appeared to be done, unless to the bed-clothes. Amelia and Booth returned back to their room; and Mrs Atkinson rose from her bed, in order to equip it with a pair of clean sheets.

And thus this adventure would have ended, without producing any kind of consequence, had not the words, which the serjeant uttered in his frenzy, made some light impressions on Booth: so much, at least, as to awaken his curiosity; so that in the morning when he arose, he sent for the serjeant, and desired to hear the particulars of this dream, since Amelia was concerned in it. The serjeant, at first, seemed unwilling to comply, and endeavoured to make excuses. This, perhaps, increased Booth's curiosity, and he said, "Nay, I am resolved to hear it. Why, you simpleton, do you imagine me weak enough to be affected by a dream, however terrible it may be?"

66

Nay, sir," cries the serjeant," as for that matter, dreams have sometimes fallen out to be true. One of my own, I know, did so, concerning your honour: for when you courted my young lady, I dreamed you was married to her; and yet it was at a time when neither I myself, nor any of the country, thought you would ever obtain her. But, heaven forbid this dream should ever come to pass."

"Why, what was this dream?" cries Booth "I insist on knowing."

"To be sure, sir," cries the serjeant, "I must not refuse you; but, I hope, you will never think any more of it. Why, then, sir, I dreamed that your honour was gone to the West Indies, and had left my lady to the care of Colonel James; and last night, I dreamed the colonel came to my lady's bed-side, offering to ravish her; and, with a drawn sword in his hand, threatening to stab her that moment, unless she would comply with his desires. How I came to be by, I know not; but I dreamed, I rushed upon him, and caught him by the throat, and swore I would put him to death, unless he instantly left the room. Here I waked, and this was my dream. I never paid any regard to a dream in my life. -But, indeed, I never dreamed any thing so very plain as this. It appeared downright reality. I am sure I have left the marks of my fingers in my wife's throat. I would not have taken an hundred pound to have used her so,'

"Faith," cries Booth, "it was an odd dream, "and not so easily to be accounted for, as that you had formerly of my marriage; for, as Shakspeare says, Dreams denote a foregone conclusion. Now, it is impossible you should have ever thought on such a matter as this."

"However, sir," cries the serjeant, "it is in your honour's power to prevent any possibility of this dream's coming to pass, by not leaving my lady to the care of the Colonel. If you must go from her, certainly there are other places where she may be with great safety; and since my wife tells me that my lady is so very unwilling, what

;

ever reasons she may have, I hope your honour will oblige her."

"Now I recollect it," cries Booth, "Mrs Atkinson hath once or twice dropped some disrespectful words of the Colonel. He hath done something to disoblige her."

"He hath indeed, sir," replied the serjeant. "He hath said that of her which she doth not deserve, and for which, if he had not been my superior officer, I would have cut both his ears off-Nay, for that matter, he can speak of other people besides her."

"Do you know, Atkinson," cries Booth, very gravely, "that you are talking of the dearest friend I have?"

"To be honest then," answered the serjeant, "I do not think so. If I did, I should love him much better than I do."

"I must and will have this explained," cries Booth; "I have too good an opinion of you, Atkinson, to think you would drop such things as you have, without some reason,-and I will know it."

"I am sorry I have dropt a word," cries Atkinson; "I am sure I did not intend it; and your honour hath drawn it from me unawares.'

"Indeed, Atkinson," cries Booth, "you have made me very uneasy, and I must be satisfied." "Then, sir," said the serjeant, "you shall give me your word of honour; or I will be cut into ten thousand pieces before I will mention another syllable."

"What shall I promise ?" said Booth. "That you will not resent any thing I shall lay to the Colonel," answered Atkinson.

"Resent!-Well, I give you my honour," said Booth.

The serjeant made him bind himself over and over again; and then related to him the scene which formerly passed between the Colonel and himself, as far as concerned Booth himself; but concealed all that more immediately related to Amelia.

"Atkinson," cries Booth, "I cannot be angry with you; for I know you love me, and I have many obligations to you; but you have done wrong in censuring the Colonel for what he said of me. I deserve all that he said; and his censures proceeded from his friendship."

"But it was not so kind, sir," said Atkinson, "to say such things to me, who am but a serjeant, and at such a time too."

"I will hear no more," cries Booth; "be assured, you are the only man I would forgive on this occasion; and I forgive you only on condition you never speak a word more of this nature. This silly dream hath intoxicated you."

