Instead of discovering so much satisfaction on this occasion as Amelia

expected, Booth very gravely answered, "And pray, my dear, how are we

to repay all these obligations to his lordship?" "How can you ask so

strange a question?" cries Mrs. Ellison: "how little do you know of

the soul of generosity (for sure my cousin deserves that name) when

you call a few little trinkets given to children an obligation!"

"Indeed, my dear," cries Amelia, "I would have stopped his hand if it

had been possible; nay, I was forced at last absolutely to refuse, or

I believe he would have laid a hundred pound out on the children; for

I never saw any one so fond of children, which convinces me he is one

of the best of men; but I ask your pardon, colonel, "said she, turning

to him; "I should not entertain you with these subjects; yet I know

you have goodness enough to excuse the folly of a mother."

The colonel made a very low assenting bow, and soon after they all sat

down to a small repast; for the colonel had promised Booth to dine

with him when they first came home together, and what he had since

heard from his own house gave him still less inclination than ever to

repair thither.

But, besides both these, there was a third and stronger inducement to

him to pass the day with his friend, and this was the desire of

passing it with his friend's wife. When the colonel had first seen

Amelia in France, she was but just recovered from a consumptive habit,

and looked pale and thin; besides, his engagements with Miss Bath at

that time took total possession of him, and guarded his heart from the

impressions of another woman; and, when he had dined with her in town,

the vexations through which she had lately passed had somewhat

deadened her beauty; besides, he was then engaged, as we have seen, in

a very warm pursuit of a new mistress, but now he had no such

impediment; for, though the reader hath just before seen his warm

declarations of a passion for Miss Matthews, yet it may be remembered

that he had been in possession of her for above a fortnight; and one

of the happy properties of this kind of passion is, that it can with

equal violence love half a dozen or half a score different objects at

one and the same time.

But indeed such were the charms now displayed by Amelia, of which we

endeavoured above to draw some faint resemblance, that perhaps no

other beauty could have secured him from their influence; and here, to

confess a truth in his favour, however the grave or rather the

hypocritical part of mankind may censure it, I am firmly persuaded

that to withdraw admiration from exquisite beauty, or to feel no

delight in gazing at it, is as impossible as to feel no warmth from

the most scorching rays of the sun. To run away is all that is in our

power; and in the former case, if it must be allowed we have the power

of running away, it must be allowed also that it requires the

strongest resolution to execute it; for when, as Dryden says,

All paradise is open'd in a face,

how natural is the desire of going thither! and how difficult to quit

the lovely prospect!

And yet, however difficult this may be, my young readers, it is

absolutely necessary, and that immediately too: flatter not yourselves

that fire will not scorch as well as warm, and the longer we stay

within its reach the more we shall burn. The admiration of a beautiful

woman, though the wife of our dearest friend, may at first perhaps be

innocent, but let us not flatter ourselves it will always remain so;

desire is sure to succeed; and wishes, hopes, designs, with a long

train of mischiefs, tread close at our heels. In affairs of this kind

we may most properly apply the well-known remark of _nemo repente

fuit turpissimus._ It fares, indeed, with us on this occasion as

with the unwary traveller in some parts of Arabia the desert, whom the

treacherous sands imperceptibly betray till he is overwhelmed and

lost. In both cases the only safety is by withdrawing our feet the

very first moment we perceive them sliding.

This digression may appear impertinent to some readers; we could not,

however, avoid the opportunity of offering the above hints; since of

all passions there is none against which we should so strongly fortify

ourselves as this, which is generally called love; for no other lays

before us, especially in the tumultuous days of youth, such sweet,

such strong and almost irresistible temptations; none hath produced in

private life such fatal and lamentable tragedies; and what is worst of

all, there is none to whose poison and infatuation the best of minds

are so liable. Ambition scarce ever produces any evil but when it

reigns in cruel and savage bosoms; and avarice seldom flourishes at

all but in the basest and poorest soil. Love, on the contrary, sprouts

usually up in the richest and noblest minds; but there, unless nicely

watched, pruned, and cultivated, and carefully kept clear of those

vicious weeds which are too apt to surround it, it branches forth into

wildness and disorder, produces nothing desirable, but choaks up and

kills whatever is good and noble in the mind where it so abounds. In

short, to drop the allegory, not only tenderness and good nature, but

bravery, generosity, and every virtue are often made the instruments

of effecting the most atrocious purposes of this all-subduing tyrant.

Chapter ii.

_Which will not appear, we presume, unnatural to all married

readers._

If the table of poor Booth afforded but an indifferent repast to the

colonel's hunger, here was most excellent entertainment of a much

higher kind. The colonel began now to wonder within himself at his not

having before discovered such incomparable beauty and excellence. This

wonder was indeed so natural that, lest it should arise likewise in

the reader, we thought proper to give the solution of it in the

preceding chapter.

During the first two hours the colonel scarce ever had his eyes off

from Amelia; for he was taken by surprize, and his heart was gone

before he suspected himself to be in any danger. His mind, however, no

sooner suggested a certain secret to him than it suggested some degree

of prudence to him at the same time; and the knowledge that he had

thoughts to conceal, and the care of concealing them, had birth at one

and the same instant. During the residue of the day, therefore, he

grew more circumspect, and contented himself with now and then

stealing a look by chance, especially as the more than ordinary

gravity of Booth made him fear that his former behaviour had betrayed

to Booth's observation the great and sudden liking he had conceived

for his wife, even before he had observed it in himself.

Amelia continued the whole day in the highest spirits and highest good

humour imaginable, never once remarking that appearance of discontent

in her husband of which the colonel had taken notice; so much more

quick-sighted, as we have somewhere else hinted, is guilt than

innocence. Whether Booth had in reality made any such observations on

the colonel's behaviour as he had suspected, we will not undertake to

determine; yet so far may be material to say, as we can with

sufficient certainty, that the change in Booth's behaviour that day,

from what was usual with him, was remarkable enough. None of his

former vivacity appeared in his conversation; and his countenance was

altered from being the picture of sweetness and good humour, not

indeed to sourness or moroseness, but to gravity and melancholy.

Though the colonel's suspicion had the effect which we have mentioned

on his behaviour, yet it could not persuade him to depart. In short,

he sat in his chair as if confined to it by enchantment, stealing

looks now and then, and humouring his growing passion, without having

command enough over his limbs to carry him out of the room, till

decency at last forced him to put an end to his preposterous visit.

When the husband and wife were left alone together, the latter resumed

the subject of her children, and gave Booth a particular narrative of

all that had passed at his lordship's, which he, though something had

certainly disconcerted him, affected to receive with all the pleasure

he could; and this affectation, however aukwardly he acted his part,

passed very well on Amelia; for she could not well conceive a

displeasure of which she had not the least hint of any cause, and

indeed at a time when, from his reconciliation with James, she

imagined her husband to be entirely and perfectly happy.

The greatest part of that night Booth past awake; and, if during the

residue he might be said to sleep, he could scarce be said to enjoy

repose; his eyes were no sooner closed, that he was pursued and

haunted by the most frightful and terrifying dreams, which threw him

into so restless a condition, that he soon disturbed his Amelia, and

greatly alarmed her with apprehensions that he had been seized by some

dreadful disease, though he had not the least symptoms of a fever by

any extraordinary heat, or any other indication, but was rather colder

than usual.

As Booth assured his wife that he was very well, but found no

inclination to sleep, she likewise bid adieu to her slumbers, and

attempted to entertain him with her conversation. Upon which his

lordship occurred as the first topic; and she repeated to him all the

stories which she had heard from Mrs. Ellison, of the peer's goodness

to his sister and his nephew and niece. "It is impossible, my dear,"

says she, "to describe their fondness for their uncle, which is to me

an incontestible sign of a parent's goodness." In this manner she ran

on for several minutes, concluding at last, that it was pity so very

few had such generous minds joined to immense fortunes.

Booth, instead of making a direct answer to what Amelia had said,

cried coldly, "But do you think, my dear, it was right to accept all

those expensive toys which the children brought home? And I ask you

again, what return we are to make for these obligations?"

"Indeed, my dear," cries Amelia, "you see this matter in too serious a

light. Though I am the last person in the world who would lessen his

lordship's goodness (indeed I shall always think we are both

infinitely obliged to him), yet sure you must allow the expense to be

a mere trifle to such a vast fortune. As for return, his own

benevolence, in the satisfaction it receives, more than repays itself,

and I am convinced he expects no other."

"Very well, my dear," cries Booth, "you shall have it your way; I must

confess I never yet found any reason to blame your discernment; and

perhaps I have been in the wrong to give myself so much uneasiness on

this account."

"Uneasiness, child!" said Amelia eagerly; "Good Heavens! hath this

made you uneasy?"

"I do own it hath," answered Booth, "and it hath been the only cause

of breaking my repose."

"Why then I wish," cries Amelia, "all the things had been at the devil

before ever the children had seen them; and, whatever I may think

myself, I promise you they shall never more accept the value of a

farthing:--if upon this occasion I have been the cause of your

uneasiness, you will do me the justice to believe that I was totally

innocent."

At those words Booth caught her in his arms, and with the tenderest

embrace, emphatically repeating the word innocent, cried, "Heaven

forbid I should think otherwise! Oh, thou art the best of creatures

that ever blessed a man!"

"Well, but," said she, smiling, "do confess, my dear, the truth; I

promise you I won't blame you nor disesteem you for it; but is not

pride really at the bottom of this fear of an obligation?"

"Perhaps it may," answered he; "or, if you will, you may call it fear.

I own I am afraid of obligations, as the worst kind of debts; for I

have generally observed those who confer them expect to be repaid ten

thousand-fold."

Here ended all that is material of their discourse; and a little time

afterwards, they both fell fast asleep in one another's arms; from

which time Booth had no more restlessness, nor any further

perturbation in his dreams.

