to his Life of Swift says, "The editor was acquainted with an old lady of family, who assured him that, in her younger days, Mrs. Behn's novels were as currently upon the toilette as the works of Miss Edgeworth at present; and described with some humour her own surprise when, the book falling into her hands after a long interval of years, and when its contents were quite forgotten, she found it impossible to endure at the age of fourscore, what at fifteen she, like all the fashionable world of the time, had perused without an idea of impropriety." Some may ask whether this faculty of detecting impurity where formerly none had been discernible proves an increase in refinement of taste?

answer.

Few will hesitate as to an

As a sample of what the conrt of Charles II. regarded as remarkably agreeable reading, a portion of "The Unfortunate Happy Lady-A True History" will amuse.

The "Unfortunate Happy Lady" is a young lady called Philadelphia Wilding, of extraordinary beauty and goodness, who has a rogue of a brother, William Wilding. This man plots his sister's destruction so that he may not have to pay her portion of the patrimonial estate. Gracelove (a heroic young Turkey merchant) frees the lady from a most critical position, the nature of which modern taste would not detail, and takes her to the house of his uncle Counsellor Fairlaw in Lincoln's Inn Fields. We shall now give the words of "The True History."

"At these words, they went down, where a coach was called; which carry'd 'em to Counsellor Fairlaw's house, in Great Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, whom they found accidentally at home; but his lady and daughter were just gone to chapel, being then turned of five. Gracelove began his apology to the good Counsellor, who was his relation, for bringing a strange lady thither, with a design to place her in his family: But, sir, continued he, if you knew her sorrowful story, you would be as ambitious of entertaining her, as I am earnest to entreat it of you. A very beautiful lady 'tis (returned the Counsellor), and very modest, I believe. That I can witness (reply'd t'other). Alas, sir, (said the fair unfortunate) I have nothing but my modesty and honest education to recommend me to your regard. I am wronged and forsaken by my dearest relation; and then she wept extravagantly: That gentleman can give you

an account of my misfortunes, if he pleases, with greater ease and less trouble than myself. Not with less trouble, believe me, Madam, (returned Gracelove); and then began to inform Fairlaw in every point of her unhappy circumstances. The good old gentleman heard 'em with amazement and horror; but told her, however, that she need not despond, for he would take care to right her against her brother; and that in the meantime she should be as welcome to him as any of his nearest kindred, except his wife and daughter. Philadelphia would have knelt to thank him; but he told her that humble posture was due to none but Heaven, and the King sometimes. In a little while after, the Lady Fairlaw and her daughter came home, who were surprised at the sight of a stranger, but more at her beauty, and most of all at her story, which the good old gentleman himself could not forbear relating to 'em: Which ended, the mother and daughter both kindly and tenderly embraced her, promising her all the assistance within their power, and bid her a thousand welcomes. Gracelove stay'd there till after supper, and left her extremely satisfied with her new station. "Twas here she fixed then; and her deportment was so obliging, that they would not part with her for any consideration. About three days after her coming from that bad woman's house, Gracelove took a constable and some other assistants, and went to Beldam's to demand the trunk, and what was in it, which at first her reverence deny'd to return, 'till Mr. Constable produc'd the emblem of his authority, upon which it was delivered, without so much as reminding Gracelove of his bargain; who then pretended that he would search the house for Sir William Wilding; but her graceless reverence swore most devoutly that he had never been there, and she had neither seen nor heard from him since the day he left Philadelphia with her. With these things and this account, he returned to Counsellor Fairlaw's, who desir'd Gracelove, if possible, to find out Sir William, and employed several others on the same account. In less than a month's time Gracelove had the good fortune to find him at his lodgings in Soho-square, where he discours'd him about his sister's portion, and desired Sir William to take some speedy care for the payment of it; otherwise, she had friends that would oblige him to it, tho' never so contrary to his intentions. Wilding asked where she was? t'other enquired where he left her? This discourse was a great mortification to the Knight, whose conscience, hardened as it was, felt yet some pain from it. He found he was not like to continue safe or at ease there, wherefore he immediately retreated into a place of sanctuary, called the Savoy, whither his own equipage was removed as soon as possible, he having left order with his servants, to report that he went out of town that very afternoon for his

