspar, unexpected, home. But, at length, Don Bertrand pressed me so earnestly to sand for Constance into my Chamber,( for that was the Name by which the Marquis went) that I consented. Upon which, my Brother went to fetch her himself; but when Constance entered my Chamber, and after she had made her Curches and her reuerences, was about to have delivered her self in a formal Address, she fell a Trembling, and stood in such a Consternation, that I was amazed: But I took little notice of it, as attributing such Disorders as those, to Natural Bashfulness, or a Timorous Constitution. However, after I had asked her some few Questions, I bid her take a Tome of the Wars of Grenada, and sate me down upon a Couch, with a piece of Net-work in my Hand, to employ my Fingers while she red. Don Bertrand also, placed himself between us; and, in regard I could not look upon Constance, without casting my Eyes upon him, I held 'em down, to spare myself that Vexation.  
Constance began to red with so Delightful a Tone, that I was charmed with it, and, of a sudden, I perceived the Reason why it charmed me was, because the Maid's Voice, was so extremely like the Marquis of Mansera's, that I thought verily I heard him speak: Every word that she pronounced, delivered a pleasing Message to my Heart. All the while I heard her, I felt a gentle Emotion of which I could not divine the Reason. As for Don Bertrand, he was not long before he fell fast asleep, and the Marquis was no sooner assured of it, but being desirous to make his Advantage of the First Minutes that Fortune offered him, he surceased his reading, and went on in the following manner.  

The COMPLAINT of the Shepherd Acanthus.  
THE young Acanthus had made an absolute Renunciation of all the Pleasures of the World; he had laid aside all his Ambition; he was insensible of the Society of his Friends, more-especially after that being prevented by the Favours of the lovely Amarillis, he had reason to flatter himself, that he was tenderly beloved by her. acknowledgement insinuated Love into his Soul; and the more that little Deity had been troubled to make himself the Master of it, the greater Value he set upon his Victory, and the faster he knit the Knots that tied the Shepherd to his Shepherddess. But how was this pure and faithful Passion cruelly crossed by that worldly Interest that over-ruled the Father of Amarillis; he would needs mary her to a certain Plough-jogger in their Country, because he was very rich. The poor Shepherdess trembling and forlorn, applied her self to her Shepherd, for a a Supply of Courage to withstand the severe Commands of her Father; and the amorous Shepherd, who left all for her sake, conjured her to follow his Example.'' Amarillis,( said he, grasping her hand in his, many times bedewing 'em with his Tears,) Live only for my sake, as I live only for yours: Love as much as it is possible to Love; and Love will preserve you from all the Perils which you have any reason to be afraid of. They that love, have a Stock of Constancy and Resolution that never fails 'em; so that if you can consent to mary another, it must be your Heart only that I must accuse. Woe is me! what Promises did she not make to her Lover.' You shall first see, ( said she) our Lambs keep Correspondence with the Wolves, our rivulets flow back toward their Fountains, and the green Meadows remove to the Tops of our Hills, before thou seest me tied to any other but thyself, my dear Acanthus. Set thy Heart at rest; since certainly there needs no more then only Love, to prevent the Sacrifice to which I am designed; and of that assuredly I have enough to preserve me all my Life. Now who but would have given Credit to Promises so often repeated!  
In the mean time, the Shepherd was under a severe Necessity to leave his Amarillis. He went into a country remote from his own; he was absent near a Month; but oh! how fatal did that Month prove to him! accursed Month, that oughtest to be obliterated out of the number of Months; the dismal Month wherein Acanthus lost his youthful Amarillis; wherein, I say, that Shepherdess consented to mary another, and broke her Promise to the most Affectionate of Lovers.   
As he red those Words, and cast his Eyes from time to time upon me, he observed how the Tears ran from my Eyes in rivulets; for alas! I knew him but too well: and yet I durst not look upon him. I lamented my own Misfortune and his Afflictions: I was afraid of his Life in so dangerous a Place. I admired the Force of his Love, and the more daring I found him, the more my Gratitude moved me, and the greater was my delight to see him. My Reason and my virtue were equally alarmed; nothing can express the Agitations of my Soul, nor the Confusion of my Thoughts, and the Marquis began to perceive the Uproar in my Breast, and I was no less sensible that he had discovered it, when our Looks became so tender and so languishingly Talkative, that he could no longer resist that vehement Ardour which inflamed his Breast. His Voice grew saint, and like a Person in a pleasant ecstasy, was about to have thrown himself at my feet, in the dangerous Presence of Don Bertrand, at what time he waked, and seeing the Book wherein Constance red was fallen down, he asked her why she did not red on? To which she replied, as much discomposed as you could imagine her to be, that I fell asleep, and that she was afraid to disturb me with her reading.  
All this while I was ruminating what to say to the Marquis in my own Justification, and how to clear myself from those Reproaches which he threw upon me, under the Name of Acanthus: and because I knew that whatever I should say of a Shepherd, or whatever I red of the Wars of Grenada, Don Bertrand had not sense enough to understand it, I took the Book out of the Marquis's Hands, and addressing myself to my Brother-in-Law, I am apt to flatter myself, ( said I,) that I red very well; now you shall be Judge, who reads best, Constance or I.  

The Shepherdess Amarillis's ANSWER to the young Acanthus.  
FOrbear Unjust Shepherd, forbear accusing Amarillis; she is Unfortunate, but not Guilty; she loves thee too well, for thee to Complain of her Affection. Alas! didst thou but know what Violence has been made use of to Sacrifice her, thou wouldst bestow more Tears upon her Misfortune, then thou hast cast Reproaches upon her pretended Inconstancy. Know'st thou, dear Acanthus, know'st thou the inviolable Rigour of that Destiny, that has bound us in an Eternal Obligation to a Person more Odious to us, then the Grave itself? Canst thou conceive the deplorable Estate of a Heart, when all inflamed with a violent Passion, which it thought no Crime, and to which it wholly had abandoned itself, it must be of a sudden torn from the Object which it Loves, and delivered to another which it mortally Hates? What gloomy Days, what melancholy Nights for that unhappy Shepherdess! It seems to her as if all her Lambs were become Wolves; the Nightingal's amorous Note is a trouble to her; the Sun displays his Beams not for a Blessing upon her, as upon other Mortals; she dares not approach the crystal Fountains, for fear of pudling the Waters with her Tears: The full-blown Flowers no sooner touch her bosom, but their Orient Colours whither; scorched up with the Flames that consume it. She calls Acanthus in the dreary Woods, and among the Rocks, when echo, the inconstant echo, in vain repeats that too delightful Name to the distressed Shepherdess's Memory. She wasts her Days in frightful Solitude, and seeing thus her Languishing Life consume away, she Devotes it to her Duty, and looks upon her self as a Victim that is going to die in the Arms of virtue, and—   
Breathing out those last Words, my Heart began to swell to that Degree, that my Utterance failed me; I let the Book fall, and feigning to be troubled with Vapours, I sank down upon the Couch, and immediately after return'd to my Closet half dead. There I threw myself upon the Bed, and gave my Tears their free Course, which before I was constrained to hold in. What shall I do! ( cried I, all in Lamentation,) what shall I do! Ought I to endure so near me a Person that loves me to that degree, as to out-brave all Dangers that both accompany and attend an enterprise so bold and daring as this? And granting also, that no Person in the World should know it, woe is me! is it not too too much that I know it? I that prefer my Duty above my Repose; I that have endeavoured from time to time to banish this Lover from my Heart; I that have stood more nicely upon Delicacy and Scruple then I was obliged to do? Ought I to renounce my Honour, to listen to the most dangerous of all the Passions? Shall I resolve to speak to him, after his Rashness has engaged him in such a Piece of Imprudence as this? Ought I not rather to make him sensible of my Resentment, to avoid him, to bid him be gone, and terrify him with my Anger, if he refuses to obey me?  
My Heart successfully struggled with such a cruel Resolution; and never as it seemed to me, did any Person meet with juster Reasons, or more prevalent, in favour of the Marquis, then Love at that time furnished me withal. But, at length the Fear that I was in of his Life, considering the Consequences of this Adventure, and the dread of seeing him assassinated before my Eyes, overwhelmed my inclinations. I rose with an intention, to writ him an Order to depart; at what time my Tears almost oblitterated the Characters which I writ; I made a stop at every Word, and fetched such doleful Sighs, as would have melted my most cruel Enemies into Compassion.  
All this while, Don Bertrand was retired to his Apartment, and had left Constance in the Anti-Chamber, where he was no less turmoiled with a Thousand tumultuous Thoughts, then I tormented and perplexed, as you have heard. But Love at last, surmounting his Fear of displeasing me, he approached my Cabinet, and opening the Door with a trembling Hand, he had thrown himself already at my Feet, before I perceived him; and, I was so beside myself, in such a deep amaze, that I beholded him, without being able to utter one Word. I come ( said he) ingrateful Teresa, I come to die at your Feet, and to upbraid ye before I die, with your Inconstancy and my Unhappiness. You have broken your Word, you have forsaken a Person who adores ye. Cruel Woman! was it to have the Pleasure of making a more glorious Sacrifice to another, that you so wrought yourself into my tenderest Affection. Ah— Sir, you are too severe ( cried I, interrupting him) how terribly do your suspicions injure me! Could ye believe me subject to change, that had, for so long time, sincerely loved ye? Was it possible, that I could, all of a sudden, derogate from those Sentiments of Kindness, which took root within me, before I knew myself? Well— since I must tell it ye, know the whole force of our common Misfortune; know that I am still as much yours, as I was then, when you were most satisfied with the reality of my Heart. 'tis not I that have forsaken ye; no— Sir, I would have sooner renounced my Life. But 'twas my Father sacrificed me; 'twas he himself that stabbed the Dagger in my Breast, and, at the same time that I lay almost Breathless in my Mother's Arms, gave my Hand into Don Gaspar's. You have lost the Hope, 'tis true, of being my Husband, and I have lost the joy and sweetness of my Life. The only Desires that were most grateful to my Heart, are now forbid me. Good God! how different are our Conditions! You can still hunt after me, still love me, and still dare to tell me so; you can bemoan yourself, and sigh; but this in me, is all a kind of Petty-Treason. My Tears are become Criminal; your presence can no longer be a Blessing to me: I must avoid and fly the sight of ye; and it behoves me to give to another, a Heart that pays no Homage, but only to yourself; a Heart so faithful to ye, that I always find it revolted from its Duty, and still preserving so lively, and so charming an Idea of your virtues, that it infuses into me a most terrible Aversion for Don Gaspar: 'tis you that reign most powerfully in my Soul: My Honour suffers for it, and these are here the last Sighs, that I must allow to my Misfortunes.  
While thus I surrendered myself up to all the Transports of my Tenderness, the Marquis prostrate at my Knees, with his Eyes wishfully fixed upon mine, poured forth a shower of Tears into my Hands, and discovering to me in his Looks, all that the most passionate and submissive Love could inspire into him, Ah Madam, ( cried he) is it true that your Heart has been so Faithful to me, as you would persuade me, and that yet you should be enjoyed by any other but myself? And will you not permit me to revenge myself upon the Treacherous Ravisher of a Blessing, which your Desires appointed for me? Whatever it may cost me to Unite us, can you think any Thing impossible on that Condition? Permit me to purchase ye with the Price of Danger, and then you'll be my own. Benavidez thinks me departed for Flanders, but I can soon return to Madrid, there to meet him, and attack him; and you may be certain, that my Arm, assisted by your Vows, will prove Victorious: And indeed, I had long since chastised his bold pretensions, but that I waited for your Permission.  
I had enough to do to employ all the Power I had over the Marquis, to divert him from so terrible a Design. For I was forced to lay before him the Concerns of my Honour, and the inevitable Consequences of my Father's furious Prosecutions, before I could persuade him to obey me.  
How Charmingly( my dearest Eleonora) we pass away the time, when we spend it with those we Love, and after a long Separation, and a thousand Torments suffered, we meet again with the same mutual Tenderness and Fidelity! My Soul was ravished with a thousand Sweetnesses upon the sight of the Marquis, and his Looks were very near as Weeping-ripe and Languishing as mine, when of a sudden, a slight glimpse of Reason reduced me to my Duty. How is it possible ( said I) for me to abide so long in your Company, or indeed, to suffer ye so long in my Presence? For the sake of our Affection, Sir, no longer alarum my virtue; be gone forsake a Person too Unfortunate to enjoy without Disturbance the Pleasure of your Society.' Depart! Madam, ( cried the Marquis, interrupting her) is it possible for me to leave ye so soon, and after I have ventured thus far too? Never envy me the sad Consolation of Weeping at your Feet; let my Sorrows have their free Course. In that, let us be equal Sharers; this is all that I desire, and a very small Request too, for a Man that Adores ye, and whom you have rendered so unhappy.  
I should tyre your Patience( my dear Eleonora) should I repeat the Importunities he used to persuade me to let him stay with me Seven or Eight Days. He laid before me the jealousy which such a hasty Departure might create, as well in my Brother's, as my Husband's Head; and I, on the other side, considered all the Consequences: At what time, I readily saw, it was to hazard my own ruin, if I did not sand away the Person with whom I loved to converse above all Men in the World, and whose Presence I had purchased at the expense of my Life. But at last, finding my ruin lay at Stake, whether I kept him or let him go, I rather choose to prefer my Duty before my Satisfaction, and to be ruined Innocent, then to suffer Guilty.  
But notwithstanding that this Resolution extremely grieved the Marquis, he could not forbear to admire it, and the Effect which it wrought in his Heart, visibly shew'd me, that virtue had Allurements no less powerful then those of Beauty; and that the surest way to be passionately beloved, is to be truly valuable. But we found a great deal of Difficulty in framing the Pretence for our Separation. I also agreed, that 'twas Convenient to let the Marquis stay some few Days with me, but upon Condition, that he should not seek for any more favourable Opportunities to Discourse me alone; and that he should feign to have received a Letter from Madrid, which obliged him to return with all speed. When the Marquis had promised the performance of all that I desired from him, I left him, believing it would be the last time in my Life, that I should ever see him; and we partend with such a tender and mournful Adieu, that every time I think of it, 'tis a wonder to me how I survived it.  
'twas late, and I went to Bed, so soon as Constance was gone out of my Closet; but all that Night, such were the continual Agitations of my Thoughts and Reason, such the Combats between my Honour and Affection, as are beyond your Imagination. My Heart and my Reason, my Love and my Duty, put me upon a most cruel Rack; and I arose as soon as Day-light appeared, still more uncertain what it became me to do, then I was at the beginning of the Night. Hardly had Aurora given way to the Sun's more resplendent Rays, but I went forth in search of Solitude among the Woods, to give my restless Sorrows vent, and after I had tried a Thousand turnings and windings, at length I flung myself into a Labyrinth, in the middle of which, there was a small iceland, environed with a deep Canal, which, when 'tis thought convenient, renders that iceland inaccessible, by drawing up the Bridge that leads into it: That Bridge, so soon as I was on the other side, I drew up, the better to secure my Lamentations from being interrupted. But I was strangely surprised, when going to sit me down under an Arbour of Woodbine and Jessamine Flowers, so thick, as made it impenetrable to the Sun, I found lying upon a Bank of Turf, the Marquis, lead accidentally, by his dozing Meditations, to the same Place.  
I was about to have avoided him, so soon as I saw him; but he fell at my Knees, held me by the Gown, and with his Eyes bathed in Tears, Ah, Madam! ( said he) is it not enough, in the height of your Indignation, to have banished me your Presence? will you likewise envy me a Happiness that Fortune presents me? And will you disdain to cast one Look upon the most Affectionate, and most Submissive of all your Lovers?' And does it become me, ( answered I) to condescend to an Accident, that brings ye where I am alone, in a Place so far remote from People? Do not you consider how much I prise my Honour, and how much I am become a Slave to my Duty? Upon those Words, I cast my Eyes upon him; and finding myself begin to melt, I ordered him to rise and be gone. Upon which he redoubled his Prayers and his Importunities to stay some few Minutes with me: And, I must confess, I had something of a Secret Apprehension within me, that the Reason why I did not repeat my Orders for him to depart, was only because I was assured he would not Obey me: And his Reluctancy to submit, bewitched me with new Spells; besides, that his Maiden Habit, which deluded my Eyes, without deceiving my Heart, rendered me less fearful to look upon him, and more bold to stay with him in a lonely Place. You cannot imagine how exceedingly this Disguise became him: I never had so many Minutes of Content together, in my Life. But after my Tears and Sighs, which only real Lovers know the Price of, I return'd to my Duty, and made use of all my Authority over him, to counterfeit the same Day, a Letter from Madrid, by which he understood, that his Mother lay a Dying, and longed to see him before she expired, and, that he should show the Letter to my Brother. And here you shall see how whimsically, and yet how dangerously Fortune sported with our Miseries.  
Don Bertrand, who had never been in Love, and yet was surprised with Constantia's Beauty, from the first time that he had seen her, not knowing what Course to take to discover his Passion, was desirous either to extinguish his Love, or else to see it well settled in his Heart, that he might not discover a piece of Folly, that might redound to his shane. But his Prudence was at a Plunge upon reading the Letter which Dona Constantia and I had contrived. He could not think, without being strook with a more then ordinary Grief, that he was going to lose a Person that began, already, to be dearer to him, then all the young Lasses he had ever seen. Why how now, fair Constantia,( said he) did you come hither only to leave behind ye an eternal Sorrow for your Departure. What will Dona Teresa do, whose Reluctancy, to entertain ye when once I found the way to overcome, was so well pleased, that she could not be without your Service? Where will she find such another Person, so witty, so amiable; and that understands so well to perform those Duties, for which my Brother sent ye to wait upon her? He'll believe 'twas the bad Entertainment which we gave ye, that made ye leave us so of a sudden? Besides, he seems so taken with ye, by the Letters that you brought me from him, that I am certain, 'twill be a great Satisfaction to him, to meet ye here again at his Return. What benefit can you expect by your Journey? For either your Mother is already dead, or else the danger that threatened her, is by this time past. Stay here therefore, fair Constantia, and that your Heart may be at rest, I'll sand a Messenger away Post, on purpose to Madrid, to wait upon my Brother, and bring ye News of your Mother. He accompanied his Words with such a passionate Air, and beholded her all the while, with such a sparkling Fire in his Eyes, that it might have been easy for the Marquis to have unraveled the Reason, why he opposed his Departure, could such an Extravagant Amour have entered his Thoughts.  
He rose the next Morning by break of Day, thinking to find me out in the Wood where we saw each other the Night before, and to give me an Account of the Opposition which my Brother-in-Law made to his Departure. But he was strangely surprised, when opening his Chamber Door, he perceived Don Bertrand, who delivering him a Letter, I  told ye Yesterday, ( said he) that we should, it may be, hear News from Madrid; and here is some directed to yourself: red the Contents, and then tell me, whether I have no Reason to be desirous to detain ye.  
The Terror and surprise, wherewith these Words o'erwhelm'd the Marquis, were like so many Daggers sticking in his Heart: He stood in an amaze, how it was possible that the Place of his Retirement should be discovered at Madrid; and all the dreadful Mischiefs that were likely to attend his fatal Discovery, presented themselves in a full crowd before his Eyes. He opened the Letter, rather like a Man without Motion, then a living Creature. But he was as much at ease as before surprised, when he found it to be a Protestation of his Love which Don Bertrand had indited; and I wish I could have kept it to have made ye Laugh. But do you imagine what a Man that had lived Forty Years without the taste of Love, a dull Soul, and one that had never any Knowledge of the World could writ, the first time that ever he felt himself enamoured. I remember he concluded with Three Verses of a French Poet, which Constantia had red to me the Evening before, and which twere more proper for his turn, then he thought for.  
Consider that to you  
I speak a Language New;  
Reject not then the Vows,  
Tho' ill expressed they be,  
Which Bertrand never had made,  
had it not been for thee.  
There was so much of Ridiculousness in this Adventure, that the Marquis could not forbear to burst out into a Laughter. He never expected that his Female Habit would have got him a Sweetheart. However these Amours of Don Bertrand flattered him with several charming ideas, in hopes of staying longer with me; and he made hast to the Wood to tell me the Story.  
I have received a Letter, ( said he, accoasting me) which I never dreamed of in the least.' Good God! from whom? ( cried I, in a terrible Fright,) Who knows that you are here?' Don Bertrand knows it, ( said he, with a Smile) see there what he has written. With that, I could not choose but laugh myself at such a conceited Piece of Extravagance. But presently after reflecting upon the unlucky Consequences it might produce, Alas, ( said I,) dear Marquis, what Misfortune is like to ours!' Don Bertrand enamoured of Dona Constantia, will, it may be, obstruct your Departure; he will disturb those few remaining Minutes left us to enjoy each other; and this last Unhappiness is a fresh Motive for me to press your leaving me: Be gone with speed, and above all things fly my Brother's Company. Love has rendered him now quick-sighted, and by often conversing with ye, he may chance to detect what neither of us would have him know.  
All this while Don Bertrand was in a heavy toss about the Success of his Poetry; and it was easy for him to see, that Constantia was very shye of being alone with him. He had observed that she always followed me, when I went to walk in the Wood, with a Book in her hand, and he was still at her heels, for two whole days together. But Constantia still shunning him with more care then he pursued her with Diligence, he resolved to make use of a Stratagem to engage her in such a manner, that she should not be able to defend her self from conversing with him face to face.  
He borrowed one of my Women's Gowns, under pretence that a Lady in the Neighbourhood had a desire to see it: and in regard he is but a little Man, and for that our Mantles easily cover the Defects of Stature, he disguised himself the next morning, and as soon as day appeared went and sate himself down by a Fountain, to which I resorted more then to any other place; not doubting but that Dona Constantia being deluded by his Habit, would come to him, and then he should have an Opportunity to unfold his Mind, and discourse her about his Love. To which purpose he had contrived a Trick to keep me musing in my Chamber much longer then I was accustomed to stay.  
Nor had he sate long by the Fountain, before Constantia appeared with a Book in her hand; but Good God! how dear had that same unlucky Disguise like to have cost us! for the Marquis wondering that I did not turn about when I heard him approach, Lord! Madam, ( said he) will the sight of me always incense your Indignation? will the Zeal with which I serve ye, never vanquish.— and there, interrupting himself, he fell at my Knees, and with some Sighs that seemed to beg my Pity and an Eye of Favour from me, he was just about to take Don Bertrand by the hand and kiss it, with the same Tenderness and Transports wherewith he wont to fix his Lips upon mine; and all our Secrecies had like to have been surrendered up to the Fury of two Persons implacably jealous, when by a Chance to which I owe my Life, I happened to be walking toward the Fountain, and talked so loud, admiring at the Masquerade which surprised my Eyes, that Don Bertrand, all in Confusion and Astonishment betook himself to flight, and in his hast discovered to us the most extravagant Figure that ever Mantle covered.  
The Novelty of the Adventure, and the Part which Don Bertrand came to act, set me a laughing till the Tears ran down my Cheeks; while the Marquis full of Terror, and consideration of the Danger which he had escaped, stood like a Statue. He gave me an account of the perilous Mistake he had like to have committed; and after he had assured me that he was not so much afraid for himself as for me, and how little he valued the venturing his Life to purchase the Pleasure of my Company for never so few Minutes, he would fain have persuaded me, that we might make an Advantage of Don Bertrand's Passion for him, and that if I would permit him to manage it, he might safely remain for some time with me. But what Authority is there, that Duty and Honour has not over the Mind of a virtuous Woman? The more easy I found it to keep the Marquis with me, the more obstinate was I to have him gone. Cruel Duty! that hast for ever separated me from all that I loved in this World!  
At length, we agreed upon the way to conceal Constantia's Departure from the Vigilancy and Love of Don Bertrand; and the surest Expedient was to take the Advantage of his first Distractions, and to get away before he had leisure to recollect himself. To this purpose I made the Marquis promise me that he would be gone before day; and it was in vain for him to oppose his Love against that rigorous Command: pitiless I beholded his Sobs and Tears. All that he could obtain of me was, that I would take a Walk at night, by Moon light in the same Wood where we had already met so many times, and that he might come thither and take his last Leave of me.  
Permit me, Madam, here a mournful Brevity. Never was there in the World so tender and so sensible a Parting between two Friends: never two Hearts so perfectly united, ever felt with so much Anguish, the severe Necessity of a Separation. I flattered myself that I could suppress my Despair, and hid it at the Bottom of my Heart. The Marquis also promised himself the same Advantage; and his fear to augment my Sorrow by discovering his, made him strive with all the Force his Courage could afford him. But how little are we the Masters of our Words and Looks at such critical Minutes as these, when Lovers may be said to labour under the Pangs of Separation. I suffered him to be a Witness of the woeful Condition to which he had reduced my Heart; and he disclosed to me the terrible Despair with which my Love had overwhelmed his Soul. And thus we bid each other our last Adieu's, by the side of a charet, at the Bottom of a Wood.  
From that time forward, there was not a day past over my head, wherein I was not like to sink under the weight of so many oppressive Disasters.—  
But here her Sobs and Sighs depriving her the Freedom of her Speech, and altogether unable to continue her Story, There— take 'em—( said she, to the fair Eleonora) there are the Letters which I wrote to the Marquis, at the time I was a Virgin, and when the hopes of being joined together in Wedlock, authorized my Affection for him. I had thought ( continued she) to have red 'em to ye myself; but alas! my Grief will not permit me.— I have  told ye enough, to let ye see how miserable I am, and that all my Hope is in the end of my unfortunate Days.   

