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ceived Miss Wilmot and me, and stood at once speechless and immoveable.

The actors behind the scene, who ascribed this pause to his natural timidity, attempted to encourage him; but instead of going on, he burst into a flood of tears, and retired off the stage. I don't know what were my feelings on this occasion, for they succeeded with too much rapidity for description; but I was soon awaked from this disagreeable reverie by Miss Wilmot, who, pale and with a trembling voice, desired me to conduct her back to her uncle's. When got home, Mr. Arnold, who was as yet a stranger to our extraundinary behaviour, being informed that the new performer was my son, sent his coach and an invitation for him; and as he persisted in his refusal to appear again upon the stage, the players put another in has place, and we soon had him with us. Mr. Arnold gave him the kindest reception, and I received him with my usual transport; for I could never counterfeit false resentment. Miss Wilmot's reception was mixed with seeming neglect, and yet I coald perceive she acted a studied part. The tumult in her mind seemed not yet abated: she said twenty giddy things that booked like joy, and then laughed loud at her own want of meaning. At intervals she would take a sly peep at the glass, as if happy in the consciousness of unresisted beauty; and often would ask questions without giving any manner of attention to

the answers.

CHAPTER XX.

The History of a philosophic Vagabond, pursuing Novelty, but losing Content. AFTER we had supped, Mrs. Arnold politely offered to send a couple of her footmen for my son's baggage, which he at first seemed to decline; but upon her pressing the request, he was obliged to inform her, that a stick and wallet were all the moveable things upon this earth that he could boast of. Why, ay, my son," cried "you left me but poor, and poor I find you are come back and yet make no doubt you have seen a great deal of the world."-"Yes, sir," replied my son, "but travelling after Fortune is not the way to secure her; and, indeed, of late I have

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desisted from the pursuit."-"I fancy, sir," cried Mrs. Arnold, "that the account of your adventures would be amusing; the first part of them I have often heard from my niece; but could the company prevail for the rest, it would be an additional obligation."-"Madam," replied my son, “I promise you the pleasure you have in hearing will not be half so great as my vanity in repeating them; yet in the whole narrative I can scarcely promise you one adventure, as my account is rather of what I saw than what I did. The first misfortune of my life, which you all know, was great; but though it distressed, it could not sink me. No person ever had a better knack at hoping than I. The less kind I found Fortune at one time, the more I expected from her another; and being now at the bottom of her wheel, every new revolution might lift, but could not depress me. I proceeded, therefore, towards London in a fine morning, no way uneasy about tomorrow, but cheerful as the birds that carolled by the road; and comforted myself with reflecting, that London was the mart where abilities of every kind were sure of meeting distinction and reward.

"Upon my arrival in town, sir, my first care was to deliver your letter of recommendation to our cousin, who was himself in little better circumstances than I. My first scheme, you know, sir, was to be usher at an academy; and I asked his advice on the affair. Our cousin received the proposal with a true sardonic grin. ‘Ay,' cried he, 'this is indeed a very pretty career that has been chalked out for you. I have been an usher at a boarding-school myself; and may I die by an anodyne necklace, but I had rather be an under-turnkey in Newgate. I was up early and late: I was browbeat by the master, hated for my ugly face by the mistress, worried by the boys within, and never permitted to stir out to meet civility abroad. But are you sure you are fit for a school? Let me examine you a little. Have you been bred apprentice to the business?'-'No.'-'Then you won't do for a school. Can you dress the boys' hair?'-'No.'-'Then you won't do for a school. Have you had the smallpox?'- 'No.'-'Then you won't do for a school. Can you lie three in a bed?'

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the blessing! Excuse me, I can never approve of such a piece of injustice. And I have my reasons. -"Indeed, sir," cried Deborah, "if you have your reasons, that's another affair; but I should be glad to know those reasons."-"Excuse me, madam," returned he, "they lie too deep for discovery" (laying his hand upon his bosom); they remain buried, rivetted here."

After he was gone, upon a general consultation, we could not tell what to make of these fine sentiments. Olivia considered them as instances of the most exalted passion; but I was not quite so sanguine: it seemed to me pretty plain, that they had more of love than matrimony in them; yet, whatever they might portend, it was resolved to prosecute the scheme of Farmer Williams, who, from my daughter's first appearance in the country, had paid her his addresses.

