The clock had struck eleven, and Amelia was just proceeding to put her

children to bed, when she heard a knock at the street-door; upon which

the boy cried out, "There's papa, mamma; pray let me stay and see him

before I go to bed." This was a favour very easily obtained; for

Amelia instantly ran down-stairs, exulting in the goodness of her

husband for returning so soon, though half an hour was already elapsed

beyond the time in which he promised to return.

Poor Amelia was now again disappointed; for it was not her husband at

the door, but a servant with a letter for him, which he delivered into

her hands. She immediately returned up-stairs, and said--"It was not

your papa, my dear; but I hope it is one who hath brought us some good

news." For Booth had told her that he hourly expected to receive such

from the great man, and had desired her to open any letter which came

to him in his absence.

Amelia therefore broke open the letter, and read as follows:

"SIR,--After what hath passed between us, I need only tell you that I

know you supped this very night alone with Miss Matthews: a fact which

will upbraid you sufficiently, without putting me to that trouble, and

will very well account for my desiring the favour of seeing you to-

morrow in Hyde-park at six in the morning. You will forgive me

reminding you once more how inexcusable this behaviour is in you, who

are possessed in your own wife of the most inestimable jewel.

Yours, &c.

T. JAMES.

I shall bring pistols with me."

It is not easy to describe the agitation of Amelia's mind when she

read this letter. She threw herself into her chair, turned as pale as

death, began to tremble all over, and had just power enough left to

tap the bottle of wine, which she had hitherto preserved entire for

her husband, and to drink off a large bumper.

The little boy perceived the strange symptoms which appeared in his

mother; and running to her, he cried, "What's the matter, my dear

mamma? you don't look well!--No harm hath happened to poor papa, I

hope--Sure that bad man hath not carried him away again?"

Amelia answered, "No, child, nothing--nothing at all." And then a

large shower of tears came to her assistance, which presently after

produced the same in the eyes of both the children.

Amelia, after a short silence, looking tenderly at her children, cried

out, "It is too much, too much to bear. Why did I bring these little

wretches into the world? why were these innocents born to such a

fate?" She then threw her arms round them both (for they were before

embracing her knees), and cried, "O my children! my children! forgive

me, my babes! Forgive me that I have brought you into such a world as

this! You are undone--my children are undone!"

The little boy answered with great spirit, "How undone, mamma? my

sister and I don't care a farthing for being undone. Don't cry so upon

our accounts--we are both very well; indeed we are. But do pray tell

us. I am sure some accident hath happened to poor papa."

"Mention him no more," cries Amelia; "your papa is--indeed he is a

wicked man--he cares not for any of us. O Heavens! is this the

happiness I promised myself this evening?" At which words she fell

into an agony, holding both her children in her arms.

The maid of the house now entered the room, with a letter in her hand

which she had received from a porter, whose arrival the reader will

not wonder to have been unheard by Amelia in her present condition.

The maid, upon her entrance into the room, perceiving the situation of

Amelia, cried out, "Good Heavens! madam, what's the matter?" Upon

which Amelia, who had a little recovered herself after the last

violent vent of her passion, started up and cried, "Nothing, Mrs.

Susan--nothing extraordinary. I am subject to these fits sometimes;

but I am very well now. Come, my dear children, I am very well again;

indeed I am. You must now go to bed; Mrs. Susan will be so good as to

put you to bed."

"But why doth not papa love us?" cries the little boy. "I am sure we

have none of us done anything to disoblige him."

This innocent question of the child so stung Amelia that she had the

utmost difficulty to prevent a relapse. However, she took another dram

of wine; for so it might be called to her, who was the most temperate

of women, and never exceeded three glasses on any occasion. In this

glass she drank her children's health, and soon after so well soothed

and composed them that they went quietly away with Mrs. Susan.

The maid, in the shock she had conceived at the melancholy, indeed

frightful scene, which had presented itself to her at her first coming

into the room, had quite forgot the letter which she held in her hand.

However, just at her departure she recollected it, and delivered it to

Amelia, who was no sooner alone than she opened it, and read as

follows:

"MY DEAREST, SWEETEST LOVE,--I write this from the bailiff's house

where I was formerly, and to which I am again brought at the suit of

that villain Trent. I have the misfortune to think I owe this accident

(I mean that it happened to-night) to my own folly in endeavouring to

keep a secret from you. O my dear! had I had resolution to confess my

crime to you, your forgiveness would, I am convinced, have cost me

only a few blushes, and I had now been happy in your arms. Fool that I

was, to leave you on such an account, and to add to a former

transgression a new one!--Yet, by Heavens! I mean not a transgression

of the like kind; for of that I am not nor ever will be guilty; and

when you know the true reason of my leaving you to-night I think you

will pity rather than upbraid me. I am sure you would if you knew the

compunction with which I left you to go to the most worthless, the

most infamous. Do guess the rest--guess that crime with which I cannot

stain my paper--but still believe me no more guilty than I am, or, if

it will lessen your vexation at what hath befallen me, believe me as

guilty as you please, and think me, for a while at least, as

undeserving of you as I think myself. This paper and pen are so bad, I

question whether you can read what I write: I almost doubt whether I

wish you should. Yet this I will endeavour to make as legible as I

can. Be comforted, my dear love, and still keep up your spirits with

the hopes of better days. The doctor will be in town to-morrow, and I

trust on his goodness for my delivery once more from this place, and

that I shall soon be able to repay him. That Heaven may bless and

preserve you is the prayer of, my dearest love,

Your ever fond, affectionate,

and hereafter, faithful husband,

W. BOOTH."

Amelia pretty well guessed the obscure meaning of this letter, which,

though at another time it might have given her unspeakable torment,

was at present rather of the medicinal kind, and served to allay her

anguish. Her anger to Booth too began a little to abate, and was

softened by her concern for his misfortune. Upon the whole, however,

she passed a miserable and sleepless night, her gentle mind torn and

distracted with various and contending passions, distressed with

doubts, and wandering in a kind of twilight which presented her only

objects of different degrees of horror, and where black despair closed

at a small distance the gloomy prospect.

BOOK XII.

Chapter i.

_The book begins with polite history._

Before we return to the miserable couple, whom we left at the end of

the last book, we will give our reader the more chearful view of the

gay and happy family of Colonel James.

Mrs. James, when she could not, as we have seen, prevail with Amelia

to accept that invitation which, at the desire of the colonel, she had

so kindly and obediently carried her, returned to her husband and

acquainted him with the ill success of her embassy; at which, to say

the truth, she was almost as much disappointed as the colonel himself;

for he had not taken a much stronger liking to Amelia than she herself

had conceived for Booth. This will account for some passages which may

have a little surprized the reader in the former chapters of this

history, as we were not then at leisure to communicate to them a hint

of this kind; it was, indeed, on Mr. Booth's account that she had been

at the trouble of changing her dress at the masquerade.

But her passions of this sort, happily for her, were not extremely

strong; she was therefore easily baulked; and, as she met with no

encouragement from Booth, she soon gave way to the impetuosity of Miss

Matthews, and from that time scarce thought more of the affair till

her husband's design against the wife revived her's likewise; insomuch

that her passion was at this time certainly strong enough for Booth,

to produce a good hearty hatred for Amelia, whom she now abused to the

colonel in very gross terms, both on the account of her poverty and

her insolence, for so she termed the refusal of all her offers.

The colonel, seeing no hopes of soon possessing his new mistress,

began, like a prudent and wise man, to turn his thoughts towards the

securing his old one. From what his wife had mentioned concerning the

behaviour of the shepherdess, and particularly her preference of

Booth, he had little doubt but that this was the identical Miss

Matthews. He resolved therefore to watch her closely, in hopes of

discovering Booth's intrigue with her. In this, besides the remainder

of affection which he yet preserved for that lady, he had another

view, as it would give him a fair pretence to quarrel with Booth; who,

by carrying on this intrigue, would have broke his word and honour

given to him. And he began now to hate poor Booth heartily, from the

same reason from which Mrs. James had contracted her aversion to

Amelia.

The colonel therefore employed an inferior kind of pimp to watch the

lodgings of Miss Matthews, and to acquaint him if Booth, whose person

was known to the pimp, made any visit there.

The pimp faithfully performed his office, and, having last night made

the wished-for discovery, immediately acquainted his master with it.

Upon this news the colonel presently despatched to Booth the short

note which we have before seen. He sent it to his own house instead of

Miss Matthews's, with hopes of that very accident which actually did

happen. Not that he had any ingredient of the bully in him, and

desired to be prevented from fighting, but with a prospect of injuring

Booth in the affection and esteem of Amelia, and of recommending

himself somewhat to her by appearing in the light of her champion; for

which purpose he added that compliment to Amelia in his letter. He

concluded upon the whole that, if Booth himself opened the letter, he

would certainly meet him the next morning; but if his wife should open

it before he came home it might have the effects before mentioned;

and, for his future expostulation with Booth, it would not be in

Amelia's power to prevent it.

Now it happened that this pimp had more masters than one. Amongst

these was the worthy Mr. Trent, for whom he had often done business of

the pimping vocation. He had been employed indeed in the service of

the great peer himself, under the direction of the said Trent, and was

the very person who had assisted the said Trent in dogging Booth and

his wife to the opera-house on the masquerade night.

This subaltern pimp was with his superior Trent yesterday morning,

when he found a bailiff with him in order to receive his instructions

for the arresting Booth, when the bailiff said it would be a very

difficult matter to take him, for that to his knowledge he was as shy

a cock as any in England. The subaltern immediately acquainted Trent

with the business in which he was employed by the colonel; upon which

Trent enjoined him the moment he had set him to give immediate notice

to the bailiff, which he agreed to, and performed accordingly.

The bailiff, on receiving the notice, immediately set out for his

stand at an alehouse within three doors of Miss Matthews's lodgings;

at which, unfortunately for poor Booth, he arrived a very few minutes

before Booth left that lady in order to return to Amelia.

These were several matters of which we thought necessary our reader

should be informed; for, besides that it conduces greatly to a perfect

understanding of all history, there is no exercise of the mind of a

sensible reader more pleasant than the tracing the several small and

almost imperceptible links in every chain of events by which all the

great actions of the world are produced. We will now in the next

chapter proceed with our history.

Chapter ii.

