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' have gone voluntarily thus far, Mr. Jones,' said she, 'I expect not to be pressed. Nay, I will not.' -'0! don't look unkindly thus, my Sophia,' cries he. 'I do not, I dare not press you.— Yet
permit me at least once more to beg you would 'fix the period. O! consider the impatience of 'love.'--'A twelvemonth, perhaps,' said she. ‘O! my Sophia, cries he, you have named an 'eternity. '--'Perhaps, it may be something sooner, says she; 'I will not be teazed. If your passion • for me be what I would have it, I think you may
now be easy.'-' Easy, Sophia, call not such an ' exulting happiness as mine by so cold a name. --O! transporting thought! am I not assured 'that the blessed day will come, when I shall call
you mine; when fears shall be no more; when I • shall have that dear, that vast, that exquisite, ecstatic delight of making my Sophia happy:' Indeed, Sir,' said she, that day is in your own power. - O! my dear, my divine angel,' cried he, these words have made me mad with ' joy. -But I must, I will thank those dear • lips which have so sweetly pronounced my bliss. ' He then caught her in his arms, and kissed her with an ardour he had never ventured before,
At this instant Western, who had stood some time listening, burst into the room, and with his hunting voice and phrase, cried out, "To her, boy, ' to her, go to her.- -That's it, little honeys, 0 'that's it! Well, what is it all over? Hath she appointed the day, boy? What, shall it be tomorrow or next day? It shan't be put offa minute longer than next day, I am resolved.'
· Let me . beseech you, Sir,' says Jones, 'don't let me be • the occasion.'--' Beseech mine a' cries Western, I thought thou hadst been a lad of higher ' mettle, than to give way to a parcel of maidenish 'tricks.--I tell thee 'tis all flimflam. Zoodikers! * she'd have the wedding to night with all her heart. 'Would'st not, Sophy? Come, confess, and be an
• honest girl for once. What, art dumb? Why ' dost not speak?' 'Why should I confess, Sir, ' says Sophia, since it seems you are so well ac
quainted with my thoughts.”—That's a good girl,' cries he, . and dost consent then?' No indeed, Sir,' says Sophia, “I have given no such consent.'-'And wunt nut ha un then to-mor' row, nor next day?' says Western.-_'Indeed
Sir,' says she, “I have no such intention.' "But I 'can tell thee,' replied he, 'why hast nut, only because thou dost love to be disobedient, and to plague and vex thy father.' 'Pray, Sir,” said Jones interfering-----'I tell thee thou art a puppy, cries
- ' he. “When I vorbid her, then it was all nothing 'but sighing and whining, and languishing and
writing ; now I am vor thee, she is against thee. * All the spirit of contrary, that's all. She is above
being guided and governed by her father, that is 'the whole truth on't. It is only to disoblige and
contradict me.? What would my papa have me 'do?' cries Sophia. “What would I ha thee do?' says he, 'why gi un thy hand this moment.'
Well, Sir,' said Sophia, “I will obey you.—There • is my hand, Mr. Jones.' 'Well, and will
you consent to ha un to-morrow morning?' says Western.--' I will be obcdient to you, Sir,'cries she.
Why then to-morrow morning be the day,' cries he. —- Why then to-morrow-morning shall
. 'be the day, papa, since you will have it so,' says Sophia. Jones then fell upon his knees, an kissed her hand in an agony of joy, while Western began to caper and dance about the room, presently crying out, —- Where the devil is Allworthy? He is · without now, a talking with that d--d lawyer Dowling, when he should be minding other matters. He then sallied out in quest of him, and very opportunely left the lovers to enjoy a few tender minutes alone.
But he soon returned with Allworthy, saying, If you
won't believe me, you may ask her your
self. Hast nutgin thy consent, Sophy, to be mar‘ried to-morrow?' 'Such are your commands, Sir,' cries Sophia, “and I dare not be guilty of disobe*dience.' 'I hope, Madam,' cries Allworthy, my
nephew, will merit so much goodness, and will * be always as sensible as myself, of the great 'honour you have done my family. An alliance * with so charming and so excellent a young lady
would indeed be an honour to the greatest in · England. Yes,' cries Western, but if I had 'suffered her to stand shill I shall I, dilly dally, 'you might not liave had that honour yet a while; I was forced to use a little fatherly authority to
bring her to.' 'I hope not, Sir,' cries Allworthy. 'I hope there is not the least constraint.' 'Why, there,' cries Western, “you may bid her unsay all again, if you will. D'ost repent heartily of thy promise, dost not, Sophy? Indeed papa,' cries she, 'I do not repent, nor do I believe I ever shall,
of any promise in favour of Mr. Jones.' Then, ' nephew, cries Allworthy, 'I felicitate you most “ heartily; for I think you are the happiest of men.