Their repose, however, had been so much disturbed in the former part

of the night, that, as it was very late before they enjoyed that sweet

sleep I have just mentioned, they lay abed the next day till noon,

when they both rose with the utmost chearfulness; and, while Amelia

bestirred herself in the affairs of her family, Booth went to visit

the wounded colonel.

He found that gentleman still proceeding very fast in his recovery,

with which he was more pleased than he had reason to be with his

reception; for the colonel received him very coldly indeed, and, when

Booth told him he had received perfect satisfaction from his brother,

Bath erected his head and answered with a sneer, "Very well, sir, if

you think these matters can be so made up, d--n me if it is any

business of mine. My dignity hath not been injured."

"No one, I believe," cries Booth, "dare injure it."

"You believe so!" said the colonel: "I think, sir, you might be

assured of it; but this, at least, you may be assured of, that if any

man did, I would tumble him down the precipice of hell, d--n me, that

you may be assured of."

As Booth found the colonel in this disposition, he had no great

inclination to lengthen out his visit, nor did the colonel himself

seem to desire it: so he soon returned back to his Amelia, whom he

found performing the office of a cook, with as much pleasure as a fine

lady generally enjoys in dressing herself out for a ball.

Chapter iii.

_In which the history looks a little backwards._

Before we proceed farther in our history we shall recount a short

scene to our reader which passed between Amelia and Mrs. Ellison

whilst Booth was on his visit to Colonel Bath. We have already

observed that Amelia had conceived an extraordinary affection for Mrs.

Bennet, which had still encreased every time she saw her; she thought

she discovered something wonderfully good and gentle in her

countenance and disposition, and was very desirous of knowing her

whole history.

She had a very short interview with that lady this morning in Mrs.

Ellison's apartment. As soon, therefore, as Mrs. Bennet was gone,

Amelia acquainted Mrs. Ellison with the good opinion she had conceived

of her friend, and likewise with her curiosity to know her story: "For

there must be something uncommonly good," said she, "in one who can so

truly mourn for a husband above three years after his death."

"O!" cries Mrs. Ellison, "to be sure the world must allow her to have

been one of the best of wives. And, indeed, upon the whole, she is a

good sort of woman; and what I like her the best for is a strong

resemblance that she bears to yourself in the form of her person, and

still more in her voice. But for my own part, I know nothing

remarkable in her fortune, unless what I have told you, that she was

the daughter of a clergyman, had little or no fortune, and married a

poor parson for love, who left her in the utmost distress. If you

please, I will shew you a letter which she writ to me at that time,

though I insist upon your promise never to mention it to her; indeed,

you will be the first person I ever shewed it to." She then opened her

scrutore, and, taking out the letter, delivered it to Amelia, saying,

"There, madam, is, I believe, as fine a picture of distress as can

well be drawn."

"DEAR MADAM,

"As I have no other friend on earth but yourself, I hope you will

pardon my writing to you at this season; though I do not know that you

can relieve my distresses, or, if you can, have I any pretence to

expect that you should. My poor dear, O Heavens--my---lies dead in the

house; and, after I had procured sufficient to bury him, a set of

ruffians have entered my house, seized all I have, have seized his

dear, dear corpse, and threaten to deny it burial. For Heaven's sake,

send me, at least, some advice; little Tommy stands now by me crying

for bread, which I have not to give him. I can say no more than that I

am

Your most distressed humble servant,

M. BENNET."

Amelia read the letter over twice, and then returning it with tears in

her eyes, asked how the poor creature could possibly get through such

distress.

"You may depend upon it, madam," said Mrs. Ellison, "the moment I read

this account I posted away immediately to the lady. As to the seizing

the body, that I found was a mere bugbear; but all the rest was

literally true. I sent immediately for the same gentleman that I

recommended to Mr. Booth, left the care of burying the corpse to him,

and brought my friend and her little boy immediately away to my own

house, where she remained some months in the most miserable condition.

I then prevailed with her to retire into the country, and procured her

a lodging with a friend at St Edmundsbury, the air and gaiety of which

place by degrees recovered her; and she returned in about a twelve-

month to town, as well, I think, as she is at present."

"I am almost afraid to ask," cries Amelia, "and yet I long methinks to

know what is become of the poor little boy."

"He hath been dead," said Mrs. Ellison, "a little more than half a

year; and the mother lamented him at first almost as much as she did

her husband, but I found it indeed rather an easier matter to comfort

her, though I sat up with her near a fortnight upon the latter

occasion."

"You are a good creature," said Amelia, "and I love you dearly."

"Alas! madam," cries she, "what could I have done if it had not been

for the goodness of that best of men, my noble cousin! His lordship no

sooner heard of the widow's distress from me than he immediately

settled one hundred and fifty pounds a year upon her during her life."

"Well! how noble, how generous was that!" said Amelia. "I declare I

begin to love your cousin, Mrs. Ellison."

"And I declare if you do," answered she, "there is no love lost, I

verily believe; if you had heard what I heard him say yesterday behind

your back---"

"Why, what did he say, Mrs. Ellison?" cries Amelia.

"He said," answered the other, "that you was the finest woman his eyes

ever beheld.--Ah! it is in vain to wish, and yet I cannot help wishing

too.--O, Mrs. Booth! if you had been a single woman, I firmly believe

I could have made you the happiest in the world. And I sincerely think

I never saw a woman who deserved it more."

"I am obliged to you, madam," cries Amelia, "for your good opinion;

but I really look on myself already as the happiest woman in the

world. Our circumstances, it is true, might have been a little more

fortunate; but O, my dear Mrs. Ellison! what fortune can be put in the

balance with such a husband as mine?"

"I am afraid, dear madam," answered Mrs. Ellison, "you would not hold

the scale fairly.--I acknowledge, indeed, Mr. Booth is a very pretty

gentleman; Heaven forbid I should endeavour to lessen him in your

opinion; yet, if I was to be brought to confession, I could not help

saying I see where the superiority lies, and that the men have more

reason to envy Mr. Booth than the women have to envy his lady."

"Nay, I will not bear this," replied Amelia. "You will forfeit all my

love if you have the least disrespectful opinion of my husband. You do

not know him, Mrs. Ellison; he is the best, the kindest, the worthiest

of all his sex. I have observed, indeed, once or twice before, that

you have taken some dislike to him. I cannot conceive for what reason.

If he hath said or done anything to disoblige you, I am sure I can

justly acquit him of design. His extreme vivacity makes him sometimes

a little too heedless; but, I am convinced, a more innocent heart, or

one more void of offence, was never in a human bosom."

"Nay, if you grow serious," cries Mrs. Ellison, "I have done. How is

it possible you should suspect I had taken any dislike to a man to

whom I have always shewn so perfect a regard; but to say I think him,

or almost any other man in the world, worthy of yourself, is not

within my power with truth. And since you force the confession from

me, I declare, I think such beauty, such sense, and such goodness

united, might aspire without vanity to the arms of any monarch in

Europe."

"Alas! my dear Mrs. Ellison," answered Amelia, "do you think happiness

and a crown so closely united? how many miserable women have lain in

the arms of kings?--Indeed, Mrs. Ellison, if I had all the merit you

compliment me with, I should think it all fully rewarded with such a

man as, I thank Heaven, hath fallen to my lot; nor would I, upon my

soul, exchange that lot with any queen in the universe."

"Well, there are enow of our sex," said Mrs. Ellison, "to keep you in

countenance; but I shall never forget the beginning of a song of Mr.

Congreve's, that my husband was so fond of that he was always singing

it:--

Love's but a frailty of the mind,

When 'tis not with ambition join'd.

Love without interest makes but an unsavoury dish, in my opinion."

"And pray how long hath this been your opinion?" said Amelia, smiling.

"Ever since I was born," answered Mrs. Ellison; "at least, ever since

I can remember."

"And have you never," said Amelia, "deviated from this generous way of

thinking?"

"Never once," answered the other, "in the whole course of my life."

"O, Mrs. Ellison! Mrs. Ellison!" cries Amelia; "why do we ever blame

those who are disingenuous in confessing their faults, when we are so

often ashamed to own ourselves in the right? Some women now, in my

situation, would be angry that you had not made confidantes of them;

but I never desire to know more of the secrets of others than they are

pleased to intrust me with. You must believe, however, that I should

not have given you these hints of my knowing all if I had disapproved

your choice. On the contrary, I assure you I highly approve it. The

gentility he wants, it will be easily in your power to procure for

him; and as for his good qualities, I will myself be bound for them;

and I make not the least doubt, as you have owned to me yourself that

you have placed your affections on him, you will be one of the

happiest women in the world."

"Upon my honour," cries Mrs. Ellison very gravely, "I do not

understand one word of what you mean."

"Upon my honour, you astonish me," said Amelia; "but I have done."

"Nay then," said the other, "I insist upon knowing what you mean."

"Why, what can I mean," answered Amelia, "but your marriage with

serjeant Atkinson?"

"With serjeant Atkinson!" cries Mrs. Ellison eagerly, "my marriage

with a serjeant!"

"Well, with Mr. Atkinson, then, Captain Atkinson, if you please; for

so I hope to see him."

"And have you really no better opinion of me," said Mrs. Ellison,

"than to imagine me capable of such condescension? What have I done,

dear Mrs. Booth, to deserve so low a place in your esteem? I find

indeed, as Solomon says, _Women ought to watch the door of their

lips._ How little did I imagine that a little harmless freedom in

discourse could persuade any one that I could entertain a serious

intention of disgracing my family! for of a very good family am I

come, I assure you, madam, though I now let lodgings. Few of my

lodgers, I believe, ever came of a better."

"If I have offended you, madam," said Amelia, "I am very sorry, and

ask your pardon; but, besides what I heard from yourself, Mr. Booth

told me--"

"O yes!" answered Mrs. Ellison, "Mr. Booth, I know, is a very good

friend of mine. Indeed, I know you better than to think it could be

your own suspicion. I am very much obliged to Mr. Booth truly."