Dona TERESA's LETTERS To the Marquis of MANSERA.  

LETTER I.  
I Gave Thanks to Fortune, for having deprived me of my Health, the very day that you departed. For indeed what use could I have made of it? since without you, there is no more Felicity for me in this World, and that I know no other then the happiness of your Company. Nevertheless, I enjoy it not, but am constrained to live far severed from my chiefest Blessing, at a time that your Presence is so requisite for the Consolation of my past Misfortunes. I only change one Misery for another; and I must suffer all the Pains of Love, that never so much as tasted of the Sweets.   

LETTER II.  
PErmit me to begin my Letter, where you concluded yours, and as a Proof that you looked not on me with an Eye of Indifferency, to require ye to make a Truce with your Sorrows. As Just as they may be, they never can be Just while they endure so long. 'tis the fear of reinforcing them with new Supplies, that has hindered me from letting you know, how deeply sensible I am of your Misfortunes. I can Experimentally imagine the Torments, to which a Heart is exposed that loses what it Loves. This reflection has produced in me, the same Effect which you desire, and was your business, only to discover the Honour you enjoy, to have infused a Passion of so odd a Nature, that she who has harboured it, forgets her own Interests, and bewails her Rival. Nay, the most visible Testimonies of the force of Love, are the Sentiments which I have for Dona Elvira. My Friend can assure ye, that she saw me really Afflicted, for not understanding her Distemper soon enough, to have made her take a Medicine, which I reckon so infallible, that if you are ever sick, I will endeavour, you shall take no other. I sent ye word in my first Letter, that I could have wished my Death could have restored her to Life. I  told ye then no more then what is true; and you will say so too, when I assure ye, that if you could not, for the future, be happy without her, and that it depended upon me, to bring her to this Light again, I would Sacrifice, not only a Life unfortunate and supported with feeble Hopes, as formerly, but a real Happiness, and my Rights, almost established, over your heart. See, Sir, how tenderly you are beloved, and by whom it is, that you deserve to be so.   

LETTER III.  
THo' you upbraid me to have been Lazy, yet I rose too early to receive a Letter, such as yours. Never fear, least I should follow your Examples or that I do not think I have a Right, to trouble ye incessantly with my Sufferings, as you, without necessity, o'erwhelm me with yours. You are much more afflicted since you knew me, then when I was a Stranger to ye. 'tis a great Misfortune indeed, to be beloved extremely by a Person in whom there is not any thing appears Attractive. But, believe me, Sir, 'tis a more cruel Torment, not to be able neither to surcease a Passionate Love, nor quit an irksome Life, and yet to have so many Reasons to desire both the one and the other. I have not shown your Letter to my Friend; for I am more Vainglorious, then she is Discreet.   

LETTER IV.  
SInce I received your Last, what would I give, that the Letter which I wrote the Day before Yesterday, were not come to your Hands. How afraid am I, least it may have displeased ye, and that you will not Forgive me for writing it. There is nothing that I would not do to obtain your Pardon. However, grant it me, I conjure ye, by her you have so tenderly adored. How much to blame was I for writing it! Despite and Pride but ill become the Unfortunate. But what do I say? I am not so— th' obliging Expressions in your Letter, begin to change my Fortune. I never yet pushed forward my pretensions so far, as e'er to think of winning your Affection. I know too well myself, Love is no voluntary Act. I never aspired to more then only a tender Friendship, and I shall deem myself most infinitely Happy, when I have Reason to believe I have attained it. How sensible am I of the slightest Expressions of Kindness that drop from your Lips! and what a Proof of a real Passion is that sensibility of little Things. Never did Woman Love, as I Love you: My Sentiments have a certain Delicacy unknown to any other but myself; and my Heart loves more in one Day, then others do in a●l their Lives. But notwithstanding all this, I Love without any Hope. Certain it is, I never expect to be beloved by you; and I deal thus severely by myself, that you may not appear to be Unjust.   

LETTER V.  
I Am much better then I was; and there is nothing wanting to complete my Cure, but your Presence. How formidable it ought to be to me, and yet how little do I fear it! Methinks I could have dispatched the whole Affairs of a Kingdom, in the time you have been gone. And is it possible you should have any other business now, then by main force to wrest yourself from your grasping Discontents? for the Solitudes you haunt, infallibly augment' em. Oh! how feelingly did that Despair, wherein you appeared to be in your last Letter, pierce my Heart! and how Sorry am I, that 'tis not in my Power, to afford ye so much Comfort, as might persuade ye to survive the only Object of your Love and Admiration.   

LETTER VI.  
WIll you never return? and must I suffer all the Racks of Love, before I taste one Morsel of the Pleasures of it? Never was any Adventure more cruel, or more extraordinary then mine. When first these Eyes beholded ye, 'twas long enough to infuse a violent Passion into my Heart; but never yet I saw ye long enough to assuage the Pains that are inseparable from it.   

LETTER VII.  
I Have nothing to say to ye concerning that same jealousy, which you seem to have, that my Wit has a greater share in what I writ to ye then my Heart. 'tis for your Merit, and the Sentiments you have inspired into more lovely Persons then myself, to be answerable for the Sincerity of mine.   

LETTER VIII.  
YOu give me too many Encomiums; tho' I cannot bestow too many upon your Heart, for having so well understood what was contained in my Letter, that so well corresponded with it. How greatly soever I am taken with your Wit, it is not that which pleases me; 'tis your Heart that I would move; 'tis that alone which causes my Desires, and it is mine alone that dictates what I writ. I would never Pardon myself, for believing I had any Wit, unless it were to show the Abundance of my Affection. Nor have you testified, as yet, so much for me, as now I find in the Letter which I received this Day. How it glads my Soul, to see ye, at length, so sensible of my Sentiments, and that I have some Hopes to expect that the excess of my Friendship will have that Power over ye, as to make ye forget a Person much more amiable then myself. Is it true that I inspire ye with all that briskness and vivacity of Humour, that appears in your Letter? Am I become so happy at length, to be the Cause that your Inclination surmounts your acknowledgement? And shall I then behold in your Eyes, those charm●ng, and those lively Marks of a restless Passion, that enforce Devotion? But, what will you not more conspicuously discern in mine? I 'm sometimes thinking, whether 'twere not better for me to conceal 'em from ye. No,— no,— I ought no longer to be thrifty of my Favours, for the Marquis loves me; and 'tis but Just, you should enjoy, without abatement, all the Sweetnesses that such a mutual Tenderness deserves. Oh! how Happy would you be, if once your Felicity could rely upon Love! But wherefore should it not depend upon it, since your Heart has been accustomed to it? And strange it were, that I should force ye to an ill conceit of Friendship, I that have so violent a Passion for ye. No,— no,— it is impossible but you must know how much I merit the whole of your Esteem, since my Fidelity and Constancy have given me those Prerogatives over your Heart, which you can never violate.   

LETTER IX.  
YOu complain, that my Letters are too short; and, I believed it proper to study Excuses for making 'em so long. You cannot throw upon me a reproach more acceptable to me, and more dangerous to yourself. For should I once imagine myself obliged to devote myself wholly to the Pleasure of Writing to ye, I should enforce ye soon to recant the Imputation you have laid upon me.   

LETTER X.  
I Have an infinite Honour for the Dead; but I must aclowledge the time is now past, when I thought 'em worthy of Envy. I could also wish, that I had no more to do with 'em, and that your Heart would admit a new Lodger. But, alas! this is a ridiculous pretention; for all the Kindness that you have for me, is only a bare Remembrance. And, after all, it would but ill become me, to be so uneasy, that have so few Attractives to recommend me.   

LETTER XI.  
'tis too much to Hope from my Affection for ye, that any slight Submissions can oblitterate your Infidelity, and the little Respect which you have shown me. Too well I Love ye, ever to surcease that Love. I have already  told ye so, and I am willing to tell ye so again. But for you to expect I should devote myself so entirely to my Inclination for ye, as to a Passion, that my Reason, and my judgement ought to approve, is a Mistake, with which I would not have ye Flatter yourself. Your Faults, in reference to me, are not to be expiated by a bare Repentance; and, there is very little probability, that any Person valves much the displeasing of his Mistress, who imposes a Rival upon her. I knew not why the Letter which I wrote ye should be so offensive; or, wherefore you should think your Honour so much injured by it. Are you the first that have learned to reconcile Infidelity with Merit? In the common Course of Love, 'tis true, a Man that has no other bad Qualities but that of Loving in more then one Place, is never a whit the less to be esteemed in the Eye of the World; only, he is more unworthy the fixed Devotion of her that is deceived, especially when her Love is so Sincere as mine. I observe in your Letter sent me this Day, and have taken notice of it in others, that you are but ill informed of the Condition, to which my Parents have reduced me. When my Behaviour, or their Jealousies persuade 'em, that they have Reason to be offended with me, you, questionless mistake the Account I sand you of it, as if I sought, by Aggravations, to enhance the Merit of my Sufferings. You are but ill acquainted with me: No, no, 'tis none of my Character, to dazzle Pity with long Stories of the Pains and Torments, with which the Sentiments of my Heart afflict me. quiter the contrary, I have always endeavoured to conceal the greatest part of my Misfortunes from ye; nor would I say so much, at present, of my Sufferings, did I believe, that a recital of my Woes would discompose your Quiet. But I have too much Reason now, to let ye know, that in the World there is not a more miserable Person, and that I am within two Fingers breadth of being confined to a cloister all the rest of my Life. They talk of nothing here but of immuring me, and causing you to be assassinated. Be you the Judge, by this, of my Misfortunes, and learn, at length, to be Sorry for me.   

LETTER XII.  
MY Heart is my Witness, that I am more deeply sensible of your Sorrows then my own; and, that your Yesterday's Letter has made a more cruel Impression upon me, then all I have endured this Twelve-month. But is it possible that you should give yourself over to such a furious Metancholly? Is it for a Young Spark, so tenderly beloved, to know the meaning of Despair? Oh, Sir, believe my Words; there's no Misfortune brings a Person sooner to Despair, then really to Love, and not be really beloved again. All other Miseries have their proper Remedies. Would you poison the Sweets of that Liberty which I begin to enjoy, with killing Griefs? Are the Crosses of Fortune still so potent, as to master your Resolution? Are they to be compared in Value, with a Life so precious as yours? Nevertheless if yet you take so much delight in Plaints and Lamentations, Moan on Sir; talk, without ceasing, to me, of your Misfortuness, and never mind the augmentation of my Sorrows, by the rehearsal of your Troubles; study your own Content in your Converse. 'tis true, I reck'n you to be the only Comfort of my Life; but with a free Consent, I yield, that you should still neglect my Satisfaction for your own.   

LETTER XIII.  
THe mourn●ul Tone which you reproach me with in your Letters, and thereby render ridiculous the Delicacy of my Sentiments, so deeply wounds my Heart, that I would stick a Dagger in it, did I but think myself once justly provoked, to complain of your Injustice and Perfidiousness. I am willing my Heart should understand a little Pride: For I find your Cruelty proceeds only from my Weakness. You know it to be such as exposes me to all the Acts of doting Fondness for your sake. Alas! I know it but too well myself; but what does all that Knowledge avail me? It augments my Misfortune, without abating my Affection; and I find too too apparently, that I must be still a Prey to a most violent Passion, and the most unjust Lover in the World. Yes— as ingrateful as you are, you are still more precious to me then my Life; assure my Rival of it. For that Assurance, will enhance your Merit in her Esteem, and magnify her Triumphs over me. And certainly, she will never be at so much Liberty, to make this serious reflection, that a Man, who fails in what he owes to Sentiments like mine, will hardly prove constant to her Charms, and that it may be her Destiny one Day, to undergo the same hard Fate as mine: Nor can she be prepared for it too soon. Adieu, Sir; I never dream of your returning more to me; or that you should believe the losing me deserved a single Tear; and I should be a Fool, if I expected from ye the least Favour that might promote my Satisfaction.   

LETTER XIV.  
SInce the last time we saw each other, you have been always present in my Thoughts both day and night. Methinks I see ye, and talk to ye, and I lock myself up in my Closet all day long, avoiding all manner of Company, that I may have leisure to muse only upon you How much Reason have I to fear, that you more pleasantly consume in Company, and divertisement those Hours which I wast in dozing only on Mansera's Love. I am afraid, least this Letter should not find ye within: I am afraid least you should throw it by, and only red it at your leisure, perhaps some Hours after you received it. In short, I fear a Thousand Things; whereas, I only ought to fear my being too Prolix, and showing too much Tenderness to a Person that sent me, but this Morning, such a could Epistle.   

LETTER XV.  
I Hear, for some Days past, that you are wholly taken up with your Affairs, and that our Conversation is no more a part of your Concerns. Cruel Unkindness! ought you not rather to think, that you commit a Crime in giving me Reason to dread your Passion being at an end, which has cost me so many showers of Tears? Why must I still be in doubt of being beloved? Ought you not to have convinced me that I am so, in such a manner, that I might not always live in tiresome Uncertainty? But that which I require of you, completes the Character of a tender and passionate Lover, and I can never think that you were either one or t'other, in reference to myself. How blind was I, to flatter myself, that e'er your Love would long subsist, in despite of Absence, and those Torments, with which jealousy intoxicates us! Was I not sufficiently acquainted with your Heart, to know, that it required a smooth uninterrupted Courtship, once to fix it! Ah! you are but a faithless Lover, and I too much a Fool to flatter myself one Minute, that e'er you loved me with a true delicacy of Affection. Your manner of Dealing with Dona Elvira, ought not that to have been a Warning to me. You Courted her, you paid her Visits every Day; but still you would have other Business while she lived. And, yet I could persuade myself, that you would leave off all Concerns besides, and sacrifice 'em to a Lady that you never saw, and for whom you never had a kindness. Certainly, I had lost my Senses. But wherefore do those cruel Senses return again? or, Are they not sufficiently Powerful to stifle my Affection? I have omitted nothing for several Days together, that might harden my Heart against ye. I repeat without ceasing to myself, both what I have suffered for ye, and the Usage I have received at your Hands. I revolved in my Mind, that natural, tho' unfortunate Inclination of mine, that has embitter'd all my Life; the shameful condescension of my Weakness, to be the first discloser of my Love; the Frights, the Fears, the restless Desires and Impatience that our appointed Meetings have cost us, and all the Contrivances that I have laid to deceive my Parents. And after all, is this the recompense, and all the recompense, that I am to expect? You have no Kindness for me, and you no longer conceal it from me: And 'tis ten to one, but that your Fidelity might be as Treacherous four Months ago, but you thought it civil to observe something of Decorum toward me, and would not let me know at once my whole Misfortune. But now you seek to make me truly sensible of all together. You can refrain three Days together, without writing to me; and the Letters, which you do writ, are only Copies of my own. In short, I have discovered all your perfidy. Think not to escape me, as much absent as you are: I can find ye out, when you believe yourself safest in your most concealed Retirements of Equivocation and studied Evasions. And of this, I could convince ye, would I give myself the Trouble to put ye to Confusion. But woe is me! you are not worthy of a clear Convincement; the only way to deal by you, according to your Merits, is to forget Mansera quiter; and, instead of former Tenderness, to treat ye with a Scorn, so Contumelious, as might justly make ye question, whether I had ever any Kindness for ye. 'tis a Happiness which I aspire too, that I may live to hear your Name repeated without the least Commotion, and to attain to that Felicity, I shall not have recourse to Anger and Fury. For always the most violent Rages terminate in Reconciliation: But, they that are desirous of a perfect Cure, must, of necessity, distrust whatever has an Air of Sensibility, if once they would surcease to Love a Person, stained with soul Ingratitude. There is no way, but to forget him absolutely: For, so long as he hovers in our Remembrance, we must love him; and the Causes of the Complaints we have against him, make a far less Impression then his Merits. I refrain from remembering yours, as much as in me lies. I seek Employment altogether inconsistent with my former Blindness. But I must aclowledge, to my shane, that I have not found it out as yet, and that I still am lavish of the poison that destroys me.   

LETTER XVI.  
THe Transports of the Person whom you know, are much beyond Imagination: Her Fury is more then too too Violent to mine all her virtue. For Heaven's Sake, have a care of supplying her by your Discourses, with new Causes of Complaint. Is it so hard a Matter for ye to forbear talking of a Lady, for whom you have so little Respect? I could wish that my Distemper, which increases every Day might turn aside such terrible Misfortunes, by putting a Conclusion to my Life. I am the Victim that must appease all these Disorders, and, I desire my Death may cause my Life to be forgotten. Farewell, Sir, you may either return again, or break with me for good and all, which you think fit to do. For my part, I must clearly aclowledge to ye, that I am no longer sensible of inward compulsion; and 'tis enough for my Satisfaction, that I already love ye less, then I have done.   

LETTER XVII.  
HOw difficult a thing it is to make use of Prudence, when our Love becomes too violent a Passion! and that it costs my Affection for ye so dear, to follow what my Reason dictates to me. But fain would I, that my Reason should know, 'tis only Subservient to my Interest. It may, perhaps, one Day afford me the certain Means, to abandon myself entirely to my Friendship. We are always most sensible of Pleasures, preceded by an over Imperious constraint. 'tis requisite, that a tedious Impatience should prepare the Pleasures, we receive by the long wished-for sight of what we Love. They never are extremely Delightful, but after they have caused a world of Sighs.  
This reflection is more necessary for you then me, who love ye with a flamme too Extraordinary, to seek for any Succour, which common Passions have need of, to support themselves. But 'tis my Hope, that my Torments, and my Discretion together, will not prove unserviceable in augmenting yours. 'tis this Opinion that infuses Courage into me, and, I suffer all Things, in expectation you will love me with a more tender Affection. Good God! what a Happiness shall I enjoy, in intermixing with the Pleasure of your Company, the recital of all the Pains that I have suffered for your Sake.   

LETTER VIII.  
I Wonder how I have the Srrength to writ to ye, considering the Condition to which I am reduced. The Pleasure which I had to enjoy your Company Yesterday, rendered me so impatient of our Meeting this Day, which I so certainly promised myself, that the Accident, which disappointed my Design, has almost broken my Heart. How cruel and severe ought you to deem it, if it be true, that you have so much Devotion for me, as you express in your Letter. But if I love ye, behoves it me to wish the same Sincerity from you? No, no, 'tis the greatest of Misfortunes to burn with a violent flamme; nevertheless, I find, that to the hazard of my Life, I shall be always your Adorer. But what apparent grounds have I to fear, least you, at length, should be tired out with a Familiarity so disastrous, and quiter abandon me to that same dismal Infelicity to Love, and fix my Love upon a faithless Person: No, no, you have not an Affection for me proof against that strict Restraint which I lye under; you'll soon surcease to Love me; and perhaps, not scruple to tell me so. But withal consider, that my Life depends on your Indifferency for me.   

LETTER XIX.  
I Knew not you were Guilty of more then two Crimes, in reference to myself; but, in your Yesterday's Letter, I discover a Third. Is it possible a Man should have a tender Kindness for a Person, and writ to her, as you have writ to me? schismatical to mind the Marks of Esteem and Distinction, which I bestowed upon ye but within these few Days. Ah! is it fair, that I must be the Person to whet up your Memory. This same Despite, by which you do yourself an Injury, is still no more then a new proof of my singular Affection. Could I ever be so touched to the Quick, with my suspicions of your Infidelity, but that I have a Passion for ye? or, Could I Love ye with an Adherency, that nothing can unhinge, but that I have a vast Esteem for your Person? If Dona Inez were a faithful mistress, for her to know of an Affair with another, might be a Reason sufficient, to think her no Concern of yours: But, her past Conduct shows us, that she is one who stands not much upon Delicacy. The Duke of— who fell in Love with her long since, is properly the Husband of that Adventure, and you are the Galaunt; altho' you never  told me of it, and with no less Obstinacy, you would fain conceal it from me, when I know it already. In short, you have no mind to Sacrifice her Love to my Content: For, there's no question to be made, but I am She, that is already sacrificed to Her. Good God! With what frightful Terrors, does the Thought of this disturb my Quiet? Yet, why should they disturb me, if I did not Love ye? There is not any sort of Grief, of which I am not sensible for your sake: Nevertheless, my Heart is prove to Pardon ye; only it requires some Satisfaction for my free Indulgence; it fain would have you show yourself worthy of the Pardon which it grants ye, for fear of being upbraided with it, as an Act of Weakness.   

LETTER XX.  
WHat News is this I hear! I am  told, you are returning to Grenada, and I am going out of Town to Morrow, for three Months together. Why cannot you as well spend all the Autumn at your Country Seat? I might enjoy, at least, some sort of Quiet then, in my Retirement. But what Repose for me, while you are at Grenada! Your Residence in this City, is of too dangerous a Consequence, for an absent mistress. Dare I presume those amiable Charms, to make me Hope you can preserve your Heart for me, amid a crowd of Beauties that will strive to rob me of it? Yet, if you have a true Idea of mine, that resembles it, can you forget me, and prefer before me, Women that only Love, because they have an Opportunity, and make Love's Pleasures the sole end of all their Amorous Passions? No certainly; for I believe your Delicacy such, as will not easily be reconciled to a common Inclination: And, I am apt to flatter myself, that I have enur'd ye to those Sentiments tha● will, for some time, settle your Dislike of those of other Ladies. Do but frequently call to mind, so long as I continue absent, the last endearing colloquys we had together, and let that Recollection inspire ye with such Desires, as may secure ye from the benumbing Faculty of Absence. How Happy shall I be, if at your Return, you tell me, that you Love me still, and, that no other Object has expelled me from your Memory.   

LETTER XXI.  
I Know not how it comes to pass, that you have not received my Letters any time these two Months. This Miscarriage disorders me strangely, and that same jealousy that has undertaken my ruin, makes me afraid of every thing. But my Disquiets now must all give Place to that excess of Joy repaid me in exchange, by the Receipt of your Letter this Morning, and the care you took to sand it by a Messenger, on purpose, to the other end of the World. The surprise and Joy that seized me of a sudden, were so violent, that they have awakened all my Mother's Suspicions; and she has been grumbling and growling ever since at me, without knowing any Reason for it. However, the Assurances which you give me of your Affection, have altered very much the Condition of my Heart. Before, I was deeply plunged in a mournful Uncertainty of your Tenderness and Fidelity. But what you tell me, concerning both the one and the other, is it sincere? and, will kind Heaven reserve me the transcendent Pleasure, to see myself the Object of your most passionate Love? At length, do ye begin to understand the Price of my Heart? and, may I confided in the Protestations you have made me? And now, what must I do, not to believe ye? All your Expressions are most tenderly obliging, and, I desire the Truth of what you would persuade me, with too much Ardour, any longer to gain-say your Vows. I do oppose, 'tis true, a small remainder of my Reason, to an Opinion so charming, but my Heart is prepossessed, and will no longer listen to any thing, that may convince me of an Error. Prudence enfeebles Love, and therefore, when we Love, we are to harken only to his Flatteries.   

LETTER XXII.  
I Have been every Day, during this Journey, constrained to hear that Passion scorned and vilified, which I prise and cherish more tenderly then my Life. What did not my Mother peal in my Ears, that Day that we lay at Nuestra Dona de Rosaris? And one would think, the Heavens had seemed to favour her, as having the same Design to terrify me. For it thundered and lightened most dradfully; and I rained Tears all Night. For I could not but be infinitely grieved to think, that I should have a Heart that harboured a Passion so offensive to my Mother's Pity, and which provoked so highly her Displeasure. But, neither all those serious reflections, Sir, nor the Returns of recollected Understanding, can lessen in the least, the Power which you have oe'r my Heart: But quiter the contrary, they rather serve to be more certain Testimonies, that nothing can dissolve it.   

LETTER XXIII.  
IF the Marchioness made ye a faithful recital of our Interview, she must have  told ye without doubt, that I talked to her of nothing but yourself; and that I carried the Discourse so far, that I would not allow her a Minutes leisure to mention her own Concerns. She complained of it to me in several Letters; but the Excess of my Tenderness may well prevail for my Excuse; nor am I in such a Condition, that she to whom I still unfold my Heart should require Punctilio's of Decency from me: I am sufficiently oe'rwhelm'd with those that enforce me to obey my Parents.   

