And indeed to be sincere, when on the one hand I view the arguments of your guilt, and, on the other, behold your strong assertions of innocence, to the hazarding of the soul, if untrue, I am greatly perplexed, I know not what to say or believe. The alternative, I presume, is, you are either a believer and innocent, or an infidel and guilty. But that holy religion which I profess, obliging me, in all cases of doubt, to incline to the most charitable construction; I say, that I am willingly persuaded, that you believe in the above mentioned truths, and are in some degree innocent.

You have, dear Miss, applied to temporal counsel, with regard to the determination of your body. They have failed. Your life is forfeited to justice. You are already dead in the eye of the law. Oh! Miss, the counsels which my poor understanding gives, is spiritual; may they be more successful: May God grant that the fate of your soul may not resemble the fate of your body! May it not perish and die for ever!

Now, Miss, you must necessarily be in one of these two situations; you must either be innocent, by not designing to hurt your father; or you designed to kill your father, and are guilty, and conceal your guilt for private reasons. Permit me to offer something upon each of these heads.

If it should be the case, that you are innocently the cause of Mr. Blandy's death, which Heaven grant! if you harboured not a thought of injuring your unhappy father, you have the greatest of all comforts to support you. You may think upon that last and awful tribunal, before which all the sons of Adam shall appear, and from which no secret is hid. There will be no injustice. Innocence will be vindicated. The scheme of Providence will be then unfolded. There your patience under your sufferings and resignation to the decrees of Heaven will be rewarded. Your errors and failings God will pity and have mercy upon; for he remembers whereof we are made. You may face the ignominious tree with calmness. Death has no stings to wound innocence. Guilt alone clothes him with terrors (to the guilty wretch he is terrible indeed!). And at the resurrection, and at the last day, you will joyfully behold Jesus Christ your Saviour, join the triumphant multitudes of the blessed, and follow them into the everlasting mansions of glory.

The other point I am about to speak to, is upon a supposition of your guilt. God direct me what to say! If you repent, you will be saved. But what repentance can be adequate to such crimes? O Miss! your infamous end is a satisfaction due to human laws. But there is another satisfaction which God expects to be made for such a dreadful violation of laws divine. Once, Miss, you had two fathers to provide for and protect you; one by the ties of Nature, the other by the bonds of grace and religion. And now your earthly parent is your accuser, and your heavenly one your judge. Both are become your enemies. Good God! what deep distress is this! where can misery like this find comfort and relief? O Miss! the only anchor which can preserve your soul from perishing, is your blessed Saviour. Believe in Him; whatsoever you ask in His name, believing, God will grant. For to them that believe, all things are possible. Unburthen your whole soul. Pour out your fervent prayers to God. Remember, that infinite mercy is glorified in the vilest sinners. If there are any accessaries to this horrid crime, discover them. Make all possible reparation for injuries you have done. Heartily forgive, and pray for your enemies and more particularly for all concerned in the Prosecution against you. Detest your sins truly, and resolve to do so for the time to come, and be in charity with all men. If you perform these things truly and sincerely, your life, which sets in gloomy clouds, shame and darkness, may, by the mercies of God, rise in glory, honour and brightness.

But perhaps, Miss, to your everlasting hazard, you will not confess your guilt, for some private reasons. And what must these be?

You may possibly then imagine, that if you confess your crime to God, you are not obliged to confess to the world. Generally speaking God is the sole confessor of mankind; but your case is a particular exception to this rule. You will want the assistance of God's ministers. But how is it possible for you to receive any benefit from them, if you do not represent to them the true state of your soul without any disguise? A secret of this nature, smothered in the breast, is a fire which preys upon, and consumes all quietness and repose. Consider too the imminent danger of a lie of this nature; consider the justice due to your accusers, to your judges, and to the world.

But you will say, confession of my crime cuts off all hope of Royal Mercy. Dear Miss, do not indulge yourself in such a thought. Prepare for the worst. Consider how pernicious flattery of this nature is. Remember that God is only a God of mercy in this; in another life, he is a God of justice.

I can hardly think that shame has any share in the concealment of your guilt; for no shame can exceed that which you have already suffered. Besides, confession is all the amends you can make; and mankind know experimentally how frail and imperfect human nature is, and will allow for it accordingly.

And thus, dear Miss, have I wrote to you, with a sincere view to your everlasting happiness. If during this dismal twilight, this interval between life and death, I can serve you, command me. The world generally flies the unfortunate, rejoices in evil, triumphs over distress; believe me glad to deviate from such inhumanity. As the offices of friendship which you can receive from me are confined to such a short period, let them be such as concern your everlasting welfare. The greatest pleasure I can receive (if pleasure can arise from such sad potions), will be to hear that you entertain a comfortable assurance of being happy for ever. Which that you may be, is the fervent prayer of, etc.

Whether or no this gentleman, in the above letter, has not urged the matter home to Miss Blandy, is submitted to the judgment of the public.

Here follows verbatim her answer.

Monday, March 9, 1752.

Reverend Sir,—I did not receive your's till Sunday night late; and now so ill in body, that nothing but my gratitude to you for all your goodness could have enabled me to write. I have with great care and thought often read over your kind advice; and will, as well as the sad condition I am in will give me leave, speak the truth.

The first and most material to my poor soul is, that I believe in God the Father, and in His blessed Son Jesus Christ, who, I verily believe, came into the world to save sinners; and that He will come again to judge the world; and that we must all give an account in our own bodies, and receive the reward of a good or ill spent life; that God is a God of Justice, but of mercy too; and that by repentance all may be saved.

As to the unworthy man you mention, I never heard finer lessons come from any one. Had he, Sir, shewn really what he may be (an infidel), I never should have been so deceived; for of all crimes, that ever shocked me most. No, Sir, I owe all my miseries to the appearances of virtue; by that deceived and ruined in this world, but hope through Christ to be pardoned. I was, and never denied it, the fatal instrument; but knew not the nature of, nor had a thought those powders could hurt. Had I not destroyed his letters, all must have been convinced; but, like all the rest, he commanded, and I obeyed and burnt them. There is an account, as well as I was able to write, which I sent to my Uncle in London. That I here send you. God knows never poor soul wrote in more pain, and I now am not able hardly to hold my pen. But will not conclude this without explaining the true state of my mind. As I did not give this fatal powder to kill or hurt my poor father; I hope God will forgive me, with repentance for the ill use I have made of that sense he gave me, and not be for ever angry with me. Death I deserve, for not being better on my guard against my grand enemy; for loving and relying too much on the human part. I hope (when all is done that friends can do for me to save that life which God has given me, and which if to last these hundred years, would be too short for me to repent, and make amends for the follies I have committed) I shall have such help from my God, as to convince my poor friends I die a Christian, and with hopes of forgiveness through the merits of our Advocate and Mediator Jesus Christ.

I beg, my dear sir, you will excuse my writing more, and will believe I am truly sensible of your goodness to me. May God bless you, sir, and send you happiness here and hereafter. I beg my duty to my poor uncle; pray him to forgive, and pity, and pray for me. I beg my tenderest wishes to Mrs. Mounteney; and if she can serve me with the Bishop of W——[22] or any other, I know she will do it. Pray comfort poor Ned Hearne, and tell him I have the same friendship for him as ever. And pray, sir, continue your friendship and good wishes to,

Reverend Sir,

Your truly affected, Much obliged humble Servant,

MARY BLANDY.

P.S.—I beg, for very just reasons to myself and friends, that this letter and papers may soon be returned to me; that is, as soon as you have done with them. You will oblige me, if you keep a copy of the letter; but the real letter I would have back, and the real papers, as being my own handwriting, and may be of service to me, to my character after my death, and to my family.

There is no occasion of hinting to the judicious reader that in this letter it is plain that Miss Blandy twice solemnly declares her innocence.

But let us now proceed to Miss Blandy's own relation of an affair which has so much engrossed the attention of the public.

Miss Blandy's narrative referred to in the foregoing letter:—

O! Christian Reader!

My misfortunes have been, and are such, as never woman felt before. O! let the tears of the wretched move human minds to pity, and give ear to my sad case, here wrote with greatest truth. It is impossible indeed, in my unhappy circumstances, to recollect half of my misfortunes, so as to place them in a proper light. Let some generous breast then do that for the miserable, and God will reward goodness towards an unhappy, deceived, ruined woman. Think what power man has over our sex, when we truly love! And what woman, let her have what sense she will, can stand the arguments and persuasions men will make use of? Don't think that by this I mean, that I ever was, or could have been persuaded to hurt one hair of my poor father's head. No; what I mean is Cranstoun's baseness and art, in making me believe that those powders were innocent, and would make my father love him. He gave my father some himself more than a year before he died, and said, when he gave it him, that he (Cranstoun) had took several papers of it himself. I saw nothing of any ill effects from these powders on my father; nor did he complain of any one disorder, more than what he has ever been subject to above these ten years, the gravel and the heartburn; but never complained of the heartburn, except when he had the gravel coming on him; and he never was less afflicted with those disorders than during the last year of his life, in which he never took one medicine from his apothecary, as he made oath in Court.

