[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

THE in&longs;uing day, the Captain arrived
in a certain city, and put up at the
&longs;ign of the Indian Queen. Taking a day
or two to refre&longs;h him&longs;elf, and get a new
pair of breeches made, and his coat mended,
which was a little worn at the elbows,
he went to look about the city. The
fourth day, when he had propo&longs;ed to &longs;et
out to perambulate this modern Babylon,
and called for Teague to bring him his
boots, there was no Teague there. The
ho&longs;tler being called, with whom he u&longs;ed
to &longs;leep, informed, that he had di&longs;appeared
the day before. The Captain was alarmed;
and, from the recollection of former
incidents, began to enquire if there were any
elections going on at that time. As it

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

&longs;o happened, there was one that very day.
Thinking it probable the bog-trotter, having
&longs;till a hankering after an appointment
might offer him&longs;elf on that occa&longs;ion, he &longs;et
out to the place where the people were
convened, to &longs;ee if he could di&longs;cover
Teague among&longs;t the candidates. He could
&longs;ee nothing of him; and though he made
enquiry, he could hear no account. But
the circum&longs;tance of the election drawing
his attention for &longs;ome time, he forgot
Teague.

The candidates were all remarkably
pot-bellied; and waddled in their gait.
The Captain enquiring what were the pretensions
of the&longs;e men to be elected; he was
told, that they had all &longs;tock in the funds,
and lived in large brick buildings; and
&longs;ome of them entertained fifty people at a
time, and eat and drank abundantly; and,
living an ea&longs;y life, and pampering their appetites,
they had &longs;wollen to this &longs;ize.

It is a &longs;trange thing, &longs;aid the Captain, that
in the country, in my route, they would elect
no one but a weaver, or a whi&longs;ky distiller;
and here none but fat &longs;wabs, that guzzle
wine, and &longs;moke &longs;egars. It was not &longs;o in
Greece, where Phocion came with his plain
coat, from his humble dwelling, and

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

directed the coun&longs;els of the people; or in Rome,
where Cincinnatus was made dictator from
the plough. Something mu&longs;t be wrong,
where the inflate, and pompous are the objects
of choice. Though there is one good arising
from it, that there is no danger of my
Teague here. He could not afford to give
a dinner; and as to funds, he has not a single
&longs;hilling in them. They will make him
neither mayor nor legi&longs;lator in this city.

Na faith, &longs;aid Mr. M`Donald, the Scotch
gentleman who had been pre&longs;ent at the embarrassment
of the Captain, on the occa&longs;ion
of the former election; and having, a few
days before, come to the city, and observing
the Captain in the crowd, had come
up to acco&longs;t him, ju&longs;t as he was uttering
the&longs;e la&longs;t words to him&longs;elf: Na faith, &longs;aid
he, there is na danger of Teague here,
unle&longs;s he had his &longs;cores o' &longs;hares in the
bank; and was in league with the brokers,
and had a brick hou&longs;e at his hurdies, or
a &longs;hip or twa on the &longs;tocks. A great deal
u&longs;ed to be done, by employing advocates
with the trade&longs;men, to li&longs;ten to the
news, and tell them fair &longs;tories; but all
is now lo&longs;t in &longs;ub&longs;tantial intere&longs;t, and the
funds command every thing. Be&longs;ides, this
city is &longs;warming with Teagues, and

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

O'Regans, and O'Brians, and O'Murphys, and
O'Farrels; I &longs;ee, that they cannot be at
a lo&longs;s without your bog trotter.

The Captain having his fears ea&longs;ed, in
this particular, returned home, greatly
troubled, neverthele&longs;s, that he could not
come up with the Iri&longs;hman.