"Nay," cries Amelia, "the serjeant himself is in fault; for Mr. Booth,

I am positive, only repeated what he had from him."

"Impudent coxcomb!" cries Mrs. Ellison. "I shall know how to keep such

fellows at a proper distance for the future--I will tell you, dear

madam, all that happened. When I rose in the morning I found the

fellow waiting in the entry; and, as you had exprest some regard for

him as your foster-brother--nay, he is a very genteel fellow, that I

must own--I scolded my maid for not shewing him into my little back-

room; and I then asked him to walk into the parlour. Could I have

imagined he would have construed such little civility into an

encouragement?"

"Nay, I will have justice done to my poor brother too," said Amelia.

"I myself have seen you give him much greater encouragement than

that."

"Well, perhaps I have," said Mrs. Ellison. "I have been always too

unguarded in my speech, and can't answer for all I have said." She

then began to change her note, and, with an affected laugh, turned all

into ridicule; and soon afterwards the two ladies separated, both in

apparent good humour; and Amelia went about those domestic offices in

which Mr. Booth found her engaged at the end of the preceding chapter.

Chapter iv.

_Containing a very extraordinary incident._

In the afternoon Mr. Booth, with Amelia and her children, went to

refresh themselves in the Park. The conversation now turned on what

past in the morning with Mrs. Ellison, the latter part of the

dialogue, I mean, recorded in the last chapter. Amelia told her

husband that Mrs. Ellison so strongly denied all intentions to marry

the serjeant, that she had convinced her the poor fellow was under an

error, and had mistaken a little too much levity for serious

encouragement; and concluded by desiring Booth not to jest with her

any more on that subject.

Booth burst into a laugh at what his wife said. "My dear creature,"

said he, "how easily is thy honesty and simplicity to be imposed on!

how little dost thou guess at the art and falsehood of women! I knew a

young lady who, against her father's consent, was married to a brother

officer of mine; and, as I often used to walk with her (for I knew her

father intimately well), she would of her own accord take frequent

occasions to ridicule and vilify her husband (for so he was at the

time), and exprest great wonder and indignation at the report which

she allowed to prevail that she should condescend ever to look at such

a fellow with any other design than of laughing at and despising him.

The marriage afterwards became publicly owned, and the lady was

reputably brought to bed. Since which I have often seen her; nor hath

she ever appeared to be in the least ashamed of what she had formerly

said, though, indeed, I believe she hates me heartily for having heard

it."

"But for what reason," cries Amelia, "should she deny a fact, when she

must be so certain of our discovering it, and that immediately?"

"I can't answer what end she may propose," said Booth. "Sometimes one

would be almost persuaded that there was a pleasure in lying itself.

But this I am certain, that I would believe the honest serjeant on his

bare word sooner than I would fifty Mrs. Ellisons on oath. I am

convinced he would not have said what he did to me without the

strongest encouragement; and, I think, after what we have been both

witnesses to, it requires no great confidence in his veracity to give

him an unlimited credit with regard to the lady's behaviour."

To this Amelia made no reply; and they discoursed of other matters

during the remainder of a very pleasant walk.

When they returned home Amelia was surprized to find an appearance of

disorder in her apartment. Several of the trinkets which his lordship

had given the children lay about the room; and a suit of her own

cloaths, which she had left in her drawers, was now displayed upon the

bed.

She immediately summoned her little girl up-stairs, who, as she

plainly perceived the moment she came up with a candle, had half cried

her eyes out; for, though the girl had opened the door to them, as it

was almost dark, she had not taken any notice of this phenomenon in

her countenance.

The girl now fell down upon her knees and cried, "For Heaven's sake,

madam, do not be angry with me. Indeed, I was left alone in the house;

and, hearing somebody knock at the door, I opened it--I am sure

thinking no harm. I did not know but it might have been you, or my

master, or Madam Ellison; and immediately as I did, the rogue burst in

and ran directly up-stairs, and what he hath robbed you of I cannot

tell; but I am sure I could not help it, for he was a great swinging

man with a pistol in each hand; and, if I had dared to call out, to be

sure he would have killed me. I am sure I was never in such a fright

in my born days, whereof I am hardly come to myself yet. I believe he

is somewhere about the house yet, for I never saw him go out."

Amelia discovered some little alarm at this narrative, but much less

than many other ladies would have shewn, for a fright is, I believe,

sometimes laid hold of as an opportunity of disclosing several charms

peculiar to that occasion. And which, as Mr. Addison says of certain

virtues,

Shun the day, and lie conceal'd

In the smooth seasons and the calms of life.

Booth, having opened the window, and summoned in two chairmen to his

assistance, proceeded to search the house; but all to no purpose; the

thief was flown, though the poor girl, in her state of terror, had not

seen him escape.

But now a circumstance appeared which greatly surprized both Booth and

Amelia; indeed, I believe it will have the same effect on the reader;

and this was, that the thief had taken nothing with him. He had,

indeed, tumbled over all Booth's and Amelia's cloaths and the

children's toys, but had left all behind him.

Amelia was scarce more pleased than astonished at this discovery, and

re-examined the girl, assuring her of an absolute pardon if she

confessed the truth, but grievously threatening her if she was found

guilty of the least falsehood. "As for a thief, child," says she,

"that is certainly not true; you have had somebody with you to whom

you have been shewing the things; therefore tell me plainly who it

was."

The girl protested in the solemnest manner that she knew not the

person; but as to some circumstances she began to vary a little from

her first account, particularly as to the pistols, concerning which,

being strictly examined by Booth, she at last cried--"To be sure, sir,

he must have had pistols about him." And instead of persisting in his

having rushed in upon her, she now confessed that he had asked at the

door for her master and mistress; and that at his desire she had shewn

him up-stairs, where he at first said he would stay till their return

home; "but, indeed," cried she, "I thought no harm, for he looked like

a gentleman-like sort of man. And, indeed, so I thought he was for a

good while, whereof he sat down and behaved himself very civilly, till

he saw some of master's and miss's things upon the chest of drawers;

whereof he cried, 'Hey-day! what's here?' and then he fell to tumbling

about the things like any mad. Then I thinks, thinks I to myself, to

be sure he is a highwayman, whereof I did not dare speak to him; for I

knew Madam Ellison and her maid was gone out, and what could such a

poor girl as I do against a great strong man? and besides, thinks I,

to be sure he hath got pistols about him, though I can't indeed, (that

I will not do for the world) take my Bible-oath that I saw any; yet to

be sure he would have soon pulled them out and shot me dead if I had

ventured to have said anything to offend him."

"I know not what to make of this," cries Booth. "The poor girl, I

verily believe, speaks to the best of her knowledge. A thief it could

not be, for he hath not taken the least thing; and it is plain he had

the girl's watch in his hand. If it had been a bailiff, surely he

would have staid till our return. I can conceive no other from the

girl's account than that it must have been some madman."

"O good sir!" said the girl, "now you mention it, if he was not a

thief, to be sure he must have been a madman: for indeed he looked,

and behaved himself too, very much like a madman; for, now I remember

it, he talked to himself and said many strange kind of words that I

did not understand. Indeed, he looked altogether as I have seen people

in Bedlam; besides, if he was not a madman, what good could it do him

to throw the things all about the room in such a manner? and he said

something too about my master just before he went down-stairs. I was

in such a fright I cannot remember particularly, but I am sure they

were very ill words; he said he would do for him--I am sure he said

that, and other wicked bad words too, if I could but think of them."

"Upon my word," said Booth, "this is the most probable conjecture; but

still I am puzzled to conceive who it should be, for I have no madman

to my knowledge of my acquaintance, and it seems, as the girl says, he

asked for me." He then turned to the child, and asked her if she was

certain of that circumstance.

The poor maid, after a little hesitation, answered, "Indeed, sir, I

cannot be very positive; for the fright he threw me into afterwards

drove everything almost out of my mind."

"Well, whatever he was," cries Amelia, "I am glad the consequence is

no worse; but let this be a warning to you, little Betty, and teach

you to take more care for the future. If ever you should be left alone

in the house again, be sure to let no persons in without first looking

out at the window and seeing who they are. I promised not to chide you

any more on this occasion, and I will keep my word; but it is very

plain you desired this person to walk up into our apartment, which was

very wrong in our absence."

Betty was going to answer, but Amelia would not let her, saying,

"Don't attempt to excuse yourself; for I mortally hate a liar, and can

forgive any fault sooner than falsehood."

The poor girl then submitted; and now Amelia, with her assistance,

began to replace all things in their order; and little Emily hugging

her watch with great fondness, declared she would never part with it

any more.

Thus ended this odd adventure, not entirely to the satisfaction of

Booth; for, besides his curiosity, which, when thoroughly roused, is a

very troublesome passion, he had, as is I believe usual with all

persons in his circumstances, several doubts and apprehensions of he

knew not what. Indeed, fear is never more uneasy than when it doth not

certainly know its object; for on such occasions the mind is ever

employed in raising a thousand bugbears and fantoms, much more

dreadful than any realities, and, like children when they tell tales

of hobgoblins, seems industrious in terrifying itself.

Chapter v.

_Containing some matters not very unnatural._

Matters were scarce sooner reduced into order and decency than a

violent knocking was heard at the door, such indeed as would have

persuaded any one not accustomed to the sound that the madman was

returned in the highest spring-tide of his fury.

Instead, however, of so disagreeable an appearance, a very fine lady

presently came into the room, no other, indeed, than Mrs. James

herself; for she was resolved to shew Amelia, by the speedy return of

her visit, how unjust all her accusation had been of any failure in

the duties of friendship; she had, moreover, another reason to

accelerate this visit, and that was, to congratulate her friend on the

event of the duel between Colonel Bath and Mr. Booth.

The lady had so well profited by Mrs. Booth's remonstrance, that she

had now no more of that stiffness and formality which she had worn on

a former occasion. On the contrary, she now behaved with the utmost

freedom and good-humour, and made herself so very agreeable, that

Amelia was highly pleased and delighted with her company.

