DISCOVER HE RESIDES IN LONDON.

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apon that gentleman, and as soon as the coach came to the end of Whitechapel, he should get down, and follow him closely, so as to see where he put up his horse, and then to go into the inn and inquire, if he could, who he was and where he lived.

The fellow followed diligently to the gate of an inn in Bishopsgate-street, and seeing him go in, made no doubt but he had him fast, but was confounded when, upon inquiry, he found the inn was a thoroughfare into another street, and that the two gentlemen had only rode through the inn, as the way to the street where they were going; and so, in short, came back no wiser than he went.

My kind Quaker was more vexed at the disappointment, at least apparently so, than I was; and asking the fellow if he was sure he knew the gentleman again if he saw him, the ellow said he had followed him so close, and took so much notice of him, in order to do his errand as it ought to be done, that he was very sure he should know him again; and that besides, he was sure he should know his horse.

This part was, indeed, likely enough; and the kind Quaker, without telling me anything of the matter, caused her man to place himself just at the corner of Whitechapel church wall every Saturday in the afternoon, that being the day when the citizens chiefly ride abroad to take the air; and there to watch all the afternoon and look for him.

It was not till the fifth Saturday that her man came, with a great deal of joy, and gave her an account that he had found out the gentleman; that he was a Dutchman, but a French merchant; that he came from Rouen, and his name was and that he lodged at Mr. on Laurence

Pountney's hill. I was surprised, yon may be sure, when she came and told me one evening all the particulars, except that of having set her man to watch. I have found out thy Dutch friend, says she, and can tell thee how to find him too. I coloured again as red as fire. Then thou hast dealt with the evil one, friend, said I, very gravely. No, no, says she, I have no familiar; but I tell thee, I have found him for thee, and his name is so and so, and he lives as above recited.

I was surprised again at this, not being able to imagine how she should come to know all this. However, to put me out of pain, she told me what she had done. Well, said I, thou art very kind, but this is not worth thy pains; for now I know it, 'tis only to satisfy my curiosity, for I shall not

VOL. IV.

send to him upon any account. Be that as .hou wilt, says she; besides, added she, thou art in the right to say so to me, for why should I be trusted with it? though if I were, I assure thee I should not betray thee. That's very kind, said I, and I believe thee; and assure thyself, if I do send to him thou shalt know it, and be trusted with it too.

During this interval of five weeks, I suffered a hundred thousand perplexities of mind. I was thoroughly convinced I was right as to the person, that it was the man: I knew him so well, and saw him so plain, I could not be deceived. I drove out again in the coach (on pretence of air) almost every day, in hopes of seeing him again, but was never so lucky as to see him; and now I had made the discovery, I was as far to seek what measures to take as I was before.

To send to him, or speak to him first, if I should see him, so as to be known to him, that I resolved not to do, if I died for it; to watch him about his lodging, that was as much below my spirit as the other; so that, in a word, I was at a perfect loss how to act, or what to do.

At length came Amy's letter, with the last account which she had at Rouen, from the Dutch skipper, which, confirming the other, left me out of doubt that this was my man; but still, no human invention could bring me to the speech of him, in such a manner as would suit with my resolutions; for, after all, how did I know what his circumstances were? whether married or single? and if he had a wife, I knew he was so honest a man, he would not so much as converse with me, or so much as know me if he met me in the street.

In the next place, as he had entirely neglected me, which, in short, is the worst way of slighting a woman, and had given no answer to my letters, I did not know but he might be the same man still; so I resolved that I could do nothing in it, unless some fairer opportunity presented, which might make my way clearer to me; for I was determined he should have no room to put any more slights upon me.

In these thoughts I passed away near three months; till at last, being impatient, I resolved to send for Amy to come over, and tell her how things stood, and that I would do nothing till she came. Amy, in answer, sent me word she would come away with all speed, but begged of me that I would enter into no engagement with him, or anybody, till she arrived; but still keeping me in the dark as to the thing

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itself which she had to say; at which I was heartily vexed, for many reasons.

But while all these things were transacting, and letters and answers passed between Amy and I a little slower than usual, at which I was not so well pleased as I used to be with Amy's despatch, I say, in this time the following scene opened.

It was one afternoon, about four o'clock, my friendly Quaker and I sitting in her chamber up stairs, and very cheerful, chatting together (for she was the best company in the world), when somebody ringing hastily at the door, and no servant just then in the way, she ran down herself to the door, when a gentleman appears, with a footman attending and making some apologies, which she did not thoroughly understand, he speaking but broken English, he asked to speak with me, by the very same name that I went by in her house, which, by the way, was not the name that he had known me by.

She, with very civil language, in her way, brought him into a very handsome parlour below stairs, and said she would go and see whether the person who lodged in her house owned that name, and he should hear farther.