"I have done, sir," cries the serjeant; "I know my distance, and whom I am to obey. But I have one favour to beg of your honour, never to mention a word of what I have said to my lady; for I know she never would forgive me; I know she never would, by what my wife hath

told me. Besides, you need not mention it, sir, to my lady; for she knows it already, and a great deal more."

Booth presently parted from the serjeant, having desired him to close his lips on this occasion, and repaired to his wife, to whom he related the serjeant's dream.

Amelia turned as white as snow, and fell into so violent a trembling, that Booth plainly perceived her emotion, and immediately partook of it himself." Sure, my dear," said he, staring wildly, "there is more in this than I know. A silly dream could not so discompose you. I beg you, I entreat you to tell me hath ever Colonel James-"

At the very mention of the Colonel's name, Amelia fell on her knees, and begged her husband not to frighten her.

"What do I say, my dear love," cried Booth, "that can frighten you?"

"Nothing, my dear," said she.-"But my spirits are so discomposed with the dreadful scene I saw last night, that a dream, which, at another time, I should have laughed at, hath shocked me. Do but promise me, that you will not leave me behind you, and I am easy."

"You may be so," cries Booth; "for I will never deny you any thing.-But make me easy too. I must know if you have seen any thing in Colonel James to displease you."

"Why should you suspect it?" cries Amelia. "You torment me to death," cries Booth. "By Heavens! I will know the truth. Hath he ever said or done any thing which you dislike?" "How, my dear," said Amelia, can you imagine I should dislike a man, who is so much your friend? Think of all the obligations you have to him, and then you may easily resolve yourself. Do you think, because I refuse to stay behind you in his house, that I have any objection to him?—No, my dear, had he done a thousand times more than he hath, was he an angel instead of a man, I would not quit my Billy. There's the sore, my dear; there's the misery, to be left by you."

Booth embraced her with the most passionate raptures, and looking on her with inexpressible tenderness, cried,— Upon my soul, I am not worthy of you. I am a fool, and yet you cannot blame me. If the stupid miser hoards with such care his worthless treasure; if he watches it with such anxiety; if every apprehension of another's sharing the least part, fills his soul with such agonies; O Amelia! what must be my condition, what terrors must I feel, while I am watching over a jewel of such real, such inestimable worth!" "I can, with great truth, return the compliment," cries Amelia; "I have my treasure too; and am so much a miser, that no force shall ever tear me from it."

"I am ashamed of my folly," cries Booth; "and yet it is all from extreme tenderness. Nay,

you yourself are all the occasion. Why will you ever attempt to keep a secret from me? do you think I should have resented to my friend his just censure of my conduct ?”

"What censure, my dear love?" cries Amelia. "Nay, the serjeant hath told me all," cries Booth.-" Nay, and that he hath told it to you.

Poor soul! thou couldst not endure to hear me accused, though never so justly, and by so good a friend. Indeed, my dear, I have discovered the cause of that resentiment to the Colonel, which you could not hide from me.-I love you, I adore you for it. Indeed, I could not forgive a slighting word on you.-But why do I compare things so unlike? What the Colonel said of me was just and true; every reflection on my Amelia must be false and villainous."

The discernment of Amelia was extremely quick; and she now perceived what had hap pened, and how much her husband knew of the truth. She resolved therefore to humour him, and fell severely on Colonel James for what he had said to the serjeant, which Booth endeavour. ed all he could to soften. And thus ended this affair, which had brought Booth to the very brink of a discovery, which must have given him the highest torment, if it had not produced any of those tragical effects which Amelia appre hended.

CHAP. VII.

In which the Author appears to be master of that profound learning called the knowledge of the

town.

MRS JAMES now came to pay a morning's vi sit to Amelia. She entered the room with her usual gaiety, and after a slight preface, addressing herself to Booth, said she had been quarreling with her husband on his account. "I know not," said she, "what he means by thinking of sending you the Lord knows whither. I have insisted on his asking something for you nearer nome. And it would be the hardest thing in the world, if he should not obtain it. Are we resolved never to encourage merit; but to throw away all our preferments on those who do not deserve them? what a set of contemptible wretches do we see strutting about the town in scarlet!"

Booth made a very low bow, and modestly spoke in disparagement of himself. To which she answered, "Indeed, Mr Booth, you have me rit. I have heard of it from my brother, who is a judge of those matters, and I am sure cannot be suspected of flattery. He is your friend, as well as myself; and we will never let Mr James rest till he hath got you a commission in England."