An incident happened during this visit, that may appear to some too

inconsiderable in itself to be recorded; and yet, as it certainly

produced a very strong consequence in the mind of Mr. Booth, we cannot

prevail on ourselves to pass it by.

Little Emily, who was present in the room while Mrs. James was there,

as she stood near that lady happened to be playing with her watch,

which she was so greatly overjoyed had escaped safe from the madman.

Mrs. James, who exprest great fondness for the child, desired to see

the watch, which she commended as the prettiest of the kind she had

ever seen.

Amelia caught eager hold of this opportunity to spread the praises of

her benefactor. She presently acquainted Mrs. James with the donor's

name, and ran on with great encomiums on his lordship's goodness, and

particularly on his generosity. To which Mrs. James answered, "O!

certainly, madam, his lordship hath universally the character of being

extremely generous-where he likes."

In uttering these words she laid a very strong emphasis on the three

last monosyllables, accompanying them at the same time with a very

sagacious look, a very significant leer, and a great flirt with her

fan.

The greatest genius the world hath ever produced observes, in one of

his most excellent plays, that

Trifles, light as air,

Are to the jealous confirmations strong

As proofs of holy writ.

That Mr. Booth began to be possessed by this worst of fiends, admits,

I think, no longer doubt; for at this speech of Mrs. James he

immediately turned pale, and, from a high degree of chearfulness, was

all on a sudden struck dumb, so that he spoke not another word till

Mrs. James left the room.

The moment that lady drove from the door Mrs. Ellison came up-stairs.

She entered the room with a laugh, and very plentifully rallied both

Booth and Amelia concerning the madman, of which she had received a

full account below-stairs; and at last asked Amelia if she could not

guess who it was; but, without receiving an answer, went on, saying,

"For my own part, I fancy it must be some lover of yours! some person

that hath seen you, and so is run mad with love. Indeed, I should not

wonder if all mankind were to do the same. La! Mr. Booth, what makes

you grave? why, you are as melancholy as if you had been robbed in

earnest. Upon my word, though, to be serious, it is a strange story,

and, as the girl tells it, I know not what to make of it. Perhaps it

might be some rogue that intended to rob the house, and his heart

failed him; yet even that would be very extraordinary. What, did you

lose nothing, madam?"

"Nothing at all," answered Amelia. "He did not even take the child's

watch."

"Well, captain," cries Mrs. Ellison, "I hope you will take more care

of the house to-morrow; for your lady and I shall leave you alone to

the care of it. Here, madam," said she, "here is a present from my

lord to us; here are two tickets for the masquerade at Ranelagh. You

will be so charmed with it! It is the sweetest of all diversions."

"May I be damned, madam," cries Booth, "if my wife shall go thither."

Mrs. Ellison stared at these words, and, indeed, so did Amelia; for

they were spoke with great vehemence. At length the former cried out

with an air of astonishment, "Not let your lady go to Ranelagh, sir?"

"No, madam," cries Booth, "I will not let my wife go to Ranelagh."

"You surprize me!" cries Mrs. Ellison. "Sure, you are not in earnest?"

"Indeed, madam," returned he, "I am seriously in earnest. And, what is

more, I am convinced she would of her own accord refuse to go."

"Now, madam," said Mrs. Ellison, "you are to answer for yourself: and

I will for your husband, that, if you have a desire to go, he will not

refuse you."

"I hope, madam," answered Amelia with great gravity, "I shall never

desire to go to any place contrary to Mr. Booth's inclinations."

"Did ever mortal hear the like?" said Mrs. Ellison; "you are enough to

spoil the best husband in the universe. Inclinations! what, is a woman

to be governed then by her husband's inclinations, though they are

never so unreasonable?"

"Pardon me, madam," said Amelia; "I will not suppose Mr. Booth's

inclinations ever can be unreasonable. I am very much obliged to you

for the offer you have made me; but I beg you will not mention it any

more; for, after what Mr. Booth hath declared, if Ranelagh was a

heaven upon earth, I would refuse to go to it."

"I thank you, my dear," cries Booth; "I do assure you, you oblige me

beyond my power of expression by what you say; but I will endeavour to

shew you, both my sensibility of such goodness, and my lasting

gratitude to it."

"And pray, sir," cries Mrs. Ellison, "what can be your objection to

your lady's going to a place which, I will venture to say, is as

reputable as any about town, and which is frequented by the best

company?"

"Pardon me, good Mrs. Ellison," said Booth: "as my wife is so good to

acquiesce without knowing my reasons, I am not, I think, obliged to

assign them to any other person."

"Well," cries Mrs. Ellison, "if I had been told this, I would not have

believed it. What, refuse your lady an innocent diversion, and that

too when you have not the pretence to say it would cost you a

farthing?"

"Why will you say any more on this subject, dear madam?" cries Amelia.

"All diversions are to me matters of such indifference, that the bare

inclinations of any one for whom I have the least value would at all

times turn the balance of mine. I am sure then, after what Mr. Booth

hath said--"

"My dear," cries he, taking her up hastily, "I sincerely ask your

pardon; I spoke inadvertently, and in a passion. I never once thought

of controuling you, nor ever would. Nay, I said in the same breath you

would not go; and, upon my honour, I meant nothing more."

"My dear," said she, "you have no need of making any apology. I am not

in the least offended, and am convinced you will never deny me what I

shall desire."

"Try him, try him, madam," cries Mrs. Ellison; "I will be judged by

all the women in town if it is possible for a wife to ask her husband

anything more reasonable. You can't conceive what a sweet, charming,

elegant, delicious place it is. Paradise itself can hardly be equal to

it."

"I beg you will excuse me, madam," said Amelia; "nay, I entreat you

will ask me no more; for be assured I must and will refuse. Do let me

desire you to give the ticket to poor Mrs. Bennet. I believe it would

greatly oblige her."

"Pardon me, madam," said Mrs. Ellison; "if you will not accept of it,

I am not so distressed for want of company as to go to such a public

place with all sort of people neither. I am always very glad to see

Mrs. Bennet at my own house, because I look upon her as a very good

sort of woman; but I don't chuse to be seen with such people in public

places."

Amelia exprest some little indignation at this last speech, which she

declared to be entirely beyond her comprehension; and soon after, Mrs.

Ellison, finding all her efforts to prevail on Amelia were

ineffectual, took her leave, giving Mr. Booth two or three sarcastical

words, and a much more sarcastical look, at her departure.

Chapter vi.

_A scene in which some ladies will possibly think Amelia's conduct

exceptionable._

Booth and his wife being left alone, a solemn silence prevailed during

a few minutes. At last Amelia, who, though a good, was yet a human

creatures said to her husband, "Pray, my dear, do inform me what could

put you into so great a passion when Mrs. Ellison first offered me the

tickets for this masquerade?"

"I had rather you would not ask me," said Booth. "You have obliged me

greatly in your ready acquiescence with my desire, and you will add

greatly to the obligation by not enquiring the reason of it. This you

may depend upon, Amelia, that your good and happiness are the great

objects of all my wishes, and the end I propose in all my actions.

This view alone could tempt me to refuse you anything, or to conceal

anything from you."

"I will appeal to yourself," answered she, "whether this be not using

me too much like a child, and whether I can possibly help being a

little offended at it?"

"Not in the least," replied he; "I use you only with the tenderness of

a friend. I would only endeavour to conceal that from you which I

think would give you uneasiness if you knew. These are called the

pious frauds of friendship."

"I detest all fraud," says she; "and pious is too good an epithet to

be joined to so odious a word. You have often, you know, tried these

frauds with no better effect than to teize and torment me. You cannot

imagine, my dear, but that I must have a violent desire to know the

reason of words which I own I never expected to have heard. And the

more you have shown a reluctance to tell me, the more eagerly I have

longed to know. Nor can this be called a vain curiosity, since I seem

so much interested in this affair. If after all this, you still insist

on keeping the secret, I will convince you I am not ignorant of the

duty of a wife by my obedience; but I cannot help telling you at the

same time you will make me one of the most miserable of women."

"That is," cries he, "in other words, my dear Emily, to say, I will be

contented without the secret, but I am resolved to know it,

nevertheless."

"Nay, if you say so," cries she, "I am convinced you will tell me.

Positively, dear Billy, I must and will know."

"Why, then, positively," says Booth, "I will tell you. And I think I

shall then shew you that, however well you may know the duty of a

wife, I am not always able to behave like a husband. In a word then,

my dear, the secret is no more than this; I am unwilling you should

receive any more presents from my lord."

"Mercy upon me!" cries she, with all the marks of astonishment; "what!

a masquerade ticket!"--

"Yes, my dear," cries he; "that is, perhaps, the very worst and most

dangerous of all. Few men make presents of those tickets to ladies

without intending to meet them at the place. And what do we know of

your companion? To be sincere with you, I have not liked her behaviour

for some time. What might be the consequence of going with such a

woman to such a place, to meet such a person, I tremble to think. And

now, my dear, I have told you my reason of refusing her offer with

some little vehemence, and I think I need explain myself no farther."

"You need not, indeed, sir," answered she. "Good Heavens! did I ever

expect to hear this? I can appeal to heaven, nay, I will appeal to

yourself, Mr. Booth, if I have ever done anything to deserve such a

suspicion. If ever any action of mine, nay, if ever any thought, had

stained the innocence of my soul, I could be contented."

"How cruelly do you mistake me!" said Booth. "What suspicion have I

ever shewn?"

"Can you ask it," answered she, "after what you have just now

declared?"