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

REFLECTING with him&longs;elf, that
Teague was inclined to women, and
that he might have gone to &longs;ome of tho&longs;e
hou&longs;es, which are not in the be&longs;t repute
with the religious part of the community,
the Captain thought it might not be ami&longs;s
to make enquiry. Being informed by the
waiter, that he had overheard gentlemen,
at the hou&longs;e, in their cups, &longs;peak of a certain
Mrs. Robe&longs;on, who kept a hou&longs;e of
that kind; and, as far as he could understand,
it was in &longs;uch a part of the city, a
few doors from &longs;uch a &longs;treet.

The Captain having &longs;et out, coming
into the neighbourhood, and making inquiry,
was directed to the hou&longs;e. Knocking,
and, on a &longs;ervant coming to the door,
enquiring for Mrs. Robe&longs;on; he was &longs;hewn
into a parlour, and in a little time the old
lady entered. Being &longs;eated, he took the
liberty of addre&longs;&longs;ing her: Madam, &longs;aid he,
I am not unacquainted with the &longs;tile and

[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

designation of your hou&longs;e. Why, as to that,
&longs;aid &longs;he, we do the be&longs;t 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,
&longs;ince the war is over, having taken
to virtuous ways, and got married, has
almo&longs;t broke us up. But I have been fortunate
enough to light upon one, yesterday,
that is a rare piece, ju&longs;t from the
country; and I am &longs;ure —

It is not in the way that you mean, madam,
&longs;aid the Captain, that I take the liberty
to call upon you. I have a &longs;ervant
man, of the name of Teague O'Regan,
that is inclined to women, and has been
ab&longs;ent &longs;ome days; and it has occurred to
me, that he may have come to your hou&longs;e,
or &longs;ome other of the like kind; and may
be &longs;kulking, to avoid my &longs;ervice. As he
has little or no money, it is impo&longs;&longs;ible he
can be much in your way; and I could
make it better worth your while to inform
on him, and &longs;urrender him up.

Teague O'Regan, &longs;aid the old lady!
&longs;nuffing; Teague O'Regan! I would have
you know, &longs;ir, that no Teague O'Regans
come here; we keep a hou&longs;e for the fir&longs;t
gentlemen; not for waiters, or

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

understrappers, or any of the common &longs;orts.
There is no half-crown, or five &longs;hilling
pieces here. Teague O'Regan indeed!
there is no Teague O'Regan at this hou&longs;e.
We have meat for his ma&longs;ter. I was saying
there was a young woman ju&longs;t now
from the country, that looks more like a
woman of family, than a country girl;
but is &longs;o melancholy and mopi&longs;h, that &longs;he
&longs;carcely &longs;peaks; and &longs;tands in need of
&longs;ome one to talk to her, and keep her in
&longs;pirits. She is fit for any gentleman.
Teague O'Regan! Humph! There is no
Teague O'Regan puts his foot into my
door.

The Captain a&longs;&longs;ured her, that he by no
means meant to give offence. That tho'
the bog-trotter could not have acce&longs;s to
her fir&longs;t rooms; yet he did not know but
he might have got in with &longs;ome of her
under maids, and be about the kitchen.

The lady, being now appea&longs;ed on the
&longs;core of Teague, was in a good humour,
and renewed her hints to the Captain, with
re&longs;pect to the young woman. She is, &longs;aid
&longs;he, as good looking a girl as ever came
to my hou&longs;e; and has not &longs;een a &longs;ingle
per&longs;on but your&longs;elf, whom &longs;he has not yet
&longs;een; but may &longs;ee, if you chu&longs;e; and

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

a very pretty girl &longs;he is; but keeps mopish
and melancholy, as if &longs;he was crossed
in love, and had come to town for
fear of her relations, and wi&longs;hes to keep
out of &longs;ight of every body.