Mr. Cranstoun, soon after he gave these powders to my father, said to me, do you not see that your father is kinder to me? I now will venture to tell him, that I cannot get the appeal lodged this Sessions (meaning his affair in Scotland); upon which he went to my father's study, and told him. They both came out together in great good humour, and my father said not one word against my waiting another Sessions.

Mr. Cranstoun came to our house in the beginning of August, or latter end of July, staid with us some months, and then he said he was obliged to go for Scotland. My father seemed not pleased with him at first, but they parted in great friendship, I thought; and I received a letter from Cranstoun (which is now among my papers) full of respect and tenderness for my father. But soon after he was gone my father, who had either heard some ill of him, or was tired of so long an affair, told me to let Mr. Cranstoun know, that I should wait the next Sessions; but he must not come to his house till his affairs in Scotland were settled. I obeyed his commands, and had a letter full of love, and seeming misery, back in answer to mine; that he found that he had lost my father's love, and feared he should mine too. He got his mother and sisters to write to my father, and seemed to do all in his power to force him to love him.

Some time after this he sent me word, that he had met with his old friend Mrs. Morgan in Scotland, and that he would get some of those powders he had before; and begged of me, if I loved him, to give them to my father; for that they would make him kind to us again in this affair, and make him stay with patience till the next Sessions; when, upon his word, the appeal should be lodged. I wrote him back word, I did not care for doing it, lest it should hurt my father's health. He wrote me word, that it was quite innocent, and could not hurt him; and how could I think that he would send any thing to hurt a father of mine? and that self-interest would be reason enough lor him to take care of his health.

Now, in this place, I must beg to clear up one thing, that I imagined my poor father rich, and that Mr. Cranstoun did the same. As to myself, it is, by all that's good, false. I have often told Mr. Cranstoun, I knew my father was not worth what the world said; but that if he lived I did not doubt but he would provide for us and ours, as his business was so great, and life retired. I then supposed that Mr. Cranstoun meant, by saying, that his own interests would make him careful, to refer to such discourse.

Mr. Cranstoun's having then such strong reasons to know how necessary my father's life must be, and I believing his honour to be so great, and that his love was still greater; these were the reasons of my not mistrusting that the powder would hurt my father, if I mixed it with his tea. It not mixing well, I threw it away, and wrote him word, I would not try it again, for it would be discovered. This they bring against me. But is it not, reasonable to imagine, that if any person was to discover that a powder had been given them, to force them to love anyone, would not a discovery of this nature produce a very different effect? Would it not fix resentment? This would have been, at that time death to me; such was my opinion of Cranstoun, and for this reason I used the aforesaid words.

But to proceed. On my writing to Mr. Cranstoun, that it would not mix in tea, he told me to mix it in gruel. I received the powders in June; but did not put any into his gruel till the 5th of August; when I fatally obeyed Mr. Cranstoun's orders, and was innocently the instrument of death, as they say, to the best of fathers; brought disgrace to my family, and shameful death to myself, unless my hard case, here truly repented, recommends me to Royal pity, clemency and compassion. And as I here declare, and as I look upon myself as a dying woman, I never did design to hurt my father, but thought the powder innocent, as Cranstoun told me it was. Let me be punished for my follies, but not lose my life. Sure, it is hard to die for ignorance, and too good an opinion of a villain! Must the falsities and malice which I have been pursued with, prevail so far as to take away my life? O consider my misfortunes, and indeed it will fill your eyes with tears; you must pity me, and say, never was poor soul so hardly used. But peace, my heart. I gave my father the powder on Monday night; on Tuesday he complained. I sent for the apothecary; who came, and said he would send him some physic. In the evening my father said he would have some water gruel. I never went out to order this, and knew not whether it was the same or no as he had on Monday, as that he drank on Monday was made either on Saturday or Sunday. However, on the Wednesday my father took physic, and was better; came all Thursday down into the parlour, as also on Friday; Mr. Norton, by my desire, all this time attending him very often. And Mr. Norton did in the Court declare, that I was the person that did send for a physician, and would have sent before, if thought necessary. When I found my father so ill, I sent, unknown to him, for Dr. Addington. The doctor said, he believed he was in great danger. I desired Dr. Addington to attend him, and come the next day; which he did. On Monday morning going into my father's room early (for though I never from his first disorder left him long in the day, yet his tenderness would not let me sit up all night with him), I was denied to see him. This so surprised and frightened me, that I cried out, What? Not see my father? On which I heard my father reply, My dear Polly, you shall presently; and some time after I did. That meeting and parting, and the mutual love, sorrow, and grief, is truly described by Susanna Gunnel; though poor soul she is mistaken in some other respects.

I was after this confined in my room by Dr. Addington's own orders; during which confinement, as I am informed, my father wanted to see some body, and it was imagined to be me. But, alas! I was not suffered. The night before he died, my father sent his blessing to me, with his commands to bring that villain to justice. I sent him answer back, I would do all in my power to hang that villain, as he rightly called him.

But the usage which I received in my father's house, unknown to him I am sure, is shocking to relate. My going to listen at his door, the only comfort left me, to hear if he was asleep was denied me. All my keys were taken from, me—my letters—my very garters. My maid-servant never came near me, helpless as I was by grief and fits. This I bore patiently, being fearful of disturbing my father, as our rooms joined. The man who was with me can witness to my sufferings, how often I wished for instant death to take me, and spare my dear father, whom never child loved better; whose death alone, unattended with these misfortunes, would have been an excessive shock to me.

When Dr. Addington, and Dr. Lewis (who was called in it seems) came into the room, and told me, that nothing could save my ever dear father; for a considerable time I sat like a stone image; and then told them, that I had given my poor father some powders which Cranstoun had given me, and feared those had hurt my father, though Cranstoun assured me that they would not.

It is not in human nature to declare what I suffered at that time. God grant that no one ever may again.

When my father was dead, though mistress of myself, my keys, servants, two horses in the stable, all my own; yet I never quitted my room. Though none dared to molest me, I never stirred. They say, that I walked about my room for hours; but I hardly remember anything. Much is now said of my trying to bribe my servants. How contrary to truth! As for bribing Betty my cook; of all my servants she was my greatest enemy throughout my misfortunes; and an attempt to bribe her must surely be the strongest instance of lunacy, of one not in her right mind. I own I should have been glad not to have gone to jail; as who would not? But then I would with pleasure have resigned myself up at the Assizes, and stood the chance of life or death. I did not at that time imagine, that I had such enemies, or that human nature could be so wicked and abandoned. On the Thursday my father was to be opened. In the morning Suzanna Gunnel sent for me, being indisposed: When I saw her, she begged that I would bring Mr. Cranstoun to justice, which was the request and command of her dying master; and that if anything gave him concern in his last moments, it was an apprehension of his escaping, being a man of quality, and interest among the great. I replied that I would do all in my power, and went down into my room again.

Soon after Dr. Lewis came into my room, and I found by him that my poor father's body was to be opened as that morning. As soon as he was gone, I could not bear to stay in the house, but walked out. Let reason judge whether I intended an escape. My dress was an half-sack and petticoat, made for a hoop, and the sides very long; neither man nor horse to assist me; and, as they say, I walked as slow as foot could fall; half the town at my heels; and but for the mercy of a woman, who sheltered me in her house, had perhaps lost my life. When I was sent for back by the Justices, the gentlemen who conveyed me to my house, witnessed that I thanked him. Surely this cannot be interpreted an attempt to escape.

In consequence then of the words which, during these melancholy and distracting scenes, I had spoke to Dr. Addington, that I was innocent of the nature of the powders, but had given them to my father, I was sent to prison, where I was till my trial, and am now in safe custody. The untruths which have been told of me, the messengers sent after me, to see if I was safe, the putting me in Irons (though so weak and ill, that my own body was too much to carry about), the baseness and wickedness of printing the depositions to hurt me with the jury; under all this I bore up from knowing my innocence.

But give me leave to mention what happened at my trial. I was brought to the Bar; and must do the judges, and all the gentlemen of the law, that justice, that they used me as a gentlewoman should be, though unfortunate. I must, however, observe, that when the judges read and summed up the evidence, or indeed when anything was said in Court, there was such a noise, that the jury, I am sure, could not hear the evidence; and I hope I shall be forgiven, if I say, that some of them seemed not to give that attention I think they ought. Nay, the judges were often obliged to speak for silence in the Court, and bid them for shame let the jury hear and attend. When all the witnesses were examined on both sides, the judge gave his charge like a man fit to hold the sword of justice; and my council and friends were in great hopes for me. But, most surprising treatment! without going out of the Court, without being any time consulting, their verdict was, Guilty! God's will be done. My behaviour at my trial, and when sentence was passed, I leave to the world. My enemies, as they have done all along, may misinterpret it, and call innocence and Christian courage hardened guilt. But let them know, that nothing but innocency could stand the shock of such repeated misfortunes, and prospect of death.

