cate hand at the harpsichord." "I did not know any of these matters," answered the old gentleman, “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," cries Jones, "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," said the old gentleman, "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," answered Jones, "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," answered the father. "Still more and more noble," replied Jones, "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," cries the old gentleman, “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?" cries Jones, "why too contemptible a one to be named for your son." "Well, well, well," said the other, "perhaps he might have done better."-"That I deny," said Jones, "for she is one of the best of women." “Ay, ay, but in point of fortune I mean"-answered the other.-"And yet as to that now, how much do you imagine your friend is to have?"-"How much," cries Jones, "how much!-Why at the utmost, perhaps, 200 l." "Do you mean to banter me, young gentleman?" said the father a little angry.—"No, upon my soul," answered Jones, "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," cries the father. "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, "said Jones, "it is too late to talk of consent now-if she hath not fifty farthings your son is married."-"My son married!" answered the old gentleman with surprize. "Nay," said Jones, "I thought you was acquainted with it."-"My son married to Miss Harris!" answered he again-"To Miss Harris!" said Jones; "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?" cries the father with a most solemn voice. "Indeed, sir," answered Jones, "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, tho' the repu

tation of the lady will suffer it no longer to remain a secret.'

While the father stood like one struck suddenly dumb at this news, a gentleman came into the room, and saluted him by the name of brother.

But though these two were in consanguinity so nearly related, they were in their dispositions almost the opposites to each other. The brother who now arrived had likewise been bred to trade, in which he no sooner saw himself worth 6000l. than he purchased a small estate with the greatest part of it, and retired into the country; where he married the daughter of an unbeneficed clergyman; a young lady who, though she had neither beauty nor fortune, had recommended herself to his choice, entirely by her good humour, of which she possessed a very immoderate share.

With this woman he had, during twenty-five years, lived a life more resembling the model which certain poets ascribe to the golden age, than any of those patterns which are furnished by the present times. By her he had four children, but none of them arrived at maturity except only one daughter, whom in vulgar language he and his wife had spoiled; that is, had educated with the utmost tenderness and fondness; which she returned to such a degree, that she had actually refused a very extraordinary match with a gentleman a little turned of forty, because she could not bring herself to part with her parents.

The young lady whom Mr. Nightingale had intended for his son was a near neighbour of his brother, and an acquaintance of his niece; and in reality it was upon the account of this projected match, that he was now come to town; not indeed to forward, but to dissuade his bro

ther from a purpose which he conceived would inevita bly ruin his nephew; for he foresaw no other event from a union with Miss Harris, notwithstanding the largeness of her fortune, as neither her person nor mind seemed to him to promise any kind of matrimonial felicity; for she was very tall, very thin, very ugly, very affected, very silly, and very ill-natured.

His brother therefore no sooner mentioned the marriage of his nephew with Miss Miller, than he exprest the utmost satisfaction; and when the father had very bitterly reviled his son, and pronounced sentence of beggary upon him, the uncle began in the following

manner.

"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 incureable perversness in our natures, it may not be even impatient of persuasion.

"It is, however, true, that though a parent will not, I

1

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 not you 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?"

By the force of the true Catholic faith, St. Anthony won upon the fishes. Orpheus and Amphion went a little