Partridge, you cannot see my fortune in a more desperate light than I see it myself; and I begin heartily to repent that I suffered you to leave a place where you was settled, and to follow me. However, I insist now on your returning home; and for the expense and trouble which you have so kindly put yourself to on my account, all the cloaths I left behind in your care I desire you would take as your own. I am sorry I can make you no other acknowledgment.


For heaven's sake, sir, do but consider; what can your honour do?--how is it possible you can live in this town without money? Do what you will, sir, or go wherever you please, I am resolved not to desert you. But pray, sir, consider--do pray, sir, for your own sake, take it into your consideration; and I'm sure, that your own good sense will bid you return home.


How often shall I tell thee, that I have no home to return to? Had I any hopes that Mr Allworthy's doors would be open to receive me, I want no distress to urge me--nay, there is no other cause upon earth, which could detain me a moment from flying to his presence; but, alas! that I am for ever banished from. His last words were--O, Partridge, they still ring in my ears--his last words were, when he gave me a sum of money--what it was I know not, but considerable I'm sure it was--his last words were--`I am resolved from this day forward, on no account to converse with you any more.'


Now you are here, sir, you must beat about for your own game.


Do you know me?


I don't know you, sir,


Indeed I don't know your voice, and I shall have nothing to say to you;


If you talk any longer with that trollop, I will acquaint Miss Western. I imagined Mr Jones had been a more discerning lover, than to suffer any disguise to conceal his mistress from him. Is she here, then, madam? Hush, sir, you will be observed. I promise you, upon my honour, Miss Western is not here. Indeed, my good fairy queen, I know your majesty very well, notwithstanding the affected disguise of your voice. Indeed, Mrs Fitzpatrick, it is a little cruel to divert yourself at the expense of my torments.


Though you have so ingeniously discovered me, I must still speak in the same voice, lest I should be known by others. And do you think, good sir, that I have no greater regard for my cousin, than to assist in carrying on an affair between you two, which must end in her ruin, as well as your own? Besides, I promise you, my cousin is not mad enough to consent to her own destruction, if you are so much her enemy as to tempt her to it.


Alas, madam! you little know my heart, when you call me an enemy of Sophia.


And yet to ruin any one,


That he would rather suffer the most violent of deaths than sacrifice her interest to his desires. he knew how unworthy he was of her, every way, that he had long ago resolved to quit all such aspiring thoughts, but that some strange accidents had made him desirous to see her once more, when he promised he would take leave of her for ever. No, madam, my love is not of that base kind which seeks its own satisfaction at the expense of what is most dear to its object. I would sacrifice everything to the possession of my Sophia, but Sophia herself.


She did not see his pretensions to Sophia so much in the light of presumption, as of imprudence. Young fellows,


can never have too aspiring thoughts. I love ambition in a young man, and I would have you cultivate it as much as possible. Perhaps you may succeed with those who are infinitely superior in fortune; nay, I am convinced there are women----but don't you think me a strange creature, Mr Jones, to be thus giving advice to a man with whom I am so little acquainted, and one with whose behaviour to me I have so little reason to be pleased?


And are you so little versed in the sex, to imagine you can well affront a lady more than by entertaining her with your passion for another woman? If the fairy queen had conceived no better opinion of your gallantry, she would scarce have appointed you to meet her at the masquerade.


Sure, madam, you must have infinite discernment, to know people in all disguises.


You cannot conceive anything more insipid and childish than a masquerade to the people of fashion, who in general know one another as well here as when they meet in an assembly or a drawing-room; nor will any woman of condition converse with a person with whom she is not acquainted. In short, the generality of persons whom you see here may more properly be said to kill time in this place than in any other; and generally retire from hence more tired than from the longest sermon. To say the truth, I begin to be in that situation myself; and if I have any faculty at guessing, you are not much better pleased. I protest it would be almost charity in me to go home for your sake.


I know but one charity equal to it, and that is to suffer me to wait on you home.


Sure, you have a strange opinion of me, to imagine, that upon such an acquaintance, I would let you into my doors at this time of night. I fancy you impute the friendship I have shown my cousin to some other motive. Confess honestly; don't you consider this contrived interview as little better than a downright assignation? Are you used, Mr Jones, to make these sudden conquests?


I am not used, madam, to submit to such sudden conquests; but as you have taken my heart by surprize, the rest of my body hath a right to follow; so you must pardon me if I resolve to attend you wherever you go.


She was going to sup with an acquaintance, whither she hoped he would not follow her; for if you should,


I shall be thought an unaccountable creature, though my friend indeed is not censorious: yet I hope you won't follow me; I protest I shall not know what to say if you do.


I hope, gentlemen, you will pardon my making you wait; I am sure if you knew the occasion--I have been to see a cousin of mine, about six miles off, who now lies in.--It should be a warning to all persons (says she, looking at her daughters) how they marry indiscreetly. There is no happiness in this world without a competency. O Nancy! how shall I describe the wretched condition in which I found your poor cousin? she hath scarce lain in a week, and there was she, this dreadful weather, in a cold room, without any curtains to her bed, and not a bushel of coals in her house to supply her with fire; her second son, that sweet little fellow, lies ill of a quinzy in the same bed with his mother; for there is no other bed in the house. Poor little Tommy! I believe, Nancy, you will never see your favourite any more; for he is really very ill. The rest of the children are in pretty good health: but Molly, I am afraid, will do herself an injury: she is but thirteen years old, Mr Nightingale, and yet, in my life, I never saw a better nurse: she tends both her mother and her brother; and, what is wonderful in a creature so young, she shows all the chearfulness in the world to her mother; and yet I saw her--I saw the poor child, Mr Nightingale, turn about, and privately wipe the tears from her eyes.


Indeed, mamma,


I have always looked on my cousin Anderson


as one of the happiest of women.


I am sure,


the case at present is much otherwise; for any one might have discerned that the tender consideration of each other's sufferings makes the most intolerable part of their calamity, both to the husband and wife. Compared to which, hunger and cold, as they affect their own persons only, are scarce evils. Nay, the very children, the youngest, which is not two years old, excepted, feel in the same manner; for they are a most loving family, and, if they had but a bare competency, would be the happiest people in the world.


I never saw the least sign of misery at her house. I am sure my heart bleeds for what you now tell me.


O child,


she hath always endeavoured to make the best of everything. They have always been in great distress; but, indeed, this absolute ruin hath been brought upon them by others. The poor man was bail for the villain his brother; and about a week ago, the very day before her lying-in, their goods were all carried away, and sold by an execution. He sent a letter to me of it by one of the bailiffs, which the villain never delivered.--What must he think of my suffering a week to pass before he heard of me?


Good heavens! is there such a man in the world? Indeed I know one such; but can there be another? there are many who have common humanity; for to relieve such distresses in our fellow-creatures, can hardly be called more.


She would find some means of conveying them early the next morning;


that she had herself done some little matter for the poor people, and had not left them in quite so much misery as she found them.


you should recommend them to Mr Allworthy? Or what think you of a collection? I will give them a guinea with all my heart.


A very foolish, but a very perverse accident hath happened since our last meeting, which makes it improper I should see you any more at the usual place. I will, if possible, contrive some other place by to-morrow. In the meantime, adieu. I have altered my mind since I wrote; a change which, if you are no stranger to the tenderest of all passions, you will not wonder at. I am now resolved to see you this evening at my own house, whatever may be the consequence. Come to me exactly at seven; I dine abroad, but will be at home by that time. A day, I find, to those that sincerely love, seems longer than I imagined. If you should accidentally be a few moments before me, bid them show you into the drawing-room.


This, sir, is my cousin, who hath been so greatly beholden to your goodness, for which he begs to return you his sincerest thanks.


It is so, I am convinced it is so!


Bless me! what's the meaning of this? you are not ill, I hope, cousin? Some water, a dram this instant.


Be not frighted, madam. I have almost as much need of a dram as your cousin. We are equally surprized at this unexpected meeting. Your cousin is an acquaintance of mine, Mrs Miller.


An acquaintance! Oh, heaven!


Ay, an acquaintance, and an honoured acquaintance too. When I do not love and honour the man who dares venture everything to preserve his wife and children from instant destruction, may I have a friend capable of disowning me in adversity!


Oh, you are an excellent young man. Yes, indeed, poor creature! he hath ventured everything.--If he had not had one of the best of constitutions, it must have killed him.


Cousin, this is the angel from heaven whom I meant. This is he to whom, before I saw you, I owed the preservation of my Peggy. He it was to whose generosity every comfort, every support which I have procured for her, was owing. He is, indeed, the worthiest, bravest, noblest; of all human beings. O cousin, I have obligations to this gentleman of such a nature!


Mention nothing of obligations, not a word, I insist upon it, not a word If, by the trifle you have received from me, I have preserved a whole family, sure pleasure was never bought so cheap.


Oh, sir! I wish you could this instant see my house. If any person had ever a right to the pleasure you mention, I am convinced it is yourself. My cousin tells me she acquainted you with the distress in which she found us. That, sir, is all greatly removed, and chiefly by your goodness.----My children have now a bed to lie on----and they have----they have----eternal blessings reward you for it!----they have bread to eat. My little boy is recovered; my wife is out of danger, and I am happy. All, all owing to you, sir, and to my cousin here, one of the best of women. Indeed, sir, I must see you at my house.--Indeed my wife must see you, and thank you.--My children too must express their gratitude.----Indeed, sir, they are not without a sense of their obligation; but what is my feeling when I reflect to whom I owe that they are now capable of expressing their gratitude.----Oh, sir, the little hearts which you have warmed had now been cold as ice without your assistance.


She doubted not but such goodness would meet a glorious reward.


He had been sufficiently rewarded already. Your cousin's account, madam, hath given me a sensation more pleasing than I have ever known. He must be a wretch who is unmoved at hearing such a story; how transporting then must be the thought of having happily acted a part in this scene! If there are men who cannot feel the delight of giving happiness to others, I sincerely pity them, as they are incapable of tasting what is, in my opinion, a greater honour, a higher interest, and a sweeter pleasure than the ambitious, the avaricious, or the voluptuous man can ever obtain.


