Olinda's Adventures: or the Amours of a Young Lady Part 1

Olinda's Adventures: or the Amours of a Young Lady.

by Anonymous.

INTRODUCTION

A standard modern history of the English novel speaks of "the appearance of the novel round about 1700. Nothing that preceded it in the way of prose fiction can explain it."[1] Though today many scholars would a.s.sert that "nothing" is too strong a term, just how much of the original fiction written under the later Stuarts could "explain" Defoe and Richardson? Most late seventeenth-century novels, it is true, are rogue biographies, scandal-chronicles, translations and imitations of French _nouvelles_, or short sensational romances of love, intrigue, and adventure with fantastic plots and wooden characters. Only occasionally was a tale published which showed that it was not examples of the novelist's craft that were wanting to inspire the achievement of a Defoe, but rather the sustained application of that craft over hundreds of pages by the unique combination of talents of a Defoe himself.

Such a novel is _Olinda's Adventures_, a brief epistolary narrative of 1693, a minor but convincing demonstration of the theory that a literary form such as the novel develops irregularly, by fits and starts, and of the truism that a superior mind can produce superior results with the most seemingly ungrateful materials. Of Defoe, _Olinda's Adventures_ must appear a modest precursor indeed; but measured, as a realistic-domestic novel, against the English fiction of its day, it is surprisingly mature; and if we believe the bookseller and a.s.sign its authorship to a girl of fourteen, we must look to the juvenilia of Jane Austen for the first comparable phenomenon.

_Olinda's Adventures_ seems to owe what success it had entirely to the bookseller Samuel Briscoe. It appeared in 1693 in the first volume of his epistolary miscellany _Letters of Love and Gallantry and Several Other Subjects_. _All Written by Ladies_, the second volume following in 1694.[2] It may have been the nucleus of the collection, however, since it begins the volume, and since Briscoe states in "The Bookseller to the Reader" (sig. A2) that various ladies, hearing that he was going to print Olinda's letters, have sent in amorous correspondence of their own--a remark that could indicate some previous circulation in ma.n.u.script. Another edition (or issue) of the miscellany, with a slightly altered t.i.tle, was advertised in 1697, but no copy of this is recorded.[3] Nothing further is heard of _Olinda_ for some years, but meanwhile Briscoe became something of a specialist in popular epistolary miscellanies, perhaps because he was a princ.i.p.al employer of Tom Brown, much of whose output consisted of original and translated "familiar letters." In 1718 Briscoe a.s.sembled a two-volume epistolary collection with the t.i.tle _Familiar Letters of Love, Gallantry and Several Occasions_; this collection was apparently made up of the best and most popular items in his miscellanies of the past twenty-five years.[4] Here _Olinda_ appears in much more impressive company than the anonymous "ladies," for the collection includes the first letter of Heloise to Abelard (said to be translated by L'Estrange) with actual correspondence and epistolary fiction by Butler, Mrs. Behn, Dennis, Otway, Etherege, Dryden, Tom Brown, Mrs. Mary Manley, Farquhar, Mrs. Centlivre, and other wits. Another edition (or issue) was advertised for W. Chetwood in 1720; and if the edition of 1724 ("Corrected. With Additions") is really the sixth, as Briscoe's t.i.tle-page states, _Olinda_ must have reached a respectable number of readers.

_Olinda_ enjoyed another distinction, nearly unique for English popular fiction before 1700. While by the middle of the eighteenth century novel-readers in France were reveling in the adventures of the English epigones of Pamela and Clarissa, defending their virtue or exhibiting their sensibility in translation, the current of literary influence before Defoe ran overwhelmingly in the opposite direction. _Olinda_ antic.i.p.ated the Miss Sally Sampsons of sixty years later by appearing in 1695 in a French translation as _Les Amours d'une belle Angloise: ou la vie et les avantures de la jeune Olinde: Ecrites par Elle mesme en forme de lettres a un Chevalier de ses amis_.[5] Whether merit or mere chance accounted for this unusual occurrence it is impossible to say; the translation of _Olinda_ is a faithful one, though the text is at times expanded by the insertion of poems into Olinda's letters, with brief interpolated pa.s.sages which rather awkwardly account for their presence.

Curiously, the volume closes with a list of books printed for Briscoe, indicating either that the French translator would do anything to fill up s.p.a.ce, or that Briscoe may have been exploring the possibilities of a French market for his wares.

While _Olinda_ was ascribed merely to an anonymous "young lady" in the first edition, the editions of 1718 and 1724 gave it to "Mrs. Trotter."