_In which Amelia visits her husband._

Amelia, after much anxious thinking, in which she sometimes flattered

herself that her husband was less guilty than she had at first

imagined him, and that he had some good excuse to make for himself

(for, indeed, she was not so able as willing to make one for him), at

length resolved to set out for the bailiff's castle. Having therefore

strictly recommended the care of her children to her good landlady,

she sent for a hackney coach, and ordered the coachman to drive to

Gray's-inn-lane.

When she came to the house, and asked for the captain, the bailiff's

wife, who came to the door, guessing, by the greatness of her beauty

and the disorder of her dress, that she was a young lady of pleasure,

answered surlily, "Captain! I do not know of any captain that is here,

not I!" For this good woman was, as well as dame Purgante in Prior, a

bitter enemy to all whores, especially to those of the handsome kind;

for some such she suspected to go shares with her in a certain

property to which the law gave her the sole right.

Amelia replied she was certain that Captain Booth was there. "Well, if

he is so," cries the bailiff's wife, "you may come into the kitchen if

you will, and he shall be called down to you if you have any business

with him." At the same time she muttered something to herself, and

concluded a little more intelligibly, though still in a muttering

voice, that she kept no such house.

Amelia, whose innocence gave her no suspicion of the true cause of

this good woman's sullenness, was frightened, and began to fear she

knew not what. At last she made a shift to totter into the kitchen,

when the mistress of the house asked her, "Well, madam, who shall I

tell the captain wants to speak with him?"

"I ask your pardon, madam," cries Amelia; "in my confusion I really

forgot you did not know me--tell him, if you please, that I am his

wife."

"And you are indeed his wife, madam?" cries Mrs. Bailiff, a little

softened.

"Yes, indeed, and upon my honour," answers Amelia.

"If this be the case," cries the other, "you may walk up-stairs if you

please. Heaven forbid I should part man and wife! Indeed, I think they

can never be too much together. But I never will suffer any bad doings

in my house, nor any of the town ladies to come to gentlemen here."

Amelia answered that she liked her the better: for, indeed, in her

present disposition, Amelia was as much exasperated against wicked

women as the virtuous mistress of the house, or any other virtuous

woman could be.

The bailiff's wife then ushered Amelia up-stairs, and, having unlocked

the prisoner's doors, cried, "Captain, here is your lady, sir, come to

see you." At which words Booth started up from his chair, and caught

Amelia in his arms, embracing her for a considerable time with so much

rapture, that the bailiff's wife, who was an eyewitness of this

violent fondness, began to suspect whether Amelia had really told her

truth. However, she had some little awe of the captain; and for fear

of being in the wrong did not interfere, but shut the door and turned

the key.

When Booth found himself alone with his wife, and had vented the first

violence of his rapture in kisses and embraces, he looked tenderly at

her and cried, "Is it possible, Amelia, is it possible you can have

this goodness to follow such a wretch as me to such a place as this--

or do you come to upbraid me with my guilt, and to sink me down to

that perdition I so justly deserve?"

"Am I so given to upbraiding then?" says she, in a gentle voice; "have

I ever given you occasion to think I would sink you to perdition?"

"Far be it from me, my love, to think so," answered he. "And yet you

may forgive the utmost fears of an offending, penitent sinner. I know,

indeed, the extent of your goodness, and yet I know my guilt so

great--"

"Alas! Mr. Booth," said she, "what guilt is this which you mention,

and which you writ to me of last night?--Sure, by your mentioning to

me so much, you intend to tell me more--nay, indeed, to tell me all;

and not leave my mind open to suspicions perhaps ten times worse than

the truth."

"Will you give me a patient hearing?" said he.

"I will indeed," answered she, "nay, I am prepared to hear the worst

you can unfold; nay, perhaps, the worst is short of my apprehensions."

Booth then, after a little further apology, began and related to her

the whole that had passed between him and Miss Matthews, from their

first meeting in the prison to their separation the preceding evening.

All which, as the reader knows it already, it would be tedious and

unpardonable to transcribe from his mouth. He told her likewise all

that he had done and suffered to conceal his transgression from her

knowledge. This he assured her was the business of his visit last

night, the consequence of which was, he declared in the most solemn

manner, no other than an absolute quarrel with Miss Matthews, of whom

he had taken a final leave.

When he had ended his narration, Amelia, after a short silence,

answered, "Indeed, I firmly believe every word you have said, but I

cannot now forgive you the fault you have confessed; and my reason is

--because I have forgiven it long ago. Here, my dear," said she, "is

an

instance that I am likewise capable of keeping a secret."--She then

delivered her husband a letter which she had some time ago received

from Miss Matthews, and which was the same which that lady had

mentioned, and supposed, as Booth had never heard of it, that it had

miscarried; for she sent it by the penny post. In this letter, which

was signed by a feigned name, she had acquainted Amelia with the

infidelity of her husband, and had besides very greatly abused him;

taxing him with many falsehoods, and, among the rest, with having

spoken very slightingly and disrespectfully of his wife.

Amelia never shined forth to Booth in so amiable and great a light;

nor did his own unworthiness ever appear to him so mean and

contemptible as at this instant. However, when he had read the letter,

he uttered many violent protestations to her, that all which related

to herself was absolutely false.

"I am convinced it is," said she. "I would not have a suspicion of the

contrary for the world. I assure you I had, till last night revived it

in my memory, almost forgot the letter; for, as I well knew from whom

it came, by her mentioning obligations which she had conferred on you,

and which you had more than once spoken to me of, I made large

allowances for the situation you was then in; and I was the more

satisfied, as the letter itself, as well as many other circumstances,

convinced me the affair was at an end."

Booth now uttered the most extravagant expressions of admiration and

fondness that his heart could dictate, and accompanied them with the

warmest embraces. All which warmth and tenderness she returned; and

tears of love and joy gushed from both their eyes. So ravished indeed

were their hearts, that for some time they both forgot the dreadful

situation of their affairs.

This, however, was but a short reverie. It soon recurred to Amelia,

that, though she had the liberty of leaving that house when she

pleased, she could not take her beloved husband with her. This thought

stung her tender bosom to the quick, and she could not so far command

herself as to refrain from many sorrowful exclamations against the

hardship of their destiny; but when she saw the effect they had upon

Booth she stifled her rising grief, forced a little chearfulness into

her countenance, and, exerting all the spirits she could raise within

herself, expressed her hopes of seeing a speedy end to their

sufferings. She then asked her husband what she should do for him, and

to whom she should apply for his deliverance?

"You know, my dear," cries Booth, "that the doctor is to be in town

some time to-day. My hopes of immediate redemption are only in him;

and, if that can be obtained, I make no doubt but of the success of

that affair which is in the hands of a gentleman who hath faithfully

promised, and in whose power I am so well assured it is to serve me."

Thus did this poor man support his hopes by a dependence on that

ticket which he had so dearly purchased of one who pretended to manage

the wheels in the great state lottery of preferment. A lottery,

indeed, which hath this to recommend it--that many poor wretches feed

their imaginations with the prospect of a prize during their whole

lives, and never discover they have drawn a blank.

Amelia, who was of a pretty sanguine temper, and was entirely ignorant

of these matters, was full as easy to be deceived into hopes as her

husband; but in reality at present she turned her eyes to no distant

prospect, the desire of regaining her husband's liberty having

engrossed her whole mind.

While they were discoursing on these matters they heard a violent

noise in the house, and immediately after several persons passed by

their door up-stairs to the apartment over their head. This greatly

terrified the gentle spirit of Amelia, and she cried--"Good Heavens,

my dear, must I leave you in this horrid place? I am terrified with a

thousand fears concerning you."

Booth endeavoured to comfort her, saying that he was in no manner of

danger, and that he doubted not but that the doctor would soon be with

him--"And stay, my dear," cries he; "now I recollect, suppose you

should apply to my old friend James; for I believe you are pretty well

satisfied that your apprehensions of him were groundless. I have no

reason to think but that he would be as ready to serve me as

formerly."

Amelia turned pale as ashes at the name of James, and, instead of

making a direct answer to her husband, she laid hold of him, and

cried, "My dear, I have one favour to beg of you, and I insist on your

granting it me."

Booth readily swore he would deny her nothing.

"It is only this, my dear," said she, "that, if that detested colonel

comes, you will not see him. Let the people of the house tell him you

are not here."

"He knows nothing of my being here," answered Booth; "but why should I

refuse to see him if he should be kind enough to come hither to me?

Indeed, my Amelia, you have taken a dislike to that man without

sufficient reason."

"I speak not upon that account," cries Amelia; "but I have had dreams

last night about you two. Perhaps you will laugh at my folly, but pray

indulge it. Nay, I insist on your promise of not denying me."

"Dreams! my dear creature," answered he. "What dream can you have had

of us?"

"One too horrible to be mentioned," replied she.--"I cannot think of

it without horrour; and, unless you will promise me not to see the

colonel till I return, I positively will never leave you."

"Indeed, my Amelia," said Booth, "I never knew you unreasonable

before. How can a woman of your sense talk of dreams?"

"Suffer me to be once at least unreasonable," said Amelia, "as you are

so good-natured to say I am not often so. Consider what I have lately

suffered, and how weak my spirits must be at this time."

As Booth was going to speak, the bailiff, without any ceremony,

entered the room, and cried, "No offence, I hope, madam; my wife, it

seems, did not know you. She thought the captain had a mind for a bit

of flesh by the bye. But I have quieted all matters; for I know you

very well: I have seen that handsome face many a time when I have been

waiting upon the captain formerly. No offence, I hope, madam; but if

my wife was as handsome as you are I should not look for worse goods

abroad."

Booth conceived some displeasure at this speech, but he did not think

proper to express more than a pish; and then asked the bailiff what

was the meaning of the noise they heard just now?

"I know of no noise," answered the bailiff. "Some of my men have been

carrying a piece of bad luggage up-stairs; a poor rascal that resisted

the law and justice; so I gave him a cut or two with a hanger. If they

should prove mortal, he must thank himself for it. If a man will not

behave like a gentleman to an officer, he must take the consequence;

but I must say that for you, captain, you behave yourself like a

gentleman, and therefore I shall always use you as such; and I hope

you will find bail soon with all my heart. This is but a paultry sum

to what the last was; and I do assure you there is nothing else

against you in the office."

The latter part of the bailiff's speech somewhat comforted Amelia, who

had been a little frightened by the former; and she soon after took

leave of her husband to go in quest of the doctor, who, as Amelia had

heard that morning, was expected in town that very day, which was

somewhat sooner than he had intended at his departure.