I see, madam, you are surprized.


Surprized! Oh heavens! Indeed, I am surprized. I almost doubt whether you are the person you seem.


Indeed, my Sophia, pardon me, madam, for this once calling you so, I am that very wretched Jones, whom fortune, after so many disappointments, hath, at last, kindly conducted to you. Oh! my Sophia, did you know the thousand torments I have suffered in this long, fruitless pursuit.


Pursuit of whom?


Can you be so cruel to ask that question? Need I say, of you?


Of me! Hath Mr Jones, then, any such important business with me?


To some, madam, this might seem an important business I hope, madam, you will find it of the same value as when it was lost. Let us not, I beseech you, lose one of these precious moments which fortune hath so kindly sent us. O, my Sophia! I have business of a much superior kind. Thus, on my knees, let me ask your pardon.


My pardon! Sure, sir, after what is past, you cannot expect, after what I have heard.


I scarce know what I say. By heavens! I scarce wish you should pardon me. O my Sophia! henceforth never cast away a thought on such a wretch as I am. If any remembrance of me should ever intrude to give a moment's uneasiness to that tender bosom, think of my unworthiness; and let the remembrance of what passed at Upton blot me for ever from your mind. O my Sophia! my only love! you cannot hate or despise me more for what happened there than I do myself; but yet do me the justice to think that my heart was never unfaithful to you. That had no share in the folly I was guilty of; it was even then unalterably yours. Though I despaired of possessing you, nay, almost of ever seeing you more, I doated still on your charming idea, and could seriously love no other woman. But if my heart had not been engaged, she, into whose company I accidently fell at that cursed place, was not an object of serious love. Believe me, my angel, I never have seen her from that day to this; and never intend or desire to see her again.


Why. Mr Jones, do you take the trouble to make a defence where you are not accused? If I thought it worth while to accuse you, I have a charge of unpardonable nature indeed.


What is it, for heaven's sake?


Oh, how is it possible! can everything noble and everything base be lodged together in the same bosom? Could I have expected, such treatment from you? Nay, from any gentleman, from any man of honour? To have my name traduced in public; in inns, among the meanest vulgar! to have any little favours that my unguarded heart may have too lightly betrayed me to grant, boasted of there! nay, even to hear that you had been forced to fly from my love!


That, did not her duty to her father forbid her to follow her own inclinations, ruin with him would be more welcome to her than the most affluent fortune with another man.


Oh, Sophia! can I then ruin thee? No; by heavens, no! I never will act so base a part. Dearest Sophia, whatever it costs me, I will renounce you; I will give you up; I will tear all such hopes from my heart as are inconsistent with your real good. My love I will ever retain, but it shall be in silence; it shall be at a distance from you; it shall be in some foreign land; from whence no voice, no sigh of my despair, shall ever reach and disturb your ears. And when I am dead


How he came into that room?


I thought, Miss Western, you had been at the play?


I should not have broke in so abruptly upon you, Miss Western, if I had known you had company.


I am sure, madam, I shall always think the honour of your ladyship's company----


I hope, at least. I interrupt no business.


No, madam, our business was at an end. Your ladyship may be pleased to remember I have often mentioned the loss of my pocket-book, which this gentleman, having very luckily found, was so kind to return it to me with the bill in it.


Ever since he had the pocket-book in his possession, he had used great diligence in enquiring out the lady whose name was writ in it; but never till that day could be so fortunate to discover her.


Indeed, Miss Western, you have had very good luck in recovering your money. Not only as it fell into the hands of a gentleman of honour, but as he happened to discover to whom it belonged. I think you would not consent to have it advertised.--It was great good fortune, sir, that you found out to whom the note belonged.


Oh, madam, it was enclosed in a pocket-book, in which the young lady's name was written.


That was very fortunate, indeed. And it was no less so, that you heard Miss Western was at my house; for she is very little known.


Why, madam, it was by the luckiest chance imaginable I made this discovery. I was mentioning what I had found, and the name of the owner, the other night to a lady at the masquerade, who told me she believed she knew where I might see Miss Western; and if I would come to her house the next morning she would inform me, I went according to her appointment, but she was not at home; nor could I ever meet with her till this morning, when she directed me to your ladyship's house. I came accordingly, and did myself the honour to ask for your ladyship; and upon my saying that I had very particular business, a servant showed me into this room; where I had not been long before the young lady returned from the play. I believe, madam, it is customary to give some reward on these occasions;--I must insist on a very high one for my honesty;--it is, madam, no less than the honour of being permitted to pay another visit here.


Sir. I make no doubt that you are a gentleman, and my doors are never shut to people of fashion.


Upon my word, a good pretty young fellow; I wonder who he is; for I don't remember ever to have seen his face before.


Nor I neither, madam. I must say he behaved very handsomely in relation to my note.


Yes; and he is a very handsome fellow, don't you think so?


I did not take much notice of him, but I thought he seemed rather awkward, and ungenteel than otherwise.


You are extremely right, you may see, by his manner, that he hath not kept good company. Nay, notwithstanding his returning your note, and refusing the reward, I almost question whether he is a gentleman.----I have always observed there is a something in persons well born, which others can never acquire.----I think I will give orders not to be at home to him.


Nay, sure, madam, one can't suspect after what he hath done;--besides, if your ladyship observed him, there was an elegance in his discourse, a delicacy, a prettiness of expression that, that----


I confess, the fellow hath words----And indeed, Sophia, you must forgive me, indeed you must.


I forgive your ladyship!


Yes, indeed you must, for I had a horrible suspicion when I first came into the room----I vow you must forgive it; but I suspected it was Mr Jones himself.


Did your ladyship, indeed?


Yes, I vow I did. I can't imagine what put it into my head: for, give the fellow his due, he was genteely drest; which, I think, dear Sophy, is not commonly the case with your friend.


This raillery, is a little cruel, Lady Bellaston, after my promise to your ladyship.


Not at all, child. It would have been cruel before; but after you have promised me never to marry without your father's consent, in which you know is implied your giving up Jones, sure you can bear a little raillery on a passion which was pardonable enough in a young girl in the country, and of which you tell me you have so entirely got the better. What must I think, my dear Sophy, if you cannot bear a little ridicule even on his dress? I shall begin to fear you are very far gone indeed; and almost question whether you have dealt ingenuously with me.


Indeed, madam, your ladyship mistakes me, if you imagine I had any concern on his account.


On his account! You must have mistaken me; I went no farther than his dress;----for I would not injure your taste by any other comparison--I don't imagine, my dear Sophy, if your Mr Jones had been such a fellow as this--


I thought, your ladyship had allowed him to be handsome


Whom, pray?


Mr Jones. Mr Jones!--no, no; I ask your pardon;--I mean the gentleman who was just now here.


O Sophy! Sophy! this Mr Jones, I am afraid, still runs in your head.


Then, upon my honour, madam. Mr Jones is as entirely indifferent to me, as the gentleman who just now left us.


Upon my honour. I believe it. Forgive me, therefore, a little innocent raillery; but I promise you I will never mention his name any more.


I was never more surprized than when I found you was gone. When you left the room I little imagined you intended to have left the house without seeing me again. Your behaviour is all of a piece, and convinces me how much I ought to despise a heart which can doat upon an idiot; though I know not whether I should not admire her cunning more than her simplicity: wonderful both! For though she understood not a word of what passed between us, yet she had the skill, the assurance, the----what shall I call it? to deny to my face that she knows you, or ever saw you before.----Was this a scheme laid between you, and have you been base enough to betray me?----O how I despise her, you, and all the world, but chiefly myself! for----I dare not write what I should afterwards run mad to read; but remember, I can detest as violently as I have loved. When you consider the hurry of spirits in which I must have writ, you cannot be surprized at any expressions in my former note.--Yet, perhaps, on reflection, they were rather too warm. At least I would, if possible, think all owing to the odious playhouse, and to the impertinence of a fool, which detained me beyond my appointment.----How easy is it to think well of those we love!----Perhaps you desire I should think so. I have resolved to see you to-night; so come to me immediately. I have ordered to be at home to none but yourself. Mr Jones will imagine I shall assist him in his defence; for I believe he cannot desire to impose on me more than I desire to impose on myself. Come immediately.


You see, sir, when women have gone one length too far, they will stop at none. If any person would have sworn this to me a week ago, I would not have believed it of myself.


I hope, madam, my charming Lady Bellaston will be as difficult to believe anything against one who is so sensible of the many obligations she hath conferred upon him.


Indeed! sensible of obligations! Did I expect to hear such cold language from Mr Jones?


Pardon me, my dear angel, if, after the letters I have received, the terrors of your anger, though I know not how I have deserved it.


And have I then, so angry a countenance?--Have I really brought a chiding face with me?


If there be honour in man. I have done nothing to merit your anger.--You remember the appointment you sent me; I went in pursuance.


I beseech you, do not run through the odious recital.--Answer me but one question, and I shall be easy. Have you not betrayed my honour to her?


She's found! she's found!--Here, sir, here, she's here--Mrs Honour is upon the stairs.


Stop her a moment. Here, madam, step behind the bed, I have no other room nor closet, nor place on earth to hide you in; sure never was so damned an accident.


D--n'd indeed!


Hey-day! Mr Jones, what's the matter?--That impudent rascal your servant would scarce let me come upstairs. I hope he hath not the same reason to keep me from you as he had at Upton.--I suppose you hardly expected to see me; but you have certainly bewitched my lady. Poor dear young lady! To be sure, I loves her as tenderly as if she was my own sister. Lord have mercy upon you, if you don't make her a good husband! and to be sure, if you do not, nothing can be bad enough for you. A lady! ay, I suppose one of your ladies.--O Mr Jones, there are too many of them in the world; I believe we are got into the house of one, for my Lady Bellaston I darst to say is no better than she should be.


Hush! hush! every word is overheard in the next room.