This lady, who since 1707 had been the wife of the Reverend Patrick c.o.c.kburn, a Suffolk curate, was then living in relative obscurity (her husband, having lost his living at the accession of George I, was precariously supporting his family by teaching), though she had enjoyed a certain literary success in King William's time and would later be heard from as a "learned lady" and writer on ethics. The fact that her maiden name was used, though not likely in 1718 to add very much l.u.s.ter to Briscoe's collection, and the similarities between the heroine's situation and Mrs. Trotter's own early life (to be discussed later) make Briscoe's attribution seem worthy of acceptance. It is true that if Mrs.

Trotter wrote _Olinda_ she did it at fourteen. But she had been a child of astonishing precocity; she had produced a successful blank-verse tragedy at sixteen, and both Lady Mary Wortley Montagu and Jane Austen were to perform similar novelistic feats (to say nothing of Daisy Ashford).

Catherine Trotter (1679-1749)[6] was the daughter of David Trotter, a naval commander who died on a voyage in 1683, and Sarah b.e.l.l.e.n.den (or Ballenden), whose connections with the Maitland and Drummond families seem to have helped support her and her daughter in genteel poverty until she gained a pension of 20 per year under Queen Anne; Bishop Burnet was also her friend and patron. Catherine, a child prodigy, learned Latin and logic, and is said to have taught herself French; she extemporized verses in childhood, and at fourteen composed a poem on Mr.

Bevil Higgons's recovery from the smallpox which is no worse than many "Pindarics" of the period. In 1695, however, Catherine Trotter established herself as a female wit with the impressive success of her tragedy _Agnes de Castro_, adapted from Mrs. Behn's retelling of an episode from Portuguese history. It was produced at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane in December, with a prologue by Wycherley and with Mr. and Mrs. Verbruggen and Colley Cibber in the cast. _The Fatal Friendship_, a tragedy produced at Lincoln's Inn Fields in 1698, had a moderate success; two later plays did not. But Mrs. Trotter gained the acquaintance of Congreve, Dryden, and Farquhar, and was well enough known to be lampooned in _The Female Wits_ (1704; acted 1696) along with Mrs. Pix and Mrs. Manley. In 1702 she turned to more serious writing, and her _Defence of the Essay of Humane Understanding_ and other treatises defending Locke's theories against the charge of materialism were impressive enough to earn her a flattering letter from Locke himself; she also corresponded with Leibniz, who a.n.a.lyzed her theories at some length. _The History of the Works of the Learned_ printed an essay of hers on moral obligation in 1743, and in 1747 Warburton contributed a preface to one of her treatises.

If we are willing to admit that _Olinda_ is Mrs. Trotter's work, its virtues may be explained in part by seeing it as romanticized autobiography. Olinda, like Mrs. Trotter, is a wit and something of a beauty in adolescence, a fatherless child living with a prudent mother who is anxious to marry her off advantageously, and a solicitor of favors from n.o.ble or wealthy connections. Of the details of her character and circ.u.mstances at this time, however, no information is certain, and we must rely upon two presumably biased contemporary portraits. Mrs. Trotter gets off lightly in _The Female Wits_; she is represented (in "Calista," a small role) as being somewhat catty and pretentious, vain of her attainments in Latin and Greek (she has read Aristotle in the original, she says), but her moral character is not touched upon.[7] Another account of her early life, in Mrs. Manley's fictionalized autobiography and scandal-chronicle, _The Adventures of Rivella_ (1714), may be entirely unreliable; but its author was certainly well acquainted with Mrs. Trotter, and what she says of her life in the 1690's, what is narrated in _Olinda_, and what Mrs.

Trotter's scholarly memoirist Thomas Birch relates are similar in outline, similar enough so that we may speculate that the same set of facts has been "improved" in _Olinda_, perhaps maliciously distorted in _Rivella_. Cleander, the Platonic friend of the novel, Orontes, the kidnapped bridegroom, and Cloridon, the inconveniently married n.o.ble lover, appear to be three aspects of the same person; for Mrs. Manley tells at length (pp. 64-71) of "Calista's" relationship with "Cleander"

(identified in the "key" to _Rivella_ as Mrs. Trotter and Mr. Tilly).[8]

John Tilly, the deputy warden of the Fleet prison, whose mistress Mrs.

Manley became and remained until 1702, first met her, she says, through Mrs. Trotter, who sought her aid in interceding with her cousin John Manley, appointed chairman of a committee to look into alleged misdemeanors of Tilly as prison administrator. Mrs. Trotter, says Mrs.