"If I have declared any suspicion of you," replied he, "or if ever I

entertained a thought leading that way, may the worst of evils that

ever afflicted human nature attend me! I know the pure innocence of

that tender bosom, I do know it, my lovely angel, and adore it. The

snares which might be laid for that innocence were alone the cause of

my apprehension. I feared what a wicked and voluptuous man, resolved

to sacrifice everything to the gratification of a sensual appetite

with the most delicious repast, might attempt. If ever I injured the

unspotted whiteness of thy virtue in my imagination, may hell---"

"Do not terrify me," cries she, interrupting him, "with such

imprecations. O, Mr. Booth! Mr. Booth! you must well know that a

woman's virtue is always her sufficient guard. No husband, without

suspecting that, can suspect any danger from those snares you mention;

and why, if you are liable to take such things into your head, may not

your suspicions fall on me as well as on any other? for sure nothing

was ever more unjust, I will not say ungrateful, than the suspicions

which you have bestowed on his lordship. I do solemnly declare, in all

the times I have seen the poor man, he hath never once offered the

least forwardness. His behaviour hath been polite indeed, but rather

remarkably distant than otherwise. Particularly when we played at

cards together. I don't remember he spoke ten words to me all the

evening; and when I was at his house, though he shewed the greatest

fondness imaginable to the children, he took so little notice of me,

that a vain woman would have been very little pleased with him. And if

he gave them many presents, he never offered me one. The first,

indeed, which he ever offered me was that which you in that kind

manner forced me to refuse."

"All this may be only the effect of art," said Booth. "I am convinced

he doth, nay, I am convinced he must like you; and my good friend

James, who perfectly well knows the world, told me, that his

lordship's character was that of the most profuse in his pleasures

with women; nay, what said Mrs. James this very evening? 'His lordship

is extremely generous--where he likes.' I shall never forget the sneer

with which she spoke those last words."

"I am convinced they injure him," cries Amelia. "As for Mrs. James,

she was always given to be censorious; I remarked it in her long ago,

as her greatest fault. And for the colonel, I believe he may find

faults enow of this kind in his own bosom, without searching after

them among his neighbours. I am sure he hath the most impudent look of

all the men I know; and I solemnly declare, the very last time he was

here he put me out of countenance more than once."

"Colonel James," answered Booth, "may have his faults very probably. I

do not look upon him as a saint, nor do I believe he desires I should;

but what interest could he have in abusing this lord's character to

me? or why should I question his truth, when he assured me that my

lord had never done an act of beneficence in his life but for the sake

of some woman whom he lusted after?"

"Then I myself can confute him," replied Amelia: "for, besides his

services to you, which, for the future, I shall wish to forget, and

his kindness to my little babes, how inconsistent is the character

which James gives of him with his lordship's behaviour to his own

nephew and niece, whose extreme fondness of their uncle sufficiently

proclaims his goodness to them? I need not mention all that I have

heard from Mrs. Ellison, every word of which I believe; for I have

great reason to think, notwithstanding some little levity, which, to

give her her due, she sees and condemns in herself, she is a very good

sort of woman."

"Well, my dear," cries Booth, "I may have been deceived, and I

heartily hope I am so; but in cases of this nature it is always good

to be on the surest side; for, as Congreve says,

'The wise too jealous are: fools too secure.'"

Here Amelia burst into tears, upon which Booth immediately caught her

in his arms, and endeavoured to comfort her. Passion, however, for a

while obstructed her speech, and at last she cried, "O, Mr. Booth! can

I bear to hear the word jealousy from your mouth?"

"Why, my love," said Booth, "will you so fatally misunderstand my

meaning? how often shall I protest that it is not of you, but of him,

that I was jealous? If you could look into my breast, and there read

all the most secret thoughts of my heart, you would not see one faint

idea to your dishonour."

"I don't misunderstand you, my dear," said she, "so much as I am

afraid you misunderstand yourself. What is it you fear?--you mention

not force, but snares. Is not this to confess, at least, that you have

some doubt of my understanding? do you then really imagine me so weak

as to be cheated of my virtue?--am I to be deceived into an affection

for a man before I perceive the least inward hint of my danger? No,

Mr. Booth, believe me, a woman must be a fool indeed who can have in

earnest such an excuse for her actions. I have not, I think, any very

high opinion of my judgment, but so far I shall rely upon it, that no

man breathing could have any such designs as you have apprehended

without my immediately seeing them; and how I should then act I hope

my whole conduct to you hath sufficiently declared."

"Well, my dear," cries Booth, "I beg you will mention it no more; if

possible, forget it. I hope, nay, I believe, I have been in the wrong;

pray forgive me."

"I will, I do forgive you, my dear," said she, "if forgiveness be a

proper word for one whom you have rather made miserable than angry;

but let me entreat you to banish for ever all such suspicions from

your mind. I hope Mrs. Ellison hath not discovered the real cause of

your passion; but, poor woman, if she had, I am convinced it would go

no farther. Oh, Heavens! I would not for the world it should reach his

lordship's ears. You would lose the best friend that ever man had.

Nay, I would not for his own sake, poor man; for I really believe it

would affect him greatly, and I must, I cannot help having an esteem

for so much goodness. An esteem which, by this dear hand," said she,

taking Booth's hand and kissing it, "no man alive shall ever obtain by

making love to me."

Booth caught her in his arms and tenderly embraced her. After which

the reconciliation soon became complete; and Booth, in the

contemplation of his happiness, entirely buried all his jealous

thoughts.

Chapter vii.

_A chapter in which there is much learning._

The next morning, whilst Booth was gone to take his morning walk,

Amelia went down into Mrs. Ellison's apartment, where, though she was

received with great civility, yet she found that lady was not at all

pleased with Mr. Booth; and, by some hints which dropt from her in

conversation, Amelia very greatly apprehended that Mrs. Ellison had

too much suspicion of her husband's real uneasiness; for that lady

declared very openly she could not help perceiving what sort of man

Mr. Booth was: "And though I have the greatest regard for you, madam,

in the world," said she, "yet I think myself in honour obliged not to

impose on his lordship, who, I know very well, hath conceived his

greatest liking to the captain on my telling him that he was the best

husband in the world."

Amelia's fears gave her much disturbance, and when her husband

returned she acquainted him with them; upon which occasion, as it was

natural, she resumed a little the topic of their former discourse, nor

could she help casting, though in very gentle terms, some slight blame

on Booth for having entertained a suspicion which, she said, might in

its consequence very possibly prove their ruin, and occasion the loss

of his lordship's friendship.

Booth became highly affected with what his wife said, and the more, as

he had just received a note from Colonel James, informing him that the

colonel had heard of a vacant company in the regiment which Booth had

mentioned to him, and that he had been with his lordship about it, who

had promised to use his utmost interest to obtain him the command.

The poor man now exprest the utmost concern for his yesterday's

behaviour, said "he believed the devil had taken possession of him,"

and concluded with crying out, "Sure I was born, my dearest creature,

to be your torment."

Amelia no sooner saw her husband's distress than she instantly forbore

whatever might seem likely to aggravate it, and applied herself, with

all her power, to comfort him. "If you will give me leave to offer my

advice, my dearest soul," said she, "I think all might yet be

remedied. I think you know me too well to suspect that the desire of

diversion should induce me to mention what I am now going to propose;

and in that confidence I will ask you to let me accept my lord's and

Mrs. Ellison's offer, and go to the masquerade. No matter how little

while I stay there; if you desire it I will not be an hour from you. I

can make an hundred excuses to come home, or tell a real truth, and

say I am tired with the place. The bare going will cure everything."

Amelia had no sooner done speaking than Booth immediately approved her

advice, and readily gave his consent. He could not, however, help

saying, that the shorter her stay was there, the more agreeable it

would be to him; "for you know, my dear," said he, "I would never

willingly be a moment out of your sight."

In the afternoon Amelia sent to invite Mrs. Ellison to a dish of tea;

and Booth undertook to laugh off all that had passed yesterday, in

which attempt the abundant good humour of that lady gave him great

hopes of success.

Mrs. Bennet came that afternoon to make a visit, and was almost an

hour with Booth and Amelia before the entry of Mrs. Ellison.

Mr. Booth had hitherto rather disliked this young lady, and had

wondered at the pleasure which Amelia declared she took in her

company. This afternoon, however, he changed his opinion, and liked

her almost as much as his wife had done. She did indeed behave at this

time with more than ordinary gaiety; and good humour gave a glow to

her countenance that set off her features, which were very pretty, to

the best advantage, and lessened the deadness that had usually

appeared in her complexion.

But if Booth was now pleased with Mrs. Bennet, Amelia was still more

pleased with her than ever. For, when their discourse turned on love,

Amelia discovered that her new friend had all the same sentiments on

that subject with herself. In the course of their conversation Booth

gave Mrs. Bennet a hint of wishing her a good husband, upon which both

the ladies declaimed against second marriages with equal vehemence.

Upon this occasion Booth and his wife discovered a talent in their

visitant to which they had been before entirely strangers, and for

which they both greatly admired her, and this was, that the lady was a

good scholar, in which, indeed, she had the advantage of poor Amelia,

whose reading was confined to English plays and poetry; besides which,

I think she had conversed only with the divinity of the great and

learned Dr Barrow, and with the histories of the excellent Bishop

Burnet.

Amelia delivered herself on the subject of second marriages with much

eloquence and great good sense; but when Mrs. Bennet came to give her

opinion she spoke in the following manner: "I shall not enter into the

question concerning the legality of bigamy. Our laws certainly allow

it, and so, I think, doth our religion. We are now debating only on

the decency of it, and in this light I own myself as strenuous an

advocate against it as any Roman matron would have been in those ages

of the commonwealth when it was held to be infamous. For my own part,

how great a paradox soever my opinion may seem, I solemnly declare, I

see but little difference between having two husbands at one time and

at several times; and of this I am very confident, that the same

degree of love for a first husband which preserves a woman in the one

case will preserve her in the other. There is one argument which I

scarce know how to deliver before you, sir; but--if a woman hath lived

with her first husband without having children, I think it

unpardonable in her to carry barrenness into a second family. On the

contrary, if she hath children by her first husband, to give them a

second father is still more unpardonable."