I don't care a farthing. I speaks no scandal of any one; but to be sure the servants make no scruple of saying as how her ladyship meets men at another place--where the house goes under the name of a poor gentlewoman; but her ladyship pays the rent, and many's the good thing besides, they say, she hath of her. Hey-day! why sure, Mr Jones, you will let me speak; I speaks no scandal, for I only says what I heard from others--and thinks I to myself, much good may it do the gentlewoman with her riches, if she comes by it in such a wicked manner. To be sure it is better to be poor and honest.


The servants are villains, and abuse their lady unjustly.


Ay, to be sure, servants are always villains, and so my lady says, and won't hear a word of it.


No, I am convinced, my Sophia is above listening to such base scandal.


Nay, I believe it is no scandal, neither,


I am vexed that I cannot see you here this afternoon, but more concerned for the occasion; take great care of yourself, and have the best advice, and I hope there will be no danger.--I am so tormented all this morning with fools, that I have scarce a moment's time to write to you. Adieu. P.S.--I will endeavour to call on you this evening, at nine.--Be sure to be alone.


I am very sorry, sir, to wait upon you on such an occasion; but I hope you will consider the ill consequence which it must be to the reputation of my poor girls, if my house should once be talked of as a house of ill-fame. I hope you won't think me, therefore, guilty of impertinence, if I beg you not to bring any more ladies in at that time of night. The clock had struck two before one of them went away.


I do assure you, madam, the lady who was here last night, and who staid the latest (for the other only brought me a letter), is a woman of very great fashion, and my near relation.


I don't know what fashion she is of, but I am sure no woman of virtue, unless a very near relation indeed, would visit a young gentleman at ten at night, and stay four hours in his room with him alone; besides, sir, the behaviour of her chairmen shows what she was; for they did nothing but make jests all the evening in the entry, and asked Mr Partridge, in the hearing of my own maid, if madam intended to stay with his master all night; with a great deal of stuff not proper to be repeated. I have really a great respect for you, Mr Jones, upon your own account; nay, I have a very high obligation to you for your generosity to my cousin. Indeed, I did not know how very good you had been till lately. Little did I imagine to what dreadful courses the poor man's distress had driven him. Little did I think, when you gave me the ten guineas, that you had given them to a highwayman! O heavens! what goodness have you shown! How have you preserved this family!--The character which Mr Allworthy hath formerly given me of you was, I find, strictly true.--And indeed, if I had no obligation to you, my obligations to him are such, that, on his account, I should shew you the utmost respect in my power.--Nay, believe me, dear Mr Jones, if my daughters' and my own reputation were out of the case, I should, for your own sake, be sorry that so pretty a young gentleman should converse with these women; but if you are resolved to do it, I must beg you to take another lodging; for I do not myself like to have such things carried on under my roof; but more especially upon the account of my girls, who have little, heaven knows, besides their characters, to recommend them.


Indeed, Mrs Miller. I do not take this at all kind. I will never bring any slander on your house; but I must insist on seeing what company I please in my own room; and if that gives you any offence, I shall, as soon as I am able, look for another lodging.


I am sorry we must part then, sir, but I am convinced Mr Allworthy himself would never come within my doors, if he had the least suspicion of my keeping an ill house.


Very well, madam,


I hope, sir, you are not angry; for I would not for the world offend any of Mr Allworthy's family. I have not slept a wink all night about this matter.


I am sorry I have disturbed your rest, madam, but I beg you will send Partridge up to me immediately; How often, am I to suffer for your folly, or rather for my own in keeping you? is that tongue of yours resolved upon my destruction?


What have I done, sir?


Who was it gave you authority to mention the story of the robbery, or that the man you saw here was the person?


I, sir?


Now don't be guilty of a falsehood in denying it,


If I did mention such a matter. I am sure I thought no harm; for I should not have opened my lips, if it had not been to his own friends and relations, who, I imagined, would have let it go no farther.


But I have a much heavier charge against you, than this. How durst you, after all the precautions I gave you, mention the name of Mr Allworthy in this house? How else, should Mrs Miller be acquainted that there was any connexion between him and me? And it is but this moment she told me she respected me on his account.


O Lord, sir. I desire only to be heard out; and to be sure, never was anything so unfortunate: hear me but out, and you will own how wrongfully you have accused me. When Mrs Honour came downstairs last night she met me in the entry, and asked me when my master had heard from Mr Allworthy; and to be sure Mrs Miller heard the very words; and the moment Madam Honour was gone, she called me into the parlour to her. `Mr Partridge,' says she, `what Mr Allworthy is it that the gentlewoman mentioned? is it the great Mr Allworthy of Somersetshire?' `Upon my word, madam,' says I, `I know nothing of the matter.' `Sure,' says she, `your master is not the Mr Jones I have heard Mr Allworthy talk of?' `Upon my word, madam,' says I, `I know nothing of the matter.' `Then,' says she, turning to her daughter Nancy, says she, `as sure as tenpence this is the very young gentleman, and he agrees exactly with the squire's description.' The Lord above knows who it was told her: for I am the arrantest villain that ever walked upon two legs if ever it came out of my mouth. I promise you, sir, I can keep a secret when I am desired. Nay, sir, so far was I from telling her anything about Mr Allworthy, that I told her the very direct contrary; for, though I did not contradict it at that moment, yet, as second thoughts, they say, are best, so when I came to consider that somebody must have informed her, thinks I to myself, I will put an end to the story; and so I went back again into the parlour some time afterwards, and says I, upon my word, says I, whoever, says I, told you that this gentleman was Mr Jones; that is, says I, that this Mr Jones was that Mr Jones, told you a confounded lie: and I beg, says I, you will never mention any such matter, says I; for my master, says I, will think I must have told you so; and I defy anybody in the house ever to say I mentioned any such word. To be certain, sir, it is a wonderful thing, and I have been thinking with myself ever since, how it was she came to know it; not but I saw an old woman here t'other day a begging at the door, who looked as like her we saw in Warwickshire, that caused all that mischief to us. To be sure it is never good to pass by an old woman without giving her something, especially if she looks at you; for all the world shall never persuade me but that they have a great power to do mischief, and to be sure I shall never see an old woman again, but I shall think to myself, Infandum, regina, jubes renovare dolorem.


So, Tom, I hear you had company very late last night. Upon my soul you are a happy fellow, who have not been in town above a fortnight, and can keep chairs waiting at your door till two in the morning.


I suppose you have received all this information from Mrs Miller, who hath been up here a little while ago to give me warning. The good woman is afraid, it seems, of the reputation of her daughters.


Oh! she is wonderfully nice, upon that account; if you remember, she would not let Nancy go with us to the masquerade.


Nay, upon my honour, I think she's in the right of it, however, I have taken her at her word, and have sent Partridge to look for another lodging.


If you will, we may, I believe, be again together; for, to tell you a secret, which I desire you won't mention in the family, I intend to quit the house to-day.


What, hath Mrs Miller given you warning too, my friend?


No, but the rooms are not convenient enough. Besides, I am grown weary of this part of the town. I want to be nearer the places of diversion; so I am going to Pall-mall.


And do you intend to make a secret of your going away?


I promise you. I don't intend to bilk my lodgings; but I have a private reason for not taking a formal leave.


Not so private. I promise you, I have seen it ever since the second day of my coming to the house. Here will be some wet eyes on your departure. Poor Nancy, I pity her, faith! Indeed, Jack, you have played the fool with that girl. You have given her a longing, which I am afraid nothing will ever cure her of.


What the devil would you have me do? would you have me marry her to cure her?


No. I would not have had you make love to her, as you have often done in my presence. I have been astonished at the blindness of her mother in never seeing it.


Pugh, see it! What, the devil should she see?


Why, see, that you have made her daughter distractedly in love with you. The poor girl cannot conceal it a moment; her eyes are never off from you, and she always colours every time you come into the room. Indeed, I pity her heartily; for she seems to be one of the best-natured and honestest of human creatures.


And so. And so, according to your doctrine, one must not amuse oneself by any common gallantries with women, for fear they should fall in love with us.


Indeed, Jack, you wilfully misunderstand me; I do not fancy women are so apt to fall in love; but you have gone far beyond common gallantries.


What, do you suppose that we have been a-bed together?


No, upon my honour, I do not suppose so ill of you; nay, I will go farther, I do not imagine you have laid a regular premeditated scheme for the destruction of the quiet of a poor little creature, or have even foreseen the consequence: for I am sure thou art a very good-natured fellow; and such a one can never be guilty of a cruelty of that kind; but at the same time you have pleased your own vanity, without considering that this poor girl was made a sacrifice to it; and while you have had no design but of amusing an idle hour, you have actually given her reason to flatter herself that you had the most serious designs in her favour. Prithee, Jack, answer me honestly; to what have tended all those elegant and luscious descriptions of happiness arising from violent and mutual fondness? all those warm professions of tenderness, and generous disinterested love? Did you imagine she would not apply them? or, speak ingenuously, did not you intend she should?


Upon my soul, Tom, I did not think this was in thee. Thou wilt make an admirable parson. So I suppose you would not go to bed to Nancy now, if she would let you?


No, may I be d--n'd if I would.


Tom, Tom, last night; remember last night----


Lookee, Mr Nightingale, I am no canting hypocrite, nor do I pretend to the gift of chastity, more than my neighbours. I have been guilty with women, I own it; but am not conscious that I have ever injured any.--Nor would I, to procure pleasure to myself, be knowingly the cause of misery to any human being.


Well, well, I believe you, and I am convinced you acquit me of any such thing.


I do, from my heart, of having debauched the girl, but not from having gained her affections.


If I have, I am sorry for it; but time and absence will soon wear off such impressions. It is a receipt I must take myself; for, to confess the truth to you--I never liked any girl half so much in my whole life; but I must let you into the whole secret, Tom. My father hath provided a match for me with a woman I never saw; and she is now coming to town, in order for me to make my addresses to her.


I heartily wish you had, for, if this be the case, I sincerely pity you both; but surely you don't intend to go away without taking your leave of her?