LETTER XXIV.  
YOU are the most lovely Spark that ever was. What Diligence you show, and what a Delicacy in things of small Consequence! But have I not reason to fear that your Vivacity is no other then a Briskness of Humour, which your Converse with Ladies, and your continual Attendance at Court infuse into ye? I declare to ye, that I would have your Heart alone concerned in every thing you do for me; as 'tis my Heart alone that Lessons me in every thing I do for you. But I would fain banish all these Fears, and wholly abandon myself to the Pleasure of being beloved and loving you: for certainly you deserve to be more beloved then any Person in the World. I have so perfect an Idea of your Merits, that all that I do, and all that I am sensible of for ye, seems not sufficient to supply the vast Extent of it: And yet I am assured, that few young Ladies love as I do. 'tis now three hours after Midnight, yet not a wink of sleep, for thinking how to find a a way to writ to ye; and first 'twas necessary that my Mother should be fast in her Bed. Then up I got, and tore out the white Leaves at the Beginning of a Book; for they have taken all my Paper from me; and here with a Pleasure more then ordinary, I present ye with the Minutes which I robbed from my Repose. Alas! I know not what the Nights are good for, but by the Liberty they give me to writ, and think of you. When all the World beside is asleep, my Love and my Misfortunes keep me waking. I think of the short Moments I have spent in your Company; of the Obstacles that hinder me from enjoying the same Felicities, and the Horror of living in that Restraint and Captivity to which I am confined. I am watched so narrowly, and with so much Severity, that all the sprightly Ingenuity of my Friendship cannot find out a way to have one moment's Discourse together, before your Departure, unless our Journey to Sevil hold good. I hope it, and wait for it with such an extraordinary Impatience, that I believe it will quiter mope me. My Thoughts are so taken up with it, that it deprives me of my Sleep, and that little while I close my Eyes, I talk so loud in my Slumbers of the Pleasures I expect to enjoy in your Society, that my Mother last Night over-heard something of it, and had she demanded from me an exact Account of my raving Gibberidge, I had been a lost Woman; and still I shall look upon myself to morrow as forlorn and undone, if I do not finish my Letter. Good Night Sir, I forgot to speak to ye of the Countess of Vilassor. You will do me a Kindness, for Reasons I will tell ye, to show her most sedulous Civilities, and which may seem to carry an Air of Courtship. However have a care of performing my Orders too exactly. If you have any relish for me, 'tis easy to have a liking for her; for like me she has Wit, but she is none of the handsomest. Once more good night Sir.   

LETTER XXV.  
HOW charmingly delightful, and how proper a Consolation of our greatest Misfortunes is the hope of enjoying the Society of the Person whom we love! I forget all the Vexations with which your Indifferency afflicted me, and I look upon the fantastic Morosity of my Parents as nothing, compared with the Felicity of seeing you this Evening at my Window. I am preparing to obtain your Pardon; and I have such an Assurance in the Method I shall take to beg it, that you will not refuse it me. But I know not whether it will be so easy for you to pacify my just Resentment of that Injurious jealousy which you discovered to me in your last. Is it possible you should have so bad an Opinion of me, to believe me fickle and inconstant? Or have you so ill a Conceit of yourself, to think that any Person can be unfaithful to ye? Oh! Sir, you are not acquainted either with your own Merit, or with the manner of my being taken with it. Let Don Gaspar, let all the World believe me Amiable, I never will Love any other Man but yourself; for only you appear to be worthy of me. But Sir, let us bury all those People that are but a Trouble to us in an Oblivion, from whence you never will go about to schismatical 'em, and let us only talk of ourselves. Methinks I have too easily suffered myself to be persuaded, that you are not to blame. For, ought not I to be cautious of believing that you love me? Did I desire it with less fervency, I should not be so ready to believe it But our Wits are tired with always making opposition to our Hearts; and still our clearest Understandings become at length the Slaves of our Desires. Tho', as for mine, they are confined to please you only, and to be beloved by you eternally.   

LETTER XXVI.  
IT seems to me, as if you Repented of the Marks of your Affection, which you bestow upon me. I receive not any this Day, which some Actions of yours do not destroy the next. What was the Reason that you came not to the Governess's House, where I stayed from Three till Five a Clock? Questionless, your impatience to see me, must be very moderate, when you never Visit me, but when you find yourself constrained. But ought you not to have the most eager Inclinations for a Person that Loves ye with such a tender Affection, and who looks upon your Absence, at so near a Distance, as an insupportable Affliction? And you do all you can to make it yet more Dreadful, by depriving me of the Comfort I might find, were it only in seeing your Face, before my Departure. My Eyes would have  told ye a Thousand Things, that ought to be Delightful, tho' I perceive they're no way acceptable to ye. I have not seen ye any where this Day, tho', since the Morning, I have not been but in such places where I might have met ye. I was at Dona Pepa's Lodgings, where in vain I flattered myself to have found ye. Good God! how little care you take of any Thing that tends to make me Happy.   

LETTER XXVII.  
I Was Yesterday so soothed with inward Joy, and yet withal so unaccountably cast down, that I never stirred out of my Chamber so much as to Dine. But, as for you, Sir, are you still among the Number of the Living? or, are People wont to die upon their manifesting those Sentiments of Kindness, of which you made me Yesterday so Sensible? How Glorious a Thing it is, to have the Power of inspiring such a Passion! How happy am I to be beloved with a reciprocal Fervency! Never fear the change of my Affection: You are too dear to me; and 'tis impossible that you should ever cease to be beloved, that are so Amiable. Absence may cause ye to suffer for a while; however, it never ought to make you question my Fidelity in the least. I Love ye, Sir; nor is it in my Power to surcease my Love. For I am so far from Combating my Tenderness, that I abandon myself entirely to it. I am apt to think, it is impossible to be Happy without Loving, and I know no Person worthy to be beloved, but yourself. Be therefore immovably persuaded, that nothing shall deprive you of my Heart. Depart with this Assurance, and return full fraught with an Impatience, and a Desire no less ardent to re-visit a most faithful Mistress. But, good God! how long must I remain Disconsolate, before I shall receive any more Testimonies of your Tenderness and acknowledgement! How many tedious Hours will weary my Impatience, before I reap the Comfort of such endearing Sweetnesses. In vain do I afflict my Brains for your Departure: but still your Absence appears dreadful to me; nor can I so much as endure the Thought of it.   

LETTER XXVIII.  
ARE not the Pains that I undergo, in this Disconsolate Condition, enough to oe'rwhelm a Miserable Creature, but that you, Sir, must also augment the burden of my Grief, by suspecting me of Change, when my Constancy has cost me all the tranquillity of my Life? You are but ill acquainted with the posture of my Affairs; and I know, that you believe me to be easily frightened, and that the Mischief is not so great as I say it is. But there is your Mistake: For I am a Thousand Times more Miserable, then in your Observation I appear to be; and my Concerns are in a desperate Estate. I have never sought to move your Pity, or to excite ye to pay those Sighs to the Knowledge of my Misfortunes, which my Sincerity deserves. I have rather concealed the greatest part of my Sorrows, and my Captivity, for fear of exposing myself, to the Disgrace of seeing your Inclination quiter extinguished by the Destruction of our Hopes. For I had still some small Remainders of assurance, enough to flatter myself with a change of my Fortune, and I thought my Ingenuity and Care might acquire me, at length sufficient Liberty to enjoy your Society. But the Accident that is befallen me, has for ever deprived me of it. My Mother is not a Woman of a Humour to be reconciled to those Sentiments which I have for ye. They are not unknown to her, and she will use her utmost endeavours to bereave me of the Means to follow my natural Propensity. She will not suffer me to budge out of her sight, and the least Reluctancy in me would prove the ruin of all my Designs. In short, I am a Victim devoted to Disaster, and the Flames of Love; yet still the more I am Persecuted, the more I Love ye. But wherefore do you show yourself so Sedulously? You know full well, that my tranquillity is no way to be obtained but by enfeebling my Affection; and yet you will be still appearing to re-inforce it with your Presence. Is it because you would augment my Grief with fresh Supplies? How do you think I can be able to abide the Presence of a Spark, for whom 'tis known I have a Love, and yet they would have me for ever to abjure him. Woe is me! how sad is my Condition! I suffer all that possibly can be suffered, if I do not see ye; and yet, I cannot see ye without strange Affrights and Discomposures. Pityless Heavens! will you not take, at length, Compassion upon a Creature ready to sink under the burden of your Indignation?   

LETTER XXIX.  
COnsider seriously what I undergo, and what I hazard in writing to ye, and then accuse me of Levity if you can. Lately I went to walk in the Garden belonging to the Society. Heavens! In what Hopes and what Fears was I of meeting you there! and I shall feel the same emotions to Morrow, at another public Place, where I must be.   

LETTER XXX.  
I Must aclowledge, that while you were sedulously employed in studying Contrivances which way to get to me and let me hear from ye, I was no less diligently employed in finding out which way to forget a Lover, whose Remissness made me think you had no value for my Sufferings. But, I find ye now both faithful and sincerely Tender. Heaven, that reserves a longer Train of Misfortunes for me, notwithstanding the many Reasons I have to abandon all manner of Friendship, will not permit me to cease loving you. How tedious soever the Persecutions are which my Affection draws, upon me, and how sensible soever I may be of my Pains, I make no more Complaints. 'tis so delightful for a Woman to believe her self beloved, that this Opinion is enough to alloy the most vigorous, Torments, and it would prove my Death to be convinced of it. Your Letters speak nothing else but Sadness and Despair; and that will cause me to lose my Reason. You augment the Grief that springs from my Misfortunes by a thousand reflections upon your hard Fate, that complete the Accumulation of your killing Sorrows. But remember, Sir, what I have often  told ye, that Fortune and a Mistress, are alike obliged by Constancy, and suffer their extremest Rigours to be vanquished by Perseverance. Besides, 'tis such a Satisfaction to be beloved, as I love you, that tho' you never see me, and that your Correspondence be so narrowly watched, you ought to deem yourself the most happy of Men, because you are the best beloved of Men. Consider seriously, what an Honour it is, to inspire an Esteem so tender as mine for you; and, to be the only Object of the Thoughts of a discerning Lady, and whom the World has always flattered to be Lovely. Oh Sir, do but consider well, after what an extraordinary manner I Love ye, and you will no longer believe yourself Unfortunate. You will then think no more of Dying. Your whole Desire will be then to live, and vanquish, by your Dexterity and Perseverance, whatever opposes our Marriage. But tho' we could not hope for a Success so favourable; yet it would still behove ye to preserve your Life, as a most precious Treasure; since upon that, depends the Happiness of a Person that ought to be so dear in your Esteem. Give over these Disconsolate ideas; for if either of us two has reason to think of dying, 'tis myself, without all question. I am the unfortunate Creature that disturbs your Quiet, and cannot justify her Innocence, notwithstanding the Innocence of her Intentions; so dreadful are th' Effects which they produce. Here has been nothing but Alarum and jealousy for these Two days last past.   

LETTER XXXI.  
YOU made choice of an inconvenient Post; the Window where you stood is too remote; and you had no desire to see me at my own, for fear of some unlucky Disappointment. But as for that which I have mentioned in my Letter, and which is so near, that we can really and distinctly see each other, you will have a perfect Account of it, and receive full Instructions from Don Basil, to the end you may prepare yourself for our Meeting on Monday, which I as much, if not more impatiently long for then you. And tho' the Pretence you make use of, for meeting sooner then the hour prefixed seems plausible enough, yet I am utterly against it, for fear it should proceed from a desire of affording me those hours only of the day that I am most at leisure to spare. But I look upon Visits as nothing; I know how well enough to dis-engage myself from those Impertinents; and therefore do you rely on my Affection. But to discover that, and prove the Delicacy of yours, Necessity will have it, that you must come to see me through a Garret-Window, at the same time that you might see and talk to the briskest and most jolly Women in Grenada. In short it behoves me to flatter myself, that you will quit all Company for my sake, and that it is a pleasure to me, to make me sensible of it. For once, renounce the Court, the Harps and Guittars, for an ill-favoured Window, through which perhaps you will see no great Matter. But if you willingly obey me, I shall esteem myself so highly obliged, that I shall freely grant ye a plenanary Permission to carry me away thro' one of our Lattices. You see, Sir, by the severity of those Laws which I impose upon ye, you see how dangerous a thing it is to persuade a young Virgin that you have a Passionate Kindness for her. When I thought myself either not at all, or but very little beloved, I was mildred and fearful, and pretended to nothing: now I am grown Imperious, and require Exactness and Sedulity; I examine every thing with Rigour, and am no longer easy to forgive. And thus you see the Alteration which the Change of your Fidelity has produced. However if you love me so well as you say you do, the Performance of whatever I exact from you, ought to appear easy.   

LETTER XXXII.  
RAther should I now weep Tears of Blood. I always thought I never could be more unfortunate then I was. Nevertheless all that I have hitherto endured is nothing in comparison of what I suffer. I am betrayed, voided of all Hopes, and lost beyond Recovery. The faithless Dona Clara has shew'd her self at length in her true Colours; and I am the Victim that she offers up to obtain the Favours of my hoodwinked Parents. But it behoves me to give ye a perfect Account of my Disasters. Saturday night I received your Letter so late, that I was forced to red it in my Bed. I red it over and over again several times, and whether it were that Sleep surprised me, or merely out of Carelessness, I left some part of it upon the bolster. Immediately after I waked, Dona Clara came into the Room, at what time my Sister prest mistress Clara very earnestly to sit down upon the Bed-side; which she did for some few Minutes, and then left us. But upon my Return from Mass, I perceived the Loss I had sustained, and ordered my Women to look for it, and to leave no part of my Apartment unsearch'd; but they could find nothing that I wanted. However not suspecting Dona Clara, nor being able to accuse my Sister, who were only in my Chamber, I thought that some of my Servants might have burnt your Letter. This gave me some Quiet for a time, and I went to hear the Sermon, where you saw me with the perfidious Clara. My Mother also never seemed to put more Confidence in me. We were two hours together, after we return'd from the Sermon; but I left Clara in the Chamber, where she stayed along while. In the mean time, I had a longing Desire to know what my Mother thought of my going to the Sermon, and therefore sent for Dona Clara into my Closet; whither she came, but in a great Discomposure, and  told me that my Mother had not said a word to her, and refused to enter into any Discourse with her. Upon which I was not a little dejected, and threw myself upon the Bed, as being fully persuaded that my Mother had my Letter.  
I waited for day, with as much fear as Impatience, having past away the Night as you may well imagine. At last, as soon as my Chamber was open, my Mother came to me, and after she had ordered all the People to withdraw, she  told me that my Father and she having had some Discourse about my going to the Sermon, were both persuaded that it was an Assignation, and that you and I kept a Correspondence together. Upon that, she asked me for my Keys, which I delivered to her without any more to do; for I knew very well she would find nothing in my Cabinet. However she looked in it, and made me believe, that she found that unhappily-lost Letter in it, which I am sure was never there. Thus I have  told ye the whole Story of an unfortunate Mischance. I need not tell ye how my Parents stormed and took on; you may readily imagine it, as also my disconsolate Condition. I no longer know myself. My Grief is intermixed with an Indignation that tempts me to violent Resolutions. My hatred to Clara is incensed even to Fury, and I shall make her know it before the end of the Day. She shall not go away with the fawning Belief, that she has assassinated me, yet that I know not who it was that gave the Mortal Blow. She shall understand, that I look upon her as my most Mortal Enemy; and I will justify what I affirm by all the shrewd Turns that I can do her. She deserves not to have any Mercy shew'd her. How little I believed ye Sir! and, how well were you acquainted with the Physnomy of this Treacherous Baggage! But for my Credulity, doubtless I had escaped great part of my Disasters; for there is no question now to be made, but that she has done me a Thousand more ill Offices, by incensing my Father and Mother against me. Do you not wonder at my Misfortune? I cannot understand it, nor can I conceive how it is possible, that the Perfidious should Triumph over Hearts that are Sincere. You better know then any body, the Integrity of mine. Oh Sir, how would ye have been convinced of it, had you been a Witness of the Confusion I was in, to see the Secret discovered, which I always denied. This seems to me to be the greater shane, tho' it be also an extreme Disgrace to Love a Person, which, by no means, they would not have me Love. Yet, if a fault so heinous may be justified by the Impossibility of being able to correct it, mine may be excusable. I had a Kindness for ye ever since I was born, without having the Power to surcease my Love, tho' I have tried all ways to damp my Passion. The Pains I have endured for so long time together, with so much Patience, sufficiently demonstrate that I Love ye with an Inclination that nothing can subdue. Alas I am but too too sensible of the Power of it, at this very moment that I writ to ye. Yes, Sir, the more they plague me, the more they engage me to be Faithful to ye. The Severity of my Parents, and my own disastrous Disappointments, do they render ye the less Lovely? No— doubtless— and I promise also an eternal Fidelity, and to preserve in my Heart, such Lively and tender Sentiments, that hardly will be equalled by those of the most zealous Lovers. Good Gods! how am I quiter pierced through with Grief! but how extreme soever that may be, I feel another yet more tediously intolerable. I wished to die, you know it well, when once I thought ye Faithless, but now I can no longer, with Indifferency, look upon a Life that is dear to you, how Unfortunate soever it may be otherwise. I will Live to Love ye as much as Man could e'er deserve to be beloved, and because I will not yield the Victory to my Enemies. I know what Measures my Parents will take; but I am resolved to suffer all courageously; and, 'tis the Character of my Tenderness, that it is able to justify me. My Sentiments are too Noble and too Chast, for me to be afraid of acknowledging' em.   

LETTER XXXIII.  
THat part of your Letter which was intercepted, speaks nothing of the Person whom you know; so that she has weathered the Storm by a kind of Miracle. Say nothing more of it in your Letters; and writ 'em after a manner so Tender and Respectful, that if they should be surprised, it may be only known, that you have a Kindness for me, but that my Mother was mistaken when she thought that I loved you. Adieu Sir, and rely upon me as long as ye live: And seeing what they have discovered of our Correspondence does not oblige me any longer to conceal my Sentiments, I will Love with so much Fidelity, and so much Delicacy, that all Lovers shall Envy what my Inclination and your Merit have acquired ye. I know not whither this, and yesterday's Letter will come safe to your Hands: there is little probability of it. However, I know not how to writ less endearingly: For I had rather discover, then conceal the Motions of my Heart from him that gave them Life and Being.   

LETTER XXXIV.  
NEver complain of me; my Heart performs the Duty that belongs to it; and I am still but too too near the same Sentiments which formerly I had. Spare me a little Patience, that I may be able sedately to take such certain Measures, as may procure us some Liberty. I have learnt, by my own Experience, that 'tis convenient sometimes to lose a present Happiness to secure a future Felicity. Permit me the Steerage of our little Bark, and I hope to bring it safe into Harbour. Do you mind only what depends upon your Care, that is to say, to prove by all imaginable good Management, and an extraordinary Discretion, tha● you have a real Kindness for me. I must aclowledge, that I could never reconcile myself to any Tenderness not equal to that which I am capable of; and that I always abhorred a Mediocrity in every Thing. After I have shown ye that I will not endure in you any of those petty Defects, which Self-love hides from ourselves, I expect that you should have the same Care of me. I know it will cost Me much more Trouble then You; but I am more certain of adhering to your Counsel, then I am assured that you will follow mine.   

LETTER XXXV.  
I Cannot confided in your Heart: I do not think it harbours any Inclinations for me; and, I employ good part of my time, to tell myself, that I am no more amiable in your Eyes then I was when I found by Experience, that all the Esteem and Friendship in the World would not suffice to gain your Love. Your Perseverance appears to me an Effect of Vanity. My Constancy might affect your Self-love, and it may be, the Design of your Kindness is, to engage me to yourself, and still to see me fixed in the Sentiments which you infused into me formerly, and then to leave me Wedded only to Eternal Repentance.   

LETTER XXXVI.  
YOu were not more taken up with the Thoughts of me, then I with pondering upon you: I love ye with a Tenderness that Affrights me. I cannot apprehended what will become of me, during your Absence. I understand, with extraordinary Gladness, that your Health stands firm. Preserve it with a Care becoming the Interest which I pretend to in it. With the help of that, we'll overcome our most formidable Enemies, and the Pains and Griefs, that now Triumph almost over our Patience, shall only serve one Day, to render the Pleasures we shall then enjoy more Lively and more Valuable. Hope is a real Good; and he that possesses it, has no Reason, altogether, to Complain. Let us abandon our Souls to all the Sweetnesses of it: Let us Dream of it from this very Day, till you return again; for, by that means, I would fain annihilate the time that I am to linger on without your Company. Can she be said to live, that lives absented from the Person that she Loves?   

LETTER XXXVII.  
AT length, I am in a Place whither you ought to have come, and which I never thought to have seen before ye. But Fortune has so ordered it, that you are far remote, and I am here. You conjecture rightly, Sir, that it is not without thinking upon ye, and that my Affection followed me hither. Your Absence has not at all diminished it, rather the Solitude and Beauties of the Country augment it. Methinks, that in this lovely Residence, every thing talks of Love, and that a Noble Passion becomes it. Mine makes me seek out lonely Walks, and gloomy Retirements. My chief Delight is frequently to muse by the side of a Fountain, where the crystal Water makes a pleasing Murmur. There it is, that I recall most Affectionately to mind the happy Minutes we have past together: I remember with delight, your very Words; your very Reproaches themselves are dear to me. I look upon 'em as the Effects of a choice Esteem, and I hear 'em with the same Complaisance that I have for ye. Methinks my Fortune is changed, and I begin to be more Happy. Can I doubt it, seeing I shall enjoy your Company, and that it will be permitted me at my Return, to require from you an Account of the time that you have spent far distant from me, and give the same Account myself, how I have passed those Hours that I have lived an Exile from your Company; if we may be said to pass our time; since, to be partend from the Thing we Love, is not to Live. And truly, methinks we preserve our Sensibility, only to feel the Pains of Absence. Remember that Pleasures are not lawful for those that are absent from what they Love. You have more need of this Lesson then I; as well for the difference between our manner of loving, as for the difference between the Places where we reside. However, I give ye leave to Admire the Princess of— Believe her also the most lovely Person in the World; I agree to it; but Love me only, and think me more Faithful. I am not jealous of the Advantages that she has over me; or, if I wished the like, it should be only that I might be still more worthy of yourself. For, in regard that you both understand the value of a faithful and tender Heart, there is nothing more necessary for me, that I may have wherewithal to awake your Esteem.   

LETTER XXXVIII.  
OH! what a Desire have I to recant the loud Encomiums I have given to violent Passions! How painful do I find 'em at this present! Nothing can equal my restless Vexation at the long silence of your Friend. How cruel is he to expose me to such a tedious Grief. I am afraid, least you should be fallen Sick, and that being unwilling that the unwelcome News should reach my Ears, you rather choose to forbear writing altogether. I am likewise afraid least my Letters should not be come to your Hands, by which unlucky Accident I may be exposed to new Misfortunes. Must I be still in Fears, after all those Terrors I have undergone? And, at a time when I thought myself exempt from danger, must I be the sport of more impending Tempests? How strangely for your sake am I disturbed! Under a thousand Shapes you every Night affright me, till I am all congealed with Fear. I think upon ye all Day long; but all my Thinking brings me not a syllable of tidings from ye. Nor can I imagine any secure and speedy means, to obtain what I so ardently desire. We are at the two opposite Ends of the World; and I am apt to believe, that my Confident and your Friend, are at the other. For I hear not a Tittle from either; and yet I have wrote to 'em how terribly it perplexes me. What would I give to know, what you are now a doing?   

LETTER XXXIX.  
IF there be any Charms in Mystery, no doubt, they were intended for a Person that Loves with as much Delicacy as I do. And, who of all the Pleasures of Tenderness, knows only those which the sight of the Person beloved infuses into her. You have no Reason to question, but that your Company is extremely dear to me. But, Sir, if I delight in your Presence, I cannot see ye, without making doleful reflections, nor without thinking upon those insurmountable Obstructions that separate us for ever. At that time it is, when every thing that contributed to my Content, serves only to renew my Pain, and that the Charms of a young Gentleman, whom I Esteem, cause me the more Sensibly to feel the Smart of being separated from him. How dearly does Reason make me pay for those few Favours that support my Constancy. I never see ye, but my Wounds become more Sensitive and more Grievous. Your Presence indeed suspends my Disquiet, and while I see ye, I am too much taken with the Pleasure of your Company to think of any thing else. But when you dis-appear from my Sight, a Thousand mournful reflections assail me, and by the Tortures they inflict upon me, glut the Revenge of those that oppose our Nuptials. How lovely were you Yesterday! or, to speak more truly, how lovely are you always! Never did Woman-kind e'er Love so tenderly, as I Love you. You deceive yourself when you believe the pleasing Opinion of being beloved by you, has added any thing to my Affection; for I have always loved ye with the same Violence of Inclination. And, the only Difference that your Love has created in me is this, that I no longer withstand the Sentiments that I have for ye. I find 'em so Just, that nothing can unloose my Heart from an Object that I think worthy of it. But tho' I judge so favourably of my Heart, I make not the same judgement of my Person. The Portraiture of Dona Elvira, appeared so lovely to me Yesterday, that I dare not pretend that any Person, accustomed to so many Charms, should have any Curiosity for me. I must aclowledge, that you have sustained an infinite Loss, and that you cannot lament too much a Woman so worthy of your Tenderest Endearments. I am so sensible of her unhappy Fate, and I Love ye with such an extraordinary Niceness, that I should be ready to surrender my own Life, if my Death could restore her to the World again. Preserve a tender Remembrance of her; I shall never be against it. And, If I were at Liberty to act according to my own Sentiments, you should see me pay so much Devotion to what remains of her behind, and be so indulgently careful of it, as should sufficiently demonstrate the Generosity and Goodness of my Heart. It is divided between Hope and Fear; nor can I believe but that our Fortune will change: For my part, I will not despair of it.   

