When we first put off from shoar，we soon fell in with a fleet of vegetable growers bound for the several market-ports of London；and it was the most pleasing scene imaginable to see the cheerfulness with which those industrious people ply their way to a certain sale of their goods．The banks on each side are as well peopled，and beautified with as agreeable plantations，as any spot on the earth；but the Thames itself,loaded with the product of each-shoar，added very much to the land skip．It was very easy to observe by their sailing，and the countenances of the ruddy virgins，who were super cargos，the parts of the Town to which they were bound．There was an air in the purveyors for Covent-Garden，who frequently converse with morning vagrants，very unlike the seemly sobriety of those bound for stock-market．
Nothing remarkable happened in our voyage；but I landed with ten sail of apricock boats at strand-bridge，after having put in at Nine—Elmes，and taken in melons consigned by Mr．Cuffe of that place，to Sarah Sewell Company，at their stall in Covent—Garden．We arrived at strand—bridge at six O’clock，and were unloading；when the hackney-cOachmen of the foregoing night took their leave of each other at the dark．to go tO Bed before the Day was too far spent．Chimney—Sweepers passed by us as we made up to the market，and some raillery happened between one ofthe fruit—wenches and those black men，about the Devil and Eve．with allusion tO their several professions．I could not believe any place more entertaining than Covent～Garden；where I strolled from one fruit—sh0Dto another，with Crowds of agreeable young、women around me。whO were purchasing fruit for their respective fami lies．It was almost eight 0 clock before I could leave that variety of objects．I took C0ach andfollowed a young lady，who tripped into another just beflore me，attended by her maid．I saw immediately she was of the family of the vain．There are a sett of these，who of all things affect the play of blind man’s—buff，and leading men into love for they know not whom，whO aure fledthey know not where．This sort of woman is usually a janty Slattern；shehangs on her clothes，plays her head，varies her posture，and changesplace incessantly，and all with an appearance of striving at the same timeto hide herself,and yet give you to understand she is in humour to laughat you．You must have often seen the coachmen make signs with theirfingers as they drive by each other，to intimate：how much they have gotthat day．They can carry on that language to giwe intelligence where thevare driving·In an instant my coachman took l=he wink to pursue．andthe lady’s driver gave the hint that he was gcIing through Long—Acretowards St．James’s；while he whipped up James—Street，we drove forKing Street，to save the pass at St．Martin’ s—Lane．The coachmen tOokcare to meet，Justle，and threaten each other for Way，and be intangled atthe end of Newport—Street and Long—Acre．The fright，you must believe．brought down the lady’S coach door，and obl iged her，with her mask off,tO enquire into the bustle，when she sees the man she would avoid．The tackle of the coach-window iS SO bad she cannot draw it up again，and she drives on sometimes wholly discovered，and sometimes half-escaped，according to the accident of carriages in her way．One of these ladies keeps her seat in a hackney——coach as well as the best rider does on a managed horse．The laced shoe on her left foot，with a careless gesture，just appearing on the opposite cushion，held her both firm，and in a proper attitude to receive the next Jolt．
As she was an excellent coach—woman，many were the glances at each other which we had for an hour and half in all parts of the town by the skill of our drivers；till at last my lady was conveniently lost with notice from her coachman to ours to make off,and he should hear where she went．This chase was now at an end．and the fellow who drove her came to US，and discovered that he was ordered to come again in an hour，for that she was a silk—wornl．1 was surprised with this phrase．but found it was a cant among the hackney fratemity for their best customers，women who ramble twice or thrice a week from shop to shop，to turn over all the coods in town without buying anything．The silk—WOrmS are，it seems，indulged by the Tradesmen；for thought they never buy，they are ever talking of new silks，laces and ribbands，and serve the owners in getting them customers，as their common dinners do in making them pay．
