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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."—" Pooh, see it!" cries Nightingale, "what the devil should she see?""Why, see," said Jones, "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," answered Nightingale, "according to your doctrine, one must not amuse one's self by any common gallantries with women, for fear they should fall in love with us?"— "Indeed, Jack," said Jones, " 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," says Nightingale, " that we have been abed together?"-"No, upon my honour," answered Jones, very seriously, "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 goodnatured 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 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 and disinterested love? Did you imagine she would not apply them? Or, speak ingenuously, did not you intend she should?" "Upon my soul, Tom," cries Nightingale, "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," cries Jones, "may I be d-n'd if I would."-" Tom, Tom," answered Nightingale, "last night! remember last night,

-When ev'ry eye was clos'd, and the pale moon, And silent stars, shone conscious of the theft."

"Look'ee, Mr Nightingale," said Jones, "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," said Nightingale, "I believe

you, and I am convinced you acquit me of any such thing."

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

"If I have," said Nightingale, "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."

At these words Jones burst into a loud fit of laughter; when Nightingale cried, "Nay, prithee, don't turn me into ridicule. The devil take me if I am not half mad about this matter! My poor Nancy! Oh, Jones, Jones, I wish I had a fortune in my own possession."

"I heartily wish you had," cries Jones; "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," answered Nightingale, "undergo the pain of taking leave for ten thousand pound; 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."

Jones promised he would not; and said, upon reflection, he thought, as he had determined and was obliged to leave her, he took the most prudent method. He then told Nightingale, he should be very glad to lodge in the same house with him; and it was accordingly agreed between them that Nightingale should procure him either the ground floor or the two pair of stairs; for the young gentleman himself was to occupy that which was between them.

This Nightingale, of whom we shall be presently obliged to say a little more, was, in the ordinary transactions of life, a man of strict honour, and, what is more rare among young gentlemen of the town-one of strict honesty too; yet, in the affairs of love, he was somewhat loose in his morals; not that he was even here as void of principle as gentlemen sometimes are, and oftener affect to be; but it is certain he had been guilty of some indefensible treachery to women; and had, in a certain mystery, called making love, practised many deceits, which, if he had used in trade, he would have been counted the greatest villain upon earth.

But as the world, I know not well for what reason, agree to see this treachery in a better light, he was so far from being ashamed of his iniquities of this kind, that he gloried in them, and would often boast of his skill in gaining of

women, and his triumphs over their hearts, for which he had before this time received some rebukes from Jones, who always expressed great bitterness against any misbehaviour to the fair part of the species, who, if considered, he said, as they ought to be, in the light of the dearest friends, were to be cultivated, honoured, and caressed with the utmost love and tenderness; but if regarded as enemies, were a conquest of which a man ought rather to be ashamed than to value himself upon it.

CHAP. V.

A short Account of the History of Mrs Miller.

JONES this day ate a pretty good dinner for a sick man, that is to say, the larger half of a shoulder of mutton. In the afternoon he received an invitation from Mrs Miller to drink tea; for that good woman having learnt, either by means of Partridge, or by some other means, natural or supernatural, that he had a connection with Mr Allworthy, could not endure the thoughts of parting with him in an angry manner.

Jones accepted the invitation; and no sooner was the tea-kettle removed, and the girls sent out of the room, than the widow, without much preface, began as follows: "Well, there are very surprising 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 any thing 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.

"You must know, sir, though I am now reduced to get my living by letting lodgings, 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 grandmother; and having inherited a vast fortune from her father, which he had got by pawn-broking, 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 womanísh weakness; but I shall never mention him without tears."-" I ought rather, madam," said Jones, " to be ashamed that I do not accompany you." '-"Well, sir," continued she, "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,

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"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 501. 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 only 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."

Mrs Miller was at length prevailed on, and Jones departed to his chamber, where he sat alone till twelve o'clock; but no Lady Bellaston appeared.