Before she went, however, she left a strict charge with the bailiff,

who ushered her very civilly downstairs, that if one Colonel James

came there to enquire for her husband he should deny that he was

there.

She then departed; and the bailiff immediately gave a very strict

charge to his wife, his maid, and his followers, that if one Colonel

James, or any one from him, should enquire after the captain, that

they should let him know he had the captain above-stairs; for he

doubted not but that the colonel was one of Booth's creditors, and he

hoped for a second bail-bond by his means.

Chapter iii.

_Containing matter pertinent to the history._

Amelia, in her way to the doctor's, determined just to stop at her own

lodgings, which lay a little out of the road, and to pay a momentary

visit to her children.

This was fortunate enough; for, had she called at the doctor's house,

she would have heard nothing of him, which would have caused in her

some alarm and disappointment; for the doctor was set down at Mrs.

Atkinson's, where he was directed to Amelia's lodgings, to which he

went before he called at his own; and here Amelia now found him

playing with her two children.

The doctor had been a little surprized at not finding Amelia at home,

or any one that could give an account of her. He was now more

surprized to see her come in such a dress, and at the disorder which

he very plainly perceived in her pale and melancholy countenance. He

addressed her first (for indeed she was in no great haste to speak),

and cried, "My dear child, what is the matter? where is your husband?

some mischief I am afraid hath happened to him in my absence."

"O my dear doctor!" answered Amelia, "sure some good angel hath sent

you hither. My poor Will is arrested again. I left him in the most

miserable condition in the very house whence your goodness formerly

redeemed him."

"Arrested!" cries the doctor. "Then it must be for some very

inconsiderable trifle."

"I wish it was," said Amelia; "but it is for no less than fifty

pound."

"Then," cries the doctor, "he hath been disingenuous with me. He told

me he did not owe ten pounds in the world for which he was liable to

be sued."

"I know not what to say," cries Amelia. "Indeed, I am afraid to tell

you the truth."

"How, child?" said the doctor--"I hope you will never disguise it to

any one, especially to me. Any prevarication, I promise you, will

forfeit my friendship for ever."

"I will tell you the whole," cries Amelia, "and rely entirely on your

goodness." She then related the gaming story, not forgetting to set in

the fullest light, and to lay the strongest emphasis on, his promise

never to play again.

The doctor fetched a deep sigh when he had heard Amelia's relation,

and cried, "I am sorry, child, for the share you are to partake in

your husband's sufferings; but as for him, I really think he deserves

no compassion. You say he hath promised never to play again, but I

must tell you he hath broke his promise to me already; for I had heard

he was formerly addicted to this vice, and had given him sufficient

caution against it. You will consider, child, I am already pretty

largely engaged for him, every farthing of which I am sensible I must

pay. You know I would go to the utmost verge of prudence to serve you;

but I must not exceed my ability, which is not very great; and I have

several families on my hands who are by misfortune alone brought to

want. I do assure you I cannot at present answer for such a sum as

this without distressing my own circumstances."

"Then Heaven have mercy upon us all!" cries Amelia, "for we have no

other friend on earth: my husband is undone, and these poor little

wretches must be starved."

The doctor cast his eyes on the children, and then cried, "I hope not

so. I told you I must distress my circumstances, and I will distress

them this once on your account, and on the account of these poor

little babes. But things must not go on any longer in this way. You

must take an heroic resolution. I will hire a coach for you to-morrow

morning which shall carry you all down to my parsonage-house. There

you shall have my protection till something can be done for your

husband; of which, to be plain with you, I at present see no

likelihood."

Amelia fell upon her knees in an ecstasy of thanksgiving to the

doctor, who immediately raised her up, and placed her in her chair.

She then recollected herself, and said, "O my worthy friend, I have

still another matter to mention to you, in which I must have both your

advice and assistance. My soul blushes to give you all this trouble;

but what other friend have I?--indeed, what other friend could I apply

to so properly on such an occasion?"

The doctor, with a very kind voice and countenance, desired her to

speak. She then said, "O sir! that wicked colonel whom I have

mentioned to you formerly hath picked some quarrel with my husband

(for she did not think proper to mention the cause), and hath sent him

a challenge. It came to my hand last night after he was arrested: I

opened and read it."

"Give it me, child," said the doctor.

She answered she had burnt it, as was indeed true. "But I remember it

was an appointment to meet with sword and pistol this morning at Hyde-

park."

"Make yourself easy, my dear child," cries the doctor; "I will take

care to prevent any mischief."

"But consider, my dear sir," said she, "this is a tender matter. My

husband's honour is to be preserved as well as his life."

"And so is his soul, which ought to be the dearest of all things,"

cries the doctor. "Honour! nonsense! Can honour dictate to him to

disobey the express commands of his Maker, in compliance with a custom

established by a set of blockheads, founded on false principles of

virtue, in direct opposition to the plain and positive precepts of

religion, and tending manifestly to give a sanction to ruffians, and

to protect them in all the ways of impudence and villany?"

"All this, I believe, is very true," cries Amelia; "but yet you know,

doctor, the opinion of the world."

"You talk simply, child," cries the doctor. "What is the opinion of

the world opposed to religion and virtue? but you are in the wrong. It

is not the opinion of the world; it is the opinion of the idle,

ignorant, and profligate. It is impossible it should be the opinion of

one man of sense, who is in earnest in his belief of our religion.

Chiefly, indeed, it hath been upheld by the nonsense of women, who,

either from their extreme cowardice and desire of protection, or, as

Mr. Bayle thinks, from their excessive vanity, have been always

forward to countenance a set of hectors and bravoes, and to despise

all men of modesty and sobriety; though these are often, at the

bottom, not only the better but the braver men."

"You know, doctor," cries Amelia, "I have never presumed to argue with

you; your opinion is to me always instruction, and your word a law."

"Indeed, child," cries the doctor, "I know you are a good woman; and

yet I must observe to you, that this very desire of feeding the

passion of female vanity with the heroism of her man, old Homer seems

to make the characteristic of a bad and loose woman. He introduces

Helen upbraiding her gallant with having quitted the fight, and left

the victory to Menelaus, and seeming to be sorry that she had left her

husband only because he was the better duellist of the two: but in how

different a light doth he represent the tender and chaste love of

Andromache to her worthy Hector! she dissuades him from exposing

himself to danger, even in a just cause. This is indeed a weakness,

but it is an amiable one, and becoming the true feminine character;

but a woman who, out of heroic vanity (for so it is), would hazard not

only the life but the soul too of her husband in a duel, is a monster,

and ought to be painted in no other character but that of a Fury."

"I assure you, doctor," cries Amelia, "I never saw this matter in the

odious light in which you have truly represented it, before. I am

ashamed to recollect what I have formerly said on this subject. And

yet, whilst the opinion of the world is as it is, one would wish to

comply as far as possible, especially as my husband is an officer of

the army. If it can be done, therefore, with safety to his honour--"

"Again honour!" cries the doctor; "indeed I will not suffer that noble

word to be so basely and barbarously prostituted. I have known some of

these men of honour, as they call themselves, to be the most arrant

rascals in the universe."

"Well, I ask your pardon," said she; "reputation then, if you please,

or any other word you like better; you know my meaning very well."

"I do know your meaning," cries the doctor, "and Virgil knew it a

great while ago. The next time you see your friend Mrs. Atkinson, ask

her what it was made Dido fall in love with AEneas?"

"Nay, dear sir," said Amelia, "do not rally me so unmercifully; think

where my poor husband is now."

"He is," answered the doctor, "where I will presently be with him. In

the mean time, do you pack up everything in order for your journey to-

morrow; for if you are wise, you will not trust your husband a day

longer in this town--therefore to packing."

Amelia promised she would, though indeed she wanted not any warning

for her journey on this account; for when she packed up herself in the

coach, she packed up her all. However, she did not think proper to

mention this to the doctor; for, as he was now in pretty good humour,

she did not care to venture again discomposing his temper.

The doctor then set out for Gray's-inn-lane, and, as soon as he was

gone, Amelia began to consider of her incapacity to take a journey in

her present situation without even a clean shift. At last she

resolved, as she was possessed of seven guineas and a half, to go to

her friend and redeem some of her own and her husband's linen out of

captivity; indeed just so much as would render it barely possible for

them to go out of town with any kind of decency. And this resolution

she immediately executed.

As soon as she had finished her business with the pawnbroker (if a man

who lends under thirty _per cent._ deserves that name), he said

to her, "Pray, madam, did you know that man who was here yesterday

when you brought the picture?" Amelia answered in the negative.

"Indeed, madam," said the broker, "he knows you, though he did not

recollect you while you was here, as your hood was drawn over your

face; but the moment you was gone he begged to look at the picture,

which I, thinking no harm, permitted. He had scarce looked upon it

when he cried out, 'By heaven and earth it is her picture!' He then

asked me if I knew you." "Indeed," says I, "I never saw the lady

before."

In this last particular, however, the pawnbroker a little savoured of

his profession, and made a small deviation from the truth, for, when

the man had asked him if he knew the lady, he answered she was some

poor undone woman who had pawned all her cloathes to him the day

before; and I suppose, says he, this picture is the last of her goods

and chattels. This hint we thought proper to give the reader, as it

may chance to be material.

Amelia answered coldly that she had taken so very little notice of the

man that she scarce remembered he was there.

"I assure you, madam," says the pawnbroker, "he hath taken very great

notice of you; for the man changed countenance upon what I said, and

presently after begged me to give him a dram. Oho! thinks I to myself,

are you thereabouts? I would not be so much in love with some folks as

some people are for more interest than I shall ever make of a thousand

pound."

Amelia blushed, and said, with some peevishness, "That she knew

nothing of the man, but supposed he was some impertinent fellow or

other."

"Nay, madam," answered the pawnbroker, "I assure you he is not worthy

your regard. He is a poor wretch, and I believe I am possessed of most

of his moveables. However, I hope you are not offended, for indeed he

said no harm; but he was very strangely disordered, that is the truth

of it."

Amelia was very desirous of putting an end to this conversation, and

altogether as eager to return to her children; she therefore bundled

up her things as fast as she could, and, calling for a hackney-coach,

directed the coachman to her lodgings, and bid him drive her home with

all the haste he could.

Chapter iv.