LETTER XL.  
THere is not one single Thought I think that I can any longer conceal from ye; and, I must confess, I begin to believe that you Love me. Perhaps I may delude myself; but if it be so, you must be a notable Deceiver. You writ and tell it me in such a manner, as to persuade the most Incredulous: And, it is to me, the most delightful of all Pleasures, to believe myself assured, past any farther doubt, that you are really o'ercome by the Esteem that I have for ye. 'tis such a one as merits to infuse another equal to it; it is even and constant. Be then secure, that if my Friendship be a Happiness that you prise, 'tis a Blessing that you can never loose. And, if it were true, that 'twere as Essential to your Happiness, as it is certain that mine depends upon my being beloved by you, assuredly, you will be the most happy Person in the World. But, why should I not Flatter myself, that my Heart is necessary to your Felicity? Is there not a very great Probability, that a Man, accustomed to be tenderly beloved, should understand the full value of a faithful Heart? My Friendship might equally suffice both the Tenderness and the Vanity of your Soul. You are are All in All to me: For your Sake I abandon the World, and the Delights of it; and still, methinks, I never do enough, to prove my Esteem to be such as really it is. Woe is me? how little a Woman is satisfied with her self when she really Loves, and when her Sentiments and ideas are above her Actions! There is not a Word I speak to ye, that contents me. My Letters, which you have sufficiently applauded, to convince me that they deserve to be approved, to me seem altogether unworthy of your Approbation. I never express effectually enough to my own Liking, how much my Tenderness for you, is superior to all the Sentiments of other Women; neither do I say any thing that fully satisfies my Curiosity. But, alas! will Fortune never cease to thwart us? I dare not hope it. That fickle Deity must cease to be, before she can forbear to persecute us both alike. However, let us not despond: She cannot always prove so rigorously False: It is impossible, but that she must become more Favourable to us one Day. I know not what Effects the Devotions of my Confident, for so many Days together, will produce: But we must let 'em all be over first, before we can resolve that Question. I thought it cunningly done, not to give her Money the Evening before a Confession, which might entice her against us, the more easily, when she had the Money beforehand, in her Pocket: I keep it to pervert the Fidelity which she has promised her Director.   

LETTER XLI.  
CErtainly, it is not prudence in me, to discover so much Tenderness to ye. But I could not conceal it from ye; however, make me some acknowledgement for it. I shall not prescribe ye what to do, but leave it to yourself. 'tis when you have this Liberty that you supply me with Arms to Combat the violence of my Inclination for ye. If I would cure myself, I need no more then allow ye your Freedom, and you, I'm certain of it, will furnish me with Remedies.   

LETTER XLII.  
I Leave nothing omitted to alter the present Disposition of my Heart, in reference to yourself. I have red your this Day's Letter several times, at a time that mollified my Humour, and put me into a favourable Sedateness of Mind: I red it under a Power of Honey-suckles. I was desirous to make use of it against my own Sentiments, and to give it Strength to Triumph over my Despite and my suspicions. But it could not get the Victory, 'twas more then it was able to perform. This Letter is stuffed with a Thousand Follies that have an air of Tenderness. Nevertheless, I I cannot give 'em Credit, to the Prejudice of my daily Experence, that you Love me not so much as you believe yourself beloved. I cannot comply with Sentiments of this Nature, and I must aclowledge, that I shall never be reconciled to' em. The Custom of the World has taught me the value of a faithful Heart, and has infused a Haughtiness into me, which persuades me that I am worthy the Affection of an honest Man. I know not whither I am deceived or no; but in every Respect, I find there are People that partake of my Error. For your part, it seems as if you only came into the World to mortify my Self-love. It has been my shane to Love you first of all, to tell ye so, and 'tis no less my Disgrace, that I am not so well beloved as I ought to be. You cannot imagine how much I am humbled by what my Tenderness has caused me to do for your sake. My perseverance, within this little while, seems inexcusable; I treat myself with a Severity that ruins me; my Company is become almost as formidable as my Mothers; I am altogether afraid of Solitude, and I go as seldom as I can to the iceland of Love. As for this place, I have no Reason to fear my having Freedom enough here to muse: I watch myself so narrowly, and am so taken up with the Care of pleasing others, that I have hardly time to sleep. This befell me by a Luckey Chance, that re-call'd my Mother to Grenada, at the same time that my Father, being indisposed, was forced to keep his Chamber; so that I had the Liberty to walk alone and red your Letter. I received it here; and, indeed, your Confidents are not a little Guilty of your want of Vivacity. For, they keep your Letters sometimes two Days together, after the Arrival of the Post. I forgot to give ye Notice of it; and it behoves me to wish you would forget to Reform; and the rather, that I may be abandoned to my Despite. For it is a kind of Happiness to have a just and real Cause to Complain of a Man, with whom a Woman is dissatisfied; and, on the other side, 'tis an insupportable Torment, to want Resolution to abandon an Ungrateful Person. I have, for some time suffered Miseries, so much the more grievous, by how much the more I endeavoured to conceal 'em, out of a mere motive of Caution, and Respect for you. I have not made ye acquainted with 'em hitherto, restrained by an Effect of Self-love, but I do not hid 'em from Dona Pepa. I have appeared to her, somewhat more cool then usual in your Concern, tho' I never  told her the Reason. For these Fifteen Days past, that I forbore to writ to ye, I began above Ten Letters without any Aggravations. The Desire of concealing my Sentiments, and the Difficulty of doing it, rendered the Letter so difficult, that in all this time I could finish no more then this. And the style of this too, appears to me to be so odd and extravagant, that I expect it should be the Occasion of another Quarrel between us.   

LETTER XLIII.  
I Know that my Friend Loves ye; that she has also a Tenderness for me, and a quick Understanding. I have been to Visit her, and contrary to the Resolution I had taken to conceal my Sentiments from her, I have enfolded 'em to her, and conjured her to Compassionate my Sufferings. I stayed all the Afternoon with her, and I expected to have been severely chid, but she has infused a Courage into me, to support all my Misfortunes, by telling me you Love me. I can never be miserable so long as I am beloved by you, and convinced of the Truth of it. That which I endure, when I think I have Reason to doubt of your Heart, gives me a sufficient Knowledge of it: But I am now a little more at Ease. If you enjoy not all my former Tenderness, at least I am willing to restore it ye again. I combat the Remainder of my Despite with the Remembrance of the many Oaths you have sworn, the many Vows and Protestations you have made me. And I shall be as much obliged to it as you, if it completes the atoning of of my Anger. For, in truth, I never was born to maunder at ye: For I oppose my Stars when I do it. But have a care, that I may not think myself obliged to that Extremity. If you Love me so sincerely, as my Friend would persuade me, make it appear, that I may also be convinced of it. Above all things, remember that I am to see ye again within a Month at farthest, that you have given me your Word, and that to fail of it, in reference to me, would be a Crime unpardonable. While my Mind was disturbed, I was Fifteen Days inditing one Letter; for I had nothing to say to ye. Since I saw my Friend, I have so great a Number of Things to writ to ye, that a large Folio will hardly contain' em. Good Night, Sir; we must be playing the Fool, when we are in Love.   

LETTER XLIV.  
HOw scurvily do I thank myself for changing so quickly from Anger to Forgiveness. You have done nothing to appease me; you have not so much as received my Letters; and yet I Love ye more Tenderly then I have done any time this Six Months. You have a Faction in my Heart that always Triumphs, and which wins the Victory, without ever striking a stroke. However, I am not troubled that my extreme Feebleness gives ye this Advantage, provided you make not an ill Use of it. Lord! I am so melancholy to Day, that I can set myself to nothing.   

LETTER XLV.  
IF you had a Thousand Things to writ to me since Thursday, what a world would I have said to ye more, could I but have had the Pleasure of conversing freely with ye at the Marchioness's, as well as seeing ye! What was it, that Love did not make me sensible of, during those few Minutes that we were together at Mokelin. Oh! the Pleasures that I tasted are too great to be expressed. They are only to be reached by the Imagination that far surpasses all the most beautiful Representations of Eloquence. Let us only talk of those which we were blessed withal on Thursday. What a cheerfulness enlivened my Heart, what a Sparkling in my Eyes! How active were my looks and glances to furnish the Ladies, that made me their discourse, with critical Observations! But how far was I from thinking on such trivial Things! 'twas much I did not altogether forget the Company, and that I did not break out into a too open and extravagant Display of my Affection for ye; which made me strive, as much as in me lay, to keep within the Bounds of Prudence. But I must confess, that all my Endeavours would have but very little availed had not your Reserv'dness, and continual minding other Things, preserved me from the Danger. Never speak any more against my Briskness, since it agrees with a violent Kindness. Among a Thousand Follies that I uttered, 'twas perceived, that I had a world of Conceits that I never uttered. But as for your part, you mind nothing but your present Pastime, and never think of me at all. You slipped from me more then once, while I was talking to ye, when you might well be assured, that I spake nothing but what contained some secret Application to yourself. Ah! let me tell ye, I am not satisfied with your Behaviour. You are neither sufficiently Nice, nor sufficiently Modest. Were it to be suspected that you are in Love with me, what is the meaning of the Song you sung? I conjure ye to be more mindful of what concerns our Love, if you have any value for it. Manage the Secret with all the care imaginable. Our Correspondence will continue so long as it is kept concealed. But so soon as it shall be noised abroad in the World, you will lose me, and lose me past Recovery. But woe is me! why do I make these Complaints? Your Passion for me will be always unknown; if only your Sedulities and eager Pursuits of my Affection can discover it; for they are very Moderate. You never minded what I said, that I intended to be at Dona Juana's on Friday; where I was, and waited, God knows, in vain for you. Once more I am not satisfied with your Behaviour. I return'd from the Promenade; whither I went with that Emotion that put our Spirits in a kind of tingling Rapture, when we think to meet the Person that we Love; but you never appeared. Oh! how little do you know me, if you thought me too much engaged to observe your too much dis-respective Conduct. If I never required any thing at your Hands, the Reason is, because you never were my Lover, tho' I were your mistress. But now, that you would fain persuade me that you Love me, and that I may believe it without Vanity, I expect from ye all that a young Virgin is privileged to exact from a Person by whom she is so dearly beloved. I would have ye most earnestly diligent to find me out and see me, and to suffer the prudence of your Conduct, and the management of my Parents jealousy, to be indebted only to my Will. I cannot writ any longer, without usurping too much upon my Sleep; and I am willing to reserve myself against to morrow, in Hopes to see you.   

LETTER XLVI.  
I Always thought it in our Power to surcease loving a Friend, when once suspected of being guilty of Change. But had it not been for the President with which you furnish me, I could never have thought it possible we could forsake a Person that suffers only for the love of us. The more grievous our Misfortunes are, the more we are engaged in acknowledgement to those that endure 'em: but 'tis the most cruel effect of my Misfortune to lose your Heart by the same ways that ought to secure it to me. Good Gods! is it possible that I should suffer so many Torments for a Lover so unjust. How sad and disconsolate is my Fate! I have lost all to preserve your Heart, but I must lose it, because it becomes ingratefull. How severely have I been dealt with by my Parents! I spared the full Relation of it, for fear of afflicting that Tenderness which I thought you had for me. But since I find I am not in your Thoughts,( for I no longer doubt it now) I will set forth, if I am able, the horror which a Woman of gaiety imagines to her self, from an Assembly of her nearest Relations, met on purpose, as she is assured, to cloister her up in Confinement. I saw that Brother whom I so much despised, in the same Trouble wherein I was, and tasting at leisure the Pleasure of Revenge. My Father bushes on his Transports to the utmost Extremity, and my Mother forsakes me; they have taken from me my Women, for whom I had the greatest Kindness, and all manner of Liberty. Are these to be accounted slight Misfortunes? inhuman Cruelty! and when a Friend suffers so many Miseries without murmuring, or loving e'er a whit the less the Person upon whom she has reason to look as the only cause of her Unhappiness, does she deserve to be forgot, or that the Person whom she loves, should so studiously seek out which way to stifle the slender remainder of acknowledgement which he had for her? You will prove but too successful in your Attempt. You have already gone a great way in laying your Design. They that continually struggle with an unfortunate Passion, may easily overcome it. But go on, and perfect your Work; and forget me so absolutely, that there may remain no Idea of me in your Thoughts. How amiable soever they may be that please ye, I am persuaded you cannot but without trouble of Spirit call to mind in their Company those few Moments trifl'd away in the Alhambra, and at Zacarin, which in the midst of a Thousand Fears had those Charms that are not discerned in a Conversation free and undisturbed. The doleful Meetings at the Fortress, and in the Palace; those Meetings, I say, which notwithstanding the melancholy that attended 'em, had yet their extraordinary Allays of pleasing Content, cannot return to your Memory without upbraiding your Inconstancy. However, never think, that it is because I would deliver ye from the Repentance that accompanies an Error which is apparent to me, that I would have ye forget me; 'tis that I myself may avoid the most grievous of Adversities, which is to be the Subject of scornful Discourse, and a Sacrifice to please a new Mistress. If my Prayers are heard, you will forget my very Name, and you will abandon me for ever to all the Severity of my Fate. Suffer me to spend the Remainder of my Life in a profound Solitude, where I may have only the Consolation to consider that you know full well, that 'tis for your sake that I renounce the rest of the World; that you are the only Person my Soul passionately affects; and that all the World is lost to me when you are lost. For in the mind you are to blot me out of your Remembrance, you will never so much as inquire after me. You will be afraid to be informed of my Actions, and my very Name will be troublesone to your Ears. You writ me word, that if I loved ye still, I would find a way to meet ye, notwithstanding my Confinement. But if you had a real Kindness for me, would not your ingenious Affection have taught ye some Contrivance to have appeared where I might have seen ye? Oh! I am constrained to tell ye more then I would say. How difficult a thing is it for a Woman to disguise her Heart from him she loves! and how passionately do I love you, notwithstanding your Ingratitude.   

LETTER XLVII.  
AT length I have heard from ye; but Good God! what sorrowful tidings do I hear! You are very ill; and I am so very far remote from ye, that there may a thousand fatal Accidents befall ye, and I never the wiser, nor you be able to observe the violence of my Pain. It surpasses all Expression, Sir; this last Adventure triumphs over all my Patience; I am not Proof against so sensible a Misfortune. All the Calamities I have undergone are inconsiderable to this, that is to say, to know that the Person whom I love so tenderly is in imminent Danger. Yes, you are worse then Dona Pepa writes me word. She was willing to spare me: But she has said enough to put me into the most cruel Frights that ever terrified a Female Breast. Fits once in Four and twenty hours are Mischiefs difficult to be withstood. Alas! how much Reason have I to be afraid! But, Sir, consider in the midst of your Affliction, how deeply I am concerned; and let your Assurance that I partake of your Grievance, and that I love ye, serve to render your Life more precious, and make ye more careful to preserve it.   

LETTER XLVIII.  
I Am overjoyed that you believe me worth the Visiting, and that the more you see me, the more I inspire ye with that Desire; and I dare say, it would be still more fervent, could we but have the Happiness more frequently to see each other. You are not acquainted, either with my Disposition, or my Conditions. 'tis true, that I owe ye whatever either the one and the other has of Merit. I am sensible of it every Day, both by my own judgement, and by the Esteem of my Friends. I hope so well to imitate whatever is Extraordinary in your Letters, and in your Conversation, that I shall one Day approve myself worthy to please ye, and perhaps I may become an Honour to your peculiar Love.   

LETTER XLIX.  
TO show ye, that my Courage is not a mere Rhodomontade, if you please I will see ye to morrow. But you must contrive a way to slip into honest Pepa's, so as to deceive the Vigilancy of my Jealous Argus's. You must also manage yourself with infinite Prudence for a good while, and omit nothing to disabuse 'em, or, to speak more properly, to delude 'em as much as possibly you can. It behoves us to obtain our Happiness at any Price. What a Felicity will it be to see ourselves at Liberty, after so many Frights and Fears! If I may believe your Looks Yesterday, you are no less impatient to see what will become of us, linked, as we are, in an eternal Bond of Amity. I was infinitely satisfied with your Behaviour, and your Discretion, in getting away, so speedily, from your Friend. They must have cost ye very dear; for I am sensible, I should have had a world of trouble to quit the former. I make no question but the sight of Don Gaspar raised a kind of Commotion in your Breast. My Trouble was extreme; and I was afraid of what might have befallen me, by Reason of such an unlucky Accident. But that same Sentiment of mine, soon gave way to another more noble. I looked upon him as your Rival and your Enemy: And under both these Characters, he appeared to be the most odious of all Mankind. I know not which is most predominant in me, the Extremity of my Hatred of Him, or of my Tenderness for You. But my Mother has sent for me, and without question 'tis to resume the Discourse, which was interrupted this Morning. I am going to her, with a Design to do Wonders.  

A Continuation of the same Letter.  
I am return'd from a deal of Chat, like a World of other Stories of which I have informed ye. 'tis known that I have seen ye, and in regard 'tis also known that Don Gaspar was there, 'tis he without doubt that blabb'd it. I defended myself resolutely, and without any thing of Bitterness. I gave 'em such good Reasons, that they were almost ashamed that they had carried their Suspicions and their Transports so high. They would have laid an Injunction upon me never to stir out. I besought 'em not to use me so severely. I  told 'em it was now high time for me to appear in the World, observing a regular and even Conduct; that they should always find mine to be such; and that it was not to be imagined, that because I had a desire to mary according to my own Inclination, I should be a Prisoner all the days of my Life: That it was a sufficient Expiation of that weakness in me, that I restrained myself the same Liberty, and the same Pleasures that other Virgins of my Age were not afraid or scrupulous to take: That I thought it a great Point of Self-denial, that I never went to Comedies, nor to the Spring-Gardens of Albarkin, and so rarely to the Palace and the Governante's, that I might hardly be said to go at all. Thus I argued without any Heat; for I had fixed my Resolution before. And I am resolved, to carry myself so dexterously, that they may have nothing to lay fresh to my Charge, and so as to prepossess the World to my Advantages. As to what remains, I Love ye, Sir, and shall love ye eternally with that Fidelity, that nothing shall separate me from ye. These new Persecutions which they cause me to suffer, seem to add new Strength to my Esteem. Great Passions are attended with a nobleness and magnanimity, that makes 'em look upon all Difficulties and Obstacles, as Opportunities to acquire Honour, and redouble the Esteem of those that are beloved. Thus Sir, I have given ye an Account, with what Sentiments I waited upon my Father, very little concerned with what my Relations either thought or said. They have worn out my Affection for them, and I am sensible of no Love but for yourself.    

LETTER L.  
NOtwithstanding your Injustice and the Wrongs you have done me, I cannot refuse myself the Consolation of telling you what I think. Tenderness and Despite predominate by turns in my Heart, and vex it with such violent Agitations, that I can no longer withstand' em. 'tis as much as my Life is worth, if they last Four and twenty Hours. I am overwhelmed, nor is it possible my Body should any longer resist the Convulsions of my Mind. I wish to God this Night may conduct me to the Shades of Death; or, at least, that I may be able to endure my Torments, without complaining and without discovering them to you. 'tis the Accomplishment of my Misfortunes, to know the little Power I have over my Heart. But consider, ungrateful Man, that 'tis of you I speak, to the end I may never speak of ye more as long as I live; that this is to be the last Letter you will receive from me, and that I am going to bury in eternal Silence my Tenderness and my Grief.   

LETTER LI. Written by break of Day.  
THe Hour of the Day sufficiently demonstrates, that they who are in Love, never sleep in quietness. I could no longer rest in my Bed; I left it, to stand and muse at my Window, and so many beautiful Objects, as I there beholded, augmented my Melancholy and my Tenderness: And I could not refrain from writing to ye, at a time, when of all things that breath, the Birds and Lovers are the only Creatures that never taste the Sweets of Sleep; both the one and the other are awakened by Love. But with what a vast Difference do we partake the Pains of it! All that can torment a Heart, are felt by mine. I cannot refrain from Loving ye, unless I cease to Live; yet I consume my Days without your Company. What a Torture is this! Nothing could equal the Disturbances which your Sickness has caused within me: nothing could depaint it forth, no more then the excess of my Joy to hear of your Recovery. But there is a necessity of seeing you, to complete that Joy; and to hear you tell me, you were more sensible of my Absence, then of your Distemper, that so I may be able to forget what your Sickness has caused me to endure. My Vexations have been so much the more sharp and terrible, by Reason I am enforced to restrain and confine 'em within my own breast. I am here constrained to be Complaisant, and sometimes in a merry Humour. But while I seek to divertise others, and that they Flatter me with being acceptable Company, I torment myself beyond Expression, and wholly possessed by my Sorrows, I abhor all the Delights, with which the rest of the Society are pleased. Sometimes, assailed by my Misfortunes, I endeavoured to repel' em. And more then once I have essayed I must Confess, by means of the present Objects, to wear out the Impression which you have printed on my Mind. The small Hope of ever being Happy in that Friendship I have for ye, and the terrible Misfortunes, to which I am every Day exposed by the severity and vigilance of my Parents, have tempted me to put ye quiter out of my Thoughts. But all these reflections prove Fruitless; and the most violent Diversions, leave an empty space in my Heart, which only you can supply. I find none but you that Merits my Esteem and Tenderness. You so entirely possess me, that I can hardly taste the Sweets of Friendship; in regard, you appear to me, to be the only Person worthy to be my Friend as well as Husband. As for the Friendship of Women, you well know what an Opinion I have of it; and having so much Reason to suspect the Failing of my Female Friend, as I took her to be, I shall never engage in a strict tie of Friendship with any other. What would I give to be here, while the Court resides in this Country! I spent the whole Day Yesterday, where it is to remain. I saw all the Places which you will see, and envy their Happiness. I would purchase that Place where I might be seen by you, at the price of all that is most dear to me in the World. But the Morning advances apace, and the heat of the Sun drives me from my Window, where I am writing these Lines. However, before I go to Bed again, I will give you a Prospect of my Chamber. It looks out upon a large Garden surrounded with Terras'd Walks, having on the right Hand, a Grove of Orange-Trees, and on the other, a gloomy Thicket, extremely Delightful for the shady Covert of the spreading Boughs. The Genil runs at the bottom of the Terras, clearer then in any other part. A stately House seated on the other side of the River, serves for a piece of Perspective to this. On the one side, you behold a spacious City, on the other a Royal Palace, and in several Parts such pleasant Hillocks, that the Elysian Fields could never be more Charming. A Thousand Boats and small Vessels, obedient to the Stream, amuse the Eyes, and at the very instant of my writing, the early Sun-Beams afford still new Charms to so many admirable Objects. At this very moment I behold one of the most beautiful Pittances of the Universe. But, alas! I do not see you there: And then, what Pleasure can all these Varieties afford me? Rather they call back my wandering Sorrows, while the Prospect of so many Places, so proper for such tender Conversations as ours, makes me more sensible of the hard Fate that separates us. But I must not Complain so soon, considering what I have so lately avoided. The Thoughts of having escaped an eternal Separation, assuages my Pains; for mine is almost at an end I am returning to Grenada. Adieu, Sir; for I once more find ye Tender and Faithful.   

LETTER LII.  
You're an ungrateful Man: I never loved ye so Tenderly as now I do; and if my Affection be less for you, 'tis because you have no more Kindness for me. What a Pleasure 'tis to me, to hear you make the same Complaints which I did formerly! How sweet is this Revenge to my Heart! Ah! how extreme soever your Tenderness may be for me, yet will you still be behind-hand with me; since the Friendship I have for ye, prevails above that Haughtiness and Disdain which is more natural to Women then to Men. Nevertheless, you are still as Proud as ever; and notwithstanding the Violence of a Passion, which you would make me believe to be extreme, yet nothing escapes ye, that may create a suspicion in your Friend, that you are less beloved. Is he so Happy as to Love such a Maiden as I, with so much Delicacy, as never to be satisfied with the Sentiments of her Heart? Wherefore is it, since you are not so fully pleased with mine, that you never disclose your Dissatisfaction to my Friend? Your tranquillity of Mind offends me: I have displayed to her how heinously I take your Absence, and your Obstinacy, to tarry with the King, till the very last moment of his Return. Do you think I can be Contented with the small Power that I have? As for your part, you have Reason to believe, that I will ever require ye to renounce your Duty. You well know how many Pleasures I have sacrificed to the Performance of it, without Complaining. But, in truth, we have not always the same Reason about us. There are certain Minutes when Friendship is too predominant over sense and judgement. I would fain, that your abandoning yourself to my Desires, might prove an Argument to inflame your Duty, and press ye to be more earnest to give your Attendance at Court.   