O Christian reader! remember what blessings will attend you for defending the orphan, the injured, and the deceived. And if the dead are sensible what the living do; what prayers must not dear parents pour out before the throne of mercy for such charity, for endeavouring to rescue their only child and much-loved daughter from a shameful death. Drop pen; my spirits, harrassed out with sorrow, fail. God Almighty preserve you and yours from such misfortunes, and receive my poor soul into the arms of his mercy, through Jesus Christ. Amen.

Whosoever thou art, whose eyes drink in this sad and moving tale, indulge one tear. Remember the instability of sublunary things, and judge no man happy till he dies.



APPENDIX IV.

MISS MARY BLAND'S OWN ACCOUNT OF THE AFFAIR BETWEEN HER AND MR. CRANSTOUN, FROM THE COMMENCEMENT OF THEIR ACQUAINTANCE IN THE YEAR 1746 TO THE DEATH OF HER FATHER IN AUGUST, 1751, WITH ALL THE CIRCUMSTANCES LEADING TO THAT UNHAPPY EVENT.

(No. 8 of Bibliography, Appendix XII.)

My acquaintance with Mr. Cranstoun, who was lieutenant of a regiment of marines, commenced at Lord Mark Kerr's,[23] in one of the summer months, as I at present apprehend, of the year 1746. At first we entertained of each other only sentiments of friendship, I being upon the point of marrying another gentleman; which, for some prudential reasons, was soon put off, and at last came to nothing. Some months after our first interview, Mr. Cranstoun left Henley; and, about the following summer, returned to his uncle, Lord Mark Kerr, who lived at a house he had hired in that town, called Paradise. After his arrival at Henley, our friendship continued for some time; in one part of which I told him, as a friend that wished me well, of another advantageous match that had been proposed to me; but at the same time declared to him, that I was afraid the gentleman was not formed to make me happy. Upon this, he asked me, "whether or not I preferred mutual love to the grandeur of life?" To which I replied, "I preferred the man I loved and esteemed to all others." This induced him to make a proposal to me in the following terms: "Miss Blandy, I have upon my hands an unhappy affair, which to you I have made no secret of; I can assure you, before I speak what follows, I am not now married, nor never was; tho' by the nature of the Laws of Scotland, I am involved in some difficulties brought upon me by that affair, out of which it will be some time before I can extricate myself. Do you think you could love a man well enough to stay till this affair be brought to a determination? I have, added he, wished such a proposal might take effect from the very first moment that I saw you; but my honour would not permit me to make it in form, till the invalidity of my pretended marriage did appear to the whole world." To this I made no reply, as Lord Mark Kerr at that instant came into the garden; Mr. Cranstoun and I being then at his house. The next day Mr. Cranstoun came to my father's, and renewed the discourse; on which I told him, that "if my Papa and Mamma would approve of my staying for him, I readily consented thereto." After this he took the first opportunity of speaking to my Mamma upon the same subject; and he received from her the following answer: "Sir, you do my daughter an honour; but I have understood, that you have a perplexing affair upon your hands, and it is reported that you are married." He then made answer, "Madam, as I have a soul to be saved, I am not, nor ever was." To which she replied: "Very well, Mr. Cranstoun, I will take your word as to that; but I have many more reasons to give you why I disapprove of your proposal. In the first place, you are a man of fashion., and I believe your fortune small; my daughter has been brought up with great rare and tenderness, and as neither of you seem to me cut out to live upon a small fortune, you would both like to live in a manner suitable to your station." To which she added, "I can assure you, Mr. Cranstoun, had my daughter L10,000 and in my disposal, I would give her to you with the greatest pleasure. There is one thing, continued she, I think, Mr. Cranstoun, I ought to inform you of. Notwithstanding the world reports Mr. Blandy to be able to give his daughter down a handsome fortune, I am sure he cannot do it; tho' I was ever made a stranger to his circumstances." To which he replied, "If Mr. Blandy will give me his daughter, I shall not trouble him about that." This, as far as I can recollect, is the substance of what passed on Mr. Cranstoun's first making his addresses to me.

After the last conference, my mamma and Mr. Cranstoun had several others to the same effect; the last of which was followed by Mr. Cranstoun's journey to Bath. He attended his uncle. Lord Mark Kerr, thither; but before he left Henley, he obtained my father's leave to correspond with me. He went to Bath, if my memory fails me not, in the latter season of the year 1747; after I had been above a year acquainted with him. He staid at Bath about five or six weeks; and, after his return to Henley, lived at our house, with my father's and mother's approbation, five or six months. At the end of this term, he went up to town; and, within a few days after his arrival there, wrote to my father, to beg; the favour of him to comply with his request, that I might be permitted to stay for him till his unhappy affair with Miss Murray (for so was his supposed wife called) was finally determined. This, he said, he was assured, by the best judges, must end in a little time with certain success: which, as he added, would make him the happiest man living; and he doubted not but he should communicate the same degree of happiness to me, by the tender treatment I should meet with from him. My father gave the letter to me with a smile, and told me, "that was a letter which he believed I should read with some pleasure." After I had read it, I said, "What will you answer it, sir?"' To which he replied, "Not at all." Upon this, looking earnestly at him, said, "Not at all, papa?" "No," replied he, "you shall answer it yourself." "In what manner, sir?" subjoined I. "As," returned he, "is most agreeable to you." To which, however, he thought fit to add, "Tho' I give you leave in this manner, yet if you are prudent you will not think of having a man of quality without any fortune, when you may marry a man with a very ample one, of as good a gentleman's family as any in England: But, continued he, if you can be contented, I'll do what I can to make you happy with him. I believe he loves you, and mutual love must make the marriage-state happy." Mr. Blunt, the owner or proprietor of Paradise, the house inhabited by Lord Mark Kerr, was then at my father's, and knew, if I am not mistaken, from whom the letter came. Be that as it will, no more passed on this subject at that time. The next post I informed Mr. Cranstoun, that "My papa had given me leave to write to him whatever I pleased; in consequence of which I should take the liberty to assure him, that I would stay for him, and accept of no other offer till his affair was brought to a decision; and that if it was not determined in his favour, I doubted whether I should accept of any ever after." Tho' I did not see Mr. Cranstoun for several months, our correspondence still continued; letters passing and repassing between us almost every post.

During this interval, my mamma went to a place called Turville Court, to the house of one Mrs. Pocock; where she was seized with a disorder, that it was thought would have proved fatal to her. Through the whole course of her illness, when in her senses, she constantly cried out, "Let Cranstoun be sent for:" On which, I at last sent for him. He was then at Southampton; which, by the miscarriage of one of his letters, I was ignorant of. But the very night he reached London, he set out for Turville Court, and arrived there about ten o'clock at night. As soon as he came to Mrs. Pocock's house, he was instantly taken up into my mother's chamber, which greatly refreshed and revived her; for she immediately raised herself up in bed, took him about the neck, and kissed him in the most affectionate manner. At the same time, she said, "My dear Cranstoun, I am glad you are come; I now shall grow well soon." Nor would she take any medicines, but from his hand, saying, "My poor nurse must not be jealous (meaning her daughter) since loving him I knew is pleasing her." The next day she got up, and sent for Mr. Cranstoun into her room; saying, "This I owe to you, my dear Cranstoun; your coming has given me new health and fresh spirits: I was fearful lest I should die, and you not here to comfort that poor girl, how like death she looks!" My father came thither that day to see his spouse, and took Mr. Cranstoun, who met him in the hall, up in his arms, saying, "I am glad to see you here, how does my wife?" Upon Mr. Cranstoun's telling him, "she was much better, and up," he said, smiling, "I suppose they will both of them (meaning his wife and daughter) be much better, now you are come." My father seemed in great good humour all that day. The next time he came (for he returned home at night) he appeared much out of humour at the great expence incurred by my mother on the foregoing occasion, and desired her to think of removing to her own house; since in that case, neither the physician's fees nor the apothecary's journeys could be so expensive. But she was too weak to be removed immediately. However, in a short time, she returned home, in company with myself and Mr. Cranstoun, who, with my father and mother's approbation, resided with us above six months. During which interval, my father was sometimes extremely kind, and sometimes very rude to Mr. Cranstoun, as well as very harsh, to his daughter. I observed, that this rudeness and harshness generally appeared after he had been in company with some persons, and particularly one hereafter mentioned, who were known not to approve of my marriage with Mr. Cranstoun. My father also frequently made my mother very uneasy, on account of her approbation of that marriage; tho' he always declared, that he thought Mr. Cranstoun a most agreeable man. Whilst he was last at my father's house, the regiment of marines to which he belonged was broke at Southampton; which obliged him to go thither: But he did not stay there above two or three days; and upon his return to Henley, was received by my father with great tenderness, who told him, that "as he was now broke, he supposed his cash, would run low; and that therefore he was welcome to stay with him." This happening in my presence, I went up to my father kissed him, and said, "Sir, I shall never forget this goodness." Mr. Cranstoun having lost his post in the regiment of marines, did not remain long in Henley; but set out soon for London, where he made a pretty, considerable stay. We kept up, however, our correspondence, as usual in times of absence, he writing to me almost every post.