_In which Dr Harrison visits Colonel James._

The doctor, when he left Amelia, intended to go directly to Booth, but

he presently changed his mind, and determined first to call on the

colonel, as he thought it was proper to put an end to that matter

before he gave Booth his liberty.

The doctor found the two colonels, James and Bath, together. They both

received him very civilly, for James was a very well-bred man, and

Bath always shewed a particular respect to the clergy, he being indeed

a perfect good Christian, except in the articles of fighting and

swearing.

Our divine sat some time without mentioning the subject of his errand,

in hopes that Bath would go away, but when he found no likelihood of

that (for indeed Bath was of the two much the most pleased with his

company), he told James that he had something to say to him relating

to Mr. Booth, which he believed he might speak before his brother.

"Undoubtedly, sir," said James; "for there can be no secrets between

us which my brother may not hear."

"I come then to you, sir," said the doctor, "from the most unhappy

woman in the world, to whose afflictions you have very greatly and

very cruelly added by sending a challenge to her husband, which hath

very luckily fallen into her hands; for, had the man for whom you

designed it received it, I am afraid you would not have seen me upon

this occasion."

"If I writ such a letter to Mr. Booth, sir," said James, "you may be

assured I did not expect this visit in answer to it."

[Illustration: Dr. Harrison.]

"I do not think you did," cries the doctor; "but you have great reason

to thank Heaven for ordering this matter contrary to your

expectations. I know not what trifle may have drawn this challenge

from you, but, after what I have some reason to know of you, sir, I

must plainly tell you that, if you had added to your guilt already

committed against this man, that of having his blood upon your hands,

your soul would have become as black as hell itself."

"Give me leave to say," cries the colonel, "this is a language which I

am not used to hear; and if your cloth was not your protection you

should not give it me with impunity. After what you know of me, sir!

What do you presume to know of me to my disadvantage?"

"You say my cloth is my protection, colonel," answered the doctor;

"therefore pray lay aside your anger: I do not come with any design of

affronting or offending you."

"Very well," cries Bath; "that declaration is sufficient from a

clergyman, let him say what he pleases."

"Indeed, sir," says the doctor very mildly, "I consult equally the

good of you both, and, in a spiritual sense, more especially yours;

for you know you have injured this poor man."

"So far on the contrary," cries James, "that I have been his greatest

benefactor. I scorn to upbraid him, but you force me to it. Nor have I

ever done him the least injury."

"Perhaps not," said the doctor; "I will alter what I have said. But

for this I apply to your honour--Have you not intended him an injury,

the very intention of which cancels every obligation?"

"How, sir?" answered the colonel; "what do you mean?"

"My meaning," replied the doctor, "is almost too tender to mention.

Come, colonel, examine your own heart, and then answer me, on your

honour, if you have not intended to do him the highest wrong which one

man can do another?"

"I do not know what you mean by the question," answered the colonel.

"D--n me, the question is very transparent! "cries Bath." From any

other man it would be an affront with the strongest emphasis, but from

one of the doctor's cloth it demands a categorical answer."

"I am not a papist, sir," answered Colonel James, "nor am I obliged to

confess to my priest. But if you have anything to say speak openly,

for I do not understand your meaning."

"I have explained my meaning to you already," said the doctor, "in a

letter I wrote to you on the subject--a subject which I am sorry I

should have any occasion to write upon to a Christian."

"I do remember now," cries the colonel, "that I received a very

impertinent letter, something like a sermon, against adultery; but I

did not expect to hear the author own it to my face."

"That brave man then, sir," answered the doctor, "stands before you

who dares own he wrote that letter, and dares affirm too that it was

writ on a just and strong foundation. But if the hardness of your

heart could prevail on you to treat my good intention with contempt

and scorn, what, pray, could induce you to shew it, nay, to give it

Mr. Booth? What motive could you have for that, unless you meant to

insult him, and provoke your rival to give you that opportunity of

putting him out of the world, which you have since wickedly sought by

your challenge?"

"I give him the letter!" said the colonel.

"Yes, sir," answered the doctor, "he shewed me the letter, and

affirmed that you gave it him at the masquerade."

"He is a lying rascal, then!" said the colonel very passionately. "I

scarce took the trouble of reading the letter, and lost it out of my

pocket."

Here Bath interfered, and explained this affair in the manner in which

it happened, and with which the reader is already acquainted. He

concluded by great eulogiums on the performance, and declared it was

one of the most enthusiastic (meaning, perhaps, ecclesiastic) letters

that ever was written. "And d--n me," says he, "if I do not respect

the author with the utmost emphasis of thinking."

The doctor now recollected what had passed with Booth, and perceived

he had made a mistake of one colonel for another. This he presently

acknowledged to Colonel James, and said that the mistake had been his,

and not Booth's.

Bath now collected all his gravity and dignity, as he called it, into

his countenance, and, addressing himself to James, said, "And was that

letter writ to you, brother?--I hope you never deserved any suspicion

of this kind."

"Brother," cries James, "I am accountable to myself for my actions,

and shall not render an account either to you or to that gentleman."

"As to me, brother," answered Bath, "you say right; but I think this

gentleman may call you to an account; nay, I think it is his duty so

to do. And let me tell you, brother, there is one much greater than he

to whom you must give an account. Mrs. Booth is really a fine woman, a

lady of most imperious and majestic presence. I have heard you often

say that you liked her; and, if you have quarrelled with her husband

upon this account, by all the dignity of man I think you ought to ask

his pardon."

"Indeed, brother," cries James, "I can bear this no longer--you will

make me angry presently."

"Angry! brother James," cries Bath; "angry!--I love you, brother, and

have obligations to you. I will say no more, but I hope you know I do

not fear making any man angry."

James answered he knew it well; and then the doctor, apprehending that

while he was stopping up one breach he should make another, presently

interfered, and turned the discourse back to Booth. "You tell me,

sir," said he to James, "that my gown is my protection; let it then at

least protect me where I have had no design in offending--where I have

consulted your highest welfare, as in truth I did in writing this

letter. And if you did not in the least deserve any such suspicion,

still you have no cause for resentment. Caution against sin, even to

the innocent, can never be unwholesome. But this I assure you,

whatever anger you have to me, you can have none to poor Booth, who

was entirely ignorant of my writing to you, and who, I am certain,

never entertained the least suspicion of you; on the contrary, reveres

you with the highest esteem, and love, and gratitude. Let me therefore

reconcile all matters between you, and bring you together before he

hath even heard of this challenge."

"Brother," cries Bath, "I hope I shall not make you angry--I lie when

I say so; for I am indifferent to any man's anger. Let me be an

accessory to what the doctor hath said. I think I may be trusted with

matters of this nature, and it is a little unkind that, if you

intended to send a challenge, you did not make me the bearer. But,

indeed, as to what appears to me, this matter may be very well made

up; and, as Mr. Booth doth not know of the challenge, I don't see why

he ever should, any more than your giving him the lie just now; but

that he shall never have from me, nor, I believe, from this gentleman;

for, indeed, if he should, it would be incumbent upon him to cut your

throat."

"Lookee, doctor," said James, "I do not deserve the unkind suspicion

you just now threw out against me. I never thirsted after any man's

blood; and, as for what hath passed, since this discovery hath

happened, I may, perhaps, not think it worth my while to trouble

myself any more about it."

The doctor was not contented with perhaps, he insisted on a firm

promise, to be bound with the colonel's honour. This at length he

obtained, and then departed well satisfied.

In fact, the colonel was ashamed to avow the real cause of the quarrel

to this good man, or, indeed, to his brother Bath, who would not only

have condemned him equally with the doctor, but would possibly have

quarrelled with him on his sister's account, whom, as the reader must

have observed, he loved above all things; and, in plain truth, though

the colonel was a brave man, and dared to fight, yet he was altogether

as willing to let it alone; and this made him now and then give a

little way to the wrongheadedness of Colonel Bath, who, with all the

other principles of honour and humanity, made no more of cutting the

throat of a man upon any of his punctilios than a butcher doth of

killing sheep.

Chapter v.

_What passed at the bailiff's house._

The doctor now set forwards to his friend Booth, and, as he past by

the door of his attorney in the way, he called upon him and took him

with him.

The meeting between him and Booth need not be expatiated on. The

doctor was really angry, and, though he deferred his lecture to a more

proper opportunity, yet, as he was no dissembler (indeed, he was

incapable of any disguise), he could not put on a show of that

heartiness with which he had formerly used to receive his friend.

Booth at last began himself in the following manner: "Doctor, I am

really ashamed to see you; and, if you knew the confusion of my soul

on this occasion, I am sure you would pity rather than upbraid me; and

yet I can say with great sincerity I rejoice in this last instance of

my shame, since I am like to reap the most solid advantage from it."

The doctor stared at this, and Booth thus proceeded: "Since I have

been in this wretched place I have employed my time almost entirely in

reading over a series of sermons which are contained in that book

(meaning Dr Barrow's works, which then lay on the table before him) in

proof of the Christian religion; and so good an effect have they had

upon me, that I shall, I believe, be the better man for them as long

as I live. I have not a doubt (for I own I have had such) which

remains now unsatisfied. If ever an angel might be thought to guide

the pen of a writer, surely the pen of that great and good man had

such an assistant." The doctor readily concurred in the praises of Dr

Barrow, and added, "You say you have had your doubts, young gentleman;

indeed, I did not know that--and, pray, what were your doubts?"

"Whatever they were, sir," said Booth, "they are now satisfied, as I

believe those of every impartial and sensible reader will be if he

will, with due attention, read over these excellent sermons." "Very

well," answered the doctor, "though I have conversed, I find, with a

false brother hitherto, I am glad you are reconciled to truth at last,

and I hope your future faith will have some influence on your future

life." "I need not tell you, sir," replied Booth, "that will always be

the case where faith is sincere, as I assure you mine is. Indeed, I

never was a rash disbeliever; my chief doubt was founded on this--

that, as men appeared to me to act entirely from their passions, their

actions could have neither merit nor demerit." "A very worthy

conclusion truly!" cries the doctor; "but if men act, as I believe

they do, from their passions, it would be fair to conclude that

religion to be true which applies immediately to the strongest of

these passions, hope and fear; chusing rather to rely on its rewards

and punishments than on that native beauty of virtue which some of the

antient philosophers thought proper to recommend to their disciples.

But we will defer this discourse till another opportunity; at present,

as the devil hath thought proper to set you free, I will try if I can

prevail on the bailiff to do the same."