The Captain being no &longs;tranger to the art
the&longs;e matrons u&longs;e, in their addre&longs;&longs;es, to
enhance the value of their wares, was but
little moved with the recommendation &longs;he
had given. But as there were &longs;ome circumstances
in the account of the young
woman, that were a little &longs;triking, his curiosity
was excited to let her be called in,
and pre&longs;ent her&longs;elf. Accordingly, the old
lady &longs;tepping out, a young woman made
her appearance, of con&longs;iderable beauty;
but in her countenance expre&longs;&longs;ions of woe.
Her blue eye &longs;eemed involved in mi&longs;t;
for &longs;he &longs;hed no tears; her &longs;orrow was
beyond that.

Young woman, &longs;aid the Captain, it is
ea&longs;y to perceive that you have not been
in this way of life long; and that you have
been brought to it, perhaps, by &longs;ome uncommon
circum&longs;tances. My humanity is
intere&longs;ted; and it occurs to me to a&longs;k, by
what means it has come to pa&longs;s. The part
which he &longs;eemed to take in her di&longs;tre&longs;s,
in&longs;piring her with confidence; and being

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

reque&longs;ted by him to relate her &longs;tory frankly,
&longs;he began as follows:

My father, &longs;aid &longs;he, lives at the di&longs;tance
of about twenty miles from this city, and
is a man of good e&longs;tate. I have two brothers,
but no &longs;i&longs;ters. My mother dying
when I was at the age of fourteen, I became
hou&longs;e-keeper for the family.

There was a young man that u&longs;ed to
come to the &longs;ame church to which we went.
He was of the very lowe&longs;t cla&longs;s, mean in
his appearance, of homely features, and
a dimunitive per&longs;on. Yet he had the assurance
to put him&longs;elf in my way on every
occa&longs;ion; endeavouring to catch my eye;
for he did not dare to &longs;peak to me. But
I hated him, and was almo&longs;t re&longs;olved to
&longs;tay at home on Sundays, to avoid him;
for he began to be very trouble&longs;ome. His
attentions to me were taken notice of by
my brothers. They were confident that I
mu&longs;t give him &longs;ome encouragement, or he
would not make &longs;uch advances. My father
was of the &longs;ame opinion. I a&longs;&longs;ured
them I had never given him any encouragement,
and I never would; that I was
as much aver&longs;e to him as po&longs;&longs;ible.

I &longs;hunned him and hated him. He persisted
a long time, almo&longs;t two years, and

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

&longs;eemed to become melancholy, and at la&longs;t
went away from the neighbourhood; and,
as I heard afterwards, to &longs;ea. I began
now to reflect upon his a&longs;&longs;iduity, and endeavours
to engage my affections. I recollected
every circum&longs;tance of his conduct
towards me, &longs;ince the fir&longs;t time I was obliged
to take notice of him. I rea&longs;oned
with my&longs;elf, that it was no fault of his, if
his family was low; and if he him&longs;elf had
not all that comeline&longs;s of per&longs;on which I
wi&longs;hed in a hu&longs;band; yet he was sufficiently
puni&longs;hed in his pre&longs;umption in thinking
of me, by what he mu&longs;t have &longs;uffered,
and by his going to &longs;ea, which he did to
get out of my &longs;ight, finding his attempts
to gain my affections, hopele&longs;s. I dreamed
of him; and &longs;carcely a moment of the
day pa&longs;&longs;ed, but my thoughts were running
on the danger to which he was expo&longs;ed.
It &longs;eemed to me that if he came back, I
&longs;hould be more kind to him. I might at
lea&longs;t &longs;hew him, that I was not in&longs;en&longs;ible
of his attachment.

In about a year he returned, and the
moment I &longs;aw him, I loved him. He did
not dare to come to my father's hou&longs;e. But
I could not help giving him encouragement,
by my countenance, when I met

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

him in public. Emboldened by this, he
at la&longs;t ventured to &longs;peak to me; and I agreed
that he might come to a peach orchard,
at &longs;ome di&longs;tance from my father's
hou&longs;e, and that I would give him an interview.
There he came often; and with
a mo&longs;t 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 la&longs;t put my&longs;elf
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 u&longs;ual, for many
months, to meet me every evening at this
place; but now I had gone often, and did
not find him there. At la&longs;t he withdrew
altogether, and I heard he had left the settlement.
Worthle&longs;s and ba&longs;e, as I now
knew him to be; and, though my reason
told me, that in per&longs;on he was &longs;till as
homely as I fir&longs;t thought him, yet I continued
to love him to di&longs;traction.