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own country. Gracelove in the meantime return'd to the Counsellor's, with a great deal of joy, for having discovered Sir William at his lodgings, which was likewise no little satisfaction to Fairlaw, his lady and daughter, Philadelphia only was disturb'd, when she heard the good old gentleman threaten to lay her brother fast enough: But alas! he was too cunning for 'em; for in a whole twelvemonth after, all which time they made enquiry, and narrowly search'd for him, they could not see him, nor any one that could give an account of him, for he had changed his true name and title for that of Squire Sportman. The farther pursuit of him then seem'd fruitless to 'em, and they were forced to be content with their wishes to find him. Gracelove by this Time had entertained the sincerest affections and noblest passion that man is capable of, for Philadelphia; of which he had made her sensible, who had at that time comply'd with his honourable demands, had she not entreated him to expect a kind turn of providence which might (happily) e're long, put her in possession of her right; without which, she told him, she could not consent to marry him, who had so plentiful a fortune, and she nothing but her person and innocence. How, Madam! (cried he) have you no love in store for me? Yea, sir, (returned she) as much as you can wish I have in store for you, and so I beg it may be kept 'till a better opportunity. Well, Madam, (said he) I must leave you for some months, perhaps for a whole year: I have receiv'd letters of advice that urge the necessity of my going to Turkey: I have not a week's time to endeavour so dreaded a separation as I must suffer; therefore, thou beautiful, thou dear, thou virtuous creature, let me begin now! Here, thou tenderest part of my soul! (continued he, giving her a rich diamond ring) wear this till my return! I hope the sight of it may sometimes recall the dying memory of Gracelove to your better busy'd thoughts. Ah, Gracelove! (said she) nothing can so well, nothing I am sure can better employ my thoughts, than thy dear self; heaven only excepted. They enlarged a great deal more on this subject at that time; but the night before his departure was entirely spent in sighs, vows, and tears, on both sides. In the morning, after he had again entreated his cousins,' and the Lady's, and her Daughter's care and kindness to Philadelphia, the remaining and best part of his soul, with one hearty kiss, accompany'd with tears, he took a long farewel of his dear Mistress, who pursued him with her eyes, 'till they could give her no further intelligence of him; and they help'd her kindness to him, and eas'd her grief for his absence in weeping for above a week together, when in private. He never omitted writing to her and his cousin by every opportunity, for near nine months, as he touch'd at any port; but afterwards they could not hear of him for

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above half-a-year; when by accident the Counsellor meta gentleman of Gracelove's acquaintance at a coffee-house, who gave him an account that the ship and he were both cast away near five months since With this dreadful and amazing news the good old gentleman returns home; afflicts his poor and sorrowful daughter, and almost kills unhappy Philadelphia; who next day, by mere chance, and from a stranger, who came on business to the Counsellor, heard that one Sir William Wilding, an extravagant, mad, young shark, of such a county, who lately went by the borrowed name and title of Squire Sportman, had mortgag'd all his estate, which was near four thousand a-year, and carry'd the money over with him into France on Saturday last. This, added to the former news, put so great a check on her spirits, that she immediately dropped down in a swoon; whence she only recover'd, to fall into what was of much more dangerous consequence, a violent fever, which held her for near six weeks, e're she could get strength enough to go down stairs: In all which time, Madam Fairlaw and Eugenia, her daughter, attended her as carefully and constantly as if they had been her own mother and sister: The good old Counsellor still commending and encouraging their care. The roses and lilies at last took their places again; but the clouds of her sorrow were still but too visible Two more years passed on towards the latter end of which the old Lady Fairlaw took her bed, desperately sick, insomuch that she was given over by all her physicians; she continued in great misery for near two months; in all which time Philadelphia was constantly with her all day, or all the night; much about that time she dy'd; and, dying, told her husband, that she had observed he had a particular esteem or kindness for Philadelphia; which was now a great satisfaction to her; since she was assured that if he married her, she would prove an excellent nurse to him, and prolong his life by some years. As for Eugenia (said she) you need not be concern'd; I'am sure she will consent to anything that you shall propose, having already so plentifully provided for her. The good old gentleman answered that he would fulfil her will so far as lay in his power and not long after, she departed this life. Her burial was very handsome and honourable. Half-a-year was now expired since her interment, when the old Counsellor began to plead his own canse to young Philadelphia, reminding her that now the death of Gracelove was out of question; and, that, therefore, she was as much at liberty to make her own choice of an husband as he was of a a wife. The young lady being broken in sorrows, and having mortified all her appetites to the enjoyments of this world, and not knowing where to meet so fair an overture, tho' at first, in modesty, she seem'd to refuse it as too great an honor,

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yet yielded to less than a quarter of an hour's courtship: and the next sunday married they were, with the consent, and to the perfect satisfaction of his daughter Madam Eugenia; who loved Philadelphia sincerely. They kept their wedding very nobly for a month, at their own house in Great Lincoln's-InnFields; but the memory of the old Lady was still so fresh with the young Lady Fairlaw, that she prevail'd with him to remove to another, more convenient as she fancy'd, in Covent-Garden. They had not dwelt there much more than four months, e're the good old gentleman fell sick and dy'd.