"But suppose, madam," cries Booth, interrupting her with a smile, "she

should have had children by her first husband, and have lost them?"

"That is a case," answered she, with a sigh, "which I did not desire

to think of, and I must own it the most favourable light in which a

second marriage can be seen. But the Scriptures, as Petrarch observes,

rather suffer them than commend them; and St Jerom speaks against them

with the utmost bitterness."--"I remember," cries Booth (who was

willing either to shew his learning, or to draw out the lady's), "a

very wise law of Charondas, the famous lawgiver of Thurium, by which

men who married a second time were removed from all public councils;

for it was scarce reasonable to suppose that he who was so great a

fool in his own family should be wise in public affairs. And though

second marriages were permitted among the Romans, yet they were at the

same time discouraged, and those Roman widows who refused them were

held in high esteem, and honoured with what Valerius Maximus calls the

Corona Pudicitiae. In the noble family of Camilli there was not, in

many ages, a single instance of this, which Martial calls adultery:

_Quae toties nubit, non nubit; adultera lege est."_

"True, sir," says Mrs. Bennet, "and Virgil calls this a violation of

chastity, and makes Dido speak of it with the utmost detestation:

_Sed mihi vel Tellus optem prius ima dehiscat

Vel Pater omnipotens adigat me fulmine ad umbras,

Pallentes umbras Erebi, noctemque profundam,

Ante, fudor, quam te violo, aut tua jura resolvo.

Ille meos, primum qui me sibi junxit, amores,

Ille habeat semper secum, servetque Sepulchro."_

She repeated these lines with so strong an emphasis, that she almost

frightened Amelia out of her wits, and not a little staggered Booth,

who was himself no contemptible scholar. He expressed great admiration

of the lady's learning; upon which she said it was all the fortune

given her by her father, and all the dower left her by her husband;

"and sometimes," said she, "I am inclined to think I enjoy more

pleasure from it than if they had bestowed on me what the world would

in general call more valuable."--She then took occasion, from the

surprize which Booth had affected to conceive at her repeating Latin

with so good a grace, to comment on that great absurdity (for so she

termed it) of excluding women from learning; for which they were

equally qualified with the men, and in which so many had made so

notable a proficiency; for a proof of which she mentioned Madam

Dacier, and many others.

Though both Booth and Amelia outwardly concurred with her sentiments,

it may be a question whether they did not assent rather out of

complaisance than from their real judgment.

Chapter viii.

_Containing some unaccountable behaviour in Mrs. Ellison._

Mrs. Ellison made her entrance at the end of the preceding discourse.

At her first appearance she put on an unusual degree of formality and

reserve; but when Amelia had acquainted her that she designed to

accept the favour intended her, she soon began to alter the gravity of

her muscles, and presently fell in with that ridicule which Booth

thought proper to throw on his yesterday's behaviour.

The conversation now became very lively and pleasant, in which Booth

having mentioned the discourse that passed in the last chapter, and

having greatly complimented Mrs. Bennet's speech on that occasion,

Mrs. Ellison, who was as strenuous an advocate on the other side,

began to rally that lady extremely, declaring it was a certain sign

she intended to marry again soon. "Married ladies," cries she, "I

believe, sometimes think themselves in earnest in such declarations,

though they are oftener perhaps meant as compliments to their

husbands; but, when widows exclaim loudly against second marriages, I

would always lay a wager that the man, if not the wedding-day, is

absolutely fixed on."

Mrs. Bennet made very little answer to this sarcasm. Indeed, she had

scarce opened her lips from the time of Mrs. Ellison's coming into the

room, and had grown particularly grave at the mention of the

masquerade. Amelia imputed this to her being left out of the party, a

matter which is often no small mortification to human pride, and in a

whisper asked Mrs. Ellison if she could not procure a third ticket, to

which she received an absolute negative.

During the whole time of Mrs. Bennet's stay, which was above an hour

afterwards, she remained perfectly silent, and looked extremely

melancholy. This made Amelia very uneasy, as she concluded she had

guessed the cause of her vexation. In which opinion she was the more

confirmed from certain looks of no very pleasant kind which Mrs.

Bennet now and then cast on Mrs. Ellison, and the more than ordinary

concern that appeared in the former lady's countenance whenever the

masquerade was mentioned, and which; unfortunately, was the principal

topic of their discourse; for Mrs. Ellison gave a very elaborate

description of the extreme beauty of the place and elegance of the

diversion.

When Mrs. Bennet was departed, Amelia could not help again soliciting

Mrs. Ellison for another ticket, declaring she was certain Mrs. Bennet

had a great inclination to go with them; but Mrs. Ellison again

excused herself from asking it of his lordship. "Besides, madam," says

she, "if I would go thither with Mrs. Bennet, which, I own to you, I

don't chuse, as she is a person whom _nobody knows_, I very much

doubt whether she herself would like it; for she is a woman of a very

unaccountable turn. All her delight lies in books; and as for public

diversions, I have heard her often declare her abhorrence of them."

"What then," said Amelia, "could occasion all that gravity from the

moment the masquerade was mentioned?"

"As to that," answered the other, "there is no guessing. You have seen

her altogether as grave before now. She hath had these fits of gravity

at times ever since the death of her husband."

"Poor creature!" cries Amelia; "I heartily pity her, for she must

certainly suffer a great deal on these occasions. I declare I have

taken a strange fancy to her."

"Perhaps you would not like her so well if you knew her thoroughly,"

answered Mrs. Ellison.--"She is, upon the whole, but of a whimsical

temper; and, if you will take my opinion, you should not cultivate too

much intimacy with her. I know you will never mention what I say; but

she is like some pictures, which please best at a distance."

Amelia did not seem to agree with these sentiments, and she greatly

importuned Mrs. Ellison to be more explicit, but to no purpose; she

continued to give only dark hints to Mrs. Bennet's disadvantage; and,

if ever she let drop something a little too harsh, she failed not

immediately to contradict herself by throwing some gentle

commendations into the other scale; so that her conduct appeared

utterly unaccountable to Amelia, and, upon the whole, she knew not

whether to conclude Mrs. Ellison to be a friend or enemy to Mrs.

Bennet.

During this latter conversation Booth was not in the room, for he had

been summoned down-stairs by the serjeant, who came to him with news

from Murphy, whom he had met that evening, and who assured the

serjeant that, if he was desirous of recovering the debt which he had

before pretended to have on Booth, he might shortly have an

opportunity, for that there was to be a very strong petition to the

board the next time they sat. Murphy said further that he need not

fear having his money, for that, to his certain knowledge, the captain

had several things of great value, and even his children had gold

watches.

This greatly alarmed Booth, and still more when the serjeant reported

to him, from Murphy, that all these things had been seen in his

possession within a day last past. He now plainly perceived, as he

thought, that Murphy himself, or one of his emissaries, had been the

supposed madman; and he now very well accounted to himself, in his own

mind, for all that had happened, conceiving that the design was to

examine into the state of his effects, and to try whether it was worth

his creditors' while to plunder him by law.

At his return to his apartment he communicated what he had heard to

Amelia and Mrs. Ellison, not disguising his apprehensions of the

enemy's intentions; but Mrs. Ellison endeavoured to laugh him out of

his fears, calling him faint-hearted, and assuring him he might depend

on her lawyer. "Till you hear from him," said she, "you may rest

entirely contented: for, take my word for it, no danger can happen to

you of which you will not be timely apprized by him. And as for the

fellow that had the impudence to come into your room, if he was sent

on such an errand as you mention, I heartily wish I had been at home;

I would have secured him safe with a constable, and have carried him

directly before justice Thresher. I know the justice is an enemy to

bailiffs on his own account."

This heartening speech a little roused the courage of Booth, and

somewhat comforted Amelia, though the spirits of both had been too

much hurried to suffer them either to give or receive much

entertainment that evening; which Mrs. Ellison perceiving soon took

her leave, and left this unhappy couple to seek relief from sleep,

that powerful friend to the distrest, though, like other powerful

friends, he is not always ready to give his assistance to those who

want it most.

Chapter ix.

_Containing a very strange incident._

When the husband and wife were alone they again talked over the news

which the serjeant had brought; on which occasion Amelia did all she

could to conceal her own fears, and to quiet those of her husband. At

last she turned the conversation to another subject, and poor Mrs.

Bennet was brought on the carpet. "I should be sorry," cries Amelia,

"to find I had conceived an affection for a bad woman; and yet I begin

to fear Mrs. Ellison knows something of her more than she cares to

discover; why else should she be unwilling to be seen with her in

public? Besides, I have observed that Mrs. Ellison hath been always

backward to introduce her to me, nor would ever bring her to my

apartment, though I have often desired her. Nay, she hath given me

frequent hints not to cultivate the acquaintance. What do you think,

my dear? I should be very sorry to contract an intimacy with a wicked

person."

"Nay, my dear," cries Booth. "I know no more of her, nor indeed hardly

so much as yourself. But this I think, that if Mrs. Ellison knows any

reason why she should not have introduced Mrs. Bennet into your

company, she was very much in the wrong in introducing her into it."

In discourses of this kind they past the remainder of the evening. In

the morning Booth rose early, and, going down-stairs, received from

little Betty a sealed note, which contained the following words:

Beware, beware, beware;

For I apprehend a dreadful snare

Is laid for virtuous innocence,

Under a friend's false pretence.

Booth immediately enquired of the girl who brought this note? and was

told it came by a chair-man, who, having delivered it, departed

without saying a word.

He was extremely staggered at what he read, and presently referred the

advice to the same affair on which he had received those hints from

Atkinson the preceding evening; but when he came to consider the words

more maturely he could not so well reconcile the two last lines of

this poetical epistle, if it may be so called, with any danger which

the law gave him reason to apprehend. Mr. Murphy and his gang could

not well be said to attack either his innocence or virtue; nor did

they attack him under any colour or pretence of friendship.