The doctor had really not so much money in town as Booth's debt

amounted to, and therefore, though he would otherwise very willingly

have paid it, he was forced to give bail to the action. For which

purpose, as the bailiff was a man of great form, he was obliged to get

another person to be bound with him. This person, however, the

attorney undertook to procure, and immediately set out in quest of

him.

During his absence the bailiff came into the room, and, addressing

himself to the doctor, said, "I think, sir, your name is Doctor

Harrison?" The doctor immediately acknowledged his name. Indeed, the

bailiff had seen it to a bail-bond before. "Why then, sir," said the

bailiff, "there is a man above in a dying condition that desires the

favour of speaking to you; I believe he wants you to pray by him."

The bailiff himself was not more ready to execute his office on all

occasions for his fee than the doctor was to execute his for nothing.

Without making any further enquiry therefore into the condition of the

man, he immediately went up-stairs.

As soon as the bailiff returned down-stairs, which was immediately

after he had lodged the doctor in the room, Booth had the curiosity to

ask him who this man was. "Why, I don't know much of him," said the

bailiff; "I had him once in custody before now: I remember it was when

your honour was here last; and now I remember, too, he said that he

knew your honour very well. Indeed, I had some opinion of him at that

time, for he spent his money very much like a gentleman; but I have

discovered since that he is a poor fellow, and worth nothing. He is a

mere shy cock; I have had the stuff about me this week, and could

never get at him till this morning; nay, I don't believe we should

ever have found out his lodgings had it not been for the attorney that

was here just now, who gave us information. And so we took him this

morning by a comical way enough; for we dressed up one of my men in

women's cloathes, who told the people of the house that he was his

sister, just come to town--for we were told by the attorney that he

had such a sister, upon which he was let up-stairs--and so kept the

door ajar till I and another rushed in. Let me tell you, captain,

there are as good stratagems made use of in our business as any in the

army."

"But pray, sir," said Booth, "did not you tell me this morning that

the poor fellow was desperately wounded; nay, I think you told the

doctor that he was a dying man?" "I had like to have forgot that,"

cries the bailiff. "Nothing would serve the gentleman but that he must

make resistance, and he gave my man a blow with a stick; but I soon

quieted him by giving him a wipe or two with a hanger. Not that, I

believe, I have done his business neither; but the fellow is faint-

hearted, and the surgeon, I fancy, frightens him more than he need.

But, however, let the worst come to the worst, the law is all on my

side, and it is only _se fendendo_. The attorney that was here just

now told me so, and bid me fear nothing; for that he would stand my

friend, and undertake the cause; and he is a devilish good one at a

defence at the Old Bailey, I promise you. I have known him bring off

several that everybody thought would have been hanged."

"But suppose you should be acquitted," said Booth, "would not the

blood of this poor wretch lie a little heavy at your heart?"

"Why should it, captain?" said the bailiff. "Is not all done in a

lawful way? Why will people resist the law when they know the

consequence? To be sure, if a man was to kill another in an unlawful

manner as it were, and what the law calls murder, that is quite and

clear another thing. I should not care to be convicted of murder any

more than another man. Why now, captain, you have been abroad in the

wars they tell me, and to be sure must have killed men in your time.

Pray, was you ever afraid afterwards of seeing their ghosts?"

"That is a different affair," cries Booth; "but I would not kill a man

in cold blood for all the world."

"There is no difference at all, as I can see," cries the bailiff. "One

is as much in the way of business as the other. When gentlemen behave

themselves like unto gentlemen I know how to treat them as such as

well as any officer the king hath; and when they do not, why they must

take what follows, and the law doth not call it murder."

Booth very plainly saw that the bailiff had squared his conscience

exactly according to law, and that he could not easily subvert his way

of thinking. He therefore gave up the cause, and desired the bailiff

to expedite the bonds, which he promised to do; saying, he hoped he

had used him with proper civility this time, if he had not the last,

and that he should be remembered for it.

But before we close this chapter we shall endeavour to satisfy an

enquiry, which may arise in our most favourite readers (for so are the

most curious), how it came to pass that such a person as was Doctor

Harrison should employ such a fellow as this Murphy?

The case then was thus: this Murphy had been clerk to an attorney in

the very same town in which the doctor lived, and, when he was out of

his time, had set up with a character fair enough, and had married a

maid-servant of Mrs. Harris, by which means he had all the business to

which that lady and her friends, in which number was the doctor, could

recommend him.

Murphy went on with his business, and thrived very well, till he

happened to make an unfortunate slip, in which he was detected by a

brother of the same calling. But, though we call this by the gentle

name of a slip, in respect to its being so extremely common, it was a

matter in which the law, if it had ever come to its ears, would have

passed a very severe censure, being, indeed, no less than perjury and

subornation of perjury.

This brother attorney, being a very good-natured man, and unwilling to

bespatter his own profession, and considering, perhaps, that the

consequence did in no wise affect the public, who had no manner of

interest in the alternative whether A., in whom the right was, or B.,

to whom Mr. Murphy, by the means aforesaid, had transferred it,

succeeded in an action; we mention this particular, because, as this

brother attorney was a very violent party man, and a professed

stickler for the public, to suffer any injury to have been done to

that, would have been highly inconsistent with his principles.

This gentleman, therefore, came to Mr. Murphy, and, after shewing him

that he had it in his power to convict him of the aforesaid crime,

very generously told him that he had not the least delight in bringing

any man to destruction, nor the least animosity against him. All that

he insisted upon was, that he would not live in the same town or

county with one who had been guilty of such an action. He then told

Mr. Murphy that he would keep the secret on two conditions; the one

was, that he immediately quitted that country; the other was, that he

should convince him he deserved this kindness by his gratitude, and

that Murphy should transfer to the other all the business which he

then had in those parts, and to which he could possibly recommend him.

It is the observation of a very wise man, that it is a very common

exercise of wisdom in this world, of two evils to chuse the least. The

reader, therefore, cannot doubt but that Mr. Murphy complied with the

alternative proposed by his kind brother, and accepted the terms on

which secrecy was to be obtained.

This happened while the doctor was abroad, and with all this, except

the departure of Murphy, not only the doctor, but the whole town (save

his aforesaid brother alone), were to this day unacquainted.

The doctor, at his return, hearing that Mr. Murphy was gone, applied

to the other attorney in his affairs, who still employed this Murphy

as his agent in town, partly, perhaps, out of good will to him, and

partly from the recommendation of Miss Harris; for, as he had married

a servant of the family, and a particular favourite of hers, there can

be no wonder that she, who was entirely ignorant of the affair above

related, as well as of his conduct in town, should continue her favour

to him. It will appear, therefore, I apprehend, no longer strange that

the doctor, who had seen this man but three times since his removal to

town, and then conversed with him only on business, should remain as

ignorant of his life and character, as a man generally is of the

character of the hackney-coachman who drives him. Nor doth it reflect

more on the honour or understanding of the doctor, under these

circumstances, to employ Murphy, than it would if he had been driven

about the town by a thief or a murderer.

Chapter vi.

_What passed between the doctor and the sick man._

We left the doctor in the last chapter with the wounded man, to whom

the doctor, in a very gentle voice, spoke as follows:--

"I am sorry, friend, to see you in this situation, and am very ready

to give you any comfort or assistance within my power."

"I thank you kindly, doctor," said the man. "Indeed I should not have

presumed to have sent to you had I not known your character; for,

though I believe I am not at all known to you, I have lived many years

in that town where you yourself had a house; my name is Robinson. I

used to write for the attorneys in those parts, and I have been

employed on your business in my time."

"I do not recollect you nor your name," said the doctor; "but

consider, friend, your moments are precious, and your business, as I

am informed, is to offer up your prayers to that great Being before

whom you are shortly to appear. But first let me exhort you earnestly

to a most serious repentance of all your sins."

"O doctor!" said the man; "pray; what is your opinion of a death-bed

repentance?"

"If repentance is sincere," cries the doctor, "I hope, through the

mercies and merits of our most powerful and benign Intercessor, it

will never come too late."

"But do not you think, sir," cries the man, "that, in order to obtain

forgiveness of any great sin we have committed, by an injury done to

our neighbours, it is necessary, as far as in us lies, to make all the

amends we can to the party injured, and to undo, if possible, the

injury we have done?"

"Most undoubtedly," cries the doctor; "our pretence to repentance

would otherwise be gross hypocrisy, and an impudent attempt to deceive

and impose upon our Creator himself."

"Indeed, I am of the same opinion," cries the penitent; "and I think

further, that this is thrown in my way, and hinted to me by that great

Being; for an accident happened to me yesterday, by which, as things

have fallen out since, I think I plainly discern the hand of

Providence. I went yesterday, sir, you must know, to a pawnbroker's,

to pawn the last moveable, which, except the poor cloathes you see on

my back, I am worth in the world. While I was there a young lady came

in to pawn her picture. She had disguised herself so much, and pulled

her hood so over her face, that I did not know her while she stayed,

which was scarce three minutes. As soon as she was gone the

pawnbroker, taking the picture in his hand, cried out, _Upon my

word, this is the handsomest face I ever saw in my life!_ I desired

him to let me look on the picture, which he readily did--and I no

sooner cast my eyes upon it, than the strong resemblance struck me,

and I knew it to be Mrs. Booth."

"Mrs. Booth! what Mrs. Booth?" cries the doctor.

"Captain Booth's lady, the captain who is now below," said the other.

"How?" cries the doctor with great impetuosity.

"Have patience," said the man, "and you shall hear all. I expressed

some surprize to the pawnbroker, and asked the lady's name. He

answered, that he knew not her name; but that she was some undone

wretch, who had the day before left all her cloathes with him in pawn.

My guilt immediately flew in my face, and told me I had been accessory

to this lady's undoing. The sudden shock so affected me, that, had it

not been for a dram which the pawnbroker gave me, I believe I should

have sunk on the spot."

"Accessary to her undoing! how accessary?" said the doctor. "Pray tell

me, for I am impatient to hear."

"I will tell you all as fast as I can," cries the sick man. "You know,

good doctor, that Mrs. Harris of our town had two daughters, this Mrs.

Booth and another. Now, sir, it seems the other daughter had, some way

or other, disobliged her mother a little before the old lady died;

therefore she made a will, and left all her fortune, except one

thousand pound, to Mrs. Booth; to which will Mr. Murphy, myself, and

another who is now dead, were the witnesses. Mrs. Harris afterwards

died suddenly; upon which it was contrived by her other daughter and

Mr. Murphy to make a new will, in which Mrs. Booth had a legacy of ten

pound, and all the rest was given to the other. To this will, Murphy,

myself, and the same third person, again set our hands."

