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no men who complain more of the frauds of business than highwaymen, gamesters, and other thieves of that kind; so there are none who so bitterly exclaim against the frauds of gamesters, &c. as usurers, brokers, and other thieves of this kind; whether it be that the one way of cheating is a discountenance or reflection upon the other, or that Money, which is the common mistress of all cheats, makes them regard each other in the light of rivals; but Nightingale no sooner heard the story, than he exclaimed against the fellow in terms much severer than the justice and honesty of Allworthy had bestowed

on him.

Allworthy desired Nightingale to retain both the money and the secret till he should hear further from him; and if he should in the mean time see the fellow, that he would not take the least notice to him of the discovery which he had made. He then returned to his lodgings; where he found Mrs. Miller in a very dejected condition, on account of the information she had received from her son-inlaw. Mr. Allworthy, with great cheerfulness, told her, that he had much good news to communicate; and, with little further preface, acquainted her, that he had brought Mr. Nightingale to consent to see his son; and did not in the least doubt to effect a perfect reconciliation between them; though he found the father more soured by another accident of the same kind, which had happened in his fami ly. He then mentioned the running away of the uncle's daughter, which he had been told by the old gentleman, and which Mrs. Miller, and her sonin-law, did not yet know.

The reader may suppose Mrs. Miller received this account with great thankfulness, and no less pleasure; but so uncommon was her friendship to Jones, that I am not certain whether the uneasiness she suffered for his sake, did not overbalance her satisfaction at bearing a piece of news tending so much to the happiness of her own family; nor whether

even this very news, as it reminded her of the obligation she had to Jones, did not hurt as well as please her; when her grateful heart said to her, While my own family is happy, how miserable is the poor creature, to whose generosity we owe the beginning of all this happiness!'

Allworthy having left her a little while to chew the cud (if I may use that expression) on these first tidings, told her, he had still something more to impart, which he believed would give her pleasure.

I think,' said he, 'I have discovered a pretty con. siderable treasure belonging to the young gentleman, your friend; but perhaps, indeed, his present situation may be such, that it will be of no service to him.' The latter part of the speech gave Mrs. Miller to understand who was meant, and she answered with a sigh, I hope not, sir.' I hope so too,' cries Allworthy, with all my heart; but my nephew told me this morning, he had heard a very bad account of the affair... Good Heaven! sir,' said she well, I must not speak, and yet it is very hard to be obliged to hold one's tongue when one hears..."

Madam,' said Allworthy, you may say whatever you please; you know me too well to think I have a prejudice against any one; and, as for that young man, I assure you I should be heartily pleased to find he could acquit himself of every thing, and par ticularly of this sad affair. You can testify the af fection I have formerly borne him. The world, I know, censured me for loving him so much. I did not withdraw that affection from him without thinking I had the justest cause. Believe me, Mrs. Miller, I should be glad to find I have been mistaken.' Mrs. Miller was going eagerly to reply, when a ser vant acquainted her, that a gentleman without de sfsired to speak with her immediately. Allworthy then inquired for his nephew, and was told that he had been for some time in his room with the gentleman who used to come to him, and whom Mr. All

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worthy guessing rightly to be Mr. Dowling, he de sired presently to speak with him.

