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REFLECTING with himself, that Teague was
addicted to women, and that he might have gone to
some of those houses, which are not in the best repute
with the religious part of the community, the
Captain thought it might not be amiss to make enquiry.
Being informed by the waiter, that he had
overheard gentlemen at the house, in their cups,
speak of a certain Mrs. Robeson, who kept a house
of that kind; and, as far as he could understand, it
was in such a part of the city, a few doors from
such a street.

The Captain having set out, coming into the
neighbourhood, and making enquiry, was directed to
the house. Knocking, and on a servant coming to
the door, enquiring for Mrs. Robeson, he was shewn
into a parlour, and in a little time the old lady entered.
Being seated, he took the liberty of addressing
her: Madam, said he, I am not unacquainted
with the stile and designation of your house. Why
as to that, said she, we do the best we can; but the
times are hard, and it is a very difficult thing to pick
up a good looking healthy girl, now a days. So many
young women, since the war is over, having taken
to virtuous ways, and got married, has almost

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broke us up. But I have been fortunate enough to
light upon one, yesterday, that is a rare piece, just
from the country, and I am sure.......

It is not in the way that you mean, madam, said
the Captain, that I take the liberty to call upon you
I have a servant man, of the name of Teague O'Regan,
that is fond of women, and has been absent
some days; and it has occurred to me, that he may
have come to your house, or some other of the like
kind; and may be skulking, to avoid my service.
As he has little or no money, it is impossible he can
be much in your way, and I could make it better
worth your while to inform on him, and surrender
him up.

Teague O'Regan, said the old lady! snuffing;
Teague O'Regan! I would have you know, sir,
that no Teague O'Regans come here; we keep a
house for the first gentlemen, not for waiters or understrappers,
or any of the common sorts. There is
no half-crown or five shilling pieces here. Teague
O'Regan indeed! there is no Teague O'Regan at
this house. We have meat for his master. I was
saying there was a young woman just now from the
country, that looks more like a woman of family,
than a country girl; but is so melancholy and mopish,
that she scarcely speaks, and stands in need of
some one to talk to her, and keep her in spirits. She
is fit for any gentleman. Teague O'Regan! Humph
There is no Teague O'Regan puts his foot into my
door.

The Captain assured her, that he by no means
meant to give offence. That though the bog-trotter
could not have access to her first rooms; yet he did
not know but he might have got in with some of her
under maids, and be about the kitchen.

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The lady, being now appeased on the score of
Teague, was in a good humour, and renewed her
hints to the Captain, with respect to the young woman.
She is, said she, as good a looking girl as
ever came to my house; and has not seen a single
person but yourself, whom she has not yet seen; but
may see, if you chuse; and a very pretty girl she is;
but keeps mopish and melancholy, as if she was
crossed in love, and had come to town for fear of her
relations, and wishes to keep out of sight of every
body.

The Captain being no stranger to the art these
matrons use in their addresses, to enhance the value
of their wares, was but little moved with the recommendation
she had given. But as there were some
circumstances in the account of the young woman,
that were a little striking, his curiosity was excited
to let her be called in, and present herself. Accordingly,
the old lady stepping out, a young woman
made her appearance, of considerable beauty; but
in her countenance, expressions of woe. Her blue
eye seemed involved in mist; for she shed no tears;
her sorrow was beyond that.

Young woman, said the Captain, it is easy to perceive
that you have not been in this way of life long;
and that you have been brought to it, perhaps, by
some uncommon circumstances. My humanity is
interested; and it occurs to me to ask, by what
means it has come to pass. The part which he
seemed to take in her distress; inspiring her with
confidence; and being requested by him to relate
her story frankly, she began as follows:

My father, said she, lives at the distance of about
twenty miles from this city, and is a man of good
estate. I have two brothers, but no sisters. My

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mother dying when I was at the age of fourteen, I
became house-keeper for the family.

There was a young man that used to come to the
same church to which we went. He was of the very
lowest class, mean in his appearance, of homely
features, and a diminutive person. Yet he had the
assurance to put himself in my way on every occasion;
endeavouring to catch my eye; for he did not
dare to speak to me. But I hated him, and was almost
resolved to stay at home on Sundays, to avoid
him; for he began to be very troublesome. His attentions
to me were taken notice of by my brothers.
They were confident that I must give him some encouragement,
or he would not make such advances.
My father was of the same opinion. I assured
them I had never given him any encouragement,
and I never would; that I was as much averse to
him as possible.

I shunned him and hated him. He persisted a
long time, almost two years, and seemed to become
melancholy, and at last went away from the neighbourhood;
and, as I heard afterwards, to sea. I began
now to reflect upon his assiduity, and endeavors
to engage my affections. I recollected every circumstance
of his conduct towards me, since the first
time I was obliged to take notice of him. I reasoned
with myself, that it was no fault of his, if his family
was low; and if he himself had not all that
comeliness of person which I wished in a husband;
yet he was sufficiently punished in his presumption
in thinking of me, by what he must have suffered,
and by his going to sea, which he did to get out of
my sight, finding his attempts to gain my affectons
hopeless. I dreamed of him, and scarcely a moment
of the day passed, but my thoughts were running
on the danger to which he was exposed. It

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seemed to me that if he came back, I should be
more kind to him. I might at least shew him, that
I was not insensible of his attachment.

