offers had been made them on the other side, they should refuse them, and that they might be assured they should lose nothing by being honest men, and telling the truth. I said, we were told that Jones had assaulted the gentleman first, and that if that was the truth, they should declare it; and I did give them some hints that they should be no losers."-"I think you went lengths indeed," cries Allworthy. "Nay, sir," answered Dowling, "I am sure I did not desire them to tell an untruth; nor should I have said what I did, unless it had been to oblige you." -"You would not have thought, I believe," says Allworthy, "to have obliged me, had you known that this Mr Jones was my own nephew."-"I am sure, sir," answered he, "it did not become me to take any notice of what I thought you desired to conceal." "How!" cries Allworthy, " and did you know it then?"" Nay, sir," answered Dowling, "if your worship bids me speak the truth, I am sure I shall do it. Indeed, sir, I did know it; for they were almost the last words which Madam Blifil ever spoke, which she mentioned to me as I stood alone by her bed-side, when she delivered me the letter I brought your worship from her."-" What letter?" cries Allworthy." The letter, sir," answered Dowling, which I brought from Salisbury, and which I delivered into the hands of Mr Blifil." -"O heavens!” cries Allworthy. "Well, and what were the words? What did my sister say to you?"-" She took me by the hand," answered he," and as she delivered me the letter, said, I scarce know what I have written. Tell my brother, Mr Jones is his nephew-He is my son. -Bless him,' says she, and then fell backward, as if dying away. I presently called in the people, and she never spoke more to me, and died within a few minutes afterwards."-Allworthy stood a minute silent, lifting up his eyes, and then turning to Dowling, said," How came you, sir, not to deliver me this message?" "Your worship," answered he, "must remember that you was at that time ill in bed; and being in a violent hurry, as indeed I always am, I delivered the letter and message to Mr Blifil, who told me he would carry them both to you, which he hath since told me he did; and that your worship, partly out of friendship to Mr Jones, and partly out of regard to your sister, would never have it mentioned, and did intend to conceal it from the world; and therefore, sir, if you had not mentioned it to me first, I am certain I should not have thought it belonged to me to say any thing of the matter, either to your worship, or any other person.”

We have remarked somewhere already, that it is possible for a man to convey a lie in the words of truth; this was the case at present: for Blifil had, in fact, told Dowling what he now related, but had not imposed upon him, nor indeed had imagined that he was able so to

do. In reality, the promises which Blifil had made to Dowling, were the motives which had induced him to secrecy; and as he very plainly saw Blifil would not be able to keep them, he thought proper now to make this confession, which the promises of forgiveness, joined to the threats, the voice, the looks of Allworthy, and the discoveries he had made before, extorted from him, who was besides taken unawares, and had no time to consider of evasions.

Allworthy appeared well satisfied with this relation; and having enjoined on Dowling strict silence as to what had past, conducted that gentleman himself to the door, lest he should see Blifil, who was returned to his chamber, where he exulted in the thoughts of his last deceit on his uncle, and little suspected what had since passed below stairs.

As Allworthy was returning to his room, he met Mrs Miller in the entry, who, with a face all pale and full of terror, said to him, "O sir! I find this wicked woman hath been with you, and you know all; yet do not on this account abandon the poor young man. Consider, sir, he was ignorant it was his own mother; and the discovery itself will most probably break his heart without your unkindness."

Madam," says Allworthy, "I am under such an astonishment at what I have heard, that I am really unable to satisfy you; but come with me into my room. Indeed, Mrs Miller, I have made surprising discoveries, and you shall soon know them."

The poor woman followed him trembling; and now Allworthy going up to Mrs Waters, took her by the hand, and then turning to Mrs Miller, said, "What reward shall I bestow upon this gentlewoman for the services she hath done me ?-O! Mrs Miller, you have a thousand times heard me call the young man, to whom you are so faithful a friend, my son. Little did I then think he was indeed related to me at all. Your friend, madam, is my nephew; he is the brother of that wicked viper which I have so long nourished in my bosom! -She will herself tell you the whole story, and how the youth came to pass for her son. Indeed, Mrs Miller, I am convinced he hath been wronged, and that I have been abused; abused by one whom you too justly suspected of being a villain. He is, in truth, the worst of villains.