CHAPTER XVIL

Scarcely any Virtue found to resist the Power of long and pleasing Temptation.

As I only studied my child's real happiness, the assiduity of Mr. Williams pleased me, as he was in easy circumstances, prudent, and sincere. It required but very little encouragement to revive his former passion; so that in an evening or two he and Mr. Thornhill met at our house, and surveyed cach other for some time with looks of anger; but Williams owed his landlord no rent, and little regarded his indignation. Olivia, on her side, acted the coquette to perfection, if that might be called acting which was her real character, pretending to lavish all her tenderness on her new lover. Mr. Thornhill appeared quite dejected at this preference, and with a pensive air took leave, though I own it puzzled me to find him in so much pain as he appeared to be, when he had it in his power so easily to remove the cause, by declaring an honourable passion. But whatever uneasiness he seemed to endure, it could easily be perceived that Olivia's anguish was still greater. After any of these interviews between her lovers, of which there were several, she usually retired to solitude, and there indulged her grief. It was in such a situation I found her one evening, after she had been

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for some time supporting a fictitious gaiety "You now see, my child," said I, the your confidence in Mr. Thornhill's passio was all a dream: he permits the rivalry another, every way his inferior, though h knows it lies in his power to secure you himself by a candid declaration.”papa," returned she; "but he has his re sons for this delay: I know he has. sincerity of his looks and words convince me of his real esteem. A short time, I hope will discover the generosity of his ser ments, and convince you that my opini of him has been more just than yours

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"Olivia, my darling," returned I,“ eve scheme that has been hitherto pursued compel him to a declaration has been pr posed and planned by yourself; nor can yo in the least say that I have constrained you But you must not suppose, my dear, th I will ever be instrumental in suffering honest rival to be the dupe of your il placed passion. Whatever time you r quire to bring your fancied admirer to a explanation shall be granted; but at th expiration of that term, if he is still regard less, I must absolutely insist that honest Mi Williams shall be rewarded for his fidelity The character which I have hitherto sup ported in life demands this from me, an my tenderness as a parent shall never in fluence my integrity as a man. Name then, your day; let it be as distant as yo think proper; and in the meantime, tak care to let Mr. Thornhill know the exac time on which I design delivering you to another. If he really loves you, his ow good sense will readily suggest that ther is but one method alone to prevent h losing you for ever." This proposal, whic she could not avoid considering as perfect! just, was readily agreed to. She again newed her most positive promise of marr ing Mr. Williams, in case of the other's in sensibility; and at the next opportunity, Mr. Thornhill's presence, that day mont was fixed upon for her nuptials with rival.

Such vigorous proceedings seemed redouble Mr. Thornhill's anxiety: but wh Olivia really felt gave me some uneasines In this struggle between prudence and pa sion, her vivacity quite forsook her, an every opportunity of solitude was sough

and spent in tears. One week passed away; but Mr. Thornhill made no efforts to restrain her nuptials. The succeeding week he was still assiduous; but not more open. On the third, he discontinued his visits entirely, and instead of my daughter testifying any impatience, as I expected, she seemed to retain a pensive tranquillity, which I looked upon as resignation. For my own part, I was now sincerely pleased with thinking that my child was going to be secured in a continuance of competence and peace, and frequently applauded her resolution, in preferring happiness to osten

tation.

It was within about four days of her intended nuptials, that my little family at night were gathered round a charming fire, telling stories of the past, and laying schemes for the future: busied in forming a thousand projects, and laughing at whatever folly came uppermost. "Well, Moses," cried I, "we shall soon, my boy, have a wedding in the family: what is your opinion matters and things in general?" "My opinion, father, is, that all things go on very well; and I was just now thinking, that when sister Livy is married to Farmer Williams, we shall then have the can of his cider press and brewing-tubs for nothing." That we shall, Moses," cried 1, "and he will sing us 'Death and the Lady,' to raise our spirits into the bargain."-"He has taught that song to our Dick," cried Moses; "and I think he goes through it very prettily."-"Does he 30?" cried I; "then let us have it: where is little Dick? let him up with it boldly." -"My brother Dick," cried Bill, my youngest, "is just gone out with sister Livy: but Mr. Williams has taught me two songs, and I'll sing them for you, papa. Which song do you choose, 'The Dying Swan,' or the Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog?" -The elegy, child, by all means," said I;"I never heard that yet: and Deborah, my life, grief, you know, is dry; let us have a bottle of the best gooseberry wine, to keep up our spirits. I have wept so much at all sorts of elegies of late, that without an enlivening glass I am sure this will overcome me; and Sophy, love, take your guitar, and thrum in with the boy a little."