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"Tis past all doubt she did really mourn for and lament his death; for she lov'd him perfectly, and paid him all the dutiful respect of a virtuous wife, while she liv'd within that state with him; which he rewarded, as I have said before. His funeral was very sumptuous and honourable indeed! and as soon as it was over, Eugenia desired her young beautiful mother-in-law to retreat a little with her into the country, to a pleasant house she had, not twenty miles distant from town; urging, that she could by no means enjoy herself under that roof, where her dear father dy'd. The obliging stepmother, who might more properly have been called her sister, being exactly of the same age with her, readily comply'd, and she passed all that summer with Eugenia, at their country-seat, and most part of the winter too; for Eugenia could by no means be prevailed on to lie one night in her mother's house; 'twas with some reluctancy that she consented to dine there sometimes. At length the whole year of Philadelphia's widowhood was expired; during which, you can't but imagine that she was solicited and addressed to by as many Lovers, or pretended Lovers, as our dear King Charles, whom God grant long to reign, was lately by the Presbyterians, Independants, Anabaptists, and all those canting Whiggish Brethren! But she had never liked any man so well as to make him her husband, by inclination, unless it was Gracelove, devour'd by the greedy inhabitants of the sea.

"Whilst her fortune began to mend thus, her brother's grow worse; but that was indeed the effect of his extravagancy. In less than two years' time he had spent eight thousand pounds in France, whence he return'd to England, and pursuing his old profuse manner of living, contracted above 100£ Debts here, in less than four months' time; which not being able to satisfy, he was arrested, and thrown into goal, whence he remov'd himself into the King's Bench, on that very day that old Fairlaw dy'd. There at first, for about a month, he was entertain'd like a gentleman; but finding no money coming, nor having a prospect of any, the Marshal and his instruments turn'd him to the common side, where he learn'd the art of peg-making, a mystery to which he had been a stranger all his life long till then.

'Twas then he wish'd he might see his sister, hoping that she was in a condition to relieve him which he was apt to believe, from the discourse he had with Gracelove some years past. Often he wish'd to see her, but in vain; however, the next Easter, after the old Counsellor's Death, Philadelphia, according to his custom, sent her steward to relieve all the poor prisoners about town; among the rest he visited those in the common side of King's Bench, where he heard 'em call Sir William Wilding to partake of his lady's charity. The poor prodigal was then feeding on the relief of the basket, not being yet able to get his bread at his new trade: to him the steward gave a crown, whereas the others had but half a crown apiece.

Then

he enquired of some of the unhappy gentlemen, Sir William's fellow-collegians, of what country Sir William was? how long he had been there? and how much his debts were? Of all which he received a satisfactory account. Upon his return to his lady he repeated the dismal news of her brother's misfortunes to her; who immediately dispatch'd him back again to the prison, with orders to give him twenty shillings more at present, and to get him remov'd to the Master's side, into a convenient chamber, for the rent of which the steward engaged to pay; and promis'd him, as she had commanded, twenty shillings aweek, as long as he stay'd there, on condition that he would give the names of all his creditors, and of all those to whom he had engag'd any part of his estate; which the poor gentleman did most readily and faithfully: After which, the steward enquir'd for a Taylor, who came and took measure of Philadelphia's unkind brother, and was ordered to provide him linnen, a hat, shoes, stockings, and all such necessaries, not so much as omitting a sword: with all which he acquainted his lady at his return, who was very much griev'd at her Brother's unhappy circumstances, and at the same time extremely well pleas'd to find herself in a condition to relieve him. The steward went constantly once aweek to pay him his money; and Sir William was continually very curious to know to whom he was oblig'd for so many and great favours; But he was answer'd, they came from a lady who desir'd her name conceal'd. In less than a year Philadelphia had paid 25000£, and taken off the mortgages on 2500£ of her brother's estate; and coming to town from Eugenia's country-house one day, to make the last payment of two thousand pounds, looking out of her coach on the road, near Dartford, she saw a traveller on foot, who seem'd to be tir'd with his jour ney, whose face, she thought, she had formerly known; this thought invited her to look on him so long, that she, at last, persuaded herself it was Gracelove, or his ghost; for, to say truth, he was very pale and thin, his complexion swarthy, and his cloaths (perhaps) as rotten as if he had been buried

