had still a difficulty to combat, which it was not in the power of his mistress to remove, however kind her inclination might have been. This was the exposing of her to be disinherited of all her father's estate, the almost inevitable consequence of their coming together without a consent, which he had no hopes of ever obtaining.

Add to all these the many obligations which lady Bellaston, whose viclent fondness we can no longer conceal, had heaped upon him; so that by her means he was now become one of the best dressed men about town; and was not only relieved from those ridiculous distresses we have before mentioned, but was actually raised to a state of affluence, beyond what he had ever known.

Now though there are many gentlemen who very well reconcile it to their consciences to possess themselves of the whole fortune of a woman, without making her any kind of return; yet to a mind, the proprietor of which doth not deserve to be hanged, nothing is, I believe, more irksome than to support love with gratitude only; especially where inclination pulls the heart a contrary way. Such was the unhappy case of Jones; for though the virtuous love he bore to Sophia, and which left very little affection for any other woman, had been entirely out of the question, he could never have been able to have made an adequate return to the generous passion of this lady, who had indeed been once an object of desire; but was now entered at least into the autumn of life; though she wore all the gaiety of youth, both in her dress and manner; nay, she contrived still to maintain the roses in her cheeks; but these, like flowers forced out of season by art, had none of that lively blooming freshness with which nature, at the proper time, bedecks her own productions. She had, besides, a certain imperfection, which renders some flowers, though very beautiful to the eye, very improper to be placed in a wilderness of sweets, and

what above all others is most disagreeable to the breath of love.

Though Jones saw all these discouragements on the one side, he felt his obligations full as strongly on the other; nor did he less plainly discern the ardent passion whence those obligations proceeded, the extreme violence of which if he failed to equal, he well knew the lady would think him ungrateful; and, what is worse, he would have thought himself so. He knew the tacit consideration upon which all her favours were conferred; and as his necessity obliged him to accept them, so his honour, he concluded, forced him to pay the price. This therefore he resolved to do, whatever misery it cost him, and to devote himself to her, from that great principle of justice, by which the laws of some countries oblige a debtor, who is no otherwise capable of discharging his debt, to become the slave of his creditor.

While he was meditating on these matters, he received the following note from the lady:

A very foolish, but a very perverse accident hath happened since our last meeting, which 'makes it improper I should see you any more at the usual place. I will, if possible, contrive some other place by to-morrow. In the mean time, 'adieu.'

This disappointment, perhaps, the reader may conclude was not very great; but if it was, he was quickly relieved; for in less than an hour afterwards another note was brought him from the same hand, which contained as follows:

'I have altered my mind since I wrote; a change, which if you are no stranger to the tenderest of all passions, you will not wonder at. I am now resolved to see you this evening, at my own house, whatever may be the consequence. Come to me

'exactly at seven; I dine abroad, but will be at 'home by that time. A day, I find, to those that sincerely love, seems longer than I imagined.

If you should accidentally be a few moments before me, bid them shew you into the drawingroom.'

To confess the truth, Jones was less pleased with this last epistle, than he had been with the former, as he was prevented by it from complying with the earnest entreaties of Mr. Nightingale, with whom he had now contracted much intimacy and friendship. These entreaties were to go with that young gentleman and his company to a new play, which was to be acted that evening, and which a very large party had agreed to damn, from some dislike they had taken to the author, who was a friend to one of Mr. Nightingale's acquaintance. And this sort of fun, our hero, we are ashamed to confess, would willingly have preferred to the above kind appointment; but his honour got the better of his inclination.

Before we attend him to this intended interview with the lady, we think proper to account for both the preceding notes, as the reader may possibly be not a little surprised at the imprudence of lady Bellaston, in bringing her lover to the very house where her rival was lodged.

First then, the mistress of the house where these lovers had hitherto met, and who had been for some years a pensioner to that lady, was now become a methodist, and had that very morning waited upon her ladyship, and after rebuking her very severely for her past life, had positively declared, that she would, on no account, be instrumental in carrying on any of her affairs for the future.

The hurry of spirits into which this accident threw the lady made her despair of possibly finding any other convenience to meet Jones that evening; but as she began a little to recover from

her uneasiness at the disappointment, she set her thoughts to work, when luckily it came into her head to propose to Sophia to go to the play, which was immediately consented to, and a proper lady provided for her companion. Mrs. Honour was likewise dispatched with Mrs. Etoff on the same errand of pleasure; and thus her own house was left free for the safe reception of Mr. Jones, with whom she promised herself two or three hours of uninterrupted conversation, after her return from the place where she dined, which was at a friend's house in a pretty distant part of the town, near her old place of assignation, where she had engaged herself before she was well apprised of the revolution that had happened in the mind and morals of her late confidante,

CHAP. X,

A Chapter which, though short, may draw Tears from some Eyes.

MR. Jones was just dressed to wait on lady Bellaston, when Mrs. Miller rapped at his door; and being admitted, very earnestly desired his company below stairs, to drink tea in the parlour.

·

Upon his entrance into the room, she presently introduced a person to him, saying, This, Sir, is my cousin, who hath been so greatly beholden to your goodness, for which he begs to return you 'his sincerest thanks.'

The man had scarce entered upon that speech which Mrs. Miller had so kindly prefaced, when both Jones and he, looking stedfastly at each other, shewed at once the utmost tokens of surprise. The voice of the latter began instantly to falter; and, instead of finishing his speech, he sunk down into a chair, crying, 'It is so, I am convinced it is so!'

'Bless me, what's the meaning of this,' cries Mrs. Miller, you are not ill, I hope, cousin? 'Some water, a dram this instant.'

Be not frighted, Madam,' cries Jones, 'I have 'almost as much need of a dram as your cousin. 'We are equally surprised at this unexpected meeting. Your cousin is an acquaintance of mine, "Mrs. Miller.'

'An acquaintance!' cries the man. Oh, 'heaven!'

'Ay, an acquaintance,' repeated Jones, and an honoured acquaintance too. When I do not love and honour the man who dares venture every thing to preserve his wife and children from instant destruction, may I have a friend capable of disowning me in adversity.'

O you are an excellent young man,' cries Mrs. Miller: Yes, indeed, poor creature! he hath ventured every thing-If he had not had one of the 'best of constitutions, it must have killed him.'

Cousin,' cries the man, who had now pretty well recovered himself; this is the angel from 'heaven whom I meant. This is he to whom, be'fore I saw you, I owed the preservation of my Peggy. He it was to whose generosity every comfort, every support which I have procured 'for her, was owing. He is indeed the worthiest, bravest, noblest of all human beings. O cousin, "I have obligations to this gentleman of such a

'nature!'

'Mention nothing of obligations,' cries Jones eagerly, not a word, I insist upon it, not a word,' (meaning, I suppose, that he would not have him betray the affair of the robbery to any person)If by the trifle you have received from me, I have preserved a whole family, sure pleasure was never bought so cheap.'

'O, Sir!' cries the man, I wish you could this 'instant see my house. If any person had ever a right to the pleasure you mention, I am convinced

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