As we have said that this lady had a great affection for Jones, and as it must have appeared that she really had so, the reader may perhaps wonder at the first failure of her appointment, as she apprehended him to be confined by sickness, a season when friendship seems most to require such visits. This behaviour, therefore, in the lady, may, by some, be condemned as unnatural; but that is not our fault; for our business is only to record truth.

CHAP. VI.

all our readers.

66 Upon my word, madam," said Jones, "you need make no farther apology; nor do I in the Containing a scene which we doubt not will affect least take any thing 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," answered she, "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 entirely innocent."

Here Jones heaved a deep sigh, and then said, "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." And these Mrs Miller having expressed great desire and curiosity to hear, he began and related to her his whole history, without once mentioning the name of Sophia. There is a kind of sympathy in honest minds, by means of which they give an easy credit to each other. Mrs Miller believed all which Jones told her to be true, and expressed much pity and concern for him. She was beginning to comment on the story, but Jones interrupted her : for, as the hour of assignation now drew nigh, he began to stipulate for a second interview with the lady that evening, which he promised should be the last at her house; swearing, at the same time, that she was one of great distinction, and that nothing but what was entirely innocent was to pass between them; and I do firmly believe he intended to keep his word.

MR JONES closed not his eyes during all the former part of the night; not owing it to any uneasiness which he conceived at being disappointed by Lady Bellaston; nor was Sophia herself, though most of his waking hours were justly to be charged to her account, the present cause of dispelling his slumbers. In fact, poor Jones was one of the best-natured fellows alive, and had all that weakness which is called compassion, and which distinguishes this imperfect character from that noble firmness of mind, which rolls a man, as it were, within himself, and, like a polished bowl, enables him to run through the world without being once stopped by the cala mities which happen to others. He could not help, therefore, compassionating the situation of poor Nancy, whose love for Mr Nightingale seemed to him so apparent, that he was astonished at the blindness of her mother, who had more than once the preceding evening remarked to him the great change in the temper of her daughter, who from being, she said, one of the liveliest, merriest girls in the world, was, on a sudden, become all gloom and melancholy.

Sleep, however, at length got the better of all resistance; and now, as if he had already been a deity, as the Ancients imagined, and an offended one too, he seemed to enjoy his dear-bought conquest. To speak simply, and without any metaphor, Mr Jones slept till eleven the next morning, and would perhaps have continued in the same quiet situation much longer, had not a violent uproar awakened him.

Partridge was now summoned, who, being asked what was the matter, answered, 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. Jones expressed much concern at this news, which Partridge endeavoured to relieve, by saying, with a smile, he fancied the young lady was in no danger of death; for that Susan, (which

was the name of the maid) had given him to understand it was nothing more than a common affair. "In short," said he, "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," cries Jones; "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." He then rose, and dressed himself as fast as he could; and while he was dressing, Partridge, notwithstanding many severe rebukes, could not avoid throwing forth certain pieces of brutality, commonly called jests, on this occasion. Jones was no sooner dressed than he walked down stairs, and knocking at the door, was presently admitted by the maid into the outward parlour, which was as empty of company as it was of any apparatus for eating. Mrs Miller was in the inner room with her daughter, whence the maid presently brought a message to Mr Jones, 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. Jones desired she would give herself no trouble about any thing so trifling as his disappoint ment; that he was heartily sorry for the occasion; and that if he could be of any service to her, she might command him.

He had scarce spoke these words, when Mrs Miller, who heard them all, suddenly threw open the door, and coming out to him, in a flood of tears, said, "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!"" I hope, madam," said Jones, "no villain"- "O Mr Jones," said she," 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 my self 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."

The letter was as follows.

