come among us; but I don't know how it is, we are apt to be jealous of them, I think......and so they go a little lower down.

Har. Divines of all religions, I suppose?

Bel. Rather of no religion, friend: of those we have abundance; and very much respected they are indeed.

Har. Physicians too, no doubt?

Bel. And that's a little odd; for we have no deaths among us; and yet there is no country under heaven, I believe, so stocked with physicians as ours. Har. And traders, pray?

Bel. A world of them, of the better sort. The industry and wealth of those gentlemen will always secure them a warm place with us.

Har. Atheists, I suppose in plenty?

Bel. Atheists! Not that I remember. We have abundance of fine gentlemen; but I never heard that they professed atheism below.

Har. And pray, sir, do any of the players make you a visit?

Bel. I never heard that they went any where else. They are a little unmanageable indeed; but we have them all, from Roscius of Rome, to Joe Miller of Drury Lane: and a fine company they are. Besides, we have all the wits that ever wrote; and then we have no licencer to be a check upon their fancies; though I don't remember that lewdness has been carried a degree farther than with you.

Har. Very likely, sir. But pray, sir, if I may be indulged, who are your favourite ladies at present?

Bel. Why, indeed, among so large a number, it is hard to say which. The nuns of all nations are reckoned mighty good sort of women; but a devil of true taste will tell you that a thorough-bred English woman of quality will go beyond them.

Har. You are pleased to compliment the English ladies, sir. And what extraordinary business, if I may have leave to ask, may have been the occasion of this visit?

Bel. Curiosity and a wife: the very two things that send you gentlemen upon a visit to us.

Har. May be so. And pray, sir, what stay do you intend to make?

Bel. Only this evening.

Har. Can I do you any service, sir?

Bel. Aye; you shall make love to my wife.

Har. Her ladyship is from hell too, I suppose?

Bel. Going thither as fast as she can, Mr. Harlequin........But I hear her coming; walk this way, and I'll instruct you.

(Exeunt.)

Thus ends the scene; which my correspondent inveighs against with so much bitterness, that when I consider it throughout, I am almost of opinion that (in the fashionable phrase) he is "taking me in,” and that he has desired my publication of it in order to excite curiosity, and to get the piece talked of before its appearance upon the stage. And indeed this method of puffing by abuse is frequently the most successful of any; for as in these very reformed times a wicked book is so rare to be met with, people will be tempted to read it, out of mere curiosity.

I remember a very sceptical pamphlet, that was no where to be seen but in the bookseller's shop, until the author bethought himself of selecting the most offensive passages of it, and by printing them in the Daily Advertiser, and calling upon the clergy to confute, and the magistrate to suppress so pernicious a performance, he carried it through three impressions in less than a fortnight. If my present correspondent has adopted this plan, I shall take care to coun

terwork his design, by giving it as my opinion that the above scene (however it may be objected to by people of a particular turn) is perfectly harmless.

No. XCVII. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 7.

THE following letter is written with such an air of truth, that though it comes from one of those unhappy creatures who have always a story to tell in palliation of their infamy, I cannot refuse giving it a place in this paper. If the artifice that undid this poor girl be a common one, it may possibly be less practised by being more known. All I shall farther say is, that I have made no other alteration in the letter than to correct false spellings and a few errors in the English.

To Mr. Fitz-Adam.

SIR,

I AM the daughter of very honest and reputable parents in the north of England; but as an account of my family does no way relate to my story, I shall avoid troubling you with any farther particulars on that head. At the age of seventeen I had leave from my father and mother to accompany a neighbouring family of some distinction to town, having lived in the strictest intimacy with the young ladies of that family ever since I was a child.

At our arrival in town, we were visited by a great deal of company, and among the rest, by a young gentleman of fortune, who seldom passed a day without seeing us. As this gentleman's family, and that of my friends, had been long acquainted, his admission to us was without the least ceremony; and indeed he was looked upon by the young ladies and myself rather as a brother than a visitor. I had often observed, and I confess with a secret satisfaction, that his behaviour to me, especially when alone, was somewhat more particular than to any of my companions; and I could not help placing it to his favourable opinion of me, that he was continually contriving parties abroad to amuse and entertain us.

One afternoon, having been troubled with the headach in the morning, and having therefore excused myself from dining and supping out with the family where I lived, he called, as he had many times done, to ask us to the play. I expressed my concern at the ladies being from home, but foolishly suffered myself to be persuaded to go alone with him into the gallery, after having been laughed at for my objections, and told that I ought to have a better opinion of him than to think him capable of asking me to do any improper thing.

When the play was over, we took coach to return home; but the coachman, having no doubt received his lesson, stopped just at the door of a tavern, telling us that one of the traces was broke, and that he could go no farther. I suffered myself to be handed into the tavern, while another coach was called, which not being immediately to be had, my companion observed to me smiling, that it was a happy accident, and as the family I lived with would not sup at home, I should be his guest that evening; and without waiting for a reply, ordered supper and a bottle of champaign. It was in vain that I remonstrated against this proposal;

he knew, he said, that my friends would not return until twelve; and there could be no kind of harm in eating a bit of chicken, and drinking a glass of wine where we were. I was frightened at the thoughts of what I was doing, but was indiscreet enough to consent. His behaviour to me all the time was the most respectful in the world. He took care to engage my attention by some interesting discourse, assuring me,. as often as I attempted to move, that it was quite early, and that until a coach could be had, it was to no purpose to attempt going.

I very freely confess, that being extremely heated at the play-house, I was tempted to drink a glass or two of wine more than I was accustomed to, which flurried me a good deal; and as my heart was by no means indifferent to him who was entertaining me, the time passed away almost imperceptibly. However, recollecting myself at last, I insisted peremptorily upon going; when, seeing me in earnest, he pulled out his watch, and, as if violently surprised, declared it was past two o'clock; adding, in the greatest seeming consternation, that it would be impossible for me to go home that night, and cursing his own folly for the mischief he had brought upon me.

I will not attempt, Mr. Fitz-Adam, to describe the confusion I was in. Yet still I insisted upon going home, which he endeavoured to dissuade me from, by. saying, that he too well knew the temper of the gentleman at whose house I lived, to think of carrying me thither at so late an hour; that he would conduct me to a lady of his acquaintance, who should wait on me home in the morning, and make an excuse for my lying out. I answered him, that I would lie no where but at home; that I detested myself for going out with him; and that I would return immediately, let the hour be what it would. "Let us go first of all," replied he, "to the lady's, where I will leave you