เ เ he believed would give her pleasure. 'I think,' said he, 'I have discovered a pretty considerable treasure belonging to the young gentleman, your friend; but, perhaps, เ indeed, his present situation may be such, that it will 'be of no service to him.' The latter part of the speech gave Mrs. Miller to understand who was meant, and she answered with a sigh, 'I hope not, Sir.' 'I hope so too,' cries Allworthy,' with all my heart; but my nephew told me this morning, he had heard a very bad account of 'the affair.' Good heaven! Sir,' said she-' Well, 'I must not speak, and yet it is certainly very hard to 'be obliged to hold one's tongue when one hears.''Madam,' said Allworthy, 'you may say whatever you please, you know me too well to think I have a pre'judice against any one; and as for that young man, I 'assure you I should be heartily pleased to find he could เ acquit himself of every thing, and particularly of this 'sad affair. You can testify the affection I have formerly borne him. The world, I know, censured me for เ loving him so much. I did not withdraw that affec6 tion from him without thinking I had the justest cause. Believe me, Mrs. Miller, I should be glad to find I 'have been mistaken.' Mrs. Miller was going eagerly to reply, when a servant acquainted her, that a gentleman without desired to speak with her immediately. Allworthy then inquired for his nephew, and was told that he had been for some time in his room with the gentleman who used to come to him, and whom Mr. Allworthy guessing rightly to be Mr. Dowling, he desired presently to speak with him. When Dowling attended, Allworthy put the case of the bank notes to him, without mentioning any name, and asked in what manner such a person might be punished. To which Dowling answered, he thought he might be indicted on the Black Act; but said, as it was a matter of some nicety, it would be proper to go to counsel. He said he was to attend counsel presently upon an affair of Mr. Western's, and if Mr. Allworthy pleased he would lay the case before them. This was agreed to; and then Mrs. Miller opening the door, cried, 'I ask pardon, I did not know you had company;' but Allworthy desired her to come in, saying he had finished his business. Upon which Mr. Dowling withdrew, and Mrs. Miller introduced Mr. Nightingale the younger, to return thanks for the great kindness done him by Allworthy; but she had scarce patience to let the young gentleman finish his speech before she interrupted him, saying, 'O Sir! Mr. Nightingale brings great news เ about poor Mr. Jones; he hath been to see the wounded 'gentleman, who is out of all danger of death, and what ' is more, declares he fell upon poor Mr. Jones himself, ' and beat him. I am sure, Sir, you would not have Mr. 'Jones be a coward. If I was a man myself, I am sure if any man was to strike me, I should draw my sword. Do pray, my dear, tell Mr. Allworthy, tell him all your'self.' Nightingale then confirmed what Mrs. Miller had said; and concluded with many handsome things of Jones, who was, he said, one of the best-natured fellows in the world, and not in the least inclined to be quarrelHere Nightingale was going to cease, when Mrs. Miller again begged him to relate all the many dutiful expressions he had heard him make use of towards Mr. Allworthy. To say the utmost good of Mr. Allworthy,' cries Nightingale, 'is doing no more than strict justice, and can have no merit in it; but, indeed, I must say, no man can be more sensible of the obligations ' he hath to so good a man, than is poor Jones. Indeed, เ Sir, I am convinced the weight of your displeasure is 'the heaviest burthen he lies under. He hath often la'mented it to me, and hath as often protested in the most some. เ เ 'solemn manner he hath never been intentionally guilty 'of any offence towards you; nay, he hath sworn he 'would rather die a thousand deaths than he would have 'his conscience upbraid him with one disrespectful, ungrateful, or undutiful thought towards you. But I ask pardon, Sir, I am afraid I presume to intermeddle too 'far in so tender a point.' 'You have spoke no more than what a Christian ought,' cries Mrs. Miller. 