A few months after Mr. Cranstoun's return from Southampton, my mother went up to London, in order to ask advice for a complaint in her breast, and took me along with her. Upon our arrival there, we went to her brother's, Mr. Henry Steven's, in Doctors' Commons, where we resided all the time we remained in town. I had before apprized Mr Cranstoun of our intended journey; and he waited upon me the next morning after our arrival at my uncle's. Hither he came every day to visit me, whilst we stayed in London. Once he brought his brother, the Lord Cranstoun, with him, who was then just married. One of Mr. Cranstoun's visits happening a little before dinner, my mother asked her brother, Mr. Henry Stevens, to invite him to dinner; but this favour was refused her: On which, coming into the dining-room, whore she found me and Mr. Cranstoun, she took him by the hand, and burst into tears, saying, "My dear Mr. Cranstoun, I am sorry you should be so affronted by any of my family, but I dare not ask you to stay to dinner. However, continued she, come to me as often as you can in my own apartment; in a morning I am always alone." To this Mr. Cranstoun made answer, "My dear mamma, don't be uneasy—I don't come for the sake of them, but of you and your daughter. And let him put on never so terrible a face, he shall not keep me from you." At this time Mrs. Focock was in town, and had a house in St. James's Square, to which I used to go most days. Hither Mr. Cranstoun perpetually came, when he understood that I was here; and that with my father's, who arrived in town after we had reached it, and mother's consent. Mrs. Pocock often asked my father, whilst in London, to make one of the party. But he answered her, "You keep such quality hours, as neither agree with my health, nor suit my business; however, you will have two parts of me, my wife and my daughter." "Yes," replied Mrs. Pocock, "and not only these two, but likewise another bit of you, which will be coming soon." At this he smiled, and said, "What, Cranstoun! a little bit, indeed, I think! They are very well matched—I was surprised not to find him here—I thought they could not have been so long asunder." My father went away and left his family there. The next day my mother and I were invited to dine at Mrs. Pocock's, in order to meet the present Lord Crauford,[24] then Lord Garnock, and Mr. Cranstoun. The latter attended Mrs. Pocock in a coach she had hired to fetch me and my mother into her house. My father met us in the Strand, and stopped the coach, crying out, "For God's sake, Mrs. Pocock, what do you with this rubbish every day?" "Rubbish, do you call them," replied she, "your wife, your daughter, and one who may be your son?" "Aye, aye," said he, "they are very well matched; 'tis pity they should ever be asunder." On which, Mr. Cranstoun took hold of my father's hand, and cried out, "God grant they never may; don't you say Amen, papa." At this my father smiled, and said, "Make her these fine speeches seven years hence." He then took his leave of them, saying, "He had so much business upon his hands, that he could not stand idling there"; bidding the coachman to drive on, and crying out, "God bless you, I wish you merry." Mrs. Pocock then asked him, "If he could not contrive to come to them?" To which he made answer, alluding to the distance of her house, "God bless you, do you think I can come down now to Henley?" Then our coachman drove on to St. James's Square; and soon after my father left the town, in order to return home.

Whilst I was now in London, Mr. Cranstoun proposed a private marriage to me, saying, "It might help us with regard to the affair in Scotland; since a real marriage, according to the usage of the Church of England, if matters went hard, might possibly invalidate a contract that arose only from cohabitation." In order to understand which, it must be observed, that Mr. Cranstoun had before cohabitated with one Miss Murray, by whom he had had a child then living; and was consequently considered, by the Laws of Scotland, as her husband. This, he said, was the only thing that intituled her to him, as he never was married by any priest. To Mr. Cranstoun's proposal I answered, "I won't, Cranstoun, do you so much injury, as well as myself; for my father never will forgive it, nor give me a farthing." To which he replied, "There will be no occasion to discover it, but upon such an interesting event; and then surely, if you love me, you will suffer anything rather than part with me. What would I not suffer for you!" To this I made answer, "I would do nothing in the affair without he could procure the advice of the best council, and be certainly informed by this that such a marriage would be valid. Consider with Yourself," said I, "Cranstoun, what a condition I should be in, if I should lose my character, my friends, and yourself?—And you I must lose, if your former supposed marriage should be declared valid, and in honour we must never see each other more." He then said, "He would go and lay the case immediately before the best council, particularly Mr. Murray, the Solicitor-General." But I heard no more of this affair whilst we staid in town, excepting that it was laid before the said council; nor did I receive any more solicitations from him on this head.

About this time my mother being distressed for money, was very uneasy, as well as in a bad state of health; which gave me great concern. Being one day, therefore, alone, and in tears, Mr. Cranstoun came unexpectedly into the room, and insisted upon knowing the reason of my grief; which at last, after many tender persuasions on his part, I discovered to him. I told him my mother owed forty pounds, and as she durst not inform my father of it, did not know which way to get it. To this he replied, "I only wish I had as many hundreds: I will get it for you, my dear, to-morrow. Poor woman, how can her husband use her so!" On which, my mother coming in, no more was at that time said. Mr. Cranstoun stayed but a little while; and when he went away, he told me, "He would see about it." After he was gone, I took my mother in my arms, and said, "My dear mamma, you may be easy about this money, for Mr. Cranstoun will get it for you to-morrow." At this my mother burst into tears, and cried, "Why will Mr. Blandy expose himself and me so? How can the poor soul get it? But he shall have my watch if he ever wants it, and I cannot pay him in money." To this I made answer, "As to paying him in money, mamma, that you never can; having never been mistress of such a sum, nor likely ever to be so; but make yourself easy, if we meet, you will never be asked for it."

The next day she and I went to see her sister, Mrs. Frances Stevens, who then lived with her uncle, Mr. Cary, in Watling Street; where Mr. Cranstoun and his cousin, Mr. Edmonstoun, took their leave of us, we being to set out for Henley the day following. Mr. Cranstoun brought the money with him, which he delivered into my mother's own hand; on which, not being able to speak, she squeezed his hand and burst into tears. He then kissed her, and said, "Remember, 'tis a son, and therefore don't make yourself uneasy; you can't lie under any obligation to me." Then he took me by the hand, and led me into another room. Here I was going to return him thanks for his goodness to my mother: but this he prevented, by kissing me, and saying, "That was all he desired in return." Then he gave me five guineas, and desired me to keep them by me; since, in case the council should think a private marriage proper, they should enable me to come up in a post-chaise to London, and meet him there, with all possible expedition. After a little farther discourse, we parted in a very moving manner. I paid ten pounds for my mother, out of the forty pounds she had been supplied with by Mr. Cranstoun, that very night. The next morning we set out for Henley, where we arrived in due time. The day following, being Sunday, I wrote to Mr. Cranstoun, as he had requested me to do; giving him an account of our safe arrival, and thanking him in the strongest terms, for his late extraordinary favour. The next day, being Monday, the other thirty pounds, being the remaining part of the money my mother had borrowed of Mr. Cranstoun, she paid to the footman, for fowls, butter, eggs, wine, and other provisions, brought into the house, chiefly on account of entertainments, by him.

