Shrewsbury: A Romance

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XLV

  That the villain expected nothing so little as to see the man he waspreparing to ruin, I can well believe; and equally that the ordeal,sudden and unforeseen, tried even his iron composure. I have heardthat after glancing once at the Duke he averted his eyes; andthenceforth looked and addressed himself entirely to the end of thetable where the King stood. But, this apart, it could not be deniedthat he played his part to a marvel. Known to more than one as aruffling blade about town, who had grown sober but not less dangerouswith age and the change of times, he had still saved some rags andtatters of a gentleman's reputation; and he dressed himselfaccordingly, insomuch that, as he stood beside Sir John, his stern setface, and steadfast bearing, made an impression not unfavourable atthe set out.

  Nor when bidden by the King to speak and say what he knew, did he fallbelow the expectations which his appearance had created, though thiswas probably due in some measure to my lord's self-control, whoneither by word nor sign betrayed the astonishment he felt, when a manto whom for years past he had only spoken casually, and once in sixmonths as it were, proceeded to recount with the utmost fullness andparticularity every detail of the journey, which, as he said, they twohad taken together to Ashford. At what time they started, where theylay, by what road they travelled--at all Smith was pat. Nor did hestop there; but went on to relate with the same ease and exactness theheads of talk that had passed between Sir John and his companion atthe inn.

  Nor was it possible that a story so told, with minutiae, with date, andplace, and circumstances, should fall on ears totally deaf. The menwho listened were statesmen, versed in deceptions and acquainted withaffairs--men who knew Gates and had heard Dangerfield; yet, as theylistened, they shut their eyes and reopened them, to assure themselvesthat this was not a dream! Before his appearance, even Lord Portland,whose distrust of English loyalty was notorious, had been inclined toridicule Sir John's story as a desperate card played for life; andthis, even in teeth of my lord's disorder, so incredible did it appearthat one of the King's principal Ministers should stoop to a thing sofoolish. Now, it was a sign pregnant of meaning that no one looked athis neighbour, but all gazed either at the witness or at the tablebefore them. And some who knew my lord best, and had the mostaffection for him, felt the air heavy, and the stillness of the roomoppressive.

  Suddenly the current of the story was broken by the King's harshaccent, "What was the date?" he asked, "on which you reached Ashford?"

  "The 10th of June, sir."

  "Where was the Duke on that day?" William continued; and he turned tothe Lord Steward. His tone and question, implying the most perfectcontempt for the tale to which he was listening, to an extent brokethe spell; and had the reply been satisfactory all would have beenover. But the Duke of Devonshire, turning to my lord for the answer,got only that he lay those two nights at his mother's, in the suburbs;and thereon a blank look fell on more than one face. The King, indeed,sniffed and muttered, "Then twenty witnesses can confute this!" as ifthe answer satisfied, and was all he had expected; but that otherswere at gaze, and in doubt, was as noticeable, as that those wholooked most solemn and thoughtful, were the three who had themselvesstood in danger that day.

  At a nod from the King, Smith resumed his tale; but in a moment he waspulled up short by Lord Dorset, who requested His Majesty's leave toput a question. Having got permission, "How do you say that theDuke--came to take _you_ with him?" the Marquis asked sharply.

  "To take me, my lord?"

  "Yes."

  "Must I answer that question?"

  "Yes," said Lord Dorset, with grave dignity.

  "Well, simply because I had been the medium of communication betweenhis Grace and Sir John," Smith answered, dryly. "Even as on formeroccasions I had acted as agent between his Grace and Lord Middleton."

  My lord started violently and half rose.

  Then, as he fell back into his seat, "That, sir, is the first word oftruth this person has spoken," he said, with dignity. "It is a factthat in the year '92 he twice brought me a note from Lord Middletonand arranged a meeting between us."

  "Precisely," Smith answered with effrontery, "as I arranged thismeeting."

  On that for the first time my lord's self-control abandoned him. Hestarted to his feet. "You lie!" he cried, vehemently. "You lie in yourteeth, you scoundrel! Sir--pardon me, but this is--this is too much! Icannot sit by and hear it!"

  By a gesture not lacking in kindness, the King bade him resume hisseat. Then, "_Peste!_" he said, taking snuff with a droll expressionof chagrin. "Will anyone else ask a question. My Lord Dorset has notbeen fortunate. As the _Advocatus Diaboli_, perhaps, he may one dayshine."