I would not undergo the pain of taking leave, for ten thousand pounds; besides, I am convinced, instead of answering any good purpose, it would only serve to inflame my poor Nancy the more. I beg, therefore, you would not mention a word of it to-day, and in the evening, or to-morrow morning, I intend to depart.


Well, there are very surprizing things happen in this world; but certainly it is a wonderful business that I should have a relation of Mr Allworthy in my house, and never know anything of the matter. Alas! sir, you little imagine what a friend that best of gentlemen hath been to me and mine. Yes, sir, I am not ashamed to own it; it is owing to his goodness that I did not long since perish for want, and leave my poor little wretches, two destitute, helpless, friendless orphans, to the care, or rather to the cruelty, of the world. I was born and bred a gentlewoman. My father was an officer of the army, and died in a considerable rank: but he lived up to his pay; and, as that expired with him, his family, at his death, became beggars. We were three sisters. One of us had the good luck to die soon after of the small-pox; a lady was so kind as to take the second out of charity, as she said, to wait upon her. The mother of this lady had been a servant to my grand-mother; and, having inherited a vast fortune from her father, which he had got by pawnbroking, was married to a gentleman of great estate and fashion. She used my sister so barbarously, often upbraiding her with her birth and poverty, calling her in derision a gentlewoman, that I believe she at length broke the heart of the poor girl. In short, she likewise died within a twelvemonth after my father. Fortune thought proper to provide better for me, and within a month from his decease I was married to a clergyman, who had been my lover a long time before, and who had been very ill used by my father on that account: for though my poor father could not give any of us a shilling, yet he bred us up as delicately, considered us, and would have had us consider ourselves, as highly as if we had been the richest heiresses. But my dear husband forgot all this usage, and the moment we were become fatherless he immediately renewed his addresses to me so warmly, that I, who always liked, and now more than ever esteemed him, soon complied. Five years did I live in a state of perfect happiness with that best of men, till at last--Oh! cruel! cruel fortune, that ever separated us, that deprived me of the kindest of husbands and my poor girls of the tenderest parent.--O my poor girls! you never knew the blessing which ye lost.--I am ashamed, Mr Jones, of this womanish weakness; but I shall never mention him without tears.


I ought rather, madam, to be ashamed that I do not accompany you.


Well, sir, I was now left a second time in a much worse condition than before; besides the terrible affliction I was to encounter, I had now two children to provide for; and was, if possible, more pennyless than ever; when that great, that good, that glorious man, Mr Allworthy, who had some little acquaintance with my husband, accidentally heard of my distress, and immediately writ this letter to me. Here, sir, here it is; I put it into my pocket to shew it you. This is the letter, sir; I must and will read it to you. Madam. I heartily condole with you on your late grievous loss, which your own good sense, and the excellent lessons you must have learnt from the worthiest of men, will better enable you to bear than any advice which I am capable of giving. Nor have I any doubt that you, whom I have heard to be the tenderest of mothers, will suffer any immoderate indulgence of grief to prevent you from discharging your duty to those poor infants, who now alone stand in need of your tenderness. However, as you must be supposed at present to be incapable of much worldly consideration, you will pardon my having ordered a person to wait on you, and to pay you twenty guineas, which I beg you will accept till I have the pleasure of seeing you, and believe me to be, madam, &c. This letter, sir, I received within a fortnight after the irreparable loss I have mentioned; and within a fortnight afterwards, Mr Allworthy--the blessed Mr Allworthy, came to pay me a visit, when he placed me in the house where you now see me, gave me a large sum of money to furnish it, and settled an annuity of £50 a-year upon me, which I have constantly received ever since. Judge, then, Mr Jones, in what regard I must hold a benefactor, to whom I owe the preservation of my life, and of those dear children, for whose sake alone my life is valuable. Do not, therefore, think me impertinent, Mr Jones (since I must esteem one for whom I know Mr Allworthy hath so much value), if I beg you not to converse with these wicked women. You are a young gentleman, and do not know half their artful wiles. Do not be angry with me, sir, for what I said upon account of my house; you must be sensible it would be the ruin of my poor dear girls. Besides, sir, you cannot but be acquainted that Mr Allworthy himself would never forgive my conniving at such matters, and particularly with you.


Upon my word, madam, you need make no farther apology; nor do I in the least take anything ill you have said; but give me leave, as no one can have more value than myself for Mr Allworthy, to deliver you from one mistake, which, perhaps, would not be altogether for his honour; I do assure you, I am no relation of his.


Alas! sir, I know you are not, I know very well who you are; for Mr Allworthy hath told me all; but I do assure you, had you been twenty times his son, he could not have expressed more regard for you than he hath often expressed in my presence. You need not be ashamed, sir, of what you are; I promise you no good person will esteem you the less on that account. No, Mr Jones, the words `dishonourable birth' are nonsense, as my dear, dear husband used to say, unless the word `dishonourable' be applied to the parents; for the children can derive no real dishonour from an act of which they are intirely innocent.


Since I perceive, madam, you really do know me, and Mr Allworthy hath thought proper to mention my name to you; and since you have been so explicit with me as to your own affairs, I will acquaint you with some more circumstances concerning myself.


That there was a dreadful hurricane below-stairs; that Miss Nancy was in fits; and that the other sister, and the mother, were both crying and lamenting over her. he fancied the young lady was in no danger of death; for that Susan had given him to understand, it was nothing more than a common affair. In short. Miss Nancy hath had a mind to be as wise as her mother; that's all; she was a little hungry, it seems, and so sat down to dinner before grace was said; and so there is a child coming for the Foundling Hospital.


Prithee, leave thy stupid jesting. Is the misery of these poor wretches a subject of mirth? Go immediately to Mrs Miller, and tell her I beg leave--Stay, you will make some blunder; I will go myself; for she desired me to breakfast with her.


That her mistress hoped he would excuse the disappointment, but an accident had happened, which made it impossible for her to have the pleasure of his company at breakfast that day; and begged his pardon for not sending him up notice sooner.


She would give herself no trouble about anything so trifling as his disappointment; that he was heartily sorry for the occasion; and that if he could be of any service to her, she might command him.


O Mr Jones! you are certainly one of the best young men alive. I give you a thousand thanks for your kind offer of your service; but, alas! sir, it is out of your power to preserve my poor girl.--O my child! my child! she is undone, she is ruined for ever! that villain who yesterday left my lodgings, hath betrayed my poor girl; hath destroyed her.--I know you are a man of honour. You have a good--a noble heart, Mr Jones. The actions to which I have been myself a witness, could proceed from no other. I will tell you all: nay, indeed, it is impossible, after what hath happened, to keep it a secret. That Nightingale, that barbarous villain, hath undone my daughter. She is--she is--oh! Mr Jones, my girl is with child by him; and in that condition he hath deserted her. Here! here, sir, is his cruel letter: read it, Mr Jones, and tell me if such another monster lives.


DEAR NANCY. As I found it impossible to mention to you what, I am afraid, will be no less shocking to you, than it is to me, I have taken this method to inform you, that my father insists upon my immediately paying my addresses to a young lady of fortune, whom he hath provided for my--I need not write the detested word. Your own good understanding will make you sensible, how entirely I am obliged to an obedience, by which I shall be for ever excluded from your dear arms. The fondness of your mother may encourage you to trust her with the unhappy consequence of our love, which may be easily kept a secret from the world, and for which I will take care to provide, as I will for you. I wish you may feel less on this account than I have suffered; but summon all your fortitude to your assistance, and forgive and forget the man, whom nothing but the prospect of certain ruin could have forced to write this letter. I bid you forget me, I mean only as a lover; but the best of friends you shall ever find in your faithful, though unhappy. J. N.


I cannot express, madam, how much I am shocked at what I have read; yet let me beg you, in one particular, to take the writer's advice. Consider the reputation of your daughter.


It is gone, it is lost, Mr Jones, as well as her innocence. She received the letter in a room full of company, and immediately swooning away upon opening it, the contents were known to every one present. But the loss of her reputation, bad as it is, is not the worst; I shall lose my child; she hath attempted twice to destroy herself already; and though she hath been hitherto prevented, vows she will not outlive it; nor could I myself outlive any accident of that nature.--What then will become of my little Betsy, a helpless infant orphan? and the poor little wretch will, I believe, break her heart at the miseries with which she sees her sister and myself distracted, while she is ignorant of the cause. O 'tis the most sensible, and best-natured little thing! The barbarous, cruel----hath destroyed us all. O my poor children! Is this the reward of all my cares? Is this the fruit of all my prospects? Have I so chearfully undergone all the labours and duties of a mother? Have I been so tender of their infancy, so careful of their education? Have I been toiling so many years, denying myself even the conveniences of life, to provide some little sustenance for them, to lose one or both in such a manner?


Indeed, madam, I pity you from my soul.


O! Mr Jones, even you, though I know the goodness of your heart, can have no idea of what I feel. The best, the kindest, the most dutiful of children! O my poor Nancy, the darling of my soul! the delight of my eyes! the pride of my heart! too much, indeed, my pride; for to those foolish, ambitious hopes, arising from her beauty, I owe her ruin. Alas! I saw with pleasure the liking which this young man had for her. I thought it an honourable affection; and flattered my foolish vanity with the thoughts of seeing her married to one so much her superior. And a thousand times in my presence, nay, often in yours, he hath endeavoured to soothe and encourage these hopes by the most generous expressions of disinterested love, which he hath always directed to my poor girl, and which I, as well as she, believed to be real. Could I have believed that these were only snares laid to betray the innocence of my child, and for the ruin of us all?


Dear mamma, for heaven's sake come to my sister; for she is in another fit, and my cousin can't hold her.


She thanked heaven Nancy was now come to herself. And now, Betsy, you may go in, for your sister is better, and longs to see you.


I hope, madam. I shall have a more exquisite repast than any you could have provided for me. This, I assure you, will be the case, if I can do any service to this little family of love. But whatever success may attend my endeavours, I am resolved to attempt it. I am very much deceived in Mr Nightingale, if, notwithstanding what hath happened, he hath not much goodness of heart at the bottom, as well as a very violent affection for your daughter. If this be the case, I think the picture which I shall lay before him will affect him. Endeavour, madam, to comfort yourself, and Miss Nancy, as well as you can. I will go instantly in quest of Mr Nightingale; and I hope to bring you good news.


