to which you have reduced her, I fincerely think fhe ought to determine what reparation you fhall • make her. Her intereft alone, and not your's, ought to be your fole confideration. But, if you ask me what you fhall do, what can you do lefs,' cries Jones, than fulfil the expectations of her family and her own. Nay, I fincerely tell you, they were mine too, ever fince I first faw you together. You will pardon me, if I prefume on the friendship you have favoured me with, moved as I am with compaffion for those poor creatures. But your own heart will beft fuggeft to you, whether you have never intended, by your conduct, to perfuade the mother, as well as the daughter, into an opinion, that you defigned honourably; and if fo, though there may have been no direct promise of marriage in the cafe, I will leave to your own good understanding, how far you are bound to proceed.'

Nay, I must not only confefs what you have 'hinted,' faid Nightingale; but I am afraid, even that very promife you mention I have given.' And can you, after owning that,' faid Jones, hefitate å • moment?' Confider, my friend,' answered the other; 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 difgrace, think of fuch an alliance with honour? Undoubtedly,' replied Jones, and the very best and trueft 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 thefe means, treacherously robbed her of her innocence? Can you with honour be the knowing, the wilful occafion, nay, the artful contriver of the ruin of a human being? Can you ⚫ with honour deftroy the fame, the peace, nay probably both the life and foul too of this creature? • Can honour bear the thought, that this creature is a • tender, helpless, defencèlefs, young woman? a young woman who loves, who doats on you, who

• dies

dies for you; who hath placed the utmost confidence in your promifes; and to that confidence hath facrificed every thing which is dear to her? Can honour fupport fuch contemplations as these a

moment?'

Common fenfe, indeed,' faid Nightingale, war. rants all you fay; but yet you well know the opi'nion of the world is fo contrary to it, that, if I was to marry a whore, though my own, I fhould be afhamed of ever fhewing my face again.'

Fie upon it, Mr. Nightingale,' faid Jones,' do not call her by fo ungenerous a name: when you promifed to marry her, fhe became your wife; and 'fhe hath finned more againft 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 fay such a shame must proceed from 'falfe modefty, which always attends falfe honour " as its fhadow.-But I am well affured there is not a man of real fenfe 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 fenfations, which we feel from the consciousness of an honest, noble, generous, benevo lent action, convey more delight to the mind, than 'the undeserved praise of millions? Set the alternative fairly before your eyes. On the one fide, see 'this poor, unhappy, tender, believing girl, in the arms of her wretched mother, breathing her last. Hear her breaking her heart in agonies, fighing out your name, and lamenting, rather than accufing, the cruelty which weighs her down to deftruction. Paint to your imagination the circumftances of her 'fond, defpairing parent, driven to madness, or perhaps to death, by the lofs of her lovely daughter. View the poor, helpless, orphan-infant; and, when ་ your mind hath dwelt a moment only on fuch ideas, 'confider yourself as the cause of all the ruin of this poor, little, worthy, defenceless family. On the other fide, confider yourfelf as relieving them, from their temporary fufferings. 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. Confider 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 fure I am mistaken • in my friend, if it requires any long deliberation, whether he will fink thefe wretches down for ever, or by one generous, noble refolution, raise them all from the brink of mifery and defpair to the highest ⚫ pitch of human happiness. Add to this but one confideration more; the confideration that it is your • duty fo to do-That the mifery from which you will relieve these poor people, is the mifery which you yourself have wilfully brought upon them.'

O my dear friend,' cries Nightingale, I wanted not your eloquence to roufe me. I pity poor Nancy from my foul, and would willingly give any thing in my power, that no familiarities had ever paffed between us. Nay, believe me, I had many strug gles with my paffion, before I could prevail with myfelf to write that cruel letter, which hath caufed all the mifery in that unhappy family. If I had no inclinations to confult but my own, I would marry <her to-morrow morning: I would by Heaven; you will eafily imagine how impoffible it would be to prevail on my father to confent to fuch a match; • befides, he hath provided another for me; and tomorrow, by his exprefs command, I am to wait on the lady.'

་

6

but

I have not the honour to know your father,' faid Jones; but fuppofe he could be perfuaded, would you yourself confent to the only means of preferving thefe poor people? As eagerly as I would purfue my happinefs,' anfwered Nightingale; for i never • shall find it in any other woman.-O my dear friend, could you imagine what I have felt within thefe twelve hours for my poor girl, I am convinced the would not engrofs all your pity. Paffion leads me only to her; and, if I had any foolifh fcruples of ho nour, you have fully fatisfied them: Could my fa

⚫ther

ther be induced to comply with my defires, nothing 'would be wanting to complete my own happiness, or that of my Nancy.'

• Then I am resolved to undertake it,' said Jones. You must not be angry with me, in whatever light it may be neceffary to fet this affair, which, you may depend on it, could not otherwife be long hid 'from him; for things of this nature make a quick progrefs, when once they get abroad, as this unhappily hath already. Besides, should any fatal accident follow, as, upon my foul, I am afraid will, 'unlefs 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 gen 'tleman, I will not lofe a moment in the bufinefs; which, while I purfue, you cannot do a more gene rous action than by paying a vifit to the poor girl, 'You will find I have not exaggerated in the account I have given of the wretchednefs of the family.'

-

Nightingale immediately confented to the propofal; and now, having acquainted Jones with his father's lodging, and the coffee-house where he would moft probably find him, he hesitated a moment, and then faid, My dear Tom, you are going to undertake an impoffibility. If you knew my father, you 'would never think of obtaining his confent-Stay, there is one waySuppose 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 fo affected with what you have said, and I love my Nancy fo paffionately, I almost wish it was done, whatever might be the confequence.' Jones greatly approved the hint, and promised to purfue it. They then feparated, Nightingale to visit his Nancy, and Jones in queft of the old gentleman.

CHAP

CHAP. VIIL

What paffed between Jones and old Mr. Nightingale ; with the arrival of a perfon not yet mentioned in this history.

OTWITHSTANDING the fentiment of the Roman fatirift, which denies the divinity of fortune, and the opinion of Seneca to the fame purpose, Cicero, who was I believe a wifer man than either of them, exprefsly holds the contrary; and certain it is, there are fome incidents in life fo very strange and unaccountable, that it feems to require more than human fkill and forefight in producing them.

Of this kind was what now happened to Jones, who found Mr. Nightingale the elder in fo critical a minute, that fortune, if fhe was really worthy all the worship fhe received at Rome, could not have contrived fuch another. In fhort, the old gentleman and the father of the young lady whom he intended for his fon, had been hard at it for many hours; and the latter was juft now gone, and had left the former delighted with the thoughts, that he had fucceeded in a long contention which had been between the two fathers of the future bride and bridegroom; in which both endeavoured to over-reach the other, and, as it not rarely happens in fuch cafes, both had retreated fully fatisfied of having obtained the victory.

This gentleman whom Mr. Jones now visited, was what they call a man of the world; that is to say, a man who directs his conduct in this world as one who, being fully perfuaded there is no other, is refolved to make the most of this. In his early years he had been bred to trade; but, having acquired a very good for tune, he had lately declined his bufinefs, or, to speak more properly, had changed it from dealing in goods to dealing only in money, of which he had always a plentiful fund at command, and of which he knew very well how to make a very plentiful advantage, fometimes of the neceffities of private men, and fometimes of thofe of the public. He had indeed converfed fo entirely