  "If your Majesty pleases," Lord Marlborough said, "I will ask one. ButI will put it to Sir John, and he can answer it or not as he likes.How did you know. Sir John, that it was the Duke of Shrewsbury who metyou at Ashford, and conferred with you there?"

  "I knew the Duke," Sir John answered clearly. "I had seen him often,and spoken with him occasionally."

  "How often had you spoken to him before this meeting?"

  "Possibly on a dozen occasions."

  "You had not had any long conversation with him?"

  "No; but I could not be mistaken. I know him," Sir John added, with aflash of bitter meaning, "as well as I know you, Lord Marlborough!"

  "He gave his title?"

  "No, he did not," Sir John answered. "He gave the name of ColonelTalbot."

  Someone at the table--it was Lord Portland--drew his breath sharplythrough his teeth; nor could the impression made by a statement thatat first blush seemed harmless, and even favourable to the Duke, beignored or mistaken. Three out of four who sat there were aware thatmy lord had used that name in his wild and boyish days, when he wouldbe _incognito_; and, moreover, the use of even that flimsy disguisecast a sort of decent probability over a story, which at its barestseemed credible. For the first time the balance of credit andprobability swung against my lord; a fact subtly indicated by thesilence which followed the statement and lasted a brief while; no oneat the table speaking or volunteering a farther question. For the timeMatthew Smith was forgotten--or the gleam of insolent triumph in hiseye might have said somewhat. For the time Sir John took a lower seat.Men's minds were busy with the Duke, and the Duke only; busy with whatthe result would be to him, and to the party, were this proved; whilemost, perceiving dully and by instinct that they touched upon a greattragedy, shrank from the _denouement_.

  At last, in the silence, the Duke rose; and swaying blindly on hisfeet, caught at the table to steady himself. For two nights he had notslept.

  "Duke," said the King suddenly, "you had better speak sitting."

  The words were meant in kindness, but they indicated a subtle changeof attitude--they indicated that even the King now felt the need ofexplanation and a defence; and my lord, seeing this, and acknowledgingthe invitation to be seated only by a slight reverence, continued tostand, though the effort made his weakness evident. Yet when he hadcleared his throat and spoke, his voice had the old ring ofauthority--with a touch of pathos added, as of a dying King from whosehand the sceptre was passing.

  "Sir," he said, "the sins of Colonel Talbot were not few. But this, towhich this fellow speaks, is not of the number. Nor have you, or mylords, to do with them. Doubtless, with my fellows, I shall have togive an account of them one day. But as to the present, and the Dukeof Shrewsbury--with whom alone you have to deal--I will make a plaintale. This man has said that in '93 he was a go-between, for me andLord Middleton. It is true; as you, sir, know, and my lords if theyknow it not already, must now know, to my shame. For the fact, LordMiddleton and I were relations, we met more than once at that time, wesupped together before he went to France. I promised on my part totake care of his interests here, he in return offered to do me goodoffices there. As to the latter I told him I had offended too deeplyto be forgiven; yet tacitly I left him to make my peace with the lateKing if he could. It was a folly and a p
oltroonery," the Dukecontinued, holding out his hands with a pathetic gesture. "It was, mylords, to take a lower place than the meanest Nonjuror who honourablygives up his cure. I see that, my lords; and have known it, and it hasweighed on me for years. And now I pay for it. But for this"--and withthe word my lord's voice grew full and round and he stood erect, onehand among the lace of his steinkirk tie and his eyes turnedsteadfastly on his accuser--"for this which that man, presuming on anold fault and using his knowledge of it, would foist on me, I knownothing of it! I know nothing of it. It is some base and damnablepractice. At this moment and here I cannot refute it; but at theproper time and in another place I shall refute it. And now and here Isay that as to it, I am not guilty--on my honour!"

  As the last word rang through the room he sat down, looking round himwith a kind of vague defiance. There was a silence, broken presentlyby the Lord Steward, who rose, his voice and manner betraying nolittle emotion. "His Grace is right, sir, I think," he said. "Ibelieve with him that this is some evil practice; but it is plain thatit has gone so far that it cannot stop here. I would suggest thereforethat if your Majesty sees fit----"

  A knock at the door interrupted him, and he turned that wayimpatiently, and paused. The King, too, glanced round with a gestureof annoyance. "See what it is," he said.