From this time to Sept. 28th, 1749, my mother continued in a good state of health. But on that day, which was about half a year after her last departure from London, at one o'clock in the morning, she was taken very ill. This giving me, who always lay with her, great uneasiness, I immediately got up, and called her maid., who instantly appeared; and then she got out of bed, and retired. When she came into bed again, she said, "My dear Molly, don't fright yourself: You know there is now no danger." In order to understand which words, it will be proper to observe, that, when my mother was in labour of me, she received a hurt; which made me apprehensive of ill consequences, which either the cholick, which was her present disorder, or any obstructions in the parts contiguous to those which are the seat of that distemper, happened. She lay pretty easy till six, when I dispatched a messenger for Mr. Norton, the apothecary to the family, who lived in Henley. When he came, she complained of a pain in her bowels; upon which he took some blood from her, and ordered her some gentle physic. She seemed better after this, but nothing passed through her. It being Friday, and many country gentlemen meeting to bowl at the Bell Inn, the Rev. Mr. Stevens of Fawley, my mother's brother, came thither that day, paid a visit to his sister, and found her greatly indisposed. When he left the room, in which she lay, for she kept her bed, I followed him out, and asked him, if he thought there was any danger; telling him how she then was, the manner in which she was first seized, and what had been prescribed her. As she before had had several such fits of cholick, Mr. Stevens did not apprehend any immediate danger. I said, "If my mamma was not better soon, I would send for a physician." To which he replied, "You are much in the right of it; but stay a little, and see what effects the physic will have." He called again in the evening, and found her better, tho' nothing had yet passed through her. About twelve o'clock at night my mother obliged me, who was then myself indisposed, to get into another bed; and promised to send to me, if she found herself worse. Soon after this, she grew much worse; but would not send to her daughter, saying, "She would know her fate too soon." She farther said in Mr. Norton, who was then with her, "My daughter loves me so well, that I wish my decease may not be the death of her." Between five and six o'clock in the morning, on Saturday Sept. 30th, 1749, my mother's maid came up to me, and told me, that, "If I would see my mother alive, I must come immediately into her chamber." I leaped out of bed, put on my shoes, and one petticoat only, and ran thither in the greatest confusion imaginable. When my mother saw me, she put out her hand, and said, "Now, Molly, shew yourself a Christian, and submit to what God is pleased to order. I must die, my dear: God will enable you to bear it, if you pray to Him." On which I turned about in a state of distraction, ran to my father's room, and said to him, "For God's sake, sir, come to my mother's room: she is this instant dying." Then I ran, with great inquietude, into the kitchen, where I found my footman, and sent him immediately to Fawley for the Rev. Mr. Stevens, my uncle, and his brother, Mr. Henry Stevens, of Doctors Commons, who was then at his house in Henley. I also, at the same time, dispatched a messenger to Dr. Addington, who lived at Reading. After which I went upstairs, and found my father sitting by my mother's bedside. She took him and me both by the hand, joining our hands together, and saying to him, "Be both a father and a mother to her: I have long tried and known her temper, Mr. Blandy. She is all your heart can wish for, and has been the best of daughters to me. Use her with a generous confidence, and she will never abuse it. She has set her heart upon Cranstoun; when I am gone, let no one set you against this match." To these last words Mr. Blandy immediately made answer, "It shall not be my fault, if this does not take place; but they must stay, you know, till the unhappy affair in Scotland is decided." "God bless you," replied she, "and thank you for that promise; God bless you, Mr. Blandy, for all your kindnesses to me and my girl. God grant that you may both live long, that you may be a blessing to each other. Whatever little unkindnesses may have passed I freely forgive you. Now, if you please to go down, Mr. Blandy, for my spirits fail me." My father then kissed her, and retired in tears, saying, as he went, "The doctor still may think of something that may be of service to you." At this she smiled and said, "Not without you can give me a new inside." When my father was gone, my mother took hold of my hand, drew me to her, and kissed me. Taking notice that I had no cloaths on, she ordered my maid to bring 'em down, and dress me. This being done, she ordered her servants out of the room; and told me, "she had many things, if her strength would permit, to say to me. Be sure then," said she, "Molly, when I am gone, to remember the lessons I have taught you. Be dutiful to your father; and if you think I have been sometimes a little hardly used, do not remember it in wrath; but defend my character if aspersed. I owe some more money, Molly, God knows how you will get it paid. I wish your uncles would stand your friends. If your father should know it, I am only fearful for you. Indeed, my dear, I never spent it in extravagancies. I was in hopes you would have been married; I then would have told your father all, as I could have come to you till his passion had been over." On my being drowned In tears, she catched me in her arms, and cried, "I leave the world with the greatest pleasure, only thee makes me sorry to go. Oh that I could but take you along with me!—But then what would poor Cranstoun do? Be sure, child, you behave with honour in that affair; don't, either thro' interest or terror, violate the promises you have made." To this I reply'd, "You may be sure, madam, I never will. I will do all I can to act as you would wish your daughter to do. Oh mamma, you have been the best of mothers to me! How can I survive you, and go thro' all the miseries I must meet with after your death, without a friend to advise with on any emergency or occasion." "My dear," returned she, "your uncle John, in things you cannot speak to your papa about, will help and advise you in the tenderest manner; and you may repose an absolute confidence in him."

Soon after Mr. Stevens of Fawley came, and I conducted him into my mother's chamber. At his approach to her, he was so overwhelmed with grief, that he could not speak a word. She took him by the hand, and said, "I am glad to see you, my dear brother. You must help to comfort your poor niece, who will stand in need of your assistance. Never forsake her, my dear brother. All that gives me pain in death is the leaving of her behind me." Then turning to me, "Your uncle Jack, my dear, will take care of you, and look on you as his own," At which Mr. Stevens took hold of his sister's and niece's hands, and, with tears, told 'em both he would. Then turning about, he asked me if the physician was not yet come? My mother said, "They would send for him, but he could be of no service to her"; giving her brother at the same time such reasons for her despondency as convinced him, that there were little or no hopes of her recovery. He found himself so moved at this, that he was obliged to go down stairs, and retire to my father and Mr. Henry Stevens, who were at that time both in the parlour. The physician, Dr. Addington, of Reading, soon arrived, and went directly to my mother's room. When he came in, she showed him the inflammation and swelling on her bowels. He prescribed her some physic, to be taken once in every two hours, and ordered her to be blooded immediately. Her bowels also, according to his direction, were to be fomented and poulticed once in every four hours. This operation I took upon myself, and punctually performed it. I also gave her every medicine she took till she was at the point of death, and I myself was forced to be carried out of the room in a fit. Dr. Addington, before he prescribed anything, went with me out of the room, and told me he was afraid he could do nothing for her; repeating the same afterwards both to my father and my two uncles. Notwithstanding which, he thought fit to order the above mentioned poultices and fomentations; which, according to his direction, were applied, tho' without producing any good effect. In fine, my dear mother died Sept. 30, 1749, about nine o'clock at night.

For six months preceding her sickness, or thereabouts, being the interval between her last departure from London and the time her indisposition seized her, my mother never saw Mr. Cranstoun; tho' I constantly, and even almost every post, corresponded with him. It must here be observed, that Lady Cranstoun had wrote to my mother some time before, to return her thanks for the civilities her son had received from her. It must also be remembered, that a little before my mother went last to town, I and my father both received letters from Miss Murray, signed "N. Cranstoun," to inform us, that she was his lawful wife. The decree of the Court of Scotland in her favour was sent with these letters. When I received them, I carried them to my father. After he had read them, I asked him "what I was to do." His answer was, "I do not trouble my head about it." On which I went to my mother, and consulted with her about what was to be done; and, by her advice, wrote to Mr. Cranstoun, begging him, as he was a man of honour, to let me know the truth. At the same time, I sent him the letters that came from Scotland, and occasioned this epistle. In answer to this, he said, "It was certainly her hand; but that she never was his wife, nor has any right to the name": And, in order to gain credit to his assertion, he made the strongest protestations. Before my mother wrote last to him, and that a considerable time, he had sent me a solemn Contract of Marriage, wherein he declared he never had been married before, and stiled me therein "Mrs. Cranstoun." But to put an end to this digression, and proceed to what happened after my mother's death.

On the day following her decease, which was Sunday, Mr. Stevens of Fawley was desired to write Mr. Cranstoun word of this sorrowful event; which he did, I being incapable of either knowing or doing any thing. Mrs. Stevens, the Rev. Mr. Stevens's wife, staid with me from Saturday night, when my mother died, till the Sunday night following. Then Mrs. Mounteney, a friend of my late mother's, came to me, and staid with me some time. My mother, on her deathbed, had begged me not to oppose the match between my father and this Mrs. Mounteney, if, after her death, he discovered an inclination to marry her; as she was a woman of honour, and would use me well for her sake. On the Tuesday following my mother's death Mr. Cranstoun sent his footman express to Henley, with letters to me and my father. When my father opened his letter and read it, the tears ran down his checks, and he cried out, "How tenderly does he write!" Then he gave Mrs. Mounteney the letter to read, who, after having read it, said it was as pretty a letter as could have been wrote on such an occasion; "He has lost a friend indeed," said she, "but I don't doubt," speaking to my father, "but you will make up her loss to them both." Then, my father said to me, "Pray read your letter to us." This I did, and the letter contained an earnest desire, that if I could not write myself, I would let his footman see me, that he might know how I really was; since he was almost distracted for fear of my being ill after so great a shock. He also begged me to remember, "That there was one left still, who loved me as tenderly as my mother could do, and whose whole happiness in this world depended upon my life." My father told me, tho' my mother was to be buried that night, "I must write a line to him, in order to ease the poor soul as much as I could; and let him know that he was as welcome to my father's house, whenever he would please to come, as he was before." On this I wrote to him, and shewed the letter to my father. The footman set out with it for London the same night, or very early the next morning. Mr. Cranstoun not coming down so soon as was expected, my father one day, being alone with me, seemed to express himself as if he thought it wrong; upon which I wrote a very pressing letter to him, to come immediately to Henley. To this he in a letter replied, that he was not able to go out at that time for debt, and was fearful if he should come, the Bailiffs might follow him; his fortune being seized in Scotland, for the maintenance of Miss Murray and her child. The debt that occasioned this perplexity, he said, was near fifteen guineas. I having borrowed forty pounds of Mrs. Mounteney, to pay off part of my mother's debts, sent him up fifteen guineas out of this sum; on which he came down to Henley, and staid some weeks with my father, who received him with great marks of affection and esteem.