In about a year he returned, and the moment I saw
him, I loved him. He did not dare to come to my
father's house. But I could not help giving him
encouragement, by my countenance, when I met
him in public. Emboldened by this, he at last ventured
to speak to me, and I agreed that he might
come to a peach orchard, at some distance from my
father's house, and that I would give him an interview.
There he came often, and with a most lowly
and humble behaviour, fixed my regard for him.
Not doubting the violence of his love for me, and
my ascendency over him, I at last put myself in his
power. Becoming pregnant, I hinted marriage,
but what was my astonishment to find, that, on various
pretences, he evaded it, and as I became more
fond, he became more cold, which had no other effect,
than to make me more ardent than before. It
had been usual for many months, to meet me every
evening at this place, but now I had gone often,
and did not find him there. At last he withdrew altogether,
and I heard he had left the settlement.
Worthless and base, as I now knew him to be; and,
though my reason told me, that in person he was
still as homely as I first thought him, yet I continued
to love him to distraction.

What was my distress, when my father, and my
brothers, found that I was with child? They charged
me, though unjustly, of having deceived them
with respect to my attachment to this low creature,
from the first: In fine, my father dismissed me
from the house: My brothers, no less relenting than
him, in their resentment against me, upbraided me
with the offers I had refused, and the treatment I

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had given several gentlemen, in their advances to
me. For, indeed, during the absence of this worthless
man, I had been addressed by several, but my
pity and compassion for the wretch, had so wrought
upon me, that I could not think of any, or scarcely
bear them to speak to me.

Dismissed from my father's house, even my younger
brother, who was most soft and yielding in his
nature, seeming to approve of it, I went to the habitation
of a tenant of my father; there remained some
time, and endeavoured to make compensation, by
the labour of my hands, for the trouble I was giving
them. But these poor people, thinking my father
would relent, had informed him where I was, and
of the care they had taken of me. The consequence
was, that, at the end of three months, he sent for
the child, of which I had been brought to bed some
weeks before, but ordered them instantly to dismiss
me, that I might never more offend his hearing
with my name.

I wandered to this city, and the first night lay in
the market-house, upon a bench. The next morning
mixed with the women that came to market,
and enquired for work of any kind. I could find
none; but at last meeting with a young woman who
felt for my distress, she told me, that she had a small
room in this city, where she had lived some time
with an aunt that was lately dead, and that now she
supported herself by doing a little in the millinery
way; that if I would come and take breakfast with
her, and see where she lived, I was welcome. Going
with the poor girl, I found her lonely and distressed
enough. Nevertheless I continued with her
several months. But the work was small that we
got to do, and times becoming still worse, I was
obliged to sell the clothes that I brought with me, to

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the last petticoat and short gown, to support ourselves
and pay rent. To bring me to the last stage
of misery, the poor girl, who was more expert than I
was, in making any little provision that could be
made, fell sick, and in a short time died. I could
bear to stay no longer in the room, and coming out
to wander in the streets, like a forlorn wretch indeed,
and sobbing sorely by myself, when I thought no
one heard me, I was observed by this woman, at
whose house you now are, and pressed by her to go
home. I soon found what sort of a house it was,
and had I not been watched, when I talked of going
away, and threatened to be sent to jail, for what it is
pretended I owe since I came to the house, I should
not have been here longer than the first day.

The Captain feeling with great sensibility the circumstances
of her story, made reply: Said he,
young woman, I greatly commiserate your history
and situation, and feel myself impelled to revenge
your wrong. But the villain which has thus injured
you, is out of my reach, in two respects; first,
by distance; and second, being too contemptible and
base to be pursued by my resentment, even on your
account. But revenge is not your object, but support
and restoration to your friends, and the good
opinion of the world. As to money, it is not in my
power to advance you any great sum; but as far as
words can go, I could wish to serve you: not words
to yourself only, but to others, in your behalf. It is
evident to me, that you have suffered by your own
too great sensibility. It was humanity and generosity,
that engaged you in his favour. It was your
imagination, that gave those attractions to his vile
and uncomely person, by which you was seduced.
You have been a victim to your own goodness, and
not to his merit. The warmth of your heart has

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overcome the strength of your judgment; and your
prudence has been subdued by your passion: or, rather,
indeed, confiding in a man whom you had saved
from all the pains and heart-felt miseries of unsuccessful
love, you have become a sacrifice to your
compassion and tenderness. The best advice I can
give you, is, to compose yourself for this night.
Preserve your virtue; for I do not consider you as
having lost it: your mind has not been in fault, or
contaminated. I will endeavour to find out some
person who may be disposed to assist you; and,
though it may be difficult for you yet to establish
lost fame, it is not impossible. So saying, he left
the room; but the young woman, impressed with
these last words especially, viz. the difficulty, if not
impossibility of regaining reputation, sunk down upon
her chair, and could not pay him the compliment
of thanks, at his departure.

During the night, through the whole of which he
lay awake, at the public house, he ruminated on the
extraordinary nature of this incident, and the means
which he would adopt to recover this woman from
her unfortunate situation.

Thought he, I am in a city where there are a
great body of the people called Quakers. This society,
above all others, is remarkable for humanity,
and charitable actions. There is a female preacher
of whom I have heard, a Lydia Wilson: I will inform
this good woman of the circumstance; and, if
she gives me leave, I will bring this stray sheep to
her; she may have it in her power to introduce her
to some place, where, by needle-work, and industry,
she might live, until it may be in my power, taking
a journey to her father, and stating the case, and giving
my sentiments, to restore her to her family.

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