  Sir William Trumball rose and went; and after a brief conference,during which the lords at the table continued to cast impatientglances towards the door, he returned. "If it please you, sir," hesaid, "a witness desires to be heard." And with that his faceexpressed so much surprise that the King stared at him in wonder.

  "A witness?" said the King, and pished and fidgeted in his chair.Then, "This is not a Court of Justice," he continued, peevishly. "Weshall have all the world here presently. But--well, let him in."

  Sir William obeyed, and went and returned under the eyes of theCouncil; nor will the reader who has perused with attention theearlier part of this history be greatly surprised to hear that when hereturned, I, Richard Price, was with him.

  I am not going to dwell on the misery through which I had gone inanticipation of that appearance; the fears which I had been forced tocombat, or the night watches, through which I had lain, sweating andawake. Suffice it that I stood there at last, seeing in a kind of mazethe sober lights and dark rich colours of the room, and the faces atthe table all turned towards me; and stood there, not in the humbleguise befitting my station, but in velvet and ruffles, sword andperuke, the very double, as the mirror before which I had dressed hadassured me, of my noble patron. This, at Mr. Vernon's suggestion andby his contrivance.

  ... I STOOD THERE AT LAST ... THE FACES AT THE TABLEALL TURNED TOWARDS ME....]

  While I had lived in my lord's house, and moved to and fro soberlygarbed, in a big wig or my own hair, the likeness had been no morethan ground for a nudge and a joke among the servants. Now, dressedonce more, as Smith had dressed me, in a suit of the Duke's clothes,and one of his perukes, and trimmed and combed by one who knew him,the resemblance I presented was so remarkable that none of the lordsat the table could be blind to it. One or two, in sheer wonder,exclaimed on it; while Sir John, who, poor gentleman, was moreconcerned than any, fairly gasped with dismay.

  It was left to the Duke of Devonshire to break the spell. "What isthis? Who is this?" he said, in the utmost astonishment. "What does itmean?"

  The King, who had noted on an occasion that very likeness, which allnow saw, and was the first to read the riddle, laughed dryly. "Twovery common things, my lord," he said, "a rogue and a fool. Speak,man," he continued, addressing me. "You were in the Duke's householdawhile ago? _n'est-ce pas ca?_ I saw you here?"

  "Yes, your Majesty," I said, hardly keeping my fears within bounds.

  "And you have been playing his part, I suppose? Eh? At--how do youcall the place--Ashford?"

  "Yes, your Majesty--under compulsion," I said, trembling.

  "Ay! Compulsion of that good gentleman at the foot of the table, Isuppose?"

  The words of assent were on my lips, when a cry, and an exceedingbitter cry, stayed their utterance. It came from Sir John. Dumbfoundedfor a time, between astonishment and suspicion, between wonder whatthis travesty was and wonder why it was assumed, he had at lengthdiscerned its full scope and meaning, and where it touched him. With acry of rage he threw up his hands in protest against the fraud; thenin a flash he turned on the villain by his side. "You d----dscoundrel!" he cried. "You have destroyed me! You have murdered me!"

  Before he could be held off, his fingers were in Smith's neckcloth,and clutching his throat; and so staunch was his hold that AdmiralRussell and Sir William Trumball had to rise and drag him away byforce. "Easy, easy, Sir John," said the Admiral with rough sympathy."Be satisfied. He will get his deserts. Please God, if I had him on myship an hour his back should be worse than Oates's ever was!"

  Sir John's rage and disappointment were painful to witness, and tryingeven to men of the world. But what shall I say of the fury of the manat bay, who denounced and convicted in his moment of triumph saw,white-faced, his long-spun web swept easily aside? Doubtless he knew,as soon as he saw me, that the game was lost, and could have slain mewith a look. And most men would without more ado have been on theirknees. But he possessed, God knows, a courage as rare and perfect asthe cause in which he displayed it was vile and abominable; and in atwinkling he recovered himself, and was Matthew Smith once more. Whilethe room rang with congratulations, questions, answers andexclamations, and I had much ado to answer one half of the noble lordswho would examine me, his voice, raised and strident, was heard abovethe tumult.

