The Ladies having pass'd their Evening's Diversion, and their Night's Repose, dispos'd themselves in the Morning to go on with their Patch-work; the Lady ordering Galesia to resume her Story. Which she was about to do, when the Cook came to inquire, what shou'd be for Dinner; telling her Ladyship, That Two of the South-Sea Directors had sent his Master Word they wou'd dine with him to Day. They think themselves Great-Men, said the Lady, that they did not suppose we had a Dinner worth their eating, without sending us Word. But since they have taken Care to give us this Notice, we will do the best we can; therefore, if you can tell my Cook how to make a very good French Soup, prithee do.
A Receipt for French Soup.

Take a large Barn-door Cock, and all his Bones break;

Of Mutton and Veal, each one a good Neck: may make;

Of these, then, Two Quarts of strong Broth you take;

Next, another full Quart of good Beef Gravey

Of right Vermicelli, a Quartern at least:

Then season all these as best likes your Taste:

A Fowl in the Middle, to swim like a Toast,

It matters not whether it boil'd be or roast.

With Bacon and Balls, then garnish it well.

Add Toasts fry'd in Marrow, and Sweet-breads of Veal,

And what else you please: for I cannot tell.

This is a chargeable Soup, said the Lady, but one wou'd not stick at Expence to obtain the Favour of one of these Directors. My Husband is about to lay a Debt upon his Estate, to put into this profitable Fund: He has, with much ado, got the Promise of a Subscription for 10,000l. for this Purpose. Madam, reply'd Galesia, I beg you to use your utmost Endeavours to prevent this Proceeding: I beg you for God's Sake, your own Sake, your Childrens Sake, and for the Sake of all the Poor, that depend upon your Charity, to endeavour to disappoint this Design. I know not what to say (reply'd the Lady) to these your earnest Entreaties; but for the Sake of this your Solicitation, I shall consider very well upon it, together with my Husband. And now we are alone and quiet, turn over your Papers, and look out some Patches. Accordingly Galesia went about it, and, lo! the first thing she laid her Fingers upon, was a Prophesy, which she read, after the Lady had discharg'd her Cook with due Orders about the Dinner.
The Prophesy.

When a Noise in the South

???Shall fill ev'ry one's Mouth,

Then England beware of Undoing,

???Your Sins shall be scourged,

???Your Pockets well purged,

And, ev'ry one seek his own Ruin.

I suppose, said the Lady, this Prophesy gives you so great an Aversion to the South-Sea. I cannot deny, said Galesia, but it strikes my Thoughts so far, that if I had never so much to spare, I wou'd not put a Shilling into that or any other Bubble. I will not inquire into your Reasons, said the Lady; it will but hinder our Diversion: So pray go on with your Story.

Alas! said Galesia, the next is so melancholy, that I care not how long I keep from it; for now it was that the Death of King Charles II. put a Stop to the Wheel of all Joy and Happiness in England: And it more particularly affected me, because the Death of this our Gracious Sovereign, seiz'd my dear aged Mother with such a Storm of Grief, that she fell into a languishing State, in which she continu'd for many Weeks, e'er Death releas'd her. During her Illness, whilst I watch'd her Slumbers, divers Reflexions accosted me, some of one kind, some of another; in particular, What a new Face the World had at present: It was but t'other Day, said I to myself, that all the World was in Gaiety, and the English-Court in Splendor. The King reverenc'd; the Courtiers belov'd; the Nation seeking after them for Places and Preferments: Glittering Coaches crowding before White-hall-Gate, discharging out of their sides Beaus and Belles, in the most sumptuous Apparel, as if they meant to vie with Phoebus in his Meridian. And now, behold how wonderful is the Change! as if Dooms-day had discharg'd it self of a Shower of black walking Animals; whose Cheeks are bedew'd with Tears, and whose Breasts are swollen with Sighs! Amongst these, none griev'd more sincerely than my Mother, for the Death of this her Royal Lord, for whose dear Sake, and that of his Father, so many Heroes of her Family had shed their dearest Blood. Then wou'd she remark upon, and recite the Villainies of those Times, 'till Faintness call'd her Spirits to some reviving Slumbers. In the mean time my Pen wou'd discharge itself of one sort of Scribble or other; and I think here is one appears:
On the Follies of Human-Life.

