I shall scarcely ever forget his words to me, as they seemed almost
prophetic. "Well, madam, said he, you do not know London; you will be
undone there." "Why, sir, said I, I hope you don't imagine I will go
into a bad course of life?" "No, madam, said he, but I think you will
sit in your chamber and starve;" which, upon my word, I have been pretty
near doing; and, but that the Almighty raised me one worthy friend, good
old Mr. Cibber, to whose humanity I am indebted, under God, both for
liberty and life, I had been quite lost.'

When Mrs. Pilkington arrived in London, her conduct was the reverse of
what prudence would have dictated. She wanted to get into favour with
the great, and, for that purpose, took a lodging in St. James's Street,
at a guinea a week; upon no other prospect of living, than what might
arise from some poems she intended to publish by subscription. In this
place she attracted the notice of the company frequenting White's
Chocolate-House; and her story, by means of Mr. Cibber, was made known
to persons of the first distinction, who, upon his recommendation, were
kind to her.

Her acquaintance with Mr. Cibber began by a present she made him of The
Trial of Constancy, a poem of hers, which Mr. Dodsley published. Mr.
Cibber, upon this, visited her, and, ever after, with the most unwearied
zeal, promoted her interest. The reader cannot expect that we should
swell this volume by a minute relation of all the incidents which
happened to her, while she continued a poetical mendicant. She has not,
without pride, related all the little tattle which passed between her
and persons of distinction, who, through the abundance of their
idleness, thought proper to trifle an hour with her.

Her virtue seems now to have been in a declining state; at least, her