Magdalen Hospital, 1763.
            Humiliating as my situation was, which I described in my last letter, my dear Madam, I preferred the trade of begging so much to the making a traffic of my person, that I endeavoured, by pursuing it, to make this little fund hold out, but without success. I was at last attacked by the beadles, who receiving no gratuities from me, declared they would execute the rigours of their office if they saw me there again. Thus the little liberty I before had in this occupation, was much restrained, and my gains sunk almost to nothing.

            The only consolation I had, was in the hope that my sister would be allowed to countenance me so far, that by her recommendation, I might obtain some employ; but every time her messenger came, disappointment accompanied her. But still I hoped on, and was often led by it, to the utmost extremity of famine, till no longer able to support it, I resolved to try the means which had once succeeded, when I did not aim at it. How often shocked at the odiousness of my purpose, have I turned back, determined to suffer myself to die, rather than preserve my life in such a manner! But when I returned home, and saw the distress of my poor child, every other evil appeared light in comparison of his sufferings: and I again fled from the anguish I felt at the sight of him.

            I seldom had far to go, before I met with some gentleman, who though hard-hearted to my distress, would be indulgent to his own vice: I often thought the cleanly simplicity of my dress, (for I had no ornaments,) pleased more than the tawdry decorations of the women who generally follow that course; for while a man courts our vice, his reason hates our impudence.

            I was sensible that by entering into a society of prostitutes, I might gain a settled subsistence; but I could not think of engaging in a way of life I detested: I still hoped some means would at last relieve my necessities, and that I should not always be reduced to a prostitution, to which I could not bring myself to consent, till the severe pains of hunger, and the still sharper pangs I endured from those my heart's darling felt, got the better of the little delicacy I still had remaining; there could not be a more sparing manager than I was of what I gained, as while it lasted, I was freed from a course of life most odious to me.

            In this manner I lived for near three months; the sobriety of my behaviour at home, giving no suspicion to the people where I lodged, who were not used to be over-curious in prying into the lives of their lodgers, which perhaps would seldom bear a strict scrutiny. I concealed it equally from my sister; sensible that if she knew it, the desire of bringing me out of such infamy and suffering, would drive her to any extremities, to the hazard of all her conjugal happiness: the vexation I had given her, and still gave her, was one of my strongest afflictions; therefore I could not for any consideration, make her a greater sufferer.

            One day when I was reduced so low, that I had not sufficient to purchase a supper for myself and child, my landlady came up into my room, and invited us to drink tea and sup with her, it being her birthday. Never did a royal birthday give such joy to the vainest lady: I do not suppose the birth of a child, ever was more welcome to the person most anxious for an heir, than this good woman's anniversary rejoicing was to me: we readily obeyed her invitation; and I was too well pleased with the entertainment, to criticise the conversation of my company.

            A little before supper a man entered, who said he was just come from the new hospital; so he called it, and that everything was now completely finished, but he fancied it would be a long time before it was full.

            "Do not talk of it;" said my virtuous landlady, "I have no patience with the gentlemen who give encouragement to such wicked wretches; starving is too good for them."

             I, who knew so well what starving was, thought this was almost too cruel a sentence for any crime; and begged to know who the wretches were she spoke of.

            I was answered with all imaginable plainness, and felt, that coarse as the name was, I had too good a right to it, and therefore was enough concerned in the conversation, to enquire what gave my landlady's virtue such offence. I then first heard of this blessed charity, I made all necessary enquiries about it; and could scarcely contain the joy I felt, at the smallest hopes of being one of the objects that should be relieved by it.

            Sorrow had robbed me of many night's rest: joy had a good title to a tribute I had so seldom paid it: I could not shut my eyes that night, and the next morning, as soon as I thought the secretary's office would be open, I went thither, not without fears that my child would be a bar to my admission, for I had heard of no provision being made for children.

            My good fortune was without allay (by the means of meeting with you there, my good lady), I was not only accepted, but was told I might come the next day but one after, and my child should be taken care of.

            To form an adequate notion of the rapture I felt, a person should have been reduced to the same excess of misery: my soul overflowed with gratitude, and my countenance shone with joy. It is true I found I must part with my child, but then I could have no doubt but he would be far better taken care of, than I could ever expect he should be while he depended on me. For his sake, I could part with him, and should find a constant consolation for the loss of him, in thinking how well he would be educated and provided for.

            The satisfaction of my heart was so visible, that at my return home, my landlady enquired what had made so great an alteration in me, for she had before often taken notice of my melancholy: and used to tell me she wondered what could make one so young, and so pretty, look so dismal. I once told her very frankly, that being so young, and so pretty, were the very things that made me so; but this I found was a riddle to her, which I did not choose to explain; nor did I now think proper to acquaint her with the real reason for the alteration she observed: but informed her, that within two days I was to go to a good place, which I had obtained that morning.