"Good Heaven! how wonderful is thy providence!" cries the doctor--

"Murphy, say you?"

"He himself, sir," answered Robinson; "Murphy, who is the greatest

rogue, I believe, now in the world."

"Pray, sir, proceed," cries the doctor.

"For this service, sir," said Robinson, "myself and the third person,

one Carter, received two hundred pound each. What reward Murphy

himself had I know not. Carter died soon afterwards; and from that

time, at several payments, I have by threats extorted above a hundred

pound more. And this, sir, is the whole truth, which I am ready to

testify if it would please Heaven to prolong my life."

"I hope it will," cries the doctor; "but something must be done for

fear of accidents. I will send to counsel immediately to know how to

secure your testimony.--Whom can I get to send?--Stay, ay--he will do

--but I know not where his house or his chambers are. I will go myself

--but I may be wanted here."

While the doctor was in this violent agitation the surgeon made his

appearance. The doctor stood still in a meditating posture, while the

surgeon examined his patient. After which the doctor begged him to

declare his opinion, and whether he thought the wounded man in any

immediate danger of death. "I do not know," answered the surgeon,

"what you call immediate. He may live several days--nay, he may

recover. It is impossible to give any certain opinion in these cases."

He then launched forth into a set of terms which the doctor, with all

his scholarship, could not understand. To say the truth, many of them

were not to be found in any dictionary or lexicon.

One discovery, however, the doctor made, and that was, that the

surgeon was a very ignorant, conceited fellow, and knew nothing of his

profession. He resolved, therefore, to get better advice for the sick;

but this he postponed at present, and, applying himself to the

surgeon, said, "He should be very much obliged to him if he knew where

to find such a counsellor, and would fetch him thither. I should not

ask such a favour of you, sir," says the doctor, "if it was not on

business of the last importance, or if I could find any other

messenger."

"I fetch, sir!" said the surgeon very angrily. "Do you take me for a

footman or a porter? I don't know who you are; but I believe you are

full as proper to go on such an errand as I am." (For as the doctor,

who was just come off his journey, was very roughly dressed, the

surgeon held him in no great respect.) The surgeon then called aloud

from the top of the stairs, "Let my coachman draw up," and strutted

off without any ceremony, telling his patient he would call again the

next day.

At this very instant arrived Murphy with the other bail, and, finding

Booth alone, he asked the bailiff at the door what was become of the

doctor? "Why, the doctor," answered he, "is above-stairs, praying with

-----." "How!" cries Murphy. "How came you not to carry him directly

to Newgate, as you promised me?" "Why, because he was wounded," cries

the bailiff. "I thought it was charity to take care of him; and,

besides, why should one make more noise about the matter than is

necessary?" "And Doctor Harrison with him?" said Murphy. "Yes, he is,"

said the bailiff; "he desired to speak with the doctor very much, and

they have been praying together almost this hour." "All is up and

undone!" cries Murphy. "Let me come by, I have thought of something

which I must do immediately."

Now, as by means of the surgeon's leaving the door open the doctor

heard Murphy's voice naming Robinson peevishly, he drew softly to the

top of the stairs, where he heard the foregoing dialogue; and as soon

as Murphy had uttered his last words, and was moving downwards, the

doctor immediately sallied from his post, running as fast as he could,

and crying, Stop the villain! stop the thief!

The attorney wanted no better hint to accelerate his pace; and, having

the start of the doctor, got downstairs, and out into the street; but

the doctor was so close at his heels, and being in foot the nimbler of

the two, he soon overtook him, and laid hold of him, as he would have

done on either Broughton or Slack in the same cause.

This action in the street, accompanied with the frequent cry of Stop

thief by the doctor during the chase, presently drew together a large

mob, who began, as is usual, to enter immediately upon business, and

to make strict enquiry into the matter, in order to proceed to do

justice in their summary way.

Murphy, who knew well the temper of the mob, cried out, "If you are a

bailiff, shew me your writ. Gentlemen, he pretends to arrest me here

without a writ."

Upon this, one of the sturdiest and forwardest of the mob, and who by

a superior strength of body and of lungs presided in this assembly,

declared he would suffer no such thing. "D--n me," says he, "away to

the pump with the catchpole directly--shew me your writ, or let the

gentleman go--you shall not arrest a man contrary to law."

He then laid his hands on the doctor, who, still fast griping the

attorney, cried out, "He is a villain--I am no bailiff, but a

clergyman, and this lawyer is guilty of forgery, and hath ruined a

poor family."

"How!" cries the spokesman--"a lawyer!--that alters the case."

"Yes, faith," cries another of the mob, "it is lawyer Murphy. I know

him very well."

"And hath he ruined a poor family?--like enough, faith, if he's a

lawyer. Away with him to the justice immediately."

The bailiff now came up, desiring to know what was the matter; to whom

Doctor Harrison answered that he had arrested that villain for a

forgery. "How can you arrest him?" cries the bailiff; "you are no

officer, nor have any warrant. Mr. Murphy is a gentleman, and he shall

be used as such."

"Nay, to be sure," cries the spokesman, "there ought to be a warrant;

that's the truth on't."

"There needs no warrant," cries the doctor. "I accuse him of felony;

and I know so much of the law of England, that any man may arrest a

felon without any warrant whatever. This villain hath undone a poor

family; and I will die on the spot before I part with him."

"If the law be so," cries the orator, "that is another matter. And to

be sure, to ruin a poor man is the greatest of sins. And being a

lawyer too makes it so much the worse. He shall go before the justice,

d--n me if he shan't go before the justice! I says the word, he

shall."

"I say he is a gentleman, and shall be used according to law," cries

the bailiff; "and, though you are a clergyman," said he to Harrison,

"you don't shew yourself as one by your actions."

"That's a bailiff," cries one of the mob: "one lawyer will always

stand by another; but I think the clergyman is a very good man, and

acts becoming a clergyman, to stand by the poor."

At which words the mob all gave a great shout, and several cried out,

"Bring him along, away with him to the justice!"

And now a constable appeared, and with an authoritative voice declared

what he was, produced his staff, and demanded the peace.

The doctor then delivered his prisoner over to the officer, and

charged him with felony; the constable received him, the attorney

submitted, the bailiff was hushed, and the waves of the mob

immediately subsided.

The doctor now balanced with himself how he should proceed: at last he

determined to leave Booth a little longer in captivity, and not to

quit sight of Murphy before he had lodged him safe with a magistrate.

They then all moved forwards to the justice; the constable and his

prisoner marching first, the doctor and the bailiff following next,

and about five thousand mob (for no less number were assembled in a

very few minutes) following in the procession.

They found the magistrate just sitting down to his dinner; however,

when he was acquainted with the doctor's profession, he immediately

admitted him, and heard his business; which he no sooner perfectly

understood, with all its circumstances, than he resolved, though it

was then very late, and he had been fatigued all the morning with

public business, to postpone all refreshment till he had discharged

his duty. He accordingly adjourned the prisoner and his cause to the

bailiff's house, whither he himself, with the doctor, immediately

repaired, and whither the attorney was followed by a much larger

number of attendants than he had been honoured with before.

Chapter vii.

_In which the history draws towards a conclusion._

Nothing could exceed the astonishment of Booth at the behaviour of the

doctor at the time when he sallied forth in pursuit of the attorney;

for which it was so impossible for him to account in any manner

whatever. He remained a long time in the utmost torture of mind, till

at last the bailif's wife came to him, and asked him if the doctor was

not a madman? and, in truth, he could hardly defend him from that

imputation.

While he was in this perplexity the maid of the house brought him a

message from Robinson, desiring the favour of seeing him above-stairs.

With this he immediately complied.

When these two were alone together, and the key turned on them (for

the bailiff's wife was a most careful person, and never omitted that

ceremony in the absence of her husband, having always at her tongue's

end that excellent proverb of "Safe bind, safe find"), Robinson,

looking stedfastly upon Booth, said, "I believe, sir, you scarce

remember me."

Booth answered that he thought he had seen his face somewhere before,

but could not then recollect when or where.

"Indeed, sir," answered the man, "it was a place which no man can

remember with pleasure. But do you not remember, a few weeks ago, that

you had the misfortune to be in a certain prison in this town, where

you lost a trifling sum at cards to a fellow-prisoner?"

This hint sufficiently awakened Booth's memory, and he now recollected

the features of his old friend Robinson. He answered him a little

surlily, "I know you now very well, but I did not imagine you would

ever have reminded me of that transaction."

"Alas, sir!" answered Robinson, "whatever happened then was very

trifling compared to the injuries I have done you; but if my life be

spared long enough I will now undo it all: and, as I have been one of

your worst enemies, I will now be one of your best friends."

He was just entering upon his story when a noise was heard below which

might be almost compared to what have been heard in Holland when the

dykes have given way, and the ocean in an inundation breaks in upon

the land. It seemed, indeed, as if the whole world was bursting into

the house at once.

Booth was a man of great firmness of mind, and he had need of it all

at this instant. As for poor Robinson, the usual concomitants of guilt

attended him, and he began to tremble in a violent manner.

The first person who ascended the stairs was the doctor, who no sooner

saw Booth than he ran to him and embraced him, crying, "My child, I

wish you joy with all my heart. Your sufferings are all at an end, and

Providence hath done you the justice at last which it will, one day or

other, render to all men. You will hear all presently; but I can now

only tell you that your sister is discovered and the estate is your

own."

Booth was in such confusion that he scarce made any answer, and now

appeared the justice and his clerk, and immediately afterwards the

constable with his prisoner, the bailiff, and as many more as could

possibly crowd up-stairs.

The doctor now addressed himself to the sick man, and desired him to

repeat the same information before the justice which he had made

already; to which Robinson readily consented.

While the clerk was taking down the information, the attorney

expressed a very impatient desire to send instantly for his clerk, and

expressed so much uneasiness at the confusion in which he had left his

papers at home, that a thought suggested itself to the doctor that, if

his house was searched, some lights and evidence relating to this

affair would certainly be found; he therefore desired the justice to

grant a search-warrant immediately to search his house.

The justice answered that he had no such power; that, if there was any

suspicion of stolen goods, he could grant a warrant to search for

them.