In 'em. However, unpleasant as it was, she could not forbear gazing after this miserable spectacle; and the more she beheld it, the more she was confirmed it was Gracelove, or something that had usurp'd his figure. In short, she could not rest till she call'd to one of her servants, who rode by the coach, whom she strictly charged to go to that poor traveller, and mount him on his horse, till they came to Dartford; where she ordered him to take him to the same Inn where she baited, and refresh him with anything that he would eat or drink; and after that, to hire a horse for him, to come to town with them; that then he should be brought home to her own house, and be carefully look'd after, till farther orders from her. All which was most duly and punctually perform'd.

"The next morning early she sent for the steward, whom she ordered to take the stranger to a sale-shop, and fit him with a suit of good cloaths, to buy him shirts, and other linnen, and all necessaries, as he had provided for her brother; and gave him charge to use him as her particular friend, during his stay there; bidding him, withal, learn his name and circumstances, if possible, and to supply him with money for his pocket expenses: All which he most faithfully and discreetly perform'd, and brought his Lady an account of his sufferings by sea, and slavery among the Turks; ; adding that his name was Gracelove. This was the greatest happiness, certainly, that ever yet the dear beautiful creature was sensible of. On t'other side, Gracelove could not but admire and praise his good fortune, that had so miraculously and bountifully relieved him; and one day having some private discourse with the steward, he could not forbear expressing the sense he had of it; declaring, that he could not have expected such kind treatment from any-body breathing, but from his cousin, Counsellor Fairlaw, his lady, or another young lady whom he plac'd and left with his cousins. Counsellor Fairlaw! (cry'd the steward) why, sir, my lady is the old counsellor's widow; she is very beautiful and young too. What was her name, sir, before she marry'd the counsellor ? (asked Gracelove). That I know not, (reply'd t'other) for the old steward dy'd presently after the old lady, which is not a year and half since; in whose place I succeed; and I have never been so curious or inquisitive, as to pry into former passages of the family. Do you know, sir (said Gracelove), whereabouts in town they liv'd before? Yes, sir, (return'd the steward, who was taught how to answer), in Great Lincoln's Inn Fields, I think. Alas! (cry'd Gracelove), 'twas the same gentleman to whom I design'd to apply myself when I came to England. You need not despair now, sir, (said t'other) I dare say my lady will supply your wants. O wonderful goodness of a stranger! (ery'd Gracelove) uncommon and rare amongst relations

and friends! How have I, or how can I ever merit this? Upon the end of their conference, the steward went to Philadelphia, and repeated it almost verbatim to her; who ordered Gracelove should be taken measure of by the best taylor in Covent-Garden; that he should have three of the most modish rich suits made, that might become a private gentleman of a thousand pounds a year, and hats, perukes, linnen, swords, and all things suitable to 'em, all to be got ready in less than a month; in which time, she took all the opportunity she could either find or make to see him, and not to be seen by him; She obliged her steward to invite him to a play, whither she follow'd 'em, and sate next Gracelove, and talk'd with him; but all the while masq'd. In this month's time she was daily pester'd with the visits of her addressors; several there were of 'em; but the chief were only a Lord of a very small estate, tho' of a pretty great age; a young blustering knight, who had a place of 500£ a-year at court; and a country gentleman, of a very plentiful estate, a widower, and of a middle age. These three only of her lovers she invited to dinner, on the first day of the next month: In the mean while she sent a rich suit, and equipage proportionable, to her brother, with an invitation to dine with her on the same day. Then she writ to Eugenia to come and stay in town, if not in the same house with her, for two or three days before; which her affectionate daughter obey'd; to whom Philadelphia related all her brother's past extravagancies and what she had done for him in redeeming most part of his estate; begging of her, that if she could fancy his person, she would take him into her mercy and marry him, being assured that such a virtuous wife as she would prove, must neces sarily reclaim him, if yet he were not perfectly convinced of his follies; which, she doubted not, his late long sufferings had done. Eugenia return'd, that she would wholly be directed and advis'd by her in all things; and that certainly she could not but like the brother, since she lov'd the sister so perfectly and truly.

