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honour in the world, and make you happy.'- I wish
I could make him so, madam,' replied Allworthy;
« but that I am convinced is only in your power,
It is that conviction which hath made me so ear.
nest a solicitor in his favour... You are deceived ;
indeed, sir, you are deceived,' said Sophia. I hope
not by him---it is sufficient to have deceived me.'-
* Mr. Allworthy, I must insist on being pressed no
farther on this subject. I should be sorry--pay, I
will not injure him in your favour. I wish Mr.
Jones very well. I sincerely wish him well; and I
repeat it again to you, whatever demerit he may
have to me, I am certain he hath many good quali-
ties. I do not disown my former thoughts; but
nothing can ever recall them. At present there is
not a mad upon earth whom I would more resolutely
reject than Mr. Jones; nor would the addresses of
Mr. Blifil bimself be less agreeable to me.'

Western had been long impatient for the event of
this conference, and was just now arrived at the
door to listen; when having heard the last senti-
ments of his daughter's heart, he lost all temper,
and, bursting open the door in a rage, cried out,
• It is a lie. It is a d-n'd lie. It is all owing to
that d...o'd rascal Jones; and if she could get at un,
she'd ha' un any hour of the day.' Here Allwor.
thy interposed, and addressing himself to the 'squire
with some anger in his look, he said, “Mr. Westeru,
you have not kept your word with me.
mised to abstain from all violence.'-.' Why so I
did,' cries Western, as long as it was possible;
but to hear a wench telling such confounded lies.
Zounds! doth she think if she can make vools of
other volk, she can make one of me? No, no, I
know her better than thee dost.'- I am sorry to tell
you, sir,' answered Allworthy, • it doth not appear,
by your behaviour to this young lady, that you
know her at all, I ask pardon for what I say; but
I think our intimacy, your own desires, and the oc.
casion, justify me. She is your daughter Mr, West-

You pro

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ern, and I think she doth honour to your name. If I was capable of envy, I should sooner envy you on this account, than any other man whatever.'. • Od-rabbit-it,' cries the 'squire, I wish she was thine, with all my heart---wouldst soon be glad to be rid of the trouble o' her.'--* Indeed, my good friend,' answered Allworthy, you yourself are the cause of all the trouble you complain of.

Place that confidence in the young lady which she so well deserves, and I am certain you will be the happiest father on earth.'--' I place confidence in her!' cries the 'squire; 'Sblood! what confidence can I place in her, when she won't do as I wou'd ha' her ? Let her gi' but her consent to marry as I wou'd ha' her, and I'll place as much confidence iu her as wouldst ha' me.'-'You have no right, neighbour,' answered Allworthy, 'to insist on any such consent.

A neEative voice your daughter allows you, and God and Nature have thought proper to allow you no more.' ... A negative voice!' cries the 'squire. 'Ay! ay ! I'll show you what a negative voice I ha'...Go along, go into your chamber, go, you stubborn-' . Indeed, Mr. Western,' said Allworthy; • indeed you use her cruelly.- I cannot bear to see this...You shall, you must behave to her in a kinder manner. She deserves the best of treatment.'... Yes, yes,' said the 'squire: I know what she deserves : now she's gone, I'll show you what she deserves.

See here, sir; here is a letter from my cousin, my Lady Bel. laston, in which she is so kind to gi' me to understand, that the fellow is got out of prison again; and here she advises me to take all the care I can o the wench. Od-zookers ! veighbour Allworthy, yon don't know what it is to govern a daughter.'

The 'squire ended his speech with some compli. ments to his own sagacity; and then Allworthy, after a formal preface, acquainted him with the whole discovery which he had made concerning Jones, with his anger to Blifil, and with every par.

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ticular which had been disclosed to the reader in the precedeing chapters.

Men over-violent in their dispositions are, for the most part, as changeable in them. No sooner then was Western informed of Mr. Allworthy's intention to make Jones his heir, than he joined heartily with the uncle in every commendation of the nephew, and became as eager for her marriage with Jones, as he had before been to couple her to Blifil.

Here Mr. Allworthy was again forced to interpose, and to relate what had passed between him and Sophia, at which he testified great surprise.