Manley, was a prude in public, not so in private; she was the first, "Cleander" said, who ever made him unfaithful to his wife. Mrs. Manley goes on, with a tantalizing lack of clarity (pp. 101-102):

[Calista's] Mother being in Misfortunes and indebted to him, she had offered her Daughter's Security, he took it, and moreover the Blessing of one Night's Lodging, which he never paid her back again.... [Calista] had given herself Airs about not visiting _Rivella_, now she was made the Town-Talk by her Scandalous Intreague with _Cleander_.

Whatever the truth about Mrs. Trotter's adolescent amours may have been, or whether they have any connection with Olinda's fictional ones, must remain a matter for speculation; but the artistic merits of _Olinda_ are in no such doubt. Although technically it may be called an epistolary novel, its author is no Richardson in marshalling the strategies of the epistolary technique. Nevertheless, although it is actually a fictional autobiography divided somewhat arbitrarily into "letters," the postponement of the letter to Cloridon until the end, the introduction of what might be called a subplot as Olinda tries to promote Cleander's courtship of Ambrisia and notes its progress, the breaking off of the letters at moments of (mild) suspense, the bringing up of the action to an uncompleted present, all these show an awareness of fictional mechanics that is far from elementary. Indeed, a contemporary critic might go so far as to see in the novel's conclusion an antic.i.p.ation of the "open-ended" realism of plotting so much applauded at present; for though Orontes has been got out of the way, Olinda has not yet been rewarded with Cloridon's hand by a similarly happy turn of fate, and must patiently await the demise of his inconvenient wife as anyone outside of melodrama might have to do. The contretemps and misunderstandings, the trick played on Olinda with regard to Cloridon's fidelity and her subsequent undeceiving, the closet-scene and its embarra.s.sments, may smack of the hackneyed devices of stage comedy, but they are not clumsily handled, and they never make emotional mountains out of molehills.

Perhaps the most salient qualities of _Olinda_, in contrast to the fiction of its day, are restraint and control. With the exception of the rather ridiculous way in which the complications are resolved at the end (Orontes's sequestration and death from smallpox), everything in the novel is planned and motivated with some care. Inclinations develop slowly and believably; the springs of action, barring a few not very fantastic coincidences and accidents, are anti-romantic--almost too much so. Indeed, such criteria of the "modern novel" as those proposed by Ian Watt[9] are all modestly but adequately met. Most important, the situation and behavior of the heroine, her values, and the world in which she lives are (but for their sketchy development) what a reader of Jane Austen might take for granted, yet are all but unique before 1740.

Here is a middle-cla.s.s heroine who is fully as moral as Pamela, but with a wry sense of humor; she defers to her mother as a matter of course when marriage is in question, yet would willingly evade parental decrees; she is capable of Moll Flanders's examinations of motive, yet sees through her own hypocrisies; she lives in London in reduced circ.u.mstances and agrees to a marriage of convenience although tempted to engage in a dashing adultery; and she endures the onset of both love and jealousy without melodramatic or sentimental posturings.

Other technical achievements of _Olinda_ aside, the portrait of the heroine as she reveals herself to her confidant is the novel's most significant feature. A fictional heroine of this early date who can be sententious without being tedious, who is moderately and believably witty, who is courted by a goldsmith (even though, conformably to the times, he is named Berontus) rather than a prince borrowed from _Astree_, and who satirizes herself soberly for scorning him, who meets her ideal lover with a business letter rather than in a shipwreck, and who level-headedly fends him off because he is both married and a would-be philanderer, is a rarity indeed.

_Olinda_ commends itself to the student of English literary history princ.i.p.ally for two reasons: because it so ably antic.i.p.ates in embryo so many features which the English domestic and realistic novel would develop in its age of maturity and popularity, and because we do not yet understand, and need to investigate, the cultural factors--literary, social, and economic--which prevented the kind of achievement it represents from being duplicated with any frequency for several decades.

Queens College, City University of New York

LETTER I.