Nothing could be more opportune than this kind visit; for I was never more in the spleen in my life.


I am sorry, that I bring news very unlikely to relieve you: nay, what I am convinced must, of all other, shock you the most. However, it is necessary you should know it. Without further preface, then, I come to you, Mr Nightingale, from a worthy family, which you have involved in misery and ruin. that I bring news very unlikely to relieve you: nay, what I am convinced must, of all other, shock you the most. However, it is necessary you should know it. Without further preface, then, I come to you, Mr Nightingale, from a worthy family, which you have involved in misery and ruin.


What you tell me, my friend, affects me in the tenderest manner. Sure there never was so cursed an accident as the poor girl's betraying my letter. Her reputation might otherwise have been safe, and the affair might have remained a profound secret; and then the girl might have gone off never the worse; for many such things happen in this town: and if the husband should suspect a little, when it is too late, it will be his wiser conduct to conceal his suspicion both from his wife and the world.


Indeed, my friend, this could not have been the case with your poor Nancy. You have so entirely gained her affections, that it is the loss of you, and not of her reputation, which afflicts her, and will end in the destruction of her and her family.


Nay, for that matter, I promise you, she hath my affections so absolutely, that my wife, whoever she is to be, will have very little share in them.


And is it possible then, you can think of deserting her?


Why, what can I do?


Ask Miss Nancy. In the condition to which you have reduced her, I sincerely think she ought to determine what reparation you shall make her. Her interest alone, and not yours, ought to be your sole consideration. But if you ask me what you shall do, what can you do less, than fulfil the expectations of her family, and her own? Nay, I sincerely tell you, they were mine too, ever since I first saw you together. You will pardon me if I presume on the friendship you have favoured me with, moved as I am with compassion for those poor creatures. But your own heart will best suggest to you, whether you have never intended, by your conduct, to persuade the mother, as well as the daughter, into an opinion, that you designed honourably: and if so, though there may have been no direct promise of marriage in the case, I will leave to your own good understanding, how far you are bound to proceed.


Nay, I must not only confess what you have hinted, but I am afraid even that very promise you mention I have given.


And can you, after owning that, hesitate a moment?


Consider, my friend. I know you are a man of honour, and would advise no one to act contrary to its rules; if there were no other objection, can I, after this publication of her disgrace, think of such an alliance with honour?


Undoubtedly. Undoubtedly, and the very best and truest honour, which is goodness, requires it of you. As you mention a scruple of this kind, you will give me leave to examine it. Can you with honour be guilty of having under false pretences deceived a young woman and her family, and of having by these means treacherously robbed her of her innocence? Can you, with honour, be the knowing, the wilful occasion, nay, the artful contriver of the ruin of a human being? Can you, with honour, destroy the fame, the peace, nay, probably, both the life and soul too, of this creature? Can honour bear the thought, that this creature is a tender, helpless, defenceless, young woman? A young woman, who loves, who doats on you, who dies for you; who hath placed the utmost confidence in your promises; and to that confidence hath sacrificed everything which is dear to her? Can honour support such contemplations as these a moment?


Common sense, indeed, warrants all you say; but yet you well know the opinion of the world is so contrary to it, that, was I to marry a whore, though my own, I should be ashamed of ever showing my face again.


Fie upon it, Mr Nightingale! do not call her by so ungenerous a name: when you promised to marry her she became your wife; and she hath sinned more against prudence than virtue. And what is this world which you would be ashamed to face but the vile, the foolish, and the profligate? Forgive me if I say such a shame must proceed from false modesty, which always attends false honour as its shadow.--But I am well assured there is not a man of real sense and goodness in the world who would not honour and applaud the action. But, admit no other would, would not your own heart, my friend, applaud it? And do not the warm, rapturous sensations, which we feel from the consciousness of an honest, noble, generous, benevolent action, convey more delight to the mind than the undeserved praise of millions? Set the alternative fairly before your eyes. On the one side, see this poor, unhappy, tender, believing girl, in the arms of her wretched mother, breathing her last. Hear her breaking heart in agonies, sighing out your name; and lamenting, rather than accusing, the cruelty which weighs her down to destruction. Paint to your imagination the circumstances of her fond despairing parent, driven to madness, or, perhaps, to death, by the loss of her lovely daughter. View the poor, helpless, orphan infant; and when your mind hath dwelt a moment only on such ideas, consider yourself as the cause of all the ruin of this poor, little, worthy, defenceless family. On the other side, consider yourself as relieving them from their temporary sufferings. Think with what joy, with what transports that lovely creature will fly to your arms. See her blood returning to her pale cheeks, her fire to her languid eyes, and raptures to her tortured breast. Consider the exultations of her mother, the happiness of all. Think of this little family made by one act of yours completely happy. Think of this alternative, and sure I am mistaken in my friend if it requires any long deliberation whether he will sink these wretches down for ever, or, by one generous, noble resolution, raise them all from the brink of misery and despair to the highest pitch of human happiness. Add to this but one consideration more; the consideration that it is your duty so to do--That the misery from which you will relieve these poor people is the misery which you yourself have wilfully brought upon them.


O, my dear friend! I wanted not your eloquence to rouse me. I pity poor Nancy from my soul, and would willingly give anything in my power that no familiarities had ever passed between us. Nay, believe me, I had many struggles with my passion before I could prevail with myself to write that cruel letter, which hath caused all the misery in that unhappy family. If I had no inclinations to consult but my own, I would marry her to-morrow morning: I would, by heaven! but you will easily imagine how impossible it would be to prevail on my father to consent to such a match; besides, he hath provided another for me; and to-morrow, by his express command, I am to wait on the lady.


I have not the honour to know your father; but, suppose he could be persuaded, would you yourself consent to the only means of preserving these poor people?


As eagerly as I would pursue my happiness, for I never shall find it in any other woman.--O, my dear friend! could you imagine what I have felt within these twelve hours for my poor girl, I am convinced she would not engross all your pity. Passion leads me only to her; and, if I had any foolish scruples of honour, you have fully satisfied them: could my father be induced to comply with my desires, nothing would be wanting to compleat my own happiness or that of my Nancy.


Then I am resolved to undertake it. You must not be angry with me, in whatever light it may be necessary to set this affair, which, you may depend on it, could not otherwise be long hid from him: for things of this nature make a quick progress when once they get abroad, as this unhappily hath already. Besides, should any fatal accident follow, as upon my soul I am afraid will, unless immediately prevented, the public would ring of your name in a manner which, if your father hath common humanity, must offend him. If you will therefore tell me where I may find the old gentleman, I will not lose a moment in the business; which, while I pursue, you cannot do a more generous action than by paying a visit to the poor girl. You will find I have not exaggerated in the account I have given of the wretchedness of the family.


My dear Tom, you are going to undertake an impossibility. If you knew my father you would never think of obtaining his consent.----Stay, there is one way--suppose you told him I was already married, it might be easier to reconcile him to the fact after it was done; and, upon my honour, I am so affected with what you have said, and I love my Nancy so passionately, I almost wish it was done, whatever might be the consequence.


That he would lose his labour.


Is it then possible, sir, that you can guess my business?


If I do guess it, I repeat again to you, you will lose your labour. What, I suppose you are one of those sparks who lead my son into all those scenes of riot and debauchery, which will be his destruction? but I shall pay no more of his bills, I promise you. I expect he will quit all such company for the future. If I had imagined otherwise, I should not have provided a wife for him; for I would be instrumental in the ruin of nobody.


How, sir, and was this lady of your providing?


Pray, sir, how comes it to be any concern of yours?


Nay, dear sir, be not offended that I interest myself in what regards your son's happiness, for whom I have so great an honour and value. It was upon that very account I came to wait upon you. I can't express the satisfaction you have given me by what you say; for I do assure you your son is a person for whom I have the highest honour.--Nay, sir, it is not easy to express the esteem I have for you; who could be so generous, so good, so kind, so indulgent to provide such a match for your son; a woman, who, I dare swear, will make him one of the happiest men upon earth.


Pray, good sir, be pleased to sit down. I do not remember to have ever had the pleasure of seeing you before; but if you are a friend of my son, and have anything to say concerning this young lady, I shall be glad to hear you. As to her making him happy, it will be his own fault if she doth not. I have discharged my duty, in taking care of the main article. She will bring him a fortune capable of making any reasonable, prudent, sober man, happy.


Undoubtedly, for she is in herself a fortune; so beautiful, so genteel, so sweet-tempered, and so well-educated; she is indeed a most accomplished young lady; sings admirably well, and hath a most delicate hand at the harpsichord.


I did not know any of these matters,


for I never saw the lady: but I do not like her the worse for what you tell me; and I am the better pleased with her father for not laying any stress on these qualifications in our bargain. I shall always think it a proof of his understanding. A silly fellow would have brought in these articles as an addition to her fortune; but, to give him his due, he never mentioned any such matter; though to be sure they are no disparagements to a woman.


I do assure you, sir, she hath them all in the most eminent degree: for my part, I own I was afraid you might have been a little backward, a little less inclined to the match; for your son told me you had never seen the lady; therefore I came, sir, in that case, to entreat you, to conjure you, as you value the happiness of your son, not to be averse to his match with a woman who hath not only all the good qualities I have mentioned, but many more.


If that was your business, sir, we are both obliged to you; and you may be perfectly easy; for I give you my word I was very well satisfied with her fortune.


Sir. I honour you every moment more and more. To be so easily satisfied, so very moderate on that account, is a proof of the soundness of your understanding, as well as the nobleness of your mind.


Not so very moderate, young gentleman, not so very moderate,


Still more and more noble, and give me leave to add, sensible: for sure it is little less than madness to consider money as the sole foundation of happiness. Such a woman as this with her little, her nothing of a fortune


I find, you have a pretty just opinion of money, my friend, or else you are better acquainted with the person of the lady than with her circumstances. Why, pray, what fortune do you imagine this lady to have?