The joy which Mrs Miller now felt, bereft her of the power of speech, and might, perhaps, have deprived her of her senses, if not of life, had not a friendly shower of tears come seasonably to her relief. At length, recovering so far from her transport as to be able to speak, she cried, "And is my dear Mr Jones then your nephew, sir, and not the son of this lady? and are your eyes opened to him at last? and shall I live to see him as happy as he deserves?"

"He certainly is my nephew," says Allworthy, " and I hope all the rest.'

"And is

this dear good woman the person," cries she, "to whom all this discovery is owing?"-" She is, indeed," says Allworthy." Why then," cried Mrs Miller, upon her knees, " may Heaven shower down its choicest blessings upon her head; and for this one good action forgive her all her sins, be they never so many! 7!"

Mrs Waters then informed them, that she believed Jones would very shortly be released; for that the surgeon was gone, in company with a nobleman, to the justice who committed him, in order to certify that Mr Fitzpatick was out of all manner of danger, and to procure the prisoner his liberty.

Allworthy said, he should be glad to find his nephew there at his return home; but that he was then obliged to go on some matters of consequence. He then called to a servant to fetch him a chair, and presently left the two ladies to gether.

Mr Blifil hearing the chair ordered, came down stairs to attend upon his uncle; for he never was deficient in such acts of duty. He asked his uncle if he was going out? which is a civil way of asking a man whither he is going to which the other making no answer, he again desired to know when he would be pleased to return? Allworthy made no answer to this neither, till he was just getting into his chair, and then turning about, he said, "Harkee, sir, do you find out, before my return, the letter which your mother sent me on her deathbed." Allworthy then departed, and left Blifil in a situation to be envied only by a man who is just going to be hanged.

CHAP. IX.

A further continuation.

ALLWORTHY took an opportunity, whilst he was in the chair, of reading the letter from Jones to Sophia, which Western delivered him; and there were some expressions in it concerning himself, which drew tears from his eyes. At length he arrived at Mr Western's, and was introduced to Sophia.

When the first ceremonies were past, and the gentleman and lady had taken their chairs, a silence of some minutes ensued, during which the latter, who had been prepared for the visit by her father, sat playing with her fan, and had every mark of confusion both in her countenance and behaviour. At length Allworthy, who was himself a little disconcerted, began thus: "I am afraid, Miss Western, my family hath been the occasion of giving you some uneasiness: to which, I fear, I have innocently become more instrumental than I intended. Be assured, madam, had I at first known how disagreeable the proposals had been, I should not have suffered you to have been so long persecuted. I hope,

therefore, you will not think the design of this visit is to trouble you with any further solicitations of that kind, but entirely to relieve you from them."

:

"Sir," said Sophia, with a little modest hesitation, "this behaviour is most kind and generous, and such as I could expect only from Mr Allworthy but as you have been so kind to mention this matter, you will pardon me for saying it hath indeed given me great uneasiness, and hath been the occasion of my suffering much cruel treatment from a father, who was, till that unhappy affair, the tenderest and fondest of all parents. I am convinced, sir, you are too good and generous to resent my refusal of your nephew. Our inclinations are not in our own power; and whatever may be his merit, I cannot force them in his favour.""I assure you, most amiable young lady," said Allworthy, "I am capable of no such resentment, had the person been my own son, and had I entertained the highest esteem for him. For you say truly, madam, we cannot force our inclinations, much less can they be directed by another.”—“ Oh! sir," answered Sophia, " every word you speak proves you to deserve that good, that great, that benevolent character, the whole world allows you. I assure you, sir, nothing less than the certain prospect of future misery could have made me resist the commands of my father.""I sincerely believe you, madam," replied Allworthy," and I heartily congratulate you on your prudent foresight, since by so justifiable a resistance you have avoided misery indeed.""You speak, now, Mr Allworthy," cries she, "with a delicacy which few men are capable of feeling; but surely in my opinion, to lead our lives with one to whom we are indifferent, must be a state of wretchedness-Perhaps that wretchedness would be even increased by a sense of the merits of the object to whom we cannot give our affections. If I had married Mr Blifil- "Pardon my interrupting you, madam," answered Allworthy, "but I cannot bear the supposition. Believe me, Miss Western, I rejoice, from my heart I rejoice, in your escape. I have discovered the wretch, for whom you have suffered all this cruel violence from your father, to be a villain."-" How, sir!" cries Sophia, “ you must believe this surprises me."