'Indeed, Mr. Nightingale,' answered Allworthy, 'I applaud your generous friendship, and I wish he may merit it of you. I confess I am glad to hear the report you bring 'from this unfortunate gentleman; and if that matter 'should turn out to be as you represent it (and, indeed, I doubt nothing of what you say), I may, perhaps, in 'time, be brought to think better than lately I have of 'this young man; for this good gentlewoman here, nay, all 'who know me, can witness that I loved him as dearly เ as if he had been my own son. Indeed, I have con'sidered him as a child sent by fortune to my care. I still เ remember the innocent, the helpless situation in which I 'found him. I feel the tender pressure of his little hands ' at this moment--He was my darling, indeed he was.' At which words he ceased, and the tears stood in his eyes. As the answer which Mrs. Miller made may lead us into fresh matters, we will here stop to account for the visible alteration in Mr. Allworthy's mind, and the abatement of his anger to Jones. Revolutions of this kind, it is true, do frequently occur in histories and dramatic writers, for no other reason than because the history or play draws to a conclusion, and are justified by authority of authors; yet though we insist upon as much authority as any author whatever, we shall use this power very sparingly, and never but when we are driven to it by necessity, which we do not at present foresee will happen in this work. This alteration then in the mind of Mr. Allworthy was occasioned by a letter he had just received from Mr. Square, and which we shall give the reader in the beginning of the next chapter. CHAPTER IV. Containing two letters in very different styles. 'MY WORTHY FRIEND, 'I informed you in my last, that I was forbidden the use 'of the waters, as they were found by experience rather 'to increase than lessen the symptoms of my distemper. I must now acquaint you with a piece of news, which, 'I believe, will afflict my friends more than it hath 'afflicted me. Dr. Harrington and Dr. Brewster have in'formed me, that there is no hopes of my recovery. 'I have somewhere read, that the great use of philosophy is to learn to die. I will not therefore so far disgrace mine as to shew any surprise at receiving a 'lesson which I must be thought to have so long studied. 'Yet, to say the truth, one page of the Gospel teaches 'this lesson better than all the volumes of ancient or 'modern philosophers. The assurance it gives us of another life is a much stronger support to a good 'mind, than all the consolations that are drawn from the necessity of nature, the emptiness or satiety of our enjoyments here, or any other topic of those de'clamations which are sometimes capable of arming our ' minds with a stubborn patience in bearing the thoughts of death; but never of raising them to a real contempt ' of it, and much less of making us think it is a real เ เ good. I would not here be understood to throw 'the horrid censure of atheism, or even the absolute 'denial of immortality, on all who are called philoเ sophers. Many of that sect, as well ancient as modern, have, from the light of reason, discovered some hopes 'of a future state; but, in reality, that light was so 'faint and glimmering, and the hopes were so un'certain and precarious, that it may be justly doubted เ on which side their belief turned. Plato himself con'cludes his Phædon with declaring, that his best arguเ ments amount only to raise a probability; and Cicero 'himself seems rather to profess an inclination to believe, than any actual belief in the doctrines of immor'tality. As to myself, to be very sincere with you, I never was much in earnest in this faith till I was in ' earnest a Christian. You will perhaps wonder at the latter expression ; 'but I assure you it hath not been till very lately, that 'I could, with truth, call myself so. The pride of philosophy had intoxicated my reason, and the sub'limest of all wisdom appeared to me, as it did to the 'Greeks of old, to be foolishness. God hath however 'been so gracious to shew me my error in time, and 'to bring me into the way of truth, before I sunk into ' utter darkness for ever. เ เ เ 'I find myself beginning to grow weak, I shall there'fore hasten to the main purpose of this letter. "When I reflect on the actions of my past life, I know of nothing which sits heavier upon my conscience, than 'the injustice I have been guilty of to that poor wretch เ your adopted son. I have indeed not only connived at 'the villany of others, but been myself active in injustice 'towards him. Believe me, my dear friend, when I tell you on the word of a dying man, he hath been basely injured. As to the principal fact, upon the misrepre |