LETTER LIII.  
WE shall see whether you will be as good as your Word; and whither you will not depart from hence, without my leave. I assure ye, I will grant it sooner then you imagine. My Relations put me to a great straight, and require from me that Care, that I shall never be able to take, when I know you are at Grenada. And thus you see me in the most ticklish Minutes of my Life. But I look upon the Restraint, that it will cost me, without Trouble, as being the only means that will facilitate the way to our Nuptials. I was Yesterday, all the Afternoon, with Dona Pepa, and she encourages me wonderfully, and promises me, in a little time, the Happiness of your Company, without such a deal of Caution. To bring it to pass, there is nothing which I will not undertake on my part: And, in regard I can never succeed, but by carrying myself with all Severity and Exactness, I will be sure to do all that can be done: For in short, Sir, 'tis time that our Sufferings were at an end, and that our Pains, should at length, be recompensed by a merited Retaliation of Delights. My Friend has assured me, that I might see you at her House, provided it be with great precaution on both sides; we cannot enjoy a greater Consolation, and less Dangerous: And, 'tis my Opinion, that we should accept of this Offer for Monday, and that you give her a Visit upon Sunday, to desire of her, as a Favour, what she has already granted me. You will find this Letter very full of Business; and there is good Reason for it; in regard it is impossible to have Business of so great Importance, and not to consult about it.   

LETTER LIV.  
I Am troubled above measure, to think what will become of that same terrible Indignation, which you have conceived against me. However, I rely upon your second Thoughts. Doubtless, you will find, when you come to consider seriously, that my Behaviour has not been so much blame-worthy, as it seemed to ye at first. I hope you will writ to me, and that you will not chide me any more. Nevertheless, I am also no less afraid, least your Anger should continue, and that the Approbation of it, by your Friend and mine, has confirmed you in it. But certainly, 'twould be myself, that would have much more Reason to let loose my Passion, should ye long cherish your Disgust, and not sand to me any more as you threaten me. But your Sentiments are endued with too nice a● Affection for me to forsake ye; because that for some time, I have pr●ferr'd my Duty before the Pleasure 〈◇〉 your Company, which is the only Pleasure of my Life. Believe me, I understand it much better then you do. Nor is the Necessity of my Duty so opposite as you imagine to the Interest of our Love: And my being sacrificed at this time, will repay us, with double Use, the Pleasures which it now deprives us of. You threaten me, that I shall be always a Prisoner; but you deceive yourself: And I repeat once more, what I have already signified in my Last, I must confine myself a while, to please my Mother, and after that, I shall be out of her infringement. And I am so convinced of this, that nothing can alter my Resolution, not to hazard any thing till that time, when you shall see me both combat and vanquish my own Desires, and resist Love for Love's Sake. It has been our Impatience that has reduced us to the Necessity of so long a Remedy. My Father's Jealousies had never time to wast themselves: And, had we not been unhappy, we should never have been able to have made our Misfortunes beneficial to us for the Future. 'tis time to amend our Errors, and to put ourselves in a Condition to unite our Destinies for ever.   

LETTER LV.  
YOU intended well, no doubt, but the Counsel which you gave me, to restrain my Grief, has not succeeded. All my Endeavours to conceal it, have only served to render it more Violent. It made so strong an Impression in my Heart, that for Eight and forty Hours, no body hardly knew it, and all that I admitted into my Chamber were surprised to see me. My Parents are more incensed against me then ever: They are persuaded I am in Love, and that you are the Object of my Passion; and the ill Success of their Persecutions has so exasperated their Minds, that I have Reason to be afraid of their more violent Transports. But I have so well dis-entangl'd myself from their Disgust of my Devotion for you, that they cannot forbear to Respect the Constancy of my Sentiments; and, for a while, both my Father and Mother treated me with much more kindness and moderation, then they had done in a long time before. And thus, that which was my Crime, becomes my Consolation; since, while I understand, that 'tis my Tenderness for you, which occasions all the Misfortunes of my Life, I also find, that so noble a Friendship, enforces them themselves that Persecute me, to have a Value for me. How strongly does this Experience confirm me in the Opinion I always had, ever since I had a Kindness for ye, that nothing more excuses a Virgin's Love, then Loving to excess; and, that then her Love appears to be excessive, even in the judgement of the most Austere, when she is not observed by any Action of hers, to derogate from a real Esteem. Mine, for you, believe me, Sir, is arrived to the highest Degree: Nor is it possible to Love a Man more tenderly then I Love you; nor to be more unfortunate then I am. And now assure yourself, that I shall never Pardon your showing yourself to me, the last time that you are like to see me, more Airy, and more Lovely then ever I saw ye before. If the Idea of your Person, which you have imprinted in me, be such as may justly incline me to a Dislike of all other Men, it is no less capable, more deeply to engage me to have a greater Affection for you. And it behoves you, for my Welfare, to wish, that I had never loved ye at all.   

LETTER LVI.  
WE have no Reason to be afraid of remote Misfortunes: they must be near at hand, to be felt in their full Extent; and whatever I have suffered for these Fifteen Days together, all is nothing to a surprising Apprehension which has seized me, not above two hours ago, that I must never see you more, perhaps as long as I live. The Business is concluded; my Parents have taken their Resolutions; and I am ruined past Recovery, should I discover the least Motion tending to a Correspondence with you. My Father is informed of every thing, and is resolved upon the utmost Extremities. This is no panic Fear; for one of his Friends disclosed it to me yesterday. My Father has carried things too high, to go back from his Determinations: and I have no other Course to take then to plunge myself in Solitude and Lamentation. The very moment of so cruel a separation is no time to express my thoughts at large: we should but augment an unfortunate Tenderness, which it behoves us rather to wish extinguished. Not but that I myself would have it to be eternal. I have loved ye in such a manner as to love ye as long as I live. My Tenderness and my Esteem have always been so extraordinary, and I have seen ye so seldom, that I am assured I should love ye, tho' I never saw ye. Never shall Indifferency take place in those Sentiments which I have for ye. But as for you Sir, whose more sedate Affection has more need of my Company and my Letters, to cherish and keep it alive, may I flatter myself, that you will not forget me, but that preserving the Remembrance of my Person, and of the Marks of Esteem and Distinction which I have always paid ye, you will be always ready to keep your Word, if ever I happen to be at Liberty to act according to my Inclination? For never think that I have lost all my Hopes of seeing you again one day. If these fair Hopes did not support me, doubtless I should die, and sink for ever under the burden of my Sufferings. But still I flatter myself, that Time and Fortune will recover me from a Condition so unhappy and miserable; and enable me to give you new Testimonies of my Tenderness.   

LETTER LVII.  
YOU have been taken for a Thief; and you have been taken for what you were: for no Man in the World knows better how to steal a Heart then you. The Clamours that have separated Us, and wherein we never thought you were concerned, were all occasioned by yourself; and the Porter believing that Thieves were got into my Mother's Closet, raised all the Servants, and made such a noise, that the like was never heard. However, you may be sure that I was none of those that was the least forward, or least daring, in regard I knew how small the Danger was that seemed so formidable to a Band of Armed Footmen. They thought themselves for two hours together in the greatest Jeopardy that ever they were in, i' their Lives. 'tis true, their fear was little in comparison of my Sister's, who is not yet recovered from a terrible Fit of an Ague which she has had. But there could not have happened an Accident more pernicious to our Correspondence. And this shows us, that there is nothing certain, since honest Ignez begins to stagger in her Design to Contribute to our Meeting. This Morning she gave me a notable Curtain-Lecture, and I had like to have burst out into a great Fit of Laughter. For there was something so pleasant in the Accident, and in what was discoursed upon it, that my just Fears of what might be the future Consequences, were not able to stifle my first Motions of Joy. And I can still hardly forbear Laughing, to think that my Mother was up a great part of the Night, fully persuaded, that had it not been for the Respect of the Watch-men to the House, she had been robbed by a great number of Thieves. For they that saw least, saw Four; and others saw Ten. If nothing has put ye out of Humour, this Adventure is worth Laughing at. Am I not deceived, Sir, when I persuade myself, that your Grief to quit me, wholly took up your Thoughts, in the Confusion that attended the Miscarriage of this Adventure? For my part, I think upon nothing else, but the Danger to which you expose yourself for my Sake, and the Resolution I have taken never to see you again, till I have recovered so much Liberty, that I may see you with Freedom and Safety. I have too great a Value for ye, to act like a Virgin that minds her own Satisfaction, more then the Person she Loves; and I am absolutely determined, that you shall run no more Hazards. How unfortunate are We! All the Consolation we had, was only a grace to talk through; and that, by Reason of this nights unlucky Accident, now ceases to be Faithful to us.   

LETTER LVIII.  
YOU see, by what I wrote you Yesterday, how far I am from breaking off our Correspondence, and forsaking your Society. This ought to render ye more sensible of my Reproaches, and make ye aclowledge, that your Behaviour merits Reprehension; since you cannot suspect me of seeking to pick a High-German Quarrel with ye.   

LETTER LIX.  
IS it not a shameful Thing for me to confess, that you have a great Command over me? One Minute of your Company, Sir, has dissipated all my Fears and suspicions. I see very well that the greatest Injury you can receive, in reference to me, is to be long without a sight of me. I dare not believe my Presence has the same Effect upon you, as your Company has upon me; more especially, when I appeared in such a careless Dress, that I was doubtful whether I should show myself, or no, in that Condition: But, at length, my eager Desire to see you, vanquished all other Considerations. Nevertheless, do not think I will Pardon the Letter which I received soon after? or, that I will allow you the Liberty to tax me of Coldness. Have you the Confidence to dispute with me, who best knows how to Love? And tho' the Marks of your Esteem were as Superlative as those which I have paid to you, must not I be thought to Love infinitely much more, in Loving an Ingrateful Man, then you, tho' never so forward and respectful to so faithful a Mistress? Once more you are too daring to dispute with me the Laurel-Wreath, which I have purchased by many Sufferings. 'tis no less easy for me to justify myself, upon the second Reproach, which you cast upon me, for Loving some body else, besides yourself. I am persuaded, that an Esteem so solid as that which I have for you, infuses into the Heart an inclination of Tenderness, which is not to be found in those, whose Hearts are unconcerned; and that it easily disperses itself upon Objects, which the same Tenderness forbids us not to Love. Are the Motions of Nature opposite to those of Friendship? or, because I Love you, does it follow that I must have no Affection for my Relations?   

LETTER LX.  
HOW Importunate you are! Hold a little— 'tis Day,— and I have not so much as closed my Eyes. Is it not sufficient, that your Company awakens those Motions in me, that till now, I never was acquainted with? Must I be exposed to 'em also in your Absence? But you are not absent; you are present in my Heart, and in my Thoughts; and if I may believe my own Tenderness, you are present in every part of my Body. Let me be but quiet for one Hour. I have hitherto known nothing but Grief; spare me the Pleasure of believing myself to be beloved. But can I have any Delight, when my Happiness costs me all the Innocence of my Life? Yet, I never, in a mood of Repentance, upbraided myself for Loving you. The inclination of my Heart is so little governed by the Will, that 'tis impossible we should give an Account of our Affections. But, could I not forbear your Company, and telling ye how wondrously I love ye? Yes— my Duty bid me shun ye— Alas! How is it possible to fly the Person that we Love? aclowledge to me then, that there is no greater virtue in the World, then to Love Passionately and Constantly. For, in short, I always thought myself to be virtuous: Do you persuade me likewise, that I am so, and that I should deceive myself, if I thought my virtue in the least impaired by my Propensity to Tenderness.   

LETTER LXI.  
I Have need of all the Pleasure which I take in renewing the Assurances of my Tenderness, to comfort me for the trouble and vexation which the Courtship of your Rival cost me. Good God! What an odious Creature is he! How equally distasteful are his compliments, and his Rudeness! How many cruel, how many disdainful Virgins would there be, if all Men were like him? For my part, should be canonised before my Death. am very glad, that maugre all outward Appearances, you are sensible how far remote, I am from forgetting ye; that so in ●ny turn I may be able to flatter myself with the same Opinion. I must confess 〈◇〉 did not foresee this unlucky Accident, ●n the Assistance of a Person that makes ●t her principal Business to serve us; and, that I bestowed the most outrageous Terms ●maginable upon the Motives of your Silence. For Four and twenty Hours together, I thought you had forgot me; ●nd that, with an Oblivion so profound, that I thought Reproaches in vain for ●ou, and too mean for myself. Which was the Reason you heard not from me all Yesterday.   

LETTER LXII.  
I Am persuaded, that one Minutes Discourse with you would ruin all my suspicions. For, in regard I am so whol●y taken up with the Pleasure of your Company, I shall neither have time nor ●emember to ●●●isfie my Curiosity, whether I do not flatter myself too unwarily, then I believe you have a peculiar Kindness for me. I know already, that notwithstanding all the Reasons, which one of my Friends alleged to convince me of the contrary, you will be too hard for Truth. Nay, I must have no Tenderness at all, to hold out against those Assurances which you give me of your Fidelity. Good God! what would become of me, should I effectually believe myself Indifferent to the only Man in the World whom I Love. I believe then, that you Love me, or rather I am willing to think so. I banish from my Thoughts whatever is erroneous to that pleasing Mistake: If I am deceived, I am willingly deluded. But, if it be possible, let it be your Business, that I may not be in an Error. And, if all your Endeavours to Love, prove unsuccessful, conceal it from me. In that Case, I would not be too quick-sighted into your Heart. I should be willing to be blindfolded like Love himself. Perhaps he would then be more favourable to me.   

LETTER LXIII.  
I Love ye with that Sincerity which nothing can equal but your Merit, and I am so highly pleased with the Choice which my Heart has made, that I am every day then other, more and more confirmed in my Affection. But know withall, that the Heat of your Passion puts me to a kind of Non-plus; your Expressions are so brisk and airy, that I look upon my own as faint and voided of Fancy. I wish they had the same Advantage over yours, as my Tenderness has over your Kindness for me. I cannot think of words that are significant enough to express my Sentiments. I have been apt to think that there is no Love in the World, but what is between you and me: but our Jealousies have quickly cured me of that Mistake. What Torments does a violent Passion cause? and how necessary is it, that the Sweets which it affords us, should be extreme, to make amends for the Disturbances it gives us!   

LETTER LXIV.  
I Am just got Home; and I writ to ye at the very same Instant. What could I do more, considering the Constraint to which a watchful jealousy has reduced me? Alas! Sir, if more were in my power, you would tell me all your Thoughts in reference to your last Adventure, and I would give you a full Account of all my restless Disturbances, and of the Effects of my Tenderness: it never was so quick and lively. The Excess of my Mother's Fury is redoubled, but notwithstanding all her Vigilance, we must see each other. This is not the first time that Love has found the way to deceive a wakeful Argus. I have spent above four and twenty hours where you have spent some part of your Time. I have reviewed those Places that were the Witnesses of the first Misfortunes of my Passion: I enquired of Them, what was become of ye; and methought they answered me, You were no longer ingratefull, nor insensible of my Love; and that they had been sometimes Testimonies of your Sighs. Judge you by that, to what a strange Degree they flattered me. Confirm me in that pleasing Opinion, I conjure ye, and assure me that they were as sincere as they were discreet. I have red your Letter, and laughed hearty at your dextrous and witty Stratagem by which you clouded the Vigilance of our Overseers. How well do they deserve to be cheated. You have infused into me an extraordinary Curiosity, to understand the Adventure that has befallen ye. Whatever Oblations you offer to me, I deserve 'em all, for my Devotion to you: nor is there any thing which I should think too much to do for ye, were I as Amiable, as I am faithful.   

LETTER LXV.  
YOur long Silence is not to be excused: whether unfaithful or constant, I ought to hear from ye. But I shall forbear any more reflections; to the end, that by forgetting it, I may be able to avoid the sharp Rebukes of a just Resentment. I am willing to pardon this Fault, induced thereto by the same Indulgence I have had for a great many others. I have used ye perchance, too much to Pardons, and you look upon 'em as Helps at Need that you can never fail of. But do not believe, but that my Patience in suffering the Wrongs you do me, and my Docility have certain Limits. I am altogether incapable of engaging my Heart a second time; you may depend upon it; yet am I not so tied to one particular Person, but that I can renounce my vehement Affection for you, when I find ye unworthy of it. My Converse in the World has acquainted me so much with the Levity and Inconstancy of Women, that methinks they who are not such as they are, may well be proud, and put a value upon themselves. A faithful Heart is worth the Trouble of a little Observance.   

LETTER LXVI.  
YOU have afforded me a World of Pleasure in giving me a full Account how you have spent your time, till we saw each other last; and I am glad that I have made ye a Piece of a Philosopher. A Man that would be happy must study Philosophy. But have a care of going too far: there is a Merit in Error; and it is requisite a Man should be a Fool in many things, to live with any kind of Felicity. The only Philosophy to be desired is that which increases Pleasure by intermixing with it the Alloy of Reason. But above all things avoid the Rock of too much Knowledge. 'tis enough to know, that all we see must have an end; that we ourselves have our Periods set us, and to fortify ourselves against these Thoughts. However we are not to make ourselves insensible of present Objects, out of an idle Opinion that what is subject to perish, is not worthy our Affection. It behoves us to enjoy the Present, and leave it to Time to make the Separaration: that is the Work of Death, and not of our Will. The Wise-man is obliged to submit with Patience to it, and not to prevent it. This is my Philosophy. But to satisfy your Curiosity, that fain would be informed how I employ my Time, I shall give ye an Account in part, notwithstanding the Extremity of my headache, and the late hour of the Night.  
In making my reflections, I have found that True Wisdom consists in comforming ourselves to our present Condition; that Prudence which teaches us to avoid Trouble, is the soundest part of Wisdom. And for that Reason I have fixed it in my head to make my Life at Home as easy as it is possible, and to omit nothing that may procure me Quiet in my Family. And to effect this, has been my principal Business, next to that which my Tenderness for you imposes upon me. I have made it a Law to myself, not to contend with those People, with whom I am to live, about things which they are obstinately bent upon. And to the end that such a continual Compliance may not be uneasy, I have bethought myself that there is hardly any thing worth the Trouble which we suffer by opposing what is required from us. There is nothing in the World that I know, which has not Two Faces; and therefore it seems to me unjust, that we should desire that all the World beside should have the same Prospect of things that we have. Who can assure himself that he is in the Right? and therefore in regard of this Uncertainty, is it not unjust to look upon all those that hold not the same Opinions with us, as I lined and Obstinate? We must not think that Maxims were made but only for considerable Things: however it behoves us to put 'em in practise every day, upon slight and trivial Occasions: they are of excellent use to inspire the Mind with Justice, and settle the Heart in Quiet. When we make a right Benefit of 'em, we do not always look upon the difference of Sentiments as an Effect of that Opposition and Aversion which People have to us, but only as the Effect of a Difference which Nature has put between several Minds, and then we look upon it without Bitterness or Exasperation. I support that Patience which I stand in need of, to endure what I am enforced to suffer, by reflecting upon what I owe to those that confine me under this Restraint. I contemplate the plausible side of their Actions. I excuse the Torments which they put me to, by attributing 'em to the Desire they have to perfect me in virtue, and I most ardently wish for that Perfection. I endeavour every day to forget what I have suffered all day long. I would not harbour in my Heart neither Hatred, nor Desire of Revenge. I give myself wholly up to Love, which I look upon to be the Touchstone of Wisdom. A Body must have a great deal to preserve it in Company with a Passion that seeks the Destruction of it. But for my part, I am apt to believe a Woman may love, and yet be a Philosopher. There is a sort of Love which Philosophy cannot condemn, because there is something in it of Divinity; the Object of which is the Union of Souls, which is above the Pleasures of Sense, and sustains itself without 'em, by the Help of an unshak'n Constancy. I am convinced that it is a shameful thing to change, that it behoves us to love the same Things, so long as they observe inviolable Fidelity; and that virtue consists in an extraordinary Care never to offend the Laws of Decency, and not in being cautious to subdue the Sentiments which Nature inspires into us, and which are conformable to right Reason.  
With these same Philosophical Contemplations, which I take out of my Seneca and Plutarch, I join the Recreation of my Needle, and in a piece of Tent-stitch, intermix a Thousand ciphers that discourse of our Love; and I never stir abroad, but when I go to Church, and sometimes to the Governess. My long Melancholy, has made me so subject to the headache, that I am seldom without it, in a most terrible manner, Three Days together; and the Motion of the Litter, together with my want of Sleep, has increased the violence of the Pain. Nor can I meet with any other Remedy to give me Ease, but by thinking upon that which pains me a Thousand times more sensibly, the want of your Society. That renders me insensible of all other Tortures whatever. And thus, Sir, I have given you an Account, in part, of my Employments in your Absence. I would also addict myself to the study of the Latin Tongue. But my Mother has too great a Veneration for old adages, to forego the Proverb, which says, That a Woman that speaks Latin, seldom comes to Good. But if ever I come to be at my own Liberty I will learn it, and neglect nothing to render myself amiable in your Eyes. Good Night, Sir, I strive in vain, to contend with my headache; I can hold out no longer, Day begins to break, and I have never so much as thought of going to Bed. The headache and Love, are the best Larum. Watches that I know in the World. My Confident is tired with the Feebleness of my Love, and the Infirmities of my Body. She believes her self with the Fellow that attended upon Don Japhet: 
To be within that Northern climb confined,  
Where he that sleeps, is cursed by all Mankind.    

LETTER LXVII.  
IF you looked upon Revenge to be sweet, you might enjoy the Pleasures of it: For never was a Man, who had the free Grant of a Maid, with whom he was in Love, so ill treated as is Don Gaspar. He would seem to affect a kind of Coldness for me, within these few Days. And, that which has been put into our Head, in reference to our Correspondence, has very much alarmed him. But I well know what an Ascendant I have over him; so that as soon as a little Reserv'dness and Care, on my part, have wakened his suspicions, he will return to me submissive and eager in his Courtship; and I shall make use of the same Ascendant, to let him understand his unworthy Behaviour toward me, and how deeply I resent it. I burn already with Impatience to see myself in a Condition to make him sensible of my Indignation. How dearly will I make him Pay for the Miseries which my Relations make me suffer! They are so insupportable, that they cannot fail to infuse into me a Desire to turn the Blows upon them, that are so cruel to me. My Heart is at this very present, full of an unfortunate Tenderness, and an implacable Hatred: And I will satisfy both the one and the other, at the expense of my Life.   

LETTER LXVIII.  
IF there need no more, then to be beloved of me, ungrateful Man, to render ye Happy, my Weakness assures ye an eternal Felicity. The knowledge of your unworthy Proceedings is not able to expel ye from my Heart. But what would ye have of me? Your acknowledgement of what you said to Dona Juana, has no Relation to your greater Offence. You have committed several others, in reference to myself, which you feign to have forgot, or which you committed so naturally, that you had no room for 'em in your Memory. When you have a mind to be better informed, you will find out a way to speak with me. For my part, I am so narrowly watched, that I can make but little use of my Invention. Besides, it is your Business and not mine; and I know there is nothing impossible with Love. You are but ill informed of the Condition to which I am reduced, since you think me at Liberty to go to a Play. My Father and Mother, tho' they have no Cause to find fault with any one of my Actions, are so bitterly incensed against me, that their Anger Transports 'em to the last Extremity: I undergo Afflictions infinitely Cruel: But, at length, it behoves me to understand what I have to do. If it be my unhappy Fate, to be undone by those that should study my Repose, 'twould be in vain to resist. I have no other Course to take, but what my Despair shall advice me to: I have too long struggled with it: I find I am born to eternal Misfortunes, and all the Reason, and good Conduct in the World, will never purchase my tranquillity. This is my Condition; 'tis very Terrible; but, what Matter is it to me? since I can no longer hope to see ye no more. When a Woman truly loves, the Person that she Loves, is All in All to her; and all the World beside, she looks upon as Nothing You render me altogether Indifferent: The most Solitary, the most Melancholy Life, is that which best suits with the Condition of my Soul. What has she to do with Joy and Pleasure, that is not permitted to share 'em in your Society? However, sometimes bestow a Thought or two upon the deplorable Condition, into which my past, and present Esteem for you has thrown me. But you'll forget, perhaps, that such a one was ever in the World; and I am out of hopes of ever seeing my Misfortunes at an end. They will receive no augmentation from your daily Visiting Dona Juana. 'tis a good Thought that is come into your Mind, and a proper Consolation of your little Grief for being debarred for ever from me. In a small time you will be Happy, and publicly known to be her Lover. I am apt to believe, that this Artifice, or rather this same Truth, might not be unprofitable for me, if you so pleased yourself. For I am forbid, for the future, to have any thing more to do with that Lady, and your Sedulities for her, would be the only Reason for me to alter my Conduct, which could not but work a good Effect to my Advantage. But if you intend to pursue that Conquest, you must do it so openly, that the noise of your Victory may reach my Parent's Ears. Good Night, Sir; I am loathe to let you see the Fear I am in, least, while you Counterfeit Affection, you should entangle yourself in Earnest; or, least you should Sacrifice my Letters to her Derision. My Fear for the one, does you too great an Honour; my dread of the other, is a Mortification to myself. Adieu.   