  "Your Majesty is easily deceived!" he cried, his very tone floutingthe presence in which he stood; yet partly out of curiosity, partly insheer astonishment at his audacity, they turned to listen. "Do youthink it is for nothing his Grace keeps a double in his house? Or thatit boots much whether he or his Secretary went to meet Sir John? Butenough! I have here! here," he continued, tapping his breast andthrowing back his head, "that, that shall out-face him; be he never soclever! Does his double write his hand too? Read that, sir. Read that,my lords, and say what you think of your Whig leader!"

  And with a reckless gesture, he flung a letter on the table. But theaction and words were so lacking in respect for royal chambers thatfor a moment no one took it up, the English lords who sat within reachdisdaining to touch it. Then Lord Portland made a long arm, and takingthe paper with Dutch phlegm and deliberation opened it.

  "Have I your Majesty's leave?" he said; and the King noddingpeevishly, "This is not his Grace's handwriting," the Dutch lordcontinued, pursing up his lips, and looking dubiously at the scriptbefore him.

  "No, but it is his signature!" Smith retorted, fiercely. And so setwas he on this last card he was playing, that his eyes started fromhis head, and the veins rose thick on his hands where they clutchedthe table before him. "It is his hand at foot. That I swear!"

  "Truly, my man, I think it is," Lord Portland answered, coolly. "ShallI read the letter, sir?"

  "What is it?" asked the King, with irritation.

  "It appears to be a letter to the Duke of Berwick, at the late Bishopof Chester's house in Hogsden Gardens, bidding him look to himself, ashis lodging was known," Lord Portland answered, leisurely running hiseye down the lines as he spoke.

  It was wonderful to see what a sudden gravity fell on the faces at thetable. This touched some home. This was a hundred times more likely asa charge than that which had fallen through. Could it be that afterall the man had his Grace on the hip? Lord Marlborough showed hisemotion by a face more than commonly serene; Admiral Russell by asudden flush; Godolphin by the attention he paid to the table beforehim. Nor was Smith behindhand in noting the effect produced. For aninstant he towered high, his stern face gleaming with malevolenttriumph. He thought that the tables were turned.

  Then, "In whose hand is the body of the paper?" the King asked.

  "Your Majesty's," Lord Portland answered, with a grim chuckle, andafter a pause long enough
to accentuate the answer.

  "I thought so," said the King. "It was the Friday the plot wasdiscovered. I remember it. I am afraid that if you impeach the Duke,you must impeach me with him."

  At that there was a great roar of laughter, which had not worn itselfout before one and another began to press their congratulations on theDuke. He for his part sat as if stunned; answering with a forced smilewhere it was necessary, more often keeping silence. He had escaped thepit digged for him, and the net so skilfully laid. But his facebetrayed no triumph.

  Matthew Smith, on the other hand, brought up short by that answer,could not believe it. He stood awhile, like a man in a fit; then, thesweat standing on his brow, he cried that they were all leaguedagainst him; that it was a plot; that it was not His Majesty's hand!and so on, and so on; with oaths and curses, and other things veryunfit for His Majesty's ears, or the place in which he stood.

  Under these circumstances, for a minute no one knew what to do, eachlooking at his neighbour, until the Lord Steward, rising from hischair, cried in a voice of thunder, "Take that man away, Mr.Secretary, this is your business! Out with him, sir!" On which SirWilliam called in the messengers, and they laid hands on him. By thattime, however, he had recovered the will and grim composure which werethe man's best characteristics; and with a last malign and despairinglook at my lord, he suffered them to lead him out.

  CHAPTER XLVI

  That was a great day for my lord, but it was also, I truly believe,one of the saddest of a not unhappy life. He had gained the battle,but at a cost known only to himself, though guessed by some. The storyof the old weakness had been told, as he had foreseen it must be told;and even while his friends pressed round him and crying, _SalveImperator!_ rejoiced in the fall he had given his foes, he was awareof the wound bleeding inwardly, and in his mind was already borne outof the battle.

  Yet in that room was one sadder. Sir John, remaining at the foot ofthe table, frowned along it, gloomy and downcast; too proud to ask orearn the King's favour, yet shaken by the knowledge that now--now wasthe time; that in a little while the door would close on him, and withit the chance of life--life with its sunshine and air, and freedom,its whirligigs and revenges. Some thought that in consideration of thetrick which had been played upon him, the King might properly view himwith indulgence; and were encouraged in this by the character forclemency which even his enemies allowed that Sovereign. But Williamhad other views on this occasion; and when the hubbub which Smith'sremoval had caused had completely died away, he addressed Sir John,advising him to depend rather on deserving his favour by a frank andfull discovery, than on such ingenious contrivances as that which hadjust been exposed.

