The history of Tom Jones: a foundling. In three volumes. ... By Henry Fielding, Esq;. [pt.3]

THE HISTORY OF A FOUNDLING.

BOOK XVIII. Containing about Six Days.

CHAP. I. A Farewel to the Reader.

WE are now, Reader, arrived at the last Stage of our long Journey. As we have there|fore travelled together through so many Pages let us behave to one another like Fellow Traveller in a Stage-Coach, who have passed several Day•• in the Company of each other; and who, not|withstanding any Bickerings or litttle Animositie•• which may have occurred on the Road, generally make all up at last, and mount, for the last Time, in to their Vehicle with Chearfulness and Good-Humour

since, after this one Stage, it may possibly happen to us, as it commonly happens to them, never to meet more.

As I have here taken up this Simile, give me Leave to carry it a little farther. I intend then in this last Book to imitate the good Company I have mentioned in their last Journey. Now it is well known, that all Jokes and Raillery are at this Time laid aside; what|ever Characters any of the Passengers have for the lest sake personated on the Road, are now thrown off, and the Conversation is usually plain and serious.

In the same Manner, if I have now and then, in the Course of this Work, indulged any Pleasantry for ••••y entertainment, I shall here lay it down. The Va|riety of Matter, indeed, which I shall be obliged to ••••am into this Book, will afford no room for any of those ludicrous Observations which I have elsewhere made, and which may sometimes, perhaps, have pre|vented thee from taking a Nap when it was beginning to steal upon thee. In this last Book thou wilt find ••••thing (or at most very little) of that Nature. All will be plain Narrative only; and, indeed, when thou ••••st perused the many great Events which this Book will produce, thou wilt think the Number of Pages contained in it scarce sufficient to tell the Story.

And now, my Friend, I take this Opportunity (as I shall have no other) of heartily wishing thee well. If I have been an entertaining Companion to thee, I promise thee it is what I have desired. If in any Thing I have offended, it was really without any In|••ention. Some Things perhaps here said, may have ••••t thee or thy Friends; but I do most solemnly de|clare they were not pointed at them. I question not ••ut thou hast been told, among other Stories of me, ••hat thou wast to travel with a very scurrilous Fellow: But whoever told thee so, did me an Injury. No Plan detests and despises Scurrility more than myself; ••or hath any Man more Reason; for none has ever

been treated with more: And what is a very seven Fate, I have had some of the abusive Writings of those very Men fathered upon me, who in other of their Works have abused me themselves with the utmost Virulence.

All these Works, however, I am well convinced will be dead long before this Page shall offer itself to thy Perusal: For however short the Period may be o•• my own Performances, they will most probably out live their own infirm Author, and the weakly Pro+ductions of his abusive Cotemporaries.

CHAP. II. Containing a very tragical Incident.

WHILE Jones was employed in these unplea+sant Meditations, with which we left him tor+menting himself, Partridge came stumbling into th•• Room with his Face paler than Ashes, his Eyes fixe•• in his Head, his Hair standing an End, and ever•• Limb trembling. In short, he looked as he would have done had he seen a Spectre, or had he indeed been a Spectre himself.

Jones, who was little subject to Fear, could not a+void being somewhat shocked at this sudden Appear+ance. He did indeed himself change Colour, and h•••• Voice a little faultered, while he asked him what w•••• the Matter.

'I hope, Sir,' said Partridge, 'you will not •••• angry with me. Indeed I did not listen, but I w•••• obliged to stay in the outward Room. I am sure wish I had been a hundred Miles off, rather tha•• have heard what I have heard.'

'Why what is th•• Matter?'

said Jones.

'The Matter, Sir? O god Heaven!' answered Partridge, 'was that Wom•••• who is just gone out, the Woman who was wi•••• you at Upton?'

'She was, Partridge,'

cries Jones

'And did you really, Sir, go to bed with that W••

man?'

said he trembling.—

'I am afraid what past between us is no Secret,'

said Jones.—

'Nay, but pray, Sir, for Heaven's Sake, Sir, answer me,'

cries Partridge,

'You know I did,'

cries Jones.—

'Why then the Lord have Mercy upon your Soul, and forgive you,' cries Partridge; 'but as sure as I stand here alive, you have been a-Bed with your own Mother.'

Upon these Words, Jones became in a Moment a greater Picture of Horror than Partridge himself. He was indeed, for some Time, struck dumb with Amaze|ment, and both stood staring wildly at each other. At last his Words found Way, and in an interrupted Voice he said—

'How! how! What's this you tell me?'

'Nay, Sir,' cries Partridge, 'I have not Breath enough left to tell you now—but what I have said is most certainly true—That Woman who now went out is your own Mother. How un|lucky was it for you, Sir, that I did not happen to see her at that Time, to have prevented it? Sure the Devil himself must have contrived to bring a|bout this Wickedness.'

'Sure,' cries Jones, 'Fortune will never have done with me, 'till she hath driven me to Distraction. But why do I blame Fortune? I am myself the Cause of all my Misery. All the dreadful Mischiefs which have befallen me, are the Consequences only of my own Folly and Vice. What thou hast told me, Partridge, hath almost deprived me of my Sen|ses. And was Mrs. Waters then—But why do I ask? for thou must certainly know her.—If thou hast any Affection for me; nay, if thou hast any Pity, let me beseech thee to fetch this miserable Wo|man back again to me. O good Heavens! Incest—with a Mother! To what am I reserved?'

He then sell into the most violent and frantic Agonies of Grief and Despair, in which Partridge declared he would

not leave him: But at last having vented the first Tor|rent of Passion, he came a little to himself; and then having acquainted Partridge that he would find this wretched Woman in the same House where the wound+ed Gentleman was lodged, he dispatched him in ques•• of her.

If the Reader will please to refresh his Memory by turning to the Scene at Upton in the ninth Book, he will be apt to admire the many strange Accident which unfortunately prevented any Interview between Partridge and Mrs. Waters, when she spent a whol•• Day there with Mr. Jones. Instances of this Kin•• we may frequently observe in Life, where the great+est Events are produced by a nice Train of little Cir+cumstances; and more than one Example of this may be discovered by the accurate Eye, in this our His+tory.

After a fruitless Search of two or three Hours Partridge returned back to his Master, without hav+ing seen Mrs. Waters. Jones, who was in a Stat•• of Desperation at his Delay, was almost raving ma•• when he brought him this Account. He was no•• long however in this Condition before he receive the following Letter.

Sir,

Since I left you, I have seen a Gentleman, from whom I have learned something concerning yo•• which greatly Surprizes and affects me; but as I have not at present Leisure to communicate a Matter •••• such high Importance, you must suspend your Curio+sity 'till our next Meeting, which shall be the first Mo+ment I am able to see you. O Mr. Jones, litt•••• did I think, when I past that happy Day at Upton the Reflection upon which is like to embitter all m•• future Life, who it was to whom I owed such per+fect Happiness. Believe me to be ever sincere•• your unfortunate

J. Waters▪

P. S. I would have you comfort yourself as much as possible, for Mr. Fitzpatrick is in no man|ner of Danger; so that whatever other grievous Crimes you may have to repent of, the Guilt of Blood is not among the Number.

Jones having received the Letter, let it drop (for he was unable to hold it, and indeed had scarce the Use of any one of his Faculties) Partridge took it up, and having received Consent by Silence, read it likewise; nor had it upon him a less sensible Effect. The Pencil, and not the Pen, should describe the Hor|rors which appeared in both their Countenances. While they both remained speechless, the Turnkey entered the Room, and without taking any Notice of what sufficiently discovered itself in the Faces of them both, acquainted Jones that a Man without desired to speak with him. This Person was presently introdu|ced, and was no other than Black George.

As Sights of Horror were not so usual to George as they were to the Turnkey, he instantly saw the great Disorder which appeared in the Face of Jones. This he imputed to the Accident that happened, which was reported in the very worst Light in Mr. Western's Family; he concluded therefore that the Gentleman was dead, and that Mr. Jones was in a fair Way of coming to a shameful End. A Thought which gave him much Uneasiness; for George was of a compas|sionate Disposition, and notwithstanding a small Breach of Friendship which he had been over-tempted to commit, was, in the main, not insensible of the Obligations he had formerly received from Mr. Jones.

The poor Fellow therefore scarce refrained from a Tear at the present Sight. He told Jones he was heartily sorry for his Misfortunes, and begged him to

consider if he could be of any manner of Service

'Perhaps, Sir, said he, you may want a little Matter of Money upon this Occasion; if you do, Sir what little I have is heartily at your Service.'

Jones shook him very heartily by the Hand, and gave him many Thanks for the Kind Offer he had made; but answered,

'He had not the least Wan•• of that Kind.'

Upon which George began to press his Services more eagerly than before. Jones again thanked him, with Assurances that he wanted no|thing which was in the Power of any Man living to give.

'Come, come, my good Master, answered George, do not take the Matter so much to Heart Things may end better than you imagine; to be sure you ant the first Gentleman who hath killed a Man, and yet come off.'

'You are wide of the Matter, George, said Partridge, the Gentleman is not dead, nor like to die. Don't disturb my Mas|ter at present, for he is troubled about a Matter in which it is not in your Power to do him any good.'

'You don't know what I may be able to do, Mr. Partridge, answered George; if his Concern is about my young Lady, I have some News to tell my Mas|ter.'

—

'What do you say, Mr. George?' cry'd Jones, hath any thing lately happened in which my Sophia is concerned? My Sophia! How dares such a Wretch as I mention her so prophanely.'

—

'I hope she will be yours yet, 'answered George.—'Why, yes, Sir, I have something to tell you about her. Madam Western hath just brought Madam Sophia home, and there hath been a terrible to do. I could not possibly learn the very Right of it; but my Master he hath been in a vast big Passion, and so was Madam Western, and I heard her say as she went out of Doors into her Chair, that she would never set her Foot in Master's House again. I don't know what's the Matter, not I, but every thing was very quiet when I came out; but Robin, who waited at

Supper, said he had never seen the Squire for a long while in such good Humour with young Ma|dam; that he kissed her several Times, and swore she should be her own Mistress, and he never would think of confining her any more. I thought this News would please you, and so I slipp'd out, though it was so late, to inform you of it.'

Mr. Jones assured George that it did greatly please him; for though he should never more presume to lift his Eyes towards that incomparable Creature, nothing could so much relieve his Misery as the Satisfaction he should always have in hearing of her Welfare.

The rest of the Conversation which passed at the Visit is not important enough to be here related. The Reader will therefore forgive us this abrupt breaking off, and be pleased to hear how this great good Will of the Squire towards his Daughter was brought about.

Mrs. Western, on her first Arrival at her Brother's Lodging, began to set forth the great Honours and Advantages which would accrue to the Family by the Match with Lord Fellamar, which her Neice had ab|solutely refused; in which Refusal, when the Squire took the Part of his Daughter, she fell immediately into the most violent Passion, and so irritated and pro|voked the Squire, that neither his Patience nor his Prudence could bear any longer; upon which there ensued between them both so warm a Bout at Alter|cation, that perhaps the Regions of Billingsgate ne|ver equalled it. In the Heat of this Scolding Mrs. Western departed, and had consequently no Leisure to acquaint the Brother with the Letter which Sophia re|ceived, which might have possibly produced ill Ef|fects; but to say the Truth I believe it never once occurred to her Memory at this Time.

When Mrs. Western was gone, Sophia, who had been hitherto silent, as well indeed from Necessity as Inclination, began to return the Compliment which

her Father had made her, in taking her part against her Aunt, by taking his likewise against the Lady. This was the first Time of her so doing, and it was in the highest Degree acceptable to the Squire. Again he remembered that Mr. Allworthy had insisted on an en|tire Relinquishment of all violent Means; and indeed as he made no doubt but that Jones would be hanged he did not in the least question succeeding with his Daughter by fair Means; he now therefore once more gave a Loose to his natural Fondness for her, which had such an Effect on the Dutiful, grateful, tender and Affectionate Heart of Sophia, that had her Honour given to Jones, and something else perhaps in which he was concerned, been removed, I much doubt whether she would not have sacrificed herself to a Man she did not like, to have obliged her Father. She promised him she would make it the whole Bu|siness of her Life to oblige him, and would never marry any Man against his Consent; which brought the old Man so near to his highest Happiness, that he was resolved to take the other Step, and went to Bed completely drunk.

CHAP. III. Allworthy visits old Nightingale; with a strange Dis|covery that he made on that Occasion.

THE Morning after these Things had happened, Mr. Allworthy went according to his Promise to visit old Nightingale, with whom his Authority was so great, that after having sat with him three Hours, he at last prevailed with him to consent to see his Son.

Here an Accident happened of a very extraordina|ry Kind; one indeed of those strange Chances, whence very good and grave Men have concluded that Providence often interposes in the Discovery of

the most secret Villainy, in order to caution Men from quitting the Paths of Honesty, however warily they tread in those of Vice.

Mr. Allworthy, at his Entrance into Mr. Night|ingale's, saw black George; he took no Notice of him, nor did Black George imagine he had perceived him. However, when their Conversation on the principal Point was over, Allworthy asked Nightingale whether he knew one George Seagrim, and upon what Business he came to his House.

'Yes, answer|ed Nightingale, I know him very well, and a most extraordinary Fellow he is, who in these Days, hath been able to hoard up 500l. from renting a very small Estate of 30l. a Year.'

'And is this the Story he hath told you? cries Allworthy.'

'Nay, it is true, I promise you,' said Nightingale, 'for I have the Money now in my Hands, in five Bank Bills, which I am to lay out either in a Mortgage, or in some Purchase in the North of England.'

The Bank Bills were no sooner produced at Allworthy's Desire, than he blessed himself at the Strangeness of the Discovery. He presently told Nightingale that these Bank Bills were formerly his, and then acquaint|ed him with the whole Affair. As there are no Men who complain more of the Frauds of Business than Highwaymen, Gamesters, and other Thieves of that Kind; so there are none who so bitterly exclaim a|gainst the Frauds of Gamesters, &c. as Usurers, Bro|kers, and other Thieves of this Kind; whether it be that the one Way of cheating is a Discountenance or Reflection upon the other, or that Money, which is the common Mistress of all Cheats, makes them re|gard each other in the Light of Rivals; but Nightin|gale no sooner heard the Story, than he exclaimed against the Fellow in Terms much severer than the Justice and Honesty of Allworthy had bestowed on him.

Allworthy desired Nightingale to retain both the Money and the Secret till he should hear farther from him; and if he should in the mean Time see the Fel|low, that he would not take the least Notice to him of the Discovery which he had made. He then re|turned to his Lodgings, where he found Mrs. Miller in a very dejected Condition, on Account of the In|formation she had received from her Son-in-law. Mr. Allworthy, with great Chearfulness, told her that he had much good News to communicate; and with little further Preface, acquainted her, that he had brought Mr. Nightingale to consent to see his Son, and did not in the least doubt to effect a perfect Re|conciliation between them; though he found the Fa|ther more sowered by another Accident of the same Kind, which had happened in his Family. He then mentioned the running away of the Uncle's Daugh|ter, which he had been told by the old Gentleman, and which Mrs. Miller, and her Son-in-law, did not yet know.

The Reader may suppose Mrs. Miller received this Account with great Thankfulness and no less Plea|sure; but so uncommon was her Friendship to Jones, that I am not certain whether the Uneasiness she suf|fered for his Sake, did not over-ballance her Satis|faction at hearing a Piece of News tending so much to the Happiness of her own Family; nor whether even this very News, as it reminded her of the Ob|ligations she had to Jones, did not hurt as well as please her; when her grateful Heart said to her,

'While my own Family is happy, how miserable is the poor Creature, to whose Generosity we owe the Beginning of all this Happiness.'

Allworthy having left her a little while to chew the Cud (if I may use that Expression) on these first Tid|ings, told her, he had still something more to impart, which he believed would give her Pleasure.

'I think said he, I have discovered a pretty considerable Trea|sure

belonging to the young Gentleman, your Friend; but perhaps indeed, his present Situation may be such, that it will be of no Service to him.'

The latter Part of the Speech gave Mrs. Miller to understand who was meant, and she answered with a Sigh,

'I hope not, Sir.'

'I hope so too' cries Allworthy, 'with all my Heart, but my Nephew told me this Morning, he had heard a very bad Ac|count of the Affair.'

—

'Good Heaven! Sir,' said she—Well, I must not speak, and yet it is certainly very hard to be obliged to hold one's Tongue when one hears'

—

'Madam, said Allworthy, you may say whatever you please, you know me too well to think I have a Prejudice against any one; and as for that young Man, I assure you I should be hear|tily pleased to find he could acquit himself of every thing, and particularly of this sad Affair. You can testify the Affection I have formerly borne him. The World, I know, censured me for loving him so much. I did not withdraw that Affection from him without thinking I had the justest Cause. Be|lieve me, Mrs. Miller, I should be glad to find I have been mistaken.'