Booth bowed again, and was offering to speak, but she interrupted him, saying, "I will have

no thanks nor no fine speeches. If I can do you any service, I shall think I am only paying the debt of friendship to my dear Mrs Booth.'

Amelia, who had long since forgot the dislike she had taken to Mrs James at her first seeing her in town, had attributed it to the right cause, and had begun to resume her former friendship for her, expressed very warm sentiments of gratitude on this occasion. She told Mrs James, she should be eternally obliged to her if she could succeed in her kind endeavours; for that the thoughts of parting again with her husband had given her the utmost concern. "Indeed," added she, "I cannot help saying, he hath some merit in the service: for he hath received two dreadful wounds in it, one of which very greatly endangered his life; and I am convinced, if his pretensions were backed with any interest, he would not fail of success."

"They shall be backed with interest," cries Mrs James, "if my husband hath any. He hath no favour to ask for himself, nor for any other friend that I know of; and, indeed, to grant a man his just due ought hardly to be thought a favour. Resume your old gaiety, therefore, my dear Emily. Lord! I remember the time when you was much the gayer creature of the two. But you make an arrant mope of yourself, by confining yourself at home. One never meets you any where. Come, you shall go with me to the Lady Betty Castleton's."

"Indeed, you must excuse me, my dear," answered Amelia, "I do not know Lady Betty." "Not know Lady Betty!-how is that possible?-But no matter, I will introduce youshe keeps a morning rout; hardly a rout, indeed; a little bit of a drum-only four or five tables.-Come, take your capuchin; you positively shall go.-Booth, you shall go with us too. Though you are with your wife, another woman will keep you in countenance."

"La! child!" cries Amelia, "how you rattle."

"I am in spirits," answered Mrs James, "this morning; for I won four rubbers toge ther last night, and betted the things, and won almost every bet. I am in luck, and we will contrive to be partners.-Come."

"Nay, child, you shall not refuse Mrs James," said Booth.

"I have scarce seen my children to-day," answered Amelia; "besides, I mortally detest cards."

"Detest cards!" cries Mrs James; "how can you be so stupid? I would not live a day without them. Nay, indeed, I do not believe I should be able to exist. Is there so delightful a sight in the world as the four honours in one's own hand, unless it be three natural aces at bragg! And you really hate cards!"

"Upon reflection," cries Amelia, "I have sometimes had great pleasure in them-in seeing my children build houses with them. My

little boy is so dexterous, that he will sometimes build up the whole pack."

Indeed, Booth," cries Mrs James, "this good woman of yours is strangely altered since I knew her first; but she will always be a good creature."

"Upon my word, my dear," cries Amelia, "you are altered too very greatly; but I doubt not to live to see you alter again, when you come to have as many children as I have."

"Children!" cries Mrs James, "you make me shudder. How can you envy me the only circumstance which makes matrimony comfort

able?"

66

Indeed, my dear," said Amelia, "you injure me; for I envy no woman's happiness in marriage." At these words such looks past between Booth and his wife, as, to a sensible bystander, would have made all the airs of Mrs James appear in the highest degree contemptible, and would have rendered herself the object of compassion. Nor could that lady avoid looking a little silly on the occasion.

Amelia now, at the earnest desire of her husband, accoutered herself to attend her friend; but first she insisted on visiting her children, to whom she gave several hearty kisses, and then, recommending them to the care of Mrs Atkinson, she and her husband accompanied Mrs James to the rout, where few of my fine readers will be displeased to make part of the company.

The two ladies and Booth then entered an apartment beset with card-tables, like the rooms at Bath and Tunbridge. Mrs James immediately introduced her friends to Lady Betty, who received them very civilly, and presently engaged Booth and Mrs James in a party at whist; for, as to Amelia, she so much declined playing, that as the party could be filled without her, she was permitted to sit by.

And now, who should make his appearance but the noble peer, of whom so much honourable mention hath already been made in this history. He walked directly up to Amelia, and addressed her with as perfect a confidence as if he had not been in the least conscious of having in any manner displeased her; though the reader will hardly suppose that Mrs Ellison had kept any thing a secret from him.

Amelia was not, however, so forgetful. She made him a very distant curtesy, would scarce vouchsafe an answer to any thing he said, and took the first opportunity of shifting her chair, and retiring from him.

