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 fon for his fake or for your own? you would answer, I fuppofe, and fo I fuppofe you think, for his fake; and doubtlefs it is his happinefs which you intended in the marriage you propofed

for him.

Now, brother, to prefcribe rules of happiness to others hath always appeared to me very abfurd, and to infift on doing this very tyrannical. It is vulgar er6 I know; but it is nevertheless an error.

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ror,

And if this be abfurd in other things, it is moftly fo in the affair of marriage, the happinefs of which depends entirely on the affection which fubfifts between the parties.

I have therefore always thought it unreafonable in parents to defire to chufe for their children on this occafion; fince to force affection is an impoffible attempt; fo much doth love abhor force, that I know not whether through an unfortunate, but incurable perverfenefs in our natures, it may not be even impatient of ❝ perfuafion.

nay,

It is however true, that though a parent will not, I think, wifely prefcribe. he ought to be confulted on this occafion; and in ftrictnefs, perhaps fhould at least • have a negative voice. My Nephew, therefore, I own, in marrying, without asking your advice, hath been guilty of a fault. But honeftly fpeaking, brother, have you not a little promoted this fault? Have not your frequent declarations on the fubject given him a moral certainty of your refufal, where there was any deficiency in point of fortune? nay, doth not your prefent anger arife folely from that deficiency? and if he hath failed in his duty here, did you not as much exceed that authority, when you abfolutely bargained with him for a woman without his knowledge, whom you yourself, ne4 ver faw, and whom, if you had feen and known as well as I, it must have been madnefs in you to have ever thought of bringing her into your family.

Still I own my Nephew in a fault; but furcly it is not an unpardonable fault. He hath acted, indeed, without your confent, in a matter in which he ought to

have afked it; but it is in a matter in which his intereft is principally concerned. You yourfelf muft and will acknowledge, that you confulted his intereft only; and if he unfortunately differed from you, and hath been mistaken in his notion of happinefs, will you, brother, if you love your fon, carry him ftill wider from the point? will you increase the ill confequences of his fimple choice? will you endeavour to make an event certain mifery to him, which may accidentally prove fo? in a word, brother, because he hath put it out of your power to make his circumstances as afluent as you would, will you diftrefs 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 farther, and by the charms of mufic inchanted things merely inanimate. Wonderful both! But neither history nor fable have ever yet ventured to record an inftance of any one, who by force of argument and reafon hath triumphed over habitual avarice.

Mr Nightingale, the father, inftead of attempting to anfwer his brother, contented himself with only obferving, that they had always differed in their fentiments concerning the education of their children. 'I wish,' faid he, brother, you would have confined your care to your own daughter, and never have troubled yourself with my fon, who hath, I believe, as little profited by your precepts as by your example: For young Nightingale was his uncle's godfon, and had lived more with him than with his father; fo that the uncle had often declared he loved his nephew almoft equally with his own child.

Jones fell into raptures with this good gentleman; and when, after much perfuafion, they found the father more and more irritated, instead of appeafed, Jones conducted the uncle to his nephew at the house of Mrs Miller.

A

CHA P. IX.

Containing frange matters.

This return to his lodgings, Jones found the fituation of affairs greatly altered from what they had VOL. III.

I

been at his departure. The mother, the two daughters, and young Mr Nightingale, were now fat down to fupper together, when the uncle was, at his own defire, introduced without any ceremony into, the company, to all of whom he was well known; for he had several times vifited his nephew at that house.

The old gentleman immediately walked up to Mifs Nancy, faluted and wifhed her joy, as he did afterwards the mother, and the other fifter; and lastly, he paid the proper compliments to his Nephew, with the fame good humour and courtesy as if his nephew had married his equal or fuperior in fortune, with all the previous requifites first performed.

Mifs Nancy and her supposed husband both turned pale, and looked rather foolish than otherwife upon the occafion; but Mrs Miller took the first opportunity of withdrawing; and having fent for Jones into the dining-room, fhe threw herself at his feet, and in a moft paffionate flood of tears, called him her good angel, the preferver of her poor little family, with many other respectful and endearing appellations, and made him every acknowledgment which the higheft benefit can extract from the moft grateful heart,

After the first guft of her paffion was a little over, which he declared if he had not vented would have burft her, fhe proceeded to inform Mr Jones, that all matters were fettled between Mr Nightingale and her daughter, and that they were to be married the next morning: at which Mr Jones having expreffed much pleasure, the poor woman fell again into a fit of joy and thanksgiving, which he at length with difficulty filenced, and prevailed on her to return with him back to the company, whom they found in the fame good humour in which they had left them.