Mrs. Miller was going ea|gerly to reply, when a Servant acquainted her, that a Gentleman without desired to speak with her imme|diately. Allworthy then enquired for his Nephew, and was told, that he had been for some Time in his Room with the Gentleman who used to come to him, and whom Mr. Allworthy, guessing rightly to be Mr. Dowling, he desired presently to speak with him.

When Dowling attended, Allworthy put the Case of the Bank-Notes to him, without mentioning any Name, and asked in what manner such a Person might be pu|nished. To which Dowling answered, he thought he might be indicted on the Black Act; but said, as it was a Matter of some Nicety, it would be proper to go to Council. He said he was to attend Council presently upon an Affair of Mr. Western's, and if

Mr. Allworthy pleased he would lay the Case before them. This was agreed to; and then Mrs. Miller opening the Door, cry'd,

'I ask pardon, I did not know you had Company;'

but Allworthy desired her to come in, saying, he had finished his Business. Upon which Mr. Dowling withdrew, and Mrs. Mil|ler introduced Mr. Nightingale the younger, to re|turn thanks for the great Kindness done him by All|worthy; but she had scarce Patience to let the young Gentleman finish his Speech before she interrupted him, saying,

'O Sir, Mr. Nightingale, brings great News about poor Mr. Jones, he hath been to see the wounded Gentleman, who is out of all Danger of Death, and what is more, declares he fell upon poor Mr. Jones himself, and beat him. I am sure, Sir, you would not have Mr. Jones be a Coward. If I was a Man myself, I am sure if any Man was to strike me, I should draw my Sword. Do pray, my Dear, tell Mr. Allworthy, tell him all yourself.'

Nightingale then confirmed what Mrs. Miller had said; and concluded with many handsome Things of Jones, who was, he said, one of the best-natured Fellows in the World, and not in the least inclined to be quarrelsome. Here Nightingale was going to cease, when Mrs. Miller again begged him to related all the many dutiful Expressions he had heard him make use of towards Mr. Allworthy.

'To say the utmost Good of Mr. Allworthy, cries Nightingale, is doing no more than strict Justice, and can have no Merits in it; but indeed I must say, no Man can be more sensible of the Obligations he hath to so good a•• Man, than is poor Jones. Indeed, Sir, I am con|vinced the Weight of your Displeasure is the hea|viest Burthen he lies under. He hath often lament|ed it to me, and hath as often protested in the most solemn Manner he had never been intentionally guil|ty of any Offence towards you; nay, he hath sworn he would rather die a Thousand Deaths than

he would have his Conscience upbraid him with one disrespectful, ungrateful, or undutiful Thought to|wards you. But I ask pardon, Sir, I am afraid I presume to intermeddle too far in so tender a Point.'

'You have spoke no more than what a Christian ought, cries Mrs. Miller.'

'Indeed, Mr. Nightingale, answered Allworthy, 'I applaud your generous Friend|ship, and I wish he may merit it of you. I con|fess I am glad to hear the Report you bring from this unfortunate Gentleman; and if that Matter should turn out to be as you represent it (and indeed I doubt nothing of what you say) I may perhaps, in Time, be brought to think better than lately I have of this young Man: For this good Gentle wo|man here, nay all who know me, can witness that I loved him as dearly as if he had been my own Son. Indeed I have considered him as a Child sent by Fortune to my Care. I still remember the in|nocent, the helpless Situation in which I found him. I feel the tender Pressure of his little Hands at this Moment.—He was my Darling, indeed he was.'

At which Words he ceased, and the Tears stood in his Eyes.

As the Answer which Mrs. Miller made may lead us into fresh Matters, we will here stop to account for the visible Alteration in Mr. Allworthy's Mind, and the Abatement of his Anger to Jones. Revolu|tions of this Kind, it is true, do frequently occur in Histories and dramatic Writers, for no other Reason than because the History or Play draws to a Conclu|sion, and are justified by Authority of Authors; yet though we insist upon as much Authority as any Au|thor whatever, we shall use this Power very sparing|ly, and never but when we are driven to it by Neces|sity, which we do not at present foresee will happen in this Work.

This Alteration then in the Mind of Mr. All|worthy, was occasioned by a Letter he had just re|ceived

from Mr. Square, and which we shall give the Reader in the Beginning of the next Chapter.

CHAP. IV. Containing two Letters in very different Stiles.

My worthy Friend,

I informed you in my last, that I was forbidden the Use of the Waters, as they were found by Experience rather to encrease than lessen the Symp|toms of my Distemper. I must now acquaint you with a Piece of News, which, I believe, will afflict my Friends more than it hath afflicted me. Dr. Harrington and Dr. Brewster, have informed me, that there is no Hopes of my Recovery.

I have somewhere read, that the great Use of Philosophy is to learn to die. I will not therefore so far disgrace mine, as to shew any Surprize at receiving a Lesson which I must be thought to have so long studied. Yet, to say the Truth, one Page of the Gospel teaches this Lesson better than all the Volumes of antient or modern Philosophers. The Assurance it gives us of another Life is a much stronger support to a good Mind, than all the Consolations that are drawn from the Necessity of Nature, the Emptiness or Satiety of our Enjoy|ments here, or any other Topic of those Decla|mations which are sometimes capable of arming our Minds with a stubborn Patience in bearing the Thoughts of Death; but never of raising them to a real Contempt of it, and much less of making us think it a real Good. I would not here be understood to throw the horrid Censure of Atheism, or even the absolute Denial of Immortality, on all who are called Philosophers. Many of that Sect, as|well antient as modern, have, from the Light of Reason, discovered some Hopes of a future State; but, in Reality, that Light was so faint and glim|mering,

and the Hopes were so incertain and pre|carious, that it may be justly doubted on which Side their Belief turned. Plato himself conludes his Phaedon, with declaring that his best Argu|ments amount only to raise a Probability, and Ci|cero himself seems rather to profess an Inclination to believe, than any actual Belief in the Doctrines of Immortality. As to myself to be very sincere with you, I never was much in earnest in this Faith, till I was in earnest a Christian.

You will perhaps wonder at the latter Expressi|on; but I assure you it hath not been till very lately, that I could, with Truth, call myself so. The Pride of Philosophy had intoxicated my Reason, and the sublimest of all Wisdom appeared to me, as it did to the Greeks of old, to be Foolishness. God hath however been so gracious to shew me my Error in Time, and to bring me into the Way of Truth, before I sunk into utter Darkness for ever.

I find myself beginning to grow very weak, I shall therefore hasten to the main Purpose of this Letter.

When I reflect on the Actions of my past Life, I know of nothing which sits heavier upon my Conscience, than the Injustice I have been guilty of to that poor Wretch, your adopted Son. I have not indeed only connived at the Villany of others, but been myself active in Injustice towards him. Believe me, my dear Friend, when I tell you on the Word of a dying Man, he has been basely injured. As to the principal Fact, upon the Misrepresentation of which you discarded him, I solemnly assure you he is innocent. When you lay upon your supposed Death-bed, he was the only Person in the House who testified any real Concern; and what happened afterwards arose from the Wildness of his Joy on your Recovery;

and, I am sorry to say it, from the Baseness of another Person (but it is my Desire to justify the Innocent, and to accuse none). Believe me, my Friend, this young Man hath the noblest Genero|sity of Heart, the most perfect Capacity for Friend|ship, the highest Integrity, and indeed every Vir|tue which can ennoble a Man. He hath some Faults, but among them is not to be numbred the least want of Duty or Gratitude towards you. On the contrary I am satisfied when you dismissed him from your House, his Heart bled for you more than for himself.

Worldly Motives were the wicked and base Rea|sons of my concealing this from you so long; to reveal it now I can have no Inducement but the Desire of serving the Cause of Truth, of doing Right to the Innocent, and of making all the A|mends in my Power for a past Offence. I hope this Declaration therefore will have the Effect de|sired, and will restore this deserving young Man to your Favour; the hearing of which while I am yet alive will afford the utmost Consolation to,

Sir,

Your most obliged, Obedient humble Servant, Thomas Square.

The Reader will, after this, scarce wonder at the Revolution so visibly appearing in Mr. Allworthy, not|withstanding he received from Thwackum, by the same Post, another Letter of a very different Kind, which we shall here add, as it may possibly be the last Time we shall have occasion to mention the Name of that Gentleman.

Sir,

I am not at all surprized at hearing from your worthy Nephew a fresh Instance of the Villany of

Mr. Square the Atheist's young Pupil. I shall not wonder at any Murders he may commit; and I heartily pray that your own Blood may not seal up his final Commitment to the Place of Wailing and gnashing of Teeth.

Though you cannot want sufficient Calls to Re|pentance for the many unwarrantable Weaknesses exemplified in your Behaviour to this Wretch, so much to the Prejudice of your own lawful Family, and of your Character. I say, tho' these may suf|ficiently be supposed to prick and goad your Con|science at this Season; I should yet be wanting to my Duty, if I spared to give you some Admoni|tion in order to bring you to a due Sense of your Errors. I therefore pray you seriously to consider the Judgment which is likely to overtake this wick|ed Villain; and let it serve at least as a Warning to you, that you may not for the future despise the Advice of one who is indefatigable in his Prayers for your Welfare.

Had not my Hand been withheld from due Cor|rection, I had scourged much of this diabolical Spirit out of a Boy, of whom from his Infancy I discovered the Devil had taken such entire Posses|sion; but Reflections of this Kind now come too late.

I am sorry you have given away the Living of Westerton so hastily. I should have applied on that Occasion earlier, had I thought you would not have acquainted me previous to the Disposition.—Your Objection to Pluralities is being righteous over-much. If there were any Crime in the Prac|tice, so many godly Men would not agree to it. If the Vicar of Aldergrove should die (as we hear he is in a declining Way) I hope you will think of me, since I am certain you must be convinced of my most sincere Attachment to your highest Welfare. A Welfare to which all worldly Considerations are

as trifling as the small Tithes mentioned in Scripture are, when compared to the weighty Matters of the Law.

I am, Sir, Your faithful humble Servant, Roger Thwackum.

This was the first Time that Thwackum eve•• wrote in this authoritative Stile to Allworthy, and of this he had afterwards sufficient Reason to re+pent, as in the Case of those who mistake the high+est Degree of Goodness for the lowest Degree o•• Weakness. Allworthy had indeed never liked thi•• Man. He knew him to be proud and ill-natured he also knew that his Divinity itself was tincture with his Temper, and such as in many Respects h•• himself did by no means approve: But he was at th•• same Time an excellent Scholar, and most indefati+gable in teaching the two Lads. Add to this th•• strict Severity of his Life and Manners, an unim+peached Honesty, and a most devout Attachment to Religion. So that upon the whole, though Allworthy did not esteem nor love the Man, yet he could never bring himself to part with a Tutor to the Boys, wh•• was both by Learning and Industry, extremely we•••• qualified for his Office; and he hoped, that as they were bred up in his own House, and under his own Eye, he should be able to correct whatever was wrong in Thwackum's Instructions.

CHAP. V. In which the History is continued.

MR. Allworthy, in his last Speech, had recollecte•• some tender Ideas concerning Jones, which had brought Tears into the good Man's Eyes. Thi•• Mrs. Miller observing, said,

'Yes, yes, Sir, your Goodness to this poor young Man is known not+withstanding all your Care to conceal it; but there

is not a single Syllable of Truth in what those Vil|lains said. Mr. Nightingale hath now discovered the whole Matter. It seems these Fellows were employed by a Lord, who is a Rival of poor Mr. Jones, to have pressed him on board a Ship.—I assure them I don't know who they will press next. Mr. Nightingale here hath seen the Officer himself, who is a very pretty Gentleman, and hath told him all, and is very sorry for what he undertook, which he would never have done had he known Mr. Jones to have been a Gentleman; but he was told that he was a common strolling Vagabond.'

Allworthy stared at all this, and declared he was a Stranger to every Word she said.

'Yes, Sir,' an|swered she, 'I believe you are.—It is a very different Story, I believe, from what those Fellows told the Lawyer.'

'What Lawyer, Madam? what is it you mean?'

said Allworthy.

'Nay, nay,' said she, 'this is so like you to deny your own Goodness; but Mr. Nightingale here saw him,'

'Saw whom, Ma|dam?'

answered he.

'Why your Lawyer, Sir,' said she, 'that you so kindly sent to enquire into the Affair.'

'I am still in the Dark, upon my Ho|nour,'

said Allworthy.

'Why then do you tell him, my dear Sir,'

cries she.

'Indeed, Sir,' said Nightingale, 'I did see that very Lawyer who went from you when I came into the Room, at an Ale|house in Aldersgate, in Company with two of the Fellows who were employed by Lord Fellamar to press Mr. Jones, and who were by that Means pre|sent at the unhappy Rencounter between him and Mr. Fitzpatrick.'

'I own, Sir,' said Mrs. Mil|ler, 'when I saw this Gentleman come into the Room to you, I told Mr. Nightingale that I apprehended you had sent him thither to enquire in|to the Affair.'

Allworthy shewed Marks of Asto|nishment

in his Countenance at this News, and was indeed for two or three Minutes struck dumb by it. At last, addressing himself to Mr. Nightingale, he said,

'I must confess myself, Sir, more surprized at what you tell me, than I have ever been before at any Thing in my whole Life. Are you certain this was the Gentleman?'

'I am most certain,'

answered Nightingale.

'At Aldersgate?'

cries All|worthy.

'And was you in Company with this Law|yer and the two Fellows?'

—

'I was, Sir,' said the other, 'very near half an Hour.'

—

'Well, Sir,' said Allworthy, 'and in what Manner did the Law|yer behave? Did you hear all that past between him and the Fellows?'

'No, Sir, answered Night|ingale, 'they had been together before I came—In my Presence the Lawyer said little; but after I had several Times examined the Fellows, who per|sisted in a Story directly contrary to what I had heard from Mr. Jones, and what I find by Mr. Fitzpatrick was a rank Falshood, the Lawyer then desired the Fellows to say nothing but what was the Truth, and seemed to speak so much in Favour of Mr. Jones, that when I saw the same Person with you, I concluded your Goodness had promp|ted you to send him thither.

—

'And did you not send him thither?'

says Mrs Miller.—'

'Indeed I did not,' answered Allworthy; 'nor did I know he had gone on such an Errand 'till this Moment.'

—

'I see it all!' said Mrs. Miller: 'Upon my Soul, I see it all! No wonder they have been closet|ted so close lately. Son Nightingale, let me beg you run for these Fellows immediately—find them out if they are above Ground. I will go myself.'

—

'Dear Madam,' said Allworthy, 'be patient, and do me the Favour to send a Servant up Stairs to call Mr. Dowling hither, if he be in the House, or if not, Mr. Blifil.'

Mrs. Miller went out mut|tering

something to herself, and presently returned with an Answer.

'That Mr. Dowling was gone; but that the t'other, as she called him, was coming.'

Allworthy was of a cooler Disposition than the good Woman, whose Spirits were all up in Arms in the Cause of her Friend. He was not however with|out some Suspicions which were near a-kin to hers. When Blifil came into the Room, he asked him with a very serious Countenance, and with a less friendly Look than he had ever before given him,

'Whether he knew any Thing of Mr. Dowling's having seen any of the Persons who were present at the Duel between Jones and another Gentleman?'

There is nothing so dangerous as a Question which comes by Surprize on a Man, whose Business it is to conceal Truth, or defend Falshood. For which Rea|son those worthy Personages, whose noble Office it is to save the Lives of their Fellow-Creatures at the Old-Baily, take the utmost Care, by frequent previ|ous Examination, to divine every Question which may be asked their Clients on the Day of Trial, that they may be supply'd with proper and ready Answers, which the most fertile Invention cannot supply in an Instant. Besides, the sudden and violent Impulse on the Blood, occasioned by these Surprizes, occasions frequently such an Alteration in the Countenance, that the Man is obliged to give Evidence against himself. And such indeed were the Alterations which the Countenance of Blifil underwent from this sudden Question, that we can scarce blame the Eagerness of Mrs. Miller, who immediately cry'd out,

'Guilty, upon my Honour! Guilty, upon my Soul!'

Mr. Allworthy sharply rebuked her for this Impe|tuosity; and then turning to Blifil, who seemed sink|ing into the Earth, he said,

'Why do you hesitate, Sir, at giving me an Answer? You certainly must have employed him, for he would not, of his own

Accord, I believe, have undertaken such an Er|rand, and especially without acquainting me.'

Blifil then answered,

'I own, Sir, I have been guilty of an Offence, yet may I hope your Par|don?'

—

'My Pardon?'

said Allworthy very an|grily.—

'Nay, Sir,' answered Blifil, 'I knew you would be offended; yet surely my dear Uncle will forgive the Effects of the most amiable of Hu|man Weaknesses. Compassion for those who do not deserve it, I own, is a Crime; and yet it is a Crime from which you yourself are not entirely free. I know I have been guilty of it in more than one Instance to this very Person; and I will own I did send Mr. Dowling, not on a vain and fruitless Enquiry, but to discover the Witnesses, and to en|deavour to soften their Evidence. This, Sir, is the Truth; which though I intended to conceal from you, I will not deny.'