What fortune? why, too contemptible a one to be named for your son.


Well, well, well, perhaps he might have done better.


That I deny, for she is one of the best of women.


Ay, ay, but in point of fortune I mean. And yet, as to that now, how much do you imagine your friend is to have?


How much? how much? Why, at the utmost, perhaps £200.


Do you mean to banter me, young gentleman?


No, upon my soul. I am in earnest: nay, I believe I have gone to the utmost farthing. If I do the lady an injury, I ask her pardon.


Indeed you do. I am certain she hath fifty times that sum, and she shall produce fifty to that before I consent that she shall marry my son.


Nay, it is too late to talk of consent now; if she had not fifty farthings your son is married.


My son married!


I thought you was unacquainted with it.


My son married to Miss Harris!


To Miss Harris! no, sir; to Miss Nancy Miller, the daughter of Mrs Miller, at whose house he lodged; a young lady, who, though her mother is reduced to let lodgings--


Are you bantering, or are you in earnest?


Indeed, sir. I scorn the character of a banterer. I came to you in most serious earnest, imagining, as I find true, that your son had never dared acquaint you with a match so much inferior to him in point of fortune, though the reputation of the lady will suffer it no longer to remain a secret.


If you was a little cooler, brother, I would ask you whether you love your son for his sake or for your own. You would answer, I suppose, and so I suppose you think, for his sake; and doubtless it is his happiness which you intended in the marriage you proposed for him. Now, brother, to prescribe rules of happiness to others hath always appeared to me very absurd, and to insist on doing this, very tyrannical. It is a vulgar error, I know; but it is, nevertheless, an error. And if this be absurd in other things, it is mostly so in the affair of marriage, the happiness of which depends entirely on the affection which subsists between the parties. I have therefore always thought it unreasonable in parents to desire to chuse for their children on this occasion; since to force affection is an impossible attempt; nay, so much doth love abhor force, that I know not whether, through an unfortunate but uncurable perverseness in our natures, it may not be even impatient of persuasion. It is, however, true that, though a parent will not, I think, wisely prescribe, he ought to be consulted on this occasion; and, in strictness, perhaps, should at least have a negative voice. My nephew, therefore, I own, in marrying, without asking your advice, hath been guilty of a fault. But, honestly speaking, brother, have you not a little promoted this fault? Have not your frequent declarations on this subject given him a moral certainty of your refusal, where there was any deficiency in point of fortune? Nay, doth not your present anger arise solely from that deficiency? And if he hath failed in his duty here, did you not as much exceed that authority when you absolutely bargained with him for a woman, without his knowledge, whom you yourself never saw, and whom, if you had seen and known as well as I, it must have been madness in you to have ever thought of bringing her into your family? Still I own my nephew in a fault; but surely it is not an unpardonable fault. He hath acted indeed without your consent, in a matter in which he ought to have asked it, but it is in a matter in which his interest is principally concerned; you yourself must and will acknowledge that you consulted his interest only, and if he unfortunately differed from you, and hath been mistaken in his notion of happiness, will you, brother, if you love your son, carry him still wider from the point? Will you increase the ill consequences of his simple choice? Will you endeavour to make an event certain misery to him, which may accidentally prove so? In a word, brother, because he hath put it out of your power to make his circumstances as affluent as you would, will you distress them as much as you can?


I wish, brother, you would have confined your care to your own daughter, and never have troubled yourself with my son, who hath, I believe, as little profited by your precepts, as by your example.


As you have been always the best and kindest of uncles to me, and as you have shown such unparalleled goodness in forgiving this match, which to be sure may be thought a little improvident, I should never forgive myself if I attempted to deceive you in anything. How, Jack? and are you really then not married to this young woman? No, upon my honour. I have told you the simple truth. My dear boy. I am heartily glad to hear it. I never was better pleased in my life. If you had been married I should have assisted you as much as was in my power to have made the best of a bad matter; but there is a great difference between considering a thing which is already done and irrecoverable, and that which is yet to do. Let your reason have fair play, Jack, and you will see this match in so foolish and preposterous a light, that there will be no need of any dissuasive arguments. How, sir? is there this difference between having already done an act, and being in honour engaged to do it? Pugh! honour is a creature of the world's making, and the world hath the power of a creator over it, and may govern and direct it as they please. Now you well know how trivial these breaches of contract are thought; even the grossest make but the wonder and conversation of a day. Is there a man who afterwards will be more backward in giving you his sister, or daughter? or is there any sister or daughter who would be more backward to receive you? Honour is not concerned in these engagements. Pardon me, dear sir. I can never think so; and not only honour, but conscience and humanity, are concerned. I am well satisfied, that, was I now to disappoint the young creature, her death would be the consequence, and I should look upon myself as her murderer; nay, as her murderer by the cruellest of all methods, by breaking her heart. Break her heart, indeed! no, no, Jack, the hearts of women are not so soon broke; they are tough, boy, they are tough. But, sir, my own affections are engaged, and I never could be happy with any other woman. How often have I heard you say, that children should be always suffered to chuse for themselves, and that you would let my cousin Harriet do so? Why, ay, so I would have them; but then I would have them chuse wisely.--Indeed, Jack, you must and shall leave the girl. Indeed, uncle. I must and will have her. You will, young gentleman; I did not expect such a word from you. I should not wonder if you had used such language to your father, who hath always treated you like a dog, and kept you at the distance which a tyrant preserves over his subjects; but I, who have lived with you upon an equal footing, might surely expect better usage: but I know how to account for it all: it is all owing to your preposterous education, in which I have had too little share. There is my daughter, now, whom I have brought up as my friend, never doth anything without my advice, nor ever refuses to take it when I give it her. You have never yet given her advice in an affair of this kind, for I am greatly mistaken in my cousin, if she would be very ready to obey even your most positive commands in abandoning her inclinations. Don't abuse my girl, don't abuse my Harriet. I have brought her up to have no inclinations contrary to my own. By suffering her to do whatever she pleases, I have enured her to a habit of being pleased to do whatever I like. Pardon, me, sir. I have not the least design to reflect on my cousin, for whom I have the greatest esteem; and indeed I am convinced you will never put her to so severe a tryal, or lay such hard commands on her as you would do on me.--But, dear sir, let us return to the company; for they will begin to be uneasy at our long absence. I must beg one favour of my dear uncle, which is that he would not say anything to shock the poor girl or her mother. Oh! you need not fear me. I understand myself too well to affront women; so I will readily grant you that favour; and in return I must expect another of you. There are but few of your commands, sir, which I shall not very chearfully obey. Nay, sir, I ask nothing, but the honour of your company home to my lodging, that I may reason the case a little more fully with you; for I would, if possible, have the satisfaction of preserving my family, notwithstanding the headstrong folly of my brother, who, in his own opinion, is the wisest man in the world.


I would attend her early in the morning, and fulfil all his engagements.


When children are doing nothing, they are doing mischief.


Bless me, my lord, are you here yet? I thought my servants had made a mistake, and let you go away; and I wanted to see you about an affair of some importance.


Indeed, Lady Bellaston. I don't wonder you are astonished at the length of my visit; for I have staid above two hours, and I did not think I had staid above half-a-one.


What am I to conclude from thence, my lord? The company must be very agreeable which can make time slide away so very deceitfully.


Upon my honour, the most agreeable I ever saw. Pray tell me, Lady Bellaston, who is this blazing star which you have produced among us all of a sudden?


What blazing star, my lord?


I mean, the lady I saw here the other day, whom I had last night in my arms at the playhouse, and to whom I have been making that unreasonable visit.


O, my cousin Western! why, that blazing star, my lord, is the daughter of a country booby squire, and hath been in town about a fortnight, for the first time.


Upon my soul. I should swear she had been bred up in a court; for besides her beauty, I never saw anything so genteel, so sensible, so polite.


O brave! my cousin hath you, I find.


Upon my honour. I wish she had; for I am in love with her to distraction.


Nay, my lord, it is not wishing yourself very ill neither, for she is a very great fortune: I assure you she is an only child, and her father's estate is a good £3000 a-year.


Then I can assure you, madam. I think her the best match in England.


Indeed, my lord, if you like her, I heartily wish you had her.


If you think so kindly of me, madam, as she is a relation of yours, will you do me the honour to propose it to her father?


And are you really then in earnest?


I hope, madam, you have a better opinion of me, than to imagine I would jest with your ladyship in an affair of this kind.


Indeed, then. I will most readily propose your lordship to her father; and I can, I believe, assure you of his joyful acceptance of the proposal; but there is a bar, which I am almost ashamed to mention; and yet it is one you will never be able to conquer. You have a rival, my lord, and a rival who, though I blush to name him, neither you, nor all the world, will ever be able to conquer.


Upon my word, Lady Bellaston, you have struck a damp to my heart, which hath almost deprived me of being.


Fie, my lord. I should rather hope I had struck fire into you. A lover, and talk of damps in your heart! I rather imagined you would have asked your rival's name, that you might have immediately entered the lists with him.


I promise you, madam, there are very few things I would not undertake for your charming cousin; but pray, who is this happy man?


Why, he is, what I am sorry to say most happy men with us are, one of the lowest fellows in the world. He is a beggar, a bastard, a foundling, a fellow in meaner circumstances than one of your lordship's footmen.


And is it possible, that a young creature with such perfections should think of bestowing herself so unworthily?


Alas! my lord, consider the country--the bane of all young women is the country. There they learn a set of romantic notions of love, and I know not what folly, which this town and good company can scarce eradicate in a whole winter.


Indeed, madam, your cousin is of too immense a value to be thrown away; such ruin as this must be prevented.


Alas! my lord, how can it be prevented? The family have already done all in their power; but the girl is, I think, intoxicated, and nothing less than ruin will content her. And to deal more openly with you, I expect every day to hear she is run away with him.


What you tell me, Lady Bellaston, affects me most tenderly, and only raises my compassion, instead of lessening my adoration of your cousin. Some means must be found to preserve so inestimable a jewel. Hath your ladyship endeavoured to reason with her?