"How, sir!" said the doctor, "can you grant a warrant to search a

man's house for a silver tea-spoon, and not in a case like this, where

a man is robbed of his whole estate?"

"Hold, sir," says the sick man; "I believe I can answer that point;

for I can swear he hath several title-deeds of the estate now in his

possession, which I am sure were stolen from the right owner."

The justice still hesitated. He said title-deeds savoured of the

Realty, and it was not felony to steal them. If, indeed, they were

taken away in a box, then it would be felony to steal the box.

"Savour of the Realty! Savour of the f--talty," said the doctor. "I

never heard such incomprehensible nonsense. This is impudent, as well

as childish trifling with the lives and properties of men."

"Well, sir," said Robinson, "I now am sure I can do his business; for

I know he hath a silver cup in his possession which is the property of

this gentleman (meaning Booth), and how he got it but by stealth let

him account if he can."

"That will do," cries the justice with great pleasure. "That will do;

and if you will charge him on oath with that, I will instantly grant

my warrant to search his house for it." "And I will go and see it

executed," cries the doctor; for it was a maxim of his, that no man

could descend below himself in doing any act which may contribute to

protect an innocent person, or to bring a rogue to the gallows.

The oath was instantly taken, the warrant signed, and the doctor

attended the constable in the execution of it.

The clerk then proceeded in taking the information of Robinson, and

had just finished it, when the doctor returned with the utmost joy in

his countenance, and declared that he had sufficient evidence of the

fact in his possession. He had, indeed, two or three letters from Miss

Harris in answer to the attorney's frequent demands of money for

secrecy, that fully explained the whole villany.

The justice now asked the prisoner what he had to say for himself, or

whether he chose to say anything in his own defence.

"Sir," said the attorney, with great confidence, "I am not to defend

myself here. It will be of no service to me; for I know you neither

can nor will discharge me. But I am extremely innocent of all this

matter, as I doubt not but to make appear to the satisfaction of a

court of justice."

The legal previous ceremonies were then gone through of binding over

the prosecutor, &c., and then the attorney was committed to Newgate,

whither he was escorted amidst the acclamations of the populace.

When Murphy was departed, and a little calm restored in the house, the

justice made his compliments of congratulation to Booth, who, as well

as he could in his present tumult of joy, returned his thanks to both

the magistrate and the doctor. They were now all preparing to depart,

when Mr. Bondum stept up to Booth, and said, "Hold, sir, you have

forgot one thing--you have not given bail yet."

This occasioned some distress at this time, for the attorney's friend

was departed; but when the justice heard this, he immediately offered

himself as the other bondsman, and thus ended the affair.

It was now past six o'clock, and none of the gentlemen had yet dined.

They very readily, therefore, accepted the magistrate's invitation,

and went all together to his house.

And now the very first thing that was done, even before they sat down

to dinner, was to dispatch a messenger to one of the best surgeons in

town to take care of Robinson, and another messenger to Booth's

lodgings to prevent Amelia's concern at their staying so long.

The latter, however, was to little purpose; for Amelia's patience had

been worn out before, and she had taken a hackney-coach and driven to

the bailiff's, where she arrived a little after the departure of her

husband, and was thence directed to the justice's.

Though there was no kind of reason for Amelia's fright at hearing that

her husband and Doctor Harrison were gone before the justice, and

though she indeed imagined that they were there in the light of

complainants, not of offenders, yet so tender were her fears for her

husband, and so much had her gentle spirits been lately agitated, that

she had a thousand apprehensions of she knew not what. When she

arrived, therefore, at the house, she ran directly into the room where

all the company were at dinner, scarce knowing what she did or whither

she was going.

She found her husband in such a situation, and discovered such

chearfulness in his countenance, that so violent a turn was given to

her spirits that she was just able, with the assistance of a glass of

water, to support herself. She soon, however, recovered her calmness,

and in a little time began to eat what might indeed be almost called

her breakfast.

The justice now wished her joy of what had happened that day, for

which she kindly thanked him, apprehending he meant the liberty of her

husband. His worship might perhaps have explained himself more largely

had not the doctor given him a timely wink; for this wise and good man

was fearful of making such a discovery all at once to Amelia, lest it

should overpower her, and luckily the justice's wife was not well

enough acquainted with the matter to say anything more on it than

barely to assure the lady that she joined in her husband's

congratulation.

Amelia was then in a clean white gown, which she had that day

redeemed, and was, indeed, dressed all over with great neatness and

exactness; with the glow therefore which arose in her features from

finding her husband released from his captivity, she made so charming

a figure, that she attracted the eyes of the magistrate and of his

wife, and they both agreed when they were alone that they had never

seen so charming a creature; nay, Booth himself afterwards told her

that he scarce ever remembered her to look so extremely beautiful as

she did that evening.

Whether Amelia's beauty, or the reflexion on the remarkable act of

justice he had performed, or whatever motive filled the magistrate

with extraordinary good humour, and opened his heart and cellars, I

will not determine; but he gave them so hearty a welcome, and they

were all so pleased with each other, that Amelia, for that one night,

trusted the care of her children to the woman where they lodged, nor

did the company rise from table till the clock struck eleven.

They then separated. Amelia and Booth, having been set down at their

lodgings, retired into each other's arms; nor did Booth that evening,

by the doctor's advice, mention one word of the grand affair to his

wife.

Chapter viii.

_Thus this history draws nearer to a conclusion._

In the morning early Amelia received the following letter from Mrs.

Atkinson:

"The surgeon of the regiment, to which the captain my husband lately

belonged, and who came this evening to see the captain, hath almost

frightened me out of my wits by a strange story of your husband being

committed to prison by a justice of peace for forgery. For Heaven's

sake send me the truth. If my husband can be of any service, weak as

he is, he will be carried in a chair to serve a brother officer for

whom he hath a regard, which I need not mention. Or if the sum of

twenty pound will be of any service to you, I will wait upon you with

it the moment I can get my cloaths on, the morning you receive this;

for it is too late to send to-night. The captain begs his hearty

service and respects, and believe me,

"Dear Madam,

Your ever affectionate friend,

and humble servant,

F. ATKINSON."

When Amelia read this letter to Booth they were both equally

surprized, she at the commitment for forgery, and he at seeing such a

letter from Mrs. Atkinson; for he was a stranger yet to the

reconciliation that had happened.

Booth's doubts were first satisfied by Amelia, from which he received

great pleasure; for he really had a very great affection and fondness

for Mr. Atkinson, who, indeed, so well deserved it. "Well, my dear,"

said he to Amelia, smiling, "shall we accept this generous offer?"

"O fy! no, certainly," answered she.

"Why not?" cries Booth; "it is but a trifle; and yet it will be of

great service to us."

"But consider, my dear," said she, "how ill these poor people can

spare it."

"They can spare it for a little while," said Booth, "and we shall soon

pay it them again."

"When, my dear?" said Amelia. "Do, my dear Will, consider our wretched

circumstances. I beg you let us go into the country immediately, and

live upon bread and water till Fortune pleases to smile upon us."

"I am convinced that day is not far off," said Booth. "However, give

me leave to send an answer to Mrs. Atkinson, that we shall be glad of

her company immediately to breakfast."

"You know I never contradict you," said she, "but I assure you it is

contrary to my inclinations to take this money."

"Well, suffer me," cries he, "to act this once contrary to your

inclinations." He then writ a short note to Mrs. Atkinson, and

dispatched it away immediately; which when he had done, Amelia said,

"I shall be glad of Mrs. Atkinson's company to breakfast; but yet I

wish you would oblige me in refusing this money. Take five guineas

only. That is indeed such a sum as, if we never should pay it, would

sit light on my mind. The last persons in the world from whom I would

receive favours of that sort are the poor and generous."

"You can receive favours only from the generous," cries Booth; "and,

to be plain with you, there are very few who are generous that are not

poor."

"What think you," said she, "of Dr Harrison?"

"I do assure you," said Booth, "he is far from being rich. The doctor

hath an income of little more than six hundred pound a-year, and I am

convinced he gives away four of it. Indeed, he is one of the best

economists in the world: but yet I am positive he never was at any

time possessed of five hundred pound, since he hath been a man.

Consider, dear Emily, the late obligations we have to this gentleman;

it would be unreasonable to expect more, at least at present; my half-

pay is mortgaged for a year to come. How then shall we live?"

"By our labour," answered she; "I am able to labour, and I am sure I

am not ashamed of it."

"And do you really think you can support such a life?"

"I am sure I could be happy in it," answered Amelia. "And why not I as

well as a thousand others, who have not the happiness of such a

husband to make life delicious? why should I complain of my hard fate

while so many who are much poorer than I enjoy theirs? Am I of a

superior rank of being to the wife of the honest labourer? am I not

partaker of one common nature with her?"

"My angel," cries Booth, "it delights me to hear you talk thus, and

for a reason you little guess; for I am assured that one who can so

heroically endure adversity, will bear prosperity with equal greatness

of soul; for the mind that cannot be dejected by the former, is not

likely to be transported with the latter."

"If it had pleased Heaven," cried she, "to have tried me, I think, at

least I hope, I should have preserved my humility."

"Then, my dear," said he, "I will relate you a dream I had last night.

You know you lately mentioned a dream of yours."

"Do so," said she; "I am attentive."

"I dreamt," said he, "this night, that we were in the most miserable

situation imaginable; indeed, in the situation we were yesterday

morning, or rather worse; that I was laid in a prison for debt, and

that you wanted a morsel of bread to feed the mouths of your hungry

children. At length (for nothing you know is quicker than the

transition in dreams) Dr Harrison methought came to me, with

chearfulness and joy in his countenance. The prison-doors immediately

flew open, and Dr Harrison introduced you, gayly though not richly

dressed. That you gently chid me for staying so long. All on a sudden

appeared a coach with four horses to it, in which was a maid-servant

with our two children. We both immediately went into the coach, and,

taking our leave of the doctor, set out towards your country-house;

for yours I dreamt it was. I only ask you now, if this was real, and

the transition almost as sudden, could you support it?"

Amelia was going to answer, when Mrs. Atkinson came into the room, and

after very little previous ceremony, presented Booth with a bank-note,

which he received of her, saying he would very soon repay it; a

promise that a little offended Amelia, as she thought he had no chance

of keeping it.