'I confess,' said Nightingale, 'this is the Light in which it appeared to me from the Gentleman's Behaviour.'

'Now, Madam,' said Allworthy, 'I believe you will once in your Life own you have entertained a wrong Suspicion, and are not so angry with my Nephew as you was.'

Mrs. Miller was silent; for though she could not so hastily be pleased with Blifil, whom she looked upon to have been the Ruin of Jones, yet in this par|ticular Instance he had imposed upon her as well as the rest; so entirely had the Devil stood his Friend. And, indeed, I look upon the vulgar Observation, That the Devil often deserts his Friends, and leaves them in the Lurch, to be a great Abuse on that Gen|tleman's Character. Perhaps he may sometimes de|sert those who are only his Cup Acquaintance; or who, at most, are but half his; but he generally stands by those who are thoroughly his Servants, and

helps them off in all Extremities 'till their Bargain expires.

As a conquered Rebellion strengthens a Govern|ment, or as Health is more perfectly established by Recovery from some Diseases; so Anger, when re|moved, often gives new Life to Affection. This was the Case of Mr. Allworthy; for Blifil having wiped off the greater Suspicion, the lesser, which had been raised by Square's Letter, sunk of Course, and was forgotten; and Thwackum, with whom he was great|ly offended, bore alone all the Reflections which Square had cast on the Enemies of Jones.

As for that young Man, the Resentment of Mr. Allworthy began more and more to abate towards him. He told Blifil,

'he did not only forgive the extraordinary Efforts of his Good-Nature, but would give him the Pleasure of following his Ex|ample.'

Then turning to Mrs. Miller, with a Smile which would have become an Angel, he cry'd,

'What say you, Madam; shall we take a Hackney-Coach, and all of us together pay a Visit to your Friend? I promise you it is not the first Visit I have made in a Prison.'

Every Reader, I believe, will be able to answer for the worthy Woman; but they must have a great deal of Good-Nature, and be well acquainted with Friendship, who can feel what she felt on this Occa|sion. Few, I hope, are capable of feeling what now past in the Mind of Blifil; but those who are, will acknowledge, that it was impossible for him to raise any Objection to this Visit. Fortune, however, or the Gentleman lately mentioned above, stood his Friend, and prevented his undergoing so great a Shock: For at the very Instant when the Coach was sent for, Partridge arrived, and having called Mrs. Miller from the Company, acquainted her with the dreadful Accident lately come to Light; and hearing Mr. All|worthy's

Intention, begged her to find some Means of stopping him; for says he,

'the Matter must at all Hazards be kept a Secret from him; and if he should now go, he will find Mr. Jones and his Mother, who arrived just as I left him, lamenting over one another the horrid Crime they have ignorantly com|mitted.'

The poor Woman, who was almost deprived of her Senses at this dreadful News, was never less cap|able of Invention than at present. However, as Wo|men are much readier at this than Men, she bethought herself of an Excuse, and returning to Allworthy said,

'I am sure, Sir, you will be surprized at hearing any Objection from me to the kind Proposal you just now made; and yet I am afraid of the Consequence of it, if carried immediately into Execution. You must imagine, Sir, that all the Calamities which have lately befallen this poor young Fellow, must have thrown him into the lowest Dejection of Spi|rits: And now, Sir, should we all on a sudden fling him into such a violent Fit of Joy, as I know your Presence will occasion, it may, I am afraid, produce some fatal Mischief, especially as his Ser|vant who is without, tells me he is very far from being well.'

'Is his Servant without?' cries Allworthy; 'pray call him hither. I will ask him some Questions con|cerning his Master.'

Partridge was at first afraid to appear before Mr. Allworthy; but was at length persuaded, after Mrs. Miller, who had often heard his whole Story from his own Mouth, had promised to introduce him.

Allworthy recollected Partridge the Moment he came into the Room, though many Years had passed since he had seen him. Mrs. Miller therefore might have spared here a formal Oration, in which indeed she was somewhat prolix: For the Reader, I believe,

may have observed already that the good Woman, a|mong other Things, had a Tongue always ready for ••he Service of her Friends.

'And are you,' said Allworthy to Partridge, 'the Servant of Mr. Jones?''

'I can't say, Sir,' an|swered he, 'that I am regularly a Servant, but I live with him, an't please your Honour, at present. Non sum qualis eram, as your Honour very well knows.'

Mr. Allworthy then asked him many Questions con|cerning Jones, as to his Health and other Matters; to all which Partridge answered, without having the least Regard to what was, but considered only what he would have Things appear; for a strict Adherence to Truth was not among the Articles of this honest Fel|low's Morality or his Religion.

During this Dialogue Mr. Nightingale took his ••eave, and presently after Mrs. Miller lest the Room, then Allworthy likewise dispatched Blifil; for he ima|••ined that Partridge, when alone with him, would be ••ore explicit than before Company. They were no ••oner left in private together, than Allworthy began •• in the following Chapter.

CHAP. VI. In which the History is farther continued.

'SURE, Friend,' said the good Man, 'you are the strangest of all Human Beings. Not only to have suffered as you have formerly, for obstinate|ly persisting in a Falshood; but to persist in it thus to the last, and to pass thus upon the World for the Servant of your own Son? What Interest can you have in all this? What can be your Motive?'

'I see, Sir,' said Partridge, falling down upon ••s Knees, 'that your Honour is prepossessed against me, and resolved not to believe any Thing I say,

and therefore what signifies my Protestations; but yet there is one above who knows that I am not the Father of this young Man.'

'How!' said Allworthy, 'Will you yet deny what you was formerly convicted of upon such unanswer|able, such manifest Evidence? Nay, what a Con|firmation is your being now found with this very Man, of all which twenty Years ago appeared a|gainst you. I thought you had left the Country; nay, I thought you had been long since dead.—In what Manner did you know any Thing of this young Man? Where did you meet with him, un|less you had kept some Correspondence together. Do not deny this; for I promise you it will greatly raise your Son in my Opinion, to find that he hath such a Sense of filial Duty, as privately to support his Father for so many Years.'

'If your Honour will have Patience to hear me,' said Partridge, 'I will tell you all.'—Being bid go on, he proceeded thus: 'When your Honour conceived that Displeasure against me, it ended in my Ruin soon after; for I lost my little School; and the Minister, thinking I suppose it would be a|greeable to your Honour, turned me out from the Office of Clerk; so that I had nothing to trust to but the Barber's Shop, which, in a Country Place like that, is a poor Livelihood; and when my Wife died, (for 'till that Time I received a Pension of 12 l. a Year from an unknown Hand, which in|deed I believe was your Honour's own, for no Bo|dy that ever I heard of doth these Things besides) but as I was saying, when she died, this Pension for|sook me; so that now as I owed two or three small Debts, which began to be troublesome to me, (par|ticulary one * 4.1 which an Attorney brought up by

Law-charges from 15s. to near 30l.) and as I found all my usual Means of living had forsook me, I packed up my little All as well as I could, and went off.'

'The first Place I came to was Salisbury, where I got into the Service of a Gentleman belonging to the Law, and one of the best Gentlemen that ever I knew; for he was not only good to me, but I know a thousand good and charitable Acts which he did while I staid with him; and I have known him of|ten refuse Business because it was paultry and op|pressive.'

—

'You need not be so particular,' said Allworthy; 'I know this Gentleman, and a very worthy Man he is, and an Honour to his Profession.'

—

'Well, Sir,' continued Partridge, 'from hence I removed to Lymmington, where I was a|bove three Years in the Service of another Lawyer, who was likewise a very good Sort of a Man, and to be sure one of the merriest Gentlemen in England. Well, Sir, at the End of the three Years I set up a little School, and was likely to do well again, had it not been for a most unlucky Accident. Here I kept a Pig; and one Day, as ill Fortune would have it, this Pig broke out, and did a Trespass I think they call it, in a Garden belonging to one of my Neighbours, who was a proud, revengeful Man, and employed a Lawyer, one—one—I can't think of his Name; but he sent for a writ against me, and had me to Size. When I came there, Lord have Mercy upon me—to hear what the

Counsellor said. There was one that told my Lord a Parcel of the confoundedst Lies about me; he said, that I used to drive my Hogs into other Folks Gar|dens, and a great deal more; and at last he said, He hoped I had at last brought my Hogs to a fair Mar|ket. To be sure, one wou'd have thought, that instead of being Owner only of one poor little Pig, I had been the greatest Hog-Merchant in England. Well'

—

'Pray,' said Allworthy, do not be so particular. I have heard nothing of your Son yet.'

'O it was a great many Years,' answered Partridge, before I saw my Son, as you are pleased to call him—I went over to Ireland after this, and taught School at Cork, (for that one Suit ruined me again, and I lay seven Years in Winchester Goal.)'

—

'Well,' said Allworthy, 'pass that over till your Re|turn to England.

—

'Then, Sir,' said he, 'it was about half a Year ago that I landed at Bristol, where I stayed some Time, and not finding it do there, and hearing of a Place between that and Gloucester, where the Barber was just dead, I went thither, and there I had been about two Months, when Mr. Jones came thither.'

He then gave All|worthy a very particular Account of their first Meeting, and of every Thing as well as he could remember, which had happened from that Day to this, frequently interlarding his Story with Panegyricks on Jones, and not forgetting to insinuate the great Love and Respect which he had for Allworthy. He concluded with say|ing,

'Now, Sir, I have told your Honour the whole Truth:' And then repeated a most solemn Protes|tation, 'That he was no more the Father of Jones then of the Pope of Rome, and imprecated the most birt•• C••••ses on his Head if he did not speak Truth.

'What am I to think of this Ma••ter?' cries All|worthy 'For what Purpose should you so strongly 〈…〉〈…〉 it would be rather your

Interest to own?'

—

'Nay, Sir', answered Partridge, (for he could hold no longer) 'if your Honour will not believe me, you are like soon to have satisfac|tion enough. I wish you had mistaken the Mother of this young Man, as well as you have his Father.'

—And now being asked what he meant, with all the Symptoms of Horror both in his Voice and Coun|tenance, he told Allworthy the whole Story, which he had a little before expressed such Desire to Mrs. Mil|ler to conceal from him.

Allworthy was almost as much shocked at this Dis|covery as Partridge himself had been while he related it.

'Good Heavens!' says he, 'in what miserable Distresses do Vice and Imprudence involve Men! How much beyond our Designs are the Effects of Wickedness sometimes carrried!'

He had scarce uttered these Words, when Mrs. Waters came hastily and abruptly into the Room. Partridge no sooner saw her, than he cry'd,

'Here, Sir, here is the very Woman herself. This is the unfortunate Mother of Mr. Jones; I am sure she will acquit me before your Honour.—Pray, Madam—'

Mrs. Waters, without paying any Regard to what Partridge said, and almost without taking any No|tice of him, advanced to Mr. Allworthy.

'I believe, Sir, It is so long since I had the Honour of seeing you, that you do not recollect me.'

—

'Indeed,' an|swered Allworthy, 'you are so very much altered, on many Accounts, that had not this Man already ac|quainted me who you are, I should not have immedi|ately called you to my Remembrance. Have you, Ma|dam any particular Business which brings you to me?'

—Allworthy spoke this with great Reserve; for the Reader may easily believe he was not well pleased with the Conduct of this Lady; neither with what he had formerly heard, nor with what Partridge had now delivered.

Mrs. Waters answered,—

'Indeed, Sir, I have very particular Business with you; and it is such as I can only impart to yourself.—I must desire therefore the Favour of a Word with you alone; for I assure you what I have to tell you is of the utmost Importance.'

Partridge was then ordered to withdraw, but be|fore he went, he begged the Lady to satisfy Mr. Allworthy that he was perfectly innocent. To which she answered—

'You need be under no Appre|hension, Sir, I shall satisfy Mr. Allworthy very per|fectly of that Matter.'

Then Partridge withdrew, and that past between Mr. Allworthy and Mrs. Waters which is written in the next Chapter.

CHAP. VII. Continuation of the History.

MRS. Waters remaining a few Moments silent, Mr. Allworthy could not refrain from saying,

'I am sorry, Madam, to perceive by what I have since heard, that you have made so very ill a Use'

—

'Mr. Allworthy,' says she, interrupting him, 'I know I have Faults, but Ingratitude to you is not one of them. I never can nor shall forget your Goodness, which I own I have very little deserved; but be pleased to wave all Upbraiding me at pre|sent, as I have so important an Affair to communi|cate to you concerning this young Man, to whom you have given my Maiden Name of Jones.'

'Have I then,' said Allworthy, 'ignorantly punished an innocent Man in the Person of him who hath just left us? was he not the Father of the Child?'

—

'Indeed he was not,' said Mrs. Waters. 'You may be pleased to remember, Sir, I formerly told you, you should one Day know; and I acknow|ledge myself to have been guilty of a cruel Neglect,

in not having discovered it to you before.—Indeed I little knew how necessary it was.'

—

'Well, Ma|dam,' said Allworthy, 'be pleased to proceed.'

'You must remember, Sir,' said she, 'a young Fel|low, whose Name was Summer.'

'Very well,' cries Allworthy, 'he was the Son of a Clergyman of great Learning and Virtue, for whom I had the highest Friendship.'

'So it appeared, Sir,' an|swered she; 'for I believe you bred the young Man up, and maintained him at the University; where, I think, he had finished his Studies, when he came to reside at your House; a finer Man, I must say, the Sun never shone upon; for, besides the hand|somest Person I ever saw, he was so genteel, and had so much Wit and good Breeding.'

'Poor Gentleman,' said Allworthy, 'he was indeed un|timely snatch'd away; and little did I think he had any Sins of this kind to answer for; for I plainly perceive, you are going to tell me he was the Fa|ther of your Child'

'Indeed, Sir,' answered she, he was not.'

'How?' said Allworthy, 'to what then tends all this Preface?'

'to a Story, Sir,' said she, 'which I am concerned it falls to my Lot to unfold to you.—O, Sir, prepare to hear something which will Surprize you, will grieve you.'

'Speak,' said Allworthy, 'I am conscious of no Crime, and cannot be afraid to hear.'

—

'Sir, said she, that Mr. Summer, the Son of your Friend, educated at your Expence, who, after living a Year in the House as if he had been your own Son, died there of the small Pox, was tenderly lamented by you, and buried as if he had been your own; that Summer, Sir, was the Father of this Child.'

—

'How!' said Allworthy, 'you contradict yourself.'

—

'That I do not,' answered she, 'he was indeed the father of this Child but not by me.'

'Take care Madam,' said Allworthy, 'do not to shun the Imputation of any Crime be guilty of False|hood.

Remember there is one from whom you can conceal nothing, and before whose Tribunal Falsehood will only aggravate your Guilt.'

'In|deed, Sir,' says she, 'I am not his Mother; nor would I now think myself so for the World.'

'I know your Reason,' said Allworthy, 'and shall re|joice as much as you to find it otherwise; yet you must remember, you yourself confessed it before me.'

—

'So far what I confest,' said she, 'was true, that these Hands coveyed the Infant to your Bed, conveyed it thither at the Command of its Mother; at her Com|mands I afterwards owned it, and thought myself by her Generosity nobly rewarded, both for my Secrecy and my Shame.'

'Who could this Woman be?'

said Allworthy.—

'Indeed I tremble to Name her,'

answered Mrs. Waters.

'By all this Preparation I am to guess that she was a Relation of mine,'

cried he.

'Indeed she was a near one.'

At which Words Allworthy started, and she continued.—

'You had a Sister, Sir.'

—

'A Sister!'

repeated he, looking aghast.—

'As there is Truth in Heaven,' cries she, 'your Sister was the Mother of that Child you found between your Sheets.'

'Can it be possible,' cries he, 'good Heavens!'