During this interval, he acquainted me with the great skill of the famous Mrs. Morgan, who had described me and my father, tho' she had never seen us, in the most perfect and surprising manner possible. He further acquainted me, that she had given him some powders to take, which she called Love-powders. Some time after this conversation, my father seemed much out of humour, and said several unkind things, both to Mr. Cranstoun and me. This induced Mr. Cranstoun, when alone with me not long after, to say, "I wish I could give your father some of the love-powders." "For what?" said I. "Because," replied he, "they would make him love me." "Are you weak enough," said I, "to think that there is such a power in any powders?" "Yes, I really do," replied he, "for I took them myself, and forgave a friend soon after; tho' I never intended to have spoke to him again." This subject dropped for some days, and no more said of it: but on my father's being very much out of humour one night, Mr. Cranstoun said, "If I had any of these powders, I would put them into something that Mr. Blandy should drink." To which I answered, "I am glad you have not, for I have no faith in such things." "But I have," replied he. Just before he returned to London, he received a dunning letter. This was on a Sunday, when my father was at church. I perceiving him to look dull, begged to know the reason. He said he must leave me the next day. On which I asked him what could occasion such a sudden departure? He then told me he had received a letter, concerning a debt he owed, that he had no money to pay; and that if he staid in Henley, the bailiffs might come down in quest of him thither; and you know your father's temper, said he, if that should happen. This induced me to desire a sight of the letter; which having perused, I immediately gave him the money he wanted on this occasion, winch amounted to fifteen pounds, and was part of the sum I had before borrowed of Mrs. Mounteney. This, with the other fifteen pounds sent him from Henley, made up thirty of the forty pounds he had formerly lent my mother. As soon as he had received this money, he wrote a letter to his creditor in London, informing him, that he would pay him on a day therein mentioned. A few days after this, he set out for London, and kept up his correspondence with me for several months, not returning to Henley till August 1750. The morning he left Henley, my father parted with him with the greatest tenderness; yet the moment he was gone, he used me very cruelly on his account. This had such an effect upon me, that it threw me into hysteric fits. His conduct for some time was very uncertain; sometimes extremely tender, and at other times the reverse; he on certain occasions saying very bitter and cruel things to me.

During this interval, my father received a present of some dried salmon from Lady Cranstoun in Scotland, and a very civil letter, which he did not answer, tho' he seemed pleased with the contents of it. The first of August 1750, as I apprehend, Mr. Cranstoun wrote to my father, that he would wait upon him, and I carried the letter up to him, he then being in his bed-chamber. After he had opened and read it, he made no manner of answer. I then asked him what answer I should write. To which he replied, "He must come, I suppose." On this I wrote to him, giving him to understand, that I should be glad to see him. This produced an answer from him, wherein he told me, he would be with me on the Monday following; but he came on Sunday, whilst we were at dinner. My father received him with great tenderness seemingly, and said, "He was sorry he had not seen him half an hour sooner, for he was afraid the dinner was quite cold." My father after dinner went to church, and left Mr. Cranstoun and me together: after church was over, my father returned, drank tea with us, and seemed to be in perfect good humour; and so he remained for several weeks; but afterwards changed so much in his temper, that I seldom arose from table without tears. This gave Mr. Cranstoun great pain; so that he one time said to me, "Why will you not permit me to give your father some of the powders which I formerly mentioned? If I was to give him them," continued he, "they are quite innocent, and will do him no harm, if they did not produce the desired effect." He had no sooner spoke those words than my father came in; upon which a profound silence ensued. Next morning I went into my father's study, and found him very much out of humour: he had spent the evening at the coffee-house, as he frequently did, and generally came home in a bad humour from thence. I went from him into the parlour where I found Mr. Cranstoun: he insisted upon knowing what was the matter, I appearing to him to have been lately in tears: I told him the whole affair. He replied, "I hate he should go to that house, he always comes home from thence in a very ill humour." I had made the tea, and got up to fetch some sugar, which was in a glass scrutore at the farther end of the room; and when I rose up, Mr. Cranstoun said to me, "I will now put in some of the powder—upon my soul it will not hurt him." My father was in his study at the time these words were spoken. I made answer, "Don't do it, Cranstoun; it will make me uneasy, and can do you no good." To this he replied, "It can do no hurt, and therefore I will mix it." After I had got the sugar, I returned to the tea-table, and was going to throw away the tea, in which Mr. Cranstoun had put some of the powder; but my father came in that moment, and prevented me from executing my design. My father seemed very much out of humour all breakfast-time; and, soon after breakfast was over, retired to his study. Mr. Cranstoun and I then took a walk. At dinner my father appeared in the best of humours, and continued so all the time Mr. Cranstoun stayed with him. Mr. Cranstoun and I used to walk out every day. On one of those days, Mr. Cranstoun told me he had a secret to impart to me, and begg'd me not to be angry with him for it; adding, he knew I had too much good sense to be so. The secret in short was this: he had had a daughter by one Miss Capel, a year before he knew me; and, as he pretended, all his friends had insisted upon his telling me of it. To this I replied, "Your follies, Cranstoun, have been very great; but I hope you see them." "That I do," said he, "with penitence and shame." "Then, sir," replied I, "I freely forgive you; but never shall, if you repeat these follies now after our acquaintance." "If I do," said he, "I must be a villain; you alone can make me happy in this world; and, by following your example, I hope I shall be happy in the next." Mr. Cranstoun gave my father the powder in August 1750, and stayed with him in Henley, as I believe, till some day in the beginning of November, the same year. A day or two after the preceding dialogue, one morning I got, up, and asked my maid, "How Mr. Cranstoun did?" Who answered, "He is gone out a walking, Madam." Upon this, I, as soon as I was drest, went up into Mr. Cranstoun's room, to look out his linnen for my maid to mend. I could not find it on the table, where it used to lie; and seeing a key in his trunk, I opened it. The first thing I found there was a letter from a hand I knew not, tho' he used always to give me his letters to open, and that unasked by me. This I opened to read, and found it to come from a woman he kept. Having read it, I shut the trunk, locked it fast, and put the key in my pocket. The letter I left in the same place where I found it. I then went down to my father in his study, and asked him to come to breakfast. He said, "No, not till Cranstoun returns home;" on which I retired into the parlour. A few minutes after, Mr. Cranstoun and Mr. Littleton, my father's clerk, both came in together. We all of us then went to breakfast. My father said to me, soon after we sat down, "You look very pale, Molly; what is the matter with you?" "I am not very well, sir," replied I. After we had breakfasted, my father and his clerk went out of the room. I then gave Mr. Cranstoun the keys of his trunk, and bade him be more careful for the future, and not leave his letters so much exposed. At these words he almost fainted away. He got up, and retired to his room immediately. I was going to my own room, when he called to me, and begged me, for God's sake, to come to him: which I instantly did. He then fell down on his knees before me, and begged me, for God's sake, to forgive him; if I was resolved to see him no more. On this I told him I forgave him, but intreated him to make some excuse to leave Henley the next day: "For I will not," said I, "expose you, if I can help it; and our affair may scorn to go off by degrees." The last words, seemingly so confounded him, that he made me no answer, but threw himself on the bed, crying out, "I am ruined, I am ruined. Oh Molly, you never loved me!" I then was upon the point of going out of the room, without giving him any answer. Upon which he got hold of my gown, and swore, "He would not live till night, if I did not forgive him." He bad me, "Remember my mother's last dying commands, and reflect upon the pain it would give his mother." He protested "that he could never forgive himself, if I did; and that he never would repeat the same provocations." He kept me then two hours, before he could prevail upon me to declare, that I would not break off my acquaintance with him. Mr. Cranstoun pretended to be sick two or three days upon this unlucky event; but I cannot help thinking this now to have been only a delusion. Some time after this Mr. Cranstoun had a letter from his brother, the Lord Cranstoun, to desire him to come immediately to Scotland, in order to settle some of his own affairs there, and to see his mother, the Lady Cranstoun, who was then extremely ill. Upon the arrival of this letter Mr. Cranstoun said to me, "Good God, what shall I do! I have no money to carry me thither and all my fortune is seized on, but my half-pay!" This made me very uneasy. He then said, "He would part with his watch, in order to enable him to raise a sum sufficient to defray the expence of his journey to Scotland." I told him, "I had no money to give him, but would freely make him a present of my own watch; as I could not bear to see him without one." Then I took a picture of himself, which he had some time before given me, off my watch, and freely made him a present of it. Two days after this he departed for Scotland, and I never afterwards saw him. He set out about six o'clock in the morning. My father got up early that morning to take leave of him before his departure, at which he seemed vastly uneasy. He took him in his arms, and said, "God bless you, my dear Cranstoun, when you come next, I hope your unhappy affair will be decided to our mutual satisfaction." To this Mr. Cranstoun replied, "Yes, sir, I hope in my favour; or if this should fail that you should hear of my death. Be tender to," continued he, "and comfort this poor thing," turning towards me, "whom I love better than myself." Then my father look Mr. Cranstoun and myself in his arms, and we all three shed tears. This was a very moving scene. My father afterwards went out of the room, and fetched a silver dram-bottle, holding near half a pint, filled it with rum, and made a present of both to Mr. Cranstoun; bidding him keep the dram-bottle for his sake, and drink the liquor on the road; assuring him, that if he found himself sick or cold, the latter would prove a cordial to him. Mr. Cranstoun then got into the post-chaise, and took his leave of Henley.