To trace but out the Follies of Mankind,

Whether in the Common-Mass, or else disjoyn'd,

Is an Abyss, wherein to drown the Mind:

A Lab'rinth wild, obscure, to lose one's Sense,

A Wilderness of thick Impertinence.

Tho' we pretend we'ave Reason for our Guide,

When Passions get the Reins, they drive aside,

O'er dang'rous Ways, and Precipices run,

'Till Reason is by Passion overthrown.

???No Animals such Bubbles are, as Man;

They strive to save themselves, in all they can;

But we in our own Snares, our selves trapan.

We're Heav'n's Clock-work, too, too finely wrought,

Seldom strike true, in Deed, in Word or Thought.

But clash and clatter, contradict and prove,

Then say and unsay, as our Fancies move.

Sometimes we glory of Immortal Souls,

Whilst every Action, every Word controuls.

Above all Sense, we of our Reason boast,

Whilst by our Deeds, we shou'd think both were lost,

Some, with Respect to God, their Words will place,

Whilst some again, his Entity disgrace,

And All, in Deeds, affront him to his Face.

Then to excuse ourselves of all these Crimes,

We lay the Fault on Devils or the Times.

When false Ideas, our frail Minds persuade,

And Lust or other Crimes our Wills invade,

The Devils are aspers'd, and Panders made.

'Tis true, e'er since the Fall, we are his Fools,

He plots our Ruin, and make us his Tools.

For oft'ner we betray ourselves than he

(Deforming th' Image of the Deity);

And so make Brutes, much happier than we.

???Than 'tis not strange, if we this Being hate,

???Since brutal Happiness is more compleat.

After a little Reflection, recollecting my scatter'd Thoughts, I broke out into the following Contemplations:

Whither, O whither! do my Thoughts ramble! — Into what strange, unfrequented Desarts does my Imagination wander! — Desarts, never trodden but by one Wild Passenger. He, indeed, has told the World of one Fowler, a Happy Creature. But I dare ingage, if it were in Fowler's Power, he would most readily change with the most contemptible of Human Creatures, (setting a happy Immortality aside). I have heard say, That a Butcher's Dog, and a Brewer's Hog, are the Happiest of Brute Animals: But which of us wou'd change with either of them, if Transmigration were in our Power? Not one I dare answer; no, not even of those who daily make themselves in Fact, what those Animals are in Form; and by their repeated Excesses, become of so deprav'd a Nature, that they are scarce distinguishable (at least in their Actions) from those poor Brutes. And tho' these are Vices which all the World explode in Words, yet very few do in Acts. And what is more detestable, (if true) I have heard that our Women begin to be Practitioners in this Vice; which is but lately, if at all; for 'till now, their Manners never suffer'd the least Blemish of that kind, but were as perfect, as to any such Taint, as an untouch'd Plumb, or Grape, in a fair Summer's Morning; Pride having been the only Vice imputed to the Fair Sex. And indeed at some Times, and on some Occasions, is so far from being a Vice, that it is a Vertue of great Magnitude, shining in the Horizon of their Affairs. However, I dare ingage, there is not one of either Sex wou'd injoy the utmost Pleasures, attending the Perpetration of these Crimes, at the Price of their Humanity.
And as to Pride,

