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 honor to enjoy it. Perhaps he may have been misrepresented to you, as he was to me. The same villainy may have injured him everywhere. 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 honor 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 favor." "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 favor. 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 recall 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 sentiments 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―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 behavior 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 honor to your name. If I was capable of envy, I should sooner envy you on this account than any other man whatever." "Odrab

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bit 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, 66 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.' 99 "You have no right, neighbor," 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 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."

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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 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! neighbor 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.

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, neighbor 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. All

worthy's departure, Western promised to follow his advice in his behavior 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."

CHAPTER 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 favor; to be once more