  "I was no party to it," the unhappy gentleman answered.

  "Therefore it shall tell neither for nor against you," the Kingretorted. "Have you anything more to say."

  "I throw myself on your Majesty's clemency."

  "That will not do. Sir John," the King answered. "You must speak,or--the alternative does not lie with me. But you know it."

  "And I choose it," Sir John cried, recovering his spirit and courage.

  "So be it," said His Majesty slowly and solemnly. "I will not say thatI expected anything less from you. My lords, let him be removed."

  And with that the messengers came in and Sir John bowed and went withthem. It may have been fancy, but I thought that as he turned from thetable a haggard shade fell on his face, and a soul in mortal anguishlooked an instant from his eyes. But the next moment he was gone.

  I never saw him again. That night the news was everywhere thatGoodman, one of the two witnesses against him, had fled the country;and for a time it was believed that Sir John would escape. How, inface of that difficulty those who were determined on his death,effected it; how he was attainted, and how he suffered on Tower Hillwith all the forms and privileges of a peer--on the 28th of January ofthe succeeding year--is a story too trite and familiar to call forrepetition.

  On his departure the Council broke up. His Majesty retiring. Before hewent, a word was said about me, and some who had greater regard forthe _post factum_ than the _p[oe]nitentia_ were for sending me to theCompter, and leaving the Law Officers to deal with me. But my lord,rousing himself, interposed roundly, spoke for me and would have givenbail had they persisted. Seeing, however, how gravely he took it, andbeing inclined to please him, they desisted, and I was allowed to go,on the simple condition that the Duke kept me under his own eye. Thishe very gladly consented to do.

  Nor was it the only kindness he did me, or the greatest; for havingheard from me at length and in detail all the circumstances leading upto my timely intervention, he sent for me a few days later, andplacing a paper in my hands bade me read the gist of it. I did so, andfound it to be a free pardon passed under the Great Seal, and grantedto Richard Price and Mary Price his wife for acts and things done bythem jointly or separately against the King's Most Excellent Majesty,within or without the realm.

  It was at Eyford he handed me this; in the oak parlour looking uponthe bowling-green; where I had already begun to wait upon him on onemorning in the week, to check the steward's accounts and tallies. Theyear was nearly spent, but that autumn was fine, and the sunlightwhich lay on the smooth turf blended with the russet splendour of thebeech trees that rise beyond. I had been thinking of Mary and thequiet courtyard at the Hospital, which the bowling-green somewhatresembled, being open to the park on one side only; and when perusingthe paper, my lord smiling at me, I came to her name--or rather to thename that was hers and yet mine--I felt such a flow of love andgratitude and remembrance overcome me as left me speechless; and thisdirected, not only to him but to her--seeing that it was her adviceand her management that had brought me against my will to this havenand safety.

  The Duke saw my emotion and read my silence aright. "Well," he said."Are you satisfied?"

  I told him that if I were not I must be the veriest ingrate living.

  "And you have nothing more to ask?" he continued, still smiling.

  "Nothing," I said. "Except--except that which it is not in yourlordship's power to grant."

  "How?" said he, with a show of surprise and resentment. "Notsatisfied yet? What is it?"

  "If she were here!" I said. "If she were here, my lord! ButDunquerque----"

  "Is a far cry, eh! And the roads are bad. And the seas----"

  "Are worse," I said gloomily, looking at the paper as Tantalus lookedat the water. "And to get word to her is not of the easiest."

  SHE WAS MAKING MARKS ON THE TURF WITH A STICK]

  "No," the Duke said. "Say you so? Then what do you make of this,faint-heart?" And he pointed through the open window.

  I looked, and on the seat--which a moment before had been vacant--theseat under the right-hand yew-hedge where my lord sometimes smoked hispipe--I saw a girl seated with her shoulder and the nape of her neckturned to us. She was making marks on the turf with a stick she held,and poring over them when made, as if the world held nothing else, sothat I had not so much as a glimpse of her face. But I knew that itwas Mary.

  "Come," said my lord, pleasantly. "We will go to her. It may be, shewill not have the pardon--after all. Seeing that there is a conditionto it."

  "A condition?" I cried, a little troubled.

  "To be sure, blockhead," he answered, in high good humour. "In whosename is it?"