I was a little surprised, even before I knew anything of who it was, my mind foreboding the thing as it happened (whence that arises, let the naturalists explain to us); but I was frighted, and ready to die, when my Quaker came up all gay and crowing. There, says she, is the Dutch French merchant come to see thee. I could not speak one word to her, nor stir off of my chair, but sat as motionless as a statue. She talked a thousand pleasant things to me, but they made no impression on me; at last she pulled me and teased me, Come, come, says she, be thyself, and rouse up, I must go down again to him; what shall I say to him? Say, said I, that you have no such body in the house. That I cannot do, says she, because it is not the truth; besides, I have owned thou art above; come, come, go down with me. Not for a thousand guineas, said I. Well, says she, I'll go and tell him thou wilt come quickly. So, without giving me time to answer her, away she goes.

A million of thoughts circulated in my head while she was gone, and what to do I could not tell; I saw no remedy but I must speak with him, but would have given 500l. to have shunned it; yet had I shunned it, perhaps then I would have

given 500l. again that I had seen him. Thus fluctuating and unconcluding were my thoughts, what I so earnestly desired I declined when it offered itself; and what now I pretended to decline, was nothing but what I had been at the expense of 401. or 50l. to send Amy to France for; and even without any view, or, indeed, any rational expectation of bringing it to pass; and what for half a year before I was so uneasy about that I could not be quiet night or day, till Amy proposed to go over to inquire after him. In short, my thoughts were all confused, and in the utmost disorder. I had once refused and rejected him, and I repented it heartily; then I had taken ill his silence, and in my mind rejected him again, but had repented that too. Now I had stooped so low as to send after him into France, which if he had known, perhaps, he had never come after me; and should I reject him a third time! On the other hand, he had repented too, in his turn, perhaps, and not knowing how I had acted, either in stooping to send in search after him, or in the wickeder part of my life, was come over hither to seek me again; and I might take him, perhaps, with the same advantages as I might have done before, and would I now be backward to see him! Well, while I was in this hurry, my friend the Quaker comes up again, and perceiving the confusion I was in, she runs to her closet, and fetched me a little pleasant cordial; but I would not taste it. O, says she, I understand thee, be not uneasy, I'll give thee something shall take off all the smell of it; if he kisses thee a thousand times he shall be no wiser. I thought to myself, thou art perfectly acquainted with affairs of this nature, I think you must govern me now, so I began to incline to go down with her; upon that I took the cordial, and she gave me a kind of spicy preserve after it, whose flavour was so strong, and yet so deliciously pleasant, that it would cheat the nicest smelling, and it left not the least taint of the cordial on the breath.

Well, after this, though with some hesitation still, I went down a pair of back stairs with her, and into a dining-room, next to the parlour in which he was; but there I halted, and desired she would let me consider of it a little. Well, do so, says she; and left me with more readiness than she did before; Do consider, and I'll come to thee again.

Though I hung back with an awkwardness that was really unfeigned, yet when she so readily left me, I thought

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it was not so kind, and I began to think she should have pressed me still on to it; so foolishly backward are we to the thing which, of all the world, we most desire; mocking ourselves with a feigned reluctance, when the negative would be death to us; but she was too cunning for me, for while I, as it were, blamed her in my mind for not carrying me to him, though at the same time I appeared backward to see him, on a sudden she unlocks the folding-doors, which looked into the next parlour, and throwing them open, There, says she (ushering him in), is the person who I suppose thou inquirest for; and the same moment, with a kind decency, she retired, and that so swift, that she would not give us leave hardly to know which way she went.

I stood up, but was confounded with a sudden inquiry ir my thoughts, how I should receive him? and with a resolution as swift as lightning, in answer to it, said to myself, it shall be coldly; so on a sudden I put on an air of stiffness and ceremony, and held it for about two minutes; but it was with great difficulty.

He restrained himself, too, on the other hand, came towards me gravely, and saluted me in form; but it was, it seems, upon his supposing the Quaker was behind him, whereas she, as I said, understood things too well, and had retired, as if she had vanished, that we might have full freedom; for, as she said afterwards, she supposed we had seen one another before, though it might have been a great while ago.

Whatever stiffness I had put on my behaviour to him, I was surprised in my mind, and angry at his, and began to wonder what kind of a ceremonious meeting it was to be. However, after he perceived the woman was gone, he made a kind of a hesitation, looking a little round him; Indeed, said he, I thought the gentlewoman was not withdrawn; and with that he took me in his arms, and kissed me three or four times; but I, that was prejudiced to the last degree with the coldness of his first salutes, when I did not know the cause of it, could not be thoroughly cleared of the prejudice, though I did know the cause; and thought that even his return, and taking me in his arms, did not seem to have the same ardour with which he used to receive me, and this made me behave to him awkwardly, and I know not how, for a good while; but this by the way.