_Dear Cleander_,

I Hope I need not tell you how uneasie this tedious Absence makes me; for I must confess as troublesome as I find it, and as much as I Value you, I can't but wish you may be able to guess at it by what you suffer your self: A strange Effect of the highest degree of Friendship; for if I had less for you, I shou'd not so earnestly desire to hear you are in Pain; but such Contradictions are no Mysteries to you, who understand so well the little Niceties of Friendship. That you may see I study nothing more in this Solitude than to oblige you; I've resolv'd to employ most part of my time in complying with that Request you've often made me, of giving you a particular account of all that has happen'd to me in my Life; tho' I fear I shall lose part of that Esteem which you have hitherto preserved for me, by acquainting you with some Pa.s.sages of it, which yet I hope have nothing in 'em so ill, that the kindness of a Friend mayn't find out something in the Circ.u.mstances of the Story to Excuse: For tho' perhaps I have not always been so nicely cautious as a Woman in strictness ought, I have never gone beyond the bounds of solid Virtue. To put all to the hazard then, I will give you a faithful Account of all my Weaknesses. My Father dying, left me when I was very young, to the Tuition of a Mother, who as you know is qualify'd for such a Charge equal to any of her s.e.x; and she indeed perform'd her part as well as her small Fortune wou'd permit her, which was scarce sufficient to maintain her, in that Rank her Birth had placed her. However, she gave me all the Education that was necessary; but I believe you'll excuse me if I pa.s.s over all that occurr'd till I was Thirteen, for about that time I began to fancy my self a Woman, and the more to perswade me to it, I happen'd to be acquainted with a Gentleman whose Name was _Licydon_, who the first or second time I saw him, seem'd to have so much confidence in me, that he told me a long story of his Love, and ever after shew'd me all the Letters he either Writ to, or received from his Mistress: This you must think did not a little please me. and I thought my self as Wise as the Gravest Politician, when he ask'd my Advice in any of his Affairs, especially when I heard him commended by many for a Man of great Parts. One day that we were by our selves, we fell into a Discourse of Womens making Love; he Argu'd that 'twas very unjust to deprive 'em of the satisfaction of discovering a Pa.s.sion, which they were as much subject to as Men: I said as much against him as I cou'd, but he had more dexterity to manage his Argument than I; so that I was easily brought to agree with him; but said 'twas well that custom was observ'd, since the complaisance which was paid by their s.e.x to ours, would sometimes oblige 'em to comply contrary to their Inclination; for I cou'd not imagine how they cou'd civily refuse a Lady's Intreaties. He told me if I wou'd write a Declaration of Love to him, he wou'd shew me how it might be Answer'd with a great deal of Respect, without any Love. I consented to do it, and accordingly did the next day, and he return'd me an Answer which satisfied me: This, tho' it may seem a trivial thing, you will find by the sequel, had like to have produc'd but ill Effects. Some time after this, he brought a Friend of his to Visit us, who was of a good Family; but according to the _English_ custom of breeding the younger Sons to Trades; he was a Goldsmith, but a great _Beaux_, and one who seem'd to have a Soul above his calling: He ask'd _Licydon_ if he had any pretensions to me, which when he a.s.sur'd him he had not, he told him he was very glad he had not a Rival in a Friend; for he was hugely smitten, and shou'd need his a.s.sistance in his design; for he had observ'd such an intimacy between us, as gave him Reason to think he had great influence over me; and he was sure he wou'd not deny him, if he was not my Lover. _Licydon_ a.s.sur'd him he had only a Friendship for me, and that he wou'd use all his Credit with me to perswade me to receive all His Addresses favourably; which he did as soon as he had an opportunity. He said all of him that he could imagine most engaging, and especially of the Violence of his Pa.s.sion. I was well enough pleas'd with the Love, tho'

not with the Lover; for 'tis natural at that unthinking Age to covet a croud of Admirers, tho' we despise them: But I believe I need not confine that Vanity to Youth, many of our s.e.x are troubled with it, when one wou'd think they were Old enough to be sensible of the Folly, and inconvenience of being continually Courted, and haunted by Men they have an indifference, or perhaps an aversion for For my part I think there is no greater Torment; but I was of another Opinion then, and therefore Rally'd at the Love, and seem'd not to blelieve it; which I warrant you gave great Encouragement to my new Lover, when he heard of it; for 'tis a great Sign one wou'd be convinc'd. So I'd best prepare my self for an Attack, which I did not expect long: It was begun by a _Billet Doux_, which came first to my Mother's Hands; and when she gave it me, she ask'd what Answer I wou'd return. I told her I was wholly to be Govern'd by her; but if I was to follow my own inclination I wou'd not answer it at all: My Mother reply'd, she thought it fit I shou'd Answer it; for she believ'd I cou'd have no aversion to him, and she did not think it an ill Match, considering my Circ.u.mstances. Then I desir'd her to indite a Letter for me, for I saw well enough I shou'd not please her. She gave me a Copy of one, that without saying any thing that was kind, gave him cause enough to despair; but I cou'd not dissemble my Looks and Actions, in which he observ'd so much Coldness, that tho' several Letters pa.s.s'd between us, that wou'd have given hopes to a Man the least apt to presume; he was often half an hour with me alone, without speaking one Word to me. At last he complain'd to _Licydon_ of the strange contradictions in what I did, and what I Writ; for whenever he begun to speak to me of his Love, I check'd him with such severe Looks, and turn'd the Discourse in such a manner, that he durst proceed no further, tho' my Letters seem'd much to his Advantage. _Licydon_ perswaded him (as perhaps he thought himself) that 'twas only my Modesty, and that perhaps I shou'd be more emboldned, if he cou'd get my Mother's consent to his Proposals. _Berontus_, for that was his Name, was as well satisfy'd with this, as if I had told him so my self; and away goes he immediately to my Mother, and tells her he's stark staring mad in Love with her Daughter: The next thing they talk of is Joynture, and Settlements, _&c._ and in fine they agree; So I am call'd for, and commanded to look upon this Spark as one that must shortly be my Husband; to give us the more freedom, my Mother leaves us together.