The 'squire was silent a moment, and looked wild with astonishment at this account. At last he cried out, Why, what can be the meaning of this, neighbour Allworthy? Vond o'un she was, that I'll be sworn to. Od-zookers! I have hit o't. As sure as a gun, I have hit o' the very right o't. It's all along o'zister. The girl hath got a hankering after this son of a whore of a lord. I vound 'em toge ther at my cousin, my lady Bellaston's. He bath turned the head o' her, that's certain : but d--o me if he shall ha' her...I'll ha' no lords nor conrtiers in my vamily.'

Allworthy now made a long speech, in which he repeated his resolution to avoid all violent meæ. sures, and very earnestly recommended gentle methods to Mr. Western, as those by which he might be assured of succeeding best with his daughter. He then took his leave, and returned back to Mrs. Miller, but was forced to comply with the earnest entrea. ties of the 'squire, in promising to bring Mr. Jones to visit him that afternoon, that he might, as he said, • make all matters up with the young gentleman. At Mr. Allworthy's departure, Western promised to follow his advice, in his behaviour to Sopbia, say ing, 'I don't know how 'tis, but d---n me, Allwor thy, if you don't make me always do just as you please; and yet I have as good an estate as you,

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and am in the commission of the peace as well as yourself.'


WHEN Allworthy returned to luis lodgings, he

heard Mr. Jones was just arrived before him. He hurried therefore instantly into an empty chamber, whither be ordered Mr. Jones to be brought to him alone.

It is impossible to conceive a more tender or moving scene, than the meeting between the uncle and nephew (for Mrs. Waters, as the reader may well suppose, had at her last visit discovered to him the secret of his birth). The first agonies of joy which were felt on both sides, are, indeed, beyond my power to describe : I shall not, therefore, attempt it. After Allworthy had raised Jones from his feet, where he had prostrated himself, and received him into his arms, . O, my child ! he cried, • how have I been to blame! how have I injured you! What amends can I ever make you for those unkind, those unjust suspicions, which I have en. tertained; and for all the sufferings they have occasioned to you ?... Am I not now made amends ? cries Jones: “ Would not my sufferings if they had been ten times greater, have been now richly repaid ? O, my dear uncle! this goodness, this tenderness overpowers, unmans, destroys me. I cannot bear the transports, which-flow so fast upon me.

To be again restored to your presence, to your favour; to be once more thus kindly received by my great, my noble, my generous benefactor--' • Indeed, child, cries Allworthy, “I have used you cruelly.'- -He then explained to him all the treachery of Blifil, and again repeated expressions of the utmost cou. cern, for having been induced by that treachery to use bim so ill. • 0, talk not so ! answered Jones;

you did.

• indeed, sir, you have used me nobly. The wisest man might be deceived as you were ; and under such a deception, the best must have acted just as

Your goodness displayed itself in the midst of your anger, just as it then seemed. I owe every thing to that goodness of which I have been most unworthy. Do not put me on self-accusation, by carrying your generous sentiments too far. Alas! sir, I have not been punished more than I have deserved; and it shall be the whole business of my

future life to deserve that happiness you now bestow on me; for believe me, my dear uncle, my punishment hath not been thrown away upon me : though I have been a great, I am not a hardened sinner; I thank Heaven, I have had time to reflect on my past life, where though I cannot charge my. self with any gross villany, yet I can discern follies and vices more than enow to repent and to be ashamed of; follies which have been attended with dreadful consequences to myself, and have brought me to the brink of destruction.'-'I am rejoiced, my dear child,' answered Allworthy, ' to hear


talk thus sensibly; for as I ain convinced hypocrisy (good Heaven ! how have I been imposed on by it in others !) was never among your faults; so I can readily believe all you say. You now see, Tom, to what dangers imprudence alone may subject virtue (for virtue, I am now convinced, you love in a great degree). Prudence is indeed the duty which we owe to ourselves; and if we will be so much our own enemies as to neglect it, we are not to wonder if the world is deficient in discharging their duty to ús; for when a man lays the foundation of his own tuin, others will, I am afraid, be too apt to build upon it. You say, however, you have seen your errors, and will reform them. I firmly believe you, my dear child; and therefore from this moment, you shall never be reminded of them by me. Remember them only yourself so far, as for the future to teach you the better to avoid them; but still re.

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