A Crime most laid at the Ladies Door; 'Tis said, they love Dressing, gaudy Apparel, Preference of Place, Title, Equipage, &c. But which of them wou'd be a Peacock for the sake of his Plumes? a Lark for its high flying? or an Owl for the sake of the great Equipage of Birds that fly after him? Alas! not one. The meanest Servant in a Family, wou'd not change her Station, to be the Happiest of these Animals. Then let us value our Humanity, and endeavour to imbellish it with vertuous Actions; by which means we shall be far from seting our-selves on the Level with mere Animals, much less giving them the Preference. But e'er I leave this Reflection on Pride, we must remember, That there is a great Difference between the Use and Abuse of those Things, which seem the Concomitants of Pride; for Cloaths, Place, Equipage, &c. in some Cases, and to some Persons, are Necessaries almost to a Necessity; as the Gospel testifies, Soft Rayment is for King's Houses: For God is pleas'd to place different Persons in different Stations; and every one is to accommodate themselves according to their Station; it wou'd as ill befit a Hedger to wear a Velvet Coat, as a Courtier to wear a Leathern one; for if over-doing our Condition, may ascend to Pride, under-doing may descend to Sloth or Slovenliness: Therefore, with Care, we are to chuse the Medium. I doubt not but Diogenes was as proud in his Tub, as Alexander in his Palace. To find a right Medium, is sometimes hard; for very often Vice dresses her self in the Apparel of Vertue; and, in a special manner, Pride puts on the Mask of Honour: And though one be a direct Vice, and the other a Vertue, yet they are not distinguishable to every Capacity, but often one passes for the other. Lucifer, the Author of this Sin, having taken Care to gild it over double and treble, with the refulgent Brightness of Honour, Magnanimity, and Generosity: Which so dazles our Interiour, that we are not always able to distinguish between the Crime of this Apostate Angel, and the Vertue of Seraphims; the one by his Pride having thrown himself into utter Darkness, and eternal Misery; the other, by their Obedience, maintaining their Seraphick Glory in the highest Heavens. By mistaking these, we often deprive ourselves of the Benefit of our well-form'd Intentions. Again, sometimes, the beauteous Face of Vertue presents her-self in an obscure Light, without the Sun-shine of happy Circumstances. We then let her pass unregarded, and so lose the Opportunity of making our-selves happy in her Embraces. Which puts me in mind of a Distich or two.

If Chance or Fore-cast, some small Good produce,

We slip it by unknown, or spoil it in the Use.

When many Years in Toils and Cares are pass'd,

To get of Happiness some small Repast,

Our Crimes or Follies always spoil the Taste.

Now these Oversights and Mistakes, are not only in the Case of Pride and its opposite Vertues; but in other Cases, a false Light or a false Appearance deceives us; we mistake Cunning for Wisdom, and a mean Selfishness, for a discreet Precaution; Fury and Rashness for Valour; Vain-glory for Charity; and a thousand Things of the like Nature. But having mention'd Charity, here appears a little Slip of Verse; which, I think, refers rather to the forgiving, than the giving Part of Charity. However it will make a Patch.
Upon CHARITY.

This Vertue does above all others climb;

To give is Noble, to forgive Sublime.

The Giving, one may call Religion's Heart;

The Pardoning, the Animating Part.

These Two conjoyn'd, make Charity complete,

By which our Souls of Heav'n participate.

A Vertue kind, soft, gentle, debonair,

As Guardian Angels to their Pupils are,

Or faithful Swains, to their lov'd, faithful-Fair.

To chast Affection, 'tis as Oyl to Fire,

But Ice and Water to all foul Desire.

Of Friendship and fraternal Love the Source,

And Marriage Vows, it waters with its Course;

Like Aqua-fortis, graving on the Mind,

The Character of all good Deeds and kind.

But otherwise it does a Lethe prove,

And makes us quite forget forgiving Love.

These Blessings are th' Effects of Charity;

But nought compar'd to Heav'n's unbounded Joy,

Surpassing Sense! which those participate,

Who shar'd this Virtue in their Earthly State.

Joys! not only surpassing Sense! but too high for Humane Thought! O the transcendant Joys of a bless'd Eternity! How inconceivable to our weak Capacities, are the ineffable Pleasures of the bright Regions of Eternity! Eternity of Time, and Infinity of Space, who can comprehend? Reason can climb high, and Thought can extend far; but neither Reason nor Thought can reach the Altitude of Heaven, nor the Extent of the Almighty's Dominions: To say nothing of His Justice, Mercy and Wisdom, and His Power to execute whatsoever His Wisdom determines from and to all Eternity: Where the Righteous injoy all Happiness, and the Wicked all Misery. All this we risque, for a little Shining Earth, or, what is less worthy, a little empty Fame; the one being the Aim of the Covetous, the other of the Ambitious Man; of which the latter is the worst, because his Vice affects whole Countries and Kingdoms; whereof we have but too pregnant an Example at this Time, in the Person of the Duke of Monmouth. Unhappy Young Prince! to be possess'd with this Devil of Ambition, which makes him become the Phaeton of our Age; to set these Kingdoms in a Combustion. [For it was at this Time, Madam, added Galesia, that the Duke of Monmouth's Enterprize began to be talk'd of.] Whether Ambition be a Branch of Pride, or Pride a Branch of Ambition, I know not: They both partake of the same Quality; so which is Root, or which is Branch, it matters not; since it may be determin'd, that the Tree produces the worst of Fruit.