"DEAR NANCY,

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
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. When
I bid you to forget me, I mean only as a lover;
but the best of friends you shall ever find in
Your faithful, though unhappy,
J. N."

you. I

When Jones had read this letter, they both stood silent during a minute, looking at each other. At last he began thus: "I cannot express, madam, how much I am shocked at what I have read; yet let me beg you, in one parti cular, to take the writer's advice. Consider the reputation of your daughter."-" It is gone, it is lost, Mr Jones," cried she, " 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 I been so tender of their infancy, so careful of their education? Have I been toiling so many years, denying myself even the conveniencies of life, to provide some little sustenance for them, to lose one or both in such a manner ?"-" Indeed, madam," said Jones, with tears in his eyes, I pity you from my soul."-" O Mr Jones," answered she, 66 even you, though I know the goodness of your heart, can have no idea of what I feel. The best, the kindest, and most dutiful

"As I found it impossible to mention to you 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 sooth 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!"-At these words little Betsy came running into the room, crying, "Dear mamma, for Heaven's sake come to my sister; for she is in another fit, and my cousin can't hold her." Mrs Miller immediately obeyed the summons;

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.'

Mrs Miller fell upon her knees, and invoked all the blessings of Heaven upon Mr Jones; to which she afterwards added the most passionate expressions of gratitude. He then departed to find Mr Nightingale, and the good woman returned to comfort her daughter, who was somewhat cheered at what her mother told her; and both joined in resounding the praises of Mr

Jones.

CHAP. VII.

ingale.

but first ordered Betsy to stay with Mr Jones, The interview between Mr Jones and Mr Nightand begged him to entertain her a few minutes, saying, in the most pathetic voice, "Good Heaven! let me preserve one of my children at least."

Jones, in compliance with this request, did all he could to comfort the little girl, though he was, in reality, himself very highly affected with Mrs Miller's story. He told her, her sister would be soon very well again; that by taking on in that manner she would not only make her sister worse, but make her mother ill too. "Indeed, sir," says she, "I would not do any thing to hurt them for the world. I would burst my heart rather than they should see me cry.-But my poor sister can't see me cry. I am afraid she will never be able to see me cry any more. Indeed, I can't part with her; indeed I can't.And then poor mamma too, what will become of her? She says she will die too, and leave me ; but I am resolved I won't be left behind.""And are you not afraid to die, my little Betsy?" said Jones.-"Yes," answered she, "I was always afraid to die, because I must have left my mamma, and my sister; but I am not afraid to go any where with those I love."

Jones was so pleased with this answer, that he eagerly kissed the child; and soon after Mrs Miller returned, saying, "She thanked Heaven Nancy was now come to herself. And now, Betsy," says she, " you may go in; for your sister is better, and longs to see you." She then turn ed to Jones, and began to renew her apologies for having disappointed him of his breakfast.

"I hope, madam," said Jones, "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

THE good or evil we confer on others very often, I believe, recoils on ourselves. For as men of a benign disposition enjoy their own acts of beneficence equally with those to whom they are done, so there are scarce any natures so entirely diabolical, as to be capable of doing injuries, without paying themselves some pangs for the ruin which they bring on their fellow-creatures.

Mr Nightingale, at least, was not such a per

son.

On the contrary, Jones found him in his new lodgings, sitting melancholy by the fire, and silently lamenting the unhappy situation in which he had placed poor Nancy. He no sooner saw his friend appear, than he arose hastily to meet him; and, after much congratulation, said, "Nothing could be more opportune than this kind visit ; for I was never more in the spleen in my life."

"I am sorry," answered Jones, "that I bring news very unlikely to relieve you; nay, what I am convinced must, of all others, shock you the most. However, it is necessary you should know it. Without farther preface, then, I come to you, Mr Nightingale, from a worthy family, which you have involved in misery and ruin." Mr Nightingale changed colour at these words; but Jones, without regarding it, proceeded, in the liveliest manner, to paint the tragical story, with which the reader was acquainted in the last chapter.

Nightingale never once interrupted the narration, though he discovered violent emotions at many parts of it. But when it was concluded, after fetching a deep sigh, he said, "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

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