LETTER LXIX.  
HOW strangely did your Company affect me all the time the Comedy lasted! What an intermixture of Delight and Grief! How Charming it is, to see the Person that we Love! How Cruel is the Thought of quitting him for ever! Can you seriously believe me able to support your far distant Absence from me, with any Patience? Oh! Sir, if you can think me capable of such an Indifferency, you have but an ill Opinion of your own Merit, and my Sentiments.   

LETTER LXX.  
THE Counsel which you give me, and the Care you take for my Security, is a perfect Demonstration of a real Tenderness. I begin, at length, to flatter myself, that you have an Affection for me. But the more generous you are in my behalf, the more you deserve that I should hazard myself for you; and I should be unworthy of such a Friend, should I refuse to expose myself for his sake. Forbear then, Sir, to advice me not to writ to ye: Be convinced, Sir, that nothing can hinder me from paying you that proof of my particular Value. I shall not, by any means, neglect the Dictates of Prudence, but I cannot entertain so much, as might protect me from such Hazards and Chances, which may discover and expose me to the formidable Transports of my Parents, should I resolve to abandon my Love of you. Since nothing can chase you from my Heart, nothing can hinder me from giving assurances of my Fidelity; nor shall you ever find your Teresa Guilty of such a base unworthy Action, as to renounce, for fear, a Gentleman, of whom she made a willing Choice, and valued as the only Man, that merited to be her Husband. If I made some Attempts to have removed ye from my Heart, it was because I was induced to it by Sentiments more Noble. Nevertheless, I must aclowledge, that I could never brook the Character of Disobedient, did I not flatter myself, that the Care which I shall take of my Behaviour, will secure me from any such Reproach. I begin to take a little of that Boldness to myself, which you have preached so often to me, and not to be so easily Frighted. Experience teaches me, every Day, that there are few things which we have reason to despair of, because there are few things which your Dexterity and Ingenuity are not able to alter the Design of, and disappoint the bias of the Project. And thus, Sir, notwithstanding both our Conditions, I am in hope, and assume that Courage, which a certain happy Omen has infused into me, that I shall see you again as formerly, as 'twere a Member of our Family. Good God! how great a Felicity would that be for me!   

LETTER LXXI.  
however Idea you may have of my Person, it cannot make that Impression upon you as the Idea of yours imprints in me. You are more lovely in my Eyes then any thing that ever I beholded, and I have so true a Relish, that I dare believe without Prejudice, that what appears to me to be so, is really such. But this is not my judgement alone, the whole Court is of my Opinion. Your most bitter Enemies also will do that Justice to your Person, at the same time that they cry down your Heart. However I know your Heart; and I know nothing there, but what may well become a Person of Sincerity. Thus you appear to me accomplished, and I adore ye as a Piece of Perfection; that is to say, I have an infinite Esteem for ye, and whatever Torments I suffered and still undergo, I do not think 'em all too much for your sake. These are such Sentiments that you can never have but with great Difficulty, because there is a great Difference between our Persons and our Humours.   

LETTER LXXII.  
I Am apt to believe that I have not sufficiently expressed in the Letter, which I sent you this Morning, the whole of what yours made me sensible. No, Sir, I have not  told ye often enough, how extremely overjoyed I am to see you again, and once more to see you sensible of my Tenderness. How great a Satisfaction, how true a Delight the Thought of this excites in my Soul! How advantageous to my Heart will that Combat of Friendship be, of which you give me a Hint! I am already sure of the Victory; but will you not envy me my laurels? I wish to Heaven you would dispute 'em with me, and that you might be a Victor in your Turn. How greatly should I be pleased with the Defeat! then would it be that the Fortune of the vanquished would become the Envy of the conqueror. You will not expose me to this shane; and tho' it should be my Lot, you will be still my inferior in every thing. For my part, I am resolved not to yield your Heart the Pre-eminence of Grief: I will dispute the Sovereign Power over it. Wherefore should not the Fidelity of mine be equal to the Sincerity of yours? Why should not my Friendship, that is so nice and full of Spirit, supply the Love and Charms of the Lady you have lost? Yes, yes, I flatter myself, that my Sentiments may render me amiable, and that you will find in my manner of loving ye, for Ten years together, a Beauty that will charm ye, and a Remedy that will close up for ever that Wound which Grief lays open now and then. Your Cure is only in the Hands of Love; 'tis he that must apply the Medicine which he thinks most proper. But what better Remedy can he make use of, then to bestow another Wife upon ye? I flatter myself, that then you will think only upon me, and that Grief no longer then, will have any Power over ye. Surrender up your Heart to all the Tenderness of which it may be capable in my behalf. What is it that you fear? Are you afraid of loving me more then I deserve?   

LETTER LXXIII.  
YOU fly me perhaps as Sylvio fled Dorinda, and I shun you, as Amarillis hunn'd Myrtillo. These two manners of ●voiding each other are quiter different. Hatred was the Cause of the One, and Love of the Other. But, Sir, let us not fancy new Pains to torment ourselves: Let us make use of our Courage to support ourselves under those which we cannot avoid: Let us alleviate 'em with the Hope of being one day happy, and let us love eternally. I love you entirely; I swear it by yourself and me; by all the Oaths that you have sworn to mary me; by Love itself; and by those Minutes of Delight that have been intermixed with so many tedious Hours of Care and Sorrow; by all your Transports, and by my own Tenderness, of which the most Charming Evenings have been Witnesses. I swear it by that Grove consecrated to Venus, where I received your hand, and gave you mine. Can the most violent Despite deface it from your Memory? No, Sir, you can never forget it; nor can you remember a Person that so well knows how to love, but you must love again. Let us bind ourselves in Bonds more strong, and yet more noble then those that bind the Hearts of others. Let it be a pleasure to ye, to have a Friend that merits equally your Esteem and Love; and know by my way of Proceeding how much you may rely upon my Sentiments. I ought to be justified in your good Opinion; clear me also in the good Opinion of your Friend, whose Esteem I look upon as a real Happiness. Conceal not from him either my Reasons or my Inclinations. I am sure, he will be sorry for having condemned me so hastily, and that he will believe me worthy of your Heart.   

LETTER LXXIV.  
I Have been reading Two Epistles of Seneca. The Eighth and Fifth has afforded me some Consolation. I was ashamed that I could not suffer my Miseries without weeping: but he tells me, That virtue cannot hinder certain Motions within us, which intimate to us, That we must die; that it is not Fear that causes a Wise Man in the midst of his Sufferings to knit his Brows, but a natural Inclination which Reason cannot correct. sand me word, whether the Gentleman that is with ye be a Philosopher; whether he has a tender Heart; and whether you still talk of me as you were wont to do. I remember once you wrote me word that he took me for a kind of a sibyl: assure him that within these Two Months I shall be Eighteen years of Age. I am incomparably much better then you have seen me. When you were here, I was so turmoiled, that I lived without Eating or Sleeping. Adieu, Sir,— I am going to try whether I can leave off Sleeping; Sleep was never ordained for the Unfortunate. I have sought in vain for some Repose in my Bed; but I can hope for no Consolation unless it be in communicating my Sufferings to yourself. I find indeed that I talk of 'em with more Pleasure and Confidence then it behoves me to have in ye. Methinks my Anger forsakes me in spite of all that I can do. But believe me Sir, 'tis to the excessive Severity of my Parents that you are beholding for this Return of my Tenderness. Nothing more supports me under my Misfortunes, then the Consolation of imparting 'em to your Knowledge; they are above all Expression; and the reflection that lessons others, makes mine appear more dreadful. I cannot apprehended how People can be so cruel, to Persecute an unfortunate Creature to that Degree as I am harras'd. My Mother  told me, that I had no other Course to take, but to yield an absolute Obedience to my Father's Will. And now, that I can no longer Flatter myself, it behoves me to conceal nothing from ye. And I would fain find out the way, by making you acquainted with my Misfortunes, to raise, in you, the same Compassion which you demand of me, and which I would be ready to grant if you deserved it. But you are rather to be envied: You force yourself to be beloved, with a Friendship the most Sincere that ever Virgin harboured in her Breast, when Sentiments so rarely known, and so fit to flatter your Vanity, cost ye not so much as a Sigh. You find by my Expressions, that I am not over-forward in giving Credit to yours: And this same Mark of distrust I let you see, perhaps, to the end you may convince me better. Good God! How many things do I acquaint you with, which I thought never to have spoken of while I lived! They that are in Love, ought to be careful of making rash Vows. There is no greater Misfortune that could have befallen me, then to be the Object of their Scorn whom I myself find so Contemptible. And if there be any Consolation for the Necessity of leaving you for ever, I shall find it in the Revenge which I shall take upon 'em, by constraining 'em to value and Respect the Constancy and Purity of those Sentiments which they would enforce me to stifle. But as for you, Sir, what Sentiments shall I infuse into your Breast? Alas! I always looked upon it as my greatest Happiness, that you believed me much more worthy of Respect then any other. So that whatever befall me, and whatever Persecutions I endure, I shall not think myself altogether Miserable, if you will but afford me the sole Possession of your Esteem.   

LETTER LXXV.  
WEre it in my Power to complain of all my Sufferings, and make you bear a sensible and cordial Part in my Misfortunes, they would not be so terrible as they are. But; alas! I have too justly merited the Mortifications I have suffered. My Tenderness has caused me to commit Offences inexcusable, and the greatest of all, was the choice of a Lover, who never loved me in good Earnest. But I am cured, at length, of my Blindness. I know that you never loved me: And I know it so well, that 'twould be a Folly in me to doubt of it. The Proof which I have of it I never gathered from Don Gaspar's Malice, which I understand in the full Extent of it. I make no question but he made use of the Converse which I had with him, to thick'n the Tempest, which, at length, broke out in Thunder. However, he was not the only Person that contributed to the Storm. The People, who are an Obstacle to your good Fortune, have made your Passion the Subject of their Chat, and by testifying their Knowledge of it to be true, have put my Parents in a terrible Rage; and they fall foul upon me, which has reduced me under that Restraint, that I am forbid, under pain of a public Affront, to stir abroad to any Place whatever. So that it would be in vain for you to seek after me. All Pleasures are debarred me: But, alas! they take but little from me; the Condition of my Heart is such, as will not permit me to taste of any. I 'm more miserable then ever I was. Formerly, it was some Relief to me in my Afflictions, that I believed ye not indifferent, but a zealous Lover. Heaven has deprived me of that Comfort also: And my Pains and Sufferings are no longer supportable; because that he, whom I love, appears unworthy to be beloved. This unjust Lover, who has been more dear to me, then my Life, and for whom had I had 'em, I would have sacrificed a Thousand Lives, was never sensible of the most tender Passion in the World; only his Vanity has shared in a Correspondency which his Heart despised. Nor can I question these dreadful Truths, whatever Inclination I may have to delude myself. Could I speak with ye, you would aclowledge your Faults: But, in regard they are daily and hourly committed, and of a nature never to be pardoned, to what purpose would it be to tell ye of' em? and therefore, it behoves me to fly your Presence, as I would do a dismal Precipice. My Weakness, in Reference to yourself, is known, and my Reason renders odious the Inclination of my Heart 'twas only against that, that I have all along been striving; and Thanks to your Indifference, I have now quiter done with struggling against that too. However, you accuse me of breaking my Word. But you that are so ill an Observer of your own Promises, are not you afraid of those Stings of Conscience, that attend upon evil Actions? Can you think upon all that I have suffered for ye, and not die, at the same time struck with the Infamy of your Ingratitude? And, those ill Returns of my Sincerity and Friendship, will they not cause ye to appear, in your own Eyes, the most unworthy of all Mankind? I am naturally too little addicted to Revenge, and too much disposed to treat you favourably, to wish you a Revenge proportionable to the Pains which you have made me undergo. But, as for Repentance, I wish ye as much as you have need of, that is, as much as can be wished. 'tis the sole Desire I have, to trouble your Repose, which obliges me to prolong a Life, that you have made me hate, and which can never be other then unfortunate. But I am too tedious in bewailing my Misfortunes, to a Person altogether insensible of' em. Men little mind the Mischiefs that they create on purpose; and therefore, the best way for me, is an eternal Silence. If you have any Goodness yet remaining for me, you will not stir a Foot to make me break it. Forget me therefore, if you can; you have my free Consent. I cannot say, whether I can do as much, as to yourself; nor do you deserve to know the Sentiments of my Heart.   
The End of the LETTERS.   