'Have Pa|tience, Sir,' said Mrs. Waters, 'and I will unfold to you the whole Story. Just after your Depar|ture for London, Miss Bridget came one Day to the House of my Mother. She was pleased to say she had heard an extraordinary Character of me for my Learning and superior Understanding to all the young Women there, so she was pleased to say. She then bid me come to her to the great House, where when I attended, she employed me to read to her. She expressed great Satisfaction in my reading, shewed great Kindness to me, and made me many Presents. At last she began to catechise me on the Subject of Secrecy, to which I gave her such sa|tisfactory Answers, that at last having locked the

Door of her Room, she took me into her Closet, and then locking that Door likewise, she said she should convince me of the vast Reliance she had on my Integrity, by communicating a Secret in which her Honour and consequently her Life was concerned. She then stopt, and after a Silence of a Minute, during which she often wiped her Eyes, she en|quired of me, if I thought my Mother might safely be confided in. I answered I would stake my Life on her Fidelity. She then imparted to me the great Secret which laboured in her Breast, and which, I believe, was delivered with more Pains than she afterwards suffered in Child-birth. It was then contrived, that my Mother and myself only should attend at the Time, and that Mrs. Wilkins should be sent out of the Way, as she accordingly was to the very furthest Part of Dorsetshire to en|quire the Character of a Servant; for the Lady had turned away her own Maid near three Months be|fore, during all which Time I officiated about her Person, upon Trial as she said, tho', as she after|wards declared, I was not sufficiently handy for the Place. This and many other such Things which she used to say of me, were all thrown out to prevent any Suspicion which Wilkins might here|after have when I was to own the Child; for she thought it could never be believed she would venture to hurt a young Woman with whom she had intrusted such a Secret. You may be assured, Sir, I was well paid for all these Affronts, which, together with being informed of the Occasion of them, very well contented me. Indeed the Lady had a greater Suspicion of Mrs. Wilkins than of any other Person; not that she had the least Aversion to the Gentlewoman, but she thought her incapable of keeping a Secret, especially from you, Sir: For I have often heard Miss Bridget say, that if Mrs. Wilkins, had committed a Murder, she believ|ed

she would acquaint you with it. At last the expected Day came, and Mrs. Wilkins, who had been kept a Week in Readiness, and put off from Time to Time, upon some Pretence or other, that she might not return too soon, was dispatched. Then the Child was born in the Presence only of my|self and my Mother, and was by my Mother conveyed to her own House, where it was privately kept by her till the Evening of your Return, when I, by the Command of Miss Bridget conveyed it into the Bed where you found it.' And all Suspicions were afterwards laid asleep by the artful Conduct of your Sister, in pretending Ill-will to the Boy, and that any Regard she shew'd him was out of meer Com|plaisance to you.'

Mrs. Waters then made many Pro|testations of the Truth of this Story, and conclud|ed by saying,

'Thus, Sir, you have at last disco|vered your Nephew, for so I am sure you will here|after think him, and I question not but he will be both an Honour and a Comfort to you under that Appel|lation.'

'I need not Madam, said Allworthy, express my Astonishment at what you have told me; and yet surely you would not, and could not, have put together so many Circumstances to evidence an Untruth. I confess, I recollect some Passages relating to that Sum|mer, which formerly gave me a Conceit that my Sister had some Liking to him. I mentioned it to her: For I had such a Regard to the young Man, as well on his own account, as on his Father's, that I should have willingly consented to a Match between them; but she exprest the highest Disdain of my unkind Sus|picion, as she called it, so that I never more spoke on the Subject. Good Heaven! well, the Lord disposeth all Things.—Yet sure it was a most unjusti|fiable Conduct in my Sister to carry this Secret with her out of the World.'

'I promise you, Sir,' said Mrs. Waters, always profest a contrary Intention, and frequently told me she intended one Day to com|municate

it to you. She said indeed, she was high|ly rejoiced that her Plot had succeeded so well, and that you had of your own accord taken such a Fan|cy to the Child, that it was yet unnecessary to make any express Declaration. Oh! Sir, had that Lady lived to have seen this poor young Man turned like a Vagabond from your House; nay, Sir, could she have lived to hear that you had yourself employed a Lawyer to prosecute him for a Murder of which he was not guilty—Forgive me, Mr. Allworthy, I must say it was unkind.—Indeed you have been abused, he never deserved it of you.'

'Indeed, Ma|dam,' said Alworthy, 'I have been abused by the Person whoever he was that told you so.'

'Nay, Sir,' said she, 'I would not be mistaken, I did not presume to say you were guilty of any wrong. The Gentleman who came to me, proposed no such Mat|ter: He only said, taking me for Mr. Fitzpatrick's Wife, that if Mr. Jones had murdered my Husband, I should be assisted with any Money I wanted to carry on the Prosecution, by a very worthy Gentle|man, who, he said, was well apprized what a Vil|lain I had to deal with. It was by this Man I found out who Mr. Jones was; and this Man, whose Name is Dowling, Mr. Jones tells me, is your Ste|ward. I discovered his Name by a very odd Acci|dent, for he himself refused to tell it me; but Par|tridge, who met him at my Lodgings the second Time he came, knew him formerly at Salisbury.'

'And did this Mr. Dowling,' says Allworthy, with great Astonishment in his Countenance, 'tell you that I would assist in the Prosecution?'

—

'No, Sir', answered she, 'I will not charge him wrongfully. He said, I should be assisted, but he mentioned no Name.—Yet you must pardon me, Sir, if from Circumstances I thought it could be no other.'

—

'Indeed, Madam', says Allworthy, 'from Cir|cumstances

I am too well convinced it was another.—Good Heaven, by what wonderful Means is the blackest and deepest Villany sometimes disco|vered!—Shall I beg you, Madam, to stay till the Person you have mentioned comes, for I expect him every Minute; nay, he may be perhaps already in the House.'

Allworthy then stept to the Door, in order to call a Servant, when in came, not Mr. Dowling, but the Gentleman who will be seen in the next Chapter.

CHAP. VIII. Further Continuation.

THE Gentleman who now arrived was no other than Mr. Western. He no sooner saw Allwor|thy, than without considering in the least the Presence of Mrs. Waters, he began to vociferate in the follow|ing Manner.

'Fine Doings at my House! A rare Kettle of Fish I have discovered at last; who the Devil would be plagued with a Daughter?'

'What's the Matter, Neighbour, said Allworthy,'

'Matter enough, answered Western, when I thought she was a just coming to, nay, when she had in a Manner promised me to do as I would ha her, and when I was a hoped to have had nothing more to do than to have a sent for the Lawyer and finished all. What do you think I have found out? that the little B—hath bin playing Tricks with me all the while, and carrying on a Correspondence with that Bastard of yours. Sister Western, whom I have a quarrelled with upon her Account, sent me Word o't, and I ordered her Pockets to be searched when she was asleep, and here I have got un signed with the Son of a Whore's own Name. I have not had Patience to read half o't, for 'tis longer than one of Parson Supple's Sermons; but I find plainly it is all about

Love, and indeed what should it be else? I have packed her up in Chamber again, and To-morrow Morning down she goes into the Country, unless she confents to be married directly, and there she shall live in a Garret upon Bread and Water all her Days; and the sooner such a B—breaks her Heart the better, though d—n her, that I believe is too tough. She will live long enough to plague me.'

'Mr. Western, answered Allworthy, you know I have always protested against Force, and you yourself consented that none should be used.'

'Ay, cries, he, that was only upon Condition that she would consent without. What the Devil and Doctor Faustus, shan't I do what I will with my own Daughter, especially when I desire nothing but her own Good?'

'Well, Neighbour, answer|ed Allworthy, if you will give me Leave, I will un|dertake once to argue with the young Lady.'

'Will you, said Western, why that is kind now and neigh|bourly, and mayhap you will do more than I have been able to do with her; for I promise you she hath a very good Opinion of you.'

'Well, Sir, said Allworthy, if you will go Home and release the young Lady from her Captivity, I will wait upon her within this half Hour.'

—

'But suppose,' said Western, 'she should run away with un in the mean Time? for Lawyer Dowling tells me there is no Hopes of hanging the Fellow at last, for that the Man is alive, and like to do well, and that he thinks Jones will be out of Prison again presently.'

—

'How, said Allworthy, 'what did you employ him then to enquire or to do any Thing in that Matter?'

'Not I, answered Western, 'he mentioned it to me just now of his own Accord.'

—

'Just now!' cries Allworthy, 'why where did you see him then? I want much to see Mr. Dowling.'—'

'Why you may see un an you will presently at my Lodgings;

for there is to be a Meeting of Lawyers there this Morning, about a Mortgage.—Icod! I shall lose two or dree Thousand Pounds, I believe, by that honest Gentleman, Mr. Nightingale.'

—

'Well, Sir, said Allworthy, 'I will be with you within the half Hour.'

'And do for once, cries the Squire, take a Fool's Advice; never think of dealing with her by gentle Methods, take my Word for it, those will never do. I have try'd um long enough. She must be frightned into it, there is no other Way. Tell her I'm her Father, and of the horrid Sin of Dis|obedience, and of the dreadful Punishment of it in t'other World, and then tell her about being lock'd up all her Life in a Garret in this, and be kept on|ly upon Bread and Water.'

'I will do all I can, said Allworthy, for I promise you there is nothing I wish more than an Alliance with this amiable Creature.'

'Nay, the Girl is well enough for Matter o' that, cries the Squire, a Man may go farther and meet with worse Meat; that I may declare o' her, thof she be my own Daughter. And if she will but be obedient to me, there is no'orow a Father within a hundred Miles o' the Place that loves a Daughter better than I do; but I see you are busy with the Lady here, so I will go Huome and expect you, and so your humble Servant.'

As soon as Mr. Western was gone, Mrs. Waters said,

'I see, Sir, the Squire hath not the least Re|membrance of my Face. I believe, Mr. Allworthy, you would not have known me neither. I am ve|ry considerably altered since that Day when you so kindly gave me that Advice, which I had been happy had I followed.'

—

'Indeed, Madam, cries, Allworthy, 'it gave me great Concern when I first heard the contrary.'

'Indeed, Sir,' says she, 'I was ruined by a very deep Scheme of Villany, which if you knew, though I pretend not to think

it would justify me in your Opinion, it would at+least mitigate my Offence, and induce you to pity me; you are not now at Leisure to hear my whole Story; but this I assure you, I was betrayed by the most solemn Promise, of Marriage; nay in the Eye of Heaven I was married to him; for after much reading on the Subject, I am convinced that parti|cular Ceremonies are only requisite to give a legal Sanction to Marriage, and have only a worldly Use in giving a Woman the Privileges of a Wife; but that she who lives constant to one Man, after a solemn private Affiance, whatever the World may call her, hath little to charge on her own Consci|ence.'

'I am sorry, Madam,' said Allworthy, 'you made so ill an Use of your Learning. Indeed it would have been well that you had been possessed of much more, or had remained in a State of Ignorance. And yet, Madam, I am afraid you have more than this Sin to answer for.'

'During his Life, answered she, which was above a Dozen Years, I most so|lemnly assure you, I had not. And consider, Sir, on my Behalf, what is in the Power of a Woman stript of her Reputation, and left destitute, whether the good-natured World will suffer such a stray Sheep to return to the Road of Virtue, even if she was ne|ver so desirous. I protest then I would have chose it had it been in my Power; but Necessity drove me into the Arms of Capt. Waters, with whom, though still unmarried, I lived as a Wife for many Years, and went by his Name. I parted with this Gentleman at Worcester, on his March against the Rebels, and it was then I accidentally met with Mr. Jones, who rescued me from the Hands of a Villain. Indeed he is the worthiest of Men. No young Gentleman of his Age is, I believe, freer from Vice, and few have the twentieth Part of his Virtues; nay, whatever Vices he hath had, I am firmly persuaded he hath now taken a Resolution to

abandon them.'

'I hope he hath, cries Allworthy, and I hope he will preserve that Resolution. I must say I have still the same Hopes with Regard to yourself. The World, I do agree, are apt to be too unmerciful on these Occasions, yet Time and Perseverance will get the better of this their Disin|clination, as I may call it, to Pity, for though they are not, like Heaven ready to receive a penitent Sin|ner, yet a continued Repentance will at length ob|tain Mercy even with the World. This you may be assured of, Mrs. Waters, that whenever I find you are sincere in such good Intentions, you shall want no Assistance in my Power to make them ef|fectual.'

Mrs. Waters fell now upon her Knees before him, and in a Flood of Tears made him many most passio|nate Acknowledgments of his Goodness, which, as she truely said, savoured more of the divine than hu|man Nature.

Allworthy raised her up, and spoke in the most ten|der Manner, making use of every Expression which his Invention could suggest to comfort her, when he was interrupted by the Arrival of Mr. Dowling, who, up|on his first Entrance, seeing Mrs. Waters, started, and appeared in some Confusion; from which he soon recovered himself as well as he could, and then said, he was in the utmost Haste to attend Council at Mr. Western's Lodgings; but however thought it his Duty to call and acquaint him with the Opinion of Council upon the Case which he had before told him, which was that the Conversion of the Moneys in that Case could not be questioned in a Criminal Cause, but that an Action of Trover might be brought, and if it ap|peared to the Jury to be the Moneys of Plaintiff, that Plaintiff would recover a Verdict for the Value.

Allworthy, without making any Answer to this, bolted the Door, and then advancing with a stern Look to Dowling, he said,

'Whatever be your

Haste, Sir, I must first receive an Answer to some Questions. Do you know this young Lady?'

—

'That Lady, Sir?'

answered Dowling with great Hesitation. Allworthy then, with the most solemn Voice, said,

'Look you, Mr. Dowling, as you va|lue my Favour, or your Continuance a Moment longer in my Service, do not hesitate nor preva|ricate; but answer faithfully and truly to every Question I ask.—Do you know this Lady?'

—

'Yes, Sir, said Dowling, I have seen the Lady.'

'Where, Sir?'

'At her own Lodgings.'

—

'Upon what Business did you go thither, Sir, and who sent you?'

'I went, Sir, to enquire, Sir, about Mr. Jones.'

'And who sent you to enquire about him?'

'Who, Sir, why, Sir, Mr. Blifil sent me.'

'And what did you say to the Lady concerning that Matter?'

'Nay, Sir, it is impossible to recollect eve|ry Word.'

'Will you please, Madam, to assist the Gentleman's Memory?'

'He told me, Sir, said Mrs. Waters, that if Mr. Jones had murdered my Husband, I should be assisted by any Money I want|ed to carry on the Prosecution, by a very worthy Gentleman, who was well apprized what a Villain I had to deal with. These I can safely swear were the very Words he spoke.'

—

'Were these the Words, Sir, said Allworthy?'

'I cannot charge my Memory exactly, cries Dowling, but I believe I did speak to that Purpose.'

—

'And did Mr. Blifil order you to say so?'

'I am sure, Sir, I should not have gone on my own Accord, nor have wil|lingly exceeded my Authority in Matters of this Kind. If I said so, I must have so understood Mr. Blifil's Instructions.'

'Look you, Mr. Dowling, said Allworthy, I promise you before this Lady, that whatever you have done in this Affair by Mr. Blifil's Order, I will forgive, provided you now tell me strictly the Truth; for I believe what you

say, that you would not have acted of your own Accord, and without Authority, in this Matter.—Mr. Blifil then likewise sent you to examine the two Fellows at Aldersgate?'

—

'He did, Sir,'

—

'Well, and what Instructions did he then give you? Recollect as well as you can, and tell me, as near as possible, the very Words he used.'

—

'Why, Sir, Mr. Blifil sent me to find out the Persons who were Eye-Witnesses of this Fight. He said he fear|ed they might be tampered with by Mr. Jones, or some of his Friends. He said, Blood required Blood; and that not only all who concealed a Mur|derer, but those who omitted any Thing in their Power to bring him to Justice, were Sharers in his Guilt. He said, he found you was very desirous of having the Villain brought to Justice, though it was not proper you should appear in it.'

—

'Did he so?

says Allworthy.—

'Yes, Sir, cries Dowling, I should not, I am sure, have proceeded such Lengths for the sake of any other Person living but your Worship.'

—

'What Lengths, Sir,

said Allworthy.—

'Nay, Sir, cries Dowling, I would not have your Worship think I would, on any Ac|count, be guilty of Subordination of Perjury; but there are two Ways of delivering Evidence. I told them therefore that if any Offers should be made them on the other Side, they should refuse them, and that they might be assured they should lose no|thing by being honest Men, and telling the Truth. I said, we were told, that Mr. Jones had assaulted the Gentleman first, and that if that was the Truth, they should declare it; and I did give them some Hints that they should be no Losers.'

—

'I think you went Lengths indeed,'

cries Allworthy.—

'Nay, Sir', answered Dowling, 'I am sure I did not desire them to tell an Untruth,—nor should I have said what I did, unless it had been to oblige you.'

'You would not have thought, I believe, says All|worthy,

to have obliged me, had you known that this Mr. Jones was my own Nephew.'

'—I am sure, Sir, answered he, it did not become me to take any Notice of what I thought you desired to conceal.'

'—How, cries Allworthy, and did you know it then?'

—

'Nay Sir, answered Dowling, if your Worship bids me speak the Truth, I am sure I shall do it.—Indeed, Sir, I did know it; for they were almost the last Words which Madam Bli|fil ever spoke, which she mentioned to me as I stood alone by her Bedside, when she delivered me the Letter I brought your Worship from her.'

—

'What Letter, cries Allworthy?'

'—'The Letter, Sir, answered Dowling, which I brought from Salis|bury, and which I delivered into the Hands of Mr. Blifil.'—'

'O Heavens!' cries Allworthy, 'well, and what were the Words? What did my Sister say to you?'

—

'She took me by the Hand, answered he, and as she delivered me the Letter, said, I scarce know what I have written. Tell my Bro|ther, Mr. Jones is his Nephew—He is my Son—Bless him, says she, and then fell backward, as if dying away. I presently called in the People, and she never spoke more to me, and dy'd within a few Minutes afterwards.'