Her behaviour, indeed, was such, that the peer plainly perceived, that he should get no advantage by pursuing her any farther at present. Instead, therefore, of attempting to follow her, he turned on his heel, and addressed his discourse to another lady, though he could not avoid often casting his eyes towards Amelia as long as she remained in the room.

Fortune, which seems to have been generally

no great friend to Mr Booth, gave him no extraordinary marks of her favour at play. He lost two full rubbers, which cost him five guineas; after which, Amelia, who was uneasy at his lordship's presence, begged him in a whisper to return home, with which request he directly complied.

Nothing, I think, remarkable happened to Booth, unless the renewal of his acquaintance with an officer whom he had known abroad, and who made one of his party at the whist-table.

The name of this gentleman, with whom the reader will hereafter be better acquainted, was Trent. He had formerly been in the same regiment with Booth, and there was some intimacy between them. Captain Trent expressed great delight in meeting his brother officer, and both mutually promised to visit each other.

The scenes which past the preceding night and that morning had so confused Amelia's thoughts, that, in the hurry in which she was carried off by Mrs James, she had entirely forgot her appointment with Dr Harrison. When she was informed at her return home that the Doctor had been to wait upon her, and had expressed some anger at her being gone out, she became greatly uneasy, and begged of her husband to go to the Doctor's lodgings, and make her apology. But lest the reader should be as angry with the Doctor as he had declared himself with Amelia, we think proper to explain the matter. Nothing then was farther from the Doctor's mind than the conception of any anger towards Amelia. On the contrary, when the girl answered him, that her mistress was not at home, the Doctor said, with great good humour, "How! not at home! then tell your mistress she is a giddy vagabond, and I will come to see her no more till she sends for me."-This the poor girl, from misunderstanding one word, and half forgetting the rest, had construed into great passion and several very bad words, and a declaration that he would never see Amelia any more.

CHAP. VIII.

In which two Strangers make their appearance.

BOOTH went to the Doctor's lodgings, and found him engaged with his country friend and his son, a young gentleman who was lately in orders; both whom the Doctor had left, to keep his appointment with Amelia.

After what we mentioned at the end of the last chapter, we need take little notice of the apology made by Booth, or the Doctor's reception of it, which was in his peculiar manner. "Your wife," said he, "is a vain hussy, to think herself worth my anger; but tell her, I have the vanity myself to think I cannot be angry without a better cause. And yet tell her, I intend to punish her for her levity; for if you go abroad,

I have determined to take her down with me into the country, and make her do penance there till your return.”

"Dear sir," said Booth, "I know not how to thank you, if you are in earnest."

"I assure you then I am in earnest," cries the Doctor; "but you need not thank me, how. ever, since you know not how."

"But would not that, sir," said Booth, "be showing a slight to the Colonel's invitation? and you know I have so many obligations to him."

"Don't tell me of the Colonel," cries the Doctor, "the church is to be first served. Besides, sir, I have priority of right, even to you yourself. You stole my little lamb from me; for I was her first love.'

"Well, sir," cries Booth, "if I should be so unhappy to leave her to any one, she must herself determine; and, I believe, it will not be difficult to guess where her choice will fall; for of all men, next to her husband, I believe none can contend with Dr Harrison in her favour."

"Since you say so," cries the Doctor, "fetch her hither to dinner with us; for I am at least so good a Christian to love those that love me.I will shew you my daughter, my old friend; for I am really proud of herAnd you may bring my grand-children with you, if you please."

Booth made some compliments, and then went on his errand. As soon as he was gone, the old gentleman said to the Doctor," Pray, my good friend, what daughter is this of yours? I never so much as heard that you was married."

"And what then?" cries the Doctor, "did you ever hear that a Pope was married? and yet some of them have had sons and daughters, I believe; but, however, this young gentleman will absolve me without obliging me to penance."

"I have not yet that power," answered the young clergyman; "for I am only in deacon's orders."

"Are you not?" cries the Doctor; "why then, I will absolve myself. You are to know then, my good friend, that this young lady was the daughter of a neighbour of mine, who is since dead, and whose sins I hope are forgiven; for she had too much to answer for on her child's account. Her father was my intimate acquaint ance and friend; a worthier man, indeed, I be lieve, never lived. He died suddenly, when his children were infants; and, perhaps, to the suddenness of his death it was owing, that he did not recommend any care of them to me. How ever, I, in some measure, took that charge upon me; and particularly of her whom I call my daughter. Indeed, as she grew up, she disco vered so many good qualities, that she wanted not the remembrance of her father's merit to recommend her. I do her no more than justice, when I say, she is one of the best creatures 1 ever knew. She hath a sweetness of temper, a generosity of spirit, an openness of heart-in a word, she hath a true Christian disposition. I

may call her an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile."