This little fociety now paffed two or three very agrecable hours together, in which the uncle, who was a very great lover of his bottle, had fo well plyed his nephew, that this latter, though not drunk, began to be fomewhat fluftered; and now Mr Nightingale taking the old gentleman with him up ftairs into the apartment he had lately occupied, unbofomed himself as follows:

As you have been always the best and kindeft of

6

uncles to me, and as you have fhewn fuch unparallelled goodness in forgiving this match, which, to be fure, may be thought a little improvident; I fhould never forgive myself if I attempted to deceive you in any thing. He then confeffed the truth, and opened the whole affair.

How, Jack!' faid the old gentleman, and are you' really then not married to this young woman!'No, upon my honour,' anfwered Nightingale, I have told you the fimple truth. My dear boy,' crics the uncle, kiffing him, I am heartily glad to hear it. I never was better pleafed in my life. If you had been married, I should have affifted you as much as was in my power to bave made the beft of a bad matter; but there is a great difference between confidering a thing which is already done and irrecoverable, and that which is yet' ' to do. Let your reafon have fair play, Jack, and you will fee this match in fo foolish and prepofterous a light, that there will be no need of any diffuafive ar"guments.' How, Sir!' replies young Nightingale, is there this difference between having already done an act, and being in honour engaged to do it? Pugh,' faid the uncle, 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 thefe breaches of contract are thought; even the groffeft make but the wonder ⚫ and converfation of a day. Is there a man who after'wards will be more backward in giving you his fifter or daughter? or is there any fifter or daughter who' would be more backward to receive you? Honour is • not concerned in these engagements.? Pardon me,

6

dear Sir,' cries Nightingale, I can never think fo; and not only honour, but confcience and humanity are concerned. I am well fatisfied that was I now to dif appoint the young creature, her death would be the confequence, and I should look upon myself as her murderer; nay, as her murderer by the cruelleft of all methods, by breaking her heart.' Break her heart, indeed! no, no, Jack,' cries the uncle, the hearts of women are not fo foon broke; they are tough, boy, they are tough.' But, Sir, anfwered Nightingale, my

R

own affections are engaged, and I could never be happy ← with any other woman. How often have I heard you fay, that children fhould be always fuffered to chufe for themfelves, and that you would let my coufin Harriet do fo!' Why, ay,' replied the old gentleman, so I would have them; but then I would have them chufe wifely.- -Indeed, Jack, you must, and fhall leave this girl.' Indeed, uncle,' cries the other, I muft and will have her.' You will, young gentleman!' faid the uncle; I did not expect such a word from you. I fhould not wonder if you had ufed fuch language to your fa ther, who hath always treated you like a dog, and kept you at the distance which a tyrant preferves over his fubjects; but I, who have lived with you upon an equal footing, might furely expect better ufage: but I know how to account for it all! it is all owing to your pre 'pofterous education, in which I have had too little fhare. There is my daughter now, whom I have brought up as my friend, never doth any thing without my advies, nor ever refufes to take it when I give it her.' • You have never yet given her advice in an affair of this kind,' faid Nightingale; for I am greatly mistaken in my coufin, if fhe would be very ready to obey,. even your moft pofitive commands, in abandoning her incli• nations.' 'Don't abuse my girl,' anfwered the old gentleman with fome emotion; don't abuse my Harriet. I have brought her up to have no inclinations contrary to my own. By fuffering her to do whatever fhe pleafes, I have inured her to a habit of being pleafed to do whatever I like.' Pardon me, Sir,' faid Nightingale, I have not the leaft defign to reflect on my coufin for whom I have the greateft efteem; and, indeed, I am convinced you will never put her to fo fevere a trial, or lay fuch 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 uneafy at our 'long abfence. I muft beg one favour of my dear uncle, which is, that he would not fay any thing to fhock the 'poor girl or her mother.'. "O you need not fear me,' anfwered he, I understand myself too well to affront women; fo I will readily grant you that favour; and, in return, I must expect another of you.' There are