'Well, Madam, (says he) I have no Opposites to struggle with, your Mother has given me her consent, and you have given me hopes that you will not refuse me yours. What shou'd I do in this perplexity? I had a firm Resolution never to Marry him; but I found my Mother so much set upon it, that I durst not let it be known; besides, I had engag'd my self so far in Obedience to her, that I did not know how to come off; but for the present I wou'd be whimsical, and take time to consider what I shou'd do hereafter. So I put on a pet, and said, _Berontus_, I don't know what advantage you think you have more than before; but I'm sure a Lover wou'd have found another way of Courting his Mistress, than by her Mother; and it may be you'll find your self never the nearer my Heart for having gain'd her: I hate a Man that will depend upon any other for my Favour than my self. 'Cruel Creature, _says he_, what pleasure do you take in tormenting me? You know that I love you with the greatest respect imaginable, and that I can't be happy but by you alone. I never had Recourse to your Mother till you had encourag'd me, and gave me leave to say it; your usage of me is very unjust. I knew well enough he was in the Right; but I wou'd not know it: So that we parted both much dissatisfied. How his Thoughts were employ'd I can't pretend to tell you; but I was continually contriving how to get out of this troublesome Affair. I cou'd find no way but to tell him sincerely, that all that I had writ in his favour was by constraint; that I was too young to think of Love, or Marriage, and so trust to his Generosity; and prevail with him, if possible, to let it fall of his side. The first time I had an opportunity of putting my design in Execution, I thought the poor Lover wou'd never have liv'd to see me beyond those Years which serv'd for a pretence for my refusal; but he was Wise enough to baulk me, 'If, _says he_ (after he was come out of his Dumps; for he was a quarter of an hour without saying any thing. You see he was much given to silence) 'If I did not imagine it your Hate that only study'd an Excuse, I shou'd wait with a great deal of satisfaction, till you were pleas'd to make me happy: But as it is, I shall die a thousand times with fear, that some other more happy in your inclinations than I, will rob me of you for ever. He said in fine, abundance of fine things, to perswade me to engage my self to him; but I wou'd not consent to it; and all I could say to him, was as little prevalent to make him desist his suit. He wou'd wait the Patriarch's Prenticeship rather than lose his Angel: Would it not be a sad Business if he should lose her after all? But I am afraid he's like, for her thoughts cannot be brought so low; they towre a little above his Shop, perhaps too high for her Fortune; but she's something too young to consider that, or to prefer her Interest to her Humour. But to go on with my Story; my Mother was well enough satisfied to have the Match delay'd; so that I thought I had nothing to do for a Year or two, but to wish some Accident might intervene to hinder it. But it was not long before a Servant we had in the House found me other Employment; I had complain'd of some Negligences she had been guilty of, when my Mother was out of Town, which were occasion'd by a fondness she had for one that waited upon _Licydon_: Upon which she had been like to be turn'd away, and being of a revengeful Spirit, she cou'd never forgive it. She had observ'd, that _Licydon_ often gave me, and I him, Letters in private; for when he had no other opportunity, he us'd to give me those he sent, or receiv'd from his Mistress, as we were taking leave, when I conducted him to the Door; which I often did, whilst my Mother was entertaining other Company; and I return'd 'em when I saw him again. This malicious Wench hoping to find something in 'em that might prejudice me, to _Licydon_'s Man (over whom it seems she had a great Influence) that she heard his Master was a great Poet, and that she had a great mind to see some of his Works, if he could contrive to let her into his Closet when he was abroad: The Servant who suspected nothing, promis'd her he wou'd let her know the first time his Master left his Key, which he very seldom did. He kept his Word with her, and after she had look'd over all his Papers, at last she found that Letter which I spoke of at the beginning. She knew my Hand well enough, and no doubt with Joy, put it into her Pocket, without being perceiv'd by the Fellow; and to lose no time, went presently to _Berontus_; to whom she said, That she was extreamly concern'd to see him deceiv'd by two that he rely'd so much upon, as her young Mistress and _Licydon_: And therefore she could not forbear telling him, that she had discover'd an Intrigue between 'em, and that they were so familiar, that if they were not Married already, she was sure they wou'd be very suddenly; with abundance of Circ.u.mstances of her own Invention, to make the Story more plausible. He did not believe her at first; but when she show'd him the Letter, it put him beyond doubt; so that after he had given her his Word, whatever Measures he took, not to discover her, she went away very well pleas'd, that she had depriv'd me of a Husband, and receiv'd a good Reward for it. _Berontus_ did not give his Rage and Grief leave to abate; but in the height of both, writ a Letter to _Licydon_, and another to me. You can't imagine how much I was surprized when I read it, and found it was a Chalenge, (for in that Confusion he had mistaken the Direction) to one whom he accus'd of betraying him in what was dearer to him than his Life: I cou'd not guess who it was design'd for, till _Licydon_ came in, and show'd me a Letter he had just receiv'd, which he believ'd was for me; and desir'd me to tell him who that happy Man was _Berontus_ complain'd so much of. I saw plainly then he was jealous of _Licydon_; but was not able to Divine the Cause: He gave me the Letter which contain'd these Words;