What was my di&longs;tre&longs;s, when my father,
and my brothers, found that I was with
child? They charged me, though

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

unjustly, of having deceived them with re&longs;pect
to my attachment to this low creature,
from the fir&longs;t: In fine, my father dismissed
me from the hou&longs;e: My brothers, no
le&longs;s relenting than him, in their re&longs;entment
again&longs;t me, upbraided me with the offers
I had refu&longs;ed, and the treatment I had given
&longs;everal gentlemen, in their advances to
me. For, indeed, during the ab&longs;ence of
this worthle&longs;s man, I had been addre&longs;&longs;ed
by &longs;everal; but my pity and compa&longs;&longs;ion
for the wretch, had &longs;o wrought upon
me, that I could not think of any, or
&longs;carcely bear them to &longs;peak to me.

Di&longs;mi&longs;&longs;ed from my father's hou&longs;e, even
my younger brother, who was mo&longs;t &longs;oft and
yielding in his nature, &longs;eeming to approve
of it, I went to the habitation of a tenant
of my father; there remained &longs;ome time,
and endeavoured to make compen&longs;ation,
by the labour of my hands, for the trouble
I was giving them. But the&longs;e 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 &longs;ent for the child, of which I
had been brought to bed &longs;ome weeks before;
but ordered them in&longs;tantly to

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

dismiss me, that I might never more offend
his hearing with my name.

I wandered to this city, and the fir&longs;t
night lay in the market hou&longs;e, 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 la&longs;t meeting with a young
woman who felt for my di&longs;tre&longs;s, &longs;he told
me, that &longs;he had a &longs;mall room in this city,
where &longs;he had lived &longs;ome time with an
aunt that was lately dead; and that now
&longs;he &longs;upported her&longs;elf by doing a little in
the millinery way; that if I would come
and take breakfa&longs;t with her, and &longs;ee where
&longs;he lived, I was welcome. Going with
the poor girl, I found her lonely and distressed
enough. Neverthele&longs;s I continued
with her &longs;everal months. But the work
was &longs;mall that we got to do, and times
becoming &longs;till wor&longs;e, I was obliged to
&longs;ell the cloths that I brought with me, to
the la&longs;t petticoat and &longs;hort gown, to support
our&longs;elves and pay rent. To bring
me to the la&longs;t &longs;tage of mi&longs;ery, the poor
girl who was more expert than I was, in
making any little provi&longs;ion that could be
made, fell &longs;ick and in &longs;hort time died. I
could bear to &longs;tay no longer in the room,

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

and coming out to wander in the &longs;treets,
like a forlorn wretch indeed, and &longs;obbing
&longs;orely by my&longs;elf, when I thought no one
heard me, I was ob&longs;erved by this woman,
at who&longs;e hou&longs;e you now are, and pre&longs;&longs;ed
by her to go home. I &longs;oon found what
&longs;ort of a hou&longs;e it was, and had I not been
watched, when I talked of going away,
and threatened to be &longs;ent to jail, for what,
it is pretended I owe &longs;ince I came to the
hou&longs;e, I &longs;hould not have been here longer
than the fir&longs;t day.