THE HISTORY Of the Marquis de LEYNA.  
AMong the great Number of Persons of Quality, that reside at Madrid, Dona Constantia, Daughter of the Marquis de Villaflor, was one of those that drew upon her most, the Envy of the Ladies, and the Admiration of the Gentlemen. Her Beauty which was without Defect, and the delicacy of her Wit, charmed all alike that beholded her. She was in the Sixteenth Year of her Age, and lived in her Father's House, under the Care of one of her Kinswomen, who was a young Widow, so Lovely, that if she had not been eclipsed by Dona Constantia, who was one of the most beautiful Creatures in the World, Dona Elvira,( for that was her Name) had ●hose Temptations, that few Hearts could ●ve escaped. Many Persons had listed themselves in Dona Constantia's Service; ●veral had demanded her in Marriage, ●nd her Father would have been willing ●o have given his Consent, but that she ●ad all along testified her Indifferency for ●ny such Engagement. Her general Ex●use was, that she was too young; and ●metimes she made her Relations believe, ●at she would betake her self to a Reli●ious Life. But the Truth was, that no ●ody as yet had touched her Heart.  
One Day, that she went to take a walk ● the Caza deal Campo, which is one of the ●ing's Houses of Pleasure, hard by Ma●rid; the Walls of which, are washed by ●he River Mansanarez, there they met ●on Ferdinand, Dona Constantia's Brother, together with the Marquis of Leyna, of ●he Illustrious House of Lacerda, and Ne●hew to the Duke of Medina Celi. Now, ●n regard he only knew them by Report, and durst not presume to have ventured ●nto their Company, had not Don Ferdi●and offered to present him to the Ladies, ●ne of which was his Sister, and the other ●is Kinswoman. The Marquis was over●oy'd at so fortunate an Accident, and thanked his Friend a thousand times for the Kindness of his Proffer, and so both together they accosted the Ladies. When he drew near enough to have a perfect View of 'em, he manifested a sudden surprise, and a kind of petty Agony, which he could not master. The two beautiful Kinswomen took notice of it, with some delight; but they could not tell which of the two had produced the Effect, which both were willing to attribute particularly to themselves. The Converse was general; but the Marquis's Eyes never left informing Constantia that she it was who had won the Victory, and when they partend, she felt in her self something of a disturbance that she had never been acquainted with before. The next day the Marquis desired Don Ferdinand to present him to his Sister. But he excused it, by telling him that she never received Visits of her own Head; and that all he could do was to carry him to Dona Elvira's where he should see her. He approved the Expedient, and they went to her House betimes, before any other Visitants came to her. She received the Marquis with an extraordinary Civility; and because that Dona Constantia was not in her Cousin's Chamber, her Brother went to find her out; during which time the Marquis remained alone with Elvira. Now there is a Necessity in Spain to be the best Husband you can of your Time, when you are in the Company of Ladies. A Man that does not do ●his, would be looked upon as a Person that wanted both Wit and Breeding. In pursuance therefore of this Custom, the Marquis began to talk to Elvira of the Passion which she had inspired into him. At first she listened but coldly to him, nor had she as yet altered the Air of her Countenance, when her lovely Kinswoman entered the Chamber, together with her Brother. She cursed the hour in her Heart a thousand times; but it was convenient that she should conceal her Vexation: and Don Ferdinand who was willing to give his Friend an Opportunity to discourse his Sister,  told Dona Elvira, That he had a short word or two to say to her, about a Business that concerned him. Thereupon she' rose up, and retiring presently to the Window, What is the Matter, Don Ferdinand,( said she) you know, that there is no Concern of yours which I do not as deeply lay to Heart as yourself.' That is the Reason, Madam, ( said he) which engages me to desire your Opinion upon an Employment which is proposed to me. He gave her an Account of all the Advantages of it, and enlarged his Discourse as much as he could, to keep her from returning to her Seat. However, she was not altogether so attentive to his Discourse, but that she often cast her Eyes upon the Marquis of Leyna, and perceiving that he spoken to Dona Constantia with a serious and Timorous Air, she gave a shrewd Conjecture how things went. She began already to lay it secretly to Heart, and fearing there was something of too much Tenderness in that Converse, she had no longer Patience to heark'n to Don Ferdinand; so that she gave him her Advice in two Words, and return'd to her Kinswoman. The Marquis was really troubled at it; so that if any thing could make him amends, it was the Hopes he had to recover an Opportunity more favourable, and that afterwards the young Lady would list'n more kindly to him. The next day, and the days following, he sent 'em Baskets of Flowers; but he durst not do any thing more particularly for Dona Constantia, till he had obtained Permission from her, which he desired by a Billet in these words.  
I Must aclowledge, Madam, to ye, that 'tis a strange trouble to me, to divide those Sedulities, which are only intended for yourself; and of this it is that my Heart makes these Complaints to you. How happy should I be, if your Heart would take notice of' em! at least that it would consent to a full persuasion ●f my Respect and the Excess of my Passion.  
He put this Billet into one of the Baskets under the Flowers, without any Subscription; but the Person that was entrusted to carry the Baskets, mistook, and gave that to Elvira, which was designed for Dona Constantia. They were Both together, at what time Elvira, culling out the Flowers, found the Billet, and opened it in great hast. But while she was ravished with delight in reading it, Dona Constantia underwent a secret Vexation of which she could not be the Mistress. Elvira, who perceived it, cast a malicious Look upon her, full of Vanity and Joy, which completed Constantia's Disorder, and put her quiter out of Humour. However being ashamed to show it, she would not stay any longer in her Kinswomans Chamber: but she was hardly got upon the Stairs when she met the Marquis coming up. This Encounter augmented both her Confusion, and her Discontent: she knew not whether she should go forwa●d, or return, while her Lover overjoyed with the hopes of speaking to her, by her self, made the more hast to overtake her: but he was no sooner got up to her, but she flew from him with a disdainful Look; which both afflicted and surprised the Marquis at the same time. He could not apprehended what it was that procured him a Reception so far remote from that with which he flattered his Expectation; for which he could only excuse the Liberty which he had taken to writ to her. And he would most certainly have followed her, for the Satisfaction of his Curiosity, but that the fear of displeasing her stopped him: however in hopes that she might come to Dona Elvira, he went to her Chamber. There he found Elvira alone, and at first she spoken to him of indifferent Things; and he was so afflicted at Dona Constantia's Proceeding, that all his Answers were nothing to the Purpose. Elvira thought that his Disturbance was a point that concerned her, and that she might the better inform her self, Either I am deceived, ( said she to him) or you are disturbed at the Fate of your Billet. Perhaps I have more Indulgence then I ought to have in that particular: In short, I am willing to let ye understand, that the Lady who received it, was not at all displeased. The Marquis not doubting, but that she spoken of Constantia, Ah Madam, ( cried he, with an extraordinary Joy) how much am I beholding to ye, for telling me such happy tidings! For, indeed, I longed to know how that Paper was received. She had not time to return him an Answer, in regard that several Ladies coming into the Room, broke off their Discourse; so that the Marquis withdrew, no less satisfied, then full of Fear. Elvira's words gave him some assurance; but the unkind Reception of his Mistress, put him in a terrible Fright. However, because People are generally willing to flatter themselves with what they Fancy most, he willingly believed, that 'twas as he would have it, and restend all that Night, like one that had enjoyed his Wishes. The next Morning, he failed not to sand the Ladies their Basket of Flowers; and the Messenger that carried 'em, presented Elvira a Basket that was very neat and jolly indeed, but to Dona Constantia, another that was wonderful for Variety and Contrivance. But this pre-eminence of Beauty in the latter Basket, astonished Elvira. I am sure, ( said she) that the page. has mistak'n, and that he has given you that, which was intended for me.'' With all my Heart,( replied Constantia) take it.'' But, first( said Dona Elvira) see whether there be never a Billet, that may clear this Mystery to us.'' I have found one,( cried Dona Constantia) and I am resolved to have the Satisfaction of Reading it first of all. With that she opened it, and red these Words to her self.  
THo' Dona Elvira, has assured me, Madam, that you received my Billet with some kind of Favour, yet I'm afraid she did but Flatter my Disquiet. Your Coldness, when I met you Yesterday, and your Cruelty, not to come into the Chamber, intimates to me an Indifference which I cannot reconcile to what she  told me.  
Dona Constantia was surprised at this Billet; she rightly conjectured, that the first was intended for her: But not being able to unfold the Riddle, It is now ( said she, smiling) in my power, to revenge myself for your Yesterday's foul Play, in not imparting to me what was written to yourself, and without considering whether this be directed to you or me, See Cousin, ( continued she) how little I value it; and with that she tore it into bits. What you have done,( said Elvira) plainly shows, that 'twas for me; but whatever Resolution I had taken not to writ to the Marquis, you have urged me to break it. I will give him notice to be more cautious when he sends any thing to me; and if you think by your rash Incivilities, to disappoint his Kindness for me, you are very much deceived; for he assures ye, you serve him better then he could serve himself.' I am very glad, ( said Dona Constantia) to be serviceable to People that are indifferent to me; which helps to convince me, that if I had any Design, in Favour of my Friends, I could easily be induced to assist' em.' Let us dally no longer,( said Elvira) I will writ to him immediately, and I will let you see my Billet. With that, away she went into her Closet, and while she was writing on her part, Dona Constantia, after a little musing, wrote these Verses to the Marquis, to thank him for his Present.  
These Flowers that are so fresh and gay,  
And your brisk Love as fresh as they,  
Into my Heart did soon inspire  
A Thousand Pleasures no less new.  
But should my Heart once listen to Desire,  
I dread the Pains that would my Heart subdue,  
If you should be unfaithful in your Love,  
Or should it of no longer durance prove  
Then th●se fair Flowers, tho' newly blown,  
Yet withered and decayed as soon.  
Dona Constan●●a had already finished her Pillet, when her Cousin brought her what she had written. Certainly, ( said the beautiful Virgin) you take me to be Naturally ve●y Patient, to think I would stay here, till you brought me my Process to red: and so taking the Paper, she found therein these words.  
YOU are Happy that your Billet Yesterday fell into my Hands, but that you sent to day has not obtained so favourable an Entertainment. Dona Constantia si●z'd it with as much Confidence, as if it had been directed to her. Another time, leave not to Chance, the Power of deciding the Difference. The Possessions of the Heart will never admit of being shared.  
You see,( said Elvira) that I am in Earnest, and that I will neither have ye for my Rival, nor my Confident.' 'To repay your Sincerity,( replied Dona Constantia, I will make up your Billet: and after she had folded it, she dexterously slipped the Verses she had made in the room of it; at what time Elvira wrote the Subscription with her own Hand, and delivered her Rival's Verses to the Marquis's page., believing them to have been her own Billet. Soon after, Dona Constantia retired to her own Apartment, where she found the Princess of Monteleon, who was come to carry her to a Play. The whole Court was there that Day, and among the rest, the Marquis of Leyna; and by good Fortune, sate next to the Box, where his Mistress had placed her self. There he had an opportunity to thank her for the Favour she had shown him; and he enhanced the Value of it, that he might put the greater Price upon his acknowledgement. Withal, he assured her, that he deemed himself the most happy among Men, to see that she had received the Declaration of his Passion without any Reluctancy. He had a particular Talent to persuade a Belief of what he said, which other People had not, who spoken the same Thing. He had a great deal of Wit, Sweetness and Complacency, and a high Reputation, grounded upon true and solid Worth. Dona Constantia informed him of all that had passed between them two: She also gave him the Billet, in the room of which she had so neatly conveyed her own Verses, and she feigned to be in some Measure ignorant, what Sentiments he had for the fair Widow, to give him time to tell her, upon that point, all that could assure a lovely Person, whose Charms are always Security for a Lover's Fidelity. Thus the Marquis, when the Play was done, departed much more enamoured then he was before, and much more smitten with the Wit and Beauty of his Mistress. As for Elvira, she had refused to go to the Play, in regard she was in hopes that the Marquis would come and spend the rest of the Day with her. But it is impossible to be more sullenly vexed then she was, after she saw her self deceived, and Dona Constantia found her in such a scurvy Humour, that she was going to retire to her Chamber, when of a sudden, she heard a most delightful Symphony, under the Windows of the Gallery, which partend Elvira's Apartment from Constantia's. Thereupon, the two Ladies went into a Balcony, and softly drawing the Lattice-Window, they saw two Persons particularly, whom they knew to be the Marquis, and Don Ferdinand. Surely, you will not dispute the Property of the Serenade with me, as you have done that of the Billet,'( said Elvira to Constantia)' Who I! Cousin,( replied Constantia) I will never contend with ye in any thing; I must have lost my Reason, if I did. Elvira had no time to Answer, in regard that several Transcendent Voices began to sing the following Words in Parts.  
Since I the fair Lisetta loved,  
And she my Passion disapproved,  
I suffer cruel Torments Day and Night;  
Nor can my restless Mind  
In softest Pleasures or in calm Delight,  
The least assuagement for my Sorrows find.  
Ah! woe is me! how does my Heart lament  
The loss of those blessed Hours of sweet Content  
Those happy Days, when free from Amorous Pains,  
Upon a sloping Hillock laid,  
My Oaten Pipe revived the neighbouring Plains,  
And was the only Mistress that I had?  
Thy youthful Years, Lisetta, then improve,  
Which Virgins without Pleasure wast  
That fly the Pleasures of enchanting Love,  
And they that lose the Summer of their Age,  
Which Nature for the Sports of Love ordained,  
Lose that, which when the Season once is past,  
Can never— never be regained.  
Unwilling rashly to engage,  
Some may adventure for a while to stay;  
But late or early all must time obey;  
And every Shepherdess  
Must choose a Loving Shepherd to caress.  
These different Periods were sung by different Voices, which at length joined all together in the following Chorus.  
Shepherds that in your Loves with Crosses meet,  
Be Faithful, Constant and Discreet;  
For often they who long have stayed  
The Critical Conjuncture, win the Field;  
And then th' Inexorable Maid  
Will tamely in the Lucky moment yield.  
Sincerely,( said Elvira) the Marquis is very much to be beloved, and very courtly.'' You have your Reasons,( said Dona Constantia) to find him so. But for my part, I intend to make it my study, that he may find a Thousand Faults in me.'' You'll do very well, Cousin,( said Elvira, embracing her) to follow that Exercise; for I must confess, I should extremely pity your Condition, if you should go about to fix your Thoughts upon him. And the Reason is plain, because that from the first time that we saw him, I knew by his Looks, what he began to feel for my sake: If I refrained from pleasing him, 'twas because I feared, that you were too much in Love with him.'' Ah! Cousin, what a malicious Charity you have,( said Dona Constantia, smiling) would you be so willing, to tell me things that redounded to my shane? But there she stopped— to hear a charming Voice that sung the following words.  
The Vernal Face of all things smiles,  
The Meadows and the Groves renew,  
And happy Lovers, to each other true,  
T'improve the Season bend their amorous toils.  
But Hearts by fell Misfortune cowed,  
And Souls that languish for the coy& proud,  
Midst all these sweet Delights, to Them  
All Seasons are the same.  
The music lasted for some time; nor did the Ladies retire till the Marquis and Don Ferdinand, who saluted 'em by their Names, withdrew. The next day the Marquis came to Dona Elvira's, and understanding she was alone, he entered her Apartment, not without some Trouble: for his Sincerity no way suited with the Mistake of that young Widow. He would have undeceived her with all his Heart. But he was apprehensive, that by provoking her, he should deprive himself of the means of seeing Constantia; and that reflection engaged him much farther then he was willing to go. She received him with so much Kindness, that he was at his Wits end to see it. Do not you believe ( said she,) very obligingly, that I am one of those Ladies, that feign to be ignorant of what is done for 'em, on purpose to exempt themselves from taking notice of it. I am naturally so grateful, that I would willingly suffer Blame, did I not understand how to aclowledge the meanest Services that are paid me. I am taken Sir, with your Sedulities: I would fain assure ye of it, because I am persuaded you will not misconstrue this Confession. I listened to your Serenades with an extreme Delight; I admired the Magnificence of your Presents, and I have found ye in every thing full of Invention, and a complete Courtier. Madam, ( replied the Marquis,) I am so out of Countenance at the Praises which you bestow upon me, and I am sensible that I so little deserve 'em, that they rather augment my Confusion then cherish my Vain-glory. He was going on with his compliment, when Don Ferdinand entered the Room, together with Dona Constantia.  
There was now no longer any room for private Discourse; and Elvira reserved to her self the pleasure of making Signs to the Marquis. He on the other side, altho' he were overjoyed to see Constantia, yet was his Trouble no less great, to see that there was so much Company, that he could not find a Minute's Time to entertain his Mistress with his Passion. He whispered to Don Ferdinand, and conjured him to procure him an Opportunity to see his Sister in her own Apartment. If you love her so well as to make her your Wife, ( said he) I will omit nothing that may contribute to your Satisfaction; but if your Intention be only to talk to her of your Love without any other Design, you must excuse me for not complying with your Desires.' You would have a very bad Opinion of my Sentiments, ( replied the Marquis,) if you believed that I had any other Thoughts then those of marrying her. However since that I have given you my promise, permit me to obtain the same from her, and that we may take those Measures together, which may be most proper to gain the Duke of Medina Celi's condescension to what I so passionately desire. Upon that Don Ferdinand embraced him, and promised him he would bring him that Evening to his Sister. Dona Constantia was in a strange Labyrinth, when she heard the Proposal, her Joy and Fear being equally the same. For she had an extreme Kindness for the Marquis, but her Reputation was a thousand times more dear to her. She was afraid of a Breach of Decency and Maiden Decorum, in the ticklish point of Love and Courtship. So that at first she refused her Brother what he desired; neither would she consent, till after a long& obstinate Importunity. So that after she had been but a very little while retired to her Chamber; thither they went, without making the least Noise. It is impossible to express th' enamoured Marquis's Joy; he flung himself at Constantia's Feet, and taking her in despite of all Resistance, by the hands, which he kissed with an amorous Impatience, Madam, ( said he) I am above measure happy in that you have vouchsafed to give me a private Admission. But alas! I only taste the Pleasure but imperfectly, so long as you refuse to share it with me. Tell me, Madam, does not the excess of my Passion nothing move ye? and can you with Indifferency behold at your Feet a Man that adores ye? who comes to swear an Eternal Fidelity to ye, and to know of you whether you are willing to correspond with those Sentiments, of which you never will have any cause to be ashamed?' Sir,( said Dona Constantia, after she had desired him to rise) it would be a Vanity to tell ye that I am indifferent for such a Passion as yours: and therefore I must needs aclowledge myself to be affencted with it. I also accept your hand, and give you mine before my Brother: may it please Heaven to prosper our Designs where Tenderness and Esteem have an equal Share. The Amorous Marquis transported with delight, return'd her a thousand Thanks, and after they had discoursed together a very little while, the fear of being surprised, enforced 'em to part.  
This first interview was attended by several others, to the infinite Joy and Satisfaction of those two Lovers. But 'twas impossible that so many sweet Contents should long endure. The Marquis of Villaster, Dona Constantia's Father, had an elder Brother, called Don Sancho, jealous, violent, ill-humour'd, and in word, a Person that had nothing to recommend him, but his Wealth and his Birth; and, in regard that his Ancestors had made such a Settlement of their Estate, that it always descended from the Eldest to the Eldest; by which means it could never fall to the younger Branch for want of Issue, he bethought himself of Marrying Dona Constantia, to the end, the Children he should have by her, might make his Brother amends for the wrong which Nature had done him. He had no sooner meditated this Design, but he imparted his Mind to the Marquis of Villaflor, who accepted the Proposal with extraordinary Joy, and promised him his Daughter, without consulting her, whether her Sentiments were agreeable to his or no. Presently he sent for Don Ferdinand, and gave him in charge, to tell his Sister what he had done, and how he intended to dispose of her, and to let her understand, that altho' Don Sancho were somewhat strike in Years, yet that he was troubled with none of those Infirmities of old Age, that render People disagreeable to Youth. Don Ferdinand was in a kind of Astonishment to hear this unexpected News, and which broken all the Measures between Constantia and her Lover. He laid before his Father all the Reasons he could imagine, to divert him from so fatal a Resolution. But he found him inexorable; and, in regard the Marquis was absolute in his Family, there was no avoiding it, but he must be the immediate Messenger of it to his Sister. Nor was it without an extraordinary Trouble that he  told her the mournful tidings. She received it with ● lumpish, pensive Silence, by which her Brother might easily judge of the Excess of her Grief; and after she had remained for some time, without being able to speak, she abandoned her self wholly to the Anguish of her Sorrows. But Don Ferdinand, interrupting her, conjured her to take some speedy course. I know not what course in the World to tak●, ( said she with Tears in her Eyes) other then to ●eg of you to find out the Marquis, and let him understand the Condition I am in, and my Father's Design. Away went her Brother, and in a short time, it was  told him, that the Marquis was gone with Don Pedro de Leyna, his eldest Brother, to Burgos, there to wait upon the Duke of Medina Celi, and propose to him his Marriage with Dona Constantia, and that he made a full Account, to have return'd before she should have known of his going; but that since, he had sent word, that the Duke had engaged him to stay much longer then he expected. This last piece of unfortunate Intelligence, put the lovely Lady to her Wits end, and while she was musing what to do, a Messenger came to tell her, that her Father had sent for her. Presently, she went to his Chamber with all the Anxiety of Mind, that a Person devoted to her Duty, and, at the same time, prepossessed with the Merit of a Lover dearer to her then her Life, could be sensible of. There she found Don Sancho present, at what time the Marquis of Villaflor, directing his Speech to his Daughter, Thank your Uncle ( said he) for the Honour he does ye, in making choice of you for his Wife. He has demanded, and I have promised ye: And I make no question but you will be ready to comply for your Advantage: I suppose Don Ferdinand has acquainted ye with the Business already.'' Sir,( said Dona Constantia) I would rather choose to die, then displease ye; but I can now no longer conceal from your Knowledge, that I have solemnly vowed a Religious Life, and I hope you will not oppose a Resolution, in order to my Eternal Salvation.'' You have been too Indiscreet, ( replied the Marquis, in a fume) to engage yourself in Vows, without my leave; neither will I consent to it; and therefore Daughter, I desire ye frankly, and without any hesitation, to yield me your Obedience.'' No, no, Niece,( said Don Sancho) never be troubled for your Vow, I will willingly take all your Scruples upon my Conscience; and I promise, ye you shall live so happily under that Condition, which I propose to ye, that you will never Dream of a Nunnery. But she made no other Answer then with her Tears, and presently withdrew.  
So soon as she was return'd to her Apartment, she  told Don Ferdinand, that since there was no Hope to bend her Father's Obstinacy, but that he was resolved upon the Marriage, there was no striving against that Stream, and therefore she conjured him to carry her to the Nunnery of St. Domingo, where she believed they would receive her. He had a great struggle with himself to adventure an Undertaking so opposite to his Father's Intentions; but the Importunate Prayers of his Sister, and the Tenderness he had for her would not permit him to deny her. The Nuns, who were not ignorant why she sought for Sanctuary among 'em, and who were also acquainted with the violent Humours of Don Sancho, and the Marquis of Villaflor, would certainly have sent her back again, if the Constable Colonna's Lady, who was then in the Convent had not, with much ado, persuaded 'em to open their Gates and admit her in. That Lady had a particular Friendship for Dona Constantia: But she had not the good Luck to be long happy with her. For within a very few Days, the Marquis of Villaflor had notice whither his Daughter was retired; and no sooner had he discovered it, but he went, together with Don Sancho, and threatened no less then to fire the Nunnery. There needed no more to fright the Poor Nuns, so that notwithstanding all that the Constable's Lady could do, to encourge 'em against all the Vanity of such Menaces, they return'd the Disconsolate Fair One to her Father. She swooned away, at her coming out of the Convent; but her Father carried her home in that miserable Condition: Where, for some few Days they let her alone, till she had a little recovered her self from the ill plight of Body and loss of Spirits, occasioned by the Consternations and Troubles of a dejected Mind. But at length, Her Father constrained her, by the utmost Rigour of unnatural Violences, to mary Don Sancho.  
In the mean while, the Marquis received Advice, at Burgos, of the Misfortune that threatened his Amours. Upon which, he departed thence without delay, and flew to Madrid, with all the speed imaginable. But what he was afraid of more then Death was already befallen him; the ill Fate I mean, to see his Mistress in Possession of another. The News of which awaked in him all the Sentiments of Grief and Rage, that could exasperate a Person desperately in Love. He was informed of all that she had done, to prevent her Marriage; and the Reasons which he had to to extol her Fidelity, did but serve to augment his Despair. At length, he fell dangerously Sick: And upon that occasion it was, that Dona Constantia stood in need of all her virtue. She had seen her Father die suddenly; and her Lover's Melancholy had taken so deep a root in his Heart, that his Life was also in a manner despaired of. Don Ferdinand went every Day to visit the Marquis, and to assuage his Pains, by telling him a thousand Things, the most obliging in the World, of his Sister's Kindness for him. But when he saw him in a fair way of Recovery, he confessed that his Sister carefully avoided all Opportunities of speaking with him, and that she had often desired he might be acquainted that there was a Necessity for him to banish from his Remembrance, and his Heart, a Person who had been so dear to him, since now she could not Love him without a Crime. But while Don Ferdinand was thus discoursing to him, and giving him the best Advice he could think of, the enamoured Marquis sate revolving in his Mind most dismal Projects against the Ravisher of his Felicity. Which Don Ferdinand perceiving, gave his Sister notice of it; and she being exceeding alarmed at it, to prevent the Effects of his Fury, wrote the following Lines to the Marquis.  
SO long as it was in my power to listen to my own Sentiments in your Favour, you know I never failed to cherish 'em with all the care imaginable, and that I freely consented to your generous Design of uniting our Destinies together. I was never born to so great a Happiness, and I assure ye, there is nothing that you can think in aggravation of my Sorrows but what is much inferior to what I endure. If therefore it be true that they do any way affect ye, never seek by violent means to deliver me from a Person for whom I am now bound to have a respect. This is the last Proof which I desire of your Submission and your Friendship. Be so kind, Sir, as not to refuse it, if you are still the same you were for Dona Constantia.  
Don Ferdinand carried this Billet to the Marquis: he received it with extraordinary Transports of Affection, and he conjured his Friend to spare him some Minutes to see his Sister. I know, ( said he) she will be at Dona Elvira's this Evening; at all other times I would avoid going thither: for I must confess that the Remembrance of her has plagued me ever since my Sickness; but since I am no longer permitted to visit Dona Constantia as formerly, I shall account myself happy only to talk with her in her Kinswoman's Company. In short, he was so afraid of losing the Opportunity, that he got thither sooner then he ought to have done. Dona Elvira received him so kindly, and shew'd him so many Civilities, that he knew not what to think or say to her. You have been punished ( said she with a smiling Countenance) for going to Burgos without my Leave; for then I could have informed you of the Match that was making between Dona Constantia and Don Sancho; you would have had the pleasure of being at the Wedding, and I should have had the pleasure of spending a whole day in your Company. The Marquis, upon these words, which recalled to his Memory all his past Misfortunes, was ready to die through the Constraint which he put upon himself to conceal his Grief; and the Effects of it appeared in his Face. Which Elvira taking notice of, and withal appearing concerned at it, the Marquis  told her, That he was not altogether so well recovered from his Sickness, but that he was troubled sometimes with fainting Fits; and after that, all he spoken to her while he stayed, he uttered with a languishing and melancholy Air, of which she thought her self to be the cause. Never fear Sir,( replied Elvira) my being so highly offended, as not to deem ye worthy pardon. Methinks too, that you carry your Repentance too far, and I am troubled at it.  
But Dona Constantia was not long before she came; for tho' she were married she had not yet removed her Lodging, and as for her Husband he lay in the Marquis of Villaflor's Apartment. She appeared to the Marquis so lovely, so pensive, so careless in her Mourning Habit, and so neat in her Carelessness, that he was charmed with the sight of her; and no doubt the Trouble and Perplexity which this interview had wakened in these Two Lovers, had not escaped Elvira's piercing Eye, but that Don Ferdinand put a stop to her Observation. She had had her Picture newly drawn, and Don Ferdinand very pleasantly diverted her, by observing to her, that she had several Beauties which the Limner had neglected to express. This bewitching Flattery pleased her extremely: so that the Marquis made the best of his time, and accoasting Dona Constantia. Ah! Madam, ( said he) is it possible that I should lose ye; and that my Grief should not have laid me in my grace; in short, do not believe me altogether insensible of my Misfortune?' No, Sir, ( said she) I do not in the least believe ye insensible: what I suffer myself, enables me to do you Justice; but 'tis no longer now allowed me to seek my Consolation.' How happy are you, ( continued she) that 'tis in your power to afflict yourself without a Crime!' What Crime then, Madam, ( said the Marquis) do you think it to be, to bewail a Person that is acquainted with nothing but Despair, and knows not where to find one drop of Consolation to mitigate the Anguish of his Sorrows, for having lost so rich a Treasure as yourself. My Duty will not let me,( replied Constantia, concealing some Tears that fell from her Eyes, in spite of all that she could do) my Duty, I say, forbids me to love ye, and the same Duty commands me to fly your Company. How! can you hate me! ( cried the Marquis sighing) Unjust Woman! is Don Sancho become the Master of your Heart, and has he banished me from thence? Oh Sir, insult not over me any more, ( replied Constantia interrupting him.) It behoved Don Sancho to have done all that you have said, and it became me to assist him: but I had not the Strength; as the Afflictions wherewith you see me overwhelmed, may well inform ye. They had continued their Expostulations, but that Elvira briskly quitted Don Ferdinand, and return'd to the Marquis; and it happened very luckily for the two Lovers; for Don Sancho, who presently entered the Room, would not have been well pleased to have seen his Wife in private discoursing with the Marquis. He brought Letters which he had received from Mexico, that gave him a large Account of Goods that he had in the Indies. Dona Elvira also was concerned in the Letters; and that was the Reason she was forced to hear 'em red over, which required some time; so that the Marquis, not having an opportunity to speak to his Mistress in private, took a Pocket Looking-Glass that lay upon the Table, and making a show as if he were playing with it, with the point of a Diamond wrote upon it the following Verses.  
Remember, fair Constantia, when your Face  
You see by true reflection from this Glass,  
That all those Beauties which you there display,  
Vanish from thence, when once you turn away.  
But, Madam, be you near or far remote,  
My Heart retains 'em, never to be forgot.  
Dona Constantia, was too intent upon what the Marquis was doing not to perceive that he had writ something upon the Glass, and therefore feigning to rectify something that was amiss in her Head-Attire, she took it out of his Hands, and red what he had there written. Elvira also desired it, to set her Locks right, which put Constantia to a nonplus. However, not thinking it convenient, to show any thing of Reluctancy, she presented it to her: but as Elvira was going to take it, Constantia, as if it had been by Mischance, let it fall, and broke it to pieces; and seeming to be extremely troubled for the Accident, picked up the bits, and threw 'em out at Window: I am resolved, ( said she) this shall give you no farther trouble, and from this very Evening, I shall endeavour to repair my Fault. The enamoured Marquis lost no Opportunity of seeing her. On the other side, Dona Elvira persevered in her belief, that he loved her, because he often came to visit her. One Day that he was passing through the Gallery, which was right against Constantia's Chamber, he saw Juana, one of her Women, for whom she had the greatest Kindness, come forth; he stopped her, to ask her how her Mistress did. She is like to be at quiet for some Days, ( said she) Don Sancho is going to the Escurial, and he has already given 〈◇〉 to two Duena's, not to let her stir out of their sight.'' How! my poor Juana,( cried the Marquis) must I not see her?' Not so often, Sir, ( said she) as if he were at home: For you know what a terrible Beast a Duena is.' They are not so difficult to be tamed as thou thinkest for, ( replied the Marquis, with a smile.) But, I'll not be beholding to 'em: Here, take this Jewel which I freely give thee, and procure me a moment's time to talk with thy Mistress. Juana at first, was somewhat squeamish, but the Marquis knew so well how to manage her, that she promised him, that the next Day in the Evening, when her Mistress was alone, she would open the back-door, unknown to her Mistress, and let him in. The Marquis, at the same time, was afraid to offend her, nor would he have consented to the Maid's Proposal, but that he flattered himself, as all Lovers do, that a Mistress is never so much incensed, by seeing the Person whom she Loves at her Feet▪ but that she is ready to Pardon the Transports of a desperate Lover. So that he made his Fears submit to his Desires, and promised Juana not to fail. The pleasing Idea which he had formed to himself of this Meeting caused him to look with 〈◇〉 ●hearful Air▪ which he had not done for a good while. Elvira, with whom he had been that Day and the next, perceiving it, was the more charmed with him for it, and loved him still more and more. And now the appointed Evening being come, Juana waited for him, and by a back pair of Stairs, having conveyed him into the Gallery, Here I leave ye, ( said she) the Door is open, and you have nothing to do, but not to make any noise when ye enter. But the Darkness of the Place, his Joy, and the Trouble he was in, caused him to commit a gross Mistake. For the Gallery led into Elvira's Apartment, as well as Constantia's, and he went into Elvira's Chamber instead of his Mistresses. Now Elvira was already got to Bed, and the small Wax Candle, that burnt at a good distance off, gave such a dim light, that the Marquis, whose Thoughts were already taken up with other things, was not in a Condition to distinguish one Chamber from the other. Nor was Elvira yet gone to Sleep, when she heard her Door open, which she never minded, believing it had been one of her Maids; but drawing the Curtain, and seeing the Marquis approach, her surprise was no less then the hurly burly of her Thoughts: However, she conjectured it to be an Effect of his Passion. But tho' she took a great Delight in Flattering her self, yet she looked upon him now as somewhat too Rude, and was going to tell him a piece of her Mind, when he threw himself upon his Knees, by her Bed-side, and in a most submissive, yet passionate manner, which discovered the Trouble of his Soul, Most Divine Creature, ( said he) never accuse me before you hear me. I confess it is a great piece of Rudeness to come into your Chamber at an unseasonable Hour; I know 'tis the way to expose ye to many Inconveniences. But I have been as cautious as it was possible for me to be, to the end, that no body should take notice of it. Fear nothing therefore, either from my Rashness, or the excess of my Love. I am only come to aggravate the force of it before ye, and to die at your Feet. No, Madam, ( continued he) never did Lover burn with a flamme so pure and so violent: Bear with me for some few Minutes, without being affrighted; and do not interrupt with your Reproaches the Pleasure which I taste, by being in your Presence.' Ah! Marquis,( replied Elvira) is it possible that you should be so Respectful as you promise, and should an Adventure, so extraordinary as this, once come to be known, would busy Tongues refrain from taxing me with keeping Correspondence with ye? I do not disown but that I have a particular Inclination to do your Merit Justice. But tho' this Inclination be much stronger then I apprehended it to be myself, there is yet a Reason much more powerful to be offended at the Liberty you have taken. She spoken these Words with such a Commotion of Mind, and with a Voice so low, that the Marquis could not yet perceive his Mistake. Listen to that Inclination, ( said he) if it be in my favour. Alas! is there no Mark of Compassion owing to the only Man in the World, whom you have made most Miserable? Concluding those Words, he took Elvira by the Hand, and kissed it with those Transports, that are not to be expressed. Nor was she insensible of it; insomuch, that a soothing Languishment, that had almost mastered all her Sernes, hindered her from being so Rigorous as she would have been. The ena●mour'd Marquis perceived it, and neglected nothing to improve his Advantages. But finding that she made too strong a Resistance, How! Madam ( said he) would you hinder me from demonstrating the Excess of my Passion, at the only moment that ever I could be Master of, since your Marriage? Have not you plighted your Troth to me, before ever you were engaged to Don Sancho?  
The stab of a Dagger would have been less cruel to Elvira, then these Words; which so surprised her, and strook her with such an inward Grief, that she swooned away in the Marquis's Arms. This Accident affrighten'd him beyond Imagination: He ran to fetch the Light, to see whether it were in his Power to relieve the expiring Beauty. But in what a Condition was he, when he saw her Face, and found his Mistake. He was almost at Death's Door himself; nor did he know what Resolution to take: He was about to have left her in the Condition she was in. But then considering what a piece of Cruelty it would be toward a Woman that had so passionate a Kindness for him, and that if he did not call for Assistance, she might lye a long time in her Fit, he was at a loss again; for, whom should he call? If any of her Servants, that were the way to ruin her. Well— at length, he resolved to have recourse to Dona Constantia, and the rather, because he had an extraordinary desire to see her. To which purpose, he stolen through the Gallery, into her Chamber, and as he drew the Curtains, tho' it were very softly, she waked of a sudden, and began to cry out, seeing him so near her at Midnight. Be not disturbed, Madam ( said he) and permit me to stay but a few Minutes in your Chamber. Good God, Sir, ( said she) What d' ye mean to expose me thus? Is it possible that you should have any kindness for me, yet go about to ruin my Reputation? No, no, I cannot permit your Company any longer, in a place where you run the hazard as well of your own, as my Life, if you are discovered. Be gone immediately, I conjure ye, Sir: The Request itself is so much a Trouble to me, that I have enough to do to make it; and therefore give me no farther disturbance, to speak any more.' Madam ( said the Marquis) I cannot leave ye, till I have informed ye of the cruel Accident that has befallen me. I thought myself in your Chamber, when I was in Elvira's. I mistook her a long time for yourself, and have been declaring my Passion to her, and she has harkened to me. But, at length she understood, by the continuance of my Discourse, that all my Vows and Protestations were addressed to you, Madam, and I tremble to tell ye the Effect which the Knowledge of this produced. She swooned away, and lies still in a Fit; so that of Necessity, you must be so kind as to go and help her. With that, Dona Constantia beginning to grow jealous, O Sir, ( said she) 'tis not me that you seek for here, nor should I have known that you had been in the House, had not Elvira stood in need of my Assistance. No, no, I would not have you to think me good natured enough to go and relieve her in that Condition, to which the Pleasure of your Company has reduced her. Let it satisfy ye, that I will say nothing of it to any body, and so I beg the Favour of ye to depart immediately. How unkindly do you add to the heap of my Afflictions! ( cried the Marquis, in a doleful tone) Can you think me capable of such a piece of Infidelity; me, that love ye even to Adoration; who have given ye an ingenious and true Account of what has passed, and who would sacrifice all the Women in the World to your Esteem? These words were accompanied with such an air, so tender and so moving, that Dona Constantia, could not forbear to believe what he said. Well— ( said she) I will believe ye, notwithstanding all the Circumstances that make against ye. But do not abuse my Indulgence, be gone. As for Elvira, take my Advice, and let her alone as she is: And when you see her, show her the same Marks of your Esteem and Kindness, as you were wont to do. 'tis my Opinion also, that if it were possible to deceive her, when she comes to talk of this Accident, and to make her believe she was in a Dream, it would extremely conduce to bring us out of this Perplexity. The Marquis approved her prudent Counsel, and went away.  
Dona Elvira by degrees recovered her troubled Sences, and after that, abandoned her self to all that Despite and Repentance, which usually attends an Accident like that which had befallen her. She upbraided her self with her Favours for an ingrateful Lover; she set before her Eyes the Triumphs of her Rival, when she should be informed of her Misfortune, ●nd meditated Revenge proportionable to ●er Anger. Nor was Constantia less affli●ted; she was sufficiently apprehensive of Elvira's Fury, and she blamed her self in her Heart, that she had so soon dismissed her Lover. The Marquis also lay under as great Disturbances. His Imagination was ingenious to furnish him with Reasons to be afraid, as well for his Mistress as his Passion, and he waited the proper Hour to see Dona Elvira with an extraordinary Impatience.  
She had given Order, he should be admitted when he came: And he found her in her Closet, upon her Couch, with her Eyes bathed in Tears, and in a profound Study. He had already thrown himself at her Feet, before she perceived him. But so soon as she saw him, she gave a great shriek, and rose up in a pelting chafe, with a Resolution to have flung out of the Room, but he prevented her, and stoping her with a most aweful air, What have I done, Madam, ( said he) that you should be thus frighted at my appearance? I cannot conceive what Misfortune it should be, that causes you to cast such Looks upon me. Has any body been here that has done me any unfriendly Office.  
Was there ever any Impudence like to yours?( cried Elvira, in a terrible heat) How durst you come hither to insult over me, and after all that you have done, come now and ask me whether I have any cause to complain. Who, I! ( replied the Marquis, with an air of astonishment;) Have I, Madam, ever given you any cause of complaint? or, Did I ever do any thing that has displeased ye?' Ah! certainly you must think me to be very easy of belief, if you believe me to be cully'd by your Counter-feigned Surprisal. No, Sir, I have no such treacherous Memory, as to forget last nights Accident: It was not for my Honour indeed; but I hope to have a quick Revenge for the Mortification I have suffered. I understand ye, Madam, ( said the Marquis, with a discontented Aspect,) my Assiduities displease ye. What Trick have you found out, ( said she) to shift off confessing, that you were not in my Chamber; that mistaking me for Constantia, you did not fill my Ears with the din of your Passion; and lastly, that you did not leave me in a Swoon?' All the Prodigies in the World, ( cried the Marquis) would less surprise me, then the Story that you tell me. Do you think, Madam, that I am so rudely indiscreet, to come into your Apartment at such a time of the Night, without your permission? How should I come to talk of Dona Constantia, who have no particular Kindness for her? And if you doubt of what I affirm, Don Ferdinand will confirm the Truth of it, who was in my Company all the Night. These confident Assertions of the Marquis put Elvira into a strange Astonishment, so that after a Thousand reflections of her own making, and a Thousand Oaths the Marquis swore, they both concluded that she had been in a Dream; and upon that, she begged him as many excuses, for flying out so severely against him. But the Marquis's Joy had not been perfect, had not Constantia had her share of it. Thereupon, he wrote to her the next Day, and gave Juana the Billet to deliver to her Mistress. It was in these Words.  
I Have over-persuaded Elvira; and never was any thing so Pleasant as her Credulity. I can hardly pardon myself the Oaths which I swore; I protested to her, that I loved no living Soul but her self: Whereas you know, Madam, that you are the only Person that I Love. Is it not possible for▪ me to give you an Account of our Contest, and to enjoy your Company a little longer then I did the last Night?  
Juana ran to her Mistress's Chamber, to have given her this Billet: But there she found the two Duena's, who, according to their Orders, were not to let her stir out of their sight, and she was careful of making them privy to a Secret, which they would be sure to reveal; so that she presently withdrew. But as she passed hastily through the Gallery, as ill Luck would have it, she dropped the Billet, and did not perceive it, till some time after. In the mean while, Dona Elvira, who was walking in the Gallery, at the same time, saw her let it fall, and said nothing, but took it up. Immediately, no less Impatient then big with Curiosity, she retired to her Closet; and it is easy to imagine the Sentiments of Grief and Indignation upon the reading of a Billet that made her the ridiculous Subject of the Enditer's Mirth. She was incensed beyond all atonement, to find that she should have such a violent Passion for a Man that scorned her, and a Rival that was so well informed of her Weakness. She could not forbear admiring, that she should, with so much easiness, believe the Marquis, and how he could come to persuade her, that all she had seen was no more then a Dream. She wept, she wail'd, she took a Thousand various Resolutions, sometimes to be revenged, sometimes to be as indifferent as he was could. But, at length her Love prevailing, she agreed to Pardon his Ingratitude, if she could but make him Love her. To compass this Design, upon which all her tranquillity depended, she thought there was not any thing which she might put in practise; and therefore. feigning not to to have seen the Billet, she wrote another to the Marquis, wherein she sent for him to come to her.  
IF you intend to be punctual to the meeting, which is appointed, fail not to come this Evening to my Apartiment: I shall not fail to be alone, to the end I may have more time to discourse ye.  
This Proposal of a private Meeting Face to Face, very much graveled him. For it is a difficult thing, to act any long time the Part of a Man in Love, and who, in that Respect, desires nothing of a Woman by whom he is beloved. Let a Man have never so little to do with a mistress that is quick-sighted, she quickly penetrates into that which he most willingly would hid from her, But, tho' he had no mind to meet, yet he durst not fail. Away therefore he went in the Evening, and found her in a magnificent Closet, all hung with Lights, and where there was nothing omitted to make it sumptuous and delightful. She her self was laid down upon a Couch, in a careless Morning habit, of Rose-colour Silk, intermixed with Silver, such as they usually wear in Spain, her Hair negligently dishevelled about her Shoulders, and some Jewels here and there dispersed without any Affectation, completed the lustre of her Dress; nor had she ever managed her Charms to more advantage. 'tis so difficult a thing ( said she) for me, that am troubled with Company, to find a convenient time to enjoy yours, that I resolved to make choice of this, and withal, to order my Servants to say, I am not within. You see, Sir, care has been taken to spare you that time and leisure, which perhaps you never desired.' I have desired it, and most earnestly too, ( said the Marquis, falling upon his Knees, by the side of the Couch) but being awed by my Respect, I durst not tell you so; nor should I ever have presumed to hope the Favour which you afford me now, but that it is your pleasure that my Happiness should be a piece of your Workmanship.' I question, ( said she) whether it be so much your Desire as mine, and I fear 'twill be my Reproach one Day, to have made an ungrateful Person of ye.' Your suspicions, Madam, ( said he) do me infinite wrong; and I am hitherto utterly ignorant, which way I have deserved' em. Ah! ( cried she, no longer being mistress of her Resentment,) perfidious Man! I will instruct ye then, for your better Edification; or rather, this Billet will inform ye, which Yesterday you wrote to your Mistress. Will ye now disown this too, and make me believe I 'm still in a Dream? Any other Person but myself, ( continued she) would have made use of it to your ruin. But I have suspended my Revenge: I was willing to see whether you are capable of Repentance; for I am still weak enough to pardon ye. Yes— if you intend to preserve Dona Constantia from the fury of her Husband, 'twill be your best way to pledge me your Faith; for, in short, the repose of my Life depends upon it.  
The Marquis, at these words, all in Trouble and Confusion, could not choose but discover in his Looks, the disorder of his Soul. I must confess, Madam, ( said he) I Love Constantia, and I could have wished, that the same inclination which devoted me to her, had made me your suppliant. The Union of your Fortune to mine, would have been too great a Happiness for me. But, Madam, I am not the Master of my own Destiny, and you ought to pity me. For, in short, I am not beloved by her, for whom I had a Kindness; I know your Merit, and the price of your Favours: Consider then the Extremity of my Misfortune, not to be able, neither to avoid a great Mischief, nor to embrace a great Happiness. How Unfortunate am I! ( cried she, at the same time letting fall a shower of Tears;) Have I been all along so kind to make these condescensions so unworthy of myself, and is there nothing that remains for me, but the Reward of ruinous Despair, to be refused? Ah miserable Creature! never survive thy shane, but by a speedy Death, repair the Folly of thy Life. Concluding those words, she drew a Dagger from under the Cushions, where she had hide it, and stabbed it into her bosom. Immediately down she tumbled, weltering in Blood, and fetching from her Breast most doleful Sighs, she left the Marquis fully persuaded that she was going to give up the Ghost. You may easily imagine his Astonishment; who seeing her grow pale and motionless, began to be afraid that she was quiter dead. In this Extremity, he thought it his best way to get out of such a fatal Place; and meeting Juana in the Gallery, he  told her what a fatal Accident had happened. She was as much troubled as He, and carried him immediately into her Mistriss's Closet, where she helped him to hid himself. In the mean time, Elvira, who had counterfeited a swooning Fit, and only feigned to kill her self, calling to one of her Women, to whom she had imparted her Design, Help, Eugenia, help, ( said she) for I am wounded and past all Consolation, to find the Marquis so indifferent. My Business is done, dear Maid; since he has stood his last trial, I must never hope to move his Heart. The traitor minded nothing, but to get away; and here has left me dying for his sake. I have no more to think of but my Revenge; and that same cruel and remorseless Passion shall cure me of that Affectionate Passion which I had for him. And so saying, she caused her wound to be bound up, and went to Bed.  
While things were thus managed in Dona Elvira's Apartment, Constantia was not at home, in regard her Husband had sent for her to meet him upon the Road. But at their Return, they found none of their own Servants, either at the Gates or Doors, only the House full of all sorts of People, as well Officers of Justice, as Elvira's Friends, who flocked thither upon the Account of the Accident. At which they were strangely surprised, and went to her Chamber; where, so soon as she saw 'em, she renewed her Lamentations, and made 'em a Repetition of what she had already  told all the World, that the Marquis of Leyna finding her alone, and willing to make the best of his Opportunity, for madness that she refused his Courtship, had stabbed her with his Dagger. In pursuance of which, she caused most heinous Informations to be drawn up against him; and the Fact was believed to be a real Truth. The Duke of Medina Celi, being informed of it, was at his Wits end, and all People talked of no less then of putting the Marquis to Death, so soon as he could be taken. As for Dona Constantia, it is not to be expressed how extremely she was troubled and afflicted when she understood the Business, and Elvira, observed her too narrowly, not to understand her Sentiments; and tho' she striven to conceal 'em with all the Care imaginable, yet they could not choose but appear in her Countenance. It was an extraordinary Grief to her, to think of accusing the Marquis, nor could she believe him innocent, when she called to mind with what disturbance he came to her Chamber the same Night that he had been with Elvira. She therefore feigned her self to be tired with her Journey, that she might have a Pretence to quit Elvira, only she desired Don Sancho to stay there some time; and no sooner was she retired to her Closet, o'erwhelm'd with Grief and Discontent, but Juana came to her, and informed her that she had hide the Marquis. Upon which, she made a sudden stop, uncertain what she had to do. But he immediately appeared and threw himself at her Feet. Oh! Madam, ( said he) can you scruple to see a Man, who, in the excess of his Misfortune, has no other Consolation but what you afford him.' Speak more Sincerely, Sir, ( said she, interrupting him) and tell your Story to the charming Elvira. The wicked injury that you have done her sufficiently betrays the violence of your Passion.' Ah! Madam, ( said he) how are you going to be swayed by Prejudice and Mistake! Hear me, for Heaven's Sake, and I will quickly let you see your Error. And then he gave her a full Relation of every particular Circumstance of the Accident, with that ingenious Sincerity, that she could not choose but give Credit to him. I am infinitely Sorry, ( said she) and I bewail my own Condition; for we have a cruel Enemy to deal with. She will look upon me as the cause of your Contempt, and she will leave nothing omitted to gratify her Hatred; tho' were I the only Person upon whom her Resentment were to fall, methinks I should be so much the less miserable Her Grief and her Tears would not permit her to proceed: And while the Marquis was endeavouring to alleviate her Sadness, Elvira, transported with her unjust Rage, seeing Don Sancho by her, Sir, ( said she) never think that Love has any share in the Tragedy that has been acted between the Marquis of Leyna and myself; he has always looked upon me with an indifferent Eye, and it is not consonant to sense, that a Man should stab a Mistress for not complying immediately with his Desires. That was never the Motive; No— no— but your Concerns are the cause of this unhappy Accident that has befallen me. You will find by that Billet which he wrote to Dona Constantia, and which fell into my Hands by chance, that he holds a Correspondence with her; and as my Lover, I taxed him with it. I would have had him renounced it, and upon his refusal, I threatened him severely to inform you of it, when in a rage, and to rid himself of his fears and jealousies, he drew his Dagger and gave me this wound. This pernicious Story wrought in Don Sanche the full Effect which Elvira promised to her self. He gave her a thousand Thanks, and offered her his Estate and his Life, in vindication of the wrong she had sustained, and finding himself transported with his jealousy, never meditating any more upon the Consequences of his Revenge, he flew to his Wife's Apartment. Juana perceiving him coming, gave immediate notice to the Marquis, who presently slipped behind the Hangings. Don Sancho entered her Chamber with a furious Aspect, and found Constantia lying upon the Couch, so languishing, and withal so beautiful, as would have moved the most obdurate to Compassion and Tenderness. But far from that, the Devil, which had possessed him, had put it into his Head, that her profound Melancholy was only an effect of her Grief for what was likely to befall the Marquis: and carried away with those Thoughts, This is no time, Madam, ( said he) to muse upon your Paramour; and so saying, drew his Dagger; which Constantia seeing, as much affrighted and dismayed as she was, had only so much time and strength to throw herself at his Feet, and beg her Life; and this same short delay was that which saved her. For notwithstanding all her Tears, his Hand was up to give the fatal stroke, when the Marquis rushed out from the place where he lay hide, and calling him to stand upon his Guard, generously gave him time to draw his Sword. But the Match was not equal: For the Marquis's Love and Anger, both together, had reinforced his natural strength and courage to that degree, that he was able to have vanquished ten such Enemies; so that with one Mortal thrust, he laid the Jealous Husband dead at his Feet. Dona Constantia, scared with her own danger, and the death of her Husband, would have called out for help: but the Marquis embracing her Knees, Make no noise, Madam, ( said he) for if you do, we are utterly ruined: You will be accused as well as I; but permit me to secure you in a Place of safety. Or, if you resolve to stay, to your own destruction, I am resolved to run the same hazard, and be ruined with ye. Her dismay, and her irresolution at first, were such, as were not easy to be expressed; but at length, her Reputation, which was always more dear to her, then her Life, obliged her to determine. fly Sir, said she) and leave a miserable Woman, whom the Laws of Decency will not permit to accompany your flight: nor is it for me to be any ways assisting toward your escape, without a Crime, since you are the Murderer of my Husband. But I consent to your escape, and beg ye to provide for yourself, and to be more careful of your preservation, then I would be of my own. For my part, I intend to wait the issue of this unlucky business in a cloister, and there I will preserve you in my Remembrance, which is all I can do for ye.  
Concluding those words, notwithstanding all the tears and entreaties of the Marquis, she left the Room, attended only by Juana, both wrapped up in long Mantles; nor would the Marquis forsake her, but still followed her at a distance. She had been so provident as to take along with her some Jewels and Money; but, in regard the Night was now far spent, she went no farther then Juana's Mother's House, in expectation of Day, that she might shut her self up in the Nunnery of St. Domingo. There this afflicted Lady thought to have found an assured Sanctuary and perhaps her Expectations would have been answered, but for the violent Prosecutions of Dona Elvira. She accused her to have assassinated her Husband with the assistance of the Marquis of Leyna: She justified also, that he went from her very late in the Night, and all the Circumstances which she produced contributed to the ruin of those two Lovers. She discovered where her Rival had concealed her self; she gave present information of it to the Court, and she obtained an Order from the King to the Abbess, to keep Constantia as a Person that would be called to a very severe Account. She was also deprived the Liberty of stirring out of her Chamber, and while they were busily contriving to frame the Process against her and the Marquis, Letters were intercepted which he had written to her full of Passion, and Menaces against their Common Enemies; and they were brought in as Evidence against' em.  
All this while, the Marquis was reduced to such a Condition of Despair and Fury, as would have transported him to the last Extremities of Violence, so eager was he to ruin himself, in hopes to save his Mistress. All his Friends laboured to appease his Fury, and kept him private whither he would or no. But at length, the Duke of Medina Celi  told him, that it was in vain to delay any longer, that his business went worse and worse, and that there was an absolute Necessity for him to retire into Flanders. This was to him another Thunder-clap; he saw his Mistress in Danger, and yet they would enforce him to forsake her in the midst of her Necessity: So that he refused to consent to their Advice, while he thought it a greater Misfortune to escape alone, then to perish with the Person that he loved. He therefore made it his whole business to get his Mistress out of the Place of her Confinement. He had sought in vain to corrupt her Guards, for they were too vigilant, and too faithful to Elvira. But, at length he bethought himself of a particular Expedient. There are in Madrid a great number of blind People that strowle about the Streets, with their Tabors and Pipes, much like those which the Biscayners make use of: They also sing long Songs, containing sometimes, the Amours of the Moors, that made themselves Masters of Grenada, and sometimes other Stories. The Marquis therefore composed several Stanza's, wherein he set forth Constantia's and his own Misfortunes, under the Names of the enamoured Zegris, and the unfortunate Galiana. He also gave Constantia notice to be ready to make her Escape, and that she should meet with Assistants at the Garden Door. This done, he gave the blind People their Lesson, and they being thoroughly instructed, went to the Convent. Now the Nuns are generally extremely taken with this sort of music, and therefore as soon as they heard 'em, they caused 'em to be let into the great Speaking-Room, whether all the Society flocked together. The Marquis knew that Constantia's Chamber was near to that Room; and the Nuns that were appointed to Guard her, never considering the Charge with which they were entrusted, run after the rest of their Companions. Nevertheless, Constantia never minded to take advantage of the opportunity, till the Beggars having sung out several of their Ballads, began that which the Marquis had given' em. But then, not doubting but that the Ballad concerned her, by the resemblance of the Story with her Misfortunes, she resolved to satisfy her Curiosity. With that, she went immediately, together with Juana, into the Garden, and made directly to a Door, that opened into the Fields; and before she came near it, she heard some body bounce against it, to break it open. In short, the door was soon forced off the Hinges; and then appeared the Marquis of Leyna, with a great Number of his Friends. It is impossible to express the Joy of those two Lovers at their Meeting. Don Ferdinand also, who was one of the Party, put Constantia and Juana into a Coach and Six Horses, and the Road being laid with fresh Coach and Horses, they quickly got out of reach, and traveling through France, arrived safe at Brussels, where Dona Constantia put her self into a Nunnery, that she might not break the Laws of Decency, of which she was a punctual Observer.  
Dona Elvira, mad that her Rival, and the Marquis had thus escaped her Fury, laboured all she could to obtain Orders to continue her Prosecution in Flanders. But those were denied her; and then it was, that she could no longer withstand the Excess of her Vexation And now the Objects of her Revenge being out of her reach, she had time to reflect upon the En● mity of her Crime She considered, that ●he Persons whom she persecuted, had never deserved her Resentment. Rage and Repentance turmoiled her to that Degree, that she could not any longer resist their force, and the wound which she had given her self, beginning to fester, by reason of her wilfully refusing to apply necessary Remedies, in a few Days she found that her Life was in great Danger; and being at length given over by the Physicians, she began then to think of discovering the Truth, which she had so obstinately prosecuted; and made use of her remaining Strength, to writ to the Duke of Medina Celi. To that purpose, when she had finished her Relation, she gave the packet to her Confident Eugenia, with express Order, not to deliver it till after her Death. After that, she seemed to be more at rest, and with an extraordinary Resolution, laid aside, for the short remainder of her Days, all farther thoughts of worldly Affairs. Thus died Elvira. As soon as her Friends had paid their last Duties to her deceased Body, Eugenia delivered her Mistresses packet to the Duke; who opening it, found therein a Letter from Dona Elvira, of which these were the Words.  
IF the shane of acknowledging that I have loved an ungrateful Man, and that I have committed a piece of Treachery, unworthy a Person of my Birth, may suffice to merit the pardon of my Folly and Wickedness; If the just Anguish which my approaching Death inflicts upon me, may procure me that Compassion, which I dare not promise to myself, you will no longer, Sir, be incensed against a Woman, whose Crime and Misfortune were Love and jealousy. The Marquis of Leyna is innocent. 'twas I that gave myself the wound. I thought to move him by all the outward Appearances of a deep Despair. To that purpose I had prepared a little Bladder of Blood, under my bosom, ready for the stroke of a Dagger, but the Trouble I was in, caused me to stab it farther then I intended, and by that means, I inflicted upon myself the Punishment that I deserved. 'tis also true, that I infused into Don Sancho the cruel Resolution to have sacrificed Constantia to his jealousy. I omitted nothing to inflame his Rage, and render her Guilty; so that if the Marquis had not saved her Life, he had infallibly murdered her. Inform the King of this my Confession, made at such a time, as clears it from all suspicion. I bequeath, Sir, by my Will, all my Estate to Dona Constantia, and I wish, that together with it, she may enjoy the Person who was born to complete the Felicity of her Life.  
Tho' the Duke were overjoyed to red a Deposition so beneficial for his Nephew, however, he could not choose but bewail the hard Fate of Dona Elvira. He besought the King that this Letter might be red in Council: To which his Majesty freely consented, and likewise granted the Marquis his Pardon. Which was the more easily obtained, because there were no other Prosecutions against him, and for that, all People were convinced of his Innocency. Thereupon, the Duke sent him the happy tidings, and Dona Constantia return'd to Madrid, at the same time that the Marquis arrived there. Every body desired her no longer to delay the Felicity of her Lover. But she thought it became her to pay a little respect to the Rules of Decency, which would not permit her so soon to mary the Person who had slain her Husband. However, she gave the Marquis leave to trust to her Assurances, and then retired to a Nunnery with the Constable Colonna's Lady, who had always been her constant Friend.  
FINIS.   

