remembrance of past follies, and the dreadful extravagances
of a wicked life, and sometimes I flattered myself that I had
sincerely repented.
But there are temptations which it is not in the power of human
nature to resist, and few know what would be their case if
driven to the same exigencies. As covetousness is the root of
all evil, so poverty is, I believe, the worst of all snares. But I
waive that discourse till I come to an experiment.
I live with this husband with the utmost tranquillity; he was a
quiet, sensible, sober man; virtuous, modest, sincere, and in
his business diligent and just. His business was in a narrow
compass, and his income sufficient to a plentiful way of living
in the ordinary way. I do not say to keep an equipage, and
make a figure, as the world calls it, nor did I expect it, or desire
it; for as I abhorred the levity and extravagance of my former
life, so I chose now to live retired, frugal, and within ourselves.
I kept no company, made no visits; minded my family, and
obliged my husband; and this kind of life became a pleasure to me.
We lived in an uninterrupted course of ease and content for
five years, when a sudden blow from an almost invisible hand
blasted all my happiness, and turned me out into the world in
a condition the reverse of all that had been before it.
My husband having trusted one of his fellow-clerks with a sum
of money, too much for our fortunes to bear the loss of, the
clerk failed, and the loss fell very heavy on my husband, yet it
was not so great neither but that, if he had had spirit and courage
to have looked his misfortunes in the face, his credit was so
good that, as I told him, he would easily recover it; for to sink
under trouble is to double the weight, and he that will die in it,
shall die in it.
It was in vain to speak comfortably to him; the wound had
sunk too deep; it was a stab that touched the vitals; he grew
melancholy and disconsolate, and from thence lethargic, and
died. I foresaw the blow, and was extremely oppressed in my
mind, for I saw evidently that if he died I was undone.
I had had two children by him and no more, for, to tell the
truth, it began to be time for me to leave bearing children, for
I was now eight-and-forty, and I suppose if he had lived I
should have had no more.
I was now left in a dismal and disconsolate case indeed, and
in several things worse than ever. First, it was past the
flourishing time with me when I might expect to be courted
for a mistress; that agreeable part had declined some time, and
the ruins only appeared of what had been; and that which was
worse than all this, that I was the most dejected, disconsolate
creature alive. I that had encouraged my husband, and
endeavoured to support his spirits under his trouble, could not
support my own; I wanted that spirit in trouble which I told
him was so necessary to him for bearing the burthen.
But my case was indeed deplorable, for I was left perfectly
friendless and helpless, and the loss my husband had sustained
had reduced his circumstances so low, that though indeed I
was not in debt, yet I could easily foresee that what was left
would not support me long; that while it wasted daily for
subsistence, I had not way to increase it one shilling, so that
it would be soon all spent, and then I saw nothing before me
but the utmost distress; and this represented itself so lively to
my thoughts, that it seemed as if it was come, before it was
really very near; also my very apprehensions doubled the misery,
for I fancied every sixpence that I paid for a loaf of bread was
the last that I had in the world, and that to-morrow I was to
fast, and be starved to death.
In this distress I had no assistant, no friend to comfort or