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.

GOOD people all, of every sort,

Give ear unto my song,

And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man,

Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,

Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,

When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wond'ring neighbours ran,

And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,

That show'd the rogues they lied:
The man recover'd of the bite-

The dog it was that died.

"A very good boy, Bill, upon my word; and an elegy that may truly be called tragical. Come, my children, here's Bill's health, and may he one day be a bishop!"

"With all my heart," cried my wife : "and if he but preaches as well as he sings, I make no doubt of him. The most of his family, by the mother's side, could sing a good song: it was a common saying in our country, that the family of the Blenkinsops could never look straight before them, nor the Hugginsons blow out a candle; that there were none of the Grograms but could sing a song, or of the Marjorams but could tell a story."-" However that be," cried I, "the most vulgar ballad of them all generally pleases me better than the fine modern odes, and things that petrify us in a single stanza,productions that we at once detest and praise.-Put the glass to your brother, Moses.-The great fault of these elegiasts is, that they are in despair for griefs that

give the sensible part of mankind very little pain. A lady loses her muff, her fan, or her lap-dog, and so the silly poet runs home to versify the disaster.'

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"That may be the mode," cried Moses, "in sublimer compositions: but the Ranelagh songs that come down to us are perfectly familiar, and all cast in the same mould: Colin meets Dolly, and they hold a dialogue together; he gives her a fairing to put in her hair, and she presents him with a nosegay; and then they go together to church, where they give good advice to young nymphs and swains to get married as fast as they can."

"And very good advice too," cried I; “and I am told there is not a place in the world where advice can be given with so much propriety as there for as it persuades us to marry, it also furnishes us with a wife; and surely that must be an excellent market, my boy, where we are told what we want, and supplied with it when wanting."

"Yes, sir," returned Moses, "and I know but of two such markets for wives in Europe, Ranelagh in England, and Fontarabia in Spain. The Spanish market is open once a year; but our English wives are salcable every night."

"You are right, my boy," cried his mother; "Old England is the only place in the world for husbands to get wives.' "And for wives to manage their husbands," interrupted I. "It is a proverb abroad, that if a bridge were built across the sea, all the ladies of the Continent would come over to take pattern from ours; for there are no such wives in Europe as our own. But let us have one bottle more, Deborah, my life; and, Moses, give us a good song. What thanks do we not owe to Heaven for thus bestowing tranquillity, health, and competence! I think myself happier now than the greatest monarch upon earth. He has no such fireside, nor such pleasant faces about it. Yes, Deborah, we are now growing old; but the evening of our life is likely to be happy. We are descended from ancestors that knew no stain, and we shall leave a good and virtuous race of children behind us. While we live, they will be our support and our pleasure here; and, when we die, they will transmit our honour

untainted to posterity. Come, my son, we wait for a song: let us have a chorus. B where is my darling Olivia? that litte cherub's voice is always sweetest in the concert." Just as I spoke Dick came running in. "O papa, papa, she is gor from us, she is gone from us; my sist Livy is gone from us for ever!"-" Gont child!"-"Yes, she is gone off with tw gentlemen in a post-chaise, and one d them kissed her, and said he would die f her: and she cried very much, and was fe coming back; but he persuaded her again and she went into the chaise, and said 'Oh, what will my poor papa do when h knows I am undone !'""Now, then, cried I, "my children, go and be miser able; for we shall never enjoy one hou more. And oh, may Heaven's everlastin fury light upon him and his !—thus to rol me of my child! And sure it will, fo taking back my sweet innocent that I wa leading up to Heaven. Such sincerity a my child was possessed of! But all ou earthly happiness is now over! Go, my children, go and be miserable and infa mous; for my heart is broken within me!'