And, Madam, you will give me leave to congra'tulate you on this joyful occasion: Indeed, I am 'convince you have bestowed yourself on one ' who will be sensible of your great merit, and who will at least use his best endeavours to deserve
it.' Ilis best endeavours ! cries Western, that ‘he will, I warrant un. ------Harkee, Allworthy, • I'll bet ihce five pounds to a crown we have a boy 'to-morrow nine months; but prithee tell me
what wut ha! Wut ha Burgundy, Champaigne, * or what? for please Jupiter, we'll make a night 'on't.' Indeed, Sir,' said Allworthy, you must
excuse me; both my nephew and I were engaged, " before I suspected this near approach of his hap'piness.'- Engaged !' quoth the 'squire, “never • tell me.--I won't part with thee to-night upon any occasion. Shalt sup here, please the lord Hirry.' 'You must pardon me, my dear neigh
'bour,' answered Allworthy; 'I have given a so' lemn promise, and that you know I never break.' 'Why, prithee, who art engaged to? cries the ' squire. Allworthy then informed him, as likewise of the company.- - Odzookers!' answered the 'squire, I will go with thee, and so shall So
phy; for I won't part with thee to-night; and ' it would be barbarotis to part Tom and the girl.' This offer was presently embraced by Allworthy; and Sophia consented, having first obtained a private promise from her father, that he would not mention a syllable concerning her marriage.
CHAP. The last.
In which the History is concluded. YOUNG Nightingale had been that afternoon by appointment, to wait on his father, who received him much more kindly than he expected. There likewise he met his uncle, who was returned to town in quest of his new-married daughter.
This marriage was the luckiest incident which could have happened to the young gentleman; for these brothers lived in a constant state of contention about the government of their children, both heartily despising the method which each other took. Each of them therefore now endeavoured, as much as he could, to palliate the offence which his own child had committed, and to aggravate the match of the other. This desire of triumphing over his brother, added to the many arguments which Allworthy had used, so strongly operated on the old gentleman, that he met his son with a smiling countenance, and actually agreed to sup with him that evening at Mrs. Miller's.
As for the other, who really loved his daughter with the most immoderate affection, there was little dilliculty in inclining him to a reconciliation. He was no sooner informed by his nephew, wliere his daughter and her husband were, than he declared he would instantly go to her. And when he arrived there, he scarce suffered her to fall upon her knees, before he took her up, and embraced her with a tenderness which affected all who saw him; and in less than a quarter of an hour was as well reconciled to both her and her husband, as if he had himself joined their hands.
In this situation were affairs when Mr. Allworthy and his company arrived to complete the happiness of Mrs. Miller, who no sooner saw Sophia, than she guessed every thing that had happened ; and so great was her friendship to Jones, that it added not a few transports to those she felt on the happiness of her own daughter.
There have not, I believe, been many instances of a number of people met together, where every one was so perfectly happy, as in this company. Amongst whom, the father of young Nightingale enjoyed the least perfect content; for notwithstanding his affection for his son; notwithstanding the authority and the arguments of Allworthy, together with the other motive mentioned before, he could not so entirely be satisfied with his son's choice; and perhaps, the presence of Sophia herself tended a little to aggravate and heighten his concern, as a thought now and then suggested itself, that his son might have had that lady, or some other such. Not that any of the charms which adorned either the person or mind of Sophia, created the uneasiness; it was the contents of her father's coffers which set his heart a longing. These were the charms which he could not bear to · think his son had sacrificed to the daughter of Mrs. Miller. The brides were both very pretty women;"
but so totally were they eclipsed by the beauty or Sophia, that had they not been two of the best-tempered girls in the world, it would have raised some