It will be proper to take notice in this place, by way of digression, of a very remarkable event, or rather series of events, that happened before Mr. Cranstoun's last departure for Scotland. One day whilst my mother and I were last in London, we were talking of the immortality of the soul; and the subject we were then upon led us insensibly to a discourse of apparitions; and that again to a promise we made each other, that the first of us who died should appear to the survivor, after death, if permitted so to do. My mother dying first, in the manner already related, I sometimes retired into the room where she died, in hopes of seeing her. Here I lay near half a year, earnestly desiring to see my mother, without being able either to see or hear any thing. After this, my father lay in that room; but for some time neither saw nor heard any thing. Afterwards, one night, he taxed me with being at his chamber door, rapping at it, rushing with my silk-gown, and refusing to answer him when he called to me. My chamber was at a small distance from his, and into it he came the next morning: demanding for what reason I had so frighted him. To this I replied, "I had never been at his door, nor out of my bed the whole night." He then inquired of all the maids, who only lay in the house, whether any of them disturbed him; to which they all answered in the negative. Soon after this, Mr. Cranstoun came to Henley, as has been already observed, and was put into a room, called the hall-chamber, over the great parlour; which was reckoned the best in the house. Here he was shut out from the rest of the family. Till October 1750, above a year after my mother's death, no noise at all was heard, excepting that at Mr. Blandy's chamber-door above mentioned. But one morning in the beginning of that month, Mr. Cranstoun being in the parlour, I asked him, "What made him look so pale, and to seem so uneasy?" "I have met," said he, "with the oddest accident this night that ever befel me: the moment I got into bed, I heard the finest music that can possibly be imagined. I sat up in my bed upon this, to hear from whence it came; and it seemed to me to come from the middle of the stairs. It continued, as I believe, at least above two hours." At this I laughed, and said, "O Cranstoun, how can you be so whimsical?" "Tis no whim," replied he, "for I really heard it; nor had I been asleep; for it began soon after I got into bed." I then said, "Don't make yourself uneasy, if it was so; since nothing ill, sure, can be presaged by music." When my father came into the parlour, this topic of conversation was instantly dropped. The next night, I, who lay quite at the other end of the house, being awake, heard music, that seemed to me to be in the yard, exceeding plainly. Upon this, I got up and looked out of the window that faced the yard, but saw nothing. The music, however, continued till near morning, when I fell asleep, and heard no more of it. My mother's maid coming into my chamber, as usual, to call me, I told her what I heard. This drew from her the following saucy answer: "You see and hear, Madam, with Mr. Cranstoun's eyes and ears." To which I made no other reply than, "Go, and send me my own maid". As soon as I was dressed, I went into Mr. Cranstoun's room, whom I found sitting therein by the fire. I asked him, at first coming into the room, "How he had spent the night, and whether he had heard the music?" To which he replied, "Yes, all night long; I could not sleep a wink for it; nay, I got out of my bed, and followed it into the great parlour, where it left me. I then returned into my own room, and heard such odd noises in the parlour under me, as greatly discomposed me." "I wish," added he, "you would send me up a bason of tea." To which I replied, "Pray come down, as you are now up; for you know my papa is better tempered when you are by, than when I am with him alone." We then both went down to breakfast, but said nothing to my father of what had happened.

A little while after this, Susannah Gunnel, my mother's maid, who had before given me the impertinent answer, came into my bedchamber before I was up, and told me she had heard the music. She also begged my pardon for not believing me, when I had formerly averted the same thing. Mr. Cranstoun, myself, and this maid then talked all together about this surprising event. Mr. Cranstoun declared he had heard noises, as well as music, which the other two at that time never heard. The music generally began about twelve o'clock at night. My father obliging the family to be in bed about eleven, I told the aforesaid maid, who was an old servant in the family, "That she and I would go together up into Mr. Cranstoun's room at twelve o'clock, and try if we could find out what these noises were." According to agreement, therefore, we went up into that room at the hour proposed; and heard very clearly and most distinctly the music. The maid fell asleep about three o'clock in the morning; but was soon waked with an uncommon noise, heard both by Mr. Cranstoun and myself. This noise resembled thumping or knocking at a door, which greatly terrified Mr. Cranstoun, and the maid. In less than a minute after this, we all three heard plainly the footsteps of my mother, as I then apprehended, by which she seemed to be going down stairs towards the kitchen door, which soon after seemed to be opened. We all three sat silent, and heard the same invisible being come up stairs again. Upon this, I took the candle, they still sitting by the fire, and was going to open the chamber door, saying, "Surely it must be one of the maids." Mr. Cranstoun observing this, cried out, "Perhaps it may be your father, don't let him see you here." Then he took the candle, opened the door, and looked down the stairs himself; but could perceive nothing at all. In less than three minutes after this I said, "I will now go into my room to bed, being fatigued and frightened almost to death." "I believe," continued I, "it is near four." These words were no sooner uttered than we all heard the former footsteps, as tho' some person had been coming directly to the room where we were, but stopped short at the door. Upon this I immediately catched up the candle, went to the door and open'd it; but saw nothing, tho' I heard something plainly go down the stairs. Then I went to the maid, who was half asleep, and did not perfectly hear the last footsteps. But Mr. Cranstoun heard them, and seemed greatly surprised. Then I bad the maid go with me instantly to bed, not being able to keep up my spirits any longer. Soon after this, Mr. Cranstoun and I went up to Fawley, to pay a visit to the Rev. Mr. Stevens; and whilst we were there, I gave my uncle an account of this surprising affair. But he laughed at me, and called me little fool, for my pains. Then Mr. Cranstoun said, "Sir, I myself heard it." To which Mr. Stevens made no other reply than, "Sir, I don't doubt you think you heard it; but don't you believe there is a great deal in fancy? May it not be some trick of the servants?" To which I made answer, "No, Sir, that is impossible; since if they could make the noise, they could not the music." Mr. Stevens not giving much credit to what we affirmed, we immediately changed the subject of discourse. By this time all the servants that lay in the house had heard both the music and noise; and one morning at breakfast, Mr. Cranstoun ventured to tell my father of the music. At such a strange report, my father stared at him, and cried, "Are yon light-headed?" In answer to which Mr. Cranstoun reply'd, "Your daughter, sir, has heard the same, and so have all your servants." To this my father, smiling, returned, "It was Scotch music, I suppose;" and said some other things that shewed he was not in good humour. Upon which it was thought fit immediately to drop the discourse.

Some few days after this, on a Sunday in the afternoon, Mr. Cranstoun and I being alone in the parlour, Betty Binfield, the cook-maid, came running into the room, and said, "There is such a noise in the room over my master's study, for God's sake come into the yard and hear it." But when we came, we could hear nothing. However, returning into the parlour through the hall, we heard a noise over our heads, like that of some heavy person walking. The room over the hall was once my mother's dressing-room, tho' it then had a bed in it: but now, it was my dressing-room, it had none at all. Hearing the noise, we both went up into the room; but then, notwithstanding the late noise, could see nothing at all. After which, we went down and drank tea with my father.

About a fortnight before Mr. Cranstoun's last departure for Scotland, Susannah Gunnel one morning going into his room with some vinegar and water to wash his eyes, he asked her, "If ever her master walked in his sleep?" She replied, "Not that she ever knew of." "It is very odd," said he, "he was in my room to-night, dressed with his white stockings, his coat on, and a cap on his head. I had never," continued he, "been asleep, and the clock had just struck two. I heard him walk up my stairs, open the door, and come into the room: upon which I moved my curtain, and seeing him, I cried, 'Aha! old friend, what did you come to fright me? I have not been asleep since I came to bed, and heard you come up.' But he went on, he would not answer me one word. However, he walked quite across my room, then turned back, and as he approached my bed-side, kissed his hand, bowed, and went out of the room. Then I heard him go down stairs. It was, certainly," continued he, "your master, sleeping or waking; but which, I cannot tell." Susan greatly surprised at this story, then came running down to me, who was getting up, and told me what Mr. Cranstoun had said. To this I made no answer, but went up immediately into his room, and asked him what he meant by this story Susan had told me. In answer to which, he repeated the same story, and declared it to be true in every particular. He then said, "He supposed Mr. Blandy came to see whether he was in bed or not." When he went down to breakfast, he asked my father, "What made him fright him so last night?" My father being surprised at this, and staring on him, asked him, "What he meant?" Mr. Cranstoun then told the same story over again. To which my father replied, "It must have been a dream, for I went to bed at eleven o'clock, and did not rise out of it till seven this morning. Besides, I could not have appeared in my coat, as you pretend, since the maid had it to put a button upon it." My father did not seem pleased with the discourse; which induced me to put an end to it as soon as possible. The surprising facts here mentioned, of the reality of which I cannot entertain the least doubt, made a deep and lasting impression upon my mind. Since, therefore, in my opinion, they were too slightly touched upon at my trial, notwithstanding the incredulity of the present age as to facts of this nature, I could by no means think it improper to give so particular and distinct a relation of them here.

