of courtship, and the joys of triumph. I
have danced the round of gaiety amidst the murmurs of envy, and
gratulations of applause; been attended from pleasure to pleasure by the
great, the sprightly, and the vain; and seen my regard solicited by the
obsequiousness of gallantry, the gaiety of wit, and the timidity of
love. If, therefore, I am yet a stranger to nuptial happiness, I suffer
only the consequences of my own resolves, and can look back upon the
succession of lovers, whose addresses I have rejected, without grief,
and without malice.

When my name first began to be inscribed upon glasses, I was honoured
with the amorous professions of the gay Venustulus, a gentleman, who,
being the only son of a wealthy family, had been educated in all the
wantonness of expense, and softness of effeminacy. He was beautiful in
his person, and easy in his address, and, therefore, soon gained upon my
eye at an age when the sight is very little over-ruled by the
understanding. He had not any power in himself of gladdening or amusing;
but supplied his want of conversation by treats and diversions; and his
chief art of courtship was to fill the mind of his mistress with
parties, rambles, musick, and shows. We were often engaged in short
excursions to gardens and seats, and I was for a while pleased with the
care which Venustulus discovered in securing me from any appearance of
danger, or possibility of mischance. He never failed to recommend
caution to his coachman, or to promise the waterman a reward if he
landed us safe; and always contrived to return by daylight, for fear of
robbers. This extraordinary solicitude was represented for a time as the
effect of his tenderness for me; but fear is too strong for continued
hypocrisy. I soon discovered that Venustulus had the cowardice as well
as elegance of a female. His imagination was perpetually clouded with
terrours, and he could scarcely refrain from screams and outcries at any
accidental surprise. He durst not enter a room if a rat was heard behind
the wainscot, nor cross a field where the cattle were frisking in the
sunshine; the least breeze that waved upon the river was a storm, and
every clamour in the street was a cry of fire. I have seen him lose his
colour when my squirrel had broke his chain; and was forced to throw
water in his face on the sudden entrance of a black cat. Compassion once
obliged me to drive away with my fan, a beetle that kept him in
distress, and chide off