—Allworthy stood a Minute silent, lifting up his Eyes, and then turning to Dowl|ing, said,—

'How came you, Sir, not to deliver me this Message?'

'Your Worship, answered he, must remember that you was at that Time ill in Bed; and being in a violent Hurry, as indeed I al|ways am, I delivered the Letter and Message to Mr. Blifil, who told me he would carry them both to you, which he hath since told me he did, and that your Worship, partly out of Friendship to Mr. Jones, and partly out of Regard to your Sister, would never have it mentioned; and did intend to conceal it from the World; and therefore, Sir, if you had not mentioned it to me first, I am certain I

should never have thought it belonged to me to say any Thing of the Matter, either to your Worship, or any other Person.'

We have remarked somewhere already, that it is possible for a Man to convey a Lie in the Words of Truth; this was the Case at present: For Blifil, had in Fact told Dowling what he now related; but had not imposed upon him, nor indeed had imagined that he was able so to do. In Reality, the Promises which Blifil had made to Dowling, were the Motives which had induced him to Secrecy; and as he very plainly saw he should not be able to keep them, he thought pro|per now to make this Confession, which the Promis|es of Forgiveness, joined to the Threats, the Voice, the Looks of Allworthy, and the Discoveries he had made before, extorted from him, who was besides taken unawares, and had no Time to consider of E|vasions.

Allworthy appeared well satisfied with this Relation, and having enjoined strict Silence as to what had past on Dowling, conducted that Gentleman himself to the Door, least he should see Blifil, who was return|ed to his Chamber, where he exulted in the Thoughts of his last Deceit on his Uncle, and little suspected what had since passed below Stairs.

As Allworthy was returning to his Room, he met Mrs. Miller in the Entry, who with a Face all pale and full of Terror, said to him,

'O! Sir, I find this wicked Woman hath been with you, and you know all; yet do not on this Account abandon the poor young Man. Consider, Sir, he was ignorant it was his own Mother, and the Discovery itself will most probably break his Heart, without your Unkindness.'

'Madam, says Allworthy, I am un|der such an Astonishment at what I have heard, that I am really unable to satisfy you; but come with me into my Room. Indeed, Mrs. Miller, I have made surprising Discoveries, and you shall soon know them.'

The poor Woman followed him trembling; and now Allworthy going up to Mrs. Waters, took her by the Hand, and then turning to Mrs. Miller said,

'What Reward shall I bestow upon this poor Gen|tlewoman for the Services she hath done me?—O! Mrs. Miller, you have a Thousand Times heard me call the young Man to whom you are so faithful a Friend, my Son. Little did I then think he was indeed related to me at all.—Your Friend, Madam, is my Nephew, he is the Brother of that wicked Viper which I so long nourished in my Bosom.—She will herself tell you the whole Story, and how the Youth came to pass for her Son. Indeed, Mrs. Miller, I am convinced that he hath been wronged, and that I have been abused, abused by one whom you too justly suspect|ed of being a Villain. He is, in Truth, the worst of Villains.'

The Joy which Mrs. Miller now felt, bereft her of the Power of Speech, and might perhaps have deprived her of her Senses, if not of Life, had not a friendly Shower of Tears come seasonably to her Re|lief. At length recovering so far from her Transport as to be able to speak, she cry'd,

'And is my dear Mr. Jones then your Nephew, Sir? and not the Son of this Lady? and are your Eyes opened to him at last? and shall I live to see him as happy as he deserves?'

'He certainly is my Nephew, says Allworthy, and I hope all the rest.'

—

'And is this the dear, good Woman, the Person, cries she, to whom all this Discovery is owing!'

—

'She is indeed, says Allworthy."

—

'Why then, cry'd Mrs. Miller, upon her Knees, may Heaven shower down its choicest Blessings upon her Head, and for this one good Action, forgive her all her Sins be they never so many.'

Mrs. Waters then informed them, that she believ|ed Jones would very shortly be released; for that the

Surgeon was gone, in Company with a Nobleman, to the Justice who committed him, in order to certify that Mr. Fitzpatrick was out of all Manner of Dan|ger, and to procure the Prisoner his Liberty.

Allworthy said, he should be glad to find his Ne|phew there at his Return home; but that he was then obliged to go on some Business of Consequence. He than called to a Servant to fetch him a Chair, and presently left the two Ladies together.

Mr. Blifil hearing the Chair ordered, came down Stairs to attend upon his Uncle, for he never was deficient in such Acts of Duty. He asked his Un|cle if he was going out, which is a civil Way of asking a Man where he is going; to which the other making no Answer, he again desired to know when he would be pleased to return.—Allworthy made no Answer to this neither, till he was just getting in|to his Chair, and then turning about he said—

'Harkee, Sir, do you find out, before my Return, the Letter which your Mother sent me on her Death-bed.'

Allworthy then departed, and left Blifil in a Situation to be envied only by a Man who is just go|ing to be hanged.

CHAP. IX. A further Continuation.

ALlworthy took an Opportunity whilst he was in the Chair of reading the Letter from Jones to Sophia, which Western delivered him; and there were some Expressions in it concerning himself, which drew Tears from his Eyes. At length he arrived at Mr. Western's, and was introduced to Sophia.

When the first Ceremonies were past, and the Gen|tleman and Lady had taken their Chairs, a Silence of some Minutes ensued; during which, the latter, who had been prepared for the Visit by her Father, sat playing with her Fan, and had every Mark of Confusion both in her Countenance and Behaviour. At length All|worthy, who was himself a little disconcerted, began

thus;

'I am afraid, Miss Western, my Family hath been the Occasion of giving you some Uneasiness; to which, I fear, I have innocently become more instrumental than I intended. Be assured, Madam, had I at first known how disagreeable the Proposals had been, I should not have suffered you to have been so long persecuted. I hope therefore you will not think the Design of this Visit is to trouble you with any further Sollicitations of that Kind, but entirely to relieve you from them.'

'Sir, said Sophia, with a little modest Hesitation, this Behaviour is most kind and generous, and such as I could expect only from Mr. Allworthy: But as you have been so kind to mention this Matter, you will pardon me for saying, it hath indeed given me great Uneasiness, and hath been the Occasion of my suf|fering much cruel Treatment from a Father, who was, 'till that unhappy Affair, the tenderest and fondest of all Parents. I am convinced, Sir, you are too good and generous to resent my Refusal of your Nephew. Our own Inclinations are not in our Power; and whatever may be his Merit, I can|not force them in his Favour.'

'I assure you, most amiable young Lady.' said Allworthy, 'I am capable of no such Resentment, had the Person been my own Son, and had I entertained the high|est Esteem for him. For you say truly, Madam, we cannot force our own Inclinations, much less can they be directed by another.'

'Oh! Sir,' an|swered Sophia, 'every Word you speak proves you to deserve that good, that great, that Benevolent Cha|racter the whole World allows you. I assure you, Sir, nothing less than the certain Prospect of future Misery could have made me resist the Commands of my Father.'

'I sincerely believe you Madam,' replied Allworthy, 'and I heartily congratulate you on your prudent Foresight, since by so justifiable a

Resistance you have avoided Misery indeed.'

'You speak now, Mr. Allworthy, cries she, 'with a De|licacy which few Men are capable of feeling: but surely in my Opinion, to lead our Lives with one to whom we are indifferent, must be a State of Wretchedness—perhaps that Wretchedness would be even increased by a Sense of the Merits of an Object to whom we cannot give our Affections. If I had married Mr. Blifil—'

'Pardon my interrupting you, Madam, answered Allworthy, 'but I cannot bear the Supposition.—Believe me, Miss Western, I rejoice from my Heart, I rejoice in your Escape.—I have discovered the Wretch, for whom you have suffered all this cruel Violence from your Father, to be a Villain.'

'How, Sir!' cries Sophia,—'you must believe this surprises me.'

—

'It hath surprised me, Madam,' answered Allworthy, and so it will the World.—But I have acquainted you with the real Truth.'

'Nothing but Truth,' says Sophia, 'can, I am convinced, come from the Lips of Mr. Allworthy.—Yet, Sir, such sudden, such unexpected News—Discovered, you say—may Villainy be ever so.'

—

'You will soon enough hear the Story,' cries Allworthy,—'at present let us not mention so detested a Name—I have another Matter of a very serious Nature to propose.—O! Miss Western, I know your vast Worth, nor can I so easily part with the Ambition of being allied to it.—I have a near Relation, Madam, a young Man whose Character is, I am con|vinced, the very opposite to that of this Wretch, and whose Fortune I will make equal to what his was to have been.—Could I, Madam, hope you would admit a Visit from him?'

Sophia after a Minute's Silence, answered,

'I will deal with the ut|most Sincerity with Mr. Allworthy. His Charac|ter, and the Obligation I have just received from

him demand it. I have determined at present to listen to no such Proposals from any Person. My only desire is to be restor'd to the Affection of my Father, and to be again the Mistress of his Family. This, Sir, I hope to owe to your good Offices. Let me beseech you, let me conjure you by all the Goodness, which I, and all who know you, have experienced; do not the very Moment when you have released me from one Persecution, do not en|gage me in another, as miserable and as fruitless.'

'Indeed, Miss Western,' replied Allworthy, 'I am capable of no such Conduct; and if this be your Re|solution, he must submit to the Disappointment, whatever Torments he may suffer under it.'

'I must smile now, Mr. Allworthy,' answered Sophia, 'when you mention the Torments of a Man whom I do not know, and who can consequently have so little Acquaintance with me.'

'Pardon me, dear young Lady,' cries Allworthy, 'I begin now to be afraid he hath had too much Acquaintance for the Repose of his future Days; since, if ever Man was capable of a sincere, violent and noble Passion, such, I am convinced, is my unhappy Nephew's for Miss Western.' 'A Nephew of yours! Mr. Allworthy,' answered Sophia. 'It is surely strange, I never heard of him before.'

'Indeed! Madam,' cries Allworthy, 'it is only the Circumstance of his being my Nephew to which you are a Stranger, and which, 'till this Day, was a Secret to me.—Mr. Jones, who has long loved you, he! he is my Nephew.'

—

'Mr. Jones your Nephew, Sir?' cries Sophia, 'Can it be possible?

—

'He is in|deed, Madam, answered Allworthy: He is my own Sister's Son—as such I shall always own him; nor am I ashamed of owning him. I am much more ashamed of my past Behaviour to him; but I was as ignorant of his Merit as of his Birth. In|deed, Miss Western, I have used him cruelly—

Indeed I have.'

—Here the good Man wiped his Eyes, and after a short Pause proceeded—

'I never shall be able to reward him for his Sufferings without your Assistance.—Believe me, most amiable young Lady, I must have a great Esteem of that Offering which I make to your Worth. I know he hath been guilty of Faults; but there is great Goodness of Heart at the Bottom. Believe me, Madam, there is.'

—Here he stopped, seeming to expect an Answer, which he presently received from Sophia, after she had a little recover|ed herself from the Hurry of Spirits into which so strange and sudden Information had thrown her:

'I sincerely wish you Joy, Sir, of a Discovery in which you seem to have such Satisfaction. I Doubt not but you will have all the Comfort you can pro|mise yourself from it. The young Gentleman hath certainly a thousand good Qualities, which makes it impossible he should not behave well to such an Uncle.'

—

'I hope, Madam,' said Allworthy, he hath those good Qualities which must make him a good Husband.—He must I am sure, be of all Men the most abandoned, if a Lady of your Merit should condescend'

—

'You must pardon me, Mr. Allworthy,' answered Sophia, 'I cannot listen to a Proposal of this Kind. Mr. Jones, I am convinced, hath much Merit; but I shall never receive Mr. Jones as one who is to be my Hus|band—Upon my Honour I never will.'

—

'Par|don me Madam,' cries Allworthy, 'if I am a little surprized after what I have heard from Mr. Western—I hope the unhappy young Man hath done no|thing to forfeit your good Opinion, if he had ever the Honour to enjoy it.—Perhaps he may have been misrepresented to you, as he was to me. The same Villainy may have injured him every where.—He is no Murderer, I assure you, as he hath

been called.'

—

'Mr. Allworthy, answered Sophia, I have told you my Resolution. I wonder not at what my Father hath told you; but whatever his Apprehensions or Fears have been, if I know my Heart, I have given no Occasion for them; since it hath always been a fixed Principle with me, ne|ver to have marry'd without his Consent. This is, I think, the Duty of a Child to a Parent; and this, I hope, nothing could ever have prevailed with me to swerve from. I do not indeed conceive, that the Authority of any Parent can oblige us to marry, in direct Opposition to our Inclinations. To avoid a Force of this Kind, which I had Rea|son to suspect, I left my Father's House, and sought Protection elsewhere. This is the Truth of my Sto|ry; and if the World, or my Father, carry my In|tentions any farther, my own Conscience will ac|quit me.'

'I hear you, Miss Western,' cries All|worthy with Admiration. 'I admire the Justness of your Sentiments; but surely there is more in this. I am cautious of offending you, young Lady; but am I to look on all which I have hitherto heard or seen, as a Dream only? And have you suffered so much Cruelty from your Father on the Account of a Man to whom you have been always absolute|ly indifferent?'

'I beg, Mr. Allworthy,' answered Sophia, 'you will not insist on my Reasons;—Yes I have suffered indeed: I will not, Mr. All|worthy, conceal—I will be very sincere with you—I own I had a great Opinion of Mr. Jones—I believe—I know I have suffered for my Opinion—I have been treated cruelly by my Aunt, as well as by my Father; but that is now past—I beg I may not be farther press'd; for whatever hath been, my Resolution is now fix|ed. Your Nephew, Sir, hath many Virtues—he hath great Virtues, Mr. Allworthy. I question not but he will do you Honour in the World, and

make you happy.'

—

'I wish I could make him so, Madam,' replied Allworthy; 'but that I am convinced is only in your Power. It is that Con|viction which hath made me so earnest a Sollici|tor in his Favour.'

'You are deceived; indeed, Sir, you are deceived,' said Sophia—'I hope not by him—It is sufficient to have deceived me. Mr. Allworthy, I must insist on being prest no farther upon this Subject.—I should be sorry—Nay, I will not injure him in your Favour. I wish Mr. Jones very well. I sincerely wish him well; and I ••••peat again to you, whatever Demerit he may have to me, I am certain he hath many good Qualities. I do not disown my former Thoughts; but nothing can ever recal them. At present there is not a Man on Earth whom I would more reso|lutely reject than Mr. Jones; nor would the Ad|dresses of Mr. Blifil himself be less agreeable to me.'

Western had been long impatient for the Event of this Conference, and was just now arrived at the Door to listen; when having heard the last Sentiments of his Daughter's Heart, he lost all Temper, and burst|ing open the Door in a Rage, cried out,—

'It is a Lie. It is a d—n'd Lie. It is all owing to that d—n'd Rascal Juones; and if she could get at un, she'd ha un any Hour of the Day.'

Here Allwor|thy interposed, and addressing himself to the Squire with some Anger in his Look, he said,

'Mr. Western, you have not kept your Word with me. You pro|mised to abstain from all Violence.'

—

'Why so I did,' cries Western, 'as long as it was possible; but to hear a Wench telling such confounded Lies.—Zounds! Doth she think if she can make Vools of other Volk, she can make one of me?—No, no, I know her better than thee dost.'

'I am sorry to tell you, Sir,' answered Allworthy, it doth not appear by your Behaviour to this young

Lady, that you know her at all. I ask Pardon for what I say; but I think our Intimacy, your own Desires, and the Occasion justify me. She is your Daughter, Mr. Western, and I think she doth Ho|nour to your Name. If I was capable of Envy, I should sooner envy you on this Account, than any other Man whatever.'

—

'Od-rabbit-it,' cries the Squire, 'I wish she was thine with all my Heart—wouldst soon be glad to be rid of the Trouble o' her.'

—

'Indeed, my good Friend,' answered All|worthy, 'you yourself are the Cause of all the Trou|ble you complain of. Place that Confidence in the young Lady which she so well deserves, and I am certain you will be the happiest Father on Earth.'

—

'I Confidence in her!' cries the Squire.

''Sblood!' what Confidence can I place in her, when she won't do as I wou'd ha her? Let her gi but her Consent to marry as I would ha her, and I'll place as much Confidence in her as wouldst ha me.'

—

'You have no Right, Neighbour,' an|swered Allworthy, 'to insist on any such Consent. A negative Voice your Daughter allows you, and God and Nature have thought proper to allow you no more.'

'A negative Voice?' cries the Squire,—Ay! ay! I'll shew you what a negative Voice I ha.—Go along, go into your Chamber, go, you Stubborn

—

'Indeed, Mr. Western,' said All|worthy,—'Indeed, you use her cruelly—I can|not bear to see this—You shall, you must be|have to her in a kinder Manner. She deserves the best of Treatment.'

'Yes, yes,' said the Squire, I know what she deserves: Now she's gone, I'll shew you what she deserves—See here, Sir, here is a Letter from my Cousin, my Lady Bellaston, in which she is so kind to gi me to understand, that the Fellow is got out of Prison again; and here she advises me to take all the Care I can o' the Wench.