Mr. Cranstoun, soon after this, taking his leave of Henley, set out for Scotland, as has been already observed. A day or two after his departure, Mr. Cranstoun wrote me a letter on the road, wherein he begged me to make acceptable to my father his most grateful acknowledgements for his late goodness to him. "This," he said, "had made such an impression upon him, that he never should forget it as long as he lived; and that he should always entertain the same tender sentiments for him as for his father, the late Lord Cranstoun,[25] himself, had he been then alive." In the same letter, he also desired me to permit my letters to be directed by some body who wrote a more masculine hand than mine; since otherwise they might be intercepted by some one or other of Miss Murray's family, as they were jealous of the affair carried on between us two. He likewise therein insisted upon my subscribing myself "M.C." instead of "M.B." tho' he did not discover to me the real view he had therein. Soon after he arrived at his mother's, he wrote me another letter, wherein he informed me, that he told his mother[26] we were married, and had been so for some time: and that she would write to me, as her daughter, by the very next post. This she did; and her letter came accompanied with one from her son, wherein he desired me, if I loved him, to answer his mother's by the return of the post, and sign myself "Mary Cranstoun" at length, as I knew before God I was, by a solemn contract, entitled to that name. This, he pretended, would make his mother stir more in the Scotch affair. On the supposition that I was her daughter, she wrote many tender letters to me, always directing to me by the name of "Mary Cranstoun," and sent me some very handsome presents of Scotch linen. He also obliged his eldest sister, Mrs. Selby,[27] and her husband, to write to me as their sister. Lady Cranstoun likewise wrote to my father in a very complaisant style, thanking him for the civilities he had shewn her son; and hinting, that she hoped it would be in her power to return them to me, when she should have the pleasure of seeing me in Scotland, which she begged might be soon. Lord Cranstoun, his brother, also wrote to my father, and returned him thanks in the same polite manner. During this whole period, my father's behaviour to me was very uncertain; but always good after he had received any of these letters. In a few months, however, after Mr. Cranstoun's departure, my father's temper was much altered for the worse. He upbraided me with having rejected much better offers than any that had come from Scotland; and at last ordered me to write to Mr. Cranstoun not to return to Henley, till his affair with Miss Murray was quite decided. I complied with this order, writing to him in the terms prescribed me. To this I received an answer full of tenderness, grief, and despair. He said, "He found my father loved him no longer, and was afraid he would inspire me with the same sentiments. He saw," he said, "a coolness throughout my whole letter; but conjured me to remember the sacred promises and engagements that had passed between us." After this, I received several other letters from him, filled with the same sort of expostulation; and penned in the same desponding and disconsolate strain. I likewise received several letters from his mother, the old Lady Cranstoun, and Mrs. Selby, his sister, wrote in a most affectionate style.

In April, or the beginning of May, 1751, as I apprehend, I had another letter from Mr. Cranstoun, wherein he acquainted me, that he had seen his old friend, Mrs. Morgan; and that if he could procure any more of her powder, he would send it with the Scotch pebbles he intended to make me a present of. In answer to this, I told him, "I was surprised that a man of his sense could believe such efficacy to be lodged in any powder whatsoever; and that I would not give it my father, lest it should impair his health." To this, in his next letter, he replied, "That he was extremely surprised I should believe he would send any thing that might prove prejudicial to my father, when his own interest was so apparently concerned in his preservation." I took this as referring to a conversation we had had a little before he set out for Scotland; wherein I told him, "I was sure my father was not a man of a very considerable fortune; but that if he lived, I was persuaded he would provide very handsomely for us and ours, as he lived so retired, and his business was every day increasing." So far was I from imagining, that I should be a gainer by my father's death, as has been so maliciously and uncharitably suggested! Mr. Cranstoun also seemed most cordially and sincerely to join with me in the same notion. Soon after this, in another letter, he informed me, "That some of the aforesaid powder should be sent with the Scotch pebbles he intended me; and that he should write upon the paper in which the powder was contained, 'powder to clean Scotch pebbles,' lest, if he gave it its true name, the box should be opened, and he be laughed at by the person opening it, and taken for a superstitious fool, as he had been by me before." In June 1751, the box with the powder and pebbles arrived at Henley, and a letter came to me the next day, wherein he ordered me to mix the powder in tea. This some mornings after I did; but finding that it would not mix well with tea, I flung the liquor into which it had been thrown out of the window. I farther declare, that looking into the cup, I saw nothing adhere to the sides of it; nor was such an adhesion probable, as the powder swam on the top of the liquor. My father drank two cups of tea out of that cup, before I threw the powder into it: nor did he drink any more out of it that morning, it being Sunday, and he fearing to drink a third cup, lest he should be too late for church. It has been said by Susan Gunnel, at my Trial, that she drank out of the aforesaid cup, and was very ill after it. In answer to which, I must beg leave to observe, that she never before would drink out of any other cup, than one which she called her own, different from this, and which I drank out of on that and most other mornings. It has been farther said, that Dame Emmet, a charwoman, was likewise hurt by drinking tea at my father's house: be pleased to remember, Reader, that I mixed it but in one cup, and then threw it away. Susan said, she drank out of the cup and was ill, what then could hurt this woman, who to my knowledge was not at our house that day? Mr. Nicholas, an apothecary, attended this old woman in the first sickness they talk of, which, by Susan, I understood was a weakness common to her, viz. fainting fits and purging; and I know, that she had had fainting fits many times before. When I heard she was ill, I ordered Susan to send her whey, broth, or any thing that she thought would be proper for her. She had long served the family, would joke and divert me, and I loved her extremely. Nor can my enemies themselves (let them paint me how they please) deny that from my heart I pitied the poor. I never felt more pleasure, than when I fed the hungry, cloathed the naked, and supplied the wants of those in distress. Had God blessed me with a more plentiful fortune, I should have exerted myself in this more; and I flatter myself, that the poor and indigent of our town will do me justice in this particular, and own that I was not wanting in my duty towards them. But to proceed in my account: I would not fix on any other charwoman; and Susan said, that Dame Emmet would, she thought, by my goodness, soon get strength to work again. I told her, was it ever so long I would stay for her. I mixed the powder, as was said before, on the Sunday, and on the Tuesday wrote to Mr. Cranstoun, that it would not mix in tea, and that I would not try it any more, lest my father should find it out. This has been brought against me by many: but let any one consider, if the discovery of such a procedure as this, would not have excited anger, and consequently have been followed by resentment in my father. This might have occasioned a total separation of me from Mr. Cranstoun, a thing I at that time dreaded more than even death itself. In answer to this letter, I had one from him to assure me the powder was innocent, and to beg I would give it in gruel, or something thicker than tea. Many more letters to the same effect I received, before I would give it again; but most fatally, on the 5th August, I gave it to my poor father, innocent of the effects it afterwards produced, God knows; not so stupid as to believe it would have that desired, to make him kind to us; but in obedience to Mr. Cranstoun, who ever seemed superstitions to the last degree, and had, as I thought, and have declared before, all the just notions of the necessity of my father's life for him, me, and ours. On the Monday the 5th, as has been said, I mixed the powder in his gruel, and at night it was in a half-pint mug, set ready for him to carry to bed with him. It had no taste. The next morning, as he had done at dinner the day before, he complained of a pain in his stomach, and the heart-burn; which he ever did before he had the gravel. I went for Mr. Norton at eleven o'clock in the forenoon, who said, that a little physick would be right for my father to take on Wednesday. At night he ordered some water gruel for his supper, which his footman went for. When it came, my father said, "Taste it, Molly, has it not an odd taste?" I tasted it, but found no taste different from what is to be found in all good water gruel. After this he went up to bed, and my father found himself sick, and reached; after which he said he was better, and I went up to bed. Susan gave him his physick in the morning, and I went into his bed-chamber about eight o'clock; then I found him charming well. Susan says that on my father's wanting gruel on the Wednesday, I said, as they were busy at ironing, they might give him some of the same he had before. I do not remember this; but if I did, it was impossible I should know that the gruel he had on Tuesday was the same he had on Monday; as that he drank on Monday was made on Saturday or Sunday, I believe on Saturday night; much less imagine that she whoever made it, and managed it as she pleased, would pretend to keep such stale gruel for her master. Thursday and Friday he came down stairs. I often asked Mr. Norton, "If he thought him in danger; if he did, I would send for Dr. Addington." On Saturday Mr. Norton told me, "he thought my father in danger." I said, "I would send for the doctor;" but he replied, "I had better ask my father's leave." I bid him speak to my father about it, which he did; but my father replied, "Stay till to-morrow, and if I am not better then, send for him." As soon as I was told this, I said, "That would not satisfy me; I would send immediately, which I did; and Mr. Norton, the apothecary, attested this in Court." On the same night, being Saturday, the doctor came, I believe it was near twelve o'clock. He saw my father, and wrote for him: he did not then apprehend his case to be desperate. I have been by this gentleman blamed, for not telling then what I had given my father. I was in hopes that he would have lived, and that my folly would never have been known: in order the more effectually to conceal which, the remainder of the powder I had, the Wednesday before, thrown away, and burnt Mr. Cranstoun's letter: so I had nothing to evince the innocence of my intention, and was moreover frightened out of my wits. Let the good-natured part of the world put themselves in my place, and then condemn me if they can for this. On Sunday my father said, "He was better"; but found himself obliged to keep his bed that day. Mr. Blandy, of Kingston, a relation of ours, came to visit us, stayed with me to breakfast, and then went to church with Mr. Littleton, my father's