Sir

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The following little narrative is so strictly and literally true,
that it does not require any ornaments from Fiction, or any
Embellishment from Language. Those to whom, le vrai est
le seul beau, will feel it, and to such only it is written.
I shall relate it with the utmost simplicity, and the closest
adherence to Fact:
Near four years ago a young Woman stopped at a small
Village near Bristol, and begged the Refreshment of a little
Milk. There was something so attractive in her whole appearance
, as to engage the attention of all around her. She
was extremely young and strikingly beautiful: her manner
graceful and elegant, and her countenance interesting to
the last degree: She was alone -- a Stranger -- and in
extreme distress; yet she uttered no complaints, and
used no arts to excite compassion. Her whole Deportment
and Conversation bore visible marks of superior breeding, yet
there was a wildness, an incoherence, and want of consistency
in all she said and did. All Day she wandered about
in search of a place to lay her wretched Head, and at
night naturally took up her lodging under an old Hay
Stack. The neighbouring Ladies remonstrated with her on the
Danger of so exposed a situation, but in vain; their
Bounty supplied her with the necessaries of Life, but
neither Prayers nor Menaces could induce her to sleep
in a House. As she sometimes discovered evident marks
of Insanity, she was at length confined.

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I pass over this period of her History -- it is too touching
for my own feelings -- it would too tenderly affect the
Sensibility of the Reader -- At length she was released;
With all the speed her small remains of strength allowed she flew to her beloved
Haystack; though it was six Miles from the place of her Confinement
. Her rapture was inexpressible on finding herself
at Liberty, & once more safe beneath this miserable shelter.
It is now near four Years since she has known the comfort of a bed, or
the protection of a roof. Hardship, sickness, intense cold, & extreme
misery, have gradually injured her health, & impaired her
beauty -- but she is still a most interesting figure; there is
an uncommon sweetness & delicacy in her air & manner; she is
above all that vanity so common to her sex -- & so natural to Maniacs,
for she will neither wear nor accept of any finery or ornaments, but
hangs them on the bushes as below her attention. she refuses to give
the least account of herself; her silence on this head is invincible;
her recollection seems impaired, & her whole mind visibly disturbed; yet her answers are pertinent
enough, unless she suspects the question is meant to ensnare her.
Her way of life is the most harmless & inoffending that can be imagined; every
fine Morning she walks round the villages, converses with the poor
children, makes them little presents of such things as are given her,
& receives others in return, she will take nothing except milk,
tea, and the most simple diet. no means have been left unattempted
by the neighbouring ladies (one in particular, who has been her
constant and unwearied benefactress) to prevail on her to live in a
House; but her constant reply is, “that trouble & misery dwell
“in houses, and that there is no happiness but in liberty & fresh
“air”. from a certain peculiarity of expression, with a slight foreign
tincture in her pronunciation, & in the construction of
some sentences, some have been led to conjecture, that --
she is not of this Country. various attempts have been made at different
times to draw from this circumstance some knowledge of her origin. about a
Year ago a gentleman spoke to her in the languages of the Continent. she
appeared uneasy, restless, & embarrassed: but when he addressed her in
German her Emotion was too great to be suppressed, she turned from
him, & burst into tears. The Anecdote, which is told in the neighbourhood,
was a few days ago related to two gentlemen, whom humanity led to visit
this forlorn creature. One of them, who spoke German fluently, made the
experiment, she was evidently confused, blushed, & from accident, or
a knowledge in the language, answered some questions in English; but,
feeling as if she had been hurried into an imprudence, she artfully
changed the subject & denied having understood what had been said to
her. This artless story is written with no other view but the warm
hope that it may catch the eye of some one interested in this tale
of woe, & the ardent wish of restoring an amiable & wretched young

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creature to the arms of (perhaps) a broken hearted parent. The
Writer Miss Hannah More heartily wishes the whole had been a fiction, & that
he had not been himself an eye-witness to the distress he relates --
it would have spared him many a pang of unavailing sorrow,
& (although a man) some tears of useless compassion.
                             Philalethes.

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