Odzookers! Neighbour Allworthy, you don't know what it is to govern a Daughter.'

The Squire ended his Speech with some Compli|ments to his own Sagacity; and then Allworthy, af|ter a formal Preface, acquainted him with the whole Discovery which he had made concerning Jones, with his Anger to Blifil, and with every Particular which hath been disclosed to the Reader in the preceding Chapters.

Men over-violent in their Dispositions, are, for the most Part, as changeable in them. No sooner then was Western informed of Mr. Allworthy's Intention to make Jones his Heir, than he joined heartily with the Uncle in every Commendation of the Nephew, and became as eager for her Marriage with Jones, as he had before been to couple her to Blifil.

Here Mr. Allworthy was again forced to interpose, and to relate what had passed between him and So|phia, at which he testified great Surprize.

The Squire was silent a Moment, and looked wild with Astonishment at this Account—At last he cried out,

'Why what can be the Meaning of this, Neighbour Allworthy? Vond o un she was, that I'll be sworn to.—Odzookers! I have hit o't. As sure as a Gun I have hit o the very right o't. It's all long o Zister. The Girl hath got a Hanker|ing after this Son of a whore of a Lord. I vound 'em together at my Cousin, my Lady Bellaston's. He hath turned the Head o' her that's certain—but d—n me if he shall ha her—I'll ha no Lords nor Courtiers in my Vamily.'

Allworthy now made a long Speech, in which he repeated his Resolution to avoid all violent Measures, and very earnestly recommended gentle Methods to Mr. Western, as those by which he might be assured of succeeding best with his Daughter. He then took his Leave, and returned back to Mrs. Miller, but

was forced to comply with the earnest Entreaties of the Squire, in promising to bring Mr. Jones to visit him that Afternoon,

'that he might,' as he said, 'make all Matters up with the young Gentleman.'

At Mr. Allworthy's Departure, Western promised to follow his Advice in his Behaviour to Sophia, saying,

'I don't know how 'tis, but d—n me, Allwor|thy, if you don't make me always do just as you please, and yet I have as good an Esteate as you, and am in the Commission of the Peace as well as yourself.'

CHAP. X. Wherein the History begins to draw towards a Con|clusion.

WHEN Allworthy returned to his Lodgings, he heard Mr. Jones was just arrived before him. He hurried therefore instantly into an empty Cham|ber, whither he ordered Mr. Jones to be brought to him alone.

It is impossible to conceive a more tender or mov|ing Scene, than the Meeting between the Uncle and Nephew, (for Mrs. Waters, as the Reader may well suppose, had at her last Visit discovered to him the Secret of his Birth). The first Agonies of Joy which were felt on both Sides, are indeed beyond my Pow|er to describe: I shall not therefore attempt it. Af|ter Allworthy had raised Jones from his Feet, where he had prostrated himself, and received him into his Arms,

'O my Child,' he cried, 'how have I been to blame! How have I injured you! What Amends can I ever make you for those unkind, those un|just Suspicions which I have entertained; and for all the Sufferings they have occasioned to you?'

'Am I not made Amends?' cries Jones, 'Would not my Sufferings, if they had been ten Times

greater, have been now richly repaid? O my dear Uncle! this Goodness, this Tenderness over-powers, unmans, destroys me. I cannot bear the Transports which slow so fast upon me. To be again restored to your Presence, to your Fa|vour; to be once more thus kindly received by my great, my noble, my generous Benefactor,

—

'Indeed, Child,' cries Allworthy,' I have used you cruelly.'

—He then explained to him all the Treachery of Blifil, and again repeated Expressions of the utmost Concern, for having been induced by that Treachery to use him so ill.

'O talk not so,' answer|ed Jones;' 'Indeed Sir, you have used me nobly. The wisest Man might be deceived as you were, and, under such a Deception, the best must have acted just as you did. Your Goodness displayed it|self in the Midst of your Anger, just as it then seem|ed. I owe every thing to that Goodness of which I have been most unworthy. Do not put me on Self-accusation, by carrying your generous Sentiments too far. Alas, Sir, I have not been punished more than I have deserved; and it shall be the whole Bu|siness of my furture Life to deserve that Happiness you now bestow on me; for believe me, my dear Uncle, my Punishment hath not been thrown away upon me. Though I have been a great, I am not a hardened Sinner; I thank Heaven I have had Time to reflect on my past Life, where though I cannot charge myself with any gross Villainy, yet I can dis|cern Follies and Vices too sufficient to repent and to be ashamed of; Follies which have been attended with dreadful Consequences to myself, and have brought me to the Brink of Destruction.'

'I am rejoiced, my dear Child,' answered Allworthy, to hear you talk thus sensibly; for as I am convinc|ed Hypocrisy (good Heaven how have I been imposed on by it in others!) was never among your Faults,

so I can readily believe all you say. You now see, Tom, to what Dangers Imprudence alone may sub|ject Virtue (for Virtue, I am now convinced, you love in a great Degree). Prudence is indeed the Duty which we owe to ourselves; and if we will be so much our own Enemies as to neglect it, we are not to wonder if the World is deficient in discharg|ing their Duty to us; for when a Man lays the Foundation of his own Ruin, others will, I am a|fraid, be too apt to build upon it. You say, how|ever you have seen your Errors; and will reform them. I firmly believe you, my dear Child; and therefore, from this Moment, you shall never more be reminded of them by me. Remember them on|ly yourself so far, as for the future to teach you the better to avoid them; but still remember, for your Comfort, that there is this great Difference between those Faults which Candour may construe into Im|prudence, and those which can be deduced from Vil|lainy only. The former, perhaps, are even more liable to subject a Man to Ruin; but if he reform, his Character will, at length, be totally retrieved; the World, though not immediately, will, in Time, be reconciled to him; and he may reflect, not with|out some Mixture of Pleasure, on the Dangers he hath escaped: But Villainy, my Boy, when once discovered, is irretrievable; the Stains which this leaves behind, no Time will wash away. The Cen|sure of Mankind will pursue the Wretch, their Scorn will abash him in Public, and if Shame drives him into Retirement, he will go to it with all those Terrors with which a weary Child, who is afraid of Hobgoblins, retreats from Company to go to Bed alone. Here his murdered Conscience will haunt him. Repose, like a false Friend, will fly from him. Where-ever he turns his Eyes, Horror presents it|self; if he looks backward, unavailable Repentance

treads on his Heels; if forward, incurable Despair stares him in the Face; till, like a condemned Pri|soner, confined in a Dungeon, he detests his present Condition, and yet dreads the Consequence of that Hour which is to relieve him from it. Comfort yourself, I say, my Child, that this is not your Case; and rejoice, with Thankfulness to him who hath suffered you to see your Errors, before they have brought on you that Destruction to which a Persi|stance in even those Errors must have led you. You have deserted them, and the Prospect now before you is such, that Happiness seems in your own Pow|er.'

—At these Words Jones fetched a deep Sigh; upon which, when Allworthy remonstrated, he said,

'Sir, I will conceal nothing from you: I fear there is one Consequence of my Vices I shall never be able to retrieve. O my dear Uncle, I have lost a Treasure.'

—

'You need say no more,' answer|ed Allworthy; 'I will be explicit with you; I know what you lament; I have seen the young Lady, and have discoursed with her concerning you. This I must insist on, as an Earnest of your Sincerity in all you have said, and of the Stedfastness of your Reso|lution, that you obey me in one Instance. To a|bide intirely by the Determination of the young La|dy, whether it shall be in your Favour, or no. She hath already suffered enough from Sollicitations which I hate to think of; she shall owe no further Constraint to my Family: I know her Father will be as ready to torment her now on your Account, as he hath formerly been on another; but I am de|termined she shall suffer no more Confinement, no more Violence, no more uneasy Hours.'

—

'O my dear Uncle', answered Jones, 'lay, I beseech you, some Command on me, in which I shall have some Merit in Obedience. Believe me, Sir, the only In|stance in which I could disobey you, would be to

give an uneasy Moment to my Sophia. No, Sir, if I am so miserable to have incurred her Displeasure beyond all Hope of Forgiveness, that alone, with the dreadful Reflection of causing her Misery, will be sufficient to overpower me. To call Sophia mine is the greatest, and now the only additional Blessing which Heaven can bestow; but it is a Blessing which I must owe to her alone.'

'I will not flatter you, Child,' cries Allworthy; I fear your Case is desperate: I never saw stronger Marks of an unalterable Resolution in any Person, than appeared in her vehement Declarations against receiving your Addresses; for which, perhaps, you can account bet|ter than myself.'

—

'Oh, Sir! I can account too well,' answered Jones; 'I have sinned against her beyond all Hope of Pardon; and, guilty as I am, my Guilt unfortunately appears to her in ten Times blacker than the real Colours. O my dear Uncle, I find my Follies are irretrievable; and all your Goodness cannot save me from Perdition.'

A Servant now acquainted them, that Mr. Western was below Stairs; for his Eagerness to see Jones could not wait till the Afternoon. Upon which Jones, whose Eyes were full of Tears, begged his Uncle to entertain Western a few Minutes, till he a little reco|vered himself: To which the good Man consented, and having ordered Mr. Western to be shewn into a Parlour, went down to him.

Mrs. Miller no sooner heard, that Jones was alone (for she had not yet seen him since his Release from Prison,) than she came eagerly into the Room, and, advancing towards Jones, wished him heartily Joy of his new-found Uncle, and his happy Reconciliation; adding,

'I wish I could give you Joy on another Ac|count, my dear Child; but any thing so inexorable I never saw.'

Jones, with some Appearance of Sur|prize, asked her, what she meant.

'Why then,' says she, 'I have been with your young Lady, and

have explained all Matters to her, as they were told me by my Son Nightingale. She can have no longer any Doubt about the Letter, that I am certain; for I told her my Son Nightingale was rea|dy to take his Oath, if she pleased, that it was all his own Invention, and the Letter of his inditing. I told her the very Reason of sending the Letter ought to recommend you to her the more, as it was all upon her Account, and a plain Proof, that you was resolved to quit all your Profligacy for the fu|ture; that you had never been guilty of a single In|stance of Infidelity to her since your seeing her in Town. I am afraid I went too far there; but Hea|ven forgive me: I hope your future Behaviour will be my Justification. I am sure I have said all I can; but all to no Purpose. She remains inflexible. She says, she had forgiven many Faults on account of Youth; but expressed such Detestation of the Cha|racter of a Libertine, that she absolutely silenced me. I often attempted to excuse you; but the Justness of her Accusation flew in my Face. Up|on my Honour she is a lovely Woman, and one of the sweetest and most sensible Creatures I ever saw. I could have almost kissed her for one Expression she made use of. It was a Sentiment worthy of Se|neca, or of a Bishop.' "I once fancied, Ma|dam,' said she, "I had discovered great Good|ness of Heart in Mr. Jones; and for that I own I had a sincere Esteem; but an entire Profligacy of Manners will corrupt the best Heart in the World; and all which a good-natured Libertine can expect is, that we should mix some Grains of Pity with our Contempt and Abhorrence."

'She is an an|gelic Creature, that is the Truth on't.'

—

'O Mrs. Miller, answered Jones, can I bear to think I have lost such an Angel.

—

'Lost! No,' cries Mrs. Miller;' 'I hope you have not lost her yet. Resolve to leave such vicious Courses, and you may yet have

Hopes: Nay, if she should remain inexorable, there is another young Lady, a sweet pretty young Lady, and a swinging Fortune, who is absolutely dying for Love of you. I heard of it this very Morning, and I told it to Miss Western; nay, I went a little beyond the Truth again; for I told her you had refused her; but indeed I knew you would refuse her.—And here I must give you a little Comfort: When I mentioned the young La|dy's Name, who is no other than the pretty Wi|dow Hunt, I thought she turned pale; but when I said you had refused her, I will be sworn her Face was all over Scarlet in an Instant; and these were her very Words,' "I will not deny but that I be|lieve he has some Affection for me.'

Here the Conversation was interrupted by the Arri|val of Western, who could no longer be kept out of the Room even by the Authority of Allworthy, him|self; though this, as we have often seen, had a won|derful Power over him.

Western immediately went up to Jones, crying out,

'My old Friend Tom, I am glad to see thee with all my Heart. All past must be forgotten. I could not intend any Affront to thee, because, as Allwor|thy here knows, nay, dost know it thyself, I took thee for another Person; and where a Body means no Harm, what signifies a hasty Word or two; one Christian must forget and forgive another.'

'I hope, Sir, said Jones, 'I shall never forget the many Ob|ligations I have had to you; but as for any Offence towards me, I declare I am an utter Stranger.'

—

'A't,' says Western,' then give me thy Fist, a't as hearty an honest Cock as any in the Kingdom. Come along with me; I'll carry thee to thy Mis|tress this Moment.'

Here Allworthy interposed; and the Squire being unable to prevail either with the Uncle or Nephew, was, after some Litigation, oblig|ed to consent to delay introducing Jones to Sophia till

the Afternoon; at which Time Allworthy, as well in Compassion to Jones, as in Compliance with the eager Desires of Western, was prevailed upon to pro|mise to attend at the Tea-table.

The Conversation which now ensued was pleasant enough; and with which, had it happened earlier in our History, we would have entertained our Reader; but as we have now Leisure only to attend to what is very material, it shall suffice to say, that Mat|ters being intirely adjusted as to the Afternoon-Visit, Mr. Western again returned home.

CHAP. XI. This History draws nearer to a Conclusion.

WHEN Mr. Western was departed, Jones be|gan to inform Mr. Allworthy and Mrs. Mil|ler, that his Liberty had been procured by two noble Lords, who, together with two Surgeons, and a Friend of Mr. Nightingale's, had attended the Ma|gistrate by whom he had been committed, and by whom, on the Surgeons Oaths that the wounded Per|son was out of all Manner of Danger from this Wound, he was discharged.

One only of these Lords, he said, he had ever seen before, and that no more than once; but the o|ther had greatly surprized him, by asking his Pardon for an Offence he had been guilty of towards him, occasioned, he said, entirely by his Ignorance who he was.

Now the Reality of the Case with which Jones was not acquainted till afterwards, was this. The Lieu|tenant whom Lord Fellamar had employed, accord|ing to the Advice of Lady Bellaston, to press Jones, as a Vagabond, into the Sea Service, when he came to report the Event which we have before seen to his Lordship, spoke very favourably of the Behavi|our of Mr. Jones on all Accounts, and strongly as|sured

that Lord, that he must have mistaken the Per|son, for that Jones was certainly a Gentleman, in|somuch that his Lordship, who was strictly a Man of Honour, and would by no Means have been guilty of an Action which the World in general would have condemned, began to be much concerned for the Ad|vice which he had taken.

Within a Day or two after this, Lord Fellamar happened to dine with the Irish Peer, who, in a Con|versation upon the Duel, acquainted his Company with the Character of Fitzpatrick; to which indeed he did not do strict Justice, especially in what related to his Lady. He said, she was the most innocent, and most injured Woman alive, and that from Com|passion alone he had undertaken her Cause. He then declared an Intention of going the next Morning to Fitzpatrick's Lodgings, in order to prevail with him, if possibly, to consent to a Separation from his Wife, who, the Peer said, was in Apprehensions for her Life, if she should ever return to be under the Power of her Husband. Lord Fellamar agreed to go with him, that he might satisfy himself more concerning Jones, and the Circumstances of the Duel; for he was by no Means easy concerning the Part he had acted. The Moment his Lordship gave a Hint of his Rea|diness to assist in the Delivery of the Lady, it was eagerly embraced by the other Nobleman, who de|pended much on the Authority of Lord Fellamar, as he thought it would greatly contribute to awe Fitz|patrick into a Compliance; and perhaps he was in the right; for the poor Irishman no sooner saw these no|ble Peers had undertaken the Cause of his Wife, than he submitted, and Articles of Separation were soon drawn up and signed between the Parties.

Fitzpatrick had been so well satisfied by Mrs. Wa|ters concerning the Innocence of his Wife with Jones at Upton, or perhaps from some other Reasons, was now become so indifferent to that Matter, that he

spoke highly in Favour of Jones, to Lord Fellamar, took all the Blame upon himself, and said the other had behaved very much like a Gentleman, and a Man of Honour; and upon that Lord's further En|quiry concerning Mr. Jones, Fitzpatrick told him he was Nephew to a Gentleman of very great Fashion and Fortune, which was the Account he had just re|ceived from Mrs. Waters, after her Interview with Dowling.

Lord Fellamar now thought it behoved him to do every Thing in his Power to make Satisfaction to a Gentleman whom he had so grosly injured, and with|out any Consideration of Rivalship, (for he had now given over all Thoughts of Sophia) determined to procure Mr. Jones's Liberty, being satisfied as well from Fitzpatrick as his Surgeon, that the Wound was not mortal. He therefore prevailed with the Irish Peer to accompany him to the Place where Jones was confined, to whom he behaved as we have already related.