My dear lord, sure you know us better than to talk of reasoning a young woman out of her inclinations? These inestimable jewels are as deaf as the jewels they wear: time, my lord, time is the only medicine to cure their folly; but this is a medicine which I am certain she will not take; nay, I live in hourly horrors on her account. In short, nothing but violent methods will do.


What is to be done? what methods are to be taken?--Is there any method upon earth?--Oh! Lady Bellaston! there is nothing which I would not undertake for such a reward.


I really know not. Upon my soul, I am at my wit's end on this girl's account.--If she can be preserved, something must be done immediately; and, as I say, nothing but violent methods will do.----If your lordship hath really this attachment to my cousin (and to do her justice, except in this silly inclination, of which she will soon see her folly, she is every way deserving), I think there may be one way, indeed, it is a very disagreeable one, and what I am almost afraid to think of.--It requires a great spirit, I promise you.


I am not conscious, madam, of any defect there; nor am I, I hope, suspected of any such. It must be an egregious defect indeed, which could make me backward on this occasion.


Nay, my lord. I am so far from doubting you, I am much more inclined to doubt my own courage; for I must run a monstrous risque. In short, I must place such a confidence in your honour as a wise woman will scarce ever place in a man on any consideration. Well, then, my lord,--I--I vow, I can't bear the apprehension of it.--No, it must not be.----At least every other method shall be tried. Can you get rid of your engagements, and dine here to-day? Your lordship will have an opportunity of seeing a little more of Miss Western.--I promise you we have no time to lose. Here will be nobody but Lady Betty, and Miss Eagle, and Colonel Hampsted, and Tom Edwards; they will all go soon--and I shall be at home to nobody. Then your lordship may be a little more explicit. Nay, I will contrive some method to convince you of her attachment to this fellow.


I protest, Tom, you are grown intolerable lately; you used to tell us all the news of the town, and now you know no more of the world than if you lived out of it.


The fault is not mine, madam: it lies in the dulness of the age, that doth nothing worth talking of.----O la! though now I think on't there hath a terrible accident befallen poor Colonel Wilcox.----Poor Ned.----You know him, my lord, everybody knows him; faith! I am very much concerned for him.


What is it, pray?


Why, he hath killed a man this morning in a duel, that's all. A young fellow we none of us know; a Somersetshire lad just came to town, one Jones his name is; a near relation of one Mr Allworthy, of whom your lordship I believe hath heard. I saw the lad lie dead in a coffee-house.--Upon my soul, he is one of the finest corpses I ever saw in my life!


I see his design, for he made downright love to me yesterday morning; but as I am resolved never to admit it, I beg your ladyship not to leave us alone together any more, and to order the servants that, if he enquires for me, I may be always denied to him.


La! child, you country girls have nothing but sweethearts in your head; you fancy every man who is civil to you is making love. He is one of the most gallant young fellows about town, and I am convinced means no more than a little gallantry. Make love to you indeed! I wish with all my heart he would, and you must be an arrant mad woman to refuse him.


But as I shall certainly be that mad woman. I hope his visits shall not be intruded upon me.


O child! you need not be so fearful; if you resolve to run away with that Jones, I know no person who can hinder you.


Upon my honour, madam, your ladyship injures me. I will never run away with any man; nor will I ever marry contrary to my father's inclinations.


Well, Miss Western, if you are not in a humour to see company this morning, you may retire to your own apartment; for I am not frightened at his lordship, and must send for him up into my dressing-room. My dear lord, you certainly want a cordial. I must send to Lady Edgely for one of her best drams. Fie upon it! have more resolution. Are you frightened by the word rape? Or are you apprehensive----? Well! if the story of Helen was modern, I should think it unnatural. I mean the behaviour of Paris, not the fondness of the lady; for all women love a man of spirit. There is another story of the Sabine ladies--and that too, I thank heaven, is very antient. Your lordship, perhaps, will admire my reading; but I think Mr Hook tells us, they made tolerable good wives afterwards. I fancy few of my married acquaintance were ravished by their husbands.


Nay, dear Lady Bellaston, don't ridicule me in this manner.


Why, my good lord, do you think any woman in England would not laugh at you in her heart, whatever prudery she might wear in her countenance?----You force me to use a strange kind of language, and to betray my sex most abominably; but I am contented with knowing my intentions are good, and that I am endeavouring to serve my cousin; for I think you will make her a husband notwithstanding this; or, upon my soul, I would not even persuade her to fling herself away upon an empty title. She should not upbraid me hereafter with having lost a man of spirit; for that his enemies allow this poor young fellow to be. My lord, you will be pleased to remember, you mentioned this matter to me first; for I would not appear to you in the light of one who is endeavouring to put off my cousin upon you. Fourscore thousand pounds do not stand in need of an advocate to recommend them.


Nor doth Miss Western, require any recommendation from her fortune; for, in my opinion, no woman ever had half her charms.


Yes, yes, my lord, there have been women with more than half her charms, I assure you; not that I need lessen her on that account: she is a most delicious girl, that's certain; and within these few hours she will be in the arms of one, who surely doth not deserve her, though I will give him his due, I believe he is truly a man of spirit.


I hope so, madam, though I must own he doth not deserve her; for, unless heaven or your ladyship disappoint me, she shall within that time be in mine.


Well spoken, my lord. I promise you no disappointment shall happen from my side; and within this week I am convinced I shall call your lordship my cousin in public.


I am afraid, Miss Western, I break in upon you abruptly.


Indeed, my lord. I must own myself a little surprized at this unexpected visit.


If this visit be unexpected, madam, my eyes must have been very faithless interpreters of my heart, when last I had the honour of seeing you; for surely you could not otherwise have hoped to detain my heart in your possession, without receiving a visit from its owner.


Am I really to conceive your lordship to be out of your senses? Sure, my lord, there is no other excuse for such behaviour.


I am, indeed, madam, in the situation you suppose, and sure you will pardon the effects of a frenzy which you yourself have occasioned; for love hath so totally deprived me of reason, that I am scarce accountable for any of my actions.


Upon my word, my lord. I neither understand your words nor your behaviour.


Suffer me then, madam, at your feet to explain both, by laying open my soul to you, and declaring that I doat on you to the highest degree of distraction. O most adorable, most divine creature! what language can express the sentiments of my heart?


I do assure you, my lord. I shall not stay to hear any more of this.


Do not, think of leaving me thus cruelly; could you know half the torments which I feel, that tender bosom must pity what those eyes have caused. That if he was master of the world, he would lay it at her feet.


I promise you, sir, your world and its master I should spurn from me with equal contempt.


Pardon me, my beloved angel, freedoms which nothing but despair could have tempted me to take.----Believe me, could I have had any hope that my title and fortune, neither of them inconsiderable, unless when compared with your worth, would have been accepted, I had, in the humblest manner, presented them to your acceptance.----But I cannot lose you.--By heaven, I will sooner part with my soul!--You are, you must, you shall be only mine.


My lord. I intreat you to desist from a vain pursuit; for, upon my honour, I will never hear you on this subject. Let go my hand, my lord; for I am resolved to go from you this moment; nor will I ever see you more.


Then, madam. I must make the best use of this moment; for I cannot live, nor will I live without you.


What do you mean, my lord? I will raise the family.


I have no fear, madam, but of losing you, and that I am resolved to prevent, the only way which despair points to me.


Where is she? D--n me, I'll unkennel her this instant. Show me her chamber, I say. Where is my daughter? I know she's in the house, and I'll see her if she's above-ground. Show me where she is.


For heaven's sake, sir, animadvert that you are in the house of a great lady. Let me beg you to mitigate your wrath; it should minister a fulness of satisfaction that you have found your daughter; for as to revenge, it belongeth not unto us. I discern great contrition in the countenance of the young lady. I stand assured, if you will forgive her, she will repent her of all past offences, and return unto her duty.


I'll forgee her if she wull ha un. If wot ha un, Sophy, I'll forgee thee all. Why dost unt speak? Shat ha un! d--n me, shat ha un! Why dost unt answer? Was ever such a stubborn tuoad?


Let me intreat you, sir, to be a little more moderate, you frighten the young lady so, that you deprive her of all power of utterance.


Power of mine a--. You take her part then, you do? A pretty parson, truly, to side with an undutiful child! Yes, yes, I will gee you a living with a pox. I'll gee un to the devil sooner.


I humbly crave your pardon. I assure your worship I meant no such matter.


There, my lady cousin; there stands the most undutiful child in the world; she hankers after a beggarly rascal, and won't marry one of the greatest matches in all England, that we have provided for her.


Indeed, cousin Western, I am persuaded you wrong my cousin. I am sure she hath a better understanding. I am convinced she will not refuse what she must be sensible is so much to her advantage.


Do you hear there, what her ladyship says? All your family are for the match. Come, Sophy, be a good girl, and be dutiful, and make your father happy.


If my death will make you happy, sir, you will shortly be so.


It's a lye, Sophy; it's a d--n'd lye, and you know it,


Indeed, Miss Western, you injure your father; he hath nothing in view but your interest in this match; and I and all your friends must acknowledge the highest honour done to your family in the proposal.


Ay, all of us; nay, it was no proposal of mine. She knows it was her aunt proposed it to me first.--Come, Sophy, once more let me beg you to be a good girl, and gee me your consent before your cousin.


Let me give him your hand, cousin. It is the fashion now-a-days to dispense with time and long courtships.


Pugh! what signifies time; won't they have time enough to court afterwards? People may court very well after they have been a-bed together.


Though I have not the honour, sir, of being personally known to you, yet, as I find I have the happiness to have my proposals accepted, let me intercede, sir, in behalf of the young lady, that she may not be more solicited at this time.


You intercede, sir! why, who the devil are you?


Sir, I am Lord Fellamar, and am the happy man whom I hope you have done the honour of accepting for a son-in-law.


You are a son of a b----, for all your laced coat. You my son-in-law, and be d--n'd to you!


I shall take more from you, sir, than from any man, but I must inform you that I am not used to hear such language without resentment.