BOOKS Printed for H. Rhodes in Fleet-street; and J. Harris in the Poultry.  
1. THE Triumph Royal: Containing, a short Account of the most remarkable Battels Sieges, Sea-fights, Treaties, and famous achievements of the Princes of the House of Nassau, &c. described in the Triumphal Arches, Pyramids, Pictures, Inscriptions and Devices; erected at the H●gue, in Honour of William III. K. of England, &c. Curiously engraven in 62 Figures, on Copper-Plates, with their History; an Elaborate Piece of Curiosity. First done in Dutch, then into French, and now into English. Dedicated to Her Majesty, in 8vo. Price 4 s.  
2. The present Condition of France, in reference to her Revenues; comparing them with the infinite expenses she is forced to be at; Demonstrating thereby, that it is impossible for her to support her self, if the War with the confederates continues. Done out of French. Price 6 d.  
3. Memoirs for the Ingenio●s: Containing several Curious Observations in Philosophy, mathematics, physic, History, Philology, and other Arts and Sciences; in Miscellaneous Letters. By, J. De La cross. E. A. P. January, 1693. To be continued Monthly. Vol. 1st. Price 6 d.   

ADVERTISEMENT.  
IN the Press. Voyages and Travels over all Europe: Containing all that is most Curious in that Part of the World. In Eight Tomes. Tom. the First. Done out of French.