  Then I saw what he meant and laughed, foolishly. But the event camenearer to proving him true than he then expected. For when she saw thepaper she stepped back and put her hands behind her, and would nottouch or take it; while her small face cried pale mutiny. "But I'llnot tell!" she cried. "I'll not tell! I'll not have it. Blood-moneydoes not thrive. If that is the price----"

  "My good girl," said my lord, cutting her short, yet withoutimpatience. "That is not the price. This is the Price. And the pardongoes with him."

  * * * * *

  I believe that I have now told enough to discharge myself of thatwh
ich I set out to do: I mean the clearing my lord in the eyes of alljudicious persons of those imputations which a certain faction havenever ceased to heap on him; and this with the greater assiduity andspite, since he by his single conduct at the time of the late Queen'sdeath was the means under Providence of preserving the ProtestantSuccession and liberties in these islands.

  That during the long interval of seventeen years that separated thememorable meeting at Kensington, which I have ventured to describe,from the still more famous scene in the Queen's death-chamber, he tookno part in public life has seemed to some a crime or the tacit avowalof one. How far these err, and how ill-qualified they are to followthe workings of that noble mind, will appear in the pages I havewritten; which show with clearness that the retirement on which somuch stress has been laid, was due not to guilt, but to anappreciation of honour so delicate that a spot invisible to the commoneye seemed to him a stain _non subito delanda_. After the avowal madebefore his colleagues--of the communications, I mean, with LordMiddleton--nothing would do but he must leave London at once and seekin the shades and retirement of Eyford that peace of mind and ease ofbody which had for the moment abandoned him.

  He went: and for a time still retained office. Later, notwithstandingthe most urgent and flattering instances on the King's part--which yetexist, honourable alike to the writer and the recipient--he persistedin his resolution to retire; and on the 12th of December, 1698, beingat that time in very poor health, the consequence of a fall whilehunting, he returned the Seals to the King, In the autumn of thefollowing year he went abroad; but though he found in a privatelife--so far as the life of a man of his princely station could becalled private--a happiness often denied to place men and favourites,he was not to be diverted when the time came from the post of danger.Were I writing an eulogium merely, I should here enumerate those greatposts and offices which he so worthily filled at the time of QueenAnne's death, when as Lord Treasurer of England, Lord Chamberlain, andLord Lieutenant of Ireland--an aggregation of honours I believewithout precedent--he performed services and controlled events on theimportance of which his enemies no less than his friends are agreed.But I forbear: and I leave the task to a worthier hand.

  This being so, it remains only to speak of Matthew Smith and hisaccomplice. Had my lord chosen to move in the matter, there can be nodoubt that Smith would have been whipped and pilloried, and in thisway would have come by a short road to his deserts. But the Duke heldhimself too high, and the men who had injured him too low, forrevenge; and Smith, after lying some months in prison, gave usefulinformation, and was released without prosecution. He then tried toraise a fresh charge against the Duke, but gained no credence; andrapidly sinking lower and lower, was to be seen two years laterskulking in rags in the darkest part of the old Savoy. In London Imust have walked in hourly dread of him; at Eyford I was safe; andafter the winter of '99, in which year he came to my lord's house tobeg, looking broken and diseased, I never saw him.

  I was told that he expected to receive a rich reward in the event ofthe Duke's disgrace, and on this account was indifferent to the lossof his situation in my lady's family. It seems probable, however, thathe still hoped to retain his influence in that quarter by means of hiswife, and thwarted in this by that evil woman's dismissal, was nobetter disposed to her than she was to him. They separated; but beforehe went the ruffian revenged himself by beating her so severely thatshe long lay ill in her apartments, was robbed by her landlady, andfinally was put to the door penniless, and with no trace of the beautywhich had once chained my heart. In this plight, reduced to be thedrudge of a tradesman's wife, and sunk to the very position in which Ihad found her at Mr. D----'s, she made a last desperate appeal to theDuke for assistance.

  He answered by the grant of a pension, small but sufficient, on whichshe might have ended her days in a degree of comfort. But, havingacquired in her former circumstances an unfortunate craving for drink,which she had now the power to gratify, she lived but a little while,and that in great squalor and misery, dying, if I remember rightly, ina public-house in Spitalfields in the year 1703.

  PRINTED FROM AMERICAN PLATES AT THE ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS