of a wicked life, and sometimes
I flattered myself that I had sincerely repented.

But there are temptations which it is not in the power of human nature
to resist, and few know what would be their case if driven to the same
exigencies. As covetousness is the root of all evil, so poverty is, I
believe, the worst of all snares. But I waive that discourse till I
come to an experiment.

I lived with this husband with the utmost tranquillity; he was a quiet,
sensible, sober man; virtuous, modest, sincere, and in his business
diligent and just. His business was in a narrow compass, and his
income sufficient to a plentiful way of living in the ordinary way. I
do not say to keep an equipage, and make a figure, as the world calls
it, nor did I expect it, or desire it; for as I abhorred the levity and
extravagance of my former life, so I chose now to live retired, frugal,
and within ourselves. I kept no company, made no visits; minded my
family, and obliged my husband; and this kind of life became a pleasure
to me.

We lived in an uninterrupted course of ease and content for five years,
when a sudden blow from an almost invisible hand blasted all my
happiness, and turned me out into the world in a condition the reverse
of all that had been before it.

My husband having trusted one of his fellow-clerks with a sum of money,
too much for our fortunes to bear the loss of, the clerk failed, and
the loss fell very heavy on my husband, yet it was not so great neither
but that, if he had had spirit and courage to have looked his
misfortunes in the face, his credit was so good that, as I told him, he
would easily recover it; for to sink under trouble is to double the
weight, and he that will die in it, shall die in it.

It was in vain to speak comfortably to him; the wound had sunk too
deep; it was a stab that touched the vitals; he grew melancholy and
disconsolate, and from thence lethargic, and died. I foresaw the blow,
and was extremely oppressed in my mind, for I saw evidently that if he
died I was undone.

I had had two children by him and no more, for, to tell the truth, it
began to be time for me to leave bearing children, for I was now
eight-and-forty, and I suppose if he had lived I should have had no
more.

I was now left in a dismal and disconsolate case indeed, and in several
things worse than ever. First, it was past the flourishing time with
me when I might expect to be courted for a mistress; that agreeable