When Dowling attended, Allworthy put the case of the bank-notes to him, without mentioning any name, and asked in what manner such a person might be punished. To which Dowling answered, he thought he might be indicted on the Black Act; but said, as it was a matter of some nicety, it would be proper to go to counsel. He said, he was to at tend counsel presently upon an affair of Mr. Western's, and, if Mr. Allworthy pleased, he would lay the case before them. This was agreed to; and then Mrs. Miller, opening the door, cried, I ask pardon, I did not know you had company;' but Allworthy desired her to come in, saying, he had finished his business. Upon which Mr. Dowling withdrew; and Mrs. Miller introduced Mr. Nightingale the younger, to return thanks for the great kindness done him by Allworthy; but she had scarce patience to let the young gentleman finish his speech, before she interrupted him, saying, 'O, sir! Mr. Nightingale brings great news about poor Mr. Jones: he hath been to see the wounded gentleman, who is out of all dan ger of death, and, what is more, declares he fell upon poor Mr. Jones himself, and beat him. I am sure, sir, you would not have Mr. Jones be a coward. If I was a man myself, I am sure, if any man was to strike me, I should draw my sword. Do pray, my dear, tell Mr. Allworthy, tell him all your. self.' Nightingale then confirmed what Mrs. Miller had said; and concluded with many handsome things of Jones, who was, he said, one of the bestnatured fellows in the world, and not in the least inclined to be quarrelsome. Here Nightingale was going to cease, when Mrs. Miller again begged him to relate all the many dutiful expressions he had heard him make use of towards Mr. Allworthy. To say the utmost good of Mr. Allworthy,' cries Nightingale, is doing no more than strict justice,

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and can have no merit in it; but, indeed, I must say, no man can be more sensible of the obligations he hath to so good a man, than is poor Jones. Indeed, sir, I am convinced the weight of your displeasure is the heaviest burden he lies under. He hath often lamented it to me, and hath as often protested, in the most solemn manner, he hath never been intentionally guilty of any offence towards you; nay, he hath sworn he would rather die a thousand deaths than he would have his conscience upbraid him with one disrespectful, ungrateful, or undutiful thought towards you. But I ask pardon, sir; I am afraid I presume to intermeddle too far in so tender a point. You have spoke no more than what a Christian ought,' cries Mrs. Miller. Indeed, Mr. Nightingale,' answered Allworthy, I applaud your generous friendship, and I wish he may merit it of you. I confess, I am glad to hear the report you bring from this unfortunate gentleman; and if that matter should turn out to be as you represent it (and, indeed, I doubt nothing of what you say),, I may, perhaps, in time, be brought to think better. than lately I have of this young man; for this good gentlewoman here, nay, all who know me, can witness that I loved him as dearly as if he had been my own son. Indeed, I have considered him as a child sent by Fortune to my care. I still remember the innocent, the helpless situation in which I found him. I feel the tender pressure of his little hands at this moment. He was my darling; indeed, he was.' At which words he ceased, and the tears. stood in his eyes.

As the answer which Mrs. Miller made may lead us into fresh matters, we will here stop to account for the visible alteration in Mr. Allworthy's mind, and the abatement of his anger to Jones. Revolutions of this kind, it is true, do frequently occur in histories and dramatic writers, for no other reason than because the history or play draws to a'conclusion, and are justified by authority of authors; yet, VOL. II.


though we insist upon as much authority as any au. thor whatever, we shall use this power very sparingly, and never but when we are driven to it by necessity, which we do not at present foresee will happen in this work.

This alteration then in the mind of Mr. Allwor thy was occasioned by a letter he had just received from Mr. Square, and which we shall give the reader in the beginning of the next chapter.




in my last, that I was forbidden the use of the waters, as they were found by experience rather to increase than lessen the symptoms of my distemper. I must now acquaint you with a piece of news, which, I believe, will afflict my friends more than it hath afflicted me. Dr. Harrington and Dr. Brewster have informed me, that there is no hopes of my recovery.

I have somewhere read, that the great use of philosophy is to learn to die. I will not therefore so far disgrace mine, as to show any surprise at receiv. ing a lesson which I must be thought to have so long studied. Yet, to say the truth, one page of the Gos pel teaches this lesson better than all the volumes of ancient and modern philosophers. The assurance it gives us of another life is a much stronger support to a good mind, than all the consolations that are drawn from the necessity of nature, the, emptiness or satiety of our enjoyments here, or any other topic of those declamations, which are sometimes ca pable of arming our minds with a stubborn patience in bearing the thoughts of death; but never of rais ing them to a real contempt of it, and much less of making us think it is a real good. I would not here

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