The Captain feeling with great sensibility
the circum&longs;tances of her &longs;tory, made
reply: Said he, Young woman, I greatly
commi&longs;erate your hi&longs;tory and &longs;ituation,
and feel my&longs;elf impelled to revenge your
wrong. But the villain which has thus injured
you, is out of my reach, in two respects;
fir&longs;t, by di&longs;tance; and &longs;econd, being
too contemptible and ba&longs;e to be pursued
by my re&longs;entment even on your account.
But revenge is not your object, but support
and re&longs;toration to your friends, and
the good opinion of the world. As to
money, it is not in my power to advance
you any great &longs;um; but as far as words
can go, I could wi&longs;h to &longs;erve you: not
words to your&longs;elf only; but to others, in

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

your behalf. It is evident to me, that
you have &longs;uffered by your own too great
&longs;en&longs;ibility. It was humanity and generosity,
that engaged you in his favour.
It was your imagination, that gave tho&longs;e
attractions to his vile and uncomely person,
by which you was &longs;educed. You have
been a victim to your own goodne&longs;s, and
not to his merit. The warmth of your
heart has overcome the &longs;trength of your
judgment; and your prudence has been
&longs;ubdued by your pa&longs;&longs;ion: or, rather, indeed,
confiding in a man whom you had
&longs;aved from all the pains, and heart-felt
mi&longs;eries of un&longs;ucce&longs;sful love, you have become
a &longs;acrifice to your compa&longs;&longs;ion and
tenderne&longs;s. The be&longs;t advice I can give
you, is, to compo&longs;e your&longs;elf for this night.
Pre&longs;erve your virtue; for I do not consider
you as having lo&longs;t it: your mind has
not been in fault, or contaminated. I
will endeavour to find out &longs;ome per&longs;on,
who may be di&longs;po&longs;ed to a&longs;&longs;i&longs;t you; and,
though it may be difficult for you yet to
e&longs;tabli&longs;h lo&longs;t fame, it is not impo&longs;&longs;ible. So
&longs;aying, he left the room; but the young
woman, impre&longs;&longs;ed with the&longs;e la&longs;t words
e&longs;pecially, viz. the diffculty, if not impossibility,
of regaining reputation, &longs;unk

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

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 hou&longs;e,
he ruminated on the extraordinary nature
of this incident, and the means which he
would adopt to recover this woman from
her unfortunate &longs;ituation.

Thought he, I am in a city where there
are a great body of the people called Quakers.
This &longs;ociety, above all others, is remarkable
for humanity, and charitable actions.
There is a female preacher, of whom I
have heard; a Lydia Wil&longs;on: I will inform
this good woman of the circum&longs;tance;
and, if ge gives me leave, I will bring
this &longs;tray &longs;heep to her; &longs;he may have it
in her power to introduce her to &longs;ome
place, where, by needle work, and industry,
&longs;he might live, until it may be in
my power, taking a journey to her father,
and &longs;tating the ca&longs;e, and giving my sentiments,
to re&longs;tore her to her family.

Early next morning, as &longs;oon as it could
be pre&longs;umed, the Quaker lady had &longs;et her
hou&longs;e in order; that is, after the family
might be &longs;uppo&longs;ed to have breakfasted,
which was about nine o'clock, the

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

Captain &longs;et out; and being admitted, stated
to Mrs. Wil&longs;on, the exact circum&longs;tances
as before related. The pious woman readily
undertook every office in her power.
Accordingly, taking leave, the Captain
&longs;et out for the hou&longs;e of Mrs. Robe&longs;on.

At the door, he met a number of men
coming out, and, on inquiry, he found a coroner's
inque&longs;t had ju&longs;t &longs;at on the body of a
young woman of the hou&longs;e, who had the
preceding evening, &longs;u&longs;pended her&longs;elf from
the bed po&longs;t with her garter. He was
&longs;truck, &longs;u&longs;pecting it mu&longs;t be the young
woman whom he had &longs;o much in his
thoughts. Going in, and enquiring, he
found it to be the ca&longs;e; and that they proposed
to bury as &longs;oon as the few boards of
a coffin could be got ready. As a man of
humanity, he could not but &longs;hed tears;
and blame him&longs;elf that he had not given
her &longs;tronger a&longs;&longs;urance of his interpo&longs;ition
before he left her, that &longs;he might not have
fallen into de&longs;pair, and taken away her
life.