After much deliberation on this matter a very strange suspicion came

into his head; and this was, that he was betrayed by Mrs. Ellison. He

had, for some time, conceived no very high opinion of that good

gentlewoman, and he now began to suspect that she was bribed to betray

him. By this means he thought he could best account for the strange

appearance of the supposed madman. And when this conceit once had

birth in his mind, several circumstances nourished and improved it.

Among these were her jocose behaviour and raillery on that occasion,

and her attempt to ridicule his fears from the message which the

serjeant had brought him.

This suspicion was indeed preposterous, and not at all warranted by,

or even consistent with, the character and whole behaviour of Mrs.

Ellison, but it was the only one which at that time suggested itself

to his mind; and, however blameable it might be, it was certainly not

unnatural in him to entertain it; for so great a torment is anxiety to

the human mind, that we always endeavour to relieve ourselves from it

by guesses, however doubtful or uncertain; on all which occasions,

dislike and hatred are the surest guides to lead our suspicion to its

object.

When Amelia rose to breakfast, Booth produced the note which he had

received, saying, "My dear, you have so often blamed me for keeping

secrets from you, and I have so often, indeed, endeavoured to conceal

secrets of this kind from you with such ill success, that I think I

shall never more attempt it." Amelia read the letter hastily, and

seemed not a little discomposed; then, turning to Booth with a very

disconsolate countenance, she said, "Sure fortune takes a delight in

terrifying us! what can be the meaning of this?" Then, fixing her eyes

attentively on the paper, she perused it for some time, till Booth

cried, "How is it possible, my Emily, you can read such stuff

patiently? the verses are certainly as bad as ever were written."--"I

was trying, my dear," answered she, "to recollect the hand; for I will

take my oath I have seen it before, and that very lately;" and

suddenly she cried out, with great emotion, "I remember it perfectly

now; it is Mrs. Bennet's hand. Mrs. Ellison shewed me a letter from

her but a day or two ago. It is a very remarkable hand, and I am

positive it is hers."

"If it be hers," cries Booth, "what can she possibly mean by the

latter part of her caution? sure Mrs. Ellison hath no intention to

betray us."

"I know not what she means," answered Amelia, "but I am resolved to

know immediately, for I am certain of the hand. By the greatest luck

in the world, she told me yesterday where her lodgings were, when she

pressed me exceedingly to come and see her. She lives but a very few

doors from us, and I will go to her this moment."

Booth made not the least objection to his wife's design. His curiosity

was, indeed, as great as hers, and so was his impatience to satisfy

it, though he mentioned not this his impatience to Amelia; and perhaps

it had been well for him if he had.

Amelia, therefore, presently equipped herself in her walking dress,

and, leaving her children to the care of her husband, made all

possible haste to Mrs. Bennet's lodgings.

Amelia waited near five minutes at Mrs. Bennet's door before any one

came to open it; at length a maid servant appeared, who, being asked

if Mrs. Bennet was at home, answered, with some confusion in her

countenance, that she did not know; "but, madam," said she, "if you

will send up your name, I will go and see." Amelia then told her name,

and the wench, after staying a considerable time, returned and

acquainted her that Mrs. Bennet was at home. She was then ushered into

a parlour and told that the lady would wait on her presently.

In this parlour Amelia cooled her heels, as the phrase is, near a

quarter of an hour. She seemed, indeed, at this time, in the miserable

situation of one of those poor wretches who make their morning visits

to the great to solicit favours, or perhaps to solicit the payment of

a debt, for both are alike treated as beggars, and the latter

sometimes considered as the more troublesome beggars of the two.

During her stay here, Amelia observed the house to be in great

confusion; a great bustle was heard above-stairs, and the maid ran up

and down several times in a great hurry.

At length Mrs. Bennet herself came in. She was greatly disordered in

her looks, and had, as the women call it, huddled on her cloaths in

much haste; for, in truth, she was in bed when Amelia first came. Of

this fact she informed her, as the only apology she could make for

having caused her to wait so long for her company.

Amelia very readily accepted her apology, but asked her with a smile,

if these early hours were usual with her? Mrs. Bennet turned as red as

scarlet at the question, and answered, "No, indeed, dear madam. I am

for the most part a very early riser; but I happened accidentally to

sit up very late last night. I am sure I had little expectation of

your intending me such a favour this morning."

Amelia, looking very steadfastly at her, said, "Is it possible, madam,

you should think such a note as this would raise no curiosity in me?"

She then gave her the note, asking her if she did not know the hand.

Mrs. Bennet appeared in the utmost surprize and confusion at this

instant. Indeed, if Amelia had conceived but the slightest suspicion

before, the behaviour of the lady would have been a sufficient

confirmation to her of the truth. She waited not, therefore, for an

answer, which, indeed, the other seemed in no haste to give, but

conjured her in the most earnest manner to explain to her the meaning

of so extraordinary an act of friendship; "for so," said she, "I

esteem it, being convinced you must have sufficient reason for the

warning you have given me."

Mrs. Bennet, after some hesitation, answered, "I need not, I believe,

tell you how much I am surprized at what you have shewn me; and the

chief reason of my surprize is, how you came to discover my hand.

Sure, madam, you have not shewn it to Mrs. Ellison?"

Amelia declared she had not, but desired she would question her no

farther. "What signifies how I discovered it, since your hand it

certainly is?"

"I own it is," cries Mrs. Bennet, recovering her spirits, "and since

you have not shewn it to that woman I am satisfied. I begin to guess

now whence you might have your information; but no matter; I wish I

had never done anything of which I ought to be more ashamed. No one

can, I think, justly accuse me of a crime on that account; and I thank

Heaven my shame will never be directed by the false opinion of the

world. Perhaps it was wrong to shew my letter, but when I consider all

circumstances I can forgive it."

"Since you have guessed the truth," said Amelia, "I am not obliged to

deny it. She, indeed, shewed me your letter, but I am sure you have

not the least reason to be ashamed of it. On the contrary, your

behaviour on so melancholy an occasion was highly praiseworthy; and

your bearing up under such afflictions as the loss of a husband in so

dreadful a situation was truly great and heroical."

"So Mrs. Ellison then hath shewn you my letter?" cries Mrs. Bennet

eagerly.

"Why, did not you guess it yourself?" answered Amelia; "otherwise I am

sure I have betrayed my honour in mentioning it. I hope you have not

drawn me inadvertently into any breach of my promise. Did you not

assert, and that with an absolute certainty, that you knew she had

shewn me your letter, and that you was not angry with her for so

doing?"

"I am so confused," replied Mrs. Bennet, "that I scarce know what I

say; yes, yes, I remember I did say so--I wish I had no greater reason

to be angry with her than that."

"For Heaven's sake," cries Amelia, "do not delay my request any

longer; what you say now greatly increases my curiosity, and my mind

will be on the rack till you discover your whole meaning; for I am

more and more convinced that something of the utmost importance was

the purport of your message."

"Of the utmost importance, indeed," cries Mrs. Bennet; "at least you

will own my apprehensions were sufficiently well founded. O gracious

Heaven! how happy shall I think myself if I should have proved your

preservation! I will, indeed, explain my meaning; but, in order to

disclose all my fears in their just colours, I must unfold my whole

history to you. Can you have patience, madam, to listen to the story

of the most unfortunate of women?"

Amelia assured her of the highest attention, and Mrs. Bennet soon

after began to relate what is written in the seventh book of this

history.

BOOK VII.

Chapter i.

_A very short chapter, and consequently requiring no preface._

Mrs. Bennet having fastened the door, and both the ladies having taken

their places, she once or twice offered to speak, when passion stopt

her utterance; and, after a minute's silence, she burst into a flood

of tears. Upon which Amelia, expressing the utmost tenderness for her,

as well by her look as by her accent, cried, "What can be the reason,

dear madam, of all this emotion?" "O, Mrs. Booth!" answered she, "I

find I have undertaken what I am not able to perform. You would not

wonder at my emotion if you knew you had an adulteress and a murderer

now standing before you."

Amelia turned pale as death at these words, which Mrs. Bennet

observing, collected all the force she was able, and, a little

composing her countenance, cried, "I see, madam, I have terrified you

with such dreadful words; but I hope you will not think me guilty of

these crimes in the blackest degree." "Guilty!" cries Amelia. "O

Heavens!" "I believe, indeed, your candour," continued Mrs. Bennet,

"will be readier to acquit me than I am to acquit myself.

Indiscretion, at least, the highest, most unpardonable indiscretion, I

shall always lay to ray own charge: and, when I reflect on the fatal

consequences, I can never, never forgive myself. "Here she again began

to lament in so bitter a manner, that Amelia endeavoured, as much as

she could (for she was herself greatly shocked), to soothe and comfort

her; telling her that, if indiscretion was her highest crime, the

unhappy consequences made her rather an unfortunate than a guilty

person; and concluded by saying--"Indeed, madam, you have raised my

curiosity to the highest pitch, and I beg you will proceed with your

story."

Mrs. Bennet then seemed a second time going to begin her relation,

when she cried out, "I would, if possible, tire you with no more of my

unfortunate life than just with that part which leads to a catastrophe

in which I think you may yourself be interested; but I protest I am at

a loss where to begin."

"Begin wherever you please, dear madam," cries Amelia; "but I beg you

will consider my impatience." "I do consider it," answered Mrs.

Bennet; "and therefore would begin with that part of my story which

leads directly to what concerns yourself; for how, indeed, should my

life produce anything worthy your notice?" "Do not say so, madam,"

cries Amelia; "I assure you I have long suspected there were some very

remarkable incidents in your life, and have only wanted an opportunity

to impart to you my desire of hearing them: I beg, therefore, you

would make no more apologies." "I will not, madam," cries Mrs. Bennet,

"and yet I would avoid anything trivial; though, indeed, in stories of

distress, especially where love is concerned, many little incidents

may appear trivial to those who have never felt the passion, which, to

delicate minds, are the most interesting part of the whole." "Nay,

but, dear madam," cries Amelia, "this is all preface."