"

"It hath surprised me, madam," answered Allworthy, "and so it will the world; but I have acquainted you with the real truth.""Nothing but truth," says Sophia, "can, I am convinced, come from the lips of Mr Allworthy. Yet, sir, such sudden, such unexpected news

-Discovered, you say-may villainy be ever so!"-" You will soon enough hear the story," cries Allworthy; "at present let us not mention so detested a name-I have another matter of a very serious nature to propose.-O! Miss Western, I know your vast worth, nor can I so easily part with the ambition of being allied to

it. I have a near relation, madam, a young man, whose character is, I am convinced, the very opposite to that of this wretch, and whose fortune I will make equal to what his was to have been.-Could I, madam, hope you would admit a visit from him?"-Sophia, after a minute's silence, answered, "I will deal with the utmost sincerity with Mr Allworthy. His character, and the obligation I have just received from him, demand it. I have determined, at present, to listen to no such proposals from any person. My only desire is to be restored to the affection of my father, and to be again the mistress of his family. This, sir, I hope to owe to your good offices. Let me beseech you, let me conjure you, by all the goodness which I, and all who know you, have experienced, do not, the very moment when you have released me from one persecution, do not engage me in another, as miserable and as fruitless." "Indeed, Miss Western," replied Allworthy, "I am capable of no such conduct; and if this be your resolution, he must submit to the disappointment, whatever torments he may suffer under it."" I must smile now, Mr Allworthy," answered Sophia, "when you mention the torments of a man whom I do not know, and who can consequently have so little acquaintance with me."" Pardon me, dear young lady," cries Allworthy, "I begin now to be afraid he hath had too much acquaintance for the repose of his future days; since if ever man was capable of a sincere, violent, and noble passion, such, I am convinced, is my unhappy nephew's for Miss Western."-" A nephew of yours! Mr Allworthy," answered Sophia; " it is surely strange I never heard of him before."-" Indeed, madam," cries Allworthy, "it is only the circumstance of his being my nephew to which you are a stranger, and which, till this day, was a secret to me. Mr Jones, who has long loved you, he! he is my nephew."-" Mr Jones your nephew, sir!" cries Sophia; "Can it be possible?"-" He is indeed, madam,” answered Allworthy: "he is my own sister's son -as such I shall always own him; nor am I ashamed of owning him. I am much more ashamed of my past behaviour to him; but I was as ignorant of his merit as of his birth. Indeed, Miss Western, I have used him cruelly Indeed I have."-Here the good man wiped his eyes, and after a short pause proceeded-"I never shall be able to reward him for his sufferings without your assistance. Believe me, most amiable young lady, I must have a great esteem of that offering which I make to your worth. I know he hath been guilty of faults; but there is great goodness of heart at the bottom. Believe me, madam, there is."-Here he stopped, seeming to expect an answer, which he presently received from Sophia, after she had a little recovered herself from the hurry of spirits into which so strange and sudden information

had thrown her: "I sincerely wish you joy, sir, of a discovery, in which you seem to have such satisfaction. I doubt not but you will have all the comfort you can promise yourself from it. The young gentleman hath certainly a thousand good qualities, which makes it impossible he should not behave well to such an uncle."-" I hope, madam," said Allworthy, "he hath those good qualities which must make him a good husband. He must, I am sure, be of all men the most abandoned, if a lady of your merit should condescend"You must pardon me, Mr Allworthy," answered Sophia," I cannot listen to a proposal of this kind. Mr Jones, I am convinced, hath much merit; but I shall never receive Mr Jones as one who is to be my husband-Upon my honour I never will.""Pardon me, madam," cries Allworthy, "if I am a little surprised, after what I have heard from Mr Western-I hope the unhappy young man hath done nothing to forfeit your good opinion, if he had ever the honour to enjoy it.Perhaps he may have been misrepresented to you, as he was to me. The same villainy may have injured him every where. He is no murderer, I assure you, as he hath been called.""Mr Allworthy," answered Sophia, "I have told you my resolution. I wonder not at what my father hath told you; but whatever his apprehensions or fears have been, if I know my heart, I have given no occasion for them; since it hath always been a fixed principle with me, never to have married without his consent. This is, I think, the duty of a child to a parent; and this, I hope, nothing could ever have prevailed with me to swerve from. I do not indeed conceive, that the authority of any parent can oblige us to marry, in direct opposition to our inclinations. To avoid a force of this kind, which I had reason to suspect, I left my father's house, and sought protection elsewhere. This is the truth of my story; and if the world, or my father, carry my intentions any farther, my own conscience will acquit me."-" I hear you, Miss Western," cries Allworthy, "with admiration. I admire the justness of your sentiments; but surely there is more in this. I am cautious of offending you, young lady; but am I to look on all which I have hitherto heard or seen, as a dream only? And have you suffered so much cruelty from your father on the account of a man to whom you have been always absolutely indifferent ?"-" I beg, Mr Allworthy," answered Sophia, you will not insist on my reasons. Yes, I have suffered indeed: I will not, Mr Allworthy, conceal-I will be very sincere with you-I own I had a great opinion of Mr Jones-I believe-I know I have suffered for my opinion-I have been treated cruelly by my aunt, as well as by my father; but that is now past-I beg I may not be farther pressed; for whatever hath been, my resolution is now fixed. Your nephew, sir, hath many virtues-he hath