The coffin being now ready, the funeral
&longs;et out, not for the burying ground of
a church yard; but for a place without
the city, called the Potter's-field: For suicide
forfeits Chri&longs;tian burial: Her

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

obsequies attended, not by a clergyman in
front, nor by &longs;carfed mourners, holding
up the pall; nor was &longs;he borne on a bier,
but drawn on a cart; and the company
that followed her uncovered her&longs;e, were
not decent matrons, nor venerable men,
but old bauds, and &longs;trumpets, and cullies,
half drunk, making merry as they went along.

Being interred, they returned home; but
the Captain remaining &longs;ome time, contemplating
the grave, thus &longs;poke:

Earth, thou covere&longs;t the body of a lovely
woman, and with a mind not le&longs;s lovely;
yet doomed in her burial, to the &longs;ame
ground with negroes, and malefactors;
not that I think the circum&longs;tance makes any
difference; but it &longs;hews the opinion
of the world with re&longs;pect to thy per&longs;onal
demerit. Nor do I call in que&longs;tion the
ju&longs;tne&longs;s of this opinion; having &longs;uch circumstances
whereon to found it. But I
reflect with my&longs;elf how much opinion, operating
like a general law, may do inju&longs;tice.
It remains only with heaven's chancery to
reach the equity of the ca&longs;e, and ab&longs;olve
her from a crime; or at lea&longs;t qualify that
which was the exce&longs;s of virtue. If the fair
elements that compo&longs;ed her frame, &longs;hall

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

ever again unite, and ri&longs;e to life, and as
the divines &longs;uppo&longs;e, her form receive its
&longs;hape, and complexion from her mental
qualities, and conduct on earth, &longs;he will
lo&longs;e nothing of her beauty; for her daring
di&longs;dain of her&longs;elf and fate, was a mark of
repentance,—&longs;tronger than all tears. Yet,
had &longs;he acted the nobler part of holding
her&longs;elf in life, pre&longs;erving her mind and
body cha&longs;te until famine had taken her away,
or the hand of heaven moved for
her relief, &longs;he had &longs;hone, at the la&longs;t ri&longs;ing,
with &longs;uperior brightne&longs;s; been ranked amongst
the fir&longs;t beauties of heaven, and
walked di&longs;tingui&longs;hed in the paradi&longs;e of
God. Doubtle&longs;s the Almighty mu&longs;t blame,
and chide her for this premature and ra&longs;h
&longs;tep. Fallen to the la&longs;t point of depre&longs;&longs;ion,
he was about to relieve her, and the sequel
of her days might have been happy
and &longs;erene. It was a di&longs;tru&longs;t of his providence.
She heard my words, though
&longs;he did not know my heart. And &longs;urely
it was my intention to relieve her. But
&longs;he erred again&longs;t my thoughts; &longs;he eluded
the gra&longs;p of my humanity. For this &longs;he
will be reprimanded by the Mo&longs;t High;
and fail of that &longs;upereminent glory which
awaits heroic minds. Yet, O world, thou

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do&longs;t her wrong, in &longs;entencing her to &longs;o low
a bed. Shall the wealthy, but di&longs;hone&longs;t
men; matrons cha&longs;te, but cold and cruel
in their feelings; &longs;hall the&longs;e have a
&longs;tone built over them, and occupy a consecrated
&longs;pot; whil&longs;t thou, unworthy, art
thrown among&longs;t the rubbi&longs;h of carca&longs;es,
&longs;wept from jails; or of emigrants, unknown
as to their origin and place.

Farewel, lovely form, whom late I
knew; and let the gra&longs;s grow green upon
thy grave. Thy &longs;orrows are expunged;
but mine are awake; and will be &longs;o, until
I al&longs;o come to the &longs;hades invi&longs;ible, and
have the &longs;ame apathy of heart with thee.

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