“Know, then, that your affectionate and tender brother is dead. I am sensible how dear he was to you, and you to him, yet let me entreat you, for your own sake, to acquiesce in the will of Providence as much as possible, since our lives are all at his disposal who gave us being. I could use another argument to comfort you, that, with a sister less loving than you, would be of more weight than that I have urged; but I know your soul is above all mercenary views. I cannot, however, forbear to inform you, that he has left you all he had; and farther, that your father’s estate of 200l. per annum, can devolve upon no other person than yourself, who are now his only child.
“What I am next to acquaint you with may, perhaps, be almost as bad as the former particular. Your hated lover has been so importunate with your father, especially since your brother’s decease, that the old gentleman resolves, if ever he should hear of you any more, to marry you to him, and he makes this the condition of your being again received into his favor, and having your former disobedience, as he calls it, forgiven. While your brother lived, he was every day endeavoring to soften the heart of your father, and we were only last week in hopes he would have consented to let you follow your inclinations, if you would come home to him again; but now there is no advocate in your cause who can work upon the man’s peevish temper; for he says, as you are now his sole heir, he ought to be more resolute in the disposal of you in marriage.
“While I am now writing, I am surprised with an account that your father and lover are preparing to come to London, where, they say, they can find you out. Whether or not this be only a device, I cannot tell, nor can I conceive where they could receive their information, if it be true. However, to prevent the worst, consider whether or not you can cast off your old aversion, and submit to your father’s commands; for if you cannot, it will be most advisable in my opinion to change your residence. I have no more to say in the affair, being unwilling to direct you in such a very nice circumstance. The temper of your own mind will be the best instructer you can apply to; for your future happiness or misery during life depends on your choice. I hope that every thing will turn out for the best.
“From your sincere friend, S. E.”
Her lover saw that she had good reason to be afflicted, and, whilst he seemed to feel for her, he was no less concerned about his own interest. He advised her immediately to leave her lodgings, and added that he had very elegant apartments which were at her service. She accepted his offer; and, with her maid, who was informed of her intentions, and prepared to assist her, immediately set out for the residence of her lover. When introduced to their new apartment, these ladies did not go to bed, as they had resolved to depart next morning, but lay down to rest themselves with their clothes on. When the house was all quiet, they broke open the lover’s desk, took out a bag with a hundred pounds, two suits of clothes, and every thing valuable that they could carry along with them.
Her numerous and varied adventures would far exceed the limits appropriated to one life in this volume. It is sufficient to observe, that rather than her hands should be unemployed, or her avaricious disposition unsatisfied, she would carry off the most trifling article; that, according to the proverb, all was fish that came into her net; and that when a watch, a diamond, or piece of plate could not be found, a napkin, a pair of sheets; or any article of wearing apparel, would suffice.
One day she, along with her pretended maid, went into a mercer’s shop in Cheapside, and purchased a piece of silk to the value of six pounds. She pulled out her purse to pay the draper, but to her surprise found that she had no money except some large pieces of gold, for which she had so high an esteem, that she could not think of parting with them. The polite draper, on his part, could not think of hurting the feelings of a lady so elegantly dressed, and, accordingly, dispatched one of his shopkeepers along with her to receive his money. Arrived at the Royal Exchange, Madame ordered the coachman to stop, when, upon pretence of purchasing some ribands that would suit the silks, her maid carried out the parcel, and went along with her, leaving the shopman in the coach to wait their return. The young man waited in the coach, until he was impatient and ashamed, and then returned home to relate his misfortunes, and the loss of his master.
Upon another occasion Madame waited upon a French weaver in Spitalfields, and purchased goods to the amount of forty pounds. He went home with her to carry the parcel and to receive his money. She desired him to make out a bill for the whole of the goods, as one half belonged to a lady in the next room. With all the ceremony natural to a Frenchman, he sat down to write his account, while she took the silk into the adjacent room to show it to her niece, to whom the one half belonged. By means of a bottle of wine which Madame had placed before the French weaver, half an hour passed over without much uneasiness. At length his patience was exhausted, and, having called up the people of the house, he inquired for the lady who came in with him, and who told him she was only gone into the next room. To the utter confusion and disappointment of poor Monsieur, he was informed that his lady was gone, and would, they believed, return no more to that dwelling. To calm his rage, and to convince him that they were not confederates in her villany, they conveyed him to the next room, and showed him, that the proper entry to her apartment was by a back stair; adding, that she had only taken their room for a month, for which she had paid them, and that her time being expired, they knew not whither she had gone.
Determined to collect her contributions from householders instead of travellers, she next took lodgings from a tailor. As it was natural for a generous, good-hearted lady to promote the prosperity of the family where she resided, Madame employed the tailor to make the goods she had procured from the mercer and the weaver. Convinced that he had got an excellent job, as well as a rich lodger, the tailor, with mirth and song, sat down to make Madame’s dresses. As she acquainted him that upon a specified day she was to have a large party, the tailor called in all his journeymen to his aid, and had the whole finished by that time. Meanwhile, the Princess gave her landlady a guinea to purchase what things she deemed necessary, promising to pay her the remainder the following day. The day arrived, the guests appeared, an elegant entertainment was served up, and plenty of wine drunk. None were without their due portion. The tailor had plied his glass so plentifully, that his wife had to lend him her assistance to his bed-chamber. This answered the design of our Princess. She and all her company departed one by one, carrying away, each a silver tankard, or a saltcellar, or a knife, or a fork, while the maid carried off all the clothes that were not upon their backs. The moment they reached the street, the maid was placed in a coach with the booty, and the rest of the company took different directions, none of them being discovered. Thus a merry night brought a sorrowful morning to the poor industrious tailor.
Madame being attacked with a fit of mourning, sent her confidential maid to a shop in the New Exchange, where she had purchased a few articles the previous day. The woman of the shop, with all possible expedition, selected the best specimens of her goods, and hastened to the lodgings. Madame was so very much indisposed when the milliner arrived, that she could not look at the things, and desired her to return after dinner, when she doubted not but they would agree as to the price. The obliging milliner was satisfied, and requested liberty to leave her goods until she returned, a request which was readily granted. At the hour appointed she returned, and inquired if the lady up stairs were at home. To her great mortification she was informed that she was gone they could not tell where, and that she did not intend to return. But before her departure she had conveyed away the valuable part of her effects. Thus both her landlady and the milliner were left to regret her absence, and to reflect upon their own easy credulity and loss.