Resent my a--. Don't think I am afraid of such a fellow as thee art! because hast got a spit there dangling at thy side. Lay by your spit, and I'll give thee enough of meddling with what doth not belong to thee. I'll teach you to father-in-law me. I'll lick thy jacket.


It's very well, sir. I shall make no disturbance before the ladies. I am very well satisfied. Your humble servant, sir; Lady Bellaston, your most obedient.


Bless me, sir, what have you done? You know not whom you have affronted; he is a nobleman of the first rank and fortune, and yesterday made proposals to your daughter; and such as I am sure you must accept with the highest pleasure.


Answer for yourself, lady cousin. I will have nothing to do with any of your lords. My daughter shall have an honest country gentleman; I have pitched upon one for her--and she shall ha' un.--I am sorry for the trouble she hath given your ladyship with all my heart. Why, that's kind--and I would do as much for your ladyship. To be sure relations should do for one another. So I wish your ladyship a good night.--Come, madam, you must go along with me by fair means, or I'll have you carried down to the coach.


Prithee, wout unt persuade me canst not ride in a coach, wouldst? That's a pretty thing surely! No, no, I'll never let thee out of my sight any more till art married, that I promise thee. O break thy heart and be d--n'd, if a good husband will break it. I don't value a brass varden, not a halfpenny, of any undutiful b-- upon earth.


At'nt in pulpit now? when art a got up there I never mind what dost say; but I won't be priest-ridden, nor taught how to behave myself by thee. I wish your ladyship a good-night. Come along, Sophy; be a good girl, and all shall be well. Shat ha' un, d--n me, shat ha' un! Hold, madam, hold, you come no more near my house.


And will you take my maid away from me?


Yes, indeed, madam, will I, you need not fear being without a servant; I will get you another maid, and a better maid than this, who, I'd lay five pounds to a crown, is no more a maid than my grannum. No, no, Sophy, she shall contrive no more escapes, I promise you.


There, sir, there is an account of your lost sheep. Fortune hath again restored her to you, and if you will be governed by my advice, it is possible you may yet preserve her.


Zounds! you don't seem pleased; one would imagine you was sorry I have found the girl.


Brother, the deepest politicians, who see to the bottom, discover often a very different aspect of affairs, from what swims on the surface. It is true, indeed, things do look rather less desperate than they did formerly in Holland, when Lewis the Fourteenth was at the gates of Amsterdam; but there is a delicacy required in this matter, which you will pardon me, brother, if I suspect you want. There is a decorum to be used with a woman of figure, such as Lady Bellaston, brother, which requires a knowledge of the world, superior, I am afraid, to yours.


Sister, I know you have no opinion of my parts; but I'll shew you on this occasion who is a fool. Knowledge, quotha! I have not been in the country so long without having some knowledge of warrants and the law of the land. I know I may take my own wherever I can find it. Shew me my own daughter, and if I don't know how to come at her, I'll suffer you to call me a fool as long as I live. There be justices of peace in London, as well as in other places.


I protest, brother, you make me tremble for the event of this matter, which, if you will proceed by my advice, you may bring to so good an issue. Do you really imagine, brother, that the house of a woman of figure is to be attacked by warrants and brutal justices of the peace? I will inform you how to proceed. As soon as you arrive in town, and have got yourself into a decent dress (for indeed, brother, you have none at present fit to appear in), you must send your compliments to Lady Bellaston, and desire leave to wait on her. When you are admitted to her presence, as you certainly will be, and have told her your story, and have made proper use of my name (for I think you just know one another only by sight, though you are relations), I am confident she will withdraw her protection from my niece, who hath certainly imposed upon her. This is the only method.--Justices of peace, indeed! do you imagine any such event can arrive to a woman of figure in a civilised nation?


D--n their figures, a pretty civilised nation, truly, where women are above the law. And what must I stand sending a parcel of compliments to a confounded whore, that keeps away a daughter from her own natural father? I tell you, sister, I am not so ignorant as you think me----I know you would have women above the law, but it is all a lye; I heard his lordship say at size, that no one is above the law. But this of yours is Hanover law, I suppose.


Mr Western, I think you daily improve in ignorance.----I protest you are grown an arrant bear.


No more a bear than yourself, sister Western. Pox! you may talk of your civility an you will, I am sure you never shew any to me. I am no bear, no, nor no dog neither, though I know somebody, that is something that begins with a b; but pox! I will show you I have got more good manners than some folks.


Mr Western, je vous mesprise de tout mon coeur. I shall not therefore be angry.----Besides, as my cousin, with that odious Irish name, justly says, I have that regard for the honour and true interest of my family, and that concern for my niece, who is a part of it, that I have resolved to go to town myself upon this occasion; for indeed, indeed, brother, you are not a fit minister to be employed at a polite court.--Greenland--Greenland should always be the scene of the tramontane negociation.


I thank Heaven, I don't understand you now. You are got to your Hanoverian linguo. However, I'll shew you I scorn to be behind-hand in civility with you; and as you are not angry for what I have said, so I am not angry for what you have said. Indeed I have always thought it a folly for relations to quarrel; and if they do now and then give a hasty word, why, people should give and take; for my part, I never bear malice; and I take it very kind of you to go up to London; for I never was there but twice in my life, and then I did not stay above a fortnight at a time, and to be sure I can't be expected to know much of the streets and the folks in that time. I never denied that you know'd all these matters better than I. For me to dispute that would be all as one as for you to dispute the management of a pack of dogs, or the finding a hare sitting, with me.


Which I promise you, I never will.


Well, and I promise you, that I never will dispute the t'other.


O, my dear sir! how shall I get spirits to tell you; you are undone, sir, and my poor lady's undone, and I am undone.


Hath anything happened to Sophia?


All that is bad. Oh, I shall never get such another lady! Oh that I should ever live to see this day! O! Mr Jones, I have lost my lady for ever.


How? what! for Heaven's sake, tell me. O, my dear Sophia!


You may well call her so, she was the dearest lady to me. I shall never have such another place.


D--n your place! where is--what--what is become of my Sophia?


Ay, to be sure, servants may be d--n'd. It signifies nothing what becomes of them, though they are turned away, and ruined ever so much. To be sure they are not flesh and blood like other people. No, to be sure, it signifies nothing what becomes of them.


If you have any pity, any compassion. I beg you will instantly tell me what hath happened to Sophia?


To be sure, I have more pity for you than you have for me. I don't d--n you because you have lost the sweetest lady in the world. To be sure you are worthy to be pitied, and I am worthy to be pitied too: for, to be sure, if ever there was a good mistress----


What hath happened?


What?--What? Why, the worst that could have happened both for you and for me.--Her father is come to town, and hath carried her away from us both. No worse! what could be worse for either of us? He carried her off, swearing she should marry Mr Blifil; that's for your comfort; and, for poor me, I am turned out of doors.


Indeed, Mrs Honour, you frightened me out of my wits. I imagined some most dreadful sudden accident had happened to Sophia; something, compared to which, even seeing her married to Blifil would be a trifle; but while there is life there are hopes, my dear Honour. Women in this land of liberty, cannot be married by actual brutal force.


To be sure, sir, that's true. There may be some hopes for you; but alack-a-day! what hopes are there for poor me? And to be sure, sir, you must be sensible I suffer all this upon your account. All the quarrel the squire hath to me is for taking your part, as I have done, against Mr Blifil.


Indeed, Mrs Honour. I am sensible of my obligations to you, and will leave nothing in my power undone to make you amends.


Alas! sir, what can make a servant amends for the loss of one place but the getting another altogether as good?


Do not despair, Mrs Honour. I hope to reinstate you again in the same.


Alack-a-day, sir, how can I flatter myself with such hopes when I know it is a thing impossible? for the squire is so set against me: and yet, if you should ever have my lady, as to be sure I now hopes heartily you will; for you are a generous, good-natured gentleman; and I am sure you loves her, and to be sure she loves you as dearly as her own soul; it is a matter in vain to deny it; because as why, everybody, that is in the least acquainted with my lady, must see it; for, poor dear lady, she can't dissemble: and if two people who loves one another a'n't happy, why who should be so? Happiness don't always depend upon what people has; besides, my lady has enough for both. To be sure, therefore, as one may say, it would be all the pity in the world to keep two such loviers asunder; nay, I am convinced, for my part, you will meet together at last; for, if it is to be, there is no preventing it. If a marriage is made in heaven, all the justices of peace upon earth can't break it off. To be sure I wishes that parson Supple had but a little more spirit, to tell the squire of his wickedness in endeavouring to force his daughter contrary to her liking; but then his whole dependance is on the squire; and so the poor gentleman, though he is a very religious good sort of man, and talks of the badness of such doings behind the squire's back, yet he dares not say his soul is his own to his face. To be sure I never saw him make so bold as just now; I was afeard the squire would have struck him. I would not have your honour be melancholy, sir, nor despair; things may go better, as long as you are sure of my lady, and that I am certain you may be; for she never will be brought to consent to marry any other man. Indeed I am terribly afeared the squire will do her a mischief in his passion, for he is a prodigious passionate gentleman; and I am afeared too the poor lady will be brought to break her heart, for she is as tender-hearted as a chicken. It is pity, methinks, she had not a little of my courage. If I was in love with a young man, and my father offered to lock me up, I'd tear his eyes out but I'd come at him; but then there's a great fortune in the case, which it is in her father's power either to give her or not; that, to be sure, may make some difference.


So, my dear Jones, you find nothing can detain me long from you. Perhaps I ought to be angry with you, that I have neither seen nor heard from you all day; for I perceive your distemper would have suffered you to come abroad: nay, I suppose you have not sat in your chamber all day drest up like a fine lady to see company after a lying-in; but, however, don't think I intend to scold you; for I never will give you an excuse for the cold behaviour of a husband, by putting on the ill-humour of a wife.


Nay, Lady Bellaston. I am sure your ladyship will not upbraid me with neglect of duty, when I only waited for orders. Who, my dear creature, hath reason to complain? Who missed an appointment last night, and left an unhappy man to expect, and wish, and sigh, and languish?