The doctor presently arrived, and the company sat down to breakfast,

during which Mrs. Atkinson entertained them with the history of the

doctors that had attended her husband, by whose advice Atkinson was

recovered from everything but the weakness which his distemper had

occasioned.

When the tea-table was removed Booth told the doctor that he had

acquainted his wife with a dream he had last night. "I dreamt,

doctor," said he, "that she was restored to her estate."

"Very well," said the doctor; "and if I am to be the Oneiropolus, I

believe the dream will come to pass. To say the truth, I have rather a

better opinion of dreams than Horace had. Old Homer says they come

from Jupiter; and as to your dream, I have often had it in my waking

thoughts, that some time or other that roguery (for so I was always

convinced it was) would be brought to light; for the same Homer says,

as you, madam (meaning Mrs. Atkinson), very well know,

[Greek verses]

[Footnote: "If Jupiter doth not immediately execute his

vengeance, he will however execute it at last; and their

transgressions shall fall heavily on their own heads, and on their

wives and children."]

"I have no Greek ears, sir," said Mrs. Atkinson. "I believe I could

understand it in the Delphin Homer."

"I wish," cries he, "my dear child (to Amelia), you would read a

little in the Delphin Aristotle, or else in some Christian divine, to

learn a doctrine which you will one day have a use for. I mean to bear

the hardest of all human conflicts, and support with an even temper,

and without any violent transports of mind, a sudden gust of

prosperity."

"Indeed," cries Amelia, "I should almost think my husband and you,

doctor, had some very good news to tell me, by your using, both of

you, the same introduction. As far as I know myself, I think I can

answer I can support any degree of prosperity, and I think I yesterday

shewed I could: for I do assure you, it is not in the power of fortune

to try me with such another transition from grief to joy, as I

conceived from seeing my husband in prison and at liberty."

"Well, you are a good girl," cries the doctor, "and after I have put

on my spectacles I will try you."

The doctor then took out a newspaper, and read as follows:

"'Yesterday one Murphy, an eminent attorney-at-law, was committed to

Newgate for the forgery of a will under which an estate hath been for

many years detained from the right owner.'

"Now in this paragraph there is something very remarkable, and that

is--that it is true: but _opus est explanatu_. In the Delphin edition

of this newspaper there is the following note upon the words right

owner:--'The right owner of this estate is a young lady of the highest

merit, whose maiden name was Harris, and who some time since was

married to an idle fellow, one Lieutenant Booth. And the best

historians assure us that letters from the elder sister of this lady,

which manifestly prove the forgery and clear up the whole affair, are

in the hands of an old Parson called Doctor Harrison.'"

"And is this really true?" cries Amelia.

"Yes, really and sincerely," cries the doctor. "The whole estate; for

your mother left it you all, and is as surely yours as if you was

already in possession."

"Gracious Heaven!" cries she, falling on her knees, "I thank you!" And

then starting up, she ran to her husband, and, embracing him, cried,

"My dear love, I wish you joy; and I ought in gratitude to wish it

you; for you are the cause of mine. It is upon yours and my children's

account that I principally rejoice."

Mrs. Atkinson rose from her chair, and jumped about the room for joy,

repeating,

_Turne, quod oplanti divum promittere nemo

Auderet, volvenda dies, en, attulit ultro._

[Footnote: "What none of all the Gods could grant thy vows,

That, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows."]

Amelia now threw herself into a chair, complained she was a little

faint, and begged a glass of water. The doctor advised her to be

blooded; but she refused, saying she required a vent of another kind.

She then desired her children to be brought to her, whom she

immediately caught in her arms, and, having profusely cried over them

for several minutes, declared she was easy. After which she soon

regained her usual temper and complexion.

That day they dined together, and in the afternoon they all, except

the doctor, visited Captain Atkinson; he repaired to the bailiff's

house to visit the sick man, whom he found very chearful, the surgeon

having assured him that he was in no danger.

The doctor had a long spiritual discourse with Robinson, who assured

him that he sincerely repented of his past life, that he was resolved

to lead his future days in a different manner, and to make what amends

he could for his sins to the society, by bringing one of the greatest

rogues in it to justice. There was a circumstance which much pleased

the doctor, and made him conclude that, however Robinson had been

corrupted by his old master, he had naturally a good disposition. This

was, that Robinson declared he was chiefly induced to the discovery by

what had happened at the pawnbroker's, and by the miseries which he

there perceived he had been instrumental in bringing on Booth and his

family.

The next day Booth and his wife, at the doctor's instance, dined with

Colonel James and his lady, where they were received with great

civility, and all matters were accommodated without Booth ever knowing

a syllable of the challenge even to this day.

The doctor insisted very strongly on having Miss Harris taken into

custody, and said, if she was his sister, he would deliver her to

justice. He added besides, that it was impossible to skreen her and

carry on the prosecution, or, indeed, recover the estate. Amelia at

last begged the delay of one day only, in which time she wrote a

letter to her sister, informing her of the discovery, and the danger

in which she stood, and begged her earnestly to make her escape, with

many assurances that she would never suffer her to know any distress.

This letter she sent away express, and it had the desired effect; for

Miss Harris, having received sufficient information from the attorney

to the same purpose, immediately set out for Poole, and from thence to

France, carrying with her all her money, most of her cloaths, and some

few jewels. She had, indeed, packed up plate and jewels to the value

of two thousand pound and upwards. But Booth, to whom Amelia

communicated the letter, prevented her by ordering the man that went

with the express (who had been a serjeant of the foot-guards

recommended to him by Atkinson) to suffer the lady to go whither she

pleased, but not to take anything with her except her cloaths, which

he was carefully to search. These orders were obeyed punctually, and

with these she was obliged to comply.

Two days after the bird was flown a warrant from the lord chief

justice arrived to take her up, the messenger of which returned with

the news of her flight, highly to the satisfaction of Amelia, and

consequently of Booth, and, indeed, not greatly to the grief of the

doctor.

About a week afterwards Booth and Amelia, with their children, and

Captain Atkinson and his lady, all set forward together for Amelia's

house, where they arrived amidst the acclamations of all the

neighbours, and every public demonstration of joy.

They found the house ready prepared to receive them by Atkinson's

friend the old serjeant, and a good dinner prepared for them by

Amelia's old nurse, who was addressed with the utmost duty by her son

and daughter, most affectionately caressed by Booth and his wife, and

by Amelia's absolute command seated next to herself at the table. At

which, perhaps, were assembled some of the best and happiest people

then in the world.

Chapter ix.

_In which the history is concluded._

Having brought our history to a conclusion, as to those points in

which we presume our reader was chiefly interested, in the foregoing

chapter, we shall in this, by way of epilogue, endeavour to satisfy

his curiosity as to what hath since happened to the principal

personages of whom we have treated in the foregoing pages.

Colonel James and his lady, after living in a polite manner for many

years together, at last agreed to live in as polite a manner asunder.

The colonel hath kept Miss Matthews ever since, and is at length grown

to doat on her (though now very disagreeable in her person, and

immensely fat) to such a degree, that he submits to be treated by her

in the most tyrannical manner.

He allows his lady eight hundred pound a-year, with which she divides

her time between Tunbridge, Bath, and London, and passes about nine

hours in the twenty-four at cards. Her income is lately increased by

three thousand pound left her by her brother Colonel Bath, who was

killed in a duel about six years ago by a gentleman who told the

colonel he differed from him in opinion.

The noble peer and Mrs. Ellison have been both dead several years, and

both of the consequences of their favourite vices; Mrs. Ellison having

fallen a martyr to her liquor, and the other to his amours, by which

he was at last become so rotten that he stunk above-ground.

The attorney, Murphy, was brought to his trial at the Old Bailey,

where, after much quibbling about the meaning of a very plain act of

parliament, he was at length convicted of forgery, and was soon

afterwards hanged at Tyburn.

The witness for some time seemed to reform his life, and received a

small pension from Booth; after which he returned to vicious courses,

took a purse on the highway, was detected and taken, and followed the

last steps of his old master. So apt are men whose manners have been

once thoroughly corrupted, to return, from any dawn of an amendment,

into the dark paths of vice.

As to Miss Harris, she lived three years with a broken heart at

Boulogne, where she received annually fifty pound from her sister, who

was hardly prevailed on by Dr Harrison not to send her a hundred, and

then died in a most miserable manner.

Mr. Atkinson upon the whole hath led a very happy life with his wife,

though he hath been sometimes obliged to pay proper homage to her

superior understanding and knowledge. This, however, he chearfully

submits to, and she makes him proper returns of fondness. They have

two fine boys, of whom they are equally fond. He is lately advanced to

the rank of captain, and last summer both he and his wife paid a visit

of three months to Booth and his wife.

Dr Harrison is grown old in years and in honour, beloved and respected

by all his parishioners and by all his neighbours. He divides his time

between his parish, his old town, and Booth's--at which last place he

had, two years ago, a gentle fit of the gout, being the first attack

of that distemper. During this fit Amelia was his nurse, and her two

oldest daughters sat up alternately with him for a whole week. The

eldest of those girls, whose name is Amelia, is his favourite; she is

the picture of her mother, and it is thought the doctor hath

distinguished her in his will, for he hath declared that he will leave

his whole fortune, except some few charities, among Amelia's children.

As to Booth and Amelia, Fortune seems to have made them large amends

for the tricks she played them in their youth. They have, ever since

the above period of this history, enjoyed an uninterrupted course of

health and happiness. In about six weeks after Booth's first coming

into the country he went to London and paid all his debts of honour;

after which, and a stay of two days only, he returned into the

country, and hath never since been thirty miles from home. He hath two

boys and four girls; the eldest of the boys, he who hath made his

appearance in this history, is just come from the university, and is

one of the finest gentlemen and best scholars of his age. The second

is just going from school, and is intended for the church, that being

his own choice. His eldest daughter is a woman grown, but we must not

mention her age. A marriage was proposed to her the other day with a

young fellow of a good estate, but she never would see him more than

once: "For Doctor Harrison," says she, "told me he was illiterate, and

I am sure he is ill-natured." The second girl is three years younger

than her sister, and the others are yet children.

Amelia is still the finest woman in England of her age. Booth himself

often avers she is as handsome as ever. Nothing can equal the serenity

of their lives. Amelia declared to me the other day, that she did not

remember to have seen her husband out of humour these ten years; and,

upon my insinuating to her that he had the best of wives, she answered

with a smile that she ought to be so, for that he had made her the

happiest of women.

THE END.