_Wou'd to Heaven you had told me Truth, when you said you were too young to think of Love; you have thought of it too much_ Olinda, _for my quiet; but you were born to Torment me. It is my Fate, why do I complain of you? Pity me, if I fall by my happy Rivals Hand, and if you can, forgive me if I survive him. This is the last time I design to trouble you: I wish he may be more faithful to you than he has been to me: Adieu, Madam, pity the unfortunate_ Berontus.

The Letter seem'd so full of Distraction, that I cou'd not chuse but pity him; for I really thought him Mad: But I did not think fit to shew _Licydon_ that which was design'd for him. When he was gone I sent for _Berontus_, but he refus'd to come, and 'twas with much ado after three or four times sending he was prevail'd with. I told him by what means I had seen both his Letters; but that they appear'd so great Mysteries to me, that I sent for him to explain 'em. 'Twas long before he wou'd let me know the Cause of his suspicions; but I was so importunate, that at last he show'd me the Love Letter I had writ to _Licydon_: Can I have a greater Proof than this, says he? I confess, reply'd I, you have Reason to think as you do; but you are much deceiv'd; and then I told him upon what occasion it was writ: I saw very well he did not believe me, and I knew not how to convince him, unless I cou'd find _Licydon_'s Answer, which at least wou'd clear him. I found it by good Fortune, and brought it to _Berontus_. Read this, said I, and you'll see whether it be true, that I Writ to _Licydon_ in earnest: You have nothing to accuse him of.

After he had read it, he cry'd out in a violent manner, I have wrong'd the innocent _Olinda_, and I deserve to be hated by her for ever. Be not so transported I return'd coldly enough, I may love _Licydon_, tho' he be so indifferent: The Postscript fully clears you, reply'd _Berontus_, and makes me not dare to ask you to forgive me: Upon which I took it, and read these Words, which I had quite forgot. _I did not think one cou'd write so prettily of Love, and be so insensible of it; How happy wou'd that Man be, that shou'd receive such a one dictated by your Heart, as well as Hand._ I am sure none cou'd return such an Answer to _Olinda_. This Complement did me so much Kindness, that one wou'd think I shou'd be a better Friend to 'em than you know I am. _Berontus_ left me almost as angry at himself, as he was before at us; and did not come near me for some time after. When I told _Licydon_ what had pa.s.s'd between us, he was amaz'd: He Examin'd his Man, who had been in the Chamber, who confess'd the Truth; and our Servant, when she was tax'd with it, hardly deny'd it; and thus the whole Matter was discover'd; which had it not been for a happy Mistake, had probably cost one, or both of them, their Lives, and me my Honour. Two days after _Licydon_ was Married, and so our Acquaintance broke off; for tho' his Wife came to see me and often press'd me to keep a Correspondence with her; I never did, for I knew she had been very Jealous of me before she Marry'd, and I would not hazard the reviving it. _Berontus_ easily obtain'd his Pardon of me (for you know I'm very good Natur'd) and so he continu'd to Visit me, taking all the pains he could to please me, without any thing remarkable happening, till three Monthes after, his Elder Brother, who had been at his Travels, and was reported to be dead, return'd; so that he was no longer able to keep the Conditions he had made with my Mother; for he had nothing to live upon but his Trade; which I afterwards heard he neglected very much, and took to that usual remedy of Cares, Drinking: He said it was to cure his Grief for the loss of his Mistress, and truly that is to be lamented, when the loss of a good Estate is the Cause of it. However he is comforted for both now, and Married to a Woman with a great Fortune. I was very glad to be rid of my Lover, tho' I was sorry 'twas by his misfortune.