            I wrote a letter to my sister, acquainting her where I had applied for an asylum and of the success my application had met with; and added, that a course of regularity would so far wash out the infamy from my reputation, that her husband might in time, suffer me to see her; which would always be necessary to my happiness, but could never contribute to it, till she was at liberty to act in that respect, according to the dictates of her own heart, without the least chance of giving offence to the man on whom her happiness then depended.

            This letter I gave to my landlady, the morning I left the house, desiring her to deliver it to the young woman who used to come from my sister, the next time she called there; and then I delivered my child where I was ordered, which I confess cost me many tears; for the tenderness of the mother, got the better of true maternal love, which should have made me rejoice in this separation: that severe pang over, I came hither, and was received with a degree of humanity beyond my expectation. I expected relief, but I found from this good matron tenderness and pity, of which I was the only object: but a very short time increased the society, and rendered her humanity the more extensive.

            Thus you see, my dear Madam, in compliance with your desires, I have exposed all my crimes and follies, and given a strong proof, how much evil one bad action draws along with it; nor was I sensible of my wickedness, when I applied to be received into this place: I sought it as a refuge from distress and misery, my heart grieved, but did not repent till I came hither, where I was shown my sins in their black colours, awakened to repentance, by a sense of guilt, and was taught to apply for pardon to him who came on earth to save sinners.

            Having thus, my dear Madam, gone through the narrative of that unfortunate life, which you was the blessed means of preserving from utter ruin and destruction; I shall, as you requested me, proceed to mention some few circumstances of other unfortunate females, who have been rescued from destruction, by timely application to this blessed place, with such reflections and observations thereon, as you were pleased to flatter me I was so capable of, the merit of which if any there are to be found in them, I am in a great measure indebted to the worthy gentlemen who at your request, so frequently condescends to converse with me on the subject.

            Since I had the good fortune of being placed here by your means, my dear Madam, many are the numbers which have been reclaimed, by being admitted; a great part of which do not appear to deserve, or to have been ranked amongst veteran or incorrigible sinners.

            It is true, many of them have not had the unspeakable advantages of education, the tender care of parents, nor the wise directions of solicitous friends; but left to be tossed on the billows of this world, have been shipwrecked on vice, and no wonder! having no friend in their early years to set them aright.

            Others again have been deluded into the road of ruin, by the most flattering, and delusive promises, (as was my own case) such as few unsuspecting hearts perhaps could have withstood, and when undone have been left by their cruel seducers, a miserable prey to infamy and distress, and some so very young, that it is impossible to conceive their minds hardened against good impressions. Indeed I may with truth say the most part of those who have been taken in here, have shown themselves so far from being hardened, that they have expressed the utmost detestation of their way of life, and some with such tender and affecting sentiments, as would do no discredit to the most rigid virtue.

            But alas! wretched and ruined, introduced to shame and sorrow, reputation and virtue lost, cast off and abandoned by all, whither could they fly, or where obtain relief? Perhaps too, (as was also my own case) their anguish and misfortune have been aggravated, by the necessity of supporting a helpless infant, heir to its mother's infamy and suffering! Oh dreadful alternative to the mother, either to see her child, her much loved though unfortunate child, perish with hunger and with thirst, or to obtain its support by the horror of prostitution! Yet to this dire necessity many broken-hearted mothers as well as myself, have been reduced, and thus the best and most tender parental affection, has reigned in the poor woman's breast, while the poor afflicted wretch has been compelled to a way of life most detestable and shocking to her.

            You, my dear Madam, would not doubt of the reformation of such a one, if an opportunity to reform, and to regain her credit in the world could be given her; but to you, and such as you, my dear Madam, it is only given to think thus generously of the unfortunate of your own sex. Those of the most rigid and the most obdurate kind, were they to behold a poor harmless animal, fallen into distress and suffering in misery, and were able to reach out their hand, and to help it, would I am sure have so much compassion, as not to suffer themselves to pass by it unregarding. How much more docs it behove them then, to reach out their hands to the relief of the unfortunate part of their own sex, when in their power, and if fallen into the pit of extreme distress, without any hand to relieve, with but few hearts to compassionate, and if unrelieved speedily perish in the utmost misery, and breath out perhaps from polluted bodies, more polluted souls, into a world of utter and everlasting woe; when by a timely interference of such benevolent persons as yourself, Madam, they would be preserved from those scenes of horror! To you who have happily persevered in the pleasing paths of virtue, you can best tell, the comforts arising from so delightful a conduct, and may easily guess the miseries of a different state.

            You who have known the fatal pleadings of passion, can more easily pity them whom those pleadings have seduced and destroyed.