As I was going on in these wandring Thoughts, during the Intervals of my grieved Mother's Slumbers, I heard a little mumbling Noise in the next House, in a Room joyning to ours; which mumbling at last ended in a Hymn: Then I concluded it to be the Prayer of an Old Gentlewoman who lodg'd on the same Floor in the next House. But the Hymn being distinct, I cou'd hear the Words perfectly; which are these:
A Hymn. Sung in a Psalm Tune.

Preserve thy Holy Servant Monmouth, Lord,

Who carries for his Shield thy Sacred Word:

Preserve him from the Lyon and the Bear:

From Foxes and from Wolves, who daily tear

Thy little Flock: and for him whet thy Sword,

That we may be Thy People, Thou our Lord.

Do thou the Red-Coats to Confusion bring,

The Surplices, Lawn-Sleeves, and eke their King;

Whilst in thy Sion we thy Praises sing.

Wicked Song! said I; and wicked Wretch that sings it; in which she curses the Lord's Anointed, and all his Adherents, the Church and all her Children. Graceless Woman! that dares lift up Hands, Eyes, and Voice to Heaven with such Maledictions! But sure, it is her Ignorance; Nobody can be so designedly wicked. Happy had such been to have died in their Infancy, before the Baptismal Water was dry'd off their Face! But, ah! if I think on that, who is there so Righteous, but that they may wish they had dyed in the State of Innocency?

In these Reflections, a certain drousy Summons to Sleep seiz'd me; and having watch'd long with my dear sick Mother, I comply'd with my Weakness, and fell fast asleep; and having been just before reflecting on Baptismal Innocence, I fell into the following Dream.
The Childrens, or Catechumen's Elysium.

Methought I pass'd thro' that Elysian Plain,

Which to the Catechumens appertain;

And is to those, likewise, the soft Abode,

Who ignorantly serve the Unknown God.

???Lo! here the Souls live in eternal Peace,

Almost tir'd out with everlasting Ease;

Exempt from Griefs, but no true Joys possess;

Which is, at best, but half true Happiness.

???When in my Dream, I thought I enter'd here,

All that was charming struck my Eye and Ear;

Large Walks, tall Trees, Groves, Grots, and shady Bow'rs,

Streams in Meanders, Grass, and lovely Flow'rs,

Babes unbaptiz'd (like Birds from Tree to Tree)

Chirp here, and sing in pleasing Harmony.

Long Walks of Roses, Lilies, Eglantines,

Pinks, Pansies, Violets and Columbines,

Which always keep their perfect Beauty here,

Not subject to the Changes of the Year.

In fine; Here's all Things that can Fancy please,

Rooms of Repose, and Canopies of Ease;

Towers, Terrasses, arch'd Roofs, and Theatres,

Well-built Piazzas, lofty Pillasters;

Statues, and Stories of terrestrial Pride,

Of such who follow'd Virtue for their Guide;

At last, against their Wills, were Deify'd.

Sumptuous Apparel, Musick, Mirth and Balls,

Exceeding Londoners in Festivals,

The Temple-Revels; foreign Carnivals.

The Swains, too, had their Country-Wakes and Chear,

Th' Apprentices Shrove-Tuesday all the Year,

And every one was happy in his Sphere:

That is to say, if Happiness can be,

Without th' Enjoyment of a Deity.

???Small Joy can Immaterial Beings find,

'Till with their Immaterial Center joyn'd.

The Soul of Man is a Celestial Flame,

Without true Joy, 'till it goes whence it came.

As Fire ascends, and Earth and Water fall,

So must we join with our Original.

This Truth poor mortal Lovers represent,

Whom nought but the lov'd Object can content.

???In these Reflections, many a Path I trod,

And griev'd to think............