Cowper—Mrs. Cowper, what do you know of Mrs. Stout's melancholy?
Cowper—My lord, this is my brother's wife.
Mrs. Cowper—About spring was twelve month, she came to London, and I believe it was not less than once or twice a week I saw her; and I never had an opportunity to be an hour alone with her at any time, but I perceived something in her melancholy. I have asked her the reason of it several times, and sometimes she seemed to dislike her profession, being a Quaker; and sometimes she would say, that she was uneasy at something that lay upon her spirits, which she should never outlive; and that she should never be well while she was in this world. Sometimes I have endeavoured to persuade her out of it seriously, and sometimes by raillery, and have said are you sure you shall be better in another world? And particularly I remember I have said to her, I believe you have Mr. Marshall in your head: either have him, or do not trouble yourself about him; make yourself easy either one way or another; and she hath said no, in an indifferent way, I cannot make myself easy: Then I have said, marry him: no, saith she, I cannot. Sometimes with company she would be diverted, and had frequently a way of throwing her hands, and shewed great disturbance and uneasiness. This time twelvemonth, at the summer assizes, I was here six days, and I saw her every day; and one time, among other discourse, she told me she had received great disturbance from one Theophilus, a waterman and a Quaker, who coming down to old Mrs. Stout, that was then lame, she had gathered about 20 or 30 people together to hear him preach; and she said he directed his discourse to her, and exasperated her at the rate that she had thoughts of seeing nobody again, and said, she took it heinously ill to be so used, and particularly, that he had told her that her mother's falling outwardly in the flesh should be a warning that she did not fall inwardly; and such 'canting stuff,' as she called it; and she said, that Theophilus had so used her, that she was ashamed to show her head. Another time, the same week, she had a fever, and she said, she was in great hopes it would end her days, and that she neglected herself in doing those things that were necessary for her health, in hopes it would carry her off, and often wished herself dead. Another time, which I think was the last time I saw her, it was at my sister's lodgings, and I sent for her to drink a dish of tea with us, and she came in a great toss and melancholy: Said I, what is the matter? you are always in this humour. Saith she, I cannot help it, I shall never be otherwise. Saith my sister, for God's sake keep such thoughts out of your head as you have had, do not talk any more of throwing yourself out of window: Saith she, I may thank God that ever I saw your face, otherwise I had done it, but I cannot promise I shall not do it.
Hatsell, Baron—What is your name, madam?
Cowper—It is my brother's wife, my lord. I desire Mrs. Toller may give an account of what she knows as to her being melancholy.
Mrs. Toller—My lord, she was once to see me, and she looked very melancholy, and I asked her what was the matter? and she said, something had vexed her that day; and I asked her the cause of it, and she stopped a little while, and then said, she would drown herself out of the way.
Hatsell, Baron—How long ago was this?
Mrs. Toller—About three quarters of a year ago.
John Stout—I desire to know whether she has always said so, or not told another story.
Mrs. Toller—I told you no story; it may be I did not say so much to you, but I said she talked something of drowning. I have been with her when Mr. Cowper's conversation and name has been mentioned, and she said she kept but little company; that sometimes she went to Mrs. Low's, and that she kept none but civil modest company, and that Mr. Cowper was a civil modest gentleman, and that she had nothing to say against him.