"I wish you joy of your daughter," cries the old gentleman; "for to a man of your disposition, to find out an adequate object of your benevolence, is, I acknowledge, to find a treasure."

"It is, indeed, a happiness," cries the Doctor. "The greatest difficulty," added the gentleman, "which persons of your turn of mind meet with, is in finding proper objects of their goodness; for nothing sure can be more irksome to a generous mind, than to discover, that it hath thrown away all its good offices on a soil that bears no other fruit than ingratitude."

"I remember," cries the Doctor, "Phocylides saith,

• Μὴ κακὸν εὖ ἔρχῃς· σπείρειν ἴσον ἐς ἐνὶ πόνδῳ.

"But he speaks more like a philosopher than a Christian. I am more pleased with a French writer, one of the best, indeed, that I ever read; who blames men for lamenting the ill return which is so often made to the best offices. A true Christian can never be disappointed, if he doth not receive his reward in this world; the labourer might as well complain, that he is not paid his hire in the middle of the day."

"I own, indeed," said the gentleman, "if we see it in that light"

"And in what light should we see it?" answered the Doctor. "Are we like Agrippa, only almost Christians? or, is Christianity a matter of bare theory, and not a rule for our practice?" "Practical undoubtedly, undoubtedly practical," cries the gentleman. "Your example might indeed have convinced me long ago, that we ought to do good to every one."

"Pardon me, father," cries the young divine, "that is rather a Heathenish than a Christian doc trine. Homer, I remember, introduces in his Iliad one Axylus, of whom he says,

ο φίλος δ ̓ ἦν ἀνθρώποισι· Πάντας γὰρ φιλέεσκεν.

But Plato, who of all the Heathens came nearest to the Christian philosophy, condemned this as impious doctrine; so Eustathius tells us, folio 474.

"I know he doth," cries the Doctor, "and so Barnes tells us, in his note upon the place; but if you remember the rest of the quotation, as well as you do that from Eustathius, you might have added the observation which Mr Dryden makes in favour of this passage, that he found not in all the Latin authors so admirable an instance of extensive humanity. You might have likewise remembered the noble sentiment

VOL. II.

with which Mr Barnes ends his note, the sense of which is taken from the fifth chapter of Matthew,

τὸς καὶ φάος ηελίοιο

* Μίγδ ἀγαθοῖσι κακοῖσί τ ̓ ἐπ' ἀνδράσιν ἐξανατίλλει.

It seems, therefore, as if this character rather became a Christian than a Heathen; for Homer could not have transcribed it from any of his deities. Whom is it, therefore, we imitate by such extensive benevolence?"

"What a prodigious memory you have!" cries the old gentleman. "Indeed, son, you must not contend with the Doctor in these matters."

"I shall not give my opinion hastily,” cries the son. "I know again what Mr Poole, in his Annotations, says on that verse of St Matthew -That it is only to heap up coals of fire upon their heads-How are we to understand, pray, the text immediately preceding? Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you."

"You know, I suppose, young gentleman," said the Doctor, "how these words are generally understood. The commentator you mention, I think, tells us, That love is not here to be taken in the strict sense, so as to signify the complacency of the heart; you may hate your enemies as God's enemies, and seek due revenge of them for his honour; and for your own sakes too you may seek moderate satisfaction of them; but then, you are to love them with a love consistent with these things: that is to say, in plainer words, you are to love them, and hate them, and bless and curse, and do them good and mis

chief."

"Excellent! admirable !" said the old gentleman. "You have a most inimitable turn to ridicule."

"I do not approve ridicule," said the son," on such subjects.'

"Nor I neither," cries the Doctor: "I will give you my opinion, therefore, very seriously. The two verses taken together contain a very positive precept, delivered in the plainest words, and yet illustrated by the clearest instance, in the conduct of the Supreme Being; and lastly, the practice of this precept is most nobly enforced by the reward annexed—that ye may be the children, and so forth. No man, who understands what it is to love, and to bless, and to do good, can mistake the meaning. But if they required any comment, the Scripture itself affords enow. If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink; not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing, but contrariwise, blessing :-They do not, indeed, want the comments of men, who, when they cannot bend their minds