"Father," cried my son, "is this you fortitude?"-"Fortitude, child?—yes, ye shall see I have fortitude! Bring me my pistols. I'll pursue the traitor-- while h is on earth I'll pursue him. Old as I am he shall find I can sting him yet. The vil lain-the perfidious villain!" I had by this time reached down my pistols, wher my poor wife, whose passions were not so strong as mine, caught me in her arms "My dearest, dearest husband!" cried she, "the Bible is the only weapon tha is fit for your old hands now. Oper that, my love. and read our anguish into patience, for she has vilely deceived us.”-'Indeed, sir," resumed my son, after t pause, "your rage is too violent and un becoming. You should be my mother! comforter, and you increase her pain. I ill suited you and your reverend characte thus to curse your greatest enemy: you should not have cursed him, villain as h is."-" I did not curse him child, did I?" -"Indeed, sir, you did; you cursed him twice."-"Then may Heaven forgive m and him if I did! And now, my son, see it was more than human benevolend

that first taught us to bless our enemies Blessed be His holy name for all the good He hath given, and for all that He hath taken away. But it is not-it is not a small distress that can wring tears from these old eyes, that have not wept for so many years. My child! to undo my darling!-May confusion seize--Heaven forgive me! what am I about to say!-you may remember, my love, how good she was, and how charming: till this vile moment all her care was to make us happy. Had she but died! But she is gone, the honour of our family contaminated, and I must look out for happiness in other worlds than here. But, my child, you saw them go off: perhaps he forced her away? If he forced her, she may yet be innocent.""Ah, no, sir," cried the child; "he only kissed her, and called her his angel, and wept very much, and leaned upon his arm, and they drove off very fast."-"She's an ungrateful creature," cried my wife, who could scarcely speak for weeping, "to se us thus. She never had the least constraint put upon her affections. The vile strumpet has basely deserted her parents without any provocation, thus to bring your gray hairs to the grave; and I must shortly follow."

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In this manner that night, the first of our real misfortunes, was spent in the bitterness of complaint, and ill-supported sellies of enthusiasm. I determined, however, to find out our betrayer, wherever he was, and reproach his baseness. The next morning we missed our wretched child at breakfast, where she used to give life and cheerfulness to us all. My wife, as before, attempted to ease her heart by reproaches. "Never," cried she, "shall that vilest stain of our family again darken these harmless doors. I will never call her daughter more. No, let the strumpet live with her vile seducer: she may bring us to shame, but she shall never more deceive

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may err; art may persuade, and novelty spread out its charm. The first fault is the child of simplicity, but every other, the offspring of guilt. Yes, the wretched creature shall be welcome to this heart and this house, though stained with ten thousand vices. I will again hearken to the music of her voice, again will I hang fondly on her bosom, if I find but repentance there. My son, bring hither my Bible and my staff: I will pursue her, wherever she is; and though I cannot save her from shame, I may prevent the continuance of iniquity."

CHAPTER XVIII.

The Pursuit of a Father to reclaim a Lost Child

to Virtue.

THOUGH the child could not describe the gentleman's person who handed his sister into the post-chaise, yet my suspicions fell entirely upon our young landlord, whose character for such intrigues was but too well known. I therefore directed my steps towards Thornhill Castle, resolving to upbraid him, and, if possible, to bring back my daughter: but before I had reached his seat, I was met by one of my parishioners, who said he saw a young lady resembling my daughter in a post-chaise with a gentleman, whom by the description I could only guess to be Mr. Burchell, and that they drove very fast. This information, however, did by no means satisfy me. I therefore went to the young Squire's, and, though it was yet early, insisted upon seeing him immediately. He soon ap peared with the most open familiar air, and seemed perfectly amazed at my daughter's elopement, protesting, upon his honour, that he was quite a stranger to it. I now therefore condemned my former suspicions, and could turn them only on Mr. Burchell, who, I recollected, had of late several private conferences with her; but the appearance of another witness left me no room to doubt his villany, who averred, that he and my daughter were actually gone towards the Wells, about thirty miles off, where there was a great deal of company. Being driven to that state of mind in which we all are more ready to act precipitately than to reason right, I never debated with myself whether these accounts might not

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