great virtues, Mr Allworthy. I question not but he will do you 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 earnest 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-Nay, 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 qualities. I do not disown my former thoughts; but nothing can ever recal them. At present there is not a man upon earth whom I would more resolutely reject than Mr Jones; nor would the addresses of Mr Blifil himself 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 sentiment of his daughter's heart, he lost all temper, and, bursting the door open in a rage, cried out, "It is a lie! It is a d―n'd lie! It is all owing to that d-n'd rascal Jones; and, if she could get at un, she'd ha' un any hour of the day."

Here Allworthy interposed; and, addressing himself to the squire, with some anger in his look, he said, “Mr Western, you have not kept your word with me. You promised 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 occasion, justify me. She is your daughter, Mr Western, 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." -"Odrabbit 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 confidence in her!" cries the squire; "'Sblood! what confidence can I place in her, when she won't do as I would ha' her? Let her gi' but her consent to marry as I would ha' her, and I'll place as much confidence in her as wouldst ha' me.”—“You have no right neigh

bour," answered Allworthy, " to insist on any such consent. A negative 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 shew 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 shew you what she deserves. See here, sir; here is a letter from my cousin, my Lady Bellaston, 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. Odzookers! neighbour Allworthy, you don't know what it is to govern a daughter."

The squire ended his speech with some compliments 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 particular which hath been disclosed to the reader in the preceding 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.

66

At

The squire was silent a moment, and looked wild with astonishment at this account. 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. Odzookers! 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 together at my cousin, my Lady Bellaston's. He hath turned the head o' her, that's certain; but d-n me if he shall ha' her. I'll ha' no lords nor courtiers in my vamily."

Allworthy now made a long speech, in which he repeated his resolution to avoid all violent measures; 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 entreaties 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 Sophia, saying, "I don't know how 'tis, but d-n me, Allworthy, if you don't make me always do just as you please; and yet I have as good an esteate as you, and am in the commission of the peace as well as yourself."

CHAP. X.

Wherein the History begins to draw towards a conclusion.

WHEN Allworthy returned to his lodgings, he heard Mr Jones was just arrived before him. He hurried, therefore, instantly into an empty chamber, whither he 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 entertained; 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 be

nefactor

"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 concern, for having been induced, by that treachery, to use him so ill.

"O talk not so," answered Jones: "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 you did. 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 pu

nished 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 myself with any gross villainy, yet I can discern follies and vices more than enough 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 you talk thus sensibly; for as I am 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 us; for when a man lays the foundation of his own ruin, 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 more 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 remember, for your comfort, that there is this great difference between those faults which candour may construe into imprudence, and those which can be deduced from villainy only. The former, perhaps, are even more apt to subject a man to ruin; but, if he reform, his character will, at length, be totally retrieved; the world, though not immediately, will in time be reconciled to him; and he may reflect, not without some mixture of pleasure, on the dangers he hath escaped. But villainy, my boy, when once discovered, is irretrievable; the stains which this leaves behind, no time will wash away. The censures of mankind will pursue the wretch; their scorn will abash him in public; and if shame drives him into retirement, he will go to it with all those terrors with which a weary child, who is afraid of hobgoblins, retreats from company to go to bed alone. Here his murdered conscience will haunt him. Repose, like a false friend, will fly from him. Wherever he turns his eyes, horror presents itself: If he looks backward, unavailable repentance treads on his heels; if forward, incurable despair stares him in the face, till, like a condemned prisoner confined in a dungeon, he detests his present condition, and yet dreads the consequence of that hour which