The next Night arriving both at _London_, (whither _Tom_ about _Brenford_ was commanded by his Master to speed a little before to prepare for their Reception) a very fair Lodging near St. _James_'s was ready to entertain her, but no _Tom_ had been there; and coming to open the Trunk, instead of the Gold and Silver Entrayls there was nothing but a Bag of Stones, and a piece of a Brickbat to supply their places, enclosed in a few Rags that stuft up the Trunk. This amazing sight threw the poor Lady into a most violent Distraction, and 'twas very hard to hold her from falling into a Fit, her Husband seeming as much amazed as her self, and joining in the complaint as loud as she. But to abate her Rage, he told her the wicked Rogue should not so scape, he had very sufficient security from able Friends for his honest and faithful service, and their Purses should make her Reparation, till when the Loss should be made up out of his own Pocket. Nor would he sleep till he had made her some farther satisfaction, and therefore beg'd her Excuse but for one half Hour till he took Coach, and made that search and quest that perhaps would bring her some considerable Light into the Villany. Her Zeal for her Loss never look'd any farther, and accordingly well pleas'd with the Kind Motion, she took leave of him for the half Hour aforesaid. But, alas, a long half Hour, for half the Evening, nay the whole Night was gone, and neither Man nor Master to be heard of. So Husband and Portion all departed, she thought fit to secure her Goods and Cloaths at the Carriers, but the same Calamity attended there likewise, for _Tom_ had been there too, and swept all. To describe the Distress and Anguish of our present Female Sufferer, or either of her two foregoing Sisters in Affliction, being a work beyond our power, we shall e'ne do as the Painter did of old, that is, draw a Vail before the Face of sorrow, the Lineaments of true Grief being above the Pen or Pencils skill. And now to follow our Libertine through all his Rambles and Exploits in this wide Town of _London_, (for there lyes his next Scene) being matter we have not yet fully been inform'd in, we dare not venture to play the Historian any farther than certain Intelligence (which yet we have not received) can guide us, being resolved not to load our Rambles with Romance or Fiction, his Life being furnisht with matter sufficiently voluminous without the addition of Flourish or Fancy.