When Allworthy returned to his Lodgings, he im|mediately carried Jones into his Room, and then ac|quainted him with the whole Matter, as well what he had heard from Mrs. Waters, as what he had dis|covered from Mr. Dowling.

Jones expressed great Astonishment, and no less Concern at this Account; but without making any Comment or Observation upon it. And now a Mes|sage was brought from Mr. Blifil, desiring to know if his Uncle was at Leisure, and he might wait upon him. Alworthy started and turned pale, and then in a more passionate Tone than, I believe, he had ever used before, bid the Servant tell Blifil, he knew him not.

'Consider, dear Sir,'

—cries Jones in a trem|bling Voice.—

'I have considered, answered All|worthy, and you yourself shall carry my Message to the Villain.—No one can carry him the Sentence

of his own Ruin so properly as the Man whose Ruin he hath so villainously contrived.'

—

'Pardon me, dear Sir, said Jones; a Moment's Reflection will, I am sure, convince you of the contrary. What might be perhaps but Justice from another Tongue, would from mine be Insult; and to whom?—My own Brother, and your Nephew.—Nor did he use me so barbarously.—Indeed that would have been more inexcuseable than any Thing he hath done. Fortune may tempt Men of no very bad Dispositi|ons to Injustice; but Insults proceed only from black and rancorous Minds, and have no Tempta|tions to excuse them.—Let me beseech you, Sir, to do nothing by him in the present Height of your Anger. Consider, my dear Uncle, I was not my|self condemned unheard.'

Allworthy stood silent a Moment, and then embracing Jones, he said, with Tears gushing from his Eyes,

'O my Child! to what Goodness have I been so long blind!'

Mrs. Miller entring the Room at that Moment, after a gentle Rap, which was not perceived, and see|ing Jones in the Arms of his Uncle, the poor Wo|man, in an Agony of Joy, fell upon her Knees, and burst forth into the most extatic Thanksgivings to Heaven, for what had happened. —Then run|ing to Jones, she embraced him eagerly, crying,

'My dearest Friend, I wish you Joy a Thousand and a Thousand Times of this blest Day;'

and next Mr. Allworthy himself received the same Congratulations. To which he answered,

'Indeed, indeed, Mrs. Mil|ler, I am beyond Expression happy.'

Some few more Raptures being passed on all Sides, Mrs. Miller desired them both to walk down to Dinner in the Parlour, where she said there were a very happy Set of People assembled; being indeed no other than Mr. Nightingale and his Bride, and his Cousin Harris with her Bridegroom.

Allworthy excused himself from dining with the Company, saying he had ordered some little Thing for him and his Nephew in his own Apartment; for that they had much private Business to discourse of, but would not resist promising the good Woman, that both he and Jones would make Part of her Society at Supper.

Mrs. Miller then asked what was to be done with Blifil;

'for indeed, says she, I cannot be easy while such a Villain is in my House.

—Allworthy an|swered,

'He was as uneasy as herself on the same Account.'

'O, cries she, if that be the Case, leave the Matter to me; I'll soon shew him the Outside of my Doors, I warrant you. Here are two or three lusty Fellows below Stairs.'

'There will be no need of any Violence, cries Allworthy, if you will carry him a Message from me, he will, I am convinced, depart of his own Accord.'

'Will I? said Mrs. Miller, I never did any Thing in my Life with a better Will.'

Here Jones interfered, and said,

'He had considered the Matter better, and would, if Mr. Allworthy pleased, be himself the Messenger.'

'I know, says he, already enough of your Pleasure, Sir, and I beg Leave to acquaint him with it by my own Words. Let me beseech you, Sir, added he, to reflect on the dreadful Conse|quences of driving him to violent and sudden De|spair. How unfit, alas! is this poor Man to die in his present Situation.'

This Suggestion had not the least Effect on Mrs. Miller. She left the Room cry|ing,

'You are too good, Mr. Jones, infinitely too good to live in this World.'

But it made a deeper Impression on Allworthy.

'My good Child, said he, I am equally astonished at the Goodness of your Heart, and the Quickness of your Understanding. Heaven indeed forbid that this Wretch should be deprived of any Means or Time for Repentance.

That would be a shocking Consideration indeed. Go to him therefore, and use your own Discretion; yet do not flatter him with any Hopes of my Forgiveness; for I shall never forgive Villainy farther than my Religion obliges me, and that extends not either to our Bounty or our Conversation.'

Jones went up to Blifil's Room, whom he found in a Situation which moved his Pity, though it would have raised a less amiable Passion in many Beholders. He had cast himself on his Bed, where he lay aban|doning himself to Despair, and drowned in Tears; not in such Tears as flow from Contrition, and wash away Guilt from Minds which have been seduced or surprized into it unawares, against the Bent of their natural Dispositions, as will sometimes happen from human Frailty, even to the Good: No, these Tears were such as the frighted Thief sheds in his Cart, and are indeed the Effects of that Concern which the most savage Natures are seldom deficient in feeling for themselves.

It would be unpleasant and tedious to paint this Scene in full Length. Let it suffice to say, that the Behaviour of Jones was kind to Excess. He omitted nothing which his Invention could supply, to raise and comfort the drooping Spirits of Blifil, before he communicated to him the Resolution of his Uncle, that he must quit the House that Evening. He offer|ed to furnish him with any Money he wanted, assur|ed him of his hearty Forgiveness of all he had done against him, that he would endeavour to live with him hereafter as a Brother, and would leave nothing un|attempted to effectuate a Reconciliation with his Un|cle.

Blifil was at first sullen and silent, balancing in his Mind whether he should yet deny all: But finding at last the Evidence too strong against him, he betook himself at last to confession. He then asked Pardon of his Brother in the most vehement Manner, pro|strated

himself on the Ground, and kissed his Feet: In short, he was now as remarkably mean, as he had been before remarkably wicked.

Jones could not so far check his Disdain, but that it a little discovered itself in his Countenance at this extreme Servility. He raised his Brother the Moment he could from the Ground, and advised him to bear his Afflictions more like a Man; repeating, at the same Time, his Promises, that he would do all in his Power to lessen them: For which Blifil making many Professions of his Unworthiness, poured forth a Pro|fusion of Thanks: And then he having declared he would immediately depart to another Lodging, Jones returned to his Uncle.

Among other Matters, Allworthy now acquainted Jones with the Discovery which he made concerning the 500 l. Bank-Notes.

'▪I have,' said he, 'already consulted a Lawyer, who tells me, to my great Asto|nishment, that there is no Punishment for a Fraud of this Kind. Indeed, when I consider the black Ingratitude of this Fellow toward you, I think a Highwayman, compared to him, is an innocent Person.'

'Good Heaven!' says Jones, 'is it possible?—I am shocked beyond Measure at this News. I thought there was not an honester Fellow in the World.—The Temptation of such a Sum was too great for him to withstand; for smaller Matters have come safe to me through his Hand. Indeed, my dear Uncle, you must suffer me to call it Weak|ness rather than Ingratitude; for I am convinced the poor Fellow loves me, and hath done me some Kindness, which I can never forget; nay, I believe he hath repented of this very Act: For it is not above a Day or two ago, when my Affairs seemed in the most desperate Situation, that he visited me in my Confinement, and offered me any Money I wanted.

Consider, Sir, what a Temptation to a Man who had tasted such bitter Distress, it must be to have a Sum in his Possession, which must put him and his Family beyond any future Possibility of suffering the like.'

'Child,' cries Allworthy, 'you carry this forgiv|ing Temper too far. Such mistaken Mercy is not only weakness, but borders on Injustice, and is ve|ry pernicious to Society, as it encourages Vice. The Dishonesty of this Fellow I might perhaps have pardoned, but never his Ingratitude. And give me Leave to say, when we suffer any Temptation to atone for Dishonesty itself, we are as candid and merciful as we ought to be; and so far I confess I have gone: for I have often pitied the Fate of a Highwayman, when I have been on the Grand Jury; and have more than once applied to the Judge on the Behalf of such as have had any mitigating Cir|cumstances in their Case; but when Dishonesty is attended with any blacker Crime, such as Cruelty, Murder, Ingratitude, or the like, Compassion and Forgiveness then become Faults. I am convinced the Fellow is a Villain, and he shall be punished; at least as far as I can punish him.'

This was spoke with so stern a Voice, that Jones did not think proper to make any Reply: Besides, the Hour appointed by Mr. Western now drew so near that he had barely Time left do dress himself. Here therefore ended the present Dialogue, and Jones re|tired to another Room, where Partridge attended, according to order, with his Cloaths.

Partridge had scarce seen his Master since the hap|py Discovery. The poor Fellow was unable either to contain or express his Transports. He behaved like one frantic, and made almost as many Mistakes while he was dressing Jones, as I have seen made by Harlequin in dressing himself on the Stage.

His Memory, however, was not in the least defi|cient. He recollected now many Omens and Presages of this happy Event, some of which he had remarked at the Time, but many more he now remembered; nor did he omit the Dreams he had dreamt the Even|ing before his meeting with Jones; and concluded with saying,

'I always told your Honour something boded in my Mind, that you would one Time or other have it in your Power to make my Fortune.'

Jones as|sured him, that this Boding should as certainly be verified with regard to him, as all the other Omens had been to himself; which did not a little add to all the Raptures which the poor Fellow had already con|ceived on account of his Master.

CHAP. XII. Approaching still nearer to the End.

JONES being now completely dressed, attended his Uncle to Mr. Western's. He was indeed one of the finest Figures ever beheld, and his Person alone would have charmed the greater Part of Womankind; but we hope it hath already appeared in this History, that Nature, when she formed him, did not totally rely, as she sometimes doth, on this Merit only, to recommend her Work.

Sophia, who, angry as she was, was likewise set forth to the best Advantage, for which I leave my female Reader to account, appeared so extremely beautiful, that even Allworthy, when he saw her, could not for|bear whispering Western, that he believed she was the finest Creature in the World. To which Western answered, in a Whisper overheard by all present,

'So much the better for Tom;—for d—n me if he shan't ha the tousling her.'

Sophia was all o|ver Scarlet at these Words, while Tom's Counte|nance was altogether as pale, and he was almost ready to sink from his Chair.

The Tea-table was scarce removed, before Wes|tern lugged Allworthy out of the Room, telling him,

'He had Business of Consequence to impart, and must speak to him that Instant in private before he for|got it.'

The Lovers were now alone, and it will, I ques|tion not, appear strange to many Readers, that those who had so much to say to one another when Danger and Difficulty attended their Conversation, and who seemed so eager to rush into each others Arms when so many Bars lay in their Way, now that with Safe|ty they were at Liberty to say or do whatever they pleased, should both remain for some Time silent and motionless; insomuch, that a Stranger of mode|rate Sagacity might have well concluded they were mutually indifferent: But so it was, however strange it may seem; both sat with their Eyes cast down|wards on the Ground, and for some Minutes continu|ed in perfect Silence.

Mr. Jones, during this Interval, attempted once or twice to speak, but was absolutely incapable, mut|tering only, or rather, sighing out some broken Words: when Sophia at length, partly out of Pity to him, and partly to turn the Discourse from the Sub|ject which she knew well enough he was endeavouring to open, said:—

'Sure, Sir, you are the most fortunate Man in the World in this Discovery.'

' 'And can you rea|ly, Madam, think me so fortunate,' said Jones, sighing, 'while I have incurred your Displeasure?

—

'Nay, Sir,' says she, 'as to that you best know whether you have deserved it.'

'Indeed, Madam,' answered he, 'you yourself are as well apprized of all my Demerits. Mrs. Miller has acquainted you with the whole Truth. O! my Sophia, am I ne|ver to hope for Forgiveness?'

—

'I think, Mr. Jones,' said she, 'I may almost depend upon your

own Justice, and leave it to yourself to pass Sen|tence on your own Conduct.'

—

'Alas! Madam,' answered he, 'it is Mercy, and not Justice, which I implore at your Hands. Justice I know must con|demn me—Yet not for the Letter I sent to Lady Bellaston. Of that I most solemnly declare, you have had a true Account.'

He then insisted much on the Security given him by Nightingale of a fair Pre|tence for breaking off, if, contrary to their Expecta|tions, her Ladyship should have accepted his Offer; but confest, that he had been guilty of a great In|discretion to put such a Letter as that into her Power, which, said he,

'I have dearly paid for, in the Effect it has upon you.'

'I do not, I can|not,' says she, 'believe otherwise of that Letter than you would have me. My Conduct, I think, shews you clearly I do not believe there is much in that. And yet, Mr. Jones, have I not enough to resent? After what past at Upton, so soon to en|gage in a new Amour with another Woman, while I fancied, and you pretended, your Heart was bleed|ing for me!—Indeed you have acted strangely. Can I believe the Passion you have profest to me to be sincere? Or if I can, what Happiness can I assure myself of with a Man capable of so much In|constancy?'

'O! my Sophia, cries he, 'do not doubt the Sincerity of the purest Passion that ever inflamed a human Breast. Think, most adorable Creature, of my unhappy Situation, of my Des|pair.—Could I, my Sophia, have flatter'd my|self with the most distant Hopes of being ever per|mitted to throw myself at your Feet, in the Manner I do now, it would not have been in the Power of any other Woman to have inspired a Thought which the severest Chastity could have condemned. In|constancy to you! O Sophia! if you can have Good|ness enough to pardon what is past, do not let any

cruel future Apprehensions shut your Mercy against me.—No Repentance was ever more sincere. O! let it reconcile me to my Heaven in this dear Bo|som.'

'Sincere Repentance, Mr. Jones' answer|ed she, 'will obtain the Pardon of a Sinner, but it is from one who is a perfect Judge of that Sinceri|ty. A human Mind may be imposed on; nor is there any infallible Method to prevent it. You must expect however, that if I can be prevailed on by your Repentance to pardon you, I will at least insist on the strongest Proof of its Sincerity.'

—

'O! name any Proof in my Power,'

answered Jones ea|gerly.

'Time,' replied she; 'Time, Mr. Jones, can alone convince me that you are a true Penitent, and have resolved to abandon these vicious Courses, which I should detest you, if I imagined you ca|pable of persevering in.'

'Do not imagine it,' cries Jones. 'On my Knees I intreat, I implore your Confidence, a Confidence which it shall be the Bu|siness of my Life to deserve.'

'Let it then,' said she, 'be the Business of some Part of your Life to shew me you deserve it. I think I have been ex|plicit enough in assuring you, that when I see you merit my Confidence, you will obtain it. After what is past, Sir, can you expect I should take you upon your Word?'

He replied,

'Don't believe me upon my Word; I have a better Security, a Pledge for my Constancy, which it is impossible to see and to doubt.'

'What is that?'

said Sophia, a little surprised.

'I will show you, my charming Angel,

cried Jones, seiz|her Hand, and carrying her to the Glass.

'There, behold it there, in that lovely Figure, in that Face, that Shape, those Eyes, that Mind which shines through those Eyes: Can the Man who shall be in Possession of these be inconstant? Impossible! my Sophia. They would six a Dorimant, a Lord Rochester. You could not doubt it, if you could

see yourself with any Eyes but your own.'

Sophia blushed, and half smiled; but forcing again her Brow into a Frown,

'If I am to judge,' said she, 'of the future by the past, my Image will no more remain in your Heart, when I am out of your Sight, than it will in this Glass when I am out of the Room.'

'By Heaven, by all that's sacred,' said Jones, 'it never was out of my Heart. The Delicacy of your Sex cannot conceive the Grossness of ours, nor how little one Sort of Amour has to do with the Heart.'

'I will never marry a Man,' replied Sophia, very gravely, 'who shall not learn Refinement enough to be as incapable as I am myself of making such a Dis|tinction.'

'I will learn it,' said Jones. 'I have learnt it already. The first Moment of Hope that my Sophia might be my Wife taught it me at once; and all the rest of her Sex from that Moment be|came as little the Objects of Desire to my Sense, as of Passion to my Heart.'

'Well,' said Sophia, the Proof of this must be from Time. Your Si|tuation, Mr. Jones, is now altered, and I assure you I have great Satisfaction in the Alteration. You will now want no Opportunity of being near me, and convincing me▪ that your Mind is altered too.'

'O! my Angel,' cries Jones, 'how shall I thank thy Goodness? And are you so good to own, that you have a Satisfaction in my Prosperity?—Believe me, believe me, Madam, it is you alone have given me a relish to that Prosperity, since I owe to it the dear Hope—O! my Sophia, let it not be a distant one.—I will be all Obedience to your Commands. I will not dare to press any farther than you permit me. Yet let me intreat you to appoint a short Trial. O! tell me, when I may expect you will be convinced of what is most solemnly true.'

'When I have gone voluntarily thus far, Mr. Jones, said she, 'I expect not to be

pressed. Nay, I will not.'

—

'O don't look un|kindly thus, my Sophia,' cries he. 'I do not, I dare not press you—Yet permit me at least once more to beg you would fix the Period. O! con|sider the Impatience of Love.'—'

'A Twelve|month perhaps,'

said she.—

'O! my Sophia,' cries he, 'you have named an Eternity.'

