'will then give my papers to you, without the least alteration, 'or adding or diminishing: But I should beg still to be excused, if you please: But if not, spare them to me but till to'morrow morning: and this, so hardly am I used, shall be thought a favour, which I shall be very thankful for.'

I guessed it would not be long before I heard from him: and he accordingly sent up Mrs. Jewkes for what I had promised. So I gave her this note to carry to him. And he sent word, that I must keep my promise, and he would give me till morning; but that I must bring them to him without his asking again.

So I took off my under-coat, and, with great trouble of mind, unsewed them from it. And there is a vast quantity of it. I will just slightly touch upon the subjects; because I may not, perhaps, get them again for you to see.

They begin with an account of 'my attempting to get away "out of the window first, and then throwing my petticoat and 'handkerchief into the pond. How sadly I was disappointed, "the lock of the back-door being changed. How, in trying to climb over the door, I tumbled down, and was piteously 'bruised; the bricks giving way, and tumbling upon me. How, finding I could not get off, and dreading the hard usage I 'should receive, I was so wicked as to think of throwing my'self into the water. My sad reflections upon this matter. 'How Mrs. Jewkes used me upon this occasion, when she 'found me. How my master had like to have been drowned in 'hunting; and my concern for his danger, notwithstanding 'his usage of me. Mrs. Jewkes's wicked reports, to frighten 'me, that I was to be married to the ugly Swiss; who was to 'sell me on the wedding-day to my master. Her vile way of 'talking to me, like a London prostitute. My apprehensions ' of seeing preparations made for my master's coming. Her 'causeless fears that I was trying to get away again, when I had no thoughts of it; and my bad usage upon it. My 'master's dreadful arrival; and his hard, very hard treatment 'of me; and Mrs. Jewkes's insulting of me. His jealousy of 'Mr. Williams and me. How Mrs. Jewkes vilely instigated

'him to wickedness.' And down to here, I put into one parcel, hoping that would content him. But for fear it should not, I put into another parcel the following, viz.:

A copy of his proposals to me, of a great parcel of gold, and fine clothes and rings, and an estate of I can't tell what 'a year; and 501. a year for the life of both you, my dear parents, to be his mistress; with an insinuation, that, may 'be, he would marry me at the year's end: All sadly vile: 'With threatenings, if I did not comply, that he would ruin 'me, without allowing me anything. A copy of my answer, 'refusing all, with just abhorrence: But begging at last his "goodness towards me, and mercy on me, in the most moving manner I could think of. An account of his angry behav'iour, and Mrs. Jewkes's wicked advice hereupon. His trying 'to get me to his chamber; and my refusal to go. A deal of " stuff and chit-chat between me and the odious Mrs. Jewkes; in < which she was very wicked and very insulting. Two notes I 'wrote, as if to be carried to church, to pray for his reclaim'ing, and my safety; which Mrs. Jewkes seized, and officiously 'showed him. A confession of mine, that notwithstanding his 'bad usage, I could not hate him. My concern for Mr. Wil'liams. A horrid contrivance of my master's to ruin me; be'ing in my room, disguised in clothes of the maid's, who lay 'with me and Mrs. Jewkes. How narrowly I escaped (it makes 'my heart ache to think of it still!) by falling into fits. Mrs. 'Jewkes's detestable part in this sad affair. How he seemed 'moved at my danger, and forbore his abominable designs; ' and assured me he had offered no indecency. How ill I was 'for a day or two after; and how kind he seemed. How he 'made me forgive Mrs. Jewkes. How, after this, and great 'kindness pretended, he made rude offers to me in the garden, 'which I escaped. How I resented them.' Then I had written, 'How kindly he behaved himself to me; and how he prais'ed me, and gave me great hopes of his being good at last. Of 'the too tender impression this made upon me; and how I began to be afraid of my own weakness and consideration for 'him, though he had used me so ill. How sadly jealous he was

of Mr. Williams; and how I, as justly could, cleared myself 6 as to his doubts on that score. How, just when he had raised 'me up to the highest hope of his goodness, he dashed me ‘sadly again, and went off more coldly. My free reflections 'upon this trying occasion.'

This brought down matters from Thursday, the 20th day of my imprisonment, to Wednesday the 41st, and here I was resolved to end, let what would come; for only Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, remain to give an account of; and Thursday he set out to a ball at Stamford; and Friday was the gipsy story; and this is Saturday, his return from Stamford. And truly, I shall have but little heart to write, if he is to see all.