            And you who are possessed of all the sweetnesses and delicacies of a tender mind, and a happier state, can more easily guess the extreme misery which must arise to a female heart, from the foulness and horror of promiscuous prostitution, and surely will on these accounts, be ready to reach out your pitying hand, to save from distress, such of your own sex, whenever hereafter a favourable opportunity may offer, and while those who are happily married, feel the soft yearnings of the mother for her child that was suckled at her breast, or glow with the tender warmth of a sister's love, and the generous affection of a beloved friend and companion: think of the many unhappy mothers who are weeping for their lost daughters, some of which may be lost beyond all possibility of hope:–think of the joy you yourselves would feel, on the recovery of a child or a friend, thus saved from destruction, by the benevolent hand of commiseration. Some here are, who by the base and treacherous arts of merciless seducers, were overcome by every unlawful method, by vows, by promises, and by oaths won their unsuspecting honest gentle hearts, unpractised and estranged by guile! Won and abandoned them to sore destruction.

            Let me not omit giving you, Madam, an account of a most amiable young creature, just in her sixteenth year, who was admitted into this house some time ago. Her conduct was humble and blameless, such as became and denoted the penitent. After her admission, she had the happiness to be reconciled to a mother, who had felt the severest sorrow for her misconduct, who affectionately loved, and was beloved by her child. Not long since she was seized with a mortal disease, which she bore with cheerfulness, fortitude, and resignation. When she perceived the hour of death approaching, she earnestly desired to see her widowed parent, and to take her last farewell. As soon as it was possible, the afflicted mother came: the soul of the daughter seemed to revive at the voice of her parent. The interview was pathetic and affecting: none present could refrain from tears. But it was scarcely passed, scarce had the tender parent pressed the cold and trembling lips of her child, before the fluttering soul quitted its earthly habitation; as if it had only stayed to pay this tribute, and to perform this last office of filial duty and love.

            Parental affection then, and Christian joy strove with each other in the mother's breast. For a while she spoke not: she could not speak. Tears at length burst forth; she wept: she could not but weep for her daughter once lost, but now doubly precious to her, by having been found, and restored to obedience and virtue. She could not but weep for her only daughter, thus early cut off from her, when she had formed pleasing views of their happiness and comfort together. "Yet let me not weep," said the parent; "rather let me rejoice, and bless the goodness of God! Had my child perished in her state of sin, had she been cut off amidst prostitution, disease and misery, what could have supported my soul? Now by the blessings of this heavenly charity, I have seen her die in such a manner, that I cannot doubt her happiness with God. I will not weep for thee, therefore my child, my dearest child! Blessed, for ever blessed be God, who has saved thee from destruction, and reached out his merciful hand to rescue thee from woe everlasting! Blessed, for ever blessed be those, into whose hearts he put it to open the doors of this house of repentance: may those our benefactors forever be blessed: and may their good hearts be refreshed with the knowledge of many, many daughters dying true penitents like mine: may they live to have the constant and fervent prayers of many, many parents made happy like me!" It is impossible for me to add anything to this interesting relation, (which I received from our worthy chaplain,) but again repeating my wishes, that the ladies in general would according to their abilities, encourage this laudable, this charitable institution, which is daily the production of so much real good.

            Some few of those who are now in the House, were abandoned by the cruel hand of obdurate parents on the commission of the first offence, though drawn thereto by designing artifice, and under the most faithful promise of marriage, one in particular, deserted in the hour of distress, by the father who begat her, (her mother being dead.) His obdurate heart would not again receive her to his home, though pressed thereto by a near kinsman: in this situation she had no alternative, she fled her native county, she came to town in hopes that some relation or other would receive her, and endeavour to fix her in servitude. Obdurate relations, obdurate friends; none would acknowledge her, none would succour, none would recommend her: in this situation what was to be done? She could not starve! She became too easy a prey to prostitution, whilst she happily was relieved by the open, the charitable benefactors of this asylum.

            What would that relation have merited, whose liberality of mind overlooking little delicacies, would have had the generosity to have rescued such a female from the oppression of an unnatural father! From prostitution! From the inevitable hand of destruction! Had not his doors been open for her reception. What would that relation have deserved, who by patronising this child of misfortune, had placed her in a reputable service, or perhaps got her reputably, if not elegantly, at least honourably married; no doubt in such a case, an amiable woman, with her mind as yet untainted with a continuance in vice, would have proved a good wife, a tender mother, and a worthy member of society.

            I have, my dear Madam, I fear, dwelt much too long on this subject, and must therefore beg leave to draw this long epistle to a conclusion.

            It remains only, that I return you, my dear Madam, my most grateful thanks for every good your kind notice has introduced me to in this place, and for every good it may be productive of in my future life: and with a heart replete with the utmost gratitude. I conclude myself, Madam,

            Your most obedient,
            and grateful humble servant.
            M.S.

THE END.

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