Thus _Cleander_, you have an account of the first Adventures of my Life; which made me early know some uneasie Hours: By the next Post I'll acquaint you with a Catalogue of Lovers (that is, they were my _En pa.s.sant_, in taking their Rounds, and serv'd better to divert me than the most Romantick Constancy, without giving themselves, or me any trouble) but it's indeed time to make an end. Adieu my Friend, think of me always, and, Write as often as you can to _Olinda_.

[Decoration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _M. V^{dr} Gucht Sculp_

_Olinda_.

_Vol. 2_ _pag. 136_]

LETTER V.

TO proceed in Order to my Relation, I must begin with one, who in respect of his Years as well as the time in which I knew him, demands the Pre-eminence. He was a _Dutch_ Coll. about Threescore; Don't you think one of his Country and Years, will make a pretty Lover? But Old as he was, he had a Mistress in the House with him. I was younger than she, and I believe I may say, without Vanity, I had some other Advantages over her; so that the Old Spark had a Month's mind to me; and I, partly to plague her, and partly to divert my self, received all his Addresses with a great deal of complaisance. I cou'd perceive her fret within her self, tho she durst not shew it. She was in great fear of losing him; for the Man's Money had such Charms as aton'd for his want of 'em, tho'

he was Ugliness in perfection; (if that ben't Nonsense) and 'twas the best Jest in the World to me, to see him squint an Amorous Glance upon me with one Eye, whilst 'tother was watching whether she took Notice of him; for we Lodg'd in one House together; so that I cou'd not avoid often being with them both, nor indeed did I endeavour it; for I took a malicious pleasure in laughing at their Follies: Since there's nothing so ridiculous as an Antiquated Lover, who has the Vanity to believe he is belov'd, and a Jealous Woman, who has not Discretion enough to hide it. That I might be sufficiently entertain'd with both, one day I began a Discourse of Young and old Lovers, preferring the last as more Constant, more Fond, and more Solid than the First: He Smil'd, and took me by the Hand, and gave me a thousand Commendations for the Wisdom of my choice; Nay, and so far forgot himself, that he apply'd it to himself, and said such pa.s.sionate things as wou'd have been extravagant from a young Fellow. She with a great deal of Heat contradicted all I had said, and told all the Impertinences and Inconveniences one finds in an Old Man (which she experimentally knew better than I) without considering how far it touch'd him, she was so earnest against me. This made him so Angry, and her so out of Countenance when she reflected so upon what she had said, that I was never better diverted: So she did not know what Excuse to make for her self; and in fine, the Dispute grew so high, that at last they parted. Upon this the Coll. was hotter upon me than ever; he pester'd me continually with his Visits, and the Brute so little understood my Raillery, that he pretended an Interest in me, and wou'd check me when he saw any body younger than himself with me; but I gave him such Answers, that he did not know what to make of me. When he had Orders for _Flanders_, he told me I must prepare my self to go with him, and I should live as great and happy as a Queen; I said I wou'd go withal my Heart, upon Condition his Son should be always with us: The Old Man started, my Son, Child, what would you do with him? I think he is fitter company for me than you, says I, and so I left him, so asham'd, that he shunn'd seeing me ever after. He e'en went to _Flanders_ without me, and vow'd, young as he was, he wou'd never have any thing to do with Woman more. Thus I was rid of my Old Impertinent, whose place was soon supply'd by one of those gay youths who never wait for the slow gifts of pity, but Ravish little Favours from us, as if they were their due; who make it impossible for us to think it a Crime to give what they ask with so much boldness; and who are always endeavouring to divert her they design to please. He Courted me with b.a.l.l.s, Musick, and Entertainments, and in the midst of 'em wou'd now and then whisper some pretty Love Maggots. I was first acquainted with him at a Relations of mine at _Greenwich_: He was an Officer in the Army, and was then in the Camp upon _Black-Heath_; and being very well known in the House where I was, he came often there. He had heard several things of me to my Advantage, (for Fame generally flatters or detracts) as, that I sung well, was Handsom, and so forth: And I was told, that he was very well accomplish'd, and the Neatest, Prettiest, Gentilest young fellow that was to be seen in the whole Army: So that we had both a great desire to see one another, and were very well acquainted the first time we met: He told me he had a violent Pa.s.sion for me, and he did not doubt but I had a little Love for him; he came to see me every Day whilst I was there; carried me to all the Diversions that were to be had about the Country; and when I was going to _London_, he told me he would soon follow me: But as soon as you come to Town, Faith _Olinda_, you shall Write to me, as you hope to see me again; for I can't live without hearing you Arriv'd safe. So I Writ a thousand little mad things, and