"Well, madam," answered Mrs. Bennet, "I will consider your

impatience." She then rallied all her spirits in the best manner she

could, and began as is written in the next chapter.

And here possibly the reader will blame Mrs. Bennet for taking her

story so far back, and relating so much of her life in which Amelia

had no concern; but, in truth, she was desirous of inculcating a good

opinion of herself, from recounting those transactions where her

conduct was unexceptionable, before she came to the more dangerous and

suspicious part of her character. This I really suppose to have been

her intention; for to sacrifice the time and patience of Amelia at

such a season to the mere love of talking of herself would have been

as unpardonable in her as the bearing it was in Amelia a proof of the

most perfect good breeding.

Chapter ii.

_The beginning of Mrs. Bennet's history._

"I was the younger of two daughters of a clergyman in Essex; of one in

whose praise if I should indulge my fond heart in speaking, I think my

invention could not outgo the reality. He was indeed well worthy of

the cloth he wore; and that, I think, is the highest character a man

can obtain.

"During the first part of my life, even till I reached my sixteenth

year, I can recollect nothing to relate to you. All was one long

serene day, in looking back upon which, as when we cast our eyes on a

calm sea, no object arises to my view. All appears one scene of

happiness and tranquillity.

"On the day, then, when I became sixteen years old, must I begin my

history; for on that day I first tasted the bitterness of sorrow.

"My father, besides those prescribed by our religion, kept five

festivals every year. These were on his wedding-day, and on the

birthday of each of his little family; on these occasions he used to

invite two or three neighbours to his house, and to indulge himself,

as he said, in great excess; for so he called drinking a pint of very

small punch; and, indeed, it might appear excess to one who on other

days rarely tasted any liquor stronger than small beer.

"Upon my unfortunate birthday, then, when we were all in a high degree

of mirth, my mother having left the room after dinner, and staying

away pretty long, my father sent me to see for her. I went according

to his orders; but, though I searched the whole house and called after

her without doors, I could neither see nor hear her. I was a little

alarmed at this (though far from suspecting any great mischief had

befallen her), and ran back to acquaint my father, who answered coolly

(for he was a man of the calmest temper), 'Very well, my dear, I

suppose she is not gone far, and will be here immediately.' Half an

hour or more past after this, when, she not returning, my father

himself expressed some surprize at her stay; declaring it must be some

matter of importance which could detain her at that time from her

company. His surprize now encreased every minute, and he began to grow

uneasy, and to shew sufficient symptoms in his countenance of what he

felt within. He then despatched the servant-maid to enquire after her

mistress in the parish, but waited not her return; for she was scarce

gone out of doors before he begged leave of his guests to go himself

on the same errand. The company now all broke up, and attended my

father, all endeavouring to give him hopes that no mischief had

happened. They searched the whole parish, but in vain; they could

neither see my mother, nor hear any news of her. My father returned

home in a state little short of distraction. His friends in vain

attempted to administer either advice or comfort; he threw himself on

the floor in the most bitter agonies of despair.

"Whilst he lay in this condition, my sister and myself lying by him,

all equally, I believe, and completely miserable, our old servant-maid

came into the room and cried out, her mind misgave her that she knew

where her mistress was. Upon these words, my father sprung from the

floor, and asked her eagerly, where? But oh! Mrs. Booth, how can I

describe the particulars of a scene to you, the remembrance of which

chills my blood with horror, and which the agonies of my mind, when it

past, made all a scene of confusion! The fact then in short was this:

my mother, who was a most indulgent mistress to one servant, which was

all we kept, was unwilling, I suppose, to disturb her at her dinner,

and therefore went herself to fill her tea-kettle at a well, into

which, stretching herself too far, as we imagine, the water then being

very low, she fell with the tea-kettle in her hand. The missing this

gave the poor old wretch the first hint of her suspicion, which, upon

examination, was found to be too well grounded.

"What we all suffered on this occasion may more easily be felt than

described."---"It may indeed," answered Amelia, "and I am so sensible

of it, that, unless you have a mind to see me faint before your face,

I beg you will order me something; a glass of water, if you please.

"Mrs. Bennet immediately complied with her friend's request; a glass

of water was brought, and some hartshorn drops infused into it; which

Amelia having drank off, declared she found herself much better; and

then Mrs. Bennet proceeded thus:--"I will not dwell on a scene which I

see hath already so much affected your tender heart, and which is as

disagreeable to me to relate as it can be to you to hear. I will

therefore only mention to you the behaviour of my father on this

occasion, which was indeed becoming a philosopher and a Christian

divine. On the day after my mother's funeral he sent for my sister and

myself into his room, where, after many caresses and every

demonstration of fatherly tenderness as well in silence as in words,

he began to exhort us to bear with patience the great calamity that

had befallen us; saying, 'That as every human accident, how terrible

soever, must happen to us by divine permission at least, a due sense

of our duty to our great Creator must teach us an absolute submission

to his will. Not only religion, but common sense, must teach us this;

for oh! my dear children,' cries he, 'how vain is all resistance, all

repining! could tears wash back again my angel from the grave, I

should drain all the juices of my body through my eyes; but oh, could

we fill up that cursed well with our tears, how fruitless would be all

our sorrow!'--I think I repeat you his very words; for the impression

they made on me is never to be obliterated. He then proceeded to

comfort us with the chearful thought that the loss was entirely our

own, and that my mother was greatly a gainer by the accident which we

lamented. 'I have a wife,' cries he, 'my children, and you have a

mother, now amongst the heavenly choir; how selfish therefore is all

our grief! how cruel to her are all our wishes!' In this manner he

talked to us near half an hour, though I must frankly own to you his

arguments had not the immediate good effect on us which they deserved,

for we retired from him very little the better for his exhortations;

however, they became every day more and more forcible upon our

recollection; indeed, they were greatly strengthened by his example;

for in this, as in all other instances, he practised the doctrines

which he taught. From this day he never mentioned my mother more, and

soon after recovered his usual chearfulness in public; though I have

reason to think he paid many a bitter sigh in private to that

remembrance which neither philosophy nor Christianity could expunge.

"My father's advice, enforced by his example, together with the

kindness of some of our friends, assisted by that ablest of all the

mental physicians, Time, in a few months pretty well restored my

tranquillity, when fortune made a second attack on my quiet. My

sister, whom I dearly loved, and who as warmly returned my affection,

had fallen into an ill state of health some time before the fatal

accident which I have related. She was indeed at that time so much

better, that we had great hopes of her perfect recovery; but the

disorders of her mind on that dreadful occasion so affected her body,

that she presently relapsed to her former declining state, and thence

grew continually worse and worse, till, after a decay of near seven

months, she followed my poor mother to the grave.

"I will not tire you, dear madam, with repetitions of grief; I will

only mention two observations which have occurred to me from

reflections on the two losses I have mentioned. The first is, that a

mind once violently hurt grows, as it were, callous to any future

impressions of grief, and is never capable of feeling the same pangs a

second time. The other observation is, that the arrows of fortune, as

well as all others, derive their force from the velocity with which

they are discharged; for, when they approach you by slow and

perceptible degrees, they have but very little power to do you

mischief.

"The truth of these observations I experienced, not only in my own

heart, but in the behaviour of my father, whose philosophy seemed to

gain a complete triumph over this latter calamity.

"Our family was now reduced to two, and my father grew extremely fond

of me, as if he had now conferred an entire stock of affection on me,

that had before been divided. His words, indeed, testified no less,

for he daily called me his only darling, his whole comfort, his all.

He committed the whole charge of his house to my care, and gave me the

name of his little housekeeper, an appellation of which I was then as

proud as any minister of state can be of his titles. But, though I was

very industrious in the discharge of my occupation, I did not,

however, neglect my studies, in which I had made so great a

proficiency, that I was become a pretty good mistress of the Latin

language, and had made some progress in the Greek. I believe, madam, I

have formerly acquainted you, that learning was the chief estate I

inherited of my father, in which he had instructed me from my earliest

youth.

"The kindness of this good man had at length wiped off the remembrance

of all losses; and I during two years led a life of great

tranquillity, I think I might almost say of perfect happiness.

"I was now. in the nineteenth year of my age, when my father's good

fortune removed us from the county of Essex into Hampshire, where a

living was conferred on him by one of his old school-fellows, of twice

the value of what he was before possessed of.

"His predecessor in this new living had died in very indifferent

circumstances, and had left behind him a widow with two small

children. My father, therefore, who, with great economy, had a most

generous soul, bought the whole furniture of the parsonage-house at a

very high price; some of it, indeed, he would have wanted; for, though

our little habitation in Essex was most completely furnished, yet it

bore no proportion to the largeness of that house in which he was now

to dwell.

"His motive, however, to the purchase was, I am convinced, solely

generosity; which appeared sufficiently by the price he gave, and may

be farther inforced by the kindness he shewed the widow in another

instance; for he assigned her an apartment for the use of herself and

her little family, which, he told her, she was welcome to enjoy as

long as it suited her conveniency.

"As this widow was very young, and generally thought to be tolerably

pretty, though I own she had a cast with her eyes which I never liked,

my father, you may suppose, acted from a less noble principle than I

have hinted; but I must in justice acquit him, for these kind offers

were made her before ever he had seen her face; and I have the

greatest reason to think that, for a long time after he had seen her,

he beheld her with much indifference.

"This act of my father's gave me, when I first heard it, great

satisfaction; for I may at least, with the modesty of the ancient

philosophers, call myself a lover of generosity, but when I became

acquainted with the widow I was still more delighted with what my

father had done; for though I could not agree with those who thought

her a consummate beauty, I must allow that she was very fully

possessed of the power of making herself agreeable; and this power she

exerted with so much success, with such indefatigable industry to

oblige, that within three months I became in the highest manner

pleased with my new acquaintance, and had contracted the most sincere

friendship for her.