"The day came, and just at twelve, Gracelove meeting the steward on the stairs coming from his lady, Gracelove then told him that he believ'd he might take the opportunity of that afternoon to go over to Putney, and take a game or two at bowls. The steward return'd, Very well, sir, I shall let my lady know it, if she enquires for you. Philadelphia, who overheard what they said, call'd the steward in haste, and bid him call Gracelove back, and tell him she expected his company at her table to-day, and that she desir'd he would appear like himself. The steward soon overtook him at the door, just going out as Eugenia came in, who look'd back on Gracelove: The poor gentleman was strangely surpris'd at the sight of her, as she was at his; but the steward's message

did more amaze and confound him. He went directly to his chamber, to dress himself in one of those rich suits lately made for him; but the distraction he was in made him mistake his coat for his waistcoat, and put the coat on first; but recalling his straggling thoughts, he made shift to get ready time enough to make his appearance without a second summons. Philadelphia was as pleasant at dinner as ever she had been all her life; she look'd very obligingly on all the sparks, and drank to every one of 'em particularly, beginning to the Lord and ending to the stranger, who durst hardly lift up his eyes a second time to her's, to confirm him that he knew her. Her brother was so confounded, that he bow'd and continu'd his head down 'till she had done drinking, not daring to encounter her eyes, that would have reproach'd him with his villany to her.

"After dinner the cloth was taken away; she began thus to her lovers; My Lord! Sir Thomas! and Mr. Fatacres! I doubt not that it will be some satisfaction to you, to know whom I have made choice for my next husband; which now I am resolv'd no longer to defer.

"The person to whom I shall next drink, must be the man who shall ever command me and my fortune, were it ten times greater than it is; which I wish only for his sake since he deserves much more. Here, (said she to one that waited) put wine into two glasses; then she took the Diamond ring from her finger, and put it into one of 'em. My dear Gracelove (cry'd she), I drink to to thee; and send thee back thy own ring, with Philadelphia's heart. He startl'd, blush'd, and look'd wildly; whilst all the company stared on him. Nay, pledge me, (pursu'd she) and return me the ring; for it shall make us both one the next morning. He bow'd, kiss'd, and return'd it, after he had taken off his wine. The defeated lovers knew not how to resent it; The Lord and the Knight were for going, but the country gentleman oppos'd it, and told 'em, 'twas the greatest argument of folly to be disturb'd at the caprice of a woman's humour. They sate down again therefore, and she invited 'em to her wedding on the morrow.

"And now, Brother (said she), I have not quite forgotten you, tho' you have not been pleas'd to take notice of me: I have a dish in reserve for you, which will be more grateful to your fancy than all you have tasted today. Here! (cry'd she to the Steward) Mr. Rightman, do you serve up that dish yourself. Rightman then set a cover'd dish on the table. What! more tricks yet? (cry'd my Lord, and Sir Thomas). Come, Sir William! (said his sister) uncover it! he did so; and cry'd out, O matchless goodness of a virtuous sister! here are the mortgages of the best part of my estate! O! what a villain! what a monster have I

been! no more, dear brother; (said she, with tears in her eyes) I have yet a greater hap piness in store for you: This lady, this beantiful virtuous lady, with twenty thousand pounds, will make you happy in her love. Saying this, she joined their hands: Sir William eagerly kiss'd Eugenia's, who blush'd, and said, Thus, madam, I hope to shew you how much I love and honour you. My cousin Eugenia! (cry'd Gacelove). The same, my dear lost dead cousin Gracelove! (reply'd she) O! (said he in a transport) my present joys are greater than all my pest miseries! my mistress and my friend are found, and still are mine. Nay, faith, (said the lord) this is pleasant enough to me, tho' I have been defeated of the lady. whole company in general went away very well that night, who return'd the next morning, and saw the two happy pair firmly united."

FINIS.

The

Noble, magnanimous Philadelphia! Delicate-minded Eugenia! Have such brothers such women to deal with in this century? Is there a lady with such a compliant, as well as fascinating, step-daughter? "The whole company in general went away very well that night." The critic is at a loss to tell the exact meaning of the words. How, well? Does it mean that the dinner did not disagree with the guests? or that they were mellow with drink? or is it a delicate way of declaring the sobriety of the company? The went away very well, certainly implies they were not carried off! How truly an English arrangement, also, was that dinner previous to that tender passage of love!

And what is the insight which this bald, inornate fiction, without dramatic arrangement, or attempt at any analysis of feeling, or descriptive power, gives us of the intelligence of the age? It seems to speak both for and against the mental condition of our ancestors. What but dull, addled pates could find satisfaction in poring over such a picture of life? But again, if the poet and his reader must both quit their standing points in the dull, every-day existence, and meet each other in the domain of imagination, before delectation can be had, the students, who found pleasure in such literature as we have just given an example of, possessed no mean poetic filling up a rude outline.

must have

faculty for How much