—

'Perhaps it may be something sooner,' says she, 'I will not be teazed. If your Passion for me be what I would have it, I think you may now be easy.'

—

'Easy Sophia, call not such exulting Happiness as mine by so cold a Name.—O! transporting Thought! am I not assured that the blessed Day will come, when I shall call you mine; when Fears shall be no more; when I shall have that dear, that vast, that exquisite, extatic Delight of making my Sophia happy?'

—

'Indeed, Sir,' said she, 'that Day is in your own Power.'

—

'O! my dear, my divine Angel!' cried he, 'these Words have made me mad with Joy.—But I must, I will thank those dear Lips which have so sweetly pro|nounced my Bliss,'

He then caught her in his Arms, and kissed her with an Ardour he had never ventured before.

At this Instant, Western, who had stood some Time listening, burst into the Room, and with his hunting Voice and Phrase, cry'd out,

'To her Boy, to her, go to her.—That's it, little Honeys, O that's it. Well, what is it all over? Hath she appointed the Day, Boy? What, shall it be to-morrow or next Day? It shan't be put off a Minute longer than the next Day, I am resolved,'

'Let me be|seech you, Sir,' says Jones, 'don't let me be the Occasion'

—

'Beseech mine A—,' cries Western, 'I thought thou had'st been a Lad of high|er Mettle, than to give way to a Parcel of maidenish Tricks.—I tell thee 'tis all Flimflam. Zoodi|kers!

she'd have the Wedding to-Night with all her Heart. Would'st not Sophy? Come confess, and be an honest Girl for once. What, art dumb? Why dost not speak?'

'Why should I confess, Sir, says Sophia, 'since it seems you are so well acquainted with my Thoughts.'

—

'That's a good Girl,' cries he, 'and do'st consent then?'

'No indeed, Sir,' says Sophia, 'I have given no such Consent.'

—

'And wunt nut ha un then to-Morrow nor next Day?'

says Western.—

'Indeed, Sir,' says she, 'I have no such Intention.'

'But I can tell thee,' replied he, 'why hast nut, only because thou dost love to be disobedient, and to plague and vex thy Father,'

—

'Pray, Sir,'

said Jones interfering.

'I tell thee, thou at a Puppy,' cries he. 'When I forbid her, then it was all nothing but sighing and whining, and languishing and writing; now I am vor thee, she is against thee. All the Spirit of con|trary, that's all. She is above being guided and governed by her Father, that's the whole Truth on't. It is only to disoblige and contradict me.'

'What would my Papa have me do?'

cries Sophia.

'What would I have thee do?' says he, 'why gi un thy Hand this Moment.'

—

'Well, Sir,' said Sophia, 'I will obey you.—There is my Hand, Mr. Jones.'

'Well, and will you consent to ha un to-morrow Morning?'

says Western.—

'I will be obedient to you, Sir,' cries she.—'Why then to-morrow Morning be the Day,' cries he.—Why then to-morrow Morning shall be the Day, Papa, since you will have it so,'

says Sophia. Jones then fell upon his Knees, and kissed her Hand in an Agony of Joy, while Western began to caper and dance about the Room, presently crying out,—

'Where the Devil is Allworthy? He is without now a-talking with that d—d Lawyer Dowling, when he should be minding other Matters.'

He then

sallied out in quest of him, and very opportunely left the Lovers to enjoy a few tender Minutes alone.

But he soon returned with Allworthy, saying,

'If you won't believe me, you may ask her yourself. Hast nut gin thy consent, Sophy, to be married to-mor|row?'

'Such are your Commands, Sir,' cries So|phia, 'and I dare not be guilty of Disobedience.'

'I hope, Madam, cries Allworthy, my Nephew will merit so much Goondess, and will be always as sensible as myself of the great Honour you have done my Family. An Alliance with so charming and so excellent a young Lady, would indeed be an Honour to the greatest in England.'

'Yes,' cries Western, 'but if I had suffered her to stand shill I shall I, dilly dally, you might not have had that Ho|nour yet a-while; I was forced to use a little fa|therly Authority to bring her to.'

'I hope not, Sir,' cries Allworthy. 'I hope there is not the least Constraint.'

'Why there,' cries Western, you may bid her unsay all again if you will. Do'st repent heartily of thy Promise, do'st not, Sophy?' Indeed, Papa,' cries she, 'I do not repent, nor do I believe I ever shall, of any Promise in favour of Mr. Jones.'

'Then, Nephew,' cries Allworthy, 'I felicitate you most heartily; for I think you are the happiest of Men. And, Madam, you will give me leave to congratulate you on this joyful Occa|sion; indeed I am convinced you have bestowed yourself on one who will be sensible of your great Merit, and who will at least use his best Endeavours to deserve it.'

'His best Endeavours!' cries Western, that he will I warrant un.'

—

'Harkee, Allworthy, 'I'll bet thee five Pound to a Crown we have a Boy to-morrow, nine Months; but prithee tell me what wut ha? wut ha Burgundy, Champaigne, or what? for please Jupiter, we'll make a Night on't.'

'In|deed, Sir,' said Allworthy, 'you must excuse me;

both my Nephew and I were engaged before I sus|pected this near Approach of his Happiness.'

'Engag|ed!' quoth the Squire, 'never tell me.—I won't part with thee to-night upon any Occasion. Shalt sup here, please the Lord Harry.'

'You must pardon me, my dear Neighbour,' answered Allworthy; 'I have given a solemn Promise, and that you know I never break.'

'Why, prithee, who art engaged to?'

cries the Squire.—Allworthy then informed him, as likewise of the Company.—'Odzookers!' an|swered the Squire,

'I will go with thee, and so shall Sophy; for I won't part with thee to-night; and it would be barbarous to part Tom and the Girl.'

This Offer was presently embraced by Allworthy; and So|phia consented, having first obtained a private Pro|mise from her Father, that he would not mention a Syllable concerning her marriage.

CHAP. The last In which the History is concluded.

YOUNG Nightingale had been that Afternoon by Appointment to wait on his Father who received him much more kindly than he expected. There likewise he met his Uncle, who was returned to Town in quest of his new married Daughter.

This Marriage was the luckiest Incident which could have happened to the young Gentleman; for these Brothers lived in a constant Contention about the Go|verment of their Children, both heartily despising the Method which each other took. Each of them therefore now endeavoured as much as he could to palliate the Offence which his own Child had com|mitted, and to aggravate the Match of the other. This Desire of triumphing over his Brother, added to the many Arguments which Allworthy had used, so strongly operated on the old Gentleman, that he met his Son with a smiling Countenance, and actually

agreed to sup with him that Evening at Mrs. Mil|ler's.

As for the other, who really loved his Daughter with the most immoderate Affection, there was little Difficulty in inclining him to a Reconciliation. He was no sooner informed by his Nephew where his Daughter and her Husband were, than he declared he would instantly go to her. And when he arrived there, he scarce suffered her to fall upon her Knees, before he took her up, and embraced her with a Tenderness which affected all who saw him; and in less than a Quarter of an Hour was as well re|conciled to both her and her Husband, as if he had himself joined their Hands.

In this Situation were Affairs when Mr. Allworthy and his Company arrived to complete the Happiness of Mrs. Miller, who no sooner saw Sophia, than she guessed every Thing that had happened; and so great was her Friendship to Jones, that it added not a few Transports to those she felt on the Happiness of her own Daughter.

There have not, I believe, been many Instances of a number of People met together, where every one was so perfectly happy, as in this Company. Amongst whom the Father of young Nightingale enjoyed the least perfect Content; for notwithstanding his Affecti|on for his Son, notwithstanding the Authority and the Arguments of Allworthy, together with the other Motive mentiond before, he could not so entirely be satisfied with his Son's Choice; and perhaps the Presence of Sophia herself tended a little to aggravate and heighten his Concern, as a Thought now and then suggested itself, that his Son might have had that Lady, or some such other. Not that any of the Charms which adorned either the Person or Mind of Sophia, created the Uneasiness: It was the Contents of her Father's Coffers which set his Heart a longing.

These were the Charms which he could not bear to think his Son had sacrificed to the Daughter of Mrs. Miller.

The Brides were both very pretty Women; but so totally were they eclipsed by the Beauty of Sophia, that had they not been two of the best-tempered Girls in the World, it would have raised some Envy in their Breasts; for neither of their Husbands could long keep his Eyes from Sophia, who sat at the Table like a Queen receiving Homage, or rather like a superior Being receiving Adoration from all around her. But it was an Adoration which they gave, not which she ex|acted: For she was as much distinguished by her Mo|desty and Affability, as by all her other Perfections.

The Evening was spent in much true Mirth. All were happy, but those the most, who had been most unhappy before. Their former Sufferings and Fears gave such a Relish to their Felicity, as even Love and Fortune in their fullest Flow could not have given with|out the Advantage of such a Comparison. Yet as great Joy, especially after a sudden Change and Re|volution of Circumstances, is apt to be silent, and dwells rather in the Heart than on the Tongue, Jones and Sophia appeared the least merry of the whole Company. Which Western observed with great Im|patience often crying out to them,

'Why do'st not talk Boy! Why do'st look so grave! Hast lost thy Tongue Girl! Drink another Glass of Wine, sha't drink another Glass?

And the more to enliven her, he would sometimes sing a merry Song, which bore some Relation to Matrimony, and the Loss of a Maidenhead. Nay, he would have proceeded so far on that Topic, as to have driven her out of the Room, if Mr. Allworthy had not checkt him sometimes by Looks, and once or twice by a Fie! Mr. Western. He began indeed once to debate the Matter, and as|sert his Right to talk to his own Daughter as he thought

fit: but as no Body seconded him, he was soon re|duced to Order.

Notwithstanding this little Restraint, he was so pleased with the Chearfulness and Good-Humour of the Company, that he insisted on their meeting the next Day at his Lodgings. They all did so; and the lovely Sophia, who was now in private become a Bride too, officiated as the Mistress of the Ceremo|nies, or, in the polite Phrase, did the Honours of the Table. She had that Morning given her Hand to Jones, in the Chapel at Doctors-Commons, where Mr. Allworthy, Mr. Western, and Mrs. Miller were the only Persons present.

Sophia had earnestly desired her Father, that no o|thers of the Company, who were that Day to dine with him, should be acquainted with her Marriage. The same Secrecy was enjoined to Mrs. Miller, and Jones undertook for Allworthy. This some what re|conciled the Delicacy of Sophia to the public Enter|tainment, which, in Compliance with her Father's Will, she was obliged to go to, greatly against her own Inclinations. In Confidence of this Secrecy, she went through the Day pretty well, till the Squire, who was now advanced into the second Bottle, could contain his Joy no longer, but, filling out a Bum|per, drank a Health to the Bride. The Health was immediately pledged by all present, to the great Con|fusion of poor blushing Sophia, and the great Concern of Jones upon her Account. To say Truth, there was not a Person present made wiser by this Discove|ry; for Mrs. Miller had whispered it to her Daugh|ter, her Daughter to her Husband, her Husband to his Sister, and she to all the rest.

Sophia now took the first Opportunity of withdraing with the Ladies, and the Squire sat in to his Cups, in which he was, by Degrees, deserted by all the Company, except the Uncle of young Nightingale, who loved his Bottle as well as Western himself.

These two therefore sat stoutly to it, during the whole Evening, and long after that happy Hour which had surrendered the charming Sophia to the eager Arms of her enraptured Jones.

Thus, Reader, we have at length brought our Hi|story to a Conclusion, in which, to our great Plea|sure, tho' contrary perhaps to thy Expectation, Mr. Jones appears to be the happiest of all human Kind: For what Happiness this World affords equal to the Possession of such a Woman as Sophia, I sincerely own I have never yet discovered.

As to the other Persons who have made any consi|derable Figure in this History, as some may desire to know a little more concerning them, we will proceed in as few Words as possible, to satisfy their Curiosity.

Allworthy hath never yet been prevailed upon to see Blifil, but he hath yielded to the Importunity of Jones, backed by Sophia, to settle 200 l. a Year up|on him; to which Jones hath privately added a third. Upon this Income he lives in one of the northern Counties, about 200 Miles distant from London, and lays up 200 l. a Year out of it, in order to purchase a Seat in the next Parliament from a neighbouring Borough, which he has bargained for with an Attor|ney there. He is also lately turned Methodist, in hopes of marrying a very rich Widow of that Sect, whose Estate lies in that Part of the Kingdom.

Square died soon after he writ the before mention|ed Letter; and as to Thwackum, he continues at his Vicarage. He hath made many fruitless Attempts to regain the Confidence of Allworthy, or to ingratiate himself with Jones, both of whom he flatters to their Faces, and abuses behind their Backs. But in his stead, Mr. Allworthy hath lately taken Mr. Abraham Adams into his House, of whom Sophia is grown immoderately fond, and declares he shall have the Tuition of her Children.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick is separated from her Husband, and retains the little Remains of her Fortune. She lives in Reputation at the polite End of the Town, and is so good an Oeconomist, that she spends three Times the Income of her Fortune, without running in Debt. She maintains a perfect Intimacy with the Lady of the Irish Peer; and in Acts of Friendship to her repays all the Obligations she owes to her Hus|band.

Mrs. Western was soon reconciled to her Niece So|phia, and hath spent two Months together with her in the Country. Lady Bellaston made the latter a formal Visit at her Return to Town, where she be|haved to Jones, as to a perfect Stranger, and with great Civility, wished him Joy on his Marriage.

Mr. Nightingale hath purchased an Estate for his Son in the Neighbourhood of Jones, where the young Gentleman, his Lady, Mrs. Miller, and her little Daughter reside, and the most agreeable Intercourse subsists between the two Families.

As to those of lower Account, Mrs. Waters re|turned into the Country, had a Pension of 60 l. a Year settled upon her by Mr. Allworthy, and is mar|ried to Parson Supple, on whom, at the Instance of Sophia, Western hath bestowed a considerable Living.

Black George hearing the Discovery that had been made, run away, and was never since heard of; and Jones bestowed the Money on his Family, but not in equal Proportions, for Molly had much the greatest Share.

As for Partridge, Jones hath settled 50 l. a Year on him; and he hath again set up a School, in which he meets with much better Encouragement than for|merly; and there is now a Treaty of Marriage on Foot, between him and Miss Molly Seagrim, which through the Mediation of Sophia, is likely to take Effect.

We now return to take Leave of Mr. Jones and Sophia, who, within two Days after their Marriage, attended Mr. Western and Mr. Allworthy into the Country. Western hath resigned his Family Seat, and the greater Part of his Estate to his Son-in-law, and hath retired to a lesser House of his, in another Part of the Country, which is better for Hunting. Indeed he is often as a Visitant with Mr. Jones, who as well as his Daughter, hath an infinite Delight in doing every Thing in their Power to please him. And this Desire of theirs is attended with such Success, that the old Gentleman declares he was never happy in his Life till now. He hath here a Parlour and Anti|chamber to himself, where he gets drunk with whom he pleases, and his Daughter is still as ready as for|merly to play to him whenever he desires it; for Jones hath assured her, that as next to pleasing her, one of his highest Satisfactions is to contribute to the Happiness of the old Man; so the great Duty which she expresses and performs to her Father renders her almost equally dear to him, with the Love which she bestows on himself.

Sophia hath already produced him two fine Chil|dren, a Boy and a Girl, of whom the old Gentleman is so fond, that he spends much of his Time in the Nursery, where he declares the tattling of his little Grand-Daughter, who is above a Year and half old, is sweeter Music than the finest Cry of Dogs in England.

Allworthy was likewise greatly liberal to Jones on the Marriage, and hath omitted no Instance of shew|ing his Affection to him and his Lady, who love him as a Father. Whatever in the Nature of Jones had a Tendency to Vice, has been corrected by continual Conversation with this good Man, and by his Union with the lovely and virtuous Sophia. He has also, by Reflexion on his past Follies, acquired a Discretion

and Prudence very uncommon in one of his lively Parts.

To conclude, as there are not to be found a wor|thier Man and Woman, than this fond Couple, so neither can any be imagined more happy. They pre|serve the purest and tenderest Affection for each other, an Affection daily encreased and confirmed by mutual Esteem. Nor is their Conduct towards their Relati|ons and Friends less amiable, than towards one ano|ther. And such is their Condescension, their Indul|gence, and their Beneficence to those below them, that there is not a Neighbour, a Tenant, or a Ser|vant, who doth not most gratefully bless the Day when Mr. Jones was married to Sophia.

Notes

• * 4.1

  This is a Fact which I knew happen to a poor Clergyman in Dorsetshire, by the Villainy of an Attorney, who not contented with the exorbitant Costs to which the poor Man was put by a single Action, brought afterwards another Action on the Judgment, as it is called. A Me|thod frequently used to oppress the poor, and bring Mo|ney into the Pockets of Attornies, to the great Scandal of the Law of the Nation, of Christianity, and even of Human Nature itself.