he Answer'd me at the same Rate, only a great deal of Airy Love mingled with it. The following Week he came to see me, and from that day I was never suffered to rest for one frolick or other: All the time he staid, I liv'd a pleasant sort of a Life, till he went to Fight abroad, and got two or three new Mistresses to divert, for those sort of Men never remember the Absent; their Love never enters the Heart, nor do they often gain ours; they seldom fail to please indeed, and they force us to think of 'em sometimes whether we will or not; but they are neither Discreet, nor Constant enough to go any further: I suppose he forgot me as soon as he left me, and I was not much behindhand with him. After he was gone, I had scarce a breathing time before another of his Profession, more serious, and more designing, succeeded him: He had a good Estate, and pa.s.s'd in the World for a Man of Honour, and therefore was Received by my Mother favourably enough. I neither lik'd, nor dislick'd him; but treated him with Civility, till I found out that his designs were not very Honourable; and then I thought it time to alter my Behaviour: I forbid him to see me, and when he came to our Lodgings, I was deny'd to him, tho' he knew I was at home; upon which he left off coming, and when some of his Comrades ask'd him the Reason, he told them, he knew me too well, and that he did not think a Creature so young cou'd be so Lew'd. Observe, my Friend, how unhappy Women are, who are thus expos'd to lose either their Virtue, or their Honour; if I had comply'd with him, perhaps none wou'd have been more careful of my Fame than he: But how much my Choice is to be preferr'd, none but those who have experienced the unexpressible satisfaction it gives can know. I heard of it with a great deal of indifference, and did not so much as hate the Author of the scandal. The next in waiting was a _French Beaux_: He had a great stock of Wit, but more Vanity, a mighty Flatterer, and one who took much pains to perswade credulous Women that he lov'd them; and if he succeeded, he always forsook 'em, and sometimes gratify'd his Vanity to their Cost, who had been indiscreet enough to give him occasion. He laid his Baits to catch me, he Vow'd, and Swore, and Danc'd, and Sung eternally by turns; but I was too wary to be caught, tho' he made me a hundred Protestations, I was the only Woman he ever did, or ever cou'd Love; follow'd me where ever I went, and in spight of the greatest Rigour I cou'd use, wou'd not forbear haunting me. I did not know how to free my self from the Impertinence of this Fop; but I thought if I cou'd convince him of one Act of Inconstancy, he wou'd not have the Confidence to trouble me any more: I had many contrivances in Order to it, but at last I fix'd upon one that was probable enough to take with one of his Humour. I Writ a Letter (disguising my Hand) as from a Woman extreamly in Love with him, and desir'd him to tell me sincerely whither he was engaged or not; for I was too just to rob any Woman of his Heart, and too nice to be content with a part of it. I told him if he was free, I wou'd meet him, the next day at the Bird-Cage in the Park: He sent a very obliging answer to the unknown Lady; and said, he was pa.s.sionately in Love with her Wit; that if her Beauty were Answerable, he must be undone; however 'twould be such a pleasing Ruin, that he waited with the highest impatience for the appointed hour, when he might a.s.sure her by word of Mouth, his Heart was wholly at her dispose. Just as I had done Reading this Letter he came in, and for a Proof of his Constancy, shew'd me that which I had sent him, with another, which he said was the Answer he design'd to send; wherein he told her, he was already so deeply in Love, 'twas impossible for him to change; with abundance of fine things of the Person he Lov'd. This was good sport for me, and I had much ado to keep my Countenance; I us'd all my Rhetorick to perswade him to stay with me; a thing I had never desir'd of him before, and now 'twas in vain: He pretended earnest business, and went long before the Hour, he was so very impatient. When he was gone, I chang'd my Clothes, took a Lady with me, who was Privy to the Affair, and went to the aforesaid Place. We were in Masks, and it being duskish, he did not know us; but after I had banter'd him for some time, I discover'd my self: I cannot describe to you the different Pa.s.sions that affected him; sometimes he was in a Rage with me for putting such a Deceit upon him, sometimes he wou'd frame weak Excuses for what he had done, and sometimes he was not able to speak at all for Grief, that he was not only disappointed of a new Mistress, but had lost all hopes of gaining one he had Courted so long, with so much a.s.siduity. I went home, as well pleas'd with losing one, as I have sometimes been with making a Conquest, in full hopes I shou'd be plagued with him no more, and I was not deceiv'd. You see, _Cleander_, what a Miscellany of Lovers, if I may call 'em so, I have had, all of different humours, but none that had found out the Secret to please me: They have done enough if they contribute any thing to your diversion, and made a sufficient Recompence for all their former Impertinence to

_Your faithful Friend_

Olinda.

[Decoration]

LETTER III.

_My Friend_,