So these two parcels of papers I have got ready for him against to-morrow morning. To be sure I have always used him very freely in my writings, and showed him no mercy; but yet he must thank himself for it; for I have only writ truth; and I wish he had deserved a better character at my hands, as well for his own sake as mine.-So, though I don't know whether ever you'll see what I write, I must say, that I will go to bed, with remembering you in my prayers, as I always do, and as I know you do me: And so, my dear parents, good night.

Sunday morning.

I REMEMBERED what he said, of not being obliged to ask again for my papers; and what I should be forced to do, and could not help, I thought I might as well do in such a manner as might show I would not disoblige on purpose: though I stomached this matter very heavily too. I had therefore got in readiness my two parcels; and he, not going to church in the morning, bid Mrs. Jewkes tell me he was gone into the garden.

I knew that was for me to go to him; and so I went: for how can I help being at his beck? which grieves me not a little, though he is my master, as I may say; for I am so wholly in his power, that it would do me no good to incense

him; and if I refused to obey him in little matters, my refusal in greater would have the less weight. So I went down to the garden; but as he walked in one walk, I took another, that I might not seem too forward neither.

He soon 'spyed me, and said, Do you expect to be courted to come to me? Sir, said I, and crossed the walk to attend him, I did not know but I should interrupt you in your meditations this good day.

Was that the case, said he, truly, and from your heart? Why, sir, said I, I don't doubt but you have very good thoughts sometimes; though not towards me. I wish, said he, I could avoid thinking so well of you as I do. But where are the papers?—I daresay you had them about you yesterday; for you say in those I have, that you will bury your writings in the garden, for fear you should be searched, if you did not escape. This, added he, gave me a glorious pretence to search you; and I have been vexing myself all night, that I did not strip you garment by garment, till I had found them. Oh fie, sir, said I; let me not be scared, with hearing that you had such a thought in earnest.

Well, said he, I hope you have not now the papers to give me; for I had rather find them myself, I'll assure you.

I did not like this way of talk; and thinking it best not to dwell upon it, said, Well, but, sir, you will excuse me, I hope, giving up my papers.

Don't trifle with me, said he; where are they?—I think I was very good to you last night, to humour you as I did. If you have either added or diminished, and have not strictly kept your promise, woe be to you! Indeed, sir, said I, I have neither added nor diminished. But there is the parcel that goes on with my sad attempt to escape, and the terrible consequences it had like to have been followed with. And it goes down to the naughty articles you sent me. And as you know all that has happened since, I hope these will satisfy you.

He was going to speak; but I said, to drive him from thinking of any more, And I must beg you, sir, to read the matter favourably, if I have exceeded in any liberties of my pen.

I think, said he, half smiling, you may wonder at my

patience, that I can be so easy to read myself abused as I am by such a saucy slut.-Sir, said I, I have wondered you should be so desirous to see my bold stuff; and, for that very reason, I have thought it a very good, or a very bad sign. What, said he, is your good sign?—That it may have an effect upon your temper, at last, in my favour, when you see me so sincere. Your bad sign? Why, that if you can read my reflections and observations upon your treatment of me, with tranquillity, and not be moved, it is a sign of a very cruel and determined heart. Now, pray, sir, don't be angry at my boldness in telling you so freely my thoughts. You may, perhaps, said he, be least mistaken, when you think of your bad sign. God forbid! said I.

So I took out my papers; and said, Here, sir, they are. But if you please to return them, without breaking the seal, it will be very generous: and I will take it for a great favour, and a good omen.

He broke the seal instantly, and opened them: So much for your omen! replied he. I am sorry for it, said I, very seriously; and was walking away. Whither now? said he. I was going in, sir, that you might have time to read them, if you thought fit. He put them into his pocket, and said, You have more than these. Yes, sir: but all they contain, you know as well as I.—But I don't know, said he, the light you put things in; and so give them me, if you have not a mind to be searched.

Sir, said I, I can't stay, if you won't forbear that ugly word. -Give me then no reason for it. Where are the other papers? Why, then, unkind sir, if it must be so, here they are. And so I gave him, out of my pocket, the second parcel, sealed up, as the former, with this superscription; From the naughty articles, down, through sad attempts, to Thursday the 42d day of my imprisonment. This is last Thursday, is it? Yes, sir; but now you will see what I write, I will find some other way to employ my time: for how can I write with any face, what must be for your perusal, and not for those I intended to read my melancholy stories.

Yes, said he, I would have you continue your penmanship by all means; and, I assure you, in the mind I am in, I